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hughiecampbelle · 5 months ago

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How Cruel Is That? (Shiv Roy x Fem!Reader Oneshot)

Character/s: Shiv

Word Count: 1,258

Inspired By: Good Luck, Babe! - Chappell Roan

Requested: Not requested, but taken from the prompt list anyways :) tease + wedding ring

A/N: Alternatively titled So Hot You're Hurting My Feelings lol. Do I love Shiv? Of course. Am I here to show my appreciation for her with the help of Chappell Roan? Also of course :P Kinda on a roll with fics so don't be afraid to request!!! The angstier the better! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Succession Masterlist / REQUESTS ARE OPEN

When you look at her, you know exactly how the night will play out. It will be poetic. It will be Shakespearean. It will be everything you could have ever wanted. Your wedding ring will find its place on the nightstand. It will wait, patiently, quietly, until you’ve decided you’ve had enough of this fantastic world and decide to return to reality. The living. It slips back on without a fight, without resentment, and you consider yourself lucky. One day, maybe soon, maybe not, you imagine your ring refusing your finger, as if it knows what you’ve done, as if it will take the a moral high ground. It will break out in hives at the very thought of you. It will whisper everything it has seen to the man you promised yourself to, and your father, and perhaps even her father. It will all come crashing down. Though, a small part of you, too small to name, dreams of that day. With nothing left, no one tied to you by vows or blood or name, you could finally choose. Not the way you did roses or hyacinths, cream or egg shell, but truly, really choose a life for yourself. One worth every sacrifice, every heartbreak, every night spent as his wife.

Her dress will fall to the floor. She will step out of her heels. Her hair, her makeup, all of it the very essence of perfection. Impeccable. In these moments, you’re seventeen all over again. Your pulse racing, heat rising to your face, questioning if this is happening as it has happened so many years since. You’re hidden in the back of the summer house, your skin hot from the sun and sea. You try to kiss each and every one of her freckles. You’re trying not to laugh too loud on her flowery bed, the mattress soft. It leaves the two of you sinking into one another. You’re as still as possible, pressed together beneath the bushes in the garden, grass prickling into your back. Even the moonlight cannot conceal what you two have been doing. Between kisses she will smile and giggle (a sound that makes your very insides melt) and ask you if you’re alright. You sense that she, too, has been taken back. All those times you should have been caught. All those times you weren’t. When you can find your voice, you promise you’re better than that. You’ll find yourself grabbing at her, unable to touch enough of her, unable to get enough of her. You thank God for her, for this moment, never sure you will get to do this again. You must live as if this is the very last time. You must savor every moment.

Her perfume, always the same scent, has become a comfort, an aphrodisiac. Licorice, bitter, and woods, natural, and her. All of her. You never liked his cologne. It was never right. You tried to find one that smelled of her, that resembled her, but nothing could substitute. Nothing could compare. Her voice is icy, her words frozen over, and you wish every night for hypothermia. She leaves her ring on. It has become a recent accessory, a new staple, though she’s made it clear it changes nothing about your dynamic. Still, she leaves it on. You catch yourself eyeing it when it catches the light. She doesn’t have a routine as you do, an inner reasoning, a way to compartmentalize. There is no division of worlds. In her life, there is him and there is you. In yours, there is him or there is her. A decision you still have not made. You are not her forbidden fruit as she is yours. She does not separate you and him. She has always loved you. She has only recently started to love him. You hope, foolishly of course, her love for you is greater than his. You know she is much more important to you than your husband ever will be. He is an obligation, a duty, a responsibility. She is frivolity. She is passion and joy and love. True love. Not just the empty sentence you find yourself reciting back to him. This is more than a couple of silly letters taped together haphazardly, forced between your teeth so that you might later gag them up when the time is right. No, this is not that.

For now, you’ll have to wait. For now, all you have are your memories, your hopes of the future, all your expectations of tonight. For now, you must be patient. Across the room, you keep an eye on her. You wait for the right moment. It comes. She moves, so do you. You turn away from him, trying not to look at her directly as you both make your way to the bar. She is the sun and you hope, you pray, you might fly too close. It is worth being burned. It is worth setting your life aflame. He doesn’t take notice. He never does. Instead, he closes the gap in the circle, acclimating to a conversation (a life) without his wife. You wonder if he would even miss you. Sure, the beginning would be rough. He would have to fend for himself. But he can hire help. He won’t have to lift a finger. The only catch is that he’d be going to bed alone. He’d manage. He always does. You take note that her husband doesn’t notice her lack of presence. You would, you want to cry. You would notice everything about her. You bite your tongue. Where there are eyes, there are lips. You stand beside her, asking for another drink, leaving enough space between you. She fills the gap. Her arm falls by your side. Pathetically, you reach out just a little, the tips of your fingers touching hers. She remains stoic, even bored looking, but you can feel her hand wrap itself around yours. She squeezes it. Once. Twice. Three times. You breathe a sigh of relief. Sometimes you find yourself questioning if any of it was real. Was that a stolen glance? Is she following you? Is her hand really on your thigh under the table? You wonder if it’s all in your head: a singular grand delusion, an epic between you and the idea of her. This, though, reminds you it’s real and so is she. Shiv looks at you for a second, less than, and flashes a knowing smile, before letting go and grabbing her glass.

She leaves you gasping for air, heart racing, palms sweating. She doesn’t look back, she doesn’t check on you, but she doesn’t need to. Her smile said it all. It spoke every word, every reassurance, you needed to hear. She’s been waiting for you. She will wait for you, tonight, in a room between yours and hers. She will find you. She will undress you. And you will become young again. Naive, and blushing, and full of nervousness. You will be hers and she will be yours. It told you to go back to your husband, to be doting and affectionate, but to remember that she awaits you. She always will. It isn’t right. You know this, you’re no fool. Cheating on him with the woman you love. But nothing in this world is right or fair or just. If it was, you would have ended up with her instead. You would have been her wife, not his. But you’re not. You don’t think you ever will be. How cruel is that?

#writing #shiv roy #shiv roy drabble #shiv roy oneshot #shiv roy x reader #shiv roy x Fem reader #succession #succession drabble #succession oneshot #succession x reader

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ghost-proofbaby · 1 year ago

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modern!steve harrington + mine cause i just KNOW he’d love that song and daydream about a future with his girl listening to it 😭💜

mine (steve's version)

warnings: hurt/comfort, my fingers slipped and put angst

wc: 2.1k+

an: okay i completely goofed here and made this far angstier than you wanted, and did not realize until AFTER it was done. 😭 i'm gonna apply the same logic as miss swift does with surprise songs - since i technically messed up, if you'd like a redo with more sweetness, let me know and i've got you haha 😭 i also just processed you wanted him to listen to the song and that image broke my brain so basically what i'm saying is this one will definitely get a redo haha sorry nonnie <3

It had all started over a stupid fight. A fight that he didn’t even recall how it had started. That’s how stupid it had been.

Steve had been tired, coming home from a long shift at the diner. It had been a shit show for the entirety of the twelve hours that Steve had been there, instantly making him regret pulling a double to cover one of his coworkers who called claiming they had a fever, but that he’d definitely seen posting on their stories about being out for drinks very late the night before. But he wasn’t going to tell his boss that — he’d been there. One too many beers on one of his rare free nights with friends, and he too would call out, claiming something along the lines of food poisoning.

He wasn’t fully lying. That much alcohol probably had poisoned him considering the way he felt like death the next morning.

The coworker wasn’t what had him in a sour mood, though. Nor was it the one elderly couple that had kept trying to have terribly long conversations with him when he knew he had food to run. Nor was it that obnoxiously large group of preteens that seemed to have no self awareness as they’d reeked absolute havoc on the diner for the final hour before closing. No, none of that really phased Steve anymore — he was just tired. He was tired, a bit too easily irritated, and just wanted to sleep.

His plans for the night had been crawling into bed with you, watching some TV show or movie he wouldn’t pay attention to with his head in your lap as your fingers would scratch soothingly at his scalp. His plans for the night didn’t include this fight. If he could have stopped, God only knows he would have.

“They’re going to shut off the water, Steve,” you stress, on the verge of tears at this point. Steve didn’t know if they were from stress, exasperation with him, or if you were hurting from how flippant he’d been since he walked through the door. Regardless, it didn’t matter; seeing you misty-eyed twisted the knife in his chest all the same, “What the fuck are we going to do if they do that? This isn’t something to talk about tomorrow.”

“They’re not going to turn it off tonight!” he shouts right back at you, throwing his hands into the air in defeat, “Fuck, I- what do you want me to do about it? What can I do about it tonight?”

You snap your mouth shut at that, lips pressed tightly to avoid any quivering.

“I just worked twelve fucking hours, I just wanted to come home and relax, I’m not in the mood-“

“You’re never in the mood,” you flatly interrupt him, tone a stark contrast to all the overwhelming emotions prominent on your face. Your voice doesn’t even waver — he knows that whatever you’re about to say, it’s been on your mind a while, “It’s always we’ll talk about this tomorrow, or we’ll figure it out. But we never talk about it. We never figure it out, Steve. We can’t just- You don’t think I’m tired, too?”

His heart breaks a little. You’re right. You’re standing there, still in your scrubs from your own twelve hour shift, and fuck, you’re right.

Things hadn’t ever been easy. Back in high school, there had been the issue of Steve’s parents. After graduation, it had been the terrible decisions of what now. When you two had decided to pack up and get the Hell out of town, it had been the stress of finally dealing with all the uncertainty, all while desperately trying to keep afloat amongst stacks of bills and adult responsibilities neither of you had expected to drown in. Things had never been easy, but Steve didn’t care about easy — he just cared that you’d always been there, by his side, on his team.

Right now, it didn’t feel like you and him versus the world. For the first time, it feels like there’s only you two in the boxing ring.

“This isn’t a competition, we’re… we’re supposed to be on the same side.”

There it was — your voice cracks, and the moment the first tear falls from your eyes, you’re quick to reach up and swipe it away, pretending it never happened. Pretending that one tear wasn’t ripping Steve apart from the inside out.

“It’s not a competition! But Jesus Christ, I feel like I’m suffocating-“

“I’m suffocating you?” the tears are falling more freely, and you make no move to erase them.

That’s not what he meant. At all. He’s only making it all worse. So, so much worse.

“I-“ he starts, but he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to make this better.

He doesn’t know how to fix this.

In an instant, his hands go from threading and angrily tugging at his hair to flaring at his side as he suddenly walks sharply down the hallway. He’s making a beeline for your shared bedroom, doing the only thing he can think of to fix this for you. For tonight, at least.

You’re quick to follow, only two steps behind him, “Where are you going?”

“I’m-“ he pauses, yanking a random drawer open to the dresser, finding himself staring at a pile of your clothes rather than his own. He huffs through frustration and his own building tears, “I’m gonna stay at Eds’ tonight. Give you some space.”

“Give me space?” you laugh back in disbelief, not daring to take any more steps closer to him, “You’re the one who’s being suffocated-“

“You’re not suffocating me,” he stops all movement, hand still on the knob of his drawer. He turns to you suddenly, a new found confidence, “That’s- That’s not what I meant, okay?”

He can’t make this right, but he can’t leave you thinking that’s what he meant. You could never suffocate him — and even if you tried, he’d find it to be the most heavenly way to die. But you didn’t know that, not in this moment, and that was what was currently killing him.

You take a deep breath, one step forward, before asking quietly, “What did you mean, then?”

One last chance. An opportunity to make this right.

“You could never suffocate me,” all the shouting and the frustration has vanished, only softness and hurt left in their places, “Ever. Don’t you ever think for one moment that it’s you. It’s not, okay? I love you. You’re the best thing to ever happen to me, you are-“ he chokes up, looking into your glossy eyes. He can still recall the way he felt all those years ago when they’d first laid eyes on him. He’s memorized the way it felt, because every time you look at him, it still manages to feel like the very first time, “You are everything to me. You’re- Fuck, honey, you’re my entire future. When I think about the future, all I think about is you.”

You take another step forward. Steve’s own tears now track his own face, his heart racing painfully.

“I love you so fucking much, it’s crazy. And I just- I feel like I’m fucking all of this up. You deserve more than this, and I try to give it to you, but I can’t-“

“That doesn’t all fall on you, Steve,” your hands shake as you lift them, finally close enough to touch him. Each palm rests delicately on his chest and you can’t look him in the eyes, “I don’t want you for your money. Never have, never will.”

He laughs wetly. You’ve more than proven that. When his parents cut him off completely, you hadn’t blinked an eye.

“I want you because I love you. I’m in love with you, Steve Harrington. Okay? I’m so in love with you, I followed you across the goddamn country.”

“Eddie and Robin did too, to be fair,” he reminds you, almost jokingly. All the tension from the fight is quickly fading. His hand drops from the drawer.

“They did, but I guarantee I love you more than them,” you scrunch your nose, almost grimacing before adding, “No offense to them, of course.”

“Of course,” he echoes, slowly reaching up and holding your hands that had been pressed to his chest. You don’t pull back.

“I’m just- it’s stressful. We’re both stressed. Neither of us were prepared for this,” you look him desperately in his eyes, “I meant what I said, though. This isn’t me versus you — I never want it to be us fighting each other. It’s always us versus the problem, okay?”

He nods when you wait patiently for his response, “Okay.”

“And I want you here,” you continue, “I want you here, in our home and in our bed. I want you here, even screaming back and forth with me, as long as you’re here. With me. Go to bed mad at me, I don’t care. Just… don’t walk away.”

You smile through the residual tears, squeezing his hands that hold yours.

Steve thinks about all the examples of love he’d ever been shown. His parents, in a castle of ice. The way the fights always ended in separate rooms, sometimes separate houses. His father storming out to spend the night in a hotel rather than having to be around his mother a second longer. He remembers the way that even with an abundance of money, they were never happy. They never loved each other. A marriage of convenience rather than love. Lasting only out of obligation, not dedication.

He didn’t want that with you. He couldn’t ever imagine what the two of you have being reduced to that.

When he looks at you, all he can see is happiness. All he can feel is that love bursting from his chest. Images of the two of you by Lover’s Lake, the way the waves of the lake had sent shattered and sparkling flares of light across your cheeks as you’d laughed at him as if he was the funniest person in the entire world. All the nights spent over the phone, talking about nothing and everything, desperate to just fall asleep to the sound of each other’s voices. The ridiculous nerves he’d felt on the first date, King Steve shaking at the thought of putting his arm around you because for the first time, he was truly scared of fucking this up.

You made him a better man. You saw everything inside of him that was broken, that he had spent so long trying to hide, and you’d simply sat down beside him with glue in hand, prepared to spend as much time as he needed to piece it all back together.

Go to bed mad at me, I don’t care. Just… don’t walk away.

“I can’t do that, sweetheart,” he finally sighs. Your face starts to fall, but he’s quick to clarify, “I can’t go to bed mad at you. Ever. And we can fight, us versus the problem like you said, all we want but… I don’t want to go to bed mad. I don’t want… I don’t want that. Whenever my head hits that shitty pillow every night,” you both break to laugh, because God, you both really did need new pillows (and a mattress, if you were being honest), “All I want to know is that you’re mine and I’m yours. Sound fair?”

You smile, and it’s the best thing he’s ever seen. It makes all the long shifts worth it as you nod slowly, “Sounds fair to me.”

“Good,” he guides the two of you to the center of the room before he drops your hands from his, sighing and letting his shoulders finally drop, “Then in that case, I’m staying.”

Even with crying tears on your cheeks, you’re still the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. You’re still the best thing Steve Harrington has ever had the privilege of calling his, “Yeah?”

“Yeah. So if we’re gonna fight — let’s fight, baby.”

He puts his fists up comically, and you only giggle and grab at them, shaking your head.

“I think we've fought enough for one night,” you mumble, bringing one fist to your mouth, kissing each of his knuckles gently.

Once you’ve placed your final kiss, he quickly placed the hand beneath your chin, lifting your lips to his. He kisses you in quick succession, and between each one, he repeats the sincerest I’m sorry he can muster.

He only stops once you’re smiling too wide for him to continue.

After his lips leave yours one last time, pulling back slowly as he savors it and you, he finally sighs, “I am curious, though — what the Hell are we going to do if they do shut off the water?”

You shrug, “Like you said, we can talk about it tomorrow.”

“Or we can use Eddie and Robin’s shower.”

As it turns out, Steve Harrington was wrong — when it comes to you, he can always fix things.

"brace myself for the goodbye, 'cause it's all i've ever known. then you took me by surprise, you said 'i'll never leave you alone'."

#speak now (ghost's version)#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington blurb #stranger things #steve harrington

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fortunadecoris-blog · 6 years ago

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“ everything you are shown has a purpose ”

“Yeah? I hate to disagree with you, sis, but not everything has a purpose.” I sure don’t. He added silently.

#reusmater #★ α peɴɴy ғor yoυr тнoυɢнтѕ вυт α dollαr ғor yoυr ιɴѕιɢнтѕ. ❞ answered ask.#★ тнe тrυтн нυrтѕ worѕe тнαɴ αɴyтнιɴɢ. ❞ qrow’s answer.#my fingers slipped and i made it angstier than it had to be

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purecantarella · 2 years ago

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Yes Ma'am

im a little loopy writing this because of rotc but its fine, its an adventure, my lovelies!! i hope you all enjoy this one!! brat!irene x reader disclaimer/s : smut. i suggest going to look for fluffier or angstier content.

You slipped on your suit jacket before looking around to look for the tie you saved for the dinner with you and Irene's friends. A sigh breaks from your lips as you lift the loose clothes around you.

Before you could utter any curses in frustration, your fiancée pipes up from behind you, the tie in hand, twirling in between her fingers gingerly with a cheeky smirk, "Looking for this, hotshot?"

You chuckle as she struts up to you, sinfully high heels and in nothing but a thin night slip. Knowing full well she would rather have you home with her than to go to a random dinner with both your friends. You reach out for the tie only for her to wrap it around your neck.

Your pulse hammers as she slinks around the back of your neck, drawing you closer. The cherry scent of her lipgloss enticing you, gaze remaining on her pink lips. Allowing your mind to wonder she smirks to herself.

Irene tugs you closer, her lips touching the corner of your jaw. Your breath trembles as she does, the contact innocent but you were familiar with that glint in her eyes. "Irene." You begin sternly only for her to brush you off.

"You know I could just tell everyone you aren't feeling well..." The shorter woman trails her kisses lower to your neck, allowing her lips to linger on your sweet spot, right atop your clavicle. You swallow hard as you stare down at her lust laden eyes. "And that I needed to nurse you back to health."

You chuckle darkly before taking her hands in yours, "Counter offer," Pausing to place her hands behind her back, keeping them there with one hand while the other props her head up to make her keep your gaze. "We're going to dinner, you're going to be my good little girl..." You smirk watching her cheeks flush at the name, "And if you do that, you'll be rewarded tonight."

Catching her lips between yours, your tongue skimming across her lower lip teasingly. A soft whine breaks from her as you pull away. With a quirked brow, your lips press to the conch of her ear, whispering with much conviction and power, "You're going to be a good girl for me, yes?"

Irene bites her lip as your hand stroke her waist slowly, she gets on her tippy toes and pecks your lips gently, "The best, ma'am."

You smirk before letting her hands free, and fixing the tie around your neck. Eyes glued on Irene's silhouette as she got changed, knowing full well she was putting on a show for you. You silently pray that she would keep her word.

Short to say, the dinner was hell.

From the moment you arrived, Irene had done nothing but tease you, stroking your stomach as you both sat in the den, her leg rubbing up against yours during the dinner proper, her eyes never leaving yours as she did, and of course the comments here and there.

"Yes I would say, Y/n is very, very good with her mouth." When discussing your eloquence. "If she's lucky it won't be the only creamy meal she'll have tonight." Whispered to her cousins between swigs of her red wine. And the real kicker, "Y/n's a softy, she'll cave in to anything I want, wouldn't you say so sweetie?"

Irene's eyes were glued onto you, you grit your teeth together as you wonder how shameless your fiancée is. You down the whiskey Seulgi had given you before excusing yourselves from the party, claiming that you had work early the next day. But the glances you got made you very aware the other guests knew why you were leaving.

"Eager, N/n?" She teases with a small smirk only to be met with silence.

The ride home was silent but you saw how her lips upturned, under the impression she'd get exactly what she wanted. You grumble curses to yourself as you pull up to the parking, turning the car off. Still not looking at her, "I want you in the bedroom, stripped down and ready for me."

You turn to face her, a stoic expression falling on your face as you take her chin in your hand, forcing her to look at you. Fighting back the smirk from peeking on your lips, Irene is staring at you with a darkness in her eyes. "Do you understand?"

"Yes ma'am." She responds before slipping out of the car as you feel your cheeks heat up. You wait a few minutes, taking your phone out to apologize to your friends for leaving as early as you did to which they responded with smirking faces and 'get it' messages.

Before long, you step into your shared home with Irene. You slip into your shared bedroom only for frustration, in more ways than one, building as you saw Irene staring back at you defiantly

"Why the hell do you insist on being a fucking brat, Irene." You growl as she turns to face you with a teasing and sultry grin on her face as she removes her make-up and accessories.

You tug her from her vanity chair. Quickly, you're a mere breathe's away, she gasps at your sudden movements. You glare at her, "Each time tonight you go out of your way to disobey me." She moans loudly as your hands slip down to her bottom, squeezing before laying a quick slap to her bouncy flesh. "Just how desperate are you, slut?"

"Not very nice, Y/n. You shouldn't tease that way." You laugh dryly before pulling her down onto the bed, with her atop you. She hadn't reclaimed her bearings when you tore her dress open, leaving her body exposed for you. Irene gasps as your lips take her neck roughly, leaving dozens upon dozens of reddening marks, "You have no fucking right, Joohyun." You growl into her skin.

"I asked one thing, to wait for an hour at most before I gave into your desires." She whines as you smack her clothed cunt. "But you just had to go about parading just how horny you were."

She cries out as you move from her front to the back, slapping her firm bottom. Once, twice, thrice, the sound rings out through your room, paired with Irene's moans. You lose count until your fiancée has tears in her eyes and is clawing at your shoulder, grinding down, desperately looking for any friction against her cunt.

"Tonight is going to be so fucking long, desperate whore." You whisper as your hand smooths out her red and hot ass. Before Irene can say anything more, your hand quickly tangles between her dark locks, simultaneously snapping your hand back onto her ass. She whines and grinds down into your

"No. More. Fucking. Talking." You whisper, each word being emphasized with a harsh slap on her bottom. Irene was all but drooling as your hand continuously collided with her awaiting skin. Her arms now wrapped around your neck as the most obscene noises from her lips. "Y/n—"

"Not my name to you anymore, brat." You clutch her hair tighter, her voice becoming thin as she cries out in a twisted mix of pleasure and pain. "If you so much as say anything but yes, stop, or ma'am, I'll make sure that walking into practice tomorrow is the hardest thing you've ever had to do."

You pull her into a rough kiss, you're sure that both your lips would be bruised after this little encounter of yours. You pull her head back as you whisper, lips turning up a little seeing the aroused flush of her cheeks, eyes dark, and her mouth agape slightly, catching her breath.

When she doesn't respond, you push your thigh into her needy and damp cunt as your hands soothed her overused ass. "Do you understand, brat?"

Irene smiles dazed, "Yes ma'am."

and irene will forever be my greatest fantasy because out of all the idols i stan i think she would be the most unachievable HAHAHAH i hope you all enjoyed this my lovelies!! my midterms are done but the grind never stops for a barely passing student :"") i'll try to get through it all but i hope you understand why i dont get to post on some days :"") in any case tho, i hope you enjoyed!! i will see you all as soon as i can, i love you all vv much and keep save :>> - r

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writeroutoftime · 3 years ago

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should’ve never let go

pairing: anthony bridgerton x fem!reader (requested by: anon)

summary: what once started as a engagement between two friends soon unraveled into a nightmare of heartbreak and sorrow that anthony couldn’t fix

warnings: angst, cheating, this is long and sad, so buckle up!

words: 4.3k

a/n: soooo, I definitely took this in a way angstier direction than the anon who requested was thinking, but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head. as much as I love Anthony, he also can be an idiot at times, and I suppose I wanted to write about that side of him. it is very long, please, please let me know what you think - I spent a lot of time on it, and I would love feedback!

oOoOo

“Did you see that y/n is to be a countess?” Hyacinth asked innocently, yet eagerly, effectively ceasing conversation at the dinner table.

All eyes shot towards the youngest Bridgerton in varying degrees of shock, amusement, or anger. It was Violet who shook off her surprise first and narrowed her eyes in the direction of her daughter. “Hyacinth, that is enough. We will not be discussing the matter at the table.” she declared before subtly glancing towards her eldest son to gauge his reaction.

“But it’s true!” Hyacinth continued, oblivious to Anthony’s thin lips and clenched jaw. “I saw it today in the most recent Lady Whistledown. Can you imagine? We shall be friends with a countess.” she sighed dreamily.

“Our sister is a duchess.” Colin pointed out through his mouthful of food.

“Besides, where did you get your hands on Whistledown?” Benedict asked, knowing Violet was not a fan of her youngest daughter having her hands on the ton’s most notorious gossip sheet.

“I read it with Eloise today during tea.” Hyacinth responded with a slight shrug of her shoulders.

To her credit, Eloise had enough sense to look sheepish as Violet directed her pointed glare towards her, however, it wasn’t enough to stop Eloise from making a face and sticking her tongue out at Hyacinth. From there, Gregory took the opportunity to flick the peas from his plate across the table towards Hyacinth, which erupted a series of shouts and laughs from the other members of the table. Anthony used the distraction to excuse himself from the table and retreat to his study.

On the way, he noticed said copy of Lady Whistledown, which he grabbed off the side table before slamming his study door shut. Pouring himself a stiff drink, he stared down at the gossip sheet, willing himself to read about your recent engagement, no matter how it made his heart ache. Throwing the brandy back for a shot of liquid courage, Anthony opened the paper and scanned until he found your name.

Dearest Reader,

It is my pleasure to announce that Miss. y/n y/l/n has recently become engaged to Earl Thompson. After the hasty end of her engagement to Viscount Bridgerton last season, this author did not expect Miss. y/l/n to jump back into the marriage mart so quickly. However, it seems that I have been proven wrong, and this author would like to wish the future Earl and Countess a joyous union. It certainly seems they are perfectly matched and have earned the coveted title of a love match. One can only assume that Lord Bridgerton is currently kicking himself for letting go of such a precious gem.

Lady Whistledown’s Society Paper

Anthony felt the parchment crumple beneath his fingers before he hurled it into the roaring fire and slammed his fists against his desk in anger. Although the words melted beneath the hot flames, Anthony could not erase them from his mind, and the thought of you being the future Countess Thompson taunted him day and night. It wasn’t long before Anthony felt the tears slip down his cheeks, and he did nothing to stop them, simply thinking to himself how he could have let things turn out the way they had.

One Year Earlier

Dear Reader,

It is to the shock of this author that I am announcing the engagement of Viscount Anthony Bridgerton to Miss. y/n y/l/n. Although it is widely known throughout the ton that Lord Bridgerton and Miss. y/l/n have held a close friendship for many years, no one can fault this author for my surprise in the suddenness of their engagement. Let it be known to eligible debutantes and ambitious mams alike, this rakish bachelor is official off the marriage mart.

Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers

The words the infamous Lady Whistledown wrote rung through the ton, and even you could not dispute her latest column. It was true that you called the eldest Bridgerton one of your closest friends – the two of you had understood each other quite well for many years. However, it was still a shock to you when Anthony proposed the idea of marriage one evening, but you accepted, nonetheless. Halfway through you third London season with what seemed to be no suitable matches in the making, it seemed to be the most sensible choice.

“You are serious?” you asked in shock.

“Of course, I’m serious. I’ve decided it’s time I find a wife, and you are a close friend who is unmarried and already more than acquainted with my family. It makes perfect sense for us to marry. We would simply be eliminating the strange ritualistic dance of courting that society deems necessary.” Anthony explained, rather dispassionately.

It was difficult to argue that his plan didn’t make sense. It had become quite tiring to flirt with every eligible bachelor in London who did not respect you for who you truly were, and as Anthony said, the two of you already knew each other so well. The more you thought about his proposal, the more your stomach began to flutter. For years, you had harbored feelings for the Viscount, but refrained from telling anyone, and now he stood before you, asking you to marry him. It seemed as though your dreams had come true, though you recognized Anthony’s proposal had simply been a matter of convenience.

“Alright.” you finally said after pondering the decision. “I would be honored to marry you, Viscount Bridgerton.” you accepted, gently smiling at Anthony Though you knew fully well that love was not necessarily a factor in the match, there was friendship; and, after all, other successful unions had started with a lot less. There was no doubt in your mind that something more could eventually bloom from your union.

Anthony smiled in return and presented a beautiful ring that had been in his family for generations. As he slipped the ring onto your finger, he couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his spine when your hands touched. Though he told himself that he only saw you as a friend, deep down he knew that this match could bring to surface how he truly felt, which frightened Anthony to no end.

Acknowledging his feelings meant he would have to worry over the repercussions of his, inevitable, premature death. Keeping love off the table would ensure that all parties remained safe. Although, Anthony thought, it might be alright to indulge in the fantasy for a bit – engagement bliss and whatnot to sate members of the ton.

Not long after, you and Anthony gathered with your families to announce the engagement and were met with ecstatic responses. Every seemed to flit around you, cooing over what a lovely couple the two of you would make; however, all the while, you felt one matter nagging at you in the back of your mind, and you knew you had to speak to Anthony about it.

When you pulled Anthony into his study for a private moment, he had a smile on his face until he saw the seriousness of your own. “What is wrong, y/n? Are you having second thoughts?” he asked hurriedly.

“No,” you reassured him while trying to gather the courage to ask your question. “but I have a question for you, and I need you to answer honestly. Are you still seeing Sienna?”

There was a tense silence that hung in the air for a few moments before Anthony looked down at you with all the seriousness in the world. “y/n, I know that I use to fancy myself in love with Sienna, but that is not the case anymore. I also know I’m rather inept at showing my feelings, but I truly do care for you, and I want this to work out between us.” Anthony vowed, stepping forward to grasp your hands within his own gloved ones.

“Anthony,” you whispered, not breaking eye contact as your soared. “that is all I want for us too.” you told him, pulling your fiancée in for a hug.

If only you could see the storm that lingered on the horizon.

oOoOo

As the weeks followed, you began to find yourself falling more and more for Anthony with each passing day. Despite his rakish reputation and general outward, sometimes, grumpy appearance, he was a good man. Not only did he care greatly for his family, but he showered you with beautiful words and his undivided attention. Everything seemed to be falling into place just like a fairytale.

Along with your engagement came a plethora of balls and other events that required your appearance. Each time, you arrived on Anthony’s arms, dazzling smiles on both your faces as you flitted about the room accepting congratulations from this lord and that. Many of the ladies oohed and awed over Anthony’s utter devotion to you in the way he introduced you to the way the two of you looked as you waltzed across the room.

“How lucky you are, Miss. y/l/n.” one such debutante sighed dreamily.

All you could do was giggle silently and stare over to where Anthony stood with his brothers. As if he knew your eyes were on him, Anthony glanced over and locked his gaze with yours, offering a sly smile. A silent conversation conspired between the two of you, and you smirked when Anthony began to make his way over to you to save you from the simpering group of eligible women.

“Yes, yes, I am.” you responded, feigning shock when Anthony appeared beside you with his arm outstretched.

“Excuse me, ladies, but may I steal my fiancée away for a dance?” Anthony asked, barely waiting for a response before he whisked you to the dance floor.

Everything felt right in that moment as you and Anthony danced the night away. Sweet nothings were whispered in your ear, and you prayed that this moment would never end.

However, soon the pretty words dissolved, and the once beautiful gifts were nothing but a painful reminder of Anthony’s distance. It was no question that as Viscount and head of his family he had enough responsibilities to keep him busy, but even when he was with you, it felt as though his mind, and more importantly his heart, was elsewhere. It started slowly, at first. Not engaging in as many dances at balls, holing himself in his study more, and not seeking out your company as much, but it wasn’t long before he seemed to be miles away even when he sat only feet apart from you.

“Oh, I think that carnations would look lovely with the rest of the decor.” Violet commented as she sat next to you, flipping through her diary of ideas for yours and Anthony’s wedding.

A smile graced your lips at the suggestion. “That sounds wonderful, Violet. What do you think, Anthony?” you asked, gently squeezing his hand from across the table to grab his attention. Although it was not overly common for the groom to partake in such discussions, Anthony had made it clear that he wanted to enter your marriage in an equal union.

“What? Uh, looks lovely, y/n.” he answered hurriedly as he glanced down at his pocket watch. “You’ll have to excuse me, but I must be off.” he said and stood to offer a parting kiss on the cheek to you and his mother.

“Will you be back in time for the Smythe-Smith ball tonight?” you inquired, hopeful that Anthony’s latest behavior was simply a product of stress from his role as Viscount.

Anthony froze for a moment, as though he was trying to make up his mind. “I will do my best to be there. Save me a dance..” he decided to respond with before dashing away.

It took all your effort to not collapse in front of Violet, who could only offer you a warm smile. She knew no apologies for her son’s behavior could stop the clenching of your heart or the thoughts that ran through your mind. If only to keep your mind distracted, you turned back to the plans for your wedding, ignoring the stinging pain of loneliness.

As it turned out, Anthony took you by surprise and made an appearance at the ball that evening. He came in with barely a half hour before the ball was set to end, and he looked as though he had run on foot to be with you. Out of breath and slightly disheveled, Anthony approached you and offered his hand.

“May I have your next dance? Or have I been foolish enough to keep my beloved fiancée waiting all night?.” Anthony asked, waiting to see your response.

Though part of you wanted to turn him away and let him feel an ounce of the pain you did, his kind smile and pleading eyes pulled you back into his embrace. Victoriously, Anthony remained glued to your side for the next two dances before he stepped away to retrieve some refreshments. Returning with two glasses of champagne, Anthony led you to the side of the ballroom.

“I would just like to apologize to you, y/n.” he whispered, not wanting the ton to be privy to his personal life, but not wanting the scandal of being found together, alone, in the gardens.

“Whatever for?” you asked, feigning innocence.

Anthony sighed and ran a hand through the thick waves of his chestnut hair. “I know I have been a rather daft fiancée, but I want you to know that I intend for all that to change. The reality of our situation seemed to affect me more than I was expecting. Of course, I understand if you’re still upset, but please let me make it up to you. I wish to take you to the opera – a night dedicated solely to you.” Anthony proposed.

Pretending as though you had to think on it, you smiled at Anthony, ready to put the past few weeks behind you. “It would be my pleasure, Anthony.” you told him.

A week later found you dressed in your nicest gown; hair pinned to perfection with the help of your lady’s maid. Sitting in your family’s drawing room, you waited for Anthony, reticule clutched in your hand as you watched each minute tick by on the clock. When the clock struck 8 – just as promised – Anthony knocked on your door, ready to escort you to your night at the opera. The carriage ride over was pleasant, and you couldn’t help but imagine more evenings like this once you and Anthony were married.

Forever stunned by the opulence of the theatre, you playfully shoved Anthony when he mocked the way you stared at the glittering lights and golden décor but allowed him to lead you to your seats regardless. Ever the attentive gentleman, Anthony made sure you were comfortable and could see well enough before the lights dimmed, and the show began.

The moment the curtain opened, you felt yourself stiffen in your seat. A melodic voice filled the theatre as you mentally scolded yourself for not realizing that Siena would, of course, be on the stage. Taking a deep breath, you tried not to let your feelings get the best of you. It’s not like it was done maliciously. Anthony only wanted to treat you to a nice evening, and it was a known fact that Siena would be there. Instead of letting your evening be ruined, you were determined to enjoy the show, allowing yourself to get lost in the characters and the story.

Halfway through the show, you turned to gauge Anthony’s reaction, but found him to be enchanted by Siena. Even when she was not singing and was off to the side, Anthony’s eyes followed her every movement like she would disappear if he lost sight of her. You moved to reach for his hand under the cover of the darkness, but it simply laid limp in your hand. A pang struck your heart, and you pulled your hand away as though you had been burned, thankful no one could see the tears in your eyes that threatened to fall.

The rest of the show passed by agonizingly slow, and you were the first to stand – ready to leave – as soon as it was socially acceptable. Unfortunately, luck was not on your side, as Anthony wanted to stay to offer his kudos to the cast. What he didn’t reveal was that his sentiment only extended to Siena. The moment she came into the foyer, Anthony’s feet guided him to her side.

A fury burned in the pit of your stomach as you watched Anthony greet Siena, bowing politely and kissing the back of her hand. You could only imagine the praise he was offering her, and it took all the self control you possessed to stand frozen in your spot. Mortified, it felt as though all eyes were on you as Anthony seemed to forget his place and who he had promised himself to. When he finally was able to tear himself away from Siena’s side, he found you once more, seemingly oblivious to your silent anger.

The carriage ride home was tense and unpleasant, but Anthony made no effort to make amends for what he had done. It only caused the anger in your stomach to boil and simmer, threatening to spew over at any moment. Once in front of your house, you forbade Anthony from walking you to the door, only wanting to curl up in your bed and disappear from the world for a few hours.

oOoOo

The next morning, the latest issue of Lady Whistledown was clenched in your hands as you read the words over and over again. Once more, there were no lies within the gossip sheet, but you felt humiliated at the fact that they were displayed for all the ton to see. It had been one thing to feel the shame and embarrassment run through you as your fiancé had flirted with the lead opera singer, a woman you knew he had relations with in the past. However, it was something entirely different for the rest of society to notice it as well. Everyone and their mother must be laughing at you or pitying you over their breakfast.

Instantly, your mind was drawn back to your conversation at the beginning of your engagement where Anthony promised to be loyal to you and how he wanted to make this work. Part of you felt that you were being irrational, but you also felt as though you needed to find out once and for all. Where did his feelings stand?

Anthony always welcomed you in his house, be that Bridgerton House or his bachelor’s lodgings. Determined, you called for your carriage to be brought around and you quickly prepared for you day before riding his way. The moment you knocked on his door, the butler who answered look shocked, but let you in regardless.

“I can fetch Lord Bridgeton for you, Miss. y/l/n, and call for tea while you wait in the drawing room.” he suggested, gesturing off towards the side.

“No, thank you.” you responded with a smile. “I can find Lord Bridgerton myself.”

Though it looked like he had more to say, the butler simply nodded, and you found yourself climbing the stairs wondering if Anthony would be in his study or bedroom. Your first thought was to check the study; however, you passed the door you knew to be his bedroom and heard two voices inside. Frozen in your spot, you inched closer towards the door and immediately felt sick when you heard a feminine giggle.

“Anthony?” you called out, reaching towards the doorknob, as your heart pounded furiously. There was an immediate scuffle from the other side and when you found the courage to open the door, you were met with a half-dressed Anthony that was draped over Siena Rosso who pulled the bed sheets to her chest to cover herself and had let out a shriek upon you entering the room.

It felt as though time had frozen and all the blood had drained from your body. There was nothing you could do as you watched Anthony’s mouth move hurriedly, but your mind did not register any of his words. It was only when he reached forward to grab your hand that you snapped out of your trance and quickly ran into the hallway, shutting the door behind you. With your back against the door, you took deep breaths trying to stop the tears that suddenly clouded your vision, and you felt suffocated in his house.

Running down the stairs, each step felt like another stab in the heart. After everything Anthony had told you and done for you, this is how it ended. All your fears and insecurities were laid out before you in his bedroom, and there was nothing you could do about it.

“y/n, wait!” Anthony shouted behind you as he bolted down the steps to catch up.

By the time you reached the bottom, you felt the end was in sight as you rushed towards the door, but Anthony grabbed hold of your wrist before you could leave.

“Let me go!” you shouted and ripped your arm away from him.

“Please, don’t go! Let me explain.” Anthony pleaded and you wanted to laugh at the look of hurt that was reflected in his own eyes. How dare he feel hurt after all he had done. “It’s not wh-“

Quickly cutting him off, you steeled your voice, not willing to reveal how much he had hurt you. “Do not try and tell me that what I just saw was not what it looked like.” you warned, your voice low and dangerous.

There was then an uncomfortable silence as Anthony stared, seemingly waiting for you to continue. It was only after an agonizing minute had passed that he spoke up again. “Well? Are you going to say something?”

“What do you want me to say, Anthony?” you shot back, feeling exhausted from the pretending, the hurt, everything. “Do you want me to say that ‘it’s okay,’ that ‘I forgive you?,’ because I don’t think I can do that.”

Anthony’s mouth opened, then closed just as quickly when he realized he had nothing to say in retort. For once in his life, Anthony truly felt stuck and sorrowful for his actions. The look of hurt that marred your features was enough to wish he had never laid eyes on Siena.

“Do you know what the worst part is?” you asked, pulling Anthony out of his own thoughts. “I’m mad at myself more than I’m mad at you. Hell,” you swore. “I can’t even find the energy to be upset with Siena because I’m sure she’s feeling just as vulnerable and cheated as I am.

“I knew from the start that she held a piece of your heart, but I tricked myself into believing that I could change your mind – that I could be enough for you.” you continued, your voice never shouting, which made it all the more heartbreaking. “And you, Viscount Bridgerton, are too childish – too selfish- to make the hard decision of letting one of us go. So, instead, you held onto both of us, but I refuse to be a puppet in your show any longer. This is over. Good day, my lord.” you all but spat, shoving the engagement ring into Anthony’s unsuspecting hands before you turned and walked out of his life for good.

Falling to his knees, Anthony allowed his façade to break as the tears slid down his cheeks. What had started as a measure taken to safeguard his heart had ended up costing Anthony the best person to ever grace his life, and he knew there was no coming back from that.

oOoOo

Present Day

The following day after the incident at dinner, Anthony had been all but forced by Violet to attend Lady Danbury’s final ball of the season. Though he had shown up like a dutiful son and Viscount, Anthony stood sulking in the corner of the room. His crossed arms and icy demeanor kept all the members of the ton away, save for the few brave members of his family who attempted to lift his spirits. Just as he was about to make his escape and drown his sorrows at his club for the rest of the evening, a melodic laughter caught his ears, and Anthony felt himself freeze.

Looking towards the center of the dance floor, Anthony spotted your silhouette as you twirled around the room without a care in the world. It was easy for Anthony to pretend it was his doing that cause your lips to turn up into a smile, but when he noticed Earl Thompson’s hands on your waist, Anthony could only see red. Of course, he knew he had no right to feel jealous or hurt, but that didn’t stop the feelings from overtaking all of his senses.

As if you knew his eyes were on your figure, you turned towards Anthony, your eyes locking with his. For a moment, it seemed as though time had stopped, neither of you wanting to be the first to look away. In an instant, an alternate life flashed before Anthony’s eyes. One where he had gotten over his fears and admitted how he truly felt about you. A life where he was the only one to make you laugh like so, to hold you in his arms, to be the first person to see you in the morning and the last person to see you at night.

That moment had to end, however, and with a curt nod, you offered Anthony one final glance before you turned back to your fiancée, not giving the past a second thought any longer. His heart ached once more, and Anthony knew he had created a crack that would never heal. Even if he did marry in the future, it would never be enough to fill the hole in his heart you had left.

If only he hadn’t been a coward, then maybe things would have been different.

If only he hadn’t let you go.

oOoOo

tagging: @acaceta, @venusflwer @asonofpeter @skyfallingstartaylorsversion @sarcasm-n-insomnia @iammirrorball

#anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton imagine #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #rita writes

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scarletttries · 2 years ago

Text

Lost Time (Eddie Munson Request)

Pairing: Eddie Munson (Stranger Things) x Reader

Request: "was wondering if you could do an enemies to lovers for Eddie (my favourite trope 😈). where its all 'i hate you' in actual fact its all sexual tension, then its all fluffy and cute at the end?"

Info: enemies to lovers, bit of angst but fluff in the end, bit of flirting but no smut, gender neutral reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Author's Note: Thank you so much for this Eddie Munson request! I think it might be my first ever enemies to lovers request, and it got a bit angstier than I was planning, but it all works out to fluff in the end so I hope you like it!

Lost Time

Making friends had always come naturally to you. You'd moved through enough schools by the time you started high school in Hawkins that you'd become an expert at the perfect, easy, first impression. You could find something to like in everyone, loving nothing more than the moment you figured out what made them tick and got them started on their favourite pastime or passion or fashion or whatever it was that made them smile. And then you were in, invited to parties, sleepovers and lunch tables without ever really paying attention to the stupid social rules that usually dominated school. You truly believed everyone was just a friend you had yet to make. That was until the day you met Eddie Munson.

Two years below him when you first started as a sophomore at Hawkins high, your paths didn't cross a lot, until in what should have been his final ever semester, your schedules saw fit to give you both the same free study period. Walking into the school library that day, all the tables already had at least one person sitting at them studying, leaving you the perfect opportunity to make yet another new friend. You scanned the room, trying to pick the best table to approach, not wanting to disrupt anyone too deeply into their notes, until you saw a boy with unusually long, but not unattractive, hair and a bored look on his face, drumming his fingers against the table without a single book open. You went straight over, trying not to notice the warmth flushing in your cheeks as his big brown eyes stared up at you, brow furrowed in question as you approached,

"Is it okay if I sit with you?" You asked quietly, smiling at the dumbfounded boy, who finally gathered himself up enough to respond. Springing to his feet, he quickly pulled out the chair next to him, bowing low and gesturing to the seat,

"Of course fair traveller," you stifled a laugh as he settled back into his chair, not wanting the entire library to look at you more than they already were.

"Such a gentleman." You beamed back, introducing yourself to the mystery metalhead, with a flourish of your arm in front of your named exercise book. He grinned sincerely as he slapped a detention slip in front of you with the same flair,

"Eddie Munson, dungeon master extraordinaire and front man of Corroded Coffin."

"I know what all those words mean separately, but you might need to explain yourself a little bit more for me to get the sentence." You laughed, noting to yourself his detention slip was for allegedly fighting the captain of the basketball team. You'd spoken to him enough times to get the impression he was the kind of guy who was always looking for an excuse to pick on anyone who stood out, and thought Eddie was probably on the receiving end of the so-called fight he was being punished for.

"To understand Eddie Munson, I need to fill you in on a little game called Dungeons and Dragons."

And the two of you passed the hour in an effortless stream of conversation; Eddie explaining the basic of D&D and the metal records he was waiting to buy at the weekend, you explaining how your family had managed to settle in Hawkins after years of moving around, and how nice it was to feel settled in a town. He made you laugh so loudly as he talked about the fight that landed him in detention that afternoon, doing a spot on impression of the offending jock, that the librarian shushed you both, only making it harder to contain your laughter. And by the time the bell rang and you packed up your things to go to lunch, it felt like you were really friends. You found yourself feeling a little disappointed as the two of you walked slowly out into the hall, and Eddie matched your reluctant pace, still engrossed in your detailed explanation of your own varied music taste.

To you it had been a nice afternoon, and you were definitely hoping you'd find yourselves sitting together again soon, but for Eddie it was one of the first times he could remember feeling this happy during the school day. From the moment you had sat down, face warm and interested, instead of judgemental and cruel, he was a goner. He hadn't had a second thought about letting you in, and in return you'd listened, and laughed with him, not at him, and opened up as well. It was everything he'd been missing in his high school isolation, and now as he realised your timelines would split off in two again soon, his inside ached to stay in the beam of sunlight that seemed to emanate from you. He wanted to ask you to spend time with him again, and as he watched the movement of your lips as you spoke, and the dance of your fingers as you carried your books, he came to the terrifying realisation that what he wanted was a date with you. His feet came to standstill at the thought, and he opened his mouth to speak, needing to force the question out before his inner monologue shot him down before you could. The comfort in your questioning smile provided the sweet reassurance he needed as you turned to face his frozen form, a nervous laugh breaking through his lips as the words

"Hey, would you.." managed to work their way out.

As if in response he heard an echoing chorus of laughter ahead of him. His focus shifted from the welcoming light of you, down the corridor, to the dark cloud of jocks standing just outside the cafeteria doors, noticing the situation unfolding. He could see the knowing looks they shared as they drew eachother's focus to the scene, each one erupting into laughter at the sight of Eddie Munson, speaking to you, trying to ask you out. And as their smug faces contorted in laughter, Eddie's heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach, crushing the butterflies that had been there just moments earlier. He was an idiot. You were just being polite, you'd never actually say yes to him. He was a freak and you had plenty of friends, and his jaw clenched tightly as you softly prompted, unaware of the scene behind you,

"Eddie? Would I what?" And as his eyes met yours again it hurt. Because you were looking at him just as fondly as he had been looking at you minutes ago.He found himself wishing you had never sat with him, because he had been resigned to his position as an outcast, and you had got his hopes up unfairly for a life a little less lonely, so as he steeled his nerves, the salty sting in eyes calling for a quick exit he spat out,

"Would you just leave me alone." Turning on his heels and heading into the nearest bathroom. You couldn't even form the words to question him, left dumbstruck as you thought about what you could have done wrong. You were broken out of your spell by a firm arm around your shoulder, as one of the jocks stepped beside you,

"Classic Eddie "the freak" Munson, if he bothers you again, feel free to let me know." As you politely thanked him and shrugged off the imposing arm, you couldn't help but feel like maybe you'd done something wrong.

As the next Tuesday rolled around you found yourself counting the minutes until your study period, desperate to speak to Eddie again, to apologize for whatever you'd done to make him that upset. As you walked straight up to his table, he kept his eyes down, not even glancing up at you as spoke,

"Hi Eddie, would it be okay if I sat with you again?" You moved to place a book before he replied, tone bitter as his words,

"I would rather you sat literally anywhere else." You wanted to ask what you had done to upset him, if he was okay, really anything to stop you from retreating. But words failed you in favour of a harsh lump in your throat, and so you just nodded and hurried away to another table. As you set down your things and introduced yourself to another classmate, you promised yourself you would ask Eddie about it next week, not wanting to leave it unaddressed. The next Tuesday Eddie skipped his study period. And every Tuesday after that.

It continued like that for the next two years, as you became a junior then a senior, Eddie repeating his final year again and again. Every time you tried to talk to him, he shut you down with a cold line, or cruel look, until you found yourself dreading bumping into him, not wanting to hear the next snide remark from the boy who had had your cheeks aching from laughter the first time you met him. Eddie found himself avoiding you too, each unkind word he had to utter to you just another stain on his soul, a reminder of the time he got his hopes up and how he couldn't let that happen again.

Today was no different as you joined the lunch line, finding yourself chatting absentmindedly to the freshman beside you about the choice of desserts on offer. You laughed at his scathing review of the cafeteria menu, barely noticing the imposing figure coming to loom behind you,

"(Y/n), you should know better than to bother one of my little flock, we're not interested in your little niceties" Eddie stately bluntly, his unusually cold tone causing Dustin's brow to furrow. You sighed before exchanging apologetic smiles with a now mortified Dustin, deciding to once again just be the bigger person and walk away from Eddie's latest taunt.

"Dude, what's your problem with (y/n)? They're a sweetheart! And one of the first people in high school to say they liked my smile!" Dustin protested, far too loudly for Eddie's liking, both their moony gazes following your path across the cafeteria to your table.

"Mind your business Henderson, this is grown up stuff." He spat out, another tale of your sweeping kindness only adding salt to the wound of your scowled expression as you settled into the seat next to Chrissy.

This is for the best. He told himself again, ignoring the gnawing ache inside him.

***

Friday night meant a house party at whichever one of the basketball's team's parents were out of town that weekend, gossiping about boys with Chrissy and being a surprisingly unbeatable pair at Beer Pong. After another resounding victory you excused yourself to let Jason pair up with her for a while, earning an excited smile from Chrissy as you left to wandered through the oversized Hawkins mansion. As you rounded a corner, dodging drunken dance moves and overly affectionate couples, you cringed as you heard the familiar sound of your great tormentor,

"I would say it was a pleasure doing business with you gentlemen, but we all know that's not true." His snide remark was almost enough to send you scampering back to the rest of the party-goers, not wanting to hear his next unearned dig at you, but you steeled yourself to walk past him anyway, not wanting to let him win. As you exchanged smiles with his now satisfied jock customers you heard his mocking tone echo throughout the hall,

"Uh-uh-uh (y/n), I'm not selling to you." He chuckled, feigning glee at his little game with you. You had tried never to take his jabs too personally, but you couldn't help the genuine tinge of sadness that came through your voice as replied,

"I'm not looking to buy, but do you really hate me more than the basketball guys?" The pang in Eddie's chest ached more than usual as he stared into your eyes; you were hurt, and it was because of him. You could have sworn you saw his features soften as his eyes fixed to his shoes, carefully choosing his next words, the way he always had to around you. Putting his guard back up as his gaze met yours again, he stepped closer as he spoke,

"It would certainly seem that way, wouldn't it."

Normally you pride yourself on being the bigger person, but after two beers and having heard more sports stories from Jason tonight than any one person could be expected to tolerate, your patience was weary uncharacteristically thin. You looked the metalhead up and down, his confrontational posture only frustrating you more, and decided it was time to clear the air, for better or worse.

"Come with me." "Please." You said shortly, grabbing his hand and pulling him into a bedroom so far undisturbed by party goers. As you turned to lock the door behind you, you missed the falter of Eddie's cocky smirk, his eyes trailing down to your fingers, desperately memorising the way they felt intertwined with his and cursing himself for it. Releasing his hand you pressed your back to the door, blocking the exit and finally giving Eddie a taste of his own medicine.

"Eddie Munson, what is your problem with me?" You did your best to keep your tone measured, watching the metalhead clench his jaw, seemingly fighting the words dying to come out.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He laughed dismissively, turning away from you and starting to run his fingers over the trinkets and decorations of the room, seemingly uninterested in mending whatever rift existed between you.

"I must have done something to make you hate me Eddie, and I just want to know what it was! So I can apologise, or you know what maybe I won't, because I know I haven't done anything that would even begin to justify the way you treat me!" Any attempt to keep your volume under control was long gone, a weight lifting from your chest at how cathartic it felt to finally say these words. Eddie continued his exploration of the frankly uninteresting room, keeping himself occupied by looking at anything but you as he replied, tone growing less convincing by the syllable,

"Oh please, you think you're so much better than me."

"I've never thought I was better than you Eddie! In fact I thought only good things about you until you started talking to me like this! But you know what, maybe I am better than you if you need to pick on someone and make them feel as small and shitty as the guys here make you feel. And I guess you chose me to be that person because you knew I wouldn't say anything back, and that I'd just keep trying to be nice to you,"

"Well maybe I don't want you to be nice to me!" Eddie's head whipped round to respond, his voice now a shout to match yours.

"Why not?!" You demanded, watching the nervous shifting of the man in front of you, as he seemed to lose an internal battle, unaware it had been waging since the day you met.

"Because then I'll like you!" The words grated against his throat as the shout came out, the familiar sting afflicting his eyes as he tried to fight back the inevitable tears, "And I don't mean like you how your friends out there like you. No, I mean like you so much that my stomach hurts when I look at you. 'Spend all my time thinking about our one conversation' like you. 'Get my hopes up that I could be anything but a freak and a loner' like you." His frantic pacing stopped as he spoke, statuesque in front of you of, no longer trying to obscure the tears rolling down his cheeks, "And everyone knows that you're good and you're kind, and you're nice to everyone, so when you realise that deep down I'm no-one you want to be around, how am I supposed to deal with being the one person you don't like!"

He was barely a foot away from you as his explanation reached its climax, deep brown eyes boring down into your shocked expression. His chest heaved as you looked him over, breathing ragged as you struggled to put your feelings into words. You knew you should be angry that he'd made his own problem about you, but as you looked at his now tear stained cheeks, and guilt-stricken eyes, it was hard to feel anything negative towards the sweet boy who'd pulled out your chair in the library then ran for fear of your judgement. You gently raised a hand to either side of Eddie's face, his eyes fixed firmly on yours as you brushed the tears softly from his cheeks with your thumbs and, as your lips seemed to refuse words in the moment, you put them to better use, lightly pressing them to Eddie's. You held the frozen boy's kiss for a second before pulling back, bringing as much warmth to your gaze as you could muster,

"Eddie, until you started ignoring me, you were very much someone I wanted to be around." You let the words linger between you as your hands left their careful perches on his cheeks, drifting softly back down to your side.

As his mind reeled from your movements, Eddie found himself at that familiar crossroads; he could let you in, or he could continue shutting you out. It had felt like the only choice two years ago; pushing you away before you could do the same to him, taking a chunk of his heart with you as you left. But as he thought about the constant ache that came from avoiding you, the teary nights spent hopelessly replaying the way you had smiled at him that day, the crushing guilt of ever making you feel the way he felt every time he walked through the school doors, it finally seemed clear that he'd chosen the wrong path that day, and that he'd be an idiot to choose it again. Yes, it was scary to open himself up to getting hurt when he'd already felt so much pain, especially when he could tell from the first word you said to him that he would be head-over-heels, no way out, deeply in love with you. But if there was even a chance he could feel that way, even for a day, it would be worth it. So he nodded to himself, met your gaze again and spoke sincerely,

"I'm so sorry (y/n). You shouldn't forgive me after the way I've acted, but if there's even a remote chance we could try being at least friends, I'd do anything for another chance." His hands moved to cradle yours, holding them so delicately you could barely feel the brush of his cold rings over your skin as they trembled slightly. The truth was you'd never really stopped seeing Eddie as that sweet nerd excitedly explaining his favourite game to you in the library, and you could see how much it was killing him to be this vulnerable with you, his view of himself so horribly warped by a lifetime of small town scrutiny.

His trepasses almost immediately forgiven you couldn't help but seek a little bit of retribution as you pretended to consider his words carefully for a moment before coming out with a resounding,

"Nope. Not a chance." Your dismissive expression watched as Eddie's eyes widened with the fear he'd ruined his best chance at happiness before he'd ever even tried it, until a laugh crept past your lips, splitting into a wide smile as you wrapped your arms around Eddie's neck,

"Just kidding. I forgive you Eddie." You beamed, before pressing your lips back up against his. After a second you felt the smile creep across his face as he kissed you back, laughing as you pulled your head back.

"Okay, I deserved that." He chuckled, before gazing back down at your lips, asking silent permission to kiss you again, feeling entirely unworthy of your kindness. Taking your cheeky smile as his invitation, his hands found your waist, pulling you close against his chest as his lips crashed happily against yours again, a moment he'd spent just shy of 24 months imagining. Only in his mind, his heart hadn't felt nearly so full, breathing in the comforting smell of your shampoo and feeling the warmth of your cheeks as your faces met. Your soft lips felt perfect and plush against his own, the taste of your kiss more intoxicating than his dreams could have ever done justice to.

"Don't worry, my payback won't last two years." You teased between playful kisses, your fingers gently running through the hair around the nape of his neck, earning a soft, content sign from Eddie as he begrudgingly pulled his lips from yours to reply,

"So if I had been less of an asshole, I could have spent two years doing this, instead of sulking and avoiding the library?" You laughed at his question, taking the opportunity to place one of his hands on the outside of your thigh, and wrapping your leg around his waist as you teased,

"Imagine what we could've gotten up to in two years."

Letting out an unintelligible mix of a frustrated groan and a sincere laugh, Eddie took the invitation to lift you up, your other leg wrapping around his waist to press your bodies closer together as his lips returned hungrily to yours, desperate not to waste another precious second.

"Maybe I am as dumb as everyone says." He laughed hollowly, earning a very gentle smack in the centre of his forehead with your palm,

"Hey! Don't talk about my friend like that." You commanded, before planting a soft kiss on the spot you hit, almost melting Eddie into a puddle where he stood. Scared your sweet affection would make him literally weak in the knees, Eddie settled on the end of the bed, still clutching you firmly in his lap, hands feeling more than at home in their new found position at your waist.

"Do you want to just stay here with me for the rest of the party?" You asked softly, brushing the back of your fingers over his cheek, before playing with the closest lock of his hair. Eyes shining up at you like you were the moon and stars themselves he quickly nodded, smile spreading across his flushed cheeks as he suppressed the urge to hold back the words he wanted to say,

"I'll stay wherever you are forever sweetheart." Heart fluttering at the undivided devotion clear in the way he gazed at you, you smiled flirtily, before circling your hips once against his.

"Then let's make up for lost time."

#one shot #writing #fanfiction #requests #eddie munson x reader #stranger things eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson smut #stranger things #stranger things headcanons #stranger things requests

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grey-sides · 2 years ago

Note

Prompting “don’t raise your fucking voice at me.”

Thank you for the prompt! I expected this to go a little angstier, but the boys decided to have ~healthy communication.~ I have two other prompts in my inbox that I will plan on getting to tomorrow. I hope you enjoy!

Steve knows that nothing is ever solved by fighting. That raising your voice and getting angry with someone will never, ever lead you down the path of getting it right. Of solving your differences or having a productive conversation.

But even so, he’s a human being with emotions that sometimes get out of control. And he’s trying to be less of an asshole, to not cut quite so deep with the words he knows how to wield. It’s just that, sometimes he slips up. And sometimes it’s not about the words he’s saying, but how he’s saying.

Dustin has gotten angry with him in the past for talking to him like he’s a little kid. Robin has gotten angry with him for talking to her like she’s stupid when she won’t stop rambling. Nancy has told Steve many times that his tone often leaves something to be desired. That he can twist any words into something awful if he’s not careful. So he always tries to be careful.

But Billy doesn't always appear to have that instinct. When they fight, he tends to dig deep and loud. Gets into Steve’s face, spitting mad and pokes a finger into his chest. Billy aims for blood and he gets it every time.

Steve thinks it’s a survival instinct. If you hit first and harder, you’re more likely to win the fight. That’s why Steve swung first, but Billy played dirty. Now he cuts with his words and finishes his argument with silence and a turned cheek. They’re not always the best, but they’re trying at least.

This fight is…one of their dumber ones admittedly. Max or Mike or one of the kids who always seem so much wiser than Steve or Billy would say it’s because they’re trying to control each other. But it boils down to this, Billy is going to college or at least a technical school away from Hawkins and Steve wants to go with. It shouldn’t be a fight at all, Steve knows what he wants and Billy knows what he wants, but they’re both bull-headed.

Billy thinks Steve is settling by leaving Hawkins just to follow him. That he should also apply somewhere, have a purpose for following Billy. Steve has accepted his lot in life. Has decided that Billy is what he wants, whether or not it’s all going to work out magically. He’s tired of planning for an uncertain future, he knows following Billy is what he wants to do.

And it’s silly and it’s stupid to be fighting over this. For Steve to have to justify his decisions and for Billy to hate the tone of voice his partner takes on when he mentions school. Everyone has convinced Steve he’s not smart, that he doesn’t get to go anywhere in this life. But Steve is content with that, has made his peace with that. He just wants stability. Billy swears he can’t provide that.

And Steve is just tired of people telling him things. Of putting him in boxes and in the corner until they need him. He feels like a prized fighting animal or something, brought out to perform the killing blow. So it only makes sense that Steve breaks his rule. He gets in Billy’s face, he raises his voice. He doesn’t even remember what he shouted.

Billy’s entire face shuts off, his eyes go cold and his posture gets straighter. So straight it seems like his back might break from it. “Don’t raise your fucking voice at me,” he says and his voice is cold too. It’s not a snarl or a snap or a shout. It’s a thin sheet of black ice, cutting straight through Steve’s core.

“I- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” Steve says automatically, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “We both need to cool off.”

Billy snorts derisively and shakes his head. “See, this is why we can’t move in together. Because we don’t know how to act like normal fucking humans around each other.”

Steve sets his jaw and shakes his head too. “Don’t be like that. We had a fight, all couples have fights, it’s fine. We just need time to chill out.”

Billy turns to him and gets a finger in his chest. He loves to do that, to make Steve feel like how he did. “But you will never get it, don’t you see that? That fights for me are never the same as they are for you. Because what if in the next fight you decide to hit me? Huh?”

Steve steps back, shakes his head again. “Billy I would never-”

“That’s what my dad said too. It would never happen again. He would never get that angry again. But he did, over and over. And if you can’t respect my boundary of not raising your voice- what other boundaries will you ignore?” Billy mutters, looking away again.

Steve feels sick to his stomach. Doesn’t know how to swallow back the bile that rises in the back of his throat about how much he can hurt people. The power he wields to make someone think he might hit them just because he raised his voice.

Steve drops his shoulders and swallows hard. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice,” he murmurs. “I…I should have stepped away when I started getting angry because I never want you to think I would hurt you.”

Billy crosses his arms and nods slightly. “Don’t do it, okay? Just don’t ever raise your fucking voice with me.”

A small part of Steve wants to argue that Billy could have stopped the conversation too. But no relationship is ever fully 50/50. This one is on him, he knows about Billy’s past about his dad and everything that entailed.

“Okay. Let’s table you going to school and me coming with for another time,” Steve suggests softly. “I want to give you space if you need that. Or not if you don’t. I just don’t want you to close me off.”

Billy turns back to him, his eyes are shining with unshed tears. “Tell you what. We can table the discussion for later, alright? I just…want to go change and watch a movie with you. We’ll each take five and come back better.”

Steve gives him a half smile and nods. “Yeah, I’ll make popcorn.”

He watches Billy head for the stairs so he can get to his overnight bag and then turns to the kitchen. They haven’t solved it all and it won’t be the last fight. But Steve is sticking to keeping his temper under control.

#harringrove #anon #greye writes #drabble #stranger things #steve harrington #billy hargrove

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thesunicarusfellfor · 4 years ago

Note

Your so great at writing omg- so could you do a part two of the yandere techno and philza?

And other idea for a different request!

Maybe ghostbur? 👀 With florist reader? And someone burned down there shop so they are very upset so ghostbur comforts them and helps build then a new one?

Again please take as long as you need.

- Your beloved Moosh ( platonically! :3)

Moosh, darling! Hello! How are you doing today? Part two of the yandere Tech and Phil chapter is up! Thank you for your requests, your ideas are just chefs kiss!

This is a tad bit short. I really really have to get out of the habit of writing 10k+ stories, because then I have no energy to write the other requests that have been waiting for a while <3

Also. This turned out to be angstier than I had hoped...

TW: Depression, emotion repression, large mentions of past Wilbur x Reader

Dead Blue Flowers (C!Ghostbur x GN!Depressed!Reader)

How...? How did this happen?

You tried so hard to remain neutral in this war, even going as far as to avoid telling people your opinions on things. Wasn't raising your tax weekly back when Schlatt was in control enough?

You just gave people flowers, for god's sake! Why did they have to burn the shop to nothing but cinders?!

Standing in front of the charred frame of your shop that had once been your prized possession. Every dollar you had raised, every smile that appeared on the faces of people you gave flowers to... You remembered the genuine smile on Wilbur's face when he gave you this plot of land to build whatever store you wanted...

Now it was all ashes that slipped through the cracks between your fingers...

"(Y/n)?" An echoing and airy voice echoed through your ears and you glanced up slightly to see a pair of shoes levitating a few inches off the ground, "What happened to your shop- Oh, you're crying, here. Take some blue. Calm yourself."

Crying?

While the levitating figure dug around, trying to find this so-called blue, you rose your hands up and touched your cheeks to find them slightly damp. When you pulled your hands away, a small cold pouch of blue dye was carefully placed in your hands, causing a small shiver to crawl down your spine, "Thanks, Bur..." You whispered softly, trying to smile to calm him down, but you just found your eyes welling up with more tears, so you put your head down in an attempt to hide them from your ghost friend.

"Did it not work? Perhaps that blue was broken..." Ghostbur reached into his small bag with his dye-stained fingers, digging around for a pouch of dye that wasn't 'broken'. You could feel a faint bit of panic in his voice as he mumbled about how blue always worked for him, so he didn't know why it wasn't working for you.

"No, Bur... It's just... I don't know what to do. My shop is gone. It was my pride and joy. Now I don't have anything left..." You murmured, holding the, now two, dye-filled packages in your cupped hands, "Even the cornflower seeds I used to make the blue flowers I gave you... They're nothing now... His mem- I'm nothing now..."

Ghostbur was panicking and the blue clutched in his hands was evident of that, "No, no! Don't say things like that! Come, come-" He gave a few coughs, his negative emotions seeming to affect him physically as well as emotionally.

You slowly pushed yourself up into a standing position, rubbing your eyes with your sleeves as your fingertips were tainted with dye. While you didn't feel much happier, despite Ghostbur's best efforts, you knew that emotionally he couldn't handle your sadness, "Thanks, Bur. I do feel much happier thanks to your blue. I'm gonna head home now." You gave him your best smile, watching as the sweater-wearing spirit studied your eyes to see if you were lying.

"Oh, okay!" The ghost perked up slightly, but his smile looked a tad bit hollow in your eyes. Guess you were in no place to judge, you did just give your best friend a smile to get him to stop panicking... Was this emotion suppression? Probably. Yeah. Ah well... As long as he's happy now. "I'm gonna go see Phil now, maybe you should come to visit sometime soon. He makes really good tea and biscuits."

"Yeah... I'll hop by his place sometime soon." You gave him the empty promise, knowing very well you didn't want anything to do with social interactions for quite a while until you found something else to put your time towards.

Over the next few days, Ghostbur would wait outside your house for you to come out and walk with you to your flower shop, but he then began to realize that you had nothing to walk to. Hell, you didn't have a reason to leave your house anymore... There was no point in coming outside. After standing under the awning above your front door for a few moments, he got an idea in his head, so he set off towards the house of Alivebur's father.

"Phiiiiiil?" He called softly, opening the front door to see the injured avian sitting in his chair in front of the fireplace, "Ah, Philza! Just the man I wanted to see!"

"Hey mate," The blond greeted softly, setting his cup of tea down on the table before getting up to properly interact with the ghost of his son, "What do ya' need from me?"

For a few seconds, hesitance filled Ghostbur's veins. He hadn't completely thought through this idea and didn't even know how you or Phil would react to it, "My ange- best friend, (Y/n)... Well, they were very very important to Alivebur, and I still have many happy memories of them... But they aren't happy now because someone burnt down their flower shop... They haven't left their house in a few days, and I'm getting a really bad feeling, Phil!" Despite the fact that a pouch of blue was tightly grasped in his hands, the ghost didn't seem to be feeling any calmer, ultimately chalking it up to the flowers he had made the dye out of must've been from a bad place.

Philza grabbed onto the ghost of his son, giving a faint hiss of pain at the icy buzz that attacked his palms, but ignored it and kept his hands on his son's shoulders. Or what was left of the son he killed, "Wil- Ghostbur. Calm down. I want you to go visit them and make sure they're still okay-"

"But I think they'll only be okay if their shop is built! I want to rebuild it for them!" Ghostbur whined softly, not exactly understanding why he felt so strongly towards you, "Alivebur really really cared about them, which means I care about them. And they're sad, even with the blue I gave them..."

Phil pursed his lips together, trying to keep quiet about exactly why Wilbur cared about you so much, "Okay, okay... I want you to go visit them and find the blueprints of their shop... If-If you can't, then I'm sure we can build something similar... Just please, make sure they're alive, eating and taking care of themselves..."

"Alive? Of course they're alive- right? right, Phil?" Ghostbur hiccuped slightly, bringing up his dye-stained fingers to his mouth in shock when the avian hesitated, "Phil?"

"Just, go check on them Wil... Please."

Without another word, the ghost hurried out the door and looked up at the rapidly darkening sky, as he floated towards the person his alive self adored so greatly. "(Y/n)... Why did Alivebur care for you so much? Why did he want you in his life so bad?" When the transparent male arrived at your door, he hurriedly pounded his fists on the door before pressing himself against it to hide under the awning as rain began to sprinkle down from the sky, "(Y/n)! Please, it's raining!" He cried, not wanting to melt.

There was a few seconds of silence before there was a rushing sound of footsteps coming from the inside of the house. Before the ghost could react, the door flew open, causing him to tumble onto the floor inside the house, "Bur! You should've checked the weather!"

He looked up at his saviour... And gave the softest smile he's ever worn. Even it had only been a few days, he began to realize just how much you meant to him as well, not just Alivebur. You were a guardian angel... A saviour from reality...

"Y-yeah, I know..." You murmured, trying to flatten down your unbrushed hair before shrinking away from your friend's gaze and into your oversized sweater that had once been Wilbur's, "I haven't really bothered to... Uhm... manage my appearance..."

"No worries, angel..." He blurted out, causing you to flinch as you stared at him. He didn't even know why he called you that to be completely honest, but he pushed himself off of your floor and dusted himself free of invisible dust, "Why haven't you been coming outside? I've been waiting outside for you every day... Phil was also worried about you losing a life in here alone!"

Pursing your lips together, you couldn't help but avoid the gaze of the ghost as you shut the door, "Sorry Bur, I've just been really tired..." You gave him a tired smile, but this time it didn't work on the poor ghost.

"I- I uhm... I know I'm forgetful, I know I'm an amnesiac, but I still feel this... I still feel things, and I try my best to make sure no one else feels it... But it's not working for helping you." He nervously grabbed onto a pouch of blue in his messenger bag, gritting his teeth together for a moment, "I figured out why that shop means so much to you... It's because it was a gift from Alivebur... Your lover... And now you feel like you have nothing left to hold his memory."

He watched as your eyes went wide and beginning to fill with tears before he went to his bag, going to grab some blue for you, but he paused upon seeing something else. A cornflower, one that never got turned into a dye, but it was withered and dead from being in the bag for so long, "Wil-Gho... Bur..." You hiccuped, trying to form words to create an apology, but your throat felt like it was tied in knots.

"That's also why you call me Bur... Because you don't want to accept that Aliv-... Wilbur... Is now a ghost..." He walked closer to you and put his hand on your arms, thankfully you were wearing a sweater to prevent frostbite from attacking your skin, "And that's okay! It's okay, (Y/n), you loved him... And he loved you, which means I love you... but I know you need time to cope with Al- Wilbur's... Death..." He carefully reached up and took your wrist, bringing your hand up into view so he could press the dead cold cornflower into your palm, "Until then, I'll stay by your side as your best friend..."

You slowly reached up and put your hand against his cheek, even though the contact burned your fingertips and he hardly felt solid... He was there... "Thank you... Ghostbur." You lowered your hand and smiled down at the dead flower in your palm.

"Now, come on, let's get you cleaned up! Me and Phil will help you rebuild your flower shop... When the rain lets up of course!"

#dream smp #ghostbur #ghostbur x reader #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot #wilbur dream smp #dsmp wilbur #mcyt x reader #c!wilbur #dsmp ghostbur #ghostbur dream smp #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt imagine #mcyt oneshots #dream smp x reader #wilbur x reader

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mamabearcat · 3 years ago

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9: a missing moment from canon 💜

Okay. Sorry in advance. This ended up a lot angstier than I'd planned.

The thing is, Kagome is a modern girl in a very violent and unforgiving time period, and I'm sure she saw a lot of things that she wasn't emotionally prepared for. And she's such an empathic character, she would take those situations to heart, and they would affect her a lot.

I'm going to put this under a read more. Contains a death (not main character) and canon level violence. I'm going to put it in my AO3 one-shot collections as well.

“Kagome? Can I get the kettle out of your backpack?”

Kagome startled at the sound of Sango’s voice so close to her, and the soft touch of a hand on her shoulder. Suddenly she realised that everyone had been setting up the camp around her while she’d been sitting on a tree root, silently staring into space.

“Oh Sango-chan, I’m sorry, let me help!”

Sango smiled at her wanly, her lips barely turning up at the corners, squeezing Kagome’s shoulder gently.

“It’s fine Kagome-chan. Just rest here a moment.”

“O-okay.”

And she was left alone with her thoughts again. Swirling thoughts she didn’t really want. Thoughts she wished she could bleach out of her mind, like Mama did with the stains on white tablecloths. Soak her whole self in a bucket of bleach to be hung out on the line, and go back to being sunny carefree Kagome, who’s main worry of the week was if she managed to remember the quadratic equation for that math quiz. Not the Kagome who had just seen that village. That hut. Not the Kagome who had held that boy. Not the Kagome who… killed.

“Here, there’s someone alive over here!” Shippou called out frantically, his tiny paws incapable of pulling aside the ruins of the toppled and still smouldering hut. In a flash Inuyasha was there, lifting heavy boards, kicking aside matting and broken furniture until he could make his way inside.

“Inuyasha!”

Kagome followed him into the partially collapsed hut, medical kit in hand, but Inuyasha turned to block her view.

“Don’t go in Kagome, you can’t do no good in there.”

There was a faint, gurgling cry, and Kagome slipped under his outstretched arm to glance around the room. There had been fire. There were arrows. There was blood. There was a woman, her eyes open but no longer seeing, her torn clothing no longer protecting either her modesty or the horrific end she had come to. And there was a boy.

He was young, probably around Souta’s age. But the gash across his throat and horrific burns covering half his face and chest made him look monstrous, and Kagome had to clench her teeth hard against the bile forcing it’s way up her throat. The smell was horrific, and she panted for a moment as she knelt next to the boy, trying to get herself under control. His one eye focused on her face.

“Ma…” he gurgled. Kagome glanced aside to the woman on the floor and then back to the boy, concentrating her gaze on the unmarked side of his face, smoothing the blood soaked hair off his forehead as she gathered her courage, then forced herself to take stock of his injuries for a moment. She blinked quickly, fighting back tears. Even if she tried to treat those burns, the amount of blood he’d lost from where his throat was cut, the actual cut itself – she had no way to fix this. Even a modern hospital would have trouble fixing this. She took a deep breath.

“I’m Kagome, and I’m going to give you something to take the pain away”, she said softly.

She reached into her medical kit and took out the tiny dark bottle that Kaede had given her. The one that came with extremely strict instructions and should only be used in very specific circumstances. There was no way she could save this boy. Left for dead by samurai soldiers and then horrifically burnt by the hut they’d set alight. The hut that had once been his home, his safe place. They had arrived too late to help, long after the samurai had left. She couldn’t do anything to take those violent memories away for him. But at least she could take his pain away.

Being as gentle as she could she dribbled the mixture into the child’s mouth, humming softly to him and stroking back his hair as she waited for the medicine to take effect. Gradually the ragged breathing slowed and his eye rolled back as a great sigh, and then another left his body.

Her trembling hand slid down his face to close his eye as the silent tears came. Tears for a little boy she would never know, a boy from a different time, but who in essence was probably very similar to the little brother she loved.

Inuyasha stood behind her silently, waiting for her to be ready to move aside. For a while, he’d sat in the hut with Kagome and the boy, listening to her quiet hum and the gasping breaths of the boy, watching the movement of the gentle hand. But in the end, he hadn’t been able to sit still any longer, his fingers twitching helplessly, and had gone outside to dig the graves. At least with that he was useful.

When Kagome finally wobbled to her feet, he picked up the little boy, barely a weight in his arms, and carried him outside to place in the grave. When he came back for the mother, Kagome had found a charred blanket to wrap her in, and had closed her eyes.

When the graves for all the villagers had been filled and Miroku had chanted the sutras, with Sango laying some wildflowers she’d managed to find not far away, Kagome had leaned on Inuyasha bonelessly, holding Shippou in her arms. It felt like she should still be crying, but her tears had dried up to be replaced by a feeling of emptiness. A hollow rage that had no where to go.

And that rage still filled her. The unfairness of it. There had been no reason for the people in that small village to have died. There had been barely twenty of them. It had obviously been a small farming community, a poor one, with nothing worth stealing. The only thing stolen had been their lives, their dignity, by men who had no compassion or soul.

“Kagome?”

Little Shippou was standing there in front of her, holding out a plate. Plain rice, with fish cooked over the fire.

But one look at the blackened blistered skin that she usually loved to eat had her bolting into the darkness as far from the camp as she could manage before she collapsed over a large tree root, hurling the meagre contents of her stomach onto the forest floor. The dry sobs came then as she gripped the bark under her fingernails, feeling them bend and crack as she put all her strength into it.

“Hey.”

Inuyasha was there, holding back her hair, his hand warm on her back.

“It’s not fair”, she gasped. “They didn’t deserve that. It’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not fair”, he said, his usually gruff voice gentle.

“And I know what you’re going to say. And I know it too. I need to be tougher, harder. I need to get used to seeing things like that. I need to be stronger.”

The hand on her back rubbed gently.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything of the sort.”

He sighed then, and she felt herself being pulled backwards into his arms as he picked her up and moved away from the meagre pile of vomit, sitting down against a tree closer to the campsite, holding her tightly against him, kissing her forehead.

“You are a good person Kagome. Kaede woulda done the same.”

“I’m not a good person”, she whispered. “I killed him Inuyasha. That little boy.”

“No you didn’t.” He ignored her shaking head. “He woulda died anyway, all alone. You gave him peace, and you were there for him when he needed someone the most.”

Kagome shut her eyes, and he turned her face to his.

“Look at me. Kagome look at me.”

His eyes were the most earnest she’d ever seen them, and she couldn’t help the small sob that escaped her.

“You don’t need to be hard. You don’t!”

He stroked her hair gently as she pressed her face into his chest, tears streaming.

“Your heart, your… softness. It’s one of the things I like about ya the most. Because that soft heart a yours looked at a shitty hanyou like me and decided I was okay.”

She snorted at him through her tears, pushing at his chest with a weak fist.

“You’re better than okay, dummy!”

“Better than okay”, he chuckled. “I’ll take that. But I'm be'in serious here, you don’t gotta change, alright? Not one bit a you. You stay the same Kagome. I could never have sat beside that kid like you did. You keep be’in you, and I’ll be here to look after you.”

“O-okay…”

They sat silently for a while in the darkness, the only sounds the crackling of the nearby campfire and the wind in the leaves.

“Do ya think you could eat a little, or do ya need to go to sleep.”

“Maybe… just… not the fish.”

“Fair enough. Can ya walk?”

“Yeah.”

When they got back to the campsite, Shippou was crying in Sango’s arms as she murmured soft words to him, and Kagome’s heart lurched. Letting go of Inuyasha’s hand she held out her arms.

“Shippou, I’m okay", she said, trying to make her tone light and encouraging. "You didn’t do anything wrong, I was just sad. But I bet if you gave me a hug, I’d feel much better?”

Seeing her, Shippou bounded over to her and into her arms, hugging her tight, sobbing out his apologies for making her ill, and she hummed to him, stroking his soft hair away from his forehead. Here was a little boy who needed her right now, who she could help. And that made the rage lessen a little.

But she would never forget.

#mamabearcat fanfics #i'm sorry #inukag snippet #inukag writing ask

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werewolfsmile · 3 years ago

Text

Kissing In The Rain - 14 Days of DA Lovers

@14daysdalovers

Pairing: Fenris x Isabela Rating: M for blood

This is an angstier take on this prompt, but hey I do love my angst. It has a happy ending I promise.

Read it on AO3

---

It came upon him in small ways. A touch here, a glance there. The curve of her smile, the pride in her eyes. Her direct nature and easy acceptance. Never asking him to change, never asking for anything more than what he gave. It was a slow revelation, gentle yet persistent as the rising tide. When the water finally crested the bank and washed over him, there was no doubting it's truth. It shocked him, yet how could he have expected anything else? It made sense, settling into his heart with a finality that did not frighten him as much as he thought it should.

He loved her.

"Isabela!"

Fenris ran through the mud, furious at the rain that slashed into his eyes and plastered his hair to his face. The blood on his sword paled and faded, dripping into puddles that he never gave a second thought. Bodies lay scattered in the mud but they were lifeless, no threat to him.

The sword fell from his fingers as he crashed to his knees beside her.

"Isabela! Venhedis, open your eyes!"

There was too much blood rising out around his fingers. Fenris pushed harder, heart slamming against his ribs. Her usually vibrant eyes were closed, teasing lips slightly parted and slack. Fenris wanted to scream and shout at the Maker – but there was no time. He dare not waste his breath, not when Isabela no longer drew any for herself.

His hand trembled as he tipped her head back and pinched her nose before pressing his mouth over hers. Fenris breathed into her once, twice, then pulled back to check.

Nothing.

"Fasta vass, Isabela, you can't leave me like this!"

Her chest felt fragile beneath his hands. There was no time to dwell or hesitate. Fenris grit his teeth and pressed down on her chest, again and again. Then he dropped his hands back to her face, cradling even as he pulled it into position and set his lips in place.

One breath. Another.

Exhale.

Fenris froze, barely daring to hope, but the laboured inhale was unmistakable. He lifted his head, staring at her pallid face as dirt-smudged eyelids began to flutter.

Pain scrunched her features, her breaths brittle things that threatened to fracture in an instant. Fenris held her, heedless of the blood he smeared across her skin. None of it mattered. All that mattered was her, the life in her veins.

Sudden remembrance seized him and Fenris groped at himself, hastily locating and wrenching out the potion. He wrenched the cork out with his teeth and lowered it to her lips.

"Quickly! You need to drink this. Carefully!"

One arm slid beneath her, lifting her just enough that she would not choke. Isabela was too weak to protest or argue, and Fenris watched in trembling fear as the potion slid down her throat. She sighed as she swallowed the last drop and he gently lowered her back down.

"Fenris?"

Her voice was weak, thready. He nodded, pressing close as he fought to speak around the lump in his throat.

"I am here."

"Oww."

"Be still. You are badly wounded." He looked down at the wound on her side. The blood was slowing but it would still need to be bandaged. The potion had done its job at the very least, and relief swept through him as he watched some of the colour come back to her skin.

"Typical," she replied. "I pass out and leave you to claim all the kills for yourself." A wince tore the humour from her face and Fenris found her hand on instinct, clutching tight.

"Save your breath. You will need your strength."

The immediate danger had passed, yet Fenris still felt the lingering adrenaline in his veins. He tried to ignore it and focused instead on bandaging her wounds. His fingers slipped and stumbled as the cloth soaked quickly under the rain. Fenris cursed, took a deep breath, and tried again. There, done.

"Miserable place to die, this."

Horror choked him but he forced out the growl, levelling sharp green eyes at her.

"Isabela …"

"I'm just saying, I'm glad I'm not dying here. Wouldn't want my last battle to be remembered in this filth. I can do far better than that."

"Would you shut up?" Fenris snarled. His heart was beating too hard against his chest and sweat had joined the rain in slicking his palms.

"What's the matter? I would have thought you'd be overjoyed to hear my voice again."

He seized her chin and she caught her breath, lost in the intensity of his gaze. Fenris wanted to kiss her to prove she was alive, wanted to scream and rage at her for being so careless. But he was frozen, too afraid of pushing too hard, of upsetting her when she was still so weak. So he swallowed down his emotions and settled for curling a lip in displeasure.

"I am trying to save your life. Stop distracting me."

"Oh please, we both know you already did that with the kiss of life," she said casually. Fenris frozen again, unable to look away from her vibrant, beautiful eyes. How did she know? Isabela gave a weak smile and gestured feebly towards her lips. "Lyrium. I could taste you on them."

Fenris swallowed hard and hoped that his emotions were not as transparent as he felt.

"Then you already know the lengths to which I have gone to keep you alive. Do not ruin my work."

His voice was too rough; she would see straight through him. But perhaps not. Isabela's eyes had closed when he glanced back down, her exhaustion overpowering her. Fenris worked quickly, checking her body for other wounds and bandaging what he found. Then he gathered their weapons and secured them before turning to her.

Fenris tried to lift her carefully, ever mindful of the deep wound on her side. Isabela let out a noise of pain and he murmured wordless comforts back to her. With her head cradled wearily on his chest as her blood slowly stained his body, Fenris began to walk away from the muddy battlefield.

He had not thought himself capable of love. Not after Danarius and the torments of his years in slavery. Love was a luxury Fenris had never been able to afford. Yet here, with this wild pirate of a woman who made him laugh for reasons he could not explain, Fenris realised that love was not a luxury after all; it was a choice.

He chose to embrace it.

#14dalovers #14dalovers 2022 #fenbela #fenris #isabela #da2 #kissing in the rain #fanfic #my writing #lmao cant believe i forgot to title this when i first posted it #epic fail

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wordsnwhiskey · 4 years ago

Text

Is It Living If You've Left Your Life Behind?

Pairing: Dave York & GN!Reader

Summary: Thanks to you, Dave escaped the showdown with McCall. You planned to take him to a safehouse on the other side of the country where he could recover and get started on living a new life. In order to do that though, he has to leave his wife, his daughters and his life behind. He can't help but wonder, is it really living if he has to leave his life behind?

Rating: T for Language I guess

A/N: This is my late submission for @autumnleaves1991-blog 's Writer Wednesday. I got into my feels tonight and Dave was calling to me. It's my first time writing for him and this is a different take on Dave than I'd normally go for. A softer/angstier Dave but honestly, given this situation where he survives? I don't see classic Dave shining through, at least not until something kicks his ass into gear. The man is injured and more than a little lost. Also, I'll probably edit this later, it's 03:30 and apparently I have a knack for posting things when I should be asleep.

Masterlist | AO3

There was nothing but the open road ahead of him as he sat in the passenger seat, a permanent grimace affixed to his face. His pain ebbed and flowed but at least that meant he was alive. Alive with nothing but the open road ahead of him and his entire life behind him.

Dave really only had you to thank for that. A life debt for a life debt even if it meant he no longer had his life, not really at least. His girls were well over a thousand miles behind him, everything he’d known and loved, he’d likely never see again. You were the only thing Mac hadn’t counted on and even though Dave had lost religion a long time ago, he thanked whatever god or higher power out there that you had kept your head about you during the showdown.

He had been furious at first that you hadn’t tried to kill McCall, only stalled long enough to get him and yourself out of there under the cover of the storm. His anger had quickly dissipated though, you had made the right call, of course. He still had trouble seeing out of his eye, a concussion from being blown off of his feet and plenty of bruises complemented the odd cut or two Mac had managed to land. Things would have been a lot worse had you not intervened.

You glanced over at Dave, hunched over, curling himself into the passenger window. Dave fucking York. He had really gotten himself in it this time but you couldn’t find it in yourself to blame him. In this industry, shit decisions had to be made all the time and Lady Luck was rarely ever kind. People died, that was the business. What else was the married father of two supposed to do when he was cut loose? Assimilate? That kind of thing wasn’t for people like you or Dave York, not really. McCall was too high up on his high horse to get enough oxygen to his brain and too blinded by his own grief to see it.

Then again, you were definitely biased.

“How’s your pain level?”

You asked, and were met with a withering glare, his newly-crooked, hawkish nose only served to further accentuate the harshness in his eyes.

He hadn’t talked much during the already several day trip. Not that you needed the conversation, but you understood better than anyone he knew who was still alive aside from the man you were fleeing from, what this felt like. You hated how people romanticized it, leaving everything behind and starting over. It never worked that way. Your family and friends lived and died and you couldn’t be part of any of it. And now Dave, Dave had two daughters and a wife but they might as well be poison now. Poison to his mind, torture to think about. Poison to the touch if he ever went to see them again, because surely McCall would be watching them from afar, waiting.

The same thoughts seemed to be on his mind, from the corner of your eye you could see him slump further into the window, clutching a small photograph he had pulled from his wallet. For all that he was, former agent, mercenary, murderer, assassin, he was still a family man, a soft man at heart and going into hiding away from this family had just as much likelihood of killing him as McCall did.

“I’m not going to see them again am I?” Dave murmured as he stared down at the photo, thumb grazing over his daughters’ faces.

You opened your mouth then closed it again, contemplating giving him platitudes or the truth. He chuckled at your reaction, a hollow sound devoid of any humor.

“Spare me the bullshit.”

Your grip on the steering wheel tightened and you let out a sigh.

“I don’t know Dave. If McCall winds up dead then yeah, that’s an option. I haven’t been back to see my family but I don’t have the same… things anchoring me somewhere or drawing me back.”

Silently, he turned to resume watching the passing orange and brown landscape fly by.

It had been about another two hours since he last spoke and he had been so still and quiet, you thought he might have fallen asleep.

“Why’d you do it? Why are you doing this?”

His voice is gruffer, made thicker from the knot of emotion in his throat. It startles you out of your own reverie.

“Do what?”

“Why did you bother saving me? You could have made it out of there and been in another country by now. Fuck, you could have dumped me at a hospital anywhere along this godforsaken road and still be in another country by now.”

You frowned, somehow you had hoped his relative silence meant you would be able to get through this journey without delving into any sort of feelings.

“It crossed my mind, on both counts.”

He raised an eyebrow, not so much in surprise that you had thought about it, more so that you hadn’t gone through with it.

“I didn’t have any part in Susan’s death so McCall would have stopped hunting me eventually.”

You spared him a glance, he was staring at you intently, analyzing.

“Is this the part where you tell me you love me?”

You scoffed and looked at him incredulously then shook your head.

“No, it’s even more pathetic than that, Dave. You’re probably the closest thing to a friend I have and we’ve tried to kill each other before.”

That got a small laugh out of him, because really, what was more ridiculous in their line of work than friends?

Probably having a family. Dave grimaced as the thought echoed in his mind.

“We were the best at what we did.”

He said, with an air of nostalgia and you nodded in agreement.

“And the worst, somehow even with us each taking on contracts for the other, here we are, still living.”

The small smile faded from your lips at his silence and lack of a response. Your gaze fell on him again as he shrugged his mouth and sighed.

“Are we? Is it living if I’m leaving my life behind?”

This was not the Dave York you knew. Occasionally, you had seen the wry humor, and suave exterior give way to the side of him that accepted “New Hamster” as an answer instead of “New Hampshire” but not even that remained. The Dave next to you had all of those layers peeled back. He was raw and unsure.

You didn’t answer him for a few minutes, honestly there wasn’t much of anything you could say that wasn’t a load of shit. You were both too practical for pep talks. Moreover, it wasn’t a question you had even stopped to ask yourself. The answer and the journey to that answer was a dangerous one.

“I- …. It’s the best option you’ve got right now, Dave. It’s a pretty fucked situation, my advice? Take it one hour a time and if you can manage that, take it one day at a time.”

“An hour?” Dave shook his head and rubbed his stubbled chin with his hand. “All I’ve seen for hours is dirt and sand. While Mac is probably watching Carol and the girls like a fucking hawk.”

You pursed your lips, and eyed the upcoming sign detailing the available lodging and food at the upcoming exit.

“Well you’ll have the inside of our next motel room to stare at in another hour.”

Dave slipped back into silence and you simultaneously welcomed and detested it. Things were simpler without him getting all philosophical on you and contemplating what made living actually living. It hardly mattered though because he had already gone and planted that damned seed inside your brain.

You pulled up to a not entirely shitty motel and paid for the night before going back for Dave who was waiting in the car. The room wasn’t terrible and after a thorough check, you could at least confirm there weren’t any critters who would be keeping you company. At least there were two beds.

After a dinner of pizza from the diner down the road you had taken Dave on a detour to the gas station to get a burner phone. In your haste to put as much distance as possible between you and McCall, you hadn’t bothered to get him one earlier. Once that was finished you both headed back to your room to unwind.

Dave sat in one of the rickety chairs at the small table that seemed to be actively trying to shed it’s veneer layer. With a sigh, he went to work stripping and reassembling his pistol. It was calming, relaxing for him. All of the pieces had a purpose, an order, to be pulled apart then reassembled, very much unlike his life right now. Nothing had purpose or order and everything had been pulled apart, leaving him broken shards to piece back together.

Hours passed and by the look of him, you figured Dave’s fingers might have gone numb from the repetitive movements and his eyes were drooping, well his good eye was drooping more than normal since the one McCall had nearly managed to gouge was still a little worse for wear.

“Dave, get some sleep. You’re no good to me or yourself if you’re half asleep.”

You know he’s been fighting sleep for a while now, he does every night just like he fights the pain you’re sure he’s feeling but refuses to take anything for. For the first time since you two set off, you’re not annoyed by it. He’ll sleep soundly at least once he let’s exhaustion take him. All the better for what you have planned.

It wasn’t until 01:00 that Dave was finally asleep soundly enough that you felt you could get up without waking him. Quietly, you made for the table, using the flimsy pad of paper and pen there to write a note before you walked out the door and shut it behind you. Thankfully, the city you had stopped in was populated enough that rideshare services were available and in less time than you had figured, you were on your way to the airport.

Dave woke up and immediately knew something was off. It was too quiet and there was too much sun trying to peek through the curtains for it to be the usual time you both headed out for the day. He sat up quickly and grabbed his pistol, then looked around the room for any signs of danger until his eyes fell upon the pad of paper on the table. A sharp pain arched through his skull when he stood up, a remnant of his concussion. He took the note in hand and began to read:

Dave,

I figure, if I’m lucky, I’ve got 4 hours on you. If I’m really lucky, I’ve got 6. Anything more than that and I’m disappointed in you, Dave.

He looked up from the note at the digital clock on the nightstand, it read 07:30. A wry grin threatens to take shape on his lips. You’d be disappointed.

I’m not going to make this some sort of sappy letter. I don’t have time for that shit. You were right. It isn’t really living if you’ve left your life behind. Out of the two of us, you’re the only one who really has one to miss. The only way you get to go back to Carol, Molly and Alice is if McCall is out of the picture, so I’m going to give it a shot. I left you enough cash to pay the room through the week and then some. If you don’t hear from me after a week, call the number at the bottom of this note and tell him you’re cashing in a favor for me. He’ll help you out. Might even know someone else who can help with your family. I left you the car, keys are on my bed.

Good Luck.

Dave’s throat went dry and then he saw at least four shades of red before he finally calmed down to assess the situation. Then all at once, it was like ice had been poured in his veins and things began to shift into focus.

What the fuck was he doing?

This entire time he had been wallowing, perhaps well earned, but he should have been planning. He had let his grief for the loss of Susan, the storm of emotions he felt seeing Mac still alive and a simple job that had spun drastically out of control, completely cloud his judgement. He was just as well trained as Mac, but he had let his anger and emotions get the best of him on that watchtower, he couldn’t let that happen again.

Dave moved quickly and methodically as he collected everything he needed from the room and headed out to the car. He really shouldn’t drive with his eye being what it was but he only needed to get to the airport and he could make it that far at least.

He couldn’t let Mac kill you, like Ari, Reznik, and Kovac. Family.

Like hell if he was going to let the closest person he had to a friend get killed.

If anyone was going to kill you, it’d be him, just for you trying to pull off something as stupid as this.

He knew this was the best move though, Mac wouldn't be expecting an attack this soon this time, the attack wouldn't be in the middle of gale force winds on Mac's home turf. You... and he would have the upper hand this time.

Dave got through the airport with relative ease thanks to him having TSA pre-check, no one bothered to ask him about his eye which he did his best to hide with a baseball cap.

He sat down and waited for his flight to be called. Mentally, he began going through the disassembly and reassembly of the rifle he had with him at the watchtower to help focus himself and pass the time.

The PA system broke his concentration and alerted him that it was time to board. Dave was tense when he finally got to his seat and sat down. His jaw was set in concentration as he started to come up with a new battleplan and weighing his options. Yes, he was injured but he'd been through worse on missions and come out on top.

At least one person was going to die by the end of the week and he'd be damned if you and him weren't the last ones standing.

Thanks for reading, tagging a few people interested/who might be interested:

@wheresarizona @pascalsimp @beesting77 @boxdyeblonde @lackofhonor @kaybrownies @agentwhiskeypussyindulgence @elegantduckturtle @janebby @faithkeeper-81 @doin-stuff @danniburgh @pascalslittlebrat @mothandpidgeon @mouthymandalorianalso @phoenixhalliwell @kesskirata @starlightmornings @wyn-dixie

#Writer Wednesday #Dave York #Dave York x Reader #Dave York Pit #Dave York x you #my fics

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purrgara · 3 years ago

Note

for that fic trope mashup: bathtub fic and secret relationship for shyan 👀

- bigboybergara

This got angstier and longer than I had originally planned so uh--oops. Enjoy? |D

More Than Anything

Relationship: Shyan, Mentioned Standrew Tags: Insecure Ryan, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, secret relationship Tropes: Bathtub fic, Secret relationship

There was something intimate about it all. Intimate in a way that they hadn��t been all week. It was something about being close to each other while the cameras were still rolling. Something he couldn’t quite place. Something that made his tongue feel too big for his mouth and his palms sweaty. “I can’t believe the jets don’t work. We’re literally just taking a bath together.”

Ryan was laughing it off, desperately trying to defuse the tension building between them. The tension suffocates Shane with each second that ticks by. But the cameras weren’t filming now and Shane couldn’t bring himself to laugh back. Couldn’t bring himself to look it in the eye for fear of what he might see. “Yeah. Weird right?” No. That was wrong. They’d bathed together before.

Wrong wrong wrong but he couldn’t make the right words. He didn’t know what to say. So he pulled himself up and stepped out of the lukewarm water. He could feel Ryan’s eyes on his back. Knew there was a question in the down turn of his mouth. It was too intimate. Too close. The cameras weren’t rolling, but they had been.

—

“Why does it bother you so much?” Shane wanted to pretend he hadn’t heard the soft question, but he knew Ryan would be able to tell he wasn’t asleep yet. Instead he made a soft noncommittal sound. It didn’t bother him. It really didn’t. “Shane.”

Another long pause then Ryan sighed and rolled over so his back was pressed against Shane’s. The heat of it a scorching line through his shirt. “Goodnight, big guy…” he wanted to pretend he didn’t hear the hesitation in his voice. Pretend he couldn’t hear the hurt just under the surface, but he could. And he did and it felt like something in his chest shriveled up and died.

“Night, Ry.” He clenched his eyes shut at the pain behind his sternum. He was fucking this all up, he knew it. Could practically taste it in the air between them. Why does it bother you so much? Because—because because because.

Because when the cameras were filming they weren’t Shane and Ryan anymore. They were ‘Shane and Ryan’. They were skeptic and believer. They were best friends. Ghoul boys. When they were filming they had a reputation to uphold. They had the integrity of the show to think about.

When they weren’t filming they just— they weren’t. When they weren’t filming they were allowed to be themselves. He was allowed to be Shane, and Ryan was allowed to be Ryan. And they weren’t expected to keep up that carefully constructed dynamic. They were allowed to be Shane and Ryan and be ‘Shane and Ryan’ and they just—no one else needed to know they were.

“I—love you?” His heart cracked open because it sounded like a question and Shane hated it. Hated that he’d made Ryan question it, question them, at all. He felt sick as he carefully rolled over, the warmth of Ryan’s back slipping away. Shane saw his shoulders tense and it struck him again that Ryan didn’t know. He couldn’t know because Shane didn’t tell him. Couldn’t tell him.

He slipped an arm over his waist and pulled Ryan closer. Buried his nose in barely damp hair and held on tight. The static cam blinked innocently at the end of the bed and there’d be so much footage they wouldn’t be able to use but Shane pushed that to the back burner. He pushed away the anxiety of editing but he just didn’t care. Because he couldn’t let Ryan think he didn’t love him. Couldn’t let him think that was what Shane’s hang up was. “Love you more than anything.” It was muttered into Ryan’s hair, pressed into his skin like a benediction.

God he hoped Ryan understood.

Why does it bother you so much?

Because no one else deserves to see what you mean to me.

—

“Did you see the Instagram post Steven made?” There was a carefully constructed wall around Ryan’s question. One that sent up red flags immediately in Shane’s head. Beside him Ryan kept scrolling through Twitter, head pillowed against Shane’s arm, but he was too nonchalant. His eyes were too focused, in the way you knew they weren’t really looking at the phone screen.

“The one about him and Andrew? I did.” He cleared his throat and rubbed a hand over his nose. “I’m happy for them.” Ryan made a soft ‘hmm’ noise in the back of his throat as Shane set his own phone down. Every fiber in his body was screaming ‘ABORT ABORT ABORT’ but his mouth was, once again, out to completely ruin him. “Better him than me.”

Ryan stiffened against him before he roughly jerked away. “What’s that supposed to mean?” There was a bite to his tone mirrored in his eyes. Shane wished he had the right words but everything kept coming out wrong.

“I just mean that Steven’s more suited for it.” The alarms were blaring.

“It.” Oh. Oh no. No no no he wanted to back track. Wanted to explain himself better but he couldn’t get the words out before Ryan was pulling away. Rising to his feet with his hands clenched at his sides. “Well sorry you’re not suited for it.” He snapped, turning on his heel and storming toward the hotel bathroom.

The door slammed shut before Shane could even get off the couch. Shit. Shit shit shi— “That isn’t what I meant!” But the door stayed shut and the sound of the shower running drained out his words.

—

“Ry?” Shane asked tentatively almost an hour later as he stood outside the bathroom door. “I just meant the spotlight suited them better. Ryan, please open the door.” For the longest time there was no sound other than the shower water running, then a soft, barely there hiccup.

Shane’s stomach fell to his feet. Oh. It didn’t take much to scare Ryan, not really, but to make him cry? “Fuck.” It was breathed out as he pressed his forehead to the door. Trying the knob it gave with a light click. “Baby? I’m coming in alright?” He hesitated long enough for Ryan to protest if needed. When none came Shane slowly opened the door and sighed at the sight before him.

The shower curtain was wide open, Ryan sitting in the tub with his back under the spray. His knees were drawn up to his chest with his chin hooked over top. They let the silence stretch on longer as Shane came over, hesitating only briefly before climbing into the tub to sit opposite Ryan.

Drawing his own legs up, Shane wrapped his arms around them and muttered softly, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t talking about our relationship Ry.” A small understanding nod and a small hitched breath was the only reply for a few minutes.

“Why does it bother you if people know?” Ryan asked on a sharp intake of breath. His voice broke on the last word and Shane felt sick with the sound. “About this? Us?” A puffed out humorless laugh and then, “Are you ashamed of me?”

“What? No! That’s not—no!” Dread gripped at his lungs and he couldn’t breathe. “I’m not ashamed of you, or us, or anything like that! I just—I meant that I couldn’t… I couldn’t do it. Not like Steven or Andrew can.” This wasn’t how he wanted to approach the subject. It wasn’t how he wanted to admit it and the nausea was almost unbearable.

Dark eyes looked up though clumped lashes and Ryan’s arms slipped tighter around his legs. He looked like a child. The thought struck him like a blow to the chest and Shane could only reach out and trace his knuckles along Ryan’s cheek. “I can’t share you.” It came spilling out like an over filled pot left to boil. Too hot, too much to be contained.

Ryan leaned into the touch with a sigh. “So instead you want to keep our relationship a secret.”

“I don’t want to share you with the world, Ry. No one else needs to know what we have. Andrew and Steven can keep that spotlight. They live for that spotlight. I—don’t. All I need is you, Ryan. All I want is you.” He couldn’t stop the words once they started, couldn’t pull back and rethink. Because if he did that, they wouldn’t be said. And Ryan… Ryan deserved to know. To understand. “I’m not trying to keep us a secret. I just don’t want to post it on fuckin Instagram for the world to scrutinize.”

His hand trailed down and back to wrap around the back of Ryan’s neck. “People, fans, they already suspect something’s between us and you know how they are. If we were to make some big deal about coming out or whatever—“ A harsh breath and a shake of his head, “It’ll be like throwing a meatball to starving wolves. I want to be able to enjoy what we have. I’ve seen couples fall apart after going public and I don’t—I don’t want to resent you, Ry.”

Ryan moved one hand to grip the outside of Shane’s knee as he exhaled slowly. “I don’t want to share you like that, but if that’s what you want,” Ryan looked up sharply, eyes frantically searching Shane’s neutral expression. “I’ll do it. I’ll do anything for you, you know that.” He could feel the tightening in his chest loosen at the admittance. Could feel his fears swirling down the drain as Ryan’s insecurity cracked away.

“I wasn’t meaning to hide you away as some dirty secret. I just wanted to enjoy being with you like a normal person.”

“I don’t need the world to know, Shane.” It was whispered into the small space between their folded knees. “I just want you to stop pulling away from me like you’ve been burned every time we touch on camera. I’m tired of thinking you don’t care about me.” His fingers tightened on the uncomfortably wet fabric of Shane’s pajama pants. “We don’t have to explicitly say anything but I don’t want you pretending we’re less than what we actually are.”

His hand fell away as Shane’s hand tightened around the nape of his neck. “I don’t need to do some public announcement or some grand gesture, I just need you, my boyfriend, beside me.”

Shane nodded numbly as he leaned forward to press his forehead to Ryan’s. “Yeah… yeah okay. I think I can do that.” It was breathed against his lips as Ryan’s curled into a gentle smile.

“I know you can, big guy.” He pressed their lips together before pulling away with a mischievous smile, “You know what else I need?”

“Hmm?”

“To get out from under this water. I’m freezing and pruney.” Shane wheezed out a low laugh and shook his head before pushing himself up to reach behind Ryan’s head and turn the water off. Stepping out of the tub he smiled warmly down at Ryan.

“I’ll get you a towel.” Ryan smiled up at him, open and honest and something warm and gooey melted in his heart. He turned to go back into the hotel room for dry clothes and the fluffy towel in the closet when Ryan’s low voice called back to him,

“Hey, Shane?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want to share you, either.” He could hear it clear as a bell. Tucked neatly behind his own words. I love you too. It warmed him from the top of his head down to his own pruney, sopping toes.

The world didn’t need to know what they meant to each other. As long as Ryan knew, and Shane knew, that was all that mattered.

#my writing #shyan #fanfiction tropes #bigboybergara #I really honestly didn't mean for it to get so--#angsty #mentioned standrew #because of who I am as a person right now #I couldn't help myself #Sorry bout that

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cheesy09 · 4 years ago

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Did I Find You? Kiro x MC Fanfic

This is my own variation on the events that take place in Chapter 19 of Kiro’s route. Or more like... my fantasies T_T. Although I didn’t intend to, it came out a lot angstier than I expected so be prepared. Also, this is my first time writing fanfiction so I’m sorry if the characters end up being a little OOC. Don’t be shy to send your feedback. It would really help improve my writing.

Spoilers for Chapter 19 of the game and Kiro’s Stardust Date. If you haven’t read these two things yet than you probably won’t understand whats going on here.

Tagging all my lovely Kiro/Helios lovers out there @kudoriee, @thatfanfictionchick, @truth-be-told-im-lying and @pickle-scribbles whose stories inspired me to start writing fanfiction. Thank you, you guys, for being so amazing! Even if I could never dream about writing smut.

Anyway, without further ado, Enjoy!

───※ ·❆· ※─── ───※ ·❆· ※───

“Kiro!” I shouted, bursting through the door that opened onto the roof top.

He turned, a trace of shock flashing through his clear, pure eyes, but fading just as fast.

“Miss Chips, what are you doing here--woah!”

I didn’t give him a chance to finish, grabbing his hand and dragging him back inside, my heart racing with urgency. Images from my dream flashed through my mind. The endless white, the mist, and me-- groping around like a blind man seeking desperately for his long-lost light. If I hadn’t had that dream, would I have been able to find him? I shivered involuntarily at the thought. His palm that was usually so warm, was now a stone cold, which only caused my anxiety to rise. I tightened my grip on his long, slender fingers as I continued pulling him along to the elevator.

“O-ouch, Miss Chips! You’re hurting me!” Kiro winced slightly, but that didn’t make me loosen my grip. I was much too afraid to find out what would happen if I did.

Afraid that… if I loosened them, even a bit, he would slip right through my fingers and I’d lose him forever.

“Miss Chips, where are we going?” His irresistible voice sounded in my ear, finally making me turn to look at him. His perfect eyebrows were scrunched together in confusion, forming worried lines on his glistening brow. His gorgeous, deep blue eyes that I’d constantly find myself drowning in, reflected an unusual sense of melancholy for some reason. But I couldn’t bring myself to feel sorry for him this time.

“Home.” My voice sounded a lot harsher than I’d meant it to. In all the time that I had been with him, I’d rarely ever gotten mad at Kiro. He was the warmth and light of my life. The boy whose charming, unreserved laughter could light up a whole room. Whose smile was like a beacon in the dark. Sure, there were times where I’d find myself getting annoyed when he’d take his teasing a little too far, but Kiro never got me riled up enough for me to lash out at him.

Yet this time, the stunt he’d pulled managed to push my buttons to the max. Anger boiled in me like hot magma threatening to burst out. Savin’s anxious tone and the cold, electronic voice that had rung through my ears when I had dialed Kiro’s number this morning had thrown me into a panic like I’d never felt before. It had felt like I was on the verge of losing my mind. “How could you just run off on your own like that? Savin and everyone else have been look for you, you know?!”

The elevator doors opened and I stepped inside, pulling him along, my hand still clutching his own as if my very life depended on it. The elevator doors shut behind us.

I thought I wouldn’t get a reply, but after a few seconds his voice drifted through the air, carrying with it a grim heaviness I’d never heard from him before.

“I’ll explain things to Savin and the others later,” he said. “But before I do… can I ask you something?” Kiro didn’t wait for my answer and instead just tugged on my arm to make me face him. His seraphic face entered my vision, and all of my previous anger was instantly blown out of my system.

“…If I wasn’t Kiro the superstar anymore, would you still like me, Miss Chips? Would you still… think of me?”

My whole body froze as his words sunk in. This had been a question that he’d asked me countless of times… and every time, my answer was the same.

In a burst of annoyance, I brought my middle finger to his forehead and flicked it.

Kiro let out a cry of pain as he took a step back from me and rubbed the spot between his eyebrows. The wide-eyed shock and confusion with which he looked at me actually made me feel a little better about myself. Then, I caught his slightly red cheeks between my palms and brought him down to face me, pressing my forehead against his own like the way he’d do to me, those countless times in the past.

“I told you, it doesn’t matter who you are and what kind of life you have, you will always be ‘Kiro’ to me and I will always think of you,” I said firmly, hoping to brand my words and my feelings into his mind and heart.

“You...”

I don’t know what came over me. Maybe it was the way his breath caught in his throat, or the way a spark of doubt flashed through his shimmering, azure eyes, but in a bold moment of impulsiveness, I lifted myself onto my tiptoes and pressed my lips against his own.

Kiro’s entire body went rigid as a tiny gasp escaped his lips, as if his mind couldn’t process what was happening at that very moment. But after a few seconds, I felt his body cave, his hands grabbing my hips and pinning me against the wall, pressing his whole body against me. One of my hands found purchase on the back of his neck while the other held on to the scarf wrapped around his neck, tugging him closer and closer, like I was trying to brand his body with my own.

His lips were as soft as I remembered them, but there was no tenderness or gentleness to this kiss. It was ravenous, desperate and stripped me of my ability to think straight. Our mouths moved against each other with an urgent need, like a dance of our own, in sync and in heat, drinking each other in.

When I felt the familiar warmth of his tongue brush against my own, I was taken back to that night of the concert, when he’d kissed me just like this and asked me to come look for him, if he ever got lost. At that time, I never really understood what he meant when he said ‘come look for me,’ but now I think I do.

Did I find you, Kiro? Was I able to bring you back?

As our lips continued to move against each other, Kiro brought up his right hand to brush against my flushed ears and I let out a soft moan into his mouth.

That seemed to bring him back to reality.

All of sudden, Kiro broke away from the kiss, his harsh, heated breaths mixing with my own. Our foreheads were still pressed together, noses brushing and chests heaving against each other. “Now do you understand?” I whispered, ghosting my lips over his, making him shiver. “No matter who you are, I will always like you.”

Kiro let out a light chuckle as he buried his face in my shoulders, his fluffy blonde hair tickling my neck. He didn’t say anything and neither did I. We were content on just holding each other, and perceiving each other’s existence through our shared body heat. But after a few minutes, Kiro’s soft voice cut through the silence.

“I’m sorry.”

It was like a bucket of ice-cold water had been poured on me. Images flashed through my mind as I was overcome with a sense of déjà vu. I seemed to remember silver hair, a pair of gold eyes, these same familiar arms, this same broken voice, the same feelings of anguish and despair and the same sensation of tears running down my face.

Before I even had time to react, Kiro grabbed me by shoulders and pushed me back, staring at me with a determined look on his face.

Only this time, his eyes were a blazing gold.

“I command you—”

When the elevator had finally reached the bottom, there was only one person who stepped out, while the other remained behind, the doors sliding shut on the vision of his bitter smile.

I walked out of the building in a daze, the commotion of the traffic loud in my ears. Static seemed to blanket the other parts of my memory, only one thing coming through clearly.

I hailed a taxi and told the driver the only thing that was on my mind.

“Driver, I want to go home.”

───※ ·❆· ※─── ───※ ·❆· ※───

Thank you so much for reading. If you’re interested in checking out my other works, you’ll find them in my Masterlist

#mlqc #mlqc fanfic #mlqc kiro #mlqc spoilers #mlqc zhou qiluo #hope these are all the tags

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daisukissed · 5 years ago

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【 10 Ways To Say "I Love You" 】

❧ pairings: bakugo katsuki x gn!reader

❧ synopsis: in which bakugo tells you he loves you in 10 different ways

❧ genre: oneshot, fluff, angst

❧ warnings: slight suggestive themes, blood, injuries, character death

❧ word count: 1.2k+ words

❧ a/n: this,,, , went angstier than i intended oof

Number one

He was a tough one to decipher, really.

You wondered about the numerous walls he built up to avoid his classmates, how he never joined in on their talks or how he always went off without any company. He avoided any sort of companionship like a pledge and yet, here he was, walking down the road alongside you.

You called out his name softly, basking yourself in the warm breeze. "Why haven't you pushed me away yet?"

He could've just ignored you. He could've just continued walking and leave you in silence. But maybe it was the way you looked with your skin colored in warm undertones of the sun that made him answer, "I feel comfortable around you."

Number two

You were without a shadow of a doubt the most tired you have been ever since summer break was coming to a close. Books and stationaries were splayed across your table and you were far from done in finishing your homework.

A knock from your door broke through your silent room, forcing you to lift your body up and make way to the mahogany wood.

There stood Bakugo wordlessly, scanning the supply of textbooks laid on your floor and the pleading look in your eyes.

He sighed in annoyance and rubbed his temple, though you know he doesn't mean his actions. "The things I do for you." He grumbled, sitting down on your desk and reading the questions printed on the handout for the second time.

Number three

Droplets of sweat glided down your chiseled face, affixing strands of hair onto your forehead. You breathed heavily, heart beating at an enormous rate as you brought your fist to the punching bag.

You were frustrated, pissed, infuriated and all the negative emotions you felt, you threw it to the punching bag.

"Oi."

You halted your punch, raising an eyebrow at Bakugo who was leaning on the wall towards your left, giving him a slightly annoyed look.

"Let me take care of that." He said in a tone of authority, hoping it didn't come off too soft. He nudged his head towards your bruised knuckles, waiting for you to reply.

You knew that it would be pointless rejecting his offer as his mind is already fixed on treating you, so you lended out your hand.

Number four

"Do you think I'm pretty?"

Bakugo furrowed his eyebrows slightly, a knowing look plastered on his face.

He knew the meaning behind your question and the insecurities hidden within it. You had just gotten yourself a boyfriend, a very bad one at that and he realized all your tired sighs and dull eyes.

He took a glance at you, studying your features slightly, admiring the way your hair flowed along with the soft summer wind and the way your long lashes fluttered as you blink.

You forced yourself a laugh, regretting asking the question.

"Sorry, that was a stupid thing to-"

"You're pretty."

Number five

You held his body as if it was the only thing keeping you sane, breathing in his musky scent as you tried as hard as you can to keep your body from trembling.

"He cheated on me."

Bakugo tightened his grip around you, bringing you closer to his chest as he calmed himself down.

You needed support, not him raging at the fact that someone was dumb enough to take you for granted. And absolutely not him raging at the fact that all this wouldn't have happened if you were with him.

"You deserve better." He muttered, raking his fingers through your smooth locks and slowly lulling you to sleep.

Number six

Cheers and screams overfilled the whole stadium, the surge of adrenaline going through his system was making his heart run miles. He relished in his moment of glory, taking in all the shouts and support surrounding him.

"Katsuki!" You called out his name, running up to him and pulling him into a tight hug. "Congratulations on winning your second sports festival!"

He didn't think it was possible for his heart to beat any faster but it did. Suddenly, all the sounds were muffled to him and it was as if the whole world was closing in to you and him only. Katsuki brought his hands to cup your cheeks, pulling you closer and finally pressed his lips against yours.

"I want to be with you." He declared proudly.

You were dumbfounded, really.

You also wanted to yell at him for kissing you in front of so many people but you figured that could wait as you kissed him back.

Number seven

You were beyond stubborn. Katsuki knew that but to think you were this stubborn infuriated him greatly.

He guided you to your shared bedroom and pushed you into your bed, your body sinking into the soft mattress.

"If you step out of this room one more time, I'll kick you out of the house myself."

You pouted and tilted your head to look upwards, giving him the best puppy eyes you could muster. It would've worked on any other day but definitely not on a day where you have a thirty-nine degree fever and on the verge of passing out.

"But it's my turn to make dinner tonight!" You whined and tried to sit back up, getting pushed by your boyfriend again before doing so.

"I'll handle it so get some rest." He scolded, leaving the room with you already tucked in and a pat on the head.

Number eight

His hands were starting to roam all around you. Your face, your back, your waist, everywhere. Your arms that were slung over his shoulders gradually slid down to his muscular chest, your tongue twisting and turning for dominance.

A soft mewl escaped from your lips as Katsuki slid his hand onto your thigh, causing small shivers to your body.

The hot-headed male moved his lips towards your neck, strands of blonde hair trickling it. You tilted your head slightly, giving Katsuki more access to latch his lips onto your neck.

Katsuki glided his tongue along your skin, biting into your flesh slightly before sucking on it. You let out another small moan, provoking your boyfriend to suck harder.

Admiring at the red marks left on the side of your neck, he brought his lips to your ears, giving it a small lick as he groaned, "I need you, Y/N."

Number nine

It wasn't supposed to be this like this.

You weren't supposed to be patrolling when it was supposed to be your day off, you weren't supposed to be on the site of the accident, and you definitely weren't supposed to be on an ambulance.

Your arms reached out Katsuki's limply to which he replied with a firm grasp, holding your hand as if it was his lifeline.

"Katsu-"

"Save it. Don't waste your breath, we're almost there." He ordered, voice cracking and lips trembling. His eyes looked everywhere except your body, not wanting to see how your face grew paler as time passed by nor how the bandages around your abdomen seemed to turn redder every minute.

"Katsuki."

"Don't."

"I think I-"

"Stop."

"...I'm sorry."

"STOP TALKING AS IF YOU'RE NOT GOING TO MAKE IT!"

His voice boomed out, startling you and the two other caretakers on the ambulance.

Your eyes soften in pity as you gazed at his face, taking in every single details.

You could see the small pool of water threatening to escape his eyes and the way his body was shaking slightly. You wanted to reassure him and tell him that everything's going to be okay, you truly do.

"Don't leave me."

But all you could do was smile weakly.

Number ten

Your once bright eyes were now drooping down slowly, your breaths getting more and more shallow. The tears that Katsuki were trying to hold back streamed down his face, wiping away his defenses.

Your vision started to blur, darkness filling in from the edges of your eye. The pain that you felt slowly faded, replaced by the feeling of numbness all over your body.

"I love you."

You smiled with all the strength you could muster, letting a tear slip as you took your last breath.

#bnha imagines #bnha angst #bnha fluff #bakugo x reader #bnha scenarios #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo angst #bakugo fluff #katsuki x y/n #bakugou imagine #bnha #katsuki bakugō #bakugou katsuki

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hughiecampbelle · 4 years ago

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Gentle Reminders (Thomas Shelby Oneshot)

Character/s: Thomas

Word Count: 1,077

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @writerdream22 @death-of-a-mermaid @lotsoffandomrecs @woahitslucyylu @obsessedunicorn24 @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @captivatedbycillianmurphy @theshelbyclan @creativemayhems @soleil-dor @thegirlwithoutaname87 @fifty-shadesof-tommyshelby @riana-jannat

A/N: I loved the first paragraph, but the rest of it makes me go :/ Today was an emotional day and I just had to write it out. The first week of school is always stressful, on top of everything else. Soon it’ll be routine, but for now it’s an adjustment. This ended up darker/angstier than I anticipated, but we should expect that by now. Hope you like it! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

Summary: The impending fall weather reminds Tommy of you 💕

Gif Credit: @benson-shelby :)

FIC MASTERLIST PART ONE. / PART TWO. / PART THREE.

WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

The open sky hemorrhages. There is no way to cauterize this kind of wound, your kisses falling flat on the wet pavement the same way the leaves do. Slipping effortlessly from the branches, swaying on the way down, taking the kind of trip of a lifetime. Inky reds begin to bleed into the green familiar, yellows and oranges painted too, a warning that the world is still spinning and will continue to do so regardless of how often you really think about it. Grooves and waves move around the softly chewed edges as it finally takes a dip. The air is hot, and wet, and bloated, sweating in its own sense. It touches you with the same disappointment you so often find when you hold yourself. Though it looks and breathes as the cold, nipping day you long for, there is nothing but overdue summer heat and the underwhelming sense of wanting what you could never have.

Beads fall down the glass, patter across the rooftops, seep into the stingy fabrics of coats and hats left raw on the coat rack, the rest let itself inside, taking solace in the warmth it’s grown too used to. Tommy never liked the way you left the windows open. The wind blew papers off his desk into careless piles, soaring across the my room, crumpling, caving. Raindrops kissed the windowsill and floorboards beneath, pooling, waiting for him to find it crying out. Across the edges and spines of books nearby, discarded where the light would have been best. The sky a patchwork of torn cotton, the clouds grey and screaming, ripping at the seams. There’s a clear sky above, somewhere. He used to spend his afternoons looking for it. No leaves to fall. No bugs to swim. Only the agitation of the outside world ruining the in.

Tracking mud up and down the grand staircase, filling in the cracks of the old wooden boards. Your clothes so often soaked and tattered, clutching to your skin, plastered across every nook and cranny of your body. Dripping, a trail he could follow all the way to find you. Discarded in a sopping pile before the tub, a witness to the before time. Candles lit, the warmth of the smoke, the scent, the match lit so violently, eagerly, blackened in ash between the bubbles. Sugar and spice burning bright, warming you from the inside out. Sinking deeper, deeper, until the worries dropped from under you, until it didn’t hurt anymore. It always used to scare him the way you drifted off, forgetting how starved the fire could be, how it would have eaten you alive if you hadn’t kept an eye on it. You wanted to leave them be, let the baby sleep, but he was dreadfully impatient, stirring them before they were ready. Putting them out, waving the ash away. No more sugar, no more spice.

The oven warming, a sweltering, suffocating feeling between the walls of the kitchen. Enveloping him, the way you used to, tugging at his collar to breathe. Dishes made for the cooler weather, for the dead trees and snow piles, for the brown grass and howling winds, roasting across the table. Set for a welcome home, for the nights that lead to burning cheeks and struggling for warmth, the kind you couldn’t wait for anymore. Skin and bone, you’d poke at him, urging him to try everything. It was always the cigarettes, though. Stunting his appetite, coating his tongue in teeth in nothing but nicotine. Scraping his fork across the plate, pushing all the words He never said around. Taking your time, your cooking, your excitement for granted. The pots and pans asleep in the sink. Afterwards you find your sleeves rolled, an ache as old as time spreading through your chest. You thought, by splashing, by soaking, by distracting yourself with all the things that brought you joy, it would stop. The thoughts, the regrets, the abyss wouldn’t gnaw through you.

With the clouds parted, the crying soothed, stars sprinkled across the thick open sky. Shrunken and dry, leaves rustling, celebrating the little things, your smallest accomplishments. The mirrors foggy, bloating your image, smearing you and him into nothing. That’s what you were, after all. Nothing in the infinite. Your finger dragging across the shadows, up and down, two spots in the middle: a smiling face staring back at you. You try to match your own to it. The crickets singing, harmonizing, mocking you through the night when the sheets stick to you, when the realization wasn’t so sudden anymore. You could fool yourself all you wanted. The time of year that pulled you close and never let go was more than a few storms away. Drifting away. A man of distance. Your hands inching closer, too careful, too forgiving. He should have met you halfway, closing the gap between you. He should have seen how hard you were trying, how pained, forced your smiles were, how glossy your eyes grew when it was all becoming too much to hold in. He should have, but he didn’t.

The sky hemorrhages the same way bodies do. There’s no stopping it. A man who thought he was doing everything right never even saw it. Isn’t that funny? Eyes wide, drowning, but he never saw a thing until it was too late. It’s a disease he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. An illness with no cure. Temporary fixes. Denial, drawn smiles, finding solace in the steps that kept you going. Loneliness. It was the ways you reached out that he ignored, that he stepped over, sweeping under the rug, calling it by another name.

He left the windows open, now. Before the first drop, ordering everyone to check every lock, be sure the clean, fall scent moved through the haunted house. He stopped looking for sky, instead stepping in the puddles, splashing, dirtying his pant legs the way he’d always scolded. When the scent of you grew faint, he lit those candles. Huddled in the middle, shoulders slumping, broken, wanting to feel what you did, live what you did in those last moments. He tried to cook what you did, all of it burnt, soggy, raw. Nothing near you could do, what you perfected. Drew faces in the mirror before he went to bed, where he held a pillow in the place of you, where a godless man prayed each night it was all one long, terrible nightmare.

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