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jo-harrington · 10 months ago

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Stranger Than (Fan)Fiction - Prologue: Crossover

Summary: Everyone wishes that they could have an Eddie Munson in their lives. In a strange turn of events, Eddie wishes that he could meet you, his favorite character from a cult classic 80's TV series. And he's about to get his wish.

Word Count: 3.9k

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader

Warnings/Themes: No-Upside-Down AU, Minor Angst, Fluff, Isekai, Mentions of FOI-compliant events

Note: Hello and welcome. I'm very excited about getting to expand on this idea; it's going to be a wild ride. Please note as you head in, and as we get into further chapters...this fic is going to be a little mind-fucky and a little bit self aware. This is my love letter to and my criticism of fanfiction, but at the end of the day, we're still gonna get to fall in love with Eddie and get some kind of Happily Ever After. This is my guarantee.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

May 2022. Such a weird time.

A time of uncertainty, a time of change. A time where the world seemed like it had been torn apart and was slowly being knit back together again.

But then a switch was flipped. Something happened. An old season ended and a new one started and with that start came something new. Someone new. And suddenly, countless people began to yearn for this new person in their lives.

A new, old person. Eddie Munson.

Joy ignited. Creativity sparked. Millions of words written and read. Edits made. Art drawn. Merch bought.

So many voices crying “why isn’t he real. WHY ISN'T HE REAL.”

If there was a god, he would let them have their own Eddie Munson. And if there was a Satan, he would let them sell their souls for Eddie Munson.

That’s just not how the universe works.

At least…not this one...

October 1985. A different kind of place and time. Still weird.

But Eddie Munson was real.

Sometimes to his detriment.

And for the most part, it was alright.

He played guitar, laughed with friends, mocked bullies to protect the people like him that were considered less than. He'd overcome hardships of one sort or another for most of his life, he could keep at it for a little while longer.

It would be his day week month year sometime soon.

Wouldn't it?

But until then, he would bide his time. Hopefully, this year, he'd pass all of his classes and finally graduate. Get to flip that douchebag Higgins off and snatch up a long-awaited, and well-deserved diploma.

What made it all easier, what softened the blow...was you.

It was silly. He knew that. Ronnie used to tease him on Wednesday nights when he needed to run home because he had a "standing date with his girl."

"Your girl doesn't even know you're alive," she'd scoff as he bustled her into the van. "She isn't real."

No...no you weren't.

Why couldn't you be real.

See, for the past...however long Eddie had spent his late nights half-assing homework, planning campaigns for Hellfire, working on music, and watching a television show. His guilty pleasure, a show about the ups and downs and upside downs of living in a sleepy suburban town: Port Geneva.

A show where you were his favorite character.

And crush.

You weren't the main character--in fact, you were just the main character's quirky best friend--but you were a fan favorite, as much as he could tell. You'd only been in the background during the first season, but before long you were front and just-left-of-center. And last year, you'd even gotten a two-episode arc in the season finale as you turned the small town on its head by announcing, a month or two before graduation, that you were quitting school to follow your dream and become an artist.

And man...Eddie had been there.

He'd actually missed those episodes airing when...well, when everything happened with his father and the heist...and the house...and Paige.

He'd missed a lot of episodes that season. Missed seeing you come into your own as he tried and failed to come into his.

Thankfully Wayne--and Eddie wasn't a believer but whatever deity in charge needed to bless his Uncle Wayne--had the foresight to tape those episodes for him.

Those tapes would be cherished 'til the day he died, because they had truly gotten him through those tough days after everything.

He wished he had seen them when they aired, maybe...maybe he would have made some different decisions if he had.

Of course, Eddie had already loved you before then.

Since he had first laid eyes on you, actually.

He was sure that if you were real, you would be the one to understand him more than any of his friends. See the real him. In return, he would understand you, be there for you too.

He already had been. He'd seen you cry countless times, he'd laughed with you, celebrated your successes and mourned your failures. He'd been there for you when you crushed on that dickhead Mark, and then had your heart broken by the careless jerk.

And somewhere deep down inside of him, when he was sitting in that jail cell after he wasted his phone call on Paige and he felt the weight of the world bear down on his shoulders…he wished that you were real so he could have called you instead.

If you were real, Eddie's life would just be a little nicer.

He knew…he just knew.

Of course, in the mean time while he wished with every fiber of his being that you would walk into his life, he brought you to life in other ways. During mid-season and summer hiatuses, he would write you into his DND campaigns. His friends knew, they always called him out for it.

"Are you seriously making her an NPC man?" Dougie would scoff and throw a D20 across the table at him.

"No, what are you talking about?" he defended and threw the die right back at his friend. "This is Spiria the Bold."

"Uh huh," Jeff rolled his eyes. "Sure."

By his imagination and his pen, you became a powerful warrior, a sharp-tongued trickster, a seductive mage. You became anything he wanted you to be--most often with a companion and lover that mirrored him--and everything he knew, deep down, that you were.

And then the unthinkable happened.

September ‘84. He and Wayne were in the checkout line at K-mart. Cart stacked with new clothes and school supplies and groceries. When suddenly...there you were. Right in front of him.

Alright, not you. Per se. But your face, smiling alongside Samantha and Patrick and Scotty and Bill on the cover of the TV Guide.

On Set with the Stars of Port Geneva.

Wayne was the one to snatch the magazine from the rack and add it to their bounty, a knowing smile on his lips as he shook his head.

He knew Eddie needed a little pick-me-up.

Or a big one.

How could he have known this would be anything but one...

Eddie scoured over the pages once they got back to the trailer. He was hoping there would be a big enough picture of you that he could cut out and tape to the otherwise barren walls of his new room. And there was; you were leaning against the back of your signature pastel blue Volkswagen Beetle, arms across your chest, head tilted to the side with the signature scrunched smile you gave when you were embarrassed.

He adored you.

Before he took scissors to the page, he read the interview with your actress.

He wasn't too keen on her, even though she had your face.

The illusion that Rosemary Glass was really you had been shattered the first time he'd heard her voice on a radio interview; instead of your perfect and familiar middle-American speech...Rosemary's voice was accented.

Not to mention, she sounded pretentious.

Gross.

Still, he could look past that annoyance if he got some kind of insight to what the next season would bring for you.

Hopefully not a new love interest. His heart could only take so much.

...gives us a tour of the Patterson and Son's set, one that is forever enshrined as the setting of Patrick and Samantha's first kiss. "Oh I'm actually not fond of that scene," Rosemary confesses. "Yeah it's sweet, and the way I bring Sam in so Pat could confess his feelings but the...when I fell down? It was not scripted. And I was honestly shocked they kept that in. But fans seem to think she's clumsy now because of it. That I'm clumsy. When I just tripped over a wire. It's quite awful, really." We ask Rosemary to tell us what she'll miss most, now that the show is coming to an end...

Eddie went rigid as he read those words.

The show...coming to an end?

"What?" he exclaimed into his empty room. "No, no, no."

He carefully examined the article again, then turned back to the beginning of the feature, only to feel his heart stop in his chest.

The title of the feature was like crit hit.

The final killing blow to his already weak constitution.

One Last Summer in Port Geneva - On the Set of the Final Season

The final season was a sham.

Eddie savored every episode, though. Of course he would!

He would enjoy every last moment with you that he could get before he lost you forever. But...he hated it.

It was lazy writing--seriously what were they thinking--and a quick, cheap means to tie up all the loose ends they'd set up over the years. He could tell they tried to deliver as fulfilling a finale for the extensive cast of characters as they could. Still, he was sure he could have done better.

Samantha and Patrick got engaged after graduation. That was lame.

Bonnie finally quit the bakery to open her own cafe the next town over. Didn't anyone remember that she wanted to quit because she wanted to be a vet instead? That was the whole point of her! She didn't want to follow in her family's footsteps and she was doing just that.

And you? You took a backseat.

Instead of leaving town right after graduation--something that you had followed through reluctantly to make your parents happy even though you had just resolved to put your own happiness first for once--you stayed to help Pat plan his proposal.

Your big adventure, your big push for your dreams, were on hold again. You played second fiddle over and over until the final episode.

Eddie was grateful to have you for a little longer, but...once again annoyed that you were looked over--over and over, just like he was--when you had already proved that you were worthy of top billing.

Worthy of being the main character for once.

Still, at the beginning of the series finale, you packed your bags, cashed in your savings account, and drove out of town. The future was yours, just like it was always meant to be.

And Eddie cried.

The whole time tears streamed down his face as you said your own watery goodbyes. He might have even waved as you stuck your hand out the windshield to say goodbye to your friends as your car idled at the last stop sign. You blew a kiss to everything you knew and loved then started on your way into the unknown, car getting smaller in the distance right before the commercial break.

He held his breath for the final scene: a walk through the house where it all started and then Sam smiled her signature hopeful smile as she shut the door on the audience.

The screen faded to black for one final time and he exhaled.

"It's over," he muttered in slight disbelief, suddenly unsure of what to do with himself.

Port Geneva was over, and you were gone for good.

It was a strange feeling.

Heartbreak, mourning, disappointment? He couldn't really know for sure. Empty was the best way to describe it; the lack of feeling. It was infuriating. Port Geneva was just a television show, he attempted to rationalize for the nth time since he started watching. You were just a character on a tv show; how could you mourn for someone and something that wasn't even real?

You hadn't actually died. He could still see glimpses of you if he wanted, whenever Rosemary Glass' next movie came out or something.

But that wasn't you.

You were gone, for all intents and purposes, and it was a blow that hit Eddie hard.

How could he go on without you?

Devastated, he got high that night after he stewed on his grief. He day-dreamed and monologued to an empty trailer about a universe where the two of you were together, where your travels took you to Hawkins, of all places, and you fell in love with him, just like you were supposed to.

If the walls could talk, they would have a fantastic tale to tell. One with heroes and misunderstandings and love at first sight. One with a horrible, unseen foe and many pitfalls and dangers that exceeded anyone's wildest imaginations. One with a magic door that led to the happily ever that was beyond well-deserved.

Grief did wonderful and terrible things, after all.

He woke up for school the next morning with cotton mouth and a vague outline of a story that did just that: brought you to Hawkins to fall in love with him and all of the other things that seemed like nonsense once he was in a more right-minded state.

The only problem was that it was all in his English notebook. And he didn't need anyone finding that.

"Fuck," he groaned and ripped the page out. He shoved it into his bedside drawer, where it would be doomed to a crumpled and forgotten future.

Or until he needed a condom.

Which, considering how everyone had doubled down on their disgust of him, wouldn't be any time soon.

But there you stayed.

Put away, like old obsessions and childish things, to be ignored and forgotten.

At least for a little while.

Eddie tried.

He did.

He kept you and Port Geneva out of sight and mind as much as humanly possible. It was the most effort he had really put to anything tangible in the past year.

The series ended at a weird time--during the middle of the season--and some investigative journalism show took over its time slot. Barbara Walters couldn't hold a candle to you, so it wasn't difficult for him to keep himself rooted in reality on the nights where he typically indulged in his silly fantasies.

The daydreams that he had were limited to lyrics for Corroded Coffin originals and ideas for Hellfire, and nights were spent alone in the darkness of the living room, with his reflection in the television set to keep him company as he tried his best to do homework that he'd already done before.

Before he realized, though, the school year was coming to a close and he was--big shocker--on the brink of failure. It wasn't until Higgins called him into his office, again, that you made your violent resurgence into his life.

There was a tentative truce between Higgins and Eddie for a while.

Civility was a strange thing for both of them. They actively avoided one another, save for a snide jab here and there, and Eddie tried to stay out of the Principal's Office as much as he could.

That is, until Higgins was forced to tell Eddie that he needed to repeat his repeat senior year.

"Don't act like I want this at all," he sneered at Eddie who tripped over a reaction. "I'd rather have you out of these halls for good. You drop out one year, then you re-enroll and you fail another. Try to make the most of it this time Munson; I don't want to have this talk again."

Eddie grumbled the whole drive back to the trailer, and he fell onto the sofa with his head in his hands once he got in.

"Which one of the fates wrote this stupid plot for me now, as if last year wasn't enough. You can't make this stuff up sometimes."

He laid there, wallowing in his misery for hours, days, years, until it got dark enough for headlights outside to be noticeable as they shined through the window. There was a glint of a reflection that caught his eye and had him turn his head.

"TV," he sighed and reached out as though he could touch the set and stacks of tapes neatly piled below. “The cause-of and solution-to all of life’s problems.”

He contemplated his life for a few more minutes.

He could make the most of the final few weeks of the school year. He could set himself up as a willing and reliable pupil for these last few assignments and tests, even though they wouldn't mean very much.

He could do all of these things so that when he walked into the halls of Hawkins High in the fall, on his absolute last first day of school--whatever deity or powers-that-be willing, because how "getting the hell outta dodge or he would die here" turned into "two extra years in that shit hole" he could only attribute to cosmic intervention--the faculty would already know he would try his best this time.

It would show them he was serious about graduating and that he would succeed despite all odds against him. Finally.

He could do this.

Or...

He could put in one of the tapes from the stack and scrounge for loose bills left over from his last few transactions and order a pizza. Pretend like he didn't exist for a little while.

And given the choice?

Eddie Munson chose the latter.

And he continued to choose the latter throughout the summer and even into the fall.

Nights that he didn't already have plans were spent in front of the television.

They were cherished nights with you.

Aside from his VHS recordings, he found a channel that showed reruns of Port Geneva after 10pm. Two hours of small town shenanigans that might very well be found just outside of his own door--if he only went and looked--with you just there, making your appearance every so often and catching his eye.

Homework was sometimes left halfway done on the coffee table until he needed to switch out a tape, or change the channel, and he spent more time filling his heart than enriching his mind, so to speak; he knew all of this school stuff already anyways.

Third times a charm and all right?

He talked to the screen more often than not, tried to warn you against one disappointment or another. Sometimes, if he was watching one of his tapes, he'd pause right on your face and just talk to you. Mundane things, usually, like Ronnie's last phone call home or some album that got released and a song he thought you might like.

Other nights, like tonight, he got vulnerable. Moments where life seemed a little extra trying, and he'd confess his feelings to your image.

Knelt on the floor in front of the coffee table, warm light bathed his face promising comfort as he spoke, and the din of static emitted from the television set, akin to an angel's voice...beyond understanding of humans.

He'd never been one for church, but this kind of confessional was sacred enough.

An eternal bond, just you and him.

He stopped his ramblings at that thought.

It was a strange moment of clarity.

Where had that come from?

"I..." Eddie looked down at himself, a foot away from the television set, remote clenched in his hand. Then he looked at you, soul-filled eyes just beyond the glass, not looking at him, only...through him, just past him. "What am I doing?"

What was he doing? He was...he wasn't a kid anymore who could hide in his dreams; well, honestly he was always going to do that, but this was different.

One minute he felt the weight of the world lift off his shoulders as he told you about his troubles, and the next it was all back, heavier than ever, as he realized how silly this all was.

And here he was, wasting his life knelt at your altar.

It wasn't holy. It was pathetic.

You'd never answer; you weren't real.

"Why?" he asked aloud, jaw clenched. He gripped the remote tightly. "What did I do to not have...someone? Huh? What have I ever done to be alone? That I have to rely on a fucking television character to feel understood. And now I'm losing my mind talking to myself, talking to you, at midnight every night. Why am I here wishing that you're real? Why couldn't you just...be...real?"

If there was a God, he would let Eddie Munson have you. If there was a Satan, he would let Eddie sell his soul for you.

And that's how he knew neither of them existed: you didn't exist either.

Eddie hit the eject button on the VCR and was about to shut everything so he could go to bed, when there was a crash outside.

Crashes in Forest Hills weren't abnormal--someone backing into trash cans, losing traction on the icy roads in the winter, and the one time Mrs. Dawson kicked her husband out and threw all of his things out the window--but it was something he'd gotten used to since he came to live with Wayne.

This crash, however, started a ruckus.

Someone was yelling and that stupid dog across the way started barking.

Eddie was a lot of things...but a dramatic gossip was definitely high on the list.

What else was there to do in the Midwest?

He grabbed his cigarettes from the bowl full of junk on the coffee table and stepped outside, fully intent on plopping down on the old couch on the porch to smoke and watch the scene unfold.

A car crashed into the telephone pole; didn't look like there was much damage but it had run through some trashcans and might have clipped the drivers side mirror off of Mrs. Mayfield's car. The same Mrs. Mayfield who was on her own porch being held back by Max as she yelled.

"Are you kidding me? It's fucking midnight!"

"Mom! Stop!"

"The car, Max!"

Maybe there'd be a fight.

He barely got his cigarette lit when he noticed--really noticed--the offending car: a powder blue Volkswagen Beetle.

He blinked several times and then rubbed his eyes, thinking it might have just been a trick of the light or something.

Or it was a coincidence.

Or a dream.

Maybe he'd had a heart attack and died in front of his television or something?

Plenty of people drove Volkswagen Beetles. He was pretty sure he'd even heard Nancy Wheeler asking her parents for one as a graduation present.

But with the same license plate number?

The same one from the show, the same one that was in the TV Guide all those months ago. The same one on the makeshift poster he had taped on the wall next to his bed, that he'd run his fingers over to "kiss" you goodbye countless times, just like he did to his guitar.

"It's just dark," he tried to convince himself, "and I'm tired, and...and..."

It was a coincidence. It was a dream.

He repeated the mantra over and over in his head like a lifeline.

It was another fan like him who just used fantasy to make their life a little better. That's all he was trying to do too, right? He could understand; hell, if this was a new neighbor, maybe he'd be able to chat with them about the show. Wouldn't that be something?

Eddie was so distracted making up endless excuses for himself that he didn't notice Mrs. Mayfield as she threw her hands up in the air with an exaggerated "I'm calling the police. He didn't hear Max holler at her mom to calm down, or see the tail lights of the Beetle turn off either.

It wasn't until the driver's side door swung open and a sneaker-covered foot crunched against the gravel that he forgot all the excuses he was conjuring.

And his heart stopped as the driver got out of the car and stood in the faint glow of the streetlight.

Because that driver was you.

Next Chapter: Alternate Universe

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#Eddie munson x reader #stranger than (fan)fiction #stff #Eddie munson fic #Eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson angst #stranger things fic #stranger things Eddie munson #Eddie munson #stff updates

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annwrites · 6 months ago

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⸻ forever. ⸻

· pairing: billy hargrove x fem!reader · type: part of a series · summary: you & billy go to a vegas casino. the next day, you have a scare & make a commitment. · word count: 7,560

The next day, you and Billy stay snuggled up in bed watching TV.

Even though Billy continuously changes the channel every few minutes as soon as you get interested in something just to drive you nuts. The two of you nap, eat, talk, and every once in a while, get on each other’s nerves just for fun.

But, as you lie with your head on his chest and he with his fingers in your hair, you’re completely content to fall back asleep listening to his steady breathing and the beat of his heart.

You wake in the middle of the night to Billy tossing and turning beside you while muttering unintelligibly.

His brows are furrowed, and his body is slick with sweat.

You cup his cheek in your hand, and quietly shoosh him, while telling him to wake up.

When his eyes do finally open, they're full of fear.

He gazes up at you and his face crumples.

"Oh, baby doll," he says before burying his face between your breasts and wrapping his arms around you.

You twine your fingers in his hair and hold him to you. "It was just a nightmare. It's okay."

"I lost you," he whispers. "You...fuck, you stopped breathing. I—"

"Shh, it wasn't real. I'm right here. Shh."

You let him cry softly against your chest until you eventually manage to coax him back to sleep by reassuring him over and over again that you're all better now, that you're still here.

"I love you. Just try and go back to sleep. I'll be right here when you wake up, okay?"

He nods, pulling you closer. "I love you, too."

While still a tad under the weather, you feel far better the next day, and are honestly itching to get out of the motel room, even if it's just to go sit outside, or ride shotgun while Billy drives around letting you sight-see.

You're just coming out of the bathroom, dressed and ready to go, when Billy comes back into the room carrying breakfast with him.

He kicks the door closed with his boot, and he has a brown paper bag held between his teeth, with to-go cups in one arm, and a couple more bags in the other.

He looks up to you with a raised brow as he begins setting everything down and then he nods toward the bed. "Take all that off and get back into bed."

You come over to him. "I feel better today. I'm tired of being stuck in this room, Billy. It's been days now. Can we please go do something?"

You bat your lashes at him, then press yourself against him, and he groans as you slip a hand in his pocket. "Pretty please?"

Before he can tell you, yet again, to get back into bed, you swiftly remove your hand, with his keys now dangling from your fingers.

He sighs, holding out his hand. "Yeah, you're hilarious. C'mon, give 'em."

You back up a step and hide them behind your back. "As soon as you promise to let me out of here."

He studies you for a moment. "Maybe in another day or—"

"No, today."

He crosses his arms, his jaw flexing. "I said no. And that's final."

You step closer to him and reach out for his hand, but he snatches it away.

"No. Do...do you have any idea what you put me through? I thought..." He shakes his head. "Don't ever fucking do that again, alright?"

Your lip twitches. "I will do my utmost to never get sick again. I promise."

You press yourself against his chest then. "Now let me outside."

He sighs. "Only once you've had breakfast."

You snuggle closer. "Deal."

"If you so much as sneeze, I'm taking your ass back."

You roll your eyes.

He's been like this since before you stepped out the door. He even forced a thermometer under your tongue before letting you go out, which had read a perfect 98.7°—a temperature that should've pleased him, but he'd instead frowned.

You've tried joking that he just wants to keep you all to himself for another day, but you know it’s because he’s terrified of you getting sick again.

You turn in your seat to face him and run your fingers through his hair.

He fights against his lip twitching at the tender gesture, and then he sighs. "Alright, where to? Unless you want me to pick?"

He looks at you then with a smirk now on his face. "We are in Sin City. Could always hit a sex shop, then head back and create our own entertainment for the day."

You lean over and kiss him deeply, and when you pull away, he has a brow raised, thinking he's talked you into it.

"Nice try."

He leans back, and rolls his eyes as he turns the car over.

"Billy, stop, we can't go in. This is ridiculous. They're never going to buy your fake; I'm sure they see them everyday."

Billy is currently pulling you alongside him...into Caesar's Palace.

He'd gotten the idea to go gambling, and not even offering to go to a sex shop to try on skimpy lingerie manages to talk him out of it. You even throw in that he can finally cuff you to whatever he wants and have his way with you if he’ll only turn back around, but he doesn’t listen to a word.

You've tried tugging unsuccessfully against his hand, unable to pull him back an inch in the other direction. Instead, he leads you further inside. And, just when he thinks—ignorantly—as he passes the hotel lobby, headed in the direction of the casino floor, he’s about to get away with it, a large man dressed in a suit, who’s probably twice the size of Billy, steps in his way.

Billy doesn’t shrink away from his authoritative presence, but you hide yourself just the least bit behind him as you glance up shyly to the security guard.

"Somewhere you're headed?" He asks—his voice a deep baritone tune.

Billy looks up at him with a bored expression, nodding behind him. "Got a few greenbacks that're just burnin' a hole in my pocket."

He goes to step past him, but the man side-steps, once again blocking him.

"ID card, pal."

Billy retrieves his wallet, and hands him the requested piece of information.

He studies it with a raised brow, then looks at Billy.

"Billy Squier? You really thought someone would buy that?" He tosses it back to him. "Go on, get out of here."

Billy shrugs, tucking his wallet back away. "Like I can help that we share the same name."

He smirks, flashing him a dazzling smile. "The Stroke is a damn good song, though, ain't it?"

He glances at you, then back to the security guard.

The man chooses to ignore Billy, honing in on you. "You got a fake for me, too? Let me guess: Stevie Nicks? No. Cindy Lauper."

You hold Billy's hand more tightly. "I—"

Billy interrupts you. "She left hers in the car."

He lets go of your hand.

"Listen, man, what's it going to take? My money's good, ain't it?"

He pulls out a wad of rolled up cash, counts out a few bills, then reaches forward, and he feigns shaking his hand—the bills disappearing into the other man's grip. "Just trying to show my girl a good time. What, you've never been young and in love before?"

"You ever been employed before, kid?"

He shoves the money back against Billy's chest. "Go on, before I have to use force."

Billy gives him a glare before turning back around and wrapping his arm around your waist. "C'mon, baby, we'll go blow a grand at Circus Circus instead."

Somehow, you and Billy get lucky at the next casino. You show up just when the security guards are changing shifts and sneak right in. Your heart is pounding, and you can’t tell whether it’s your palm or his that’s sweaty, but you eventually come to wrap your arms around one of his as he weaves between slot machines and craps tables.

You glance around and lights twinkle in your wide eyes in the dim lighting. The space is illuminated by colorful overhead chandeliers, and neon slot machines. There's even a section of the room that's modeled after a carousel.

You look up to Billy then, continuing to walk alongside him.

"Can I play a slot machine?" You ask sweetly.

"Once I win at blackjack."

You frown. "Do you even know how?"

He stops, turning back to you. "Baby, I've got skills you've never seen."

You hook your finger on his black half-unbuttoned shirt. "That's likely."

He shakes his head. "Keep it up."

When he turns away, you smack his ass and he laughs.

You stand behind Billy, actually impressed.

He'd not been lying about knowing how to play cards. While nearly every other person sitting at the table had eventually folded, or busted more times than they were comfortable with, and thus left with bruised egos, Billy's chips are just continuing to pile up.

You don’t like the way some people are eyeing his winnings, however.

You lean down close to his ear as he holds his cards close to his chest. "Billy, I think that's enough—"

"After this hand."

You sigh, frowning. "You said that twenty minutes ago."

He taps two fingers against the table and the dealer slides another card his way.

"Like I can help that I'm on a roll."

He looks up at you, smirking. "Think you might be my little good-luck charm."

You shift on your feet. "You have way more than you came in with now. Can I please just go try a slot machine?"

He glances at the dealer and watches as he turns over a card, and a smile breaks out across Billy's face as he throws his own cards down before slamming his fists against the table. "Woo! Winner winner, baby!"

He pulls more chips in his direction, which you quickly grab in your fists, heading in another direction with them. You hear him curse from behind you, but he quickly gathers the remaining ones on the table before following you to go cash in.

After finishing up with the casino’s teller, Billy securely pockets away a few hundred dollars—practically beaming from his winnings. He then hands you a five and nods toward the slot machines. “Go nuts.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Only five dollars?”

He leans down close to you. “You want more, guess you’ll have to blow me.”

Your expression then morphs into a scowl. “You’re so—”

“Y’know, my dice, when I play craps later?”

You turn your back to him, and head toward a slot machine. “That is so not what you meant.”

“Not my fault that my cock is all you can think about.”

After losing once, you’d been ready to burn the entire building down. But after a few times? You’re seething.

You yank on the arm one last time and it then demands more money.

“Oh, that is such bull. It took all my money!”

Billy glances at a few others who are seated at nearby machines, and a muscle in his jaw feathers when he sees them looking your way as you continue to make a scene.

“I didn’t win once. This game is rigged. I want a different machine!”

He can’t believe you’re getting this upset over losing five dollars that hadn’t even been yours to begin with, anyway.

“Honey—”

“Don’t honey me, I want another five,” you state, holding out your hand.

He crosses his arms. “I think someone might have a bit of a gambling problem.”

The vein in the middle of your forehead makes an appearance—he’s never seen that trick before. “I wanted cherries. I kept getting fucking bananas and—”

He steps closer to you, needing to calm you before someone calls security. “Sweetheart, I will give you all the banana you want when we get back to the motel. But right now—”

“I said cherries! See, you’re not even listening to me.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose.

Good Lord, you’re acting like a little kid. And he typically relies on you to be the mature one. Seeing you so pissed had been funny at first, but now you’re getting a bit scary.

“Alright, fine, I will pop your cherry when—”

You lean your head back and groan in irritation.

“Too late for that now, isn’t it?” You state, leveling him with your gaze.

He finally reaches up and squeezes your cheeks until your lips are puckered. “You want to get us kicked out?”

“No,” you mutter through fish lips.

He smirks.

You look adorable like this. So tiny and angry with your face all squished in his strong grip. Like a pissed off kitten. “If I give you another five, will you promise—if you lose—to control your temper, and behave yourself, and not be a sore loser?”

“Yes.”

He releases you, giving you the promised amount of cash.

“Motherfu—”

He yanks you up from the stool by your upper-arm before you can finish that expletive. “Alright, time to go. You’ve had enough.”

“Just give me another—”

“Nope, you’ve had enough.”

“But—”

“No buts. C’mon. You’d leave us high and dry if I let you have your way.”

“You are so not getting lucky tonight.”

“Already did. Sounds like you’re the one who didn’t.”

“Oh, you son of a—”

Once the two of you are back at the motel, you’ve thankfully calmed down.

Billy is almost afraid to leave not just his money, but the keys to the Camaro anywhere you can get to them, lest you return to the casino for a second round. Third, really.

But, once you’re in a bubble bath and softly humming to yourself as you wash up, he figures that you seemed well-enough over it.

After bathing, you stand over your bag of toiletries with shaking hands and wide eyes, and your heart hammers in your chest as you stare down at a tampon that’s been hidden at the bottom of the bag.

You’re late. Very late, by your standards. Your period has always been like clockwork. If it is ever ‘late’, it’s by no more than a day. Ever. And even that is a rare occurrence. Far and few between times has it happened.

But today makes five days.

The two of you have used protection every time. But…what if there had been a hole in one of the condoms? Or some of his semen somehow leaked out or…

That night on top of the Camaro.

But he’d finished on your stomach. Not inside of you.

No.

This isn’t happening.

You are not—

“Are you about done in there? I need to take a piss.”

You jolt, and drop the plastic tube on the floor, before turning to stare at the closed door, unable to form a single word. Until you manage to choke out, “just a sec”.

“Gettin’ all dolled up for me just to go to bed?”

Your eyes sting with unshed tears.

God, you want him to just leave you be for a few more minutes so you can collect yourself. Because right now? You feel on the verge of a hysterical breakdown.

You glance at yourself in the mirror. Your face has gone pale, all blood is now drained from your lips, and your eyes are wide and terrified. And you’re shaking like a leaf.

You begin taking deep breaths, trying to calm yourself.

Oh God, you feel like you’re about to pass out.

It’s nothing.

You’ve been under a lot of stress lately, that is all. Yes, that makes perfect sense.

From the moment you left Hawkins, you’ve been on a non-stop rollercoaster of emotions. All the traveling, the fighting, worrying about money, worrying about each other, worrying about the future, you getting sick—it’s a perfect recipe for a late period.

And it’s only five days. Just because it’s typically always on time doesn’t mean it can’t be late every now and again, right? Sometimes bodies are weird. They don’t always operate how they’re supposed to. Obviously, or so many diseases and disabilities wouldn’t exist. And stress can wreak havoc on the healthiest of people. So, you have nothing to worry about. Right?

“Sweetheart?”

You quickly gather your things and do your utmost to ignore how your stomach is now in knots, and your shoulders are tense, and your jaw is locked tight.

You swing open the door and stare up at Billy.

“All yours,” you say, stepping past him.

A moment later, you hear him relieving himself.

You let out a breath of relief that he hadn’t noticed you’re now upset.

You barely touch your dinner.

Billy notices, but you use the excuse that you aren’t all that hungry’.

He stares at you for a moment before stealing one of your shrimp and telling you that he’ll eat them if you aren’t going to. He doesn’t notice your palm pressed firmly against your stomach beneath the table.

Once the two of you are in bed, you’d turn your back to him and try to fight back tears.

If…if you are…will happen to the two of you?

You’ve been so sure, since after that night in Texas, that you’ve finally found the one now. But this… A baby will ruin everything. He’ll leave you. This much he won’t stand for, you’re sure of it.

You’re both eighteen—kids yourselves. What the hell do either of you know about being parents? You don’t have any idea of how to be a proper mother, since you’d not been given an example of one yourself. And Billy has his history with his father.

You haven’t had that talk yet: what you want when it comes to kids. You don’t even know that he wants them in general. You don’t know what you want, either…

Just as your terror begins to grow, you feel his hand slide along your hip while his erection presses against your back.

You feel sick at the sensation of it. That part of him has now destroyed your entire life. And you’ll be the one forced to deal with the consequences—the fallout.

You’d been right to be abstinent before. This is his fault. He hadn’t stopped until he’d buried himself inside your head. He’d pushed and pulled, pushed and pulled until you didn’t know where else to run but into his arms.

No. You can’t think like that. He loves you. He’s made some mistakes, but you understand why; have chosen to forgive him. You love him, too. And what if you’re just getting yourself all worked up over nothing? What if you aren’t indeed pregnant, and are only causing yourself further stress, which will only serve to delay your period further?

Billy presses his lips to your neck, and he reaches under his t-shirt, which you’re wearing, cupping your breast. “Want me to help you get undressed, honey?”

You bite your lip until you taste blood—fighting back tears. “I’m really tired. Maybe not tonight.”

You say it so quietly that he barely hears you.

He presses a soft kiss to the back of your head. “Told you that you should’ve stayed in bed. But no one ever listens to Billy.”

You don’t respond. You just take his hand and wrap his arm around your waist, praying to God he doesn’t notice that your own is shaking.

You toss and turn most of the night.

At one point you lock yourself in the bathroom to cry while Billy sleeps. You clutch at your stomach and pray to God that you’re not what you think you are.

If you are, and he does leave you, what will you do? Where will you go? Everything will fall out from under your feet then. You’ll have nothing. No one. He’s your entire world. Everything. He’s everything. Your everything. You’ve come to lean so heavily on him—to rely on him at every turn.

If he leaves you behind… You want to die at the thought.

The next morning, you’re exhausted, and Billy quickly takes notice over breakfast, which you barely touch.

He brushes his foot against yours and he reaches for your hand, concerned with the lost-in-thought look on your face. Are you getting sick again?

“Baby?”

You look up at him. “Hm?”

“You alright, angel?” He asks before reaching up and pressing his palm to your forehead.

You don’t feel feverish…

You nod slightly, then look back down to your cereal, which is now just a bowl of mush, and idly stir it.

“I think you’re still just getting over that cold. I should’ve made you stay in yesterday. How about you go lie back down and get some rest. We’ll just hang out here for the rest of the day. Alright?”

You nod, then get up and strip before lying back down.

You quickly fall asleep.

When you wake, the TV is on and the volume is low.

Billy is sitting up, with one arm around you, holding you close to his leg.

You stare at the closed curtains, wondering what time it is, but don’t want to ask, because you don’t want to talk. You don’t want him to notice that something more is wrong than you just ‘being under the weather’, even if you know you feel back to normal now. You don’t want him to keep digging until you’re finally forced to cave and tell him what’s really going on.

So, you close your eyes instead, and force yourself back into a dreamless sleep.

Billy lets you sleep through lunch, but he now stands at the foot of the bed frowning, considering whether to wake you for dinner.

He’d gotten you a cheeseburger—one of your favorites—so he’s sure you’ll eat it.

He tucks some hair behind your ear, then gently shakes you awake.

“Dinner’s here, beautiful. Time to get up. Once you’ve eaten, you can go back to bed.”

You moan against the pillow, wishing he’d just left you be.

You don’t want to eat, because the moment you open your eyes, your stomach starts twisting into knots again. But you fight the feeling of nausea down, telling yourself to, at the very least, act fine. Pretend like you feel as much.

You sit up then and smile slightly at him.

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “How’re you feeling?”

You wrap your arms around his neck, and hide your face from his view. “Better.”

He sighs. “Good. That’s good.”

He leads you over to the table, and you force every bite down.

Billy makes another sexual advance that night, shortly after lying down.

He slips his hands between your legs. “I can do all the work tonight, if you want?”

You simply pressed yourself into his chest. “Could you just hold me instead? Maybe…maybe tomorrow.”

He remains silent as he slides his strong arms around you and holds you close, whispering that he loves you and to get some more rest. That he’s sure you’ll feel better in the morning.

You do not, in fact, feel better in the morning. More rested than the day previous, yes, but your nerves are fried.

You’d raced to the bathroom to…expel your bowels from nerves at least twice in the night, and now your stomach is truly on empty. But just the thought of eating makes you feel sick.

You lie in bed awake—even if you’d rather not be—and listen to Billy quietly snore beside you. You sit up, then gaze down at him, trying to memorize every line and facet of his face and body before you lose him for good.

Tears sting your eyes at the thought of being alone again. Though, you won’t be totally alone, you suppose.

If you are that…will it look like you, or him? Will it have his eyes? His beautiful head of hair?

You don’t think you can bear it: having to look upon a perfect reflection—reminder—of him every day, while simultaneously knowing he’s never coming back.

How could you have let this happen? What if you get rid of it instead? Somehow, that thought makes you feel worse. A little bundle that’s equal parts you and him…gone. Just as a tear slips down your cheek, he begins to wake.

You quickly wipe it away, and smile as he opens his eyes, while he looks up at you, stretching.

He reaches a hand up to your cheek, cupping it. “Morning, sweetheart.”

“Hi.”

“You been up long?”

You shake your head. “I just woke up a couple minutes before you did.”

“Admiring your sleeping beauty then, huh?”

You smile at the sarcastic comment. “Most certainly.”

He slides his other hand up your thigh, stopping close to your heat. “You want to?”

You shift under his touch.

How to tell him no yet again? You’ve not been intimate in days, and you worry that continuing to reject him will only serve to hurt him, if not make him suspicious. But the thought of him buried inside of you right now… You simply can’t.

He notices your silence and his smile fades.

“Guess not.”

He removes his hand before getting up. You watch silently as he nervously runs a hand through his hair.

“I’m gonna go take a leak,” he says before padding over to the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.

Your chin wobbles, knowing you did it anyway: hurt his feelings.

Billy lays on the horn, waiting for traffic to move. He glances at you who is busy staring out your open window.

He knows something is wrong, but you won’t tell him what.

He reaches over and slides his hand up your leg, and his ego takes a hit when you recoil at his touch. He sighs, then rests his hand back on the shifter.

“Come the fuck on, man!” He shouts at the line of cars in front of him.

He then looks back at you. “What? Are you still sick?”

You clasp your hands. “No. I’m just…tired.”

He leans his head back, rolling his eyes. “Heard that a lot the last couple days. Don’t know how. It’s not like we’ve screwed much recently.”

In all honesty, he doesn’t really care about that. He’s fine with waiting on you. It’s the fact that you’re keeping something from him that’re starting to really get under his skin.

You begin to shake from anger. “After everything, and that’s still all you still think about. Not like I should be surprised. Since we met that’s all you’ve thought with is what’s in your pants.”

He jerks his head in your direction.

The two of you haven’t fought like this in a minute. “Excuse me?”

“You want to get laid? We’re in Vegas. Go pick up some hooker on the strip. You should have enough for it after the other night at the casino, I’m sure.”

He grips the wheel tighter. “The fuck is your problem? Huh? You got somethin’ you want to say to me?”

You look at him, and his expression softens when he sees the tears gathering in your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you say, your voice breaking before you bury your head in your hands.

He unbuckles, then reaches over and wraps his arms around your trembling frame. “Shh. Baby, please tell me what the fuck is going on. Did…did I do something?”

How to say yes and no?

You look up at him then with tears now streaming down your cheeks. “I’m late.”

His brows furrow. “Late? Late for wha—”

His face falls, and all color drains from it in an instant, leaving him lightheaded. He remains calm, as calm as he can manage—for the moment.

“How late?” He asks, deathly serious.

“F-five days.”

“And the latest you’ve ever been is?”

“A day. And rarely, at that.”

He stares at you for a moment, then swerves onto the shoulder, parks, and he quickly gets out, slamming the door behind him.

“Fuck! Motherfuck! Why does this shit keep happening to me? It’s going great one minute, then it all just turns to shit!”

You turn away from the window then, refusing to listen anymore as you begin to sob while clutching your stomach. You reach forward, toward the dash, now hyperventilating, and you try to catch your breath as your ears begin to ring.

A moment later, Billy gets back in the car, then forces his way back into traffic.

“We’re not going to freak out until you’ve taken a piss test and we know for sure,” he states.

Both of you stand in the family-planning aisle of a CVS, staring at their plethora of a selection of pregnancy tests.

Billy reaches forward with a shaking hand and he grabs a two-pack in a pink box.

“Should… Do you want this one?” He asks, looking at you.

You shrug, your lower lip trembling.

He puts it back, grabbing a blue box next. “This one sounds like it should be fairly accurate. Ninety-eight percent.”

He tosses it back onto the shelf. “Why the fuck are there so many? What’s the goddamn difference? I mean, Jesus, it’s like buying condoms. I mean, the things are supposed to be fuckin’ fool-proof, right? Why make shit that leaves you guessing in a situation like this? It’s ridiculous.”

You stay quiet, knowing he’s talking more to himself than he is to you.

He picks the blue box back up in one hand, grabs your hand in his other, and he leads you up front to the register.

Billy tosses the test onto the counter, and the older woman behind it eyes up the two of you as she scans the box, telling Billy his total.

You just stare at the floor as he pulls out a bill, telling her to keep the change.

“You all have a public restroom?”

Billy waits outside the door as you go, and silent tears slip down your cheeks as you place the cap back on the test, then set it on the sink to wait.

It’s maybe two minutes later before his patience has worn through and he pounds on the door, making you jump. “What’s takin’ so long?”

You walk over and crack the door open before staring up at him. “It takes fifteen minutes.”

His brows raise. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me?”

He barges in and shuts the door behind him. “Why the hell don’t they put that on the goddamn box?”

“They did,” you reply quietly, showing it to him—right on the front. “See?”

He snatches it away from you, staring at it like it’s his own worst enemy, then tossing it in the trash.

He begins to pace back and forth in the small space with his hands on his hips.

Meanwhile, you stand silently against the wall and watch him.

“I can’t believe this is fucking happening. This—coming out here—getting to California, was supposed to be a new fucking start and now… I’m eighteen-goddamn-years-old. I can’t be a dad yet. I’m not ready. I mean, Jesus, I don’t know that I want kids ever. I can’t stand ‘em now. Annoying little shits. And they’re expensive as hell. Even if you think you’re ready, you’re fuckin’ not. We don’t even have a place to live. What? Am I gonna stick a crib in the fucking backseat of the Camaro? Fuck!”

When he looks at you, his heart drops.

You’re standing against the wall shaking, with tears streaming down your face while you bite your lip to try and keep quiet. Both of your hands are clutching your stomach, and your face has gone pale.

“I’ll get rid of it,” you whisper.

Then you continue, “Oh God, what’s happening to me? I can’t… I can’t do this alone. What am I supposed to do? How…how am I going to live? What will happen to my baby?”

You hang your head and begin to sob.

You think he’s going to leave you? Alone? To this?

He steps over and quickly wraps his arms around you. “I’m sorry. Baby, I’m right here. Sweetheart, look at me.”

He takes your face in his hands. “Angel, I’m not going anywhere. If you are…it’s not like I didn’t play a part in it. You should know by now that I’m in this for the long haul—that you’re it for me. I know you deserve better than me. You always will. But I’ll try my best, alright? To be a good dad, I mean. I had a shitty fuckin’ example, but maybe I can learn from his mistakes. I’ll take care of you.”

He presses a palm to your stomach then. “Both of you. We’ll…we’ll get married. I’ll be better than he was. I have to be. You deserve that.”

You blink up at him, now speechless. Did…did he just propose? “You…want to get married?”

He smiles, kissing your forehead. “It’s the right thing to do. But I’m not gettin’ down on one knee, if that’s what you’re expecting. Not in this nasty fuckin’ restroom, anyway.”

You glance to the test. “I think it’s been enough time now.”

You walk over to it and fill with relief—joy—when you see the minus sign.

You double over the sink, laughing lightly. All that stress and for nothing. Nothing at all.

“Oh, thank God!” You exclaim, laughing some more, feeling like all is right in the world again.

“I’m not pregnant. We don’t have to get married now! We can just—”

You stop talking when you turn around and see that Billy isn’t nearly as elated as you are. He’s not even smiling. Nor is he looking at you. Instead, his hands are gripping the metal support beam behind him, and his eyes are trained on the floor.

“I—”

He quickly brushes past you then, wrenching the door open. “Let’s go.”

Once the two of you have returned to the motel, he still hasn’t spoken another word to you.

He instead goes into the bathroom and slams the door behind him. He even goes so far as to lock while he showers.

You press your ear up against the door and listen to try and ensure that he’s okay, but can hear nothing over the sound of water.

So, you instead sit on the edge of the bed and patiently wait and think of how best to apologize for what you said.

You’d just been so sure that he would be relieved as well. He said it himself: that he isn’t ready for a baby yet. Then you wonder…had it been your comment about marriage that upset him?

Is…is he ready for that? Are you? When you think of it: wearing a ring he’s chosen for you and taking his last name while vowing to spend your life next to him, it doesn’t fill you with fear or doubt or unease. It fills you with love, joy, and a feeling of security.

When Billy emerges quite some time later, he tries to hide it, but you see it: his eyes are bloodshot.

Your heart breaks, now knowing what took him so long.

He had been crying.

You pad over to him and wrap your arms around his middle as he chooses a t-shirt for bed. He doesn’t do that, though: wear pajamas to lie down next to you. And now he suddenly feels the need to shield himself from you?

You press your cheek to his bare back. “Did you mean what you said about getting mar—”

“Just fuckin’ drop it, alright? You’re not knocked-up, so now we don’t have to get hitched. Let’s just go to bed.”

“But—”

“Like you’d want to anyway.”

“I do.”

He freezes, suddenly imagining you saying those words in a different context.

He slowly turns back around to you. “What?”

You stand on tiptoes and wrap your arms around his neck before running your fingers through his damp curls. “I want to if you do.”

He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear. “Really?”

You smile, nodding. “I’m sorry for what I said. I wasn’t thinking. I was just relieved that I wasn’t pregnant. I…I’m already yours in every other way. Why not this one, too? Billy, no one else is ever going to love me the way you have—do. Just like you, I don’t want anyone else. You’re what I want. I can’t imagine having to start over with someone else after…after all of this. The thought of losing you…it was tearing me apart. Having to think of living a life without you in it…”

You trail off for a moment, swallowing down the lump that’s forming in your throat. “I’ll marry you.”

His lip twitches and his eyes grow glassy.

He then crushes you to his chest and he holds you close while cradling the back of your head. “Okay.”

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻

You and Billy are currently browsing through selections of gently-used clothing at a local thrift store, trying to pick out outfits to wear to the Little White Chapel. But every white dress you come across has something wrong with it: holes, tears, rips, yellowing, or it’s just a tad outdated, or way too frilly.

Until you find a hanger buried behind numerous other items.

As you look the dress over, you begin to smile.

You then wander over to Billy, who’s looking through men’s dress clothes, and poke him in the back.

When he turns, a grin forms on his face.

He grips the soft material, looking at you. It’s a white babydoll dress with silver sparkles that dance against the material from the overhead fluorescent lighting. There’s even a matching veil.

“It kind of smells like mothballs,” you say.

He smirks. “Don’t worry, baby, you won’t be wearing it long.”

Once Billy has picked out a pair of dress slacks that he feels are a tad too tight—until he notices that you’re unable to remove your eyes from his rear, which causes him to deem that they fit just fine after all—as well as a white button-up shirt, he goes over to the lingerie, and he gets lucky when he finds you a garter.

The two of you then go up, and you stand by his side and smile up at him as he pays for your purchases, and then he asks about using the changing room.

Once the two of you emerge, even he’s blushing.

So, you take his hand in yours, and head back out to the car together.

“Can we stop at a pawn shop first?”

He glances to you. “For?”

You reach in the backseat, grab a shoulder bag, then pull your dad’s Rolex out. “I want to trade this. For a ring. For you.”

He nods then, sniffling. “Course, baby.”

“What about that one?”

Billy shakes his head. “It’s fuckin’ hideous.”

You raise a brow.

He’s worse than a woman when it comes to jewelry, apparently.

You squint while staring into the late-night pawn shop’s display case, before you kneel in front of it and practically press your face up against the glass.

You smile and point while looking up to the middle-aged shop-keep behind it. “Can I see that one?”

He nods, then unlocks the display before grabbing the ring you indicated, and he hands it to you.

You grab Billy’s left hand, and slide it onto his ring finger. And it’s a perfect fit—a simple gold band.

You stare up at him.

He looks at the man. “Will the Rolex cover this?”

“More than,” he replies with a smile.

Billy looks back at you. “We’ll take it.”

Once the two of you are sitting in the parking lot of the small chapel, it’s only then that you notice that Billy is shaking.

You reach for him, but he quickly exits the car, then makes his way around to your side and he opens your door for you.

He doesn’t look at you, however.

You then reach up and cup his cheek while taking one of his hands in yours. “Are you okay? We…we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. If you want to wait, I’m okay with that. As long as we’re together—”

He shakes his head, his hand trembling in yours. “What if…what if I fuck this up? I’ve already done it enough times already. I nearly lost you back in Oklahoma, and then again in Texas. What if I turn out to be just like him and I hurt you, or—”

You brush your thumb over his lips, quieting him. “And I always came back. Or you came for me. Billy, neither of us are perfect. No one alive is. But…that’s the point, right? Of falling in love. You love someone despite their flaws. Or…help them through them. You don’t just give up when things get hard. I know what—who—I want. We’ve both said it: that we belong together.”

You press yourself against his chest and he wraps his arms around you while kissing the crown of your head. “So let’s go make it official. No one is ever going to love me like you do.”

He rests his cheek against your veil. “Okay.”

You pull back and look up at him with hopeful eyes full of love.

“Let’s go get married.”

“And do you, Billy Hargrove, take this little lady to be your lawfully wedded bride? To have and hold tender and sweet, to love and cherish, in sickness and in health, for riches—God willin’—or poorer, for better or worse, ‘till death do ya part?”

Being married by an Elvis impersonator is most-certainly going to be a story to remember.

Billy tucks a lock of hair behind your ear before tracing your jawline with his thumb, his other hand is currently holding firmly onto your right one. “I do.”

He reaches into his pocket, and when he pulls out his hand, a silver ring is held between his thumb and index finger.

Your brows furrow.

He told you back at the pawn shop that he had your ring already covered, but had refused to elaborate on how until you were standing before one another exchanging vows.

He swallows thickly.

“It was my mom’s,” he states, glancing to you before sliding it onto your finger.

Unshed tears threaten to spill forth on both your parts then.

“And do you, lil’ mama—Y/N—take this young stud, to be your hubby? To have and hold tender and sweet, to love and cherish, in sickness and in health, for riches or poorer, for better or worse, ‘till death do ya part?”

Your lip trembles as you stare up into Billy’s beautiful, warm eyes. “I do.”

You slide the gold band you’d purchased less than half-an-hour ago onto his finger once again.

“Then, by the power vested in me by the great state of Nevada and the Lord Almighty, I do so pronounce you husband and bride. Now, my good man, kiss your lady.”

Billy leans down, cups the back of your head, and then he crushes his lips to yours while dipping you—his other arm wound securely around your waist.

A woman who works at the chapel snaps a few pictures of the two of you kissing, holding one another, and beaming at each other, as well as at the cheap, disposable camera she holds in her hands.

After the two of you exit the chapel holding hands, laughing, and even crying a little, you get back into the car and Billy drives you to a bar, insisting on having some form of a reception, even if it’s just the two of you.

In reality, he deeply wants to have his first proper dance with you.

You stand in the middle of the room—the place near-empty; it’s a tad dingy and small—and wait for Billy to select a song from the jukebox over in the corner. You know he’s found whatever he’s looking for when a small smile comes across his lips.

He comes back over to you, takes one of your hands in his, and he leans his forehead down against yours just as Bob Dylan begins to hum the beginning of Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door. He rests his other hand against the small of your back, pulling you in close to his chest.

You close your eyes, reach up, and tangle the fingers of your other hand in his hair while the two of you sway back and forth to the slow song.

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

You open your eyes, and tears slip down your flushed cheeks as you press your lips to his own. “I love you.”

When the two of you return to the motel, Billy leaves the door to the room open, and he blares the song Don’t Stop Believin’ from the car’s stereo outside. He tugs you up onto the bed with him, and the two of you begin to jump up and down on the mattress while holding onto one another. You smile, laugh, and feel happier than either of you ever thought you could be—would ever be.

He crushes his lips to yours while holding your face in his hands, and then he pulls back. “Promise me that you’re mine for forever.”

You wrap your arms around his neck. “Forever.”

#fic: stranger things (billy hargrove x reader)#billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove x reader #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you

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jojomiwbvb6 · 9 months ago

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The Shower Scene, Pt. 4

Taglist: @emzandthevoid @mentallynot-here @bloodymug @sprokat @princesspeach-00 @ghoulsquad @missduffsblog @yeehaw-my-guys @lma1986 @artificialbreezy

Author's Note: I apologize for taking so long to do this chapter! I have had a bit of writer's block and I have been busy doing a lot lately. This will be the finale to this series, I really hope you enjoy! Feel free to give me more ideas! I was thinking of writing some Sasuke or Itachi fics as well.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, NSFW. Extremely long and descriptive smut, unprotected p-in-v (be safe about it, or use condoms please), overstimulation, degradation, praise, oral (female receiving), punishment, spanking, swearing, squirting, casual alcohol consumption

PSA: this is very obviously a work of fiction, and should in no way be taken seriously or literally. this piece of fiction uses real people in fictional and fantastical mindsets--and it is in no way a representation of the real person or who they are as a whole. Thank you for coming to our ted talk.

Atlanta.

The humid wind hits your face, the city never motionless around you. You inhale the air, closing your eyes and letting your body relax. Your nerves are completely jumbled and overstimulated as your mind mulls over the past week so far.

The pictures of yourself flash through your head. Noah's words flooding your mind. You can't escape the anxiety it brought you, and the excitement of your actions.

You stared at your feet, black vans reflected against tan concrete as you stood against the bus. Twiddling your thumbs and exhaling heavily, you turn to Davis as he approaches you.

"Hey, kid! Some of the guys were just thinking of exploring the botanical gardens and the zoo and maybe going for some grub, wanna come?" He smiles at you, raising an eyebrow for an inviting answer.

"Shit, bro, I'm down." You agree and smile back. It was the first day off in over a week and you were grateful for it. You were looking forward to moments with Noah, but you also needed to get out and do something else for once.

As you and Davis caught up with the group, consisting of both you two, Ruffilo, Noah, Matt, and Jolly (the rest went off to do other things), you could hear their jesting and cackles even from a ways back.

"Morning guys!" You say, smiling and out of breath.

"Hey (Y/N)!" You were greeted by multiple of them.

Noah turned, walking backwards. "Hey, (Y/N)," he smirks lazily, waving his hand, drawing his eyes over you subtly and licking his lips.

You huff, catching his eyes and offering a suggestive smile. "Hi, Noah." He smiles back at you, and then turns back around to continue walking. You admire his long, toned frame as he took smooth strides forward.

All of you thoroughly enjoyed the relaxing and wondrous vibes of the gardens and the culture of the city. Having been walking and exploring for over 2 hours, you all decide to pause your activities for a bit of lunch.

"What should we eat? I'm starving, man," Ruffilo comments.

"Hmm. Haven't had Chipotle in a while," Davis replies.

"How about sushi?" Matt adds.

You're silent. Honestly, you're so hungry, you don't even care what you guys eat. Anything sounds good.

Noah steps up beside you. "Sushi sounds fuckin' fantastic," he agrees.

When the others aren't paying any attention, Noah leans into your ear quickly and quietly, "I'm hungry for something else, though."

You almost gasp when he leans away, giving a quick caress to your ass while the others are walking away. He casually smirks at you, continuing to walk in the direction of the Japanese sushi bar on the corner.

Your face felt hot, and you were fighting the frustrated blush that crept up your face. You were nearly hyperventilating and you couldn't help it. You took a deep breath of the next gust of Georgia wind that caressed your face, composing yourself and catching back up with the group.

"Fuck, this hits the spot dude." Matt comments, and you're nodding along with the rest of the guys.

"Hell yeah."

You're all sitting at the table, a whole boat of sushi in front of you and then some. Ruffilo is sipping on sake while all of you make small chit chat.

"Hey! Ruffilo! Let me try some of that," you say.

"Ever had sake?" Ruffilo says.

"No," you state, taking the small white cup from his hands.

"What!" You hear half of the table exclaim, with pleas of interest in you trying the drink.

You slowly take a sip. Instantly the taste of the Japanese alcohol hits your tongue and you're writhing. "Yuck! Oh! That's revolting!"

Cracks of laughter erupt from the table. Soon, you are laughing as well.

"That's enough of that," you joke.

After lunch, you all go shopping and walk around downtown. After several hours of being out and having free time the whole day, it was time to return to the hotel that was booked for the night. In the morning, you would quickly pack up and shuffle back onto the bus for Orlando, Florida.

Walking away from the bus with a suitcase in hand and backpack over your shoulder, you step into the hotel. You stop at the front desk to get your keycard from the receptionist.

"Room for (Y/L/N), please."

"Ahh," she pauses, typing on her keyboard. "We don't have a room here, I'm afraid..."

You frown. "All of these rooms should have been pre-booked," you state. Your mind frantically searches for a solution. You begin to list the several names of the other crew members and band members, but most were already in their rooms. You thought of one more name.

Oh, you thought. He didn't!

"There may be another name," you try. "Sebastian?"

The receptionist, looking mildly annoyed now, huffs and types in the name. You ignore her annoyance, watching patiently. A look of resolve crosses the receptionist's face. You feel hopeful.

He did.

"Hmm," she says. "It appears one more keycard is available for this room. Just sign this document and you may have your keycard."

You fill out the appropriate paperwork, signing on the line. The receptionist pulls the paper back to her and slides the keycard across the counter. You exchange your thanks.

"Room 207, 3rd floor." The woman tells you and turns away.

You don't waste anymore time. As you walk down the hall to the elevator, the smirk on your face grows 10 miles wide, confidence enveloping you.

You knew exactly why he'd done it, and frankly, you weren't about to protest. Your heart slams into your chest with every sound of your heels and the roll of the suitcase wheels on the carpet.

You take a deep breath as you step onto the elevator.

207.

The silver numbers glint as you stand parked in front of the door. He was inside there already, waiting for you to come in. You exhale shakily as you grip the door handle, and you hesitate.

Closing your eyes, you begin to smirk. This is what you've been fiending after for several weeks. Taking another deep breath, you slide the keycard into the door.

The lock clicks and you twist the handle, allowing yourself into the room.

You analyze your surroundings. One lamp is on in the dimly lit room. A small walkway leading into a rather spacious double bed. There was a desk to the left, and a mini kitchen straight ahead. The bathroom immediately to the left. Without paying further attention, you walk to a bed and set your bag down on it.

You didn't seem to notice Noah, maybe he'd left the room for something. You shrug, bending over to open up your suitcase and lay it out.

Without you noticing, Noah slips out of the bathroom and leans against the wall, examining the rear view you're giving him.

"Well, well, already bending over? Princess, I haven't even taken off your clothes yet," Noah chuckles darkly.

You swear you jump 10 feet into the air, yelping loudly. If he hadn't scared you, his words would've gone straight to your core. "Noah Sebastian, for crying out loud!" You laugh and smack his shoulder. "Don't do that!" You both share a chuckle.

You can feel Noah decreasing the distance between you two and your laughter begins to fade. Noah's eyes flutter over you, landing on your eyes, your mouth, your breasts, feeling overwhelmed pleasantly.

You found yourself licking your lips. You begin to turn away.

Faster than the flick of a wrist, Noah's hand shoots up, gripping your jaw and squeezing your cheeks together. You are both silent, the tension shooting higher than ever.

You go to grab his hand and you are immediately caught by his other hand. He grips your wrist tightly, but not painfully. Noah's eyes change into dangerous slits and a playfully evil smirk takes over his features.

"The way that you have been torturing me has been driving me insane," Noah whispers into your ear. You want to collapse on the spot.

He begins walking you slowly backwards.

"You've been such a fucking brat, too, getting me hot for you at the worst times..." His hot breath fans your face, your own breath quickening in pace.

"The only thing I can think about is how I'm going to having you praying to me when I'm done ravaging you." You feel your hips hit the desk behind you.

"Noah..." you whisper.

He pulls at your face until you're eye to eye with him. He chuckled darkly.

"That's my fucking name," he growls into your ear. "And you're never going to forget it."

His hands leave your face and your wrist. Gripping your hips, he lifts you onto the desk and shoves you on it. He pulls you against his own hips, and his left hand rises to tangle in your hair.

Noah's cologne invades your senses, addicted to the scent. He tugs at the strands, inflicting a raspy moan from you. "How beautiful," Noah mumbles, helping himself to your inviting lips.

You both kiss as if life were going to end. His fingers flex against your clothed hips, pulling at your shirt and caressing you. Your tongues slipped against each other, nipping and suckling at each other's lips.

You wrapped your legs around Noah's hips, pulling him closer. Noah pulls away from your lips. Smirking, he pulls up your shirt with ease and tossed it away somewhere on the floor behind you.

"Such pretty, pretty tits..." he drawls, giant hands cupping them and he flicks a nipple. You gasp. Noah moves up your body, leaning over to envelope a taut nipple into his warm mouth. He flicks at it with the tip of his tongue and you moan quietly.

He pops off of you and smirks wickedly, and feigns a look of concern. "Is that just too much pleasure for you? Should I stop?"

"N-no! No, please, don't stop," You almost choke.

Noah stands. His bulge is prominent against his sweatpants and you almost drool. It seems so big and you can't focus on anything but the need you feel. Your core is hot and you squirm.

"Such a needy fucking slut." He pulls your body forward, running a hand oh-so-low but not enough.

You mewl as his fingers creep to your covered pussy and slowly tease the bud.

"Mmm.." you groan and Noah chuckles.

"Like that, babygirl?"

You nod.

"Too bad." Noah stops and you whine. "Enough of that. Strip,"

"Yes, sir."

Noah chuckles. "Such good manners for me. So desperate."

By now, you're a puddle of pleasure and you want it to swallow you whole. Noah sits on the edge of the bed as you peel your pants off your shaking legs. You remove your panties, tossing them aside.

"So pretty," he comments. "Come here and lay across my lap."

You obey, positioning yourself across his lap.

"Before we begin, is this something you're okay with me doing to you?"

"Absolutely," you confirm. "I can take it."

Noah hums in understanding. "Such arrogance. You will learn."

His hands begin to touch and caress the flesh of your behind, shaking the cheeks and watching them jiggle with satisfaction. He rubs in slow circles. His hand leaves your ass, forming a cup-shape, and crack.

The first spank stings, and you gasp out. His hand returns to rub the welt.

"Here's how this is going to go. You will get five spanks for our first time. This is your punishment for being such a slut," he rubs slowly. "If you fail to complete the spanking, I'll fuck your mouth. I won't stop if you choke or gag."

You whimper and nod your head.

"I'm glad you understand. If you succeed, princess, I'll have a taste of you for myself."

You mewl, squirming in his lap. "Now, now," he warned you. "Count for me." You nod frantically, wanting so desperately to please him. Although, you wouldn't complain if you failed the test.

The first two spanks were easy. His hand fell on tandem and you dutifully stated each number with each gasp and whimper he pulled from you. You really didn't think you could fail, how could you? Sure, it stung a little, but you could handle it.

As "three" fell from your lips, the usual soothing rub came to ease the sting.

"Everything okay, princess?"

"Yes, sir."

"May I proceed?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good girl," he whispered, making you squirm. He chuckled darkly. He pulled apart your cheeks, and leaned down. "Mmm, princess... so wet for me. Oh, I bet you're just aching. Let me help you..."

Noah dipped his fingers in between your legs. His fingers slid between the wet folds and you jolt. His other hand keeps you still and you're left victim to his merciless tease. He softly rubs into your wet heat and you're left mewling against his leg, head hanging.

Noah rubs the tip of his middle finger into your clit. "How's that?"

You nod frantically, unable to speak against his onslaught. At your response, he removes his fingers from your heat and resumes the next spank. The fourth spank is rougher and harder than the last.

"F-four!" You cry out, struggling to hold the composure that remained. "P-please, Noah, I--"

"Hush," he demanded. He caressed the welt, the red marks on your ass much to his liking. "One more for me, princess. You can do it."

Without any warning, Noah's fingers slip once again against your heat. Only this time, he doesn't relent. He teases and pinches your clit and you squirm, earning a dark chuckle from him.

Noah slides his fingers up to your entrance and sinks one finger inside of you and you moan.

"Noahhh, this isn't fair!"

"Be quiet, and don't you dare cum, or you lose," he threatens, and you obey with whimper after whimper as he pumps his finger in and out of you.

He adds another finger, and begins assaulting your clit with the other hand. You're an absolute mess against his lap, his fingers scissoring inside you and rutting against your g-spot. Bliss and pleasure overwhelms you, getting close to the brink as Noah's fingers continue to pump into you, faster and harder.

Your whimpers begin to form into cries, pleading for him to let you cum. Your eyes begin to roll back and you're trying to push back onto his fingers to get more from him.

"You like that baby?" He whispers in your ear. "Gonna cum?"

You nod, mouth agape. Noah smirks and removes his fingers entirely. You groan in frustration, and, as sly as he is, catches you off guard with the fifth and final spank.

Your brain almost can't comprehend the pleasure your body feels, the sting sending you into shock and you almost forget your task.

"F-f-five..." you stutter.

His large, long hands caress both cheeks of your ass and a kiss is planted onto the red welt on the swell of it.

"You're such a good, good girl, princess. I'm impressed. Good job," Noah praises you. "Lay down on your back for me."

You slowly get up and crawl onto the hotel bed mattress and lie down on the cushiony pillows.

"Spread your pretty legs, don't be shy."

You let your legs fall apart, spread against the sheets. Noah sucks in a breath and hums in satisfaction. He crawls up the bed to you, pulling his shirt off and tossing it aside as you had. Your eyes feast on the tattoos covering his body.

"God, princess, you're so fucking wet," you moan at his words and he dives in. Noah's tongue licks a wet stripe up your core from your entrance to your clit. You cry out, hands immediately finding his hair. Noah hums and you quiver, the vibrations stimulating you.

He licks into your folds with fervor, as if he hadn't eaten all day. His tongue dances and pokes at your entrance, pleasure spiking and you're squirming against his mouth. Noah laps at your clit, boldly taking the bud into his mouth and sucking at it. He then takes it into his mouth, swirling the sensitive area against his tongue, dancing in circles.

"Noah!!" you cry.

You arch your back, eyes rolling back as you grip his hair and pull, and he groans. Noah adjusts his position, shoving your legs up and he dives deeper into your pussy. He shoves his tongue up into it, swirling it and shaking his head like a rabid dog. You're practically crying out, thrusting against his face and leaving it a wet mess.

Offering you his fingers again, he dives against your clit once more, nipping at it and sucking it; this time, he aids his mouth with his fingers. Thrusting two digits in, his long fingers find your g-spot again. He mercilessly pokes at it, unrelenting with his tongue and fingertips. You're moaning and a mess and it's almost too much.

Your eyes see nothing but stars in the back of your head and you're moaning loudly. You cum and rut onto his mouth. "Fuck, fuck," you gasp.

Noah pops off of your pussy. "Tastes... so good..." he gasps. "I want more."

"I want you so bad, Noah," you whine. "I want you to fuck me."

"What a dirty mouth," he comments, stinking a finger in your mouth as he caresses your jaw. You wrap your lips around his finger and lock eyes with him. You suck and lock eyes with him. He smiles, and removes his finger.

Noah removes his pants and slides his boxers down his slim legs. The only thing you can do is lay there, mouth agape at the beautiful artwork before you. You bite your lip, you just can't wait.

He comes back to you, and you gasp in surprise when he forces your legs against your chest. Noah captures his lips in yours and lines his cock up with your entrance. He wastes no time in sinking in slowly. Due to your wetness, he slides in easily and sinks in as far as he's able. You're both gasping and long moans escape from your mouths and the intense heat between each other's legs.

He begins to move slowly, enjoying the teasing ways your walls grip his cock, threatening to take him deep.

"Fuck, baby... your pussy is just so fucking wet..." he mumbles. A low groan erupts from him, eliciting a moan from you.

His pace begins to quicken and he ruts in deeper. He just can't help himself when you give him the go-ahead by moaning louder.

Pretty soon, the room is filled with explicit sounds from the two of you. The sound of skin slapping fills the room and you're moaning. You're both mumbling the dirtiest phrases to each other, getting each other hotter and higher.

"Fuck" is the only word you chant as he thrusts into you like his life depends on it. He's fucking you hard and unforgiving.

"This pussy is mine," Noah growls into your ear, and you moan.

"Noah!!" You cry as his pace picks up, desperate and greedy. Skin slaps skin, near stinging, relentless. You can't help it when you cum, creating such a sinful sight for Noah as your wetness coats your legs and his cock.

He growls. "Fuck, I'm not done with you yet!" He pulls out and turns you over into doggy, pushing your stomach down and pulling your ass into the air.

He enters you again, finding his rhythm. Pulling you back against his hips in every thrust.

"Take me, take me, take me," you cry out.

Noah groans, picking up his pace. He twists his fingers into the strands of your hair, pulling your head back. He pounds into you, and at this angle the pleasure is overstimulating as his cock hits your spot over and over. He pulls you further back, forcing you to rise to your hands, the pace unforgiving and tears fall down your cheeks.

"Noah!" You cry once more.

Juices run down your legs as you cum one more time, but Noah doesn't seem to be done. You're worn out and fucked into bliss, drooling against the pillow. You can't think and your voice is hoarse.

He groans loudly, letting you know he's almost ready. You push back on his cock and he growls. Wrapping a hand around your throat and squeezing gently, he begins fucking in quick ruts. "Fuck, princess, (Y/N)!"

He pulls out of you, his cock glistening and pulsing as his cum shoots out in pearls against your stomach. You moan, but Noah isn't done.

His hand goes to your clit and he smirks. You cry out at the fast quick pace he uses on you, his fingers insert inside of you to smash against your g-spot in one final assault.

"Cum, (Y/N), one more for me," he insists. He doesn't stop, and quickens his pace.

"Noah, please!" You beg, too overstimulated and sensitive.

He doesn't listen, yet urges you towards an orgasm that feels like a tsunami coming for you.

It happens before you can stop yourself, your cum coming out in such a powerful wave that you squirt a little, making such a mess.

This absolutely pleases Noah and he smiles. "Perfect." He kisses your cheek. "You are wonderful." He praises.

You both lay there, panting and laughing, praising one another.

"Shower?"

"I think so."

#noah sebastian #bad omens #bad omens cult #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian smut #jolly karlsson #nicholas ruffilo #nick folio #noah smut #the Shower Scene Noah

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buckysdollbarnes · 4 months ago

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you are in love series - part one

one look, dark room

PAIRING: tfawts!bucky x grad student!reader

Summary: Moving to NYC to go to grad school, your friend's dad has a connection with the owner of a rental building in Brooklyn where you can live on your own, for cheaper than you could get anywhere else. On a student's budget, you strive to still make your place your own by thrifting as much decor as possible. Meeting your quiet and somewhat secretive neighbor, James, you gain some free labor to help you move the random stuff you buy, and with that he may be growing to love parts of the modern world he has been missing. With you in a big, new city feeling alone for the first time and Bucky wanting to make a connection with someone other than Sam and his therapist, maybe online marketplaces and a turntable will bring you both what you need most.

warnings: mild language

word count: 4.7k

a/n: this is my first time EVER writing fiction, usually I only ever write academic papers so this is fun. :) I read over and revised this chapter so many times, so I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed and I'm excited to start on the next chapter.

a/n: also!! sorry for it being so long genuinely just so much had to happen in this chapter for it to be set up the way I wanted, which I think I did well enough. lmk what you think <3

Why did I think carrying this by myself was a good idea? It might be cute and a great deal, but I don’t think I'll be able to feel my arms tomorrow. I might need to hit the gym again before I find more bargains like this. Hell, maybe I'll even invest in a neck towel, because this heat is unbearable. I’ve been searching for some larger pieces to fill my apartment, and this vintage bar cart should fit perfectly. Just five more blocks to go.

Moving here alone has certainly come with its challenges: being on my own in such a big city, dealing with a lot of stress, and managing on a tight budget. But I’m determined to make it work though and prove everyone wrong. Growing up, you see so many romcoms where the heroine leaves everything behind to chase her dreams in NYC, landing a job at a magazine or fashion house, living in a gorgeous high-rise, and meeting the perfect guy. It’s a beautiful fantasy really, but the reality is much tougher. New York isn’t a movie set; it’s a real city with real people, and you have to work just as hard, if not harder, to be here. I know that, but it feels like a majority of my people back home DON’T know that I know that.

I came here for school. In about two months, I’ll be starting my Master’s program at NYU. I don’t think I’ve ever been as proud as when I received my acceptance email. I worked my ass off in undergrad to earn strong recommendations and good academic standing, and seeing it all come together was a huge relief—until the reality of the cost hit me.

Luckily, a friend's dad has a connection with a landlord in Brooklyn and got me a good deal on a place of my own. It’s incredible not to have a roommate in this market, especially in a place where your bed doesn’t touch your stove, though it can be a bit lonely.

Finally, reaching the stoop, out of breath, you set the cart down on the pavement. Wiping your brow, you notice the street is unusually quiet for this time of day. The city never truly sleeps, but the residential streets seem to take occasional naps. A little breath of air somewhere where it feels like oxygen is running out sometimes. Light filters through the trees, momentarily blinding you, and you turn back toward the building.

“How on earth am I going to get this up to my floor?”

Carrying it down the street was one thing, but hauling it up the stairs is a whole different challenge. Plus, who knows when the building's maintenance has last been here, the steps might not hold up under the cart’s weight. They usually feel like they could give away holding one person.

Deciding that falling to your death and being crushed isn’t really how you want to go, you open the double doors and drag the cart into the lobby, using the wheels on one side. Passing the main desk where the worker, who looks completely uninterested, engrossed in a crossword puzzle, you make your way to the end of the hall and start pulling the cart backwards up the incline of the stairwell.

“Nah, I can’t,” you say aloud, after struggling up two floors, letting the cart rest on the landing. There’s still three more floors to go, but your body is clearly telling you the cart belongs right here. Maybe the universe wants it to stay here—who knows, maybe the entire second floor needs a communal bar more than you do.

“Excuse me,” a quiet but rough male voice comes from behind me. You turn around to see him—a guy you’ve seen around your floor a few times, though you’ve never talked. One of the neighbors. You quickly realize you’re blocking the entire staircase.

“Sorry! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I’ll move this um — just give me a second.”

You shove the cart closer to the wall to make some space for him to pass, but he stays put, his gloved hands in his pockets. He’s definitely handsome—tall and solid, but not intimidating. His furrowed brow and tight-lipped expression don’t exactly scream “welcome,�� but he’s still got a certain charm.

He shifts a bit, clearly wanting to say something but hesitating. Feeling a bit awkward under his gaze, you decide to try talking to him again.

“You can just squeeze by if you want. It’s just really heavy, so I’m taking a quick break before I try lifting it up again.”

After a moment, he seems to make up his mind and asks, “Do you need help?”

Looking back at him, you consider saying no. You pride yourself on being independent and capable, and part of you wants to insist you can handle it. But then you think about the struggle of getting the cart up the last two flights of stairs—only this time, it's three—and decide against it.

“You wouldn’t mind? You’re headed down, I’m sure you’ve got somewhere else to be.”

He gives a little smirk that makes you feel a bit dizzy.

“Well, I’m already here so.”

You nod slowly, a small smile appearing on your face.

“Sure, you can take this end, and I’ll get this o—” you start to say, but before you can finish, he’s already in front of you, lifting the cart with ease and starting up the stairs without breaking a sweat.

“Hey! Be careful, uh—,” you pause, realizing you don’t know his name.

He picks up on your hesitation and hesitates himself, considering whether to give his name. He’s wary of how others might perceive him, potentially recognizing his name from past news broadcasts or papers, still dealing with the shadows of his past despite his efforts to make amends. Not wanting to be dishonest, he chooses the safe option.

“James.”

“Be careful, James. I don’t want you tripping and falling on my account.”

“Won’t happen, doll.”

“What-,” you start, caught off guard by the pet name, “what if it does?”

“It won’t, see?” With the last few steps, you and James arrive at your floor. “Already here.”

He must have seen you around before too, to know where you live.

He gives you a quick look and then carries the cart to your door.

“This is yours, right?” He turns and looks at you expectantly. You rush over, fumbling for your keys to unlock the door. If he’s willing to move it all the way, who are you to turn him down?

You lead James into your apartment, wondering if it looks anything like his. The layout can’t be that different; it’s not exactly a luxury building.

He strolls further into the room.

“You can set it right here,” you say quickly. “Thank you for bringing it up for me. I was honestly thinking about giving up when you showed up.”

Setting the cart where you indicated, he straightens up, rolls his shoulders back, and gives you a look that feels intense.

“It’s no problem.”

His gaze wanders around your apartment, taking in the mix of vintage furniture and eclectic decor. On a student’s budget, you’ve filled your space with secondhand finds. It’s more affordable and personal that way. The place might not be filled with new things, but it’s entirely curated by you. Finding beauty in the mix of old and new is something you do well, and now, thanks to James, you have one more piece to add.

James’s eyes land on your turntable setup. He seems intrigued by your collection of records but doesn’t say anything, turning his attention back to you.

“I have to go.”

Your eyebrows lift at his abruptness. Sensing your surprise, he quickly adds, “I’ve got an appointment.”

You nod vigorously, urging him to go and thanking him again for his kindness. Feeling a bit sad that this chance encounter with your new neighbor is ending so quickly, you call out as he heads for the door.

“I’ll see you around then? Since you live here too.”

He turns on his heel, giving you one last smirk.

“Yeah, you’ll see me.”

As he heads down the stairs, you shut your door and lock it behind you. Wandering over to where James’s gaze lingered, you pull an album from the shelf, lift the acrylic cover on your turntable, and set the record down. You close the cover, push play, and let the needle softly drop onto the vinyl. As the music starts, your mind drifts back to James.

Embarrassingly, you find yourself hoping this isn’t a one-time encounter. You don’t know much about him beyond his name, but there’s something about him that makes you want to see him again.

“Two hundred bucks for this is crazy,” you mutter to yourself, staring in disbelief at the sofa you’re eyeing on Facebook Marketplace.

“People are practically giving this stuff away.”

Not wanting to miss out on such a good deal, you message the seller to check if it’s still available.

Since you got the bar cart about a week and a half ago, you haven’t picked up anything else. With the July heat blasting, just thinking about moving a sofa in this weather makes you want to rip off your skin to cool down.

You can’t help but think of James, who you’ve seen briefly in the hallway since your last encounter. He just nodded as he passed by, and that was it.

Your phone dings, snapping you out of your thoughts. The seller confirms the sofa is still available and offers to deliver it since they have a truck.

Excited, you reply with a yes, and they let you know they’ll head your way soon.

You get up to rearrange your furniture, making space for the new sofa. You don’t have much to move since you’ve been slowly collecting things. As you shift the pieces around, your turntable stops, signaling it’s time to flip the record. After you do, you take a moment to picture how the sofa will fit in the space.

Then it hits you—moving a sofa is way heavier than the bar cart. If you struggled with that, how on earth will you manage this?

“Independent woman, my ass.”

With the delivery imminent, you decide on the only solution you can think of. Without hesitation, you head to the apartment across the hall and knock softly on the door. You wait, hoping James will answer. After a moment of shuffling and then silence, you start to wonder if you should just try something else.

Just then, the door cracks open, revealing half of James’s face. He looks curious but not annoyed—no one usually visits him.

“Hey! James! Great to see you again! I hope I’m not interrupting anything, but I was wondering if you could help me out a bit? I just bought a sofa from this marketplace deal, and the seller’s coming to drop it off right now. He said he’d deliver it, but didn’t offer to help get it up to my apartment. I realized a sofa is way heavier than a bar cart, and you saw me struggle with that, so I was kinda sorta hoping you could help me bring it up here?”

After your rambling, you offer him a hopeful smile, waiting for his response.

A few moments of silence later, that smirk you’ve been missing appears on his face. Opening the door wider, he comments with a grin.

“You bought another thing you knew you couldn’t get up the stairs?”

“I honestly didn’t think it through. The deal was too good to pass up. I’m really sorry for bothering you. I can try to find someone else if you’re busy.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t help, doll.”

The smile that blooms on your face is unavoidable.

As the delivery guy drives away, James shows you where to grab the sofa and effortlessly lifts the other end. He encourages you to take the lead, making sure the weight is on him as you both navigate the stairs. With minimal effort, you get the sofa up to your place.

After some awkward maneuvering, you finally get the sofa into your apartment through the thin door and set it down. You put your hands on your hips and exhale deeply, only to find James already looking at you with that same intense gaze from before. It makes you a little nervous.

You can’t help but feel grateful—there’s no way you would have managed this on your own.

“I could have handled the bar cart,” you say, nodding toward the cart now adorned with bottles in the corner, “but this? No chance. Thanks so much for your help.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he replies. “I wasn’t busy.”

As you look at him, you start to feel like you know him from somewhere beyond being just a neighbor. Maybe you’ve seen him around the city before you moved?

Brushing off the thought, you offer, “You’ve helped me out twice now, and it doesn’t feel right not to return the favor. If your whole evening consists of not being busy, why not stay for dinner? I promise I’ll cook something totally good and not poisonous.”

James looks surprised by your offer but quickly hides it.

“You don’t need to do that. You don’t owe me anything,” he says, not wanting you to feel obligated or uncomfortable. He worries that his presence might not be enjoyable.

He wishes he could be as charming as he was back in the 40s. Being friendly used to come easily, and if he were still the same person he was at 26, he wouldn’t have left so quickly after helping you on the stairs the first time. He wouldn’t have had a therapists appointment to go to and he wouldn’t have a hidden arm made of metal. He’d have asked you to dinner or for you to let him take you dancing instead in return for his brawn. Now, he struggles to make new connections beyond a few familiar faces, like Sam, and asking someone for a dance feels out of reach.

“No, no! Stay, I insist! It gets kind of lonely around here, doesn’t it? Why not have a friend dinner?” you press, hoping he’ll take you up on the offer.

Seeing your sincerity, though still feeling a bit miffed, he finally agrees.

“Yeah, sure. I can stay.”

James settles onto the sofa while you work in the kitchen. You’ve decided on making some stuffed ravioli and garlic bread—easy, delicious, hard to mess up.

Before getting into cooking, you switch out the record, letting new music drift softly through the space. Unbeknownst to you, James watches closely, paying attention to how you handle the records and the turntable. The care you take when putting a record back in its slip, taking a new one out of its dust cover, and gently putting it on.

Seeing you focused on cooking, James gets up and strolls over to your setup. He runs his fingers lightly across the spines of the record sleeves, feeling a surprising sense of comfort. He hadn’t realized people still used record players so often.

The setup looks quite familiar to him, with many aspects reminiscent of the record players he used back in his earlier days. In his life before this one.

As you finish preparing the pasta and pull the bread from the oven, you call out, “Hey, food’s ready!”

You glance back to see James hovering by the turntable. He quickly moves to the table and sits down.

Over dinner, the conversation flows comfortably. James seems to be relaxing a bit, his initial reserve fading. He’s still somewhat guarded, but what he does share is genuinely interesting. You sense that opening up is challenging for him, so you respect his pace and take whatever he is willing to give. Laughing with each other a few times and getting through some odd topics, he mentions that he hasn’t had a home-cooked meal in quite a while and thanks you with a smile.

After a pleasant dinner, you decide to bring up something you’d been curious about.

“You like records?”

Caught off guard by the question, James tries to answer without revealing too much about himself. It feels strange to be here, knowing you don’t really know who he is, but he worries that being too open might scare you away. He decides to keep his secrets for now, selfishly hoping to get to know you better before revealing more.

“Yeah, I used to have quite a few records as a kid. My ma would play them too, especially when she was cooking, just like you. I didn’t realize they were still so popular.”

Excited by this glimpse into his past, you push further.

“Oh, there’s definitely a huge market for vinyl. Lots of people who think it makes them superior, but also a lot who just love the physical aspect of it.”

“So which one are you?” he asks.

You laugh and reply, “Maybe a bit of both.”

You glance up at him from beneath your lashes, catching his rare smile.

“But really, I just like having it. There’s something different about the listening experience. It requires more effort than just hitting play on a playlist. It’s about choosing a full album and actually sitting down to listen. That feels more intentional to me, and that’s why I do it.”

James seems to ponder your answer, his expression softer than before. He then turns his gaze back to the turntable.

“So, since you mentioned you had records as a kid, do you not have any now?” you ask.

He shakes his head.

“Haven’t had any for a long time. Talking about it makes me miss them. Everything these days feels so complicated. I like simple things like that.”

Watching him as he looks away, you hesitate but notice the nostalgic shine in his eyes. You sense he might appreciate physical music even more than you do.

“If you ever get any and don’t have a place to play them, you’re welcome to use mine.”

He turns to face you, his expression unreadable.

“I mean, I know it’s not the most convenient offer, but it’s there. One record lover to another,” you add with a smile.

He returns your smile, saying, “Okay… thank you. I’ll keep that in mind, Doll.”

That night, Bucky lies on his makeshift bed on the floor, staring up at the ceiling and replaying the events of the day. You knocking on his door for help with the couch, inviting him over for dinner, and all the easygoing conversation you shared. It was such a stark contrast to his usual rigidity. He'd let his guard down just a little—letting himself smile or flirt ever so slightly.

He wishes he were better at this. It used to come so naturally. Hell, before he left for war, he’d gone dancing with both his own date and Steve’s at the same time. Now, he finds himself listening to you talk while struggling to share anything of his own.

He doesn’t want to pass up your invitation, especially since you’re inviting him into your space again. Clearly, his reserve hasn’t put you off too much.

“What would I even bring?” he wonders aloud.

All he’s ever listened to is 40’s music and big band. He doubts that’s readily available these days.

Rolling onto his side, he grabs the cell phone Steve had insisted he get before he went back in time to live his real life, without Bucky.

“You can do anything on here, Buck!”

Scrolling through the three contacts he has, he taps on the name of the guy who’s been trying to reach him for weeks.

“So, is there a valid reason why you haven’t picked up my damn calls?” Sam’s voice comes through.

“Sam, hi.”

“Did you finally learn how to click the screen? Is that why I’m hearing from you now, old man?”

“Look, I’m sorry. I just don’t like the thing. Too confusing,” Bucky says, grimacing as he fiddles with the phone.

“Okay, okay, what’s going on, man? You doing alright?”

“I’m fine. I just have a question and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t harass me about it.”

“Is it about wizards?”

“What?”

“Wizards. Is the question about wizards?”

“No, what the hell. Look, I had dinner with one of my neighbors tonight—”

“Was it a girl?”

“Does it matter?”

“Hell yes, it matters. And from that response, I KNOW it was a girl, so—”

“It doesn’t matter. She has a record player, which I didn’t know people still used, and she offered to let me use it, but I don’t have anything to play on it.”

“I’m not getting the problem.”

“I only like the stuff from the 40’s and—”

“Did you listen to that Marvin Gaye playlist I sent you?”

“Not interested.”

“C’mon, man, it’s good stuff. Give it a listen.”

“Not feeling it.”

“Alright, your loss, I guess. Still not seeing the problem though.”

“What do I bring? I can’t just bring around the stuff I know because where would I even get it?”

“Whoa, man, what do you mean, where would you get it? Just go to a record store and hit up the vintage section or something.”

Bucky pauses, mulling over Sam’s words.

“They have that?”

“Duh. You know, you could answer these questions a lot easier if you just looked them up on your phone—”

“Thanks, Sam. Talk to you later.”

Lying back down, Bucky decides that the next time he’s out to see his therapist, he’ll first stop by a record store to find something to bring over to your place.

Your easygoing presence was so comforting, and he found himself longing for it as he drifted off to sleep. He’d see you again soon enough.

Later in the week, as you wind down from a busy day, you focus on making your space as calming as possible.

You light some candles and turn on an orange floor lamp, the soft glow wrapping around you and setting the perfect mood to sink into your sofa with the book you’ve been neglecting.

You’ve just started settling into your reading when you’re jolted out of your half-nap by the sound of someone knocking on your door.

You get up and peer through the peephole, and there’s your dinner guest from earlier in the week.

Opening the door with a smile, you greet him.

“Hey James, unexpected visit! What’s up?”

His eyes linger on you for a moment before he speaks. You glance down and realize your outfit—shorts that really lived up to their name and a tank top—might not be the most guest-appropriate.

Brushing off your embarrassment, you look back up at him.

“I’ve got something I’d like to play, if that’s alright?”

Bucky’s mind races. Standing at your door, he worries maybe you only offered your place to be nice, and now he’s making a fool of himself. Of course, you didn’t want him there—he could barely talk.

Just as he’s about to get lost in his own head, your bright smile pulls him out of it.

“Oh my gosh, please, come in. What do you have?”

His doubt fades away as he sees your genuine excitement.

“Brought some Sinatra. Not sure if you’re into that, but I used to like his stuff when I was younger.”

You spin around abruptly, staring at him in disbelief.

“There’s no way you think I don’t know who Frank Sinatra is…”

Bucky stumbles over his words.

“Well, I mean, it’s not exactly new stuff so—”

“You think I wouldn’t know ‘Fly Me to the Moon’? ‘Singin’ in the Rain’? ‘New York, New York’? I mean, I even moved to New York—I had to get the romanticism from somewhere.”

“What are those?”

You pause, confused.

“Like, the most iconic Frank Sinatra songs. You are talking about Frank Sinatra, right? Not some other Sinatra I’ve never heard of?”

“No, you’re right, it’s Frank.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“I guess I don’t know those ones.” He admits.

“So, what era are we talking about?” You ask, reaching for the record.

As you grasp the sleeve, you notice a glint of light catching James’s bare hand. Realizing he’s not wearing gloves, confusion sets in before it clicks. You HAD seen James before.

Looking up at him, he seems frozen, obviously panicking. He planned to tell you eventually, but not like this. Not when you weren’t close enough yet.

He thought there is no way you are going to want anything to do with him now.

You thought there is no way was there's an actual Avenger in your apartment right now.

You’re frozen, just like him, but more in shock rather than fear.

“Do you… usually go by James?” you ask cautiously.

Hesitating, he shakes his head.

“What do you usually go by then?”

Bucky feels anxiety creeping up his back. You’re both still holding the record, and he can’t tell if you’re scared or just surprised.

“Bucky.”

You stay silent for a moment while Bucky’s nerves are on edge.

“So… metal hand…”

Clenching his jaw, he replies, “Arm.”

“You’re that Bucky.”

“Yes.”

After a long pause, you start again.

“You’re an Avenger and you didn’t tell me?”

Bucky hesitates, his discomfort visible. “I’m— I’m not an Avenger.”

“What do you mean? You’re totally an Avenger! Why wouldn’t you tell me? How did I not recognize you before?” you ask, laughing in disbelief.

Bucky’s taken aback. You really thought he was an Avenger? You’re not scared of him at all, which surprises him. You must not know much about his past if you’re still standing this close.

“No wonder you don’t know ‘New York, New York,’” you say, almost to yourself. “It’s from after your time! This is crazy, I—”

You’re interrupted by his response.

“Are you not scared?”

“Of course not.”

Bucky closes in on himself, panic evident. “If you really knew me, you’d want nothing to do with me. I’ve—”

“I might not know the version of you you’re talking about, but I’ve met James, who helped me not once, but twice carry stuff he definitely didn’t have to up the stairs, stayed for dinner, has been very polite to me, and has given me zero reasons to be scared of him.”

He looks at you, his piercing blue eyes revealing an internal struggle. That one look holds more weight than his words. You can see the battle within him, torn between his past and the present moment.

“Listen,” you say, finally letting go of the record, “if you don’t want to stay, you don’t have to. But I’m not scared of you, and I actually like your company. So, regardless of whether you’re James, Bucky, or whoever, you’re still welcome here.”

You pause, adding, “And we can still play this if you’d like.”

Bucky struggles with his inner turmoil. The idea that you know who he is but still want him around is foreign to him. He doesn’t feel worthy of the kindness you’re offering, but it’s been so long since he’s received such warmth that it’s almost impossible to turn it down.

He’s not comfortable with his identity or his past, but in this moment, he wants to push it aside. If you don’t care, maybe he can allow himself not to care, even if just for a bit. Maybe he can prove something to himself, or even his therapist.

Handing you the record, he relaxes his face slightly. You’ve always thought him handsome, but in the dim light of the dark room, he looks almost ethereal.

You’re hoping he believes you because your excitement for his company tonight feels more significant than it probably should, but you’re okay with that.

“I’m Bucky.”

You smile warmly at this change. “Alright, Bucky. What do you want to do?”

He gazes at you deeply, his look sending a shiver down your spine and warming your chest. “Play it.”

a/n: well, hope this was alright. as I mentioned before, ive never wrote fiction before, but ive definitely read enough to get the gist.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #james buchanan barnes #winter soldier #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #james bucky barnes #Bucky Barnes x reader series #marvel fanfiction #Bucky Barnes slow burn

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morownic · 4 months ago

Text

of fever dreams and jamais vu

And, of course, like all fever dreams, he had to wake himself up from it. (But this one? This one was real.)

warnings/tags: NSFW MDNI (non-graphic smut), non-ultraman AU, afab + fem pronouns

next — series masterlist · my other works · ao3

a/n: there were a lot of songs that i listened to while writing this (animals) and i do have a playlist of them but i would recommend color tv to listen while reading the flashback part bcs i did write this part with that song on repeat lol. enjoy!

All the world and his wife was scrutinizing Ken Sato the moment he stepped out of the airport and took his first deep breath in his homeland after twenty years. Of course, he welcomed and basked in the attention even if it suffocated him—quite literally, he must add, what with how the reporters and photographers were almost wrestling each other to get a scoop on him. What came after that only gave him a headache after a headache. He had to settle in his new residence, a mansion he bought just 15 minutes away from where his father lived, one that felt way too big for just one person and his supercomputer assistant. He finalized his contract with the Yomiuri Giants, followed by a meeting with all the staff members and a less-than-formal outing with his new teammates to some club in Shibuya he didn’t bother to remember the name of, where he was just constantly reminded that he was alone. The day after that, he had to deal with a hangover, a press conference, and an interview that ticked him off—Ami Wakita, was it?—before ending the night with a bar fight that left his shoulder aching.

Ken was sure he wouldn’t even have considered moving back to Japan nor would he have let his father somehow slip back into his life if it wasn’t for his mother.

With his injury, your father needs you, kiddo.

And so, Ken Sato began his baseball career in Japan with the Yomiuri Giants. He brought the team to their first victory of the season despite a lot of things: how the media was still on his ass about why he would leave his career with the Los Angeles Dodgers behind, how Coach Shimura seemed to have a chip on his shoulder when it came to him, how the pain in his own shoulder would stab and dull with every movement he made. The way his shoulder ached left him wondering if he should have treated it more seriously rather than seeing it as an inconvenience, perhaps put his pride aside to admit that yes, that drunken brawl was fucking stupid, and my shoulder fucking hurts. That was why he didn’t think much of it when Coach Shimura was talking about bringing in some new guy—something about a new performance analyst or whatever—as a matter of fact, he couldn’t care less.

So, imagine his surprise when he showed up to practice and saw a face he hadn’t seen since graduating college in the States. A face that made his breath hitch because one, she was just that beautiful, and two, he had no idea why she would be here. A face that was so familiar he almost threw up from shock, anger, guilt, longing. A face that contorted into contempt at the mere sight of him.

Ken Sato was sure of one thing at that moment.

He was completely, utterly, thoroughly fucked.

Ken Sato wasn’t always the famed world-class baseball star he turned out to be, and she wasn’t always the blunt and tight-lipped new analyst for the Yomiuri Giants she turned out to be.

He was a doe-eyed, lanky Japanese kid who had above average grades in his classes and showed promising results as a slugger for the baseball team. He spent most of his freshman year being stereotyped and made fun of for how he looked and talked, and it only changed because he had his growth spurt in sophomore year. Not only did he become a cleanup hitter by the end of the year, girls were suddenly giving him bedroom eyes in the hallway and guys tried to make up for their borderline bullying by letting him into their cliques. His friendships with them were shallow, really, because they would still poke fun at this old accent even after he had nearly perfected his American accent. Ken took it in stride only because he knew everyone would never make fun of him in baseball, not when he had practically put his school on the map by winning tens of titles and playing in the Senior League. And so, by the end of high school, Ken had baseball to thank for almost everything in his teenagehood.

She, on the other hand, came to high school smart and pretty. Where Ken stood out like a sore thumb, she stood out like a broken finger. Someone being academically gifted and socially relevant was practically unheard of at that time. She was among the top 10 students in freshman year, earned her spot as the leadoff hitter for the softball team in sophomore year, won a national debate championship in junior year, and passed 4 AP classes with flying colors in senior year. She, too, had put the school on the map, perhaps even more contributively than Ken did, so the teachers only kept their grievances for when she skipped class to smoke. Even so, everyone seemed to like her regardless of their cliques; she was always greeted in the hallways, was almost always invited to every party, and had gone out with all the popular students. She could have had it all, and whatever her secrets were, Ken and the other students in their school only knew her as the high school sweetheart, the kind you would see printed next to the definition of high school sweetheart itself.

Ken had seen her in passing during freshman year, but he never really talked to her until they shared three classes together in sophomore year. He remembered that she had approached him first during PE, suddenly speaking to him in fluent Japanese that he nearly had a whiplash. She told him that yes, I know you’re also Japanese and sorry I didn’t talk to you sooner, then babbled something about how she felt guilty that she had just been watching while others made fun of him. He didn’t think much of it at first, still surprised that one of the popular girls—if not the popular girl—in his year was actually talking to him. But then, he found himself understanding every word she said whenever she talked in Japanese and replying to whatever she was saying in English; he found himself exchanging notes and numbers with her in math class; he found himself going to the baseball field with her during lunch breaks and seeing who could hit the farthest. He was somehow roped into bringing her home after he offhandedly mentioned her to his mother, and then, they somehow became best friends. He would cover for her whenever she skipped class to smoke, much to his dismay, and she would introduce him to other social circles outside his baseball team, where he found his first girlfriend—who, admittedly, broke up with him because the way he spoke about his “best friend” was laced with more adoration than the first kiss he had with her. He would wait until their practice sessions were over and drive her home, where they would spend at least three hours talking on her porch before he went home, and she would show up to his games with an obnoxious handmade banner that read “KEN SATO THE G.O.A.T,” cheering the loudest whenever he hit a home run. He would pick her up from anywhere almost every time she asked, even if he had to get himself out of bed at two in the morning, and she would hang out at his place every other weekend, bringing fruit baskets and takeouts for his mother. It was somewhat domestic, how she settled in his apartment (and his life) whenever she came over. Ken almost always had to ground himself because his brain would feed him thoughts of a future with her, and his heart would beat so hard it threatened to break out of his ribcage.

But they were just best friends, he thought and said to his friends whenever they asked him about her. Best friends who happened to suck off, eat out, and eat each other’s faces pretty regularly. He found it funny at first, really; one time, their classmates told her that she just wasn’t human, what with how she juggled school and being popular. She only laughed it off, but he thought of how right they were when she came over while he was home alone at the end of sophomore year. There was no way the girl kneeling between his legs was fucking human. Not with that tongue of hers. Not with the way she looked up and batted her eyelashes at him. Not with how she literally gulped down his load in one go and played Tekken on his console as if she hadn’t just given him the best head of his life. She quite literally sucked the soul out of him that day, and he never had another head like that ever since. Even as they started hooking up—strictly platonic, she said, and he just went along with whatever she wanted as long as it was with her—that was still the stuff of his wet dreams, and it remained that way even long after they never saw each other again.

“Do you think we’ll be friends forever?”

The question caught Ken off-guard not only because it broke the comfortable silence between them, but also the feelings it evoked. Where is she going with this? he thought. A frown was etched on his face as he turned to look at her. Under the soft glow of the star projector in her room, she laid on her back, eyes tracing the constellations that danced across the ceiling. Her breathing was far more steady than his, chest rising and falling slowly behind the thin fabric of his shirt. Her hair fanned out around her on the pillow, framing her face as if it was her halo. At that time, her expression was probably the most serene and somber he had ever seen. She’s beautiful, he said to himself, and he thought it wouldn’t be so bad to keep a picture of this moment in his head for his selfish reminiscing should they ever stop being friends. (He hardly thought she meant that they could be more than friends, and he didn’t want to entertain the thought of not having her in his life.)

“Yeah?” He answered and mentally cursed himself for sounding so unsure. After clearing his throat, he corrected himself: “I mean, yeah, why not?”

There was no way she hadn’t seen the way he was staring at her from the corner of her eye. Even if she did, she didn’t turn her head to face him and only hummed in response to his answer. A look of contemplation appeared on her face as she kept quiet for nearly another minute. Ken swore it felt like an eternity.

“What if–” She sighed. “What if we fuck up and hurt each other? What then?”

Ken somehow knew that she already knew that there was no way she could ever fuck him up. (She already did, anyway, literally and figuratively.) Not with how he looked at her, not with how he reached out to hold her hand, not with how he promptly turned his head to face the ceiling once she was turning to look at him. Perhaps, what she was looking for was the reassurance that he wouldn’t fuck her up. He squeezed her hand when the thought crossed his mind.

“I’ll still be your friend anyways,” he said, softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

A chuckle left her lips then. She didn’t let go of his hand as she moved to hover over him, replacing the twinkling manmade constellations in his sight. (He thought she was brighter than any star in the sky, anyway.) He raised his brow when he saw the mischievous glint in her eyes as she leaned down, her lips nearly closing in on his.

The grin she had on her face was enough to tell him she was up to no good. “Are you a masochist?”

“You–seriously?”

He might’ve groaned from annoyance, but the way her body shook with laughter on top of him was enough to make that godawful warmth bloom in his chest. He pulled her in for a kiss, though he wasn’t sure if it was to shut her up or if he just wanted to, and he thought that if anyone were to see them like this, no one would ever believe him if he told them that they were just best friends. Hell, everyone had enough of his answer whenever they asked him about it at school, and he was even picked on again at some point—but not for how he looked or talked. No, he was picked on for being her “best friend” because no matter how many people had tried to make her theirs, she kept coming back to him. But then they would find Ken making out with one of the cheerleaders under the bleachers and her sucking off some guy from the football team at some senior’s house party. It was confusing for everyone, but even more so for Ken, because every time she asked him to pick her up from God-knows-where, he would see red when she saw her huffing out a smoke, disheveled because of someone who was not him.

And, of course, like all fever dreams, he had to wake himself up from it.

“–Sato.”

Two things snapped Ken out of his trance then. First, it was the voice that called out to him, then it was the pain in his shoulder. Ken found himself standing on the batter box in Tokyo Dome, a bat in his hand, and his breath was ragged. The seats were empty, the sky was turning dark, and then he remembered that he was at practice. He was at practice, not on the porch at her old house in Los Angeles holding her close as she cried over that one guy who supposedly broke her heart. He was at practice, not at the frat party where he met her again for the first time after months of no contact and saw her giggling on the lap of some jock. He was at practice, not in front of the diner they used to go to almost every other day where he said awful things he didn’t mean and maybe, just maybe, that was the reason why she had left for Japan the next day. (She had waited for him to come to the airport, to at least apologize, but he never came. He had turned off his phone during practice.)

Ken sighed and lowered his bat, hissing when he rolled his left shoulder. He steadied his breathing and regained his composure before his eyes flickered to the field. His teammates were waiting for him to hit another ball so they could continue their fielding practice. Then, he turned to the one in front of him—Yoshida, right?—whose voice pulled him out of his train of thought. Yoshida raised his brow when he locked eyes with Ken.

“Are you distracted or something?”

It was his turn to frown. “What?”

“Are you distracted by the new girl or something? You kept looking back at the dugout earlier.”

Ken almost dropped his bat when he heard that, his neck turning so quickly that he was surprised he didn’t give himself a whiplash. “What?”

Yoshida nodded in the direction of the dugout, and Ken turned to look. His grip around the bat tightened as his eyes darted towards the dugout. Her back was facing the field, leaning against the metal fence that divided the field and the dugout. Her arms held a clipboard to her chest, and he could only see her side profile from where he was standing as she spoke with Coach Shimura. The two of them looked familiar already—he really didn’t know how she did it, given that he was still at odds with the coach, but it was so her, he thought, the way she could get along with all the people he couldn’t—as Coach Shimura was talking more expressively with her than he had ever seen him. She was nodding to whatever Coach Shimura was talking about with a smile on her face, one that didn’t reach her eyes, and he berated himself because why and how the fuck could you tell from this distance? Ken’s lips parted as Coach Shimura’s expression changed and nodded in his direction, and his breath hitched as he saw her turning slightly towards him.

Ken’s heart dropped as the smile on her face faltered, replaced by an unimpressed look and an air of disdain that made him shiver. The world seemed to stop right then and there; even when she looked at him as if he was the reason behind her suffering—which was probably true, to an extent—he couldn’t help but think of how beautiful she was. Even with the hint of blood between her slightly cracked lips and the dark circles under her eyes that she didn’t bother to hide with some concealer. Even with how she looked even paler than she was when they were still in Los Angeles and how her cheekbones seemed to protrude and her cheeks seemed more hollow. She was beautiful, yet she contrasted her old self, which bothered him so much that dread started to pool in his stomach. Ken knew her and would even say he knew too much of her. But, right at that moment, it was as if he was looking straight into a stranger’s eyes and not the pair he had fallen in love with, as if he was looking at the stuff of his nightmares and not the girl of his dreams, as if he had never known her at all.

(What if it was true?)

Ken pinched his arm, hard, and winced when the pain seared through his body and kickstarted another throbbing ache in his shoulder. None of the stuff of his fever dreams, the dread and peculiarity of it, should have been real. This was real. So, if this was real, then God must not only be fucking joking, but He must’ve been thoroughly fucking evil to be putting him through this.

“Oh, fuck.”

#bungee.doc #ken sato #kenji sato #ken sato x oc #kenji sato x oc #ken sato x reader #kenji sato x reader #ken sato fluff #ken sato smut #ken sato angst #kenji sato fluff #kenji sato smut #kenji sato angst #ultraman rising #ultraman

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winedarkthoughts · 7 months ago

Text

house of addams (3)

— 🌖 pairing: ot7 x fem.reader

— 🕷️ genre: mystery, angst + fluff + smut

— 🗝️ word count: 4k

— 🍄 summary: the coroner of Farrow's End finally invites you into his kingdom, and you can feel more than one set of watching eyes as you continue your investigation.

— ☕ content warnings: coroner!taehyung, assistant!jungkook, mentions of murder/death/suicide

— 🕸️ a/n: meeting more of the boys!!

previous chapter ← series m.list → next chapter

chpt. 3: into the morgue

"Have her come in," Taehyung says over dinner.

There's a collective clang as several sets of silverware are put down.

"I don't know if that's a good idea, hyung," Jungkook replies. He's nervous around you, especially because you can see more than you let on.

"We're going to have to eventually," Namjoon adds, and Jimin sends him a mischievous, knowing look. He knows how Joon likes to watch you in the bookshop, offering his assistance at his earliest convenience, asking if you need help finding anything specific.

"It's obvious she was hired by the mayor," Yoongi says. "Though, I'm not entirely sure why."

They all know that Mayor Summerbee runs in some of the same circles that they do, but they wonder if you're aware of that fact too. How much did she tell you?

"At the very least, it'll tell us what she already knows," Yoongi says.

"And if she scares easily," Taehyung adds, suppressing a smirk.

What kind of private investigator are you? Are you motivated by self interests? Are you just here to get the job done, bare minimum? Or are you the morbidly curious type? The kind that can't stop until a mystery is solved, even if it leads you to dangerous places.

Yoongi and Namjoon already have a guess at which type you are.

"She has some kind of sight," Jungkook says, biting his nails. The real question is how sharp is that sight?

"I don't think she knows that she has it," Jin pipes in.

They exchange glances, thinking.

"Well," Hoseok says, and they all turn to look at him. "I suppose we'll just have to test it."

september 27, 2004

You've seen your fair share of coroners. Good ones, even excellent ones, and the ones who never should've been appointed to the job in the first place. Most people aren't aware that there is no national standard for coroners, some don't even have medical training.

You remember a case not too long ago when a family mourning the loss of their son hired you to investigate the circumstances of his death, which was ruled "accidental" at the time. The coroner had not had any prior forensic training, he was an OBGYN turned politician. Elected by the small-town voters (nearly 80% of coroners in the U.S. are elected, by the way), he was cushy with the local police force.

And being your naturally suspicious self, or maybe it's a side effect of your job, you pressed for a second autopsy by an examiner actually worth his salt.

The external examination alone proved that it was far from accidental. His wounds suggested severe beating, and his cause of death was suffocation from being choked, homicide not accident.

Further investigation revealed police brutality. You pushed and pushed and pushed, and after being enough of a pain in the ass (and threatening several lawsuits), they finally convicted the officers responsible.

The family still sends you a Christmas card every year, and it more than makes up for being a pain in the ass for living.

So yeah, you don't trust coroners, or their reports, until you get the chance to evaluate their level of competence for yourself. And the fact that the coroner of Farrow's End has been so resistant to your attempts to contact him doesn't bode well.

But today, the Monday following your little expedition up to the Addam's House, he's finally available to see you. Last night you received a call at around midnight, seemingly from the same young man you saw on the other side of the gate the other day.

Of course you were awake, but you wondered why the coroner's office would be up and running at such an hour. Maybe a late night emergency autopsy? It wasn't unheard of, sometimes a Sheriff will request an autopsy to be completed as soon as possible when the press are particularly bothersome and the cause of death is unclear.

You didn't get the chance to ask, because the man started rattling off about how the coroner would be able to see you tomorrow morning, and he advised that you bring any notes you might have.

Good sign, it suggests that the coroner is willing to work with you.

It's early, maybe a little too early. The fog is blanket-thick and the clouds are sprinkling down a fine mist of rain.

You take your car as far as the rocky dirt road allows, park it at the base of the hill, and trudge on through the mud, the umbrella over your head immediately collecting dew.

You reach the gate, closed like last time. When you reach for it, you're expecting to find it locked, but just as your fingers are about to touch the cold metal, the gate swings open with a long creak.

You stand there for a moment, searching for some kind of mechanism that would make it open by itself, but you find nothing but old iron forged in intricate patterns.

Whatever, you've seen weirder. You slip through the parted gates and close them behind you.

Gigantic trees, pines it looks like, envelop the perimeter of the surrounding gates, with twisting, leafless trees in abundance nearer to the house, even though fall is just beginning to dawn and most leaves haven't even begun to change color yet.

You didn't notice it before, but these leafless trees are full of crows, black tufts perched on the reaching branches. No, crows and ravens. They call out as you pass by, and you get the odd sense that every single one of them is looking at you.

The cobblestone path leading up to the front door is overgrown with weeds. The exterior of the house, now that you can see it up close, is almost decrepit. The wood is rotting, the roof is sagging, the windows are dirty and smudged.

They rent this place out?

"Ma'am!" a voice calls out.

You search for the owner of the voice, finally finding it at the side of the house. It's the young man from the other day, peeking around a brick corner. He gestures you over and swiftly disappears again.

When you turn the corner, the man is standing by a double hatch door in the ground. Not a good sign for a supposed "morgue."

He seems to read as much on your face, because then he's saying, "I would take you down the elevator inside, but everyone is still asleep."

There's a childish nervousness in his voice, and it makes you send an uncharacteristic smile his way as you step through the door and down a spiral staircase.

Distracted, you don't see the curtains twitch, and the several faces in the windows above, watching.

The passage runs deep. You emerge in a wide hallway, lined with carved wooden walls and old portraits. The foundation is clearly old, but there are newly installed fluorescent lights that don't do the original craftsmanship justice.

"How old is this house?" you blurt out, and the young man can't suppress a high, boyish laugh.

"I'm not sure, around a century, I think," he says.

Wow hard to believe it's gone untouched for so long, you think as he leads you down the extensive hallway, passing several branching doorways.

Your eyes drink everything in, curious and scrutinous. Again, the man seems to read your mind.

"It might not look it, but we have a state of the art facility here," he begins.

"Crematorium," he gestures to one door. "Viewing room. Embalming room. Autopsy room. And the largest refrigeration unit in five counties."

This place is extensive, and the further you go, the cleaner and more modern it gets.

You notice that the man is wearing similar clothing from before: a large coat (broad shoulders) and big, thick boots. Black, laced up over his ankles it appears, it makes the thud of his footsteps echo against the walls.

You wonder if they are corpse-handling boots, or merely a style choice.

"Here's the office," he says, leading you into a small but cozy room fit with a cluttered desk and a few dusty but comfortable-looking armchairs.

"You can have a seat if you like," he says, nervousness creeping back into his voice.

You take him up on the offer, sinking into one of the armchairs despite the fact that you're a little damp from the rain. But judging by the state of the chairs, you doubt it would bother them.

It's then than you realize how chilly it is down here, in this basement maze tucked under an ancient house. Damn, you're so—

"Cold?" the man says suddenly. "I'm sorry, we get quite the chill down here. Would you like some coffee or tea?"

You perk up almost instantly.

"Coffee, please," you reply maybe a little too perkily, because it makes him smile at you, exposing those bunny teeth again. Very cute.

He disappears through another doorway, into some sort of kitchenette judging by the sounds coming from it (metal banging, water running, porcelain clanking).

You take a look around. The office walls are lined with framed photos and plaques all boasting the same name: Kim Taehyung. Bachelor of Science in Biology, Bachelor of Science in Chemistry, Master of Forensic Science, Embalmer's License, Medical Examiner Certification, Doctor of Medicine.

Got it, this man is learned. Good sign.

The young man returns with a silver tray in his hands. He sets it down on the ottoman between the two armchairs, grasping the black teapot and pouring fresh steaming coffee into a matching black teacup. You notice that the sugar cubes are in the shape of skulls and bones, and a part of you admires the dedication to the aesthetic.

You prepare your cup and sip greedily. The coffee is rich and strongly-brewed. Another good sign. It may not contribute to your investigation, but at least you can respect him as a person.

The young man takes the seat next to you and prepares his own cup.

For the first time since you arrived, you aren't distracted by your surroundings, and you're realizing just how strange this young man looks.

His skin is a dull shade of gray, with slight red blemishes and spots of dark purple flesh that look like deep bruises. His lips are simultaneously pale yet also tinged red, like there's blood inside his mouth. And his eyes, they look like—

The man seems to notice you staring at him, because he shifts uncomfortably in his chair and coughs awkwardly.

You blink, and his form seems to blur at the edges, becoming fuzzier and harder to latch onto. Maybe he has some sort of skin condition. But that wouldn't explain the feeling that something isn't quite right about him, something uncanny.

"I'll go see if Dr. Kim is ready for you," he says, practically sprinting out of his seat and out of the room. You hear his footsteps pounding through the halls, then hushed voices.

You being you, the debate over whether to slip through the hall to eavesdrop on their conversation does cross your mind. But you figured that even with your silent feet, they would probably still hear you rustling around in the quiet of the morgue.

A few moments later, and you hear one set of footsteps returning to the office. The young man pops his head into the doorway.

"He'll see you now," he says, vanishing just as fast. The way he appears and disappears like a ghost is starting to give you whiplash.

You follow him down the hall, entering a fluorescent-lit room fit with chrome features. The walls are lined with little doors, drawer openings, and there are several gurneys scattered throughout the room. The chill is even stronger here, this must be part of that state of the art refrigeration system.

The man standing in the center of it all is wearing a white medical gown and black latex gloves. He looks up as you enter, and—

Oh. He's young, startlingly young, early thirties max. His skin is golden tan over strong, handsome features. Dark tiger eyes, sharp and perceptive. The only indicator of his age is several tendrils of silver hair growing from the crown of his head.

"Good morning," he greets in a deep, charming voice. "Miss ______?"

"Yes, Dr. Kim?" you reply, holding out a hand.

"Just Taehyung, please," he says, taking off his gloves to shake your hand firmly, and jesus his hands are large and very pretty.

Ah, so he's not a pretentious asshole who insists on being addressed as "doctor" constantly. Another good sign. Though, judging from his extensive education, in this case it would be justified.

"I'm so sorry we couldn't see you sooner. It can get quite busy with just the two of us down here," Taehyung says.

You can't help but take another glance around the room. Only two people running this whole facility?

"I understand that you're working with the mayor?" Taehyung inquires, his casual voice good at hiding his burning curiosity.

You, in turn, are good at hiding the slight suspicion from hearing the mayor mentioned yet again. You're not sure who you're suspicious of though, him or the mayor herself.

"Yes, I was hoping I could get copies of the autopsy reports for Michael Bradley, Jarvis Laplan, and Sharon Mason."

You say it matter-of-factly, curious if they will bend at the slight flex of authority in your voice. Or, if being associated with the mayor yields certain results.

The two of them glance at each other.

"Access to Laplan and Mason aren't a problem, but Mary Bradley has requested that no further information on her husband's death be released," Dr. Kim replies, cool as a cucumber.

Your eyes widen just a bit, unable to hide your surprise. Wait...what? He would just give you the reports for Laplan and Mason, just like that? No request for credentials? No questions asked?

Truth be told, you've never gotten hold of an autopsy report after the first ask. You've always had to jump through hoops to get the right permissions and authorizations, as is the case for private investigators since they are not real police. And rightly so, the fine details of people's violent deaths is not something to be made light of, in your opinion.

Clearly your confusion is evident on your face, because then Taehyung is saying, "Laplan's wife and Sharon Mason's parents are quite eager for further investigation."

Ah, so they suspect something unusual too. Hopefully they'll be more than willing for an interview.

"And Bradley...?" your voice trails off with the question.

Taehyung furrows his brows like he isn't sure how exactly to put it.

"Mrs. Bradley has had a bad experience with the press," is all he says.

You can feel your eyebrow raise.

"Is she still a suspect?" you ask, deadpan.

Taehyung is quick to correct himself.

"No, god no!" he says, eyes wide and head shaking. "His death was purely accidental, a tragedy that could've been avoided."

Your attention catches on that last part like a snagged thread on a nailhead.

"Oh? Why do you say that?" you ask, unconsciously taking a step forward.

Jungkook, who's silently watching the whole exchange, can't help but think it makes you look predatory, a hunter locked onto their target with frightening accuracy.

But Dr. Kim doesn't bend. He tilts his head ever so slightly as the corner of his mouth curves up, like he respects your drive.

"Well, Michael Bradley exhibited signs of extreme mental distress, many of them suggestive of suicide."

"But you don't think it was suicide, do you?" you say, before you can help it really, because your mind is running a hundred miles a minute right now.

Jungkook can sense it too, his eyes Bambi-wide and watching in fascination as the cogs turn in your analytical brain.

"No, I don't." It comes from Taehyung's mouth like a sigh. You don't see it (Jungkook does), but he's impressed.

"That's all I can say really," Taehyung says suddenly, sounding apologetic. "You'll have to speak with Mrs. Bradley about getting access, but talking about her husband is painful for her. And she's been through enough."

He cares about people, the ones he works on are not just bodies to him. Very good sign. You're coming to the conclusion than Dr. Kim is definitely a coroner worth his salt.

"I'll be sure to proceed delicately, then," you reply softly. You're trying to say it back. I care about these victims, this isn't just a case to me. Everyone has a story.

He seems to get it, nodding his head with a gentle smile. Something very small, almost ghostly, clicks between you.

Jungkook observes it all in a slight state of awe. He can already tell that the rest of them, his "family," are going to like you.

Taehyung gives you the copies of the autopsy reports, a sizable stack of folders and papers and photos. He even gives you a copy of the autopsy transcript.

You realize that he was prepared to give you this information before you even got here. Either Mayor Summerbee is a very persuasive person, or Dr. Kim is eager to work with you. Maybe both.

Your point is proven seconds later when Taehyung hands you a business card (with his personal number scrawled on the back), as he tells you that you're free to contact him with any questions you might have.

You profess your thanks with an armful of documents, making a point to shake Dr. Kim's and Jungkook's hand firmly.

Jungkook leads you back, his boots softly thudding with every step, and you can feel Taehyung's eyes on your back as you walk through down the long hallway.

Jungkook is kind. He offers to help you with the massive stack of documents in your arms, but you politely refuse. You've got liquid gold in your possession.

He holds the gate open for you, even offering to walk you to your car, but again, you decline and thank him for his offer.

The gate shuts behind you with a resonate clang. As you turn away from the house to begin the trek down the muddy hill, you feel an odd sensation, like tingling insects down your back.

Looking over your shoulder, you see the curtains of several windows suddenly fall back into place. Someone, several someone's, are watching you.

You can't find it in you to be creeped out, though. Something about this house, despite its run-down appearance, is welcoming. Beckoning, even.

It's dark and old and practically falling apart, but many things that you love also happen to have those same traits.

A slight smile tugs at your lips as you turn and make your way down the path. You'll have to find out more about this place.

"Again. She saw through my glamour again," Jungkook announces to the room, sounding slightly defeated.

"Don't worry, Kook. It's a solid spell, I checked it myself," Yoongi replies as he waters one of the endless houseplants adorning their home. Thanks to Yoongi himself, of course.

"She saw through mine too," Taehyung says, resolute. He's staring at the black and white checkered floor, deep in thought.

Everyone looks up at that.

"That proves it then," Namjoon says. "She has a heightened degree of sight."

"I wanna know why though," Yoongi interrupts in a sudden bout of passion. "She's human. Why is she able to see everything?"

"Not the house though," Jungkook blurts out. "The glamour on the house held up."

"Of course it did, the house magick is stronger than any of us," Jin quips from the kitchen, standing over a sizzling stove.

"Lots of humans have the sight," Jimin says lazily, sprawled out in one of the lounge chairs.

"Yeah, but it's the type of humans who turn it into a cheap gimmick," Jungkook replies, pacing around the room now.

Taehyung crosses the distance between them in a few strides, putting a large hand on Jungkook's shoulder. The younger man looks up at him, then lets out a breath and returns the smile.

"You're safe, Kook," Taehyung says softly. "No one's gonna put up a fuss."

Jimin chuckles. "She might."

Taehyung throws a scolding glance over his shoulder. "A real fuss, I mean. Everything's been kept under wraps so far."

"And she's not a phony, or a leech. The mayor made sure of that," Yoongi says.

"In any case," Jin begins, an authoritative edge to his voice. "Hoseok said to keep an eye on her, so that's just what we'll do."

september 28, 2004

You may be a damn good investigator, but you're no med student. So the next day you set out to the bookstore, determined to understand every last term and phrase in the autopsy reports.

The same man is behind the desk, but this time he's bent over a typewriter, clacking away. You can't help but observe him for a moment, watching as his dark eyes dart over the page, the way his glasses rest at the edge of his nose like a wizened old man.

"Welcome in," he calls out at the chime of the bell on the door, like an instinct.

You take a few steps into the ever-crowded space, your eyes shifting over all the things you missed the last time you were here. Because that's what kind of place this is, somewhere you could go a hundred times and find something new each visit. Places like this are quite dear to you.

You're about to examine a shelf full of perfectly preserved beetles, when you sense the man look up at you.

"Oh," he says, like he's pleasantly surprised. "It's you."

And you would be lying if you said it didn't make your gut feel something warm squirming inside it.

"Need help finding anything?" he asks, like he has every time you've visited this place.

"Yes, please," you reply, barely hiding your smile.

He leads you through the maze of shelves like it's a map of his own brain. Several times you have to hurry to catch up to him in his excitement.

Soon your arms are occupied by an impressive stack. Anatomy, general medical knowledge, crime scene identification, even a few textbooks on post-mortem examinations.

To you, it's more liquid gold. You profess your thanks to the bookshop keeper, dropping a generous tip into the jar when you go to checkout. Again, the books are almost too reasonably priced. Not that it matters, since research purchases are an easy business expense ride-off.

Just as you turn to leave, the man clears his throat awkwardly, like he's building himself up to speak.

"There's plenty of places to sit here," he almost blurts out. "Lots of cozy nooks. Perfect for...research."

You pause at the door to glance back at him. You find him watching you closely, his expression somewhere between innocently curious and suggestive of hidden knowledge on his part.

"I'll keep that in mind," you reply, a little teasing lilt to your voice. Because clearly he enjoys your company too.

Then you turn on your heel and let the door swing shut behind you, leaving him wanting more.

a/n: thanks so much for reading!! i would combust with joy if you'd tell me any of your thoughts :D

NEXT UPDATE: 05/25/24

#bts ot7 #bts x reader #ot7 x reader #bts fanfic #bts mystery #bts x fem!reader #bts series #bts angst #bts fanfiction #bts poly au #bts poly x reader #bts polyamory

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storiesfromafan · 4 months ago

Text

Benny x Reader

A/N: first off, want to say this is my first time not only writing a Benny fic, but also writing something different to my usual stuff. So please be kind, as I am terrified to post this haha.

I have been thinking about this idea, and possible series, for over a week. So I finally bit the bullet and wrote out the first part. It's more of a set up for the reader, as I want to make this a series. As well, I left out places and such, but tried to do it in away that its not bad. Only because I'm from Australia and don't really know much with America, only what I've seen in movies and TV shows.

If it is not really liked, I will take it down. But if anyone is interested, I am happy to keep going. I have two more parts kind of planned out. But there is a few idea's I'm not 100% sure of. So if anyone want to talk Benny and these ideas, please message me.

Alright, I guess on to the story then...

“Tell me about the first time you met Benny?” Danny asked moving his microphone towards you.

You were sitting on your couch, lit smoke in hand. “Honestly, the first time I saw Benny, that was something. He saw me more then I really saw him”.

“What did he say to you? Or what did you say to him?” Danny asked adjusting the recorder.

You chuckled. “We never said anything to each other, well I said something but it wasn’t to him. You see I’d just gotten back from living with my Aunt for over three years. I’d gone to live with her when I was nineteen, prior to that for the last ten years the woman had been on my dads case. She believed a man couldn’t raise a girl. My old man wouldn’t listen to her. So I grew up a tomboy, eventually he entertained her request”.

You took a drag from the cigarette between your fingers, before releasing the smoke. “I can tell you living with that woman was torture. Along with her daughter, who had just gotten engaged when I arrived. They both took to teaching what is expected of a lady, how to dress, walk and talk. The only way I survived it was when I made friends with some locals there that raced motorcycles. When my Aunt found out, she flipped out, sent me back after I wouldn’t change my ways...”

~~~

How you managed to pack up three years in two large suitcases surprised you. But here they were, back in your old room on your families farm. The room looked just as you had left it, only a tad dusty from half assed cleaning courtesy of your dad and brother. Looking around brought back memories. Your best friend pushed past you and took a seat on your bed.

“Can see the males of the house don’t know how to clean properly” she commented running her hand over your bedding.

“Unfortunately not. If they did, along with being able to cook, then women would not be required” you laughed lifting and bringing a suitcase over, before dropping it on the bed.

“Agreed" she laughed with you.

You began to unpack the suitcase, which had mostly shoes, tops, bottoms, personal items. Once that one was done you removed it from its place before replacing it with the second suitcase. This one had a few more tops and bottoms, but mostly your dresses.

“Lilly, do you mind getting the dresses out and I will hang them up?” You asked her as you put away the last of your tops and bottoms.

“Sure” was her response before taking out the first dress and handing it out to you.

You thanked her while taking the garment from her hands, putting it on a hanger and then placing it in your closet. While doing this together Lilly filled you in on the town gossip, along with that of people you had gone to school with.

“You remember Anne, right?” – You nodded your head – “she has turned into a real Miss Prim and Proper! No doubt it’s her mummy’s doing, dolling up her daughter in hopes for her to catch a big fish!”

You laughed. “Really? You believe her mum would do that?”

Lilly gave you a pointed look. “Just about every girls mum wants her daughter to land the perfect catch. They practically raise girls to be perfect house wives. My mum done it with me, it’s only half stuck” she laughed pulling out another dress.

You felt a pain in your heart at your friends words, for you didn’t have the luxury of growing up with a mum. You only knew your mum till you were eight, before she died. You love your dad but you missed your mum, and all the stuff you missed out on learning from her. Thankfully Lilly’s mum was a great second mum, not to mention your Aunt when she would come and visit would also give you a little of what you missed out on.

Lilly sighed holding your dress to her body, “I’m so jealous of all the lovely dresses you have”.

You smiled softly. “They are nice, but not ideal for a farm”.

“Well of course not! But when we go to town or parties, they will be perfect! Maybe I could borrow one or two sometime, specially when I have a hot date” Lilly asked leaning toward you batting her eyelashes.

You laughed taking the dress. “Sure, but make sure they are cleaned before returning them. Don’t want any suspicious stains on them”.

She gave you a disgusted look retrieving another dress. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m a lady” Lilly proclaimed sweetly.

You laughed taking the dress from her hands, while she gave you an offender look before she in turn laughed, not hurt by anything you said or done. That was your friendship, completely open and honest. Since you were both children you got on like a house on fire. You told each other everything and not once judged each other. Lilly was the sister you never had.

Once you had finished unpacking that was when you heard the revs of a motorcycle. You looked to Lilly, just as she looked to you. Without saying anything the both of you left your room and headed outside, hearing the revs again you figured it was coming from the old barn away from the house. Both giggling at the intrigue, you both headed for the barn. You were the one to put your weight into opening one of the barn doors, wiping your hands on your jeans walking into the space, Lilly right behind you.

Before you was your older brother, Andy with a racing bike. He looked up when realizing he wasn’t alone, wiping his hand on an old rag. Once his eyes landed on you did he smile brightly before pocketing the rag and coming over to engulf you in a big hug, which lifted you off the ground.

You laughed. “What a great welcome home”.

Andy laughed swinging you around. “Welcome home kid. I’ve missed you!”

You hit his shoulder telling him to put you down, which he did reluctantly. “You saw me a few months ago”.

“Still missed you!” He laughed.

You shook your head at your older brother, before eyes going back to the racer. “Project of yours?” You asked as you walked toward the bike.

Both Andy and Lilly followed you. Andy took the place he had originally been when you entered the barn, while you moved to the other side of the bike, Lilly chose to stand back. You looked over the bike, admiring it’s beauty. Motorcycles was the one thing you and your brother had in common. It was a great way to bond together when you were a teenager.

“When did you start racing?” You asked running a hand over the bikes seat. “Does dad know?”

Andy rolled his eyes. “Yeah he knows. I’ve been racing on and off for seven or so months”.

“He has ever since joining the Vandals” added Lilly.

You looked to your friend before back to your brother with a raised eyebrow. “Really? The Vandals huh? When were you going to tell me, hmm?”

Picking up a tool, Andy went back to adjusting something on the bike that you couldn’t see while shrugging his shoulders. “Does it matter?”

“You usually tell me these things Andy, I feel hurt you didn’t mention it” you said with a touch of sadness. “And dads fine with it?”

He laughed. “Of course, he’s fine with it. Since he knows most of the guys in the club”.

You nodded. “Alright.”.

“Don’t worry (Y/N), Uncle Johnny keeps an eye out for his boys” Lilly spoke up, knowing you worried about your brother.

Yes, you recall Lilly mentioning her Uncle Johnny, and that you had met him a few times when he had stopped off at Lilly’s house, was the leader of The Vandals. He seemed like a nice man, always looking out for his family. You also recalled her mentioning the club, but you hadn’t been around when it turned into a riding club, just when it was in the early stages of a racing club.

After that you and Lilly chatted with Andy while he worked on the bike. The atmosphere had returned to a happy and fun one. You learnt about what had been going on with Andy and the farm, along with your dad, who you still hadn’t seen yet. You couldn’t wait to see your old man, you had seen him a few months back when you saw Andy, but you missed the time with him. You had missed both men in your life. But now you were back where you belonged.

“There” sighed Andy dropping the tool in his hand and turning the bike off, “I think that will do for now. Just have to test her”.

“Her?” Both you and Lilly questioned looking at Andy.

“Yeah, her” he replied moving to kick up the bikes kickstand and holding the bike up. “It’s been nothing but temperamental and trouble, just like a female”. His tone was teasing, telling you he was joking around.

“Sounds more like a male” retorted Lilly with a laugh.

Andy shot her a dark look before laughing himself. You shook your head laughing at the two of them. Eventually he admitted defeat when he and Lilly went back and forth a bit more.

Andy began to move the bike around and then out the barn door, both you and Lilly following behind him. Out in the sunlight you can see the bike better, watching as Andy gave it another look over. You stepped up to him and watch him. Once he was happy with the bike, Andy was about to get on when you stopped him.

“Could I give it ago?” You asked softly. You’d ridden bikes before when you were a teen. Plus when you were living with your Aunt, which may or may not have upset her.

He looked at you unsure. “I don’t know kid. She hasn’t gotten all the kinks worked out of her. I still have this issue with her taking off when you go up in gears, she just accelerates and can be hard to handle”.

You nodded but smiled. “I promise to be careful and not go too fast. Please, can I?” You gave him the biggest puppy dog eyes you could.

Andy wasn’t sure if he should let you, but Lilly came to your defense. “Come on Andy, you know she will be careful. It’s just a few laps, it won’t hurt”.

Reluctantly he agreed and you shot Lilly a big smile, which she returned. So with his consent, you grasped the handle before moving to swing your leg over the bike, and sat down taking hold of the other handle. Andy stepped up and walked you through starting her up, you knew what to do but let him instruct you. He went over everything; front brake lever, throttle, clutch lever, gearshift lever and rear brake pedal. With his instructions he stepped back from you and let you go.

You started out slow, going around in circles before both your brother and friend. Lilly was cheering you on, which made you laugh. Gradually you picked up the speed and at Andy’s words, you did wider laps.

“You look so cool!” Called Lilly. Which you rolled your eyes at.

“Alright kid” Andy called. “Why don’t you take her back up behind the barn, then down toward the house and then turn right to take the long way back to the barn, get her speed up a bit more”.

You nodded giving him a solute, which made Lilly laugh and your brother call out for you to keep your hands on the handlebars. You did as he instructed before turning around and riding up behind the barn. As you looped back around you revved up the bike, and as you straightened up and headed for the house, you shifted the gears. Unfortunately the little issue your brother warned you about decided to come forth as you gained speed. The bike jerked with the acceleration, you held onto the handlebars tightly doing everything to keep the bike in check.

Andy noticed the change in your body and figured out what had happened, panic setting in he began calling out to you. He couldn’t do much more than that. He prayed you could handle the bike, and didn’t want to think of what could happen to you.

All the while before you had gotten on the bike, none of you were aware that your dad had returned home. Along with him were two men from The Vandals, the older male had dark hair while the younger dirty blonde hair, with stubble to match. They were discussing some business before heading around to the back of the house, when they all caught the sounds of a bike.

“Take it Andy’s working on his racer” the older male commented to your dad.

He laughed. “Yeah, the boys determined to smoke the competition Johnny”.

Johnny laughed. “He’s a good kid and rider, no doubt he will beat them”.

The Three started to make their way around to behind the house. They all looked up to the barn to see the bike take off up behind the old building. Your dad noticed two figures standing by the barn, one looked to be Andy, which confused the man. He wondered who was on the bike then. That was when the bike came back into view, heading towards the house. The shouting from the barn caught everyone’s attention, worry setting into your dad.

You had been so focused on staying in control of the bike you hadn’t noticed the three figures walking into your path until last minute. Upon seeing them you quickly dropped the gears on the bike before hitting the back brakes. With the light weight of the bike you managed to turn it right, planting your right foot to the ground and pulling off a slide stop. Dirt kicked up at your manoeuvre, you sat there a little stunned as the bike idled away.

You blinked a few times before turning to look at the males before you. But mostly to your dad, who looked just as stunned as you.

“Ah, hi dad” you said slowly. “Didn’t know you were home”.

He looked at you, to the bike you sat on and then back to you. “What are you doing?! You shouldn’t be riding that!”

You flinched at his slightly raised voice. “I was testing the bike for Andy...”

He shook his head. “Did he tell you about the issue it has with acceleration?” – You nodded – “and he still let you ride it!?”

“Well I promised to be careful” you replied.

Your old man shook his head. “You shouldn’t haven’t gotten on it (Y/N), what if you had crashed! Turn it off and get off it, now!”

“But I didn’t crash, I think I handled her pretty well” you defended as you turned off the bike before getting off it.

By this time both Andy and Lilly had jogged down to the scene. Your dad turned and began to have words with your brother, while he took the bike from you.

��Seriously Andy, I thought you’d know better than to let anyone on that bike before getting it sorted out” he said with a deep sigh.

Andy looked down while apologizing.

“It’s not all his fault, I wanted to ride it” you came to your brothers defense.

“Yes, well I’m disappointed in both of you. What if something had happened to you? Your brother would have to live with that” he guilt tripped you.

“I am sorry dad. But I kinda knew what I was doing...” you said softly not looking at the man before you.

That was when you noticed the other two on lookers. Suddenly you felt embarrassed that both of them were witnessing you and your brother getting a scolding.

While from the time you had stopped and until you finally noticed them, the younger of the two males had been looking at you. He was surprised when you had slid stopped the bike you were on. It had been like an Angel had slid before him. He was impressed by how you had not only handled the bike, but also your dad. But found you cute when you got embarrassed by him and Johnny. He could tell there was more to you, and it was fascinating.

Before you could really take in the two Vandals, your dad sighed once more. “Andy, take the bike back to the barn. (Y/N), go back into the house with Lilly”.

Lilly walked up to you and linked arms with you and began to pull you to the house, reluctantly you let her do so. All the while Lilly softly comment on the events. But before disappearing into the house, you watched your brother push his bike back up to the barn, then you looked to your dad and the older male watching your brother. Looking to the younger Vandal you saw him looking at you, and not to were the other two beside him was looking. But then Lilly pulled you into the house, severing eye contact to the young Vandal.

“What was that Fred?” Johnny finally questioned.

Your dad sighed. “That was my daughter. She got back today from her Aunts”.

Johnny whistled. “Might have your hands full with that one. But I will admit, that stop was impressive”.

Fred shook his head. “Don’t let her hear that. Don’t want to encourage her” he laughed darkly. “Come on, the sheds this way”.

Your dad started to walk again, while the other males followed. Johnny continued to ask about you, which your dad filled in. He said how he’d lost your mum when you were eight. How he did his best to raise you, all the while his sister-in-law kept hassling him about letting her take you in and raise you.

“The old battle-axe didn’t think I could raise a girl” Fred said with a sigh. “She was kinda right. I raised a tomboy”.

Johnny laughed while the other male smiled. “Nothin’ wrong with that” comment Johnny.

“I agree” said Fred, “but (Y/N) missed out on a lot not having a mum around. Thankfully Lilly's mum was there when it came to female things”.

Johnny nodded before following Fred into the shed. The younger male decided to wait outside, which was fine with the pair. Walking over to a fence before the shed, the young male lent back on the post, retrieving a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. Taking out a cigarette, he pocketed the packet and pulled out his lighter. With the cigarette between his lips he sparked the lighter and lit it. Taking the first drag he put away the lighter, eyes looking back at your house as he released the smoke into the air.

Honestly, he can say he had never seen a female ride a bike before. Usually the females that were around The Vandals were always on the back of one. So seeing you handle that bike like you had was not only impressive but also a turn on. He hoped to cross paths with you again sometime soon.

Johnny came out of the shed with Fred. “Come on Benny, were done here”.

Moving from the fence post, Benny followed both men back to the front of the house and where their bikes were. Once on their bikes, they both started them up. They sat there for a few minutes, which allowed Benny a few more drags from his smoke before tossing it off to the side. He and Johnny began to move their bikes back to turn around, when Benny got a glance of both you and Lilly by the window. With a small smile, they both took off, heading back into town and to the bar.

~~~

“As I said, it was something. Me embarrassed by my old man having words with me. I didn’t really take Benny in at the time” you stated putting out your cigarette.

“You said Benny noticed you more?” Danny asked checking his recorder.

“Yeah, he told me so later on. He’d call me his Angel on wheels” you laughed.

“So the next time you saw Benny, you finally spoke to each other?”

You laughed more at his words. “Unfortunately, no. We might have if the time was right. But that second time I saw Benny, I really saw him...”

A/N: please don't hate me for this lol. I am also sorry for the use of (Y/N).

#benny cross x reader #benny cross x you #benny cross x y/n

122 notes · View notes

bandgie · 1 year ago

Note

could you do a dark vampire yeonjun?? maybe a little kidnapping…

a/n: OHHH dude I had to read this shit like 3 times. I thought it said 'kid napping' not 'kidnapping' I was so thrown off. but yessss

warnings: MDNI 18+, smut, manipulation, implied kidnapping(obvi)/mind control, possessive Yeonjun, mind break mentions, overstimulation (f!), sex stuff ya know the usual

633 words

He's harsh with his thrusts, uncaring for how you beg him to slow down. His cock is deep inside you as if trying to mold it's shape into your pussy. He yanks on your hair to pull you upwards, your ass pressed harder against the front of his thighs.

Yeonjun loves the sight of you. How your back arches from being relentlessly pounded into, your quivering legs trying to keep you upright, the way your hands try to find purchase at the wall in front of you.

No matter how delicious you looked to eat, Yeonjun needed a taste of you like this. He craved to see you creaming on his dick, moaning uncontrollably at his violent strokes.

All you can feel is arousal, such overwhelming warmth you think you might get a fever. It feels heavenly to have Yeonjun's freezing body surround yours. You don't have any idea why you were so frightened of him in the first place.

This feeling is pure bliss and you pray it never ends.

Yeonjun snakes his hand down around your waist, pressing upwards to your stomach. The pressure makes you mewl, forcing you to feel his length inside much more. His other hand keeps steady at your hips to make you bounce on him.

The hand on your stomach travels further down, finding your swollen clit. Yeonjun's nimble fingers play with your pussy, drowning in the sounds of your wails and gasps.

"Too much! Yeonjun..it's too..." Your words turn into a series of moans.

Beg him all you want, cry until your throat is rubbed raw, but Yeonjun can't bring himself to stop. He won't. He's waited too long, put up with too many filthy humans just to be close with you in your work uniform.

He'll take you away from this life. This mundane style you live isn't what you need, it's not what you deserve. Yeonjun can't stand seeing you pretend to be happy where you are. You already trust him, even if he had to use some of his vampiric enchantments on you, the bond you've created is real.

It has to be real. Why else would you keep clenching on his cock eagerly? You want his cum, he thinks. You must need it with how deep your pussy opens for him.

Lost in his thoughts, Yeonjun doesn't catch how your sobs have increased. You've cum too many times much too quickly. It's making you break both physically and mentally. All you can think about is how sumptuously he's using you.

Maybe this is what you're good for, a warm cock sleeve for Yeonjun to take advantage of when he pleases.

After what seems like hours, Yeonjun begins showing signs of finishing. He's panting, clawing at your hips so roughly you know you'll have marks after. The fingers on your clit falter for a moment as he stills inside you.

His cock pulses repeatedly before he cums with a guttural moan. The warmth of his seed fills you up, and you feel what seems like your final orgasm crash down on you. Your legs nearly give out, cream leaking down your thighs.

Yeonjun places both of his hands on your waist to keep fucking yourself onto him, trying to milk out all the cum he has to give. It's not until you reach back and scratch at his hands that he lets up, releasing you.

Your knees buckle, and you fall to the hard ground of the alley. You're beyond spent, pussy throbbing in shattering pleasure that leaves you dumb.

There's no retaliation when Yeonjun picks you up easily, his strength unmatched to any mortal man.

This is the first of countless nights he'll have you, keep you. The human life you've been given will be forgotten.

Yeonjun knows where you belong.

314 notes · View notes

thewalkingwillowtree · 2 months ago

Text

Courting Ayelýn

Series Listing Found Here

Aonung x Original Na'vi Female Character

Summery: Pressured by his parents to enter a formal courtship, Aonung rebels in his own way and what starts as a ruse, turns into something real.

Note before reading: This is a spin off of my Safe Haven Series.

Reading Safe Haven is not necessary to follow this story.

Some characters have been aged up. Aonung in particular is 25.

Ayelýn is my own creation. *Pronounced Aye-Lin

Part 6 - When They Loved

Neteyam stared at his friend in disbelief. He blinked slowly before his head snapped over to where Ayelýn sat a few feet away, then back to Aonung as if trying to understand.

All the while the wheels turned in his head, Lo’ak sat back with a smug smirk, enjoying every second of Aonung’s annoyance toward him.

Lo’ak had slipped up- and Neteyam being no idiot had pried, causing them to have to tell him the truth.

“Nope. No.” Neteyam shook his head. “You’re both fucking with me.” He looked at his brother as if asking for confirmation, and at Lo’ak’s nod, he scoffed in bewilderment. “It’s all an act? You and her? All fake? She- Ayelýn isn’t-”

“Like I said, it’s all part of a plan.”

“Mm.” Neteyam clicked his tongue and Aonung felt an uncomfortable stab of guilt at the disappointment shining in the man’s eyes. “And when’s this plan of yours ending exactly?”

Aonung’s brow crinkled. “We agreed after the celebration of Lo’ak and Tsireya’s bonding ceremony.”

“That’s less than two weeks away.”

“I know.”

“Whatever happened to what we talked about? I leave and you what- just jump at this moron’s reckless idea?” he asked, gesturing to his younger brother.

“Hey- I’ll have you know it’s a full proof plan, alright?” Lo’ak defended. “If anything, Fishlips here should be thanking me.”

“Thanking you? For what exactly? Lo’ak if anyone finds out, Aonung could-”

“Relax, bro- sheesh.” He rolled his eyes. “Definitely didn’t miss this,” he muttered under his breath. “Look, ‘Teyam, if I didn’t come up with this plan, our poor sorry assed friend here would have never met his one and only Gorgeous Lýn and fallen in lo-”

“I met her before the plan,” Aonung interrupted. He knew what Lo’ak was going to say, and he really wasn’t in the mood for this conversation. “What does that matter though? Can we just talk about something else?” he snapped.

Lo’ak groaned into the palm of his hand. “Brother, do you see what I have had to put up with? I wish he’d wise up already. I'm getting tired of his shit. I should just go over there and tell Lýn-”

“Would you shut the fuck up!”

Neteyam bit the inside of his cheek as he observed the metkayina male. Aonung glanced over at Ayelýn as if making sure she hadn’t heard his outburst.

“You’re in love with her,” he stated, ignoring Aonung’s attempt at a scoff of indignation and continuing with, “Tell me you’re not sleeping with her.”

Aonung didn’t answer and that was all the clarification Neteyam needed.

“You’re an idiot, you know that? I’ve been here all of two days and I know for sure that if you let that woman go, it’s going to be the biggest regret of your life.”

“We have an agreement, Neteyam,” Aonung mumbled, not even putting up a fight. “...She doesn’t feel the same way.”

Lo’ak snickered, and through a fake cough he muttered a rude remark that earned him a deadly glare. Thankfully his brother interrupted whatever Aonung’s retaliation would have been.

“She doesn’t?” Neteyam stared at him as if he was mad. “Cause from what I’ve seen- it sure doesn’t seem that way… You two sure fooled everyone- including each other… Have you even talked to Ayelýn? Have you told her?”

“No… But just last week she screamed her head off telling me she couldn’t wait for this to finally be over.”

“Right. Now was that before or after you did something stupid?”

The skxawng couldn’t even hide it. He snorted at the memory of Lýn’s fiery gaze as she yelled at him for the stupid prank he, Kaii and Khalhan had pulled on her.

“Would you quit pissing off the woman you love? No wonder she can’t wait to get away from you.”

“Don’t think I could if I wanted to. Brother, every time she gets mad, her face morphs into the prettiest scowl I’ve ever seen, and then after that I just want to fuck her to make up for being an dick.”

Lo’ak snorted.

“So you are in love with her then.”

Aonung paused, only just registering Neteyam’s love comment. “I’m n- I don’t know,” he lied.

“You don’t know...” Neteyam shifted on his haunches and pointed over to where Ayelýn sat. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love that woman over there.”

Lýn sat a few feet down the beach, chatting with a large group of women. Perched between Tsireya and a breastfeeding Xilä, she was all smiles at whatever the conversation was.

Aonung’s eyes tracked Lýn’s movement.

And as if she could feel his stare, she glanced over at him. Brow raising, she and Aonung proceeded to have some sort of unspoken conversation that only the two of them could understand.

Lýn’s head tilted in silent question and Aonung responded in turn, cunning gaze and quirked lips making the metkayina woman roll her eyes in faux annoyance. She was fighting a smile but it broke through right before she returned her attention to the women surrounding her.

Neteyam and Lo’ak who had watched the entire thing unfold, shared a knowing look.

“Yeah, alright… Totally not in love with each other… Got it,” Neteyam said sarcastically as Lo’ak smothered his laughter. “What do your parents think of her? Have they caught on?”

“My father hasn’t- thank, Eywa… but I’m pretty sure my mother has her suspicions. They both like her though- my mother especially.”

“Huh… Thought she hated everyone.”

“Nope… She dragged Ayelýn around yesterday, officially introducing her to our council as her daughter-in-law. And she’s even meddling. The woman went and offered Lýn a new role here at Awa’atlu. A mender’s apprentice.”

“That’s good though. Lýn would be closer to you now, no?”

“If she takes it, then yeah.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He’s being stupid again,” Lo’ak chimed in. “Tell him what you did, idiot.”

Aonung shifted. “Lýn asked me whether I think she should accept the role or not… I told her I’d think about it.”

Neteyam groaned as if in pain. “Oh you poor, stupid soul. All she heard you say was don’t take it.”

“And then what, ‘Teyam? I’ll have to see her around here all the time and I won’t have any claim to her! Honestly, the fact that she wasn’t taken before baffles the fuck out of me. I have eyes- I see men watching her when they don’t think I’m looking. The second we’re through they’ll swoop right in! I mean have you seen her?!” Aonung was losing it now.

“She is very pretty, yes,” Neteyam agreed with an amused smile.

“She’s stunning. She’s a sweetheart when she’s ready, but she’s also got this little attitude that just makes me fucking crazy… And she’s so stubborn and she works herself tired everyday and all I want-”

“All you want?” his friend pressed and this time Lo’ak had no snide comment- this time he stared at his friend with true concern.

“All I want is to take care of her, alright,” he snapped.

Neteyam smiled. “…Alright… So, what are you going to do to make that happen?”

Strolling along wet sand, Lýn’s mind plagued her.

She had but a handful of days left with Aonung. With desperate measures, she tried to formulate a plan for how she’d handle the separation.

Her heartbreak was not the only one she worried over. As a consequence of her own actions, she knew the news would also be hard on her family.

Her parents had grown fond of Aonung- her father even called him son. Kaiiff would take it the hardest of course- Ayelýn knew he looked up to Aonung.

Thankfully, a gleeful shriek and excited squeal pulled Lýn from her thoughts.

Her attention drifted to Zyden- Neteyam and Xilä’s son- the baby walking on slightly wobbly legs as his uncle Lo’ak held one of his hands- helping him stomp and splash at the gentle waves rolling on shore.

She smiled at the little one’s baby talk, jumbled babbles filled with the few words he knew- mamas and dadas and fishies in an odd but cute mixture of both English and Na’vi.

The Sully family were amazing people.

Her time spent with them had been surprisingly wonderful, and while they were the ones visiting her home, she felt very much welcomed by them.

Accompanying the Sullys were Neteyam’s in-laws.

There were Xilä’s parents- Jxo, who Lýn found to be extremely intimidating- even when he held his grandchildren and Sal- her mother, who looked as if she’d give Slwen good competition for who could be the rowdiest.

D’avi- Xi’s sister, who had a little baby bump sprouting, was hilarious in her own way. She teased Lýn constantly about Aonung once she found out they were courting. Thankfully Yalnïk- D’avi’s husband rescued her countless times by interrupting- bringing their children along- the most adorable twins Lýn had ever met.

Xilä was who she especially had become fast friends with however.

Lýn had friends, but very few of them made her feel the way Xi did. Xi had an energy that made just about anyone love her instantly.

As the days went on, Lýn stuck close with D’avi, Kiri, Xi and Tuk throughout the different ceremonies- each one more elaborate than the next.

Guests from all over Pandora arrived at different times- some visiting for a feast or two, whilst others stayed for it all- each of them bearing grand gifts for the soon to be mated pair.

Lýn had no idea that the celebrations would be this big, but when she really thought about it- of course it would be.

It was the union of the offspring of two esteemed Olo'eyktans; Jake Sully- the legendary Toruk Makto and Tonowari- leader of fifty villages- the largest clan spanning the seas.

A few days later, as night crept slowly, Lýn approached Aonung and the small group he sat with on the beach.

With a friendly, “Hi,” she tried to crouch next to Aonung, but he scooped her up instead, seating her between his propped thighs.

He was pleased that she didn’t mind this and instead settled comfortably against his chest without a fuss.

“Zyden is adorable,” she complimented Neteyam and Xilä, smiling at the baby who was currently rather entertained with the sand.

Little toes and tail wiggling excitedly, he was grabbing tiny handfuls and dropping them into Lo’ak’s waiting palm. The two of them had been inseparable since the Sully’s arrival.

“Thank you,” Neteyam replied, and Xilä smiled in thanks from where she was leaning on her husband. “Are you and Aonung planning to wait long after your ceremony to start trying?”

Ayelýn frowned, not understanding, whilst Aonung gave Neteyam the dirtiest glare he could muster over the top of Lýn’s head.

“Children,” Neteyam confirmed. “Having your own little ones, I meant.”

“Oh. Oh.” Ayelýn’s cheeks bloomed bright. “Um-”

“Aonung told me he was hoping to have at least five the last time we visited.”

Ayelýn coughed, choking on air as she knocked her chest. Aonung fussed over her in serious worry, rubbing her back whilst Lo’ak laughed his ass off- even little Zyden joined in as if it were the funniest thing in the world, despite not understanding.

“You’ve gone and traumatized the poor girl, handsome,” Xilä murmured to her grinning mate, chiding him lightly yet unable to hide her own amusement.

“Sorry…” Lýn cleared her throat, patting Aonung’s thigh in reassurance that she was okay. “We um- haven’t talked about children yet.”

“Gorgeous, he’s just messing with you,” Aonung said, soothing his hands down her arms, and then to Neteyam he mouthed, “Fuck off!”

Thank Eywa the conversation changed after that.

As the night wore on, their little group grew.

Rotxo arrived first, followed by Tsireya who instantly cuddled up with Lo’ak. Kiri and Spider joined soon after, then a couple others Lýn hadn’t had much interactions with; W’aote and three other men who were all part of Lo’ak’s patrol team back at Home Camp, and Tasam- Kiri’s courting partner.

Little Zyden was all tuckered out and slept sprawled on his father’s chest- sleeping deep enough that the noise around him didn’t seem to be a bother.

It was a fun, rowdy group. They talked about everything, from stupid, silly stories to serious conversation on matters that concern their clans.

“You’ve gone quiet,” Aonung whispered to her, tugging her hair to the side to kiss her exposed neck.

She shivered from his touch.

“Are you ready to head back home?”

Home.

Aonung probably hadn’t realized what he was saying Lýn thought, but she’d picked up on his words over the past week and some.

Everything he said hurt her just a little bit- our bed, our home, our hideaway, our, our, our.

“Lýn.”

“Hmm?” She blinked away her thoughts, head tilting to catch his gaze, not surprised when he kissed her the second her lips were within reach.

“Ready to head home?”

She wanted to… more than anything. But they were two days away from the end of their plan. They were supposed to be distancing themselves- in a fight.

“I shouldn’t,” she whispered back. “The plan-”

“Shh,” he kissed her again, palm cupping her cheek. “Not tonight. Please just stay.”

And of course, no matter how many times she’d said no to him, she always gave in.

“Okay.”

Two days later, on the morning of the final blessing ceremony, before Lo’ak and Tsireya’s mated bonding, as Ronal led the congregation in harmonic chant… Lýn cried.

Ambling around Aonung’s little marui, Ayelýn collected her things, item by item. She did so with a heavy heart however, knowing that the end had come for her and Aonung.

They’d put it off time and time again, but this round was different. This round was the end.

While she shoved a simple tweng into her satchel, Aonung entered and stopped short at the sight of her- stomach instantly sinking in dread.

At a quick glance around, most of her things were already missing. He hated it already- his home looked empty without her things mingled with his.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh- hey,” she greeted, unable to turn around and face him. Her throat burned and eyes stung. “I’m packing.”

“I see that… Why?”

“What do you mean why? This was the plan,” she said, trying to keep the bite from her tone. Lýn walked over and knelt on his messy sleeping mats, lifting and feeling around as she searched. “Have you seen my shell necklace?”

“Lýn.”

“Could have sworn I took it off before falling asleep last night,” she mumbled. Giving up, she stood and resumed the packing of her bag.

“Lýn-”

“How do you want to stage the fight, by the way?”

Aonung rubbed his temple and fought to keep his irritation at bay. “Fight? What fight?”

“Mm. The argument you suggested? Don’t tell me you forgot. We’ve had this planned for months now, Aonung. I’m supposed to break your heart, remember?”

“Ayelýn-”

“And of course you’ve forgotten, but come on Aonung, this was your plan.”

In truth, it was her fault for not bringing it up last night- her fault for not asking him to clarify the plan for today.

Instead she had selfishly basked in everything that was him- fucking away her sadness and clinging on to the little time she had left with him.

“Ayelýn!” he yelled. “Look at me.”

Fingers clenched tightly around the handle of her satchel, she released it and turned. Slowly. Keeping her expression as closed off as possible.

“You want to stage the fight? That’s what you want?” he asked, eyes tracking every inch of her face for a telling lie.

“It’s what we planned to-”

“I didn’t ask you that, Ayelýn.”

She blew out a frustrated breath. “What do you want from me, Aonung? I don’t understand why you’re asking me that?”

He clicked his tongue. “I think you should take that role my mother offered you.”

Ayelýn blinked. She shook her head in confusion, feeling a distinct feeling of whiplash.

Why was he bringing that up now?!

“Um… Are you sure? You didn’t seem pleased about it when I first brought it up.”

“I wasn’t.”

“...Can I ask why?”

“Because at the time I was being selfish to protect myself. Because if you did, then that would mean I’d have no choice but to see you everyday after this- after we ended.”

Lýn looked away, pretending his words didn’t hurt. She failed to keep the bitterness out of her tone when she asked, “What changed your mind then?”

“I found out something quite interesting,” he replied as he approached her slowly.

“Did you?”

“You’re in love with me.”

Lýn’s jaw fell open, then snapped with an audible click of her teeth while a sense of dread that he’d found out, flooded her.

“I’m no-”

“You aren’t?”

“Aonung-”

“Tell me something, Lýn... What am I going to do if you fall in love with someone else one day?”

She folded her arms with a scoff. “I think you’ll survive,” she snarked. Her walls were all the way up and she hated that he was still able to rile her up this easily.

“I won’t.” He shrugged, still creeping towards her. “What about you? Hm? What are you going to do if I fall in love with someone else one day?”

She said nothing to this, expression confused as she tried to keep up with the conversation.

“Will you really be okay pretending you never cared about me at all?”

She froze, not only at the question, but realizing how close he’d gotten to her, had her panicked.

“Admit it. Tell me you love me.”

“Where is this even coming from? I don’t love you.”

“Liar.”

“Aonung-”

“I heard you, Ayelýn. I heard you and Xilä talking a few nights ago.”

‘Fuck.’

“It was just talk, part of the act,” she mumbled.

“I don’t believe you.”

Lýn’s face scrunched as she prepared for rejection. She wasn’t even given a second to think because he was talking again, and this time his words had her head spinning.

“Maybe you’ll admit it to me then, if I said it first?”

She inhaled sharply.

“Will that work for you, gorgeous? If I said it first?”

“You- you don’t love me.”

“I don’t?”

“Do you?”

His gaze was intense and Lýn felt annoyance bubble in her chest from the sight of the stupid smirk playing at his lips.

This was probably some big joke to him.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, turning her back on him to add the last of her things in her satchel.

That was not the reaction he was expecting.

“It doesn’t matter?” His brows narrowed in upset. “The fuck does that mean, Ayelýn?”

“No… Because then what?!” She rounded on him, eyes fiery and full with hurt. “I’m not so naive to think that you actually- ! The whole point of me pretending to court you was-”

“Are you serious?” He stood straighter, disbelief and distress radiating off of him. “Look I’m not sure at what point exactly that things officially changed, but be honest with yourself, Ayelýn. Did any of that feel like pretending to you?!”

“Aonung-”

“I want you.”

“N-”

“I want you, Lýn. No pretense. All real. Everyday. Forever.”

Ayelýn was not a crier, but his words hit her so powerful, everything inside of her crumbled.

Hesitating, she took the bait.

“Including courtship? For real.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Yes. I’m not a stupid plaything.”

“You aren’t,” he agreed gently, forcing himself to not push her too fast- hope still there. "Courting gifts?” he asked in slight teasing.

“Yes… you never did actually get me any.”

He bit down a smile. “Meeting of the families?”

“Yes.”

“Those long overbearing, traditional bonding ceremonies?”

“Yes.”

“...Mating? Tsaheylu mating?”

Lýn bit her lip, trying not to crack a smile. She failed. “Is there any other kind of mating?”

“Hey. I’m only trying to be clear with your demands over here.”

A breathy laugh escaped her at that. “Then yes, tsaheylu mating.”

“Okay.”

“Just like that…? You’re going to give me everything?”

“Just like that, gorgeous.” He stepped into her space. “But you have to agree first.”

It was that tone again. The one that confused her to pieces sometimes.

“Aonung. I’m not playing a game right now.”

“That’s good, cause neither am I.” He was a hair's breadth away from her now, fingers coming up to tangle in her hair- thumb tracing her jaw.

“You’re annoyingly difficult to stay away from, you know that?”

His forehead fell onto hers. “Then don’t make it difficult. Tell me you want me forever and I’m yours. Tell me you love me and I swear, I’ll do my best to be the best mate I could be. I won't be perfect..”

Lýn swallowed.

“But I’ll take care of you, and you can boss me around like wives normally do sometimes- kind of like what you already do when you tell me I’m being stupid whenever I get in my head and start behaving like an ass.”

“Aonung-”

“And I’ll keep you, Lýn.”

She sniffled.

“You say it all the time- as a joke, I know… But I’m dead serious right now... I’ll keep you and love you. And I’ll take care of your family- and Keftxo.”

He swiped away her tears.

“I'm a good man now because of you.”

“Hush… You’ve always been a good man,” she croaked.

“Better now, I should say.”

Aonung cupped her face with both hands, lifting his head to see all of her.

“I love you, Ayelýn. Pretty sure I have since the first moment we met when I found you kicking and cursing at that damn deathtrap of yours.”

“Canoe,” she corrected through a teary laugh, eyes swimming in adoration for the man before her.

He chuckled too, a tad choked up himself. “I love you and I want you forever, Lýn.”

Index finger hooking and tugging him down by the cord around his neck Lýn nodded- a sweet smile playing on her lips- the action causing their noses to brush.

“...I love you, Aonung. Every part of you, inside out. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Aonung’s face split into a wide grin. In one fell swoop, he scooped her up by the thighs, lifting her high up his waist as her legs and arms wrapped around him.

“You want me?”

She laughed as he nipped her lips playfully.

“Yes.”

“I’m half expecting you to tell me you have rules,” he teased.

“Ohh I do. I am telling you right now, I am not popping out five babies.”

He cackled at that, head tossed back in pure glee.

“Fair enough,” he agreed. “Hey, Lýn,” he called.

“Hmm?” she hummed, pecking that little birthmark on the corner of his mouth.

“Say it again… Tell me you want me.”

Lýn kissed him first. A feverish kind filled with a dose of desperation that came from raw and excessive longing. The kind that was long overdue- the kind that released all the pent up energy that came from avoiding their true feelings.

“I want you, you skxawng.”

“I want you too, gorgeous.”

And that's it folks!

Thank you for reading, commenting and liking! Thank you for your patience and a special thank you to @iwannabeapinkaesthetic for the inspo for this fic to come to life!

It was a joy writing my very first Aonung story, and so much fun creating Lýn.

As always, please let me know what you think and I hope to see you in my next one.

💛💛💛.

Tags:@jakesullyfatjuicypeen@granddearduck@riatesullironalite@strawberri-blonde@earthling55 @innercreationflower @gyuventure @btsiguess-kpop@blkmystery@neteswife@luvteyams@isnt-itstrange@erenjaegerwifee@faatxma@ivysully@bakugouswaif@pinkpantheris @mntx666@ironcaptainnataliabarnes @staymentallystable @neteyamslovrr @melsunshine @tadomikiku

#safe haven #courting ayelyn #aonung #aonung mini fic #aonung fanfic #aonung x reader #aonung x female reader #aonung x y/n

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mind-empty-just-fictional-people · 10 months ago

Text

Birthday Pie

main masterlist | supernatural masterlist

SPOILERS! set between seasons 7 and 8 of supernatural, there are spoilers for both these seasons

summary: you celebrate his birthday even when he’s gone

pairing: dean winchester x female reader

rating: R for language

word count: 0.9k

warnings: sad, not at all a happy birthday for our beloved lil guy, language

author’s note: i’m sorry, okay? i’ve had this idea in my head for months and decided that today is a good day to release it? anyway, happy 45th birthday dean winchester! love you and very glad you’re alive and well and the series finale never happened! :)

January 24th, 2013 — Dean’s 34th Birthday.

You were barely able to drag yourself out of bed and into the living room where you were now seated and watching TV. It didn’t matter what was on, you weren’t paying attention anyway. Your mind was completely focused on Dean. Your beloved Dean; who shouldn’t be wherever the fuck he was but instead safe in your arms.

He shouldn’t be spending his birthday terrified, missing you and his brother. He should be spending it with you, Sam, and Cas.

Sure, he wasn’t really the birthday party type of guy but each year since you met him you’d gotten him a pie and put candles in it for him to blow out. It’d started as a half-assed attempt to put a smile on his face when you learned it was his birthday and you couldn’t find a cake at the store.

He’d loved it.

“How’d you know I’d rather have pie?” he had asked, his face lighting up even more when you put two candles—a two and a four—in the center.

“I…had a feeling.” You had shrugged it off as not a big deal but deep down you both knew how much it meant to him.

And each year since then—come rain, shine, monsters, or the apocalypse—you made it your job to get Dean Winchester a pie on his birthday.

A few tears rolled down your cheeks, joining the half-dried ones there already. You hadn’t been sad on Dean’s birthday since his year before hell. But it was different then, you had him next to you and you were savoring every second. You might have been terrified of what would soon happen, but you were still with him.

“If you’re not already aware, Dean,” Castiel started, “you turn thirty-four today.”

“What?” Dean asked, confused. “Cas we—”

“Granted time seems to be passing differently here, but on earth it is currently your birthday.”

“Happy birthday, brother,” Benny joked.

“Yeah real fuckin’ happy,” Dean scoffed. “We’re stuck killing our way through this fuckin’ nightmare while the love of my life is spending my birthday alone.”

“I’m sure she’s okay, Dean,” Cas assured him. “She has Sam, he’ll look after her until we get back.”

“No, you don’t get it. Birthdays were…they were our thing, if that makes any goddamn sense.”

“Happy birthday, Dean,” you smiled, placing the pie in front of him.

“Twenty-six! God, that sounds old,” Dean laughed a little.

“You’re kidding right?” you asked after singing for him as he blew out the candles.

“What?”

“Twenty six may sound old to you, but trust me you are still fuckin’ adorable.”

“I am, aren’t I?” He grinned.

“You wanna do the honors, cutie?” you asked, handing him the kitchen knife.

“Gladly, sweetheart,” he said, taking it from you. You watched him cut a slice for you then an even bigger slice for himself.

“Dean,” you started as you watched him begin eating the pie. “I love you.”

He stopped eating and looked at you; “What?”

“I know there’s a lot about your life you haven’t told me, you’re lore you could call it, but I need you to know that I really do love you, Dean Winchester.”

“But how? I mean, I’m not exactly an open book and there’s no way…” he trailed off.

“No way, what?”

“There’s no way in hell you’d feel this way if you learned everything about me.”

Your heart broke at his words, and your expression definitely showed it.

“The amount of pure love I have for you is beyond measurable, Dean. And I might be crazy for saying this, and feeling this, but there is truly nothing you could say or do that would make me stop.”

“Really?” he asked quietly, as if he was scared to press his luck.

You nodded with a soft smile; “Really.”

“Well, look I’m not really one for…that…but I do…I do feel that way about you too. I guess what I’m saying is, uh, right back at cha?”

“See to any normal person that would sound like the ramblings of a crazy man,” you said, his smile only growing. “But to me? Absolute poetry.” You leaned over and kissed him. “Happy birthday, Dean.”

He simply kissed you back, smiling against your lips.

“Happy birthday, Dean,” you whispered, blowing out the candles on the small pie you’d bought. It was a one-person pie because you knew if you bought a regular one that at least three-quarters would not have been eaten.

You took out the candles and picked up your fork. Staring down at the desert, you let more tears fall.

“It shouldn’t be this hard to eat a fuckin’ pie,” you laughed humorously. Your phone rang next to you and you answered it; “Hey, Sam.”

“Hey,” he sighed. “I just wanted to call and check up on you. It being Dean’s birthday and all, I figured you might…you know…”

“Be huddled up in bed sobbing my eyes out?” you said.

“Yeah…”

“I’m holding it together Sammy, don’t worry about me,” you assured him.

“I always worry about you, you know that.”

There was a short pause in the conversation as you took a deep breath and let a few more tears fall; “I miss him, Sammy,” you admitted. “I just really miss him.”

#dean winchester x reader #by mind empty just fictional people #by jean #supernatural #spn #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #dean winchester fic #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fanfiction #dean x reader #dean winchester birthday #happy birthday dean winchester

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gardens-light · 1 year ago

Text

Finding Peace

Taking shelter in an abandoned petrol station, tension builds between you and your family. As blame and arguments raise- not like you didn't feel guilty enough already. You didn't ask for this- any of this! You just wanted to help Optimus. And it's not like the Autobot leader didn't have problems of his own. Being hunted down by humans for reasons yet unknown was bad enough- but ignoring the yearning of his Spark has slowly become problematic. Occasionally shaking his helm attempting to get you out of his processors, trying to convince himself that a 'Sparkmate' was nothing but a romancide idea that the younger bots came up with. Or is it?...

Content: Minor coarse language. Event's take part in Transformers- Age of Extinction. (Leading to major spoilers in Part 4.) Optimus x Human F/Reader. Fluff. (Reader insert.)

Sparkmate Series- Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5

"Well... on the bright side." Tessa's voice lowly spoke, while sitting upon a dusty bar. Playing with some fairy lights. "You two have finally met.."

"Where's he from?"

"I told you. He's a driver from Texas."

"Texas?" Cade scoffed at Tessa's words. "Where? Dublin, Texas? Shamrock, Texas? So why does he sound like a leprechaun?"

Shane's brows knitted together, as he leaned against the bar. "You'd get your ass kicked in Ireland for saying that."

"Well we're not in Ireland, Lucky Charms. We're in Texas." Cade's attention turned back onto Tessa. "So he drives? What's that supposed to mean? Like he drives for a living?"

"Yeah... at least he makes a living."

Tessa's words caused Cade to fall silent. His eyes flickering up to you, frowning as you tried to avoid him.

"How old are you?" Cade challenged, approaching Shane.

"Twenty."

"And my daughter is seventeen. So as far as I'm concerned, this can go two ways." Cade leaned on the other side of the bar, glaring at Shane. "One, I punch you in the mouth right here, right now. And you call the police on me."

"Dad!-"

"Or two. I just call the cops on you because this is illegal. She's a minor!"

Steady... Steady... your thoughts wandered, while trying to focus on making a 'house of cards' out of beer coasters.

"We're protected by the 'Romeo and Juliet laws'-"

"We dated for a little while." Tessa explained, cutting Shane off. "I was a sophomore, and he was a senior. It's fine."

"We've got a pre-existing juvenile foundational relationship. Statute 2705-3." Shane took out his wallet, showing Cade the small card stating the law. "We're above board."

Cade sighed, "Romeo and Juliet, huh? Do you know how they ended up?"

Just... one more coaster...

"In love-"

"Dead." Cade turned to you. "And you, Y/N?"

Shit...

An unamused expression fell across your features as the coasters came tumbling down.

"Don't look at me like that, young lady. How long have you known about this?"

Cade rubbed his temples as you silently responded with a small shrug. "Well tell me. Days? Weeks?-"

"Months."

"Months...? And you didn't think that I would of wanted to know about this?-"

"Dad. Tessa is a full grown ass adult." You groaned. "She's capable of learning from a mistake or two."

"I trusted you. Both of you-"

"To what?" Tessa butted in. "Never have fun. Take a risk. Be a normal teenager like you?"

"I am your father, okay!" Cade firmly spoke, turning his attention onto Tessa. "And I've been busting my ass to take care of you and your sister!-"

"Oh so is that why I'm busting a gut trying to juggle two jobs?" You scoffed. "And here I thought, I'm the one who took care of this family."

"Is that what you were doing when you continued working on that damn truck?" Tessa spoke to you. A frown forming upon her lips, "all you had to do was report it.-"

"You know I couldn't do that-"

"And now we're forced into hiding. And my life is over! So 'thank you', Sis. You've taken 'real good' care us-"

"None of this would of happened! If you just kept your fucking mouth shut!-"

"Don't talk to your sister like that!" Cade stepped in.

"Sure Dad. Take her side... you always do."

"Y/N-"

"Look! I get it!" you raised onto your feet. "I know I'm 'the disappointment', 'the let down'-"

"Sweetie, I've never said that-"

Your eyes wandered over your dad's disappointed expression. "You didn't had to..."

---

Sitting upon the petrol stations' roof, the gentle breeze of the cool night air felt refreshing against your skin. Soft chirping of crickets eased your headache, your eyes gazing out into the dark empty road. The sound of small grunts and sighs caught your attention, briefly gazing over your shoulder. Rolling your eyes, once seeing Tessa struggling to climb the ladder with a mug in hand.

"What do you want?" you sighed, turning your attention back onto the road ahead.

"I thought- ouch!- that you could do with a hot drink."

The sound of the metal roofing warping and creaking, under Tessa's feet suddenly felt loud. As she approached you, taking a sit upon the roof's edge, leaving a small gap between you.

"I made your favourite." She kindly spoke, handing you the hot beverage. "I couldn't make it exactly to your liking, but it's the thought that counts. Right?"

Her weak smile faded as you remained silent. Speechlessly accepting the mug from her and holding it in your hands.

"You're not a disappointment." Tessa spoke after a brief hesitation. "For if it wasn't for you, we would of lost our home ages ago."

Tessa bit her lip before continuing, "I... did tell a friend about the truck. B-But I honestly didn't think he would believe me! If I knew- I wouldn't of..."

Your side glance caused her voice to trail off into silence.

"Well... what I'm trying to say... is that I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

Sipping the hot beverage, feeling the gentle warmth fill you inside. Tessa followed your gaze, a small smile returning to her lips.

"You're worried about him. Aren't you?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"Yes." Tessa teased. "Like a lovesick girl."

You returned her smile, playfully pushing her away. "Oh shut up. You're talking nonsense, I'm just concerned about him. That's all."

"Uh-huh?" Tessa raised an eyebrow. Seeing a glimpse of you trying to hide a shy smile behind the mug.

"So... What's Dad doing?" you asked, trying to change the subject.

"Playing with some drone that he stole from the one of the guys. Dad's convinced that they would of truly killed us."

Tessa's heart sank as she watched you pull your legs close to your chest, hugging your knees a little while resting your mug against them.

"B-But that's just Dad's crazy thought." Tessa's guilt weighed on her heart a little more. Starting to wish she never said anything.

"Everything would of been fine, if only I watched what I was saying." You buried your head, resting your forehead against your knees and hiding your face. "I-If I didn't panic..."

"Shhh. Shhh." Tessa cooed, closing the gap between you. Placing her arm around your shoulders and resting her head against yours. "It's not your fault. You have a big heart, Y/N. Never be ashamed of that."

She gently pulled away, cupping your tearstained face and making you face her. "You are a rare treasure, and that Transformer better know that."

Finally smiling through your tears, Tessa rested her forehead against yours. The sound of a horn blaring in the distance broke the silence, while bright headlights burned the darkness away. You quickly raised onto your feet, causing Tessa to catch the falling mug while the hot beverage spilled onto the ground below.

You placed both hands against your chest, while gazing at the oncoming truck. Feeling it flutter with joy, as the sound of a faminular engine came to your ears.

Tessa rose onto her feet, giving you one last soft glance before leaving. A knowing smile forming upon her lips. You've got it bad...

Optimus carefully reduced his speed, as he walked out of his altmode. Trying to slow the pulsing rhythm of his spark as he approached you. Being mindful of each step he took, so it didn't appear like he was in a rush to be beside you again.

"Optimus..." your voice was low. Trying to hide the excitement within your tone.

"My deepest sympathies for your home." His soothing tone washed away the doubt and worries, that had been building up inside you. "And for leaving you so promptly. But I had to confirm we weren't followed."

You speechlessly nodded, trying to hold a relaxed expression as your eyes took in the sight of him.

Oh my...

Rust and dirt no longer coated his exterior, instead deep blue metal plates framed his chrome fisque, like pieces of armour. Your heart skipping a beat as your eyes wandered over him, taking in every detail of his broad shoulders and strong biceps.

Red flames danced across the gauntlets, but it was his torso you couldn't look away from. Your cheeks matched the warmth of Optimus' spark, as you gazed at his chest plate. Hands clutching onto your shirt, stopping the urge to reach out and run your fingertips over his toned form. Knowing that your touch wouldn't just stopped at that chromed waist of his.

"Loving the upgrade." Forcing the words out of your mouth, after swallowing your nerves.

Optimus got down on one knee, as you edged a little closer to the side of the roof. His blue optics studied you for a moment.

"You've been crying..."

Something inside him ached a little, as you temporarily turned away from him.

"It's nothing." You assured, brushing the dried tears off your cheeks. "I've just been... a little worried that's all."

"And I admittedly have been concerned about you."

That little sentence erupted butterflies in your stomach. Simply gazing up at him with wondering eyes.

How the stars sparkled in your eyes almost caused Optimus to choke on his own breath. Warmth begun to build beneath his metal plates, as his yearning spark called out for you.

His head tilted slightly as his scanners picked up something. Your body froze as he slightly hesitated before reaching out to you. Optimus' servo curled into a relaxed fist, your eyes peering down at it as he gently placed the knuckle of his index digit under your chin. While his thumb rested against your cheek.

His spark skipped a beat as a loving sigh slipped out of your mouth. Enjoying the cool touch of his metal against your soft skin.

Optimus carefully turned your head from side to side, studying your features. His scanners picking up the bruise that begun to form upon the bridge of your nose.

"That bastard hurt you." The small underlying anger within his tone caught you off guard. "I promise... I'll make him pay for what he's done to you."

"Optimus." You cooed, placing your hand on the back of his servo. Bringing it to the side of your face, resting your head against his digits.

His fans tried to push the warm air out of Optimus' vents, as the heat beneath his plates begun to build. His spark aching with a yearn he could no longer deny.

Closer... The word played on his processors. Causing him to fully kneel against the concrete ground, leaning in a little more.

Your loving eyes met the soft glow of his optics, as his servo slowly trailed down towards your waist. His thumb tracing the curves of your thighs, hips and waist.

The butterflies in your stomach tangled your nerves, your heart fluttering against your chest as a small gasp slipped from your lips. Eyes lingering over his features before closing, as you rested a hand against his chest plate.

As your heart matched the beat of Optimus' spark, syncing in harmony. A beautiful glow enveloped the pair of you, creating a warmth that made you almost forget about the world, as your lips ghosted over one another.

"Mr. Leader of the Free Galaxy is back!" an unknown mechanical voice caused you to quickly jump away from Optimus. "I knew you'd make it! I never doubted."

Crosshairs... Optimus' processors sighed. Trying to hide his disappointed expression as the leader faced his joyful Autobots. The sound of their roaring engines calming, before stepping out of their altmodes.

"We've got your warning." Drift greeted, "we've been waiting."

"Hell yeah! Boom time!" Hound cheered. "We've got the gang back together."

Drift tilted his head to the side, as his blue optics switched between you and Optimus. Smiling to himself as his processors picked up, the afterglow that slowly faded from the pair of you.

Optimus cleared his throat before speaking, "Autobots. The humans have asked us to play by their rules. Well... those rules have just changed."

"Humans, bunch of backstabbing weasels." Hound groaned, causing the ground to shake as he disarmed. Throwing heavy weaponries onto the floor.

"Hound, find your inner compass. Loyalty is nothing but a flower in the winds of fear and temptation."

Hound raised a brow at Drift's wise tone, "what the hell are you saying?"

The blue Autobot smiled, "it's a haiku-"

"Cut the crap! Before I drop a grenade down your throat."

You backed away from the edge of the roof, as Drift unsheathed his swords. "Try it" he challenged, "you'll be dead."

"Oh please do it." Hound taunted. "I wanna see you do it."

"You know what?" Bumblebee's radio buzzed, "it save us so much time."

Optimus gave you an unimpressed expression, as you gazed up at him, raising an eyebrow. A small chuckle left you as he speechlessly gestured to his Autobots. As to say, 'look what I have to put up with.'

"Well raise your hand, if you're thoroughly disenchanted with our little 'Earth vacation.'" Crosshairs spoke, while circling the petrol station. His green optics studying you, "so who's the spy?"

"Whoa! Whoa! Put those things away!" you yelped as Hound and Crosshairs immediately withdraw their guns, and pointing them at you.

"Stop, Hound! Both of you!" Optimus commanded, stepping in front of the building.

Both Autobots gave their leader a puzzled expression, as he continued. "Y/N, risked her life for mine. We owe her..."

Drift gave Bumblebee a playful nudge, discreetly pointing at you and Optimus. While Hound and Crosshairs briefly looked at one another, and turning their attention back onto their leader. Watching him stepping aside, and silently encouraging you to return to the roof's edge.

"Has there been... any sign of the others?" Optimus asked.

"No..." Hound sighed, withdrawing his weapon and settling himself upon the ground. "We're all that's left."

"They're picking us off, one by one!" Crosshairs explained.

"We're the pathetic, dirty foursome." Hound joked, "and you make five."

"Is this our best-case scenario?" Shane's teasing voice questioned you. Your eyes gazed at him, watching the Irishman climb onto the roof. "Autobot witness protection?"

"Hey Lucky Charms." you spoke, placing a hand upon your hips. "You're welcome to leave at anytime."

"Well, for the record, Super Sister. I'm not hiding with you." Shane gestured towards Optimus, "I'm hiding out with that big guy."

Tessa and Cade followed Shane's lead, as the three of them approached your side. All looking at the Autobots and they chatted among themselves.

"Sensei, with your fate unknown Bumblebee has held command." Drift's optics gazed at the yellow scout.

Bee fist bumped the air, while Drift rolled his optics. "Despite his complete and total lack of anything resembling warrior discipline."

An annoyed whirl weeze out of Bumblebee, as his optics narrowed on his comrade.

"He's like a child-"

"This 'child' is about to kick your ass!" Bee's radio buzzed. Landing the first hit against Drift's helm.

"Cage fight." Hound whispered to you, slightly leaning against the petrol stations' roof.

"What's the matter with them?" Tessa lowly asked, reaching out for your hand.

"They're on edge." You briefly explained, allowing her hand to slip into yours. "Who could blame them? They're being hunted."

"Am I the only one who sees through this puppy-dog act of yours?" Drift taunted Bee, while holding him in a headlock. "It's beneath you."

"Yes, I've been waiting for them all to dispatch each other." Crosshairs cheered. His servos gently clapping, "so I could take charge with no trouble at all. Just me. Reporting to me."

"Well, it sure looks like you've been missed." You said to Optimus.

"Autobots, humans are hunting us down. We need to know why."

"Listen..." Cade spoke, stepping towards Optimus. "I don't know why, but I might have an idea about who..."

---

"This drone I stole recorded footage of an Autobot raid." Cade explained.

You placed an affectionate hand upon Optimus' knee, as he sat cross-legged upon the floor. His servo clenching into a fist, as the dragonfly-like drone projected the video footage.

"It's in pieces, but watch what happens here." Cade pointed out, "they ripping them apart."

"That's Leadfoot." Hound spoke, as he placed a part of his helm over his spark. Feeling the saddened energy sink within his chest plates. "Savages."

"And later, this truck comes to haul him off to K.S.I. Kinetic Solutions." Cade continued. "They're creating defenses, aerospace, government contracts. They designed this drone."

"So these government guys are hunting you down, and then passing you of to this K.S.I?" Shane questioned.

"Do you know anything else?" Optimus asked.

"Only that their company headquarters is in Chicago." Cade spoke.

Perhaps... There's a chance of the Autobots being taken there. You thought.

"No way to get inside without a battle." Hound thought out loud.

"What if you had some human help?" everyone looked at you.

"Sweetie, no." Cade protested. "Besides, what are you two partners now?"

"Dad, we're targets now too." You spoke, feeling his worried stare on you. "We need to know why, or we'll never get our lives back."

"Y/N. You have done more than any of us could've asked for." Optimus kindly spoke. "I do not-"

"I'm coming." You gently argued. Seeing Tessa's encouraging smile from the corner of your eye.

"It's going to be dangerous." Drift warned, as he lend towards you.

The blue Autobot stiffed as you placed a comforting hand upon his knee. Giving him a warm smile, "you're important Optimus. Therefore, you're important to me.

A suttle warmth radiated from underneath Drift's metal plates.

"Autobots." Optimus spoke, as he raised onto his feet. "I have sworn to never kill humans."

"Big mistake." Hound mumbled

"But when I find out who's behind this. He's going to die..."

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#x reader #fanfic writing #bayverse x reader #transformers x reader #optimus prime x you #optimus prime x reader #f!reader #bayverse transformers #transformers fanfiction #optimus x reader #optimus prime #fanfiction #gardens light

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madridfangirl · 6 months ago

Text

Star crossed lovers (Jude Bellingham fanfic)

Chapter 4

(Series Link)

Jude * female reader

Warnings: None. Slightly mature language in parts.

Synopsis: A chance encounter in a tiny Madrid cafe with the newest superstar of her fav club. The two couldn't be more different, yet both feel the pull toward the other. Would this girl be the one he finally falls for? Would she make him change his ways? Even though she resists him every step of the way, would he fight all odds (& her) to have her in his life? Or would life come in the way of these star-crossed lovers?

…………………………..

Jude let go of her hands, which fell in her lap, and took two steps back to look at her. The mood needed some lightening up.

‘Look at you, shooting me down two nights in a row. One would think I played for Barca, not Madrid.’

This made her look back at him. His silliness made her smile, she couldn’t help herself.

‘There is no way I would be sitting in your kitchen if that were the case.’

‘Finally, the sass is back. Hallelujah!’

He mimicked his celebration, with his hands raised, quite proud of himself in the moment.

She tried kicking his knee to wipe that smirk off his face but he dodged just in time, both laughing by now.

‘Let’s get some food in you. And more wine, definitely more wine. Then we will talk.’

They moved to the living room couch with their dinner and drinks, and settled on watching an episode of Friends. Both knew the show by heart and it served as the perfect distraction. The food was lovely too. White sauce pasta was her ultimate comfort food - she had no idea how he chose this or if it was just something his cook decided to make.

But what helped the most was the wine. It tasted like little drops of heaven. She knew it would be some fancy ass bottle she won’t even be able to pronounce so she didn’t even bother checking the name.

It had started raining by then, she could see the downpour through the French windows facing the backyard. And in Madrid, when it rained, it poured.

While she was looking outside, he cleared the empty plates and came back to the couch with re-filled glasses.

‘Agnes will drop you back later, don’t worry. He’s awesome at driving.’

She turned around and thanked him with a genuine smile, taking the glass from his outstretched hand.

‘Now, tell me, why so intent on shooting me down?’

He tilted his head towards her, patiently waiting for a response. Ananya looked down wryly, while her fingers played with the fabric of the couch.

‘It’s not something I set out to do. But, you and me, we are so different. Don’t you think?’

‘Why do you think so?’

‘Isn’t it obvious? Our jobs, our worlds, our lives, our circles, our priorities - every damn thing is different. There is nothing in common.’

‘Or we are two young, lively, ambitious people, enjoying life in a new city while still being connected to our families back home. That’s how I see it.’

She shook her head in frustration.

‘C’monn, Jude. I am sure you can see my point. You can see what I mean.’

He scanned her face for a few seconds, before conceding.

‘Alright, cool. Yes, we are different. Why is that such a bad thing though? Don’t opposites attract?’

‘Only in movies. And novels. Not in real life. Practicality always wins in real life.’

‘Don’t believe in romance then? In love and fairy tales?’

‘Romance, yes. Love, yes. But not in fairy tales. Not in Price Charming or a White Knight. Not in some star crossed lovers kinda story.’

‘That’s too much scepticism for a 20 year old, y’know.’

She just shrugged in response. He wondered if there was a story behind it. If something, someone rather, made her feel this way. But that thought was so unpleasant that he quickly snapped out of it. Conversation for another time.

‘Ok, let’s stick to practicality then. Let’s break it down. Why can’t we give this a try and see where it goes? Why do we have to think 50 steps ahead on day 1?

‘Define giving it a try.’

‘Dating.’

‘And what would that entail?’

He had been leaning against the back of the couch but sat upright then, and looked at her quizzically.

‘You are asking me what dating entails?’

‘No. I am asking what dating you entails. Would it mean going to your matches, going out in the city with you, to be clicked in public with you? Yeah?’

‘Well, yeah, I guess.’

She sighed, and he put his glass on the table, utterly confused now. When she spoke next, her voice was small but firm.

‘The thing is, just the thought of that, of so many eyes on me is nauseating. It makes me want to run. I can’t handle the pressure of being in the public eye like that. Of being under constant scrutiny. The media will dig out every photo, every text, every said and unsaid thing. And not just that, the fans Jude. Some of your fan girls will absolutely detest my existence, for not being deserving in their eye of the most sought after guy in all of Europe maybe. And I live here, right in the epicentre of all this. It won’t just be virtual. It will be everywhere around me.’

Ananya took a big sip from her glass, almost gulping down the remaining half in one go. While he sat still, trying to process everything she was saying. She continued immediately after.

‘Also, who’s gonna take me seriously at work then? Do you know how hard it is to get into investment banking? There are so few women who graduate to leadership roles in this field - the glass ceiling is present and real. And I am just starting out. I worked my ass off to get here. But they will all just look at me as your…, as some kind of floozy..’

He didn’t let her finish. Jude grabbed both her hands, held them together between his and squeezed firmly.

‘Shhhhhhhh, calm down, calm down babe. I hear you.’

She breathed heavily, gradually opening her eyes as he kept making shushing noises in the meantime.

His eyes were kind and sincere, seeking hers. She nearly got pulled into them but managed to regain her balance. He spoke softly, with understanding.

‘It’s not that bad for some guys, y’know. Tony was telling me how Jessica has pretty much been able to do her own thing here, without much glare. Same for quite a few other guys.’

‘Jude, they are not you. And please don’t make me explain what that means, you already know it.’

Yes, he knew what she meant. She could see it with the resignation in his eyes.

It was his turn to look away to compose himself. She couldn’t resist admiring his face from so close, as he was lost in thought.

‘How about this - we don’t tell anyone. No one. Just you and me. We meet either here or at your place. I will find a way to get there without being seen. No media. No fans. No pictures. No drama. No pressure. Till we are ready. Till you are ready.’

His eyes had changed shade again, filled with resolve now.

She considered every word and replayed it over in her head.

‘That’s not ideal for you, though, is it?’

‘Maybe it is. The media finds enough fodder to rip apart my life and my family’s as it is, let’s not give them more juice. It could be a good thing dove, seriously.’

She scanned his face to see if he really meant what he said. When she couldn’t find any evidence to the contrary, she let out a little sigh.

‘You are sweet.’

‘You are pretty.’

His instant response threw her off-guard. The look of surprise on her face and her failed attempt to speak was deeply amusing to him. Along with the little blush that was starting to creep up at the top of her cheeks.

She pulled out her hands from his hold, gathered herself and tried to look admonishing. He just laughed at her response and flashed her his biggest smile, all 32 teeth visible.

Ananya was convinced he was just trying to distract her from the conversation. The darned thing was, it was working.

‘Can you please be serious, Jude?’

‘I say it as I see it.’

He retorted, meeting the challenge in her voice.

Just then, his phone rang loudly and they both jumped from the suddenness of it. He looked at the phone, then looked at her indecisively.

‘Umm, it’s my Mum.’

‘Go talk to her, she must be calling about the match. What are you waiting for?’

He beamed happily at her, almost thanking her for understanding. Then quickly answered the phone, moving to the next room. She could see him through the glass windows, walking up and down, practically skipping with joy while discussing the match with his mom.

It was such a sweet moment. He looked like a 5 year old little boy telling his mom he came first in a school race. The love was practically radiating from his being.

She smiled, then busied herself with her phone. Giving them their privacy.

Her insta was filled with messages of shock, awe and jealousy of them getting to watch the Classico live. She chuckled and scrolled through all, reminding herself to respond later.

Roma had sent her a few messages too, asking her how it was going. And throwing in some deeply suggestive comments in between. Ananya could tell her friend was drunk. If only she knew what was really happening here, she would probably murder her.

What was really happening here? She was ruining what was probably the best day of his life yet by discussing her complicated thoughts. He could have been celebrating with his teammates right now, or with anyone else. He deserved to have the moon tonight, not what they were doing.

Guilt set in and she kicked herself for coming over in the first place. He would have been upset but surely he would have found ways to get over it quickly.

The constant pattering of rain outside served as a good distraction. She walked over to the French windows and settled down on the comfy floor seating. The cushions were cozy and the throw was soft; she pulled it up till her waist and shut her eyes for a bit.

She still hadn’t told him the other piece of her hesitation. It was a trickier conversation - she didn’t know how to articulate it, or if she even wanted to. She didn’t know how he would react to such vulnerable admissions. Tonight was so not the night, such horrible timing.

Just then, she heard half-frantic footsteps in the background and moments later she saw him turn the corner.

‘There you are. Thought you ran away without telling me.’

She elbowed his side lightly as he settled down next to her on the floor seating, leaning against the cushions.

‘You think I would do that?.’

‘Been trying to run since yesterday. Don’t trust you yet.’

They were side by side, facing the windows but turned slightly towards each other. Ananya chose to not address the last comment.

‘How was the call? She must have been happy.’

There was the little boy again, smiling from ear to ear, radiating such affection for his mom that it made her heart flutter.

‘She was over the moon. But she’s always like that - twice as happy as me for anything I do. Same with Jobe. She’s just a bundle of love.’

This was just cheating at this point. How was she supposed to resist him like this? But she had to get it off her chest, before it was too late. Before something happens that she can’t go back on.

His eyes turned yet another shade, intense. She could feel them roaming over her now.

‘Listen, about earlier.’

‘Oh yes. Sorry for the interruption. You said there was something else. Tell me.’

Her fingers dug into the cushion as she struggled to articulate this sensitive topic. He watched her movements closely, letting her take his time.

‘I came out of a serious relationship, in fact the only relationship I have been in, about 6 months ago. It was hard, coz I thought that person was THE person I will end up with. He said all the right things, did all the right things but eventually when it came to it, he didn’t have it in him to fight for us enough.’

Jude grabbed a nearby cushion too, resisting the urge to bite on it or rip it open. He could tell her scepticism had a story behind it and this seemed to be that.

‘Not gonna bore you with more about that. But long story short, the idea of being with someone is a bit daunting for me right now. A lot of my fundamental beliefs have been shaken, including my ability to trust in my instincts, which I thought I was good at. I am still trying to piece myself back together block by block. That was another reason to pick Madrid - a complete change of environment. I am not…as in I don’t have any feelings for him anymore but it’s myself that I am trying to understand better. Not sure if that makes sense but that’s what it is. ‘

Just my luck, he thought. The cushion was living on borrowed life in his hands at this point but Jude was proud of the way he had kept his face calm and neutral.

‘Thank you for sharing this with me, couldn’t have been easy. Look, I get it. Coming out of a long relationship can be hard. I have also been in one. Though, I don’t think I was ready for it at the time and I can’t claim to have been a good boyfriend either. But we all learn and grow from our experiences, right? Can’t stop trusting our instincts. Think of it this way - you knew all this yet you are here tonight. Something pulled you towards me. Don’t let your brain deny that.’

Well, she wasn’t denying the pull she felt towards him. She was trying to make sense of it with him. But he still hadn’t gotten the full picture. She needed to spell it out crudely so he really gets it.

Ananya looked straight at him for this - so she could see his reaction closely.

‘Jude - I don’t think I am ready for anything physical. And I don’t know when I will be ready. Or if I will be ready. That’s what I have been trying to tell you.’

She watched the realisation dawn on his face then. Well, finally, she thought. When he didn’t speak for the next 30 seconds, she chimed in again.

‘Look - I know this is atypical and I know this won’t work for you. I get it. We can look at last two days as a different experience and just call it a night. It’s absolutely fine.’

His head shot up at her, and his tone was sharp, for the first time tonight.

‘Sorry - what do you mean you KNOW this won’t work for me?’

‘Because it won’t work for most people in your position.’

She said calmly, trying to keep an even tone.

‘IN MY POSITION? You mean a footballer right? And you know this how? Let me guess - media, social media and gossip pages, correct?’

‘Jude, I..’

‘Tell me this - have I done ANYTHING in the last two days to make you uncomfortable? Did I push you, touch you or even look at you when you didn’t want me to?

‘Please don’t say that. You haven’t. That’s not what I..’

‘Then why, why did you of all people assume I was some sex-crazed animal who is only interested in fucking anyone with….’

She crossed the distance between them, kneeled in front of him and covered his mouth with her hand.

‘Stop, please stop. I am sorry. That’s not what I meant. And yes, I shouldn’t have drawn any conclusions from the media. You are right. Pls I beg you, just calm down. I am so so sorry.’

She could feel his heavy breathing on her hand, but atleast he didn’t push her away. The fight drained out from his eyes slowly, replaced with hurt. Which killed her even more. She moved her hands to his shoulders, gently stroking both.

He spoke in a small voice then, the twinkle lost from his eyes.

‘What did you mean then, if not all that?’

‘I meant that, someone like you, who has the world at his feet right now, who has enough high stakes as it is in his day job, why would such a person want this kind of a restricted set-up? I am sure models, actresses and all such sexy women must be throwing themselves at you left, right and center. You could be with anyone you want to be with.’

He seemed to believe her explanation, from the way his shoulders relaxed and his expression softened.

‘Clearly, not anyone.’

He pointed in her direction. When she didn’t say anything, he reached for her hands lying on his shoulders. And gently, fleetingly brushed his lips on the back of both.

She gasped & shut her eyes, willing herself to not melt. Failing miserably.

‘I believe I have the right to decide who I find sexy. And dove, you are the reason I struggled to sleep last night. Haven’t stopped thinking about you.’

Ananya wanted to hide from his gaze which was burning her even with her eyes closed. But she was transfixed.

‘Plus you are smart, a little lippy, highly opinionated, well-read, brave, vulnerable, honest and so so real. Gosh, I love that about you.’

He requested her to look at him. She obliged.

‘I would take you right now if you were in the same headspace. God knows I have thought about it. But, if taking things slow is what you need and the alternative is you walking out that door forever, then let’s go at a turtle pace. Can’t let go of you.’

He pulled them both up to their feet, standing a few inches away from each other.

Then, he opened his arms for her, inviting her in. She looked between his arms and his face which had an expectant smile, then back to his open arms.

‘Come here, come to me.’

Next second, she found herself against his chest. Strong arms wrapped around her in a gentle hold, pulling her further into his chest. While her hands went around his broad back, clutching at his jumper.

This wasn’t like anything she had ever felt before. His scent, his warmth, his breath, his presence fogged her mind and made her oblivious to everything else in the world.

Jude kissed the top of her head and rested his cheek against it. She bit her cheek to not let out a moan, but failed, making him smile.

‘Feeling what I am feeling?’

‘Yes.’

‘Will you give us a chance, then?’

‘You haven’t left me with a choice.’

‘Finally. Two wins in the same night, I am truly on a roll.’

She giggled against his chest at his silliness, and he followed suit. Feeling his laugh reverberate through his whole body was a feeling she couldn’t describe in words. It was something pure, something ethereal.

They swayed in each other’s arms for minutes, not wanting to let go. Not wanting to disturb the peace of the moment.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she grudgingly removed her cheek that was placed against his chest, and looked up at him.

‘It must be late. I should go now.’

‘If you want, you can take the guest bedroom. And leave in the morning whenever you want.’

‘I have some work in the morning, have to send out some stuff to the New York office.’

‘Agnes can pick up your laptop and bring it here.’

‘Jude - I really don’t think we should be under the same roof tonight.’

‘Don’t trust me?’

‘Don’t trust either of us right now, to be honest.’

He flashed her a mind-numbing smile.

‘Already can’t resist me? I knew it.’

‘Shut up and let me go.’

‘Five more minutes?’

‘Fine.’

She rested her cheek on his chest again, while his went on her head. His arms gently stroking her back, building a cocoon of comfort. They stayed like that for more than 5 mins.

……………………………………………

There you go - hope you are liking the story so far.

Feedback is very very welcome :)

#jude bellingham #bellingham x reader #bellingham #real madrid #jude fanfic

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