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quiet-onset · 6 months

Text

fever pitch

pairing: michael berzatto x reader

wc: 12.1k+, somebody sedate me

summary: an assortment of your time with michael berzatto

warnings: no use of yn, smut, so minors dni!!!, unprotected sex, sex under the influence, by ext. dubcon since reader is unaware at the time, oral (f receiving), drug use and addiction (character and reader), canonical character death/suicide mention, pregnancy mention (sorry not sorry), please do not read if any of this is triggering for you!!

a/n: beta’d by @brattylyricist bc she has no other choice than to put up with my bs!! also bc the content matter here is triggering and i have personal experience seeing the damage that addiction can do to someone you love, I’m including national hotline phone numbers here. please don’t be afraid to seek help if you need it: national suicide prevention hotline: dial/text 988, substance abuse and mental health services administration: 1-800-662-HELP. again, please do not read this if any of the warnings are triggering for you!!!

The day went by in a blur. You got up, showered, did your hair and makeup. You ate the little breakfast you could stomach. You put on an acceptable black dress and matching high heels.

You drove to the church — tried to sit in the back, but Sugar pulled you to the front pew, right next to her. You stood behind the lectern and said kind, loving words. You drove to the cemetery and watched as his casket was lowered into the cold. And you went to the repass, doing your best to stay out of Donna’s way, knowing how she gets when she’s both sad and under pressure.

But you hadn’t cried.

You sat on the stairs with your wine glass filled with water as everyone mingled, exchanging condolences about your dearly departed. You let your heart ache as you downed the glass, stories of him being told by this person and that.

But you still hadn’t cried.

Donna burst out of the kitchen, her hair a bit disheveled and eyes red from crying. “Have you seen Carmy?”

You couldn’t help but let out a sigh. It must have been the seventh time she had asked. “No, Donna, I have not seen Carmy.”

“What a fuckin’ help you are.” She snapped, pulling a box of cigarettes from her apron. With her other hand, she snatched your empty wine glass and turned on her heel. “I do all this work, and I can’t even go outside to smoke.”

You followed close behind, huffing as you stood. “I thought Sugar was with you.”

“Sugar is with her.” The middle child interrupted. She gave you a weak, empathetic smile when you entered the kitchen behind Donna. A wine glass of her own in hand as she sat on the kitchen counter, she sipped on red wine. “But Sugar can’t cook.”

“Not like Carmy, you can’t. Get your ass off my fuckin’ counter, shoo!” Donna swatted at her daughter’s thigh until she hopped off the counter, snatching her half full wine glass as well. She downed the wine in a couple seconds, and you and Sugar shot each other a look. It was passing, but you both understood the meaning — Donna needed a break.

“She doesn’t have to cook, Donna. Just watch everything. Keep an eye on it, y’know?” You tried to intervene but she was having none of it.

“I don’t need an eye. I need hands! I need someone who can cook!” Donna threw the glasses into the sink, and you flinched when they shattered against the metal. “Fuck!”

“I’ll do it, Donna.” From the shakiness in her hands, you know she’s so close to losing it. To taking everything in the kitchen and throwing it on the ground, at the wall, at whoever she deemed worthy of having something thrown at them. “I know I’m not Carmy, but I’m better than Sug.”

“Hey!” Sugar sounded defensive, but you and Donna barely paid her any mind.

“You can’t fuckin’ cook, Sugar, get over it.” Her mother snapped. “I’d normally have Mikey do it, but he—”

“Ma.” You gently placed your hands on Donna’s shoulders, and a bit of the tension fell from them. You hadn’t called her that in a long time — it no longer felt right — but doing so made her recall happier times. You looked her in the eye, reassured her. “You go outside and smoke. I’ll take over for a few minutes, okay?”

Her eye twitched ever so slightly, and she was still shaking, but you could tell it grounded her a bit. “If everything else goes to shit, make sure the fish is good, alright?”

“Save the fish. Got it.”

Donna nodded, pulling a cigarette out of the box. Then she finally walked toward the exit of the kitchen, twirling it in her hand. Just before she left, she glanced at you again, her voice shaky. “You.. you would’ve been good for him. If he’d let you.”

When Donna left, there were tears in your eyes. Sugar watched to see if you’d need comfort, especially after one of those tears fell from your eye. But you were quick to wipe it away, taking a deep, shuddering breath. You turned to Sugar, gesturing toward the sink filled with broken glass. “Could you…?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” She was quick to do so, grabbing a paper bag to put shards in. You both worked in a comfortable silence. The only sound was the clinking of glass against each other. Sugar battled over whether she wanted to speak, but she figured if she needed kind words, then you definitely did. “Ma’s right, y’know. Michael lo—”

“Sug. Please.”

“Okay.”

There was a pause as you stirred a pot of stew, then you sighed. “I know he did. As much as he could anyway.”

—

Michael met you on a sober streak. He’d been clean for three weeks, the longest stint thus far. When Richie found out about his addiction, he dragged Michael to Narcotics Anonymous. You’re gonna die cooking at the restaurant or doing something cool, not fuckin’ OD, Richie had sneered in the car.

He sat in a chair, his arms crossed over his chest, grumbling like a child. Despite being sober for three weeks, he maintained that he didn’t need to come to these meetings. To Michael, this was just proof that he could quit whenever he wanted to. Regardless, Richie drove him to every meeting and planned to do so until he seemed ready to go on his own.

The host of the meeting, Brayden, greeted Michael with a kind smile, but he responded with a grunt. For three weeks, Michael sat silently in that circle and said absolutely nothing. He wondered what it took to get the man to speak, but of course, he’d never pressure anyone to share before they were ready.

Then you walked in. You seemed a bit more put together than others in the room, but still a bit shy. An oversized sweater wrapped around your frame, and you pulled it even closer, eyes glancing around the room. You nodded a greeting to Brayden before sitting in the circle across from Michael. When you noticed him glancing your way, you offered a friendly smile, and he returned it.

He knew then that he’d return to his weekly NA meetings.

The session started shortly after, but Michael was only half listening. He was mostly glancing back and forth from whoever was speaking to you. He liked the way you gave your full attention to every person who spoke, even when they said things you didn’t agree with — he could tell when you didn’t, a little crease would form for the briefest moment between your brows. But it always disappeared, and your attentive expression returned.

“Alright, would anyone else like to speak? Someone new maybe?” Brayden asked, quickly glancing at Michael.

He’d never admit it, but his heart was pounding at the idea of airing out his dirty laundry to a group of strangers. He took a deep, nervous breath, but then another voice spoke up.

“I’ll go.” You said, watching the relief wash over Michael’s face. You cleared your throat, pulling your sweater closer as you introduced yourself. “I was in a car accident two years ago. It, uh, it killed my son… That plus divorce plus prescribed oxy apparently equals addiction.”

The slightly playful lilt in your tone made Michael chuckle quietly, though you both knew nothing was funny. Your eyes met his, and for a moment, your heart skipped a beat. Still, you continued, “I’ve been sober for two months, but my son’s birthday is coming up in a few months, so I, uh, needed a meeting. But yeah, that’s my story.”

After the meeting, you stood by the snack table, nursing a cup of coffee. Michael approached cautiously as he poured his own coffee. “Can I ask what his name was?”

You looked up from your paper cup into warm brown eyes. “Sorry?”

“Your son?”

“Oh.” You paused, and your heart sank at the reminder that your baby was gone. “His name was Benson.”

He snorted into his coffee cup, trying to hide his quiet laugh by clearing his throat. You noticed the light in his eyes, and it inexplicably made a smile pull at your lips too. “Sorry.” He said. “Benson’s a great name.”

“It’s a dorky name. Dorky first name, anyways. It’s what his father wanted.” You confirmed with a chuckle. “But it was my son’s name. So I liked it.”

“Course.” He smiled at you kindly. He was charming, and you liked it. “I’m Michael, by the way.”

You gave him your name and shook his hand. You went against your better judgment and invited him to your place. You both spent all night wrapped in your sheets, in each other’s embrace. He left for work the next morning but not before getting your phone number.

You texted Michael and arranged to meet up again that night. Then, you called your sponsor.

That was the beginning of the end.

—

“Cousin, your girlfriend’s here!”

“Not his girlfriend, Richie.”

“Not yet.”

“Send her back!” Michael’s voice floated in from the back of the kitchen.

You sidestepped Richie and walked through the kitchen, saying your hellos to everyone. “Where’s he at?” You asked.

“The office.” Tina answered, lightly nudging you in his direction. “He’s not having the best day.”

You nodded your understanding and proceeded to the small office where Michael was leaning back in his chair, hand over his face as he spoke into his cell phone. “No, I just don’t understand why we keep talking about the same shit.”

You leaned against the doorframe, giving him a small smile. He gave you the tiniest acknowledgment, a small wave, before spinning around in the chair to face the wall. You scoffed jokingly, closing the door behind you, “Well, fuck me, I guess.”

“Carmy, you’re a big shot in some fancy, five-star, European restaurant, what the fuck do you wanna be here for?” He asked exasperatedly. There’s a short pause, mumbling from the other side of the phone before Mikey throws a hand in the air. “Five star, three star, who gives a shit? Look, Carmen, you’re doing big things, good things. Stay in Europe. I gotta go.”

When Michael hung up, a long, tired sigh racked his body. “This would be a perfect time for—”

“One month.” You interrupted. You knew all too well where his mind was headed. He was spiraling into that dark, secluded state of mind you’d found him in just a few weeks after you met. He’d relapsed after a particularly hard day at the restaurant, something about finances and paying back a loan that he refused to tell you more about. But you’d helped him then. Picked him up, dusted him off, and called his sponsor — Started him back on the path of sobriety again. If you could help it, he’d never reach that lonely place again.

“One month.” He repeated to himself. Then, he spun around. “Hey.”

“Hey.” You walked over to him, standing between his spread legs. He immediately rested his forehead on your belly, groaning when you carded a hand through his hair. Your other hand rubbed circles into his back, the tense muscles a sharp contrast to his soft black locks. “I take it that was your brother?”

He grunted affirmatively. “Keeps askin’ to work here.”

“At The Beef?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, isn’t he a professional chef? Why don’t you let him?”

“C’mon, sweetheart, you’re supposed to be on my side.” He grumbled, pulling you down to sit on his thigh.

“I am on your side.” You chuckled. You took your thumb and rubbed gently at the spot between his eyes until the frustrated crease disappeared. “‘M just saying, he’s a trained chef, this is a restaurant. I don’t get what’s not adding up for you, baby.”

Michael sighed, looking up at you. He brushed a stray hair from your face and smiled up at you. You smiled back encouragingly, patiently waiting until he found the right words. “Carm doesn’t know.” He admitted.

“Carm doesn’t know…?”

“About the painkillers. And I don’t know if I’m ready to tell him.” His brow furrowed once more, making you frown. “I mean, he’s got three Michelin stars. The kid’s a fuckin’ genius in the kitchen — he doesn’t need to be around all this shit, all my shit.”

You let his words sink in, deep in thought as you stroked his hair. Your bottom lip caught between your teeth, you thought about all the stories Mikey and Richie told you about the youngest Berzatto. How he could be quiet and unassuming, but, with a little encouragement, always came out of his shell around family and friends. Maybe, for Carmen, it wasn’t about the restaurant.

“Maybe he just wants to see you.” You said pensively. “I mean it’s been how long since he’s been home?”

A scoff passed Michael’s lips. “A long fuckin’ time.”

“Maybe the restaurant is a pretense. I mean, he would come work at The Beef and stuff, but maybe he just wants to see you again. Hang out with his big brother like he used to.”

His thumb stroked your thigh as he looked at you, silently admired the way you seem to come in and make all his problems melt away with a single thought, a word, a smile. “What about the whole bein’ an addict part?” He asked.

“You don’t have to tell him right away.” You suggested. “Baby steps.”

“You are too fuckin’ good to me, y’know that?” He grinned back at you. When you rolled your eyes playfully, he pinched your side, making you jolt and laugh.

You pulled his arm around your waist, settling your hands at the nape of his neck. “So, you’re letting your brother work at the restaurant?”

“How ‘bout we just start with a visit, hm? I’ll tell him to come home for a week or somethin’, stay at mine.” He compromised. “Baby steps.”

“Oh, I’m so proud of you.” You cooed playfully, pinching his stubbly cheeks.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He swatted your hands away, leaning forward to press wet kisses to the column of your neck. He smirked as you suddenly ceased your pinching, bracing your hands on his shoulders. “You should let me return the favor, sweetheart.”

“Not in your office!” You gasped when he bit down on the juncture between your neck and shoulder before soothing it with his tongue.

“Why not?” He chuckled, lifting you onto his desk. He probably should have been a little more worried about his records and papers getting folded under the swell of your ass, but all he could focus on was the small strip of fabric covering the part of you he wanted to devour. “Wouldn’t you prefer I be addicted to my girl than painkillers?”

“That’s not, ah,” You jolted above him, the sensation of his thumb pressing into your sensitive clit knocking you back to your elbows, “That’s not funny, Mikey.”

“What’s Brayden say?” He muttered, pulling your panties to the side. His fingers expertly tugs your lips apart, and he pressed a soft teasing kiss to your hood-covered button. “Humor’s my coping mechanic.”

“M-mechanism.” The correction came out in a soft moan. Just then, his words hit you — his girl. He’d never said that before. All the times you’d kissed, made out, had sex, he’d never called you his girl. You liked the way it sounded, the way it rolled off his tongue effortlessly. “Your girl?”

“Yeah.” He pulled away, his hands finding your calves as he looked at you. His brown irises held the tiniest bit of vulnerability in them, an emotion reserved for you and you only. “I mean, if you wanna be. Do you?”

You smiled and encircled his wrists, tenderly stroking his skin with your thumbs. It was a simple touch, but it made the hairs on his arm stand at attention. Strange how you always managed to do that. “Of course I do.”

“Good.” He exhaled. His large hands slid up your inner thighs, pausing at your core. With a gentle touch, he tugged your folds apart, watching the way your entrance fluttered. His mouth dropped open, and he let his saliva drip down onto your pussy, rubbing it into your clit with the pad of his thumb. “Now, get comfy, sweetheart, ‘cause I missed this pretty little pussy.”

—

“Where is it? Where is it? Where the fuck is it?”

You’d torn your apartment apart. Old storage boxes that gathered dust were now open and emptied. Your clothes were thrown all over the place. You managed to push the couch and check the floor, but you found nothing but crumbs and linty hair ties.

Tears started to blur your vision, and your chest felt heavy, like the entire world sat directly on your lungs. Your breath was just as shaky as your hands that tugged at the roots of your hair. You ran to your mess of a kitchen and scrambled for your phone, typing the familiar number from memory.

Your ex-husband answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Where’s Eli?” You heard him call your name, but his confusion was the last thing on your mind. “Benson’s stuffed cow, Eli. Where is it? I can’t find it.”

He sighed, his voice lower and more scratchy than you remembered. He must’ve been crying, too, you thought. “How am I supposed to know?”

“You helped me move out. Did you take it? I swear to god—”

“I didn’t take the damn cow.” He snapped. “Do you think I’m that selfish that I would keep it from you?”

“I didn’t call to rehash our marriage, alright? I need Eli, okay? I need him.”

The line went silent. You both knew you weren’t talking about the stuffed animal anymore. He let out a deep breath. “Have you tried therapy?”

“I don’t need to pay a bunch of money to have someone tell me I need to get over the death of our child.” You hissed, scrunching your nose at the suggestion.

“Have you been to his grave?”

You wiped your tears away, thinking about the cold, unfeeling stone that solidified your son’s death. You hadn’t seen it since the funeral. You took a shaky breath, “Do you have Eli or not?”

“I don’t.”

He tried to speak once more, but you already hung up. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe without this one piece of your son. Tears dropped onto your phone screen as you scrolled and scrolled through your contacts, finding the name you were looking for. The line rang three times before a deep voice greeted you. “What’s up?”

“I need to see you. Where can we meet?”

Hours later, Michael was walking toward his apartment building with Carmy. He’d been purposefully avoiding bringing up The Beef, and luckily Carmy didn’t push. Instead, his little brother decided to bring up the little stuffed animal that Michael had pushed into his jacket pocket. “So,” Carmy started quietly, “You startin’ a collection with that thing or…?”

“Shut the fuck up.” Michael laughed. He pulled the stuffed cow out of his pocket. “It’s my girl’s. Remember I told you about her son?”

“Yeah.”

“Sometimes she likes to talk to me about him. She brought this over to my place a few weeks ago to show me. Apparently, the kid was obsessed with cows.”

“No shit. Look at you, bein’ vulnerable.” Carmy chuckled in amazement, admiring his brother’s new relationship.

“Yeah, whatever. The, uh, anniversary of his death is coming up, and she’ll probably be wanting this, so you can meet her while you’re here if she’s feeling up to it. Sound good?”

“‘F course.”

When Michael unlocked the front door, he was met with chaos. The front door banged into the coat closet door, somehow left open with coats strewn across the floor. The rug in his living room was flipped over, and the couch was now far from the wall. Michael was only brought back to reality by the stunned woah that passed through Carmy’s lips.

Somehow, Michael knew. He wasn’t a mind reader, but he remembered that feeling. A feeling that bubbled in the pit of his stomach, traveling throughout his body until it pounded at his head. It was dread, hopelessness, not knowing how he’d find the strength to take another breath. He knew, and he needed to help you.

“Di-Did someone break into your house or something?” Carmy asked, closing the door behind him.

“Just stay here for a second, little brother, okay?” Michael’s voice was dismissive, preoccupied, as he followed the trail of despair into the kitchen.

And there you sat. Red eyes, swollen from crying. Head lulling from side to side and your heart almost numb enough to keep the darkness from creeping in and making a home, uninvited, in the hole of your chest. Your arms circled around your knees that you’d drawn up to your chest, hugging them close. Maybe, if you squeezed hard enough, you could stop grieving and move on.

Michael approached slowly, like you were a wounded animal. “Baby?”

“I couldn’t stop myself.”

“We don’t have to—”

“Please don’t hate me.”

He crouched down in front of you, steadied your head with a firm hand on your cheek. His warm, calloused skin helped to ground the thoughts in your fuzzy head. He looked you in the eyes, bold and sincere, just as you had when he relapsed. “I could never hate you. Never, you hear me?”

You paused for a moment before trying to explain. “I couldn’t find Eli, and I just- I started going fucking crazy—”

“Eli?” He asked, pulling the stuffed cow from his pocket. “Sweetheart, I have Eli. You left him the time you came over a couple weeks ago, and I was gonna take him back to yours.”

Michael thought the knowledge would console you, warm your heart enough to give him just the tiniest hint of a smile. But you just threw your head back frustratedly, the impact against the wall causing a dull pain to crash through the back of your skull. “Fuck.”

“Baby, why—”

“I’m so stupid.”

“You’re no—”

Tears gathered once more. “If I had just called you… I’m an idiot.”

“Hey,” He regained your attention, this time with both hands holding your face steady. “You’re not stupid. You’re not an idiot. You just made a mistake, ‘s all.”

“I fucking relapsed, Michael.”

“I’ve relapsed, and look at me, huh? Picture of a healthy, law-abiding citizen.”

“Michael.”

“You’ll start over. Just like I did. Here, give me your phone.” You dug around in your pocket and pulled out your phone, handing it to him. He turned the screen toward you so you could watch as he scrolled through your contacts until he found your dealer’s name. Then, with zero hesitation, he blocked the number. “See? Good as new, yeah?”

If tears could show your appreciation, you’d have cried an ocean’s worth. But the most you could do was throw your heavy arms around his shoulders and press a chaste kiss to the base of his neck. To you, nothing you could ever do or say would be enough, but to Mikey? If he could take your burdens and make them his own, carry the weight of your world on his back, he’d do it without a second thought. Your appreciation wasn’t needed — only your love. And he knew he had that.

“Uh, Mikey?” Carmen’s voice called from the living room. “What the fuck is this?”

Michael reluctantly untangled himself from you for a moment, signaling for you to stay quiet. But you knew what was in there — you’d left the needle on his coffee table. Immediately, you could hear Mikey try to calm his brother down. “Carmen, it’s not what you think.”

“You sure? ‘Cause that looks like a fuckin’ needle. Jesus Christ, are you—”

“I’m not high, Carm, just listen for a second.”

“Listen to what?” His voice got louder, more angry. “Michael, are you fuckin’ serious? You know this family has… issues and this is what you do? Fucking shit!”

“Hey, relax, alright? You’re making a big deal out of nothin’.”

“Nothing? If you’re getting high, it is a big deal. A huge fuckin’ deal.” Carm pushed his brother on the chest, hoping it’ll knock some sense into him. And Michael, he just curled his fists, restraining himself. The last thing he wanted was to lose control on his own brother. Carmen took a step toward, pointing one accusatory finger.

But before he could get a word out, a small voice, your voice, stopped him. “It’s not his.”

Icy blue eyes met yours as he took in your disheveled frame. You stood in the entrance of the living room, leaning against the threshold to hold yourself up. The high was starting to wear off a little, but you still felt the lingering effects. You tried to give him a smile, but a weary sigh passed through your lips. “Hi Carmen. I’m sorry, this isn’t how I wanted to meet you.”

Carmen looked back and forth from you to Michael. His eyes narrowed as his breath started to even out, confusion replacing anger. “You’re the girlfriend, yeah?” He finally asked, confirming your name.

You nodded, gauging his reaction as he let it all sink in. “I had been sober for a while, so I asked your brother not to say anything. But today was- today was hard.”

“Right,” The younger brother nodded, finally taking a step back and pushing his hands deep into his pockets. “Uh, sorry for your loss, by the way.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“So, Michael isn’t… he’s not using…?” He knew the words, knew the question he wanted to ask. But he was so afraid, so terrified of what the answer might be.

You knew the answer. It would have been less than savory, admitting that Michael was also an addict and had relapsed more than once since you met. The truth was potentially earth-shattering for Carmen and Michael alike. You glanced over at Michael, at how he hid the fear from his eyes. Still, you see it. In the way his hand flexed at his side, and how he refused to look in your direction. It’s almost like he knew what was coming if you told the truth, that he might have lost his brother for good.

That fear broke your heart. So, you lied. Took your blame and a little on the side. “No. No, just me.”

You excused yourself back to the kitchen to hide your tears. You hugged Eli close, burying the stuffed animal under your nose.

It smelled like Michael.

—

That fucking fork.

Fuck forks. Fuck Christmas dinner. Fuck all seven fishes. Fuck Pete’s eighth fish. And, above all, fuck Michael.

Chaos ensued after Michael gave in to his self-destructive tendencies. He all but flipped the table over in an effort to fight. Fak was making sure Sugar and Pete got out unscathed. Carmy practically begged his mother to stay out of it, and she only relented when her eldest son started making taunting braying noises — she retreated to the kitchen with a cigarette and the bottle of merlot in hand.

You gave up trying to help Michael calm down when he wretched himself from your grip, nearly knocking you into a wall in the process. Richie rushed over to help steady you, and Carmy, over all the chaos, called your name, “Yo, are you alright?”

“Peachy.” You called back sarcastically, rubbing your sore arm.

Carmen then turned his attention to his brother. “Michael, shut the fuck up for two seconds, for fuck’s sake! If you don’t calm down, you’re gonna hurt someone!”

“Kinda the point, little brother.” Michael’s eye twitched as he glared at Lee. He tried once more to push past Jimmy to no avail.

“Yeah? Was hurting your girl part of the point, smartass?”

Michael turned to you, the anger in his eyes slowly overtaken with concern. He hadn’t meant to push you; he didn’t even know you were one of the people trying to hold him back. But that didn’t take back his actions. Your gaze went cold as you pulled away from Richie, pushing Michael hard on the chest. “I’m not his fucking girl anymore.”

Then, you hightailed it out of the house. Everyone went silent as you peeled out of the driveway, rubber squealing against pavement.

Richie watched Michael carefully, noticing how his brow furrowed and his chest heaved. He took a step toward him and dropped a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Mikey,” Richie warned, “Don’t do anything stupid.” Michael pulled away and stomped his way up the stairs, leaving Richie to call after his best friend from the dining room.

Over Richie’s voice, Carmen could hear his mother sobbing in the kitchen followed by the soft glug of wine as she turned the bottle up. And immediately, he followed after his older brother. Richie tried to stop him, “Cousin, he just needs a minute.”

“Yeah, just a minute?” Carmen replied dismissively. “Fuck off, cousin, he’s not a baby.”

He pushed open every door looking for Mikey. Finally, he came upon one door that wouldn’t budge, locked from the inside. Carmy pounded on the bathroom door. “Yo, what the fuck was that?”

“Go away, Carmen.” Mikey paced the bathroom floor, hands pulling at the roots of his hair. He wished he had an answer for his brother, but he came up short. Maybe it was pride, or ego, or his innate tendency to self-destruct, he couldn’t choose. So he just paced the floor, avoiding the sight of his own reflection.

“Mikey, you need to go downstairs and fix this shit, alright?” Carmy continued. “Ma’s drinking herself stupid, Sug’s a mess, your girl just fuckin’ left, c’mon man.”

“Hey, you think I don’t know that?” The older brother hissed.

He braced himself on the sink, finally looking up into the mirror. He looked disheveled, angry. His hair was messy from pulling at it, and the whites of his eyes had a red tint to them. One prominent vein pulsed in his forehead, and suddenly, the need set in.

His head is fuzzy, brain pounding at his skull. So many thoughts, too many, clouding his head. He lifted his hand to push away a few strands of his hair, limp with sweat, and he realized that his hand was shaking. Even as he closed his fingers into a fist, it trembled like an earthquake. He blinked hard, eyes scrambling as he tried to think of a quick solution, a way to gather himself before he faced his little brother again.

Carmy was quiet as he started to think maybe he should have listened to Richie. “Mikey?”

No answer.

“Mikey, look, I’m sorry—”

The door flung open, and Carmy studied him. His hair was pushed back. His eyes were red, but Carmy assumed Mikey must’ve been crying. Everything seemed right, but there was something he couldn’t place. Something about his big brother that was very wrong. “Nothing to be sorry for, Carm.” Michael told him, one big hand on his shoulder. “I gotta go.”

When Michael started booking it downstairs, Carmy was quick on his trail. “Wait, go? Go where?”

Michael responded with a call of your name, “Gotta make sure she’s good.”

Carmy ran a hand through his golden brown locks as he followed his older brother out the front door. Their sister noticed the argument and followed them out the door, “Whoa, hey, what’s going on?”

“Nothing, Sug, go back inside.” Michael stopped for the briefest moment to turn around and place a kiss on his sister’s forehead.

“He’s leavin’.” Carmy sighed frustratedly.

“He’s leaving?” Sugar turned to Michael. “You’re leaving?”

“Fuckin’ snitch.” Michael mumbled under his breath. He squeezed Sug’s arm with a tight smile, “I’m just goin’ to find my girl, okay? I’ll be back, I promise.”

“How are you even going to find her?” Carm scoffed.

“You know her password, right?” Sug asked her eldest brother. “I wouldn’t normally say this, but you could track her phone. Here, give me yours.”

“What about Ma?” Carmy threw his arms up in defeat. Michael was the one who started all that mess, and now that it was time to pick up the pieces, where did he go? Chasing you. Like always, Carm thought to himself. “You’re the only one who can get through to her when she’s all…” He waved his hands around as if the devastating words he was looking for would magically appear.

“Well, you’re home, ain’t you? She missed you — just sit with her till I get back, alright? I gotta go.”

And just as quickly Mikey was off too, running toward the closest train station.

If there were ever a time for oxy, that would’ve been it. But instead, you drove and drove and drove until the tank was damn near empty. You pulled into a parking lot and called your sponsor. She talked you down, persuading you to delete your dealer’s contact information in your phone. When the long conversation was over, you were still angry, furious even, but you’d at least lost interest in relapsing.

Knock knock knock.

You jumped in the driver’s seat when calloused knuckles tapped on the car window. Michael wasted no time in starting an argument. “What the hell were you thinkin’, leavin’ like that?” He yelled, voice only slightly muffled by the barrier.

“How did you even find me?”

“Sugar showed me how to track your phone.”

“You tracked my phone?”

“Open the fuckin’ door.”

You pushed the door open and got out of the car, deciding your best course of action would be to walk away from him. “Leave me alone, Michael.”

“Where are you goin’?” He was quick to follow you as you walked down the street, just a few strides behind.

“Leave me alone.”

“What’s the plan here, huh?” He asked. “You just gonna keep walkin’ till your feet fall off?”

“No, just till I’m away from you, Michael.” You retorted coldly.

“Hey, stop calling me that.”

“That’s your name!”

“Not to you! To you it’s Mikey, or baby, or my love, not fuckin’ Michael!”

“Fuck you, Michael!” You caught him off guard when you spun around, poking your index finger into his chest. “You couldn’t just let it be. You had to ruin Christmas for the whole fucking family!”

“Why do you care so much, huh?”

“Why do I— Jesus, do you even hear yourself? You do nothing but ruin shit for yourself for no goddamn reason! No one forced you to throw that fork!”

Michael scoffed and ran his hand over his lips, his warm breath evaporating into the cold air as he raised his voice again. “So we’re gonna pretend that’s why you’re upset? Because of the fork?”

“I’m upset because you ruined any chance at having a good Christmas with our family!”

“They’re not our fuckin’ family.” He laughed, though no traces of humor could be found in his eyes. “They’re mine! Okay? I’m the fuckin’ Berzatto, not you.”

Your eyes widened at his words. You parted your lips to retort, but he just kept going, slicing your heart in two with expert precision.

“You wanna act like the- the chaos bothers you, but you thrive on that shit — You’re just in a shitty mood because you miss your own family, and now that you can’t replace them with mine, you want some fuckin’ oxy to ease the pain, ain’t that right?”

Smack!

You’d never hit Michael before, never wanted to. Like any couple, you had your share of fights and passive aggressive comments. One thing you two never did, though, was weaponize your addictions against each other. It was an unsaid invisible line that had never been crossed until now. Michael Berzatto, the man you loved more than life itself, had never been so mean. At least not to you.

It happened faster than you expected, your small hand reaching up and slapping across his stubbly cheek. He just stood there, eyes dark and slightly angry, but you weren’t afraid. You were furious, hot tears filling your eyes. “Fuck you.”

You slapped him again. And again. Then, you beat on his chest with your fists. Michael started trying to swat your hands away, but when that proved ineffective, he caught your wrists in his hands, yanking you into a nearby alley, away from the night’s few prying eyes.

“Stop, stop.” He grunted when you landed another smack to his head, finally pinning you up against the nearby brick wall by your wrists. “Stop.”

“I hate you.” You spat.

“No, you don’t.”

You continued to fight against his grip, but he was strong and steady, keeping you in place as you continued to tell him how much you despise him. He knew he was wrong, but he refused to say it. After all the shit that went down that night with his family, with you, he felt like he was going crazy. It was like he was abandoned in the middle of the ocean in a boat with a tiny hole. And even though the hole was small, it was so methodically cut that water was pouring in like a faucet, and the boat was sinking. So he grabbed onto the only lifeline he was certain would be there: you.

You, with the most beautiful eyes that were now filled with angry tears. You, the hero of all his dreams and the victim in all his nightmares. You, whose heart was so broken, so crumbled when he met you, yet still managed to love him with all your being.

He loved you.

It all hit him at once, and he gently pressed his lips to yours. You turned your head away from him, rasping out your hatred once more. “I hate you.”

“You don’t.” His voice was deep and rough, but the tone was soft. Was he even talking to you?

“Yes, I fucking do.”

His lips trailed across your jawline, wet kisses placed on his path. “No, you don’t.”

You hated how easily he was able to do this to you, like pushing a button. You were supposed to be angry with him. You were angry with him. But your body didn’t care about the argument. Your body slowly gave up the fight against his grip, wanting the heat that his touch produced, your emotions be damned. A few tears fell from your eyes just as a soft moan slipped past your lips, an instinctive response to the way Michael’s body pressed yours against the wall, his growing length pressed into your hip.

He slipped a leg between yours, pushing his denim-covered thigh into your pussy. You could feel a wave of arousal soaking your panties. “You’re mean, Michael.”

“I know, baby. I know.” He admitted quietly.

He used his grip on your wrists to gently pull your hands to your breasts. He pressed your hands in before covering them with his own, helping you knead the sensitive flesh. Even beneath your layers, you could feel his touch, and it made you whimper. His deft thumb ran over your hardening nipples, and a soft groan tumbled from his lips. “Just let me make you feel good.”

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you noted his acknowledgement. And his lack of apology.

He kept up his movements, moving your hands to squeeze your breasts, pressing his thigh into your weeping pussy. Somewhere along the way, your hips began to rock back and forth on him. His brown eyes never left yours, even as you cried. It was strange, how your heart hurt so badly that tears fell freely down your face, but your body was pushed closer and closer to the edge.

Still, you gasped for breath as the pleasure began to creep out of your core. “Mi- Mikey,” You moaned. “Please!”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, baby. Let it all out.”

And it all came out at once, sobs pushing past your lips as euphoria crashed over your body in waves. You clenched around nothing, head tipping back to hit the brick wall. But you never felt the cold brick — one of Michael’s hands left your breast to cup the back of your head, the protective gesture juxtaposing the unending push of his thigh into your pussy to help ride out your orgasm.

Even as your orgasm faded away, your hips continued to buck against him. Your hands found a new home on his broad chest, trailing down, down, down until you felt the leather of his brown belt. You wasted no time in unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his jeans, sliding the zipper down so you could easily reach into his briefs and pull his cock out. He moaned at your firm grasp, hips bucking into your touch.

Everything moved much quicker now, more desperate than before. You stroked his cock, spreading his precum along the shaft. His forehead pressed against yours as he stared at the way your smaller hand worked him over, twisting over the head on every downward stroke. “Fuck, that’s good.” He groaned.

“Help me.” You whined needily as you thrust your hips against his thigh once more, hoping he’d get the message.

He nodded quickly, kneeling down in front of you. His big hands slide up your thighs under your jean skirt, flipping the rough fabric up over your belly. Your legs were covered by sheer black stockings, a layer of protection from the cold winter chill. But neither of you could bear to wait, to take them off properly. He tore a large hole in the crotch and pushed your panties to the side, muttering curses at how your arousal shone in the moonlight.

“Perfect fuckin’ cunt, sweetheart.” He pushed his index finger through your swollen lips, collecting your juices before slipping into your twitching hole. “Can you take two for me?”

He didn’t bother to wait for an answer. He pushed his middle finger in on the second thrust, curving them to press on that spongy spot on your upper wall that you can never reach yourself. You cried out his name, and your back arched off the wall. His fingers were bigger than yours, thicker too, but they still didn’t fill you the way that you needed.

You whimpered when he wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking firm and hard. “Want your cock, Mikey. Want- oh shit!”

Your orgasm was hard and unexpected, pulling you under before you could even tell him to fuck you. Your legs buckled, and you buried your hands in his thick, black hair to ground yourself. A muffled moan came from between your legs when you tugged on the roots, trying to pull him off your sensitive clit.

He finally relented, pulling away from you and pushing his fingers, soaked in you, into his mouth. He licked them clean without hesitation, only stopping when you tugged on his wrist. You pulled him in by his shirt, kissing him. It was deep and passionate, proving what you both knew to be true.

You didn’t hate him. Maybe you wanted to, but you didn’t. Or maybe couldn’t is the better word.

He cupped your face with both his large hands, wiping away any remnants of tears from your earlier sobs. His tongue licked into your mouth as you moaned, tasting the sweet tang of your juices in his saliva. You reached down to stroke his cock again, and he crowded you closer to the wall. “Want you inside.” You whispered.

“I know, baby.”

His open jeans impeded his efforts to get closer to you, buttons, zipper, and belt now in the way. His hands hurried to push the waistband of his open jeans down and out, ignoring how the frosty air raised goosebumps on his skin. His belt buckle jingled loudly, and something clattered to the pavement, but you could only focus on getting him inside you. His hands returned to your face, making you keep your gaze on his.

You pushed his cock through your pussy lips, let your arousal messily coat his shaft until it was all over your inner thighs. Both your panting was the only thing you could hear over the wet sounds of his length sliding between your swollen lips. You whined when the head of his dick bumped against your clit.

“Guide me in, sweetheart.” He told you, eyes locked on yours. “Take what you want.”

His head, already weeping with precum, nudged at your entrance, and you canted your hips up until the first few inches sunk inside. You lifted your leg around his hip in an attempt to take more of him, but it wasn’t enough on your own. Finally, he pressed forward, fully sheathing his cock within your soft walls. All the while, Michael held your face between his hands, gazing deep into your eyes as you whimpered. “There you are.” He groaned softly. “My girl.”

Your heart twisted at his words. How could he even say that? After saying the most vile things to you, what made him believe that you’d still be his? He nudged his hips forward a bit, and the tip just barely kissed your cervix, shooting a strange blend of pain and pleasure up your spine. You shook your head, hands grasping at his arms to steady yourself. “No, I… I- fuck, Mikey, I hate you so much.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.” You moaned pathetically, still seething, angry enough to lie through your teeth just to give him a glimpse of the pain he caused you. Your nails dug into the thick fabric of his coat as he began to move, thrusting in and out of your cunt. The alley practically echoed with squelching sounds, and anyone walking by would know what was going on in those shadows. But neither of you could bring yourselves to care, lips falling apart as your sensitive walls clamped down on his length.

“You don’t fuckin’ say that to me.” He repeated with a grunt, leaving the tiniest pat on your cheek to regain the attention of your eyes rolling in pleasure. “You love me. Know you do. ‘S — shit, you’re so tight — ‘s the only thing I’m goddamn sure of, you hear me?”

One hand left your cheek to wrap around your thigh, pulling your leg higher around his hip. He thrusted again with renewed strength before looking down to where you both connected. The sight made the pit of his stomach flip deliciously: the slightly tanned base of his cock coated with a creamy white ring, little strands of your wetness dangling between you both when he dared to pull his hips away. “Fuckin’ takin’ my dick so well, baby.” He bit his lip, his voice sounding almost entranced. “Squeezin’ like you don’t want me to leave.”

“Good thing I’m not goin’ anywhere.” He continued, groaning when your hands slid up his back and into his hair. You pulled hard, and his thrusts faltered ever so slightly. His other hand left your cheek to brace himself against the wall, and his head fell into the crook of your neck, puffs of his hot breath warming your skin.

“You can’t keep doing this shit, M-Mikey. Can’t take your shit out on me.” You mewled as he adjusted his grip on you, pushing you closer to the wall. He left you no space to squirm when his hips started to move faster, his cock bullying its way in and out of your soft, puffy folds to nudge against the spongy spot on your upper wall. You cried out as that unique sensation shot pleasure to every nerve ending in your body, “Fuck, right there!”

“I got you, sweetheart, that’s it.” He responded in kind, adjusting his stance just right so he could drag the notch of his cockhead along your G-spot with every thrust. “Right there, yeah?”

“Oh my god, don’t stop. You’re gonna make me come!”

Michael lifted his head from your neck, meeting your eyes again. They were dark, glazed over, as he slowed his hips, still moving but not enough to finish you off. You felt his cock twitch inside you, and he knew it wouldn’t be long until he flooded your insides with his release, but he wanted to hear you say it: he wanted you to take back your words. “Say you don’t mean it.”

Your pussy fluttered around him in tandem with the whine spilling past your lips. “Mikey—”

“You don’t hate me. You love me. Say it.” He punctuated each sentence with a nudge against your G-spot, soft and tempting.

“N-no, you,” You heaved out a shuddering breath when his fingertips met your swollen clit, rubbing in tight, slow, torturous circles. “You’re being unfair. You- oh my god, yes - you can’t be n-nasty to me and—”

“Just say it for me, baby.” He mumbled against your lips. He was practically begging you to take it back, but, of course, Michael Berzatto would never stoop to such lengths. So, he kept rubbing your clit and nudging your G-spot, punching the breath out of you with his thick cock. “Promise I’ll make you come. I’ll make it so fuckin’ good for you. Just need to hear it.”

And, of course, as you always did, you gave in. “I didn’t mean it.” You admitted breathlessly. “I love you.”

The tension visibly rolled off his shoulders as his head dropped to your breasts, pounding your cunt as you moaned beneath him. “Fuck, I love you, too, baby. Love you so fuckin’ much, it hurts.” He groaned into your skin.

“Mikey, ‘m close!” You gasped, the assault on your cunt and clit too much to bear.

“Wanna feel you squeeze my cock, sweetheart.” He huffed, nails digging into your thighs, your stockings providing no refuge from the dull pain. “Show me how much you love me, c’mon.”

And then, white-hot, earth-shattering pleasure. You nearly blacked out as you clenched around him, stars burning into supernovas behind your eyelids. Your fluttering walls begged him to stay buried deep inside you. Back arched against the wall, your breasts pushed closer to his face, and he didn’t bother lifting up, resting his cheek on the soft fabric that covered your warm flesh as he fell over the edge with you. He groaned out your name as he shot thick spurts of his warm, sticky come inside you. He knew he’d never come so much in his life, only lifting his head when he heard louder squelching noises from where you both connected.

As he thrusted, slow and deep, the white creamy juices that once only circled the base of his cock dribbled out of your pussy, around the sides of his length. A bit slid down your thigh, and his eyes rolled back, reveling in how his balls pulsed with pleasure at the sight.

His whole body relaxed as you both rode out the waves of pleasure. As you came down from your orgasm, your head lolled to the side. Your eyes fluttered closed as you cherished his weight on top of you. When your eyes opened, your vision was still a tad blurry, but you blinked through the fog.

There was something bright on the ground. It was small, cylindrical, and… red? No — it was orange.

“What’s that?”

Michael hummed in response, his speech a bit slurred. “What’s what?”

He lifted his head from your breasts, following your gaze. And he froze, eyes stuck on the tiny bottle of painkillers he’d swiped from his mother’s medicine cabinet after you left. It must have fallen from his pocket when he opened his jeans.

“Are you high right now?”

Michael almost cringed at your whisper. It was different from all your yelling and slapping and arguing before. You were just mad then, and he knew that he could win you over like he had a million times before. This time, it was sad. Cold. Disappointed.

He wasn’t sure if he could come back from that.

You wriggled beneath him until you could push him away, watching him stumble a bit. He was no longer standing tall, a bit slouched, and he swayed aimlessly from side to side. With the way he was fucking you, his blood was pumping, so they must just now be kicking in at full force. You knew — you were certain of the answer, but you wanted to hear it from him.

“Michael. Are you high?”

He had just enough of his wits left to take a step toward you with remorse in his voice, “Baby, I—”

You held up a hand, taking a step away from him. “I… I’ll call Richie. You can stay with him tonight. Or your mother, I don’t….” He called your name again as you fixed your panties and pulled your skirt back down over your ass. “I can’t do this with you right now, Michael.”

You waited for a moment. For what, you weren’t sure. An apology? An explanation? An unremorseful tirade? Part of you would have even been okay with a fight.

But he just leaned against the brick wall, unable to support himself on his own any longer. He clumsily tucked his softening length back into his pants and mumbled his short reply, a correction. “‘S Mikey.”

Snow began to fall in time with your tears. You drew your coat closer, and turned your back to him. “I’m going home.”

—

“Besides work, how’ve you been feeling?”

“I don’t know, just extremely tired all the time. But what else is new, y’know?”

“And how’s your love life?”

“This is your way of asking if I’m still sleeping with Michael.”

“Well, are you?”

You let out a scoff as you adjusted your position on the couch. Your therapist, Deborah, watched you with knowing eyes as you sat against the arm of the couch, offhandedly pulling a throw pillow into your lap. Your index finger wrapped endlessly around the fringe as you carefully mulled over your words. “Well, I haven’t relapsed in almost a year and a half.”

“That’s good.” She smiled. “Also not what I asked.”

“Okay, I’m still seeing him. Or, sleeping with him.”

“So, it’s not a relationship?”

“No.”

“Do you want it to be?”

You paused. You thought about the possibilities of what could have been — of what once had been. Dates, family dinners, shared apartment. Maybe you’d have gotten married and had kids. You’d have brought them up to be better, to break the cycle of whatever crazy shit made you both the way you were. But you also had to accept who he was.

You replied, “No.” It was a lie, and Deborah knew that, but you played it off anyway.

She leaned forward, setting her notepad down and resting her elbows on her knees. “Is he still using?”

You nodded reluctantly, “He says he’s not. And he hasn't been high around me since the, uh, Christmas dinner thing last year. But I’ve seen it… pill bottles lying around. Prescriptions that aren’t his.”

You trail off, once again running through what might have been. Would Michael still be sober if you stayed with him? Were you the only thing keeping him from losing his mind? Were you to blame? Your finger slowed around the fringe, heart aching in your chest.

Deborah gave you a cautionary look, like she could read your mind. “Stop it.”

You sighed, “But what if—”

“Michael is a grown man. His sobriety is his responsibility, and his alone. Just like yours.” She repeated the same words that she did almost every session, reminding you that you were not at fault. “I know it hurts, and it’s okay to let it, but you cannot blame yourself for his decisions.”

“I just- I miss him. How he used to be. But if this is all I can get…” You feel pathetic for even admitting it, but it was the truth.

Deborah watched you carefully, knowing that there wasn’t much she could do but advise you. You were going to see Michael whether it was a good idea or not. So she figured you should know what you’re really getting into. She leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “Do you know what codependency is?”

Your brow furrowed, “No, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

“It’s when two people depend on each other in an unhealthy way. Usually, one person learns to placate the other, keep them calm, while the other person continues unhealthy behaviors because they know their partner will be there to help them when it gets too bad.”

“Okay, I see where you’re going here. It’s not healthy for me—”

“It’s not healthy for either of you.” She clarified. “I know you love Michael. And I’m sure he loves you as much as he can. But I think the best way for you to help him and yourself — if that’s what you want to do — is to stop enabling him.”

Stop enabling him.

That’s all you could think about for the rest of the session. Those three words terrified you. How would he react if you put your foot down, if you said this needed to stop? What if he never spoke to you again? You loved him, the man that put your heart back together when it was in a million shattered pieces. You were lost, unsure of how to handle the situation.

Twenty minutes later, when you left your therapist’s office, your phone dinged with a text. It was Michael, as usual;

u busy tonight? wanna see u.

And of course, you gave in. But not without thinking up a plan. You took a deep breath and typed out your reply:

meet me in the parking lot off fourth street at 7:30. wanna take u somewhere.

And you tried to hold out, you really did. But no sooner than you arrived, Michael’s lips were on your neck, sucking and licking, making it hard to think. Before you could even remember Deborah’s warning, you were in the backseat of his car, fogging up the windows as you bounced up and down on his cock. “‘M gonna come!” You warned him.

“Go on, sweetheart.” He encouraged with a groan, strong hands plastered flat against your sweaty back. “Tight cunt’s gonna pull the come right outta me.”

“Fuck, ‘m coming, Mikey!” You whimpered, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. His hands gripped your hips, grinding you down on his cock to ride out your orgasm. Your clit bumped deliciously against his pubic bone, and your walls clamped down even tighter, throwing Michael headfirst into his own orgasm.

“Holy- oh my god, don’t fuckin’ stop, baby.” He moaned, throwing his head back. His hips pushed up of their own accord, his thick cock twitching inside you as he shot his come as deep as he could go. He brought one hand down on your ass as you thrusted weakly against him. “That’s it, sweetheart, get every drop.”

You rested your weight on him, your sweaty forehead against the leather headrest. You both took a silent moment to catch your breath, regroup after the explosive sex you always seem to have. Turns out, even with all your disagreements, the attraction never stopped. His hands rubbed up and down your back, almost lulling you to sleep until he pressed his fingertips a little harder, and a moan passed through your lips, eyes shooting open. Michael chuckled deeply and kneaded at that spot, “What was that?”

“Fuck, I don’t know.” You admitted, tension rolling away as he worked at the knot. “My back has been killing me lately.”

“Work?”

“Maybe, but ‘m not sure. Just hurts sometimes.”

“Lucky for you, you got your own personal masseuse.”

You snorted, “My hero.”

His hand smacked against your backside playfully, making you jolt on his lap with a giggle. He laughed along with you, “Watch that tone, sweetheart.”

You shook your head, laughter dying down as your eyes haphazardly scanned the ledge of the back window. And next to an empty cup, you saw a piece of paper. A prescription made for Natalie Berzatto.

And it hit you like a train. You couldn’t keep doing this. It wasn’t fair to either of you. You couldn’t keep taking the best parts of him and ignoring the fact that he needed help. And he couldn’t expect you to be around at his beck and call forever. The time for playing pretend was over — you needed to take a real step for the both of you.

You swung your leg over his lap and sat next to him, scanning the car floor for your panties. “Get dressed. I still have somewhere to take you.”

“You kidnappin’ me, baby?”

“It’s only kidnapping if you don’t go willingly.”

Minutes later, you were walking into a nearby building. The entire walk, he asked and asked where you were taking him, but you never answered, merely saying it was a surprise. When he walked in, and his eyes fell on the folded chairs set in a circle, his smile dropped. Without another word, he turned around and walked out.

“Michael, wait!” You were close behind, following him back outside into the hot, sticky summer night. “Just listen to me, okay?”

“So- so you think ‘cause you’re sober now you can do whatever the fuck you want, is that it?” He asked, pointing an accusatory finger at you.

“I’m just trying to help—”

“I told you I wasn’t fuckin’ using anymore!” He yelled at you.

“And I know that you are!” You snapped back. “I’ve seen the empty pill bottles, Michael. All the prescriptions that are never in your own fucking name. I’m not stupid!”

“Stupid enough to keep comin’ back!” He spat at you. “W-what changed, huh? Is it the therapist? ‘Cause before her, you were happy to just fuck me and leave, pills be damned.”

“Oh, fuck that, Michael.” You laughed humorlessly, pushing at his chest. “You are not doing that anymore, being a dick to me because you can’t accept the truth.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And what would the truth be, sweetheart? Fuckin’ enlighten me.”

“That you’re gonna fucking destroy yourself if you don’t get help!” You shouted. Tears were filling your eyes at the thought, and you realized you weren’t even angry. You were desperate — desperate for him to do something, anything to help himself. “You- you push everyone that loves you away! Me, Richie, Carm—”

“You leave Carmen outta this.” He grumbled, looking away to avoid seeing the tears that fell down your face.

“Everyone that cares, everyone that tries to help, you just treat them like complete and utter shit because you don’t know how to ask for help! But you don’t have to fucking ask, Mikey — we’re offering! You just have to take it and do something before it’s too late!”

Michael was quiet, eerily so. There was a time when you would’ve been able to read him like a book, to say exactly what he needed to hear. But you couldn’t anymore. And that scared you.

You stepped forward with a sniffle, placing your hands on his biceps. You rubbed up and down in a way that you hoped was comforting. “Just one meeting. That’s all I’m asking.”

When he finally looked back at you, his chest tightened at the sight. Your beautiful eyes, filled with tears and a shimmer of hope that he might agree. And part of him wanted to. Some inkling deep down inside of him wanted to wipe your tears, take your hand, and march into that meeting determined to stay sober for the rest of his life. If only to settle down and make a life with you, one that he could be proud of.

But, as always, something stopped him. A small doubt creeping in, telling him he couldn’t do it. That he wasn’t capable of normality, that it wasn’t in his blood. He was drowning in sorrow and pity, and he was willing to accept that darkness — welcomed it, even. But what kind of man would he be if he dragged you under with him? He cupped your face in his hands, shaking his head. Your hands slid up his forearms and stopped on his wrists with a desperate iron grip. His voice was barely a whisper, “I’m not going to that meeting, baby.”

“Mikey, please.” You begged. “I love you.”

“You can’t fix me.” He hoped you heard what he meant to say: I love you, too.

He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, and responded in kind. It was gentle, melancholic, but it was his way of saying goodbye. His way of expressing the love that he could never quite show you in the way you deserved. But the love was there nonetheless, tearing at his heart until his chest was hollow, nothing left but the memory of you.

When he pulled away, he had to pry your hands off him and take a step back. He gave you a sad smile, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Enjoy your meeting, sweetheart.”

He turned around and walked away. A few tears escaped his eyes when he heard a heart-wrenching sob pass through your lips. He wiped them away quickly and tried to walk faster.

He was gone the next month.

—

“We’re closed!”

“Maybe you should lock the door then.”

You were still in your black dress and heels when you arrived at The Beef. No one knew where Carmy was, but you’d had an idea in the back of your head. You weren’t sure if you were right, but it only made sense that he’d be at his brother’s restaurant.

Well, at the restaurant his brother left him.

When Carmy emerged from the back, he stared, his eyes red from crying. “How’d you know I was here?”

You shrugged, “This is usually where I’d find him too.”

“Yo, please, please don’t come in here with that sentimental bullshit, alright?” He said, his tone sharp and mean. “If I wanted to hear about how great he was, I would’ve gone to the funeral.”

“You should’ve been there anyway. He was your brother.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you, Carmen, I didn’t come here to pick a fight.”

He turned on his heel, stomping back to the kitchen, and you followed close behind. “What did you come for then?”

“We’re going to a meeting.”

Carmy kneeled on the floor, next to a bucket of soapy water and a wet rag. He picked it up and wrung it out with a grunt. “What are you talking about?”

“Would you prefer NA or AA?”

He was scrubbing at the same dirty spot that he had for the last hour and a half, but your question made him pause. He looked up at you in disbelief, letting out a scoff. “Excuse me?”

“There are two NA groups I know of, but only one AA, and it starts soon so—”

“Y’know, you’re the addict here, not me.”

“Which is exactly how I know you need to go to a meeting.”

He was seething, an angry red steadily creeping from his neck to his face, one prominent vein bulging in his forehead as he shouted at you. “Goddamnit, I don’t need to go to a fuckin’ Al-Anon meeting! I’m just grieving, alright?!”

“Carm—”

“No, fuck that. The whole reason I didn’t go to the funeral is so I wouldn’t be around that bullshit! You know how Ma gets, and without Mikey here to fix it…”

“Michael was never gonna fix your mother.”

“Right, ‘cause he was too busy trying to fix you.” Carmen let out a harsh chuckle. “‘I’ll call you back, my girl needs me. Hold on, my girl is on the other line.’ Instead of fixing his restaurant, or-or helping his mother, he was making sure you were on the right track. Making sure you don’t relapse.”

Your heart stopped. Your blood burned. You wanted to let loose on him then and there. Yell and shout and cry about how Michael could barely fix himself, let alone you. You wanted to tell Carmen that it was you who desperately tried to fix Michael, make him sober, turn him into the man you knew he could be. Or at least, the one you believed he could be. The man Carm thought he was.

It baffled you how the entire family managed to hide the fact that Michael was an addict from Carmy. But it was a group effort, a last ditch effort to give him the big brother he’d always wanted, the one he remembered from his childhood. He was truly blind to Michael’s true nature, but you knew it was partially because Carmy had his own thing going on. You could see it behind his eyes — it was the same look Michael got before he did something self-destructive.

Instead of yelling or screaming like you wanted to, tears filled your eyes. You knew from experience the Berzatto men could be mean, especially under pressure, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Unlike earlier in the day, you couldn’t hold them back. Tears fell freely down your cheeks.

But unlike when his older brother spat unkind words your way, Carmy didn’t try to distract you from it or talk his way out of it. No, his face dropped when he realized the severity of his words. He watched as your knees buckled beneath you, moving across the floor to catch you once an ugly sob wretched its way past your lips. He held you as your body shook with the emotions that you’d been ignoring all day. One of his hands rested on the back of your head, stroking your hair with his thumb. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, okay?”

You don’t know how long you cried. You just sobbed and sobbed until there was nothing left, until you felt completely and utterly empty. Luckily, Carmy helped you sit on the floor. He sat next to you, both your backs against the dishwasher. It creaked loudly under your combined weight, and you sat up. “Sorry,” You croaked out. “Should I not lean on that?”

Carmy chuckled quietly and drew his knees up, resting his forearms atop them. “Piece of shit doesn’t work, don’t worry about it.”

The tiniest smile tugged at your lips as you leaned back and wiped away your tears. “Good. For me, I mean. Sucks for business though.”

His smile faded away as he watched you wipe your tears. His stomach turned uncomfortably at the fact that he’d been so mean, that he’d made you cry. He knew, of course, that he wasn’t the only reason you broke down, but he didn’t like that he piled on. He called your name softly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that to you.”

“Carm, it’s ok—”

“It’s not.” He shook his head, blue eyes piercing into yours. “You were right. Michael couldn’t fix Ma’s problems. And you didn’t need him to fix yours. He was lucky to have you.”

A sigh passed through your lips, and for the first time in a long time, tension rolled off your shoulders. “He loved you, Carmen.”

He fought back a sad smile, “He loved you, too.”

You paused, tears of grief filling your eyes before you remembered what you came for. You took a deep breath and wiped at your cheeks. “I need to show you something.”

His brow furrowed, turning a bit to face you, resting one leg on the ground. “What?”

You grabbed your phone from your pocket and pulled off the case. You lifted the strip of film from your rubber case, handing it to him. “This is why I need to go to an NA meeting tonight. Figured you could go with me.”

A hand over his mouth and tears in his eyes, Carmy let out a single quiet sob as he stared at the two black and white ultrasounds. “Is it…?”

You nodded, “They are.”

“They?”

“Turns out, you can’t forget to take birth control for even one day. I thought taking two the next day might help, but here we are.” Chuckling quietly, you wiped away the tears that were threatening to fall once more. “I’m not… I’m not asking you to replace Mikey or be their dad or anything. It would… y’know, just be nice not to do this by my—”

“Woah, hey,” He stopped you with a shake of his head, not even wanting you to think like that. “You’re family, period. Have been since Michael brought you home. And always will be. Alright?”

Finally, a sliver of hope. You smiled, “Yeah.”

“Good.” He handed the photos back to you gently, as if one wrong move would ruin them. Then, he stood on his feet, wiping a hand over his face and taking a deep breath. He offered his hand. “Now, come on. I’m taking you to your meeting.”

#michael berzatto x reader #michael berzatto fanfiction #the bear x reader #the bear fanfiction #the bear fx fanfiction #the bear fx #the bear smut #sorry in advance for this one lol

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beomiracles · 10 days

Text

「 PRETTY PRINCESS 」 part VIII ─ do you even know how to dance?

SYNOPSIS taking a wrong turn in the 4th dimension Beomgyu finds himself two centuries behind his own with no way back, though meeting a pretty princess like you, does not seem so wrong.

pairings timetraveler beomgyuxprincess female!reader warnings noneeee :3

#serene adds ✎... you GUYSSSSS things are finally taking off!!!!! I'm so proud for getting this together in the short span of two days hehe ↳ chapter index

← PREVIOUS CHAPTER 🩰 NEXT CHAPTER (coming soon)

Dinner with your father had always been a rare occurrence. Dinner with your father and Beomgyu, might’ve just been an even rarer one. The sound of silverware dragging across plates echo through the empty dining hall.

Your father is far too engrossed in his meal to pay neither you or Beomgyu much attention. Sat on his right, you glance up towards Beomgyu who sits opposite you on your father’s left. He seems just as unsure as you about the situation at hand.

You and your father had practically become strangers due to the time he spent away. Your ladies in waiting had done the major part in raising you and the king would communicate with you through the multiple council members he had.

Your relationship with your father had never felt personal, more so like a chore.

Finally seeming to notice the lack in conversation, your father sets his fork down as he looks between you and Beomgyu. “Well, what seems to be the matter?”, he questions and you look at him. “There is no matter at all, father”.

The king frowns, “I return home upon receiving news that my daughter is missing”, he glances toward Beomgyu, “to find that she has been safely returned home, by a prince at that”. “And you tell me it is no matter?”.

You give your father an apologetic look, “I apologize for worrying you, for I did not intend to cut your trip short”. Your father shakes his head, “nonsense, a trip as such can be done over again, my daughter, cannot��.

He takes one of your hands in his both, “you are the future of this kingdom, your safety and health comes above all and everything else”.

Of course that was what it was all about, the kingdom. You desperately wished he would see you as his own daughter, rather than another piece in his play.

“I am quite aware, father”. You retract your hand from his grip, “I suppose you should be ever grateful for Mr Choi who brought me home safely”. You glance at Beomgyu and the king does too.

“Young man, you have done me a great deed”, he says and Beomgyu gives him a small nod. “I am forever indebted to you for bringing my daughter back to me, should you ever need anything I will be at your service”.

You watch as Beomgyu’s eyes widen and he blinks a couple of times before responding, “I, uh, that is very thoughtful of you indeed, but I assure you…”

“Nonsense”, the king interrupts as he calls over a servant to pour him some more wine, “anything you want you shall have, it is the least I can do to repay you”. He takes a swig of his glass before setting it down.

“Now tell me, are you courting my daughter?”.

You almost choke on your food as you place your fork down, “father! I beg of you not to bring up such matters”. The king hears none of it as he dismisses you with a wave. Beomgyu however doesn’t seem faced by the question.

“I certainly would not be opposed to doing so”, he says as he takes a sip of his wine. Over the glass his eyes meet yours. Your father seems pleased with his answer, “I hear you come from a wealthy family”, Beomgyu nods, “indeed I do”.

“And you are to take over the throne?” the king asks to which Beomgyu shakes his head. He sets his glass down, “I have an older brother next in line”, he says, before quickly adding, “though I am educated on the same royal matters as him”.

Your father hums in approval, “my daughter will need to marry in order to succeed me”, he then explains without sparing you a glance. “Should you court my daughter, I deem you an excellent fit, and you shall have my approval”.

Your fork makes a screeching sound against the plate as you look at your father in surprise. He had been back less than a day and was already trying to marry you off. You give Beomgyu an apologetic look as you cough into your hand. He, on the other hand, only seems amused.

“I insist that you take place at the banquet tomorrow evening”, your father says as he gets up from his chair. “It would please me greatly”, Beomgyu grins.

The two of you walk toward the chambers in silence. The sounds of your footsteps echo through the large halls. “I must apologize for my father’s behavior, it was most uncalled for had I known he would…”, you trail off.

“Well I certainly would have warned you beforehand, I deeply apologize”, you say as you fiddle with the jewelry on your arms. Beomgyu chuckles beside you, “I’m quite used”, he comments and you frown.

“What do you mean?”. Beomgyu grins, “you’re too alike”, he shrugs. “M-me and my…father?”, you question in disbelief as he nods, “both so straightforward”.

Straightforward? “Just because I voice my thoughts does not mean that I am…straightforward, I am just…upfront”, you mutter. “Ain’t that the same thing?” Beomgyu asks and you groan. “No it is not”.

“Pretty sure it is”. You shake your head, “not”.

Beomgyu grins, “alright keep tellin’ yourself that”. Silence falls over you once more. You and your father were nothing alike, you had made sure of that years ago. You would not turn out like him in any way.

Then there was the part about the courting. You frown, what had he meant by all of that? Perhaps he had only said what he did to satisfy your father’s curiosity. And while it had indeed, it had only spiked your own.

“Princess, I can practically hear your brain working”, Beomgyu’s voice snaps you straight from your thoughts. You glance at him only to find him already looking at you as he walks. One of his eyebrows raised he asks, “well?”

“You said you wouldn’t be opposed to courting me, did you really mean that?”, you blurt out before you’re able to stop yourself. Beomgyu smirks, “what if I did?”. His words cause your frown to deepen, “so you’re saying you did not?”.

“I’m sayin’, what if I did?”. You shake your head, “so you did not”. Beomgyu lets out a sigh next to you as he stops walking, you do the same as you turn to look at him. “For someone as quick witted as yourself, you really are quite oblivious, princess”.

“I am not”, you retort, “it’s just…”, you struggle for words. You did not know what it was about Beomgyu that made him so hard for you to read. He said one thing but sometimes you were sure he meant something completely different.

“You’re…”, you pull your bottom lip between your teeth before letting it go again, “you’re so different from anyone I’ve ever met, I can’t seem to figure you out and it…it bothers me”, you admit with a heavy sigh.

Beomgyu takes a step toward you as he leans closer, tilting his head down ever so slightly, “then stop trying to figure me out”. His sudden proximity makes all muscles in your body tense as your gaze gets stuck on his.

“How?” your voice is barely above a whisper. One of Beomgyu’s fingers trace the soft outline of your face, pushing away the strands of hair that fall in front of your eyes. “You’re stuck here”, his index finger lightly presses against your forehead, “when you need to be here”, his finger moves to stop just above the rhythmic thumping of your heart.

Your wide eyes follow the movements of his hand before glancing up toward him again. His expression is unlike anything you’ve ever seen on him. Soft dark eyes stare right back at yours as he smiles a genuine smile, none of his teasing evident.

“You’re saying I should think with my heart?”, you whisper and Beomgyu shakes his head. “Don’t think at all”, he says as his hand falls to his side again, “just do”.

Just do? Was that what he did? It would explain his otherwise inexplicable behavior. To do what your heart told you was never something you had considered. It had never been an option. You had learned from a young age that putting your feelings aside was crucial if you wanted to succeed in your duties.

You knew that there was no point in allowing your heart to have desires only for them to be crushed again. Your life had been planned for you, before you had even been born. So the thought of something else, something different, had never crossed your mind.

But Beomgyu made it feel like maybe, maybe it was possible. Beomgyu had made your heart feel things for the first time. Things you had been afraid to feel. Yet you never felt afraid when you were with him. You felt as if…

“Everything’s gonna be alright”, he says as his lips twitch into one of his grins. “You worry too much, princess”. You look down to the floor, “perhaps…”, you mumble. “And you worry too little,” you add as you raise an eyebrow toward him. Beomgyu’s grin grows, “perhaps”.

You begin walking again, “the banquet”, you say as you keep your gaze ahead. “Will you attend?”. “Do you want me to?” he asks and you can hear the mischievous edge in his voice. “Yes”.

In the corner of your eye you see Beomgyu’s lip twitch into a smirk, “then I shall”. You can’t help but smile before a slight frown crosses your features, “do you even know how to dance?”

“Rhythm is essential”, you say as you push your hair out of your face. “That’ll be no problem”, Beomgyu smirks. You refrain from asking exactly what he meant by that.

The small sofa and table had been pushed aside as you made room for the two of you in your bedchamber. It wasn’t optimal but it would have to make do.

“Your left hand goes here”, you guide his hand to rest on your waist as you place your right on his shoulder. “Like this?”, he asks as he pulls you against his chest. “Ah, not quite”, you mumble as you feel blood rushing to your cheeks.

Clearing your throat, you take a small step back. “There are six movements you need to know”, you explain as you intervene your hand with his. “Typically the man leads the dance, but since this is your first time I will lead and you follow along”. Beomgyu smirks, “you got it, princess”.

“Alright…just mirror what I do”. As you begin to slowly move, Beomgyu follows along with more ease than you had expected. When your feet move forward his move back, when you move to the side so does he. His movements are light and flowy, had he really not done this before?

“So, what’s your verdict?”, he asks as the two of you move in small circles across your chamber. You glance to him before quickly averting your gaze, afraid that allowing yourself that type of distraction might make you mess up. “You’re a surprisingly good dancer”, you mumble and Beomgyu smirks. “I happen to have a surprisingly good teacher”.

You roll your eyes, “you flatter me”. You watch as the smirk on his face almost doubles in size, “I like to take my chances”.

“Why don’t you try leading then?”, your movements come to a stop as you reposition yourself. Beomgyu does the same, “watch and learn, princess”, he says as he begins moving again, pulling you along.

Surprised at how smoothly he moves and with so much confidence, you can’t help but gaze at him in awe. “Where did you learn to dance like this?”, you mumble half-jokingly and Beomgyu smiles.

Suddenly his grip on your waist falters as he spins you around. Taken aback by his sudden movements you stumble on your own feet, only for Beomgyu’s hand to be back on your waist as he catches you.

He grins as he looks down to meet your gaze, “you alright there, princess?”. Your face might as well just be on fire when you choke out a meek reply. “I…uh, I’m okay”. Beomgyu pulls you to stand on both feet before continuing to circle you around your chamber.

“There will be a lot of ladies for you to dance with tomorrow evening”, you mumble as Beomgyu spins you around once more, this time your steps do not falter. He frowns, “thought I learnt this so that I could dance with you”.

He wanted to dance with you? Pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, you try and prevent the smile threatening to creep up on your face. “Of course you will dance with me but…perhaps you would maybe like to dance with one of the other ladies as well”, your voice is somewhat bittersweet at the thought.

“Our kingdom has many fine ladies”, you add as you try and coax your voice into that of a kind one. Beomgyu is silent for a moment before he replies, “why dance if I can’t dance with the princess?”.

You’re almost certain that he can make out the prominent blush on your cheeks. “Then…then we shall dance”, you mumble shyly and Beomgyu’s grip on your waist tightens, “perfect”.

The banquet came around sooner than you had anticipated. But for once you were filled with excitement rather than dread. What would usually end up in plain conversation and getting your toes stabbed by your many partners, would today be, Beomgyu, just Beomgyu.

You knew that it was getting rather concerning how infatuated with him you had become. For tonight though, you were willing to put it aside. You wanted to enjoy this evening, to the fullest.

Your ladies in waiting spend the majority of the afternoon getting you ready. They much as you seem especially excited for tonight. You supposed it had to do with the fact that the king would be attending as well.

Since your mother’s passing many, if not all, of the kingdom’s ladies had their eye on the king. You could hardly share their keen interest in your father but it was impossible for their excitement not to rub off on you.

At last, you had settled on a light pink gown. It had been complemented with lots of pearly jewelry as well as a neat bow tied into your hair. “Her highness looks beautiful”, one of your ladies comments and the others are quick to agree.

“Are you to dance with the young prince who saved you?” another asks and the rest lean closer in sheer curiosity. Word of Beomgyu had spread like wildfire through the palace. What was it that he had called it…a celeb…celebrity…, he had referred to himself as something like that.

You’re unable to hide the smile on your face as you nod, “I am hoping to dance with him yes”, you admit and your ladies in waiting giggle in excitement.

Seated by your father, you glance out amongst the ballroom as it slowly fills with people. Your eyes scan for Beomgyu but you cannot seem to find him. Impatiently tapping on the armrest to your chair, you frown.

“Looking for someone?”, your father inquired next to you. “Hardly”, you say as you lean back against your chair. Your eyes continue their search for their target, so busy that they fail to notice the approaching figure until it is right in front of you.

“Her highness!”, Mr Fitz bows in front of you and you grimace. “Mr Fitz…what do I owe the pleasure”. The older man gives a sly smile, “why I of course come to ask for her highness’s first dance of the evening”. He extends a hand, you cast a pleading look to your father, but the king pays no mind as he gazes ahead.

Swallowing a sigh of defeat you take his hand as you allow him to guide you to the dance floor. “Ah, I have much to tell her highness about my most recent adventures”, he says as he pushes his way through the crowd, earning himself a couple of side glances.

“I’m sure her highness will be much intrigued to hear about…”, though he doesn’t get to finish his sentence before a tall figure cuts in front of him.

“Princess, I am aware of my late appearance but you do not need to be so quick to replace me”, Beomgyu grins as he takes your hand in his.

Mr Fitz's voice carries out from somewhere behind Beomgyu but you do not care to listen. All you see is Beomgyu, and he is right in front of you, and he looks so…beautiful. You smile, “well you kept me waiting”.

“My apologies”, Beomgyu takes a step back, making sure to push Mr Fitz in the process. “Oh my, you ought to watch where you stand”, Beomgyu grins, “the dance floor is for dancing after all”.

Mr Fitz’s face has turned the color of a tomato. “Have you absolutely no manners?”, he exclaims as he pulls at the collar of his dress robe. Beomgyu raises an eyebrow, “not really”, he gives Mr Fitz a smile, “though I thank you for bringing her to me, I had such trouble finding her”.

“Ah besides, I’m sure you know the saying, finders keepers”, Beomgyu smirks as he pulls you closer. You resist a giggle as Mr Fitz gives Beomgyu a glare, he however bows to you before taking his leave, “we shall continue later your highness”.

“She won’t have time later”, Beomgyu says, not sparing the older man a glance. Mr Fitz might’ve just exploded on the spot. Thankfully he walks off before Beomgyu has the chance to do more damage to his ego.

“What an annoying little thing”, he comments as he pulls you along on the dance floor. “If only you knew”, you sigh. “What took you so long?”, you wonder as he spins you around. Beomgyu smirks as he pulls you toward him again, “one cannot rush perfection”.

You scoff, yet you couldn’t deny that he looked absolutely breathtaking tonight. His dark hair fell beautifully around his face, framing his sharp and delicate features. His white dress shirt looked much like the other gentlemen’s yet he stuck out like a diamond in the rocks to you.

“You suit pink well, princess”, he mumbles as his gaze wanders over you. Biting your bottom lip you glance down, “it happens to be my favorite color”. Beomgyu grins, “I’ll keep that in mind”.

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips. “That reminds me…”, your gaze meets his, “you never told me yours”. Beomgyu looks at you thoughtfully for a moment, “don’t think I have one”, he admits and you frown. “How can you not have a favorite color?”.

He shrugs, “does one need a favorite color?”, you nod, “most definitely”. Beomgyu chuckles as the two of you continue to dance in silence. “I suppose purple is nice”, he says, a slight frown etched onto his face. “I like purple”, you whisper, “it’s my second favorite color”.

Beomgyu raises an eyebrow, “you got a third one?”. “Blue”. He grins, “of course you do”.

As the evening progresses you dance almost all your dances with Beomgyu. Your conversation ranged from various topics and that night you learned a lot about him. It was almost midnight when the two of you decided to leave the ballroom to venture through the large castle gardens, which Beomgyu had yet to see.

The soft patter of footsteps against the graveled path echo through the night air. You thought the gardens looked absolutely beautiful at night, only illuminated by the soft moonlight.

Beomgyu walks close to you, his warmth emitting off of him and onto you. “If you could do anything, what would you do?”, you ask as you keep your gaze on the path ahead. Beomgyu is silent for a moment before he asks, “anything?”. You nod, “anything”.

“I’d probably be doing what I love”, he states. You turn to him, “then what exactly is it that you love doing?”

Beomgyu grins, “music”. You frown, “really?” You hadn’t known he liked music, let alone so much that he would only do it if he could.

“Though our music is different from yours”, he says as he gives you a playful glance. “How so?” you ask, curiosity heightened. He thinks for a moment, as if figuring out how to explain himself, “it contains a lot more instruments, and singing”.

You tilt your head as you look at him, “do you sing?”. Beomgyu nods as he bites the inside of his cheek, “sorta”. Your eyes widen in awe, “you must sing to me sometime”, you plead and Beomgyu grins. “If that’s what you want, princess”.

The two of you walk on for another couple of minutes in a comfortable silence. “What about you?” Beomgyu suddenly asks. You look at him in confusion, “what about me?”. “If you could do anything, what would you do?”

You bite your lip as you consider your answer. It wasn’t really something you thought about a lot. You had never had the opportunity of doing whatever you wanted therefore you had no idea what you would actually want to do should you have such freedom. Perhaps that is what you wanted. Freedom.

“I think…”, you begin, nipping off a flower, you trace the soft petals with your fingers, “I think I would like to be someone else, if I could”. Beomgyu turns to look at you with a frown as the two of you continue on walking. “Why?”, he asks and you shrug.

“It would be nice, to be anyone but me”, you pick one of the petals off as you let it fall to the ground. “I know it does sound silly but…I don’t like being me”. Beomgyu stops walking as he turns to fully look at you. “I don’t think it sounds silly”, his words are sincere and his gaze soft as he studies your face.

You offer him a small smile, “no?”. He shakes his head, “no”.

He takes a step forward, “though, I don’t want you to be someone else”. You frown as you glance up at him, “I don’t understand”, you mumble. Beomgyu grins as his finger brushes a strand of hair out of your face.

“I’m sayin’ I like you for you”, he says. And he says it so casually, as if it were the most obvious thing in the universe. “If you were someone else then, who would be my princess?” Your mouth parts in surprise as you look at him, “you like me?”, you whisper.

Beomgyu smiles, “yeah? thought I just stated that”. You blink once, then twice, disbelief evident on your face. “I…”

His fingers graze your jaw and he tilts his head forward, so close that your noses almost touch. “Why? you don’t believe me?”, he whispers and your breath gets stuck in your throat. “I’ll show you”, he murmurs and before you know it his soft lips are on yours.

You had dreamt about your first kiss for as long as you could remember. Having read plenty of romance novels and reenacted the scenario so many times that you were sure that you would be prepared for when it actually came. But when it did, it was nothing like you had imagined.

Beomgyu’s lips fit so perfectly onto your own. They felt like soft feathers, they tasted sweet and they were right. You barely register the way his hand moves from your chin to your hair, how his other one finds its way to your waist.

When he pulls you closer your hands move instinctively to wrap around his neck, your flower falls to the ground, long forgotten about. You never wanted this moment to end yet all you wanted was to open your eyes and be met by his own. Was this what it meant to like someone, if so you were sure that you loved Beomgyu.

Finally he pulls his lips from yours and you blink up at him. A faint smile plays on his lips and in that moment, he is all that matters.

“I think…I think I like you too”.

taglist ✎ @sweetpotatogyu @velvetmoonlght @seokqt @yunjinsbbg @f4iryfever @theresawtf @jjklvr9 @binniebakery @beomies-world

#txt #txt fanfic #choi beomgyu #txt post #beomgyu x reader #beomiracles ₊˚⊹ ᰔ #pretty princess beomiracles

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imaginedanvrs · 2 months

Text

i've been thinking about lovers to enemies with natasha so... enjoy??

warnings: smoking, extreme mental health issues, violence, murder, reader is not okay, implied major character death

“You’re smoking again.” Her voice always had a way of piercing through the background, unable to ever be overshadowed by the endless hustle of the city. You barely spare her a glance as you take another drag, but you know that she’s reluctant to take her observing eyes off of you and onto the collection of bodies across the alley. You’re too far past the point of predictability for her to be sure she won’t join them.

She’s more skilled than you, but you always had an edge that was left unchecked and has now become something she never believed it could. She underestimated you and you can’t blame her. Your old self would have been horrified to witness the ceremonious snap of your sanity.

“Backups on the way,” she informs as she approaches. She keeps her distance, but she wants to see you. The orange glow of your cigarette does nothing to illuminate your features. It’s difficult when the city casts enough shadows to protect you, however it can’t prevent the life that infests it from interfering.

A taxi speeds past the alleyway too suddenly to shine a light on most. Natasha only sees it because you were momentarily looking her way, though it's enough. Enough for her to catch your grey eye, drained of its colour and life since that night you were slashed across the face. You had told her once that it allowed you to see the world more distinctly than ever. That was the first time you turned the blade on your lover, adamant that you were saving her.

“Let me help you,” she offers, cursing herself for being too struck on your face that she hadn’t used the second of light to identify your weapon of the night.

“You don’t know how,” you tell her. Your voice has changed over the years. Maybe it’s the smoke you inflate your lungs with. Or maybe you really are a different person. “Only I know how to help,” you correct her, crushing the cigarette beneath your boot and taking the slim knife from your belt.

“You’re not well, y/n.” This angers you, greatly.

You lunge at her, blade gleaming with the blood of those that now serve as obstacles that lie in the way of doing what you have to. It’s for her own good. “I want to save you,” you tell her as she blocks your repeated strikes but never offers her own. You’ve improved since you used to train together. The ruthlessness you possess makes her anxious that she won’t be able to handle you before the agents arrive. They’ll handle you in the way she can’t bear to. Unfortunately, you don’t make it easy for her.

You dance in a sinister ballet for some time before you take the final leap of the grande show and slam Natasha to the floor. You beam as she struggles beneath you because you’re just so happy to finally be able to do this for her. You can give her the ultimate display of love - setting her soul free.

“Don’t do this,” she pleads with you but your mind has been set for years.

“I love you.” You're pressing the blade into her neck, only restricted by all of the strength Natasha is using to suppress your own. “I’ll see you wherever we end up next. It will be so much nicer,” she recognises this voice. It’s the one that used to come over you when you would hold each other during those unforgiving winters. It’s a voice that promises protection, but the person it embodies doesn’t understand that concept anymore.

You never get to deliver your final act of service to the love of your life. You're interrupted by a blazing heat erupting in your chest and a kind of weakness you haven’t felt in a long time. Instead of throwing you off of her, she coaxes you onto your back and offers words of comfort to your confused features.

You don’t know what’s happening, but you think there’s a chance you’re about to experience what you wanted to provide the redhead your heart had always yearned for. Perhaps it made sense that it would cease for her too.

#black widow #dark!marvel #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #gxg marvel #natasha romanoff imagines #natasha romanoff oneshot #nr.hcs

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doetic · 1 year

Text

What Lingers - Dark!Edward Cullen x F!Reader (18+)

Plot: Edward Cullen doesn't know how to handle his crush on the new clerk at his favourite book store. Warnings: NSFW, Dark/yandere Edward, unhealthy obsessive thoughts, sexual thoughts (Edward descends into being a bit of a weirdo perv), Edward gets himself off Word count: 2436 Part 2 (coming soon, send in reqs/ideas!)

A/N: My first fic on this account! I haven't written in a while so I may be a little rusty, please bare with me! I didn't have much time to fully proofread this because I just wanted to get it out, so it may be a little awkward and have some mistakes, sorry! If you like this, feel free to send in requests for a part 2 (I'm thinking of writing it in in reader's pov?) or just any requests in general!

At first, Edward Cullen had thought he was dying. His throat had tightened more than he had thought possible, his mouth dried of all venom, he suddenly couldn't remember how to fake the motions of breathing, and despite knowing that it was impossible for his heart to do anything, he couldn't decide if his heart was being squeezed by some otherworldly force, or was kickstarted into a rapid beating that reverberated throughout his body and sounded in his ears like a drum. He quickly ran through his knowledge of vampiric bodies and health, but came up with nothing that could explain what was happening to him, nothing that could clarify why the mere sight of you had elicited such a visceral reaction from him.

Initially, you didn't seem like anyone particularly special. From your thoughts he discovered you were a writer, daydreaming about the draft you were working on as you were leaned against the wooden book store counter, head lazily rested upon your right hand while the left absently drew shapes onto the antique surface. Occasionally, the thought of your cat would interrupt your brainstorming daydream. A chubby orange tabby that was intelligent in all the wrong things and stupid in the rest, who seemed to cause you endless trouble. You were worried he had turned on the tap to drink from it again, an irksome habit he had that often ran up your water bill as he didn't know how to turn it off. None of your thoughts seemed to stick out to him as something of importance, but admittedly being present in your mind brought him a sense of peace he hadn't felt before. With shy hesitation he would even admit to himself that it somehow felt endearing.

Edward did have to give you credit, you certainly were beautiful by human standards. However, after spending decades around Rosalie and other vampires that had been blessed with an unnatural level of beauty made you seem more mundane to him than you would have appeared to a regular human. The more he thought about it though, the more he found he liked that about you. The pimple that lay just underneath your cheekbone, the natural reddish flush to your lips from a functioning circulatory system, the slight frizz to your hair, the rhythmic sound of air being pushed in and out of your body, and the oh so human eyes that looked up from the desk and met his. You were imperfect, flawed, starkly different from himself who had been biologically engineered to be irresistibly perfect from the first bite Carlisle inflicted upon him. You were intoxicating. Suddenly, Edward understood.

"Oh- Uhm- Sorry- Ah!" You jolted up, quickly shifting from your relaxed lean into a stiff, well postured, standing position as you tripped over your words. Edward could hear your heartbeat speed up. With your thoughts a current incoherent jumble, he was left to wondering if it was out of shock from his presence, or a flustered reaction to his appearance.

You cleared your throat, "Y/n. Hi. I work here now, just moved into town a week ago. Can I help you with anything?" A smile appeared on your face, but one that seemed to come from a place of general kindness (and a little embarrassment), rather than the normal customer service mask people put on. It was a scene Edward wished could wrap around his whole body, holding him tenderly in a sea of gentle warmth.

Thousands of replies appeared in his head, things he could say to charm you, things that could make you swoon, words that could make you laugh (a sound he was certain would be an imperfect crackling melody he would play on repeat in his mind), but when he opened his mouth, none of the above came out.

"Machiavelli." Edward wanted to disintegrate into the floor. He was supposed to start off with a smooth line to make you want to talk to him more, not the first author to appear in his head. Who even randomly thinks of Machiavelli anyways? "Sorry, I'm Edward Cullen. My family was the newest ones in town until a week ago I suppose. I'm looking for anything you might have by Machiavelli." He recovered, playing it safe but still flashing you a dazzling smile that always seemed to charm those who saw it.

You looked away from him. He tried not to clench his fists in frustration. He decided that he enjoyed when you looked at him, he liked looking at the many flecks of different hues and shades that made up your irises. So sweetly imperfect.

"Machiavelli..." You pondered, a finger pressing itself into the plush, slightly chapped surface of your lips. You were running through the layout of the store in your mind, trying to remember where it would be located. Edward felt a little bad for wasting your time, he knew the book store's layout in and out. He didn't actually ever come here to buy anything (although he did so quite often to ensure it would stay in business), but rather the usually empty store was a haven for him where he could pretend to be human again while escaping the constant barrage of other beings private thoughts.

"Okay! I think I remember where it would be, follow me!" You looked back at him with a smile. You didn't have to tell him twice, he would stay on your tail as long as you would let him (and perhaps even longer after that, if he was being honest with himself), your presence being a strawberry scented sirens song that he couldn't seem to want to pull himself away from.

"Of course, lead the way," Edward spoke with a slight grin, finding the words ironic. In reality it was him, the covert apex predator of the animal kingdom, who would be herding you like a sheep wherever he wished.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

As he stared at your phone number in his hands, the sheet of paper growing softer and more fragile while he toyed with it, Edward Cullen tried to decide that he hated you. It wasn't your fault at all, you had been nothing but perfectly pleasant and kind to him while he was in your presence, but instead it was his own.

You were kind, sweet, caring, imperfect. Those traits flowed through your veins, they even wafted in the air around you, pulling people close to you. After his first slip up with his words, everything between you two went exactly as he wished it would, and your feelings of curiosity towards him combined with the innately biological pull to his honeypot of inhuman beauty led to him getting your phone number. Everything went perfectly in his favour, and that was the problem.

Out of his family it was Rosalie who resented humans the most, and Jasper who kept the most distance from them, but even though he didn't fall at the extreme end of the spectrum, Edward wasn't a big fan of them either. He looked down on them as weaker life forms, sheep disgustingly careless around wolves, a sentiment he was smart enough to know came from a place of jealousy and sorrow, but still not something he harbored enough strength to get over and befriend one... that was until he saw you.

You made him selfish. His hand trembled as the ten endearingly messily inked numbered stared back at him tauntingly. You made him selfish and he hated you and he had to stop being around you. Something about you, your simplicity, your messiness, every imperfect mannerism that overflowed with life drew him in. Edward couldn't deny his nature when you clouded his senses with envy and awe. It was like the scorpion and the frog, Hades and Persephone. He was a hunter designed to lure you into false security before inevitably striking. He knew he couldn't be pure around you, you were a lamb and himself a lion, not a domesticated dog and cat. Biology and the food chain would triumph over his wishes soon enough, he would be an idiot to not know it.

But even so, a voice in his mind nagged at him, making him weak at the knees with bliss at the thought of giving into it. Hadn't he earned the right to be a little selfish? Aside from his rebellious stage, Edward had been so so perfect, a word he grew more sick of by the day. A word that seemed to wrap itself around his throat and tighten oh so slowly as time went on, now an unbearable pressure he was sure could snap his neck. You were everything he wasn't, everything he needed, you were ambrosia while he was on his deathbed. Could he really be faulted for just a sip?

Of course he didn't mean that literally. Although he knew that being close to you would surely end up with his lips stained crimson with blood and sin, there were ways around it. A junkie always finds a way.

Edward Cullen entered your number into his phone, staring at the blank space for him to type in a message for what felt like an eternity before turning it off completely. It wouldn't be the same to communicate digitally. He wanted you in person, laid bare in front of him, your thoughts not even kept private. He wanted to worship you softly, to expose himself to you fully, for his need and adoration for all that you are as an imperfect, truly human, life filled being. And as his thoughts delved deeper into all that you were, his thoughts took on a double meaning.

Edward had never done this before. He knew he was repressed, he was a religious boy from a much more conservative time that had long passed, and he was fine with that. But, he deserved to be selfish. He had never truly indulged himself, who could blame him for what he was about to do? Especially when it was your fault, you were making him imperfect as well.

His porcelain hand brought the now fragile sheet of paper to his nose, and as he breathed deeply he deluded himself into believing a trace of your aura still lingered on it. His hand hesitantly trailed down to his crotch, his fingers lightly touching the bulge through the fabric of his khakis. The foreign sensation made him let out a small whine that he quickly stifled by biting his lip. He was home alone, his family gone to visit the Denali's for a few days during the schools spring break, but it wasn't because he feared being heard that he stopped himself from making noise, but rather a nagging feeling of shame that faded more and more into the background as he slowly rubbed his bulge harder and faster.

He wondered if God was watching him as he undid his pants, pulling down his boxer-briefs with a hesitancy that seemed to flow away the more he melted into the nagging desire to indulge. If he was being watched, Edward decided God had no right to be angry. It was he who decided to put the most tempting creature in the world right where Edward would meet her, he should have known this would happen. Edward wasn't to blame, he was doing what any person would have done in his situation, and what was life anyways without indulgence?

With another deep inhale, Edward grew more confident. Using his leaking tip as lubricant, he began to quickly stroke his length. There was no point in taking things slowly, he had spent his whole life pent up and teased, why would he do it to himself?

Edward thought of what you would do to him. Your deep pink tongue licking from his balls to his tip, your utterly indecent and irresistible eyes, oh so filled with life, gazing up at him tenderly. The thought made him let out a small groan he couldn't stifle in time. Edward thought of how your skin would feel under his touch, smooth and warm with the occasional blemish. He wanted to slowly run his hand up your bare thigh, watching you squirm with need as he showed you just a fraction of what his life was like.

His hand moved faster and faster and he thought of earlier that day, the way you stumbled upon your words when you first saw him. He decided he would coax you into talking during intimacy, wanting to see how you tripped and fumbled the words of praise for him that would flow out of your mouth as he showed you that drinking blood wasn't the only thing his mouth was good for. He would be a bit clumsy in the beginning, but that would be okay for you, wouldn't it? You don't demand perfection, you're soaked in the opposite, and that is perfect to him.

One more inhale had his brain melt, his hand speeding up as much as he can take as he wonders if he'll be your first too. Surely he will be. If this experience taught him anything, it would be that you were made for him, and as he had never felt this pull to anyone else before, he was inclined to believe he was made for you too. He let out a growl as he thought about someone else laying a hand on you, deciding he should just claim you when the opportunity arises, painting your skin with his-

His loud moans turned to heavy pants, not from lack of air that he doesn't need, but from the intensity of what he had just done. The white liquid flowed down his tip and fist, and a sense of freedom rushed over him. He wasn't bad for this, he was doing what anyone else would do. You were rubbing off on him after just one interaction, making him oh so perfectly imperfect.

He grabbed a tissue from the box that had been placed on the table beside his couch for show, and wiped himself off, tossing the soiled tissue into the trash. His eyes went to his phone, which he turned on with a soft click. He felt better about everything, about himself, about you. What was life without indulgence?

Hello, It's Edward Cullen from the book store. Would you like to get coffee together soon?

He smiled to himself after typing out and sending his message, his hand bringing the piece of paper to his nose one last time, craving your essence, not wanting to miss even a hint of what lingers.

#dark!edward cullen #yandere!edward cullen x reader #dark!edward cullen x reader #yandere!edward cullen #edward cullen x reader #dark!twilight x reader #yandere!twilight x reader #twilight x reader #alyssia writes

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h-c-u · 1 year

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The Youngest Student

Summary: You're left without a nanny last second, so you decide to take your daughter to class with you.

Pairing: profesor Toto Wolff x PhD fem!reader

W/C: 1.5k

Rating: PG, age gap (reader is in late 20s)

A/N: I was about to write part 6 of No Longer a Secret, but this short blurb kinda... happened. So, I'm sorry to anyone who might be waiting for the next part. I promise it's in the works <3 I know Daisy's age is not specified, but I see her as being... 5-6 months old :) Also - it's inspired by >>this<<

Masterlist | List of tags

You were about to call your nanny, but a text from her came in just as you were grabbing your phone.

"I'm really sorry for letting you know so late, but I won't be able to make it today. On my way to your house, me and I sister got into an accident, and my arm is broken. We're currently in the hospital, but there is no chance I will make it."

After reading the message, you wanted to instantly call Cassie to see how she was doing; you cared much more about her health than her services as a nanny, although during the last four months, she was a godsend. But even before you dialed her number, you realized that she was probably scared and calling her family to let them know what happened, so instead of being one more conversation, you opted out for a short message.

"Don't worry about us. I just hope that you and your sister are ok. Please, let me know if there is anything I could do, and in the meantime - focus on getting better."

After that, you quickly shot a message to the father of your child, but he didn't reply, and if you didn't want to be late for your only lecture of the day, you had to leave soon. For a moment you considered not going and staying at home with your daughter, but she had just been fed and burped, which meant a long nap, most likely even longer than the class itself.

So instead of ditching, you moved her to the carrier, careful not to wake her up, and put a thick blanket over it, so both the light and noises would be muted, and she could continue sleeping without any interruptions.

The drive to your college wasn't long, but you still got into the classroom just as the lecture was about to begin, so there was no time for you to explain the situation in more detail.

- I'm sorry to bring her in... The sitter canceled, and she's just been fed so she should sleep through the whole lecture, but if she wakes up, I'll leave not to cause any disturbance... - you whispered quietly to Professor Wolff, but in the dead silence of the room, your voice still carried. You were older than the rest of this class and there was a wedding band on your finger, so the fact that you had a child wasn't exactly a surprise. What was surprising though, was your usually stoic professor who hated surprises donning a giant smile on his face, when he raised a blanket you put over the carrier just a little, to see your little girl.

- It's ok, don't worry about it. - he replied, still looking at Daisy, completely enamored by her. You let him do that for a moment longer, but eventually, you took the blanket from his hand and put it down. He cleared his throat, realizing that the lecture was supposed to start around five minutes ago.

You quickly went to your usual seat, took out your laptop, and got ready to take notes, only this time with your daughter sleeping soundly in a carrier that you put on the desk next to you.

About halfway through, you heard that your daughter woke up and was getting fussy, but she wasn't in that state when she was a disturbance yet, so you gently took her out of the carrier and laid her on your left arm, while you continued taking notes with your right. And it was working for a while... You weren't sure if it was unfamiliar smells or sounds, but her mood continued to deteriorate, even though she was wearing her favorite frog onesie, with the hood that was currently blocking at least some of the sounds and lights. You tried to lull her back to sleep by gently rocking her on your arm, but that didn't help, and just as you were about to close your laptop and leave, not to disturb other students, you saw Professor Wolff coming closer. You were about to apologize, but he just smiled, winked, and took Daisy in his arms, where she instantly calmed down.

There was a very brief moment when you expected some sort of reaction from the other students, but besides a few hushed comments about how natural Professor Wolff looked with a baby in his arms, there was nothing, and the lecture continued.

Your daughter eventually fell asleep again, calmed down by Toto's deep voice, and when she did, he put a green hood with embroidered eyes deeper over her head. She remained like that till the end of the lecture.

You couldn't help but smile every time you looked at them together, and you had to force yourself to actually pay attention, which proved to be challenging.

But you made it, and when the end of the class was announced, you slowly packed your things, while the other students were leaving the room, a few of the female ones, unusually slowly, their eyes lingering on the professor and your daughter a bit too long, but you couldn't blame them, because you were doing the exact same. Eventually, you were alone and the door to the room automatically closed.

You came closer to the desk he was almost sitting on and put a carrier on the papers that were covering almost the whole surface. Toto leaned down to press a quick kiss on your forehead; after all - you were still in school. And even though the dean was informed about your relationship first - when Toto accepted a job offer here three years ago, and once again - earlier this year, when you came back to the university to finish your Ph.D. after the birth, neither of you wanted to advertise your marriage left and right, and walls here had eyes.

- Cassie was in an accident on her way to us, and she broke her arm... I think we should give her a few weeks off because she seemed more afraid that we won't have anyone to take care of Daisy and disappointing me than she was about her visit to the hospital. - you explained, taking your daughter out of his arms, and putting her back in the carrier.

- Is she all right? - he asked, watching you securing the clasps and putting the blanket over it once again.

- She seemed to be, but I don't know much more... I didn't want to call and intrude, since everything was fresh when she messaged me. I'll check in with her in the evening. - you added, throwing the jacket over your shoulders, and moving your hair from under it. - You have one more lecture, right? - you made sure, and he sighed.

- Yes... In half an hour. Although I doubt it will be as pleasant as this one. - he smiled, pulled you closer by your jacket, and kissed you softly. - Seeing you two honestly made my day. - you put your arms around him, letting yourself drown in his strong arms for a moment, but you didn't close your eyes, because you knew that if you did, you would fall asleep right then and there, standing up. You were good at keeping appearances, but being a new parent, even with such a well-behaved baby as Daisy, was exhausting, so you took every short moment of peace and quiet you could get.

- I should go... - you whispered against his shirt and your words were followed by a loud sigh because you honestly didn't want to leave.

- Or... You could take a nap on the couch in my office, and I can take care of Daisy. - he proposed and you almost started crying from relief; he could always see right through you. Your first instinct was to ask him if he was sure, but the more rational thought, backed up by years of a relationship with him followed, saying that he was.

- Thank you... - he squeezed your body a little harder before letting you go.

- Come on then... - he took the carrier with your sleeping daughter from the desk, fished the keys to his office from the pocket of his jacket, and led you to the small room, not that far from the class he was teaching in. You almost fell onto the soft couch, letting the pillows swallow you whole, but before you fell asleep, you felt Toto putting a soft blanket that smelled like a fabric softener you used at home over your body.

There was a moment when you woke up in a panic after about an hour, but as soon as you heard a familiar low rumble of Toto’s deep voice, carrying through the corridors despite the closed doors, you remembered what happened and went back to sleep.

A/N 2: Please don’t feel obligated/pressured to reblog, because I write mostly for myself. A comment would be appreciated though :) Love, G.

#my writing #Toto Wolff fanfiction #Toto Wolff x reader #🖤

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bagopucks · 1 year

Text

J. Hughes - A Little Funky

✄————————————

Jack Hughes x OCD!reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warning(s): possibly triggering content to those who do have OCD. Mentions of blood, angst, resisting compulsions.

This one’s for all my OCD people! Your struggle is just as valid even if it’s not always as visible as others’.

Next thing I’m working on is a Quinn request!

—————————————

“Why do you do that?”

It caught me off guard the first time Jack asked. I looked up from my menu. Fear struck my heart in concern that I’d already ruined our first date.

“Do what?”

“You blink like..” he paused, mimicking the action. The way I blinked hard. The way my head tilted occasionally with the force I needed to get my eyelids to close just right.

I let out a quiet sigh.

“Why do you do that?” He restated his question.

“‘Cause I’m just a little funky, Jack.” He didn’t need to know. Not yet. It would scare him off. So instead, I phrased it as a joke. But Jack was far more observant than I gave him credit for at first.

It wasn’t the first time my mental health interfered on a date. Or even that date with Jack. After dinner, we had gone back to his place and agreed to spend a bit more time together.

The night had simply gone too well to part so soon.

“What do you wanna watch?”

I shrugged at Jack’s question. I quickly sat down next to him on the couch, leaning into his side as Jack scrolled through a streaming service. I counted the seconds it took for the app to flick down from one section to the next. Lost in thought as he tried finding a movie.

“Stop.” My urgency made Jack raise a brow.

“You wanna watch Corey Carson?”

“No- no.. go back up.” I shook my head, and watched as Jack scrolled up to the previous section.

“Wednesday?”

“It’s wrong now.” I reached for the remote. Jack’s confusion only doubled. I was strategic in my continuation of the scrolling. Only when we got to the bottom of the page and restarted at the top, did I allow Jack to have control over the remote again.

“What was that?”

I never knew how to explain it to him. I didn’t know how to make him understand that my brain just worked a little different than his. I hated to keep him in the dark, but I thought it was safer for us both to keep it as such.

Our ‘talking’ stage consisted of a lot of great moments, with those occasional interruptions sneaking in.

Interruptions that would leave Jack questioning my habits all day, and leave me feeling like I was walking on thin ice.

“Jack baby…I love you.”

“I love you too.”

A beat.

“Jack- Jack..” I tried to stop myself. “Jack, listen.” He looked at me, trying to walk out the door to go to a game. “I love you.”

“I know.”

“You have to say it back now.”

“I already did.”

I could sense myself getting frustrated with him and upset with myself.

“I gotta go.. okay?”

I nodded, but my mind wouldn’t let it go.

“Jack.” I called his name as he opened the door. He quickly looked back at me.

“I love you.”

“I love you too! Jesus..”

“I’m sorry.”

I didn’t know why it had to be like that. Why my mind had to work the way it did. It scared multiple people off, and I was always afraid of losing Jack because of it.

Eventually, months into our real relationship, I sat Jack down to speak with him on the matter. It was only after I could no longer hide it, that we had the talk.

What I didn’t expect was him to be so relieved and accepting when I told him.

“We should really talk about what’s going on.” I cringed as I looked up at Jack from his bed. He looked exhausted from his game. I was equally exhausted from getting up every ten minutes to check if I turned the stove off.

“What’s going on?” I knew what was coming.

“All of this stuff. It’s different. It’s just- you say you love me a million times, and you have all these.. these off behaviors.” I could tell he didn’t want to offend, but that was really the only way for him to describe it.

I slowly sat up, patting the empty space on the bed beside myself.

“Jack please don’t be mad.”

“God I’m not gonna be mad, just please tell me you’re not a psychopath.” He huffed as he dropped onto the bed, pulling his legs up and shimming until he was next to me.

Some might argue I was a psychopath. Some days that’s how it felt.

“It’s OCD. It’s a disorder- it’s just.. it’s really hard to live with sometimes, and I know projecting it on you doesn’t help. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s what?”

“Obsessive compulsive disorder. It’s when you obsess over certain things, and then you have physical or mental compulsions. Like triggered behaviors or actions that help calm you down.”

“Like saying I love you five thousand times?” Jack eyed me with uncertainty.

“Yeah. I get nervous that you’ll leave and maybe..” I hated talking about it.

“Maybe, what?”

“I don’t know. Like what if you leave and then get hurt? Or die? And I never told you that I loved you. Or maybe telling you that I loved you would save you from that fate.”

We spoke for what felt like hours on the topic. Jack asked as many questions as he could, and tried his best to understand.

We both realized that the best form of understanding came with time.

When we moved in together, Jack had a load of time to form an understanding.

——————

“Hun?” I heard his voice from the bedroom, groggy and confused. I didn’t answer though, staring down at my hands splayed out on the counter top, sobbing quietly as I had convinced myself that my circulation was being cut off.

“Baby?” There was rustling in the bedroom, before the bathroom door opened and in came Jack, in a pair of shorts and no shirt.

“Aw damn..” the disappointment in his tone made my heart break. “Hey, it’s okay.. what’s up?” Jack slipped behind me, carefully wrapping his arms around my torso. He eyed my face, and after a moment he put the pieces together. “Your hands?” We’d been here before.

Jack moved his hands down the expanse of my arms, resting them on top of my own on the cool counter top.

“Don’t look at ‘em. They’re gonna be the same color and feel the exact same way in five or ten minutes.” Jack whispered. He pressed a gentle kiss to my collar. “Gotta relax for me, baby.

I always had issues obsessing over my health. One of said compulsions was the consistent checking of a body part and another was Google searching. In this case, limiting the amount of checking I could actually do, was supposed to help. To show me and my thoughts that I was okay.

At first, I hated giving in to Jack. I hated that his methods never felt like they helped. I hated him because in those moments I felt safer checking myself than not. I couldn’t understand why he wanted me to be hurt.

Over time I began to understand better, that he was helping. I just didn’t like it because it was a good method.

I breathed out a sigh eventually, leaning back into Jack’s chest and nodding to him. “I’m good now.”

There were other days when my OCD got the best of both of us. When Jack struggled between giving in and pushing my limits. When he never quite knew what to do or say.

“I can’t wait to be home.”

“Yeah.. my feet hurt.” I mumbled, eyeing the tile floor of the mall as we neared the door. I had been counting my steps. I made Jack start over with me in three different stores. I think the only reason he agreed was to not ruin my day. But it seemed since it was coming to an end, he was trying to not be as lenient. The second we got to the door, I stopped and turned to go back. Jack gripped my hand tightly.

“We can’t do it again, hun.” I looked back at Jack with wide eyes. His own baby blues responded with a sympathetic look.

“Jack, please.” I squeezed his hand.

“You can do it.” He encouraged, but I wasn’t sure if I could.

“Jack it’s not an even number.” Odd numbers usually meant somebody might die in my head. Jack knew that.

“Who is it?” He spoke softly. He held his free hand out and I slowly stepped into his arms.

“Ellen.” I whispered nervously.

“We can call her when we get home.”

I broke down into tears for the hour long ride. By the time we got into the house, Jack already had Ellen’s number pulled up. When she didn’t answer, he realized his mistake and I was devastated.

Those were learning moments for both Jack and I. He tried to work past his mistake, and I had to wait longer to speak with Ellen. Who had ended up being fine nonetheless.

Jack and I weren’t a perfect couple, and there were nights when I know he got just as frustrated with me as I did with myself. I hated to put that stress on him, but I learned over time that he was not going anywhere.

“Why can’t I just be in here with you? I wanna hang out.” Frustration seeped out of his tone.

“Because I said so, Jack.” I mumbled, barely giving him the time of day with my words, much less my eyes.

One of the things I hated most were the intrusive thoughts I occasionally got about him. The ones that broke my heart, because no matter what they were, I could never live with the thought of myself hurting Jack.

I never wanted to be around him when one came about. Especially because I was always afraid. It was something I never told him, and he never understood.

“Please?”

“No, Jack. Please go call Nico or somebody else. I wanna be alone right now.”

He’d huff and he’d puff, but damn he never went away.

“I’ll be back in a half an hour.”

He was always adamant on checking in on me. He knew when it was my OCD. I had little tells he was good at picking out.

Intrusive thoughts were not the only reason I avoided Jack at times. I also struggled to be around him when he had a cut or broken skin somewhere that was touchable. I was lenient about it being beneath clothing, but on a hand or his face, parts of his arms they weren’t covered by t-shirts, or his legs where they wouldnt be covered by shirts- then I had an issue.

Jack didn’t have diseases by any means. Maybe yaps-a-lot-itus, but other than that, he was fine. That didn’t stop me from getting extra tense when the moment arose where I could have gotten his blood on me. When Jack tried to fight me on that, we usually got into fights.

“Would you at least cuddle with me?”

I hadn’t kissed him for days, not since he busted his lip.

“Jack I can’t. It’s not-“

“There’s nothing wrong with me! I’m fine!”

We could both be emotional in these times. Jack hated to be neglected, and he hated knowing there was nothing he could do to help me. I hated hurting him, and I hated knowing I was helpless against my own mind.

“Please be patient with me?”

“I’m trying!”

If, or when I did get the courage to lay with him, I kept an arguably safe distance. Sometimes Jack would coax me into hand holding, and sometimes he wouldn’t.

There were other nights however, when all I wanted was to be in Jack’s arms. When I’d focus too much on a chest pain or the sound of my own heartbeat. When I’d convince myself I had a heart problem or something major was wrong.

“I really need you to tell me how bad it hurts.” Jack whispered as I sobbed into his chest, his arms wrapped so tightly around me that one might assume I was actually dying. Moments like these always scared the shit out of Jack.

“Baby, I really need to know. If we need to go to the hospital then we need to go now.” Jack tried. I tried to get ahold of my wandering thoughts, trying and failing to communicate with him.

“Come on. You gotta have something for me. One out of ten.. how bad is it?”

He moved one of his hands to trail through my hair.

“Two or three?”

I felt silly for sobbing over a pain that was only two or three on the scale, but that simple confession helped my mind come to its first realization. And it helped Jack relax.

“That’s not bad…” Jack sighed out. “Where’s it hurt? Can you show me?” He slowly pulled away. I looked up at him and swallowed before I reached up to press a hand to the center of my chest, then around my abdomen.

“What’s it feel like?”

I felt myself becoming choked up again. I couldn’t explain it. I let out a strangled sob.

“Hey, hey.. it’s okay.” Jack took my face in his hands, and wiped away the trails of tears. “Is it a sharp pain? Or a dull one, like a soreness? Or does it burn, maybe?”

“It burns..” Jack was always so good at helping me organize what I thought and felt. So good at helping me communicate when I didn’t know how to.

“That’s it?” He asked as if it was nothing. Somehow hearing his nonchalance also relaxed me.

“Baby.. we ate a few hours ago.” Jack whispered, continuing to wipe my tears away. “It’s probably just heartburn.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my head. “I get it sometimes too. Feels all uncomfortable in your stomach and your chest? Kinda tight or burning?” I nodded to confirm that he was correct. “Yeah. It’s just heartburn. It’ll go away, just give it some time. If it doesn’t, we’ll go to the pharmacy and grab some pills.”

I was slow to nod in agreement of his plan. Jack pulled me back into his arms, whispering soft assurances and conversation starters. Some that I answered and some that I didn’t.

Occasionally that pain would grab my attention again, and a new wave of fear would strike, but Jack was one step ahead of it. Always one step ahead.

I rolled over in his arms, my back pressed firmly to his chest. One of Jack’s hands was hidden beneath my shirt, thumb rubbing gently back and forth across the skin of my stomach. I could feel his breath on the back of my neck.

“You’re safe right here.” He whispered. “Safe as you could possibly be. It’ll go away before you even wake up in the morning.” He pressed a kiss to my shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Jack.” I mumbled.

“For what?” He shifted, propping himself up on an elbow and looking down at me. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him though.

“For being so hard to handle.” My voice quivered.

“Hey,” he cooed. “Hey, no.” He laid back down and wrapped himself around me, slipping one of his legs stubbornly between my own. Even though I insisted it was a weird position. “You’re just a little funky.. remember?“

I scoffed at his recollection of the first time we ever spoke.

Jack and I may have gone through so much together, but I realized that it was easier to tackle with him, than without him.

“Maybe a lotta funky.. but I still love you.”

✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾

#nhl imagine #nhl x reader #jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes blurb #trevor zegras #quinn hughes #nhl hockey

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satoruzlove · 1 year

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hello! i recently found your account and i love every bits of stories you write! can i request something like atsumu, sakusa, and suna having an underground garage with over 12 cars or more? and their s/o jokingly claims that they love them only because of their money and cars? lol idk, you can decide about the other details. i would just love to read something like this. i hope you understand my messy and clumsy imagination :' )

i hope you have a good day/night! merry christmas also! 🥰❤️‍🔥

-🫧

I LITERALLY SAW THIS AND DIIIIEEED ANON CUS I RLY LIKE THIS IDEA, and THANK U MWAAAH IM SO GLAD U LIKE MY WRITING <333 HUGS & SUGAR COOKIES 4 U. i’m sorry about how fawking late this is & i rly hope u do like this- it took me a whole while to rly grasp what i wanted to do with this glorious prompt, i wrote a lot these past few days BUT WHATEVER HERE U ARE MY WONDERFUL BUBBLE ANON ( cute af choice btw)

LET ME RIDE ?

[k. sakusa , r. suna , a. miya ]

- suggestive at some parts , boys with cars, praising and touchiness ( kiyoomi ) , alcohol and FLIRTINGGG ( atsumu’s ), friends to lovers & lots of tension ( rintarou ) , also kiyoomi is called a sugar daddyLMAO but he isn’t i swear -

KIYOOMI SAKUSA ::

your boyfriend is meticulous in every aspect of his life. his looks, his health, his belongings- everything. from the way he keeps his clothing folded to how he cares for his multiple expensive , beautiful race cars. as a pro athlete it’s expected of him to have such things , but you’d never expect to see how he handles them with such care - almost as if they were people. he gets them serviced and checked every other month, and polishes the luxurious leather of the seats frequently. when you two were dating, he often picked you up from work in different cars each time - claiming to want to make you look like you were some kind of vip. although, whenever you requested to drive one of them, he’d give you a look. it’s not that he didn’t trust you, he just knew that you couldn’t drive for shit and there’s no way he letting you do trial and error on his multi million dollar mobile.

that’s how you got here ; standing beside him as he folds away some of his summer clothes and practically begging him to let you drive one of his babies. “i’ll even let you tell me how to drive, kiyo, you can be my instructor,” you whine softly. he muttered a ‘nope’ popping the ‘p’ to emphasise his adamancy on the topic. you tugged his shirt sleeve, nearly forcing his dark eyes onto you- before he even knew it, he was convinced. the thick lashes surrounding the swimming, sparkly pool of your irises bored up at him only interrupted momentarily by you blinking.kiyoomi’s eyebrows crunched , mimicking the way his heart squeezed in his chest, despite knowing you just wanted to use his car. he let out a loud, dramatic sigh before running a hand over his face. “fine, you can use one. i will be there, i will tell you what to do and i definitely will stop you if you screw up,okay?” your boyfriend bossed. you smiled up at him, “nono! you can just teach me yourself, i’ll pretend i don’t even have my license,” and when you saw the bored look on his face you added to your statement,” to y’know, ease your mind.”

kiyoomi poked his cheek with his tongue , only to stop a smile from forming on his face. “go get dressed into like,” he paused for a second, his tone questioning when he continued, “..driving clothes..?” and you laughed at that. happily you got dressed and headed to the lowest level of your two story house- the underground.as the sleek metal doors opened, multiple shiny, elegant cars came into view but kiyoomi made a beeline for one in particular. she was black, a two seater that had neon green highlights on her gorgeous sides. “ porshe 2022 911 gt3,” he muttered, slender fingers lightly brushing over the glossy hood. you gawk for a second, “ i have no idea what that is, but holy shit,” you mutter. he huffs a laugh before unlocking the machine.

you hop into the drivers seat, and kiyoomi stares you down. you nearly choke under his gaze , “ don’t tell me you changed your mind,” you challenge him. he laughs- heartily almost- until a smirk overcomes his pretty face. “ you said i could teach you, didn’t you? get up. you’re gonna be on my lap.” his tone is smooth, weight panging in your tummy as you process what he said. your hands hesitantly slide off the steering wheel, allowing him to get in. he adjusts his weight with his hips, hands resting on his upper thighs until he pats them. “ come,” he says, “ sit , we don’t have all day.”

you oblige, your own thighs caged by his as his hands find home on yours. he’s guiding them to the wheel, you observe. “ i’ll worry about clutch, acceleration and breaks. you just steer and change gears for me , okay?” you notice his tone is soft, gentle because of how close he is to your ear. his breath hovers right over the shell of your ear. you nod, and he turns the key in the ignition. little lights and buttons exert an array of colour- almost tempting you to press them. he revs the engine - a low, prolonged echo ringing throughout the underground garage and vibrating your intertwined forms. you close your eyes and soon you come to understand just why your boyfriend loves his cars.

“you know,” you mutter, head dropping onto his shoulder, “‘might steal this thing and flee the fuckin’ country. it feels so-,”,” freeing, huh?” he practically steals the words from your mouth. you nod, smiling breathlessly, “ exactly,” before continuing ,” maybe you being away so much isn’t that bad , considering how my friends think you’re my sugar daddy,” and your boyfriend scoffs. a thick, black brow raised,” atsumu was right, you really do want me for my money.” kiyoomi chuckles, earning another giggle from you. dreamily , you sigh, “ absolutely, you’re my lovely little sugar daddy,” kiyoomi’s body shakes with laughter and his dimples cave in- you swear you get butterflies every time they do.the warm up light on the car goes off and from that point , the drive was smooth sailing.

you didn’t go far , seeing as your house was quite far from anything else , you had a lot of room. you drove mainly around your area. you two had come to a park, very secluded and probably privately owned, and you parallel parked. kiyoomi’s lowered his head , muttering a ,” you’re really good at this, dunno why i was so worried. even i struggle to parallel park sometimes,” he admits shyly. you smile, but you don’t miss the way he gazes at you as your eyes train on the park just outside the window. as soon as your head turns, you’re met with kiyoomi. his lips on yours. your lover’s hand is on the back of your head- guiding you like he was as you drove- and his latter hand on your waist. for a moment he broke away, nose smushing against yours. “did so good for me today,” he muttered against you. you had no time to reply or even be surprised at his remark, as he dove in for another kiss. this one was hungrier, more passionate and less shy than before. of course, you followed the pace happily.

his lips left yours with a deep exhale , “ move to the passenger seat,” he instructed, “‘ wanna get us home real fast, gonna continue this in a more comfortable setting, yeah?” and as you moved, tumbling over the gear stick and quickly plopping yourself onto said seat, “gonna take my time with you, yn.” you heard from kiyoomi as he revved the car once more. you were definitely in for a ride.

SUNA RINTAROU ::

suna rintarou is your best friend. you’ve known eachother since child hood and have gone through absolute hell together. puberty, your first crushes, the trauma’s of young adulthood, dealing with the miya twins. you started liking him in middle school, only ever telling aran about it and swearing him to secrecy. you couldn’t tell if suna liked you, you knew that if he did feel the same he’d never tell you, because that’s how he was. any person he’s ever entertained had the same complaint , that he didn’t know how to express his feelings properly and they couldn’t take how badly he blows at communicating.

you don’t understand, and you could never ; because he knows how to communicate with you. you two have an inexplainable bond- and he doesn’t feel the suffocating, degrading feeling in his chest when he talks to you about how he feels. he trusts you with everything. he always has, he has no trouble telling you.

he trusts you with everything, except his cars. all 11 of them.

which is why you slapped his arm when he showed you his underground garage , claiming to ‘ wanna show you something really, really cool ’ he wasn’t lying. his black t shirt seemed to look godly under the stage lights of his garage, as he strolled next to you- taking in his collection and carefully watching your pupils blow in awe. “ you’re such a dick, rin,” you laugh, “ i can’t believe you kept this from me, knowing damn well i’d give my left tit to drive one of these” he snorts, head throwing back and eyes scrunching at your choice of words. he comes to a halt infront of a shimmery, matt- finished car. you eyes drag over the hood, the cat- like head lights and your eyes scrunch up in delight at the ‘ mommy’s boy’ sticker barely in sight. “ it’s a-“,” mclaren, 765lt right ?”

his moss green eyes betray the stoic look on his face. they widen, sparkling in amusement. “ i always forget that you have no friends and read all day,” he feigns a sugary sweet tone. you shove him by the hip, toddling over to the passenger seat. “stop being an ass and take me for a drive.” you sigh. rin tries to ignore how right it feels to have you in his passenger seat , the way his mind quickly flicks images of you two going out at odd hours for icecream, his hand in a wedding ring- your wedding ring- on the gear stick. “ rintarou, come back to earth!” you bark laughter, now infront of him. his eyes screw shut and widen, he hadn’t even realised that he zoned out. he’s looking down at you, eyebrows raised as he attempts to ease out of his daze.

“stop being so bossy, you little tree stump,” he mumbles, making his way to the driver’s side door. it slides open smoothly, and he practically jumps inside. as you do the same, a smell- his smell- envelopes you. old spice and a tinge of something sweet. you both reach for the radio at the same time, and as his hand makes contact with yours he nearly jumps away as if your hands were a burning hot coal. he clears his throat, starting the car and ignoring the furious flutter i the pit of his stomach. you connect your phone, skipping through your playlist. you finally choose a song, and rintarou swears he could fall over and giggle like a little girl at your choice.

“love you like a brother, treat you like a friend,

respect you like a lover, oh,oh,oh”

your best friend’s eyes flit over to yours, only for him to spot you lip syncing the words of the song. as he pulls out the drive way he imagines you- calling him your lover, holding him, kissing him, being his. he smiles softly when you turn to him, lip syncing the words with conviction. “ if you be the cash, i’ll be the rubber band,” you mumble along with the song, hands coming out to poke him to punctuate your words. he mirrors you, eyebrows lifting as he sings.”painter baby you could be the muse, im the reporter baby-,” you two look at eachother in unison, your hands finding his cheeks,” you could be the news,” and for a moment, he doesn’t realise that you’re holding him so sweetly.

when the chorus comes, you two sit in silence as he pulls over to a mcdonald’s drive through. it’s quiet,lights of the glowing sign washing you with hues of colour and making you look of another world. you turn to him, boredly saying, “ you’re not so bad if we get to do this ,” and he rolls his eyes. he clicks his tongue , “ you’re literally like inlove with me, shut up,” he jests. your eyes don’t move for a moment, neither does your body, until you mutter a ‘true’ and turn away like it’s nothing.

rintarou waits for you to make a joke- but you don’t.

his face is pink, your tone was so genuinely that he could believe what you said. that he could think you’re being serious. he sips his sprite, “ good.” he replies to you. whether you were kidding or not, it’s a safe response. you sit there in silence for hours, and for once, rintarou isn’t properly communicating with you ; because he values you too much. too much to lose you, too much to love you, because he doesn’t know how. he’ll take you for drives as much as you want- forever even- if it means he gets to keep you.

ATSUMU MIYA ::

you and your lover stumbled into his mansion, a heap of giggles and whiskey flavoured kisses. atsumu’s grip on your hips is hard, loving , equal parts stable as he ushers you down to his garage. the blond smiles at you, lovesick, “thank you for coming back with me, sweet cheeks,” he mumbles. you giggle, eyes shiny and doe like- not a single thought behind them- “ thank you for inviting me, tsumu,” you mewl in response. he grows tired of stumbling and picks you up, earning a girly giggle, and practically running down the stairs with you. “ tsumu!” you laugh heartily, tears in your eyes as he nearly falls but somehow manages to keep you off the ground. he gets up sloppily, converse squeaking against marble floors right before he enters the garage. the man puts you down, planting a disgustingly wet kiss on your cheek and rubbing it with his large, calloused thumb.

he spreads his beefy arms, “ welcome to my pride and joy,” he stumbles a bit, “ apart from you, and my dog, my babies of course” he smiles. your lips part in awe looking at them all, and he smirks with pride. you feel playful - “ glad i gave you a chance, babes, this is really impressive. might just marry you for all this,” you say. he raises his eyebrows, a smile on his face and the apples of his cheeks rising, closing the gap between you he gets so close that you smell your favorite champaigne on his breath. “well baby, if it’s the money you want i’ll give it you. cant say ‘no’ to the prettiest baby in the world, can i?” his eyes are glazed under the influence, but his tone sounds so kind. so tender with you. you knew that atsumu would put the ocean in the sky for you, but something about him saying made you fall for him again. your blond lover melts at the blush on your cheeks, and backs away again.

when he drags you to a car you pull him to a halt. “ tsum,” you say, “ we can’t drive- we had alcohol,” you say. atsumu laughs , grabbing your neck gently and placing yet another sloppy kiss on your cheek, “ i wanna make out with you in my car, honeybunch, not drive,” he slurs. he gets in the back seat,hauling you onto his thick thighs and kneading at your hips. “ so gorgeous, so handsome , so perfect for me,” he says in-between kisses placed lovingly on your puffy lips. “ my good baby, my baby.” he’s babbling, mindlessly saying whatever his heart desires, “ mine, mine, mine,” he continues, like a mantra , sacred and ancient- like the only thing that he knows.

he kisses your lips hungrily and squeezes your sides, as if to keep you and this moment in his grasp forever. the leather under you is hot with passion and affection, the most innocent lust he’s ever felt because you are worth everything. whether it’s all his money or his entire soul- he’d give it all to you.

brain went wOmp for sakusa’ s i’m not sureeee how i feel. also not proofread cus my phone is dying but i rly rly like atsumu’s like woah. tbh i’m JUST NOT SURE ABOJT KIYOOOOOOMIS AAAAAAA but this was fun af !!! kiss kiss fall inlove

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