#breaks down my door. Captain. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fatherbrat · 1 month ago

Text

cw. hockey player!sukuna, college au, reader just became the team manager and doesn't know how to ice skate. shiu + satoru are also on the team. reader & sukuna do Not like each other. sfw, 1.5k words.

you hear the sound of the gym door slamming closed at the very same moment your butt hits the ice. again.

your head whips around towards the door, wondering who else would come to the campus ice rink during winter break. everyone should be home, enjoying time with their families, or at least time away from school.

sukuna stands at the entrance, a duffle bag hanging over his right shoulder and two hockey sticks in his left hand. he just looks at you for a moment, his hostile expression heating your face. you catch the subtle curl of his upper lip and roll your eyes, turning back around and lifting yourself off the ground. you’re close enough to steady yourself on the ledge of the boards before you lose balance again.

you hear sukuna's footsteps echo in the empty gym, the keys clipped to his duffle bag rattling loudly. the sound stops abruptly once he's close enough to analyze you through the shielding.

"what are you doing in my rink?"

cool, cool, cool, cool. as if your sworn enemy walking in on you wet and cold and exhausted wasn't bad enough, he's gonna be a total dick about it too. (to be expected honestly.)

you shrug, still holding onto the ledge. "i can't be helpful to a hockey team if i can't ice skate."

sukuna sneers, muttering something you don't care to hear before heading off towards the locker rooms.

you know sukuna never wanted you to get hired on as team manager in the first place. unfortunately for him, the captain doesn’t get to veto the decision of the coach, who offered you the job the day after your interview.

it's not even your fault. shiu and satoru are the ones who schemed and plotted for you to become their manager anyway. they encouraged you to go in for the interview even though you hadn’t even applied. (at least, you thought you hadn’t. turns out shiu submitted an application in your name while borrowing your laptop. you suspect him and satoru also “encouraged” their coach to pick you out of the dozens of other students who had applied.)

you manage to fall three more times before sukuna comes out of the locker room dressed in his practice gear. he sits down on the bench where you’d abandoned your things to put on his skates and you sigh, preparing to scoot out of the rink.

when he steps on the ice and glides towards you, you aren’t expecting him to hold his hands out for you to grab. he yanks you up with too much force and you nearly tumble again. your cheek meets his chest, face smushed up against him while your hands are still in his. he lets go, instead grabbing you by your upper arms and forcing you upright.

“bend your knees,” he says, voice steely.

you just blink, stunned that he’s not carrying you off the ice and demanding you go home. it takes you too long, but you bend your knees slightly and look up at sukuna, silently waiting for more instruction.

“stop trying to walk on the ice. this isn’t walking, it’s skating. march.”

sukuna spends the next three hours teaching you the basics of ice skating. you fall some more, but it hurts less after he tells you to fall on your side and stop flailing. he reprimands you for always staying within arms reach of the wall, something about it stunting the learning process or whatever. you don’t touch any of the ledges again, your arms mostly staying extended out in front of you. his directions are harsh, but by the time it’s dark outside you’ve managed to skate your way around the perimeter of the rink nearly a dozen times without falling.

you almost squeal with joy after the tenth loop, opting instead to raise your arms in the air and smile wide. sukuna just nods once, arms crossed over his broad chest.

“okay, you’re good for now. buy a new pair of skates, it’ll be easier on sharper blades. those rentals suck. and you didn’t tie them right.” his tone is no different than it was when he first entered the building, as if talking to you is a chore he has to get out of the way. maybe a couple years ago it would’ve made you shrink, but now it just pisses you off more than anything.

you nod slowly, making a mental note to ask satoru where you should buy skates from (and wondering if you can convince him to buy them for you). sukuna makes a dramatic sweeping motion with both his arms, gesturing towards the exit.

“can i have my rink back now?” he asks, arms still outstretched.

you roll your eyes but don’t argue, his reward for successfully teaching you how to skate. you even mutter a thank you as you glide past him, but he just waves you away.

he starts to set up for drills as you untie your borrowed skates, dropping little orange cones on the ice in some intricate zig zag pattern. you watch him for a moment before your phone rings, vibrating the entire bench.

a picture of you and satoru lights up the screen, his name dancing across the top. sukuna gives you a pointed glare when you answer it without making any move to leave.

“hi ‘toru.”

he greets you excitedly from the other end. “we’ve been texting you all day,” he whines, probably referring to him and shiu. “where’ve you been?”

you smile. “i, uh, came back to school early. the thought of managing a hockey team while not being able to skate was actually haunting me, so i came to practice a little.”

satoru fusses about how you should have told him and that he would have come back to teach you in a heartbeat, but you just brush him off.

“i didn’t need you. i made it around the rink ten times in a row without falling. i’m basically a pro now.” your voice drips with pride and you’re sure satoru can hear your grin.

“oh yeah? who taught you how to do that?”

it only takes you two seconds to decide you do not want him to know about your impromptu skating lesson with his captain. satoru already knows all the unsavory details about your previous spats with sukuna, and you know he’d tell shiu immediately, who would be quick to interrogate you about it. he'd probably tease sukuna about it too, which would probably make the man hate you more. you wouldn't even blame him. shiu's teasing can be incessant.

“nobody did. i taught myself,” you say.

you swear you see sukuna stiffen out on the ice, and when he turns to face you the look on his face can only be described as malicious. it’s enough to make you immediately gather your things and rush out of the building. you feel his eyes crawling over you all the way from the bench to the double doors.

a blast of icy wind shocks your system when you step outside. satoru’s talking, saying something about how he can be back on campus by tomorrow night, and how he can probably get shiu to come with. you want to tell him that he doesn’t have to come back early just because you did, but the look on sukuna’s face still has you a little rattled.

not for the first time, dread slithers its way up from your gut. shiu was the one who ultimately convinced you that becoming the manager for the hockey team would be a good idea. good for your resume, good for the team, a good way to get to hang out more often. at the time, you thought he was right. he’s not really wrong now, but you worry that you and the captain’s mutual dislike for each other will get in the way.

satoru says your name, and the way he says it sounds like he’s been repeating it for a while.

“yeah hey, sorry i’m here.”

“you okay?” he asks.

“yeah, yeah, i’m good.” the walk from the ice rink to the parking lot is unnecessarily long, something you’ve heard satoru complain about many, many times. “i’m just walking to my car. it’s so fucking cold. there’s no reason for the parking lot to be this far away.”

“ugh, i know,” satoru huffs. he asks again if you want him to come up early. you say yes.

the two of you hang up when you make it to your car. your phone vibrates with a text from shiu a couple minutes later. you’re still sitting there in the parking lot, blasting the heat and trying to figure out how to make the next few months of school bearable.

maybe sukuna will suddenly transfer schools in the middle of the semester. or do something that gets him benched for the rest of the season. or get hit by a car. yeah. any of those would be good.

you can only hope.

a/n. this is part of a kinda larger enemies-to-lovers thing i'm building and i just wanted to get this off my chest. i hope it still made sense with minimal context (..◜ᴗ◝..)

#sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna ryomen x you #fatherbrat ♱ library #jjk #sukuna

667 notes · View notes

maskedbyghost · 11 days ago

Text

part 2 to Simon marrying another woman. there will be one more part.

That dreadful day, you didn’t stay for the reception. You couldn’t.

The sight of Simon’s lips pressing against hers, his hands on her waist, was more than you could bear. The weight of it settled in your chest, as you pushed through the church doors and into the biting cold. You told yourself you just needed air, but you kept walking, your heels clicking against the pavement as the world blurred past you.

It’s been seven months since he married her.

Seven months since you watched the love of your life vow to cherish someone else for the rest of his days.

Not you like he promised.

Her.

You tried moving on—tried dating, tried sleeping with other men. But no matter how hard you tried, no one compared. They didn’t know how you liked your coffee after a mission, or the songs you hummed when you thought no one was listening.

They weren’t him.

The team had noticed, of course. How could they not? Soap was the first to say something, pulling you aside after a particularly grueling mission.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice low enough that no one else could hear.

You lied, of course. “I’m fine.”

But Soap wasn’t buying it. “Fine, my arse. You’ve been off for months now. We’re worried about you.”

We.

The word stung more than it should have. You knew they all meant well—Price, Gaz, Soap—they were your family in every way that mattered. But the one person you wanted to notice, the one person who had always been able to read you like an open book, wasn’t yours anymore.

Simon barely looked at you these days. He kept things professional, as though the years you’d spent breaking down each other’s walls had never happened.

You hated him for it. You hated her for taking him from you. But more than anything, you hated yourself—for still loving him despite it all.

Why wouldn’t you? You and Simon were perfect for each other. Everyone saw it. The team had long accepted that you and Simon were a package deal, even when neither had put a label on it.

Everything was great—until she arrived.

She was an old friend of Simon’s, someone he’d known long before the Task Force. You remember the day she was introduced to the team, handpicked for her unique skillset, and vouched for by Simon himself.

Captain Price welcomed her without hesitation, and the rest of the team quickly followed. She was smart, capable, and annoyingly charming.

You wanted to like her. You really did. But something about her never sat right with you.

At first, her friendliness seemed genuine, and her interest in Simon was understandable given their history. She would tell stories about him from the past. You noticed how he seemed to soften around her, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he listened. It stung, but you told yourself it was harmless.

Then the games began.

She found ways to insert herself into moments that were once yours and Simon’s alone. If you were paired with him during training drills, she’d casually request to swap partners, laughing it off as wanting to “catch up with an old friend.” On missions, she’d position herself as his backup, leaving you to work with others.

Her manipulation was well calculated. When she slipped into Simon’s good graces, it was so gradual that even he didn’t see it happening.

During a team meeting, she’d mention how Simon had always been the one to “clean up after reckless partners” in the past, glancing at you just long enough to make her point. Or she’d joke about how “some people” needed constant saving in the field, her tone light but her eyes sharp as they flicked in your direction.

Simon rarely reacted to that. But you could see the doubt creeping into his expression, the seeds she was planting beginning to take root.

It wasn’t just her words, either. She had a thing for orchestrating situations that made you look bad without ever appearing to do so intentionally. During one mission, she “accidentally” overlooked a key piece of intel you’d flagged, leading to a delay in the operation. When Simon asked what happened, she apologized but subtly implied that your instructions had been unclear.

Another time, she volunteered to handle a critical piece of equipment, only to claim later that she thought you had already taken care of it. It was small things—barely noticeable—but they added up, each one chipping away at the trust you and Simon had built.

What hurt the most was how easily she slipped into Simon’s world. She knew how to talk to him in a way that made him feel understood, playing on their shared history to create a bond you couldn’t touch. She’d bring up memories from their past, reminding him of a time when life was simpler, safer.

And slowly, Simon began to change.

He second-guessed your decisions in the field. When you tried to talk to him about it, he brushed it off, saying you were overthinking things.

The worst part was that she always made sure to maintain her image as the perfect teammate—loyal, competent, and supportive. To everyone else, she was a godsend, a valuable asset to the team.

But you knew the truth. You saw through her façade, the way she manipulated situations to her advantage, the way she slowly turned Simon against you. And no matter how hard you tried to hold on, to remind Simon of the bond you shared, she was always there, pulling him further away.

And by the time Simon announced his engagement to her, you barely recognized the man you’d fallen in love with. The man who once held you with such tenderness now looked at you as though you were a stranger.

You started to fight with Simon often, because he was a dumb, stupid man who didn’t realize he was being manipulated. You tried to make him see it—the way she twisted things, the way she subtly undermined you—but he wouldn’t listen.

“She’s my friend,” he said once, his jaw tight. “You’re overreacting.”

You hated the way he said it, as if you were imagining things. The man you knew better than anyone, was slipping through your fingers, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

The fights grew worse, spilling over from arguments in private to tense exchanges on missions. The team noticed, of course, but no one said anything. They kept their heads down, unwilling to get involved in whatever was happening between the two of you.

Then, one night, while you were on leave, Simon came home to the apartment you shared and started packing his things. You didn’t understand at first, standing frozen in the doorway as he folded his clothes and stuffed them into a duffel bag.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice trembling.

He didn’t look at you. “Leaving.”

“Why?” You stepped closer, trying to put yourself between him and the door. “Simon, please. Just tell me why.”

But he wouldn’t. He kept his gaze fixed on the floor.

You begged him to stay, tears streaming down your face as you pleaded for an explanation, for anything that could make sense of the sudden shift. But Simon—your Simon—had already made up his mind.

A month later, you saw the photos—Simon and her, sitting side by side at a café, her hand resting on his arm like she’d always belonged there. The smile on his face was small, but it was there, and it broke something inside you.

A few months after that, they were engaged. The wedding followed soon after.

“They want to have a small ceremony,” Soap said. He hadn’t looked at you when he spoke, as if he couldn’t bear to see your reaction.

And now here you were, seven months later, still trying to piece yourself back together while Simon lived a life you were supposed to share with him.

One night, during a late briefing, you caught Simon looking at you. It was just a flicker, his gaze lingering a moment too long, his expression unreadable.

For a second, you thought you saw something—regret, maybe even sorrow—but it was gone before you could be sure. You told yourself you imagined it, that your mind was playing tricks on you, desperate for any sign that he might still care. But the look stayed with you, in your memory next to the happy moments with him.

And so, you wanted to continue living your life normally, and tried to move on, but it was hard. You kept telling yourself it would get easier with time, but time seemed to stand still.

The memories of Simon lingered everywhere—his voice in your head, the way he used to call you “love,” the small habits he’d left behind in your shared life.

You threw yourself into your work, drowning in the chaos of missions and training. But even in the most hectic moments, there was always an ache in the back of your mind, serving like a fucking reminder of the man you’d loved and lost.

You tried dating, fleeting distractions that always ended the same way—with you staring at the ceiling, wondering why no one could make you feel the way Simon did.

But then, one day, something happened.

Price called you to Simon’s office. His tone over the comm was urgent and it made your stomach twist. He didn’t explain, only told you to come immediately.

You hurried down the corridor, your mind racing. Something about Price’s voice told you this wasn’t about a mission or a routine debriefing.

Something was wrong.

When you reached the door, you hesitated for just a moment, hand hovering over the handle. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself, and pushed it open.

The sight inside made your heart drop.

The office was in ruins—papers scattered across the floor, the desk overturned, a chair broken and lying in pieces. A crack ran through the mirror on the wall, distorting your reflection.

And there, amidst the chaos, was Simon.

He was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, knees drawn up slightly. His mask was gone, revealing a face filled with exhaustion and pain. His eyes were fixed on the ground, as he muttered the same words over and over, barely audible.

“She ruined my life… she ruined my life…”

Price stood near the door, arms crossed tightly as he watched Simon. When he saw you, his shoulders relaxed slightly, as though he’d been waiting for you.

“Please,” he said quietly. “Talk to him. You’re the only one he might listen to.”

Your throat tightened as you stepped closer, every movement feeling heavy. You knelt a few feet away, your voice soft, almost trembling.

“Simon…”

He looked up at the sound of your voice, his gaze locking with yours. He managed a weak, bitter smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Sorry, love,” he murmured, the words barely more than a whisper.

And then, before you could react, he raised the gun to his head.

PART 3

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

yup. this is a perfect place to stop. gonna go hide now hehe

(sorry if you didn't want to be tagged)

@daydreamerwoah @postm0rt3m @blacpiink @nightunite @surprisinglydreaming @shybasementtree @foxwitch666 @snaaaaaaaaaked @somethingsaladsomething @massivescissorsthingperson @abbeyskeff @a66-1 @mortem-writes @jupitersmoon167 @blankk3 @yxfairyrx @balletbiscuit @pickyourpoisonandevolve @emilia527 @midgalaxysparkle @0bonnie-bunny0 @kittygonap @babybimbo777 @johnnyshoe @probably--possessed

#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x female oc #simon ghost riley #simon riley imagine #simon ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley angst #cod angst #simon ghost riley angst #cod

965 notes · View notes

hotshotsxyz · 3 months ago

Text

hope for the future (got me on my knees)

(buddie) (s8 spec) (2.4k words) car crash spec <3 title from bastille's hope for the future, which, imo, is one of the eddie songs of all time cw: blood (like. a lot)

Eddie’s not supposed to be here. He’s not—

He’s—

God, he’s not supposed to be here again. He’s not even on shift. But Buck is.

It was a favor. He’s covering for a last minute absence on C shift. So now he’s—

He’s on shift and he’s lying in the middle of the road and he’s not moving. And Eddie. Can’t. Breathe.

“Buck!” someone shouts, and Jesus it sounds like their entire world just crumbled. Eddie’s throat feels raw like—

Oh.

He’s the one screaming.

Buck’s three feet away from him, sluggishly bleeding out on the pavement. Shannon’s six feet under in a graveyard halfway across the city. Buck’s ribs are giving way beneath Eddie’s hands. Buck’s blood is soaking through his jeans. It’s staining him, his skin, his mind.

He—

“Sir!” Someone snaps. “You need to—shit, Diaz?”

No, that’s—it’s not Eddie who’s broken and unmoving on the ground. It’s not Eddie who’s going to die with or without a tube down his throat.

It’s—

Two pairs of hands grab him, yank him away.

“No!” Eddie screams, thrashing wildly at whoever it is that thinks they can keep him from Buck.

“Diaz, stop!”

He can’t. He won’t.

“You have to let them help him.”

They won’t do enough. Only Eddie will fight for him hard enough. Only Eddie knows how to bring him back. An animalistic snarl climbs out from his chest.

“I’ve got a pulse!” a paramedic Eddie doesn’t recognize shouts. She’s a floater, probably.

A floater is holding Buck’s life in her hands. Does she even know? Does she know that the world will stop turning if he’s not in it?

Eddie’s knees hit the pavement. Distantly, he feels the sting. Mostly, though, he feels Buck’s blood. It’s on his hands and soaking through his clothes, painting him red, red, red.

Two firefighters carefully roll Buck onto a body board and lift him to the stretcher. For a split second, it’s 2019. Eddie’s watching his wife die. He’s holding Buck’s hand and trying not to stare at his mangled leg.

“Diaz! Now or never, are you coming with us?”

He doesn’t feel himself move, but between one blink and the next he finds himself in the back of an ambulance staring down at his—

His—

Buck’s eyelashes flutter and Eddie can’t do this.

“Please,” he sobs, clutching Buck’s hand. “You—you have to—”

He’s squeezing too hard. So hard he might break Buck’s hand, but he’s terrified that if he lets go, so will Buck.

The floater moves to intubate, but before she can Buck heaves a shuddering breath and opens his eyes.

Eddie thinks he might be screaming again, only this time the sound is trapped deep inside him.

“Eds… hurt?” Buck manages.

He must be. He’s dying maybe, because that’s the only explanation he can think of for the creeping numbness in his limbs.

“He’s fine, Buckley,” the floater says.

She’s wrong. She doesn’t— how could she? She doesn’t know that every piece of Eddie that’s worth anything is dying right alongside his—

“I can’t wait any longer,” she says apologetically before shoving a plastic tube down Buck’s trachea. He chokes on it, and oh, Eddie’s choking too.

The ambulance slows and Eddie’s about to bang against the wall, about to demand they keep going, when the doors are flung open revealing an entire trauma team dressed in pristine scrubs.

The floater rattles off Buck’s vitals and the injuries they know of.

As they pull Buck from the back of the ambulance, one of the doctors catches Eddie’s eye. He nods, and Eddie hopes to God that means he knows that Los Angeles will be swallowed by the sea if this man doesn’t live.

All at once, Buck is gone and Eddie’s left standing next to an ambulance that could be the last place he ever hears Buck speak.

“Diaz, you okay?” The C shift captain whose name Eddie can’t be bothered to remember right now asks.

No.

He doesn’t answer.

…

There’s blood on his face. Buck’s blood. Eddie doesn’t— he’s not sure how it got there, but now that he sees it, he can feel it too. It’s tacky and drying and God, there’s so much.

Gentle hands turn him away from the mirror.

“No,” Eddie says as his sluggish brain recognizes Bobby. “No, no he can’t—“

Bobby was there when—

He held Eddie. Let him weep into his shoulder. Stood steady as Eddie’s world crumbled to pieces.

“He’s in surgery,” Bobby says.

“They don’t know,” Eddie babbles.

Bobby’s face creases in concern. “Know what, Eddie?”

“He’s— he—“ He can’t force the words out.

“Eddie,” he repeats forcefully.

“I love him,” Eddie croaks.

Bobby, steadfast and solid, cracks.

One sob escapes his chest, then another, and soon they’re both sliding to grimy bathroom floor, trying not to shatter entirely.

“I can’t lose another—“ Bobby gasps.

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut. Bobby can’t lose another child. He can’t lose another spouse. Not now, not when he’s just begun to understand the depth of what he’s been denying himself for what feels like his entire life. Not now, not ever. Not— not, Buck.

The bathroom door bangs open and Hen steps in. Tear tracks stain her cheeks, but Eddie can’t bring himself to analyze her expression further. If Buck’s— Eddie wants to live in a world that hasn’t quite ended as long as he possibly can.

“No update,” she says quietly.

She grabs a few paper towels and wets them in the sink. She kneels in front of Eddie and brings one to his face. He flinches back.

“Eddie?” she asks.

He swallows past the lump in his throat. “What if…”

What if the blood staining his skin is the last piece of Buck he gets to keep? What if he dies on the operating table? What if he’s already dead? Eddie can’t— he won’t let anyone take the last of him away.

A harsh sob drags itself past his lips.

“Oh, Eddie,” Hen whispers, and why do people keep saying his name?

No one— he’s never heard it so many times from anyone but Buck. He doesn’t want to hear it from anyone but Buck. He shakes his head and presses his hands to his ears.

Hen says something else, but all he can hear is the whoosh of his own pulse, and it’s so unfair. Shouldn’t his heart know not to beat until he’s sure Buck’s will again?

“Eddie,” Hen says, taking his hands. “Let me, please.”

He can’t bring himself to agree, but he doesn’t fight back when she raises the paper towel to his face again. She pulls it across his skin in gentle drags, but it’s cold and Eddie can’t help but think uncharitably that Buck would’ve waited for the water to warm before he wet the towels.

When she’s done with his face, Hen guides him to the sink to wash the blood from his hands too. For a split second, Eddie wonders if Buck washed his blood away in this same sink after Eddie was shot. He wonders if Buck’s hands shook the way his are shaking now.

“That’s good Eddie, there you go,” Hen encourages him softly.

He bristles at her careful tone. Nothing she says can make any of this better or worse, not unless she can tell him with absolute certainty whether or not Buck will survive the night.

“I grabbed your duffle from the station,” she continues, and it’s only then that he notices his own bag slung over her shoulder. “Think you can get changed?”

Eddie nods mutely. Distantly, it occurs to him that this is part of what makes Hen such a good paramedic— her ability to meet someone where they are. He peels off his henley and exchanges it for the long sleeve LAFD crewneck she hands him.

He swaps his pants next, and for the first time, wearing a piece of the uniform feels wrong. He couldn’t— he wasn’t a medic today. If it had just been him and Buck out there, Buck would be dead already. He’d, what? Held his torn skin together? As if that was the wound that was going to kill him. Shannon didn’t even bleed when she died.

“Maddie and Chim are waiting for you,” Hen says, nodding toward the door. “I’m going to sit with Cap for a little while, okay?”

Again, Eddie nods. He stumbles through the door and into the arms of a woman who, for all they share, he barely knows.

He can’t bring himself to look her in the eye. She’ll know, he thinks, know that he didn’t do enough. Know that he failed one of the three people she loves most in this world.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks into her hair.

“For what?” she asks shakily.

“I should’ve— I didn’t—“

“You were there,” Maddie says. “You made sure he knows he’s not alone.”

Eddie swallows harshly.

“He knows what he’s fighting for,” Maddie continues. “Thank you.”

He wants to shake her. He should’ve done more. He’d demanded it once of a different team of doctors, and then he couldn’t even—

He was there and it didn’t matter. Buck’s still dying in a sterile operating room.

Maddie pushes him toward a chair next to Chimney in the waiting room, then sits on his other side. They talk to him, Eddie thinks, but he doesn’t hear a word.

…

“Family of Evan Buckley?”

Eddie’s on his feet before he’s even made a conscious decision to stand. Maddie follows quickly behind him, and— oh, Bobby’s in the waiting room now, too.

The doctor smiles at them, and while Eddie’s sure it’s meant to be reassuring, every second that passes without news is more excruciating than the last.

“Mr. Buckley did well in surgery,” she says.

Eddie’s entire body sags, like a marionette with its strings cut. Hen’s subtle but steadying hand on his back is the only reason he doesn’t collapse to the floor right then and there.

“He’s not out of the woods yet,” the doctor continues, “but his CT was clear and we were able to locate and repair the source of his internal bleeding.”

“He’s going to be okay?” Maddie asks, high and watery.

The doctor nods. “We’d like to keep him a few days for observation, but barring unforeseen complications, we believe he’ll make a full recovery.”

Maddie presses a hand to her mouth and nods, eyes shining.

“The effects of the anesthesia should be wearing off soon, I can take two of you to his room.”

To Eddie’s surprise, Maddie takes his hand. “We’ll—us,” she says.

Eddie looks at Maddie, then Bobby. “Are you—are you sure?”

“Go,” Bobby says. “He needs you.”

Eddie’s not sure that’s true, but he sure as hell needs Buck and he—he thinks this is probably one of those times when he’s allowed to be a little selfish.

“Through these doors,” the doctor says, leading them back with a wave of her key card.

…

He’s pale, unnaturally so. It’s like, despite the massive transfusion he received, there still isn’t enough blood pumping through his veins. Eddie wishes he could wring out his shirt and return every drop he took.

“Eddie, what happened?” Maddie asks softly.

Eddie shakes his head. “I, uh, I wasn’t supposed to be there,” he says haltingly.

Maddie takes his hand with the one that isn’t holding Buck’s and squeezes.

“I don’t think he knew I was there,” Eddie continues. “It was just… God, Maddie, it was a coincidence.”

Eddie closes his eyes and takes a steadying breath.

“It came out of nowhere. They were responding to a fender bender, wouldn’t have even been a call except one of the drivers was stuck in their car, I think. He was helping someone when it—there was a car. And then he was just—I couldn’t—he—”

Maddie squeezes his hand again. “You know, I—” she hesitates, then nods like she’s made a decision. “I’ve never seen him happy the way he is with you.”

Against Eddie’s will, a pained noise escapes his throat. “I don’t know why,” he admits. He looks down at his feet.

“Sure,” Maddie says, blowing out an amused huff.

“He’s so good. He walks into a room and everything gets brighter. He’s the sun,” Eddie says helplessly.

Maddie’s smile turns impossibly fond. “You love him,” she says. It’s not a question.

A smile of his own spreads unbidden on his lips. “How could I not?”

There’s a sharp intake of breath.

Eddie whips his head around and sees Buck, eyes open, lips parted.

“Eddie,” he breathes.

He should be panicking, maybe. Throat closing, heart racing, but—the singular feeling in his chest is relief.

“Hey, Buck,” Eddie says, incapable of and unwilling to keep the warmth from his voice.

“You—” Buck blinks twice, slow, like he’s trying to keep himself awake.

Eddie lays a hand on his ankle and squeezes. “Rest,” he says. “I’ll stay.”

“Stay… s’nice,” Buck slurs as he slips back into sleep.

“For what it’s worth,” Maddie says after a long moment, “pretty sure he loves you, too.”

Eddie watches the slow rise and fall of Buck’s chest. “Yeah,” he says, biting down on a grin that’s far too wide for the ICU, “I think he might.”

“Could take a second for him to work that out for himself,” Maddie says.

Eddie lets out a soft chuckle. “Oh, I know,” he says. “Gives me time to pick out a ring,” he jokes. Kind of.

Maddie laughs and shakes her head. “Is this your way of asking for my permission to propose?”

“Well I’m not going to ask your parents,” Eddie replies, wrinkling his nose.

Maddie’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “Could you imagine if I said no after all of this?”

“I’d ask him anyway,” Eddie admits.

“Good answer,” Maddie says.

Eddie laughs. “Oh, so that was a test?”

“No,” Maddie replies, shaking her head. “But he deserves someone that chooses him no matter what.”

“I do,” Eddie says with conviction. “I will.”

“Then yes,” Maddie says. “Just—don’t ask him in the hospital.”

#and then buck convinces himself it was all a dream & eddie thinks buck's not ready to talk about it #and they both pine for half a season <3 #buddiefic #buddie fic #buddie #911 #911fic #911 fic #911 spec #fic #abbie writes

696 notes · View notes

nerdygirlramblings · 5 days ago

Text

can't get this lyric from Lola Young's "Messy" out of my head: "A thousand people I could be for you and you hate the fucking lot"

thinking about reader with a crappy SO being saved by the 141

fluff with an abrupt ending

cw: bad attempt at accents

The first time Gaz sees you is in the museum. He has paperwork to drop off, and you greet him as he enters. He pulls up short; he's never seen you before. He knows he'd remember your beautiful face.

"G'morning!" you chirp, smiling brightly at him. "How can I help you..." You peer at his uniform, and it takes Gaz a moment to realize you're looking for rank insignia.

"I'm a Sergeant. Sergeant Kyle Garrick. Of the 141. But you can call me Gaz," he says. You look down briefly before meeting his eyes, your smile softer - both more vulnerable and more guarded - and give him your name.

"How can I help you, Sergeant?"

He rolls his eyes, but smiles back and tells you what he needs. You call the Captain who oversees the museum. The older man comes forward from a door along the back wall, claps you on the shoulder as thanks, and guides Gaz away. He chances a look over his shoulder as he leaves, catches your eye, and smiles one more time.

He finds out from the Captain you're a civilian volunteer. "Think she must work remote," he says, "'cause she's here all the time."

A few days later Gaz takes the long route from the mess to the training field with the express intent on trying to find you at the museum. Soap watches him veer left instead of right, a small plate of biscuits in hand, and tags along. "Where're we headed? And more importantly, can I have a biscuit?" Soap asks, hand reaching for the plate.

Gaz doesn't spare Soap a glance, nor does he slow his stride, but he smacks Soap's hand and pulls the biscuits further from the Scot's reach. He keeps walking toward the light infantry museum. As other buildings fell away, Soap figures where they're headed. "Wha's going on a' the museum?" When Gaz stays quiet, Soap amends, "Och, I guess I should ask, who's a' the museum, right?"

Gaz scoffs but can feel the heat in his face. He doesn't know what to say, but he recognizes he's smitten. He doesn't even know why; his interaction with you had been so short-lived. But he can't deny there is something that draws him to you. As they come up to the front doors, Gaz can't see you at the desk, can't see anyone at all in the front of the building, so he opens the door and calls out a greeting.

"Back here!" your voice calls out from the bowels of the museum. Gaz and Soap, who perks up at the mere sound of your voice, make their way past several displays about the history of infantry from Hereford to find you in the back corner. You look up from the open case where you are adjusting something small against black velvet. When you see Gaz, your eyes widen slightly in recognition, and you say, "Oh, Sergeant! Do you need the Captain again?"

He shakes his head and says, "I told you, doll, call me Gaz." He notices how you glance away again, seemingly waffling between discomfort and bashfulness.

Soap takes the break to push past Gaz and stick out his hand. "Name's Soap, bonnie."

You step back from the case, closing the glass and locking it shut. You take two steps towards them and extended your hand to shake Soap's. You give him your name and ask, "Is your name really Soap?"

He laughs. "Well, if ye cannae call Gaz Gaz, I'm nae dafty enough to give ye my full name."

You smile big at that and hold up your hands. "Point taken, Soap. And Gaz," you add, still smiling. "How can I help you today?"

Gaz presents the biscuits and says, "Saw these in the mess, and I thought you might like a little treat."

Your mouth pops open, but before you can respond another voice shouts, "Babe! Hey! Where the hell are ya?" You meet both Gaz's and Soap's eyes, and Gaz see a mixture of regret and shame in your gaze.

"I... I'm sorry," you stammer. Then you quickly turn and head for the front of the museum, leaving Gaz still holding out the plate of biscuits. They hear you call, "I'm coming!"

Gaz looks at Soap, the angry line of his jaw unmistakable. "Who the hell talks to their girl like tha'?" Because clearly, whoever called you is someone you know. Someone close. Gaz flicks his gaze to follow where you went and Soap nods. Both men walk silently towards the front doors and stop just out of sight of you and the man you are speaking with.

Your voice is low, and it is clear your partner is trying to keep his low too, but he is failing miserably. Gaz and Soap can hear grumbled words and phrases, "fuckin' hell" and "goddamn stupid" and "unbelievable." Each word seems to strike true, and you deflate before their eyes, shoulders hunched, arms crossed as if warding off the attack. Your partner seems to be gathering steam when you put a placating hand on his arm. Though you're quite, Soap and Gaz hear you tell him, "I'm sorry. I just thought you'd like me close." The man, shakes your hand off his arm and says, clearly, "What I'd like is if you're home with dinner ready when I get home, not comin' in after me with some take away because you still have your own damn work to do."

Gaz and Soap make their way out, unseen, but when you get back to the information desk, the plate of biscuits is sitting there, waiting.

A week after that ugly confrontation, Gaz and Soap have done some digging around base to find out more about you and the soldier who'd made you feel so small. They're in the briefing room, sharing intel like you're their next op.

Soap opens the flap of a thin folder and slides it across to Gaz. "Wanker's a Warrant Officer. Does some technical shite."

Gaz slams the cover closed. "I don't care what he does, but him being a WO's gonna be a problem." Soap cocks his head to the side, eyebrow raised. "We can't go around talkin' shite about him, Soap. We got Price and Ghost in our corner - or we would if we told 'em - but the fucker outranks us," he says, motioning between himself and the Scot.

"Then we tell Price and Ghost, get them to come down on 'im," Soap replies. "Simple."

Gaz rolls his eyes. "'Cept it isn't simple." He passes his folder to Soap. Your picture is clipped to the front cover. "She applied to volunteer at the museum after he got stationed here. Got a design background, so they snatched up her help. Traced back her last job, and she went from a full-time London agency to mostly freelance." Gaz watches Soap try to piece things together and rushes on, "Seems like she's only here because he is. We make things hard for him, she's likely gone too."

Soap frowns. They need to come up with something. It's in this quiet, frustrated concentration that Price and Ghost find the sergeants.

"Wha's all this, then?" Price asks, noting old To Let ads, examples of your design work, and your significant other's list of commendations.

Gaz looks from the papers on the table to his superior. "Well, Cap, there's this girl..."

It's a fortnight until Soap sees you, this time with Ghost in tow. They'd been making their way back from the motor pool when Soap notices you lingering outside the museum. He walks over, and Ghost follows in his wake.

"Hey, lass," he calls as he approaches. You look up with a slight frown until you see who it is.

"Hi Soap," you reply. He noted your smile is not as sincere as when you'd met. It doesn't reach your eyes.

"Ye okay?" he asks, coming to a stop in front of you.

His question startles you. "What? Oh, yes, I'm fine." He can tell you're distracted but doesn't push. "Can I help you with something, or..." You trail off, and he can see that you're not sure how to handle this interaction.

"Ach, nothing like tha'," he tells you. "Just saw ye oot here and came to say hello." He points to Ghost. "Ye meet Ghost yet?" He knows you haven't. Despite Gaz and Soap singing your praises, and especially extolling all the reasons they needed to step in and save you from the complete horse's ass you call a boyfriend, neither Price nor Ghost has made any attempt to meet you.

"No. I haven't had the pleasure yet, though your work is legendary," you tell Ghost. You put your hand out and offer your name. "It's an honor to meet you, sir."

Ghost glances at your hand for a moment too long and your strained smile falters more, your hand wavering where it's hanging. You're pulling it back when Ghost grips it tightly. "You the museum volunteer?" he asks.

You laugh, a tinkling little giggle, and both Soap and Ghost are amazed. Everyone is so intimidated by Ghost, especially when he wears his skull mask, all but the 141 and Laswell, that it's hard to know how to react when that underlying fear isn't present.

"I'm a volunteer, sir. There are several of us. I just seem to put in more hours than most." Soap knows that's because you do your design work when you're off base.

"Well, my break is almost over, so I should get back inside," you tell them reluctantly. You make a motion to say more when a car pulls into the car park. Soap recognizes your boyfriend and surreptitiously elbows Ghost.

"There you are," the man says with exasperation, leaning out the window. "I called your cell and the front desk, but there was no answer." He turns to glare at Soap and Ghost before realizing who Ghost is. He immediately sits up straight in his seat. There's a shit in his tone, too. He's more conciliatory as he says, "I wanted to tell you I can't drive you back tonight. You'll need to call a cab."

Soap sees the way your jaw ticks before you respond. "Thank you for telling me before my shift ends. Should I expect you home at all tonight?" you ask.

Your boyfriend gives a put-upon sigh before noting your audience. "I should be home, but it'll be late," he admits.

You nod and try to flash a smile. "Okay. Be safe, yeah?"

Soap watches your boyfriend gives a genuine smile in return. "Sure, babe," he says. "Text me when you get home." He's putting up the window and backing the car out as you call out an aborted farewell.

You're a little more crestfallen when you remind Soap and Ghost you have to get back to your museum work. They watch you walk away, and as the door closes behind you, Ghost grunts, "I'm in."

The following month sees one member of the 141 or another drop by the museum every few days. At first they make excuses for why they're there, but eventually Soap admits they like your company. Gaz and Ghost are ready to tear into the man when they hear about it, but the change in you is noticable. You're open, friendlier if possible.

You tell them about your work, the designs you created in London and how you've convinced the Captain in charge of the museum to let you modernize the installations. If they chat with you in the museum, you show them what you've changed and talk about what you want to do next. You open up about your love of baking and find yourself the recipient of a pastry cutter, cookie scoop, and silicone muffin cups. You tell them how you never left the UK but desperately want to travel. A few days later a passport application shows up on your desk clipped to travel brochures for Mallorca, the Canary Islands, Algarve, Benidorm, and Crete.

You talk, reluctantly, about your boyfriend, and only when asked directly. How you've known one another since secondary school. How he worked to woo you when you started university, despite being in basic at the time. How magical those first few years were. How his career took off and quickly trumped yours. How you followed him here at his insistence.

Through all these little conversations, you learn about them too. They tell you about their job, their families, their hobbies, their past. How they came together on the task force. What they want from life. What they want from you. They want you to know them.

As they learn about you, they also start collecting more Intel on said boyfriend. The flat you share is in your name; his housing allowance squirreled away in the bank in an account only he has access to. The car is in his name, forcing you to rely on him or cabs for transport to and from base. Though he works in the admin building, and you volunteer at the museum, he spends a lot of time in medical. The 141 suspects he's running around on you with one of the nurses, and if they could prove it, they would.

Until then, they bide their time.

Nearly two months after meeting Gaz, you have the opportunity to meet Price at a base gala. Your boyfriend invites you as his arm candy, bringing you around to his CO to make a good impression. He's expecting you to be at his side all night and is shocked when, halfway through the night, you wave across the room. You'd spotted the 141 skulking against the back wall.

You try to bring your boyfriend over to them to say hi, but he takes a quick look in their direction and steers you away. It's several minutes until they make their way across the room to you.

Soap reaches you first, arms open for a hug. Before you can step fully into his embrace, he holds you at arm's length. "Bon, ye're a sight! Don't think I've ever seen something so lovely." You giggle and let him pull you close.

Gaz steps up next. "Soap's right. You're a vision, doll. Ya clean up real nice." He smiles big and kisses your cheek. Even Ghost goes for a quick, one-armed hug, eyes crinkling above his mask.

You greet each man and turn to introduce your boyfriend. He opens and closes his mouth several times before stuttering out his name and holding out his hand. The 141 all shake his hand, gripping it a little tighter than necessary. He pinches your elbow and steps back, ignorant of the grimace that flickers across your face. Though he drops his voice, they hear him clearly as he hisses, "You never told me you were so close with the 141! What the hell! Did you even think about me? What will my CO think about you being so close with them, huh?" He tries to move you away from them and over to some members of the medical staff, including a pretty nurse who keeps glaring at you, not that you notice. (The 141 does as she's the one they think your twat of a boyfriend is running around on you with.)

Before he can take more than a few steps away, Price steps forward and holds a hand out to you. "Captain Price, darling. Such a pleasure to put a face to the girl my men have been gushing about these last few weeks."

You stand your ground despite how your boyfriend tries to pull you away. "Captain!" you practically squeal. You open your arms for a hug, ignoring his outstretched hand. "I feel like I know you already."

You chat for another few minutes before your boyfriend succeeds in getting your full attention by telling you he's tired and plans to leave. As you walk away on your boyfriend's arm, Price turns to the others and murmurs, "She's ours, boys. Now to let her know it."

From that moment on, you become the 141's unofficial mission. They go hard on gathering intel, tapping into base cameras to finally catch your boyfriend cheating. Often. And with several different nurses. They talk to the Captain who runs the museum, finding out how you've improved different installations. They take that to base command and convince them to create a non-volunteer civilian curator / exhibition designer position. They find a vehicle in base surplus and grab its on offer ad.

All of this information finds its way to your desk. In a full-circle moment, Gaz is the one stationed near the museum when you find the folder filled with photos of your boyfriend kissing different people; a contract to work at the museum, continuing the work you're already doing and for more money than you're making with your freelance work; and an on offer ad to give you your own transportation. Gaz watches the shock on your face as you try to process everything.

He gives you a few minutes before coming up to you. "Hey," he says softly. "It's a lot, I know."

You look up at him, confusion clear as day across your face. You whisper, "Did you know? About him?" You look heartbroken despite how poorly Gaz knows he's treated you.

"We suspected, but didn't know for sure until the last week or so," he admits.

"We?" you strangle out, meeting his eyes.

He sees the defeat in your eyes. "Me and the others, Soap, Ghost, the Captain. We all like you, doll. And we wanted you to know there are men out there, men like us, who love you and would treat you so much better."

You can't deny the earnest look in his eyes. "What are you saying, Gaz?"

He smiles softly at you. "When you're ready, if you want, we want you. All of us. To be our girl, not his."

#cod #poly!141 #poly!141 x reader #tf 141 #tf 141 x reader #simon riley #kyle garrick #johnny mactavish #john price #nerdygirl says

515 notes · View notes

msgexymunson · 9 months ago

Text

The Ink Shop Part 2

Description: After your encounter with Eddie, things are beginning to get a bit more complicated; especially when you ask him for another little favour. But, will Eddie go for it?

Warnings: NSFW, minors DNI this ain't for you, angst, tiny bit of fluff, smut, fem oral receiving, male masturbation.

A/N: OK when I said this will be in 3 parts I lied, it's totally going to be at least 4, maybe 5! Thank you for the love you've shown the first part, it's incredible! You're superstars.

❤️ If you like it please comment and reblog, it really makes my day!❤️

7k words

Masterlist Part 1

For some reason, the shop seems more welcoming today than ever. It might be the fact that the sun is shining, it might be the radio seemingly playing all your favourite songs, or it might be last night. Either way, you feel loose and free, laughing at jokes, smiling at everyone, and genuinely just happier.

Eddie saunters in thirty minutes late and you barely notice, apart from flashing him a bashful smile.

“Well hello there sweetheart, you seem chipper today.”

You roll your eyes at the obvious insinuation, but your smile is warm. “I had a good night's sleep, that's all.”

“Bet you did,” he grins, “you look real pretty.”

Looking down, you consider your outfit; you'd decided enough of the corporate clothes, this is a tattoo shop after all. So, you'd paired a roll neck sweater with a short jean skirt and sneakers. A more relaxed outfit to go with a more relaxed attitude. Before you can say anything in reply he strolls over to his station.

Right, so a few jabs, but he's being nonchalant. So put it out of your mind.

The morning moves quickly, a messy blur of clients and phone calls. After a fast lunch, the shop finally calms down a little. When you're focusing on sorting the mess of the heavy bookings tome in front of you, Eddie approaches, mischief glinting in his eyes.

“I see London, I see France…”

You follow his bowed head and cross your legs in sheer embarrassment, realising a sliver of your panties must be on display.

“Eddie!”

He simply laughs, throwing his head back far enough that your gaze drifts to his Adam's apple.

“Sorry, I couldn't resist, I'm a big fan of this skirt,” he says, drinking you in with his eyes, “anyway I wanted to ask-”

His sentence is stopped however by the loud ringing of the old corded phone. You and Eddie share a look, yours begging and his smug. Before you can grab it, he picks up the phone, putting on a ridiculous British accent.

“Good Afternoon, London Underground Airways, this is your captain speaking- Oh shit Mac- Yeah she's- I know I'm not supposed to answer- Sorry I- Fine, here.” He brandishes the phone at you.

“Hello? Oh, of course I'll let them know- I understand- It'd be my pleasure- see you soon.” replacing the receiver, you make a note on the pad at your side.

“What'd he say?” Eddie asks, hovering over you.

Not giving him the satisfaction of a look, you continue to make your note, however perfunctory it may be. “Mac's going to be a little late, he told me to tell his next client.”

“He said my name, I heard it. What'd he say?”

Placing your pen down with a loud click, you turn to him.

You tell him as you smile smugly. “He told me to hit you for answering the phone.”

If anything, his grin grows broader. “Oh? Go on then princess, I'd hate for you to break the rules.” He turns his face, no doubt expecting a cuff to the back of the head.

Spinning on your stool, you slap him right across the cheek; not with all your strength, but certainly hard enough to remember. Eddie's face is a picture of shock, pink handprint already flushing his cheek.

But that just makes his smile wider.

“Harder.” He asks, eyes flashing arousal at you.

“Eddie!” you shout, pushing him away, but his laugh echoes through the shop. Before he has a chance to continue, a burly biker type walks right in the door.

“Good afternoon, can I help you?”

“Yeah, It's Jimmy, I'm here for Mac?”

“He's running a little late, but he'll be with you as soon as possible. Can I get you a coffee or something while you wait?”

You can't help but hear a huff from Eddie, but before you can question it he's drawing in his book, entirely oblivious to the outside world.

At the end of the day, you're tired, but still in fairly high spirits. It's the first time you've seen everyone in the shop at once. There's an edge to the air though, as if an expectation hangs over everyone.

So… bar?” Mac asks in a defeated tone, although he's smiling. Everyone reacts; Eddie woops, pumping his fist, even the usually reserved Miranda is clapping quietly. You smile and nod, finally understanding what the atmosphere was about.

As you all enter the dimly lit bar, chatting and laughing, you hear a low huff.

“What did I do to deserve this?” John is standing behind the bar. An imposing figure, his arms crossed and face surly, but there's a kindness in his eyes. Mac leans straight over and hands him a card.

“Easy John, I got this,” he chuckles. The card is accepted gratefully, the gruff demeanour lessening with the promise of payment.

You accept a bottle of beer and slide into a nearby booth, the rest of the group filtering in. Mac walks over, eyes the space next to you, then grabs a stool to sit at the head of the table. It throws you for a minute; surely he knows he can sit there? Before you can tell him so, Eddie waltzes across the room with a tray of tequila shots and all the fixings with a cheeky look in his eyes. He slides right in next to you, tray and all, and places it on the table with exaggerated care.

“Ladies, gentlemen.” He says, gesturing to the tiny glasses like an old timey butler. There's a succession of groans from the party, but despite this they all grab a shot. All except you.

“I don't think I-” you begin, but he's waving a hand in the air.

“Come on, you drink. It's a shot. Never had tequila before?”

Fixing him with a sharp look, your cheeks begin to redden of their own accord. Eddie smirks and tosses his head back, hiding his eyes with one hand.

“Shit princess, what did you do at college?”

“Study.” You say primly, but take a glass tentatively and place it in front of you.

“Right, so for the new guys…“ Eddie smiles right at you and licks his hand between his thumb and pointer finger. That hint of silver mesmerises you, the ball of his tongue piercing catching the light. It's almost sensual the way he does it, your eyes automatically following the movement of his tongue. “salt right here…” he sprinkles some on the spot he moistened, “then, lick, shoot, suck.”

In a few fluid movements he licks the salt from his hand, downs the shot, and sticks a wedge of lime in his mouth. As your brain finally engages after that display, the little show that shouldn't have heated your insides up, you follow along, and take your shot with everyone else. It's easier than you would have thought, the lime easing the burn somewhat.

Eddie squeezes your thigh under the table and whispers low enough for you to hear.

“Good girl.”

Shooting daggers with a simple look, he just smirks, leaving his hand on your bare leg as if challenging you. Dimly, you hear the echoes of a conversation in front of you; it's Julio, arguing about good tequila not needing salt and lime, but you're lost in the deep pools of Eddie's chocolate eyes.

For a moment, your body flashes red hot and you regret your choice of the high necked sweater. Tearing your eyes away you look at something, anything, but Eddie.

The conversation drifts between all manner of subjects and you start to relax, the beer and tequila swimming in your belly loosening your tongue. It's nice, having a chance to chat and giggle with your coworkers in a setting not interrupted by the constant buzzing of tattoo machines.

Julio and Chloe end up in a full scale argument about the karaoke machine in the corner. Before you're subjected to the horror of having to sing in public, you get up to grab another beer. Perching on a stool by the bar with your purse in hand, you're waiting patiently to be served.

Eddie strolls over. You see him in your periphery; that confident walk as if he owns the very ground he walks on. Casually he hops up on the stool next to you, making no effort to hide the way he undresses you with his eyes.

“Quit staring Eddie,” you say testily as you knock the bar with your bank card.

“Now I can't look at you?” He asks with an amused grin.

“I said quit staring, not quit looking,” you huff out.

“What's the difference?” He asks, shrugging his shoulders and scrunching his nose at you.

You groan, turning on your stool to face him. “You are impossible,”

He sticks his long tongue out childishly, flashing his piercing at you.

Thankfully, John's voice cuts through the squabble. “What can I get you?”

“May I have a beer, please?”

“You certainly may.” John cocks his thumb in your direction, addressing Eddie, “I like this one, she's polite. Don't scare her off.”

Eddie dramatically holds his chest. “You wound me, sir!”

Two beers are placed on the bar and John waves your card away. “Don't worry about it, Mac's treating you guys tonight.”

As you swig your beer, you contemplate for a moment, trying to work out something.

“You're staring, sweetheart.” Eddie grins, as he gulps his drink.

“I wasn't staring, I was thinking! I know that's a foreign concept to you.” It's catty, you know that, but he just seems to bring it out in you. No one else has annoyed you so much in your life just by… being.

“That was rude. I thought we were playing nice?” he pouts playfully.

“Sorry. I- Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, shoot.”

Turning to him, you speak what's on your mind. “Why do people get their tongues pierced? No one really sees it. I get like, nose and eyebrow piercings and stuff, but the tongue one I don't understand.”

Eddie's grin is wide as he bites his bottom lip and stares at you. Well, you couldn't call it a grin. It's a flash of teeth, almost wolfish in its delivery.

“Oh princess, you are too cute.”

Staring at him with your brow furrowed, you try to work out what he means, but the longer you take, the more amused he looks.

“What? What is it?”

Sighing, he leans closer, the scent of aftershave, cigarettes and man clouding around you. “It's got a purpose, sweetheart.”

“What, like, kissing?”

Shaking his head, he looks you up and down. “Kinda. Kissing somewhere… specific.”

Realisation breaks across your face, followed by a fierce blush that you can feel to the roots of your hair. Laughing, Eddie pulls away a little and takes a mouthful of beer.

Voice an airy whisper, you lean over to him as you speak. “And girls like that?”

His laugh is so loud it reverberates around the bar.

“Yeah, a lot, in my experience.”

“Oh.”

Well, the thought is there now, and you're pretty sure it won't ever go away, not without some sort of mind bleach. Eddie's head between your legs, his long tongue exploring your sex. The image is burned into the back of your brain, playing on a loop.

“You're looking a little hot there,” he says, as if he can read your thoughts. It's fair to say it wouldn't take a psychic to know what's rattling around your head right now.

“I'm fine, this sweater is too warm,” you shake out, pressing your thighs together.

“Liar.”

Mouth opening and closing like a fish, you finally snap it shut with a crunch. Curiosity is eating away at you, and it's too easy to say what's on your mind after a couple of drinks.

“Eddie, could you… tell me, what- what it's like?”

He chuckles lightly and scoots closer to you. “you know I can't, I've not exactly had the pleasure.”

“I know that, I mean…”

For a second he just gapes at you.

“Wait, princess, are you asking me to tell you or… show you?”

Flustered, you turn away a little. “Sorry that's- that's too much isn't it. It's just you… did such a good job with the, you know, the other thing, I was just curious.”

Eddie bites his lip, puffing out a little breath. “You know, flattery works with me. I did a good job, huh?”

“Well, yeah. I can imagine you'd be really good at… that too. I could, owe you a favour?” It's bold, especially from you, but the way he's looking at you, the slight flush to his cheeks, you'd put money on him agreeing.

Eddie stares at you incredulously. “Wait, you're saying you want me to stick my tongue in the holiest of holes and then you owe me a favour?”

“Yeah? Like a little… arrangement.”

He rubs his face with his hand, his voice muffled as he speaks. “I'd feel like I was taking advantage of you.”

That confuses you for a moment. Surely you were the one who asked him? Hesitantly you reach out and touch soft fingertips to the back of his hand.

“Please?”

“Fuck.” He looks around, and turns to you, gazing into your eyes for a moment.

“Fine. Right now.”

“Oh I didn't-”

“Listen, before I change my mind. Meet me out back. I'll tell the guys you're not feeling well and I'm taking you home.”

Wordlessly, you grab your purse and head to the back door, heart hammering in your ears. It's a little dank out here, with the sound of a dripping pipe and moss covering the cement. Eddie comes out a moment later looking more serious than you've ever seen him.

“You sure about this?” He asks, searching your eyes.

‘Yeah, but…” you look around the small yard, gesturing vaguely.

“Oh. Oh! You thought- oh Christ no, not here. I'm not a complete asshole. Come with me.”

Letting out a relieved breath, you follow him. He walks over to a gate in the fence and opens it, which leads down a narrow alleyway, a little shortcut between yards. That eventually opens up to another road with a couple of apartment blocks. The one he moves towards looks mostly clean, if a bit lifeless, with a creepy looking van parked out the front.

“This way sweetheart,” he says, leading you through the courtyard and to the stairs.

For a second you stop in sheer surprise.

“Wait, you live this close and you still manage to be late for work?”

He chuckles, looking at you over his shoulder. “I have a condition, you know. Chronic tardiness; I'm afraid there's no cure.”

You bat him on the arm playfully and he grasps your wrist, stopping on the stairs briefly, giving you a look that is wickedness personified.

“If you're gonna hit me, do it properly.”

“Eddie!”

He laughs loud and grabs your hand, holding it in his until he reaches his door. That alone is enough to shut you up. It's warm and rough, and the feeling of his skin on yours, no matter how tiny, sends bolts of sensation through you.

“Right, here is my castle,” he says as he opens the door and lets you inside.

Chaos. That's the first word that crosses your mind. It doesn't look dirty, there's just things everywhere. A bookshelf stuffed with books and weird little trinkets placed any which way dominates one wall, and another on the other side with a huge music collection. There's a poky little kitchen with a couple of pots still in the sink, and a big couch with mismatched cushions takes up the remaining space. A tower of board games is precariously leaning next to it, and on the wall over the TV is an honest to goodness sword.

“It's nice,” you say as you walk in, as if you're not mentally organising it in your head.

“You hate it.” He scoffs, pulling his boots off and dumping them by the door.

“No, no, it's very… you.”

“I stand by my previous statement.” He grins at you, clearly indicating he wasn't being entirely serious.

“This is the bedroom.” He walks over and nudges the door open with his foot. Surprisingly, apart from an open clothes rail, an overflowing laundry hamper, and an enormous bed, there's not much in it. The wallpaper is a pretty purple colour, and looks oddly familiar.

“Eddie isn't that the same wallpaper-”

“-As the shop? Yeah. Mac let me have the leftovers. I was broke and this room was fucking pink.”

You snort out a laugh; the thought of Eddie with a pretty pink bedroom was rather unbelievable.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I can live with purple.” He roots around and grabs a pair of sweats. “Make yourself comfortable, I'm gonna change real quick.”

Then he walks out into another doorway, you assume the bathroom. The urge to snoop is real, but you resist. It looks like he spends less time here anyway.

The question is, how comfortable are you supposed to make yourself? Nerves start settling in, the thought of what you've asked him to do is finally sinking its way into your mind and down your jangling spine. What if he doesn't like the underwear you're wearing? God, you've been at work all day, what if you smell bad? Or taste bad? What if-

“You can sit down, princess.”

Eddie saunters back in, shirtless, a pair of grey sweatpants hanging so low on his hips you see his cut groin. A little squeak hiccups out of your throat at the sight. You stay standing, ready to make your excuses and leave, but the signal hasn't reached your legs just yet.

“What's wrong?” his eyes are brimming with concern as he steps toward you.

“No I- I was- maybe this-”

“Hey, look at me,” he says, grabbing both of your hands. You stare up at him, his face gentle.

“Whatever you're worried about, I'm sure it's nothing.”

“But i haven't showered-”

“When did you last?”

“Well… this morning.”

“You're fine. Trust me.”

He backs you up onto the bed, your knees folding as you flop down. The air around you feels full, humid with anticipation. He's so close, your bodies almost pressed together.

“I wanna kiss you.” He says softly, stroking a lock of your hair out of your face. Heart leaping into your throat, you try to suppress the urge to lean forward. The last thing you need is to fall for this man. Chloe's words echo in your head; he's not boyfriend material.

He'll break your heart.

“That's not part of our deal, Eddie.”

A frown flickers across his face. It's just for a second, a flash of vulnerability, before his usual cocky smile returns.

“That's not where I wanna kiss you.” He winks and tugs at your top, “can I take this off?”

Nodding wordlessly, you help him and wriggle it up and over your head.

“God damn.” Eddie props up on an elbow, running a finger between your breasts, before following the edge of your black cotton bra.

He looks up at your face, grinning wide, and points at your neck; little purple marks adorn it. “That why you wore that sweater today?”

Flushing crimson, you run fingers across your neck.

“Yeah, you marked me Eddie. Not exactly discreet.”

He chuckles, stroking the side of your neck. “Sorry sweetheart, I won't do it again. Well, not anywhere that anyone can see.”

Heat floods your stomach, the stark realisation that you want him to mark you clings to your insides. If he notices your reaction he doesn't say, instead he leans toward you pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek.

“You're really pretty. I don't know if I said that before.”

Awash with a new heat in your cheeks, you smile bashfully. “Thanks, I don't get told that very much.”

Staring at you, he shakes his head.

“You should. You should be told every fucking day.”

You open your mouth, but before you can reply he kisses your jaw, running his tongue down your neck, before he presses his mouth to the top of your breast, sucking roughly. A gasp flies out, and your hand makes a decision entirely on its own to grab his hair.

It seems it was the right thing to do, judging by the deep groan that comes from him. It seems to spur him on, and he yanks the cup of your bra down, taking your nipple into his mouth. His tongue teases it, rubbing his piercing over the pebbled nub.

“Oh Holy fuck!” Back arching with the foreign sensation, you revel in it, wriggling underneath him. He smirks against your skin, and takes your nipple between his teeth. Moaning loudly, you pull his hair.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” He looks up at you, pupils blown to black, “can’t hold back if you do that.”

It's not a dare, but it tastes like one, and before you can think you're tugging at it again. Eddie's eyes roll back, and a hard look crosses underneath his eyes.

His actions turn a little feral, pulling you up so he can unhook your bra, practically ripping it off you before his mouth is all over your chest, firm fingers digging into the flesh of your hip.

“Fuck, Eddie” you stutter it out, voice laced with need.

“Yeah?” He whispers out breathlessly between urgent kisses, making his way down your stomach. Suddenly he takes the flesh of your hip in his mouth and bites down little before sucking a bruise as you writhe under him.

He reaches your skirt, hooking fingers into the waistband as he looks up at you, his tone urgent. “Can I?”

As you nod frantically, he reacts immediately, yanking it down along with your underwear.

“Fuck, look at you.”

The urge to close your legs is real, embarrassed at the way he's ogling you right between your thighs. They quiver with tension, but Eddie forces them open with his large palms.

“Don't hide from me. You still want this?”

You nod, and his head snaps up to look at you. His voice is hard, swirling around your insides with an intensity you're not used to from him.

“Say it. You need to say it.”

‘Yes, please Eddie.”

That satisfies him. He leans forward, breath ghosting over your clit. You're waiting for his mouth, his tongue, but that's not what happens. He inhales you, nose so close it's almost touching your sex.

“Jesus Christ, you smell so fucking good.”

“Eddie!” you cry it out, cringing at his words as you bury your face in your hands.

“Relax princess, it's a compliment.”

Before you can retort that it's not a compliment, it's weird, and he's a freak for saying it, it no longer matters. He's licking a fat stripe up the length of your pussy, long tongue pushing against you hard in an animal-like gesture.

The noise that expels from your chest is inhuman, a choked, guttural breath that belongs in a cave somewhere, not a bedroom.

He doesn't relent, his mouth exploring every inch of you with a ferality that has you tingling all the way to your toes. His fierce movements, accentuated by the bump of his piercing, have you nearly leaving the mattress. You're not sure if you're trying to get more, or move away. Not that it matters. His hands are holding you so firmly that all you can do is wriggle helplessly like a fish on a line.

Fingers trace the outside of your entrance before they slide in, beckoning your release. Whimpering, you grasp the bedsheets in a need to keep contact with something real.

“Talk to me,” he says between mind numbing messy kisses to your clit, “good, yeah?”

“Eddie, f-fuck, its incredible, please, oh God, k-keep going!”

You can practically feel the smirk on his face as he dives back in, suckling at your clit with an unmatched fervour, his tongue piercing flicking expertly as he does so. Suddenly, you're not creeping toward your release, you're being hurtled toward it, thrown into the depths of absolute pleasure.

Hands finding their way into Eddie's hair again, you hold on tight, buckling up for the ride. It's almost violent the way he pulls your climax from you, and you scream loudly, almost folding in half before you fall back onto the bed.

Eddie sits up, hands placed on your thighs, as he grins proudly, face shining with your slick.

“You OK princess?”

OK doesn't seem to cover it. You're panting wildly, each breath shallow and ragged, brain melted into soup.

“Think you can go again?”

That gets your attention. You sit up, gaping at him. “Again?”

Chuckling, he runs a finger up your slit and circles your clit in a teasing manner. The slight touch has your thighs trembling.

“I think you've got at least one more in you.”

Without a further word he presses his tongue against you. On instinct you grip his hair once more, bucking your hips up.

“Fuck, that's it sweetheart, ride my face.”

This time he slips his tongue inside as his nose nudges at your clit, the thick muscle curling and writhing. Holding on tight, your hips know what to do, your body reacting and rolling to meet him.

You're yanking his hair hard as you grind against his face, pulling deep grunts and moans from him which vibrate inside of you. It feels primal, sheer need clouding your mind, a fog that rolls into every limb and leaves no part untouched.

“Eddie, fuck!” You moan loudly as your walls clench around his tongue, another climax bubbling its way to the surface. He doubles down with his efforts almost as if he needs this as much as you do.

With one final thrust of his tongue you whine out your orgasm, back finally touching the bed once more. There are no thoughts, only your heavy breath and beating heart keeping you in the moment.

After a few seconds that seem to stretch on for a year, he hovers over your face. He's wiped off your release, but nothing could wipe that smug grin.

“So? Good?”

It's not like he doesn't know. You pat blindly at his arm, words stuck in a puddle on your tongue. In an unexpected tender gesture, he swipes his thumb over your chin, his gaze pensive. You stare back, fingers reaching out to gently touch his cheek.

“Are you going to kiss me?” You whisper, the words pooling from you unbidden.

For a split second you think he's going to lean in and close the gap, but he flashes his teeth at you and flicks the tip of your nose.

“That's not part of the deal.”

Disappointment leaks into your stomach. Which is entirely unfair. He's using your words after all. Fighting the feeling, you force a smile.

“I think I'll need a wheelchair to get home.” You chuckle, indicating to your still twitching legs.

“Stay here. I'll take the couch.”

“Oh, no, Eddie, I couldn't kick you out of your own bed thats-”

“Hey, it's fine, honestly. I wouldn't offer if I didn't mean it.” He shrugs and rolls off the bed and onto his feet in one quick movement like a cat. “Here. If you want something to sleep in.” He hands you a faded t-shirt. Hesitating for a moment, your hand hovers over it, but he stuffs it into your grip.

“Honestly, it's fine. I can drop you home before work so you can get changed and stuff. No big deal.”

“What about your chronic tardiness?” You joke, smiling softly at him.

“You're here, I'm sure you'll whip me into shape.”

“You'd probably like that,” you tease.

“More than you know.” He winks again, and walks to the doorway. “Night, princess.”

“Night Eddie.”

When he's gone you shrug the shirt on. It's clean, but there's an undercurrent of pure Eddie still there that's more comforting than you'll care to admit. Then, you lay there, staring at the ceiling.

Well. You certainly weren't expecting to end up in Eddie's room, in his bed, but here you are. You're not sure what this all means just yet and processing it is just hurting your brain. A part of you is saying that you should get out now whilst you can. Another, louder part is telling you this is where you should be. The only problem: is this message coming from your heart, or much lower down?

Chloe drifts into your mind whilst you lay there. Did they hook up in this bed? Are you in the same place she was? And how did that end? Clearly it was on good terms, considering how friendly they are, but how many girls have been where you are right now? A few? A dozen? A hundred?

After a while your thoughts just start to ache, leaving a migraine behind your eyes. Shifting on the bed, you try to get comfortable, but it's no use. You wonder if Eddie is still awake. After all, he's the only one that can answer your questions.

Sitting up a little, you listen intently for any signs of life from the next room, but no matter how hard you strain your ears, you can't hear anything.

As you quietly get up and creep to the door, you press your ear to it. Maybe that was a word you heard, a loud breath, or the signs of an overactive imagination. Turning the doorknob like a safecracker, you inch the door open ever so slightly to peek beyond.

There he is, laying on the couch, eyes tight shut and face contorted in concentration. Odd. You slowly guide the door open a little more and your eyes nearly bug out of your head.

Eddie's laying there, hand down his sweats, tugging at himself like there's no tomorrow.

You almost cry out in shock but manage to swallow the noise just in time. For what feels like a full minute you stand and stare, mouth gaping open. It's like you're hypnotised, unable to tear away from his urgent movements.

A particularly good stroke has him bucking into his hand, and he lets out this strained whimper that shoots directly between your legs.

Right, stop. This is wrong. How would you feel if he caught you? …OK, bad example.

Reluctantly, you close the door again as quietly as you can before climbing back into his bed to stare at the ceiling once more.

It looks like it's going to be a long night.

********************

“You look really great,” Chloe says as she strolls into the shop, handing you a coffee, “like, happier, more relaxed.”

It's a few days after your impromptu sleepover at Eddie's place, and she's absolutely right. You do look more relaxed, even you've noticed the change. There's more confidence in you, and a smile that was once a little forced is warm and genuine.

“Thanks, I think I'm getting more comfortable here.” It's not a lie, exactly, but it's certainly not the whole truth.

“Good, glad to hear it!” She beams at you and heads to her table.

The bell over the door chimes once again startling you. Miranda and Mac are already here and it couldn't possibly be Eddie this early.

“Um… Hi.” A gangly youth walks in, all arms and legs and bright blonde hair. He shuffles over to the counter awkwardly.

“Morning, can I help you?”

“Y-yeah, you do walk-ins today, right?” He asks, brandishing a crumpled flyer at you.

Face lighting up, you fix your best smile.

“Why yes we do, it's walk-in Wednesday. It's a little early though. Can I see some ID?

He hands it over. The guy's freshly 21 and knows it, puffing out his little pigeon chest with pride.

“Excellent. It's about 10 minutes until we open, but Miranda will be with you. Miranda, you got a book for this guy?”

Confusion paints Mirandas's face, but then she smiles.

“A walk in? Wow.” She strolls over and hands him her portfolio of designs, introducing herself.

When Eddie finally turns up, there's another guy waiting.

“You're not my 10:30.”

The poor boy looks at him nervously like he did something wrong.

“Eddie, he's a walk-in.” Mac says, calling over his shoulder.

Eddie smirks at you and leans over the counter.

“Well well, bet you're happy. Atta girl.”

Blushing profusely, you move to tap him on the arm in warning, but he grabs your hand and kisses it. Heat flies straight to your belly at the gesture.

“Let me know when my 10:30 is here, alright sweetheart?”

He's still holding your hand, brushing his fingers over your knuckles. Weakly you nod, gazing at him as your toes curl in your shoes.

Shooting you a wink, he ambles over to his station as you watch him, eyes drawn to the way he moves.

There's three more clients asking about Wednesdays; granted, one didn't have an ID, but the other two were seen and inked, and one even booked a follow up with Miranda.

Buzzing with job satisfaction, you're grinning when you nip to the restroom, walking through the narrow corridor. As you exit, you're immediately accosted by Eddie. He stands close, a hand loosely holding your wrist to keep you there as he bends to whisper in your ear.

“Now, you're not supposed to touch fine art, but someone's gotta pin you against the wall and nail you right.”

“Eddie!” You whisper shout at him, only serving to make him chuckle low in his throat.

“Sorry, couldn't resist. I have an idea, for that favour you owe me?”

Body tensing of its own accord, you look up at him, your cheeks flushed and mouth slightly parted. Before you can ask what it is, a voice cuts through the tension.

“Hey, keep it at home guys.”

Mac's standing at the other end of the corridor with his arms crossed, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Pursing your lips, you wriggle from Eddie's grip.

“It's not what it looks like Mac, I promise.” You say, shouldering past Eddie.

“Come on sweetheart, don't get all shy on me now!” He shouts, walking after you.

You ignore him, giving Mac an apologetic look, and sit back down at the counter. God, that was embarrassing. Seems like professional and discreet are out the window.

“So, as I was saying-”

“Eddie, stop, not now.” you say, cheeks bright red.

“I was only-”

“Eddie please! I don't want to get into trouble!”

Eddie scoffs and rolls his eyes, but backs off finally.

You make a very clear point of being busy until the rest of the day, completing any ad hoc tasks you can think of. Tidying the stock cupboards, refreshing the consent sheets, and even organising the sparse counter. Anything to avoid further comment from Mac.

When six rolls around you turn to talk to Eddie, but he's already leaving without a glance at you.

Sighing, you make your way outside and home, trying to ignore the little sting in your chest.

********************

It's Saturday before you see him again. Your day off was mostly spent worrying about how you upset him and thinking about everything you could have done differently.

By the morning you're an emotional wreck, anxiety having done her job and left you a bubbling mass of maybes. When Eddie storms in the shop with a proverbial rain cloud over his head your heart pangs in your chest.

He's such a big character, and you didn't realise until now the influence this has on this place. Usually he's energetic and upbeat; however, with this melancholy energy coming from him, everyone seems to stoop a little more, eyes a touch downcast, movements more shuffled and broken. It's like a black hole has descended on the shop, pulling joy from your soul and sucking everything into its gravity.

The tattoo shop is quiet for a Saturday. Not from lack of customers; it's just a more hushed and sullen atmosphere. By the afternoon you decide enough is enough and you grab Eddie's arm between clients.

“Eddie, can I talk to you?”

He gets up, stretching his back in a feline movement, and walks with you slowly to the stockroom.

“Listen, I'm really sorry about what happened on Wednesday, I didn't want to upset you and I can't stand seeing you like this and-”

“Woah, sweetheart, slow down. You been worrying? About me?” He tilts his head, giving you a small lopsided smile.

“Yeah? I thought you were mad at me.” You mumble out.

“Oh, princess, come here.” He wraps you in his arms, holding your head close to his chest. A relieved breath puffs from your chest as you melt into the hug.

“That's not what I'm upset about, I promise.”

You pull from the embrace to look at him, a hopeful smile tugging at your lips.

“Really?”

Stroking your cheek softly, he presses his lips together. “You're adorable,” he moves his hand away and starts waving his arm about as he tells you what's wrong.

“You know I'm in a band? Well we've got this regular gig at Hatters, which is great and all, but I found out they're looking for more bands at The Pit. That big rock club on Main? I've been trying to get hold of the damn owner but he's ignoring all my calls and I'm pissed off.”

Grinning, you grab his arm. “Eddie, I can totally help you with that.”

His gaze is soft and warm as he asks “Really? You'd do that for me?”

“Of course I would. You got their number?”

He digs around in his pocket and passes you a wedge of shiny paper. Unfolding it, you look at the details, smiling even wider when you see they're attempting a ladies night. There's a telephone number at the bottom, the contact listed as William.

“I gotta idea. Just roll with it, OK?”

He looks confused but nods at you. Skipping to the counter, you pick up the phone and dial the number. When it's answered by a young woman, you speak with a nasal voice, sounding almost bored.

“Is Bill there?- Tell him it's Barb- oh trust me he's gonna wanna take this call honey.”

Eddie's staring at you with an amused expression; you look back at him, flashing a smile while you wait.

“Bill! How long has it been! Oh, don't say you don't remember me… oh, you do!- I'm good, I'm good- I'm managing this band, yeah, you've gotta book them- Corroded Coffin- yeah, yeah- They are hot right now, selling out their shows- look I know you're struggling getting the ladies in, but that's about to change. Their lead singer is- well lemme tell you, if I were a younger woman- haha yes, sounds great! Next Saturday?- Nine- Great stuff- I'll speak to you soon.”

Placing the phone down with a little click, you cross your legs and look at Eddie smugly.

His jaw may as well be on the floor, eyebrows so high that he resembles a cartoon character.

“Barb? Selling out their shows? If I were a younger woman? Where the fuck did that come from?”

You giggle, “I thought he'd listen if he thought I was a business connection. I took a shot, a little bullshit can take you far.”

He swoops over to you and grabs you in his arms, lifting you bodily from your seat and swinging you around as you squeal helplessly.

“Saturday? Not even midweek? Princess I owe you big time.”

“Eddie I already owe-”

He's not listening, running over to Mac and bouncing on the spot like a child. “Mac, Mac, did you hear? I'm playing at The Pit!!”

You watch as he explains what just happened; he's so animated, gesticulating wildly as loose locks of hair fly from his bun. Mac beams at him and hugs him in a fatherly motion before Eddie springs back over to you.

“Who the fuck is Barb?”

“I dunno, she sounded worldly.”

He grins, shaking his head, “I can't believe you lied for me. You seem… different lately. More confident. It suits you.”

Blushing, you thank him. For a second you stare at each other, both lost in the other.

Eddie shakes his head, and looks at the time.

“Fuck, right, I got 20 minutes, I'll be back!” He grabs his coat and runs out of the shop shouting “personal errand!”

Chuckling, you sit back down at the counter. Mac approaches, smiling softly.

“You did good Miss, he's really happy.”

“Thanks, I couldn't bear the sulking.”

He laughs and touches your shoulder, “he cares about you. In case you didn't notice.”

He walks away nonchalantly as if he didn't just drop a bomb at your feet. Eddie cares about you? You're still pondering it when he returns a half hour later looking sweaty and dishevelled.

“Princess, I got you a present,” he whispers, brandishing a nondescript black bag at you. You peek inside and shut it immediately.

“Eddie what the fuck!” You whisper, face flooding with blood at the sight as you hide it under the counter. There's a sex toy in the bag, well at least one, but you were so shocked at the sight you didn't get a good look.

He chuckles and leans in close. “Thought you'd like it.”

“Eddie I don't know how to- to use this stuff,” you mumble quietly, looking around to make sure no one's listening.

He smirks at you in response.

“You free tonight? I can show you.”

Taglist

@liminalpebble @eddies-puppet @rip-quizilla @micheledawn1975 @vanilla-demon @millercontracting @roanniom @josephquinnsfreckles @leelei1980 @mrsjellymunson @eddiesprincess86 @ali-r3n @choke-me-eddie @littlebebebunny @big-ope-vibes @tlclick73 @reidsgubbler @siriuslysmoking @keanureevessmile @fhsbsvy @yourdailymemedelivery @aurora-austen @rach5ive @honey-teaaaaaaaa @nina211544 @bbabycass @cactusangie @skrzydlak @took-me-hours-to-steal-those @hereforshmut @nabiiturner @darlingbravebelle @freak-of-hawkins @randomworker @serenadingtigers @1paire2vans @sapphire4082 @xmasterofmunsonx @steamystrangerfics @vol2eddie @storiesbyrhi

#ms gexy writes #ink shop eddie #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie x you #tattoo artist eddie munson #tattoo artist eddie #eddie x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female!reader #older eddie munson #older! eddie #older!eddie #stranger things imagines #stranger things #stranger things smut

3K notes · View notes

raerae2727 · 17 days ago

Text

When they blow up at you: multiple One Piece men x reader

You make them upset and they lose their temper + how they apologize

Includes: Ace, Kid, Law, Sanji, Crocodile, Doflamingo

GN! Reader, established relationship

Warnings: language, crocodile is neglectful and doffy is toxic, both reader and kid are lowkey toxic together, ace sanji and law’s parts are sweet tho💋

.-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..

Ace

He’s always pretty upbeat and tries not to show anger around you, but one day you make a joke that takes it too far. Your relationship had always been full of humor and you simply misunderstood what was acceptable to joke about and what wasn’t. You know you messed up when Ace goes quiet and puts his head down. You put your hand on his shoulder and frantically try to apologize, but he clearly isn’t having it as he stands and tries to walk away from you.

“Ace, wait! Listen!” You call as you try to pull him back, eager to explain yourself and properly apologize. He suddenly turns around and, in front of everyone, begins to lecture you.

“Why don’t you ever take anything seriously?”

Your guilt quickly turns to anger at the hypocrisy of Ace’s words. It always seemed to you that no joke was “too far” because of the way he so freely poked fun at you, your interests, and those you care about. How dare he pin this accusation on you?

“You’re the one who can’t take anything serious!” You respond, raising your voice louder than his.

He’s basically yelling when he responds, “At least I know where to draw the line!”

“What about all those times you made fun of me? Is it only an issue when I do it back?”

Everyone is staring at you two by this point, but all you can focus on is holding back tears when Ace yells, “I guess we just don’t go well together!” He slams his hand on the table, “Good luck finding someone else who’ll put up with you for as long as I have!”

Ashamed and heartbroken, you rush to your room and cry into your pillow. It feels like an eternity before you finally hear a knock on your door. You don’t respond but Ace opens it and lets himself in anyways, setting down his hat. He sits on the edge of your bed and breaks the silence with, “Good thing I stayed calm out there, right?”

Amazed that he still has the audacity to joke around, you sit up and scold, “Ace!”

He holds up his arms defensively. “Sorry, Sorry, I’m ready to talk about it if you are. And for the record, I love putting up with you.”

.-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..

Kid

Your relationship was always explosive because of your captain’s temper, but he must have already been on edge today because this was worse than usual. Killer wanted some rest so Kid is trying to make dinner for the crew, but he absolutely sucks at cooking. He refuses to listen to your advice and tension is growing as you continue to try and help.

“Stop being so controlling! I’m the captain here!”

The smell of burnt food is getting stronger, and you can’t help but take the pan off the burner yourself. “We’re hungry. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with just accepting help for once.” You try to keep your tone neutral to avoid a fight - which is clearly ineffective as Kid grabs you by the arm and pulls you outside of the kitchen.

“Why are you so set on embarrassing me in front of my crew!?” He shouts, gripping your shoulders.

You roll your eyes and speak calmly to make him feel like he’s overreacting. “It’s not that big of a deal. It would be more embarrassing if nobody was able to eat because your ego is too big to let me help.”

Kid is infamously bad with words, so he just responds by cursing and shoving you with much more force than intended. You go tumbling back until your head hits the wall and you fall to the floor. Kid looks shocked but before he can kneel down to help, you shoot up and shout, “What the fuck was that!?!”

“I don’t know!! Are you okay?” He yells back, panicked.

“No! I’m gonna tell Killer that you’re abusing me!” You scream, not realizing the whole ship can probably hear you two by now.

“No!” Kid responds fearfully, one-upping your volume and holding you in place by your shoulders again. “I swear I’ll always listen to you from now on! I promise! Please don’t tell on me, you know it was an accident!!”

Before you can scream back, the kitchen door swings open and you two stare at Killer like deer in headlights.

“Get in here and set the table. I knew you guys wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

.-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..

Law

Law always stretches himself too thin between working late, taking care of his crew, and making sure they don’t get themselves in too much trouble. He must have been losing a lot of sleep because of this, as he’s asking you to bring him his 4th cup of coffee today and it’s not even noon.

You tell him, “I don’t think I should do that, babe. I’m sorry. You should get some rest instead.” His under eye bags are especially dark today and his hair is messy.

“I have to get this done,” he responds calmly, though you can detect a hint of annoyance in his tone. “Can you at least get someone else to make it?”

When you go behind him and rub his shoulders, he sighs and leans back in his chair. He must be exhausted. “Please, babe?” He asks once more.

“Law, you of all people should know the importance of rest.”

He pulls away from your touch and crooks his neck to look in your eyes. “And you, of all people, should appreciate the work your captain does to keep this crew out of harm’s way.” He doesn’t yell, but the scolding tone of his voice hurts you more than yelling ever could. He stands up and walks to the kitchen, presumably to make his own coffee, and you follow behind. “Can’t you just give me some alone time for once?” He snaps.

You’re growing increasingly frustrated at Law’s stubborn attitude. “You need to rest! I’m not going to leave you alone when you’re putting your health at risk.”

“Sometimes,” he grabs you by the chin and leans in, “I have to make sacrifices for this crew. Be thankful.” You can’t help but start to tear up. His harsh words stung extra when he looked at you like that. Law lets go of you and his gaze softens when he realizes how upset he’s made you. The tone of the conversation immediately shifts. “Sorry, I-” he pauses, “I didn’t realize you cared that much.”

“Of course I care.” You cry. “I love you.” You pull him into a hug and he leans down to rest his chin on your shoulder.

“I’ll take a nap if you promise to stop crying.” He whispers, rubbing your back.

.-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..

Sanji

“Can you add a dash of salt to the soup, love?” Asks your boyfriend. He’s recently taken to including you while he cooks, which is an honor coming from someone who takes it so seriously. He’s gentle, patient, and excessively romantic with you in every aspect of the relationship, though sometimes finds himself being a bit more firm when cooking. You waltz across the kitchen, handing over him a knife, stirring a pot, or cleaning dishes for Sanji, whose hand finds your waist each time you pass. You dip your finger into the sauce he’s making and give it a taste.

“It’s good, maybe a bit bland though,” you comment.

“Noted, head chef,” he teases back playfully while accepting your criticism and adding more seasoning. When you go to take another taste, your elbow knocks over an inconveniently placed jar of olive oil, spilling it into the sauce and all over the counter.

“Shit! I’m sorry Sanji, I’ll clean it up.” He looks a bit disappointed, but gives you a soft smile and pat on the back.

“Don’t worry love, it happens,” his tone shifts to something more firm yet still gentle, “but we only have one jar left, so try to be a bit more careful for me in the future, yea?”

“It won’t happen again, promise.” Your mistake makes you shaky with nervousness because you know how seriously Sanji takes food waste. When you reach for a towel to clean up the oil, of course you accidentally knock over a pepper shaker. It falls to the ground and shatters, pepper corns bouncing all across the floor.

Panicked, you stutter out a pleading apology while you scramble to find a broom. “Oh my god babe, I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I’m so clumsy to-”

“How about you just leave the cooking to me.”

You look up, surprised at his stern voice. He doesn’t look back at you, just grips the handle of his mixing spoon angrily. Your heart drops into your stomach in shame.

“Go find someone else to help me clean up this mess, okay?” You can tell he’s trying his absolute hardest to contain his disappointment, but it’s still evident in his tone. You silently leave the kitchen, embarrassed tears stinging your eyes.

You try to calm yourself down in your room before dinner, you don’t want any of your crew mates to know about your humiliating mistakes. Not even five minutes after you had left the kitchen though, your door swings open. Sanji is on his knees with a bouquet of flowers and big puppy dog eyes looking up at you.

“I have no words to describe how sorry I am for getting upset at you. My anger was a bigger mistake than any amount of spilled food.” Your emotions quickly turn upside down and you laugh at the dramatic display.

“Sanji! I should be the one apologizing!” You run up to him and pull him into a tight hug. You reassure him, “It’s okay to get frustrated sometimes. I’m not mad!” He lets out a relieved sigh and squeezes you tight.

Smelling the bouquet, you ask, “Where did you even get these?”

“I have a stash,” and you both burst into laughter.

.-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..

Crocodile

It seems like all he does is work, and you’re fed up with it. You get so bored sitting around in Crocodile’s mansion all day while he’s locked up in his office. Luckily, he left the door ajar today and you’ll be able to force him to give you the attention you deserve. You slink through the door and hoist yourself up onto the edge of his oversized desk.

“What.” He says gruffly, not looking up from his papers.

“I’m booored,” you whine, swinging your feet, “wanna go swimming?”

Crocodile sighs and rubs his temple in annoyance, still not looking up. “Go fetch me a drink and I’ll consider it.”

“No you won’t!” You argue, “you always say that!”

He slams a fist on the table and finally looks up to meet your eyes. “Maybe I would want to spend more time with you if you weren’t so whiny! Now go!”

You’re shocked and hurt by his unexpected anger and leave defeated, looking back one last time to see him continuing his work, seemingly unbothered.

Later that night, as you’re lying in bed reading, you hear the door softly creak open. Crocodile is holding an unopened expensive perfume with a ribbon tied around it.

“I know I haven’t had a lot of time for you lately, and I’m sorry.” He sighs, setting the gift on your nightstand and undoing his tie. “We’ll go swimming next week, I promise.” He places a gentle kiss on your forehead before getting into his robe.

As you drift off to sleep, you look at the various expensive gifts he’s gotten you as apologies, knowing he will never follow through with his promises.

.-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..

Doflamingo

Making Doflamingo angry is always the last thing you want to do, but his immature sense of entitlement can be infuriating. The two of you were watching the sunset by the poolside and discussing your latest reads while waiting on a servant to bring another bottle of wine. You didn’t notice how long it was taking until he brought it up.

“What’s taking that damn worm so long?” What’s so hard about fetching a bottle of wine?” The veins in his forehead started to bulge, a telltale sign of his annoyance.

You take his hand in yours and rub your thumb into his palm, trying desperately to keep him calm. “I’m sure it’ll be here soon, Doffy. Let’s not worry about it for now - keep telling me about your book.”

He could see right through you. Any attempt at influencing his emotions always only made it worse.

“Don’t baby me. This is an act of utter insolence and I don’t know why you expect me to tolerate it.” He slaps your hand away. “I’ll give that rat a piece of my mind once it gets here.” As much as you want to just leave it at that and enjoy the rest of your evening, your unrest with Doflamingo’s behavior has been growing for weeks and you speak before you can think.

“Can’t we just have one nice evening where you don’t have to abuse someone over the tiniest thing? It’s just some wine, we’ll live.” You’re terrified to see his frown turn into a wide grin as he starts to laugh.

“Have you forgotten who I am? Who you have the privilege of being close to?” With one sweep of his arm he knocks your glass off the table, shattering it and making you jump in fear. “Get out of my sight,” He hisses.

Offended by his quick switch-up, you bargain, “Doffy, can’t we just talk abou-”

“Out!” He yells. “And that’s Young Master to you!”

You scurry inside the palace, knowing things could get ugly if you chose to stick around. You wait all night for him to come knocking on your door with a superficial apology, even a passive aggressive one, but he never shows.

That petty man child was avoiding you. A whole week goes by before you even see his face. As you’re playing chess with Diamanté (who’s even more insufferable) to pass the time, you find yourself wishing you were with Doflamingo instead. As if on cue, he struts in and ruffles your hair from behind.

“What do you say we go share a drink together, just you and me, hm?” He muses, rubbing your shoulders as if he hadn’t just disappeared for a week. Your anger towards him subsides at his touch. You know you only feel this way because of his manipulative charm, but you let yourself love Doffy anyway.

.-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..-~-..

#one piece #one piece headcanons #ace x reader #fire fist ace #trafalgar d law x reader #law x reader #trafalgardwaterlaw #black leg sanji #sanji x reader #eustasscaptainkid #eustass x reader #kidd x reader #sir crocodile #sir crocodile x reader #crocodile x reader #doflamingo x reader #donquixote doflamingo

468 notes · View notes

haikyu-mp4 · 1 month ago

Text

High school sweethearts

“Did you hear about aone? I heard that he started dating that one popular girl! But you didn't hear that from me!!” – @sharkissm for my Gossip Event.

word count; 686 – f!reader

Aone did an uncharacteristic double take the first time it happened, the first time you came to one of his games and cheered for him after a successful block. You were of another world to him, so perfect in the way you were not only beautiful but also so kind and charismatic. People wanted to be around you, unlike Aone who always sat alone on the train.

So he also couldn’t believe it when you sat down beside him on the train one day, smiling so kindly and asking him if the seat was free. He nodded silently, gulping and fumbling with his fingers as you sat down. Your knee knocked into his and he almost felt like blushing. You’re just so cool.

“I watched your game the other day, it was awesome!” you gushed, flipping out your phone and showing him a video you had taken of him blocking the last point, then the camera turned to your face as you screamed in cheers for your school’s team. If he heard correctly, you even yelled his name in particular. “I would be so scared to break my fingers or something if I blocked like that.” As you said this, you held a hand out, showing off your perfect gel nails.

Aone admired them, making a sound of approval at the cool design in the school’s colours. “They are very pretty, breaking them or your fingers would be a shame.” It was said as a clear statement, and his deep voice made your eyes widen.

“Thank you,” you said softly at the compliment, eyes glittering. Surely, his eyes were betraying him because it looked like you were blushing too. “My nail artist is great…” And then you spent the rest of the train ride telling him about anything that came to mind, about your nails and your schoolwork and him.

A few days later, Futakuchi let out the biggest huh when you came to the gym doors and asked for Aone. “Class project?” he asked, somewhat protective of the big friendly giant.

“No,” you answered simply, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow at him as a playful challenge. “So? Can I talk to him?”

“We have to practise, princess-“ Futakuchi started, holding up his finger, only to be interrupted by a shadow behind him.

“I can take a short break.”

The captain turned around slowly to see his best friend, scrunching his nose trying to think of something to say before slumping his shoulders in defeat and stomping off. “Five minutes.”

You looked at Aone, the sparkle back in your eyes that he still couldn’t believe had anything to do with him. “Sorry. What did you need?”

Licking your lips and tucking some hair behind your ear, you asked him if he was free after practice, earning you a quick yes from Aone and a distant complaint from Koganegawa about team-building activities.

That evening you spent talking over your instant ramen cups in the closest konbibi became your first date.

And a first date eventually turned into dating.

Aone’s cheering squad was the loudest for every game, and you lavishly spoiled him with attention and care that made him feel like he was soft, not just big and scary.

In return, he gave you comfort and always listened. Whether it was seemingly meaningless yapping or serious conversations about life’s many trials, he was always there for you.

A power couple, one must admit.

Even Futakuchi admitted it after you got the principal to make all the arrangements for when they got to nationals in their third year, also making sure every student who could go, came to cheer for the Iron Wall.

And as Aone looked up at you in the stands, you cheered just as loudly as you did the first time he caught your eye, and you looked just as gorgeous to him no matter what happened. Even at night, all makeup off and bawling your eyes out over a sappy movie with toilet paper stuck in your nose to stop it from running.

Always his beautiful girlfriend, who just happened to be very popular.

masterlist

#The Gossip Event #haikyu #haikyuu #haikyu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #fanfiction #hq #haikyuu x you #haikyuu fluff #haikyu fluff #aone fluff #aone #aone takanobu x reader #takanobu aone #aone x reader #haikyuu aone #hq aone #aone takanobu

462 notes · View notes

oceantornadoo · 23 days ago

Text

happy new years! starting 2025 by finishing this fic :)

ch9 the wrong john | masterlist

john price x f!reader, reader is johnny’s twin

“You dropped my hand.”

“Ye lied t’ me.”

You both frown with the same half-slant.

The doctor later found Johnny had some Vitamin D deficiency from his captivity, so you’ve been allowed to wheel him around the hospital garden for strictly one hour, IV still attached. You find a bench to sit on, parking his chair next to you so you can both stare at the ducks in the pond.

“I didn’t mean to lie to you, Johnny. I just- didn’t think it would get this serious.” He snorts. After all these years, he can still tell when you’re lying. One duck is chasing the other around the pond, wings flapping as they play fight.

“So yer only apologizin’ cuz I found out? Not a good start, hen.” You drag your hands down your face, pressing your palms into your eye sockets until your vision goes black. “We hooked up the night before I came to base. And I thought, big whoop, maybe I’ll tell Johnny so he’ll get off my back about being single, except the guy didn’t even leave a note, so I just look desperate. And then you opened that door and he was your fucking captain! My game plan got fucked.”

You release your hands so you can see again. The ducks are cuddling at the edge of the pond. You sneak a look at Johnny and he’s staring straight ahead, unseeing. “Ye said it was me an’ you. That’s what ye said.” You let out a bitter laugh at his words. “I thought that’s what it would be. I told him at lunch that it wouldn’t work, that I couldn’t do that to you. So at that point, it was just me and you. But then I left and he started calling and he’s just terribly sweet and cocky and I hate it. And then you were gone.”

It’s the first time he’s looked at you since. It’s just a turn of the head, but his eyes are duller than usual and wet with emotion. “Wasn’t my choice, hen.” You give him a watery smile. “I know. This wasn’t my choice either. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I’m not sorry that it’s him.” You reach over to squeeze his hand and he lets you, but he doesn’t squeeze back. “Price can be a persuasive bastard when he wants to be.” The same laugh escapes both of you. The ducks are swimming side by side now, circling the pond.

“Still don’t get why ye didn’t tell me.” It’s the bit you’ve been circling around for a while now. You don’t answer for a second, choosing to pick at a hangnail on your thumb. Johnny’s hand covers yours, stopping your bad habit. “I didn’t want to ruin this for you. I thought What will happen to Johnny if we break up? I couldn’t ruin your new family, not after everything that happened with ours.” He squeezes your hand and you try to ignore the bandages around his wrists. “Yer my family too, m'eudail. The first of the one I choose.”

A singular tear escapes your eyes, trailing down your face until it plops onto your lap. You turn your hand so it links with his, squeezing back. “Even though you have Simon?” Instead of answering your question, he asks one back. “Even though ye’ve got Price?” Fair enough. You lean your head on his shoulder and he dips to kiss your forehead. “Of course.” You’re not sure who says it, but it doesn’t really matter.

“I’m sorry I hurt you, Johnny.” He leans his head against yours. “What’s a sister fer?” You roll your eyes, glad to have your brother back. “Dinnae kiss him in front of me. It’s gross.” You shove him off of you, then get up to wheel him back. “You’re so annoying. Don’t pretend I don’t see you and Simon snogging after he yells at people.” The two MacTavishes bicker all the way back to hospital, ducks long forgotten.

When you get back from the hospital, John’s doing paperwork in his office. Alone, thankfully. “Go well, sweetheart?” You nod shyly, taking the chance to explore his office. It’s neat but lacks personal effects. There’s only a few pictures, mainly of him in combat gear with various members of the task force. Except there’s a small frame closer to his actual desk that doesn’t fit the theme. It’s a woman sleeping, face half tucked into the pillow. Her back is bare but the picture’s only shoulder up, sparing any real nudity. The hair looks familiar and as you squint, you realize something. He keeps a picture of you in his office.

“When did you take this?” He barely looks up, tugging you into his lap as he continues writing with his other hand. “Yesterday. You looked pretty.” You press your forehead against his sternum, hands folded in your lap. “That was after I cried and then was covered in your cum.” He grunts, pulling you closer into his lap. “‘xactly. Pretty.” You sigh against him. His body’s so protective, muscled with a slight layer of fat that allows you to nuzzle in further. It’s like he works out everyday but doesn’t turn down dessert. You love it.

“You must like me a lot to deal with all this family drama.” It’s mainly a joke, just something to fill the silence. Instead, he drops his pen, pulling you off him so you’re eye-to-eye. Large paws capture your face, his thumbs smoothing your cheeks. “Not jus’ like, baby. ‘S a lot more than that.” Your eyes widen. His are serious, moving fast as they track your every facial expression. “Not just like?” He shakes his head. A few months ago, you would have left the conversation there. After your talk with your brother though, you feel courage seep through your veins.

“What is it, then?” His thumb brushes against your lip, pulling the bottom one until he releases it. Like he’s making sure you’re real, giving you time to take it back. “Love. ‘ve known for a while now, that I love you. There’s no pressure, sweetheart, I jus’ wanted you to know.” It’s the kindest out he’s ever given you. Fortunately, you don’t need it.

“I love you too, John. And I’m sorry for insinuating you weren’t enough for me to date. You’re everything.” He captures your lips in a slow kiss. You pour everything into it: the I’m sorry’s and Thank you’s. His hands stay on your jaw like he’s afraid to let you go. You skim down the breadth of his shoulders, the definition of his biceps, memorizing the feel. “You make me goddamn crazy, you know that?” You smile against his confession, sinking your hands into his hair. “Ditto.” You pull back from his lips to kiss his cheek, his nose, his forehead. You pepper his face until there’s not an inch unkissed and his cheeks flush red under the full force of your affection. “I love you.” It’s freeing to say, to finally give a name to this feeling. “I love you, sweetheart. Lemme finish this paperwork an’ I’ll take you to bed.” You tuck yourself under his chin and let him work.

John proposes that night and you turn him down. Well, you tell him to give you a year. You don’t know he’s got the date marked in his calendar.

Unfortunately, one year falls on the day of Johnny and Simon’s wedding. John might be lovesick, but he’s not dumb enough to propose at a wedding. Especially his future brother-in-law’s. He’s officiating, staring at his sweetheart in the front row as he marries two of his men. They promise to love and cherish each other for eternity, and even John can’t help the tear that falls after they kiss. What can he say, he’s a sentimental bastard.

As expected, the party lasts long into the night. Johnny and Kyle rule the dance floor with Johnny occasionally dragging his twin to join them. John and Simon sip whiskey on the sidelines, content to watch the siblings make absolute fools of themselves. “Who woulda thought?” Simon murmurs, almost to himself. “Me, for one. Knew you’d be gone for ‘im when I introduced ya.” Simon scoffs. “Piss off, Price. Me an’ Kyle had a bet goin’ the moment she walked into that office.” They settle into silence, grinning like idiots at their respective MacTavishes.

Hours later, John’s walking with your hand in his and your heels in the other. The grooms have gone all out since there’s a small amount of wedding attendees, so each party gets their own villa. The alcohol has worn off by now, but you’re still giddy, humming the last song you danced to while John leads you back. “That was so fun.” Your smile is practically permanent now, has been for hours. He loves seeing you happy. “Yeah, baby? You had some interestin’ dance moves.” You shove him, but it doesn’t really work since your hands are tangled together. “Shove off. At least I danced.” The only time he danced was with you, guiding you through a few slow songs before Johnny practically took over the DJ booth. “Y’ were beautiful, sweetheart.” He dips to kiss your forehead and you preen under his praise.

John unlocks the door with the key card, walking in first to hold the door for you and lock it after. You turn on the lights, still bubbly and light. “I loved the flowers they had. Do you think…oh.” When you turn to look for him, he’s on one knee in front of the closed door. This time he has a ring, a beautiful creation in your favorite metal. “Let me marry you, sweetheart.” Your throat chokes up. “You remembered.” You’d been almost joking when you told him to wait a year, but clearly he didn’t see it that way. “‘Course I did. Been countin’ down the days for a while now.” You walk towards him until you can run your hands through the strands of his hair, barely sparing the ring a glance.

“Yes.”

“Yea?”

“Yes, John.”

You collapse onto him in a hug, your arms landing over his shoulders until he’s smothered in you. There’s a few tears of happiness between you, such a difference from the time you were crying on a rooftop, in his arms. Always in his arms. “We’re getting married.” You whisper, still not believing it. “Could elope now if ya want, baby.” You chuckle into the crook of his neck. “John Price, you know I want a proper wedding. You’ve seen my Pinterest.” He plants a kiss to the nape of your neck.

“Whatever you want, Mrs. Price.”

wow.

we’re done!!!

thank you all for the support you’ve given my first chaptered fic. it meant so much and helped me overcome my nerves. stay tuned for what’s next! <333

taglist

@lveegsoi

@galactict3a

@nova-willow-541

@sirbonesly

@starlightkitten19

@prettycatboy

@roastyyytoastyyy

@autumnheartsprice

@lucienofthelakes

@eyeless-kun

@bina-passion-fruit

@lilynotdilly

@lovenewfandoms

@tired-writer04

@sleep101

@konigsm

@mehjustalasshere

@alyssajofreitas

@thriving-n-jiving

@royalz658

@honestlymassivetrash

@krispymagazinepizza-blog

@just-a-harmless-potato-05

@vullzo

@rosallels

@emilyyyyyys-stuff

@wiserebelpartypie

@maniacaloutpost

@leon-thot-kennedy

@emilyyyyyys-stuff

434 notes · View notes