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munson-blurbs · 6 months ago

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Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: Having a secret relationship wasn't as easy as you'd hoped it would be, especially when Eddie wasn't keen on keeping it a secret at all. (7.1k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, anxiety, parental conflict, poverty, Reader wears a sun dress, making out, heavy petting, public displays of affection, sexual fantasies, idiots in love, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

A/N: had to include Eddie's favorite fruit in here. Shoutout to @eddiemunsonsmum for writing the best solo Eddie fics out there.

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter twelve: breath of fresh air

May teetered on the edge of June, the steadily climbing temperatures and the pungent odor of garbage signaling the beginning of another New York City summer.

You awoke just after noon, sunlight pouring through the windows. Whispers of a headache nagged in your skull; not quite a hangover, but scarily close to one. Another drink definitely would have put you over.

With a tired grimace, you shoved the covers aside and started your day. A day just like any other, except that you were still reeling from the fact that Eddie kissed you last night. That precious moment of connection was bested only by the sound of your name murmured from his lips onto yours.

The memory put a smile on your face as you dressed in your standard shorts and t-shirt. You wanted to kiss him over and over, to run your fingers through his mess of curls and hold him close, not parting until you both needed a breath.

You could still taste the stain of nicotine when you swiped your tongue over your lips. Could still hear his breathy moan in your ear like a harmony. Could still feel his belt buckle pressed to your skin, the metal cold yet somehow filling you with a blazing heat.

Stripping the linens off of the bed, you lost yourself in thoughts of how it would feel to have Eddie laying beside you, his body pressing yours into the mattress, hands framing your body as he sank deeper into you—

You needed fresh air. Immediately.

You tucked the pale pink sheets under your arm, time-faded from their original rosy hue to a salmon color, and zigzagged to the recently vacated rooms. The change of scenery did nothing to quell the desire stirring within you. Your mind was wrought with images of Eddie trailing his lips down your throat, or his teeth nipping at your collarbone, or his fingers slipping into your underwear—

“Stop it,” you hissed under your breath. The next stop was Eddie’s room, and you’d be damned if he had any inkling of the feelings you were harboring.

His door swung open before you could even knock, halting you in your tracks. “Heard your footsteps down the hall,” he admitted, sheepishness coloring his cheeks pink.

You only nodded as you caught your breath and your heart floated down from your throat into your chest. Thank God he couldn’t read your thoughts. “Got your pants?”

“Right here.” He held them up, balled in his fist. “Lead the way.”

“I can, um,” you searched for your words, still scrambled from your earlier musings. “I can wash them myself.” You were already throwing in the rest of the laundry; a pair of jeans wouldn’t make much of a difference.

Eddie shook his head, curls bouncing from his temples. “Nah, ‘s cool.” He plucked the bundle of linens from you. “Hasn’t been a lot to fix around here lately, so I might as well do some housekeeping.”

You threw him a playful grin as you led him to the laundry room. “No moochers allowed in my motel, y’know.”

The overhead lighting bathed him in a yellowish haze, matching the once-white walls. Maybe that could be his next project.

“Exactly.” Eddie opened up a few cabinets, frowning when he couldn’t find what he’d been searching for. “Detergent?”

You pointed towards the cabinet below the sink. “Over there.”

Eddie saluted and stooped down to tug the economy-sized detergent tub from its spot. You couldn’t stop yourself from staring when his boxers peeked out from beneath the waistband of his jeans. Those damn Calvin Kleins; they would be your kryptonite.

“Heiress?”

Shit. He’d been talking to you, and all you could focus on was his underwear. “Yeah?”

“Do you have that stuff that makes the clothes smell really good?” He scooped out the detergent powder and sprinkled it in the washing machine.

You laughed. “Sorry, no daisy-fresh pants for you.”

The ensuing beat of silence seemed to stretch on for hours. Words bubbled on your tongue, desperate to continue talking to him. To discreetly sneak glances of the veins that intercepted his arm tattoos or of the sparse hair that adorned where his V-neck undershirt left his chest exposed.

“Do anything fun today?” Christ, were you talking to a toddler? Should you offer him a sticker or a lollipop?

But Eddie perked up at the question. “Yeah, actually. I called my uncle for the first time in…” he scrunched up his mouth in contemplation. “Too damn long.”

“How did that go?”

He set the dial to “start,” the washing machine humming to life. “Pretty good.” He hoisted himself on top of the adjacent dryer. “Same old Wayne. The world might change, but he never will.” Eddie’s eyes met yours. “When I started making money, I offered to buy him a house. Get him out of the trailer park and into a safer neighborhood. And he refused.”

Your brows raised. “He did?”

Eddie nodded, chuckling at the memory. “Said that if he left, there wouldn’t be anyone to feed the stray dogs.” He cocked his head, concentrating on your face. “You two would get along well. Similar personalities.”

“Thoughtful?”

“Yes, but to the point of stubbornness.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Eddie cut you off. “Don’t even argue with me, Miss Social Worker by Day, Heiress by Night.” His feet swayed back and forth, tapping against the metal every so often. “And don’t think I didn’t notice the box of crayons that you keep in the desk for kids like Izzy.”

He might have had a point, but if you were going down, you’d go down swinging. “If I recall, one of us chose to sleep at a bus stop instead of accepting my gracious offer.”

“But I took you up on it eventually.”

“Only because I practically forced you,” you argued.

“Exactly.” Eddie grinned. “Thoughtful to the point of stubbornness.”

A stillness filled the small room, and you wondered if he had the same agenda as you: keep the conversation flowing without bringing up the date. Without bringing up the kiss; the one that seared through you and set your bones aflame. That kiss sent you to bed aching for more, mentally mapping out any way you could sneak into his room without your parents noticing.

Eddie broke the silence. “I meant to ask…did you have a good time last night?” He scratched at the nape of his neck, the gesture betraying any air of casualness.

“Yeah.” You smiled, trying to ignore the fluttering in your abdomen. Your skin warmed at the memory of his touch. “I mean, I got to hear you sing, and I reunited our drunk friend with her boyfriend. I don’t see how it could get better than that.”

He laughed at that and ducked his head. “Those were the highlights?” His eyes met yours; that knowing gaze seared through you and sent your nerves humming. “Nothing else?”

“There was…another highlight.” Longing anchored the words deep in your throat, but you forced them up. You let them seep in, placing the ball squarely in his court.

“Yeah?”

Eddie inched back onto the dryer, the shift opening a gap between his legs. A space for you to fill. Your feet carried you as though they had a mind of their own, your body slotting against his.

“Tell me about this other highlight.” One hand reached out to yours and tugged you closer; he laid the other on your cheek. His thumb slowly swiped over your jaw as though he was memorizing its contour.

“Well,” you started, letting your fingers rest on his denim-clad thighs, “I really liked when we kissed.”

Eddie’s eyes lit up when you supplied the answer he’d been hoping for. “That makes two of us.” He let his forefinger trail down to your collarbone, the slight movement saturated with equal parts awe and desire. “I think we should do it again sometime.”

You nodded, your voice barely a whisper as you asked, “when?”

“Right…” He grinned, and before you could double-check that you’d closed the door, his lips crashed into yours. You felt his tongue cautiously prod at the seam, seeking entry, and you allowed it. The scents of cigarettes and spearmint gum accompanied his tongue in a way that was so uniquely him.

Eddie only broke the kiss to bring his lips to your neck. He was gentle at first, peppering delicate kisses down the column of your throat, but he lost all control the moment you tilted your head and gave him clear access to your pulse point.

The hand on your cheek fell to your waist and pulled you close enough to feel Eddie’s heartbeat against your own chest. “This your favorite spot to be kissed?” He murmured into your skin. You felt him smile when you nodded in response. “Where else do you want me to kiss you?”

Was ‘everywhere’ a valid response? A soft sigh loosened itself and escaped you at the feeling of his teeth grazing your flesh. “Just my neck. For now,” you added, “but I like when…when you bite it, too.”

“I can do that.” Eddie’s voice rasped. He bit down again, swiping his tongue over the mark to soothe your bruising skin.

You gripped his t-shirt, resisting every urge to pull it up over his head. It wouldn’t be the first time you saw him bare-chested; that honor had been bestowed upon you the night he arrived. But now you could kiss it, trace the lines of his tattoos with your finger, with your tongue…

You needed it. You needed to memorize him, to learn every square inch of his body.

His shirt hit the ground and your lips immediately found his shoulders. Eddie’s arms snaked around you, keeping you in place as your tongue explored the contoured muscle.

“More,” he pleaded. “Fuck, keep kissing me there.”

Heat blossomed in your core. Your lips traveled, placing some marks of your own just below his collarbone, where they could be easily hidden. His skin was already tinged bluish-purple where you’d sucked and nibbled, proof that you had been there.

Eddie had pushed your own shirt right below your bra when the washing machine rattled, a stark reminder of where you were. Your chest and his rose and fell in syncopated beats. He loosened his grasp, letting your shirt fall back down your torso.

“Christ.” He chuckled, a low growl in his laughter. “I’m gonna need a second. You…Christ, Heiress.”

Your eyes traveled to where he instinctively palmed the bulge straining against his jeans. You wanted to be the one to touch it, to relieve him of his pent-up frustrations. Maybe you’d even get some relief of your own. But your gradually slowing heart rate informed you that the moment had passed.

“I, um…I didn’t just follow you in here to maul you like some horndog.” Eddie hopped off of the washer. He swiped his shirt from the floor and slid it over his head, once again cloaking his tattoos.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Hey.” Eddie bumped his elbow against your arm. His smile was uncharacteristically shy, which only made him more endearing. “My other reason for following you in here was because I wanted to see if you were free sometime this week.”

His hand brushed against yours. You let your fingers intertwine with his, soft and gentle in their touch. Your thumb grazed over one of the paler spots where he must’ve worn a ring. The coloring was beginning to match the rest of his finger as though the memory of the rings was fading away with time.

“Yeah. I mean, I’m around during the day.”

Eddie hooked his free pointer finger through your belt loop. “Cool.” He cocked his head. “Do people really have romantic picnics in Central Park? Or is that just in the movies?”

You laughed, leaning in and lightly kissing his jaw. Everything about him was so tempting. If there was a way to sneak him into your room without either of your parents noticing, you’d do it in a heartbeat.

“They do, but…” You shrugged. “Central Park is super overrated. In my opinion, anyway.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.” Another kiss, right below his ear this time. You could feel his body tense with each lingering touch. “Flushing Meadows is the superior park. Less crowded, shorter travel time, and you don’t have to worry about running into any Upper East Side snobs.”

Eddie tilted your chin so that you felt his lips on yours when he spoke. “Fuck those rich assholes.” The words were muffled and ended with him nipping at your lower lip; the slight pinch of pain from his teeth were sparks that set you alight.

Your hands framed his face as you kissed him, his grasp tight on your lower back. A wanting groan vibrated in his throat when he felt your body against his.

“Heiress.” Your nickname was molasses on his tongue, sweet and slow and syrupy. “Y’gotta let me take you on at least one more date before we do this. I’m tryna be a goddamn gentleman.”

He was right, even if his body seemed to protest. You needed to stop before you caused him physical pain. Needed to stop before you lost all semblance of control. Your first time with Eddie didn’t have to be caviar and champagne—and it likely would not be, given how broke you both were—but the occasion deserved to happen somewhere more private and more comfortable than the motel’s laundry room.

Eddie breathed out consciously, trying to collect himself. “Does Thursday work for you?”

You blinked, batting away the fogginess left behind by his touch. “Thursday would be perfect.”

“Perfect,” Eddie echoed. A cautious, nervous smile curved his lips. He paused for a half-second before leaning in once more and pressing a kiss to your cheek. Its gentleness scorched your skin, flames licking in its wake.

The kiss rooted you to the ground for a second too long, and Eddie was already turning the doorknob before you could listen for any incoming foot traffic.

“Wait, we–”

His eyes widened when the opened door revealed Phyllis heading back to her room. “Didn’t realize laundry was a two person job,” she quipped, revealing a smile of cigarette-stained teeth. “Although…it takes two people to get the sheets dirty…”

“That’s not–we weren’t–” you sputtered helplessly, knowing that there was nothing you could say that would make the situation any better.

“Well, it’s either you two were messing around in there, or he stuck his finger in an electrical socket.” Phyllis gestured to Eddie’s hair, mussed and sticking up from where you’d thread your fingers through it.

Eddie choked out a laugh, red creeping up his neck and coloring his cheeks. Even the tips of his ears turned a delicious shade of pink. “The washer was making a, um, a noise. But it’s fixed now.”

Phyllis’s forehead creased as her brows raised, not believing a word he said. “The noises I heard didn’t sound like machinery. They sounded more like—”

“Phyllis,” you hissed, hoping your embarrassment wasn’t overly palpable.

The older woman took your hint and pivoted towards her room, seemingly satisfied with the buttons she’d already pushed. Though she likely hadn’t done it purposely, her comment about the noises served as a warning: If she heard them, your parents could have, too.

You needed to be more careful. In order for this burgeoning relationship to have a chance at survival, you needed to keep it a secret. Phyllis knew, but her worst offense would be quiet ribbings. Not everyone would remain so tight-lipped.

“Thursday…let’s meet at the bus stop.” There was the chance of someone seeing you together there, but at least it was less suspicious than Eddie knocking on your door.

Confusion rippled across Eddie’s face for a beat before he composed himself. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

Good. A definite few steps down from his earlier declaration of perfect. Your heart sank, joining the lead ball of anxiety currently sitting in your stomach.

He’ll understand, you told yourself. He knew how it felt to have all sorts of external pressure pushing down on him; a weight too great to fight. It would all be fine.

Yet you couldn’t convince yourself that that was the truth, nor could you bring yourself to look back at him as you rushed to the front desk. You were suddenly eager for a chore or two to keep your thoughts at bay.

Amy’s Café was quieter than its usual bustling pace during the semester, and you easily snagged a table for three. It seemed like a blessing at the time, but now…

“Hold on,” Nora said through a bite of croissant. She held up her forefinger, signaling you and Ben to stay quiet until she finished chewing. “So you and Eddie were making out in the laundry room—”

“Don’t forget the part where she took off his shirt,” Ben added.

Nora nodded, brushing crumbs off of her hands. “Basically feeling each other up. And then Phyllis caught you, and he pretended that he was fixing the washing machine?” She laughed incredulously.

Ben put down his mug and shook his head. “It’s a good thing you didn’t get carried away. Imagine conceiving your child in the motel laundry room, ten feet away from your parents at the resident prostitute.”

“Oh, my god.” You buried your face in your hands. “We’ve gone on one date and you’re already talking about me having his baby?”

“People have made babies without going on any dates,” Ben pointed out. Nora just snickered.

“I hate you both.” You glanced between the two of them. It was hard to believe they’d met for the first time today. The way they effortlessly teased you in tandem was impressive for people who were basically strangers. “Can we please change the subject?”

Nora leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Not a chance. In fact,” she looked at Ben and then back to you, “we need to know more. Like, what are you wearing for this second date?”

You shrugged, trying to play it off as nonchalant, though you’d been wondering the same thing. “I dunno. It’s a picnic, so nothing fancy, I guess.”

Your friends found that answer insufficient, both of them rolling their eyes in tandem. Ben took a bite of blueberry muffin and said nothing, but Nora plunged right ahead.

“Why do you always do this?”

“Do what?”

Nora sighed. “You never let yourself enjoy things. You should be happy about this. A hot guy is staying at your motel and can’t keep his hands off of you, and you’re all Mopey Magee about it.”

“I’m not Mopey Magee,” you mumbled, but she was right. Every time excitement began bubbling up, you shoved it back down. Every time your mind wandered, dipping into thoughts about a cozy future spent with Eddie, you yanked yourself back. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be happy; you just needed to stay realistic. Eddie wanted to be a rockstar, always on the go and living on the edge. You wanted to be a social worker, to come home and curl up with a good book. You’d be tucking yourself into bed as Eddie’s night was just beginning, and you’d wake up in the morning just as he was going to sleep.

Not to mention the women, especially Death Echo’s badass drummer. And it didn’t help that she was Eddie’s ex. No matter how far you let your imagination stretch, you would never be her.

“Hey.” Ben rested his hand on yours, his eyes kind and free of judgment. “We just want you to be excited. Eddie seems like a…decent guy.” Clearly, he wasn’t fully convinced after the fiasco of their first meeting, though he’d thawed out a bit since Eddie helped clean the vandalism.

Nora nudged him from her seat. “He’s more than decent. He took a cab all the way to school to bring her paper. He sang a lovey-dovey karaoke song for her. And he had enough respect to not completely maul her in the laundry room.” She looked at you and asked pointedly, “Tell us the truth: would you have fucked him if he didn’t stop you?”

“Nora!” Your entire body flooded with heat. It was all the confirmation Nora needed.

“See? He’s a good guy,” she declared. Case closed. “I bet he wants to, like, decorate the bed with rose petals and all of that corny shit.”

“He’ll probably play his guitar and serenade you.” Ben relented with a smirk. “Naked.”

You stood up, the back of your legs pushing your chair behind you. “Okay, thank you both very much for your insight, but I’m gonna go.”

You refused to admit that you were currently picturing Eddie as Ben had portrayed him. His guitar would rest on his bare thighs, his chest on full display. That beautiful body that drew your lips to each inch of skin, no matter if tattooed or unmarked.

“You know you love us,” Nora trilled.

And you did. They only wanted what was best for you. Yes, you would love to lose yourself in daydreams of Eddie Munson, his strong arms wrapped around you, his tongue hungrily exploring your body. Yes, your stomach fluttered each time he smiled at you, called you beautiful, or took your hand in his. But was that worth lying to your parents about yet another part of your life?

The question branded you with a headache, one that sat right behind your eyes and thudded against your skull with each step back home. You did everything you could to focus on the pain instead of its cause.

By now, you were well-acquainted with Eddie’s schedule, which meant you were able to meet him outside the subway station before he returned to the motel. You’d had a moment of panic that morning just as you drifted off to sleep: your parents would immediately be suspicious if they saw the two of you leaving together, especially in your current outfit. Nora had dropped off a floral sundress, the tag still on it, and quietly proclaimed that Eddie wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off of you in it. It wasn’t until later that you noticed the back of the tag where she’d scrawled ‘happy boning!’ in tiny letters.

There certainly wouldn’t be any boning; not in the middle of the park. That was too far out of your comfortable zone, even if you weren’t trying to hide your relationship.

“I’m hanging out with Nora,” you told Dad before he even looked up from reading the newspaper. “Be back later.”

Your sandals thwacked against the pavement as you hurried out the door, not even pausing to hear if Dad had responded.

You nearly collided with Eddie halfway down the block. He held his guitar case in one hand and a plastic grocery bag in the other. His focused expression shifted to one of excitement when he saw you.

“Didn’t expect to bump into you here.” He lifted the guitar slightly. “Let me just put this back in my room so I’m not lugging it all over Queens.”

Eddie started back towards the motel, pausing when he realized you weren’t following him.

“You comin’?”

You shook your head. Dad might not have noticed you leaving in your new dress, but he would definitely notice you going back and forth with Eddie Munson in tow.

“I’ll wait right here.” You tried peeking into the bag as he walked away, but he tugged it back and out of your sight. “What’s in there?”

His eyes lit up. “Patience is a virtue, dear Heiress,” he drawled. He leaned in to plant a dramatic kiss on your forehead before rushing towards the motel’s front door.

The spot where he’d laid his lips still tingled for a moment after he left. If you could work up the nerve, if your head and your heart could cooperate, you would pull him in for the longest kiss of his life. But doubt creeped in before even he returned. If someone saw you…if Mom or Dad took a look around the door to see where Eddie was going…if a guest got an eyeful and made a comment about it to them…

“Okay, I’m back.” Eddie grinned, grabbing your hand with his empty one. “Your dad tried to pull me into a conversation about the Mets. I had to break the devastating news that I’m not a sports guy.” He laughed and adjusted his hand to better grasp yours.

You barely registered the movement. “Did you tell him where you—we—were going?” If Eddie told Dad about the date…

Eddie shook his head. “Nah, just said I had to run.” His nose wrinkled in confusion. “Why? Are we not supposed to be going to the park or something?”

How could you explain it to him without hurting his feelings? ‘We can’t be seen together’ might be true, but far too harsh. Nor did you want to embroil yourself in another lie. You mulled over your words for a few seconds before speaking.

“I just don’t want them asking a bunch of questions that even we don’t know the answers to.”

That was honest enough, you supposed. This was only your second date; far too early for any serious ‘what are your intentions with my daughter?’ speeches even under normal circumstances. The fact that Mom had explicitly warned you against dating guests would remain omitted for now.

He nodded in agreement, and your chest sagged with relief that he didn’t push the topic further. Instead, you enveloped yourself in the temporary safety that came with holding Eddie’s hand. The way his calloused palm pressed to yours, his grip tight yet without unwarranted possessiveness. Each brush of his thumb stoked the fire steadily building within you.

You once again tried to steal a glimpse of the surprise inside the bag once you found seats on the bus, but Eddie remained steadfast in his decision to keep it out of your view.

“It’s a surprise,” he practically whined, pouting to make you laugh. “C’mon, I’m trying to be romantic on a budget. Cut me a break here.”

“Fine.” But the moment he let his guard down, you swiped at the bag. Eddie was stealthier than you gave him credit for, and he held it shut between his legs. “Eddie!”

Eddie placed his hands on your cheeks, trapping you in place. “Don’t…ruin…the…surprise.” He kissed you between each word, little pecks on the lips that became increasingly more difficult to land as you both smiled. “You really are impossible.”

You begrudgingly relented, resting your head on his shoulder for the remainder of the bus ride. He shifted his stance every so often to purse his lips and kiss your forehead. You let out a contented sigh, the tension in your body fleeing with each gentle touch.

Flushing Meadows Park was relatively quiet when you and Eddie arrive. Kids were still in school until the end of the month, and nine-to-fivers were still at work. Besides you two, there were only an assortment of joggers, a few bird-watching retirees, and some particularly rowdy squirrels

Eddie led you to a shaded spot beneath the branches of an old oak tree. He dug into his bag and pulled out a cloth, spreading it out on the overgrown grass. The fabric and color looked awfully familiar. It was almost as if…

“Is that your bedsheet?”

Eddie grinned sheepishly. “I couldn’t let you sit right on the grass. Besides,” he added, tone heavy with mischief, “it gives us another excuse to do laundry together.”

“We’re lucky we didn’t get caught the first time,” you muttered. But you couldn’t deny how good it felt to be pressed up against him, to feel him stiffen beneath his jeans as his tongue explored your mouth.

He laughed as you both sat down, a melody if you’d ever heard one. He continued unpacking, placing foil-wrapped sandwiches, a small plastic container of pre-cut melon, and a bag of store-brand chocolate chip cookies onto the sheet. The last thing he dug out was two glass bottles of Yoo-Hoo chocolate milk, handing it directly to you. It was still relatively cold, a miracle in the early summer humidity.

“Only the finest cuisine for my date.” He unscrewed the bottle cap and waited for you to do the same. He raised the bottle, clinking it against yours. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” you echoed, taking a swig. You hadn’t had chocolate milk since you were a kid, and it was all at once nostalgic and too sugary, but you couldn’t get enough.

Eddie’s eyes rake over you, pupils fixated on the neckline of your sundress. His tongue darted out to lick up a droplet of milk that was caught in the corner of his mouth. “You look beautiful. You are beautiful,” he amended. One hand found your knee, and he rested it where the dress’s cotton fabric met your skin.

It had been a while since a man had called you beautiful, save for the cat-callers who pressed their luck from where they leaned against buildings and worked at construction sites. The compliment sent warmth surging through you, your head so airy that you hardly register the smile blooming on your face.

How would he react if you just leaned in and kissed him, mouths crashing together in a hunger that would remain forever unsatisfied? What would he do if you straddled his waist and let the hem of your dress cover the fly of his jeans?

You swallowed the thought, tempering the heat that fluttered in your core as you unwrapped one of the sandwiches. The cheese had cooled but was still melted, and a few strips of bacon peeked out from the sides of the roll. Your mouth watered just looking at it.

Eddie tucked into his own identical sandwich, a groan tumbling from his lips as he savored the taste. “I will never understand how those tiny corner stores make the best food. Like, better than all of those fancy-ass restaurants I went to for dinners with execs.”

“Those ‘corner stores’ are called ‘bodegas,’” you corrected through a cheesy mouthful. “If you’re gonna stick around, you’ve gotta start talking like a New Yorker.”

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie raised his brows, one corner of his mouth turning up in a knowing grin. “I gotta start tawk-ing like a New Yawk-er?”

“I don’t sound like that!”

He ignored you, continuing to massacre the stereotypical New York City accent. “Maybe on our next date, we can grab some caw-fee and go for a waw-k around the pah-k.”

“First of all, you pronounced ‘park’ like a Bostonian, which is a cardinal sin around here. Second, there won’t be another date if you keep making fun of me.”

“My apologies, Heiress.” Eddie placed his hand on his chest, and you immediately felt its absence from your leg. “I’ll be sure to more accurately mock you in the future.”

He was insufferable in the most endearing way. You took his hand, smoothing your thumb over his knuckles, and brought it back to where it was. He gave your thigh a small squeeze; not inherently sexual, but made your pulse quicken all the same.

You retrieved your breath from where it had hitched in your throat and opened the plastic container of melon. With delicate fingers as to not touch every piece, you plucked a cantaloupe cube from the pile and took a bite. The juice trickled down your chin; you cupped your hand beneath it to catch the droplets before they stained the bed sheet.

Eddie, meanwhile, kept his gaze plastered to how your lips wrapped around the fruit. His Adam’s apple bobbed slightly and he coughed as though snapping himself out of a daze.

“You okay?”

“Y-Yeah.” He managed a smile and popped a piece of melon in his mouth, chewing if only to keep himself busy until he could concentrate on something besides your parted lips. “Peachy keen.” With another slight twitch of his mouth, let out a cough.

It dawned on you, then, that he was losing control, and that you were the cause. If you indulged him in his desire–desire that you admittedly shared–you’d soon find yourselves pawing at each other on an old bed sheet in the middle of a public park.

You couldn’t, wouldn’t, shouldn’t let desperation get the best of you. You knew better.

Instead, you surveyed your surroundings for any other conversation topic. Grass, blooming flowers, the ants parading towards a puddle of spilled soda.

You took another swig of chocolate milk, hoping it would cool you from the inside out. “Yoo-Hoo was an interesting drink choice.” The words were strangled, forced, too abrupt.

Eddie knew it, too, but he played along. Perhaps more for his sake than yours, but he still loosened a chuckle. “Yeah, I saw them at the cor—bodega, and it reminded me of when I was a kid.” Fiddling with the discarded sandwich wrapper, he continued. “My uncle would buy one on every payday. A Yoo-Hoo for me and a lotto scratcher for himself.”

“Did you get more Yoo-Hoo if he won anything?”

“Nah.” He crumpled the sandwich foil into a ball. “That went towards bills.”

Right. Eddie had told you that he grew up in poverty, sharing a tiny trailer with his uncle. Any extra money wasn’t really extra at all.

You knew the feeling. How many times had you found loose change on the ground or a dropped dollar at the subway token booth and slipped it into the motel’s register?

“How did he feel about you pursuing music?” You were back on the right track, retreating into topics as far away from sex as possible.

Eddie shrugged, his shoulders holding a story that he wasn’t ready to tell. “He wasn’t thrilled. Wanted me to have something steady, something I could count on.” So I didn’t end up bartering to stay in a shitty Queens motel remained unspoken. “But he was the one who bought me my first guitar, so it’s partially his fault.”

There was that smirk, the one that turned your knees into jelly. God, to be on your knees for him, to taste what lay behind that godforsaken zipper–

You scrambled to patch up the cracks that might allow desperation to seep through. “Did you always want to be a musician?”

“Pretty much. I mean, when I was really young, I wanted to be a dinosaur.”

You burst out into laughter, slapping your hand across your mouth to contain it all. Out of all of the things he could have said, ‘I wanted to be a dinosaur’ was nowhere near your list of possibilities. “A…dinosaur?”

“Yup. A triceratops, to be exact.”

“Mhm.” What was going on? How did we get here? You chalked it up to being a blessing in disguise, a definite pivot from your racy thoughts. “Any particular reason?”

Did you want to know?

“The horns seemed cool. And good for impaling.”

You tucked your lips into your mouth and stifled a laugh, trying to keep a serious face. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you.”

“Yeah, I was real bummed when I found out they were already extinct.” He pursed his lips and tilted his head towards you, breaking out into a smile. “So, any updates on social work school?”

You almost shook your head before you remembered. “There’s this event they’re doing where admitted students get to tour the campus, meet each other, talk to advisors...”

“You gonna go?”

“I probably should.” It would be a great opportunity for you to get your bearings and register for classes. “Are you busy next Friday?”

“Next Friday? Let me check my schedule.” Eddie feigned contemplation for a beat, then looked at you with a smile that flipped your stomach. “Free as a bird. Why, does the Heiress need to be accompanied to her Smart People Gathering?”

You stuck out your tongue in mock annoyance. Eddie grabbed it by the tip, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re a brat.”

His eyes bore into yours, holding your gaze even as he let go. He’d set the challenge: You make him beg to tag along, or you back down and admit that you wanted him to join you.

You chose the former.

“I mean, I can take Nora if you’re busy. Or Ben.”

Jealousy flashed across Eddie’s face at your flippant reply. Did you have to add Ben? Probably not. Was it fun to watch Eddie squirm? Absolutely.

“I’ll take you.” He didn’t need to say it; not when his brief scowl already proclaimed that you won.

Grinning, you kissed his cheek triumphantly. “Great.” You wiped at where your lipstick had left a smudge. “But the next time you grab my tongue, I’ll bite you.”

Without missing a beat, he growled, “Maybe I want you to.”

You couldn’t temper your reaction, not with his voice reaching a bass note that signaled that his desire was just as strong as yours. Without warning, you anchored yourself in his lap, legs on either side of his, and let your teeth graze the skin above his collarbone. You bit down just enough to make him utter a tiny yelp.

His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your ass as he pulled you forward, your core now directly atop his. Instinct kicked in and your hips moved of their own accord, your cotton panties dragging over his fly, already wet just from your proximity to him.

Teeth clicked and tongues found one another, the kiss somehow sloppier and more ravenous than the tipsy one you’d shared a few nights earlier. You grabbed hold of his t-shirt, the fabric bunching in your shaking palms as you brought him closer, closer, still never close enough…

Eddie nipped at your lower lip, one palm sliding up to cup your cheek. His touch teetered between a timid ‘you’re mine?’ and a possessive ‘you’re mine,’ opposing sides in a battle to claim and be claimed. His own hips hedged upwards, the friction equal parts tantalizing and torturous.

God, you wanted him. You wanted him to flip you over and pin you down, hands grasping your wrists hard enough to leave a bruise. You wanted to remember that he was there, that he was on you, with you. You wanted to stare at those marks from the privacy of your own room and recount how he’d taken you in public.

And then you heard it–your name. Not ‘Heiress,’ nor did it come from Eddie’s kiss-swollen lips. The voice was feminine and familiar.

You broke the kiss, your blood running ice cold as you swiveled around to see Aunt Tam and Uncle Mo standing before you. Aunt Tam’s brows were raised in a combination of disappointment and disbelief; Uncle Mo’s cheeks were splotched pink in pure embarrassment–a feeling you knew all too well.

You froze, your fingers now tangled in Eddie’s frizzy curls as reality sunk in, squashing down most of the lust connecting you to him. You’d been spotted dry humping Eddie in the middle of the park by your parents’ best friends. People who’d known you since you were born.

Too quickly, you removed yourself from Eddie’s lap and smoothed out the hem of your sundress, as though your aunt and uncle would forget what they’d just witnessed if it wasn’t happening anymore.

This was bad. Worse than bad; this was humiliating. You wanted to beg them not to tell your parents, a child with her hand caught in the cookie jar, but the words clung to your throat. Instead, and much more shamefully, tears ran down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry, we just–we got carried away, we shouldn’t have–I’m so sorry, please don’t say anything to my parents–”

Damn it. Damn it all to hell. Why couldn’t you just keep yourself in control?

Aunt Tam cleared her throat, shaking herself from surprise. “No, I’m sorry for interrupting. I just wasn’t expecting to see, um, that.” The coloring of her cheeks now matched her husband’s as they hurried away, unable to leave fast enough. “Enjoy your picnic. Good to, uh, see you both.”

Everything was suddenly too much. The sun was too bright, the birds were chirping too loudly, the grass beneath the sheet was too sharp.

You scrambled to clean up the remaining food, all of which now looked as appetizing as a pile of mud. You couldn’t even look at Eddie when you spoke. “We should go home.”

“Heiress, it’s fine. Calm down–”

“I can’t calm down!” Too snappy, too harsh, but you no longer had the capacity to care. “My parents will kill me if they find out we were together.”

Confusion knitted Eddie’s brows together. “You’re a grown adult. And it’s not like we were naked and getting arrested for public indecency.”

His lack of understanding only strengthened your frustration. “No, I–it’s just not a good look for me to be fooling around with a guest.”

There was no mistaking the hurt in Eddie’s scoff. “I mean, we’re on a date…and we’re kinda a…a thing, right?” He chewed on his lower lip, and you felt a wall come up, that same barrier he’d erected when you’d all but accused him of vandalizing Eisen’s. “I didn’t realize I was just a guest.”

“Yeah, no–I mean, we are a thing,” you rushed to explain, “and you’re not just a guest to me, but you technically are still a guest.”

“Right.” Eddie stood up and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I get it. Yeah. I just thought…never mind.” He blew out a breath and stooped down to help you clean up.

You forced yourself to speak again, terrified that you’d shatter this already fragile moment. “I’m sorry,” you said, your voice so low that you weren’t sure he’d even hear it.

“S’okay.”

But it wasn’t. You knew it wasn’t okay even when he reached back and laced his fingers with yours. It was no longer an act of affection, but one of needed reassurance. And it didn’t fix the gaping chasm; you weren’t sure how to fix it, or if it could be fixed at all.

It was a Band-Aid on a bullet wound, and time was ticking until it bled out.

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ashotofogdensoldfirewhiskey · 5 months ago

Note

Can you write something hinny that includes the phrase “you are everything to me” or something in that vein of romantic confessionals?

This turned out a big angstier/sadder than you might've hoped, but here it is anyway <3

It wasn’t a very happy birthday, all things considered.

There had been cake - chocolate. Presents - more than usual. Singing - respectably on-key. Guests - so many that they’d spilled out into the yard. All the typical ingredients for an excellent party.

But.

Mum had been crying when she’d frosted the cake.

Ginny had received a new broomstick (Harry), a lovely necklace (her parents), expensive French perfume (Bill and Fleur); a particularly good haul, even for seventeen. And yet, she’d swallowed the lump in her throat when, rather than a customary box of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes products, she’d opened new Quidditch boots. Happy seventeenth, from George, the card had said. Just George.

Their plucky rendition of Happy Birthday sounded hollow without Fred shrieking an off-key upper harmony. Mum had always said he ruined it, all those years of birthdays with seven kids. Now, without it, the song seemed broken beyond repair. But, asking them not to sing it at all had seemed worse, somehow.

Mum and Dad and Bill and Fleur and Charlie and Percy and Audrey and George and Ron and Hermione and Harry and Kingsley and Hagrid and Luna and Neville and Hannah and Andromeda and Teddy and…

No Fred. No Lupin. No Tonks. No Collin. Their absence was glaring. A dementor that sucked all the happiness from the room.

She’d put on a brave face through it all. Eaten the cake even though it tasted like tears, thanked them all for the gifts that had broken her heart, cheekily conducted a song that she’d rather never hear again, tried to breathe around the gaping chasm her brother had left behind.

Not a very happy birthday, at all. But they’re trying to make it one, and perhaps eventually the trying will work.

One has to hope.

For now, the firewhiskey will have to supplement.

Ginny is pleasantly buzzed by the time the non-family guests have gone. Mum is busying herself in the kitchen, trying unsuccessfully to hide a new bout of tears. Her father and brothers - sans George - are all lazing around the den, half heartedly listening to the wireless - Wasps vs. Tornados. George had gone up to bed an hour ago, but Ginny couldn’t blame him. Hermione, Percy, and Fleur are talking about the Beauxbatons exam curriculum, something Ginny wants exactly zero part in.

One person, she notices, is conspicuously absent.

She finds him out on the swing in the garden, looking out over the orchard, a glass of what appears to be firewhiskey in his hand.

She allows herself a moment just to look at him - disheveled hair and handsome face and sharp jaw. She knows, logically, that Harry is safe now, and yet she can’t quite quell the old instinct to drink him in. One last look at him, like she might never get another, like she’ll have to cling onto this one, ration it out to recall when she needs to.

It’s stupid, anyway. The memory of him had never been even close to the real thing, but in that long year apart she’d never stopped trying to remember the exact shape of his eyes, the way he had a dimple in his left cheek when he smirked at her, the way his hands were solid and sure and so good at making her feel things she’d never–

“Gin?”

He notices her standing there, and offers her a half-smile through the darkness. She can just make out the glint of his eyes behind his specs.

“Thought you’d left,” she says, aiming for teasing but ending up somewhere just shy of it. “Alright if I join you out here?”

“Of course,” he says, as though offended she’d even asked. “Plenty of room.”

There is, but she snuggles up next to him anyway, her added weight causing them to sway gently on the swing. He drops an arm over her shoulder, and a kiss to her temple, and pulls her up against him. The vague thrum of anxiety that had plagued her all day seems to quiet under the warm weight of his touch.

“Happy birthday,” Harry says. He’d said it earlier, with everyone, but she likes hearing it again, just for her.

Ginny hums. “Yeah, I suppose. Mum’s crying again, and George went up to bed ages ago. Dead grim in there. Dunno why Mum insisted we do this whole party when it’s made her so bloody miserable, I’d have been alright with a normal dinner.”

“It’s your seventeenth, though,” Harry points out. “Suppose she wanted it to be special. It should be special.”

“Well, we put on a good show of it, anyway,” Ginny says, reaching over and snatching the glass of firewhisky from Harry’s grip and stealing a gulp. She relishes the burn of it.

Harry lets out a small breath of a laugh, pinches at her side for her thievery, but he lets her do it anyway. He tugs the glass back out of her grip once she’s finished and takes another gulp himself.

“It’s what we’ve got to do though, isn’t it?” Harry says suddenly. “Pretend it’s alright until it is.”

“Doesn’t seem like it’ll ever be alright, really,” Ginny says cynically, snuggling deeper into Harry’s embrace. “Or at least, it’ll never be the way it was.”

“No,” Harry agrees, and he sounds more serious than she wants him to.

God, what is wrong with her? She used to be better at this: lightening the mood with a joke or some good banter, fighting off the gloom. She doesn’t want to sit out here on her seventeenth birthday with her boyfriend and talk about death.

After a minute, she can sense Harry is searching for words. She leans back so that she can look up at his face, and finds he’s staring straight ahead, chewing on something. He seems to be on the precipice of speech, but then he takes another gulp of his drink.

“What is it?” Ginny breathes.

“Nothing,” Harry says quickly. “It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not,” Ginny says firmly. She can’t imagine ever finding anything he has to tell her stupid.

He looks down to meet her eye, and god. He makes her feel too much, like her heart is overbrimming and spilling out over her bones.

“I just…” he struggles. He seems to find his words. “I was just thinking that I’m really glad I chose to live so that I could be here at your shite birthday party.”

“Oh, thanks,” Ginny snorts before the entirety of his words strike her. “I really appreciate–” She cuts herself off and sits up straight. “Hang on. What do you mean, ‘chose to live’?”

Harry averts his eye and takes another sip of firewhiskey.

The question hangs in the evening air, and as the silence swells, Ginny realizes she isn’t sure that she wants to hear the answer.

They’d spent weeks, filling each other in about the last year in dribs and drabs. She doesn’t yet have the full picture of all he’d been through, of all that had happened, but she doesn’t begrudge him. There are sore spots in her own past she’d rather not press – not yet, not just now – things she hasn’t been able to find the words to say to him yet.

She reckons the same is true for him, too. She’d never wanted to press him, but it had not escaped her notice there is a gaping hole in her understanding of what had transpired in May: Harry, dead in Hagrid’s arms.

He’d gone into the forest to die, and he’d come out alive. That’s all she knows, and frankly it’s all she’d mustered up the courage to ask. There seem to be too many painful doors to open down that particular avenue, things like why didn’t you say goodbye and did you know you’d come back and were you scared and I thought you were dead and I felt like I was too.

They hadn’t touched it, and yet Harry seemed to be offering it to her, now.

“What do you mean?” she says more softly, more bravely. “You chose to live?”

And so he tells her. Slowly, and stilted, but his hand is warm in hers. Snape’s memories. Learning that he had to die. The long walk into the forest. Finding Voldemort.

“...I closed my eyes and I thought of you,” Harry says, like it’s just some part of the story, like he’s not breaking her heart and stitching it back together in one with these words. “So that you’d be the last thing I saw, and then he did it. Avada Kedavra. And I was gone.”

He presses a hand to his chest, and Ginny can picture the green light striking him there. She can’t fathom any of it, how difficult it must’ve been for him to walk to his own execution, how scared he must have been, how he could possibly still be sitting, living and breathing, beside her now. She grips his hand so tightly that it’s a wonder he has any feeling in it at all.

Harry shifts uncomfortably, and his words are awkward now. “I still don’t know if any of it was real, or if it was just something I imagined while I was… wherever I was. But I… I spoke with Dumbledore. Or… I imagined I did, I dunno. About a lot of things, but mainly that I could choose to go, you know, on. Or I could go back and live again, if I wanted.”

He explains of the protection his mother’s love had left him with, that had tethered him to life despite the Killing Curse to his chest.

Harry’s grip on her hand tightens, and he turns to meet her eyes fully for the first time since he began speaking. He wipes his other hand wearily over his face, and sighs. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit drunk. This is… it’s your birthday. I didn’t mean to–”

“Harry,” Ginny interrupts gently. “Go on.”

Harry inhales, bracing himself against the memory. “I knew if I chose to come back, I’d be coming back to the war, and Voldemort, and everyone I loved dying. And for a minute the thought of just… leaving it all behind, being at peace with my parents, and Sirius, and Lupin…”

Ginny can imagine how strong of a pull that must’ve been. She grips him harder, as though he’s facing the choice again at this moment and she might be able to tether him to her with her fingers.

“But then I thought of you, and the life I wanted – I want, with you. And I knew I had to come back, even if it meant dealing with all of the shite that came with it.”

Just like with the rest of it, he doesn’t seem to realize that he’s said anything of any particular import, but the words burrow under her skin and make a home there, painful and vulnerable and hopeful.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says anxiously, interrupting himself as he looks at her expression. “Shit, Ginny, I didn’t–”

Ginny realizes she has tears streaming down her cheeks. She wipes them away impatiently.

“--shit timing, it’s all a bit heavy for your birthday, isn’t it?” Harry babbles. “I just said it because I know today was dead grim, and you’re right, things will probably never be the same. But I just kept thinking that I’m so glad we’ll get to do it all again next year and for the first time that doesn’t seem like–”

She cuts off his anxious babbling with a kiss, hard and searing, and she holds his chin in her hands, precious, appreciating how very close she came to rationing memories of him for the rest of her life.

She pulls away, her head still spinning with all that she’d told her. She needed to think about it, ask more questions about Snape and Voldemort and Horcruxes and blood magic. But most pressingly: “Let me see if I’ve got this right. You’re telling me that I’m the last thing you thought of when you went to die, and the reason you decided to live?”

Harry stares at her. “Well, when you put it like that– I suppose, yeah. Yes.”

Ginny shakes her head slowly, helplessly. “Harry.”

“I love you,” Harry says, like this is all the explanation that’s needed, because perhaps it is. He’s said this to her every day for weeks, but this is the first time she truly appreciates that love is a verb; that he’s not describing a state of being but rather something he’s actively doing: loving her.

“I’m not always the best with words–” Harry continues, and Ginny nearly chokes. “--but you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and it’s not even a competition, really. You’re everything. I didn’t mean to put pressure on you, or anything, I realize now how that all sounded and–”

“I love you, too,” Ginny says fiercely, ignoring any out he’s offering her, like she’d want one. “And I want to talk about the rest of it, all of it. I can’t believe you had to– I don’t even want to think about–” Ginny shakes her head. “You haven’t put any pressure on me, other than I don’t know how I’m meant to respond to that in a way that measures up–”

“No, you don’t–”

“But I love you,” Ginny presses on. “So much. And that’s what I want with you too, all of it, everything. I always have. I’m… so glad you came back because I don’t know what I’d have done if–”

“Gin–”

Ginny kisses him again, desperate. Harry says he’s the one who’s no good with words but Ginny has never been less articulate in her life. Instead she tries to pour the contents of her heart into the fingers she runs through his hair, the grip of her hands over his chest where his heart beats reassuringly beneath his warm skin, the press of her lips against his.

She pulls back, eyes wet, breathing heavily. Harry’s looking at her with that soft wonder that he sometimes gets, an expression she might understand a bit better now. “That was the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard, but if you ever try to go off alone and die again, I will kill you myself. Don’t you ever do that again, alright?”

Harry grins. “Alright. I think I can manage that.”

“Good.”

A grin spreads across Ginny’s face, and now they’re just two grinning idiots on a swing who want to spend forever together, and for the first time there isn’t any glaring obstacle in the way of it. She allows herself to picture it - a nice cozy home to share, a wedding, kids with messy hair and green eyes, a life that might grow around the grief in her chest.

She settles back into his arms, snug against him, miraculously alive and hers. She loves him so much it has nowhere to go.

“I am sorry your birthday was shite, though,” Harry says.

“It wasn’t,” Ginny says, and she means it.

#hinny #dh missing moment #hinny fic #canon compliant

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iwritefandomimagines · 1 year ago

Text

NEW YEAR’S KISS — JAMIE TARTT

masterlist

pairing: jamie tartt x reader

description: last time you saw jamie tartt, he’d laughed off your confession of feelings. now it’s new year’s eve, you’re at a richmond party, and he looks so fucking good in a suit.

warnings: swearing, bit of angst, bit of fluff, alcohol consumption, light sex references but no smut

author’s note: eeeek happy new year’s eve and happy new year for tomorrow all !!! sending lots of love n good vibes <3

———

You couldn’t even believe it yourself that you had agreed to attend the New Year’s Eve party that Dani had decided to host.

Sure, you loved any opportunity to hang out with the men you’d grown close to in your time working with the club, but given the way things went the last time you saw a certain Mr Jamie Tartt… You were regretting your agreement to come immensely.

Even worse, the last time you’d seen him was also at a squad event where one too many shots had been to blame for your actions, and you feared this would be repeated.

You’d stupidly let your guard down when he was flirting with you nonchalantly again, and confessed that you had feelings for him.

He’d laughed it off — assuming that alcohol and clouded your judgement instead of just instilling you with the boldness you needed to be honest.

Since then, you’d avoided him like the plague and turned down all of Keeley’s invitations to places you knew he’d be.

Given that you were only working with the club on a temporary basis anyway, avoiding him had been relatively easy.

But now here you were, because you had no other plans anyway and Keeley insisted that you couldn’t avoid Richmond forever — even if she didn’t know the real reason for it and believed you’d just been busy.

“Oh my God Y/N, you look well fit!” Keeley screamed when she saw you, eyes flitting over your frame before she yanked you into a tight hug, “I’ve missed you, babe!”

“I’ve missed you too,” you hummed, trying to quell the anxiety bubbling in your stomach as you felt all eyes on you, “Sorry I’ve not been around. Lots going on.”

“Too busy for us now, yeah?” Jamie sidled up to your side, a smirk on his face that you couldn’t quite tell the root cause of. Was he just pissing about or was he trying to be snide?

When you looked over at him, you felt your heart race even faster at the sight of him in a gorgeous, well-fitted, and frankly uncharacteristically smart goddamn suit.

Somehow, it made him look even more incredible than usual and only made the feelings you’d fought to deny since you last saw him become impossible to ignore.

You bit your lip, looking down for a minute and not catching the way his eyes scanned over you hungrily.

Your dress was certainly doing wonders for your figure, and he’d have been an idiot not to appreciate it, “Kiddin’, love. You look stunning. We’ve missed ya.”

You nodded for a moment, taken aback by his compliment even though they’d never been rare when you were around him more often, “Uh— thanks, Jamie. You still scrub up well, too. I’ve missed you all.”

Jamie’s smile softened now, reaching out his arm to link it with yours, “Wanna go get a drink, milady?l

You caught Keeley widening her eyes at him with a grin, as if encouraging him.

Oh fuck — did she know what had happened? Were they all laughing behind your back?

“I, uh, yeah sure,” you obliged, almost melting back into being comfortable with him like you used to, “Guess it is nearly midnight, I should probably catch up.”

And catch up you did — champagne glass after champagne glass being knocked back, while you tried your hardest to pretend that Jamie’s hand lingering on the base of your back every once in a while wasn’t driving you crazy.

It also didn’t help that there was a woman hanging around who you didn’t know — a woman who seemed very fond of Jamie, and spent much of her evening gracing him with lingering touches of her own.

He never complained, just smiled and continued about his evening like it was only natural that he was getting female attention.

Well, you supposed, it was.

It was somewhat nice to feel back to normal, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone else was in the loop about something you weren’t.

It was five minutes to midnight now, and you decided that it was best you excused yourself for the countdown and got a little fresh air.

You were overwhelmed by suddenly being back around the Richmond squad — one man in particular — and weren’t sure you could stomach seeing Jamie’s inevitable new year’s kiss with a girl whose name you’d not even bothered to ask.

“What’re ya doing out here, love?”

God, try as you might, you would never get over the sound of him calling you love.

He was stood just behind you, the warmth of his breath fanning over your neck in the winter chill, “‘S nearly midnight.”

“I know,” was all you could muster up as you turned to face him, eyes avoiding meeting his as you took your bottom lip between your teeth.

His eyebrows furrowed as he watched how shy you were, and his hands left his pockets to tilt your chin up to look at him.

“All that time you spent away from us was ‘cos of me, wasn’t it?” his voice was quiet, almost inaudible, but it made your heart race all the same.

You gulped, “I was embarrassed. Didn’t want to see you again and be ridiculed.”

“Ridiculed? Y/N, I wasn’t gonna ridicule ya,” he shook his head, “I shut you down ‘cos I’m trying to be better. Been working on meself and I didn’t want you to do anything you’d regret with me.”

You’d met this Jamie before — this sincere, gentle, kind Jamie who was reserved only for those he held dearest. But it still startled you to hear him tell you all of this.

“I just—,”

“I wanted to kiss you, love, honest,” when did he get so close all of a sudden? “Just didn’t want you to hate me in the morning, or take back what you’d said or nothing.”

You swallowed thickly, “Jamie, I told you I liked you. I didn’t just throw myself at you and say I wanted to fuck you, or-or— anything like that. I was putting my heart out there and you just—you just laughed it off.”

“You were drunk, babe,” he sighed, “I didn’t know if you’d mean it all in the mornin’, that’s all.”

“Well, I did. Although more regretfully, after that.”

His eyes were sad now, almost glassy, as he watched you carefully to see what you’d do or say next.

You stepped back, your own eyes brimming with tears as your back met the fence of Dani’s balcony.

“I never meant to hurt ya, Y/N,” Jamie whispered, once again stepping closer, “I like you too, I just left you alone ‘cos I had some shit to get sorted before I could be good enough for you. ‘Nd I’ve been really trying.”

You finally gave in to the desire to make eye contact again, and felt your whole body crumble at the sound of his words, “You were always good enough, Jamie. I just— I thought I just wasn’t enough for you.”

He scoffed, his hand returning to your chin and his fingers caressing your cheekbones, “You’re too good for me, Y/N. Too good even for Jamie fucking Tartt.”

You let out a giggle at that, followed by a small sob, “What’re you saying here, Jamie?”

He looked down at his watch, “What I’m sayin’ is, it’s 15 seconds to midnight and I’d like to be your new year’s kiss. And, like, not to get ahead of meself… But I’d like to keep kissing you after that. Like, a lot.”

You nodded profusely, wiping away your few stray tears as you heard your friends calling out the final countdown inside, “3, 2, 1!”

He pulled you in close by your face, lips meeting yours with a furious passion as your arms enveloped the back of his neck.

It was everything you could have ever wanted… Even if you did feel fucking ridiculous for never just talking to him about it sooner.

“Happy new year, love,” Jamie smiled into the kiss.

You matched his smile, pulling back for a moment, “Happy new year, Tartt.”

You were silent for a moment as you just gazed at each other longingly, before a realisation hit you, “What about that girl in there, though? She was all over you.”

“Babe, I’m Jamie Tartt,” he shrugged, smiling smugly, “Just ‘cos the girls love me, doesn’t mean me mind hasn’t been focused on one girl in particular, even if she didn’t want to see me.”

“Oi, I wanted to see you, I was just scared to,” you stuck your tongue out as he grinned, “I’m so glad I came tonight.”

“Me fuckin’ too,” he licked his lips, “And in that dress… God, if you could see inside me head right now.”

“Down, boy,” you joked, fully conscious of the fluttering in your own stomach now, “If you’re good, you can take it off me later, yeah?”

Your lips met again hungrily now, your body pressed against the fence as you heard a round of whooping and clapping from your friends who’d found their way to the balcony now.

“A happy fucking new year indeed,” Roy showed the slightest hint of a smile as you and Jamie pulled apart again, blushing crimson, and interlocked your hands.

“Fucking finally.”

———

ok so i may have rushed to get this finish so i could post on nye — sorry if the ending is shit but i hope you enjoyed! pleaaase feel free to request more jamie if you’d like, obsessed again so i’d love that. meanwhile, here’s my masterlist!

#ted lasso #jamie tartt #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt angst #jamie tartt x reader #ted lasso imagine #ted lasso imagines

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spookypete-94 · 1 year ago

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House Shopping with Simon Riley

Little drabble right before shift starts at work. Literally what the title says, but with public (not sure if you can call it that) but... having in a relations in a place you shouldn't?? SimonRileyxFemale!reader

Language, p in v, quickie

but just know NSFW NSFW NSFW!!!

Somehow, you had domesticated Simon "Ghost" Riley. It was baffling to everyone, including The Ghost himself. Not to you, however. Loving him was easy in your eyes. Someone so patient as you finding no chore in the task.

And that's why Simon literally bent over backward for you. Never at your request, though. You needed something? He was there with it shortly after you said it would help. Even when you wouldn't say anything. He noticed the tires on your car getting bald, paying for a new set, and replacing the worn ones.

It was the least he could do for you. So when it came to the next step, moving from a small flat to an actual house, he didn't hesitate. It had to be a place to make into a home. Strong, sound four walls to make sure you were in a safe place while he was away. With a nice view preferably with no close neighbors to be watching you while he couldn't shield you. A place with a kitchen for meals, and a big one at that. The bedroom needed to be large and spacious for your bed. Maybe even a few other rooms to fill later down the road with little bodies split of the image of you both. Only the best for his, Love.

Finally, a realtor had found a house with all the list of his demands. Taking the day, he told you to dress nice, business casual. You had dressed in a white crisp cotton collard shirt with a tight pencil skirt, and him in a white shirt matching with a black tie and slacks.

"Where are we going?"

"Lawyer."

"A lawyer?!" You asked, shocked, looking at him stunned while he backed up the vehicle, his arm draped over onto your seat.

"Lawyer." He confirmed.

"What for?"

"You'll see when we get there, calm down."

Fiddling with the hem of your skirt the entire time of the drive, you continued with the same nervous habit in the lawyer's office. Only now, you were bouncing your knee as well. Simon's hand reaching over and squeezing your thigh, his way of telling you silently to calm down.

The lawyer had sat down at his desk with a stack of paperwork next to him. It was about the third or fourth page in the stack that you understood that this had to do with a large sum of money. You just didn't understand what for. Your suspicion signified from a raised eyebrow to Simon, but all he wore was a knowing smirk.

"Just need you both to sign these pages," the lawyer you didn't even know his proper name said.

"What am I signing?" You asked

"Just trust me," Simon said, leaning forward pen in hand and sliding the paper over to you.

You sighed, frustrated, but his words enough to quell your worry and anxiety.

You tried to glance over the paperwork, still looking for any hints of what you were signing your life away too, but the jarble of the language too much to just get by skimming.

"Did you find one then?" The lawyer asked.

"Still have to look at it, but believe so." Simon answered.

Conveniently, all was said as you were signing the last page, leaving you unable to ask any questions. Simon stood up, hand out to you to grab. Feeling annoyed and left out, you did it anyway.

"Good luck," Mr. Unknown lawyer waved to you both as you left.

"Simon," your eyes burning into the side of his head.

"It's a surprise..." he said while laughing, watching you roll your eyes and groaning at the same time ,"I'm gonna show you."

"Show me?"

"Sit back," he said, giving you a side eye, tired of your questions.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The shock you felt was unexplainable when he pulled into a driveway of a home with a FOR SALE sign in the front yard.

"Si-mon," dragging his name out for effect.

"I want us to buy a home together." Blurting it like it had been killing him to hide from you.

"You're serious?"

"As a heart attack. Taking money out of a firm that I've had stored away for a while. This is the house closest that fits what I want to give you."

"SI-mon." The excitement you felt when he told he what he had been planning.

"Come on, realtor is waiting," he said, finally opening his car door. Quickly, you joined him, your heels clacking on the cement driveway with joy.

Just as Simon had said, there in the doorway stood a woman who was there to show the house. Holding a clipboard in a green pantsuit and large black rimmed glasses looking all prim and proper with a large smile. Ready to sell this house.

To say the house was stunning was an understatement. Vaulted ceilings, large kitchen with an island in the middle, pantry just off of it. Multiple bathrooms on both floors of the house. Natural light from the windows for days. Your attention was now looking over the bedrooms. Checking out a smaller closet that was between the master bedroom and guest room. The realtor you had learned her name as Peggy, walking around a room in the opposite direction.

What shocked you was Simon pushing you into this small linen closet and shutting the door behind him.

"Simon!" you said his name for the upteenth time today.

"Shhhhhh," he said grinning deviously as he stood before you.

The hot air from his shushing made your skin prickle, but him removing his black tye in a swift motion made your blood run cold. He made a swift loop after lifting your wrists above your head, wrapping it up around a wooden rod to hold hangers just above your head. Then, he pulled it tight as gently as your torso stretched perking your chest to him.

"So hard, not to touch you like this. " his mouth against your cheek and then into your ear. "Skirt looks so nice on you." Gasping, feeling his teeth nip into the pillar on your neck.

"Need ta' test the bones of this house, make sure it's good enough." Coy with a shit eating smile.

His fingers slipping up your skirt, pushing it up at the same time. There he rubbed against your core, making you moan.

"Shhhh," he said while chuckling. "Can't have Peggy hearing us. Worked so hard to find this house, can't ruin her work now." Teasing into your ear while he rubbed circles into your clit. Instead of taking the risk of getting caught, you leaned your head into his chest, masking your sounds there.

Pushing your panties to the side, his fingers rub your bare pussy. What he was doing was testing the waters, checking to see if you were wet enough to take him. Little did he know, your gates of arousal started to flood seeing him slip his tye off so quickly, revealing the collarbone you love to sink your teeth into.

"Dirty girl," he cooed into your ear while plunging a finger in. The stretch felt good but was pulled from you quickly. Your eyes narrowed at him in disappointment, but quickly changed to euphoria as his cock entered you abruptly.

You bit your lip trying to contain your moans, the whole situation hot to you. His large hands gripped your waist and set you on a narrow shelf, you assumed it was for shoes, but it was perfect for this. It allowed him to enter you faster and deeper. The position brought you closer to the brink, his pace perfect.

Your body was starting to catch fire, slipping your legs around him to pull him closer, sending you over the edge. Trying to roll your head back but unable to find anything to rest it on, let Simon see your eyes roll to the back of your head. You loved the feeling of being unable to move at his mercy and will. Thankfully, he was always into pleasing your needs quickly.

His chest lightly thundering with a chuckle watching you come undone.

His rhythm becomes harder, desperate for his own release. Slamming into you faster, you could feel his hot seed fill you making you whimper as your pussy clamped around him greedily taking it all.

"Good girl," he grunted, slowing down. Both of your shallow breaths filled the small space. Simon leaned down and kissed you as he pulled out. Quickly, you pushed your thighs together while he untied you from the rod. Once free, you pushed your panties back over to catch his cum before it dripped down your thighs and onto your black skirt.

"Like that?" He asked, still wearing his devil grin. Clearly, he was proud of the act.

"Very much so," you said helping him tie his tye.

"Hello??" Peggy said, while looking for you both.

It made you cringe a smile, and laugh amongst each other.

Simon tried to deflect the dirty deed you had just done together. Pushing the door open quietly, stating, "This is a perfect place to use, keep my tyes in." A statement that was a double-edge sword. It is a statement that not only you and Simon understood, but clearly, so did Peggy. Her jaw was slack mouth agape, making you both divert your eyes from her.

"It's perfect. We'll take it." Simon's tone almost boastful as he thought about the other places he would rail you in...or on.

Simon Riley Masterlist

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park-jimin-isnt-real · 1 month ago

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"edge of tonight" part eighteen ~ the intervention

pairing: namjoon x reader (lots of platonic ot7 x reader) rating: T 16+ genre: mafia au, angst this part: Jimin is just as much of an asshole as you thought he was. But he helps. tw: mafia au!, angst, lots of swearing, tragic backstories, allusions to and talk of sexual abuse (nothing explicit) and abuse in general, talk of manipulation, interventions word count: ~6.2k track #21: Surrender ~ MALINDA: “But that was then and this in now, and we made it through the woods somehow, fighting to keep what we've won.” the edge of tonight masterlist an: i can't believe i got this out so quickly. who even am i. what has possessed me. will it continue. who know. anyways, i hope you enjoy this chapter! it's jimin's redemption chapter and i have been waiting for it since i first wrote "the bar". please let me know what you think! a little comment or dm goes a long way to helping me get through writing the next parts. thank you so much for reading!!

No, no, no. This was not what you wanted. This was not what you planned. This was not at all how the past five minutes were supposed to go.

Jackson isn't the only one who can fuck you stupid.

You were stunned silent. Park's words threw you off even more than his actions. That wasn't what you wanted, either. You never wanted to sleep with Jackson, it was usually just a byproduct of him helping you turn your mind off. At some point you stopped caring about Jackson's need to fuck you entirely, more concerned with the end result of a quiet mind.

A very small part of you, in the very back of your mind, wondered, why do you stop thinking when you have sex with Jackson? But you weren't in any physical or mental position right now to think about that.

You didn't want to think anymore. You wanted Jackson. You needed Jackson.

And this wasn't Jackson. This was Park Jimin and he wasn't what you needed. His eyes bore down into yours, still devoid of any amusement or lust. There was only fierce determination and a quiet concern that threw you off even more.

"Th–that's not what I—"

"Isn't it?" Park interrupted you. "Isn't that what you were talking about down there? How you're thinking too much and you need to make it stop?" You especially didn't like how he was throwing your words back at you. They sounded wrong coming from him.

They once sounded wrong coming from Jackson, but you had stopped caring about that, too.

"Breaking news, beautiful: Jackson isn't the only one who can fuck, and I'm a hell of a lot closer."

No, no, no. You didn't want to have sex with Park Jimin. He wasn't the right person, he wouldn't get it right, he wouldn't be able to shut your brain off properly. You tried shaking your head, but the movement came across stilted and jerky. "Don't touch me," you weakly demanded.

"I’m not touching you," came his unyielding response. That denial gave you a small spark of anger again, something you could hold onto and grow until you could fight back against him properly.

"Yes you—"

"Check again, beautiful," Park interrupted you a second time. Your lips started curling into a sneer, even as you did as he said.

One of his legs was between yours, and his arms had you caged in on either side. But you also noticed a slight shake in his shoulders, a subtle shiver that didn't come from adrenaline or anticipation.

Park wasn't on you, he was over you. He was holding himself up, keeping you trapped beneath him by his proximity, but his body was not touching yours. The smallest part of you relaxed, but it wasn't enough to quell your anxiety or your growing anger. "Get off of me."

"Not until we talk."

"Can we not talk like this?"

"Are you gonna make a break for the door as soon as I'm off?" He countered.

It took you several breaths before you could honestly answer, "No. I'll stay and we can talk."

Park looked deep into your eyes, trying to gauge how genuine you were, then fully pushed himself up and climbed off the bed. You rolled off the edge as soon as he was on the other side of the room, sitting on the soft carpet and pulling your legs up towards your chest. You were also able to take in Park's décor: everything was red. Red curtains covered the windows, velvet by the looks of it, like you would see on a stage, blocked out any sunlight that would've come in. Red sheets on the bed, red wallpaper with darker red filigree accents, red carpet even. The lights were soft and warm, adding a gentle ambiance to the space, and the furniture was made of a deep mahogany that complimented the rest of the colors.

It was like he thought himself a goddamn prince, and had his room made to show it.

"The chaise is softer than the floor," he said, nodding towards the furniture on the opposite side of the bed. Your eyes flicked to it over the mattress, you could see the curling build of the backrest with more red fabric, but looked back at Park just as quickly. So far, he was unaffected by your death glare. "Or you can get back on the bed. You know it's not going to hurt you, right?"

You avoided his question, instead bringing up one of your own: "Everyone keeps trying to tell me that you're actually really nice, so what the fuck is your deal, Park?"

That got a sarcastic laugh from him. "I would love to be nice to you," he responded with just as much intensity as you were throwing at him, although none of the venom. "But being nice to you isn't getting you anywhere, so someone's gotta be an asshole and I guess that someone is me."

"Why can't you just back the fuck off instead?" Why couldn't he just leave you alone? Everyone else left you alone! And you were doing just fine!

"Because that's what everyone else is doing." Okay, him reading your mind was starting to get weird. Park turned away, heading over to the wall. You heard him open something as he continued, "And backing the fuck off led to you trying to go back down to Jackass in Busan."

"Jackson." Something closed as you corrected him.

"Jackass," he insisted. He pulled a glass out from somewhere, you couldn't quite see, and poured himself a glass of wine. "Champagne?" Park asked, offering you the drink as if you two weren't in the middle of an argument at that moment.

"Seriously?" He already knew you barely drank, but the fact that he couldn't have this super serious discussion with you—that he wanted to have!—while sober was mildly offensive. He only shrugged, sipping at the glass instead. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Plenty," Park answered nonchalantly between sips. "The real question is, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

The angry, confused glare you were giving him was exactly what he wanted. Jimin needed to keep you angry—not angry enough to actually kill him and run off, but enough that you would continue being genuine. He didn't know what anger was the only thing that got through the cloud of Jackson inside you head, why it was the only thing that made you truly honest, bust as long as it did he was going to exploit that as much as he could.

"Excuse me?" Was all you could manage to say in response, so completely blown away by his accusation that you weren't sure how else to.

Park pulled his phone out of his pocket, quickly tapping at the screen until he found what he was looking for. Placing the glass of wine down on top of the fridge, he held up one finger at a time as he read to you from his phone. "One: you don't use beds for anything other than sex. Two: you barely get enough sleep because you aren't sleeping comfortably to begin with, along with nightmares you still have which you occasionally take sleeping pills to try and bypass. Three: you can't stand closed doors because they make you feel trapped, and opening a door will wake you up from whatever stage of sleep you're in. Four: you zone out or fully dissociate unless someone is actively engaging with you, or a door opens. Five: you self-harm, usually with your fingernails, to help get you out of panic attacks that you have way too often." He looked up at you. "I'm out of fingers on this hand, but I can keep going."

For the second time in ten minutes, you were stunned silent by Park's words. Having a list like that read back at you, as if you were in trouble and these were all the things you had done wrong, made you uncomfortable in an unfamiliar way.

"Those are just things I do," you said, choosing to remain ignorant, desperately holding onto that flame of anger from before.

"No," Park placed his phone next to the wine glass, "those are unhealthy coping mechanisms you have to deal with or ignore the effects of your traumas instead of properly addressing them and healing. Normal people don't do this kind of stuff."

Thankfully, he was making it easy to stay angry. "Normal people haven't gone through what I did!"

"Yeah," he said, "exactly. What you've gone through isn't normal, so what you're doing isn't normal, but you keep acting like it is. And the more everyone around you keeps letting you do that, the worse those coping mechanisms get until you reach a breaking point."

And a breaking point you had reached. "I'm done." Park was talking down to you, and you had had enough of it, especially from someone who didn't understand you, who didn't know you or know what you'd been through. You stood up, readjusting your clothes on your way to the door, but Park was relentless.

"Nothing is ever going to get better if you don't work at making it better."

You turned on your heel. "How do you know I haven't tried to?"

"Because you're actively trying to go back to the first person who enabled you—who probably gave you these coping mechanisms to begin with!"

"You don't know anything about him!"

"I know everything I need to know!"

"Get off your fucking high horse, Park!"

"Not until I kick Jackass off of his!"

"I'm not you!" You were taken aback by your words. You weren't sure where that admission had come from, but saying it out loud helped you calm down a bit. Lowering your voice, you continued, "I get it, okay? You're normal and I'm not. But I'm not you."

"No, you're not," he agreed, matching your tone. Actually, now that you thought about it, he had matched your tone this whole time, never trying to be louder or drown you out. It wasn't how your arguments with Jackson went, and if you were being honest with yourself, it was the smallest bit refreshing.

He paused for a moment, letting the energy in the room quiet down as well. He made direct eye contact with you, and something about the earnest, sincere way he looked at you kept you from looking away. "But I was once you."

The fire of anger that had been burning bright inside you died down quickly after that. You even took a step back, not fully understanding what he was saying. "What do you mean?" you asked softly.

Jimin took a deep breath, letting it out in a huff. He knew he'd end up telling you about it, he knew it was the only way you'd finally listen to him and take him seriously. He'd prepared himself for it as much as one could. But it was never easy talking about it. "My parents divorced when I was 10," he started, his voice stable but quiet. "My mom took my little brother to California, where I'm sure they've been living their best life. I was left here with my dad, who was so torn up over everything that soon after his sister was given full custody of me."

Park paused to pick his drink back up, downing the rest of the glass in one go, and you thought that maybe his drinking was due to the story he was about to tell you. You listened, still concerned, still confused, but you decided to let him get it all out without interrupting him. You slowly lowered yourself back to the floor, making yourself comfortable as he continued.

"My aunt lived here in Seoul, in a big, beautiful penthouse. I asked her what she did to afford such a place, and she told me she ran a club. I asked if she would take me there and she said that if I was good she would let me come to work with her sometime." He looked over to the curtained window, as if he were staring out at the horizon instead of red velvet.

"So I was. I worked hard, getting the highest grades in school, making sure every centimeter of that penthouse was spotless. When she learned I liked dancing, she enrolled me in the best dance classes. She told me if I was good there too, she would take me to her club and let me dance. So I did. I became the best dancer in every class, quickly moving into more advanced ones. And she was proud of me."

You could easily recognize that feeling, that wanting to be praised and loved and good. It was why you clung to Jackson so hard when you were still in that room—the only person who treated you with any modicum of kindness, who made you feel like a person rather than an object. It was why you needed to go back to him so badly.

"I was 14 when she finally took me to her club. It was mesmerizing. Glitter everywhere, brandy, cigars, men and women in dressed to the nines throwing money at scantily-clad men and women dancing on the stage. She had me put on a costume, as she called it, and let me go perform. I was the youngest that crowd had ever seen, but my god, the way I raked in money for her…"

Jimin trailed off, getting lost in the memory. The blinding lights, the stench of alcohol and smoke and sweat and something he now knew was sex, the money that littered the stage floor. If only he could go back, if only he could tell his younger self that going to that club was a mistake… but he couldn't change the past. What happened is what happened. He was here now, and that's what mattered.

"Jimin, she told me that night, I have a favor to ask. You know how much money I've spent on you, making sure you have every need taken care of and you want for nothing. I have a way you can start paying me back." Those words had been engrained in his mind since she uttered them to him in one of the hallways upstairs. "Told me Mr. Gu had paid her a very large amount of money to spend some time with me, and all I had to do was listen to him and do as he says for 45 minutes. After all, I owed her of all she had done for me."

You owe him your gratitude, you recalled Jimin telling you months ago, you don't owe him your body. Slowly, piece by piece, a lot of what he had said and done to you started making a bit more sense.

"Carried on like that for three years," he continued, "before she finally got caught and sent to jail, and the club was shut down." Three years was one year short of how long you were in the room, but he was also younger than you when it started.

"Why did you do it?" You didn't mean to ask, but the words found themselves tumbling out of your mouth.

Jimin looked at you for the first time since he started his tale. "I owed her," he said, as if that alone explained it all. In a way, it did. "She had given me everything, and that was how she wanted me to pay her back. There was also the looming threat that if I didn't comply with what she wanted, she would start taking things away, and I didn't want that either."

Guilt and fear. Jackson had done the same with you for years. At some point you stopped caring.

A very small part of you, in the very back of your mind, wondered, when had you stopped caring?

"Having a tragic backstory doesn't give you a reason to be an asshole," you said, though not nearly as mean as you wanted to be. Jimin's lips curled up in a barely-there smile.

"Taehyung and his uncle took me in after she was sentenced, but I was lost without her. She was my everything. Working for her was the only way I knew to gain validation. If she was happy with me, then I was happy. I visited her in jail every week, told her I was working on a way to get her out. I was trying so hard to still be good for her." The barely-there smile turned into a wry one. "That's how I got involved with the Underground, and I dragged Tae with me, though he'll tell you he came willingly to make sure I didn't get myself killed."

Slowly, as to not startle you or spike your anxiety, Jimin started shuffling towards you as he went on. "For two years, Tae and his uncle handled me gently. They understood I was going through some difficult things, and for the most part left me alone. So, I went out every night and got drunk and had sex with anything that walked on two legs. It was shortly before we first met Namjoon that Tae finally snapped. He decided that he'd had enough of watching me waste my life away for someone who only cared about how much money I could make her. He went from leaving me alone to being an asshole. He made sure I ate real food and actually drank water, made me work on things that actually mattered, and didn't let me drink or fuck unless it benefitted the job we were working on—which, at that time, was looking for you." You felt your cheeks heat up just a bit at that.

"For the following two years I fucking hated him for it. Why couldn't he leave me alone again? Why did he have to be such an asshole about everything? I was doing just fine before his intervention. I didn't need his help." That sounded almost verbatim what you had said to him over the past few weeks, since he decided to stop leaving you alone. Suddenly a lot of things Jimin had said or done to you was making a lot of sense.

"I hated it," Jimin repeated, "but it worked. Slowly but surely, I got my life back together, finished high school, and fast-tracked a degree in psychology with an emphasis on understanding trauma that comes from abuse and how to manage, cope, and eventually heal from it." He stopped moving, now significantly closer to you, but still kept his distance. "Going through something traumatic literally rewires your brain, and there are people out there who will recognize that and, instead of offering you help, they will take advantage of that and reinforce the rewiring. I don’t need to know everything about Jackson to know what he's done to you. My Jackson was my aunt."

You actually felt a pang of sympathy towards Jimin. Maybe the two of you weren't so different after all. Still though…

"I wasn't abused." The words were short, stunted almost, like you had to force them out. Jimin only raised an eyebrow at the statement. You quickly amended it. "I mean, in the room, yes, I was, but not in Busan. Not by Jackson." Now he raised both eyebrows, looking down at you, radiating are you serious right now energy.

"Y/N," Jimin said quietly, almost reverently, the way you would expect Namjoon to say your name. He knelt down, joining you on the floor, to make direct eye contact with you again. "Are you genuinely telling me that you don't see the similarities between what happened to me and what happened to you?"

You wanted to say that you didn't see them, but lying felt impossible. You looked down, unable to handle the weight of his gaze. "It's different," you said instead. "You were younger, you didn't know what she was doing."

"And you knew?"

"Of course I knew!" Your eyes snapped back up to his, a small fire of anger lighting again, but this time your anger was directed at yourself. "I was raised to be a manipulator, I knew exactly what was happening, I just—" You dropped your head into your hands with a groan, and it took you several breaths before you could continue. "I was so scared. He got me out. He could take me back. I didn't want to go back."

He gained your trust. He gave you what you wanted. Then he isolated you, made you depend on him for everything, all under the guise of caring about you. Every time you tried fighting back, he fought back harder, always with the looming threat of taking away his protection, of letting you get swept up by some Busan gang and used all over again or even ending up back in the room.

You were scared. So you played along. And, eventually, the constant fear made you tired, made it harder for you to fight back against him. Made it easier to give in and just let it happen.

Made it easier to stop thinking.

You always knew what Jackson was doing. You knew of his manipulations and how much control he had over you. For years he had worn you down, until you were fully caught in his web, uncaring, so fucking tired, until you became what he wanted just so he would leave you alone. You had always been able to see it, you simply chose to ignore it, and thus willingly gave him more and more power over you until he had it all. Until it was too late.

You felt the sting of tears in your eyes. Angry tears. How could you have let this happen?

"Y/N?" Jimin's voice was gentle, soft, in a way you had never heard directed at you. This must have been the nice Jimin everyone kept telling you about, the one that was sweet and kind and cared too deeply and too much. You heard him scoot closer to you, and you lifted your head just enough to see him. Suddenly his company was very much wanted, and you couldn't rationalize the reason why.

"You know it's okay to cry," he said. "It helps, actually. Grieving is an important part of healing."

You shook your head. "I'm not grieving anything."

"You're grieving the loss of a very large part of your identity. Jackson, my aunt, they both found us at extremely vulnerable moments in our lives, times when we were broken, and they put us back together in the way they wanted us to be. They built us up so that they were our foundation, and when that foundation was taken away, we became broken again, lost, and desperate to have back what we knew."

Damn, he was using that degree. Because he was right, again. Despite all that had happened in Park Jimin's room so far, such a large part of you still longed to go back to Busan, to go back to Jackson, back to that familiarity. Jackson broke you with that phone call, and you've been trying to rebuild yourself by doing things he would want you to do, until your own efforts weren't enough and—

You reached a breaking point.

You tried blinking the tears back, but too many had welled up. Several spilled over, trailing down your cheeks. "Fuck you, Park," you muttered with no real ferocity. You wiped at your face, trying to stop crying.

Jimin leaned forward, opening his arms. "Can I?" he asked. It was strange that he asked for you permission to hold you, but what was stranger was that you accepted it. With a quick nod, Jimin was right in front of you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you into his chest. There was something so gentle about it that made you let the tears flow. You didn't sob, you just cried silently, grieving the loss of who you were supposed to be, of who Jackson was to you. Jimin rubbed your back and softly told you that you were going to be okay.

After a few minutes, he pulled back, wiping your face with the end of his sleeve. "How do you feel?" he asked, still quiet, still gentle. You weren't sure how to answer. The tears had mostly stopped now, but you weren't sure if that was indicative of anything. You were still angry at yourself, angry at Jackson, still shocked by the way Jimin was treating you now. Overall, you were still tired, but something about it was different now. You took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to pinpoint what had changed.

"Better?" Jimin suggested. "Worse? The same?" That gave you some guidance. Thinking it over—shocked you were okay with thinking so much right now—you realized what it was, what had changed.

There was an ever-present weight in your soul that was exhausting to carry every waking moment. But now, it weighed a little less. Just a touch. Not enough to truly effect you, but enough that you could feel it. You felt a little bit lighter, breathed a bit deeper, thought a bit clearer.

"Better," you said. Your voice was slightly hoarse from the crying, but there was a stability to it you hadn't heard yourself use in a long time. "Just a little bit."

How could one conversation do all this to you?

"That's good," Jimin nodded. "Even feeling just a little bit better is good. Here." He moved to stand both of you up, and you followed his guidance without objection. Your legs were slightly wobbly from the position you'd been in, but he helped keep you steady. Once you were balanced he sat on the edge of the bed, still keeping contact with your arm, holding it gently. You could slip out of his hold or shake is hand off easily if you wanted to, but the touch was comforting. You blinked back the last of the tears, wiping your cheeks one last time to clear the remaining tear tracks away, and then stared at the spot next to him.

Jimin smiled. "I promise it won't eat you," he said with a small laugh, before turning serious again. "And neither will I."

You swallowed, but decided to take a chance. Taking a deep breath in, you let it out slowly as you turned around and sat next to him, the mattress dipping to accommodate your shared weights. Part of you was still on high alert, waiting for the inevitable moment when you'd be on your back again. The other part was repeating Jimin's words. The word promise didn't mean anything to you anymore, except maybe now it did. Maybe now it meant what it was supposed to, and people could be held to their word.

"What are you thinking about?" You were thinking too much. "Don't try to say you're thinking too much. Just say what's on your mind. Talking with someone helps almost as much as crying."

Your initial reaction was to fight against that. Talking never helped, it just gave Jackson more ammunition to use against you, to control you. Except— "You're not Jackson."

If he was thrown off by your words this time, he didn't show it. "Correct."

"So, you're not going to treat me like Jackson did."

"Also a correct statement. In fact," he added, "no one here is going to treat you like that."

"Then why do I keep expecting everyone to?" You asked, more to yourself than to Jimin.

He answered anyway. "Because that's what you're used to, and it's going to take time to get you used to something else, something different. But it can be done. You can change."

"What if I can't? What if I'm stuck like this forever?"

Jimin squeezed on your arm just barely, just enough to keep you grounded in the here-and-now, to keep you from spiraling. "It feels that way right now, but you won't always feel like that. And someday, you'll look back and you'll be amazed by all the progress you've made."

"How will I know if I've made any progress? What does progress even look like?" If he was going to keep answering your questions, no matter how existential, you were going to keep asking them.

"Progress looks like little things, every day, that slowly push you towards who you want to be. For you specifically, I'd suggest eating full meals and interacting and socializing with people outside the seven of us, and eventually sleeping on a bed throughout the night." You flinched at that thought, but you couldn't deny he was right. "Listen, Y/N, I know how hard healing is. I still haven't fully healed, and I've been away from my abuser for as long as you've been in Busan. It sucks. It's hard. It hurts."

"You are not making a good case for healing right now."

Jimin chuckled. "It's worth it. Aren't you tired of feeling so tired?" You weren't sure if he was expecting an answer, but after a moment you nodded. "That's why I started being such an asshole. Everyone else has been letting you be tired, because they don't want to make you uncomfortable, but someone's got to push you to do things that will help you, even if you'll be uncomfortable at first."

You nodded again, taking in everything he'd said. You wouldn't like doing what he suggested. It would make you uncomfortable. But you were uncomfortable crying too, and that ultimately turned out to be in your favor. So maybe Jimin was right about this too.

"How long does the uncomfortable last?"

"It'd different for everyone," he shrugged. "Some of the people we work with are fine within a handful of weeks. Others take years, and I know there's a few we've gotten out of the country who are still going to therapy. It took me about a year before I started feeling less tired."

You bit your lip. You had a feeling your healing was going to take a long time, probably a number of years. Especially since, despite your revelation and current feelings— "Part of me still wants to go back to Busan," you admitted softly. Part of you wished it wasn't true.

"Part of you will, for a long time. There's going to be this cognitive dissonance in your head for a while, a fight between what you want to do—like going back to Busan—and what you know you should do—literally anything besides that. You need to remember that that familiarity is only going to hurt you more in the long run."

Of course going to see Jackson now would only hurt you more. Of course it was going to take a long time for you to undo all that rewiring, to build yourself up into who you wanted to be. The only thing left was to figure out who you wanted to be.

There was one last thing you wanted to ask him. "If I start to lose my mind again, can I count on you to be an asshole?"

There was that classic Park Jimin smirk. "Of course, beautiful. No one else is gonna do it, so it might as well be me. There is one condition though, well, two actually." You raised your eyebrow, wondering what conditions he was about to offer you. "First, you need to tell me when you start thinking about going back before you start to lose your mind."

You nodded. That was acceptable, and understandable. "And the second one?"

Jimin stood up, finally releasing your arm and leaving you alone on his bed. "You need to make sure Namjoon-hyung doesn't kill me for what I did today." That, somehow, got a laugh out of you, one that almost sounded genuine.

You also stood up, shaking your head. "Namjoon isn't going to kill you." You started heading for the door, Jimin joining you this time.

"Of course he won't, because you're going to convince him not to." Jimin opened the door, letting you exit first. "Also, and this is just a thought, but you should really try to rebuild that relationship you used to have with him. It doesn't have to get romantic any time soon, but having the bare minimum contact with you is slowly driving him crazy, and at least talking more would be good for both of you."

You knew he was right in that regard as well. You did tell Namjoon you'd try. Maybe you should actually start trying. Maybe it would help you heal, too.

You and Jimin went downstairs together. Namjoon was there in the living room, pacing back and forth as Taehyung tried telling him that everything was going to be fine and Jungkook stood off to the side looking worried and a bit guilty. All three heads snapped towards the two of you.

"Don't kill Jimin," you said bluntly. "He helped."

"Are you going to kill Jimin?" Namjoon asked back, eyes going back and forth between you two. You couldn't tell if he was more concerned for you or angry at the younger.

"No," you answered, brushing past him towards the kitchen, "he helped."

"You're not calling him Park," Taehyung pointed out. And no, you weren't. You hadn't even been thinking of him as Park since he started being nicer to you.

"I told you it was going to work," Jimin said.

"But you didn't need to go about it like that," Tae shot back. It seemed the two of them were about to go at it again. You heard two pairs for footsteps following you, Namjoon and Jungkook you assumed.

"She was about to go back to Busan. Besides, you once handcuffed me to the radiator to keep me from going to the prison!"

"And I've admitted that wasn't my proudest moment!"

You pulled the fridge open, choosing to let the two arguing members fade into the background. "I'm fine, guys." You turned to look at Namjoon over your shoulder. "Really, I am. He really did help me."

"You look like you were crying," Jungkook said quietly, not wanting to point it out but he was also very concerned about what his hyung had done.

"I did," you admitted, "and it helped." You wondered how many times you were going to have to say that before they left you alone about it. You went back to looking in the fridge. "And now I'm hungry."

"You should drink some water, too," Namjoon said, much calmer than before. "Crying dehydrates you." You had a small idea at his words, and Jimin's.

"Would you get me some water?" You asked him softly, looking at him again. It wasn't anything romantic, not by a long shot, but it was a small step in what you hoped was the right direction.

Namjoon was thrown off by your request, but quickly recomposed himself and did as you asked. Jungkook took that as his cue to leave. Someone had to tell Jimin and Tae to take it somewhere else.

"H-here," Namjoon stuttered as he handed you the glass. You smiled softly as you took it.

"Thank you."

You sipped at the cool water, relishing the moisture. You drank half the glass before you put it down and closed the fridge. "What were you doing before Bunny Boy called you in?"

Namjoon smiled sheepishly (the way you used to love) and looked down. "I was actually at the studio with Yoongi-hyung, finally working on some things with him. I should probably be getting back soon. He was pretty upset that I was ditching him."

"Could I come?" you asked before you could talk yourself out of it. "You weren't really dressed to go to the gym anyway.

Namjoon looked back up at you in shock. You hadn't expressed wanting to go anywhere with anyone out of the estate, unless it was with Hueningkai off to find more information. This was new. But it wasn't a bad thing. It was actually what Jimin had been telling all of them about for weeks now. Namjoon decided to finally listen to him, especially since you kept saying that he helped you.

"Sure, yeah, of course. If you want to." Real smooth, Namjoon, he thought.

You smiled again, and Namjoon felt his heart flutter at the sight of it. "We could get takeout on the way? Yoongi won't eat while working unless someone forces him to."

Namjoon nodded, unable to find it in himself to deny you. "Sounds good. Yeonjun's waiting in the garage, if you're ready to go?" You nodded, then grabbed the glass of water and downed the rest of it.

"Let's go," you said, heading towards the door. Namjoon followed you after a moment, wondering what exactly had gone down with you and Jimin. He thought for sure he'd have to pull you off of him before you finally beat him to death. But when he arrived at the estate, Taehyung was telling him that there hadn't been any violent noises coming from Jimin's room so everything was probably okay.

And maybe it was. Maybe Jimin did help you, in the way Jimin helped everyone they worked with. Maybe things would finally start getting better.

thank you everyone for reading!! just a heads up, school starts for me on the 22nd, so updates will probably get more spaced out again. still can't believe i got two chapters out in less than two weeks. please leave a comment or ask about what you thought and what your predictions are for the upcoming parts (the next one is the end of act 2 so you know things are about to get dicey). and let me know if you want to be on the new taglist!

#bts #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts writing #bts mafia #bts mafia au #bts angst #jimin x reader #namjoon x reader #edge of tonight #part eighteen #btswritersclub

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theunholybastard · 4 months ago

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Kinktober: October 18th - Thigh Riding (Cardinal Copia x Female!Reader)

Tags: Thigh Riding, Naked Female/Clothed Male, Sex Therapy, Praise, Innocence Kink, Squirting, 3rd Person POV

It was in the chambers of his eminence, Cardinal Copia Emeritus, that she would find solace on most nights. He was trustworthy, a friend to everyone, the easiest to come to for comfort in uncertain times. He knew well how to quell her nerves.

It started with just confessional, but only the afternoons where he would be on duty. He always knew just what to say. But when that wasn't enough, too little time in the day, she asked to meet him in his private domicile, for more personal, in depth chats. He obliged, of course, how could he refuse? Anything for this sweet, young Sister, whom he's grown ever so close to.

It was innocent, just chatting. Talks of anxieties, work stress, your average, day to day worries. The more he prodded for her to open up, the more she did. The talks progressed into that of her love and sex life, or rather, her lack thereof. She hadn't laid with another warm body in quite some time now. Her insecurities and low self-image depleted her sex drive, and her lack of confidence made it so she was mortified of the idea of anyone seeing her nude. Now, the Cardinal couldn't have one of his devoted followers feeling like that, he had a reputation to uphold!

Mentions of a so-called 'sex therapy' started to be brought up into conversation. When she innocently asked how much it was for a session he laughed and assured her it's not like regular therapy, in fact, it wouldn't cost her a dime. The concept is to pick a person whom you already know and trust more than anyone else to do this kind of thing with.

With both parties consent, you would let the other person (AKA your 'therapist') slowly get you comfortable with the idea of sex by building up intimate acts, little by little. Like just being naked around one another, for starters. That could build up to sensual massages, dirty talking, groping more explicit areas of the body, fingering, and ultimately it would lead up to sex. Boundaries and a safe word are set in place just in case, but things should rarely if ever go too far too quickly. When she expressed interest, who do you think she asked to assist her? Exactly who the Cardinal had hoped.

It went on for weeks, building slowly as he had promised. Their sessions were successful every time, Copia being a very attentive and gentle partner. It made her feel safe, valued, in tune with her own desires for the first time in many months. In todays session, they tried something different, but it was her favorite one by far. The pleasures of grinding.

She was naked, while he remained fully clothed, clad in his favorite black suit. The reasoning was to get her to be more comfortable with vulnerability, not being so nervous to be the first one unclothed. That, and he promised her grinding her clit against the fabric of his pants would feel unreal. He also wanted his work clothes to be dampened and tainted with the stench of her arousal for the rest of the day, but that was an unspoken, more selfish reason.

Her drags along his clothed thigh were meager, unsure of herself. It was clear she didn't know quite what she was doing. And while her naivety was as charming as ever, he saw by the look in her eyes she wasn't enjoying this. "Do you need your Cardinal to teach you, topolina? Do you need me to take the reigns for a little bit?" He cooed, in a way that somehow didn't sound condescending in the slightest. Copia had a way with his tone that made his words unimportant. She agreed, full faith in her beloved Cardinal.

He shifts his leg at a certain angle and flexes his thigh to make the experience more pleasurable. Leather bound hands resting at her hips, he begins to rock her slowly, her clit catching against the roughness of his jeans. Her slick gathers and leaves a wet trail across his pant leg where moved her. Exactly what he wanted to see. The way he did it was indeed a way better feeling, her eyes fluttering shut gently, soft little sighs and whimpers escaping her lips.

"There you go," He encouraged. "Let me make you feel good." Everything admittedly felt better when the Cardinal was in control. His voice was velvety and intoxicating, his hands were like magic, his movements were inhumanly perfect. He was unmatched to any other man in regards of sexual prowess, any other man she'd ever been with anyway.

The more she rocked, the wetter she got, the dark patch on his jeans just getting bigger and bigger. Soon enough she was able to guide herself, getting a firm grip on his shoulders and grinding on her own subconsciously. His hands slowly lifted from her sides, like taking off training wheels, putting them to the side. Her humping grows more bold, putting more force into really putting the pressure on her clit. Her moans grew louder too, without her even realizing, too lost in the feeling. She mewled Copias title, still has not once gained the confidence to call him by his first name, despite the professionalism being quite unnessacary. One day she will, and it will be while she's cumming around his cock.

"Cardinal, Cardinal..." She fawned breathlessly. Her riding becoming more insistent, voice sounding like what could almost be mistaken for a tone of distress. She was close, barely hanging on to the edge. Still, something was stopping her from teetering off. She needed some encouragement, poor little thing. And as always, whatever she needed, the Cardinal could provide.

"Doing so well, sweet girl. It feels nice, doesn't it?" He purrs. Her thighs shake. "I know. You've been doing everything right, you just gotta do one more thing for me. Just let go, topolina. Allow yourself to cum. Coat your Cardinal in your sweet nectar. Won't you do that for me?" The coil snaps, her little death arriving as quickly as it approached, flooding all her senses and making a mess of his fine clothes.

He holds her close, soothing her as she shakes and shivers, the intensity from the release she's denied herself for months was debilitating. She definitely needed some extra long time to recover from this one, unable to stand since her legs were now Jello, and extra aftercare as well. And he was more than willing to provide such, snacks, kisses, and back rubs galore. Whatever his little mouse needs. But as much as he loves to provide, he can wait till she leaves, so he can at last deal with this damned infuriatingly painful tent throbbing in his pants.

#the band ghost #ghost band #ghost bc #ghost band smut #ghost band fanfic #cardinal copia #cardinal copia x reader #cardinal copia smut #cardinal copia x reader smut #copia emeritus #papa emeritus smut #papa emertius #papa emeritus iv #ghost copia #copia #papa copia #ghost kinktober #kinktober 2024

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moonstruckme · 1 year ago

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Hey! I absolutely adore your work :D If you wouldn't mind, could you maybe do poly!Marauders x GN!Reader who is having/had a panic attack? So they're just really exhausted and anxious, but our boys are taking care of them? If not, don't worry haha

Thanks lovely <33

cw: panic attack aftermath, anxiety

poly!marauders x gn!reader ♡ 752 words

You’re slick with sweat, and yet you can’t stop shivering. James’ hand is steadfast on your back, fingers spread wide as he drags it up and down your spine. Somehow he knows to apply a good amount of pressure, grounding you here on your living room floor.

“I’m okay,” you say, to yourself or them, you’re not entirely sure. You take a big, shuddering breath, your lungs aching like an overworked muscle as they expand. “Sorry about that. I’m okay now.”

“You don’t have to be.” Sirius matches your quiet tone, sitting with his legs crossed under him on the floor in front of you. “Take your time, baby.”

Remus stands from behind you on the couch, disappearing into the kitchen and returning a minute later with a glass of water. He sets it down in front of you.

“Only drink it if you want,” he says.

You nod, and you do want, sipping at the cold water and relishing the feel of it in your sore throat. You let out a breath when you finish, setting the glass atop the coffee table and leaning sideways until your head hits James’ shoulder.

Your boyfriends are being quieter than you would’ve expected. Certainly quieter than they had been when the attack came on, Sirius and James launching questions at you rapid-fire and scrambling to find out how they could help before Remus had shushed them harshly and given you the environment you needed to calm yourself down. You’re sure they’re still brimming with questions now, but they’re patient enough to put their curiosity on hold, just sitting with you while you will the tension in your muscles to ease and your heart to beat at a normal pace.

“Tired, sweetheart?” James murmurs, hand following the curve of your spine from your tailbone to where your neck meets his shoulder.

“Yeah.” It comes out a sigh.

Remus hums. “Your body just went through a lot,” he explains, more for James and Sirius than for you, you think. “Do you want to lie down, love?”

You nod, and Remus reaches down to steady you at the elbows, helping you up. You’d like to think he’s being excessive in his cosseting, but your trembling worsens as you stand. Your legs feel made of rubber underneath you, and you waste no time sitting down again on the couch.

Remus gets up to make room for you, and you spread out, trying to convey to your body that the danger has passed. You cover your eyes with your hand, pinching the bridge of your nose in an attempt to quell the headache you feel coming on.

There’s a gentle whoosh of air, and then a soft, heavy blanket settles over you. You open your eyes to find James tucking it around your feet, and you send him a grateful smile.

“Sorry about that,” you say again, though you know they don’t want to hear it. You just aren’t sure what else to say. “Thanks for helping me through it.”

“Anytime, angel.” James gives your feet a little squeeze through the blanket. If you weren’t so exhausted you’d probably be a lot more embarrassed about that. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for, you know. That seemed…really scary.”

You nod, because you don’t know what else to do. It was. It is.

“Is there anything else we can do to help?” Sirius asks, and you’re both touched and heartbroken by the worry in his voice.

“Thanks.” You give him your most reassuring smile. It’s a small, feeble thing, but hopefully enough to comfort him a little. “Actually, do you think you could wake me up in a little while? I just…it’s sometimes hard for me to sleep the first night after a panic attack. I don’t want to make it worse by napping all day.”

Sirius flashes a smile. It’s maybe half its usual wattage, but it’s something. “Sounds good, sweet thing.”

You look between your boyfriends, feeling awkward and a little bit dramatic for the past hour’s events. You can’t decide whether to apologize or thank them again, but Remus seems to see the words warring on the tip of your tongue. He reaches over to brush some hair from your face, his knuckle stroking gently down your cheek.

“We can talk about it after you wake up if you want to, love,” he says. “Just get some rest for now, yeah?”

You nod, snuggling into the blanket and closing your eyes.

“We’ll be here when you wake up.”

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void-wolfie · 2 years ago

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How'd You Do That?

summary: you have a panic attack right before your first premiere. [request]

pairing: Jenna Ortega x gn!Reader

tw: panic attack, my terrible writing (let me know if I need to add anything)

words: 1.5k

a/n: this is one of the rare times where I can say it took me so long to get to a request because I had too many ideas. I was watching my favorite show the other day and they use this idea and I couldn't stop thinking of a Jenna x R scene with it (bonus points if you know what show it's based off of)

*disclaimer; please don't use this tactic to stop a panic attack, it could actually make things worse. I only wrote it like this because it's fiction and cute.

"You did it, kid,"

Those were the first words out of your dad's mouth when he called you.

You did it.

The words bounced around in your head, filling you with excitement and dread. There was a pit in your stomach, and you had the urge to puke, you weren't sure if that was a good thing or not.

You did it.

That was a year ago, news had just gotten out that you'd be in a new summer film, set to co-star with none other than Miss Jenna Ortega herself. At the time, you were a no-name actor. You'd been in a few small things here and there, a few supporting roles. But you were nothing compared to the young sensation herself.

You'd gotten a rocky start; you were an anxious mess at the start of filming. But who wouldn't be when they were sitting so close to their celebrity crush.

Somewhere along the way, the anxiety faded. She wasn't The Jenna Ortega anymore; she was just Jenna. She wasn't the actress you'd been looking up to since the start of your career, but a pretty girl with a million freckles and a love of dad jokes. She became your best friend. The girl you'd call at one am to confess all your worries to, the girl who'd call you every day and made sure you ate because sometimes you'd forget, the girl who didn't know a lick of Spanish yet could still pull off the most amazing accent, and the girl you would text first thing every morning.

You sat in the car, wringing your hands nervously.

You were supposed to get out of the car five minutes ago, but you couldn't. Your legs felt like Jello and your vision was spinning just a bit.

All that filming and it was finally the moment of truth. The day of the premiere. Would people like you? Would they like the movie? What if your acting was terrible? You'd never been to a premiere like this before, what if you embarrassed yourself? Or-

You were freaking out. You could hear your heartbeat thumping in your ears, erratically beating in your chest. It felt like someone had knocked the air out of you, squeezing your lungs and making it impossible to breathe. And your hands; they were clammy and cold, yet somehow also hot, and they wouldn't stop shaking.

Jenna was sitting next to you in the car, tinted windows hiding the two of you from the sea of flashing cameras outside. She had been through her fair share of premieres. She knew what to expect, she knew how to act and what to do. You on the other hand, you'd never been to one. She'd been watching you with worried eyes all day, watching as your anxiety built as the day went on.

"Hey, it's going to be alright," She grabbed your hands, interlocking your fingers with hers. She'd hoped the physical contact might help calm you, but it didn't seem to ease your nerves.

Your eyes flitted down to your hands interlaced with Jenna's, her black nail polish contrasting against her tan skin.

Being close to Jenna always made you feel better, yet it didn't seem to be helping this time.

Your anxiety was at an all-time high, crippling you from the inside out. Your throat squeezed a little tighter as if you weren't struggling to breathe enough already.

"I'll be right there with you the whole time, ok?" She squeezed your hands reassuringly, but it didn't do anything to quell the raging storm inside.

Your eyes traveled back to the window. The flashing lights, the reporters circling like ravenous vultures, the way the other actors were already out there making everything look so easy while you were in the midst of a breakdown... It was too much...

Your breathing got a little more ragged, shallow uneven breaths wracking your chest. You closed your eyes, focusing on just trying to calm down.

Jenna's eyebrows scrunched in confusion, watching the way your chest heaved and hands squeezed hers tighter. It only took her a few seconds to figure out what was happening, she wasn't any stranger to panic attacks.

"Breathe with me. In and out," She exaggerated her breathing, trying to encourage you to slow your own, "In and out,"

But you couldn't, no matter how hard you tried. The feeling of not being in control of something as simple as breathing made you panic even more.

"I- I can't-"

"Hey, look at me," you felt her finger under your chin, tilting your face to look at her. But you made sure to keep your eyes shut. You didn't want to look into those big brown eyes and show her just how vulnerable you were, you'd rather suffocate.

"y/n, please," her voice cracked ever so slightly, composure dropping for just a split second. She was worried about you. Worried about how you were spiraling out of control, and you wouldn't let her help.

Her mind was blank, not sure what to do. She had one idea left, though she wasn't sure if it'd help or make things entirely worse, "I have an idea, do you trust me?"

If this backfired... Well, she didn't want to think about that.

You nodded, still attempting to calm down. Your nerves felt like they were on fire as you struggled to breathe, your heartbeat still thumping loudly in your ears.

A second passed. Then two. You were about to open your eyes to see what bright idea Jenna had when a pair of lips smashed against yours.

The whole world stopped. All you could focus on was the pair of soft lips pressed against yours and the warm hand cupping your cheek.

Wow.

She pulled away and the world stood still.

Everything felt quiet. That nagging voice in the back of your skull wasn't there. The sound of your heartbeat echoing in your ears had dimmed. Even the sound of the crowds outside seemed much smaller.

Jenna didn't think her idea would work. But you already seemed a bit better. Your hands had stopped shaking so violently and your breathing had mostly returned to normal.

"y/n?" Now Jenna was the one panicking. What if she just ruined your friendship? She couldn't lose you...

Your mind was strangely quiet for once. And you were only aware of two things. Firstly, wow. Secondly, do it again.

"y/n?" Jenna's voice finally pulled you from whatever trance you were in.

"Would it be wrong, to ask you to do that again?" Your eyes were still closed. Part of you was scared to open them again. What if you opened them and she wasn't there? What if it was all just a dream?

Jenna wasn't sure how to answer that. Would it be wrong? The two of you were coworkers after all. But she didn't really care.

It took her a second to think about what you were asking, and even less than that to throw the question out the window and kiss you again.

It was soft, simple, and sweet. It was everything you could ever ask for from a second kiss.

The minute Jenna pulled away all you could think of was the missing warmth. The way it felt like finding your other half just to be ripped apart.

Silence filled the air, neither of you sure who would speak first.

"How'd you do that?" You finally relaxed, opening your eyes to find her big brown ones looking back, full of concern and adoration.

"Do what?"

"You stopped my panic attack,"

"I read somewhere that getting someone to hold their breath can stop a panic attack, when I kissed you, you held your breath," you couldn't help but notice the small blush spread across her cheeks.

"Did you mean it? Like, did you want to kiss me?"

"Would it be wrong of me to say I did?"

Your eyes lit up. She wanted to kiss you? Does that mean she likes you?

Shouting and cheering from outside caught the attention of you and Jenna, heads darting over to the window to watch the cheering crowds outside; all of them oblivious to what just happened between you and your co-star.

"We have to go, don't we?" You were a bit disappointed. You didn't want to leave the safety of the car, you wanted to talk this out with Jenna.

"Unfortunately," Jenna noticed the pout that took over your features, the way you gripped her hand a bit tighter for comfort, "But I'll be right there the whole time, ok? And we can even leave early if you want."

You nodded, still not exactly happy to be going, but going with Jenna was better than going solo.

Jenna pushed open the car door. Instantly flashing lights and people calling yours and Jenna's names filled the air. You could feel the anxiety bubbling up again. But just as quickly as it started, it went away. Jenna's hand gave yours a little squeeze, reminding you she was right there.

#jenna ortega x gn!reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega imagine #void-wolfie

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strwbrychffoncke · 20 days ago

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"but if you and my heart should someday drift apart i'll make sure to give you these blessings because they're all i've got,, 2.3k words ⸺ event masterlist synopsis: jeremiah recalls those times so long ago when you stumble into his shop one particular day contains: lnds jeremiah x reader (afab ,non-mc but ur reincarnated) ,plot (you have history from Philos) ,looots of flashbacks ,slight angst -> fluff ,xavier mention ,mention of death (reader in past life but the method is unspecified) ,shy!jeremiah ,brief flower language talk ,readers fave flower is a primrose (lore reasons + i just love inserting this flower wherever i can lmao) ,pretty much just whipped!jeremiah determined to win ur heart (again) note: (proofread ,may need one last edit); if u asked me how i came up w this idea i'd look u dead in the eye and say "i wish i could tell you"

how long had it been now?

...long.

it was so long ago now.

but he would never forget you.

how could he? he wouldn't ever dare.

the way your hair flowed in the soft breeze in the meadow that day as you gazed at the rows upon rows of flowers.

the faraway look in your eyes as you watched the sun begin its descent below the horizon, loose flower petals floating around and highlighting your lone figure in the scenery.

your surprised look when you caught him approaching—

and the smile you offered him, a complete stranger.

it all came rushing back to him the moment you stepped through his humble flower shop on that seemingly ordinary day.

he called out his usual greeting, just about to place a freshly potted flower up on display when his eyes turned to the guest who'd found themselves in Philo—

and he felt the oxygen leave his body.

there you were.

he paused, eyes widening, lips parting in shock.

it was you.

his gaze was so focused on you as you marveled at the variety of flowers around that he didn't even realize the pot had slipped from his grasp and crashed to the floor, shattering into pieces with soil spilling all around, until your eyes snapped towards his at the sound.

"hey! are you alright???"

and suddenly, you're rushing over to him, standing before him and looking him over to make sure he didn't sustain any injuries from the pot he'd somehow dropped, and he's frozen, completely enraptured by hearing your voice again.

there it was. how long had it been since he'd heard it last? those last words he'd heard from you back then?

"i love you, jeremiah."

he couldn't ever forget that day if he tried, the flower petals being carried away in the breeze a sentiment to wherever your soul had floated off to, leaving him in complete and utter despair for what seemed like eons to come.

but now, here you are again rambling in a panic at the shopkeeper that you were sure had harmed himself in some way.

he somehow finds it in himself to snap back to reality and finally, finally speak again if only to quell your concerns.

"oh! hey, hey, i'm- i'm okay, really—"

he can't help the slight tremble in his voice, cringing at the way he stutters, but could you really blame him?

after all this time, he was talking with you once again.

"are you sure? your hands..." you reach out, grasping his shaking hands in yours as you inspect them before caressing the backs of them with your thumbs— the same soothing gesture you'd use back then when you noticed his anxiety, he notes— showing your concern for him, a complete stranger (it seems you're still the same).

he feels his breath hitch in his throat, rendering him speechless as he gazes at you, your hands holding his— how soft they felt, how much smaller they were compared to his, and how badly he wanted to intertwine his fingers with yours once again.

"wow, your hands are amazing, jeremiah..."

"haha, you think so?" his cheeks are flushed in a pretty pink of the peonies that surround you both.

"of course. is it okay if i hold them for awhile..?"

that memory was....

"how did that even happen, were you distracted by something?"

jeremiah blinks back to the present, your voice bringing him back from the past he'd floated off to, meeting your concerned gaze.

you have no idea he thinks, but shakes the thought from his head before offering a wry smile your way— his attempt at reassuring you at the forefront of his mind even after all this time.

"i guess i just had a weak grasp on it," he laughs. "give me a moment to clean this up, i don't want you hurting yourself."

you nod, still a little unconvinced, but keep mind to avoid the spot as he goes through a door in the back to fetch a broom.

—except once the door shuts he succumbs to his weakness, falling to his knees as he gasps for air, one hand clutching his chest as the other is out straight, hand splayed out on the floor to keep himself upright.

was this real? was this really not another wishful dream of his?

his mind was racing.

was this what it was like for xavier when he saw her again?

from the looks of it, you had no memory of him. as much as that hurt, he was sure, so sure that fate had brought you back to him after all this time, and was going to do his damn best to be by your side once again.

just as it should be.

he didn't want to question the reason for you being here all of a sudden too much, he didn't feel the need to, at least not right now.

what was important to him was that you were here again, you had met with him again, and he doesn't think he's felt this giddy since he'd met you the first time around.

"oh! i'm jeremiah..."

you offer a bright smile his way, repeating his name and oh how he loves the way it sounds falling from your lips.

"it's nice to meet you, i'm...."

even if you don't remember him right now, even if you're complete strangers, even if you don't even know his name yet—

he was determined to win you back again, and with any luck, the same method would work twice.

"ah, you're back!" your smile holds relief, and jeremiah feels his ears burn.

"you were gone for a bit.. you didn't injure yourself after all, did you?" your eyes hold concern, looking at him inquisitively.

jeremiah finds his way to the broken pot, finding you seated at a high chair by the register counter. he smiles at you as he sets the dustpan down and begins sweeping the dirt and debris into it.

"no, no, not at all," he shakes his head, a small reassuring smile gracing his lips. "sorry to keep you waiting."

you let out a small exhale of relief, not going unnoticed by the florist, heart fluttering at the sentiment.

you were really worried about him...

"sorry you had to see that— some professional i am, huh?" he jokes, glancing up at you through his bangs for a moment before his eyes shift back down, gathering the last of the soil.

that pretty laugh of yours rings out through the shop again, and he thinks the sound alone could help his flowers prosper if they were ever lacking in sunlight.

"everyone has their days, i understand," you nod, taking a look around the shop once more. "you really have a beautiful selection of flowers here, i think i checked out every single one since i walked in."

he takes the full dustpan, bringing it behind the checkout counter to dispose of its contents in the trash can he has under the shelf before setting both items down, dusting his hands and clothes off.

"do you like flowers?"

his attention is completely on you now, hands resting on the edges of the counter as he leans some of his weight forward, face level with yours.

your eyes brighten at the inquiry, looking up at him and quickly nodding your head in response.

the question mirrors one from long before, and he's happy to be reminded that your soul is still the same.

"i love them! though, no matter how much i try, i can never seem to remember their languages," you hold your head in your hands, playfully sulking.

"there's just too many flowers for my poor brain to retain all their meanings!"

he laughs, light and amused at your playful behavior, watching as you peek up at him again.

"as an expert florist, i'd be happy to help! was there a particular message you wanted to get across?" he tilts his head when he asks.

"something like... 'gratitude' and 'friendship?'"

"consider it done," he nods, pulling a paper pad aside and grabbing a nearby pencil as he jots down a small list of flowers with these particular meanings and that compliment each other in an arrangement.

"oh, i'm jeremiah, by the way. and this flower arrangement is for...?"

"ah, i totally forgot! i'm y/n!" you bow your head slightly in both embarrassment and instinctual politeness.

"jeremiah...." you test the name on your tongue, quickly committing the charming florists' name to memory. "it's nice to meet you!"

how he missed hearing his name uttered from your lips.

the arrangement is finished swiftly, the both of you exchanging casual chatter as you watch his deft fingers snip and gather each new flower together, tying it securely with some twine and a decorative ribbon.

"its beautiful...."

you marvel at the work, eyes raking over each of the carefully nurtured flowers that were specially picked by the cute male before you for this arrangement.

"oh, actually..."

his voice pipes up, stopping you in your tracks as you lift your gaze from the fresh bouquet to his face once more.

"its just a little something extra, for you."

a pretty blush adorns jeremiah's cheeks as he holds out a singular flower for you, soft and delicate looking, its thin-pinkish petals stretched out wide.

your eyes go wide in both surprise and appreciation at the sight.

"ah, a primrose!"

you reach a hand out to take it from him, fingers brushing against his slightly-larger and warm ones as you grasp it firmly, twirling it around and admiring it before looking at his face once more.

"this one is my favorite flower! how did you know?" you tilt your head, smile full of gratitude.

you notice how bashful he looks, eyes averted from yours as he looks down in hopes his curly bangs will shield him somewhat, ears tinted red as his fingers flex before tapping against the counter.

"lucky guess, i suppose," he mumbles, finger coming up to scratch at his cheek while letting out an embarrassed chuckle.

your heart feels unexplainably warm, the heat traveling to your own cheeks as a shy smile plasters itself on your face.

"we must be soulmates or something!"

jeremiah feels his heart stutter in his chest.

your joke is innocent, tone so sweet, but you really have no idea the weight your words has on the poor florist as his wide eyes marvel at the dazzling smile you shoot his way, grasping the flower so carefully in your hold.

"i'll treasure this," your voice is soft as you cradle the flower gently in your hands, holding it towards your chest— towards your heart. "it'll be like... the symbol of our first meeting, among many more!"

the last words hold a sacred promise and jeremiah's heart hammers in his chest at the declaration.

despite the flurry of emotions, he only nods, humming along to your words.

"of course," his voice comes out a little strained, and he clears his throat before continuing. "you can stop by anytime... i'll be here."

"then its settled: we'll definitely meet again!"

those are your last words before you exchange your farewells for the night.

he watches you walk out the door, the little overhead bell signaling your departure, sparing him one last wave before you make your way down the walkway illuminated by the street lamps and the stars. when your figure is no longer visible from the shop window, he let's out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

as he begins to close up shop for the night, replaying through your every interaction in this first meeting, he can't help but to reminisce on a most cherished memory from back then, in partial thanks to your heartfelt declaration, heart full and already longing for the next meeting you two will encounter.

"the language of the primrose? someone has fancy tastes."

your laugh floats through the colorful meadow.

"aren't they beautiful? they're small and delicate, but hold immense charm to them, don't you think?" you ask, holding one up to your face and sending a wink in jeremiah's direction.

he laughs at your antics. in his eyes, the person holding the flower had an awful lot more charm than the flower in their grasp.

"i see what you mean," he eventually says as your eyes drift to the bundles of them nearby, softly petting their outstretched petals.

a comfortable silence envelops you both until his voice interrupts it.

"first love."

"huh?"

your head shoots up, eyes quickly finding his—

his, that have been glued to you this entire time.

"the language of the primrose. it's 'first love,' or 'new beginnings.' when gifted to someone, its like saying 'i can't live without you,' offering your whole heart to them."

you blink at him, processing his explanation. a soft breeze blows by, and you watch the flowers sway with it as jeremiah watches the way your hair flows, beautiful as always.

"then..."

you sit up on your knees, crawling the short distance towards him, not caring about the dirt that now paints your dress despite jeremiah's warnings, reaching a hand out to gesture towards his.

he raises an eyebrow, slowly holding it out and you quickly grasp his wrist, watching your focused gaze as you pull his hand towards the one holding the primrose, half-placing it in his as the hand that grasps his wrist now cradles the outside of his palm.

"this will be our symbol."

your eyes look straight into his, determined yet gentle as you speak.

"we will always be with each other, no matter what."

jeremiah's staring at you in awe, hand slightly trembling at your boldness.

you grin at him.

"looks like you're stuck with me, now," you wink at him. "we'll always meet each other."

and jeremiah thought that maybe that wouldn't be so bad, so long as it was you.

a/n: did i create lore for a lads npc just from a line of a song for this valentines event um.......... *insert dog smile gif* made some last edits ,i hope it came out well yay~

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #l&ds #love and deepspace jeremiah #lads jeremiah #lnds jeremiah #l&ds jeremiah #love and deepspace jeremiah x reader #lads jeremiah x reader #lnds jeremiah x reader #l&ds jeremiah x reader #love and deepspace jeremiah x you #lads jeremiah x you #lnds jeremiah x you #l&ds jeremiah x you #jeremiah x reader #jeremiah x you

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kitakashi · 2 years ago

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Cursed

Kuroo Tetsurō x Reader

Soulmate AU

born from conversations with @shoulmate 💚 (not edited or beta read)

Warm sand tickled the bottom of your feet. Digging your toes deeper into the beach you watched your friends play volleyball from your spot on a towel.

University finals were over. As soon as the last exam finished you packed your bags to join your friends for a much needed vacation.

You sat beside Kozume under a large umbrella enjoying the salt air and the crash of the waves. And of course the view of swim trunk, baseball caps, and sunglasses.

Kuroo, Bokuto, and Akaashi were shirtless and sweaty only a few yards away. Alongside other friends the bunch of you had made at Tokyo University. But those three in particular were the sweetest eye candy.

Your fingers slipped under the thick wristband you wore to cover your soulmark. Rubbing the name if your soulmate unconsciously, until Kozume cleared his throat giving you a look. Adjusting your sunglasses on your face you pretended not to notice his stare.

Your friends knew you were one of the few with a soulmate, but you had never shared with them who is was. Kozume, however, was too observant and you suspected he knew. Gratefully he never said anything or pushed you about it.

It happened right before you started high school. You were with your parents filling out paperwork after moving to a new area. Scrolling endlessly on your phone, bored out of your mind, when the skin on your wrist exploded in pain as if on fire. Gasping you cuddled your arm to your chest, tears pricking your eyes.

Curious faces turned towards you. Some confused, others shocked at the outburst. It wasn’t until your parents pried your arm from your body did the realization finally set in. You had gotten a soulmark.

Having a soulmark wasn’t common. Most people knew someone in their extended family or group of friends who had one. They appeared randomly during your mid to late teens if you got one. And not everyone saw it as a blessing.

The mark was a name. The name of your soulmate. But your soulmate would not have a mark. Just having the mark didn’t mean they were close by or did it mean you’d ever meet them.

This caused a lot of problems in relationships. Either you held out for a soulmate who never came or one would randomly pop into your life after you had already settled down with someone else.

But your teenage heart had high hopes that couldn’t be dashed by your parents’ realistic and logical words. It wasn’t that they weren’t happy for you. They just didn’t want their precious child’s heart crushed by this Kuroo Tetsurō whom they didn’t know.

You met Kuroo right after starting high school. He was a year above you. And he was perfect. Handsome, funny, athletic, intelligent, talented, and kind.

Well, you didn’t actually meet him. You heard the name Kuroo Tetsurō and your wrist throbbed alongside your heart in excitement. You rushed to tell him who you were.

That’s when you realized it was no blessing but a curse upon your wrist.

Kuroo was a member of the volleyball team. A second year pillar of the team. Relied upon by his seniors and juniors. His athletic prowess alone was intimidating. Yet he was also studious, beloved by the teachers. He was surrounded his teammates and by fans. Pretty girls, handsome boys.

You tried to worm your way through the crowd to talk to him but the glares you got stopped you in your tracks.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” A voice snapped.

An elbow dug into your ribs, “we were here first.”

Wincing you took a step back from the throng of people. Clutching your arm, you rubbed your wrist. An action you always seemed to do to quell your anxiety. You looked for another way through the crowd. It wasn’t as though you had to tell him today but you wanted to be with your soulmate as soon as possible, believing in a happily ever after.

You could see his head above the others. If only you could get Kuroo’s attention somehow. Trying again to squeeze through the sea of people it wasn’t until someone grabbed your arm did you stop.

The girl had wrenched your arm back trying to see your wrist. “Oh shit you have a soulmark!” You panicked trying to pull yourself free. “Lemme see who it is! Is it one of the guys on the team?”

Ripping your arm back before she could see the name, you gave her a nasty glare. But the damage had been done. Curious faces heard her exclamation and turned towards you.

Another girl lurched towards you and you took a step back. “A soulmark? How neat!”

“Seriously?” Her friend looked suspicious, “she’s gotta be one of maybe 5 people at this school.”

“Who is it?” Someone curious spoke you couldn’t see, “whose name is her mark?”

Nearby a girl scrunched up her nose in disbelief, “Really. Idoubt it. Probably wrote it with sharpie.” She rolled her eyes and the people around her laughed.

“How pathetic,” another scathing voice, “who would want to be tied down to her?”

You couldn’t even see the people laughing at you anymore. Nails biting into the skin of your wrist, you hugged the name Kuroo Tetsurō to your chest. If your legs didn’t give out, your lungs would. You couldn’t breathe.

“I feel sorry for her soulmate.”

“Make her wash her hands and prove it’s real.”

Their words cut deep. Self deprecating thoughts filled your mind. You knew they were just petty but you couldn’t help the tears from forming. Suddenly you didn’t want to meet your soulmate. A burst of strength let you rush off before they could see you cry. Later you thought of ways to hide your mark.

Somehow you had made it through high school without anyone finding out the name on your wrist. A thick wrist band covered the name and you never took it off unless to shower.

A feat especially hard after befriending Kozume Kenma. You shared class with him all three years. After finding out the two of you enjoyed the same video games, a friendship grew and solidified. Unfortunately, that also meant that Kuroo was part of your friends group. Your soulmark wasn’t done cursing you.

Even without the soulmark you liked Kuroo. You couldn’t meet his sharp feline gaze when he seldom spoke to you. Just being around him made you rub the skin beneath the band on your wrist uncontrollably. Your face felt like a furnace anytime he caught you staring, and you stared a lot. And smiled. You didn’t even realize you would just have this dopey grin on your face. Not until Kozume pointed it out. Another reason why you think he knows.

And because of your cowardice, you had to watch Kuroo date other people. You had no one to blame but yourself. But every time you thought to end your misery by spilling your secret, you imagined him asking why it took you so long. Or that he only saw you as a friend.

The feeling of a hand on your arm snapped you from your inner mind. Kozume had grabbed your wrist to prevent you from injuring yourself. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d rubbed the soulmark raw. He called your name and you met his worried golden eyes.

“Sorry,” you tried to laugh it off, “I was spacing out.” Kozume frowned. He opened his mouth but you stood cutting him off. “I think I’m going to wade in a bit. Try and cool off some.”

Dusting off a bit of sand you made your way to the waves without waiting for a response. The water was cool as it gently lapped at your legs. A shiver went down your spine at the temperature difference between the ocean and the hot sun.

A figure sliding beside you made you jump, slipping on the wet sand. Grabbing the person who startled you to avoid plummeting into the ocean, you weren’t expecting intense yellow eyes to stare down at you.

“I scare you that bad?” Kuroo cackled. “I did call your name you know.”

He helped you stabilize yourself and you regretfully released his bicep. The raven stretched, joints cracking. You did your best to not completely ogle him from behind your shades.

“What are you doing over here? I thought you were playing volleyball?”

“Drink break,” broad shoulders shrugged, “gotta stay hydrated.” Kuroo had the gall to wink at you.

You nodded, staying silent. Gazing at the open ocean, unsuccessfully trying to quell your beating heart. Cold water splashed your sides. You shot Kuroo’s smirking face a glare.

“What’s on your mind?” He splashed you again. “You’re even more quiet than usual.”

“Quit that,” you scowled.

He wiggled a finger in your face, “now that’s not very nice. I’m just trying to be friendly.”

“You have plenty of friends to bother.”

“True,” he acknowledged with an obnoxious grin, “but I’d rather bother you.”

You rolled your eyes, splashing him back. Glancing back at your friends you saw Bokuto animatedly telling a story keeping his audience enraptured. Snorting you shook your head, guess Kuroo really was free right now.

“Hey,” squinting you looked back to Kuroo who was pointing to your wrist, “aren’t you worried about the salt water eating through that?”

Tugging at the wrist band you shrugged, “I guess. But it’s not like I can’t get another one.”

“Why not take it off? We are on vacation after all. And who knows you might even meet them here.” Glad Kuroo wasn’t looking at you, you couldn’t help but squeeze your wrist. He was gazing out at the ocean but continued, “if I had a soulmate I know I’d be trying everything to meet them.”

“You don’t seem to need help in that department. You’ve always got girls around you.”

Kuroo frowned looking down at you. “And if you haven’t noticed, not once has any date worked out.”

Snapping the soggy wrist band against the soulmark you couldn’t help asking, “what if…” You floundered uncomfortable under the raven’s intense gaze. “What if, when you met them, you didn’t think it would work?”

Dark eyebrows skyrocketed over his sunglasses, “you’ve already met them? Did you tell them?”

You flinched from his incredulous tone, avoiding meeting his eyes. Shifting your weight you rubbed harder at the name on your wrist.

“Hey,” Kuroo softly called your name, “talk to me.” Why did he look so sad? Not knowing what to say, how to explain, you didn’t speak. He pushes his shades to the top of his head to look at you better despite the bright sunlight. His voice was gentle, “why do you think it wouldn’t work?”

Salt stung at your wrist as the flesh peeled from the harsh friction. You knew you were standing in the surf but it felt like you were being dragged down to the ocean depths.

Kuroo’s body was completely facing you now. You had his full attention. No calling of his name by Bokuto could distract him from you. His rough fingers caressed your arms, trying to keep you from a panic attack. Tears pricked at your eyes.

“I’m not,” you choked out, stopping to clear your throat, “I don’t think… I’m just, just not. And he, he’s… amazing.”

Fingers slid up your arms to grab your face. Both of Kuroo’s large hands cupped your jaw as he looked at you sternly. “Stop that right now,” he growled, “anyone would be lucky to have you as their soulmate. If you don’t stop with this bullshit I’ll start listing reasons at the top of my lungs.” You gaped at him. “I’ll sing them too if it’ll stop you from crying. Poorly I might add.” Using his thumbs to wipe your tears running from under your dark sunglasses, he kept speaking. His voice softer now, “I mean it.”

You couldn’t help but stare at him. He was leaning so close that your noses almost touched. Yellow eyes deeper and brighter than the sun baring down overhead. A mixture of sweat and ocean spray glistened on his skin. Already messed raven hair held down by his sunglasses and whipped every direction by the cool breeze.

“What if it was you,” not even sure he could hear you, you whispered, “what if my soulmate was you? Would you still want a soulmate then?”

Kuroo took a shaky breathe, licking his lips. Using his thumbs, he slowly pushes your shades to the top of your head. “If it were me,” fingers gently traced your jawline, “I’d want to know why you didn’t tell me. If it were me, I’d kiss you until we were both breathless. If it were me, I’d make sure we were never apart for the rest of our lives. Because if it were me who had such an amazing soulmate, there’s nothing less I could do than give you everything.” Hot breath danced across your lips. His golden gaze searching, with a prayer held inside. Reverently, he whispered your name. “Show me, so I can finally kiss you.”

Biting your lip, you fiddled with the soaked wristband hiding your soulmark. Hands shaking you held your wrist up to him. A moment passed before he realized, you wanted him to remove it. One hand moved along your arm while the other rested against your neck. Silently searching your eyes for permission, he removed the offending cover.

There on your wrist, was his name. Kuroo Tetsurō.

Not a moment later was his mouth on yours. And the soulmark curse trapping your heart was finally broken.

#kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #haikyuu x reader #soulmate au #not edited or beta read

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