#regrettably made the favorites box WAY TOO SMALL | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wordynerdygurl · 2 years ago

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Two Sizes Too Small

Author’s Note: Well, lovelies, I pulled an all-nighter to finish this one. I just really wanted to give Eddie Munson a wonderful Christmas. That it involves love and my favorite holiday movie, How the Grinch Stole Christmas, well, how could I resist? Full disclosure- there’s a lot of holiday movie and music references! Also, my taglist is open, so let me know if you’d like to be added! Lastly, I hope everyone has a lovely and restful holiday season!! Pairing: Plus Size Female Reader x Eddie Munson

Summary: Eddie hates Christmas, the whole Christmas season, and maybe his heart is too small but it’s Christmas and miracles can happen at the holidays!

Warnings: SMUT, a touch of dubcon in the beginning, and also some angsty pining!

If it weren’t for Wayne, Eddie would have given up on Christmas a long time ago.

Around the time when he realized that Santa was his uncle scraping up extra change to ensure that there was something for him to open under the tree, Eddie’s heart had hardened against the holiday. Wayne already did so much: working double shifts, making sure that Eddie had food, clothes and a safe way to get to school each day. Why add to that burden with a day set aside for the sole purpose of spending money on stuff that no one really needed? Oh, he’d heard the arguments about showing people how much you cared this time of year. That the depth of someone’s feelings was greater than or equal to the quality of whatever sweater, baseball cap or new crock pot could be wrapped in pretty paper with a ribbon slapped on top. In his opinion that was a shitty system for communicating how much you appreciate someone, not to mention it only happened once a year.

There was no question in Eddie Munson’s mind that Wayne loved him. He didn’t need a stocking full of candy or a gift boxed t-shirt to show him what he already knew to be true. So, why make a big deal about it? It was just another day on the calendar.

Regrettably, his sentiments weren’t shared with, well, anyone else. All of the people around Eddie, his uncle especially, seemed to go Christmas Crazy. Shopping all the time, planning events and scheduling parties, worrying about what to buy everyone and where to get the best sale price. It didn’t make sense to him. The decorations, the lights, the ornaments, all of it was sentimental in a way that Eddie just couldn’t abide, “What’s the point? You’re just gonna pull all this shit down in a week.” Not dissuaded, Wayne snorts indignantly, digging through a dusty box marked X-MAS, “The point is, I like it. The point is, it reminds me of when you were an excited kid who liked the simple things in life. Things like bikes and blocks and crayons, not girls and drinking and rock music.” “Ok, ok, you made your point.” Eddie concedes, helping to tape a strand of red tinsel garland along the shelf of mugs which had all been gifts to uncle over the years. Wayne stoops low, child-like glee on his face, as he readies to plug in the light strand, “Ready for the tree?” It was like this every year and Eddie nods, ready to get this part over with, faking his way through Wayne’s Christmas crankiness. With a snap of electricity, the three foot artificial tree lights up. It’s filled with paper Santas scribbled in red marker, macaroni stars and once glitter covered foam gingerbread men. It is an annual homage to Eddie as a kid and Wayne adores it. Despite the grumbling from his nephew, Wayne refuses to give it up, at least, not without a serious fight. Unimpressed, Eddie drones, “Very nice. I like how you managed to keep all the ugly ornaments facing the window. The neighbors are gonna love ‘em.” Incredulous, Wayne scoffs at his semi-scowling nephew, “They should! I’m damned proud to have them.” A heavy wave of nostalgia falls over the old man, making his proud chin quiver with unspoken words of affection for the little boy turned man standing in front of him. Eddie hears the dip in his uncle’s voice, recognizing his yearly Christmas melancholy from a mile away. What was it about this time of year that made everyone go a little nuttier than usual? Was it the weather? The food? Or just the expectations that the holiday season seemed to carry? Screw that. Eddie wasn’t going to give into the commercialized crap that seems to sweep everyone else along in December. Christmas was for suckers and Eddie Munson was nobody’s fool. Well, almost nobody’s fool.

His hand lands on Wayne’s shoulder, going for fondness while ignoring the emotions playing out behind his uncle’s faded eyes. Softening a bit, Eddie offers an olive branch, “Wanna get drunk and watch White Christmas? I had Steve snag it for me.” Patting at his damp cheeks, Wayne nods happily, sappily, “That sounds great-” The phone trills shrilly, cutting through their conversation and Wayne lifts his eyebrows in Eddie’s direction. But his nephew shakes his head. “Ignore it. I’m exactly where I want to be.” Whoever was looking to score was gonna have to call back. Three rings later and Wayne is practically shoving Eddie towards the receiver, “Just answer the damn thing!” Grumpy and gruff, he gives in, whipping up the phone, “Yea?” —-------------- It was December 23rd and the party at Barry’s house was winding down, thankfully. People had been peeling off in pairs and trios, leaving just a few of your boyfriend’s buddies drinking the night away and ignoring you. At some point you looked around and realized that Barry was just gone. The house he grew up in- still lived in, with his family, was, in a word, enormous. There were dozens of rooms and thousands of doors which made your search all the harder. It was just like him to vanish, leaving you to fend for yourself when he had assured you that this time it would all be different. Arms circle your thick waist from behind as he pulls you into the second floor bathroom, pressing you against the granite countertop while lifting your pretty green skirt, “I’m so hard right now, gotta fuck you.” You giggle uncomfortably, already feeling a little too full of bubbling champagne, “Barry! Here? Now?” But you don’t get an answer beyond a rough tear in your tights, Barry’s fingers shifting your panties to the side abruptly, “Yea, right fucking now.” And then he was pushed inside of you, his thrusts sloppy and bordering on painful as he drunkenly rubs at your full breasts through your sweater. If he was concerned with your needs, it didn’t show in the fast sawing motion of his hips, and before you could even trace the beginning of your own ending, Barry was babbling through his own. Curving over your back, he pants in your ear, “Hmm, that was great.” Pulling out of you quickly, Barry tucks himself back into his chinos and presses a tiny kiss to your cheek, “Make sure you clean up before coming out to say goodbye to everyone.” And then he’s gone, leaving you frustrated with sticky thighs. You thank a god you don’t believe in for birth control pills and shuffle over to the toilet, eager to tidy up the mess Barry had left in his wake. Swiftly removing your torn pantyhose, you toss them in the trash can, regretting the loss. Money wasn’t exactly tight, but you were trying to save as much as you could, unlike your upperclass boyfriend. Flushing behind you, you replace your panties and wash your hands. Wiping some water over your cheeks, you smile at yourself in the mirror, confident that no one would know what had happened in the bathroom between you and Barry. Carefully, you shut the bathroom door, surprised when you hear voices, low pitched, in the nearby hallway. Whispers that carry the weight of the familiar voice of your boyfriend begging quietly, “Come on baby, it’s Christmas.” “So? You told me you were done with that trash, Barry and then, then you bring her here. Throwing her in my face? Are you trying to hurt me?” “Dawn, please. You know I only want you.” “Barry, I want you too, baby. But I won’t share you, not with someone like her-” And then the sounds of sloppy kisses gain strength, complete with moans and grunting. It was bordering on pornographic, like something private that shouldn’t be witnessed by anyone but those involved and you wish that you weren’t having to hear it at all. A gross knot of nausea welled up inside of you at the realization of what was happening, and so soon after Barry had cornered you in his bathroom. Disgusted now, you knew you had to leave. The sooner the better. On quiet feet you tiptoe into the nearest bedroom and choking back tears, reach for the phone. Dialing the only number you can think of, the only you have committed to memory, you pray to that same god that he’ll pick up. Finger twisting in the beige cord as you wait through four long rings, nervousness and shame filling your belly as you wait for the call to connect. “Yea?” His voice is gruff, grumpy, which takes you by surprise. It makes your own sound small as you ask timidly, “Eddie?” “What’s wrong? Where are you?” It’s immediate, that change in tone, his understanding of your need, and you drop into a whisper, “Would it be too much trouble for you to come and get me? I- I don’t think Barry-” He breaks in, direct and guarded, “Meet me at the corner. I’ll be there in ten.” The line went dead in your ear, a sure sign that Eddie was already en route to you. Sneaking away was easy when your boyfriend was frenching someone else and no one else at the party cared about you. Scooping up your fuzzy holiday sweater, you went right out the front door into the chilly night, without anyone noticing. Sobbing openly, you scurry to the corner, suddenly overeager to get away from this whole night. Eddie told you ten minutes, but he made it in seven, the van idling loudly when you rounded the corner. Dashing away tears, you climb into the heavenly heat of his vehicle, smiling tightly, “Hey Eddie. Thank you so much, I just- I really needed to get out of there.” He eyes you, a look full of questions, but wisely Eddie asks none of them. Waiting for you to buckle up, he rests a broad palm on your thigh, patting it twice, “No problem, sweets. Where we headed?” “Just home, if that’s alright. I’m- I’m kinda tired.” Putting the van in drive, he appraises you from the corner of his eye. Something about you was so small tonight it made Eddie’s heart hurt. When he heard you on the phone that damaged sound in your voice was enough to make his Spidey sense tingle. It was wrong, the way you had whispered, asking- no, pleading for him to come and get you. Wayne completely understood why he had to leave, even if it was in the middle of putting the final touches on their Munson Christmas traditions. Besides, nothing was going to stop Eddie, not when you sounded so shattered. Clearly something had happened, something not great. And it was something big enough for you to run away from Barry’s huge holiday party, something you had been talking about for weeks. So, while Eddie appreciates you calling him in your hour of need, he absolutely wants to know how to make it better for you and make sure that you’re really alright. “That’s okie-dokie artichokie. But, uh, can you just tell me-” turning to you now, his deep eyes searching yours, full of concern, “-you’re not hurt, right?” He couldn't stand to think about what he might be capable of if you said that you were, or had been. But still, Eddie needed to make sure that you were okay for his own sanity’s sake.

You nod shyly, appreciating the kind hearted way that Eddie handles your privacy, and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Looking away, you hum lowly, “Yea, Ed. I’m alright.”

“You sure?” “Uh huh. Just got my heart hurt, so, ya know, nothing too serious.” You try for lighthearted, breezy, but you don’t sell it because Eddie frowns, “Just your heart? Oh, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.” There’s a lot of things you find hard to bear, but Eddie’s pity is just too much. It punches the air out of your lungs. It crumples your bottom lip, setting your chin wobbling as you give into the burning tears of your heartbreak. Smoothly, Eddie pulls over although you’re not too far from home by now. You can hear his seat belt unlock and then your own is set free so that Eddie can scoot you closer. His chin rests on the top of your head as you cry into his neck, his voice soothing as he comforts you, “It’s ok. It’s going to be alright, sweetheart. You’re going to be ok. Hush now.” You don’t know how long you let Eddie console you, his leather jacket warm under your damp cheek, but eventually the sobs become sniffles and the sniffles fade to hiccups. Pulling out of the comfort of Eddie’s embrace, your eyes red and cheeks chapped, you lament thickly, “I got you all wet! I’m so sorry, Ed!” “Hey, stop that. I’m fine.” Brushing wayward hair from your streaky and sticky face, Eddie tuts, “Are you sure you’re alright?” “Yea.” It’s sad sounding, but you’re being honest. You will be ok once you get home, have a shower, and start putting Barry behind you. It helps to have a friend like Eddie Munson there to offer his shoulder to cry on. He fusses over you for another minute, wiping away the crystalline dew of your tears with his thumbs, “I’m here for you, whatever you need.” Eddie makes you stay in your seat until he can open the door for you, like a gentleman should, and walks you to your door. His hand is loosely holding yours as you slide your key into the lock. Almost embarrassed, you look his way, suddenly shy again, “Wanna come in? I’ve got some beer and I think The Grinch is on tonight.” Laughing a little, Eddie shrugs, agreeing easily but still giving you the option for backing out, “Alright, if you don’t mind?” “Of course not.” Once inside you slink out of your coat and motion for Eddie to do the same, “Have a seat. I’ll be right back with something to drink.” Your place was very sweet, just like you, with a tinsel tree glowing with colored lights and other small holiday decorations set out just so. It seems to Eddie like you’re also on the Christmas Crazy-Train. There are two small boxes laying on the red plaid skirt beneath the tree and a single stocking tacked under the television stand. He half expects you to leave out some cookies and milk, as if Santa was going to shimmy down your chimney tomorrow night and deliver you a Christmas miracle. Eddie couldn’t help it. He thought it was precious, sorta like you. And if he’s being honest, he feels as though his own Christmas miracle is happening, right here, right now. For two long years, you had been friendly, a close relationship beginning when you both reached for a recently returned copy of Evil Dead at Family Video. In a moment of unprecedented cool guy maneuvering, Eddie’s suggestion that you come over to his place and watch it together. When you agreed, offering him that sweet smile of yours, well, that had started everything. He didn’t regret it, couldn’t even if he wanted to. It wasn’t your fault that Eddie was using you as the standard against which all other ladies in his life would be judged. And even though, in a bunch of unsuccessfully small ways, Eddie had tried to nudge your friendship in a more romantic direction, he was still as sprung on you as he had been from that very first moment. Now, he was here, with you, and so close to the big holiday. It felt like his own Christmas miracle might be possible, if he believed in that kind of stuff- which he didn’t. Because Christmas was a commercial product. It was soulless, despite what people said to the contrary. But still, he rubbed his hands over his thighs nervously as he thought that maybe tonight was the night. Tonight you would see him as the charming, romantic leading man that you deserved in your life and not just the guy who bailed you out when trouble came around. Eddie’s seen enough of the fluffy, feel-good films that capitalize on the holiday season to recognize that he may be a part of one, with you. Because it couldn’t just be a coincidence that you called him on Christmas Eve, needing help and knowing exactly where to go to get it, right? From the sound of things, Barry was quickly moving out of the boyfriend column and into the exes pile. Another coincidence? He sure as shit hoped not, but Eddie can’t get his hopes up, they’ve been dashed too many times. With eyes that couldn’t seem to settle on anything in particular, Eddie’s mind strays to the countless other times where you had required rescuing and he had charged, nobly, into the fray. Finding you crying on the nearest corner after running out on Barry’s insensitivity, pulling up in his ratty van outside of a party where you had clearly been unhappy, and once driving to the Indiana state border to fetch you from another one of your idiot boyfriend’s debacles. Each time he promised himself that it was the last time- that he was going to protect himself, he was going to stop answering the phone, he was going to tell you how he felt. But the calls, they just kept coming. Happening way too frequently for his liking, the worn muscle of his heart tightening every time Eddie had to hear you sob, or listen to you talk about the belittling way Barry treated you. Over and over again, you let the guy break your heart, only to take him back after some groveling and half meant apologies. And over and over again, Eddie could feel his own aortic organ shriveling up from the knowledge that you refuse to see him as anything more than your second choice. Tensing, he rubbed the back of his, wondering why he was here, waiting for you. Sometimes, it seemed to Eddie, like he was always just waiting around for your next phone call, your next emergency. On hold until the phone rang, on the shelf, out of use. Sure, he went out, hanging around other people; Steve and Robin, obviously, the Hellfire crew, his band. Other than that, Eddie was at home, puttering around, on alert for the jingling ring that means you’re tagging him in for an assist. And he hates it. He truly does, because even though he hasn’t said it in exactly these words, Eddie needs you too. Even more than that, he needs you to need him. It gives him a purpose, a reason for sticking around this one horse town that isn’t connected to tragedy or trauma. You were unavailable, sure, but always present, the living embodiment of his happiness and his sadness. Eddie couldn’t help that the ache of wanting you for his own and always coming up short, time after time, was starting to splinter him into pieces. Snapping his head up at the scuffing steps you made, you pad back into the room wearing a cozy flannel nightgown, complete with elastic wrist cuffs and satin covered buttons at the throat. In place of your make-up was a scrubbed clean face, glowing from the effort. Your heels had been replaced by a pair of simple slippers. Eddie swallows thickly, all of his other thoughts knocked out of his head. Never had a woman been more covered up and still so alluring. The old fashioned sleep shirt skimmed over the sweeping curve of your hips, but still managed to show off your shapely legs and graceful neck. He isn’t sure why it affected him so much, this comfortable and easy version of you, but it did. “Do you still want a beer?”

He’s seen your mouth move, shaping the sounds of your question, but Eddie is dumbstruck by the innocent version of you hovering at the doorway. Tossing his head, mostly to clear away the fog of his want, he croaked, “What?”

Giggling softly, you take a step closer, “I asked if you were thirsty. Still want that drink?” “Oh, that? Yea, yea sure.” Knowing that he must seem mental, Eddie shifted on the couch, rolling his eyes at his own erratic behavior. From over your shoulder you ask him to turn on the tv, “The Grinch is on channel five, I think.” “Gotcha!” The snap of the television coming to life fills the small space and you were practically running around the corner by the time Boris Karloff starts his narration. Plopping down right next to Eddie, you gently hand him a bottle and drop a bag of chips onto the table, “Just in case we get hungry.” “Uh huh. Since when do you like Doritos, huh?” Flicking at the plastic bag, Eddie gives you a friendly side-eye look, full of teasing. Settling back into the cushions, you tug Eddie’s arm around your shoulders, “Since I’ve been forced to eat them with you.” An appreciative tone rang out from Eddie’s chest as you pressed your ear over the dip in his torso, right over his heart. The gentle, even rhythm you found there was one of your favorite things and you took every available opportunity to listen to Eddie’s heartbeat. You couldn’t say why it was important or what it was about his particular pulse that made you feel better, but it did, and Eddie, well, he never seems to mind. His fingers seemed to have a mind of their own, petting sweetly over the strands of your hair that trailed down towards your shoulders and he saw you shiver, “Here.” Eddie tugged the knitted afghan from the back of the couch, tucking it in around you. Sighing, you snuggled into him, letting your eyes shut, feeling truly and completely at ease finally, “Hmm, thanks babe.” Babe? Oh shit. That wasn’t good. Not for his spiraling thoughts. Sipping his beer, he refocused on the green Grinch stomping on the screen. He couldn’t bear to look at you. Looking at you, right now, was dangerous. You were too precious. And the scene around him was too domestic. It was exactly what life should look like if you weren’t the town scapegoat, raised by your uncle in the worst part of town and Eddie didn’t trust himself not to do something stupid in pursuit of that idealized image. Against his thigh, Eddie felt you shift as you drifted off. You were practically in his lap with your head nuzzled into the center of his chest, eyes gently shut. If he wasn’t careful, Eddie was going to enjoy holding you like this, so close and so easy, a little too much. The Grinch was complaining about noise and Eddie understood the sentiment a little too well because right now he was struggling to ignore the little kitten snores you were making with every exhale. Your tiny huffed puffs blowing against his tummy, beer scented and sweet. He smiled down at you, full of affection and pulled you tighter to his side. Unable to stop himself, Eddie brushed a peck to your upturned forehead, whispering a rueful “Fuck” into the night. When The Grinch ended and Charlie Brown’s Christmas started, Eddie sat still, his empty beer bottle in his hand, afraid that any movement would wake you up. A news broadcast, filled with updates on the coming snow storm’s progress and holiday toy drive details wrapped up before the intro to Johnny Carson began. Through it all, Eddie kept his arm around you, enjoying the worn in feel of your nightgown under his hand and the way you were burrowed into the crook of his shoulder. It was hard to be in your space so intimately and not touch you, even if his hands burned at the effort of keeping them to himself. So, he didn’t trace the sweet sweep of your nose or tuck your hair behind your ears. And somehow, Eddie managed to keep from pulling you into his lap fully, just to pet you, like he would a sleeping kitten. Instead, he relished the trust you put in him, content to imagine happy kisses shared between the pair of you, while you dreamed next to him on the sofa. And you slept just like that, curled into Eddie Munson’s warmth until the strains of the National Anthem faded into staticy snow. You sat up quickly, pulling back from the shared heat you and Eddie had created with a yawn. Blinking his way sheepishly, your words full of drowsiness, “Sorry Ed- Did-” you rubbed your still sleepy eyes, “Did you- did you stay all this time just to let me sleep?” It was his turn to look bashful, and glancing out your window, Eddie nodded, “Yea. What can I say? You were too cute to move, sweetheart.” Snorting, you rolled your eyes at his kind words, “Oh, I bet I was! All drooly and-” But he cut you off with a firm finger under your chin that yanked you near enough for his lips to press into your own. A hungry sound, the kind a man makes when he’s digging into his favorite dinner, rolled through Eddie as you let your mouth part. Thick and probing, Eddie licked over your bottom lip, letting the kiss deepen as your hands tangled into the second skin of his t-shirt. His forehead rested against your own, chest rising and falling rapidly, as Eddie’s dark eyes locked on yours, “Hey.” “Hey,” you echoed, keenly aware of Eddie’s presence in your sphere, breathing him in with short inhales as you tried to quiet your racing heart. Hands that you know as well as your own come down to cup your face, handling you as if you were porcelain- precious beyond measure and utterly breakable, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” Looking like a happy kid on Christmas morning, Eddie’s dimples show as he smiles your way, his fingers threading with yours. Falling back into his original spot, he drags you with him, eager to have you in his arms, but you hold yourself back, teeth toying at your bottom lip as you blurt, “But Barry. He��s-” Your words stick in your throat at the sight of Eddie’s crestfallen face, a new iciness filling each syllable, “What? He’s what, sweetheart?” When you don’t answer right away, a rage that he normally can keep in check threatens to overflow, as Eddie carried on in a rising voice, “I’ve seen- shit-” a fist slams into the meat of his thigh, his anger focused on that one spot as hurt filled eyes find yours in the silver light of the running television, “-I’ve seen what he’s done to you. How he treats you. How he hurts you over and over.” Slender fingers reach for your cheek but Eddie doesn’t touch you. Instead he lets his hand drop into his lap, his heart falling into the abyss as he manages to choke out, “And still, you’d rather be with him?” For a long second you didn’t answer, your brain too full of thoughts. A lot had happened in the few minutes since you woke up, huddled around Eddie’s middle and you still weren’t thinking straight. How could you after an incredible kiss like that? And Barry. What about him? Were you together? You didn’t think so, not after what you had overheard, but that final conversation hadn’t happened yet.

Eddie’s words surround you though, the pain in them unmistakable. Shaking your head slowly, you huskily counter, “I didn’t say that, Eddie. It’s just-” But he pushed to his feet without giving you a chance to explain. Swinging his jacket over his broad shoulders with furious flare, “Ya know, what? Don’t. I don’t wanna know. Just uh-” in three long strides Eddie’s jerked open your front door. His back is to you, the handsome face that you’ve come to associate with protection and honor haloed by the streetlights, Eddie chokes out over his shoulder, “Merry Christmas.”

Your door, red bowed wreath swinging, slammed shut and now, now your apartment feels really empty, cold. The lights on your tree seem garish and glaring as this year’s holiday slowly but surely becomes the worst kind of memory. Feelings that you’re too tired to process flow through you, but in the end you drag yourself to bed in the early hours of Christmas morning, wishing it all away as a bad dream. Flopping into bed, you clutched your pillow in your arms, disappointed that it didn’t have a pulse to share with you. Already missing Eddie, you kicked yourself for being so indecisive, for ruining the precious seconds where only you and he existed in the twinkling glow of Christmas lights. Pale sunlight was streaking the sky when you finally closed your eyes, hoping that you’d wake up to a world that was back in its proper alignment. Only, morning finds you, just the same, and unfortunately, there are no singing Whos to make you feel better about the night before. There’s no one to kiss you awake and wish you a Merry Christmas Eve or tell you about the snow that is just starting to fall in fat, perfect flakes. You don’t have anyone to cook for or watch open gifts. It’s just you, all by yourself. It was always going to be a small Christmas, you knew that, truly. You didn’t have much family and only a few friends, except for the people you met through your boyfriend or Eddie. In fact, the gifts laying under the tree had been for them, of course. Now they both were ghosts: Christmas Past and Christmas Present. At some point you throw yourself onto the couch, clicker in one hand, a can of Coke in the other even though it was still breakfast time. It was around that time he’d called, much too early for your liking, so you let the machine get it. With a self assured voice that proved how little he understood or cared about you, Barry had left a message asking you to bring a dessert when you came for dinner that night. A last minute request for a last minute invitation. He was so sorry, but you would do it, right? His call went unreturned. Angry, you immediately erased the tape and took the phone off the hook. After last night with Eddie, you were fairly certain that no one else was going to be calling. Not on Christmas Eve when there were presents and parties and people to enjoy. Besides, all this silence gave you time to think, so while Danny Kaye and Bing Crosby tap danced across the twelve inch screen of your tv, you did just that. And if your eyes got misty at Rosemary Clooney’s gift of a knight on a white horse, then that was just how good the movie was, right? It didn’t have a single thing to do with a certain man willing to ride into battle on your behalf, over and over and over again. The more you thought, the more you realized that Eddie hadn’t been wrong about the ways in which Barry failed you as a boyfriend. He had been treating you like garbage for a very long time, longer than anyone should tolerate, but when you had so little, even the scraps seemed significant. Swallowing down your less than festive Swanson’s turkey dinner lunch, you realized that you didn’t want scraps- not anymore. Changing the channel, Jimmy Stewart’s drawl takes over the room, but you're not thinking about bells ringing. You’re thinking about Eddie, again. Still. You’re thinking about how, even now, your nightie smells like tobacco and light beer and old leather. You’re thinking about the sacred synth beating of his heart and how it always seems to settle you. You’re thinking about that tender kiss he laid on you when your brain was still fuzzy but your body knew just how to respond.

You’re thinking about Eddie this Christmas Eve, but is he thinking about you?

— Eddie has never been more miserable in life. Surrounded by all of his friends, gorging themselves on pie and turkey and ham and potatoes and cookies cut to look like snowmen, mittens or bells, Eddie is cursing the whole Christmas season. All of the trappings are just red and green reminders of what he doesn’t have, what he can’t enjoy, what he had with you last night when you were tucked into him, safe and sound, while The Grinch stole Christmas. “What’s eating you?” Steve’s got a small paper plate in his hand, balancing a slice of lasagna along with a piece of cake that’s been stabbed through by a white plastic fork, as he dropped down beside Eddie. “Nothing.” Leaning his chin into his hand, Eddie’s elbow dug into the meat of his thigh, a grouchy position for a grouchy guy. Licking frosting off his fork, Steve hummed, “No way. Something’s got you all pissy. Pissier than usual- and on Christmas too! Come on, lay it on me.” Rolling his eyes Steve’s direction, Eddie sat back reluctantly, “I- I think I fucked up.” Steve’s bite of lasagna hovered in midair, between the plate and his open mouth, as he tossed his infamous locks, “Impossible. It’s Christmas.” “What’s that got to do with it?” Eddie grumbled, sitting up swiftly. Really, was that any kind of explanation? It was December 25th so your life couldn’t be totally screwed up? Humbug. Chewing loudly, Steve nodded, holding up a finger as a silent indicator for Eddie to wait up until he swallowed. With a sip of his egg nog, Steve twisted in Eddie’s direction, “Well, first, everyone loves Christmas. Everyone but you, I mean. It makes people feel better. Want to be better, do better, ya know?” “So?” “So, you’re more likely to be forgiven for fucking up. I mean, shit. Nance and I got back together over Christmas. It’s magical, dude.” Blowing out a noise that was similar to a fart, Eddie shook his head in frustration, “It’s a day, Harrington. One day out of 365. Why does everyone make such a big deal-” “Are you kidding me? Have you like, never seen A Christmas Carol or, or watched ‘Rudolph’?” Confused, Eddie shrugs, “I have, but-” “But what? All the songs, the movies, the stories, they’re all about loving each other- and, and being kind at Christmas time.” Throwing up his hands, Eddie stared at his friend, his smile sort of sad, “Well, what if you kiss someone who’s still hung up on their asshole boyfriend?” With rounding, wide eyes, Steve stuttered, “You- you kissed her? It’s about damn time, man!” Flopping back, his long haired head resting against the tall cushion of the Wheeler’s couch, Eddie groused, “Naw, Harrington. She-” sighing deeply, willing the pain out of his tone, “-she’d rather stay with Barry.” Steve tossed down the empty plate, standing quickly, “No. Nope. Nuh uh.” Looking around, shocked by Steve’s sudden movements, Eddie can’t help asking, “What’s happening, Steve?” Bending at the waist, his handsome forelock falling forward, Steve’s hands find his hips as he admonishes the depressed rocker in front of him, “I’ll tell you what’s happening. You’re getting up and going over there. You have to talk to her, man.” Glaring up at his friend from under his shaggy bangs, Eddie shook his head defiantly, “No way. No fucking way. She-” Leaning down further, dad stance activated, Steve snapped, “Do you like her? Do you-” pausing to cock an eyebrow skyward, “-love her?” Gulping guiltily, Eddie’s head bounced in response as Steve added, “I thought so. Well, the good thing for you is that this magical day isn’t over. You never know what might happen if you go and talk to her. I mean, it’s Christmas, man. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll find out you didn’t fuck up everything after all.” “Is this some kinda motivational speech, Harrington?” Tilting his head as that wicked grin spread over his face, Eddie isn’t laughing at Steve, but he can’t help mocking him just a little bit. Confusion filling his face, Steve faltered for a second, “Uh, is- is it working?” Genuinely this time, Eddie smiled genuinely, “Yea, I think it is.” Straightening his spine, resolute, Steve countered, “Then, yes. I’m motivating you with my speech. Now, uh, get lost, Munson.” Offering his unlikely friend a hand, Steve pulled Eddie to his feet and was already ushering him towards the door. “Alright, but if this backfires, I’m coming back here and kicking your ass to the tune of Jingle Bells.” “Fair enough.” Steve tapped him twice on the back as Eddie slid towards the van, his sneakers not offering much traction in the snow, “Go get her, Munson.” Eddie started the van and gave Steve a thumbs up before backing slowly out of the driveway. For some reason, his heart felt lighter, buoyed by the pep talk from his buddy. Maybe Steve was right. Maybe there was a way to save this Christmas after all. Mind whirling, he was already planning out what to say to you- an apology to start. And he was sorry. Sorry for kissing you out of the blue. Sorry for not telling you how he felt. Sorry for talking about your boyfriend.

Ex-boyfriend? Whatever the hell he was now. But mostly, Eddie was sorry for walking away without telling you what was going on inside his head. You deserved that much at least. Snow was falling faster now, dusting the whole town in powdered sugar whiteness, and he found himself hunching over the steering wheel to see better between the drifting flakes. His defrost was working overtime, struggling to keep the fog off his windshield, as he cursed, “Jesus Christ!” As he got closer to your place his headlights illuminated a person, bundled up like a snowman, trudging along the barely plowed street. Shaking his head as he slowly rolled past, Eddie couldn’t understand what would possess someone to do something like that, even if it was Christmas Eve. What was so damned important that you went out in bad weather, a soggy sack of gifts melting under the swiftly shifting snow, he’d like to know. Pressing on the brake, Eddie stopped, disbelief flooding him. “No. No way-”

— Snow was dropping down in gentle swirls when you decided that you had to see Eddie, regardless of the fading sunlight, before Christmas Eve came to a close. Too much had been said, too much left unsaid, for your mind to let it go. Not to mention the way your heart ached dully when you thought about the wounded look on his face before he’d left you, stunned and speechless, after that tasty kiss. No. It was Christmas, dammit. And at Christmas, you told people how much they meant to you. How much you needed them. How much you relied on their strength, their warmth, their willingness to take teary phone calls at all hours of the night and then come rescue you from shitty situations time and again. How much you, gulp, loved them. It was Christmas Eve and you were only just now realizing that there was one person who you needed to make the holiday happy and bright. One dark hued, leather wearing metal head who just happens to be the white knight of your personal story. You just hoped it wasn't too little, too late. Jamming his gift into a bag, you dressed as warmly as you could, layering up like a cake before lacing up your boots. Pulling on a striped winter hat, complete with a fuzzy pom pom on top, you zipped up your heavy coat and stepped outside, shivering in the chill. You didn’t have a car of your own, so you were going for a wintery walk to the trailer park, all in the name of love.

With a foggy exhale, you hummed to yourself, “Oh, the weather outside is frightful-” On a good day, the walk to Eddie’s place was about fifteen minutes. Today, Christmas Eve, during a snowstorm, that quarter of an hour turns into forty five minutes easily. Color rose up on your cheeks, across your nose, and the tips of your ears. Anywhere you couldn’t cover with a scarf or coat was chapping in the cold air. And you had long ago stopped your singing. Forced to walk on the road since most of the sidewalks were untreated, you didn’t mind, but you were incredibly cautious about oncoming traffic. You wanted to talk to Eddie, not get turned into road pizza on the biggest holiday of the year, so you are walking into the wind and making yourself as visible as possible in the coming dusk. Still, it required a lot of effort on your part, even if you had started to question the sanity of your idea.

Headlights catch your eye and you raise a hand to block the brightness. The driver was going slow due to the snow and you move as far to the side as you can while also avoiding a slushy splash. Tucking further into your scarf, you trudged on, rehearsing the speech you were going to give when Eddie opened his trailer door. And maybe that’s why you didn’t notice when the passing vehicle slid to a stop before reversing on the empty roadway. All you know is that one second you were inside your head, white flakes flying past in swirling cyclones, and the next you hear a shout, “What the hell are you doing?” “Eddie?” Stopping short, your head snapped up at a voice you know as well as your own. He was out of the van in a flash, his hands gripping onto your shoulders tightly, “It’s cold as fuck out here, not to mention snowing like crazy, and you’re just- just walking around?” Tipping your chin up, you eyed him from under the brim of your stocking cap, “I was going to your place. I- I have a gift-” “A gift? Sweet fucking Christ! You coulda been killed! A car could have- or, or, you could have slipped on ice and hit your head. I mean, do you have any idea-” Horrible scenario after horrible scenario filled Eddie’s mind. Worrying about what could have happened to you and knowing that it hadn’t could not stop the flipped switch of his panic. With a cracking voice, Eddie pulled you into his heart, his warmth, questioning you brokenly, “What if I hadn’t seen you? What if- what if something happened to you and I wasn’t able to stop it. To save you?”

His grip tightens around you and your bulky coat, almost lifting you off the ground, “What would I do if-” A sweet half smile curls over your face as you put a mittened hand over his chest, cutting him off, “Eddie.” Your voice stills him, those wide burnt sugar eyes locking on yours, as he tips your head up, “Yea?” Pushing up onto the toes you could barely feel, you pressed a chaste kiss to Eddie’s warm mouth, lingering in his cinnamon gum scented sphere. For a second, he froze, your cold nose rubbing against his as your eyes fluttered shut. Then, his arms pulled you as close as your jacket allowed, those lips of his finding your chapped ones with a happy hum. Heat rushed through you, a welcome change from the dropping temperatures out on the snowy street. Only this heat was spreading from the clenching muscles in your tummy, a fire ignited by the wanting way Eddie moaned into your mouth. His nimble tongue danced alongside yours as the sky deepened into an inky indigo, dotted with picture perfect snowflakes. Fingers, pinkening from the cold air, tug on the ends of your scarf ensuring that you can’t get away from Eddie this time. He didn’t need to worry. You weren’t going anywhere, not without Eddie Munson, anyway. Not anymore. Parting in a puff of heavy air that turned silver in the snowy night, Eddie’s forehead bumped against the cuff of your cap, a goofy grin making his dimples impossible to ignore, “Hey.” “Hey.” Looking up at him through the curve of your lashes, expectant and excited, you were waiting to see what Eddie’s next move would be. You were rosy from cold, eyes shining bright in the fading light of day, and Eddie had never wanted you more. Swallowing thickly, you watched his Adam’s Apple bob while his arms rubbed over your thick sleeves, “Can I- Will you let me take you home?” Biting into your bottom lip, you nod quickly, “Yea. Yes, please.” Guiding you, Eddie ensured that you’re safely situated in the passenger seat before securing your buckle and shutting the door. You giggled as he moved around the front of the van, slipping in the slush, his face illuminated in the headlights. Catching your eye, he winks wickedly and then is seamlessly sliding behind the steering wheel with a wild toss of his snow-dampened hair, “Where to m’lady?” Sighing deeply, but happily, you pull off your winter hat, staticy strands sticking up at odd angles, “I’d normally say take me home, but-” “But?” There’s caution in Eddie’s voice. Like a skim of ice on the lake, things between you are still tentative- not solid, and he has a momentary lapse of confidence. Laying a hand on his denim clad thigh, leaning closer to reassure him, you shrugged, “But I don’t want to be alone. Not tonight. It’s Christmas Eve.” It gives Eddie an idea. A wonderful idea. A perfect, Hallmark Card, winter wonderland idea. “Ok, but just remember… You asked for it.” His tone is playful when Eddie swings the van in a circle, turning from the direction of your place back the way he came. Oh, he’s nervous. There weren’t a lot of people who had been to his trailer; just the closest, dearest of friends. Steve had seen the inside of the clean and cozy space a time or two, Robin and Nancy for sure, but mostly, Eddie was the guy pulling up to your place, not the other way around. A small Christmas tree, loaded with lights and ornaments faced the gravelly road where Eddie’s uncle was already parked. There’s strands of blinking lights criss-crossing the awning and a small sign that says, “Santa Stop Here” propped up on the porch. It’s a sweet sight, a glowing, golden invitation on a cold and snowy Christmas night and you can’t help the dopey look of glee on your face at what you’re seeing. Pulling the van in smoothly, Eddie held up a hand, “Wait, k? I haven’t been here to shovel.” Agreeing with a head bob, you sat patiently as he stomped around, snow high enough to cover his sneakers. Snagging your bag, you are prepared to step into the snow, but Eddie doesn’t give you the chance. One foot touched the ground and then he’s bear hugging you, walking you straight to the stairs as you laugh, “What are you doing?” “Keeping you from getting cold feet. Obviously!” Once he’s sure you’re on the firm ground of his steps, Eddie bounced back and kicked the van’s door closed. He brushed by you, his hand finding your elbow so that he could haul you inside, calling out warmly, “Hey, Uncle Wayne! Hope you don’t mind-” An older, more worn in version of Eddie, minus the long locks, popped a head out from the kitchenette, “Wha? Oh. Oh, we’ve got company then?” Wiping his hands on a well used dish cloth, he moved closer, arms wide, “I’m Eddie’s uncle- Wayne, in case you didn’t get that part.” The hug is crushing and so full of tenderness that you can’t help but wrap your arms around this new person, squeezing hard as he welcomes you. Stepping back, Uncle Wayne kept a firm hand on you, but eyed Eddie steadily, “Your phone call, I take it?” Chuckling nervously, Eddie rubbed a palm across the back of his neck, ruffling his hair in the process. He’s never been able to hide much from his uncle, this is no exception, and he can tell that he’s busted. “Yea, Wayne. She’s the one who called last night.” A look passed between them, approving and accepting, before Wayne clapped his hands, asking, “Are ya hungry, darling? It’s not much, but it’s our tradition, so to speak.” “If you don’t mind? I-” “Mind?” Wayne says it as if he’s offended by the idea, “You’ll be doing me a favor. Keep this one-” pointing at Eddie with an up turned thumb, “-on his best behavior. Come on!” Your jacket disappeared into a closet somewhere and Eddie helped you shuck the soaking boots you’ve been wearing for much too long. Excusing yourself, you duck into the bathroom, and when you come back, there’s a heartwarming scene unfolding in front of you. Wayne and Eddie, setting an extra place at the table, grumbling about the “good china” which you can tell is paper plates. Stopping, Wayne appraised his nephew for beat as Eddie centered a folded paper towel over your spot. A small smile pulled at the corners of his uncle’s mouth before Wayne dragged Eddie into an unwilling hug that ended with a firm clap on the younger man’s back. You swing back into the room at the sound, “This- this looks great, you guys!” A pot of macaroni and cheese, neon orange and buttery, sits in the center of the table. There’s a plate of ham and cheese sandwiches, cut into triangles and piled high on a Miller High Life tin tray, next to a bowl of salad greens. A big bottle of ranch dressing standing proudly at its side. “It’s not traditional, I guess-” Eddie started but Uncle Wayne cut him off, “It’s our tradition! All of Eddie’s favorite food is here. Except the salad, of course.” “Except the salad.” He echoed his uncle, offering you a sandwich from the tray while his teeth pinch the fat of his lip, desperate for your acceptance. He had no reason to worry. It’s just so lovely to be with other people, especially guys like the Munson boys. They pass around bottles of beer, telling stories, making you laugh so hard that your stomach muscles ache from it. From deeper in the trailer you heard the sound of an alarm clock buzzing and Uncle Eddie exhaled hard, “Well children, I have to get going.” Looking up from your seat at their table, you questioned, “No! You’re not leaving are you?” Taking one of your hands in his, Wayne pats it gently, “Double time at the plant is too good to pass up, even if the company is as excellent as yours, darling.” Pouting, you let your bottom lip stick out and Eddie is struck by an urge to kiss you stupid. Instead of whipping you into his arms in front of his uncle, Eddie stood up and started clearing the table, “Ok, old man. You can stop flirting with her now.” “Me? I would never!” And you could hear the same teasing tone in Uncle Wayne’s voice that Eddie has inherited. It’s flattering and flustering at the same time and you just knew that they could feel the flush of heat radiating off of you from the attention they both give you. “Yea, yea. Here-” Eddie handed a small box to Wayne, “-Food, for tonight’s shift.” “Thanks, son.” Turning in your chair you watched Wayne shrug on his coat, popping the collar up high to block some of the snow that’s still falling. At the doorway he nodded your direction, “Don’t be a stranger young lady. Merry Christmas to you both!”

And then the trailer goes quiet. Eddie pivoted fast, big eyes finding yours, and you both started laughing again. “Shit! I mean, I knew Uncle Wayne had moves, I’ve just never seen them in action like that before.” Feigning innocence, you placed a hand over your heart, “Do you mean to tell me that he was flirting? My, my, you Munson men must have a type!” Eddie’s chuckle petered out, his face growing serious, as he looked you over, “Yea. We do. Pretty ladies who uh, who walk through snow storms and love The Grinch.” You didn’t laugh because it wasn’t funny anymore. Reaching out his hand, Eddie lifted you to your feet, spinning you in place before bringing his hands to your hips. “Hey, hang on, k?” Nodding, you missed his presence when he stepped up to the record player hidden in the corner of the living room. The speakers spring to life, and with a triumphant grunt, Eddie placed a 45 on the turntable before returning to you. Nat King Cole started to croon about chestnuts and open fires, but you’re hardly listening. You’re caught up in the way Eddie’s eyes reflect the multi-colored lights of his cute Christmas tree, reds and greens and yellows and blues. The feeling of his hands swaying you back and forth, moving you where he needed you to be, is intoxicating, heady. Drawing your palms over his forearms, you slid them higher, higher, higher, until you could lace them behind Eddie’s neck. He stretched against your folded fingers, looking down at you, “I’m really glad that you came over tonight. I don’t think Wayne will ever get over it.” Snickering sweetly, you wet your lips, “He loves you.” “He’s the only one.” Shaking your head, your hooded gaze never leaving his, you countered, “Uh uh. That’s not true.” Eddie tilted his head, studying your expression, “You calling me a liar, sweetheart?” His tone was playful but the tenor was low, raspy, grating, and you matched it when you answered, “Yea, maybe I am.” “Are you saying that you love me?” Whispering, just in case he was dreaming, just in case he had to deny that these words had ever been spoken, Eddie paused all movement. You nod, yes, but it’s not enough. Not for Eddie. Not tonight. “Please, I need- I need you to say it.” A clock ticked away the seconds while you peered into the hot cocoa gaze of the only man you truly trusted, “I love you, Eddie. I- I think I always have, really.” If you could capture an image to look over forever, it would be the face Eddie made at your husky confession. The unadulterated joy that crowds his features made you think about New Year’s Eve fireworks, exploding and expanding as they brilliantly burst. Eddie broke your hold on him, his fingers threaded between your own as he brought a hand up to press a little kiss to your knuckles. “I know. It took you long enough to realize it, though, sweetheart.” Looking away from him, a stupid, giddy smile grew across your face. You rolled your eyes, “Maybe I was waiting for the right moment? ‘Tis the season, ya know?” Eddie didn’t reply, at least not with words. He picked his moment and using your waist as leverage, snugged you tight to his lean body. One arm braced along your spine as his other hand cupped your bountiful bottom, tipping you off center a bit so that he could wrap your leg over his hip. He’s so solid, so sturdy, that you melted into the embrace, letting Eddie support you entirely as you gripped at his firm biceps. That curtain of ebony hair brushed against your cheek as your mouth searched for and found more of Eddie to taste. Mewling against his lips, you could feel his growing excitement and your core pulsed with need at the idea of having all of Eddie, all for yourself. Pinching your bottom, Eddie straightened you both up, jerking his head towards the small room at the end of the hall, “Come on.” A little light headed, you followed where he led, landing in his personal domain. It’s a space dominated by his love of music and all things D&D related, and it smelled so good, so right, that you launched yourself in his direction, needy lips already moving in on him. Eddie met you there, in the middle, ready and wanting. Longing for him, you toyed with the hem of his t-shirt, desperate to feel Eddie under your hands. Gliding higher, Eddie chuckled, catching your hands in one of his, “Your hands are freezing!” “Sorry!” You rubbed them together, blowing on them, trying to warm them up as quickly as possible. “S’ok, I got you.” He stepped away and crossed his hands at the bottom of his shirt before ripping it off in one fluid motion. Eddie is stunning. His compact and constant strength is evident in the smooth lines of his chest, his tattoos a road map to pleasure. You didn’t know whether to touch him, or kiss him, or lick him- your thoughts derailed entirely when he tisked, “Um, see something you like?” Beneath your hands Eddie felt so substantial, so solid. Tracing his ribs, you leaned in to kiss the places where black ink outlined the images associated with his rock and roll persona, keeping a hold on his trim waist. When you reached the hollow of his chest, the place that hovered above his heart, you lingered long enough to purple the skin there as yours. Home. It’s the sort of attention that Eddie isn’t accustomed to- someone showering him in affection. The time its taken for your tongue to lick lines over his pecs, press kisses across his collar bone, nips at the cologne stained skin of his neck, feels like decades. Eons. Ages. But he let you take that time. Breathing became a struggle, especially when you purse your lips and sucked little red splotches over the length of his core, your still chilly fingers dug into the muscles of his back as a reminder for him to keep still. Tentatively, you played with his belt, not wanting to show just how eager you truly were in this moment. He doesn’t stop you, instead Eddie moves your hands to his handcuff shaped buckle, encouraging you, “Yea, go ahead, babe. I- I want you to.” Jumping at the contact, Eddie’s stomach muscles contracted and he hissed. Dropping to your knees, you pushed his jeans down, down, down, and tapped his calf. It was a silent way of telling him to move his feet so you could get his pesky pants off of him. From this position, Eddie stood tall and straight like a mythological hero above you. Other guys might have tried to hide their growing erections, crossing their hands over any visible sign of their desire, but that’s not Eddie’s style. If anything, he parted his legs, widening his stance to showcase his masculine power. And if the boxers he wore weren’t covered in Santa faces, then you were certain his manliness would have overpowered you. “Ah! These are very cute.” Flicking at the hem of his shorts, you had to tease him. You have to lighten the mood otherwise, you were going to combust right to ash at his feet. “‘Tis the season- isn’t that what you said?” Throwing your words back at you, Eddie let his fingers tangle in your hair, urging your head back as your dewey mouth parted. You were so close to him, to his aching stiffness, that all his willpower is being channeled into behaving. It would be all too easy to dig his thumbs into the pudgy flesh of your cheeks, keeping your mouth open wide as he fed his hard cock between your lips until you were full up with Eddie. A shadow of his thoughts crossed behind his eyes and you gulped audibly, pressing your thighs together at the idea of him using you for his own end. Only, that wasn’t who Eddie Munson was, at heart. There was no forcing, no taking, not without talking first. And that alone was so very different from whatever his name was that you were already feeling more excited, more aroused than you could ever remember being before. Nodding at his quip, you stretched your fingers toward the gathered elastic band of his jockey shorts, but he stopped you, “Not yet, ok, pretty girl? Wanna see you first, alright?” “Oh, yea, ok. Sure.” You stood up on shaking legs, never breaking the heated stare between you and Eddie. Slowly you started to peel off the layers of clothing that you had wrapped around yourself before heading out into the snow. Fumbling, you toed off one thick sock when Eddie’s low laugh interrupted your eager undressing, “Lemme help you. You helped me, it’s only fair.” Motioning to his thigh, you brought your socked foot up, inhaling sharply when Eddie rolled the soggy wool down your toes before chucking it towards the door. Those calloused fingers massaged up your calf, the muscles there tense from your excursion, and you groaned gratefully at the softening his touch brings. Too soon, in your opinion, Eddie lowered your leg back to the floor, but it’s only because he was raising the bottom band of your hoodie over your head. Stumbling a bit, he caught you, now in a t-shirt and leggings, “Did you put on everything you own?” “It’s cold out! And I was walking here to tell the guy I love “Merry Christmas”!” It’s your best defense and the base honesty of it makes Eddie weak. “Fair enough, sweetheart, but I need you naked. Like, now.” His eyebrows are raised expectantly making you chortle as his overeager attitude. You got a little bit fresh though, wanting to tease him, to draw out the night, so you sass, “What if I’m your gift, huh Munson? And you’re just rushing through the unwrapping part-” He doesn't let you finish. Instead, Eddie scooped you up with his hands on your soft bottom, pushing his nose into the crook of your neck, “Oh, I know how to take my time, babe. Especially when it matters.” “Fuck, Eddie.” It’s a broken exhale, wanton and laced with a desperation that he had never heard from you before. He’s an addict already. Buttons part easily under Eddie’s knowing fingertips. Your flannel shirt and faded tee are thrown across the room joining the growing pile of your clothes. After your ribbed tank top comes off, the last barrier to your bountiful breasts is the emerald green bra you put in, hopeful that Eddie would have a chance to see it before the night ends. Now here he is, an owlish look on his wonder filled face, “Wow.” Heat climbed through you at the raw realness on display in Eddie’s features. That’s when you decided that you can’t wait any longer and took his wrists in your hands, placing them on your waist as you stepped into his arms, “Eddie, baby, please? Please touch me.” He doesn’t respond with words. Gripping you tight enough to bruise, your head is tipped back to make room for Eddie’s roving mouth as he scorches a path down your neck. At the swell of your breasts he slowed down, savoring the flavor of your skin, teasing you with his tongue. Licking over the lace of your bra, Eddie sucked on your hardened nipple through the fabric, the foreign sensation making you jump under his ministrations. You tangled a fist in his hair, pulling against the loose curls, and he let you direct his mouth back to your own bee stung lips as you mewl, “Need you, Eddie. Need you now.” “Fuck, baby.” Walking you backwards, Eddie lowered you onto his bed, following you down to the mattress. His hands cupped your cheeks, brushing your hair back so he could really see you, those broad thighs pressing your own open. You could feel the delicious weight of him on top of you, his hard cock unavoidable, and you rolled your hips into Eddie’s just to hear him groan. In a rush now, Eddie ripped your pants off in a flash, taking your panties with them. Kneeling between your spread legs, he laid his hands over his heart, “I really love-” you angled up onto your elbows, anticipating how he’ll finish his sentence, “-my Christmas gift. Thank you so much for bringing it over, even if you had to walk a mile in the snow.” “You shit!” Giggling at his theatrics, you grabbed for him, only satisfied when he’s draped over your prone figure. There’s a kiss then, and another, and another until they blend together in your mind. Some are sweet and slow. Some tender and testing. Others are sloppy, teeth clicking, tongue sucking kisses. Hands are everywhere. They glide along hairy thighs and smooth arms. They paused to fondle, to flick, to squeeze. They never stopped moving. Fingers find ticklish spots to linger on, drawing out laughter, high and sweet. Fingers press hard into soft skin. They dig in, they hold on. When Eddie’s bold enough, he touches you at the dark, damp cavern of your core. The un-rushed attention is overwhelming and it doubles in intensity when his calloused middle finger finds a home surrounded by your satin walls. Clutching at his arms, you wailed thinly, “More, Eddie, more, please.” A second finger breached your wet cleft, the stretch delicious and somehow delicate because Eddie’s listening to you, to your body, and he’s not rushing. His gaze had not left yours, the show you’re putting on is just too good to miss and he has a front row seat. Kissing over your tummy, moving lower, you bucked into his grip just as his plush pout pressed against your straining clitoris. Fisting his pillow with one hand, the other curled possessively around the back of his neck, holding him steady. Holding him close. Holding out for the inevitable peak of your pleasure, brought on by the unceasing attention of your lover. Panting, your thighs quaked, the ecstatic energy gathering in your body ready to explode. It’s been so long since you had someone take care of you, worry about pleasing you, think about getting you off first, that when your orgasm hits it is leveling. The air huffs out of you in short bursts as your body goes rigid, all of your limbs seem to lock up, and every molecule of your form is concentrated on the overriding bliss created by Eddie and his feelings for you. Maybe you blacked out, you don’t really know what else to call the far away floating sensation that accompanied your little death. What you do know is that Eddie has you gathered in his arms, your head cradled over that spot- your spot on his chest, his heartbeat the first sound that breaks through the fog of your climax. Rocking you back and forth, soft kisses pressing into the crown of your head, as Eddie cooed, “I got you, pretty girl. It’s alright. You’re ok, honey.” Shivering as you come down from your intense high, stray tears cascaded down your cheeks, but these are not born of sadness. Experiencing euphoria like this was overwhelming and you gratefully sunk into Eddie’s warmth, hiccuping, “I’m- I’m ok, Eddie. I’m- thank you. Thank you so much.” “Thank me? Sweetheart, I didn’t do-” Swiveling in his arms, you peered up at him through wet eyes, “But you did! You do. You always take such great care of me and tonight, all this, it’s no exception.” And you kissed him with everything you had in your heart, saying ‘I love you’ with your body over and over again. When you pulled back this time, a small hand on Eddie’s stubbled cheek, you shook your head, not believing that you were here, now, with this loving man, “I think I must be dreaming.” “Then, please, for the love of Ozzy, do not wake up.” An undignified snort of laughter snuck out of you and Eddie takes advantage of the distraction to lay you back on the bed. Floppy and boneless, you’re spread out and giggling, ready for whatever Eddie wanted to do. You run your foot over his leg, landing on his hip before he wrapped a hand around your ankle, steadying his hold on you to ensure that you were open wide for him. You nibbled on your pinky finger, knowing what came next, but playing coy. That sweetness, the innocent way you batted your eyelashes at him, it made Eddie throb. Yearning to be inside of you, he smooched at the skin of your inner thigh, “God, you’re so fucking pretty. Can I touch you, beautiful? Can I make you feel good?” Why would you ever say no to that? Letting your calves lock around his, you lifted your hips up so that you could hump against Eddie, “Please, Eddie, for fuck’s sake!” And then he was fisting himself, lining the hardest part of his body up with the softest part of your own, “Hey, hey, look at me.” Locked in on Eddie’s blown out stare, you licked over your bottom lip, which only made him groan. Dropping his chin, he shook his head, “You- you can’t look at me like that, baby. I’m going to cum before I ever get to feel you if you keep that up.” “But, I didn’t-” Running a hand through his hair so that it fell over his shoulder, he husked, “You can’t help it. You’re just so damned adorable and-” the expansive head of his cock caught at the slick circle of your quim, “-And I fucking love you.” Inhaling sharply, your body arched off the bed and straight into Eddie’s chest at his first breaching thrust. Hands tensing, your nails clawed at his forearms as he stilled, giving you time to adjust to his shattering length and stretching width. Distracting you, Eddie’s mouth dotted kisses along the base of your throat and over your jaw, before huskily growling into your ear, “I’m gonna move now, ok?” Noiseless, you nodded as Eddie kept his word. Withdrawing slowly, Eddie was exercising all the control he possessed to ensure that you got the best of him. And even with his concentration focused on the long, smooth strokes of his thrusts, he still managed to touch you, kiss you, mumble out sounds like yes and fuck and your name. “Eddie, more, please?” You hadn’t meant to whine but he felt so good that you wanted all you could get. It was as if you had cut him free by asking that question. Eddie let his body reply, rolling his hips, no longer pulling free from your velvet vice. Instead he surged forward, deeper and deeper with every press of his pelvis against your own.

Your sweaty skin had gone over goosebumps, a shivering, shining sensation spiraling from your core. You found your voice but could only manage to whimper as Eddie let a free hand rake over your thigh before his fingers landed on your clit, rubbing in light circles. The contact made your muscles clench and through gritted teeth, Eddie cursed, “Fucking hell, sweetheart!” His reaction made you giggle breathlessly, “I’m so close Eddie. Are you? Are you gonna cum?” “Yea. Yea I am, honey. Can you hold on? Cum with me?” Hugging him, your back off the mattress, you peppered him with kisses, agreeing with a happy hum. Eddie kept his rhythm, the even movement of his fingers, and when he felt his own eminent ending, took a beat to encourage you, “Sweetheart, please? Let go for me, yea? Wanna- shit- wanna feel you cum around my cock.” Language like that would have made you embarrassed before but coming from Eddie’s sweet, sweet mouth it set you aflame, “Eddie! Yes! Yes, baby!” Your ruinous release arrived with a shout of his name. Going rigid under Eddie as he rocked into you, his palm pressed to the center of your chest, right over your heart, and then he shuddered above you, his forehead coming to rest against your own as you both fought to catch your breath.

But then Eddie pushed away, abruptly, the overflowing spend of his ecstasy wetting your thighs. It left a cold and empty gap between you when he turned his back to you, his shoulders hunched. Sitting up, you moved to Eddie’s side, “Eddie? Are you- are you ok?” There was no answer, so you crawled to his side, but he avoided looking at you, so you draped a hand on his meaty quad, squeezing slightly, as you asked, “Babe, what’s going on?” Kneeling on the bed in front of the man who just gave you two delicious orgasms, you were utterly shocked at the sight that met you; Eddie, skin shiny from sweat, sitting cross legged, was biting into his knuckle. It was the reason which broke you. He was crying. Tough, beautiful, Eddie Munson was crying. Sobbing really, and to stifle the sound, his teeth were gouging into the flesh of his finger. Once more he tried to avoid you, but you were quick to pull his arm down, “Eddie, what happened?” “I-” his voice was thick, embarrassed and full of emotion, “-I’ve never- What we just did, I-” When you realized that he couldn’t get the words out, you took his hands in yours, kissing over the pulse point of each wrist, “Imma need you to take a deep breath, babe. There ya go!” And you praised him when he inhaled brokenly. Puffing out his cheeks on the exhale, he allowed your clever fingers to wipe away his tears, apologizing, “I’m so sorry. So sorry, sweetheart.” “For what? Where’s this coming from?” “For being a big baby, now, after we just-” damp and wet cheeked, his pretty brown eyes found yours in the dim, “-after we made love.”

“Oh, Eddie.” Your hand cupped his cheek and he leaned into the warmth he found there, sighing. For the first time in your relationship, you were able to offer Eddie the sort of comfort and care that he had shown you so many times. Wasting no time, you straddled his lap, wrapping him in a hug. He hooked his chin over your shoulder, “I just- I’ve never had anyone love me. Not like this and-” You silenced him with your lips, your tongue prying into his mouth, drinking the sadness from the source. All of your want, all of your love, all of it went into the kiss you laid on Eddie. When you leaned back far enough to stare at your man, you were met with his earnest expression, still raw and real.

Your forehead nudged into his, a half-smile playing on your lips, “Hey.” “Hey.” Still sounding sad, Eddie let a chuckle burst out of him, but you found it endearing, encouraging. Eddie let his hands find a place on the thick meat of your tush, keeping you close as you nuzzled into his neck, “I love you, Eddie. All of you. And for so many reasons.” “Yea?” He sounded like he still couldn’t believe it. That this was all too good to be true. Pulling back on his hair, he hissed but didn’t try to stop you. “Yea, Eddie. Yea, I do. I fucking love you.” Then he was laughing. A joyful, open, happy sound that brightened the room and made you smile wide. Eddie lightly slapped your ass, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips as he licked open mouth kisses along the top of your chest, leaving red marks along the way. Laughing too, you basked in the bubble of love that the two of you were creating. Dragging you to his side, your head rested against his chest, over your special spot. His heart was thumping, steady and strong, already lulling you to sleep, when you tipped your head up, “Merry Christmas, Eddie.” “Uh, Merry Christmas.” And what happened next, well in Hawkins, they say, that Eddie Munson’s small heart grew three sizes that day. On Christmas morning, Eddie cooked you breakfast, and made sure there was plenty of fresh coffee for Uncle Wayne to come home to. After the dishes were washed, you pulled his gift out of your snow stained bag, “This is for you.” “Aw, baby! You didn’t have to do this.” Shifting your weight, you nervously danced, “I know! But, well… OPEN IT!” The paper tore away quickly, revealing a framed photo of the two of you sitting on lounge chairs at Steve’s house, happiness visible on both of your faces. When he looked at the picture it was painfully obvious; you were in love even then. It was clear from the way you leaned into each other, your head resting right over his heart, exactly where it belonged. All you needed to make that love a reality was a Christmas miracle, but those only come around once a year. A lump rose in Eddie’s throat. Maybe there was something to this holiday after all. Something about love and caring and showing people how much they meant to you. Maybe it wasn’t about the cost of gifts or the wrapping paper; the ornaments or the parties. Maybe Christmas wasn’t so bad. Not if it brought you two together, once and for all. Shit. Steve had been right. Eddie was going to have to thank his friend for the motivational speech. When he saw your expectant look, Eddie cleared his throat, declaring, “I love it. Thank you, so so much.” Extending his hand, you took it, letting him settle you in his lap, humming, “And I love you, so so much.” When Wayne came home, you were curled in Eddie’s lap, his arm holding you close. Both of you were sleeping peacefully, the tv playing a repeat of the holiday parade. He shook his head, happy in his heart. Merry Christmas, indeed. —------FIN—-----

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pleasantanathema · 4 years ago

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Graves into Gardens | Reiner Braun x Reader | Chapter Six

Chapter Six: Revelations

Pairing: Reiner Braun x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only)

Warnings: Modern AU, spoilers up to season four, slight manga spoilers (only by including characters met later), captivity, mentions of death, violence enemies to lovers, angst, and eventual smut (ohohoho we’re so hot on it now, just wait until the end of this one)

Word Count: 5k

A/N: Thank you so, so much to everyone who has left comments, screamed in reblog tags, and just encouraged me to create this story. I have never felt so much love for a fic in the time I’ve been writing.

This chapter reveals a lot, and it’s a little longer than the rest, but it’s for good reason- the end of this is one of my favorite things I’ve written.

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Reiner’s apartment truly wasn’t much. You thought he’d been joking, perhaps was even being humble, but the small studio apartment was quite dismal. The walls were stark white, a few faded posters peeling off the wall from neglect, a couple of medals and trophies lining a small bookshelf that was bursting with paperbacks and notebooks. A simple bed with a royal blue comforter and overstuffed pillows, the most compact L-shaped couch in front of a tv, and a corner dominated by a desk with two monitors and stacks of documents, manila envelopes, and crates of papers crammed below.

A kitchenet that looked hardly used was tucked away in another corner, the entryway to a small bathroom right near it.

There was truly nothing worth looking twice at, save a handful of framed photos scattered around.

You’d taken it all in rather hurriedly, still out of breath from practically running through snowy alleyways, the developing snowstorm covering the land like fresh linen. There was a window near his bed, which you gravitated toward after kicking off your damp boots by the door. Not much a view, either. Just more desolate, brick buildings and a sorry looking street below.

He told you once that he didn’t grow up with much, and it unfortunately seemed like despite joining the ranks of the military, he was still left with close to nothing.

“What are we here for?”

He was busy toiling with the thermostat, thick fingers mashing against the heat button to try to warm the small box of an apartment.

“You won’t like it,” he grumbled, golden eyes glancing over to you with a tinge of regret painting his brow.

“Then why bring me?”

“Because you need to see it.”

You tucked your hands under your arms, the chill of the winter’s day finally settling into your bones.

You watched keenly as he shrugged off his snow laden jacket, hanging it by the door before promptly locking it. He seemed as out of breath as you were, nose red from the cold, hands shaking as he fumbled with his phone. You bit the inside of your cheek with impatience, a small flame of ire licking its way into your chest.

Bringing you out here could get you killed. He knew that, right? Of course he did, but he did it anyways. Surely this matter of seemingly great importance could’ve been fetched by one of his comrades. You hadn’t quite considered the danger leaving the headquarters could bring upon you until you were dashing through the streets, the heavy paw of Reiner’s hand squeezing around your wrist. At one point in time, he’d shoved you back down another corridor, shielding you with the size of his body as particular caravan of cars turned down the roadway. He seemed to fear any pair of government eyes spying you.

He always was so careless.

He was busy texting someone, still standing idle, lip worried between his teeth.

Must be the girl you ran into that’s giving him a headache. He probably thought he could slip out and back again without a soul noticing, without anyone giving him grievance, but that bright eyed little cousin of his had ruined that. She’d been so excited to see him; he probably hadn’t been to see his family quite a while, seeing that he was on guard duty after his last mission.

How many days had it been since you’d been here? You’d honestly lost track of time, your world feeling like it had been caught in a slow turn of molasses. A few seconds could feel like hours, days felt like minutes, every heartbeat felt like it could be your last. You tried to add it all up in your head, eyes closing as you replayed all the events that led to you standing in Reiner Braun’s home in Marley.

A week and a half, you surmised. But it could be a little more, a little less. You think you would have kept your eyes on the sun a little more acutely, seeing that you’d missed it rise and fall for at least two days when you were bound in that cell.

“Are you alright?”

For a moment, you thought you had spoken the words. You were thinking them, but he asked you instead.

“That’s a loaded question,” you looked back down to the street, catching the sight of a line of what appeared to be school children marching in tandem down the sidewalk, snow in their hair and happiness on their faces, “but for the moment, I’m okay.”

Reiner pulled his lips to the side, considering your words. Maybe it hadn’t dawned on him that you couldn’t have been in any state of ease since you’d been promptly abducted and plopped down in this new world to navigate.

“Are you alright?” You encored, observing how his worried thumbs were still fast against the screen.

“Have I ever been?”

You made at face at that reply, corners of your mouth turning down while your shoulders shrugged. Fair enough.

Though, for the first time, a bit of pity crept into your mind. Reiner didn’t really ask for this life, did he? He was doing whatever he could to get by, fallen rather inelegantly into the position of being sent to Paradis, and was now being handed you to watch over, presumably without his full consent. You were both pawns in this world, kings and rooks dominating the board and playing you both for fools.

Being a Scout hadn’t been your intention, either. You’d once had other dreams: college, a career, a family, but you’d been grandfathered into the role by your government working parents, and cemented into it when they’d died. You had nothing else to do, so you served. You served your country, your friends, but you also served yourself, using the role to keep your life afloat, even if it sometimes meant spilling the lifeblood of others, even if it meant sacrificing aspirations and settling. Though, you would admit that some rather beautiful things managed to bloom from the barren soil. Regrettably, those had all been left behind, washed away by tides you couldn’t control.

“I’m sorry,” Reiner grunted, sinking into the cushions of the couch, “she—she already opened her mouth. I’ve gotten Annie to settle things at HQ, but I imagine Chief is still furious.”

“Is it such a bad thing to take me out here? I mean, you could easily stop me if I tried to run away.”

“Could I?”

You debated his question. While you were quite nimble, you’d be like a rat in a maze trying to find a way out of this god forsaken place.

“If I let you,” you reasoned, a tinge of humor behind your words.

He smiled, all warm and soft, full lips parting. The realization that you hadn’t seen him smile in years pummeled into your chest like a heavy hand stealing from your lungs. It made the sorrow that much more palpable.

“For the record, Zeke is more upset I didn’t ask permission. He’s hellbent on his authority.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

You also pinpointed something else of note, a picture glinting on his nightstand catching your attention.

It resembled the same one you’d seen on Zeke’s desk, only now you could make out the faces. Reiner didn’t pay you any mind as you reached for the framed memory, plucking it from its home, dust from the back of it staining your fingers.

A red booth housed five familiar faces, all grinning over half-drank pints of beer. Their arms were interlocked around each other’s shoulders, all the men young and handsome, Reiner and Bertholdt even more youthful than when they’d first walked through the doors of the Scout Office. Then there was Zeke seated next to Porco, the latter in that green jacket you’d seen him in earlier. But your eyes were set on a face you’d never thought you’d see again, a face that possessed the very recesses of your mind, only appearing late at night when you’d see it in corners, catch it lingering behind your eyelids. He was attractive, appeared personable, messy dark hair and distinct brow that matched the boy next to him.

“Reiner…” you whispered, still unmoving from your spot between the bed and the window pane, “who is this?”

He peered over his shoulder, any hint of a smile now vanished like etchings being erased from a page.

“You don’t recognize him?”

Him, a photo full of faces, and he knew who you were asking about. He’d probably stared too long at the ghost himself. You wondered if he ever placed the frame down at night to sleep better; you would have, if you’d killed someone you cared about.

“You know I do.”

Reiner held his hand out, long arm stretched across the back of the couch. You finally talked your feet into moving, shuffling across the hardwood as you placed the offending item into his upturned palm.

Then, you sat next to him, your knees bumping together as you tried to analyze the emotions stirring within. You couldn’t quite place any of them—Regret? Fear? Curiosity? Sadness? But they were quelled when Reiner placed his hand on your twitching thigh, pressing that anxiousness away for a moment.

“Marcel Galliard, Porco’s older brother.”

Your lips parted, both of your attentions centered on the souvenir held between you.

“It was his birthday, and we hadn’t had the chance to celebrate mine and Zeke’s yet either, so we all went out for drinks. I unfortunately don’t remember much from that night, but I remember being…happy, content.”

“Why’d you do it?” you asked it a little quickly, “why would you…save me, not him?”

“I told you, some things I don’t have a choice about.”

“But you—you could’ve said he killed me and got away, right? You did have a choice.”

You saw how his jaw clenched, muscles in his cheek flexing.

“I don’t know.” Agony lined his voice, the words soft, hushed.

That situation was something you both thought about far too often than you’d like to admit, a late-night mulling that never led to conversation.

“I’m sorry.” You took the photo away, placed it face down on the coffee table.

“Don’t be. We can’t change the past,” he said solemnly.

You could, however, lament it. Which is something you did perhaps too often.

━━━─── • ───━━━

Reiner wasn’t ready for what was to come. He knew he never would be, which is why he threw precaution to the wind and decided to lay his cards on the table now.

He had to pick a side. Even if these wars didn’t truly concern him, even if the fate of countries ultimately didn’t matter to his conscious, you did—you mattered, he mattered, and he had to start thinking about things on a smaller scale.

He wanted to go back to Paradis. He practically yearned to go back in time, to return to a place where being Eldian didn’t matter, where his status didn’t matter, where he could remake himself into something new. If it hadn’t been for his binds connecting him to Marley, he could’ve actually seen hope instead of sorrow on the horizon. He could never seem to cut the vines, could never actually get away from the people controlling his life.

But now, now he saw an out, and it was with you. When this cataclysm first happened, all he wanted was for you to be dead, for you to go away and leave him and his miseries alone to rot and wither. Being with you, however, reminded him of a life he could have. He just had to make it happen, he had to start molding his own clay, had to keep bearing the weight of the world like the weary Atlas until he could find a way to make it turn in his favor.

He was tired of wishing for death.

Which is why he had to bring you here and why he would handle the consequences that were waiting in the distance.

You might not be very helpful to Marley, but he could be of use to Paradis.

“I believe you,” he hadn’t noticed he was still touching you, fingers gripping onto your leg like a lifeline, “about Zeke. I believe you because I—we, Pieck, Annie, Bertie—we know he’s up to something beyond what he tells us and the generals. He is working with someone in Paradis. We don’t know who, but we do think we know what for.”

“Oh my god…oh my god. Why didn’t you—”

“You think I can just fucking say that when anyone could be outside my door listening?”

“I thought you said I wouldn’t like what you have to show me.”

He noticed how your shoulders relaxed, like you’d been holding in tension for far too long.

“That’s not…I have something else for you.”

He didn’t move just yet, not quite ready to actually set this all in motion.

This all hinged on you. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew you quite well; of course, that was the you of four years ago. The you he had next to him now was older, scarred, burdened, but he still felt that same magnetic pull to you that he could never explain. He was just a moon consigned to orbit you, to be connected to you even when neither of you desired the attachment.

He knew you were going to be upset, livid; his skin was already prickled at the thought of how you would possibly punch him if when you read what he had to give.

At least you always looked pretty when you were angry.

He could still remember how Jean had cowered undeath his desk when you’d stomped into the office after discovering he’d used the branch’s own money to play in a high-stakes poker game while undercover. He’d been fishing for information on the elites, found himself tipsy, and then found himself on the receiving end of your fury. The only thing that stopped your yelling was Erwin, who, for personal reasons, didn’t want any fuss made over government money being gambled away.

Erwin. He’d never cared for how close you were to him.

Reiner finally stood, expecting you to sit and wait, but you were following him like a shadow, small hand wrapped around his forearm as he moved to his computer. When he sat down, that hand moved up to his shoulder, your fingers squeezing into his muscle with encouragement. It didn’t really put him at ease.

He turned the desktop on, the monitor flashing to life. He typed in his password quickly, then went searching for that folder he’d kept hidden away so he’d never bother to look at it again.

“Hand me one of those,” he nodded his head in the direction of a small container of flash drives on the other side of his desk. You plucked one out of its resting spot and went ahead and placed it into the port on the computer. He knew you wouldn’t question why had so many on hand—you both knew how it all worked, you both kept important documents that had to be shuffled around digitally.

Familiar names lined the inside of the folder, ones he’d once tried to forget. He heard you suck in a quick breath and took a moment to look up at you. Your brow was set, tongue obviously caught between your teeth to keep yourself from saying anything.

This was his job. He was in charge of keeping tabs on The Scouts, he was the one who fed Marley all the information they could. Well, almost all of it.

“These are files I never gave over. They’re yours now. I never gave Marley everything they wanted I…I thought I was protecting you. There’s also a few files on Zeke that Pieck created in here, too.”

You both watched as he copied the folder over to the flash drive, one by one the names and dates slowly dropping into a new safe place for them.

He touched your waist, signaling you to step back. He rolled his chair out, ducking under the desk for a split moment to gather a box of the printed documents he had actually handed over; the action was a mistake.

You were leaned over him in an instant, hand clutching and moving the mouse so quickly it scraped against the desk. He attempted to reach up and stop you, but he paused—there were still bruises on your wrist, on your fingers, faded watercolors of surviving pain. He’d gripped your hand, your wrists, all day, why hadn’t you stopped him?

He already knew which file you opened; he didn’t need to look. But he did anyways, moving the crate to the side and sitting back in his chair, arms crossed across his chest. His poor heart felt like it was going to burst.

Marco Bott’s face filled part of the screen, all sweet and freckled like he remembered. Those kind eyes were looking straight at him, judging him. Reiner was just waiting, he knew what was said in there, he wrote it all, still recalled how puffy his eyes were when he did it, how much he regretted it.

There was a pregnant pause, one so heavy he felt like he was being crushed.

This all hinged on you. He needed you to help him, needed you to help you.

“I fucking knew it.”

He was already flinching, shrinking. He watched the screen scroll, the black letters and white spaces all a blur.

“Threat eliminated by gunfire, killed by organized crime members after…” you hesitated, eyes dancing as you reread the words, “after his gear was removed to ensure death.”

He was on his feet before you could hit him, backing away from your clenched fists, chair rolling to be forgotten in the corner.

“What. Did. You. Do?”

Each word came with a step toward him. He was running out of space, nearly tripping over the edge of the couch as you encroached upon him.

“What did you do?” Your voice was getting louder, pain written across your face like he’d just stabbed you. “You told me there was no fucking truth about Marco!”

“There isn’t! Marco’s dead, there’s no changing—”

“There’s no changing the past,” you mocked his words, venom dripping from your tongue.

━━━─── • ───━━━

Your blood was boiling, wrath itching between your fingers.

You were going to kill him. You were going to wind your fists around his neck and watch the life drain slowly from his eyes like he fucking deserved.

You couldn’t believe you’d let you guard down, that you’d started to trust him. You always knew something had gone awry the night Marco died. He’d been slaughtered, ransacked with bullet holes across his body. It was like he had been dropped into the line of fire, dangled out like a piece of meat to be eaten alive.

And he didn’t have his gear, that’s what stumped everyone looking into the mess of it all. It was like he had walked in unprepared, like a boy on a suicide mission walking straight to his death. Thirty-six bullets and even more empty, splattered holes littered had riddled his corpse. Jean had fallen to his knees. Connie didn’t speak for a week. Sasha didn’t eat for days.

Because of Reiner’s decision, that man suffered, you all mourned, and you felt like you most of all had let him down. Marco had been your protégé, you’d taught him everything he knew, and that was the first mission he was allowed to go on after his training. You’d been tailing a rather violent gang, found their hideout, and were infiltrating for arrests and to see what was inside. Marco had been paired with Reiner and Bertholdt to lead the first wave of infiltration, while you and the rest waited for the signal to rush the back doors to the run-down ranch not far out of the city of Trost. They’d been up ahead by the barn that was sandwiched between stables.

But your signal turned to sounds of gunfire. You could still hear it echoing in your ears as you approached Reiner. The sounds of metal clicking, of repeated blasts from automatic weapons ringing across the hillsides like single note windchimes in a raging storm.

“Tell me why.”

Your fingers were digging into his shirt before you could stop yourself, the threads of the worn Henley threatening to rip from your nails sinking into it. You could actually feel his heart beat against his chest, a frightened bird trying to flee his ribcage.

When he didn’t speak right away, your anger flared, made you shove him back against the wall with all your might. It made your arms hurt, like you’d just slammed your hands against brick, a sharp pain that made you hiss.

“He overheard us—”

“Overheard what?”

You could tell he was getting a little infuriated as well, nostrils flaring as he looked down his nose at you. It must look funny, you pressing him against the wall of his own apartment. Reiner was nearly twice your size—he was bigger than most people, and he towered over you like a looming threat.

“Let me fucking finish,” he took a deep breath, eyes nearly glazing over, “He overheard Bertie and I talking about how we should relay the details of that gang, of organized crime in general, to Marley. We—we hadn’t had time to talk alone since we’d been prepping that shit for days. We didn’t know Marco followed us around to that side of the rooftop.”

“That’s it? He heard you whispering little secrets and you killed him for it?”

One of the buttons near the neckline of his shirt popped as your knuckles dug deeper into the fabric.

“He literally heard us say that we needed to find a time to call General Magath of Marley. If he lived and told someone that—,” his breath caught for a moment when one of your nails started to pierce his skin, “it would have compromised our entire mission. We’d been there for three years, and he could’ve ruined it all.”

You were at your breaking point. You could feel that terrible heat that comes with sadness creeping up your neck, snaking around to your cheeks. If you weren’t careful, you were going to cry. All this time, all this time spent wondering why, and this was why he had to die?

Killing wasn’t unusual in your life. It was part of the job, something you’d unfortunately had to do on a few occasions. You knew those strangers who ate your bullets or your knife had families, that they were people too, but most of them were monsters, thieves, rapists, threats to the corrupted balance of the governmental structure. But Marco…he was like family, and finding his limp, almost unrecognizable body had sent even the most hardened veterans into despair. Levi took off from work the next day; the only time he had ever missed a day on the job.

“Tell me how!” You truly didn’t mean to scream it, but the emotions raging in your stomach, your chest, it all ached too much.

“Be quiet, I have neighbors—”

“I don’t give a fuck about your god damn neighbors, Reiner!”

He finally moved then, his once idle hand now jerking up to your face to fiercely hold your cheeks beneath his fingers. You tried to smack his hand away, your own fingers digging and tugging at his wrist.

“Letme-go!” Your words were jumbled, your open mouth allowing his fingers to press your cheeks in between your teeth.

“You have to be fucking quiet,” he hissed, a whole new light shining in his eyes, a familiar rage you had seen when you’d fought against him the day Paradis was invaded. The reality of how large he was sunk in again; he looked like a vengeful god peering down at you, all hot-blooded and incensed.

You thought for a moment he wouldn’t hurt you, but then you remembered he already had. He had the inclination to be just as cruel as you could be.

His fingers stayed firm against your cheeks, holding you like he was daring you to speak again.

“Tellmehow,” you managed to spit out, wincing when he took the leverage he had on your face and used it to shove you back. You stumbled, banging into the side of the couch as you rubbed at the sore flesh of your mouth.

But he was unmoving, back straight against the wall, a statue built on the foundation of wrath and agony, waiting to crack and fall onto you if you made the wrong move.

“We knew their guards were patrolling. Bertholdt covered his mouth while I stripped him of his equipment, of his guns, and I pushed him off the roof and into their sight.”

He said it so calmly that it made you sick. But that was a reality he had to live with every day, wasn’t it? He had to replay in his mind over and over again that he had done such a vile thing, he had to justify it else it would eat him alive.

Your tears were hot, but contained, your lashes blinking them aside as you just stared at him. You opened your mouth to scream at him, you were so ready to spew hatred and let it burn him, but he was quicker than you.

With one step, he was on you, your hair wrapped in his fast as he wrenched your head to the side, smarting your scalp to silence you.

“Marco’s dead, and I’m sorry for it. You fucking screaming will do nothing but have the assholes who live below me calling the authorities and you’ll find yourself in a much worse prison than before.”

You didn’t like how he was right. Still, you glared up at him, brows pinched together in pain.

It felt like you’d merged into him, those rapid hearts within your chests suddenly beating as one with the same suffering, the same torment. You both had to live with the poor reality of your lives; you were killers, you were monsters too.

You were too close to him, could smell the heat of his skin, could feel his breath against your sore cheeks. Your hands were flat against his chest, trapped between you, his arm an anchor as it tugged at the roots of your hair, keeping your face turned towards his.

You couldn’t help but look at him, there was nowhere else to focus, only on him. It was like you could see the pages of a book open across his face, wretchedness and anguish painted in broad strokes in the fair wrinkles around his eyes, in the curve of his brow. It was beauty and pain bleeding together, the amber color of his eyes swirling as he searched your own face like he was looking for something. What would he find hidden behind your own grief?

“I hate you,” you whispered, breath long gone.

“I know.”

“And I’ll never forgive you.”

It was like he was moving closer, the time you were losing now completely stopped, frozen between your bodies.

“Don’t want forgiveness,” he caught your whisper and gave it back, “just judgement.”

His lips met yours with a bruising fervor.

The hand in your hair flexed, pulled you closer, made you gasp as your hands slid up his chest. Your fingers found his rumbling throat, and in the back of your mind, you recalled how just moments ago you were waiting to snatch the life from his neck. You felt his pulse beating beneath your thumb, a war drum beating hot and fast in his veins. Your mouth was moving against his, eyes closed, suddenly greedy and hungry; for what, you didn’t know. All you did know was that this felt so wrong, like you’d taken a misstep and landed right into the lion’s lap, but that it also felt like absolution, like he was devouring your sins and taking them for his own.

Your mouth slanted for him, a hum resounding from both your throats as you fell into this new, strange rhythm. You’d thought about it before, kissing him like this, feeling those plush lips against yours, angry and hot and needy. You cherished the taste of him, like a dark, rich wine filling up your mouth, spilling over and enveloping your senses. Your tongue tempted him to open his lips, to let you in. There was no hesitation.

His other hand found your hip, fingers mean and pulling you impossibly closer. Your palms drifted up from his neck, found his face, thumbs smoothing over cheekbones. You could feel the soft hairs of his cheeks, his chin, sweeping against your skin. It all felt too good, like you were getting lost, delirium taking over. Nothing else mattered anymore, just the gratification of tasting his emotions, of taking his groans into your mouth and echoing them back. You pressed harder into him, kept your tongue tangled with his, noses brushing as you found new beats to your rhythm.

It was wicked, sinful, something your heart was pleading for and your mind screaming out against. But you couldn’t stop. You didn’t stop. It was as if you kissed for as long as you’d known each other. Every year passed by, every regret, every sharp turn of your tongues against one another, all the hurt and longing, placed into one moment of your bodies finding one another.

When the heat began to die, you were both still stroking the flames, deep, languid kisses turned into smaller presses of your lips against one another. It was intoxicating and you felt so drunk, so, so drunk off of him.

There was a stillness between you, like the gentle sigh and breaths of the world as it awoke to the morning sun when you finally stopped. A lulling peacefulness lingered in the wake of what you’d done.

His hands were still on your body, in your hair, looser now. Yours were still on his face when your eyes fluttered open.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, lips plump, wet.

“I know.”

Next Chapter

#reiner braun #reiner braun x reader #reiner x reader #snk reiner #snk reiner braun #AoT #aot reiner #aot reiner braun #aot fanfiction #aot x reader #snk fanfiction #snk x reader #reiner x you #reiner braun x you

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fascination-street-writing · 4 years ago

Text

Somewhere to Begin | Pannacotta Fugo x Ghirga!Reader

He has always adored you, like the sun and the moon and more - but he had a brilliant way of convincing you otherwise.

- 200 Follower Giveaway Piece iii for @idontlikerisottounlessitsnero -

Content Warnings: Not SFW Content, Post Break-Up, Emotional Hurt & Comfort, Regret, & Explicit Sexual Content (Aged-Up Characters)

You had promised your brother Narancia to never involve yourself directly with Passione; even the occasional stay for a meal at Il Libeccio made him antsy, yet you failed to see the harm in sharing a plate of bruschetta with Fugo, or a pot of hot tea with Abbacchio – two of his closest companions. It was only fair that you ought to spend time with the men who gave you unbridled protection at the behest of nothing more than goodwill and magnanimity. Not that you needed such security, but it kept street thieves from picking your pockets, at least.

You had promised him indeed, and now that he lies in the casket before you – clad in the suit from your mother’s funeral that you never thought to see him wear again – you intend to keep it. Giorno had offered to have an outfit tailored for your brother, but you refused him with consternation that your he would not be buried in something from the boy responsible for his death.

“No,” you had told him, cold as the wall of ice that has crept around your heart, while clutching the woolly material to your chest. “This one will do nicely.”

And so, the mortician severed the seam along the back of the jacket and draped a silk sheet over Narancia’s legs so that no one would be wiser to fact that his ankles stick out past the bottom hem of his trousers. It was bad enough that you could not afford the casket on your own. You knew better than to believe it when Mista told you that it and the headstone were paid for with the money yielded from the liquidation of Bucciarati’s assets. If that were true, then why not pay for a new suit, too?

Trish snatches a single white lily from the memorial wreath and tucks it between your brother’s still, clasped fingers. She hides her grief behind a pair of sunglasses that do not match the overcast weather that looms above your heads. You had not wanted to wait so long for the funeral – for two months, Narancia’s body had been left in the morgue to chill on ice, par Giorno’s insistence that the service must wait until his transfer of power over Passione has finished.

Thus, for two months, you had lain awake at night, shuddering at the melancholy and its melody that reminds you how you your brother died without saying farewell – his platonic little soulmate. Giorno may have his victories and suffer for them, but you would not let him entomb Narancia in the mausoleum with Bucciarati and Abbacchio.

“He’ll be buried next to our mother,” you said to the new Don with indignancy. “After everything you’ve taken from me, let me have this. Lascia che mio fratello torni a casa – let my brother come home.”

Your wish was granted, though you suspect it only so because he was growing tired of fighting with you over burial rights and passages. The congregation is kept small, consisting only of yourself, Mista, Trish, a tortoise named Jean-Pierre Polnareff, regrettably Giorno, and a handful of bodyguards, though the latter kept their distance from the immediate service; it would not come as a surprise to you, should you learn that the men in black suits were employed to protect their Don from the mournful sister of the deceased.

The handkerchief clutched in your grasp is damp with past tears. Not even your father had come, despite your pleading that he ought to pay his respects to his only son. Too preoccupied with his floozy of a new wife and her children from two previous marriages than to love his own – you never needed him in your life anyways, because you had Bucciarati. Now, you suppose that you must be a proper orphan.

You do not weep when the casket seals and cleaves the line of sight betwixt you and your brother forever. You do not weep when the mechanical apparatus lowers the coffer made of Osage orange wood into the steel vault that already holds your mother in oak. You do not weep when the gravediggers shovel the dirt mound back over the crest of opened earth.

You do not weep until Mista clasps your trembling hand, pulls you to his chest, and embraces you amidst the anguish that burns you alive. His is the consolation that you needed, but never thought to ask for, though it is not his touch that you long for. One by one, the attendees disperse for the train of luxury cars and you remain alone with the gunslinger who had been courteous enough to come without his oddly patterned beanie hat.

“Why don’t we get going?” Mista urges to coax you away from the gravesite – away from yourself and the suffocating agony. “Giorno’s having dinner for us all, back at the estate.”

You pull away. Rivets of mascara stain his white dress-shirt. “You can go on ahead,” you tell him, not quite liking the way your voice strains in your throat. “I’m not hungry.”

“Then, let’s go grab some coffee or something –”

“I’m fine, Mista.” He frowns and averts his gaze. “I have some things I need to take care of.”

“Oh?”

You tug your cardigan closer to your chest. “I’m going to collect Narancia’s belongings from our dad’s house. Not sure what I’ll do with it all, but I know it can’t stay there.”

Mementos of life, from when things were far simpler and your brother far more alive. Family photographs with tattered edges and holes of where your father should have been, wedged between unread and abused schoolbooks. Worn out blue jeans with patches of fabric scraps from your mother’s old dresses that you had sewn on for him. A collection of empty glass soda bottles. CDs and cassette tapes of Snoop Dog, Tupac, and whatever other American rappers had appealed to his tastes.

“Alright, I guess. Promise me you’ll call when you get there.”

Soon to be packed away in cardboard boxes and to be stacked precariously in the living room of your studio apartment – another gift from Bucciarati – with nowhere else to go. You simply cannot afford to rent a storage unit downtown.

“I will.”

Mista does not offer to help, because he knows you will refuse it. With that, he takes his leave of you in the cemetery. Left to your solitary devices, you clench your fists and stew on hatred and loathing for none other than Giorno Giovanna. You do not blame Narancia for his eagerness to trust the boy so quickly; his charisma, as appealing as it entreats to the willing, is an infectious disease.

If not for Giorno, your brother would have been buried two months ago. If not for Giorno, your brother might still be alive. And perhaps you must resent Fugo too, for what he has done – or rather, the lack thereof of doing; yet for everything, you are incapable of such feelings, as you have always been fond of each other. The optimistic heart within you stands that he has saved you from suffering more – that in his choice to stay behind in Venezia, it only meant you would not have to bury him, too.

Because surely, his unrestrained anger would have gotten him killed – if not before, then certainly after Narancia’s death.

With a quivering sigh, you turn from this dreary place and meet his illegible violet stare. A row of crackling headstones separates you from the boy whom you love more than life itself. Fugo clutches a pretty bouquet of daffodils wrapped with parchment paper and a white-string bow – your favorite flowers, though you wonder whether they are meant for you or your brother’s fresh grave.

You do not know, nor will you ever, as he sets the flowers atop the nearest monument and makes off, as if on sabbatical to you.

And it fills you with nothing more than bitterness.

“Everyone misses you,” Mista confesses between a sip of tea and a bite of strawberry cake. “You should come around sometime soon.”

Nearly a year has passed since the funeral, and you have yet grace anyone from Passione with your presence, with the exception of Mista for weekly sojourns to Il Libeccio to catch up on life – because, as you have learned, much can happen in seven days’ time. With each occasion of crossing the archway’s threshold into the private dining room at the back of the restaurant, you find yourself preening for two heads of black hair – one neatly combed and clipped, the other a sprawl held in place with an orange headband –, taut lips painted in black, and Fugo. And every time, you are left with the kind of disappointment that curdles your soul like sour milk.

“Who misses me, Mista?” you reprimand, pointing your icing-lacquered fork in his direction. “I barely even know Trish, and I have no interest in ever speaking with Don Giovanna again.”

You wish Giorno would call off the bodyguard who trails you every waking hour of the day; it makes you feel like a child who has proven herself untrustworthy to her parent. But you have done nothing deserving of such punishment. You suspect that his intent is an extension of the olive branch treaty that does not exist between you two – a reiteration of Bucciarati’s protection that should not have to be reiterated, because he should not be dead, either.

Or, alternatively, he wants to irk you so far that you might barge into his office one day – fuming with unspent determination to admonish him regarding his dominion over your life – just to trap you in a conversation wherein he might attempt to suspend your animosity towards him. Alas, you are simply not interested; you will scorn him, because it is all you can do.

“Forget I asked . . .” Mista trails off, swirling a dollop of whipped cream with his knife. “So uh, by the way, have you seen Fugo lately?”

Just the utterance of his name has you perking in your seat.

“No.”

“Hm, well, rumor has it, he’s working at the public library. Shaking people down for late fees or something like that.” It is not implausible to imagine Fugo in the position of extorting old ladies and young children for overdue fines – but, you know that it is only a jest. Regardless, he has always been the type of boy to surround himself with books instead of people. “Why not visit him sometime? He’s not affiliated with Passione anymore. Or, not now, at least.”

You stab at a strawberry. It bleeds beneath the weight of your fork.

“I mean, what’s the worst that can happen?”

Mista’s question is one that you ought to be asking yourself, as you sit here at the scratched pine desk of the library – pretending to study for an upcoming exam on the history of art in Pompeii – though you look up from your scrawl of notes every few minutes to see if Fugo should pass you by; perhaps pushing a cart of books to be put away, or branding return cards with a plush red stamp to mark the date in two weeks’ time.

You have seen him only once more since his implied attempt of reconciliation at your brother’s funeral. It was by chance that you should wander into the same café as him that day; and by extended odds that – while you stood over his table with a sad smile and a cup of coffee – he stood abruptly and left without finishing his own drink. He had not even bothered to wish you well.

Today, you catch him on your way to the reference section. The look of hurt in his eyes – like salt instead of sugar on the tongue – brings a scowl to your face. “Please, Panni,” you plead, and though your fingers ache to catch his hand with your own, you refrain for you know the gesture is a crossing of the line between you two. “Can’t we just talk?”

“No,” he says, so dry and unrecognizable. “I’m not getting paid to do that. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Panni, I – Please, don’t do this. I already lost my brother: don’t make me lose you, too.”

A fuse switches in his head, and you have been the one to flip it. He clutches the encyclopedia in his hands with such fervor that his knuckles pale, and for a moment, you wonder if he means to hit you with it. And maybe he thinks it too, but he drops it atop the ground as soon as the thought crosses his mind. He takes a step back, as if you have scorned him – maybe, after all, you have.

The cover spills open, and the pages bend against the hardwood floor. You wish he would do the same to you – to disclose his grievances and let you in. Instead, it is the toxicity of acrimony “Don’t ever come near me again,” Fugo warns. “Haven’t you realized by now that I never want to see you again? Get out of my life – get out of my dreams – and leave me alone.”

You will save the tears for when you stand in front of the bathroom mirror tonight before bed to wash away your makeup from the day, amongst other regrets. But you will never understand the guilt that suffocates him – a noose that is just taut enough to keep him breathing – each time he looks at you, and even when he does not. You are everything he has ever wanted and more.

And you are the emblem of everything he has ever done wrong.

“I still care about you,” you tell him with an affirmation that will not fix the desolation. “Doesn’t that mean anything?”

He bites his lip and looks away.

“I know you’re hurting. I am too. So, can’t we heal together?”

“Are you stupid?” You grimace at his words. “I told you to go.”

There is no chance to dispute it, nor to bid him an aggrieved adieu, because he is gone again. Burying him might have been easier, after all; a corpse cannot remind you of what a fool you have become.

And so it seems to you that dying dreams are the best ones.

Adulthood is – as you have found in your years of treading its waters – a dreadful inevitability. You and your brother’s boxes have outgrown that compact studio apartment, though for years, you had made it work perfectly fine. When Giorno pulled the strings to terminate your lease and forcefully relocate you into a sizeable townhouse in the Chiaia district, you wanted to hate him for it – for his reminder that you cannot sever your connection to Passione. Yet, boggled down with university loans, you were in no position to turn down his assistance.

And he knew it, well.

A pretty townhouse located in one of the nicest regions of Napoli cannot bring Narancia back, nor can it attune for every bit of suffering incurred since his death; but if it is a strain upon the aging Don’s wallet, then it is all the better.

On the day of your fourth birthday spent in solitude, you treat yourself to a tub of gelato and a dress from the costly boutique across the street that you will never wear because you have no need to. It will hang in your closest amongst other unworn gowns, still pinched with price tags, that you have impulsively accumulated over the years – a hereditary habit of your mother’s that had caused more than a few spats between she and your father. You know your vice, but there is something so gratifying about it.

You sink into the tweed couch that does not quite match the architect’s vision for the living room – with its crown-mould white walls and hardwood floors the color of wenge; too clean and proper for what furniture you have kept from your former residence. Silver spoon clenched between your teeth as you page through television channel after channel, you balance that melting gelato on your lap. Perhaps you should have grabbed a straw from the kitchen as well.

The evening passes by, uneventfully so. You have spent it spoiling yourself and replying with fabricated enthusiasm to incoming text messages from study mates, who wish you well on this happy day – as if you have a reason to remember your twenty-first beyond the accomplishment of finishing the entire tub of would-be-frozen lemon curd without incurring a single regret or twinge a of brain-freeze. You have gotten rather good at knocking back shots without needing to stop for breaths, too.

At the ringing of the doorbell, you are torn from the real estate program that you have invested so much time these past few hours. Mista, no doubt – come to deliver a gift and takeout because he knows you have not eaten properly tonight. You have no room left in your belly, but whatever he brings will make for a decent meal tomorrow.

You do not bother to tidy up, and when you open the door, you wish you had. Illuminated only by the balcony light stands Fugo with a bouquet of daffodils, a bottle of sauvignon blanc, and a remorseful, sheepish smile upon his handsome face.

Get out of my life – get out of my dreams – and leave me alone.

“Uh . . . “ He trails off before he has even begun, perhaps taken aback by the widening of your eyes and the disheveled appearance that, despite your own judgement, he thinks to be the most beautiful vulnerability in life. He speaks your name with the kind of tenderness that you have not felt since you were teenagers. “Buon compleanno.”

You need not ask how he found you, because you know without question that either Mista or Giorno had told him. “Why are you here?” you ask.

He clutches the flowers a bit tighter. You do not move to take them; however, you have already decided on which vase you will place them in. “I wanted to wish you a happy birthday. And give you these.”

The bottle of wine feels far too heavy in your arms – and the daffodils, as if they might float off in an unforeseen gust of wind. “And, to apologize. For too many things that I can’t ever make right; although, if you’ll let me, I’d like to try.”

“Fugo, I . . . I don’t know.”

“Please, [Y/N]. That day in the library, all those years ago . . . I never stop thinking about the horrible things I said to you. It killed me – it ate me alive; I thought for all this time and before that you hated me, because of what happened to Narancia. Because I wasn’t there to save him.”

“It hurt when you told me to get out of your life, but I listened, and I did it.”

He brings the heel of his hand to swipe at the tears in his eyes. The curling of his other fist is a gesture that terrifies you – although, not for your own sake. “I couldn’t face you. I was scared to look you in the eye, because I thought you hated me,” he mutters like a broken record as his voice cracks with agony. “I thought you hated me, because of him.”

He stops, throwing his head back with a groan. The apple of his throat bobs up and down as he chokes down a sob. He refuses to look at you when he speaks again – too afraid to come undone before he has made his peace with you, his greatest loss. “We were young. Probably too young to even understand what love really meant. But, dio dannazione, you were the most important thing to me, and I understood that more than love.”

His words have always held the capacity for swaying you, as if they replenish the empty spaces within. It is why, as you open the door wider, you let him fill you once again. Fugo contemplates the crannies of your living room, hovering above the couch that you insisted he take a seat upon – he remembers when you bought it, because you had dragged him to the furniture outlet that day. He pretended to be annoyed, though in truth, he was beyond elated that you had chosen him over Mista, or even your brother.

“I guess I should put these in a vase,” you say about the bouquet of flowers. “They’re beautiful, Fugo. Thank you.”

He nods, suddenly entranced by a photograph of Narancia that sits atop the fireplace mantel. You do not notice his unease.

“I’ll grab us some glasses, too.”

You find your vase in the kitchen cabinet niched into the alcove above the refrigerator. Its emerald swirls glisten under the twine of the recessed lights that add no character to the room. So much for a birthday spent in reclusion, you chide alone. Deep within you sits a fire that longs to ignite – to send Fugo away in some thwarted act of retribution for the very loneliness he inflicted upon you years ago; as if to say that the rejection suits you well.

Of course, you cannot deny that your heart leapt into your throat when you saw him standing before the front door, a vision of a man who still held those inklings of boyish charm that you fell for in your adolescence. They say you should not dote over the first person beyond your mother and father to call you pretty; it is weakness to complacency. Your life has never been one of convention – and so by that right, who there is to insist that you must abide?

Bearing a content grin, you trim the stems one-by-one to better fit the vase. In synchronous rhythm to the next, the green stalks bounce from the cluttered countertop to the floor. You have only just stuffed the flowers back into the vase when the shattering of glass resonates its way into the kitchen.

The photograph of Narancia lies amongst bits of broken frame and wreckage. Face buried in his palms, Fugo crumples until his knees meet the ground; he shakes, as if smothered by a chill. When his hands fall to smack the coffee table – baring his grief, in all its pandemonium – you catch them and force his arms around your waist instead; his fingers lock together, holding you in place. He whimpers against your stomach. Already, you can feel the wetness of tears through the fabric of your overstretched shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I’m sorry, [Y/N]. I’m sorry.”

Your own fingers curl through his strawberry blonde hair – a means of stability as you too have begun to cry. “It’s just a picture frame,” you promise, and it is the grandest thing he has ever heard. But it is more than a box made of wood and glass – it is an impossible longing. “I’m not upset at you.”

“I . . . Okay.”

Mindful of the mess, you rock him backwards until he is lying down. You join at his side, take his hand into your own, and wait in silence for the moment when his misery will dissipate for clarity. Regardless of the circumstances that have brought him here tonight, you are grateful for it – even if your birthday is spent wallowing in irrevocable regret.

Above all else, you know that he has always adored you, like the sun and moon and more – but he had a brilliant way of convincing you otherwise.

Your thumb coaxes over the back of his knuckles. “There’s a crack in your ceiling,” Fugo announces, nonchalant and monotone.

“Where? I don’t see one.”

He raises an unoccupied finger, and you follow its gesture to the corner of the ceiling, just above where the moulding meets. It is no longer than the length of hair from his head, and quite honestly, not an underlying issue of foundational complications. Still, you indulge him. “Oh, wow. I never noticed.”

In this hasty repertoire of patterns, you fall into stillness again. “Panni,” you whisper with the utterance of his endearing name. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He squeezes your hand.

“But it’s getting late. Why don’t you stay the night?”

Truthfully so, you cannot send him on his way in such a state of disarray.

“I can make up the couch for you, if you’d like.”

“Yes, please,” he murmurs.

However, you do not make it far because he has – inspired by a need to express his devotion and apologia – pulled you atop himself, hands braced on your hips as you balance on bent knees and grasp his shoulders. Tenderness is becoming of the boy – no, the man – who looks up at you as if you are the embodiment of everything good that exists in one life to the next. It is a side that he has never shown to anyone other than you.

You covet it like a piece of cherry-flavored candy, even when you lean down to capture his lips and nip at his tongue that likewise explores the long-forgotten caverns of your mouth. It is a distraction of meaning and not; from the broken frame, loss, and perhaps everything in between. Every attempt to catch a breath of air is met with resilient protests of needier touches and not before long, you lie on the couch – shedding your clothing like the skin of the woman you no longer wish to be – and let him in.

Bare chest to bare chest, you cup his hardness as he places his fingers to your untouched folds. You mean to tell him that you love him, but the penetration of unpracticed digits to your core stifles the very thought from your scattering mind. In dark closets and empty rooms, you two have had your share of imprudent experimentation with one another’s bodies in the past – and nothing more than warm, tentative touches that lead to girlish giggles and boyish huffs.

Fugo pinches your nipple, drawing a plush gasp from you; it urges him to do it again until at last you are throbbing with need from your lower half, your pelvis jerking upwards to meet his for the stimulation of wanting. His breath ghosts your face, and you think you smell wine – a drink for good luck, you think, because despite the distress manifesting in his soul, his mannerisms are otherwise as habitual as you might recall from moments of normalcy.

It feels wrong – to be filled with such wanton, salacious desire within the very hour that you have both spent in mourning of your brother and everything else that has been discarded to the wind, to be picked up by someone else. Yet tonight, you will not sleep with Fugo to forget your blue heart, nor for celebration’s sake as you embark upon another year of being – you will sleep with him, because you have grown tired of learning how to end your days without him.

“I haven’t . . .” You trail off, mesmerized by the way his violet eyes look at you; though puffy and stained red from crying, you take them in as he cocks a brow, imploring you to finish your thought. “I haven’t been with anyone else since you.”

“Good,” he sighs, and you think he is trying to hide a smile. “Me neither.”

Braced by his arms, you are flipped onto your stomach. The tweed upholstery bites into the soft flesh of your breasts with each jostle elicited by the curling of a finger within you. You push backwards until you swear you can feel his fingers against your cervix.

“Oh my god,” he groans, flexing out as if to move deeper. “Ti senti così bene.”

“If it feels good, then do something,” you whine, hands dug between the cushions for support.

But, to your chagrin, he takes his time to admire the way your folds pulsate around just two fingers. You glisten like a gem – his gem. Indignant with petty annoyance, you pull away and straddle the lithe, albeit toned, legs that dangle off the edge of the couch. Arms thrown around his neck, you sink down until you have reached your fill of his manhood.

“I did tell you to do something,” you sigh at Fugo’s displeasure, biting your lip as you adjust to the size of his shaft. “Didn’t I?”

He kisses you once and moves grasp your backend. You savor the feeling of him ingulfing you. “I was distracted.”

You would laugh if not for the anticipated bulging inside you as Fugo buckles into your heat. The sight of your jostling breasts with each bounce of you on his cock is a page of some heavenly doctrine – one that he should study and commit to forever. He moves with strength that he reserves for moments of rage, and even his fingers dig into your skin hard enough to leave bruises for the days to come. You do not mind; they will help you to remember the best night you have had in years.

With a cry that blossoms into a moan that tells him that he has treated you well, you ride out your orgasm and slump against his chest in your own exhaustion. When he reaches his peak, he slides out; you reach for him – dampened with your slick – and finish him until white pearls bead at the tip and trickle over your working fingers.

Foreheads pressed together, you flash tired grins before settling against the cushions, your head pressed to his chest and his arm braced around the small of your back while his fingers trace shapes against your perspired skin.

Panting, his heart skips every few beats – like a song, sung only for you. Content with that which has returned itself to you, you fall asleep to the sound of this lovely little love affair.

| 4966 Words |

#pannacotta fugo x reader #fugo x reader #pannacotta fugo #jjba reader insert #jjba x reader

158 notes · View notes

mf-despair-queen · 5 years ago

Text

Stranded - Thomas

Author: @mf-despair-queen

Pairing: Thomas/Reader

Word Count: 11,426

Summary: You hated him. You despised him. He was arrogant for what he had done, taking down WICKED. He was the reason that your friends had died in the attack. But, when you find yourself stuck at sea, or even worse, stranded on a deserted island with Thomas, you find yourself realizing you were wrong.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Unprotected Sex, Oral, Choking, Sex in the Water, kinda public sex I guess?, Multiple Orgasms, Dirty Talk

Notes: I guess I live??? I guess I still write. I don’t even know anymore y’all. I’m sorry I don’t post often these days. And I’m sorry this is as late as it is. It was meant for @writingsbychlo‘s Thomas month three months ago but between work and laziness, I didn’t finish on time. Because, essentially, I suck ass. And tbh, I’m not incredibly happy with the outcome of this. It could have been way better than it was because I loved the idea a lot. But at this point, it’s as good as it’s going to get and I just want it done and out there. Hope y’all enjoy it. Big thanks to @roscoeknows and @brien-odylan for always pushing me with this, and @jagked-up for being a sweetie and proofreading for me.

“Gather around everyone!” Vince yelled, his voice dictating the crowd of survivors to the beach front for the early morning discussions. You flopped to the sandy ground, wrapping your arms loosely around your knees that were tucked into your chest. Sharing a few nods with your friends as they passed by, you avoided the gaze of the ex-WICKED test subjects from maze A.

Many of the boys were kind and you got along with easily, but it was the tall, dark haired former runner that never struck you right. Upon learning that he had worked with WICKED growing up, and the downfall of the Right Arm shortly after his arrival, you decided to stay clear of the man, choosing to never forgive him for ruining the home you worked so hard for - causing the death of those who were close to you and raised you to who you are now. That, and he always seemed to be full of himself for his help in saving many people and stopping WICKED.

Well, that’s what you heard from some of your closest friends at least.

You had never truly interacted with the male for long periods of time. It was always in passing during dinner or around camp while getting work done. He would occasionally try to strike up a conversation, but you gave some excuse before running off, letting out a huff of annoyance that he would never get the hint. His aura was aggravating without reason, but you had no plans to befriend the amnesiac.

Turning your gaze towards Vince, who stood upon a rickety stage made of driftwood and fallen branches along the edge of the forest behind camp that you feared would break under his heavy, muscled stature and weighted boots, your ears perked up to hear his morning announcements.

“Good morning everyone,” he called, voice as authoritative as ever. “Based on some recent discussions and feedback from everyone for their tasks around the Safe Haven we have decided to try out a new method for jobs. Moral has been low because people have been mentioning that they have felt things have gone stale because they’ve been doing the same job every day since we situated here, free of infection, free from WICKED."

“So, in an attempt to raise the mood around here, we will be testing out a lottery draw for daily tasks. Remember, this is just a trial run to see how people like it and I think it’ll be good for everyone to be familiar with all of the jobs. And so you are all aware, there will be no job swapping. Once you choose something, that is what you’ll be doing for that day.”

You pouted at yourself, huffing in annoyance. A lottery? Seriously? There were a number of jobs you wished to avoid, namely the ones that involved tending to the pigs that were being raised and handling slimy things that made you cringe. To top it off, you would potentially have to work with people you didn’t know or get along with instead of the people you knew you could stand for more than a few hours.

“We have set up a station outside the dining commons for you to choose your job for the day. And we’ll get some feedback during dinner to see how things went. We’ll decide after a couple weeks if we want to keep it like this, try something new, or go back to how it was before. So please everyone, line up to draw your job for the day.”

You let out a heavy sigh, watching numerous people rush towards the job drawing, uttering something about wanting to be first in line or hoping that they have a better chance at a better task. You were slow to stand, regrettably joining the line of people while patting the sand off your backside. Silently praying you didn’t get struck with a case of bad luck for once, you watched people one by one choose their jobs. Some cheered while others wept, being consoled by their friends. Your own friends - or the group you typically hung with - chose their jobs, luckily ending up in the same task of harvesting the gardens.

Your eyes narrowed on the group of former test subjects that chatted happily after choosing their jobs. Minho, the hulky athletic male of the group, flexed and laughed at his choosing of forest running, gathering food and wood for the village. Newt, the timid brainiac that was lucky to have survived not only a stab wound but the Flare as well, was working the medical room, which he seemed pleased about. Whereas Thomas, your least favorite person in the Safe Haven, was silent, showing an awkward, lopsided smile that you couldn’t read. Was he happy about his job? Disappointed? Apathetic?

Who cares.

You turned from the trio as you approached the box yourself, staring one of the leaders named Mark in the eye. With a short nod at the older gentleman, you stuck your small hand through the hold in the top, feeling the dwindled number of papers inside. One last inaudible prayer later, you were pulling the slip out, eyes clenched shut and bated breath.

Your heart fell when you finally cracked your eyes open, seeing the words sloppily written on the strip. Fishing. You dreaded fishing. As much as you loved to eat the seafood that was brought back each day, you couldn’t stand the task itself. You hated the tedious task of dropping a net or sitting with a pole, waiting for something to happen while the boat that you felt would capsize with ease, swaying with the ocean waves. Add in dealing with the fish, grabbing at their slimy, scaly bodies while they wiggled aimlessly was less than appealing.

Why, of all things, did you have to draw fishing?

You let your thoughts consume you as you dragged your feet towards the beach where the small boat was waiting. With the lack of resources, and a recently lost boat from a hole in the bottom, only two people that could go fishing at the moment. There was a stockpile in the Safe Haven, luckily, but no one wanted to let the supply drop too low too fast. Your thoughts drifted to who you could be paired with. Hopefully it was someone that could manage for you both, that enjoyed fishing more than you. Maybe you would get paired with Gally, or even Aris. They were people that could manage stuff like this.

“Hey Y/N.”

With a screech, you fell forward into the sand, caught off guard at the deep voice before you. The person cursed, rushing forward to help you up. A somewhat tanned, veiny hand extended towards you, appearing in your sight to counter the grainy ground under you that your knees and hands were buried in.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, a blush spreading over your cheeks as you took their hand. But the blush disappeared, your face paling when you realized who it was. Thomas stood before you, helping you to stand to your feet. He gave a toothy smile, staring at you with chocolate hazelnut eyes. The sparkle in his orbs diminished slightly when you slid your hand from his, turning away to brush off your jeans. “Oh, hi Thomas.”

“Don’t sound so thrilled to see me,” he sarcastically bit, tilting his head. You scoffed at him, earning a frown from the man.

“What are you doing here?” you asked shortly.

Thomas rose a brow, turning and pointing at the small boat that was sitting on the shore, already filled with the various fishing supplies you would need. “I drew fishing today,” he said, turning back to you. “I assume you did too?”

“Great,” you mumbled under your breath, letting out a sigh. Holding up the small paper for him to see, you spoke up, “Yeah. I’m unfortunately fishing today.”

“Unfortunate because you hate fishing?” He asked. You were about to nod in confirmation before he continued. “Or, unfortunate because you’re with me?”

At his harsh statement, you frowned, gaping at the man. You struggled to find the right words for him, mouth opening and closing a few times before you managed to utter one word. “Thomas…”

“Come on,” he cut you off, nodding towards the small boat, giving that same awkward smile as before. “We have fishing to do and I’d rather not get bitched at by Vince later.”

That made you snicker, nodding in agreement. “Same though.”

Before long, you were rowing out into the middle of the ocean, the shoreline disappearing. You struggled to prepare the nets and rods, not wanting to watch Thomas row the boat. You hated to admit, but up close, he was handsome. And with him straining his muscles to row, you could easily see his biceps flexing through his dark blue shirt. The sleeves ended just below his elbow, so you had a clear shot of the veins that protruded along his arms.

It was a struggle not to watch him, constantly reminding yourself that you didn’t care for the man before you after everything that happened.

An uncomfortable silence settled between you both when he settled on a spot that seemed to be flourishing with fish. The net was dropped and the rods were cast. You sat in the boat away from each other, staring off into the distance with your backs together, the waiting game upon you. The sun was slowly moving overhead, taunting you with the passage of time. Despite the abundance of fish, nothing seemed to be biting.

Your heart was steadily hammering faster, yet you couldn’t tell if it was because you were sitting alone with Thomas or if it was because every jostle of the boat left you anxious. Thomas seemed to notice your skittish nature behind him, feeling your body jerk and tremble every time the boat would rock more than the last time.

“Are you ok?” he asked, turning to look at you over his shoulder. The second he asked, the boat shook, making you squeal in surprise.

“Fuck, I’m going to die,” you cried, placing the rod aside and resting your elbows on your knees. Thomas blinked, placing his own rod down so he could turn and stare at you.

“Come again?”

“Don’t you get it? I’m too young to die at sea!” you cried louder. The boat shook again, making you squeak once more. “Fuck, I swear that has got to be a shark. This is something straight out of Jaws!”

“...Jaws?”

“Yeah, you know,” you ranted, turning to face him. “That classic movie about the shark that was terrorizing Amity Beach? They had like… three sequels? It was a massive shark that would come and kill people!”

“I… don’t know.”

“Well, what about 47 Meters Down? Granted, we don’t have a diving cage, but we could basically be surrounded by sharks and we have nowhere to go. We are in the middle of the ocean, Thomas!”

“I don’t know that one either.”

“How could you not know them?” you hollered.

Thomas scoffed. “Well, excuse me for losing my memory while in the maze.”

“But I thought you got some memories back from that… that one thing.” You faintly remember hearing about that from your friends.

“I remembered stuff about WICKED. Doesn’t mean I remember your shitty movies!” he snapped.

You growled at him. “God, why are you such an asshole?”

“Why are you such a bitch?” he huffed.

“Thanks for the compliment. I know I’m a babe in total control of herself,” was your smug response, flashing him a smirk. Thomas rolled his eyes, turning away from you.

“God, why did I have to get stuck with you?” he grumbled.

“Because I’m obviously amazing,” you told him, turning to stare at the horizon.

“Fuck you.”

“You would like that.”

You expect him to retort, but he said nothing. You blinked in confusion, turning back to him. He wasn’t facing you, so you only got the backside of his head. Your face fell, a sorrowful thump in your chest making it ache. For some reason, you felt bad for his silence, afraid you had done something wrong. It felt as though his mood dropped, and you couldn’t pinpoint why.

Instead of asking though, you turned and picked up the rod, hoping something would bite soon.

“You know,” he spoke up suddenly, making you jump. “I know you don’t like me.”

Shocked, you turned to him, only to find he still wasn’t facing you. “What? Thomas, no. I don’t-”

“I understand though,” he murmured. “You were happy with the Right Arm before we came. And then within one day, everything you knew and loved was lost. You lost those who practically raised you, like Mary. And it’s all my fault.”

“Thomas…”

“I’ve been trying to make amends for what happened. I know I can’t change what happened, but I wanted to apologize. And you’re the last person I need to apologize to for what happened. I really fucked up that day and I feel bad that I caused so many problems. But you never give me the chance to apologize to you because you are always ignoring me.”

You stared down at your feet, guilt washing over you. This entire time, you had scrutinized him for what he had done and what had happened, judging him for things of his past. You never took the chance to learn who he was and understand how he was feeling. You sighed softly, shifting in your seat, letting silence befall you again.

The boat shook, making you gasp, grasping at the edges of the boat. “Oh my god. What the fuck was that?”

Thomas chuckled. “It was just the waves, Y/N. Calm down.”

“If I get eaten by a shark-” The boat shook more, making you both stumble slightly in the uneven waves. “Oh my god. It’s Jaws!”

“There is no Jaws!”

“I’m too young to die at sea! Why did I have to get ‘fishing’? If I was going to die, why couldn’t I, oh I don’t know, follow the butterflies?” you bellowed. “Fuck, I hate the ocean. Nothing good ever happens out here.”

“Y/N-”

“Is it Jaws?!”

Thomas turned quickly in his seat, just as you turned to face him, wrapping his arms around you.

“Hold on!”

Your eyes widened, feeling the boat shake and shift, being tossed around as the water around you grew aggressive. Your skin paled, barely managing to take a gulp of air before the large wave that was hurtling towards you crashed into the boat, sending you and Thomas toppling into the dark ocean. The waves pushed you around, Thomas barely able to keep his grasp on you.

Your head was spinning.

Your eyes were blurry and unfocused, burning from the salt water.

Your throat ached, wanting to breathe air that wasn’t present as you struggled to figure out which way was up.

Your vision slowly blurred, going black before long, suffocating on the water around you.

A burst of air filled your lungs, your body retching to rid itself of water. You were turned on your side as the water escaped, low heaves and coughs leaving you. When you managed to catch your breath, breathing normally, you flopped back onto your back, staring up at the blue sky. Blinking a few times, you tried to remember what happened.

“Are you ok?” Thomas spoke beside you.

That’s when it hit. You turned to him, eyes slowly widening. You jumped to your feet, stumbling around to look at your surroundings. There was a forest on one side, and the ocean on the other. Wood from the destroyed boat was still washing onto the shore, some of your belongings that managed to survive were scattered in the sand. Nothing was in sight around you - no Safe Haven close to return to.

You glanced down at Thomas, taking note of his dripping wet locks that stuck to his forehead. His shirt and pants clung to his limbs, making his chest and arms stick out more, accentuating the thick thighs you never took the time to notice. Sand stuck to his wet skin, but he didn’t seem fazed by the grainy substance. He was panting, slouched in the sand before where you form once laid.

“Be careful,” he called. “Don’t rush too fast. You just woke up from nearly drowning.”

“Where are we?” you asked.

“I don’t know,” he hummed lowly. “When I finally managed to get us to the surface, this is where we had ended up.”

“So, are you trying to say,” you choked, crouching down into a ball. “That we are stranded?”

“I think so.”

“I’m stranded here with you?” Thomas nodded. You groaned, taking a handful of sand and throwing it away from you both. “Fuck!”

“Y/N, calm down-”

You didn’t listen, rushing to the edge of the water. The waves splashed around your already wet feet, your shoes sinking into the wet sand. “Hello?” you called loudly, cupping your mouth to amplify your voice. “Can anyone hear me? Help! We are stuck out here!”

“Hey, hey. Stop that,” Thomas called, standing from his seat and making his way towards you. He took your hands as you continued to scream into the abyss, turning you to face him. “Stop screaming like that.”

“No, leave me alone! I’m not going to die here with you!”

“Y/N, stop!” he called, holding you struggling form tighter. You eased into him when he raised his voice. “That’s not going to help. You’re just going to wear yourself out faster that way.”

“But-”

“If you continue to scream, you will just make yourself tired and thirsty. And the last thing we need is for you to be dehydrated. You will die faster if that’s the case.” You swallowed thickly, tears brimming in the corners of your eyes. “We need to focus on finding food, water and shelter. Then we can figure out how to get home. We need to make sure we are safe first.”

“But, how?” you sniffled, fear finally kicking in. “I can barely fish.”

“Don’t worry about it. I will handle it,” he whispered, pushing your wet hair back. He grimaced when he felt grains of sand interlaced in your strands, but kept a smile on his face. “Just make sure to keep up, alright smallfry?”

You huffed when he turned away, moving to gather some of the supplies that survived. “I’m not a smallfry, you tree!” you called out to him, chasing after the man.

You managed to gather some emergency supplies that had been luckily sealed to keep from getting wet, giving you a blanket, flint for a fire, and a small knife. It wasn’t much, but it was all Thomas needed before he ventured into the jungle. Though, it wasn’t before you had convinced him to let you spell out an SOS in the sand with rather heavy rocks you found along the coast.

Trekking through the dense jungle, soaked from head to toe in salt water, the humidity piercing the air until your skin stuck more than before, and exhaustion beginning to set into your limbs, was the last thing you had thought would happen when you awoke that morning. Let alone you were with Thomas of all people.

On one hand, if you were going to be stuck with anyone, Thomas was a prime candidate. He had survived the Maze and the Scorch, he was fit and able to hunt for food if needed, and he'd carry you with ease if you suddenly fell flat on your face after tripping over the many tree roots that seemed to wrap themselves around your ankles, tugging at your despair. On the other hand, it was Thomas. The traitor, the ex-WICKED member, the know it all.

You frowned at the thought, glancing up to stare at the back of his head, watching the brown tuft of hair flowing in the breeze that skated by. His shirt stuck to his form with sea water and sweat, his arms effortlessly flexing whenever he pushed aside branches, leaves and bushes. Your mind raced back to the discussion on the boat and Thomas’ plea for forgiveness echoing in your ears. Our stomach clenched with the familiar sense of guilt you had before the tsunami-like wave capsized your tiny haven.

Maybe you had judged him too quickly after all. He was making advances to move on and seek retribution for everything. You were stuck in the past, unwilling to forgive what happened to friends back then.

Maybe it was time to start moving on...

Though, that thought didn’t change that you were stuck alone on this uninhabited island with him. Alone with a fairly attractive man...

Shaking your head quickly to rid yourself of the indecent thoughts, your cheeks flaring up, you hustled forward to join his side. The silence between you was unnerving, the only sound around being your rapid heartbeat that seemed to speed up when you sideways glanced at his face. Unconsciously, you found yourself counting the moles that starred his jawline.

No, stop. What are you doing?

“So, uh,” you cleared your throat speaking up, trying to distract yourself from the plague that kept entering your mind. “What is the plan?”

“We should find water and shelter,” he voiced, cut off by the loud growl of your stomach. Your cheeks lit up, not only due to the embarrassment caused by the protests of hunger your body let out, but also the flips your stomach did at the sound of his deep, but melodic laughter. His dark eyes darted to you, a goofy, lopsided grin inching his cheeks upright. “And food too, I guess. We need fresh water and shelter first and foremost though.”

“And how exactly are we supposed to find that?” you questioned, jumping over a rock and nearly faceplanting. Thomas caught you swiftly, adding more heat to your already warm face. Uttering a low thank you, you continued after him, afraid to speak more.

“Well, I guess we should try to listen for some water. If we can find a stream or river, we can probably follow it for a bit.”

“You mean like that?”

You spied a small stream beyond a set of trees, Thomas’ face lighting up at the sight. “Exactly! Let’s go!”

You laughed at his excitement, though you missed the soft smile Thomas gave hearing you laugh the way you did. He rushed towards the stream of water with you hot on his heel, following the water flowing down the island. A more comfortable silence fell between you this time, making your way through the jungle together.

“Eureka!” Thomas finally exclaimed, dashing away from you.

“H-hey! Don’t just leave me alone you asshole! Or I will never forgive you!”

“Story of my life,” was his snarky reply, but the joking words made your heart clench while wincing to yourself. He wasn’t wrong, but it stung to hear it so bluntly. “Now, hurry up and get over here!”

A silent sigh left your lips before rushing after him, stumbling to a stop at his side in awe. A small lake was at the end of the stream you were following, the water sparkling with the sun's rays glaring down at it. A small waterfall stood in the distance, white foam coating the base, rippling waves making the water glisten and shimmer. You stared in awe at the sight, gawking at the beauty.

“Yahoo!” Thomas screamed before diving straight into the water, belongings dropped carelessly to the ground, making you gasp in shock. Dots of cold water sprinkled along your face, causing you to shrink back in surprise and yelp loudly.

“Thomas!” You screamed at him when he resurfaced, kicking his legs to stay afloat. The man pushed back his dark tresses of hair, wiping the water away from his face. He didn’t care that he was fully clothed, fabric clinging to his muscled form. He was content laying back in the water, eyes glued to the blue sky.

“This is nice.”

“You’re an asshole,” you scowled.

His heavenly laugh resounded through the air, your stomach knotting at the noise. Your eyes followed the man as he flipped in the water, diving into the water again before swimming to the other edge near the waterfall. A tired heave escaped as you sat in the nearby grass, sliding off your wet shoes and socks and slipping your aching, waterlogged feet into the lake. The cool water felt refreshing, a sense of calm hitting you almost instantly. You leaned back on your hands, allowing yourself to unwind for the first time since you awoke on the sandy beach.

“Hey!” Thomas called, making you crack an eye in his direction. He was waving at you from afar, standing at the edge of the waterfall. He pointed towards the falling rapids, calling out, “There is a small cave back here! I think we can use this as shelter!”

“Are you sure?” You hollered back. Thomas nodded, diving into the water and swimming towards you. When he arrived, he stayed in the water, resting on the edge of the lake on his arms.

“Yeah. It’s small, but I think it'll do. It’s dry enough for us to have a fire but it’ll keep any animals out.”

“If I die tonight because you are wrong and some animal mauls me while I sleep, I am coming back to haunt you.”

Thomas grinned, lifting himself out of the water to grab the gear he dropped. The water made his pants sag, exposing the elastic of the dark boxers he had on. You blushed and turned away, listening to him rummage around in the waterproof bag of emergency goods.

“I’m going to try and gather some food from the trees. Do you think you can gather some wood for a fire? We can use the bag and tarp that was inside to keep it dry when we head in,” he suggested, tossing both in your direction.

“I guess. But let me rest for a bit longer please,” you hummed, turning to look at him. Thomas nodded at your words, pocketing a knife set. Turning was a bad decision - Thomas at that moment was stripping off his wet shirt, giving you full display of his toned upper torso, complete with check hair and happy trail dipping into his waistband. His broad shoulders and arms flexed as he stretched, folding the shirt and placing it down with the spare belongings in the bag. His long legs carried him towards some trees with mysterious fruit hiding in the tops, your eyes tracing the back muscles you didn’t know you needed until now.

The man proceeded to climb the tree carefully, trying not to slip too much from his wet pants. Watching him pull himself up, arms bulging and veins prominent along his skin even from a distance, made your body heat up, legs rubbing together slightly. The attractive man left your mind reeling. A shaky breath left your lips, your head turning away quickly.

What the fuck? You thought to yourself, staring at your reflection. Since when did I think of Thomas as attractive?

The soft thunk of fruits being cut down from the tree made your ears ring, eyes darting to stare at the man in the tree before returning to the water. You saw how red your face was.

I thought I hated him. I thought I despised him. But ever since he said he’s been trying to apologize for what happened, I can’t help but think… You groaned, ruffling your knotted hair. Have I just always found him attractive but chose to ignore it because I was irrationally angry at him?

“Aw fuck,” you heard Thomas groan when he fell on his ass while descend the tree. The man stood from the ground, rubbing his sore buttox before moving to the next tree, repeating his attempts to gather food. You giggled to yourself, tucking some loose hair away.

“Maybe I have been too harsh on him,” you sighed to yourself, feeling your heartbeat picking up. “Maybe it’s time to move on and forgive him.That fucking attractive asshole.”

“Hey, don’t get too comfortable! Help a brotha out!” he joking called before jumping onto another tree ungracefully, shimmying up the trunk slowly.

“I know, asshole!”

Hesitantly, you pulled yourself from the ground, grumbling lowly at yourself as you dragged the supplies to the small cave before heading off to find sticks. The entire time you gathered the broken twigs and branches that littered across the ground, your eyes kept lingering on the broad, muscular form in the distance. Setting your eyes on his form made your heart race, face heating up from something other than the setting sun in the distance. You ached, but not from the strenuous task of obtaining firewood for warmth that night. As you crouched for wood, your legs rubbed together to relieve the throbbing sensation that racked your lower body. Your mind was plagued with him - how you never noticed his beautiful or funny personality through your initial judgment. Deep down, you knew he was hot… but it didn’t strike until now just how much you really liked him.

And being stuck with him, seeing how much he cared, only deepened the feeling. Rapidly, at that. You were smitten in a matter of hours, putting aside your hatred to see the real side of the man.

When you walked into the cave, it was silent. Thomas said nothing, busy setting up the blanket so you had a somewhat comfortable place to rest until help, hopefully, arrived. You pouted, a sudden overwhelming sense of doubt hitting you. Though he never showed it, insecurity struck, suggesting to you that he was actually uncomfortable with the situation - that he actually was upset that you had resented him for so long. Despite his attempted apology in the smash boat, he really was unhappy that you wouldn’t accept him.

And here you were, pining over the man suddenly as a new light was making his presence glow in the darkness, giving you some hope, security and a very flushed face at the simplest thoughts. How the tables turned in your mind.

The sun was nearly gone, giving the sky a faint, blue glow, the remnants of pinks and oranges fading into black. Thomas quietly started a fire, the crackling embers flaring up after a few harsh breaths from the man to fan the flames. Both of you settled onto the blanket, nibbling on the fruits he had gathered. A decent gap was between you, your butt at the edge of the blanket just like his.

Listening to the crackle of the fire made your mind race with uneasy thoughts. Occasionally, as you bit into the mysterious, but sweet food, you would glance at the man beside you, finding his eyes glued to the fire before you. Eyes traced his side profile, heating up as you admired his sharp jawline speckled in freckles and moles, bits of scruff forming on his chin.

He hadn’t shaved recently.

Your stomach fluttered, knotting tightly with delight and discomfort. He was handsome, something you would have never admitted before today, but the cold shoulder was killing you. Your mouth was dry, tongue darting out in an attempt to relieve the crackling feeling with no result. Your heart pounded against your chest before turning away, tugging your lip between your teeth to nibble at unconsciously.

Now that you were ready to forgive him, this new feeling was taking over. You really liked him, and you wanted to get to know him more. You were tired of judging him for what happened. You had the wrong perception of him. But, you had to make things right.

“Thomas,” you croaked. The man turned his head; you could feel his chocolate colored eyes on the side of your head, trying to pierce you. The words didn’t want to come out when you opened your mouth, unsure what you wanted to say or ask. You finally managed after a handful of attempts to utter one line: “Do you hate me?”

“What?” he asked, more to himself than to you. When you glanced at him, he was shocked, gawking in your direction. The leg he had tucked into him as he ate was extended, body turned to face you better.

“I just,” you started, twiddling your fingers together. “I’ve been so hard on you since we got to the safe haven. I hated you because of what happened with the Right Arm. But I never gave you a chance to make amends for that. I know you didn’t deserve the treatment I gave you, but I did it anyway, believing that you were this cocky know-it-all for being the savior that took down WICKED. And, I’m sorry for that.

“I shouldn't have judged you so prematurely. I shouldn’t have shunned you or pushed you away when all you wanted was to be friends, to make up for what happened because I get it; you feel guilty for what happened. You blame yourself when you shouldn’t. It wasn’t even your fault when you think about it. And now… we’re stuck here and I just… I keep feeling like because of how poorly I’ve treated you that you hate me now. I’ve done you wrong and you have no reason to treat me kindly. Sure, survival is one thing but… I’m sure you hate me.”

“I could never,” he voiced without a thought, startling you.

Staring up at him, you whispered, “What?”

“I could never hate you,” he hummed, returning to hugging a knee to his chest. “Quite the opposite really.”

“I’m not following.”

Thomas chuckled, continuing, “You were the one I wanted to apologize to the most because of how much I liked you. I’ve…” he paused, taking a deep breath. “I’ve had a massive crush on you for the longest time. You’re the smartest, strongest and most beautiful woman in the safe haven to me. I couldn’t but to develop a small… well, a massive crush on you. And I wanted to ask you to give me a chance, but you would always walk away when I got the courage to talk to you. I knew I had hurt you but I wanted to try. So, yeah. I could never hate you.”

It was your turn to gawk at him. Your cheeks burned, staring at the handsome man in shock. Your mouth opened and closed, unable to say anything for the longest time. And when you finally managed to say anything, you only could say, “I’m going to take a bath!”

Thomas laughed when he watched you rush out, jumping into the shallow water just outside the cave fully clothed. Collapsing onto a rock, water coming up to your waist, you huffed, burrowing your face in your palms.

“God, I’m stupid. He fucking likes me too. He has a crush on me. And here I’m starting to crush on him. What did I fucking run?!”

Sighing, you peeled the wet shirt over your head, struggling to strip yourself of your pants. Since you were already in the water, you figured you should at least wash up the best you could, choosing to scrub your tattered clothes a bit to rid them of dirt and grime. The wet clothes, after you were done, we placed aside, allowing you to sink further into the water. A content breath left your lips, looking up at the stars that made the sky glow.

“So, you like me too?”

You jumped, turning around with arms crossed over your chest to hide your almost bare chest. The cocky male sat at the base of the cave, still shirtless from his earlier excursion.

“Can you not?!” you screamed, splashing water in his direction.

“Sorry, sorry,” he teased. “I initially came to check on you after you ran off, and you’ve been out here for a bit. Wanted to make sure something didn’t eat you.”

“I appreciate the concern, but can you not stare at my chest?” you grumbled, noticing his stare at the water, right where your hands were. “And what gave you the impression that I like you too?”

“You know I could hear you, right?” You blushed, sinking further into the water. “Listen, I’m glad you are starting to like me too. But I will leave you be. I will let you tell me when you’re ready. I’m honestly just... “ He stopped for a second. “I’m just glad you don’t hate me anymore.”

“I don’t think I ever really hated you,” you admitted to him. “I was just blind to how much I really did like you. I never took the time to notice how handsome, smart and funny you are. I lied to myself that I didn’t like you when I’m pretty sure I liked you a hell of a lot.”

“You know, being stranded on this island sucks,” he hummed playfully. “But, I’m glad I’m here with you. It really is something special.”

“Thomas.”

“I will leave you be to clean up. I shouldn’t bother you. But please give me a holler if you need me or something happens.”

He stood to leave, turning his back to retreat into your small dominion for the night. He didn’t hear the water splash as you rushed to the edge of the water, not caring to shield yourself as you called out to him again.

“Thomas!”

Slowly, he turned back to you, a red hot blush clearly appearing on his skin despite the darkness. “Yes?”

You were silent for a second before speaking up, “do you want to take a bath with me? You know, clean up and maybe wash your clothes?”

He chuckled, contemplating for a moment before letting his feelings cave over his rational thoughts. He turned around briskly, rushing to join you in the water. His jump into the shallow water, albeit not a big one, was enough to make the water splash against you, Thomas earning a squeal of surprise. He grinned, falling back into the water so he could float among the small waves so he could pull his pants off.

You blushed, moving to sink into further water, deep enough to hide yourself but to not have to tread water. You avoid his eyes, keeping your eyes on the rippling waves, listening to the patter of the waterfall behind you.

It wasn’t until you heard the wet slap of his pants on rock and felt his warm presence against your back at you became hyper aware of him standing right behind you. You could feel his hot breath fan against your neck as he pushed your wet locks aside, draping them over one shoulder.

“Is this fine?” he asked quietly. “I don’t want to go fast. I don’t want to scare you away, but I can’t keep myself away. I should have just walked away, but I can’t when you’re so close. You said you like me too and I’ve wanted this for so long. So please, if you don’t want this, tell me now.”

“Tommy,” you breathed. The name made his breath hitch - something you caught instantly. His body stiffened against yours, his breathing picking up. Your heart was beating just as fast as his was, though you couldn’t pick up on the rapid pounding in his chest.

“Please. If I’ve gone too far, tell me. Because if you don’t stop me, I don’t know what I will do. I’m a hormonal guy, Y/N. And I’m stranded on an island alone with the most beautiful girl int eh world. The girl I’ve admired for too long. I don’t want to hurt-”

You turned quickly, cupping his cheeks in your hands and pulling him into a rough, sloppy kiss to silence him. The man’s muffled grunts were lost to your lips, his body instantly reacting to yours. He pushed closer to you, his erection obvious against your leg. His hands wrapped around your waist, hugging you to his muscled chest, wet pecs flexing anxiously with the jump in his heartbeat. Your fingers curled against his cheeks before pulling away, grinning cheekily.

“You talk to much. Maybe I should have just continued hating you.”

“Nope. This is better.”

His lips crashed back onto yours after his hasty response, tilting his head to give him as much room as possible to engulf your lips with his. Your hands eagerly slid up to his wet chocolate tresses, tangling in them to scrape at his scalp. His hands ran along your waist until he found your ass, lifting you up against him so your legs could wrap around his midsection. Things escalated quickly, heat building with the sensual kiss.

And you weren’t arguing right now.

He backed you into the shallowest part of the water, placing you down to focus on the heated kiss. His tongue darted along your plump lips until they parted, automatically shoving past them to enter your wet cavern. Tongues battled for dominance, something you easily lost. His tongue ran along your mouth, tracing every inch of it before pulling away for air, a short string of saliva still connecting your lips.

Your chests rose and fell quickly for air before instantly delving in for more open mouth kisses. Lips dragged against each other, wet smacks mixing with the rushing water beside you. Noses bumped whenever your heads turned to get a better position, teeth clashing with every heated crash. His lips dragged along yours, sucking them teasingly before devouring them again and again.

Your hands slid down from his hair, landing on his broad shoulder first before running down his chest. Your fingers skimming along his skin made him shiver, pecs jumping under your sultry touch. His arms flexed, more veins emerging from his skin as he got excited. When your thumbs brushed against his nipples, he shuddered, breaking the kiss to let out a gasping moan.

“Don’t do that,” he rasped, a glint in the glare he sent you.

“Oh. Are your nipples sensitive, Tommy?” you cooed, smirking up at the man. A deeper groan left his lips, his face burrowing in your neck. Tiny nips and kisses were left on your skin, Thomas earning himself a moan.

“I hate that you started using that name so quickly,” he uttered deeply. “It’s making it really hard to control myself.”

“Who said you needed to control yourself?” you spoke without warning. Thomas groaned once more, hands fussing with the bra strap against your back.

The article was nearly ripped from your skin and tossed aside, lost to the lake as it drifted away in the water. His eyes were dark, near animalistic, like he was staring at his prey right before he pounced. You weren’t telling him no; you were encouraging the hungry tiger inside. He intended to take advantage of that, even if his mind told him not to. His body spoke louder. His hunger made him salivate, taking in the sight of your bare torso before lunging.

His head dipped down, latching onto your breast instantly. Your head fell back, unleashing a loud moan at the pleasure. His mouth wrapped around your hard bud, tongue flicking at it happily. His large, veiny hand grasped the other one, fondling it fiercely, between his long fingers. Even if you told yourself you didn’t want this, your body screamed that you did. Even if you told yourself you didn’t want to be stuck with Thomas, you were glad it was him. Even if you told yourself you didn’t like him, you knew for a fact you did.

What he was doing felt phenomenal, and you wouldn’t change that for the world right then and there.

Thomas pulled away with a pop, sucking red marks along the skin of your mounds before resuming his licking barrage on the nipple, grunting against it happily. More moans left your lips, fingers tangling in his hair to keep yourself together, giving you something to tug at while you were pleasured. Your legs rubbed together, feeling heat pooling between them the more he attacked your chest, suckling at your nipple repeatedly. When he finally switched breasts, you lost control, nearly shouting his name into the night sky.

“Oh, fuck, Thomas!” you mewled, pressing his face further into your chest. “That feels so good.”

“Shit,” he choked, prying himself from your grasp to move up to your level. His body sliding against yours allowed you to feel the obvious bulge in his boxers, your core twitching as a result. “If you keep that up, I’m going to have to fuck you senseless. You have no idea how hot that is and how fucking horny I am right now.”

“Then do it,” you let out. “Fucking fuck me already.”

“God damn.”

He didn’t ask twice. He was stripping you of your only remaining garment, tossing them with his own onto the rocks behind you. Your stare turned south to catch a glimpse of his shaft, gawking at the size. “Holy shit,” you gasped. “Is that what I was missing by hating your guts?”

His was long and hard, his hand wrapped around the girthy base to stroke it casually. The tip was swollen and red, beads of precum coming out the tip when he tugged at himself. He was much larger than any other guy you had seen - the few one night stands you managed to have were nothing compared to this. You were silently thanking the world for what had happened, giving you a chance to make things right with Thomas and to get fucked senseless by a god. You were thankful for the realization of your feelings because right now, your pussy was pleading to be filled.

“Should have talked to me sooner. We could have been fucking for a while now,” he teased. “Of course, I wanted you for more than a good lay, but I’m sure I can please you when you need it.”

“Oh? Low blow, cowboy. Sure you can stick to those guns?”

“Why don’t we find out?”

The tip ran along your folds a few times before he pushed in quickly, bottoming out in seconds. A loud, prolonged moan left your mouth, the noise drawn out and making your throat vibrate. Thomas grunted at the feeling of your tight cunt around him, your walls grasping at his hard cock eagerly. His eyes closed, trying to not cum instantly. You were wet and warm, clinging to him intermittently, hugging him tightly. The subtlest shift made you clench, another loud noise filling the air.

Before he started to move, he lifted you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. He gave you a chaste kiss before groaning, shifting you against him. “If it gets to be too much, stop me.”

“Alright.”

It started slow, your body bouncing against his. His hands sat on your backside, using your ass as leverage to guide your body against his. His long shaft slid in and out of you slowly, rubbing against your walls and poking at the sensitive spots. Whenever he was nearly freed, you were brought back down onto him, fully sheathing him inside your warmth.

The speed picked up gradually until you were being slammed onto his thick cock repeatedly, enhancing the pleasure you were feeling. Your moans grew in volume, filling the night air around you. The water splashed against your sides with every diligent thrust into your tight core, aiding Thomas’ thick cock in sliding in and out of you. Nails clawed at his skin, diggin crescent-shaped moons into his shoulders while being bounced, keeping you steady and upright.

Thomas groaned loudly, the sound of your seductive moans in his ears making him harder than he thought was possible. His chocolate pupils, darkened by lust, traveled south, traveling the features of your face the entire time. Your lips were rosy from the intense kisses you shared, your bright orbs were half-lidded with ecstasy, your cheeks were flushed under the moon that was rearing it face over the trees slowly. When his eyes befell your chest, watching your breasts bounce up and down against his moist chest, the former runner was floored. He had never seen something so wonderful - so attractive. His stomach tightened, hips thrusting faster into you, unleashing a more animalistic nature that had you screaming.

“Oh, god!” you let out, throwing your head back. Your entire body shook, your knotting stomach flipping a million times a second. Thomas grunted out at your echoed speech, leaning forward to latch onto your breast, after a bit of trouble to keep a steady pace and attack the mound as it jostled aimlessly. One hand found its way to his wet locks, tugging at them harshly. The suckling to your peaked buds made your eyes flash white, the shaking increasing significantly as your high hit. “Oh fuck, Thomas!”

With your walls clenching, your warm cunt hugging him tightly and his cock growing slick with your arousal, his head began to spin. Maybe it was the lack of air; he wasn’t breathing while he bucked into you, nibbling at your breast with all of his might. His thrusts grew sloppy, fighting to control himself while you had your orgasm. When he finally felt your body going limp, he moved forward, resting you on a shallow rock and pulling himself free.

You blinked your eyes opened, glancing at the dark haired man that no longer occupied your used core. Your pussy throbbed, trying to clench around nothing but air, screaming at its sudden emptiness. Thomas’ eyes were glued on you - all of you - taking in your fucked-out expression, round breasts that were littered with red love marks, and your chest heaving with uneven breaths. His large hand, covered in veins, wrapped around his cock, stroking himself quickly and harshly, pulling the skin of his length over the tip slightly. The man hunched forward slightly, refusing to give in until he was grunting loudly, utter a few curses before releasing himself onto your form.

Thick ropes of his hot seed shot from the tip, dotting up your stomach to your chest, covering your breasts in his white, steamy essence. Bits of water washed the droplets away when it splashed across your body, but he licked his lips at the sight of you covered in his cum, looking hot with the white strings as your form. His unruly noises got louder when you ran your fingers along the few drops that remained, particularly on your breasts, rubbing the thick substance around your taut buds slowly.

“Shit,” he huffed, kneeling on the rock beside you. His lips connected to yours in a searing kiss, your lips instantly parting to allow his tongue to invade your cheeks. Your tongues tangled together messily, noisy open-mouth kisses smacking against each other in haste. Thomas’ hand slithered between your legs, shamelessly shoving two fingers into your sensitive core. The moan that he ripped from your was lost to his throat. His fingers shoved into your pussy quickly, making you writhe under him.

The kiss broke, allowing your shaking words to escape. “Don’t go so rough.”

“Are you a bit sensitive after you took me?” he asked cheekily, making you laugh slightly.

“I guess you could say that. I think I’m a little overstimulated. I haven’t had sex in a while.”

Thomas blinked, hand stilling. “You’re had sex before?”

Your eyes met, confusion in your eyes. “I mean, of course. I tried dating a guy once after we came to the safe haven, but he was only good for a single lay to relieve some stress from everything,” you revealed. With a giggle, you continued, “Don’t tell me you haven’t had some action since we got here.”

“Oh. I-I mean.. Well, yeah. Who hasn’t?” You didn’t seem convinced, earning a deep sigh from Thomas. His fingers removed themselves from your core, the man sitting on the rock beside you. You sat up yourself, hugging your chest slightly. “I guess if you count the one night stand I had after getting really drunk on Gally’s drink.”

“No way. With who?”

Thomas chuckled at your enthusiasm. “I can’t really remember. She was gone before I woke up in the chicken coop. I think her name was Mandy because after that night, she never talked to me again.”

Your laughter grew louder, leaning on the frowning male. “That’s fucking great.”

“Laugh it up, bitch.”

“I will,” you teased. “But, how come you never tried for more?”

“I mean,” he sighed, looking down at you. “I had my eyes on someone I really liked. But, she didn’t like me back. Wouldn’t talk to me, wouldn’t look at me. She hated my guts.”

“Well,” you sighed, looking up at him with a joking smile, “she’s lost out. You should forget about her.”

Thomas laughed, leaning down to kiss you softly. His hand, wet and dripping with water, moved up to caress your cheek as his lips dragged against yours slowly. “I think I already am because I have someone amazing with me now.”

Together you sat under the moonlight in the water for a while, cuddling until you felt your feet wrinkling and your body shiver from the cold that was setting in. Thomas exited the water first, lending a hand to help you out afterwards. Gathering your discarded clothes, you hobbled back into the warmth of the cave. While you laid out the clothes to dry, Thomas added more wood to the dying fire, letting it flare back up before you both snuggled together on the blanket, seeking warmth with each other.

You faced him, staring up at his sharp features, fingers dancing along his muscled arms and speckled cheeks. His biceps flexed under your touch, cheeks curling upwards with a smile at the gentle skim of your touch. His own arm was draped over your waist, drawing imaginary shapes to the small of your back. You had never been so comfortable or content in your life, having spent so long running from Cranks or escaping from WICKED in hopes of finding a safe place to live in peace, praying to harmony in your unpredictable life. You frowned at the thought; you had misses so much because of your judgments.

“I’m still sorry,” you whispered lowly. Thomas hummed, waiting for you to continue. “I’m sorry for everything, Tommy. For shunning you, judging you, mistreating you. You didn’t deserve it.”

“It’s fine, babe,” he mused, kissing your forehead. “I get it. You don’t need to beat yourself up about it.”

“But-”

“No buts,” he laughed. His eyes met yours, giving you a soft smile before leaning in and kissing you on your lips softly. “We just need to move on from here.”

“I guess so.”

“Just give me a chance to show you that I’m a good guy,” he teased, making you laugh.

“Yeah, if we ever get off this island,” you said. “But, being stranded with you isn’t nearly as bad as I thought it was going to be.”

“Are you saying that shipwrecking with me here was going to suck?” he gasped.

“Tommy, I didn’t even want to fish with your ass!”

“But I have a fine ass.”

“Yeah, I know,” you teased, daring to roll onto him, straddling his waist with ease. Your lips connected in a fiery kiss, earning a deep grunt from the former runner. “I watched you climb a tree today. You have a nice behind.”

“So do you,” he rasped lowly, cupping your backside tightly in his palms. The action made you mewl, grinding your hips against his sharply. Your lips connected once more, letting your tongues tease each other. Thomas’ cock was growing hard under you, sliding between your moist pussy lips. The man murmured against your lips after breaking your kiss, “I’m getting horny again.”

“I can’t say I disagree,” you uttered, grinding on him harder, two moans filling your small hideaway. His cock was twitching against your wet core, the hands that remained on your ass helping you rock against him faster. “Fuck, I just want you inside me again.”

“If we do, I can’t promise I will last long… or pull out in time to not cum inside you.”

“That’s fine,” you let out.

Thomas grinned seductively, teeth twinkling mischievously. “You know, if that happens, there will be a chance you could get pregnant.”

“I know, but I trust you.”

The words made his heart jump slightly. “So, are you saying that you want me to fill you with my cum? You want me to fuck you silly and maybe put a baby inside you?”

“I mean, I will take the fucking me silly, but if a baby comes with it, you’re helping to raise it.”

“Deal,” he gasped.

Within much thought, he was aligning with your core, sliding into you. You moaned at the feeling of him filling you up once more, your pussy full with his giant cock. The tip of his cock brushed against your g-spot, as well as new spots he hadn’t hit before. The new position came with a new angle, and the new angle let him reach deeper inside you. He stayed still for a moment before guiding you along his length, rocking you back and forth along his shaft.

You laid against his as you moved along his cock, breasts pressed against his chest. Your lips danced together occasionally, dragging against each other slowly before parting to let our low moans. The subtle smack from the kisses made your heart race and core clench, squeezing around him tightly. They were such loving kisses, but they made your walls tight and wet.

Pushing up on his chest, separating from the multitude of kisses you shared, you picked up speed, riding him quickly. His cock slid in and out of you quickly, your body rising up and slamming back onto him before he could escape your grasp. Your speed gradually built until you were slapping your hips together loudly, sweaty skin sticking together and pulling apart with slick noises.

Thomas licked his lips, eying your bouncing breasts for a bit before turning to watch his cock slip in and out of you. He was familiar with your breasts moving when he was inside you, but he thoroughly enjoyed the way his cock would emerge covered in your sweet arousal, making his length glisten in the firelight, before it disappeared back inside your tight cunt, throbbing with the need to explode. He wanted to fill you up, spilling every last ounce he had into your hole. He wanted to watch the white seed drip from your lips, oozing out because you were so full of him.

The desire to do so was overwhelming, so much that the man lifted you off of him with a short whine, and flipped you over onto your hands and knees. He found himself ramming back into you from behind, hearing a short scream rip from your throat when he wasted no time in slamming himself into you. He bucked wildly, his speed nearly godly, thrusting himself deep into you. His new speed and position made you scream his name loudly, clawing at the bunched up blankets under you. Your body shifted with every thrust, only kept steady from a firm hand he kept on your hip. The other hand planted firmly to your backside, a reddening handprint pressed into your skin.

“You feel so good, baby,” he growled, pushing harder. His hips snapped into your ass, balls slapping against your folds. The sounds of slapping skin mixed with the uncontrollable noises that left your mouth in panted breaths, making Thomas grin widely. “You like this, Y/N? You like when I fill you up with my giant fucking cock?”

“Tommy-”

“You love when I fuck you into the ground like this? You just can’t get enough, can you?”

“No,” you managed to utter. “I need more.”

“What was that?” he asked, the hand that had been slapping at your ass occasionally sliding up your back to your neck. He gave it a firm squeeze, hearing a choked breath leave. He didn’t want to hurt you, but you made no effort to remove it, so he figured you were fine. Maybe, you were even enjoying the restriction. “Speak up, baby. I can’t hear you.”

“Fuck, Thomas. Fill me up already! Please!”

“God, you just love being filled up. Such a dirty girl, wanting to be filled up with my cum. You want all of my cum inside you? You want me to fill you up with all of my cum?”

“Yes!” You hollered weakly. Dots were blinking in your vision, your body tightening with your inevitable release. “Please fill me up Tommy. I want to cum with you. I love the feeling of your cock so much, but i want to feel you inside me.”

“Fuck, thats hot,” he muttered, shoving into you faster than before. He pushed up onto his feet, releasing your neck so he could steady you against him. His entire body was used to push into you, every part of his body leveraged to excite you over the top. He wanted to make your next orgasm one to remember. He wanted to have you releasing on his cock more than you thought was possible. He wanted to explode every drop into you. “Cum with me, Y/N. Please baby, cum all over my fucking cock.”

You moaned in response, body nearly going limp from your orgasm. Your stomach hurt from trying to hold back, so you didn’t keep it in. The knot was burned away, and you were spilling everything you had onto his length, making it slick enough to still slide in and out of you as he thrust sloppily. Your walls were clinging to him desperately, convulsing with every droplet you released that stuck to his length.

Your tight, wet cunt made Thomas’ head spin like before, his own high nearly. Your core was hugging him close, squeezing him lifeless. The warmth was making him throb and twitch, finally exploding his load into you with one loud grunting groan. His thick seed shot from the tip, painting along your inner walls like white paint. The former runner let out a prolonged mewl of approval, thrusts slowing, letting your walls milk him of every last bit he had built up.

Your bodies finally collapsed from exhaustion, Thomas remaining inside you until he had softened to a tiny chub. His fascination led him to watch his arousal slip from your pussy lips, the man licking his lips slowly.

“That’s something to remember…” he whispered to himself before moving to kiss your shoulder blades. “We should get some rest. Then tomorrow, we can try to find a way off this island and back home.”

He didn’t receive a response.

“Y/N?”

He turned you over, finding you sound asleep, chest rising and falling steadily. You had a gentle smile ebbed onto your lips, resting peacefully. The man chuckled, pushing back some of the hair that stuck to your sweaty forward, placing a sweet, loving kiss to your temple. Laying beside you, he curled you into his chest, struggling to pull the blanket over you to keep you warm in case the fire died out while you slept. His head rested on his sore arm, but he didn’t mind the pain; his comfort came from you beside him, in his arms - finally.

“Sleep well. And thank you for giving me a chance. I didn’t think getting stranded would be such a good thing...”

His eyes fluttered open, finding a small stream of sunlight filling the cave. It took a moment to process his surroundings. The fire had died, he was in a cave, and you were nuzzled into his side, bare naked and sound asleep. Thomas thought he was dreaming before recalling the wave and the boat crash, finding you stranded on an unknown island without a way home. He also remember the heated evening of confessions, apologies and sex that blew his mind.

Not in any rush to move, he pulled you into him, nestling his face in the rats nest atop your head. He could feel your lips curling up against his skin at this, the man chuckling. “Good morning,” he let out, voice raspy and deep with sleep.

“Good morning,” you muttered lowly. “Can we not move for a while? I hurt.”

“I’d figure,” he laughed. “I fucked you a lot last night.”

“And honestly?” you hummed. “I regret nothing.”

“That’s relieving actually. I’m glad I won’t have to be punched later to forcing you to have sex with me.”

“Never,” you laughed, struggling to look up at him. Thomas glanced down at your sleepy face, placing a soft peck to your lips.

“So, you are going to give me a chance later right? Like, when we can finally get home?”

“I thought I made that clear when I apologized for how I’ve been treating you,” you scowled playfully, punching his chest weakly. “And you kind of fucked me a lot. You’re not leaving me dry for a while.”

“I can handle that,” he smirked, pulling you into a deeper kiss.

The steamy kiss would ahve led to a heated round of unruly morning sex if your ears hadn’t perked at the sounds outside the cave. You pulled away from a disappointed Thomas, sitting up abruptly.

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” he asked.

Listening carefully, you heard the faint call.

“-Mas!”

“-/N!”

“Someone is calling our names?” you asked, glancing at the man who shrugged.

“Did someone manage to find us?” he thought aloud.

“Thomas!”

“Y/N!”

“Oh my god,” Thomas gasped, jumping to his feet and rushing to the cave entrance. “That’s Minho!”

“What?!” You exclaimed back, running after the man.

In your excitement, you both ran from the cave in search of the voices calling your names. Thomas’ hand clasped around yours to keep from getting separated, keeping you from falling over any trees or rocks. The voices grew louder as you rushed through the sea of green trees, pushing through bushes and in the mud.

In the distance, you locked eyes with the boy calling your name - Thomas friend from the maze and the former leader of the runners. Minho’s eyes grew when he saw you both run from the bushed, calling his name. You halted in the middle of a small clearing, panting for breath.

“Thomas, Y/N,” Minho uttered softly before his eyebrows scrunched up. “Why are you guys naked?”

“Eh?” you let out, looking down at yourself. Realizing what had happened, you shrieked loudly, hugging yourself. Thomas turned to hug you, glaring back at Minho.

“Look away!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Minho called, turning around. “I don’t want to stare at your bare ass anyway!”

“Fuck you,” Thomas growled. “How did you find us anyway?”

“We’ve been searching all night. When you didn’t come back, we pulled out the small motorboat to search for you. Someone mentioned the waves had picked up, so we thought something might have happened. We found the boat wrecked on the island-”

“Wait,” you called, stopping him. “There was a motorboat?”

“Yeah,” Minho said. “It’s always in the boat we used to get here. It’s not used very often to conserve fuel and all, but it’s pretty decently sized and everything.”

“We had a motorboat, and you set us out to go fishing on a wooden rowboat?!”

Minho blinked “Ummmm…”

“I’m going to kill you, Minho!”

The former runner took off with you hot on his tail, uncaring that you were still barren to the world. Thomas sighed as he watched you chase the man around the clearing, weaving through trees before tackling the man to the ground, scarring him as you beat him up.

“I guess I should be thankful,” Thomas told himself. “Otherwise, we wouldn’t have ended up stranded here and had the night we did.”

“Thomas, help! Get her off me!”

“Can’t help, sorry,” Thomas called, turning away. “I need to go get our stuff from the cave. Plus, she hates me, remember?”

“Bullshit!”

“Take it easy on him, babe. He’s our way home!” Thomas teased, walking away.

“He dies tonight! I’m roasting Minho alive!”

“Good talk!”

“Thomas, don’t leave me with this monster! Something obviously happened and you can’t leave me like this!” Minho called, but Thomas was gone. “THOMAS!”

I’m not gonna tag anyone right now because my tag list is far too outdated and needs to be refreshed. I will figure that out... later.

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pistolslinger · 3 years ago

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@kyberborne said:

jyn shifts nervously from foot to foot when it's time to give him his gift, trying and failing to ignore the churning in her stomach. what if she'd misjudged? had gotten it entirely wrong? it's a miscellany of things on topic –– a bag of coffee from his favorite cafe, a few rings and shiny trinkets that she'd noticed had caught his eye over the past few months, and a few boxes of ammo because he never has enough. but the true present is at the bottom of the box: a new trenchcoat, custom-made and designed by her that just reminds her of him. when he'd been off on jobs and she'd been left to her own devices over the past few weeks, she'd rummaged through his wardrobe, taking note of the colors and fabrics that he liked best –- and this is the result. a dark, rich color with subtle embroidery up the cuffs and buttons. most importantly, she'd paid good money to have it made with the same properties as ravkan keftas; it's a fabric and design he enjoys wearing but bulletproof. "merry christmas," she informs him, trying to keep up a nonplussed façade (as if she hasn't been worrying about this present for months). abruptly, she shoves it into his hands. " –– here."

HE’S BEEN INCREASINGLY TACITURN this season — regrettably, his first winter with jyn in his life; while most others in jesper’s orbit would know, or recognise, the way he would shut down most discussions on how he planned to spend the holidays, jyn did not have the advantage of knowing it was an over all boring and rough time for jesper.

and still, somehow, despite that . . . she had managed to surprise him in a way that completely took the harsh edge off the holiday season altogether. jesper blinks down at the contents of the gift, then up at jyn, then back to the present, then back to her again. utterly at a loss for words, he simply blinks; his hands are too full to reach out for her. looks like i have to use my words after all. fuck.

“ i — you didn’t h — wow, uh — ”

he’s off to an eloquent start. it’s not like jesper to trip over his own words like this, and he owes it partly to the shock, and partly to the presence of something new among the small pile of gifts. it’s in the fabric, he can feel it there, pulsing through from every fibre, the shade of it demanding his attention, right that instant. as he pulls it free, he lets out a delighted little noise.

“ you didn’t. ” she did. she had. jesper would never have accepted clothing from another person, normally — but this looked like she’d plucked it out of his existing wardrobe, and made it nigh - indestructible. maybe she didn’t need the heads up and warnings after all? jyn seemed to know him well without needing a hint; he doesn’t quite know how to respond to being understood on a point he was so fickle about, so picky about, himself. caught between wanting to thank her, and wanting to ask how she knew he’d want something like this, the two impulses collide, and instead, jesper surges forward to hug her tight. “ you shouldn’t have, but i love it. i love it, jyn. it’s perfect. thank you. ”

#kyberborne #VERSE ... ‘ here in search of your glory. ( + kyberborne. )#ANSWERED ... ‘ inbox.#EXCUSE ME #EX FUCKIGN CUSE ME #KI SSA YOU. BASARD #>:*#wHO SAID U COULD JUST. DO THIS TO ME

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saucy-sapphic · 5 years ago

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Peonies and Poems

Wilhemina Venable x Reader

Summary: They say actions speak louder than words, but sometimes the words are so beautiful that even the faintest whisper causes your heart to melt.

A/N: I saw this prompt on @otpprompts a while back where Person A doesn’t show affection easily, but Person B loves big romantic gestures, and I had just recently watched A Secret Love, so I thought I would combine the two. The poem used within the fic is from A Secret Love. It was called Always - I’ll Remember This Night, beautifully written by Pat Henschel, therefore, all the credit goes her. Extremely huge shoutout to @make--your--life--spectacular for proof reading this for me and making the gif, you trully are a doll!

Word Count: 1,819

Warnings: None

You knew Wilhemina Venable was not one for dramatic gestures or overt displays of affection. In her eyes, the world had been cruel and unrelenting, so she shielded herself from harshness that seemed to surround her. She kept what she loved close to her, afraid that if she let go for a second the world would pry it from her hands. You, however, were far too in love with her to keep quiet. Gestures, great and small, seemed to flow out of you as if you were a river of love that ran right to Wilhemina’s heart. It made her uncomfortable at first, the way you wore your heart on your sleeve and took any opportunity to show her affection. But as the days turned to weeks, and weeks turned into months she looked forward to your grand displays, although never explicitly saying it. At first you thought that you would scare her off with all the hand holding or kisses to her cheek when you were in public, but even though she would roll her eyes the smile that played at her lips told you all that you needed to know.

As Wilhemina opened the door to her office she saw a lush bouquet of flowers sitting at her desk. The various hues of purple and the fragrant scent of fresh flowers causing a toothy grin to emerge. She walked over, set her belongings on her desk, and read the card attached to the bouquet.

Xoxoxo -Y/N

She sat down to relieve the stress in her back and picked up her phone to dial you number.

“Hi, Mina!”, you answer excitedly.

“Someone’s chipper this morning, did you finally drink the coffee I made you”, she teases. “I got the surprise you sent me”, she states.

Even though she seemed calm and collected you could hear the slight excitement in her voice, “do you like them? The peonies are finally in season and I know they’re your favorite, so I had to send you some”, you rambled.

“They’re lovely, my sweet girl, and they smell divine.”

“Not as lovely as you, Mina”, you say bashfully.

The smile playing at Wilhemina’s lips widen and her heart swells, “what time are you coming home tonight, my dear?”

“I’m not sure, Mina. We have back to back meetings today and we’re still trying to finalize the contract with an investor”, you sigh knowing that you have a long day ahead of you. “I might be home a little later than usual tonight, love”, you regrettably reply.

“That’s alright, my dear. I’ll have something waiting for you when you get home”, she replies, hopping to hear the bright tone return in your voice.

“Oh, Mina, you’re too good to me”, you giggle out.

“Nonsense, darling”, Wilhemina teases. “I’ll see you at home, little one”.

After you both hang up Wilhemina lets out a contented sigh, the perfume from the flowers wafting around her. She thinks about all the times you have done something wonderful for her and can’t help but feel inadequate when it comes to showing her love for you. You were always so good at it; it came so naturally to you but being that open and unguarded was difficult for Wilhemina.

As the workday progressed and she got home, the thought of being inadequate kept gnawing at the back of Wilhemina’s mind. As she was setting the plates and placed the food she had carefully crafted onto the table, she heard the front door open. She turned to see you taking off your coat and toeing off your heels. Her eyes dancing across your body, appreciating the way your dress hugged every curve just right. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Wilhemina stop to admire you causing you to melt.

“Hi, honey”, you say as you turn to her fully. Taking in the sight in front of you, your breath hitches, and your heart soars as you see what Wilhemina has done. Your favorite food had been prepared and placed elegantly at the table before you and your eyes spot your favorite bottle of wine resting in a small bucket left to chill. Candles had been lit and placed perfectly throughout the room and jazz music played softly in the background. After absorbing the picture-perfect scene before you, your eyes returned to the woman who was responsible for it all.

“Mina”, you breathed out.

A slight blush played at her cheeks as she observed your state of awe. “Hello, my sweet girl. Go wash up and I’ll finish setting the table”.

As you make your way to the sink you stop by Wilhemina to place a soft kiss on her cheek, causing her to blush further. After you return, Wilhemina pulls your chair and waits for you to sit down before doing so herself.

“Mina, you really didn’t have to do all of this”, you say, still in awe of what was in front of you.

“It was nothing”, she mumbles out as she begins to serve the food.

You place a hand on her arm to stop her, wanting her full attention. “Mina, this is so lovely, thank you”. The smile she flashes at you causes your heart to swell with pride.

The amount of love Wilhemina saw on your face almost made her heart leap right out of chest. “You are more than welcome, my dear.”

Taking the first bite you let out an exaggerated moan, stating “oh my god, Mina, this tastes incredible”, shortly after.

She lets out a giggle that warms your heart. The rest of the dinner is sat in comfortable silence apart from the music playing in the back. As the two of you finish your meal, you turn to gaze at the woman who held your heart, a contented grin dancing across your lips.

“What are you thinking about, little one”, Wilhemina asks happily.

“I was just thinking about how tonight has been divine and how lucky I am to have such an intelligent, caring, and beautiful woman like you to pamper me.”

Wilhemina lets out a throaty laugh, causing you to smile even wider. “Oh, my dear girl, I think I should be saying those things to you”, she says while placing her hand softly on your cheek. “You constantly do so much for me and show me how much you love me, I just wanted to try to show you the same”, she confesses.

You turn to place a kiss on her palm and melt further into her touch. Looking back at her loving face you reply, “Mina, you show me every day”.

Wilhemina tilts her head in confusion, “what do you mean, darling? You and I both know I’m hardly one for flamboyant displays.”

You giggle at her comment before stating, “well, you show me every morning when you make me coffee before you leave, the way you give me your undivided attention while I speak, the way you take time to ask about my day; you show me by kissing me good morning and by mumbling sweet nothings in my ear until I fall asleep at night.”

Wilhemina smiles fondly, rubbing her thumb across your cheek. “That’s nothing compared to the flowers you send or the dinners you make me almost every night, my dear.”

“Oh, Mina, they may not seem like much to you, but they mean everything to me”, you say as you lean in to kiss her. As you pull back a thought flashes through your mind, “wait here”.

Wilhemina curiously looks after you as you make your way to your shared bedroom. After a minute or so you comeback with a small shoe box that she has never seen before. You place the box in front of her smiling ear to ear. “Open it”, you whisper.

She looks up at you utterly confused as she sees hundreds of papers folded within the box. “Go on, read one”, you say excitedly has you move to sit in her lap.

As Wilhemina unfolds one of the papers she immediately recognizes her handwriting and gasps quietly. It was a love letter she had written to you when you first started dating. She began to unfold paper after paper, her eyes scanning through every letter, poem, and note that she had written. She looked up at you with tears rimming her eyes. “You kept them”, she asked, her voice emotional and barely above a whisper.

“All of them”, you beam back at her before kissing her temple. You pepper her face with soft kisses, journeying to place a delicate kiss on her lips. She moves her free hand to caress your neck as she deepens the kiss, while the other hand continues to hold the letters. You both pull away breathless and smiling.

“See, you do show me. The ways you show me are more precious than any flower and are far more romantic than any grand gesture”, you say as you go to stand and clear the table smiling.

Once the tabled had been cleared and the two of you had gotten ready for bed, you pull the covers back for you and Wilhemina to climb into. She sits with her back to the headboard and you lay cuddled into her side. “Mina, will you read to me? Please?”, you yawn out.

“Of course, my sweet one”, she says as she opens the book on her nightstand. As she gets halfway through the page she feels you kiss her hip, moving closer to her and draping your arm across her thighs. By the time she finishes the second page you are fast asleep, your breathing deep and even. Wilhemina sets her book back on top of the nightstand and opens the drawer. She pulls out and unfolds an old, warn out piece of paper. Holding the paper in one hand and stroking your hair gently with the other, she fondly looks at your sleeping form. “I wrote this the night we first met, my love. But I was too afraid to give it to you then”, she whispers.

Turning to look at the paper she reads,

“It might have been just one more walk

Beneath a moonlit hue.

But darling, it meant everything

Because I walked with you.

It might have been just one more night

A single night of seven.

My darling, you were there with me

‘Twas one more night of heaven.”

Wilhemina paused feeling you stir, turning she laid the piece of paper gently back in the drawer. Scooting down so your faces were leveled, she placed the softest kiss on your lips before whispering,

“On we sauntered seldom speaking

As we passed through moonlight lane.

Happiness welled there inside me

When you smiled and called my name.

Hours fled like winged moments

Hand in hand we walked alone.

‘Twas one night I shall remember,

One more night to call my own.”

#wilhemina venable x reader #wilhemina venable #ahs fanfic #ahs apocalypse #sarah paulson x reader #sarah paulson #a secret love #pat henschel #i have had to edit this post so many times because i keep having technical difficulties ughghhh #but this was super fun to write #soft venable is one of my favorite things in the world #if you don't think venable is soft for her sweet girl then you can fight me

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candychronicles · 5 years ago

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forever and always // i. midoriya

A/N: My take on the bnharem server Valentine’s day collab. Enjoy !! ❤️CHARACTER PAIRING: Izuku Midoriya X Reader

WORD COUNT: 1,534

WARNINGS: the fluffiest of fluff

SYNOPSIS: Midoriya was everything you had ever dreamed of in a perfect boyfriend. This Valentine’s Day, it’s time to show him how much he really means to you.

Masterlist to Valentine’s Day Collab

the day started out as normal as ever, or so it seemed. Midoriya got out of bed first and got the water hot in the shower. only then did you peel yourself out of your cocoon of blankets to join him for your morning, erm, water saving activities. he got ready for the day while you made breakfast and you two sat together chatting over nothing.

he left for the day and that’s when your plan started. the first stop was the flower shop where you paid for your dozens of flowers to be delivered to your desired location: a dock on a small lake where he took you guys for your first date. the flowers were an assortment of red carnations and red roses for love, jasmine for sensuality, and a spattering of sweet alyssum for an overall boost of calming spiritual energy.

the next step was to make sure the food was in place. you had ordered food from the first restaurant Midoriya ever took you too which was, unsurprisingly a fancy and expensive one as he was trying really hard to impress you. being the girlfriend of a famous pro hero had its perks and so you were able to score the exact meals you both feasted on that night despite not even being on the menu anymore.

after getting the details set for the actual date, it was time to focus on yourself. makeup and a pretty sundress with a warm cardigan were your choices for the night. you were simply trying to make yourself look as pretty as he made you feel every day.

the final step was the most important one in your opinion: the chocolate. Midoriya had a secret sweet tooth and that made this day even more easy for you. you picked up a huge variety pack. to be honest, it was quite overkill but that didn’t matter to you: today was to be perfect, all for him.

Midoriya spent every day helping others, no questions asked. though you were a pro hero too, he was the new symbol of peace, someone the whole world looked up to. he wasn’t allowed to really have days off like you, wasn’t really allowed to break down in the face of danger, wasn’t really allowed to be human despite him desperately needing to be.

you two lifted each other up in a way you would truly never understand. despite it all, he was constantly desperate to prove himself worthy of loving you each and every day. at first it was fancy dates and presents, whatever you wanted he would get. but as you guys really grew together he realized he just needed to treat you like a queen as so he did just that.

no matter what kind of day he had, he always asked you how you were first. if you were even sneezing, he went out and bought a hundred different kinds of medications and products to help you. if he couldn’t be there when you wanted him to be, he would send cheesy texts, videos, pictures, anything. if you were even the slightest bit sad, he was there with open arms to soothe the pain away. you had even found out deeper into your relationship that he had a whole notebook dedicated to you: your favorite food, ice cream flavor, color, animal, how you liked your coffee and tea, your daily schedule so he could surprise you with gifts or simply his presence. every day was an opportunity to prove himself worthy and he never disappointed.

a few months ago, you had been seriously injured while fighting some villains. though you were okay and back in business, it was a few weeks of recovery and it even took you a few days just to simply wake up. during that time, Midoriya was by your side in absolute agony. it took every ounce of strength to go back to work once you woke up and were declared no longer in danger of death. those few weeks of recovery were hell, not only on your body but on your mental state as well, feeling helpless and weak. he was there every single night wiping away your tears and reassuring you through his own wet lashes that you were every bit as strong as him, if not more, and that he would be there for you no matter what.

that whole incident prompted you to really take this day to appreciate Midoriya in a way you had regrettably never had before. he had always lavished you with gifts and spoils and it was your turn to return the favor. nervousness bubbled in your chest and your hands wouldn’t stop fidgeting with the edge of your dress but you were more so excited than anything, hoping for dear life he would enjoy.

Midoriya was asked innocently by you to meet him at this dock, stating you simply just wanted to reminisce the beginning of your relationship. he did not expect anything else except maybe some chocolates. he really didn’t expect a full blown date.

tea and fairy lights adorned the whole dock. a table was set up towards the end of the dock on the water. food was already set out on the table, sitting on warmers so that it would not get cold. wine and water were laying in a metal bucket on ice. the walk down the dock was lined with the bouquets of flowers you had picked up earlier, a pleasant aroma wafting through the air.

“hello,” you spoke softly once he made his way down to where you were standing by the table, shyly twisting on your heels and wringing your hands together once more.

“i-i don’t even know what to say…”

“do you like it? oh god, you don’t like it. was it too much? not enough? you’re right, not enough! i should’ve…” you rambled on, only stopping once Midoriya softly grabbed your face with his hands, tears running softly down his cheeks.

“(y/n), this is absolutely beautiful. i cannot believe you did this all for me.”

“oh ‘zuku…” you whispered happily, reaching forward to plant a sweet kiss on his lips and wiping the tears from his face.

“let’s eat, okay?”

the rest of the night went wonderfully. you guys ate your fill, drank some wine, giggled over memories and simply cherished each others presence. it wasn’t often that you got much alone time anymore, not like you used to, so it was really nice to be able to have hours to yourself.

“oh, i almost forgot!” you exclaimed, reaching out behind you to grab one of the boxes of chocolates and presenting them to your boyfriend proudly.

“there are way more where that came from. tradition and all.”

“i just, i can’t believe you would do all of this for me. you’re so amazing… i love you.”

“i love you too izuku, so much.”

he suddenly stood up, a nervous yet determined look on his face.

“(y/n)...” he started off, not sure where to start. “i love you so much. i can’t say it enough. You mean everything to me and more. you’re the reason why i get up in the morning and the reason why i can get through a stressful or sad day. you’re so selfless, always there to help me no matter what, sticking through all the hard times, being understanding of my hectic schedule, no questions asked or arguments made. you have made me the happiest man alive and i can never thank you enough for everything you have done for me.”

“oh Izuku…” you hiccuped, tears streaming down your face.

“i was going to wait until white day after i had spoiled you but honestly i am so overwhelmed and elated i can’t wait and i hope you’ll forgive me. i’ll make it up to you on white day, i promise.”

“what are you talking…” your voiced stopped, stunned as you watched Midoriya.

he had slowly gotten on one knee, eyes brimming once again with tears. in his hand was a black velvet box and you had watched as he opened it up to reveal a stunning diamond ring lined with emerald, the same blinding color as his eyes.

“i hope it’s not too cheesy, i hope you like it. i think you will. i have seen what jewelry pieces you wear more than others and what you comment on when we’re shopping and i tried to make it to your satisfaction.”

he breathed slowly, deeply and then popped the question you had been waiting for with your own baited breath: “(l/n) (y/n), will you marry me? Please?”

you wasted no time before launching yourself off the table and towards your boyfriend, no fiancee.

“yes, Izuku, yes yes yes!”

you had kissed him with such ferocity it stole his breath away. though he knew you loved him and would never leave him, it was hard to remember that while he was asking such an important question, one that would change both of your lives forever.

“i love you more than anything in this world, Izuku, truly.”

“i love you (y/n), forever and always.”

#midoriya izuku #midoriya #midoriya x reader #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #boku no hero x reader

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wevegottogetaway · 4 years ago

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Whirlwind Part I - Mistral

DAY 0

Time seems to slow down but the speedometer on Aella's Triumph says otherwise. As the needle flirts with the 124mph mark, it's hard to tell wether she's the one chasing after the wind or the other way around. Miles after miles, her beloved motorbike swallows up the empty road offering itself before her, almost begging her to throw speed limits cautions to the wind. Speed has no secret for Aella though. Brown eyes steady on the asphalt, her focus is unswerving. Yet, she's never felt more free and insouciant.

Except maybe when she's flying.

In the tight confine of her Tomcat, as she defies other kinds of laws, Aella seeps in a whole new world. One where she makes her own physics, her own rules. One where the sky in no longer a limit and neither is her gender. Because when she occupies the cockpit of the F-14 - a baby only a handful of aviators are lucky to even sit in - she's just that: an aviator. A squadron unit who receives missions and completes them. Once her feet tread the tarmac though, the reality is quickly sobering. That's why Aella has learnt to savor each one of the limited hours she spends in the in-between realm of the stratosphere.

Tilting her head briefly to look at the clear sky above her, Aella lets a smile grace her lips as she realizes she'll be back up there very soon. And in high amounts at that. A few years ago, she could have only dreamt to be recruited as part of the most elitist of naval aviation programs in the world. But after years of working twice as hard as her fellow Navy fighter pilots and putting up with their never-ending bullying, her resilience has finally paid off. The memory of their crest-fallen faces when their Commander announced her promotion in front of them all is still one of her favorite. And on that note, they can respectfully kiss her ass.

Maybe it was fate, or maybe it was just life. But no matter how serendipitous the death of Navy fighter Jonathan Evans, she'll be the one taking his place in the US Navy's Fighter Weapons School's Top Gun program. It was a regrettable news but one that changed Aella's destiny forever.

San Diego's sun is just as blazing as LA's, but the nice breeze the city benefits from neighboring the ocean makes it easier to breath. The streets are void of the usual hustle and bustle that inhabits the city of angels, but the palm-trees-lined streets seem to remain a consistent feature of the Californian landscape.

After driving in two hours what should have been a three hours ride, Aella finally pulls up in front of a single-story condominium situated on the street that runs alongside the shore. Taking in the magical scenery that surrounds her new place, she finds herself standing front row for the sun's crepuscular show.

Aella has always loved sunsets. She fell in love with their ephemeral hues when she was 7 and already wanted to make the sky hers. At 25 years of age, they now serve as a reminder that regardless of the fact she knows it like the back of her hand, the blue immensity still withholds secrets that are meant to remain forever's mysteries.

Aella finally makes her way to her new home and her eyes immediately fall on the three large boxes that she had sent from LA the week prior, as per US Navy's request. Waiting for her on the floor, they seem quite a bit lonely in the otherwise empty room. The place is small but designed well enough to be comfortable. The L-shape kitchen directly on the right upon entrance shares one main open space with the living room and dining room, though the term "room" is to be taken loosely. Mostly, they consist of a dining table placed in the center, and a sofa facing a TV set at the back. Between the two, french doors lead the way to a small garden; just enough space for a sun lounger and a small outdoor table.

Aella doesn't expect to be around much as most of her days will be spent at the training center, but as she starts unpacking, she can already picture herself living there anyway. Early runs on the beach, morning coffees out with the birds chirping the news of the day and some lazy reading on the lounger when she's lucky to have a day off. That night, as she lays on her bed waiting to be taken in Morpheus' arms, Aella relishes in the jitters of happiness that course through her veins.

She can't remember the last time she was so impatient for tomorrows.

DAY 1

To say the San Diego Fighter Weapons School's campus is huge would be an understatement. Aella has been on plenty bases during her short naval aviator career, but they all pale in comparison with the three massive hangars standing ahead of her. Deeply rooted on these holy grounds, they serve as home for no less than 30 of the most powerful aircrafts ever designed in the world. Perched on her Triumph, Aella can't help but slow to a more moderate speed as she drives past them. She can feel her heart bouncing in joy at the sight of the F-14 Tomcats, F/A-18 Hornets and F-16 Fighting Falcons neatly aligned like pawns on a chessboard ready to be pressed into service.

Finally, the main buildings come into view. They house all the administration offices as well as lecture and conference rooms. Indeed, part of the Top Gun program takes place indoors (that is, not in a cockpit) as trainees are taught advanced combat strategy, theories of air-to-air and air-to-ground missions, and most painful of all, the riveting matters of astrophysics. In addition to their scientific knowledge and flying skills, the recruits will also be tested on their physical fitness.

That's what Aella dreads the most. While she could probably recite all of Newton's laws in her sleep and fly a supersonic twin-engine, variable-sweep wing fighter aircraft with an arm in a cast, she's positive the physical examination is what might give her the most trouble. Not that she's in bad shape. Obviously one has to be quite fit to be able to handle 25 tons of titanium rocketed at more than 1500mph. But alas, the minimum requirements generated by the State for the final physical examination have yet to be adapted to female dispositions.

The military field has definitely still plenty of room left for improvement when it comes to women's interests...

Two men in their service uniforms are casually conversing in the parking lot when Aella pulls up with her Triumph. One seems to be in the middle of a thrilling story judging by his gesticulating limbs, while the other listens to him, cigarette pinched between his lips. As soon as the latter's eyes fall on Aella though, he interrupts his friend with two taps on his torso. The shock on his face quickly turns into a condescending smirk as his eyes shamefully scan Aella from head to toe. His friend turns around intrigued and it's not long before his features mirror the same irksome smug.

For a few seconds too many, Aella doesn't react. She simply stares at the jerks standing a few feet from her like they might be two very realistic-looking hallucinations. A sick jock her brain is playing on her by materializing ghosts from her past when she's least expecting them. Aella doesn't know who she's the most angry at: Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum for looking at her like she's a hot commodity or herself because she'd actually thought it wouldn't happen here.

It takes all of her self-control and then some to keep her from rushing over and giving them a piece of her mind. Instead she just swallows back the crude remarks she's dying to throw at them and puts her uniform cap on. Maybe there weren't checking her out but the Triumph behind her instead. Maybe she just bumped into the two assholes of the program. Maybe the 13 other recruits will turn out to be actual decent human beings who acknowledge women's worth in the Navy and will treat her as an equal. Aella tries to keep the positive thoughts coming as she heads towards the main building for the induction speech.

Still, she can't help the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

The effervescence of the conference room is almost palpable as loud chatter and boisterous laughters bounce off its walls. Taking in the glorious sight of her fellow trainees, Aella already feels like an outsider. Easily distinguished by their uniform, they're all bantering like they've all known each other their entire life, even though the program hasn't officially started.

From afar she recognizes the two morons from the parking lot, sitting on tables as they're gathered around a balky blond man completely sprawled out on a chair with aviator sunglasses tucked in the front of his kaki shirt. Because of his lazy posture, he has to look up at his disciples but it is clear that he's the last person to be looked down on.

Aella already despises the narcissistic vibe he exudes. That disdainful and self-assured attitude which makes her want to rip his stupid head off. It's certainly not the first of his kind she's had to partially work with and sadly, it will definitely not be the last.

"Oi, Rex! How's it goin' man?" Another block yaps.

"Snyder," Rex chuckled. "'Was doin' good till ya ugly face showed up"

"Ah, 's not what the ladies say..." Snyder replies, completely unfazed by the playful dig made at him.

"That's cause you woo them drunk, you bastard." The whole group of them burst in laughters as Snyder rolls his eyes.

"Speaking of lass, I heard there was a bird joining the ranks with us? 'S up with that?"

Aella immediately stiffens as she hears the dreaded words. Ones that make it crystal clear she's gonna be the odd one out right from the start. Not to be mistaken, Aella takes great pride in being one of the very few female fighter pilots of the US Navy but all the self-confidence in the world couldn't amount to the loneliness she always feels on base. Amongst the 'mates', she's never more than a fellow recruit, watching from afar her colleagues' relationships blossoming from mere work affiliations to ones of brotherhood.

Finally making her way to the last seat available in the audience, Aella feels the energies in the room drastically shift. Voices are no longer clashing in rowdiness; instead, the air is charged by the intensity of the quiet stares following her silhouette. However, the silence is interrupted by the sound of a flirtatious whistle that does no wonder for her already-tested nerves. God does she hate men sometimes.

"Well, well, well...look at that guys. I think the eagle has landed its cute ass down."

Aella is about to pop a knuckle from how hard she's clenching her fists. How foolishly naive she was to believe that things would be different. That joining Top Gun with the 'best of the best' would give her solace from the incessant chauvinistic behaviors she'd been so used to. If anything, the prestige of their accomplishments has exacerbated the arrogant disposition of their ego-inflated character.

Aella knows better than to respond though. No matter how quick-witted the comeback, it never works in her favor. So once again, she just takes a deeper breath and settles in her seat facing forwards. She is saved from hearing more about her eagle ass by two impressive figures marching in the room towards the front. Postures straighten, smirks vanish and a de facto silence ensues at the officers' arrival. Respect is almost tangible in the air, and it has little to nothing to do with the plethora of decorations adorning their white uniforms, and everything to do with the aura of invincibility transpiring in their intimidating gaze.

"Gentlemen," one of them starts before tilting his head towards Aella and adding a soft "ladies." He then proceeds with a quick scan of the room. Years of experience standing on that very same stage have forged the unyielding yet somewhat benevolent eyes landed on the students' expecting faces.

"You were probably told that you were here because you are the best of the best. Well, let me set things straight: you're not. Not yet anyway. You might be lieutenants out there, but on these grounds, you are nothing but students. My job, is to make you unbeatable up there. Your job, is to trust me in doing so. That means no challenging orders and no cocky attitude or any funny business. If you respect that, you might have your name on one of these plaques in 5 weeks. Until then, work your hardest. My name is Aaron Berks and I will be your Commander. Everyone, welcome to Top Gun."

Commander Berks offers a light smile to his audience, and Aella has a feeling it's not a sight she will be privy to very often. She likes him though. He seems intransigeant but wise, proud but not arrogant and no matter how cold his exterior, he has the warmth of a master who looks after his apprentice. A caring facet that resembles that of fatherhood, and Aella knows she'll be able to trust Berks just like he asked in his introduction speech.

After a brief silence, the class' attention is once again captured by one of the officer. Taller and bulkier, this one is definitely missing that fatherly vibe Aella is so found of. "Gentlemen, I am Lieutenant Commander Wayne Rogers, I will teach you the art of naval strategy in flight combat alongside Commander Berks. You will also have the pleasure to have me whip your asses in physical testing. As you know, Top Gun is structured around 3 ranges of expertise, namely: naval strategy both in theory and practice, advanced astrophysics knowledge and physical training. Needless to say, you will be tested in more ways than one. And just a heads-up, I don't do no favor. To anyone."

Aella cringes for a second as she wonders if there is any implicit lines to read behind Lieutenant Rogers' clipped tone. She already dreads the time she will have to spend under his teaching. She doesn't have the time to dwell on it though, before Rogers resumes his speech. "Anyway, enough with the pretty words, let's go over the program. As you know, the 16 of you will form 8 crews who will be confronting each other and us instructors to master advanced dogfighting tactics. Each of the 25 missions you will be assigned during the program will earn you points. Your aptitudes in physical training will also earn you point, as well as your results in astrophysics evaluations. I'm sure you can guess who wins the Top Gun trophy at the end of the program. Bear in mind, that all instructors have the right to deduct points from your score should they deem your actions or behavior disrespectful, underserving or quite simply unacceptable. On that note, welcome to Top Gun, class dismissed."

As soon as Lieutenant Rogers voices the discharging words, the room is once again caught in a rambunctious nebula of clacks and clatters. Everyone is making their way out when the commander's voice transcends the ongoing commotion; steady and resonant.

"Officers Styles and Lonethorne."

Aella's brows immediately wrinkle as she recognizes her last name. Turning around, she sees Commander Berks intently looking at her as if beckoning her over. Obediently she makes her way up to the front of the room where Berks hasn't moved an inch since the beginning of the induction. Soon she realizes she's being followed by a tall lanky man. His face, objectively handsome, doesn't seem to show any emotion but Aella doesn't have much time to further study his features as she finally reaches her commander.

"I wanted to welcome you both personally given the circumstances. Styles, you have my support and condolences. Lieutenant Evans was a very fine man and gifted flyer." Aella is a bit thrown off by the declaration. It takes her an extra second to figure out the reason of her presence for this discussion. Once she does, her attention is immediately drawn to the silent man standing next to her, his face still not displaying any feelings, as though his skin was made of cold marble.

"Harry, this is Aella Lonethorne. Her former chief has nothing but praises to say about her flying skills. She will be your partner for the next 5 weeks." A nod and the brief connection of his emeralds to Aella's sapphires seems to be all the assertion elicited from Harry. No handshake, no hello, not even the pucker of a brow. Commander Berks might as well have announced the refectory's lunch menu, the lad's reaction would have been the same.

"Miss Lonethorne, it's a pleasure to have you on base, I have no doubts you two will achieve great things together." It is such a relief for Aella to realize her first impression of Berks was spot on. He is the kind of manager that leads with strength in his fists but encouraging lyrics on the edge of his lips. There is no hint of condescension fueled by the power high of his status, coloring the tone of his voice. It's something Aella has seen a few times. Pleasant comrades turned into aloof leaders full of bitterness from their years of submission and laden by the hierarchy's expectations. Commander Berks never yielded to that pressure though, it was clear in his wholesome nature.

"Thank you Commander, it's a real honor." Aella responds in genuineness.

"Alright, I'll leave you to it. See you both on the tarmac" he exclaims with a smile before making his way out. Berks departure leaves enough room for tension to settle between the newfound partners like a third interlocutor taking the warmed place of their superior.

Harry is still keeping mum, unfocused eyes staring somewhere far off on the floor while his mind appeared to be wandering the secret passages of never-never land. It freaks the hell out of Aella though she doesn't show it. They are a team now. They're supposed to trust, rely on each other and have the other's back no matter what. Yet, she doesn't even know the sound of his voice and it doesn't seem like he's gonna give her the time of day anytime soon.

Aella is about to speak up when Harry suddenly shakes his head out of its hypnotic trance. For a second she thinks he's gonna initiate conversation himself but instead he just tilts his head in her general direction and rasps a weak 'see you' before storming off the room. Aella is left in total disarray, she doesn't comprehend why he's acting like a 3 year-old running off because he's scared to say hi to the postman. Is it because she's not what he expected in a partner? God she hopes not. He doesn't strike her as a misogynistic prick, didn't really show any sign of disgust or clear animosity. But then again he was impossible to read.

After exiting the teaching building and mounting her precious Triumph, Aella feels the dread resurfacing. It is such a big contrast to how she felt when she left this morning. All the thrill and elation that had bubbled in the pits of her stomach just evaporated into disillusion, leaving a fog of uncertainty in Aella's frenzied mind. This was supposed to be a drama-free experience; a chance to be recognized and treated with respect.

Instead she got barely acknowledged.

The music coming out of Godspeed's is so resoundingly loud Aella can feel the bass line thumping through her whole body. Standing across the street from the entrance, she's still hesitating joining in the merrymaking even though she can hear the spirits calling out her name. Despite the crispiness of the air, a few rowdy souls are camping out front, obviously warmed over by the substance in their glass and the nicotine stick between their lips.

The dodgy pub never lacks in visitors no matter how threadbare the furniture, tacky the decoration and questionable the sanitation prove to be. Truth be told, the popularity of the place can be explain by one and sole reason: it is, lo and behold, the only bar on base. A fact that implies 99% of its customer base works in the US Navy, and thus explains why one could usually count on one hand the number of people dressed in day-to-day clothes.

Bracing herself, Aella finally makes her way inside the bar. The smell of booze and fries immediately invades her nostrils but she pays it no mind. Instead she takes in her surroundings from the swaying of hips on the torrid dance floor to tokens passionately thrown at a table with a pair of aces following. The sound of glasses clinking blends with that of drunken laughters and even drunker squawks. It's nothing but good times and pent-up stress release, and for a moment Aella is really glad she decided to show up. She was told Induction's Rave was not to be skipped.

Unfortunately, as she heads for the bar, Aella's eyes fall upon a few familiar yet loathsome faces. It appears the infamous Rex and his phony clique didn't want to miss out on the festivities either. Much to Aella's dismay, they are all huddled around the counter monopolizing the bartender's attention and just like that, she knows a relaxing time is not in her cards for tonight. There is no way she can walk out of this with both a drink in her hand and her composure intact. It would be too easy.

Strategically, she waits till the barman is done with them before voicing her request as inconspicuously as she can. "May I have a Vodka Martini, please?" she asks just as the bartender lifts his eyes from the counter he was wiping. She originally went for a pint but somehow she had an inkling it wouldn't quite suffice. The guy nods and leaves to mix her precious elixir but just as she thinks she might make it through unscathed, the obnoxious voice she has come to strongly despise cuts through the pub's damp air.

"Gotta stop trying to play James Bond, darling. S'just not for you." Snickers. "Now, James Bond girl on the other hand, you definitely have the proper assets for that." Once again, every guy within Rex's arm radius bursts into insipid laughter as the mockery tumbled out of his mouth. She doesn't have to look his way to picture the disgusting smirk he must be sporting. Jerk.

From the corner of her eye, Aella recognizes the lonesome lad sat at the far end of the bar, nursing a Bourbon with tinted cheeks and glossy irises. There is no doubt he's in a slightly inebriated state but his participative chuckle still stings. Maybe even more so than Rex's offensive words for Harry is supposed to be her closest ally. She doesn't expect him to jump to her defense, wouldn't want him to anyway, but she's profoundly disappointed he would find such humor in someone degrading her that way. The thought angers her so much, she doesn't realize Harry is actually showing some kind of emotion at last. It's not the one she wanted anyhow; not when it's at her expense.

She's handed her drink before Rex speaks up again. "You think you can just sweep in and fight the bad guys with your pretty hair and 5 pounds muscles? I mean, come on darling, you're not meant for the job." She'd started to walk away at first but Rex's lousy rant makes her halt in a sudden. "Just sit and look pretty like the others. Or fucking teach. You know what they say, right? Those who can't, teach... Anything but the fucking Navy, yeah? We have enough wannabes as it is."

Deep breath. Tight fist. Down the Vodka. Then she turns around and marches up to him, armed with daggers in her eyes and a punch away from feeling better. She doesn't hit him though. Has more dignity and self-control than that. "You should really consider shutting your goddamn mouth before I show you just what I can or can't do." Aella's tone is cold; colder than the marble of Harry's face from earlier that day.

As she expects, they don't take her seriously and giggles erupt all around her. "Darling, I really wouldn't mind," is what he replies with a suggestive lip bite and a smug that rivals her scowl in intensity. He's dangerously toying with her last nerve and he knows it. Deliberately exploits it in the hopes of seeing her explode and then crumble into pieces. That's how Aella knows she has the upper hand. She knows how guys like him work, what gets them going and their tactics to achieve that, but Rex has no clue what she's like. He's deluding himself into thinking he's pushing her break-down button when in reality he's in for something else.

Nobody knows that yet, except maybe Harry.

As a quiet and incredibly guarded individual, Harry proves to be a tremendous observer. It might come off as standoffish though he doesn't mean to, but those who matter know and have accepted just how introverted his nature is. He knows he probably should have made an effort and better impression on his new copilot but the wound from his best friend's loss is still too fresh to be bothered. They'll get to talk soon enough anyway, is what he thought. Plus she didn't really go out of her way to make an impression herself, did she?

Now though, observing the sour interaction from afar, Harry's starting to think differently. He shrugged at Rex's crude remarks, already used to the block's insolence and admittedly amused at the childish antics. But as he becomes more attentive to Aella's shifting stance, it is obvious to him that she's not a person to ever take shit from anybody.

His suspicions are proved right when Aella slowly closes the few steps between her and Rex until her eyes level with his. "Oh Rex. The thing with guys like you, is you feel powerful because power was handed to you on a silver fucking platter." All the while talking, she moves to remove his hold from his glass. "I could have pity for you, really. You think you're good; you must even think you're the best but you're nothing more than a selfish privileged opportunistic prick who feels entitled to walk over anyone who won't fucking bow down before you." Then she chucks the rest of his Whiskey in one swallow and places the empty glass back on top of the counter next to them.

"Oh yeah?" Rex smirks as he watches her face closely, casually leaning on the bar. It works in her favor as he fails to notice her hand creeping around his own. Then the next thing he knows is a tremendous throb shooting from the joint between his thumb and index, all the way through his arm and up to his neck. The pain is seizing and has him doubled up like it is suddenly to painful to even stand straight.

Aella has never been more glad to learn a thing or two about pressure points.

"Yeah. And I might be smaller than you or less of a weightlifter than you are, but I can still bring you down wherever and whenever I want to. Don't you forget that." He's almost kneeling by now, arm twisted in a weird angle from where she's still applying pressure on his hand. Rex's acolytes seem to have lost their voice and giggles as they're all taking in the sudden reversal of the situation. They have probably never seen Rex in such a submissive position, hence the dazed expression of stupor plastered on their faces.

Aella finally releases the whimpering man at her feet. She's about to make her way out but she stops herself. "Oh and one more thing. You're cocky, and vile, and despicable. And one day, probably too late, you'll realize your arrogance is what will fail you."

Satisfied with her last words, Aella looks up at the scene around her. Most people are still engrossed in what they were doing when she first came in, oblivious to the whole confrontation. Then just as she turns around, her eyes catch Harry's broad frame, as though some magnetic field was coaxing them to his radiating force. She doesn't delay her departure though. Her steps barely falter on the way out but her mind is left in a whirlwind of thoughts.

He was smiling. Shy and in the corner of his lips. But genuine and almost knowing, like he'd been rooting for her the whole time. And really, for Harry to be on her side is everything Aella hopes for.

#harry styles writing #Harry Styles #harry styles fic #harry styles series #TopGun!Harry #ofc #Whirlwind #part1 #creative writing #fanfic #pilot!harry #enemies to lovers

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