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nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos · 21 days

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Next chapter incoming

I didn't except it this soon, either.

It's still writing itself and dear GODS I hope this momentum continues.

Flight Risk

Young!Mihawk x Marine!AFAB!Reader

Ch.8 of who even fcking knows like maybe ten-ish...? First Chapter Link for newcomers, will update with other chapter links soon

Brief summary of The Story So Far: Your mission, as a Marine and Zoan type devil fruit user (gray parrot), is to gather intel on Dracule Mihawk, a pirate on the Grand Line who has become a thorn in the Marines' side over a relatively short period of time. You're his prisoner now, and you have no real hope left that you can see aside from his acceptance of the Warlord proposal.

We're venturing into NSFW territory in this chapter. So Warnings for that, and continued Yandere stuff.

Wordcount: 3588

Taglist: @i-am-vita, @browneyedhufflepuff, @h0n3y-l3m0n05, @littleleelee, @nerium-lil, @dragon-bubs , @animefreak818 , @byysandra , @lufemia , @gizamalblythe, @lufemia @schanwow

You guys are all amazing tysm!!!!!

The first time you had awoken in the castle on Kuraigana Island, you had jumped so badly you had very nearly reverted straight out of your devil fruit form—and that in itself would have marked the end of your mission before it had even truly begun, given you had fallen asleep perched on Mihawk’s shoulder.

You jolted awake just as violently this time, and the first thing your gaze fixed upon was his sharp yellow eyes. You did panic for a moment, attempting to shift back into the avian form you had grown so accustomed to over the past two months, before remembering exactly where you were—lying across the cold stone floor of the dungeons.

Exactly how you had come to be here—by making the mistake of sneaking about in the middle of the night to call Bogard and inform him that you had no choice but to shift to plan B and propose the offer of Warlord status to your target.

Your target, who was seated in a chair in your damp, dark dungeon cell, staring down at you with a speculative frown.

“Awake at last.”

You winced as you strained against the floor to pull yourself up into a sitting position, too groggy for a moment to register why you were having such a difficult time, until the seastone shackles around your ankles clinked and rattled with your movements. Right. He had made completely sure that you wouldn’t be capable of escaping.

“You chose a particularly inopportune moment to faint earlier,” he commented, crossing his arms. “We were discussing this Warlord offer your superiors are considering presenting me with.”

You only vaguely recalled bringing it up—it must have been in the moments just before you lost consciousness. It was clear he had left you alone at some point during your slumber. He now had his open trench coat draped around his shoulders, his sword leaning against the corner of the cell. He traced your line of sight over to it and gave a small chuckle.

“Don’t worry yourself, dear. I simply prefer having my blade close. Though I’m sure you know that. You know a great deal more about me than I do you, after all. But I’m sure,” he went on, standing from the chair. You pressed your back against the wall as he approached you slowly, the toes of his boots coming to stop mere inches from your bare feet as he looked down at you, “that will come to change in time.”

He held his hand down toward you. You stared at it for a moment, before slowly lifting your hand, your breath catching as he took it in his with an almost gentle grip, this thumb tracing across your knuckles for a moment.

“You don’t have a fighter’s hands,” he said, turning your hand over, his much larger, rougher fingers tracing across your smooth palm. “Have you trained in anything aside from subterfuge?”

“Basic combat,” you said. “I’m best with throwing weapons and small blades.”

“Ideal for your stature and talent in stealth operations,” he commented.

He gave a small, thoughtful hum—then wrapped his hand around yours and pulled you to your feet, grabbing you by your hip before you could stumble straight into him. He turned with you and moved a hand to your shoulder, pushing you down into the chair he had just vacated himself.

“And, purely out of curiosity, what of your knowledge in birds?” he asked, pacing around the side of the chair slowly. “I can’t imagine you learned any of that from your Marine comrades.”

You shook your head, swallowing as his shadow fell over you from behind, glancing over at his hand resting against the back of the chair. “M...my mom,” you said quietly, your stomach churning at the sudden thought that you would probably never see her again. “She’s an ornithologist. Specializing in parrots and corvids. She runs a rescue service for them. I learned everything from her.”

“And yet you chose to join the Marines?” he said, amused. “Perhaps your father’s influence?” You gave a short nod. “Of course. Could have stayed at home on the farm, safe and sound, and yet...here you are. But I suppose it did give you the experience necessary to utilize your devil fruit to its fullest effect. I can see why your superiors chose you for this task. Not many could have pulled it off as well as you did.”

You felt the chair creak behind you as he leaned down against it, sending a cold chill down your spine as he reached up to brush your hair behind your ear, to tilt his head and fix you with an amused smirk as your shoulders grew stiff as stone.

“That was a compliment, little bird,” he said lightly, tracing his index finger slowly down the curve of your neck. “What do we say when someone compliments us?”

“Th—thank you,” you forced out, swallowing. “S-sir.”

“Good girl,” he lilted softly, close to your ear.

You thought you might faint all over again when he briefly pressed his lips to your temple before straightening back out and lightly ruffling your hair. As gentle as his actions seemed, they were laced with a thinly veiled threat—a threat that if you did anything other than what was asked of you, what he expected of you, there would be swift and severe repercussions. He didn’t have to say it for you to know it to be true.

“Are you able to provide me with the full details of this whole Warlord proposal?” he asked, moving around to the other side of the chair. He stopped in front of you, crossing his arms. “Or will you need to contact your superiors?”

“They would know more than I would,” you said quietly—and that wasn’t a lie. You had been given the basic details, but he would need to speak with someone of much higher rank than you to garner any further information. “I—I can call them. They’d likely want to set a meeting if you’re interested—”

“Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves,” he said. “I’m interested to hear more of what the World Government might consider a mutually beneficial arrangement between pirates and Marines. I haven’t said I’m interested in the offer itself yet. That being said…”

You shifted back in the chair when he knelt down in front of you, reaching into his pocket—but all he pulled out was a small ring of keys. You recognized the Marine insignia etched into the metal ring before he lifted your foot and turned one of the keys in the shackle wrapped around your ankle.

“I am interested to speak to your commanding officers,” he said, lowering your foot back down. He lifted the other, and paused with the key in the lock, his sharp eyes darting up to meet yours. “You will accompany me to the study in the tower below my bedchambers. Should you make any attempt to escape or use your devil fruit ability, I don’t think I have to tell you what will happen.”

You swallowed, nodding quickly in understanding. “Y-yes, sir.”

“Very good. I was fairly sure you’d understand.” You bit your lip as he slipped his hand slowly up the length of your calf, his palm coming to rest against the side of your thigh just above your knee, his eyes remaining on yours as he turned the key and pulled the shackles away from you. You flinched as he lightly squeezed his hand around your thigh, keeping his hand there as he stood and rested his other hand against the back of the chair, hovering over you. “You’ll stand slowly, and you’ll walk in front of me. I don’t think there’s any need for me to hold your hand like a child. You ought to know your way around fairly well by now.”

“Y...yes, sir,” you repeated weakly.

Hundreds of thoughts swam through your head as you lead the way from the ground floor of the old, expansive castle to the eastern tower—whether you would ever see or speak to your mother again, how Garp and Bogard would respond to the news that you were compromised, whether or not you would even live to see the light of the next morning, why Mihawk was being so gentle with you, why you felt a flutter deep in your stomach every time he touched you.

Why, for the entire duration of the walk up to the study, with him even stopping once to allow you to venture alone into a small bathroom to clean yourself up and tend to any other personal needs—why you didn’t once consider the possibility of a potential escape plan.

He expected you to comply—he wouldn’t expect you to shift into your devil fruit form at the nearest window and take flight off into the quickly darkening evening sky.

Yet the thought only crossed your mind once he sat in the armchair behind the desk in the study, the thought of why you hadn’t considered the possibility. Before you could consider it any further, he lifted his hand and motioned for you to come over, leaning forward to pull the den den mushi across the desk toward him.

“You’ll call your superiors,” he said, his gaze not once leaving you as you slowly crossed the room. You nodded, stopping in front of the desk and reaching for the device. “No.” He pulled it further out of your reach, motioning for you again. “Come here.”

You tensed at the sharpening of his tone, and moved around to the opposite side of the desk with a little more urgency, stopping a few feet away from him, your eyes flickering between his yellow irises and the snail.

Closer, when he motioned for you again, stopping at the side of the chair, staring down at your feet as you shifted your weight between them.

You glanced up when he lifted his head again, pointing down at the floor and making a small, tight circular motion. “Turn,” he instructed.

You obeyed immediately, turning around slowly, arms crossed tight across your churning stomach.

“Better. Now…”

Your eyes clenched shut when he wrapped his hand around your wrist, gasping in alarm when he pulled you down, down onto the chair with him, your back against his chest. His hand left your wrist to brush against your hair, tucking the strands behind your ear and your shoulder.

And they shot open again when you felt him lean forward behind you, his broad torso pressed against your back, watching him grab the receiver of the den den mushi.

“Make the call for me, pet,” he said, handing it to you before pulling his arm tight around your waist, holding you against him as he leaned back again. “And keep quiet unless I say otherwise. Is that clear?”

“Y-yes, sir.” You couldn’t speak in anything more than a strained whisper, your face flaring with heat, immediately reaching forward to dial the number at his command and holding the receiver between his ear and your own.

You shut your eyes again when you heard a familiar, gruff voice answer.

“Vice Admiral Garp. If you have this number you know what to do.”

“Vice Admiral Garp,” repeated Mihawk, sincerely surprised. “Garp the Fist. Hero of the Marines. My, my. I suppose I should be honored.” You drew in a sharp breath as his fingers curled lightly, possessively around your waist, as he turned his head and rest his forehead against your temple, his voice soft and warm against your ear. “I had no idea the adorable little pet you sent me was so important.”

You flinched at the sharp static that came through the other line for a moment, as if the old vice admiral had tightened his hand considerably around his own den den mushi.

“Dracule Mihawk,” he growled in response. “Where the hell is she?”

“Safe,” he responded. “Unharmed...relatively. Though I imagine she must be quite frightened, wondering what I plan to do with her.” You nearly whimpered when he reached across, curling a strand of your hair around his index finger. “Quite the gifted little spy. I might never have known what she truly was had I not overheard her conversation two nights ago.”

“Dammit, kid…” you heard Garp grumble under his breath. Then, louder, in a more commanding tone, “You’ve got two options, Hawk-Eye. You can let her go, or I can come get her myself.”

“With an entire armada of Navy vessels in tow, I presume?” he responded, sounding as if the idea bored him. “You’re not really in the position to be making threats, old man. The cadet is unharmed...for now. And really. You send me such a pretty little pet and expect me to sen her right back before I’ve even had any time to enjoy her company?”

You held your breath as his hand drifted down from your waist, his fingers brushing against the top of your thigh just below the hem of the over-sized shirt he had given you to wear.

“Call her your pet again, you sick son of a b—don’t—let go of that—”

“Mmm?” Mihawk hummed quietly, curiously at the sound of the brief scuffle at the other end of the call. You were fairly certain you knew what it meant, and...it was probably better that Garp didn’t handle this. Your suspicions were confirmed a moment later when another voice came through the call, far more curt but just as familiar to you.

“Read Admiral Bogard. My apologies for the vice admiral’s boorish behavior. He doesn’t handle negotiations well when it concerns one of our own. I presume this is a negotiation and you didn’t simply call for the sake of gloating?”

“Your presumption would be correct,” said Mihawk. “Though I admit, it was also to sate my own curisoty. I couldn’t help but wonder what sort of supposed men would send such an innocent, vulnerable young woman on what could easily have turned out to be a suicide mission.” He rested his chin against your shoulder, trailing his dingers slowly back up the length of your thigh, smirking as you pressed your legs together tightly and tiny goosebumps raised across the surface of your skin. “I guess I have my answer.”

“I take it you have no intention of returning her without hostile measures being taken,” said Bogard, ignoring the taunt from the pirate. “I will ask yhat you allow her to speak so I can ascertain for myself that she is, as you claim, unharmed.”

“Oh, but of course,” said Mihawk, his voice low and dripping with mockery, his mouth nearly brushing your ear. “She’s right here, after all. Go on, pet. Speak.”

“I’m not hurt,” you said quietly.

“You’re sure?” You gave a quiet affirmative hum in response to Bogard’s question—and then jumped in alarm when Mihawk jerked the receiver from your hand, only to push it into your oposite hand. You swallowed, keeping your eyes turned down to your lap, to his hand splayed across your stomach. “Am I correct in assuming he’s listening?”

“Y—yes, sir.”

It became immediately clear why he had moved the receiver to your opposite hand, to the opposite side of your head—you pulled in a small, sharp gasp as his mouth touched the shell of your ear.

“H-he can hear me,” you added quietly, clenching your eyes shut as his hand clenched around the thin material of his shirt that covered your stomach and half of your thighs, tugging it a few inches higher. You could feel his lips curl into a smirk against the edge of your jaw.

“I wonder,” he murmured, “how long you can keep your composure, pretty bird.” He chuckled lightly at the shiver his voice sent through you—a shiver that, no matter how much you wanted it to be, wasn’t entirely in fear.

“Does he have any intention of harming you that you’re aware of?” asked Bogard. His tone was lighter now, but still kept its usual air of authority

“I—I don’t think so,” you said, fighting to keep your breath level as Mihawk trailed his lips lightly down the length of your neck, lifting his free hand to your jaw, urging you to lie your head back. You obeyed the silent command, your shoulders tensing as the back of your head fell back against his shoulder. “H—he-he wanted more details on the offer. The—the Warlord—”

“I’m sure he does,” said Bogard curtly. “And I’m more than willing to discuss it with him. Our immediate concern at the present is your safety. Are you able to tell us where you are?”

“I…”

“Go ahead, little cadet.” You swallowed at Mihawk’s low, amused murmur against your neck, his words affirming that he could still hear both ends of the conversation. “Tell Mommy and Daddy exactly where you are.” You bit back a whimper as he nipped lightly at your neck, his hand at your chin drifting down the column of your throat, stopping to circle a finger around the top button of your shirt.

“A study in one of the towers in the castle on Kuraigana Island,” you forced out quickly, tour words pressing together as he lifted you by your hip and shifted your position, pressing his knee between your thighs to push them further open.

“Alright. Good.” Bogard’s words sounded more distant to you with every passing second, your focus shifting to Mihawk’s hand slipping open the top button of your shirt. “You sound weak.”

“S-seastone,” you said quietly, fighting to keep the tremor out of your voice as the second button came loose, revealing the top of your plain white bra. You bit your lip, watching him push the shirt open enough to trace his fingers along the edge of the undergarment. “Seastone shackles. So I can’t use my devil fruit ability to escape.”

Even though he had removed the shackles before leading you up here, it was the first explanation that jumped to your mind to account for the low, trembling quality of your voice.

“Seastone. Of course,” Bogard said coolly. “Should have guessed. Wouldn’t have been difficult to salvage from one of the hundreds of our ships he’s destroyed…” He let out a sigh. “Do your best to stay safe. Do not attempt to escape on your own. Is that understood?”

“Mm—mm-hmm,” you hummed, almost whimpered, biting down on your bottom lip as Mihawk tugged the last few buttons of the shirt open, moving his hands to your shoulders to push the material down.

“Off,” he murmured against you jaw. “And you’ll hand the phone back to me.”

“H—he wants to—”

“Then put him back on,” said Bogard.

You quickly shifted the phone back to your other hand, and Mihawk plucked it away, holding it out at arm’s length as he briefly leaned in, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth as he commanded once more, “Off, pretty girl. Let me see you. I won’t ask again.” He pulled the receiver to his ear as you complied, trembling as you slowly shrugged the material away from your shoulders, pulling it free from your arms. “Bogard, was it?” you heard him say. “Oh, yes. I am very interested to hear more of how your people think any pirate might be inclined to consider becoming a government lapdog.”

He tugged you back against him again the moment you were free of the shirt, his fingertips tracing leisurely circles over the plane of your stomach.

Drifting higher and higher, playing against the edge of your ribs.

Slipping just beneath the lower edge of your bra, his lips curling into a smirk at the way you tensed against him, in some mix of anxiety and anticipation, growing less and less able to differentiate between the two.

Clenching your eyes shut and biting your tongue against a small whimper as he pushed his hand higher, cupping the swell of your breast in his palm, squeezing his fingers lightly around the pliable flesh.

You could hear his voice as the conversation dragged on, his tone as curt and professional as Bogard’s, but you could scarcely make out a single detail of his words with his rough hand brushing across your breasts, occasionally rolling around the sensitive points of your nipples, forced to use every ounce of your will to keep yourself silent—to pull your own hand up to cover your mouth and muffle a small cry when he lightly pinched one of the sensitive protrusions near the end of the conversation.

“Well, that’s all very intriguing,” he said with a light chuckle as he pulled you tighter against him. “I’ll have to take a bit of time to consider such a tempting proposal. I think...oh, forty-eight hours? Well, if that’s acceptable for you, then it’s more than acceptable for me.” You tensed as he shifted his hand beneath your bra, whimpering as he pinched your nipple a bit harder. “Ten o’clock, two days from now. Perfect. And be sure to inform your vice admiral that I’ll take very good care of our little cadet in the meantime. Oh, of course. No harm at all.”

He lowered his head, continuing in a murmur against your ear, his breath hot against your neck.

“She might not even want to return to your command once I’m through with her.”

#one piece #opla #mihawk x reader #mihawk #dracule mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader #yandere #yandere mihawk #fan fiction #one piece fan fiction #one piece fanfic #mihawk x reader fanfic #dracule mihawk x reader fanfic #flightrisk

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elisegravesbondageliberation · 4 months

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As it’s been nearly ten long years since Elise Graves and the Pope have played together, Elise wanted to make it special by dressing her best. With her feet pointed straight and locked into knee-high ballet boots, and her legs encased in fence net stockings, Elise struggles to stand up on her toes. Thankfully, the Pope, in his innate wisdom, secures Elise’s ankles and legs to the side of a bondage bench. With Elise’s ass framed by both the top of the stockings as well as a latex suspender belt, it is perfectly put on display as the Pope bends her over the bench. Elise’s waist is made even smaller with the assistance of a sexy latex corset, as her arms are bound in a latex arm binder and pulled up behind her in a strict strappado position. This is the position that the Pope wants Elise in. This is how he wants her - restricted by shiny latex, while leaving her most useful bits uncovered. The Pope dives right in, wasting no time to become reacquainted with Elise. With each stroke of the flogger, strike of the cane, slap of the ass, and pinch of the nipple, they are reunited in a shared fondness for BDSM. As Elise’s ass grows more and more red, and her face contorts in both suffering and pleasure, they are both equally satisfied on a deep level. Of course, when the Pope breaks out the Fucksall (a hand-held fucking machine), all hell breaks loose. :)

#b d s m #lattex #strappado #corset #flogger

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 4 months

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never not mine | jjk | "... the whispers..."

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

We broke all the pieces but still want to play the game. This confrontation is long overdue and is either going to end in handcuffs or tangled limbs.

part i | this is part ii | part iii

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; alcohol consumption; things are thrown during a public altercation; second chance romance?; angst and fluff and feels; Jungkook's POV

non-idol!AU; fashion model!Jungkook — ft fellow model/actor!Kim Taehyung and model/businessman!Kim Seokjin; a few cameos you can speculate on and one named cameo hehe; reader is not part of the entertainment industry

whether I'm gonna be your wife or gonna smash up your bike, I haven't decided yet but I'm gonna get you back – imgonnagetyouback by taylor swift

It was a night just like any other night, which meant Jeon Jungkook was somewhere doing something because he was someone. On this night he was visiting a new upscale nightclub owned by one of his close friends, which was why he was at a table surrounded by his bros, expensive bottles of alcohol, and beautiful women. Not his scene, really. He was an introvert at heart. Despite that, he had obligations to be here. Obligations to laugh, to jest, to be merry, to be somebody.

But he knew he was just a somebody surrounded by much better bodies.

So, really, he was only a ghost.

“Hey, isn’t that…?”

It was luck and good friends that got him in the position he was in now. Jungkook knew that. He couldn’t complain too much when they invited him out. After all, they were only doing it because they cared about him. Yeah.

“She's really staring at you, man.”

Someone nudged his arm. For a moment, he didn’t comprehend that it was him that was being spoken to. Maybe it was the heavy black leather jacket. Underneath, he wore a tight white tank, and completed his outfit with studded charcoal-wash jeans and black leather boots. Nice, sure, but there were other men that much more sharply dressed with bigger designer labels. Of course, he cleaned up well with his slicked-back black hair and clean-shaven jawline. So did any other male model out there. He was not so egotistical to think he was the most interesting man there.

“Hmph, who?” he snickered, swinging around in his chair with the ice in his glass clinking. He would figure out who everyone was talking about from the reactions of the public. He snapped his head around, stray tendrils of black falling free onto his forehead, obscuring his vision for a split second, and then he faced the crowd beneath the VIP tables.

Time slowed.

The club was loud. Very loud, due to the deafening combination of music, chatter and laughter. It was lit with the imperfect balance of light and dark, oscillating spotlights exposing corners and weaving through moving bodies clad in fitted dresses, high heels, tailored blazers, suit pants. The alcohol was high-grade. The crowd was cherry-picked and pre-screened at the door. It was what it was. Individuals who had money blowing money, ignoring the sins around them to commit their own. It was hard to pick out someone.

But Jungkook saw her right away.

The club became quiet from his point of view. Sound became a mishmash of muffled, incoherent noises fading to the background as the faces blurred. The music dulled. All lights dimmed except in one area. Everything was still moving, still thriving, still breathing yet he was only aware of one single person.

His ex-girlfriend stared right at him from below.

Even from this distance he could feel the blades in her gaze.

Black patent leather jacket. Very short, cut just under the breasts. Black lace corset, see-through except for the cups. Skintight lilac miniskirt. Legs for days. Pointed-toe black pumps with a thin ankle strap, the kind he had trouble with due to the small delicate buckle.

He tried to breathe but the air was like concrete in his lungs.

She tilted her head, narrowing her smoked-out eyes. Her lips were glossy crimson, cool-toned to match the palette of her outfit. Her hair had been pinned up, exposing her graceful neck and glimmering collarbones.

She began to walk through the crowd.

Jungkook spun around and suddenly all the sound roared back, intense and thunderingly hostile. He winced, clutching his drink and holding the side of his head, trying to make sense of it all.

“Tch, why is she here?”

“Right? She doesn’t belong here.”

“She can be wherever she wants to be,” replied a calm, deep voice.

He could hear voices around him talking but it wasn’t making any sense. How? Why? Was he seeing things? And why did it matter? It didn’t. It didn’t. He took another sip of his glass and found it bitter and tasteless. Maybe that was in his head too. It didn’t matter if she was here. Someone was tugging on his arm. He pulled himself free, snapping his hand down onto the table.

The world crashed back into place as his drink sloshed and spat out from his force.

A startled feminine gasp.

The calm, deep voice returned. “You okay, man?”

Jungkook jerked his head up and saw Kim Taehyung carefully surveying him. He was a man with strong, masculine features and a comforting baritone voice that reminded one of cozy winters and romantic nights. Out of all his friends, they were the closest in age. However, Taehyung was more than a year older and a much more seasoned veteran of the modeling industry. He had been scouted at a very young age, quickly learning the ins-and-outs without losing who he was. He was grounded, easygoing, and never had a crack in his composure. At least, that was how Jungkook thought of him.

Taehyung raised a dark eyebrow, repeating his question without saying a word.

“I’m fine,” Jungkook scowled, then controlled his face a bit better. “What?”

Those dark, moody eyes served him a dose of silent judgement as one of the girls at the table spoke up again.

“Oooh, she’s sitting down at a table.”

He told himself not to look. It didn’t matter if she was here. And yet his head moved on its own, pivoting to the left so fast he almost had whiplash. At high-end clubs like this, there were tables available depending on to how much a patron spent. The larger tables had to be paid for in advance to be secured a space. Such reservations were violently expensive, signaling VIP status. A lot of the smaller tables on the lower level were occupied. The more exclusive tables were higher up, needing stairs to access the higher tiers. A waiter was holding her hand, carefully guiding his ex-girlfriend up the stairs to an empty round table that typically seated ten.

There was no one else at the table.

She sat down at the seat closest to overlooking the club.

“She can afford that?”

A crackling laugh. “Doubt it.”

“Who are you to say what she can’t afford?” Taehyung cut in sharply in a disapproving tone.

“O-Oh, well… It’s just not that common, you know.”

The chittering was from the women they had invited to the table earlier. Shit, their presence seemed so frivolous and annoying now. Jungkook had half a mind to turn around and glare at them. Instead, he was transfixed by the woman in patent leather and tight lilac. She crossed her legs, smoothed her skirt, and leaned back in her chair, scanning the crowd. A waiter came back and brought a bucket of ice with a champagne bottle and accompanying flutes. A waitress came by with another bottle. Porcelain, with painted flue floral design, and placed two crystal glasses onto the table. His former lover smiled at them, nodding. They bowed and took their leave after serving her.

Instead of touching the drinks, the woman turned her body and locked her icy stare right on him.

Jungkook stiffened and turned away quickly, feeling his body running hot. The table was still talking, but it was behind hands and feigned disinterest. Taehyung sighed, shaking his head. Of course, there had been other friends at the table too. Only now did Jungkook notice that they were missing. Must have wandered off. At the very least, their host Kim Seokjin would definitely be gone for a while. He was an affluent actor, model, and owner of several establishments, including this luxury nightclub. Eventually the tall, broad-shouldered man would return to see them off, but there was no telling when.

“Did you know she was gonna be here?” Jungkook hissed through gritted teeth, ignoring the odd looks he was getting from the women. They still lingered for the free drinks which Taehyung kept supplied. No sense in wasting Seokjin’s endless tab after all.

Taehyung frowned. “I don’t police people’s actions. Does it matter what she does?”

Jungkook scoffed. “Oh, so this wasn’t your idea?”

Those normally warm brown eyes turned cold. “It wasn’t. Besides, she’s no longer your girlfriend.”

“Yeah, she’s definitely not.”

A growl collected in Jungkook’s throat and he was about to let it loose. He swiveled his head again only for the sound to die before it began. A man was standing by her table. He was sharply dressed in a suit and tie, with tied-back bleached-blond hair that laid over his shoulders. He had a pleasant decorum and a smile like a predatory feline. She gestured him to sit down and poured him a drink as invitation. He watched in horror as his ex-girlfriend chatted up a beautiful stranger.

He didn’t know whether he wanted to cry or run over there to flip the table.

A low voice cut through his thoughts.

“Wasn’t the breakup amicable?”

He froze.

Slowly, Jungkook faced Taehyung, his long-time friend. He never really could bring himself to fully lie to those piercing dark orbs, now reflecting the same reserved gaze that Taehyung had given him when Jungkook provided the same flimsy excuse he was once again repeating.

“I… It wasn’t meant to be,” Jungkook mumbled once more. “The traveling… it was too much for us.”

The older male was too good at reading between the lines, especially when it came to romance, his forte. “Hm.” He knew when he wasn’t getting the full story. “It’s probably too late to ask now, but was it what you wanted?”

Jungkook couldn’t help it.

“It was…”

He looked over his shoulder again.

“… What I deserved.”

She was thanking the blond-haired man. He bowed ninety degrees and leaned in, whispering something in her ear before leaving the table. His glass was empty. Someone else was approaching the table. A pretty woman with long black hair in a white minidress and short, pearl-white nails sat down, bowing lightly and introducing herself. His ex-girlfriend offered between the two drinks and the pretty woman chose the champagne. A waiter came over to uncork it for them, pouring a healthy amount into the two flutes.

They two chatted, immediately absorbed with each other.

“For a guy naturally talented at a lot of things, you’re such a stupid idiot.”

He was.

Wait.

Jungkook scowled, turning back to a disapproving Taehyung cradling a small ceramic cup. It was hand-painted with the smallest of brushstrokes, depicting a flock of black birds disappearing into the white sky. He took a sip with a gruff sigh, making a tense face. He was a wine guy, but he couldn’t turn down traditional Korean alcohol. That would be uncouth.

“How long are you going to continue moping?” Taehyung scoffed.

“I’m not moping,” Jungkook countered, hunched over the table and gripping his whiskey glass a little too hard.

“You are convincing no one. Least of all me.”

His eyes flickered upward, glaring. Taehyung remained refined, unperturbed, nearly prince-like in his half-open floral-and-forest-green silk shirt and ruffled hair. A black-brown curl perfectly grazed one of his eyebrows, accenting his condescending look with a dash of softness.

“Did you ever realize how much she did for you?”

Jungkook pushed away his glass. He couldn’t reply. He stuck his tongue in his cheek, trying not to feel. It was only then that he noticed that the table was strangely silent despite the fervor of the environment – the women had made themselves scarce, understanding that this conversation was much too serious for their girlypop night.

Finally, he forced himself to speak. “For me? I take care of myself.”

Taehyung winced. Hard. “You cannot be serious right now.”

Another peek behind him. A different man at her table now. Silvery-blonde hair, tan skin, muscular like a godly titan. She caught him looking and stared directly back. Jungkook cursed under his breath. “What did she do then? Hm? Enlighten me.” His voice was becoming rougher, slipping out of his practiced Seoul dialect and into his Busan dialect. The broad-shouldered man at the table had no suit jacket. The sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up. He must have noticed her lack of attention, because he began to turn around as well.

Jungkook jerked away before they could lock eyes too.

“Look, I don’t know what happened between you two,” Taehyung exhaled, not quite annoyed but getting there. “But I know you were the one that was wrong.”

Yeah, right.

“Never once did she complain about you. Never once did she butt into your business and cause you trouble when she could have. Never once did she talk behind your back when we both know damn well that you’re no saint, Jeon Jungkook.”

His tattooed hand against the table balled up into a fist, the familiar ache in his chest splitting, threatening.

Unintimidated, Taehyung continued. “The travelling was rough? Of course, it is. And there are probably a thousand ways to make it up to someone you love, but instead now I’m looking at you sitting here and her sitting there, pretending to be strangers. Tells me a whole lot about how that worked out.” His natural Daegu satoori was becoming more evident during his tirade. Taehyung wasn’t trying to be polite, though.

“You don’t know anything,” Jungkook retorted.

“I don’t.” Those dark brown eyes burned hot, scrutinizing him and tearing him apart. “And I don’t need to. Your hostility is telling me everything.”

“It was you,” Jungkook snapped, slamming his fist onto the table. “You invited her here.”

Taehyung’s low voice became lower, more accusatory. “Go ahead. Keep deflecting. Run back home and hide. That’s what you want to do, right?” His gaze narrowed and Taehyung’s normally friendly warmth morphed into scalding heat. “You heard what they said. She doesn’t belong here. And yet, here she is. They all talked and gossiped and badmouthed her, right to your face even, and yet you said nothing. You still don’t have the fucking balls, man. You didn’t respect her for all she was. In spite of that, she stood beside you, head held high, until you tossed her away. You brought her into this world, you ripped her out of it, and guess what? She is here. She holds her own. You deluded yourself into thinking she needed you. But she doesn’t, and it’s the other way around.”

Jungkook shot up out of his seat, nearly knocking the chair over. He was breathing hard, his furious anger so violent that it clawed at his insides, and Taehyung tilted his head, mirroring the expression of an adult tiger observing a foolish cub.

“You’re wrong,” Jungkook gritted out between clenched teeth. “You’re fucking wrong.”

He… No. She did this. This was her fault. She was the one that always pushed him to go for what he wanted. She was the one who always helped him make it work. Last minute changes happened often early in his career and she always smiled at him and told him to go, to run, to chase those adventures. And she always waited for him to come home.

“I wasn’t like that.”

In the middle of dinners for two. In vacations cut short. In forgotten special dates. Go. She always waited for him to come home. He couldn’t be blamed for that. Those were all her own decisions. He just had to do what he had to do, didn’t he? He couldn’t be blamed for doing what he thought was best. He couldn’t be blamed for trying his best. This dull ache created from a thousand cuts was not made from his own hand.

Right?

“You’re hopeless.” Taehyung slumped back in his chair and sighed. “Do as you wish.”

He wasn’t the person Taehyung was saying he was.

If he was, then…

No.

Jungkook whipped around and locked his eyes to the table, walking determinedly up to it.

There was a different man sitting there now. A very tall one with very short hair, violate energy, and a striking profile, deeply engaged in conversation with his ex-girlfriend. Currently laughing bashfully at something she must have said. The stranger was wearing a crisp black dress shirt with the first few buttons undone and well-tailored black slacks. Jungkook wanted to punch him in his very handsome face. He didn’t care that the man’s shoulders and arms were so built that they were nearly bursting the seams of his dress shirt, nor did he care that starting a fight right now would do absolutely nothing except get him thrown out in handcuffs.

Jungkook wanted to kill him.

Her eyes took a moment to shift from the very handsome stranger to him.

It hurt.

It really fucking hurt.

He glared back. Her gaze was not as heated, nor did it hold the same ice she had during their last conversation way back then. There was a completely different mix of emotions conveyed now. Almost disconnected, lonely, and loathing all at once, the last not directed at him but at herself.

As if she didn’t want to care but did and hated herself for it.

It wasn’t who she was at all, and Jungkook hated himself for doing this to her.

“Dude, I’m going to need you to get lost.”

Startled, the seated man turned his head to see Jungkook giving him a death stare. He hated seeing the puppy-like expression on such a masculine-looking man, not because he looked down on that but because it was a genuine, adorable reaction that couldn’t be faked.

She probably liked that.

She probably deserved that.

Jungkook was determined to ruin this too. Why the fuck not?

The man looked confused, and then irritated. “Uh… Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but I don’t think you belong here.” He had a commanding, stern tone. He shifted in his seat, halfway to rising. “This conversation doesn’t include you.”

“No, this conversation doesn’t include you,” Jungkook snapped, glancing at her. His ex-girlfriend did nothing but raise an eyebrow at him, her arms crossed under her breasts. “Fuck off.”

The man in the black dress shirt began to stand, brows furrowing. “Hey, I’m going to have to ask you to leave–”

“Excuse me.”

She stood up.

From this distance, Jungkook could fully take in how the smoke-grey eyeshadow accentuated the shape of her eyes, making them more prominent and intense. The lights caught the glow of her skin and the vividness of the scarlet of her lips, giving her an ethereal, untouchable demeanor. Loose layers of her hair framed her face despite the majority of it being pinned up, casting cold, dark shadows around the hot radiance of her gaze.

“I’m sorry to cut our conversation short, but I think it’s best if you give us a moment,” she said politely to the tall stranger while bowing. “I was enchanted to meet you tonight, Kim Mingyu.”

A pink flush dusted over the man’s cheeks. This motherfucker had the audacity to be flustered. Jungkook still wanted to punch him in the face. Maybe more now than before.

“O… Oh… Um. Alright.” He glanced between Jungkook and her. “Will you be okay?”

She smiled, maintaining confident eye contact with the stranger. “Let’s not assume the worst of people. And… Your words have given me courage. I thank you.”

It took everything in Jungkook not to trip the guy on his very expensive designer shoes as he hastily bowed and took his leave, offering an awkward half-wave before backing away. She raised a hand back, not looking away even when he turned around.

And then.

Quiet.

At least as quiet as a loud nightclub could be. But it all became background noise in the face of loaded silence. The safety off now. The bass faded into heartbeats as she raised her eyes and, once again, they faced each other across the table. Jungkook stood with his hands balled up into fists in the pockets of his leather jacket. His former lover stood with her hands in front of her. She was still the most beautiful, graceful, and collected woman that he had ever had the pleasure to know.

“I’m…”

And he missed her so, so much.

“I’m sorry.”

So fucking much.

Her eyes flickered down in a pause, and then back up. “It really doesn’t matter anymore. The past is in the past.”

Her name on his lips felt foreign and familiar all at once. She didn’t react. It was as if he had said nothing at all. He said it again, almost with an edge of panic, and she closed her eyes, breathing in slowly. He wanted to run to the other side. He wanted to climb on top of the table and grab her hands and tell her it was going to be okay, that he was going to be better, that she was the love of his life and that he could be hers too, please, if only he had a chance. Instead, he stayed where he was, frozen in place, trying not to do the wrong thing even though everything about this scene and script was all wrong.

Her eyes opened in a resigned, resolute flutter.

“Do you think saying sorry takes back everything you’ve done?” she asked in a measured tone.

He pulled his hands out of his jacket, shaking his head. “No. No, of course not. I… You didn’t give me a chance to apologize, and I–”

“Apologize for what?” she coldly interrupted.

“W-Well… For… everything, really.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t know.”

Jungkook blinked hard, trying to banish his tears. “Know?” he echoed.

“You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for.” Her words were sharpened steel, cutting right through him.

“I do,” he insisted. “For all the times I left during dinner, for all the times I’ve left during our scheduled time together, for forgetting your birthday, anniversary–”

“For the blatant disrespect,” she interrupted, her hands separating, those intense eyes narrowing. “For always believing I could fend for myself when you got swept up during work events. For contacting me not to talk about my day, but to interrogate me on what I was doing. For not believing me and asking me to send photos every time I was out somewhere.”

He sputtered, taken aback. “That wasn’t… Those things–”

“For always knowing I understood your position and taking it for granted.” Her glare was like daggers, cutting through all the lies he told himself. “And yet never understanding mine. Never believing in the love I had for you.”

“I did believe!”

“And so you accused me of lying?” she shot back, scathing him. “I have never done anything to make you believe I was disloyal to you, but I was five minutes late to a date and suddenly I need to be lying? Suddenly that was a sign of my nefarious plans? Suddenly I’m the bad guy that needs to be backed into a corner? Suddenly I must beg on my knees to soothe your feelings?”

“I didn’t ask for that,” he retorted. “I just asked why you didn’t text that you were late.”

“I don’t need to repeat what I said then,” she growled, bristling. She had been five minutes late because of an elderly taxi driver taking his time. “Because it didn’t matter what the reason was for you. I know that now. You were scared. You were insecure. You were nervous that I was beginning to fall out of love with you. You latched onto the first thing I did wrong and blew it out of proportion to force me to grovel to you. You could have asked me directly how I felt. Instead, you decided to play fucking games.”

Jungkook couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

Her hands balled up into fists by her sides. “I was patient. I was understanding. I loved you.” She dug her nails into her palms, clenching her jaw. “But I was not going to let myself be manipulated by your insecurities. I was not about to lose myself to become an extension of you, Jeon Jungkook.”

Past tense.

“You… loved me?”

She might as well have stabbed him right through the heart.

A thundering pause.

Finally, she sighed. Her hands relaxed.

“When I came in here, I didn’t know if I wanted to run to you or slap you.”

She looked around, down at the crowd, up to the lights, to the bar, the tables, the people.

“Before you, all I had was a decent job. Not exciting, but good enough to enjoy the life I wanted. I had loose acquaintances and once-in-a-blue-moon friends. I had mediocre hobbies that I was okay at. Before you, that had been enough. This,” she breathed, indicating the people and the money being flaunted around like water during a rainstorm. “I didn’t know this. I didn’t know how lonely it was to be standing this high. I didn’t know… My acquaintances and few friends saw the life you gave me and faded away, no longer relating to the extravagance I was exposed to. My job became a forbidden topic for the mere crime that it was boring. My hobbies became childish to these refined eyes. Yet… I could live with all that. The life I wanted was the one I had with you. And… it turned out to be miserable.”

For the first time, Jungkook realized how much she lost loving him.

“I was miserable.”

She half-laughed, empty.

“But I loved you.”

Lowered her head.

“And I was so, so damn angry with you.”

She smacked the table with her palm, hard enough to make the people around them flash them a startled look. Her fingers tensed, cherry-red manicure flaring over the wood.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” This was the part Jungkook didn’t understand. His voice rose in both frustration and desperation. “Why didn’t you just blow up on me? Why didn’t you say something?”

“Say what?” she snarled, snapping her head up, each word a bullet tearing through him. “Huh? No, don’t go? How dare you leave me, again? Create the war wounds right before we part? What good does all that do? Make us both upset right before you run off? Because you would anyway. You know you would, because you are stubborn and selfish and always doing what you need to do, putting me at the bottom of the list since I am capable… right? I can handle myself, right?”

He was rounding the table, knocking chairs aside. “You could have been angry at me. You just didn’t want to be!”

“Who wants to be angry? Don’t be ridiculous!”

“What, you were worried that you would no longer be the perfect girlfriend if you weren’t understanding?” he accused.

She looked livid. “Don’t you dare flip my consideration onto me.”

He stopped right in front of her, tension all over his neck and jaw. “It’s your fault too. I can’t change if you act like everything is fine!”

Her eyes widened. “Are you serious? I have to be the one to teach you not to be a fucking selfish prick and think about someone else for a change?” she hissed.

“How am I supposed to know?”

“Of course, you know!”

They were beginning to draw whispers and stunned faces but neither of them was backing down or ashamed enough. Or, perhaps, they were simply completely unaware of the disruption they were causing.

“You knew – no, you still know,” she snarled, jabbing him in the chest with a impeccably manicured finger. “You have never felt like you fit in with these people. That was why you tried so hard. That was why you took every opportunity to be a lapdog. That was why you dated me, because I am not privileged and enabled, that’s why you dragged me into your world and got paranoid when I wasn’t showing the same apprehensions as you, putting me in impossible positions and playing games, when we could have been teamed up against the world, when we could have been yin and yang, but all we were was a pair of damn cowards!”

His eyes went wide.

Fury laced in her helpless expression.

“You could have protected me. All you did was make me throw myself to the wolves to protect you!”

Her hands slammed into his chest and she shoved him, hard. He stumbled back, throwing his right arm out, knocking over a champagne flute and shattering it. Glass exploded onto the floor, delicate shards shooting out and catching the light, scattering into dust beneath designer feet.

People gasped and someone screamed at the unexpected noise.

His left hand reached out and gripped the patent leather sleeve of her jacket. Their gazes locked in shock and comprehension. His lips parted. One of his knees was still bent to steady himself from falling. But before Jungkook could say anything, she squeezed her eyes shut, breaking their connection, and ripped her arm from his grasp.

Then she seized the porcelain bottle with painted blue flowers and threw it onto the floor, shattering that too.

One moment of awful, dazed silence.

The next moment, men in security uniforms swiftly and silently crossed the distance and surrounded them. He was being grabbed and pinned down to the table, metal handcuffs clicked onto his wrists behind his back despite his protests. His jaw dropped when one of the men touched her shoulder and she immediately turned around and slapped him. Instantly, she too was firmly pushed down and also restrained, both of them staring at each other over the surface of the wood, their previously well-styled hair in disarray all over their faces, their eyes wide with the realization of the severity of their public argument.

He couldn’t help but think she looked fucking hot.

Something flickered in her eyes. She recognized his exact thought from their shared look. And his ex-girlfriend burst out laughing at this absurd situation, even as security hoisted them up and dragged them down the stairs. So, fuck it. He couldn’t help it either.

Jungkook started laughing too.

“This is your fault, by the way.”

“Feel free to add it to the list of shit I’ve done wrong.”

They were still handcuffed. Both standing a respectful distance away from each other in the middle of a storeroom crammed with boxes stacked like a cardboard maze. There were no windows. The door was closed and presumably locked. Neither of them had moved towards it. There would be no criminal undercover going on here. They were already in deep enough shit. Adding attempted escape would probably change their current storeroom location into separate jail cells for the night.

They did not look at each other.

Jungkook leaned against the boxes, his hands stuck behind his back. One of the sides of his leather jacket had slipped down, exposing his right shoulder. It was nice, actually, since the previous scuffle had left him rather hot-blooded. He snuck a glance beside him.

His ex-girlfriend’s body was facing the door. The backs of her hands rested on the prominent curve of her ass in that tight lilac skirt, her straight posture making her waist look even smaller. Must be nice to have a built-in shelf. His eye line travelled up to her hair, seeing it half-undone and falling down her neck. Half of the pins were still holding up by sheer luck. The patent leather of her jacket crackled as she adjusted, stretching out her ankle. She was still in her high heels.

“Uncomfortable?” he found himself quietly asking.

“Could be worse,” she answered back, still not turning around.

He waited for her to elaborate.

She didn’t.

The silence was palpable. Somehow not unbearable. He looked back down at his feet, wondering why they had been left here. He half-expected security to escort them off the premises and into a police car, but they had marched them behind the kitchen and told them to stay put and not cause trouble, similarly to how misbehaving kids were put in time-out. Then again, the owner of the club was his affluent friend Kim Seokjin. Perhaps this was a rich people thing. Or an under-the-table thing.

Her voice echoed in his head.

You have never felt like you fit in with these people.

“Hey, uh…” he started, trailing off.

A light sigh.

Then, she shook her head, somewhat vigorously. Some of the hairpins loosened up. “Ugh, my hair is more annoying than anything,” she muttered under her breath. “It’s all messed up.”

Hell yeah, it was, and it was a turn-on, reminding him of after-sex tousling. Jungkook kept his mouth shut. Not the right time for that. He chewed on his lower lip, wondering if he could do anything. Wondering if he should do anything. She still hadn’t turned around.

So, he did.

He turned around, bent down slightly, and tried to reach up. The angle was difficult. Not high enough either. His leather sleeves were also constricting his movement and making loud creaking sounds. He looked back, trying to reach up with a grunt, and she stiffened, swinging her head around. He froze in an awkward position. She stared at him.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

He blinked back. “Um… I… I was trying to help…?”

Her eyebrow raised. “By… doing yoga?”

He let out an impatient huff. “No, I’m trying to help you take the pins out of your hair,” Jungkook clarified, straightening with a frustrated shake of his body. “It’s bothering you, isn’t it? But I’m not flexible enough and you’re too tall in your heels.”

She paused. He looked away, feeling somewhat embarrassed for even trying. Who was he to think that he could do something like that? Hah. His hands tightened behind him. They weren’t close like that anymore. They weren’t even friends.

He felt a sting in his heart remembering that.

“Sorry… I should have asked if you wanted the help at all.”

He exhaled heavily.

Stillness.

Then he heard the crack of patent leather and raised his head to see her squat down, lowering one knee to the concrete floor, her back perfectly straight and her head at his waist height. She was facing the door again so he couldn’t see her expression.

“If… Well, it would be helpful if you could… If you could remove the hairpins,” she mumbled, keeping her head up. “Please.”

He gawked at her kneeled form, unmoving.

His heartbeat accelerated.

“Um… if you’re going to do it, faster would be better,” she added hesitantly with placed-in chuckle. “I don’t know how long I can keep my balance in these shoes.”

His cheeks burned. “Uh, yeah, s-sorry. I’m on it.”

The metal handcuffs clinked as he moved. He turned around and backed up a bit, reaching out to feel for her hair. Sucked in a quiet breath as his fingers grazed the soft strands, memories of stolen nights drifting back to him. He swallowed hard and bit his lip, using touch to search for the hairpins, and then loosening them as gently as he could. One by one. He tried to tuck them in his palm as he continued. Sometimes he would need to rest one hand on her head and use the other to pull them out slowly and carefully. She said nothing, tilting her head slightly as he made his way around. He felt his way along her scalp, running his fingers through her hair, remembering the familiar scent he could detect when he used to breathe it in, remembering his hands holding her head as he used to lean in and kiss her, remembering that he had lost all of that now.

Jungkook lowered his chin, letting out a soundless cry.

“You liked my hair down, I recall,” she commented behind him, her soothing voice mirroring the rolling tide late at night.

“Y… Yeah.”

He smiled despite himself. He pulled back his handcuffed hands.

“You have lovely hair. I don’t like seeing it all tucked away.”

For a moment, there was a quietness as those words sank in. She shifted, and he heard her stand up, the sharp click of her heels indicating as much, but he kept his back to her, unsure if this was the last time he would touch her hair. The last time he hadn’t known it would be the last, so he didn’t mourn the moment until way later, but this time…

“Thank you.”

He breathed in through his nose. Oddly stuffy in here.

“Y… You’re welcome.”

He wished he could take it all back, but he couldn’t. He wished he could prove he was a better man, but he didn’t know how or even if he could. She was right. He had gotten swept up in his ambitions and the superficial relationships. He had been afraid. He had let that fear control him because he had felt out of sorts with who he was, who he was becoming, and who he wanted to be.

“I really… I really am sorry.”

They were back-to-back. Not touching. Just close enough to feel each other’s presence without seeing them. Hands behind their backs, staring in opposite directions but finally seeing the path before them.

“I know.”

She let out a soft breath.

“I wished for the way I felt to change once I could accept your apologies, but,” she whispered. “Life isn’t that simple or clear cut.”

His chest ached. “Yeah.” It didn’t matter if his actions had unintentional consequences. The consequences still existed. “You’re right. About it all. About the person I became and how I treated you because of it. About how this was because of me feeling like I don’t fit in.”

She didn’t say anything, yet Jungkook could sense her acknowledgment. He couldn’t really explain why he knew. Maybe it had something to do with their current circumstances.

“I keep trying and I… I don’t know. Maybe I’m too simple-minded. Maybe I can’t understand the world these people live in. I mean, my friends seem like normal people but there are still moments where I catch myself thinking, I wouldn’t have thought to do or say that. I feel so… disconnected, sometimes. Meaningless. Maybe I’m not worth a damn to them.”

He was rambling, slipping between his refined dialect and his Busan satoori. He caught himself, about to correct his wording.

“You don’t have to be like the people around you to fit in,” she chided.

He stopped trying to form a sentence and listened.

“You don’t listen. That has always been your strength. Your charm is your natural character with the added spice of rebellion.” Her chuckle lightened, making his heart tighten and feel like exploding at the same time. “Your talent has always been bravely walking your own path, confusing as it may be. There is a pureness in that. You have friends because they want to protect that part of you. Haven’t you noticed? Your friends have never asked you to change or be like them. They just accept you for how you are and push away people who try to mold you into their vision.”

His friends? Well, true, they were the main reasons for him getting the jobs he got. He had always felt somewhat inadequate, realizing his success was from seniors in the industry helping him out. They all told him that this was how it worked. They all told him to do well so he could get more opportunities. It was part of the reason that he felt that he couldn’t let those connections down. He had always felt that he couldn’t refuse.

“Your friends have always been on your side. They don’t want you to be like them. They want you to stay as you are. You mean that much to those around you.”

But perhaps he had been wrong all along.

“Only you thought you needed to change.”

There was probably a lot of sound outside, but the distracting racket was inaudible from the distant storeroom. Her quiet voice amplified her words in this slice of stillness. There something stricken and bitter haunting the air between them as the revelation settled.

He clutched her hairpins in his fist.

“I didn’t… I didn’t date you just because you weren’t part of this vapid world I’m in.”

He wanted her to know.

“I wish…”

The tears stung the corners of his eyes. He refused to let them go. Jungkook looked up to the ceiling, taking in each breath as steadily as he could. He felt like he was drowning, except instead of water, it was all the things he never said.

“I wish I could have been strong enough for you to be angry at me sooner. Tonight, I realized… It was my own shortcomings that made you stay quiet.” He chuckled dryly in admiration. “You endured more than I ever could. More than anyone should.” He didn’t know if he was making any sense but he kept on going. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so mad. That was the most emotion I’ve ever seen from you. You must have spent a lot of nights… feeling so alone because of my selfishness.”

This was not a romantic setting at all. They were stuck in a storeroom with no windows, surrounded by boxes, handcuffed for being a public disruption, for being too dramatic and too emotional. Neither of them could look at the other. A disaster in every sense of the world.

But.

Maybe this was the most honest moment they had ever shared.

Her laugh simmered behind him.

“I’m sorry for losing my shit.”

He half-smiled in rueful relief.

“It wasn’t so bad. Low-key kinda hot. I almost lost the plot at times.”

She laughed under her breath. “You don’t mean that.”

A single heartbeat of silence.

“I kinda do,” he admitted, feeling the upturned corners of his lips falter.

It became quiet once more. An embarrassed quiet, but maybe only on his side. Jungkook still couldn’t bring himself to turn around and find out. He shifted awkwardly, realizing he was still holding her hairpins in his hand. Uh. Well, he couldn’t exactly ask her to put them in her pocket. Did she even have any pockets with that outfit? He furrowed his brows, thinking about that tight skirt and lace corset. Doubtful there would be any pockets in such fitted clothing. Maybe in her jacket, but it was so short that he would basically have to reach for her tits to…

His face heated slightly realizing that he was heavily focusing on her body right now.

Click.

He didn’t really register the sound behind him at first. It sounded like something falling onto the concrete. There was another sharp tapping sound, but before he could shift and twist his body to see, he felt her fingertips brush against the knuckles of his fist.

“I’m sorry too.”

He was too shocked to even move or react. Just stood there wide-eyed, struck by the lightning of her touch, realizing they were that close and that it was her who initiated that.

“I should have brought up the little things that bothered me. I shouldn’t have let it snowball simply because I thought it would make your life easier. I should have tried to remind you not to be intimidated by those around you,” she sighed heavily. “And I should have believed in your apology more than I did.”

The pads of her fingertips stilled.

One by one, they lost contact.

Jungkook dropped all the hairpins on the floor in a cascade of metal raindrops.

He reached back and grabbed her hand, gripping her fingers tightly, gasping as he felt her cool skin against his warmth. He felt her initial rise of reluctance, however, she did not pull away. Their handcuffs clinked against each other, the chains colliding. He scrambled to reach a little higher. Grasping her hand in his. Her right in his right. He tried to say something. Something romantic, something reassuring, something self-derogatory even.

But nothing come out.

He tried to breathe and was choked by inner tears. Tried again, shaking, trying to be silent. Her fingers curled around the back of his hand and laid there. She gave him a light squeeze.

“Don’t worry.”

Her calming voice a dream on this night.

“I’m here.”

They held hands.

It must have been only for a short while. It felt like forever packed in minutes. He inhaled deeply, catching fleeting traces of her sweet and sultry perfume. Closed his eyes with an exhale. Another inhale, slower this time. Maybe this was futile. Maybe this was objectively wildly inappropriate. Maybe he was the fucking worst, wishing, hoping they could reset to something new. All of this could crash and burn.

Or.

Or, maybe.

He swallowed tightly. Leaned back just a little. Their shoulder blades touched. A moment of suspended anticipation. She leaned back against him. The backs of their heads didn’t yet touch. He felt her hair on his neck. It was only the tops of their backs that touched, but now there was only centimeters of trembling air between them.

“Are you cold?” he asked, his voice rough and nervous.

“Only a little.” Her thumb brushed against the side of his palm. “I’ll be alright.”

Yeah, he knew that. “You’re the most capable person I know.”

She sighed. “It’s not all sunshine and roses.”

He scrunched up his face in search for the words. “Well… You suit moonlight and thorns more.”

She nearly snorted. He felt her shoulders shake in silent laughter. He winced, thinking he said something wrong.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“I like those better, anyway!” He blurted it out quickly. Maybe too quickly, curling a bit in on himself once he realized what he said, cringing, but she tugged on his hand ever so slightly. It was obvious she was shaking her head from her hair swishing over his neck.

“You always had a thirst for danger, Jungkook.”

Her tone was slight and playful. He felt his cheeks burn and his heart race so hard that he almost couldn’t breathe from the pressure. Nearly stuttered when he heard his name in her voice, clenching his jaw shut so he didn’t make a fool of himself. Again. His entire body tensed, on edge and vibrating from the rush of emotions.

“Are you trying to break my hand?”

He was gripping her hand way too tight. “S-Sorry!” He loosened his stiff fingers, twisting his wrist to keep his hand cupped around hers. “Sorry…”

“Heh, it’s not like you to apologize,” she teased.

Jungkook furrowed his brows. “Hey...”

Her head laid against his shoulder.

He stilled, heartbeat pounding. She looked up at the ceiling. At least, he presumed that from the angle. The back of her head touched his left shoulder, just barely. Her hair spilled against his collarbone and back, messy and free.

“I bet you have somebody. You’re too good-looking to have nobody lined up.”

Her murmur was soft and resigned. Guilty.

Her words hung in the air.

He tipped his head back, the nape of his neck against her shoulder. The patent leather of her jacket squeaked loudly under his presence. He wished. He hoped. He…

“I have someone,” he confessed.

He squeezed her hand. Their faces tilted upwards to the ceiling, and still Jungkook could recall every detail of her eyes – the way they glimmered when she smiled, the way they sparked when she was serious, the way they twinkled during all their special moments, the way they hollowed out when she turned away from him.

His fingers gently separated hers, interlocking.

The words were at the tip of his tongue.

His lips parted.

Suddenly there were loud footsteps on the other side of the heavy wood door. His ex-girlfriend jerked up in alarm. Jungkook stumbled. Both of them quickly sprang away from each other as the noisy jangle of keys was heard and then the heavy door swung open, revealing the two of them standing there, tense, now staring wide-eyed at a tall, broad-shouldered man flanked by two security guards. His black hair was perfectly parted, half brushing against his forehead and half combed back, giving a corporate feel in his tailored black suit. He was strikingly handsome by all accounts. Intense dark brown eyes, sculpted brows, full lips, stunning jawline.

Kim Seokjin wore an exasperated, annoyed expression.

He ticked his head to Jeon Jungkook’s ex-girlfriend.

“You. Come with me.”

She hesitated for a second and stepped forward, hanging her head a bit. “I sincerely apologize for the trouble I’ve caused.”

It would be expected for such a stern, posh-looking man to be harsh. Instead, Seokjin stuck his fists by his waist and sighed loudly, similarly to a disappointed grandmother scolding her favorite child.

“Haaah… come on. You’re not going to jail. I want to talk to you alone. Hey, uncuff her,” the owner of the nightclub tutted. One of the security guards went around her to unlock the handcuffs. “It took me a while to handle everything out there. At least the incident won’t be on the news or anything.” He reached out and held her elbow as she was released, steadying her balance and leading her out of the room. The guards followed, not taking a second glance back.

Jungkook frowned. “Hey, hyung–”

Seokjin whipped up and pointed a finger at him. “No. You stay here.”

Jungkook balked, offended. “What?! What about me?”

The older man glared at him like he was the naughty child. “I’ll have a conversation with you after. Stay.”

Anger boiled high. “I’m not a dog!”

Offensively, Seokjin barked back with, “You’re right. Dogs are loyal. And want to listen to people. You have the listening skills of a straw. In one end and out the other.”

The door slammed shut with finality.

Jungkook stood there, speechless, gawking at the sheer audacity.

Then he kicked the floor with a roar of impatience once Kim Seokjin’s insult finally registered. What the hell! Kim Seokjin was the one to invite him here in the first place! Seokjin was the oldest of Jungkook’s friends that took him under his wing, teaching him about various business aspects behind the scenes and making sure Jungkook knew the importance of having a good lawyer to look over his contracts. Now Seokjin had him locked up as if he was a five-year-old receiving a time out! Who did he think he was, his disciplinarian?

“What the fuck?!”

Then Jungkook ceased all movement, no longer stomping around in circles.

It was him.

Kim Seokjin had invited him here tonight.

It was him. Kim Seokjin had told him he better get his ass over here on this night in particular if he knew what was good for him. Not unusual, as his friends usually had to threaten him to go outside these days. It was you. You invited her here. It wasn’t Taehyung who invited her. He had been telling the truth all along.

“That bastard.”

Snarling, Jungkook whipped his head to the door and glared at it, fully intending to charge like a goddamn bull right into Kim Seokjin once it opened again.

I, I hear the whispers in your eyes I'll make you wanna think twice you'll find that you were never not mine you're mine

i hear... | ... the whispers... | ... in your eyes.

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jungkook smut

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vhnywomen · 2 years

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fourmoony · 23 days

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𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐓: Chapter Three.

After breaking your ankle in the wake of a break up, you're determined to get through your senior year without any interference from James Potter. That is, until his loyalty to loose cannon Sirius Black lands him straight in your lap. Or, rather, your kiddie-skate group.

CW: language, abandonment, falling, mentions of broken bone and reconstructive metal work, cheating.

ITN Masterlist

You –

The ice is smooth, freshly pressed by the Zamboni. You should be nervous. Usually, you’d be nervous. But you’re tired. Exhausted, actually. If Pince knew how much you want to turn boot and skate off the other side of the ice, she’d probably have an aneurism. This is it: your chance to become a National Champion. The gateway to worlds, to the Olympics. And all you can think about is the gaping hole in your chest, the knot your stomach has wound its way into. The sound of James’ truck door slamming an echo in the back of your head.

The crowd is silent, and your programme music starts. Four minutes. You only need to make it four minutes. Four minutes until you can walk away and spend the summer wallowing. Four minutes that hang over you like a heavy weight.

You know this routine like the back of your hand. You’ve practiced it so much you could do it in your sleep. Spins, jumps, twists. Every one of them brings a different memory. James picking you up off of your ass, frustrated and angry, sending you back to try again with encouraging words and an even more encouraging kiss. He’d cheer when you landed and buy you chocolate cake on the way home.

The music is loud and overwhelming. It grates on your skin. Images of James, of your happiest moments, of everything you lost – they spin and jump along with you. Heavy as the rain that soaked you on the twenty-minute walk back to your apartment that night. It hurts too much, burns too hot.

Pince likes to say that careers can end in a split second. You know well that they can. All it takes is a bad jump, a distraction. You’ve seen it happen. Countless young athletes losing their careers over one bad move. One fracture, one broken bone, one chip on the ice. One second and it’s all gone.

One second and you’re on the ice.

One second and the resounding crack of bone slices through the crowd.

One second and the lights have gone up.

One second and your entire life leading up to this moment flashes before your eyes.

One second and the world stops.

One second before the shattered sob leaves your throat and it all goes black.

Your ankle clicks and crunches when you roll it. It’s uncomfortable, but not sore – and as much as you hate to admit it, Pomfrey is right; that’s progress. Your toe touches the ground, your calf burns, your ankle hits a breaking point. With a wince, you straighten it, repeat the motion. The stretch room off the back of the rink is empty this early in the morning. The hockey team doesn’t come in for practice for another two hours, the ice is fresh, and as soon as the feeling comes back to the ball of your ankle, you’re going to make use of the free time.

With a breath, you pull your leg up, run the edge of your nail along the skin of your scar. There’s no feeling against the skin, there. It comes and goes, the numbness. Your doctor’s say it’s a side effect of the surgery, the damage to the nerve endings, the pins, the screws. Your finger trails a pattern up your leg, back down, over the ragged ridges of the marred skin. It’s starting to feel normal, the ways you need to live your life. Stretches every day, physical rehabilitation, being barely able to wear heels, mobility, and flexibility issues. Lily likes to joke that you’re a walking-talking-live version of the Met Office. The change in weather is, admittedly, easier to assume with the metal work in your ankle.

It’s been hard – rehabilitating. It’s been sore and scary, and there doesn’t seem to be an end in sight. Remus talks, often, about the limitations that his condition puts on his career. It’s nice, in a twisted sort of way, to have someone who knows your pain. In comparison, your pain is a nick on Remus’ radar. His pain is chronic, his bones brittle and damaged. His career will be short lived – but, you know without a doubt that his time in the NHL will be legendary, regardless.

The feeling comes back slowly, to the slow rhythm of your finger tracing up and down. You stand, after a while, and reach for your skate bag. You don’t bother with shoes, socked feet padding against the rubber flooring all the way down to the team box. To your surprise, the ice is populated when you get to the plastic door into the benched area. Sirius and Remus are skating laps around the ice, passing a puck back and forth. They don’t have their kit on, just joggers and their team sweatshirts. James is in the same attire, socked feet kicked up on the bottle shelf beneath the boards. His hands are stuffed in his pockets, hood over his hair. Stray, dark strands of chocolate brown curling out the sides. He looks tired. Exhausted, even.

His eyes follow Remus and Sirius around the rink, ever the dutiful, attentive captain. You know there’s millions of play ideas running through his head, critiques on players that aren’t even in James’ eyesight. It’s astounding, though you hate to admit it, how good of a leader James is.

“You’re all here early.” You say, setting your skate bag beside James on the metal bench.

Your ex startles, eyes wide behind his glasses when he looks over. It’s odd, to think over the Summer he’s somehow forgotten to remember your schedule. He used to know it off by heart. You skate every Saturday morning before the hockey team starts their practice. Realisation crosses his features, like the ghost of a past life passing through his eyes. “Shit, I’ll pull them off. Sorry.” James apologises, pulling his feet from the shelf and sitting forward like he’s getting ready to call Sirius and Remus in.

“No, it’s fine. I’m cool as long as they are.” You take a seat, unzipping your skate bag.

James nods, swallows. The silence is thick, almost suffocating. There’s no flirty conversation, no teasing, no kind words of encouragement. Things have changed. As much as James promised they wouldn’t – they have. It has a lot to do with how things ended, you suppose. As long as you were together, you’d always thought it’d be your careers, the distance, that split you up. Your ex-boyfriend places his feet on the rubber mats below the bench, bounces his legs. “They’ll stay out of your way, just watch out for stray pucks.”

“Got it. You okay?” You ask as you sit down to tie your skates. “You look exhausted.”

James’ hazel eyes follow Sirius and Remus around the rink. You don’t think they’ve noticed your presence, yet. Content in their own world. “Yeah. All good.”

It’s a lie. You both know it. But you’re not the person James is going to talk to about that, anymore. You don’t have a response for him, so you take your skate guards off and leave him to stew in the box. The air is cold against your face, a pleasant feeling. Sirius and Remus have scratched the ice a little with their skates and sticks, but it’ll be fine. They hear your blades scratching the closer you get, turn to you as you approach.

“Hey, I just want to run my routine a couple times before tomorrow. I’ll try stay out of your way.” You tell them.

Sirius’ eyes flick to James almost protectively, like he’s checking his captain, his best friend, is aware of your presence. Since you and James broke up, you haven’t heard much from Sirius. It’s not that he’s picking sides – though, you wouldn’t blame him for picking James. What they have is unique. They’re bonded. But it hurts a little. Stings, because there was a time where Sirius was one of your best friends. You’d all been close. It feels now, like Lily and Remus are the only ones who make an effort.

“You have practice tonight, your ankle going to be okay?” Remus asks, pushing the puck back and forth absentmindedly.

“How’s your knee?” You deflect.

Remus bites back a grin and scoffs good naturedly, but Sirius’ eyes fly down to Remus’ knee as though he’ll be able to see through layers of clothes and skin, right down to the muscle. He looks almost panicked. Then, he looks back up, icy blues lit with a fire you’ve never been on the receiving end of. “He’s fine.”

“Relax, Sirius. I know he is.” Your eyes burn, a little, “I’ll try stay out of your way.”

Remus mutters something to Sirius – likely chastising him. You’re on the other side of the rink, pretending not to care, so you don’t hear it.

They stay out of your way for the majority of your ice time. Only one stray puck gets in your way, and James calls out in a panic when you almost land on it. Instead, you miss a jump and shout a shaky thanks as you clamber back to your feet on the ice. He stays firmly in the box – making you wonder why he even bothered to come to the ice this morning, at all. Not that it’s any of your business. Remus and Sirius run drills on one half of the ice whilst you weave in and around them. It’s not until you’re on your last run through that your foot goes numb. It’s quick, instant. You land on your ankle, there’s no feeling there, your leg buckles.

You hit the ice with a nasty amount of noise. Skates scraping and clashing, a whoosh of pained air. Your hip hurts, a searing pain that you already know will need to be iced. It takes a minute to gather your surroundings, turning until you’re sitting up. “Jesus,” You mutter, angry. It feels like this will never end – the numbness, the frustration, falling. It’s been months of your ankle going numb mid practice. Months of falling on your ass. “Fuck!”

Remus is at your side in an instant, Sirius close behind him. “Okay, up. Up, C’mon.”

You know you can’t get up, but you refuse to admit why. No one knows. Not even Pomfrey, not even Pince. You can’t run the risk of needing a surgery to fix the nerve endings. Can’t risk having to sit this season out. “Remus, give me a minute.”

“No, the longer you sit there, the less likely you’re going to go again. Up. Now.” Your best friend holds his hand out.

He’s just trying to help. But there’s anger simmering in your chest. Hot and raw and you want to lash out. For the first time, you think you understand why Remus is the way he is. So, you look at him, really, truly look at him and you think he understands. James crouches in front of you, eyes brimming with concern. You hate how much relief the sight of him brings you. Remus turns and drags Sirius off. They go back to their own corner of the ice. Your eyes well with tears.

“What’s goin’ on?” James asks.

His hands rest on the skate covering your bad ankle. You can’t feel them. The thought panics you because what if? What if one day, the feeling never comes back and it’s too late? James notices the fear in your eyes, his finger reaches up to press into your calf and you flinch. A look of understanding passes across his features, brows scrunching and dipping in the middle. “No one knows?”

“No one can know.”

James looks like he disagrees, but he nods. “I’ll bare your weight to get you up. Feet flat or Remus will notice, but weight bare on your good ankle.”

He doesn’t have to do this. He shouldn’t care. It’s not his role, anymore. But you nod, regardless. Even if the idea of him helping you lights a furious rage inside of you because how dare he act like he gives a shit now? You need to get off the ice, though. So you give him both of your hands, left blade flat on the ice as he pulls you up. Your hip screams at you, but you ignore it in favour of James’ socked feet. He’s run out onto the ice without shoes on.

“You’re going to get frost-bite.” You murmur, eyes flicking up to find his already on you.

He looks sad. Nostalgic, maybe. “Worth it.”

Your heart cracks open in your chest as you let James lead you off of the ice, all the while praying he doesn’t go full James and snitch on you to Pince, thinking he’s doing you some sort of favour. You have it under control. You’re dealing with it.

Maybe just not as well as you’d originally thought.

Regulus –

Barty is lying, rather annoyingly, half on Regulus’ legs and half on the bed. But he won’t ask Barty to move. As much as a distraction he’s made himself, Regulus finds he quite enjoys the idea that Barty wants to be this close to him. The sketch book on his lap stares up at him tauntingly. There’s half-finished scribbles of planets and stars; none of which Regulus has the energy to perfect. He does, however, have a strong notion to draw the way Barty’s body is curling around his legs. Regulus isn’t sure how to feel about that, so he ignores it; because if he thinks too much about it, he’ll start to push Barty away.

He’s aware that this isn’t going to last. Just like he’s aware that after his thesis paper is published, he’ll be returning to Grimmauld Place. Taking over Black Industries is probably at the bottom of the list of things Regulus wants to do with his life. But the thing about Barty Crouch is that he’s persuasive. He’s irresistible, as Regulus has come to realise. It’s more than just his regal looking cheek bones and sinful smile, his toned body, and tattoos that make Regulus more inspired to draw than he ever has; if only to one day see one of his drawings on Barty’s pale skin – it’s also his carefree attitude, his rebellious nature, and the big, bold, ‘fuck you’ middle finger he holds up to the world that makes Regulus want to get wrapped up in him and never get free.

He wishes he could keep Barty, but he can’t. So, he won’t draw him. For now, he’ll enjoy his rebellious streak brought about by the sarcastic, smart mouth, piece of shit guy he met in the art supply store in the spring and worry about the calendar counting down his return to Grimmauld place later.

Admitting defeat, Regulus places his sketchbook and pencil on his bedside table. Barty stirs at the movement, head straining to look at Regulus with a devious grin. He threads his fingers through the soft strands of Barty’s inky black hair and smiles softly. It’s obvious his smile isn’t believable, because Barty huffs, pushes himself up until he’s straddling Regulus’ hips. He’s not in the mood for whatever Barty is about to initiate, but Barty seems to notice that because his eyes soften. “What’s on your mind?”

Regulus studies Barty. He really is very beautiful. He’d be easy to draw. The itch is there. But he can’t. So, he won’t. “I was thinking that I can’t focus when you’re lounging over me like a stray cat.” It’s obvious in his voice that it’s a lie. But the good thing about Barty is that he doesn’t push Regulus to talk when he clearly doesn’t want to.

“We both know that you’re the cat, in this relationship, Regulus. You’re all claws and uptight attitude.” The boy on top of Regulus quips, a smile that tells Regulus he’s rather pleased with himself.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m not all claws.” Because Regulus knows he’s uptight.

Barty grins. It’s charming and knowing, practically dripping with sin. He reaches for the neckline of his t-shirt; acts like he’s going to pull it upward. “Should we look at my back?”

Regulus holds the hem around Barty’s waist and tugs, scowling. “No, let’s not.”

Barty laughs, collapsing on top of Regulus. He enjoys the weight, presses his fingers into his shoulder blades because he knows he likes rough touches. Gentle touches make him jumpy. He listens to Barty laugh for a while, enjoys the sound of it vibrating against the skin of his neck. He stares at the ceiling and wonders if he should tell Barty that one of the reasons he’s struggling to draw is probably because his estranged brother has cropped his ugly head up.

Barty is good with advice. Mainly because the majority of his advice is to get high and ignore all of your problems. His mother would pitch a fit if she knew all the shit Regulus was getting up to, these days. She calls once a week, always short and curt. It’s more of a call to make sure Regulus is behaving, than to check in on how he’s actually doing. He’s not sure what he’s going to tell her when she asks who his student assistant ended up being. If she knew, she’d likely pull him out of university all together and ban him from leaving the house ever again. Not that he had any choice in who it was.

“Sirius is my student assistant.” He breathes out, the admittance bringing a hollow ache to his chest.

He doesn’t talk much about Sirius. Mainly because it hurts, leaves a bitter taste in his mouth that as much as he tried, nothing was ever good enough for his older brother. Not enough to make him stay. And Regulus knows that expecting Sirius to stay was unfair – maybe it’s more to do with the idea that he left him there. Scared, alone. Baring the crown that Sirius found too heavy. Barty lifts his head until his eyes meet Regulus’. Reading, trying to gage how he should treat this. He’s not sure if he wants Barty to get him high and help him say fuck you to his problems, or if he wants him to offer to kick the shit out of Sirius.

“Okay. Go on.” Barty urges, fingers tracing Regulus’ collar bones.

The feeling grounds him as he huffs and closes his eyes. Thinking. Trying to sort through his emotions because, really, he’s not sure how he feels about it.

“He said I’m just like our father. I was a dick to him.”

Barty smiles sadly. “You were surprised to see him.”

“I knew I’d see him, eventually. I mean, I’ve done a good job of avoiding him. But I thought, maybe naively, when I came to Hogwarts that maybe there’d be a chance he’d want to explain. But he didn’t. He just looked at me with pure hatred and stormed off into the stacks.” It sounds childish, the way Regulus’ voice takes on a petulant whine.

But Barty nods, like he understands. He doesn’t. He doesn’t have siblings, but he does have an uncomfortable family situation. So, he’s sympathetic, at least. “Maybe he’s scared to apologise because he thinks you won’t hear him.” Barty offers.

“Maybe. Or maybe he’s just an asshole.”

The other boy scoffs amusedly, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, maybe.”

“You think he’d want me to be a part of his life? If I could forgive him.” Regulus asks, hating how insecure he sounds.

Barty presses his lips to Regulus’. It’s soft, caring. Rare, for them. “I dunno Sirius. I’ve never met him. But I do know that anyone who doesn’t want a part of you in their life is a fucking idiot. And you don’t need another idiot in your life. You already have me.”

He likes that answer, so he kisses Barty until they’re both a mess of tangled limbs and swollen lips. Until it turns out that there’s other ways to forget his problems. And all of them suddenly have a lot to do with Barty Crouch.

James –

He’s pacing. He knows he’s pacing, and he knows that his footsteps are clunking against the wooden floorboards, and that Remus will likely lose his mind if he continues. But James can’t stop. It’s how he thinks, how he processes. Years of thinking on his feet, of having to have a mind as sharp as a tack, having to move whilst processing a hundred different outcomes. The only outcome he can think of right now is you hating him even more than you already do when he inevitably goes to Pince and tells her that your ankle isn’t properly healed.

He did the necessary reading to conclude that prolonged numbness is definitely not a normal side effect of having a reconstructive surgery. A temporary side effect, yes. But it’s been months since your surgery. That’s not a good sign, according to a very reliable source (if you count Reddit as a reliable source; James isn’t sure if he does). And he knows he’s catastrophising. He’s prone to it. But he’s worried. And wouldn’t he rather you hate him that little bit more and eventually be able to get back on the ice next year (after another surgery, Reddit had confirmed) than risk it all now and never skate again? James doesn’t feel qualified to make that decision. He hasn’t been a captain long, and even then, it’s not like he’s in charge of people’s livelihoods. He wouldn’t have taken the job if that was the case.

James knows how much Nationals means for you – it’s the gateway to the World Championships, to the Olympics. He cost you that last year, and he hates himself for it. Is he really willing to do that to you again? He’s not sure. So, he paces. He loses count of how many times he picks up his phone and almost hits the green call button next to your name. He’s not even sure you’d answer, even less sure of what he’d say to you if, by some miracle, you answered. ‘I think you should miss out on Nationals again, this year, have another risky surgery and hope for the best. Okay, bye!’ doesn’t exactly seem like a good plan to him.

Remus is the embodiment of exhaustion when he pushes James’ bedroom door open and leans against the frame like a parent ready to chastise their hyper-active child. James cringes. Remus needs all the rest he can get. Between hospital appointments, hockey, and his classes, he never stops. “Sorry. I’ll try be quieter.” His voice comes out rushed and anxious, an alarm bell sounding off to alert Remus of his worry.

The taller boy tilts his head and studies James. Sometimes, he loves how perceptive Remus can be. It helps offence, and it generally means that he’s a better friend. But now, he shifts awkwardly because for the second time in the space of a year, he’s keeping a secret from his best friend. He hates lying to Remus. But your words play on a loop in his head. No one can know. You’d been so scared. Terrified, even, at the idea of everything you’ve worked for over the summer being ripped away from you. Call James selfish, but he doesn’t particularly want to be the one to do it. Even though he knows he should because it will be better in the long run.

“Or” Remus suggests, “You could stop pacing and tell me what’s going on with Y/N.”

James opens his mouth. Subsequently closes it because he doesn’t know what to say. He won’t betray your trust. He hates lying to Remus. But he knows, ultimately, if he really doesn’t want to talk about it, his best friend won’t push him.

He feels himself shrug, his best attempt at feigning nonchalance. “Don’t know what you mean.”

Remus’ honey eyes read like a book. He knows James is lying, scrutinising him whilst simultaneously trying to figure out why he’s lying for you. As far as Remus knows he’s on bad terms with you. And technically, that’s true. But James would give anything to fix that. He just hasn’t figured out how, yet.

“You know,” Remus pushes off the door frame, ever the one for imparting wisdom in the most dramatic of ways and pushes his hands into his pockets. “If I didn’t know well enough, I’d say you’re trying to decide her future for her. I can tell you right now, that won’t end well. Whatever it is she’s hiding, I’ve been there. It’s a hard lesson to learn, but one she has to do on her own.

“Don’t make her hate you any more than she does now, James. I’m still rooting for you.”

“You know?” James asks, throat dry.

“About the numbness or you cheating on her?” Remus asks. He doesn’t wait for an answer before he leaves James standing, alone, in the middle of his room with a sinking feeling that he’s let everyone down.

He’s not sure how Remus knows. Maybe you told him even though you’d told James you weren’t going to tell anyone.

An amicable breakup, you’d suggested. It’ll save us both the embarrassment.

He hates himself. Hates himself for all of the things he wishes he’d sat you down and forced you to listen to over the summer. Hates that he didn’t fight for you more. There’s so much you don’t know. So much you don’t want to hear. So much James wishes he’d done differently. Starting with how he wishes he’d run out onto the ice, consequences be damned, the minute he saw you land on your ankle, the minute he heard you sobbing in pain. He wishes he hadn’t walked away, feeling sorry for himself that he’d ripped Nationals from you. That, despite how hard he’d tried, he’d still failed you.

And he hates even more that he even considered doing it for a second time.

James sits on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands, and he decides there and then that he’s not going to tell Pince. But he is, even if you fight him every step of the way, going to find a way to fix this for you. You’ll have a chance at Nationals if it’s the last thing James does.

And it starts with a call to Euphemia Potter.

144 notes · View notes

femmefatalevibe · 1 year

Text

Femme Fatale Guide: Fall Wardrobe Essentials

Staple Tees:

**Purchase in Modal, Pima cotton, or a cotton-cashmere blend**

Fitted crewneck tees (long-sleeves/tees & tanks for layering)

Relaxed fit long-sleeve tees

Turtleneck long-sleeve top (fitted & relaxed fit options)

Contour bodysuits

Blouses/Shirting:

Silk button-down blouse

Cotton button-down blouse

Silk shell top/t-shirts/camis (for layering)

Sculpt knit top(s)

Self-tie wrap blouse

Shirred boatneck, mock neck, or cowlneck silk blouse(s)

Leather button-down

Knitwear:

Thin cashmere/wool crewneck sweater (fitted/relaxed fit)

Thin cashmere/wool turtleneck sweater

Chunky relaxed-fit cable knit sweater

Knit polo-neck sweater

Cashmere sweater vest (crewneck, v-neck, and/or turtleneck)

Mockneck cashmere/wool sweater

Cashmere long-sleeve sweater dress

Cashmere/knit skirt (mini, midi, or maxi - depending on your personal preferences)

Sophisticated coordinating knit set (top/pants or skirt of your choice)

Casual knit set (top/pullover and relaxed fit pants)

Cashmere cardigan

Cable knit cardigan (doubles as a light jacket)

Bottoms:

Black straight-leg jeans

Black bootcut/flared jeans

Black straight/bootcut trousers

Wide-leg trousers (I love a solid black, black pinstripe, and black with lace-up detail selection)

High-waisted leather pants

Split hem trousers

Stretch jersey/cashmere pants (straight-leg or flared)

Quilted leather/tweed mini skirt

Knit/wool mini and/pencil skirt

Leather skirt (mini or midi)

Silk midi skirt

Dresses/Jumpsuits:

Knit/sweater dress

Little black dress (shift dress/A-line cuts are great)

Blazer dress/jumpsuit

Slip dress (for layering)

Minimal black jumpsuit ("LBJ")

Leather and/or denim dress or jumpsuit

Jackets & Outerwear:

Black tailored blazer

Leather blazer

Tweed jacket

Trench coat

Leather moto/cropped/bomber jacket

Black wool coat

Raincoat ( I like Rains for high-quality options on the affordable side that are still built to last for several seasons)

Statement jacket/coat

Footwear:

Sleek flat/low-heel black boots with a pointed-toe or square-toe silhouette (I love Vagabond, Jeffrey Campbell, Vince Camuto, and Sam Edelman for more affordable, high-quality options)

Black loafers/sleek black flats

Black lace-up boots

Black heeled boots

Black pumps

White sneakers

Rain boots (I recommend the Melissa Shoes Welly/Grip/Step boots or a stylish, sustainable, and more affordable option)

Accessories:

White/black ankle & crew socks

Black control top tights

High-waisted shapewear shorts

Chunky/small chain necklaces & bracelets

Simple pendant necklace(s)

Pearl necklace

Simple diamond studs

Crystal drop earrings

Minimalist bangles

Stackable rings

A sleek, minimalist black tote (can fit a laptop for work/travel)

Black shoulder bag

Small black bag (top handle, crossbody, etc.)

Statement bag/evening bag

Cashmere scarf

Silk/decorative scarf

Fingerless/touch-screen friendly, lightweight gloves

Lingerie/Loungewear:

Seamless bra/underwear

Lace bra/underwear

Matching pullover cotton sweatshirt/sweatpants

Knit or jersey cotton top/lounge pants set

Luxurious pajama set (silk, Tencel, cashmere, etc.)

A to-die-for piece of lingerie like a lace slip/silk teddy

Silk or cozy robe

Cozy open-back slippers

596 notes · View notes

janeyseymour · 8 months

Note

do you think we could get one where reader proposes?

Yes, yes you can. I was actually already in the process of writing this!

Fire in My Heart- pt 5 (Can be read on it's own!!)

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.

wc: ~4.1k

You don’t really know who to ask, but you want someone’s blessing to propose to Melissa. You can’t ask her mother… she isn’t around anymore. Her beloved Nonna isn’t around anymore. Her dad is alive, but as she so eloquently put it, “That motherfucker is dead to me.”

So you really don’t know who to ask.

“Yeah, Barb,” Melissa comes wandering in. “Yeah. Hey, I just got home, so I have to make sure Y/N is alright and start dinner, but we can definitely talk about this tomorrow morning? …Yeah, okay. Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow. Okay, bye.”

And then it hits you. You can ask Barbara for her blessing. The kindergarten teacher is like a sister to your girlfriend. That’s perfect.

The redhead saunters over to you, and while you’re pretty much fully healed from your injuries, Melissa still dotes on you like she did the first week. “Hey, babe,” she leans forward and kisses you softly. She pulls back, and you have a perfect view of her cleavage. “How was your day?”

“Fine,” you tell her. “I’m sick of desk duty though. I can’t wait to get back out into the field.”

“Until the doctor clears you, you ain’t heading back into another burning building,” she tells you sternly. “I ain’t riskin’ nothin’. Did you ice your ribs today at work?”

“No,” you roll your eyes. “I’m really doing okay, Mel.”

She clicks her tongue in a disapproving manner before walking into the kitchen. She returns a few seconds later with an ice pack. “Ice.”

“Mel,” you sigh.

“Ice,” she says again and holds out the ice pack even more aggressively. You snatch it out of her hands and press it to your rib cage, sucking in a breath as you hold it to your skin. She settles next to you before nudging you. She has you sit in between her legs and pulls you to her chest. She kisses your cheek as you relax against her.

“How was your day, love?” you ask softly as you crane your neck to look at those striking green eyes.

“Those kids sure do keep me on my toes,” she chuckles lowly. “Aiden snuck his hamster into his backpack, and then he lost it in my classroom… I found the fucking rodent in my purse.”

“Good lord,” you laugh weakly. “I don’t know how you do it, some days.”

“I don’t know how I do it some days,” she retorts back.

You ice until the timer on her phone goes off, and she gently maneuvers around you to head into the kitchen.

“I just picked up some stuff to make chili, are you good with that?” she calls to you from the other room.

You smile. Chili is one of your favorite dishes of hers. “I’m good with that. Mind if I join you?”

“As long as you take it easy,” she tells you. “You’ll sit at the island and look pretty.”

“I can help chop up some vegetables,” you roll your eyes as you stand from your place on the couch and hobble into the next room.

“You’ll sit. You’re still injured,” she points the knife that she’s holding at you.

“My ribs are all but healed, and I don’t have to do anything with my ankle to chop vegetables,” you roll your eyes as you gesture to the boot your foot is still in.

“I gotta take care of my girl,” she rolls her eyes as she starts to chop them while staring at you. You have no idea how she does that- not looking at the vegetables and still not clipping her knuckles with the knife.

You sigh as you pull out your phone and start scrolling through it. You shoot Randy a text.

I’m gonna be in late tomorrow, you tell him.

Oh?

I have some business I have to take care of. Hold down the fort for me?

How late are we talking?

I have to drop off Melissa’s lunch at the school and talk to a few people, but then I’ll be in for my dreaded desk duty.

I gotcha covered.

Thanks.

No problem, Chief.

You grin as you read that last text. Now you know you can grab the septa, a taxi, or an Uber down to Abbott to speak with Barbara. You know her prep is in the morning, so you’ll be able to track her down.

The next morning, you wake up with your girlfriend, chuckling as she makes her lunch. You know you’ll be able to distract her enough that she’ll forget her Tupperware on the counter and you’ll be able to make your way into the school without it seeming fishy. You do everything you can to seduce her, and with the way she’s looking at you, you know you’ve won her over.

“Baby, I’m fine,” you roll your eyes as she makes sure that you’re okay for the fifth time. “Can we just…?”

Finally, she relents. By the time the two of you are finished, she’s running late, and she dashes out the door, leaving her meal on the island. Perfect.

You know Barb has her prep earlier on in the day, so you can time taking Melissa’s lunch out with her schedule. You’ll arrive a bit earlier so you can drop off the redhead’s lunch and then make your way down to the kindergarten wing.

Your phone buzzes around the twenty minutes later. Melissa’s at school.

Forgot my lunch, and it’s all your fault.

I’m sorry? you text her back.

No you’re not, she replies. You chuckle. You really aren’t sorry. Not in the slightest.

You attempt to take the bus, but it rattles your ribs too much, and you have to get off a stop after you got on. You can practically hear Melissa telling you that she told you so. So you stop into the coffee shop that the two of you frequent quite often, pick up her favorite, and call an Uber.

As you make your way into the school, Ava sees you.

“Hey girl,” she looks you up and down. “Damn.”

“I’m just here to drop off Mel’s lunch and talk to Barb,” you tell her with a playful roll of the eyes. “I don’ need you flirtin’ with me or nothin’.”

“Girl, I ain’t flirting,” she tosses her hair over her shoulder. “I know when someone can kick my ass for hitting on their girl, and Schemmenti is one of those someones. G’head.”

You make your way down to the second grade wing and grin as you appear in the doorway.

“Miss Y/N!” one of the kids shouts and points over at you. Almost immediately, your girlfriend looks up and over in your direction. The kids all leap up to give you hugs.

“Ah,” the teacher tuts. “No huggin’ her. She’s still recovering from her injuries.”

“From the building jump?!” Jade asks with wide eyes.

“From the building jump… a true hero,” Melissa tells her kids with a sparkle in her eyes. She knows how much the kids idolize you and love you. When she finally returned to school, the next day, she came home with about a hundred cards from her kids for you.

“I was just doing my job,” you rolls your eyes playfully, although you do toss your hair playfully. “Anyway, I’m just here to drop off Miss Schemmenti’s lunch and a coffee. I have to run to work now.”

She takes the tupperware container and the to-go cup of coffee from your hands, gives you a gentle kiss on the cheek, and you’re on your way. You head down towards the kindergarten wing, and there is Mrs. Howard lining her kids up for gym.

“Oh, Y/N,” she smiles at you. “Here for Melissa?… Omari, stand in line quietly please.”

“Actually, I’m here to talk to you,” you tell her. “Mind if I come in?”

“Absolutely,” she says. “I just have to walk my class down to the gym, but then I’ll be back. Feel free to step inside.”

It’s only a few minutes before the kindergarten teacher returns and takes a seat at her desk. She gestures for you to sit in the rocking chair, which you do.

“What brings you around?” she asks.

“I have something I want to ask you,” you sigh softly.

“And that would be?”

You take a deep breath, rubbing nervously at your collarbone as you do. “It’s going to sound a bit silly considering you already are somewhat clued in from our first get together at the house… but… I don’t necessarily have anyone in Melissa’s family that can bless us getting engaged.”

The older woman hasn’t quite put it together yet, so she furrows her brows. “Okay?”

“Melissa’s mother has passed, so has her Nonna. And her father is still alive, but she hasn’t spoken to him since she was twenty-three. I could ask Kristen Marie, but I don’t know how close they are, even having reconciled now. You’re like a sister to Mel. So, I guess what I’m trying to say is… Barb, is it okay if I ask Mel-”

“Sweetheart,” Barbara cuts you off. “Are you asking me for my stamp of approval?”

You bite your lip and nod nervously.

Her eyes well with tears. “Honey, of course I approve. I’ve approved of you since the day we all gathered at your house.”

You break out into a grin. “Really?”

“Of course, dear,” she chuckles through her tears and stands to give you a hug. “And it means so much to me that you would ask me for my approval.”

“Well, you are the closest person to Mel,” you shrug as you return the gesture, patting her back gently.

“When are you planning on asking her?”

“I have a follow up appointment in two weeks to get cleared from the boot, and then I should be cleared by then to go back into the field,” you tell her. “Mel and I were planning on having a celebration with the boys at our house, and we’ve been talking about inviting the Abbott group over for that too.”

“We’ll all be there,” the teacher assures you. “Anything for our favorite firefighter.”

So, two weeks later, you and your girlfriend are sitting in the doctors office waiting for them to come in and give you the go ahead to continue life as normal.

“It seems like you actually took this healing process seriously,” the doctor quips. “Change of pace from your usual road to recovery.”

“She didn’t want to,” the redhead snorts. “I practically forced her to stay bedridden for the first month.”

“It was torture,” you groan and elbow Melissa.

“Well, maybe you should be thanking her, because you should be all good to head back into the field,” your doctor winks at you.

“Oh thank god,” you sigh with relief. “I’m so sick of desk duty.”

“Just no more jumping out of burning buildings,” the doctor tuts at you. “You hear?”

“Loud and clear, doc,” you grin as you mock salute your doctor.

He hands you the paperwork to turn in to your company so that you can fully document that you’ve been cleared, and the two of you walk out of the office hand in hand.

“Congrats, babe,” Melissa tells you as she kisses your cheek. “Celebratory breakfast? I still have three hours before I have to go to Abbott.”

“I told you you didn’t need to take a half day,” you roll your eyes, but you nod. Breakfast sounds amazing.

Over breakfast, the two of you discuss having everybody over for a barbecue, and by the end of your meal it’s planned. You send a text to your boys, letting them know that it was non-negotiable. She sends a text to her friends, telling them that she couldn’t care less if they showed or not, but the invite was there.

Non-negotiable? Randy texts you separately.

Gonna propose, Tell no one or I’ll fire your ass, you reply back before deleting the texts. There’s no way you’re going to blow this surprise.

You then proceed to have the same conversation with Joe.

Of course, one of them spills the beans to the younger firefighters, but neither is willing to give up the other, and you know you don’t have it in your heart to fire them, so you just threaten the entire squad that if they ruin this for you, there will be hell to pay.

Much to Melissa’s chagrin, all of her crew replies to the group text stating that they will indeed be there. You get a text from Barbara later that she told that crew the invite was non-negotiable- but she didn’t tell them the real reason why. She claimed it’s because the two of you have always shown up for their dinner parties, and this was going to be no different.

So here you are, the two of you cleaning your house up and down. Melissa chuckles to herself as she remembers the nervous wreck she was when her friends came over to meet you for the first time- oh how the tables have turned.

“Amore, they’ve all been here before,” she rolls her eyes as she makes up her charcuterie board.

“Yes, but this is the first time everyone is going to be here and meet each other,” you counter. You shake your hands nervously. She has no idea why you’re this nervous. She has no idea that you currently have her ring in your pocket.

“It’ll be fine,” she tries to comfort you. “They’ll all get along just fine.”

A few hours later, everyone is trickling in. Most of your crew has shown up- Randy and Joe are manning the grills. Jake, Luke, and Zach are shoving as much of your girlfriend’s pasta into their mouths as they can, and the rest are sitting around your lawn and patio chatting with the elementary school teachers. While Melissa is playing perfect hostess, Barbara saunters her way up to you, trying not to look suspicious.

“You doin’ it?” she asks you quietly.

“Yeah,” you grin and look up at her, only to see your girlfriend coming up behind her. “Yeah! The wine is in the fridge, Barb! Do you want me to get you some?”

The kindergarten teacher raises a suspicious brow at you, but with a stern look from her, she nods. “Sure, dear. Thank you.” She hands you the wine glass, and as you pass by your girlfriend, you give her a gentle kiss to the cheek.

“Are you feeling less nervous, hun?” she asks you as she attaches herself to your arm.

“Just fine, babe,” you try to sound as calm as possible. “A little nervous Joe’s gonna catch something on fire… he’s got a habit of doing that while cooking.” Not a lie. It’s happened before, and you’re willing to bet money it’ll happen again. It just better not be here. He can’t ruin tonight for you.

“Well, lucky for us, we have a whole crew of firefighters, and the chief,” she hip checks you gently.

“I suppose you’re right,” you chuckle nervously, hoping she didn’t feel the ring box when she did that. You open the fridge and pour some wine for Barb before turning slightly. “Do you want a glass too?”

“I was thinking beer instead,” she gives a small shrug. “With the burgers and stuff.”

“I’ll grab that then once I get this wine to Barb.”

“I got it,” Melissa takes the glass out of your hand. “You go hang with your boys.” She turns in the direction of her colleague.

So you do. You hover in between both Randy and Joe, who are all grins as they know exactly what is going to happen at some point today. They don’t know when you’re going to do it, and quite frankly, neither do you. But it’s going to happen.

“Hun,” the redhead comes up behind you and snakes her arms around you. In one hand is a bottle of Yuengling for herself, and in the other hand is a can of Vizzy for you.

“Thanks,” you smile as you lean into her a bit. You take the drink and sip on it. She’s warm, and you can’t help but fiddle with one of her rings on her left hand. You subconsciously play with her ring finger- where the ring in your pocket will be later tonight.

Dinner is ready a bit later, and everybody is sitting around outside. You almost do it right then and there, while everyone is humming quietly as they enjoy the wide spread of food. But you stop when you see that Melissa is stuffing her face with food. She’s enjoying her dinner too much for it to be interrupted right now. You chuckle softly as you watch her practically wiggling with glee. She takes another sip of her beer before kissing your cheek gently.

“See? Everything is fine. Joe didn’t catch anything on fire, and the food is delicious,” she tells you as she rests her hand on your thigh. She squeezes it gently, trying to calm your nerves.

“You were right,” you grin back before taking a bite of you burger. “Shit. Joe really does know how to grill when he isn’t catching it on fire.”

“Oi,” the man you were talking about chimes in from across the table. “I’m a damn good cook. It’s how I got my Linda to marry me in the first place.”

“That’s how I got Y/N to go out on a third date with me,” Melissa chuckles. “I made dinner for our second date, and landed myself a hot firefighter.”

“Yeah,” you throw in. “But Mel didn’t catch her kitchen on fire while cookin’ us dinner.”

That gets a good chuckle from your audience.

The Abbott crew takes to cleaning up dinner and putting out the various desserts that people had brought while your gang starts putting together the fire pit.

“When are you gonna do it, Chief?” Zach asks as he practically bounces on his toes.

“I swear, you’re more excited about it than I am,” you chuckle.

“I want you guys to get engaged so Luke and I can be beer boys!”

“Hell yeah,” Luke jumps into the conversation. “Fuck flower girls when you could have beer boys!”

You roll your eyes. “Soon. Don’t blow it.”

You’re all sitting around outside, most eyes on you and Melissa as she tells some ridiculous story. You’re lounging in her lap, her leather jacket draped over you. She’s got a tight hold on you, making sure that you won’t fall off of her.

“It was ridiculous,” she lets go to gesture, and you fall off of her lap and onto the ground. Thankfully, you’re not close enough to the open flame to catch on fire. You chuckle as you dust yourself off, and Melissa looks absolutely mortified that she practically threw you to the ground.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry,” she gasps, hands flying to her face.

“No, no,” you laugh as you continue to dust yourself off. “I had to get on the ground anyway, so you helped me get there.”

“What?” she furrows her brows.

You turn over and stay on one knee as you produce the ring box from your pocket. “Mel,” you start.

She slaps your arm in shock. “Shut up.” Her hands fly up to her mouth again. “Shut up! What are you doing?!”

“Mel, honey,” you open the box. “It’s you. It’s always been you. I’ve just been waiting for the right time, and now is as good a time as any- with us surrounded by the people that mean the most to us. Will you-”

You can’t finish your question because your girlfriend has tackled you to the ground in a hug.

“Will you-”

“Yes! Yes!” she shouts into your ear.

“Jesus, woman,” you joke as you continue to hold her close. “Will you let me finish asking my question?”

“Yes!” is all Melissa can get out before Barbara cuts in.

“Woman, let her ask!”

“Will you marry me?” you can finally ask the full question.

“Yes!” your girlfriend, no fiancee, yells again before crashing your lips together. There are cheers from all around as the two of you embrace on the ground.

You carefully sit up, the redhead still in your lap as you take the ring out of its box and slip it on her finger. She holds out her hand to get a look at it, and you know it’s the perfect one. It looks like it was made to be sitting on her finger.

The boys are all whooping and hollering that “Chief just got engaged!”, the Abbot clan is clapping and cheering right with them, but all you can see is Melissa.

Barbara walks over to her bag and pulls out two giant bottles of champagne. She knows exactly where you keep your champagne flutes, and she’s brought extra- and starts pouring out the sparkling beverage.

Janine and Gregory help pass them out, and then all eyes are on you, as you are apparently being put on the spot to make some sort of speech.

You pull yourself and Melissa off the ground, looping an arm around her waist as you do.

You clear your throat. “I know this was a party to celebrate the fact that I was cleared from my injuries, and I’m able to go back into the field. And luckily for me,” you chuckle. “I had one of the best people by my side to help pick me up while I was down. I had my rock, my star, and the sunshine in my life through every icing time, through the physical therapy… through it all. And although I’ve always known it was Mel, this time has only helped solidify that I couldn’t imagine going through better or worse with anyone else… So, while there have been quite a few times that I’ve almost popped the question-”

“What?” the redhead looks at you with a strange look.

“Like… after you first met the guys, when we went to that nice dinner, when I was on morphine in the hospital… a lot of times during my recovery,” you laugh and kiss the side of her head. “And while there were quite a few times I always popped the question, I knew there were two things I wanted in this proposal: for everyone that we love to be here with us to celebrate the occasion, and… to have someone’s blessing to ask you to marry me.”

“What? You didn’t ask-” you shake your head quickly.

“I asked someone that I know means the world to Mel, and someone who is an extended part of our family,” you grin as you look Barb in the eye. You then turn to your fiancee. “I asked Barbara Howard.”

“And I of course said yes,” the kindergarten teacher says with a smile.

“So, thank you all for coming out to celebrate with us, even if most of you didn’t know it was happening,” you finish as you raise your glass in a toast.

“So that’s why Barb said it was non-negotiable that we were all here,” Mr. Johnson realizes loudly.

After the fire pit died out, your guests made their exits with warm congratulations, and you helped Melissa spiff up a bit, the two of you finally retire to bed. You lay down and allow her to curl into your side. She lays a gentle hand over your shoulder, and out of the corner of your eye, you can see the sparkling ring on her finger.

“I have one for you too, y’know,” Melissa whispers to you as she stretches to kiss your cheek. “It’s in my drawer at work… I asked Randy if I could propose.”

You sit up partially. “That bastard knew and didn’t say anything?”

She laughs. “I may or may not have threatened his car, his house, and his life.”

“Once an arsonist, always an arsonist,” you sigh as you settle back down. She curls back into your hold, her head resting gently on your shoulder.

“And now you get to marry into an arsonist family, future Mrs. Schemmenti,” she grins against you.

“Good God,” you whisper to yourself. You hadn’t even thought about the fact that you were marrying into a family that loves fire. How that slipped your mind, you’ll never know.

“You love me,” she mumbles, and you can tell she’s starting to drift off.

“You’re right,” you sigh softly as you kiss her temple. “I do love you.”

“And don’t you forget it,” she mutters.

#abbott elementary #abbott elementary fanfiction #abbott elementary fanfic #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti

220 notes · View notes

missvelvetsstuff · 3 months

Text

No Benefits

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Reader and Bucky are best friends until a drunken hook up. Bucky wants a friends with benefits situation because he doesn't feel ready for a relationship but reader knows that will lead to a broken heart.

Then Sharon Carter comes to work with them.

Notes: Steve and Tony are around but retired, everything else is mostly canon

Chapter 10

Warnings: swearing, angst

Notes: I'm sorry this update took so long. I had a big dramatic scene in the meeting with Nick Fury planned but I wrote and rewrote it for three days and it just never hit right so, hopefully this works.

Lemme know what you think, I live for likes, shares and notes.

Nick Fury landed at the compound late Monday afternoon and went straight into Maria Hill's office to meet for over two hours. He left to go back to his quarters for food and sleep.

Maria immediately logged on to her computer to send a meeting invite to the Avengers for the next morning.

The team discussed the email over dinner in hushed and worried voices. Even Tony and Steve seemed concerned. Sharon was done with her treatment and appeared to be back to her normal self, even if she did act like the ankle monitor she was wearing weighed a ton. There was an ongoing investigation into when Antonia first gave her the serum, before or after Sharon became the Power Broker, so the ankle monitor helped Friday keep track of her and prevented her from going outside of the residence floor, common room and medbay.

Sharon grabbed the seat next to Bucky and was flirting with him, although more subtly than previously. Bucky moved his chair over as far as he could to get away from her until Sam elbowed him in his ribs. Sharon didn't get the hint and tried playing footsies with Bucky until he 'accidentally' kicked her in the shin while still wearing the steel toed boots he had on when he was playing keep away with Sam's shield earlier.

Sharon yelped "What the fuck Barnes? Are you wearing steel toes? You nailed me right in the shin. It's not bad enough that my other leg has that stupid monitor which makes my leg ache, if anyone cares."

Bucky shrugged "Shouldn't have been trying to play footsies." He smirked at her "and, No, no one cares. Maybe deciding to become a crime lord wasn't your best call, huh?"

Sharon shook her head as she felt her face heat up and stammered out "B-b-but I, I w-was just uh st-stretching mmmy legs."

Sam choked on his drink as he tried not to laugh "Fuck! Sorry, went down the wrong way."

Bucky smirked as Sharon glared at Sam then looked down swearing under her breath. "I helped you assholes and ended up an enemy of the state, I should have let Ross deal with all three of you."

Steve cleared his throat and looked at them like a disappointed father whose kids are acting up during dinner, which made Sam laugh out loud.

Tony sighed "Alright children. A little play to ease the tension is fine but this shit is serious. Fury is going to come down on all of us and I don't feel like taking his abuse for something that I wasn't involved with. You!" He pointed at Bucky and Sharon "And Romanoff, are the reason Cookie left so I vote for you taking the brunt of his anger."

Bucky looked down at his plate as he moved the food around. "I know and I plan on accepting responsibility for my part in it. I've been trying to figure out how to convince her to come back but I'm stuck. I'm open to any ideas."

Tony nodded, unconvinced "Riiight, good luck with that.

Well if anyone's interested, Romanoff is still in a holding cell while medical takes care of her. She's reportedly a difficult patient but seems to be improving."

There was a collective groan before Bucky shook his head "Pffft, not interested."

Sam snickered while Steve gave Bucky that dad look again to which Bucky just shrugged. "Well, I don't care. She's caused me too much trouble."

Steve sighed "She was being controlled, Buck. You can't hold her completely responsible."

"Maybe not but that doesn't mean I'm interested in her condition. I'm sure that the medical team will take care of her and it's not my problem. She was being weird even before all this drama. She tried to restart the whatever we had in the Red Room and I don't want her." His face dropped and he muttered sadly "I just want Cookie."

"Right, jerk." Steve looked around "It's getting late, we should all get some rest so we're up to dealing with this meeting tomorrow."

The others nodded and mumbled agreement before getting up to clean and heading to their rooms. Sharon tried again to talk to Bucky but he strode away too quickly for her to catch him.

Bucky tried to sleep but couldn't, like most nights since he pushed Cookie away he laid in his bed staring at the ceiling. Looking at the 'glow in the dark' galaxy and blue twinkle lights that Cookie decorated his room with. She said it was too impersonal and decorated with posters, soft pillows with matching blankets and such. All space related, galaxy patterns. Usually it was calming but not right now.

Now he spent most of his time either in therapy, writing to Cookie or wallowing. Feeling angry at being controlled again, feeling sorry for himself, feeling empty because she wasn't here.

He got up to sit at his desk and write another letter to her. The letters started as declarations of his love and apologies for his actions, whether he was in control of himself or not. Now they were a running commentary of each days events and activities, plus whatever topics branched off from that, like they used to have in the evenings after dinner. They would lay on his bed with his music playing softly, holding hands and staring at the galaxy overhead, talking about their day and whatever else came to mind. Sometimes they had stayed awake talking until the sun came up.

Bucky fell asleep at his desk as he was writing, only to be jolted awake by Friday. An alarm and reminder of the meeting in 1 hour. A hot shower didn't help wake him up so he headed to the kitchen for coffee. He grumbled the entire way, Fury scheduling a meeting at 5am was just cruel and unusual, Bucky knew it was just the beginning of the punishments they would endure until things were set right.

Just to ensure that this day was shit from the gate, the first face Bucky saw was Nat, in the kitchen. He sighed and cursed his luck.

Nat smirked "Morning Barnes, you look like you haven't slept. I can come by later and help tire you out." She practically purred.

Bucky scoffed "Hard pass." Proud of himself for remembering some of the current slang that Cookie had been trying to teach him. As he looked down he noticed Nats ankle monitor and chuckled "Nice jewelry you've got there."

Nat scowled at him "Fuck you, Barnes."

Bucky smirked "In your dreams" as Nat stomped off.

He poured himself a cup of coffee and headed towards the conference room where Steve was already waiting. He grunted a greeting to Steve and took a seat. The rest of the team trickled in until a few minutes before 5 when Nick Fury strode in, Maria Hill following right behind. Tony ambled in shortly after and sat down.

Three hours later, everyones ears were ringing from the yelling. As they walked out of the conference room, Bucky and Sam were arguing over how many times Fury hollered "mother fucker/s" over the course of the meeting.

Sam just shook his head "I've never met a man who could yell for that long without losing his voice." He looked at Bucky then towards Sharon and Nat

"All y'all better get your acts together because if I ever have to sit through 3 hours of being yelled at by Nick Fury for something I didn't do again, someone's gonna pay."

Fury had cancelled all leave, every extra perk the team had and assigned additional training and chore duty. None of them would be having much fun anytime soon.

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

Every day Cookie came home from work there was another letter from Bucky. She ate dinner alone, staring at the stack of letters, afraid to find out what they said.

Every time she thought about it she started thinking he was ending their friendship for good, then argued with herself that he wouldn't keep writing if that were the case.

On Friday night she sat on the couch eating takeout with the news on in the background. It almost felt like the letters themselves were calling out to her. Once she finished eating she cleaned up her mess and poured a second glass of wine. She sat back on the couch, turned the news off and turned some soft jazz music on before looking at the stack and sighing.

Cookie took a long drink of her wine before finally picking up the first letter. She looked over it for a few minutes, searching for any hint of what was said inside but it was just a plain envelope with Bucky's writing.

She carefully opened it and pulled the papers out. She took another drink to calm her nerves and unfolded the papers, gasping when something fell out, onto her lap. She looked down and her eyes grew wide as she picked up Bucky's dog tags. He never took them off, being one of the few items left from his past, he was very attached to them.

Cookie looked at the tags only to notice a second pair of tags. They were nicer than the set the Army gave Bucky when he enlisted. They had his full name and nickname, birth date with his birthstone and instead of his serial number it said 'Property of Y/N Y/L/N, bka Cookie, please call or return to the Avengers compound.' She laughed and couldn't hold the sob in.

With tears running down past the smile on her face, she put the dog tags over her head, held them against her heart and started reading.

Dear Cookie,

I'm not sure where to start, I have so much to say and the words keep getting mixed up in my head.

I miss you, more than I ever imagined missing someone. This place feels empty and cold without your warmth, your smile lit up my days and now everything seems dark.

I'm so, so sorry for everything, I never wanted to hurt you. I've only ever wanted to love and worship you like the goddess you are.

You probably already found my dog tags, I want you to have them. The other set were kinda meant as a joke but it's true. You own my heart and I think you always will.

I knew, that first day we met, that you were it for me. I know it might not have seemed like it at first but you scared me. The way my body reacted to your simple handshake scared the Hell outta me. I was a mess and you were so beautiful and smart. And caring, patiently waiting for me to come out of my shell. I know you deserve a better man than me but my time with Doctor Raynor has taught me that I do deserve happiness and good things.

The night we spent together was the best night of my life. I was finally feeling like I could be the man you deserve and even if you hate me and never want to speak to me again, I will Always hold the memory of that night, of being with you, making love to you, that feeling that everything is exactly how it's meant to be. I'll never let that go, even if I live another 107 years.

I'm sorry that our bliss was destroyed so quickly but if you let me, if you want to, we can rebuild it into something stronger.....

The letter went on with an update on life in the compound and Bucky's thoughts about everything. Cookie skimmed through that part, Sam had been keeping her updated on the gossip so she barely paid attention.

The letter finished....

I hope you are happy where you are now and I'm sorry for avoiding you. I didn't think I deserved your forgiveness or grace but now, I'm hoping I can earn both and prove to you that nothing is more important to me than your happiness.

All my love,

JBB

Cookie held the letter and dog tags to her chest as she cried herself to sleep, a deep restful sleep like she hadn't experienced in a long while.

@erelierraceala @capswife @ozwriterchick @cjand10 @wintrsoldrluvr @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @browneyedgrli @greatenthusiasttidalwave @hhiggs @dontworryboutitsweetheart-blog @behindmygreyeyes @pattiemac1 @calwitch @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @ordelixx @blackhawkfanatic @casey1-2007 @scott-loki-barnes @selella @hiireadstuff @winterschildren8

Chapter 11

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #angst with a happy ending #james bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #no benefits

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zippidi-dooda · 3 months

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Overblot design ratings starting at the bottom

DISCLAIMER: everything is ranked higher than Leona cause his toes

7) Score: 6.5/10

I think this is self explanatory-put shoes one, cause 1: ew, dirty floor may step on a nail and 2: you got long nails, if you stub a toe, the nail will break or be pushed back into toe and it will hurt, though I will say I like the "tights" or ink covering the legs and ankle bangles. The stitched rags are a cool idea but compared to other designs, it doesn't exude fear or an aura of power. I like the upper half though, it suits you and I like how the fur across the shoulders represents Scar's mane. The hair and makeup is nice, but the makeup is lacking compared to others.

6) Score: 6.8/10

The makeup is amazing, love the addition of the crown->that plus the shell necklace are a lovely representation of Ursula. I was surprised and happy to see this ob transformation but it's kinda just a darker version of Azul's merform to me so lacking a bit of creativity, still like it though

5) Score: 7/10

Admittedly this design is very plain compared to even the two before him, but it gains bonus points for changing flame color based on emotion like Hades' hair, the hair here is also styled just like Hades' so if we think about it, someone could have literally blowed his hair out during the battle like happened to Hades, plus I like the mask, similar to the masks that light up when you talk which is fitting for Idia's chatacter

4) Score: 8.3/10

Shoes are freaking amazing, the snatched waist, the tight fitting ... uh skirt, dress (?), the dangly jewelry, amazing, love baggy-Jammi but Jamil needs to wear more slick clothes like this, black and blood red suit him, makeup is great, inky chin pubes are ehh, turban is a bit over the top but it represents Jafar when he first gets his power which is fitting and the medusa hair is also representative of Jafar's transformation and looking at Jafar's dialogue we now know that deep down Jamil loves puns which is great. Will say that although each character gets a skin tone alteration when the ob, I found Jamil's most apparent and he kinda just looks ashy, but still a great design

3) Score: 9.3/10

So when I first saw this, I hated his crown, sun, peacock headdress thing but seeing it more and more, it's kind of fitting, Vil is the only one who could rock something so "extra" (I mean that in a nice way, idk the right word for it), and if it represents a peacock it matches with the feathers on his legs, and I guess the claws do too. Honestly, I think this design was more inspired by the Evil Queen in Snow-white and the Huntsman (I may be wrong on that, don't quote me) but again, it is very fitting for Vil as a character. The subtle hints of red are nice, love the crown and the puffed sleeves and the dark veil. All of it is very grandiose and regal very queen, very Vil, but the dirty collar peaking out (and kinda the sleeve style) reminds me of Snow White which can be fitting for both the Queen and Vil because they both hate the one people praise but are always overshadowed by them, no matter what they do people will remember and connect them to the one they hate, even if they had succeeded in getting rid of them. The corset's okay, just shows that the rose has thornes, makeup's okay looks like his dorm crown and makeups nice but not much else

2) Score: 9.8/10

He is adorable. Should I be scared, yeah probably, but he looks like an edgy cupcake I love it. Has one of the best makeup designs, love that the crown stays but just becomes more deadly, love the choker, love the spiked collar, love the high boots, his heart is displayed for all to see, double belts are always a safe bet, the painted roses represent the queen how things went wrong, the thorny vines wrap around him showing how sharp his words can bite, and the cards hanging from him, dyed in black like him are a lovely addition to the ensemble because it represents how even when gone mad, the Queen's soldiers dutifully followed her orders and came to her defense which, if Ace hadn't done anything, would be exactly the case for all the Heartslabyul students when Riddle overblotted

1) Score: 10/10

I mean, come on now, look at him. I love the minty skin tone here its representative of Maleficent and really suits him. The cape shifting from purple to thorny green flames is also representative of Maleficent at the end of the film which I love, the crossing cage on his chest and under his skirt reminds me of the gates/windows/doors patterns of the time Sleeping Beauty is based in and we know he love architecture so points there, the style of the shoes/tights also look like the style if the time a little dorky but cute. He wears bangles and ink runs up his shoulders but I think it's interesting his arms and hands are mostly uncovered which is uncommon in almost all of the ob forms. The design of his corset is nice, don't really get the point of the belt tied in front but hey if it come down to it, grab and throw him over your should then sprint away, he'll be thrown off for a second but greatly angered afterward but hey distraction. The hair brushed back really seems to make him look more royal than he normally does which is nice and we can see his scales which are perfectly enhanced by the makeup outlining them. Now, I do like the green glowing between the plates of his tail but seeing the same pattern going on in his horns throws me off since I think I got too used to seeing his normal horns, his horns do look longer here but I'm not entirely sure that's true or if its just an optical illusion cause of the colors. Overall, the true extent of his strength and power are showcased clearly in this form which I think is great, and I see his cape is still dragging on the floor despite his height and the fact that he's floating so I need to see him walk down the stairs and swish his cape around like Mother Gothel

And that's it, what ranking would you give these Overblot forms? Which one would you wear?

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst rambles #design rating #character design #twst overblot #riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar #azul ashengrotto #jamil viper #vil schoenheit #idia shroud #malleus draconia

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hungermakesmonsters · 11 months

Text

Catch Me If You Can

Chapter Five

Plot summary : When your friend interviews for a position at Anvil, you have a chance encounter with Billy Russo. He takes you for coffee and, by the time you’re done, Billy decides he’s anything but done with you.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R

Chapter Rating : R - some smutty content

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Just a handjob in a public place and Krista Dumont being an unprofessional bitch. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story.

Word Count : ~3.9k

A/N : It’s the night of the gala and Billy and reader are actually going to spend some real time together (it only took five chapters 😅) Thank you so much to everyone who's still following along with this!

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

The night of the gala came around a lot quicker than you wanted it to. Saying you were panicking at the thought of it all was something of an understatement; you even thought about cancelling but you and Billy hadn’t exchanged numbers and the thought of calling Anvil and leaving a message with his secretary seemed far too cruel.

You enlisted the help of Tammy to find an appropriate dress, though throughout the shopping process you had to put up with her jealous comments and her trying to dress you in something far more revealing than you wanted. But, in the end you found a forest green, long sleeved dress with a high neck that hugged your body enough to tease your curves without being so tight that it was uncomfortable. The only thing you weren’t sure about was the slit that ran up the left side of the skirt from ankle to thigh, but it was the only dress you had tried that didn’t make you uncomfortable.

Tammy managed to save you a second time when you realised that you had nothing but boots and sneakers, letting you borrow a pair of her Louboutin sandals. And, by the time you (or, rather Tammy) had curled your hair and put on some make-up, you felt like an entirely different person - you felt good, better than you had in a long time, almost like you really could be one of those women you’d seen hanging off Billy’s arm when you’d Googled him.

Between seven-thirty and eight you sat in silence, just watching the clock, anticipation and dread warring inside of you over what you were about to do. He’d said that your night together could be whatever you wanted it to be, but you still had no idea what you wanted.

When the knock at the door finally came, you felt your heart stutter.

And there he was; flowers in his hand and wearing a black tux that just screamed fuck me. You were lost for words but, luckily for you, so was Billy. Your cheeks warmed as he looked at you, his dark eyes taking in the sight of you from head to toe and, even though the dress left plenty to the imagination, you felt naked in front of him.

“These are for you,” he held out the bouquet to you, twenty-four roses, each flower a deep shade of red.

“You didn’t have to,” you answered as you took them, but you were so glad he had, “they’re beautiful, thank you. Let me just -” you glanced over your shoulder, “- I’ll just put them in some water.”

When you stepped back, Billy stepped into the apartment, closing the door behind him and following you towards the kitchen. At some point Tammy had made herself scarce, leaving you completely alone with Billy. You didn’t dare look back, you could hear him only a step behind you, and you knew if you turned that you weren’t going to make it to the gala.

You stopped at the sink to fill a jug for the flowers, Billy’s hands appeared on either side of you, gripping the edge of the work surface, boxing you in. While the jug filled, you did your best to ignore him, but the sound of his heavy breathing had your heart fluttering. Once the roses were in the jug, you turned to face him, not expecting to see the hunger in his eyes, like he was barely holding himself together.

“Billy,” you said softly, “we’re going to be late.”

“I know.” He answered, but didn’t move, like he was stuck there, like something was holding him in place and he didn’t dare let go because he didn’t trust what he might do.

Slowly, cautiously, you lifted a hand to his face, gently touching his cheek. His expression softened and he seemed to relax a little. You had no idea what was going through his mind right then, but if his racing thoughts were anything like your own, then you wanted to help soothe him, help calm him down.

“We’ve got all night,” you reminded him.

There was no need to rush; you could savour your night together, take your time. He looked at you, knuckles turning white as his fingers gripped harder, his shoulder ticking upwards. Your thumb softly brushed against his cheek and you smiled at him.

“Okay,” he finally relented with an awkward exhale. A second later, he released his grip on the counter and offered you his hand. You took it without hesitation. “C’mon, Karen and Frank are probably wondering where we are.”

“Wait - why?” You asked as he led you back towards the door, stopping for a moment so you could grab your coat and bag from the back of the sofa.

“They’re in the limo -”

“Limo?”

Billy didn’t answer, he just laughed, keeping hold of your hand as you tried to navigate the stairs from the third floor while wearing Tammy’s shoes.

And, just as he said, there was a limo parked in front of your apartment building, the back door already open with Karen half hanging out. She climbed out to meet you, wearing a red silk gown that made you feel underdressed.

“Oh my god, you look amazing.” She said, moving toward you and pulling you into an unexpected hug. Billy’s hand kept hold of yours, tensing ever so slightly.

“So do you, I mean - wow.”

“Are we going or what?” A voice called from the limo. Frank.

“Told you he hates these things,” Karen laughed as she turned and headed back towards the limo.

A few minutes later you were all in the limo, on your way to the gala. Billy pulled out a bottle of champagne and started filling glasses, but his attention never strayed from you for long.

“So how did Bill manage to convince a girl like you to go out with him?” Frank asked.

“He wore me down with his constant begging,” you answered, nudging Billy with your elbow.

“How did you two meet, anyway?” Karen asked before Billy could jump in and say something clever.

You told them the story, leaving out the awkward kiss, and going to great efforts to paint Billy as a gentleman. As you spoke, you felt his fingers over yours on your lap, like he was trying to silently thank you for not making him look like a creep in front of his friends.

The drive didn’t take long, you barely had time to finish your second glass of champagne, but by the time you arrived you could tell Billy was itching to get out of the limo and away from all the little questions about the two of you. It didn’t occur to you until later why that was; his friends were trying to get to know you as a couple but you and Billy both knew that there was an expiry date on whatever this thing between you was. You’d have your one night, then he’d be left to explain to his friends why it didn’t work out.

Flashing lights by the door caused you to pause, Frank and Karen carried on oblivious, but Billy had his hand in yours and noticed the second you started to falter.

“What’s wrong?” Concern quickly filling his tone.

“It’s stupid, I just - I don’t want my picture taken.” You didn’t want to be some woman on a Google search when the next person looked Billy up. You didn’t want anyone to know you were there; at the gala or in New York.

He looked ready to argue, to tell you it was just a photo, or give you some line about how you looked, but he didn’t. In one look at you, Billy seemed to understand how uncomfortable you were.

“I can get us in a side entrance.”

“That’s not - you should go get your photo taken. It’ll be good for -”

“I’m not here to get my picture in the papers or on some shitty blog, I’m here to spend time with you.” He didn’t waste anymore time on the matter, and neither did you, following after as he took you to a side door and got some of the staff working the event to let you in.

Once you were inside, you dropped your coat off at the coat check and you and Billy found your designated table in the massive, ornate ballroom. Karen and Frank were already there, talking to another man who Billy introduced as Curtis; the one who helped run most of Anvil’s charity work. A few more of their friends turned up - mostly ex-Marines like Frank and Billy - and, soon enough, you were sitting back and watching Billy and his friends. And, again, his hand found yours, lacing his fingers through yours, holding you tight as he continued to laugh with his buddies. No one else seemed to notice and that seemed to suit Billy just fine; he didn’t want to make a spectacle of it, he just wanted to touch you.

Food was served and speeches were made, and eventually people started to move towards the dancefloor, slow dancing along to the music. And it was nice, despite your reservations, you didn’t feel uncomfortable in the slightest and, once you’d started to get familiar with Billy’s friends, you were able to hold whole conversations with them, some involving Billy and some not, but his hand always found yours again.

Eventually Karen managed to drag Frank onto the dancefloor and Billy’s other friends started to disperse. Billy saw someone he recognised across the room, someone that he needed to quickly talk to but, rather than going with him, you decided that you were going to head to the bar and get yourself a drink - something that he grudgingly went along with, if only because he seemed to realise just how overwhelming it was for you to meet all these people who knew him.

Once at the bar, you felt a little better, like you could take in what was going on around you without feeling like you were stuck in the middle of it all. You couldn’t see Billy, but you did manage to catch sight of Frank and Karen on the dancefloor enjoying themselves, and you found yourself wondering if Billy liked to dance.

“You should be careful with William,” a voice at your side sounded over the music, pulling you from your thoughts. It took you a moment to realise that she was talking to you and that by William she meant Billy.

“Sorry?”

“William, he’s dangerous,” she told you, “men with his kind of trauma tend to exhibit emotional dysregulation and can become quite violent.”

“I don’t - who are you?” And just what was she trying to tell you.

“I’m just someone who’s concerned for your safety.” Like that answered anything. She didn’t seem to care what you thought about anything she was saying or the confusion on your face, she just carried on like you’d asked for her opinion on any of it. “His abandonment issues mean that he’s also prone to obsession and paranoia when it comes to those who get close to him.”

“Look, I don’t know what you’re -”

“Have you slept with him yet?”

“That’s none of your -” but, still, she didn’t seem to care about what you had to say.

“His hypersexuality tends to manifest itself in deviant behaviour, so if you plan on sleeping with him tonight -”

“Don’t you have anyone else to bother, Krista?” Karen was suddenly at your side, glaring at the other woman. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen her so annoyed at someone, but if this Krista cared about Karen’s anger, she didn’t let it show.

“I was just offering a friendly warning,” she answered, though her eyes stayed fixed on you.

“The only one who needs a warning here is you, so why don’t you crawl back under your rock and leave Billy alone.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest, confused and concerned, not really sure what was going on. Krista looked ready to say something else but when she noticed Frank was walking towards you, she simply gave a shrug and walked away.

“You alright?” Asked Frank, his attention on Karen while you sank back against the bar, feeling very out of place.

“Fine, just dealing with the psycho-bitch,” she answered him before both of them turned their attention to you.

“Who was she?” You dared to ask, even though you weren’t really sure you wanted to hear the answer. “And why did she say Billy’s dangerous?”

“She’s his ex,” Frank offered.

“And because she’s a fucking psycho who refuses to move on.” Karen added. “She got it in her head that she could fix Billy, she spent months trying to take him apart and put him back together again how she wanted him to be.”

“But why?” You didn’t want to know but you felt like you needed to. If there was any chance that this Krista was right about Billy, you needed to know. Nothing about him had ever seemed dangerous, but you knew from experience that the people who could hurt you the most were usually the ones you least expected.

“She was his shrink,” Frank explained reluctantly, obviously feeling as uncomfortable in all of this as you. “It was a few years before they started dating, he got hurt, and she started getting in his head. And, when they got together she used everything she knew about him to -”

“You shouldn’t worry about it,” Karen interrupted, placing a hand on your arm. “She wanted him to be broken so she could be the one to save him. She’s a psycho with a god-complex.”

A jealous, psycho ex; that was something you could understand better than most and, if anything, she’d made you want to spend this night with Billy even more, because you knew exactly what it was like to have people only see the absolute worst in you. And you definitely knew what it was like to have an ex drag your name through the dirt. Besides, it was just one night. What was the worst that could happen in one night?

“Bill’s like a brother to me,” Frank stated, pulling you from your spiralling thoughts, “but if I thought he was a danger to anyone I never would’ve let him bring you here tonight.” Despite not knowing Frank very well, there was something about the way he spoke, about the way Karen looked at him that told you it was the truth. You nodded, feeling a little better. “Just maybe don’t mention any of this to Bill.”

“Don’t mention what to me?” He appeared over Frank’s shoulder, grinning from ear to ear when his eyes found yours. And, somehow, when he looked at you, you just knew; Billy Russo wasn’t a danger, at least not to you.

“I was just telling Frank that I wanted to dance,” you answered before anyone else had the chance, “he told me I’d have to mind my feet because you’re a terrible dancer.”

“Please, Frankie’s just jealous he doesn’t have moves like mine,” he practically shoved his friend out of the way so he could get to you, offering his hand. “C’mon, I’ll show you how wrong he is.”

The moment your hand was in his, Billy was leading you on to the dancefloor and pulling you close. His arms wrapped around your waist, hands settling on your lower-lower back, perhaps a little lower than was decent, but you didn’t care. Your hands found his shoulders and, before long your head was resting against his chest and every breath you took was him; his warmth, his cologne and the clean smell of his suit. It all felt perfect. For a moment you felt him move and you were almost certain that he smelled your hair, but you didn’t move to look or confirm anything; you didn’t care.

One song finished and another started, then another, and another. And you were content to stay there, in his arms, moving in time with the music.

“How am I doing?” he asked softly and you realised that it was probably the longest you’d ever known him to stay quiet.

“Definitely proving Frank wrong,” you answered.

And, then, silence again.

At some point your hand shifted on his shoulder, moving up towards his neck, your fingers lightly curling the hair at the nape of his neck. His arms pulled a little tighter around you and, for a moment you thought you could feel the outline of his cock against your thigh. You kept dancing, your other hand soon moving to his neck.

After what felt like a lifetime - a wonderful lifetime - you raised your head, wanting to look at him. Or, more precisely, wanting him to look at you. Your knees turned weak as he stared down at you, tongue running across your lips as you tilted your head just a little, and Billy leaned, his lips almost meeting yours.

Then you were moving, your hand gripped tight in his as he led you away from the dancefloor and out of the ballroom. Soon enough, you found yourself in an empty hallway, the music fading to a near-nothingness in the background, leaving you with nothing but the sound of your heart hammering in your chest. Billy looked like a man possessed as he finally turned to you, his hand finding your hip and leading you back against the nearest wall.

“I've been wanting to get you on your own all night, sweetheart,” he muttered softly, sounding barely restrained. “I wanted to let you enjoy the party, but I can't do it anymore. I need to have you all to myself.”

“I wondered why you'd been so quiet,” you smiled at him, your hand finding his cheek.

“You make me feel like I'm losing my damned mind...” his dark eyes fixed on yours, sparking with desperation, “I don't wanna share you with anyone else anymore.”

“You don't have to,” you breathed, sinking closer to him.

The way he looked at you in that moment had your heart pounding. He wanted you. Billy Russo wanted you.

Finally, he kissed you, leaving no space between your bodies. It was a hungry kiss, his tongue laying siege to your mouth as he tried to get his fill of you. Your arms made their way around his waist, pulling him closer, holding him tight. Again, you felt something pressed against your stomach, and this time there was no question about it; Billy was hard. He’d been hard while you were dancing together. (He was hard for you.)

A moan passed between your lips, though there was no telling if it had come from you or Billy. He dominated the kiss, reminding you of the party, how he’d pressed you back against the bathroom door and kissed you just like that. But you needed more, and judging from the way he was pressed against you, so did Billy.

If it was only going to be one night, you needed everything.

You didn’t even think as your hand slipped between your bodies to cup his bulge through the fabric of his pants. The groan that came next was definitely from Billy, and if he had any issues with you groping him in such a public place, he kept them to himself. In fact, his hips soon moved to press himself against your hand while his own hands remained useless at your waist. There was nothing he could do while you were still wearing your long gown and that put you at an advantage, an advantage you wanted to make the most of.

Fingers pulled eagerly at his belt, then the button and, finally, the zipper. And, all the while, he kissed you, not wanting any of it to stop. By the time you had his cock in your hand you’d almost completely forgotten where you were, and nothing but Billy mattered.

His hand covered yours, molding your fingers around his cock, dragging your hand up and down his length, showing you what he wanted. Then he released you, leaving you to run your hand from root to tip, exploring the feel of him and the weight of him in your hand. His cock turned thicker the harder he got, leaving you imagining the way he’d stretch you if he fucked you. (When, you corrected, when he fucked you. Because once you had him in your hand you knew there was no turning back.)

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groaned, obviously enjoying what you were doing and it just made you want to do more, it made you want to pull every desperate sound you could from him.

Your hand wrung around him, brushing across the crown, thumb tracing the slit until it started to leak with beads of pre-cum. You spread the wetness across his tip before continuing to drag your hand along him, all the while doing what you could to swallow Billy’s eager moans. Your grip tightened, feeling bolder as your hand stroked up and down, loving the way his cock strained in your grasp. More beads of pre-cum formed and every time you felt them against your thumb, you found yourself longing for a taste.

Groaning your name against your lips was all the warning he managed to give you before he started to pulse in your hand, coming undone with a barely restrained grunt, and letting his head fall back. You managed to angle him away from you in time to save your dress, but your hand was soon covered while it continued to pump his shaft, making sure you wrung every ounce of pleasure from him and making a sticky mess of the both of you.

When he was finally done and you were both left panting, you pulled back your hand and looked at it for a second, oddly proud of yourself. You couldn’t resist lifting to your lips, licking his cum from one of your fingers, finally getting a taste of him. Before you got the idea to clean the rest of your hand, Billy’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, urging your hand away from your mouth.

“If you don’t want me to tear that dress off you, you should stop doing that.” Billy warned while his other hand fished a handkerchief from his pocket. You almost wanted to tempt fate and see just what he’d do but you didn’t want to risk getting caught there more than you already had. Billy wiped himself clean, before cleaning your hand and setting his clothes to rights.

“We’re going.” It wasn’t a question or a suggestion, he didn’t even give you time to answer before taking hold of your hand and leading you back towards the party. His grip didn’t loosen as he led you through the crowd and towards the coat claim, slowing only momentarily to call his driver to tell him to pull the car around. You followed after, staying as close to him as you could; you were his for the night and the thought of any distance between you just seemed insane. He let go of your hand only momentarily, to help you slip your coat on and, before you knew it, he was eagerly leading you outside.

Billy waved off the driver as he moved to open the door, leaving Billy to open it and bundle you inside. He wasted no time sliding in beside you and closing the door, finally getting you all alone. Before you could even think about getting comfortable, he pulled you onto his lap, hands pushing the fabric of your dress up your thighs so you could comfortably straddle him and helping you shrug out of your coat.

The limo shuddered to a start and Billy’s arms wrapped around you, holding you tight, secure.

His.

(At least, his for the night.)

Chapter Six

END NOTES : I really enjoyed writing this part, so I hope you enjoy reading it! Thanks for sticking with this and thanks for all the likes! If you want adding to the tag list drop me a comment (I think it's working properly???). The next part should be up same time next week and, from the looks of it, it's going to be pretty long.

Anyway, thanks for reading and have a great day!

TAG LIST

@lincerad @sweetserendipity65 @rafaelakelley @slayerofthevampire @rensolodriver @lovelydoveval @doloreschanal @uncontainedsmiles @damagelove

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo x female reader #the punisher #billy russo fanfic #cmiyc ff

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courtingchaos · 1 year

Text

A/N: This is a dumb little thing I wrote because I’m trying to claw my way back into writing. I’ve also been having a pretty rough go of it mentally and watching old Loony Toons is actually like, really fun. So just take this.

Eddie Munson x Fem Reader

No warnings, it’s just fluff, however:

18+ No Minors

In the top corner of a paystub:

Edward E. Munson.

“Edward E. Munson.” You repeat it under your breath the way Mel Blanc would and it makes you giggle.

Edward E. Munson, genius.

The man in question appears and leans on your desk, the elevated portion keeping him above your head.

“What are you teeheeing about?”

“Nothing.” You look at him quickly and glance down the same, his brown eyes brimming with mirth. “Just…the cartoons.” You point over his shoulder and he turns, his locks spilling down to hang over your line of sticky notes on the desks ledge. He watches for a moment while the Road Runner gets through the mural and when Mr. Coyote slams face first into it, Eddie snorts and tilts his head back towards you.

“I wouldn’t let that bird go, either.” He says out of the corner of his mouth and you giggle again. That earns you a smile from him, one of his big ones, all teeth and dimples. “See, what I’d do is create a screw up that he’d run into and then have the real trap at the end of that.”

IQ 207, super genius.

“I’m sure you could catch the Road Runner Ed, no problem.” You give him your own small smile and look back down at the time cards for the shop. His government name peaks out at you from under the stack of paystubs you were filing and you have to suppress another giggle. It wasn’t that funny, but having seen him move around the shop like a cartoon on occasion gave it some precedence.

“Oh yeah I’d catch him.” He leans back on the ledge, propped on one elbow to keep watching the episode. “Make a Sunday dinner out of him too.”

“Hey Eddie?”

“Hey whattie?” He answers from under the car he’s working on, peering up through the engine block to see you leaning over it with a smile.

“I’m taking lunch orders.” You wiggle the pencil and notepad so he can see the list. “I’m going to the diner, what do you want?”

He grins, only the briefest of glances at the way your chest presses up against the body of the car, and keeps screwing the nuts back in place nonchalantly. “I don’t know, do the fries come with the shake?” He peers up through the frame to see you frown and start to unfold the paper menu before you pause.

“Eddie?”

“What?” He asks innocently. From under the bumper he can see your toe tapping and he reaches his boot over to wiggle it against your ankle.

“For you, it’s an up charge.”

“Oh just for me?”

“Yeah it says right here ‘in the instance that one Eddie E. Munson orders a shake with fries and is making an innuendo, it’s an up charge of three dollars’.” You ‘read’ out loud and run your finger along pretend words. He laughs again and misses your grin when you turn to leave, tripping on his outstretched leg and shouting at him to keep his limbs secured.

He doesn’t get to his food until almost closing but he finds his fries bagged up in the microwave, ‘Eddie E. Coyote’ written in your hand across the folded over top. When he opens the fridge he doesn’t expect to see the styrofoam cup with the crudely drawn outline of a curvy lady and a strawberry shake contained within. His fingers stain the white cup but he keeps looking down at your little drawing while he picks up his station and waits for Wayne to finish his paperwork.

It’s a Friday morning before anyone else should be in, sun barely over the horizon, your time to get paperwork finished that the techs have conveniently forgotten throughout the week. You’re still sleepy, a little unaware, so you don’t realize the coffee pot already has coffee in it until you pick it up intending on filling it with water. You stare out of the big window in the office that opens into the shop and finally notice one of the bays open. A quick look at the clock on the wall and a snap of your wrist to check your watch and they’re both right, 6:30 AM. The whir of a pneumatic drill pulls you out into the shop, coffee pot still in hand.

“Hello?” You know it’s gotta be one of the guys but you still freeze in place when you catch movement behind an open hood, right until Eddie’s head pops up.

“There you are!” He yells over the hiss of the air compressor. “I was wondering when you showed up.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Like an hour, had some stuff to catch up on.” He rounds the front of the car with one hand tucked behind his back and the other held out in front, a clutch of papers in his fist. “I figured I could not be a piece of shit for once.”

You can see the invoice numbers along the top of one paper and your gaze goes soft. “Oh Eddie, you’re not-“

“Don’t excuse me, I’m bad with homework. Lifelong issue.” He shakes his fist for you to take the stack and when you both head back into the office he takes the coffee pot from you to pour your cup you’d left out. He points at your desk chair and sets your mug down next to your purse. “Sit.”

“This is just a present because I thought you’d like it.” He rolls his wrist out from behind himself, a little cylinder of tissue paper that he hands you.

“You got me a present?” You feel silly even saying it because why would Eddie do that? You’re just the front desk girl Wayne took on when he couldn’t handle his own paperwork anymore. The errand runner, the paperwork finisher, the sometimes maid when no one else remembered how to use a trash can.

“Not just any present.” Eddie shakes a finger at you admonishingly before he folds his arms over his chest and leans on the doorframe. “I got Wayne to part with a cup. That’s like…worse than battlefield surgery.” He laughs and gives you one of those big smiles that makes you feel shy. “In fact, I think he would have rather had his arm sawed off in the mud.”

You tuck your face down so you can maybe hide your stupid little smile, especially when you peel the tissue paper away to reveal a short glass with a cartoon coyote on it.

“Oh my god, I used to have one of these when I was a kid!” Your shocked laughter rings in the empty office and Eddie doubles down on his smile.

“See? Knew you’d like it more than him.”

He watches you tuck it up under the ledge next to the typewriter and finally leaves you alone to do your work. When Wayne comes in at 8 Eddie watches him as he leans in and you hold up your cup, big smile plastered on your face. He can hear Wayne laying it on thick but when he finally comes out in the shop he waves Eddie off when all he gets is a big grin.

“Well Ed, told you she’d like it.”

A terrible afternoon through and through. Half the shop lost power and three Semi’s sit unfinished while a very angry manager finally stomps out of the front door.

“Prick.” Eddie curses behind you while you unclench. You handled him fine, but having a grown man yell down at you for 30 straight minutes left you feeling anxious. “You okay?” Eddie lays his hand on your shoulder, careful to wipe his fingers off on his shop rag before brushing them over your sweater.

“Oh I’m fine, I just hope he knows he can go fuck himself tonight.” You shuffle the guys folder around and shove some receipts in there while Eddie laughs. “Come in here and yell at me like I’m the fucking power company.” You huff and yank open a middle drawer on the tall filing cabinet next to you, tossing the folder into the back.

“You wanna go out for a smoke?” Eddie holds up his pack and jerks his head towards the back door. When you don’t immediately get up he wiggles his eyebrows at you and pulls on your sleeve. “C’mooonnn.” He whines and you relent, turning the sign over on the front door for the lunch hours.

Out back is a row of crates and a bench seat taken out of an old Ford and Eddie presents the cracked leather to you like a throne. “Madam.” He flourishes and after you drop down onto it he hands you a cigarette, lighter already lit when the filter hits your lips.

“That guy was an ass.”

“Yeah well he can take it up with the county.” You make a vague jerk off motion and lay your head back against the wall.

“I wish acme stuff was real.” Eddie says, kicking a stray bolt around between his feet. “Put dynamite in his glovebox so he opens it and gets that banana peel face after.”

“Well you’re a loony toon, I’m sure you can figure that out.”

“Still haven’t caught that Road Runner yet.” He looks up from under his fringe and you don’t catch him staring. “Probably should do that first before I move on to explosives.”

Eddie is ready to call it quits and walk out on this job. Wayne is still hashing it out with the Semi guy, something about how he doesn’t owe the shop for anything, and Eddie is hanging around just in case. This guy keeps pointing fingers closer and closer to Wayne’s face and half the shop is just watching and waiting while Wayne remains calm as ever. Eddie knows you’re watching from the front desk, saw you overfill your mug when you got too caught up staring at this guy going purple. He wants to laugh but he knows that wouldn’t end well so he hides his mouth behind his fist and waits for this to blow over.

The yelling has quieted down but the snide remarks remain and Eddie catches your eye, your eyebrows raised high in question. He’s about to come in and tell you but he thinks of something funnier and grabs an old invoice to scribble on the back of it. He holds it up out of sight of the shop, just below his shoulders and you squint and laugh in silence behind the glass.

‘How about ending this cartoon before I hit?’

He grins at you while you turn away and hold up a finger for him to wait. He’s glued to the way your lip tucks into your teeth when you concentrate, your own scribbling happening before you whip the sign up against the window, a dull thud that only he seems to hear.

‘Road runners can’t read.’

He feels a slight drop in his stomach when you shrug dramatically, your lips forming around what he knows is a quiet ‘meep meep’.

Normally Eddie is in the shop Monday through Friday but it’s Wednesday and you’ve seen neither hide nor hair. Everyone’s been busy and you haven’t felt like interrupting Wayne and his welding so you sit alone in the office during your lunch, cartoons playing softly in the background. The book you’ve been trying to slog through is making you sleepy but the bell ringing on the front door snaps your head up. You could have sworn you’d locked it like normal. “Hey, sorry we’ll be-“

Eddie dangles his store key from his middle finger and smiles at you. “Is Wayne in?” He sounds breathless, asks you that even though he’s already bounding into the shop and yelling for his Uncle. Funnily enough you couldn’t have answered him anyways, struck dumb by his new attire.

You’ve only ever seen him in his coveralls and his stained undershirts but the Eddie that just breezed past you is a new creature. Hair down and washed, fluffy waves bouncing behind him where you can see him jogging across the shop floor. His wallet chain clinks against tight light wash jeans that show off most of his thighs, dark ink showing through the white threads keeping the shredded pant legs together. You’re afraid if anyone looks at you they’ll know you’re staring dead at the slice of his midriff shown off under his cropped black tee, but you can’t peel your eyes away. He’s tanner than you expected and when he makes a big gesture over his head it pulls that shirt up and you make a small sound to yourself and the four walls. His shoulders roll under his laughter and you catch the glint of the overhead lights on his rings. He’s in a brand new costume and you’re feeling insane watching him through the thick glass like you were ogling a shark at the aquarium.

You stare until he starts to turn back towards the office, gaze snapping down the worlds most boring book. His boots fall heavy and that chain clinks into the metal door when he pushes it open with his hip. You expect him to dip right back out to the parking lot but his movement has come to halt beside you and you slide your eyes over to see the bottom half of him, hands on his hips like he’s waiting for you to look. You gather whatever will you have left and take a deep breath before putting on your brave face.

“Don’t you look nice.”

“Oh you think so?” He tilts his head and does a half turn so you get a good side view.

“Mhm.”

“I’ve got a show tonight.”

You forgot he was in a band and shake your head. “I forgot about that. Is it in Indy?”

He nods and his smile lights up the room when he talks about the stage they’ve got. It’s a real venue not just a bar and they’re openers for another local band but his drummer has been talking to other guys and he thinks they’ve sold at least 150 tickets and he’s just nervous now because they’ve never played for a crowd bigger than 50.

You’re listening but you’re also watching this chain dangle from his shirt more and more until a red pick falls out and hangs over the edge of your desk.

“Oh you guys are gonna do fine.” You reach over and pat his forearm, a gentle touch that you play again over in your mind when you notice how soft his skin is. “Seriously! I’m sad I’m missing it.” You pout a little to get your point across and Eddie’s face goes through a series of scrunches before he finally speaks.

“I didn’t even think about asking if you’d be into that.”

“That’s okay! Don’t feel like you have to invite me.” Your neck is hot from embarrassment and you hope he doesn’t think you’re trying to invite yourself along.

“No it’s not-“ He glances at the clock on the wall and sighs. “I’d lo-it’d be cool if you came, but I just need to remember to tell you when.” He says lamely. You watch him seem to struggle with leaving so you give him a break and make a shooing motion towards the door.

“Go catch that road runner, genius.”

For the next two weeks Eddie talks about this show. He tells everyone everything but you specifically some stories over and over. He talks about the actual real photographer that was there, and he talks about the venue and he talks about the girls.

“I’ve never seen so many women going crazy for a man from Indianapolis.” He shakes his head, a blank look on his face while you yet again stare holes through the papers in front of you. There’s no reason to be jealous you remind yourself, because there’s nothing there. Barely a friendship built off of shared chuckling at cartoons most days, but he brings up these bleached blondes and their corsets and you sigh at your small town outfits.

“I mean, it’s the attention really. That’s what’s exciting.” He says quietly over his sandwich, a sandwich that you made for him in a weaker early morning moment.

“You do have a pretty big personality.”

He winces a little and waves his food at you. “You remember how it was in high school. I didn’t get a lot of that attention.”

“I barely remember you, that’s when you got sick right? When we had that big earthquake.” You know it was his third time but then he’d been missing for almost two months and then suddenly was a graduate. He stills for a moment before he flashes you a smile.

“Yeah I forget about that sometimes.”

There’s quiet between you two while you mark in the ledger and Eddie seems to stare at the side of your head for too long. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.” His half finished sandwich stays forgotten clasped between his hands. “Like, about those girls. At the concert.”

You don’t look at him when you frown deeply and shake your head at the work you’re so intent on. So concentrated on that you’ve forgotten how to add ten and two together while the jealousy slithers in. “I don’t think anything about it Ed.” The TV in the lobby shows you coyote hovering in the air and then plummeting off a cliff for miles and you can definitely relate to that right at this moment.

“No, I mean I don’t want you to think-“

“Eddie, it’s fine.” You do look up then, wide eyes imploring him to shut the fuck up. “One night stands aren’t gonna ruin my opinion of you, I promise.”

“Did you ask?” Wayne doesn’t even look up from his coffee when he senses Eddie in the doorway.

“No.” Eddie sighs and droops like a wilting lily against the door handle. “I got my foot caught in my mouth, as usual.”

“Mm.” Wayne takes an obnoxiously loud sip and Eddie narrows his eyes at him. “I suggest you fix that then, I can’t take much more of your cartoon jokes. It’s too cute.” He shakes his head like he’s actually disgusted but Eddie knows, Eddie’s heard it all since the concert. Had heard about you timidly asking about his band and then when Wayne mentioned the board games it’d turned into a three hour conversation that his Uncle had regaled him with.

“She’s probably feeling a little hurt, son. You’ve talked about the groupies a lot.”

“I know! I keep trying to not bring them up but they were everywhere.”

Wayne rolls his eyes. “Oh woe is you.” He lets Eddie rot around his bench until he actually needs to get some work done and he shoos Eddie off to his own project.

Most of the shop is empty by 7 but you can still see Wayne’s lights on at his workstation so you know Eddie is probably still floating around. You’d been kind of avoiding him since lunch, still not ready to talk about whatever it was he was trying to talk to you about. You’ve got everything filed and piled for the morning when you hear a soft tap on the window into the shop, Eddie’s forehead pressed to the glass.

“It’s unlocked.” You say loudly, gesturing at the door. He just shakes his head and holds up a piece of paper he’s written on in grease pen.

‘Magnus Stultus’ with an arrow drawn to point at himself. He watches your face scrunch in confusion and he turns the paper to scribble again quickly ‘Big Idiot’.

Edward E. Munson, certified genius.

You think about having this whole conversation in signs is a fun idea in theory, but you open the door slowly anyways and lean your head around to look at him. “Big idiot?”

“Yeah. Huge.” He rolls his forehead so he can see you clearly. “I was trying to ask you something earlier and I didn’t.”

You think about lunch and try to remember any questions asked of you and all you can see is the glaring green neon of your jealousy. “Yeah? What do you need?”

He breathes deeply against the glass and leaves a big patch of fog before finally lifting his head. “I was trying to say I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea about them because I wasn’t interested. I was trying to say I’d wished you’d have been able to be there.”

“Oh.” That definitely sounded better with the context and you’d love to go and see him play, if nothing else to see him in his crop top again.

He can tell you haven’t realized yet and he finally just comes out and says it. “I’d like to ask you if you’d like to go to the next show. With me…together.”

“Oh.” You smile behind the thumb nail you’re chewing on. Everything shifts again for you and you can’t help the giggle that escapes you.

“If you’re laughing at me, I understand, but could I at least walk away first if that’s the case.”

“I’m not laughing at you!” You finally walk over to him so you can lightly tap his shoulder with a mock punch. “I’d love to.”

“We’ve got another show next week but it’s on Friday.”

“Oh now that’s when I get a lot of work done so I’ll have to ask my boss first.”

From across the shop Wayne yells ‘yes!’ at you before you finish your sentence and Eddie looks like he’s turning into a strawberry.

“So do I also need to wear a crop top or is that just a you specific thing?” You try to be cute to break the tension and give Eddie a smirk but the exaggerated up and down he gives you makes you feel shy again.

“Did you like that outfit?” He gives you a little satisfied grin. You roll your eyes at him and nod slightly, another push at his shoulder when he clicks his tongue and gives you a terrible wink.

“I’ll see what I can dig out for you.”

“Oh you do that.”

#Eddie Munson fic #Eddie Munson fluff #Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson x Fem Reader #My Work #My Fic

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