#croissant x reader
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Sleep Positions with Them. (I)
Price: - He lays on his back, one arm around your body, holding you securely to his side in a gentle but firm hold. - only wears sleep shorts and his dogtags to bed. His thighs are too thick for normal sleeping pants and he gets way too warm in those anyway. Also he loves that he can feel your skin on his when you tangle your legs with his own. - loves when you are draped half over him, your fingers curled into his chest hair, one hand of his covering yours. One of his fingers is laying on your pulse point, feeling the steady thrumm while his thumb lazily traces over your knuckles. - he doesnt need a blanket. And you dont either. He is a living furnace, even in winter you are always cosy warm.
Ghost: - curled around you, holding onto you tightly. - always sleeps closest to the door, its instinct, dont question it. - on bad nights he will sleep on top of you, his head firmly positioned on top of your chest, ear firmly pressed against the spot where your heart beats underneath layers of skin and flesh. Its his most favorite lullaby. - would sleep in his tactical gear if you hadnt forbidden it, so he wears a long shirt and long sleeping pants to bed. - will wake when you move or twitch and check if everything is alright before falling back to sleep - forget going to the loo in the middle of the night alone. What if you fall? Or stub your toe? And he isnt there to protect you from the corner of the shower? No way. He is sleepily stumbling right after you, only alert enough to fall into bed after you and curl around you, again. - only needs a light blanket when sleeping with you, because you are clingy (as if he is not!). And needs a weighted blanket on nights when you are away on business.
Soap: - no fixed sleeping position. He starfishes, noodles around, and planks on the bed. All at once. Though, he never pushes you out of the bed, again. Once was one time too many and the *Look* you gave him after that scared him for life. - falls asleep with you in his arms as the big spoon. wakes up in a double spiral, flat salto mortale with you on top of him, his legs wrapped around you like a monkey. And no one knows where the blankets have gone to! - would sleep naked but you wont allow it, on every night. He starts with a boxershort and a shirt and wakes up with one article of clothing missing. - is a sleep kisser. Kisses your fingers, your shoulders, your chest and if he is lucky, your mouth in his sleep. Also cant get enough contact. - loves when you card your hands through his hair when he had a bad day, or a nightmare. Calms him down real quick. If you speak gaelic, he will literally start drooling in his sleep - all the blankets and then no blankets - nights with Soap are wild. In more ways than one.
Gaz: - has a strict routine before coming to bed - loves to have you at his side when falling asleep, your head on his shoulder and his nose buried in your hair. Its calming for him. - sleeps like the dead. Or a stone. Or a field of stones. You could play hardcore metal with screeching violins and that man will only twitch a finger. - *has* to have contact with you while sleeping. Doesnt matter if its a hand, a foot, a leg or even your head, NEEDS contact. If there is no contact, he will wiggle in the bed to search for you, and he will be asleep while doing that - has a whoe ass pyjama, which looks like a suite or at least fitting together like those checkered Ones made out of cotton. Filthily comfy and wont let you burrow them. - Needs at least two blankets and you to rest in comfort. - Listen! Has the most wild dreams and will talk to you in his sleep, wont remember anything in the morning though
Bonus! Roach: - loves to sleep with you in the bed - has a blanket only for you, and a pillow and even wants you to sleep in his shirt. - you understand, that he can fall asleep better if he can have something smelling of you, when you are not with him - loves to curl his fingers around yours, watching you sleep, your legs tangled and your foreheads touching. - lazily signs one handed against the palm of your hand, silly little things, his feelings, sweet nothings, just wants to feel you. - has the best sleep when your breaths mingle, your hands intertwined, his leg hooked around yours. - loves to wake up and the first thing he sees is you. (has literal heart eyes!) - has one oversized blanket for you both to share - loves to kiss you lazily, lips just brushing over yours chastely until you both fall asleep. Holds one of your hands to his heart if he can get away with it - wears a very ol shirt and some old shorts to bed
#awkward fink#cod#kyle gaz garrick#john soap mactavish#simon ghost riley#john price#gary roach sanderson#you#soap x you#john price x you#gaz x you#ghost x you#roach x reader#sleep positions#just sleeping#first batch#SFW batch#others will come tomorrow#after work im gonna jot down the others#my sleeping position is the greedy croissant#curled up on my side around the hand of my better half holding onto his hand for dear life and if its not them its their pillow
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it was supposed to be a short trip.
đđđđđđ đđđđđ keeps telling himself those eight words as he steps out of his convertible car, making his way towards your shared houseâs front porch, arms filled with a bunch of vegetables, fruits and argentinan food.
what is he gonna tell you ?
tooru sighs, ruffling a hand through his chestnut locks, looking over at the large wooden crates sitting on the back seat. he lifts two of the crates, placing them under his left arm and grabbing the last crate with his right hand, making his way to the houseâs front door.
the brunet manages to find his keys in the back pocket of his pants, opening the front door and stepping inside of your shared residence. tooru place his keys inside of the light-pink, ceramic, hibiscus-shaped trinket bowl you made at very start of your pregnancy, a few months ago. the chestnut-haired man smiles as he remembers the day you came up to him, a bright smile on your plump lips as you showed off the small object you had just made.
tooru kicks his shoes off, sweeping them somewhere towards the front door, before walking over to the kitchen.
he places the three crates on the soapstone countertop of the kitchen island, the white gold metal of his engagement ring tapping against the counter. he sighs, putting his hand on the side of his neck, cracking his neck, a breath escaping his slightly chapped lips. he places his arms behind his back, cracking the bones of his arms and back.
he grabs a large wooden bowl, placing it next to the sink. he takes the lemons off the fruit crate, rinsing them under the sinkâs water and drying them before placing them into the wooden bowl. he does the same with the apples, limes, mangos, passion fruits and the other citrus before onto the vegetables : avocados, carrots, potatoes, sweet potatoes, tomatoes and spinash. he grabs the freshly washed vegetables, opening the fidge to stock them into one the fridgeâs drawer.
tooru turns on the water, washing his hands in the kitchen sink when his ears perk up at the sound of bare footsteps against the laminate floor of your shared house, which makes a smile appears on his slightly chapped lips.
âgâmorning, princess.â your fiancĂ© greets you when he feels your arms wrap his torso, turning off the water, drying his hands with a towel. you mutter a small âmorningâ, snuggling your head deeper against tooruâs back, which makes him laugh.
he loosens your grip from his muscular torso, earning a whine of protest from you â which makes him chuckle. he turns his body around, now facing you, gently resting his arms on each side of your neck, his hands resting on the back of your shoulders â fingertips drawing random patterns against your skin.
âhow did ya sleep ?â he asks you softly, watching as you tilt your head upwards, your eyelashes fluttering open as you look up at him, slightly scrunching your nose as he places a kiss on the tip of it.
âgood until i woke up to a cold bed.â you answer your fiancĂ©âs question, a subtle pout on your plump lips, still annoyed with the fact that he left you, his five months pregnant fiancĂ©e, all alone in your king-sized bed.
the chestnut-haired man laughs at your words, muttering a small âsorry about thatâ as he presses a small peck on your forehead. âya smell sâ nice. . . â he mutters, closing his eyes as he snuggles his face in the crook of your neck, taking in your sweet scent. âya took a shower ?â
you nod your head âyesâ, opening your mouth in order to answer him when you spot the large wooden bowl placed next to the sink, the fruits almost falling on the countertop. âtooru.â your fiancĂ© cringes at the tone of your voice, knowing damn well that heâs in trouble. âwhat the hell is all this ?â
âjustâ listen to me, âkay ?â he sighs, placing his left hand on the soapstone countertop, watching as you let go of him, taking a red apple in one of your hands. he tubs the back of his neck with his right hand. âi went to the market downtown this morning, yâknow the small local market that ya love.â he starts, glancing a you. âthe locals were sweet, as always, and kept asking me pictures about ya, how ya were nd all. when i told âem that there was only four months left before our little girl comes they shoved a bunch of products in my arms.â
you canât help but smile as tooru explains the whole story, your heart swelling with deep fondness at the thought of the localsâ sweet actions.
the chestnut-haired man chuckles as he watches a timid smile appearing on your plump lips, noticing how the red apple is still in your hand. âwant me to cut it for ya ?â he suggests, moving closer to you. âso that ya can have it for breakfast.â
âi want. . .â you think out loud, glacing downwards at the large apple in your hand. â. . .cheesy apple swaddles.â
a weird silence settles between the two of you right after those words left your lips. a stunned expression appears on tooruâs face, visibly at a loss for words. âcheesy apple swaâ baby, the hell is that ?!â he asks, not believing your words, which makes a subtle pout appearing on your lips.
âcheesy apple swaddles.â you repeat, insisting on each syllables of the three words before sighing. âcanned croissant dough, apple slice, brie cheese slice, honey. you swaddle it up, like a baby, butter, cinnamon sugar and bake it.â
âbake it ?â tooru repeats, one of his eyebrows raised as he rubs his chin with his right hand, glancing down at you. âthen eat it.â you add, nodding your head as you speak.
âsometimes i wonder whatâs happening in that silly head of yer.â he says before sighing, a small smile appearing on his slightly chapped lips. âbut iâll make that for ya.â
the subtle pout on your lips disappears as the last words leves his lips, the corner of your lips turning into a bright smile. you place your hands on each side of his face, the white gold metal of your engagement cold against his warm skin, pressing a soft kiss against his cheek, muttering a small âthanks, youâre the best !â before moving over to the large couch in the living room.
tooru lets out a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck as he glances down at the red apple you placed on the soapstone countertop. He moves over to the fridge, opening it with his free hand. he grabs a can of pre-made croissant dough, a stick of butter along with some brie cheese. he closes the fridge, opening one of the kitchenâs drawers, taking the small jar of cinnamon sugar and the pot of honey.
the chestnut-haired man opens the canned croissant, unfolding the pre-made dough and cutting it in five small triangles. he cuts the red apple in ten slices, along with the brie cheese. he places a slice on apple on one of the dough triangles, followed with one of the cheese slices and a trail of honey before rolling the swaddle up. he does that for more times, putting a bit of butter in the microwave, just enough time for it to melt, before covering the five swaddles in melted butter and cinnamon sugar and placing the in the oven.
while waiting for your craving to bake tooru decides to make the both of your your favorite morning drinks : a lungo for him and a mocha for you. right after adding some whipped cream on top of your drink, the chestnu-haired man walks towards you, placing his drink on the coffee table and handing you the mocha, smiling as he sees the home decor mag on your lap, your new obsession of the moment.
âthanks, tooru.â you say as you grab the mug heâs handing you.
just as your fiancé leans down to sit next to you, the time alarm rings, making him groan in annoyance. you chuckle as you watch tooru make his way to the kitchen, opening the oven and placing the five swaddles on a plate, cutting the rest of the apple for him. he then walks back to you, a plate in each of his hands.
the chestnut-haired man places the two plates on the coffe table, grabbing the televisionâs remote, turning it on to watch the news. as he leans back into the couch, tooru wraps an arm around your shoulders, watching as you take a small bite out of one of the swaddles, a pleased hum leaving your lips as you nod your head.
âitâs good ?â tooru asks you as he turns his head towards you. âso good !â you exclaim, licking the tip of your fingers. suddenly, he leans down, taking a large bite out of the snack in your hands, to which you shout a protest, hitting his chest with your fist.
âitâs kinda weird but not bad.â your fiancĂ© declares, shrugging his shoulders, unfazed by the light hit on his chest. âguess thatâs cuz iâm the one who made it.â
you slap the back of his head at his cocky words. âshut up.â
#ïŒżă(ËáË*)#oikawaâs version is finally DONE !!#2nd pregnancy carving#6 more to go :3#tbh the canned croissant part really pained me to write#as a french person :(#timeskip! oikawa#oikawa x reader#oikawa tooru x reader#haikyuu x reader#hq x reader
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sweet tooth | luca drabble
just thinking about luca w a partner who has a crazy sweet tooth (like i do) and you never asking for a sweet treat but mentioning it nonchalantly but still not expecting luca to make you something.
first of all, your nickname would probably be sweet tooth or smth similar, letâs be so real. it would start by luca calling you that affectionately, but then it catches on w friends and family and youâre just dubbed sweet tooth.
in general, if you saw some type of dessert on a commercial or a tiktok that had you going âoohhhâ luca would scrunch his brows and almost seem jealous. âthey used meringue, they shouldâve used icing sugar.â heâd scoff judgingly and just see it as a challenge. after he would deem it doable, heâd store the information in his brain and literally make it better at work the next day.
just say the word and he will make it. telling your friends on the phone that macaroons sound good? cool, he wants to practice his piping technique with the biscuits anyways.
a japanese fruit sando? awesome he can make the sweet bread so fast, and the cream is no big deal. in fact he can just whip it up for lunch.
want a hersheys bar? first, that chocolate is trash donât ever mention it to a european, especially your european chef boyfriend. second, heâll make you the best stack of milk chocolate, dark chocolate, white chocolate, and cookies nâ cream bar youâve ever had (the cookies n cream one is so good, and youâd always say that and it would piss him off). anything to get hersheyâs out of your brain.
you see those viral crunchy chocolate and pistachio filled croissants in new york on your phone and groan abt them? he can research the recipe and workshop it for a day or two in the restaurant kitchen, find a cute take out box to present it to you with to give you that full experience youâd get from the real bakeryâyou just gotta wait. even if itâs a couple days later, itâll be waiting for you on the table, or pulled out from behind lucaâs back as he walks through the door.
to be more specific, maybe at midnight when he doesnât have work the next day, you guys are up watching a movie or just having pillow talk. saying smth nonchalant abt your cravings like âcookies sound so good right now luca.. donât they?â your cheek is smushed against his bicep (which youâd much rather eat) so your voice is all cute and mumbled making his heart race.
âmhm.â heâd say. heâs got a lazy smile n a deep chuckle, voice laden w sleep since youâre the night owl and heâs just staying up to spend time with you. âyou wanâ me to make some right now? that what youâre saying?â heâs clearly amused, knowing that you donât expect him to but teasing you nonetheless.
ânono, itâs too late. youâre not allowed to leave anyways.â you would mumble again, arms tightening around his own in a hug. humming happily, a kiss from the chef would land on your head and you kinda forget about the dessert you want but luca doesnât because heâs a chef and his literal profession is making desserts so why wouldnât he?? when you want something he can easily make?? like his love language is giving, especially if itâs baking something for someone he loves.
the next day youâd still be asleep and wake up to the smell of cookies. savory was your forte in the morning most times but who could say no to starting their day with a yummy sweet when itâs presented to them, right?
it would take you a second to realize that 1. luca wasnât wrapped around you like usual, etching a frown into your face, and 2. luca had to be the one making cookies. and he made the best cookies. youâd waste no time in grinning and hopping up to drag yourself to the kitchen. even more of the smell would welcome you, transporting you into some kind of dreamlandâand if you really were dreaming youâd be so pissed bc the cookies being pulled out of the oven by your blond messy haired boyfriend look so fucking good right now (aside from the aforementioned boyfriend who is just as, if not more scrumptious than the cookies with only his flannel pants on).
arms would wrap around his waist from behind and luca would laugh muttering âhot panâ but you donât give a fuck because you want him and those cookies now. if anything your arms tighten and you rub at his stomach sweetly from behind, a sign of affection.
âyou made me cookies!â the grin would be so evident in your voice and so infectious that luca beams as he transfers the said cookies onto a pretty dish.
âand who said they were for you?â the tease is obvious and earns an eye roll. you donât fall for it and he doesnât expect you to, but you gently nip at his shoulder nonetheless. a dramatic âow!â comes from the tall man, laced with laughter. you snicker evilly, standing on tip toes to rest your chin on the same shoulder (no matter your height you still gotta do tiptoes bc that man is tall).
soon enough heâd plate the perfect chocolate chip cookies with a dash of sea salt that you spotted, and turn around. it would be your turn to be wrapped in a hug by strong arms, even lifted up a little just to hear your laugh. luca also likes to hear how surprised you get that he can lift you, even though to him youâre weightless.
it wouldnât be long until youâre begging for a cookie even if he sets you on the counter, stern look as he assures you theyâre still cooling off. like hellooo?? who cares?? but he distracts you with soft kisses on your cheeks, leading down to your lips until he pulls away and leaves you wanting more. the mumble from him that, âthe cookies are probably cool enough nowâ has you forgetting your desire for him and replacing it with the golden saucers just waiting for you to demolish them.
hands on his shoulder, youâd firmly push him to the side and hop off the counter. the roll of lucaâs eyes would be affectionate and endeared, since you were this excited for his cooking. you were his best customer after all.
your feet would have a mind of their own, floating towards the cookies like a cartoon man levitating towards a pie, lured by the aroma. you start ravaging like a hungry creature. one turns into three as you face your boyfriend, moaning with closed eyes at almost every bite inbetween telling him about what you two did in your dream (he baked you brownies laced with a golden syrup in your dream so you accredit your subconscious to manifesting this).
he would just stand there with a grin, hands on the edge of the sink behind him while leaning on it. usually dreams would be so boring to talk about, but luca swore he could stand there for an eternity just watching you eat his creations and talk about any dream you wanted to share with him.
of course, those cookies would be gone in two days. and in place would be brownies drizzled in a golden syrup that luca took home from work. the surprise would earn him a watery eyed smile, and heâd just shrug and say he had extra time to kill on the evening shift.
#do yâall know the croissants iâm talking abt??#theyre in the pic at the top#i need them so bad theyre in nyc and dubai idk#always on my fyp i want them frrr#i need a baker bf#my sweet tooth is insane#also the brownies w golden syrup are inspired by ambrosia from percy jackson books lmao#iâve always wanted those fr#chef luca#chef luca x reader#will poulter#the bear#the bear imagine#the bear imagines#luca x reader#the bear luca x reader#livvyâs drabbles#the bear drabbles#luca drabbles#carmy berzatto
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TBD!Y/N cookie gets hurt in an accident in the steamworks how would everyone react?
Croissant Cookie will try and bandage you up herself. Itâs what the bestest of pals do!
Baguette Cookie will call for the proper medics to come and get you. In the meantime, sheâs staying right by you and monitoring the condition of your injury.
That injury of yours does look dire, Schneeball Cookie will call for medical too. She would try to use that mallet of hers with light taps to see how bad it wasâŠ
What injury? See? Youâre perfectly fine! Donât be so dramatic now, Y/N Cookie. Now, are you coming with Timekeeper Cookie to her office or not?
#brittle answers#cookie run x reader#cookie run x you#cookie run#cr x reader#crob x you#crob x reader#cookie run ovenbreak x reader#croissant cookie x reader#schneeball cookie x reader#baguette cookie x reader#timekeeper cookie x reader
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hi raz, hope youâre doing okay đ anyways I wanted to share a thought I had based on the ask about drunk headcanons: tennantâs doctorâs silly/flirtyness is amped up 200% when heâs drunk. like, heâs goofy and flirty all the time but itâs so much worse when heâs had a few. if time lords can even get drunk lmao
(also can i added as đ„ anon? đ„°)
hi hi! im okay just very overworked atm rip
also- you will need to peel Ten off the furniture when he's drunk. He's just a sappy romantic who cries over how gorgeous the cells of a houseplant's leaves are. You pull him off the monstera and he's suddenly all the way in your face gasping over your eyes.
"Blimey- gorgeous eyes, you have. You know, I can tell you like me from the way your pupils di-*hic*-dilate."
"Of course, I like you, Doctor. We're dating."
"Oh, right. Forgot about that. Too busy looking into those great big pools of yours."
_
realistically though i dont think they can get drunk? but if they could, it would take,,, so many drinks. so, so many.
#yes you can be added as the croissant anon#ill put you on the list in a sec#raz answers the thing#tenth doctor x reader#tenth doctor x you#doctor who
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Now hear me out.
Bakery owner au where Simon is the one that runs the shop.
#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley#just this big man in a mask with dreams of making the best croissant youâll ever have
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#genshin impact#genshin#furina genshin impact#furina#furina de fontaine#girlboss#so obsessed#genshin x reader#did yall see croissant furina there btwđ«¶đŒ
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Chapter 7: Help the Bear
From: The Rainmaker Series
Pairing: Mob! Steve x Forensic Scientist! Reader
Summary: âIf you ever see me fighting in the forest with a grizzly bear, help the bear, cuz that bitch gonâ need it.â Usually, youâd say this phrase describes you. Youâre tough, and your enemies are the bear, but you might be more fragile than it seems. You might have to put aside some of your issues for the night, in favor of helping a friend.
Word count: 6,722
Content/warnings: Swears, punching, anger, deception, mob themes, crying, yelling, broken promises, mood swings, pet and nicknames, nice Bucky???, everyone lowkey walking on eggshells around decks, high stress, kidnapping, a bar fight, mentions of knives, misogyny
Authorâs Note: I feel like this is a long awaited climax which lines up with Ch. 10 of YCMBWH and Ch. 3 of Handiwork. Anyway, Iâm very excited for you to read it. Iâd appreciate your feedback in all forms!
Dividers by @firefly-graphics
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It was early Saturday morning when you stood outside of your apartment building, waiting for Gio to pick you up like you had instructed Steve. Heâd sent you several calls and texts since, but you stayed radio silent, until finally, it all stopped. You didnât have doubt, though, that heâd come through, and you wouldnât have to drive that distance in your current state. The chance of a crash was far too high. Hm, maybe you shouldâve taken Steveâs car then. No, no, you werenât that mean. You shamed yourself for even having the thought.
The sky was full of nice shades of pink, orange, and purple, the air lacking the humidity that usually came with the rising sun. It was the rainy season, and had been for the last month, but for some reason, the conditions seemed almost drought-like, since Tuesday. How uncharacteristic.
You were pulled from your thoughts by a black SUV pulling up in front of your building, and tried to squint to see who was in the driverâs seat. You had only seen Gio once before, so you assumed it was him by the dark hair you could just barely make out through the tinted window. Good, that meant it wasnât Steve, even though the vehicle had an eerie resemblance to his. The trunk popped open and you threw your bag in. You werenât going to be there long, anyway. All you had packed was a change of clothes for the game tonight, pajamas, and clothes for when you left in the morning. Simple as that, and it meant you could wear whatever you wanted right now, which was the comfiest thing you had: sweatpants and your old hoodie, despite the uncharacteristically warm weather.
You closed the trunk and hopped into the back seat, barely having the time to get buckled as the car lurched forward and started on its way out of the city. You looked through the window at the passing buildings as they turned into trees, on the route that was becoming familiar once again.
Bucky grumbled as he tossed and turned in his oversized leather desk chair, arising from the short sleep he had found there after a late night of business dealings designed to be front loaded for him to have this weekend open. He moved to stand, only for his feet to be met by something soft, that was definitely not the hardwood floors, under his loafers.
âAh, fuck! Steve? What are you doing down there? Why didnât you fall asleep on the couch, like a normal person?â
Steve groaned, rolling over just enough to look at his best friend above him. âCouch is too comfy. Floor keeps me on edge, just barely asleep. I deserve that. And now Iâm up so we can go immediately. Youâre welcome, I did this for you and your future wife.â
Bucky rolled his eyes and stepped over the lump of blond and muscle on the floor, creeping towards Sam, who actually was on the couch, while grumbling, âWe donât know if sheâs my future wife. We hardly have a label.â
Bucky flicked Samâs ear for him to rise, met with an, âow! Iâve been up since you have, boss man!â
Bucky rolled his eyes again, walking over to the closet in the corner of his home office and grabbing his and Steveâs go bags that they had packed the night before.
âOkay, weâve gotta get there soon. Sam, you still good with holding down the fort here?â
Sam nodded, having sat up fully, unlike Steve, who was still laying on the floor, face down. âYeah, although, Iâm not sure about our buddy over there. Stevie, rise and shine,â he sang out softly.
Steve stood after taking a sharp, deep breath, his eyes red and face puffy just barely, that it looked like allergies from sleeping on the floor. âOkay, Iâll drive my car, and Bucky, youâve gotta go get Decks.â
Bucky stopped all movement, going still as a statue from where he was double checking the contents of his bag, before turning around slowly. âIâm sorry, what? You want me to go pick up Decks? No. Your girl, you pick her up.â
Steveâs head dropped as Sam let out an audible wince at the whole thing, before explaining, since he knew Steve had very little desire to be verbal right now. âBoss, Decks hasnât talked to Steve since Tuesday. Steve canât go pick her up, I think itâll just make her more mad. And look at him,â he gestured to Steve, hair in a mess and head still pointing towards the floor as he rubbed his eyes, âpoor puppy is gonna be broken if he has to see her this early in the morning. Sheâs gonna eat him alive. At least youâve got Honey waiting for you on the other side. Steve sure as hell doesnât.â
The help from Sam had morphed into something a little hurtful, albeit true, but Bucky still huffed. âIf Decks doesnât want to see you, whyâd she agree to a ride from us?â
Steve shook his head, finally looking up. âShe didnât. She agreed to a ride from Gio, whoâs in Italy currently because you were trying to be a nice boss, or whatever. So youâve gotta drive her.â
In an instant, Buckyâs features grew soft. He switched from boss mode to friend mode. âOkay, okay. JustâŠget going so you can start talking strategy with Bee and Peter early. Iâll pick up Decks and meet you there.â
Steve gave a short, grateful nod and grabbed his bag, heading out.
So Bucky found himself driving you like a chauffeur out to the farm as the early morning sun was lighting up the landscape. He was used to being up this early, and he was sure you were, too, but just in case, heâd brought some breakfast.
Once heâd gotten far enough from the city that he knew you wouldnât try and escape once he revealed himself, he rolled down the partition. He could see you curled up in the corner of the backseat, almost cuddling, clinging to the hoodie you were wearing. It was all too familiar, as Bucky knew Bee had the same one, but the last time he had seen one of them was that time he was at your apartment and Steve had worn it. And thatâs when Bucky caught a whiff. Unmistakable with how often he was around it. Steveâs cologne. The corner of his lip upturned slightly. Maybe there was still a chance for the two of you.
You were pulled from your daydream by the sound of the partition lowering, but didnât move your gaze from the passing scenery. Maybe Gio was going to ask you if you needed a bathroom break in the long drive, or to make sure the air flow and temperature were alright, but you were surprised when you heard the voice in front of you.
It was deep, and a little familiar. âSo, uh⊠you want a croissant?â
It was Bucky. You watched as he fished around in the passenger seat, grabbing a bakery box and handing it back to you, shaking it as a signal when you hadnât grabbed it after a few seconds. You pulled it into your lap before looking into the rear view mirror and catching his slate eyes, watching you expectantly, yet cautiously, for a response.
You looked at the label on the box. It was a French bakery. One youâd never heard of before, especially not from the list of businesses Steve had rattled off to you when you asked what all he owned. Good.
You spoke up softly, not one much for words so early in the morning. âSoâs this place yours?â
Bucky looked between your image in the mirror and the road, trying to figure out what you were referencing. âThe bakery? Yeah, one of many places. And one of my favorites. Try the chocolate croissant if you havenât had breakfast yet. Itâs good.â
You nodded, sighing and gingerly opening the lid to be met by one of the best smells probably ever. You carefully pulled out a chocolate croissant and took a bite, holding in a moan at the deliciousness, but Bucky could see the enjoyment on your face, no matter how brief, due to the overwhelming weight of today sitting on your shoulders.
âTold you.â
You simply hummed in response, setting down the pastry and waiting to swallow to speak up.
âSo, Bucket. I thought Gio was supposed to pick me up, but it looks like Steve lied again. Why you? Donât you have better shit to be in charge of?â
Bucky was changing highways, so he kept his eyes on the road. He had half a mind to defend his best friend, but he didnât want to open up that can of worms when you still had a couple hours of driving left. Plus, he knew it went farther than that, and it wasnât technically his fight. Touching on your self-deprecation probably wasnât a good idea, either. Heâd leave that to Honeybee, much better versed in seeing you like this, he assumed. But from what he could tell, this seemed far from your normal self-assured, resigned state that he quite appreciated. He opted to comment on the dissection of your sentence that mainly had to do with him. That was probably a good domain to stay within for now. âYou donât have to call me that, yâknow.â
You took another bite and shrugged. âWhat am I supposed to call you, then? James?â
âBucky is fine.â
You let out a dry laugh. âNo, thatâs weird, what are you, a hick? -wait, actually, no. Forget I said that.â
Definitely not a good idea to make a distasteful joke such as that with where you both were going right now.
You shook your head looking down at the box. âBut you still didnât answer my first question.â
Bucky spun the wheel around the clover leaf and effortlessly merged on the open roads. âGioâs on vacation in Italy, so youâre stuck with me. But donât worry, Steveâs already on the road ahead of us.â
Well, he did what you asked, but you left his answer unacknowledged, besides a huff as you set the box aside. So much for trying to tread lightly.
âWhat? Decks, sweetheart, are you mad at me for bringing up Steve?â You crossed your arms and legs, glaring at Bucky and hoping it would set him on fire, sadly unsuccessfully, through the mirror. It was a good thing you werenât a witch, anyway, though, because Bee wouldâve killed you if it had worked.
âUgh! What is up with that!? Everyone calling me âsweetheart?â You, Sam, Steve! Iâm not some little token helpless woman.â
Bucky opened his mouth defensively to reply, before closing it and furrowing his brows in thought at your full statement. âWait a second, Steve called you âsweetheart?ââ
You rolled your eyes yet again, and decided you werenât done with that croissant quite yet, so you grabbed the box from your side and took another bite, not bothering to swallow this time before talking with your mouth full. âYeah, like a few times, and then Sam did when he drove me home, and you did just now. Whatâs the deal?â
Bucky wished you werenât sitting directly behind him, because he wouldâve fully turned to look you in the eyes for this. He didnât realize how serious it all was between the two of you, but he shouldâve, considering how enamored he was, too, with his own girl. Obviously Steve was capable of the same thing.
âSwee- Decks. For Sam and I, thatâs just how we were raised. I mean, Steve was raised the same way, butâŠâ He stopped to think for a second so it came out the right way.
âSure, youâre right, âsweetheartâ is a term of endearment for anyone in our community. Any guy will call pretty much any woman that, but not Steve. Ever since we were young, he refused. Said he was saving it. That it deserved to be used for someone really special. Someone with the sweetest heart. At least for him.â
You scoffed and questioningly shook your head. âBucket, that is not me.â
He shrugged once again. âMaybe. And maybe thatâs what you try to show, but to him it is. Thatâs you. He doesnât take those things lightly.â
You grumbled, taking the last bite and licking your fingers before Bucky handed you a napkin. âI had it under control.â
He smirked, catching another whiff of Steveâs cologne when your arm reached up towards him. âSure, ya did. Hey, whenâs the last time you washed that hoodie? Surprised you wouldnât wanna use that old thing as a napkin,â he said in a playful tone, laughter almost emerging from his voice.
Evidently you didnât want to wash it. You wanted to keep it clean, let it have this scent as long as possible. After you crumbled the napkin, you threw it up towards him in the front seat before pulling your hood up.
Bucky swerved slightly, but not enough to cause concern. âHey, watch it. Iâm in charge of your safety up here. Iâve gotta deliver us both unharmed. Itâs paramount.â
Youâd just about had enough of this oddly chipper attitude from him. Bucky was very obviously excited to see Bee again and you couldnât blame him. Their relationship was honest from the start. The small tinge of normalcy youâd had for a second started to wear off again, though, as that weight began to sink back onto your shoulders. You pulled your hoodie strings tight around your face, letting the smell and the comfort fully engulf you, and hoping to catch just a little more sleep before the long day ahead.
âOkay, whatever. Fuck off, Bucket.â
When you pulled up to the farm, you were gently shaken awake by someone who had climbed in the back seat with you so that they didnât open the door you were leaning against and make you fall out. When your eyes fluttered open, though, you were met with a face you hardly recognized, causing you to spring into action and punch him right in the nose, not that hard, but also not that lightly.
The young man in flannel in front of you clattered into the back of the passenger seat, holding his nose, when you finally recognized him. âOh my gosh, Iâm so sorry! Youâre that kid who works for Bucky. Are you okay?â
He nodded, backing away and out the other side of the vehicle, scrambling to get away quickly, not sure if youâd hit him again, just based off association. âYeah, yeah, all good.â
You could hardly hear him, voice fading as he ran into the house.
You took his words at face value, finally reorienting yourself to where you were now, seeing the green and gold landscapes and red barns outside your window. Right. Beeâs farm. For the bet. With the mob bosses. Gone was your concern as your angry face, or really more of an attempt of a flat affect came back.
You slid across the back seat, empty of the bakery box that was once there, and moved to get out of the door that was left open. When you emerged, you were met with the sight of Bee and Cherry picking through the pastries you had left behind, their nervously smiling faces lit up by the mid morning sun.
âDecks! Good morning! Itâs so good to see you.â
Bee gave you a side hug you didnât return and Cherry gave you a little wave before giving Curtis a little bite of her croissant. Gross.
Curtis thanked her with a kiss on the cheek before coming over to you and giving a bear hug, despite the way you tried to push him off. Eventually, you relented, relaxing in his hold, that of a long-time, good friend. He rubbed his hand against the top of your hood, messing up the hair underneath, before returning to Cherryâs side, grabbing his own pastry out of the box.
A small âhiâ was all you could muster up to use to greet the three of them, but it was enough. You pointed over your shoulder to indicate you were going to grab your bag from the trunk, finally pulling the hood off your head and turning around. When you pivoted, though, you were only met with Steve there, your bag over his shoulder like it had been so many times before, his glassy eyes taking you in.
His voice was small and scratchy like youâd never heard it before, like heâd been silent for weeks, as he mustered up a, âHey, Decks.â
You promptly spun back around and stomped into the farm house and up the steps, passing Bucky on the way to your usual room. When you opened the door, though, you were met with the sight of a young man sitting on your bed, ice against his face and a jolt when he saw you bust in.
âUh, hi Miss Decks. Can I help you?â You groaned at the weird formality, but were in no mood for something like this to throw you off on such an important day.
âYeah. You can get out of my room. Youâre gonna share the other spare with Steve. No questions, okay?â
He simply nodded, beginning to grab his stuff as you stripped the bed of its sheets. He was actually complying very nicely, so you felt bad for being so assertive with himâŠand punching him in the face.
âSo whatâs your name and whatâs your job?â
He stopped and looked at you, confusion and fear riddling his face. âI-Iâm Peter, miss. I was assigned to stay here to help with shipments and watching over miss Honeybee. I just go wherever they say. Sometimes do tech, sometimes intelligence. Really anything.â
You nodded and hummed, pulling a new set of bedding out of the top of the closet. âSo what exactly does that make you, Peter? Fourth in command?â
He cocked his head to the side, zipping up a bag, before helping you put on the new sheets. âI guess I never thought about that, but no. Technically I think Iâd be fifth at least.â
You nodded along, grateful for the acquiescence that seemed to run through this organization and his kindness you were evidently not returning. With all the stress, though, you didnât even really have the time to wonder who was number four. He finished gathering everything in his arms and sprinted out the door, across the hall to Steveâs room, before realizing there were three guest rooms and he might be able to take the last one, depending on where Bucky planned to stay. Out of indecision, he just dropped everything at the end of the hallway and went back downstairs, leaving you to lay over the comforter in contemplation. Peace wasnât something that would come to you today.
It was early afternoon when Cherry finally came up to find you, not the person you wouldâve expected to do so. She knocked on your door with a sweet smile.
âHey, Decks. I know youâre probably in game mode, but Bee thought it might be a good idea for you to come over to my place. We can pick you out a nice outfit for tonight. Eat something, maybe? Itâs my understanding you havenât had anything since early this morning and apparently, from what Iâve been told, âthe good stuffâ is waiting for you at my apartment. And itâs no boys allowed for this afternoon. You get to do whatever you need to get in the zone without distraction. How does that sound?â
You groaned before you nodded, launching yourself up out of the bed quickly to a seated position. âYeahâŠthatâs good. I mean, I already have an outfit, but thatâll be good. Let me just hit the bathroom real quick and Iâll meet you in the driveway, okay?â
She nodded with another soft smile and went back down the steps.
Soon after she was gone and youâd gathered what you needed, not even bothering to consider how your bag had made it to the corner by the doorway of your room, you shuffled over to the bathroom in your socked feet and washed your face. When you were all dry, you looked at your reflection in the mirror. It was you, but it was different. Not unrecognizable, but maybe barely.
Exhaustion laced your features. Dark bags had settled under your eyes from the lack of sleep. You were in a perpetual state of puffiness from all the crying youâd kept to yourself, yet everything just lookedâŠsunken. Like, saggy with sadness. You smiled, trying to boost your mood, make it feel like you werenât going through hell. Trying to put on a brave face for your friend and her world. Everything this whole week was a lot, and as much as you were trying to ice out the terror, you could feel it seeping through the cracks. One final smile and one final wipe of your nose, and you were ready to go, galloping down the staircase and out to Beeâs truck where she was already waiting for you. You slid up in the seat, squeezing Cherry between the two of you, and went on your way towards town.
When you got to Cherryâs apartment, there were bowls of pasta sitting on her small dining room table that mustâve been for you. Ah yes, that was probably âthe good stuffâ she was referring to. Cherry immediately went to the kitchen to grab bowls and utensils, handing them to you and Bee, as you took in the scent of the the still-steaming arrangement.
Despite your feelings toward everything Steve lately, the gesture and nostalgia still warmed you. The three of you sat, as you savored every bite in silence, Bee and Cherry holding soft conversation on the side and respecting your wishes until the meal was done and you felt just a little bit better. A little bet fuller in your heart and your stomach.
You didnât have to worry as Bee and Cherry assured you that theyâd clean everything up, directing you towards the bedroom where youâd found something else sitting there, waiting for you to find it. It was a record player, just like the one in your apartment. The one youâd promised Steve youâd play the song on before youâd fallen asleep to that old movie. And next to it was a stack of vinyls, some you recognized as the same as your collection, plus some new ones youâd mentioned you liked before, but never got the chance to acquire. On the stack was a small sticky note that said:
âYou got this, Decky. -SRâ
You couldnât help the way a smile crept onto your face at his thoughtfulness. Sure, you were mad at him, but this was far from a cheap gesture. It was just what you needed to fully lock in, and maybe raise your spirits to get through tonight and do this for someone besides yourself. You put on a record, mood brightening by the minute, and began swaying through the room until Cherry and Bee came in to meet you.
Their faces lit up seeing your slightly improved mood, this moment acting like a brief reprieve from a day constantly growing in intensity. The two of them began rifling through the closet, pulling out a bunch of outfits for you to try, and throwing them into a pile on the bed. At least you had your music.
When Cherryâs shift at the bar was set to start, the three of you drove over, you wearing a short, flouncy tennis dress that was far from what you were used to. The clothes you had packed for this evening were just jeans and a tee, but according to your friend, that wasnât good enough, so here you found yourself in something completely out of character. At least it had shorts underneath.
You were about an hour early for the match, but the bar was already buzzing with patrons. As Cherry went to clock in, you could see the group of guys already sitting in the booth, talking in hushed whispers until you and Bee approached. Bee instantly gravitated towards Buckyâs lap with a kiss, and you were going to sit next to Curtis, but he stood up, passing you with a nod and heading straight for the bar with Cherry. So much for having a buffer.
You were left to sit next to Steve, your already nervous state making you shake and avoid eye contact, whether you wanted to or not. Bucky sat up, saying something about checking with guards and Bee followed him, leaving the two of you alone, sitting too close for how much room the booth had now gained.
You took in a shuddering breath, looking around the crowded room, seeing the pool tables and envisioning the event that was about to go down. You felt so isolated in that moment, before you felt a large, warm hand on your thigh.
âDecks, sweetheart. You there? You alright?â You looked up and to your side at Steve, the seclusion of the tall seats allowing him to be the only one who could see the tears in your eyes. Here you were, all dolled up at the hands of Cherry, about to ruin it, but that was the least of your worries. The pressure was about to crash over you and Steve needed to seal those dam walls before a flood broke out.
âHey, hey, itâs alright. Why donât you and me take a second to go into the break room or something? We have the time.â
You simply nodded and scooted out of the booth. Steve grabbed the hat off the top of his head, placing it on yours to hide your distraught face from any possible prying eyes before grabbing your hand and rushing the two of you across the dance floor.
Heâd seen most of your range of emotions. Heâd seen you playful, heâd seen you focused, heâd seen you happy, heâd never get enough of that, heâd seen you mad, probably more than enough for a lifetime, but heâd never seen you quite like this, with tears threatening to spill over.
Before you knew it, you were on an old couch in a back room you had never seen before, crying into Steveâs chest as he held you closely, hand rubbing your back, and shushing you gently.
âItâs okay. Itâs okay. You got this. Hey, look at me. You can do it.â
You pulled your hands up to wipe your eyes as Steve searched the room to find you tissues, dabbing away the wetness as you sniffled.
âTell me whatâs going on, sweetheart. What can I do to help? Whatâs on your mind?â
You tried to speak, but you were gasping for air. The farthest thing from your mind was anger at him, or the pet name. You just wanted comfort. Steve began demonstrating deep breaths in front of you, helping you to calm down until it worked. He started to blow a cool stream of air towards your face, drying more of the wetness, and rubbing his large, warm hands up your arms, redirecting your focus to the gestures. Finally you were almost fully settled and ready to talk.
âIâm just soâŠscared. Sure, Iâve dealt with things that were high-stress before, but never with this high of stakes. I didnât ask to be dragged into all of this, but now the whole mess hinges on me. This entire thing. Legitimate lives are riding on me. Thatâs a lot.â
Steve nodded along. He got it. This was hard, and it was a lot of pressure, especially since it all came crashing towards you at once. He wished there was something he could do to fix it, to take some of that off of you, but he couldnât. He felt like he was the reason it was all hitting so hard in the first place. All he could do was try and keep you pumped up, and ready to go for tonight. He knew you had a game face, maybe he could help you put that on so you could beat these pricks once and for all. Maybe that would be enough for him. He knew you were giving him a chance, just for tonight because Bee was mostly what mattered, and he was going to make the most of that opportunity while it lasted.
He ran his hand over your hair, pulling you close one last time and planting a kiss to your hairline before sighing and slapping his hands on his knees to get up.
âAlright, up we go. Câmon.â He held out his hand for you, but all you did was sit there and look at him confused.
âUnfortunately, you donât have all night, Decky. Stand, or Iâm dragging you.â
You must not have moved fast enough, because before you knew it, your floppy body had been pulled to its feet and Steve was slowly manipulating each part. He kicked your one foot back, widening your stance, and bent each arm, curling your fingers into fists. He moved in front of you, holding up his hands, flat and open, just like boxing practice. He bounced between his feet on the ground, shifting back and forth.
âAlright, go for it. Letâs see what you got.â You huffed, landing a weak punch against his palm, and Steve laughed and shook his head. âI donât think so. Letâs go, Decks. I know youâre better than that. Harder. Get angry.â
And you did, you punched harder, you punched faster, and you were relentless, raging in a rain of fists, jitters long gone and replaced with a fire of fury. Fuck Cole. And fuck Lloyd. And fuck this whole fucked up mess of misogyny that threatened the livelihood of an innocent woman.
Steve grabbed your fists, snapping you out of it as you stood there, chest rising and falling with deep breaths. âThere it is. Use that.â He looked at you intently, imploring you to be yourself, the confident, driven, capable woman he knew. You were back, if only for a few hours, but that was all he needed.
You settled yourself with a single breath, hands falling to your sides after you smoothed your dress and grabbed Steveâs hat back off where it had fallen onto the couch when you threw your head at his chest. You stood there with your eyes closed for a second. âSteven, do I still look okay? Bee said I have to look hot to distract these pieces of shit, and Iâd hate to know that Iâve got a hair out of place. Please fix it before I go back out there.â
Steve smiled, just a little one he knew you couldnât see, as he took a walk around you, tugging down the back of your dress and gently combing his fingers through your hair, taking his thumbs to swipe over your cheeks and fix the slight run of makeup from your tears. He gently grabbed the hat out of your tight clutch, playing with the brim. âYou, uhâŠyou want my hat? Would that make you feel better? Preserve an air of mystery and make you not have to look directly at the âpieces of shit?ââ
You revealed a small, soft smile he thought heâd never see again and nodded, opening your eyes as he placed it back on your head, straightening it just so. He smiled just as sweetly when he saw you, actually saw you for the first time in awhile. Then, you werenât sure what was happening as he squatted down in front of you, closing his eyes just like you had before.
âOkay, now itâs your turn to fix my hair before we go back out there. You messed it up when I gave you my hat.â
You strutted back out into the bar, face stoic, and stride powerful, your skirt flowing from the speed. Steve was a few steps behind you, surveying the area to see Bucky and Bee had returned, chatting with two men by the pool table.
You clocked them as well, not recognizing the two, but seeing one in an oddly crisp brown jacket, common for the area, but usually more beaten up on the folk around here, and the other in a knitted, collared shirt, nose pronounced by the neatly trimmed mustache underneath. Far too fancy for a place like this. These must be the men.
You walked up to Beeâs side, noticing her tight-lipped smile. âDecks, this is Cole, and this is Lloyd. Heâll be playing against you.â
You simply nodded, taking a step back. These men obviously had no desire for handshakes, only giving you a curt nod as well, as Lloyd stepped away, pulling a pool cue out of a case.
You rolled your eyes under the brim of the hat. Of course this rich prick had his own cue. You walked over to where Steve was at the rack of cues on the wall, looking at each and evaluating which one looked the best after years of wear and tear in the old joint. He pulled one down, wordlessly asking if it worked and you nodded, handing him a little block of chalk.
âWill you hold this for me throughout the game? And a glass of water please?â He nodded and headed to the bar, ready to be at your service.
When you returned to the table, negotiations had already been made and Lloyd was starting. That already put him at an advantage, but it would be fine, as long as he couldnât get all the balls in on the first try.
His break was successful. Sharp, forceful, and precise: something that seemed mimetic of his pristine and obnoxious appearance. With two striped balls in the pockets, he went for the next one, and the next one, of your favorite suit. It was bad enough that you had to play solids, but he was surprisingly doing well. On his attempt for a sixth sink, though, he missed, giving you the chance to step in.
You took a sip of the water in Steveâs hand, rubbing the tip of your cue with the chalk in his other. You took a deep breath, leaning over the table for your first shot. It was the furthest thing from your mind, but Steve, and hell, everyone around, took notice of you bending over for it. Steveâs eyes quickly averted, though, going straight to Lloyd and Cole, as they were shamelessly gawking, doing what youâd said they would, and hopefully losing their if focus because of it. Your jaw ticked. You were angry, and you were focused, and you were fed up, and you were ready to go. There was no way you were going to mess up. You took your shot. Sunk.
That was followed by four more, easy angles, at least for you. You didnât even look at the two men your were competing against. The only other person you could see in your zone of focus was Steve, if that, mostly because he was holding the materials you needed to win. Anyone else, anything else, was the enemy. Blocked. This was about winning, just like the years of swindling this game had set you up for. Seven hits, seven successes, one left, so you called the pocket. It was intense, and your face was unreadable. You took the shot, not even looking to see it go in, because you knew it would. Instead, your face was turned towards the two out-of-place men, your lips slowly growing smug as small crowd that had gathered around the table erupted in cheers.
You dropped your cue on the table, waltzing up to Lloyd as Bee stood in front of Cole.
You pointed a finger into the expensive fabric on the man in front of you and looked up into his eyes, dark like the deepest, deadest ocean.
âA deal is a deal and you just lost. Now hop off from my friendâs and all the other businesses I hear youâve been harassing. Arenât you guys all about your word?â
You were taken aback by the dark chuckle you were met with. âOh, cupcake, thatâs cute. You think I got this far on my word? No way. You may have won this foolâs game, but you all have yet to start mine.â
After gesturing over to Cole, he put his hand over his chest, dramatically gasping in a mocking manner.
âOh no. Whereâd your precious cheese curd go?â
Your head whipped over to the bar where youâd last seen him, but were met with the sight of an empty stool. Curtis was missing.
At this point, you didnât care about the scene you were about to make, because that crossed a line. Curtis hardly had anything to do with this entire situation and they kidnapped him? Fucking why? Before you could even register what was going on, you lunged for Lloyd, trying to punch and scratch at him, but only hitting air. Something had caught you in the middle of your movement, picking you up, leaving you kicking and clawing at nothing, but you still had your voice. Curtis was innocent, and like a brother to you, and he didnât deserve whatever this was. So you screamed, flailing in Steveâs arms, youâd know his arms and the smell of his cologne anywhere, but that wasnât really what you were focused on right now.
âFUCK YOU, LLOYD! FUCK YOU AND THAT UGLY ASS MUSTACHE!! FUCK YOU FOR BREAKING A PROMISE!!!â
Out of the corner of your eye, even as you were backed away, you could see Cole shift and hold his hands up. âI swear. This wasnât part of the deal. I was just doing what I was told. I didnât know about any of this.â
You knew how much it sucked to be left out of the loop, but you still didnât feel sorry. Cole was literally trying to commandeer the farm. He was far from innocent. You wiggled and turned as much as you could in Steveâs tight hold.
âAnd fuck you, too, Cole!! You ruined chocolate milk for me!â
The last thing you could see before the crowd descended was Bucky delivering a swift blow to Lloydâs jaw, followed by him grabbing Cole by the collar.
Your attention was pulled to something else, though, by Steveâs hands on either side of your face once he had set you on a bar stool. âDecks, Decks! I need you to look at me.â
His nose was almost to yours. âI need you to watch Cherry. I have to go and check on the guards. See what happened out there and if Curtis is really gone. You need find out what happened in here. Take this.â
He slipped something in your hand that you had no idea how he concealed in the simple button-up denim shirt and jeans he was wearing. âTake out anyone who comes at you that you donât know.â
You looked down at what was in your grasp: a small throwing knife. Without waiting a second, you snapped into survival mode, jumping behind the bar with Cherry. No one was around the two of you right now, luckily, as a full-on bar brawl had broken out.
You turned your body towards Cherry, but your head was on a swivel watching your surroundings. âSo tell me what happened. When did Curtis disappear? Did you see anything?â
She frantically shook her head. âNo, a-all I know is that some girl asked me to pour her a drink. She had a bunch of specifications, and when I made it and turned back around, Curtis was gone, and so was she.â
Your eyebrows shot up. âWhat did she look like?â
âI donât know? Kinda short, dark hair? Annoyingly fit? Now that I think about it, kinda like the female version of the guy you were playing pool against. Thatâs not a coincidence, is it?â
You threw your head back. It definitely wasnât a coincidence. It was probably Lilian.
âAh, shit.â
Next >
Bonus A/N: The moments between Decks and Steve here were much softer than Iâd anticipated them to be, but there are so many different ways to act under stress, and I think it means a lot that sheâs not necessarily able to stay in her normal cold manner of upsettedness when thereâs so much at stake beyond just her. Things change when others are depending on you.
Taglist: @evie-119 @hawkeyes-queen @ronearoundblindly @thedonswife13
#Steve rogers#Steve rogers fanfiction#steve rogers x reader#Steve rogers x you#mob Steve x forensic scientist reader#mob! Steve x forensic scientist! reader#Steve x decks#the rainmaker series#outta nowhere AU#the rainmaker: chapter 7#chapter 7: help the bear#mob!steve#soft mob! Steve#mob Steve rogers#mob!steve rogers#mob AU#farm AU#crossover#bar right#pool game#croissants#Bucky Barnes#car ride with Bucky#friend Bucky Barnes
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Yandere TBD
#yandere cookie run#yandere crk#crk x reader#yandere cookie run kingdom#yandere string gummy cookie#yandere timekeeper cookie#yandere croissant cookie#yandere coffee candy cookie#yandere TBD
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Hello! Can you write something about Giliou and Mayron Lombardi x fem Reader? The twins from "I'll be the matriarch in this life"?
The Lombardi's Pearl
Lombardi Twins Ă Reader!
Well, I like to think that Reader is older than the twins and is another one of their cousins. She's that cousin who you'd only see on special family occasions because she travels too much.
The twins definitely adore their older cousin. Who wouldn't? In their opinion, she's cool and free spirited- definitely unlike any other lady of their era.
They don't mind having to share her with their other cousins, but they do draw a line when their other cousins are keeping her attention for too long.
They find it hard to share already with their things and trinkets. Adding the fact that they have to share their dear older cousin? It's an absolute nightmare.
Unfortunately, this sharing nonsense got worse for the twins. As they ran up to their older cousin who is standing outside by the carriage, having a chat with the twins' mother, they caught a glimpse of the man standing intimately close to [name].
His burly man hand on her waist, smiling sickeningly sweet upon her, and those eyes that seemed to drip with honey- they couldn't stand it. They hated it. They absolutely loathed it.
Something had to be done, both of them knew it. And it involves getting rid of that man she so sweetly introduced to them as her fiancé. Whatever.
#i'll be the matriarch in this life#manhwa#yandere#giliou lombardi#mayron lombardi#yandere x reader#croissant
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Self Aware!Croissant Cookie X Reader
(Thereâs a bunch of Self Aware Cookie Run X Reader content already on Tumblr, but uuuuhb I love croint.)
(Also, clearly, you can tell I was inspired off of DDLC here, except Croissant doesnât, you know, do Any Of That.)
For some reason, a single Cookie Run character was given consciousness.
And it was Croissant Cookie. Maybe it was because she was an agent at the TBD, or her connection to Timekeeper, but she became the one Cookie Run character to be aware.
At first, she didnât want to reveal it. She didnât want the player to freak out, and she could deal with the loneliness.
Even if it was pretty lonely without anyone else to talk to.
No, she could deal with it. She was strong, wasnât sheâŠ?
And then, you stopped playing the game for a while.
Little known fact: when the player closes the game, everything goes dark. Itâs an endless void of nothing. No sound.
When you finally start playing the game again, she finally drops the act.
Whether youâre scared at first or not at all, she still forms an attachment to you.
Afterall, you are, quite literally, the only person she can talk to. Everyone else is just mindless video game characters doing whatever theyâre programmed. She has memories of interacting with them, yes, but she canât talk to them no matter what. They never respond.
She likes watching you play as her! Itâs a little strange, but she got used to it. Bumping into obstacles doesnât seem to hurt that badly, so sheâs fine! Donât worry!
Croissantâs affection meter goes above 1,000 eventually. Youâre not sure if that might cause problems in the game somehow, but it doesnât seem to be doing anything, sooooâŠ
She loves being tapped on in the lobby and exploring all the different places you can put her in. Being tapped on is like, petting her. She likes your touch!
Sheâs a little disappointed whenever you start playing other cookies and not her. But she never really says anything unless you really take your time and donât play her in a really long while.
She kind of misses being able to build and fix things. Sure, thereâs things around the map, but sheâd rather not mess up the game more than she already does. Sometimes she does manage to make little things, but man, she misses making contraptions.
Croissant misses the TBD a lot. Since she can freely move around, you can play her in other trials (very not meant for her). Itâs the closest thing to being able to walk around in the TBD again if you play other TBD cookies. If you do so oh my god sheâll love you so much.
Sometimes, she finds herself idly wondering if Timekeeper can go give her a vague hint to a problem, before realizing that sheâs still the only one alone. It hurts.
Sheâs grateful for you, but she hopes sheâs not a burden. Is she asking for too much? Is she acting too clingy? She doesnât want that.
Press your phone against your chest and like, let her snuggle into you. But donât fall asleep or you might like crush or overheat her home or something-
She likes being included in your activities! Since basically everyone brings their phone with them everywhere, she can just watch you do stuff. Set your phone down on a table or something with Cookie Run on, let her watch you like eat at a cafe or something.
donât eat cookies in front of her though
Oh goodness
She still wants to help all the time, but sheâs not sure how to do it considering sheâs stuck in your phone. Hell, she canât even leave the app. So she tries to give you advice a lot.
Let her ramble to you about time travel and planes, sheâs going to be doing it a lot.
#cookie run#cookie run ovenbreak#time balance department#croissant cookie#headcanons#croissant cookie x reader#x reader#x reader headcanons#self aware#self aware cookie run#self aware crob#love cront#teeper coming soon#âïžthe beast creates
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#miguel o hara x reader#gally x reader#severus snape x reader#cedric diggory x reader#lucius malfoy x reader#minho tmr x reader#newt x reader#aris x reader#luke castellan x reader#croissant#slytherin boys x reader#weasley twins x reader#yandere x reader
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Itâs funny to think that Y/N would keep this like a magical girl type secret. Literally no body knows. (Weâre not counting Timekeeper that MF most likely already knows but prefers to keep it bc she finds that shit funny đđ)
However I have a feeling that a certain cookie might get a bit suspicious :3
Ignore how ugly this looks chat Itâs a lazy doodle trust đŁïžđŁïž
The only reasons TK isnât telling anyone is because she thinks everyone being oblivious to it is pretty funny, when itâs so clear as day!
While with Croissant Cookie, sheâs pretty confused about this Palmier Cookie. Sheâs getting Y/N Cookie vibes from them, right down to wanting to hangout with them right away.
But..they werenât Y/N Cookie at the same time, of course! They were still Palmier Cookie, and Croissant only had room for one bestest friend in the whole department!
So why did Palmier feel..familiar to Croissant? For now, itâs best that Croissant keeps one eye out. Sheâd hate to feel like a traitor when sheâs getting all buddy buddy with others!
#brittle answers#cookie run x reader#cookie run x you#cr x reader#crob x you#crob x reader#croissant cookie x reader#croissant cookie
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SAYAKA ANGST đ«Ąđ«Ą POR FAVOR AMORE MIO MON CHOUCHOU
IM LITERALLY GARBO AT ANGST BUT I TRIED <33
sayaka x reader gender neutral, anyone can read!
probably ooc, im so sorry :( sad attempt at angst- i also finished this at like 12 am keep that in mind okay love you <3
+ ° . àš âĄ à§ . °
You and Miss Sayaka Maizono had been practically inseparable for years. The two of you had met in elementary school, she, being the more outgoing of the two of you, had started talking to you on the first day of school, and you had been best friends ever since. You had always encouraged each other to follow each otherâs passions, telling each other to follow the song written in your heart, even when it seemed difficult.
Eventually, the two of you had less and less time for each other. She had been busy with her idol group, and you had to get working on your regular studies. As she figured out melodies and corresponding lyrics that encapsulated the true feelings of her heart, you were stuck at your desk with algebra.
Seeing a call coming from her was rare these days, so you practically jumped out of your seat when you saw her name displayed on your phone. Wasting no time to answer, you jumped onto your bed.
âHi, Sayaka!â You cheered, trying your hardest to ignore the way your voice cracked. âWhatâs up?â
âHi, Y/n! I have some amazing news, but I think itâs best if I share it in person! Are you free later tonight?â Her peppy voice filled you with optimism.
âYeah! I mean, hell, Iâm free right now, if you wanna come over.â You chuckled. âIâve been stuck doing homework while my familyâs out and about. Itâs been so boring.â
âWhatcha working on?â Sayaka hummed.
âMath.â You sighed, hopping back in your chair and spinning around a bit. âI really donât wanna do it.â
âI get how that isâ She giggled. âIâll be over in just a sec, okay?â With a quick press of the button to end the call, Sayaka prepared herself to make her way over to your house.
Giddy with excitement, you sprung up from your seat, picking up your room just a bit and bringing in snacks for Sayaka. It had been so long since the two of you had hung out, you wanted to make it truly special. Every moment with her felt like a little piece of heaven on earth. Every secret you two shared, every step taken together, every little moment; it was all so precious.
Admittedly, you had developed a small crush on the aspiring pop star. Her upbeat attitude was alluring, along with her looks. God, was she gorgeous. Her long blue hair that flowed freely in a gentle breeze, the way her soft, pink lips rested in a slight pout. How her eyelashes were practically able to hypnotize you in a single blink. You sighed, allowing your mind to wander. Romantic scenarios were the only thing that could fill your head as you thought about her. All you could think of was her.
A knock at the door drew you away from your thoughts. You scrambled out of your chair, rushing to the door, face warmer than an oven. You damn near fell on your face, opening the door with a wide smile.
âHi, Sayaka! Come on in!â You giggled, opening the door a little wider for her. She waved, grinning from ear to ear. She wore a pastel pink sundress, which had pastel blue lace lining the bottom. âI like your outfit.â
âThanks! I like yours.â She chuckled. You looked down, only to be met with your hello kitty pajama pants and matching top. You felt your face heat up even more from embarrassment, but Sayakaâs giggles made you feel less ashamed.
Eventually, you two made it to your bedroom. She took her usual place on your bed, politely indulging in a small bowl of chocolate you had left for her. The two of you had made the usual small talk; grades, friends, music, school. You didnât have much to talk about, as your evenings were mostly filled to the brim with studying, listening to music, and the occasional movie. Her life, however, seemed so exciting. She had a small idol group, already getting scouted by huge companies wanting her talent. She had already performed at thousands of venues and had millions of streams on lopotify.
âButâŠregarding my music career-!â Sayaka grinned, way wider than you had ever seen it. âI have some really big news!â
âOh, really? Bigger than getting scouted by Big Hit?â You teased. She just giggled and nodded.
âSoâŠyou know that school, Hopeâs Peak?â She bit her lip. You just nodded. âWell, they reached out to me, telling me that I had the talent to become the Ultimate Pop SensationâŠand knowing thatâŠthey said I could enroll there! This is a huge step!â
âWhatâŠ?â You frowned, the feeling of bitter disappointment seeping through to your heart. âYouâre gonna go to another school?â
âWellâŠprobably! Itâs a new opportunity, and Iâll be able to work on my talent daily!â She cheered. The word talent made something feelâŠoff in your stomach. You just nodded, your eyebrows furrowed. âWhatâs with the long face?â
âI justâŠnothing.â You fixed a quick smile on your face. âNothing at all! Iâm really proud of you! Iâm gonna miss you, ya know. Promise weâll still hang out?â You outstretched your pinkie for her to make that promise. She just nodded, intertwining her finger with yours.
âPromise.â
You let go of her hand, taking in a shaky breath. You only had a certain amount of time before she had to leave. Only a certain amount of time before she forgot all about you. Before she left you to rot with all the other people below her level. With such a time limit, you decided quickly that it was only fair to tell her all the desires you had.
âUmâŠSayaka?â You averted your gaze to the floor, the feeling of nervousness swallowing you whole.
âWhatâs up buttercup?â She chuckled.
âIâŠhave something to tell you too.â You frowned, anxiously fidgeting with your fingers. She just nodded, unsure of what to say. You took in a deep breath, in and out, in and out. It was like you needed a manual to function. A knot in your throat formed, as though you were actively trying to stop yourself. âSayakaâŠSayaka. I like you. LikeâŠas more than a friend. I want you to be my girlfriend. I want to go to the park and hold your hand! I wanna take you out to fancy restaurants and kiss! I want to date you. And I know thatâs selfish, and I know youâve got bigger fish to fryâŠbut thatâs what I want. Thatâs all I want.â
âOhâŠY/nâŠâ She sighed shakily. âIâmâŠIâm so sorry.â She gently patted your knee. âI justâŠI donât feel that way about you, yâknow? Youâre an amazing best friend! A wonderful best friend! But I couldnât see myself being anything more than that with youâŠyou know?â
âOh.â You bit your lip out of embarrassment, feeling hot tears drip down your face. âThatâsâŠIâm sorry. Sorry. I shouldnât have said anything. I should have never said anything.â
Eventually, Sayaka went home, leaving an awkward melancholy looming over you. The pit at the bottom of your stomach only seemed to grow. Was it selfishness? Embarrassment? Pain? Your questions only seemed to grow.
Sayaka never kept her promise. In fact, one could argue she outright ignored you when she coincidentally spotted you in public. It was awkward and embarrassing, the tension was thick, in a negative kind of way.
Then, the end of the fucking world struck.
She still didnât keep her promise.
starbunii 2024 â all rights reserved. do not redistribute or translate to any other platforms -- thank you for reading !
#sayaka maizono#sayaka x reader#maizono sayaka#dr1#danganronpa trigger happy havoc#danganronpa#danganronpa x reader#sleep deprived author#ghost.writes#â croissant ê°đ„ê±#àšà§ coco bean ââžâžïč
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I want to write for da tbd but no one gimme idea WAAAAA-
I know there is still bunch of requests --I am working on them dw-but I really want to write for croissant,timekeeper and string gummy QAQ-
someone,just throw me idea I will love you forever AHH-
#cookie run x reader#cookie run ovenbreak x reader#time balance department x reader#YOU CAN JUST SMASH ME WITH THE IDEA I WON'T MIND-#cookie run#cookie run ovenbreak#timekeeper cookie#croissant cookie#string gummy cookie
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If you haven't read this series yet, where the hell have you been? I am screaming at this chapter.
This entire series has been a rollercoaster and I never want to get off. I can't believe we're on hour twenty one!!! I have so many thoughts and feelings.
If you've read it, hit up my DMs and let's talk about this cliffhanger. Oh and don't forget to bring the almond croissants đ„”
twenty four hours (modern eddie munson x fem!reader)
HOUR TWENTY ONE
in which you try everything you can to make eddie feel better after his encounter with chrissy - to make him forget, to make him feel cherished, to make him feel worthy.
â tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn
â warnings: strong language, a single use of Y/N, smut (p in v), oral (m receiving), voyeurism, edging, good old fashioned ball worship if you squint, maybe some sub!eddie if you squint even harder, upside down does not exist, minors dni
â wc: 7.3k+
â a/n: shout out to @hellfire--cult for the balcony idea. i knew i'd get them there at some point, little freaks. and everyone say thank you to @icallhimjoey for the early post đ
masterlist.
spotify playlist.
â previous part, next partâ·
20:00 âââââââââââââă
ââ 24:00
HOUR TWENTY ONE - 12:00 PM
STEVE-O: why do you guys suck so much at providing photographic proof of being alive? seriously
Youâve been staring at Steveâs text ever since the two of you arrived back at the apartment. Youâd reply soon enough, but for now, the message was a distraction.
Eddie wasnât speaking to you.
Not in a brooding sense, but in a way that let you know he was too far gone in his own head right now for you to reach him. When youâd said those words to him, when youâd admitted that you found him worth it, you saw his eyes glaze over slowly. Youâd watched in real time as he slipped away from you. It might be that he doesnât believe you, it might be guilt that continues to gnaw at him for a past that canât be changed â whatever it is, you hate it.
The easy solution would be to send Steve the photos from the cafe, but youâd already tried that. Your thumb had hovered over that photo of Eddie with a mouthful of croissant, still bright and brilliant before all his waves of self-hatred had gotten ahold of him, and you just couldnât. It was selfish, it was ridiculous, but you couldnât share that piece of him with others. Some small, childish, hopeless bit of you needed to cling to the man in that photo and keep him safely inside your chest. It wasnât a new version to your friends, theyâve always tried to defend Eddie and convince you he wasnât all bad, but it was new to you. It was all so unexpected and unforeseen, the look behind his golden eyes as he seemingly looked right past the camera and right into you.Â
No, you couldnât send that photo. It was for your eyes only. A souvenir you had greedily stolen.Â
Eddie had excused himself to the bathroom when you two arrived at the apartment, and this time, there was no dirty intentions behind it. You left well enough alone â he needed a moment to be by himself and that was fine. You could entertain yourself until he was ready to come back to you, back down to Earth. Right now, you were currently picking apart an almond croissant as if it were the most interesting thing youâd ever laid eyes on.Â
Croissant dissection â see? You absolutely could distract yourself in order to give him space. Absolutely no sarcasm there.
You finally sigh when you see a message bubble pop up with three little dots, signifying Steve is typing again. You donât give him the time to properly finish out his message before you click on your camera icon, snap a shot of the picked apart croissant in front of you, and send a message with the image attached.
YOU: we were eating breakfast, eddieâs been in the bathroom. happy, mom?
STEVE-O: heâs been in the bathroom for an entire hour?Â
YOU: oh, you know how you men get with toilet time.Â
Despite the playful tone of your texts, your face is completely flat, chest still heavy as you think about Eddie behind the wooden door. Should you be giving Eddie this amount of space? What if itâs doing more damage than good?
Youâre about to stand from the stool youâve occupied for nearly ten minutes now and go try your hand at knocking, try and remind Eddie that youâre still here, when Steveâs next text comes through.Â
STEVE-O: stop bullshitting me. what happened?Â
You swear you taste metallic blood from how hard you bite down on your bottom lip, staring at the mocking message. You canât even begin to explain to Steve what has transpired, not just this last hour, but the entirety of the time. The parking garage, the joking marriage, Chrissy showing up, Eddieâs painful vulnerability â you canât find the words to tell him about any of it. The same as you canât find it in you to send the photo of Eddie in Bettyâs.Â
YOU: nothing happened. do you need any more proof than that?
He only reacts to your message with a thumbs up. You assume that means youâre in the clear, for now.Â
When you exit your thread of messages with Steve, a new thread that has been started catches your eye. Itâs a new number, no contact on it. The only message sent is from you â the photo of you with your coffee, head thrown back and eyes shut with a wide smile boosting your cheeks.Â
Eddieâs phone number.Â
You look at the photo of yourself for a while, trying to not cringe at your appearance. To you, you just looked ridiculous. You donât understand why Eddie wanted this photo preserved so badly. Your smile is too wide, your eyes are mere slits from the way your cheeks were squishing up with joy, most of your makeup youâd started the night with has long since faded due to a multitude of activities. You donât feel like anything special in this photo.
But Eddie had wanted it. He had deemed this moment in time of you as picture-worthy, had gone so far as to send it to himself so that heâd have this memory even if you deleted it from your phone.Â
Before you think too hard on it, you tap on that line of numbers and add a proper contact profile to it.Â
EDDIE. You keep the contact name simple, eager to get it out of the way as you move onto the next step. A contact photo. You donât even have to ponder on it â in a flash, youâve selected the picture of him with the croissant.Â
Youâre back on the thread of messages â or, at least, the singular message â and donât stop yourself as your thumbs begin to fly over your keyboard.
YOU: why were the almond croissants almost sold out?Â
To be fair, you didnât even know if Eddie had his phone on him. That green message stares back at you for a few moments before you get your answer.Â
EDDIE: Excuse me?Â
He has his phone. You lift your head, looking at the closed door of the bathroom before glancing back down at your phone.Â
YOU: because everyone went NUTS over them.Â
You perk your ears and listen for any sign of life from down the hall. Anything. A scoff, a pitiful laugh, him calling you stupid aloud. Youâll take whatever he offers.Â
It takes a moment, and you truly have to strain to hear it, but you can hear the laugh that would better pass as a sigh.Â
EDDIE: Is that supposed to be a joke?Â
YOU: âsupposed to beâ. excuse me, it was definitely a joke. and a very good one, at that.Â
EDDIE: Debatable.Â
You find yourself smiling down at the phone. Your neck aches from the way you keep glancing up suddenly at the door, silently pleading for him to come back out. To come out and fight with you, come out and bicker with you, come out and ignore you. Anything, for him to leave the bathroom and do anything but keep that door shut between you two.Â
He doesnât, so you send another bad joke.Â
YOU: what did the customer say when they looked at the croissant?Â
This time, he plays along.Â
EDDIE: I don't know, what?Â
YOU: what a BREADtaking sight.Â
This time, you hear a more proper scoff come from within the bathroom.Â
YOU: i heard that. donât even try to tell me it wasnât funny.Â
EDDIE: Iâm not laughing because theyâre funny. Iâm laughing because theyâre BAD.Â
YOU: bet you wouldnât say that to my face.Â
Immediately, you discard the phone, facedown on the counter as you look up to the door with unbridled hope. He could always ignore the comment, choose to not respond and continue to sulk away from you. Itâs entirely possible â but you pray to every star in the sky that that isnât what heâs going to do.Â
Please come back out. Please, even if just to sit in silence with me.Â
Your prayers are answered.
Slowly, painfully slowly, you hear shuffling on the other side of the door and await for the click of the door unlocking. It never comes, though â the door was never locked in the first place. He opens it, and you realize that the entire time, you could have stormed into the small room with him and demanded that he not hide away.
But you didnât. You gave him space, gave him patience, and itâs clear he knows this as he comes out.Â
His eyes are red. As if heâs been crying.Â
âHi,â you meekly say, taking in his face past those red-rimmed eyes. The tip of his nose is a fading shade of pink, as if heâs been rubbing it incessantly, and he sniffs for good measure as he turns the bathroom light off and walks to where you are.Â
âHi,â his voice is rough around the edges as he greets you back. He wonât look you in the eye once heâs within reach â his gaze remains downcast, and you catch him fiddling with a few of his rings.Â
You hadnât considered what you would do if you got this far. In every carefully considered scenario, youâd assumed heâd shut you out. You never expected him to come straight to you, as if seeking out comfort from you, without you having to beg it of him.Â
His eyes catch the croissants on the counter, torn apart and lazily picked at. Heâs about to open his mouth and say something about it, probably questioning what you had done to the poor pastry, but you donât give him a chance. Youâre quick to snatch up one of the pieces youâd been picking apart to snack on for yourself and hold it out to him. An olive branch, an offering â a reason for him to sit and stay for a while with you.Â
He takes it tentatively, finally looking you in your eye again as he takes a small bite. Itâs nothing compared to the bite he had taken when youâd snapped the photo of him, mere crumbs compared to that mouthful.Â
âDid you just⊠massacre our croissants?â he questions, squinting his eyes down at the crime scene.Â
You shift your body jokingly, failing at blocking him from seeing the mess you made, âAbsolutely not. I have no clue what youâre talking about.âÂ
He almost cracks a grin, âRight. Of course. I must be imagining things.âÂ
âWanna hear another pun?â you blurt out, suddenly nervous as he continues to stand before you. You hate the incessant need inside of your chest that calls for you to comfort him, to make this all better for him.Â
âI feel like youâll tell me one even if I say no,â he raises an eyebrow at you, âSo, sure.âÂ
âWhy did the croissant go to the doctor?â
He hums, trying to peer over your shoulder again at the croissants you were badly hiding, âLet me guess. Is it because you tore it apart mercilessly?âÂ
âNo,â you scoff, reaching behind you to grab another piece to offer to him as well as one of your own, âIt was because he was feeling crummy, dumb ass.âÂ
A crack of a smile. Itâs miniscule but there. It makes that terrible pun worth it, just to see him not looking quite as defeated is worth all the stars in the sky at this point for you.Â
Youâd certainly been the reason for his unhappiness in the past, and you surely would be again at some point. It all feels so inevitable; just as he believes that he can only bring you misery, you canât imagine yourself bringing him joy. A belief that strikes something in your chest, something albeit more painful than youâd care to admit, but itâs true. Youâve crossed a line, youâve changed everything, but the past still remains.Â
You arenât perfect. Neither is Eddie.
Heartbreak is imminent, but for this brief moment, you can make him smile. You donât need to worry about the next time youâll piss him off or upset him, you just need to focus on making that twitch on his lips more permanent.Â
âI meant what I said earlier, by the way,â you decide to rip off the bandaid as he moves as if to sit beside you. Quickly, your words make him freeze. A bad sign, but you push through, because he needs to hear these things, âYou deserve good things, Eddie. Good people, good things- you just⊠you deserve those things in your life.âÂ
âI donât.â
âYou do.â
Heâs turning away from you. Turning and heading to the living room, walking away from you.
You donât let him. In an instant, you get onto your feet and follow him, continuing despite him acting as if heâs finished with the conversation. Youâre not.
âYouâre a good person, Eddie,â you insist, reaching out for him before he makes it to the couch, âDonât walk away from me.â
He spins easily in your grip. âJust because you say something, doesnât make it true, sweetheart.â
Heâs back to saying it like a curse. Like itâs a harmful title. As if itâs not a privilege to you and all your metaphors to hear that nickname fall from his lips.Â
Right before your eyes, his defenses are on the rise. Brick by brick, heâs slowly reforming those walls to separate the two of you. Instead of defeat, instead of acceptance, it just makes you angry.
âStop doing that,â you say quietly, carefully, firmly.
âStop doing what?â
âThat. Pushing me away. Locking me out,â you tighten your hand on his bicep and watch the way his nostrils flare, âI fucking hate it.â
âDespite what you believe,â he takes a step closer to you, âNot everything I do is meant to piss you off.âÂ
âThatâs not what Iâm saying, and we both know it,â you can feel his muscles tense beneath your touch.
This time, his smile that emerges is cold. But you can still see the rubbage left by his tears â pink water lines and a new puffiness around his eyes. His words and his sudden cool demeanor canât hurt you when you see it for what it is.
âClearly we both donât know it,â he chastised you, âWe are very rarely on the same page. This isnât a damn exception. You donât have to prove your point, it doesnât matter.â
Heâs a wounded animal, striking out. Heâs letting Chrissyâs words get to him.
âYouâre worth i-â
âDonât,â One of his hands shoot out to grip your waist, âDonât fucking say that. Please. Donât say it if you donât mean it.âÂ
He didnât believe you.Â
âI meant it,â you whisper, anger shaking out of your grasp inch by inch as you realize that your words canât break through to him, âI mean it. Youâre worth it, to me, to St-â
âThis isnât about Steve,â he cuts you off, âItâs not about Steve, or Nancy, or Robin, or fucking Argyle. No need to play dumb anymore.âÂ
Itâs about you.
You both know it. For once, contradictory to what heâd just claimed, youâre both on the same page. And like he said, no need to play dumb.Â
âYouâre worth it to me,â you say it with more confidence this time, âYouâre a good person to me.âÂ
âHow can you say that?â he laughs out, void of amusement, âHow can you say shit like that after everything weâve been through?â
How can you not?
You only squeeze his bicep tighter, and he returns the action by gripping your hip harsher. âBecause I mean it. I believe it. Whether you do or not.âÂ
For a moment, the cracks in his armor expose themselves.Â
âYou shouldnât,â his voice should waver, âYou shouldnât believe those things, Y/N. You should hate me.âÂ
âBut I donât,â And I never did.
âBut you donât,â he echoes.
Youâve done the opposite of what you had wanted. His smile is gone, that sadness creeping back up. You hate that. You donât hate him â you hate that world of mourning behind his eyes, that defeat that brings his shoulders down and makes his grip on you falter. So you do the only thing you can think of to distract him. Make him forget.
âMake me hate you.âÂ
His eyes widen briefly, âExcuse me?â
âMake me hate you,â you practically beg of him, âShow me why youâre such a bad person and Iâll let this go. Iâll drop the conversation, we can- Fuck, we can forget this entire morning happened. Make me hate you, Eddie, and Iâll stop reminding you that I donât.âÂ
His fingers curl back into you, slowly and gently, as his brows furrow. Heâs considering what youâve just said â more than that, you can see him trying to untangle all the hidden meanings behind it.
âAnd how do you suggest I do that?â his voice is low and calculated.Â
You shrug, stepping forward, letting your lips get even closer to his, âNot my problem. Just make me.âÂ
The fingers are no longer gentle as he pulls you into him, finally catching onto the emphasis you place on those two little words.
Make me.
When his lips meet yours, theyâre rough and brutal, taking greedily what they want from you. The only thing on your mind is making him forget. Make him forget, carry the load for him â theyâre both more important than making him smile for now. Both these driving needs burn brighter in your chest because itâs clear thatâs what he needs.Â
Youâre willing to give him whatever he needs right now.
âYou want me to make you hate me, baby?â he mumbled against your lip, practically drinking in the way you gasp as he starts to pull back, âIs that really what you want?â
Itâs what you want. âYes.âÂ
And maybe you do too, when he leans back in to bite your lip. There will be another time for you to convince him with words that you find him to be worth it. Both hands from wrap around you and rough start to guide you back towards that fucking couch.
âNot the couch,â you suddenly protest, digging your heels into the carpet at the center of his living room, âAnywhere but the couch.âÂ
And oh, the way heâs looking at you in that moment might be your new favorite thing. Your new favorite color is his eyes as they sparkle with a bit of life that had been missing since the coffee shops encounter. Your new favorite sound is the silence that encases the little breath he lets out. Your new favorite movie is watching him move in slow motion as his eyes dart behind you, towards the door to his balcony, before his lips finally curl up with a hint of the genuine warmth that had been hidden behind his walls.
âAnywhere?â he teases, beginning to walk you backwards.
You nod, grinning right back at him.
âI think I have an idea.âÂ
If you had known twenty one hours ago that Eddie Munson, your sworn enemy, would have you out on his public balcony and on your knees for him in only a matter of time, past you would haveâŠ.
Well, you donât really care what past you would have done or thought anymore. Youâre making him forget, yes, all while making yourself forget. You donât care what you, twenty one hours ago, would or wouldnât do as you let the past slip through your fingers so eagerly. All you can focus on is the dig of concrete against your knees, the way Eddieâs hands grip the railing as he leans against it, and the way the early afternoon sun forms a halo around him as you look up through fluttering lashes.
You just want to make him feel good. Every action is intentional, doing everything in your power to erase whatever storming thoughts had been haunting him so cruelly since Chrissy had so carelessly said what she had. You want to make him feel worthy. You want to make him feel loved.
Loved. You certainly didnât love him â you couldnât possibly, could you? He wouldnât let you. You wouldnât let yourself. But for now, you could play pretend; you could worship his body, drag his shirt out of the way and place playful kisses across his hips, and you could pretend that only this moment exists.Â
âYou wanna know what makes me such a bad person?â he sighs out as you let your teeth graze his skin, shoulders rolling to shake off that shiver you elicit from him, âThis. The fact that this is all I can fucking think about.â
âHm,â you can only hum in response, nails taking over the denim of the jeans he currently wore. You walk your fingers up his thighs, moving closer and closer to his zipper. Your mouth is nearly watering at the prospect of worshiping him.Â
And the fact that any neighbor could walk out at any given moment and catch the two of you. You should probably insist on it being fast, on him being quiet, but the thought sends a thrill through the pit of your stomach. Your thighs clench and your cunt aches at the thought of being caught.Â
You want to do more than make him bite back mere moans of your name. You want to make him scream.
Suddenly, a hand tangles into the roots of your hair, pulling back and making you focus on him again.
âEyes on me,â he instructs. Once you focus on him and only him, he continues, loosening his grip and letting those fingertips rub at your scalp soothingly, âYou know why you should hate me? For all the nights I pictured this.â
âYeah?â you smile innocently, playing along. He can talk all he wants, you know once you get your mouth on him, heâll be lucky to remember his own name. âHow many nights, hm? Tell me all about them, pretty boy.â
You catch the wobble in his knees, the way his breathing picks up, the brilliant shade of ivory his knuckles stretch to. You lean back on your haunches, and the hand in your hair slips as he glowers down at you.Â
âWhat are you-â
âTake off your shirt,â you calmly command.
âExcuse me?âÂ
âYour shirt. I want it off.â
His hand that was once tangled against your scalp now comes down to your face, movement slow but not hesitant as he pinches your chin. His thumb tugs on your bottom lip, and you let out, even making a show of letting your tongue peek out to tap at it. âAnd who said you were calling the shots?âÂ
âI did,â you put it simply, completely removing your hands from him now, âTake off the shirt, or Iâll leave you out here with blue balls.âÂ
You close your lips around the end of his thumb and his knuckles dig in deeper to the skin below your chin as you suck subtly. He chuckles, but you can hear just how breathless he goes at the small action, even as he keeps up the act with a hard press of his thumb on your lower lip. Your mouth hangs open for him, waiting patiently for his next move.Â
A game of chess, an exchange of power, a fight for dominance. All the lines of who is and isnât in control are blurred.Â
âHave you always been so mean, baby?â he taunts, trailing what spit youâd left behind on his thumb along your lip.Â
His movement stops when your lips spread into a provocative smile, âI learned from the best, didnât I?âÂ
The retort had potential to backfire. You wait for smoke and glory, for him to pull away from you further. Heâd slam down a brick right in front of your face, lay the mortar to leave you high and dry. Heâd push you away, and youâd have to retreat, tail tucked between your legs in the shame of trying when it came to him.Â
No smoke, no glory. He secedes, but makes no move to add to his walls, only removing his hand from your face and taking off the shirt. Just as you had told him to.Â
âBetter?â he asks as he makes a show of tossing the shirt to the other side of the balcony. It could have even flown over the railing, for all you paid attention to the scrap of clothing. Maybe some innocent bystander is on the streets below, confused to all Hell as to why itâs raining obscure band t-shirts.Â
Youâre just a bit too distracted to consider that right now.Â
With Eddieâs torso revealed, all words seem to evade you. You catch the sweat beginning to gather across his sternum, watching the way heâs flushing beneath your gaze, reveling in the pink chest exposed to you as the blush crawls wider. Instantly, your original purpose is forgotten, the primal urge to pepper kisses and bites alike across his skin almost lifting you up off your sore knees. You want to leave bruises â you want to make him scream, you want to mark him up, you want to make him feel worthy.Â
You stay on your knees, but compromise with all your wants as you lift up and stretch a bit. Your lips start their trail a bit lower than you (or Eddie) would have liked, taking their time to get familiar with the spanse of his rib cage first. You donât nip with teeth, not yet. Just chaste kisses, lining each bone you can hardly feel residing beneath the skin, feeling his lungs expanding against your affection. Your tongue swipes alongside one of his side tattoos, a large and detailed dragon you hadnât paid much mind to before. Every time youâd seen him shirtless, youâd been a bit distracted.
Not now. Now, youâre focused, determined to learn every curve and dip there is to explore on Eddie. You want to know him better than the back of your hands, memorize him more intricately than your own palms. After all, in order to worship a deity, you must know them.Â
You return back to the center line of his abdomen, kisses chasing after one another, even taking the time to suck his skin between your teeth but never bite down. You pause once your lips rest right beneath his navel, the tip of your nose brushing that rough patch of hair that leads down to your end destination. Your hands reach for his belt, toying with the buckle.
Through heavy lashes, you look up at him, staring down at you in awe, âYou know, youâre not doing a very good job at making me hate you, pretty boy. Think I might just have to worship you instead.â
A deity of your own making. A deity for your own taking.Â
With skill, your hands undo the buckle effortlessly. You unbutton and unzip his jeans as if youâve done this part a million times, as if youâd spent every single Sunday of the last year right here and doing exactly this. On your knees, worshiping him. This balcony, for all its exposure, certainly knows how to serve as a holy place.Â
He opens his mouth to respond, but youâre impatient. You still havenât left him speechless, meaning you still hadnât made your point, clearly.Â
His jeans hang loosely as they creep down his thighs, abandoned for a moment as you occupy your mouth against his hips. The hips you once thought would look so pretty properly decorated. You decide you were wrong â they donât need ink burying into the skin, they need your teeth digging in.Â
You cover that skin with mirroring images of bursts of purple and pink, flowering bruises that you take your time to mark onto him. With each suck and bite, Eddie rolls his hips into you, head leaned back and throat straining with each moan he swallows down.Â
With the last hickey finished, you finally lean back, proud of your masterpiece as Eddie whimpers above you. Blooms in the shape of your lips mingle with faint and quickly fading teeth marks.Â
âFuck,â he gasps out when your fingertip stops trailing over your markings and comes down to apply the softest pressure over the straining bulge in his boxers.Â
âWhat was it that you said earlier?â your finger traces over where you know a vein is â you know it because youâve felt it, been driven insane by it â before circling around the wet patch now forming. Heâs desperate, hips bucking again and a moan finally escaping. You think heâs bitten his lips hard enough in an attempt at self-restraint that they might be bleeding, âYou said Iâm not calling the shots, right?âÂ
âYouâre not,â he pathetically grits out, hands forming tighter fists on metal railing, as if the moment he lets go of it theyâll find their way home to you.Â
You lean forward, breath washing over his crotch before you place a feathery kiss to his clothed tip, âIâm not?âÂ
You are. You both know you are. A constant battle of control, an ever-growing fight for dominance.Â
He lets out something crossed between a sigh of relief and a whine of protest when you remove your lips and hand from him completely, only to let out a sharp yelp when your finger curls into the waistband of his boxers and pulls back the elastic, letting it snap back into place sharply.Â
âSay I am,â you barter, âSay Iâm in control right now, and Iâll put my money where my mouth is.âÂ
You donât expect him to break so easily. Youâve underestimated just how tightly youâve caught him beneath your thumb.
âYouâre in control,â he gasps out, head hanging low to meet your gaze fully, âYouâre in complete and utter fucking control of me. Youâre calling all the shots, baby. You always are.âÂ
He didnât have to sweeten it up with baby, but it spurs you on.Â
You shove his boxers down, watching his cock spring out for the taking. And you do as you promised; you put your money where your mouth is.
You start softly, taking your time as you gingerly suck on his pretty pink tip as you had his thumb. Hardly hollowing your cheeks, letting your tongue circle his slit to gather up the precum. You let the taste of him completely cover your tongue, even hum in satisfaction when he lets out a loud groan. It motivates you, feeds your fervor as you let his tip fall from your mouth and trail the tip of your tongue down the underside of his cock. That vein youâd traced with your fingertip, yours for the taking, covered in a faint line of saliva as you let it rest on your forehead and graze your lips against his ballsack.Â
He canât hide his shiver, even as his fist flies to his mouth to bite down on.Â
âHave I ever told you how cute you are?â you say low enough for just him. You can hear the sounds of traffic, a dog barking, birds singing â all reminders of the outside world and the looming threat of being caught. Warmth floods you again at the reminder of that threat, thighs clenching closer together in a desperate search of friction, âJust falling apart for me, acting so tough for so long until I got you alone.âÂ
He whimpers your name. Itâs the prettiest sound youâve ever heard.
You wrap your lips around the sensitive skin, sucking and pecking away on one side before moving to the next. His reaction throttles your movements. When his hand loses the fight of resistance, coming down to the back of your head, you laugh breathlessly against the now wet skin.Â
âLet me make you feel just how worthy you are to me,â you praise, pulling back finally, letting your nose brush against his sack as you do so. The hand that was once merely resting now tangles up in your hair â a warning.Â
You let the velvet skin of his cock drag down your cheek as each movement is deliberate, taking your time and in no rush. You want to savor him like this. Imprint him to memory.Â
You want to make him forget while making yourself remember.Â
You want to remember the way his hand flexes at the base of your skull when you finally kiss his tip once more, remember the way his abdomen tenses as you sink him further into your mouth. You want to remember every little sound that escapes him as he hits the back of your throat, as you constrict around him, as you moan around his base and the vibrations have him slipping out of control.Â
Your nails dig into his thighs to balance yourself, eyes watering as you look up at him. One subtle nod. He doesnât need more than that.
Your jaw goes slack, trying to steady your breathing through your nose as you let him take control. His hips thrust at their own pace, gentle enough that he only grazes the back of your throat rather than bruise it. The issue is you want him to bruise it. You want him to mark you from the inside out. Until thereâs no part of you left untouched by him.Â
You gag again, and he slows. Your fingers that grip his thighs immediately tap against him, and he mistakes it as a signal to pull back completely before you chase after him, pressing him onto your tongue until your lips are snug around his cock a mere inch from the base. Your nose is grazing those pubes in the dead center of all your love marks. Shapes of semi-permanent scars that whisper, youâre worth it to me. I want this. I want you.Â
The last thing on his mind was Chrissy Cunningham and her words alluding to him not being worth it.Â
You make sure of it when you finally release him from your mouth and begin to pump with an eager fist, ducking down and returning to pay attention to his balls once more. You nuzzle the soft skin, let the tips of your canines graze them before you suck them onto your tongue as youâd done his cock. Heâs no longer containing his moans â they flow freely along with curse words, chants of your name, sounds youâd love to capture and play on repeat until the end of your days.Â
âOh my God,â he groans out particularly loudly, âFuck, baby. J-Just like that, please- Fuck. Youâre doing so good for me. Such a good girl, just for me.âÂ
Your hand is still wrapped around him, slowly coming up to squeeze hard around the tip as you whisper up to him, âOnly for you.âÂ
âYeah? Only for me?âÂ
You donât know how to explain to him that itâs true: youâre only ever that mean for him, youâre only ever this eager for him, youâre only ever this desperate for him.Â
You donât answer him with words. There are none. Instead, you take him back in your mouth, and you solely focus on bringing your deity to climax. The man you were worshiping, the man who was worth the ache in your knees that surely told you they would be left bruised, if not skinned.Â
âIs it just like you imagined?â you question as you break your lips off him. Heâs close, leaking precum excessively and entire body taut, âWas it worth it? To picture this, to want this so badly?âÂ
He almost canât answer you, but somehow manages between pants, âIt was. It is. Youâre- fuck, youâre worth it.âÂ
âGood,â you drop your hand from him, leaving him right on the edge as you rest both sticky palms on the tops of your thighs. You look up at him with relinquished control â the perfect image of submission, for him. âThen you get it. When I say youâre worth it, you get it.âÂ
Heâs clearly still reeling from you bringing him so close only to leave him hanging, teetering on a cliff as he stares you down.Â
His chest heaves as he questions, âWhat was it you wanted me to do earlier?â A deceiving hand comes down, tucking any baby hairs behind your ear and cradling the side of your face. One moment, his thumb is stroking a soft arch beneath your eye, the next that hand is pulling you up, âMake you?â
You know that if you hadnât been so eager to follow his touch, youâd still be on your knees. Even as you watch him take the reins, you know you will always call the shots â just like he had said.Â
âYou really think you can make me hate you?â you whisper once youâre standing tall in front of him, leaning your cheek into his touch.
âI shouldnât have to make you hate me,â he corrects, the thumb back to gentle strokes, loosening the touch to be more tender once again, âYou should already hate me.âÂ
âWhy?âÂ
He flips positions immediately, your lower back now curving into the railing as he presses himself up against you, his achingly hard cock between your bodies, âBecause of this. Because I always want you on your knees for me. Because of all the fucking filth I want to do to you. I want to bend you over, right here, and take you where anyone could see. I want to have you screaming my name loud enough that every single person on the streets of this city hears you.â
With each word, a knot ties inside of you, desperate for release.Â
âBecause youâre fucking right,â he leans down, lips going straight for your neck, not looking you in the eyes, âAll it fucking took was for you to get me alone for one night, and now? Iâll never get enough of you, Iâll never get clean of you,â he takes a deep breath, and suddenly, his lips latch onto you, sucking the skin between his teeth and biting hard. You canât stop your fingers from latching onto his curls, tugging hard, body rolling into his. It hurts, it stings, you need more, âEverything changes. And that includes me.âÂ
His face finally leaves the crook of your neck, pulling back to look you in your eyes. Doe brown eyes search yours, wide and honest and pleading. You let everything else melt away; for a moment, itâs only him and only you. The tension, the last twenty one hours, the last year â you let it disintegrate and focus on him.
It never mattered if everything changed.Â
It only matters that heâs changed, irreversibly, and so are you.
âHow can I hate you for those things?â you press into him again, this time less desperate and more consciously, âDo it.âÂ
âDo what?â
âAll of it,â you trail a hand up his chest, âEvery single thing you just said. Fucking- Do them. Bend me over, make me scream, change me,â your voice breaks, shaking with anticipation and need.Â
Itâs all the encouragement he needs.
Every single thing he wanted, he craved, he does. A flurry of him properly discarding his jeans as he unbuttons yours to shove them down, spinning you and shoving you hard enough into the railing that it digs into your abdomen and leaves you breathless. Youâre hardly aware of the way you step out of your pants and kick them to the side, looking out to the city skyline but not seeing it. Itâs all a blur as you focus on the way your shirt rides up and he grabs your hips, bruising you finally as you have desperately needed.Â
You wanted to be left haunted by the end of these last few hours. You wanted to see him every time you looked in the mirror for the next week, to remember the map of where his body molded to yours. You want to dream of the way he stretches you as your underwear is ripped to the side. You want to be followed by the sounds of his skin slapping against yours as he snaps forward with intention.
Changing you. He has no idea that heâs already ripped you open from the inside out, has already rewired your entire chest and set flames to your brain.Â
Everything changes, and sometimes, everything is only two people. Just you. Just him. New versions that would have never met had it not been for this stupid fucking bet.
âEddie,â you nearly sob, nearly choke on, his name burning in your throat like kindling embers.Â
His hand walks up your spine, trailing wildfire even with a layer of cotton between you two. Burning and singing away all youâd assumed for far too long. When he reaches the nape of your neck, he takes care in wrapping your hair around his wrist, tugging back hard and forcing you to stand from where the railing had been bending you in two.
âSay it again,â his lips brush you ear with every gasping breathing, timing with the way his cock is sliding in and out of your warmth, âSay it louder.âÂ
âFu-â you start to moan, cut off by him pulling even harder on your hair, making his point so that you cry out, âEddie!âÂ
He thrusts harder. You swear you could feel him in your throat.Â
âScream for me, baby,â an arm wraps around your torso, firm and solid for you to cling to rather than the warming metal of the railing, âTell them whoâs making you feel so good. Let them know. Be a good girl.â
Even when he claims to have control, itâs your actions, your reactions, that call the shots.
Itâs the echo of your voice that spurs him on as you chant his name over and over, as if he were your only God. Primal worship dripping from every syllable. Itâs the tremble in your thighs that has him pressing deeper into you, chest glued to your back as if he could never get you close enough. Itâs the clench of your cunt around him, a vice that sucks him in as you drag him closer to the high heâs been dizzily chasing since you first dropped to your knees in front of him.Â
Itâs you. Youâve changed him, as heâs changed you.
He pulls your hair until you rest the back of your head against his shoulder, back arching and feet still spread as he only maintains his quick and brutal pace, leaning down to whisper in your ear one last time.
âYou know the real reason why you should hate me?â he grits out between to particularly forceful thrusts, âItâs not just because I donât deserve you. Itâs because Iâve wanted you for so long,â youâre right on the edge, fluttering around his cock as his movements stutter. A tell tale sign. âI- fuck, fuck. Itâs- God, Iâve loved you for so long, and Iâll never be fucking worthy.âÂ
You shatter around him in waves. Your entire body tenses as the words dig claws into you, piercing through vines and blooms. His body stills, warmth flooding you deep within as you continue to see stars. You canât make a single sound, fingerprints surely left behind on where you clasp onto his forearm.Â
Iâve loved you for so long, and Iâll never be fucking worthy.
When the waves recede, when the high has passed its peak, you both freeze. Your body tensed in his hold, struggling to process what heâd just said.Â
Loved you.Â
Heâs frozen in place, scrambling to figure out how to undo the damage just done.Â
Iâve loved you for so long.
He slips out of you, his spent dripping down your thighs. His forearm drops from you. Your hands donât even try to stop him.
Iâll never be fucking worthy.
You should be worried of neighbors coming out to see the two of you on his balcony. If not worried, you should be embarrassed, or aching at the thought once again. Anything. You should feel something.
You turn slowly to him, entirely numb as you catch his rueful expression.
Loved you. He loved you.
His regret turns to pain as you whisper, âWhat did you just say?â
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