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wbbfannnnnn13 · 2 days ago

Text

Motion Sick // Chapter 9

Theme: pazzi fwb turned ex bf turned into whatever the hell this is

A/N: I'm back :) this is a long ass chapter compared to what I typically write, but I was on a roll I guess lol. I did not do a very thorough job of editing so if you see an error please let me know! This chapter is honestly setting up some fun messy shit that I have planned for next chapter... Anyways, hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: mention of injury, angst, I think that's it???

WC: 8K+

**** Chapter 9 ****

Paige was already texting her again—thumb hovering, jaw tight, the glow of her screen lighting up the dim dorm room like it might hold some kind of answer. She’d already tried once that morning. And again after lunch. No response. Not even a read receipt. It was technically an off day—no practice, no meetings—so it wasn’t like they’d just run into each other. But still. The silence was starting to eat at her. And yet, here she was, staring at the same thread, willing it to change.

Paige: Hey, are you around? Can we talk?

No reply.

She waited sixty seconds. Sixty-five. Then checked the status bar again—no “delivered.” No bubbles. No anything.

She flipped to Caroline’s contact. Typed “is azzi okay?” Deleted it. Rewrote it with less emotion: “Have you seen Azzi today?” Sent it. Nothing back.

Her foot started bouncing. Her brain spun.

Maybe Azzi’s phone was dead. Maybe she was asleep. Maybe they were still on that weird kind-of-friends-but-not-really energy that made texting feel like walking through a minefield.

Or maybe she didn’t want to talk to her at all.

But that couldn’t be right. Not after the bracelet. Not after the tiny white gift box she’d nearly missed completely—wedged in the back of her desk drawer like it had been waiting for the right moment to be found.

Inside: a friendship bracelet. Purple and pink beads, a little uneven, the stretchy string knotted with care. In the center, in blocky black letters—PURPOSE.

Underneath it had been a folded piece of notebook paper, torn from the middle of a spiral, the edges slightly frayed. Azzi’s handwriting was careful, almost too neat. Just a few lines, but Paige had read them over and over like they were scripture.

And somehow, it hit harder than any love letter ever could. Because Azzi didn’t say things she didn’t mean—and she definitely didn’t make things just to fill the silence. So if she was still thinking about Paige, still threading beads one by one, still tucking hope into a box like it might survive the fallout…

Then maybe—just maybe—this was the part where they stopped pretending they were fine without each other.

She glanced at her phone again.

Still nothing.

Her thumb hovered over Azzi’s name. She didn’t text this time. Just pressed the location dot she told herself she wasn’t going to use anymore.

She was home.

Paige grabbed a hoodie from the back of her desk chair and shoved the bracelet in the front pocket, fingers curling tight around it. This wasn’t a grand gesture. This wasn’t a speech or a declaration or anything dramatic. She just needed to see her. Needed to say something—anything—before it was too late.

She didn’t even realize how fast she was moving until she hit the stairs.

It was a short walk. Too short. Her pulse was already racing by the time she reached Azzi’s dorm. Her palms were sweating. She wiped them on her sweatpants before taking another step. Checked her phone one more time.

Still nothing.

The suite door was unlocked — like usual — and Paige slipped inside quietly, careful not to slam it behind her. It smelled faintly like popcorn and whatever candle scent Caroline was obsessed with that month. Something vanilla-adjacent.

Azzi’s door was closed.

She hesitated in front of the door, heart thudding so loud it felt like someone else might hear it. For a second, she just stood there, staring at the wood grain like it might blink first. The hope was still there—small, stubborn, buzzing under her ribs like static. She couldn’t hear anything on the other side. No voices, no music, nothing.

Still, she knocked.

Three small raps, like maybe if she kept it light enough, she could pretend this wasn’t a huge deal.

Footsteps. Then the click of the handle.

Azzi opened the door wearing a cropped tee and shorts, barefoot, her hair pulled half-up and frizzy in that way it always got when she’d been lying in bed for a while. Her cheeks were pink, her lips slightly parted like she’d just been laughing—or kissing someone. Paige couldn’t tell which.

Behind her, the room was dim. The bedside lamp was on. Someone’s hoodie was slung over the back of her desk chair.

And then a voice floated from somewhere out of frame, casual, familiar, too at home.

“Do you want the lights off or—oh.”

Lexi stepped into view from the other side of the bed, holding a bag of popcorn, her hair also slightly mussed, like she’d been lying there for a while and hadn’t planned on getting up.

She froze when she saw Paige.

Azzi did too.

“Hey,” Azzi said, blinking like it took a second to place her. “Um. What’s up?”

Paige opened her mouth but no sound came out at first. Her chest was tight, throat dry. Every warning light in her brain started flashing.

“I—sorry. I didn’t mean to…” She glanced behind Azzi, took in the soft lighting, the hoodie, the presence. “I thought maybe you didn’t see my texts. I just—”

Azzi’s mouth parted slightly, like she wanted to say something—like maybe there was something she should say—but nothing came out.

Lexi stayed quiet, her expression unreadable.

Paige forced a smile, the kind that felt too big and too bright, like maybe if she smiled hard enough, she could hold the rest of her face together. “Totally not a big deal,” she said, even though it was. “I was just walking by. Thought I’d say hi.”

Azzi nodded, slow and cautious, like she wasn’t sure whether to believe her. “Okay. Well… hi.”

“Yeah.” Paige shifted her weight to one foot, then the other, hands suddenly too empty. “Cool. I’ll… let you get back to whatever you were doing.”

Lexi glanced down, polite and distant. Azzi didn’t look away.

And that—somehow—made it worse.

Azzi didn’t stop her.

She turned and walked back down the hall, her footsteps the only sound, the silence stretching behind her like something fragile about to snap. She didn’t look back.

By the time she got to her floor, her hoodie felt too warm and not warm enough all at once. She didn’t take it off. Just walked into her room, shut the door behind her, and sat on the edge of the bed like her body didn’t know what else to do.

The bracelet was still in her pocket.

She pulled it out slowly, let it sit in her palm like it might say something she couldn’t. Like maybe if she looked at it long enough, it would explain why her chest felt like it was caving in. Why her throat was tight and her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Why she still cared this much, even now.

She rubbed her thumb over the beads—lightly, like the letters might smudge if she pressed too hard. She couldn’t tell if it made her feel better or worse.

The word was still there.

PURPOSE

She swallowed hard.

She thought about how carefully Azzi must’ve made it. Threading each bead, tying each knot. Choosing that word. Not love or strong or something generic from a gift shop bin. No, Azzi chose something deeper. Something that meant something.

And Paige had let it sit in a drawer. Like it wasn’t everything.

She curled her fingers around it, closed her eyes.

For a second, she let herself pretend it wasn’t too late. That she hadn’t shown up one floor too low, one second too slow. That Azzi hadn’t answered the door with someone else’s laughter still floating through the room.

She wanted to be mad.

At Azzi. At Lexi. At herself.

Mostly at herself.

Because she could’ve said something sooner. She could’ve tried harder. She could’ve told Azzi the truth the second she heard she’d come out—stepped up, said what she meant, meant what she felt. But instead, Paige froze.

Because she was scared. Because she didn’t want to risk it. Because Kathryn was safe and Azzi was… everything else.

And now she was gone.

Not technically. Not yet.

But it felt like it.

The tears didn’t come all at once. They never did with her. They crept in slow, burning at the corners of her eyes, slipping down one by one until her vision blurred and she couldn’t read the bracelet anymore.

Maybe that was the point.

She stayed like that for a long time. Still. Quiet.

Her thumb traced over the beads again, gentle, careful, like maybe if she kept doing it, the ache in her chest would ease.

It didn’t.

After a few minutes, she stood up and crossed the room.

She placed the bracelet back on her desk, right in the middle. Not hidden this time, but not on her wrist either.

She couldn’t wear it. Not yet.

Wearing it would mean she still believed in what it stood for. And she didn’t know if she did.

Not tonight.

Azzi

Azzi knew something was off the second she opened the door and saw Paige standing there. It wasn’t obvious—just a flicker. A barely-there shadow in her eyes, the kind that only registered if you’d spent enough time memorizing someone’s expressions. And Azzi had. She saw it in the way Paige’s shoulders tensed, in the pause that dragged a little too long before she spoke. Like she’d worked up to this—whatever this was—and wasn’t expecting an audience.

Inside, Lexi was curled up on the bed, barefoot and relaxed, eating popcorn straight from the bag while Netflix scrolled through autoplay trailers. She’d made a joke when she heard the knock—something soft and ridiculous like, “Should I hide?”—just loud enough for Azzi to roll her eyes and laugh.

And then she stayed. Just like that. And Paige had seen all of it.

She smiled—kind of. The type of smile you put on for strangers or cameras or moments that already feel like they’re slipping away. Said she was just walking by. That it wasn’t a big deal. But it was.

Azzi could see it in her eyes, in the way her voice missed its mark. Like the words had been meant for someone else. Or maybe for a different moment entirely. She could’ve said something. Asked what was really going on. Reached out, just a little. But she didn’t. She let her go. And for the rest of the night, she tried not to wonder what might’ve happened if she hadn’t.

****

She knew what Paige thought of Lexi. She’d said it plainly enough a couple weeks ago. “Just be careful. She’s a player.”

She saw Lexi’s swagger. Her reputation. Her timing.

Azzi had shrugged it off at the time, told her she didn’t need to be protected. But it stuck—because of course it did. Paige never used that tone unless she meant it. And the worst part was, for a while, Azzi had believed it too. That Lexi was just flirting to flirt. That she liked the chase more than the catch.

But Lexi stayed.

Even when the flirting turned into actual feelings, even when Azzi tried to pump the brakes just in case she was imagining the whole thing—Lexi stayed.

She brought coffee to study hall without being asked. Sat with her in the cold after practice when Azzi’s knee flared up and didn’t say a word—just handed her a heat pack and scrolled aimlessly through TikTok until Azzi started laughing again.

She was smart, funnier than people gave her credit for, and never once made Azzi feel like too much or not enough. She didn’t try to fix her. She just… showed up.

And yeah, she came on strong. But maybe that was just what it looked like when someone knew what they wanted and wasn’t afraid of it.

Azzi had been scared to want anything back. Scared that if she opened the door too far, it would come crashing down. But the thing was—Lexi never rushed her. She teased, sure. Made stupid jokes about “Azzi Fudd’s exclusive roster spot.” But she didn’t push.

And when Azzi finally let her in, it didn’t feel like pressure.

She was excited to see where it could go. Nervous, yeah. But still—hopeful.

Then came Notre Dame.

It happened so fast she didn’t even have time to process it. Second quarter, a scramble under the rim, and suddenly one of her own teammates lost their footing and came crashing down on her leg. Her knee buckled underneath her, sharp and hot and immediate.

She didn’t scream. Not at first. Just stayed there, stunned, blinking up at the ceiling of an arena that suddenly felt way too far away.

She didn’t see Paige at first.

But in the locker room, after the trainer had wrapped her knee and the adrenaline had started to wear off, Paige was the one who quietly appeared beside her. Didn’t say anything right away. Just sat down on the bench next to her and passed her a water bottle without making a big deal of it.

“Flight’s in a couple hours,” she said gently. “They’re checking you in early so you don’t have to deal with the crowd.”

Azzi nodded, still staring at the floor.

For a while, they just sat there. Not touching. Not talking. Just—together.

And when the trainer came back to wheel her out, Paige stood up without hesitation and offered her arm for balance. No fuss. No weirdness. Just the steadiness she always had, whether Azzi liked it or not.

She stayed close the whole way through the airport. Checked in on her during the flight. Asked the flight attendant for an extra ice pack when hers started to thaw. When Azzi’s knee started throbbing midair, Paige wordlessly handed her a pair of noise-canceling headphones and pulled her hoodie over her face so she could rest.

It was quiet care. Familiar care.

Azzi had forgotten what it felt like, being taken care of by her. It was soft in a way she hadn’t let herself miss.

And for a minute, just one—she wondered if maybe something had shifted.

Maybe they were finally finding their way back to something that mattered.

But then they got back to campus.

And Lexi was waiting in the dorm lobby, hoodie sleeves pulled down over her hands, fidgeting like she’d been standing there for a while.

The handoff was seamless. Too seamless.

Paige helped her up the stairs. Lexi took the ice pack and adjusted the pillow behind her knee like she’d done it a hundred times. Paige lingered by the door for half a second—then left.

She didn’t say goodbye.

Azzi didn’t stop her.

Paige

She wasn’t trying to watch. Not really.

It just kept happening—little moments that made her stomach twist, the kind you weren’t supposed to notice unless you were still too invested.

And she was still invested.

Azzi getting hurt had gutted her. The second she heard, her heart dropped straight into her stomach. She knew that pain. The limbo. The waiting. The way everything felt like it was teetering on the edge of a worst-case scenario.

They didn’t know how bad it was yet. Everyone kept saying “a few weeks,” “precaution,” “just a sprain.” But Paige had been around long enough to know how fast things could go from minor to life-altering. She’d seen careers shift on a single awkward landing. And Azzi—Azzi was finally playing free again. Confident. Fierce.

She didn’t deserve another setback.

Paige had tried to be there. Had been there, on the flight, in the locker room, in the quiet spaces in between.

But now, back on campus, it was Lexi filling all the space.

Lexi waiting outside the training room after lift, leaning against the wall with Azzi’s favorite smoothie—green apple kale from the campus café no one else liked. Lexi walking behind her in the hall, gently steadying the backpack on her shoulder so it didn’t jostle her knee. Lexi sitting on the floor of Azzi’s dorm, shoes kicked off, quizlet app open, quizzing Azzi on their psych midterm like she had nowhere else to be.

It wasn’t performative. That was the worst part.

It wasn’t flashy or loud or even particularly flirty.

It was just… consistent. Thoughtful. Steady.

The kind of care Paige remembered offering once.

The kind she didn’t know how to give anymore.

She sat next to Aubrey in the film room one afternoon, eyes glazed over from watching the same broken press coverage on loop, and said it before she could stop herself.

“I think I might’ve been wrong about Lexi.”

Aubrey blinked, like she hadn’t expected Paige to say anything at all.

Then she nodded. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking that too.”

“You have?”

Aubrey shrugged. “I mean, I still think she came on a little too hot, too fast. But I don’t know. She’s… good with Azzi. It’s not just vibes. She actually shows up.”

Paige nodded slowly, trying not to flinch.

“She’s better than I thought,” Aubrey added, almost gently. “I think we judged too soon.”

Paige didn’t say anything after that. She just stared at the screen while her heart caved in a little.

Because she’d wanted to be right. About Lexi. About what she saw, what she felt.

But she wasn’t right.

At least—not yet.

And the longer she watched Lexi take care of Azzi, the more it felt like someone else had stepped into a role that used to be hers.

Only this time, they were doing it better.

Seeing Azzi be steady with someone else made her want to be steady, too.

Not out of revenge. Not even out of jealousy, really. Just… out of longing. That ache for something sure. Something certain. Something that didn’t leave her checking her phone a dozen times before texting back.

And Kathryn was trying. More than Paige probably deserved.

She was funny. Easy to be around. She didn’t ask questions Paige didn’t want to answer. She knew when to talk and when to just sit there, their knees barely brushing, some dumb show playing in the background like they were both paying attention.

That night, Kathryn showed up to Paige’s dorm with a sleeve of Oreos and a promise that they weren’t going to do anything productive.

“Mandatory procrastination session,” she announced, flopping onto the bed like she belonged there.

They scrolled TikTok for a while, tossing commentary back and forth, until Kathryn nudged Paige with her elbow and said, “We should make one.”

“Of what?”

“I don’t know. Something dumb. Something chaotic. You need a brain break.”

Paige laughed, not because it was that funny—but because it felt good. The kind of laugh that made her stomach unclench, even just for a second.

So they filmed a couple drafts. One dance, one trend, one of Kathryn trying to toss an Oreo into Paige’s mouth and hitting her directly in the forehead.

It was dumb. It was fun.

It was almost enough.

Later, while Paige lay back against her pillows, Kathryn nestled in beside her, head resting lightly on Paige’s shoulder, one bare leg draped over both of hers like it belonged there. Her hand moved easily over Paige’s phone, editing clips with practiced ease, pausing every so often to show Paige a cut and whisper something dumb or flirty into the quiet space between them.

It wasn’t new, the way their bodies fit like this. They’d already blurred that line weeks ago.

But it still surprised Paige sometimes—how easy it was to let Kathryn this close. How natural it felt to lean into the comfort, even when her chest was quietly screaming that something was still missing.

It was warmth. Familiar. Safe.

And yet, a part of her still felt like she was standing outside the moment, watching it happen.

“Are you gonna post it for me?” Paige asked, casually. Like she wasn’t already bracing for the answer.

Kathryn hesitated, thumb pausing mid-scroll. “I wasn’t sure if you were ready to take things to that next level.”

Paige blinked. “What level?”

Kathryn looked up, meeting her eyes without flinching. “The part where people start asking questions. Where you have to start answering them.”

She smiled then—soft. “It’s kind of a big move, PR-wise.”

She said it like it wasn’t a big deal. Like she was giving Paige an out, not a push.

And maybe that’s what made it worse.

Because Kathryn was being kind. Thoughtful. Patient.

Exactly what Paige had asked for.

So why did it still feel like she couldn’t breathe?

She didn’t answer right away. Just reached for the remote and scrolled through the Hulu menu like it mattered.

But later that night, when Kathryn had gone home and the dorm was quiet again, Paige picked up her phone. Opened TikTok. Found the draft. Hit “post.”

It wasn’t a grand gesture. It wasn’t even labeled. No caption. No soft launch.

But it was public.

And for now, that felt like something.

She told herself it was enough.

Even if a part of her still felt like she was holding her breath.

Azzi

She hadn’t expected to like it.

The TikTok.

She saw it by accident—someone had reposted it to Twitter with a caption like “okay but why do they lowkey eat??” and Azzi, against her better judgment, clicked.

She expected to roll her eyes. Scroll away. Feel nothing.

But she didn’t.

It was Paige and Kathryn doing some trending dance in Paige’s dorm room. Slightly off-beat, too many inside jokes between moves, Kathryn clearly making up half the steps—but Paige was laughing. Really laughing, not that press-conference polite kind.

The top comment had nearly 3,000 likes.

“idc what y’all say this is endgame behavior.”

Azzi actually smiled watching it. Smiled, and then immediately rolled her eyes at herself for smiling.

The rest of the comments were chaos:

“Why is Kathryn actually carrying??” “This is giving girlfriend energy and Paige LETTING IT HAPPEN??” “she finally soft launched. our prayers worked.”

Paige’s fans were ride or die like that. A little too obsessed, a little too intense, but always loyal. They’d ship her with a chair if it looked at her the right way. Azzi knew that. She also knew Paige probably hated it, but kept the post up anyway.

And that—more than anything—made Azzi think maybe this thing with Kathryn was more real than she wanted it to be.

And maybe that—more than anything—was what made her stomach ache a little.

Because she’d expected to be angry.

Instead, she was… almost rooting for it.

Until she wasn’t.

****

The shift came two days later.

They were in the locker room post-practice, the air heavy with steam and static, sneakers squeaking faintly on the tile as everyone moved in and out—tired, loud, half-listening to each other like always.

Azzi was still catching her breath, towel slung around her neck, scrolling absently through her texts when Caroline came flying around the corner like she was being chased.

She practically skidded to a stop in front of Azzi’s locker, eyes wide, phone clutched in both hands like it might combust.

“Okay,” she said, breathless. “You’re not gonna believe this.”

Aubrey trailed close behind, her expression less panicked but equally intense. She raised her eyebrows like just wait.

Azzi blinked. “What.”

They didn’t answer right away—just closed in around her like she was the epicenter of something.

“What now?” Azzi asked, tugging her hoodie over her damp hair.

Aubrey flipped her phone around. “Someone left this comment on a Kathryn x Paige edit. Look.”

The video was muted, paused mid-spin—Paige laughing, Kathryn’s hand on her waist—and the comment sat just underneath it like a landmine.

“Y’all know Kathryn has a girlfriend back home, right?”

Azzi didn’t react. Not at first.

She just stared at it. Flat, unfiltered. No emojis. No drama. Just… there.

Caroline leaned in beside her. “It’s not just that one. There’s more. People have been stitching it, reposting screenshots. It’s getting traction.”

Azzi looked up slowly.

Aubrey sighed. “Okay, listen. Normally I would’ve said it’s just trolls. Haters. You know the drill.”

Caroline nodded, already scrolling. “But Aubrey went full FBI—”

“I did a casual deep dive,” Aubrey cut in, eyes narrowed.

“—and it’s kinda bad,” Caroline finished. “Like, bad bad.”

She tilted the phone again. Photos. A different girl, blonde. Arm wrapped around Kathryn in a tagged birthday post from three months ago. Kathryn in the comments: my whole heart. Another picture: same necklace she wore to the last team dinner. A hoodie Azzi had seen her wear in Paige’s dorm—now on the other girl, snapped on a porch in Vermont.

Aubrey added quietly, “And she’s still following her. Still liking her stuff. No explanation. No breakup post. Just… overlap.”

Azzi didn’t say anything.

She didn’t have to.

Because deep down, something in her had already started clicking into place.

She thought about Paige—how off she’d seemed lately, like she was forcing something that didn’t quite fit. How quick she’d been to post. How quiet she’d been afterward.

How she looked the night of the Notre Dame game, half-asleep against the plane window, face pinched like she was trying too hard not to feel anything.

Azzi swallowed hard.

She didn’t want to be right.

****

The breakup was loud. At least, the hallway version of it was.

Azzi hadn’t meant to hear it. She just… did.

She was coming around the corner on the way to film, headphones in, hoodie pulled low over her head, when Paige’s voice cut through the air sharp enough to make her stop walking.

“You used me.”

Azzi froze.

She knew she should keep going. Head down, eyes forward. Mind her own business.

But her feet wouldn’t move.

Kathryn’s voice came next—lower, tired, like she’d already rehearsed her side of the argument and was just waiting for Paige to finish hers.

“You used me too, Paige. Let’s not pretend you weren’t looking over your shoulder the entire time, hoping it was her.”

Silence.

Azzi’s throat tightened.

Then:

“You don’t even realize how much you talk about Azzi. Like—how obsessed you are. I was a placeholder and we both know it.”

That one landed.

Harder than it should have.

Azzi shifted her weight, suddenly too aware of how loud her own breathing sounded. She felt like she was eavesdropping on a secret she was never supposed to hear.

She didn’t want to hear this.

Didn’t want the proof.

Because somewhere inside, she’d hoped she was wrong. That Paige and Kathryn really were happy, even if it stung to see.

But this—this was different. This was real betrayal, flipped sideways and thrown back in Paige’s face like it was something she deserved.

She shifted her weight, hugged her arms across her chest, and backed away—quiet steps down the hallway, heart thudding too loud in her ears.

She didn’t stay.

She couldn’t.

Because for all the things Paige had gotten wrong—this wasn’t one of them.

And Azzi couldn’t bear to watch her unravel at the hands of someone who never really wanted her in the first place.

Not when she still wasn’t sure if she wanted to catch her.

Paige

Things had actually been good.

Not perfect. Not magical. But… good.

Kathryn had spent the last two nights in her dorm, still wearing Paige’s oversized UConn hoodie and stealing her phone to cue up TikTok dances they didn’t actually post. They’d ordered Chinese food, argued over whether orange chicken counted as protein, and watched three straight episodes of Love Island while curled under the same blanket.

She’d even laughed—real, full-belly laughter—when Kathryn nearly knocked over a candle trying to do the Dougie.

So when Nika knocked on her door the next afternoon, Paige wasn’t expecting anything more serious than a last-minute smoothie run.

But the second she saw her face, she knew something was off.

“What’s wrong?” Paige asked, still in sweats, hair barely brushed.

Nika held up her phone. “I don’t even want to show you this.”

Paige took it anyway.

It was a paused TikTok. A Paige/Kathryn edit with a comment pinned near the top.

“Y’all know Kathryn has a whole-ass girlfriend back in Vermont, right?”

She frowned. “Okay. Probably fake—”

“There’s a thread,” Nika said. “And receipts.”

Paige scrolled.

Photos. Birthday posts. A tagged girl with her arm slung over Kathryn’s shoulders, grinning. Kathryn’s sweatshirt. Kathryn’s necklace. A recent story reshared with the caption “come home already.”

“I thought this was a joke,” Nika said, her voice soft now. “But it’s real.”

The blood drained from Paige’s face so fast her ears rang.

She didn’t say anything.

Didn’t even blink.

Kathryn showed up a couple hours later.

Paige opened the door without a word and tossed her phone onto the bed, the open screen still paused on the picture of Kathryn and the other girl. The caption: “my whole heart.”

Kathryn didn’t even flinch.

“You gonna say something?” Paige asked. Her voice was calm. Too calm.

Kathryn crossed her arms. “Is this where I’m supposed to grovel?”

“You lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie. I just… didn’t offer the full backstory.”

“You have a girlfriend, Kathryn.”

Kathryn’s expression barely changed. “It’s not that deep.”

Paige laughed—just once. Sharp. Dry. “So while you were in my bed, she was just, what? On standby?”

“I didn’t know we were exclusive.”

“You met my team.”

“And you still talk about Azzi like you’re waiting for her to pick you. You think I didn’t notice?”

Paige blinked. “Don’t turn this around on me.”

“I’m not turning anything,” Kathryn snapped. “I’m just saying, you’re acting like the victim when this was never that deep. We were vibing. That’s it.”

“This was real for me,” Paige said, her voice cracking. “Or I thought it was.”

Kathryn looked at her then—really looked. And for the first time, she didn’t look guilty. Just… bored.

“Paige. You’re Paige Bueckers. Do you know how much engagement you bring? Do you know what it meant—for my NIL stuff—to be seen with you? You were a business decision and a fun one. Don’t make it bigger than it was.”

Paige’s entire body went cold.

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.

“I let you in,” she whispered. “I trusted you.”

Kathryn tilted her head. “And I gave you attention. People saw you happy. You got to play normal for five minutes.”

That’s when Paige moved—too fast, too reactive. She grabbed the door and yanked it open.

“You need to leave.”

Kathryn didn’t move. Just crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? You’re kicking me out now?”

“Out,” Paige snapped, her voice louder than she intended. “Or do I need to get my teammates to make it happen?”

Kathryn rolled her eyes but started walking. “You act so above it all, but the second things aren’t about you, you fold.”

They were halfway into the hallway now, voices echoing off the tile. A few dorm doors cracked open. Paige didn’t care.

“You used me,” she said again, sharper this time. Her throat burned. “And you didn’t even try to hide it.”

Kathryn turned to face her, still calm, still maddeningly indifferent. “You don’t even realize how much you talk about Azzi. Every other sentence—Azzi this, Azzi that. I was never your first choice, and you know it.”

Silence.

“I didn’t use you,” Paige said, lower now. Her voice was breaking. “I liked you.”

“No, you liked the idea of me,” Kathryn snapped. “You liked pretending you were over her.”

Paige flinched. It landed.

Around the corner, someone closed a door.

And suddenly the hallway felt too big. Too quiet. Too seen.

“I hope the followers were worth it,” Paige said quietly.

Kathryn didn’t say anything else. Just shook her head and walked away, her footsteps fading down the corridor.

Paige didn’t move.

Not even when she realized she was shaking.

Not even when the silence came back in full force.

****

She closed the door behind her slowly. Carefully.

Like any sudden movement might break something else.

The latch clicked, and the silence hit her all at once.

Her ears were still ringing.

She stood in the middle of the room for a second too long, untethered, like she didn’t know where her body was supposed to go now. Then she sank down—right there on the floor, knees drawn up, back against the wall like she was trying to disappear into it.

She stared at the carpet. At the desk. At nothing.

Part of her kept expecting Kathryn to come back.

To knock. To laugh. To say it had all been a misunderstanding, a bad moment, a stupid fight that they’d both get over.

But the hallway stayed quiet.

And Kathryn didn’t come back.

She wasn’t going to.

The thing was, Paige could’ve handled a breakup.

She’d done it before—more than once. The slow drift, the mutual fade, the kind of goodbye that didn’t come with shouting or slammed doors. She knew how to let go when it hurt.

But this wasn’t someone walking away.

This was someone walking through her. Stepping into her life with both feet, smiling at the right moments, saying the right things—and taking pieces of her with them on the way out.

This was betrayal with documentation.

With captions and camera angles.

This was someone who got close not because they wanted to—but because they knew how much it would be worth.

She felt sick.

Not even angry, just... gutted. Like she’d been emptied out slowly, without ever realizing what was being taken.

She pulled the sleeves of her hoodie over her hands until her fingers disappeared. Tucked her knees to her chest like that might shrink the ache into something she could manage. It didn’t.

The embarrassment came in quiet, pulsing waves.

Every text. Every TikTok. Every half-asleep conversation about nothing. All of it tilted now. Skewed sideways, like she’d been watching a rom-com that turned out to be a mockumentary.

Like the whole thing was edited for laughs.

She’d let someone in.

Fully. Openly. In the way that only happens after injury and time and loneliness and maybe too much hope.

And that someone had seen value before they saw her.

Not a girl. Not a heart. Not a person trying to love again, clumsily, earnestly.

Just a headline.

Just a brand.

Just a girl with a name people recognized and a face that got clicks.

Paige Bueckers: UConn’s golden girl

She wanted to disappear.

Or rewind.

Or un-know the last three months of her life.

But instead, she just sat there, alone in the quiet of her dorm room, the weight of it curling around her like something physical. Something heavy and low and hard to shake.

It wasn’t heartbreak.

Not exactly.

It was something colder.

It was shame.

And maybe that’s what hurt the most—how cleanly it slid in. How fast it settled.

How much she still wanted to believe it hadn’t been fake. That somewhere in it all, a piece of it was still real.

But tonight, that felt impossible.

Because the truth had walked out and left her sitting in it.

And she hadn't seen it coming.

Not even close.

Azzi

The group chat was new.

Not the usual team thread.

This one just appeared—no fanfare, no subject line. Just five names blinking at the top: Aubrey, Caroline, Nika, Amari, and her.

She opened it half-asleep from a post-practice nap, thumb still scrolling instinctively through her notifications when the first ping hit.

Aubrey: ok so are we all pretending we didn’t hear that earlier today???

Caroline: no because it was bad

Amari: what happened??

Nika: Kathryn got exposed. she and Paige were screaming at each other in the hallway

Aubrey: not even like fighting fighting. it was like. betrayal movie monologue level

Nika: “you used me” was literally said. out loud. in those words.

Azzi blinked. Sat up straighter.

More pings.

Caroline: i feel like i should check on her??

Nika: no.

Nika: you didn’t see her face. Paige is wrecked and trying to act like she’s not. she won’t talk to just anyone rn

Amari: what do we do??

There was a pause.

Then:

Nika: Azzi you gotta check on her

Azzi froze.

The message lit up again, this time with an added reaction. A heart from Aubrey. A thumbs-up from Caroline.

And then another ping.

Nika: she’ll listen to you. she trusts you

Azzi stared at the screen like it might change if she didn’t blink.

She didn’t respond.

Didn’t tap out a heart. Didn’t send a message back.

She just sat there, the room quiet except for the hum of her mini fridge and the distant sound of someone watching Friends on their laptop down the hall.

She hadn’t seen Paige since the hallway moment with Lexi. And technically she hadn’t even seen her then. Hadn’t texted. Hadn’t reached out.

She didn’t even know what she would say.

They were fine, supposedly. Civil. Friendly-ish. Not like before, but not awful.

Still, it felt like crossing a line.

But her chest ached a little.

Something was wrong.

And Azzi didn’t want it to be her responsibility.

But maybe it already was.

She looked back down at the group chat.

A new message had appeared.

Caroline: seriously, Az. if it were you, she’d already be there

That one stung.

Because it was true.

****

She didn’t knock right away.

She stood there for a few seconds first, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, heart thudding too loud in the hallway.

The lights buzzed overhead. Someone laughed down the hall. A door slammed somewhere behind her.

Azzi lifted her hand and knocked twice.

Soft.

Careful.

The kind of knock that could be ignored.

But it wasn’t.

A few seconds later, the door cracked open.

Paige blinked at her.

She looked… wrecked.

Eyes rimmed red. Hair in a messy bun that clearly hadn’t been intentional. Hoodie sleeves covering her hands.

There was a long beat of silence between them.

Azzi opened her mouth. Closed it again.

Then Paige stepped back, wordlessly, and let her in.

The room was dim.

Curtains half drawn, soft light filtering through just enough to cast a gold wash across the carpet. A pair of slides were kicked off haphazardly by the bed. Paige’s laptop sat closed on the desk, untouched. A mostly-full bottle of water was perched on the windowsill like it had been forgotten.

Azzi’s eyes swept the space automatically.

And there, on the desk, sat the bracelet.

PURPOSE, spelled in uneven plastic letters, still curled neatly on the corner of Paige’s desk like it had been placed there on purpose.

Azzi stopped.

Her breath caught in her throat for a second too long.

She didn’t say anything, but her gaze lingered—long enough for Paige to follow it, to see exactly what she was looking at.

Paige gave a small, tired laugh. “It got lost in one of my desk drawers. Like, junk drawer lost. I found it the other day when I was cleaning.”

Azzi’s lips parted, surprised.

“I wanted to say thanks,” Paige said softly. “I kept trying to find the right time. But it just… never felt like there was one.”

Azzi blinked, finally tearing her eyes away from the desk. She didn’t know what to say to that. Her throat felt tight in a way she didn’t expect.Paige shifted in her seat, her fingers curling into the sleeves of her hoodie. “I know you meant it as a birthday gift,” she said, voice low. “But when I found it… I don’t know. It felt like a perfectly timed lifeline.”

Azzi felt that line hit her square in the chest.

She hadn't known Paige had been that close to the edge. She’d had her own spirals after Oregon, but Paige—Paige had always looked like she was keeping it together. Holding steady. Playing strong.

But maybe that was the problem. Paige always made broken look like balance.

Azzi’s eyes flicked back to hers, surprised.

“I was spiraling,” Paige continued. “After Oregon. I kept thinking, like… what am I even doing anymore? On the court. Off the court. Just… everything.”

Azzi felt her fists clench lightly in her lap. She hated that Paige had felt that alone. That uncertain. And she hadn’t known. Or maybe she had known, but didn’t let herself go there.

Paige reached over, picked up the bracelet with both hands like it might fall apart in her grip.

“And then I opened the box,” Paige said. “And saw it. And I just—”

Her voice caught.

Azzi looked down, her own heart suddenly too loud in her ears.

There had been so much unsaid between them. Things she was scared to name, even now. But hearing this, hearing Paige say it out loud—like it mattered—made something shift inside her. Something she thought she’d buried.

“I know things got complicated,” Paige added, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know we’ve been messed up. But when I saw this again… it felt like maybe not everything was gone.”

Azzi leaned forward, elbows on her knees, hands clasped together tight.

Her voice came out quieter than she meant. “It wasn’t.” And that was the truth. As much as she tried to push it away. As much as she told herself she’d moved on.

She looked over at Paige.

Paige looked over at her. Really looked.

Azzi gave a tiny shrug. “I wouldn’t have made the bracelet if it was.”

The silence stretched between them, but this time it didn’t feel empty.

It felt full.

Like there was still something worth holding onto.

Like maybe, in some quiet corner of all the wreckage, there was still a thread that hadn’t snapped.

Paige set the bracelet down gently on her desk again. Not on her wrist. Not yet.

But in the open.

Visible.

Safe.

She let out a breath. “Thanks for making it.”

Azzi smiled, small and a little sad. “Thanks for finding it.”

Paige didn’t say anything after that.

Just sat there, arms loosely folded around her knees, eyes flicking to the bracelet one more time like it still had something to say. Like maybe it had saved her twice now—once after Oregon, and again tonight.

Azzi didn’t move either.

The silence wrapped around them like a blanket—warm, but weighted. She could feel the questions forming on the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t ask them. Not right away. Not yet.

Paige had always been like this. She didn’t unravel easily. She folded inward first—slow, tight, quiet. You had to wait her out.

Azzi remembered the first time she saw it happen.

It was back in high school, on a random Tuesday night. They’d been FaceTiming—something stupid and casual, one of those marathon calls where neither of them was saying much but neither wanted to hang up either.

Only, Paige had been weird that night.

Short. Clipped. Not mean, but…off. Her answers came like bricks: heavy and hard to stack into anything that made sense.

And then finally, after Azzi pressed, Paige mumbled something about getting into it with her mom. Nothing big, she’d said. Just one of those nights where everything felt like too much.

Azzi hadn’t known what to say. She just listened. Stayed on the call even after Paige stopped talking, even after she started crying. Quietly. Almost like she didn’t want Azzi to notice.

That’s how she learned—when Paige was hurting, she didn’t reach out.

She shut down.

Azzi had always hated that.

And tonight felt the same. The stiff shoulders. The half sentences. The silence thick enough to drown in.

So she waited.

Let Paige breathe.

Let the seconds stretch.

But after a while, when the quiet started to feel more like suffocating than space, she leaned forward a little.

“What happened?”

Paige blinked, like she hadn’t expected the question.

Azzi kept her voice low. Careful. “With Kathryn.”

Paige didn’t answer right away. Her hands found the sleeves of her hoodie again, pulled them over her fists like armor.

And then, finally—“She used me.”

The words came out flat, like they had no weight. But Azzi knew better.

“For clout,” Paige added. “For NIL stuff. She had a girlfriend the whole time. Back in Vermont.”

Azzi’s stomach turned.

Of course she did. Of course it was worse than she thought.

“She said it like it was mutual. Like I knew,” Paige continued, her voice wobbling. “And maybe she’s right. Maybe I did, on some level. Maybe I just didn’t want to believe it.”

Azzi stayed quiet, letting her talk. Because that’s what Paige needed. Not answers. Not a rescue. Just room to unravel.

Paige’s jaw clenched. “She told me I made people look. That being with me helped her numbers. And the worst part? I didn’t even see it coming.”

Azzi’s chest ached.

It wasn’t just what Kathryn had done—it was how thoroughly it had gotten to her. Paige looked smaller somehow, like the weight of being Paige Bueckers had finally collapsed in on itself. And for the first time in a long time, Azzi didn’t see the sharp edges or the stoic calm. She just saw a girl who’d been used. Picked apart for what she could offer. Not seen for who she was.

Her fingers itched to reach out, to touch her knee, her arm, anything—but she didn’t move. She didn’t want to scare the moment away.

It wasn’t fair, Azzi thought, the way people expected Paige to be invincible. Like fame was supposed to make you immune to heartbreak. Like having a platform meant you didn’t get to fall apart.

They talked more after that.

Not all at once. Just little pieces. Shaky truths. The kind of things Paige would never say in a press conference, or even to the team.

But she said them to Azzi.

Like she always had.

And Azzi took every one of them and held them like they mattered.

Because they did. Because Paige did.

Still.

And when the conversation slowed, when the words started to run out, Paige finally looked up at her—eyes soft and tired.

“Would you… stay?”

Azzi blinked. Her breath caught. “What?”

“Not like that,” Paige said quickly. “I just… I don’t really wanna be alone tonight.”

Azzi didn’t answer right away.

Because the truth was, she hadn’t expected that.

Not the question. Not the softness in it. Not the way it pulled at something deep in her chest.

She wasn’t sure what this meant. What it would mean tomorrow. If it was a step forward or backward. If it would blur lines that were already smeared at the edges. If she was strong enough to keep holding the boundary she’d promised herself she would.

But then Paige added, almost whispering, “I’ll sleep on the floor or whatever. I just… I don’t wanna think. Not for a while.”

And that decided it.

Because this wasn’t about lines or boundaries or labels.

This was Paige. Asking for something without begging. Letting herself be seen without covering up the cracks. That didn’t happen often. Not even with Azzi. Maybe especially not with Azzi.

Azzi’s chest tightened.

She knew this wasn’t a moment to analyze. It was a moment to show up.

She nodded.

“Okay,” she said gently. “I’ll stay.”

She always had.

Even when she wasn’t sure if she should. Even when it hurt. Even now.

Paige shifted, already moving to grab an extra blanket from the corner of her bed, but Azzi stopped her with a look.

“You’re not sleeping on the floor,” Azzi said.

Paige blinked. “I wasn’t—I mean, I was gonna—”

Azzi rolled her eyes, soft but insistent. “We’ve both got bum knees. Neither of us is built for hardwood floors anymore.”

A small smile tugged at Paige’s mouth.

“Seriously,” Azzi added, standing to toe off her shoes. “I’ll take the left side like always. You’re a blanket hog anyway.”

Paige didn’t argue.

And when the lights were off and the room was quiet again, Azzi lay there beside her, close enough to feel the rise and fall of her breathing.

It was quiet. Not just the room. But Paige.

And that, somehow, felt like enough. At least for tonight.

#pazzi fics #pazzi #paige x azzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #fanfiction

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marchsfreakshow · 2 days ago

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Yeah, Jealous [Dave Lizewski]

Angst / fluff

Dave can't even handle the fact you're dating him. Why'd other girls suddenly start paying attention to him?!

Lana unreleased you will always have my heart. This one has been here for ages in my mind tbh... Might not be that long (or great) but I had to.

Fyi I have no idea about Kick-Ass 2 all I know is that Dave and Katie breakup or something. Might be pulling stuff out of nowhere I apologise.

No one's perspective

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Dave had always been suprised he was even able to date Katie when it happened. She was his everything.

Which just made it even more surprising to him that you asked him out a few months after the breakup stopped hurting. He was hesitant to say yes, but you reassured him that you had liked him for a while before he got with Katie. It was, sort of helpful but overall he still couldn't believe he had another person like him romantically. Thankfully, he was a bit more confident now. Still a nerdy dork... Obviously.. but just a bit more confident.

Maybe it was you clinging to Dave's arm that was attractive to some other girls. Maybe it was the fact Dave had started to have regular workouts and his shirts were just a bit tighter underneath his jackets. Maybe it was the fact he was a bit awkward with pda, and you were all over him whenever you could be.

Either way, you noticed.

Other girls were poking Todd or Marty and talking to them. Prodding and pushing about your relationship with Dave. They were fishing for information, and you noticed. It lit a fire in you and only made your little make-out sessions in your room harsher.

You gripped Dave's arms tighter, squeezed his thighs between yours more. Left more hickies in obvious spots, to publicly stake your claim on him. Yeah, that would stop them. Definitely.

... It didn't.

It only got Dave in trouble sometimes, which made him flush a deep red and try to hide his neck throughout the day. He loved you more than he could have thought, but how much more possessive you got in the past weeks was slightly maddening. So he found a moment when you were over at his place to ask you. He was just watching you read a comic of his, arms around your front and head slightly buried into your shoulder to keep as close as humanely possible. "What's wrong?"

"Huh?"

"...You've been more clingy recently." He hummed nonchalantly like it wasn't a big deal to him, and was consuming his overworked brain. You processed his comment, then placed the comic down in your lap. Then sighed, and Dave kept his eyes on your profile. Fuck you were so beautiful...

"I guess I have. Sorry."

He chuckled gently and kissed your cheek. "No I'm not telling you to apologise." Dave smiled, rubbing your arm a bit soothingly. It sort of helped, and you leaned your head back into his shoulder. "Just, has something happened? You've been way more clingy recently, everywhere, and I'm not saying that's a bad thing. It's definitely not a bad thing I just.. I just couldn't help but wonder cause it's kind of, confusing?" He word vomited, feeling his cheeks go slightly red at the realisation of his word vomit.

You smiled. "Girls are noticing you."

"Are they?"

A little hum escaped your lips to go with the nod. "They are. And, I don't know..." Eyebrows furrowed to try to get a proper response from your, currently, comic riddled brain. "I've seen and heard girls talk to Todd and Marty. Asking about us and what they think of us. If we're compatible in their heads."

Dave sort of made a little 'o' shape with his mouth as it made sense finally in his head. He was wondering why some girls were talking more to Todd. And Marty. It was kind of confusing, especially to them and they just about managed responses to the girls. Then said girls would make a face and walk away, suddenly very disinterested.

Instead of replying, Dave just kissed your cheek, over and over which caused you to go hot in the face. A few little chuckles leaving your lips. "Dave.."

"mm?" He didn't stop planting kisses over your face, since in his head, it was his way of proving to you that he was yours. Yeah the people just now interested in him were, pretty, but they couldn't hold a candle to you in his eyes. You were everything that's right with the world. "You're perfect." He uttered, smiling against your skin. His breath was a comforting warmth on your neck.

A happy sigh left your lips, and you happily enjoyed the kisses as they came. One hand of yours reaching up into his curls. That practically melted the boy and he ended up melting his face into your neck. "I like this comic."

"Yeah... Mm, it's my favourite."

"could you buy me a copy for my birthday?"

"I'll think about it."

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Taglist: @strawb3rrystar / @american-horror-whore / @cherrys-muses /

(i have no one on my atj taglist, wanna be part of it? Pls let me know! <3)

#dave lizewski #dave lizewski x reader #dave lizewski x you #dave lizewski x y/n #aaron taylor johnson #aaron johnson #atj #atj x reader #kick ass #kick ass x reader #fluff #dave Lizewski fluff

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moviecritc · 2 days ago

Text

✦ ˚ : · HAUNTED LUNGS ⋆ MARK GRAYSON, INVINCIBLE 🌀

CHAPTER TWO, WHO WE REALLY ARE

pairing ☆ mark grayson x fem!reader

word count ☆ 4.3K

summary ☆ mark convinces you, some way somehow, to join him and help you with your demonic things.

warnings ☆ in the masterlist

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

series masterlist | main masterlist | letterboxd

Mark ran after you. You had just sent a demon back to Hell and walked away like it was nothing.

"Hey!" he called a few steps behind. You didn’t turn around. "Please!"

He said your name. You stopped abruptly, almost making Mark crash into you.

"What?"

He froze, unsure why he’d even followed you. It was like something pulled him toward you—curiosity, maybe. He’d never met anyone like you. He swallowed hard.

"Don’t go yet," he said.

"I’m not working for Cecil, or the GDA, or anyone," you stated, resuming your steps.

He followed again.

"I don’t work for Cecil either."

You clicked your tongue, rolling your eyes.

"That’s why he sent you to find me." You didn’t let him reply. "I know who you are. You destroyed half of Chicago last year fighting Omni-Man. You’re just like the rest of the superheroes working here. I bet you’ve never even thought about all the people who lost their lives because of your tantrum."

Mark grabbed your arm—not harshly, just enough to stop you. His expression was serious, trying to show something.

"It wasn’t a tantrum," he said firmly. "It was my father. And I didn’t know who he really was until that day."

You looked at him, eyes slightly narrowed. You didn’t pull away, but you didn’t shake him off either.

"And since then what? You spend your days trying to make up for it? You think that makes you different?"

"No. I don’t expect anything," he replied honestly. "But I’m not going to stand by when someone like you shows up, does what you did today... and just leaves."

This time, you fully turned to face him. Your face was hard to read, worn down by exhaustion and distrust.

"You have no idea what you’re looking at, Mark. You see someone who can fight demons. I... I’m the reason they come."

Mark finally let go, but didn’t step back.

"And what does that mean?"

You crossed your arms, face shadowed under the nearest streetlamp.

"It means you shouldn’t be around me. No one should. I’ve spent years hiding, because every time someone gets close to me... they die. Because something down there" —you pointed to the ground, though it was clear you didn’t mean the pavement— "is looking for me."

"And still, you showed up today," Mark said softly. "You knew what could happen, and you came."

You pressed your lips together, clearly hating that he was right.

"Because a bunch of idiots were playing with a Ouija board in the middle of an open node. I couldn’t let it tear them apart. That doesn’t make me a hero. It just means I’m not completely fucked up inside."

Mark nodded slowly.

"I didn’t say you were. I just want to understand what’s going on, and I think you might have answers."

You took a step closer to him, eyes cautious.

"I can answer some of your questions," you said carefully. "But not here. I’ll work with you. Not with Cecil. Not with the GDA. Not with the Guardians. With you."

"Alright," Mark agreed instantly, a small smile on his lips.

"Do you always trust people this easily?"

"I don’t need to trust you to know we can help each other," Mark shrugged. "Is there any way I can get my mask back?"

You smiled and snapped your fingers. His mask appeared in your hands. Mark smiled in return and started walking.

"Shall we get out of here?" he asked, walking beside you.

"Not yet. I want to show you something."

You sighed, resigned, but followed through the building’s halls down to a lower floor. Mark noticed how you kept fiddling with the seams of your jacket, like you lived in a constant state of tension and stress.

He opened a door with a button, revealing several Guardians in a large room with high ceilings and a circle in the middle for training.

"This is a really bad idea, mannequin," you muttered, stopping at the entrance.

Mark didn’t reply. He just walked forward and motioned for you to follow. You looked at the new Guardians—it was like seeing everything you despised in one room, and it made you nervous.

You knew them. You watched the news. You’d even been caught in some disasters when they showed up to save people—while causing damage others would pay for in taxes.

"And who’s this?" Rex Splode was the first to speak, eyeing you up and down.

"She’s the one who sent the demon I contained back to hell," Mark said sweetly. You looked at him, not used to people saying your name—or referring to you—in a kind way.

Rex raised his eyebrows, trying not to look too impressed. He’d been one of those who couldn’t take down the demon, ending up with bruises like everyone else in the room. Except for Mark, of course.

You stared at a point on the floor, nearly dissociating, hoping the awkward moment would end.

"By yourself?" Rae asked, leaning on a table.

You didn’t lift your gaze. Mark nudged you gently.

"Uh. Yeah, yeah," you mumbled with a shrug. "It wasn’t that hard."

"She’s really powerful," Mark added. "What did you say you were? Not a witch..."

"Conjuror."

"Right! A conjuror."

Rex narrowed his eyes. "And what exactly do you conjure?"

"Whatever I want," you replied simply, gripping the strap of your bag.

Rex let out a short laugh, tilting his head.

"Whatever you want? That’s... broad," he said, not mocking, but skeptical. "And how do we know you’re not going to turn us into frogs or whatever the second we turn our backs?"

You finally looked at him, raising one eyebrow slightly.

"If I wanted to do that, I already would have," you answered calmly.

"Well, that’s... comforting," Rae muttered, clearly unconvinced.

Mark sighed, stepping forward.

"I didn’t bring her here for an interrogation," he said, voice steady but not loud. "I just wanted you to meet her. She helped us today, when none of us could handle that demon. She can be useful. And if you don’t trust her, trust me."

Robot, who had remained silent, observing you carefully, finally spoke in his neutral tone.

"Her intervention was significant. But we’ll need more data if she’s going to collaborate, even informally."

You looked down again, playing with your jacket zipper.

"I didn’t come here to make friends," you murmured, more to yourself than to them. "I’m not even sure I want to help you."

Mark sensed the tension in the room—and in you. He ended the conversation.

"That’s it. I just wanted to introduce her. If she decides to help again, great. If not, it’s her choice."

He looked at you and nodded toward the exit.

"Let’s go."

You nodded silently, not looking at anyone else, and followed without a word. As you crossed the door, your voice came out barely audible.

"Told you. Bad idea."

Mark rolled his eyes. "They’re... peculiar people."

"I’m not exactly the friendliest either," you pointed out.

He puffed out his cheeks, dismissing it with a shrug, like saying he found you perfectly fine.

"Let’s get out of here. I’m buying you a coffee."

You played with your coffee cup, wrestling with the impulse to light a cigarette in case it bothered Mark.

Mark, sitting across the table, tapped his fingers against his cardboard cup.

“So, conjurer, huh?” he finally said. “Doesn’t sound too different from ‘witch’.”

“Well, ‘witch’ implies pointy hats, brooms, and a bad temper. I only have the temper,” you replied without looking at him, finally lighting the cigarette and taking a short, calm drag. “Do you mind if I smoke?” you asked, not waiting for an answer.

“Would you have stopped if I did?”

You smiled briefly, as if you appreciated that he didn’t complain.

“You’ve got that tragic hero vibe, you know? Like you’re constantly apologizing for existing.”

Mark exhaled a quiet laugh.

“And you’ve got the vibe of someone who built a fortress out of sarcasm and cynicism.”

“Exactly. And it has thick walls. Don’t try to climb them,” you said, taking another drag. “Besides, it’s not wise for me to know too much about you.”

Mark leaned forward a little.

“Why not?”

“Because the more I know about someone, the easier it is to get screwed over because of it.”

“By who?”

You rolled your eyes. “Are you even listening, mannequin? My soul’s sold to a demon who tends to learn everything about me and go after the people I care about.”

“I matter to you?” he pointed at himself, incredulous.

“Not yet,” you answered quickly, taking a drag. “But you��ve got a pure soul, untouched by any infernal deals. You’re like a buffet to them.”

Mark tensed slightly. “You’re not very reassuring, you know that?”

“You convinced me to team up with you. Now it’s your job to keep emotional distance.”

Mark wasn’t intimidated. There was something strangely endearing about all of it—new world, new dangers, and he was enjoying it.

“Are you always like this?” He tilted his head, curious.

“Like what?”

“Rough. Distant. Socially weird with the Guardians.”

You blew out the smoke, thoughtful.

“It’s better this way,” you said. “Trust me, I learned the hard way.”

Mark nodded, making you feel genuinely heard for the first time in a while. That moment between you felt… nice. Mark was just so pleasant. You knew he was like that with everyone. He was Chicago’s golden superhero now that Omni-Man had decided to vanish into space.

“Alright, so I can’t know anything about you. What about me?” Mark leaned across the table, noticing how his cologne mixed with the smell of your cigarette. “You must have hundreds of incredible stories.”

“I do, actually,” you agreed with a small smile.

“Ever met Satan?”

“It’s not as easy as you think,” you said. “Down there’s a mess.”

Mark blinked. “Wait… you’ve been to hell?”

“Oh, absolutely. I move there in winter—warmer climate.”

He rolled his eyes at the sarcasm.

“I have been there,” you said more seriously. “Two out of the three times I died. And once more for work.”

Mark froze.

“Three times? You’ve died three times?”

You stubbed out your cigarette on the edge of a ceramic plate you’d stolen from another café weeks ago. You didn’t reply right away.

“Yes,” you said finally. “And they all hurt just as much as the first.”

Mark ran a hand through his hair, clearly stunned.

“And you’re still here like it’s nothing? How does that work?”

You narrowed your eyes, irritated by the mix of curiosity and compassion in his tone. You didn’t want pity. Especially not from him.

“It works with blood, contracts, and a lot of clauses you’d rather not read,” you replied flatly.

Mark didn’t back off.

“Tell me one.”

“One what?”

“One of those times. One of the times you died.” He looked at you seriously. “Not because I want the gory details, but if we’re going to work together, I think it’s fair to understand at least a part of what you’re carrying.”

You narrowed your eyes, gauging the risk. Then sighed, long and resigned, lighting another cigarette.

“Fine,” you murmured. “But just one. The most recent. And no stupid questions after.”

Mark raised his hands in surrender.

“Promise.”

You settled into the chair, eyes drifting toward the window fogged up by the café’s steam.

“It was in Bucharest. A year and a half ago. I was following a lead on a grimoire that had disappeared after the war. Something old. Very old. Some idiot collector had it, thought it was just exotic decoration for his oak library.”

Mark listened silently, fully focused.

“When I got there, it was already too late. The grimoire had opened on its own, like it had been waiting for someone to look at it. And the idiot… well, he was all over the walls.”

Mark swallowed hard.

“Did you open it?”

You shook your head.

“No. But it recognized me. The book. It happens sometimes. Some objects latch onto those who can understand them. It started whispering. Seducing me.”

You paused. Your expression changed, more closed off.

“I went into a trance. Saw myself writing in blood on the cover. I don’t remember what it said. Next thing I knew, I was burning from the inside out. Like they were tearing out my organs and replacing them with shadows.”

Mark opened his mouth, but remembered the promise and held back.

“I died,” you continued. “Literally. They found me days later, and my body was just a shell. But he didn’t let me go.”

“The demon?”

You nodded slowly.

“He brought me back. Because he needs me,” you sighed. “He thinks I don’t know that. They’re very egotistical down there.”

Mark looked at you with more than surprise now. It was respect. Maybe fear. Or both.

“Would you do it again?” he asked softly.

You looked at him, a bitter glint in your eyes.

“I wouldn’t choose it. But yes. I would.”

Silence settled between you, thick and respectful.

“You’re incredible,” Mark murmured.

You shrugged.

“I’m not someone you should idolize, mannequin.”

Mark’s phone buzzed against the table, shattering the charged quiet. It vibrated insistently before the ringtone kicked in—something standard and dull, clashing with the moment.

He looked down. Amber.

You raised an eyebrow, exhaling smoke.

Mark didn’t answer right away. He hesitated, then slid his finger across the screen and lifted the phone to his ear.

“Hey, Amber.”

You turned your gaze to the street, suddenly very interested in the way the streetlights reflected off the damp pavement.

Amber’s voice came through clear and sharp, even without speakerphone.

“Where are you? You said it’d be a quick meeting with Cecil. I’ve been calling you for twenty minutes.”

Mark closed his eyes for a second, rubbing his forehead.

“I know, I’m sorry. It ran longer than expected. I’m… with someone from the team.”

“Someone? A girl?” Her tone wasn’t hostile, but it was definitely marked.

You pressed your lips together, a bit uneasy.

“Want me to talk to her?” you whispered, amused, just loud enough for him to hear.

Mark shot you a look and turned slightly, shielding the side of the conversation with his hand like that might somehow hide you.

“It’s not what you think,” he said quickly. “We’re just talking about… case stuff. Important information.”

“Mark, it’s not that I don’t trust you, but when you disappear and act vague, it’s hard not to worry. Are you coming or not?”

He glanced at you. You just shrugged, like it didn’t matter to you whether he stayed or went.

“I’ll be there soon,” he said, voice softer. “I promise I’ll explain everything when I get back, okay?”

A sigh from the other end.

“Alright. Don’t take too long.”

Click.

Mark set his phone down face first on the table. He stayed quiet for a few seconds.

“I’m sorry.”

You stubbed out your cigarette with the same ease you’d lit it.

“Don’t apologize. I saw her picture in your phone. She’s very pretty,” you said, standing up and ending the conversation. “Want me to open a portal?”

“I’ll fly,” he replied, rising too, finishing his coffee and smoothing out his pants. Somehow, he didn’t want the conversation to end. He could have talked to you for hours.

“Could I get your number? For… professional purposes,” he added quickly. “Might be good to check out that rift, just in case another demon comes knocking.”

“Sure,” you said, voice light.

You typed it into his phone and handed it back with a calm smile.

“Talk soon, yeah?” Mark said, pocketing his phone.

You nodded. “Take care, mannequin.”

And with that, you left. No portals. No theatrics. Just walked down the street, vanishing into the city’s shadow and shopfront haze.

Mark stayed a little longer, watching you disappear down the slope. And for a moment, he didn’t think about Amber. Or Cecil. Or the Guardians.

Just the girl who had died three times.

And still walked like she could die a fourth—and keep going.

You walked for a long while. There was nothing left to do that day—no friends, no acquaintances in the city.

Chicago was strange. The streets teemed with people during the day, but the moment the sun disappeared, everything changed. Even if it was only seven. The buildings were strange too—some tall and grid-like, others low, with Romanesque designs. Between a student residence and a daycare center stood a chapel, decorated with angels and crosses, overlapping in arches and stained-glass windows.

You stood in front of it for a moment, tempted to keep walking. Churches weren’t your thing—obviously, right? When you were little, they made you go every day, far too young to understand the prayers. Sometimes even at night, if you misbehaved or broke curfew.

It started to rain. You could’ve sheltered in the residence or the daycare, but you stepped inside the church to avoid getting your hair wet.

The silence inside was a different kind of noise. Thick, ancient—clinging to your skin like a layer of spiritual dust. The scent of old incense and melted wax mingled with the damp perfume of your coat, and the air felt heavier as you crossed the threshold.

The doors closed behind you with a cavernous whisper. The sound of your boots echoed too loudly on the marble floor. You were alone. Or so you thought.

A row of dark wooden pews stretched along both sides of a central aisle, drawing the eye toward the altar lit by a few trembling candles. The crucified Christ hung from a golden cross, and instead of peace, it gave you a brutal sense of surveillance. As if something—or someone—within that sacred space knew exactly who you were. What you were.

Your fingers trembled a little as you approached one of the side columns and leaned your back against it, eyes on the altar with a mix of defiance and vulnerability. It was stupid, but part of you expected a voice from above to scold you for defiling holy ground. Like when you were ten and dared to steal a communion wafer from the chalice just to see if it really “tasted like God.”

Nothing. Only the distant drip of a leak and the muffled sound of rain against stained glass.

The cold settled into your bones suddenly—a different cold, not from the Chicago night, but from deep within. A chill of memory. Of trauma.

You took a few steps and sat in one of the pews, resting your shoulders on the one ahead, as if you meant to pray.

You closed your eyes.

No one had taught you how to pray—at least not the kind of prayers meant for these churches. Catholicism always seemed strange, too complicated for you to bother finding its meaning.

Suddenly, you were ten again.

You felt the weight of your body on your knees, staining the carpet red in the Mother Superior’s office. The nuns wore black and red, their crucifixes the same colors, and their voices were sharp as blades. They spoke of redemption, of blood, fasting, and lashes to the hands.

The first time you conjured something was in that convent. You were nine. A minor demon, drawn to emotional suffering. You didn’t know what you were doing. You just wanted them to stop hitting you. You just wanted silence. Peace.

The demon didn’t obey. But it fed. On the nuns. On the screaming. On you.

You opened your eyes again. The altar looked darker now, as if the candles had shrunk with fear.

"It wasn’t my fault", you whispered. As if saying it aloud might convince someone—God, maybe, or yourself.

The convent was still in your skin. It had only been three years since you walked out with your head held high, leaving behind dozens of girls who clung to you like their last hope of becoming better people.

Everything was still. The rain on the stained glass, the intermittent drip from the cracked ceiling, a candle sputtering on the altar. There was something oddly comforting in that filthy stillness. Like the pause between storms.

Until you heard it.

The sound of rushed footsteps. Small, clumsy. A boy appeared from the side hallway, panting, face red and eyes brimming. He stumbled, fell, got back up awkwardly, and ran toward the exit without looking back.

You blinked.

A second later, a man emerged from the same hallway.

A priest.

His cassock was poorly buttoned, gray hair plastered to his sweaty scalp. He was following the boy. He didn’t shout. Didn’t call his name. He just walked quickly, jaw clenched.

Then he saw you.

He froze.

You straightened without a word. The pew creaked beneath you. The priest hesitated, blinked. His lips trembled.

"Can I help you, my child?" he asked, voice empty.

You stepped forward.

Then again.

Each footstep echoed against the stone floor like a crooked bell. You weren’t in a hurry. There was no need to run.

"It’s a bit late for catechism, isn’t it?" you murmured, eyes gleaming.

The man faltered again, but you had already clenched your fist in the air, raising it nearly to the height of Christ on the cross. The candles went out in a single invisible gust. The priest’s eyes rolled back. Foam slipped from his mouth, then blood. The cross around his neck blackened. Then burned.

When he hit the floor, silence returned.

You inhaled deeply. Your chest rose and fell slowly. You brought a hand to your face, as if something had stung your cheek. It was a tear. You hadn’t noticed when you started crying.

You turned, half expecting the boy to be there, watching—but he wasn’t. You stepped out of the church at once, bloodless and guiltless, scanning the street for any sign of him, but your eyes found nothing.

The rain had stopped, and you were free to go home in peace.

One question still burned in your chest. Mark. Mark had heard you. It made no sense.

You pushed the rug in the living room aside and picked one of the books from your shelf. With just a few words, the star etched into the floor lit up orange, trembling as you whispered in Latin, legs crossed beneath you.

Soon, a breach opened, and the same demon from that day emerged.

"Did you miss me?" it teased.

You opened your eyes, revealing the orange orbs that had replaced your bluish green ones.

"Not at all," you rasped. "But I think we left something unfinished." The demon made a move to step out of the circle. "Don’t bother, I used a strong containment spell."

The demon let out a low, vibrating laugh that made the candles flicker. It leaned forward, even though the spell kept it anchored to the center of the star.

"So distrustful."

You didn’t respond immediately. You watched it with dangerous intensity, as if trying to rip the words from its throat, as if waiting for it to confess something without being asked.

"How did he hear it?" you finally said. "Mark. He heard the screams of the girl. No one else. Just him."

The demon tilted its head, its pupil-less eyes flickering like coals. For a moment, it seemed to consider the question seriously—but its smile never faded.

"That’s… curious, isn’t it?" it murmured. "Humans don’t usually hear echoes from the Underworld. Not unless they’ve been touched by it. Or by you."

"Don’t play with me."

"I’m not playing," it said, its tone softening, almost reverent. "Maybe… you and he are connected. Something deep. Didn’t you feel it?"

You looked at it coldly, but the faint tremble in your jaw gave you away.

"He has nothing to do with me."

"Oh, but he does. He has everything to do with you. You wouldn’t be asking if you didn’t already know that, even if you don’t want to admit it."

The demon paced within the circle. Its steps made no sound, but the star beneath it reacted to every movement, like a living thing.

"Maybe he’s a pure soul, yes. So pure he can touch what shouldn’t be touched. Hear what shouldn’t be heard. But…" Its eyes narrowed in delight. "That doesn’t usually happen by accident. Purity isn’t enough to forge a bond like that."

"Then what does?"

"Fate. Or the chaos you sow every time you use your power. Maybe you opened it. Maybe he was already half-awake."

"Awake from what?"

The demon didn’t answer. It just looked at you—no mockery this time. No mask. Only stillness that chilled you to the bone.

"You’re the conjuror," it said at last, quietly. "But sometimes… what you conjure chooses you, too."

You didn’t know what to say. The spell around the demon shuddered for a moment, as if something had tried to break through from the other side—or escape. You reinforced it with a quick string of words, but you didn’t dare meet its gaze again.

The demon gave a pitying smile.

"He heard you because he’s closer to you than you think. And you… you’re going to have to decide what to do about that. Very soon."

You felt something crack beneath your feet. As if the floorboards themselves knew the world had just changed—if only a little.

"Leave," you whispered.

And the demon vanished.

#mark grayson x reader #mark grayson #invincible #mark grayson x you #invincible x reader #invincible fanfic #haunted lungs series #rex splode #rex splode x reader #mark grayson x y/n #noraverse 🫧

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natewriteslol · 2 days ago

Note

Request for the Obey Me brothers please: reacting to finding gn!writer!MC’s story drafts for the book MC is currently writing

Bonus if you want: bros also reacting to the death of their favorite character in said book (or finding out it’s planned already)

A/N: Hi my sweets this request will be splitting this into two parts since I accidentally made this too long!!

Part 2 with Satan, Asmo, Beel, and Belphie!

You wrote under an alias therefore no one except for those closest to you knew that it was you who wrote these masterpieces that took Hell by storm!

It was such an exciting, captivating set of novels that no matter the genre was full of mystery, drama and betrayal so shocking that not even the most conniving devils could predict the jarring turn of events

But what happens when he finds the most surprising twists of all?

Lucifer:

Lucifer was one of those people who believed that it was going to be a predictable end for one of his favorite characters Donivan, the best friend and who was in love with Annalise, however never confessed to her how he truly feels. And truth be told, he said that he doesn't exactly get attached to fictional characters, but he adored Donivan and his independent, strong yet caring nature. He thought that after a life of struggle and finally finding happiness with the heroine and friends was such a beautiful (and relatable) thing.

In your room, your notes were left astray much to the demon's dismay on your desk. And as he was tidying them, one of the papers titled "Donivan - End" in bold letters at the top caught his eye. Although Lucifer knew that this was your property and you take pride in your own work and business...

He absolutely had to take a peak, after all you left it right there infront of him! Lucifer grabbed the parchment with haste, making sure not to disturb the papers surrounding it and adjusted his glasses to read.

'Donivan will be battling in a sword fight with Brutus, after not being quick enough to dodge the attack he will have his throat slit and stabbed numerous times. This chapter will conclude his life flashing before his eyes, until it ends with him playfully running on the beach with Annalise before planting a kiss on her lips and confessing in this fantasy "I love you more than life Annalise." Before finally succumbing to his death.'

To say he was appalled would be an understatement to be honest, as he believed that they were going to get their complete happily ever after like you inferred they would! There was no way he could get you to change it either...or could he?

As he stopped by your dorm to speak with you the next day, he

"I've been meaning to ask, how is your novel going Y/N? Everyone has been buzzing about the new sequel," he inquired as he caught you with your trusty laptop.

"Ah, it's going well but I am having trouble with closing the ties of it," you replied, engrossed in typing.

"Yes, yes I see...you know the school library actually did a popularity poll online for your characters and you will never guess who came out on top," he said, taking a seat beside you on the bed.

"Oh my gosh, who?"

"Annalise of course, but she ended up tying vote counts with, Donivan."

"Really?"

"Yes, yes. Many are so fond of the fellow and so am I, you best make sure that all is well with him, you know for, um marketing purposes."

"Hmm...that might be a good idea, I think I'll talk it over with my editor and see how we should close this book," you smiled after being in thought for a while.

Finally, once the book released it was a smash hit and he had successfully persuaded you into keeping Donivan alive and getting his happy ending with the lovely Annalise. It was what the people wanted!

Even if those popularity votes in the poll online were just slightly tweaked from a certain someone who created the competition itself.

Sometimes you have to take fate into your own hands.

Mammon:

Mammon truth be told, never really liked reading. In his mind books were associated it with school, punishment and situations where he'd rather be doing literally anything else. Until you walked into his life and began letting him in on the story you were writing as well as giving him book recommendations.

It's like you truly knew him for him, and he actually took it really personal as Mammon for the first time was enjoying something that he pushed back on. And it made him feel special that you let him in on the bits and pieces what you were cooking , especially since no one knew it was you writing these fantastic stories and you trusted him.

So when for the final book you said that you had to completely keep your mouth shut, is when Mammon was kind of going crazy.

"What do you mean? You always tell me what's goin' on!" He exclaimed in your bedroom as you hid your laptop from him.

"I'm sorry Mammon, but I'm putting my foot down since it is the final book," you said firmly.

Until it was only a day later and he saw your computer left wide open, you were gone taking care of tasks, planning a banquet with Diavolo and Lucifer for affluent DevilDom attendees. It was the perfect opportunity for the demon.

One little peak couldn't hurt right?

So there Mammon was, snooping through your documents only to find an absolute jackpot more valuable than any cash prize at the casinos he frequents, "Tariq- Plan"

Tariq was his absolute favorite character, he was a bag-chasing, spiteful, cunning badass with no regard for others but still managed to do what was right on the occasion. Sure he had some sins on his back and some people he wronged but, Tariq was the absolute best especially since he held so much love and admiration for his girl, Sareema. He was all round one of the best characters in the entire party as they acted as nomads, defeating the great evils around the world. To say Mammon was excited to see what happens to him would be an understatement.

'Eventually, Sareema would be the one holding the branch that stopped them from falling into the ancient serpent Titan's pit. As Sareema held onto his hand, her grasp was slipping, growing weaker and weaker by the second. Tariq quickly understood that there was no getting out of this, it was either him or Sareema. He gazes upon her with a sad smile, and she immediately catches on and begins yelling at him, "Don't you dare, Tariq! Tariq don't let go of my hand or I'll never forgive you!" He ushers her, telling her that it's going to be all right.

"You can hate me all you want, but just know that I love you Sareema. Live for me and keep fighting," he pressed a kiss to her knuckles despite her rancorous screams, and finally.

He lets go, falling into the abyss."

A hand flies to his mouth, after everything he went through Tariq just...dies?

Nope not happening nope. The greed demon immediately beings operation: save Tariq because there is no way he will be dying on HIS watch. Therefore, he begins talking to you about him trying to keep it on the downlow.

"Ya' know...Tariq is my absolute favorite character in 'Crypt Keeper' honestly. In my opinion he of all people has to make it to the end," he says lounging on your bed whilst you type away.

"Why do you say that? After all, if he goes then it's kinda pay back for what he's done to other people, Mammon," you reply, your eyes not leaving the bluelight screen.

"Yeaahhh...but what about the growth and redemption arc! He goes through all o' that just to...I don't know-"

"You read my ending for Tariq didn't you."

"...YES AND I'M SORRY IT WAS JUST RIGHT THERE IN FRONT OF ME AND I COULDN'T HELP IT. BUT Y/N I'M TELLIN' YA YOU NEED TO KEEP HIM ALIVE HE'S A GOOD MAN!"

Although you give Mammon a heavy scolding after this, you do end up rewriting the story so that Tariq comes out alive. After performing a magic spell that cushions the landing as well as winning an epic battle between him and the ancient snake Deity, Armun. Eventually he makes his return, surprising Sareema. It made both the audience and Mammon happy so, a win is a win.

Leviathan:

Although he loved to read comics, Levi never really dabbled in traditional reading unless it was a manual for a figurine, lore about a character he enjoyed from anime, fanfiction or school. The only real exception for that was 'The Tale of the Seven Lords' series and some books Levi found entertaining but, he just wasn't a book kinda guy. But when he found out you were an author he was more than happy to read a bit of your work.

And then he became obsessed with this one character.

He was a pirate captain who although was a bit morally grey due to light plundering, protected the innocent and robbed the bad guys blind all at the same time. His name was Percy Ragtop, one of the love interests in your romance, action series 'Traitors of the Sea'. Despite being rugged, he was awfully quiet and also held a more sensitive side to him. Around the heroine Amerie, he was able to truly relax and be himself without the title of "Captain" being attached to him.

He was in love with this character, Levi felt like he could really relate to him as the title of being Grand Admiral was super stressful for him too. And he was under the impression that it would be Percy who survives and ends up being the final man for Amerie. After consuming so much anime and media himself, the sea captain checked all of the boxes: The first man the heroine meets, brooding and distant but lets her, the sensitive and caring yet feisty one in, and spent overall the most time together. It made complete sense until while Levi was passing by your room he heard,

"Ugh! How am I going to kill this guy in his fight with Wade," you muttered to yourself.

There was an impending fight with Wade between him and Percy, as they were rivals since the time they began being pirates! Alongside the last novel ended off with a cliffhanger of Wade boarding Percy's boat, inferring a showdown between the too. The demon's heart sunk, as this means...Percy will perish.

But he ended up double checking by going through your notes for Percy and finding them. Maybe you meant another character!-

And there is was, in bold lettering, "Percy's Death: Plan" and although it was blank it still broke his heart.

Once you came back home after shopping and hanging out with friends you were met with a nervous Levi.

"Is everything alright, Levi? You look a bit...scared-"

"Y/N, I know I shouldn't have been snooping...butIsawyourplanforPercy'sdeath," Leviathan confessed quickly, completely ashamed. He couldn't bare to lie to you about it any further.

You let out a betrayed gasp, "Levi! You of all people value privacy so much and you went snooping through my shit?!"

"I KNOW THAT IT'S WRONG BUT PLEASE DON'T KILL HIM I LOVE HIM, Y/N!" he was already grabbing at your legs crying, this was as serious as someone like Ruri-Chan passing away.

So you decided to rewrite it, yes because he was Levi's favorite but also you weren't exactly sold completely on killing him yourself. Percy would lose an arm however would win his fight with the notorious evil Captain Wade and your fans were absolutely loved this captivating ending alongside with having a happily ever after with Amerie.

You didn't tell Levi whether or not you were going to change it. But you got an idea the demon found out because as soon as you released it, you heard cheers coming from his room. Heavy and fast footsteps were on the way to your room, he opened the door and pulled you into a strong embrace, thanking you (also crying happy tears but you totally didn't see that).

Part 2 with Satan, Asmo, Beel, and Belphie!

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yunwangja · 19 hours ago

Text

faultline | 19th shift

masterlist

notes

in this universe, bo's dad is a lawyer so what yn said was really true

suga and haruki stayed three months with tsumu, and the one who loved it the most was tsumu

mostly because of haruki! they became besties. suga would come home to them playing video games

"let's never move out here!"

suga also called up his parents overseas (if you guys dont rmb from the character intros lol! they do have parents) and he told them everything

suga being suga he never wanted his parents to worry so even if they knew how his aunt could be, he would never tell them the big picture. he'd just cover it up and tell them not to worry, so they believed him

to explain, for example if they heard the aunt scolded him, he'd say it was just a small argument and it's all fine. he won't rat out on the aunt, nor say how it made him feel, land he'd leave some important parts out.

his parents were very surprised and felt terrible because they didn't know it was that bad, they thought their kids were all safe and fine being with a relative. they def had a talk about suga not opening up to them, but that all worked out fine.

they were fully in support of suga's decision and talked to his aunt. well they still couldnt get through to her but they made a stand that she shouldn't meddle with their children anymore, that they have received "enough help" from her

they even said suga didn't have to work too hard if he's worried about finances bc they were more than happy enough to shoulder all of that (duh), while suga accepted their help (of course) he still insisted continuing to work at the konbi

also that prompted his parents to go home later that year ! just for a few weeks though. they thought it was long due so they got to meet yn too <3

that made little miss aunt feel bitter though but we don't care abt that!

as mentioned, yn acted like suga's manager. suga really started on putting himself out there after moving out and yn helped with finding and communicating with clients

she even worked part time with suga at the konbi! just during semester break because suga says so

during the transition to getting a new place, suga would come home a few times because i mean of course he still left some things over at his aunt's house

let's face it three bags is NOT enough for all of his and haruki's stuff LOL

everytime yn and tsumu would come with him to help out and of course to make sure there won't be ~drama~

but fortunately they often went there when *she* was at work. the last time suga went there, he left his keys and he felt final freedom

ALSO yes suga was able to get a client in italy and go there all expenses paid with yn !!! and now we hard launch that daichi is studying university there which i never mentioned before lol

as i introduced in faultline they weren't vball players but hey they still played it as a hobby <3 shobio was very jealous!

OKAY i think that's everything ! i might edit this if i forgot anything but

this concludes faultline <3

thank you so much to everyone who subscribed to this smau, i hope i didnt bore u guys out </3 honestly it was so hard to write a yn like this because she's so avoidant attachment and cold

my mindset writing her was always "u have to be cold u shouldnt say what u really think yn" LOL anw

if you loved this smau as much as i did, thank you thank you so much ! i'm always so happy to receive comments, replies, inboxes, and reblogs about how much you guys enjoyed the fic along the way !

i did my best writing this and i'm super proud of this work ! real hq suga i hope i made u proud too *kisses my hand and reaches up to the sky*

if you guys have anything to share please let me know what you guys think by replying to this post or even sending an inbox !!!

THANK U GUYS I HAVE A NEW SMAU COMING SOON (spoiler alert: it's an akaashi smau) so please stay tuned for that!

if you also read my short story unrecognized (kenma) i'll be writing a third part for that too <3 you can check it out on my blog! okay enough with the self promo i hope you guys have a wonderful life ily

taglist: @lvtilzs @uraviriot @adorawritesalot @nachotrash @staygoldsquatchling02 @gigiiiiislife @rowensboat @frootloopscos @ruwhimsical @mintynoo @chaotic-neutral-ig @zippymaezie @cupidsblonde @loveyislost @mayyhaps @haileebythesea @oneanabillion @starstrikeer @x3nafix @saintcosette

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fracturals · 2 days ago

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No team meeting yet had been filled with such tension. Heavy and thick in the air, almost suffocating as they stare at each other, at Alexx clinging to the ceiling. For a moment, silence stretches. No-one wants to be the first to break it, to risk this devolving into another argument, or worse.

It reaches a point where it's almost awkward, even Alexei beginning to appear uncomfortable with their current situation, before Ava sighs heavily. " Alright, this needs to stop, " she reaches into her suit, pulling out a file she'd taken before they left the lab they'd found Alexx in. The brunette brandishes it.

" We all agree that there are dangers with having an alien here, I get it. But it's pretty hypocritical for us to judge when we're all criminals in some way. I mean, our team is mostly super soldiers and I can phase through walls. Then Bob is... " she glances at him, gaze softening slightly as he wilts under the attention. Ava clears her throat, moving on.

" From what I've read in here, most of the danger came from those scientists. I know what growing up in a lab is like, and they're the worst part. Besides, how long were they in here with Bob before we realised? And he's fine. "

At the mention of his name once more, Bob offers a jerky nod. Glances at Alexx above them. " They didn't seem dangerous, " he agrees with a small shrug. " Just... I don't know, apprehensive? "

With that, Yelena stands from her seat. " Well, I think it's time to vote, yes? We already know what Ava and Bob vote, and I agree. We can put safeguards in place as a backup, but I see no harm in them staying. "

Before anyone else can reply, Bob takes a deep breath. " Has – has anyone asked Alexx what they want to do? They might not even want to stay here, " he gestures towards the ceiling. An invitation.

John huffs, agitation flashing across his features for a moment. Then something relents. He's outnumbered, he knows this. So with a grunt, the solider relents and joins the others on one of the seats, crossing his legs and arms in a defensive and seething posture.

The group convenes, save for one.

Alexx clearly has lost any sense of comfort they had moments before. There's something...pathetic about the way the thing holds itself. Its top heavy, so remaining bipedal clearly puts a strain on its body. Four arms spiral in an almost cartoonish attempt to stay upright.

To appear as human as possible.

It gives up only after a moment, a seething hiss slipping between jagged teeth. It grumbles something to itself- more stilted speech, but the struggle is greater here. Any attempt at a coherent word becomes gibberish.

So it scales the wall like some overgrown insect, moving with surprising speed and grace for its size, clinging to the ceiling. All six eyes are on the group, awaiting judgement. Awaiting banishment, exile, or worse.

They've already made it clear they want it dead.

#( bob reynolds ic )#( thunderbolts* v. )#( deviiants )#this thread oh my GOD

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inkly-heart · 1 year ago

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please don’t be sad little sprout, you are loved 🌱 🖤

🌱

#🌱Thank you<33🌱#I guess my latest vent art post made some of you guys worried. I'm sorry ;;n;; )#but I'm alright. well.. kind of? Like I haven't done anything to myself kind of alright?#maybe I should explain bit about my situation but at the same time I don't feel comfortable to open up too much #but simply said it's about doing art as a job and mental health #Things haven't been going well but I am getting help for my mental health #This is all what I will say for now about my situation #I apologize again that I made you guys worried #but I do warn that I might post more vent art if I get enough energy to draw #this is just one way how I deal with my emotions #but if you don't like vent art I suggest to block the words vent and vent art #I remember tumblr has this option somewhere??#and uhh.. I don't really know how to end this post but thank you everyone who has been sending support<33 #I might not know how to reply to them but I have read them all and I'm very thankful for all the support what you guys have given me🌱#Thank you🌱#ask #anon #me talking

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asgardian--angels · 3 months ago

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....idk in a fandom this gigantic how are people already coalescing onto a handful of popular headcanons and scenarios that just become the baseline now, when the source material gives us literally limitless possibilities to work with

#the torrential flood of 'jayvik with 4 kids' content im getting on arcane twt is incredible rn #but i do feel like im sitting in a bit of a corner bc i feel like the only person at this point who doesn't hc viktor as trans sobs #there's obv absolutely nothing i have against it it's just become a surprisingly pervasive fanon view that it's actually difficult to avoid #i think at least half of fics in the jayvik tag are trans viktor lmao #not to say i don't read any that are. but it's just not really what im interested in #i fear it will become one of those fanon hcs that will just be accepted as fact and if you happen to not ascribe to it you'll be ostracized #i've even started to see 'don't mpreg this you better be talking about trans pregnancy' like hi. sorry but are you new here #half my interest in the ship esp postcanon stuff is the weird magic and monsterfuckeryness of it all #like how can you not explore interesting other ways of giving them kids. he's connected to the arcane. he might still be in herald form #who the fuck knows. if i see pregnant viktor i would honestly prefer it to be Weird and semi-nonhuman thats the cool shit #i just. idk. srs please im not trying to say anything bad about the trans viktor headcanon it's fine and im glad ppl see themselves in him #it's just. it is becoming rather inescapable. the 'castiel loves bees' effect yknow.#i really want to interact with this fandom and im trying to like. reply to people on twitter. and even more now it feels like #if my headcanons don't align to the popular fandom big names' then it's pointless. i have no 1-on-1 communication with anyone #in this fandom it feels very lonely. i watch everyone make great art and jabber on and i kinda just watch and wave from the corner #anyway i'll just keep imagining my weird arcane herald mpreg or w/e. it's fun. prob will never write it tho cause the fandom clearly #knows what it wants and that isn't it lol. i barely see any arcane herald fics which is WILD. like canon gave you a feast and you're #ignoring it in favor of just having viktor be human in everything. lowkey hydrogen bomb vs crying baby lmao #i can think of three postcanon fics that have arcane herald viktor and i hold onto them so tightly lol #but yeah. this goes for more than just trans viktor it's about 'all timelines all possibilities' in terms of what people write in fics #it's for the most part very...tame? in terms of creativity of concept? there's darkfic of course but.#not nearly enough in the way of Weird that i'd expect given what's actually offered in the source material #'go write it yourself' well im trying it's taking forever and also the fandom's made me hesitant to write anything weird bc it seems like #there isn't interest in it. like bro even the number of fics featuring mage viktor is insanely low #the number of viktor permutations we have to work with and the fandom opts for the easy ones almost every time. sad

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icewindandboringhorror · 8 months ago

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I occasionally wish to reach out to old friends/acquaintances I haven't spoken to since high school/some other even earlier time in my life, but I have SOOO little social energy even for required tasks (like making dr phone calls or etc), I never have any leftover for extra ones, and it would be very odd to message someone I haven't spoken to in like 5 years out of the blue but then take 4 entire months to respond back lol.. My natural curiosity with nostalgia/collecting details of the past/etc. (literally if I were born a little earlier I would definitely do scrapbooking or something lol) is very strong, but, alas, not strong enough to beat out the Social Issues Demons apparently

#facebook always does that 'here's a post from this day 8 years ago' thing. and I see old comments interacting #with people and it's so like.. OOOOO~~ where are they now?? what's going on? how much have they changed as people?#how much are they the same? this is fascinating. i should contact them!!' but then it's like... take that to it's logical conclusion though #you would contact them and then IF they even responded it would take you 80 years to respond and then they would #think there was something wrong or that you were trying to be insulting or something. To contact anyone I need to include an 85 page #disclaimer of all of my social issues & mental illness things. 'If i take 3 weeks to reply I promise it has nothing to do with u' etc lol #THIS is why more people need to be into phone calls/voice calls/some form of audio real time communication/etc.#I think one of the main things that's hard about messaging through text for me is it's so unscheduled and open ended #(plus it takes forever if you're talking about anything in detail and gets very long very quickly)#because like you can send a message and then just get a reply whenever. and then you're expected to reply back whenever #so it's like you never know when the response will come or when a new obligation to reply can come up? so it's like this sudden thing with #no outline?? if that makes sense. whereas a phone call is very like 'hello let's schedule a call from 10am - 2pm on thursday'. And you know #EXACTLY when the interaction will start and EXACTLY when it will end and you can plan around it in your schedule easily.#I have the reverse thing of a lot of people (how people don't pick up phone calls/hate calls/only text)#I would literally talk on the phone with a stranger. I would have a discord voice chat with someone I barely know.#if someone I hardly even remember from elementary school asked to have a voice call with me out of nowhere I would do it.#but if a stranger MESSAGED me?? or someone I barely know sent me a TEXT or something?? I will never reply probably #It's just too vague and weird. and you can't read voice tone over text. and the interaction could last forever with no clear end #point and etc. etc. But a call is like. set. established. clear boundaries. you can read the flow of conversation better. rapport. etc. etc #I get that I guess people feel more anonymous or distanced over text?? but you can have fake phone numbers on the computer. or do like disc #rd calls. or zoom without a camera or etc. etc. Also the distance that's present in text is BAD distance because it just means that tone is #not conveyed properly and you will never truly get a sense of the person's conversational vibe or mannerisms or how well you really click.#ANYWAY ghgjh...... I'm so so so interested in concepts of like.. How did that one kid I used to talk to in elementary school #but then they moved away in 5th grade - how did they end up? what are they doing now?? etc. etc. Like despite the severe social anhedonia #and general lack of connection with others I'm just really fascinated in like.. idk. the human development of it all and like #the concept of how we're actually a million different people through the course of our lives ever evolving in different iterations and etc.#PLUS again. i love nostalgia. sometimes old peple you know might remember a shared memory or can tell you about something you forgot #or etc. like it's SUCH A COOL THING in CONCEPT but I am too socially inept generally speaking lol. which people I still talk to today are #familiar with my 'phone call once every few months' communication style. but strangers would just be like... wtf. And I don't blame them #Sure I literally cannot change the physical health + brain issues i have - but also I know enough to not put others through that lol

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wolverinedoctorwho · 8 months ago

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How many things am I gonna try thinking "oh this will finally reveal to me whether I'm trans" before one of them actually *works*. I'm tired of this grandpa.

#vent tag: i never let them see the worst of me #'lily doesnt the fact that youre doing this mean youre trans' I DONT KNOWWWW THATS WHY IM UPSET #ive bought multiple different gender-affirming items thinking 'ill put this on and ill Know'#both times? nothing.#i mean i do like wearing chest binders now i guess. i like how i look in them.#but does that mean i want to completely eschew womanhood??? to be a man???#i dont know #but i want to. i want it to just click #instead of me playing around in the mirror and realizing im trying to find the posture that makes me look more masculine #instead of me increasingly preferring male terms being applied to me #instead of me tiptoeing my way into gender and waiting to be thrown out #instead of convincing myself over and over that im just tired or havent eaten or am about to start my period or just hate my body normally #instead of friends telling me 'hey i think u might just be trans' and that somehow still not feeling RIGHT #i dont want to be a guy i just want to have all the qualities of men that i find attractive or aspirational #i dont want to be a guy i just want to have the experiences guys have #i dont want to be a guy i just want to not be expected to be a woman #who am i? what am i? and how much longer can i bear to not be SURE?#god!!#(if you read these notes and reply 'egg moment' im egging your fucking house btw)

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lighthouseborn · 1 year ago

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Pre-established jumping-off points I think would be fun to have in various verses that you should tell me if any of them sound like a thing you might want or if they give you a different idea! :

Pen pals!! met once and kept contact or a letter went astray and kept contact or (modern verse(s)) originally met online and have only ever emailed/texted/whatever– etc. etc., set up for letter/message threads and the "we've known each other but are meeting in person for the first time" thing down the road(!!!)

Henry saved them from drowning (or some other grand catastrophe, drowning just amuses me lol) once

Henry hustled them/otherwise mildly conned them them, once. it was probably for a good reason. probably.

Henry sought them out for a reason related to their profession once or twice or a few times and left an impression because he always Remembers the things they talk about, in their brief conversations, and asks about them later

FWB because your muse is from one of the port towns/other places Henry passes through somewhat regularly and it just sort of happened the first time, and since then every time he’s there he’s comes knocking & they spend the night and tell stories about the things they’ve done since they saw each other last. And then they go back to their daily lives and it’s understood that one day he might not pass through or when he does they’ll have made a new life with no space for him in it and this is not sad or a point of contention it’s just how they work.

FWB and it's specifically because your muse is dissatisfied with but trapped in their current relationship

Worked together once or several times or once but it was for an extended time (e.g. on a voyage, doing odd jobs in modern verse)

Were once on differing sides of some kind of conflict for some reason and are now meeting under different circumstances and they’re trying to feel out if their past is reconcilable or if they’re going to keep being on differing sides of things

Your muse hid Henry from somebody he was running from (or assisted in another way, he was injured or needed supplies, etc.) and when they cross paths again he remembers(!) them by name

In modern/modern-adjacent verses; they knew each other from school or a social setting or some such when younger, but Henry's family moved around a lot and so he and your muse fell out of contact, and now they are re-meeting

#i end up with a lot of 'met before and then again' with him but i? always really like them #i think something about it suits him #it's the... flighty bits of him running directly face first into the warm and friendly bits #this is not how the story is going to end ( wishlist. )#also hello there tag reader if you have read all of this and experienced any form of inspiration but thought ''she doesn't want-'' She Does #I am she I know all about her she would like to hear it the inbox and the IMs and the diskorb are all for u #it might take her a hot second to reply but this is indicative of nothing but bad time management skills #if your brain went ''yeah'' or it went ''kind of like that but--'' then! i would like to know!!!

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bejeweledmp3 · 1 year ago

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tell me why i'm considering opening the doc and writing fanfiction during my lunch break. ON MY PHONE

#talking tag;#totp tag;#i've been meaning to make a tag for the fic so. there #ok if anyone is curious (probably not but like. i like talking about these things) i split the fic in sections in my head #so every ''kimberly finds her father in blah blah'' is a section and that's how i keep track of them #so chapter 1 had sections 1-3 and chapter 2 had sections 4-5 #and chapter 3 will have sections 6-7. it has to. for structure reasons #but section 6 is a very important one and she's at like. 8.5k words at the moment???? and i still haven't gotten to the last scene #OF THE SECTION. THEN THERE'S ANOTHER SECTION #which should hopefully be shorter (around 5k or less is my guess) because fewer things happen but. god #we're looking at a 15+k word chapter. if you're reading the fic hopefully you like long chapters cause!!! it'll be a long one!!!!!#also i am once again pointing out that if you're reading the fic and have absolutely anything to say about it PLEASE tell me #i love talking about this fic she's my child that i created. she's like a clay sculpture to me #i do mean to reply to ao3 comments but i'm shy 😭😭😭😭 but i reread them all a billion times and cry about them every time #i'm still thinking about the lengend that dropped that page long comment on chapter one. king (gn) if you see this i love you #when i reply to comments yours will be first. know that you have me and nat's infinite love forever and always.#truly i hope you like it and cand find peace in it. lord knows we all need it #well. anyways! i think i might edit the doc i'll see

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tariah23 · 1 year ago

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watching naruto for the first time (technically). sasuke is so cool and awesome i get why so many people drew fan art of him hes so badass

HES GREAT!!! I’m so happy that you decided to give Naruto a chance anon (this could be a huge mistake though but idk how much brain damage it’ll give someone much older vs someone who’d been a fan of it since they were a child… it lobotomized me 🧍🏾‍♀️. I was in the trenches watching the 3 day Naruto marathon, anon. I didn’t sleep for 3 DAYS-. And once you’ve become a Naruto fan, it’s just one of those series that will pull you back regardless of how long you’ve actually been way… and the anime is great but it does change a lot of the nuance and tension between Sasuke and Naruto when Kishimoto would directly straight up have them saying and doing whatever it is that they’re doing, for each other (especially whenever Naruto talks about Sasuke and his feelings about him. He’s insane-) vs how the anime would try to make Naruto’s actions seem as though he was doing this all for Konoha, his home that treated him like shit ever since he was a baby.) I’m getting off topic but if you do decide to continue, PLEASE IGORE SASUKE FANS LIKE THE PLAGUE ANSSJSKL!!!!

#the only ones who you can rly trust are sasunaru fans (not because of the ship and I am not kidding. it seems as tho sns fans #are the only ones to really get his entire character and what he stood for- what he fights for)#not every sns fan is… well it does depend on what kind of sns fan it is too since a lot of them are wild as well and don’t really #understand sasuke as a character and the meaning behind everything he does #this all might seem crazy for me to be saying rn but Im only mentioning it #just in case you ever want to read up on some Naruto meta/ character analysis stuff since sns fans are legends at dissecting his entire #being and I’m so serious but like I’ve mentioned before it’ll def depend on WHAT kind of Sasuke fan talks about him though kskss #you’ll enjoy Naruto sm if you ignored the fanbase for sure tho #I’m so happy 😭❤️❤️❤️!!!! have fun anon!!!#let me know how you’re feeling about the story whenever! especially the characters!#sasuke is… he’s just the guy 🗣️🎤!!!#anonymous #tkf replies

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wwinterwitch · 28 days ago

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friendly introductions – bucky barnes

summary: bucky unexpectedly shows up at your apartment, and he's brought a few people with him

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader (ft. the thunderbolts*)

word count: 3.4k

tags: thunderbolts* shenanigans, spoilers here and there obvs, slight miscommunication, big happy dysfunctional family in the making, google translator was used for the russian words (sorry), kissing, little bit of angst and little bit of fluff

notes: i just saw the movie yesterday and as soon as i got back home i decided to write this, which is loosely connected to this fic i posted recently. i just loved the thunderbolts* so much they mean the entire world to me right now. perhaps more fics are coming in the future because i have lots of ideas!!! as always, i hope you enjoy

please reblog and/or comment if you enjoy!

all masterlists | marvel masterlist | part 1 (not strictly necessary to read this one tho) | next part

“Sorry for such short notice,” Bucky mutters as soon as you open the door for him and the rest of the entire group. You could tell he’s been having a pretty rough time just by looking at him. Hair messy, frowning more than usual, dirty clothing and a cut on his left cheek. The rest of the people he’s with don’t look any better. It wouldn’t take an expert to figure out they’ve been in some kind of combat and, most likely, they didn’t come on top.

“It’s okay,” you quickly reassure him, leaving the door open until every single one of them were inside your apartment, closing it behind them. “Can I ask what happened?”

“We…uh, got our ass kicked, basically,” he replies, sounding quite exhausted.

You take a second to look at the group. Unfamiliar faces of people you could only assume are in the superhero/villain/whatever business. There’s a blonde woman who immediately leans against one of the walls of your living room, trying to get some sort of rest after the fight. The other woman stays by the entrance and you can’t help but admire how cool her suit is. There’s algo a guy in a red suit and he looks absolutely huge and terrifying, but the smile he sends your way with the silly little wave he makes as you make eye contact gives you the impression that he might not be as intimidating as you initially thought.

And then, your eyes focus on the other person in the room.

“You,” is all you say, your voice sounding anything but welcoming.

Everyone turns to look at Walker, who offers you an awkward smile. “Yeah, hi.”

“You two know each other?” the blonde one asks.

“Unfortunately,” you reply, keeping your eyes on the guy at all times. You know enough about John Walker to be stupid enough to let him out of your sight. “Listen, I don’t know what just happened to you guys, but in case Bucky hasn’t warned you already, you can’t trust this piece of shit.”

Noticing you’re starting to get a little heated by his presence, Bucky wraps an arm around your waist from behind, just in case you decide to go over him and confront him for everything that has happened in the past. “It’s okay. He’s here to help.”

You turn to look at him like he just said the most absurd thing you’ve ever heard in your life, but he simply stares back at you with a serious expression, nodding as if to emphasize on his previous statement, trying to let you know you can actually trust the guy. When you turn back to look at Walker, he raises both hands in the air as a sign to further prove that he’s harmless.

“I’ll be keeping an eye out,” you warn him, pointing your finger at him.

“That’s fair,” he nods.

“Whoa, she’s feisty!” you hear the excited voice of the guy in the red suit as he lets out a short chuckle. “I like her already!”

You feel Bucky’s grip around your waist tightening. “We’re just here to get some cover and figure out our next move.”

Suddenly remembering the fact that all these strangers are standing in various spots in your living room, you get away from Bucky to walk over to your couch. “Oh, so sorry! What a terrible host,” you attempt to joke a little in hopes of lightening the mood, quickly removing your laptop and various papers scattered across your couch. “Please, take a seat!”

None of them move at first, but they eventually accept the invitation and walk towards your couch to sit down. All except Walker, who decides to stay in the same spot he’s been since he entered your apartment. Not like you care, so you just let him stand there on his own.

A few awkward introductions later and you already know everyone. Alexei, Ava and Yelena. One a total stranger and the others slightly familiar to you due to them being related to Natasha. You couldn’t bring yourself to say her name out loud, though. If you struggle to think about her without bursting out crying, you can’t even imagine what it would be like for her dad and sister. Last thing you want is to cause them any discomfort.

“And how exactly do you know each other?” Yelena asks you and Bucky after you introduce yourself to them too.

“Former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent,” Bucky replies before you can say anything, and you can’t help but turn to look at him with a slightly confused expression. “We’ve been friends for a very long time.”

Friends. Sure. Whatever. If that’s what he wants to call it…

After what happened last time you were in D.C., Bucky was constantly making trips to New York to visit you. You’re not officially dating, but it’s established that you’re exclusive. Long distance isn’t ideal, but you’ve made it work so far. Probably the happiest months of your life. But now…you hear him introducing you as his friend. It’s not really a big deal. Technically you are friends? It shouldn’t affect you as much as it does, but…you’re internally fuming right now.

Still, you decide not to say anything regarding that. He’s always been quite a reserved person, so perhaps he didn’t feel comfortable enough to share that information with them just yet. “Can I get you anything to drink?” you decide to ask, looking at everyone else.

“We’re not-”

“I’m sure a glass of water won’t kill anybody,” you say, immediately cutting Bucky off.

There’s a brief silence before Ava speaks. “I’ll have a glass of water. Thank you.”

You look at Yelena as she shortly nods before you focus on Alexei. “Do you perhaps have something else other than water?”

“Dad,” Yelena warns him.

You ignore that short interaction. “Something like what?”

“Like vodka,” he replies simply, like it’s a normal request. Perhaps the russian accent and the fact that he does look like a walking Soviet propaganda adds context to it.

“Dad!” Yelena repeats herself, this time in a louder voice, before hiding her face in her hands. The scene of her getting embarrassed by her dad’s behavior is actually hilarious.

“Two glasses of water and one glass of vodka, got it.” Then it was time to acknowledge Walker again. Even when you deeply hate the guy, you still want to be polite. “Do you want anything?”

“Uh…just water,” he mutters, still unsure on how to really talk to you. It’s ironic how quiet he is right now, considering he had a hard time shutting his mouth when you first met him. “Thank you.”

You offer the group a smile before excusing yourself to go to your kitchen, leaving them momentarily alone. Bucky was about to speak, wanting to initiate a debate on what their plan is going to be to fight against someone as powerful and seemingly invincible as Sentry, but Yelena speaks before he does.

“Now, would you mind telling us how you really know each other?”

Bucky looks immediately confused. “What do you mean?”

“You know I was trained to be a spy since I was very little.”

“Surely you don’t say it enough,” Walker mutters, earning an unamused look from her.

“That must really bother you, Mr. I-was-in-the-military,” Ava chimes in, rolling her eyes.

Ignoring both of them, Yelena decides to continue. “I’m very good at reading people, Bucky. She almost wanted to punch you in the face when you said you two were friends, which let’s me know the comment upset her,” she says, tilting her head to the side. “Why is that?”

“Ah! That’s your lover!” Alexei comments with pleasant surprise.

“And you didn’t introduce her as your girlfriend?” Ava says shortly after, giving him a disapproving look. “No wonder she would want to punch you in the face.”

“Yeah, that’s not cool, man,” Walker agrees from his spot in the living room.

Alexei’s cheerfulness dries down, nodding. “I agree. It’s not very nice.”

Bucky scoffs, crossing his arms across his chest in a defensive manner. He couldn’t believe these people were judging him over something he thought was meaningless. It was just a way to keep his private life private. Why should they know he’s dating anybody? They’re not his friends to be sharing information like that with them. And it’s not like they’re ever going to see you again anyway. Why is this such a big deal?

“Whoever I date or don’t date it’s not your business,” he simply replies.

Ava scoffs this time. “Don’t bring us to your girlfriend’s flat then.”

“When did you guys became a thing?” Walker asks this time, looking like he's thinking back on it in hopes of remembering any indication that might've gave it away.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, getting more and more exasperated. “We barely got out of that fight against Valentina’s experiment and it’s a matter of time before we have to face him again. Why are we even talking about this?”

“Oh, Bucky,” Yelena shakes her head in a condescending manner. “You’re right, we do not care about your lovelife. Thinking about it makes me sick, actually. But she looked really hurt by what you said, so perhaps you should go talk to her and make things right.”

The other three agreed with Yelena almost immediately, and Bucky just stood there looking at them in disbelief because why are they giving him their input on his relationship? Why is Yelena giving him advice? Why are they getting involved in Bucky’s personal life?

But instead of arguing, he decides to listen to them and heads towards the kitchen. He walks in just in time to see you pouring Alexei an entire glass of vodka as he requested, the other three glasses of water already filled.

“Oh, good. You’re here,” you say nonchalantly, like what Yelena said about you wanting to punch him in the face was just something she misread in your body language. You surely don’t look like you're thinking about violence right now. “Could you help me with the drinks, please?”

Perhaps Yelena was wrong, but just in case she wasn’t, he decided to ask about it. “Are you okay?”

You let out a quick and confused chuckle as you store away the almost finished bottle of vodka. “Why would I not be okay? If you’re asking because you brought them here, I think they’re actually very nice…aside from Walker, of course.”

“No, I mean…the way I introduced you to them,” he says in a soft voice, walking closer to you. “I probably shouldn’t have said you were my friend.”

There’s a brief pause between you, until you’re eventually shrugging. “It’s fine.”

“Is it?” he insists, standing right before you as he grabs your hands in his. “Talk to me.”

You hesitate a little before eventually giving in. “I mean, you can’t expect me to be thrilled to hear you introduce me to a bunch of people as just your friend.”

Bucky sighs. Yelena was right. “I’m so sorry,” he says almost immediately, giving your hands a light squeeze. “I just met these people and I highly doubt we’ll keep in touch after this. I didn’t want to share that information with them. We’re not exactly…close like that,” he explains himself, looking genuinely sorry for what he said. “I should’ve considered how that would make you feel, or at least tried to explain why I did it as soon as I could. I didn’t mean to hurt you or downplay what we have.”

You can tell he’s genuinely sorry, understanding his reasoning behind it. Perhaps you forgot to put into perspective the fact that they’re just super people Bucky has been forced to work with. Not necessarily friends. “It’s okay, I understand.”

Bucky nods, but he still looks absolutely defeated. “I feel terrible,” he mutters. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

You let go of his hands, wrapping your arms around his neck instead. “It’s okay, babe,” you repeat, offering him a soft smile to let him know you forgive him. “I understand you didn’t feel comfortable sharing that with them.”

“I promise I won’t do it again.”

“You’re not obligated to disclose anything with anyone if you don’t feel like it,” you say, just to remind him to do whatever it feels right to him. “But I’m glad we had this conversation to hear each other’s perspective.”

He nods again, still uncertain. You lean in to give him a reassuring kiss before deciding to move away from him to get back to the living room with the rest. He hands the glasses of water to Walker and Yelena, while you hand the other glasses to Ava and Alexei.

The last one takes a big gulp of his glass, letting out a growl of approval. “Smirnoff! Not that Absolut der’mo!”

“I adore him,” you say to Bucky, letting out a quick chuckle as you watch the guy drink the entire glass of vodka in less than two seconds.

“It’ll pass, trust me,” he mutters back to you.

You gently hit his arm as a way of telling him to not be rude, immediately focusing on the cut on his cheek, dried blood around the wound. “I should clean that.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“I do worry, Bucky,” you insist, patting his shoulder before pointing to one of the two chairs at your small dinner table. “Take a seat. I’ll be right back.”

You excuse yourself to go find the first-aid kit to clean the wound on his face. By the time you get back, the group has already started discussing some sort of strategy regarding some ‘Sentry’ person you don’t know absolutely anything about. Perhaps you’ll ask Bucky to give you a proper update on what the hell this whole thing is all about next time you’re alone.

As obedient as ever, Bucky was already sitting on one of the chairs you previously pointed at before leaving, so you walked over to him to attend to his injury. Even if it was a small, almost insignificant little cut, you wanted to take care of him in any capacity you could.

You were gladly surprised when you feel one of his arms wrapping around you, keeping you close as you stand next to him cleaning the dry blood with a small cotton ball before disinfecting the area, finishing it off with a small bandage above the cut.

The whole entire time you took care of Bucky’s wound, the group was talking about their strategy. Just listening to them was enough to figure out why Bucky didn’t think they’d stay in touch once it’s time to part ways. More than half of their interactions are more bickering than actual communication. They clash almost constantly and they don’t seem to agree on much. They’re quite honestly a complete mess. But still...even when it’s difficult to see how a group like this could work, they oddly do. There’s just something about them. Perhaps they’re the prime example of how opposites tend to work together perfectly.

“Done,” you whisper to him, not warning to interrupt their conversation.

“Thanks, doll,” he whispers back, giving you a smile.

After a few more minutes of planning, it was finally time for them to get back out there in hopes to put an end to the threat that seems to loom over New York (and perhaps the entire world). You accompany them to the door, all of them saying their goodbyes to you.

“Thanks for letting us hide here,” Yelena says with a polite smile, offering her hand for a handshake as a way to further prove her gratitude.

“Oh, it’s really nothing. I’m glad I was able to help out,” you reply, accepting her handshake. “And…you know, good luck. You probably don’t need it, obviously, but just in case…”

“You’re adorable,” Ava comments with a smirk, patting your shoulder as her way of saying goodbye.

Alexei doesn’t even say anything. He just straight up walks towards you and wraps his arms around you, lifting you off the ground as he gives you a tight hug. It certainly takes you by surprise, but you pat his back as a way of returning the hug, hearing how Yelena and Bucky are frantically telling him to put you down immediately.

The three of them are already outside your apartment and it’s time to face Walker. He just says a quick “thank you” before walking towards the others that wait for Bucky in the hallway, knowing you probably don’t even want to address him. For now, you decide not to say anything to him. If you do see each other again, perhaps then you’ll try to figure out if you can look past the awful things he has done.

Now Bucky is the one who stands before you and all you can do is hug him as tight as you possibly can, almost not wanting to let him go. You know he’ll be fine. You know he’ll come back to you. But still, you can’t ignore the knot forming at the pit of your stomach, anxiety and fear consuming you at the thought of something happening to him.

He senses how you feel, hugging you back just as tight. “Please be safe,” he whispers.

You break the hug, looking up at him. “I should be telling you that.”

The comment makes him smile softly because it sounds like you're reprimanding him for what he just said. Immediately after, he's placing a hand at the side of your face, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb. “I’ll be back before you know it, okay?”

“Okay,” you nod, still as anxious as you were before. The fact that you still don’t fully know what they’re up against makes your situation worse. If it’s anything remotely similar to an Avenger-like threat, you have plenty of reasons to be afraid. “Just…just take care, please.”

“I will,” he replies, giving you a kiss so sweet and gentle that it practically takes your breath away. He knows you’re worried like never before and he wants to make sure he’s able to give you as much reassurance as he possibly can.

After a few more seconds of him just looking back at you with a soft smile on his face, he moves back from you, knowing he has to leave already.

“Promise you’ll be back soon,” you blurt out as he’s leaving your apartment, still fighting the urge to just yank him back into the apartment to keep him from going back out there.

“I promise you I’ll be back, darling,” he says without any hesitation, knowing he’ll do anything he possibly can to keep his word.

Finally, he closes the door of your apartment, leaving you all alone in there as you try to calm yourself down until everything is back to normal again and he’s here with you. Until he’s back in the safety of the arms of the person he cares most about in this entire world.

You focus on the four empty glasses, the lingering presence of everyone, the trail of dirt their boots left on the floor, the chair Bucky was sitting on just seconds ago...you can only hope they stay safe. Meanwhile, you decide to clean up the living room as a way of distracting yourself.

On the other side of the door, Bucky is turning to look at the group, rolling his eyes when he sees all of them grinning and nodding their hands in approval after witnessing him being so lovey-dovey with you, discovering a sight of him they probably didn’t even know existed.

“Not a single word,” Bucky warns them, immediately walking in between them to get to the elevator.

“What? We can’t say you two looked disgustingly cute back there?” Yelena jokes as she follows after him.

"Who knew that was hiding beneath all that...grumpiness," Ava comments right after.

“I said not a single word,” he repeats, trying to act like he wasn’t feeling terribly embarrassed right now. Or like he didn't find the teasing slightly entertaining. Just slightly.

“I mean, you did look cute,” Walker agrees.

“So cute!” Yelena emphasizes.

Alexei wraps an arm around Bucky’s shoulders, much to his discomfort. “That was adorable. You, my friend, had the eyes of love looking at your zhenshchina!”

“And you had to make it weird,” Ava mutters after Alexei’s comment, just as the elevator doors are closing.

translations: der'mo (shit), zhenshchina (woman). again, i apologize if the translation is wrong, i don't speak russian

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x you #mcu x reader #thuderbolts* x reader #thunderbolts x reader

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ghost-proofbaby · 4 months ago

Text

the hat rule. (e.m. x fem!reader)

the hat rule (n.): you wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.

summary: when eddie dresses up as a cowboy to a night out with friends, you decide to steal his hat.

pairings: eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings: reader is described to be wearing a dress. reader is also dressed up as a black cat. premise is everyone is wearing 'slutty' costumes. overuse of pet names. public teasing, unprotected sex, choking kink, oral (f receiving), ass slapping. 18+.

wc: 13.3k+

happy early valentine's day, babes. shout out to @hellfire--cult for beta reading, as well as @andvys for giving me this idea to begin with.

If someone had told you last week that you’d be attending a slutty costume themed night at a club tonight, you would have laughed in their face.

And yet here you were, at Steve Harrington’s apartment, donned in a black cat costume that shows more skin than you have in years.

The elaborate plan had sparked on a random day after Steve encountered a flyer for the event. It was a nightclub your group had attended before, and one look at the line free drinks for participants had Steve running down your entire group to insist that you all needed to dress up, to participate in this, for the luxury of free Tito’s.

He’d never considered that the ad might not be targeted towards the male population. And now, you were all gathering at his apartment to pregame, ‘slutted out’ as Robin had so kindly put it – men included.

Nancy pulled out some sort of angel costume she claims she had bought but certainly not worn a few years back, Robin had conglomerated an alluring pirate attire from items you hadn’t even been aware were in her closet. Jonathan arrived in his erotic yet pensive writer’s costume (you’d hardly understood it, but he seemed confident, so you all went with it), Argyle in tow donning some sort of seductive surfer costume, in which you certainly recognized the unbuttoned shirt and cargo shorts that had had a pocket knife taken to them to disregard a few inches. Steve even stuck to his own demands, going all out – a sensual bunny costume.

And then, there was Eddie.

Eddie fuckin’ Munson.

“Pick your jaw up off the ground, sweetheart,” he teases as he shuffles around you in the kitchen to grab a drink, “Gonna start catching flies otherwise.”

“There’s a joke in there somewhere about how sweet I am, right?” you blandly reply, keeping your eyes on your room temp cocktail that Steve had so graciously mixed for you upon your arrival, “Something where you call me honey or sugar, yeah?”

Eddie pauses, bottle of vodka in hand, looking at you with big eyes lined in coal, “Oh, baby, you know me so well.”

“Cut the pet names, Munson.”

You try to scowl. You really do. But you don’t mean a damn word you say.

Sweetheart. Baby. Hell, even honey would have done it for you when he was wearing that costume.

Tight leather pants, flared at the ankle. Worn leather boots that certainly had to have been thrifted, clicking with each of his steps. A cow print vest, and just a vest, over what looked to be an oiled chest.

And that fucking hat smashing down his curls, adding a shadow across his face that only built into the illusion.

You hate him. You hate this stupid party. You hate Steve for ever suggesting this.

“You don’t mean that,” he sing-songs as he pours his own drink into a red solo cup. The vodka mixes with cranberry juice, you think, before he’s dropping a few ice cubes out of the freezer. “Or maybe you do, and I should try saying them with a southern drawl,” Fuck, he does a good southern accent. Slow and syrupy sweet, molasses down the throat as he flutters his lashes at you, “That better, darlin’?”

You pluck the thin black straw that had been added to your cup for flare, probably stolen from a hotel at some point by Steve and positively meant for drinks of the coffee variety, and flick it in his direction without hesitation.

“Terrible,” you flatly lie, “Cowboys aren’t even from the south, idiot. They’re from the West.”

You have no desire to hear Eddie’s Western accent. No desire to hear Texan twang on those lips, putting on his best John Wayne impression. In fact, the faster you can get away from him, the quicker you can get yourself under control.

It had always been this way between you and Eddie. Push and pull. Will they, won’t they. A game of cosmic shores as the two of you toed at each other’s orbits and bantered effortlessly. Flirtatious threats, inappropriate compliments, lewd innuendos – you had done it all, specifically with Eddie.

That’s just how the friendship worked.

The friendship.

Friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

Eddie won’t leave you alone, though, choosing to lean up against the counter beside you, forcing his way into your peripherals, “Damn. You’re right. Wayne would kill me if he knew I mixed that up.”

“Oh, I think he has plenty of reasons to knock some sense into you.”

“Yeah?” he leans forward, tauntingly, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, “Why don’t you do it for him? I think I’d like a slap more coming from you, honestly.”

He’s acting like he always does. This is normal. The fact that his entire torso is on show and you can’t stop staring at the way his tattoo on his peck is shimmering doesn’t change that.

You play the role, knowing your part well as you lean in as well, forcing a smile right back at him, “Wanna kiss my knuckles before I do it, or am I gonna have to do all the hard work here?”

“Oh, trust me, you’d never have to do all the work with me, ba-”

“Can you two get a fucking room?” Robin interrupts as she enters the room, clearly coming in for a refill but getting more than she bargained for.

You’re aflame with the shame and embarrassment, feeling it lick from your ankles up to your throat, as Eddie only chuckles lowly.

“Sorry, Robs,” Eddie chirps, not sounding apologetic at all, “I promise I’ll behave myself the rest of the night.”

And yet, despite the words you’re hearing him say out loud, he does the exact opposite.

There’s no real need for him to do it. There’s plenty of space amongst the kitchen for him to maneuver his way out without laying a single hand on you – and yet he still fucking does.

His palm is shockingly warm when it curls around your hip, his other hand occupied with a drink, encouraging you to move a step forward so that he can brush behind you far too close for comfort. You nearly stumble over himself as he does it. The feeling of his barren chest barely bumping your bare shoulder blades sends your mind reeling, and his staple rings that have incorporated into his costume press right through the thin fabric of your dress.

Your breathing stops entirely as he pauses, the slightest bit of skin still brushing against yours, and leans in with a boyish grin, “We’ll both be on our best behavior tonight – right, kitty?”

Something clicks in your mind. The way the nickname rolls off his tongue as he’s looking at you with eyes flaming with mischief, hand lingering on your hip for far too long.

Your eyes flicker up to the hat on his head, and you smile slowly, meeting his toying gaze, “Right, cowboy.”

Best behavior, your ass. Tonight, you have decided, ends the will they, won’t they of it all.

It’s about to either be the best night of your life, or the worst.

—

Another shot with Nancy. Another smoke with Argyle. Another adjusting of Steve’s corset when he complains he can’t breathe (he certainly can, but you’re starting to think he just likes the attention). The pregaming continues on as more of Steve’s friends from work show up, the apartment slowly beginning to buzz with the chatter of more strangers than you can count on one hand.

You’re not even at the club yet and you’re already regretting your revealing attire.

Eddie stays mostly preoccupied with his own devices, and only gets scolded a handful of times by Nancy. You can hear every lewd joke he makes, of course. At some point, you make a private drinking game out of it; a sip for every time he makes the stereotypical joke of ‘save a horse, ride a cowboy’.

Well, it was a sip the first time. A slightly larger gulp the second time. A chugging of half your drink the third time.

“There’s no fucking way,” Steve laments at the table the boys as well as a few guests you don’t recognize have taken over for a game of strip poker, “Jonathan is cheating. Or counting cards.”

“I concur,” Eddie mutters around his cigarette, scowling at his losing hand.

“You’re also cheating, asshole. This is the first round you’ve lost the entire game.”

“Or maybe I’m just really good at cards, Harrington.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, maybe I’m really good at-”

“He’s not cheating,” Nancy interrupts with a sigh from the couch, lounging as she’s served as a referee of sorts for the group. Her entire body weight is draped against Robin, and you’re certainly not going to comment on Robin’s hands toying with her permed locks, “Stop being a sore loser and just strip.”

You get why Steve was the most upset. He was down to his underwear and socks, corset tossed somewhere far behind him and bunny ears placed on Robin’s head in place of her pirate hat that she had claimed became too warm.

“I think Steve should trade both socks and put back on the bunny ears,” she quips as she reaches up for the headband, flicking at one of the floppy ears, “He’d look cuter that way.”

“Fuck off,” he snaps, throwing up a middle finger as Argyle finally loses his shirt.

When your attention has drifted, you know he did exactly that, though.

The game had been boring you half to death, honestly. Watching Steve strip without fail every round, hearing the loud cheers from Argyle when he managed to win a few rounds in a row and exclaimed it was a turkey (it had taken a ten minute intermission to explain to him that was bowling, not poker), watching a few of the girls that Steve had invited fawn over him as they carefully removed boots and gloves when they lost – none of it sparked your interest. The only saving grace had been every smug look Eddie offered as he’d win, time and time again. So far, he’d only lost his boots.

He was hot when he was cocky. There was no way around it.

And now, as he carefully pondered as to which part of his precious costume to part with, you were on the edge of your seat. He was lovely and enticing when he was excited, when he was jubilant with victory, but as a sore loser?

Dear God, Eddie Munson was a gorgeous specimen with a pout on his lips.

“Trying to decide what to take off, Munson?” Jonathan notices the way Eddie is hesitating, even through the offset of conversations that had sparked up in the brief pause amongst the growing group.

You lean forward on the couch, almost subconsciously.

You don’t care what Stacy from Steve’s job thinks of their manager or the latest drama ongoing there, and Steve would probably agree with you if it weren’t for Stacy’s all-red, latex Devil costume.

Eddie scoffs, waving a hand over his attire, “Obviously. You know, it’s not easy to choose when you have a costume as damn good as mine.”

“What? Don’t think you’ll be as pretty without your hat?” you decide to contribute to the teasing, shocking yourself in the process.

The last thing you should do when you’re staring him down in this way, is bring attention to yourself. And yet you were, like some fucking idiot with a death wish.

“You think I’m pretty?”

It’s the fluttering of his lashes as he says it that gives you the courage. They match all that fluttering in your stomach, all that buzzing across your nerves. Because – yeah, you thought he was real fucking pretty. You’d spent the last half hour imagining how pretty he’d look in all sorts of places, too, especially between your sheets and between your thighs.

You’re up off the couch, taking confident steps towards where he’s seated at the ground on the other side of the coffee table. It’s a little inconvenient now, but it had been a blessing in disguise for most of the game as you’d had a front row seat to the sight of him.

“Oh, don’t get ahead of yourself,” you tease, entirely ignoring that lightheaded feeling you get anytime Eddie looks up at you this way. Half-lidded eyes, crooked grin. He’s dangerous and he doesn’t even know it, “I only meant you were pretty with the hat.”

“You wound me,” he gasps, dropping back on his hands dramatically, his pout now for dramatics rather than genuine, “Gonna stand there and tell me I’m not pretty when I dressed up just for you?”

You have to take a deep breath to compose yourself, cross your arms to steady your guard, “Just for me?”

He was playing that same old, tired game of yours. The same dance the two of you had memorized the steps to – and something inside of you has grown restless of it. You don’t want to keep skirting around each other with double-meaning jokes, you don’t want to keep painting humor over your flirtatious remarks. You want a damn answer to the age old question of will they, won’t they?

And you want that answer to be will they – terribly, terribly so.

His eyes trail along the room slowly, not avoiding you but trying to draw out the anticipation in you as he sucks in a breath, “Okay, and maybe for Steve. And Nancy. And Argyle. And Jonathan. And- Well, I’d say Robin, but I don’t think she’s looked twice in my direction all night.”

“I haven’t,” the brunette chirps happily from the couch, still letting the weight of Nancy comfortably dig into her.

You have no idea how she’s tuned into the conversation, given the way most of everyone else around the room was entirely ignoring the two of you.

“So,” you all but purr, leaning down to be more level with Eddie. You already know where his focus wanders when his eyes don’t meet yours, “Not just for me, cowboy.”

He’s distracted, staring at your chest as you notice him slip up in his brave facade for a second. Almost as though you’ve gone too far, pushed the limits a bit too hard. Good. You want to break this. You want to shatter whatever cage the two of you have built.

In one smooth movement, your hand reaches out and snatches the hat right off his head.

He lets out a yelp and tries to grab it away from you, but you have the advantage as you stand up straight once more. Your free hand reaches up and tears off the cat ears you had donned, and in their place, the hat is deposited.

It fits you a little big, and you nearly make a joke about the size of Eddie’s head.

“Hey!” he argues, moving as though he might stand up and put up more of a fight, “I didn’t say the hat is what I wanted to take off.”

“Took too long,” you shrug innocently.

“Yeah, well, just carefully add it to the pile,” he jabs his thumb over his shoulder, towards his boots, as he relaxes back into his recline.

You should probably behave yourself.

“No.”

But this is more fun.

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up in shot, disappearing behind the bangs that are flattened far more than usual. The entire crown of his head is absolutely crushed. No sign of his usual frizzy roots and unruly volume, “No?”

“No,” you confirm a second time.

And you’re done with this game of back and forth.

The hat’s staying on your head. It smells ever so faintly of his shampoo, the slightest whiff of his cologne even, and it’s staying on your head for the exact reason he believes is about to be a gotcha! moment.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he’s just tipsy enough that he’s not putting on any specific accent. Instead, his natural Appalachian accent inherited from his uncle begins to break the surface, “Surely you know about the hat rule.”

Damn right, you know about the hat rule.

You cross your arms, huff a little, tilt the hat for effect, “The hat rule? Please, enlighten me.”

“You wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.”

Perfect.

You don’t even attempt any sort of surprised act. No exaggerated gasps, no fumbling to remove the hat. You knew all about this rule, and it had been one of the first things to come to mind when you’d seen him enter this damn party with the hat on.

“Yeah?” you question, mocking raising your eyebrows at best, “Hm. What a shame.”

And then you turn on your heel, not awaiting a single response from Eddie as you escape to the kitchen.

You almost wish you would have stayed an extra second to properly witness his reaction. There’s no doubt in your mind that he’s gone pretty and pink, a flustered mess for at least a second as low laughter sounds from the rest of your friends. A tell-tale snort from Robin, and a silent cackle from Nancy. You swear you even pick up on one of the extra guests muttering a confused what just happened? that goes entirely unanswered.

Strip poker doesn’t continue on for long after that.

You refill your drink, this time sans the alcohol, and return to find Steve has officially begun to call for cabs to the club. He busies away on his phone as everyone debates who’s riding with who, the entire party slowly coming to life as everyone stands to prepare to leave for the main attraction.

When you meet Eddie’s gaze from across the room, the shadow of the brim of his hat cutting into your vision a little, his cheeks match the cranberry juice in your cup.

Good.

—

The ride to the club is a blur, and all that really stands out to you is that Eddie makes sure he does not ride in the same cab as you.

Which is fine. Really. It doesn’t cause a single spark of panic in your chest. Not one.

You’re definitely not working yourself up over the thought that your plan is crumbling right before your eyes, that you’ve gone too far and entirely misinterpreted everything Eddie has ever done during your entire friendship. You’re not mulling over every dirty joke, not dissecting every single line that felt like he was flirting with you and attempting to look at it with fresh eyes. No, the entire ride to the club, you are definitely not beating a dead horse dead.

Maybe you should have set off to ride the dead horse and not the cowboy. Maybe, then, Eddie would have gotten into the fucking cab with you.

Your anxieties only worsen once you get inside the club. Pulsing beneath your skin, right in rhythm with the music. Your entire group had each been handed a drink ticket on your way in, and you had noted the fact that the girls of the group were slipped extra tickets.

Nancy had given all her tickets to Robin, and Steve had given his singular ticket to Stacy.

“So,” Robin runs up to your side, Nancy not far behind, “Do we waste our drink tickets on shots or real drinks?”

“Real drinks,” you immediately reply, eyes scanning the bouncing crowd for a certain head of curly hair, “Shots are… well, they can be cheap. We can just avoid the top-shelf shit.”

Was Eddie really going to ignore you the entire night?

He needed his hat. He couldn’t ignore you the entire night.

“You’re right,” Robin shuffles the drink tickets in her hands, turning to Nancy, “On a scale of one to ten, how bad would it be me to ask you to flirt with men to get me-”

“Give me ten minutes and I’ll have us a round.”

Nancy’s smile is sweet, courteous, as she gives Robin’s shoulder a squeeze on her way past her.

Where the fuck is Eddie?

“Did you see where the guys ran off to?” you blurt out. Most of the guys, aside from Steve, took the same cab.

Robin also joins you in a quick survey of the club, lifting onto her tippy toes to squint over the current light show, “Honestly? I have no idea.”

Fuck.

As she drops back down onto her heels, Robin looks at you knowingly, eyes flicking up between your twisted expression and the hat on your head.

“Trying to find a certain cowboy?”

“What?” you look at her, already defensive, even if it was stupid at this point. Who cares if everyone knows you have a crush on Eddie? Who cares if everyone finds out the very foundations of your friendship with him were built upon quite a bit of truth? “I mean- yeah, he kind of needs his hat to complete his outfit.”

“Should have just given him your ears for an even trade,” Robin shrugs, clinging to your elbow to avoid getting separated as a few bodies push past the two of you, “I’m sure he’ll pop up soon enough, though. Besides, I don’t think anyone’s too focused on what everyone’s costumes are as long as they’re… well…”

“Slutted out,” you finish for her flatly, trying to not get jealous as your eyes look across the sweaty crowd, stomach churning as you wonder how many other sexy black cats in the crowd would be approaching your cowboy.

You fucked up. You shouldn’t have taken his hat.

“Exactly!” she’s excited, unaware of your crisis, already moving along from the topic as she spots Nancy somewhere near the bar top, “Look, free shots!”

The free shots don’t do much to quell your unease, but free alcohol is always nice.

You take the liquid down, burn and all, more than willingly. And then again, not even five minutes later when Nancy has caught the attention of another random man at the end of the bar. You almost partake in a third, but you finally hear a familiar voice saying a far too familiar joke.

“You know what they say,” he’s flirting – he’s using a tone of voice that he has never used with you, and it’s clear he’s fucking flirting, “Save a horse, ride a cowboy.”

Instead of continuing your drinking game from Steve’s apartment, you slam the shot back down and mutter some sorry excuse of being right back to Robin and Nancy before taking off in the direction of Eddie.

He’s stood a few stools down at the bar, hands leaning against the worn wood as his arms bracket a pretty blonde. It almost looks as if the line might be working on her.

“If you’re a cowboy,” she giggles, and you almost stop dead in your tracks, “Then where’s your hat?”

Well, that’s as good of a queue for your arrival if any.

“Good question,” you pipe up as you take a few brave steps towards him, “Where is your hat, cowboy?”

You’d expected him to be angry, or startled, or possibly even immediately take off running in the opposite direction of you. He doesn’t.

He slowly turns, and his flirtatious smile has turned into more of a salacious grin as he faces you, “Well, well, well. Nice of you to join us, Kitty.”

The blonde looks between you two a few times before shimmying down off her stool, “I think…. I’m gonna go. Nice to meet you, cowboy.”

You expect Eddie to react, but he hardly does. A quick glance in her direction, a pathetic wave.

You’ve just trampled over one of his chances of getting properly lucky tonight, and he isn’t even phased.

“Been lookin’ for you,” you mumble, looking over him. His hair seems to have been unstuck from his scalp a little, at least. As though he may have been running his hands through it repeatedly, “Thought you might have gone home without your hat.”

“Not a chance. I haven’t forgotten about the rule, you know.”

Something twists in you, deep in your gut, between your hips.

“No?” you hold your breath as he leans in a bit closer to you to be able to hear over the music, “Good thing I haven’t either.”

He tilts his head, eyes glittering in the multi-colored lights, “You haven’t? Then that means you’ll be giving it back, right?”

Over my dead body.

You’re on a mission tonight. You’ll either be ending this night in sore disappointment, drinking away your sorrows of rejection, or you’ll be ending up in a bed with Eddie. It’s up to him.

You lift a hand to the worn rim, tugging it a bit more securely onto your head, “Not a chance, Munson. You know where to find me once you’re done playing around.”

As soon as your fingers leave the rim, holding tense eye contact with him, his own hand is coming up. You tense, worried he’s about to steal the hat back now, but he doesn’t. Instead, his fingers pinch the same spot yours just had, slow tracing over the rim as his tongue darts out to carefully wet his bottom lip.

From the front point, around to the side. When he reaches the bit above your ear, his touch drops to your cheek and tucks back some of the baby hairs sticking to your skin with sweat.

“I do, don’t I?” he hums, voice dropping a bit lower, focused entirely on you. “I don’t think I’m the one playing around right now, though, Kitty.”

Does he think you’re joking? Does he actually, genuinely think this is all a game to you?

You nearly make the decision to grab him right there, right at this moment, and shatter all the tension. Get his lips on yours and drag him into the darkest corner just to prove to him how serious you truly were.

Suddenly, his hand drops away from you entirely, and you almost want to whine. You miss that warmth, that feathery caress, until it aches. “It’s okay, though. Always knew cats were playful things.”

Is there a dark corner somewhere near you two? Is there a dark hallway to drag him into? Just enough shadow to cover all the sins you’re desperate to commit, just enough light to see that blush rise across his cheeks again.

“I’m not playing,” you whisper, eyes drifting down to his hand cradling a glass. Something deep and russet, just like his eyes. Likely whiskey. You wonder if you’d be able to taste it all over his tongue before you had him putting it to work where you need him most right now. “Whenever you get that through your big head, come find me.”

“Big head?” he throws his head back in a laugh, and the tension mists away in seconds. “Who says I have a big head?”

“I do, as the one wearing your hat,” you readjust it for emphasis.

You thought the tension had misted away until he’s smirking, tsking a little, “Oh, thought you meant the other one.”

It’s a replay of the scene in Steve’s apartment, but this time, the roles are reversed. You’re the one left in shock, mouth agape, as Eddie spins around and walks away, leaving you to sit with what he’s just said.

“Bastard,” you breathe out as you watch him disappear in the crowd, eyes locked on his broad shoulders until one too many bodies separate the two of you.

A bastard you want awfully, terribly, bad.

—

You wish you could say you threw back drink, after drink, after drink. You wish you could say you danced with a hundred different beautiful strangers, and each one strayed your mind farther from Eddie.

You wish you could say you did anything but what the reality of your night had been.

A few men had approached you, only to be turned down repeatedly. Most of your night was spent all but moping at the bar, eyes diligently scanning the bouncing crowd for a certain curly haired figure that seemed to escape you. One moment, you’d catch him pressed against a flirty stranger, hands holding onto whatever bare skin was available to him. And then, his eyes would find yours, and there would be a spark; a wink, a smile, a whisper across a bustling room daring you to come out and play with him.

You never did. You’d look away, take a sip of your plain coke, and wait a few seconds until it was safe to look back and find him seemingly vanished.

That in itself had started to become a game. Just like the hat, weighing heavy on your head.

You’re starting to accept that maybe you had just been a bit too brave. You’d jumped the gun, flown feet first into cold and ragged waters you weren’t prepared to navigate. You knew you wanted a change with Eddie, but were you ready? If you had been, you would have accepted one of his various invites. Would have strode across the room, shoved away whatever man or woman he was dancing with, and slotted yourself into their place. You would have been swaying your hips in rhythm with his rather than allowing him to cycle through strangers, and you’d be reminding him that you wore his hat.

You’d be the one bringing up the hat rule to him consistently, not him to you.

When the night begins to wane, you’ve already talked yourself out of it all.

“I’m heading out,” you announce to Robin when she finally returns back to where you’ve sat at the bar to babysit their drinks, hopping down from the stool before she could argue, “I’m getting way too tired.”

“What?” your friend gasps, face pink from the heat of being in the crowd, a shimmering sheen of sweat across her forehead, “No! Stay! We can take turns watching the drinks, or just-”

“Robs,” you smile as sweetly as possible, patting yourself down to make sure you have all your belongings. A whistle sounds from a group down the way at the bar, and you ignore them, “It’s seriously okay. You’re having fun! I’m just a senior citizen who needs some sleep. My bedtime was like…. An hour ago.”

You highly doubt you’ll be getting any rest when you return to your apartment. Maybe some confidence can be built out of fantasies, letting your hands wander and sheets catch fire with all that could have been if you hadn’t talked yourself out of your perfect plan.

Maybe, imagining Eddie’s hot hands on you rather than getting to properly feel them will light a damn fire under your ass for the next opportunity that arises.

“I…” she sighs, glancing over her shoulder in the general direction of Nancy, “Okay, fine. But do we want to do brunch or something tomorrow?”

Not a chance, you think rather quickly, eyes scanning once more for the metal-head-turned-cowboy. Not if Eddie’s going to be there.

“Sure,” you lie, already knowing he will be there, “Just text me.”

With that, you make your grand escape.

Borrowed hat on head, phone in hand, you push your way out of the club with a newfound determination. You want to get home and take off this uncomfortable dress, finally do away with the thigh highs that have been rolling down at the most inconvenient of times, driving you insane the entire night. Trade the sexy attire for something comfy – stay true to the cat essence as you curl up beneath your blankets for the night. Hang that damn cowboy hat on your door as a cursed reminder-

“Where do you think you’re going, Kitty?”

You stop a few feet short of the curb, a cab ordered as you turn to find that bastard leaning against the wall. Cigarette smoke is still clinging to the air around him as he looks at you curiously.

“Home,” you shrug, trying to ignore your pounding heart. You’d figured you wouldn’t see him again tonight, that your fate had been sealed. “What are you doing out here?”

“Smoke break,” he lifts his hand with the cigarette pinched between two fingers casually, pushing off the wall to come closer, “It’s hard work, keeping you entertained all night.”

You scoff, falling back into what’s almost a normal rhythm for you two, “You were not the one keeping me entertained all night.”

“I hardly saw you dance with anyone at all.”

“I did!” you try to defend yourself, deciding this could be fine. Some casual conversation as you wait for your ride, a way to pass the time. This is fine. “Robin dragged me out into the crowd at least twice.”

“I watched you swat a guy’s hands away not once, but three times.”

“Unsolicited touching isn’t a compliment. He should have taken the hint the first time.”

Eddie nods in eager agreement, taking another drag of his cigarette, “Damn right. If he had gone in for a fourth try, I was considering dragging him out here for an early smoke break.”

“Why do I highly doubt it would just be a smoke break?” you question, glancing at him with a smile. Scandalous plans aside for the night, embarrassment swallowed down whole, it’s nice to remember that Eddie is a friend. Albeit a bit flirty, and capable of driving you fucking insane, but he’s a friend.

And maybe that isn’t the worst thing in the world.

“Oh, no, yeah. You’d be posting my bail.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’ve got my hat, ” he reaches out and flicks the brim with his free hand, and you freeze up a little. You had hoped he wouldn’t mention it again, “Kind of makes me your problem until the end of the night. Speaking of….”

You already know what he’s about to request as he trails off. This is it. You either give up the bit, hand the hat back over, and go home for the night – or you make one final attempt to get what you had wanted.

Eddie. You wanted Eddie, as more than a friend.

“I’m gonna need that back, sweetheart.”

At least he’s asking politely, you consider, before it hits you why he’s asking rather than taking.

The looks across the room. The way he’d been unbothered by the girl he’d been flirting with running off at your appearance. The way he never just took back that fucking hat when he’d been provided ample opportunity.

He thinks it’s a game for you, and keeps bringing it up, because it isn’t for him. He’s giving you one last chance to back out, or to stand your ground. To say you really want this.

And fuck, you really want this.

“Nope,” you lean into his space, pressing closer, fully committed. Your phone dings with the notification of your ride approaching, and you fully ignore it. “My hat now, cowboy.”

He quirks an eyebrow, and you hear the crunch of gravel behind you. Your ride. “Is that so?”

“Yep.”

Another ding, another buzz of your phone.

Go ahead. Bring up the hat rule.

“That your ride?” he asks, tilting his chin in the direction of the car.

You glance over your shoulder, “Pretty sure it is, yeah.”

“And you remember the hat rule?”

Your stomach twists with excitement. Your previous pity party is long forgotten – you’re still hoping to get out of this dress, but you highly doubt you’ll be slipping anything on after it. “I do.”

“Great,” those hot hands you’d been fantasizing about the entire night suddenly reach out to you, gripping your hips tightly as he tugs you into his body. You collide with his chest as he leans down and whispers in your ear, “In that case, that’s my pussy now.”

His lips linger against the shell of your ear an extra second, warm breath sending chills up your spine before he’s keeping an arm around your shoulders as he guides you to the car. His cologne and the scent of tobacco is suffocating, and you crave to drown in it. You want him to consume you; you want him to take over every breath you breathe, every move you make, to finally get those hot hands and lips everywhere you’ve only dreamt of.

You barely hear him confirm with the driver that it is in fact your ride – you can only focus on that hand on your lower back, palm heavy on you as his thumb traces arcs that nearly spend you spiraling.

“After you, kitty,” he murmurs, motioning for you to slide into the backseat first.

In that case, that’s my pussy now.

You hope he ruins you.

In the backseat of the ride, it’s all polite distance and hands to yourself. You can’t even make eye contact with the driver, terrified he might be able to mindread and see all the filthy thoughts racing through your head.

Eddie between your thighs, mouthing at your hips.

Eddie hovering over you, pulling your knees to your chest as he stretches you out.

Eddie, proving that your pussy is in fact his for the night. That it was made for him, sculpted out to fit the curvature and every single vein of him.

Eddie simply fucking your brains out.

Some polite conversation is exchanged, mostly between Eddie and the driver. The classic questioning of how the night has gone, small talk that buzzes in your ears mindlessly.

The entire time, you can see Eddie’s hand in the space between you two, fingers tapping away at dark leather incessantly. His rings shimmer like a siren calling to you.

It’s a small movement, when your own hand drops near his. You keep your eyes trained forward once you begin your mission, inching your pinky closer and closer until it finally collides with his. You swear, you feel him fully jump out of his seat.

Slowly warming the water, you start off simple – playing with his fingers. Gentle caresses over his knuckles, little pricks to the pads of his fingers. He tries to capture your hand in his, but you have bigger plans at play here.

You’ve spent the entire fucking night waiting for this. You’re going to have fun with it.

He huffs after you deter his second attempt at properly holding hands, his knees falling apart a little further. You twist at the ring on his middle finger, a clunky skull you’ve always admired. It has minimal signs of wear, probably pure silver if you had to guess, and you can only imagine how cold it’s going to feel against your skin.

You can only imagine the imprints it’ll leave if he grabs your hips just right.

“You know,” the driver hums mindlessly over the low volume of the radio, “You guys are my first ride of the night, surprisingly. Thought it might be busier with all the parties and clubs, but I think it’s just barely picking up now.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks politely, nodding as he looks out his window. Perfect, “I think you’re right. It is getting pretty late-”

He’s entirely distracted, your hand out of his line of sight as it moves in on its target.

His thigh.

Just a few inches above his knee, your hand grips at what is clearly sensitive flesh. You watch his entire body turn to stone when you do it, and he moves his head quickly to look in your direction.

You’re looking straight ahead.

There had been a time, a few weeks ago, where you’d learned Eddie had… sensitive knees. You’d been joking around about one thing or another, and when your palms had gripped at them through the torn fabric of ripped jeans, he’d nearly launched himself across the room. He just kept insisting they were ticklish, that that skin was just delicate.

You’d seen the tent in his jeans then. You’d just been a bit more polite, a bit better behaved that day.

“What are you doing?” he hisses in a whisper, reaching for your hand, but you’re quick to slide it even higher.

His hips jump a little, and the driver is none the wiser.

“Nothing,” you innocently say, still looking ahead, watching the passing streetlights with intense interest. “Absolutely nothing at all.”

The entire ride, at every red light, your hand inches higher.

And every time, you relish the way he squirms in your peripherals.

By the time you’re five minutes out from your place, you’ve riled him up to impossible heights. Every little noise has him on edge, constant twitching and shifting in his seat as he tries to get you to just look at him. You know he’s catching every sly smile that attempts to creep up on your lips – you’re pathetically failing at every turn to cover them up.

You think you have him like putty in your palms as you give yet another squeeze to his thigh, fingers starting to dance up even higher. When your eyes flicker to his crotch for just a second, you see him straining against that tight leather.

And then he flips the script.

You’re so focused on your own goals, you never see that ringed hand creep to your own thigh. It’s not until cool metal nips at you, briefly, before you feel the warmth of his hand overtake, that you realize the predicament you’ve gotten into.

Just as your hand was beginning to skim over his crotch, Eddie’s hand found solace between the meat of your thighs. Even as you try to clench them together, deny him the access he was seeking out, he finds his way in. Scandalous fingers dipping under the hem of your dress, fighting fire with fire when he lets his middle finger brush across the fabric of your underwear.

Your touch from him nearly retracts entirely.

“What?” he leans in closer to you, the driver still focused on the road, “Don’t like a taste of your own medicine?”

As he says it, his fingers dip lower. Hovering right over your protected clit, making your entire abdomen clench.

You swallow hard, a bit of your jagged pride somewhere amongst the spit as you turn your head to look at him, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Still playing games I see.”

In sync, the two of you lock eyes as you continue to test waters. You apply pressure with your palm and note the way his breathing hitches, and he draws a feather-light circle around the wet patch forming in your underwear. You can feel your bottom lip quiver as you try to refuse to give him any satisfaction, but when he’s this close, it’s a hopeless battle.

When had he gotten so near you? What happened to all that static distance from when you’d first crawled into the backseat?

You’re trying to only focus on your own hand. Eyes darting to guarantee the driver is still oblivious as you roll the heel of your hand harder against the seam of his pants, and biting your lip to hold back a successful grin when he has to cover a gasp with a cough. It’s all fun and games until the action is rewarded with his payback; his knuckle curling up against your cunt through your panties, pressing in hard before slowly sliding his way up, up, up.

He deliberately stops when he catches on your clit, and you’re the one coughing now.

“Had enough?” he mutters under his breath, looking at you with half-lidded eyes. He looks good in this lighting, flashes of the streetlights bathing him in soft yellow, headlights of other cars fluttering in through the windshield as they hit his brown eyes just right to bronze them.

“Never.”

You almost think you’ve won when his knuckle pulls back.

But suddenly, his entire hand is cupping your cunt, two fingers pressing against your fluttering hole as another drags up your slit slowly once more. This time, when he reaches your clit, he continues moving in small circles.

You have to bite your lip to hold back any noises, eyes closing for just a second as you hear him huff out a laugh.

The final damnation is when he brings his lips to your bare shoulder, merely grazing your skin with them as he mumbles, “You sure about that, Kitty?”

You clench around nothing, and you know when he feels it from where his fingers remain pressed against you. His own hand twitches as the finger circling your clit stutters for a moment.

“I-”

“We’re here!” the driver says, not having looked into the backseat yet as he finds a safe place to pull the car into. In an instant, you and Eddie remove your hands from each other. You’re both visibly flustered – you can feel how warm your cheeks have gotten, and you can see clouds of pink splattering over Eddie’s chest and neck.

“Thanks,” Eddie is the one to speak up as the car comes to a halt, not even waiting for the driver to put the vehicle in park as he throws the door open.

A bit rushed, but still polite as ever before he’s grabbing you by your bicep to pull you out of the cramped space right along with him.

You can hardly muster a weak wave to the man as Eddie is dragging you towards your apartment building, knees still a bit weak and mind still blank after getting a taste of your own medicine, as Eddie had put it.

He doesn’t let go of you until you’re at your front door, those cursed shaking hands of yours fumbling with your key ring.

“Here, let me-” he starts to offer, reaching for the keys that continue to clank together, just as you find the one you’re looking for.

“I’ve got it-” you try to cut him off, just as you drop the fucking keys in your haste. “Shit.”

You quickly drop to the ground to grab them, pausing once you have the metal digging into your palms once more. There’s no real reason for you to do it, but you do – you take a second to look up at Eddie from this position, and nearly drool at the sight of it.

Him, standing over you, still a bit flushed and still visibly uncomfortable in his pants. Pretty curls a mess and lips darkening from how much he’s been biting them.

You want him to ruin you. You want him to absolutely, entirely and utterly destroy you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he laughs, chest heaving a bit as he watches you carefully, pupils slowly growing in the dim light of your building’s hallway.

You can see his bare torso clenching, the twitch of his hands at his sides – the same fingers that had just been caressing you over your underwear in the backseat of a stranger’s car.

“Like what?” you’re dragging out the moment, taking time to appreciate the sight of him.

“Like you want me to just press you up against the wall and fuck you out here, for everyone to see.”

That’s a new one. That’s a vision that hadn’t come to you in all your dirtiest dreams of the night.

It sends your clit throbbing.

You rise slowly, pushing the hat back a bit to see him better, keeping your voice quiet so your neighbors won’t hear as you ask, “Would you? If I asked nicely?”

He doesn’t let out a laugh, but a breath of air, like you’ve just sucked all of the oxygen out of his lungs.

No need to say it – you know he would. You probably wouldn’t even have to ask nicely.

You’re staring at him when he finally moves, one hand snatching your keys out of your hand and the other gripping you around the waist. Back to pulling you, man-handling you to get you right where he wants you – where he needs you.

One second, you’re pressed against his body in the hallway. The next, he’s managed to unlock your front door and throw you both into the safety of your apartment.

Hidden from the world, and you’re still reeling as you wonder what it’d be like for the entire building to witness you calling out his name. Or him calling out your name.

Here within these four walls, Eddie has put some space between the two of you, staring with blown out eyes and a shaking chest as he breathes out, “Sweetheart.”

A few seconds pass, the two of you just standing there, the click of the front door’s lock being the only thing echoing in the silence. If you focused over the roar of the blood pounding in your ears, you might catch every single gasp of his as he stares in awe – but your focus is elsewhere. Far away and out of grasp for the time being. You can only think of one thing, and one thing only.

Your body isn’t your own as you move to get exactly what you want; you drop to your knees hard enough that you should cringe at the thought of the pain that will linger, possibly for days, but it doesn’t even cross your mind as your hands begin to fumble with Eddie’s pants. The oversized, gaudy belt buckle is in your way, glinting at you as if mocking the way your shaking hands can’t undo it fast enough. You’re about to give up and just start unzipping the leather pants, desperate to get your hands, and your mouth, and your eyes on him properly, when he stops you.

“Hey,” he sounds breathless - he is breathless - as his own hands quiver a bit and grab onto yours, “Hey, hey, hey. Slow down.”

Those hands let go of your wrists and reach for the hat, and you’re quick to try and swat them away only for him to grab at you, surprisingly gentle, as he drags you back up to your feet.

“Wear the hat, ride the cowboy – right?” you insist, chin held high, your gaze refusing to waver from his.

His slow and buttery grin makes you lightheaded, his low chuckle sends shakes through every nerve and bone. “That’s right, but maybe the cowboy wants to take his time. Ever think of that, hm?”

Were you moving too fast? Were you going to scare him off?

Small, baby steps are taken by Eddie, the click of his heels shattering against your wooden floors until his hips are flush with yours.

And - oh.

Oh.

That surely didn’t feel like you were scaring him off.

You could feel the outline of his cock, hard against your hip, as he gives a little roll. He catches his bottom lip between his teeth, nostrils flaring with a hard breath, and the fear leaves as quickly as it had arrived.

He wants this. You want him.

“I’m not a very patient person,” you murmur, eyes glued to his lips now as his head leans in closer, and his hands begin to explore your body. Taking their time as they travel down your arms from where he’d held onto your biceps, slowing as they reach your wrists. Even the press of his thumb against the sensitive inner skin there sends jolts up your spine, little gasps attempting to escape your mouth.

His fingers tangle loosely with your own for a few moments before his palms find your hips, and he continues his journey.

“That’s okay,” he whispers back, close enough now that his lips have begun to brush against your own. His nose bumps yours as his hands skate up over your ribcage, thumb sweeping out over the hill of your breast and intentionally avoiding your nipple, “I can teach you, baby.”

Your mouth finally collides with him at the words, nearly going limp in his arms at the words.

You’ve thought about kissing Eddie for a while now. Every time a snarky remark fell from his lips, you’d wonder how his tongue might taste afterwards. Every time he’d pout his lips at one of your comebacks, or blow a kiss teasingly in your direction from across a room, you’d wonder how hard you might have to bite down to make him bleed. Every drag of a cigarette you’d witnessed, every hard gasp in faux offense, every breathless chuckle at a joke he didn’t want to find funny but did – you had spent a lot of time wondering what it might be like to steal all the air from his lungs, to kiss him until the two of you were both blue in the face.

“Can’t the lesson wait until tomorrow?” you mumble against him as his mouth, your own fists now gripping onto the lapels of his vest. His hands have reached your shoulders, memorizing the outlines of the curve of your neck where it meets your collarbones, the slope of your chest as you take hot and heavy breaths.

“Nope,” he insists, pulling back from the kiss, a little bit of spit on his pink lips, “But it’s nice to know you’re thinking about tomorrow.”

A hand finally finds your chin and pinches it carefully between his thumb and fingers, a careful grip on you to angle you just right so he can all but devour you. Lips, tongues, teeth – it’s a messy ordeal, and you almost make a smart-ass remark that this kiss doesn’t feel very patient.

But you can’t. Eddie’s taken away all your breaths, all your words, as he starts to guide you backwards.

Your knees hit the cushions of your sofa, making you jump back from him with a gasp, palms going flat against his chest.

He feels good. Tender skin soft to the touch beneath your hand, tattoos tempting to trace the outline of. Later.

“Figured you might want a more comfortable ride,” he laughs against you, breath smelling ever so faintly of mint and whiskey washing over you, before he dips to mouth away at your neck.

You drop back onto the sofa, bite your tongue on a comment about how this cheap piece of furniture most definitely wasn’t the most comfortable option, simply eager at the fact he was letting this move along.

You want him, you need him, and you have no time for patience.

His exploration of touches have lit you aflame, and you’re growing a bit desperate at this point. It might be pathetic, it should be embarrassing, but you really don’t care.

“By all means,” you break out of his hold entirely, catching the way his hand holding your chin lingers a few extra seconds, reluctant to let you go, “Take your seat, Cowboy.”

He joins you on the couch, eyes never leaving yours even as he throws himself down. Knees spread wide, inviting lap on show, cock still straining against his pants.

The best seat in the house, as far as you’re concerned.

“You just gonna keep starin’,” he mocks lightly, looking you over slowly. Taking his time, you suppose, “Or you gonna get over here?”

His words are all you need. You’re quick to climb onto his lap, swinging your legs so that each thigh brackets his hips, your cunt pressing down on crotch carelessly. You love the way it feels – the outline of him hard against you, the cooling effect of the leather, the sharp edges of the zipper catching just right.

“There,” he huffs out, grabbing onto you when you give the slightest roll of your hips, “Now we’re both in our seats.”

When you go to press down harder, guiding yourself over his lap, hands steadying you by gripping his shoulders, he surprises you by his hips jumping up to meet your slow rhythm.

“What happened to being patient?” you try to tease him right back as your forehead meets his, hat comically struggling to stay on between the two of you, “Thought you were gonna take your time with me-”

“Between you and me, I’m not gonna last,” he pants out, hands finding your hips. Those rings you’d been fantasizing of leaving an imprint on you are doing just that as he guides you, “Been dreaming of you too long, sweetheart. Wanted this for so long.”

Your heart nearly stops. Your hips stutter, pausing as his words rush over you.

“What?”

Your head lifts away from his completely, grip on his shoulders tightening.

He’s wanted this, too? This entire time?

Eddie takes your pause as a bad thing, a terrible omen as his face pales, “I mean- I just-”

“Munson,” you say lowly, narrowing your eyes at him, “You’re telling me, this entire time, you’ve been flirting with me?”

Had that tone he used with the girl at the bar been flirting as you’d thought, or simple for show? You’d so cluelessly assumed he’d never used that tone with you because he’d never genuinely flirted with you – and yet, it seems, he’d never used that tone because he’d been genuinely flirting with you.

“I-” his cheeks are brilliant red, and the wide eyes are from something different than lust now, “Maybe?”

“Maybe?” you almost laugh, throwing your head back. The hat falls off, but Eddie is quick to retrieve it, “My God, we’re fucking idiots.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who stole my hat-”

“I like you, dumb ass,” you state plainly, “I wanted this for a while, too.”

He pauses, one arm outstretched as his hand grips onto the hat, “What?”

“Been thinking about this, too,” your voice drops a little, almost a whisper, even though you two are the only ones in the room. For all you know, you two might be the only two people left in the world with the way he’s looking at you, “Thinking about you and your lips. Thinking ‘bout your hands and the places they’d go,” as you point out every detail, his body seemingly reacts. A lick of his lips, a squeeze of his hand still on your hip, “Thought about your fingers and tongue a lot, too. How good they’d feel inside me.”

His hips thrust up at that, and suddenly, he’s placing his hat back atop your head.

That, it seems, was all the encouragement Eddie needed.

He deals with that belt buckle that had given you hell, bouncing you a bit on his lap as he fumbles with yanking the entire belt off and tossing it to the side. One hand busies with undoing the button and zipper of his jeans, as the other starts to bunch your dress.

“Nice and slow,” he insists, looking up at you, absolutely vibrant. Somewhere between the tightness between your hips, all the throbbing between your thighs and in your chest, you feel a sort of bubbly delight creeping up along your spine. “Got it, kitty?”

You nod once. Twice. On the third nod, he cuts you off with a kiss.

Your dress is up to your waist, and you don’t know how, but he manages to shimmy off his pants without throwing you off his lap entirely. It’s impressive, really. Probably a symptom of him having thought about this, dreamt about this. He’d probably thought up every scenario possible, and was prepared.

“Oh, and these?” his fingers find the waistband of your panties, tsking a little as he pulls at the elastic and lets it slap back against your skin, “Those definitely have to come off.”

“Whatever you say, cowboy.”

You take your time sliding off his lap, making sure to grind against him before you properly lift away. He throws his head back in a groan, Adam’s apple bobbing as you stand up straight. You take that moment to just admire him, capturing the clench of his jaw to memory, the way his eyes screw shut in pleasure at your influence.

He’s fucking perfect. You’re sure there’s others who disagree, but you’d pay them no mind. He’s perfect, and he’s all yours.

You make a show of taking off your panties only once he’s properly looking at you once more, craving his eyes on you as you keep all your movements fluid and steady. No rush, exuding all that patience he’d prattled on about.

You want to see his face when you gently toss the black lacey piece in his direction, watch him fumble with his own desperation to catch them.

“Seems a bit unfair that I’m the only one undressing,” you hum as you go a step further and begin to shimmy out of the dress.

“Yeah, well,” he grins cheekily at you, fisting your panties, a hand trailing down to the waistband of his boxers as he eyes you, “One of us was showing a bit more skin than the other.”

“Take off the vest, Eddie.”

Your command is velvet, and he’s quick to obey. His hand stubbornly refuses to let go of your panties as he rushes to shrug out of the thin fabric over his shoulders, tossing the vest to join his pants and your dress on the floor.

“And the boxers.”

You stand there, in nothing but his cowboy hat, as you wait pretty and patient for him to listen. And listen he does.

The moment his boxers are discarded, his cock is standing at attention, leaking from the tip and deep shade of pink that matches his kiss-bitten lips. You think it might be the prettiest color you’ve ever laid eyes on as you watch a drop of precum slip down his shaft.

He’s pretty, even in the fucking pants.

Girthy, thick enough you almost arch your back before you’ve even sunk down on him. All veins and soft skin, a sensitive tip that you’d trace your tongue over for hours if he let you.

“Gonna just stand there, or are you going to ride your cowboy?”

He surely meant to sound more cocky, but the words come out as more of a whine as you watch him twitch under your stare.

He’s right though, and you’d rather get him inside you than spend another second gawking. There will be time to pay more attention to him and his pretty cock tomorrow. Right now, you need to finish this god-forsaken mission.

Your thighs find his hips just as his hands find yours, choosing to grip the couch rather than his shoulders as you steady yourself.

Nice and slow, his words echo in your mind.

You could have prepared yourself more, but you’d already made it clear to Eddie that you are not a patient person. The fact that you even take your time as you sink down on him, going as far as to grab him by his base and guide his tip to smear precum across your clit, is impressive.

The stretch is a bit painful. A bit much. A bit dizzying. But you refuse to stop as your jaw drops, eyes fluttering shut in ecstasy.

“Fuck,” you breathe out softly as you feel him fill you, “Fuck, Eddie.”

“Feel good, baby?” he questions, reaching up to grab your chin just as he had before. Forcing you closer to him, forcing you to look him in the eyes just as he bottoms out.

You don’t answer him as you both moan out.

You stay there for a second, unmoving as you swim in the feeling. Feeling him press into the depths of you, the overwhelming warmth and the coil in your abdomen tightening ever so slightly.

It’s better than you had imagined it. No daydreams could compare to the feeling of Eddie’s cock finally, finally filling you. Stretching you out, making you his.

“Go ahead,” he grits out, entire body tense, clearly holding out on you, “Ride your cowboy, kitty. Don’t make me ask twice.”

Nice. And. Slow.

Three little words that ricochet through your mind as you start to slowly bounce on him. Lifting ever so slightly, dropping back down, aching to feel him even deeper inside of you. Feeling the quiver of his thighs to match yours as you repeat the action, gasps and whimpers falling from both your lips. You’re about to try and kiss him, try and swallow all those delicate noises from him, when he stops you.

“No, no, no,” he’s chuckling, giving your hips a few squeezes before his palms rub down your thighs, the friction sending you on edge, “C’mon, now. We both know that’s not how you ride.”

His hands rake over your skin, down to your knees, lighting scratching and squeezing along their entire pathway until they make their way back up to your waist and hips.

“Do it like this, sweetheart.”

He guides you, no longer allowing you to lift up. You sink all the way down on his cock, whining out at the fullness, before he starts the pattern.

Back and forth. Gentle circles amidst the rocking. Your clit grazes his pubes, and the coil in between your hips has never tightened more quickly.

The motion feels familiar - like riding a bull.

This feels right. You still press down, still clench down on him hard enough to make you both slip out obscenities, but it’s getting you there.

At some point, Eddie’s grip on your hips slips, but it’s fine – you’ve got the rhythm down perfectly. Slow, intermittent figure eights between the rolls of your hips, his occasionally slamming upward to reward you with that deepness you need. You can feel him in your stomach, in your chest, in your throat.

You get a bit daring, and take one hand to his shoulders, as the other reaches up for the top of the hat on your head.

Just like a cowboy.

“Like this?” you pant out between harsher rolls, eliciting curses that continue to grow louder from Eddie.

“Fuck, baby, yes,” he groans out, head thrown back, mouth open in gratification, “Just like that. Keep- keep going just,” he thrusts up, “Like,” another thrust, “That.”

You nearly lose balance, falling forward a bit, too stubborn to let go of the hat. There’s a grin glimmering at the corners of your mouth, and it fully blooms when Eddie throws up a hand to catch you .

A hand on your throat.

He doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t cut off blood flow or breathing. He keeps that warm palm there at the base of your neck, cradling you, holding you. A reminder that he could squeeze if he wanted, that he held you in the palm of his hands currently, but he won’t.

“You like that?” his eyes shine as he looks up at you, the sight of his rings decorating your neck.

You nod.

“Tell me with your words,” he commands.

“I like it,” you whimper, looking up further, stretching more of your neck to be vulnerable to Eddie. “I like it so much, baby.”

When the pet name falls from your lips, you can feel him twitch inside of you. The sudden jut of his hips, the sharp intake of breath.

“You like that,” you laugh breathlessly, your hand atop the hat the only thing keeping it from falling as you lean your head fully back, eyes beginning to roll back into your head. “Wanna be my baby, Munson?”

“Always have,” he grunts, the hand on your throat slipping up to cup your face to drag you towards him, “Since the fucking moment I met you, sweetheart.”

When he kisses you, it tastes like the closest to Heaven you might ever get. Soft, plump lips, and an eager tongue. All the wasted time hiding behind jokes and teasing, playing pretend like the flirting was never serious.

It was serious. And if you’d just come clean sooner, you would have had this long ago.

Your hips are still rolling as your hands begin to roam. You’ve found your balance again, lips pressed to Eddie, and it’s your turn to explore all he has to give you. Your nails graze his stomach when your clit catches once more on that rough thatch of hair against the base of his cock. Your fingers dig into flesh wherever they can find it – his chest, his arms, his hips. At some point, you throw a hand out behind you, grasping for his knee. Learning every curve and every point of his body as he had done for you.

You wanna memorize the roadmap of him. Take a snapshot in your mind so that next time, none of it is unfamiliar territory.

Your touch is driving him insane; it doesn’t take a genius to pick up on the way his hips falter to meet your movements, or how he keeps breaking the kiss to gasp, letting his jaw fall slack when he hits a particular deep spot within you.

It’s when your lips finally trail down the stubble sprouting across his jawline, mouth sucking on the soft skin below his ear, that he’s finally a goner.

“‘M close,” he gasps out, almost sounding drunk as he slurs through his pants, “Ah, fuck, I’m gonna-”

“Cum for me, Eddie.”

Maybe it’s the way you had been touching him, or the way your cunt had been fluttering around him, or the persistent rolling of your hips that had become so focused on his pleasure. Maybe it was the sight of you in his hat, looking at him like that. Maybe it was the way his name sounded on your tongue.

Either way, when Eddie Munson comes undone, he’s beautiful.

Your own movements slow involuntarily as you gaze starry eyed, watching the way his face scrunches and feeling his grip on you tighten impossibly. Leaving their mark, making you his in yet another way. Warmth fills your cunt and every curse word under the summer sun is falling from his lips.

Your name, curses, prayers, gratitude – a jumbled mess, and it sounds fucking fantastic when it’s said in Eddie’s desperate tone.

“Shit,” he gasps out, finally coming back down to Earth, “Shit.”

You sit still on his lap, skin sticky with sweat, lips spread thin in a cheeky grin, “Sounds like I get to keep your hat, cowboy.”

His eyes shoot open, and for a second, you’re terrified.

Those aren’t the eyes of someone satisfied.

“You didn’t cum.”

“What?”

“You,” he says, stressing the word as he shifts you off his lap. You don’t miss the way he winces, clearly a bit sensitive, “Did not cum.”

You hadn’t really noticed, too wrapped up in him to notice your high slipping away from you. You’d been too focused on Eddie: on feeling him cum inside you, on watching him break apart, on tracing the outline of the blood rushing to his cheeks with your eyes and that fresh burst of violet on his neck in the shape of your lips.

“It’s fine,” you start to argue, feeling the warmth of him leaking down your thighs. You should be a lot more worried about making a mess all over your sofa. You should be, but you aren’t. “I can-”

“You’re not keeping that fucking hat until you cum for me, sweetheart.”

And, oh, maybe your own orgasm wasn’t racing as far away from you as you’d believed, because those words nearly push you over the edge for him.

“Get on all fours for me, baby.”

Yeah. You definitely could still be close. For him.

When you don’t move to follow his command immediately, he’s using those gentle hands to guide you. Encouraging a twist of your hips from how you’re reclining back across the couch, letting you press your cheek down against the cushion.

You open your mouth to argue, to insist it was fine, to say anything, but you’re cut silent when a sudden slap lands on your ass.

A silent command this time, and you’re finally listening.

You lift your ass up for him on shaky knees, elbows digging into the cushion now instead of your face. The hat on your head is lopsided, and you almost reach up to fix it when-

“I’ll be taking that,” For the first time since you’d stolen his hat, Eddie takes it back. Right off your head, too fast for you to protest. When you dig your chin into your shoulder to look back at him, he’s smiling, hat back in its rightful place atop his curls, “You can have it back after you cum for me, at least once.”

“At least once?” you mean to laugh, to sound cocky, but it comes out as more of a squeak.

He shrugs, leaning forward, his bare chest pressing against the skin of your bare ass – right where an imprint of his hand still sings, “At least. By all means, if you feel the need, don’t hesitate to give me a few. God knows you’ve earned it.”

You don’t have time to banter back; he retracts before bring his mouth down to your cunt, and your elbows quickly give out at the first long stride of his tongue.

“Gotta get you cleaned up,” he murmurs, a bit muffled, against your cunt.

Another stride, and this time, his tongue spends an extra second at your clit, circling it salaciously.

“Oh, God,” you moan out into a mouthful of couch cushion, tempted to bite down to hide all the noises creeping up your throat when his tongue draws yet another circle, tip of his nose pressed to your sensitive hole.

He brings his tongue back to that space, that hole that feels gaping without him filling you now, and you try to bury your cheek only to earn another slap on the ass.

“Don’t be shy now, kitty. Let me hear you.”

And let him hear you, you do.

Each lick, short and timid or long and confident, is dredging up obscene mewls from you. When he enters you with it, curling it and pressing as deep as he can, truly cleaning you up as he had said, you’re chanting his name.

“Fuck, Eddie,” you cry softly, rocking your body back against his mouth, “Your fingers. P-Please, use your fingers.”

Your wish is his command as he brings his hand up between your legs, breaking from having his tongue buried inside of you and using a calloused pad of his finger to trace over your clit before he begs, “Say my name again.”

You do. Over, and over, and over as his mouth and his fingers begin to work against you. Careful focus is placed on your clit, and his mouth runs amok between your cunt and thighs. You feel what will no doubt be hickies along the curve of your ass, nips of teeth against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh as he presses two fingers into you. With every thrust of his hand, your hips are rocking back to match his rhythm, wanting more.

More, more, more.

There’s nothing nice and slow about this. You’re chasing after a high, and Eddie is listening to you every step of the way.

Your thighs begin to shake terribly right around the time your vision blurs, unable to contain the whines that have grown to echoing volumes. Surely, your neighbors can hear. Probably confused as to who Eddie is, probably considering how embarrassing it would be to knock down your door and complain about the noises.

You really, really don’t give a fuck when white speckles flood your vision, even with your eyes screwed shut, and that tension between your hips threatens to snap.

Right before your knees give out, your entire body trembling, Eddie pulls back and grabs your hips. You cry out, so close yet so far, until he’s flipping you back over.

You get one glimpse of him before he goes to work to bring you over that edge – lips and chin slick with you, hair frizzing beneath his hat, a determined glint in his eyes that have your thighs clenching around his ears.

You were right. Eddie Munson looks damn good between your thighs.

He quickly returns to his mitigations, and this time, it’s all a bit more strategic. Lips suctioned around your clit and three fingers curling deep within you, a beckoning motion as he urges you to let go for him.

The white returns behind your eyelids. Your back arches up off the sofa. Your ankles lock as they cross behind Eddie’s back, almost effectively trapping him in place.

You cum hard for him.

You’re entirely unaware if you scream his name in the process, but you hope you do. As that relief, that ecstasy, floods your system, you hope you make sure everyone within a five mile radius knows who’s responsible. Your entire body continues to shake for far longer than you believe it ever has before. Your hips had lifted, begging for Eddie to keep going even as it all grew painful.

He does. He keeps going, sucking you dry for every drop you have to give him, until you’re physically having to shove him away.

Your hands are weak as you sink down into the cushion, eyes still closed as you hear him chuckle before you feel him crawl his way back up your body.

“There,” you don’t even need to see his face to see that smug satisfaction – his voice is dripping in it. “Now you can keep the hat.”

One of your hands blindly throws itself through the air to smack him, missing entirely as you drift through the afterglow of it all.

“I’m not sure I’ve earned it,” you mumble as he catches your wrist, limp in the air, “Pretty sure I didn’t break you when I made you cum.”

“Oh, you did,” he notes, hand curling around your wrist. You watch as he slowly brings it to his lips, peppering a few chaste kisses on the soft skin, “Just in a different way.”

You raise your eyebrows, smiling at the tingling feeling left behind on your skin in the wake of his mouth, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He tugs you to sit up despite your groan of protest, somehow smoothly maneuvering the two of you so that he’s now the one beneath you, letting the full weight of you bear down on his chest as you lay on top of him. The hand wrapped around your wrist brings it back up for more kisses, more repetitive gentle pecks of affection, as his other arm is quick to wrap around you. Holding you in place, as though he’s scared you might disappear.

“Well,” you whisper against the bare skin of his chest, nearly shivering when his free hand starts to trail slowly up and down your spine, “Good.”

Your cheek feels the vibrations of his chuckle, “That’s all you have to say?”

“Give me a few minutes to recover,” you insist, all but nuzzling into him, “I’m sure I’ll have a smartass comeback for you once I’m…” you trail off, heavy eyes looking up at him, the words lost on your tongue and in the air.

The gentle curve of his cupid’s bow. The roundness at the end of his nose, still a fading hue of pink. The freckle beneath his right eye. The way the phantom of the dimple of his left cheek never quite leaves his face.

All the things you’ve dreamt of seeing so up close, never knowing it could have been a reality.

He lets go of your wrist, smiling softly with a shake of his head, “Can’t believe you’re gonna fall asleep on me.”

“Am not,” you nearly say under your breath, sighing in content.

“Am too,” he mocks, a certain docility to all his teasing before he sighs as well, “It’s okay. You can. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

You hum, eyes fluttering shut as you hear some rustling, “Promise, cowboy?”

“Absolutely, kitty. You said something about tomorrow, remember?”

You both laugh in sync as your couch suddenly becomes the most comfortable place in the world.

Just before losing consciousness, right as you feel Eddie’s breathing even out along with your own, you decide to open your eyes one last time to catch sight of the cowboy hat perched carefully on your coffee table.

Tomorrow. You hope for a thousand tomorrows as you decide that that hat is definitely yours now.

#ghost's stories #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #stranger things #emphasis on the smut. this is. just. a lot of smut.

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