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lilywastaken · 1 year

Text

⇝ together .

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!AFAB!Reader.

PART THREE OF MÉNAGE.

SUMMARY: A month after his return, you start warming up to Simon, only for him to ruin it.

WARNINGS: AFAB!Fem!Reader (no use of Y/N!), Fluff for once, Angst, mild nsfw, mentions of child abuse and abuse in general, canon typical violence, choking (not in a sexy way).

A/N: Finally finished!! I'm so sorry I haven't been able to get this out sooner, these past weeks have just been chocked full of assignments I had to finish 😭 I hope this lives up to everyone's expectations!!! Please don't forget to reblog and leave a comment, it helps a lot!!

WORD COUNT: 9.2k

MASTERLIST.

If you want to be tagged on future works, please follow and activate notifications on this account! — @lilynottaken !

Also on Ao3!

"'m blaming this on you."

You grumbled to Simon as you watched your son clap his hands against his father's, happy coos and gurgles leaving him.

"What?" He turned away from Tommy to look at you with a confused look, well, you assumed it was confused by the way his eyes were squinted. "How is this my fault?"

"He's copying you." You yawned, curling into the foetal position and pulling up the blanket over your body, head almost rolling off the sofa as you continued to pay attention to your son and his father's every movement. "You don't sleep so he doesn't."

"Not sure that's how his brain works yet." You could hear the amusement in his words, rolling your eyes as you switched your gaze from them up to the telly, that was playing some football game Simon had put on a few hours ago. "Think he's just not tired."

You know you should've expected this, Tommy's doctor had warned you at the last appointment when he'd gotten his first shots that he might experience some type of sleep regression, which meant more hours of staying awake while watching your son. And maybe it would've been worse for you if Simon wasn't there experiencing the same stress as you were. Weirdly, it felt nice to have another person in the same boat as you, even if he didn't really seem that keen on needing to sleep like you did.

Tommy seemed to had taken a liking to his father ever since the first day they'd both met, but that was kind of a given after Simon had spent the whole month after that coming over almost every single day (except for the days where he'd warned you before time that he'd be gone for work) and spending it all with his son.

You kind of hoped that Tommy had started to recognise him as a father like he did with you as a mother, since he was at the age where he was able to recognise caregivers; but even if he didn't, he did still cling onto Simon's hand every time it was time for him to leave like he did to you, tears bordering at his glassy eyes when you stood at the door with him in your arms waving goodbye to Simon.

You almost started crying every time he'd start making grabby hands at Simon, who'd rest his face against his son's tummy and let his chubby hands pull at the cloth of his balaclava, sometimes even pulling it up over his lips so he could press a quick kiss to his cheek, hiding his face immediately once you came in, unknowing that you'd been watching them before.

It wasn't like the bad blood that you had with Simon had magically been solved, you were still sometimes on edge or a bit snappy at him when it came to Tommy or your "relationship" with him, but you weren't as furious with him as you were when he first showed up.

"Not interestin' enough for you, am I?" Simon grunted as Tommy's attention drifted from the clapping to the telly above him, eyes wide as the presenter talked about some red card.

"You've bored him." You snickered, outstretching an arm to click your fingers, the sound immediately catching your son's attention. "Hi, duck!"

"He's not a bloody cat." Simon grumbled, picking up Tommy carefully from his spot on the blanket you'd draped on the floor for him to lie on, moving him onto your chest so he could cuddle into you.

You were about to snap back when Tommy interrupted you both with a wide yawn, chubby hands clinging onto your sleep shirt and eyes threatening to droop closed, although they were still stuck to the image of the footballers running across the field on the TV.

Both of you froze, Simon having been mid way to getting a toy he'd dropped not so long ago so he was stuck in that position, eyes wide and staring at his suddenly sleepy son.

You placed a soft hand on his back, pressing him further into your chest so the sound of your heartbeat would lull him to sleep easier.

But as luck would have it, a goal was scored right at the moment where his eyes finally fully closed, the commentators shouting out excitement and forcing your son back awake with a cry.

Simon and you groaned in unison, the man finally picking up the toy and collapsing on the ground, lying on his back right next to the sofa and glaring up at the ceiling, listening to you try and calm your son down from his abrupt awakening.

"Who scored?" You grumbled, masking your annoyance with interest.

"Not Manchester." Simon grunted back, raising a hand to take Tommy's, his fingers brushing against your chest in the process. "Haven't had a bloody win in a while."

"Sorry." You mumbled, remembering the disappointment that had shone in his eyes when you'd told him about some of the losses of the teams he liked he'd asked you to take a note of while he was away for work.

He'd done well at keeping his promise, sending you messages every time he had to leave, no longer disappearing without a trace, even if it was just a single day of paperwork or a check up at base. He sometimes also sent you pictures, whether it was him in his car showing you that he was close to your flat in case you weren't prepared for him or the takeaway menu at your favourite fast food place, asking for your order. They were always dark and a bit out of focus, but you couldn't deny that you hadn't let out a laugh when you'd seen the failed attempt of him trying to get out of frame, his skulled balaclava peeking out from a corner of the picture.

He'd been gone for a week this time, which explained why he was being so clingy towards Tommy ever since he'd arrived, takeout in hand and arms itching to wrap around his son, and had spent the whole last hour catching up with the both of you.

"Are you sleeping here tonight?" You yawned, closing your eyes for a moment and trying to ignore the squirming boy on your chest, his hands digging uncomfortably into your clavicle.

"Yeah. Though I probably won't be doing much sleepin'." He rumbled, letting Tommy wrap one of his chubby hands around one of Simon's big fingers. "Y'know I can just take over. Go get some rest."

You bit the inside of your cheek at that, looking away despite still having your eyes partly closed, your grip unintentionally tightening around Tommy's small body.

You were still put on edge whenever you left Tommy alone with Simon, even though he'd shown no ill towards you in any way, you just couldn't help it, the thought that something might happen to your sweet boy when he wasn't under your supervision was enough to strike an unexplainable fear into you. You knew that he'd noticed how your face turned sour whenever it was mentioned, but he hadn't ceased asking completely, knowing that sooner or later you'd have to entrust him with your son like you'd both agreed.

"Is that okay…?" You whispered, your voice barely audible over the cheers and cries of excitement from the telly, but by the way he turned his head towards you and squeezed Tommy's hand, you knew he heard you.

"Yeah. Don' worry. You need some rest."

You both stayed put for a few seconds, your hands slowly falling from their place on your son's back and scooping him up carefully before pushing yourself off the sofa, forcing Tommy's hand out of Simon's in the process.

You watched carefully as he shifted off the floor to sit next to you on the sofa, his built arms moving to cradle his son in their crook, rocking him slowly as you got up, anxiously fidgeting with your fingers as you stood and watched them both for a moment, almost terrified of taking a step out of their vicinity.

"Go." Simon commanded, getting comfy on the sofa as he turned his attention back to the game playing on the telly, the assertive tone that his voice took enough to send shivers running down your spine, nodding your head out of instinct before scurrying away like one of the rookies Simon was oh-so used to ordering around back at base.

After having a well deserved shower and pulling on some of your cosiest pyjamas, you let your body collapse onto your bed, curling into the middle where the mattress dipped and covering yourself up with your countless amount of blankets due to the chill that had overcome the country after a few rare weeks of warmth.

You smiled as you remembered how happy Tommy had looked when you'd taken him out in his stroller and let him bask in the sunlight for a bit while sitting next to him at the park, trying your best to focus on his giggles and not on the shadowy figure of his father standing behind you, more like a bodyguard waiting to take out any threats to you both instead of the father he claimed to want to be.

You let out a huff at the memory of how cautious Simon had been at first around you both, almost like a stray cat getting used to their new family: always standing around you but never too close, bringing you small gifts (i.e. takeout or groceries he thought you'd need or Tommy's new favourite teddy bear he now slept with instead of his duck), slowly making your home his own unconsciously by leaving some of his clothes packed away in a small corner of your wardrobe or packing the fridge with some of how own personal food items.

You'd noticed, of course. How could you not?

At first, when you'd found some of his clothes in the midst of the batch of laundry you were tending to, you were struck with fear. Fear that everything you'd worked hard to build was going to be invaded by this barely known presence you were just starting to get used to, but as time went on, you realised there was nothing scary about it.

It was oddly comforting, in a way. It made you feel less alone when you spotted the extra toothbrush he'd plopped in the glass next to yours, the mug he'd brought over after he'd exclaimed his concern that all of yours were fit for coffee and not for tea or the hoodies he left lying around that Tommy loved curling into whether Simon was wearing it or not.

You pulled a pillow into your arms, simulating the feeling of your son in your arms you'd gotten so used to in order to fall asleep, closing your eyes and letting the muffled sounds of the football game still playing on the TV and your son's faint giggles lull you slowly to your first proper sleep in a while.

You were pulled awake by the sound of your phone going off, your whole body jerking up and rushing to grab it out of instinct, the bright screen illuminating your room and forcing a groan out of you at the disturbance, letting your eyes focus until you were able to properly read the notification.

A frustrated sound left your lips at the message from one of the dating apps you'd forgotten you had informing you that you'd matched with someone, angered that it had been something so stupid that had woken you up from one of the best sleeps you'd had in a long time and not something important.

You fell back down onto the mattress, planning on closing your eyes and curling back into the pillow you'd been spooning moments before, but as your body slowly calmed down from the initial shock that had filled it, you were met with nothing but silence.

Your eyes had adjusted enough at this point that you were able to turn your head over to your door, frowning at the lack of light that normally came from under the door when the living room was lit, raising your head from the pillow slightly in an attempt to catch out any sounds that might be originating from anywhere in your flat.

But once again, silence continued to rule over your home.

You could've just closed your eyes and willed yourself to fall back asleep, but the creeping feeling that it was too quiet for how it normally was, that something might have happened in the few hours you'd let yourself rest was slowly burrowing itself in your mind.

And fuck, what if Simon had done something? What I'd you'd misjudged him? What if he'd taken advantage of your tired state and just fucked off with your son in his arms, leaving you broken and abandoned once again?

The fear that struck your body at that train of thought was enough to wake you up properly, allowing your body to act like it had just consumed countless amounts of caffeine and rush over to the partly open door, slowly pushing it open before looking around frantically, eyes landing on the back of the sofa and on the turned off TV in front of it.

Your hand landed on the headrest, your heart skipping a beat as your eyes landed on Simon's sleeping body, his arms protectively wrapped around Tommy, who was resting on his chest like he'd been with you before you'd gone to rest.

You made it fully around until you were standing in front of the sofa, one of your hands coming up to grab at your thin sleep shirt right over the place your heart was currently hammering against out of relief.

Fuck…

Of course he hadn't left.

You were just being paranoid.

Simon had shown you no ill will the whole time he'd been here, but you were still on edge, assuming the worst from him…

A staggered breath left your lips, your hands coming up to cover your face as you willed your body to calm down, your legs trembling as the adrenaline that had rushed through you momentarily started to fade, leaving you confused and exhausted.

One of your legs threatened to give out, and as soon as you were getting ready to collapse, a warm hand grabbed at your thigh, a silent scream threatening to leave you until you realised who it belonged to, staring down with wide eyes at your son's father, one of the hands that had been cradling Tommy now holding your leg with the same care.

"What happened?!"

You could see the panic in his eyes despite the darkness that enveloped the room, his thumb slowly rubbing up and down your skin, his best attempt at soothing whatever pain you were harbouring that he had no idea about.

He called your name, pulling you closer to the sofa so you were kneeling on the free space of the plush sofa, staring down at Simon's chest and raising one of your hands up to your son's little head, running through his thin hair.

"What happened?" He repeated, more assertive this time rather than the panicked tone he had taken before, his hand moving from the back of your thigh up to your waist, almost like it was natural to do so.

"Nothing…" you finally let out, blinking away some of the tears you hadn't realised that had formed at your waterline. "Just… Uhm…"

"...Nightmare?" He offered an easier excuse than the real reason you'd pulled yourself out of bed at such an hour, slowly nodding your head in agreement and causing him to let out a sigh. "Do you-"

"I'm okay. Just… shaken up." By the way you were anxiously running your fingers through Tommy's hair as if to assure yourself that he was real, that he was indeed lying there asleep (something you hadn't realised up until that moment, Simon had somehow actually gotten Tommy to take a nap.), he assumed that whatever nightmare you'd had was related to him. "Needed to check that he was okay."

Yeah, that cemented it.

Simon would be lying if he said he hadn't a few nightmares of his own about Tommy ever since he'd met him properly, whether it was him forcibly being taken away from you by one of the many enemies he'd made across his life or a freak accident ending any hopes he'd had of all of you being a family.

And maybe they were a bit out of pocket, he'd made it very hard for anyone to trace you or Tommy back to him by always parking his car a few blocks away, making sure that Tommy had your last name instead of his and that the military had no idea about his offspring.

He couldn't have any records that would link you two to him, he couldn't even risk taking that chance, he knew that as soon as two of his weaknesses were revealed, it would only be a matter of time for them to be exploited by his enemies.

So, he understood. He understood the fear that came with a nightmare about your son, the need to see him and reinforce the fact that he was okay in your head.

"He is. Tired 'imself out a few hours ago." He moved towards the back of the sofa, allowing you space to sit next to them both, his hand still continuing to rest on your warm skin and pulling you along carefully, ready to pull away the moment you showed any signs of uncomfort.

"How come he sleeps for you?" You mumbled, more of a thought to yourself rather than something you wanted to share, but it caused Simon to smile beneath his mask nonetheless, raising his other hand up to Tommy's head to run a finger down his little nose, ignoring the way his heart rate spiked when it brushed against yours.

He thought about making a joke about being his favourite, hoping that it would brighten the mood a bit, but then remembered the look of dismay that would come over his teammates' faces whenever he made one about anything, and on second thought, maybe he'd have to wait a bit until you were both comfortable enough to enjoy his stupid jokes.

"Guess he's bored of me. You're much more entertainin' to be awake around." He rumbled, a soft chuckle leaving your lips at what you assumed was an attempt to lift your spirits.

"Yeah…" you smiled, leaning your body on the arm that was propping you up, your hand ceasing its brushing of Tommy's hair and simply resting on his small head, your heart growing bigger as he let out a little coo, snuggling further into Simon's hoodie.

You hadn't even been thinking about the hand cupping your waist, too focused on your son's sleeping figure and the warmth that it brought you, unconsciously wriggling a bit further into the touch, but you froze once Simon's hand immediately snapped back from you, as if he'd taken that as an immediate sign that he had broken a few boundaries by getting too close.

"Sorry."

You bit on your tongue, not wanting to full admit how much reassurance his touch had brought you and how much you'd give to have it back (you blamed the neediness on how exhausted your body was and the delirium that came with the lack of sleep you'd been subject to recently), not making any move to answer and instead focusing fully on your son.

"You want to take him?" Simon offered, leaning further up the sofa so he was kind of sitting, kind of lying on the arm rest. "Don' kids sleep better with their mams?"

"I… I think that may be a myth." You breathed out a chuckle, shaking your head as he made a move to hand Tommy over to you. "No, it's okay. I move a lot at night, I don't - I don't want to hurt him, you know?"

Simon turned down to the fragile little human he was holding, remembering the exact moment he'd realised that you were both in charge of taking care of him, of keeping him out of danger and stopping anyone and anything from shattering the little being that seemed to be made of glass.

"That's fine."

Silence fell over the both of you, an awkward atmosphere forming as you didn't move, feeling as time went on that you were invading the little personal space he was allowed to have in your flat.

"D'you want to stay?"

What?

Your brain short-circuited, blinking at him owlishly, as if he'd just spoken in an unknown language, the words still processing in your mind.

"Stay?" You managed out, looking down at the space between you both, a space where you could easily fit into if you were to snuggle into his side and let him hold you.

But surely, he wasn't suggesting that.

Memories of how he'd held you that fateful night flooded your mind, his warm calloused hands sprawled out against the bare skin of your waist, the sound of his heartbeat drumming against his ribcage lulling you to sleep…

"Yeah, stay."

…It made you want to accept.

Made you want to melt into his side and wrap an arm around his wide chest, tangle your fingers in your son's soft hair and lie there with them both, making sure that no harm could come to Tommy thanks to the protective shadow that was Simon Riley.

But you couldn't. You knew that.

The walls you'd built while carrying Tommy in hopes that you'd never be hurt or abandoned again, the walls that had kept you relatively safe within the expanse of your mind refused to crumble, refused to make way for the man that had come barreling back into your life and threatened to destroy them.

You couldn't risk it.

So, you didn't.

You pulled your hand away from your son as if he burned, cradling it against your chest and looking away from Simon's imposing stare, the look in his eyes making you want to squirm and cry and adhere to anything he wanted.

"No." If you'd still been looking at him, you would have noticed the way his shoulders slumped, the way the dim light in his eyes proceeded to disappear at the single word that left your mouth. "Thanks."

It seemed every little step of progress you'd both taken together the whole month immediately dissipated away thanks to his idiotic question.

Of course you'd fucking refuse his stupid invitation, what was he thinking? That you were both a happy couple who didn't pass on any chance to hold each other in your arms? That he was your husband, the proper father of your son who you loved and cared for, who you enjoyed having pressed right against you? He was a fucking idiot. He couldn't contain himself for once in his life and he'd gone and ruined everything.

"Okay." Despite the inner turmoil that raged inside of him, that simple word of affirmation was all he could get out, and he hoped to whatever god was up there (that apparently loved torturing him) that you'd both wake up the next day without a single recollection of what had happened last night.

"Good night." You whispered, pushing yourself off the sofa and wrapping your arms around your chest, immediately regretting every single one of your actions that night as you gazed upon how truly comfy and warm Simon and your son looked snuggled together, wishing that you had the emotional capability to let your resentment go and indulge in Simon's touch.

"'Night."

You willed yourself to take the first step back, tearing your gaze away from them and heading back to your bedroom, your face erupting into warmth out of a mixture of embarrassment and sadness, a clear sign that your body wanted nothing more than to just burst into tears and let Simon wrap you up in his arms and soothe you down like you knew he could.

You buried your face into your pillow as soon as you made it back into your now-cold mess of sheets, tugging one of the pillows back into your arms and doing your best to imagine that it was someone else, someone else who was as willing as you'd imagined Simon had been before to have you in their arms, to stroke your hair and calm you down because they loved you, because they cared about you and wanted nothing more than to see you as happy as you'd been a mere few hours ago.

You passed out soon enough, a few tears running down your cheeks as you subconsciously wrapped yourself around the pillow like a koala, the tear stains quickly disappearing during the night and lacking any evidence that they were once there when Simon walked through your door in the early morning, standing at the side of your bed for a few moments before he leaned over, pulling up the covers and tucking them around your sleeping body.

The sound of the shower coming alive and the pipes groaning was the thing that pulled you awake, struggling a few moments to rid yourself of the covers that pushed onto you, wondering to yourself when and how you'd tucked yourself in so aggressively, turning your head towards your bathroom and listening to the clinking of shampoo bottles and the water as it hit the tiled walls.

Your bathroom was unfortunately directly connected to your bedroom, so in order to get into the shower, Simon would have had to pass by your bed and… tuck you in? Did he really tuck you in?

You pulled languidly at the covers, looking down at your nightwear and growing warm as you saw how transparent your shirt looked in the morning light, leaving almost nothing to the imagination of whoever were to look down at your chest.

Simon had seen you like that.

You squeezed your eyes closed out of embarrassment, as if he was right there judging you with his stupid thousand yard stare, lifting yourself off the mattress and looking around your wardrobe for a shirt, restoring to a band one you'd stolen from one of your ex boyfriends you'd never had the heart to throw out.

You were mid straightening it out, your previous night shirt now pooling at your feet, when the door to the bathroom opened, your immediate response being to wrap your arms around your chest and let out a cry of warning, turning around so he was facing your back.

"Fuckin'-"

"Go back in!" You cried out, wanting nothing more than for the earth to burst open and swallow you whole, feeling too tired to be dealing with this kind of embarrassment at such an early hour of the morning.

You cracked an eye open as the door closed, letting the grip you'd had on the shirt go as you faintly heard Simon curse, trying to erase the memory of what had happened out of your brain.

As you pulled on the shirt, you willed yourself to think about anything other than the glimpse of flesh you'd seen before turning around, the wide chest that had been littered with the scars he'd once let you trace over, the towel around his waist that had barely cov-

Stop!

Unknown to you, Simon was having a similar dispute with himself from inside the bathroom, resting his flushed face on the cool tiles of the wall as he listened to you shuffle around your room, cursing himself out for being so goddamn stupid and exiting the bathroom without even checking if you were awake or not.

That wasn't the only reason he should've checked, he thought you'd still be asleep, so stupidly, he'd gone out with barely any coverings, including the one on his face, so he was pretty sure you would've seen the way his eyes almost immediately darted down towards your chest if you hadn't been busy enough with covering yourself and ogling at his chest.

"Fuck…" he breathed out, running his fingers through his hair and looking at himself in the foggy mirror, the tired, broken stare of a being he could barely consider a man staring back at him.

After a few more moments of staring at himself he couldn't bear it anymore, grabbing his discarded balaclava and pulling it over his what he considered broken face, his other clothes continuing as he did his best to cover every single patch of skin he could, hand landing on the doorknob once he was finished and asking for confirmation.

You'd about finished putting on the shirt when he'd piped up from inside, letting out a small "you can." before he opened the door again, face now covered and eyes darting down at the oversized shirt you'd pulled over your bottoms, closing it behind him.

"Didn't know you'd be changin'." He grumbled, his way of apologising without saying the exact words, eyes scanning the band on your shirt. "Y'like Joy Division?"

"Huh?" You looked down at the shirt, straightening it out to properly look at the band you'd forgotten was plastered on the front, shrugging slightly. "Yeah, they're good. I'm, uh, not the biggest fan. This was my boyfriend's."

"Boyfriend?" He spat out, almost with malice.

"Ex." You clarified, pulling at the ends of your shirt out of nerves, the way he was staring down at you reminiscent of how you'd assume higher ups looked down at their soldiers when they were in the wrong.

"Right." He grunted, looking away from you and training his stare at the bedroom door, nodding towards it. "'M gonna go check on Tom."

He brushed past you, leaving you standing in the middle of your bedroom twiddling your thumbs, confused and embarrassed due to the interaction you'd just shared.

You walked into the kitchen, stopping in your tracks when you noted that the dishes you'd left last night after Simon had brought take away had been cleaned right up, the plastic bowls from the curry thrown away in the recycling along with the other trash you'd used when making Tommy formula (you resorted to using that instead of pumping or breastfeeding when Simon was over).

God, now you felt even worse for what had happened last night.

You rubbed your hands all over your face, digging your nails into your scalp as you ran them through your hair, snapping your head up as your heard your son giggle, going back a few steps to look through the crack of the door, your chest tightening as you watched Simon feed Tommy, murmuring a string of words you were too far away to understand.

Fuck, you really felt awful.

You pulled out a few ingredients, acting almost on autopilot as you fried the sausages and toasted the bread, making his tea subconsciously the way you know he liked it (he'd never forced you to make tea, you'd seen the sticker on a takeaway cup he'd left on the counter), and pouring it into the cup he always used.

"You didn't have to." Simon mumbled as he walked out of the nursery, holding the empty bottle of milk in one hand and a plastic bag with a dirty nappy in the other, looking down at the plate of food you'd made him.

"I wanted to." You mumbled, taking a bite out of your own buttered toast as you watched him walk around the kitchen, throwing away the bag and cleaning out the bottle before starting on his breakfast, standing at the island instead of sitting like you were. "As thanks. For, uhm, cleaning up."

"It was nothin' deserving of this." He mumbled underneath his breath, shoving a spoonful of the baked beans into his mouth, now visible thanks to him pulling up his balaclava, the taste of the normal breakfast he'd have at whatever café he normally went to complete shit compared to yours.

"It's fine. I went a little overboard, it's been a while since I've cooked for someone."

He let out an amused huff, nodding his head. "Yeah, babies don' really need a full brekkie."

You both went silent after that, your eyes looking around at everything but at him, secretly hoping that he was enjoying the food, wishing you would've put on the radio or the news so you weren't sitting in complete silence.

The tapping of his fingers against the counter finally pulled your gaze towards him, watching him carefully as you continued to eat.

"Laswell called."

Laswell?

The face you made must've made him realise you had no idea who he was talking about, his hand coming up to grab the mug of tea and take a long sip before speaking again.

"Station Chief Laswell." You nodded along, hoping that he'd believe that you actually knew what he was saying. "She's got a mission f'us."

Oh.

"When?" You spoke out, a bit choked up as you tried your best to focus on the food instead, you always got unexplainably nervous when he left for a mission, despite the fact that he always came back.

"Gotta be there by 1."

You turned to look at the time on the microwave, the 09:00 displayed there striking unexplainable fear in you.

"You should get going, then."

"I should."

Neither one of you moved.

"Did you say goodbye to Tommy?"

"I did." He took a final sip of his tea, placing the cup down and turning to look at the nursery, the strangling pain he felt every time he left you coming back to haunt him. "Changed his nappy too. Like y'taught me."

You smiled at the memory. A few days after he'd first shown up you'd tried your best to teach him how to change Tommy and you'd gone through almost 10 nappies by the time he'd been able to put one decent enough (you'd quickly changed it yourself after he'd turned around, you didn't want the nappy to cut off your baby's circulation), so you hoped that he'd actually done it properly this time.

"Thank you…" You offered him a small smile, looking down at your own cuppa, wrapping your arms around the now lukewarm mug. "Go get ready. I'll clean up."

Simon really didn't want to, he wanted to continue standing there talking to you, gazing at your tired face and how cute you looked taking small bites out of the food you'd made that you'd undoubtedly wouldn't finish and would slide over to him like you'd done all those times before.

But he couldn't. He was a soldier. One that was trained to kill and follow orders no matter what and no matter the circumstance, one that would be laughed at if he called in saying he wanted to stay with- well, whatever you were to him.

He was about to zip up the duffle bag he'd left in your room during his small stay when he caught a glimpse of something he'd forgotten about.

The gun was relatively light in his hand, one that was smaller than the ones he was used to carrying out in the field, but could quickly figure out how to use in the span of a millisecond.

He called out your name, rapping his knuckles against the counter to catch your attention, raising his arms in surrender as fear filled your face, dropping the plate into the sink and taking a step back as soon as you caught sight of the gun.

"Simon! What the fu-"

"It's not loaded." His other hand waved around the magazine, placing them both down on the island in front of you both. "I'm not going to use it."

"I would fucking hope so!" You cried out, wiping off the soap suds on a towel and pressing your back into the counter, gripping the edge of it as if he was really threatening you with the gun.

"Do you know how to shoot one?"

You shook your head. You'd never even seen one this close apart from the rare policemen that carried one, let alone held one.

"Come." He picked them two items up, walking back into your room and waiting for you at the door to follow, worried about what he was planning on doing. "Where would you keep a gun?"

You turned to him with a raised eyebrow, once again expressing your confusion with a single stare before turning to the bedside table closest to the side you normally slept in, pulling the drawer out and immediately growing warm as you gazed down at the string of condoms along with some other items.

"Here, I suppose…" You watched him sit down on the bed, the mattress immediately sinking beneath his weight as he raised the gun and magazine up into your line of view.

"Take it."

You shakily did as he said, the gun feeling heavy in your palms in contrast to how easy it had felt for Simon, turning it around a few times as he continued to speak, pointing out every single detail and part of what he had soon let you know was a Glock.

"It's the one most policemen carry. Not very heavy, but still capable of takin' down a man." He murmured, almost letting out a chuckle as he took the gun and cocked it, making you jump at the sudden sound.

"Why would I want to take down a man?" You asked tentatively, taking it back from him and trying to fit in the magazine like he'd instructed you to.

A warm hand came up to cover yours, stopping you in your tracks and allowing him to get up and take the firearm from you, pulling out the magazine and placing them both in the drawer, trying his best to ignore the other items that were scattered around.

"Listen to me." He turned his head as he slammed the drawer shut, staring directly into your eyes to make sure that you were paying attention. "I cannot ensure your safety while I'm gone. There's tons of fucked up people who'd take whatever change to tear me down and would not think twice about using you or Tommy to do so. This is just in case. You only use this if you or Tommy are in imminent danger. If there is someone threatening any of you, you do not hesitate, you take the gun and use it."

Use it.

Use it!?

His hand came up to cup at your cheek, pulling you out of your swarming thoughts so he could be sure you were listening.

"I- Simon, I can't- I'll go to jail if I use it, I can't-"

"You won't." He interrupted, shaking his head. "I won't let them. You're under my protection, this is just in case of emergency when I'm not around."

You nodded, not knowing what else to do, the gun that had been in your hands mere moments ago feeling like a burden despite it being locked away.

"Oi. Lovie, look at me."

That immediately caught your attention.

"Tell me you understand."

Your mouth had gone dry, the combination of the shock behind his little surprise and the nickname that had slipped out of his mouth proving to be too much to handle.

"Tell me. You understand."

You took a deep breath, nodding your head. "I understand, Simon."

Even after he'd left, you couldn't shake yourself off that foreboding feeling, terrified that the moment where you'd have to use the gun would arrive sometime soon, the thought of you or Tommy coming into danger while Simon wasn't around enough to make you want to crumble into tiny pieces.

You'd stood by the door like you always did, although this time Tommy was fast asleep in his crib and your arms were empty, leaving you to say goodbye to Simon (although looking up into his eyes, you knew he wasn't Simon anymore) all by yourself.

"When d'you think you'll be back?" You whispered as he opened the door, not wanting to disturb any of the neighbours that might be loitering around (despite knowing that news about the terrifying man that resided in your apartment had travelled quick after he'd threatened your neighbour), handing him his jacket.

"A week, tops. I'll send you a text as soon as I know." He grunted, shoving on his jacket before pulling up his duffle bag, swinging it over his shoulder. "You need anythin', you call base, okay? They'll relay the message if it's necessary."

He'd given you the number to his base a few weeks ago, but you knew you'd never have the heart to call it, too embarrassed that the little problem you were currently having was nothing compared to what Simon was going through, and you didn't want to disturb any of his work if it really wasn't that important.

"Sent you money this morning. You got enough for a month." He went through his mental list of everything he should say to you before going, leaning against the door frame and looking down at you through heavy eyelids. "Get some takeout, don't strain yourself any more than you already are. Doctor said you should take it easy."

You dismissed the urge to roll your eyes, cursing yourself out for even allowing him to take you to the doctor in the first place and listen in.

"I know. I'll be fine, Simon. You just worry about yourself."

"Always do." He said, nodding his head as a form of goodbye before pushing himself off the doorframe, heading towards the elevator and leaving you standing there, only closing the door when you heard the front door close from all the way downstairs.

— I think he misses you.

— Won't let go of the teddy bear even though it's all dirty :(.

‍‍‍‍‍‍‍

God, if Simon wasn't wearing his mask he was pretty sure he wouldn't have been able to contain his smile, zooming into the picture you'd sent him of your small boy lying in your bed fast asleep cuddling the little plushie he'd gifted him.

‍‍‍‍‍‍‍

— More.

‍‍‍‍‍‍‍

He hoped you understood what you meant by that, and by the way a few more pictures loaded in within seconds, he was glad you did.

He had to print some of those.

He'd once made a joke about one of the soldiers who wore a picture of their beloved in a small locket to Soap, commenting how it reminded him of the soldiers in WWI, when they were really just on their way to disarm a bomb.

But now he felt the need to have some type picture of you both or trinket that you'd given him right in the pocket over his heart, one that he could easily pull out in the middle of a mission to remind himself of why he was doing this, of why he couldn't let himself get caught by the enemy, of why he always had to come back to you.

He couldn't even bear the thought of his dog tags arriving at your doorstep instead of him one fateful day.

"Your nephew?"

Ghost snapped his head up, meeting the curious gaze of his captain and the bright orange tip of his cigar. "What?"

"Your nephew." Price gestured towards his lieutenant's phone, where the picture of Tommy drooling around one of his toys was still displayed. "You told me about him once at that bar in Vienna. What's his name?"

"Joseph." Ghost answered, shaking his head. "No, he's… Not a baby anymore. Must be a bloody teenager by now."

Price hummed, taking another puff from his cigar before looking away, squinting his eyes from the sun, wishing he'd been as smart as Ghost by bringing a pair of sunglasses.

"So."

"So?"

"Who's he, then?" Once again, the captain looked down at the dimly lit picture, where he could barely make out the features of the little boy, but by the onesie and plushie, he was able to decipher the not so difficult puzzle.

"He's…" Ghost trailed off, taking one last look at the picture before turning off his phone, sliding it into one of his pockets and crossing his arms over his chest. "No-one."

"No-one?" Price huffed out, amused. "So you just have pictures of random babies on your phone, is that it, Lieutenant?"

Ghost flared up at his captain, the frown obscured by the sunglasses he'd put on after the clouds had dispersed, but by the way his body had tensed, Price could only assume he'd pissed him off.

"Name's Tommy. That's all you're getting." He grunted out, looking away from the older man like a child admitting to something embarrassing.

"Like your brother?" Price commented, letting out a groan before sitting down on the wall next to Ghost. "Isn't that a coincidence?"

"No, she didn' know when she named-" Ghost stopped himself from saying anything further, the slip of the tongue already having revealed the existence of a 'she', and he did not want to say any more.

"'She'?" Price grinned, blowing out some of the smoke before bringing his cigar up to his lips. "Come on, Simon. We're not on duty, are we? Not your captain right now."

He'd promised himself to keep quiet. He couldn't have anyone find out about you or Tommy, he couldn't risk having that information out in the open, his weakness out there for everyone to know.

But Price… Well, Price was different. He'd saved him multiple times across the span of time he'd spent working for the army, he'd been the one to pull him out of the deepest of holes, the one to trust him enough to allow him to join the 141.

They trusted each other.

"She's… I don't know." He let his head cock back, looking up at the forming clouds. "I knocked her up."

"Fuckin' hell, Simon." Price breathed out along with some smoke, turning to look at him with a sort of horrified and disappointed stare. "You're a dad?"

"Yeah."

"Christ, you're makin' me feel fucking old." He grumbled, taking the phone from Ghost as he handed it over, squinting at the dimly lit screen. "Cute little bugger, isn't he?"

Ghost smiled beneath his mask, watching Price scroll through the countless pictures you'd sent him across the month he'd been back, resisting the embarrassing urge to point out small details of every picture like an art major in a museum, instead keeping quiet and itching slowly to grab his phone back.

"Think you're a good dad?" Price asked, taking Ghost back a bit as he slid his phone back into the confines of his pocket, shrugging his shoulders as he squinted at two figures in the distance.

"Not the worst. Don't think he's got the mental capability to recognise if I'm good or bad to 'im. Least he doesn't cry every time he sees me." He breathed out a chuckle, snapping his mouth shut as he saw Soap and Gaz approach, the conversation sizzling away as they plopped down next to them both.

As the others started talking about another topic, Ghost thought about the question he'd been asked before more in-depth.

He wasn't a bad father, right?

He wasn't like… that.

Simon would be caught dead before even thinking of inflicting onto Tommy the same pain his own father had inflicted onto his family.

Imagining his small boy going through the same trauma, the same horror, the same fear he'd felt during his childhood was enough to tear his cold heart apart.

And he'd never treat you like his father had treated his mother, he'd never subdue you to the same pain she went through every day, he wouldn't let himself fall into the circle of abuse that had started way before his own father.

And Simon wasn't perfect. He knew that.

But he wouldn't stoop as low as his father had during the beginning of his life, where instead of the love and care a child was supposed to receive from his parents, he received the abuse and pain that no one deserved.

Just like him.

He closed his eyes as he remembered the burning shouts as his father berated him, always comparing the both of them and forcing Simon into tears, the mere thought of ending up as horrible as his father reducing him to sobs.

Even now, he still felt sick when he'd stare at the pictures of his father his mother still kept around her room in the nursing home, horrified whenever she'd point out their similar eyes and same blond hair.

But he wouldn't end like that. Despite whatever physical similarity he shared with his father, they had nothing in common personality wise.

Simon wasn't a monster.

He wouldn't hurt you or Tommy.

He wouldn't let anyone hurt you or Tommy.

He was a protector, a soldier trained to serve his country and the civilians who resided within it.

And he would protect. No matter what.

"S'alright, lovie… Jus' me."

"Simon…" You breathed out, letting your eyes flutter closed as his hands roamed the exposed skin of your chest, broken lips pressing kisses the whole way up to your jaw.

"That's it… Such a good girl f'me… Pretty, pretty girl." His warm hands cupped at your chest, pulling another whine out of you as he toyed with your breasts. "My good girl, right?"

"Mhm…" You mumbled, letting your head loll back onto Simon's shoulder and look up at him through tear covered eyelashes, your brain not functioning properly to process the blurred mass of what you assumed was a man's face staring down at you with those beautiful eyes, his breath hitting your lips as he leaned down to press the kiss you'd been longing for for so goddamn long—

Your body jolted awake, an uncomfortable ache between your legs quickly making itself known as you tossed around in your messy bed, brows furrowed as your brain tried to catch up with your suddenly awakened body.

What had you even been dreaming about?

You rubbed at your eyes with your wrists, digging them deep enough so you saw a few blinding colours, letting go and resorting to staring up at the ceiling.

You didn't even bother checking your phone, already knowing that the only notifications you would have received in the few hours you'd spent asleep were the ones from the dating apps you still didn't have the energy to delete.

None from Simon, of course. He'd been gone for over two weeks by now, which wasn't surprising, since he had let you know that this mission would be a long one and had warned you in advance.

Considering the last mission he'd gone on was almost a month ago (and had only lasted a few days, you think he finished as soon as he could to be back with Tommy, by the way he'd barreled through the house to get to the nursery) and that you and Tommy had gotten him all to yourself for about two weeks straight, you'd expected him to be called sooner or later.

You weren't really looking forward to him coming back, since you'd have to break the news to him that he'd missed Tommy's first attempts to sit up without support and the success that came after.

Luckily, you'd filmed most of it, although you did end up throwing the phone on the sofa to congratulate your son personally, pressing kisses to his chubby rolls and listening to him giggle before accidentally helping him fall back onto your bed, causing him to burst out crying.

Okay, well, maybe you could just edit the final part out.

You were pulling the covers over yourself, snuggling back into the warmth of your mattress before attempting to close your eyes and fall back asleep (hopefully to return to whatever dream you'd been having before), when the sound of the creek of your floorboards snapped you out of it.

Your heart stopped, listening out for any further sounds, breath hitching in your throat as what you feared you'd heard continued, recognising the footsteps going from the living room into the kitchen.

You leaned over to your phone, hoping to God that Simon had finished the mission early and had sent you a quick message telling you he'd be coming back soon, but as you unlocked the phone…

Nothing.

So whoever was walking around your house was not Simon.

You heard muffled whispers, too quiet for you to understand but loud enough to send a cold shiver down your spine.

It terrified you. That cemented the fact that there was actually someone in your home, walking around like it was nothing.

But there was more than one voice. Two. Or was it more?

You assumed the sound that had woken you up had been the door opening, which inflicted even more fear into you at the thought that they must have had a key instead of knocking your door down since the sound hadn't been enough to stick with you after pulling you awake.

Your eyes instinctively darted over to the bedside table, where Simon's gun still laid untouched every since he'd "gifted" it to you, staying frozen until one pair of feet got a bit too close to your door, mind racing and adrenaline pumping through your veins as you scrambled to open the drawer as quietly as possible and pull out the gun and mag with shaky hands, carefully pushing it in before cocking it, hissing at the loud sound it made.

You stepped out of bed, body shaking as you neared the door with the heavy gun in your hand, listening out carefully for what they could be saying.

"—ce gaf. Didn' expect this from ya."

"You're a classy one aren't — your sofa?"

The voices were broken and muffled, leaving your brain to try its best to complete them.

God, this was terrifying. You could feel your whole body shaking, waiting for the moment where it could give out.

It's okay. Deep breaths.

You can do this.

The doorknob rattled, the moment it twisted seemingly happening in slow motion, your heart skipping a beat before you raised your gun up to the attacker, finger grabbing at the trigger just in case they made a dangerous move on you, your frantic eyes meeting the surprised ones of the man you were currently pointing a gun at (which you'd never used before, mind you).

"Steamin' fuckin'-"

You didn't even have time to react before his arm instinctively raised towards you, hand grasping at your throat in an instant, like the only thing he'd been taught to do was to kill.

"What the fuck are you doing!?"

You heard a familiar voice roar as the hand tightened around your throat, the gun now abandoned at your feet as your hands scratched and tugged at your attacker's hand.

The last thing you saw before your eyes clouded over was the large shadow coming up from behind your assailant, their face one that despite the tears that blurred your vision you could tell was ready to rip apart someone.

You didn't even have time to think if it was going to be you or his partner.

TAGLIST: @selfassassin @ess-perspective-blog @crazyfandomist @webreathfandoms @warners-wife @prodyng @gaycrystalbitch @uhhely @mentallynot-here @jordanwalkersworld @skepticalleo @bratsukisworld @screamingoverfiction @comedinewithmeyeh @gojosbucket @mikasakuchiki @jonhswife @tea-effect @thelittlejinx @cafesho @daddylorianisastateofmind @63sucker @simpingforleoandnico @simonsslvt @embers-of-alluring @uriahs-sketchings @alexisv15 @alexkellersleg @jordanwalkersworld @tabalugax @diekoniginvonfernet @thatoneautor0123 @technicallyvirtualmilkshake @littlezarp @crazyfandomist @hypernovaxx @am-3-thyst @madamemelancholysstuff @lylesx @anxietydrogz @jaymum @coacaiyne @emmmmmmmaaaaaaaaaaa @ghostsfavhoe @maviee @pedropascalswhore @d4z01 @beakami (if your name is in white, it means I couldn't tag you!)

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x fem reader #ghost x female reader #cod mwii #call of duty #ghost x you #ghost fanfiction #ghost x fem!reader #ghost fic #cod mwii x reader #ghost ansgt #ghost fluff #simon riley fluff #cw pregnancy #— ménage

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azrielslightintheshadows · 6 months

Note

please do a part two of I fell for you it is amazing

I fell for you. (part 2)

Azriel x f!Reader x Eris

Masterlist.

Part 1

Warnings; mentions of sex.

Okay today I got so inspired and realized that I would let Eris destroy me anytime he wished to. Part 3 coming soon!

“I think our lessons are over, there’s nothing else I can teach you!” Helion exclaimed.

“So I’m ready?” You asked wide-eyed.

“Yes! I’m so proud of you” he hugged you.

It has been a year since you left Velaris, you went to the day court and asked Helion if he could take you in and help you improve your healing skills. He was a great friend and teacher and after a year you could say that you became the best healer anyone could have in their court. Helion was informing you about everything that was happening in the night court since you left. Turns out Rhysand wanted you all together that night to announce that him and Feyre were expecting. You felt happy for them and finally you didn’t have a bitter taste in your mouth. Nesta and Cassian got married and are trying for a baby and Elain accepted the bond between her and Lucien. Helion had a sad expression when he informed you about Azriel. The shadowsinger broke down and quit his duties in order to heal, he searched for you and thankfully Rhysand promised Helion not to say anything about your whereabouts. When the spymaster visited the day court Helion glamoured you and put a spell on your room so no one could enter.

It broke your heart to hear his broken voice but you couldn’t go back. You couldn’t stay with him because of an ancient bond. You reconsidered everything in the time you spent here and decided that the mating bond was something meaningless, you now sought true love. Azriel left the next day and you didn’t hear from him again.

A few days later a war broke out between the night and autumn court and Beron was killed by the hand of his son -Eris, who took his place as a high lord and thrived. Lucien and Elain moved to the Autumn court and became Eris’ advisors making the relationship between night and autumn stronger than ever.

Life in prythian was peaceful again and things were moving forward. You finally mastered the method to hide the bond and it felt like it didn’t exist at all.

“Y/n I received a letter from Eris… he needs a healer for his court and he asked me if I could spare him one. I think you will be great for the position.” Helion spoke when you entered his office.

“But Lucien and Elain will be there… I don’t think I can be around her and I’m afraid that Lucien will tell Azriel that I’m there.” You said and started fidgeting.

“You can’t hide from him forever, you became so strong and independent this past year… I think you are ready to face him.” His face was filled with care and reassurance.

“Okay…” you smiled.

“Great I will send him our response and arrange some guards to escort you there.” Helion clapped and grabbed a piece of paper and a quill.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You were currently standing in front of the gates of the Autumn court’s palace. After saying goodbye to Helion you hopped into the carriage and left the day court. When you reached the borders of the autumn court Helion’s guards left and the others Eris had sent replaced them. It wasn’t long until you made it to the palace.

Eris walked out and you removed the hood of your cloak, you bowed your head and approached him. He made a tsk sound and smiled.

“Oh come on I’m not my father I don’t want people bowing to me” his voice was deep and melodic, filled with sinful promises that sent shivers down your spine. You had never seen him before, you had heard the inner circle talking about him but they never took you with them when they met with him. You didn’t expect him to be so handsome, his long red hair so smooth and shiny, his amber eyes filled with mischief and his sharp jaw making his face look like it was carved by all the gods new and forgotten. He was made out of sin and fire and you blushed as he noticed you were staring.

“Enjoying the view?” He purred and you almost climaxed at the sound. You could swear that your face was redder than Cassian’s siphons but you were an entirely new female now so you gathered all your courage and replied.

“So what if I am?”

He smirked, the mischief flashing brighter in his eyes.

“Oh I’m going to enjoy your company for sure” he purred again and gestured to follow him.

You almost moaned at the sight of his strong back and broad shoulders, your mind creating images of him manhandling you, his muscles flexing and his eyes darkening. You shook your head and pushed the thoughts away hoping he wouldn’t smell your arousal. I have never laid with a male and my hormones are flipping that must be it. You tried to reassure yourself as Eris showed you your room.

“This is your room and the one at the end of the hall is mine” he smirked and you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion.

“I think I got a sniff of your desire to get in my bed…” he chuckled and turned to leave. “I expect you to come to dinner tonight we have to talk about your duties” and with that he was gone.

You were so screwed. This male would be the death of you. Everything about him made your knees tremble, power and arrogance were flowing out of him, his strong body was the definition of perfection. His scent was intoxicating making you desire him so much that you wondered if someone had casted a spell on you. Yeah completely screwed.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 🍁 🍂 ☁️˙✧˖°

You decided to wear an auburn colored tight dress to honor your new high lord and you styled your hair in a high bun. You checked yourself in the mirror one last time and left the room feeling hot and confident. One of the servants guided you to the big dining room and hurried off somewhere. Eris was sitting at the head of the table with Lucien on his right side, Elain was sitting next to Lucien. They all looked at you the moment you entered and shock filled their faces. Lucien and Elain because they didn’t expect you to be there and Eris… his eyes were scanning your body, desire flashing in them as he noticed the color of your outfit and how well it looked on you.

“Hello” you smiled and confidently walked to the seat on Eris’ left side. You sat next to him and let your leg brush against his thigh. Your eyes challenging him. Yeah you will enjoy my company. You thought.

“Uhm y/n….Uhm hi… what are you doing here?” Elain gave you a tight smile.

“Oh you didn’t expect to see me again right? Well after I left the night court because you were screwing my mate” Lucien gaped at you, -his shocked expression confirming your suspicions that he didn’t know- and Eris snorted, amusement filling his features.

“I improved my healing skills with Helion’s help and now I’m going to stay here as the Autumn court’s healer” you smiled sweetly and sipped your wine. Elain was red from embarrassment and Lucien paled.

“You were fucking shadowboy?” Eris smirked.

“I…” she was squirming in her seat and with a sigh she looked at Lucien “yes… but we ended things before I accepted the bond. I didn’t cheat on you”

Eris burst into laughter, throwing his head back and clapping.

“Oh this is so good.” He said gesturing to Lucien’s face. “Come on brother don’t be so boring ask her…” he said between fits of laughter.

“Who screws better my brother or the shadowsinger?” He continued, disappointed by his brother’s silence.

You almost choked on your wine and tried to stifle a giggle. Eris noticed and placed his hand on your thigh squeezing.

“You can laugh it’s okay” he smiled at you and turned his attention back to Elain. Your skin was burning and even though he removed his hand you could still feel his warmth there.

“Excuse me” she whispered and ran away.

Lucien let out a sigh and got up.

“I know that she hurt you, she hurt me too but please, I finally managed to come back home, be nice to her… I don’t want to leave again.”

“Okay, I won’t mention it again” you shrugged and Lucien sent you a thankful smile before disappearing.

“Well that was fun” Eris chuckled and started eating.

“I know” you giggled and picked your fork again.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 🍁 🍂 ☁️˙✧˖°

Morning found you in the main room sitting on a sofa with your legs on Eris’ lap laughing and drinking wine.

Your sober self would never place your legs on the high lord’s lap but the wine was in control and you felt so comfortable around him. He didn’t seem to mind, he was massaging your calves and talking about everything that happened during the war. You were amazed by how he could turn a horror story into a comedy with just a few remarks here and there.

“Is that the sun?” You asked as you glanced outside.

“No it’s the beauty I’m emitting... lighting up the whole court” he chuckled and you threw a pillow at him.

“We have to get some sleep” you groaned.

“Are you inviting me to your bed little fox?” Eris purred and your eyes widened.

“No” you exclaimed and quickly stood up. He laughed at your embarrassment and raised himself from his seat.

“Let’s go” he offered you his hand and escorted you to your bedroom.

“Get some rest little fox, you will need it” he winked and left.

The moment your head touched the pillow you fell asleep, dreaming of Eris and his court.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 🍁 🍂 ☁️˙✧˖°

It was afternoon when you woke up again because someone was knocking on your door, with a groan you got up and went to the door. Your head felt like it was going to explode and your stomach was turning. You opened the door and one of the maids smiled at you.

“High Lord Eris has requested you to his office”

“Okay give me a few minutes” you murmured and shut the door. You looked like a mess. You quickly entered the bathroom and splashed some water on your face before hurriedly opening the closet to find something to wear.

You picked a loose beige dress that reached mid-thigh and changed. You fixed your hair as much as you could and left your room. The maid was patiently waiting for you and smiled politely before walking down the hall. You followed her.

“I’m sorry for keeping you waiting, I just woke up and I needed some time to fix myself” you said. She glanced at you with a smile.

“Don’t worry about it my lady. You look beautiful”

“Thank you” you blushed and stopped next to her as you reached a big wooden door.

She quickly bowed her head and left.

You knocked on the door and Eris’ deep voice filled the silence

“come in” .

With a deep breath you walked inside. He looked so powerful behind the big desk, his arrogant smirk plastered on his face and his big palms resting on the desk.

“You requested to see me” you said and took a seat in front of him.

“Yes… it seems that you are quite distracting little fox and I forgot to mention your duties last night” you shivered at the nickname. You nodded for him to continue.

“So, I already have a healer for my army… I brought you here because I needed a healer for me and my family, I can’t risk our health just because the healer didn’t have time to get here. So, you will stay in the palace, all your expenses will be covered by me. That’s the position I’m offering you” he looked formal and you blinked. You only saw his playful side since you arrived and this shocked you. Being the high lord fitted him very well.

“Uhm okay, you are being very generous” you cleared your throat.

“I take my family’s health seriously so of course I will be generous” he smiled.��

“Okay, well I accept the offer” you shrugged and smiled back at him.

“Perfect! You can go I have some work to do, dinner will be served soon.”

“You’re not coming?” You asked a bit disappointed.

“No, I’m too busy because someone kept me up all night” he winked. “But I’m sure my brother, his mate and my mother will be a great company”

You blushed and nodded. With a quick goodbye you left his office.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 🍁 🍂 ☁️˙✧˖°

Dinner went well that night and you and the lady autumn seemed to enjoy each other’s company very much. You spent the rest of the days with her, going out and strolling around the garden. Sometimes you would stay inside and she would teach you how to cook or knit. She was a very calm female and made you feel comfortable and like you could fit into her house.

Eris joined you a few times, he enjoyed seeing you and his mother getting along so well.

One day as you were sitting on a bench with his mother enjoying the view of the garden she said;

“You know… I would love if you and Eris ended up together, you’re so sweet and kind, my son would be lucky to have you.” She smiled and you almost choked on air. You and Eris… you had thought about that but you weren’t sure if he had this type of feelings towards you. Lust wasn’t enough for someone to get married. And what would happen if Azriel found out?

What do you think? Would you like me to continue this? Also which one do you prefer for our reader Eris or Azriel?

Requests are open!

@kalulakunundrum @amysangel

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randomlifex · 5 months

Text

Sunshine and storm

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ‘♡’- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Go Kyungjun x fem!reader

Plot:the sun shines and the storm doesn’t understand why he likes it, but when his clouds will cover her rays, he’ll do anything to make the sun shine again

Warnings:bad language

Please notice:in this timeline Seun hasn’t died yet so there’s no game going on

This story is a request

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ‘♡’- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The spring weather was approaching, the temperature rose and birds had finally begun to sing all day long.

“What a great day! -you exclaimed, hugging Seun, your friend- and in a few weeks cherry flowers will blossom! Finally my favourite colour will be everywhere again!” you clapped

Seun smiled, putting her book on the desk, then she watched as you sat next to her:

“How can you be always in such a good mood?” she asked

“How can you not be when it’s spring! It’s the season of blooming. Birds sing all day and animals come out from their hibernation”

“You make me nauseous” Kyungjun popped out from nowhere,sitting with Seungbin right behind you. You rolled your eyes hopelessly:knowing how he was, you didn’t expect him to appreciate the cute little things of life

“Man you gotta smile more, you’re always so angry. The situation is getting serious” you mumbled as the teacher came in

“You don’t wanna see me angry, do you, Snow white?” he hit the back of your head with a pen, making you groan in pain, then he shifted into the “I don’t care about the lesson” mood,texting…or at least that was what you thought.

The truth was that Kyungjun spent the whole class staring at you. He had been doing so a lot in the past weeks, shifting his eyes away only when you noticed it. He didn’t know why, but there was something leading him to you, even if he hated it, and acted like the meanest person on earth (not that he was nice, but he had never put you into troubles).

He wasn’t used to it, nor to your constant happy mood; and since those feelings were unknown to him he would find any reason to come for you, even when you were doing nothing besides being a nice teammate.

That day your team had been pretty unlucky:the teacher had decided the members on her own, meaning that if you had to play with good athletes like Hyunho and Kyungjun himself, who was the captain, you had to put up also with those, like Sungpyo and Yoonseo, who were terrible at PE.

She got called out lots of times by everyone, but to Kyungjun the real problem was Sungpyo; or better, he was the victim whose ass was supposed to be constantly beaten in order to scare everyone and get great results.

Hyunho tried many times to stop the bully, but he eventually got kicked out due to a so called “litigious behaviour” ; so, in order to calm everyone down, you tried to spread positivity, like you always used to do.

“It’s okay, next time we’ll score something”

“It can happen, I made mistakes too”

“Don’t think about it and let’s have fun! It’s about having a good time, not winning”

You were dispensing smiles and comfort as you saw that someone was actually on the edge of tears, but Kyungjun got even more mad:

“Ya! Yn! -he called you in the middle of the first break- what the fuck are you doing?!” he was yelling, his eyes burning like fire

“What…what do you mean?” You asked, a little bit scared

“What do I mean? Do you think that’s how you make a shitty team work?!”

“I’m just trying to be positive…they’re all stressed out…” you justified yourself

“Really? -he laughed- are you fucking kidding me?! “Trying to be positive”…bullshit. Do you know what you can do with your stupid positivity? Go home and stay there. Idiot” he scoffed

“But…”

“No buts. You’re getting on my nerves. What’s so funny to be constantly smiling and laughing? Uh? Come on tell me! Be serious for once, and let the captain be the captain. Go to the back lines, you suck anyway in the front” he shrugged his shoulders, pointing to the back of the field.

You looked around you, realising that everyone was staring, the your eyes rested on Kyungjun:

“You know what? -you were holding your tears back- fuck you and this stupid game! Get a new player to cover your shitty back lines. Asshole!” you yelled, running away to hide in the first empty classroom you had found.

Kyungjung looked at you:something inside him shattered as soon as he realised you were terribly hurt. “Did I…did I cover the sunshine with my clouds?” he asked himself, feeling guilty as hell.

You spent the whole lesson crying in a corner of the room, next to the blackboard, suffocating your sobs in order to not be found by anyone. You didn’t want people to see you in those conditions, you had promised yourself to be always happy to make everyone around you happy as well. Your friends used to call you “sunshine” for a reason, and you loved it, just like you loved keeping up your good mood. Why Kyungjun had to ruin everything? You hated him. He was always so mad, so mumbling, so rude…was it so hard for him to relax at least once? And if it was, who allowed him to ruin everyone’s mood? No one!

The more you thought about it, the more you felt sad. You kept seeing his angry face, and his yells wouldn’t stop resonating in your mind. You brought your knees to your chest, hiding your face in the cloth of your tracksuit…until you heard someone.

A hand rested on your leg, squeezing it. You rose your head, seeing Kyungjun kneeling in front of you.

“Go away” you scoffed

“You need to see something”

“I don’t want to. Leave me alone”

“It’s urgent. Come on” he grabbed your arm, forcing you to follow him to the backyard.

“I swear to God if it’s something stupid…” you weren’t even able to finish the phrase as wonder got your mouth to open wide

“You tell me if that’s something stupid to you” Kyungjun said, carelessly.

You didn’t know what to answer, you were too busy staring at the flowering cherry blossom in front of you…the first of the season.

“When did you find it?” you asked, grabbing the boy’s arm

“Yesterday, during the break”

“Why didn’t you show it to me?!” sadness had already left your body. It took nothing to make you happy, Kyungjun thought, but he was okay with that. He didn’t want to see you crying ever again.

“I wanted to, but I forgot. That’s just a stupid tree after all…” he shrugged his shoulders, hiding a smile

“That’s not! -you started jumping- that’s the first cherry blossom of the season!!” you then exclaimed, taking a bunch of pictures.

“You good now?” he asked, still cold. His facade was hard to fall.

“What do you mean?” you blinked

“Are you okay now? You were crying…”

“Yes, I cried cuz you’re a rude asshole” you crossed your arms, giving him your back.

Kyungjun stepped closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulder:

“I crossed the line…” he talked

For a second you were surprised…was he apologising for the first time in his life?!

“But you got me angry there. Don’t do that again” he scoffed, letting you go with a path on the shoulder.

Of course he wasn’t, not openly, not that time, but you knew his intentions when he showed you that tree:he was aware of the fact that he had fucked up, and was trying to fix things in his own way.

“I did not made you angry…you were born angry” you said, sticking your tongue out.

Kyungjun didn’t reply, he simply put his hands in his pockets and walked away; but, once again, he was smiling behind your back.

#night has come #night has come kdrama #night has come x reader #night has come kyung jun #go kyung jun #go kyungjun x reader #cha woo min #cha woomin x reader #kdrama #grumpy x sunshine

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takenbypeter · 1 year

Text

Nothing Like Ross and Rachel

Adam Warlock x reader

Words: 1259

Authors Note: kinda continuation to A New Form Of Intimacy but it still makes sense on its own

You didn’t know what you unleashed after that first kiss with Adam, but it seemed like now he found any and every opportunity to connect your lips together.

You enjoyed kissing him just as much as he did you, but sometimes you found it to be a little much.

For example, when he’s running out to complete a quick, and I mean quick errand, or when you’re going out just to greet Cosmo.

Though most of the time you did find the whole scenario absolutely adorable, especially on days when he would visit, excitedly telling you about all the good that he performed during the day. It could be the simplest of deeds; helping someone with heavy items, or helping an animal, and after telling each story he’d then wait with his golden lips puckered slightly and you’d of course lean down to meet them.

Because, how could you say no to that face, plus like mentioned before you truly didn’t mind too, too much.

But because of this, you decided it would be quite amusing to play a little joke on him. It was simple, all you had to do was avoid kissing him. How hard could that be?

Adam arrived at your living quarters that night at his usual time but this time as you opened the door to greet him, instead of your typical kiss, you quickly hugged him in an embrace. If he found this odd he hid it well as he easily adapted, reciprocated your hug.

You hastily pulled him to your bed which you did almost every night. He got cozy under the covers as you turned the radio on.

Quill had given it to you as a gift the last time you all dropped him off on Earth and you were honestly truly grateful for the gift, especially since you’ve been missing television these past few years that you’ve spent on Knowhere.

With the radio though, of course it was only sound that would be emitted but you two considered that more than enough, still finding the entertainment very enjoyable.

Recently you two have gotten into Friends, with you claiming it was one of the top ten most iconic sitcoms to come to, and together you’ve been listening to it each and every night. And of course if at any point Adam found himself stuck on a mission you would always fill him in the next day.

As you got everything you needed you finally ran to your bed where Adam was already waiting as he held the covers up so you could fit in his arms. As you crawled in between his sturdy yet welcoming arms he puckered his lips a little and although you noticed it you chose to ignore, instead saying, “this is my favorite part!” You shouted, as you began to sing along to the theme song while doing the claps.

You tugged Adam’s arms, crossing them around you as you lay your head on his chest. You would find yourself laughing every now and then but noticed that Adam would just chuckle lightly, seeming to just follow your lead.

You noticed Adam’s fingers start to rub the tiniest of swirls against your arms. And then after a few moments he then relaxed his hands resting them around your upper arms before he squeezed them twice.

You made a point not to react.

Adam, still not picking up on anything, leans down pressing his lips against the top of your head to which you scrunched up your face, “Adam please. I’m trying to listen,” you said, making sure you were firm in your words.

And with that all his actions stopped and he was no longer laughing when you laughed. You were actually feeling a little bit of guilt.

Feeling conflicted, you decided to take the opportunity to use the bathroom and get your thoughts together.

“I have to use the bathroom, I’ll be right back,” you said as you gently pushed against his chest. Adam reached out, keeping you from distancing yourself too much.

You glance at him and were met with puckered lips as Adam clearly was waiting for a kiss goodbye.

Instead you pressed two fingers to them before successfully separating yourself from the boy, “Adam I’m just using the bathroom,” is what you said and you watched as his lips curved into an obvious pout.

“What if something happens?”

“Then I’ll just call you for help,” you said and all Adam could do was watch as you left the room.

In the bathroom you truly couldn’t decide if you should continue this whole prank that didn’t seem to be funny anymore, or if you should just end it.

Eventually you came to decide on the latter and exited the bathroom.

As you came to the main area you noticed Adam was now sitting upright in the bed with his arms pulled to his side as he stared off into the distance.

“I’m back,” you sang as you walked closer to where he sat.

Before you could explain yourself he asked the question, “are we on a break?”

The question caught you off guard for a split moment as you sat at the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry, what?”

Adam pushes his hands against the cushions and shifts himself so he’s facing you. His eyebrows are curved in the center with clear worry written on his face as his eyes are wide. “Rachel and Ross fought before they went on a break. Are we on a break?”

“We’re not on a break.”

“You won’t kiss me! Did I do something wrong? Did I make you mad? Are we fighting?” His mind seems to just be coming up with more questions just as he expels them and you have to cup his face to bring his attention back to you.

“Adam we are not fighting, and we are most certainly not breaking up…unless…” your brain suddenly wondered if he thought of the possibility before, “you want to?”

You didn’t think it was possible but his eyes got even wider, “no, never!…do you?”

“No of course not! This was just a stupid prank I’ve heard about. I thought it would be funny but now it’s just upsetting.”

“A prank?”

“Yes, a joke…” your hands finally leave his cheeks as your head ducks down, beginning to feel awful about the whole thing you’ve put him through, “I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was mad…I’m sorry.”

You didn’t expect him to become this upset, but in all honesty you completely understood his reaction. Truly it wasn’t even that funny of a prank.

You were really just feeling awful sitting there having upset both him and yourself but now Adam was the one to cup your own face, his golden fingers lightly resting against them.

He tilts your head up and you look into his eyes for a mere moment before he pushes his lips into yours.

You comfortably give in, matching his movements before you both distance from each other, but Adam kept his forehead against yours, “I’m just glad you still love me.”

You grinned, giving him a quick peck again, “I never stopped,” you reminded.

Adam pulled you back into his arms as you two resumed listening to the episode.

“I can’t believe you thought we were Ross and Rachel, those two are very toxic together. If anything were like Bananahammock and Crap Bag,” you added.

“Who?” He asked not having gotten that far in the show yet.

“Oh you’ll find out.”

#adam warlock imagine #adam warlock x reader #adam warlock fanfiction #adam warlock fanfic #gotg fanfiction #gotg imagine #gotg fanfic #gotg x reader #guardians of the galaxy imagine #guardians of the galaxy x reader #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #mcu x reader #mcu imagine #mcu fanfic #mcu fanfiction

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whatsnewalycat · 9 months

Text

Designated Person | Chapter 8

Pairing: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

Chapter 8: Invitation

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 10.3k+

Content / Warnings: Frankie POV, infidelity, past romantic & sexual relationship, angst, food, AA meeting mention, jealousy, alcoholism, lying, conflict avoidance, crying, unprotected piv sex, dirty talk, internal conflict, suggestion of sexual assault, trauma response, verbal argument, we're gonna pretend i know what i'm talking about w the criminal justice system but lets be real i don't

Notes: HEY HI! First of all big thanks to @frannyzooey for beta reading for me, I appreciate you with all my heart. Ok so up until a few days ago, this chapter was going to be this plus the birthday party. But I made an executive decision I think it will be better. So here's this and just know I already have a pretty solid head start on the next chapter lol. ANYWAY let me know what you think, ok love u bye.

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“…Happy birthday, dear Sarah, happy birthday to you!”

Sarah’s pudgy little feet patter in place on the seat of the dining room chair. Frankie rubs her back and says, “Blow out the candles!”

“Wait sweetie, let me just,” Angie scoops Sarah’s long chestnut curls into a bundle, “Ok go ahead.”

She leans over the small, two-tiered cake and blows them out one at a time.

“One… Two… Fwee… Four!”

All three of them cheer as the ribbons of black smoke dissipate into the air. Sarah claps her hands and squeals, looking up at her parents with big, sparkling eyes. Frankie can’t wipe the smile from his face. His heart aches with adoration.

While Ang plucks the spent candles from the cake and cuts it into sixteenths, Frankie takes a seat next to his daughter and asks, “Did you have a good day today?”

“Yes,” Sarah nods, watching her mom slip a chef’s knife under the biggest slice of cake and plop it onto a plate. Angie slides the plate in front of her and gives her a fork.

“What was your favorite part?” he asks.

“Ummm,” Sarah stabs the chocolate sponge cake with her fork and manages to tear off a wobbly chunk, “The penguins.”

“The penguins! I never woulda guessed,” Frankie chuckles, glancing up at Angie when she hands him a plate, “Thanks, hun.”

Sarah carves a line into the air with her nose, a smile digging out dimples in her chubby cheeks.

“Got to stay at the aquarium for a long time today, huh? What kind of penguins did we see?”

“Mmm,” she pauses her attack on the cake to scrunch her face up and think about this, then resumes as she tells him, “King penguin… rockhopper penguin… emperor penguin… little penguin…”

“So many penguins!” he grins.

She giggles, “Yes.”

“And then we got pizza, and opened presents, and now we’re having cake.”

She wriggles around in her seat and giggles some more, “Yes.”

“That’s a good birthday, huh?”

Sarah nods and plunges a finger into the pink strawberry frosting.

“Use your fork, sweetie,” Angie reminds her, taking a seat adjacent to Frankie.

Sarah sticks her finger in her mouth to clean off the frosting, then obediently picks up the fork.

“What should we do after cake?” he asks Sarah before taking a bite.

The little girl hums thoughtfully, tapping one confectionary-coated finger to her chin, “We can… watch Happy Feet?”

Her big, dark eyes sparkle, a mirror of his own, and Frankie grins from her to Angie, “What do you think, Mama, should we watch Happy Feet after cake?”

She checks the smartwatch on her wrist and shrugs, “Sure, we can watch it for a bit before dropping Daddy off.”

A pleased smile spreads across Sarah’s face as she digs her fork into the cake. Frankie turns his attention to his own plate, and a content silence falls over the table as the three of them eat.

The silence is broken when Sarah asks, “Daddy, why don’t you sleep here anymore?”

He stops chewing and looks over at Angie, who just tilts her head at him like she, too, would like to know the answer to this question.

“Well,” he swallows a mouthful of cake and clears his throat, “Daddy, uhh… Daddy did something bad and got in trouble with the police.”

She frowns at her cake, seeming to consider this, then looks up at him, “Like when you and Mommy were fighting?”

The response zaps him. Stuns him. His lips part to respond, but he finds himself speechless.

What the fuck is she talking about?

He combs through his memory and hits a snag.

They just got back from some kind of a trip. Ang was giving him the cold shoulder. He recalls drinking in the garage, fuming by himself, trying to work up the courage to confront her. Yelling. Not just him, though, Angie too. Both of them just fucking screaming at each other. Blue and red lights outside. Doorbell. Cops.

The scraps of his memory bind together and he remembers… it wasn’t a trip they all went on together. It was just Angie and Sarah. Not a fun vacation, either. More of a spur-of-the-moment trip to her parents’ house in Texas, inspired by his recently uncovered infidelity.

Wasn’t Sarah sleeping? How the fuck does she remember that?

Frankie shifts in his seat, glancing at Angie, whose face is inscrutable, then back to Sarah, “No. Well, kind of, I guess. Except worse. They took me to jail.”

Her dark eyes go wide, “But bad guys go to jail.”

“Yeah, sometimes.”

Leaning forward onto the table, he presses his fingertips to his lips and watches her sponge-like brain absorb this information. He’s getting into the weeds. Keep it simple.

“They let me go, but now I have to have a babysitter like you do. That’s why I don’t sleep here,” he reaches over and tucks a loose ringlet behind her ear, “Does that make sense?”

Her brow furrows, “Is Chacha your babysitter?”

Jesus fucking Christ, this kid. Asking all the right questions to make him squirm.

“Yeah,” he nods, “Yeah, she’s pretty much my babysitter now—”

Angie scoffs.

He shoots her a sharp glance, “Until we know how much trouble I’m in, at least.”

“I saw Chacha at the park,” Sarah informs him, as if he wasn’t there.

The nickname makes him chuckle. She hasn’t used it in forever, now twice in one night?

When he thinks about how your face will light up when he shares this news with you, warmth sparks in his guts.

“You did see Chacha at the park,” he gives Sarah’s arm a playful pinch, “She told me she was happy to see you, and that she misses you.”

At this, Sarah giggles, dimples and all.

And, at this, Angie shoves her chair out behind her and stomps out of the kitchen. Like a fucking child.

I don’t want to do this anymore.

The thought strikes him square between the eyes. Brief, but distinct. He sweeps it under the rug of his mind to deal with later.

“Mommy don’t like her,” Sarah tells him in a loud whisper when the bedroom door slams closed.

He has to stifle laughter.

“Don’t worry about that, princesa,” he waves off the petulant outburst, leaning in to ask, “Would you like it if Chacha came to your birthday party?”

Sarah studies him for a moment. When the question registers, she smiles wide and nods, “Yes.”

“I’ll talk to Mommy about it later, ok?”

“Ok.”

“Whaddaya think, should we finish our cake in the living room? Put on Happy Feet?”

She giggles, hopping off the chair to spin in circles and clap her hands.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he snorts.

Once the birthday girl is sufficiently distracted, Frankie follows his wife’s warpath to their bedroom. He pauses at the closed door, hand hovering over the shiny knob, grimacing at what will follow.

Did Sarah hear their whole argument that night?

What else does she remember?

Does she remember the days he’d call off work to take the two of you to the butterfly house? Or how he would sneak up behind you when you were cooking and kiss your neck? Does she remember you scrambling out of the house, half-naked, gasping for air, while Frankie held Angie back?

Probably not.

Hopefully not.

He takes a deep breath and twists the knob, pushing the door open.

Inside, Angie is sitting at the foot of the bed, texting furiously. Frankie enters the room, closing the door behind him. He approaches cautiously and sits down beside her. Brings his hand to the small of her back.

She doesn’t acknowledge his presence.

“Amor,” he murmurs, sliding his palm up and down her rigid spine, “You can’t get pissed at me every time she comes up in conversation. It’s not—”

He cuts himself off with a thick gulp.

This catches her attention. She tosses her phone aside and blinks, “It’s not what? Not fair? Is that what you were gonna say?”

“Fuck, I don’t know, Ang,” he shakes his head, leg bouncing, “It puts me in a weird spot. Whether you like it or not, she’s a part of my life—”

“Oh, for fucks sake—”

“And—and Sarah, she picks up on that, you know? That you don’t like her—”

“I don’t give a shit if she knows I hate that bitch, Francisco,” Angie spits, “Why shouldn’t I, huh? Give me one good reason I shouldn’t.”

Answers deadlock his throat.

Because I care about her, and Sarah cares about her, and she cares about us. Because she has helped me more than any other human has, more times than I deserve. Because she saved my life, and you should be fucking grateful.

The thought makes him shiver as it replays.

You should be fucking grateful.

He tries to bypass the question, clearing his throat before taking Angie’s soft hand and meeting her eyes, “I know this arrangement has been hard for you.”

Her features sharpen. She pulls away and crosses her arms in front of her chest. Unease rings out his stomach.

But a sense of familiarity dawns on him, too.

It reminds him of conversations he’s had with you the past two months. Those “State of the Union” discussions that loom, dark and terrifying, but end up making him feel ten pounds lighter when they’re all said and done with.

And, fuck, he wants this to feel better. Wants to be in the same room as his wife and not feel like he’s walking on the razor’s edge.

“Hey,” he takes back her hand, “Stick with me, ok? We can talk about this.”

Angie glares at him, but waits.

“We are friends. That is it. Just like Santi and Benny and Will—”

“Remind me, did you fuck any of them?”

I don’t want to do this anymore.

He stares back into her piercing gaze, with pleading eyes, “Ang.”

Her jaw clenches and she shakes her head, but doesn’t storm off or start screaming at him, so he continues.

“I know I fucked up by having sex with her. It was—It was a mistake.”

Angie’s features soften. Relief floods his veins, warm and buzzing and sedative. Like the first drink at the end of a stressful day.

And, much like when he would finish his first drink, he aches for more.

“It was impulsive. I was so fucking numb, I needed to feel something, and she was around. I’m not, you know, into her, or attracted to her—”

Angie scoffs.

“I know it sounds like bullshit. I know,” he squeezes her hand, “But if I could go back in time and do anything over, it would be that day.”

She studies him, eyes narrowed in scrutiny.

I don’t want to do this anymore.

“It didn’t mean anything, amor. I love you. I mean, fuck, I’m here, aren’t I? I’m trying.”

Her shoulders slump. She swallows hard and looks down at the floor. Her nails twitch against his palm and the rush it gives him flips his stomach upside down.

“I’m sorry, Ang.”

“You’re sorry you got caught.”

“I’m sorry I betrayed you. I’m sorry I broke your trust. I’m sorry I was so fucked in the head I found comfort in someone else. I took you for granted, and I’m so sorry.”

Angie lets out a little sob. He should feel remorse. At the very least, he should feel something other than sick satisfaction at her finally breaking. Just a little bit more. Almost there.

“But that day is behind us now, and what I have with her is entirely platonic. She has Rory, and I have you, and we are friends. She’s helping me out right now by giving me a place to live, and driving me places while my license is suspended, and just being… a really, really good friend to me. I know that’s hard for you, and I’m sorry that it makes you uncomfortable, but I promise that’s all it is.”

“I hate it.”

“I know,” he nods, pulling her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles, “I know, baby. I just need you to trust that I’m doing this for you and Sarah. The two of you are everything to me. I love you.”

Angie sniffles and straightens her spine, then looks over at Frankie, “Can you promise me something?”

Her warm gaze is glossy and full of emotion. He leans into it, answering, “Anything.”

“When the trial is over, and you leave her house—I don’t want you to talk to her ever again.”

It sobers him instantly.

He pulls back, shaking his head, “Ang, I can’t—”

A fire comes to life in her eyes.

“If you give a single fuck about our family, you can and you will. You told me your friendship with her is a means to an end. Is that still true, or no?”

Slowly, he nods, but it feels wrong. The dull blade of guilt rips his belly open.

This isn’t what was supposed to happen.

“Then you cut ties with her when this is done. Do that for me and I will put my feelings about her aside.”

That’s what Angie tells him, but what he understands is this is a reprieve. A stopgap. It buys him some time to figure out what the fuck he’s going to do because—

I don’t want to do this anymore.

He swallows the thought down with a thick gulp and says, “Alright.”

Angie blesses him with a peacemaking smile.

Despite his churning stomach, he returns the smile and squeezes her hand, “Can… Can you do me a favor, though?”

“What?”

“Let me invite her and Rory to Sarah’s party.”

She stares at him like she doesn’t understand, then scoffs, “No.”

“Why not?”

Jumping to her feet, she shouts, “Because she fucked you in our bed, Frankie, do I really have to explain that?”

He stands too, “You just said you’re putting those feelings aside, and she’ll be with her boyfriend, I don’t understand what the big deal—”

“Why does she even want to go?” Angie crosses her arms and scowls.

“She misses Sarah. And Sarah obviously misses her, too. I mean, you heard her at the table earlier.” Frankie approaches her, placing his hands on her waist, searching her face, “I’m with you, amor. I promise. This would just mean a lot to both of them. Especially if they won’t be able to see each other again.”

She softens a little. Her jaw ticks to the side, then she sighs, “Fine.”

He represses the smile from his lips and murmurs, “Thank you,” before pressing a kiss into her forehead.

She hooks her hands behind his neck and drops her eyes to his mouth. His pulse jumps as she captures his lips in hers, alive and wanting. The sugary sweetness of strawberry frosting makes his taste buds perk up and want more.

Her long, red nails work into the curls at the nape of his neck, scratching that deep, aching itch for her favor. That’s the thing about Angie. She gives her affection sparingly, and when he earns it, it feels so fucking good.

He can’t remember the last time she touched him like this, with enthusiasm and hunger.

It was before he quit drinking. Before the failed attempts at marriage counseling. Before Angie came home from work early and caught her husband fucking the nanny.

It’s strange how something as trivial as early dismissal can alter the trajectory of so many lives. His own path seems to be an infinite freefall, always bracing for impact but never meeting the ground.

Drinking more. Fighting more. Pushing you away again and again and again while trying to transplant these feelings into the right relationship.

I don’t want to do this anymore.

Especially now, when Angie kisses him, and all he can think about is your lips, your tongue, soft and slick and writhing on his. The heel of your hand kneading against his stiffening cock.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groans, eyelids fluttering open to meet her gaze, not yours.

He wishes it was you.

But he closes his eyes and lets her guide him back to their bed, settling for the next best thing.

Frankie hears the buzz of an incoming text message from his pants pocket. He kisses Angie’s sweaty forehead and departs from her body, snatching the discarded jeans off the floor.

> MARIPOSA: > Rory is over here fyi, let me know when you’re on your way

A nagging, confusing spring of jealousy bubbles up in his chest. Something else, too. Like guilt, but deeper. An infection festering away inside him.

“I should get going before the birthday girl falls asleep. I don’t wanna have to wake her.”

“Can’t you stay?” Angie asks, stroking his arm, “I mean, really, Francisco. Your PO won’t ship you off to jail for spending the night with your wife, will he?”

Her gentle touch is a branding iron on his skin. Searing. Territorial. He has to stop himself from lurching away.

He slides his pants back on and shrugs, “I don’t really wanna find out.”

“So fucked up.”

“I know, baby,” Frankie fishes his shirt off the foot of the bed, tugging it over his head, “I have to, I’m sorry.”

She releases a sigh and pulls her shirt back on, “Oh, don’t forget, on Thursday my parents will be here.”

Nodding, he stretches his arms above his head. How could he forget?

“Try to get along with my dad.”

He rolls his eyes before turning to face her, “Tell him the same, yeah?”

She snorts and fastens her jean shorts, raising an eyebrow, “I will, but you know how he is. Don’t take his bait.”

Frankie grunts in response while buckling his belt. Fully dressed, they meet at the door. Angie looks him over, giving him a rare warm smile before telling him, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

She kisses him, and he places that rotten feeling: shame.

Frankie walks up the cement path, craning his head up towards the cloudless sapphire evening sky, admiring the way it contrasts the tangerine siding of your post stamp of a house. The sun hangs just at the horizon, and its absence lends relief from the stagnant July heat.

It’s a nice night, but he’s still a little surprised to find you and Rory are sitting out on the front porch swing, his arm draped around your shoulder with you all tucked into his side. Sure, it may be better than coming home to your closed bedroom door, with just the indistinguishable murmur of your voices to drive him crazy, but still… not ideal.

The sight causes something deep within Frankie’s chest to clench and pulse, growling, “MINE.”

Fuck, he couldn’t be more a hypocrite.

“Whatta we have here, a couple of swingers?” he jokes while climbing the front steps.

It’s a bad joke, and in poor taste given the circumstances, but the sneer on Rory’s lips gives him a rush of satisfaction.

Conversely, you light up when you see him. Your smile is fucking luminous. A goddamn heat lamp. He feels himself melting into the floorboards.

Jesus fucking Christ.

You sit up and put a little space between Rory’s body and yours, “Hey! How’d it go?”

“Good,” he crosses his arms, leaning against the banister with a shrug, “Went to see the penguins, had pizza, presents, cake, all that.”

“Did she like her gift?”

“She loved it. She said she’s going to sleep with it tonight—Oh, that reminds me—Ang gave the green light for you two to come to her party on Saturday if you still want to.”

“Holy shit, really?” you ask, eyes widening, then chuckle and shake your head, “Sorry, I’m just surprised. She really said that’s ok?”

“Yeah,” he smiles despite the guilt condensing in his stomach, and asks Rory, “Know if you can make it?”

Rory’s head jerks back a little, and he frowns, “Well, this is the first time I’m hearing about it. But, yeah. I have nothing else going on,” he looks at you, “If that’s ok.”

“Yeah, of course.”

Your words come out airy and unconvincing. Rory studies your face.

Frankie calls your attention back to him, “Guess what she called you earlier.”

You avert your gaze from Rory’s, tucking your hair behind your ear before you chuckle, “Oh god, did she learn it from her mother?”

He laughs at this, shaking his head, “No, she called you Chacha.”

“Shut the fuck up, did she really?” you gasp.

Frankie nods, “Hand to god.”

You sit with this for a few gleeful seconds before your smile falters, and you say, “I miss her.”

“She misses you, too,” he tells you, “She’ll be happy to see you this weekend.”

You nod, then look to Rory, whose mouth is flattened into an unamused line. He stares at you a beat too long for comfort. The air around the porch swing seems tense.

Frankie glances between you and Rory, then clears his throat and says, “Anyway, I’ll get out of your hair.”

You mumble a brief, distracted, “Oh, ok,” before he walks into the house.

As he closes the door and leans back against it to untie his work boots, he hears you ask, “What?”

Both the sharpness in your voice and its volume make Frankie halt. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the curtains rustle from a light breeze. Quietly, he pulls his boots off and sets them on the shoe tray. Morbid curiosity keeps him rooted in place, barely breathing as he listens in on your conversation.

“You didn’t tell me we were invited to his kid’s birthday party.”

“He said he would ask, but I wasn’t going to invite you until I knew for sure whether or not we could go.”

More silence, then your voice again, “Oh my god, what is your problem?”

“I don’t like how you are with him.”

“How I ‘am’ with him? What the hell does that mean?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb. You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t, could you explain it to me?”

Rory pauses for a beat, then says, “You’re flirting, both of you, right in front of me. I don’t like it. And—and I want it to stop.”

“What am I doing that you think is flirting?”

“It’s not just you—”

“What he does is irrelevant, he is his own person—”

“It’s fucking disrespectful.”

The silence that follows writhes under his skin.

This is private. He shouldn’t be eavesdropping. But he can’t bring himself to move. Some fucked up part of him wants to hear what you say to Rory about him. How do you defend yourself? Do you throw him under the bus, too?

Are you just as bad as me?

Your voice comes through the window again, metered and firm, but shaky.

“What am I doing that you consider flirting?”

Rory scoffs, then says, “It’s the way you look at him and talk to him. Always smiling at him, and joking with him, and asking him how his day went—”

“Wow, how dare I ask my roommate—my friend—how his day was.”

“That’s not what I mean. It’s—it’s—I know it when I see it, ok? There’s obviously something going on between you two.”

“Obviously,” you deadpan, “Because I smile and joke with him, and ask him how he’s doing, we are so obviously fucking. You’re totally right, Rory. You caught me.”

“He’s a fucking loser, you know that, right?”

Another long pause.

“I want you to leave.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously, get the fuck off my porch.”

“I don’t have my—”

“I’ll get your shit.”

Frankie hears the porch swing creak and his heart jumps. He launches himself forward and manages to collapse on the couch as you swing the door open.

You freeze when you see him. Your eyes flick from him, to the open window, then back to him before you scoff and stomp off to your bedroom.

Rory steps into the doorway, standing at attention with his hands shoved in his pockets. Frankie stares at him. Something protective and instinctual, almost paternal, wells up inside him and fine tunes his nerve endings.

From the back hallway, you holler, “What the fuck are you doing? I told you to get the fuck off my porch.”

Frankie can’t stop himself from laughing.

Rory glares at him, “Fuck you.”

You steamroll into the room wielding a backpack and shove it into Rory’s chest, “LEAVE.”

“You’re fucking crazy.”

“I sure am. Get the fuck off my property.”

Rory holds your gaze for an intense moment before turning to go. You slam the door behind him and deadbolt it, then go to the front windows and do the same with them.

“I’m—”

You hold up a hand to Frankie and exit the room. A few seconds later he hears your bedroom door click shut.

After scrubbing his skin raw in the shower and changing into pajamas more comfortable than he deserves, Frankie tries to go to sleep early, but finds himself restless.

He stares at the ceiling, at his phone, at the walls. When he hears running water in the bathroom, he wonders if you’re getting ready to go to bed. Wonders if you’re ok, and if you would accept his company.

He thinks about his wife. Her nails digging into his shoulder blades, her hot breath on his cheek. The electric squeeze of her cunt as he came inside her.

What would you do if you knew?

Would it tear you apart, or could you care less?

Fuck, why does he feel so guilty?

For the sex just as much as the tentative agreement he made.

You know he intends to stay with her, and there’s nothing going on between the two of you. Not really. Nothing certain, at least. Right?

Sure, there was the slip up the week after he moved in. And the panties. And, yeah, some flirting. Not intentional when Rory is around, despite what he may think. And maybe you got off next to each other once. Then there’s the cuddling, and the hand holding, and this deep, aching, maddening desire to spend every ounce of his free time with you. To know all of your favorite things, and your life story, and your ticks. To make you feel happy and appreciated and safe and loved.

And loved.

I don’t want to do this anymore.

His muscles and tendons vibrate with anxious energy.

It brings him to his feet and compels him to wander through the dark, silent house, into the living room, confirming its vacancy. He starts off towards your bedroom. The light from your open door slices through the dark back hallway like a beacon. Floorboards creak under his step as he makes his way towards it, and when he arrives, he leans against the door frame.

You’re stretched out horizontal across your bed, belly-side down, facing away from him, hovering over a thick book. He studies the curvature of your body, lingering on the generously exposed swathes of soft skin that lead to the hem of your shorts.

“Are you just gonna hang out in the doorway like a weirdo?” you glance over your shoulder, then back at your book.

“Sorry, I, um... I wasn’t sure if I was interrupting.”

“You’re not,” you sit up and crawl to the head of your bed, tapping the empty pillow beside you, his pillow, his spot. “Come on in.”

While he walks over to the furthest side, you plump the pillows on your side of the bed and stuff them behind your back, then resume reading.

“What’s that?” he asks as he stretches out across your bedspread.

You lift the cover to show him and sigh, “Still chipping away at Doctor Sleep.”

“It any good?”

“Terrible, that’s why I’m reading it.”

Frankie snorts and shakes his head while digging his phone from his pajama pants, “Are you doing ok?”

“Wow, you’re full of great questions tonight, huh?”

“Maybe you’re just full of sass tonight, ever think of that?”

“Doesn’t sound like me.”

He raises his eyebrows and murmurs, “No comment.”

“That’s, like, actually a comment though, in itself—”

“Weren’t you reading?”

“Weren’t you—I don’t know, reading the news or whatever dads do on their phone?”

“Looking for car parts,” he corrects.

“Same thing.”

Frankie drops his phone on his chest and looks at you, “Not even close.”

You peek around the corner of your book, “It’s like, equal levels of dad-ness, though, so basically, yeah.”

“Levels of dad-ness,” he chuckles under his breath, shaking his head, “You’d know something about that, huh?”

“About what, how daddy you are?” you laugh.

He shrugs, meeting your eyes. You hold his gaze, mouth cracked open in a mischievous smile, then shake your head and look back at your book, “No comment.”

Grinning like idiots, you both go back to reading and browsing, respectively, although Frankie can’t concentrate for shit with you next to him. His skin aches with the heat of your body so close.

He listens to every breath you take, every wet swallow, every microscopic wiggle bringing you closer. Minutes go by, but he doesn’t hear your page turn once.

Eventually, you let out a powerful yawn, and it spreads to him.

You grab the bookmark off your nightstand and tuck it between the open pages before closing it, “I should go to bed soon—” another yawn interrupts you, “It’s getting late.”

“Yeah,” he sits up, stretching his arms over his head, then looks back at you, “I’ll see you in the morning?”

Your features melt and soften, lips parting as you meet his eyes. This invisible force keeps him anchored there, tugging at his chest, urging him to move closer to you. He glances at your mouth, at the pink flash of your tongue wetting your lips.

He doesn’t want to go.

He wants to stay and kiss you breathless, to fall asleep with the warmth of your body lining his, to wake up in your bed and never fucking leave.

He wants to take back everything he said to his wife earlier today, to defend your honor like he should have, like you would do for him, like you did for him.

Fuck, he doesn’t deserve you. The hole he dug for himself is a just punishment. He needs to let you go and allow you to find peace with someone else who won’t hurt you like he has. Like he will inevitably do again.

You reach out and place your hand on his arm, thumb grazing his tingling, heated skin, “Do you want to stay?”

The contact floods him with feel-good chemicals that his hungry synapses gobble up.

“I, umm—”

His throat swallows around his thudding pulse. It fucking hurts how bad he wants you right now. He finds himself leaning back on his elbow, gravitating closer to you, resting his hand in the dip of your waist as you roll on your side to face him.

“Is that a good idea?” he asks.

“Probably not,” you search his face, your gaze catching on his mouth.

His heart skitters and he doesn’t really notice that his fingertips dig into your side until your whole body shivers in reaction. Doesn’t really notice he’s been inching closer to you until your breath grazes his lips.

The sound of your ringtone cuts through the thick air between your bodies.

You sit up and shake your head, trance broken, then reach for the source of the noise with shaky hands, “It’s Rachel. She’s full bridezilla mode, this might take a while.”

“Ok,” he nods, “I’ll go.”

You look over at him, apologies written all over your face. An impulse yanks hard on his body and urges him forward. Before he can talk himself out of it, he slips a hand behind your head and pulls you into a kiss.

Your lips are soft and warm, fucking perfect, just how he remembers. They barely have time to respond before he draws back and tells you, “Goodnight.”

You watch him crawl out of your bed, stunned silent for a moment, then answer the phone, “Hey, Rach—what’s wrong?”

Frankie glances up at you as he closes the door behind him, and sees you tracing the dumbfounded smile on your lips.

When he turns out the lights in his room and crawls under the covers, even though he knows damn well he won’t find sleep for hours, he does the same.

Frankie is at work, elbows deep in the engine compartment of a Bell 407, when the call from his attorney comes.

“Your case is on the docket,” the voicemail tells him when he returns to his small, shared office space, “Trial is scheduled for Wednesday, September 6th. We might still be able to find a favorable plea deal, so I’ll get working on that, but either way, I’d like to set up a call with you early next week to discuss your options moving forward. Give me a call when you get this, thanks.”

He takes a seat at his desk and stares at his phone for a minute, then replays the message to make sure he heard correctly. He did.

The earth tilts.

Everything seems to crumble as reality dawns on him. All he can see are cold steel prison cell bars and stiff orange jumpsuits. Angie’s words from the other night echo in his head:

“When the trial is over, when you leave her house—I don’t want you to talk to her ever again.”

A vast, unshakable hollowness overtakes him.

Or… or maybe it’s the opposite.

Maybe he’s so heavy and full he’s just sinking deeper and deeper into the dark, endless pit of his mistakes, down, down, down…

He unlocks his phone to return his lawyer’s call, but pauses when he tastes the salt of his own tears. Confused, he wipes his eyes and stares down at his damp hand.

Frankie just sits there for a moment, watching tears splatter onto his palms, stunned. When did he start crying? Why did he start crying?

He knew it was just a matter of time before the consequences of his actions became real. Now it’s happening and he’s blubbering like a baby.

I need to get my shit together.

He stands and shoves his phone in his pocket, shaking out his hands.

A string tugs at his chest, leading him to Michael’s desk. He watches the closed door as he carefully pulls open a drawer. Inside, he finds a half-empty bottle of whiskey. The string pulls taut, urging him to do it.

He thinks about Angie. How her sour attitude always poisons his mind. How this thing between them feels so distant, so vacuous, he doesn’t know how he will ever restore it.

He thinks about Sarah. How much he’s failed her as a father. He thinks about his own father and wonders if it’s pointless for him to keep resisting fate. Was it always going to be like this for him? Does it matter if he tries to be better, or is this all futile?

He thinks about you. His chest aches and he feels tears burn behind his eyes again. He wishes you were here. You’d know what to say or do to make him feel better.

Frankie takes the cell phone from his pocket and dials your number. He glances up at the door again as the line rings.

“Hey,” you answer, sounding slightly confused, “What’s up?”

Kids squeal in the background as he tries to find his voice. Words catch in his throat, the only thing that comes out is a rasp. A sob. He’s fully crying now. Staring at the whiskey.

“Frankie, what’s wrong? Are you ok?”

Your concern is audible. It reaches through the phone and coaxes him to speak.

“I, um,” he swallows hard and shakes his head, “I don’t know. I’m kind of freaking out right now.”

“Why, what’s going on?”

“I just got my court date,” he sniffles, clears his throat, then says, “I feel… hopeless.”

“Where are you?”

On your end of the world, Frankie hears a door click shut and the chaotic background noise becomes muted.

“In my office.”

“What’re you doing?”

He pauses, so you repeat the question.

“I’m staring at a bottle of whiskey,” he admits quietly. Just a whisper.

“Ok,” you breathe, and he can hear your mind start to whiz into action, “Ok. Did you drink any of it?”

“Not yet.”

“Thank fuck,” a sigh of relief crackles in his ear, “Ok, that’s good. Good job. Can I come get you? I—I mean, do you want me to come get you now? Because I can—”

“No, sweetheart,” his eyes flick to the ceiling, trance broken, and he pushes the drawer closed, “You don’t have to do that.”

“But I will—”

He turns towards his desk, “No, really, it’s ok—“

“Oh my fucking god,” you huff, “Look, I am responsible for you. Not only that, but I—I care about you, Frankie. I need to know that you’re safe. And dry.”

Warmth sprouts up beneath his sternum and branches out under his rib cage.

“And—and it’s ok if the answer is no, because I can just come get you and bring you h-home,” you stumble a little on the last word, but you recover quickly, “Are you safe?”

“Yeah. I just needed to, um,” he turns and leans back against the desk, pressing his fingertips to his mouth, then drops them and says, “Thanks for picking up.”

“You promise you’re not falling off the wagon?”

“I promise.”

“Good,” you say, your sweet, soft voice tinged with a smile, “If you’re lying to me, though, I’m gonna break your thumbs.”

“Break my thumbs?” he chuckles.

“Yeah, you know how many bottles you can lift with broken thumbs? None.”

He snorts and shakes his head, “Alright, alright. Don’t get out your vice grips just yet, buster.”

You laugh and Frankie feels his heart swell with adoration. There’s a bit of an awkward pause when your laughter fades out, then you murmur, “Thank you for calling me. Instead of… you know.”

“Yeah.”

“Still need me to pick you up from your meeting later?”

“If that still works for you.”

“Of course it does,” you coo, and he can hear the smile in your voice again when you say, “So, about my movie pick for tonight...”

He grins, “Uh-huh. You got a good one?”

“Well, the thing is, I was going to pick The Shawshank Redemption, but that seems a bit too topical now—”

Laughter bubbles up Frankie’s throat, and he shakes his head, “Hey, maybe it’ll give me some pointers for tunneling my way out of a prison.”

“That is so true. In that case, maybe I’ll keep it. We’ll see,” you chuckle, “Ok, well… I’ll see you tonight, then?”

“I’ll be there.”

When Frankie sees your car pull up to the strip mall coffee shop that holds his Friday night meeting, a few thoughts populate his head almost instantaneously.

At the very forefront is the reminder that he kissed you.

It was a peck, really, just a quick kiss goodnight. But for three days, the first thought on his mind when he sees you or thinks about you or breathes or does anything really is that he fucking kissed you.

After being notified of his court date, Frankie should only be thinking up ways to see minimal jail time. But every time he finds a still moment, before anything else, he pictures you sitting on your bed, rubbing your lips and smiling as he leaves your room.

The thought that follows this one, on par for the past three days, is that he fucked Angie.

Has anyone ever felt this fucking terrible about having sex with his wife?

Then, on top of that, he said shitty things about you and let Angie do the same. He knows he didn’t just betray you, but he betrayed himself, too. It wasn’t just wrong, it was disingenuous. That knowledge fills him with a heaviness so profound, at times he thinks it might break him.

Which brings up the last thought that shotguns through his head following the kiss, then Angie:

I don’t want to do this anymore.

What “this” is, he hasn’t quite figured out yet. His marriage? His obsession with you? Sobriety? Life itself?

Fuck, all of the above?

All he knows is he means it, and that “this” is not sustainable.

He built a timebomb with no countdown. If he concentrates hard enough he can hear it ticking in his bones, whispering in his ear:

I don’t want to do this anymore.

Frankie opens the passenger door to your car and sits down, closing it behind him, “Hey.”

“Hey,” you throw the car into reverse, craning your neck around to check for oncoming traffic, “How was your meeting?”

“It was… good, actually,” he stretches out in the seat and shrugs, “Yeah. I, uhh, I think I needed that today.”

“Yeah?” you glance over at him, “So your opinion that it’s, and I quote, ‘total bullshit’ has shifted a bit?”

He chuckles, “I guess so.”

“Wow, look at you. A changed man,” you smirk, “You’re almost two months sober, you know that?”

“Feels like centuries,” he taps his lips, then tells you, “But also days, sometimes. I don’t know. It’s weird.”

“Is it getting easier?”

Not at all.

The thought surfaces from the hungry part of his brain. The beast that just wants and wants and wants, regardless of the cost. But that’s not necessarily accurate, even though it’s the loudest part of him.

“Sometimes,” he admits, “Sometimes I can’t imagine being that person again. And—and sometimes all I want to do is drink until I don’t care about anything anymore.”

“But the meetings help?”

“Yeah, they do.”

“What step are you on?”

“Well… I haven’t actually started the steps. So, zero.” Before you can ask, he adds, “I don’t know why. I should. I mean, I’ve been thinking about it.”

You nod in acknowledgement, then a few seconds pass before you tell him, “Last time I talked to Ralph, he suggested I check out an Al-Anon meeting.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I’ve been thinking about doing it,” you glance between him and the road, “Would that be weird?”

“I don’t think it would be weird at all,” he answers, tapping his fingers against his knee.

“Really?”

“It might be helpful, talking to other people in similar… situations, I guess.”

“Ok. Well, yeah, maybe I’ll check it out.”

“You should,” he gives your arm a playful pinch.

A smirk tugs at the corner of your mouth. Your hand moves towards his, then the fingers curl back and you mutter, “Sorry,” before returning it to the steering wheel.

Frankie studies your face, watching your jaw gnash around like you’re chewing on your goddamn tongue again. He lays out his hand, palm facing up on the center console.

You look at it, then release your white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel to place your hand in his.

Once you do, he interlaces your fingers and pulls your clasped hands to rest on his leg. His thumb absentmindedly works against your skin as he looks out the window at storefronts and restaurants rolling past. And, for the first time all day, he feels sated and calm, like he knows everything will turn out ok.

As the end credits to Moulin Rouge! run, Frankie looks down at you sleeping peacefully with your head on his lap. He rubs your arm, murmuring, “Sweetheart.”

You wake with a start, jolting upright, and clamber to the other end of the couch. Your wide, frightened eyes glow with the ambient light of the TV. Every muscle in your body is rigid and guarded. You look like a cornered animal.

“Hey,” he holds up a hand, “It’s just me.”

It takes a moment for you to recognize him and your surroundings, but when you do, you slacken, burying your face in your hands, and release a sob.

He stares at you, afraid to move, not wanting to rattle you further. A minute goes by like this, while you cry and he sits there frozen and uncertain.

“Sorry,” you sit up and wipe your eyes, shaking your head, “That was fucking weird I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize. It’s ok.”

“Ok,” you stand on shaky legs, “Well, goodnight.”

When you walk past him, he calls out, “Hey, wait,” and grabs your hand, “Are you ok?”

You don’t say anything, but you don’t pull away, either. For a moment he doesn’t even think you’re breathing. When your breath returns, it’s a sob that racks your body. You shake your head and choke out, “No.”

“Do you want me to stay with you?”

You nod, so he stands and follows you to your room. The lights stay off as he crawls into bed beside you, ushering you into his arms. You feel so warm there, fit so perfectly, even with your stuffed panda bear cuddled into your chest.

When he thinks about your nightmares, your panic attacks, the times like this when you seem stuck somewhere far away, he desperately wants to know who did this to you.

He can connect the dots. He doesn’t need you to tell him the gory details. If he could put a name and a face to the scars in your psyche, though…

He cuts his thoughts short, not wanting to see all the methods of vengeance his volatile brain can come up with. Not with you right here, safe in his embrace, drifting to sleep.

The long, slow breaths expanding and contracting your rib cage lull him into a hypnotic state, and sleep comes to him easily, the way it only does when he’s with you.

Frankie wakes in your bed at dawn.

Eyes still closed, he frowns when a breeze slices through the thick, stagnant air and cools his skin.

He mutters to himself, “You stole the goddamn blanket again, didn’t you?”

One eye peaks open and confirms his suspicion. At some point overnight, you managed to twist yourself up into a cocoon on the opposite side of the bed.

“Hmm?”

The noise is muffled and groggy. He chuckles and shakes his head, “Nothing. Go back to bed.”

The heap jiggles a little. Your hand pokes out from underneath it and grabs around for him. He scoots closer, peeling back a poofy duvet layer to reveal your serene, still mostly sleeping face. You wince at the dull light of day, but a smile ticks across your lips when you make contact with him, smoothing your palm against the heat of his chest before worming your way into his arms. He pulls the blanket with you, draping it over himself, even though the air is hot and soupy, just to feel your warmth because it’s yours.

You mumble something into his shirt. The words all stick together when they dribble from your comatose lips and he can’t make out a single one.

He smirks, “What’s that?”

This time, you tilt your head to the ceiling, notching the crown of your head between his collar and jaw, smacking your mouth a few times before repeating yourself.

This time, he understands.

“IIiii love you.”

His heart skitters electric through his fingertips.

He tries to keep his countenance calm when he peaks down at you. Your eyes are closed, breath passing through your slack lips in long, halting strokes. One foot in the door of consciousness, if that.

Fuck it.

“I love you, too.”

Every synapse in his brain shoots off like the grand finale of a fireworks display when he says it. A sweet, sleepy hum sounds from your throat as you feel around blindly for him, patting up his arm like you’re searching for a light switch in the dark.

When you reach his face, your wobbly fingertips twitch a little. They graze his stubbled cheek, then follow the curve of his smile. Your eyelids flutter open, and it takes a moment for your eyes to focus, but when they do, you don’t go to move or push him away like he was half-expecting.

No, instead, your gaze slides to where you trace his lips, your own parting with a sharp breath.

If he says anything, he’ll fuck this up, he’s sure of it. And he wants to squeeze every last drop from this moment. So he just watches you and tries to subdue the wildfire scorching his bones to dust.

“I had a dream about you,” you tell him in a hoarse whisper, as if someone might overhear.

His pulse surges. He feels his limbs wiggle a little closer to you as he asks, “A good dream?”

You nod.

“What happened?”

The answer tucks into the corners of your mouth and spreads across your face in a big party banner smile, “I dreamed that you, um…”

You lick your lips and shrug, raking your nails along his jaw, reeling him in closer. He doesn’t want to be the fool that makes the first move. Not unless you want him to be.

“That I what?”

The question leaves his throat in a rumble. Permission, he needs your permission, baby, please—

Then you kiss him. Delicate and hesitant, like a question: “Do you want this?”

“I do,” every cell in his body cries, aching with restrained force when his lips move in response, pressing hard against yours like a declaration, “I don’t just want this, I need this. I need you.”

A moan bows your vocal cords, vibrating onto his tongue as you yank on his shirt and roll onto your back, pulling him on top of you. It’s like second nature, how his hips arch into yours, the dull edge of your pubic bone grinding against his already stiff, throbbing length.

He keeps expecting you to come to your senses and shove him away, but you don’t. You keep kissing him, pulling him closer, tongue rolling soft and wet against his—morning breath be damned, thank fucking god. If you tried to shoo him now, he might die, too much inertia from this pulsing, maddening energy rippling beneath his skin, it would tear him to shreds.

Your lips part from his and you peer up at him through your lashes, studying his face as you tug at his cock over his shorts. His whole body shudders, a groan spilling from his chest, and you smirk, “Take them off.”

“Are you sure?”

You glance at his lips, then meet his eyes, “No, but do it anyway.”

Frankie sits up and strips off his clothes, watching you do the same. You pull him with you as you lay back on your elbows, lips meeting again and again in frantic, desperate kisses. His cock nudges against your slick entrance, and you whine, “Please—”

He pushes forward, swallowed up by your tight, wet heat, catching the whine of “Fuck yes,” that escapes your mouth. A thick wave of pleasure rushes up his spine, and your hips work against his, taking him faster, the shared movements quickly escalating.

“So fucking good,” he pants, nipping at the column of your throat as your head falls loosely back, “Sweet girl, you take me so well, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasp, nodding up at the ceiling, mouth hanging open slack, eyes pinched shut, “Oh my god, yes, Frankie—”

“That’s it, baby, say my name,” he growls, this insane gush of hot, writhing ecstasy flooding his body, “Look at me.”

Your head snaps up and you meet his eyes. He slips a hand behind your head and cradles your skull, holding you here, fucking you in deep, long strokes, asking you, “Whose pussy is this?”

“It’s yours, Frankie,” you gasp, nodding, “It’s yours, it’s always yours, fuck—”

“Fuck yes it is,” his voice sounds far away, babbling all on its own as he grapples with the fire growing inside him, “Does your little boyfriend fuck you like this?”

You let out a pathetic whimper and shake your head, “No.”

“Do you think about me when you fuck him?”

A nod, continuing frantically when he asks, “Think about how you wish it was me to make yourself come?”

“Fuck, holy shit, Frankie—oh my fucking god—”

You’re so fucking close. His muscles start to clench at the overwhelming pleasure.

“That’s it baby, come on, let it go, it’s ok, be a good girl let me feel you come on this dick—”

Your moans grow louder, matching his fervid thrusts, and he feels you suck him in, the spasming squeeze of your plush, hot walls yanking him violently over the edge. Liquid static condenses, then pulses through him, and he lets out a guttural noise as he fucks his load into you.

The rhythm of his hips slow, then come to a stop.

He looks down at you, panting, and brushes his thumb against your cheek, searching your face for signs of regret, and notices you’re studying him in the same manner.

You smooth your hands over his shoulders, then pull him into a sweet, lingering kiss. When your lips depart his, you release a heavy sigh, dragging your nails through his damp bed head as you ask, “What time do you have to go?”

An old, familiar ache returns. Reality setting in. He realizes what the day holds in store for him. Sarah’s birthday party. Spending the day with family and friends, playing pretend.

When he thinks about being around you and Angie simultaneously, how he will have to act neutral or even cold towards you, his stomach twists and a sour taste rises in his throat. He’s been here a million times and it always leaves him nauseous with shame. It doesn’t feel right. It never felt right.

I don’t want to do this anymore.

Everything seems to click into place. He understands what he has to do.

“Pablo is picking me up around 9.”

Your throat bobs and a crease forms between your brows as you avert your gaze, fingers still working through his hair, “Today’s gonna be a fucking nightmare, isn’t it?”

“Mmm,” he presses a kiss into your forehead, right on the little worry lines, mumbling against your skin, “It’ll be ok.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, “We just fucked, now we’re gonna spend the day with your wife and daughter, what could go wrong?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he chuckles, but you don’t find it funny.

You flinch and look down, hands curling to your chest. Frankie tilts your chin up. When he meets your eyes, they’re bloodshot and watery. He opens his mouth to say something, frantically searching his brain for some kind of band-aid, but the box is empty. He’s not sure what to say to comfort you. All that comes out of his stupid fucking mouth is, “I—fuck, sorry.”

“No, it’s ok,” you wipe your eyes and sit up, so he draws back, watching you scramble to put your shorts back on, “I, um… I’ll go make some coffee.”

He wants to assure you it will be ok, that he’s going to fix this, make things right. Something he should have done years ago. But the words lodge in his chest. What if he can’t fix it? What if it’s another promise he can’t keep?

So he just sits there and lets you walk away for the millionth time.

After taking a shower and getting dressed, Frankie pours a cup of coffee and walks into the living room, where you’re scribbling in your notebook, limbs twisted up into a tight knot. Uncertainty paralyzes him in the archway between rooms. He takes a step back, pauses, then steps forward.

You smack the notebook and blink at him, “Oh my god Frankie, just sit down, you’re making me nervous.”

He nods and strides over to the couch, lowering himself onto the cushion beside you with a groan. Meanwhile, you return your attention to the notebook, furrowing your brow as you write.

Curiosity flips his stomach. Is it about him? About what just happened?

Desperately, he wants you to share your feelings on the matter with him like you would your journal. The unfiltered truth.

Do you want this like I do?

He takes a big, burning sip of coffee, then asks, “What’re you writing about?”

Your eyebrow arches and you continue to scribble as you narrate, “Dear diary, he’s gonna be super fucking weird about this now, isn’t he?”

Frankie snorts, shaking his head while you spear your pencil down the notebook’s wired spine and smirk at him. He tugs at one of your ankles, and you welcome the invitation, stretching your legs out across his lap and he scoots closer.

“Am I being weird about it?” he asks, glancing down into his steaming mug.

You exchange the notebook for your coffee and raise it to your lips before shrugging, “A little. But I think I am, too, so…” You take a loud sip, then lower your mug and ask, “Do you regret it yet?”

He doesn’t even think about it. The answer barrels from his heart to his mouth.

“No.”

A timid sort of smile curves your lips. It reminds him of the way a neglected animal would react to an outstretched hand. Cautious. Not sure if he’ll slap or pet you, but hopeful.

“Really?”

He nods, searching your face, “What about you?”

“No. But—” your smile falters, eyes dropping to your coffee cup, “But I’m scared.”

Guilt pools icy cold in his guts. His throat bobs on its own accord. He takes your hand, weaving his fingers with yours.

Your face twists into a pained expression and you croak, “What are we even doing here?”

“I don’t know yet,” he shakes his head, “But give me some time—”

“I can’t be your mistress again,” you whisper, shaking your head as tears pool in your eyes, voice escalating, tinged with panic, “Please don’t ask me to do that again, it would kill me, Frankie, I fucking can’t—”

“Hey—no,” he sits up to place his mug on the table, takes yours and does the same, then scoops you up onto his lap.

You bury your face in his neck. Sobs work through your body with violent force—a horrible, tortured sound that pulverizes his heart. All he can do is squeeze you tight and do his best to restrain his own tears. It barely works. Self-loathing bubbles under his skin.

His voice cracks as he tells you, “I won’t do that to you again, mariposa, I promise. I’ll fix it, I promise I’ll fix it, ok?”

He clenches his eyes shut, cradling you as a few more strangled noises burst from your chest, each one driving the thought deeper: I don’t want to do this anymore.

“Give me some time,” he rasps into your hair, “I promise I’ll fix it—”

“You’re just saying that because I’m crying,” you choke out in an accusatory fashion, then take a big, wet, gasping breath.

“No, I’m not—hey, look at me.”

He pulls back to meet your eyes, but you shake your head in protest, covering your face, “I don’t want to, I’m ugly crying.”

“Ugly crying?” Frankie snorts, “I don’t know about that, let me see.”

Your shoulders bounce with a soggy, muffled chuckle, “Shut up.”

He smirks at the spunky response as you sniffle and drop your hands, shooting him a glare he knows you don’t mean. Feigning seriousness, he pinches your chin to inspect your damp, puffy face.

“Hmm,” he clicks his tongue and sighs, “Just as I thought. Too goddamn pretty for your own good.”

To this, you roll your eyes and chuckle, “You’re a liar.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs, thumb sliding across the plush of your bottom lip, “But not about this.”

Your gaze softens as you search his face, “Which part?”

“All of it.”

“Really?”

Frankie nods.

You study him, brow furrowed, eyes welling up. Everything is so silent and still, he wonders if the world stopped turning. A fat tear rolls down your cheek and you croak out, “You better not be fucking with me, Francisco.”

“I’m not—”

“Because, I swear to god, if you’re lying—”

He cups your cheeks and holds your gaze steady on his, “I promise, ok? I’ll tell Ang later this week. But today…” He trails off, shaking his head, “I don’t know.”

A few tears break loose, so he wipes them away.

The column of your throat bobs and you ask, “Do you still want me to go?”

He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, “Do you still want to go?”

“You first.”

“I’d like it if you did. And it would mean a lot to Sarah,” he slips his arms around your waist and leans back onto the couch. You follow, laying your head on his shoulder, melting into him as he pets your hair and says, “But it’s up to you. It might be hard.”

“Because you’re still… with her, right? Like this?”

His chest aches. You flatten your palm against his heart and he tells you, “Yeah. Well, kind of. It’s different, but yeah.”

“Different how?”

I don’t love her. Not like this.

“I, um… I don’t know how to explain it. She’s just a different person. Our relationship isn’t like this. It’s kind of like it was, but, you know… worse.”

You’re quiet for a moment, then ask, “Do you still fuck her?”

“No.”

The lie slips out automatically. Immediately, his stomach drops to the ground. He wishes he could take it back, and for a second, he considers it. But, at the same time, you don’t need to know about a one-time fuck up.

He shifts a little, looking down at you, “But we’re still… affectionate sometimes. Which could be hard to see. So, it’s up to you.”

You smooth your hand up his chest, to his neck, and sit up to meet his eyes, “I’ll go.”

Frankie nods, searching your face.

“We can behave, right?” your eyebrow quirks, and you glance down at his mouth.

“Uh huh,” he leans closer, inhaling your breath, brushing his knuckles against your cheek.

But when his lips meet yours, and sparks ignite under his skin, he knows it’s just another lie.

#designated person #frankie morales #francisco morales #francisco catfish morales #frankie catfish morales #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fic

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is-emily-real · 7 months

Text

Five Minutes

Eddie anticipated his last day of summer break to pass peacefully and quietly. The plan was to stay home, meditate on the awful realities of Hawkins to hopefully give a shit about the upcoming school year (at least enough of a shit to graduate), and prepare himself to save the new sheepies he’d add to the current roster of the Hellfire Club.

There he was, deep into his meditation, accompanied by the wonderful melodies of Black Sabbath, when a frenzied knocking sounded upon his front door.

He paused his music begrudgingly and opened the door. Steve Harrington stood on his porch in all his sweaty, shirtless, unadulterated glory.

Well.

He pushed past Eddie and slammed the door. “You gotta hide me.”

“What the hell? No.”

“Please.” The panic was written all over his face. “Just long enough so she leaves and I can get to my car.”

Eddie opened his poor, abused front door with a frown. “Get out of my house.”

Steve flinched at the sound of a girl’s hollering and ducked behind the couch. “Five minutes. Five minutes and I’m out of your hair. Deal?” he panted.

He considered his options. He could kick him to the wolves and have an odd anecdote to share the next day, or he could let him stay and have an odd anecdote to share the next day. Only one of those options let him ogle his middle school crush for longer than a few seconds.

He was a simple man.

“Fine,” he sighed and closed the door with the respect it deserved. “You owe me.”

Steve stood up. “Thanks, man, I mean it. She was about to kick my ass.”

“Who?”

“Max. We were helping her move in and I pissed her off.”

“Max Mayfield? Billy’s sister?”

He gave Eddie a stern glare. “Don’t bring him up. Yes, that Max.”

Two screams told him things were going to shit outside. Steve scrambled into the hallway with Eddie hot on his tail. “What did you even do?”

He winced. “I may have told her she didn’t get any more help if she was going to be a bitch.”

Eddie stopped in his tracks. “You didn’t.”

“Listen, she was being a bitch!”

“Keep your voice down. I know King Steve’s never been in a trailer before, but the walls are thin, okay?”

“Sorry, sorry,” he whispered, “but she was giving Lucas shit for wanting to try out for the basketball team and it wasn’t helping anything.”

He shrugged. “I don’t see what’s wrong with making fun of that.”

“Hey, I happen to like basketball.”

“I remember.” Any tint of pink in his cheeks was purely due to the heat. Eddie opened the door to his bedroom and waved the boy inside.

This was not how he’d planned to get Steve in here. He cringed at the thought.

“Anyways, he’s good at it, and if it makes him happy, he should go for it, you know?”

“I’m not getting invested in the social lives of children.”

“But you’d like them! They play that castle game you’re into.”

“The castle game?!” Eddie couldn’t help himself. It came out louder than he expected. “Dungeons and Dragons—”

Steve clapped a hand over his mouth.

Something twisted in his stomach. This was… too close for anyone’s safety. He swallowed, trying to control the racing of his heart when they heard a pounding on the front door.

“I know he’s in there!” a girl called.

Steve’s eyes went wide. He left a chill when he drew away.

Eddie tried to wipe the longing off his face as he shot him a glare. “My blood’s on your hands.” Slowly he left the room, throwing on the aloof air he’d spent so long practicing before he opened the door.

Max Mayfield stood on his porch, fire red hair matching the color of her face as she stared at him. “Give him here.”

He rolled his eyes. “Nice to meet you too, neighbor. I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“You have Steve.”

“Hmm.” He tapped his chin as if he were trying to think. “About my height, pretty face, huge jerk? Haven’t seen him.” She huffed. “Listen, check the woods, if he’s not back there, come back and I’ll upend my whole day to help you look, okay?”

“You suck,” she spat before she turned on her heel and stomped away.

“Love you too!” he called with a grin.

He peered out the blinds, waiting until she was several lots down before he turned away. “You owe me big time, Stevie,” he called. “I think I’m on her shit list for life.”

He entered the bedroom to the sight of a muscled back, its owner leaned close to his sweetheart. Steve brushed his fingers down its neck.

The whole situation was doing unfortunate things to him. He cleared his throat.

Steve whirled to face him. “I was just— You play guitar?”

He gave a wary look. “Yes.”

“That’s— uh, that’s… hot.” He shut his eyes tight. “I should— Is she gone? I should go.”

“Um, yeah, she’s gone.”

“Oh, good. Well, I guess I’ll see you around?” Steve hit him with a sheepish grin. It was the most dazzling thing he’d ever seen.

“Sure,” he stammered. “See you around.”

Eddie stayed rooted to the spot as he left. The picture of Steve’s fingers running down the neck of his guitar played on repeat in his head. That’s… hot. He listened to the crunch of gravel under tires.

He was such a dweeb.

He’d tell Jeff tomorrow. Jeff would know what to do.

(No one would believe him. Not even a little bit.)

“Steve, that’s the lamest thing you’ve ever said.” Robin continued to walk around the empty store, straightening tapes as she went with no particular fervor.

He rolled his eyes. “If it was cool, I wouldn’t be here commiserating about it, would I?”

“Still. I know I have no game, but that was bad . Criminally bad. He should press charges.”

“Listen, some of us found out we maybe liked boys a month ago.” He started to rewind another tape. “ That’s hot . Who even says that? Also, when did I start thinking Eddie Munson was hot?”

She shot him a look over the counter. “He’s your type.”

He sputtered with indignation. “I don’t have a type!”

“Curly hair, brunette, snarky? Is none of this ringing a bell?”

“Twice doesn’t make a type. If that were the case, you’d have a thing for redheads.”

“At least I know when to admit my flaws.”

“I have flaws. I hear about them all the time from my mom.”

Robin laughed. “She’d be so upset if she knew how totally not smooth you are.”

He glanced at the clock. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? It’s a school night. You have a bedtime.”

Headlights flashed in the parking lot. “One, it’s a curfew, and two, there’s my ride.” She slung her bag over her shoulder and sauntered to the door. “Seven a.m. sharp, dingus!” she called as she left.

“Loser!” he yelled after her. Steve shook his head. He’d be there, obviously.

The rest of his shift dragged. He was certain the store was losing money staying open this late on a Wednesday, but he got paid to be there, so it was whatever.

Thirty minutes left on the clock. Then twenty-nine.

After what seemed like days, a quarter to ten rolled around, and he started to close up the store. He was sweeping when the door chimed. “Welcome to Family Video,” he said without looking up, “let me know if you need anything.”

“A place to hide would be wonderful.” He looked up to find Eddie Munson approaching the counter, curls mussed and breathing hard.

Damn it, Robin was right.

“Okay, but we close in five minutes.”

“Something’s better than nothing,” he replied, hopping over the counter.

Steve abandoned his broom. Keith could whine at him tomorrow if he really cared about three whole crumbs on the floor. He walked back to find Eddie curled into a ball, tucked tightly in the corner between the overstock candy and the safe. “Who are you running from, anyway?”

“The cops.”

He blinked. “The cops?”

“Fine, one cop. But this new deputy’s a huge dick. He’s been trying to bust me over nothing all summer, and I really, really don’t want to get arrested tonight.”

“I highly doubt it’s nothing.”

“He saw me talking to Rick one time!”

“The drug dealer?”

Eddie shushed him, one long finger over his lips. “Grandma says it’s not polite to call him that.” That got a laugh out of Steve. “I met your children yesterday. They’re assholes.”

He sighed. “They’re my assholes, though. Are they adjusting alright?”

“About as well as any freshmen.”

“So, terribly.”

“Pretty much.” He attempted a dramatic flourish, only managing to knock over a box of Twix. “I’ll be a gracious super-senior and radicalize them before I hand over custody for the weekend.”

“Oh, good. I’d hate for them to learn nothing at school.”

He was basking in Eddie’s chuckle, a warm, pretty sound, when a car came to a stop outside. His face fell. “Stay here,” he ordered and spared a glance at the clock.

9:58. Close enough.

He stepped out from behind the counter and met the officer at the door. “I’m sorry, sir, but we’re closed.”

“I’m looking for someone, actually. Eddie Munson. Do you know him?”

“Only in passing. He’s not here. We actually haven't had a customer in the last hour.”

The officer fixed him with a harsh look. “You’re sure?”

“I’d pull the report, but I’ve already shut down the terminals, and they take forever to boot back up.”

He huffed. “How much longer are you here for?”

“Maybe fifteen minutes? I’ve just got to finish rewinding this tape.”

“If you see him, give us a call.”

“Absolutely. Have a good night.” The officer nodded sharply and turned on his heel. Steve locked the door behind him.

The air hung tense as he returned to the counter. Eddie sat as still as stone until the car finally pulled out and started down the road. “You’re okay now.”

He unfolded himself and stood. “You’re beautiful.”

Steve stopped dead in his tracks. “What?”

He flushed bright red. “You do that well!” he said quickly. “You know, lie.”

“Oh! Thanks. Lots of practice, I suppose.” He could feel his heart fluttering. Eddie called him beautiful? What the hell was happening?

“Well, I guess I should get going.”

“We can leave through the back.” He gave the store a last glance before leading Eddie out.

Eddie paused once they were in the cool night air. “Seriously, thank you. My knight in shining armor.”

“No problem. Just paying you back.” The silence hung for a beat too long. “I can walk you to your car?”

“I’ve just gotta cut through the fence row and I’ll be good. Thanks, though.”

Steve could barely make it out in the shadows, but he could see Eddie debating something with himself. He locked the door behind them, giving him time to come to a decision.

When he turned back, Eddie pressed a soft, chaste kiss to his lips.

Every semblance of a thought left his brain. Steve decided, there and then, that he liked kissing boys. He especially liked kissing Eddie. He’d never had the whole fireworks experience before, but he got it now. It felt like his head was swimming, mesmerized by chapped lips and tobacco.

Too soon, Eddie pulled back. “Was… was that okay?”

All he could do was nod.

“Good.” He started for the trees.

“See you later?” Steve called feebly. God, he wanted to.

Bathed in the orange of the streetlight, Eddie gave him a salute. “You know where to find me.” Before he could think again, he was alone.

Robin was going to be pissed.

#steddie #isemilyreal on ao3 #steve harrington #eddie munson #they're stupid they're gay and i love them

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lees-chaotic-brain · 1 month

Note

this is for your event 🗣️🗣️

here me out.. gojo fic abt the song tell your girlfriend by lay banks. something like having a crush on gojo and he likes reader too but reader and gojo are with other people. idc who readers boyfriend is🫣

WC: 1.7k

CW: alcohol consumption (all characters of age), swearing, cheating (see above ask for details), female pronouns (reader referred to as girlfriend), not beta read AT ALL, reader is a bit of a crybaby lol

Note: thanks for sending an ask in emi!!! also, this song is fire i was literally jamming the entire time i was writing. also, sorry if you wanted this to be more true to the vibe of the song. i kind of interpreted it my own way and rolled with it lmao

listen to this while reading

Event Guide | Event Masterlist | JJK Masterlist | Blog Navigation

You loved your boyfriend, right? You had only been dating four months, but you wouldn’t have dated someone if you didn’t have feelings for him. Sure, he could be a little aloof, and a little rude, but he had his moments when he was sweet and caring. So why did you find yourself thinking of someone else?

During the day when the sun was out and you were thinking rationally you could convince yourself that you truly cared for him, but at night under the low lighting of the bar all bets were off. When you were a few shots past tipsy and your thinking was slowed, why did another face keep coming to mind.?

Initially, I wouldn't do this

Hennessy pourin' and shit gettin' fluid

And you never intended to cheat. And you definitely never intended to fall for your best friend who was also dating someone else. But when you spent time with him, or when he shot a flirtatious wink from across the room he ignited a swarm of butterflies in your stomach. A swarm of butterflies that went into hibernation when you were around your boyfriend.

You knew it was wrong, that you shouldn’t feel the way you did, but with the heavy beat of the bass coursing through you and cognac warming your insides your traitorous heart finally decided what it was Gojo Satoru made you feel. Desire. And…love. Oh shit, that wasn’t good.

Suddenly feeling a bit ill, you waved your concerned friend off and staggered outside to get some fresh air. Taking deep gulps of fresh air, you stepped into an alley to get some privacy so you could collect your thoughts. You wrap your arms around yourself in an attempt to ward off the chill of the night seeping through the thin fabric of your clothes.

As you stand there shivering, your thoughts are interrupted by a warm jacket being wrapped around your shoulders. Spinning around, you find yourself face to face with the one person you absolutely did not want to see at the moment. Confronted by the appearance of your best friend, you can’t help but start crying. It’s stupid, you know, but as soon as you lay eyes on him the shock of your realization wears off and your emotions kick in.

“Oh my god, hey, are you okay?” He panics, grabbing your shoulders and peering into your face concerned. “Why are you crying? What’s wrong??”

His care only serves to make you cry harder. Why? Why did he have to be like this? Couldn’t he just be a bad friend and ignore you? It would be so much easier that way. Unsure what to do, he pulls you into a hug, patting you on the back.

“Hey. It’s okay. I got you. Can you tell me what’s wrong?” You can't take it anymore. You both are dating other people, and you are definitely finding too much comfort in his arms. Pushing him away, you avert your gaze.

“You, okay? You’re my problem. Can you just leave me alone please?”

His brow furrows. “What do you mean ‘me?’ Did I do something? Also, I’m not leaving you outside by yourself at this time of night. Please, can’t you just talk to me? Whatever I did I-”

“I just realized I’m in love with you, okay?!” Your voice rings out in the stillness of the alley, and you clap your hands over your mouth, horrified. “Wait, I-”

You’re cut off by him gently taking your face in his hands and slotting his lips against yours. The kiss is soft and sweet; filled with years of longing and suppressed feelings pouring from each of you. It feels like home. It feels like love. It feels right, but you know it isn’t. Pushing him back, you stare at him wide-eyed, your chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.

“What…what was that?”

We was just friends, but then came in Cupid

The tension was buildin', we had to pursue it

“I like you too.” He blurts in lieu of answering your question. Then he pauses and corrects himself. “Actually I’m in love with you. I have been for a while. I just didn’t think you felt the same.”

Unsure of what to do or say, you just start laughing, because the two of you were idiots. You were best friends who supposedly knew everything about each other. Except for the fact that you were each in love with the other, apparently. Oh my god you were in love with your best friend and he was in love with you. Your laughter became tinged with hysteria as you remembered that you had a boyfriend and he had a girlfriend.

Tears filled your waterline. “Oh my god Toru what are we doing? I have a boyfriend!! And you have a girlfriend! We can’t be doing this…”

“Why not?” He gently cups your face in his palms and brushes your tears away with his thumbs. “Break up with your boyfriend. Be with me. My girlfriend isn’t a problem. She’s known about my feelings for you from the start. She’s in love with someone else too and we’ve just been using each other as a distraction. There’s nothing in our way.”

Standing in that alley with his vivid blue eyes on yours, you couldn’t help but believe him. What if he was right. What if the two of you really were meant to be?”

What it's been with us this whole time

Taking a deep breath, you step back, and out of his reach. If you were going to think about this rationally, you couldn’t be so close to him. You push your hair back out of your eyes and tilt your head back. He watches you from where he is, knowing that you need space to sort out your emotions and thoughts. After a few minutes you turn back to him.

“Alright. The first thing I’m going to do is break up with my boyfriend and apologize. After that, I’m not sure. I don’t want to make you any promises, because I’m not really sure of anything. The only thing I know is that I won’t be able to live with myself if I don't break up with him, because he doesn’t deserve to be hurt or deceived. Okay?”

“That’s fine.” Satoru says simply, looking at you with so much affection it hurts. “I’ve waited for you so long, a little while longer isn’t going to do me any harm.”

Your eyes soften. “Thanks. Now, I’m going to head back in, okay?” He steps aside, allowing you to pass. Heading back into the party, you feel nauseous, but you head up to your boyfriend.

Because if you ever want to be with Satoru, your relationship can’t start with deception.

'Cause I don't wanna live a lie, lie, lie

An hour and one extremely difficult conversation later found you sitting on a park bench with your head in your hands crying. Surprisingly, your now ex-boyfriend had been very understanding and kind about it. While he was clearly hurt and holding back tears, he had told you that he just wanted you to be happy, and that he was okay with it.

After reassuring you that he wasn’t angry, he hugged you one last time, wished you well, and walked away. Unable to stop crying, you were overwhelmed by a sense of relief, but at the same time guilt. So you had told your boyfriend. What now?

Should tell my boyfriend what I been doin'

The weeks after your breakup were tough. You told Satoru you needed time to yourself, because even though you logically knew that you shouldn’t feel bad, you couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of guilt. You felt like if you started dating him now, it would be unfair to your ex, and that you should at least wait a little while.

You also discussed the matter of his girlfriend, and decided that it was okay for him to remain with her until you were ready, as the two of them were friends and he was helping her make her crush jealous. You didn’t mind him helping her, especially since you were making him wait and overcomplicating things.

You told Gojo as much, and decided that for the time being the two of you would remain friends until you were ready. You just needed a little time to figure yourself out. But you knew that you wanted to be with him. Just not right that second.

Took a break, had to focus on some me time

We can keep it low-key for the meantime

A couple months passed, and you went on with your life. Everything was normal, and you tried to push your thought of Satoru away, preferring to procrastinate on talking to him as long as possible.

Until one night, when you were cleaning your room and found a box of photos from your high school days with him. Going through them, you felt a sense of nostalgia, and affection. And suddenly you missed him. You missed him so bad it hurt. You needed him by your side, and you needed him as more than a friend.

Hit by this revelation, you sat there for a moment, stunned, before leaping up and grabbing your car keys. Driving well above the speed limit, you rushed to his house and banged on his door. Was it sometime after midnight? Yes. Did you really care? No.

You heard his groggy voice say something about waiting one moment, then the door swung open. And there he stood, right in front of you in all his sleepy glory. But as soon as his eyes landed on you they widened and all traces of sleep disappeared from them.

“[Y/N]! What are you doing here? It’s-” You interrupt him, tears already pouring down your face as you beam up at him.

“I love you. I’m ready to be your girlfriend now.”

Go tell your girlfriend that I'm your girlfriend (oh, oh)

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inklore · 2 years

Text

holy diver.

premise: eddie puts those cute panties you gave him to good use.

pairing: eddie munson x richgirl!reader

word count: 1.8k

warnings: eighteen+ content, masturbation, virgin!eddie, flashbacks to previous sexual escapades (oral), mentions of fucking, swallowing, literally he’s just jerkin it with readers panties.

etc: this is a part of heavy metal love, but you could read this as a stand alone/without reading the series and it be completely fine. literally no one asked for this but i’m a whore so.

i do not give anyone permission to translate or repost my work, please be respectful — if you enjoyed please comment or reblog!

Eddie wouldn’t consider himself an overtly affectionate person.

Wouldn't say he was raised to feen off of affections, or need them for general survival. He’s sure some people would—do—look at his chaotic behvaior and lack-of-giving-a-fuck as someone who didn’t get hugged enough as a child. Which is laughable and probably one of the more generously nice rumours that he’s confident is going around about him.

You don’t get labeled as the ‘Town Freak’ without the many assumptions and assessments on your character being anything but generous.

No one would go out of their way to label him as the most overtly friendly, or approachable, therefore affectionate would never be tied onto his many labels.

And yet each time he's around you he feels a buzzing in the tips of his fingertips to reach out and touch you. To move stray hairs out of your face, let his fingers linger on the soft skin of your cheek; to move it down to your neck, run his thumb along the dip in your collarbone, to go lower—as low as you’ll let him, whether that stops at your chest or between your legs.

He figured these—feelings of affection—had only surfaced from having your mouth on him. That it was just his biological hormones getting the best of him. Would be perfectly natural in the grand scheme of things, had spent plenty of nights alone watching the few dirty movies he’d snagged from the Family Video. Had let his eyes linger a little too long on legs, asses, tits.

Wanting to fuck and be fucked was nothing new to him.

But affection was.

You were.

Of course he had remembered you from school. From the many times he caught you walking past in the halls, the few classes you had together but never looked his way. From being partnered together in Bilology, how you had looked less than thrilled to even be there let alone partnered with him—and of course, like the fucking cliché he had to be; he found you just as beautiful as the rest of Hawkins High did.

Maybe that's where the affection started.

As he watched the way you chewed on your pencap, the way your glossed lips wrapped around the blue cap, your tongue peaking out every now and then; how your eyes would meet, you catching him staring and you never scowled, scolded, just stared back at him for a beat then went back to looking down at the lab in front of you.

Or when he would try to make conversation with you, try to lighten the mood, do anything but sit in silence. Going into grave detail about Corroded Coffin, air guitaring one of his riffs, dropping some cheesy jokes just to see you smile.

“What would you call an acid with an attitude? A mean-o-acid,” there’s a long pause after he’s said the punchline, brows raised as he tries to rack his brain to remember if that’s how he heard it. “I think.”

“Did you pass Chemistry, Munson?”

“Barely.”

“Biology isn’t looking too good either is it?” You had said, covered your smile up with that bitchy humor you seemed to excel in. That seemed to only make him that much more attracted to you. So everyday he had tried to rack his brain for something stupid he could say that always got the same reaction out of you. Until one day you actually laughed. Had let it slip out, and as much as Eddie wanted to clap his hands and jump on top of the lab table in victory; he knew doing so would make your smile slip and put that crown right back in place.

So maybe that’s where it all started. Not the night he let you slide into his van and grace him with your presence. Showing him a side of you he was sure not many had seen, or would ever see.

And when the two of you had kissed—a kiss that hadn’t been his first but was enough to knock him down a peg, onto his ass and think “fuck, she really is perfect.”

When your hands had went for his belt he swore he felt his stomach in his ass. A shot of nervous adrenaline he only feels from new campaigns, or when he’s on stage playing with his band. He had half a mind to say no, knew that even his inebriated mind could tell this might not have been the best of ideas. Not in this high state of mind, and definitely not from the princess of Hawkins.

A punch to the gut from her lover boy was surely going to come tomorrow morning when he showed up roided out and angry on his doorstep.

But your eyes looking up at him, the way your lips looked so plump and red from his, how pretty you looked between his legs, how hard he was; he’d be a fucking idiot to say no.

He thought he knew the best pleasures in life already: playing DnD, rocking out to Dio, performing with the band, a six pack and a good smoke.

Then your tongue had pressed to the tip of his cock and he swore he forgot all about them, this was the only pleasure he knew. How warm and wet your mouth felt, your little moans you’d let out that sent a vibration from the base of his cock up that he could get addicted to feeling. Your eyes looking up at him as you swallowed him down; he was fucked.

And as he lays in the dark of his room, one of the street lights that linger around the trailer park filtering the tiniest bit of orange glow into the room; the soft cotton of the panties you had dropped into his lap as you left his van the other night, gripped in his hand. His cock swells in his jeans.

You had tasted so good on his tongue.

A deep groan echoes throughout the room as he runs the heel of his hand against the outline of his cock. Hips stuttering up, lips parted and releasing the weakest of breaths and gasps as he remembers your taste; how your fingers had tugged his hair, how beautiful you looked when he let his eyes drift up, how you looked on the brink of crying from how good you felt—from how good he was making you feel.

You sounded so fucking pretty moaning, saying his name.

All things he could feel himself needing more of, wanting more of to the point where he couldn’t get through a day without getting hard at the thought of you, or feeling that buzz of affection to simply just see you.

He lets out a long sigh as he undoes his belt, pushes his jeans down to his ankles. Wraps a palm around his cock, a shudder going through him as his thumb moves along the head to gather the precome leaking there. Spreading it down his shaft with the few light strokes he gives himself.

If someone had told him three years ago that he would have the princess of Hawkins in the back of his van smoking with him—filling her throat, swallowing down his come—he would have flipped them the bird.

But this seemed to be some fucking fever dream he’d stepped into. Some mystic land like Mordor; a fantasy world, and he was living in it. Loving it, a little too much.

“Shit,” he grunts, rolls his wrist at his tip.

After tasting you, feeling your pussy on his tongue, lapping at your wetness, swallowing down your sweet taste; he wanted to feel more, wanted to feel that same wetness on his cock. That tightness he had felt when he pushed his fingers inside of you.

Would you grip him just as tight? Even tighter?

Could he make you come on his cock and have you moaning his name all pretty and panting like you had when his mouth was on you?

His hips are pushing up into his fist, his head hitting the back of the pillow, eyes closed, gasps leaving his parted lips as he thinks about it. As he presses your panties against the length of his cock, the soft cotton incomparable to what your pussy probably feels like. But fuck it’ll have to do.

The thought of having you laid out for him, his mouth and fingers leaving bruises and bites along your soft skin, the way you’d push your body up to his. Sends his mind into a tailspin.

He could just pull your panties to the side and run his cock through your wetness. Knows you’d cling to him, dig your nails into his arms, his back, his hair; knows he could just slip the head in…just the tip of his cock…so slow inside of you.

“Ahh,” Eddie sinks his teeth into his bottom lip to muffle his pathetically needy groans.

He knows there’s no going back after that. Once he’s inside of you, once he’s taken you like that. How could he ever get enough of that? He couldn’t.

You’re fucking perfect on the outside and you’d be just as perfect on the inside. Addicting. Making him simmer with affection that he’s never felt before, but always labeled as shitty and irrelevant to himself.

But now he needed it. Needed to see you. To touch you. To taste you. To watch your fingers play with your pussy, wonders if you’ll let him watch you come if he asks. Wants to see your body wither and reach out for him.

Would you want to watch him? Like this? His hand, your panties, wrapped around his cock as he fucks into his fist. As his stomach tightens and contracts the closer he gets, the more he thinks about you. Always you.

Fucking you. Wanting you. Adoring you.

Eddie can’t help himself when the tiny bow on your panties catches on the underside of his tip, your name falling from his lips like a plea, a cry into the night for you to answer—with your mouth, your pussy, whatever you’ll let him touch, have, he’ll take all of you like a starved dog. Happily.

His cock is so hard, throbbing, painful in its need.

Just a few more strokes, a few more images of you on top of him—nails digging into his chest as you ride him, as your beautiful tits bounce in his face, as his hands grip your hips, your beautiful lips parted and moaning his name as you come around him, as you grip his cock so good, so tight that he’s coming too—has Eddie tensing, stomach muscles constricting as his mouth hangs open in a loud gasp of air that sounds a lot like your name, as he comes against his fingers and your panties.

“Shit.” He chuckles breathlessly, uses the cotton in his hands to clean himself up. Thinks you’d look fucking amazing covered in his come, wonders if you’d let him.

Or if you’d lick the come from his rings. Swallows hard at the image of your mouth wrapped around his fingers licking, sucking, just as good as you did his cock.

His hand runs through his sweat slicked bangs, yeah, he was totally fucked.

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #stranger things smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson oneshot #heavy metal love !

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liightsout · 4 months

Text

the blue (prologue)

Hey angels!

I have had the urge to write again circling around in my head for the past month so whilst being home from work sick for the day, I did a thing...

I haven't written anything in near on 8 years, so this is probably god awful, but one of my goals for this year is to do more things I enjoy, so please be kind!

I have some plans for Mattie and Danny, so if you're interested please stick around, I'd love for you to share this lil journey with me.

Asks are always open if you wanna chat.

Love ya x

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

Matilda wasn’t sure how she had ended up in the situation she currently found herself.

Cliche, right? Specifically Matilda was not sure which choices she had made in her life that had caused her to find herself standing on the doorstep of Daniel Ricciardo’s Monaco apartment, deciding whether she should knock on the door for a final time, or walk away and try again in the morning.

When she had heard the news from Adam that morning she hadn’t second guessed the decision to buy a flight ticket to Nice for that same evening. She didn’t think about how she would get to Heathrow Airport, didn’t consider how much the taxi from the airport to Daniel’s would cost, or even if he would want to see her. He would want to see her, right? Daniel had done the same for her on previous occasions, despite her protests at the time. Doubt was creeping into the forefront of her brain the longer she stood there staring at the large oak door.

Shaking the thought from her head, she knocked a final time and waited. A few minutes ticked by when she finally heard it.

Relief filled Matilda’s body as she heard movement from inside the apartment. She could picture Daniel climbing off of the sofa they had spent so many nights together on. She could hear the mumbled expletives as he neared the door, his feet dragging along the laminate in the way they always seemed to when he was tired.

“Blake, I told you, I don’t want to see anyone right now. I’ll call you in the morning, but I just… I just need to be alone.”

Matilda’s heart dropped. It was worse than she had initially thought. It was no shock to her that Daniel would be taking the news terribly. But to be turning away his friends was… so not Daniel. Even when he was feeling low he had always welcomed the solace of his friends and family. She feared she had made the wrong call showing up at all.

“Danny it’s me. I heard the news from Adam this morning. Don’t be mad, but Lando told him and he just thought I should know because he didn’t think you’d tell me yourself, at least not straight away, and he was worried about you.” Moments of silence passed by, nerves seeping into the deepest parts of Matilda’s mind.

“Please open the door Danny, I need to see you. You don’t have to let me in or speak to me, I just want to see you and make sure you’re alright. I brought some of those crisps you like from home because I know you’ve probably not eaten anything… or maybe you have… either way, I thought you’d want some and I didn’t know what else to bring, or what else to do, I just needed to see-”

The door swinging open cut Matilda off. Daniel wasted no time in enveloping the smaller girl into his arms. Matilda had received a lot of hugs from Daniel in the short 18 months she had known him, but this one felt different. She could feel Daniel’s hands gripping onto her skin through the sweater she wore. She could feel him burying his face into the crook of her neck. She could feel his heartbeat emitting from his chest like claps of thunder in the quiet Monaco night.

“I’m sorry Mattie. I wanted to call you all day, but I just didn’t know what to say. I knew you had that big meeting with your client this week and I didn’t want you to be distracted, or turn up here… I guess I should have known you’d find out and turn up anyways” Daniel spoke as he slowly pulled away from her.

Matilda took the time to get a careful look at the man standing in front of her. The usual glowing brown orbs she loved staring into, replaced with bloodshot ones, dark bags making the contrast even more jarring. His smile was empty and false. A large sweatshirt and sweatpants he was wearing made his frame seem smaller than it really was.

Taking in his words, she frowned “Daniel, please don’t apologise. This is so far from being your fault it’s actually a joke. And don’t worry about me, my clients can wait. You’re more important to me. Always us, remember?”.

Standing in the moonlight on the doorstep of his apartment Daniel sighed.

“Yeah baby, always us.”

#daniel ricciardo #dr3 imagine #daniel ricciardo fanfic #daniel ricciardo fluff #danny ric #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 fiction #dr3

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book-place · 1 year

Text

Gift Giving

Warnings: mentions of explosions, let me know if I missed any :)

Pairings: Avengers x reader platonic

Request: Hello! I have a (small) request to make! So avengers x teen! Reader who I super shy and jumpy but super laid back and calm at the same time. They had joined the team a month ago and they've barely made any progress in getting to know the team. They (the team) have tried before but it's hard to have a conversation when only one person is talking (it also makes u super nervous and they don't wanna scare you). Anyways, it's ur first time spending Christmas with them and you wanna be nice and buy all of them presents. But there's a problem; you barely know these people and you don't want to get them anything they don't like. So you end up building up some courage to talk to Peter about what you should buy them. Tbh you just found him less intimidating. He helps you out with it eventhough he doesn't know much about them, he tried his best. And you both bond in-between the one week you spent you spent together buying the team gifts

Request by: @ladyagagaslefttoe

*not my gif*

Summary: You seek out the help of someone unexpected for advice on a certain holiday problem you were having

A/N: Welcome to day 5 of Book Places 12 Days of Christmas Celebration

Please don’t plagiarize my work, you may reblog if you like but I’m asking that you don’t steal my hard work

Eleven words, that’s it. That’s all you needed to say. It wasn’t a big deal, you just needed to suck it up and do it.

You’re an avenger for gods sake, how could you go out into the world all the time, fighting off literal threats to civilization, but you couldn’t even muster up enough courage to ask the least intimidating member of your team a question?

You had been apart of the team for about a month, and despite their various attempts, you had barely said anything to them unless absolutely necessary. Every time they tried to have a conversation with you, you would shut down, get nervous.

To your surprise, they hadn’t even seemed a little discouraged by your actions, if anything, they tried even harder to bond with you.

You supposed that was why you found it vital to get them gifts for the upcoming holiday, becuase they hadn’t given up on you.

It wasn’t like you didn’t want to talk back and get closer with them, you did, but you supposed you were just too shy. It was no fault of yours, though, it was just the way you were, and you could tell your team was beginning to realize that.

Sucking in a sharp breath, you reached your fist up and knocked on the door twice before you could lose whatever little courage you had been able to muster up.

There were a few sounds of crashing coming from within the room, causing you to flinch slightly, only for a disheveled looking Peter to swing the door open a moment later.

He was looking over his shoulder at the what looked like a science project gone wrong as he began speaking, “Sorry about that,” He breathed out, “I think I used the wrong chemicals-“

He cut himself off suddenly as his gaze finally met your nervous one, and his eyes went wide.

“Y/n.” He breathed out before immediately moving to the side and extending an arm out, “Come in, come in,” He rushed out.

After only a small amount of hesitation, you stepped past the boy and entered his room, glancing around guardedly.

“What can I do for you?” Peter asked after a moment of awkward silence, rocking back and forth on his heels as he clapped his hands together once.

You cleared your throat a little bit, trying to get out the dreaded eleven words, “What… what do you think I should get the team for Christmas?”

His mouth snapped shut, all the reasons he thought of that could be an explanation for why you were there flew out of his mind, “You- you want to get them gifts?” He softened at the realization.

Slowly, you nodded your head, cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

He smiled gently, “I can go shopping with you, if you’d like.” He offered quietly.

Your head snapped up and your eyes went wider than you thought was possible at his suggestion and you choked on air a little bit, “You- you mean it?” You asked.

Peter nodded his head as an excited grin grew on his face, “I mean, I don’t know very much about them myself, but I would love to help still.”

Your cheeks grew red with gratitude, “Thank you,” You whispered, staring at your shoes that you were shuffling back and forth.

“What’re friends for?” He asked with a grin.

“F-friends?” The word slipped past your lips in astonishment.

His smile only widened, “Of course,” He said.

For the first time since you entered the room, a small, ghost of a smile graced your lips.

-•-

The elevator door dinged, and everyone looked up, expecting Peter to step out alone. Imagine their surprise when you walked out right next to him, looking more confident then they had ever seen you.

The small smile that you wore on your face immediately disappeared and you seemed to fold back into your shell when you saw all of them staring.

“Hey, Y/n,” Clint greeted from where he was lounging on the couch.

You gave him a small nod in return, turning your uncertain eyes to Peter, who gave you a smile and nod of reassurance, putting a hand on the small of your back and leading you to stand in front of all of them.

Nat and Steve extachanged a curious glance before turning their attention back to you.

“What’s up?” Tony spoke aloud what everyone was thinking.

Peter cleared his throat, gesturing towards you, “N/n has something for you.”

Everyone’s eyebrows shot up at the nickname, but turned towards you expectantly nonetheless.

“I-um-“ You stammered and Peter reached out to squeeze your hand gently, causing you to take a deep breath to ground yourself once more, “I got you all something for Christmas.” You spoke with more confidence then they had ever heard from you.

A couple jaws dropped in shock as Thor choked on his drink before grinning, “Presents?” He asked in childlike giddiness.

You nodded holding up a shopping bag before scurrying around to each of your teammates and handing them things that you had bought specifically for each of them.

“Oh, Y/n,” Nat breathed out, looking down at fuzzy socks that were her favorite color, “Thank you.” She said genuinely.

You only nodded your head meekly before moving onto Thor, to whom you presented a box of pop tarts, and he nearly wept with joy.

On it went for each of your teammates, them being so greatful for the thought out gifts you and Peter had gone out of your way to get for them.

“I don’t think I’ll be doing this again, you guys are hard to shop for.” The teasing words slipped out of your mouth without even thinking about it.

Everybody’s jaws hit the floor.

“Did…” Tony choked out, “Was- was that a joke? Did you just make a joke?”

Your cheeks automatically flushed in embarrassment, but before you could shy away again, large grins broke out on everyone's face, “It suits you,” Steve said softly, “You should do it more often.”

Peter came up behind you and rubbed your shoulder in congratulations, “Merry Christmas.”

Everyone echoed it back to him, even you as you reached up and squeezed his hand once in appreciation, knowing that things would be different from now on because you were now comfortable around your team.

We Are Groot 🤎- @lovanitu @jvdethirlwall @ineedmorefanfics2 @sambucky8 @spidyyparker @irethepotato @femalemarvelself @mukbee @its-hell @ip747 @i-writes-things @popfishjr @mitsuki-murakami

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hayleythecannibal · 11 months

Text

Twisted Minds: Chapter Two Amuse-Bouche

TW: Crime scenes, Yelling Warning this is Fem!reader. You can also find this on Wattpad and A03 @HayleyMarieOfficial. Comment if you want to be added to the taglist. Taglist: @punkin-time F.B.I. S.U.V. - BACKSEAT - 3 DAYS LATER I wake with a small start as Jack KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCKS on the window I'm presently using as a pillow. "We're here." Jack says as i rub my eyes RUSTIC HUNTING CABIN - CHIPPEWA NATIONAL FOREST, MINNESOTA - DAY- A cold wind whips dead leaves around the eerie animal-skull-covered cabin where Garret Jacob Hobbs committed his murders. I am transfixed by the horrifying cage of bones around Me. Every inch of wall, floor and ceiling is obscured by layers of antler under a veil-like evidence bag. Will focuses on the bloody stag rack as he walks in smiling at me, cutting through the bag to look closer. He turns, examining the rest of the room. Will looks around the room from this horrible vantage point. The door to the little shack creaks open as Jack steps quietly in, a steady unease about him. Will doesn't look up. "Could be a permanent installation in your Evil Minds museum." I say to Jack jokingly, "What we learn from Garret Jacob Hobbs will help us catch the next Garret Jacob Hobbs. There are still seven bodies unaccounted for." Jack says in a grumpy serious tone "Because he ate them." Will says knowingly, " there Had to be parts he didn't eat." Jack says, i shake my head "Not necessarily." Jack considers the magnitude of the room, coldly disturbed. "What if Hobbs wasn't eating alone. A lot of work. Disappearing these girls, butchering them and then worse. All without leaving a shred of anything outside of this room." Jack suggests, Will and I consider that for a moment, then: "Someone he hunted with?" Will asks tilting his head and furrowing his brows. "Or someone in a coma. Who happens to also be someone he hunted with." Jack implies my head shoot over to look at jack "Abigail Hobbs is a suspect?" I say concerned, over the past few days I had become maternal and protective over the girl And Closer with Will. "We've been conducting house-to-house interviews around the Hobbs residence and this property." Jack says looking over at me and Will, Will shakes his head "Hobbs and his daughter spent a lot of time together. They spent a lot of time together here. She would be the ideal bait, wouldn't she?" Jack says still implying that Abigail had something to do with this. I study the floor around Us, My eyes catching on something. "Hobbs killed alone." Will's tone is definitive and Jack doesn't press the issue,but most certainly takes note of it. Will uses the tweezers in his pocket to tweeze something off an evidence bag, holding up a long, red hair in the tweezers. "Someone else was here." I say, eyeing the red hair. F.B.I. ACADEMY - LECTURE HALL - QUANTICO - DAY - I am guest lecturing with Will at his request where, to his surprise and mine, We are greeted with a standing ovation from his students. The clapping stops him cold. Will waves them off, uncomfortable. "Thank you. Please stop that." Will calls to his class, I put my hand on his arm seeing that he is overwhelmed. The applause peters out. Will dumps his briefcase on the desk and dives right into the lecture. He dims the lights, bringing up a slide of Hobbs's resignation letter. "This is how I and Dr. L/N caught Garret Jacob Hobbs. It's his resignation letter. Anybody see the clue?" Will asks his students this obviously retorical question But A few hands go into the air. Will ignores them. "There isn't one. He wrote a letter, left his phone number...but no address. That's it." I say to Will's class CLICK. Will advances to the next slide and the crime scene photo of the Hobbs kitchen -- dead Hobbs, blood everywhere. It's horrific. "Bad bookkeeping and dumb luck." Will states, Me and Will both look back at the projection remembering the same thing Abigail Hobbs on the floor, her struggle to breathe underscored by the WHEEZE of air through her slashed wind-pipe. Me applying pressure to the wounds, and cradling her head in My lap. Will quickly clicks to the next slide: A PICTURE OF GARRET JACOB HOBBS and HIS DAUGHTER ABIGAIL in happier times,SMILING AFTER A HUNTING TRIP. "Garret Jacob Hobbs is dead. The question now is how to stop those his story is going to inspire." I state looking back at the class Will studies the picture, taking stock of the happy Abigail before -- CLICK: Cassie, splayed across the rack of a stag, jumps onto the overhead screen. "He's already got one admirer." Will says Alana enters as the Trainees file out of the classroom. Will and I are actively avoiding eye-contact with the students filing out, but somehow immediately noticing Alana's arrival. "Hi." says Will, placing his hand over mine hesitantly "How are you, two?" Alana asks "I have no idea." will responds smiling and chuckling, i chuckle along nodding in agreement "That may change. I didn't want you to be ambushed --" Alana says in a apologetic tone, "Is this an ambush?" i ask, and Will grips my hand a little bit tighter than he was before. "Ambush is later. Immediately later, soon to now. When Jack arrives consider yourself ambushed." Alana says Quickly, and Jack Crawford ENTERS, navigating the last of the Trainees. "Here's Jack." Will says as he nods to over Alana's shoulder "How was class?" Jack asks the Two of us as he stares down Alana. "They applauded, it was inappropriate." Will states, I nod agreeing with him "Review board begs to differ. You're up for a commendation and they okayed active return to the field." Jack says to Will, I look over at Will as he takes this in, between pleased and apprehensive. "Question is... do you want to go back in the field." Alana asks Will, "I want you to go back in the field, but I told the Board I'm recommending a psych evaluation. For both of you."Jack says looking at both of us. Will glances to Alana, who apologizes with a look. "Are we starting now?" I ask eyeing Alana "Oh, the session wouldn't be with me." Alana says with wide eyes, i tilt my head confused "Hannibal Lecter's a better fit. Your relationship's not as personal. But if you'd be more comfortable with Dr. Bloom--" Jack says, I roll my eyes I'm not gonna be happy or comfortable with anybody picking around my brain and I'm sure Will feels the same. "I'm not going to be comfortable with anybody inside my head." Will says tightening his grip on my hand I squeeze him back to comfort him. "You've never killed someone before, Will. And you have never had someone almost die in your arms, Y/N. It's a deadly force encounter. It's a lot to digest." Alana says looking at our hands "I used to work homicide. I've got a good metabolism." Will states annoyed, Jack takes a step forward, and i take a step back which left me slightly leaning on Will, and Will's hand now on my forearm. "Reason you currently "used to" work homicide is you couldn't stomach pulling the trigger. You just pulled the trigger ten times. And you went into psychiatry after almost having a panic attack about a child in your care when you worked in the E.R, You just almost had a girl die in your arms." Jack says pointedly at both of us "So Psych Eval's not a formality?" i ask jack shakes his head, will and i grab our stuff and start leaving but jack stops us. "It's so I can sleep. I asked you to get close to Hobbs and I need to know that the two of you didn't get too close. How many times have you spent the night in Abigail Hobbs' hospital room?" Jack asks us, Me and Will look down giving jack his answer "Therapy doesn't work on me." Will says looking up at me , i give him a comforting smile. "'Cause you won't let it." jack responds to Will, i roll my eyes once again "Jack I'm a psychiatrist, and Will has a degree in Psychology. We know all the tricks." i say looking fed up with the conversation. "Un-learn some tricks." Jack says, and walks out of the lecture hall. Alana turns to me and Will"Why not have a conversation with Hannibal. He was there. He knows what you Two went through." Alana offers, Will and I bristle. Alana offers us a supportive smile.HANNIBAL LECTER'S OFFICE - WAITING ROOM - EVENING - The door OPENS and Hannibal speaks to his next patient: "Good evening. Please come in." Will Graham and Y/N L/N sit inscrutably, waiting. Hannibal Lecter in his office, a prescient smile tickling the corners of his mouth as he sits with Will And I. Hannibal slides 2 pieces of high-quality stationary across the table. "What's this?" Will asks eyeing the paper " Both of Your Psychological Evaluations. You're totally functional and more or less sane. Well done." Hannibal states with a smile "Did you just rubber stamp Us?" I ask Hannibal smiling, Will is climbing the ladder to Hannibal's library. "Jack Crawford may lay his weary head to rest knowing he didn't break you and our conversation can proceed unobstructed by paperwork."Hannibal says in a disregarded tone. Will studies Hannibal a moment, then: "Jack thinks We need therapy." Will says in a distasteful tone. "What you two need is a way out of dark places when Jack sends you there." Hannibal says as he helps me up the ladder and into Will's hands to pull me up. The simplicity of that strikes Me. "Last time he sent Us into a dark place We brought something back" i say while pulling a book off the shelf and look at the cover. "A surrogate daughter?" Hannibal says watching Me and Wills every move, I debate arguing the suggestion,but decide not too. "You saved Abigail Hobbs' life Y/N. And You Will orphaned her while trying to save her. It comes with certain emotional obligations, regardless of empathy disorders." Hannibal says "You were there. You saved her life, too. Do you feel obligated?" Will asks in a questioning and sarcastic tone. "I feel a staggering amount of obligation. I feel responsibility. I've fantasized about scenarios where my actions may have allowed a different fate for Abigail Hobbs." Hannibal says in an almost fatherly tone, Will and I study Hannibal, feeling a sense of camaraderie. "Jack thinks Abigail Hobbs might've helped her dad kill those girls." I say in a disgusted tone. A long silence, then: "How does that make you feel?" Hannibal asks, with a face i cannot read. "How does it make you feel?" will says in a questioning and almost laughable tone, he passes behind me and his hand graces my arm sending butterflies in my stomach. "I find it vulgar." Hannibal replies in a disgusted tone "Me, too." Will agrees, i also find it vulgar. "And entirely possible." Hannibal suggests, i shake my head "It's not what happened." i say in a defensive and almost maternal tone "Jack will ask her when she wakes up or he'll have one of us ask her." Hannibal says, eyeing my body language. "Is this therapy or a support group?" Will asks almost laughing "It's whatever you Two need it to be. Will, Y/N, the mirrors in your minds can reflect the best of yourselves and not the worst of someone else." Hannibal tells us A moment as that sinks in. FBI SHOOTING RANGE - QUANTICO, VA -- NEXT DAY - BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! shots of a gun ring out it's being fired by Will. Will blasts away once more at his target. He returns the target from down-range, unhappy with his accuracy but pleased he's not seeing Hobbs. He doesn't notice the arrival of: Beverly and I "I'm pretty sure firearm "accuracy" isn't a prerequisite for teaching." Beverly calls out. Will finds Beverly and I behind him, looking on. I smile Kindly at Will. "I've been in the field before." Will says in response "Now you're back in the saddle. Ish." Beverly says happily, "Ish, indeed. It took me ten shots to drop Hobbs."Will says as he turns back to the target; his bullet holes are all over the place. "Zeller wanted to give you the bullets he pulled out of Hobbs in an acrylic case, but I told him you wouldn't think it was funny." Beverly says jokingly "Probably not." Will laughs He throws a fresh target on the clips, sends it down range. "I suggested one of those clacking swinging ball things." i say smirking, and Will looks back at me and smirks "Now that would have been funny." He fires and misses the target entirely. "your a Weaver"Beverly points out, "I have a rotator-cuff issue, so I have to use the Weaver stance." Will says as He assumes the position, demonstrating. I study him. I put a hand on his right shoulder, pressing down gently. "You are tight." i say applying pressure to the tense area gently. "I got stabbed when I was a cop." He responds shivering at my touch, "I got stabbed in the third grade. With a number 2 pencil. Thought I was going to get lead poisoning." beverly says behind us "No lead in a pencil. Graphite." Will retorts "Now you tell me." Beverly laughs, I reach around and flare out his left elbow instead. "See if that helps with the recoil." i say taking a step back putting my ear muffs back on smiling. Will exhales and BLAM! BLAM-BLAM-BLAM! He drills the target in a much tighter cluster. Beverly returns the target. "It's better. You come all the way down here to teach me how to shoot?" Will say turning around and looking at us, "No, Jack sent us down here to find out what you know about gardening." Beverly says smirking FOREST - DAY Pleurotus Nidiformis to be exact, its stem sprouting from a quilt-work of moist SOIL and DECAYING MATTER. Suddenly, the soil and decay (along with the mushroom) are parted to expose the broken-down, yet unmistakable features of a HUMAN FACE. the face belongs to a naked MAN being pulled from the ground by EMERGENCY MEDICAL TECHNICIANS. Not that his nakedness is an issue, as most of the man's body is covered in a morbidly vibrant kingdom of fungus and mold. The EMT's place a BODY-BAGGED BODY on a gurney and wheel him towards an AMBULANCE, leaving FIVE MORE OCCUPIED BODY BAGS waiting for transport. As they pass Will, Y/N and Jack slipping under the police tape cordoning off the area. "Lecter gave you Two the "all clear." Maybe therapy does work on you." Jack says talking to me and Will but mainly to Will, "Therapy is an acquired taste I have yet to acquire but sure served your purpose. I'm back in the field."Will response smiling bitter-sweetly, Jack eyes Will feeling the dismissal of his Psych Eval."Local police found more small animal traps in the surrounding woods. They even discovered a thirty gallon drum of pesticide hidden in a hollow tree along with a rusted Radio Flyer wagon." Jack says briefing us, "Didn't want his "crop" disturbed." i say eyeing the garden graves, "All that's missing is a scarecrow." Jack says in a disturbed tone. They approach Beverly, Zeller, and Jimmy Price. Behind them, the FBI'S CSI TEAM works to carefully unearth the three remaining buried victims from their shallow graves. "Seven bodies, various stages of decay, all very well fertilized."Jimmy states, Beverly reaches into a grave containing a partially uncovered, FUNGUS-RAVAGED CORPSE (its EYES, NOSE, and MOUTH covered in DUCT TAPE) and palms a handful of BLACK SOIL --much different than the brown clay walls of the grave. "He buried them in a high-nutrient compost. He was enthusiastically encouraging decomposition." Beverly says very knowledgeably, "Patient way to dispose of a body." Jimmy retorts tilting his head "They were buried alive with the intention of keeping them that way. At least for a little while." Zeller points out, "Long enough for the fungus to eat any distinguishing features and make it nearly impossible to tell how long they'd been in the ground." Jimmy suggests, Zellar points to a CATHETER in the victim's outstretched arm, which we now see is supported by a SECTION of REBAR. "Line and rebar were to administer intravenous fluids after burial. He was feeding them something.", Zeller says examining the body, I turn my head to look at him "No restraints? They weren't bound? Nothing to stop them crawling out?" I ask, my eyebrows furrowed and my head tilted, Jimmy shakes his head "Just dirt." he says as Beverly pulls a tiny brush from the kit on her belt. She clears the debris from under the corpse's nose and pulls back the duct tape revealing a breathing tube jammed into its nostrils. "The other end of the air supply system comes up over there." Beverly points in the direction. I turn to find a small umbrella in the grass. Pulling on a rubber glove, I pick up the umbrella to find an exposed piece of tubing sticking out of the ground. "It isn't a very considerate clean air solution, which clearly wasn't a priority. Cause he's not lazy." I say examining the way the living dead garden was getting oxygen."No, he's not." Will says as he stares at the corpse in the garden grave. "Let's clear the scene. "Jack says as he herds Zeller, Price, and Beverly, along with straggling E.M.T.s and LOCAL POLICE out of the clearing and back into the surrounding woods, away from Will, Y/N, and the graves. they take a deep, calming breath, exhale, and close their eyes. A PENDULUM It swings in the darkness of Will's mind, keeping rhythm with his heart beat. FWUM. FWUM. All sound is muffled then buried beneath the ORGANIC HUM of his CIRCULATORY SYSTEM. FWUM. FWUM. The FUNGUS SHRINKS in a stylistic device, REWINDING Will to a time before the last burial. FWUM. His eyes are closed. FWUM. FWUM. The PENDULUM is now outside his head. It swings in front of Will and the EXHUMED GARDEN GRAVES are now a small field of BURLAP SACK COVERED ARMS -- save for ONE OPEN GRAVE. Next to the grave is the RADIO FLYER WAGON overflowing with moist, BLACK DIRT. FWUM. Will Graham opens his eyes and walks BACKWARDS toward the edge of the clearing and into the surrounding woods. FWUM. FWUM. The PENDULUM STOPS SWINGING, snapping into place as Will snaps into a very clear FOCUS. Will digs the shovel into the moist, black dirt. to reveal Will is now standing over a NAKED MAN lying on his back in a shallow open grave. Will speaks as he shoves an OXYGEN TUBE into the man's nose, then covers his eyes and mouth with DUCT-TAPED, then tethers his to a piece of REBAR, fixing the catheter in place."I choose this man. I do not bind his arm or legs as I bury him in a shallow grave. He is alive but will never be conscious again." Will monologues, Climbing out, Will shovels a load of compost from the wagon and holds it over the man, preparing to dump it on him. Will dumps the dirt into the grave, covering the man. Will turns away to get more dirt from the Radio Flyer wagon."He won't know he's dying. I don't need him to. This is my design." Will continues monolougeing However, when Will turns back to the grave, he stops cold. GARRET JACOB HOBBS is now lying in the grave leering up at him. ALL SOUND ABRUPTLY DROPS OUT as Will stares, caught in a vacuum unable to breath. He squeezes his eyes shut, jagged breath threaten hyperventilation. Will focuses and finally opens his eyes, looking back into the open grave. There is NO GARRET JACOB HOBBS. Only a man's body covered in morbidly vibrant FUNGUS AND MOLDS. Will breaths a sigh of relief, relieved to be alone with the dead. Then SNATCH! The FUNGUS COVERED ARM GRABS Will by the wrist, a rattled, wet gasp signals a sharp in-take of air. "HE'S STILL ALIVE!" Terrified, Will SCREAMS in abject horror. I kneel down next to Will and grasp his arm pulling him away from the living corpse. He looks at me and is breathing heavily, "what did you see?" i ask him quietly my hand still on his arm. Will shakes his head "Hobbs" he whispers, i nod and we stand up going over to the car to calm down.FBI HEADQUARTERS - EXAMINATION ROOM - NEXT DAY - Brian Zeller and Jimmy Price hover wearing gloves, aprons, and splash shields. "What has he been soaking in?" Will asks coming into the room with two coffees in hand, "A highly concentrated mixture of hardwoods, shredded newspaper, and pig poop. Perfect for growing mushrooms and other fungi." Jimmy responds looking up at Will, "Wasn't the mushrooms though. what they all died of was kidney failure." Zeller says as he covers the victim. Behind him, the other victims lie on tables of their own, each covered by a sheet."Dextrose in all the catheters. He probably used some kind of dialysis or peristaltic to pump fluids after the circulatory systems broke down." Beverly says as she hands Zeller a clip board "Force-feeding them sugar water." I question looking at Will and raising my eyebrow, "You know who loves sugar water? Mushrooms. They crave it. As much as a mushroom can crave anything." Jimmy says looking at Me and Will. ""Recovering alcoholics crave sugar. Don't take that personally Buddy." Zeller says jokingly looking over at Jimmy. "Oh I'm not recovering." Jimmy remarks sassily rolling his eyes. "Feed sugar to fungus in your body, the fungus makes alcohol. It's friends helping friends really." Zeller continues. "Alcoholics aren't the only ones with compromised endocrine systems." Will points out and i have a thought, They are all diabetic and he's inducing diabetic comas"They all died of kidney failure? Death by diabetic ketoacidosis?" I offer, "Did you know they were diabetics?" Beverly asks looking at Zeller incredulously, "We don't know they're diabetics." Zeller says rolling his eyes, "They're all diabetics. He induces a coma and puts them in the ground." I say continuing my thought, as Will passing me a coffee, i smile "thank you" i say quietly Will smiles back, Beverly loves watching Will and Y/N work, especially together, barely suppressing a smile."How is he inducing diabetic comas?" Beverly asks tilting her head"He changes their medication. He's a doctor or a pharmacist or works somewhere in medical services." Will says joining my thought process, "He buries them, feeds them sugar to keep them alive long enough for the circulatory systems to soak it up." Beverly says catching on to what me and Will are saying "So he can feed the mushrooms." Jimmy figures it out, i take a sip of my coffee, damn this is good, "We dug up his mushroom garden." Zeller says looking down. "He'll want to grow a new one." Will says walking out. PHARMACY - NIGHT a calm, ordinary Big Box Pharmacy. Despite the vehicles in the parking lot, the storefront is strangely quiet, deserted. After a moment, there's a small flurry of movement... armed, dark-clad figures creeping in swiftly and silently, moving along the outside of the building, weaving through parked cars, taking up positions. Y/N, Will and Jack stride as they approach the main doors of the Pharmacy like regular customers. "She's the eighth diabetic customer of the chain to disappear after filling an insulin prescription, second from this exact location." Jack says as we walk hastily "The other seven?" I ask looking over at Jack "All over the county. One pharmacist has been all over the county, too." Jack responds, I nod "A floater." Will says, as we walk through the store, "Floater's floating right here. Still logged into his work station." Jack says as he enters walking confidently toward the Pharmacy counter, Will and I immediately behind him, as Plain clothes agents herd the last customers and cashiers out the door. Jack steps behind the counter and calmly walks inside, holding his badge very clearly in front of him, instructing the six pharmacists:"Everyone. Stop what you're doing and put your hands in the air." The six pharmacists do as instructed, realizing there are MANY F.B.I. AGENTS pointing guns at them across the counter."Special Agent Jack Crawford. Which one of you is Eldon Stammets?" Jack introduces himself, "Eldon was just here. Just now." one of the pharmacists responds looking around with his hands in the air. Jack signals the F.B.I. AGENTS and they fan out."His car still in the parking lot?" Will asks i look at him. PHARMACY - PARKING LOT - NIGHT - ON the swing of a baton as Will smashes the driver side window of Eldon's car. He reaches in, POPS THE TRUNK and --With an grating CREAK, I lift the trunk the rest of the way open - REVEALING it is completely filled with RICH, DARK SOIL. There's a fleeting recoil as Will, Jack Crawford, and Caroline are hit with the stench released from the compartment. Y/N recovers, shoveling arms-full of dirt."She's in here!" I yell as i quickly uncover an unconscious, naked Gretchen Speck, an oxygen mask over her mouth and nose."E.M.T.s now!" Jack yells Will and I step away from the trunk as the E.M.T.s move in. we watch as Gretchen Speck is loaded into the back of an Ambulance by Paramedics."We know his name. We know where he lives. We have his car. We'll have him within 24 hours." Jack says reassuring us and himself Jimmy Price approaches Jack, Will, and I with some trepidation."Jack. We just checked browser history at Stammets' work station." Jimmy says nervously, "Do I want to hear this?" Jack says angrily, I assume he's angry because Stammets got away. "No. And yes. But mostly no." Jimmy stammers PHARMACY - WORK STATION - NIGHT - Jack pulls up the internet browser to reveal a FULL SCREEN SHOT of WILL and Y/N standing in the FOREST CRIME SCENE, heads hung low. The headline reads “TAKES ONE TO KNOW ONE.” Zeller, Price and Katz are gathered around the monitor with Jack.“The FBI isn’t just hunting psychopaths, they’re head-hunting them, too, offering competitive pay and benefits in the hopes of using Two demented minds to catch an-- She goes into a lot of detail." Beverly reads the screen "Son-of-a-bitch." Jack says hitting the pharmacy counter with his fist in anger. I look down at the floor, and Will grabs my arm and squeezes it as a sign of comfort. JOHNS HOPKINS HOSPITAL - ABIGAIL’S ROOM - NIGHT - Will sits silently in his chair considering unconscious Abigail Hobbs, comatose in her hospital bed. CLICK-CLUCK- CLICK-CLUCK, the haunting sound of hooves approaching. Will looks up to see a glimpse of the BLACK STAG walking past Abigail's doorway. We are in a DREAM STATE. JOHNS HOPKINS - ABIGAIL'S ROOM - NIGHT 3 - REALITY - Will is sound asleep in his chair, feet propped up on an ottoman. There's a CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK of approaching footsteps as I enter the room. I watch Will sleep a brief moment smiling, then slip a shoe off one foot, gently as to not disturb him. He doesn't stir. I slip off the other shoe, quietly putting them aside. I smile at the sleeping figure of the exhausted man and place A blanket over him. I walk over and sit on the side of Abigail's bed and begin to read. JOHNS HOPKINS HOSPITAL - HALLWAY - NIGHT 3 - DREAM STATE - Will steps into the empty corridor. There are no nurses at the Nurse's Station, no Doctors nor patients in the hall. A FAINT, EERIE WHISPER beneath the silence, barely audible. Will stops when he sees an ENCROACHING DARKNESS at the end of the hall that ENVELOPES the corridor and washes over Will like a midnight wave of deep, dreaded sleep. JOHNS HOPKINS - ABIGAIL'S ROOM - NIGHT - REALITY - Will opens his eyes to see Y/N sitting on the edge of Abigail's bed, laying next to her, reading softly. He realizes he's been covered with a blanket and likes it. "What are you reading?" Will says as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes "Flannery O'Connor. When I was Abigail's age I was obsessed. I even tried to raise peacocks because she raised peacocks, but they're really stupid birds." i say as i smile looking over at Will "You could be reading to a killer." Will says, "Innocent until guilty and all that." i say quietly as i gaze over at the comatose teenage girl. "I don't think we've ever been in a room alone together. At least not outside the bureau or on a case. Have We?" Will wonders, "I haven't noticed. Have we? Not that we're necessarily alone now." I smile at him with a light blush i can feel creeping onto my cheeks. "yeah right. Back to Jack Crawford's crime gimp." Will says as he sits up,"I couldn't believe she wrote that." i say rolling my eyes. "It's kind of hilarious." Will says with a chuckle and i laugh along with him. "Certainly creates an image. I don't need to talk about it if you don't." I smile, with that same faint blush still on my cheeks, "We can talk about or not talk about whatever you want. Honestly, I was enjoying listening to you read." Will says smiling and gazing fondly at me, I blush a little deeper and smile back. "Abigail Hobbs is a success for Us." I say gazing back fondly, "She doesn't look like a success." Will says in a good natured tone, "Don't feel sorry for yourself because we saved this girl's life Will." i smile at Abigail "I don't. I don't feel sorry for myself at all. I feel- good." Will admits smiling There’s a long pregnant pause as Will soaks in the admission, relishing it for himself, questioning it. JOHNS HOPKINS HOSPITAL - CORRIDOR - DAY- Eldon Stammets emerges from a door labeled MENS ROOM, strolling down the corridor now wearing GREEN SCRUBS. He nonchalantly grabs a parked gurney in the hall, pushing it toward an ELEVATOR and disappearing inside. The elevator doors open and instead of seeing Eldon Stammets, it's Will Graham and Dr. Y/N L/N. Wills phone RINGS as They are stepping out. He answers. "Hello. Yes we are." Will responds looking over at me. A moment as Will listens, then his expression falls. He jams his cell phone into his pocket grabs Y/N's hand and runs. ANOTHER CORRIDOR Will and Y/N sprint down the hall toward Abigail's room, navigating patients and nurses in their mad dash. Will and Y/N halt outside the door. Reaching into his trousers for his revolver, he takes a measured step into the room... JOHNS HOPKINS HOSPITAL - ABIGAIL'S ROOM - CONTINUOUS -Will finds it empty. No Eldon Stammets. No Abigail Hobbs. Will's mind races as he backs into the hallway, snatching the elbow of a passing NURSE and demanding:"Where is she? Abigail Hobbs. The girl in this room. Where is she?" I say in a serious yet panicked tone "They took her for tests." The nurse says frightened "Who took her? Who took her?" Will shouts worriedly the Nurse stammers, but Will and I are already running for the stairs. JOHN HOPKINS HOSPITAL - HALLWAY - DAY - Will and I bound down the stairs, several steps at a time. Eldon Stammets calmly pushes the gurney carrying COMATOSE ABIGAIL HOBBS. At the other end of the Hallway -- The STAIRWELL DOOR suddenly OPENS, and a winded Will Graham and Dr. Y/N L/N rushes out. Eldon startles, moves. Will raises his gun and SHOOTS. BLAM! The bullet takes out a piece of Eldon Stammets shoulder, violently propelling him backwards, his gun clattering to the floor as he reached for it. I pull Abigail's gurney into the hall, moving in on Eldon, kicking his gun out of reach. Will looks down at Eldon, who is in a state of shock. "What were you going to do with her?" Will shouts as i check Abigail over for any signs of injuries "We all evolved from mycelium. Only reintroducing her to the concept." Stammets says breathing heavily, "By burying her alive?" i say angrily looking up protectively, "That journalist said you both understood me." he says looking up at us confused "We don't." Will says almost snarling "Well You would have. you would have. Walk into a field of mycelium, they know you're there, they know you are there. Their spores reach for you when you pass by. I know who you're reaching for. I know. Abigail Hobbs. You should have let me plant her. You would have found her in a field where she could finally reach back." Stammets stammers, Will and I stare at Eldon a moment as the CLAMOR of approaching footsteps, no doubt investigating gunfire, approach, then: Will taps the EMERGENCY STOP BUTTON and leans in the doorway as a BUSTLE OF COPS, NURSES and PARAMEDICS approach.

#hannibal nbc #will graham x reader #hannibal x reader #fem!reader #hannigram #hannigram x reader

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abeautylives · 1 year

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Imperfect Moments - Chapter Eleven

a/n: hello beauties, I just wanted to let you know that Imperfect Moments is very close to coming to an end. I haven’t written the last chapter yet but if I need to take my time with her, I’m going to! So it might be more than a week…

Series Masterlist

pairing: Jakexfemale!reader

word count: just under 4.8k this chapter

series summary: You’re in love with your best friend. His twin brother hates you. Or does he?

chapter summary: Your best friend’s brother is your boyfriend now. They both happen to be rockstars. How does that work?

warnings: 18+ minors stay far away, mentions of sex and sexual situations, language, drinking, GVF fans (we require our own warning), mushy fluff, graphic sexual content, unprotected penetrative sex, oral sex (f. receiving)

A man of his word, he was all in.

Jake rarely went home in those days that they were in town, operating instead from your apartment. He’d lounge around in the nude for you to admire while his clothes were in the wash, and apparently no one in his life questioned it when he continued to rotate through the same two outfits day after day. No one aside from Josh, ironically.

“Are you moving in with her or what? You’ve been wearing those pants for over a week.”

Unaffected, Jake shoots back, “And? You’ve been wearing that shirt for over a year.”

Josh scoffs in very real offense before repeating his question.

“I’m not moving in with her, I just wanna be around her. Before we leave.”

He’s sure that his brother understands, having spent nearly every day around you in some way before they started touring again.

“We’ll hardly be gone five days, Jake. Are you ready to admit that you’re quite hopelessly in love with her?”

For the first time, the curiosity about his feelings doesn’t make his skin itch. A soft warmth spreads through his chest before it creeps over his cheeks as the memories of each time he’s made love to you in the last few days flash through his mind.

“I haven’t told her yet. I haven’t said it.”

He still hasn’t actually said it, but it’s an admission nonetheless and a pleased grin stretches across Josh’s face.

Clapping his twin on the back, he advises, “All in good time, Jacob. Whenever it feels right. Now get the fuck out of my house, I’ve been enjoying the quiet.”

“It’s still my house too, asshole.” They’re both chuckling as he pushes away from the kitchen island and swipes the pack of acoustic strings that he came for from the counter, slipping them into the pocket of his jacket.

You spend part of that evening sitting cross-legged on your living room floor, between Jake’s legs that are splayed out as he’s leaned back against your couch. His hands reach around to cover yours, guiding your fingers into place as you strum his guitar sloppily.

“That was better!”

He sounds sincere but a huff of frustration whooshes past your lips. “I actually suck at this, I’m gonna leave the rockstar thing to you.”

He releases your hands and watches as you twist to prop the guitar against the couch, moving to straddle his lap, arms tossed lazily over his shoulders. You pepper kisses over his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose until his smile is stretched wide and curling deeply at the corners. His hands smooth over the skin of your thighs before he slides them all the way up to cup your face.

“I’m gonna miss you, sweetheart.”

“I’ll miss you too, especially this.” These comfortable, quiet moments have become regular occurrences that you cherish, often thinking to yourself that your apartment is going to feel empty once his shining presence is gone. You won’t let yourself feel sad about it, you have hope that he’s truly in it this time.

He wakes you up the morning they leave with his hands roaming across your bare skin, dust motes floating in the soft light of the rising sun, trying to peek through the blinds that he’d remembered to close.

Deep with sleep, your voice croaks into the silence. “What time is it?” Now that you’re awake, he lets his fingers slip to places that he needs your permission to touch. You grant it to him with a sleepy hum.

“We have an hour.”

Almost half of it is spent with his face between your thighs, lapping at you leisurely until you’re moaning his name on nearly sobbing breaths. Very real tears are threatening to slip and roll back into your hair by the time he pushes himself into you, and they’re flowing freely by the time he’s cumming inside you.

“Please don’t cry, I’ll be back so soon, so soon.” He’s whispering between kisses placed to your lips and over the wet tracks left behind at the corners of your eyes. He can sense that you’re not exactly upset, his own emotion bubbling up even as he tries to soothe you. You both know he won’t be gone long but he’s been giving something of himself and you’ve felt it deeply.

“I’m okay,” you sniffle, disproving your statement. “Really. Let’s get you cleaned up, baby. It’s time to go.”

Five days flies by, he calls every morning and again to wish you goodnight, though the time difference between home and California keeps you waiting up to hear about his days, about the shows.

When they come home, Jake and Josh both are begging you to take a few days off to come to Georgia with them and for the first time ever, you follow. Watching them as an opening act is very different from their headlining performance, though no less captivating, and it’s clear that they have hardcore fans in the crowd. They’re so hardcore in fact, that they’re waiting around for a glimpse of the guys as they leave the venue, and you’re caught in the crossfire. Phones out and cameras pointed your way, they’re screaming for an ounce of the guys’ attention. You have no desire to have your face plastered all over Instagram and Twitter, and though the twins try to shield you from them, it happens anyway.

They want to know who you are, why are you with the band, who are you dating, who are you fucking? Unfortunately, one of them thinks she knows the answer.

I talked to her in Nash, she said they were just friends but I’m positive she’s with Josh. Look at the way his hand is on her back!

That “information” spreads like wildfire.

“I shouldn’t have gone, this is insane. Josh I’m so sorry.” You think he may be feeling the effects of the speculative posts and comments, but he brushes it off with a wave of his hand from his usual spot on the floor in front of their couch. You’ve been scrolling, seeing the same video and pictures over and over and while you can’t ever really see your entire face, the people that were there did. And they have a lot to say about it.

“Don’t worry about me, I’m used to it.” He turns to look at you over his shoulder. “But are you okay, darling?”

No, not really. They’re already ripping you apart, analyzing everything about you from the way you look to the way you walk, but… “What are they gonna say when they find out I’m not with you? That I’m with your brother? I’ve seen what they say about his ex, hell I’ve seen what they say about Macken-“

He cuts you off with a loud huff of laughter before moving to sit next to you on the couch. “All speculation, my dear. Simply friends of mine. Sound familiar?” He assures you that it’ll pass, and that it’s not worth your time to worry about it.

Jake seems even less concerned than his twin, confident that his privacy will remain intact and that the rumors will die down until they stop completely. Some of that creeping jealousy sneaks its way back into the forefront of his mind though, even now that your relationship is official and Josh seems so pleased with it that you’d think he matched you up himself. Jake doesn’t allow that jealousy to show when he’s with you and as the rumors quiet over the next couple of weeks, that feeling does as well.

He shows up at your door with flowers a few nights before they’re supposed to go home for Thanksgiving.

“What’s the occasion?” You’re beaming at him as you take them from his hands, and once his are empty he hooks his fingers through the belt loops at the front of your jeans and pulls you in for a kiss. He lets his lips linger on yours until you’re humming against them, and keeps your hips pulled close as the kiss breaks.

“No occasion. I told you I’d buy you flowers every day, I’ve been slacking.”

Walking backwards toward your kitchen, you tug him along as he hasn’t released your belt loops. “Hmm, you actually said every day for the rest of my life, if I recall correctly.” At that, his fingers slip free and you turn to pull out your vase. “I’m probably gonna need a few more of these, if that’s the case.”

Later that night, with your head resting against his shoulder and his against your pillows, he brings the flowers up again.

“I really could do that, you know.” His voice is low, quiet and contemplative as he speaks.

“Hm? Do what?”

“Get you flowers. For the rest of your life.” He doesn’t know what prompted him to say it aside from the fervent need to make sure you know how he feels, but it’s out there now and he holds his breath waiting for you to understand what he means. He looks nervous as you lift your head and prop yourself up to see his face.

“You don’t have to. I also accept gifts in the form of trinkets, jewelry, and cold hard cash.” It works to make him laugh, to soothe his nerves but the significance behind his offer is not lost on you and you don’t want him to think that it is. “You don’t have to get me anything, Jake. But you can, if you want to. For the rest of my life.” The repetition of his words triggers that smile, that shy lift of the corners of his lips.

You have a new bouquet of flowers every day until they leave for Michigan. The first day that they’re gone, you’re reading down your checklist of things to pack before you head off to your own parents’ house, only a few hours away, when an unexpected knock at your door causes you to jump.

After a hesitant glance through your peephole, you shake your head and laugh out loud. There’s a delivery person standing in the hallway, a vase full of flowers in his hands. You’re still laughing as you open the door to accept them, giggling when the door closes again behind you and you pull the little card free of its plastic holder to flip it open.

I hope you didn’t think I’d forget, sweetheart.

When you unlock your phone and scroll to his contact, you’re about to hit call but you choose FaceTime instead. It’s answered almost immediately, but it’s Josh’s face that appears on your screen and he’s already laughing wildly at your confusion.

“Darling! How are you?” You can tell that he’s walking through the house as he talks.

“I’m fantastic, about to start packing. How’s Michigan treating you so far?”

“It’s cold as hell, I always forget how fucking cold it is. I imagine you’d like to speak to your boyfriend?”

“Hm yes, that is why I called his number. Is he available?”

“Yeah yeah, I’m trying to find him. Just wanted to see your lovely face- Ah! Here he is! Y/N, say hi to Karen.”

Shit. You’ve actually talked to their mother before, sort of. You’d been in the room as Josh was on the phone with her before, he’d put her on speaker and introduced you. But that was as a friend of her son, not a girlfriend. Does she even know I’m dating her other son? Did Jake even tell her about me?

Rather than pass the phone to Jake, he hands it off to their mom. You exchange hello’s and how have you been’s before Jake finally snatches the device from her hands, and you breathe a soft sigh of relief at the sight of his face. He’s smiling like he knows exactly why you’re calling, and he doesn’t leave the room right away. His greeting quells every worry you’d had.

“Hi, sweetheart.” You hear Karen fawning over the pet name in the background.

“Jacob. I got your little gift, I just wanted to say thank you. They’re beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful. It’s nice to see your face, I missed it.” His grin is soft and contagious, and it’s clear that he has in fact told his mom about your relationship.

“It hasn’t even been a full day, babe.” You cringe inwardly as soon as it leaves your mouth, it sounds dismissive and reminds you of how your own feelings have been dismissed in the past. The smile on his face only grows and you can see him stand and leave the room.

He doesn’t offer a response until he shuts the door of what you assume to be his childhood bedroom behind him. “I’ll let that slide, this time, but let me remind you that I’ve grown used to waking up next to you. Your face is usually the first thing I see in the morning. I miss it.”

“Did you leave the kitchen so your mom doesn’t hear about how you sleep in my bed most nights?”

The chuckle that he lets out is wicked. “No, love. I left the kitchen so my mom doesn’t hear about how I wake up in your bed most mornings, naked, dick so hard that it hurts, how you always let me slip it inside, or how sometimes you wake up extra sweet and you let me fuck your mouth… I don’t think she needs to know that.”

He says it so casually, but you can feel the way your jaw is hanging open and you can’t manage to close it for several long seconds. When you’re able to, you close your lips and clear your throat. “Yeah… yeah it’s best if she doesn’t know that.”

This conversation has taken a turn you weren’t expecting, Jake recognizes that and with a satisfied smirk, flips it back so quickly that you’re caught off guard again.

“When are you leaving for your parents’?”

Your cheeks are warm as you try to keep up. “Um, I- well I still need to pack. I was about to start before the flowers got here. Thank you again, for that. It was really unexpected. You’re quite charming sometimes.”

“I’m quite charming all the time. Go pack, sweetheart. Drive safe, okay?” He’s reclined against the pillows of his old bed, hair splayed out like a halo, sun streaming in through a window making his skin glow. He looks perfect.

“I will, all of the above. Promise.”

You watch as one of his eyebrows lifts and his lids lower. “Call me when you go to bed?”

“I will… promise. Bye, baby.”

He flashes you a wide smile, all of his teeth shining in the light. “Bye, love.”

You speak to the twins often over the next few days, they send you pictures of the town they grew up in and you send them pictures of everything you’ve baked with your mom. They demand to know why you never bake for them.

Jake sends a picture of their table, laid out with their full Thanksgiving spread. You send him a selfie in your parents’ kitchen, wearing your dad’s apron with Kiss the Cook proudly displayed across your chest.

Jake: I wish. The cook is hot

Me: Soon!! 2 more days 😘

As the Kiszkas sit around the dinner table, their matriarch requests each person say what they’re thankful for, a tradition carried over from when all four of her children were small. Each one expresses an appreciation for their tight-knit family and the boys are grateful for the year they’ve had, the success they’ve found but as Jake speaks, his voice goes soft.

He tells his family what they’ve already come to know, that he’s thankful for you.

Once you’re both home, at your apartment, he shows you how thankful he is.

His head, hair already damp with perspiration and lower half of his face shining and slick, emerges from below your comforter as he kisses his way up the length of your body. When he reaches your chest, he nips at the curve of one of your breasts with his teeth before sinking them into the skin around your nipple.

“Mm, missed that…”

His lips are wrapped around the hardened peak as his tongue soothes the bite, but he releases you with a soft pop to respond.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he spreads kisses across your chest and rolls his tongue over the other nipple. “Hate being away from you.”

It’s an inevitable truth that he’ll be away often, and not all that long from now. You push the thought from your mind as his lips and teeth trail over your collarbone and up the side of your neck, and he reaches between you to wrap his fingers around himself. He connects your bodies slowly, and yours accepts him as if you’re always meant to be this way.

“Fuck, you always feel so fucking good.” Sometimes he still can’t believe he has the privilege of having you like this, can’t believe he’s ended up here with you. In this moment, as your palms are sliding up his back and you’re whispering confirmation of your own pleasure into his ear, he can’t believe he hasn’t told you how he feels. How perfect would this moment be if he could murmur love instead of lust against your lips?

You can sense the slight shift in him, it feels similar to whatever you’d sensed the morning he left for Michigan, similar to what you’d felt the day he’d come home from Texas. There’s something more of himself that he’s giving you as you move together.

Smiling as you let yourself drown in whatever it is that you’re feeling, you ask him for more, harder. He delivers, his hips crashing into you as he captures your lips with his own and slips his tongue past them. When he pulls away, you snag his bottom lip with your teeth and let them sink into the pillowy softness of it, feeling his hips stutter at the sharp sting. Encouraged by his reaction, you nip your way across his jaw and down his neck until your teeth find the subtle hollow where it meets his shoulder. Hard enough to leave a mark behind, you pull his skin into your mouth and bite down.

He sucks in a hiss and then groans as your tongue slides over the spot.

“You can’t do that, sweetheart. People will see it.”

“I want them to see it, know that you’re mine.”

Having painted landscapes of bruises across the canvas of your skin over the last few months, he understands the sentiment. Lifting himself to look into your eyes, he finds them squeezed shut and your mouth hanging open, quiet oh’s escaping it each time he thrusts into you.

“Look at me.” Your eyes snap open and focus on his. “You want them to know?” He doesn’t necessarily want to share you with the world, doesn’t really think you understand what that would entail but he’d do anything you asked if it would make clear his dedication.

“Yes…” You whisper it over and over, and the soft validation paired with the way your body is begging for it has him warning you that he’s about to cum. He lets go when you tell him to and pulls you into his side as soon as he settles onto the mattress.

After a minute or so of silence he tells you, “It might not be easy. When people find out about us. I just, I dunno, I want you to be prepared for that.” The memory of their reaction to your presence just a few weeks ago is still fresh in both of your minds.

Instead of responding, you let his words sink in, thinking to yourself that it doesn’t matter what happens, as long as he’s there to go through it with you.

The next weekend, you’re sitting in the twins’ kitchen scrolling on your phone and bringing a “margarita” to your lips, courtesy of the youngest Kiszka who’s sitting across from you.

You have to resist spitting it back into the glass. “Sam, this tastes like shit.”

He takes a gulp of his own and smacks his lips. “Well it’s mostly tequila so…”

“I don’t know why I continue to allow you to make me drinks. This is the last time.”

“If you plan on sticking around, I highly doubt it’ll be the last time. Suck it up and drink!” You pull a long sip through your straw and he laughs, that goofy guffaw that he does, when you cringe at the taste.

Coughing at the burn, you sputter before asking him, “What do you mean if I stick around?”

As if what he’s said was no big deal, his shoulders shrug. “Ya know, if the Jake girls don’t scare you away.”

“What the fuck is a ‘Jake girl’?”

“Well they’re not all girls. You know, his fans.”

Before you can ask him to elaborate, the rockstar in question breezes into the room. The first thing you notice is that a few more buttons on his shirt are fastened than usual, and you’re acutely aware that there are fresh blooms of color hiding on the skin underneath. He eases up to your side and pecks a kiss into your cheek.

“There’s only one Jake girl and you’re looking at her, now please shut the fuck up Sammy boy.”

“Ehhh I wouldn’t be so sure about that!” Sam’s obnoxious little brother side is showing and it’s getting under your skin, but Jake pays it no mind as he turns away to pour his own drink.

Josh saunters into the kitchen last, always taking the longest to get ready despite the fact that he’s wearing a white shirt and khaki pants, as usual.

“Wouldn’t be sure about what?”

Already bored of the topic, Jake is the first to reply. “Don’t worry about it Josh, can we go now that the princess is ready?”

You’re sure that the three of them will be poking at each other for the remainder of the evening, sometimes it seems like they can’t help themselves but their family dynamic makes you smile and you’re happy to be spun up in it.

The bar is relatively quiet when you arrive and the four of you are able to claim a pool table and order drinks without effort or incident. With a semi-serious competition underway as the balls roll over the felt, Jake’s hands and lips find you often, subtle placements on your body in passing that feel comfortable even in public. It strikes you that everything about this feels right, your best friend and your boyfriend, their little brother that you adore so much, being together like this.

You’re standing to the side of the table, end of your cue stick planted on the ground with your cheek resting on your hands wrapped around it. After taking his shot and failing miserably at sinking anything, Jake moves in to stand behind you and drops his chin to your shoulder.

“Whatcha smiling at, sweetheart?” A hand comes to rest on your hip and he lets his fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, rubbing circles into the skin there. A quiet sigh floats past your lips at the contact.

“Nothing really, I just love you guys.”

His fingers pause and their soft placement turns into a firm grasp, the only indication that you’ve said something unexpected. As happens at least twice a day, he bites back what he really wants to say and replaces it first with a kiss pressed against your cheekbone.

On a nervous breath, with only a slight tremor in his voice, he says, “We love you too.”

He instantly regrets it. It’s completely true but it’s less than you deserve, and the indirect implication is certainly not how he would’ve intended to express his feelings for you for the first time. He sucks in a sharp breath and holds it in his lungs as you slowly turn your body to face him. When you remove a hand from your cue to cup his jaw, he lets it loose, the sweet acceptance in your eyes calming him.

“I know you do, Jake.”

Josh is watching, wondering what the two of you are whispering into the air between you that has his twin looking so… scared? No, nervous perhaps, but under his gaze Jake’s eyes close and he lets a grin take over his face. When they open, his mouth is moving again but Josh can’t make out the words. He’s still intrigued by this relationship that bloomed seemingly out of nowhere, and he makes a note to remember to pester you about it later. He knows how his brother feels, but you don’t talk to him about it much.

He’s still observing thoughtfully as he catches a flurry of motion in his periphery, muttering oh shit under his breath and turning to get eyes on Sam, who hasn’t seen what’s moving toward them yet.

A small group of people, heads huddled together and some with phones already out and pointed this way, are headed directly for you and Jake who are still wrapped up in the moment you’re sharing.

Josh smacks Sam on the shoulder, grabbing his attention and motioning for him to look around. Realization dawns on his face and he looks quickly between the group and his unsuspecting brother. “Oh shit, here we go.” Neither of them can move fast enough to offer a warning and as they look on, your moment is interrupted abruptly.

“Are you Jake Kiszka?!”

Jake's hand drops from your hip as his eyes, still locked onto yours, widen. Your own hand falls from where it had slid into his hair as you watch him fix his face into a pleasant but tight expression. He turns to them with a soft hey, how are you guys and they’re gushing over him. You’re frozen, unsure what you’re supposed to do but in an instant Josh and Sam are at your side. Sam, always amiable and able to make these situations comfortable for everyone, places an arm over Jake’s shoulder and feigns offense that they hadn’t wanted to meet him first. Josh takes you gently by your own shoulders and moves you away, turns you so that you're standing behind him and tells you quietly that you’re fine and this’ll be over in a second.

Thankfully, he’s almost correct. You stand aside and wait, listening as the group asks them for pictures and the guys oblige, but just as they’re offering thank you’s and it was nice to meet you’s, a single voice carries through the commotion and over the general noise of the bar.

“Is that your girlfriend??”

You don’t know who they’re asking, and you’re terrified to face them and find out, but you hear the answer.

His voice, soft in its timbre but strong in its conviction, reaches you as if he’s speaking directly into your ear.

“That is my girlfriend. If you guys don’t mind, I’d like to get back to her. I hope you have a good night, it was great to meet you.”

You turn just as he breaks away from them, and in a second he’s right in front of you with a hand once again on your hip. Their collective hushed awww is the last you hear from them before their group moves back toward where they came from, but all you can see is Jake.

“You okay?” It’s obvious from the way they’d handled it that the guys are undeniably used to being approached in public, they even enjoy it. He seems concerned about how it may have affected you, but it wasn’t as overwhelming as you might have imagined.

“Yeah, yes, I’m fine.” You offer a soft smile of reassurance, which he returns before kissing your forehead.

“You sure? We can leave if you want, I know it’s kind of weird-“

“No, let’s stay.” You want to stay, enjoy the simple normalcy of a night out with him while you still can. Looping an arm around his neck and twirling your fingers into the strands of hair that hang down his back, you pull him closer. “I can’t believe they just asked if I was your girlfriend like that…” You’d been surprised by their boldness and even more surprised by his answer, his personal life being something that he keeps close to the vest. He’s grinning at you like he knows something that you have yet to realize.

“Well, you got what you wanted. People will definitely know, sweetheart.”

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