#the way *I* laughed when he was like AS YOU SAY you must never trust Eloise
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no. 1 party anthem â geto suguru.
â....What about my laugh?â He asks you, his cheeks flustered like cherry wine. âIsâŚis the sound good?â You matched his flustered cheeks. âItâsâŚItâs like a song.â âA song?â âMy favorite song.â You admitted to him, slowly smiling as you shyly looked up to his flustered gaze. âYour voice is my favorite lullaby. But your laugh? Itâs my favorite song.â
GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence;
WARNING/S: post hidden inventory, pre-jjk 0, heavy angst, romance, falling in love, conflicted feelings, hurt/comfort, break up, slice of life, timeskip, depression, hurt, mourning, loneliness, trauma, pain, humor, guilt, pining, conflicted relationship, emotional distress, grief, profanity, depiction of break up, depiction of grief, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of loneliness, mention of events post hidden inventory, mention of events in jjk 0, cursed user! suguru, jujutsu sorcerer! reader;
WORD COUNT: 7.7k words
NOTE: i've been getting into arctic monkeys again (as you can tell) and i have to say, no. 1 party anthem has done things to me these past few weeks. AM is such a good album. i really don't think that one can get any rawer in story telling about the sorrows of parting the way AM had depicted it. so i hope you listen to it one of these days, if you haven't already. anyway, i hope you all enjoy this. i love you all so much!!! see you on the next one <3
masterlist
if you want to, tip! <3
ââââââââââââââââââ
IT WAS A SURPRISE, TO SEE HIM TONIGHT. It had been nearly five years since you last saw Geto Suguru, but the weight of his absence still lingered in the quiet moments of your life. And it had taken your breath away, you knew that much. Because you had already resigned yourself to never seeing him again since that night.
But you canât help but wonder about all the suffering and grief that had carved its way through those five years, shaping the person who stands here now.
The you of the present feels like a stranger sometimes, a mosaic pieced together from shattered moments, each shard reflecting a memory too painful to hold but too significant to discard.
There were nights when you lay awake, your mind replaying fragments of what once were half-formed smiles, laughter that now seemed like it belonged to someone else, and the weight of a bond that had been torn apart, leaving jagged, unclean edges that never truly healed.
Youâd press your fingers against the raw places, testing their tenderness, reminding yourself that the pain was real. That he was real. But he wasnât here anymore. He had chosen his life. He had made his bed with his reality. And so must you.Â
It all felt like another lifetime, one so distant it seemed almost like a dream. The person you were then, the one who loved him, trusted him, believed in him. That person feels impossibly far away now. Youâd convinced yourself youâd buried that version of you alongside the memory of him. And with time, you believed it.
You never expected to see him again.
And yet, there he was.
The sight of him felt like a blow, like the ground had shifted beneath you and left you unsteady. His presence unraveled the delicate stitches youâd used to bind your wounds, pulling them loose thread by thread. He looked both the same and different, an unsettling contradiction that left you breathless.
Time has not been kind to either of you. You knew that much. Geto Suguru was a handsome man, he always was and he always will be. But you could see things that people wouldnât. You see everything, you know everything about him. Maybe more than himself.
If time had not been kind to him, you could only judge from afar about things that had happened to him. You could see it in the lines etched into his face, the heaviness in his gaze. But what struck you most was the familiar ache you thought youâd buried. it resurfaced all at once, sharp and unforgiving.
You told yourself youâd moved on. You told yourself he was a ghost, a memory that had no power over you anymore. But standing here now, your heart betrays you.
And for a moment, all the pain, all the nights spent grieving, all the years spent rebuildingânone of it seems to matter. For a moment, you forget the hurt and only remember how it felt to love him.
It happened on a random Friday night at a bar you frequented with your other sorcerer friends. It was a hub for sorcerers to gather after missions. With how Satoru and Shoko were also getting too busy to hang out with you, and Nanami not frequenting such a place, you had no other choice but to find yourself some new people to mingle around too when they werenât free. Life doesnât stop when you lose someone.
So, you ended up finding this bar. And over the years, you have become a regular. Even more so, you found new people to meddle life with. You all of course still canât meet everyday. But it was more regular than most of your other relationships. That gets you through the day most of the time.
The bar in itself wasnât special. It was a cozy, dimly lit spot with just enough charm to make it feel like a second home. But it was yours, a place where you could laugh, unwind, and forget the world outside. It was ironic that he of all people would show up here. Perhaps the universe had a cruel sense of humor, or maybe fate had finally decided to intervene.
Geto Suguru hadnât been looking for you that night. Or maybe he had, in some subconscious, desperate way. His sources, mutual acquaintances, whispers from insiders had led him here, for business.
Itâs why he had a special grade glamour on. But even he didnât fully understand why he had stayed for a while. He didnât need to. Someone else could have done this for him.Â
But when he stepped into the inner corners of the bar, his purple eyes scanned the room almost out of habit. Nothing much intrigued him in this place. It was too common, too crowded. It wasnât his fashion. It wasnât his scene.Â
But then, he looked further away and stopped.
In that moment, he knew that he saw you.
The moment froze. You didnât notice him at first, too caught up in the warmth of your friendsâ laughter. But he noticed everything. The way your smile lit up the room, the easy way you leaned into your conversation, the carefree aura you carried.Â
It was a stark contrast to the image he had of you locked in his mind: the you who had walked away from him, or maybe the you he had walked away from. He couldnât decide anymore. He never made up his mind about that. Perhaps doing so would have hurt more.
When your eyes finally met, it hit you like a tidal wave. Recognition. Shock. Something unnameable. No one else would see the cursed energy glamour the way you would. You would notice.
You would see him. All of him. Only you could do that in a way people will never know how to. No one else could tear apart Geto Suguru the way you have, the way you will for all his life.
For a heartbeat, it felt like no time had passed, like you were back in that shared moment before everything fell apart. But then reality set in, and you turned away. Too quickly, too deliberately. You excused yourself from the table, and when you returned, he was gone.
Geto Suguru had fled back to the club heâd come from, his chest tight with a cocktail of emotions he couldnât untangle. He shouldâve known better. You were no longer a part of his life. Heâd lost the right to be. And yet, he couldnât let it go.Â
After downing two more drinks, the gnawing need to see you again overpowered him. He left the club and returned to the bar, heart pounding, searching. Asking the bartender if theyâd seen you, scanning every corner of the room for a glimpse of your face. But you were gone.
Suguru wasnât sure what hurt more: the hope that had flared in his chest when he saw you or the emptiness left in its place when you disappeared.
He hadnât planned on thisâon seeing you, on unraveling in public like this. Life after you had been a blur of responsibility and regret. Youâd moved to Fukuoka to teach to get as far away from Tokyo as possible and he focused on his new family, his new vision.Â
Geto Suguru poured himself into work, convincing himself that distance was the answer. Just as much as you had thought the same thing. Out of sight, out of mind. But you were never truly gone from his thoughts, and the years only deepened the hollow ache. And perhaps, neither was he.Â
Now, both of you are back in Tokyo, perhaps even just for tonight. He was sitting alone at the bar, he stared into his glass, his hands trembling slightly as he gripped the edges. He was alone, so far away from you and your warmth, and your smiles and you who was everything.
The laughter of strangers around him was a cruel echo of the joy youâd shared with your friends just hours ago. He drank to dull the pain, but it only sharpened the edges of his misery. Each sip dragged him further into the pit heâd been clawing his way out of for years.
Suguru hated himself for the way he felt, for the way his chest still tightened at the thought of you, for the way he still longed for something heâd already destroyed. He had made his choices, he stood by them firmly.Â
And yet as the night wore on, his mind spiraled further into the what-ifs and could-have-beens, until he was too far gone to remember why he started drinking in the first place, he could only think how miserable he truly was.
By the time Suguru stumbled out of the bar, the night had deepened into an eerie quiet. The streets were nearly empty, save for the faint hum of passing cars and the distant laughter of people heading home.
The cold air stung his skin, but it didnât sober him. Nothing could cut through the fog in his mind, the haze of alcohol and regret that weighed him down.
He wandered aimlessly, his thoughts circling back to you like a cruel refrain. How could you look so happy? How had you moved on so effortlessly when he was still stuck in the wreckage of what you once shared? Part of him wanted to be angry, but the anger never came. All that remained was the bitter taste of self-loathing.
When Suguru finally stopped walking, he found himself at a familiar park; a place youâd both loved. The benches were worn, the trees towering silhouettes against the starless sky. He sank onto a bench and buried his face in his hands, the chill of the night pressing against his flushed skin.
Memories rushed in unbidden, as vivid as the night you first kissed under those very trees. He could almost hear your laughter, feel the warmth of your hand in his.
It was unbearable, the way the past clung to him like a second skin. He didnât know if it was the alcohol or the sheer weight of his emotions, but his chest heaved, and he let out a strangled sob, his breath fogging in the cold air.
It wasnât supposed to be like this. He had convinced himself that leaving had been the right thing to do, that the distance would save you both from the inevitable pain of being together.
But in his effort to protect you, he had only condemned himself. And now, seeing you happy, surrounded by friends, made him realize just how deeply he had failed.
Meanwhile, you ended up back at your friendâs apartment, all the laughter and enjoyment had come fading as the events of the night replayed in your mind. Seeing Geto Suguru again had been a shock you werenât prepared for. None else noticed but you. If anything, it was as if he had wanted you to know that it was him.Â
You couldnât help but feel sick at the thought. Heâd come back. But for what? Why have he come back? Youâd been doing fine for the past ten years. And now in an instant, you find yourself unable to do anything about these tears that just pours out.Â
Youâd spent years trying to bury the memories, to build a life that didnât revolve around the void Suguru had left behind. And for the most part, youâd succeeded. But tonight had cracked something so deep within you, like a breaking dam. It was that wound you thought had healed. A wound so deep that maybe you never noticed it never healed.
Your friends noticed your distraction and tried to coax you back into the lighthearted energy of the evening, but it was no use. When it comes to Suguru, you knew you would never be able to pull yourself back from the brink. You left early, along with your friend and retreated to the quiet of your own space in her house.Â
Sitting in the dim glow of your living room, you stared at your phone, your thumb hovering over his name in your contacts. It had been years since youâd last spoken, and the silence between you was deafening. But tonight, it felt heavier, like it was begging to be broken.
Suguru, in his drunken haze, finally pulled out his phone. His fingers trembled as he stared at the empty message thread between you from all those years ago. He never changed phones. He just couldnât.Â
Not when this held so much of you, more than you could ever know. And heâd hate to part with it. He hates parting with you. The cursor blinked at him mockingly, daring him to say something, anything. But what could he say? What words could possibly bridge the chasm he had created?
You both sat in separate silences, even far away from each other. Even then, you both carry the weight of your shared history hanging in the air, stifling you both whole. Somewhere between the spaces of what was and what could never be, a thread still connected the two of you in the frayed, fragile, but unbroken echoes of life.
And for the first time in years, you both wondered what it would have been like to say hello.
ââââââââââââââââââ
IT WAS A LONG TIME AGO, FLASHING IN YOUR MIND SO CLEARLY. Your relationship with Geto Suguru began like a slow sunriseâgentle, almost imperceptible at first. Everyone could see something beautiful about it. You could too.
But it wasnât something either of you could pinpoint, the exact moment it started, but before long, the light of it had crept in, filling the cracks and chasing away the cold.
At first, you were just kids, thrown together in the chaotic, unforgiving world of jujutsu sorcery. Life and death werenât just abstract concepts; they were constant, hovering over every breath you took, lurking in the shadows of every mission. But with him, there was something different. Something softer.
It started with stolen glances in the classroom, shared smirks over jokes that only you two seemed to find funny. Then came the late-night conversations that stretched far too long, but neither of you cared. Youâd sit on the temple steps, the world silent except for the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze.
âYou ever think about what weâd be doing if we werenât... this?â he asked one night, his voice low, almost hesitant. He looked at you then, his dark eyes searching yours like he might find some hidden answer there.
âSometimes, when I have some time. I think about it. With you, me, Satoru and Shoko.â you admitted. âBut then I think... would we have ever met? If we were just ordinary people?â
He smiled, that small, almost private smile he saved just for you. âI donât think the universe wouldâve let us miss each other.â
âEven just the two of us?â You wondered at him.
âEspecially the two of us.â He grinned even wider, patting your head.Â
Those words lingered with you long after that night, as did the quiet weight of his presence. Suguru wasnât just your teammate or your classmate; he became your confidant, your safe place. The one person who could make you feel human, even when the world tried to strip that away.
There was lightness in your connection, a reprieve from the heaviness that came with your lives. The warmth of his laugh, the way his shoulders relaxed when you were around. It was as if the two of you carried pieces of each otherâs burdens without ever having to say it out loud.Â
Everytime you were with him, you felt like everything was whole.
The world made sense when you were with him.
And you were proven right each and every single time.
He was the only one for you in this world.
It had been a long day, and exhaustion lingered in the edges of your mind, but he sat across from you, legs crossed lazily, and the smallest smile teased at his lips. You remember telling a joke.
You donât remember it in its entirety but you knew it was something about the absurdity of the higher-upsâ newest âingeniousâ strategy and for a moment, his guarded composure shattered.
He laughed.
It wasnât just a chuckle or a polite hum. No, it was a real laugh. It was as though life had existed the first time he laughed. It was so bright, unrestrained, and utterly disarming.
The sound was pure, and for a moment, you could almost forget the weight he carried, the things he wouldnât talk about late at night when the shadows seemed to pull closer.
âGod, that laugh.â you murmured, half to yourself, but he caught it.
âWhat about it?â His voice held a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling with curiosity.
âItâs⌠nice. Unexpected.â you said, and you could feel your cheeks warming under his steady gaze.
â....What about my laugh?â He asks you, his cheeks flustered like cherry wine. âIsâŚis the sound good?â
You matched his flustered cheeks. âItâsâŚItâs like a song.â
âA song?â
âMy favorite song.â You admitted to him, slowly smiling as you shyly looked up to his flustered gaze. âYour voice is my favorite lullaby. But your laugh? Itâs my favorite song.â
That was the beginning. That laugh became your favorite sound, a lifeline in the chaos. It became the thing you sought, the thing you tried to coax out of him in fleeting moments between missions or during those rare stretches of quiet.
You had stolen moments, the two of you. Too many to count, too many to want to forget. It was when life wasnât pressing its cruelty upon you. Late nights stretched into early mornings, both of you lying in the grass, the stars above almost as bright as his gaze.
âYou see that one?â you whispered once, pointing to a cluster of stars. âIt reminds me of you.â
âOh? Howâs that?â he asked, smirking slightly, his head tilted in mock challenge.
âIt burns so brightly you canât help but stare,â you said without thinking, and the smirk faded into something softer, something almost shy.
âCareful, I might start believing you, you know?â he murmured, looking away, but not before you caught the blush dusting his cheeks.
âBut arenât I correct with what I said?â
âAh, youâre just as cheeky as Satoru.â
You grinned at him. âBut Iâm better than him, arenât I? Because Iâm your favorite!â
Suguru laughed, his cheeks warm like a scarlet sunrise. âYeah, yeah. You are my favorite.â
And then there was the kiss. It happened on an evening like any other. It was only a normal day. A day like any other. Nothing special at all.
You had been talking, your words flowing so easily it felt as if you were spinning threads of a tapestry you had both been weaving for years. Somehow, you just belonged together.
When he leaned in, his hand brushing the side of your face, it wasnât a surprise. It felt inevitable, like the tides meeting the shore. Like destiny itself had been guiding you here. You felt like you were home as you found yourself overtaken by him.
When his lips met yours, it was as if the world stopped turning. It wasnât fireworks or an explosion. It was just warmth that was familiar. The breeze of evening moonlight. it was a sigh, a soft release of tension you didnât realize you had been carrying. Everything else fell away. It was just him and you.
And in that moment, you knew.
He was the one for you.
He was the love of your life.
âThis feels... right, donât you think?â he murmured, his forehead resting against yours. His voice was so soft you almost didnât hear it.
âIt does. Perfect.â you whispered back. âLike it was always supposed to happen.â
You didnât just love him. No, you recognized him. Across time, across lives, across every distance imaginable. You had found him, and you would find him again.
Every time. Every lifetime. And you would love him, fiercely, until it burned you alive. Because he wasnât just a part of your worldâhe was your world.
For a while, it was perfect. Together, you built a fragile sanctuary amidst the chaos. Even as the missions grew harder and the burden of protecting the world loomed heavier, you found solace in each other.
Geto Suguru would hold you close on nights when the horrors of your work were too much to bear, whispering reassurances that tomorrow would be better.
But tomorrow wasnât better.
The world began to crack around him. He had blamed himself for Amanai Riko. For Satoruâs brush with death. For failure of a mission that relied so much on him. And that had buried him under, even before he had come and gone to the grim reaperâs arms.Â
Everything you had loved about him slowly faded, like memories of yesterday. You saw it in the way his smiles became rarer, in the way his laughter came less easily. He grew quieter, more distant, and when he came back from missions, he wouldnât talk about them anymore.
Instead, heâd sit in silence, staring at nothing, as if the weight of what heâd seen was too much to put into words. As if nothing in this world mattered at all. As if nothing was worth living for.Â
At first, you tried to pull him out of it. You were the only person that could do something like that, if Satoru couldnât. You have tried hard. You really did.
You did as much as you could to remind him of the ideals that had driven you both to fight in the first place. Of the future that you could have together, where you could be happy.Â
But Suguru wasnât just tired of everythingâhe was angry.
And he didnât want to hear anything more about those ideas.
They had failed him, as much as the adults had already done.
He wasnât in the mind to talk anymore, he was tired of talking.
âThey donât deserve it.â he said harshly, that one night, his voice low and simmering. âThe people we saveâthey donât even know what we sacrifice for them. They go about their lives while we bleed for them. Itâs not fair.â
âItâs not about fairness, Suguru.â you said, reaching for his hand. âItâs about doing whatâs right. They are weaker than us. They donât know the world of such suffering. But we do. Suguruââ
But he pulled away, shaking his head at you. âMaybe whatâs right is letting them fend for themselves. Maybe whatâs right is taking back control.â
âSuguru, you canâtââ
âI have had enough of it. I canâtâŚ.I canât have any more of this bullshit. Please.â
You didnât recognize the man sitting before you. His words were sharp, edged with bitterness that scared you. You tried to argue, to bring him back to the man you had fallen in love with, but Geto Suguru was slipping through your fingers, and no matter how tightly you held on, you couldnât stop it. The more you tried, the more he pulled away.Â
The breaking point came on a mission, one you didnât share with him. You werenât there to see the moment he made his choiceâthe moment he decided that humanity was no longer worth saving.
You only heard the aftermath: Suguru Geto, once a protector, had killed. He had killed too many people. Even his own parents. He had turned his back on everything he once stood for. And all to be free. All to stop those voices in his head. All to stop being miserable.
When you confronted him that day, you were trembling. A part from anger, part from heartbreak. You looked at him, eyes so brimming with tears as he stood there with those dark purple orbs narrowing at you.Â
Almost as though he couldnât care less about it all. It was as if he didnât carry the world on his shoulders anymore. In that moment, it was better that their suffering freed him. Thatâs what it looked like to you. And that broke you. More than you could even say. More than you could even understand.Â
âTell me itâs not true, Suguru.â you said, your voice cracking. âTell me you didnât do it.â
But Geto Suguru didnât lie. Heâs never been good at lying. If anything, you didnât need him to say anything. You already knew the truth. Youâve seen the bodies. Youâve seen the reports. But somehow, hearing him say it.Â
Perhaps thatâs the only way to make it real. Thatâs the only way to know the truth. He looked at you with calm, unflinching purple eyes, the same eyes that used to hold so much warmth. How could such warm eyes feel so cold, so lifeless, so devoid of the will to live?
âThey deserved it.â he said simply, his hands resting on his pockets. âThe world needs to change. And Iâm going to change it.â
You stepped back, shaking your head, tears streaming down your face. âThis isnât you, Suguru. This isnât who you are.I knowâŚI know who you are. Please, justâŚJustâŚâ
âItâs who Iâve always been.â he said, and the certainty in his voice shattered you.
Tears fell from your eyes, to the point that you couldnât see anymore. You let out a guttering cry, your hand covering your lips as though you know you canât let it out anymore. You canât stand like this in front of him. But you couldnât move. You couldnât stop staring at him. Where did your Suguru go? Where was he?
âI donât know you anymore.â you whispered, your voice barely audible. You sobbed, looking at the ground. âWho are you? Whereâs my Suguru? Where is he?â
For a moment, just a moment, his mask slipped. You saw the guilt in his eyes, the pain he was trying so hard to bury. Not because heâs hurt others, no. But because heâs hurt you. That burns him more.
That kills him more. But then it was gone, replaced by the resolute facade he had built to shield himself. He knew he couldn't come back. Heâs gone too far for him to walk away from it.
âI hope you know thatâŚ.Iâm sorry.â he said to you, watching you close your eyes. As though wanting to pretend that this was just a bad dream. âBut this is the only way.â
You wanted to scream, to grab him and shake him until he saw reason. But you knew it wouldnât make a difference. You always knew better than that. He was resolute. He always has been. And so, he would not turn back. Not even for you.Â
The Geto Suguru you loved was gone. He was killed. He was consumed by the darkness he couldnât escape. And you will never get him back. The last time you saw him, he was walking away, his silhouette fading into the distance. You stood there, rooted to the spot, the weight of his absence crushing you.
In the days and weeks that followed, you replayed every moment, every conversation, every sign you had missed. You blamed yourself, even though you knew, deep down, that this wasnât your fault. You couldnât have saved him.
But that knowledge didnât make the loss any easier. You were sure that he was the love of your life. Geto Suguru has been your love, your partner, your everything.
And now he was gone, leaving behind nothing but memories and the ghost of what could have been. And now you had to pick up whatâs left from the desolation that swallowed everything whole. If not you, who will?
In the weeks that followed, life moved on around you, but you felt like you were frozen in place. The routines of being a jujutsu sorcerer continued. Day in day out, it was missions, training, meetings. But somehow, it all felt hollow.Â
Every face you saved, every curse you exorcised, felt like a mockery of what you had lost. How could you keep protecting a world that had taken Geto Suguru from you? How could you keep meeting with faces that didnât know how to protect a child? How could you keep finding yourself living like this over and over?
But you still did it anyway.
You knew it was the right thing to do.
Suffering or not, you had to live.
You had to continue on.
Your nights were the hardest. Sleep became a distant memory, replaced by endless hours of replaying the past. You found yourself going back to the places you had shared with him.
The quiet park where you used to sit and watch the stars, the ramen shop where heâd always order extra broth, the training grounds where youâd spar until you were both breathless with laughter.
But those places were empty now, stripped of their meaning. Without him, they were just shadows of something you could never get back. Things that were just gone, forever lost in the abyss of his own making. An abyss you had sealed just as much, by continuing to live the way you have.
The news of Geto Suguruâs defection spread quickly. Whispers followed you wherever you went, people looking at you with pity, like you were some tragic figure in a story they couldnât stop retelling.
Some were kind, offering empty condolences that only made you feel worse. Others were cruel, blaming you for not seeing the signs, for not stopping him before it was too late.
But the worst were the people who said nothing, who looked at you like you were a ticking time bomb, as if Suguruâs choices had tainted you by association. You could feel their looks, you could always hear the double entendre in their words. But you could hardly care at that point.
You tried to drown it all out, focusing on your missions, on anything that would keep your mind occupied. But no matter how hard you worked, no matter how many curses you destroyed, the weight of Suguruâs absence clung to you like a second skin.
And then, one day, you saw him again.
It was purely by accident, something you couldnât expect.
It had only been a mere few months after he had left.
It was on a mission in a remote village, where rumors of a powerful curse had been reported. You had gone in prepared for anythingâor so you thought. What you werenât prepared for was the sight of Geto Suguru standing in the center of the chaos, his presence commanding, his expression unreadable.
Your breath caught in your throat. For a moment, it felt like the world had stopped spinning. He looked the same, and yet so different. There was an edge to him now, a coldness that hadnât been there before. A brutish layer that protected him from the world.
âSuguru.â you said, your voice barely more than a whisper.
He turned to you, and for a split second, something flickered in his purple eyesârecognition, maybe even regret. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the calm detachment you had come to fear.
âYou shouldnât be here.â he said, his tone almost gentle.
âYou donât get to tell me where I should be. you shot back, your voice trembling. âNot after what youâve done.â After what youâve done to me.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. âI didnât come here to fight you. Leave, and Iâll let you go.â
âLet me go?â you echoed, anger bubbling up inside you. âYou donât get to âlet me goâ for shit, Suguru. You left. You broke everything, and now youâre standing here like none of it matters. I should kill you right now where you stand like the kill order says.â
âIt does matter. Everything I do, it matters. To me, to the world Iâm building.â he said, his voice quiet but firm. âMore than youâll ever understand. Thatâs why Iâm doing this.â
âNo, Suguru. You arenât.â you said, stepping closer to him. âYouâre doing this because you gave up. Because you let the worst parts of this world consume you. And now youâre trying to justify it by pretending. And I justâŚ.I have had enough of that excuse. Even when we fought, you used that excuse.â
He flinched at your words, the only crack in his otherwise unshakable composure. For a moment, you thought you had reached him. But then his expression hardened, and he took a step back from you.
âThis isnât about us, you know that.â he said. âItâs bigger than that. Bigger than you or me.â
âIt was never just about us, you idiot.â you said, your voice breaking. âBut we could have fought for something betterâtogether. Instead, you threw it all away. You threw me away.â
He didnât respond. He knew you were right. You could see it in your eyes. He tried to open his mouth, to say something. But instead, he turned and began to walk away, his figure fading into the distance once more.
You wanted to call out to him, to beg him to stay, to fight for the man you once knew. But you didnât. Because deep down, you knew that man was gone. You would just be lying to yourself if you tried to pretend that it would work.Â
And as you stood there, watching him disappear, you realized something: this was the last time you would let him break you. Geto Suguru had chosen his path, and now it was time for you to choose yours. You had to.
Even if it meant living with the weight of his absence for the rest of your life, you would carry it. Because that was what it meant to keep going. He wasnât willing to live with you, for you. He wasnât willing to do that. And so, you had to. You had to do it for you. To survive.Â
ââââââââââââââââââ
HE FELT LIKE HE WAS GOING TO THROW UP. Geto Suguru stumbled into another bar, his head swimming with alcohol and frustration. The neon lights buzzed overhead, casting garish colors onto the crowd of strangers.Â
It was a different place, but it might as well have been the same. Everywhere he went, it felt the same: loud, crowded, meaningless. He was chasing something he couldnât name, knowing full well it wouldnât fix the hollow ache inside him.
He spotted a girl at the bar, standing alone for just a moment, and something in him shifted. It wasn't an attractionânot really. It was desperation. I may suggest thereâs somewhere I might know her, he thought, smirking to himself, just to get the ball to roll.Â
He approached her with a feigned air of confidence, the kind that only comes from being far beyond tipsy. His words slurred slightly as he said something about a shared connection, a vague memory he knew didnât exist. She tilted her head, intrigued despite herself.
Suguru leaned in closer, his voice low and coaxing. âCome on, before the momentâs gone.âÂ
It wasnât like he was falling in love. That wasnât what he wanted. He didnât want her heart or her promises. He just wanted her to do him no good, to help him forget for a while. The girl gave him a lookâsoft, inviting, a subtle tilt of her lips that sent a rush of blood through his veins.Â
It turned him on more than it should have. He didnât care about her name, her life, or her story. It was the thrill of the chase, the electric jolt of fleeting desire. But before he could take another step, a hand clamped down on his shoulder.Â
âSheâs with me.â
Suguru turned to see a man standing there, tall and stern, his presence like a wall between them. The girl stepped back toward her boyfriend, her gaze dropping in awkward apology. Suguru laughed bitterly, holding his hands up in mock surrender.Â
âDidnât mean to intrude.â he said, though the sting of rejection burned.
He retreated to the edge of the dance floor, his drink in hand, watching the pulsing crowd around him. The music was deafening, the lights dizzying. The club was a house of funâor at least thatâs what it was supposed to be. People were laughing, dancing, losing themselves in the moment. But for Suguru, it was a prison. A trap.
The room spun, not from the alcohol but from the crushing realization that it wasnât enough. This place wasnât enough. These people werenât enough. Sheâs not you. No, she isnât. She never will be. No one else can ever be like you.
No matter how many drinks he had, no matter how many strangers he flirted with, the truth was inescapable. You and he werenât together anymore. You had been the only thing that made sense in the chaos of his life, and now, without you, everything felt hollow.
The club blurred into a mess of sound and light, but all Suguru could feel was the emptiness gnawing at him. He was trapped in this cycle of meaningless nights, trying to fill the void you left behind. And deep down, he knew it would never work. Because no matter how hard he tried, no one could be you.
Nothing here was worth staying for.
So he comes outside, the cold greeting him.
But he could barely feel it stab through him.
The alcohol in his veins dulled everything except the gnawing ache in his chest. He stumbled down the street, the neon lights of the club fading behind him, replaced by the harsh glow of streetlights. His breath came out in uneven puffs, his mind swimming with thoughts he didnât want to face.
His phone was a familiar weight in his pocket. He pulled it out, his fingers fumbling over the screen until he found your name. He was too drunk to be a coward now. He wasnât going to let the cursor mock him this time. Not again.
Somehow, it was muscle memoryâhe didnât even have to think about it. You were still in his contacts, still in his life in the smallest, cruelest way. If anything, he memorized your phone number. He knew it too well, heâd never forget it. He stared at your name for a long moment, the cursor blinking on the call button.
The voice in his head screamed at him to stop, to put the phone away and walk home.He didnât need to do this. Not right now. Not ever. But the alcohol silenced that voice, replacing it with raw, unfiltered need. And seeing you tonightâŚ.what more did he need to be an excuse? He had to call you. Even if it was wrong, he had to.Â
Before he could stop himself, he hit the button. The phone rang. Once, twice. With every passing second, his heart raced, his breathing shallow and unsteady. He almost hung up, almost let the moment slip away, but then you answered.
âHello?â Your voice was soft, confused. You had changed phones. But you still used the same number. He knew that. But you probably, over time, had forgotten his phone number. He had expected it. He was after all, worth forgetting. âWho is this?â
It was late, and you hadnât expected to hear from himâhadnât heard from him in years. If anything, you never should expect anything from him. But the sound of you made his chest tighten, and for a moment, he couldnât speak. He leaned against a lamppost, the phone pressed to his ear like it was his last lifeline.
âSâme again, babe.â he slurred finally, his voice thick with alcohol and emotion. âSuguru.â
There was a pause on your end, heavy and loaded. He could almost feel the weight of your hesitation, the way your breath hitched as you processed his call. It had been a long time. Ten long years. And now, just now, he called.Â
âWhat do you want?â you asked, your tone cautious, guarded. It wasnât the warmth he remembered, but it wasnât cold either. It was somewhere in between, and that hurt more than anything.
âI donât know, honestly.â he admitted, his voice breaking. He laughed bitterly, dragging a hand through his hair. âNo, thatâs a lie. I know. I just⌠And I justâŚ.I canât stop thinking about you. I canât stop⌠missing you.â
âSuguruâŚâ Your voice softened, but there was something else there tooâsadness, maybe even pity.Â
He hated it. He didnât want your pity. You had known that even when you were younger. But he knew you couldn't help it. Still, just maybe, even just tonight, youâd drop it. Youâd pretend, just as he was. He wanted you to tell him that you missed him too, that you still thought about him late at night, that he wasnât the only one trapped in this endless spiral.
âI saw you tonight.â he blurted, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. âAt that bar. Canât remember the name, honestly. But you justâŚ.You looked so happy. Like you donât even think about me anymore. Like Iâm nothing.â
You sighed on the other end of the line, and it cut through him like a knife. âSuguru, itâs been ten years. What did you expect? IâŚ.I didnât expect my life to be frozen, waiting for an impossibility that will never come.â
âI donât know. I justâŚâ he said again, his voice rising with frustration. âI thought maybeâmaybe youâd feel the same. Like⌠like this thing between us isnât over. Like itâs still there.â
âItâs not. And youâŚyou know this.â you said quietly, and the finality in your tone made his knees buckle. He sank onto the curb, his head in his hands.
âIt is for you, maybeâŚ. he whispered, his voice cracking. âBut not for me. Itâs not over for me, and I donât know how to let it be. Babe, I loved you. I still do. Maybe for the rest of my fucking life. But IâŚI donât know what to do.â
The silence on your end was deafening, and he filled it with a broken laugh. You had the right to your silence, you always will. After what he had done, even just last night? Why shouldnât you just be quiet? Why shouldnât you just hang up right now?Â
But on the other side of the line, you were bitterly weeping in the quiet. Just taking in his words. Everything about your lives had been a tragedy, a tragedy that you could never forget. Both of you were living those past lives that can never come back. And you shouldnât. You canât. Not now, not ever.
âIâm drunk, you know?â he said, as if that excused everything, as if it would make you forget the raw, painful truth heâd just laid bare. âI shouldnât have called. I just⌠I needed to hear your voice.â
âYou need to go home, Suguru.â you said gently. It wasnât what he wanted to hear, but it was what he expected.âYou have daughters to go home too, remember?â
Youâd always been kind, even when you were hurting. Even to people that hurt you. Heâd always known that. But somehow, he wondered if that kindness was why youâd stayed in his contacts all these yearsâbecause part of you knew he might need it someday.Â
Because he knows youâd be merciful to him, no matter what heâd done. No matter what heâd caused you. Youâd pick up that phone and answer him. Youâd let him hear your voice, like you used to do for hours and hours when you were younger.
âYeah, youâre right.â he said, dragging himself to his feet. âYeah, youâre right. Iâll go home.â
But as he stumbled down the street, the phone still pressed to his ear, he couldnât help but say one last thing. âYou were the best thing I ever had, you know that? The only thing that ever made sense. In all of my life. And I love you. Iâll love you forever for it.â
He heard you inhale sharply, but you didnât respond. Not for a while. You took a moment to let out a small sob, as though trying to hold yourself together. And Suguru could imagine it. How it shatters him. Ah, he had made you cry again like this.
âYou were the best of my life, Suguru.â You finally say, almost the saddest heâs ever heard you talk. You were still mourning him, he supposed. âThe love of my life. You always will be, Suguru.â
The line went quiet, and then, mercifully, you hung up.
Suguru stood there for a moment, staring at the screen, the word âDisconnectedâ flashing at him in a cruel, mocking rhythm. His hand tightened around the phone, his knuckles turning white as the fury bubbled beneath the surface. He nodded to himself.
He wanted to scream, to hurl the phone into the street and watch it shatter into irreparable pieces, as if that would somehow undo the splintering inside him. But instead, his anger collapsed inward, folding into a hollow resignation.Â
He shoved the phone into his pocket with a rough, jerking motion, his breaths shallow and uneven. He reached for a cigarette with the same hand, fingers trembling as they pulled it free. His lighter almost instantly lit the edge into a fiery smoke.
The first drag burned, the bitter smoke searing his throat and filling his lungs. It didnât matter. He needed the distraction, needed something to keep him grounded when it felt like the world had slipped from beneath his feet. He lit the next one before the first was even finished, the acrid haze curling around him like a suffocating ghost.
He kept walking. The city stretched out before him, a labyrinth of muted lights and shadows that felt more hostile than familiar. The streets were quiet, save for the occasional distant wail of a siren or the shuffle of a stray figure in the dark. Cold wind bit at his skin, cutting through the thin jacket he hadnât bothered to zip up.
It didnât matter. None of it mattered.
This was the last time youâll see each other.
He was going to do his plan soon enough.
And you wonât see him again, not ever again.
#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x y/n#geto suguru x y/n#geto suguru x you#geto suguru x reader#suguru geto x reader#suguru geto x y/n#suguru geto x you#geto x reader#geto x you#geto x y/n#suguru x y/n#suguru x reader#suguru x you#getou suguru x y/n#getou suguru x reader#getou suguru x you#getou x reader#getou x you#getou x y/n#suguru getou x reader#suguru getou x you#jjk fic#kayu writes ! ! !
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"Here's your hot cocoa, have a good evening!"
You receive your drink as you bow, thanking the employee and go outside to find a seat. As you sat next to a decorated christmas tree, you look in front of you and see a giant build board printed a familiar face on it.
Should you be proud to know that your memory is very good because you could recognize your highschool bully?
Probably not, haha...
You take a sip of your cocoa, thinking about what had happened in the past between the two of you.
--------------------------
It's like any other highschool bully story that everyone always read, during your first year, you were picked on by the richest and the most handsome guy in school and he forced you to do his homework everyday for 2 years. Tormenting you in the halls, drag you out whenever his mood isn't it, making you a laughing stock for the whole school.
But why only 2 years? Because everything went upside down for him when the last year started.
His parents had enough of him and brutally cut off his bank account, told him that either he learn how to work hard or he'd never get his hands on his father company. When he thought that his long time friends would still be there to support him through this, they quickly turn their backs on him upon knowing that he has no use left to them.
During the time he was at his worst, you stepped in and offer him a helping hand, telling him that you will help him with everything for this last year and in return, he must comply with your one request and can not decline.
He was wary at first when you suddenly did that but he had no other choices as there was no one else except you that would help him anyways.
And he was not disappointed for trusting you, you supported him through every single thing, improved his grades making him in the top 50 of the school, engaged him in participating in that model contest and also fulfil the role of being a friend that he can rely on.
When the school year end came, it was also time he hear your request. You couldn't remember much about anything other than what you said, you can't remember how the scenery looked like, what the principal was saying on stage, even the look on his face because after you said it, you left immediately.
"Let's never cross paths ever again in this life, that is my request."
--------------------------
You realized that your cup is now empty just like how the streets are also beginning to be, so you throw the cup into the trash can and walk home.
You wonder back to the times when you were teaching him the subjects, you would sometime catch him staring in an obsessive way at you but you didn't really care back then because your hatred for him was too much but now that you moved on, you wonder why he was staring at you like that.
"He also said something after I left that day but I couldn't hear what it was.." You mumble as you step out of the elevator to your apartment only to be greeted with a door that is not locked at all.
Your movements were hesitant, slowly, you open the door with cautious as you also carefully step inside your home. Right after you had closed the front door, a sudden sting on your neck send you off balance, fall into someone's arms and fainted immediately.
"Come get me at the apartment now." The tall figure said through a bluetooth headphone device on his ears.
Your bully smile down at you with a creepy smile, inhaling your familiar scent as he hug you close and tightly around his arms.
"You can tell me to do anything, give you anything, to die even. Anything but letting you leave."
--------------------------
After they said those words, my world seemed like crashing down on me in seconds.
I guess I have no other choice but to fulfil a different request from them in the future then.
"I shall have you in my arms when we meet again, love."
--------------------------
(ayy pov change :D)
#calmwrites#yandere#yandere x gn reader#yandere bully#yandere x reader#gn reader#fem reader#male reader#yandere x male reader#yandere x female reader#yandere x you#yandere x darling#yandere x y/n#yandere drabble#yandere scenarios
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DOUBLE TAKE w. joshua hong
wedding au ; kinda meeting the family trope + fluff and crack (730)
pairing: hong jisoo (joshua) x fem!reader
featuring: kim mingyu as your cousin
note: thought about this on a whim during a car ride to a wedding anniversary party i attended. enjoy !! please rb and like <3
youâre standing in a sea of pastel-dressed guests, the soft hum of chatter and clinking glasses filling the garden. itâs a beautiful eveningâpeach-coloured skies, fairy lights strung across trees, and the distant strains of a string quartet playing something vaguely familiar. you spot mingyu, your cousin and the groom of the lovely event, laughing with a few friends near the buffet table. heâs always been the golden boy of the familyâcharming, successful, and annoyingly smug about it.
and thatâs when you see him.
joshua.
youâve never personally met him before, only knowing about him during the wedding rehearsals as a former wedding singer about three years ago from one of the bride's band of bridesmaids. you thought to yourself about how with a face like that, how could anyone still be single. thereâs no denial in that.
there was something about the way he carried himself while balancing a plate of hors d'oeuvres with an easy smile. heâs tall, lean, with a soft kind of confidence that doesnât need to shout to be noticed. joshua looks up, and for a brief moment, your eyes meet.
your mind races. mingyu had spent the last week teasing you about being single, nudging you about how everyone in the family was settling down except you. âwhatâs taking so long? donât you have anyone?â heâd asked with that insufferable grin.
and just like that, an idea blooms. a ridiculous one at that. a crazy idea that makes you hope would work despite not thinking about the logistics of it.
you make your way across the crowd, weaving through clusters of guests, until youâre standing right next to him. âhi,â you say, flashing your most disarming smile.
he glances at you, startled but polite. âuh, hi?â
âlisten,â you lower your voice, leaning in slightly as you draw out the plan. âi know this is going to sound strange, but could you pretend to be my boyfriend? just for a moment. itâs complicated.â
joshua's brows shoot up in surprise, and you can see the gears turning in his head. âpretend ?â he echoes. âwhy?â
âiâll explain later,â you promise, grabbing his arm before he can protest. âplease, just trust me.â
before he can respond, youâre pulling him towards mingyu who is chatting up a few of the bride's own guests.
âgyu!â you call out in a tune, your voice bright and cheerful.
your cousin turns, grinning as always. â(your name), there you are!â he goes in for a hug before his eyes flicker to joshua, curiosity sparking. âand whoâs this?â
you squeeze joshuaâs arm lightly, as if urging him to play along. âthis,â you announce with a casual confidence you donât feel, âis joshua. my boyfriend .â
mingyuâs grin falters for a split second before he recovers. âboyfriend?â he repeats, a touch of disbelief colouring his tone.
âyes, boyfriend,â you reply smoothly, shooting mingyu a pointed look as if daring him to question you further.
joshua, to his credit, doesnât miss a beat. the man next to you extends a hand, his expression friendly but calm. ânice to meet you, man. (your name) has told me a lot about you.â
mingyu shakes his hand, still looking slightly suspicious. âfunny, sheâs never mentioned you before.â
âoh, you know how she is,â joshua says with a laugh, playing along effortlessly. âalways keeps me as her little secret.â you stand up a little bit straighter when you realise his hand has moved to rest on the small of your back.
you canât help but feel a pang of gratitude for how natural heâs making this look.
but then mingyuâs eyes narrow, a sly grin creeping onto his face. âyou must be serious if sheâs introducing you now. whatâs next? a wedding?â
you freeze, scrambling to think of an answer but joshua speaks up before you do. he chuckles, pulling you closer. âfunny you should mention that,â he says, his tone light and teasing, âweâre actually engaged.â
âwhat ?! â you and mingyu exclaim in unison, though for very different reasons.
you shoot joshua a wide-eyed look, but he just shrugs, a mischievous glint in his eyes. âyou dragged me into this,â he whispers under his breath, lips barely moving, âmight as well commit.â
mingyu looks utterly delighted. âengaged? well, this is news! congratulations, you two. shall i announce this during the toast? ooh, the family would be so glad toâ,â
you cut him off before he could continue and eventually inform the rest of the guests about your endeavours. "everything's fine, thank you!"
âweâll let you get back to hosting,â joshua says smoothly, steering you away from mingyu before the other man can protest.
once youâre safely out of earshot, you whirl around to face him. âengaged? really ? â
joshua grins, entirely unapologetic. âwhat? you needed help, and it seemed like the logical next step.â
you stare at him, torn between annoyance and reluctant admiration. âyouâre unbelievable.â
âand yet, youâre still holding my arm,â he points out, his smile softening.
âso, whatâs the plan now, fiancĂŠe? â
â please do not copy , translate or repost any of my works anywhere.
Š l2vedive on tumblr
#seventeen x reader#svt x reader#seventeen scenarios#svt fics#joshua hong#hong jisoo#joshua hong x reader#svt imagines#joshua hong au#svt joshua#seventeen joshua#seventeen joshua fics#svt fluff#svt crack#seventeen au#svt au#l2venotes
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Met Him Last Night | P. Graves
pairing: phillip graves x gender neutral readerÂ
synopsis: you make a decision to trust him, just this once. don't be surprised when it backfires.
warnings: graves, mentions of soap's death, possible timeline inaccuracies, one sexual reference
a/n: based on the song "met him last night" by demi lovato ft. ariana grande :) down bad for this man pls he's my american babe
Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List
requests open for call of duty!
â
âRed or white?âÂ
âNeither.âÂ
âWhite it is,â They tell the server, pointing to one of the names.
You sigh, leaning back in your seat. What were you doing this late at night here? With him?Â
Graves is sitting in front of you, smirking at your sour expression and you want to rip it off his face.Â
The server returns with the bottle and two glasses, pouring it for both of you. Graves thanks him and then gestures for you to take a sip. He grabs his glass, raises it to you in a toast, and waits. You hesitate for a second before grabbing the other glass. After all, whatâs there to lose? Youâve already sat here with him, might as well make it more bearable.Â
âThatâs more like it,â He chuckles as you take a huge gulp. It has a hint of white peaches, delicate, but rich and intense as you finish it.Â
You set the glass back down. âYouâre an instigator.âÂ
âSo they tell me,â He replies with ease. âBut isnât this so much more fun than drowning in your own sorrows?âÂ
Youâll give him that, at least. You werenât sure why you thought this was a good idea. You donât really believe in Graves and what he stood for. Or lack of what he stood for.Â
Yet, here you were, sat in this restaurant with him, indulging him when you shouldnât. A meeting with the devil.Â
âYou know you donât have to like so sour to be here, darlinâ. It was your choice to contact me.âÂ
âIâm starting to regret that,â You mumble, knowing he was right. In a moment of weakness, you begged for a contact with him and did some dingy shit, but you got it. You should at least give him a chance after all that hard work.Â
âIâm not good enough company?âÂ
âIâve had better.âÂ
He fakes a frown. âHurtful, really. But I know youâre mourning, so Iâll let it slide.âÂ
You roll your eyes. âHow generous of you.âÂ
âYou know, they do say I am quite a giver.âÂ
You narrow your eyes at him. Giver? He must have spoken wrong, he was a digger. Grave digger or gold digger. They both fit him. âWell, thatâs some bullshit.âÂ
Graves laughs, the skin around his eyes crinkling. âNo, Iâm generous to the right people,â He corrects you. âMy shadows get bonuses every year for Christmas.â He extends a hand to gesture at the table. âIâm paying for our lovely dinner tonight. Think that must constitute for something.âÂ
âThank you,â You said, honestly. He was right after all, you called him here and all youâve done is hurl insults at him. âIâm sorry.âÂ
He quirks a brow. âFor what?âÂ
âI could be better company.â
âAh, nonsense!â He waves a hand, dismissing your apology. His voice lowers, âAnyone in your position would be the same way, snippy and all.âÂ
âIâm not snippy!â Youâre quick to defend. Though the look on his face says you might have just proven his point. âA little snippy,â You admit.Â
âAnd thatâs okay. Itâs never easy losing a teammate to something so⌠preventable.âÂ
You clench your jaw at that mention and he takes quick notice. âBut enough of that. Letâs talk about you.âÂ
âWhat about me?âÂ
âAnything you like, darlinâ.âÂ
âI have a cat,â You blurt out.Â
âDo ya?â
You nod. âYeah, my friend takes care of him while Iâm away. Heâs uh⌠a tuxedo.â You pull out your phone to show him a picture. âHeâs a little shit.âÂ
Graves leans in to look at the photo of your cat. âHeâs cute, canât blame him.âÂ
You snort. âI canât have a Christmas tree 'cause he scales that thing to the top.âÂ
âSo he likes a little fun.â Graves shrugs. âDonât see nothinâ wrong with that.âÂ
You shake your head, a little amused. Of course, he would say that. âItâs more than that.âÂ
âThen tell me.âÂ
The conversion becomes easy after that. After you stopped insulting him, at least. Anyone who knew you knew the easiest way to get you to open up was through your cat. Maybe the wine is getting to your head, but heâs not so bad. Phillip makes you laugh, you make him laugh. You banter, you rant, you cry, and he understands. He promises you exactly what youâre looking for.
âWe donât play by the rules, darlinâ. Believe me, I can get you exactly what you want.âÂ
Youâre gone after that, having split the bottle of wine between the two of you. Any rational thoughts of whatâs wrong and right have left your mind. The devil has promised you something, and he always keeps them. And perhaps youâve promised something you shouldnât have.Â
He pays the bill, he walks you home with a hand on your back, and he stands at your doorway saying âgoodnight.âÂ
But you donât want to be alone.Â
He spends the night. Once. Twice. Three times. Too many to keep track of, but you didnât care to anymore. Not when you sang Phillipâs praises when he was between your legs, or when heâs bringing you flowers when he sees you, or holding you late at night as you continue to mourn and find comfort in someone like him.Â
Thereâs something warm and fuzzy about him. Something that makes your head spin and your legs weak. You donât think when heâs around (maybe thatâs the problem), but you donât need to.Â
âNever have to worry your pretty head âbout a thing darlinâ.â Phillip would say, and so you did.Â
You let him take care of your plan, your revenge, his promise. You let him take of you, healing some part of you that hadnât after you lost Johnny.Â
At least thatâs what you thought, but maybe you got lost along the way, turned around, and headed straight into his arms.Â
He made it so easy after all, didnât he? To believe in him, that is. And you did a fucked up thing, really. A mistake on your part. Phillip had loyalty to no one but his shadows. For you to even think heâd extend that to you? Well, you had to be stupid or in love.Â
And you werenât stupid.Â
You storm around your apartment, phone gripped tightly in your hand. You were fucked.
âAre you kidding me?â You practically scream.Â
âDarlinâ, please, itâs not personal.âÂ
You pinch the bridge of your nose. âYou used me.â Youâre practically fuming at him. He was smart, finding you when you were vulnerable, and letting you reach out first. He prayed on your innocence, on your hurt. You damn sure werenât letting that happen again.Â
âUsed is such a strong term,â Graves chides. âAnd really, I didnât. Youâre overreacting sweetness. This has nothing to do with you.âÂ
âIt has everything!âÂ
You can hear his eye roll through the phone. âWould you just trust me on this?â
âAre you being serious? No! Iâm never making that mistake again.â Graves didnât wear disguises. You shouldâve seen right through him. You knew better now. How could you ever have thought to believe him? Someone like him, with only a history of deceiving. You were there when he turned his back on you in Las Almas, at Shepard in the courtroom, and yet you believed him. He was your vice, your flaw, your reason.Â
He was horrible in so many ways, but you came back every time. You craved him holding you at night, wiping the tears away. The way heâd kiss you when you would meet up, his hands roaming your bodyâ youâd never felt this way.
â(Y/N),â He drawls and you want to fall for it, but you donât.Â
âNo, Iâm done. Iâm leaving.âÂ
âDonât be like this.âÂ
âYou gave me a pretty damn good reason to leave. This is on you.âÂ
He chuckles through the phone. âIf youâd let me explain, youâd see Iâm not such a bad guy.âÂ
You shake your head. âNo,â You said firmly. âNo, you betrayed me and I betrayed my team.â
What were they going to think of you after this? You werenât like this, so reckless, engaging with the enemy. No one expected this from you, and you certainly didnât expect it from yourself, to fall so hard. But you werenât going down without a fight.Â
You bounce back like you always did. âThis is the last call weâre having, Graves.â You practically spit his name out and heâs hurt when you hang up. You were always so stubborn with him. So quick to dismiss his reasons, like youâre looking for a reason to hate him. Whatever, youâll come back. Youâll see he did this for you. He was not a bad guy, he was carrying out the plan you wanted. It just happened he had to screw over a couple people for it. He just didnât expect you to get so worked up over it.Â
You dial the next person, heart thundering.Â
â(Y/N)?â A voice calls out, familiar to you and you hope they wonât hate you. That was the last thing you needed right now. You lost Johnny, and now you lost Graves (itâs a good thing you tell yourself, but your heart says otherwise), you couldnât lose your team too.Â
âKyle, I,â You swallow, tears clouding your vision when you realize what youâve done. âI fucked up.âÂ
â END â
Read more, HERE. Never wanna miss a fic? Join HERE.Â
#if u pay close attention I don't use graves and Phillip by accident#it serves a purpose when I switch names hehe#Phillip Graves#graves cod#phillip graves cod#phillip graves x reader#Phillip Graves x you#Phillip Graves imagine#graves x reader#graves x you#graves x y/n#call of duty#cod#modern warfare#cod mw2#cod mw3#call of duty x reader#call of duty x you#call of duty x y/n#cod x you#cod x reader
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đđđđđđđđđ đđđđđ 2.3k words obsessive naga x f!reader â ko-fi | patreon | masterlist | inbox | taglist | home | req. & comms
tags two cocks, hypnosis, kidnapping, dub-con, praise kink, light sub naga, oviposition, breeding kink, aftermath of mind control, altered memories
âđ" Making your way back to the campsite, a kind stranger guides you back to where you're needed. With him
Recounting your steps would be futile. Itâs best for you to leave fate like this.
It got dark too quickly and you still havenât traversed your way back to the camp. A short trip to your van for some extra supplies became a longer task than you anticipated it to. You can barely see the sun anymore. The trees start to look the same. Your lamp feels like itâs about to go out any second now.Â
The camping materials hold you back severely. Your shoulder aches and the cooler in both of your hands are heavy. Watching the sunset, you drop the cooler below a landmark tree. Four scratches. You donât exactly know what caused those scratches, but whoever did it, they marked your path back to your friends.
With a sigh, you bend over to carry the cooler againâ
âYou need help with that?â
The cooler drops to your feet, making you scream out. The person, who materialised out of nowhere, comes up to you. âSorry, are you okay? I didnât mean to startle you.â
The man looks concerned. His eyebrows furrow as he stares at you. Itâs alright. Itâs just⌠someone.
âOh,â you say, wincing as you hold yourself up against a tree. âIâm alright, I guess. Are you, uh, camping here too?â
He smiles. His teeth are white and he has little fangs like your little sister. Itâs cute. âYeah, just by the lakeside,â he says.
You havenât seen another tent on the lake. Youâd know since you and your friends are stationed there. Maybe heâs more camouflaged. âOh, uh, actually, me and my friends are there too. If itâs not too much of a botherâŚââ
âYou want me to take you there?â he says, practically reading your mind. âYeah. Itâs getting dangerous out at night.â He approaches you, looking around the forest with cautious eyes. âLet me lead the way, yeah? Just follow me and you wonât get lost.â
You nod. He doesnât look away from you and you donât either. When he turns to the path, you follow his figure closely. You feel lighter now. The equipment doesnât seem so heavy anymore⌠Did you forget something?
He asks you, âYou guys staying for long?â
âAh, well, for a bit. We leave tomorrow morning.â
âReally?â he laughs. âIâve already been here a while and I never wanna leave,â he jokes. You think that to be true. He turns to look back at you, seeing as you struggle behind him. He reaches out, âLet me get that for you so that you wonât worry about carrying anything.â
You nod. Your backpack, your lamp, all of it goes to him. He smiles as you catch up to him.
You think youâre reaching the lake right about now. You remember seeing another landmark earlier. You think you were supposed to take a turnâbut he hasnât, right? He knows where to go. He knows what to do. You should trust him. You should trust him.
The night looks darker. Did the lamp run out?
Heâs not holding anything. Heâs not looking at you anymore.
âHey,â you call out, looking around, âAre weâŚ?â
âYeah, weâre almost there,â he assures. âCome on. Hurry now. I can hear your friends from here.â
You donât hear them. The wind threatens the both of you for a moment, the breeze coming along with it. He takes your hand to guide you forward. You think you hear them now.
Thereâs something in the distance. It looks like a cave. âRi-i-ight over there,â he drags out, hands in his pockets as you both stand outside of it. âYour friends are calling for you there.â
Itâs too dark to see them. It must be later in the night now. You can hear their voices. Theyâre calling for you. Theyâre calling your name. You can hear them so vividly. Get in the cave.
Get in the cave.
Get in the cave.
Listen to me.
Get in the cave.
Darkness envelops you with each step forward. Theyâre closer now. The footsteps behind you feel distant. Yet, you feel the warmth of a body pressed against you. You can feel the air against your neck, like soft whispers and heavy breathing.
You call out one of your friendâs names. It echoes in the cave.
âTheyâre here, sweetheart,â someone whispers behind you. He's the kind man. âItâs getting late. You need to change into sleepwear, hm? Take your bottoms off for me.â
Thereâs nothing you can see in the dark. You feel around for your pants as you start to unbutton them. Another pair of hands come to hold yours, guiding you where to pull and where to unzip. It helps you take them off.
âYou look very nice,â youâre lowered to the ground, âsweetheart, you look very nice. Can you lay on your front for me?â
The kind man allows you to the cold floor. You feel nice. Just a bit sleepy. He keeps you up with his hands going up and down your body. âWish you could see yourself,â he says, pushing your top upârevealing your chestââ you look beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.â
You can hear something in the background. It sounds almost terrifying. Like the sounds of rubber stretching, the peeling of the skin, and small little grunts that echo throughout. Still, youâre soothed by the kind man who shushes you calmly.
âItâs alright, I just wannaâŚâ he trails off, shifting you around so youâre laying onâsomething. Itâs smooth yet hard beneath you. Itâs cold, too cold. â...sweetheart?â
Has he been calling your name the entire time? You canât really speak. You try to open your mouth but itâs too heavy. Youâre lightheaded.
âItâs okay, just wanted to make sure youâre still here,â he says, âI wanna ask you something, just nod or shake your head, yeah?â
You nod.
âDo you like your friends?â
You nod.
âDo you truly want to see them again?â
You nod.
âThen can you help me out? Just for a moment, just for a little while.â
âŚYou nod.
His chuckle is all you hear before he pulls you up. You can hear something dragging behind him. Once youâre pressed against the wall, you continue to hear it as something slides against you. You canât move. You canât feel your arms.Â
The panic settles in and heâs trying so hard to keep you calm. He whispers unintelligible things to you as something goes tighter, almost making you unable to breathe. Itâs tight against your stomach and your shoulders. You can still feel your legs but you canât move them. You wonât. You wonât move them.
âStay still,â he says. âJust help me since I helped you, okay? Just one small thing.
âI need to mate with you,â the coils around you tighten, âI need to use you for a while and I promise Iâll return you to your friends. Just make me good for a bit, okay? You got that, sweetheart?â
You let out a little noise. He doesnât say more as you feel air caress your now bare cunt. It surprises you. âIâll try to prepare you.â
Something prods against your hole. Itâs dry but you feel that youâve already started leaking. He moans, âAlready feeling good? Iâm so glad. Youâre gonna enjoy this, I promise.â
It pushes inside of you. Your breath gets choked out of you as you feel it massaging deep inside of you. Your legs shake as you struggle with it constantly rubbing against your G-spot. Itâs playing it so easily that you canât help but moan.
âDoing so good for me,â he says, his voice suddenly on your neck as the coils around you loosen. âGonna put another in.â
Heâs true to his word. Another thing goes inside your pussy and now youâre being scissored open. Your legs quiver hard. âSo fucking wet,â he moans, âI wanna put my cocks inside of you. I wanna keep you with my eggs stuck inside. Fu-u-u-uck..!â
You cry out as the things inside of you fuck you. It thrusts relentlessly and makes you accustomed to the feeling of being stretched wide. Itâs driving you crazy how it reaches so deep inside of you like an actual cock.
âIâm sorry,â he says suddenly, the thing inside of you pulling away. âIâm so sorry. I need to fuck you. Iâm about to fucking burst and it hurts!â
Youâre pulled up a little before something wet touches you. You moan, the slickness of it cold and almost uncomfortable. He whines in your ears as it rubs between your folds desperately.
âSweetheart, Iâm gonna fuck you with my cock, okay?â he says, somethingâhis cock spreading slickness all over your cunt. âIâll be gentle later. But youâre so good for me, so pliant, so fucking deliciousâ!â
He gets cut off by both of your moans. You scream out as you feel his cock stretch you. His fingers arenât enough as you feel him split you open. The heat inside of you is warming you from the inside out, threatening to burn you alive.
âO-oh,â he moans, the coils tightening you, âthatâs only one cock. I canât wait to feel your ass on my other one.â
You donât get to process his words as the coils around you guide you up and down on his cock. Youâre stuck moaning without a name. His cock feels like your entire first, punching you in and out without mercy as he chases his orgasm.
In front of you, heâs panting. Heâs going mad with the feeling of being inside of you. Every part of him feels like it's losing as you clench around him, unaccustomed to his size.
âSo⌠tight~!â he moans, thrusting his hips along, âso fucking good. I wanna feel you take all of me. I wanna see you carrying my eggs so much. I wanna fill you up please..!â
Heâs mumbling incoherent things as something slaps you from your behind. It feels like his other cock. You donât panic. Instead, you feel tenfold the arousal as it pokes you at your dry rear.
It doesnât push in. You know heâs disappointed with the way heâs crying out as he fucks your pussy harder.
â...so much. Wanna fill you up so much,â he moans, a sound coming from the back of his throat like a hiss. âI need to train you on my cock and make you never wanna leave. Youâll never need anyone else but me! Onlyâonly me!
âFuck, you feel so good, sweetheart.â His hips donât stutter as youâre being suffocated again. Youâre dizzy. You can feel yourself losing air in your brain as your cunt gets railed over and over again. The buds inside of you are getting rubbed to their most sensitive degree as you can feel him in your stomach. Itâs jarring. Itâs terrifying.
Itâs so fucking good.
You wanna stay here forever.
You wanna be trained on his cock
You never wanna leave.
You never need anything but him
Only him.
A cry escapes your throat as you squirt all over his cock. Your spams doesnât make him stop. âOh, fuck, youâre so cute!â he says, âyouâre shaking. Youâreâyouâre so tight around me. Iâm gonna make you a momma. Youâll never be able to let go of me after this, sweetie. Youâre going to want me forever.â
Least expecting it, his cocks stretch you further. You let out a meek noise as it struggles to push something in. âNâŚno more,â you sob, your walls pushing against it as it tries to make itself home.
âItâs okay,â he hushes. You can feel his arms around you as the coils loosen. âTake a deep breath for me. Youâre doing so good.â It pushes in more. âBe a good girl. Be a good momma, okay? Come on, take it!â
He thrusts into you one last time and you scream as something gets pushed inside. You pant, feeling something heavy stretch you inside. It feels like youâre throbbing inside. It feels like a heartbeat
âThatâs so good, youâre so good. Such a good girl.â
For the first time, he kisses you. The first thing you feel is his tongue pushing against your lips. It fucks your mouth open as you feel it slither. Itâs long and thicker than at least three of your fingers.
You gag. You can feel it against the back of your throat and you struggle to take it in. He tasted sweet. Is it supposed to taste this sweet?
He moans on top of you as he rubs his cock inside of you, pushing the thing inside of you a little deeper. He pulls out of the kiss and youâre left with a drool connecting the both of you. âMmm, sweetheart, you taste so good. Do I taste good?â
He does. You nod lazily as your head falls into his shoulders. He laughs as he strokes your back. âItâs okay. Iâm satisfied for now. Iâm sorry I rushed, okay? When you come back next time, Iâll be more gentle. Iâll even make a nest for you and our child.â
Before your brain can catch up, youâre falling into the sweet comfort of his arms.
When you wake up, your friend ushers you awake.
âGet the fuck up, sleepyhead!â she yells. âYouâve been asleep for hours, we need to go soon!â
You groan, unwilling to wake up. Your body feels so sore. The sleeping bag wasnât the best for camping, youâd guess. What a waste of purchase.
Outside, the birds are chirping and the sounds of the river are soothing. Youâre gonna miss this place, not gonna lie. Itâs like something would die in you if you were to leave. Then again, youâre very dramatic.
Your name is called. âHey! Help me bring this stupid ass cooler! Jacobâs already carrying the other one.â
You put it up against your arms. Huh. You feel like you got a moment of dĂŠjĂ vu. Itâs probably nothing. You shake your head, trying to get rid of the morning fog in your head.
Fuck. You think you need to check in at a hospital. You can barely walk and your stomach feels heavy. Maybe get someone to check in on youâ...
No.
You canât do that.
You canât let anyone touch you down there.
Just need to return to the lake after a month and youâll be good as new.
do not redistrubute this work as yours/without permission or feed to AI đˇ art by @ go_h_og
#â . monsters ďź â â#naga x reader#naga x human#naga x you#monster fucker#monsterfucker#monster x you#monster x reader#monster x human#monster kink#monster smut#monster fic#yandere male#yandere monster#yandere#obsessive yandere#yandere oc x reader#yandere oc#yandere x reader#yandere x y/n#yandere imagines#yandere drabble#yandere x you#yandere oc smut#yandere smut#male yandere x reader#oc x reader#yan x reader#yandere fic#yandere fanfiction
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rub one outâ(for your viewing pleasure-verse)
pornstar!eddie x director!reader
a cheeky (pun intended) bit of filth based on part of my blurb series. I was trying to keep the snippets short, but this just kinda poured out of me over the past couple days.
cw: sex work, simulated adultery, oral (fem receiving)
18+, MDNIâ2.8k
Maybe this was a bad idea.
You couldnât escape the nagging thought as you stepped outside, tightening the belt on your fluffy white bathrobe, tugging at the terrycloth tail and twisting it in your fingers. Your eyes flitted to each member of your crew, all of them in position waiting to get this show on the road.
Why were you so nervous? Youâd certainly done this enough times before not to get stage fright. So why did your stomach feel more tangled than the box of electrical cords in Lennyâs truck?
Part of you almost wished it would rain, or the ground would open up and swallow you whole so you didnât have to go through with this. But the concrete remained solid under your feet, and the sky overhead showed no signs of altering its radiant blue color. Perfect.
Itâs gonna be fine, you thought in an attempt to soothe yourself. Itâs all gonna be fine.
And you almost believed it would be.
Sammy, who was barely a step up from an intern, had swiftly been promoted once the plan for you to replace your no-show leading lady was set in motion. You werenât worried about her, thoughâshe was smart and a quick study; she knew all the shots you needed, and she had a good eye.
If you couldnât be behind the camera yourself, she was pretty much the only one you trusted.
WellâŚmaybe not the only one.
Eddieâs eyes met yours as soon as you stepped out of the trailer. The sunlight hit his deep brown irises, making them glow the color of rich honey. But behind the liquid gold, you could see his own nerves and it made your stomach flip, wondering what he could possibly be nervous about.
âHey,â he said quietly as he came up next to you. âYou good?â
For a moment, you considered lying. Flashing him a thumbs up or shooting him finger guns like one of those tools you used to do this with. But you knew better by now when it came to Eddie.
âNope,â you chuckled. âIâm kinda shitting myself.â
âWell, thatâs just what the guy about to fuck you wants to hear,â he chuckled back.
A real smile breaks through your tense, fake one and a genuine laugh bubbles up out of your chest. Eddieâs eyes shine when he hears it and the sight makes your chest feel all warm inside.
âNo, youâre right,â you said. âIâm okay, I justâŚdonât know why Iâm so nervous.â
His plush pink lips pressed into a straight line, his tongue poking out as he licked them. He reached out a reassuring hand and placed it on your shoulder, rubbing it through your robe.
âYouâre gonna be great,â he assured, sounding a lot more certain than you felt.
Easy for him to say. Heâs a fucking natural.
Even on your best day doing this, you never felt like you were great at itâcompetent, sure. Maybe even above average. But not great. Not at all the way you felt since getting behind the camera.
You nodded tightly, your hesitation still written all over your face. His eyes scanned over you and he swallowed thickly, his throat bobbing. He then leaned in and placed his lips beside your ear.
âYou lookâŚreally beautiful,â he said.
His warm breath rushed across your neck, the heat coming off his skin making your ears buzz. An explosion of fluttering began in your stomach, like there were butterfly cocoons in your cereal that morning and now they were all hatching.
âWe should get moving,â you said, pulling back. âBurning daylight.â
Eddie straightened. He nodded and you nodded back, sliding past him to do final checks before you started rolling. Telling yourself he must have pumped or popped a Viagra to explain away that bulge in his pants that definitely wasnât there before he came over to talk to you.
The nerves didnât disappear once you started working, but your body and brain did snap into a kind of performance mode you remembered well.
You started with some still photography for the VHS box artâshots of you in progressing states of undress, your robe dropping off your shoulder, Eddie pulling it open to reveal your body, his hand running up your thigh in a slow caress.
He let it trail all the way up your stomach and chest until he curled his finger under your chin and tipped your face toward his, letting his lips hover just inches away from yours. Your eyes fluttered closed and your heart raced, thinking he might close the gap and actually kiss youâ
But after the shutter snapped, he simply let his hand drop and backed away.Â
The loss of his body heat sent a chill down your spine and you shivered despite the blazing sun overhead. Eddieâs eyes caught yours, the nearly imperceptible lift of his brow asking, âyou okay?â You nodded and another shiver skittered across your skin as you pulled your robe back up.
For the next shot, you climbed up on the massage table and he got into position behind you. His body pressed yours down, your back arching under him as he dipped his head low to take the lobe of your ear between his teeth, palming your exposed breast with his large, strong hand.Â
You let your mouth hang open, not even needing to fake the look of desperation on your face. And let yourself believe Eddieâs excitement you could feel digging into the fat of your ass was real too. The little grunts and whines he let out when you wriggled against him certainly didnât sound fake.
After the photos, there was nothing left to do but move on to the main event.Â
You and Eddie resetâhim standing in frame, you just outside of it. Sammy panned the camera around, establishing the setting, zooming in on the fountain feature in the pool and then coming around to film Eddie as he snapped a fresh towel and laid it out on the massage table.
From your spot off-camera, itâs impossible not to be mesmerized by the sight. Biceps rippling, tendons in his arms flexing as he smoothed the towel flat. His tattoos stood out even more than normal with him in white slacks and a white polo meant to give the impression of him being an employee of the resort. And the little twist your hair and make-up girl Jael did is something new that only further accentuates the thick column of his neck and his angular jaw.
Heâd left off his rings and bracelets, as was typical when he was filming, and you couldnât help but think about that day in the editing suite. When heâd touched your knee, and you felt the silver ridges press into your flesh. It had jarred you somewhat, how right it felt to have his hand there and how youâd nearly leaned in to meet his lips when you saw his face getting closer.
You hadnât kissed him that dayâpromptly removing yourself from temptation in an attempt to salvage some shred of your professionalism. And you (mostly) felt good about that decision. It would have been reckless and destructive and your entire working relationship might have been compromised. Youâd made the right call that day, you were sure of it. MostlyâŚ
But today was different. Today, it wasnât going to derail your career. If anything, your career was mandating you give in to those urges that had plagued you so relentlessly. And that was when it hit you all at onceâthe realization about as subtle as a train crashing through a wall.
You were going to fuck Eddie.
Youâre going to feel firsthand what itâs like to have his face and cock buried between your legs; what itâs like to suck on his fingers and soak them with your spit before he presses them to your clit; what he sounds like when he comes all over your stomach or tits (you canât quite recall what the script specifies, you just know itâs meant to be outside so he can dotingly clean you up after).Â
The barrage of thoughts that storm through your mind are so consuming, you nearly miss your cue to enter the scene. But once you do, youâre rather grateful for the distraction of the set-up dialogue:
âItâll just be me, today. My husband has a meeting he couldnât get out of.â
âNo, no, itâs not his fault. I got it as a surprise for our anniversaryâI should have known better than to book it without checking his schedule.â
âIâm afraid I never know how much to take off for a massageâŚwhat do you suggest?â
Eddie answered your last question with a smooth, âWhatever makes you most comfortable,â and a smile so warm it would melt the ice caps.
Giving him a smile of your own, you slowly pulled at the tie of your robe. It fell to the ground in a heap at your feet and Eddieâs dark eyes roved over you hungrily. Now revealed to be completely naked, you feigned some degree of shyness: ducking your head low, looking up at him from underneath your lashes, brushing your hand over your stomach as though to hide it while really drawing his eyes to its plush softness.
âIs this alright?â you asked him with a coy smirk. Eddie grinned, still drinking you in.
âAbsolutely,â he breathed. And the raptness in his eyes almost had you believing him.
You took your time getting up on the table, propping yourself up on all fours, letting him (and the camera) take a good, long look at the fullness of your hips before you settled in place. Arms at your side, you took a deep breath as you laid flat on your stomach, relieved there wouldnât be much dialogue needed for this next part.
Through the little donut headrest at the end of the table, you saw Sammyâs feet as she moved in closeâfilming tight on Eddieâs hands while he pumped massage oil onto them and warmed it by spreading it between his palms.
Your chest tightened, nerves coiling in your stomach as you anticipated his touch, forcing your body to keep still so you didnât pull focus.
He smoothed some oil over your skin, starting at the ankles and thoroughly coating your calves. The smell of clary sage filled the air, earthy and warm. And underneath it, a clean and woodsy scent you recognized as Eddieâs soap wafted up to your nose when he leaned in closer.
His fingertips began to knead your muscles, slipping and sliding easily over your skin that was slick with the oil. He made tiny circles with his thumbs, alternating back and forth as they moved in a steady pattern up your calf.
Oh, thatâs rightâŚ
In all the hubbub, youâd forgotten the whole concept for this shoot was borne on the fact that Eddie went to massage school for real. Heâd told you before, after he left his hometown (shit, what was it again? Hawk-somethingâŚ) that he started collecting different jobs like merit badges.
Just bounced from thing to thing, trying his hand (sometimes both) at whatever life presented. And that included porn. Heâd said he only auditioned for that first film he did because someone heâd slept with a handful of times knew a casting director and suggested heâd be good at it.
âHe certainly had the dick for itâ were her exact words, if you recalled. Strange to think in a way, you might owe that girl your career.
Through the pleasurable haze your mind dipped into having Eddieâs capable hands erasing every ounce of stress you carried in your muscles, you realized he was moving the scene right along while you just lay there humming and moaning with relief at his practiced touch.
Heâd lowered his voice to that deep, rumbly register he always used when he was building towards the next phase. His DM voice, as he so affectionately dubbed it. Rough and gravely, yet even and tempered, guiding both you and the audience along on the journey of this fuck.
âI hope you donât mind me sayingâŚbut your husbandâs a jackass for missings out on this.â
Your heartbeat picked up in your chest as he moved to your thighs. His fingertips dug into your flesh, kneading it like dough, letting his thumbs swerve dangerously close to your center.
âYou deserve someone who puts you firstâŚwho knows what he has and worships youâŚâ
One of his thumbs swiped briefly over your puffy lips, and you knew he felt how wet you were.
âYou know, Iâd never let you out of my sight if you were mineâŚâ
His words dripped slowly and intentionally past his lips, his hands creeping higher and higher up your legs. At last, they slid over the globes of your ass and he groaned as he squeezed one in each hand, spreading you apart to see your center, soaked with arousal that had been pooling there, truth be told, from the moment Eddie had told you how beautiful you looked.Â
You heard Eddieâs next line in your head before he said it, âIf you really want to relax, I can try a very special technique. I donât do it for just anyone. Itâs a little bitâŚunorthodoxâŚâ
And you were more than ready to take him up on his offer once he delivered the line.Â
But Eddie went off script.
Instead of hearing words, you felt the wet heat of his tongue glide through your folds as he buried his face between your spread ass cheeks. Your head popped out of the headrest, letting out a breathy moan of surprise and delight.
The shock on your face was evident as Sammy pushed in close to capture your expression, but so was your pure and utter elation. Youâd never felt anything so good in your lifeâŚ
And it seemed you werenât the only one.
Eddie groaned loudly as he lapped messily at your folds, his spit mixing with your slick that covered the bottom half of his face. And it was only after a few blissful seconds of eager licking that he even realize what heâd done.
âIâmâmmphâsorry, Iâm sorry, Iâm so sorryââ He panted out in between sinful swirls of his tongue, his he words muffled by your ass cheeks because he couldnât stand to pull away even a little, even long enough to speak. âI had to taste youâŚâ
âItâs okay,â you answered, voice already wrecked beyond belief. âItâs okay, just keep goingââ
The command is directed at him as much as it is the crew, who only panicked slightly. Eddie never did stuff like this and they just werenât ready.
They got back on track quickly enough, Sammy signaling the boom mic to get as close as he can without dipping into frame in order to pick up every lurid slurp and suck of Eddieâs mouth.
After no more than a few minutes, the fluffy towel under you was bunched in your fists and your hips squirmed as Eddie continued to eat you out like a mad man. His tight grip on your ass cheeks held fast, spreading you wider still so his tongue could probe deeper. The sounds he pulled out of you didnât even sound human to your ears, let alone recognizable as your own voice.Â
But you didnât care.
However you sounded, however you looked, it was superfluous to what Eddie was doing and the precipice he brought you to. Your orgasm hit harder than any drug, than any physical blow. It had you shaking uncontrollably, reaching back to grip the hair at the crown of his head as your hips pushed back to meet every thrust of his tongue while you rode out your exceptional high.
You felt its tingling sensation spread to every inconsequential inch of your body, like an ocean of fire that crashed over you in wave after wave of scorching pleasure. Drowning you in it.
When you finally found the strength in your limp limbs to roll over onto your back, Eddieâs eyes were waiting to meet yours. You could see on his face how sorry he was, how worried he was heâd fucked up. And you tried to communicate with him in that mind-melding, wordless sort of way you and he always did that it was fineâthat people were going to love it.
Cocking your brow at him, dipping into a more salacious tone to really sell the transformation from demure housewife to lusty adulterer, you threw in a little adlib of your own.
âThatâs some technique youâve got there,â you teased him, propping yourself up on your elbows. âMy husbandâs certainly never done that before.â
Eddieâs sly smile returned, his lips curling as he reached out to grip your waist. He hauled you closer with one jerk, bringing you to the edge of the table so your hips were flush with his. The bulge in his white pants was harder than ever when it pressed against your cunt, and he grinned wickedly when he felt just how ready you were for more. He yanked up the shirttail of his polo and whipped it off his body, tossing it behind him where it landed half in the pool.
âOh, sweetheart,â he tutted softly, âyou ainât seen nothing yet.â
Tysm for reading! đ¸ comments and reblogs keep your skin clear and your crops watered đŤśđť
#eddie munson#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson stranger things#stranger things fanfiction#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie stranger things#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson smut#stranger things au
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actually, itâs captain.
Bradley âRoosterâ Bradshaw x f!reader
summary: request for @kpopgirlbtssvt. roosterâs girl is hit on by Top Gun students.
t/w: touch her, you d i e trope. cursing. mentions of alcohol.
Rooster leans against the bar, laughing at something Penny tells him. His jeans hang low on his hips, and heâs wearing the Hawaiian shirt you bought him for his birthday.
Roosterâs hand slaps the bar as he continues to howl. Penny and Mav exchange a look. Maverick murmurs something to Penny. Your guess would be âit wasnât that funny.â
You throw back the rest of your drink. As your glass returns to the table, a group of men circle you, all clad in khaki. Must be new Top Gun recruits.
âWhatâs a pretty little gal like you sittinâ here alone for?â one of them asks you, his accent very similar to Hangmanâs.
âMind if we join ya?â the second asks. Before you can reply, two of the slide in across from you, while the one who spoke first sits next to you. His burly arm comes up around your shoulder. You stiffen under him, feeling small.
And not in the way you feel with Rooster. He makes you feel small, protected, but also empowered. This guy has a hold on you like heâs claiming you. Telling every other guy in the bar he plans on taking you home.
âThis hereâs Crane and Sorry,â he points to the two in front of you. âAnd you can call me Pleasure. As in, itâs a pleasure to meet you. As in, the way all ladies feel after a night with me.â He winks. He actually winks.
Your brain is so shocked, you canât form words. You should take this guyâs arm and bend it behind your back, the way your dad taught you. You should give him on of your grade-a verbal lashings.
But you donât. The sheer audacity of this man has you frozen.
You try to make eye contact with Rooster, but Pleasureâs frame blocks your view.
âGet your hands off my girlfriend, asshole.â Roosterâs voice makes a relieved breath come from your mouth. His tone of voice would make anyone run for the hills, but it leaves you full of wanting.
Pleasure chuckles, meeting Roosterâs gaze. âActually, itâs Lieutenant.â
Crane and Sorry exchange an amused look. Roosterâs face is set in a hard line. He reaches for Pleasureâs bicep, ripping him from the booth.
âI said to get your hands off my girlfriend, asshole.â Rooster is a whole head taller than the aviator that just had himself draped on you.
âShouldnât leave your girl all alone, dick.â Pleasure tells him, bowing up. Roosterâs mouth pulls up on the left, giving him one of his infamous cocky smirks. Second only to Hangmanâs.
âActually, itâs Captain. And I hope to God youâre in one of my classes. Lieutenant.â
At this, you see Pleasure audibly gulp, knowing heâs fucked up. Rooster still has a death grip on his arm.
âCome on, man. Make my day,â the words come out laced with venom.
Before things can get out of hand, you hop out of the booth and high tail it to Penny. Quickly giving her a synopsis, she rings the bell, signaling these guys need to be thrown out. Hangman, Omaha, and Coyote each grab one of the guys and drag them to the exit.
Rooster joins you at the bar, taking your face in his hands. Those brown eyes roam over you, searching.
Your hands come up to cradle his face, âRoos, Iâm fine.â
âWhen I saw him draped over you, I saw red. Nobody touches my girl.â He leans down to place a kiss against your temple. Roosterâs words have your toes curling in your shoes. Youâve never seen this side of him.
You lower your hands to his shoulders, threading one of them in his curly hair thatâs definitely longer than Military regulation.
âYouâre the only one I want touching me,â you murmur in his ear, your face flushing.
âYeah?â he murmurs back.
Not trusting your voice to not come out completely needy, you nod.
âCome on, guys. Quit being disgusting,â Maverick says to the two of you, feigning gagging.
Penny pops his hand over the bar, eliciting a laugh from him.
Rooster ignores him, placing a deep kiss onto your mouth.
âTake me home, baby,â you say, taking in those brown eyes.
âI donât know, pretty girl, I donât think I can get further than the Bronco,â he winks.
masterlist.
#top gun maverick#top gun#top gun maverick fic#bradley rooster bradshaw#bradley bradshaw x y/n#rooster x reader#rooster fluff#rooster imagine#rooster x oc#rooster fanfic#rooster top gun#bradley bradshaw fic#bradley bradshaw fanfiction#bradley bradshaw imagine#bradley bradshaw x reader#rooster bradshaw fic#bradley bradshaw
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I absolutely adore your Spencer x Hotch!sister fics! <3 Can we possibly see the dynamics if it were switched? A Hotch x Spencer's Older Sister fic, pretty please? But no worries if not! Thank you, hope you have a good day!
Was Spencerâs sister always this shy? Hotch canât remember (and he canât stop himself from flirting, just a little). fem, 1.4k
âReid?â Hotch asks.Â
Spencer grins at his phone.Â
âReid.â Hotch clears his throat. âSpencer.âÂ
Spencer puts his phone down on the desk, but he doesnât seem to have heard Hotch either way. When he realises Hotch is standing by his desk, he perks up. âHotch, can I ask a favour?âÂ
Hotch had been about to ask Spencer a favour, but itâs fine. âSure.âÂ
âUh, my sister is supposed to meet me for lunch in half an hour, but she doesnât really like restaurants and Iâmâ me. Do you think she could come to the office?â he asks.Â
âSure, Reid. Thatâs fine, she just needs a visitor card.âÂ
Hotch canât remember the last time he saw you. Probably when Reid first started tailing Gideon a few years ago, when youâd made the trip from Vegas to Quantico to see how he was settling. It was a brief introduction, and, while you may possess a few more practical graces than your brother, you were far shyer at the time. You didnât mind shaking Hotchâs hand, but you struggled to maintain eye contact after.Â
You donât look much like your brother for reasons heâs never cared to ask, as Hotch has never placed much value on how family comes about. He doubts Spencer does either. But you stay in Vegas with your mother, and Spencer sees you three times a year. Birthdays and Christmas. And today, apparently.Â
âWhatâs the occasion?â Hotch asks.Â
Spencer smiles again. âI think sheâs gonna move here, with me.âÂ
âYeah?â Hotch isnât the prying boss, but heâs a nosy friend. âEverything okay?âÂ
âThings are great, I mean.â Spencer has the expression of someone deciding what they can and canât say. Eventually his eyes clear, and Hotch feels satisfied at the realisation that trust has settled tightly between them. âWhen I decided my mom needed help, Y/N, she hated that, and maybe she resented me, butâ I used to worry she hated me, but she doesnât.âÂ
âI donât think she could,â Hotch says easily.Â
Spencer nods. Whether he agrees is up for debate, though. âIf tâs finally hit her that momâs sick forever, so sheâs feeling out her options.âÂ
âThat must be a hard thing to realise.âÂ
âYeah. But things really are great, sheâs here now, her stuff is coming tomorrow, andâ and maybe sheâll stay for a while.âÂ
Hotch likes excitement on Reid (when it doesnât impede their most important work, that is). Truthfully, thereâs so much to worry about that Hotch canât admit to worrying about Reid as much in recent years, and yet heâs relieved to hear that there will be more Reidâs in a hundred mile radius.Â
âIâm glad,â Hotch says honestly. âSheâs more than welcome here. If she can cope with the photographs in the conference room, the round table is all yours.âÂ
Hotch retreats to his office and forgets about it for a while, submerged in his own lunch and a certain seven year oldâs birthday planning. Jack wants a clown, and a cake with Cars, and he really wants a bounce house. Which is great, but Jack decided he wanted the bounce house last night, and his party is at the end of the week. Hotch makes a bunch of phone calls and finally gets to take a victory lap forty five minutes later.Â
He steps out of his office, enticed by the sound of laughter. Spencer laughs like heâs surprised ninety percent of the time, and yours is no different. Itâs clear to the listening ear who taught Spencer how to laugh.Â
âI love it, I donât ever want to hear a bad word about it,â you say through peels of it, a breathy, smiley warmth to you as a chair creaks from within the conference room, âand I mean that. Please donât tell me any facts.âÂ
âI know so many youâd like to hear!âÂ
âI donât doubt it, but please, as a favour? You can tell me about everything else.âÂ
âProcessed cheesesââ
Hotch turns the corner as you put down a sandwich. âOkay, fine. Iâm done, are you happy?â you ask, your smile fading into a more polite one as you meet Hotchâs eyes.Â
âI didnât get to say anything.âÂ
âSome things are better left unsaid,â Hotch says. He doesnât interrupt, only says it into the quiet, and he doesnât bother with fanfare. Itâs just to alert Spencer of his presence. âY/N,â Hotch adds, âhello. Itâs good to see you.âÂ
Heâs alarmed by your reaction âyour eyes widen in your seat, hands hidden beneath your thighs, and your lips part ever so slightly. âAgent Hotchner,â you say softly, almost weakly.Â
Heâs not that intimidating, is he?
âIâm sorry to interrupt,â he says.Â
âYouâre not interrupting, I was just telling her about the dangers of processed cheese. Theyâre so irregularly salty that the sodium has to be marked as a cause of heart disease on FDA approved packaging for the service industry,â Spencer says.Â
âIâm sure some every now and then wonât hurt,â Hotch says, attempting to offer you a friendly smile. âSpencer tells me youâre staying here for a while, thatâs great. How are you liking the weather? It must be a change from Nevada?âÂ
You look peculiarly hot. âItâs different,â you agree.
Voices ring from the bullpen.Â
Spencer stands up. You stand with him, but Spencer says, âSorry, is that Morgan? He said I have to go and get him when youâre here.âÂ
âSpencerââ
Spencerâs already leaving. âHe threatened me, actually,â heâs saying, more to himself than either of you as he departs.Â
You wring your hands.Â
Hotch worries his brows are giving him away. Youâre acting strangely, but maybe heâs too much. He is a special agent, sometimes the other parents at Jackâs school get antsy around him like theyâre worried he can tell they havenât paid their last parking fine. Maybe youâve a secret crime youâve committed.Â
He watches you more closely, to your flustering.Â
No crime, Hotch thinks, but a secret. Even from Spencer.Â
âSo howâs your day, Agent Hotchner?â you ask softly.Â
Itâs actually quite sweet, the way you say it. Your nerves are cute.Â
âBusy.â The expected answer. âIâve been trying to plan a birthday party between paperwork.âÂ
âFor Jack?âÂ
He smiles with more gentleness. âYes, for Jack.âÂ
âHe was, um, a newborn, when we last met. Just a couple of weeks old, I think. How old is he turning now?âÂ
âSeven.âÂ
You breathe out. âWow. Seven years.âÂ
Seven years, and your crush on him remains. Thatâs what heâd forgotten âwhen you visited Spencer at the time, even Gideon had mentioned your frazzled, almost dizzy disposition whenever Hotch was around. And Gideon tended to focus narrowly on work at work, so Hotch had known he wasnât making it up.Â
At the time it had been cute, but awkward too, and infeasible. Heâd been dedicatedly married and in love with his Haley. And if he werenât, your age gap mightâve been a little non-functioning, Hotch well into his thirties, and you a fresh twenty-five.Â
Today youâre older, and more beautiful. Something about you has shifted, a blossoming into your features, and Hotch actually has the ability to notice it now.Â
Your Spencerâs sister, he remembers suddenly. Probably not a woman he should flirt with, some subtle compliment lost on his tongue.Â
âYou look the same,â you say.Â
He laughs. âThatâs kind and untrue. Iâm getting old.âÂ
The look you give him then is a shock and a pit, long the long forgotten twist of butterflies. âNo,â you say, looking down at your hands, âI wouldnât say that.âÂ
âWhat would you say?â he asks.Â
Youâre saved âpoor girl, he doesnât know what he was thinking, you can barely hold your head upâ as Morgan bounds up the stairs and into the conference room. He gathers you for a hug as though he knows you better than he does, and Hotch loses sight of your face.Â
Unknown to him and unseen, Morganâs greeting is white noise. Why does he talk like that? you think to yourself desperately. Heâs asking you all those questions with this weight to them, and heâs so calm! Iâm going back to Vegas.Â
âHow long are you staying?â Morgan asks.Â
You laugh weakly and accidentally catch Hotchâs eye, who smiles at you nicely.Â
âOh, I donât know. A couple of weeks, maybe.âÂ
Longer, if you have reason.Â
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x y/n#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner blurb#aaron hotchner drabble#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotchner fanfic#aaron hotchner fanfiction#hotch x reader#hotch#hotch x you#hotch blurb#hotch drabble#criminal minds
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Have my baby - Max Verstappen
Warnings: 18+, breeding kink obviously, creampie, unprotected sex
Word count: 1,4k
I feel like youâd realise that Max has a raging breeding kink right in the middle of a heated makeout session one ordinary Tuesday night.
"Damn, schat, you're so beautiful⌠Wanna put a baby in you so bad."
His comment freezes both of you. He must have realised what he just said and stopped in his tracks, scanning you for a reaction. But your face is blank, free of any emotion.
You're in shock, Max had never even mentioned having kids of your own before. Sure, you both knew that you wanted kids someday but you had not discussed it further until now. Besides, Max was good with children, and the biggest dream you had was to have a baby with him. But his admission came as a surprise.
You huff, "Baby, huh?" Gazing up at his icy blue eyes. They were filled with shame, and his head sunk into the crook of your neck with a sigh. Your hands sink into his thick hair, and you can't help but pull on it slightly, encouraging him to look up again.
"Max, look at me." You tell him, and he does, still with that adorable frown on his face.
"Say it again." You order.
"I'm not doing that, Y/N." Max quickly replies.
You sigh. "I didn't know you had a breeding kink, Max." You wink at him.
You're really into the idea. "BabyâŚ" You whisper while playing with his hair and brushing over your stomach, imagining feeling a baby bump under your hand.
"Liefje, I didn't mean to-" He starts, his tone slightly panicked, but you stop him before he can explain himself.
"I like that, Max." You admit. As you say that, his eyes widen in surprise.
"Really?" He coos while peppering your face with kisses.
"YeahâŚ" You giggle. "I mean, I wasn't exactly ready to hear that from you but I like it."
Max lets out a laugh, "I wasn't thinking, I'm so sorry. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable or anything."
You shush him, "You didn't, trust me."
He offers you a faint smile as he traces his hand against your cheek.
"Can I remove these?" Max asks rather desperately, pointing to your jeans, making you nod and assisting him in dragging them off.
When the sweet smell of you hits him, he inhales and lets out a small whimper. "God, smell heavenlyâŚ"
His words make you blush, and while he's busy taking your underwear off, you look down at his bulge.
"Need you so bad, Maxie." You whine while palming his jeans.
He answers with a couple of thrusts against your hand, feeling desperate to have you and to get out of the tightening lock-up of his pants.
Something in him switches when he sees your pussy, and he manhandles your tiny figure onto your hands and knees.
"Please Max, need you." You beg. Your hand slides down to your heat, and you're already soaked. As you're playing with your clit, you slide two fingers in, stretching yourself for him.
You hear the clinking of his belt behind you, and you look back at him, arching your back further, allowing him to see you even better.
"Such a teaseâŚ" He chuckles, and you feel something slide along your slit. Something wet and familiar. You recognize it as his tongue almost instantly, and you can't help letting out a moan.
"Hmmm, taste even better." He whispers against your core. As he's licking and sucking on your clit, his nose brushes against your seeping hole, wetting his face.
You feel yourself getting closer by the second as you feel two of his fingers penetrate you and curl up against your G-spot.
Max feels the way you're clenching around his fingers, almost cutting off blood supply to his poor digits.
Before you even had the chance to react, you came. The feeling of him on you is overwhelming and you're frantically trying to get away, but he's holding himself and you in place, still sucking on your clit and fingering you frantically.
When you've come down, Max pulls his fingers out and collapses beside you, stroking your flushed cheek with his fingers.
"So what do you say, schat?" He asks, his eyes filled with adoration.
"About what?"
He pauses before he speaks, "Let's have a baby." He says, still looking at you.
"MaxâŚ" You try to sound serious but the thought of having his baby is tempting. "You're away all the time for work. It wouldn't work."
"I'll quit if you want me to. Just have a baby with me."
Silence. You try to come up with a good excuse, but the post-orgasm haze makes it hard. The only reason you're waiting is because of his career. And if he quits, there's no reason for you to wait. "You can't stop racing just because you want a baby, Max."
"Watch me, Y/N⌠Besides, if we make a baby now, it'll be born in the off-season, it's perfect!" He tries to resonate.
"You've planned this really well, haven't you?" You giggle.
"Mhm⌠You would make the most beautiful mama. You and pregnancy would complement each other." He coos while rolling you over onto your back, kissing you all over your face, making you burst out in laughter.
"Okay, okay, I give up!" You laugh, allowing Max to hover over you.
"Let's make a baby." You whisper, not sure if he heard you.
"Oh⌠Love." He sighs contently while pulling your hoodie off and freeing himself from his jeans and underwear. "I love you." He leans in and catches your mouth in a searing kiss, his cheeks flushing with each word.
The thought of making love to you without any barriers, feeling you for real, sends Max reeling.
His knees push your legs apart, placing himself between them. Max can't help capturing your lips in a hungry kiss, tasting your lips with his tongue. Excitement runs through him as you run your fingers down his body to his pulsating member, you grab it and give it a few pumps before brushing it against your cunt, collecting the slick from your previous orgasm on his tip.
"Are you really sure about this?" He asks for confirmation one last time.
"I'm sure of it, Max." You reply, giving his nose a gentle kiss.
Max is beaming at you when he hears the words, and slowly slides into you, connecting two bodies into one. When the tip is in, you stop him with a hand on his stomach. You would never get used to his size. "It's okay, schat, take a moment." He tries to comfort you.
Once you've adjusted to him, you nod to indicate your readiness to continue. He slowly burrows into you, ensuring you feel okay and as comfortable as possible while showering you with praise and encouragement.
"Doing so well for me, liefje."
"Looking so good like this."
"Our babies will be just as beautiful as you."
"I'm so lucky to have you."
When he bottoms out, you moan out brokenly, as does he. The feeling of him sheathed in you almost sends you into a raging orgasm instantly, in any case, you're close.
"Look at me, Y/N." He asks as he pumps into you. Your eyes are squeezed shut as you are desperately trying to keep yourself together. When you hear his words though, you open your eyes, only to find him close, looking at your contorted face. The sight of him aids your impending orgasm, and you're pushed over the edge with the help of his thrusts.
As you moan out your second orgasm, you suck Max' delicious lower lip into your mouth, while rocking your hips to get some kind of relief. Max doesn't let you come down this time and continues pumping into you, increasing his pace.
You are both a moaning mess; kissing, sucking, licking each other wherever your mouths happen to land.
"Can't wait to see your stomach swell with my child, lieve." Max stills, out of breath, drops of sweat decorating his forehead. He stills in you, pulling your legs up on his shoulders, folding you in half. The change of angle, his tip against your G-spot, drives you into a frenzy. You're hyper-aware of everything happening, his hands on your body leaving goosebumps wherever he touches, his eyes on you, feeling like fire, his thrusts, god, you're going to cum again.
You clench around him, "My god, I'm close." Max announces, "Please, cum with me." He begs while he picks up the pace, slamming into your cervix again and again until you both yell in ecstasy. You feel streaks of his seed painting your insides while you milk his member dry.
Max collapses on top of you, spent and tired. "Jesus, Y/N."
You giggle into his shoulder, you too feeling tired, but happy.
"What if it actually sticks on the first try?" You ask.
"Might as well go for another round to up our chances." Max winks at you.
#fan fic#fic writing#f1 fic#formula 1#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 x reader#formula one#formula one fanfiction#formula 1 fanfic#max verstappen#max verstappen x you#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen fanfic#max verstappen smut#f1 fandom#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1#formula 1 x you#formula 1 fic
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ᥣđŠ I LAUGH LIKE ME AGAIN (SHE LAUGHS LIKE YOU)
FEATURING: dazai osamu
SUMMARY: four years apart and the ultimate question is about to be answered: do you and dazai really still know each other, or are you clinging to a fantasy of the past? you decide to put it to the test with a game of wits and questions when dazai gets back to your apartmentâbut as the game drags on, dazai starts to wonder if maybe he was wrong. worse, if maybe he would prefer to be wrong.
(wordcount: 14.5k; Ĺsfw; fem!reader; port mafia executive!reader, jealous!dazai, possessive!dazai, smoking & drinking, unprotected sex, switch!dazai, switch!reader, undertones of angst (happy ending). lmk if anything is missing, im rushing to get this out!)
AUTHOR'S NOTES: guys here it IS - sorry it's late, but TRUST it's worth it. i'm so proud of this fic, genuinely one of the things im most proud of writing. this is technically a part 2 to he's my collar but can be read as a standalone
It takes far too long for Dazai to make it out of the Port Mafia headquarters, with both Akutagawa and Chuuya prowling about like the dogs they are. He wonders if you tipped either of them offâChuuya, in particularâbecause the slug had been looking around like he was searching for someone. He thinks youâre entirely wretched for it, knowing that if he got caught, heâd be trapped in that damp and filthy torture chamber until he managed to finagle his way out, and he plans to make it known to you just how entirely displeased he is by the situation.Â
The path to your apartment is achingly familiar, and the giddiness in his chest is something he hasnât felt since the day he left. He knows that he should probably be more carefulâheâs still in Port Mafia territory, your apartment spans the top floor of the easternmost building of the five towersâbut he also knows that youâre the only one with direct access to the cameras in this building so heâs more reckless than he wouldâve otherwise been.Â
The floors tick up agonizingly slowly, Dazai swears that there must be something wrong with the elevator because itâs never taken this long before to get up to your place. His fingers thrum against his thigh, and his foot taps the ground impatiently. He paces from corner to corner within the small space like a caged animal. He thinks that maybe he should be taking advantage of the time alone, come up with some better excuses as to why he didnât say anything to you before he left.
âI wouldnât have left,â isnât going to cut it. As true as it might be, itâs not the full truth, and Dazai knows youâll be able to sniff it out in a matter of a few seconds with a clear head. Heâs not walking into a cheerful reunion between old lovers, heâs walking into whatâs about to be a stressful game of chess against a strategist whom Dazai has always considered a near-equal, a battle of wits against a woman whose whole life has revolved around political warfare. If he wants to keep his dignity intact and his secrets safe, heâs going to have to be incredibly cautious with what he says to you and even with how he reacts to what you say to him.
Still, he canât help the giddiness. The excitement. Heâs missed you. Heâs missed you so much that it hurts. Heâd thought that over time, the longing for you would go away, but it never did. If anything, it got worse because, over time, the pictures of you started to lack the soothing feeling they used to bring to the aching in his chest. Over time, he started to forget the sound of your voice and the sound of your laugh.
Heâd known that youâd been sent away on foreign business not long after his last call to you, but he didnât think Mori would actually keep you abroad for three whole years. Heâd been hoping, maybe, that he could stumble into you one day. Or maybe just watch from afar, get close enough to hear the sound of your voice again. Heâs been grossly denied of you for too long, and he knows that itâs of his own doing but that only makes it worse.
When the elevator dings, announcing his arrival on your floor, Dazai is sorely unprepared for the conversation about to take place. He steps into your penthouse, eyes drifting around the familiar vast space.
Like your office, not much has changed since the last time he was here. Your coffee table is still set down a few centimeters too close to the couch in the living roomâthe same couch he had his first kiss on with you when the two of you were sixteen and drunk on champagne celebrating a successful mission. You still hang your black jacket over a chair instead of properly on a hanger, itâs why it always has a crease on the backâheâd noticed it when you left your office, and he canât help but smile slightly at the confirmation as his eyes linger on where itâs draped over one of your kitchen chairs.Â
You tried to convince him that youâve changed in the years the two of you have been apart, but Dazai doesnât think youâve changed much at all.
Youâre leaning against the windows, looking down on the cityâhe knows you mustâve heard the elevator, but you havenât bothered to look his way yet. Thereâs an indecipherable expression on your face and a glass of wine in your hand. Youâre still dressed in your suit and Dazai notices thereâs a glass of whiskey on the rocks untouched on the kitchen table. He shrugs off his trench coat and drapes it over yours, hoping that the scent of you seeps into it because heâs gone too long without it.
His fingers curl around the glass of whiskey youâd left out for him, and for a moment, he swears that heâs eighteen again. Heâs making his way to your penthouse after a long mission with Chuuya, youâre expecting himâyou always areâand he can never push away the fondness that squeezes his chest when he finds you lounging back on your couch, flipping through channels to find something to watch, a glass of his favorite whiskey set down on the coffee table next to where your feet are propped up as you wait for him to show up.
He wonders if you even care to remember what his favorite is. He wouldnât blame you if you didnât.
He makes his way out of the kitchen and back into the living room, and heâs reminded that heâs not eighteen and youâre not waiting for him to show up after a mission because you finally look at him, and his breath catches in his throat.
He thinks you look a bit older now than you did four years agoâto be expected, of courseâand thereâs a coldness to your eyes that hadnât been there before. Impossibly, he thinks that youâre somehow even more beautiful than you were when he last saw you, and he realizes again, throat tightening, that even after three years of no contact with you, heâs just as in love with you now as he was the day he left.
He knew it back then before he left, even if he never said it. When he was eighteen and could only feel any inkling of pleasure when he was with you; it wasnât like heâd never tried to have sex with other people, heâd whore himself out for information at any given chance and slept around frequently after you started dating a civilian to distract himself from the bitter jealousy he felt, but heâd never known how good it was supposed to feel until he slept with you for the first time. When he was seventeen and could only ever feel comfortable in your presence, seeking you out at any given chance when he couldnât handle being around people anymore; heâd curl up in your office with your orange blanket, napping as you did work, knowing that youâd keep people away from him. He thinks he mightâve even known when he was sixteen when the two of you first met on the streets of the Kanagawa prefecture.
He wonders if you even believed him when he said it earlierâhe doubts it, you donât seem too keen to believe anything he says, and he doesnât blame you for it.Â
But whether you believe it or not, itâs yoursâthat rotted heart of his, shriveled and shabby, riddled with holes and decay, half-eaten by maggots and worms it might be, but itâs still yours. He thinks that it was meant to be yours since the moment he was born, and itâll be yours even after the two of you are long dead. He doesnât know how heâs meant to go without you againâhe doesnât think he can. He knows that despite the tentative ceasefire, the Port Mafia and the Agency are still enemies, but he knows in his heart that he wonât be able to leave you again. Even just the sight of you has condemned him completely.Â
Then you speak, and at once, his entire world falls apart.
âIâm leaving again in the morning,â you finally say, tone flat and eyes sharp and shrewd as you look over him. He reminds himself that this is not a reunion, that he needs to get his head on straight if he wants to make it out of your apartment in one piece, but itâs hard. âI was only brought back to smooth things over with the government after the whole fiasco with Fitzgerald and his American cronies. Iâll be leaving for Russia in the morning to meet with Tolstoy and Nabakov. Hopefully, gain some intel on Fyodor Dostoevskyâs plans before the man makes another move on the city.â
He⌠did not anticipate that youâd be leaving again so soon. Something cold and sharp latches to his heart, like jagged nails ripping it apart. He makes sure it doesnât show on his face.
âBe careful,â he tells you quietly. âDostoevsky⌠heâs not someone to underestimate. Just-Just be careful.â
You raise your eyebrows, unimpressed, âIâve worked with Dostoevsky before. I donât need you to warn me about him.âÂ
Your voice is cool. Sharp. Dazai sighs, knowing that anything he mightâve said to you earlier in the night is lost to you, and he doesnât know if heâll have it in him to bare his heart again, only for you to scorn it. Heâs not meeting with you as he knows youâas his closest friend, as his lover; heâs meeting with you as the Port Mafia executive. Not the version of you that treats with allies, wining and dining them with glittering eyes and playful smiles as you use your ability to ensure they never turn on the Port Mafia; the version of you that sits at the round table with enemies, with a quick mind and calculating eyes as you decide whether or not theyâre worthy of being absorbed into the Port Mafia or if Double Black will be sent out to eradicate them.Â
âI told you everything I had to say back at the office,â Dazai tries, and he wonders if youâll let him get away with itâhe doubts it, but itâs worth a shot, and it will at least stall for a few moments as he tries to forcibly turn the cogs in his mind to figure out the best way of appeasing you. âI missed you. I⌠couldnât say goodbye to you, not if I was to leave. IâŚâ
I love you.
He doesnât say it; he thinks he was only able to push it out earlier in the night in the heat of the moment, the orgasm-induced haze fogging his brain enough to let it slip out in desperation to make you give him a chance. And it worked because you gave him a second chance when you invited him back to your apartment, but Dazai doesnât know how to make the most of the opportunity. He thinks heâs a fool for not preparing for this before getting here.
You click your tongue sharply, lip curling up in something close to disgust, and Dazai is glad he didnât speak his âI love youâ because he thinks he mightâve actually cried if that was your reaction to him saying it.
âThe only things you told me earlier in the night were half-truths and sweet talk. I didnât invite you back to my apartment to hear you beg for another chance, Dazai,â you say coolly, and Dazai desperately misses the sound of his given name on your tongue. The corner of your lip curves up into a half-smirk, eyes suddenly glittering beneath the dim lighting of your penthouse as you add, âAlthough, I wouldnât be opposed to it after we talk.â
He thinks the fact that youâre already considering an after might be a good sign. He can feel his cheeks flush a bit at your words, but instead of letting himself get rattled, he takes a step forward, well into your personal space, as he dips his face down so close to yours that his lips nearly brush yours as he speaks.
âIâd beg pretty for you,â he whispers, letting his voice drop an octave as his gaze tracks down to your lips. âIâd even get on my knees.â
Unfortunately, you are entirely unbothered by the proposition. âWeâll see, I suppose,â you say, and then raise your eyebrows, signaling for him to take a step back.
He does, and he feels distinctly put out and rejected by your reaction, but he sighs and asks, âWhat did you invite me here for then?âÂ
He very much does not like the way your eyes glitter nowâshrewd this time, more amused, dangerous, as if you know the two of you are about to tread down territory that heâs going to be unfamiliar with. You nod for him to follow you into the kitchen, taking a seat at the head of the table and motioning for him to sit opposite you.
He does.
âWe can play a game,â you finally concede. Dazai settles back against his chair, fingers still tapping rhythmically against his glass of whiskey, a terrible habit that Dazai has accrued whenever he feels cornered. Not a frequent occurrence, but damning when it is. Your eyes linger on them, and he knows youâve pinpointed the tell. He forces himself to stop, but from the way your lips curl up, he can tell it doesnât matter. âTen questions each. Yes or no answers only.â
Dazai notices that you pointedly leave out any rule about the honesty of each answerâintentional, surely, so he probes.
âHow do we determine the winner?â Dazai asks. He finally takes a sip of the fine whiskey youâd poured for him, and his question from earlier is answered. His favorite. Thereâs a warm feeling in his chest at the realization that youâve remembered it even after all of these years.
Your lips curve up into a sharper and wider smile, teeth glimmering like knives beneath the soft lighting of your kitchen. The glass of wine in your hands is suddenly more reminiscent of a gun being pointed at him than your choice of alcohol, and he feels as if heâs already made some egregious mistake in your eyes.
âAfter we give our answer, the other has to decide whether or not it was truthful. In the end, weâll both see how many the other got right. A test to see how well we still know each other,â is all you say in response. Youâre mocking him and his insistence that the two of you are still the same, but Dazai intends to prove himself right. You tilt your head to the side and then say, âThe prize is to be determined by the winner. Iâll ask the first question.â
Dazai winks, a lecherous comment already on his tongue about the prize, but the withering look you give him is more than enough to make it die before he can let it loose. He pointedly takes another sip of his drink and sinks in his seat.
He thinks that this should be an easy win. Youâre quite the adept liar, but youâve always had a glaring tell. Well, he amends, itâs glaring to him, at least. Not many others would be observant enough to catch it, and even if they were, only someone with an abundance of experience with you would be able to put it together. His gaze flickers up to meet yours, wondering if your lashes flutter right before you tell a lie. Itâs such a simple and subtle tell, so casual that it took Dazai a year and a half to put together, but it was hard to miss once he did.
You hum to yourself as you give off the appearance of thinking about a question, but Dazai knows you better than anyone, and heâs certain that you already have all ten prepared, so he rolls his eyes at the faux show of uncertainty.Â
âWe both know you know what you want to ask,â he finally says. âDo us both a favor and quit with the theatrics.â
Your lip quirks up in amusement. âAnd here I was being gracious giving you more time to formulate whatever lies youâll try to get away with,â you drawl, and Dazai nearly flinches.
âYou know me so well,â Dazai sighs to hide how disconcerted he really is. âThe question?â
You stare at him for a moment, and your lips curl up into a deceptively soft smile that almost throws Dazai off because, god, heâs missed you. And he knows youâre looking at him like this just for this specific reason because youâre a despicable bitch who knows that heâs always been easily unsettled when people show any semblance of affection toward him, but he canât help the way he falters.
He tries to brace himself for whatever invasive question youâre about to ask regarding his reasons for leaving. Tries to prepare himself to lie cleanly because heâs sure youâre as aware of his tells as he is of yours.Â
Then you ask:Â
âDid you defect because of something Oda asked of you?â
Jesus. Right for the throat. You really donât pull punches.Â
Dazaiâs throat tightens at the mention of his old friend, but heâs able to keep his expression clear of the sudden pain that your question brings on. Youâre watching him carefully for reactions, gaze hawklike as you study his face, and Dazai is not about to let you pinpoint any more of his tells so early in the game.
He figures that this is an easy question; you already know the answer but want to hear the confirmation from his lips, so he decides to tell the truth.
âYes.â
âThe truth,â you say, an indecipherable expression on your face. He wonders if you want to ask what Odasaku asked of him, but thatâs not part of the game and Dazai has no intention of answering that.
Be on the side that saves people. If both are the same to you, become a good man.
You might laugh in his faceâDazai Osamu, the Demon Prodigy, a good man? The idea is blasphemous, and he thinks it might actually hurt him if you scoff or laugh in response to hearing that, so he keeps his mouth shut and doesnât give away more than he has to, hoping that you donât just straight up ask him.
You open your lips to speak, and Dazai braces himself for the prying question, but instead, you only probe, âFirst question?â
He wonders if your whole first question and the implications of it was just a means of trying to throw him off because now heâs fumbling trying to remember what he wanted to ask you before you hit him with it. He wouldnât put it past you to play dirty like thatâbringing up his dead friend and his last request just to unsettle him to give you the edge.
âDid we meet during my underground years after I defected?â he finally asks, and yeah, he knows the answer to this question. The missing half of his ear and waking up in the old safe house he used to hide out at with you is more than enough evidence for him to come to a definite conclusion, but he wants to hear it from you.
âYes.â
Dazai inhales sharply and then murmurs, âThatâs the truth.â And then, more loudly and far more affronted, he accuses, âI canât believe you shot half of my ear off.â
He expects you to toss him a wink and a sharp grin, unrepentant and even finding amusement in his offense, but instead, your expression falters for the first time since heâs arrived. Something strange crosses your face; for whatever reason, his words leave you conflicted and Dazai suddenly feels even more nervous than he already was because now he canât help but wonder what he mightâve said to you in his drunken state.Â
He supposes thatâll have to be another question, but first, heâs going to have to figure out how to phrase it to get a yes or no answer first, without being vague enough for it to be a waste of a question or easy for you to misconstrue.
You hum after a few moments, taking a pointed sip of your wine. Dazai watches curiouslyâyouâre bothered still, youâre not even trying to hide it. He knows you have better control over your facial expressions than this, so he thinks maybe itâs a ploy to get him to start spiraling down a path of useless questions. Put off by his sudden inability to discern your schemes, a part of him wonders if maybe you were right because the him of four years ago wouldâve seen right through you right now.
âIâm afraid it had to be done,â you sigh with faux regret, but he can tell from the way the smile on your lips doesnât reach your eyes that youâre not into the banter. âWere you able to fulfill Odaâs request?âÂ
Fuck. This time Dazai canât withhold the grimace that spreads across his face. He tries to keep his voice light with a deflecting comment, âMy, bella, youâre really hitting with the deep questions tonight, arenât you?â
You raise your eyebrows, tilting your head to the side as you wait for an answer, not giving him any room to formulate a response to your question. He finally sighs and shakes his head, taking a long sip of his whiskey. He wishes he had a pack of cigarettes on him, suddenly desperately longing for the pleasant burn of the smoke against his throat; he needs the buzz badly right now.
As if you could read his mind, you shift in your seat a bit and stuff your hand into the pocket of your slacks. It takes a few seconds but you fish out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, sliding them across the table over to him. If he wasnât already so in his head over the question you asked, heâd make a quip over the fact that you still know him so well despite your insistence otherwise, but he only pulls out a cigarette and lights it, looking curiously down at the familiar brand.
âSince when did you start smoking these?â he asks quietly, eyes fluttering shut as he tilts his head back and takes a long drag of it. He exhales slowly and then adds, âThought you liked the other ones, in the green box.â
âTeal,â you correct, and then frown a bit. â... Switched after you left.â
Dazaiâs eyes flutter back open as his gaze focuses on you, wondering if the implication you left up in the air is something he can take at face value or if itâs just another way of trying to get him to lower his guard. But from the way you suddenly donât meet his eyes, Dazai thinks you might be being honest: you switched because they reminded you of him.
Dazaiâs chest suddenly feels heavy again.
â... No,â he finally responds to your second question. âNot yet, at least.â
â... Truth,â you say, and Dazaiâs lips curl into a wry smile.
âUnfortunately.â The word slips out before he can stop it.
Your gaze flickers back up to him, curious, but Dazai doesnât give you the chance to dwell on his comment, asking his next question: âDid I⌠admit anything to you that night that I wouldnât have said while sober?â
His fingers tap rhythmically against his glass of whiskey, half-empty now; heâs anxious to hear your response.
âYou did,â you confirm.
Dazai grimaces because thatâs another truth, and that is not good. But just like how he doesnât offer any context for his answers, you donât either. He doesnât know what he mightâve admitted or how you mightâve taken itâheâs going to have to waste another question on this topic.
âTruth,â he murmurs.
You hum and then ask, âDo you still blame yourself for what happened to him?â
âCome on,â Dazai complains sharply, tossing you a dirty look now. His jaw is tight. He wonders if you keep asking about Oda as some sort of sick revenge for him leaving, ripping open wounds that never properly healed so you can dig your fingers into them and twist around. You donât look bothered by his outburst, waiting patiently for a response. He lets out an angry sigh, looking away and taking another long drink from his glass and another drag of his cigarette.Â
He voices his first lie, âNo.â
You let out a puff of air, rising to your feet and making your way over to the opposite counter, you grab the bottle of whiskey and bring it back over to him, topping off his now-empty glass before pointedly holding out your hand. He passes the cigarette over to you, tilting his head back to watch you bring it to your lipsâa part of him longs to lean forward, to slide his hand behind your neck and cradle your head as he brings his lips to yours, inhaling the smoke as you exhale it, dizzy off the proximity to you, high off the buzz of the nicotine, just like the two of you would do when before he left.
He refrains, if only barely.
You exhale the smoke, a small cloud billowing around youâDazai mourns the wasteâand then you pass the cigarette back over to him. Your fingers brush his as you do, and a spark shoots through his arm at the touch.
âA lie,â you finally say, looking down at him with a frown. âYou shouldnât blame yourself. There was nothing you couldâve done to save him.â
âYou donât know that,â Dazai says tightly, averting his gaze from you as you make your way back over to your seat across from him. âIf Iâd been faster-â
âIf Mori wants someone dead, then theyâll die,â you interrupt him, a grimace on your face as you look down at your wine glass. âTrust me, Dazai, there was no saving Oda Sakunosuke.â
Dazai pauses instead of snapping again, catching the expression on your face. Haunted, as if youâre speaking from experience. He tilts his head to the side and then asks quietly, âAre you talking about your ex-partner? Itou?â
If Dazai remembers correctly, he died on a mission when you turned eighteen. You never told him the circumstances, and he never asked, but it was the first and only time you ever broke down in front of him.
The corner of your lips tightens, âIs that your next question?â
Dazai barely withholds a frustrated sigh.Â
âNo,â he says quietly, and then asks, âDid I tell you why I couldnât say goodbye? The real reason?â
He holds his breath now as he waits for your response. One way or another, this question is a double blade: if he did tell you why, then heâs at another disadvantage because heâs going to feel distinctly bare and vulnerable; if he didnât tell you, he just admitted that he lied back at your office, at least partially.Â
After what feels like an eternity, you finally say, âYes.â
The truth. Dazai wonders when youâre going to utter your first lie, if you will, or if youâre trying to make some sort of point by being honest with him. He voices his answer and then waits impatiently for your next question as his mind races.
He desperately wants to know how you responded to him back then. Would you have come with him had he come to you before he left? Or would you have chosen the Port Mafia? He wonders if he should ask, make it one of his remaining seven questions, but he doesnât know if he has the guts to hear your answer, so maybe heâll just change the subject.
âAre you enjoying yourself at the Agency?â
For the life of him, Dazai cannot figure out your angle. First, the prying questions about Oda and now asking about the Agency. He doesnât know what he expected at the start of the gameâyouâve always been unpredictable, but even more so now. Heâs never had such a hard time reading you or your intentions before.
He starts to feel even more doubtful, wondering if you were right.
Maybe he doesnât know you as well as he thinks he does anymore.
But this is an easy question, so he says the truth with little hesitation, âI am.â
Dazai swears the corners of your lips curl up into a soft smile, but itâs gone so quickly that he mightâve imagined it.
âGood,â you say quietly. âIâm glad.â
Dazaiâs lips part, a warm feeling spreads through his chest at the honesty in your tone. Desperately, he wants to know whatâs going onâwhereâs the rage and the betrayal he expected from you? The hate? Why do you seem⌠okay with all of this?
Irrationally, he starts to wonder if everything from the office was just a heat-of-the-moment conversation. If now that youâve had time to sit on your thoughts, youâve realized⌠realized what? That youâve moved on from him? That you donât care what he does anymore? That youâve accepted that heâs no longer a part of your life? The warmth in his chest disappears, edged away by a sudden coldness and desperation because he thinks heâd rather die than go back to a life without you.
Even more irrationally, he remembers the comment you made back at the office, the admission that youâve slept around since he left. Oh god, what if you really have moved on?
He knows his next question.
âThe people you slept withâwere they all one-night stands?â
He doesnât want to know the answer unless itâs a yes.
You raise your eyebrows at the abrupt shift in his line of questioning, and then, to his absolute horror, you say, truthfully, âNo.â
âWhat do you mean no?â he asks angrilyâhe thinks if he was a bird, heâd be puffing his chest out in irritation. He feels antsy suddenly, he needs to move around. He starts tapping his foot against the floor, his fingers against the glass. And again, he thinks youâre a despicable bitch because you only look amused at his question as if heâs not beside himself with righteous fury.
âItâs not your turn,â is all you respond with, and Dazai has a distinct urge to throttle you. Then you ask, âDo you feel like you belong there?â
He halts.
His fingers freeze from where theyâre tapping against the glass, his foot freezes mid-motion. His lips part as heâs confronted with the very question that heâs been struggling with for two years now. He wants to yes, if only to maybe be a little spiteful, to rub in your face that heâs somewhere good and heâs somewhere where he belongs, and itâs not somewhere with you. A cruel dig to get back for the aching in his chest at the thought of you being with other people, but he knows that youâll catch the lie, and more importantly, he doesnât want to hurt you like that.
Maybe he has grown a bit because the Dazai of four years ago nearly killed your civilian boyfriend when he found out that you were dating someone besides him and then promptly made a show of sleeping around to try to get back at you.
So, instead, he says quite honestly, âI donât know.â
You tilt your head to the side. âNot a yes or no answer, but I suppose it works. How curious.â
He hates your cryptic comments. Pointedly, he side-eyes you as he takes another long drag of his cigarette. Already, itâs nearly down to the nub, so he puts it out on your table, ignoring the distasteful look you give him, and then reaches for another to light as he asks: âWere you in a relationship with any of them?âÂ
You roll your eyes at his prying, and he cannot hide the abject horror that crosses his face when you say, âYes.â
âThat better be a lie,â he complains, and when you look at him as if to ask if thatâs really his guess, he makes a show of pushing out his bottom lip and looking away as he says: âI cannot believe you dated other people. Cheater.â
âWe were never even dating, Daz-â
âYes, we were,â Dazai protests instantly, entirely aghast at your words. âWe absolutely were. What does that even mean? Of course, we were dating. Everybody knew it. Ask anybody. Ane-san knew. Gin-chan knew. Chuuya knew. Even Mori knew. We were so dating, you-â
âYou never officially asked me to be your girlfriend, which is, unfortunately, the most fundamental step of dating,â you interrupt him, and Dazai stares at you in disbelief.
âI bought you flowers, we fucked exclusively,â Dazai complains, aggrieved. âWe were definitely dating, and you definitely cheated on me because we never broke up.â
âIf we were dating,â you emphasize the if very pointedly, and Dazai is distinctly put out by it, âthen we broke up the day you left without saying goodbye.â
Dazai withers. He has no witty comment to return fire with, so instead, he just takes another sip of his whiskey, grateful for the combined buzz of the alcohol and the nicotine to distract him from the overwhelming guilt he feels whenever you bring up how he left you.
âDo you feel like you belong more with the Agency than you did with the Port Mafia?âÂ
Your next question is an amendment to your previous on, and it leaves Dazai just as lost.
He wants to belong with the Agency. He does. Desperately. He wants more than anything to feel as at home and comfortable in the light as he does in the dark. He doesnât want to question his place among them anymore, he doesnât want to wonder if he sticks out like a sore thumb. He wants to enter the office and feel like he doesnât have to pretend to be someone heâs not, just so he can keep his place with them. He doesnât want to have to fear at every corner that heâs going to revert to old habits, and theyâll see him for the monster that he is: a monster that should have never left the dark crevices that he crawled out from, a monster with blood so black that it strikes fear in even the most terrible mafiosos.
âNo,â he admits the insecurity thatâs plagued him to the one person he feels comfortable enough with to voice it aloud. He canât bring himself to look up at you, wondering if the admission will give you some sort of sick satisfaction, if youâll be happy that heâs not finding a place he can be comfortable in without you. Instead, he decides to rush to ask his next question: âThe one you were in a relationship with, did you love him?â
He thinks that the question came across as far more timid than he meant it to be, and his eyes slide shut as he waits for your answer.
âThere were multiple I had relationships withââ Dazai scoffs, of course, there were multiple. ââ...but no, I did not.â
He lets out a soft puff of air, shoulders slumping a bit in relief. But his fingers are still tense around his glass, waiting for whatever question youâre going to ask next thatâs going to dig deep into open wounds, stripping him of all of his masks and armor to force him to lay himself entirely bare in front of you.
âDid you really blow up Chuuyaâs car before you left?â
His eyes fly open at the sudden change of pace in your questions, noting the smirk curling at the corner of your lips and the amusement glinting in your eyes. He accepts the olive branch quickly as he gives you a sharp smile and asks: âWhat do you think?âÂ
Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle a laugh, and the smile on Dazaiâs lips becomes a bit softer as he watches you desperately try to get yourself under control. âYouâre insane, you know that?â you finally say, still trying to bite back giggles. âHe was so mad. Raged about it for weeks.â
Another question pops into Dazaiâs head at the mention of Chuuya, and before he can consider whether or not he actually wants to know the answer to it, he asks: âSpeaking of Chuuya, was he one of your trysts while I was gone?â
Suddenly, you are not laughing, and suddenly, Dazai regrets speaking.
âNo,â he says, shaking his head. âDo not tell me-â
âHe was,â you confirm.
Dazaiâs glass of whiskey is empty.Â
He grabs the bottle and drinks right from it, miserable.
âI think I wouldâve rather been stabbed through the heart,â Dazai says mournfully, and though he keeps a faux-light tone with you, his throat feels like itâs swollen, and he feels a bit sick to his stomach.
Heâs always been jealous of the bond you have with Chuuya. Absurdly jealous, even. You clicked with him quicklyâyou clicked with both of them quickly, and maybe it was a matter of the three of you being the youngest of the Port Mafiaâs uppermost echelon, but Dazai doesnât want to attribute it solely to thatâbut the way you clicked with Chuuya was different from how you clicked with Dazai. Two people so completely human locked away in the dark, clinging to one another to maintain some sense of normalcy; your and his casual humanity made Dazaiâs lack of it irrefutable and glaring.
Regardless of the why, he never liked how close you were with Chuuya.Â
Even before you were dating himâbecause you were dating himâa part of him had always felt sidelined whenever the three of you hung out together. Not because of either of your wrongdoings but just because it was hard for him to keep up with the two of you. He always felt a bit lost trying to, unable to follow along when the two of you would start laughing at jokes that he didnât understand even when you explained them to him, when you would share glances with one another that spoke whole conversations he wasnât privy to. The two of you got along in ways that Dazai would never be able to get along with anyone because thereâs just something fundamentally wrong with him at his core. Chuuya, for all of his talk and fear regarding the question of his humanity, has always been so unfailingly human in ways that Dazai, to this day, cannot fathom to understand.
After you started dating himâbecause you were dating himâit only got worse because heâd see you with Chuuya and wonder if you were better off with someone like him instead. Dazai doesnât know how to treat you right, clearly. He canât even treat himself right; and Chuuya has always been the epitome of a gentleman, loathe Dazai is to admit itâAne-san drilled that into the other boy where Mori only taught Dazai how to be cruel and unforgiving. The line between love and obsession has always been a terribly blurry one for him, and you have always wavered on either side of itâand Dazai, unfortunately, does not love healthily and obsesses so entirely that it would have most people running for the hills.Â
For better or for worse, youâre not most people.
In his spiral of insecurity, he doesnât catch the way your brows furrow as you put together some puzzle pieces. âDazai,â you say suddenly, drawing him from his thoughts abruptly. Thereâs an accusatory look in your eyes that he really does not like. âWere you the one that booby-trapped my fucking apartment?â
Dazai snorts.
âYou bastard,â you snap at him, and Dazai canât help but bite the palm of his hand as a means of trying to stifle his laughter. âMori thought it was a goddamn assassination attempt. He kept me under watch for weeks because of you. I couldnât leave the towers without half of the Black Lizards with me.â
âSorry,â he coos, not sorry at all. Dazai, because he clearly doesnât know when to learn his lesson, then he promptly asks, âAm I better fuck than Chuuya?â
âJesus Christ, Dazai, get off the topic of Chuuya and my sex life, itâs clearly only upsetting you,â you snap at him instead of answering the question. Dazai wants to argue and retain some dignity; heâs not upset, but then his entire world is shattered by your next words: âI am not answering this question.â
Dazai blanches. He can feel the blood drain from his face. Heâd thought this was an easy question to make him feel a bit better. What do you mean you wonât answer? Does that mean Chuuya-
No. Dazai refuses to believe it.
 âNo way,â he says, shaking his head. âHeâs not a better fuck than me. You canât possibly-â
âHeâs not,â you finally say, and Dazai audibly lets out a sigh of relief. âBut if you ever mention anything along the likes of that to him, you will never fuck me again, Dazai Osamu. Do you understand?â
Dazai is too relieved to even argue. âYeah.â
âNo more questions about my sex life,â you say firmly, and Dazai doesnât respond, but he does agree internally because he doesnât think his heart can handle any more scares like that. Your eyes sharpen again, and Dazai braces himself. âWere you the one to tell Mori I lied about being sick so I could skip out on the ball Mishima hosted when we were seventeen?â
Dazaiâs eyes narrow right back at you and rather than answering, he shoots one of his own questions at you: âWere you the one to tell Mori I had his contact in my phone as âignoreâ?â
You take his lack of an answer as an affirmative, correctly so. Dazai has no regrets about ratting you out to Mori because he was not about to attend Mishimaâs event without you on his arm. Heâd rather die.Â
âYou bastard, do you know the lengths I went to fake being sick? I wanted one night to relax without people breathing down my neck.â
âIf I had to go, you had to go,â Dazai retorts petulantly. âI was not about to suffer with only Chuuya as company. You had no reason to tell Mori about the contact name besides to be petty. I fought with Chuuya for weeks because I thought he was the one to do it.â
You choke on a laugh. âChuuya was so mad, he had no idea what you were talking about.â
âHe tied me to a pole and swung me around for three hours,â Dazai complains, but thereâs a smile on his lips as you burst into laughter, unable to stifle the giggles that spill from your lips.
âI know,â you wheeze, âI got it on video. We watch it sometimes when weâre bored and canât find a movie.â
Dazai gapes, and you laugh harder, but for the first time in four years, Dazai finally feels⌠at home, he feels comfortable in his own skin again. Heâs back in your penthouse, heâs drinking his favorite whiskey and smoking his favorite brand of cigarettes, youâre sitting at the kitchen table with him and laughing your head off at his expense, and for a moment, Dazai feels as if nothing has changed: he feels like himself again, eighteen and entirely enamored by the sight and sound of you, and you feel like you again, all of the doubt that had begun to rise to his chest as the two of you played the questions game long gone.
He falls in love with you all over again. Harder this time. Faster. He thinks heâll fall in love with you again and again every day for the rest of your lives, each time more than the last, no matter how impossible it might seem.
He thinks maybe itâs not that he feels like he belongs with the Port Mafia more than the Agency. He thinks that itâs you. Youâre the one he feels at home with. Youâre the one heâs comfortable enough to be himself with. Youâre the one he belongs with, always has, and always will.
After a few moments, you finally manage to get yourself under control, still giggling a bit as you look back up at him. Your smile is softer now, eyes gentle, more genuine than the smile you gave him before asking the first question. Dazaiâs breath catches because when was the last time you looked at him like thisâthe last time anyone has looked at him like this? A warm feeling spreads through his chest; Dazai thinks he would stay in this moment forever if given the opportunity.
âAre you happy?â you ask quietly
Dazai blinks, startled, and an odd feeling spreads through his chest once your question registers. His lips part to answer, but no words leave them; he draws back as if heâs been slapped, a bit flustered and confused because thatâs the furthest thing from what he expected you to ask. He wonders if youâd asked the last three questions to lull him into a false sense of security.
âI-â he starts to say but cuts himself off. âWhat kind of question is that?âÂ
He tries to deflect instead of properly answering, frowning, but you only raise your eyebrows, pointedly keeping your lips sealed to let him know that you expect an answer. He shakes his head and then sighs, bouncing the question in his head a few times before going for a cop-out: âWhen Iâm with you? Always.â
Youâre not pleased by his decision, frowning as you look away from himâhe knows thatâs not what you asked, not really, but you should have been clearer with your question if you wanted him to give you the answer you expected. But he doesnât like the sudden disappointment on your face, it leaves his skin itchy and his chest longing for the soft look to return.
So he sits there, ruminating on the question. Is he happy? He should be, right? Heâs saving people. Heâs on the way to fulfilling Odasakuâs final request. He has a whole group of people whom he can rely on without having to fear being taken advantage of or betrayed at every corner. Heâs happy.
But is he trying to convince himself of it? Why is he still trying to kill himself if heâs happy? Why is there a part of him that feels lonely no matter how surrounded he is by people? Why is it that when heâs at his lowest points, the only two people he wishes he could be with are you and Chuuya? Why does he ache for the days heâd spend dragging the two of you around Yokohama, causing trouble for Moriâthe closest heâs ever felt to enjoying life?
âI donât know,â he finally amends his answer, looking down at the bottle in front of him and the cinders of the cigarette dangling between his fingers. He lifts it to his lips again, taking one last drag of it as he tries to figure out what his last question should be.
Thereâs only one pressing question he has left, but he hesitates, unsure if he really wants to know your answer.
He forces it out anyway.
âWould you⌠would you have come with me back then?â His voice is quieter than he intended, cracks over âmeâ, and to your credit, you donât react to the question, expression as eerily still as it was before, as if youâre considering your words.
A yes or no. It shouldnât take this long for you to answer. Each second that passes feels like an eternity, and Dazai suddenly feels anxious, he doesnât know why he asked this question because if the answer is noâif itâs no, thenâŚ
Finally, you let you a soft sigh, taking a sip of your wine as if to prolong his agony.
Your lashes flutter before you speak.
You lie for the first time that night.
âYes.â
Dazaiâs voice sounds far away as he says, âThatâs a lie.â
âI guess you were right,â you say softly, but you sound so distant, like youâre on the opposite side of a long, empty tunnel and not sitting right in front of him. âWe do still know each other decently well; you got them all right.â
Dazai doesnât care. In fact, he would have gladly conceded a loss in this game, and he wouldâve gladly admitted that maybe the two of you donât know each other as well as you used to if it meant that he got the last question wrong because then he wouldâve just given you a coy expression and asked if youâd let him get to know this new version of you too. You wouldâve said yes, and he wouldâve made quite the pleasurable night out of it for the two of you. Instead, he had to insist that nothing has changed, and now he has to come to terms with the fact that he was right and he had known you well enough back then to know not to ask you to leave with him because you would have chosen the Mafia over him.Â
Heâs so lost in his thoughts that he doesnât even notice you approaching him until youâre leaning on the table next to him, index and middle finger coming beneath his chin to tilt his face up toward you. He looks up at you through his lashes, eyes searching your face, but he only finds another blank slate that he canât read. His breath hitches when your hand slides from his chin to cup his cheek, and he canât help the way that he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut.
âI would choose you over so many things, Osamu.â You speak his given name for the first time in years, but he can hardly find any comfort in it because he knows heâs not going to like what youâre about to say. Your fingers card through the tips of his hair, brushing the dark locks behind his ear as your thumb sweeps over his cheekbone. âBut not over the Port Mafia. Just like how you didnât choose to stay for me.â
âItâs not the same,â he says, voice hoarse. âItâs-â
âIt is,â you interrupt, voice deceptively gentle, and he thinks youâre entirely unfair because he can hardly focus with your touch distracting him. Heâs missed it so muchâheâs gone four years without it, without any type of touch that wasnât him getting his shit kicked in by Kunikida or an enemy. âYou didnât choose to stay for me. I wouldnât have chosen to leave for you.â
âWhy?â Dazai asks tightly, and he hates that when his jaw tenses, you smooth your fingers over it, and he unclenches it immediately.
Thereâs a sadder look in your eye now as you give him a small smile. âYou know why.â
Of course, he knows why. He feels the hatred deep in his gut as his mind draws back to Mori. Because thatâs who the issue is. Itâs not the Port Mafia. Itâs not your friendship with Kouyou. Itâs not even your friendship with Chuuya thatâs the issue. Itâs Mori and your undying loyalty to him. No matter how much you claim to despise him, bashing him every chance you get, sneering at him whenever he tries to treat you like his daughter, Dazai knows that when it comes down to it, youâll always choose him. Youâd throw yourself on a sword if he asked it of you, and not for the first time, Dazai wants to spit in the manâs face for making you feel as if youâre eternally indebted to him for rescuing you from that warzone so many years ago; for making you feel as if youâre nothing without the Mafia, nothing without him.
âYou donât owe him anything,â Dazai says tightly. âYou have to know that by nowâyou donât owe him anything.â
âI donât want to have this conversation, Dazai,â you sigh, sounding tired. Your hand drops from his face, and Dazai longs for your touch again instantly. His fingers twitch from where theyâre resting on his lap; he only barely stops himself from reaching out for you. You try to smile as you change the subject, but it hardly meets your eyes, âItâs a tie then. No prize for either of us, hm?â
Dazai is not so inclined to switch the subject. He wants to press on this now that he has the chance; he doesnât know if heâll ever be able to rip you out from beneath Moriâs thumb, but he needs to at least try⌠but youâre leaving again in the morning, and Dazai also does not want to ruin this night with you. He doesnât know when heâll get another.
So, instead, he matches your half-assed smile as he looks up at you and says, âI didnât say you got them all right. You only said that I got them all right.â
You raise your eyebrows. âDid I get any wrong?â you ask, amused.
No.
âYes.â
âLiar,â you say, but thereâs a fond lilt to your tone as you let out another puff of air, the smile on your face finally reaching your eyes as you look down at him. The soft lighting of your kitchen casts a pretty glow over your face, your smile is so entrancing that Dazai thinks he could stare at it forever.
âYouâre so beautiful,â he breathes out, the words slipping from his lips before he can stop them. âIâve missed you so much.â
Heâs sure he must look like a fool right now, entirely enamored by the sight of you, unable to even fathom drawing his gaze away. He wonders if youâll protest again, call him a liar, and shift away from him.
You donât.
The smile on your lips falls, and a wrecked expression crosses your face as your eyes search his. Your lips part to speak, and he waits with bated breath for whatever youâre about to sayâhe thinks that if you deny him again right now, it might completely shatter all of the walls heâd so carefully built to protect himself.
âIâve missed you too,â you whisper as if youâre scared to speak the words out loudâand how can he blame you when the last time you dared to speak them, he hung up on you, never hearing from him again until tonight.
God, the guilt he feels whenever he thinks of you returns with a vengeance, so intense that Dazai starts to feel sick to his stomach. He canât handle it, so he does the only thing he knows how to do to distract himself from it.
His movements are clumsy as he pushes himself up to his feet, nearly tripping over the leg of his chair, and his fingers feel clunky as he lifts them up to cup your cheeks. For a second, he fears that you might move away from him, but you donât, so he leans in to press his lips against yours.
Thereâs no tenderness to his kiss. Dazai kisses you like he wants to consume you, lips sliding messily against yours, blunt nails indent crescents into your cheeks as he holds you close. Usually, he would be embarrassed by his blatant desperation and lack of finesseâheâs never been a sloppy kisser, when the two of you were younger, you would always let out pleased hums into his mouth, lashes fluttering as he worked his lips carefully against yours, tongue sliding against your own as he traces his name on it.Â
All of his finely honed skill is thrown out the window now as he kisses you like a man who has been starved for years. He has been starved for yearsâthe quick fuck in your office did nothing to quell the longing heâs felt for you the past four years. He could kiss you for hours. Days, even, and it still wonât be enough. Nothing short of an eternity with you would be enough to make up for the four years heâs been deprived of you.
He lets out a low groan into your mouth as you nip at his bottom lip, hands sliding from your face down to your hips. Heâd take you here. Right now. But he remembers the last time he tried to fuck you on your kitchen table, it ended with him choking on the barrel of your gun as you yelled at him for being gross (âI eat on this table, you heathen!â) and heâs not particularly in the mood to set off your temper now that he finally has you in his arms again, so itâs with much restraint that he grabs you by the hips to walk you back into your bedroom.
He can hardly concentrate as your fingers twist the hair at the nape of his neck, soft moans slipping from his lips, muffled against your mouth. Itâs only sheer instinct and muscle memory that has him making his way from the kitchen and down the hall. He canât bring himself to separate his lips from yours for even a second. And heâs a mess because heâs not coherent enough to force himself to breathe properly through his nose, so his lungs are burning and his head feels a bit light, but he doesnât care so long as it means he can keep kissing you.
Turn left, turn right, second door from the end of the hall.Â
His fingers fumble for the knob of your bedroom door, pushing it open a bit too hard, considering the way he hears it slam against the wall and how you tug his hair hard in retaliation. He doesnât care, moans a bit louder even when your nails scrape his stinging scalp, and you let out a derisive noise against his lips before biting down hard enough to draw blood.
The taste of iron makes a slow smile curl at his lips, walking you back toward the bed, and itâs only when your knees hit the edge that you finally pull away from him. âIf you broke my door, youâre fixing it, Osamu.â
Dazaiâs smile is lecherous. âIâm gonna break something alright,â he croons, relishing in the way you immediately roll your eyes at him. Itâs all so familiarâhe can almost pretend that he never left, that nothing has changed since the two of you were eighteen, dumb, reckless, and in love.
Before he can press you back against the bed, he feels your fingers drop from around his neck to his waistband, curling around his belt loops. In an instant, youâve twisted the both of you around, and suddenly, itâs the back of Dazaiâs knees pressed against the edge of the bed as you push him down onto the mattress. He hits the sheets with an âoofâ and a hazy smile, surrounded by the scent of you, drowning in the sight of you. He thinks he might be in heaven.Â
You shift on top of him, straddling his waist; Dazaiâs hands instantly come to rest on your thighs, sliding up the sides to grab your ass and pull you more firmly onto him. He groans when he feels you grind down against his cock, and god, heâs already hard just from kissing you. He hears you snort above him, but Dazai doesnât even have it in him to be embarrassed.
His lips part in a silent moan as you lean down to ghost kisses along his jaw, hands sliding up his chest. He feels you wrap your fingers around his bolo tie and tug it, you let out a sharp noise of distaste against his skin before murmuring: âI hate this ugly thing.â
He lets out a huff of laughter that quickly breaks off into a moan when your lips trail to the spot behind his ear that always makes him writhe. His fingers bite into your hips, pushing you down on him as he rocks his hips up into youâshit, he might be able to cum just from this. His cock is straining painfully against his beige pants, twitching as he grinds up against your clothed cunt. He thinks maybe if he fucks his hips upward a few more times, he might be able to push himself over the edge, but as desperate as he is to chase his release, he refuses to cum anywhere but inside of you.
Plus, he thinks heâll be shamed to hell and back if he finishes in his pants with you hardly touching him.Â
âThen strip me out of it,â he gasps, lashes fluttering as your teeth graze his pulse point right above the edge of his bandages. Fuck, heâd give anything for you to bite downâriddle him with marks he canât cover so he can flaunt them off to everyone who looks at him. Dazai knows that there are countless men and women out there whoâd die to be able to be called yours, he wants them to know heâs the only one who can take that honor. âWhatâre you waiting for?âÂ
You hum and then sit back on his hipsâhe bites his bottom lip raw as you unintentionally put even more pressure on his cock. Heâs half dazed out, not realizing that your grip tightened on his bolo tie until you straight up yank it off of him, snapping the string around his neck.
âNo!â he complains, watching with wide eyes and parted lips as you fling the now-broken bolo tie off to the side of your room. âNoooo, whyâd you do that? Iâm going to have to order a new one.â
âBoo-hoo,â you say dryly, hardly paying attention to him as your fingers curl around the hem of his vest, pulling it up over his head, snorting when he lets out a puff of irritation as his nose gets caught around the collar.Â
âThis is so unsexy,â he protests, rubbing his nose. âShouldnât you be more gentle?âÂ
âStop wearing so many layers of clothes,â you retort, but Dazai is placated when you lean back down to kiss the corner of his lips, lashes fluttering as his eyes slide shut. He lets out a pleased hum as you kiss down his jaw, nimble fingers unbuttoning his final layer of clothing. He wishes he wore an undershirt just to watch you huff in annoyance. His breath catches as you nip at his skin and then murmur, âThis better?âÂ
âYeah,â he breathes out, voice wavering as you get down to the last button of his shirt, sliding it off of his shoulders and easing him out of it. His body shudders as your hands slide over the bandages wrapped around his abdomen. Fuck, itâs been so long since anyoneâs touched him beneath his clothes, even with the bandages still acting as a layer between the two of you, his nerves are on end, sensitive to everywhere your fingers touch.
He wonders if youâll pull off the bandagesâitâs a line that the two of you only crossed once back then, and although the idea of it has him brimming with anxiety, he longs for the feeling of your skin flush to his.
He almost feels a bit embarrassed when you sit back again to admire him as if thereâs not a scar-ridden body hidden beneath the bandages. You look at him like heâs beautiful, like heâs not a monster disguised as a man, like heâs human. Dazai has always felt distinctly seen beneath your stare like you can see through all of the masks he wears and see him for him, and that has not changed over the past four years.
Heâs missed the comfort of it. He has. It used to unnerve him back then, thinking someone could see him so clearly when he tried so hard and so carefully to hide himself beneath layers of impenetrable masks, but after going four years alone, with no one for him to turn to, no one he could look at and have them just know what heâs thinkingâŚÂ
Yosano once mentioned offhandedly that to be loved is to be seen, and Dazai thinks the only time heâs ever been seenâtruly seen, down to his core, deep in his soulâis when heâs with you.
It was a very lonely four years without you.
âI thought about you every day,â Dazai tells you softly, the grip on your hips easing up as he looks up at you. âMade a list of places I wanted to bring you and then burned it because I never thought Iâd get the chance to be with you again. Stared at old pictures of you all the time, couldnât sleep without thinking about memories with you. Drank your favorite wine just so I could pretend I was tasting it off your lips.â
You bring your hand up to cup his cheek, and Dazai leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut again. He kisses your palm, humming softly when your thumb runs along his bottom lip.
âThere wasnât a single day I went without you crossing my mind,â you admit quietly and Dazaiâs breath hitches as he stares up at you, dark eyes wide and lips parted. He thinks he should say something, anything really, but itâs a lost cause. You donât seem to mind, luckily, because you only lean down to brush your lips against his again.
This kiss is softer than the last, lips trembling against yours as your tongue dances along his inner lip. He thinks his cheeks might feel wet but he doesnât dare acknowledge it; you donât either, only using your thumbs to brush away the tears as they spill over his cheeks.
âAre you really leaving again in the morning?â he finally asks, and he hates that his voice cracks over the words.
You hum in agreement, still hovering over him, still running your thumbs along his cheekbone. His lashes droop shut, but he forces them back open as you speak. âI am. Bright and early. Flight leaves at six.â
His gaze flickers to the left, over to where your alarm clock is set up on your nightstand.Â
12:35
He looks back at you, eyes swimming with desperation.
You give him a soft, wry smile. âWe should make the most of the night then, hm?â
He doesnât waste any time on that.
His grip on your hip tightens, and in one swift motion, he flips the two of you around, elbows resting on the mattress on either side of your head as he hovers above you. Your eyes glitter as you give him a coy smile, and again, Dazai falls in love.
Then, he ruins the moment.
âTell me how you fucked Chuuya.â
Your smile drops. âOsamu, what the fuck?â
âTell me,â he pouts, nudging his nose against your cheek and peppering soft kisses on your cheek and down your neck. His knees drop to the bed on either side of your hips, holding up his weight as he reaches down to unbutton your slacks, sliding them off your body. A smile flickers onto his lips as his fingers graze your pantiesâdrenched, finally, evidence that heâs not the only one so affected by this. âTell me. Were you on top? Did he take you from behind? Was he rough? No, itâs Chuuya-â
âIf you care so much about how Chuuya fucks, Osamu, how about you go fuck him yourself?â you interrupt him.
Dazai gags.
âDonât ever say that again,â he says and then returns to his mission, fumbling with his own pants now as he tries to yank them and his briefs off, unable to hold back the relieved sigh when he finally frees his cock, unceremoniously tossing them to the floor. âTell me.âÂ
âWhy do you care so much, hm?â you ask, reaching up to brush his hair out of his eyes. âI told you that you were better.â
Youâre only trying to deflect from the question and he almost lets you succeed, partially placated, but he stays strong, leveling an unrelenting stare onto you as he waits for your answer. You sigh heavily, and he knows heâs won.
âNot rough,â you say as if Dazai hasnât already come to that conclusion. Chuuyaâs had a crush on you since the three of you were sixteen. Dazai assumed he had grown out of it, but evidently, he was wrong, considering he took the opportunity to sleep with Dazaiâs girlfriendâbecause you were his girlfriendâthe moment Dazai was out of the picture. What a little snake. Dazai needs to vandalize his apartment again. Maybe set up a few more bombs. Heâs only drawn back from his mental spiral when you start talking again: âHe took the lead. Wanted to see my face the whole time, make sure I was okay.â
âHow gentlemanly of him,â Dazai saysâheâs not bitter. Heâs not.
âIt was,â you agree, too genuinely.
Dazai squints at you hard.Â
âDonât look at me like that,â you say. âYou asked.â
âYou donât need to sound so wistful.â
âOh, shut the fuck up, Osamu, Iâm not wistful.â
âHow-â
âAre we going to talk about Nakahara Chuuya all night, or are you going to fuck me?â you interrupt immediately, looking increasingly incensed. Dazai only raises his chin at you pointedlyâyouâre the one that slept with Chuuya. âTime is dwindling, Osamu.â
Okay.Â
Dazaiâs gaze flickers back to the clock and then back down to you, withering a bit under your irritated stare. He sighs and leans back over you to kiss the corner of your lips, fingers curling around the hem of your panties to slide them off your legs.
âYouâre so beautiful,â he murmurs against your skin, his kisses linger against your skin now as he drags his lips down to your jaw. âThe thought of him being with youâŚâ
It makes Dazai want to do terrible things. The part of him that he locked up deep within rattles at the bars of its cage, furious and bloodthirsty. The trigger finger heâs been so careful to tame twitches with a desire he hasnât felt in four years. The thought of anyone being with you makes Dazai sick to his stomachâDazai is the only one who should get to see you like this, be with you like thisâbut the thought of Chuuya being with you is so much worse.
âYouâre all Iâve ever wanted, Osamu,â you tell him quietly, fingers intertwining with his hair as he nips at your neck. âNo matter how much I slept around, nothing was ever able to fill the hole losing you left. Not even Chuuya.â
Dazai exhales, shakyâthe guilt returns, and so does the doubt because what right does he have sitting here being petty about what you did while he was gone when he was the one who left you behind without so much as a word? His eyes flutter shut, he spares a few more chaste kisses across your throat before lifting his face back to yours, kissing you gently.
âLet me make up for lost time then,â he says softly.
He doesnât hesitate now, one hand dropping down to your thigh, lifting it to wrap around his waist as he presses his hips into you. His breath shudders when his cock slips against your folds, a low moan spilling from his lips. He has to reach down to angle himself properly, tip pressing against your tight hole.
The fingers of his free hands are shaky as he lifts them to cup your cheek. âLook at me,â he says, heat spreading through his abdomen when he realizes you already can hardly hold your eyes open, quick breaths escaping your lips as you try to keep yourself from cumming already. âLook at me, I want to see you.â
Your eyes flutter open, lidded and heavy as you look up at him, and Dazai thinks that maybe he could cum just from the expression on your face alone, inhaling sharply as his thumb drags across your bottom lip. He thinks maybe he should try to get ahold of himself, fearing that if he pushes inside of you now, he might cum on the spot, but his cock is aching so badly that Dazai thinks he might die if he doesnât feel your heat around him immediately.
It takes all of his strength to keep his eyes from sliding shut as he pushes inside of you, desperate to see the way your face twists and your breath catches. Your lips tremble, chest rising and falling rapidly, he can feel your thighs tightening around his waist, and Dazai groans when your heels dig into his lower back, forcing his hips flush to you, burying his cock deep in your cunt. He chokes, grip on your thigh bruising; his abdomen tightens, and his head feels light.
No way, he thinks, gritting his teeth as he tries to hold back the waves of pleasure threatening to tear through him. He hears you let out a huff of laughter beneath him, and Dazai would shut you up with a sharp thrust of your hips, but heâs still desperately trying to regain control over himself, so he thinks thatâs maybe not the best idea.
His forehead drops to rest on the pillow next to your head, lips brushing your ear as he lets out a low moan. He canât even savor the way you let out a full-body shudder, fingers coming up to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck. Fuck, youâre so tightâDazai can feel your walls tightening around him, spasming, his breath is shaky, and he tries to distract himself by pressing his lips to your skin, mouthing messily at your skin, sucking and nipping and counting to ten as he tries to settle down.
But itâs hard with the soft sighs youâre letting out, the way your fingers catch on his tousled hair, tugging enough to make his scalp sting. His head is so fogged that he can hardly think straightâgod, heâs missed this, he hasnât had the comfort of letting himself go like this in⌠since he left, really. His mind is always turning, plotting out ten, twenty, thirty steps in advance in fear of making a mistake, slipping up and letting the rest of the Agency see him for what he is, slipping up and their lives being the price just like with Odasaku. Itâs only with you thatâs ever comfortable enough to finally let the cogs in his brain slow and shatter, lose himself in carnal pleasures, lose himself in you; itâs been four years since heâs last had a reprieve from his own brain.
But he only lets himself slip halfwayâtonight isnât going to be about him, itâs about you. He has four years to make up for and he intends on getting a good start on it tonight.
He pants quietly as he lifts his head enough to bite your earlobe, tugging it gently before pressing his lips to your temple. âIâve missed this,â he admits, voice raspy and clogged thick with emotion. âIâve-â
He can hardly get the words out, and his breath catches when your hands slide from behind his head to cup his cheeks, forcing him to look at you. He thinks he must look wreckedâhe can already feel the sweat beading on his forehead, and he knows his eyes are probably glazed over. You still look stunning, a soft expression on your face as you look up at him as if heâs not buried to the hilt inside of you.Â
Unfair, he thinks mournfully.Â
âWhat're you still holding onto, hm?â you ask, and Dazai only barely registers your words, sinking into your touch as you brush matted hair out of his eyes. He can finally bring himself to roll his hipsâexperimental, slow, trying to make sure he can actually move before trying to fuck you. Then you sigh softly, and heâs too out of it to try to make out the expression on your face as you say: âYou work yourself so hard⌠always have. Iâve got you, you can let go, Dazai. Câmon.â
âNo,â he hums, but his voice is strained, evidence of his struggle. âTonightâs about my favorite girl.â
âFavorite?â you tease, lifting your shoulders off the bed to ghost a kiss against his lips that nearly has his hips stutteringâthe conversation so reminiscent of one that the two of you had at seventeen it almost makes him smile.
âOnly,â he amends quietly, kissing your nose, then the corner of your lips, and then nipping your jawline.
Just when he thinks heâs good to actually start picking up the pace, intent on fucking the thoughts out of you until you forget about your stupid flight in the morning, he catches a suspicious expression on your face, one that has his eyes narrowing.
âWhat?â he asks dubiously; your eyes are glittering in a way that he knows from experience is dangerous.Â
You donât say anything, just look pointedly at your thighs, then up to his shoulders. Dazai tilts his head to the side, recognizing what you want, and after a momentâs hesitation, he slides your legs up above his shoulders, folding them to your chest, eyes nearly rolling back at the new angle. Fuck, his hips do stutter this time, breath hitching. He has to readjust again, mentally focus on not cumming on the spot, and then-
And then you say: âHe had my legs like this.â
A trick.Â
Dazai knows it.Â
Youâre trying to make him let go of the thin thread of self-control he still has. To give in. To let all of the gears in his brain finally fall apart for the first time in four years.
He knows it.
He falls for it anyway.
Dazaiâs jaw tightens, gaze snapping down to you only to catch a goading look in your eyes, a sly smile on your lips that Dazai has every intention of fucking right off your face. He inhales sharply, one hand sliding up your body to grab your chin, blunt nails digging a bit too deeply into your cheeks.
âYeah?â he says, voice rough.Â
Your lashes flutter and lips part as Dazai pointedly jerks his hips up. Your breath catches over a moan, and Dazai knows that this new angle is affecting you just as much as it is him.
âMhm,â you agree, and just like that, the thin thread snaps.
He snaps his hips into you so hard that your bedframe bangs loudly against the wall behind it, quickly setting a steady pace, nice and deep, quick enough that you canât even get a breath of air to your lungs before Dazai is fucking it right out of you. Already, heâs so fucked out that his mind is in shambles, one hand settling on your hip to hold you in place as he thrusts his hips into you, hitting that sweet spot with each stroke while his other hand, still cupping your face, slides down to your neck.
He doesnât squeezeâwouldnât dare to cut off the pretty noises spilling from your lips, moans of his names, choked gasps and cries between each rock of his hipsâbut the fact that you trust him, him, enough to have his fingers wrapped around your throat is always a quick way make him topple over the edge.
His eyes dart down to your chest, realizing, very unfortunately, that you havenât taken off your button-up yet. He nearly bites down on his tongue in frustration as his hand comes down to your chest, careful to keep the pace of his hips as he hooks his fingers around the first button just to yank down, popping off half of the buttons of your expensive dress shirt and haphazardly pulling it off of you to toss it to the side before fumbling with the clip of your bra.
âOsamu,â you hiss, and Dazai revels in the way your voice wavers with each thrust, biting back moans. âThatâs the second-â
You donât get to finish your sentence. Dazai tosses your bra over with your discarded shirt and dips his head down to wrap his lips around your nipple, tongue swirling around the sensitive bud before rolling it between his teeth, and youâre goneâDazai lets out a muffled groan around you as your back arches up into him, crying out his name, walls tightening around him as you cum on his cock.
âOh-f-hah-fuck,â Dazai gasps as he rests his head on your collarbone, grip on your waist tightening.Â
He has to physically force himself to lift his head, bracing his forearm on the mattress next to your head, desperate to see the way your eyes roll back, he can already feel himself teetering over the edgeâthe lewd sound of skin-on-skin, the sloppiness of his cock driving in and out of your cunt, he can feel your cum dripping down his cock, smeared on his pelvis.
His hand slides behind your head, lifting it from where you have it pressed against the mattress. Beautifulâthe only thought that can run through his hazy brain is of you and how perfect you are, lips swollen and bitten raw, parted as pitched moans escape them, tears spilling from the corner of your eyes as he fucks you through your orgasm and right into a second. Heâs the only one that should ever get to see you like this, with your clever brain fucked right and dumb, body writhing against the bed as you cling to him.
He leans down again, trailing sloppy kisses against your neck, gasping as he starts to feel his high approaching.
âNo one makes you feel like this,â he says, or maybe he begs, heâs not sure if heâs making a statement or pleading for you to tell him itâs the truth. âTell me. T-shit-tell me.â
âNo one,â you sob over another moan, and Dazai can feel your pussy fluttering around himâhe wonders if heâs already fucked you into a third. Usually, it takes longer. âNo one, Osamu, youâre the only one.â
And thatâs the only thing he needed to hear to give him that final push. His steady pace shifts into a more erratic one, sloppy and desperate, as he chases a high thatâs just out of reach. His moans are muffled against your skin, teeth scraping your collarbone, mind a jumbled mess of thoughts of you. He feels your fingers trembling as you lift them to his cheeks, pulling his face up to press your lips against his, and thatâs all it takes: he lets out a wanton moan against your mouth, pressing your legs further into your chest as his hips still against your ass, finishing deep inside of you.
Spots dance in his vision, head buzzing and ears ringing; he swears his orgasm lasts an eternity, body shaking and shuddering above you, letting out breathy moans into your mouth. He can feel his cum dribbling out of you, pooling onto the sheets beneath the two of you, so much of it that you canât even keep it all in you.Â
He doesnât let his lips leave yours onceâthe kisses are messy and sloppy, devoid of all of the finesse that the two of you usually have, teeth nearly clashing, tongues sliding against each otherâs.Â
Itâs only when his vision finally starts to clear and his head feels less on the verge of passing out does Dazai finally trails kisses from your lips to your jaw and down your neck before he finally collapses on top of you, mind entirely gone, like heâs floating on clouds. He pants as he tries to catch his breath, eyes lidded as he absently trails kisses along your chest and collarbone. He thinks the world could be ending around the two of you, and Dazai wouldnât even have the capacity to notice. For the first time in four years, he really, truly allows his brain to rest.
He doesnât know how much time passes, eyes drooping shut as he lets himself be enveloped by your arms, drowning in the comfort of your scent.
He doesnât want to know. Heâs scared to look at the clock and check.
âTonight was supposed to be about you,â Dazai finally complains, burying his face in your chest as he pouts.
You only let out a soft laugh above him. âWe have the rest of our lives for that⌠You deserved a break, Osamu.â
The rest of our lives.
Dazaiâs throat tightens, vision blurring a bit at the thoughtâhe can only barely bring himself to respond, and the words that slip out are not what he means to say: âI never thought Iâd get to be with you like this again,â he admits, voice hoarse. âI never thought-â
âI know,â you interrupt, voice quiet, a bit shaky. â... I know.â
Of course, you know.
He canât bring himself to say anything else, so he doesnât, sinking into your arms and allowing himself the comfort heâs deprived himself of for so long. He almost starts to drift offâand god, he canât remember the last time heâs dozed off willingly, only able to sleep after drinking copious amounts of alcohol or taking an even more copious number of sleeping pills. Itâs not until you speak again does he stir back awake from the brink of sleep.
âWhat did he ask of you? Oda, I mean,â you finally ask, fingers brushing through his dark hair, lulling him further to sleep.
Dazai thinks that youâre cruel, asking him while his mind is still fogged from the exhaustion following his high, and heâs still half asleep in your arms, trying to regain his bearings. The words slip out before he can think twice, forgetting his fear of you laughing at the idea of him trying to be a better man.
âHe asked me to be on the side that saves people⌠if both are the same to me, he wanted me to be a good man.â
The words dawn on him too late; he can hardly bring himself to look up at you, scared that heâs going to find an amused expression on your face or a derisive sneer. He wouldnât blame you, heâs thought the same about himself ever since he left the Port Mafia, doubt and self-loathing riddling him with every step he takes in the light. He waits for the scoff, he waits for the laugh, he waits for-
â... I think he would be proud of who youâve become, Osamu. I think youâve fulfilled his request.â
Dazai does look up at you now, feeling particularly vulnerable, still scared that he might find a mocking expression on your face but he doesnât. Only an uncharacteristically soft expression is painted on your face as you look up at the ceiling, a genuine oneâa small smile and a look in your eyes that makes his heart feel warm. You donât notice him looking until he lets slip out:
âIâve missed you so much,â he whispers.Â
(I love you, he means)
âIâve missed you too,â you say back quietly.
(I love you too)
#dazai x reader#dazai x you#dazai smut#dazai osamu x reader#dazai osamu smut#dazai osamu x you#bsd x reader#bsd smut#bsd x you#bungo stray dogs x reader#bungo stray dogs smut#bungo stray dogs x you
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I love your writing <3 I saw âhe so likes herâ on the enemies to lovers but I so saw it pairing with the âme? I wouldnât say I was flirting.â On the denial of feelings list. Eddie absolutely oblivious to the heart eyes heâs making as he pulls his hair in front of his face while chatting together
ty angel! hope you like it :D â eddie munson visits you at work every day, but not because he likes you (enemies to lovers-ish, fluff, 1.1k)
You hear Eddie before you see him. The clinking of his silver rings, the swishing of his leather jacket, the thudding of his worn sneakers. His musky cologne swaddles you in a cloud of his subtle scent before heâs even there. Youâre smiling about it all before you mean to.
Crouched in the X-rated section of Family Video, you restock the vulgar printed tapes and glance up at the boy towering over you. Eddieâs smiling, too â perhaps bigger than he realizes.
âDonât tell me you came all this way to keep me company, Munson,â you tease with narrowed eyes.
âNo,â the boy scoffs, a little less than convincing. He props his shoulder against the metal shelf and crosses his arms over his chest. âI have much better things to do with my Friday nights. Trust me.â
Your knees creak in protest when you rise to stand before him. You cross your arms to resemble his stance and try to be normal about your forearms brushing his. âDo you?â you lilt, obviously sarcastic.
âYeah,â he nods with a crooked smile on his pretty pink mouth. âI could give you their names.â
âSpare me,â you scoff, rolling your eyes and spinning on your heel. Eddie follows you like a lost puppy to the front counter. âYou know, if youâre gonna flirt with me, maybe try not to mention other girls. I think thatâs, like, rule number one.â
Eddieâs face swirls at your words. The cartoonish look of confusion makes you smile as you round the checkout station. He forces a chuckle and props his elbows on the countertop, leaning over it in a desperate attempt to be closer to you.
âThere are noââ he starts, then cuts himself off. There are no other girls, heâd say if he werenât a total coward. But, for the sake of keeping his cards to his chest, he settles on, ââIâm not flirting with you.â
Your brow arches in a playful look of inquiry. âNo?â
Eddie almost caves, then. Itâs almost like you want him to say yes â to admit that heâs been flirting with you this whole time because heâs loved you since the moment he met you. It would be the truth, anyway. One that heâs spent over a year shying from.
âNo,â he echoes and shakes his wild head, surprising himself with his own self-control. âNo, Iâmâ Weâre justâ Weâre having a conversation. âCause, you know, weâre friends. I guess.â
His face scrunches like thereâs something sour on his tongue. He doesnât even like the taste of his own words.Â
You squint. âDo all of your friendly conversations typically include making heart eyes at the other person?â you joke with a poorly held-back grin.
Eddie falters for a moment, knowing heâs long been found out. He decides to lie anyway. Dig the hole deeper, as it were. âYeah, actually,â he nods. âYouâve seen the way I look at Steve, havenât you?â
You laugh before you mean to. The sunshine sound sputters up your throat and out of your mouth before you can stop it. Eddie must not realize how he often looks at Steve The Hair Harrington â with softly squinted eyes and gently furrowed brows â like he can never quite understand what the fuck the boy is talking about.Â
âRight,â you nod, still giggling.
Eddie smiles at the pretty sound. The spearmint breath of your laughter fans across his cheek at the close proximity â one which neither of you seems eager to part from. âYeah, so⌠Donât let it go to your head, alright? Thereâs no flirting here.â
So you drove twenty minutes across town in a half-broken-down van to have a serious conversation? youâd ask if you felt like going around in circles.
Instead, you just nod. âNoted...â
âNow, tell me,â he starts, tilting his pretty head until his curls bunch at his shoulder. âWhat should me and my number of escapades watch for the evening? You know, as the resident expert and all?â
You laugh at the absurdity of his question. âI donât know. Justâ choose something,â you murmur unenthusiastically.
âI want you to choose for me,â he pouts.
âWhy?â you retort, leaning against the counter to lessen the cavernous distance.Â
The sudden closeness has a very obvious effect on the boy across from you. His adamâs apple bobs as his tongue darts across his bottom lip. Youâre close enough to kiss now. He can almost taste you.
âSo you can play it as background noise and think of me while you and this very fictitious person make out on your couch?â
âWell⌠Iâll probably be thinking about you either way, soâŚâ Eddie answers when his senses return to him, shrugging with a stupid, lopsided grin. âWhether you recommend something or not doesnât really matter.â
The look he gives you makes your stomach whirl. His eyes, made of melted chocolate, get all squishy at the edges when he looks at you. Something warm and fond swims in his gaze, speckles along his flushed cheeks, and sparkles in his smile. Itâs so stupidly sincere for a boy who canât seem to take anything seriously. The notion all but stabs you in the chest.
âYouâre doing it again, you know?â you tease.
His fluffy brows pinch together. âDoing what?â
âThe heart eyes thing.â
âThere is no thing!â he insists with a loud, boyish laugh. âIâm justâ Iâm just looking at you! Is that a crime?â
âJust sayinâ,â you singsong with an absentminded shrug.
Your gaze glimmers with knowing and something close to adoration as it flits up and down his form. Eddie squirms beneath your prying eyes. His ringed hands rise to his hair, gathering the untamed curls and hiding his blushing face behind them.Â
âHere,â he mumbles behind his palms and chestnut locks. âIs this better for you?â
You giggle at his antics, slightly grieving his pretty face. âMuch,â you nod despite yourself.
Steve and Robin watch the strange encounter from afar. They peer over the Action/Adventure aisle theyâre supposed to be restocking â equal parts distracted and nosey. The boyâs scruffy face twists as he watches Eddie try hopelessly to flirt with you. âThis is disgusting,â he murmurs under his breath.
âDo you think he knows?â Robin laughs, deep and gritty, as she stands on the tips of her toes to see over the metal shelf.
âKnows what?â
âThat heâs obsessed with her?â
âHell no! Look at himââ Steve scoffs, jutting his chin to the wild-haired boy across the room.Â
Eddieâs got his rings all tangled in his hair now. His cheeks glow red as you help unknot the silver jewelry from his curls. Heâs visibly embarrassed, but he canât stop beaming at you. Itâs borderline gag-worthy.
ââHeâs got no fucking clue.â
#published by bug#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x you#stranger things x reader#stranger things imagine#stranger things#eddie munson#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fic#eddie munson fluff#stranger things fic#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fanfiction#st drabbles#eddie spaghetti drabble
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Tangerine x fem!reader
Summary: You've been the Twins' handler for years now, and when Tangerine blows up at you one evening after a mission, he apologizes in an unconventional way.
Epilogue
Genre: SMUT (nsfm)
Warnings: implied fuck boy!Tangerine, bitchy!Tangerine in the beginning, reader is named Peach, unprotected sex, passionate sex, not much foreplay (they're desperate lmao), swearing, insecurities, praise kink, degradation, emotional, Tangerine is all over the place and bad with his feelings!
~ i'm so sorry i feel like this took forever <3 enjoy! @j23r23 ~
TANGERINE MASTERLIST
"He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me, he loves me not," you smile, your nails drumming on the desk as you pick at the petals of the roses in the jar near your computer. "Ah ha, he loves me. Knew you were so full of shit," you hum happily.Â
"Piss off," Tangerine loudly grunts in your ear and you tilt your head, scrunching your nose. You've told him not to yell like thatâyou've warned him that the earpiece is sensitive and you'll lose your hearing if he continues like thisâbut he never listens.
Being the Twins handler for almost four years now you've learned how to deal with their quirks.
Lemon, as ruthless as he is, is too trusting. He's also loyal to a fault and he'd die for Tangerine in seconds; something you've had to account for in your missions so it doesn't happen.Â
Tangerine on the other hand? Recklessness under the guise of control. He'd burn the entire world down for Lemon without hesitation, his temper as bright as the flames of a wildfire.
Unexplainably however, you were drawn to him the most.
While he pushes your buttons like no one else, you also tend to push him in ways that leave him wantingâno needingâmore.
"Tan," you warn again, "don't talk so loudly, they'll hear you!"
"Stop your yapping in my ear then, luv," Tangerine snaps, his comment snarky and you hear a loud humph as it sounds like someone crashes into something.
Tangerine sounds out of breath and you use your mouse to click on the map on your computer. You zoom in and ask, "Where's Lem? You aren't supposed to meet any security for a whileâ"
"He's busy, darlin'. And your little shortcut turned out to be not so short after all," Tangerine says and you hear a loud grunt. It's obvious he's in the middle of a fight.
Your blood runs cold as you chew on your lip. Your hands quickly dance over the keyboard as you try and find another way for themâan easier wayâ
"Hey, Peach, will ya stop breathing so damn loudly, it's distracting me," Tangerine's voice interrupts your worry and you hold your breath when you hear a loud thwap and then a gruntâimmediately accompanied by cursing and more hoarse shouts.Â
"Tangerine!" his name spills from your lips as you hear louder blows. "Tan?" you whisper when the line disconnects and a low buzz is heard in your ear. You fumble to discard the earpiece onto the desk in front of you and then you focus on finding Lemon.Â
If anyone can help Tangerine, it's Lemon.
With a frown, you activate the tracker you'd promised not to slip into Lemon's jacket, and a little red light blinks on your computer screen. He's not far from where Tangerine is. You lean over and connect to the microphone on your computer.
"Lemon?!"Â
You hear a crack and then the shuffling of clothes against the microphone in the tracker. "Peach?" Lemon grunts, "Ya cheeky lil' bird, I told ya not to track me," he lets out a breathy laugh, and another smack is heard, "Fuck me, these fuckers just don't die easily!"Â
"Lem? Where's Tan?" you ask, seeing that the tracker Tangerine wears voluntarily on his suit hasn't moved in a while. "Is he okay? I think the earpiece broke."
Something must have happened to his tracker too if it's malfunctioning.
"Yeah, which is why I say I should wear itâbut he's bossy and he's your favorite," Lemon says.Â
"I don't have favorites!" you insist, your cheeks burning.
"Sure, whatever," Lemon chuckles and then adds, "Ah, speaking of the devilâI can see 'im now. Damn, he's beat up ain't he. Bullocks. Y'know your little plan was shit, Peach, security swarmed us almost immediately!" Â
You pinch your eyes and guilt settles in your stomach. "I know, I know, I'm sorry,"
You hear Tangerine's voice distantly as he grumbles, "Fuckin' arsehole broke my earpiece when he punched meâI lost contact with Peach," he complains and you hear shuffling. Your stomach fills with unwanted butterflies at the sound of his voice and how your codename rolls off his tongue.Â
"She can hear ya," Lemon says, his smirk evident in his tone, "Say hello, Peach."
"She tracked ya?"Â
"Yeah, and bugged me too apparently."
 "What the fuck, my tracker doesn't do that," Tangerine says and you hear an infliction in his voice.Â
"Yeah, cauz you always have the earpiece."
"Because she likes me better,"
"That's what I said!!"Â
"Oi, you wankers, I can still hear you," you interrupt, "Will you just come back to the van now? The mission's a bust," you finish. While they continue to bicker for a moment, Lemon finally shuts down the trackerâby breaking it you assumeâidiotâand it isn't until the van door slams open that you hear and see them again.Â
"Oi, now you're takin' the piss," Tangerine exclaims, glaring at his brother as he runs a hand through his mussed hair. He enters the van and you stand. Your eyes scan over his appearance; his suit is torn and bloodied and he has a gaping cut on his forehead. His ear is also bleeding from when you assume the broken earpiece had shattered.Â
"Christ," you whisper and walk over to him. Lemon smirks as he walks by the both of you and collapses onto the second chair near your desk. He's less beat up than Tangerineâwho'd taken on more men you assumeâbut you remind yourself to check on him later anyway.
Tangerine senses you come up to him and he tenses when you hold his cheeks in your hands and check his wounds. "Tan, this looks bad," you say.Â
"Peach, I'm fine," he grumbles and turns his head away. He sounds grumpier than usual.
"Look, I'm sorryâI'm sorry I messed up, Iâ"
Suddenly, Tangerine explodes. His hand comes up around his ears as he scrunches up his nose. "Will ya just stop talkin' for one fuckin' second?!" he yells and even Lemon, who had been a silent bystander to the conversation, looks up from where he's bandaging his hand.Â
Your eyes widen and you blink at Tangerine. "W-what?"
He presses his index on his temple and narrows his eyes at you. "I have a fuckin' headache 'cause of you and you talkin' my fuckin' ear off all the damn time! And now I can barely hear because it's ringing so fuckin' hard!" he points to the blood inside his ear.Â
You flinch at his tone and try to control the tears threatening to spill as he harshly berates you.Â
"Right," is all you say, "sorry," your voice sounds small and you push by him and out to the front of the van to start the engine.Â
* * *Â
When you arrive outside their houseâwell, your house too since you've been living with them for the past three monthsâyou don't talk to Tangerine. You don't even look at him.
Instead, without a word, you walk up to your room, tears still brimming, and slam the door behind you.Â
Your stomach hurts and your nails dig into your palms as you run a shower. You desperately want to wash away any memory of what happened tonight.Â
It isn't uncommon for you and Tangerine to fightâbut he's never shouted like that and never in response to your worry.
Once you finish with your shower and walk out of the bathroom, just a towel wrapped around your body, you jump when you see Tangerine standing in the middle of your room.
He'd clearly freshened up too but, unlike yours, his hair is freshly dried. You aren't surprisedâyou know he hates sleeping with it when it's wet.Â
He's wearing a casual pair of beige slacks and a white T-shirt. The fabric strains against the muscles in his arms as he crosses them across his chest and you look up, feeling a burn in your cheeks.
Tangerine's ear has been bandaged and his cuts and bruises look kindly tended to. Lemon, you assume, he's always been soft on his brother even when he's acting like a jerk.Â
Tangerine is staring at you intensely, his blue eyes shining a shade darker than usual.Â
"Shit, stop being creepy," you grumble, holding your towel tightly around yourself. "Have you come to say you're sorry for acting like a prick or just stare a hole into my head?"
Tangerine's eyes narrow and he shakes his head. He stalks closer to you, pink lips parted and his hands find your hair near your nape. He pulls you in, seemingly unbothered by the squeal you make or how you're unable to move your hands to push him away.Â
Not that you'd want to push him away anyway.
"The fuck you think you're doing?" you hiss, staring at him, "have you gone mad?"
Tangerine just continues to stare into your soul. "You're so damn annoying," he mutters. Â
"I'll scream and Lemon will come and beat the shit out of you," you threaten, challenging him. You know Lemon would never do such a thing and you'd be a fool to scream.Â
"But, fuck me, I like you so damn much," he finishes his sentence, and then his lips find yours. His hand tightens in your hair as he kisses you. There's no tenderness in his kiss, no hesitation or remorse, just pure passion as he wraps his arms around you and holds your back as he pulls your chest to his.Â
You clutch the towel, making sure it feels secure, and kiss him back. You make a small sound behind his lips but you can't deny the heat in the kiss or how badly your stomach tightens just right. The steam coming from your bathroom is taunting as it surrounds you; sticky and warm.Â
"Tan," you mumble as his hand comes around your jaw and he turns your head to kiss your neck.Â
"Shut up," he growls, "you talk too damn much." He squeezes his eyes shut and the words fall easily from his lips as they press to your skin.
"God, you don't understand how hard it is for me; hearing your sweet voice in my ear while I'm trying not to get fuckin' stabbed or shot to death! You don't know what you do to me, darlin'. You have no fuckin' clue. It's fuckin' torture," he says as his hand tightens in your hair and you whimper.
"Tan, m-my towel," you tell him, struggling to hold it up as his body presses against yours.
This makes Tangerine snap out of whatever trance he's in for a moment and he looks down at you. His eyes have softened just a little and his tone is sultry when he asks, "Let it fall. I don't care. Do you?" His lips quirk up. "I've dreamt of you naked a thousand times, luv."
Your eyes round at the intensity of his words. You want to tell him to fuck offâthat you've never thought of him like this. Never imagined his lips on yours or the way he'd feel inside you. But then you'd be a liar, and you aren't a liar.Â
Instead, you drop the towel, your eyes still intensely locked onto his. The cold air sends a shiver up your spine and Tangerine's hands find the skin on your back instead of the towel. His eyes haven't left yours and he looks surprised that you'd done it. He hasn't looked down and his cheeks have turned a dusty pink.Â
"What?" you move your hands up to his cheeks and hold them, "you said you'd dreamt of this. Well?" With as much confidence as you can muster, tilt his head to your naked body. You can feel your hands tremble against his cheeks, all kinds of insecurities and uncertainties bubbling inside you and just as you're going to pull away from sheer embarrassment, Tangerine speaks;Â
"Fuckin' hell, you look so much better than in my imagination," his hands slide up the curves of your hips and breasts. His touch is surprisingly gentle for how passionate he'd been in the beginning.
You watch as his eyes roam around your body and he runs a hand over his jaw, staring at you with pure admiration. "You belong in a fuckin' museum," he whispers behind his hand.Â
"Alright, lover boy," you roll your eyes and shift to move away but his hands find your hips and he hoists you up into his arms. You gasp, your arms finding his shoulders and your legs cling to his waist as your wet hair sprinkles water over his face. It's a weird position to be in considering you're naked.
"Tangerine!" you cry as he carries you over to your bed and you squeal when he drops you and hovers over you.Â
"Let me worship you, darlin'," he whispers as his knee slides in between your legs and he kisses your lips again. He disconnects them and looks at you seriously, "Please," he pleads and your eyes widen.
Tangerine never says please.
You find yourself nodding, too lost in the haze of it all to hear the small voice in your head screaming how stupid this is.
He'll throw you away after. He doesn't care. He'll hurt you. He'll break your heart!Â
You kiss him again, his lips moving against yours rhythmically. You're so lost in pleasure that when he sits up on his heels to strip his shirt, you whine and grasp at his arms. "Shhh, I'm here, dove," he chuckles, enjoying the power he has over you. When he leans over you to kiss you again, this time your hands find his abs and you can't help but explore them.Â
"You countin' them, luv?" he chuckles after a moment and his lips find your nipples as he squeezes one of your breasts in his hands. You make an embarrassed sound that quickly turns into a moan when he positions your hips just right so the fabric of his slacks hits your clit.Â
"I know, I know," Tangerine teases as he senses how needy you're becoming. "Shit, you're just a little slut, aren't ya, luv? Knew you'd wear those dresses to tempt meâdidn't ya?"
You nod. You had. You didn't think it workedâhe always played it so cool.
"You should know I would wank one out after seeing youâyour thighs so visible and," he pauses and uses his hands to spread you open until he sees what he wants, "and that pretty pussy. So fuckin' prettyâ
âyou let me have a peek sometimes didn't you, naughty girl? Knew you did it on purpose," Tangerine says. He sounds satisfied with himself that he'd found you out and his grin widens when you nod.Â
"Just for you," you whisper, looking up at him with hooded eyes. "Please, Tan," you whine, you're already so wet for him.Â
"What do you want, hm? Tell me," he smirks and dips his head down to kiss your neck as his hands wander around your skin. He sits back up and removes his slacks and boxers. Your eyes downturn on his cock and you bite your lip. God, is he really this beautiful everywhere? How fucking unfair.Â
Tangerine's hand comes up to your chin, "Where do you want me?"Â
You look into his eyes, unsure how to ask him for what you want. Tangerine smiles, his thumb touching your lip. He's gentle, his eyes softer now, "Peach," he leans in and kisses just behind your ear. You shiver. "It's okay. Tell me where you want me," he smiles against your skin.Â
"Inside me," you say, your voice small
Tangerine hums and tucks some of your hair behind your ear, "Where inside you, luv? I want to hear you say it for me."
You feel your cheeks warm and you stare up at him. "In my pussy," you say and Tangerine's eyes light up and he smirks.
"My pleasure," he says and shifts his hips until you feel his cock press against your pussy. He feels you tense as your hands tighten around his shoulder.
"Hey, it's just me," he says, pushing in slower now. He looks concerned as one of his hands finds your hair and pushes the strands away from your eyes.
Yeah, that's the issue, you want to tell him but you just nod, squeezing your eyes shut.Â
"Look at me," he says as he pushes inside you fully. You gasp, arching into him and your breathing becomes harsh. He's so thick and long. Tangerine doesn't move and you let out a whine, your eyelids fluttering. "I said, look at me. I won't move until you look at me, darlin'," he whispers sternly.Â
When you finally look at him he smiles, "Do you trust me? I'm not gonna hurt youâpromise."Â
You nod, biting your lip. Of course, you trust him. "I trust you," you answer breathlessly.Â
"Good girl," Tangerine praises and kisses your forehead. He starts to move his hips, pulling in and out of you with torturous strokes. He feels so good.
As he fucks you, he leans his forehead on yours, occasionally whispering praises into your ear as he tells you how pretty you look with him buried inside you.Â
"So fuckin' pretty with my cock inside your pussy, hmm," he grunts, continuing the pounding of his hips. "You close, luv? Already?" He teases you with a smirk and kisses your lips. You let out small moans, skin warm and sticky as you nod.Â
"Good," he smiles and uses his thumb to rub your clit, adding pressure as he fucks into you. "So good for me. All for me, hmm?"Â
"Y-yes," you groan, squeezing your eyes shut.Â
"Open your eyes, Peach," he demands and you do so instantly. "I want to look into your eyes when you come apart around me."
With that, the tension breaks inside you. Your body feels weak from the pleasure and your chest rises and falls rapidly once your high finishes. You let yourself relax into the mattress for a moment, ignoring the sudden stream of thoughtsâgood and badâthat race into your mind. Tangerine's lips touch your forehead again and then he pulls out, finishing on your stomach with a grunt.Â
You blink, feeling the bed dip and then his warmth disappears. You panic a little but you're too weak to move. If he wants to leave, let him, you convince yourself as you stare at the ceiling. However, when you feel something cold and wet across your stomach, you flinch and scramble to sit up.Â
Your eyes are wide and Tangerine pauses, removing the washcloth from your skin. He frowns a little, "Hey, what's wrong?" he asks softly. You stare at him. He's still shirtless but he's pulled up his trousers.
"You aren't leaving?" you ask, looking around the room and you suddenly feel very bare.Â
Tangerine's frown deepens but he doesn't speak for a moment as he washes away his cum from your skin and, after discarding the washcloth, he reaches behind him to hand you his shirt. You accept it without thinking and put it on, wrapping your arms around yourself as you continue to stare at him.Â
He shifts, sitting beside you with one leg off the bed. He still hasn't answered and you start to feel an impending pit in your stomach.Â
"Why would I leave?" he asks calmly, his voice doesn't have a hint of concern in its tone.Â
You fiddle nervously with the hem of his shirt, looking down. Your hair, now half-dried, is a mess from the pillows and you push it down and around your ears in an effort to compose yourself in front of him. "Well, I- I just assumed that you wouldâ"Â
Tangerine tilts his head. "You think I would fuck and ditch, did ya? Ya think so low of me, Peach?" It feels like he sounds almost amused.
You shake your head but your nerves don't stop. "I mean, what do you expect me to think, Tangerine?" you look into his eyes and continue, "You come in here, all pissed at meâyou yelled at me earlier and made me feel all shitty about myselfâand then out of nowhere you kiss me and then weâ"
"Fuck." Tangerine finishes bluntly.Â
You narrow your eyes at him. "Yeah, that," you let out a breath, "So, please, tell me. What am I supposed to think? What do you want from me now? Because I can't be one of your fuck toys, Tan. I refuse to be that girl. I- I care about youâ" you feel your emotions get caught in your throat and you feel your eyes sting. Furiously, you wipe your eyes with your hands, refusing to cry in front of him.Â
Tangerine hasn't said a word. He's looking at you but you can't read his expression. You hate it. You shut your eyes, ready to call it quits, and tell him to leave, but then you feel the bed dip again and you feel his hands cup your cheeks. Your eyes snap open.
"Don't cry," he whispers, his thumb sliding under your eyes and catching your tears, "Please, don't cry because of a stupid bastard like me," he cracks a smile, hoping you'll smile too but when you don't and he sighs, "Okay, I was a dick, a real fuckin' dick, and you didn't deserve any of that. I'm sorry."Â
You nod, still listening to him, "You really were a dick," you whisper.Â
Tangerine chuckles and nods too. "Yeah. I was," he pauses and moves his thumb across your cheeks as if admiring you some more, "Do ya really believe I'd fuck ya for this to be a one-time thing, luv? That I'd just throw ya away after?"
Your cheeks feel warm. "I- I don't know,"Â
"You do know. You think I would do that to ya," Tangerine says, his voice low.Â
"I meanâthat's what you do don't you? I've known you for years, Tan. All those girlsâ"
Tangerine suddenly laughs and his hands drop from your face. "Peach, you aren't those girls," he says, suddenly serious, "I wasn't just making it up when I said how hard it is for me to listen to you in my ear all the time. Not because you're annoyingâwhich sometimes you are but that's beside the pointâbut because I haven't been able to stop thinking about you for years. You're all I goddamn think about. Do you understand how hard that is for me?"
You just frown, shaking your head a little. "No. This doesn't make sense. Why nowâwhy not yesterday? Or months ago? Or years ago?"
 Tangerine runs a hand in his hair and lets out a breath. "Because I didn't want to but I snapped, I snapped, okay? I'm not fuckin' proud of it. I yelled at you and I felt so bad after I didn't know what to do with myself anymoreâ
âyou're always there for Lem and me, and I realized, after that fuckin' earpiece broke, that I hated not having your pretty voice in my ear anymore. It felt like I'd lost youâdo you have any idea how scared that made me feel, even when I knew it was irrational and that you were completely safe?" His words come out jumbled and strained. "I fuckin' hated it, I hated feeling like that so I snapped," he finishes.Â
You stare at him, his words hitting you hard. You've never seen him like this and it scares you, but it also turns you on some more. Why does he have to be so fucking hot? "And I'm sorry. I am. I would never throw you away. I don't want to throw you away after thisâespecially after fucking youâthat's the last thing I would want! Iâ I-"Â
You stare at him some more, your eyes wide, "You whatâ?"
Tangerine pauses, "I love you," he says, articulating every word so you hear him clearly.Â
"You love me?"
"Yes."
"As in love love?"
"Fuckin' hell Peach, ya want me to scream it at ya or somethin'? I'm in love with ya. I love ya more than anythin' I fuckin' have. You're my everything. I love you so damn much."
All your anger, doubt, and shame instantly vanished into thin air. He loves you. All this time he'd loved and he was just shit at expressing his emotions? You laugh, covering your mouth with your hand as happiness overwhelms you.Â
"Are ya laughing at me?" Tangerine's voice cuts in the air and you focus on him. He looks surprised and hurt.Â
Your smile falters and you shake your head. There is so much you want to tell him that you're at a loss for words. He looks so pretty like this, sitting in front of you, and your hands find his cheek instead of using words.
Your fingers skim the bandage that's still wrapped around his ear and you want to ask him if it still hurts. You want to ask him so many things. He's staring at you, chest heaving, and you don't think as you kiss him.Â
It's softer than the previous passionate kiss you'd shared. Only, Tangerine reacts with as much eagerness as earlier. His hands find your back and he presses you against him, your lips sliding against yours. It's intense and lovely all in the same.Â
"I love you too," you say quietly between kisses.Â
"Say it louder," Tangerine suddenly hums, his eyes shut in pleasure. You think he needs you to talk louder because one of his ears is bandaged and hurt.
So, you do as he asks and it earns you another kiss, however when Tangerine mutters, "I wanna hear ya say it again," you know he heard you fine. His voice is so love sick you just grin and wrap your arms around him, your hands bunching in his curls.
"I love you, Tangerine," you say breathlessly, "I love you."
"You have no idea how happy ya just made ma, luv," he responds instantly, running his hand over your cheek as he looks into your eyes. "God, I'd die for ya," he mutters and you frown, slapping his arm a little.Â
"Don't talk about you dying, you git," you reprimand, and Tangerine smirks.Â
He kisses your neck and with a teasing tone he reassures you, "Ya have nothin' to worry about, luv. I'd much rather live for you. You have all of my heart, darlin'. It's all yours," he guides your hand to press your palm against his chest and you feel how quickly his heart is beating.
"This beats for you."
You smile and kiss his lips once more as you bring his other hand to your chest too. "And I'm yours," you whisper. "Only yours."
And until then, you'd never seen Tangerine's grin widen as widely as it did when you said those words.Â
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take me home, country road
[ao3]
prompt: 1800s price/readerâŚ. reader flees to his town where Price is the sheriff after a murder in her previous town only to be mistaken for the mail order bride that Price just sent for âŚ.and heâs not interested in hearing any of her excuses when she tells him that heâs got the wrong girl (part 6) part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5
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And they say if it sways, you have to cut it off at the root.
You repeat that to yourself when you catch the way you glance out the kitchen window again, surreptitiously watching John. Itâs hard to pull your eyes away. He walks over to the well to fetch water for you to do the dishes, the chore youâd elected to take when he offered you the choice between that and feeding the horses. Itâs a fair compromise since you balk at the thought of getting anywhere near either of those beasts.Â
Watching him bend over the well to lower the bucket down, his muscled shoulders tapering to a narrow waist and suspenders drawing tight against his back, makes you bite your lip. Then scowl. Then pull the curtain shut to block out the view.
You have to cut any gentleness off at the root.Â
When he comes back, you step to the side without a word to let him pour the water into the wash basin, hot water from the teakettle and lye soap making the water already in the pan sudsy. In a sense, itâs not any different from anything youâve done back home; the same two pans for washing and scalding, the same cake of soap, and the same dish towel to dry the dishes off at the end. The only difference is the man that pours the cool water into the basin to make it more comfortable for your hands.Â
âIâll be out back,â he tells you, before grabbing you around the waist and pulling you in close to press a close-mouthed kiss to the side of your head. You only scrunch your nose a little. âWhen youâre done, come get me. Got business in town.â
âWhy do you need me to come with you?â you ask, lips cresting into a pout without a thought. Youâd never considered yourself a bellyacher, but itâs almost second nature around John. âI canâŚI can stay and clean the house.â
âYou saying I keep a messy home?â John asks, a teasing lilt in his voice.
You look pointedly down at the dirt he tracked into the kitchen after fetching the bucket of water from the well. âIt could do with a spit shine.âÂ
That gets a laugh out of him, a bellow from deep in his belly. It shakes you to your bones.Â
âDarling, Iâll be honest with you,â he says, turning you to face him before folding his arms across his chest. âI donât trust you not to bolt like a runaway horse, and youâll only wind up putting yourself in danger if you try to make a run for it out here.â
That expression makes your stomach twist. âGood to know you think of your wife as some scared filly.âÂ
âYou talk a whole lot for a woman whoâs been over my knee. Do we need to repeat that?â
When his tone goes stern, you lose the wedging piece of candor keeping you upright. Eyes widen and then narrow. Heâs been patient despite your loose tongue, but when that patience slips, you can see the steel underneath his gentle exterior. Itâs the true root of him.Â
You clam up under his stare, sullen and begrudging. Smooth your dress down to have something to do with your hands. Youâve forgotten your place again. Side-stepped it out of intimacy or misplaced trust or naivety or forgetting, again, for the umpteenth time, that the world is not a place for women that open their mouths. So you keep it shut, trap every festering word behind your teeth.Â
He must not like something he sees painted on your face because his brows draw closer together, frustration brewing anew in his eyes. The longer you stay quiet, the more irritated he grows, his nostrils flaring wide.Â
âSee that you come get me as soon as everythingâs squared away in here,â John bites out, pointing a single, blunt finger at you. âElse Iâll come get you myself.â
And we wouldnât want that, you think, surly. You hope it swims across your eyes. Blooms on your face. Perhaps it does.Â
The lines around his mouth and eyes grow more defined when he smiles. His whole mustache moves with his smile, every part of his face expressing his satisfaction. Itâs beyond infuriating. He taps you on the nose with his knuckle before leaving out the backdoor, not sparing you a backward glance. You nearly shake with indignation.Â
Itâs hard not to watch him out in the paddock while drying the dishes though, not with him set against the gilded sun. You inch the curtain slightly open, just enough of a gap to peer through. The Stetson shadows his face when he tilts his head up towards the sky, the hard edge of his jaw the only thing that meets your gaze. Itâs not the first time youâve seen a man out in the fields or pastures, but most of those have been at a distance, removed. Glimpsed briefly through the window while your train barreled on past acres of farmland.Â
John cycles through the morning tasks of guiding the horses into the paddock by a lead fixed to their halter, replenishing the food trough, and fetching more water from the well to fill the water trough. His horses are striking in the sheer size of them; muscled shoulders and legs, and well-padded flanks. Most of the horses youâve seen out west havenât seemed nearly as well-fed, many whittled down to rib and hip bone.Â
It says something about him, but youâre not ready to confront exactly what. You turn your attention back to the dishes, scrubbing the last of the dried butter and eggs at the bottom of the pan. It takes a little extra grit, but cleaning is a familiar choreâitâs one youâve done all your life, what got you into this mess in the first place.Â
You donât like what you find when you finally venture out of the house to track him down.Â
âIâm not getting on that thing.âÂ
You put your veritable foot down with that, arms straight and stiff by your sides, more out of worry than annoyance. You do also give a little stomp for good measure, but youâll chalk that up to reflexes should John inquire.Â
He doesnât. Just stares down at you with unimpressed green eyes that haunt your days and nights now. Tells you without telling you that youâll get on that horse, willing or not.Â
Itâs not for a lack of beauty that you canât quite shake the nervousness they elicit in you. Buttercup, the one that John saddled up and now waits patiently to be mounted, keeps her head low as if sensing your disquiet, curiosity glimmering in her coal black eyes. Not even the animal curiosity of is this a friend or foe, but the curiosity that comes with pure trust, almost intelligible that way.Â
John runs his hand down her smooth, buttery flank. âDid you enjoy yesterdayâs walk?â
âI didnât hate it.â Truth be told, youâd hardly been of a mind to notice it at all. Though your legs still ache from the walk back to Johnâs house, the walk itself had not seemed especially grueling in the moment. The mind can put aside quite a bit when it has something else to focus on.Â
âWell, Iâm not too keen to repeat it.â He leaves it at that, tightening a strap on Buttercupâs saddle in such a purposeful way that your shoulders tense.Â
âI could meet you there,â you say, a touch desperately. Your stomach turns when you think about hoisting yourself up onto Buttercupâs saddle. It doesnât seem possible. Itâs not something youâve ever done or ever considered doing. You remember horror stories of stableboys back home trampled under their hooves and stomped to death, kicks so powerful that they could break a fully grown manâs ribs or cave in his face.Â
âMy wife isnât gonna wander into town by her lonesome like some vagrant,â John says disdainfully, almost scoffing. Insulted by the whole idea. âAnd youâre sure as hell not staying here alone, darlinâ.â
âWell, figure something else out because I am not getting up on that thinââ You cut off on a yelp when he circles around you and abruptly lifts you up. Your head rushes at the sudden motion, legs flailing beneath you.Â
âQuit squirminâ like a damn barn cat. Little hellion,â John grits out, guiding your heel into the stirrup. âCâmon, youâre just side saddling, so you only need your butt on the saddle.â When he sets you down lightly onto the saddle, you stop wiggling around, acutely aware of the thousand pound horse beneath you. âThere we goâthat wasnât so hard now, was it?âÂ
âI hate this,â you hiss, fingers clamped tight over the pommel.Â
âAw, darlinâ, donât go insulting Buttercup like that,â John chuckles, replacing your foot in the stirrup with his own.
You sit there stiff as a board, perched precariously on the saddle as he hoists himself up behind you. His sheer proximity doesnât register right away. Youâre too concerned with the moving beast under you, its ribs expanding and contracting with each breath. Unlike you, John is more than comfortable sitting astride the horse, not a smidgeon of tension in his body. You suck in a horrified breath when you feel him readjust himself before settling down more comfortably.Â
He reaches around you to grab the reins, a sharp whistle signaling the horse to take her first stride forward, looping around the side of the house. Even the slow trot threatens to buck you off at first. You lurch forward with each step, certain that youâll slip right off the saddle and onto the dusty ground below until John loops an arm around your waist and pulls you to his chest.
You grow stiffer in his arms somehow. Despite sleeping in the same bed the night before and sharing far too many kisses for your comfort or virtue, being pressed up tight against a man never gets easier. Perhaps if youâd been married for longer than a single day youâd be more at ease with the notion, but as of yet, it comes as a shock to the senses every time.Â
You carefully avoid the thought that other married women wouldnât be still in possession of their maidenhead so many hours after their wedding night. Thatâs none of your business.
The two of you navigate into town at a slow canter, allowing you to gradually acclimatize to the gait of a horse. Part of you remembers riding horses when you were younger, but that was a lifetime ago, long enough to shake the memory from your muscles. These days, you can barely remember the hands holding you steady, the ones that wouldâve lifted you up onto the horse and helped you back down. Those people are faceless in your memories.Â
John stays silent at your back, only tightening his hand around your hip when you slip the slightest bit when Buttercup picks up the pace, heading towards the familiar sight of the sheriffâs office. It draws a quick squawk out of you, neatly masked by a fake cough. His chuckle at that rumbles through you, clearly not buying it. Another lesson in humiliation.Â
You manage not to flail as much when he gets off the horse and helps you down, even though youâre still not used to being manhandled so, particularly not in front of the townsfolk milling about and glancing over with undisguised interest.Â
âAre you working today?â you ask, curiosity getting the better of you while John ties Buttercupâs lead to the post outside the sheriffâs office.Â
âDonât exactly get many days off when youâre the only sheriff in the county,â John replies. âWeâve got a few deputies in every town, and a couple here, but it ainât an easy gig.â
âHow many deputies have you got here?âÂ
âJust the three. Simon, John, and Kyle. You met Simon the other day.âÂ
His name draws up the faint memory of the masked deputy from your wedding ceremony. âI remember,â you say flatly. Thereâs no lost love between you and anyone involved with that sham of a wedding.Â
âDonât hold that against him,â John smiles. âHeâs a good ole boy. Canât fault a man for following the bossâ orders.â
Watch me. You glance away lest he see that thought etched across your face.Â
The town is bustling with activity this late in the morning. Steps and floorboards creak under the weight of boots coming and going. A man going by in a horse-and-buggy whistles sharply when he cracks the reins, his horse puffing out a low, frustrated grunt.Â
Men hustle past you decked out in leather chaps and waistcoats, spats covering the half-boots of those not decked out in tall, spurred cowboy boots. There are far less women scampering about town than men, particularly not so close to the sheriffâs office, but you keep finding your eyes drawn to them.Â
John grips you under the arm and swiftly pulls you back when you narrowly sidestep a mound of horse droppings left uncovered in the middle of the road. The smell only hits you a second later.Â
âWell, thatâs lovely,â you remark, deadpanned, putting your foot down deliberately a good distance away.Â
âWouldnât need to complain about it if you just watched your step.â
âYou know, this really wouldâve been a nice day to just stay home,â you mutter, chastised enough not to say something sharp in return.Â
While the smell makes your nose wrinkle, you have to admit that the air here is far less pungent than back home. In general, this bucolic town is far more pleasant in certain respects than the city youâd left behind in a haste.Â
âWhere do you want me to wait for you?â you ask, turning to face him now at the front steps of the sheriffâs office.
He frowns. âWait for me?â
âWhile you work, I mean. Surely you donât mean for me to sit inside all day twiddling my thumbs while you work.â
His mustache twitches with a smile. âThought Iâd show you around firstâget you acquainted with the locals.â
The idea of mingling with the townsfolk doesnât appeal to you, but you also canât think of a good enough reason to refuse. Especially with the curious glances already being sent your way. You duck your head to stare down at your boots when you spot a group of other women clustered together and whispering to each other, their eyes trained on you. Somehow youâve gone from being furniture in a room to being a source of local gossip, and itâs almost hard to believe that you miss being ignored.Â
When you look back up at John, you find him still staring down at you, waiting patiently. Up close, the sunlight almost turns patches of his beard gold; he has a smattering of moles across his face, not the blush of freckles but rather a few dark spots by his nose. Aside from the tuft of hair under his bottom lip, his chin is mostly bare, and when he smiles, his whole face moves with it. You have to blink to snap yourself out of it.Â
Your upper lip curls involuntarily when you say, âSo you want to help me make friends?âÂ
âWell, seeing as I know most of âem, figured Iâd be a help.â
âThe jobâs really not all that busy then, huh?â You really wish you could learn to shut your mouth, since it keeps getting you in trouble, but the barbs roll off your tongue so naturally. Luckily, it seems to amuse him now more than it did early this morning.Â
âGuess life isnât as exciting âround here as it is back in the city, but it has its days,â John chuckles. âNow come on; Iâll give you the tour.â
For some reason, you hadnât pictured the town being quite so big, but during your walk, you realize youâve vastly underestimated the true size of it. Though not anywhere near as ostentatious as the cities back east, the sheer breadth of it eclipses anything from back home. Itâs spread out on an incomparable scale, the mountains in the background stretching out along the horizon like the skeletal remains of a giant long since dead and decayed. Â
Itâs not the ramshackle town you envisioned when you stepped off the train the other day, despite the wooden facades and their brightly painted signs. You almost wish you had more time just to admire the craftsmanship, but John leads you from store to store like heâs on a mission.
He seems most interested in towing you around like some prized mare, all trussed up and clean from your bath the night before. You meet so many people that their names and faces all begin to blur together. The worst offense of all is that it makes you lean on John for support, looking up at him again and again for reassurance whenever you canât answer a question or your answer triggers a moment of awkward silence.Â
Those moments come aplenty too. The few people nosey enough to ask you about your life back in the city find themselves on the butt end of a cheerfully delivered lie from John. It unnerves you at first, seeing how comfortable he is with lying. He doesnât even hesitate for a second when recounting your previous life as a schoolteacher in Connecticut prior to your engagement.
Perhaps itâs not a lie though. You donât know the extent to which he and his original betrothed corresponded. Certainly not enough for him to suspect you of not being her, but maybe sheâd spun him that story. Or maybe it had been the truth. All this time youâd thought that John had been swindled by some con artist using desperate men to fund her lifestyle, but maybe somewhere between here and Connecticut, thereâs an unmarked grave with the corpse of the woman that John had intended to marry.Â
That makes you feel guilty somehow, like youâve taken something not meant for you. Even if you hadnât wanted itâin fact, been forced into taking it.Â
You swallow that thought when John leads you into the general store. Your eyes bug at the sight of a blonde haired woman in khaki cloth knickerbockers stocking the shelves, who turns at the sound of the door creaking open, the sharp look on her face melting away at the sight of John.
The warmth in her face infuriates you more than it should. You have no right to feel this wayâor, some right, but you resent the fact that you do as well.Â
âHi John,â she greets. Her voice is deeper than you anticipated, springtime crisp like a babbling brook.Â
âLaswell,â John greets, scooping his arm around your side until he can palm the side of your hip, dragging you in close. You stumble into him, catching yourself with a hand on his chest. Your neck and face go hot when Laswellâs eyes turn on you, curiosity glinting in them.Â
âYour lady finally showed up then,â she surmises. âIâll be honest, I was starting to think you made her up. Told the boys to think about forcing you into an early retirement.â
John huffs at that. His fingers tighten at your waist when Laswell says your lady, as if the words alone make it fact. Speak it into being. The metal burns against your ring finger. In a sense, it is fact, despite the subterfuge. You wonder if it would hold up in court, but out here, itâs real enough.Â
âWell, sheâs very real, as you can tell.â He gives you a little shake with the hand on your waist. âSay hi, darlinâ.â
If looks could kill, yours would be pit-viper venom. Youâd leave behind a festering puncture mark and a body in the throes of envenomation. âExcuse me?â
Your attitude might come at a cost this time because he looks unamused at your back talk in front of an audience. âDarlinâ.â Itâs said like a warning.Â
You bite your tongue instead of lashing out. âPleasure to meet you.â
âKate Laswell; I own this little shop,â she says, introducing herself and stepping forward to hold out her hand. You have to step forward to take it, pulling you out of Johnâs arms. It feels familiar being on your own, certainly more natural than being constantly at Johnâs side the way you have for almost two days now. Itâs also a bit cold after having Johnâs warmth at your back or side at all times.Â
Thereâs a moment when you realize that Kate is the first person youâve had to introduce yourself to, John having introduced you to everyone else youâd come across. It hovers on the tip of your tongue when you realize that you could just say your real name, and you find yourself torn between setting it free and the odd fear of Johnâs reaction.Â
You chicken out at the last second, giving Kate the same name as the one John introduced you by to everyone else in town.Â
âHe might growl like a bear, but youâll get used to that,â she says, winking.
You frown. Awfully familiar talk for someone who isnât his wife. Why should she know that?Â
You make yourself push that thought away, reminding yourself again that it doesnât matter. Itâs none of your concern.Â
âHeâs been a gentleman,â you croak instead, smile so thin that it might as well be a grimace.Â
A shout from the bar across the street startles you, drawing your attention away from the conversation. John stills too. A series of raised voices puts him on alert, and then someone inside the bar must fire a gun because the violent crack of one makes you scream, the noise pulled involuntarily from your chest.Â
âStay here,â John growls, his pistol already drawn. Heâs out the door before you can respond, darting across the street towards the bar and shouldering the door open so hard that it rattles in its frame. You watch everything happen through the window of the general store with your heart in your throat.Â
âGood Lord,â you whisper, hand over your mouth. Kate stands beside you in a similar manner, her eyebrows pinched in concern.Â
The thought doesnât even occur to you that now would be the perfect time to make a break for it, with John busy across the street. Your feet are rooted in place; you doubt youâd be able to take so much as a single step towards the door.Â
Thereâs precious little that you can see through the grit-lined bar windows, not as dusty and dirty as they are, but you can hear the commotion from inside. Raised voices and the sound of breaking glass. It makes you flinch, heart galloping at an even faster pace. Like harness horses on the Freehold Raceway. Itâs not long before you see a large, masked man hightailing it down the road towards the bar, dust clouding around his boots with each heavy step.Â
You recognize him almost instantly as the man from your wedding, the one that signed your marriage license. Johnâs manâSimon. He nearly takes the bar door off its hinges when he throws it open, barely in there a second before he and John come out each with a man in hand, both already handcuffed and looking roughed up They drag them stumbling down the dirt road towards the sheriffâs office, Simon half-dragging another man whose white button-down is slowly saturating with red blood oozing out of a gunshot wound in his belly.
âShouldnât they call a doctor for that man?â you ask Kate in a frantic voice, whipping around to face her.Â
She nods. âThey probably will once theyâve got the four of them locked up. Doctor probably heard that anywayâheâll be on his way, I bet.â
âOn his way already?â
âThereâs only one doctor around here. And not much else sounds like a gunshot.â
âDoes that happen a lot around here?â You donât know why the thought makes you nervous, but thereâs a cramp in your belly and a sweat building up on the back of your neck and your hands itch to grab something. When you swallow, it almost doesnât go down.Â
âItâs not uncommon. I reckon itâs not something youâre used to?â
You purse your lips. âIâve seen a dead body before.â You donât know why that comes out so defensively, like a slight thatâs been levied against you. Thereâs no easy way to dispel the myth in everyoneâs mind that you come from a life of comfort and ease, with delicate hands fit for delicate work. You curl your hands into fists at the thought, conscious of the old scars and calluses built up over years of scrubbing and cleaning. If she were to look down, she wouldnât see the well-kept hands of a lady.Â
When Kate quirks an eyebrow, you realize that your response had nothing to do with her question. âWell, look at you.â
When John and Simon disappear into the jailhouse, the door swinging shut behind them, you sway on your feet for a second, feeling oddly unbalanced. Something about the sight of the manâs blood leaves you feeling woozy, taking the chair that Kate offers you when she sees the way you rock back on your heels.Â
âLet me get you something to drink,â Kate offers, brows now furrowed sympathetically at the pathetic sight you must be. âIâm sure you got a little fright thinking of your husband facing down a man with a gun, but Iâm afraid that comes with marrying a sheriff. Thereâs danger everywhere, you know.â
What you donât say is that your lightheadedness came not just from the sight of the man with the blood leaking from a wound in his stomach, but the grim look on your husbandâs face as he carted away the man responsible, eyes hard as steel. No sympathy for the man in his hands. Only another criminal to be tossed away in a jail cell. The punishment for making another man bleed.
Your hands shake in your lap, but you donât say that. Instead, you smile weakly and take the glass of water from her hands when she comes back from filling it at the sink. âYouâre right. Just a little fright.â
#ceil writing#cod mw2#cod x reader#captain john price#price/reader#price x reader#price x you#john price x reader
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can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 17
Or: a secret Admirer AU
PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8 || PART 9 || PART 10 || PART 11 || PART 1 || PART 13 || PART 14 || PART 15 || PART 16
Eddieâs back to school on Tuesday, black eye turning a mottled sort of green, lip scabbed over. From where heâs hemmed in by Robin and Chrissy, Steve watches Eddie catch a glimpse of him and bolt the other way.
Jeff sighs, lets go of his hold on Chrissyâs arm, and says, âsorry, Steve. Iâm just gonnaââ and then he points toward Eddie and follows after him without another word.
Steveâs gut clenches with guilt. Heâd put that look on Eddieâs face, had caused the rift in his and Jeffâs friendship, had split the forming group up with his ridiculous crush. But Chrissy and Robin are still here, standing by his side.
âAre he and Jeff okay?â Steve asks, biting his lip as he glances at Chrissy.
âI think so,â she says, looking after her boyfriend. âThey talked on the phone, but Jeff didnât tell me what about.â
âForget about them,â Robin replies, reaching out to take his hand even as it makes everyone around them stare. âCome on, Stevie, or weâll be late to Ms. Clickity Clackâs class.â
Steve passes the rest of the day in a daze, the spot at his side a revolving cast of Chrissy, Robin, and Jeff, like theyâd all talked behind his back and decided he couldnât be trusted with being alone right now. Steve canât blame them because as soon as heâs left unattended in his big empty house, he gets out his notebook and pen, and begins to write.
  Eddie â
  Iâm sorry I never got to read your last letter, but it wasnât for me anyways. Maybe none of them were, not really. And Iâm sorry about that, even sorrier about how your pretty face got caught in the ceasefire. Iâm just full of sorries Iâm to scared to tell to your faceâfrom the way you ran when you saw me in the hallway this morning, maybe you wouldnât want me to anyway.
  Youâve always been the brave one, so you must really want to not see me, huh? I hope you and Jeff are friends again. Iâm sorry about that too, Iâm the one who asked him not to tell you. I was afraid, but thatâs no excuse.
  I donât know how to stop wanting to right write to you. I canât turn off the part of me that still wants to know everything about you. Thereâs a whole in my heart, and I keep trying to find people to fill it, but I can never be in love with someone who loves me back. You know?
  Iâm sorry, Eddie. Maybe someday, Iâll get to say it to your face.
  Sorry,
  Steve
He closes the notebook on the damning words and shoves it into his nightstand so he doesnât have to look at it. Sleep doesnât comeâthe house is too quiet. He grabs the phone off his dresser and calls the only other person he knows whose parents trust them enough to have a phone in their bedroom.
âHâlo?â Robin mutters sleepily after finally picking up the phone six rings later.
She sounds tiredâSteveâs sorry he woke her. âI wrote another letter,â he says.
That seems to perk her up instantly, as she hisses down the line, âSteven James Harrington.â
âNot my name, Robin Steven Bobbington,â he replies, talking right over her shrieked âwell, thatâs not mine!â to continue, âIâm not going to send it.â
âYou better not,â she replies, and Steve can hear some rustling on her end, like sheâs settling back down into her bed. He wishes, suddenly, that he was in there with her, clutching her hand as they fall asleep side by side. Instead, he lays down on his own bed and concentrates on the noises coming down the line.
âIs it stupid that I miss him?â he asks.
âYeah, kinda.â
âRobin!â
She laughs, a quiet sleepy chuckle that warms him straight through. âIâm just saying! Heâs been treating you like shit, Stevie.â
Steve sighs, burrowing down under his comforter and taking the phone with him. âHe was different in the letters,â he whispers, like someone in his empty house might hear him otherwise. âSweeter, you know?â
Robin sighs, âIâm sorry.â
âYeah, me too.â
Thereâs enough sorries to go around for all of them, apparently. Theyâre quiet for a while, Robinâs breathing keeping him company in his big, lonely bed with his big, lonely thoughts.
âI love you, Robbie,â he whispers. âYou know that, right?â
Heâs been saying it a lot lately, throwing the words around like theyâll connect this time and get him something real. And they had, with Chrissy, with Robin, hell, even with Jeff. Just, not with Eddie. Maybe someday, heâll learn to be okay with that.
âLove you, too, Dingus,â Robin replies, like itâs easy.
He falls asleep that night to the sound of Robinâs quiet snoring.
***
Eddie thinks about itâobsessively, compulsively. He dreams about it, jerks off about it, fucking cries about it. He reads the letters, again, and again, and again, wishing desperately that he still had that first one. At school, he checks his locker obsessively, compulsively, hoping thereâs another note in his lockerâthere never is.
âDude, whatâs your problem?â Gareth asks, an elbow into Eddieâs side.
âOw, ribs!â Eddie cries, curling away from him and into Doug at their usual lunch table.
âSorry!â Gareth replies, leaning away from him and raising his hands up like thatâll somehow prove heâs harmless.
Jeff snorts around his sandwich, âgotta be careful, Gare-bear. Heâs precious cargo now.â
âOh fuck off,â Eddie replies, rolling his eyes as the rest of Hellfire laugh around him.
âNo, but seriously, dude,â Gareth asks, this time without the thrown elbow. âWhatâs up with you?â
Eddie looks across the cafeteria at Steve and Chrissyâs usual spots, still empty the way they have been for weeks. He worries, sometimes, that theyâre not eating, and itâs his fault.
Hopefully, theyâre just packing lunches from home and eating somewhere else (heâs been too afraid to check).
âCanât tell you buddy,â Eddie replies, still looking at the empty spot like thatâll somehow make the duo appear. âI promised.â
Gareth, clearly having followed his line of sight, leans closer and asks in an unsubtle whisper, âbut itâs about you know what?â
Doug sits on, oblivious, but Jeff snorts again and asks, âokay, you didnât tell me jack shit, but you told the freshman?â
âSophomore, jackass!â Gareth cries, before seeming to realize the implications of Jeffâs sentence. âYou told Jeff?â
âI knew before you did,â Jeff says smugly, and Eddieâs starting to get pissed off about that again.
âHow!â
âJeff, dearest?â Eddie grits out. âDo you want me to punch you in the face?â
That shuts the table up catastrophically. But in the end, Jeff sighs and says, âIâm coming over after school,â and the rest of lunch is spent fielding Garethâs indignant questions.
True to his word, Jeff climbs into Eddieâs passenger seat at the end of the day. Eddie doesnât take them to the trailer, he just drives around, taking back roads round and round, restlessness making his fingers twitch in the gear shift.
Jeffâs the one who breaks the silence, in the end. âIâm sorry I didnât tell you,â he says, making Eddie flinch at the sudden noise. âSteve just seemed so scared, and Chrissy was crying soââ
âHe was scared?â Eddie interrupts, stuck on the thought. Heâd known that, before, but now that Eddieâs afraid, too, it hits like a punch to the chest.
âOf course he was,â Eddie replies to his own question. Suddenly unable to focus, Eddie pulls over to the side of the road. âIâm scared, too.â
Jeff sucks in a breath; Eddie doesnât look away from his own knees.
âYeah?â
Eddie bites his lip, knowing that Jeff will be able to read between the lines. âYeah.â His eyes are watering, and Eddie swipes at them, embarrassed. âAnd I know weâre supposed to be talking about us, but I justââ
âNo, hey,â Jeff replies. Eddie hears the sound of his seatbelt unbuckling, and the rustle of him shifting in his seat, and suddenly, Jeffâs hand is clasping Eddieâs shoulder, shaking him around just a little. âYouâre my best friendâweâre fine, dude.â
Eddie swipes at his eyes again, âI think I want to ask him out, but what if Iâm wrong?â Eddie asks, tracking Jeffâs expression out of the corner of his eye. âI donât want to hurt him again.â
âSo, what?â Jeff asks, voice deadpan. âYou find out he likes you and suddenly heâs not just a jock anymore?â
Eddie looks down at his own knees, bracing for a hit he knows will never come. But, Eddieâs always been good at hurting himself, so he thinks about that yellow nail polish again, the enraptured look in Steveâs eyes during every D&D session, the way heâd glued himself to Robin Buckley, band nerd supremeâs side in recent weeks. The way heâd look at Eddie like he wasnât the king of the freaks, like he was worth something.
âHe was never just a jock,â Eddie murmurs. âI just never let myself think about it.â
Jeff mmmhmms him and Eddie knows him well enough to hear the doubt beneath the agreement.
âI was afraid, okay?â Eddie laments, scrunching his eyes closed tight until that makes his bruised eye ache too much. âYou wouldnât get it.â
At that, Jeff scoffs, and before Eddie can start up another tirade, he replies, âright, the black guy dating a white girl in Po-dunk, Indiana has no idea how scary it can be to make a move on the person you like.â
Okay, fair.
âYou know what could happen if the wrong person finds out?â Jeff continues. âIâll be lucky if they let me get out of town alive.â
âOkay, okay! I get it, sorry!â Eddie cries, throwing his hands up in defeat. And Jeff, being the asshole he is, just laughs at his discomfort. âHowâs that going anyway?â
âWith Chrissy?â Jeff asks, continuing when Eddie nods. âSheâs great, man. I really, really like her.â
Heâs smiling all goofy and in love. Eddie waits for the jealousy to hit; it never comes. Even as heâd flirted with her, thereâd always been a disconnect for him between the letters and the girl. He knows why, now.
âIâm happy for you.â
Jeff aims that same goofy smile at him and punches his shoulder. âThanks, man.â
Eddie wants to feel that way about someone. He wants to think of them and smile like he just canât help himself. And with Steve Harrington of all people, maybe he can.
âIf I ask Steve out, do you think heâll still say yes?â
âOh, for sure,â Jeff replies without hesitation before he turns to Eddie and eyes him up and down. âBut are you sure you want to?â
Eddie bites back the defensive retort rising on his tongue, and grits out, âwhat do you mean?â
Jeff sighs and leans back in his chair. Eddie waits, three seconds from snapping as he stews in Jeffâs silence, hands clenched so hard against the steering wheel that it feels like one of his nails might pop clean off.Â
âJeffââ
âNo oneâs ever liked you before!â Jeff cries, and it hits Eddie like a punch to the sternum. âAnd maybe itâs not fair of me to ask but, are you sure you even really like him?â
âWhat?â Eddie asks, his mind a record skipping against a bent needle. âWhat do youââ
âEddie, man,â Jeff sighs, swiveling his head to finally look Eddie directly in the eyes. âDo you like Steve Harrington, or do you just like that he likes you?â
He drops the wheel, hands almost numb as he shakes them out, no longer able to meet Jeffâs eye.Â
How would anyone ever know that for sure? How can he know the origin of a feeling when itâs been there, simmering in the background of his brain, just waiting for him to wake up? How can he separate the feeling for a person and the personâs feeling for them?
Thatâs like asking him to unbraid his hair, let it fall back together, and still be able to tell which strands made up each component of the braidâit canât be done.
But, âGareth said I was obsessed with him,â Eddie replies, barely above a whisper. âLike, before I knew he wrote the letters?â
âYeah?â
âYeah.â Eddie laughs, but itâs just like Steve saidâit sounds different when he doesnât think itâs funny. âAnd, he was right, you know? I was flirting with Chrissy, but I couldnât stop thinking about him.â
Eddie runs a shaking hand through his hair and buries his face into his hands with a shudder. âHeâs justâheâs Steve Harrington, right? Everyone knows everything about him, but then he just changes the script!â Eddieâs smiling now, manic, animated. âAnd I wanted to know everything.â
Eddie drops his hands to look over at Jeff, meeting his eyes once more. Jeff looks patient, ready, hopeful in a way he hadnât before, so Eddie keeps talking.
âLike, Chrissy was flirting with you and he didnât even seem to care, and the yellow nail polish, and he came to Hellfire, Jeff. Steve Harrington came and watched us play Dungeons and Dragons.â
âI know,â Jeff replies, grinning now, pearly whites all on full display.Â
âAnd when he came to band practice, he was just like, watching me, and I sort of wanted to die, but in a good way, you know?â
Jeff decidedly does not look like he knows, but heâs still grinning across at Eddie like heâs proud of him. Eddieâs kind of proud, too, that heâs managing to say all of this aloud. It feels somehow new and a long time coming at the same time.Â
âOkay, you can ask him out,â Jeff says, turning forward in his seat and buckling his seatbelt once more.Â
Eddie laughs. âOh, because I needed your blessing?â
âYeah,â Jeff replies, grinning as he turns back to Eddie, looking him up and down like heâs a slab of meat Jeffâs checking for its quality. âMaybe wait until youâre healed up, though. You look like one of those cardboard box kittens that I keep seeing on the news.â
âShut up!â Eddie squawks, but heâs smiling, helplessly, hopefully.
Eddie Munson with a chance at love, who wouldâve thought?
PART 18
#koko's steddie secret admirer au#steddie#my fic#Jeff. the man that you are<3<3<3<3<3#i am...SO excited for tomorrow's part. like. after struggling Hard with it. it might have been the most fun i had in writing for the fic
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Written by a woman - L. Hughes
Songs masterlist
song: Written by a woman - Mae Muller
pairing: Luke Hughes x girlfriend!reader
summary: Moments in Luke and his girlfriend relationship that made them realised, they are made for each other
warning: NSFW, mentions of sex (nothing graphic), swear words
words: 1.3k
note: i had so much fun writing this! hope you're enjoy it as much as i do haha
masterlist
---
She and Luke met in Michigan. Both were students searching for fun and nothing more. She had been in terrible relationships and lost all her hope to find a right man, especially during her college years. Luke was scared to open his heart because every girl was using him to get into his brothers. They were two teenagers with trust issues, terrified of another disappointment in love.
One party changed everything. She opened herself for Luke and Luke felt that sheâs not gonna go for his brothers. Casual conversation turned to dates and later to relationship. They were soulmates despite coming from different environments and not sharing much of common interests. Their love can be summed up as right person, right time.
So cool but so kind
With that look in your eye
When she laid eyes on Luke, she saw the spark in his eyes. He was stoic yet cheerful. She couldnât keep her sign out of him. He wasnât blind. He felt her piercing eyes on him and decided to approach her. Luke was talkative and flirty. He was telling her stories to impress her, but he didnât know that sheâs already gone in him.
Luke was respectful, he hasnât pushed his luck with her. He was way different from other guys who made her feel uncomfortable the minute, they started to talk with her. She found Luke as a very intrigue person. She wanted to know more about him. She asked him the most random questions.
After couple minutes of their conversation, she started to tell him about herself. Earlier it was all about Luke but now, she was the center of attention. She was telling him about her origins, her major and her hobbies. She thought that she might bored him. He was a popular hockey player, and she was just an ordinary girl but when she saw the sparkles in his eyes, she fell in love.
She felt so safe telling him all the stories. Luke was grateful that someone was looking at him as a person and not athlete. They spent all night on talking. He asked for her number and the next day, he asked her out. They say eyes are mirror of the soul and their eyes were showing it. Both were obsessed in each other, and they could communicate with each other just by looking into eyes.
And you ainât scared to cry, what a rare breed
She was growing up in household where men werenât crying. They couldnât show their weak side. Thatâs why she always thought that women can cry. All her exes also never sheer a tear in front of her. She believed that they canât show proper emotions.
For her, crying was like a release. When she was felt weak, mad, panicked or tired, she was bawling her eyes. It was helping her to settle her emotions down. She always wondered what men are doing to calm down.
When Luke picked up a shoulder injury and told her about it, he cried in front of her. For the first time, she saw a man crying. She was confused, she didnât have a clue what to do. She froze in spot when this happened. She wanted to cheer him up, but she didnât know what to do.
She asked him what to do and Luke told her that he just needed to release his emotions. He felt comfortable to do it next to her. She explained him why she hasnât reacted and apologized but he laughed. He promised her that itâs normal and heâs doing this a lot of times. In that moment, she knew, heâs the one.
Your shoulders, your hands, oh you must be a man
Written by a woman
Luke was lanky. Despite being an athlete, he wasnât muscular. This changed when he joined New Jersey Devils. He started going more and more on the gym. His shoulders and arms became wider and gained more muscles. She loved him previously but now; she loved him even more. She loved dragging her nails down his biceps.
The thing she adored the most in Luke were his hands. They were so big compared to her. His fingers were insanely long. He knew about her kink on his hands and he used it to his advantage. He always had his hand on her. When they were on a walk, he held his big hand on her lower back or were holding hands. In a car, he always placed his hand on her thigh.
Their sex life was superior. She adored when he was fucking her, and she could mark his strong shoulders, later admiring the marks on his back. He loved to make her cum just by his fingers. With her, he learned that he has a thing for choking. When he was seeing his long fingers on her throat, he was going insane.
You can be rough
But itâs never too much
She trusted Luke, especially in the bedroom. He was caring and loving while they had sex. Although, they had unwritten rule that if heâs angry, he can use her. He was always giving her heads up so she wouldnât be surprised. The minute he stepped back into their apartment, he was all over her.
She loved this side of him. She knew Luke would never hurt her, so she was letting him to have his way with her. Most of the times, he was deepthroating her and fucking in doggy style. When she felt freaky, she was acting like a brat just to see how itâs gonna end up for her. Luke wasnât into punishment but when she was getting on his nerves, he would spank her.
After he was done with her, his priority was aftercare. He knew how important it is to show her love and respect, after he fucked her like a whore. He was always helping her in the shower and feed her so she could get back in strength. Later, he was cuddling her in their bed and whispering sweet words thanking her for this.
All day, all night
Youâre on my mind
Since she and Luke started dating, theyâve been all the thinking about each other. Back in Michigan, when the lectures were boring, theyâve been daydreaming about what another one is currently doing. He was bad texter but on her message, he was responding immediately saying that he was about to call her.
When they were forced to live for a year in different states, they had been all the time thinking about each other. She was wondering howâs Luke doing in new environment, how his life looks like and how does he feels living with his brother. He was reasoning about her classes and exams, how sheâs feeling being there by herself and if sheâs still wearing his clothes all day.
After her graduation, she finally moved to New Jersey, and they rented an apartment. Living together hasnât stopped them about thinking about each other. If she was working, Luke was thinking whatâs going through her head. When he was watching hockey games, she was wondering which part of the match heâs currently analyzing.
All their thoughts were spiraling about each other. She could never get bored of thinking about Luke and Luke could never get bored of thinking about her.
You got me down bad, oh you must be a man
Written by a woman
She knew she fell hard for her when all her future was going around his career. When Luke went to New Jersey, she wanted to go with him. How much he loved this idea, he knew that her education is more important. He was the one to force her to graduate university because she was ready to pack her whole life and go after him.
When she finally ended up college, she moved to New Jersey. She had better work options in Michigan, but she wanted to be closer to him. Luke felt bad that sheâs sacrificing her career for him but at the same time, he was grateful to have her by his side. They were made for each other.
Luke knew sheâs the one and despite their young age, he decided to propose to her. He saw a future with her and thatâs all what matter for them.
---
thank you for readingđ
#luke hughes#luke hughes x reader#luke hughes fanfiction#luke hughes imagine#luke hughes oneshot#nhl#nhl fanfiction#nhl imagine#new jersey devils#v' work
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Running the flower store is a nice break. Dannyâs got to do a bit more math than expectedâno, Mr. Lancer, that doesnât mean percentages were usefulâbut Harleen didnât lie about the job. He sells the odd book, waters the plants, and moves the bouquets in and out of the flower fridge.Â
On the second day, someone comes whirling into the shop, slamming the door behind him.
âHi, can I help you?â Danny has on his best customer service face.Â
The guy spins around and does a double-take like he wasnât expecting to see Danny. âWho are you?â
âI work here. Are you looking for a book or flowers?â
The guy has dark hair, almost black with a hint of brown in the sun and blue eyes. Heâs bulky enough that he likely works out. Laugh lines are starting at the corner of his eyes. âWhereâs Harleen?â
âSheâs on vacation for a few days. Iâm watching the store for her in her absence.â Danny canât help but tense, keeping a sharp eye on the stranger. What if he intends to rob the store? Dannyâs got his taser, but that wonât help from behind a counter. Subtly, he reaches for intangibility, keeping it ready on a momentâs notice. Heâs not about to get shotâagain.
âIâm Dick,â the guy says. âSorry about the interrogation. Itâs justâŚHarleen never takes a vacation. She must trust you to watch the shop.â
Danny shrugs because he really has no connection with the girl. âItâs just a job. Can I help you with anything else?â Heâd really prefer Dick finish his maybe-or-maybe not legitimate business and leave.Â
âRight!â Dick swings back to look at the rest of the store. âI am going to see my friend later, it canât hurt to bring some flowers. Got a suggestion?â
Normally, Danny would join the customers as they look at flowers, offering what suggestions he can. Now, he stays firmly behind the till. âThe daisies are a nice pop of color. We have a few bouquets of dry flowers if you want something that lasts longer.â
Dick hums and considers the flowers. âMaybe the daisies.â
Danny rings him up, still keeping an eye on Dick. âIâll let Harleen know you dropped by looking for her.â
âIâd appreciate it. Do you know when sheâll be back?â
He does, but thereâs no way heâs telling. Who knows why Dick wants to knowâif thatâs even his name? âSheâll be back soon.â He defaults to his blandest smile.Â
Dick wilts slightly under it, pulling the daisies toward him. âOkay, thanks. See you later.â
Not if Danny can help it. Maybe he should stay late tonight, just to make sure the guy doesnât come back and try to break in. Explaining how he fended off a burglary might be a little difficult, but Harleen doesnât deserve to have her shop trashed. And if sheâs a friend of Pamâs, then she can be an acquaintanceâfriend?âof Dannyâs.
Harleen laughs so hard sheâs wheezing when Danny warns her about âDickâ and his off-vibes.Â
âIâm guessing you know him,â he says, giving her a scowl. Heâs been practicing his scowls. Batmanâs famous for them.Â
âDo I ever!â Harleen cackles, half lying across her counter. Finally, she hauls herself up with a grin. âNo wonder Pam likes you.â
âCouldnât let this place get robbed.â
âYou did good, Dan, donât worry. I appreciate you watchin out for the store.â She glances around at the plants and books with a soft smile. âThis place is my baby. Itâs nice to just have aâŚnormal job. Iâm laughin because Dicky is probably the most harmless person to come into this store and you clocked him as a robber.â
Danny sniffs and looks away. Heâs learned to listen to his instincts and his instincts said that guy was Trouble with a capital T. Maybe itâs the kind of trouble Harleen likes, but heâs not about to get mixed up in it.Â
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#What Binds Us#dpxdc#dp x dc#dc x dp#dcxdp#poison ivy#dick grayson#richard grayson#danny phantom#danny fenton#harleen quinzel#harley quinn#batman#dcu#breannasfluff#my writing
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