#and i’m doing it curled up on the couch with a notebook and pen like i’m scribbling hearts around their names in a diary <3 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whatsnewalycat · 9 months

Text

Psychomanteum / Chapter 16

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC Louella (2nd POV)

Chapter 16: Famous Last Words

Chapter Summary: Revelations.

Word Count: 7.7k+

Content / Warnings: alternating pov, suicidal thoughts and planning, intrusive thoughts, grief, swearing, alcohol use, uncertainty, parker, angst, paranormal/spooky elements, hunger, hangover, driving, psychomanteum, ethan, drug addiction, domestic abuse, journal

Notes: Chapter title from “Famous Last Words" by My Chemical Romance. Babe I told you we'd get one more MCR-titled chapter before this was over. Chapter 17 will be the last chapter, then an epilogue. Huge thanks to @frannyzooey for proofreading and being the best 🖤✨

[ Previous Chapter ] [ Series Masterlist ] [ Next Chapter ]

The sun feels like a spotlight as you trudge your way from the bedroom to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. Nausea grips your sour, empty stomach. Your head throbs, pulse pounding in your ears.

The past few mornings, you’ve become well-acquainted with the wine hangover. It’s a love-hate relationship, you and wine. It numbs the overwhelming emotional pain, emptying your brain at night so that you can sleep. In return, it makes you so fucking sick the morning after, you think it might be plotting to kill you.

You carefully place a few logs in the fireplace and poke the glowing embers in the hearth back to life, then plop down on the couch, draping a blanket around your shoulders as you curl up with a notebook and pen.

You stare at the blank page, unsure what to tell it.

You could tell it that, same as yesterday and the day before, the aftereffects of drinking yourself to sleep have tainted your morning green. Not a cute green, either, like forest or emerald. Think Dieter’s bathrobe or pea soup. Think seasick.

You could tell it that the hangover causing every subtle noise to strike your temples like a ball-pein hammer only incentivizes you further. Nothing makes you want to die quite like a wine hangover.

You could tell it that, really, it doesn’t fucking matter that you’re hungover. If you weren’t miserable in this way, you’d be miserable in another.

You could ask it if this is what Ethan was feeling one year ago today. Sick and determined to end it all. Did he plan it out like you’ve been doing, or was it spur of the moment? When did he decide he would do it?

When did he decide to take you with him? Was it the ink? Had this been his plan all along?

All the things you never asked him in the psychomanteum seem so important now. Especially one: Why?

Sure, things were bad. Fucking awful, even. But there were still little moments here and there.

Like when the gas bill went neglected and they disconnected service. You couldn’t fall asleep because it was too cold, so he set up the only space heater on your side of the bed. He wrapped his arms around your shivering body and held you to his chest all night, keeping you warm. Or like when he was in the neighborhood of your favorite bakery and he stopped to pick up glazed donuts on his way home.

There were days when you couldn’t fucking stand to look at him. It hurt too much to see the physical toll of his addiction. How emaciated he had become, his boyish face all hollowed out and gaunt, dark bags drooping under his eyes.

But there were also days when he still opened the apartment door, calling out, “Louie, I’m home!” Like Ricky Ricardo in I Love Lucy. It was his favorite bit.

He’d jabber on about the customers, or the traffic, or the news. There were still days when he paid you compliments and kissed you like he meant it. When he brought home things he knew you’d like. Little presents here and there, nothing big, but enough to be reassured he was thinking about you.

A week before he died, he gifted you a journal.

He was supposed to pick up groceries, but got sidetracked in a bookstore and forgot the errand. When he came home holding a brown paper parcel wrapped in twine instead of plastic bags filled with food, you were furious.

“What’s that?” you asked, crossing your arms.

He tossed it on the counter as he shucked off his jacket, “It’s for you.”

“Is it edible?”

“Edible? No,” he scoffed, sliding it closer, “C’mon, open it up.”

You stared at him for a moment, at his Cheshire grin, jaw clenched and grinding. At his eyes all wide with intense excitement, the pupils blown-out and black. He vibrated with energy, his long limbs twitching in constant motion.

So fucking high.

Trying to avoid the violent downswing of his pendulum mood, you sighed and unwrapped the parcel, revealing an orange journal embossed with the phrase A New Chapter. The pages inside were buttery soft but thick, lined with delicate margins.

“A notebook?”

“A journal, yeah,” he sniffed and tugged at the tip of his nose, “I came by this rad looking bookstore and poked around a bit, thought you’d like it.”

You didn’t immediately react, so he kept talking.

“When I was out the other night, I was talking to a friend and she said journaling has helped her work through some of her feelings and all that, and… well, I know you used to journal all the time, I thought maybe it would help since you’ve been a little… out of sorts lately.”

You wanted to ask him who this friend was and why he didn’t call her by name. You wanted to ask him what else he bought with the grocery money. You wanted to ask him why he’d rather you spill your guts to a journal than to him.

Instead, you nodded, put on a smile, and said, “Thank you. It’s very thoughtful. I—I love it.”

The words felt dead in your mouth. Foul and rotten. He returned your fake smile with his own, then excused himself to his office.

You remember thinking the whole thing was a farce. A sham. A two-person act where you both pretended not to smell the decay between you.

The journal he gave you went to your bedside drawer. It remained untouched for months before you rediscovered it while spring cleaning.

At first, you didn’t recognize it. Then a gut-wrenching nostalgia took hold. A New Chapter. It felt more like a relic from a past life than a journal for the future.

Weeks went by before you wrote inside.

It felt blasphemous at first, marking the perfect blank pages with your script. Like you were shattering an artifact. But it helped to offload some of your rumination onto paper. It became a central coping mechanism for you.

There are passages going back at least six months, maybe more. Before you and Dieter ever even spent time alone in a room together. When he was just a goofy, handsome guy who lived on the other side of the country. Your long-distance friend that maybe sometimes gave you butterflies every time you talked to him. Even then, his name made frequent appearances on those pages.

The journal contains all your innermost thoughts, the long-winded rambling narrations of your waxing and waning between cynicism and optimism, the whole disgusting freak show inside your head laid out on the counter for anyone to rifle through.

And I forgot it on his kitchen counter like an idiot.

When you picture Dieter flipping through the journal, reading your school-girl crush ramblings and earnest thoughts about him, your face gets hot with embarrassment.

If you’re being honest with yourself, though, maybe it’s better he has it. Maybe one day he’ll look through it and read your crazy thoughts and know you’ll love him until you’re dust and then even after. In the next life, and the next, until the sea of love runs dry and humanity goes bust. Maybe he’ll read through it and know that you were struggling by no fault of his own.

With a sharp inhale, you put your pencil to paper and write: I miss my journal. I miss my Dee.

Then you toss the notebook aside and go to make some breakfast.

—

The first thing Dieter does when he wakes is grab his phone off the nightstand.

One eye squinting open, he plugs your name into a search engine and scrolls through the results. Nothing new, just tabloids recycling old information and speculating. Fucking vultures.

A boulder settles on his chest, cold and massive, squeezing the air from his lungs.

He should be used to this sort of feeling, considering how often he’s felt it the past few days.

Every lead they had came up a dead end. You put up an impenetrable wall around yourself, so the most he can do is scour the internet for signs of you and live in the disappointment that follows each search.

He drops his phone and looks over at the empty spot beside him.

In an alternate universe, maybe one where your apartment wasn’t raided or you didn’t run away, the two of you are probably right here in bed, all intertwined under the covers, murmuring sweet affirmations to each other. Or maybe you’re seated next to one another in some unsuspecting diner, ordering greasy breakfast foods and sipping watered-down coffee. Or maybe he’s leaning on the kitchen island, watching you throw together some kind of sweet treat that the two of you would share throughout the day.

Or maybe there is no alternate universe. Maybe this was the way this was always going to be.

While you were still here, he made plans for Christmas. They weren’t big plans or anything. Nothing too showy, just some stuff to bring you comfort on the anniversary of your husband’s passing. Figured he could make you breakfast, then the two of you could take a bath. He got you a robe, pajamas, and some slippers so you’d be at the height of comfort for a trashy reality show marathon. Smoking pot, ordering takeout, that kind of thing. Low key.

It would’ve been nice. Definitely would’ve beat his long-standing Christmas tradition of going on a bender.

Dieter sighs, reaching across the bed to pull your pillow into an embrace. He buries his face in it and inhales your lingering scent. His eyes clench shut as he tries to picture what you’re doing, where you are, how you’re feeling, but he gets nothing.

Intuition tells him he’s running out of time.

He knows you’re still out there as sure as he knows there’s a pulse beneath his skin. But if you’ve held out this far, you’ll do it today or tomorrow. You’re a romantic like that.

He prays that’s enough time for a miracle.

—

You crouch down at the river’s edge and dig your fingers into the cold, damp sand, clamping down around a gray speckled rock. It comes loose with a firm tug, leaving an indent behind. Turning it over in your hand, you admire its weight and size.

A keeper.

You toss it in your backpack along with the other rocks and zip the bag shut. Hands numb and filthy, you heave the backpack onto your shoulders and jump up and down a little, nodding in approval at the considerable effort it takes to do so.

That should do just fine.

The backpack stays on the beach while you walk back to the cabin. Once inside, you thaw your hands with hot, soapy water, then eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in front of the fireplace, staring at the flickering flames as you chew. Your mind is white noise. A static-screened TV. An engine seized.

After cleaning the minimal mess from lunch, you consult your to-do list, cross off Gather the means of your destruction, and move to the next item: Build the psychomanteum.

—

“I printed all the information we’ve found and put it in here,” Darlene flips open the cover of a black binder and leafs through the color-coded, tabbed off sections, “Inside, I have call logs, typed out my notes from all my interviews, made a timeline of her last known movements, and basically everything we know so far. Table of contents at the front.”

She heaves the binder closed and straightens its bottom edge perfectly parallel to the edge of the dining room table, then takes a sideways step to the manila envelope beside it.

“I printed out some pictures and wrote a detailed description of her in the event that you decide to file the missing persons report. All of that information is in the manila envelope here,” she taps the envelope and looks up at Dieter, “Why did you fly to New York the day your girlfriend went missing?”

“To bribe an elected official.”

She blinks, “Try again.”

“I thought she went home.”

“And why did you go to the opera?”

“Parker and I were following up on a lead. Someone texted me and said they thought they saw her—”

“Who texted you?”

“Uhhhh…”

“Do you have a copy of the text message?”

“I, um—”

“Exactly. Too vague, and traceable. Try again.”

“Parker told me to.”

“Bitch, what the fuck?” Parker swats him.

“Ow,” Dieter hisses, rubbing the fresh welt, “No, uhhh… I went to New York to look for her because she lives there. She always told me about wanting to go to the Met to catch a show, so we went to see if we could spot her.”

“She went missing and you wanted to look for her at the Metropolitan Opera House?”

“It was a long shot, yeah,” he sighs and scratches his chin, “Waste of time, we ended up leaving at intermission.”

“That’s… not bad,” Darlene gives him an impressed nod, then looks down at her folder and straightens it in line with the binder, “Probably enough to keep you from getting arrested, at least. What about you, Parker?”

“I helped him look for her in New York, even though I knew it was a dumb idea and told him so to his face.“

“Do you think he was up to anything, covering up his tracks?”

“No,” Parker scoffs, “Poor boy was worried sick the whole time. He wouldn’t stop beating himself up for going on that goddamn wild goose chase.”

“Good,” Darlene smiles, crossing her arms, and tilts her head at Dieter, “Are you sure it’s ok if I go?”

“Oh, yeah, go,” he waves his hand dismissively, “You’ve done more than enough, really. Thank you for everything.”

“Well… don’t thank me yet,” she mutters, taking another side step to the second manila envelope. She picks it up and holds it with both hands, pausing for a moment before passing it across the table to him. ‘

He takes it and frowns at her, “What’s this?”

“It’s her journal.”

His breathing stops. All the moisture in his mouth evaporates, tongue sticking Velcro to the roof when he opens his mouth to ask a thousand questions. Darlene speaks before he can utter a syllable.

“You gave it to me. Unintentionally, I think, but I jotted down some notes from that first morning when I was calling around.”

Dieter opens the envelope and pulls out the orange, spiral-bound notebook. A New Chapter. He traces the phrase.

“I didn’t realize what it was until last night when I was double-checking I copied the notes down right. I flipped to the front, and…”

As if under a spell, he opens the cover, eyes falling on the first line.

I am the haunted house

He closes it and stares at the cover, then across the table at Darlene, “How much did you read?”

“I went through the last few entries,” she tells him, “Skimmed them to see if she mentioned anything helpful. She didn’t, but you might want to take a closer look at them. Maybe something will jump out at you.”

Dieter glances at Parker. They exchange a look that says neither of them will make a fuss about the invasion of your privacy. Given the circumstances, it’s understandable.

“I worked backwards and marked where I left off with a tab. You should read it.”

He nods and clears his throat, then says, “Yeah, I, umm… I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

—

The Friedman family cabin had limited options when it came to putting together the psychomanteum.

It calls for a dark and preferably small enclosed space, a challenge in itself. The common rooms are open concept, with the obvious exception of the bathroom. Both of the bedrooms on the first floor and the loft upstairs have dressers in lieu of closets. Thinking about setting up in the dirt-floor wine cellar, alongside its long-term creepy-crawly residents, made you queasy.

This left you with one practical option: the cedar linen closet.

After transferring the neat stacks of towels, bedding, and pillows from the shelves, you take out the shelves themselves. You find some dark quilts to line the walls with and, through an arduous process of trial and error, accomplish a mirror-angle combination that creates the desired effect.

Throughout this process, you try to concentrate on what you would say to him, telling yourself that this time you wouldn’t spin out and lose your nerve. This time you would ask the questions that haunt your every waking breath.

Your mind keeps wandering to Dieter, though.

You think about his experiences in the psychomanteum.

About James and the river and the scars left on Dieter’s young heart. You think about the ghost that haunts him, his monster, and how it might whisper similarities in his ear. How it might coax him into the darkness forever.

The thought strikes you hard and heavy, square in the chest.

All the air leaves your body and your hands go numb. You crumple up into a ball on the closet floor and weep. Pained, warbled sobs shake your body. The noises that come out of you sound foreign and animalistic.

You cry for him, and for you, and for all the things that could have been. You cry and cry until you can't cry anymore.

It feels cleansing. Therapeutic. Like a purge to overly-ripe, buzzing nerves.

In the messy afterglow of this release, you stare up at the ceiling and wish Dieter would come barging through the door.

If he found you here, all curled up on the closet floor of your in-laws cabin, he would probably let out a big sigh of relief, then lay down beside you. He would pull you into an embrace and squeeze you tight and make you take a blood oath to never leave him again.

For the first time since you set out on this literal suicide mission, you really consider not following through with it.

Something dark flickers out the corner of your eye. When you hear the faint whisper of a noise, your breath halts.

You fine-tune your ears, focusing on each minute sound that crops up. Wind rustling the trees outside. Your heart pumping blood. The deafening silence in between.

Then you hear it.

A coarse, abrasive noise like fingernails on sheetrock. Scratching.

It sneaks.

Your pulse jumps, muscles going tense with fear. You pinch your eyes shut. Try to stay still and quiet, but each shaky breath sounds louder than the last.

Another scratch, slow and dry, from inside the closet this time.

“Leave me alone,” you whisper, “Please.”

—

I am the haunted house Full of ghosts Myself and others

Living in the past I cannot escape Neither can they

Dieter stares at the page, re-reading that first passage in your journal at least ten times before shaking his head and closing the cover.

This feels fucked up and invasive. It doesn’t sit right in his body, all hard corners stretching out his stomach. He should hurl the journal into the canyon, but something stops him from doing so.

His leg starts bouncing, jaw gnashing back and forth with indecision. He leans forward in the patio chair and flips the journal open a few pages.

I think I like him and I don’t know how to feel about that. I feel like it’s too soon and I’m not ready, but at the same time, I am drawn to him. Almost every time we talk on the phone it turns into a three-hour long conversation and even then I wish I could keep talking to him. He makes me laugh. He’s sweet and odd and insanely fucking hot. He seems to party a lot, which makes me unjustifiably nervous. The other night when I was talking to him, he mentioned another woman and I felt fucking jealous?? I’ve literally met the man twice. What the fuck am I doing. I am actually insane. I think it would be a real problem if we did anything beyond flirting, I would probably need to be committed.

Warmth and affection flood his veins.

You must have written this sometime between the party at Katie’s and the first time he traveled to New York to see you. Probably last spring when the two of you began to contact each other more and more.

He remembers how tedious it was at first.

Getting to know each other was a delicate dance both of you performed without acknowledgment. A text here and there, sporadic communication at best. He didn’t want you to think he was too eager. In fact, he didn’t want to be eager at all.

Past friendships left him jaded and waiting for the other shoe to drop. On top of that, he was going through a divorce and pretty dedicated to a full-time coke habit.

He dreaded the day you would reveal yourself as a snake. But you never did.

As the text messages grew more frequent and reliable, he couldn’t deny the temptation to let his feelings blossom instead of nipping them in the bud. Soon the messages accompanied weekly phone calls and video chats, until it became an almost daily ritual to hear your voice.

He wasn’t sure what to think or feel about you, he just knew that he always found himself wondering about you. What you were doing, who you were with. Like you, he felt a tinge of jealousy on the rare occasion you would drop another man’s name.

It’s comforting to know you felt the same way. Weary, but intrigued. Resistant to the pull of attraction, yet not entirely immune.

The glass patio door slides open, then shut.

Dieter looks over his shoulder and nods in greeting to Parker, who plops down in the patio chair next to him. With him, he carries a navy blue gift bag emblazoned with a shiny gold logo that reads Bizarre Bazaar.

“You boys have fun shopping?”

Parker holds the bag out to Dieter, letting the ribbon handle dangle from his slender fingers, “It’s for you. Merry Christmas.”

“Oh fuck off, really?”

“It was Lincoln’s idea,” he shakes the bag, “Take it!”

Rolling his eyes, Dieter sets your journal aside and takes the gift.

“You really didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know.”

He pushes aside tissue paper and pulls a black frame from the bag. A shadow box. Suspended inside the glass is a moth with an impressive wingspan. Its creamy white wings have dark stripes that zigzag close together to create an almost disorienting effect, making his vision blur into abstract.

“Thysania Agrippina,” Parker tells him, “The White Witch moth, or ghost moth. They’re the biggest moths, typically found in forests of Central and South America. Back in ye olden days, when explorers encountered them, they would try to shoot them like they did with birds and bats, but the moths would evade the attacks, making the explorers think they were witches. Really, their body is just incredibly small in comparison to their wings.”

Dieter nods, unable to tear his eyes away from the specimen.

“People see moths as a symbol of transformation and rebirth. White witch moths are especially considered good luck.”

“I need all the luck I can get,” he mutters and looks at Parker, “It's beautiful, thank you.”

Parker gives him a half-hearted smile, glancing at your journal, “Did you find anything?”

With a sigh, Dieter carefully slides the taxidermy moth back into the gift bag, then picks up your journal and flips through it.

“Not really. I haven’t gone through much, though. Here are Darlene’s notes,” he opens to a page with her sparse, neat script, and flips backwards through the pages, passing a few blanks before finding your last entry, “This is from the day before. I don’t know.”

Parker frowns, “Can I see it?”

Shrugging, Dieter hands it to him.

He watches as Parker studies the blank pages, tilting and turning the journal against the light of the overhead sun. When Parker jumps to his feet, Dieter’s stomach flips.

“What?”

“I think I see something.”

“Something like what?”

“I need a pencil.”

Dieter leaps into action, leading the way inside to a cup of writing utensils on the kitchen counter. He finds a lead pencil and hands it to Parker, who starts lightly shading over a small section of paper. Contrast carves out negative space from idents in the page.

A phone number.

“Holy shit,” Dieter breathes, stunned for a moment before pulling out his phone and dialing the number.

—

The bottle lets out a glug-glug-glug as you pour plum wine into your glass. You tilt your head, watching with dead eyes as the golden elixir fills your cup to the brim, then you set the empty bottle aside and take a sip.

Not bad. Tart well-balanced with sweet. The taste doesn’t matter as much to you as the alcohol content, but it helps.

Staring at the blank page, you remember what Dieter said when you tried and failed to reach Ethan through the psychomanteum. That you were too closed-off. You click your pen a few times, then bring the tip to paper.

I cried myself to sleep that night.

Ethan locked himself in his room after pouring the ink I gave him on the living room floor. I could hear him in there, pacing back and forth and talking to himself. A squeaky floorboard tracked his movements like a metronome.

Even though he was in his own little world, I muffled my sobs in my pillow so he couldn’t hear me. Before falling asleep, I remember feeling hopeless. I loved and hated him at the same time. It was over, I couldn’t do it anymore. That fact scared the ever-loving shit out of me.

It didn’t seem real when I woke up.

He took me by the hair and pulled me out of bed. My legs didn’t work. I kept collapsing and tripping all over the place, which made him even more angry. Each time I faltered, he yanked me up to my feet by the hair. He called me a bitch. A rat. A spineless fucking worm.

Before taking me out in the hallway, he showed me a pocket knife and told me if I screamed he would slit my throat. I believed him.

You pause here, considering whether or not to drink more wine. For a while, you watch the low flames in the fireplace dance around on ashy, glowing logs. You rise to your feet and approach it, pulling open the hearth to carefully stack more firewood atop the hungry beast. It thanks you with a crackle and a burst of heat and light, the newborn fire blazing your face and hands.

Returning to your seat, you cross your legs under the coffee table and re-read what you’ve written. The memories hold space in your chest.

This deep, dull ache starts at your sternum and spreads across your body. Instinctively, you reach for the wine, but pause before your fingertips touch the glass.

It seems important that you experience the pain, not anesthetize it.

You pick up the pen and keep going.

He led me down to the parking garage and threw me in the passenger seat. When I tried to buckle my seatbelt, he threatened me again, told me to leave it. He took off, driving like a fucking maniac. Swerving around traffic, running red lights, going the wrong way down one way streets. It was snowing and the roads were slick. Every time we lost traction, he howled with laughter as he righted his course.

I remember being fucking terrified and thinking this couldn’t be happening, it wasn’t real, it was a nightmare. I don’t remember everything I said to him. I just remember screaming and crying, begging him to let me out. He ignored me. I tried to snap him out of it by punching him in the face as hard as I could. This got his attention.

The car skidded to a stop. He looked at me. His eyes were black and vacant and unrecognizable. I knew then that Ethan wasn’t coming back. It was me and his monster. I asked him to let me out. He said no. He said we had to do this together. I told him I fucking hated him and reached for the door handle to get out.

He grabbed my throat and hit me hard, his fist landing on my left eye. I saw stars, then everything went black.

When I came to, the engine was roaring. Red traffic lights zoomed by overhead. He was looking through the windshield with a blank, emotionless stare, picking up speed fast. It became very clear what he was going to do. Still dazed, I tried to put on my seatbelt, but before I could click it into place, I heard a horrible metallic crunching noise from everywhere. Everything went black again.

Hot tears burn trails down your cheeks. You drop the pen down and bury your face in your hands, releasing a guttural sob from your chest like some kind of rabid animal. It splits you in two, claws tearing at your rib cage and carving you out.

This is what it feels like to be an aluminum can. Drained of utility, crushed for scrap metal.

This is what it feels like to be a jack-o-lantern. Gutted, empty, rotting.

This is what it feels like to have your heart broken for the first and last time.

Eventually, you manage to catch your breath. Then you rise to your feet and start towards the psychomanteum.

Headlights cut through the pitch black night onto the highway ahead.

“In two miles, take Exit 31 to merge onto CA-41 North towards Yosemite.”

Dieter glances at his phone mounted to the dash. It estimates his arrival time as 10:53, putting him 36 minutes and 23 miles out. He punches the gas, watching the speedometer jump from 76-mph to 90.

If he’s gonna shave off more time, it’ll be here, not in the foothills. Pretty soon the roads will get narrow and curvy. Not to mention, they might be slick as it gets colder with elevation, and he’d like to make it to you alive, thankyouverymuch.

His nerves buzz at the thought, tangling in a mess of anticipation and worry and guilt.

He should have figured it out sooner. This should have been a first day call. It would’ve been if he wasn’t so fucking blind. He handed your journal to Darlene, not realizing it had the answer the whole goddamn time.

Nobody answered at first. He held his breath as the line trilled. It rang long enough for him to wonder if he died and went to hell and was doomed to exist in the moment for eternity.

Then the voicemail picked up.

“You’ve reached the voicemail for Sarah Friedman. Sorry I missed you, leave me a message and I’ll call you back.”

BEEP

“Hi, Sarah. My name is Dieter Bravo. I’m calling about my, uhh… Louella Friedman. I found your phone number in her notebook, and she’s been missing for a few days. I’m—I’m worried about her. She left a note, and, umm… yeah. I don’t know. I’m hoping you have information on her whereabouts. Please call me back. Thanks.”

He hung up and looked between Parker and Lincoln, “Sarah Friedman?”

Parker’s eyes went wide, “That’s Ethan’s mom—oh my god—” He gasped, jumping up and down, “Their fucking cabin, Dieter! Fresno—mountains, forest, holy shit—”

“Oh my god!” Dieter started jumping up and down too, only getting two hops in before bolting for the door, “I GO NOW!”

“Wait—shoes! Your wallet! And keys!” Lincoln called to him, making him circle back into the house and grab the items off the sideboard and shove his feet into a pair of crocs.

“And a charger, do you want an overnight bag? What about Lua’s things—her phone—”

His phone buzzed in his hand. Sarah returning his call.

“You have thirty fucking seconds,” he told Lincoln before answering, “This is Dieter.”

“Hi, Dieter. This is Sarah calling you back.”

“Yeah, thank you so much—Is she, Lua, is she ok?”

When she didn’t immediately respond yes, his stomach plummeted.

“I actually, I don’t know,” Sarah sighed, “I’m glad you called, because I wasn’t sure—”

“What do you mean?”

He started snapping his fingers at Lincoln, who was stumbling down the hall towards him, shoving things into a backpack.

“She’s been staying at our cabin and I haven’t been able to reach her.”

“I have her phone, she left it here. At my house.”

“No, on the landline. I’ve talked to her the past few days, but when I tried earlier the call wouldn’t go through.”

“Fuck,” he muttered, grabbing the backpack from Lincoln, “Send me the address, I’m going.”

It took him about two and a half hours to drive the some-odd 200 miles to where he is now. The most excruciating drive of his life, just him and Siri and his anxious thoughts.

“Take the exit.”

He flips on the blinker and glances in the rearview mirror, then over his shoulder before merging.

“Hang on a little bit longer, baby.”

—

Your head swims as you relax into the nest of pillows and blankets on the floor. Behind you, the electric lantern casts a dim glow, reflecting off the frame of the mirror. The mirror shows you a black abyss. You stare into it, letting your vision blur abstract.

Then you wait.

After some time, a strange feeling comes over you. A shifting, surreal sensation like you’re changing gears and reaching a higher plane of existence. Invisible tendrils slither out from beneath your skin and branch out before you, stretching into the abyss. You feel connected to it. Tapped into something larger than yourself.

“Ethan, I need to talk to you.”

Something clicks into place, like a tether coupling you to him. His presence lingers near yours somewhere within the abyss, but you gather the notion that he wants you to come closer, and lean into the strange sensation.

Static energy pulses around you on all sides as you move forward through the darkness. Light years ahead of you, a star twinkles. A single pinprick of brightness in the inky black.

You follow the beacon, gliding through the space with surprising speed.

The light grows from a pinprick to a beam, from a beam to a dinner plate, from a dinner plate to a beach ball, stretching wider and brighter with each passing moment.

You come to a halt when you realize that it’s not just a far-off daydream, but a tangible object.

An orb, roughly the same size as you, glowing with pure white light.

It emits familiar ambient noises, flickering brighter with each sound wave. Muffled car horns. Stomping from the upstairs neighbors. Ethan’s low, quiet humming in the tune of “All I Have to Do Is Dream” by the Everly Brothers.

The orb seems to possess a gravitational pull. You find yourself drifting closer. When you reach out to touch it, your fingertips brush against something warm and inviting.

In the blink of an eye, you appear somewhere else entirely.

It takes a moment to reorient yourself to these new surroundings. Your focus flickers to the steeple of your drawn-back emerald curtains, giving you a peep show of the electric blue sky. Afternoon sun pours in through the window, spilling across the bedspread.

The foreground of your vision clears to a crisp image. Ethan’s bare chest, rising and falling with breath. Beneath your ear, the steady thump-thump of his heart beats true and steady. His fingertips gently rake against your skin in lazy, comforting circles.

You tilt your head to look at him, meeting his gaze. His eyes are clear and present like you haven’t seen in ages. He looks healthy. Full of life. Reaching up to trace the curve of his lips, you whisper, “Is this heaven? Did I die?”

He huffs a little chuckle, “No.”

You grin at the sight of his smile, eyes flicking all over his face, “Then what is it?”

“It’s what you needed,” he shrugs, “What you came here for.” When you arch a suspicious brow, he smirks, “What?”

“I came here to yell at you.”

“Then yell at me.”

He stares at you, his brown eyes both sincere and mischievous. Your teeth catch your bottom lip and you glance out the window.

“C’man, Lou. Look at me.”

You do, and he shifts around a little, rolling on his side to face you, “Hit me with the truth, baby. I can take it.”

“If I ask you something, will you lie?”

“I’ve got nothing to gain from lying to you.”

You search his face for signs of falsehood, but find none.

“Were there other women?”

“Do you really wanna know?”

You nod.

He licks his lips, glancing down, then back to you, “Yeah, there were a few.”

“How many?”

“Three.”

It shocks you a little, his honesty. And soothes you. You forgot it could be like this with him. No games, no bullshit.

“Were they serious? Did you love them?”

“No,” he scoffs, waving his hand dismissively, “They were… distractions.”

You bite down on the inside of your cheek and nod, dropping your gaze.

“If you’re waiting for excuses, I don’t have any. It was wrong and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it. Any of it. The cheating, the lies, the… the way I hurt you—”

“You tried to kill me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You did kill me. Slowly. Inside and out.” Your vision swims with tears, but you look up to meet his eyes anyway, “You broke me. You were supposed to love me and you broke me, Ethan. I don’t know if I can even love right anymore, I’m so fucked up.”

“I’m sorry.”

He looks at you with such naked anguish that you believe he means the apology with his whole heart. It still hurts.

“Please say something else.”

“What do you want me to say, Lou?”

A hard knot of emotion works its way up your throat, making your face crumble and your eyes sting with tears.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. Then, as if it’s an answer, you tell him, “I’m… I’m scared.”

“What’re you so scared of?”

“What if we’re just cursed to keep living this over and over? Loving and losing?”

You picture your dad. Ethan. James. Anika.

You picture Dieter. You picture one hundred ways he could break you beyond recognition. One hundred ways you could do the same to him.

It all seems so fragile.

“Lou, look at me,” he tilts your chin up to meet his eyes, “You will never know what the future holds. That doesn’t mean it can’t be good. That doesn’t mean you should hide from it.”

“Is it worth it?”

“Don’t you think?”

You picture the ghost trail of your ink-stained hand clasping Dieter’s and feeling his soul from the inside out. The phone calls. Hours and hours—weeks, really—listening to his voice over one electronic device or another. Him sitting next to you, eating Chinese food and watching shitty tv. His laugh, those dimples. The night at the Plaza. Big brown tootsie pop eyes. Snow angels. The ocean—the sea of love.

He smirks, flicking his eyes around your face, “You love him, huh?”

“I do,” you nod, a knot of guilt tugging at your stomach, “I love him so much. I just… what if he hurts me like you did? What if I hurt him? I—I don’t think I can be put back together if I break again.”

“Tell me something. And be honest with me, I’ll know if you’re lying, ok? If you could go back and do something different, forever changing the course of your life up to this moment… would you?”

You think about it, long and hard. You consider the different paths your life could have taken.

If your dad never developed cancer, you might’ve felt secure enough to stay in Ohio. Maybe you would have attended culinary classes in a local community college instead of running away to New York. You never would have met Parker. You never would have moved to the city. You never would have had the opportunities to establish your culinary skills the way you did. You never would have met Ethan.

If Ethan would have stayed clean, the two of you might have existed in happily-ever-after until your dying day… but you never would have met Dieter.

Dieter.

Your chest aches with love, tears welling up in your eyes. Loving him feels perfect and magical and right. Otherworldly. It feels like forever.

Every passing moment since you met him has felt like you are exactly where you need to be.

Even the bad times, like the first time you tried the psychomanteum and he lost it. You learned so much about him. He revealed some of the most tender spots in his heart. You started to trust him.

Or when you found out he slept with Katie and it felt like your world came crashing down. You learned that, even when you pushed him away, he would fight tooth and nail for you.

Intrusions from the tabloids and your mother, the interview, dinner with Lilly and Jay. All of these instances forced you both to reconcile with parts of yourselves you thought were thoroughly unloveable and come out the other side somehow more intact than you were before.

You realize that even now, with the threat of prison and the destruction of Dieter’s career lingering in your periphery, with you tucked away in the psychomanteum in the middle of nowhere, hiding from everything… it’s where you need to be. And despite the impossible odds, you believe that your love for each other will come out the other side.

You shake your head.

“No. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Ethan nods, brushing his fingertips along your cheek, “So, you tell me. Is it worth the risk?”

—

When Dieter spots the mailbox labeled FRIEDMAN, his heart jumps up and gets lodged in his throat.

"The destination is on your right. Arrived."

He slows and turns the wheel, steering the car down the gravel driveway. Outside, the night is impossibly black. The only thing he can see in the high beams are tall pine trees on either side of the path and an occasional flicker of reflective eyes in the forest.

“Could it be any fucking creepier out here, Jesus Christ—”

Thunk

One of the tires hits a pothole, making him grimace. The car jostles back and forth in protest, then rights its path.

Goddamnit, not now.

If he breaks down out here he might spontaneously combust. Any other time, just not now, he's so fucking close. Steering around another deep gash in the path, Dieter grits his teeth and squints into the darkness.

A light in the distance makes him sit up straighter and lean forward.

It has to be a porch light, that has to be it.

Anxious energy pounds thick through his veins. He can’t clear his head enough to glean anything about your current state. Horrible images flash through his mind, torturing him.

The trees open up into a clearing.

As soon as his headlights graze the cabin, he throws the car into park and jumps from the vehicle, screaming your name as he runs up the steps onto the patio.

He pounds on the door, peeking in through the window, “Lua, it’s me.”

His voice is garbled and frantic.

Inside, he sees a fireplace glowing with warm light. He twists the doorknob and pushes it open, “LOUELLA?”

Dead silence.

White hot panic spikes his blood.

He runs numb, trembling hands through his hair and calls your name again, starting through the house.

There are signs of life. The crackling fireplace. Towels and blankets stacked on the kitchen counter. Your open suitcase in one of the downstairs bedrooms.

On the coffee table in the living room, he finds a full glass of wine and a notebook. He picks it up and starts reading, throat letting out an involuntary dry whimper as he tries again and again to read the words, but they blur and don’t make sense.

The sound of the front door opening makes him spin around.

—

Your exhale fogs in the cool night air as you pull a rock from the backpack and chuck it towards the sound of flowing water.

Ker-plunk!

Squinting into the darkness, you make out ripples on the river’s surface and smile.

The next one is heavier.

You have to grab it with two hands and heave it over your shoulder to send it launching it into the air, crashing through the water with a loud splash.

Delight shivers up your spine.

You tuck your hands in your jacket pockets and look up at the stars. With the expanse of the universe stretching across the atmosphere, you should feel small and hopeless. But you don’t. Instead, a deep sense of optimism and wonder steals your breath.

Somehow it feels like every other time you’ve crawled out of the shit, but different. Like you’re the same person you were, although not at all. Like the good parts stayed intact, but the fear sloughed off at your feet.

You feel weightless. Hopeful. Infinite.

It doesn’t matter that you don’t have transportation, or food, or anything. It doesn’t matter that your return to society might result in your arrest. All that matters is you find Dieter and face this with him.

For the first time in a long time, you have faith that everything will be ok.

The sound of an approaching car draws your attention. A beam of light scans through the night sky, then you hear a car door.

“LOUELLA!”

You gasp, voice cracking as you whisper, “Dieter?”

Your heart skitters in your chest and your feet spring into action, trudging up the riverbed as fast as they can. Chest heaving, vision blurring, you climb up the hill and make a mad dash towards the cabin.

When you reach the door and twist the doorknob, you can’t feel the cold metal on your hands. You shove it open and step into the house, every cell in your body buzzing with shock and awe and fear and excitement when you lay your eyes upon him.

“Dee?”

[ Next Chapter ]

#psychomanteum #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter bravo x female reader #x reader #dieter bravo x oc #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo angst #dieter bravo fanfic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #dieter bravo the bubble #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic

113 notes · View notes

so-long-soldier-writes · 11 months

Text

Airport Troubles

kai parker x reader

summary: you face some trouble with TSA while trying to catch your flight. the suspicious agent uses some unconventional methods to get the truth out of you.

tags: roleplay / sexual roleplay, fingering, oral, vaginal sex, cuddling, mention of pregnancy, minor breeding kink oops

word count: 3.4k

a/n: it's taken me 4 days to publish this bc I finish work and then immediately fall asleep. also this is so cheesy but I haven't posted in a while, so I pulled something out of my wip graveyard (this has been in there for months)😅 slowly working on requests!

“Hey, I’ve got a new idea.” Your boyfriend comes up to you, a mischievous smile on his face.

“Hm, what’s that?”

“TSA check.”

“Huh?”

“Like airport security.”

“I know what it is, Kai. What idea do you have with that?”

“You stand still and I check you over. Make sure you’re not gonna land in a new city and kill a bunch of people.”

You snort, “shouldn’t I be checking you then?”

The joke flies over his head, “no, because I need to be the one touching you.”

Instead of trying to explain your joke, you giggle, “okay. Friday night?”

“Yes.” There’s a dark glimmer in his eye as he agrees.

It should scare you, but it has the opposite effect. “Okay. I’ll be ready.”

Proud of himself, he gives you a kiss before crashing onto the couch. Not two minutes later, he’s calling you over to cuddle, and when you do, he’s instantly out like a light.

◇◇◇◇

You spend a solid hour getting ready for Kai’s new roleplay idea. These types of things always get him so excited, both of you, really, so you put extra effort into your appearance.

Underneath jeans and a plain t-shirt, you’re wearing a black lingerie set - one that’s a little more complicated than those you usually wear. Sometimes it’s fun seeing him struggle to take them off, but you have to hold back the giggles so he doesn’t catch onto your tricks. The difficulty makes him frustrated, which leads to him being rougher when he finally gets it off.

Smirking at the thought, you complete the look with socks and shoes, plus a coat and backpack. You plan a loose dialogue to go with it, then head downstairs at nine sharp.

The minute you come around the corner, Kai’s right there, and you almost smack straight into him.

“Excuse me, ma’am, please watch where you’re going.”

“Sorry, sir.” You bite your lip to not laugh. It always takes you a minute to get comfortable with a new character.

“Where are you headed?”

“Terminal A, going to New York.”

“I see. Well, good thing that flight’s not leaving for another forty-five minutes, because you’ve been randomly selected for a pat down.”

“May I ask why? Did I do something wrong?”

“Not entirely, ma’am. However, your inattention to your surroundings is a little suspicious to me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“No worries. Just come with me.”

“Okay.”

He leads you into your living room, blinds closed, illuminated by two lamps in the corners.

“We’re using lamps instead of the overhead light so that the flashlights work better,” he explains.

“Oh, okay, sounds good. I like that better actually. Big lights hurt my eyes.”

“Why? Are you high?”

“What? No! Just… I have sensitive eyes.”

He’s quiet for a minute, then speaks into an invisible radio on his hip. “Gonna need you to bring me a drug test, Brenda. Might need it.”

You resist the urge to laugh, again.

“Is security funny to you, ma’am?”

“No, sir. I’m sorry.”

“Alright, stand still. Do you have your ID and passport?”

“Yes,” you hand them over and he looks through both briefly.

“Okay, jacket off. And I’m going to look through that and your bag.”

You bite your lip, shrugging off the items. If Kai drags this out, you’re going to die.

“Just a little patience, won’t take long.”

“Okay.”

One-by-one, Kai pulls the things out of your bag and comments on them.

“What’s this exactly?”

“Curling iron. For hair.”

“Okay.”

“Hmm, phone charger, small deodorant, pens, notebook, glasses, looking good. Hold up, condoms?”

You blush red.

“It’s alright, better safe than sorry.” He continues, “book, nail file, oh - this lipgloss, I’m going to have to discard it because it’s a weird color.”

“What?”

“Yeah, it’s showing up green on the light, and that’s weird.” He throws the gloss out without further inspection. As it flies across the room, all you can do is throw up your hands. “Protocol.”

“Sure.”

“Hmm, now what’s this? Another curling iron?”

“Um, no. That’s a… personal effects tool.”

“A what?”

“A, um-”

“You’re going to have to be crystal clear with me, young lady.”

“It’s a vibrator.”

“A vibrator?”

“Yes.”

“Then what are the condoms for?”

“Wha-”

“Nevermind, not my problem. As long as it’s not a weapon, you can keep it.”

“What about my lip gloss?”

“No, ma’am, you can’t keep that. I already told you why.”

You groan in fake frustration.

“But the rest of your bag is clear. Okay, now for the pat down portion, you’re going to have to stand still with your arms out. I’m going to check your upper body first.”

“Okay.” You do as you’re told, biting your cheek hard.

Kai runs his hands along your arms, squeezing from your shoulders to your fingertips. On two occasions, he runs the back of his hand along your skin, letting his nails tickle you. Again, you fight the urge to giggle.

He then focuses his gaze on your chest. “What’s this necklace?”

“It’s from my boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Yeah, he’s actually waiting for me in New York.”

“Why didn’t you just fly together?”

“Conflicting schedules and all that.”

“Okay.” He runs a finger along your collarbone before muttering, “all good there.” His hands are all over your body now. They cup your breasts and rub your nipples, then move down to squeeze your waist. Kai rests a hand on the small of your back as his other feels your stomach.

“Is this standard procedure?” You question as he touches your breasts again.

“Please don’t interrupt me, ma’am. This is very important.”

“Oh.”

“I’m going to need to check your lower half now.”

“Okay. Did I pass on the top half?”

“Yes.”

“Cool.”

“Spread your legs.”

He wastes no time moving to your hips, then thighs. “I need to touch here.”

“Okay.”

His hands hold and squeeze your butt. A finger is run along your crotch until it rests above your clothed clit. Suddenly he applies pressure, sending a jolt up your spine.

“How’s your sexual performance?”

“What?”

“How do you perform sexually?”

“Um.”

“You must answer the question.”

“I’m fine, I guess. I don’t know.”

“Are you pregnant?”

“No.”

“Is there any chance you could be pregnant?”

“I mean, a small chance, but I doubt I am.”

“Okay,” he replies. Kai says nothing more on the topic. He moves down to your knees, then feet, rubbing his hands along them. “Alright,” he finally looks up at you.

“Did I pass?”

“For the most part, but I’m still suspicious. Do you have anything in your jean pockets?”

“No. You told me to empty my pockets, so I did.”

“Sass isn’t going to speed this up, sweetheart.”

“Sorry.”

“I’m gonna need you to remove your pants so I can check them.”

“What?”

“It’s protocol.”

You fake a sigh, then unbutton your jeans and slide them down your legs. Kai licks his lips, and you can tell he’s trying his best to hide his excitement. The moment he glimpses your lingerie underneath, though, his eyes widen.

“Ma’am,” he starts, sighing. He’s holding back. You can hear it in his tone, though the tightening of his jeans is giving him away quickly.

“Yes?”

“I’m not sure you wore the appropriate attire for this flight.”

“Oh! Sorry. I didn’t expect to be stripped in an airport. I was wearing it for my boyfriend.”

“Mhm, well you should’ve acted less suspicious or you wouldn’t’ve been stripped. Also, again, sass isn’t helping your case.”

“Can we just… finish this so we can both move on from this awkward situation.”

“Depends if I deem you able to fly.”

“Okay then can we start that process?”

“Sure. I’ll try to ignore your… outfit.”

He did not, in fact, ignore it. Kai continues his inspection like normal - well, normal for Kai - and pats down your body. Every so often, he mutters a comment about you passing this, or doing well on that, but when his fingers ghost over your clit again, he clicks his tongue.

“See, this is the problem. I think you’re hiding something here. But don’t worry, it’ll only take a second. I just need to-”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead, a gasp leaves your lips as he pushes two fingers inside you. You’re already wet from all the petting, so by the time he’s finally touching you, he moves with ease.

“What are you looking for?” You mutter out, hands gripping his head. He doesn’t correct you, but lets you hold onto him for balance.

“Can’t tell you. Protocol.” His older hand is gripping your thigh, though it’s slowly moving up to grab your butt again.

“Oh.”

“I think it’s deeper than I initially thought. One minute.” Kai positions himself in front of you to grab one side of your hips, his other hand holding back the lace, then begins to lap at your core with his tongue. He pulls you down onto him to lick deeper, periodically sucking on your clit. The feeling is absolute bliss, not to mention seeing him under you. A moan leaves your lips, and you immediately clamp a hand over your mouth.

Too late, he heard it. “Please, no talking, ma’am.”

“I’m sorry.”

You have no idea how he’s not cracking up right now. Then again, Kai has a tendency to take roleplays very seriously. You have a theory that he likes to pretend to be someone else every so often, but you’ve never mentioned this to him. Instead, you just play along into your boyfriend’s fantasies as best you can. After all, he erupts in a fit of content giggles at the end of each session, so you can let it all out then. You both know he can’t be serious for too long.

“Have you found it yet?”

Kai adds his fingers again and “searches” deeper. “Not yet.”

“Okay.”

“Though I think I can get you to give it up and confess where it is if you’re relaxed enough.”

“I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”

“You will in a moment.”

Suddenly, he picks you up and tosses you over his shoulder. You squeal and claw at his back, wanting something to grip. Before you can say anything, though, he sets you down on the desk. Kai pulls your shirt up over your head, but takes a second to admire your set. A lump forms in his throat.

“You have a very lucky boyfriend,” he comments.

“Seems I also have a very lucky TSA agent.” You bat your eyes playfully, then spread your legs open to him.

“Naughty girl.”

His tone has you biting your lip.

His eyes scan over you for a moment and you’re not sure what he’s thinking. Then, he takes the straps of your lingerie and pulls them down your body. When he reaches your waist, he realizes he has to unclip the garter belt before he can get your top off all the way. It takes a moment for him to do this, hands shaking with excitement. His tongue sticks out from between his teeth; his expression is deeply concentrated.

He finally unclips the two parts of the belt, then tugs your panties down your legs. At last, he finds the solution to the top - unhooking it and letting it drop to the table. The same time he undoes the clasp, something small falls from its place, buried within the top, and hits the ground with a shudder. If he hears it, he doesn’t ask. Nor does he make a comment about the challenge of the set, though you know he’s thinking about it. Instead, he wastes not a minute more, and undresses himself quickly.

As he lines himself up with your entrance, you suddenly ask, “do you do this with all your cases?”

“Only the ones with boyfriends,” he winks.

The urge to laugh is hard, and your hand flies to your mouth again. For a second, you see a little smirk on Kai’s face as he tries not to break character with his own chuckle.

But then that moment is over as soon as it comes, because he uses your distraction to push into you. You groan at the feeling, grabbing onto his shoulders tightly. He pulls out almost completely, but then rocks his hips back into you before finding a steady pace.

As expected, his thrusts are aggressive, and you’re gasping for breath. Your tits catch his eyes as they bounce in place. His own grip on you is equal to that you have on him - both will probably leave light bruises for you to find in the morning.

It isn’t long before you feel yourself losing strength. Your stomach muscles are sore from holding up your body, but when you lean back on the desk, Kai puts his hand out to support your head. He crawls up the length of your torso, kissing your neck and chest, and sucking on your tits. Neither of you will last much longer, but even in roleplays, he makes sure you come first.

“Come on, princess.” It’s the first thing he’s said in a while. It breaks through the obscene sounds of sex like a knife through butter.

He uses his spare hand to rub your clit. You’re so close to the edge that tears form in your eyes.

“Come on,” he prompts again. The hand holding up your head moves so it’s around your neck. Slight pressure is added, and Kai clicks his tongue to urge you to finish.

Then, as if his convincing is exactly what you needed, you come. Your body shudders against the table, shaking, while moans spill out your lips. Your release is all he needs to follow close behind, filling you up with his seed. He pulls out before he softens uncomfortably, but plugs you up with his fingers before too much can escape.

You take a moment to catch your breath. He helps you sit upright when you do, though, and he gives you a sloppy kiss to the mouth.

“Relaxed now, ma’am?”

“Uh huh.”

“So where’s the weapon?”

Sleepily, you reply, “fell out of my top. It’s on the ground.” You point lazily to the floor where he now notices a small pocket knife.

“Ah,” he clicks his tongue. “There it is! Okay…” Kai sets the knife on the table, then fetches an orange juice from the corner of the room. “I need you to drink this, please. It’s very important.”

“Okay.”

Kai tinkers around while you drink the juice. By the time you finish the bottle, you’re able to stand up by yourself again.

“Feel better?” He asks, buckling his belt back into place.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Good, because I still need to test that you’re not a criminal.”

“Wait, what?”

“Well, you had a knife on you that you tried to hide. And since you’ve been acting suspicious and have been way too sassy with me, I don’t feel comfortable letting you on the plane until I know you’re not a threat of national security.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Right. Give me one finger, please.”

You hold a hand out to him.

Kai takes the liberty of pressing your pointer finger into something wet and black, and then stamps it down on a piece of paper. “Thank you. Just wait one minute.”

As he stares at the paper, you take to staring at your finger. Hesitantly, you lick it, wondering if he really used ink.

“Don’t lick it,” he reprimands immediately.

“Sorry.”

It tasted like fruit, like he had mashed up blackberries or something. You want to giggle, but refrain.

“While this processes, would you like to tell me why you were carrying a knife under your shirt?”

“I keep it there for self defense.”

“Why not in your pocket, or something?”

“Easier for me to grab, harder for attackers to see. But sir, may I add, I didn’t mean to hide it from you. I honestly forgot it was there. I was anxious about having to be in the parking garage and then totally forgot to put it in a better place. I’m really sorry. I promise I’m no threat to anyone.”

He sighs, reading your face. “I understand, ma’am. And it seems you’ve passed the test, so your story checks out.”

“I passed?”

“It appears so.”

“Okay, great!”

“That being said, you’re now free to go. Your stuff is right over there.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Thank you for your time. Oh, and might I suggest a few things?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, one, remember to not hide your weapons in your bra when you enter airports.”

“Sorry-”

“Two, throw out those condoms, because obviously, you don’t use them. Considering how fine you were without them ten minutes ago.”

“Excuse me?!”

“And three, you might want to get a pregnancy test. I come from a huge family, seven siblings, to be exact, and I also carry a twin gene.” Kai grins at you. “Have a nice flight!”

Keeping in character, your jaw drops. “Fuck! Are you serious?!” You exclaim loudly.

“Ma’am, please be wary of children in the airport.”

You shake your head in annoyance as you walk up the stairs, bag in hand, and away from him.

◇◇◇◇

Twenty minutes later, Kai comes upstairs to find you on your bed. He wanted to give you some time to recover on your own, but will only leave you alone for so long before he needs to be by your side again.

“Hi,” he greets, peering his head around the door.

“Hi, baby.”

“Can I come in?”

“Of course.”

“How are you? Was I too rough? Are you hurt anywhere? Was it too much?”

“Come here,” you gesture for him to join you. “None of those things, pumpkin. It was perfect. You were perfect.”

“Are your wrists bruised?” He asks anyway.

You send a question back before answering him. “Are your hips?”

“Maybe. But I don’t mind. It was worth it.”

“Well, my answer is the same.”

He’s only quiet for a second before continuing. “I liked that piece you had on today. That agent was right - you are a naughty girl.”

“Seems I am.”

He gives you a kiss, then tucks his head into the crook of your neck with his arms around your waist. He doesn’t budge when you lean back and take him with you. Your head hits the pillow and he only nestles closer.

After a while, though, he coughs. It’s not a sick cough, but more of a “new topic starter” kind of cough.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. But I would, um, if I were you…”

“Would what, baby?”

“Take a test… like, a pregnancy test. Because we don’t use those condoms often, I didn’t even remember you had them, and I kinda…. I don’t know, but I think we should do that just in case.”

“You’re probably right. Especially after this time in particular.�� You grow warm as you recall it. “We should probably use them more, too, considering how often…” You don’t feel the need to finish your sentence. Kai knows exactly what you mean.

However, he just grunts. He adjusts slightly, enough to press a kiss to your cheek.

“What?” You pry. “You disagree?”

He shrugs. “I kinda like it being a roll of the dice. Which time are you gonna show up with two blue lines?” Your jaw drops in surprise “I already have a doctor roleplay planned out.” You go silent out of shock. Kai tenses after a minute. “Was that too far? We can use the condoms; I can work them into something.”

“No,” you finally say, “not too far.” A three second flash of the future runs in your mind. The first second, you stare down at a positive test. The second, his hands rest on your growing stomach, pretending to monitor a baby’s growth. The third, the sight of his smile at the prospects of being a father. It’s not something you really expected him to want, yet it seems to be on the forefront of his mind. “Not too far at all,” you repeat.

Kai noticeably relaxes. “Ease into the doctor thing with me instructing you on the importance of condoms,” he jokes, “and then a couple months later, that conversation was obviously pointless.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Sounds like fun to me.”

“Good.” He nestles closer into you. “I like doing these with you.”

“I like them too, pumpkin. Are you getting tired?”

“Mhm.”

“Well on that note, goodnight. I love you.”

“Goodnight.” He places a kiss on your shoulder, too tired to pull himself back up to your lips. “I love you, too.”

#kai parker x reader #malachai parker x reader #tvd fanfiction #kai parker smut #this is so cheesy #y'all i have upwards of 100 wips in my folder #needed to desperately post while i work on recs #hope this isn't too stupid

127 notes · View notes

absolutewhore101 · 7 months

Text

Better Man - Chapter 5

A/N: here's chapter 5! taglist is being updated with every post, so lmk if you want to be added/removed. i'm looking to do updates every monday, so stay tuned :)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: Listen to 'Better Man' by Taylor Swift; Stage 3 - bargaining (kind of)

Warnings: swearing, Joel

Word Count: 1.4K

Chapter 4 / Chapter 6

This is a journal entry.

MINORS DNI

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The stairs leading up to your bedroom had never felt so tiresome, but you were dragging yourself up by the time you reached the top.

That fight never should have happened. Carly never should’ve happened. Joel never should have happened. All you needed was the reassurance that you did the right thing, but who could you even go to?

You were sure that the people you’d come to call friends almost certainly knew about Joel, and none of them had told you.

You couldn’t talk to Tommy, that much was obvious. You thought about talking to Ellie, but even if she did know, this wasn’t her problem.

Was it only you? Were you truly the last person to know?

You sat down on the edge of your bed, staring at the wall in front of you. Your thoughts were running a mile a minute, all of them focused on Joel.

How could he have done this? There was nothing you could’ve done to stop him once he started, but wasn’t there something you could’ve done to prevent it?

Why weren’t you enough?

A tear dropped off the bottom of your chin, landing delicately on your hand.

You reached into your nightstand, pulling out the notebook you’d had for a few months. That journal was the only thing you felt truly comfortable sharing everything with after you found out about Joel.

You fished around for a pen, but came up empty. Walking past Ellie’s room, you peeked in, finding her gone.

You shook your head, assuming she had never come home in the first place, as you made your way downstairs.

Walking into the kitchen felt more painful than it should’ve - Joel’s coffee mug was on the counter, rings stained around the inside of it. The book he’d been reading left on the table, bookmarked to the page he'd left off on.

You walked past all of it and went to the junk drawer, grabbing a pen and heading into the living room.

You sat down on the couch, pulling your feet up underneath you, and started writing.

I know…

You paused.

What did you know?

I know that I’m probably better off on my own. Better off than loving a man who didn’t know what he had when he had it.

You wiped your face, willing your bottom lip to stop trembling.

You flipped back through the pages you’d already written in, rereading the words you’d spilled when you started to suspect Joel was cheating on you.

It was easy to see the permanent damage that he’d done to you. You weren’t sure you’d ever find love in the world after it ended, and you were certain you’d never find it again.

And then you flipped back even further, back to the hearts and doodles and the love you’d needed so badly to get out.

Why couldn’t you just forget when it was magic? When everything was okay?

There were so many thoughts swirling around in your mind, but you couldn’t bring yourself to put them on paper. Instead, you placed your journal on the coffee table and went back upstairs, heading straight to the bathroom.

You splashed some water on your face, hoping to rid yourself of the redness that occupied your cheeks.

“You know you had to do it.” You muttered.

God, why did it have to be like this? You used to be curled up in bed with Joel by this point, whispering sweet words to each other until you fell asleep.

Now, it was the middle of the night, and you were trying to convince yourself that the bravest thing you’ve ever done in this fucked up world was run.

From Joel and everything he signified now. From Tommy and the sympathy that could only go so far. From all of Jackson, and the inevitable stares that you were expecting.

You walked back into your bedroom, pulling back the covers and laying down.

“I just miss you.” You whispered into the dark. “But I just wish you were a better man.”

—---------

When you woke up, you found yourself reaching for his side of the bed, only to find it empty.

The events of last night came rushing back to you, and you couldn’t stop the tears that welled in your eyes.

You got out of bed, trudging down the hallway and back downstairs. You didn’t have the appetite for breakfast, but you suddenly found the inspiration to write.

Your journal felt heavier than it ever had before, and you knew it was the weight of the words you’d written last night. You couldn’t help but wonder how much heavier it’d feel in a few days, and if it would ever feel so light again.

I know that I’m probably better off all alone. I don’t need a man who can change his mind at any given minute.

And suddenly, the sadness you had felt just last night had morphed into anger.

And it was always on his terms! I waited on every word that came out of his mouth, hoping they’d turn sweet again… like they were in the beginning.

The jealousy that he had for you that you were never able to place popped into your mind.

He’d always been jealous of the love you were able to so freely give - he’d said so himself one night. He didn’t understand how you could love him so unconditionally, could love the world so openly.

Was that when he started talking down to you? When he realized that he’d never be good enough for you?

He talked to you like he knew you’d always be around, and maybe you would’ve. Maybe you would’ve stayed with him if he talked to you like that - pushing your love away like it was some kind of loaded gun.

But you couldn’t be the third person in your relationship. You should’ve been the first, and Joel just didn’t seem to get that.

And he never thought you’d run.

You looked out the window, seeing a crowd of people gathering in the middle of town. You stood up, trying to get a better view of what was happening.

All of a sudden, laughter sounded, loud enough that you could hear it inside your house.

Curiosity got the best of you, so you opened your door, walking out onto your porch.

You could finally see what everyone was crowded around - Joel.

“I’m shocked you survived!” Someone yelled.

“Yeah, looks like it did a number on you!”

You furrowed your brows, trying to figure out what they were talking about. Had he gone on a run this morning? Had an infected gotten too close?

Tommy walked around the crowd, eyes locked on you. You wanted to turn around and go back inside, locking the door behind you, but something kept you rooted in your spot.

“What’s going on?” You asked him once he was close enough to hear you.

Tommy shook his head, gesturing you to go back inside.

You were ready to protest, to tell him he had no right to step foot in your house, but he spoke before you could.

“Please. They don’t need to see this.”

You followed him inside, shutting the door behind you as Tommy turned to face you.

“What were they talking about?” You said, anxiety creeping into you.

Tommy hesitated before he answered.

“You.”

“Me?” You asked.

He nodded. “You, Joel… last night. Word got around pretty fast that he’d moved in with Carly and people came knocking.”

You felt nauseous. The town you lived in, the people you once called friends, were celebrating that Joel was finally free of you. And he was loving it.

Your knees buckled, but Tommy caught you before you could hit the floor, helping you walk over to the couch.

“This can’t be real.” You muttered, looking up at him.

His lips drew into a thin line. “I’m afraid it is.”

Your eyes closed, head tipping back to rest against the back of the couch.

If Joel was a better man, this wouldn’t be happening.

If Joel was a better man, you’d still be in love.

“Tommy?” You said.

“Yeah.” He responded.

“I know why I had to say goodbye to Joel like the back of my hand, but why couldn’t he just be a better man?”

Tommy’s jaw clenched, head swimming as he thought about what Joel had put you through, and how he hadn’t done anything to stop it.

“I don’t know.”

That was the last thing he said before he walked out of your house, gently closing the door behind him.

You weren’t sure how long you sat there on the couch, tears falling down your cheeks, before you picked your journal back up.

He would’ve been the one if he was a better man.

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

Tell me your thoughts! Thank you for reading :)

Taglist:

@babwgomez

@waldorfjenn

@mishas-bride

@skysmiller

@ruthyalva96

@insanedreamer296

@immyowndefender

@callmecath1

@kikaaauu

@orcasoul

@hiddenbabynyc

@elliaze

@o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi

@ayamenimthiriel

@fictionallifestuff

@runningmom94

@honey-dip-24

#joel miller #pedro pascal #the last of us #tlou #joel miller x reader #x reader #tlou x reader #tommy miller #ellie williams #pedro pascal x reader #taylor swift title series #Spotify

70 notes · View notes

hswriting · 2 months

Text

The Moment I Knew - Part 2

[Image Alt ID: a four picture collage with a light brown background. The top left picture is a cup of coffee and a muffin in a brown takeout box. The top right picture is a couch with blankets on it in front of a fireplace. Around the fireplace is decorated with candles and a lamp. The bottom left picture is of Harry Styles in a headband with a green microphone. This picture shows his arm tattoos. The bottom right picture is of a leather bound notebook with a brown ribbon. On the cover of the book is a butterfly. End Alt ID]

- - -

Masterlist Part 1 Part 3

- - -

3.4k words

- - -

Millie is going over to Harry’s house to burn her ex’s stuff he left behind.

I went to bed feeling drained last night, and while I’m still upset, I feel a bit better knowing I have Harry in my corner.

We never talked much before but we aren’t strangers. I would stay at Kellen’s a lot before, but it had since fizzled down to only once a week or so. When Kellen would have friends over at his place, Harry was always one of the first ones to arrive. He always brought food or a gift. He isn’t one of the loud, rambunctious ones of the group. He would sometimes even come to hang out with Kellen alone, but wasn’t feeling up to games or anything too high energy. I remember him being upset one time and Kellen was comforting him. Harry said he didn’t want to be alone, but he didn’t feel like doing anything. So he came over to hang out and write in his leather bound journal while Kellen and him talked. I didn’t listen in after that. I figured it was private. I went to his bedroom and played on his computer.

He definitely isn’t a stranger but I wish I knew more about him since he wants to help me through this. He said he’s been through this hurt before. Someone has taken his heart and shattered it like glass. Someone has betrayed him in the worst way. If he felt anything like I do, he has felt worthless and defeated. Not ever knowing how he will recover from it. Hopeless. And for that I am so sorry.

This is the worst kind of hurt.

I pull into the driveway of the address Harry sent me and the house is huge. It’s a beautiful two story, white brick house.

I grab the gift bag I brought him, as well as the duffle of Kellen’s stuff and the bag of snacks.

I ring the doorbell and hear footsteps. The door unlocks and opens to see Harry in some black sweat pants and a football T-shirt. His hair is not neatly done like normal, but is instead a mess of curls lying on his head.

“Millie, come in, it’s freezing out there.” He said stepping aside. I walk in and take off my heavy coat to reveal my comfort clothes. I didn’t have the energy to actually get dressed today. Just grey leggings and a plain black crop top.

“I’m sorry I look like a bum. I wasn’t really feeling it today.”

“You don’t look like a bum. You look good Millie.” He says, looking at my clothes. I remove my boots and set everything down in the living room where he has a movie on the tv and a small gift on the table.

“I brought you something too.” I tell him and hand him the bag. We unpack everything before we unwrap our small housewarming gifts. He pours out the wine I brought as I unwrap the small box on the table. It’s a small bottle of pink perfume. I spritz it and it smells wonderful. “Thank you Harry. You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I like getting my friends gifts. And besides, you brought me one too.”

“It’s nothing. You’re helping through a really hard time. You deserve it.” I say as he unwraps his. He pulls out a new leather journal with a small H stamped on it, and a package of nice ink pens.

“I love this Millie. You have no idea.”

“I remember you used to come over and journal and write while talking to Kellen. I figured you could use a new one, if the other one is getting full. I wasn’t sure.”

“It’s wonderful Millie. I really appreciate it.” He says with a smile painted across his face. He can’t stop running his hands over the cover. He eventually does put it down to take a sip of the wine. He sits down and looks at the pile of pictures and clothes by the fireplace. I take a long sip of wine. “Are you sure you want to do this?” He asks. I nod.

“He betrayed me in the worst way. I hate him for it. Let it burn.” I say, raising my glass.

“Let it burn.” He says. I slowly pad over and pick up our first picture together. With a single tear running down my face, I toss it in the flames. It crackles and pops before dissolving to ash.

“Do you want to do one?” I ask him. He shakes his head.

“This is for you.” He says. I finish off my glass of wine and throw another picture in. Another tear rolls.

Over the next few minutes, the pictures are burned. Harry does help me cut up the clothes so they burn easier. I cry a lot, but Harry doesn’t mention it. I sit in front of the fire and watch it burn.

“What about that?” Harry says pointing. I look down at my locket and place my hand around it. “Did you want to keep it?” I open it in my hand and see our pictures. “You don’t have to throw it in if you don’t want to. I just remember the night before he gave it to you. I remember how much he said you would like it.”

“It is my favorite thing. Well, was.” I say. “But he was too. So fuck him.” I say snapping the chain off. I threw it in the fire with my eyes closed. I sit there hugging my knees. I don’t know how long I’m there but I hear Harry sit down beside me. He doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t speak for a minute, but it’s nice to know he’s there.

“I had to burn my favorite journal. My ex, she hated that I had a journal that I didn’t want anyone to read. Not even her. She made me either read it or stick it in the fire. But it was so deeply personal. It had a lot of stuff in there. That’s my therapy. But I burned it. Not because it was even about her, but because I was going to share those things when I was ready. I wasn’t going to be forced. Turns out she was paranoid that I was writing about her cheating. She thought that’s what it was. Some sort of evidence collection.” He said sorrowfully.

“I’m really sorry. That’s so awful and mean. I couldn’t imagine.” I tell him.

“It’s okay. I know what was in there. I’m working on writing it out again, while still journaling about other things.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

“I know. I’m not making excuses for her. But I really appreciate the journal you got me. It’s really good quality and has lots of pages. It was such an amazing and thoughtful gift. I didn’t even know you remembered me coming over.”

“I don’t know what you guys talked about. I tried to give you privacy by playing games in another room.” I tell him and he gives me a small smile.

“It was a really hard time of my life, and I’m glad I had Kellen to lean on. It sucks losing your best friend, but I’ll be okay. It’s not worth being friends with someone who thinks that’s okay.”

“You really didn’t have to do that for me Harry.”

“I know, but it was such a shitty thing to do. Having been in your position before I knew you probably needed someone after what feels like your whole world falling apart. I know you have Jason’s girlfriend Rachel, but we both know how she is. No offense.”

“None taken. She is great. She can be hard to talk to about stuff like this though. You should have seen us at prom. My girlfriend dumped me the night before and I was such a mess. Rachel was worried about how I was making her look instead of my feelings. She only cares at some surface level. Never deeply.”

“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend. Didn’t we go to the same school?”

“She wasn’t out yet, and I was only out as bi to Rachel. We were going to come out by dancing together at prom. But she called me the night before and said she had to break it off with me. Her parents found out. She had to take care of that, and I understand. She had a shitty home life. It is what it is. 18 seems so distant to me now.”

“That sucks. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay. She’s happy now. We ran into each other at the store the other day. She’s married to a really wonderful woman. Her parents finally came around.”

“Well, that’s good. Not everyone has that kind of luck.” He says. He takes a look at his watch. I see it’s close to 9.

“I’m sorry if I’ve stayed over too long. It’s just nice to have a friend.”

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t have to work until late tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” I ask. He nods.

“It’s no problem. But you have had a couple of glasses of wine. I know you’re not drunk, but I don’t know how safe you feel to drive.”

“It’s probably best that I don’t. I can walk back. I don’t live super far.

“Millie you’ll freeze to death out there. Let me take you. I’ve only had one glass. I can pick you up tomorrow to come and get your car before I go to work.” He says and I take a minute to think. I nod my head. I put my things in my purse and tell Harry he can keep the wine. I have more at home. I put my coat and boots back on. He walks me to the car and opens my door for me. “Do you have anything specific you want to listen to?”

“Whatever you want to listen to is okay with me.” I say and he types something in his phone.

“This band is my favorite of all time.”

“Good to know.” I tell him with a small smile and he gives me a chuckle in return. It’s a short ride, but he opens my door for me again and helps me to the door. “I really appreciate what you’ve done for me Harry. You’re a good friend. I hope we can hang out again.”

“Me too. Thank you again for the journal Millie.”

“It’s no problem. Text me when you make it back home?”

“Of course. Have a good night.” He says. He waits for me to get inside and shut the door and then gets back in his car. He drives away. I take off my coat and boots and climb straight into bed. I put on a movie and get comfortable. I see Harry text me while choosing a movie that he made it home. And with that, I fall asleep.

- - -

I wake up to a knock on my door. I get up out of bed and quickly try to make my hair look decent. I’m still in the same clothes as yesterday. I run to the door and open it to see Harry in a big, black, winter coat. He is holding two coffees in his hand. I invite him in.

“I didn’t know how you took your coffee, so I guessed on the sugar and cream. You’ll have to let me know how I did.” He said. “Also, good morning.”

“Good morning.” I say, still rubbing sleep from my eyes.

“How are you feeling?” He asks.

“So tired.” I tell him before I take a sip of the coffee. “Also, this is perfect.” I compliment.

“Good. I didn’t know if you were awake yet so I can come back if you want to get your car after you eat or what you want to do.”

“Have you eaten? I don’t really feel like cooking but we could go somewhere if you want?” I suggest.

“Sounds good to me.” He says. I go back to my room to get dressed, taking the precious coffee with me.

When I come out in just some jeans and a sweater I see Harry look me up and down.

“Doesn’t look okay? I just threw it together.”

“You look good Millie.” He says.

“Are you sure? This is an old sweater.”

“I’m sure.” He says with a smile. I tie my hair up with a scrunchie and put on my ear muffs and coat. Harry opens the door and helps me outside. He makes sure I don’t slip on the ice as we make our way to his car. He opens the door again for me. He climbs in and we are off.

“What time do you have to be at work?” I ask him.

“Noon.”

“Where do you work again?”

“I work for the animal shelter in town, but on weekends when I’m off work I’m do shows at some of the local bars and stuff.”

“Shows?”

“I write music.” He says.

“That’s so cool! I didn’t know you did that.”

“I wish I could do that full time but the money isn’t there.”

“Maybe one day it will be though.” I tell him.

“Yeah. I hope. I love writing music and getting to perform. I have a YouTube channel too. Just trying to get myself out there.”

“You got plans to travel around the world one day with your music?”

“That would be the dream.” He says as we pull into the breakfast place he chose. I beat him to opening my door and we laugh. He grabs our table for us and the waitress brings some menus. He orders some banana pancakes and I get strawberry cream filled crepes.

“Got a bit of a sweet tooth?” He asks with a smile.

“Maybe.” I joke with him.

“Now that you’re more awake, how are you?”

“I’m doing okay. I still am hurting about it, but I’m okay considering.”

“Has he tried to message you at all?”

“I blocked him that night. So I wouldn’t know.”

“Oh. Good. Probably for the best.”

“Has he been bothering you and the rest of the group?” I ask and he hesitates. “What?”

“He called me after I got home from dropping you off last night.” He finally says.

“What did he want?”

“He wanted me to get ahold of you. He wants to talk to you. Apologize. Try and fix things. He said he wasn’t the nicest person on the phone with you.” He told me and the ache in my chest that has shrunk a bit has grown back and is even bigger now.

“Yeah. He called me crazy. He blamed me for everything. I’m sorry he called you.”

“I’m sorry he said those things to you. I told him that if you wanted to speak to him to hear him out, you would, but it isn’t my job to force you to talk to him.”

“I don’t want him to apologize because even if he does, there is no fixing what he’s done. He made me feel horrible. I still feel horrible in that way. Like I wasn’t good enough for him, so I’m probably not good enough for anyone. I did my best and it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough.” I told Harry and he looked sad. “I’m sorry if I’m ruining your morning.”

“You could never ruin my morning. And he’s a dick for making you feel that way.” He says as he rests his hand on my hand in the table. “You are enough. You are good enough. What happened wasn’t your fault.”

“Thanks Harry.” I tell him. I glance over to our hands touching in the table. He takes it away when he notices me looking.

“I’m sorry if that was weird. I didn’t mean it to come off like that. I’m not that kind of person who-“

“It’s okay. I didn’t think it was weird. You’re just being supportive.” I tell him. It was a surprise, but it wasn’t weird. It’s was actually kind of nice. After feeling like crap the past few days any kind of touch is nice. A hug would be even better. A hug so tight that it would push the broken pieces of me back into place.

“Still, I don’t want you to think I’m trying to take advantage of your situation.”

“I didn’t think that. It was actually really nice.” I tell him and he doesn’t say anything in return. He just looks at me. He reaches down into his bag and pulls out another gift. “Harry.”

“I’m not trying to spoil you.” He says. “I like to give gifts. But I know it can make some people uncomfortable. If it does please tell me, but I thought you could use one of these too.” He says. He passes me a box. I open it to find a journal with my name printed on the front. I open it up and see a note inside.

Millie,

I hope you are able to confide in this book the deepest parts of yourself that you can’t tell anyone else. Everyone deserves that outlet. But most of all I hope that when you spill those deepest parts of yourself, you have someone, someday that you can trust enough to tell, and they love you anyways.

From H.

I feel myself tear up at the sweet words on the page. It reminds me that this hurt is temporary. I will be loved again. I will love again. This one little note helps the ache that I’ve carried for days lighten so much, that’s it’s hardly even noticeable in this moment.

“Is this okay?”

“Yes. Thank you Harry. But we are gonna have to slow down on the gifts. My wallet can’t keep up.”

“I don’t expect anything in return.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Okay. I’ll slow down, but do you like the journal?”

“I love it.” I tell him.

“Do you want to stay here and write? Or are you ready to go get your car and go home?”

“I think I’ll get my car. I really do appreciate this Harry.”

“It’s no problem.” He says. He pays the bill and I tell him that wasn’t necessary. He says it’s fine and walks me back to the car. He makes sure to beat me to my door so he can open it.

We take our time to get back to his house, just listening to music on the way there and talking about little things. Little details that help us know each other better. He doesn’t like mustard or skateboarding. He wants to get more tattoos. Music is his whole life.

I feel a bit sad when we do arrive at my car and I have to go, but he says we can hangout whenever, just to text and see when he’s free. I climb in my car and drive away, looking for music to play.

I find his YouTube channel and start listening to his songs. So deeply personal and so heartfelt. I can tell he puts his soul into his music. I find myself sitting in my car even when I’ve arrived back home. I do eventually have to get out because it’s freezing outside. But he has such a beautiful voice. He sounds like a professional. I can’t seem to turn his music off.

When I get settled inside, music still playing, I sit down at my dining room table and open the journal. I find a pen and go to the second page.

I’ve never been one to write. But Harry is right. There are some things so deep and personal that you can’t tell anyone else. Not until you know it’s safe. Harry has been in my life a little over a year now, but we haven’t really talked until this week. Not only is he the only person I really can talk to, he is the safest person I’ve ever met. I don’t have to fake anything. He is so honest. And his music speaks to my heart in a language I’ve never heard before but I understand. And it’s heartbreak. I’ve been hurt before, but not in the way Kellen has hurt me. Bur thought it all, I know I’ll be okay.

I continue to write when I get a notification on my phone.

New music from Harry Styles: Always Been You Somehow

I click on it and a video starts to play. It must have been recorded a few days ago, because his outfit is different.

- - -

Masterlist Part 1 Part 3

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #the moment i knew #taylor swift #hswriting

7 notes · View notes

fiveapocalypse · 1 year

Text

Sweet dreams

Thing I wrote because I was bored. (Sort of inspired by you @in-a-slanted-outhouse )

“Shut up, stop talking, you’re being ridiculous.”

Lila doesn’t know how she got into this predicament, even though she knew why she was in it in the first place, and groaned as she rubbed a hand over her face. “You’re cranky,” she says, ready to grab the pillow and suffocate the boy to sleep, “go and take a n—”

“I don’t need a fucking nap!” Five hisses, “I’m not a baby, I’m not some child that can’t function without sleeping every few hours. Lila, shut up.”

She so badly wants to retort that grown men don’t throw temper tantrums and get frustrated over the smallest things because they haven’t napped in god knows how long but Five would just throw another pillow at her, or his pencil, or pen, or notebook, or shoe, and really—she did not need to have the room a mess because Five thought he was well above taking a few hours to rest. “You’re delusional,” Five keeps talking, pacing up and down, curling his hands into fists and growling like he was a fucking dog but actually, Lila thinks he was more like a puppy, tiny and territorial and much too sweet to even the cruelest of masters. “I don’t need a nap, I don’t need to ‘rest my eyes’, I don’t need milk or a fucking lullaby or, god forbid, a bedtime story.”

Lila wonders if part of Five’s trauma was that he just never got to have those things as a kid. Diego said Grace was a mom to them, and she certainly acted and felt like one, but he also said that Five was separated from the others, and that if he spent one day with Grace, his brother spent even more time with Reginald. “Okay,” she says, holding her hands up in surrender when Five whirls around and bares his teeth at her, “sure, whatever you say, I don’t really care. Just, keep it down.” His brows raise, head slightly tilted, as if he assumed Lila was going to keep fighting him over this.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

It takes a while, a few minutes at least, for Five to go back to his weird math shit. Lila takes that chance to head to the kitchen, fix up a cup of milk with honey and cinnamon and let it warm on the stove. Peeking into the living room reveals that Five is still doing his math shit, albeit more angrily and ready to tear the paper out and start screaming all over again. His hair is a mess, and his eyes have bags under them that sink so low, it looks like he doesn’t have eyes at all. Even his body is suffering, gaunt and small, twig-like, as thin as a small branch. Lila ducks back in, and grabs a thermos, dumping the milk inside.

She tiptoes back, watching Five out of the corner of her eye. He’s so exhausted, he doesn’t even notice when she hands him the thermos, or when he takes a sip, and doesn’t immediately taste bitter, black coffee.

In fact, dare Lila say it, he’s abandoned his math in favor of drinking the milk, likely because he didn’t want to waste it, but Lila couldn’t care much about that, not when Five was fluttering his eyes open and closed. “Hey…” she whispers, taking a step forward, and pausing when his head snaps up towards her. Okay, no sudden movements. He was like a toddler, make any noise and he’s awake for another three hours.

“How about….” Lila reaches for his pencils and pens, and notebooks. “We put these away…” She tucks them into little neat piles. Five just stares at her doing it, now rocking himself back and forth on the carpet. At least he’s not trying to stab her again. “And then… we can get on the couch…” She is talking to a baby, a baby who doesn’t look like a baby but is, in her eyes, a baby. He looks at the couch, looks at her, looks at the couch, looks at her, and then he climbs up on it, and Lila nods just to show her approval. “You.. uh, you keep drinking that,” Lila whispers, pointing to the thermos, “I’ll… be right back.”

It does not take long to find a blanket. Specifically the fluffy one that Five keeps fucking stealing from her. He likes it a lot, for some reason, so she wraps him up in it and he looks so tiny, it makes her want to punch her now deceased mother in the face. Five’s green eyes watch her every move, slightly glazed over, and Lila clicks her tongue as she crouches next to him, and pulls at the strands of his hair. “You said you didn’t want a lullaby, huh?” She snorts, rolling her eyes, “but I think you’ll like this story about a prince who was much stronger than people gave him credit for.” Five grumbles, yawning, and Lila lets out a laugh.

“That is, if you can stay awake long enough to hear it.”

(Five does not stay awake; immediately heading to sleep when Lila gets into ‘once upon a time…’ but she doesn’t mind, cleaning up his atrocious workspace, taking the thermos away from him, and, when Diego comes home from work, enlists his help in taking a photo that does nothing but make Five turn away in his sleep and mumble.)

#the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #five hargreeves centric #five hargreeves the boy #diego hargreeves #lila pitts #kid five & dad diego #kid five & mom lila #something like that #hey ya’ll #here’s this thing

26 notes · View notes

thedeathdeelers · 1 year

Text

and another (a companion piece to a hug)

she skips into the studio, excited to start working on the bridge that’s been stuck in her head all day. she had texted luke a few times with a couple of word changes, and couldn’t wait to get stuck into it with him.

so it takes her a moment to notice.

she’s halfway into the studio, nearing the piano, when she turns to find luke sat on the couch, leaning forward, head down. a normal position for the songwriter, who’s constantly hunched over his journal, scribbling away in the most uncomfortable positions.

but it’s something about the curve of his shoulders, the way he seems to be trying to curl in on himself, sinking closer and closer to the ground.

julie stops in her tracks, dropping her pen and notebook on the piano, before carefully making her way around the coffee table to stand in front of luke.

he doesn’t budge, fingers only gripping onto his hair tighter.

julie crouches down in front of him, knees pressed up against his legs, and gently places her hands on his arms.

he stills for a moment, letting out a deep shaky breath, before slowly lifting his head to look at her.

his eyes are red, his hair a mess, and there’s just something about the look in his eyes that breaks her heart in two.

it was one of those days.

julie reaches out, arm extending as she brushes away strands of hair obscuring her view, before placing her hand against his cheek.

she doesn’t say anything, and neither does he — he just places his hand over hers, curling his fingers and gripping onto her for dear life.

he closes his eyes, and they stay that way for a while.

julie patiently waits, crouched in front of him as she was. he needed

it’s luke who finally breaks the silence, slowly easing his eyes open and keeping his gaze trained on her.

“hi,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

“hey,” julie replies, matching his tone.

“i-i’m sorry-” he starts, only to be promptly cut off.

“no, please don’t apologise.”

“you were so excited to-”

“we can work on the song later, luke.” julie slowly stands up, knees popping as she moves. she shuffles forward, easing luke back into a straight sitting position, before taking a seat on his lap.

she wraps her arms around him and gently guides his head on her shoulder.

“i’m just glad i get to be here for you,” she continues, stroking his hair. “just like you always are for me.”

luke doesn’t answer, doesn’t move, and julie isn’t sure she made the right decision — until she feels his arms coming up to wrap around her waist, pulling her tighter against him.

she slowly starts to feel his tears soak up the fabric of her shirt, but she doesn’t move — doesn’t pull away.

“thank you,” he whispers.

“do you want to talk about it?” she asks, though she feels she already knows the answer.

all he does is shake his head, his hold on her never wavering.

julie nod in response, arms still firmly wrapped around him, comforting him as best she could.

he’ll tell her later, when he’s ready — just like he always does.

they would get through this, together.

just like they always did.

#?????? yeah idk. anyway #jatp #juke #my fics #happy juke jeudi!#?#julie and the phantoms

45 notes · View notes

phillippadgettwrites · 2 years

Text

Mile High Club

Rated X / 2477 Words / Posted on AO3

Mulder stretches his jaw wide until his ears pop, and the volume in the airplane cabin bursts. The persistent hum of the engine and the rush of the pressurized air, as well as the chatter of the passengers around them, are all now several decibels higher.

He turns to look at Scully curled up against the wall of the cabin, her eyes cast out the window at the patchwork landscape of the midwest, and he feels a little thrill imagining what they might get up to later. Will he fuck her up against the door inside his apartment the moment they step through? Will he bend her over the arm of her couch and take her from behind, his thumb tucked into her asshole? While he wouldn’t object if she decided to overturn her rule about sex while on assignment, he will admit that the forced abstinence leads to some pretty incredible compensation when they touch down in DC.

“Then why did you agree to come in the first place?” the man seated just behind him says loudly, his voice dripping with irritation.

Scully turns her head away from the window sharply and looks at Mulder with raised eyebrows. He smirks, cocking his head in the direction of the voice, and they wait.

Over the years, they’ve found themselves audience to all kinds of awkward discussions while held captive in the air: break ups, confessions of infidelity, the ending of long-standing friendships. At first Scully pretended not to listen, and to be offended by Mulder’s eavesdropping, but now she is nothing short of delighted when a boring flight home becomes as dramatic as an episode of Jerry Springer.

“Keep your voice down,” the woman behind Scully hisses. “I came because I thought maybe things would be different for once, but I can already tell that they won’t be.”

“What are you even talking about?” the man whispers harshly.

Mulder pulls a pen and small spiral notebook out of the interior pocket of his suit jacket, turning it to a blank page and scrawling something before he hands it to Scully.

Stock broker, always at the office, never makes time for her.

Scully smiles and flips down her tray table, and is writing when the woman speaks again.

“You’ve barely said two words to me, Tony,” the woman says, equal parts anger and hurt in her voice. “It’s like I’m not even here.”

Scully passes the notebook back to him, and he lowers his own tray table as he reads.

Car salesman, obsessed with football, goes MIA from September to January.

“I told you I was going to be keeping an ear on the game, Amy,” Tony retorts, and Scully’s mouth falls open with surprise and delight as she takes her win.

Mulder shakes his head, bringing pen to paper.

“There’s always a game,” Amy grumbles, her voice fading as she turns toward the window. “It’s always something.”

The pad of paper lands back in front of Scully with a slap.

High school football star, never got over not living his dream of playing for the Chiefs.

“That’s not fair,” Tony says, his seat squeaking as he pivots his body towards Amy. “You know how important football is to me. It’s like you and your makeup thing.”

“My makeup thing?” Amy asks derisively, her head whipping back to address her husband. “You don’t even know what it’s called, do you?”

Scully writes furiously, trying to get something out before she can be proven wrong or right.

“Oh my god, Amy, don’t make this a bigger deal than it is,” Tony complains.

Scully hands Mulder the pad, on which she has written Mary Kay!!!! I’d bet money on it.

“The Chiefs were founded in 1960. Grbac is their quarterback. Cunningham is their coach. I listen when you talk, Tony,” Amy says cuttingly.

Tony heaves a sigh, offering no response. There’s a beat of silence, and Mulder writes I might have to give you this one, G-woman on the paper while Scully leans over and watches. She smiles, satisfied, and sits back in her seat.

“What is it that you think I get from this relationship?” Amy asks, not accepting Tony’s withdrawal from the conversation. “It’s a completely genuine question; I’d like to know.”

“Um, a roof over your head, food on the table, money for your—Sally Kay or whatever,” Tony lists off irately. “I bust my ass to provide that cushy life you enjoy, Amy. And sometimes when I get home, I just want to watch the game and relax without you getting all up my ass about some fucking socks on the floor.”

“Mary Kay,” Amy corrects him, and Scully grins victoriously.

“Mary Kay, whatever,” Tony spits back. “And I mow the lawn, and I take the trash out to the curb, and there’s the sex stuff, too. So if you think you can do better, by all means, go find a man who will do all that and also listen to you blab about what happened on Dharma and Greg.”

Amy scoffs, and Scully reaches across the armrest to write something on the pad.

The “sex stuff.”

Mulder looks at her questioningly and she holds up a finger, indicating that he should wait.

“Sex stuff?” Amy repeats, and Scully grabs his forearm.

“Don’t go there, Amy,” Tony warns. “That happens to everybody sometimes.”

Mulder draws a stick-figure image of a flaccid penis with a frowny face next to it and sets it on Scully’s tray table. She unsuccessfully stifles a laugh, and it comes out through her nose as an almost-snort.

“Yeah, I know it does,” Amy says, though her tone is less than reassuring. “But I think most men satisfy their wives in other ways instead of just turning over and going to sleep, Tony. In fact, I know they do because my girlfriends all tell me about their boyfriends and husbands doing things that—”

Amy stops speaking, and Mulder fights the urge to look back and see whether the couple are in a face-to-face standoff, or if she’s turned away from him again. Scully taps on his arm to draw his attention to the pad of paper.

He’s never made her orgasm.

His eyebrows lift and he looks at her face. He thinks about the first time he made her come, curled up on her living room couch with his fingers tucked inside her cunt. He thinks about the dozens of times since, the feeling of her contracting tightly around his cock, or his fingers, or his tongue. How that could not be a man’s singular focus when entering a sexual enounter with a woman is entirely beyond him.

He takes the pad of paper and taps the end of the pen against it, contemplating.

“Are you saying you’re not satisfied?” Tony asks, and for the first time he actually sounds concerned.

Amy sighs deeply.

“What is there to be satisfied by, Tony?” she asks, defeated. “Do you think I get off from you humping me for sixty seconds?”

I’ve made you orgasm…right?

He’s quite confident that the answer is yes, but some part of him worries that he’s an ignoramus like Tony whose confidence is rooted in ignorance. He holds the pad of paper for a moment, hesitating, then carefully sets it down on Scully’s tray table. She reads it but doesn’t look up, holding her hand out for the pen. Suddenly, his chest feels tight.

“I want to ask why you wouldn’t, but I’m guessing that’s a stupid question,” Tony replies, and Mulder can’t help but feel sorry for the guy.

“Jesus, Tony,” Amy says under her breath. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. You just don’t care. About my hobbies, or my friends, or my orgasms.”

“Are you not—do you not—” he tries, but apparently can’t bring himself to ask the question.

“Sure I do,” Amy says, then adds, “but not with you.”

Scully finishes writing and hands him the pad. He steals a glance at her face, trying to prepare himself, but her expression is completely neutral.

I had an orgasm last night just thinking about all the orgasms you’ve given me lately, Mulder.

He feels blood rush to his cock and he shifts in his seat.

“You’re cheating?” Tony accuses, and Amy nearly laughs.

“No, Tony, I’m not cheating, Jesus Christ,” Amy corrects him.

“Are you saying you—” Tony says, then lowers his voice before he continues. “Are you saying you masturbate?”

Is that so? Tell me more.

He passes her the paper without looking at her, and listens to the scritch of the pen as she writes back.

“Are you saying you don’t?”

“Of course I do, but I’m a man,” Tony hisses.

“Women have needs too, Tony,” Amy hisses back. “I want to get off too, and you have proven to be absolutely no help in that department.”

I couldn’t sleep. I was thinking about last weekend. On your couch? I almost broke my own rule and knocked on your door.

“It’s not my fault you’re—difficult.”

“I’m not difficult! You don’t even try. Have you heard of foreplay, Tony? Or oral sex?!”

On the couch? Do you mean when you rode me and I snuck a finger in your ass?

Mulder passes her the pad and adjusts his trousers, thankful that the tray table obscures the view of his lap. A flight attendant hurries down the aisle, stopping just past their row.

“Sir? Ma’am? I’m going to have to ask you to keep your voices down, please. There are children on the flight.”

“Sorry,” Tony says, chagrined.

That was fun too, but on the occasion I was remembering, it wasn’t your finger in my ass.

He suppresses a groan and writes back.

So you got yourself off thinking about me fucking your ass?

Correct.

How’d you do it?

With my fingers.

Inside? Outside?

Both.

I’m incredibly hard right now.

I can see that.

Can you?

You have a big penis, Mulder. It’s hard to hide.

He looks over at her and licks his lips. Her chest is heaving, and his eyes fall down to her lap.

Are you wet?

I imagine so.

Mile High Club?

In your dreams, G-Man.

I can’t wait to get home.

Your place or mine?

“I didn’t know,” Tony says quietly, and Scully pauses with her hand resting over the pad of paper, listening. “I thought you enjoyed it. You seemed like you did.”

Scully meets Mulder’s eye and holds it. He thinks of her gasping against his mouth, her fingernails digging into his shoulders. He thinks of her wet, slippery cunt strobing around him. He’s never had to wonder if she was enjoying herself.

“Sometimes I pretend that I do,” Amy admits.

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

Scully withdraws her hand and he reads her question. His place is a few minutes closer.

I’m going to bend you over the arm of my couch and fuck you so hard you can’t catch your breath.

Scully clears her throat when she reads it and squirms in her seat.

“Can I try to make it up to you?” Tony asks, deferential. “We have three days in DC. Maybe you could…teach me?”

I look forward to it.

“I can try,” Amy answers. “But you have to promise to be patient and not get frustrated.”

“I won’t,” Tony insists. “I promise.”

Mulder’s car is parked in the far corner of the overnight lot, a lonely island in a sea of gravel. The sun had already slipped behind the horizon before they exited the terminal, and yet the evening is comfortably warm.

He gets her in the back seat, her slacks and panties on the floorboards and her suit jacket tossed over the console. She’s leaning back against the car door, one hand gripping the headrest as he sucks her clit between his teeth. He has two fingers inside her, gently stroking her front wall, and the thumb on his other hand pressed firmly against her asshole. His eyes are on her face, illuminated by a slash of light from the parking lot, and he grinds his erection against the edge of the seat as he devours her.

“Oh,” she whimpers, her eyebrows pushed together and her mouth hanging open. “Oh god, yes, right there.”

He groans, flicking his tongue furiously across her clit and moving his fingers in the same gentle rhythm inside of and on her. He just wants to see it, to feel it, to know that he can do this to her. For her. For himself.

“Oh, I’m gonna come,” she whispers, her muscles tightening.

He’s careful not to change a thing, channeling his enthusiasm instead to the grind of his hips against the edge of the seat, the head of his cock bumping over the trim on each upward thrust. He feels her clench around his fingers, but he doesn’t stop. He keeps licking, keeps stroking, keeps pressing as she falls apart. There is no question as to what he’s doing to her. He’s making her come, hard, and wet and never ending, and he’s already making plans to do it again and again and again.

She reaches for him, though his fingers are still inside her, grabbing him by the shirt collar and pulling him up. She makes quick work of his belt, fly, boxers, pushing them down just far enough for his cock to spring free before she positions him at the entrance to her soaking cunt and grabs him firmly by the ass cheeks, taking him in fully with one thrust. He doesn’t last long, already three quarters of the way there between the plane and the ecstasy of tasting her as she came in his mouth. His hips snap and residual throbs from her orgasm push him up and over, drawing his balls close to his body before he erupts inside her. She holds him close, kissing his gasping mouth, until awareness of time and place returns incrementally.

“Let’s go to your place,” he says, breathless. “Your shower is bigger.”

She smiles and sighs happily, her hands on his ass holding him in place, not allowing him to withdraw.

“I like the way you think,” she says.

“So, just to be absolutely sure, did you?...” he asks, eyebrows raised in question.

“Do I strike you as the kind of woman who would fake an orgasm to protect a man’s ego?” she asks in return, one eyebrow cocked.

“No,” he agrees. “That’s one of the things I like most about you.”

They re-dress, drive to Georgetown, shower and fuck again. He listens to her talk about string theory, about a movie she wants to see, about nothing at all. He knows he’s not perfect, but he tries to be enough. He hopes he’s giving her everything she deserves, and more.

Tagging @today-in-fic

#the x files #x files fanfic #xf fic #xf fanfic #smut #dana scully #fox mulder #xfiles

98 notes · View notes

xandriagreat · 1 year

Text

Modern Nimona

Chapter 8: The Meetup

First chapter | Last chapter | Next chapter

Notice/warnings: fight, nightmare, food mentioned

▪▪▪︎

It was movie night and the three were watching a scary zombie movie.

“Zombies are immortal, eternal beings. There’s no way to kill them.” the main man on the tv said, holding his woman counterpart. “But what if they come for us?” the woman on the tv asked in worry.

Then there were zombie sounds from the zombies walking over to them.

Meredith got the last piece of pizza while Ballister got himself a drink from the fridge.

"I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I actually feel bad for the zombies." Ballister said, admitting it as he sipped his drink. "Yeah, agree." Meredith said, taking a bite of her pizza. "It's like discrimination in our city. Right, Nimora?"

The grownups noticed Nimora already asleep on the couch, snoring softly.

Ballister chuckled softly as he went to the couch.

Meredith went to the lab to get her transition for her clothes for her Genderqueer identity while Ballister was about to tuck Nimona in with a blanket.

Then Nimona started shapeshifting in her sleep. First it was a wolf, then a cat, and then a little girl of herself. "No... no…" Nimona whimpers in her sleep.

"Hey, hey." Ballister reassured her in a soft voice, putting the blanket over Nimona as she shapeshifted back to her teen self. "It's ok. We're safe. You’re safe. You’re home."

"No one will hurt you." Meredith said, who just got back from the lab, rubbing Nimora's head.

“Home? I like it here.” Nimona said, sleepy with a smile as she curled up in the blanket. “Let’s live here forever…” Then she fell to sleep, snoring softly again.

Meredith and Ballister went to check on the computer, realizing there was an unread message from Ambrosius.

Ballister clicked on the message to see it.

Ambrosius: Nachos.

It was a signal that they needed to talk about something serious.

They looked at each other and then looked at Nimona. "If it involves Nimona, we leave immediately." Meredith said to Ballister, looking at him.

Ballister nodded as he got up and got their jackets.

☆

Ambrosius was wearing his light gray hooded jacket with his hood up, not wanting to be recognized.

Ballister and Meredith got to the bar, Meredith still had her invisibility coat while Ballister had his black hooded jacket with his hood up.

"You got 30 seconds." Ballister growled low when they sat down.

“30 seconds?” Ambrosius asked in shock.

“That’s a lot more than you gave us.” Meredith hissed, almost surprising Ambrosius.

“Look, I’m here to save both of you.” Ambrosius said quietly, looking at both of them and then nodded at Ballister. “Especially you, Bal.”

Ballister was taken back by that but he stood his ground with Meredith.

Then a waiter walked over to the table, notebook and pen ready to take the order, and asked, “Hey, are you ready to order-?”

“Nachos!” Ambrosius and Ballister said together angrily to the waiter.

“Please.” Ambrosius added with a calm voice.

“Ok.” The waiter said as they wrote it down and left.

“And hold the olives!” Ballister said to the waiter before looking back at Ambrosius. “He’s allergic.” Ballister and Meredith said at the same time. They both looked at Ambrosius, who looked worried.

"What do you want, Ambrosius?" Meredith asked, their arms crossed. "If it's anything about us, stay out of it."

“Bal, Mere…�� Ambrosius started, getting a familiar ring box out. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.”

Meredith notices the ring box. "You mean something else…right?" she asked, looking at the new director. "We're waiting."

“Right.” Ambrosius started, taking in a breath. "There's something I need to tell both of you."

But before Ambrosius could say more, they heard someone at the bar ordered, "Hey, turn that up!"

The three had their attention looking at the tv, which showed Mayor Yvonne with the clip of her confessing.

"Citizens, that is not me in the recording. I know it looks like me and sounds like me, but it is not me. That was the monster working with the real mayor killer, Ballister. They are trying to trick you."

It begins the show footage of the fight that happened earlier weeks ago of Nimona shapeshifting into her little girl self.

"That’s a lie." Meredith breathed, their eyes wide.

"We are under attack by something that can take any form." Yvonne continues on the screen. "It could be anyone. Your spouse, your child, your best friend, the person sitting next to you. None of us are safe so long as the villain and that monster are still out there."

The whole bar began looking at each other as if they were strangers or enemies and some even left their seats to be away from the person they were sitting next to.

"The mayor is lying!" Meredith hissed, looking at the news. "She’s twisting everything."

Ballister nodded and looked at Ambrosius, who looked at the tv worriedly. "Ambrosius, I'm not the villain." Ballister said, sounding desperate as he got Ambrosius’ attention.

"I know." Ambrosius said, reassuring in his voice. "I know. I believe you." Then he puts a hand on Ballister’s metal hand. “I’m so sorry for everything.” Ambrosius said, sounding sad. “For your arm…”

Ballister gently squeezed his hand before letting it go while Meredith did not look at him.

"That doesn't excuse the way that you've been brainwashed for years by the mayor and your parents." Meredith said, her voice breaking. " We were friends from the start, but after graduation… You have been promoted as the director while we're in hiding for the last ten years. "

Before Ambrosius could say anything, Meredith said to Ballister, "Let's just go. This was a mistake."

Meredith and Ballister got up and left the bar. Ambrosius got up as he put the ring box back in his bag, and ran after them in the alleyway.

“Bal! Mere! Stop!” he yelled as he caught up and grabbed both of their wrists. "Let us go!" Meredith said, getting their anger into control before slapping him. "We had enough, Mr. Goldlion!"

Ambrosius let go of their wrists and rubbed where Meredith slapped him. Before Meredith and Ballister turn to leave, Ambrosius gets something from his bag and calls out to them, "Just look what I found out about your sidekick!"

Ballister and Meredith stopped and looked at Ambrosius pulling two things from his bag and gave it to them.

Ballister and Meredith looked at what Ambrosius handed them.

It was a newspaper and a scroll.

The scroll was of the monster that Glorth fought against while the newspaper article was about a lab rat that escaped the Institute’s lab.

“The mayor had found these earlier,” Ambrosius explained, looking at the newspaper and scroll. “I was in shock… I’m still shocked by these.”

Meredith and Ballister looked at Ambrosius, one not believing it and the other confused.

“Why are you telling us this?” Ballister asked confusedly but wanted to know more even though it felt like the conversation was leading up to a fight soon.

“I know that this might sound crazy,” Ambrosius started, looking at the both of them, “But I think that your sidekick is either the beast itself or a descendant of it that was taken to be tested at the Institute.”

Ballister and Meredith looked at the newspaper and scroll before looking back at Ambrosius as he explained, “It makes sense, doesn’t it?”

Ballister started to connect the dots after thinking about it while Meredith shook her head. "I-I don't believe you." Meredith said, kicked Ambrosius’ leg.

Ambrosius exclaimed in pain and held his leg. "The evidence is here." he hissed, pointing at the newspaper and scroll while rubbing his leg in pain.

Meredith growled in anger at him.

Then the next thing that the three knew was that Meredith jumped and started to fight Ambrosius.

They hit each other as they rolled on the ground of dirt and broken glass.

They continued to fight until Ballister came in to stop it before it got out of control. "That's enough!" Ballister yelled, getting Meredith off of Ambrosius.

Ballister panted angrily as he put the two items in his big hoodie pocket and looked at the both of them while both looked at him in shock.

Then Meredith gasped, clenching her stomach. Ballister and Ambrosius looked at her, to see what’s wrong. There was a nasty scar on Meredith's stomach.

“Mere!” Ballister gasped as he held her up.

“We need to get me home.” Meredith gasped, still clenching their stomach. Ballister nodded and they started to go home as Ambrosius got up from the ground.

“Bal-” Ambrosius started, grabbing his arm to stop him from leaving.

“Why do you care?!” Ballister yelled at him, trying to get his arm out of his grip. "Do you even care?!"

Ambrosius was taken back a bit. “Because I still love you…” Ambrosius said, letting go of Ballister. “And I understand if you no longer love me…”

Ballister looked at Ambrosius like he was serious but snapped out of it when Meredith, still clutching her scar, said, "Come on, let's go."

Ballister nodded and they went back home, leaving Ambrosius alone.

☆

As they made it back home, they looked at a still sleeping Nimona on the couch.

"Come on, let's not wake her up." Meredith said, quietly. Ballister nodded and they quietly went to the sick room.

Ballister got the healing potion and first aid kit after putting Meredith on the bed. Meredith was still clenching her scar when he came over to her.

“Here we go. Here we go.” Ballister breathed, trying to stay calm as he put the stuff on the hospital table. He got the kit opened and treated the wound after getting some of the extra glass out.

"Thanks." Meredith said weakly. "I appreciate it"

Ballister nodded as he put bandages over it before he got the healing potion and gave it to Meredith.

“Ugh…” Meredith grunted in disgust after drinking it. “I should give it a different taste for when hurt people are awake.”

"You should take some rest." Ballister suggested, rubbing their shoulder. “You need it.”

Meredith nodded, letting her head rest on the pillow and slowly fell asleep as Ballister put the blanket over her.

Ballister went to put the scroll and the article in a drawer when he went to his room. He sighed as he thought about what happened in the alleyway.

☆Meanwhile at the hospital☆

The doctors checked each officer from the attack when Ambrosius came in to check on them.

Ambrosius had some bruises and a bloody nose from the fight.

"Any luck, doctor? " A male nurse asked a female doctor. “They’ll pull through.” the female doctor answered, looking up from her clipboard.

Ambrosius looked at every officers as the other nurses begin checking every single officer of the current conditions.

"Is there any effect from the last couple weeks?" Ambrosius asked a nearby nurse which wasn’t busy.

The nurse looked up at him and said, “Well, some still are in shock from that shock bomb but they’ll be ok. As for the ones from the mayor's office, they’re doing ok as well.”

Ambrosius hummed and nodded. “That’s good.”

“Do you want me to get you an ice pack?” The nurse asked, pointing at her face as like a referice. “For your face?”

“No, but thank you.” Ambrosius said, shaking his head a bit.

The nurse hummed and nodded. But before she left to check on other patients, she handed him a napkin. “It’s for your bloody nose.” she said to him before she left.

Ambrosius nodded to her as if to say “thank you” and started to use the napkin to take care and clean up his bloody nose.

When he was done taking care of his bloody nose, the news popped up on the tv screen about the same thing from the bar.

This led Ambrosius to think about what he did earlier that night at the bar as he looked at the screen. ‘Is it my fault?’ he thought, hugging himself.

#modern Nimona #modern Nimona AU #nimona au #Nimona fic #Nimona #ballister boldheart #ballister blackheart #meredith blitzmeyer #ambrosius goldenloin #the director

10 notes · View notes

stranger-detective · 2 years

Text

@bylerweek2023 DAY 4 - SUMMER LOVE

Hello fellow bylers!

I didn't really follow the theme description for this fic (it's been sitting in my fic doc for a WHILE, I've been wanting to post it) but hey! First fic on tumblr!

I hope people like it ig!!

It Hurts to Remember

Stranger things S3 canon divergence; what if everything Will has been through began to catch up to him?

TW - Panic Attack _________________

“But… you didn’t eat any cleaning products last year… did you?”

Will has to work hard not to flinch at Max's words. Last year had been hell, and remembering it was almost just as bad. He feels the rising panic, all too familiar because of the past few days, and swallows.

“No.” he whispers, his mouth dry. “This is something new.”

They all stare at the products on the table for a moment. Then Nancy suddenly looks up at him, a glint sparkling in her eye.

“Of course… You know all about being possessed by the Mind Flayer, don’t you? We should ask you some questions, see what we can gather, what we can use against it… and Billy, and all of them.”

Oh no.

Will can feel himself tensing, but no one else seems to notice; they all look excited, happy to have found a way to finally make some progress. He watches them eyeing him hopefully and determinedly pushes away his panic. They need his help. He can help.

He will not let them down because of his stupid overreactions.

“Ok…” he says quietly. “But… shouldn’t we go back to one of our houses first?”

The others survey the room as though realising their location for the first time.

“Let’s go to our place,” says Jonathan. “Mom isn’t home; we don’t have to worry her.”

And that’s how he ends up in his living room, everyone watching him from where they sit on various couches and armchairs around the table in the centre. Nancy pulls out a notebook and a pen, and then looks up at Will.

“Okay, so… can you describe what it’s like to be under the control of the Mind Flayer?”

Will feels his stomach swoop in warning. He hugs his knees to his chest, takes a deep breath in, and forces himself to answer the question.

“It’s… It’s kind of like watching a movie from inside your head.” -a panicked bubble grows in his chest- “Like you know what’s happening, but you can’t stop it and you don’t really want to, because he’s changed your memories and then you can’t remember anything except for what he wants you to remember, and” -He won’t- can’t- stop talking, he can’t, if he does he’ll cry- “then when you talk, or do something, it’s like he’s puppeteering you, and if you don’t do what he says, then he… then it…”

He stops and swallows again, feeling the pricking begin behind his eyes. “You can’t not do what he says. You can’t stop him.”

And then the bubble starts to rise up, forcing it’s way into his throat, and he can’t stop it, and fuck, he’s going to cry, they can’t see him-

“I’m sorry.” he blurts, standing up quickly. “I need to go to the bathroom. You can ask Mike some things, I’ll be back in a second.”

Then as fast as he can without being obvious, he runs to the bathroom, and only just manages to pull the door closed before he collapses onto the floor.

Tears are leaking onto his face, and suddenly everything is coming flooding back, and the floor is too cold and he likes it cold, but it’s also too hot and it’s burning him and the pain is unbearable, and he can’t breathe. He can’t breathe, and he pushes himself into a corner, squashed between the sink and the toilet, and curls up into a ball, silently sobbing, and then it’s black, the world is black, and he can’t see, and it’s like he’s on the field again, and the black shadows are forcing themselves into his body and he’s trapped, powerless to stop it.

He pushes further into the wall, but he can’t get away. He can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t…

***

Mike stares absentmindedly at the hallway of the Byers house. Nancy is still scribbling in her notebook, and has not yet asked him any questions. He assumes she wants to wait until Will comes back; he, being the one who actually was possessed, has more of the answers. Presently, all of them are sitting in a sort of awkward silence.

A few minutes pass, and then Max shifts in her chair, looking antsy. “Jesus, what’s taking him so long? This is kind of important.” she turns to face the hall, and yells “WILL! HURRY UP!”

No response comes from the bathroom. This is when Mike begins to suspect something is off.

“Will?” he calls out, standing up and moving closer to the hall. The others are all still sitting down; Nancy still writing, Jonathan fiddling with his camera, El and Max whispering about something and Lucas staring absentmindedly at Max. Mike sighs, then pushes out of the living room and towards the bathroom door.

He knocks. “Will? Max is pissed off because apparently you’re taking too long. You nearly done?”

He pauses and waits for some kind of sound from inside. Nothing.

He sighs.

“Okay, if I walk in on you peeing or some shit, it’s your fault for not saying anything.” he mumbles, and then pushes open the door.

It is immediately evident that Will is not peeing.

Mike takes in the scene, wide eyed. Will is curled up into a ball so small you almost can’t see him from the doorway, hidden behind the sink.

“Will? What-” he rushes forward, skidding onto the floor beside his friend in his haste. “Hey, what’s going on?”

Now that Mike is closer, he can see that something is really, really wrong; Will is rocking back and forth, his face covered in tears and his eyes glazed, his breathing frantic, shallow and quick.

Mike’s arms hover at Will's sides, but uselessly; he has no idea what to do.

Breathing, a voice in his head mutters. Steady his breathing.

“Breathing. Ok.” he whispers.

Then, more loudly, “Will, can you hear me?”

***

Suddenly, through the blackness, he hears a voice.

“-ill? Ca- hear me?”

It’s fading in and out, and sounds staticky.

Then Will feels a light pressure on his arm and panics, because to his mind that’s the shadows, and they’re entering his body again, and he yanks away from the touch, pushing back as far as he can into the wall. His breathing spikes, and whatever was applying the pressure instantly pulls away.

“Woah. Okay. No touching, I get it. Cool. Um… can you hear me?”

Somewhere in the neverending black, Will finds the ability to nod.

“Good! Great! Um… Ok, so… try and take deep breaths, okay? Like… copy me.” and then the voice breathes in, loudly, and deeply.

Will tries to copy it, tries to calm down his heart. Slowly, the blackness starts to fade, and the world swims back into view, the shadow gone, and it’s then, right then, that Will realises the owner of the voice is Mike.

Mike looks so worried, crouched on the floor next to him, and something in Will just breaks. He feels his face crumple, and then he’s sobbing, crouching further into a ball and burying his head into his knees. He knows he's being selfish, that they need this information and he should just cut the bullshit and get over it, but he can't.

He just can't.

Eventually, he manages to look up. Mike has not moved this whole time. He's still sitting there, patiently waiting for Will, waiting when he could be out comforting El, or helping Nancy, or-

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

***

Will's face is tearstained, his eyes red and puffy, and he's still curling in on himself. Mike stops short and wrinkles his nose in confusion.

"You're sorry? What the hell are you sorry for?"

Another tear spills out of Will's eye. "I'm.. being-" -he takes a hiccuping breath- "Being selfish, we- we need the information, and I can't even say it without being an idiot and crying, and I'm sorry."

Mike grows steadily more horrified with every word Will says. "What? Will, no!" he grabs Will's hands in his. "You're not being selfish, that's bullshit!"

"How?" says Will miserably, and something in Mike snaps.

"Will, what you went through was traumatising. You have PTSD, and it isn't even close to being your fault that this happened. It's on us, We made you talk about this shit, even though we knew how much it hurt. And about the scars, and everything you went through." he pauses, staring right into Will's wide eyes.

"It's on us."

And then, almost impulsively, he reaches out and wraps his arms around Will, pulling him into the biggest hug the two have shared in a long time.

Time seems to stand still around them. Mike can feel Will sobbing into his shoulder, and he tightens his hold on his best friend, feeling guilt rise up inside him from every shitty thing he's done to Will over the past few months. And he realises that the list is far, far too long.

Then behind them the door swings open, and Mike hears the rest of the party stop their grumbling chatter immediately when they see him and Will on the ground.

Jonathan rushes over. "What happened?"

The next few minutes blur together. Mike explains the situation to the rest of the party, whose looks of horror mimic his own. Then he gently helps Will out of the bathroom and onto the couch, sitting down next to him with an arm still wrapped protectively around his shoulder. Everyone else (with the exception of Jonathan, who sits at Will's other side) reclaims their former positions.

"Will." says Nancy hesitantly after a few seconds. "I'm really sorry. I, of all people, know what you went through, I watched as we got it out of you, I helped." she swallows. "I should have known better, I'm- really sorry."

Will shakes his head. "No. It's okay. We need the information, I can still-"

"NO!!" everyone yells at the same time.

"Will." says El, quietly. "The Mind Flayer is your bad men. Your lab. I do not talk about the lab, because of the bad." she frowns determinedly. "You would never make me talk about the lab. Never ever."

Max looks to the side, contemplating, then takes a deep breath and adds, "There are other ways to get the information."

"You're more important." Lucas insists.

One last tear falls down Will's cheek, and he gives an exhausted laugh.

"Thank you."

Then he slumps to the side, his head landing on Mike's shoulder.

And as Mike rests his head on top, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, Will is starting to believe them. _________________

#yeah #first fic #so #yay?#the ending was kind of rushed but i think it's alright #idk i just think it wasn't 100% considered properly what it would have been like for will #when everything was coming back #in S3 #when they were all asking him about literally being posessed i was like #um???#anyway #will byers #mike wheeler #byler #bylerweek2023 #stranger things 3 #stranger things #hooray

24 notes · View notes

catierambles · 2 years

Text

Null Ch.17

Pairing: Incubus!Charles Brandon x Anna Williams (OFC)

WC 1172

Warnings: None Minors DNI 18+ ONLY

@brattymum96 , @ouroboros113 , @peaches1958 , @summersong69 , @henryownsme , @fvckinghenrycavill , @raccoon-eyed-rebel , @eldarwen333

They were sitting in the study eating pizza that Mike brought, Mike on her computer watching youtube videos while the others talked amongst themselves when there was a small chiming sound.

“What was that?” Sy asked around a bite of pizza.

“I put a motion detector in the living room as that’s where you guys poof in most often.” Anna said, “Beeps at me if someone trips it and I’m up here. It’s not in range of the front door, so someone literally just materialized in the living room.”

“I’ll go see who it is.” Sy said and stood from the couch, taking a garlic knot with him. He came back a few moments later with another person in tow. He was roughly the same height as Sy with a head full of dark curls and a dark beard covering his jaw.

“Walter?” Anna asked and he gave her a somewhat surprised look. “You resemble the rest of them and you’re the only one I haven’t met. Unless there are others.”

“No, I’m Walter.” He said, his voice accented like Charles’. “And you must be Anna…Williams?”

“Sure am.” She said, “Come on in, you want some pizza?”

“I’m good, but thank you for the offer.” He said, following Sy into the study. “Ms. Williams--”

“Anna, please.” She said and he nodded.

“Anna. Your status was reported to authorities and I thought I would come by.” Walter said.

“My wuh?” She asked, looking over at Charles.

“Your…”

“Oh, yeah, that.” Anna said and pulled up the sleeve of her t-shirt, showing him the scaling on her shoulder. “It’s not like…illegal is it? I mean, it’s a) completely random b) totally rare, and c) 100% uncontrollable.”

“No, it’s not illegal, don’t worry.” Walter said, “But we do like to know when it happens, even though it’s rare.”

“Makes sense.” She said with a shrug. “Why don’t you take a seat? Get comfy.”

“Thank you.” He said with a small smile, going over and sitting in one of the chairs. “Have you noticed any other changes?”

“Such as?”

“Difficulty sleeping? Human food not satisfying your hunger as it had been?” Walter asked.

“Not really to the first one, but the second…” She paused with a shrug, “It’s been taking more and more to get me full.”

“For how long?” Walter asked, pulling a notebook and pen out of the back pocket of his dark jeans.

“A couple of days now?” She said and Charles looked over at her.

“Darling, you never told me.” He said and she shrugged again.

“You just would have said it was what I figured it was.” Anna said.

“Still, if you notice any changes, please tell me.” He said and she nodded.

“Other than that, I haven’t noticed anything, can’t speak for the others.” Anna said.

“Her energy feels…blended.” Napoleon said, stabbing at his baked ziti with the fork, “She’s still a null so she barely registers, but she’s starting to feel vaguely demonic, like an afterthought.”

“There you go.” Anna said, looking at Walter and he arched a brow at her.

“You’re amazingly calm about this.” Walter pointed out.

“Freaking out isn’t going to change anything.” She said, “I’d rather spend that energy on more productive things.”

“Such as?” He asked.

“I dunno, I’ll let you know when I find out.” Anna said, “Question for you, though, Walter.”

“Yes?”

“Sy told me that you guys have the same dad but different moms, but do you and Mike have the same both?” She asked and there was a pause.

“How--how did you know that?” Walter asked.

“Kinda want to hear that myself.” Sy said and she snorted.

“It’s not anything nefarious.” She said, “You guys have the same hair. The last time Mike and I went into town for essentials we got caught in a freak rainshower, when his hair dried it was like yours, Walter, a mass of ringlets and curls. His is a little darker, but yeah, same hair.”

“Do you even know how long it takes for me to get my hair like this?” Mike complained.

“Shut up, you were adorable with your curls.” Anna said and he flipped her off, making her snort again. “Almost--”

“Don’t say it!”

“Cherubic.” Anna said and he groaned, his head dropping down to the keyboard loudly. “You break my keyboard, you’re buying me another one.”

“But to answer your question properly, yes, Mike and I have the same father and mother.” Walter said, laughing slightly. “I’m about a millennium his senior, though.”

“Mike, are you the baby?” Anna asked, but she already guessed the answer.

“Shut up, still older than you.” He grumbled.

“You guys live to perpetuity, that’s not saying much.” She said, “Compared to you guys, I haven’t even been conceived yet.”

“What did you call Mikey when you first met him?” Sy asked, chuckling.

“A fetus.” Anna said and Walter snorted hard, slapping a hand over his mouth.

“The person who reported your status did mention that you were…charming.” Walter said, “Okay, not the phrasing they used, but that’s the polite way to put it.”

“What’s the phrasing they used?” Anna asked, “I’m curious.”

“They called you a manipulative bitch.” He said and she arched a brow at him, “I’m going to stick with charming.”

“Was it a woman?” She asked and he blinked at her. “She has got to get a hobby.”

“You know who it was?” Walter asked.

“There’s only a handful of people who know about my current predicament and only one of them that’s a lady. So yeah, I have a good idea.” Anna said.

“She really needs to move on with her life.” Charles said, taking a bite of a mozzarella stick.

“Have you any reason why she may not like you?” Walter asked.

“She hasn’t moved on, but Charles has.” Anna said, “I know that makes me sound really arrogant--”

“It doesn’t.” Charles said immediately.

“Basically, she’s not getting the attention she wants and is throwing a toddler-sized hissy fit.” Anna said, “Little does she know that I could absolutely care less about what she thinks about me.”

“Anna is much better company.” August said and she nudged him with her foot, getting a small uptick of the corner of his lips.

“We met, she insulted me right away, said some pretty fucked up shit, Charles called her out on it, and she’s been pouty ever since. Actions have consequences, whoda thunk it.” Anna said.

“Well, Anna, thank you for talking with me.” Walter said, standing from the chair.

“Yeah, no problem. Swing by anytime you want. Lord knows the others do.” Anna said, “Sy and Mike basically live here now.”

“Do they?” Walter asked with an amused smile.

“I’ve got the room and I don’t mind.” She said with a shrug. “Up to you, of course, don’t feel obligated.”

“Visit.” Mike said, not taking his eyes off the video he was watching. “Love her like we do.”

“Not precisely as I do.” Charles said and she snorted, patting his hand.

#henry cavill #charles brandon #null #my writing

24 notes · View notes

freewayshark · 1 year

Note

The Wheel gave me "scar reveal!" Could I ask you to do something for Buck?

I’m not familiar with scar reveal as whump so I hope this is what that means 😂

He hasn’t looked yet. He’d glimpsed the first exposure of too pale skin as the cast had been cut away and he’d found he couldn’t look. He’d half listened as the doctor had explained the next steps, the weeks or maybe even months of physical therapy ahead of him. Thank God Bobby turned out to be one of those people that never went to a medical appointment without a notebook and pen, because the details have escaped him.

Now he’s alone in his apartment, Bobby long since having cooked him dinner and gone home.

There’s nothing left but to look.

He’d changed into sweatpants when he’d gotten home, sticking his foot in the wrong leg initially because he’d been so focused on not looking.

Now he sits on his couch, his foot propped on the coffee table, his fingers curled around the sweatpants’ cuff. He swallows thickly, and pulls up his pant leg before he can talk himself out of it.

Tears spring to his eyes when he finally sees the scar.

It’s not as long as he might have assumed, but it’s ugly, a puckered, reddish-purple. But it’s not the ugly, not really, because he knows it’s still new, and it’ll fade some with time. It’s seeing the way he’s permanently marked by what happened to him. The way he’s going to have to carry the reminder of what was taken from him for the rest of his life.

He shakes his head like he can shake the thought from his head. No. Nothing will be taken from him. He’s going to be a firefighter again. He’ll work harder in physical therapy than he’s ever worked in his life. He can do it.

He has to do it.

#asks #homerforsure #whump game #tumblr ficlets #☺️☺️☺️ thanks for the prompt hope you enjoy #my fic

16 notes · View notes

alyswritings · 2 years

Text

Favorite Song

STRANGER THINGS SEASON FOUR SPOILERS

Request: hey! could i request a steve harrington x youngersister!reader? ⚠️SPOILERS⚠️ she is about 15 and steve and the group are all out when they realise that y/n is vecnas next victim? they rush to his house and find her when shes floating up and her bones are snapping but they manage to save her from there? sibling fluff lol. thank you!

Steve Harrington x sister!reader

Summary: Y/N is Vecna's next target.

Warnings: season 4 spoilers, mentions of snapping bones, some swearing, ultra worried and protective big brother steve

a/n: i’m back! thank you so much for the request! hope you all enjoy!!

(gif not mine)

It's the day after Max almost lost her life to Vecna, the group bunking at the Wheeler household. They're all trying to think of how they could possibly defeat Vecna with what little they know and the lack of Eleven and her powers.

Steve lays on the couch in the basement, twirling a pen around in his hand as his mind racks for anything to help.

"Can you stop with the pen?" Dustin sighs.

"What?" Steve mumbles, getting knocked out of his thoughts.

"Stop with the pen flipping. It's annoying." Dustin says.

Steve maintains eye contact as he resumes flipping the pen around. Dustin rolls his eyes, slumping against the back of the chair, his hands digging into his curls.

"Steve, I'm about to kill you." Dustin threatens.

"I have a pen. I could easily stab you in the eye." Steve says.

"Oh, my God." Dustin sighs.

"Would you two shut up?" Lucas intervenes, lightly rolling his eyes.

"I second that question." Robin speaks up.

"Hey, what were the symptoms again?" Steve suddenly asks.

"What?" Nancy asks.

"The symptoms. You know, the ones that were written in the shrink's notebook. The other Vecna victims. What were they?" Steve asks. "Max?"

"Why does it matter?" The redhead questions, only one ear covered with the headphones.

"Just tell me." Steve says.

"Headaches, trouble sleeping, nightmares... nose bleeds. What's so important?" Max asks.

Steve stares at the ground, his eyebrows creasing as his thoughts run a mile a minute. He quickly pieces everything together, eyes widening in realization.

"Shit, shit, shit. No." Steve dashes over to the phone by the stairs.

"What? What is it?" Max asks, the others looking at him in confusion.

"Steve, what is it?" Nancy asks.

"Y/N. She, uh... she started having headaches about five or six days ago. And, uh, and nightmares. And her nose has bled a couple of times." Steve explains, dialing his home phone.

"how do you know she has nightmares?" Lucas asks.

"Cause she wakes me up after them. She isn't able to go back to sleep." Steve says, his tone harsh. He anxiously listens to the line ring, praying for it to be picked up.

"You didn't think to inform her of anything?" Dustin asks.

"I haven't exactly been home the past 48 hours, Henderson." Steve snaps.

"We have walkie talkies! She has a walkie talkie!" Dustin exclaims.

"Okay, relax. This isn't solving anything." Nancy interjects.

The voicemail starts, making Steve hold onto the phone tighter, his fear spiking.

"Fuck." He slams the phone onto the receiver and darts up the stairs two or three at a time. The others quickly rush after him, managing to get into his car before he peels off.

"Steve. Relax. I'm... I'm sure she'll be okay." Nancy tries to comfort.

"Yeah, yeah, no. Just a, you know, just a freakin' other worldly monster possibly going after her... possibly killing her right now." Steve says, his free hand running through his hair continuously. The hand on the steering wheel tightly grips it, his knuckles turning white.

What feels like hours, but is only about ten minutes, Steve pulls up to his house, quickly putting the car in park. He hurries out, running up to the front door, finding it locked.

"Come on." Steve groans. Robin rushes up with the keys and Steve snatches them from her as the others gather around Robin. Steve tries to restrain the shakiness in his hands enough to find the correct key. He finds it and tries to insert the key into the hole, but his hands are too shaky, failing at the simple task.

"Come on, come on." Steve mutters under his breath, internally cursing himself out for not being able to do it. "Damn it!" He exclaims as the keys drop to the ground.

"Here." Max quickly takes the keys and inserts the house key into the hole, quickly unlocking the door.

"Y/N!" Steve hurries inside, looking around for her. "I-- I got her room, you guys check down here." He says, beginning the run upstairs. Dustin is quick behind him, not wanting his friend to be alone. Especially if they are too late to save Y/N.

"Y/N!" Steve calls out, rushing to her bedroom door that's shut. Steve tries to open it to find it locked. "Are you fucking kidding me? Y/N!" Steve pounds on the door, but doesn't receive an answer. "Screw this. She can kill me later."

Steve backs up a few feet.

"Uh, I don't think that's the brightest--" Dustin is cut off by Steve colliding with the door which breaks open, the man freezing at what he finds. "--idea." He finishes.

Dustin walks in, his eyes immediately going to the teenage girl who is floating in the air, her head leaned back to the ceiling.

"No, no, no. Y/N. Y/N!" Steve yells, going over and shaking her arm. "Fuck!"

His yells cause everybody else to come upstairs, them all freezing at the same situation Max was in merely 24 hours ago.

"Steve!" Dustin shouts, managing to get the older one's attention. "What's her favorite song?!"

"Um-- uh-- uh... shit." Steve is aware he knows as Y/N blares her favorite song at least once a week. But his fear overcomes his normal thought process making it harder for him to remember.

"What is it?!" Dustin shouts, getting impatient.

"Uh-- I-- oh! "Love Will Tear Us Apart." Um, uh... Joy Division. Yeah. Yeah, that's it." Dustin finds the drawer full of cassette tapes and pulls it out of the nightstand, dumping all of the tapes onto the bed.

The group of teens shuffle through them until they find the correct one.

"Got it!" Lucas exclaims.

Dustin hands him the Walkman and Lucas quickly manages to put the tape in. Steve yanks the device out of the boy's hands and he stands on the bed. Steve reaches out, just able to reach Y/N and put the headphones over her ears.

Steve hits the play button, the music starting to play. He hooks the Walkman onto her pants, jumping off the bed.

"Y/N? Y/N!" Steve shouts. "Y/N!"

Everybody else calls out her name, trying to get her to wake up, hoping it could help somehow.

Steve tightly grips onto his sister's left hand, feeling her skin start to grow colder than usual.

"Hey, hey! Come on, Y/N/N! Stay with me!" Steve screams, shaking her arm a bit. "Wake up!"

Y/N's right ankle starts to bend backward.

"Steve." Dustin mutters. Steve looks at him before following his gaze to Y/N's ankle just in time to see it snap. Everybody grimaces, turning away.

"No. No, no. Come on, Y/N! Fight this!" Steve yells. "Fight him! Fight it!"

After a few moments, a sharp inhale comes from Y/N before her body falls to the floor. Before she can land on the carpet, Steve has his arms around her waist, breaking her fall.

Y/N is hyperventilating as she looks around, realizing she's in her room and she recognizes the people in her room and they look perfectly normal.

"Hey. Hey." Steve quickly moves to her side, one hand on her back. Y/N turns to the soft voice, still panicking, tears streaming down her face. Though she feels safe when she realizes it's her older brother. "Hey, hey. You're okay now. I'm right here."

Y/N breaks into sobs and she leans into Steve, hiding her face in his collarbone. Steve wraps an arm around her, one hand cradling her head to him and the other rubbing her back.

Y/N tightly clutches onto Steve's shirt like it's a lifeline.

"Shhh. Shhh. It's okay. I got you." Steve comforts, talking softly, but still loud enough for her to hear him over her sobs. "I've got you. I'm right here. It's all right." He rocks them back and forth, pushing more tears back. He rapidly blinks to rid himself the tears, though a few do manage to escape.

"It's okay." Steve reassures.

- - -

Steve made Y/N keep her headphones on for at least an hour while they got her to the hospital to get her ankle treated. They spent a good couple of hours there before going back to the Wheelers' house.

Y/N looks between each group member from where she sits on the couch, settled into Steve's side, a headphone on one ear, her favorite song playing.

"So... there's a new Upside Down monster... and he's kind of basically Freddy Krueger. Except we don't have to be asleep." Y/N says.

"Pretty much, yeah." Dustin nods.

"And it killed Chrissy and Fred and almost killed Max? And me." Y/N says.

"Exactly." Lucas nods.

"God, can't we just have one normal year? Is that too much to fucking ask for?" Y/N questions, frowning and slouching down.

"We'll, uh... leave you two alone." Nancy says. She notices the look in Steve's eyes and knows even though that Y/N is currently okay, he needs to make sure she is and verbally be there for her just as much as he is without words. Though he isn't about to express emotion in front of everybody.

"Why are we leaving them alone?" Dustin asks as Lucas and Max head upstairs.

"We shouldn't be crowding her." Nancy states.

"But Steve is literally right next to her." Dustin argues.

"Well, one person isn't crowding her. Six is." Nancy retorts.

"We're down to four now. Two just left." Dustin says.

"Go." Nancy demands, pointing upstairs.

"Just go, Dustin." Robin rolls her eyes.

"I don't see the huge deal." Dustin objects.

"I will smack you over the head. Go." Robin says, shoving him towards the stairs. Dustin continues to complain as he walks upstairs, followed by the two girls, Nancy shutting the door after they reach the top.

Steve gently drums his fingers on Y/N's arm, thinking of how to start talking.

"You, um... you okay?" Steve asks, wincing at the stupid question. Y/N looks at him and he cluelessly shrugs.

"Physically... been better, but I'll live. I've had a broken bone before. Mentally? Been much better... I might live. Or with new information, I might die." Y/N says.

"We'll figure it out. Okay? None of us -- me especially -- are going to let this fucker take you or Max away. We will figure something out and you two will be okay." Steve states. Y/N manages a fake smile which Steve can very easily see right through.

"Why didn't you tell me about it?" Y/N asks.

"I mean, sort of just found out. Been a busy couple of days. Either way, I don't want you involved in this shit." Steve says.

"I'm sorry. Who was involved in it first?" Y/N asks. "My friend went missing. I've been in this longer than you."

"Yeah, by like, a few days or something." Steve argues.

"It's still longer." Y/N argues.

"Well, I'm older. You have to listen to me." Steve says.

"No, not really. I don't." Y/N objects.

"I am an adult. You are a kid. You listen to me." Steve says.

"God, what are you, dad? Shut up." Y/N rolls her eyes.

Y/N starts to drum her hair tie with her thumb, a nervous habit she has, which Steve notices it.

"You, uh... you wanna talk about it? The experience? Or whatever you saw?" Steve asks.

"No." Y/N answers after a few moments. "No, I... I don't think I can."

"Okay. That's okay." Steve assures. He tightens his hold on her comfortingly, holding her a bit closer. "Can I ask one question, though?"

"What?" Y/N sighs.

"Is the music really what helped? Like... nothing else?" Steve asks.

"Well... the music... I don't know, it... it helped, I guess. I mean, I started hearing it and I wasn't as super terrified as I had been. I-- I mean, I was, but... I don't. But a... some sort of portal opened and--and I saw you guys in my room and all yelling my name and trying to wake me up. And you were holding my hand and... and, I don't know. I just started thinking of everybody."

"What do you mean?" Steve asks.

"Just memories with people. With Max and-and El and the boys... Robin, you. Hell, even Erica and Nancy." Y/N says.

"Erica?" Steve asks.

"Yep." Y/N nods. "Yeah, it confuses me, too, kind of. But we did sneak into a Russian base together, so." Y/N says.

"Yeah, true." Steve mumbles. "Is that what helped you wake up?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I just... I thought of wanting to live... and-and keep being with you guys. Can't do that if I'm dead. Most of the memories were you, though."

"Really?" Steve asks.

"Yeah. Just simple things, honestly. All those nights of building forts and watching movies. You giving me my first sip of beer. Letting me wake you up after I have nightmares. You always taking care of me since mom and dad are always working and stuff."

"Mmm. Yeah. Guess I've been a babysitter since I was, like, five, huh?" Steve asks, messing with some strands of her hair.

"You're a pretty damn good babysitter." Y/N says, a small smile on her face.

"I know. It's why I keep getting elected." Steve grumbles.

"You may act like you hate it, but it's fun. And besides, you know you care about all of us." Y/N says.

"Yeah, whatever." Steve mutters, Y/N quietly laughing as her brother pretends to not be as caring as he actually is.

"Thank you... for getting home in time." Y/N says.

"You don't have to thank me. It's my job to protect you, right? I refuse to lose that job." Steve says.

"You're a pretty damn good brother, too." Y/N comments.

"Thanks. I guess you're a good sister." Steve teases. Y/N smacks him and he laughs. "You're a pretty damn good sister."

"Thank you." Y/N says through a yawn.

"You can go to sleep. I'll stay right here. Just keep at least one of the headphones on." Steve says.

"Okay." Y/N mumbles, lying down on the couch. She puts a pillow on Steve's lap and puts her head on the pillow, her feet resting next to the couch arm.

Y/N keeps one headphone over her ear, the song playing on repeat for the thousandth time. Steve plays with her hair, helping her fall asleep.

Taglist: @glxwingrxse @venomsvl @peyton-14

#steve harrington #steve harrington x sister reader #steve harrington x sister!reader #stranger things #stranger things season 4

1K notes · View notes

sluttywonwoo · 3 years

Text

something more || h.js x reader

Summary: it’s a tale as old as time- your roommate walks in on you masturbating and things escalate from there

Warnings: swearing, smut (18+) additional warnings under the cut

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: originally posted on my tom holland fic account ( @wazzupmrstark )

Masterlist

additional warnings: additional warnings: masturbation, unprotected sex, choking, degradation, lowkey spit play

“Joshua! Come look at this!”

There were a lot of things you liked about your apartment. Cheap rent, nice views, mostly functioning air conditioning… however the gaping hole in your bedroom ceiling was not one of them. It had started out as a small leak a couple of weeks ago, water dripping from some imperceptible hole in the plaster that had slowly turned into a trickle and then a steady stream, until finally the ceiling had collapsed in on itself, unable to hold the weight of all of the water any longer. You had filed a maintenance request when you first noticed the leak, but it had gone ignored. Maybe now, now that your bed was covered in drywall and pipe water, now that you could see into the apartment above yours, your concerns would be important enough to be addressed.

“What is it?” your roommate called back.

You heard him approach and waited for the gasp that would follow. “Y/n…” he hissed, one hand over his mouth, the other gripping your shoulder in shock.

“I know.”

“Holy shit.”

“I know.”

“What do we do?”

“I don’t know.”

You sighed and took a tentative step forward into your room, wincing when your sock made contact with your damp rug.

“I’ll call maintenance,” Joshua offered and turned on his heel to grab his phone.

“I’ll… try and figure my shit out, I guess.”

His footsteps faded into the background as he retreated into his own room and you looked around your room with a frown, surveying the space for anything salvageable. You were surprised you hadn’t started crying yet. But apparently your brain hadn’t quite caught up with your eyes because all you felt was a numb sort of apathy as you gazed at the mess in front of you.

There was no way you could sleep in your room tonight. Even if you managed to dry everything and clear the debris, there was still a giant fucking hole in the ceiling. The mere thought of trying to fall asleep underneath it made you uneasy. You would have to crash somewhere else.

“They said not to touch anything-” Joshua shouted from the other room. You froze in place, afraid you’d already done something you weren’t supposed to and decided to join him in the kitchen instead.

Your socks left wet footprints against the concrete floor as you padded over to where Joshua was. He shot you a look of sympathy as you peeled them off and tossed them to the side, shifting his attention back to the notepad on the table in front of him to write something the person on the other end of the phone was saying.

The pen hovered above the paper momentarily, and Joshua rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Tomorrow? Is that the earliest- yeah that’s fine.”

The little hope you’d had that the issue would be resolved tonight fizzled, and you blew out a breath of frustration. You pulled out your phone and began scrolling through your contacts, mentally making notes of who might let you spend the night at their place.

Joshua thanked whoever he was talking to and hung up, pushing the notebook away from him with a groan.

“They’ll be here tomorrow morning,” he said, giving you an apologetic look. “What are you doing?”

“Texting Seungcheol.”

Joshua made a face. “Seung- why?”

“I’m going to ask if I can sleep over.”

“You haven’t talked to him in months,” your roommate protested.

“He’ll say yes to me,” you assured him.

“That’s because he expects you to sleep with him.”

“I know.”

“Y/n! You’re not seriously going to have sex with him in exchange for a place to stay, are you?”

“Well when you put it like that…” you trailed off and sighed. “Whatever, I’m not above it. It’s been a while since I’ve been laid anyway.”

“Seungcheol couldn’t even last thirty seconds-” he paused when you gave him a look, “I know from what you’ve told me. Not because I slept with him.”

“You know saying that makes it sound like that’s exactly why you know.”

“Please, y/n, I have taste,” he said matter-of-factly, easily dodging a swat from you. “You’re not sleeping at Seungcheol’s,” he said as if he’d decided, as if he had final say on the matter.

“Well, what am I supposed to do, Joshua?” you demanded. “I can’t sleep in my own room, and you know I can’t sleep on the couch so what do you suggest?”

“Take my room,” he offered simply, shrugging like it should have been obvious.

“What?”

“You can have my bed and I’ll sleep on the couch. You don’t even have to fuck me for it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well what do I have to do for it?”

You could tell Joshua wanted to say ‘nothing’, but knew you wouldn’t accept his offer without feeling like you could give him anything in return so he settled for “fried rice”.

“You want fried rice?”

“I want your fried rice,” he clarified with a grin. “You know it’s my favorite.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Okay,” you agreed. “Fine. Thank you, Joshua.”

He gave you a knowing smile and nodded. “Don’t mention it.”

Joshua kept his room colder than yours. Your wet hair from the shower only made the chill worse, but you didn’t want to mess with the thermostat and throw off how he liked things. You were even hesitant to touch the pillows on his bed. You knew Joshua wouldn’t care, but you still wanted to respect his space.

Joshua was literally the most easygoing person you knew, which offered a nice balance in contrast to your high-strung, perfectionist personality. One time you’d bled on his sheets while you were just hanging out in his room and he was completely unphased. He just threw the bedding in the wash like nothing had happened and mentioned that he’d been needing to wash them anyway while you practically cried in embarrassment.

“It’s okay, y/n. I’ve had girlfriends before.”

“Yeah, but I’m not your girlfriend!”

“We live together, close enough.”

To be fair, you knew that this kind of thing happened all the time, but you were still mortified. You didn’t even pay attention to the rest of the movie you and Joshua had been watching. To this day you didn’t know how the Lego Batman Movie ended.

“You need something to sleep in?” Joshua had asked on your way from the bathroom back to his room, having noted your state of undress.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to make the trips to and from the shower in nothing more than a towel, but he knew you wouldn’t be able to go back into your room tonight, and that most of your clothes were still damp from the ceiling anyway.

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

He just nodded from where he was on the couch and gestured past you in the direction of his door. “You know where everything is. Pick out whatever.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

You’d chosen an old t-shirt from a gas station souvenir shop, one of many in his collection of road-trip tees and a pair of panties you had managed to snag from your dresser before Joshua had yelled at you to get out of your room earlier.

You hung your towel on a hook attached to the back of his closet door and sprawled out on his bed, pulling the comforter around yourself.

It was late. It had been late for a while, but you and Joshua were night owls. You both kept busy schedules, so at night you liked to take some time for yourselves before bed. Still though, you knew you should sleep. But you couldn’t.

You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to relax your muscles.

If you were being honest, the idea of getting laid had been exciting and you were a bit disappointed it wasn’t going to happen for you tonight. It had been a while since you’d been with anyone, and you were craving the intimacy, even if it was coming from someone like Dylan.

Your skin was beginning to feel hot and sticky, and you pushed the covers off of you in your frustration. You had just been cold a few moments ago, and all it had taken to make you sweat was the mere thought of sex. It was pathetic, you were pathetic, and you knew it.

Your fingers inched toward the waistband of your panties almost unconsciously before you stopped yourself. You were in Joshua’s bed. You shouldn’t be getting yourself off in his bed. That was wrong. It wasn’t your room, there must be some sort of boundary for this sort of thing. Roommate code. What if Joshua walked in on you- no. You clenched your fists by your sides and sighed. The idea of your roommate walking in on you with your hand down your pants should not be turning you on. It should be having the opposite effect. But you couldn’t help it.

You had managed to suppress your attraction to him for this long, being in his bed shouldn’t be the breaking point. Maybe it was because his sheets smelled like him, or maybe it was because you were wearing his shirt…fuck, you wished you had your vibrator. The little pink toy was sitting in the drawer of your bedside table, likely water damaged beyond repair. God, hadn’t you lost enough?

“Forgive me, Shua,” you whispered hoarsely into the empty room as you resigned yourself to your pleasure.

Your pussy had won over your head and you’d given into your desire. Familiar sparks of arousal flickered faintly in your stomach when you brushed the tips of your fingers over your panties. You weren’t shocked to discover that the material was already damp from where your wetness had seeped through.

You tried to think about Seungcheol, about your celebrity crushes, about anyone other than the person behind the other side of the door, but your mind kept drifting back to your roommate. You thought about what Joshua’s fingers would feel like instead of your own. They were so much longer than yours… you stifled a moan as you curled a finger into yourself and let your thumb begin to circle your clit, imagining Joshua’s head was buried in between your thighs instead.

Getting yourself to the edge was usually difficult for you without the help of toys or a third party, but you surprised yourself when your thighs began to tense in anticipation as you worked your fingers over your g-spot repeatedly, orgasm just out of reach. You were trying to be as quiet as possible, but you kept letting quiet sighs and curses slip from between your lips as your focus began to blur.

You pictured Joshua pushing himself into you, pictured how his face would scrunch up in pleasure as he felt you clench around his cock for the first time, how he’d kiss your neck and praise you for taking him so well- you bit down on your knuckles to stop yourself from screaming.

The invisible string inside of you snapped right as the door to Joshua’s room swung open and you were forced to rip your hand away from yourself as you came and your pussy clenched around nothing.

The light overhead flicked on and you squinted, groaning at the sudden blinding intrusion.

“Sorry,” Joshua apologized sheepishly. “I just forgot a pillow.”

You used your dry hand, the knuckle-bitten one, to throw him one of the pillows from behind you. He caught it with ease and you thought that would be it, but he zeroed in on your hand, narrowing his eyes at it with a confused expression on his face.

You hoped he couldn’t tell that you were still trembling from the aftershocks of your ruined orgasm, hoped he didn’t question why you were so flushed and breathless.

“What happened to your hand?” he asked, tossing the pillow aside and taking your hand into his own to observe. “You’re bleeding.”

Damn, you hadn’t meant to bite your hand that hard.

“It’s nothing,” you said and tried to yank your hand out of his grasp, but he was holding onto you too tightly.

“I have some Band-Aids in the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

“Shua you don’t have to-”

He was gone before you could finish your sentence, and back before you could protest any further. While he was in the bathroom you hurriedly wiped your other hand on your- his- shirt in an attempt to erase any evidence of what you had been doing just moments before he had interrupted.

“Give me your hand,” Joshua instructed, taking a seat on the bed so that he was facing you.

You outstretched your arm so that he could see the damage and watched as he dabbed a tissue at the specks of blood on your skin, applying pressure to stop the flow.

“It’s just a little scrape,” you insisted.

“Still, we don’t want it to get infected.”

“I guess,” you mumbled.

Once he was sure that you had stopped bleeding he dabbed a tiny bit of Neosporin onto your knuckle and wrapped a Spider-Man Band-Aid around your finger.

“Thank you.”

“Wait, I’m not done!”

“What do you mean?”

“I have to kiss it better.”

You rolled your eyes but gave in, lifting your hand to his face princess style. He pressed a gentle kiss to the Spider-Man Band-Aid and took a moment to admire his work. It was only when he was holding your hand closer that he noticed the indents in all of your other knuckles.

“Why were you biting your hand?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

There was no use in lying about it, the marks on your hand were clearly teeth marks. He would know you were bullshitting if you tried to play it off.

“I wasn’t.”

So much for that.

Joshua blinked. “Show me your other hand.”

“What? No.”

“Show me.”

“No!”

You grabbed the comforter and pulled it tighter to you while Joshua tried to wrestle it from your grasp.

“I swear to God, y/n,” he muttered under his breath.

You put up a good fight, but he was stronger than you and tugged it off of you within seconds of struggling. He pushed you back onto the bed and used his body to pin you to the mattress so that you couldn’t wriggle away. Now that you were stuck underneath him he was able to assess the hand that you had been trying to hide. You whimpered in embarrassment and watched in horror as he brought the hand… brought the hand to his…

“Joshua, what are you doing?” you breathed out.

He looked at you brazenly and then put two of your fingers in his mouth. You shivered as he sucked the arousal, the evidence, from your fingers to confirm his suspicion.

“You’re a liar,” he said finally.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you stammered.

Joshua chuckled to himself and let your hand fall back to your side. “And a brat too.” You scoffed in offense but Joshua just leaned down to kiss your forehead sweetly. “I already knew that, though.”

“Excuse you, but I am fucking delightful!” you argued.

“I never said you weren’t!”

“You just called me a brat!”

“Two things can be true at the same time.”

“I hate you.”

“So you… don’t want me to… give you a hand there?” he asked.

You paused. Was he really offering to-

“We’re friends, Joshua. You don’t have to do that.”

“I know. I want to.”

You could feel your heart beating in your throat and in your pussy. Joshua was your best friend and your roommate… but was there something more? Right now you wanted him more than you had ever wanted anyone. This couldn’t end well.

“Joshua?”

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me.”

Joshua was back on top of you as soon as the words left your mouth, pressing his lips to yours while one of his hands tangled itself in your hair. You could taste yourself on his tongue and moaned softly into his mouth. You found yourself wishing the moment could last forever, but you quickly changed your mind when you felt Joshua pressing his thigh up in between your legs. Lazily making out was nothing compared to what he was doing now. He brought a hand to your hip and urged you to move. He guided you until you were rocking back and forth on his thigh at a steady pace.

“Feel good?” he asked.

You could only nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Your panties were the only layer between your pussy and Joshua’s leg, and although they were certainly ruined by now they still provided the means to create friction that went straight to your clit.

Joshua’s hands fiddled with the hem of the t-shirt you were wearing and he tugged at the bottom of it, motioning for it to come off.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

Another nod from you and he was whisking the shirt off over your head without a second’s hesitation. He was pulling his own shirt off next, tossing it into a pile on the floor with yours. His fingers found the waistband of your panties soon after, and he played with the elastic impatiently, eager eyes searching yours for approval. You lifted your hips off of the bed so that he could take them off, leaving you completely naked before him.

Joshua let his gaze travel down your body, shamelessly admiring every dimple, curve, and freckle that was now exposed to him. You shifted under him self-consciously, silently wishing you had shaved. If you had known you’d be fucking your best friend, you would have, but it was too late now and you could only hope he wasn’t bothered by a little hair.

“How are you real,” he murmured to himself, earning an eye roll from you. Joshua reached out and dragged a finger through your folds, smiling when you flinched. “So sensitive…” he noted. “Did you cum already?”

“Yes, but it was ruined,” you admitted.

“Poor thing,” he tsked in fake sympathy, bringing his hand back up to his mouth. “Just wanna nother taste. You’re too sweet to resist.”

“Shua,” you whined.

“What is it, baby?”

“I need you.”

He smiled down at you and took you by the chin, tilting your face up towards him. “You already have me.”

“You know what I mean!”

“But I want to hear you say it.”

You groaned stubbornly and twisted your head out of his grip, only to let out a yelp when he closed a hand around your throat.

“Stop being a brat,” Joshua spat as he forced you to look at him again. “I’ll give you one more chance to be a good girl, got it? Good girls use their words to tell me what they want. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you choked out desperately.

“Are you going to be a good girl?”

“I’ll be a good girl.”

“So what is it that you need, love?”

You swallowed your pride and opened your mouth to respond. “Your cock, please.”

“Sorry, what was that?” Joshua asked, cupping a hand around his ear as if he couldn’t hear you.

“I want- I need your cock, please.”

“Atta girl,” he praised and eased the grip around your neck. “Was that so hard?”

You shook your head weakly and watched as Joshua pushed his boxers down to his thighs, then onto the floor, letting his cock bounce up against his stomach. He was fully hard already and you wondered how long he’d been like that, wondered how he had so much self-control when you barely had any.

“We can stop whenever you want, okay?” Joshua said, face softening and hand gently cupping your cheek. “Let me know if it’s too much. Just tell me what you need, baby.” You nodded obediently and met him halfway as he leaned down to kiss you. He broke away from the kiss suddenly and held a hand underneath your mouth. “Spit,” he ordered.

You complied and sat up a little to spit into his hand. He worked that same hand over his cock a few times, using your spit to lubricate it before positioning himself over you.

“Is this a good idea?” you blurted right as Joshua was about to push himself into you, suddenly aware that you wouldn’t be able to go back from this as soon as he did.

You had shoved any feelings you’d had for Joshua down for so long and it would be impossible to keep doing after sleeping with him. But you had already come this far.

“Probably not,” Joshua answered with a shrug. “Do you want to stop?”

“No. Do you?”

“No.”

“Okay, cool.”

“Great.”

A brief moment of silence lapsed while you both stared into each others’ eyes, not quite sure where to go from there.

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” Joshua said casually after thirty more seconds of silence.

“Yes, please do.”

You braced yourself for the stretch as Joshua pushed into you at an agonizing pace and sank your teeth into his shoulder to relieve some of the pressure. Joshua groaned at the feeling of you pulsing around his cock, a feeling which was only heightened by you nipping at his skin.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.”

“You’re… so big,” you echoed back.

He allowed you a few moments to adjust before he moved. You were already so worked up that he slid in and out of you easily and it wasn’t long before he was pounding into you at a fast tempo. He pressed hurried kisses to your jaw and neck, leaving a trail of hickies to remember him by.

You cried out each time his cock hit your g-spot, overwhelmed and still sensitive. Joshua kissed you to drown out your moans, clamping a hand over your mouth in his stead whenever he came up for air. His other hand was up against the wall for stability, though it wasn’t helping much.

“Joshua,” you gasped.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Can you choke me again, please?” you all but begged.

Joshua smirked. “Of course.”

He did as you asked and cursed when you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him in closer.

“See what happens when you’re a good girl and ask nicely?” he teased, cocking his jaw arrogantly. “You get rewarded.”

You could feel your orgasm building in your abdomen as Joshua continued to thrust into you and wondered if he was close too. You guessed that he was from the way his hips had began to falter.

“Up,” Joshua commanded suddenly.

He slipped out of you and grabbed you by the shoulders, hauling you into a sitting position.

“On your hands and knees,”

“And if I don’t?” you challenged.

“You don’t want to find out.”

“Are you sure?”

“Should I finish myself off, then?” he asked, pumping his cock lazily as if he expected you to call his bluff. “Leave you here needy, not let you cum?”

“No, please!”

You quickly got into position on all fours with your back to Joshua praying that he wouldn’t make good on his threat.

“That’s what I thought,” he said. You could hear the smile in his voice.

You fell forward on your face when he shoved his cock back into you only for him to tug you upright by your hair. He fucked you like that in doggy for a minute or so before he snaked an arm around your upper body and pulled you flush against his chest. Being seated on his lap allowed Joshua the ability to touch practically anywhere on your body. He took advantage of the new position by grabbing your tits.

He was so fucking deep in you like this you couldn’t stand it. Every tiny movement brought you closer to the edge and you weren’t sure how much longer you could last.

“Shua, I’m close,” you warned through broken gasps.

“Don’t cum yet.”

“Why not,” you whined.

“You’re not allowed to cum until you answer this question for me,” he said breathlessly.

“What is it?”

“When you were touching yourself earlier, who were you thinking about?”

“I-”

“Was it Seungcheol?”

“No.”

Joshua’s fingers found your clit and began rubbing circles around it, making it that much harder not to disobey him.

“Fuck, Joshua…”

“Who was it?”

“It was you! I was thinking about you!”

“Do you always think about me?” he pressed.

“You only said one question,” you accused defensively.

Interrogating you while he had you on the brink of orgasm was not fair.

“Fine, cum.”

You cried his name as you finally came. He held you through it, your orgasm triggering his own as you clenched around him repeatedly. Your name tumbled from his lips too, while he lost himself in the midst of pleasure. You couldn’t see his face as he came, but you could imagine it, like you had hundreds of times before. The way his hair would stick to his forehead, the way he’d bite down on his lip and squeeze his eyes shut as he let go of control…

You couldn’t see him as he came, but you could feel him. You felt his entire body tense behind you, felt the warm spurts of cum fill you up, felt the way he instinctively grabbed at your throat to anchor himself.

Neither of you spoke for what felt like an eternity as you both caught your breath. Joshua collapsed on the bed with you in his arms, cock still buried inside of you. He brushed your hair out of your face and turned your head so that he could look into your eyes.

“Are you okay?”

You nodded sleepily and gave him a weak smile. “I’m good.”

“Are you sure? I wasn’t too rough?”

“No, you were perfect.”

He kissed you again without a second thought and you kissed him back. It felt familiar and warm, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Here let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, pulling out of you.

You winced at the empty feeling, but laid in bed motionlessly and let Joshua dote on you. He used a warm washcloth in between your thighs and wrapped a new Spider-Man Band-Aid around your hurt finger. He slipped back into his boxers and tossed you another pair of his to wear before fetching you a glass of water from the kitchen and making you drink it all.

Joshua returned to bed finally and snuggled up to you instantly. You nestled yourself into the crook of his arm and rested your head on his shoulder.

“I thought I didn’t have to fuck you to sleep in your bed,” you said quietly once he had gotten comfortable.

“Shut up.” There was still a lot to discuss between the two of you, but nothing that couldn’t wait until morning. For now you were content to fall asleep in his arms and ignore all of the unanswered questions bouncing around in your mind. “For the record, I still expect my fried rice.”

lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

send me an ask to be added to my taglist(s)

#something more #joshua hong x reader #joshua hong x female reader #joshua hong x fem reader #joshua hong x you #joshua hong x y/n #joshua hong smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #hong jisoo smut #joshua hong imagines

2K notes · View notes

libraryofloveletters · 3 years

Text

Just A Phase

Evan Buckley x Reader

Warnings: fem!reader, typical high school nonsense, kinda rude behaviour at first meet, mentions of weed/alcohol and the consumption of, typical cocky jock behaviour, few swear words, being tipsy/drunk

Category: fluff and a little angst

Word Count: 5.4k

Author’s Note: I just started writing and this is where I ended up so yeah also I feel like I haven’t written in a million years, forgive me if this is shitty // I referred to Buck as Evan for the first little bit because he and the reader had been introduced yet. // thank you to my darling @floralbuckleys for their help!

----

Senior Year Of High School.

Evan Buckley, certified jock and bad boy.

He was the type of guy that only had a soft spot for you, but you didn’t know that yet. Truthfully he wasn’t a mean guy - people just perceived him that way because he was on the football team and popular. He had somewhat of a troublesome reputation.

People knew where he went, trouble followed.

You, on the other hand, came from a somewhat above average family. Your mom’s a nurse and dad’s a lawyer. They always had big hopes and dreams for you, for you to go off to Harvard in the fall and follow in your father’s footsteps but you didn’t want that.

You dreamt of being a writer - you couldn't bring yourself to tell your parents that. Since you were young, they had instilled “you’re going to go to Harvard” in you.

You couldn’t back out now.

See, high school worked a certain way. You kept to your circles and didn’t mingle with those that didn’t fit into your circle. You and Evan didn’t run in the same circle - he was a troublesome jock and you were a smart preppy girl.

Being the preppy kid meant volunteering where you could to bulk up your college application hence why you were at school on a Friday afternoon, waiting for the kids to show up. You were part of some tutor program that your chemistry teacher put you into.

It was mostly just kids that needed some clarification on their work and the occasional jock that needed to pass a course to stay on the team.

You weren't surprised when a group of noisy jocks stumbled in the study hall, reeking of sweat from practice.

You were surprised to see Evan, he hadn't been in there before.

“Settle down boys” Mrs. Jacobs told them before sending each guy off to a tutor, leaving Evan standing beside her. “You can head over to y/n” she pointed at you, you gave him a small smile when you glanced up. He looked unpleasant, like he didn’t want to be there.

He made his way over nonetheless. “Good afternoon” you say quietly, unsure if he heard you. He grumbles a hello as he sits down.

The first few minutes, it was quiet. He sat there flipping through his textbook and scribbling down answers into the notebook in front of him.

“Is there anything I can help you-” “I'm not stupid.”

You glance at him, eyes catching his blue ones looking back at you. “I never said you were.”

“I'm only here because I didn’t turn in my mid term project and now stupid Mr. Jefferson thinks I don't understand this shit” he explains himself.

You hum, glancing down at the notebook in front of him, pulling it towards you. Reading over the sheet, all the answers were right. A hum of satisfaction slips pass your lips as you slide the notebook back over to him.

“Not just another dumb jock then.” your eyes study his face after the statement. His lips curl into a small smile, a hum as he turns his attention back to his paper.

“So prep life must be dull - no parties, all study.”

“Who says prep kids don't party ?”

He chuckles, “maybe the lack of prep kids at the parties.” “I’ll have you know, I party plenty, Evan.”

Once again, he chuckles. “The phrasing of that statement shows that you clearly don’t- but call me Buck, all the guys do.” he slides the notebook over to you.

“Check this over, I'll be back” you watched as he stepped out of the study hall and disappeared into the hallway.

A few minutes pass by, you’re tired and in need of a nap but you blink away the tiredness to read his work. There’s a voice behind you and then you feel something heavy on your chair. Leaning back to figure out what it was, the back of your head hit something hard. You shift in your seat and look up to see your head has hit Buck’s torso.

“How's the work, peach ?” his voice is low, the drop in octave from before causes butterflies in your stomach.

Your brows furrow at the nickname, he noticed your confusion and glances down at your top and your eyes follow his only to see that your peach colour bra was sticking out from the top of your shirt.

You had stretched back into your seat when he stepped out and you hadn't noticed the shift in your clothing.

Pulling the top of your shirt back up, he smiles and returns to his seat. You clear your throat, head down and eyes on the work in front of you as you could feel the blush on your face.

“Um, the work is fine.”

“Do you have plans tonight ?”

“No, why?”

“Come with me to Johnson’s party, you can show me how prep kids party” he smiles, his words are teasing you- taunting you even. “I would, but my parents are out of town so I don’t have the car and I have to watch the house.”

“The house won’t disappear if you’re gone for a few hours and I'll pick you up then. What’s your address ?”

“Buck, I really shouldn't”

“Y/n, come on. Pull the stick out your ass for one night and enjoy senior year. You can go back to Harvard prep tomorrow.”

His word choice doesn't shock you, it’s quite on brand for him. He’s looking at you, waiting for your answer and you can't help but give in.

Taking the pen from him, you scribble your address and number on his notebook. “See you at 7?” picking your bag up before slinging it over your shoulder.

“7? Peach, the party doesn’t start ‘till 9. I’ll pick you up at 10:30.”

“Oh um- okay.” you hum, confused but you agree anyways.

---

10:45 and you were sitting on your couch, glancing at your phone and back to the window.

You had been stood up once before but to be stood up by a jock, and a popular one ? Will be the death of any social life you had.

Finally there’s a knock on your door and you get up a little faster than you would have liked but you make your way over. Pulling it open, you met with Buck.

“Ready ?”

“Sure, let me grab my phone” you leave the door open, stepping back to the couch. Buck had disappeared from the doorway when you returned, you locked up and followed what looked like headlights to the driveway.

Buck sat on his bike, he scoots forwards a bit before patting the space behind him.

“No.” you mumble.

“What ?”

“I’m not getting on that thing.”

“That thing ? I'm offended. Come on, you’ll be fine.”

“Evan, no.”

Buck gets up, making his way over to you. His hands grab yours, looking at you now. “Y/n, I promise you that you’ll be fine. Can we go now ?”

“I’ll kill you if something happens to you” you grumbled as you reluctantly made your way over to the bike. Buck gets on first, you mirror his actions. Your hands were to your side, Buck reached back and wrapped them around his waist.

“You good back there ?”

“As good as I could be.”

The house, who you assumed belonged to Johnson’s parents, (you had no idea who Johnson was because you barely ever went to the football games) reeked of alcohol and weed.

Your face didn’t hide your displeasure as well as you thought it had. Buck chuckled as he slung his arm over your shoulder.

“So is this what you do ?” you shout over the loud music, Buck was saying hello to someone he knew and wasn't paying attention to what you had asked him.

You manage to wiggle your way out of his grip and find your way to the kitchen. It’s a few minutes later that Buck finds you sipping on a beer.

“You drink ?” he gives you a questionable look with a smile on his face.

“You brought me to a party so I'll do what people do at a party” you hum, leaning back against the counter. He finds his way to you, leaning back against the counter too.

“Enjoying the party ?”

“Not really, you kinda left me to talk to some guy for twenty minutes”

“That guy happens to be our star quarterback.”

“I care why?” you glance up at him. Buck’s face is pure amusement, you aren't sure if you’re the cause of that or something else but the way he's looking at you- you can feel the butterflies again.

“Buck!” a group of guys shout as they make their way into the kitchen. They all say hello to him, some are drinking, some are shoving chips into their mouths.

You stay quiet while Buck talks to them and judging by their varsity jackets, it was safe to assume that they were on the team with Buck.

“Who’s your friend ?” a brunette guy asks him, stepping towards you.

“I’m y/n, you are?” you ask before Buck could.

“Mike, call me Johnson.”

“Oh, so this is your place ? Cute house” you give him a smile, he laughs.

“How do you know Buck?” Johnson asks, he was nosy for a drunk guy.

“Just bumped into each other, we have class together” you lie, not sure if Buck wanted them to know how you really met, Buck gives you a small smile.

“You’re pretty, how about a dance ?” his hand grabs yours.

“Thanks but no thanks” you give a polite smile before pulling your hand away.

Johnson takes a step forward, his hand reaching out and grabbing your hip. “C’mon, dance with me” you could smell the alcohol on him- he reeked. You push his hand off, “I said no thank you” you tell him once more, being ever so polite.

“Y/n, c’mon, one dance baby” he takes another step, he’s now face to face with you. Before you could say anything, Buck is in front of you, between you and Johnson.

“Dude, she said no. Leave her alone.”

Buck’s sudden need to protect you was much appreciated. Usually if a guy did that, especially a jock, you’d be weird out because they never pay attention to you- but Buck, you had this indescribable feeling, pride, satisfaction, maybe even relief ?

“She’s not even your girl, why are you protecting her?”

“Doesn’t matter, she said no so get out of her fucking face.” Buck’s hand was against his chest, pushing him away as his other hand reached back for yours. It would be cheesy to say that your hand fit in his like it was made to be there but it was true.

Buck’s hand was still in yours as he pulled you out the back door. Your back was up against the wall as he stood in front of you.

“Are you okay ?” you could hear the concern in his voice - different from his usual tone.

At a loss for words, his eyes study your face. Johnson was a douche and he knew that, he mentally cursed himself for even bringing you here.

“Y/n.. talk to me” he takes a step towards you.

“Buck,” your hand presses against his chest, “I'm fine. It’s not the first time a drunk guy has hit on me”

A breath of relief slipped past his lips, “do you want to leave?” his face softens when he asks. “No, I'm alright.”

“Stay here, I'll be back” his hand comes down and squeezes your waist gently before he steps back into the house.

It was a while before Buck returned. He had disappeared into the house for half an hour and when he returned, you were by the pool with a pingpong ball in hand.

“Suck it!” your loud laugh filled his ears, you took a sip from the red cup in your hand and you watched as the guy across from you drank the beer in the cup that the ball landed in.

“Looks like you’re having fun” Buck smiles, now beside you.

“Hey!” you reeked of beer at this point. “I’m having fun” your words come out in a slurred mumble.

“Mhm okay, I think it’s time to head home” Buck takes the cup from you and sets it down.

“What ?” Your hand reaches for the cup again, a pout evident on your face.

Buck’s hands finds your waist, hoisting you up and over his shoulder. A louder than expected gasp left your mouth, you felt the cold breeze against your legs as he walked towards the front of the yard.

He put you down in the backseat of a car but you knew you came with his bike so you were confused, just as you go to ask, he scoots you over and gets in the back with you. Buck’s arm is over your shoulder, you’re so tired that you just lean into him.

You had noticed you fell asleep and when you woke, you were on the porch swing at your house with Buck’s hand in your pocket.

“Whatcha looking for?” he glances up at you when he hears your voice.

“Keys.”

“Other pocket”

He manages to find the keys and get the door open. Getting you in the house was another story. “Y/n, come on” he pulls your hands in an attempt to get you up but you weren’t budging.

What happened to you being a prep kid and not drinking ? He didn’t even think it was possible to get drunk that fast.

“No, tired” you mumbles, making yourself comfortable on the porch swing. “Do you want your parents to come home and find you here? I’m cool with leaving you here if that’s the case” Buck teased, he had no idea when your parents were coming home.

The mention of your parents finding you outside, drunk, horrified you. You got up so quick, you nearly toppled over. Buck helped you inside and onto the couch. He disappeared for a moment and then returned with a glass of water.

“Small sips” he settles beside you, watching as you take a sip. You hum, resting your head on his shoulder as his arm comes over your shoulder.

“Buck?”

“Yeah?”

He felt your head shift, now looking up at him, eyes full of sleep. You were studying his face, from the birthmark above his eye to his pink lips.

“I really like you, you know” your words filled with sleep as your eyes drooped, you blinked a few times, forcing yourself to stay awake.

Buck chuckles, “that’ll pass peach, I’m just a phase.” He hummed quietly, fingers running through your hair as you drift to sleep.

The Monday after the party, you saw Buck in the hallway after waking up to an empty house on the couch, head pounding even in the deafening silence and and you can’t quite remember how you got home.

Buck had been radio silence since then but you weren't sure why. He was walking in from the front doors and you were by your locker. You turn to speak to him but he barely glances at you before continuing his conversation with Johnson.

From that day, you never spoke to Buck again. Last you saw him was graduation day and last you had heard was that he was in college and you were headed off to Harvard.

----

Present.

You had become a big shot lawyer, everything your parents wanted. Moved out to LA to start your own firm and everything was going well until this morning.

You had barely walked into the office when the fire alarm went off. The sudden alarm caused an onset of commotion in the office, the woman next to you bumped into you, spilling your hot cup of coffee onto you.

She mumbled a sorry as she passed but you could feel the heat coming from where the liquid had spilt. Nonetheless, you made your way out, the sound of the sirens from fire trucks blaring.

Not that you didn’t enjoy seeing the handsome firefighters (or so your co-workers seem to say) but you had a ton of paperwork to do for an upcoming case you had and you barely started.

You stood by the curb, watching as the firefighters made their way over to the crowd and into the building to clear it.

“Ma'am ?” A firefighter made his way over to you, there was a helmet in his hand as he passed a hand through his hair. You glance up from your phone, to see what he wanted.

“May I take a look?” his eyes shifted to your chest where there is currently a coffee stain on your white shirt. “Oh, thank you but no. I’m fine”

“Are you sure? Because that’ll leave a pretty nasty mark if you don't get it cleaned. If you aren’t comfortable, we have a female medic” he offered, hoping you’d consider.

“You’re a medic ?” you asked, looking him up and down. He nods, taking a step back. He begins walking back to the ambulance and you follow him. “Do you want me to get her?”

“No, you’re a professional, it’s cool” you give him a small smile before moving your shirt so he could check.

The firefighter’s hand was now right under your collarbone, dabbing at your skin with some gauze. His fingers were cold, you weren’t sure if it was actually his fingers or the gloves that were cold but either way you looked at him.

“What’s your name ?”

“Diaz, Eddie Diaz” he tells you, flashing you a smile before going back to his job.

You hum, staying still as Eddie rubs something on your skin.

That’s when you saw him.

The same blue eyes, the same blonde hair, the same gorgeous smile that always played in your mind. Not a day went by that you didn’t think of him. You had always wondered what he ended up doing, he was smart and destined for great things, there was more for him than a small life in a place where no one ever really did anything.

Every guy you had dated, you compared to him. It was always something- they didn’t look like him, they didn’t act like him, they didn’t treat you the way he did, they wouldn't stand up for you like he did.

He lived rent free in your mind.

“Ma'am?” Eddie’s voice broke your gaze. “Y/n,” you corrected him, “ma’am is for old women” your eyes going back to Buck. Eddie noticed your lack of attention and followed your gaze.

“Do you know Buck?”

“He still lets people call him that ?” you chuckle to yourself, feeling Eddie’s eyes burning a hole into you.

Before you could answer, his radio buzzed before a voice came through, “building’s clear. Start directing people back in.” Eddie looks over at you, you’re already getting out of the ambulance.

“Keep that clean and dry” were his last words to you after you left.

---

It wasn’t until you were back in the building that you realized your phone was in the ambulance.

You were majorly screwed.

Remembering the medic’s name which was the only thing you remember mids the confusion and seeing Buck after 10+ years. You asked around the office if anyone knew what station responded to the call. You had contacts that worked for the city but the lack of phone made it hard for you to call and find out.

Finally giving in, you google the medic’s name. There were a few articles that had photos but none of them said anything that helped. There was a video from Taylor Kelly at channel 8 news, some sort of video about the fire station.

Station 118- that was 10 minutes down the road and you pass it everyday on the way to work. The thoughts began filling your head, had Buck been there all along?

12 years- 12 long, empty years that you acted like he didn’t exist and that you didn’t want to know what happened between you two but he was right down the road.

You didn’t even know if you wanted to talk to him. You had finally come to peace with it even though a part of you will always long for what could have been. Feelings aside, you set out to the station to get your phone.

Upon arriving, there were a few guys by the trucks. You asked for Eddie, assuming that he might have an idea of where your phone ended up or if they even found it.

“Up the stairs and he should be somewhere up there” the guy pointed, you thanked him before heading towards the stairs. When you got upstairs, it was empty.

You weren't sure if you should go back down or wait so you sort of awkwardly stood there, glancing around the room. The station was nicer than you had imagined it to be, not that you really had an idea of what to expect.

Your back was to the kitchen when someone tapped your shoulder. “Can I help you?” his voice called out as you turned.

Buck.

You let out a breath, your eyes studying his perfect face for a moment. Do you say something or just pretend like you didn’t know him?

“Yeah, I'm uh- I'm looking for Eddie. I think I left my phone in the ambulance.”

“Do I know you from somewhere ?”

“I work at the building down the road, 14th street. You guys were there earlier, hence the phone in the ambulance” you tell him, hoping he drops the topic.

“Y/n! Hey! What are you doing here?” You see Eddie call from behind Buck.

Thank god.

“I left my phone in the ambulance. I figured you’d know what happened to it” you’ve stepped past Buck and towards Eddie now. “I haven’t seen it, but maybe it’s still in there. Come with me, we can check for it”

Eddie was making his way down the stairs and you were behind him when Buck called your name.

Not y/n.

Peach.

You paused, taking a deep breath in before turning to face him. “I thought I remembered you from somewhere” he smiled, him and his stupid smile.

“I’m in a rush, Evan. Plus, I'm not in the mood to reminisce.”

The smile dropped from his face, the guilt crept up on you. The feeling of your stomach twisting, sighing before making your way down to Eddie who was by the ambulance, your phone in hand.

“There’s more to the story than I thought,” Eddie hands the phone over, you give him a hum and thank him. “Let me walk you out.” he follows you out to your car.

“You know, whatever he did- he’s changed. He’s a good guy.” Eddie says, his voice sincere.

“I know, I just- I don't know”

“What did he do? If I can ask”

“We were- I don't know what we were. We hung out in high school, just once but he was different from the other guys. He genuinely cared. We went to a party together and he brought me home after. I remember falling asleep with him in the house and the next morning he was gone. Total radio silence that whole weekend and when I saw him at school the following week, he acted like he didn’t know me - it was like that for the rest of senior year. We never spoke after that.”

Here you were pouring your heart out to a firefighter who you had only met an hour ago who also had seen your bare chest (in a professional way, of course) on a Tuesday morning in the parking lot.

“Wow- I can see why you wouldn’t want to talk to him.”

“Yeah, thank you for the phone though. I gotta get back to work”

“Wait, let me get your number”

You pause, looking at him with furrowed brows. He seemed confused then he realized how that sounded. “Oh god- no not like that, sorry. I meant maybe we could grab a drink sometimes, as friends and maybe you could tell me more about high school Buck ?”

“Um- yes to the number and drinks but I don’t know about Buck” you hand the phone back over to him, telling him that you’d text him.

---

It was a while before you heard from Eddie, he said he was off on Saturday if you were up for drinks and weren't busy. The whole team was going out but he invited you along to join them.

After some back and forth “I couldn't intrude” and “you won’t be, come join us” you finally gave in.

Now it’s 9pm and you, Eddie and Buck are sitting at a booth. Coincidentally, everyone else was busy. Chimney and Hen who you hadn’t met yet, were with their significant others and kids. So that left the 3 of you together.

You wanted to walk back out when you saw it was only the two of them but Eddie had seen you and called you over. His phone buzzed just as Buck came back with drinks.

“Everything okay?” Buck asked his friend, Eddie, still typing away on his phone. “Huh? Yeah, it’s Carla. Chris is running a fever” you could hear the concern in his voice.

“Chris is your son?”

“Yeah- I'm sorry I got to go. I’ll make it up to you. Drinks on me another night” Eddie gave your shoulder a squeeze as he stood.

“No yeah, of course. Go, it’s fine” you smiled.

“Let me know if you need anything” Buck shifts towards Eddie, the two of them seem to have some sort of routine or way of how things work between them.

And now there were two.

Buck sipped on his beer, you sat across from him, your nails tapping against the bottle in front of you. He was the first one to speak.

“So, how have you been?”

“Good. You?”

“Good too. I don’t know if you remember my sister but she had a baby recently so I've been hanging out with her after work”

“Oh, that’s nice. Maddie right?”

“Yeah, she had a little girl. She’s the cutest little girl ever.” Buck pulls his phone out, showing you a photo of him holding a baby in a blanket with a brunette beside him. The woman beside him, Maddie you assumed, was smiling at Buck, fixing the blanket while he looked at the camera, the joy evident on his face.

“She’s adorable and your sister looks the same, she hasn’t aged a day” you hum, passing the phone over to him.

Back to awkward silence.

“What happened to us?” Buck’s question catches you off guard.

“What happened to us? You happened.”

“What? I thought we were friends.” Your eyes met, his full of confusion and yours with displeasure.

��Friends don’t disappear in the middle of the night with no explanation and ignore them for the rest of senior year.” You get up, grab your phone and make your way to the door. Buck’s calling out to you but you don’t want to stop and talk to him.

The night was cold, the wind hit your bare shoulders and you shivered for a moment before walking. Buck was still calling out your name, he had followed you out the bar.

“Y/n! Stop! Y/n, c’mon. Please!” His hand wrapped around your wrist, holding you in place. You pull your hand back.

“No! You don’t get to do that. Act like everything is fine when you disappeared with no explanation. I know we weren’t best friends but I thought we were at least friends. That fucking hurt, Evan.”

“Fine,” he sighs, looking at you. “You want the truth ?” Your brows raised, waiting for him to continue.

“You told me you liked me. You were a good kid, going to Harvard, which you obviously did” gesturing at you, he continued. “I didn’t know what I wanted and I didn’t want you to feel like you needed to be by my side until I figured it out. I knew you would resent me for that and I couldn’t do that to you, I couldn’t do it to myself.”

“That’s selfish. It’s about you ? That’s why you left with no explanation ? You couldn’t do it to yourself ? Man the fuck up Buck, life isn’t about you.”

“You think I don’t know that ?! You think I didn’t think about you all the time? That I didn’t miss you?”

“Don’t start with that shit. You knew where I would be. You said it yourself, I was “a good kid, going to Harvard” so if you really missed me, you could have found me.”

“Y/n, be real. We were just out of high school, what means did I have to go searching for you? I had my own shit to deal with.”

“Just stop, I don’t even want to know.”

“No, you stop”

“No you.”

“Y/n” his voice was stern, the annoyance clearly there.

“Evan.” your tone matched his.

That stupid smug smile of his was on his face, that was enough to make you roll your eyes. “’Kay, I'm over your shit.” turning away from him, you go to walk away but his hand grabs yours.

Still fit like it was made to be there.

Before you could register what was happening, Buck’s lips were on yours. Maybe time stopped when Buck’s lips met yours but your heart didn’t- it felt like it was beating a million times seconds and the butterflies in your stomach were restless.

It wasn't clear to either of you at the moment that it had started pouring rain but it didn’t matter. There was this raw emotion in the way his hands felt on your waist or how his chest was pressed to yours.

Buck would be lying if he said he didn’t open his eyes slightly, sneaking a guilty peek at you just to make sure you weren’t a fiction of his imagination. Every breath he took smelt of lavender and honey, the same scent that had lingered on his mind since the day he met you. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer to him, if that was even possible.

Maybe this was meant to be, fate bringing back what was meant for him to him or maybe this really was all a fabrication of his imagination but he wanted to live in his moment forever.

It wasn't until thunder rumbled that he pulled away. The rain had soaked your clothes and hair, your makeup had smudged and half of your lipstick was on Buck.

The same stupid smug smile on his face.

“God,” rolling your eyes at him. “You’re so annoying.” wiping your lips with the back on your hand, hoping that you got all the lipstick off.

“Yeah, I'm the annoying one” Buck’s face twisted, giving you a playful shove as you stepped towards him. Your thumb comes up to wipe the lipstick off him. Buck’s arm lifts, now over your shoulder.

The two of you looked at each other as you made your way down the street.

“Just a phase huh ?” you hum, glancing at Buck.

The blonde let out a chuckle, “maybe not.”

---

taglist: @advicefromnixxxx @spencersendgame @keenmarvellover @beth-winchester21 @fernandaweasley2 @yikesyikesyikes95 @hotchsdarling @duhbar1975 @wowitsel @mrspeacem1nusone @jillys-feral-fandoms @iris-oaklee-carter-911oc @hailsstormthings @averyhotchner @captainxholmes @venusrosepetal @babybuckleys @looney-literature @caitsymichelle13@artemishunter18 @may-grants @floralbuckleys @mrs-dr-reid

793 notes · View notes