#he’s big enough that you’d definitely be feeling him in your guts and then still feeling him days later | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chelseeebe · 1 year ago

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still into you

after abruptly leaving hawkins (and you) seven years ago, eddie munson, ex-boyfriend turned rockstar, makes a grand return. how will things pan out when your lives couldn’t be further apart?

this has been in the drafts for god knows how long and you can definitely tell where my writing started to improve as i came back to it.. hope y’all enjoy anyway! this is so long good lord. also includes a bit of bestfriendism with stevie!

18+. mdni. smut. mentions of alcohol. eddie is a dickhead. no use of y/n!

read part two here.

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‘you know he’s coming back next weekend?’ steve mutters, nodding towards you as you rip the sellotape from the brown box, beginning to stack the cans of soup.

‘is he? oh my god oh my god,’ feigning excitement with a straight face.

you’d already known he was coming back, you’d received the invitation just like everybody else. except, you’d swiftly put the gimmicky piece of paper into the trash and got on with your day. confused why everyone else seemed to be losing their goddamn minds over it.

he huffs quietly, helping you with the heavy tins, ‘are you gonna go?’ steve didn’t actually work in melvalds but came in on his breaks purely to chat and distract you from your work.

‘am i gonna go? hmm, let me think.. no.’

‘he wants to see you.. you should come,’ prodding his elbow into your side, collapsing the box into a flat piece of cardboard.

‘you spoke to him?’ ears perking up. you didn’t care if he’d mentioned you. no, really.

‘yeah.. he called a few weeks ago, y’know when the invitations got sent out,’ picking up the next box to start filling the shelf.

‘oh! it’s nice to know he called you and just hilarious to know i never got a phone call,’ getting frankly quite sick of hearing about eddie fucking munson and his grand return.

once upon a time, eddie had actually been your boyfriend. must’ve been 7 or so years ago by this point.. anyway, that was before he’d got his big break and decided that he was going to completely forget about hawkins.. and about you. you’d still been together after his first tiny tour, excitedly waiting for him to come home when he just.. never did.

he’d had the decency to at least call and tell you that he was breaking up with you.. we’re just in different places right now.. it’s not you.. i don’t want you to ruin your life waiting for me..

it was essentially a whole bunch of bullshit, because the very next month he was spotted with some bottle blonde model looking suspiciously close at some club he’d have absolutely hated the year prior. it was like a punch to the gut, flicking through the pages of the trashy magazine just knowing that you hadn’t been enough for this new lifestyle of his.

from then on, you’d decided to disengage with any and everything about him. turning the tv off when corroded coffin came on one of the morning talk shows, leaving the room at parties when one of his song’s inevitably came on and just completely blanking out of the conversation when his name was brought up. it was easier that way, saved your feelings and the awkward glances you’d get.

at some point things had become slightly more complicated and you’re not sure how exactly it had happened but you had wound up pregnant. and by jason carver no less. maybe it was your shared disdain for eddie that had brought you together. who knows?

but it had happened and now you had to deal with it. and although jason may come in a close second to world’s biggest assholes.. you had gained a beautiful daughter from it all and had become quite content with your single mom life.

people had come and gone, robin jetting off to some fancy college in california.. jonathan and nancy ending up in new york at some hot-shot newspaper.. the kids you’d sort of gathered had all gone off to various colleges, becoming adults themselves. all except for steve.

steve had stayed in hawkins like you, begrudgingly following his father’s footsteps, getting a job at his accounting firm. it was good money and kept his dad happy so he couldn’t fault it really. he’d even got his own place just down the street from your house and at some point you’d just accepted that he was probably your only friend in hawkins.

it had brought the two of you undeniably closer and maybe you’d even call him your best friend now. well, except for right now as he was beginning to piss you off with all this fussing over eddie.

‘you have to come.. it’s not just for him, everyone is going.. it’s a reunion,’ steve continues to pester you despite your efforts to shut him down.

‘steve, i’m not going and that’s that.’

he sighs, staring at you with a blank expression, ‘okay, well.. i’ll tell him it’s a maybe,’ checking his watch before frowning, ‘shit, i’m late.. i’ll see you later,’ throwing the empty cardboard to the floor before dashing off down the aisle, giving you an exaggerated wave as he disappears.

you just knew that he was not going to drop this until you agreed to go. but he could kick and scream as much as he liked, you had absolutely zero desire to go this flimsy reunion and even less desire to see eddie in the flesh.

it’s another dull week of stacking shelves and managing a team of absolute morons and before you know it, it’s the day before that fucking reunion and steve is still as incessant as ever that you must go.

‘my mom can look after ella.. please just come,’ he sounded like he was a second away from getting on his knees to actually beg you to go.

you’d started to just ignore him now, getting on with whatever you were doing, choosing to give him the silent treatment. he hated that.

‘you’re so annoying,’ he scoffs, still helping you unbox the bags of chips, ‘will you just come for five minutes.. you don’t even have to talk to eddie, it’s the first time we’ll all be together again.. puh-leaseee,’ breaking into a weird sort of sing-song tone.

you exhale through your nose, visibly frustrated by the man, ‘i’m going to ban you in a minute,’ raising your eyebrows, taking the same tone you used when ella was being a brat.

‘no you won’t,’ furrowing his brows, ‘what if i promise to stand in between you the whole night? i’ll beat him with a stick if he even tries to talk to you,’ completely serious with what he just said.

you chortle, covering your mouth as one of the elderly customers walks past, slightly bewildered by the noise that just escaped your mouth, ‘couldn’t you just beat him with a stick anyway?’

‘ehh.. not really, he is paying for the whole thing,’ straightening the bags of air he’d just placed on the shelf, ‘i mean, i could if you really want me to.’

you roll your eyes, of course he was. he’d rented the fanciest restaurant just outside of town for your gaggle of pals. any chance to flaunt the fact that he’d made it out of this hell hole and left the rest of you in the dirt.

‘i have a child, steve, i can’t just go out and leave her at home.. some of us aren’t free like you are,’ turning to face him with a stern hand on your hip.

‘i just told you my mom’ll look after her.. she hasn’t seen her in so long and.. and you can stay at mine and i’ll take you to her first thing in the morning,’ his eyes are round, glimmering in the harsh overhead lights.

‘i don’t have anything to wear,’ shrugging, you really didn’t. becoming a mother isn’t quite so glamorous and a lot of clothes you’d once fit into had become a little tight.

‘when d’you finish?’

narrowing your eyes at him, ‘two..’

‘great.. okay well, i’ll take a half-day and we can go shopping.. on me,’ wiggling his eyebrows at you. the thing about steve is that he believes that most problems can be solved by throwing money at it.

he wasn’t wrong, of course.

because you reluctantly agree to go shopping with him on the condition that you weren’t definitely going to this thing. you were just going to try on dresses. that was it.

you get a cab to the restaurant, there was no way in hell you were doing this sober nor did you want to subject steve to being sober for your sake. palms clammy as you clamber out of the vehicle, immediately regretting your decision.

no one would care if you didn’t go, right? you could quite easily just get back into the taxi and go home without forcing yourself to endure the night.

steve’s one step ahead of you, grabbing your hand so you can’t run away. throwing him an awful glare but you weren’t really mad, just annoyed that he’d succeeded in persuading you to come.

‘c’mon.. it won’t be so bad once you’re in there,’ smoothing down his fresh shirt as he begins to walk up the winding path, dragging you along behind him.

he’s wrong. it’s so much worse inside. the place was huge, extravagantly decorated and full of people you’d once regarded as your best friends, all too busy in their own conversations to notice you and steve walk in.

it wasn’t like you hadn’t heard from them, it had just been through occasional letters and christmas cards rather than seeing them face to face. robin would call sometimes, fill you in on whatever she had been up to and beg to speak to ella who absolutely loved it. you were sure they were on the same wavelength.

you look to steve with wary eyes, digging your fingertips into his hand, ‘we could just leave right now.. no one would even know,’ tugging gently on his arm.

‘hey,’ he whispers, ‘it’s okay.. look, robin’s coming over, we’ll say hi and see how you feel,’ using his spare hand to wave at the bubbly girl, dropping your hand to give her a hug.

‘oh my god,’ she rushes, ‘how are you? you look so good.. and i don’t mean you,’ pulling away from steve to throw her arms around you, her gentle hands rubbing on your back.

‘hah, it’s nice to see you too,’ steve rolls his eyes, grabbing two of the champagne flutes being ferried around by fancy waiters.

she pulls back, ‘i didn’t think you were coming.. how are you doing? how’s ella?’ the words falling out of her mouth at super speed, it was as if her mouth moved before her brain did.

‘i wasn’t gonna but i wanted to see you guys,’ you nod, taking the glass from steve’s outstretched hand and taking a lengthy sip, ‘i’m okay.. ella’s okay.. you’ll have to come and see her before you leave.’

‘i will i will! i literally landed like two hours ago and had to rush but i’m back until friday,’ her hands flying around as she spoke, ‘come and say hello..’ her arm intertwines with yours as she leans in closer to your ear, ‘he’s staring y’know..’

your eyes roll back on their own, not even wanting to search the room for him, ‘i’m not speaking to him so he can stare all he likes,’ straightening up as you approach the group robin had left.

nancy’s talking to max about something in incredible detail but is quite to stop when you approach, mouth in a small ‘o’ as she hugs you, ‘you came? i thought we were gonna miss you,’ grinning wide when she pulls back.

you give an overdramatic sigh, ‘of course i had to come.. you’d all miss me too much,’ waving to the rest of the group.

there are a lot of small pleasantries swapped, asking about their journey’s here and how they’d been.. standard small talk. but then el asks to see a picture of ella, ecstatic that their names were so similar. you’d come prepared, pulling the creased picture out of your bag.

they all gush and coo over her, it was a picture you’d snapped from her first day of kindergarten, cheesing with her pigtails and pink hair bobbles. passing it around the gathered group, still steadily sipping on the bitter champagne.

‘who’s that?’ eddie asks, you hadn’t noticed him sidle over to the crowd, stood peering over lucas’ shoulder at the photograph.

your eyes meet his, seeing his face for the first time in what felt like centuries. he looked older, obviously, still sporting the same long curls except now it actually looked as if it’d been styled. he’s in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, forearms now littered with tattoos and a nice looking watch. your heart just about stops beating when you realise you’ll now have to explain exactly who that is.

‘uh.. that’s ella,’ you nod, not quite meeting his eyes, ‘..my daughter,’ taking the photo from lucas’ hand, the atmosphere had quite suddenly shifted and people begin to scatter, starting their own conversations so they don’t have to bare witness to this one.

‘oh.. oh, right.. well, congratulations then,’ the shadow of a smile on his lips, could he feel how fucking awkward this was?

‘thank you,’ giving him a half nod, startled as steve’s hand brushes the small of your back. he’d seen that you were in conversation and had left dustin to fulfil his security guard promise.

‘it’s nice that you two found each other.. you have a beautiful daughter,’ still not fully committed to smiling but he was getting there.

your face contorts, immediately looking to steve before letting out a god awful cackle, ‘oh no.. she’s not steve’s,’ covering your mouth before another taunting laugh comes out.

steve is trying to stifle his grin but fails, reaching his hand out to shake eddie’s hand, ‘ah man, no ella’s not mine but she is beautiful, isn’t she? how are you?’

you’re eternally grateful that he he’s managed to sway the conversation and you aren’t forced to explain why or how you’d had a child with jason fucking carver. turning back to robin as you hear steve ramble on about work and corroded coffin’s new album, something you had absolutely no care about.

‘shall we get another drink?’ robin asks, eyeing the open bar and your empty glass.

‘please.’

the rest of the night is going.. relatively well. it’s kinda unsettling to watch the younger kids drink legally, getting more boisterous and loud as the night progresses. it’s nice, if not a little sad just thinking about how you weren’t really able to enjoy yourself at their age because you had a newborn.

you must’ve been deep in thought as you don’t even notice eddie creep up to the empty table, standing awkwardly besides your chair, ‘can we talk?’

your eyes shoot up to meet his, baffled by his presence, ‘what could we possibly have to talk about?’

he exhales through his nose, ‘uh.. a lot? we don’t have to do it here.. i have a room upstairs or.. outside?’

‘no,’ gripping onto your glass of wine, desperately trying to grab the attention of someone behind eddie to come and save you, ‘i don’t want to speak to you.’

he’s exasperated, clutching onto his beer with strained white knuckles. how were you ever supposed to move past this when you wouldn’t even give him the opportunity to explain himself. but that was exactly it. you didn’t care about any of the silly excuses you’re sure he’d conjured up, he did what he did and that was that.

‘i’m trying here..’ sounding exasperated, ‘how ‘bout dinner? sometime this week, on me,’ his voice is deeper now, raspier. you figure as a result of constant partying and chain smoking while on tour.

‘i have a child and a job.. i don’t have time for dinner with you on top of that,’ swallowing the rest of the sweet white wine, putting the empty glass back on the table with a forceful slam.

you make brief eye contact with will who was passing behind eddie and decide to take the opportunity to pounce, standing from your chair and rushing over the second he nears your table.

‘will.. hey,’ speeding to catch him up, mouthing a small save me, clinging to his arm as you move away from eddie who was stood deflated at the table.

will thankfully catches your drift, steering you towards the bar, ‘you okay? i was just about to leave..’ placing his empty glass onto the bar with a soft sigh.

‘what? no.. if i can’t go then you’re not allowed either,’ talking sternly to the boy even though he now towered above you and just about everybody else in here.

he screws up his face, looking over to the dance floor, ‘it’s just..’ sighing once again, ‘awful, isn’t it?’ following his gaze to an intoxicated mike performing an elaborate air guitar routine in the middle of the floor.

it wasn’t exactly the same, but you could empathise with the difficult situation and that foul feeling in your stomach that you were sure he could feel too. you could imagine that it wasn’t easy to see the man you’d once, or perhaps still loved after so long. in fact, you didn’t really need to imagine at all.

deciding it was better to change the subject, distract him from the unraveling scene on the dance floor, ‘d’you smoke?’

he looks around quickly, watching out for a listening jonathan, you assume before he nods quickly, ‘but no one can know,’ a hint of a smile creeping onto his face.

you return the devilish grin before hooking your arm in his, pulling him towards the door where you could get the hell away from annoying men and their long black hair.

it’s gone three by the time you get back to steve’s, genuinely having to coax him from the party and into the cab you’d shared with a belligerent dustin, making sure he had got home safely.

‘i wasn’t too mean, was i?’ snuggled up in steve’s blankets, facing each other in the low light of his room.

‘nooo, no you were on fire,’ he laughs, he was still tipsy and slightly reeking of booze as he lay next to you.

‘really? you’re sure?’ he was definitely just drunk and blabbing on but you’d take it.

‘yes.. it was perfect,’ he hiccups, interrupting his sentence, ‘buuut.. and i’m not the only one who said this so don’t kill me..’ kissing the back of his teeth, ‘you’re not gonna like what i have to say.’

‘what? what is it?’ prodding his shoulder with a quick jab. knowing eddie, he’d probably gone round the party whispering some bullshit about the two of you.

‘well..’ holding his hands in the air, ‘there’s still chemistry there.. y’know i could see it,’ raising his eyebrows, hands collapsing onto the blanket.

‘right, i’m going to sleep.. you’re drunk and just saying stupid shit now,’ rolling your eyes as you settle into the soft pillow, closing your eyes so you no longer had to entertain his idiotic nonsense.

he chortles, hiccuping mid-laugh which makes a horrid choking noise, ‘i’m not that drunk.. robin said it too,’ the lamp clicks off, darkening the room, ‘and dustin..’

‘go to sleep steve,’ unamused and tired.

‘okay okay.. goodnight,’ he calls, you can hear the smile in his voice as he turns to face the other way, taking that as your opportunity to rest your head on his back, nuzzling into the soft cotton t-shirt.

monday is particularly awful and you’re reminded exactly why you don’t drink often. two days on and you’re still exhausted, half-heartedly filling the shelves and just trying to make it to two o’clock.

in your tired state, one of the bottles of shampoo you were putting out, falls out of your hand and rolls off somewhere down the aisle. you sigh, a deep, fed-up, exhaustive sigh and get up to go and fetch it when the bottle appears before your face, a tattooed, ring-filled hand latched onto it.

‘carver? really?’ eddie frowns, watching you from above, eyebrows furrowed together.

you place the bottle onto it’s rightful spot on the shelf and choose to ignore him. if he’d come all the way down here just to piss you off about your poor life choices then he could get fucked.

‘when’d that happen?’

blanking him again as you continue to put stuff onto the shelves. this was the easiest way to guarantee that you weren’t going to get yourself fired for being rude to him.

‘you gonna ignore me? i just wanna know,’ still poking and prodding, he clearly wasn’t very good at picking up on context clues.

nothing.

‘fuck, can you just talk to me for five minutes?’ your silence was driving him crazy, aggravating him to no end.

‘i’m at work, so no,’ hurriedly trying to finish the stock you had so you had an excuse to rush out the back and away from him.

he was fortunate that it was a quiet monday, the store full of mostly older ladies who had no idea who he was. you sorta hoped that he’d get mobbed and would have to hurry off and leave you alone.

‘why jason? out of literally everyone else in this shithole you choose jason?’ screwing his face up in disgust.

you slam the box cutter down with a loud clatter, causing a few turned heads and raised eyebrows. fuck ‘em. if you had done what you’d really wanted to do, you’d be locked up forever.

‘i don’t know if you remember this but my boyfriend of like, two years ran away and never came home so yeah.. that kinda fucked with me a little and lucky for me, jason carver was there and also hated my ex’s guts.. so it was perfect, you know?’ staring flatly at him, you were not dealing with his shit today.

eddie scoffs, ‘so you had a kid with him? and now.. what? you play happy families just to spite me? is that it?’

‘yes eddie, i had a whole child just to piss you off.’

he gawps back at you, clearly also did not possess the ability to sense sarcasm.

‘no,’ scowling at him, ‘it was an accident and now he’s.. i dunno, coaching basketball at some school in ohio or some shit.. why don’t you go and bother him?’

‘so you’re not together?’

you can only roll your eyes in response, in sheer disbelief that he’d made such a fuss because he couldn’t just outright ask if you were single.

un-fucking-believable.

you’ve had just about enough of this conversation, pulling your little trolley back towards the swing doors that lead to the warehouse. at least he wasn’t allowed in there.

‘wait! wait..’ he grabs onto the other side of the trolley, stopping you from walking off, ‘have dinner with me tonight or.. tomorrow?’ eyes big and pleading.

‘now why would i do that?’

‘because i want to explain myself.. i need to.’

one of the younger shoppers notices who he is and begins trying to talk to him, coming over to where you two stood rather excitedly. eddie is kind enough to smile and give her a few polite words, eyes still latched onto yours despite the ecstatic woman beside him.

‘okay,’ honestly just wanting to get away from all this commotion, ‘tomorrow.’

his scowl subsides, replaced by a gleaming grin, ‘six o’clock.. pino’s, i’ll sort it, okay?’ already starting to walk away from the crazy woman.

‘right,’ you nod, pulling your trolley away and into the back warehouse, leaning against the concrete wall. the whole exchange was tiring, knocking whatever tiny bit of energy out of you.

were you actually gonna go?

absolutely fucking not.

by the time six rolls around the next night, you really had forgotten all about it. rushing to get ella her dinner after swimming lessons, already worrying about paying for yet another field trip she’d sprung on you earlier. you’d begun to wonder if they even taught in the classrooms anymore with the amount of permission slips she brought home.

she’s finally settled into bed, after much protesting and a lot of coaxing. you’re just about to finally relax on the couch when someone hammers on your front door. and if you weren’t already pissed off with ella’s whining, you were most definitely about to be with whichever mindless prick was banging on your door.

‘what do you want?’ you hiss, jerking the door open to reveal a pathetic looking eddie on the other side, face forlorn and dejected.

he’s in that white shirt again. it makes you sick to your stomach to admit that it really does look good on him. his arms now more defined, the cotton sticking to his muscles, briefly showcasing the new tattoos underneath. maybe he’d actually got off of his ass and did something other than smoke weed all day.

‘oh so you are alive, d’you forget about something?’ he’s snarling now, having conjured up some elaborate excuse in his head as to why you hadn’t showed, only to find you at home, seemingly with no care in the world.

‘oops,’ the corners of your mouth twitching into a smile, you hadn’t even actually meant to stand him up, you were just gonna call his hotel and cancel but the thought had just completely slipped your mind.

and even if it shouldn’t, it really did feel good. knowing he was the one sat waiting for you for once.

‘oops? i sat there for an hour waiting for you and then spent the last hour trying to convince dustin to give me your fucking address.. and all you can say is oops?’

you shrug, ‘feels pretty shitty to be forgotten about, doesn’t it?’ tilting your head, watching as his face falls. he’d been got.

‘okay.. okay, i get it, and i’m sorry.. there’s not a day that goes by that i don’t feel like shit for how i treated you,’ his head dips low, looking particularly sorry for himself.

and for a second you do too. not that he deserved it. quickly having to remind yourself exactly what he had done to you, which was not at all helped by the fact that he now had everything he’d ever wanted in life.

and you couldn’t fault your life. truly. but fuck did it sting sometimes, to know that your life had stagnated, stuck in the same shitty town you’d grown up in while he was on the other side of the country, more money than sense and a hoard of doting fans that would do absolutely anything he’d ask of them.

‘good,’ you bark, going to slam the door shut only for it to bang against his black boot wedged in the door, ‘if you don’t move your foot i’ll- i’ll call the police.’

‘no you won’t,’ his hand reaches out to grab onto the other side of the handle, he could’ve easily pushed his way in if he’d really wanted, ‘let’s talk.. like adults,’ begging you now, ‘please.’

you huff, this would end with you either letting him in or being forced to wake ella after you bashed his head into the doorframe. it was easier to just accept the first option and you’d find some bullshit to get him to leave later on.

opening the door wider to let him in, keeping your eyes square on the ground as he walks through, peering around at your home. probably comparing it to his mansion in the hollywood hills the pretentious fuck.

‘nice..’ he nods, leaning in to look at the photo of you and ella a few christmas’ ago, she was tiny then, sporting a miniature santa hat.

‘yeah well, she’s asleep upstairs so.. make it quick,’ you frown, closing the door behind him, watching as his eyes take in the cluttered room, smile fading when he catches sight of the singular picture you have up of jason and ella.

‘i can’t believe you chose to fuck jason of all people.. i mean, i’ve made some shitty decisions in my life but..’ he stops himself from going any further when he sees your face, if looks could kill, he’d be long gone by now.

‘did you come here for a reason? or are you here to talk about my life decisions.. because i really don’t want to hear it from you,’ crossing your arms over your chest, wanting him out of your house.

‘no.. no, shit- i’m sorry,’ he shuffles on his feet, banging his head, ‘i wanna talk.. properly.’

you roll your hand to motion for him to continue, ‘go on..’

he inhales, chewing on the inside of his cheek, trying to psyche himself up to actually say what he wanted to say. it wasn’t that he didn’t know what to say, he just couldn’t string it together to make sense.

‘i’m sorry for the way i treated you.. it wasn’t right and i know that now,’ his hand coming to rub the back of his clammy next, why was your house so fucking hot?

‘okay.. apology accepted, was that everything?’ you say flatly, glancing up the stairs to make sure ella wasn’t awake and out of her room.

his face falls, ‘can you just.. just let me explain,’ his adam apple bobbing as he swallows, ‘why don’t you sit down..’ motioning towards your ratty couch.

you relent your stern stature, hesitantly going to sit on the couch, trying to ensure that he couldn’t possibly sit next to you by sprawling your legs out onto the empty cushion. so he takes the seat furthest away, running his hands down his tight jeans. designer, no less.. the only person you knew stupid enough to spend thousands on designer jeans just to tear holes in them.

‘when i ended things with you, i wasn’t.. well, it was me, but i had my manager screaming in my ear that it’d never work and he could hook me up with some fuckin’ model.. it’d help the band.. so that’s what i did,’ and for once, he looked genuinely remorseful, fiddling with the loose threads on his expensive jeans.

‘so you sold out? that’s your excuse?’

his head shoots up, mouth hung open with absolute disgust all over his face, ‘i am not a sell out.’

which is incredibly refutable, you’d heard a snippet of one of their recent songs on the radio at work and it had sounded exactly like the commercial shit he used to rag on when you were together. not a touch on the corroded coffin you sat and watched practice for hours on end.

‘oh? so you didn’t break up with me to further your career? you just wanted to fuck hot models? which one is it ‘cause i’m a little confused here,’ completely losing it, springing up from your slouched position.

‘okay, yeah.. yeah i did, i broke up with you because i wanted to fuckin’ make something of my life.. and look at where i am and look at-,’

‘-don’t you dare finish that sentence,’ you snap, gritting your teeth together as you near his face, positively shaking with rage.

‘what’re you gonna do? you gonna hit me? do it,’ his chin tilted to match your elevated position, eyes glued to yours.

‘i should.’

his lips twitch into a smirk, ‘you won’t.’

and before your brain has the time to really process your next movements, he balls his fist into your t-shirt, causing your chest to collide into his as his lips smash into yours, knocking the air out of your lungs.

scrambling to find his shoulders for balance, sliding one hand onto his stubbly cheek. it’s all teeth and tongues, he’s ravenous and unrelenting, letting go of his grip on your shirt to place his hands on your hips, ‘move,’ mumbling against your lips as he attempts to manoeuvre you onto his lap while twisting around.

he slides down the couch, keeping a solid hold of your body as you find the right position. your legs are either side of his waist, sliding into the gap between his body and the couch sitting right on his crotch. wasting absolutely zero time in connecting your lips against, honestly not wanting to run the risk of him opening his mouth and ruining this.

his large hands find solace on your ass, creeping up to remove the oversized shirt you’d thrown on. you place your hand above his, restricting him from moving any further. it’s not that you were embarrassed- okay, maybe you were a little. but your body had changed since becoming a mom and eddie had become accustomed to gorgeous models and perfect women that he’d certainly not want to see your boring, frumpy mom body.

he groans in protest, trying again to lift the shirt further only for your fingernails to dig into his hand, ‘no,’ speaking into the filthy kiss.

eddie pulls away from the kiss, fingers coming to gently brush the hair from your face, ‘you can’t be serious? i’ve seen it all before,’ he grumbles, fingers itching to try lift it again.

‘not like this you haven’t.. i just.. want it on, okay?’

‘no- why won’t you let me take this off?’ fingers curling around the hem, already trying his luck with getting it up again.

you sigh, meeting his blown out eyes with your glossy ones, ‘i don’t even know what i’m doing.. fuck,’ attempting to climb off of his lap while the spare hand he has on your ass clamps you down, keeping you pressed to him.

‘hey.. hey, keep it on.. i don’t care,’ already trying to chase your lips, ‘i’m just saying, you don’t need to,’ the denim covering his growing erection starting to rub against your throbbing clit, the sparse material of your pajama shorts were not leaving much to the imagination.

‘jesus christ, just take it off,’ giving up in your protest, it was useless against eddie’s persistence.

you press your lips to his the second your shirt is off, there was no time to judge your body if he couldn’t see it. pulling at his jacket to get it off, the metal buttons digging into your now bare skin.

‘i didn’t.. i didn’t mean.. what i said..’ babbling through the kiss as he shimmies out of the jacket, landing on the floor with a soft thud.

‘shut up,’ you whine, running your hand along the length of his chest until you reach the hem of his black shirt, gripping your fingers around the fabric and lifting it slightly, exposing his midriff, the soft trail of hair ascending the skin.

his head jerks backwards, allowing you to tug the shirt off, finally allowing his eyes to wander to your chest. ‘holy shit,’ he remarks like he’d never seen a pair of tits before. it’s futile for him to pretend that he hadn’t seen some amazing boobs in his time so you scoff, rolling your eyes.

working your hand at his belt buckle, fiddling with the metal until it pops undone. he’s hard already and it makes you groan, brushing your hand over the raised denim. this week seriously must’ve been difficult if he was getting hard so easily over you.

it doesn’t ever occur to you how much of a mistake this was. and even if it did, you didn’t have much time to ponder on it as his hands are grabbing at your breasts, palming them as his lips suck at your jaw and down onto your neck softly. guaranteed to leave a lovely violet mark that the old ladies at work would certainly gasp at.

he’s helping you with his jeans, one hand gripping onto your waist to keep you steady as he lifts his hips from the couch and the other hurriedly yanking them down just enough to reveal his boxers. that’s the next port of call, fingers grabbing at the thin black cotton, pulling them down his thighs as his cock springs into action.

eddie’s lips are still on your neck while you mindlessly wrap your hand around his cock, pumping your fist as you shuffle upwards. his breath hitches in his throat, still peppering sloppy kisses to the sensitive skin.

‘oh god,’ he whines into your collarbone, feeling his eyelashes flutter against your jaw. for a man who had been painted as womaniser in the media, he sure was still just as pathetic as he used to be underneath you.

you’re a little annoyed that it’s you who’s taking control right now. after so many years of disrespect from his end, you think he at least owed it to you to take charge.

your hand grabs onto his shoulder, pulling his face from your neck, ‘be quiet, okay?’ sitting taller to position yourself comfortably, the harsh fabric of the couch grazing your knees.

he nods, sliding his hand up your waist and back to your hip, taking in the sight of you. you wouldn’t ever admit it aloud, but truthfully, you really did miss him sometimes. missed the way his pretty pink lips looked after being glued to yours or the way he gazed at you doing the most mundane tasks.

you cant your hips, sinking down onto his length slowly, biting down onto your bottom lip as his cock fills you to the hilt. his eyelids flicker, fingernails digging into your doughy hips. it’s been a little while since you’d done this so you have to take a second to become accustomed to the slight stretch. it’s good, in the most masochistic way.

your hands cling onto his shoulders, watching his slack jaw, tiny breaths escaping from his mouth as you attempt to move. painstakingly slow at first, knees beginning to shake as you try to remember what you should even be doing. your cheeks flushing, feeling so incredibly embarrassed. the man was fucking models and then you’re here, pitifully trying to ride him. it’s awful, you know it’s awful.

his arm comes to snake around your waist, taking matters into his own hands and flipping the two of you around, your back suddenly pressed into the couch. holy shit. you appreciate the initiative, wrapping your legs around his waist, readjusting your grip on his shoulders.

‘need you a little faster than that darling,’ large hands digging into the couch either side of your head. you’d feel utterly mortified if you weren’t thoroughly enjoying the sight of him looming over you, his hair falling beautifully into your face.

eddie starts slow at first, moving his hips slowly, obviously well versed. your mouth opens but no noise escapes, well aware that you weren’t the only ones in your house. instead you pant softly, desperate for his lips to grace yours again.

it’s not long before he’s quickening his pace, unable to contain himself when you feel so perfect around him. ‘i missed you- fuck, i’ve missed you so much,’ he groans, keeping his voice low despite wanting to start screaming.

you don’t reply, too fucked-out to even think about words. eyes drooping as his cock nudges against the soft spongy spot no one other than him had been able to reach.

the couch creaks beneath you, the old thing unable to keep up with his rutting hips, the top of your head knocking into the arm rest every time his hips collided with yours. your living room had never bore witness to such filth and as quiet as you were trying to be, the sounds are indistinguishable.

having to bite down onto your lip when his thumb meets your clit, legs tightening around his waist with every soft circle he draws around the sensitive bud. eddie was never bad in bed but holy shit, maybe money had done something right for him.

he sits up, soft sighs falling out of his lips as his hand disconnects from your clit, sliding toward your knee and positioning your leg onto his shoulder. your nails press into his forearm, willing yourself to stay quiet even now he’s seemingly trying to kill you.

and through it all, he’s smirking. relishing the way you’re writhing around, trying not to cum when he nudges against that sweet, spongy spot this position allowed.

his thumb finds your clit again, ‘holy shit sweetheart.. you gonna cum?’ grunting softly with every thrust.

you’re positively wrecked beneath him, face pressed into the couch cushion as your stomach flips. panting into the fabric, incoherent ramblings of eddie’s name and a bunch of curse words fill the room.

‘cum for me baby.. shit,’ struggling to keep his own pace as you tighten around him, leg trembling around his neck as your orgasm takes over. pleasure overtaking your limbs as your hips buck instinctively, thankfully muffled by the couch.

‘oh my god,’ you breathe, struggling to see straight when your eyes eventually reopen, gazing up at eddie above, certain he’s about to draw blood from his teeth digging in to his lip.

‘where.. where shall i- shit,’ he squeezes out, feeling his hips begin to stutter, eyes rolling to the back of his head. he’s just about quick enough to pull out, thick ropes of cum paint your thighs. narrowly avoiding the couch.

if you had the energy to get annoyed, you would’ve snapped, but in all honesty, your brain was still reeling and anger was the last thing you felt.

eddie reaches over, ever the gentleman and grabs his shirt to clean his mess. didn’t matter to him obviously, he had more than enough money to buy another.

and there it is. the bitterness filling your body again the second he’s no longer on top of you, or inside of you rather. you attempt to bite it down.

‘you wanna talk now?’ he asks, pulling his boxers back up to a more respectable position.

‘i’m tired eddie,’ and you are, on a school night like tonight you’d have been fast asleep by now.

he sighs, shoulders slumping over. even after you’d just had the most mind-altering sex, you couldn’t speak to him. ‘please,’ pleading with you almost, desperate for one more chance.

maybe it’s the exhaustion or maybe the dopamine still pumping through your brain but you concede, pulling your shirt back over your head before motioning for him to speak.

‘i don’t have any excuses, i’m just-,’ he sighs, turning on the couch to face you fully, ‘i’m sorry for hurting you, i was wrong and i know that,’ his eyes are dipped, peering at you from underneath his spindly lashes, ‘why d’you think i’ve avoided this place for so long?’

‘i don’t know? because you’re a pussy? because you’re too scared to face me?’ letting the words rattle off your tongue without much thought.

‘because i’m embarrassed,’ he corrects, without much offence, ‘because i’m ashamed and feel like i owe you more than some dick and a shitty apology.. i just didn’t know how i could ever make it up to you,’ half-moon eyes glossy in the low light.

your heart thumps in your chest, blood echoing through your ears. eddie munson, world renowned rockstar was sat on your couch, apologising for something you should’ve forgotten about a long time ago.

the years of hatred and avoidance come tumbling down in a millisecond. all you’d ever wanted was to hear him say sorry. to admit that he’d fucked you over for a life of fame and now you had it, you weren’t exactly sure what to even do with it.

‘okay.. now what? are you gonna make it up to me? because i want to believe you eddie, i do.. but you can’t just traipse in here and expect me to forgive you like that,’ the tears roll over, sliding down your warm cheeks.

he nods, grabbing onto your hands in a last ditch gesture to show his sincerity, ‘i’m going to.. i-i want to,’ he’s still nodding, bringing his face closer to yours, ‘tell me how, i’ll do anything,’ adam’s apple bobbing with every word.

‘stay here,’ your eyes are trained on him, ignoring the blurred vision, ‘not forever, just for now,’ lips pursed, ready to be broken once more.

you half-expect him to come out with some sorry excuse, tell you he had to get back to his hotel so he couldn’t possible stay here.

but he doesn’t.

eddie takes your hand, tugging it gently and with words you don’t register, babbles something about bed. so you follow him, allowing him to guide you to your room and slide in between the sheets next to you.

everything is so gentle, soft and pure. something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

‘hey.. sweetheart,’ eddie’s hand gently shakes your arm, whispering into your ear, ‘you awake?’

you squint in the dim light, feeling his hand descend onto your waist, chest pressed against your back, ‘i am now,’ you grumble, it was early.. early even by ella’s standards.

‘i gotta go.. you got work today?’ he asks, making no effort to actually get up and leave your bed though.

you nod into the pillow, rubbing your sleep heavy eyes. in your sleep hazed state, you shuffle, moving backwards against him.

‘okay.. shit- don’t do that,’ strained as you shift against him, unknowingly brushing against his cock, ‘i’ll be back.. after you..’ he’s losing it a little now, ‘after you finish..’ lips pressed to your ear.

you were moving deliberately now, just ever-so-slightly rocking your hips back and forth, you could feel him growing against your ass.

‘i can’t..’ he groans, grip tightening on your hip,

‘please,’ you breathe, reaching backwards to find his mop of curls, taking a fistful for leverage as his own hip’s thrust into your backside, his low growls only spurring you on.

you had been on your own for so long now, could he really blame you?

eddie doesn’t leave for another hour, creeping out of your house with his head low and a shit eating grin plastered on his face.

the key turns in your door as you’re loading the dishwasher. you’d given steve a spare for emergencies but it seemed to get used for anything but.

he slinks into the kitchen where you stand with your back to him, ‘hey,’ already knowing who it was.

‘well hello,’ announcing his presence, something about his tone of voice already seemed off, he sounded short, annoyed almost, ‘how have you been?’

‘i’m good..’ you spin to face him, puzzled by his strange demeanour, ‘how are you?’

he’s holding onto something behind his back but you can’t quite catch a glimpse, ‘actually.. i’m a little pissed off,’ you can tell he’s not completely serious by the hint of a smile on his face.

‘hmm? why’s that?’

he looks around the room expectedly, ‘oh i don’t know.. you don’t have anything to tell me, do you?’ shaking his head, still gripping onto this mystery object.

‘no..’ narrowing your eyes, determining whether he knew what you thought he knew.

he did, he one hundred percent did. holy fuck. he’d figured you out already. eddie had opened his big, stupid mouth and told dustin, who would’ve told steve and god knows who else. fucking moron.

‘no? soo..’ his pulls the magazine from behind his back, flipping it to the page he’d already saved, ‘this isn’t real then?’ shoving the glossy pages into your face, ‘because to me.. this looks an awful lot like eddie.. at this very house,’ he jabs his finger at the pixelated image, ‘and this little blob here.. that’s you, no?’

you’re utterly gobsmacked. mouth hung open in pure shock. because that most definitely was eddie.. and your house.. and you. you hadn’t seen anyone with a camera, hell, you hadn’t seen anyone on the street at all.

‘and correct me if i’m wrong, but is this not our friend eddie leaving your house the next morning?’ showing the next image of him leaving your house the day after, hair unruly and messed up, holding his denim jacket in his arms as he climbs into his car.

your mouth moves but no words come out, croaking as you struggle to meet steve’s eyes. completely speechless, there was no feasible excuse. you had been caught with your pants down. literally.

‘i can explain,’ waving your hands around while steve stands smug against the kitchen counter. ‘..no i can’t,’ shoulders slumped as you blink at your best friend, no you really couldn’t. suppose you could’ve come up with some lie about a look-a-like you’d been seeing but that would’ve made you look particularly strange.

‘were you ever gonna tell me?’ he’s almost hurt that you hadn’t ran to him to tell him immediately. this was true best friend gossip and you’d kept him from it.

‘i was! steve.. i don’t even know what happened- he came over to apologise and then we were arguing and then.. then we had sex and it’s not my fault..’ you’re trying, and failing, to contain your smile, flashing your cheeky grin to your best friend in the hopes he would let this slide.

‘i can’t believe you didn’t tell me!’ jutting his bottom lip out, ‘so, you’re getting back together?’ his eyes sceptical yet sparkling with a sense of hope. you’re grateful that all he seems to care about is the fact you lied. or actually, withheld the truth as you preferred it.

‘no.. well.. no, we had dinner together yesterday and he might’ve stayed over but no..’ shaking your head, ‘he’s leaving again soon and we both know what happened last time..’ you shrug, leaning back against the counter, ‘i guess i don’t hate him now, that’s good isn’t it?’

steve looks perplexed, ‘wait wait wait.. so you’re just.. screwing around? and then he leaves again, that’s it? what’s the point?’ taking a seat at the small kitchen table, fully engrossed in the conversation.

‘i dunno.. i guess that’s it?’ you hadn’t really thought about the fact that he’d be leaving again, in fact, you hadn’t really had time to think much at all about what was happening.

you’d just sort of acknowledged that at some point he’d go back to california and you’d stay here and whatever was happening would.. end? it wasn’t as if you were going to be super upset about it like you once were. lots of people fuck their ex’s.. this was fine.

because that’s what this is, right?

just sex with an ex?

‘that’s it?’ steve reiterates, looking completely flabbergasted that the woman who once left the room whenever eddie munson’s name was mentioned was now being so casual about this.

‘yeah,’ you shrug, not wanting to make a massive deal out of it though you could always rely on steve to be over dramatic on your behalf.

‘no,’ he straightens up in the chair, ‘all of this can’t be for nothing,’ sounding utterly exasperated, ‘you two obviously belong together so why don’t you go for it? i could see you living it up out in la.. big house, big car-,’

you cut him off before he can divulge into his delusions any further, ‘i think you’re getting ahead of yourself steve,’ shaking your head at his ludicrous attitude.

you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it once or twice but it seemed silly to start imagining this crazy life together after all these years. he’d barely just made it into your good graces again, you were hardly going to run off to california with him. it was utter delusion.

‘okay okay..’ he scoffs, ‘but i still think you need to talk to him. i don’t want you getting hurt again, okay? just make sure that you’re both on the same page,’ nodding as he stands from his seat and begins to rummage through your cupboards for something to eat.

he was probably right and you knew it deep down. you weren’t keen on being the one to bring the conversation up, not after that first night. after you had sobbed in his arms in bed, letting him soothe you to sleep with a bunch of probable empty promises.

when eddie lets himself into your house a few hours later, steve’s eyebrows fly up his forehead but he doesn’t say a word. instead, he nods at the man, keeping his opinions to himself.

the pair of you resemble an old married couple, except you’re the grumpy old man with your wife cuddled into your side. your wife being steve that is.

‘oh.. is this uh, something that happens often?’ eddie asks, settling into the empty chair across from you. slightly miffed that steve was nestled into your side.

‘yup,’ you nod, smiling at him your chin resting on steve’s head. he hadn’t a reason to be jealous, you’d really rather poke your eyeballs out with a fork than do anything remotely sexual with steve.

‘right.. yeah okay,’ eddie says, looking perplexed but sitting back in the chair. if he was going to stick around then this would have to be something that he got used to. because you sure as hell weren’t going to stop being so close with steve for the guy that broke your heart at eighteen.

‘you want a drink?’ you ask, realising that you should probably be a good host even if it was only eddie.

‘yeah sure.’

you untangle yourself from steve and trundle off into the kitchen. steve takes this as the perfect opportunity to grill eddie on his intentions, sitting up straight and making sure that you were really gone before beginning his interrogation.

‘so.. you two?’

eddie shrugs, not wanting to get into it with steve after such a long day.

steve sighs, leaning toward eddie, ‘i’m gonna say this once.. but if you hurt her again, i will kill you,’ staring the other man down. contempt in his eyes. he was dead serious too.

‘i’m not- i’m not gonna hurt her,’ eddie sits up, praying that you’d hurry back with this damn drink.

‘i mean it eddie,’ raising his eyebrows, ‘you didn’t see how she was after you left.. i’m not going through that again, i’m not letting her go through that again.’

‘steve-,’ eddie blinks, stopping himself as you re-enter the room. hoping that you hadn’t heard their conversation, he’d only just got you to stop hating him. he wasn’t prepared to go back to that like, ever.

‘what’re you talking about?’ placing the bottle of beer in front of eddie and collapsing back into your spot on the couch.

‘football,’ steve answers quickly, groaning as he pushes himself off of the sofa, ‘i’m gonna head home, got work in the morning but i’ll see you tomorrow,’ he smiles, winking at you from above.

‘okay,’ you utter, sounding more like a question than a statement, watching carefully as he gathers his things without so much as a glance at eddie. you can only imagine what was actually said but that was truly none of your business.

you’d just grill eddie later to make sure steve hasn’t been too much of an asshole.

‘byee,’ you call out behind him, already eyeing a sheepish eddie. this’d probably be it. you’d known it was coming at some point, you just weren’t sure of when.

if steve’s sudden departure was anything to go off, you were probably right.

the door clicks shut and you turn your attention to eddie who was still sat on the solemn chair. oh god. maybe you had got a little used to having him around again and now to know that it’d all be coming to an abrupt end once again.. yeah you felt a tad shit.

‘what’d you say?’ you ask outright, it made zero sense to beat around the bush.

‘me?’ he looks almost offended, ‘i didn’t say shit.. didn’t get the chance to,’ but he’s smiling ever so slightly and your heart relaxes.

christ you were so stupid. letting him back into your life just to let him walk away a second time. perhaps you’d done something horrific in a past life to deserve this same fate twice.

‘so what did he say?’ you press, unsure of if your even wanted the answer.

eddie sighs before coming to collapse on the couch next to you, ‘it wasn’t important.. look, i wanna be honest with you,’ his hand comes to grab yours and you freeze, bracing yourself for what was inevitably going to come next. ‘you mean a lot to me and.. and i don’t want you to think that i don’t care or that i’m just leaving you again,’ his eyes are focussed on yours, full of what you hope is sincerity.

you don’t reply, instead you nod slightly and urge him to continue. this was it. the kicker.

‘i’ve gotta go back to la next week,’ his grip tightens around your hand, ‘but i’m coming back as soon as i can, okay?’ he’s serious too and you’d like to believe him but if the past was anything to go by, you weren’t eager.

you nod silently. fuck this. once again, you were sat before eddie munson, listening to his plans to jet off to la. it felt like the cruelest case of deja-vu. if anything, you want to kick yourself for even allowing him to wiggle his way back into your heart. most people know better after the first time.

‘it’s three weeks.. maybe a month, but i’m coming back, i promise,’ he pleads, hanging his head low. he knows there’s absolutely nothing he could say to you that would make you believe him but he had to try.

you hum, frowning just a little before finally replying, ‘i’ve heard that before,’ not meaning to sound as snarky as you did, but it was true.

‘i’m serious, i’m not.. not gonna lose you again, i’ve learnt my lesson,’ his eyes are big and pleading and you’re thrown right back to being eighteen, listening to him convince you how going to la would be the best decision.

‘so.. what? you’re gonna come back to hawkins just to see me? i don’t-,’ you sigh, as much as you wanted to believe him, it just wasn’t plausible in your mind, ‘i just don’t understand, are we together or are you just coming back to fuck? you don’t have to, you know? i’ve made peace with it all and i’m fine.. you don’t have to lie to me anymore.’

if anyone was going to fuck this up, it would be you. that’s for certain.

‘what the fuck?’ he exclaims, genuinely flabbergasted, ‘this is me telling you that i’m serious about this.. about you,’ he takes your hand into his properly, scooting around to face you fully, ‘i love being here with you, and ella and there is nothing out in la worth more than this,’ you think he might just start crying, or you might. or perhaps both of you.

you sniff, not wanting to speak in fear of bursting into hysterics. it was all just so confusing and weird. you’d grown accustomed to eddie being on the other side of the country and now suddenly he was back in your life with what seemed like a a declaration of love. it was just too much to handle. and maybe you blame yourself a little, for not truly thinking about the implications of fucking your ex that had abandoned you years prior. but now it all just seemed to be hurtling in the most intense direction.

you were the one that had told him to stay after all. because really, you could’ve kicked him out, refused to ever even acknowledge him again. but you hadn’t.

‘are you telling me the truth?’ is all that you manage to squeak out. baring resemblance to a small child.

you really must’ve looked pathetic, eyes brimming with tears, bottom lip quivering as you hold in the implosion of emotions. it’s always scary being vulnerable with someone, let alone someone that once meant so much to you.

he still did. as much as you’re absolutely petrified to admit it, he’d weaselled his way back into your heart and now here you are, a mess of emotions and perplexing feelings that are too complicated to handle.

‘i promise you,’ he sighs, clearly fed up of your whining, ‘i’m coming back this time.’

and maybe you’re stupid. maybe you’re still hung up on some high school relationship that ended long ago but you can’t help it, you nod.

idiotically believing him because what else can you do after letting him into your home and your heart again.

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x female reader

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javierpena-inatacvest · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter 3- Easier Said Than Done

Summary: Frankie's been by your side through some of the hardest moments in your life. Three years have gone by, and now there's no one you want to see less when you find yourself at your lowest.

Word Count: 4.1K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname)

Warnings: Angst, yearning, mentions of death, sick parent, descriptions of a panic attack, hospitals, teenage Frankie's back at it again making it impossible for us to hate him!!

A/N: Hello, my name is Madeline and I am unable to stop writing gut wrenching angst and yearning. (Hi, Madeline). Maybe one of these days I'll stop sobbing like an idiot when I write, but I fear that day may not be coming any time soon

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

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You, Spring of 2006, Age 17

Most people say it’s the smell of hospitals they can’t stand. For you, it’s the noise. The constant chaos of voices, monitors, sirens, carts clattering as they roll across the never ending linoleum floor drives you insane. Even when it’s quiet, it’s still never silent. There’s always an ever present reminder looming in the distance to not get too comfortable. The inevitable fear that something could go wrong, and have you wishing that all you had to listen to was the ambiance of continual pandemonium.

That’s why it’s such a relief when you hear the quiet ping of your cell phone resting on the edge of your chair. It’s enough to drown out everything else for a little while.

Frankie :))))))

Hey where r u?

Game starts soon and I cant find u

Katie and Morgan said they havent seen u either

R u ok?

You

Yeah I’m ok.

Dad passed out and hit his head. Mom wasn’t home so I had to take him to the ER.

Called Coach K in the ambulance to tell her I won’t be there.

It’s times like these that it takes everything in you to remind yourself that missing big events to keep your dad alive is better than going to big events without him being here. But when you’re decked head to toe in your soccer uniform, sitting on the edge of your seat in a crowded emergency room instead of getting ready to start the last game of your senior year, it’s hard not to feel a little bitter about it.

You read back over Frankie’s texts as you wait for his response, doing the quick math in your brain before frantically typing back.

You

Wait, didn’t you have to work tonight? Are you at the field?

Frankie :))))))

Called off work weeks ago

U really think I would miss ur last game? Cmon Kenz

Guess its not a surprise anymore. Surprise! lol

You hope the nurse passing by doesn’t notice the way you’re grinning like an idiot at your phone, biting down on your bottom lip to keep your smile from growing so wide it’ll hurt your cheeks. You re-read the last three texts over and over, your face growing warmer each time. You’re not sure why you’d expect anything less. It still never fails to make you feel like your heart is seconds away from bursting at the seams.

Of course he came.

So lost in your train of thought, you hadn’t seen a fourth text pop up across your screen, only the fifth text of “???” that preceded it.

Frankie :))))))

R u at memorial or westwood hospital?

???

You

Memorial. Why?

Frankie :))))))

Be there in 15

You

Frankie you don’t have to do that

Frankie :))))))

2 L8! Already leaving! See u soon!

The tears welling in your eyes were most definitely ones of relief, joy even, that Frankie cared enough to attempt to make it to a soccer game you weren’t even at, let alone forgo a night’s worth of pay to drive himself to the hospital to see you.

Your momentary excitement comes to a sudden stop as onslaught of bodies rush into your room to examine your dad. You’re quick to realize you’ve once again been caught up in a stampede where you’re nothing but another person in the way. An invisible presences that means nothing to anyone in this room. It makes the once blissful wetness welling in the corners of your eyes start to sting with a vengeance.

But you’ve come very quickly to learn that crying doesn’t help anyone, especially when you’re not the one dying.

You try not to let it hurt when your mom doesn’t even acknowledge the fact you’re sporting the jersey of the team you were supposed to start playing with twenty minutes ago, like you had brought your dad to the hospital in your uniform because that and your cleats were the easiest thing to throw on before you called 911. It’s even harder to try not to scream at the fact she barely pays your presence any mind, not even so much as a ‘thank you’ for getting your dad to the hospital in one piece. What’s the most painful is that you’re positive that she, or anyone else, even notices you’re gone when you slip out the door.

You’re here so often that the hospital staff don’t mind that you pace up and down the rows of the waiting room. Sure, they’ll be sending you a bill for the hole you’re burning through their carpet eventually, but that’s not today’s problem.

Right now, part of the reason for your frantic pacing is to cool off some steam so you don’t say something you’ll regret about your dad’s cancer having the audacity to ruin the most important soccer game of your life to date.

You’re also here so often, the hospital staff know Frankie. So much so, that your favorite receptionist, Cassandra, has more than definitely broken several hospital rules to let Frankie stick around long past visiting hours when you’ve needed it most. That’s why all she has to do is give you that look to break you from your vicious cycle of pacing to let you know when he’s arrived through the sliding glass doors of the front entrance.

Most times, he at least makes it a few steps inside before you notice him. Tonight, he’s barely halfway through the door before you’re wrapping your arms around him in the tightest hug you have to muster. He pulls you in even tighter.

It’s then that the reality of it all starts to set in. Your best friend had to drive to meet you at the hospital because he’s the only one that remembers you have a soccer game tonight. Your dad is in a cyclical pattern of slowly dying that leaves you feeling like a terrible person for even wishing things were different. You’ve spent the past nine of your seventeen years of life only knowing a world that revolves around cancer. For nine years, you’ve never complained that this is the way your life has been. Tonight, you’ve decided that the weight of the world is un-fucking-fair.

Tonight, you’re not the one dying, but crying seems like the only reasonable thing left to do.

You should be embarrassed by how loud your sobs are, how quick the damn breaks once your body finally lets you give into the pain. These are the kind of tears that make your whole body shake, the ones that make your chest hurt because you can’t catch your breath, gasping for air like some poor, lifeless fish, begging to be thrown back to the sea.

Frankie’s seen you cry before, but not like this. You should care about how your tears are staining the fabric of his t-shirt, how he’s the only thing keeping you standing while your body feels like it’s about to give out underneath you. You hadn’t said a word to each other before you’d collapsed in his arms in a sobbing heap, but right now you don’t care. You can’t.

You’re sure words are exchanged at some point as he practically carries you out to his truck, at least giving you the decency to finish crying without unwanted eyes in the waiting room glued to you, but right now, you can’t remember.

You’re not sure how long it takes you to get back to the point of being able to breathe at a semi-normal pace, but something tells you that Frankie will hold you for as long as you need him too, crying or not.

He gently strokes your back, his thumb tracing over the fabric of your jersey as it draws small circles over and over, a sweet and simple dance of his fingers that steadies you just enough to keep from flying away.

“It’s okay, Kenz. It’s okay.” It’s melodic the way Frankie coos it in your ear, like he’s trying to hush a fussy baby fighting sleep. It’ll take time, persistence and patience, but lucky for you, he’s got all three in spades. “I promise you’re okay. I’m here.”

“This fucking sucks.” It’s not elegant or graceful, but it’s the truth, and right now, it’s all your brain can process.

“I know it is, Kenzie. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not fair. I don’t wanna spend the rest of my life worrying that this is the last day I see him. I just want life to be normal. I just wanna go play my stupid fucking soccer game. It’s not fucking fair.” You ball your fists against Frankie’s chest, pounding into him like he’s the one responsible for your hurt and anger. He’s not the one you need to take it out on, but he’s all you have. You hope he knows it’s not his fault he’s become your emotional punching bag as he takes blow after blow, despite how weak your swings are. You’ve got no strength left to fight.

“I know. It’s not fair. It’s not fair, MacKenzie.”

He takes it all until you have nothing left to give. You’ve lost a game no one ever has a chance of winning. Defeat is the unwanted trophy life rewards you with, but Frankie stands at the podium with you. He’ll take the hits if it helps ease the blow.

“Will you be okay if I’m gone for five minutes? Just five, I promise, and then I’ll be right back.” His question catches you off guard, breaking you from your agitated state, nodding your head just enough to give him the permission he needs to race back through the doors of the hospital as you climb into his passenger seat.

His truck gives you the kind of familiarity the hospital doesn’t. It’s hard not to find irony in the fact you feel safer in his piece of junk car where the wheels could give out beneath you at any moment than you do in a building that is built for saving people’s lives. Maybe it’s because his truck is filled with the memories of moments in life that make you feel like things are going to be okay.

With the way Frankie’s breathing as he jumps into the driver’s seat, it’s hard to think he’s not back in less than two minutes, rather than five. He doesn’t say a word to you as he cranks the ignition, only a little prayer under his breath that now’s not a time his engine has chosen to give out on him. He doesn’t let you ask any questions until you’re already on the road.

“Frankie, what’s- Frankie what are you doing?”

He’s got that crazed kind of look in his eyes he gets when he’s hellbent on making something happen. He always likes to say that you’re the stubborn one. It makes you wonder the last time he’s taken a good, hard look at himself in the mirror.

“I’m taking you to your game.”

He says it so matter of factly, like his response to nearly kidnapping you out of the Memorial Hospital parking lot shouldn’t warrant any questions.

“What?! Frankie! I can’t just-”

“The doctor in the room said he’s stable and he probably won’t be conscious for the next few hours anyways. Your mom said it’s fine. I’m not letting you miss out on this. You deserve to get to play, Kenz.”

You’re not sure at that moment if you want to kiss him or slap him across the back of the head. Maybe it’s a little bit of both.

“Frankie, I-”

“I’ll turn around and take you back if you want me to, but I don’t think you want me to turn around.”

God, maybe you do want to kiss him.

“I hate you, Francisco, I hope you know that.”

“I know. It’s okay, you play better when you’re angry, anyways.”

It’s always the little smirk in the corner of his mouth. The one he makes when he knows he’s right. It’s the same smirk he makes when he greets you after you’ve scored two goals to help your team win the last game of your high school career. The same one he gives you when he buys you ice cream to celebrate with two scoops of cookie dough instead of one, because you won’t stop laughing at his stupid joke about your big appetite for winning.

That night, you fall asleep on his couch, too tired to drive back to the hospital, too scared to sleep in your house alone. You’re not sure if you mean to doze off with your head resting against his thigh like some sort of makeshift pillow. It’s easiest just to blame it on the fact you’re too exhausted to get up. But as you close your eyes and drift to sleep, you’re almost sure that the only muscle Frankie dares to move is the one that pulls the line of his lips into that same smirk you’d rather die than live without.

You, Present

You’re shocked your initial response to seeing Frankie Morales for the first time in three years wasn’t immediately slamming your front door in his face and telling him to fuck off.

That’s what your body wanted you to do. For as badly as it did, your some part of your brain wouldn’t let you.

It’s probably the same, stupid part of your brain that won’t let you stop staring at him, either.

He looks good. Way better than you’d like him to. It doesn’t seem fair that he somehow manages to find a way to return home more handsome than when he left. It happens every damn time. You swear he does it on purpose. You don’t know how he could, but that’s what you tell yourself. It makes it easier to hate him.

“I didn’t know you were home.”

It’s probably the worst thing you could have said to break the awkward silence stewing between you, because you both know it’s a dirty lie. But at this point, you’re far past granting Frankie the privilege of being a part of the truth- you’ll give him your version of the truth that you want him to hear. You’re not letting him have the upper hand.

“Yeah. I uh- got home this morning.”

Good to know the best either of you could do was reduce your relationship down to nothing but lying. If that’s the game he wants to play, then so be it.

“Drive was good?”

“Yeah.” Lie. “You?”

“Fine.” Lie.

For as much as you know the lies hurt, it’s the curveball you hit him with next that you hope stings the worst.

“I didn’t think you were gonna come.”

Because that was the truth. The way his face drops tells you the guilt ridden punch you’ve socked him with hits exactly where you want it to. You want the truth to hurt more. You want it to hurt just as bad as the way his truth hurt you.

“Of course I was gonna come.”

It’s a poor attempt at a swing back. He showed up with a knife at your gun fight. He knows well enough you won’t show him any mercy.

“Wouldn’t have been the first time you hadn’t shown up for something important, Frankie.”

“Your dad’s fucking dying MacKenzie, what makes you think I wouldn’t be here?”

“Well, he’s been dying for the past three years so I’m glad you’re deciding to show up when it’s convenient for you.”

That one shuts him up real fucking fast.

His jaw ticks as he takes a deep breath, staring up at the sky like there’s something written in the clouds that will give him instructions on what to say next. There’s not much he could say at this point that would shock you, but Frankie never ceases to be full of surprises, whether you like it or not.

“I’m- fuck- I’m sorry, Kenz. I’m sorry.”

That shuts you up even quicker.

It shuts you up because you know he’s not lying. The truth is buried in the way his voice breaks at the start of your name, the way the “K” trembles off his tongue and shakes in the back of his throat.

Your heart is mangled in your chest, hearing him say the two words you’d never thought you’d get and realizing you can’t accept it.

“Sometimes sorry isn’t enough, Frankie.”

Neither of you are sure what to say. It’s tough to tell if the fight is over because Frankie’s stabbed you to death and you’ve unloaded every last bullet you had, or if you decided to put your weapons down and walk away before any casualties have occurred. While it’s hard to deny it’s the latter of the two options, at least the first one would have been the honorable way to go.

“Honey, is that Frankie at the door? Let him in, MacKenzie, don’t make him stand out there!”

If there’s one thing you can always count on your mom for, it's that she’ll never fail to have impeccable timing, for better or worse.

You don’t intend for the sigh you let out to be as loud as it is, but it certainly makes it clear to Frankie you aren’t happy about obliging to your mom’s request. You expect him to pass you like you don’t exist, entering your house to greet the two of the three family members who still care about him enough to not burn a hole through his chest every time they look at him, but he doesn’t. He waits for your okay, frozen on the porch until the subtle shrug of your shoulders signals you’ve given him the all clear to pass. He wants to know you’ll at least let him through unscathed for now.

You follow behind him as he enters your house, trying to ignore the fact you’re entranced by the dark brown curls that still tickle the nape of his neck as he walks, or how the width of his shoulders nearly stretch from one end of the door frame to the other. You’re starting to regret not letting him follow you in instead.

You nearly bump into him with how quick he is to freeze once he sees the state of your living room. In the past few weeks, it’s made a terrible transformation from the space you once knew to a makeshift hospital room. The hospice workers had crowded your house with beds, oxygen tanks, and a wheelchair your dad refuses to sit in, an endless puzzle of enough supplies to let your father die in his own home, rather than the cold, sterile wasteland of the nearest hospital.

You’d been able to ease yourself into your dad’s decline. You’d watched the months leading up to now as his body became weaker and sicker, reducing down to nothing but bones and deep, dark set eyes. You were a first hand witness to how cancer had greedily sucked every ounce of life he had left in him, taking and taking until he had nothing left to give.

Last time Frankie saw your dad he was in remission. He looked good, healthy, even. That was three years ago. Frankie would have never imagined barely being able to recognize the man that was the closest thing to a real father he’d ever get.

You want to scream at him that it’s his own damn fault he’s this shocked when he comes face to face with the shell of the man your dad used to be. But with the way you can practically see the guilt oozing out of Frankie with every step he takes towards the near lifeless body lying in the misplaced hospital bed in your living room, you can’t help but let your empathy get the best of you.

“Hi Frankie, how are you? It’s so good to see you, honey.”

Even though your mom knows you’re seconds away from wanting to dropkick Frankie off the face of the earth, there are few things she’ll ever let get in the way of her warm and welcoming demeanor.

Frankie’s still borderline speechless as your mom grabs the tray of cookies he’s been awkwardly toting before she embraces him, arms still glued to his sides like he’s too afraid to move. The way she’s got him in the hug gives him no choice but to stare at the unsettling image of your dad over her shoulder, barely strong enough to turn his head to see what all the fuss is about.

“H-hi, Mrs. Anderson. I’m okay. It’s good to see you, too.”

“Is that my Frank the Tank? C’mere, kiddo. I was hopin’ I’d get to see you.”

The past few weeks have made you shed enough tears to last a lifetime. Never once did you expect the thing that would make you cry the hardest out of everything you’d been through was hearing the long lost excitement in your dad’s voice upon Frankie’s return.

It’s childish, the way you storm upstairs and slam your bedroom door behind you without a word, heat seething through your veins at the way your dad was so quick to forgive, welcoming Frankie back into his home like a day hadn’t passed, like he had been there right alongside him every step of the way through his descent. Your blood boils at the fact your father can’t be bothered to remember that Frankie had been nowhere to be found for three fucking years. Not a text, not a call, not even a “Frankie says hi!” through his mother four doors down.

You can deal with the embarrassment of throwing a full blown temper tantrum later, but that’s more tolerable than spending another second in the same room as Frankie.

“Well,” your dad huffs, his face grimaced with sarcasm as he looks back and forth between your mom, Frankie, and the empty presence you’d left behind, “that went well.”

“Sorry about that, she’s um-”

“She’s fine. Just stubborn.” Your dad grumbles, cutting off your mom with the best attempt he can make to raise his arm from the bed and wave her off.

“No, I uh- it’s fine, I just- I should probably get going, don’t wanna take um- take up too much of your time.” Frankie’s heart sinks in the uncomfortable silence, quietly cursing himself for the mess he’s made.

“It’s what, 8 o’clock in the morning? You got a bingo game at the senior center you need to get to, young man?”

“No, I just-”

“Perfect, no is the only word I needed to hear.” Your dad weakly smiles, gently patting the edge of the bed for Frankie to join him.

Your heart winces hearing the heavy footsteps a floor below you from your bedroom, knowing the direction they’re heading is only further into your house and not back out the front door where you’d prefer him to be.

Thank goodness your dad has lost the ability to speak loud enough for you to hear the words that follow the thumps of Frankie’s feet.

“Frankie, I’ve lived a very happy life. There are few things about it I’d change. But you know just as well as me that my daughter is the one who so lovingly inherited my stubbornness. Lucky for me, God knows I’m stubborn enough not to die until you and her figure this out. Unlucky for the both of you, that my time for stubbornness is starting to run thin.”

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alwritey-aphrodite · 1 year ago

Text

Tarnished But So Grand

Pairing: young!Coriolanus Snow x reader

Warnings: death, violence, planting the seeds of Snow’s toxicity

Word Count: 2.7k

Author’s Note: there are some moments where Snow definitely is ooc and others where he is indeed still very much toxic - don’t date toxic boys irl

Before this year, you could have counted the amount of times you’ve snuck out of your house on one hand. Now, though, most nights of the week find you shimmying out of your window and scaling the side of your house, dropping into the waiting arms of Coriolanus Snow. You’re sure that you could have just asked your parents to spend time with the boy, but you liked having something all to yourself, and you liked breaking the rules for once in your life.

There’s something about being with Coryo that just makes you come alive, makes your heart race and your breath come faster. It might just be the thrill of sneaking out of your bedroom window while your parents are fast asleep, but you’re starting to think it’s just Coryo, the way he looks at you and talks to you and holds you. Now, he grabs your hand, and the two of you rush off to the little park you’d decided was your safe haven, a place where only the two of you exist.

“My parents are having dinner with the Creeds tomorrow night,” you mutter, whispering your death sentence. Your parents have grand plans for you, plans that involve marrying rich and having lots of children. You’d been trying to convince them to wait until you’d attended university, until you believed Coryo could make a name for himself, because you simply couldn’t imagine your life without him by your side.

“It’s a big day for everyone then,” he responds, grabbing your hand and trying his best not to look disgusted at himself. He might be able to fool his classmates, but the parents could see the truth, the dark, penniless truth.

“Don’t act so nervous, we all know you’re going to win the Plinth prize, I can’t even think of anybody we know who’d even come close,” you try and lighten the mood, but even under the dark lamplights you see the disbelieving look he sends your way.

It’s no secret that you’re intelligent, and it would be a crime if your parents refused to let you attend university, but you didn’t need the Plinth prize, not the way Coryo did. He tried to hide it, all his struggles, and he’d been successful until you stopped by the penthouse to bring over an assignment he’d left at the academy. You didn’t mind, not even a little bit, but Coryo never fully believed you.

“Maybe we should just run away,” you change topics, leaning into his side and resting your head on his shoulder. He leans his own on top of yours with no hesitation, wrapping an arm around you and drawing you closer. You close your eyes, savoring the moments you know are fleeting because as much as you fantasize about it, neither you or Coryo would ever have the guts to run away.

Trying your best to commit every second you spend together to memory, you listen to the rise and fall of Coryo’s breath as he sits next to you, a shiver running through you as he lightly strokes the exposed skin of your arms. You stay like that for what feels like hours, and even though you’d be more than happy to spend eternity here with him, Coryo stands and kisses you goodbye, needing sleep before the ceremony tomorrow.

Watching him go, you can’t help but mourn what’s right in front of you, can’t help the despair that twists in your chest when you realize that life won’t always be this way. In a few months, there’ll be no more sneaking out, no more secret meetings, no more gentle kisses hello and goodbye. You’re living on borrowed time, and you can’t help the tears that well up as you watch Coryo’s retreating form.

——

Even the mere sight of Festus Creed standing in the academy’s entrance hall is enough to make bile rise in your throat. You almost want to turn and run, but you see Coryo across the room and a smile works its way onto your face and he sends one back, over the heads of all of your classmates. You’re so distracted, so enamored, that you don’t notice that Festus is now standing right in front of you.

“Coming to dinner tonight?” He asks, trying his best to appear charming but all you want to do is scratch his eyes out.

“No, just my parents, I have plans of my own,” you tell the boy, feeling much less cornered when you catch the sight of your savior coming towards you. As easy as breathing, Coryo slips his hand into yours, squeezing once without breaking eye contact with Festus.

It’s a display of ownership and power, that much you can tell, as if Festus wouldn’t possibly respect your own wishes for him to scram and you needed Coriolanus to step in for you because he’d be respected. Even though an act of peacocking like that would typically make your skin crawl, you’re just grateful that Festus has slunk off to bother someone else. Squeezing his hand once before letting go, you turn to talk with Coryo for the first time since you watched him leave last night.

“You look very nice,” you tell him, brushing imaginary lint off his shoulders just for an excuse to touch him. He smiles at you, the soft sort of smile that he only shows to you, but it crumples when Arachne and Clemmensia approach. Your own hands fall from his shoulders, as if you’re not allowed to touch him in a friendly manner, and you turn to face the group and listen to their discussions of the Plinth prize.

The rest of the day passes by in a blur of confusion and despair; not only is there no Plinth prize, but you’re being forced to become a mentor for one of the 24 tributes in the Hunger Games. You’re assigned to Bobbin, a little boy from District Eight, and as evil as it seems, there’s a part of you that hopes that he passes away in his sleep before the games begin, to spare him from the horrible end you know he’ll meet otherwise.

Curled up on top of your bed, all you want is to have Coryo wrap you in his arms and stay there for the rest of eternity. When the time comes, and you shimmy out of your window and down the side of your house, you all but fall into Coryo, his arms the only thing keeping you upright. He doesn’t say a word, just pulls you closer and holds you tighter, knowing exactly what you need.

The two of you stay like that for a while, until you feel sufficiently human again and the worry of your parents seeing you starts crawling forward in your mind, so you grab his hand and start the familiar walk to your park bench.

“Why are we doing this?” You ask, still feeling despondent and your thoughts running a million miles a minute.

“Doing what?” He asks, confusion clouding his voice, and you can tell his brows are all furrowed even though you’re staring at your intertwined hands, “this?” He gives your hands a gentle shake, and he sighs when you nod.

This is a conversation you’ve had many times before, and no matter how many times he reassures you, you know you’ll just ask again in a few weeks. If Coryo knows the two of you will never end up together, not if your parents have a say, why would he spend all this time with you? What’s the point in a midnight rendezvous if he knows nothing real can come of it?

“Because I love you,” he answers the way he always does, letting go of your hand to wrap his arm around your shoulder and pull you impossibly closer, “and because I know that your parents will change their minds.” That part is new, a testament to Coryo’s need to be the best, to his determination to win. To him, having you marry Festus would be the same as losing to Festus, and he’d never let that happen. He loves you, you know he does, but you wonder how much of his desire to marry you is love and how much is pride?

Before you can spiral, the conversation turns to Lucy Gray: her chances of winning, how likely she is to trust Coryo, how Coryo can increase her odds in the Games. There aren’t any discussions of Bobbin, even though you’ve been tasked with keeping him alive as well, and it’s as if Lucy Gray is all that matters at the moment. And, in the lead up to the Games, she really is all that matters to the majority of the Capital, everyone is so enamored with her it’s as if none of the other tributes should even try because while they might be more skilled, none of them have captured the hearts of the Capital the way Lucy Gray has.

Walking into the academy on the first morning of the Games, you’re full of a sick sense of apprehension, something deep inside you that wants to turn and flee and never look back. You don’t, instead taking a seat next to Coryo and craning your neck as you look for Sejanus. Dean Highbottom had said something cryptic about the boy when you and Coryo entered the room, and you can’t help but think he’s been hurt in some way.

When he enters, he looks well enough as he can be given the circumstances, but that all changes the moment the cameras turn on. Bloody and beaten, Marcus is strung up in the center of the arena and it’s unclear whether he’s alive or dead. It doesn’t matter to Sejanus, who stands and screams at everyone before storming out. The rest of your peers snicker, but you’d do the same if you were in his shoes. Even now, the sight of Marcus and the knowledge of what’s to come makes you want to throw up, but you manage to control yourself.

Bobbin and Lucy Gray both manage to survive the bloodbath, sneaking off in opposite directions as Coral and her gang begin to terrorize anyone they can catch. Even though the Games have just started, you’re already praying for them to end. You’d rather sit through a ten minute bloodbath and have it all be over than have to sit and watch for hours and days on end as the number of tributes dwindles down to one.

That night, you leave with the rest of the remaining mentors, with the exception of Coryo, who’s determined to watch out for Lucy Gray as long as he possibly can. Your parents have the Games playing on their television when you return home, but you ignore it in favor of curling up in your bed and wishing for an end to the violent spectacle. For the first time in months, you don’t bother to sneak out, knowing Coryo won’t be there to break your fall.

At some point during the night, the feeds are cut and when they come back on, Bobbin has been slaughtered. This information isn’t shared with you until you return to the academy with the rest of the mentors, and you’re beyond devastated.

“No one knows what happened to him,” you explain to Coryo in a frantic whisper before Lucky Flickerman kicks you out for having a dead tribute.

“It could have been any of them,” Coryo gestures towards the screen showing Coral and her gang, and you know he’s right. No matter what you do, you won’t bring him back, and you’ll never find out who slaughtered that poor boy. You give Coryo’s shoulder a squeeze before you hurry away, devastated at the loss of such a young life but glad you won’t be forced to watch the Games anymore.

When the dust settles, Lucy Gray is the last tribute standing, even as Coryo has to forcefully ask, again and again, to get her out of the arena. The last thing he needed was everyone knowing he cheated, twice, and taking away everything he had worked so hard for.

They did anyway.

Despite Dean Highbottom’s explicit instructions for Coryo to go straight to the station after gathering his few meager belongings, he knew he needed to make a quick pit stop before he left forever. It felt strange to be knocking at your front door instead of waiting underneath your window, and anxiety coiled around in his belly as he waited for someone to answer. Luckily, it was you who swung open the door, and just seeing your face sent a pang of longing through him.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, not unkindly, as you step outside and shut the door behind you. With the Games, you hadn’t seen Coryo in days, and it’s been the longest stretch in months that you slept a full night in your bed.

“They’re sending me to twelve, to be a peacekeeper,” he explains as quickly as he can, leaving out the fact that he’s deciding he’s going to twelve, not anyone else.

“Twenty years apart,” you place your hands on the side of his face, trying to study it and keep it in your memory forever.

“Twenty years,” he confirms, much less urgent than before. He can be a little late, he’s already being sent to hell, but he needs to just look at you a little while longer.

“I’ll be married to Festus by then,” you know that even if your parents let you attend university, there’s no way they’ll wait twenty years before selling you off.

“And then when I get back, I’ll steal you away for good,” you let out a watery laugh at that, the tears unsurprising but unexpected, as you hadn’t even realized they were falling.

“You could steal me away now,” you whisper, pulling his head closer to yours and resting your foreheads together, “we could run away, and then they’ll never find us.”

Coryo entertains the thought for a second, imagines what it would be like to live in some hovel in the woods with you, before pulling back.

“I have to go, if I don’t show up, Highbottom will hunt me down,” he says, in that soft voice he keeps just for you, before leaving you with one final kiss.

The next time you see Coryo isn’t in twenty years, but less than one. Your parents are throwing a party, trying to come up with as many social gatherings as possible to get you and Festus together, but even as you speak with your supposed betrothed, you see a familiar face out of the corner of your eye. His hair is different, and his clothes are nicer, but there’s no mistaking Coriolanus Snow.

You’re not listening to a word Festus is saying, instead hoping that Coryo will find you through the crowd. Across the room, you lock eyes, and it takes every fiber of your being to restrain yourself from running to him. He smiles at you, a charming smile that can fool government agents and parents alike, and you go weak in the knees.

While you don’t run, you do give a mumbled apology to Festus before turning and making your way through the crowd, all but pushing people out of the way until you can wrap Coryo in your arms. He responds immediately, pulling you impossibly closer and holding you tightly against his chest. You can hear the pounding of his heart, and you wonder if yours is any less erratic.

“Well, look at you, Officer Snow,” you say with a grin, settling your hands on either side of his face because it seems impossible that he’s standing in front of you. He laughs, and pulls you closer for a quick kiss, barely a graze of his lips against yours but he just couldn’t help himself. Compared to the twenty years you were supposed to be apart, one year is nothing, but it still felt like a lifetime to the both of you.

“Come on, I want to hear about everything,” you grab his hand and lead him away from the party, up the stairs and towards the room you’d sneak out of just to meet him. Those nights seem like a decade ago, but you’re so unbelievably happy to see Coryo again, it doesn’t matter how long you had to wait.

Tags: @andr0medafallen @hopefulromances @chmpgneprblem

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus fanfiction #the ballad of songbirds and snakes fanfiction #the ballad of songbirds and snakes

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notme123stuff · 2 months ago

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Hi Uhm I’m new to tumblr so idk how this works but could you kindly do a fic with like Griffith x reader where reader is like female Guts and he’s obsessed and infatuated with her so much and he’s possessive and one night they sleep together and he convinces her to sleep with him? Because she was going to leave or something that night

ofc :) WARNINGS: possessiveness, reader and griffith just sleep not like sleep sleep if you get what i mean. yall should be fine it aint that hardcore per say your shoulders ace as you lift your sword to strike, though it isn't too big it is definitely taller than your already muscular body. but you are used to it. you got used to it for him, this event has repeated so much that you don't feel the deja vu anymore. you had killed so many other people for him. Though you do have more leisure time with your choices, after all, you're so good at your job. you were born on the battlefield and were made for it. The sound of steel clashing against steel echoed through the night, the battlefield littered with the remnants of your work. Blood splattered across your face, mixing with the sweat and grime from the relentless combat. Your sword felt like an extension of your arm, a tool you wielded with deadly precision, all for him. You sheathed your blade, surveying the bodies that lay at your feet. The rhythmic pounding of your heart, still calming down from the battle, filled your ears. It was just another night. Another slaughter for his cause. "You're still standing," Griffith's voice rang softly from behind, smooth and laced with an almost imperceptible admiration. He had that way about him—his words like a caress, but with an edge that could cut as deeply as your sword. You didn’t turn to face him. You didn't need to. You could feel his gaze burning into you, the same way it always did. He watched you, always watching. "I’m always standing," you replied gruffly, wiping the blood from your hands on your armor. Your muscles ached, your bones tired, but you were used to it. You’d grown accustomed to the endless cycle of violence, fighting for his ambitions, his dream. But lately, that dream felt like a cage tightening around your chest. For a long time, you didn’t question it. You followed him, fought for him, bled for him—because you had nowhere else to go. But tonight… tonight you felt different. There was a gnawing ache in your chest, one you couldn’t ignore any longer. You’d been thinking about leaving. Finally breaking free. You inhaled deeply, turning to face him. His pale hair glimmered in the moonlight, eyes were like icy pools that seemed to draw you in. Griffith was the embodiment of everything you once thought you wanted, but now… now you weren’t so sure. "I'm leaving after this," you said, your voice steady despite the tension between you. "I've done enough." pt 2 will be released

#berserk x reader #griffith x reader #guts x reader #berserk

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pichupuke · 8 months ago

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Guys….. guys sunday/robin/reader triad….. is this anything

(Gn reader, sfw, also it’s not outright but I believe sunday and robin are kissing too so, tw incest)

(Also I’m including some hcs about halovians, cope/lh)

Listen I’m just thinking about human family member reader (idk which family tho, I’m not sure I care yk) meeting and working with Robin until they become friends, and then robin confesses that she likes the reader and would love to go on a date and she’s so sweet and cute but there’s just something… off about the vibe. This little gut feeling that she’s leaving something out.

But you ignore it and go on your date and it’s private and lovely and there’s a big long conversation about needing to present as single bc she’s a pop idol so you both will need to be careful in public.

So you end up seeing her out and around less and more just laying around with her in her home. She’s so soft and comfortable and cuddly, the textbook definition of a cinnamon roll.

You don’t really notice how she slowly migrates you both to laying in a cozy little pile on her couch to doing the same at Sundays home. Until you have the realization one day that you’ve been spending more time in his home than your own and you’ve somehow never met the man.

You mention it to Robin and she’s all sweet and a little nervous when she tells you that she’s been meaning to introduce you both but has been hesitant bc he’s… unsettling to a lot of humans. From a distance it’s fine but in private when he lets himself relax he feels far less human, and you understand immediately when you meet him.

He’s beautiful and terrifying. Calling him the most handsome man in penacony is an incredible understatement. The wings behind his ears flutter loosely as do the wings on his hips and back that usually stay tucked under his coat, his eyes are so bright and clear you’d swear they’re glowing. And he never seems to blink, it’s like staring down a predator, you feel like you’re being hunted every second you’re in his eyeline.

But that’s unreasonable, he’s not hunting you. His voice is smooth and even. His smile doesn’t quite feel genuine but it manages to soothe your nerves anyway. Then before you’re even fully aware of it he’s joined you both when he has the time to sit still. Your head in his lap and Robin laying on your chest, his wings sprawled out over you three and robins tucked against her back. You notice at some point that she only has two sets of wings, while he has three. You consider asking but the thought slips your mind when sunday, ever so casually places a chaste kiss on your forehead. When you look up his head wings are flicking around like they want to cover his face, but he isn’t letting them, and his face is brushed with the sweetest little blush.

It’s never formally talked about but you all migrate to Sundays room after that, the space is modest and small but his bed is comfortable enough for dozing and reading together. Putting a movie on one of your phones and just laying in his nest, as you’ve come to call it. Slipping into a routine of going home long enough to shower and change into comfy clothes before making your way there. Robin returning first and you both chattering about your day while she wraps you in her wings while you hold her. Then later sunday joins you, gently head butting you both like a content cat before laying down.

#milk writes about:#!!incest #sunrobin #sunday x reader #robin x reader #sunday hsr #robin hsr #dead dove do not eat

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weirdgenetic-fuckup · 6 months ago

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hey! i think you said you write male readers? there's not enough content for us 💔 would you be down to write like something silly and lighthearted with duff where neither one is like a dom or sub? or maybe they trade off roles?

A/n: I don’t think I’ve ever actually written mlm smut before so I hope this is good, if you have any notes/criticism I’m open to hearing it <3

Warnings: Smut, idk how to label this so if you think I should add any warning let me know <3

Duff was the sweetest boyfriend. You’d been dating for a few months and had been taking things slow because you were his first boyfriend. You knew he wasn’t exactly innocent but this was definitely new territory for him.

Still, he enjoyed being a bit adventurous.

He liked touching you, he liked it when you touched him. Late at night he’d crawl into bed with you and curl up with you, his hands immediately finding some part of you to grope.

You were laying in bed one night waiting for Duff to come join you. When he did you almost couldn’t believe your eyes. He was in nothing but a towel, his hair still a bit wet and his eyes drooping from being tired.

It wasn’t an unusual sight to see him fresh out of the shower but he just looked so good and you could feel your boxers getting tighter.

Duff crawled into bed, laying stretched out on his stomach, his towel falling a bit.

“Tired?” You asked, giving his head a scratch. He let out a soft groan and took your hand in his, kissing your knuckles softly. You smiled down at him. “I know what could make you feel better~” He opened an eye to look at you and rolled onto his back.

“Is that so?” He said, smiling back up at you. You nodded with a hum and leaned down to kiss his lips, then his jaw and down his neck to his collarbone. You left a trail down his torso, paying special attention to his perky nipples. He left out soft, breathy moans as you continued your path down him until you were pulled his towel off.

He was half hard already, his body was relaxed and he had his eyes closed, one hand under his head with the other lazily thrown over his torso.

You stroked him a few times, pressing a few open mouthed kisses to his abdomen, thighs and eventually the tip of his cock. He didn’t miss the moan he left out at the kitten licks to his tip.

Not wanting to tease him you took him into your mouth, only going halfway before pulling back. You looked up at him, waiting for approval to continue. He looked down at you and sat up.

“C’mere.” His voice was soft as he gestured you closer to him. You crawled across the bed to him and straddled his lap with his guidance. “Take these off.” He whispered and helped you out of your boxers, the only thing you’d been wearing since it was summer and hot out all the time.

Your own hard on hit your lower stomach. Duffs arms wrapped around your waist and he pulled you closer, his hands moving to rub your sides. Your own arms went around his neck, hands squeezing his shoulders, fingers lacing into his wet hair.

You closed the gap between you two, lips moving in sync with his like water. Your body moved on its own, hips rolled against his, rubbing yourself against him. A soft moan fell from his lips and onto yours. “Do that again.” He breathed.

You smiled into the kiss and did it again, rolling your hips and grinding against him. Duff followed in your ministrations, bucking his hips up to match your pace. His big hand came down and wrapped around the both of you, adding another level of pleasure.

Your foreheads pressed together, occasionally kisses interrupted the flow of groans, grunts and moans. The noises leaving Duff seemed to get louder, more leaving him in strings of sweetness. “Fuck, m’close.”

You could feel a knot growing in your own gut, a hot ball of pleasure ready to burst. You pulled him closer, moving your hips faster. Duffs hand began to jerk the both of you, bringing you closer to the edge.

You could feel him pulsing against you, you listened closely to the loud moans of your name leaving him as hot strings of cum spurted out onto his chest, your high following shortly behind and leaving the both of you out of breath and holding onto each other.

“Fuck, we should’ve done that sooner.” Duff said with an airy laugh.

You kissed his cheek. “Why don’t you lay down and I can get a rag to clean us up.” Duff smiled at your offer and let you go. By the time you got back he’d fallen asleep, taking up most of the bed but you didn’t mind since you’d just lay on him.

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strwbnnie · 2 years ago

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ran haitani x black fem reader

wc: 5kish

Warnings: sensual sex, fuck buddies, fem reader, black coded reader!, friends with benefits, mutual pining, slight flirting, fingering, oral sex, mentions of creampie, squirting, unprotected sex, ouid usage, pet name usage (ex. pretty, good girl, pretty girl), chubby reader (big titties, fat ass, thick thighs, fat belly, etc.), ran has commitment issues, MDNI!

notes: school was whooping my ass, that’s why this took so damn long to write 😭 thank y’all for all the help @prtttycocobuttvr @pattycakes5516 🫶🏾 💕

I hope you all enjoy!

❀

Here.

He tosses his phone in the cup holder after shooting you a text, drumming the fingers of his right hand against the center console. Droplets of rain begin to fall against the windshield and he’s hoping you bring your ass before it really gets to beating down.

You’re finally walking out and you look good. Good as hell actually, in a chocolate brown, skin tight tube dress and the brown pair of those teddy bear slippers you seem to have in every color. Half of your hair is wrapped up in a bun and the rest is flowing behind you as you speed walk to his car. There’s some kids playing football in the street and a couple of other people on their porches, probably wondering who the hell was getting picked up in such a nice car.

Surely no one expects it to be you—you barely went anywhere, but school and work, and by the way you were cheesing from ear to ear as you reached for the passenger door handle , this obviously wasn’t an Uber.

Your heart is in your stomach. This isn’t the first time he’s picked you up, but it’s the first time he’s picked you up in broad daylight. Ran notices your jean jacket is tucked away in the crevice of your left arm and the other is toting that big ass purse he wished you’d stop bringing. His room was small enough as it was and it just took up so much fucking space since you refused to sit it on the floor.

You plop down in the passenger seat immediately pulling the door closed, not wanting to hold him up any longer. You hear the gear shift and he’s driving down the expanse of your street to get back onto the main road.

“Hey! Been a while, thought you forgot about me.”

It’s been so long since he’s heard your voice. A week, week and a half maybe? He wasn’t sure if he missed seeing you or if it was just what came with seeing you, but it did feel nice to be in your presence again. The only reason he went to so long without seeing you was because he’d been so busy scouting locations for the club.

“Yeah..been busy. Stressed. My bad.”

Through his peripheral he sees you popping your AirPod into its case, dropping it into your bag. “I feel that, just finished midterms. I passed but they definitely whooped my ass.”

What were you in school for again? Bio? Nursing?

The gears are turning in his head but he’s still pulling blanks and deems it forgotten. If it comes up again, he’d probably ask tho.

It seems like he’d forgotten how pretty you were too, sneaking looks at you every chance he gets. Did you have your lashes done last time he saw you? He’s not entirely certain but he can’t help but be captivated by how fluffy they are and how they just slightly flutter against your cheeks every time you blink. That sexy vanilla perfume you like is dancing through his nostrils as you inch closer to hoop one of the straps of your bag around his headrest. “Remind me why you insist on fucking up my vehicle.”

You’d hardly call that fucking up his vehicle, but you did spill some of your sweet tea on his mat the last time he saw you and it seemed he’d never let you live it down.

“Because, a woman’s bag should never touch the floor and your fast ass driving is gonna have my shit all over the seat as soon as you hit a corner.”

As the two of you eased into the sixth month of knowing each other, you’re much more comfortable than you’d ever been with any man you’ve dealt with, but that still doesn’t stop the butterflies fluttering in your gut.

“Whenever you upgrade from your learner’s, I’ll let you drive us instead.”

He’s probably trying to be funny. It’s a nice ass car, real sleek and expensive most likely, you don’t even know what it is except that it’s a Benz. You highly doubt he’d even let you into the driver’s seat to honk the horn. “Kiss my ass, Ran. I’ll be driving before the year is out.”

“I’ll hold you to it.” His eyes are on you and he has that dreamy look on his face. The one where he cracks the tiniest little smile only for you. The one that makes it impossible to look him in the eyes cause it melts your heart and fills your tummy with the biggest butterflies. You never thought it’d get this deep between you and him, meeting him was supposed to be a social experiment. You and your friends all downloaded Tinder and the challenge was to link with the first guy you matched with.

Surprisingly, as soon as you swiped on Ran, it was a match. Not much conversing took place on the app, just small talk before you exchanged numbers and then plans to meet, chill, maybe smoke. It was so long ago and you don’t really remember all the details aside from how his skinny ass folded you up in the backseat of his car that same night. Ran gave you, hands down, the best dick of your life—choked you, spanked you, slapped you…all the kinky shit you fantasized about. Of course you fell in love.

The ride is quiet as it nears its end, music playing faintly in the background but drowned out by the heavy drizzle of the rain.

A twenty minute drive turned thirty seven, since he avoided expressways and fought with traffic. Plus he always drove the speed limit when it rained, especially with you in the car.

This isn’t the first time you’ve been to Ran’s place but it doesn’t amaze you any less every time you see it. From the floor to ceiling windows, marble tile and abstract art, the luxe apartment fits the eldest Haitani to a T. As soon as you step in, your first stop is the kitchen to wash your hands, a habit you picked up and passed on to him. After tossing your napkin you reach into your bag, passing him the Tupperware.

“I brought you some lasagna.” He’s shifting those lavender eyes down towards the pink plastic bowl then back at you again.

“Why?” It’s a genuine question and you hear no malice or sarcasm behind his tone.

“I- what? I‘m not putting woo on you, if that’s what you think, dickhead. Just had a lot left over and didn’t want to be wasteful.” You roll your eyes when he finally grabs the Tupperware from you. “Plus, it’s a peace offering for spilling the tea.”

He’s weary to take it, for whatever reason. Probably because he’s never had anyone cook for him. Or because he thinks he’ll fall for you even harder if he does. “Thanks.” Is all he says before he slides it into the fridge to keep cool.

“You act like you’re not used to people being nice to you, weirdo.”

He’s not. In his profession, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be. It’s never genuine and he knows it, why waste his time on fake love. That was before you at least, and it’s even more of a reason to stop whatever this was because seeing you has become more and more addictive and he’s in deeper than he’s ever been.

You follow him to his room like a little puppy, you know where it is but you always insist on entering only after he does. He’d done a lot of errands and running around so he’s peeling himself out of his outside clothes before sitting on the edge of his bed, eyes fixated on the TV that’s mounted to the wall. He chooses the r&b playlist you made, it’s what the two of you always use as background music.

A few feet away from him, you’re sliding out of your dress, letting it pool at your feet. The band of your thong sits high on your waist—something about not wanting a muffin-top, he remembers you saying, and he’s gripping your arm, pulling you over to him before you have the chance to pull them down. He positions you to straddle his lap, something you used to dread, in fear that you’d be too heavy for him. You’re pressed against him, the warmth of your chest against the cool skin of his.

“I missed you.” You ran your acrylics down the length of one of his braids where you begin undoing the rubberband at the end. Both braids are unraveled and the french tips of your nails are moving along his scalp. You smile when he lets out a deep sigh and his eyes roll back into his skull. “Missed you too.” He presses his lips against yours and you do the same once he’s got your attention, pressing kisses along his neck and chest. He doesn’t even mind the lipgloss on his lips and chest, thinks of it as you leaving your mark on him.

The both of you are skin to skin and everything about this is so mind boggling. Just a few weeks back you were a t-shirt warrior and an advocate for fucking in the dark, yet it only took one time—one night of Ran undressing you and kissing you from head to toe, caressing every single inch of your plush body and absolutely ravishing you in front of his full body mirror, chanting that you were beautiful until you understood.

Who could blame you for falling in love?

You want him so bad but you’ve accepted that he’ll never be yours the way you want him to be. And that’s okay because nothing else matters when he’s staring down at you like a god. Lilac eyes hooded, braids unraveled and his two-toned hair is fanned out around his face, so pretty and wavy. You’re staring back, a pillow under your knees for comfort.

His dick is big—thick and heavy, too heavy to stand on its own. It curves down gorgeously between his legs, mushroom tip beaded with pre as he grabs it. “So cute.” He breathes out, tapping his dick against your cheek and then your tongue. “Can I use you?”

You stare up at him, mesmerized by those deep pools of lavender. “You can do whatever.”

He’s lifting your braids up and away, keeping it out of your face, the scrunchie that held your bun now wrapped around his wrist. His first thrusts are nice and slow, rubbing his cock against your tongue and slowly easing towards your tastebuds. You’ve learned to breathe through your nose when he’s using your mouth like this.

Ran picks up pace and you’re gagging and drooling all over yourself. So much that you’re scooping it up and rubbing it on your nipples. He unsheathes his thick dick from your throat, cock twitching and jumping, slapping against your chin as he prolongs his orgasm. He’s enthralled by the sight you’ve become. Fat globs of tears pool at your waterline and snot runs down your nose, thick lines of frothy spit running down your chin and tits. He keeps a good grip on your hair, always makes it his duty to keep it nice and pristine when he sluts you out like this. You’re aware that you look an absolute mess and you know he fucking loves it, so much that he won’t stop staring down at you. Now your face is warm and you’re feeling bashful. “Want you to cum. Please.” Your tone is deep and sultry, yet your pleas are dipped in honey, deliciously sweet as they flood his mind.

His dick is back in your mouth, he’s moving your head slow and steady. “I’ll cum for you, pretty.”

“Oh f-uhhhh-uck.” He’s still thrusting, just a little faster, more sloppily & unhinged, feral and desperate as he fucks your throat to release. “G’nna cum for you right now.”

It isn’t long until he’s nearing his end, pulling out and giving his dick a few tugs until he’s shooting rope after rope, painting your face. You even catch some on your tongue and you’re swallowing it up as soon as he gives you your fill. You’ve learned to tolerate the bitterness and it’s much more pleasant now that you’re used to it. His toes are clenching into the carpet, his gut is tightening and the way you still wanna suck the life outta him even after he came is insane. But it feels so good to make him feel good. His hands are damn near trembling but he manages to fix your hair back into the half ponytail. Of course it isn’t as cute as when you did it, but it’ll do.

Ran uses his shirt to wipe your face for you, a little rough but very thorough, he doesn’t miss an inch so your eyebrows and the little bit of concealer you used to cover a couple of dark spots is long gone. He pulls you up into another kiss—a sloppy, messy kiss, the two of you are sucking faces like you’ll never see each other again. You don’t even realize he’s got you onto your back until he’s between your legs, sliding his fingers under the waistband of your panties. He’s peeling the damp cotton away from your folds and down the length of your legs, placing kisses against your calves as he slips the panties over your feet.

“Mine?” You know exactly what he’s asking for and you contemplate telling him no until Ran runs his warm tongue up your slit, pulling the hood back with his thumb and sucking your clit into his mouth.

“Mhm, keep em.”

His mouth morphs into a small smirk. You’d probably think he was an absolute fucking weirdo if you knew what he did with the panties he’s collected from you. His hands are trailing up your sides, resting against yours until they’re moving to place them on his head. Your nails move against his scalp, threading between those loose strands and gathering them up and out of his face.

He’s pushing your legs up higher, your thighs are pressing into your belly, knees right up under your tits. Ran was on cloud 9 right now. Every breath is filled with your scent, tongue coated in your essence as he’s licking up and down your cunt, even sticking his tongue in and fucking you with it for moments at a time.

Then he’s got two of those long, nimble fingers knuckle deep, pussy swallowing them up as he slides them deeper and clenching when he pulls them out. He’s rubbing your clit with the cream coated digits, fitting his tongue into your cunt and slurping up the wetness that leaks out, blessing you with those sloppy licks until he’s trailing lower and lower.

“Mmmfff…wait that’s my-“

He almost laughs at the squeak you let out when his thick tongue begins lathering your asshole with spit. Licking and prodding, so sloppy and slippery from your own juices running down. You taste so good, so clean and fresh and he won’t let a drop go to waste. It doesn’t feel like much to be honest but the act itself is so nasty, so profane, and it just turns you on so fucking much.

His tongue is licking and prodding at your ass, just until it gives for him, until he’s able to-.

“Fucckkkk.” You cry out in pain and pleasure. He slips a finger into your ass, lips wrapped around your clit again and you’re wondering if it’d be weird to start planning your wedding so soon.

You love how nasty he is, how he eats your pussy and ass with no issue, without you even having to ask. He does it cause he wants to. Does it cause he likes pleasing you too. You’re clenching on his finger as he fucks you with it, biting your lip to keep from letting out the most obscene of moans.

“Ran…g’nna cum.”

He pops his lips away from your clit, spitting on the bud and running his tongue around it.

“Yeah, gonna cum all over my face.”

It’s not a question, he’s certainly telling you, but you whimper out a pathetic attempt at answering him as he sucks your fat clit up between his lips again. It feels so good and you’re so sensitive that, that’s all you need to come undone. Your toes are curled indefinitely and he doesn’t let up until trickles of clear liquid flood his mouth, wetting his cheeks and the tip of his nose. Your legs are trembling in the air, buckling against his hold as you spray your release over the bottom of his face, a fountain of your essence and he tries his best to drink it all up.

Your breathing is hard, sporadic even and he doesn’t even give you a chance to catch it when he’s folding you up again, both hands at the back of your knees as he slides in slowly.

“F-fuck.” You stutter as he bottoms out, the thick tip of his cock kissing your cervix with every roll of his hips. He’s staring at you amusedly—your face is scrunched up like you wanna cry, you’re gasping for air like a fish out of fucking water, the whites of your eyes on full display. Lips parted and dry. And even still, he can’t help but think how pretty you are. How he wants to see you make that dumb little face every time he fucks you stupid.

“You love this dick?” The way Ran fucks you is so sensual, giving you those slow, deep strokes you love so fucking much. Leaning over to kiss and nip at your shoulder and jaw just like a lover would.

“F-fuck yessss…I love it..I love y-you.”

His dick is deep in your pussy, so deep it should be a sin, kissing your cervix with every single roll of his hips. It feels so forbidden—sneaky links shouldn’t fuck like this, but it’s so damn good, so dizzying you don’t even catch your mistake.

The smell of him, his voice, his sexy ass face—you’re in love with every aspect of him, everything about him.

In love with a stranger.

It’s just a slip up. That’s what he’s telling himself as he pulls out and rolls you onto your belly because staring at your pretty ass face has him wanting to cum in you and say it back. To be fair, he loves your pussy just as much. The first and only pussy he ever ate was yours and you’re the first he’s ever fucked raw.

“Good girl,” He’s got a rhythm going, and he’s stuffing you full of dick every time you throw your ass back on him. “Don’t run from it.”

He’s cooing and talking nasty as he fills you with all eight inches, telling you you’re a good girl. His good girl. His baby. His slut. And it’s fine cause you’ll be anything as long as it’s his. His thrusts are getting harder, sloppier as he nears his end. He can’t keep his hands off of your ass. Your mocha colored skin rippling against ever thrust, every slap of his heavy palm against your rear.

You think he must think he’s a fucking artist the way he enjoys painting your lovely skin with his cum. In reality, he’s marking you, laying claim over you like an absolute animal. Drips of translucent white run down your butt, settling into the dimples of your back, some running down the crack of your ass. He grabs that same shirt to clean you off, avoiding your pussy.

“You definitely did a number on me.” You turn to show him the marks on your hips. There’s more on your neck, he notices, you’ll see them once you’re in front of a mirror. His thumbs are ghosting over the faint purple bruises on your skin. He never intends to leave those marks on you, but you bruise so easily even when he thinks he’s being gentle. It’s exactly why you deserve someone who’ll treat you better, handle you better. Someone who’ll really be gentle & make love to you, since he only knows how to fuck.

“Gonna shower.” He hears you say after you gather your clothes from the floor. You gather his too and toss them into the 3-compartment hamper, separating his black pants from his grey boxers.

He doesn’t see it, and you’re glad he doesn’t. You still felt a bit iffy about the lasagna situation and you really didn’t want him to think you were overstepping your boundaries. “You brought clothes or you need something to put on?” He’s still sprawled out on the bed, arm over his eyes. The cool air has him fully softened, and you love that he’s that comfortable.

“Yeah, I packed some stuff cause I didn’t know if you’d feel like taking me back home tonight after picking me up, since I stay kinda far.”

“I would’ve.” He shrugs, finally sitting up. “But you can stay if you want.”

“Do you want me to stay?” Your back is to him, as you’re shuffling through your bag to pull out a towel, panties and the oversized shirt you brought. It’s the first time he’s ever offered you to stay at his place, but you’re hoping it’s because he wants you to, otherwise you feel like a bother.

��Sure, I don’t care.”

It’s not the answer you’re hoping for and your mood dampened. He watches as you step into the bathroom, closing the door behind you.

***

He’s slouched over the railing of the balcony, smoking and enjoying the cool air. At least, that’s what he should’ve been doing—instead his mind is moving a mile a minute, his blunt long forgotten as he gaslights himself into disregarding what you said earlier.

He knows it’s the worst thing you could’ve ever said to him and hoped you didn’t mean it, but in actuality, he loved hearing it. Loved watching your pretty lips contort to say it and couldn’t fathom the thought of hearing you say it to anyone that wasn’t him.

Ran sighs heavily as the voice in the back of his mind scolds him. He felt like he was losing his shit. It was selfish, yet uncontrollable and he couldn't help himself. You were like a drug he didn’t want to give up. But this needed to stop.

He knew it would ruin you both.

He doesn’t expect to feel you wrap your arms around him, it startles him a bit and he almost drops his blunt. “You okay? Whatcha thinking about?”

He shakes his head, offering you the joint, which you take. “Just business stuff.”

It's really you on my mind It's really you on my mind It's really you…

Frank Ocean’s voice is oozing out from the sliver of space in between the glass door and it’s frame and the irony is almost baffling, so much that he has to chuckle as he blows smoke into the cool night air.

“You ever had sex out here?” He looks over to see you on your tip toes, leaning further over the edge to see more of the view.

“You want me to fuck you out here?” He answers your question with a question, moving closer until his crotch is pressed right up against your ass.

Your skin—and the entire bathroom for that matter, smells just like vanilla, he’s wondering if you actually wear perfume or if it’s just that body wash that sticks to you so well. Either way you smell so good, so yummy that he’s dying to bend you over this balcony and run his tongue over every inch of you. Instead, he opts for pressing his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply.

“Maybe.” You say after blowing smoke in the air and reaching behind until he grabs the blunt from between your pointy nails. “But it’s cold as hell out here.” In a matter of minutes it feels like the weather has dropped a couple dozen degrees and the cool wind makes it hard to keep the blunt lit. You both reside back into the bedroom and he closes the door behind the both of you, he heads to the kitchen while you settle into his bed to get some homework done.

He plops the chunk of lasagna onto a plate, sitting it into the microwave and letting it go for about a minute and thirty.

While that’s heating up, he’s washing out your bowl and turning it over in the adjacent sink to drip dry.

It’s so fucking good. He doesn’t even remember the last time he ate something home cooked. While he’s indulging in the stack of savory carbs, you have your headphones over your ears doing a case study assignment and listening to a lofi playlist. In your peripheral you see him on Tinder, and the fact that he’s sitting inches away from you, eating the lasagna you made and still swiping on bitches sours your mood even more, so much that you’re pulling your headphones off and shifting your entire body to face him.

“You still be on there?”

You don’t want to seem nosey, or delusional or whatever else somebody might call you, but your profile has been hidden for at least a month now, and the app deleted. After fucking with Ran you haven’t even thought of meeting another man.

“Here and there.” He shrugs, locking his phone and tossing it on the side table. “When I’m bored.”

“When you’re bored.” You repeat it and yup, it sounds just as absurd coming out your mouth. “Have you fucked anyone else since our little arrangement?”

“Nah, haven’t really thought about it. What’s with all the questions?” He gives you one of those slow blinks and it pisses you off even more.

“Just curious. I-I just wanna know what we are. Like, where I stand in your life, I guess.”

“From my knowledge, we’re just two people that fuck. Not really friends with benefits cause I don’t fuck friends-.” His words are like a jab in the gut.

“But you asked for friends with benefits, now we’re not friends?” “I said no strings attached, not friends with benefits.”

“No strings attached. Right.” It kills you to repeat it. “So in other words, I don’t mean shit to you.” You’re closing your laptop and swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. “Just someone you text when you wanna bust a nut, got it.”

It’s the farthest from the truth and it nearly shatters his heart to hear you utter such nonsense as he watches you stuff your belongings back into your bag. But, what exactly could he say?

He wasn’t looking for anything serious and he doesn’t fuck friends—you were in a category of your own, even if he didn’t quite know what that category was. Either way, he doesn’t expect you to react the way that you do and he considers damage control but knows he shouldn’t.

It’d just confuse the both of you, he knows it.

***

hey

yo?

???

These messages have been green and undelivered for months now. They probably will be for the rest of his life but Ran can’t bring himself to stop checking them every so often.

“Come on man, you’re still not over what’s-her-face?”

Ran, usually so sharp and alert, doesn’t even know how long his younger brother has been standing there. He just hopes not long enough to have seen him scrolling up and down your old messages. All the way up to when he asked for more photos of you since you didn’t have many on your profile. Scrolling down to where you asked for more of him and of course he didn’t have many either, but he still found himself opening up his camera to take more for you. Every ‘wyd’ or ‘I’m outside’ and every ‘drive safe.’ He read through them all, and recalls ever single moment he’s had with you. “Do you live to fucking annoy me?”

“Just saying. There’s plenty of pussy in the sea. Plenty of women too. Come on man, it’s a big night for us.” Oh how Ran loved the way life worked. Constantly putting off spending time with you to focus on the club, now the club is finally opening for its first night and he couldnt be bothered to care. He can’t get you off his mind.

“Yeah..just a couple hundred people I gotta play friendly with all damn night.” The older brother sighs. Ran’s tone is so emotionless, so dull it’s like talking to a shell of him. It kills Rindou to see that he still hasn’t gotten over whoever the hell you were.

Ran was always so secretive & Rindou is actually a little annoyed because had he known who you were he would’ve personally begged you on his hands and knees to take his brother back.

“It’ll be well worth it in the end, just tend to VIP sections, I’ll keep everyone else entertained.” The two bump fists before parting ways.

The first VIP section that catches his eye is a group of women and he assumed someone was celebrating a birthday, judging by the big metallic pink ‘25’ balloons, so of course he wants to be there one bearing the gifts. A limited edition pink bottle of Clase Azul, champagne for a toast and a bouquet of pink roses are in his hands as he makes his way to the table.

“Ladies.” He greets you and your friends. “Enjoying yourselves?”

Ran thinks he’s seeing things when his eyes meet yours, and he can’t tell if the universe is working for or against him.

You look so fucking gorgeous in your satin pink dress, it hugs your curves but slouches in all the right areas giving the illusion of wet silk draped against your body. Your makeup is beautiful, lips glossy, nails done, even your hair is sexy as hell—jet black buss down, or whatever the fuck it’s called, and it’s way past your ass. Long enough to pull. Fuck, he misses pulling your hair. He misses you.

“Beautiful bottle for a beautiful lady. Happy birthday.” He plays it cool but his heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest.

“Thank you.” You can feel your cheeks raising and you’re not sure if it’s because of the compliment or the free liquor. It took you months to forget about this very man only to have him catch you completely off guard on the night of your birthday. He looks good, so good you can’t help but stare. He’s stopped dyeing his hair, more of his natural black has grown out, and he has most of it pulled back in a messy high pony. He’s still into oversized clothes, donning a white shirt that was at least two sizes too big, black jeans and a flannel around his waist.

When you grab the bottle from his hand, the tips of your nails graze his hand and Ran wonders if it’s crazy to miss them running down his back too. Both of you are surrounded by your friends, guests and workers in the club but it really feels like it’s just the two of you.

He’s looking you up and down, drinking you in amongst the dim lighting and he can’t imagine how he fumbled you. He pops the bottle of champagne effortlessly, pouring you a glass and doing the same for your four friends, then himself.

“To Y/N. More life to you.”

He’s the last one you clank your glass with, your face warms up as you can feel his eyes bearing down on your as you finally take your first sip. Sweet and bubbly is how you’d describe it, most champagne’s are too dry for your liking, that much he remembers.

“Can we talk?”

Even after sharing some of your most intimate moments with him, it still felt like talking to a stranger.

“Sure.”

You tell your friends you’ll be back and then he’s leading you through the long corridor to a lavish office. This is Ran we’re talking about so you wouldn’t expect anything less.

“Been a while.” He speaks after closing the door behind the both of you. Ran hates small talk, yet here he is trying his best to spark up a conversation with you. In the fluorescent lighting he notices you’ve lost weight too, hopes it’s cause you wanted to and not stress or anything like that. “Didn’t know today was your birthday.”

“You didn’t care to remember. I would’ve never guessed you owned this club.” You sigh, leaning against his desk, shifting your weight off of your feet. These heels were cute as hell but they were literally murder on your ankles and the balls of your feet. “How have you been?”

It was his turn to sigh. “I don’t know, just been busy with the club, it was keeping me distracted. Keeping you off my mind.” If Ran wasn’t anything else, he was always honest, especially with you.

Silence. The silence is smothering the both of you in unresolved tension and it only gets thicker as you contemplate what to even say to that. “Why would I be on your mind?”

“What? You’re always on my mind. Every time I think about you, I fucking miss you. But I know I fucked up so-“

“No, you did nothing wrong, nothing at all. When we first started messing around we agreed to no strings attached, no I love you’s, no feelings. But I fucked all of that up and I fell for you..and you didn’t catch me.” You twiddled with your thumbs, knowing when he asked to ‘talk’ this was coming sooner or later. “I wanted you so bad I was fine just being your friend, but to know I wasn’t even that, it hurt. It hurt so bad I thought I’d never get over you, until I realized that I was settling.”

He’s taken aback to say the least. “Settling? I made you feel like you were settling? What was it that I didn’t have? That I didn’t give you? Money, status?”

His expression is shocked, crazed even, and it feels so good to get some kind of emotion out of him other than indifference. But, you’re past this phase, and you no longer wanted to be involved with him romantically. Probably not even sexually to be honest. “Have I ever asked you for money, Ran?”

Truthfully, you were probably the only woman he’s dealt with that didn’t ask him for money.

“You never asked me for anything. How would I know what you wanted?” By now he felt defeated, pathetic, like he was pleading and you weren’t hearing him.

“When you find the girl that’s for you, that special girl, she won’t even have to ask.”

He feels like it’d be crazy to admit that he thinks you’re that girl. That he knew you were special since the first night he met you. That he was just afraid of commitment and that’s why he pushed you away.

This wasn’t like losing a friend, no, he knows that far too well. This was like losing a lover. A foreign feeling and he’s not entirely sure why, but it hurts. It hurts so bad.

You prop your arms on his shoulders, reaching a hand behind him, looping one of your fingers around his hair-tie and slipping it out. He makes no move to stop you as his hair falls around his face, a curtain of black and gold. “Still so pretty.” You place your hands on either side of his face, soft fingertips running against his milky skin. It’s like you’re teasing him with those gentle gestures, only to rip his heart out in the end.

“Take care, Ran.”

There’s burning in his throat and he wants to scream. To punch something.

But you’re smiling up at him so cutely and he’s given no choice but to crack a fake smile for you too as he pulls you into his arms for the last time.

Is this closure? Is it supposed to make him feel worse than he would’ve had he chose to not speak to you at all? Is this how you felt?

In the end, he can’t even be mad. He wasn’t ready, but he had no clue how much it’d hurt when you didn’t wait for him. He squeezes you tighter and wants to hold you, feel you, even smell you just a little bit longer, but he hears a knock on his door and he knows it’s time to free you. To free himself from the shackles you kept around his heart whether you knew it or not.

“Take care, y/n.”

❀

#ran haitani #ran x y/n #ran x you #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo rev x y/n #tokyo rev x black reader #ran haitani x black reader #tokyo rev smut #tokyo rev x you #tr x y/n #ran x black reader #black coded reader #black coded #HentyeHottie

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ay0nha · 1 year ago

Note

Buggy searching out reader after a fight and showing up to her doorstep like a puppy looking for help

feel free to make it angsty or fluffy (or smutty lol)...reader could be an ex-marine and hates pirates so it's not clear whether or not they like each other (spoiler they do)

PAIRING: OPLA!Buggy x f!reader

WORD COUNT: 2.3K

WARNINGS: ANGST, canon-typical things, cursing, smoking, descriptions of injuries/fucked up shit Buggy did, mutual pining, brief mention of reader being a former marine, vague description of smuggler!reader, soft touches, enemies ish to lovers, etc.

A/N: This was fun lol. It's a little weird and experimental (?) for me? So, she got a little messy as I was getting excited to just Get This Out, so it didn't sit in my drafts. I want more buggy angst lol. Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in any OPLA things or along the lines. Enjoy.

!!!COMMENTS ENCOURAGED!!!

(tags: @gingernut1314)

There were reasons habits quickly morphed into vices, something immoral and wicked. Yet, you were lethal, the definition of torment. Your silhouette alone was enough to send Buggy spiraling.

Each step toward you felt unreliable and fuzzy, making Buggy question if he reattached his limbs correctly. His gut felt twisted with a foreign feeling that he wanted to trap away. He wondered if he buried the feeling deep enough if it would turn to treasure or become forgotten rot.

“Buggy.” Your voice even irritated him. Yet, he found relief in finding you alone. “Third time this month. Careful…I’m starting to get a big head.”

“That sounds like a medical problem…” He mumbled with little enthusiasm and a half-hearted smirk, “...should probably get seen for that.”

“Admitting you care, eh?” You teased. You were preoccupied, cigarette dangling from your lip and bobbing with every word. “What can I help you with?”

The receipts tended to be formidable, but you couldn't help but feel your concentration falter when you were met with uncharacteristic silence. Typically, you were shy of whiplash from an unwarranted insult or backhanded compliment. However, once your eyes landed on Buggy, you only saw deep anger veiling desperation.

“How serious is it?” Your pen was settled beside the book, whatever records you were once concerned with dismissed. Buggy looked awful—his posture gave away his exhaustion and discomfort.

“What? Can’t we skip the part where I say ‘the other guy looks worse’?” His busted lip ticked with dry humor. There were rumors he was in trouble, but that paled compared to the truth you knew about Buggy.

“Depends.” You frowned. “That other guy isn’t stopping by, is he?” If it were true, you’d have to lay low, something you never had time for. “This is why I don’t like your kind.”

“My kind?” Buggy continued unamused. You weren’t more than a wolf in sheep’s clothing to him. You were a smuggler. Plain and simple. It was impossible for something to stay hidden from you for long. “You’re not far off, sweetheart.”

His terms of endearment never held affection, but he seemed to soften this time for some reason—almost pleading between the lines. You held a trained expression, taking a moment of consideration.

Your typical jobs with him were small. Typically, they consisted of information that he could coax out of you for trinkets. He brought the world to you. Other times, you moved things through the shadows to an even darker location.

This was different, you decided.

Stalking toward the clown, you saw how the pain mapped on his body. “You look awful.”

The jester’s bow was fueled by pained sarcasm. Although his abilities helped, Buggy's flesh was still pliable. His jaw was a deep-set purple, contrasting the faded red of his cracked lips. It was hard to distinguish what was paint and what was blood. His eyes were bloodshot with broken blood vessels, and there were gashes littering every place imaginable.

You were surprised he was still standing. You noted how his breath became labored, as if holding onto what he could before he collapsed entirely. But looking between his eyes, you saw the struggle he had deciding what was worth his final breath: business or pleasure.

—

At the atrium of the town, your home went unnoticed. The average eye missed it, but those who could look past the unassuming home knew what lay behind the walls. You were particular with your arrangements, always done tightly and if challenged dangerously.

Buggy learned the hard way of earning your loose alliance. The scar you left behind cinched on his side, and sometimes, if he found you lingering in his mind, he swore he felt it ache. Yet, just being in your presence seemed to be the closest thing to a remedy.

“You can’t just show up like this.” Your scolding was shallow, there only as a buffer. You distanced yourself from the pirate despite the intimacy you provided.

The handful of candles in the room glowed yellow, highlighting the dark corners that threatened to swallow everything whole. Your fingers trailed various cabinets, pulling out necessities: make-shift gauze, old booze, and something loosely resembling thread.

“Then, don’t leave a key under your mat.” Buggy hadn’t bothered with the front door, stumbling through a window once locked. The so-called key was that he knew how to dance around your traps, dragging in an air of death.

“Hilarious.”

“Gimme a minute...” He raised his uncovered hand.“... I’ll come up with something better.”

The irony hadn’t set in yet, but whoever had hurt him made it personal. Buggy’s middle fingers were gone, not detached, but entirely ripped off.

“Oh—” You bubbled with laughter lightly, “—that must’ve hurt.”

“Well, aren’t you a twisted one?” Buggy’s tone was flat, but his eyes tracked you. He silently begged you to put him out of his misery.

“What’s twisted is you, Buggy.” The decision had already been made to help him, but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t draw it out. “You come here asking for my mercy and expect it for free…”

Buggy’s throat went dry, his tongue barely able to wet his own lips without tasting blood. He leaned through your threshold, head hung, leaving a trail of blood with every uncomfortable shift. His breath was heavy, wheezing with effort to remain upright.

There was no use in prayers. The gore set the air with dust that could never settle; a blood-warm heat had set into your marrow, never to be forgotten; Buggy had been dragged to your doorstep like a cat bringing in fowl.

Buggy spoke low as if the neighbors would hear. He hadn’t even wanted to hear himself, knowing his desperation. “...can’t you play favorites for once?”

“That’s a trick question.” Your facade had slipped. Your response was a second too quick, letting warmth trickle throughout his chest.

Buggy’s ears rang at the admission. Your words filled the room and stuck like honey.

You were always thinking. You were intentional; everything was thought out, and if it wasn’t, you were still level-headed. It wasn’t hard to recognize his behavior patterns; he knew what he was doing. Finally, though, everything became a second thought as you reached him with intent, tilting his chin to expose his neck.

“Easy, puppet.” Buggy caught your wrist. The tight hold was a warning moments away from a fracture. “Pity isn’t your color.”

Buggy fed off cruelty that incited fear. It was foolish to think he could do the same to you.

“How naive of you to think this is what pity looks like.” Your voice was soft and steady, pent-up venom behind every word. “Before me is a shell of a man playing pirate—”

You paused to regain your wrist. Regret flashed over Buggy’s features, but he held onto every one of your words. His humor was his defense, and beyond that, he was pliable in your hands. There was little room for recovery.

“—don’t fault me for something you let get out of hand.” You finished.

Fear clawed its way up Buggy’s throat, determined to make itself known. It fought with another emotion he was too proud to name. He wasn't unfamiliar with loss. But this. The feeling was wild. Sentimental.

The small candles’ fire illuminated the room only so much, hiding the loneliness of the small space. Very little signs of life filled the room, but your supplies dominated the counters. It was a tick you picked up from the Marines that you couldn’t shake. On nights when sleep was hard to find, you would organize and filter through everything in preparation for nothing.

It seemed wrong to encourage the relief you felt, finally putting what you had to use. But its familiarity was oddly cathartic. So, with clean hands, you began.

“Lean forward—” You instructed. The chill in your tone softened as Buggy struggled. “—move slowly. Slowly.”

You’d already discarded his hat; scorched by the battle, it had lost most of its form. You moved slowly, calculated with every experimental touch. The years of back and forth and treachery never lead you to believe Buggy would be sitting at your mercy.

He grunted as you removed his jacket. It was tattered and drenched with rainwater. The leather of the chair protested against being ruined. Each layer removed revealed every minute it took for him to arrive.

“Were you shot? Show me where it hurts. ” You prompted bluntly. The training was still ingrained; your mind filtered through a clinical set of diagnostic questions, your hands moved with practice, and you were returned. “Dizzy? Light-headed? Anything like that?”

His skin pricked. Your touch tickled him, but he leaned into it fully. Buggy was used to touch hurting or leading to something that hurt. He put far too much faith in you, unlike the others. He humanized you. It would be a mistake if you did the same.

“No, no,” Buggy shook his head, the action unsteady. “My ribs—” He coughed with discomfort when you pressed against his side. “Fuck—”

Your hands were steady as you worked. The gauze was taut in the right places, and Buggy’s body finally relaxed. He received a good beating, but nothing bed rest would fix. While you tided, you rambled on about the possibility of a fever, infections, and whatever else came out of your mouth to ignore the feeling of his severe gaze.

“You’ve changed,” Buggy muttered sharply. He took in your entirety. You held yourself well; you’d matured into your confidence unrestrained. Without him, you soared.

“And you’ve fallen.” Your mouth fidgeted with a frown. Your head remained leveled with his, bandages secured at his temples.

Buggy’s bloodshot eyes darted between your own. He wanted to tell you that you were the brevity of his curse, his burden. His mind was always riddled with reflections, constantly ruminating about possibilities that could bring so-called success. You quieted it and saw him for what he was good and evil. He gave all of himself to you.

“Oh yeah?” He encouraged.

You only noticed now the position you were standing in, not entirely between his legs, but knees brushing with every motion. Intentional or not, Buggy took advantage, bruised knuckles, finding a place just shy of your pant’s fabric.

“I got you something.” He whispered. Buggy knew you well enough that the seed that only he could nourish had been planted. It was only moments before you’d cave. “Check my pocket; the left one.”

A strange feeling surfaced, pulling away, but you were enticed. Buggy learned your tastes, knowing you placed value on rarities. There was no rhyme or reason behind it, possibly besides the fact that each trinket was tangible evidence that you were on his mind. Therefore, there was no stop to the allure. You explored his discarded jacket, eagerness fueling your search.

“Jesus, Buggy!” You cursed from the texture alone. Buggy fulfilled his titles, always sporadic with his behavior and anger. The blood was warm and fresh, staining your palm as if making sure it was now shared blood on your hands.

You flung the nose to the floor, cartilage still firm and skin still stringy with the residue of its owner. The image alone told you everything. The scene was explicit—nothing could be saved from Buggy’s carnage.

“Oops.” He wheezed an ill-timed laugh. To be seated in the depths of your home, he still sought out an advantage. “Must be the other pocket.”

“It’s too late for your pranks.” You spat. Your kindness felt thrown back in your face. The faint embarrassment morphed into anger. “Don't you get this is exactly why I—

“I forgot, you don’t like my kind.” Buggy chose malice as his only form of self-preservation. The statement mocked you and your previous life sewing up Marines that Buggy most likely sent you. “How selfish to think everything is about you.”

Buggy detached his bandaged hand with the little energy he had left, going to the correct pocket. He let his defensiveness stew, already committing to the rash gift he’d brought for you. It was heavy on its return to you.

Reaching out, your heart dropped to your stomach. The glass was pristine, and the snowglobe’s inner frost moved your heartbeat to your ears. You refused to shake it, nervous your uneasy hands would break something so inherently precious.

Holding it tightly to your chest, your eyes were blown wide, pouring into Buggy’s. It was clear to you now the state he was in was of a transactional purpose. He offered himself for the trivial object. It spoke of the confusion of feelings that drowned Buggy. Pain became inherent to his life, functioning as a scale of value.

The greater the risk, the greater the reward.

“Do you like it?” Buggy’s voice surpassed the thumping in your ears.

When you were young, you threw things out of your bedroom window to learn how they would break. Many of them did not—the plastic dolls and plush toys landed safely on the grassy yard below—but the wooden toys did break, or at least they came apart.

One day, you found a snow globe. A winter village stood inside, with snow-covered roofs and chimneys shooting up into the domed sky.

This snow globe was the last thing you threw out of your window, not because your mother scolded you, which she did, but because this snow globe smashed so gloriously—an explosion of crystal, water, snow, and glitter, the village utterly destroyed —you thought you wouldn’t be able to replicate such destruction again.

It was bullshit then, and it was bullshit now. Moving and letting go was never in the stars for you. Or the tea leaves. Or in the deep lines of your palm. You were destined for destruction.

You’d told Buggy this once. Your state of inebriation fostered the interaction, the memory far more fuzzy for you than for him. It was told nonlinearly, but he followed it well as if he were then to witness it himself. He understood its value to you even if he couldn’t fully understand it. It wasn’t odd or facetious. It was your greatest regret that he became determined to restore.

“Yes.”

#q #buggy the clown #buggy #buggy one piece #buggy fic #captain buggy #captian buggy #buggy x reader #buggy x f!reader #buggy the genius jester #opla!buggy x f!reader #opla!buggy x reader #opla!buggy #one piece buggy #buggy d clown #op buggy

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imshymorph · 9 months ago

Text

Slightly angsty soft!price, I promise it has a good ending.

I believe that as much as you’re both used to the rhythm of it all now, you know, the weight his deployment adds to both of your shoulders, the way your stomachs churn when you have to spend months apart. It wasn’t as easy to deal with at the beginning.

I don’t even think you fully knew what his job was in the actual beginning. And the first few months to a year of really knowing was probably the hardest one in your relationship.

- - - - -

It was already hard, having to go weeks or months at a time without seeing him, with barely any contact. It was much harder when you knew that pretty much anything could happen to him and all you’d have as notice was someone delivering his dog tags to your door.

Resentment wasn’t the proper word for how you felt, you didn’t blame John, you never could. You had met him as the man who he was now, you wouldn’t expect him to change because of you. But there definitely was a weird feeling in your gut the more time you spent alone in your shared flat.

Your phone is always close to you, in case he got the chance to give a quick call or a simple text that confirmed his well-being. Your clothes pretty much abandoned to instead use his to at least have the smallest resemblance of what his presence was.

It wasn't resentment, but definitely loneliness, maybe even some hidden grief. The catastrophist side of you taking control, always ready to get a call from the hospital or a knock on your door.

You didn’t say anything in the beginning, he already had enough on his plate. but when a deployment made you both stay apart for over two months you spoke up. It was a civil, a conversation, not an argument. You explained how worried you were, despite his reassurances that you didn’t have to be, how lonely you felt. How big and silent the flat felt without him, how slow time seemed to pass by.

He understood, made the promise to limit the deployment times. He'd still go on missions, but shorter ones, the longest taking two weeks at a time. At least that was for the first few months. Old habits die hard and John has always been someone not only of habits but commitment and dedication. So, without realising, soon enough he was dipping back to old ways, his work as captain keeping him out of the country months at a time.

You tried a couple more times, insisting that you didn’t blame him. You knew what you were getting into before moving in with him, it wasn’t that. You just wanted some level of compromise, you didn’t ask him to avoid long deployments, just do his best to avoid having them back to back.

And the result was always the same. He'd understand and agree, and it would work well for a couple weeks, sometimes months. But then you’d go back to seeing him less and less until you were apart months at a time once more.

it all changed one specific day, though. It was probably the fourth or fifth time you had talked about it with him. Yet here you are again, alone at your shared flat, that had been inhabited only by you for the last six weeks. The feeling of loneliness had only grown stronger each day that passed and you had started to question if you were in fact starting to resent him. Wanting to avoid that train of thought you decided on the best option, you wouldn’t be alone at home if you spent a few days at someone else’s .

Texting one of your friends about your situation, they agreed on letting you stay with them for a few days. To help you get your mind out of John’s deployment and give you a break of the empty flat. You’d have company for a few days and manage to get rid of that pit in your gut that made bile rise every time you heard the doorbell.

You were packing things you’d need from the bathroom, busy with checking you didn’t forget anything important, you hadn’t heard the main door open.

John walked in, taking his muddy boots at the front door before he went looking for you, noticing the bedroom’s light on. He froze on the doorframe, stomach dropping and chest tightening when he saw your suitcase almost filled up on the bed.

You walked out of the bathroom, your whole body freezing when you saw him standing there. You hadn’t expected him to be home yet, not for another week at least. Your eyes ran over his whole body, making sure he was safe and sound. “John…?” you barely got to murmur, not even finishing your sentence before the things you were carrying were taken out of your hands and instead you were pulled into him.

“I'm sorry.” he murmured against the crown of your head. His nose pressed to your hair, with a hand cradling the back of your neck as the other pulled you close by the waist. “I'm sorry, love. Please, don’t leave.”

“I know I've messed up. Broke my word.” His tone was his usual gruff and low one, with that raspiness that comforted and turned you on alike, so familiar and finally there with you. But there was something to it, a light tilt that revealed how worried he really was about you possibly leaving. “I'll make it up to you, I'll really change.”

“John.” You say softly, lightly pulling away, only enough to look him in the eye, one of your hands reaching up, gently cupping his cheek. “I'm not leaving, love. I was just going to see a friend for a couple days.”

As soon as your warm hand makes contact with his skin, his face leans into your touch and his eyes soften. “Don’t, please.” he murmurs, and god does he resemble a sad dog in the rain. “Stay with me.” You give a soft nod and before you can do or say anything else, he pulls you back in his arms with a string of thank you’s and i’m sorry’s.

“I'll make it up to you, I promise.” he murmurs against the top of your head before kissing it. And the way his arms curl tighter around you and pull you closer. The way the mix of his cologne and musk fills your senses and the press of his lips to your head immediately makes that pit in your gut disappear.

“It's okay.” you reassure softly, your arms hooking around his neck in return, holding him close. “I'm not angry, darling. I just missed you.” the second one of you hand drifts up to lightly brush through his hair and against his scalp he feels like he’s melting.

“I missed you too, love. Every single day.” he answers, his face now burying in the crook of your neck instead of your hair. His body unconsciously starts to sway the both of you from side to side. “I'll make it up to you. Take you out on a proper date.”

Your eyes close, your head leaning against his shoulder as you sway along with him. “We can do that tomorrow.” you reassure him softly, “just want to say like this for now.”

“We can stay like this for as long as you want, love.” he murmurs, the hand on your waist moving under your his t-shirt to feel your warm skin. “Just please don’t leave me.”

“I won't.” comes out your soft answer, “I’m not going anywhere, darling.” you reassure softly as you press a light kiss to his shoulder.

The both of you stay like that for a few minutes, a comfortable silence sitting between the both of you as you softly sway in each other's arms. No words needed to notice the relief the other is going through. If he thought he had relaxed when you had started to play with his hair, the moments he heard you whisper a soft i love you he felt like he had ascended to paradise without realising.

He took a second, breathing your scent for a moment longer before he pulled back enough to look you in the eye. “I love you too. you’re my everything, love. I’ll prove it to you, promise.” he whispered back, before leaning in to seal his promise with a kiss.

#cod x reader #x reader #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw2 #captain price cod #captain john price #captain price mw2 #captain price x reader #john price x reader #john price #price x reader #captain price #soft!price #gender neutral reader #gn!reader

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capt-mactavish · 2 years ago

Text

Provoke

little ficlet I wrote while I should have been writing my other one, while I should have been writing my RP, while I should have been working around the house on my day off. Enjoy!

Warning: Explicit!! 18+, minors DNI

Warnings for: gratuitous sex

Bottom John “Soap” MacTavish x Top Male Reader

“Fuck, Johnny, look atchu,” you speak in a hushed whisper, almost in reverence.

Johnny turns his head to look at himself in the mirror of the vanity you have him pinned up against. His mouth hangs open as he pants gently, fogging up the glass. And quiet, breathy moans leave his throat on every snap of your hips. His face is dusted pink, all the way up to the tips of his ears and down his neck, disappearing underneath the hem of his shirt.

“You look so pretty like this, baby,” you coo, leaning over him, caging him in as you plant your arms on either side of him on the countertop.

The man beneath you shivers as your breath ghosts over the shell of his ear, and your lips curl into a satisfied smirk.

“Cheeky bastard,” Johnny huffs, wearing a smile of his own as your eyes meet in the reflection. “You’re way too into this.”

“Would you prefer it if I stopped?” You offer, slowing your thrusts and leaning back up as if to step away.

“Stop and I’ll gut you,” Johnny growls, whipping his head around to face you and gripping the shoulder strap of your tactical vest in a tight fist.

“As you wish,” you concede, picking the pace back up, exaggeratedly rolling your hips.

“Don’t think- ah- you could if you… wanted to, anyway,” Johnny says with a growing smirk, turning back to face the mirror, his eyes once more catching yours in the reflection.

“You’re probably right,” you growl, dropping your head down to press your forehead against the back of Johnny’s shoulder. “You feel so good.”

Johnny chuckles and reaches back to you, curling his fingers into your hair.

“Knew you’d be into this,” he says in a prideful tone. “Knew you couldn’t resist me.”

You think back to just moments before. When you had been so fed up with the Sergeant’s constant teasing, on route to- and the entire duration of- the mission, you had finally had enough and snapped.

Grabbing Johnny by the shoulder, you had shoved him into the dingy bathroom and shut the door behind you. The Sergeant stumbled back and watched you advance on him with wide eyes like a predator stalking its prey.

But still, a smile graced his lips, heart thumping in anticipation as to how you would finish what he started.

Forcefully, you spun the man around to face the mirror, then slammed him down onto the countertop, pinning him there with his hands behind his back.

“You fucking tease,” You had hissed, rutting your hips forward into Johnny’s backside, letting him feel the hard length of your cock, his doing, straining against the front of your pants.

“Come on, big boy,” he goaded, looking at you over his shoulder. He pressed his ass back enticingly against your crotch and smirked when you sucked in a sharp breath, “You know you want to fuck me.”

Unfortunately, and much to your annoyance, he had been right. Evidenced even further by the fact that you were now buried balls deep inside him, in the middle of a mission, in a dirty bathroom, with the rest of your team who knows where.

“We could still get caught,” you warn, moving your head to brush your lips against the side of his neck.

“And would ye stop if we were?” Johnny challenges. He’s got a cocky look on his face, along with that stupid, pretty smile of his.

You don’t answer, knowing the answer is probably, most definitely, no.

Johnny feels too good around your cock, and looks too pretty all flushed and panting. It didn’t matter who could come through that bathroom door right now and see you. Let them watch for all you care, you weren’t stopping for anyone.

All you can do is growl and reach an arm around Johnny’s front, pulling him back against your chest as your thrusts become harder.

“Kinky fucker,” Johnny teases.

And you hate that he’s right. Again. That you wouldn’t mind one bit. Might even enjoy it. At least whoever it was would know for damn sure that Johnny is yours.

“Don’t... worry about it,” the Sergeant says, trying to reassure you. “The building… is clear and the rest of the team… is nowhere near here, nobody-”

“Soap, this is Ghost, how copy?”

You freeze, stilling yourself for just a moment. You can feel Johnny having become just as rigid beneath you.

Again, your eyes meet in the mirror and you swear you can see a bit of color draining from Johnny’s face.

“Soap?”

You smile mischievously at Johnny before slowly starting to fuck him again, and you tilt your head to whisper directly into his ear.

“Go on, Johnny, answer him.”

Another shiver rolls down Johnny’s spine. His eyes are wide, you can tell he’s reluctant. He looks like he’s about to refuse when Ghost’s voice comes over the comms again, a bit more urgency in his tone now.

“Johnny, how copy?”

The arm still around Johnny’s front reaches down to his comm unit and presses down on the PTT button, all while holding eye contact with him in the mirror as you fuck him from behind.

Johnny swallows thickly before speaking, “Th-this is Soap. I… I copy, L.t.”

“‘Bought time, Sergeant. What’s your twenty?”

Just as Johnny gets ready to respond, your next thrust comes hard and fast. It tears a groan out of his throat just as you press down on the button, forcing him to bite down on his lip in order to try and cut himself off.

“Johnny, you alright?” comes Ghost’s voice.

Obviously he hadn’t stopped himself in time, and he glares at you in the reflection. Though his expression doesn’t hold any weight, and looks more pleading instead.

“Y-yes sir, -ah- just… just finishing… the sweep, sir.” he huffs between thrusts.

“Sergeant, what’s wrong? Are you injured?” Ghost asks, a bit of concern starting to seep in.

You're starting to move faster, and Johnny preemptively grabs your wrist, holding your thumb off the button of the comm as he lets himself moan loudly. His eyes are closed in pure bliss and he leans forward and lets his forehead prop against the glass.

What a pretty sight, seeing him so undone. It fills you with pride, and the grin on your face says it all.

Once he lets go, you retract your hand, giving him control back over the PTT. He fumbles his fingers over it for a moment, jostled by your sharp thrusts, but finally finds the button and presses it down.

“N-no, sir… ‘M fine. Just… finishing up here.. -AH!”

Johnny keens as the hand that was once pressing his PTT was now underneath his shirt pinching his nipple. Though, you think he had managed to release the button before crying out this time. Lucky little shit.

There’s a long silence over the radio, and you wonder if Ghost is buying it. You certainly wouldn’t if you were him.

Johnny also seems doubtful, glancing at you in the mirror with eyes full of uncertainty and a hand covering his mouth.

“Copy,” comes Ghost, finally, though with a suspicious bit of resignation in his tone. “Evac is on route, ETA 5 minutes. Get your arses over here.”

“Yes, sir,” Johnny pipes, letting go of the comm and slamming his hand down firmly on the countertop.

“Dirty bastard, I’ll get you back for that!” he exclaims, glaring at you over his shoulder.

You only grin, your fingers curl into the short mohawk and yank his head back as your other hand digs into the exposed flesh of his hip.

“I look forward to it, sweetheart,” you say, and any more words Johnny had wanted to say die on his tongue as your thrusts turn brutal, fucking him relentlessly.

Johnny mewls obscenely, bracing his hands up against the mirror as you fuck him into it. His mouth hangs open, letting every lewd and wanton sound he can possibly make fall off his tongue freely.

If only he was still on comms now, you think to yourself, imagining everyone hearing everything you’re doing to him.

Glancing down between your bodies and letting go of his hair briefly, you pull your shirt up, wanting an unobstructed view of your cock disappearing into Johnny’s eager hole.

You can see him watching you in the mirror, watery eyes taking in your bare skin. And you watch as he reaches down in between himself and the vanity and starts to stroke himself to the rhythm of your thrusts.

“That’s it baby, you take my cock so well,” you praise, running a hand up his back underneath his shirt. “Such a good boy.”

“Oh fuck!” Johnny blurts out, goosebumps rising to the surface of his skin. He’s looking at you in the mirror, his glassy eyes pleading with you yet again. His strokes start to become erratic, hand shaking. “‘M close!”

“Yeah? Ya gonna come, baby? Go on, sweetheart, come for me,” you speak, and as if waiting for your permission, he does.

Johnny comes, and you can tell he’s never came quite so hard before. The sound that tears itself from his throat is absolutely filthy and he looks surprised at himself for having it in him to make. His legs quiver and shake, and you think they’d probably give out if you didn’t have him in an iron grip.

As he comes down moments later, his top half slumps against the countertop, whimpering with oversensitivity as you still plow mercilessly into him.

“Good boy. So fucking good for me, baby,” you growl through gritted teeth, feeling yourself nearing the edge. “‘M gonna come, sweetheart. God fucking dammit you feel so good. Fuck!”

The sound Johnny makes is somewhere between a sob and a moan and it’s what finally tips you over the edge. You slam into him one final time, pressing yourself in as far as you possibly can as your orgasm hits you like a freight train. You groan, deep and guttural, and your cock spasms as you coat his insides with your thick seed. Your hands are sure to leave bruises on his hips with the way you’re gripping them.

A moment passes where you are content to stay like this forever, buried inside Johnny with no care for the outside world and its responsibilities. But as you feel yourself softening, and your senses return to you, you become aware of time passing once more and pull out.

Stepping back, however, you allow yourself a moment to watch in satisfaction as your cum drips out of Johnny’s ass onto the floor or runs down the inside of his thighs.

You hum contentedly, burning the sight into your memory for a rainy day.

Johnny is still whimpering softly, and you can see he still has his leaking cock in his hand.

“Alright, there, MacTavish?” you ask, pulling your pants back up and rearranging your gear.

He only nods, and you smirk triumphantly before swatting a hand across his bare ass.

“Careful what you wish for, Johnny boy,” you say gruffly. You then grab your discarded gun by the door before opening it and walking out.

You can tell you’re a little late to the evac helo by the angry, irritated eyes Ghost was giving the two of you.

“Everything alright, you two?” He asks, eyeing Johnny as you let him climb in first.

“Yes, sir,” Johnny responds, avoiding his gaze, as well as the others, and taking his seat quickly.

Ghosts' eyes fall on you and you flash him a devilish smile.

“Just peachy, sir,” you say, and you swear Ghosts eyes narrow just slightly before you, too, board the helo.

You take a seat opposite Johnny, and smirk as Ghost takes the seat next to him. You can’t wait to watch him squirm in his seat the whole way back with the Lieutenant's eyes on him and an ass full of your cum.

#mw2 141 #cod fanfic #male reader #cod male reader #soap male reader #soap x m!reader #top male reader #bottom soap #bottom john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #ghost makes an appearance in here too i guess but it's not about him #i dont know how to tag this as **** without tumblr going apeshit so #anyway

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cheemscakecat · 10 months ago

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Dream thing Emesis Blue

So you know how you have dreams, and someone that isn’t your mom or dad is called that and you go along with it? Because you aren’t awake? There’s situations where dream logic sounds right to your sleeping brain, and when you wake up you realize it doesn’t make sense.

The hand that drops Ma’s head could be a gloveless Medic.

The fingertips we see look grey like when Scout and Medic were in the ambulance. Except there’s one thing wrong with that theory.

Ma’s face is noticeably warmer toned than the fingers, next to the same unseen light.

But you know whose gloves have grey fingertips?

Still, that doesn’t explain why Scout is afraid of Medic/ seeing him as a monster when he’s rescued at the slaughterhouse.

So there’s one of two ways that could happen if Emesis Blue is a dream:

Scout cut away to being locked in the coffin and “knew” it was Medic’s fault. The way dreams suddenly take you into a new scene or change the plot, but you don’t notice since you’re asleep. The problem is we can’t discount this theory since we have a big gap in Scout’s perspective.

Maybe it was an Engineer holding Ma’s head, but he saw “Medic” hunched over her body, like Ludwig did in his time loop.

But if it’s option two, there’s a secondary possibility. Look at how RED this scene is. Red enough that if this is the enemy Medic, you wouldn’t be able to tell. And what happened on BLU team that would warrant RED Medic showing up?

In addition to that, RED Medic joined Team Classic, which was hunting down the Admin’s mercenaries.

If BLU team’s been in hiding for 6 months, and Scout’s the youngest on the team trying to protect his Ma, his fear of getting found would still linger after the comic 7 resolution.

It was never actually BLU Medic that cut off Ma’s head; it was nightmare RED Medic. BLU is hallucinating his future car crash self like he hallucinated the plague doctor and being locked in a coffin. Scout didn’t realize he was accusing the wrong guy, since he was dreaming.

Decapitating someone unarmed and pulling out Scout’s teeth are both actions you’d expect from RED Medic if you were an enemy teammate hearing rumors about his crazy experiments.

Here’s the painful part:

If my shared nightmare theory is right, Scout’s going to wake up, check on Ma, calm down, and realize that he had the wrong Medic. And probably have a nasty gut feeling that he shouldn’t have accused the doctor, even if it was in a dream.

But Dr. Ludwig? The guy having a nightmare about his mental illness forcing him to hurt people out of spite? He’s going to think one of his personalities killed BLU Ma and kidnapped Scout. And that’s going to aggravate his already fearful and distrustful attitude towards them.

Electric Eye Medic immediately went to take the sentry gun to defend Ludwig and Scout when he got control of the body. And when he saw that he was too late to save Scout, he went into a revengeful rage and killed both Engineers. Maybe Scout doesn’t know it, but he’s met this personality before, and he sees the kid as a friend too.

That’s why I’m convinced he switched to being in control, stabbed Hoovy in the eye, and was the one crying in the elevator. Maybe he was already grieving internally, but had to take control again and Soldier/Demo saw the butt end of him crying, just when he decided to get more revenge.

The laugh/face of a man who’d burn that stupid briefcase in front of the whole cult if he could.

Funeral Medic’s hand was shaking from rage after he shot Spy. He probably witnessed Electric Eye crying and trying to explain how he failed to save Scout. Maybe it was the reason he waited for Spy to finish his speech; he was gonna shoot him anyway, but wanted that bozo to think he was safe and had gotten away with his lies.

That being said, I doubt that Medic’s other personalities are going to hold it against him if he accuses them of stuff they didn’t do. Definitely going to be upset, but at the same time they’d know he’s only saying it because he doesn’t know their intentions, and he’s equally disturbed and angry over what happened.

#tf2 #emesis blue #character analysis #Weird freakin nightmare theory #Not a psychologist.

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shellxrls · 7 months ago

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HI HELLO so I am very manic and angsty right now but that’s okay because I got this idea that like imagine you're a thing with Rafe, like for a couple of months or so and it’s like normal and shit BUT.. Like I project myself into this and say that I would be so nosy into what kind of shit he's doing right..Especially when he is controlling every aspect of your life and you barely peeked into his… Like of course I am sick of patching his bloody self up when things don’t go too well for him.

So you'd be like 'hey, you're overwhelmed, you obviously can’t deal with that all alone, I want to help'. But of course he will just.. NO.. like dead set bcs he wants to protect you and shit which.. would lead to some very angry, very frustrated and very rough fucking against the wall.. but like first of all that shit is big, you can’t just no-prep go into the warzone😔 but importantly what hurts more is those feelings! like I am sick of being pushed away constantly.. am I that useless or incapable or some shit? so I would just babble out my mind like 'you don’t love me is that why you pushing me away’ just basically gaslight him to enlighten me more in his life!!

basically I wouldn’t shut the fuck up which would lead to him be like more and more frustrated, growling, smashing my face into the wall just so I 'will shut up because he can’t concentrate'… Like he can’t deal with feeling plus he is literally rearranging my guts so how can I still be yapping about that shit😠

I can see him either pulling up his pants, trying to be the bigger person and leave until I calm down OR just straight up continue but piss on my back or sum shit in order to make me quiet because it’s just him marking his territory (I dunno, he might also just piss on my carpet for the sake of it😔)

anyway that’s what I am thinking about like for.. 10 minutes.. just angsty moments in this over-controlling relationship when I would just have enough of his bullshit.. but it has been very intense 10 minutes I feel like I am going to burst and my heart is like 1000 mph

I GET THIS VISION I GET THE VISION ANON SO WELL. honestly it reminds me sooo much of this depressed!reader piece (for another character, not rafe) that i did a while back. there’s definitely an element of attraction in being entangled in this relationship where you’re simultaneously too depressed to get out and also too emotionally reliant to feel safe leaving.

you don’t rlly hate rafe per se, he takes care of you — but at times he make u feel like a shitty person/gf and u feel trapped into taking it cuz u don’t know where you’d be w/o him. he’s too violent and emotionally unstable himself to properly process your emotions (let alone his own) and so he does the only thing he rlly knows how to do — tries to fuck it out of you with violence.

you can do nothing but give it up feeling like the worlds biggest burden that he won’t love, but rafe doesn’t give a single fuck lol. he wants u to learn ur lesson and he’s too fucked up to realise this might not be the way.

anyways i LOVE this concept so much i wish there was more i cld as but u rlly covered it so well, i wanna try and write a proper blurb ab it though so stay tuned !!

#asks.ᐟ ⋆｡˚𖦹 #;anon #;prompts #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron x reader

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rockingrobin69 · 1 year ago

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Mrs. Miffy’s Home Dining Experience: Eating made simple!

The flyer was an eye-watering orange. Sort of reminded him of Wheezes, if Fred and George were also psychotic murderers on the side.

Ordering is simpler than ever. Speak the word menu and it shall appear, aglow in the space before you. Magic will direct you precisely to the dish you are currently craving. No more going, ugh, what’ll we have for dinner tonight?

Harry’s crockery was all still packed in who-knows what box. His new fridge was empty. All the places he tried ringing gave up on trying to locate his address. Wards, Hermione had said, at some point in her life, probably.

After you placed your order by yelling the selected number, your food will arrive near-instantaneously with one of our lively staff members. Don’t forget: it’s hot! (or cold!)

His head was pounding. They say that moving house is one of life’s greatest traumas. Which, of course, made him laugh like someone had punched him in the gut, with fucking tears in his eyes, but hey, this wasn’t incredibly easy, either.

Now there’s nothing more to worry about: bon-appetite, and we’d love to see you again at Mrs. Miffy’s Home Dining Experience!

He was tired. He was hungry. Everything seemed thirty times heavier than normal, and his therapist Evil Jean said that this feeling has a name, and he should try to find it. To banish it? To… do something about it. Harry was a terrible client and an awful lazy man and all right, all right, enough with this now. Half out of spite, Harry said, “Menu.”

Jumped three feet backwards when the whole room tilted sideways, and started shrieking—no, it was the images that suddenly popped, violently into existence. Who the hell thought this was a good… swallowed, swallowed, closed his eyes, tapped his chest till his heart climbed back down. Fucking fuck. Deep breath. Okay.

His new flat was half the size of Grimmauld and currently packed with boxes. Gin said that moving isn’t that big of a deal if you know the right spells, but Harry didn’t know anything, and definitely not the right spells. In the eerie light of the dozens of images hovering, it looked sad.

Still there was something in his gut pulling—the magic, right, he’d nearly forgot. Saying the word Menu must have activated it as well, and now Harry found himself pointing at an image which showed… a bowl of fried rice with tofu.

You know what, fuck it. Fuck it, why not. He was sort of hoping for something a little, erm, not that, but fried rice was good and tasty and he was so tired and it might just be the perfect thing. Harry cleared his throat. “Seventy-six!”

Your order has been placed, said a low baritone that nearly made him pee his pants. It came out of the fucking fridge? Probably not on purpose. Then, in an entirely different voice, chipper and high-pitched, sit tight and we’ll be right there to serve you!

Harry paced and paced and paced. Not much room for it, with the boxes, and the chest of drawers he didn’t know where to put, and the stack of letters he tucked in his pocket for fear of losing and then promptly placed on every clear surface as it bothered him constantly bumping into stuff. Moving was… fine, it wasn’t the problem. Harry only wished Ron and Nev and Luna could have stayed. He wished, selfishly, that his friends were as miserable and social life-less as he was, only for tonight. He wished…

The doorbell went off, a jarring sound. Harry jumped (and told himself to quit it), breathed, breathed. Fingers sweaty on the handle, get yourself together, this will be nothing.

“Good evening my name is Draco and I’d be happy to serve you exactly the way you’d like please choose level of interaction from one to three.”

Harry was openly staring. His belly, weirdly, filled with ice. In front of him was—“What?”

“Good evening my name is Draco and I’d be happy to serve you exactly the way you’d like please choose level of interaction from one to three.”

He was taller than Harry remembered. Broad shoulders, narrow waist. Hair falling past his ears, still as blond as ever under the truly-horrendous cap that said Mrs. Miffy’s! in balloon letters. He stood so impossibly still that Harry suspected he must be under a spell or something.

“Malfoy?” he tried in this choked voice.

“Good evening my name is Draco and I’d be—”

“Yes, yes,” Harry stopped him with a hand out, “you said. You… work for… Mrs. Miffy’s?”

A fragment of a question hiding at least five hundred others: you work, and also you’re here, and also you still exist? Because Harry had completely-completely forgotten about him. This tall, slightly shocking apparition of a boy from his youth grown into… this.

Malfoy blinked metre-long eyelashes. “Please choose,” he said in a perfectly bland voice. “Between one and three.”

Stabbing a guess: “Three?”

He nodded and made to step forward, only Harry was still frozen, and still blocking the door. “Pardon me,” Malfoy said.

“No,” stupidly. “I mean—sure. Come in, I mean. I mean—”

Malfoy didn’t wait to unravel the rant. Instead he snuck through the space Harry had made, and stopped in the middle of the would-be living room. Turning around a full 360, blinking and blinking. “You,” he said, “you don’t have a table.”

“Not yet.”

“Right,” eyebrows hiking on his face. “Right, it’s—I can transfigure one of the boxes temporarily.”

Harry shrugged. Getting past the whole shock of Malfoy in his flat, in legitimately the worst ensemble he’d ever worn and still so destructively handsome, pointing at a box labelled STUFF and turning it into a belly-heavy sort-of-table. He even conjured a tablecloth. He even conjured a vase with flowers.

“Would you like anything to drink, Sir?”

Harry was losing it. This was the only explanation. He hit his head on the moving van and is lying on the pavement, unconscious. Malfoy was still in Azkaban and certainly not here.

“Erm, do you—do you have Irn Bru? Only the muggle shops down here don’t usually sell it.”

Malfoy produced a cool box he most certainly didn’t have before and took an orange can out. “Do you need cutlery,” he said more than asked.

“Yeah. Erm, yeah.”

Another nod, and now from a pocket that was far too small and too tight, a complete set with three forks (including the little one for the, fish or, whatever). Malfoy then proceeded to pull out a napkin, and fold it into something that quite resembled a swan.

“When you’re finished with your meal please shout Porter! And I will collect the dishes. Your box—table—your—it should go back to its original form in about an hour.”

Harry said, “Okay.”

“Anything else you might require?”

Blinking and blinking. Harry was losing his mind. “You know who I am, yeah? Is there a… spell maybe that stops you from seeing me, or?”

“You’re Harry Potter,” Malfoy said in the same blank, somewhat-pleasant tone. “We went to school together.”

“We went to—yeah, I mean, sure. You… remember? School?”

“Do I remember school?” Malfoy tipped his head sideways. He was so impossibly handsome that Harry didn’t manage a full breath. “That’s an odd question.”

“Well you’re being odd! Why are you so—like that when you normally are…”

Malfoy sighed, a deep, pained thing, like Harry was the one being ridiculous. “Is there anything else you require, Sir. For your meal. For which you paid.”

“I… want you to fucking answer the question?”

His hair shimmered as he shook his head. “Yes, I remember school. Our headmaster was Albus Dumbledore. Care of Magical Creatures. He Who—the battle—I remember.”

“And…” why, why, why was he pushing, why did it even matter, “you remember me?”

“Harry Potter,” Malfoy said again. Entirely expressionless.

“Yeah. Yes. I, but do you remember our… we weren’t exactly friends. Do you remember—”

“I remember. Is there anything else you require for your meal?”

He felt like pulling his own hair out. “Why are you being like this! What are you doing here! I thought you were sentenced for ten years, what, what, what!”

Malfoy remained impassibly stoic. “I was sentenced for ten years. The parole board decided to release me early for what they dubbed ‘good behaviour’. I promise you I wasn’t good, would never dream to presume. Is that enough?”

“When did—”

“Potter,” Malfoy said, still in the same tone but with tired eyes, “is there anything else you require. For your meal.”

It felt all the kinds of wrong Harry knew. “No, I—I don’t need anything else.” The bland sort of misery behind Malfoy’s face didn’t crumple, didn’t move an inch. He nodded, turned to leave. “Wait—”

Harry didn’t mean to stop him, but Malfoy did stop, back turned and breathing very slowly, very deeply. “Yes?”

“What’s three?”

He did turn now. “I beg your pardon?”

“You said I can choose between one and three, but you never explained… the… interaction level. What does it mean, what’s three?”

“The highest level,” said Malfoy.

“Oh. Yeah. That… makes sense.”

“Thank you for your business,” with a motion so tiny it couldn’t be considered a bow, “we hope you have a wonderful dining experience and would love to hear your thoughts. See you next time!” and he left. Harry stood in front of the once-box-now-table, a plate filled with colourful rice steaming on a conjured placemat (Harry certainly never owned something this nice), a glass of Irn Bru already poured and the fucking, napkin-made swan. Nothing about it made the slightest bit of sense. None of it, at all, made sense, at all. No sense.

Tearing through the crammed kitchen, flinging boxes here and there, looking for… oh, he’d already placed it in what he decided would be the take-out menu drawer. The bright-orange flyer had a whole bit in the back that he forgot he once read.

Mrs. Miffy is a muggle-born witch who always loved cooking and, most importantly, eating. She remembers getting take out with her family with great fondness: “When I was young it felt like the most wonderful thing. A vacation in our own home. [I] felt like we were exploring the world, from the convenience of our own living room!” when she encountered the problem of locating magical houses while trying to order a curry, she knew she had to find a solution. The business came a few years later, with the assistance of Ministry funds to help make Mrs. Miffy’s dream come true. Eating, made simple.

Harry’s head was spinning. He made himself go back to the table (to the, box, that made an actually-not-too-shabby a table), realised he didn’t have a seat. Took the plate in both hands and sank to the carpet, overwhelmed and annoyingly supporting a semi.

Malfoy was working for a muggle-born witch. Malfoy was delivering food. Malfoy was released from Azkaban after seven years instead of his original ten. Malfoy was… hot, and weird, weird, weird, just, the weirdest thing he’d ever met, and a mystery, and a project, and a—no. Right. That way lies madness, he’d already tasted it once. Twice. Malfoy wasn’t a part of his life and it shouldn’t matter, what he did or how he looked.

But the rice was delicious, and somehow exactly what he needed. Harry ate the whole thing, and drank the whole glass, and felt, well, a little less ridiculous, for once. Maybe there was something there after all. Maybe there was something.

He put the flyer back in the drawer carefully. Standing in front of the table: “Porter?”

Half-expecting Malfoy to come back, he wasn’t really disappointed when the plate just Banished out of existence. Wasn’t because he was already thinking, what will I get next?

#drarry fic #drarry wip more like #yes i'm totally working on imperfection and victorian au and sequels promised and so on #but in the MEANTIME #this came to me in a dream #2001 words

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