#If anyone needs this tagged with some kind of warning lmk | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nereidprinc3ss · 8 months ago

Text

do you believe me now? | 8

it's the morning after. spencer reid suspects you’re left with some doubts after losing your virginity to him. he has to figure out why—which is hard when you're keeping secrets.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ warnings/tags: fem!reader, blood related to losing virginity (dramatized for the drama duh), super vague allusions to the BAU being hungover, mild blasphemy if anyone even cares, pondering god bc am I really a fanfic writer if I don’t get a little religious w it, emily AND hotch are here and nobody knows why pls don't pay attention to that bc we are imagining like season 11/12 spencer and I'm inconsistent w who is unit chief in this series apparently, spencer slut lore, spencer emotional wounds lore, Spencer is a traumatic situationship survivor a/n: DADDYS HOMEEEEE (me and dybmn not spencer) anyway missed these little guys and am happy to be writing for them again!! idk what my upload schedule will becoming back to this but pls lmk what u think of this part, I have no idea how you will respond but I'm being brave and ily

Friday morning Spencer comes into the office fifteen minutes late (he tried his best), in yesterday’s suit (everything in his go-bag had been too wrinkled), hair messy (no doubt from your fingers), coffee cold (he’s exhausted) and overall, in an excellent mood.

The rest of the team isn’t faring quite as well—Spencer gathers they stayed at the bar celebrating Derek’s birthday a lot later than he had. It shows through sallow skin and dark circles and the grimaces he receives on the way to his desk that are probably supposed to approximate good morning’s.

Honestly, he doesn’t mind the dull mood—he doesn’t need the teasing and the prying questions that would be sure to come if his co-workers were at peak performance and were able to put together his unusually perky demeanor and disheveled appearance. At least Prentiss doesn’t appear to be paying him any mind. She’s always the one who can read him like an open book and has no shame in doing so aloud. Echoes from years of, ‘so who was the lucky girl, last night, Reid?’ Still ring through his mind and it’s like he can feel her finger prodding at his side.

The Emily of it all makes him smile, though the rest of the memory leaves a metal tang in his mouth. Back in those days, there were sometimes a lot of girls, but even then he was consciously aware he wasn’t necessarily doing something he enjoyed. He spent a lot of time, actually, staring at his bedroom ceiling, psychoanalyzing himself. Repetition compulsion. The insatiable desire to repeat or reenact emotionally painful experiences. Maybe he thought if he could teach himself to subsist off of emotionless hookups, he could in some way heal from his experience with Elle. Though, he’s hesitant to think of it now as healing—it’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing when a few nights after she said I don’t feel the same I’m sorry he opened up his front door for her. It’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing every time after that. So, maybe heal isn’t the right word, when one doesn’t have the right to be injured. Or when the injuries are, in a manner of speaking, self-inflicted. At the very least he could tell himself that this time around, meaningless sex was a choice he was making for himself. Spencer hates when things just happen to him.

But you—you’re different. You were a complete surprise. At first, a cute and unexpected complication. After a few painful and short-lived attempts at real relationships, Spencer decided he was simply not to be trusted with emotional intimacy of any kind, including that which inevitably develops from physical intimacy, and would resign himself to a life of celibacy. He tried not to like you, but you were just so damn likable. Magnetic, to use a trite and perfectly honest turn of phrase. All that to say: he doesn’t regret you at all. There is no filter of putrid shame or anguish over his memories of last night.

Just you. Perfect. Starlit. Glowing softly around the edges like you’re not even real.

I love you I love you I love you. A hymn with no melody. You, always reminding him exactly why he is decidedly not a man of faith. At least, not in the typical sense of the word.

How God became the idol and not Mary is lost on him. That’s why, Spencer supposes, tapping an eraser on his desk, marriage and sex were forbidden for so many ecclesiastics. After all, if they knew what it was to love a woman, specifically to love you, he doubts they’d feel like spending much time in the pulpit. Love. Humans had that long before they had any gods. It’s primeval. It’s the most natural manifestation of devotion and worship. It will always have come first. Isn’t it a better kind of religion when a man realizes he can kneel in front of a woman rather than an altar?

A heavy hand falling on his shoulder jolts him from his theological musings—which are in all practicality useless. What’s that saying about blasphemous thinking on the FBI’s dime? Right. There isn’t one.

“I’m scared to ask,” Morgan says as Spencer jumps slightly in his chair.

“What?” He mumbles, looking up from the document he’d only sort of been reading.

Morgan just looks at him, strong brows furrowed and a ditch between them, angles his head and glances to the side as if Spencer is missing the obvious. He almost follows Derek’s eye-line. When that doesn’t work, Derek just says your name. Like your status is somehow in question.

“Did you two work things out, or not? It looked pretty bad when you guys were leaving last night.”

People often misunderstand an eidetic memory. It’s not like things can’t slip his mind—Spencer can actually be quite forgetful. It’s made worse by the fact that last night at the bar feels like months ago. For a moment, he has no idea what Derek is referring to.

“Oh. Oh! Right, we—right. Yeah, we, uh—we worked it out.” Before Derek has a chance to read his face, no doubt as incriminating as his fumbled speech and an ill-timed throat clearing, he turns back to his paperwork. “Thanks for keeping an eye on her at the bar. I appreciate that.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and Spencer’s lips twist as he can feel the incoming inappropriate comment.

“Is that the same suit you were wearing last night?” Morgan quips, his wide grin audible. Spencer can practically hear the cartoon gleam of his friend’s bleached teeth.

“No.”

“You dog.” Derek is still smiling as he claps Spencer’s shoulder again. “What did you say to her that worked so well?”

Spencer clears his throat again and tries to look extremely involved in logging onto his computer, speaking quickly as if he’s beyond disinterested and can’t wait for the exchange to be over.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m actually trying to work so if you wouldn’t mind going back to your desk that would be great.”

“Uh-huh. I’ll let you work. But I see you, pretty boy.”

Spencer tries not to blush like a teenager as he refuses to look up.

Naturally the rest of the day is a slow descent into dread and madness as all those good feelings with which Spencer had started his morning begin to harden into something much worse, chilled by your lack of response to the text he sent you earlier. Which was essentially a rehashing of the note he left on your bedside table.

Maybe it was too much. It should’ve been one or the other, but not both. He’s overwhelmed you.

Okay, so maybe this is what religion is for. A last ditch effort when you can’t talk to your girlfriend so you have to try talking to God.

But Spencer knows you, and he knows something is wrong. You wouldn’t just ice him out so blatantly if everything was okay. He catches himself glancing up toward Hotch’s window to see if the blinds are drawn, and considers faking an illness to get out of work early and go check on you. But he powers through the remaining hour and a half that he is obligated to stay at work, he bounces a pencil between his fingers, drums at his desk, and gets nothing else done. As soon as 4:59 rolls around, he’s out.

Spencer can hear shuffling on the other side of your door as he stands in the hallway. A pot clatters. The walls hum with the rush of water through the pipes to your sink. He knocks, relieved that you’re okay and at the same time struggling with that weight on his chest—something cold that leans over his shoulders and whispers into his ear—so she just didn’t want to talk to you.

Suddenly all sound from inside your unit ceases. For a few long seconds, Spencer’s confusion only grows exponentially.

“Who is it?” You finally call, voice wavering. Also odd. Usually you just open the door.

“Um… Spencer?”

“As in my boyfriend Spencer?”

He frowns, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly as he tries to decipher your sudden paranoia. “I hope so?”

The click and jingle of several locks precipitates your much-anticipated reveal.

“Come in,” you say breathlessly, more harried than usual and not giving him the tender greeting he’s selfishly become accustomed to—barely even giving him a second to look at you. But he steps inside, watching on in concern as you do up every single lock—the one on the knob, the deadbolt, even the chain. Is this really all because of his little comment last night about anyone being able to get in? He certainly hopes not. He didn’t mean to terrify you.

When you finally turn, he takes stock of your appearance. Big hoodie, pajama pants patterned in little hearts. Hair pulled back hastily. Your skin is sort of dull where you normally glow. But you’re beautiful, like always. It always aches just a little bit to look at you. Spencer’s always been like that. Going breathless at a particularly good piece of art or pretty girl. Like yourself. Mostly you.

You quickly turn to hurry back into the kitchen. “I was trying to make dinner, I—”

“Hold on,” he interrupts, stopping you with a hand on your stomach that is so non-demanding it’s really mostly a suggestion. He tries to clear his head, though you make it hard. “You didn’t talk to me all day. Not that you have to, but… I was worried.”

You glance at the floor and mumble, “I lost my phone,” with so much embarrassment he believes you’re telling the truth. “Did you, um—did you text me?”

Insecurity. Spencer knows well what it looks like on you. He softens. You weren’t ignoring him—but you’d been left in a vulnerable state without any ability to contact him or anyone. That couldn’t have been comfortable.

“Of course I did.” He pauses to observe you. Still anxious. Still prepared to run at any second. Something, and he’s not sure what, did a number on you today. Maybe it’s sheer exhaustion, maybe it was the anxiety of not having your phone. But he has to figure out what it is so he can undo it. “What? What’s wrong?”

He watches your breathing pause—watches your eyes gloss over with tears and a frown contort your features. Oh, god. He’s done something terribly wrong. It’s been thirty seconds and he’s done something wrong.

“Can we sit down? I don’t feel very good.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we can. Whatever you need.”

You cast a baleful look at him and now he has to wonder what that means. Spencer sets his bag on a pulled out dining chair and follows you to the couch where you settle on opposite sides—you’re curled up in the far corner, hugging a pillow to your chest with your legs folded in front of you. Spencer’s heart is beating fast. He doesn’t know what’s going on with you and he can’t figure it out just by looking and you don’t seem eager to tell him.

He’s exhausted all his typical ways of collecting information, and now he’s at a loss.

Eventually, the anxiety comes bubbling up.

“Please talk to me,” he pleads. And you do. Almost instantly, like he stepped on some sort of landmine.

“I know it’s my own fault for not having my phone on me and not being able to see your texts, but it really sucks that I had to find out from my creepy neighbor that you snuck out in the middle of the night without saying goodbye.”

The whiplash is so strong it’s almost a broken neck. Spencer reels, frowning deeply as he tries to process your impromptu speech, the sudden confrontation. What creepy neighbor?

“I… didn’t. I went to grab my stuff from the car around one, but I came right back. I left at 7:30. You don’t remember me saying goodbye?”

Your brow furrows, and your eyes dart over the design on the rug like you’re watching memories go by. He sees it in your eyes when you recall some hazy image of him holding your face, kissing your cheek more times than was necessary and whispering sweet things against your lips before he had to go. You shrink into the couch, clearly struggling under the combined weight of relief and embarrassment.

“I forgot. I thought… he said…”

A moment passes and it’s clear you’ve abandoned the sentence. Spencer is concerned about this shadowy male figure who put malicious untruths into your head. He slides his hand under yours and twines your fingers together. Finally, finally you meet his gaze.

“Someone made you believe I left without saying goodbye.”

And he almost wishes you weren’t looking at him as more tears pool before falling down your cheeks. You nod, and don’t make a sound.

“No, honey. I didn’t do that. I’m sorry that’s what you’ve been thinking all day.”

“I was worried that you… or that I wasn’t…”

His chest aches. You’d woken up alone, no recollection of his goodbye, and without the comfort of even a text.

“You didn’t see my note?”

The way you look at him then is heartbreaking. Eyes wide and wet and sad, lip trembling.

“You left a note?”

Murphy’s Law. Anything that can go wrong, will.

It must’ve fallen off the bedside table, or maybe he just hadn’t positioned it obviously enough.

A lost phone, a missed note, and not even a memory of his departure. While none of these things are verifiably Spencer’s fault, he feels so, so guilty.

“I did,” Spencer says gently, scooting closer and pulling you into him, head pressed to his shoulder as you try not to cry, and he rubs your back slowly.

Your sulky words are muffled by his shirt. “I didn’t see it. What did it say?”

“A lot of very nice things about you,” he whispers. Spencer thought maybe he could get away with giving you all the sincere compliments you can’t accept face to face through a note you could read while he wasn’t around. That way you couldn’t refute them or stop him. It was a good plan.

He feels the sigh of relief leaving your body against his neck.

“I didn’t know.”

“I know. I’m sorry. That’s not… I should’ve just stayed. This is my fault.”

You keep your cheek pressed to his shoulder as you speak.

“It’s not. You have a job. A really important job. You can’t just call out whenever I want you around.”

Logically he knows you’re right, but he doesn’t always think logically around you.

“I could’ve made it work. I could’ve come in late, or the team could’ve called me if there was a case, which there wasn’t—”

“Spencer, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it.”

He pulls back slightly, frowning at your tone. You do look relieved, much less plagued than you’d been when he arrived minutes ago, but something heavy still weighs you down. The burden of it darkens your eyes and dulls your expression. When he cups your cheek, you glance up at him, and then away once more.

He speaks softly. “Is that all you wanted to tell me?”

Again he earns a moment of your eye contact, but it’s fleeting. He watches the words spin around your head as you try to figure out what to do with them—and then choose to remain silent.

There is in fact something you’re keeping from him.

Spencer hates to use work tactics on you, but he doesn’t speak either, hoping that you’ll feel compelled to fill the silence with the truth. Knowing how you’re not entirely comfortable with quiet.

And you try, lips parting and the sound delayed as you wrestle with something you clearly don’t know how to talk about.

“I… my neighbor,” you say, frowning like you don’t quite know why you’re speaking. “The one who told me he saw you leaving in the middle of the night. He also—he said…”

Spencer brushes hair away from your cheek with a thumb, stroking the high point in gentle passes as your words taper off. Now that he’s thinking about it, he did encounter a man in a dumpy robe standing in the courtyard and smoking a cigarette when he left you tangled in sheets and dozing contentedly to get his bag from the car. In fact, they rode back up to your floor in the elevator in mostly awkward silence. Spencer was sure his outfit told a story—shirt untucked and hastily buttoned only partway, no belt, shoes barely tied, duffel slung over his shoulder—he wasn’t really expecting to run into anyone at such an hour, to be honest, but he hadn’t particularly cared what this man thought of him, so it didn’t cross his mind again.

Now he remembers.

Long night, huh? I remember those days.

It was an inappropriate comment, but given his job he’s used to ignoring those. Mostly his mind had been preoccupied with the idea of returning to you, who gave him such a warm and sleepy welcome when he climbed carefully back into your arms several minutes later that it was like he’d never known anyone else at all.

Now he resents that he hadn’t said anything, he hates the idea that you spoke to this man and he said something to upset you and Spencer wasn’t there. Usually he tries not a judge a book by its cover (metaphorically, of course) but he’s been around enough bad men to know when he’s looking at one. Last night he hadn’t even been cognizant enough to realize they got off on the same floor.

“What did he say, angel?” Spencer whispers, incapable of being anything but soft with you at the moment. Even though he senses something a lot like a tide of preemptive anger rising in his chest, painted over with layers of anxiety and guilt. He should’ve found a way to stay with you this morning.

You sniffle and let your head fall again, forehead resting against his collar. Instinctively his hand slides to the back of your neck and even at the awkward angle he finds a way to press his lips to yours hair. “Can we talk about it later? I don’t feel good.”

If it’s making you this uncomfortable, Spencer really wants to know what passed between you and this neighbor. In fact, he’d be willing to bet a lot of your strange behavior this evening stems from something that occurred which you don’t feel comfortable telling him yet. But he manages to bite back anymore questions. He doesn’t want to make you feel interrogated.

“Yeah, you mentioned that,” he says eventually, kindly, hand tracing down the length of your back and up again. “Why don’t you feel good?”

He doesn’t miss the way you reach up to discreetly wipe your cheek. But he won’t make you talk about anything you don’t want to talk about until you’re ready, and it seems like you’re already having a rough day. Which is not what he wanted. This is so far from what he wanted for you. He’s cursing himself for how he handled this whole situation.

“Um, I just… I don’t know. I feel… bad. I’m sorry I’m being so weird.”

“You’re not being weird, honey. You had a hard day. You’re having a normal reaction to an abnormal set of circumstances.”

You sit up, sniffing and wiping your tears like you can just make the whole thing go away.

“No, I am. I am. It’s all okay now, right? So I don’t know why I feel like this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

He watches helplessly. “Nothing is wrong with you. We’ve… it’s been a big couple of days. Mostly good, but I think you’re probably really tired. Emotionally and physically.”

You bury your face in your hands and nod silently. He still feels like he’s shooting in the dark, but you’re not entirely comforted yet, and it’s killing him.

“Whatever you’re feeling is okay. If this is… about last night, or this morning, or something entirely different—regardless of what it’s about, you’re not going to be… in trouble with me if you’re having complicated feelings. And you can talk to me. But it doesn’t have to be right now. We don’t have to figure it out all at once, okay?”

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, and for a moment, his words sink into silence. When you do raise your head, nodding, the evidence of your discomfort is all over your face—reddened eyes, cheeks polished with wiped tears. But you take a deep breath and try to project whatever it is you think he wants to see.

The back of your hand is soft under his thumb as he sweeps it, as if he could draw forth more information that way. People speak when they’re ready.

“Is there anything I can do?” He tries, all ramped brow and soft spoken.

You’re looking at where he’s tracing swirls on your hand as you swallow and blink the last of your tears away.

“Um… you can say no, but—do you think it would be okay for you to maybe stay again tonight?”

Spencer sucks in a breath, painfully aware that he’s about to let you down.

“I… I haven’t been home in a week. I’ve been wearing this suit for two days straight and I don’t think I would want to share a bed with me again until I shower.” He watches you wilt and lifts a hand to stroke your hair. “But I do want to spend time with you… do you maybe want to come stay with me instead? No pressure—”

“Okay. Yes. Is that okay?”

Spencer’s brow knits. You seem even more enthused about the idea of going to his apartment, like now that the opportunity has presented itself you can’t wait to get out. Maybe you have some sort of black mold problem.

“Of course. Do you wanna grab a few things and then we can go?”

“Um—I also haven’t showered today. Do you mind waiting?”

“Sure. Or you could use mine. With supervision, this time.”

Spencer is attempting to make a joke about your unplanned (and unmoderated) stay at his apartment last week after he left—but looking at your face now he’s wondering if he touched a nerve.

“Like… one at a time? Or…”

He thought maybe you’d be more comfortable around him after last night—and it’s not like he hadn’t seen you naked before then, either.

“Do you wanna do it one at a time?” He asks gently.

There’s this sparkly sort of longing in your eyes that he’s seen before, but you tamp it down like always. You’re so cautious. About everything. Even the things you’re curious about. It’s sweet and a little sad.

“I’ve never… showered with anyone.”

The corner of Spencer’s mouth twitches as he pushes hair over your shoulder. “I know. You don’t have to. We could save like 100 gallons of water depending on how long your showers typically last, but—”

“Spencer—”

“Sorry, sorry—I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not trying to pressure you. You absolutely can take your own shower. You can go first so you get the hot water.”

“No,” you laugh, and it’s like a sparkling cloud of gold has settled around you, fractals bouncing off the shine of your cheeks and eyes—the sound of your laughter, the look of it, is such beautiful relief he can’t believe how good it feels, but it fades from you quickly. “It sounds… I think I want to, I just… I don’t wanna, like… do… anything.”

For a split second your veiled language mystifies him and then he realizes what you’re trying to say without saying. Something has changed since yesterday, when you brazenly referred to it as fucking, and today, when you can’t even say sex. He’s gotten as far as it being something your creepy neighbor said. Maybe. He needs to know what.

But that’s not the topic at hand.

“We don’t have to. I didn’t mean to imply that we would do anything like that. I don’t expect anything from you.”

You swallow.

“Okay. I wasn’t sure.”

About what?

He says your name. No response.

“Can you look at me, please?”

It takes you a moment, and your head raises like you might need some oil in your hinges, but eventually you manage. Spencer hopes the way he’s rubbing your leg is comforting.

“You know I’m never, ever going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, right?”

To his horror, your answer isn’t an immediate and resounding yes. Instead you look back down and cover his hand with your own, fiddling nervously with his fingers.

Eventually, you reply, “Yeah… I know. I just thought… I’m not sure. Maybe it’s supposed to be different now.”

“It doesn’t have to be. Nothing has to be different. We’re still doing everything on your schedule, okay? And as for the next few days, at least—I think it might be a good idea to take sex off the table altogether.”

Your eyes narrow and you hesitate. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want you worrying about it. And I don’t think it would feel good for you right now. I think there are things we need to talk about, but… we’ve probably tried enough for a while, hm?”

You give him a shy nod and hum your agreement. For a moment he lets his hand linger on your leg and then pulls it back.

“Okay. Do you want my help packing a bag, or should I wait out here?”

“You can wait. It should only take a minute.” You pause, halfway up to look pensive. “Um, Spencer—do you think it would be okay if maybe I… if I stayed tonight and tomorrow? I just—I wanna get out of here, for a bit.”

He frowns but doesn’t hesitate. “Of course. Can I ask why?”

“It’s just… suffocating sometimes,” you call as you turn and hurry down the hallway to the bedroom. “Feels like my neighbors are on top of me, like they’re… breathing down my neck, half the time.”

Sure, bigger apartments exist—but it’s not like you’re in a studio. And you’ve never mentioned feeling that way before. That bad feeling is starting to come back—like you’re not telling him something he needs to know. But is it worse to let you deal with it yourself until you’re ready to talk or to force it from you?

A few minutes later you return, a duffel of your own over your shoulder and full to bursting.

“So I’m an idiot. My phone was literally in the pocket of my jeans on the floor.” You drop the bag as you bend down by the door to pull on your favorite slippers. “Oh—I think I forgot my charger, can you grab it? It’s by my bed.”

Spencer of course obliges, and is secretly pleased to be in your room again, in the light this time, so he can see better. It’s sweet. The pictures on the walls, the plants and the knickknacks and the sticky notes scrawled with messy reminders on every surface and the sweater hanging over the back of a chair—the one you’d been wearing at the cafe all those months ago—it all feels so you. He wonders why the two of you don’t spend more time here.

He lets himself linger for only a minute before remembering his task, but as he reaches down to unplug your charger, whatever dopey smile he’d been wearing evaporates. The sheets have been stripped from your bed, and he can see why—there’s a striking stain of dried blood, and several surrounding dots, soaked into the mattress. Not much, but enough to make him feel horrendously guilty. He cringes, imagining what it must’ve been like to wake up all alone to nothing but your own blood. Poor girl. Of course he’d noticed some, last night when he was doing his best at cleaning you up, but it had been dark, and he was exhausted, and he hadn’t done enough.

“Where’d your sheets go, baby?” He asks once back by the front door with his own bag on his shoulder, setting a gentle hand on your lower back and holding out your charger for you. You jump slightly, and he makes circles on your back, wishing there was something he could do to settle you.

“Oh! They—they got ruined. I threw them out. It’s fine. I have others.”

So you didn’t have enough energy this morning to walk a few feet to your shower, but stripping your bed, getting dressed, and walking down to the trash chute at the end of the hall had been top of your priority list.

You swallow as he undoes the locks and holds the door open for you, and pretend like you’re not doing surveillance to either side as you stand in the hallway, locking your door again like you can’t get out of here fast enough.

Spencer casts a sidelong glance at you and wonders if you’re intentionally avoiding eye contact. He tries not to think like a profiler. He tries not to assign meaning to your actions, but he can’t help it. He can’t not notice.

He can’t not worry.

And he can’t not wonder what you’re not telling him.

part nine

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic

1K notes · View notes

giveafike · 7 months ago

Note

kinda obsessed with the prompt of ben x fem tennis reader being together for a lil while and being the cutest couple , breaking up bc the distance hit them too hard after two straight months of different tournaments/locations, then seeing each other for the first time at a 1000 tournament, going out to dinner with the same group of people and end up going back to bens hotel room to clear the air and obvs end up in bed together realising they’re gonna have to get thru the distance cos they can’t be without each other now 😭

TLDR: tennisplayerfem!reader and ben break up bc you can't handle being away and then surprise, you can't handle being not together. Losers.

Word count + info: 10k. Am I mentally ill? This is supposed to be a blurb.. Dialogue (angst, texts, calls, conversation).

Warnings + Content Ahead: SFW! Breakup and kinda mean stuff said (nothing physical description wise). Otherwise, it's all good! (i think)

Azzie Notes ✚: SHOOT ME IN THE HEAD. AM I OKAY??? 10K?? ON A BLURB?? idrk what angst is fr chat lmk if i did that one fr idk....im a LOVER girl ok IDK HOW TO DO THIS SAD SHIT - in saying that, was part of my dialogue in this lwky..loosely based off of my ex...........maybe...

I fear I loved this prompt so bad and like...I love to yap..so...

Socials + Updates: twitter ( @azziegivesafike) - feel free to follow and msg me about non requests there, I'll be posting life updates, story + req updates and spoilers/teasers alongside other things, so it'd be nice to have a community over there!

————————————————————————

Shattered - B.T.S.

In the beginning, being with Ben is the kind of whirlwind you've only seen in movies, a connection that feels so natural, yet thrillingly unexpected. Well, in hindsight, that might've been a lie. It wasn't exactly love at first sight, but instead, a slow, magnetic pull that drew you together, like the tension building in a long rally. You met on the circuit, both hungry, ambitious, and dedicated to your own success. But from the start, Ben had this way of getting past your disciplined, guarded exterior with that relentless charm of his.

He’s everywhere, it seems—posting highlights from your matches on his stories, sneaking your name into press conferences, tagging you in his silly “lazy Saturday” shots where your game is always playing in the background. He flirts shamelessly, flashing that grin across the court, his voice lifting over the crowd to make some cheeky comment that leaves you stifling laughter. Your friends see it before you do: Ben is crazy about you, and soon, so is everyone else.

He flirted shamelessly and relentlessly, everywhere and anywhere, often catching you off guard in ways that left you flustered despite your best efforts to stay cool and professional. With that, you started to look out for the way his eyes would find yours in a crowd while you sat in the stands during his matches or how he would nudge you at practice with that easy, casual touch like he’s done it a thousand times before; like you belong by his side.

Once, when he's asked in an interview if he’d dedicated his recent win to anyone, he grins and looks straight across the room, making everyone laugh. “There’s someone special right now, but no need to say names, she knows.”

It’s sweet, funny and more than a little bold. Later, when you called him out for it over one of your first late-night calls, he shrugged, entirely unapologetic, telling you with that stupid drawl of his, “What? Ain’t no point hidin’ it. The world knows who my lucky charm is.”

Soon, it was you reaching out for him, your hand slipping onto his arm, leaning against him during walkouts, letting your barriers fall. And every time he catches your eye, every time he manages to make you smile, he looks at you like he’s won the lottery. His heart stammers a little each time you shove him playfully or roll your eyes at his antics. Whether it was on the bench or during changeovers, Ben would rest his hand gently on your lower back, a touch that makes you feel, just for a moment, like you're the only two people in the world.

When the rare break in your schedules comes around, you steal hours together. You grab a coffee, turning a "quick run" into a day spent together and wander around a city you barely know, or stumble upon a hidden café with pastries too flowery for your tastes. He made everything feel easier, like no matter how intense life gets, you’ll always have that balance with him. Around Ben, you can be softer, and more vulnerable; he brings out a side of you that isn’t just about winning and competing but about laughing, sharing, and letting go.

People noticed the way you look at each other, the easy affection that passes between you, the more daring and intimate PDA, sharing kisses and lingering stares. Soon, fans were shipping you openly, posting photos of you courtside, or whispering to each other when you lean close and murmur something that makes him laugh. On tour, you’re one of those “it” couples, a little slice of joy in the relentless pace of your careers. And in those early days, you both believe that together, you can take on anything. In those early days, you believed you could take on anything together. You and Ben were partners, equals, and even in the midst of a gruelling season, there had always been time for him, always a reason to smile. It felt perfect, like a love story you had stumbled into but were both entirely committed to.

But that honeymoon phase comes crashing down real quick.

As seasons shift and tournaments stretch across continents, the cracks start to show. At first, it’s just a few hours difference, but then come the miles and oceans, and the texts dwindled, conversations cut short, replaced by more missed calls than made and vague apologies. You both had tried, in every way you knew how. But eventually, the memories weren’t enough to bridge the distance. You’d catch yourself staying up just to wait for his call after practice, only to fall asleep disappointed, staring at a dark screen. And every time you woke up to a hastily sent sorry, something came up text, it felt like another tiny fracture.

Ben wasn’t the only one caught up in the chaos of your schedules; you had your own demands, too. The strain went both ways. In an attempt to keep things alive, you’d push yourself to keep up with his time zone, adding another city to your Clock app, setting alarms accordingly to his lunch and dinner times, staying awake far too late, eyes heavy as you sat alone in your hotel room, scrolling through old photos just to feel closer to him. When the call finally did come, your voice was barely more than a whisper, tired and distant, and Ben couldn't bear the exhaustion in your tone, his heart aching as he hushed you to sleep, meaning neither of you would stay on long.

It all piled up slowly, almost imperceptibly, until the weight felt crushing. Conversations became one-sided, it’s like chasing the sun itself, moments of silence replacing the laughter that had once felt endless, and that spark, the one that made you feel unstoppable together, felt further away with every day that passed.

Then came the day of your match, a game that should have been easy, one you’d normally have breezed through. But you were dragging, exhaustion wrapping itself around your every heavy, drooping step, and somewhere in the depths of your mind, a bitter thought took root:

If only he cared.

You knew it wasn’t his fault, but still, the frustration boiled over. Would things have felt different if you weren’t so alone in this? If you didn’t have to wonder when, or if, he’d remember to call? If he scheduled calls to your time for once? If he could just postpone everything for 20, 20 measly minutes for you?

A ball zips right by you, snapping you back to reality.

Lying in your hotel room that night, you stared at the ceiling, replaying the best moments of your time together like an old movie reel. In those moments, it had felt perfect. You’d believed you could take on the world, side by side, partners in everything. But now, with miles and silence separating you, you wondered if those memories were all that was left of what you once had.

But even with that ache, even with the emptiness filling the room, one thing is clear as day: loving Ben, for all its messiness, for all the distance and loneliness, had never felt like a mistake but God, was it hard. You pondered on those same irritating thoughts that itched at you until your fingers found your phone and hit the FaceTime Call button. Part of you wanted him to not pick up, knowing that you had nothing kind or sweet to say, but a small part of you wanted to dish back what he deserved.

“Hey,” he greets, his voice tense, worn. His drawl feels distant like he’s talking to you from across an ocean.

“Hey.” You can feel the iciness in your voice, colder than you intended.

“Long day?” he asks, though his expression is already tense, wary.

“Yeah. Almost lost today,” you say flatly.

Ben’s gaze flicks down. “I saw the score,” he says, his voice cautious. “Guess it was a tough match, babe.”

“It shouldn’t have been,” you snap. “But maybe it’s hard to focus when I’m barely sleeping… or constantly waiting for a text that never comes.”

He blinks, his eyes narrowing. “So this is on me?” The familiar accent is a little rougher around the edges. “You’re losin’ matches ‘cause I’m not callin’ you enough? That’s what you’re sayin’?”

“Don’t play dumb, Ben. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about” You feel the bitterness twisting in your chest. ““You’re barely here, Ben. Half the time, I don’t even know if we’re still together or if we’re just two people sending pointless messages every few hours. Half the time, it feels like I’m talking to a ghost.”

He lets out a frustrated laugh, shaking his head. “You think it’s any easier for me? I’ve got my own stuff, my own schedule, darlin'. I’ve got my career to think about too, you know, this ain't just about you.”

Your jaw tightens. “Yeah, well, at least when I'm on the court, I don’t exactly have the luxury of tuning you out, Ben. I’m not the one who forgets to call after saying I would. I don’t have time for half-assed texts and waiting around for you to call when you feel like it.”

“Oh, don’t go there,” he mutters, rolling his eyes. “You know what it’s like. The fans, the interviews, the time spent on court-”

“Yeah, I get it, Ben. But last week, you bailed on a call to go sign autographs. Priorities, right?”

He takes a deep breath, visibly holding back. “C’mon, babe, you don’t mean that.”

But you press on, unable to stop yourself. “You’re too busy with whatever ‘big thing’ you have going on, right? Maybe if you cared enough to focus on your game instead of your ‘commitments,’ you wouldn’t have dropped that finals match. Just maybe.”

He flinches, his expression turning dark. “Oh, that's low from you, Y/N. You really wanna go there?”

“Yeah, I do,” you say, your voice unwavering.

He pauses, his face hardening. “If you were out here on the ATP tour, you’d understand how rough it really is. You wouldn't even get past a challenger. It ain’t the same league as the WTA.”

You laughed, a cold, bitter sound. “Oh, don’t even start with that. Rougher than the WTA? Is that supposed to make me feel better? Maybe come and join WTA then, you wouldn't manage it out here either, Ben.”

He snaps, his voice cutting like a whip. “You know how much I’m fightin’ to make a name for myself out here. Just ‘cause you got a few more shiny titles doesn’t mean you get to talk down to me like this.”

The sting of his words hits like a slap. Your face flushes, a mix of anger and hurt bubbling up. “So, that’s it? Just because I’ve actually earned my success, I’m some kind of… what? Nag?”

“I didn’t say that,” he shot back, voice tight, his eyes narrowing as he looked away. “But maybe you’re doin’ too much. Bein’ all… dramatic, blamin’ me for stuff I got no control over.”

“Right, okay, so I’m being dramatic,” you scoff, your voice edged with sarcasm. “I’m the one asking for too much because I want something real, something you clearly can’t give.”

He laughs, bitter and raw. “Maybe you just want too damn much.”

You feel the tears prickling behind your eyes, but you clench your jaw, holding yourself together by sheer force of will. Your voice trembles as you speak, the words thick with a pain you can’t contain. “I just want you to care, Ben, or at least pretend to care and make it believable. I want you to care enough to be here when it matters. But you’re so wrapped up in yourself, you don’t even see it.”

His face hardens, his jaw set, but his eyes hold a flicker of something unspoken. “You think I don’t care? I’m out here pushin’ myself every day, for us, for this future we’re supposed to be building 'n shit. But it’s like no matter what I do, it ain’t enough for you.”

A sharp knock sounds from his end, followed by muffled voices. He glances away, then back at you, irritation flaring in his eyes. “Look, I gotta go. Dad’s waitin’ on me; he already gave me an extra ten minutes to talk.”

You feel your heart twist, an ache of disappointment settling in. “Oh, of course,” you mutter, your voice dripping with bitterness. “Go ahead. I’m sure your training’s way more important than anything I have to say.”

He turns back, his eyes blazing with frustration. “Maybe it is right now,” he spits. “Talkin’ to you like this, all it’s doin’ is makin’ things worse. We're not getting anywhere like this-”

The words cut deeper than you expect, and you can barely hold back the surge of anger and heartbreak choking you. “Fine. Go, then. At least one of us can prioritise something.”

He scoffs, shaking his head as he looks away. “You’re bein’ unfair, 'n you know it.”

“Am I?” you whisper, your voice tight and choked. “Or am I just done waiting for you to show up?”

You stare at each other, an endless silence stretching between you, sharp and seething, words too heavy to be unsaid. Then, with a frustrated shake of his head, he mutters, “I can’t do this right now. I’ll talk to you later. When you’re not actin’ like this.”

Before you could respond, he hung up, his face disappearing from your screen, leaving you alone with nothing but the cold light of your phone. Your hands shook as you stared at the blank screen, tears finally spilling over.

With trembling fingers, you took a breath, letting a cold, steely calm settle over you. You typed out a simple, blunt message, leaving no room for second-guessing, no room for soft words or explanations. Just the truth, as raw as you felt.

“We’re done. I can’t do this anymore, Ben. I’m sorry.”

Your thumb lingered for a second before hitting “send,” and as soon as the message went through, you blocked him on every platform, cutting off any way for him to respond, to apologise, to convince you otherwise.

But as you tossed your phone aside, a crack appeared in the calm you’d forced on yourself. The tears came suddenly, your breath hitching as a tidal wave of heartbreak surged through you. You buried your face in your hands, pressing your palms against your eyes as if you could somehow contain the emotions clawing their way to the surface. You tried to stay quiet, muffling the sound in the dark, but the weight was too much, every sob raw, grieving and heavy, pouring out the frustration, the loneliness, and the love you’d tried so hard to salvage.

By the time your tears subsided, you felt utterly drained, hollowed out in a way that made everything around you feel distant and surreal. The city lights flickered outside your window, the glow indifferent to the storm that had torn through you. And in that quiet, broken moment, with only the shadows as company, you lay there, letting the exhaustion seep through your bones until sleep claimed you.

When sleep finally came, it was restless, fractured. You tossed and turned, flashes of memories from better days with Ben haunting you, the sound of his laugh, the way he’d smile, gummy and wide, his nose scrunching with that easy confidence. You woke up more exhausted than when you’d closed your eyes, feeling like you hadn’t rested at all. But you forced yourself out of bed, pushing yourself through your pre-game routine, your emotions locked away, frozen under layers of determination.

As you walked onto the court, the crowd buzzed with excitement, but you barely registered it. You were a storm, calm on the surface but seething underneath. Every shot you took was hard and brutal, the ball slicing through the air with an intensity that made your opponent flinch, the impact echoing through the stadium. You played as if your life depended on it, your body moving with sharp, lethal precision.

Your serves were relentless, your groundstrokes vicious, each one faster, sharper, as if each shot were a way to expel the anger and hurt still simmering in your chest. The crowd murmured, noticing the shift in your energy, the way you were pushing yourself, almost recklessly. A couple of times, your shots zipped past your opponent’s hand, barely missing, almost daring her to try and reach for it - "try me". You were untouchable, unstoppable, playing like you had something to prove.

But there was no smile, no hint of joy in your movements, solely mechanical. The usual lightness in your footwork was gone, replaced by a cold, ruthless efficiency. You’d already decided: this match was yours. You weren’t here to give an inch, weren’t here to let any lingering emotions cloud your focus. The crowd might have wanted excitement, but you were giving them precision, a display of control and fury that left no room for doubt.

You won, of course. Your opponent barely had a chance. But as you walked off the court, sweat trickling down your brow, fists clenched, you felt no thrill in the victory. Just the dull ache that lingered, a hollow space where your lightness, your smile, used to be. The heat of the court only made your head throb. The applause faded into background noise as you strode away, head high, shoulders tense. You’d won, but it felt like a hollow victory. You had no one to text after your game, anyone to call you baby - you had done it to yourself, were you really that desperate for a man to validate you? You were sick of feeling this way, sick of the exhaustion, the anger, the loneliness that clung to you even after everything you’d given today. At least, for now, you’d proven something, to yourself, to him, even if he’d never know, or care.

In the month that followed, you threw yourself harshly into your schedule, determined to erase any trace of him from your routine, your heart. Matches, training, travel, interviews, photoshoots, more matches, each day bled into the next, filled with an almost mechanical sense of purpose. If you weren’t on the court, you were working out, perfecting your strokes, spending hours on serves and footwork. Anything to exhaust yourself to stop the thoughts from lingering too long. Your routine was relentless, your focus razor-sharp.

But even in this frenzy, despite it all, reminders of him still slipped through. You’d scroll through social media, and every so often, an ATP post would pop up: Ben at a tournament, Ben celebrating a point, Ben grinning with that easy charm that used to make your heart ache. He looked different now. His curls were longer, spilling out from over his sweaty headband, and his frame had hardened, leaner, with muscle that seemed to outline his strength in sharper lines. His chubby cheeks had slimmed down into something harder, replaced by the quiet confidence of someone who’d grown, adapted, maybe even suffered a little.

And you could almost feel it, the quaking, gaping pain of missing him, but you’d swallow it back down, pull yourself together, and look away.

Your own press conferences became something else entirely. You were more composed, a bit sharper with your words, confident in a way you hadn’t been before. Where you used to smile shyly or laugh softly, now you leaned in with humour, a hint of flirtation, your charm more self-assured. You handled reporters’ questions deftly, especially the ones that tried to pry about Ben. The same questions came up over and over:

“So, do you still keep in touch with Ben?”

Each time, you’d respond with a practised, cool smile. “Right now, I’ve got all the support I need from my team and the people I have with me.” You’d turn the conversation to your work, your skill, and your grind on the court, dismissing the topic with subtle elegance, always steering it back to your goals, your game, and your people.

Yet, away from the cameras, the facade cracked, if only slightly. Sometimes, after a long match or a particularly brutal day of training, you’d find yourself scrolling through your old photos or feeling tears prickling your eyes, this messy situation taking a bigger toll than you would like to admit.

In his hotel room, Ben watched your interviews alone, a faint crease between his brows. There you were, in all your brilliance, flashing a confident smile at the camera, handling the press with a wit and boldness that felt both familiar and strange. He could see the way you’d grown, the way you’d steeled yourself, and it stirred something in him, a pang he couldn’t ignore. It was like watching someone he knew intimately and yet… not at all. The way you answered questions about him, and your subtle redirection to your career and team, it stung. Maybe it was petty, but he missed the way you used to talk about him with such pride, with that lovestruck glow. He loved seeing how shy you would get at the sheer mention of his name. Your hair was different, your skin glowing, you had more confidence, even if it came off a bit cocky but he still felt like you were his, just as much as he was yours. Ben didn’t know how to reach out, didn’t know what he’d even say. There was a distance now, both physical and emotional, that seemed impossible to bridge. He’d scroll through his own phone sometimes, finding old messages, ones before distance got the better of you both, photos of the two of you, half-written scripts in his Notes app he couldn’t bring himself to deliver. If he flew out tonight to you, what would he even do after? He’d think of calling you, of reaching out somehow, but the memory of your last fight, the bitterness in your voice, the way you’d shut him out… it held him back.

One evening, as you sat alone in the players' lounge, your forehead pressed against the back of the sofa, you felt that familiar ache pulse through you, the one that came every time you thought of him. It was then that Coco came by, her familiar, steady presence filling the room as she settled down across from you, cross-legged on the seat in front of you. Over the past year, it was Ben that introduced you but, you and Coco had grown even closer, bound not just by shared victories and losses but by the pressures only someone like her could truly understand.

Coco tilted her head, her gaze warm but unwavering. “Alright,” she said, cutting through the silence. “What’s really going on? Are you… over him?”

You exhaled slowly, running a hand through your hair as you tried to gather your thoughts. “I wish I could say yes,” you murmured. “I’ve tried. I’ve tried to move on, focus on the game, on everything else, but… he’s still everywhere. Even when I’m doing well, even when I’m focused, it’s like… something’s missing.” Your voice dropped to barely a whisper. “It’s like I can’t fully shake him.”

Coco nodded, her expression both sympathetic and knowing. “I get it. You two had something real, something intense. But maybe this time apart is what you both need. I mean, look at you. You’re stronger now, on and off the court. Maybe that’s part of this whole journey, you know?”

You managed a faint smile, though your heart still felt heavy. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. It just… doesn’t always feel like enough.”

She reached out, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Trust me. If he’s the right guy, he’ll figure it out, too. Until then? Focus on your game. Focus on you.”

Her words stayed with you, offering a small but steady comfort in the days that followed. You have been throwing yourself into training, pouring everything into the sport, trying to find solace in each match and each moment of growth. Somewhere out there, he was doing the same, and maybe, just maybe, this was what was best.

But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t completely smother the small spark of hope, that someday, somehow, your paths might cross again.

It was similar in the men’s locker room, Ben slumped forward on the bench, his elbows propped on his knees as he stared blankly at the floor, holding an uncapped bottle of water. Frances Tiafoe, who’d been eyeing him from across the room, exchanged a knowing glance with Taylor Fritz before making his way over.

“Alright, bro, spill it,” Frances said, tossing a towel over his shoulder as he leaned in. “You’ve been lookin’ like you’re living in some sad dog for weeks.”

Ben gave him a sidelong glance. “There’s nothin’ to talk about.”

Taylor rolled his eyes as he joined them, settling down on the other side of Ben. “Come on, man. We’re not blind. Ever since she blocked you, you’ve been… different.”

Ben scoffed, looking away, his voice low. “She didn’t just block me, man. She… she threw down, real hard. Said some things I thought she’d never say.”

Frances let out a low whistle. “Was that rough, huh?”

“Yeah,” Ben said, rubbing a hand over his face, his frustration mingling with regret. “It all just blew up. We were on a call, talkin’ like usual, and suddenly… it was like everything we hadn’t said just came out. She starts throwin’ things at me about how I’m not there, like… like I don’t care enough or not workin' hard enough. And it pissed me off, you know? I work just as hard, and it’s not like I’m sittin’ around, right?”

Taylor nodded, leaning back against the lockers. “So, what’d you do?”

Ben shrugged, his expression pained. “I pushed back, told her she couldn’t keep actin’ like she’s the only one workin’ for this. Told her ATP is just as tough, maybe even more competitive. Didn’t mean it that way, but she took it wrong. She thought I was tryin’ to downplay her game.”

Frances shook his head, giving Ben a sympathetic look. “Man, she must’ve felt hurt.”

“Yeah,” Ben muttered, a bitter laugh escaping him. “And next thing I know, I get this text. ‘This isn’t workin', we’re done.’ Blocked me on everything. Cold as ice, man. It’s like she flipped a switch, just… shut me out completely, as easy as shuttin' a door.”

Frances gave him a gentle nudge. “You still care about her?”

Ben’s gaze softened, a faint smile breaking through his frustration. “Yeah, man. She’s… she’s my girl. Even if she’s not my girl right now, you know?”

Taylor chuckled, nodding. “So, what’re you gonna do about it? Sit around here moping, or actually make a move?”

Ben sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “What am I supposed to do? She’s made it pretty clear she’s done with me.”

Frances grinned, crossing his arms. “Bro, just ‘cause she blocked you and sent a text after you called her game easy, doesn’t mean it’s over. She’s mad, yeah, but she’s probably missin’ you just as much. You just gotta show her you’re willin’ to do what it takes.”

Taylor nodded in agreement, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “And it doesn’t have to be some big romantic gesture, man. Sometimes, it’s the small things. Something to let her know you’re still thinkin’ of her, still care. You know where we're at next, right?”

Ben chuckled, shaking his head. “And do what? Just show up at her hotel room? She’s liable to call cops on my ass for that shit, bro.”

Frances laughed, shrugging. “So what? At least she’ll know you tried! Don't go doin' that though. Look, I’ve been with my girl for years now, and sometimes, you gotta be willing to look like a fool to show her you care.”

Ben leaned back, their words sinking in. He could still feel the sting of the things she’d said, the accusations she’d thrown at him like he didn’t care, didn’t work just as hard. But he couldn’t deny that he’d made mistakes, too. He’d let his pride get in the way, said things he regretted, and let the frustration of it all get the better of him.

Frances nudged him again, his grin widening. “Think about it, man. You got two choices: sit here, feeling sorry for yourself until she finds some other guy, or actually do something about it and get her back, even if that means standing in the rain with a fuckin' speaker.”

Ben finally cracked a smile, looking between his friends. “Y’all are ridiculous.”

“Hey, maybe,” Taylor said with a shrug. “But at least we got girlfriends. And you? You got a chance to get yours back. Just gotta decide if she’s worth it.”

Ben sat there, mulling over their words as a new determination started to burn within him. Maybe he didn’t have all the answers, and maybe there was a lot he’d have to figure out. But if there was even a chance to fix things, to bridge that gap that felt so wide, he wasn’t about to let his pride hold him back.

As he left the locker room that night, he felt a resolve solidify within him. He’d find a way to reach out, to let her know that no matter how far apart they were, she was still the one he wanted. Because when it came down to it, she was worth every bit of the fight.

A week went by before a 1000 game flew in, and both ATP and WTA were present if not, nearby for the games. You couldn't care less what was at stake, anything was a win if it kept you occupied. The courts were almost empty, shadows lengthening as the sun beamed high above. You bounced the ball steadily, the rhythm calm, your focus laser-sharp. The only sounds were the muted thud of your shoes on the court, and your breath falling into sync with the beat of your earbuds. Nothing but you, the court, and the quiet.

But then, that voice broke through.

"Aw, c'mon, man!" A laugh, deep and full of that unmistakable Southern drawl. Your grip faltered, the ball hovering mid-toss. That laugh, it was a sound you hadn’t let yourself think about for months, one that held too much of him.

Ben.

Your pulse jolted, the memories flooding back, warmth and bitterness tangled in the knots of your chest. You gritted your teeth, tossing the ball high before slamming it against the court, the crack of impact sharp in the quiet. It almost felt satisfying, like you could obliterate the tension he brought, shatter it with sheer force.

Almost.

You readied another serve, the ball bouncing harder than necessary as you forced yourself not to look. But you could feel his gaze, that familiar weight of his eyes lingering on you. The pull was magnetic, almost maddening, and despite every ounce of resolve you’d built up, your gaze betrayed you, slipping over to catch a glimpse of him.

Ben, laughing with Taylor, curls tousled longer than before, his hoodie slung carelessly over those familiar, ridiculous short shorts. The same hoodie you'd worn too many times to count, drowning in its warmth during late-night snack runs and lazy Sundays. The sight tugged painfully, a cruel reminder of the little things you’d pushed down, tried to forget.

He caught you looking, and his laughter faded, his gaze holding yours for just a second too long. You gripped the ball tighter, the ache settling heavy, and forced yourself to turn away, channelling the flurry of memories into another sharp serve, a fierce crack reverberating across the court. You didn’t look back again.

Hours later, your body was tired, your mind a bit clearer. You were scrolling through your phone in the lounge, zoning out, when Coco dropped down beside you with that familiar, mischievous grin.

"Hey, you!" She nudged you, hands on her hips.

You eyed her warily. "What’s up, Coco? Awfully perky for...5:30p.m."

“We’re having dinner tonight. Big group. Wanna come?” Her tone was casual, a little too casual.

Your guard went up immediately as you dropped your phone to your lap. “Who’s ‘we all’?”

Coco shrugged, twirling a loose curl around her finger. “Me, Frances, Arthur… maybe another WTA girl or two. Just a fun little dinner. Nothing formal.”

You narrowed your eyes, reading the glint of mischief in hers. "Coco, don’t mess with me. He's not gonna be there, right?"

She tilted her head, pretending to look innocent, but the sly smile gave her away. "Well… he might show up, but that's on his own accord. I didn't mention anything to Ben and it’s not like anyone’s setting anything up! It’s just dinner."

Your stomach twisted, a sigh slipping from your lips as you looked away. “I don’t think so. Not after… everything.” Your voice softened the weight of old arguments and unsaid things hanging between the words.

Coco’s face softened, her hand finding your shoulder. “Look, I’m not saying you have to sit next to him or anything. It’s a big table. You can stay on the opposite end and ignore him if that’s what you need. But everyone misses you, it’s been ages since we all got together. We all need to see your pretty face off the court too, ya know?”

You hesitated, rolling your eyes, the ache of missing them settling somewhere deep, the sense of family you hadn’t felt in months tugging at you. After a long pause, you finally nodded, rolling your shoulders back as if bracing for a match. “Fine. But I’m serious, Coco, no funny business. If he starts anything, I’m out.”

Coco grinned, throwing her arm around you. “Girl, trust me. If anything, you’ll be giving him the funny looks. Just friends, no drama. Now, let’s go get you out of those sweats.”

Meanwhile, in the locker room across the court, Ben was doing his best to act indifferent as Frances nudged him for the third time.

"C'mon, man!" Frances said, leaning against the lockers with a knowing grin. "So you are coming to this dinner tonight, right? Don't make me beg again, I'll start singing.”

Ben tried to play it cool, leaning back with his arms crossed. “I don’t know, man. You really think it’s a good idea?”

Frances rolled his eyes. “Look, you’ve been moping for months. She’s not gonna make a scene in public, and especially not with all of us, and who knows? Maybe she’ll talk to you, be all civil. It’s worth a shot.”

Ben let out a huff, rubbing the back of his neck. “Civil? You remember the last time we spoke, right? She has me blocked on everything.”

Taylor, stretching nearby, smirked and chimed in. “Man, you got nothin’ to lose. At the very least, you’ll see her. I saw how you were after you caught a glimpse of her training earlier. Besides, Frances and Coco will keep her from killin’ you.”

“Kay, thanks,” Ben muttered, though a flicker of hope sparked under the sarcasm. He didn’t want to admit it, but he couldn’t shake the longing to see her again, to maybe fix even a sliver of what had been broken.

Taylor nudged him, grinning. “Hey, listen, if I wasn’t taking Morgan out tonight, I’d be there just for moral support. But hey, maybe next time it’ll be a double date. Me, you, Morgan and your soon-to-be girlfriend, just like old times.”

Ben shook his head, the thought both terrifying and oddly thrilling. “You’re jokin’, right? She’d probably throw her drink at me before she’d sit through a double date.”

“Only if you act like an idiot,” Frances pointed out, laughing. “Just be yourself, man. You can handle the heat on the court, you can handle this. And maybe tonight’ll be the thing that finally breaks the ice.”

Ben sighed, running a hand over his face before finally surrendering. “Alright, alright. Fine. I’ll go. But Frances, don’t expect me to be all… chatty.”

Frances clapped him on the back, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. “Yeah, you say that now. But I know how you get around her, man. Just don’t chicken out. Remember, we got your back.”

Ben couldn’t help but smile nervously, feeling a strange mix of dread and anticipation tighten in his chest. He wasn’t sure if this dinner would be a chance at redemption or just a painful reminder of how far they’d drifted, but one thing was clear, he was tired of hiding from whatever was left between them.

You walk into the restaurant and let Coco lead you to a long table, feeling an odd mix of nerves and determination fluttering in your stomach. Your outfit is cute but simple, just a sweater and leggings; just enough effort to feel put together without trying too hard. You take a seat between Coco and Arthur Fils, with Frances across from you. There’s an empty chair across from Arthur, and for some reason, that empty space makes your heart beat a little faster, feeling torn between wanting and avoiding Ben there.

As everyone settles in, you catch Coco’s eye and mutter, “Please tell me he’s not actually coming.” She just shrugs with an easy smile.

Moments later, as the group banters along, about to order drinks, Ben strolls in, catching you entirely off-guard. He’s slightly out of breath, apologising to the group with that familiar grin, explaining he’s late because he’d just finished showering after practice. You can’t help it, you nudge Coco under the table, whispering through gritted teeth, a frustrated, “Great.”

Coco just gives him a casual greeting, and you force yourself to turn back to the table, focusing your attention on ordering a glass of wine, pretending not to notice him as he takes that empty seat across from Arthur, just barely within your view, diagonally. But as he sits down, you feel his eyes on you, and for a brief moment, you glance up and catch him staring, his face almost dazed.

You’re caught off-guard by the look in his eyes. His breath seems to hitch, his big brown eyes wide and you can see a faint blush creeping up his neck as he stares at you, almost like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. There’s a softness in his expression that you weren’t prepared for, a kind of awe that makes your stomach twist with memories and longing. But just as quickly, you look away, turning your attention to your wine as Frances elbows Ben with a teasing hiss, “Be normal, man.”

Throughout the night, you manage to keep to yourself, mostly talking to the other WTA players or Arthur whenever he cracks a joke. You keep Ben at the edge of your vision, resolute in ignoring the way his gaze keeps drifting back to you.

Every once in a while, Ben attempts to draw you into the conversation, maybe a lighthearted comment or a direct question, but each time, you meet his gaze with a steely look, making it clear with just one glance that you’re not interested. When he tries again, you let your eyes meet his for a moment, long enough to show him you’re serious before turning away, cutting off his effort entirely, almost to say "not interested". Across the table, Frances raises his brows, murmuring with a barely hidden smirk, “Damn, she is good at this,” as Ben slouches slightly, clearly trying not to look embarrassed.

As dinner winds down, the plates are cleared away, and you excuse yourself to the bathroom, needing a moment alone. Inside, you take a deep breath, facing yourself in the mirror. You’d been bracing yourself for tonight, but nothing quite prepared you for how it would feel to see him sitting right there, looking at you with those big sweet brown eyes and a pout, filled with that same soft pleading that used to make you melt.

But tonight, all it did was remind you of those late nights waiting by your phone, checking it over and over for messages that came slower and slower until they just…stopped. It reminds you of the countless hours wondering if you mattered as much as you thought you did, replaying his empty promises and half-hearted reassurances that seemed to fade with each passing day. He couldn't expect you to take him back with a pout and some half-assed joke. But damn, was it a good attempt, he knew how to make you crumble, even if it wasn't his sole intention.

You force yourself to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear as you look in the bathroom mirror examining yourself with a sigh, applying a bit of lip balm with fingers that tremble just slightly. Anything to distract yourself, to remind yourself that you’re strong enough to face this without breaking, reminding yourself to keep that mask on. You straighten your posture, determined to push all those memories back down where they belong, buried.

But just as you step out of the bathroom, Ben is standing right there, leaning against the wall as if he’d been waiting for you. His eyes soften the moment they meet yours, and he opens his mouth, his voice just a whisper. “Can we…talk? Just the two of us?”

The look he gives you, hopeful, no, desperate, stirs something deep inside you, and you clench your jaw, wanting to say no, wanting to walk away without a second thought. But as much as you’d like to ignore it, part of you still aches for some kind of closure, maybe even just one honest conversation.

With a reluctant sigh, you nod. “Fine. Outside.”

As you head out the restaurant’s door, you quickly fire off a text to Coco:

me n Ben talking outside. brb.

You stuff your phone back into your bag, clutching it tightly to your shoulder as you step into the cool night air. Wrapping your arms under your chest, you try to keep yourself shielded from more than just the chilling breeze.

Ben falls into step beside you, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. There’s a moment of silence as you both find your footing, the quiet thick with everything that’s been left unsaid. You glance sideways, catching him opening his mouth like he’s about to say something, only to close it, his shoulders shifting awkwardly.

“So… how’s the tournament going for you?” he starts, his tone casual, a little too casual.

You blink, trying not to roll your eyes, feeling the irritation growing. Really? But you bite back and just sternly say, “Ben.”

He rubs the back of his neck, glancing up at the streetlights overhead. “Sorry, yeah, that was- uh, okay.” He lets out a breath and shuffles closer, his voice almost a murmur. “I just… I wanna make this right. Another chance- Just thought maybe… you know, talkin’ would be easier if…”

“Ben, stop.” You sigh, tightening your grip on your bag strap. “Stop being weird. Just… just say what you have to say, and let’s get this over with. Let's not make this longer than it needs to be, I've got shit to do tomorrow.”

He glances at you, brows knitting together. For a second, he looks almost frustrated, like he’s holding back something sharper, something rougher. But he lets it pass, letting out a long, resigned breath. “Fine. I’ll just ask one thing.”

You arch an eyebrow, scepticism thick in your voice. “One question. Shoot.”

His voice comes out softer, edged with a hesitant curiosity as if he knows it’s a stupid question but can’t help but ask. “What hotel you stayin’ at?”

You let out a dry chuckle, shaking your head. “The Merrion.”

His eyes widen slightly, a small, stupid smile breaking on his face. “No way… me too.”

You sigh, looking up at the night sky, feeling the inevitability of whatever this night is becoming. Of course, he’s at the same hotel. Only Ben could make the universe align like this. And only Ben would think of a stupid question like that. He shifts his weight, stepping closer, his gaze steady.

“Look,” he starts, “it’s just a short walk back, twenty minutes or so. Just… give me that time. Just enough to walk back. Let me talk. And then you can go to your room and go to bed. How 'bout it?”

There’s a hopeful edge in his voice that you can’t ignore, and for a moment, your resolve falters. It’s ridiculous, this is exactly the sort of thing he would come up with, some half-baked plan to get you to keep listening, to keep him around just a little longer. You want to roll your eyes, to brush him off, but something about the way he’s looking at you, those earnest, brown eyes so damn full of longing, makes you sigh.

“Fine,” you mutter. “But if you get weird again, I’m out. No small talk, you know how much I hate it.”

A small grin creeps onto his face, and he falls into step beside you, a little closer than necessary, his arm brushing against yours as you start down the quiet street. For a minute, he doesn’t say anything, just walks alongside you, letting the silence settle around you both. But then, in that familiar southern drawl, his voice comes softer.

“Y’know, I've been thinkin’ ‘bout us a lot… probably more than I should.”

You keep your eyes on the sidewalk ahead, willing yourself to stay unmoved. “And?”

He swallows, his gaze tracing your profile, softening with each word. “I messed up,” he admits. “I know I did. I shoulda… been there more, answered more, I dunno. Shoulda been better at handlin’ it.”

You nod slightly, keeping your face blank. “Mhm, you should've.”

There’s a flicker of frustration in his expression, but he doesn’t let it throw him off. “You think I didn’t feel it too? That whole time, it felt like- hell, like I was losin’ you, like somethin’ was slippin’ right outta my hands, and I couldn’t do nothin’ to stop it.”

You feel the tension in your shoulders loosen just a fraction, though you keep your arms folded as a kind of armour. His words settle into the silence, raw and rough, and you can feel him glancing over, waiting for some kind of response. But you keep your gaze forward, biting back the little stirrings of emotion that are beginning to creep in.

He keeps talking, voice low and steady, drawing you in without giving you a chance to look away. “I’m not tryin’ to make excuses, alright? I know I coulda tried harder. But it’s like… the more I tried, the harder it got. The distance, the time zones, the schedules… it all just made me feel like I couldn’t keep up. And I just didn't know how to juggle it and that's my fault.”

You shake your head slightly, finally glancing over at him, the faintest of smirks tugging at the corner of your mouth. “So this is your way of apologising?”

He laughs, a little sheepish. “Guess I’m not real good at it, huh?” He nudges you with his shoulder, a familiar, easy gesture that makes your arms slowly loosen. His hand brushes your arm, just for a second, and a warmth blooms where his fingers graze your skin as if your body’s memory of him can’t help but respond.

“Look,” he says, his voice dipping softer, “I just… I miss you so much. Like hell.”

The honesty in his tone hits you hard, unravelling the cold exterior you’ve worked so hard to keep up. He keeps his eyes on you, watching your face carefully as if gauging your reaction. You feel your resolve slipping even more, your arms slowly falling to your sides, your heart aching as you fight against the wave of warmth that’s threatening to break through.

“Ben��” you start, barely a whisper, but you don’t know what to say, feeling torn.

He moves a little closer, his eyes wide, pleading, like he’s trying to hold onto every inch of you he can. “I know I messed up, okay? But I don’t wanna lose you. Not for good. Please, Y/N. Give me one more chance, you won't regret it 'n if I fuck up bad, you can do whatever, however; I deserve it but please. Just one more chance.”

You press your lips tight together, feeling your heart tighten as his words sink in, as he stands there looking at you with that same vulnerability you’d once fallen in love with. For a second, you forget the hurt, the sleepless nights, and you’re left with just him, the version of him that’s open, sincere, the Ben you’d once held so close.

The walk to the hotel stretches out as he keeps talking, spilling out and laying his heart bare with that easy, boyish charm that only he can pull off, and little by little, you feel your icy exterior start to melt. He talks about his time away from you, how he admired you from videos, watched highlight reels, his endless hours at night going through photos and texts; the whole lot. He cracks a joke, and despite yourself, you smile, trying to hide it but failing. He nudges you again, grinning as he sees the hint of laughter breaking through your guard.

He apologises over and over, more earnestly each time, his voice steady and low, and you can hear the regret, the guilt, the need to make things right. By the time you reach the hotel entrance, you’re feeling something dangerously close to hope, your heart betraying you, making it harder and harder to keep up the facade.

You glance over at him, catching the way his eyes soften as he looks at you as if you’re the only thing he can see. He’s staring, the blush from earlier creeping back up his neck, and when his hand brushes yours one last time, you don’t pull away.

You stand just outside the hotel, a faint chill brushing past as the streetlights cast a warm glow around you. You shift on your feet, glancing up at him, your eyes soft but determined.

“Can I talk?” you ask, breaking the quiet, your voice barely above a whisper. The first thing you had actually said this entire time.

Ben raises an eyebrow, leaning in with a playful smirk. “Talk? What else have we been doin’ for the last twenty minutes, girl?”

You roll your eyes and reach out to smack his arm, earning a chuckle from him. “Fine then. Can we go up to your room?” you add, a small, daring smile tugging at your lips.

Ben’s eyebrow quirks higher. “My room, huh?” His gaze narrows, teasing you with that familiar glint. “What exactly ya got planned, sweetheart?”

You swat him again, harder this time, and he laughs, raising his hands in mock defence. But then you drop the smile, your voice softer. “I wanna talk about what I did, Ben. I messed up too.”

The teasing fades from his expression as he studies your face, searching. After a pause, he nods and gestures toward the lobby. “Alright, then. Let’s go talk.”

In the elevator, silence hangs thick in the air, tension as familiar as it is unspoken. You don't even notice, spending your time stilling your breath and running through everything you want to apologise for. When you reach his room, you head over to the small couch by the window and settle in, tucking your legs under you and giving him a steady look.

“Ya gettin’ comfortable already?” he jokes, leaning against the wall, his eyes dancing with that old spark that makes you ache.

You try not to smile, steeling yourself for your confessional. “Can you be serious for a minute?”

His smile fades as he walks over, sitting across from you, his gaze intense and focused. You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of everything you’ve held back.

“I shouldn’t have put so many expectations on you,” you begin, your voice wavering. “You’ve got your own life, your own competitions, your own dreams. All this constant travelling, the different time zones… it’s not fair to expect you to be there every time I needed you at the drop of a hat. You get burnt out too- God. I never even asked how you were before I'd launch into my own day.”

You bite your lip, blinking back tears as they start to blur your vision. “I should’ve known better. I should’ve been more understanding, given you more grace.” Your voice catches, barely a whisper now. “And what I said… on that call… it was cruel, Ben. I was mean and unfair, and you didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve any of it. At all. I wouldn't want myself back after all I had said and done.”

As a tear slips down your cheek, Ben’s face softens, and he reaches out without hesitation, his hands cupping your face as he brushes the tear away. His thumb lingers on your skin, his gaze is unwavering, and then he leans forward, pressing the gentlest kiss to your temple, another to your forehead, and a final one at the crown of your head, his hand resting tenderly against your hair.

You let out a shuddered breath, your hands covering his as you finally let everything pour out. “I miss you so much,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I miss everything about you… the way you laugh, your ridiculous voice…” Another tear rolls down, and you don’t try to hold back. “I miss the way you’d talk about cars or food for ages, and you’d make everything feel so normal, even when my life was a mess. Without you, it’s like this haze I can’t shake. I just… I miss you. I barely recognise myself these days.”

Your body shakes with the sobs you’ve tried so hard to bury, and Ben doesn’t hesitate. He pulls you close, wrapping you in his arms like he could shield you from all the pain, all the regret. He holds you there, one hand smoothing over your hair, his lips pressing soft, tender kisses to your forehead and cheeks, murmuring gentle words against your skin.

“S’all right, darlin’,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m here. I’m right here with you.”

You cling to him, burying your face into the crook of his neck, as his hands trace soothing circles along your back. Your sobs gradually quiet, but your breaths are still shaky, each exhale unsteady.

“I’m so sorry, Ben,” you manage, voice barely audible.

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Hey now,” he murmurs, his tone warm and grounding. “We both made mistakes. Ain’t just on you, alright? Takes two to mess up, but it takes two to fix it too. We can fix, can't we?”

You nod, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, feeling a little of the weight lift, softened by his words.

Ben tilts your head to hold your gaze, his own eyes glassy. “Can’t tell ya how many times I thought about callin’ ya or flying to ya,” he admits, his voice low. “How many times I’d pull up your name, wonderin’ what you’d say if I told ya all the things I wished I’d said. But I was… hell, I was scared, darlin’. Thought maybe I’d screwed up too bad, and you’d moved on.”

You shake your head, a small, breathy laugh escaping. “I couldn’t...I could never.”

He strokes your hair gently, his lips brushing your forehead once more. “Guess we’re both a couple of fools then, huh?”

You laugh softly, the sound wet and trembling as he pulls you back into his arms. You lean into him, letting yourself feel the warmth of his embrace, the steady beat of his heart, grounding you. Wrapped in the quiet, tangled together, you both hold on a little tighter, feeling the rawness of your honesty and the comfort of finally, finally being close again. In the safety of his arms, you feel, for the first time in so long, a sense of peace, letting the unspoken words settle around you like a quiet promise.

Ben’s hand rests on your cheek, his thumb tracing small circles as he learns your face all over again, making your heart flutter. His fingers move slowly, grazing down to your jaw, then up again, threading into your hair. You let your eyes close for a moment, his gentle touch working its way through the tension of the night, and a small, contented sigh escapes you. For the first time in weeks, you feel relaxed and content.

“Gettin’ comfortable, huh?” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, though there’s a warmth in his eyes that wasn’t there before. He leans in, giving one final push to a stray strand of your hair before tilting his head toward the bed across the room. “C’mon, darlin’. This couch is barely holdin’ us together.”

You hesitate, but Ben’s already moving, holding out his hand as he stands up. His grip is strong, guiding you as you follow him to the bed, and he lets out a soft chuckle as you settle beside him. His arm drapes around you, pulling you close as you lean into him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against you. The warmth is so consuming, cocooning you immediately.

Ben smiles down at you, a playful glint in his eye, and as his fingers find your hair again, he starts twirling a strand between his fingers. “So,” he murmurs, resting his cheek on the top of your head, “ya still gonna keep me blocked, huh?”

You roll your eyes, smirking. “Fine,” you reply, unlocking your phone with a playful huff. You find his name, well, technically his new contact name since you’d deleted him in a fit of anger, and type a single white heart emoji, pressing send.

The vibration of his phone buzzes beside him, and he pulls it out with a grin, holding up the glowing screen. “There it is. Knew ya couldn’t resist me,” he says, laughing as he pulls you in close as he kisses your temple.

But just as you relax against him, you notice a missed notification. It’s a text from Coco, her reply to your earlier message asking where she’d disappeared to after dinner. You hesitate, then, instead of texting back, you tap the Facetime icon, feeling a strange urge to share this quiet moment, finding words couldn't suffice, nor were you in the mood to type out a lengthy paragraph.

The call connects, and Coco’s face appears, a gasp escaping her as she spots you two tangled up in Ben’s bed, nestled together with his arm around you.

“Oh my god! Yes!” she cheers, loud enough to make Ben chuckle. You hear laughter and cheers in the background too, and Coco turns the camera, revealing the whole dinner table watching with knowing smiles.

"Coco, this was a set-up plan, huh?" you giggle as you see the entire friend group on the other end.

"Somewhat, but blame Morgan and Taylor, not me. They did all that," she throws the blame as she points the camera over to them. Frances, Morgan and Taylor wave and Frances yells “Look at Ben! Already got her in bed, huh?”

Ben rolls his eyes, but a faint blush colours his cheeks. He pulls you closer, his hand resting protectively around your shoulders as he grins.

“Hey now,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “This one’s special. Ain’t like any other. My lucky charm.”

You feel your heart skip a beat at his words, and you’re so focused on him that you barely notice Coco and the others making gagging noises before Ben reaches out, ending the call on your phone with a smirk. Then he turns back to you, his eyes soft, filled with something that feels dangerously like forever.

He leans in, his lips finding yours in a kiss that’s slow and tender, each second lingering with quiet promises. And in the warmth of his arms, your heart finally feels at home, exactly where it belongs.

#azzie asks #ben shelton #benshelton #ben shelton x reader #atp tennis

240 notes · View notes

paucubarsisimp · 2 months ago

Note

Hiii, girl! How you doin’?

I was wondering if you could write this for me? I’d love a story with a bit of angst…🙏

The reader has always been super talented with music, but barely anyone knows. After ending things with Pedri (though, honestly, it never even really started) she tries to avoid him. But she ends up going to a mutual friend’s birthday party… and surprise, he’s there too. During the party, a live band needs a female voice, and one of her friends, already hyped, calls her up to sing. The song? Fool’s Gold by One Direction, a perfect match for her story with Pedri. As she sings, their eyes meet, and the tension grows. Did he get the message?

Something like this! I’d LOVE to read a story with this vibe. You write so well 💖, do you think you could make this happen?

fool’s gold

pairing: pedri x reader

summary: in which fool’s gold is the perfect song to describe you and pedri

warnings: none

tagged: @barcapix, @universefcb, @nngkay, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, lmk if you want to be added to the taglist!

it’s funny how things always seem to work out in the most unexpected ways. you promised yourself you’d avoid him at all costs. it had been weeks since things ended with pedri, and while the relationship had barely started—just a few tentative dates, some awkward conversations—it still stung. it was the kind of ending where you never really knew what went wrong, but the silence afterward left you questioning everything.

when mica, your mutual friend, invited you to her birthday party, you almost declined immediately. how could you show up to a celebration and pretend everything was fine when the thought of seeing pedri again made your chest tighten? still, you couldn’t refuse. mica had no idea, and you weren’t about to make a scene. besides, what were the odds of him being there?

you stepped into the party, the laughter and chatter of your friends filling the air. everything felt familiar, warm, and yet… there was that feeling. the one you couldn’t quite shake. there he was. pedri. leaning casually against the wall, chatting with a couple of people, his dark hair falling just the right way, and that familiar smile that made your stomach do flips. even from across the room, he was impossible to ignore.

your heart skipped, and you quickly turned your focus to the snack table, as though the chips and dip could somehow shield you from him. you’d convinced yourself you could hide in the background, enjoy the party, and leave without any awkwardness. but fate had other plans.

minutes later, dani, your most excitable friend, bounded over to you. her cheeks flushed with the buzz of alcohol, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “hey, you have to come up and sing! the band needs a female voice for this song!”

you froze, a cold wave of panic washing over you. “dani, i don’t think—”

“come on, stop being shy!” she interrupted, already pulling you toward the stage. “you’re so good! i swear, you’ll kill it. plus, the song is perfect for you.”

you tried to protest, but she wasn’t having it. before you knew it, you were standing at the side of the stage, the microphone in your hand, a tight knot forming in your chest. the band struck up the opening chords of fool’s gold by one direction. a song you’d always secretly connected to your short-lived moments with pedri.

the thought of singing it in front of everyone, especially him, sent a tremor through you. it felt like some cruel twist of fate that you’d have to perform this song of bittersweet longing and uncertainty in the same room as the person who had unintentionally inspired it.

but the music started, and there was no turning back.

you closed your eyes for a moment, breathing deeply. you couldn’t look at him. you couldn’t. not now. not while your heart was hanging on every note. you started to sing, and the lyrics hit you harder than you expected. each word felt like a confession you hadn’t been brave enough to say when you had the chance.

the music swirled around you, and with every note, it felt as if the room shrank. as though everyone else had faded into the background and the only thing that mattered was you and pedri. you could feel his presence, even though you kept your eyes closed. but when you opened them again, you couldn’t stop yourself.

there he was. standing at the edge of the crowd, his gaze fixed on you. his expression was unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes were intense. they were trained on you like nothing else existed in the world but the two of you. you swallowed hard, the weight of the song suddenly too much. it felt like the entire story of your brief time together was written in the music, in your voice. each verse held pieces of the unsaid things that had lingered between you.

your heart beat in time with the music, and you could feel the tension building. his gaze never wavered, and you wondered if he was hearing it the way you were—if he understood the message behind every word.

it felt like the song was speaking for you, telling him what you hadn’t been able to say. the last note lingered in the air, and you quickly looked away, unable to hold his gaze any longer. the applause that followed was distant, your heartbeat too loud in your ears. the room spun slightly, but you tried to ground yourself, to take a breath.

dani was the first to rush over, pulling you into a hug. “you were amazing!” she cheered, still buzzing from the performance. but her voice barely reached you. you could only think about how you’d just laid your heart bare, and how pedri had watched every single second of it.

and then, as if he could read your thoughts, you felt him approach from behind. his voice was soft, but it cut through the noise of the party. “you were incredible,” pedri said, his words wrapped in sincerity. “i didn’t know you could sing like that.”

you froze, a coldness spreading through you. “thanks,” you managed to say, your voice smaller than you intended.

“i didn’t know you were into one direction,” he continued, his tone light, as if trying to keep things casual, but there was an edge to his voice. was it curiosity? or maybe something else?

you chuckled dryly, turning to face him. “well, guess you didn’t know much about me,” you replied, trying to keep your composure, but the tension between you was undeniable. he stood a little too close, his dark eyes searching yours, like he was trying to decipher something you weren’t ready to reveal.

there was a pause—long and uncomfortable. the silence stretched between you like a heavy fog, neither of you quite sure what to say next. but the words that finally came out of his mouth were unexpected.

“maybe i should’ve.” pedri’s voice was quieter now, as though he was regretting something. something unsaid. something left behind.

you blinked, the weight of his words settling in. maybe i should’ve. you could feel it in your chest, the unspoken history between you two that had never been fully addressed. all the moments that had been left hanging in the air. everything that never had the chance to be said.

you didn’t reply immediately. instead, you studied him, your gaze catching his once more. the tension was still there, thick and palpable. you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. and as the party continued around you, the noise, the laughter, all of it seemed to fade. it was just the two of you, caught in this moment where nothing could be fully explained, but everything was understood.

he took a slow step closer, and for a second, you wondered if he was going to say something more. if he would finally break the silence and let you in, or if he would leave you hanging, just like everything else.

but this time, he didn’t. without a word, he gently cupped your face in his hands, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. you didn’t have time to second-guess yourself. his lips were on yours before you could react—soft, slow, like he was testing the waters, waiting to see if you’d pull away. but you didn’t.

you kissed him back, your hand sliding up to rest on his chest, feeling the thump of his heartbeat under your palm. it was everything you had been holding back—the yearning, the desire, the pain. all of it collided in that one kiss, and in that moment, everything was finally put into place. the unanswered questions, the distance between you, the silence—none of it mattered anymore. all that mattered was this.

when you finally pulled away, breathless, pedri rested his forehead against yours. “i’ve missed you,” he whispered, his voice low, raw.

you couldn’t answer right away. your mind was still spinning from the kiss, but when you finally found your voice, all you could say was, “me too.”

he smiled softly, his fingers tracing your jaw. “then let’s not let this be fool’s gold, yeah?”

you nodded, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe—just maybe—you weren’t as lost as you thought.

#fc barcelona #football #footballer x reader #football imagine #pedri #pedri x reader #pedri gonzalez x reader #pedri gonzalez #pedri imagine #pedri fanfic #pedri x you

58 notes · View notes

aaplecore · 3 months ago

Text

Your Usual

(Yelena Belova x fem!reader)

Summary : Yelena, your regular at the 24 hour diner you work at, finally gets the courage to admit what’s been in her mind.

Warnings / tags : fluff, Russian pet names (Красотка : Gorgeous, Золотце : Darling)

Notes : idk where I was going with this but I love Yelena so much like I need thunderbolts NOW i’m frothing at the mouth

also, plsplspls lmk if any of the Russian is incorrect, i do not speak Russian this was all from google <3

Recently, to make ends meet, you’d been working at a 24 hour diner as a waitress. It wasn’t a half bad job. The usual Karens every now and then, some creeps, but not anything you couldn’t handle. Plus, frye diner was just outside the most busy part of New York… and pretty close to the Avengers tower. Although you’d never fangirl, every now and then, you’d see an Avenger stop by for a 2am cup of coffee.

It wasn’t a regular occurrence, really, until one Avenger in particular started visiting. At first, the woman would come in maybe every other week. Then once a week, then before you knew it, she was nearly in your section every other day. Specifically in your section. Never any of the other girls sections.

Over time, you had managed to get to know her a little bit. All you really knew was that she was an Avenger—or, at least, something of the sort—and that she seemed to be there more often because of something with her sister, Natasha. Honestly, you kind of grew to like her. At first, she was definitely hostile. She’d barely speak a word to you. But, then, after a few weeks passed, you started hearing that Russian accent more often. You definitely couldn’t call her talkative, but it seemed like you broke through some sort of outer shell. You even saw her smile every now and then, although it was a rare sight.

Today, like most other days, the blonde came in late at night. You couldn’t help but stare at her eyeliner each and every time you saw her again. It was somehow messy but perfect at the exact same time. Plus, it brought out her eyes.

Anyway, besides you getting lost staring at her eyes for a second, it was just like normal.

“Yelena, hey. I see they sat you at your usual table?”

You walked over, seeing her looking back up at you just made you smile. Even though she didn’t seem like the kind of person who was big on expressing emotions to people she didn’t trust… you could’ve sworn you saw the faintest smile on her face seeing you each time. Plus, every time you saw her you knew you had a big tip in store—courtesy of Tony Stark’s card—so, y’know, added bonus.

“Of course. Can you just get me—“

Yelena starts, before you quickly interrupt her.

“A white russian? It’ll be out in five minutes.”

Yelena smirks when you interrupted her. She liked having someone who seemed to know her so well… even despite the fact that you had only known each other through the diner.

“Why call it that? I just want a coffee with vodka, you’re so… extra, Красотка (Krasotka).”

She chuckles quietly, her accent thick, as per usual when she calls you her favorite Russian pet names. You never really understood them but, still, you got the jest and it made your heart flutter a little each time.

“Because I want you to feel special, Yelena. I’ll be back out with your drink soon.”

You smile at her sweetly, turning around to put her drink order in before she can make any more comments. Yelena’s heart does that weird somersault thing that she’s really not used to when you say you want her to be special. She’s really not used to the whole idea of being… special. Dangerous, sure. Hostile, absolutely. But special? Not really.

A few minutes later, you return with Yelena’s drink and place it right in front of her.

“There you go. Anything else, Yelena?”

Yelena just smirks up at you. For weeks now, Kate has been egging her on to do something about the waitress she’s been crushing on. I mean, Yelena never got all flustered around anyone. She just seemed to have a weak spot for you. Every time you talked, you were sweet, you cared about her, but you were never boring. And god knows Yelena hates boring more than anything.

Kate knew how hard it was for her after what happened to Natasha. I mean, she literally tried to kill Clint Barton as a sort of revenge plan. So, she was doing anything in her power to get her back to normal. And when she was around you, it seemed like she was. At least, more so than around most anyone else. And, therefore, getting her confident enough to ask you out was the perfect plan.

And now, Yelena couldn’t really avoid Kate’s nagging anymore. Or at least that was her excuse.

“Yes, actually. Go on a date with me.”

Yelena says bluntly, causing your face to heat up almost immediately. She just smiles a little wider, her heart inexplicably racing as she waits for your response. Somehow, an ex red-room assassin is nervous about asking a girl out.

“A date… like- uh, like, now?”

You stutter, smiling a little. It was, admittedly, a little bit of a shock that she was asking you out.

“Yes. Like, now.”

She shrugs, mocking the way you speak—as she so often does—a little. She was full on smiling at this point, too.

“When do you get done with your waitressing?”

Her head cocks to the side, sipping her drink casually, as if this was just a normal occurrence for her.

“My shift ends in… three minutes, actually.”

You say, realizing how perfect the timing was. Maybe this was sort of meant to be.

“Perfect. Then you’ll come out here and meet me in three minutes?”

Yelena asks, seemingly setting your plans in stone before you had even said yes. At least she was confident.

“I- yeah. Yes, three minutes.”

You nod frantically, turning around to grab her check and finish up with your other tables—which were, thankfully, sparse at this hour—so you can go be with Yelena immediately. You never would’ve thought you’d be leaving work with Yelena of all people.

Before you know it, your shift is done and you’re already walking down the street with Yelena, standing close to her, but not quite holding her hand or anything. You’re almost nervous to be too direct.

“Yelena, where are we going?”

You ask, glancing over at Yelena, who seems to have a place in mind, just based on the way she’s walking. Or maybe she just always walks this confidently.

“I’m taking you to buy ice cream.”

She shrugs, glancing over at you too. This is your opportunity. Subtly, you reach over to try and slowly take a hold of her hand… and, to your slight surprise, she jolts away, as if you just burnt her.

“Shit, sorry, I- I—“

You start to apologize before Yelena’s pinky is wrapped around yours, stopping you in your tracks. You look down at your hands. Her nails are painted with cracked black nail polish.

“No, no, don’t apologize, Золотце (zoloste). It’s okay.”

She reassures you, shaking her head. The little bit of reassurance is enough. You nudge her shoulder, although she doesn’t falter, just laughs a little and pulls you around a corner.

“Where is this ice cream place, anyway?”

You ask, following along with her, gently swinging your arms. She smiles again, rolling her eyes.

“So impatient. You see that little park? In there. Next to a pond.”

She points ahead of you two no more than a block away to the open entrance to a lucious green park. You didn’t think she had it in her to pick such a… well, such a romantic spot.

Not two minutes later, you’re ordering yourself a cone of chocolate ice cream. Yelena orders a cone of pistachio. But, really, it’s not the ice cream that matters. She takes you to this little spot—right in the middle of a bridge—overlooking the pond, the lights gently reflecting off the water. For a minute, you’re both just standing there quietly, leaning over the bridge. Until you break the silence.

“Yelena?”

“Yes, Красотка (Krasotka)?”

“Why’d you ask me out?”

You ask bluntly, licking your ice cream. The way she looks at you, you’d think you just tried to explain trigonometry to a second grader.

“What do you mean why did I ask you out?”

She asks, reaching over and placing her hand on your hip, shifting so she’s standing behind you, her head resting on her shoulder.

“I asked you out because I wanted to go on a date with you. Because you are so cute… and I think I might like you.”

She says jokingly, swaying your hips gently, lightly pressing a kiss to her neck. It seems like she’s fully warmed up to you now, that’s for sure. The feeling of her lips on you sends a little shiver down your spine.

“Good enough for me.”

You reply quietly, giggling when she starts kissing your neck over and over, getting a little more clingy.

The way she holds onto you is so gentle, and yet her grip is tight. It’s like she might lose you if she lets go or break you if she grips too tight. You can tell, even with all of the confident air she’s putting up, she’s… nervous. It’s cute.

Not too long later, Yelena walks you back to your little apartment, holding your pinky the entire time. It’s a sweet little gesture. Especially for her. This woman, who had once been so hostile and who is still absolutely intimidating, is now blushing over holding your pinky. Like a middle schooler.

“Well, this is me.”

You mutter, standing outside your apartment, looking up sadly. You don’t want to leave her just yet.

“Let me have your number, Золотце (zoloste). I will keep in contact with you.”

Yelena says quickly, clearly not willing to let this be the last time she sees you. Plus, i’ve you’ve learned nothing else about her tonight, you’ve learned how persistent and how blunt she can be.

“Okay. Yeah.”

You nod quickly, pulling out your phone to let her enter her contact. She quickly types it in and hands it back to you.

“You promise to text me?”

Yelena asks quietly, her tone suddenly shifting to something a little more nervous. She seems vulnerable. You just smile softly at her and reach up, slowly, gently, very carefully cupping her cheek in your hand. The blush that spreads on her face is very obvious. Without wasting another moment, you lean in and kiss her. For a second, she seems shocked, almost hesitant. But, after a moment, her hands are back on your waist, gently wrapping around you.

“Of course. Every day, if you want.”

You say quietly, nodding. She smiles a little bit more, almost a sheepish look on her face.

“Sounds perfect, Красотка (krasotka). I- I will see you soon.”

She nods, leaning down to kiss you once more, just quickly this time. When she pulls away, she lets go of you, allowing you to walk back to the door of your apartment. Of course, you turn around once more to see her and she’s still looking at you. Watching to make sure you got home safely.

“Спокойной ночи (spakoynay nochee).”

She calls, causing you to tilt your head to the side in confusion.

“Goodnight.”

She clarifies, laughing a little and waving to you.

“Oh! Goodnight, Yelena.”

You call back, walking into your apartment, a smile still plastered on your face.

#fem!reader #marvel #wlw #yelena belova #yelena black widow #yelena belova x fem!reader #yelena x reader #marvel women #thunderbolts #fluff #yelena belova fanfiction

73 notes · View notes

marleyybluu · 2 years ago

Text

Scream

Spooky Diaz x f!reader

Word count: 821

Content Warning(s): 18+, smut out the ass, mask kinks, p in v, little bit of porn, little bit of plot, Spooky's big fucking arms, I picture spooky hella tatted, the reader is not race-coded, reader speaks and understands Spanish, no one is pulling out (I seriously have a problem), backshots anyone? mirror sex anyone?, I'm toasted rn so sorry for the mistakes, lmk if i missed any or if i forgot to tag you

A/N: if yall know me well enough, you know what kind of state of mind I'm in 🍃and I just thought I'd write a little quickie since Halloween is next week and I don't think I've ever written anything in regard to Halloween so here we are.

(not mine, got it off Pinterest. i could koala cuddle those arms fuuuuck)

It started off as a joke. You'd become influenced by the amount of Ghost face masks you'd seen on TikTok, girls buying their boyfriends the infamous Ghost face mask so that they could put it on and pretend to be the killer from the movie, a few even accessorized with a fake knife and the women always seemed to get off on the idea. It was weird to you, at first, but then you became curious about what he would look like with the mask on. Maybe you'd open up a new kink for yourself, or maybe not but it was worth a try.

So you went to Spirit Halloween and travelled over to the mask section where only two of the Scream masks were hanging. It seemed like you weren't the only inquisitive one. You bought some other things to decorate the porch with and headed back home. You called out to your boyfriend saying you needed a favour. He sprints into the living room where he sees your hands behind your back and that smirk on your face, you were up to no good.

You present him with the mask and he chuckles shaking his head. You tell him that you want to know what he'd look like in it, but you don't want to see him try it on in front of you, you want him to walk into the room like the videos you'd seen. You hand him the mask and trot upstairs and into your shared bedroom where you sit patiently on the bed.

It took a few minutes but you'd finally heard the creaking of the stairs, your heart raced with anticipation and a familiar tingle in your fingers and toes. All over your body really. He emerges from the dark hallway into your dimly lit room and leans against the door frame. Your breath gets caught in your throat, and your thighs squeeze together. He had upped it a bit by removing his shirt and all he had on was a grey wifebeater and sweats to match. His arms were so big and his chest was so large, his broad shoulders adding to the attraction and his scattered tattoos were a bonus.

You blink and before you know it those clothes, accompanied by your own, have been disregarded and scattered all over the floor. And somehow, here you were, face shoved into the mattress and back arched professionally. His enormous hands gripped your waist as he pulled you into his thrusts making you feel every inch, every vein that was prominent on his shaft. You whine, fingers gripping the sheets for dear life as he pounded you, the bed shaking and creaking to match his rhythm.

"Look up, mi amor, this what you wanted right?" He mocked, you raise your head with the little bit of strength you had and looked up at the mirror across from the end of your bed, you bite your lip, the sight was something out of Twitter porn. The mask, his arms, the grip he had on your flesh, the way your ass recoils every time it collides with his pelvis-- Oh it was almost magical. "Fuck! That feels so fucking good." You whimper, your toes curl and you feel another orgasm approaching, only the gods in heaven knew what number this one was. You cried as you felt your hands, with a mind of their own, move from their position as you tried to crawl away from him, it was too much, the sheets were damn near soaked and sticky.

Spooky caught on and pulled you back. "¿Adónde vas, cariño? Hm? Can't take it?"

You gasp as he draws you close to him, his strong arms hooked around your waist, your back pressed against his chest. "Oh, fuck, fuck,fuck!" Was all you could get out before your walls squeezed him, your head in the cloud and your vision completely fucked out. Your head falls back on his shoulder while he continues to slam into you, his own high slowly creeping over him. He takes off the mask and kisses your neck, licking and sucking enough to leave his mark.

"You want me to come for you, bebita?" He grunts hotly in your ear, you moan and nod as an answer. Usually, he would tell you to use your words but considering your current sex-dazed state, he'd leave it alone for today. He buries his dick deep, his throbbing erection painting your walls making them extra sticky. You smile drunkenly when he affectionately nudges the back of your shoulder with his nose. "You always feel so fucking good, baby, I fucking swear." He praises, now kissing your skin. "Te amo." You manage to squeak out.

He chuckles. "Te amo, mamita."

He playfully smacks your ass before easing his way out of you, you fall on to the bed and sigh, completely and utterly satisfied.

Thank god for TikTok trends.

If you liked this fic feel free to like this fic, reblogs and comments are appreciated.

see you in the next one. peace and love 🤙🏾

🏷: @darqchilddaydreamz @realhotgurlshit @skyesthebomb @librarian1002

who might be interested: @miyahmaraj @bigenergy777

#on my block #on my block fanfic #spooky fanfic #marleysfanfictions #marleywrites #Spooky diaz smut #oscar diaz #spooky x reader #oscar diaz x fem!reader #spooky fanfiction #smut #oscar diaz smut

1K notes · View notes

cheerycherrycandy-resurrected · 8 days ago

Text

Can You Hear The Thunder?

Chapter 7: Reconciliation

Dew feels guilty over spending the night with Aether, has a heart-to-heart with Mountain, and finally meets the new air ghoul.

A slightly shorter update this time! And the end of the pretentions lore-openings (for now at least).

I estimate there's about two more chapters before I finally ship them out on a tour, so it's looking unlikely that this fic's main ship will even have met by 100k in... as my friend said: it's not slow burn, it's glacial!

Rating: M Content: no major warnings this chapter Words: 8,066

Link to full fic with associated tags: Tumblr | AO3

Tag list: @cosmicseafoam @ashthewaterghoul @jimothybarnes @zombiequeen777 @kentuckyfriedsatan @papaslittlesunshine <33 if I forgot anyone lmk!!

Read below, or on AO3!

Dew woke with the sun the next morning. Its light streamed through the open curtains, illuminating his surroundings and revealing the rather cosy position the two ghouls on the bed were in; a cosier one than Dew had intended. Even when he had found Aether the night before the bedcovers had been a tangled mess, but following the fire ghoul's attempt to wriggle in beside him they were now more chaotic than ever.

The sun seemed most interested in highlighting something beyond the mess however, her rays delicately grazing the high points of their bodies where they pressed close together. At some point during the night, the careful gap Dew had positioned between them had vanished leaving him entirely enclosed in the larger ghoul's embrace. He felt the sun's taunting warmth on his legs, contrasted by the chill in the room as they poked out from under the mess of blankets and the coolness of Aether's skin. Their legs were braided together; a sleeping Aether having entwined his own with Dew's for warmth. The quintessence ghoul was also hugging him like a teddy bear; his cheek nuzzled into the soft hair on the crown of Dew's head in such a way that he could feel every breath tickling his scalp.

For just a moment Dew allowed himself to squeeze his eyes tight shut again, to lean into the darkness and warmth of Aether's chest and the blissful comfort he found himself surrounded by. As his mind refocussed on the events of the day before though, he found the warmth within him being replaced by a deep, clawing emptiness. A part of it he could immediately attribute to hunger; he hadn't eaten anything since Aether's french toast before the summoning yesterday. There was a different emptiness too though, a darker, more hollow kind that settled deep in the pit of his stomach.

Guilt. He realised as it seeped through his veins, making his whole body feel cold and heavy. It's because of Aether, one voice in his head chided him, he told you he could never love another ghoul as his mate, and you ignored him and stayed for yourself. Selfish.

You were just comforting your packmate, another voice chimed in, there's nothing selfish about that.

But at the expense of another?

The first voice was right, Dew knew: Mountain had expressly told him just how much he needed the comfort of pack right now, and Dew had left him totally alone all evening after everything he had said. He was selfish, there was no other word for it.

Well, crap. Dew groaned to himself. He was just an all-round terrible packmate, wasn't he: angry at two of them for reasons beyond their control; not just overstepping the boundaries of another but ploughing right through them; and completely ignoring the most sincere wishes of the other. Dew needed to get out of here, needed to get far away before Aether could wake and be angry to see him. He needed to find Mountain, too. Luckily, those were two things he could do at once.

Firstly though, he would have to extricate himself from the sleeping Aether's arms. He was holding him tightly; so tightly Dew knew it had to be something he was doing subconsciously. He hated having to leave their warm, solid comfort but knew he had no choice. Aether seemed similarly reluctant, the quintessence ghoul whining his complaints in his sleep as Dew carefully lifted an arm away and began to wriggle free. Dew tried not to acknowledge the flickering in his stomach as he felt his hands grasping to hold onto him, or the way Aether's lavender eyelashes fluttered at the disturbance as he breathed a goodbye.

Still wearing yesterday's clothes, Dew made to creep across the hall back to his own room but was surprised to see the light on in the common room. Mountain was there; he could hear his heavy footfalls as he wandered about the kitchen. Dew wanted to slink past, vanish into his room and close the door silently behind him, but he knew he shouldn't. Not if he wanted to make amends.

He braced for the earth ghoul's reaction, expecting to be chewed out for abandoning him. Mountain would be fully within his rights to do so, Dew thought. Instead though, his head shot up as Dew entered, his eyes already full of concern and showing no animosity.

“How's Aether?” He asked. “When neither of you came back, I guessed that's where you were.”

Dew shrugged, unsure how much Aether would want him to share.

“He got sick.” He said instead. It was mostly true, Dew supposed.

“And now? How's he doing this morning?”

Dew blushed at the – correct – insinuation that he had spent the night with him. Mountain seemed to be totally sincere in asking though, querying only as a worried packmate with no edge to his words.

“He seems better, but he's still asleep right now.” Dew sighed as he entered further into the room, now it was clear Mountain had no intention of laying into him. “How are you faring?”

“Better than yesterday, now the shock's over.” He smiled weakly as he stirred his tea. “It'd be good to meet Zephyr properly though, at some point. They seemed nice.”

He was right, Dew knew. As much as his gut wanted to blame the newest ghoul for disrupting their developing pack bonds, it wasn't their fault. In the few words Zephyr had spoken they had seemed sweet and soft-spoken; if it hadn't been for the immediacy of their soul bond with Ifrit, Dew would have said they were a natural addition to their little pack.

“Yeah,” he sighed, “it's strange having them in the Den but not knowing anything about them yet.”

Dew joined Mountain at the counter, and started carefully following the motions he had seen Aether make to attempt to prepare him a coffee. He had done so for Dew enough times now, surely it was an easy favour to repay. Hopefully, it could be a peace offering to grease the wheels, allowing him to apologise for overstaying his welcome the night before since there would be no hiding his lingering scent on Aether's sheets. Dew knew the way the quintessence ghoul liked it – black with two spoons of sugar – but the steps to getting the dark brown liquid in the first place were unfamiliar. Eventually though, and with only a little help from Mountain who found the little paper baskets the machine needed on a high shelf, he had a steaming mug of rich-smelling liquid.

He was still dithering at the counter with it in his hands, deciding if he really should take it into Aether or if it was presumptuous to assume his presence was still at all welcome in his room, when the quintessence ghoul himself shuffled into the lounge, sniffing the air as though summoned by the scent of the coffee. Dew expected him to be angry or upset, whether for barging in, for staying, or even for leaving without an explanation, he wasn't sure. Instead though, he felt strong arms encircling his waist and a chin coming to rest between his horns.

The gesture was intimate, and one that made him feel small. As Aether began to purr though, the vibrations shaking his very skull, Dew thought that if it were any other ghoul he would be angry at being made to feel that way. He was as strong a ghoul as any of the rest of them, even if his smaller stature often belied that. The way Aether held him though it was immediately clear that it was the larger ghoul taking the most comfort from the position; leaning on Dew like he was his rock, his guiding light out of the darkness he had found himself in the night before. Dew wasn't used to feeling like the protector, nor the protectee if it came to it, always finding himself walking alone until now. He discovered he liked the feeling though, and the way it made him feel ten feet tall.

Placing the coffee down with shaking hands, wincing as it sloshed over the walls of the mug, Dew reached up with even hotter hands than usual to reassuringly hold Aether's arms in front of him. Despite how much he liked it, the sweetness of the gesture confused him somewhat, making his resolve not to overstep Aether's no mates assertion feel like it was going to be an insurmountable task.

When Dew opened his eyes which he realised he had let fall shut, he saw Mountain watching them with interest. He reached out to the earth ghoul, who tilted his head in question, as Dew beckoned him to turn the pair of entwined figures into a group hug. If he was going to demonstrate to Aether that he was capable of understanding and respecting his boundaries and wishes while still being as close a packmate as he desired, then showing equal levels of affection to the others seemed a good place to start.

As Mountain joined them and Dew found himself surrounded by two sets of arms, he felt himself beginning to echo Aether's low purrs. The concept of pack wasn't something that had dominated his thoughts in the Pit, distracted as he was by his soul mark. In this moment though, he thought he understood why Aether and Mountain valued it as highly as they did: the easy affection and love between them was something he had been sorely missing he realised, something that had been lacking for much of his adult life.

Dew couldn't recall the last time he had experienced such simple comfort from another ghoul. He imagined this was how siblings felt. They were so comparatively rare in his realms of the Pit though, with even a single kit being a true blessing to its parents let alone more than one. He knew very little about those who lived beyond the fire realms, beside small snippets of rumours that air ghouls frequently had kits in multiples, twins and triplets and more, and that water ghouls often had many kits in large families. His soul mark prickled along his arm at that thought; wherever his mate was, they undoubtedly had more than enough family already, they didn't need him surely. He could move on, enjoy pack like Aether and Mountain seemed content to.

As if hearing Dew's thoughts of soulmates, Ifrit drifted in with a sleepy Zephyr by his side.

“Aww, did we miss out on something?” He laughed as the trio broke apart, Aether winding his tail around Dew's to keep a close point of contact. Thankfully Ifrit didn't seem bothered, as he moved on quickly and set about pulling out a chair at the dining table for Zephyr who sat down, graciously. “So when's this mask binding then? No dawn visit from Terzo? We were ready and waiting!” He cackled, not unkindly, as he began to raid the fridge.

“I wouldn't have thought we scared him that much! Although, Mountain...” Ifrit grinned and clapped the bemused earth ghoul on the shoulder as he practically waltzed past him back to the air ghoul at the table. “I think you gave him quite a shock at least!”

“Zephyr,” he addressed his mate, who was watching quietly with a shy yet amused smile, his tone suddenly mock-serious, “if we ever want a third...”

Ifrit whistled dramatically, eyes wide, eliciting an undignified snort of laughter from Zephyr and a deep blush from Mountain. Dew rolled his eyes at Ifrit's juvenile behaviour, but couldn't keep a small smile from his own face. As much as he had woken up feeling terrible, his mind stuck in a dark storm cloud of guilt and regret, the fire ghoul had somehow pulled him back towards the sunshine.

What was unclear to Dew was if Ifrit's extra-boisterous attitude this morning was simply due to his overflowing joy from meeting his soulmate and showing off in front of them, of if he too was able to sense that something in the pack had shifted with Zephyr's arrival and the resulting soul bond between them. Dew still felt that, in some way, he had lost the one ghoul who could have been his ally against this confusing new world; the one who could understand what it had been like to grown up in their realm with a cross mark. That didn't preclude the possibility of them being pack, of course, but he keenly felt that the relationship they had been building was now fundamentally altered. Ifrit's life had taken him down a different path, one which would forever remove that one element of similarity between them.

“Oh by the way, Aeth,” Ifrit interrupted, just as the quintessence ghoul was chirping in sleepy delight at the coffee Dew had presented him with, “I'm moving into Zeph's room! It's so much quieter in there, the heating in mine was rattling something terrible at night!”

Aether nodded without looking up, disinterested in anything other than the coffee finally clutched in his hands or in thanking the ghoul who made it.

Eventually, he was awake enough to disentangle his tail from Dew's, having remained attached all while Dew prepared himself a drink. With a wide yawn, he slouched back to his room to get dressed for Zephyr's mask binding. “No need to come if you don't want to.” He had shrugged, and neither fire nor earth ghoul had been interested enough in finding clean clothes, shoes or masks to follow. When the door had shut behind them and the Den fell silent at last, Dew slumped against the counter. Now was his chance to talk to Mountain, but the thought still scared him.

“You look so morose Droplet, what's making you all glum?” The earth ghoul hummed gently, heading to the sofa and glancing back to see if Dew was following.

"Soulmates.” Dew sighed vaguely, pushing off the counter. Wasn’t that the root cause of all his problems, after all? Mountain nodded in solemn understanding.

“Tough, isn't it. Seeing them get what we're all told to want.”

Mountain pulled his legs up onto the sofa, sitting sideways with his back pressed up against its arm and his knees folded up near his chest, and beckoned Dew to sit opposite him. He did, mirroring the earth ghoul's position. Mountain took the opportunity to stretch his legs back out slightly, stuffing his long toes underneath Dew.

“Mmm, warm.” He hummed softly as the fire ghoul hissed loudly at the cold intrusion, his tail swishing instinctively.

“You're like an angry housecat!” Mountain laughed lightly.

“What's that?” Huffed Dew, wriggling his bottom to get comfortable even with Mountain's bony feet beneath him.

“You. You are.” Mountain laughed harder, the welcome distraction amplifying the lightness he felt at the change of topic. “I bet there's a few others around the Abbey actually. It's an old building; they've got to have some kind of pest control.”

“Pest control?”

It took Mountain a while to stop shaking from the giggles that had him doubled over, even more curled up than he already was, and then to calm a spitting Dew with reassurances that he didn't mean he was literally a cat, and that even if he was like one, they were very beautiful creatures.

“They act just like you!” Mountain cackled, seeing Dew's ears flattened against his head and his tail lashing back and forth. “We had a whole lot of them in my realm, I heard they were some of His favourite animals once upon a time too. They caught rodents and other little animals that stole our crops. Vicious little buggers too, especially when they played with their food.”

That pacified Dew some, although he still wasn't sure if he liked the comparison. He'd have to hunt one down to find out for himself.

“Did you have animals in your realm?” Mountain asked, clearly just making conversation but Dew didn't mind the distraction.

“Some. Lizards, iguanas, a few bugs... there's not much beside ghouls that could stand the heat.” He thought back to happier times, before he knew just how increasingly different the years would make him. “When we were kits, we used to chase the lizards. There was a game we'd play where the more you could herd together at once, the more centuries you'd have with your soulmate. I used to be quite good at spotting them. Catching them too. I used to think that meant something...”

Dew trailed off, and Mountain hummed in understanding. The earth ghoul scooted forward, his long body comically folded up, to press the fronts of his legs against Dew’s for warmth.

“Sorry, I don't know why it's so cold again today.” He muttered in apology when Dew flinched.

The fire ghoul looked out the window; indeed the fog had returned, almost like it was mirroring the gloomy atmosphere in parts of the Den. Dew silently held his hands out and Mountain took them gratefully, running calloused thumbs over cracked knuckles.

“Thanks.” Mountain whispered.

They sat in comfortable silence once more, until the earth ghoul spoke again.

“It's stories like that... with the lizards. Why do soulmates always have to be so ingrained into everything?”

Dew huffed, smiling sardonically.

“You don't notice it until it's not an option huh? Then suddenly it's all you see.”

Mountain nodded empathically, once again seeming relieved to know that another ghoul got it.

“I used to think it was stupid, everyone being so keen to tie themselves to being half of a pair. I couldn't understand why the other ghouls all valued some hypothetical future mate more highly than any of their other relationships, or even themselves and their current happiness.”

“Is that what you meant, when you said you didn't want a mate?” Dew asked, head tilted in curiosity.

“Sort of.” Mountain shrugged. “It's not that I can't see why ghouls would want someone to share a life with like that, and I don't think it's silly to want it anymore either, but I just don't see why it has to be some predetermined perfect soulmate, y'know? Or why it's not accepted to want to opt out entirely.”

“It'd be nice to have a choice.” Dew agreed, thinking of the cold blue swirls on his arms that had spelled the death of his own youthful delusions of happiness. “About who, and if...”

"Yeah.” Mountain sighed and fell into a thoughtful quiet for a moment, leaving Dew to wonder if that was a signal that their conversation was over. He had so much he wanted to ask the earth ghoul still, that he was glad when he continued.

“I thought I could do it, for a while, back when I was practically still a kit. Thought I could be the one who'd reject their mark and live happily on my own. Then when I got older and no mark ever came in I had nothing to reject. There was no choice left for me to make and that hurt in a whole different way.”

Quiet descended over the pair again as they both considered the implications of the one thing Mountain had control over, the choice to turn his back on his soul mark, being taken from him as well. Letting one of his hands follow Dew's as the fire ghoul habitually moved it to tuck a strand of hair back behind his horn, Mountain was surprised to find that it too was as warm as his hands, as though he had been lying in the sun outside. Everything about Dew was warm, he thought: from his hands, to his hair, to the way his deep red eyes burned with an empathy that spoke of understanding rather than pity.

“Do you really think you never had a mate?” Dew asked eventually. Mountain thought for a moment, before answering.

“No, I think I did, at one point. That would be more likely.” He made a noise somewhere between a huff and a sigh, looking down at their joined hands as he started running his thumb over Dew's bony knuckles once again. He found it soothing. “It certainly made my own desires, or rather the fact I didn't really feel any, all the more confusing.”

“I think I get it.” Dew answered thoughtfully. “It's like you don't know if it's you who doesn't want a mate, or of it’s the soul bond still controlling you after all, right?”

“Exactly.” Mountain itched to ask Dew more, to see if there was a closer link between the two of them that could explain how he understood so perfectly, but he bit his tongue for now.

Dew meanwhile was feeling all the anger over their unfair lots in life bubbling up inside of him. He knew deep down that he hadn't deserved the harder life that his soul mark had given him, but seeing Mountain and Aether, two ghouls he already was growing to love as pack more dearly than any other he had known before, suffer the same if not worse pain cast the whole situation into sharp relief. Putting his own feelings to the side, neither ghoul deserved this; Aether deserved his future with a ghoul who loved him, Mountain deserved to build a life without always being told something was missing and Dew... He thought maybe even he deserved to dream about what his own happily ever after could look like.

“I just think it's dumb, this idea that ghouls got made in pairs and were separated,” Dew burst out eventually, more heated than Mountain had seen him all of a sudden, “I don't see how any Creator who claims to be all benevolent and shit could taunt us like this. What's the point in dangling this idea of happiness in front of us but keeping it out of reach?”

Dew sighed, loosening his grip on Mountain's hands that he suddenly realised he was gripping tight enough to hurt.

“It's plain cruel, isn't it.” Mountain squeezed back, more softly.

The silence that fell this time was more comfortable than those that came before. Both ghouls seemed to each other to have needed to talk, and as such both were giving each other the space to continue if they wished. When Dew did eventually break the quiet though it was with a lighter tone, asking a question born of pure, personal curiosity.

“So, do you never feel any sort of want for another ghoul? Y'know, anything casual? Physical?”

Mountain smirked.

“Why, are you offering?” He chuckled to himself before letting the more sober tone of their earlier conversation return. “Occasionally. I have done, once or twice. Only ever for ghouls that were–” he paused, “well, I wouldn't say we were pack. But they were as close as I ever had to that, I suppose. I never felt the urge to seek out just any ghoul as a partner for the night, if that's what you're asking. These were ghouls I knew better than anyone.”

“I was the opposite, I guess.” Dew chuffed, shooting Mountain a wan smile. “I always preferred strangers – the less they knew about me the better. No attachment.”

“I'd have had a hard time of it if I'd wanted that, I think.” Mountain met his smile with his own weak one, slowly swinging their hands together as he spoke. “Ghouls were always suspicious of me not having a mark. I assume it would be the case for every ghoul without one. One of my old clan explained it once: they told me it was because other ghouls would be worried that I'd cling.” He made air-quotes around the word, as if showcasing his disdain for the idea.

“Since I didn't have a mate of my own to move onto one day, they said others would be worried that I'd hurt their own bonds if they let me get too close. I don't think it's a risk most ghouls would take. It's good, in that way, that I only ever felt anything for ghouls who already knew me well – they understood me and my feelings about soul marks, knew I wasn't a threat to their eventual mate.”

Nodding slowly as he followed, Dew knew what he meant well. Plenty of ghouls he had come across had had their own preconceived ideas about his soul mark in the past, but there had always been the unspoken understanding between him and any whose bed he shared that that he was only there for the night, sometimes less. Even with a mark as foreign as his, the very possibility that his mate was out there was enough to give most ghouls in a similar situation the hope to keep searching; to one day achieve the universal dream of a complete soul bond. That belief in hope against hope, however futile, was the security blanket that others had drawn over their beds. They had understood that for as long as there was a non-zero possibility that Dewdrop, or any other crossmated ghoul, would one day meet their true mates that they would hold out for them. The night would be a mere dalliance, a convenient passing of two ships in the night.

Dew wondered how it must feel for Mountain to not have the tiny, omnipresent voice in the back of his head seeking out another like a magnet looking for its opposite pole. It could be freeing, he imagined, to have mountain's uncoupled attitude. Perhaps it would have made the inherent loneliness that had surrounded him for so long sting less if he wasn't always wishing deep down for someone to remedy it. Being alone was one thing, but the constant reminder of it through every glimpse of his forearms and the pang in the back of his mind every time he saw happily mated pairs had certainly made it worse for him.

What Mountain said though, about not knowing if it was truly him who believed he would be happiest without a mate, or of it were still somehow the influence of a soul mark: that removed any envy Dew may have had about their circumstances. The thought of not knowing which of your thoughts were truly your own scared him in a new and horrifying way.

At that moment, they heard the door to the Den rattle again. The others were back sooner than Dew had imagined �� he supposed the lovebirds were keen to resume getting to know each other in every conceivable way. They had a new form of Zephyr's to get acquainted with now, after all.

Sure enough, neither Ifrit nor Zephyr were behind Aether when he entered the common room. He looked at the pair deep in conversation on the sofa in amusement, even though Dew could see the dull cast of tiredness in his eyes from meters away. Dew thought for a moment about dropping Mountain's hands, suddenly realising how cosy they must look together. The voice that had been nagging him all morning though stopped him; wasn't he trying to prove to Aether that his staying the night had been purely a comforting gesture as a pack mate? The same could truly be said to explain how he had ended up here, holding Mountain’s hands and sat on his feet. Either way, Aether seemed to pay them little mind.

“Wanna get out for a bit?” He asked, mask still on. Dew and Mountain shrugged at each other, neither opposed to the idea, and slowly got to their feet. Mountain winced as he stood, unfolding his long legs and shaking them out from how he they been curled up.

“How’s Terzo doing?” Dew asked as Aether led them in the direction of the dining hall, before veering off to turn down a different set of hallways to normal. “Not needing help today?”

“He’s tired,” Aether sighed, “working himself too hard, as usual.”

Dew opened his mouth to ask what this mysterious work actually was but Aether dismissed the question before he could, gesturing briefly at the large ears of the looming gargoyles, but raised his voice back to its regular volume as he continued. “Right now, the thing he’s most concerned about is getting everything ready for the next tour. New ghouls, new arrangements, new venues and all that.”

Dew thought that would be work for other members of the clergy rather than their leader, but he shrugged anyway.

“Our role is simple, Aether continued, we act human, learn our parts, and put on as good a show as possible.”

“Eat, sleep, rock, repeat.” Mountain muttered behind them.

“Precisely.” Aether shot him a grin full of teeth. “And on that subject…”

He drew to a stop outside a set of black double doors with peeling paint. They bore the same logo as the music disc Dew had found in the Den, stencilled on in white: “Ghost”.

“The band room!”

Aether flung open the doors to reveal an unassuming corridor beyond, the cracked flooring faded to a cream colour and the doors within covered with the same flaking black paint as the main doors. A yellowing fluorescent tube flickered to life, continuing to emit a low buzz as its light blinked in protest at its use.

“Well, rooms.” He laughed sheepishly as he caught the door before it could fall closed again, holding it open for his packmates.

“Shouldn't we wait for Ifrit and Zephyr?” Mountain asked as he entered.

“We've got plenty of time for rehearsals still, and we're not even officially scheduled to start until next week. Time to settle in, and all that.” Aether shrugged. “I'll give everyone the full tour then, I just thought this might be a nice distraction.”

He was right, Dew thought: a distraction was what they all needed right now, and this was certainly a good one. Even the sterile fluorescent lighting and the faint smell of chemical floor cleaner couldn't take away the undercurrent of excitement hanging in the air of the band wing. Beneath the human touches was the unmissable twang of anticipation; of adrenaline, sweat, and even blood. Dew stuck close to Aether’s heels as he led them into the hall. Looking beyond the brittle linoleum and flickering lights there were several more black doors, neatly spaced along the left of the corridor with small green bulbs illuminated above them. Opposite were just one set of doors, also black, but with long thin windows set into them.

“Practice rooms,” Aether gestured to the doors on the left, “and storage and loading bay is out the back.

“This,” he led them finally to the double doors opposite, “is the main practice room.”

He opened them to reveal a large space with a high ceiling interwoven with multicoloured cables. The whole room was bigger than the narrow corridor leading to it had belied, wide enough Dew thought he would have to shout to have a conversation across it. Large black cases on wheels, also emblazoned with the white logo, lined one wall while cupboard doors lined the other. In the middle of the room were a mountain of staging panels leading up to two raised platforms, where a strange contraption of shiny round boxes and large gold discs sat suspended from a frame on one peak and a pile of metal stands and yet more black cases were more simply laid out on the other.

“Here’s where we practice for tour,” Aether explained. He gestured sheepishly at the flight cases and a line of tape snaking across the floor. “It’s uh, not been used since we left for the last one, I guess.”

Crouching down he began to pick at the edge of the tape line nearest him, ripping it from the floor and balling it up as though he could erase where it had been. Unfortunately a line in the dusty floor gave its position away.

“The old ghouls were meant to do this when we got back,” he lamented, looking forlornly at the dusty track, “I guess this is their way of protesting their demotion.”

“We can deal with it later.” Mountain shrugged. He saw Aether begin to scrape frantically at another corner and laid a calm hand on his shoulder until the quintessence ghoul stood back up. “We’ve got plenty of time, didn’t you say?”

“Yeah, we do.” Aether conceded, brushing his hands off on his jeans. “At least they put the instruments back I suppose.”

He spotted Dew still staring at the drum riser and ran with the opportunity to change the topic.

“That’s your throne, Mount.”

Aether hopped lightly up the platforms, more graceful than Dew had seen him before, to rap gently on one of the discs with a knuckle. A resonant, metallic sound rang out through the room as he grinned down at the pair, instantly looking more relaxed and alive from his position up on the makeshift stage. Mountain slowly clambered up to stand beside him, stroking a hand over the taut skin of a drum but making no move to sit on the small stool behind them.

“The guitars are in here.” Aether bounded back down and lead Dew to one of the cupboards along the wall. Hanging inside were easily a dozen of what Dew presumed were said guitars, with there being several multiples of each type. Aether unhooked one of the long white stringed instruments, carefully resting it on a metal stand Dew hadn't spotted standing nearby.

“Your bass guitar.”

Dew stroked the neck but didn't pick it up, unsure what he was meant to do with it exactly. Mountain quietly joined them as Aether busied himself grabbing a cable hanging in the next cupboard, plugging it into a large, cube-like object and twiddling the various knobs on it. Next, he took down a shiny, pure black guitar, handling it with more confidence than he had the bass as he attached a strap and slung it over his neck before plugging the other end of the cable into it and flicking a switch. Dew and Mountain gasped as he strummed a chord, the amplifier making the floor around them shake. Dew felt his heart pounding alongside it as he listened in wonder to Aether plucking out a short melody with glamoured fingers flying over the instrument. Clearly he was showing off a little, but they couldn’t blame him.

“You can play already then.” Mountain observed and Aether shrugged, bashful.

“Not well enough to tour yet,” he smiled, “but 'Mega showed me a few things on the last tour so I’ve got the basics down.”

“How are we gonna... who’s...?” Dew hesitated to ask the obvious question about who would teach them, since Omega and the other old ghouls had made no move to be civil to them so far, let alone helpful.

“The previous ghouls should teach us. As the ones before taught them.” Aether worried his lip as he spoke, as though he sensed that it would take more than simply tradition to make that happen this time. “I don’t know when yet… but they should at least help us get the basics down.”

Dew looked back at the bass and picked it up, copying how Aether had positioned his guitar. He still didn't try to play it; it didn't have a strap and he wasn't sure how he should balance it without one, so he settled for just holding it by the neck with his other hand supporting the weight of its body. It was heavy, far heavier than it looked at first glance. Still wearing his mask from the corridor, Dew felt the strings beneath his soft and glamoured fingers; hard and biting into the human skin.

His instinct was to remove the mask, to let the naturally calloused skin on his ghoulish fingertips shield him from the metallic sting, but he could somehow immediately sense that it would be a bad idea. Aside from the shorter human fingernails giving him the precision needed to pick out notes on the fretboard like Aether had, they also seemed necessary to stop his sharp claws from slicing the taut guitar strings. Dew flexed his fingers, continuing to test the feel of the strings beneath them; even just a gentle prod told him that the recoil if he snapped one would sting something terrible. If he wanted to ever play without his mask, he knew he would need to master glamouring his claws consistently.

Dewdrop warily placed the guitar back on its stand. Despite its weight it still felt fragile, like one wrong move would damage it, its deep voice being silenced as easily as if its tongue was cut out. He wasn't completely sure why he felt such an aversion to trying to play it but somehow it felt like a big step, a bigger one than he was ready for. If he was bad… what would that mean for his place topside? Dew wanted to put the moment of truth off as long as possible, and judging from Mountain barely touching his own instrument he suspected he felt the same.

“Can we help sort things out in here?” Dew asked instead. Maybe if he really did suck at the musical part of everything, he could have a role like Aether’s previous one providing he could make himself useful enough to stay topside.

They spent the next hour or so putting the room back straight. The flight cases were mostly empty, only containing some odds and ends that Aether swiftly found homes for. Together they wheeled them out into the storage area, a warehouse-like room filled with lights, staging, and all manner of other things Dew didn't have names for. While Dew pulled up the remnants of the masking tape, his long claws coming in helpful once he discarded his mask, Aether began to clean the dusty floor with some horrible, noisy machine that had Dew hissing at the harsh roar it made.

“Housecat.”

Mountain murmured as he strolled past, lugging panels of the stage as they slowly dismantled it ready to turn the area back into a regular rehearsal space rather than a layout for blocking the tour choreography. Eventually the room was clean and tidy, instruments laid out on their stands ready to rehearse, scattered sheet music re-filed into folders, and amplifiers positioned where they were less likely to be a tripping hazard. The only thing that disrupted them in the end was Mountain's stomach rumbling, making all of them realise it was probably dinnertime.

“We should head back, see if Ifrit and Zephyr feel like heading out to the dining hall.” Aether mused. “And I should really talk to Terzo about getting a clock for in here... It's too easy to lose track of time without any windows; the blinds got stuck shut years before I got here.”

He gestured at black panels of fabric near the ceiling, covering what Dew supposed were windows. Indeed, when they made their way back into the main stone corridors of the Abbey it became clear that the light was already fading as sun began to set.

To their surprise, Ifrit and Zephyr were waiting for them in the common room when they returned.

“Wanting dinner?” Aether asked, wincing when Zephyr nodded vigorously. It was with no small amount of guilt that the three unmated ghouls realised in unison that Zephyr quite possibly hadn’t eaten since before their summoning. They had to hope Ifrit had had the presence of mind to raid the fridge for them. Not wanting to delay them any longer, Aether abruptly did an about-face turn to lead the rest of the pack straight out of the Den and back the way they had just come from.

In the dining hall, having barely let go of each other to collect their food, the newly mated pair sat with their backs to the rest of the ghouls and siblings in the room. They were so close together that they were practically in each other's laps; tails braided together behind them and swinging lazily in unison. Dew could not only feel but see how many more eyes were on them than usual, as he fought to keep his own on his food. If talk of the instant soul bond at Zephyr's summoning hadn't gotten round the Abbey before, it certainly would do now.

Dew tried to find amusement in Ifrit's continued struggle to eat while masked, or at least to see Zephyr's attempts to feed him as the adorably fruitless endeavour that they were. He just couldn't though; as hard as he tried, the sight of the blissfully happy pair, complete with wild bed heads, still made the food turn to cardboard in his mouth. He did his best to choke down the rest of the meal, hoping it would tamp down the stinging jealousy and bitterness in his gut.

As much as Dew may have wanted to slink off after dinner, or hope that Ifrit and Zephyr would do instead, his plans for a quiet evening of sulking by himself were quickly dashed. Zephyr had pulled Ifrit by the hand into the lounge before the taller fire ghoul could duck back into their room. Ifrit had followed without question, the look in his eyes saying that he would go wherever Zephyr led him.

“I'm sorry about disappearing yesterday,” they said in their soft, melodic voice, “the summoning was already very sudden for me, let alone the shock of meeting my mate so soon.”

The burning, lovestruck expression the two of them shared as Zephyr looked up at Ifrit could have melted glass.

“I'd like to get to know you though,” they continued, turning back to the other ghouls with a small smile, “since Ifrit tells me we're pack now.”

Dew narrowed his eyes. He wanted to be suspicious, to let the simmering anger from the day before continue to burn through his veins, but he couldn't find it in him. Zephyr seemed so genuine and open as they looked at the three ghouls sat facing them from the opposite sofa, a touch of apprehension in their expression and voice not stopping them from taking the time to properly meet the pack they had been summoned to complete. Even Ifrit seemed slightly sheepish about having run off so soon the day before, as though he hadn't intended to be as caught up by the soul bond snapping into place as he was.

They went around the room, giving their introductions in a way that was now beginning to feel routine to Dew. Aether started, as always, explaining how he had been topside for a while already as Terzo's assistant but was also new to the role of a band ghoul. Mountain followed, not having much to say beside being an earth ghoul who arrived a week prior. Dew nodded when he felt pale grey eyes land on him.

“Same,” he muttered, “I got here last week too. I'm a fire and water hybrid, but acting as water.”

He hoped the matter-of-fact delivery of his words would dissuade Zephyr from asking any follow up questions. It seemed to work, although as Aether took over to explain more about their duties that Dew had heard before, he noticed the air ghoul watching him intently as he fiddled with the ends of his hair. His hackles raised slightly as he tried to ignore the feeling of being observed. Soon enough, Zephyr averted their gaze back to the other ghouls as they introduced themself.

“I come from a swarm that was larger than most,” they started, “we lived along the sides of a rocky ravine in the centre of the air realms, the wind whistled through it so fast, it was a major current joining east and west. It was always slightly too cold there, so having Ifrit is wonderful.”

They paused to beam up at the fire ghoul once more as Ifrit wrapped one of said warm arms around their shoulders.

“We were a well-establish clan, one of the first to form after He expanded our realms for the first time. When He visited us the first time, He blew down the valley and gifted us the breeze that carried us.”

The way Zephyr spoke it was as though they had been there to witness it, like they were one of the ancient ghouls who could remember such an event, one of the few left in the Pit who had ever seen His face. That, or the oral tradition of the air ghouls was strong enough that they had memories of it as clear as if they had been there. Regardless, the way they spoke sounded to Dew as though they were a good deal older than him, and he assumed the rest of the pack too. One other thing stood out to him from Zephyr's words, however. The breeze that carried them.

“Wait, so do you have wings then?” Dew asked before he could stop his curiosity.

Zephyr smiled indulgently and stretched their arms out, the row of short feathers along them elongating before Dew's eyes until a curtain of them stretched from their wrists almost to their waist. A chorus of impressed coos rippled around the watching ghouls.

“I think it works a bit like the human glamours do. I can choose if they're in or out.”

“Got bird bones too when you're like that, don'tcha!” Ifrit crowed, shifting his arm around the air ghoul lower to effortlessly scoop them up into his lap. “Could toss you around one-handed!”

“Please not here.” Zephyr sniffed primly, shuffling their shoulders as they put their wings away.

Ifrit's hand relaxed instantly, moving to rub gentle circles into their thigh instead and showing more self-restraint than Dew had thought any fire ghoul possessed. It was then that he noticed the shirt Zephyr was wearing; some sort of tank top but with deep armholes that left the sides of their torso exposed. It was another piece Dew vaguely remembered dismissing out of hand from the selection in his closet originally, but he could see now that it was a style clearly sewn with certain ghoulish features in mind.

Aether chuckled awkwardly.

“I think this is where I need to remind you, as the most senior ghoul here in charge of your assimilation to topside life, that you need to be careful if you choose to fly anywhere here. Humans aren't used to our horns and tails but they can dismiss a glimpse of them as a costume or their imagination. Wings or a flying ghoul, on the other hand...”

Zephyr nodded seriously, showing their understanding. Aether's sheepish smile widened then to become something more real and indulgent, and he delivered his next words with a wink.

“As your packmate though, I've heard that the updraft is particularly good off the observatory roof.”

With the ice between them all finally broken, formal introductions dissolving into more casual conversations about the food, Terzo and their topside duties, Dew started to see how things would be from now on. The pack seemed to get along swimmingly, all five of them slotting into their new roles and pack dynamic one way or another. Everything would be just fine. Zephyr seemed a naturally quieter ghoul than most, but Dew supposed that all of them apart from Ifrit were. He saw now that all of his misgivings about the soulmates were unfounded; Ifrit was still the unusually conscientious yet raucous fire ghoul he had thought he was a day ago, and Zephyr was a reserved antidote to his boisterous behaviour who in any other situation Dew would have said was the perfect addition to their pack.

Instead of letting himself feel guilty about the events of the previous day, or about his initial reaction to Zephyr's summoning, Dew instead resolved to be the packmate he would want himself to be from now on. If Zephyr could move past the outright hostility they had been met with and remain polite and friendly to a fault, then Dew could endeavour to do the same. He knew that might be easier said than done – Dew was all too aware that the existence of the blissfully happy couple would continue to sting for some time yet – but that didn't mean it wasn't worth him trying.

To his surprise, Dew's first test of his newfound resolution of affability came sooner than he had imagined.

#ghouls soulmates AU #soulmates au #soulmark au #can you hear the thunder?#the band ghost #nameless ghouls #ghost #ghost bc #ghost fanfiction #dewdrop ghoul #trans dewdrop #aether ghoul #em writes #terzo emeritus #mountain ghoul #ifrit ghoul #zephyr ghoul #demisexual mountain #then/them zephyr

23 notes · View notes

yyaktayak · 1 month ago

Text

Heart&Soul- 3🥢

tags ! : 🏷️ @uceyliyahh @charmed-dreamssss @amandairene88 @duhitzkay380 @prettypink-princesss @bluestrawberrypatch @mjonthetrack @christinabae @transparentphantomface @fafomama 🏷️lmk if you’d like to be tagged ! I’ll add u!!🏷️.

Giannis's POV

It all started with a post.

Giannis had just finished a long day of editing and filming when she saw the notification pop up on her phone. Her heart sank as she read the name attached to the message: Naomi . She wasn't unfamiliar with Naomi—Jimmy's baby mama. It wasn't like they'd ever interacted, but Giannis had seen Naomi's name pop up in Jimmy's posts, heard the occasional rumor, and figured the relationship was complicated, like most high-profile ones.

But this? This was different.

The message wasn't directly to Giannis—it was a post. A story. Naomi had posted a picture of herself flashing a sly grin, and next to it, a caption that sent a chill through Giannis.

| @Trinity_Fatu just Tweeted!

@Trinity_Fatu

It's funny how some people think they can just slide into a man's life without knowing what he's really about. Keep playing with this fire and I'll burn yo ass sweetheart. #StayInYourLane.

The words hit like a slap across the face. It was passive-aggressive, but Giannis knew exactly who it was aimed at. Naomi wasn't just calling out some random person—she was talking about her.

Giannis stared at the screen, her fingers frozen on her phone. The comment section was already blowing up, her name mixed with Naomi's, and everyone had an opinion. People were defending Giannis, sure, but the negativity was overwhelming. She felt the weight of it all hit her in waves, like the tide had come crashing down on her with no warning.

She scrolled through the comments, her stomach turning.

| You're so much better than this drama, Giannis. Don't let her get to you.

| Girl, you need to run from this mess. Jimmy ain't worth all this trouble.

| Naomi's right, though. Giannis needs to back off. No man is worth all this.

The words stung, and before she could stop herself, tears welled up in her eyes. She had been doing everything right—playing it cool, keeping the stream content light, and not getting too involved. But now it felt like everything was crashing down. Naomi had made it personal. And in the eyes of the public, she'd just become another target.

Giannis slammed her phone down on the desk, her chest tight. This is what happens when you let someone in, Giannis. This is why you don't let anyone close enough to hurt you.

Her fingers hovered over her phone for a moment, but then she pulled away. She didn't want to deal with the flood of DMs or the incessant comments. She didn't want to deal with any of it. Not tonight. Not right now.

Instead, she pulled her hoodie tighter around her, crawled into bed, and turned off her phone. The lights from her stream desk in the corner of the room flickered quietly, as if mocking her retreat into solitude. She tried to shut everything out—the noise, the hate, the uncertainty.

But Jimmy? He wasn't far behind. He had already texted her a few times, asking if she was okay, but each time she ignored him. She didn't have the energy to deal with him right now. Especially not when things were starting to feel so heavy. What was she even supposed to say? *Oh, yeah, your baby mama's attacking me on social media? No big deal, right?

No. She wasn't ready to face that. Not yet.

Jimmy's phone buzzed in his pocket, and for the first time that night, he couldn't ignore it. He had been on a long call with the WWE team, trying to iron out the details for his next match. But something felt off. It was a gut feeling, the kind that told him something wasn't right with Giannis.

His phone soon buzzed with a notification— Naomi.

He opened the message, expecting something about their son or a routine update. But what he saw instead made his blood run cold.

A screenshot of Naomi's story. And the words slapped him across the face. ‘Stay in your lane’.His eyes narrowed. He knew immediately it was aimed at Giannis, and it hit him like a gut punch.

His fingers shook slightly as he tapped out a reply to Giannis.

| Giannis🤍

| Jimmy💙: Giannis, you okay ?

| but don't let that shit get to you beautiful .

He waited for a response, but nothing came.

He sent another text, his worry growing by the second.

| Giannis🤍

| Jimmy💙: mama? please answer me.

| Jimmy💙: ima talk to her okay?

Still no reply.

Jimmy's frustration boiled over. This wasn't what he had signed up for. He never thought that things would get this complicated. He'd tried to keep his personal life private, but with Giannis, everything felt different. The connection they had wasn't just some one-time thing—it was real. But now Naomi had dragged her into their mess, and Jimmy felt the weight of it all.

He tried calling her, but it went straight to voicemail.

"Come on, beautiful ..," he muttered under his breath, pacing around his living room. He had been trying to protect her from the drama, trying to keep the outside noise away, but it was all crashing down. He wasn't sure what to do next.

He was pissed at Naomi for involving Giannis in this. He wasn't perfect, but he sure as hell wasn't about to let anyone come after the woman he cared about. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. Naomi's behavior was one thing, but his own inability to protect Giannis was eating at him.

He texted again.

| Giannis🤍

| Jimmy💙: I’m here for you mama please talk to me ..

---

Giannis's POV

The next few days were a blur. Giannis didn't stream. She didn't post. She barely left her room. Every time she opened her phone, there was another message, another notification, more hate piling on her like a ton of bricks. Her own followers started turning on her, and the whispers about her being a homewrecker, about her "stepping out of line," had started to cloud her every thought.

And Jimmy?

His texts kept coming in, but she kept ignoring them. Each time he reached out, she felt her anger flare, but it was mixed with something else—hurt, maybe? Or fear. Fear of what he might say, fear of what might happen if she allowed him to get too close. She didn't want to be a part of his drama, his family's mess. She wasn't ready to face Naomi, let alone the world that had suddenly painted her as the villain.

She didn't want to feel like a pawn in some game, but that's how it felt. Every time Naomi lashed out, it was like a reminder that she didn't belong in Jimmy's world. He might say he wanted her around, but his ex—the mother of his child—had made it clear she didn't want her there.

Her phone buzzed again. She stared at it for a moment, unsure of what to do. Jimmy's name flashed on the screen.

| Jimmy💙

| Jimmy💙: Giannis, please talk to me. I'm not going anywhere. You know I care about you mama. Don't shut me out.

She felt the tears welling up again. The last thing she wanted was to hurt Jimmy, but she didn't know how to deal with all this pressure. She had thought she was ready for the spotlight. She had thought she could handle it. But now, everything felt suffocating.

She wiped her eyes, setting her phone down. It was easier this way. Keeping her distance.

Isolation seemed safer than facing the truth.

Jimmy's POV

The silence between them was unbearable. Jimmy couldn't stand it anymore. He had tried reaching out a dozen times, but Giannis hadn't responded. Not once. He couldn't get her on the phone, couldn't get through to her on text. He was starting to feel like he'd lost her, like she was slipping away, and no matter how much he wanted to pull her back, he couldn't.

The anger was still there, though—not at Giannis, but at Naomi, at the whole situation. Jimmy wasn't about to let this drama tear apart what he had with Giannis. He wasn't going to lose her without a fight.

He stood up from the couch, grabbing his jacket. It was time to take matters into his own hands. If Giannis wasn't going to talk to him online, then maybe it was time to show up in person.

He wasn't going to lose her without a fight.

And he wasn't going to let Naomi win. Not this time.

Heart&Soul

A/N: Naomi sista whyyyyy😫😫😫

#wwe #black female oc #yeet #smut #black oc #damian priest #jey uso #cody rhodes #bianca belair #wepa #jimmy uso #wwelove

20 notes · View notes

runningfrom2am · 1 year ago

Text

leveling the playing field XIV

summary: with nowhere else to go after getting caught cheating to help lucy gray, you both make some desperately stupid decisions.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.2k

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. do they love each other or hate each other? who knows (we do, kind of). implications and mentions of abuse, so read with caution!! also a little bit of swearing but that's neither here nor there. oh, and manipulation (both of them lowkey)

masterlists // nav // requests

a/n: omg so the next part has over 5k words and its not even close to being done?? should i post it all at once or break it up?? lmk your thoughts! also!! i think there's only two parts left omg... BUT do not fear bc i'm also writing another little thing for this and i feel like i'll keep doing that :)

series masterlist

You run back out to the stage, just as the Covey band's song is about to end. It was the last one, you thought, if their at home rehearsals were any indicator. You climb back up the side with an exaggerated stumble in your step, drawing the attention of Lucy Gray. She gave you a confused look, having expected that you and Coriolanus would be quite busy, especially after your song. She didn't expect you back on stage at all that night.

You smile and take the mic before she can say goodnight to the audience. "How about one more? I've had a second wind!" You say, looking to the band for their approval. Everyone besides Lucy Gray just giggles at you and nods.

"Alrighty, well, we'd really love to but our Sage here has clearly had a bit to drink and needs to get home." Lucy Gray tries to save it with a joke.

"Oh, come on, Lucy Gray. Live a little!" You laugh, playfully nudging her shoulder. "Who wants one more!" You call out which is returned with whistles and claps of encouragement.

"Alright, alright. Just one more, though." She agrees, smile returning to her face as he shakes her head.

The song ends and the band is packing up, and you can only hope that Coryo is long gone. The floor empties out, and you watch as Maude Ivory hops off the stage.

"Hey, Maude Ivory!" You call after her, hiding the sense of urgency in your voice. "Hey, can you help me clean up the floor before you grab a drink? I'll grab you your water." You offer, hurrying behind her to keep her from going to the back room. You didn't want her to see the bodies you assumed were still back there.

"Yes ma'am." She nods, giving you a quick salute.

"It's not a lot today, just a few bottles we can reuse." You smile at her as she skips out to start at the opposite edge of the room. "Lucy Gray, c'mere." You call to her as she closes up her old guitar case.

"You okay?" She asks, confused by your sudden sobriety.

"Come with me." You whisper, leading her into the back hallway in front of the door.

She follows, worry creased into her brow. Suddenly, she notes the red spots across the front of your dress which were almost invisible under the stage lights and among the red accents of the fabric.

"Something happened, okay? You can't let them come back here." You insist, referring to her family. "And you can't tell anyone."

"What?" She asks in a hushed tone, glancing past you toward the door. "Is it Coriolanus?"

Before you can explain, she's pushing past you and shoving the door open. You follow her quickly, reaching your arms around her to cover her mouth to keep any kind of reaction from being heard. You effectively muffle a cry of shock, and she's shoving you away and turning to face you. "That's- that's Billy Taupe, and, and Mayfair-"

"Shh-" You hush her quickly. "It was self-defense, okay? She was going to get us all killed. You included."

"I- no, I don't-" She tries to articulate her thoughts as her eyes fill with tears.

"I know, okay? It's less than ideal. Coryo is handling it. We just have to stay quiet." You promise. "Let's just grab everything and bring it all out, pretend you saw nothing. Maude Ivory and CC can't see this, do you understand?"

She nods, sniffling and looking between the bodies. "Hey, don't look at them." You remind her, gently turning her chin toward you. "They hurt you. Now you can move on, okay?"

"Okay." She whispers shakily, nodding again as you gather all the Covey's backstage supplies to bring out.

The next morning, you're awoken to a pounding on the front door of the small home, the four of you who shared a room all shooting up at once.

You scramble to get a peek out the window, spotting the grey shade of peacekeeper uniforms and cursing.

"Who- who is it?" Maude Ivory asks, scared as she looks between you and Lucy Gray.

"Peacekeepers. Lucy Gray, we have to go." You say quickly, closing the shade and grabbing your dress and Lucy Gray's arm.

"What? What's happening?" Barb Azure asks, rubbing her eyes.

"They're going to bust in if you don't open the door. Just tell them Lucy Gray isn't home. Don't mention me and if they ask, you don't know who I am. Do you understand?" You ask frantically and the girl nods fearfully.

As quickly as possible, you and Lucy Gray are flying out the back door and making a sprint for the trees behind the house.

"Any sign of the guns, or the girl? Mayor Lipp is sure she did it, or at least knows who did." A gruff voice of one of the peacekeepers has you and Lucy Gray both looking at each other, hands clutched over your mouths to keep quiet.

"None." His comrade replies, standing almost directly beneath you after they searched the yard. Clearly not very thoroughly, if they didn't see you and Lucy Gray sitting only about ten feet above their heads.

You cringe as he walks right over your garden, crushing the blooming raspberry bushes. "They arrested Plinth. Just got word, apparently, he was involved with rebels." The first man speaks again, and your eyes widen.

"Plinth? He's two beds down from me. Didn't expect that from him. He's a nice guy."

"No, I know. Anyway, he'll be executed this afternoon." You have to bite your lip to keep it from shaking under your hand, as if somehow that could give you away.

"Whatever, we'll come back later to get her." One of them says, making their way back through the house.

You hide in the branches and leaves until you're sure they're gone before carefully unsticking yourself from the ridged bark you were sitting on for far too long. You carefully climb down after Lucy Gray, making a quick effort to pull any stray sticks of leaves from your hair.

"What are we gonna do? They think I did it, I didn't do it, they'll kill me!" Lucy Gray panics, and you think about it while you quickly change into your dress.

"I think you have we have to run. Like you planned to do. We just have to follow through." You tell her, nodding to yourself.

Lucy Gray sighs, tipping her head back to look up at the sky. "I didn't even really want to go, I just wanted to get Billy Taupe off my ass."

"Well, he won't be there now." You say, looking her over. "How were they going to break that girl out?"

"Lil?" Lucy Gray asks, confused as she looks back at you. "I... I don't know, but it doesn't matter now, does it?"

"Did they have a plan? Did they write it down anywhere?" You ask again.

"Well, yes, but they didn't write it down. It was too risky."

"Tell it to me. Every detail you can remember." You urge her, trying to settle the panic rising behind your ribs.

Coriolanus had been out all morning with his team, looking for the weapon that killed the mayor's daughter and praying every moment that they wouldn't find it. After breaking down the doors of countless homes, he thought he would start to feel better. There was no way they would be caught, but he was regretting not taking the initiative to hide them himself. That way, he would at least know.

With his issued weapon in his hand, they were pacing down a desolate street. By now the whole district knew to lock themselves away, except for whoever he just saw in his peripheral vision through a narrow sidestreet. He turns his head fully, just catching the ends of their hair and the red in their short dress before they disappeared. He stops, quickly taking the turn into the side street and looking back to make sure no one had seen him depart from the group.

With the bag of tools thrown over your shoulder, you tried your very best to be quiet while walking through the city. Walking down a sidestreet, you found it was a challenge to be both fast and silent. At the sound of footsteps behind you, you hold the bag in your arms to prevent the tools from knocking together and step into a narrow doorway, back pressed to the wall.

You're breathing heavily, but keep it steady as the footsteps on the gravel of the road come to a stop. You hear them turn, presumably looking in both directions. You're in the middle of cursing yourself for being spotted when you hear a whistle. A calling one, baiting you to peek out from your hiding spot, but you don't budge. Another whistle. "Hey, Y/N? Is that you?" The whistle is followed by Coryo's voice whispering your name, and you're infinitely relieved.

You stepped out quietly, and you couldn't help but smile when you saw his familiar face. He meets you halfway, and you're quickly wrapping your arms around him. "Coryo..." You sigh, not ready to let go of him just yet.

"Hey, Y/N/N..." He whispers back, kissing your head. "Are you okay? What are you doing out? You need to get home."

"I can't." You shake your head, finally dropping your arms from around him. "Did you hear Sejanus got arrested this morning? He's going to be executed."

Coryo is in shock, jaw going slack as he tries to decide what to say. It must have been his recording, because there was nothing linking him to the murders.

"I'm going to break him out. Like they planned to do for that other girl."

Instantly at your statement, he shakes his head. "Absolutely not. You'll be caught and you'll be next. There's a poster of you in the head peacekeeper's office. I've seen it. They're looking for you here, it's too risky."

"I'm not going to let Sejanus die over something he didn't even do." You whisper, voice picking up in anger as you glare up at him.

"You can't, Y/N. I get why you'd want to, but it's not worth it." He insists.

"They won't catch us. I'm getting him out and we're running, just like they planned to do anyway."

Coryo scans your face for any sign at all that you may be kidding, but he finds none. "Don't. Don't go. I wanted to tell you this last night, but they're relocating me to Two. You can come with me. I'll get us both out of here."

"Closer to home?" You ask, a hint of hopefulness flitting in your eyes before it's quickly replaced with sadness. "Wait, no. No, they'll ship me back home, and then what? I'll be killed anyway, or worse." You sigh, shaking your head as you look down. This is probably about to turn into a goodbye you never wanted to say.

The idea of leaving him behind was breaking your heart, but would you really be leaving him? You knew what would happen to him. He'd go to Two, rise quickly in the ranks, and be elected president by the time he turned twenty-five. He would be okay, but would you be without him? You couldn't stomach the idea of taking such a bright future from him just because you had nothing left. "I have to go with them, Coryo. It's my only choice."

He can already see that there is no shot you'll be happy out there. You probably wouldn't last the week, either. He nods a little bit, taking your hand. "I'll come with you." He nods again, deciding it for himself. Coriolanus Snow is not about to say goodbye to the love of his life for the last time as someone she was pretending to be but never truly was, nothing more than a rebel from District Twelve.

"No, your relocation, it's your ticket home. You have to take it." You reply.

"It doesn't matter. If they find the gun, I'll be killed either way. Here, in Two, or back home. I can't escape it, same as you." He promises. "There's nothing for me there anyway. Not without you." Coryo says, rubbing his thumb gently over the side of your neck, warming the chilled skin there.

How could you say no? "Okay." You whisper, nodding slightly as your cheeks flush pink. "Can you leave tonight?"

"Uh, I, no." He shakes his head. "Earliest I can get away is sunrise."

"Shit... okay." You hum, looking around as if that will help you think. Undistracted from his all-consuming blue eyes looking into yours. "We can try and wait, then meet us at the hanging tree at dawn. If we're not there, hike to the cabin. We'll wait there if we can't hide here overnight."

He nods in confirmation, looking quickly over his shoulder as you both hear cheers and whoops of excitement making their way down the street toward you. "Okay. I'll see you tomorrow." He agrees.

"See you tomorrow." You give him a small smile, turning to continue on your way when he grabs your wrist. He's quick to pull you back to him, colliding his lips with yours. He always kisses like he's starving. God, you wouldn't be able to live without that.

"Be careful, Y/N/N." He warns as he pulls away. "Stay safe."

"Yes sir, mister president." You grin, kissing him again quickly before walking away. You turn as you walk backward to face him, giving him a salute.

Coryo smiles to himself smugly, nodding at you before rushing to rejoin the other peacekeepers in his squad as they drag Spruce back toward the compound.

taglist: @totallynotkaibiased , @stelleduarte , @klplynn , @secretsicanthideanymore , @bejeweledreverie , @gloryekaterina , @andrewgarfieldsbitch , @queenofspades6 , @pepperonipastas , @ladybug0095 , @lunamothwrites , @sbrewer21 , @mus-tbe-a-weasley , @splxtscreen , @unclecrunkle , @karmaswitch , @coconut-dreamz , @nekee-lilac02 , @ooooglymoooogly , @riddlerloveb0t , @lovedbalances , @notyourwildestdream , @snowlandson-top , @too-lit-for-fanfic , @utopiakys , @deafeningballoonnacho , @roosterschanelslut , @chmpgneprblem , @cosmoetik , , @urvampgfsworld , @carolanns-world@nan-nie , @shakespearseclipse , @iovemoonyy , @notyoursweetheart-honey , @xyzstar , @eatpizzasass, @slytherinholland , @queenofshinigamis , @elodiebeau , @soulessjourney

#tbosas #tbosas x reader #thg series #tbosas fic #the hunger games #coryo x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus fanfiction

325 notes · View notes

magicshopaholic · 1 year ago

Text

Drowning (Namjoon x OC)

Summary: You give Namjoon a piece of your mind and you both discover your feelings have gone nowhere.

Pairing: Namjoon x OC

Genre: Angst, hint of fluff

Word count: 9.6 K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: language, insinuations of sex

A/N: As requested, including appearances by Taehyung and Dilara. Takes place two weeks after A Day in the Life.

Tagging: @bbl32, @quarter-life-crisis2, @margopinkerton, @faearchives, @whoisbts, @purpleseoul7, @kflixnet (if you want to be added to the taglist, lmk)

Listen to: "cold/mess" by prateek kuhad

namjoon masterlist | main masterlist

All it takes is a fifteen second phone call from the concierge to the penthouse suites for Kaya to be escorted upstairs.

She tries not to let her impatience show; the concierge is walking at a normal pace, all straight-backed and poised, and Kaya simply wants to tell him to hurry up.

“I can take it from here,” she says abruptly when they reach the door of the suite. “Thank you.” The concierge looks vaguely surprised at being ushered away, but nods and leaves.

Swallowing, she stares at the door. Now that she’s actually here, she doesn’t know what to do next, besides the obvious. She doesn’t know what to expect or even whom to expect - all she has is Seokjin’s text telling her to hurry over because -

Buzz.

Kaya rings the bell and waits for less than five seconds before the door swings open.

“You came!” Seokjin sounds more surprised than relieved, stepping aside to let her in.

“Where is he?” Kaya asks, striding into the suite to see only Yoongi sitting on the sofa with a laptop on his knees. She looks around the living room, possibly bigger than her entire apartment, and towards the bedrooms - but there doesn’t seem to be anyone else here. She turns to Seokjin. “Well?”

“You actually called her?” Yoongi asks, sounding just the slightest bit wary.

Kaya frowns. “Wait, you didn’t know?” she asks, but Seokjin interrupts her to answer Yoongi.

“Yeah, I - I had to. I didn’t tell him, though.” He turns to Kaya. “He’s in the other suite. His suite.”

“Well -” Something is off. “Then… let’s go. Why are we - wait, what did you mean you didn’t tell him? Is he… awake?”

Yoongi raises his eyebrows. “He’s on a conference call with management so I hope he is,” he answers dryly.

“Okay, hold on.” Kaya bites her lip, a small part of her brain telling her she’s been tricked somehow. She fixes Seokjin with a look and is somewhat glad to see him look nervous. “You told me he collapsed. You said I should hurry and when I asked to talk to him, you said he wasn’t in a position to talk.”

Seokjin nods slowly. “Um, okay, so… he did collapse during the group interview we were doing because we’ve been travelling and he hasn’t been getting a lot of sleep - and is London going through some kind of heat wave? Because I don’t remember it being this bad -”

“No. Focus.” Kaya is sure now she’s been lied to, or at the very least manipulated. “You said he couldn’t talk. I thought he was unconscious or - or on a drip -”

“No, he couldn’t talk because he was on the phone with his mum - but, wait, Kaya -” Seokjin says hurriedly. “I didn’t lie. I just - I couldn’t think of any other way to get you here unless I… shit, what’s the word?”

“Exaggerated? Embellished? Aggrandized?”

“Lied,” supplies Yoongi, barely looking up from his laptop.

“Shut up, Yoongi,” mutters Seokjin through his teeth. “Look, Kaya… I’m sorry. But he honestly hasn’t been doing great, okay? He hasn’t been eating all that well and the travel back and forth is crazy and he’s constantly up at all hours writing, so it’s not even a surprise that he finally cracked under the pressure -”

“But he’s fine!” she exclaims. “If he’s taking work calls and bossing people around then all he probably needed was some Gatorade and a cookie! God, I can’t believe you lied to me,” she mutters, shaking her head and pulling out her phone. “You just cost me eighteen pounds to get here, Seokjin.”

“Look, he’s not a good place right now -”

“That’s not my problem anymore! He doesn’t need a babysitter and he definitely doesn’t need me hovering over him because he got light-headed for a second. This was really low of you, you know,” she snaps, turning around and heading towards the door but he stops her at the last second, sliding in front of her and blocking the door.

“I’m sorry. I really am. I did not want to lie to you and I understand why you’re angry, but…” He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. “You actually came here,” he blurts out. “You thought he was sick and you dropped everything and you came to him, even though you two aren’t on good terms right now. Kaya -“ He makes a motion as though about to grab her shoulders, but stops himself at the last moment.

“Seokjin -“

“Timing is everything,” he interrupts her, and his eyes look completely serious, almost manic. “You don’t know when you’re going to run out of it or - or when all of a sudden, you’re strangers.”

“What?” Kaya frowns incredulously. “What are you talking about?”

“He’s a mess,” he repeats, and his voice cracks a bit. “And I know you are, too, so while it’s not really any of my business, just please… please talk to him.”

Kaya has the distinct impression that this topic has run away from him entirely, but his audacity makes her hands shake. She turns briefly to look at Yoongi, who’s staring at Seokjin with his eyebrows raised, clearly as much in the dark as her.

She turns back around. “Seokjin,” she says in a low voice, “with all due respect, you don’t know the half of what happened between Namjoon and I. Okay? He ended our relationship. He did that. And we have nothing between us anymore. Now - please move so I can leave.”

Seokjin swallows and he looks hurt - but Kaya neither knows nor cares what that’s about. He lowers his head and shuffles to the side; Kaya opens the door and storms out, feeling sad and cheated and relieved all at once - only to be faced with Namjoon exiting the room on the opposite side of the corridor.

Kaya’s heart stops for a moment. Namjoon looks more surprised than ever, almost as if he’s seen a ghost.

“What - what are you doing here?” he asks, sounding a bit breathless.

She doesn’t know where to start. It’s just occurred to her how long it’s been since she last saw him, but she doesn’t want to stare. Her eyes fall slightly to his hands by his side, one of them holding a brand new phone.

“Ask Seokjin,” she says shortly, turning to leave.

“What? Wait -“

Kaya shakes her head to herself as she continues walking away, even as she hears his footsteps on the carpet behind her. She’s so annoyed at Seokjin - it’s hard to be outright angry at him, especially when he looks so pitiful - but whatever he’s working through is not her problem.

Without realising it, her feet slow down. Sighing, she turns around.

“Are you really not eating? Seriously?” she asks, not meaning to sound so exasperated. But now that she actually looks at him, plain white t-shirt and faded blue jeans, his hair a silvery-purple and brushing the collar of his t-shirt, she can see it. He’s getting thinner and his face is pale and while his frame is still broad, there’s no muscle left near his shoulders and chest.

Namjoon’s eyes shutter over slightly. “I’m eating just fine,” he mutters, looking away. Even the veins in his neck look more prominent. “Is that why you came here?”

“I heard you fainted. Or something.”

“I didn’t faint,” he clarifies, rolling his eyes. “I got a little dizzy and fell, kind of. I’m fine. Wait, is that why you’re here?” He frowns, but there’s a flash of hope in his eyes.

Kaya feels her cheeks grow warm. He’s looking at her like he’s just registered she’s here in the flesh and he looks relieved. Or disbelieving - either way, she feels the need to look away.

“Seokjin made it sound a lot worse. And I was already in London, so…”

“Work?”

“Kind of. Class off-site.”

Namjoon nods and takes a step forward. “It’s really good to see you,” he says, voice softer than before.

An old, familiar flutter passes through her stomach. Hooking her thumbs into the back pockets of her jeans, she hunches her shoulders slightly. “The purple suits you,” she replies, feeling the corner of her mouth lift up slightly. Namjoon smiles, too: a small half-smile but enough to make his dimple pop.

They hold each other’s gaze for a few moments before Kaya feels her smile fade. Heart hurting, she turns around and resumes walking away.

“You’re still mad at me,” he says from behind her. “Even now?”

She doesn’t stop, but slows down. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters.” His answer is instant. His voice is closer now and even after all this time, Kaya’s entire body tingles when she thinks about their proximity.

“Why? It’s not going to change anything, right?” she asks, shrugging and finally turning.

Namjoon bites his lip. “I -” He stares at her, as though really studying her, before dropping his gaze to the floor. “It’s been six months,” he murmurs. “It might be too late to change anything, anyway.”

“What does that mean? Wait, no - you know what?” she adds quickly, her heart jerking. “I need you to stop doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“Reeling me back in. Constantly. Saying these things and - and coming over and -” She sniffs without meaning to. “Your friends luring me to your hotel to - what? Talk? You’re just making it worse. This is what you wanted.”

He scoffs. “No, I didn’t. Believe me, this -” He gestures to the space between them “- is definitely not what I wanted. I made one decision which was -”

“And it was a dumb decision!” she exclaims. “And I wasn’t even a part of it. But you made that call - so live with it. You don’t get to keep acting like you care about whether I’m angry -”

“Act? What the hell, Kaya? I’m miserable,” he argues, “and I hate myself for how this turned out but I had to do something. This wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for me and I can’t go back in time but I can try not to make it worse! Being miserable is worth that.”

Kaya scoffs and folds her arms across her chest. “So that’s what this is about. You’re punishing yourself,” she states. “And it doesn’t matter that you hurt me in the process, too.”

Namjoon shakes his head, looking drained. “This isn’t about me.”

“No, it is.” Something about how defeated he looks is only making her angrier. “It’s about your self-inflicted sense of responsibility where everything is your problem, anything that goes wrong is your fault, and the only person that can fix it is you.”

“Fucking hell - do you think I like being wired this way?” he demands and his mouth trembles a bit. “Do you think I like not being able to sleep because I have people depending on me, or - or constantly worrying if I’m doing the right thing for everyone? The onus is on me and so is the blame. I hate it but I don’t… I don’t know how else to function,” he finishes, his voice cracking. “And I’m sorry you’re mad and I’ll let you hate me for however long you -”

“I don’t hate you. Jesus Christ,” she mutters, but she can feel her throat beginning to hurt. “And I never blamed you. Not once. What would I blame you for? I didn’t even get hurt last time - I was just freaked out. And then you bailed on me - some might call that cowardice.”

He flinches, like she’s slapped him. “Call it what you want, Kaya. And, yeah, maybe that wasn’t bad enough for you to blame me,” he admits. “But what about when it gets bad enough that you do blame me? Because you’ll be right. And I’ll have nothing - I’ll have no way to fight for us because you will be right to blame me and I will lose you, knowing that I did nothing to try and stop it. At least this way, I know I tried to do the right thing by letting you go.”

Kaya stares as he turns away, looking up at the ceiling and sniffing. It’s been three years but it’s still shocking to see him break down in front of her, her tall, strong boyfriend with the world on his shoulders. It takes her another moment to remember he’s not her boyfriend anymore.

“Okay,” she murmurs, hearing her own voice shake. “I’m going to say this for the last time, because… I’m so tired, Namjoon.” Walking towards him until she’s right in front of him, she hesitates before reaching for his face. Up close, the bags under his eyes are more prominent but she forces herself to meet his eyes, which look both confused and longing at the same time.

“I love you,” she says, waiting for the words to sink in. “I love you… and I want to be with you. And I want to marry you and I want to have your children and I want to grow old with you and die together, eighty years from now. But I’m so tired, Joon,” she repeats in a small voice, searching his eyes for something familiar. “If you ask me to leave right now, then… I’ll go. I’ll go and we’ll lead our separate lives and everything we were can just stay a nice memory. But -” She swallows, feeling her voice break again. “But if you ask me to stay… I promise, I will never leave you. It’s okay to be the one taken care of, Joonie,” she whispers.

Namjoon closes his eyes and touches his forehead to hers before opening them again. His hands are big and warm on her shoulders, long fingers curling around her arms like he’s still convincing himself, even now that she’s really here.

“I love you,” he whispers, but his eyes fall to the floor. “And I will always love you, but… Kaya, can we -”

Kaya shakes her head, not wanting to hear anymore. Ignoring the tear that escapes her eye and clenching her jaw to stop herself from sobbing, she lowers her hands, her heart breaking because now they’re really done.

“Goodbye, Namjoon,” she murmurs, reaching up and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Take care of yourself.”

It’s closure, or maybe it isn’t. Either way, it feels like the end.

—

It’s too warm for London; Kaya doesn’t remember ever feeling this hot in her two years living in this city while she was getting her Masters, but maybe global warming really is catching up with them. The air conditioner in Dilara’s apartment is extremely effective, though, so despite the fact that she’s been in shorts and a thin off-shoulder all day, she cradles a cup of steaming green tea in her hands, barely feeling the heat.

A knock sounds on her door and jerks her out of her numbness.

“Hey,” says Dilara softly, poking her head in. When Kaya nods in acknowledgement, she steps inside. “You alright?”

Kaya considers this. “No,” she answers honestly. “But I wasn’t really expecting anything different.”

While Dilara doesn’t know the details of what transpired earlier this evening, it seems as though she’s guessed the general gist of it. “Well… we’re going to get drinks in a bit. Do you want to join? Get your mind off it?”

We, meaning Taehyung and her friends Lexie and Chris. “I’m good, thanks,” mutters Kaya, privately thinking it’s the last thing she wants to do right now. “I think I need to just be alone and… process. Or forget.” She takes a sip of the tea but it’s tasteless. “I want to get it over with before I leave tomorrow. By the way,” she adds, setting the tea on the bedside table, “thank you for letting me stay while I’m here.”

“Of course,” says Dilara, like it’s obvious. “Whenever you’re in London, just give me a ring. Are you sure you don’t want to come with us, though?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Okay.” She nods, looking slightly doubtful but thankfully not pushing. “Well, help yourself to anything in the kitchen. Liquor is in the cabinet by the dining table. Food… not much of it. Booze - a lot of it.”

Kaya nods, giving her a small smile as she moves to leave.

“Oh, um.” Dilara stops. “By the way, I just want to let you know that while I really like Namjoon… if it comes down to choosing sides, I’m on yours.” She shrugs sort of sheepishly as she says it.

“Oh.” Kaya pauses, not expecting this. “That’s… not necessary.”

“Maybe,” she admits.”It’s just… I know that Tae and I are disgustingly into each other right now, but not too long ago, we were broken up, too. And as much as I love the guys…” She sighs and purses her lips. “They’re one team and they will stick up for each other, no matter what. And it can be a little intimidating,” she adds. “So, just to clarify, I’m on your team.”

Kaya doesn’t quite know how to respond to this. “That’s really nice,” she says at last. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

She sighs and runs her hands over her face. “In any case, I don’t think it’ll ever go there. We’re pretty over. And believe me, the last thing I want to do is be the cause of any conflict between you and Taehyung.”

Dilara shakes her head. “Are you kidding? We fight over everything. It’s kind of become a thing now. Besides,” she continues, “being on opposite sides, opposing teams… can you imagine how much hotter the sex would be?”

“Okay,” mutters Kaya quickly, chuckling despite herself. “Glad to help.” But she’s grateful for the momentary lightness.

Dilara grins. “You have a really pretty smile.”

Disney princess eyes. “Thanks, Komyshan.”

“You’re welcome,” she replies in a sing-songy voice, stepping out of the room and shutting the door behind her. Not a moment passes before it opens again. “Oh, also?”

Kaya tries not to sigh; she’s very fond of Dilara, but she really needs to be alone right now. “Yeah?”

“Um…” Dilara cranes her neck to look at something outside the room before stepping inside and closing the door again. “Don’t be angry, but… Chris let me in on a little secret.”

Kaya freezes. “He did?”

“Yeah…” she says slowly. “Don’t be angry with him. I’m one of his closest friends and… this is the kind of thing he’d need to tell someone.”

“Jesus.” Her heart is still racing from this unexpected turn in conversation, but she’s too tired to care much about it now. “You know what, it’s fine. Just… don’t tell Namjoon.”

Dilara shrugs. “Of course. It’s none of my business.” She pauses. “I just hope you’re being careful. And like I said, I’m on your side, so if you need anything -”

“I know.”

She nods and opens her mouth to respond when the doorbell rings. “Hang on,” she mutters, disappearing out of the room.

Kaya closes her eyes and drops her face into her hands, sad and exhausted and empty. She appreciates Dilara’s concern but right now, she just needs to be alone. She hears the door open and Dilara’s voice say something, before she calls out her name.

“Kaya?” Dilara appears in the doorway again and the delicate look on her face is telling enough. “It’s for you.”

It’s almost an out of body experience, hearing her own footsteps on the hardwood floors and stepping out of the guest bedroom to see Namjoon at the end of the hallway. Part of her gets it now, why when she’d arrived at the hotel, he’d looked like he couldn’t quite believe she was real. It seems surreal that he’s here now, and her chest feels like it’s being crushed with sadness and fury.

She barely registers Dilara muttering something and leaving them alone, disappearing into her bedroom, no doubt to give Taehyung an update. For a few moments, there is silence. Kaya doesn’t want to look at him anymore; the rejection is fresh and cuts like a knife, and no part of how broken he looks means anything to her anymore.

When a few more seconds pass and nothing happens, Kaya folds her arms across her chest and scoffs, looking away. “Are you here to break up with me some more? Because believe me, I get the message, alright?”

Namjoon seemingly ignores this. “What did you mean when you said you didn’t get hurt last time?” He takes a step forward. “The break-in - that was the only time, right?”

Kaya frowns, momentarily unsure of what he’s talking about. But his gaze is unwavering and even when she remembers her own words, she doesn’t answer. “You are unbelievable,” she mutters.

“Kaya, I’m serious.”

“I don’t care,” she snaps. “I don’t owe you any answers, about anything. Not after you expressly asked me to leave.”

“I didn’t, actually,” he points out. “I couldn’t. And I know you don’t owe me anything, but -” He breaks off and looks around, presumably for the words, but eventually just hangs his head. “Please. Did something else happen?”

“How is it - why do you - what are you even going to do with this information?” she asks incredulously. “How does it matter? And why did you come all the way here -”

“Why did you come all the way to my hotel when you thought something happened to me?” he interrupts.

Kaya falls silent. Her heart hammers; she thinks of his words an hour ago, of the last time he’d come to Amsterdam, of Chris Park and feels moments away from crumbling.

“I can’t keep doing this,” she whispers. “I don’t know what you want anymore.”

“I want you to be safe,” he answers immediately. “And I don’t know if this is the way to go about it but I had to do something. How inadequate of a boyfriend would I be if I did nothing?”

Kaya shakes her head. There are too many things she can say in response to that but it’s hurting too much to argue. “You bought a new phone?” she asks instead.

“What? Yeah.”

“What happened to your old one?”

“It broke.”

She raises her eyebrows, albeit not very surprised. “How?”

Namjoon hesitates. “I threw it at a wall.”

It’s enough to give pause. She wants to ask if it was on purpose; something in his expression tells her it was and if it was out of anger, she can’t think what would have set him off that badly.

She decides she doesn’t want to know. Fishing her own three year old iPhone out of her back pocket, she taps on the screen. “If I toss my phone to you, will you catch it? Because a new phone is not something I can afford right now.”

Amidst everything, a shadow of doubt passes across his face. “I mean, I can - I can try.” He bends his knees slightly and holds his hands in front of him, like a wicketkeeper, looking tense. For a brief moment, Kaya almost smiles.

“Okay.” She glances at her phone screen and bites her lip. If she shows him this, there’s no going back. Then she shakes her head. “Here goes,” she mutters, carefully tossing her phone in a clean arc and aiming as closely as she can for his hands.

Namjoon winces and still fumbles it, but thankfully manages to avoid it hitting the ground. Sighing in relief, he straightens up and turns the screen towards him, and she can see him type her security code with his thumb. Kaya watches him carefully, her heart sinking when she sees his expression drop and all the colour leave his face.

“What - what the hell is this?” he asks, his voice hoarse, and looking nauseous.

“Read it,” she says quietly. The characters on the piece of paper are foreign to her but aren’t to him, and the moment she’d seen it, even through the shock, the first thing she’d done was snap a picture of it. “Out loud.”

“No, I’m not going to read it out loud.” He shakes his head, looking paler than ever. “Kaya, what is -” His voice cracks.

“It was taped to my front door a couple of weeks ago,” she says listlessly. “I tried translating it on Google but nothing made sense, so I asked Dilara’s friend Chris to help me out.” She recalls Chris’s confusion at her pointed question, followed by horror and embarrassment. She’d had to urge him to be honest with her and he’d finally, after a long time and profuse apologies, typed back in English: you’re dead namjoon’s whore.

Namjoon is staring at her phone screen, motionless except for his hands shaking. “I just don’t understand,” he whispers, closing his eyes and lowering the phone, “why you still want to be with me. After all this, after being stalked and now this? After getting actual threats?”

She rolls her eyes even as her stomach twists with the memory of that day. “Who says I still want to be with you?”

He ignores this, exhaling shakily. “Are you okay? Did you - wait, how did this even happen? I put out a statement that I was single.”

“Maybe they didn’t know. Maybe they didn’t care - I don’t give a shit. But it happened.”

Namjoon swallows. “Fuck. What - what do we do? Tell me what I can -“

“You don’t have to do anything. The person who did it got caught on the building’s security camera. I called the cops and they charged her with harassment and I got a restraining order, too. But I guess my apartment is truly a loose cannon now, so…” She sighs. “I’m moving. I found a new place that’s closer to campus. It’s a little more expensive so I probably won’t be able to afford food for a while,” she adds with a roll of her eyes. “But, yeah. I’ve been staying on campus since then. I officially move in this weekend.”

Her explanation is followed by almost a minute of silence. “You’re staying on campus?” he asks softly.

Kaya notes the change in his voice and knows exactly what he’s referring to. “I don’t have a choice. But… it’s not so bad. I don’t stay out too late unless I’m with someone.” She bites her lip. “It’s only for a couple of more days.”

“Fuck. That’s incredible.”

“Yeah. Hard as it is for you to believe, I can actually take care of myself.”

“I’ve never doubted you or your ability to take care of yourself, Kaya. I only -“

“No, you just doubted me enough to make a decision to end our relationship all on your own.” Kaya scoffs quietly, even as her chest feels lighter. She’d asked Dilara not to tell him but now that he knows… it feels right somehow.

“It took every bit of strength I had in me to leave you, Kaya,” he confessed. “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I couldn’t just do nothing.”

“What are you talking about?” she bursts, her frustration exploding. “You were on tour! You were working but you dropped it in a second for me when I called you! You missed a fan meeting, you took an eight hour flight from a different continent - you did everything! Every single thing I could’ve asked of you! Until you left,” she finishes abruptly, feeling her eyes start to well up again.

Namjoon’s eyes flicker. “But… I didn’t - that’s not what I -“

“I was terrified after the break-in, Namjoon,” she reminds him, “and the only thing that was keeping me going was that you were still there. But after this, I -“ She shakes her head, the debilitating fear reappearing in flashes. “I was terrified all over again but this time I couldn’t call you.”

He steps forward. “Kaya, you can always call me -“

“No, I can’t,” she interrupts him, snapping incredulously. “You’re my ex - I can’t run to you if I’m in trouble anymore. That’s what it means to break up. God, Joon, I didn’t need you to fix it for me - I just needed you to be there. You think you were an inadequate boyfriend because of the break-in?” She scoffs. “You were the perfect boyfriend for the first eighteen hours after that. This was when you let me down, because you weren’t there for me when I needed you!”

Namjoon shakes his head slowly, his lower lip trembling. Through everything, his devastation at her words is clear as day. Placing her phone on the side table in the hallway, he takes a hesitant step forward, then another, and doesn’t stop until he reaches her. Their eyes meet briefly before he wraps his arms around her and for a moment, he takes her breath away.

She can feel his heart pounding through his chest, just under her palm. It’s fast and irregular, but it’s still familiar and for the first time in two weeks, Kaya closes her eyes and feels some of the heaviness in her chest disappear.

“Fuck,” he whispers, voice hoarse and trembling against her hair. “Fuck, I fucked up. I’m so sorry, Kaya. I’m so, so sorry…”

She nods silently, not wanting to cry out loud because the relief - even a momentary relief - is so overwhelming that she just wants it to last a little longer. From living on a college campus after years to having to leave her small, cosy haven of an apartment, she exhales shakily into his shoulder and finally relaxes because this… this is safe.

“I love you,” he murmurs, “and I wish I could keep you safe from everything, baby, but I just don’t know how.” His voice cracks on the last word.

“You can’t,” she answers thickly but firmly. “And I don’t expect you to. But… Joon, you broke my heart,” she confesses, sniffling.

“Please don’t say that,” he whispers, holding her tighter. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry…” He takes a deep breath, lips pressed to the side of her head. “Did you really mean what you said at the hotel? Even after all this? Because if you did… I’m yours, baby, if you’ll still have me.”

Kaya’s heart skips a beat. “You’re really fucking skinny,” she murmurs into his neck. “What the hell happened?”

Namjoon scoffs quietly but doesn’t answer. Slowly, as though it’s the biggest struggle in the world, his arms loosen. “Kaya,” he says.

She sighs and steps out of his arms, hating every moment of it. “I did mean it,” she admits. “But I don’t know how to be in a relationship with someone who won’t let me be a part of it.”

He shakes his head. “That was never my intention. I just wanted to help - I know I went about it the wrong way but that’s all I wanted. I swear.”

“No, Joon, I’m not doubting your intentions, okay? But it’s not fair. It can’t just be your decision every time. You’re the leader, the point of contact, the eldest son, big brother - whatever. I don’t care,” she says flatly. “But you are not in charge of this. Of us. You don’t have to be,” she adds after a moment, softer.

Namjoon lowers his head, his gaze on the floor, and nods. “I understand what you’re saying,” he says slowly, “but it’s really hard to see a piece of paper calling you… that -“ he says through his teeth, jaw clenching “and not feel angry about it.”

“You’re just going to have to try.”

“Yeah? Do you remember at your friend Alex’s birthday when you “accidentally” -“ He puts quotation marks around the word “- spilled that guy’s drink onto his phone? The one who thought I didn’t understand English and called me an Asian wannabe who should stick to math instead of playing at rap?”

Kaya feels her face go slack. “That - that was an accident. Not to mention completely different,” she tacks on when he gives her a look indicating he doesn’t believe her. “I was pissed but I didn’t take it out on you.”

“I - I know. You’re right, Kaya. I’m sorry,” he repeats, sighing and running a hand through his hair. “I get it. My guilt, my problem.”

“No,” she disagrees, seeing him look up in surprise. “No guilt at all. Namjoon, if I choose to be with you, knowing what I know, then it’s my decision. And if there is guilt… God, just talk to me about it. Because this whole suffering in silence thing? I’m over it.”

Namjoon nods. “You and Yoongi both,” he mutters dryly. When she simply sighs and looks away, he speaks again. “So, are you? Choosing to be with me?”

Kaya takes a deep breath, finding it hard to meet his eyes now. “I don’t know. God, I am so mad at you,” she mutters, dropping her face in her hands.

He doesn’t argue. She can feel his eyes on her but doesn’t want to get swayed, not by how horrified he looked when she showed him the note, how disappointed he seemed in himself when she unleashed her frustration at him, or now, with so much doubt and vulnerability in his voice.

A sound startles her out of her silence and she turns to see Dilara poke her head out from behind the wall in the direction of the master bedroom.

“Heeeey,” she says slowly, as Taehyung’s head appears similarly above hers. “Didn’t, uh, mean to interrupt… but we kind of have to…” She points to the front door sheepishly.

Kaya nods jerkily, having sort of forgotten that they are in Dilara’s house. Her face heats up when she thinks about how much they might have heard; she takes care not to meet either of their eyes as they traipse out, fully dressed for a night out.

“So… are you sure you guys don’t want to come?” Dilara asks doubtfully. “It might be fun?”

“We’re meeting Chris and Lexie at a bar,” adds Taehyung helpfully, ignoring Dilara when she corrects him with “pub” and tosses his long bangs out of his eyes, “… in case you need a drink.” He raises his eyebrows.

Kaya can’t think of anything she wants less than to be in a crowded pub, but she turns to Namjoon anyway who’s looking back at her with his hands in his pockets.

“I think we’ll sit this one out,” she answers after a moment, watching him for his reaction. “We… kind of need to talk.”

“Okay, then.” Dilara pulls out her phone. “I’ll text Chris that we only need a table for four, then.”

“The same Chris?” Namjoon mutters to Kaya, who nods.

“Yeah. Buy him a drink on me?” She suggests to Dilara. “Kind of owe him.”

Namjoon half-chuckles without humour and Dilara raises her eyebrows. “Oh, you told him?” When Kaya nods, she sighs. “That’s a relief. I was feeling sick keeping it to myself.”

“Wait, you knew?” Namjoon frowns, his jaw sharp.

“Well, yeah - Chris is my friend and he is terrible at keeping secrets so I had -“

“Hang on - how could you not tell me?” he interrupts her, and she falls silent. “Dilara, seriously?”

“I didn’t -“

“Hey, don’t talk to her like that.” Taehyung steps in front of her, frowning handsomely. “Hyung,” he tacks on after a moment.

“Namjoon, come on,” says Kaya, grabbing his forearm and pulling him back a step. “I asked her and Chris not to.”

He opens his mouth to say something but then simply sighs and shakes his head, hands on his hips. Behind Taehyung, Dilara glares at him.

“Now I really need a drink,” she mutters, starting to head towards the door. Taehyung gives Namjoon a knowing look as he follows her out and the front door closes behind them.

Namjoon sighs. “What is wrong with me?” he mutters, running his hands tiredly down his face.

Kaya bites her lip. Under different circumstances, she would be pulling him into a hug right now, ignoring his half-hearted protests until he gave up and hugged her back, his hold getting tighter with every passing second.

But things are different now.

“I have a theory,” she says finally. “Come with me.”

—

Namjoon watches as Kaya examines Dilara’s kitchen cabinets, frowning and humming to herself. She stands on her tiptoes and rummages inside a box and he hesitates before looking away, distinctly feeling as though he hasn’t yet earned the right to check her out without her knowledge.

“Insanely understocked,” she declares, retrieving a box of Pop Tarts and heading towards the toaster. “But we’ll make do with what we’ve got.”

“Sure.”

She glances back at him briefly. “Are you sure you don’t want a beer?” she asks him, gesturing to her newly opened can, the condensation still only just forming. “It’s terribly hot.”

It is and he would love a beer right now. But he shakes his head. “I don’t think I should be drinking Dilara’s booze right now,” he mutters, wincing inwardly.

Kaya’s eyes linger on him for a moment before she turns around and starts placing the Pop Tarts into the toaster. “You can have a sip from mine,” she offers.

Namjoon shakes his head. “That’s okay.”

“Okay.”

They stand there in the kitchen, the six feet of distance between them feeling like a chasm. But it’s the closest he’s been to her in months and he can’t help but take in her presence, drinking it in for as long as he can.

Kaya casually picks up her can and takes a long sip, eyes fluttering shut momentarily. “Oh, that feels good.”

Namjoon suppresses a chuckle. “Alright, then. I’ll have a sip.” His heart skips a beat almost painfully when a smile flashes across her face and she silently hands him the can.

“Oh, God,” he mumbles, swallowing a sip and pressing the cold tin to his cheek. “Oh, man, this is everything.”

Kaya raises an eyebrow but says nothing, moving to pick up the toasted Pop Tarts. Piling them onto a plate, she pushes it towards him. “Eat.”

“What?”

“Eat,” she repeats, dropping another batch into the toaster. “It’s good.”

Namjoon’s gaze falls on the packet, the huge animated chocolate staring back at him. “I - I’m on tour,” he murmurs, a little apologetic.

Kaya looks as though she’s about to insist but then simply shrugs. “Okay, then.” Picking up a Pop Tart, she takes a small bite.

Sighing, Namjoon takes one, finishing it in three bites. It’s better than he’d anticipated; he takes another, and another after that and before he knows it, he’s eaten six.

“Wow,” he says, staring at the crumbs on the plate.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll burn that before the next concert, right?” he asks hopefully.

“I doubt it. I can already see it hitting your thighs.”

He gives her a look that she returns, still finishing her second Pop Tart. She heads to the fridge and retrieves another can of beer, sliding it to him.

“Just drink it,” she tells him before he can decline again. “Dilara has a whole carton in here. And I have her express permission.”

Pausing for a moment, he cracks open the can and holds it up. She clinks hers with it and they drink together in silence. They don’t speak again until they’re out of the kitchen and in the softly lit dining room.

Kaya takes a seat at the head of the table, lifting her feet up on the edge of the chair and hugging her knees. Namjoon sits on the adjacent chair, wishing he could pull her chair closer to him.

“How’s tour going?” she asks softly.

Small talk. She’s trying, and Namjoon’s heart fills with cautious hope. “Tiring,” he answers. “I can barely keep track of which city we’re in. But I’m writing a lot,” he adds.

She tilts her head. “Can’t sleep?”

“Not really.”

“Jetlag?”

“Sure.”

He waits to see a flicker of knowing on her face before smiling back at her. Before the break-in, they had discussed Kaya joining him on tour for some of their European concerts. He wonders if she still remembers, and how different the tour would be right now.

“I heard you got published,” he says, adoring how she smiles involuntarily at it, part shy and part proud. “I can’t believe it. Or, I can. Just - congratulations,” he says sheepishly. “You deserve it.”

“Thanks. It was a lot of work and a lot of iterations -” She shakes her head and takes a drink. “But career-wise, it’s a pretty decent step. And I get royalties on it, so that makes two of us now.” She raises his eyebrows in satisfaction. “It was worth the late nights.”

Late nights. Namjoon wants to ask and he has a feeling she wants to talk about it, but he doesn’t want to presume. Hesitating, he places his arm on the table towards her, his palm facing up. Kaya doesn’t move, though, and for a moment he can feel his throat close up.

But then she gingerly lifts her hand, pauses, and eventually places it in his. It’s unsure and guarded, but it’s more than he could hope for. His thumb runs over her knuckles, soft and delicate, and he’s more grateful than ever that she doesn’t move away.

“Do you still stay late in the library?” he asks.

Kaya’s eyes stay on their hands as she shakes her head. “I prefer working out of the dorm room. It faces the river so the breeze is much cooler. And my roommate plays a lot of old school rock so that’s nice, too.” She nods to herself, her gaze unmoving. “I don’t like being there,” she whispers.

Namjoon says nothing and simply squeezes her hand. Ordinarily, this would again be one of those moments when he would have stood up and pulled her to him, wrapping her in his arms and silently letting her vent.

“I can’t sleep either,” she confesses after a moment. “So I guess that makes two of us, too.”

He tilts his head, hoping she’ll look up at him. “I get why you couldn’t call me before. But you can now. You know that, right?” he asks gently. “For the next few weeks, we’ll actually be in similar timezones for once.”

She cracks a smile but still doesn’t look up. “I might just take you up on that. I’ll start moving my stuff into the apartment the moment I get back, anyway, so when I actually get possession, I’m done.”

“That’s a good idea. Actually, if you want,” he ventures hopefully, “I could help.”

“Help me move in?”

“Yeah. If you want,” he repeats, trying not to sound nonchalant. “Our concert isn’t till Saturday and we’re supposed to have a radio show on Friday but I can take a couple of days off to -”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that,” she starts to say, but Namjoon shakes his head.

“I don’t think the company will mind,” he offers, thinking privately that even if he does have to argue with them a bit, how completely worth it it would be.

Kaya bites her fingernail, observing him. Then she shrugs. “Alright. If you want.”

He nods slowly, continuing his attempt at the nonchalance. “And, uh… I’ll book a hotel. If you want,” he says again, “you can - you can… stay. Over.” He bites his lip. “If you don’t want to stay on campus.”

Some of her casual facade breaks. “Really?”

“Yeah. And - and don’t worry, it’ll be big enough so you don’t - I mean, we don’t -” He breaks off and cringes inwardly.

Kaya raises her eyebrows. “Separate beds?”

A half-chuckle passes his lips, for it sounds ridiculous. “Yeah. Separate beds.”

“You don’t think we can control ourselves in the same bed?”

“I think it’ll take everything we have in us to do it,” he admits boldly. “But I think we can.”

She doesn’t answer but tries to suppress a smile. On the table, her hand feels looser in his. He’s just about to say something when her phone buzzes next to her and she automatically reaches for it, letting go of his hand.

“Everything okay?” he asks when she clicks her tongue.

“Yeah,” she sighs, scrolling through a message presumably. “Got a quiz to grade by the weekend. And it’s a finance elective so I’m going to need the prep material from - from the professor.” She sets the phone down but doesn’t look up at him again.

Namjoon lowers his hand as well, something like a dark cloud feeling like it’s just appeared above them. “Are you sure you’ll be okay staying with me?” he asks in a low voice, looking at his knees as the incongruity of the question creeps into his chest. “I don’t want to pressure you.”

“Don’t worry. I don’t feel any pressure.”

He nods. “It’s just… I know we were - are technically apart for a while. It wouldn’t be strange if you… you know.”

Kaya takes a few moments before answering. “Well, I’m not,” she clarifies. “And also… Namjoon, I didn’t have sex with Adam.”

Namjoon feels his gaze freeze on the leg of her chair. “What?”

She sighs hugely, turning away when he slowly looks up to face her. “I didn’t sleep with him. I just said that to piss you off,” she confesses. “It was stupid and petty and childish, but… yeah. I lied.”

There’s a roaring in Namjoon’s ears, like a sugar rush in his veins after months of dieting. He feels like he could sing, and the restraint to not jump to his feet and yell in relief almost causes him to have a hernia. Clenching his fists in gratitude at his sides, he nods with difficulty.

“Oh. That’s - that’s… interesting.”

Kaya narrows her eyes and gives him a look, clearly not fooled by his forced nonchalance. But Namjoon doesn’t care. The sleepless nights and never-finding flights where his own brain continued to punish him by generating the most traumatic images feel like nightmares from a different lifetime.

“We did kiss,” she admits after a moment, and Namjoon’s heart sinks a little. “After a few drinks. But we agreed it was a mistake. And I’m not saying you were right,” she adds quickly, as when he rests his chin on his palm and places his fingers over his mouth, “because he didn’t push or get weird about it, but there’s a chance you may have been… kind of… on the right track.”

Namjoon could kick him - but then again, by her own admission, it sounds like the least troubling thing to happen to Kaya over the last few months.

“Okay,” he manages.

She pauses, then looks at her hands. “What about you? Have you…”

“No.”

“Not even…”

“Nope.”

“Oh.” She takes another sip of her beer, a big one, and doesn’t speak for a few seconds. “Are you hungry?” she asks suddenly. “There’s, like, a crazy amount of ramen in this house.”

Namjoon doesn’t know if it’s because he hasn’t been around ramen in a long while, or if it’s because it’s Kaya who’s asking, but for the first time in a long time, his stomach rumbles.

��

It’s nearing one am when Dilara returns home.

Namjoon is jerked out of the small, comfortable, familiar bubble with Kaya on the sofa where they moved after consuming two steaming bowls of soupy ramen. A glass of rosé each, they’re sitting face to face with their sides against the back of the sofa, only their knees touching ever so slightly to maintain the distance.

“Wait, no… it’s this part -” Kaya pauses and concentrates on the song playing at a low volume from the neighbouring apartment. “... can’t help… falling in love with you… and that’s the trumpet,” she finishes, the UB40 cover coming to a peppy end. “This was dad’s favourite song - I know it inside out.”

“Fine, you were right,” he admits. “Whoever this is probably has the most varied music taste I’ve ever seen, though. Eminem, Guns N Roses, Camilla Cabello and then Elvis?”

“And Nsync before that,” she adds. “Maybe it’s multiple people. Oh, wait - I know this song.” She wrinkles her nose as the guitar picks up, apparently having mistaken it for something else, when the front door opens. “Shit,” she mutters, startled.

“Hey, we’re back,” calls Dilara, sounding slightly wary. Multiple footsteps follow her in, followed by a mixture of conversing and laughing.

“Komyshan, is yesterday’s pizza still in the fridge?” Chris Park asks, shuffling in and taking off his jacket.

“Check for yourself, Park,” mutters Lexie, kicking off her shoes. “Hey, guys,” she says to Kaya and Namjoon, who wave back. “Wow, the neighbours aren’t even trying to keep it quiet, are they?”

“Oh, wait, I know this song!” Taehyung exclaims, and he and Dilara look at each other in excitement before breaking out into grins.

“I haven’t heard Tous les garçons et les filles since… wow, since that day?” She beams when he winks at her and starts swaying by himself to the music, shoulders and all.

Namjoon raises his eyebrows as the renewed chatter and chaos in the apartment continues, and he can’t help but feel a little sorry that the rare time he was having with Kaya has been cut short.

“I’d hang out but I’m exhausted,” groans Lexie, downing an entire tall glass of water. “And drunk,” she adds after a moment. “So I’m going to bed but I’ll see you all in the morning. Goodnight.” She glances deliberately at Chris before departing in the direction of her room.

Namjoon frowns as Chris nibbles on the last of a pizza crust, while Dilara raises an eyebrow at him. “Goodnight, everyone,” he mutters abruptly, following Lexie. A moment later, they hear the sound of the door closing.

Dilara rolls her eyes and gently pushes Taehyung in the direction of the kitchen. “You should drink some water, too, babe…”

Taehyung faintly says something in response and floats towards Dilara’s room instead but Namjoon glances at Kaya, who silently cocks her head towards the dining room. Nodding and feeling vaguely anxious, he gets up and goes over to where they were sitting earlier and talking. Dilara is bringing out a bowl of fruit, piled high with apples, bananas and grapes when she catches sight of him and quickly looks away.

“Hey,” he says gingerly, stopping at the dining table where she continues bustling around, twisting her long curly hair into a loose knot. “How was your night?” When all he gets is a shrug in response, he places his drink on the table and rallies. “Thanks for… hosting, I guess. Your apartment’s really nice.”

“Mhm.”

With renewed respect for Taehyung, Namjoon continues. “And, uh… oh, Kaya talked me into a glass of this wine. It’s delicious. Where did you get it from?”

“Harrods.”

“Great. I think we drank about a fourth of it tonight. Can I buy you another one to replace it?”

Without warning, Dilara turns around on her heel and places one hand on her hip. Despite being a foot shorter than him, she startles him into taking an automatic step back.

“Are you bribing me?”

Namjoon swallows and frowns, pressing his tongue to his upper lip. “Is it working?” When she narrows her eyes at him, he sighs. “I’m sorry I snapped. That wasn’t right of me.”

“You’re not the only one who cares about her, you know? Why do you think I invited her to stay here?”

“I know. You’re right. It’s just…” He runs his hands through his hair. “It’s been an emotional night.”

Her features soften slightly. “Been apologising a lot tonight, have you?” But she doesn’t sound sarcastic - more curious.

He glances at Kaya who’s still in the living room, leaning against the arm of the sofa and watching them, her glass of wine now empty and resting on her thighs.

“Kind of.” He lowers his head. “Guess I had it coming, though. But it’s been a lot better than I expected,” he adds, realising as he says it that it’s true, that even the distant, cautious dynamic was miles ahead of what he could have hoped for.

Dilara raises her eyebrows. “Are you back together?” she asks in a hushed voice.

“Not yet,” he admits, shoving his hands in his pockets. “But soon, maybe. I hope.”

She purses her lips. “Well, she’s angry, I suppose. But she’s missed you, too,” she adds after a moment. “And she knows why you did what you did… even if it was a shit idea.” She smiles innocently when he gives her a look. “Her words, not mine.”

“Alright.” He exhales, reaching over and affectionately grabbing her head. “Are we cool, though?”

“I guess.” She pauses, then rolls her eyes dramatically and accepts his hug, the top of her head just about reaching his shoulder. “But only if you do the robot at least once on stage at your next concert,” she decides as they separate.

“What’s that now?”

“You heard me. Oh, and it has to be during a sad song, not a dancey one.”

“I - fine,” he agrees, rolling his eyes and privately dreading the next performance already, grateful for Kaya as she joins them.

“Everything okay over here?” she asks delicately. “Because it kind of looked like you were going to get your ass kicked for a second there,” she tells Namjoon.

“Oh, no,” says Namjoon. “It’s much worse. I have to do the robot on stage on Saturday and possibly go viral for looking like an idiot,” he guesses, fixing Dilara with a pleading look, who simply shakes her head.

“Forgiveness has its price,” she says wisely.

“It’s like placating a kid,” points out Kaya. “Which kind of adds up, probably - you used to say you were kind of like a babysitter to these guys.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes again and, without thinking, places an arm around Kaya’s shoulder. There’s a moment of awkwardness when he remembers where they are and he’s about to drop it, but then she seemingly leans into it out of habit, and he lets it stay.

“Hey, what are we talking about?” Taehyung appears from behind them and accidentally brushes Namjoon’s arm. As he makes way for his group member, Namjoon has no choice but to drop his arm to his side. “We’re out of toothpaste, by the way,” he says, nudging Dilara’s shoulder.

“We’re talking about what it’s like to have kids,” offers Kaya. “And the lengths you have to go to for them.”

“Kids?” Taehyung frowns slightly as he pops a grape into his mouth before looking straight at his girlfriend. “I’d like to have kids with you.”

All traces of the smirk on Dilara’s face drop at his words. “That - that isn’t even close to what we were talking about.”

“I always used to think three, but I think four is a nice, round number.”

“Taehyung,” she interrupts him, while Namjoon snorts and Kaya watches in amusement, “shut up. We were only saying that -”

“We’ll need a minivan to fit four, though. With three we still have a chance to have at least one boy and one girl, no?”

“Are you serious right now?”

“Of course. Three, minimum,” he decides seriously. “And I think we should name the oldest one Princess. Even if it’s a boy.”

Dilara glares at him before rolling her eyes. “That’s my cue to leave. Goodnight,” she states.

She turns around and leaves, Taehyung casually following her. As they disappear around the corner, Namjoon can hear him go, “But, jagiya, think how gorgeous you’ll be pregnant…”

“Shut up, Tae, I’m serious…”

There’s a fading sound of rustling and groaning and giggling before the sound of a door closing shut. Finally alone again after a fifteen minute fever dream of some truly unexpected chaos, Namjoon glances at Kaya.

“You must be tired,” he murmurs.

She shrugs. “I guess.” She starts to walk towards the guest room, the only one in the main area of the apartment, and stops a few feet away from the door. “My flight’s tomorrow evening,” she says.

He nods, reasonably sure of why she’s telling him this. “I’ll be there on Wednesday morning. If, you know, you’re still okay with…”

“Yeah, let’s do it.”

“Cool. I’ll have to be back Friday for rehearsal, though,” he says, slightly apologetic.

“That’s okay. I appreciate the help.”

There’s a silence, an expectant one. They spent hours talking today, with topics ranging from their relationship to the most minor, unimportant things. But there’s no avoiding it now - whatever happens next feels foundational.

Namjoon’s brain is working in overdrive, trying to decide the right thing to say, when the sounds begin. Kaya’s jaw drops and she turns her head halfway before shaking it, her eyes wide.

“Is that -”

“Unfortunately,” he mutters tightly. “In a happy coincidence, Taehyung’s room is right next to mine at the dorm, so this is… not the first time,” he informs her, squeezing his eyes shut.

When the muffled sounds only get louder, Kaya covers her mouth in shock. “Okay, I’m going to bed,” she says quickly. “Um, goodnight.”

Namjoon’s heart skips a beat. “Yeah, okay. Goodnight, Kaya.” There’s a painful pause after which he takes a hesitant step forward, raising his arms slightly.

Kaya exhales and meets him halfway, reaching up and hugging him. It’s comforting and hopeful and Namjoon holds her tight, trying to block out the sounds but instead becoming more aware than ever of the shape of her body against him, the coconut and vanilla scent of her hair and her bare legs under her shorts.

They separate slowly, and she takes a step back. Giving him a small, silent wave, she backs up and opens her bedroom door. Namjoon watches as she steps inside and moves to close the door when she pauses, and a moment later, leaves it open.

He frowns. It takes him a beat. Then two. The sounds from Dilara’s room seem to be in no position to stop anytime soon and in a split second, Namjoon makes the decision to follow Kaya inside, closing the door behind him.

—

Thanks for reading. Don't forget to leave a review :)

#namjoon x oc #namjoon fanfic #taehyung fanfic #thebtswritersclub #bangtanwhq #k-vanity #houseofddaeng #hyunglinenetwork #namjoon angst

87 notes · View notes

poorlywrittenbutentertaining · 1 year ago

Text

Remember me

Leroy Jethro Gibbs x Fem!OC

Warnings: hospitals, mild swearing, drinking (I’ve never done these kinds of tags before so lmk if I need to add more)

A/N: first post and definitely not proof read so… yeah. Have fun!

“Elaine,” Tony’s voice was urgent.

“Tony I’m a little busy the floor is packed,” Elaine said as she filled multiple syringes and replaced the protective caps.

“Yeah we have one coming your way right now,” Tony said. Elaine straightened.

“What? Who? Is everyone okay?” Elaine asked.

“It’s Gibbs,” Tony said, “he was in an explosion. Bus just took him and they’re en route to you. I thought you would want some warning.”

“Yes thank you Tony,” Elaine looked at a passing nurse and handed her the syringes, “room 4.” The nurse looked puzzled but nodded, “ETA?”

“2200 ma’am,” Tony said.

“Copy that, I’ll take care of it,” Elaine said before hanging up the phone. She looked to the bustling nurses before shouting, “I need a trauma bed prepped stat! IV and intubation on hand!” The nurses around her quickly sprang into action. It wasn’t long until Elaine heard the ambulance pull up to the bay, “This one is mine!” She shouted. She ran to the offloading dock and looked down at Gibbs. His face was harshly burned and his eyes seemed to be bleeding. As the team of nurses walked along his side Elaine spoke to him, “Leroy! Leroy!” She held a small light into his eyes, watching the pupils slowly dilate.

“Do we have an ID?” one of the nurses around her asked.

“Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS,” Elaine said quickly as they pulled up to the bed. They heaved his body onto the hospital bed and began further examination. One nurse prepped the IV, another intubated him, while a third began assessing injuries. Elaine shouted orders and began pushing medication into the IV. Her heart seemed to pound in her ears, the sounds around her blurring into one another. THe only thing in focus, Gibbs.

“Skip the X-Ray, Go straight to a CAT scan,” Elaine said to a nurse as they left.

For the next hour Elaine moved with Gibbs from room to room as they began to slowly stabalize him from the explosion. She took a detailed record of all of the injuries. She looked down at him quietly, standing by his bedside, eyes darting from one burn to another.

“Ma’am, a call for you at the nursing station,” A male nurse popped his head into the room. Elaine followed them quickly. From the other end was Jenny’s voice.

“I’m trying to see him but your head nurse won’t let me into trauma,” Jenny sounded irritated. Elaine sighed and looked to the trauma doors. She slammed the phone down and jogged to the doors, pulling them open, “Jenny,” She nodded into the trauma room. Jenny quickly slipped in. Elaine looked at the head nurse with a withering glare, “If anyone else comes for Gibbs you let them back, do you hear me?” She said.

“Yes ma’am,” The head nurse said just as the doors began to close. Elaine looked at Jenny.

“You look nice,” Elaine said as they quickly began walking back to where Gibbs lay, surrounded by machines taking tests and keeping him stable.

“I came from a dinner at the whitehouse,” Jenny said. Elaine raised her eyebrows and nodded, “Is he going to be okay?”

“I-” Elaine sighed and ran a hand over her face, “It’s bad, Jenny, but we’re doing everything we can,” Jenny nodded, ‘Once he’s stable we can move him to a bed in the trauma bay-, something a little more permanent.”

“Sounds good,” Jenny looked at Elaine, “You look like hell.”

“Oh yeah?” Elaine smiled slightly and shook her head, “I guess you took all the good looks for yourself tonight.” Jenny laughed. Soon the telltale clunking of platform shoes echoed down the hall.

“Ellie?” Abby cried, throwing her arms around the doctor. Abby pulled back and held Elaine by her shoulders, “Is he going to be alright?”

“I think-”

‘You think?! No! I need an ‘I Know’! ‘I think’ isn’t positive news!” Abby said, “you have to do something!” Jenny pulled Abby back.

“Abby, that’s enough.”

“No! There has to be more-!”

“Abby!” Jenny scolded, quieting abby, “she’s doing everything she can.”

Elaine, abby and Jenny stood by as they moved Gibbs into a room. Elaine looked down at him. His eyes seemed to be darting around behind his eyelids. Elaine told them everything she knew about the situation, and what was happening to Gibbs.

“Neurology will be back in tomorrow, and hopefully we can assess his brain better then,” Elaine crossed her arms, “Until then… It’s just about keeping him stable.” She looked back down to the man on the bed and felt her hands start to shake. For the first time since the call, the gravity of the situation was actually beginning to weigh on her. Her hand moved to softly take Gibbs’ limp one. She gave it three small squeezes before laying it back down, “I’ve done everything I can, for now,” Elaine’s voice was quiet. Scared.

“You’ve done well, Elaine, thank you,” Jenny said, placing a reassuring hand on Elaine’s shoulder. Elaine felt tears burning at the back of her eyes. She coughed and cleared her throat with a sniff.

“Um, ill be in throughout the night to check on him. One of you is welcome to stay the night though. Let me know if anything changes. My nurses will take care of him,” Elaine said. She walked from the room, stopping momentarily to look back at him before taking a deep breath and returning to work.

~~~

Morning came slowly, and with the strike of 700 hours the neurologist was in and briefed by Elaine. Jenny had stayed the night to look over Jethro, as well as Elaine. The neurologist looked down at Gibbs’s sleeping form as he performed tests. Elaine stood in the back with Tony and Jenny. Tony had her tucked against his side as they watched the doctor work.

“Off the clock now, Duckling?” Tony asked. Elaine nodded, “You should go home then.” Elaine shook her head.

“Not until Leroy is awake,” She said. Tony sighed but relented, tugging her in tight and resting his chin on her head.

“Very Ducky of you,” He said. Elaine smiled weakly.

“Doctor,” Jenny called, “is he in pain?”

The doctor seemed contemplative as he looked down at Gibbs. Jenny called to the doctor again, “Did this man serve in desert storm?”

~~~

Elaine sat alone in Gibb’s room. While Tony wasn’t able to talk her into leaving, he did managed to get her fresh clothes. The director had left hours ago as the rain still pelted on the windows outside. Gibbs was completely still and yet still somehow looked restless. She sat there in the silence, just looking at him, watching his chest rise and fall with each breath, remembering that he was alive.

“You know, to the untrained eye, you just look asleep,” Elaine spoke. She traced gentle patterns into the back of his uninjured hand, “I know better, but it’s nice to pretend sometimes.” She sighed and put her head down on the bed. Tears pricked at her eyes as she’s turned her head to look up at Gibbs, “please wake up,” her voice was a weak whisper.

“Ah, Tony told me I would find you here,” Ducky stood at the opening of the room. Elaine sat up and rubbed the tears from her eyes with a smal sniffle.

“Hey dad.”

“Hello, sweetie,” Ducky moved across the floor and Elaine stood. Ducky opened his arms and Elaine quickly moved to his embrace. The dam broke and the tears fell. She clung to her father and sobbed into his shoulder as he gently pet the back of her hair, “I know, my dear Elaine, I know.”

Ducky and Elaine sat with Gibbs for hours, telling stories. Until the neurologist came in.

“Doctor Wright,” The neurologist said. Elaine stood.

“Doctor Gelfand, hello,” She moved to him.

“Forgive me I shouldn’t have been eavesdropping but your company was telling a fascinating story,” Dr Gelfand said with a smile. Elaine laughed lightly and nodded.

“This is my Godfather Dr. Donald Mallard,” Elaine said, “he’s a medical examiner.”

“Yes I’ve heard, it’s nice to meet you,” Dr Gelfand shook Ducky’s hand, “did you know Agent Gibbs was wounded in Desert Storm?”

Ducky shook his head, “Jethro doesn’t speak much of his past. I consider myself one of his closest friends but even I do not know much about before we met.”

“He has an ‘always moving forward’ mentality,” Elaine said. Gelfand nodded and moved to Gibb’s side to begin performing tests.

Suddenly Gibbs’ heart monitor began increasing. Elaine rushed to his side as Gibbs’s eyes shot open and he began gasping and straining.

“Gibbs? Gibbs! Can you blink?” Gelfand watched as Gibbs squeezed his eyes closed and open again, “okay and then stuck out your thumb!” Gibbs’ straining hand formed a fist and lifted it thumb, “do you want the tube out?” Gibbs nodded and Elaine quickly removed the tube from his throat and put an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth.

“Good job, Leroy,” Elaine said as she put her stethoscope to his heart.

“I’m Doctor Gelfand, this is Doctor Mallard and Dr Wright,” Gelfand said as Gibbs’ eyes darted around the room.

“He knows me as Ducky,” Ducky corrected.

“You were in an explosion, so you remember?” Gelfand asked. Gibbs nodded and looked at Elaine and Ducky. His shaky hand removed the mask.

“I don’t know them.”

~~~

Elaine stepped out of the hospital, her breathing ragged as tears blurred her vision. In Gibbs’ brain it was just after desert storm. The last 15 years of his life were completely blank meaning everything between them was gone. With all of the power she could muster she shouted into the air, hoping some god somewhere would hear her and return Jethro’s memory.

Gelfand said he was having a potential depressive relapse from desert storm after losing Shannon and Kelly. When Jenny heard of the news she began looking for other desert storm operatives that Gibbs may have known.

As the tears slowed Elaine pulled out her phone and flipped it open. She typed in DiNozzo’s number and held it to her ear.

“Super special agent Anthony DiNozzo,” he greeted. Elaine took a deep breath.

“Hey, Jenny’s coming to give you more information but… Leroy is awake.”

“That’s great!” DiNozzo said. Elaine sighed and ran a hand down her face, “that’s… not great?”

“He has amnesia,” Elaine said, “he thinks he just got back from desert storm.” Tony was quiet on the other end, “I neeed… I need to go home and get ready for my next shift.”

“Elaine, are you sure you shouldn’t call out?” Tony said.

“I’m fine, Tony,” Elaine said, “Leroy is still my patient, it’s my job to take care of him. I’ll call you with any more updates.”

~~~

When Elaine arrived to her night shift she couldn’t help but peek into Gibbs’ room first, “good Evening Mr. Gibbs!” She plastered on her best professional smile, “I’m Doctor Elaine Wright. Im the doctor in charge of your case.”

Gibbs looked at her and studied her face, “you were here earlier,” he said, “when I woke up.”

Elaine nodded and stepped further into the room, “yes I was.”

“You called me Leroy,” He said sitting up, “the doc said I knew you.”

Elaine nodded and sat down next to him, “you do,” her voice was soft, “but it’s okay if you forget for awhile. It’ll come back.”

“How do we know each other?” Gibbs asked. Elaine smiled and looked down momentarily, debating whether or not to tell him the truth. She looked at the engagement band on her finger and played with it slightly. Gibbs’ eyes followed the movement and he visibly deflated, “oh.” He ran a hand down his face with a long sigh, “well that’s one way to make a man feel like an ass.”

Elaine laughed lightly, “it’s okay. As long as you are like this we are simply Doctor and patient,” she patted the back of his hand and stood, “I’ll be in throughout the night so let me know if you need anything.” She gave him her professional smile again and turned to walk out.

“Are we married?” Gibbs asked. Elaine shook her head.

“Not yet,” and she left.

~~~

In the early hours of the morning Elaine felt Gibbs eyes on her as she looked through charts at the nursing stand. she looked back at him to see him studying her face with a concentrated expression. She put the clipboard down and slipped into his room.

“You should be sleeping, Mr. Gibbs,” Elaine said to him as she approached the computer next to him to enter his vitals for the hour. Gibbs was quiet as he watched her work.

“Your ring,” he reached his hand out towards her. Elaine turned to him and placed her left hand in his to present the engagement ring, “it was Shannon’s.” His thumb rubbed over the modest diamond. Elaine nodded.

“You said it just felt right for me to have it,” She said, “you can take it back for now,” she whispered.

“No, keep it,” Gibbs said, “feel bad enough not remembering my apparent fiancée, taking your ring too just doesn’t sit right with me.”

Elaine laughed lightly and pulled her hand away, “it’ll come to you. Now, get some rest,” She fake glared at him, “or you will be in serious trouble Mr. Gibbs. I’ll be off the clock soon so let the charge nurse know if you need anything.”

~~~

Entering the house felt strange without Jethro at her side. The usually familiar and warm walls felt claustrophobic. She sighed and dropped her bag on the ground, kicking her shoes to the side in the way she knew Gibbs would scold her for.

Elaine rolled out her shoulders and approached the kitchen, throwing open the fridge and retrieving one of Gibbs’ beers. She used the edge of the countertop to pop the lid off and took a long swig before padding her way to their shared bedroom. She threw on one of his sweaters and some spanks before making her way to the basement door, grabbing another cold one on the way. She stared at the boat from the top of the stairs. She chugged the remainder of her first beer, tossing it into the garbage can beneath her before descending the stairs.

“It’s quiet down here without him, huh?” She spoke to the boat, patting its hull. She then cringed at herself, “I’ve been spending too much time around my godfather.” She plopped down on the stool by the boat, looking over the various tools lying out on the workbench. Her eyes caught in the sandpaper. She sighed and cracked open the second beer before grabbing the sandpaper and walking over to the boat. Carefully she sanded the wood, “with the grain,” she said to herself, as though trying to create a Gibbs in her mind. Preferably one that knew who she was. She felt the sting of tears behind her eyes and rested her forehead against the wood. Small dark spots appeared where her fears fell onto the wood, “Dammit Leroy,” she whispered to the empty room. She grabbed her beer and chugged it before frowning. She dropped it next to her and let it shatter.

She moved back to the workbench and shuffled through the shelves before her hand found what she was looking for. The half empty bottle of bourbon Jethro hid down here. She uncorked the top and took a long swig, suffering through the hot burn down the back of her throat. Once she swallowed she coughed and looked down at the bottle. Elaine wiped her eyes and sat down as she took another long swig and waited for the old buzz to hit.

~~~

“Duckling?” Elaine’s eyes opened, her head throbbing as she squinted into the midday light let down from the high windows, “Elaine,” she rubbed her eyes, the person in front of her coming into focus.

“DiNozzo?” She rasped.

“The one and only,” Tony placed his hand on her shoulder as she tipped over, “let’s get you away from the sharp woodworking tools.”

“I feel like shit,” Elaine said as Tony helped her to her feet.

“You don’t look much better,” he said. They reached the top of the stairs and he shut off the light before helping her over to the couch, “how much did you have to drink?” He asked as he helped her sit.

“Two beers,” Elaine said, Tony side eyes her and she rolled her eyes, “one and a half beers and some of Leroy’s bourbon.”

“Ah,” Tony said, “that stuff is practically paint thinner and you, sweet doctor, are what the professionals call a ‘lightweight’.”

“My liver is screaming at me,” Elaine grumbled, “and my head, and my-“ she gagged, “stomach.”

“Where do you keep the Advil?” Tony asked. Elaine pointed to the bathroom and Tony quickly returned with a few tablets and a glass of water. “Had anything to eat?”

“Whatever Leroy didn’t finish last night,” Elaine said.

“Delicious,” Tony said.

“I should go to the hospital,” Elaine said after chugging the water, “check on Leroy.”

“Na-ah,” DiNozzo said, “you are gonna stay right here. The director is with him right now.”

“The director is my competition,” Elaine said.

“Something about that ring Gibbs gave you tells me otherwise,” Tony sat next to her. His phone rang and Elaine groaned. Tony flipped the phone open and spoke quietly into the receiver, “right, on my way.” He flipped the phone shut, “duty calls. He stood and looked down at her with a frown, “no more drinking.”

“No more drinking,” Elaine repeated.

~~~

“Where is Leroy?” Elaine asked as she clocked into her shift. The room was empty where he was supposed to be.

“Some guy took him out front,” one of the nurses said. Elaine sighed and quickly made her way outside. Her eyes darted around before landing on him shoveling in a steak and fries across from an older man. She began walking over when Gibbs’s eyes got wide and he dashed to a trash can quickly emptying out that steak. Elaine dashed forwards, “Mr. Gibbs? Are you alright?” She called. The other man stepped in front of her and put his hand out to halt her.

“He just got some… bad news,” the man said. Elaine glared at him.

“Your nurse was right doc,” Leroy said, wiping the corner of his mouth, “I wasn’t ready for that steak.” Elaine sighed, “Mike, this is my doctor, Elaine Wright.”

“Oh the fiancée,” the older man said. Elaine furrowed her brows looking at him.

“And you are?” She crossed he arms.

“Mike Franks,” The man stuck out his hand, “I’m your parents first boss.”

“Well my patient needs to come back inside,” Elaine said. Franks laughed.

“Sassy redheads,” He said, “Gunny always did have a weakness.”

~~~

It was late into the night when Ziva came to visit. Elaine showed her to his room where he laid asleep in bed.

“Do you mind if I speak to him? Alone?” Ziva asked.

“Of course not. Give me a shout if you need me,” Elaine squeezed Ziva’s hand nod walked off to check on other patients. It wasn’t 30 minutes later when Gibbs’ voice rang through the quiet halls.

“Elaine?! Elaine?!” He shouted, rounding out of his room. Elaine turned around from the nurses station.

“Over here!” She said. When Gibbs looked at her Elaine knew something had changed. There was recognition in his eyes. He rushed to her, grabbing her face and slotting his lips to hers. Relief flooded through Elaine’s body as she melted against him. One of his hands moved down her neck and left arm before clutching her left hand. He ran his thumb over the engagement ring before pulling away. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the ring, “Leroy?” Elaine asked tentatively. He nodded.

“I need to get to NCIS,” He said softly.

“You are in no state to drive, Leroy,” Elaine said, eyes darting between his.

“It’s important,” he said, voice urgent. Elaine nodded.

“Okay, okay, I’ll drive you,” She said. She began to pull away but he pulled her close again, kissing her breathless once more.

“Sorry I forgot,” He whispered against her lips.

“Don’t apologize, it’s a sign of weakness,” was her reply. Gibbs placed one last kiss on her lips before pulling away with a small smile.

~~~

They rushed into the NCIS building. Elaine had given Gibbs’ a pair of scrubs from the nurses station. Gibbs sped out of the elevator with Elaine trotting behind him.

“Boss!” Tony quickly stood.

“MTAC,” Was all Leroy replied all of the team stood up and began following him. Gibbs suddenly stopped and turned around. He took Elaine by she shoulders and guided her backwards to his desk where he plopped her down in his chair, “stay.”

“I’m not a dog,” Elaine said with a raised brow. Leroy smirked and kissed her forehead before turning and rushing up the stairs speaking quickly to his team and greeting Abby and Ducky.

While Elaine was elated to have him back, there was a familiar anxiety gnawing at the back of her mind that something bad was about to happen. She watched the MTAC doors shut and leaned back in her chair. Abby and Ducky moved to greet her as well.

“Are you doing okay?” Ducky asked quietly. Elaine nodded quietly and looked to the older man.

“What happened?” She asked.

“I’m afraid that’s strictly-“

“Need to know,” Elaine finished for him. Abby nodded with a sympathetic look. Elaine sighed but nodded.

It wasn’t long until Gibbs stormed down the stairs, an icy glare painted on his face. Elaine jumped to her feet, “Leroy-?” But he just shouldered past her and opened his desk, retrieving his gun and badge before storming off again, “Leroy!” She called after him.

When he came down next, he was calm, almost too calm. He looked around at his team and his eyes landed on Tony, “you’ll do,” He said, taking Tony’s hand and placing his badge into him, “they’re your team now, DiNozzo.”

Elaine’s eyes widened, but when Leroy looked over at her she felt that familiar calm. She just nodded, “Let’s go home, Ellie,” He said.

Elaine looked over at him on the couch. He still had burns across his face but he looked content with her legs pulled over his lap, tracing mindless shapes into her skin as he watched the television. She studied the side of his face over her book taking in every detail. She felt grateful. Grateful that he had survived, thankful he had gotten away from the bomb. And now, grateful that when he looked over at her, his eyes sparked with that familiar fondness.

“Ellie,” He looked over at her and she felt that sub she felt every time they locked eyes, “you look like you want to say something.”

Elaine smiled and put down her book, scooting closer to cup his cheek in her hand and gently stroke it, “I’m just glad you’re home,” her voice was soft.

“Yeah?” The corner of his mouth ticked up in a small smile as his arm hooked around her waist and pulled over flush to his chest.

“Yeah,” was all she replied. The sat in silence for a moment, enjoying the closeness and the comfortable quiet.

“What do you think about Mexico?” Gibbs asked just before kissing the top of her head, “you, me, a beach. No screens, no phones, no emergencies,” He murmured into her hair. Elaine smiled against his chest.

“Mexico sounds nice.”

#leroy jethro gibbs #gibbs x reader #ncis gibbs #gibbs #fanfiction #fanfic #angst with a happy ending #light angst #fluff #ncis #ncis fanfiction #jethro gibbs x reader #i don’t know how to tag this

114 notes · View notes

the-wize-1 · 10 months ago

Text

Thawing the Widow (A Natasha Romanoff Story): Chapter 6 - Frozen Peas

Chapter Summary: Cat's plan kind of fails (is anyone surprised?)... but it also works out? Things happen and she’s reunited with a certain redheaded assassin.

Chapter Warnings: Talking about a mugging, playful threatening with a knife. This is and will be minor friendly! No smut in this story.

Notes: Nat returns this chapter! But this isn’t the last we see of Peter! Thank you to everyone who reblogged/commented/read so far! Getting notifications really encourages me and I enjoy each and everyone one of them. New chapters will come Monday/Thursday 5PM PST (I’m on time FINALLY). Also idk if I should make a tag list but if so lmk who’s interested! Happy reading!

Thawing the Widow Masterlist

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

"That was awesome!" Cat breathed as Spider-Man dropped her and Taco back on the ground. Her heart was still beating fast from the exhilaration. Swinging around New York was similar to riding a roller coaster, albeit a faster, steeper, more dangerous one with significantly less elbow room.

Spider-Man looked around the abandoned streets warily. "Um… are you sure this is where you wanted me to drop you off?"

Cat made sure she had the right dark alley. Granted, all the dark alleys looked generally the same in New York, but she had a great mind for directions. And she was pretty sure she was at the right place. If she squinted, she could spot a few familiar landmarks. And… there! If she could get a little closer, she could just make out the sliver of the door on the side of the wall.

The door of the safehouse.

"This is the one," she confirmed.

"If you're sure," he said. "Is there anything I can do to help? I don't think I have any cash on me— wait—" He awkwardly patted himself down for cash, even though Cat couldn't see how any pockets could possibly be hidden in the folds of his spandex. "Yeah, no cash. Sorry."

Cat suddenly had an idea. "Can I have your autograph?"

"What?"

"You know, to sell it," she said unremorsefully. "It might help me make some money. Sorry if that's offensive. I need everything I can get right now."

"Oh, that's really smart. I didn't even think of that. I don't have any paper, do you?"

Cat rummaged around in her backpack. She had a few souvenirs, a mug that was only a little cracked, some pieces of cardboard, and an I-Heart-New-York sweatshirt that was slightly too large for her. Lastly, she pulled out an extra thick sharpie. She'd gotten most of the items in the soup kitchen cupboards, or at homeless shelters.

Spider-Man quickly scribbled his signature on all of them, leaving little sweet but unnecessary notes. "Here you go."

"I'm really grateful for this," she told him.

Before handing the sharpie back, he paused. He stared at her for a long time. "Are you going to be okay?"

She glared at him. "Of course I am!" she said indignantly. "I'm tough, you know."

"I know. You're pretty neat, Cat."

"You're not so bad yourself, Spider-Man."

He awkwardly placed his hand on her shoulder, then removed it almost instantly. "Well, just know that if you're ever in trouble, I'll always be around. Just… scream for help, or something." He patted Taco on the head. "Bye, cute beagle." He shot a web up into a ledge of a building. He made a peace sign at her as he yanked himself into the air. "See ya, Cat!"

"Bye!" Cat called after him as he swung out of view.

I'll be okay, she thought.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

She was so not going to be okay.

"Damn," she swore under her breath, jamming her knife in the lock for the eighth time in the dim hopes that it would work that time.

Cat dug it in harder, twisting and turning every which way. She was waiting for the telltale clicks and shifts, but they didn't come. Instead, the knife was met with a stubborn wall that blocked it from moving in further. She'd been there for at least ten minutes, with a sinking heart. They'd changed the locks.

"Damn it!"

Taco barked. Cat liked to imagine she was sharing her frustration.

Frustrated and disappointed, Cat gave up. Plan A was a no-go. She'd have to find somewhere else to sleep. Which actually really sucked, because it was freezing. The wind was blowing with a frigid ferocity that night. She tried to yank the knife out of the lock, but it was stuck.

She swore again, tugging at the knife, but it stayed stubbornly stuck. Her grip slipped and she fell backwards onto the ground, landing hard. Oww. She groaned. Taco jumped up and padded over to her, licking her face.

Despite Taco being adorable as always, Cat was miserable. Her hands and face were numb with cold. She could hardly feel her fingertips. She was shivering in her feeble, tightly stretched coat and thin leggings that offered no protection from the cold. She'd been looking forward to the warm, welcoming safehouse, but now even that wasn't an option. The good thing was, the cold did a good job of numbing the pain on her face and ribs. She had long gotten used to the throb of pain.

Cat got to her feet, shaking with exhaustion. She took a shaky breath, steeling herself. Her eyes narrowed and she gritted her teeth. Whether she was getting into the safehouse or not, she sure as hell was getting her knife back.

She rubbed her hands together, trying to generate some warmth into them. She wrapped her hands around the hilt of the knife, and raised her left foot to a position over the lock. Taco watched her with a perplexed expression, as if asking her what the hell she thought she was doing. Pushing off of her left foot, leaning sideways, she tugged at the knife as hard as she could.

The knife came loose. Cat couldn't regain her balance quickly enough, so she went flying backwards, slamming into the opposite wall with a sickening crash. She collapsed to the floor with a heap. For a moment, Cat laid there, breathing hard, and felt impossibly tired. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to fall asleep right there…

Then, she heard something moving behind the door. With a grunt of pain, Cat forced herself to her feet. She held her knife to her side, the slightest sliver of hope in her heart.

The door groaned open.

"You're making an awful lot of noise," Natasha said.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Natasha didn't say a word as she led Cat into the living room, and gestured to the table. Cat took a seat and watched as Natasha took out a bag of dog food from one of the cabinets and poured it into a bowl for Taco. Taco leapt on it eagerly.

"Do you have a dog?" Cat asked out of curiosity.

"No."

"Why do you have dog food?"

She shrugged. "Why not?"

Cat took that as a good enough answer. Natasha wordlessly passed her a box of Chinese takeout. The smell of it had been filling up the kitchen. Cat dug in the moment she had it in her hands, feeling impossibly luckier and happier than she had in weeks. She ate like she was starving— probably because she was.

Natasha was silent, watching her as she devoured the takeout. Once Cat had eaten almost half of it, she gently tugged it out of Cat's hands.

"Sorry," Cat said immediately, scooting back in her chair. "I didn't mean to eat so much, I just—"

"Relax," Natasha said. "I'll give it back. You don't want to eat too fast or too much, or you'll throw up."

"Right." Cat took a deep breath. "Thanks."

"Here."

Natasha passed her a mug of steaming brown liquid. For a moment, Cat got excited, thinking it was coffee. When she took a sip and the taste of hot chocolate slammed into her, she wasn't too disappointed. It was surprisingly good. She was mostly glad Natasha had decided to let her in at all.

Cat wrapped her hands around the mug, trying to let the warmth of the room envelope her in its embrace. She relished in the moment, having a warm place to stay, food, and water. She shivered, remembering that it was only temporary and soon she'd have to be back out in the streets.

Cat couldn't take the silence. "Do you live here?" she asked.

"Sometimes," she answered vaguely.

"How did you know I was outside?"

"Like I said, you were making a lot of noise. I didn't think that was possible, considering those walls are about two feet thick."

"You changed your locks," Cat said resentfully.

"It's called a safehouse for a reason," Natasha pointed out. "What would be the point if persistent little orphans like you could break in?"

"I didn't think anyone would be inside."

"And that makes it okay?" Natasha asked pointedly.

"Um… no," Cat said, trying to sound remorseful. "Sorry."

Another bout of silence passed. Cat was trying to think of a way to ask for the takeout back. Her hunger was still rearing its little ugly head inside of her. But Natasha was holding the box just out of arm's reach.

"What happened to your face?"

"Nothing."

"I said, what happened to your face?" Natasha asked again, this time with an edge to her voice. Her eyes had narrowed.

"And I said," Cat fired back, "nothing."

"I gave you food," Natasha pointed out. Cat eyed the takeout box. "I could've left you out there in the cold. The least you could do is give me a straight answer."

Cat bit her lip. That was true. What would be the harm in telling her? Her stomach whined, yearning for the takeout. Still, some part of her didn't want Natasha to know. She stayed silent.

Natasha sensed the shift in her silence. She pushed the takeout box toward Cat, just a little. Cat reached for it, but then Natasha pulled it away. Cat looked up at Natasha with a mixture of betrayal and confusion. No food?

"Answer the question, and you can have it."

Cat scoffed. "That's not going to work on me."

"We'll see," Natasha said with an infuriating amount of certainty.

Cat worked her jaw. She crossed her arms and leaned back, defiant. Natasha stared back with an equal amount of fierceness. Cat's stomach growled painfully. It was loud enough so that even Natasha heard. She raised her eyebrows. Then, the smell of the takeout got to Cat.

"I tripped."

"You tripped."

"Yes."

"Try again."

"Fine. I got mugged." Cat lunged for the takeout box.

Natasha held it just out of reach, again. "Excuse me?"

"You're excused."

"Who mugged you?"

"How do you expect me to know? They weren't keen on doing icebreakers, and there wasn't enough time for me to run a facial recognition program."

"What did they want?"

Cat crossed her arms. "I thought you said I only had to answer one question. This seems like a lot more than one."

Natasha passed the takeout box to her. Cat started eating with a fervor. She was starting to feel a little full, but too full was better than too empty. She'd learned on the streets that she never knew when her next meal was going to be. If overeating to the point of throwing up meant she could spend another night without starving, that was what she was going to do.

Natasha got up and left, then came back with a first aid kit and a bag of frozen peas. She watched Cat wolf down the food with a horrified fascination.

"Slow down. You're scaring me."

Cat made a show of chewing for a long time before swallowing. The food in the takeout box was almost gone. She polished off the last bit, feeling satisfied for the first time in weeks. She started on the hot chocolate next, tipping the mug over until the last drop fell into her mouth.

Finally, she settled back into the chair with a sigh.

Natasha passed her the bag of frozen peas.

Cat stared at the bag of frozen peas. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Put it on your face, idiot."

Cat pressed it to the bruise on her face. She winced. "Ow."

"Don't be a baby. So, what did the muggers want?" Natasha repeated.

Cat sighed, long and drawn-out. Natasha had been awfully nice to her. She was lucky to be in a warm room with hot chocolate and takeout instead of shivering out in the cold. The least she could do was provide her with a little information.

"Money. They saw me give, like, twenty dollars to this Girl Scout, but it was pretty much the last of it. I kept telling them I didn't have any more, but you'd be surprised at how dumb they are."

"I'm not. How did you get away?"

Cat grinned. "Oh, funny story, actually. You know that guy, Spider-Man?"

"Sure. We've met a few times."

Cat gaped at her for a moment, having forgotten that Natasha was the Black Widow. She probably had met Spider-Man before. "You have?"

Natasha shrugged. "He's a good fighter. He's a bit of a talker, but a decent guy. We didn't really do the whole 'getting to know you' thing. We were mostly focused on trying to beat the crap out of Steve and his groupies."

Steve… Cat thought. Who was Captain America. Natasha was on a first name basis with Captain America— obviously— which was so cool.

"Yeah, anyway, Spider-Man swooped in and beat up all the muggers and stuck them on the wall. Then he swung me here. I asked him to autograph all my stuff so I could sell it."

"Hmm." Natasha moved the bag of peas from Cat's eye to see the bruise. "How hurt are you?"

Cat's ribs were aching, but she knew they weren't broken. Maybe bruised. It was mostly her face that was hurting, but the frozen peas had done a good job of numbing the area. "I'm fine. My ribs hurt a little, but—"

Without warning, Natasha reached out and prodded her side. Cat yelped, more shock than hurt, and thrust her hands up in front of her to defend herself.

"Jesus! Could you warn me before you do that?"

"Where does it hurt?" Natasha asked unapologetically.

"Just… like, around here."

Cat stayed stiff as Natasha pressed lightly against her ribs, examining them. "They're just bruised," she told her.

"Yeah, looks like it."

"You know, I could've told you that if you'd just asked instead of prodding me like some kind of lab rat."

Natasha straightened, looking her in the eye. She had an unnerving habit of doing that. Her piercing eyes were impossible to avoid. "So, tell me. What's your plan?"

"My plan?" Cat echoed.

Natasha raised her eyebrows. "Yes. Your plan for living on the streets, finding a job, feeding yourself, making sure you don't die. Unless you don't have one?"

"Of course I have a plan," Cat said, not wanting to admit that she did not, in fact, have any sort of plan. "I'm going to go to homeless shelters and the soup kitchens to get food. And I'm going to get a lot of canned food from pretending to be a Girl Scout. And I'll learn everything I need to know in the library— Don't make that face!"

Natasha's smirk reverted into a suspiciously convincing blank expression. "What face?"

"Like you think I'm some silly little kid who has no idea what she's doing. I'm really good at memorizing things. I could learn everything I need to learn in the library— You're making the face again!"

The second time, Natasha didn't bother to disguise her skepticism. "Yeah, because it's a crappy plan."

"It's not a crappy plan."

"Really? Then why'd you end up here, of all places?"

"Because I—"

"—had nowhere else to go?" Natasha finished.

She took Cat's sulky silence as an affirmation and plowed on.

"You don't have a consistent source of income. How do you expect to pay for things like new clothes, necessities, or literally anything you need to survive? You're also an easy target because you're young and you barely know how to defend yourself. You got mugged, which I promise will not be the worst situation you'll find yourself in, and you only just scraped by."

"I can defend myself," Cat protested. She thought she did a rather good job of fending herself off against the muggers, considering the circumstances. "I have a knife!" She grabbed it from the pocket of her jacket and pointed it at Natasha.

What happened next Cat almost couldn't explain in words. It happened so quickly. In one swift motion, Natasha lunged over the table and did something weird and uncomfortable with her arm, twisting and maneuvering it forcefully so that Cat's shoulder slammed down on the table. Cat glanced up, straining her neck, to see that the knife had made its way into Natasha's grip. It all happened in a matter of seconds. Cat could've blinked and missed it.

"What… the hell," she breathed. Also, ow. Her shoulder.

Natasha released her. Cat grabbed her shoulder, wincing. "Just because you have a knife doesn't mean you can defend yourself." She examined the knife distastefully. "This a kitchen knife."

"That wasn't fair," Cat grumbled. "You're the Black Widow. I stood no chance."

"So? You think a bunch of muggers are gonna go easy on you just because you're a little homeless girl? Haven't you've already learned that?"

Cat crossed her arms. "Okay, I get it. My plan is a crappy plan. It's not like you have a better one."

"Of course I do. I'll take you there myself."

All at once, alarm raced through her. Cat's feet slammed onto the ground. She pushed the chair away from the table with a loud screech and stood up. "You're not taking me to CPS."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "I'm not. Sit down."

Cat lowered herself back in the chair cautiously. "Then where are you going to take me?"

"I own an apartment not far away from here. I barely use it, so you could crash there for the time being."

For several moments, Cat couldn't speak. "W-what?"

"What is it with you and making me repeat myself twice?" Natasha groused. "Did you not hear the first time?"

"I heard," Cat snapped, recovering quickly. "Does it have heating?"

"Yes."

"And a plumbing system?"

"Yes."

"And coffee?"

Natasha frowned. "Of course."

"And Fruit Loops?"

"No."

"Oh."

"I could get some Fruit Loops," Natasha offered.

"Thank you," Cat mumbled, staring into the distance. This was impossible, right? There was no way something this good could happen to her. Her attention snapped back to Natasha, who was still staring at her.

"Why are you helping me?" Cat demanded. "This isn't a trick, is it?"

"Are you always this paranoid?"

"Wouldn't you be?"

"Fair enough," Natasha admitted. "But you just have to trust me."

"I don't trust anyone," Cat said.

Something changed in Natasha's expression. Her eyes were faraway, looking into the distance. "You remind me of myself," she said. "I didn't want to rely on anyone either. But sometimes it's better to have people around you, people who are going to catch you when you fall."

Cat thought it was a bunch of bull. The more people she trusted, the more likely they could hurt or betray her.

"Anyway," Natasha continued briskly, abandoning her dreamy-eyed gaze, "you don't have any other choice. You can choose to go back in the streets and inevitably end up starving, poor, and out of options. Or, you could come with me."

"You promise you won't call CPS?"

"Sure."

That wasn't convincing enough for Cat. "I don't believe you."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "What, you want me to swear on a blood oath or something?"

That gave Cat an idea. She stuck out her pinky finger. "Pinky promise."

Natasha looked down at it. "This is hardly a legally binding contract."

"Pinky promise," Cat insisted. "The most unbreakable of promises."

Natasha linked her pinky with Cat's.

Cat nodded importantly. "The deed is done."

Natasha shook her head, bemused. "You're ridiculous."

Cat got to her feet. "So when are we leaving?"

"Slow down there, Turbo." Natasha got up as well and led her to the couch. Taco had noticed and followed them. "You look like you're about to kneel over. When was the last time you slept?"

When was the last time she'd slept? She honestly couldn't remember. "I don't know."

"Sleep first. Then we'll go."

"Okay," Cat agreed, too tired to argue. Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and everything hurt. She just wanted to fall asleep and never wake up. She laid down on the couch, resting her head on the arm rest. Taco jumped up and laid on her chest. It was a lot more comfortable than the chair she'd been tied to the first time she'd been here.

"Hey," she said with her eyes closed.

Natasha's voice came from a little to her left. "What?"

"Can you teach me how you did that knife thing?"

Cat didn't hear Natasha's response, because she was already drifting off to sleep.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Notes: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think! Also my asks are open so feel free to drop anything there too!

32 notes · View notes

daddy-dins-girl · 2 years ago

Text

Kinktober 2023 Pt. 1 - Dave York (Somnophilia, Frottage, Virginity)

Masterlist

AO3 link

Summary: It's Dave's birthday, and you have a present for him. Then again, maybe it's more for you.

This fic covers days 2 and 7 of @absurdthirst's Kinktober 2023 challenge.

Dave York x Virgin!Reader (babysitter)

Word Count: 4.2k

Notes: Me: Ok, I can do this, I can write some smutty little kinktober drabble, no problem! Also me: Writes 2500 words of backstory and character development before a stitch of clothing even comes off.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI. Explicit smut. Cheating, infidelity (it's the York's y'all, come on, is it even Dave York fanfic if one or both of them aren't banging somebody else?). Age gap (Reader is 21, Dave is in his 40's). Virgin (but not inexperienced) Reader. Consensual Somnophilia. "Just the tip" (but like actually tho). Frottage. Vaginal and clitoral stimulation (aka pussy rubbing). Accidental creampie (whoops). Drug use, kind of? (just over the counter sleep aids). Dave York is his own warning. Uh.. if I've forgotten anything, lmk. I think I've given away half the story already in the tags! At least you know what you're in for ;)

There was an excitement thrumming through your veins as you sat in the living room waiting for the York’s to get home, not really paying any attention to what was playing on the TV because your mind was elsewhere.

The two children you were caring for, Molly and Alice, have long since been tucked into their beds and asleep and now you were just waiting for their parents to get home. They typically weren’t gone for more than a few hours. It didn’t need to be said that that was more than they could stand of each other if their children weren’t there to serve as buffers, that much was obvious to just about anyone who spent enough time around Carol and Dave. Apparently however just not to their friends who they had to go out with and appease, pretending their marriage was still perfect. That’s where the York’s found themselves this Saturday night, out with friends celebrating Dave’s birthday that was coming up in a few days.

It was a good job for you though, Mr. York always paid you handsomely. Anytime you’d come over to babysit he’d leave the same amount of money in an envelope on the kitchen counter for you. A fifty dollar bill for you to order food for yourself and the two girls (which was way more than enough, even with the delivery charges and tip, to cover anything the three of you could eat) and a crisp hundred for yourself for your services which you thought was way too high, considering they were never gone more than 2-3 hours. The first couple times you’d tried to give him the change from dinner but he’d shoved the twenty back into your own palm and told you to keep it so now you’ve stopped trying to argue and typically walk away with at least $120.00 a night, which was pretty good for a 3 hour gig for a 21 year old who lives at home while attending school. You didn’t know what Dave York did for a living - something in government, you think - but apparently whatever it was it paid extremely well.

The hard rain coming down outside was hitting the large windows of the York’s extravagant home in sheets and truth be told you were more than glad that there was practically a hurricane going on outside. It actually fit into your plans perfectly so you just watched the storm rage on outside from your comfortable seat on the sofa, a small smile on your face while you waited for your employers to get home.

Within minutes you heard the loud hum of the garage door opening up signaling the York’s arrival and you clicked off the TV, pretending to be interested in something on your phone and acting casually as a minute later you heard the door connecting the house to the garage open and Carol and Dave spilled inside.

“Oh my God it’s madness out there” Carol practically shrieked and Dave immediately shushed her loudly, reminding her of their sleeping children and Carol put a hand over her mouth but laughed uncontrollably still.

Yep, she was wasted, as usual.

“Oh hi, Mr. and Mrs. York” you greet them sweetly, standing up from the couch and coming over to the hallway leading to the entryway where they were taking off their soaked jackets, likely from their walk from whatever restaurant they had been at to their car.

“Oh hi sweetie. How were the girls?” Carol managed to ask, you’re not sure how she got the words out, given the way Dave was literally having to hold her up by her elbow just so she could kick her shoes off.

“Oh they were great, as always” you promise. And they were, Molly and Alice were rarely any trouble. This was by far the easiest babysitting gig you’d ever had.

“Pay the girl David, I need to go to bed” Carol groaned, leaning into her husband’s shoulder for support. Dave rolled his eyes. First of all, he had already paid you at the beginning of the night, like he always had and you’d think his wife would know that by now, and secondly he absolutely did not like how she was all but dismissing you without even thanking you or saying more than five words to you.

“Um, Mr. and Mrs. York,” you cut in, before Dave has a chance to say anything. “I was thinking, you know, the rain is coming down really bad and I don’t really like driving late at night as it is, I thought maybe I could stay over?” You asked politely. You’ve done it numerous times on occasions that they were sure they’d be home late, they had offered you their spare room in the basement so you could go to sleep once the girls were in bed if you had wanted to. Most times when you stayed over it was because you were already asleep when they’d gotten home, but on a couple occasions you’d stayed over even when you were still awake when they got in just because of how late it was.

“Sure, whatever sweetie” Carol waved a flippant hand at you.

“Of course you can” Dave finally spoke, his voice louder and firmer than Carol’s. Dave rarely came home with more than a drink or two under his belt because he typically drove. You also got the feeling that he knew he had to have all his wits about him when out with his wife so he could be a glorified babysitter himself.

“Thank you, Mr. York” you said his name sweetly, a coy smile playing on your lips that went unnoticed by Carol but intentionally noticed by Dave.

You left Dave to wrangle Carol up to bed and made your way down to the basement, getting ready for bed and then pulled your phone out to type out a quick text to the man of the house before you tried to get some sleep.

Cum see me l8r. Got a present for you to unwrap😉. You know the rules. xxx

You took a breath. You were excited and yet nervous, never having done anything like this, specifically, before. You reach over to the night stand and pick up the small white tablet, pop it into your mouth and wash it down with some water before you lay down on the bed and wait (im)patiently for sleep to take over.

Dave’s phone pings in his pocket once he’s finally gotten Carol into bed. She was tugging at his tie and belt and trying to drag him into the bed with her, mumbling something incoherently about a “birthday blowjob” and he could do little but roll his eyes. He was in no mood to have his completely drunken wife undoubtedly fall asleep on him with his cock half way down her throat. Besides the fact that he knows exactly where her mouth has been the last eight months or so which had been the final nail in the coffin that was once their active sex life.

So instead he leaves her there and heads off into the ensuite to shower, pulling out his phone to check his text from you along the way and smirking to himself when he reads it. He doesn’t reply. He rarely does. Sometimes it’s a power move. He likes you to squirm, wondering if he’s read it, what he’s thinking, if he’s as insatiable in his desire for you as you are for him. Mostly he doesn’t reply though because he doesn’t like paper trails. Not that he thinks you would, but the last thing he needs is you screenshotting your conversations with him and sharing them around with your friends or something.

Dave brushes his teeth, gets into the shower, then heads down to the kitchen to relax for a bit, sipping a beer and catching some highlights on SportsCenter. He doesn’t want to seem too eager and part of him likes to keep you waiting. Finally after a couple of hours have passed since he received your text he clicks off the TV and goes in search of you.

He moves through the basement rec room and to the closed bedroom door, pulling the small key out of the pocket of his sweatpants and using it to let himself inside, ensuring to lock it behind him. He’s the only one with a key to unlock the door from the outside so he doesn’t have to worry about anyone interrupting anything.

He makes his way over to the bed where you’re lying on your back. There’s a bedside lamp that’s turned on to its highest setting so he has no trouble making anything out in the room, he assumes it's intentional.

“Naughty girl” Dave mutters to himself when he sees what’s waiting for him. You’re lying there perfectly asleep on top of the bedclothes wearing nothing but a tiny camisole and simple yellow cotton panties with a small pair of red cherries right in the center like a goddamn bullseye and a tiny little tied red bow at the top.

Got a present for you to unwrap. Your words ring in his head and he’s half hard already just from looking at you.

He assesses the rest of the room and his eyebrow raises when he sees what’s on the bedside table, a tiny blue box with the logo “Sleep-Eze” on it and a half drank glass of water.

“Jesus Christ” Dave huffs out a breath, pushing a hand through his hair.

You had a conversation recently one night when you were lying in bed together the last time you had stayed over at his house and he came to see you (as he always had). You had confessed that a fantasy of yours was to wake up to having an orgasm. Dave was hesitant at first, for multiple reasons. One he didn’t like the idea of getting off on someone who was effectively unconscious, and two he argued that you’d wake up way too easily if he was doing his job well enough.

You told him you’d figure out a way to help with the second problem which, Dave presumed, was the reason for the sleeping tablet. And as for the first, you told him if he really wasn’t comfortable he didn’t have to, it was just something you had always wanted to try but had never trusted anyone else to do it.

And you did, trust him. The last line of your text, ‘you know the rules’, he did know the rules. Well, rule. It was really just one when it came to you.

No penetration.

At least, not with his cock. You weren’t a total prude or anything but you were a virgin (hence the cherry panties he supposed… cute little vixen). You grew up in a very religious household and although you didn’t quite believe in waiting until marriage like your parents had taught you to, you did want to wait until it could be with someone you loved and that just hadn’t happened to you yet. Still, despite this, you were sexually active in plenty of other ways that certainly seemed to keep Dave satisfied enough. For now anyway. You worried he might get bored of you but it hadn’t happened yet and it’s been nearly six months. Despite his aggressive and controlling behavior in bed he always respected your one rule and didn’t pressure you to cross it with him. He probably knew that before long you’d be begging him for it anyway and he was probably right. Your resilience was waning a lot. And it wasn’t just the sexual desire, though that was obviously a huge part of it, but you felt a connection to Dave you had yet to find with anyone else you dated, especially boys your own age who were exactly that - boys.

Dave was sweet to you when you least expected it. When you’d aced your midterm paper that you had spent weeks agonizing over, a dozen roses showed up at your parents doorstep the next day with a card nestled inside with a single phrase written on it. “So proud of you. D.”

When you had briefly mentioned one night that you desperately wanted tickets to the Taylor Swift concert but weren’t willing to fork over your entire college fund to get them, the next time you had come over to babysit in addition to the usual $150.00 in the envelope on the counter there was a pair of tickets to the Eras Tour Boston show with a small note stuck to it in Dave’s familiar scratchy handwriting “take one of your girlfriends, and have fun sweetheart”. You idly wonder who he had to kill to get them.

Then there was the day your brother had been shipped off to his first tour of Active Duty and you couldn’t be emotional about it in front of your parents because you had to “be strong for your brother” (their words). You had texted Dave when you finally couldn’t be in that house another minute pretending your whole world hadn’t just changed and he had picked you up from the corner of your street, driven to a secluded parking lot and pulled you into the back seat with him where he just held you for hours while you cried in his arms. You told him stories of your childhoods growing up, how close you’d been and how he was your best friend and whole world; your port in the storm against your strict parents and the only person who truly understood you. Dave sat there calmly, listening to every word, brushing a comforting hand through your hair or occasionally pressing his lips to your temple when another wave of tears hit you. He promised you that you never had to be brave or strong in front of him if you didn’t want to be, he would be there to hold you up. Be your strength when you had none left to give.

And when you had told Dave about a guy that had gotten a little too “handsy” with you at a Frat party - despite you repeatedly asking him to leave you alone - well, come to think of it, you’d actually never seen Thomas again after that night. You safely assume Dave had something to do with it though.

So yes, Dave was much more than just a warm body to you, and you for him, you presumed, and there was no one else you trusted with your body like you trusted Dave.

“Fuck” Dave muttered, hand coming down involuntarily to palm over the bulge growing beneath the elastic waistband of his sleep pants. You looked goddamn adorable when you were sleeping, Dave noticed immediately. Little mouth half open, head rolled to the side with your hair spilling over the pillows, and the rise and fall of your chest putting your perfect round tits on display for him under the threadbare top.

Apparently getting over the first hurdle was going to be easier than Dave thought.

He pulled his sweats down and kicked them off, leaving himself in just his boxer briefs and t-shirt and crawled onto the bed on his knees until he was between your legs, sitting back on his heels. He began by experimentally running his left hand down your leg all the way to your calf and then back up to your thigh, waiting to see if you’d stir at all and - nothing. Your breathing never faltered, body never twitched, and satisfied, Dave moved on to what he knew you were waiting for.

He started slowly, gently. He brought his hand to rest on your hip and his thumb reached down to stroke you over top of your underwear, pushing all the way down into your slit and back up and repeating the motion over and over again for a minute or so until he began to feel the unmistakable wetness begin to pool behind the thin cotton barrier.

“Good girl” Dave hummed to himself, then brought two fingers down on top of where your clit would be and began rubbing tight circles around it. Your hips jerked slightly and he stopped immediately like a deer caught in headlights, eyes shooting up to yours only to find you still fast asleep and he let out a relieved breath. It was just your body reacting to his touch but thankfully he hadn’t woken you. He knew what you wanted and he wanted to give it to you and he knew he had a long way to go before he brought you to a peak so it was far too soon to have you waking up already.

“That’s it baby” Dave praised when a little whimper left your lips but you simply snuggled further into your pillow. “Back to sleep”

After another couple minutes of soft caresses of his fingers he took his hands away momentarily to grab for one of the decorative pillows that had been tossed carelessly aside and he carefully lifted your hips to settle it underneath you, raising you slightly for him so he wouldn’t throw his back out leaning over you for what he wanted to do next - for what he knew you were waiting for him to do.

Once he’s got you in the position he wants he hastily tugs down his boxers, shuffles closer towards you on his knees and groans when he takes his own length in his hand. He’s painfully hard already and his head is weeping precum and he hisses through his teeth when he loosely grips his cock and starts pumping his hips, effectively fucking his own hand while the head of dick pushes into your still clothed sex.

“Oh fuck,” he groans. The combination of your own wetness and his leaking tip have caused a giant wet spot on your panties, leaving them basically transparent as he continues dragging his cock through your folds over your underwear.

This had quickly become your favorite thing to do with Dave, once he had tried it once, promising you he wouldn’t go inside but just wanting to be close to you. He’d rub your pussy with his cock until you came - which never took long - and you’d practically begged him to do it every time you were together since. It was near fucking torture for Dave, being so goddamn close to burying his cock deep inside you like he so desperately wanted to. He could do it. It would be so fucking easy. Especially right now. But he wouldn’t. If there was one thing Dave had in spades, it was self control.

Dave checks in with you again, makes sure you’re still asleep and you are, though your face is a little scrunched up now, not as peaceful looking. It looks like you’re dreaming and are a little unsure of what exactly is going on. He knows he probably doesn’t have a lot of time left to get you to cum before you wake up so he moves on to the final stage. He slips his dick under the soaked piece of cotton through the side and continues his little thrusts with his hands now resting on the insides of your thighs and not able to help the moan that escapes him when his dick finally makes contact with your naked cunt.

“Mmmmm” you hum sleepily, somewhere between completely dead to the world and barely awake.

Dave vaguely hears you beginning to stir, the sound of his cock pushing in and out of your sopping core filling his ears and causing his brain to nearly stop functioning with how fucking turned on he is. His tip brushes against your clit with every push of his cock and he has to close his eyes and focus on his breathing so he doesn’t come before you do.

“Ohhhhhh” you whine breathily, being dragged a little closer to consciousness.

It’s the softest fucking sound he’s ever heard and he nearly comes at the sound of your desperate, meek little whimper.

“Oh fuck, Baby, wake up” Dave groans, slightly picking up the pace that his cock slides in and out of your folds.

“Dave?” you mutter, confused as your eyes try desperately to blink open. “Oh. Oh fuck, Oh Dave!” It hits you like a fucking brick wall. You're suddenly completely alert as the pleasure centers in your brain finally start firing on all cylinders again and you’re painfully aware of how incredibly turned on you are. Not to mention how close you are.

“Sweetheart, oh fuck” Dave is close to losing it himself from above you. His hand leaves your thigh to yank your panties to the side and then he grabs his dick with the other to control his movements. He watches his cock rub up and down through your swollen lips and push into your clit, repeating the pattern over and over and over and soon enough you're rocking your hips in rhythm with him.

“Oh my God, Dave. Fuck, fuck, fuck” You cry out. He feels fucking incredible and you’re desperately close to coming, you can feel it flooding your lower abdomen, the dam about to burst. You push up on your elbows, you want to watch as Dave’s cock slides through you.

“Fuck, wish I could be inside you” Dave groans. He knows it's not fair of him to say it when you’re both so worked up like this but he’s never wanted it more than in this moment.

“Yesssss, fuck, me too Dave. Wanna come on your big fat cock baby” you mewl desperately, clutching at the sheets.

“Fuck baby don’t say shit like that” Dave scolds. It was one thing to playfully tease, but saying that to him knowing full well he couldn’t do anything about it was downright cruel.

“Baby, fuck, I’m serious” you whine. “Wanna feel you inside me, just a little bit, please baby? Just the tip? I need it”

“Oh fuck” Dave literally growls like you’ve never heard before and then he pushes inside you for the first time, just the head, like you asked, and you instantly fall apart. Your walls squeeze around his tip like an unrelenting vice grip and your juices flood his cock and seconds later you feel his own hot spend painting your walls as he shudders over you and grips your hips so tightly you know they’ll be bruised tomorrow.

“Oh shit, oh shit shit shit!” Dave curses at his own stupidity and lack of control but can do little about it as he continues to spurt rope after rope of his cum inside you.

“Oh my god, Dave” you sigh dreamily, falling back onto the bed and not only unbothered, but blissfully pleased at Dave’s little indiscretion. You’ll take a Plan B in the morning, you’re far from worried about it.

“Fuck, I’m sorry” Dave pants breathlessly as he finally pulls his spent cock out of you and runs his hands through his hair and then rubs them over his face and groans.

“Baby, come here” you insist, reaching up to pull him down on top of you and you’re surprised at how easily he allows it to happen.

“Hey, it’s ok” you assure him softly, wrapping your arms around his neck and petting a hand through his hair.

“I shouldn’t have-” he begins to protest as he pushes himself up on his elbows, but you’re quick to cut him off.

“I wanted you to. Baby that was…” you trail off, literally unable to put into words how good he made you feel and so you opt instead to pull his head back gently and kiss him passionately. After a few seconds of trying to resist you, Dave succumbs to the kiss and opens his mouth to you, tongue pushing inside and melding with yours.

You pull apart only when the need for oxygen overwhelms you both and Dave rests his forehead on yours, gently shaking his head.

“You’re fucking incredible, do you know that?” He says sincerely and a blush rises in your cheeks.

“You’re not so bad yourself” you tease.

“I just had my dick inside you” Dave states like he’s reading the morning headlines.

“I remember, I was there” you giggle and he huffs a laugh in return.

“Are you um… ok?” He asks sincerely, bringing a hand up so his finger can lightly trace your jawline, his eyes searching yours for any signs of regret.

“More than ok” you promise, raising your head slightly to press a quick kiss to his lips.

“You sure? You don’t hate me?” He asks and you can barely believe your ears, maybe you were still high from the sleeping pill.

“Hate you? Baby you literally just made my wildest fantasy come true”

“Really?” Dave asks, eyebrow raised. “It was uh… what you wanted?”

“It was everything I wanted and more” you promise.

“Come here” you murmur, pulling him down to kiss you again.

You kiss unhurriedly for several minutes, just reveling in the taste of each other and the closeness you feel to one another.

“Happy birthday Baby” you hum against his lips when you finally break the kiss and Dave lowers himself from his elbows to wrap his arms around you in a tight embrace.

“Best birthday ever Sweetness” he murmurs into your throat.

Tagging @nerdieforpedro, @chronically-ghosted @macabremads

#dave york fanfiction #dave york #dave york x reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #dave york x you #kinktober 2023 #pedro pascal #pedro pascal cinematic universe

103 notes · View notes

deaths-presence · 1 year ago

Text

Two of a Kind || Dazai x Reader Part 8: Ties that Bond

Story Summary: The search for your brother has led you into conflict between the Armed Detective Agency of Yokohama and the Guild. Fitzgerald keeps you involuntarily, that is until you finally find your chance of escape. Will you find strength within the ADA, or will you only become more astray? Word Count: 1.9k Characters Featured: Yosano Akiko, Dazai Osamu Warnings: afab!reader, slowburn, plot heavy to build up romance, lmk if I happened to miss anything please! Tag List: @decaf-nosebleed @isa-ghost @xakumi @bunchofdoodlesinspace A/N: HI I'M SORRY I'VE BEEN CONSUMED BY OTHER MEDIA I promise I have not forgotten this fic.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You honestly couldn’t act surprised when you first stepped into Dazai’s apartment. Your eyes shifted to the tatami mats that covered the floor in a small moment of amazement. You always wondered how comfortable they were, given the cultural difference. You were satisfied to find out that they were more pleasant to walk on than the hardwood floors back home once you took your shoes off.

The rest of the scene in front of you was what you expected in some capacity. Not only was it clearly messy with empty bottles and takeout containers, but disorganized to where you weren’t sure how Dazai found anything in his own home. You kept your mouth shut. As sarcastic as you could be, you didn’t want to bring harsh judgment for someone who was so distinctly depressed. You didn’t know everything about Dazai after meeting each other in less than a week.

“I hate to know the answer, but where exactly will I be staying while I’m here?” Your voice was neutral. Your gaze was taking in the small size of the space, and you couldn’t help but notice that there were no walls showcasing the possibility of more rooms besides the bathroom.

“Oh, you can just steal my futon. I made sure to clean it before leaving this morning,” he mentioned casually, his eyes watching your face. He smirked as you whirled your head towards him.

“What?! I can’t just take your bed! Where will you sleep?” you stammered.

He shrugged his angular shoulders. “I’ll just sleep on the mats. It’s better than having you sleep on them, unless you’d rather share my futon?”

Your hand that meant to swat at him missed. “In your dreams.”

“I will,” he quipped smugly, trying to hide his amusement at your glare. “Make yourself comfortable as much as you wish. I’m afraid I can’t stay long since I have a meeting to attend.”

“Oh, at the ADA?” you questioned.

“No, I’m afraid not. It’s something more complicated than that,” he sighed in annoyance you managed to pick up from his voice.

You didn’t ask since it was not your business to begin with. You weren’t an Agency member, so this sort of discussion wasn’t something you were entitled to. Your eyes were stuck on the appearance of the kitchen now, and it made you ask a question out loud before you could stop it.

“Dazai, when was the last time you had something homemade?” You barely registered the squeak coming out of your mouth before slapping a hand over it, but Dazai only laughed at your horrified expression.

“It’s okay. It’s adorable to have someone so worried about me,” he responded, his voice lowering as he leaned in. You recovered from your comment and scoffed before stepping outside of his reach.

“Oh, you’re one to worry about alright.”

He opened his mouth to continue your little back and forth but was stopped by the chime of his phone. He looked at the screen before smiling towards you. “I’m afraid that’s my call, but I would love to stay here with you instead.”

“Oh, I’m sure of it,” you deadpanned while crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“Which reminds me,” he started before searching through his pockets, “I got you something in case you happen to need to call anyone.”

You looked over the simple flip phone before taking it with a nod. “It’s better than nothing.”

“My thoughts exactly! I already added my number so if there’s something wrong, I’m only a call away,” he informed while sauntering towards the door. He paused from leaving to look back at you. “Need anything?”

“Uh—” You did a quick glance around as if trying to find something—anything—that would come to mind. Drawing a blank, you shook your head. Dazai grinned before shutting the door and locking it behind him. You wandered around your newfound silence for a moment before making the decision yourself. You had to at least help clean.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Part of you was glad that you hadn’t made anything for dinner to try to surprise Dazai. Most of your time was spent deep cleaning and organizing the entire space, pausing very few times to wipe the sweat off your brow and look at your progress before continuing. Not only did you feel better with your mind off everything happening, but the hours had passed for you to see that the sky was now starting to turn dark and become speckled with stars.

You warily answered a knock that came at your door, your eyes brightening when they landed on Yosano with offered food. Two portions: one for you and one for Dazai when he got back from the mission he was on, she told you. You temporarily invited her in, and her magenta eyes didn’t seem to recognize the room.

“Did you do all this?” she questioned. “Dazai didn’t make you, did he?”

“He didn’t have to. I figured it would be a nice shock, and I feel better about it,” you replied, starting into your yakisoba. “Remind me that I owe you, by the way.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” Yosano waves off your offer. “I figured Dazai wouldn’t have anything for you to eat anyway.”

“I didn’t even give that a thought when he asked if I needed anything,” you groaned in disappointment. How could you forget something so simple? “Especially since I thought he would be back by now.”

You both conversed for roughly half an hour before she took her leave, and after cleaning for hours on end you were starting to find yourself dozing off after the feeling of a full stomach. Your eyes slid over to Dazai’s futon that he had offered you, but everything inside you said not to take it. It was clear that he didn’t mind having much, and to take something such as his own bed didn’t sit right with you. Instead, you decided to gather blankets you managed to store away. You made a makeshift bed with them and curled up to get comfortable, your eyes closing into a deep sleep.

It was hours later before you felt a strange warmth bring you out of sleep. It disappeared once your eyes fluttered open, and you blearily looked towards a familiar figure kneeling next to you. Dazai didn’t get to say a word as you sat up.

“Dazai, your arm—” you began while reaching for his wrist. You examined it carefully but found that nothing was wrong. “I thought it was broken.”

“I thought I told you I would sleep elsewhere,” he retorted, his voice tired and quiet. “I also purposely made it seem like it was broken. It’s my favorite gag.”

“Favorite gag? I thought you were hurt,” you sulked. It wasn’t until your half-asleep mind registered that you were touching Dazai and hovering so close that you withdrew your touch. “What time is it?”

“Late enough not to worry. I expected the mission to be a quick defeat. Did you know that Lovecraft’s ability isn’t really a gift?”

“Genuinely, no,” you yawned out. “He was always a mystery to me besides claiming to want to sleep. What do you mean that it wasn’t a gift? Oh, Yosano also came by with food because I was an idiot and didn’t ask before you left. There’s a container for you.”

“I couldn’t nullify and cancel his ability with my touch.” Dazai’s eyes followed to where you pointed, and smirked when you didn’t move while trying to wave you off. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not sleeping until I know you’ve eaten,” you grumbled and squinted your eyes at him. “I’m not responsible for you starving yourself. When asked why I’m so tired, I’ll tattle on you. I can hear Kunikida already.”

The giggle he gave at that shouldn’t have made your chest flutter, but you were successful as he finally stood and went to heat up the yakisoba. Your eyes were on him while he wasn’t watching. He had managed to fool you with the idea of his arm being broken for a reason, and you were beginning to think that he did intentionally. His mind was possibly just as brilliant as Miss Louisa’s, if not more. It was plausible he saw right through you and merely pretended to play dumb.

“See something you like?” His teasing voice brought you out of your thoughts, making you hold back a strangled noise at being caught before you turned your head away. Yes, he certainly wore a mask to keep himself distanced from you.

“I’m true to my promise, that’s all,” you scoffed. You mentally cursed as he shook his head, knowing it was a horrible lie.

There was a moment of silence between the two of you, but it was comfortable. Your eyes were fighting to stay open again, and it was Dazai’s voice that shook you out of it.

“You didn’t have to clean everything up. Thank you.” The tone had caught you off guard. It wasn’t his usual jeering one, nor was it honeyed. It was raw and gentle, making his words more genuine to you. You only shrugged, but on the inside, you yearned for him to talk like that more often.

“Consider it my thanks for letting me stay,” you said, your own voice softening in return. “As appreciation for the ADA as well. It’s better than my treatment in the Guild.”

“Would you ever be interested in joining an organization to use your ability in?” You caught the way Dazai’s head tilted to the side while he waited for your response.

“It would depend on what happens when I find Roberte. My priority despite the setbacks has always been trying to locate him. I genuinely haven’t thought about my own outcomes,” you replied. “I would also have to make sure that the organization I dedicate myself to follows my own morals.”

Despite the occasional flirtatious comment towards you, you found conversation with Dazai pleasant as he ate, and you listened. Your earlier thought of him being brilliant was confirmed once you were able to get him deep into a conversation about the strategy of the broken arm. He had purposely let Lovecraft believe that he had ripped it off, only to end up being blown up from the inside of his monstrous form where he was weakest. You were also amused by how Dazai shivered and grimaced at the mention of a man named Chuuya, going onto a rant focused on him after mentioning how he helped defeat the eldritch being. It wasn’t until Dazai realized you were fighting exhaustion that he stopped.

“Finally released from the curse of making sure I didn’t go to bed starving?” he questioned with a smile.

“Shut it,” you grumbled sleepily. You started to shift back into the nest of blankets you had made but began protesting when Dazai pushed you off onto the nearby futon.

“As host, I have to make sure my guest is comfortable,” he excused, but his smug smile made you want to throttle him. You gave up, having no other choice with Dazai taking over the blankets. A small pout was on your face as you got under the blankets. “Thought you said it was adorable for someone to worry over you,” you snorted. It wasn’t long before you surrendered to sleep once again, not even noticing the way Dazai was watching you.

#dazai osamu #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd dazai osamu #dazai osamu x reader #dazai x reader #bsd x reader #bsd x female reader #dazai imagines #dazai x y/n

28 notes · View notes

sleepy-wyvern · 2 years ago

Text

Scars and Stretch Marks (Eddie Munson x female!Reader) Part 2!

Gif found here, if anyone finds the original artist lmk so I can credit!

Chapter: 2/? (in progress) Read part 1 here, part 3 TBD

Synopsis: This chapter is pure fluff with smut to come! You and Eddie Munson try to tame a little black kitten with a missing ear and scar over it's eye. This fic deals with body image, body scars and body confidence!

Dedication: Miniseries for the lovely loony tunes @alienthingstwo💙 hope you enjoy, more parts to come!

Word count: 1.9k (second chapter)

Smut will be included in later chapters so minors please do not interact! 18+!

Warnings/Content tags: Scars, stretch marks, body insecurity, body worship

-EDDIES POV-

Eddie Munson sat on the front step, one hand on his knee the other holding a cigarette between his two fingers. Today he wore a light grey muscle shirt to escape the heat. He was careful that it covered every pink scar on his torso, lest it be seen especially by a pretty girl.

The thick black tobacco smoke dispersed into the sky as he tapped his foot against the gravel.

It still felt surreal to be here and alive but it was less like a dream now. He was glad to get some alone time after being bombarded with questions and hugs as much as he appreciated them.

Dustin and his uncle had of course the biggest reactions. Ones enough to make tears well in his eyes but he was sure to blink them away as quickly as possible. Even Steve and Nancy who he barely knew were relieved to see him alive and well.

After the reunions a cigarette was deemed necessary along with some fresh air. The moment he stepped outside though he spotted the empty cat dish.

He sat on the trailer steps wondering if the scarred beauty from yesterday would be here again. Perhaps that part was the dream or hallucination. How she was so comfortable with her own scar Eddie had no idea. He figured he’d never be that comfortable to show his own, instead hiding them beneath the fabric of his shirt.

-YOUR POV-

You walked down the road clutching your fingers around your tote. Within it held the metal tin of cat food you purchased before heading over. You were hoping that the cat would show up, lest the food be going to a raccoon instead. You also had a selection of cat toys and flea shampoo in case you ever did manage to catch the sly kitty. It was better to be prepared but at the same time you didn’t want to get your hopes up.

It was still shorts and tank top weather, at least if you wanted any kind of relief. The sun was beating down against your skin and you were grateful you remembered to apply sunscreen.

You wondered if Eddie would be there today, hopefully with less mysteriously dried blood on him. Still, he had seemed normal as ever. As normal as Eddie Munson could be anyways. Not that you minded.

You thought back to your experience in school with him. He never gave a shit what anyone thought of him and his hobbies. That always intrigued you and inspired you, you tried so hard to fit in for a long time that perhaps you were starting to realise that it was doing more harm than good. That maybe without his viewpoint you were about to reach a point where your entire personality wasn't personal at all. Just a mash of pop culture and hobbies deemed acceptable in a desperate plea to fit in. You were thankful things were different now.

Every encounter with him had been memorable in some way. You recalled him catching your gaze from across the cafeteria. It was a look of caution yet intrigue, perhaps that he knew you were a lost sheep but in disguise as someone who didn’t need saving.

Now, especially with your first year of university underneath your belt you decided to accept yourself for who you were. You wondered how much of that had to do with Eddie, but shook it off. Surely not, you weren’t even really friends in high school. Not that you never wanted to be, maybe it was fear of rejection that stopped you. Not anymore.

With every step down the road somehow you didn’t feel nervous. In fact, you felt excited and curious. You wanted to learn more about this ex-suspected-murderer. Normally this is something people would run away from yet you were far from normal.

He sat on the front step of his trailer smoking a cigarette. You felt a gentle tug on the corner of your lip as you spotted him before he saw you further down the road. He looked nervous, an expression you were never used to seeing on Eddie Munson. The moment he noticed you though it seemed to mostly melt away in a facade of awkward confidence he always wore.

You could feel the heat soaking into your body from the sun as you walked down to greet him. He held a beer bottle in his hand that he tapped his index finger against nervously. The thought of him being nervous to talk to you made you a little giddy.

“Hey, Eddie,” you folded your arms as you looked down at him.

“Hey, y/n,” he spoke curtly. “Back for your kitty?”

You couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes hesitated over the scar on your hip before he met your gaze. It had to be half a second at most but you didn’t miss it.

“That’s the plan.” You smiled before nodding to the beer in his hand, “you didn’t get me one?”

“Oh- I uh, yeah I could-“ he turned to get up before you interrupted.

“I was just teasing. It seems like you need it, you’re as on edge as our cat.” You offered a sympathetic smile.

He nodded and shrugged “yeah, well, been through a lot the last, uh, week. Long story.”

You moved to sit on the wooden platform of the other entrance that held a chair and sofa. You placed your bag of cat things next to you as Eddie watched curiously.

“Well, I’ve got time.” You crossed your legs as you pulled out a tin of cat food, opening it and dumping the contents on the dish you brought.

“That’s disgusting,” Eddie watched the cat food plop onto the plate amused.

“Oh yeah, it tastes great on sandwiches.” You smiled at him mischievously as he looked at you in horror.

“Kidding,” you shook your head at him. “What’s got you so jumpy?”

There was a bit of a pause as he hesitated, perhaps wondering if he should make up a lie or tell the truth. It seemed he picked the latter.

“Do you believe in monsters?” He asked nonchalantly, big brown eyes trying to read your expression.

You put a finger to your chin thinking for a moment. “Depends. Werewolves? No way. Bigfoot? Yes. Moth man? Definitely.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow unable to tell if you were joking or not.

You smirked, “I keep an open mind but the real monsters are people.”

You hopped off the platform carrying the cat dish with you. You could tell Eddie was trying hard to avoid watching you as you placed the dish on the ground. Instead he brought the bottle to his lips, his adams apple bobbing as he drank.

“Well, you got that right.” He nodded nonchalantly.

He seemed to hesitate as if holding something back. Instead of pushing him you returned back to your spot on the wooden platform letting him take his time.

“Ever hear of the cult of Vecna?” He asked, staring blankly into the sky before looking at you with sad brown eyes.

“Vecna Lives! from the world of Greyhawk?” You asked and he looked back at you pleasantly surprised.

He nodded, “well it seems Vecna does live. Some kind of time and space multidimensional being that gets inside your head and uh, you can guess the rest.”

“I see,” You kicked your feet against the ground slightly. “Is that who caused your arm to bleed?”

You weren’t sure if he was telling the truth or not but you didn’t want to deem him a liar. Who would make up a lie like that?

“No,” his gaze fell to his arm. “Those were demobats. Still think my explanation is sane?” He looked up at you.

You shook your head at him. “I’ve heard worse. Not sure what a demobat is though.”

“Well, it doesn't matter because in the end they were no match for me!” He smiled as he put the butt of his cigarette out on the dirty ashtray.

You did your best to not make it seem like you were staring but it was hard to not notice the muscle tone in his arms as he moved.

Truth is Eddie Munson amused you and interested you at the same time. He seemed like a simple guy that did what he pleased yet he was perplexing at the same time. What was he hiding?

A small black spot in the corner of your eye moved. Your eyes darted over to the plate of food noticing the kitty happily chowing down.

“Don’t make any sudden movements,” you warned.

“What, is there a spider?” He asked suddenly with a tinge of fear.

“I sure hope not,” you did your best to suppress your laughter.

You nodded to the plate of cat food as Eddie’s large eyes followed yours.

“What do we do now?” He asked, a little surprised but trying not to be too loud.

“Not sure, I honestly didn’t think I’d get this far,” you replied honestly as his serious expression turned into a heartfelt smile that made your heart race.

“Psspsspss!” Eddie tried to call him over.

The little black kitten looked up at him, twitching his ripped ear cautiously at the noise. He just finished the last of his food and was looking for more. His hungry tummy must’ve got the better of him as he slowly started to make his way towards Eddie.

“Awh,” You say quietly as if to not scare him. “He likes you.”

“I don’t know about that,” Eddie whispered as he held his hand out.

The kitty cautiously sniffed his hand, seemingly annoyed when there was no food in it.

You swiftly reached into your bag pulling out some cat treats. The kitten looked over nervously as soon as he heard the bag crinkle and you tossed a couple in front of you. His eyes darted quickly to the spot on the ground where the treats landed. He crouched down low giving an adorable little butt wiggle before pouncing on one of the treats.

“Man has his priorities in order,” you laughed.

Eddie smiled genuinely at the sight and it seemed to be the most relaxed you’ve seen him. His shoulders were lower as if he had released the hidden tension as he leaned back. He brought the beer to his lips drinking the last of the liquid while the scene before him unfolded.

The kitten slowly started to make his way towards you, his tiny paws cautiously padding across the gravel. The little black kitten rubbed against your leg graciously, you figured it to be a thank you for the treats.

You leaned down holding your hand out with a treat in the palm of your hand. At first he was apprehensive but then he graciously accepted the treat. You ran your fingers over the soft fur on his head as he chomped down on the treat.

The kitten seemed less scared of you now so you scooped him up into your hands. Somehow, some way it worked. You could even feel the soft vibration of him purring against your arms.

“Look at you, cat whisperer,” Eddie rolled his tongue over the words.

“It’s the food, that’s how you win his love.” You smiled scratching the kitties head.

Eddie nodded “Yeah well, little buddies got the right idea, don’t ya Scar?”

“Scar? A little on the nose don’t you think?” Still it made you smile. “Are you a fan of the lion king?”

“I still cry at the movie,” he admitted. “So now what do we do with the rascal?”

“Well, we can bring him inside but he’s dirty. I’ve got some clear shampoo with me.”

“Sounds like it’s time to give him a b-a-t-h,” Eddie whispered as if the cat could understand. “We can give him one here.”

“I don’t think he knows the word bat-“ you started.

“Shhh! Don’t say it, you'll freak him out.” Eddie protested.

You laughed as Eddie stood, turning to open the door. Now it was time to enter the home of Eddie Munson for the first time.

===

💙💙💙💙

Thanks so much for reading, likes, reblogs & comments are much appreciated!

Hope you have a lovely day my reader!

-Wyv

#Eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female!reader #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things fan fic #stranger things eddie munson #stranger things eddie #stranger things eddie x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluffy fics #wyv writes

96 notes · View notes