#but i only got her in CHAPTER. FUCKING. TWENTY THREE OF TWENTY SIX.

[unholyhelbig]

new oversight will be everything! i can’t wait!

Title: Work Life Balance [an Oversight Oneshot]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: When reader gets hurt during a job, she starts to worry about how her girlfriend, the infamous mafia boss that controls the city, will react

[a/n: while this isn't a new chapter of Oversight (I am working on that), it is set in the same universe as the Oversight. It's based off of a Private Practice episode, and something a little lighter & silly. Enjoy!]

Warnings: Gun violence, blood, spit, threats, blood, hurt/comfort, No spell checks

Check out the full Oversight universe

[ Part one | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven ]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

The metal bat had slammed against the side of your face with enough force to blind you momentarily in the right eye. It knocked the sense out of you too and your bearings were scrambled until that darkness started to ebb away into a blurry image of the alleyway.

There was a pungent scent in the air, rotted food in dark green trash bags that had been torn by tiny teeth, or elongated claws. Crumpled napkins and discarded soda cups littered the damp ground.

Before the man could swing the bat for a second time, you caught it half an inch from your face and shoved it away. He was disarmed and you were able to shove his back up against the wall, holding him there despite his squirming. His lip was split, the blood drying quickly from the bright red to a deep black.

“Come on, man.” You twisted your hand into the fabric of his shirt, bunching your fingers around his collar. “We fronted the product, so you have to front the cash.”

“Fuck off,”

He spit on you, a gummy mix of tobacco and sugar. There were a lot of things you could handle; the ringing in your ear, and the pain in your knuckles from the first four blows you threw. But spit was where you drew the line. It had bugged you since you were in fifth grade and Amy Sheldon dangled a long string of it inches from your nose before slurping it back up through the slit in her buck teeth.

“Alright,” you breathed out, making sure you kicked the fallen bat out of his reach. “You agree to push product on that little street racer of yours in exchange for twenty five percent of the cut. You get sloppy and sample the product and don’t have the cash to give to my boss?”

You lifted him from the brick and shoved him back down onto it with enough force to push the putrid breath from his lungs. “That doesn’t feel very fair, now, does it?”

He smiled at you with a laugh that rivaled a cackle. His teeth were orange with diluted blood. There was no getting through to him. Your free hand dipped into the side of your jacket. Over the last two years, you’d grown well accustomed to the feeling of a gun in your hand.

You pushed the tip of the gun under his chin into the soft spot of his skin. He stopped laughing, the sound getting stuck in his throat with a choking sound.

“Do you know what they call me?” You gritted.

“A raging bitch?”

You made a buzzing noise in the back of your throat, much like the signaling of a wrong answer on a game show. There was a soft click as you pulled the trigger of the gun. The man in your grasp tensed and hissed.

“Wrong. You know, at first, I just forgot to load my gun. Got me into some pretty hot water, scalding actually. But eventually it became a bit of a calling card. Roulette. I can pull the trigger as many times as I want, but only one will hit it’s mark.”

He swallowed hard, you felt it in the side of your hand. He was sweating and you were growing tired of the empty threats. Yelena wouldn’t approve of something like this, and you were sure Natasha wouldn’t have had a second thought about putting a mark between his eyebrows.

“Most men aren’t lucky more than twice,” You pulled the trigger again, met with another soft click. Of course, there were no bullets in the chamber; they rattled in your front pocket like your keys. “Three times at most.”

His voice cracked. “Please,”

There was a sharp scent in the air that rivaled that of trash. You were losing blood fast. It had streaked down the side of your face from a gash on your temple and crusted the collar of your shirt.

“You have a week to make up the difference. A week and I’ll be back with a gun that has more than one bullet in the chamber. Am I clear?”

“Yes, but-“

“Am I clear?”

He nodded aggressively and you sheathed your weapon, releasing him. His legs gave out and he sunk to the damp pavement. You picked up the weighted metal back, entirely content to take it with you. It would make your next encounter a hell of a lot easier.

It was impossible to sneak into the house without giving yourself away. Even if you were to park down the block, unlace your shoes and pad into the foyer barefoot, and leave the front door open a crack, you were at risk of creating a scene.

That didn’t mean that you couldn’t keep the injured side of your face away from Natasha for as long as possible. She would know that something was up, and despite her throwing you into this life in the first place, her heart broke when you were on the deep side of any injury.

You set the metal bat down with a bucket of black umbrellas and a bench that was mostly unused. There was a dull metal thump that aggravated the headache that was coming on. You attempted to sneak up the stairs, but the second your fingertips hit the mahogany handrail you were stopped by an irritated voice with a Russian lilt to it.

Yelena was sprawled out on the sofa, a book was face down on her chest, lifting and falling with each breath. She’d given up on it in favor of the warmth that Kate provided her. Kate’s head was on Yelena’s shoulder, her arms wrapped around her midsection. Yelena looked perfectly comfortable in between Kate’s legs, both of them were about ready to doze off and if you had waited an extra five minutes, maybe you would have gotten away with sneaking in.

“Did you get hit by a bus?” Kate asked.

You leaned against the entryway of the sitting room. “Ricky got a good hit in with a metal bat.”

“Oo, Natasha is going to be mad at you.” Yelena chuckled, taunting you like a child. You would have thrown a pillow at her if Kate wasn’t in the line of fire.

She was going to be mad at you for not using the buddy system that was proposed and certainly for not dodging the hit that was coming your way. Natasha hated when you got hurt and that sad look in her eyes was worse than whatever pain could be inflicted on you.

“It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“It looks pretty bad.” Kate said.

You shot them both the middle finger before turning away and padding up the stairs towards your shared bedroom with Natasha. Most days, she was holed up in her office and you didn’t bother her until the ache for her touch, for her presence, bothered you both enough to cave.

That was most days.

Some days, Natasha could be found in your room in sweatpants with a laptop propped up on her crossed legs. She was dwarfed in the silk bedspread, her hair in a messy bun and a pair of glasses on the bridge of her nose.

This was quite possibly your favorite look on Natasha, this quiet version of her. She’d let you hold her in this state instead of the other way around. You hated to break the mood, hated that she glanced up from her laptop not once, but twice.

Wordlessly, Natasha set her work aside and walked over to you. She cupped your face, her fingers cold against your cheeks. Her voice was soft and when she was angry enough, there was the slightest bit of a Russian inflection to her words. “What happened?”

“I… didn’t use the buddy system.”

“Mm, you didn’t use the buddy system.”

Her thumb moved against the black and blue wound against your eye. She pressed every so slightly, testing its durability. You winced, drawing in a breath through clenched teeth. It wasn’t bad, really, her touch soothed you just as quickly as it had bitten you with pain.

Natasha was good at taking care of you and she pulled you into the large master bathroom that the two of you shared. There was an abundance of white and beige. It was always a few degrees cooler than the rest of the house and offered a form of comfort as such.

There were nights where the two of you would simply brush your teeth shoulder to shoulder, and there were nights where she had her arms wrapped around you amongst the deep scent of lavender. Bubble hit her touch as her fingers roamed over the most intimate parts of you.

Now, she guided you to the edge of the sink and lifted you up in a fluid motion. She stood between your legs, making you feel even more like a child when Yelena had scolded you downstairs. Still, there was a degree of affection in her movements. Natasha frowned as she pulled a med kit from the bottom of the sink.

She tutted “Zaychik, this looks bad.”

“Image wise or the actual wound because-“You let out a small noise when she placed the frigid and stinging antiseptic against your face. It sent electric down your spine. “I didn’t know he had a bat.”

“A bat?”

“Right out of left field.”

Natasha’s frown deepened. This was supposed to be an easy job, and by all means, it was. You had accomplished your assignment of scaring up. You were sure he had released his bladder as he slid down the wall into a fetal position. Getting the money from a frightened man was going to be no problem.

Tonight was intended to be calm. You’d come home and shower and eat pizza and spend the entire night curled up in Natasha’s arms while she typed away on the computer. You’d listen to her breathing, her heartbeat.

Instead, she was roughly patching you up, buzzing with anger under her stare. “Why didn’t you take Clint?”

“Nat, I have a fantastic idea.”

“If it involves gutting that man alive and hanging him from a flagpole, then I am all in, darling.” Her words were light, distracted, as she wiped away a good portion of dried blood.

“What if we left things at the office, metaphorically speaking. What if we didn’t bring stuff like this home? Shut it all off.”  

She pulled back far enough to stifle her floral scent. There was an adorable crease between her eyes. “My mind doesn’t work like that, Malysh. This home is my office and vice versa. Someone hurt you and that is my business. That is my work.”

“I know,” you said, tucking a strand of fallen hair behind her ear. She glowered under her thick-framed glasses. You wanted nothing more than to kiss the frown off her face. “I know, but sometimes I just want to be with you.”

“Huh,”

“Huh?”

“Huh.”

This wasn’t exactly a constructive conversation. You figured as much when she ripped a bandage out of its waxy packaging and slapped it onto the gash against your temple. You let out a disgruntled noise and she grasped your waist and maneuvered you back to the floor. Your legs had fallen asleep and you were a little unsteady.

Natasha flicked on the sink and started scrubbing her hands of your blood. “No sex,”

“What?” You blinked at her, scratching fruitlessly at the adhesive on the bandage. It was incredibly itchy.

Natasha dried her hands on the nearby towel, “You heard me, no sex.”

“You… You’re withholding sexual pleasure because of something that happened at work?”

“Not something that happened at work, your refusal to talk about it.”

“Natasha,” You nearly whined.

“No sex!” She huffed, pointing towards the exit of the room “Go sleep on the couch.”

You dropped your shoulders in defeat. You had been banned to the couch? Your girlfriend didn’t’ withhold most things and the two of you had a very healthy and active life. There wasn’t true anger behind her words, instead she was testing you. Watching you until you give in.

“Fine,” You huffed, crossing your arms “The couch sounds lovely.”

“Good,”

“Great.”

“Fine.”

You grabbed the fuzzy blanket at the base of the bed and started to stalk towards the door. You could feel Natasha staring at you, waiting for you to turn around and apologize but it wouldn’t happen. Not this time. You were setting boundaries and if that included…no sex… then that was fine. It was fine.

“Zaychik?”

You turned back to Natasha, one eyebrow lifted, “Yes?”

“Leave the blanket.”

She gave you a sugary sweet smile before settling back into her previous position, pulling her computer into her lap. Your jaw was agape, but you tossed the blanket at her nonetheless and stormed out of the room.

The nerve, the absolute nerve!

Natasha wasn’t particularly hard to have a conversation with, but work was nearly untouchable with her. You knew that. She knew that. You did as you were told and protected her and her assets at all costs.

When you got back downstairs you fixed yourself a sloppy peanut butter and jelly sandwich before sulking back into the living room and flopping down onto the recliner in the corner. Yelena had since fallen asleep, and Kate was reading the book while her eyes grew heavy.

“You got kicked out, huh?”

“Kicked out, banned from sex.” You waved the sandwich around in the air “doghouse.”

Kate scoffed “the Romanoff sisters aren’t always the most forthcoming, are they?”

She was looking lovingly at Yelena, stroking her hair as the smaller woman curled deeper into her, fingers clenching at Kate’s flannel and then releasing as she settled back into a comfortable sleep.

“They make it hard to love them, but the moments where the mask slips and they’re vulnerable. Moments like these make everything worth it. And despite everything, you know they care. They’ll always care.”

“Sometimes too much,” you took a large bite of your sandwich.

“No such thing.”

Yelena stirred in her arms, nose pressed against Kate’s pulse point. She clenched her eyes tighter, her next words mumbled “Kate Bishop, if you don’t stop talking you will be sleeping on the couch with y/n.”

“Doghouse,” You said with a long sigh.

“Mm,” Kate hummed, letting out a quiet whisper “Doghouse,”

[Taglist🕷♡: @dumbasslesbi, @lostremind, @toouncreativeforausername @autorasexy @eringranola @mikookaaaaaao @marvelwoman-simp @pacmanmiles @mostlymarvelsstuff, @mrsrushman, @milfsandtittyenthusiast, @random-raccoon4, @ravenromanova, @mysticalmoonlight7, @ahintofchaos@cowboyboots236 @lissaaaa145, @natsxwife]

#Natasha Romanoff #Natasha Romanoff x y/n #Natasha Romanoff x you #Natasha Romanoff x reader #Natasha Romanov #Natasha Romanov x reader #natasha Romanov x y/n #Natasha Romanov x you #Mafia au #Mafia Boss Natasha Romanoff #Kate Bishop #Yelena Belova #Bishlova

[whatdoeseverybodywant]

Rebuild & Restore - Chapter 1

Here it is, the sequel to All Falls Down

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

All OC Characters belong to me

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SIX MONTHS AGO

Kiyana closed her eyes and let out a deep breath. “I can’t do this anymore Josh. I can’t even go out with some friends without you accusing me of sleeping around.”

“Whatchu’ want me to think Kiyana? Look at how you about to leave this house.” Kiyana rolled her eyes. She had worked so damn hard to get her body back to the way it was before she had her boys. She was going to show it off every chance she got. 

“You never had a problem with how I dressed before!” She responded, raising her voice. 

“That was before you decided that your body no longer belonged to me!” Kiyana narrowed her eyes and stomped towards him. 

“You have no fucking right. You decided to sleep with that bitch first and when i give you a taste of your own medicine you can’t fucking handle it. You been hounding me since I agreed that we can try to make things work. Why are you so damn paranoid Joshua?  I’m here, I’m still here with you after everything you did to me. Get the fuck over what happend with me and Joe and let’s move the fuck on like we agreed.” Josh turned his face up at her before sucking his teeth and stomping up the stairs, slamming the door to their room. 

PRESENT DAY

Kiyana had never seen Josh look so defeated as he sat at the other end of the table with his lawyer. He had his hand folded together and would not look up from the table. He hadn’t even spoken since he walked into the room, only giving his lawyer a head nod or shake when asked a question. 

It She had tried so damn hard to move forward with her marriage with Josh, but they were always walking on eggshells around each other. It wasn’t like before when they were two people who fell in love in highschool and thought they would be together forever. It was different. For Kiyana, it was like waking up next to a stranger everyday for six months. He was still Josh, he just wasn’t her Josh. He wasn’t the same Josh she fell in love with in highschool. His affair tarnished her image of him and she couldn’t pretend anymore. 

“She can keep it.” She heard Josh talk and she blinked, focussing her attention back to Josh and his lawyer. “She can keep the car and the house, she can keep everything.. All I want is to see my kids when I’m off the road.” Kiyana and her lawyer shared a look before she nodded her head in agreement with what Josh wanted. 

“Ok, what about spousal support?” 

“I don’t need it.” Kiyana said and for the first time in weeks Josh actually looked at her. “I called in a couple of favors and I'll be starting back at my old job on Monday.” 

“Kiyana, take the damn support.” 

“No.” She said firmly, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t need it, Joshua. I can support myself. I don’t want anything from you.” 

“Wow.” Josh scoffed, staring Kiyana down. “That’s really how you feel? After twenty-three years -” 

“Fuck them twenty-three years.” She scoffed, with a roll of her eyes. “You had an affair for four months! Them twenty three years mean shit now.” She held out her hand to her lawyer and he placed the pen in her hand. “Where do I sign?” 

Kiyana let out a sigh as she pulled into the driveway to Trinity and Jon’s house. The last thing she wanted to do was be at a birthday party with her ex-family. She and Josh had only been officially divorced for about 4 hours. 

She already had it in her mind that she was only going to drop the boys off, she was not staying at this party. She forced a smile on her face as she and her boys walked into the backyard of Trinity and Jon’s house. The smile faltered a bit as the backyard went quiet with all of Josh’s family members staring at her. 

Clearing her throat, she held her head up high as she walked over to where Kamari had run over too. 

“Hi.” She said to Josh handing him Kairo who was already trying to jump out her arms to get to his dad. Josh said nothing to her as he took Kairo and Kiyana resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She bent down and placed a kiss on Kaiden’s and then Kamari’s forehead. “Daddy will drop you guys off at home ok.” She said to them, cutting her eyes to Josh who nodded his head in agreement. 

“You’re not staying?” Kaiden asked, grabbing her hand with a pout on his face and Kiyana almost folded.. almost. 

“No bubba.” Kiyana said softly. “Don’t you wanna spend time with daddy and your cousins?”  She pointed over to where Kamari had run off to with their cousins, playing in the bouncy house and Kaiden nodded but still didn’t let go of her hand. 

Josh handed Kairo over to his sister and bent down so he was eye level with Kaiden. “It’s okay Kai. You gon see mommy later okay.” Kaiden nodded and gave his mommy a kiss on the cheek before running over to where his cousins were playing. 

“Okay you can go now.” Kiyana let out a sigh then chuckled. She knew it was coming. “Nobody wants you here after what you did to my brother.” Kiyana rose back to her full height and turned around to face Josh’s sister Melvania. She smirked as she took in the look on Mel’s face. Melvania never liked Kiyana over some petty cheerleader bullshit that happened back in high school. 

“Never said I was staying ,Mel.” Kiyana rolled her eyes. She nodded her head at Josh as went to walk out of the backyard. 

“ Good riddance whore.” Kiyana her Melvania whisper and giggle with one of their cousins. Tired of the disrespect, Kiyana turned around to face them. 

“I don’t see how I'm the bad guy in this situation. I had my little fling after your brother had his affair for four months and I still stayed with his ass trying to fix our marriage.” Mel scoffed and shrugged her shoulders. 

“You still cheated on my brother.” Kiyana had to laugh. Because Mel always made excuses for Josh’s and Jon’s behavior. In Mel’s eyes her brothers could do no wrong. 

“After he cheated on me and told the bitch he was planning on divorcing me first!.” Kiyana wanted to smirk at the shocked look on Melvania’s face at the information she just learned. 

“Come on Yana. Let me walk you to your car.” Jon had come over to put out the fire between Kiyana and his sister after seeing his twin stand there and watch the whole thing. 

Kiyana glared at Josh before storming off from the party. “I’m sorry If i ruined the vibe for Jayla’s party. I know alot of your family doesn’t want me around.” Jon only nodded and watched as she got into her car. He felt bad for Kiyana. Most of her second family had turned their back on her because Josh wasn’t telling the whole truth. 

“Listen, you know me and Trin always got your back right.” When Kiyana nodded, Jon continued. “I just don’t think it's a good time to be around right now. Just for the time being.” Kiyana felt her heart drop into her stomach. 

“Wow. You know what..” Kiyana couldn’t even get the words out. Jon had basically just told her to stay away from his family. 

“Kiyana, I’m just saying -” 

“I understand what you’re saying Jonathan.” She said as the tears started coming down her face. “Message received loud and clear.” 

SOOO... first chapter of the sequel... y'all feeling it or nah?

Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

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[elliesbelle]

nobody compares to you

chapter 9

pairing: ellie x reader

synopsis: you're in your junior year of college and at a party, you run into the girl who broke your heart: ellie williams. despite the time it took to reset your life, will you risk a broken heart again for her?

content warnings: modern college au, cursing, angst, descriptions of and allusions to physical altercations and violence, descriptions of alcohol, dealer!ellie, more loser!ellie, mentions of smoking and marijuana, ellie's POV, minors do not interact

word count: 3.7k

chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen

series masterlist

my masterlist

i have a ko-if if you like my work so much that you feel compelled to tip me ♡︎

the "nobody compares to you" spotify playlist

featuring the song “it might be you” by stephen bishop:

Four Days Ago

“Ellie, what the fuck! Oh, shit!”

“The fuck! Th-the fuck…is your problem!”

“Shit! Ellie!”

“Chang, get…this–fuck!–cunt…off of me!”

“El–ow! Ellie!”

“I heard what you fucking said to my girl!”

“What are–shit…motherfucker!”

“Ellie, stop!”

“You..fucking…cunt!”

“Yo, bro, get the fuck off of her!”

“Is that…all…you…can do?!”

“Alright, fuck! Enough! Stop!”

Two Days Ago

Ellie had been walking around campus with her hood over her head and eyes to the ground all day. She’d been ignoring calls & texts from her friends and clients and, to her growing annoyance, Daniela. She’d attended all her classes, but she’d sit as far back as possible and avoid any interactions or eye contact. During her breaks, she’d find some remote spot behind a building or in a secluded stairwell to smoke in private.

It was late afternoon now and Ellie’d just dashed out of her last class of the day. She didn’t want to go home to her apartment where she’d get ambushed by Jesse and, most likely as well, Dina. But she had nowhere else to loiter where she’d be able to sulk and smoke in peace, and her phone was also dying.

The walk to her and Jesse’s apartment was barely ten minutes from campus, but Ellie made sure to stretch it out to almost twenty. She walked four flights of stairs instead of taking the elevator like she usually would. She couldn’t even hear the jingling of her keys over the deafening sounds of Kendrick Lamar blasting in her earphones as she unlocked the front door.

The previous evening felt completely surreal. Ellie would have assumed it was just some rage-induced nightmare if it weren’t for the throbbing pain in her black eye and bruised right hand. After Jesse was able to pry Frat Guy Adam off of her before he could do any real damage and hastily convince him that she was probably tripping off of this strong new strain she got, Ellie immediately shut herself in her bedroom for the rest of the night. The only thing Jesse could get out of her before she disappeared behind her door was, “I seriously can’t fucking believe she’s letting her fuck her again.”

As Ellie crossed the doorway of the apartment, the second verse of “HUMBLE.” was abruptly yanked out of her ears by Dina’s quick fingers.

“Jesus fuck—Dina!” Ellie fussed, irritated as she attempted to grab her earphones back.

Dina said nothing as she balled them up and shoved them into her back pocket.

“How the fuck did you even know I was coming?” Ellie grumbled, knowing full well that she, Dina, and Jesse all indefinitely shared their respective locations with each other on their phones.

“Let’s talk, El.” Dina merely sighed.

Ellie scoffed in response and held out her hand.

“Can I have my earphones back?” She asked.

“No.”

“Seriously?”

“Ellie, we need to talk!”

Ellie didn’t reply as she stomped off towards her bedroom. She was about to slam the door in Dina’s face when she was met with Jesse’s back turned to her with sandpaper in one hand and a paint scraper in the other.

“Uhh, what the fuck, dude?” Ellie asked, dropping her backpack on top of her desk.

“I knew you’d leave your knife in here for the next two months or so if I didn’t do anything about it.” Jesse replied, sanding down the area where the knife once was lodged into the wall.

Dina leaned against the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Told him that you were too attached to that thing to not yank it out yourself, but he insisted on doing it and cleaning up your mess. As per usual.” Dina said, motioning to the small bucket of white plaster by Jesse’s feet.

“Yeah, I’m not cleaning all that up, though.” Jesse said, gesturing to all the dust now covering a portion of the bedroom floor.

Ellie shrugged off her hoodie and hung it on the back of a chair. She spotted her now-unstuck switchblade on top of some books on her desk and quickly pocketed it.

“Okay, well, can you guys maybe get out of my room now?” Ellie huffed, collapsing lazily onto her bed before grabbing a comic book on her bedside table that she had previously been reading the night before.

“We can,” Dina replied. “But we’re not going to.”

Ellie rolled her eyes and flipped a page.

Jesse and Dina shared a collective look and a heavy sigh.

“Dude, we gotta talk about yesterday.” Jesse insisted. “You seriously can’t keep ignoring this.”

“What the fuck even happened, really?” Dina asked.

“What, this one didn’t tell you?” Ellie replied, nodding towards Jesse’s direction without looking up from her comic book.

“All he told me is that you got your shit rocked by some frat guy trying to buy from you.”

“Hey!” Ellie said, sitting up and throwing her hands up in the air in indignation. “I fucked him up!”

“Then why do you have a black eye?” Dina questioned.

Ellie grumbled something unintelligible and sat back down to return to reading. Dina rolled her eyes.

“All I did was introduce him to her and she just suddenly wailed on him.” Jesse explained to Dina.

“I already knew who the fuck he was.” Ellie said behind her comic book.

“Oh shit, yeah,” Jesse recalled. “She did say she remembered him, and then she went nuts.”

“Who was this again?” Dina asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“Adam Patterson from Sigma Eta.” Jesse replied.

“Yeah, I have no idea who that is.” Dina admitted.

“He came with our group to the diner the other night after the party,” Jesse said at the same time that Ellie said, “He was at Sterling’s with us.”

Dina’s knitted eyebrows straightened out in recognition.

“Oh, wait, was he that douchebag that sat next to—”

“Yes.” Ellie interrupted angrily.

Jesse and Dina immediately shared a look.

“Does this have anything to do with Abby Anderson?” Dina asked Ellie.

“Wait, what about Anderson?” Jesse questioned, eyebrows furrowing.

“You didn’t tell him?”

“Tell me wh—“ Jesse started but was cut off when his phone started buzzing furiously.

He took out his phone from his back pocket and frowned.

“Ah shit,” He muttered. “I gotta help Sidney set up with the open mic.”

“Now?” Dina asked.

“It’s every other Tuesday and I promised her.” Jesse shrugged.

He walked over to Dina to give her a quick peck on the lips before turning towards Ellie, pointing at her sharply.

“When I get back, I want to hear why the hell you’ve lost your goddamn mind.” He demanded of her before leaving the room. A few seconds passed before they heard the front door close behind him.

Dina sighed, uncrossed her arms, and strolled over to sit at the foot of Ellie’s bed. She unconcernedly shoved Ellie’s dirty Converse to the side, earning her a kick from Ellie which she easily dodged.

“Can you stop assaulting every single person you come across, Williams?” Dina said after slapping the foot that tried to punt her.

“Can you get out of my room?” Ellie asked, ignoring her question.

“Did you really try to beat the shit out of that Adam guy ‘cause of—“

“Why are we still talking about this?” Ellie immediately interjected.

“Because you’re out here attacking innocent people because of her!”

Ellie remained quiet as she sat up straight and placed her comic book back on her nightstand before replying.

“He called her a fucking queer, D.”

Dina blinked and stared at her.

“He did what?”

“When we were at Sterling’s the other night.”

“Oh, shit.” Dina whispered. “Okay, well, maybe not so innocent then.”

“No, he’s fucking not.” Ellie seethed, fists clenching.

“Okay, but it’s not really helping anyone if you get kicked out of school ‘cause you’re out here beating the shit out of some grade-A douchebag who most definitely deserved it,” Dina added, seeing that Ellie was about to interrupt. “Are you really that pissed off that she’s seeing Abby Anderson?”

“She can see whoever the fuck she wants. It’s really none of my business.” Ellie replied stubbornly.

“Ellie, c’mon, when are you going to face your fucking feelings for her for once?” Dina said. “You couldn’t man the fuck up when you were together, and now you don’t even speak to each other and you still won’t admit it.”

“Sorry that I’m too emotionally constipated for you.”

Dina rolled her eyes but then suddenly giggled.

“What?” Ellie asked.

“That’s probably the first time that you haven’t corrected me on the fact that you were together.”

Ellie kicked her softly.

“Oh, shut up.” Ellie retorted.

Yesterday

“You need to wrap that shit up better, El.” Dina said, gesturing to Ellie’s poorly bandaged right hand.

The sun was beginning to set, and Dina and Ellie’s shadows glided alongside each other on the brick pathway. Pink rays of light peeking from the sky hit Ellie’s freckles so beautifully that it almost distracted from her bruised eye.

“What? It’s fine.” Ellie shrugged.

“The wraps are already coming off, dumbass.” Dina noted.

“My bad, I’m not studying to be a doctor, unlike some people.” Ellie said, quickly murmuring the last part.

Dina merely rolled her eyes at this, refusing to engage further in Ellie’s growing vendetta against Abby Anderson.

They walked for about another ten minutes to reach the diner, chatting nonsensically about their classes and friends and some new asshole clients that Ellie had recently acquired.

Ellie had Dina laughing about her secretly charging some senior jock douchebags twice as much as usual for shamelessly hitting on her when they walked through the doors of Sterling’s. Ellie suddenly felt a strange ache in her stomach as they entered the restaurant. When she felt wary eyes on her, her discomfort was immediately explained.

Her gaze unintentionally met yours, her ocean green eyes widening in shock. The expression on your face mirrored her thoughts as her freckles turned bright pink. You both turned to your friends simultaneously in panic.

“Dina, what the fuck!” Ellie hissed.

“What?” Dina said, not realizing the situation they’d walked into.

“Did you do this shit on purpose?” Ellie demanded of her.

“What the hell are you going on about?” Dina asked, still clueless as she was busy looking around for the diner’s hostess.

“Can you please use your eyes for one second?”

“Wh—” Dina began but stopped suddenly when she saw what had caught Ellie’s rapt attention.

“Goddamn it,” Dina muttered. “Alright, hang on.”

Ellie watched as Dina marched over to the small table where you and Jesse were having dinner. Her eyes fell on you once more, remembering the last time she saw you with Abby Anderson. She suddenly felt a pang of guilt wash over her when she thought about the last conversation you’d had in the bathroom of this same diner, her eyes tearing away from your figure to stare at her old Converse.

God, I’m such a fucking dickhead.

She teetered back and forth on her feet as she felt shame seeping through her bones. She didn’t look back up until the diner’s hostess approached her.

“Hi, how many in your party?” She asked.

“Oh, uh, no. I’m here for pick-up?” Ellie replied.

“Oh gotcha, what’s the name?”

“It should be under Dina Woodward.”

“Okay! One second, ma’am.”

Ellie watched as the hostess headed to the back as Dina made her way back towards her.

“What the hell, D?” Ellie hissed.

“Seriously, I didn’t know!” Dina replied, throwing her hands up defensively.

“This isn’t funny!”

“El, I swear to god, I really had no idea they were gonna be meeting here.”

“You didn’t tell me that Jesse was hanging out with her tonight!”

“That didn’t seem like information relevant to you.” Dina said, crossing her arms.

“How is it not—”

“She’s not your fucking girlfriend, Ellie.” Dina pointed out.

Ellie looked taken aback as the hostess reappeared before them.

“Order for Dina Woodward?” She said, holding out a plastic bag.

“Yes?” Dina replied, but before she could reach for the food, Ellie had already grabbed it with her left hand and angrily shoved the entrance door open with her right.

She stomped away from the diner several feet away before Dina could catch up to her, far away enough for Dina not to catch the tears that she struggled to keep from falling.

Present Day

Ellie lays on her sheets, head at the foot of her bed and dinosaur sock-covered feet propped up on one of her pillows. She was senselessly and poorly strumming on her guitar. It was Friday evening and she was bored and all alone in the apartment, Jesse and Dina having gone out together on a movie date. She had contemplated going to the gym as she usually did whenever she was in a mood, but Dina had reprimanded her about her injured state enough that Ellie relented on spending a lonely night in. She strums lousily on the guitar with her injured hand, ignoring the throbbing of her wounded knuckles.

She’d finally texted Daniela back earlier that day, apologizing spiritlessly for not replying back sooner. She humoured Daniela’s flirty texts for a while until Ellie asked for Joel’s old jacket back, to which Daniela offered to come over to her apartment tonight to return. Feeling her intent, Ellie put her off by saying she had plans to meet up with several new clients all night and offered to meet up with her the next day instead. Ellie’d groaned when Daniela quickly responded with a text saying “it’s a date ;)” and immediately regretted the situation she’d pulled herself into.

Her fingers begin mindlessly plucking a succession of concordant chords, and it isn’t until a few moments later that she realizes she’d started to play an old love song that she remembers you’d liked so much.

It was an old 80s song called “It Might Be You” by Stephen Bishop. She’d often hear you thoughtlessly humming it to yourself or singing along to it when you’d put on your nearly ten-hour 80s playlist. She’d subsequently learned how to play it on the guitar to possibly serenade you with it eventually, only to never have the courage to do so when you were together.

Ellie exhales woefully, setting her guitar down next to her.

Why is she still everywhere?

She sits up to properly lay herself on her bed, flopping her head down onto her pillow before reaching for her phone that was charging on her nightstand.

Time to be a loser as usual again, Williams.

She sighs pathetically as she opens up Instagram once more, switching from her main account back over to br!ck_master2013. Even though Instagram already showed her recent searches (consisting only of you), she feels a pathetic sense of fulfillment typing out your entire username herself. Ellie taps on that same mirror selfie of yours which leads her to your profile.

You still have no new posts from the last time she checked, but she sees that you’d added something to your story sometime within the past day. She ignores the uneasiness in her stomach as she taps on the orange and purple circle to view what you’d posted.

You’d shared a few mutual aid posts earlier this morning (to which Ellie promptly saves to later donate to after her slight stalking), a picture that some of your old high school friends had posted of an up-and-coming band they were currently in, and a couple of new stories that causes Ellie to abruptly shoot up from her bed and promptly unplugging her phone from the wall.

“What the fuck?” She mutters out loud to herself, not in reference to the unceremonious way she stopped charging her phone, but to the Instagram stories that you were posting in real time.

Ellie taps furiously as she realizes that you were out tonight at the lesbian bar by campus, the Bow and Arrow. With Abby Anderson.

She makes a wild guess that you were likely drunk at the moment, judging by the silliness of your story captions. Your first bar-related story is a selfie you’d taken of yourself with the caption, “me going out to a bar to get smacked instead of being an old lady at home? quick, someone call the pope.” Despite the low lights of your environment, Ellie recognizes the shade of dark red lipstick you’re wearing.

That’s the lipstick she was wearing when—

Her thoughts are interrupted by her app automatically jumping to the next story, which was of you toasting your half-empty plastic cup with others that were being held up by faceless hands with the caption, “liquor, i hardly know her.” Ellie couldn’t help but chuckle out loud at your stupid joke. She would have bet her Jeep, her whole stash of weed, her beloved switchblade, and her entire precious comic book collection that the drink you had in your hand was a vodka cranberry.

Your next Instagram story drops a cast steel anvil down Ellie’s stomach.

It was a shaky picture of Abby Anderson making a mockingly pouty face towards the camera, holding out a credit card in one of her hands. It looked as if she and you were sitting at the bar, waiting to be served by a bartender. Your caption read, “hey siri, how do you beat up a buff, jacked lesbian who lives at the gym and won’t stop paying for your drinks all night.”

Ellie notices that you’d tagged Abby’s Instagram handle on the side and she promptly taps on it with trembling fingers. She huffs at her phone when she’s brought to Abby’s profile and sees that it’s set to private. She falls back onto her pillow and sighs.

“Ellie!!” You yelled after her as she stomped out of the Bow and Arrow.

She said nothing as she exited the bar and veered left into an empty backstreet lit only by the moonlight and a dim streetlamp.

Ellie walked further into the alleyway until she was a safe distance from any passersby. She took out a metal tin from one of her jacket’s front pockets and pulled out a tightly-wrapped joint. She tucked it between her teeth as she reached into a front pocket in her jeans for a lighter, promptly lighting the tip of the joint. She inhaled for a few seconds, letting the drug seep throughout her enraged body, then released an exhale towards the starry night sky.

She heard the agitated clicking of high heels and glanced down towards the main street to inspect whoever was approaching her. You were rubbing your hands up and down your arms, your favourite black boots nearly skipping down the alleyway to desperately generate heat in the frigid, unforgiving December air. You followed the familiar scent of lavender-laced marijuana into the dark street, spotting Ellie smoking alone.

Ellie watched as your shivering figure walked towards her, your despondent eyes eventually reaching her furious green ones.

“Smoking one of my js without me?” You teased.

“Your js?” Ellie asked, chuckling despite herself.

“Well, it’s my recipe.” You said, yanking the joint from her fingertips to place it between your lips which were painted with a dark shade of red.

“Oh, please, all you do is add buds of crushed lavender into them.” Ellie scoffed as the tip of the joint lit up once more from you taking a hit of it.

“Lavender buds are a key ingredient to creating these primo joints. It’s an intricate part of the process; ergo it is a recipe.” You insisted after blowing the residual smoke to the side.

“Besides,” You added. “You talk a whole lot of smack for someone who seems to copy my recipe all the time now, both for her clients and for herself.”

Ellie would have usually bantered with a witty retort, but she instead settled for an indignant huff.

After a few more hits, you handed the joint back to her.

“You done?” She asked you.

“Mhmm.”

She nodded, putting out the joint on the wall she was leaning against and placing what was left of it back in her metal tin. You stared at her as she did this, noticing that she was purposely refusing to make eye contact with you.

“Els.” You said.

“Mm?”

“Show me your hand.” You sigh.

“No.”

“El, babe, come on.” You insisted.

She exhaled and relented when her cheeks blushed at the term of endearment, holding out her right hand to you.

You took it in between both of yours, attempting to examine it under the dull yellowish light of the streetlamp. Your fingertips softly brush against her knuckles.

“Okay, not so bruised thankfully.” You murmured. “Does it hurt?”

Ellie merely shrugged in response.

“Els…” You whined at her stubbornness.

“I’m fine.”

You stared at her serious expression, still unable to get her to look at you.

“You dummy.” You chuckled lightly.

Ellie huffed.

You stroked her hand a couple more times before lightly placing a kiss on her slightly injured knuckles.

Despite the frigid winter air, Ellie immediately felt every part of her go up in flames. The only chilly part of her body was her hand which you’d brushed your cold lips against just moments before.

“Here,” She said, pulling her hand away from you so she could shrug off Joel’s old motorcycle jacket from her shoulders and place it on yours. “Baby, you’re fucking freezing.”

“El—”

“You’re freezing.” She repeated.

You smiled slightly before caving in to say, “Maybe a little bit.” Ellie chuckled.

“Elliie…” You began. “You didn’t have to do all that—”

“I know.”

“But—”

“I know.”

You tried to decipher her unreadable expression, your heart ready to burst as it beat rapidly in your chest.

“Why, Ellie? Why’d you have to take it to that extreme?”

Ellie’s ocean-green eyes were fierce and resolved. She brings her mildly bruised hand up to your face to intimately caress your cheek.

“You know why.” She whispers, finally meeting your gaze.

“I—”

The memory of staring into your eyes causes Ellie’s own to shoot open.

She’s still in her room, laying on her bed all alone with her phone on her chest and guitar on her side. The images of you in the alleyway of the Bow and Arrow replay alongside those of you and Abby so boldly displayed on your Instagram story tonight.

Ellie remains so engrossed in her own thoughts that she doesn’t notice all the hot tears rapidly streaming down her face. She grips her sheets and sighs.

“Baby, I’m so sorry.” She whispers to no one.

Maybe she’ll forgive me one day.

author’s notes:

so sorry for taking so long to write this! life has been hectic and messy lately, plus y’all know i’m a bit insecure about writing ellie.

thank me by liking and reblogging this because tumblr is acting tf up on my laptop and i had to do the majority of this on my phone

adam's name originally was a reference to a background character in tlou2, but his last name is loosely inspired by some asshole dude i dated once back in college named adam (who i kind of also home-wrecked but i really don't regret doing so lol)

anyway, while you’re here, go check out the new smau series i’m working on called “almost like we knew” ♡︎

taglist: @lonelyfooryouonly, @elliesinterlude, @sawaagyapong, @peppesgirl, @iconsoft, @maybeidohaveadhd, @ellieswifee, @valiantllamapersonpony-blog, @nil-eena, @echostinn

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#nobody compares to you series #ellie williams #dealer!ellie #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #the last of us #tlou #the last of us part 2 #tlou2 #ellie fanfiction #Spotify #audio #belle speaks #belle writes

[vivwritesfics]

Jester Stole His Thorny Crown

Chapter Four

He never had a choice in his life. His dreams were nothing more that that. Dreams. But then he met a lounge singer at his brother club and everything changed.

Mafia!Au

1.4K

Warnings: drugs (not taken), gun violence, descriptions of piano playing even though i don't know how to play piano

Series Masterlist

It had been three lessons, and she was still terrified of him. That was clear. Every time he pulled up his sleeves, she flinched.

Charles noticed every single time. What had she heard to make her fear him so? More importantly, what had Arthur told her?

It made the piano lessons incredibly difficult. Charles could play one song and it was only ten seconds long (he had been a little surprised when she first taught him to play happy birthday, but he went along with it, at least slow progress was being made).

The three lessons happened in the span of a week. In that week Charles had met with the Gasly family, reunited with his old friend Pierre, had collected the money from the other clubs (since Arthur had taken the drugs out of the lounge) and had attended her performances almost every night.

It was amazing, she was amazing. Charles didn't care if he sat there with an empty drink, just watching her. He didn't notice his glass was lacking, not when he couldn't pull his eyes away.

Charles never had a chance to daydream. He was forced to grow up early, was never able to let his imagination run wild. At twenty-six years old, Charles understood why. He understood why he was never allowed to daydream.

As he sat in the meeting with Lorenzo and Esteban Ocon. Esteban Ocon was a mystery in the mafia world. He was a normal kid, hadn't grown up in a mafia family Charles, Arthur and Lorenzo. It was a mystery how he got to this point.

Somehow, as a teenager, Esteban ended up under the employment of the Gasly family. He and Pierre became good friends, but that friendship soon ended. Nobody but Pierre and Esteban knew what happened between them, but guns were pointed at each other and Esteban had to flee. He ended up in Monaco, under the protection of the Leclercs.

Charles was staring at Esteban, clearly making him uncomfortable. But Charles didn't notice. He was too busy daydreaming, imagining being sat at that piano with her, the crowd before them clapping as they finished their song.

"Charles," Lorenzo began, but Charles didn't respond. He was still staring, a stupid, dopey smile on his face. "Charles, Charlie," Lorenzo tried again. He knew just how much he hated being called Charlie, but even that wasn't getting him to respond.

Lorenzo turned his attention to Esteban. "Did he take something?"

But Esteban shrugged his shoulders and leaned across the table to snap his fingers in front of Charles's face. Charles flinched away from him, blinking rapidly as he sat up straighter. "What the fuck?"

"Are you concentrating now?"

Charles glared across the table. "Yes, I'm concentrating," he spat, crossing his arms over his chest.

But still, it was hard to concentrate as the meeting went on. Charles couldn't stop his mind from drifting back to her. He stopped imaging the crowd watching them. Just them, sat around the piano. enjoying each other.

"You know Verstappens boy, don't you?" Asked Lorenzo.

Charles nodded his head. He knew Max incredibly well. They were best friends when they were kids, before Jos became the head of the Verstappen Family. It had been a good few years since they had seen each other last, but Charles doubted anything would change.

"Stay on Max's good side and maybe Jos won't try and kill us," Lorenzo muttered. "Get ready to meet them tomorrow. Don't take guns, but be ready to fight if you have to. And take Arthur with you," he said, ready to dismiss them.

"Arthur? No way. He's still got a fucking gunshot wound in his arm," Charles threw back at his brother. He sat back in his chair, staring at Lorenzo. "Why can't Esteban come with me?"

"Because Max hates me," said Esteban.

"I'm not taking Arthur."

"You're taking Arthur. And that's final."

Lorenzo finally dismissed them. He sent them out of his office, turning his attention to the papers in front of him. Charles was the first out of the room. He stood up with such force that his chair fell back. Esteban followed him out of the office, falling into step behind him. "I can come if you want," he said. "I can sneak around and make sure that nothing bad happens to your brother," he offered.

Charles shook his head. "There's no sneaking around with Jos," he replied. "He'll kill you without hesitation."

He climbed into his car and quickly drove off. Esteban was one of the only friends he had in this world. It was lonely, but Esteban made it a little easier.

Charles didn't know where he was driving to. He was heading somewhere, his mind too consumed to know where. Thank God the people of Monaco knew to get out of his way.

When did he arrive at the lounge. He sat in the car for a minute, just staring at the building. He wasn't there for sanctuary, for comfort. He was there to confront her.

He was angry, but it wasn't at her. His anger was nothing to do with her, but he couldn't do anything to fix the reason why he was angry. He could do something about her.

He pushed the doors open, walking into the lounge. "Mr Leclerc," she called, standing from the piano stall.

That just fuelled Charles's anger. She watched as he stormed over to her, his jaw clenched. Her back was against the piano as he climbed the stairs and walked across the stage.

He stood so close until she was consumed by him. Every breath she took was him. And she was terrified. "I thought I told you to call me Charles," he said, his voice low.

How she wasn't shaking, she didn't know. "Mr Leclerc, please," she whispered, trying to get away.

Charles grabbed the piano lid, trapping her between his strong arms. "Why are you so scared of me?"

She opened her mouth, but no words left her lips.

His arms tensed and he pressed himself closer. "Tell me. Now."

"Please," she whispered, trying to get away from him. "Mr Leclerc, Charles, please." But she couldn't get away from him. It was too much, far too much, and she had to get away.

Charles hadn't expected her to push him. He didn't expect her to press her hands against his chest and push. But she did. She pushed him away and he stumbled back. "No way," he said, a grin crossing his face.

"I'm not scared of you," she said, standing strong (even if it was a lie).

And Charles knew it was a lie. He pulled his gun from his waistband, watched as her face fell, and put it on the floor. "I don't want to hurt you," he said. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Slowly, he walked toward her again, like she was a startled animal. This time, she didn't flatten herself against the piano. As he sat on the bench, she moved away from him, standing beside the piano as he pressed his fingers against the keys.

Charles had dreams like this. Her against the piano as he played. It wasn't something impressive, just happy birthday, but she sang along.

At the end of the ten second song, Charles stopped. "I don't want you to be afraid of me," he said. I know what I've done, I know what you've probably heard, but I promise, I'm not gonna hurt you."

"Because you need me to teach you piano?"

His hand touched hers, where it rested against the top of the piano. "Yeah," he answered and swallowed thickly. "Yeah, because I need you to teach me piano." At this part in his dream, she would reach for his tie and pull him close, kissing him.

But, in reality, she pulled her hand away from his. She quickly walked away from the piano and off the stage. She disappeared into one of the back rooms, and slammed the door shut behind her.

Charles fists slammed down onto the piano. It was a miracle it didn't break. "Fuck!" He shouted, his voice echoing around the lounge.

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[bless-my-demons]

Redamancy: Chapter Twenty-Six

Series Summary: What happens when your soulmate is a vampire that struggles to maintain a diet of trying not to kill you? Common sense says run for the hills, nothing is worth your life - but my heart is whispering why not, what’s there to lose?

Warnings: Smidge of angst, but nothing really heavy tbh

Notes: This chapter is light, buuuut I promise I’ll make it up to y’all in the next chapter👀 Mother Emmett to the rescue😌

Word Count: 1215

Series Masterlist

• March 27th, 2006 • Forks HS •

Jasper

I skipped seventh period just like I skipped lunch, it hasn’t even been a week of space from her and I know I’d crumble under her gaze, her proximity. Whatever modicum of control I maintain is not enough to resist simply gravitating towards her.

Standing at my brother’s Jeep, I watch as my siblings exit the main school building along with the rest of our classmates. Why stay? Why not just run home once I decided to skip the class we share?

I have to see her, just a glance. Her scent has drifted around this fucking building all day and I’m a weak man.

Emmett, Rosalie, Alice, and I hang around our vehicles as Edward walks Isabella, my supernatural ability straining to feel any sliver of her emotions.

C’mon darlin’, I just need to lay my eyes on you for a few seconds.

Last year I would’ve written this desperation off as insanity, but she’s taken over my life and I’m tired of fighting it. I’m ready to give in, but she has to come to me on her own.

Finally, she’s walking at a fast clip, straight for her car across the parking lot with her eyes cast down and unfortunately we are not anywhere near that path.

Confusion, uncertainty, and a small inkling of sadness straightens my spine from where I was leaning against Emmett’s vehicle. A hand on my shoulder stops the half-step I take in her direction and I wheel on the person it’s attached to-

“Stay.” Emmett leaves no room for negotiation as he tosses Alice his keys and walks with a purpose in Y/n’s direction.

Frustration and possessiveness cloud my head, but I watch my girl with rapt attention.

My brother meets her passenger side door as she reaches her driver’s side door, both sliding into their respective seats at the same without a single word exchanged. She hesitates for only a second before cranking the vehicle and driving away. I don’t have to reach out to know there’s tension rolling off of her, it’s in the set of her beautiful mouth and the crinkle of her brow as she passes us on the way out of the parking lot.

Thankfully the parking lot is empty by this point, I’m not sure I could be brought to give a damn as I disappear into the woods to relieve this ache in my chest.

Reader

By the time I reach my house, I’m fuming. Why? I have no fucking idea, but Emmett hasn’t said a word the entire ride home. Maybe I’m on edge because Jasper was at school all day, but managed to avoid every single interaction he could possibly have with me.

I cut the engine and lean back in my seat, staring at the front door as the tension comes to a head.

“You got something to say-”

“Do you?” I turn and cut him off, unable to keep the sass from my tone.

His chuckle grates my nerves, “You’ve been ready to blow up all day, I’m here because I can take it. Talk to me.” The smile is gone in an instant with the last three words and it takes the wind out of my sails.

“I want him, but how do I know it won’t end the same? Nothing has changed-”

“Everything has changed, don’t you get that?” He angles his upper body to stare at me incredulously. “You’re his singer-”

“What if I wasn’t? What if I wasn’t anything special, Emmett? What if I was a normal girl?” The insecurities start to flow and I’m powerless to stop them.

“That only makes your blood irresistible to him,” he shakes his head and settles back into the seat again, “this is a conversation to have with him, Y/n. But just know that wouldn’t change anything.”

“You seem very sure of that, for someone who is not your brother.” My voice is small as rain droplets begin to splatter the windshield in a slow, mismatched pattern.

“He’s been with us for almost 60 years and I’ve never seen him like this, with anyone. You are the one and only exception, Jasper doesn’t let people in like he’s done with you.” Emmett’s golden eyes meet mine and they shine with sincerity, “This situation with you, it’s untreaded territory. Cut him some slack and hear him out, okay?”

“Did he send you to butter me up? Because it’s working.” I fidget with the peeling cuticle on my thumb, the light rain the only ambient sound.

“No, I just know my best friend needed me.”

Reader

I spent all weekend with Quil and it was much needed in order to get back to feeling somewhat normal. Hanging out with him silenced my near-constant thoughts of Jasper and I haven’t had a reprieve from those since the day I met him.

This weekend I realized, I don’t want to do this without him. I can’t do this without him, he’s too well ingrained. I’m his singer, his mate and he’s… he’s the center of my universe, the rhythm that pulses in my veins.

I won’t lie, I know our future is complicated - given our differing mortality, but if I want him, I have to accept that part of him. The dangerous part of him, the side that is driven to kill me on instinct, the side that can’t give me a future beyond a frozen one. I have to love the not-so-glamorous parts of this man too, because love doesn’t get to pick and choose what’s convenient or even comfortable.

Talking to Emmett also made me realize that that doesn’t scare me like it used to. I’ve been to hell - I know what it’s like without him, I know what it’s like to be empty, to lay my heart bare and be left hanging because I wasn’t actually ready to understand him, I was just scared to lose him. Six months ago I wasn’t ready for the ugly side of what it means to be with a vampire, I was naive to think I could ignore it. To think that I could play it safe - that as long as I didn’t put a label on what was transpiring between us, we could stay in this limbo where nothing bad could go wrong.

But then the worst happened and we didn’t have a single chance in hell to survive the aftermath.

I have to talk to him. He has to know how I feel, what I want, what I need. That I need him.

• March 27th, 2006 • Cullen Residence •

Jasper

“Dude, you gotta talk to her.”

Looking up from my most recent sketch, I spy a slightly damp Emmett leaning inside my bedroom door.

“She needs space to figure out-”

“You’ve given her space, times up. Get your girl already.” Slapping the door frame lightly to emphasize his point, he continues down the hallway to his room.

Sliding my sketchbook away on my desk and leaning back in my chair, I huff a breath and stare at the ceiling. Has a week been long enough? I don’t want to rush her in to anything before she’s ready, lord knows I couldn’t handle her rejection if she’s not.

Next

Teaser

Taglist Part 1:

@aoi-targaryen @Min-jianhyung @pbbsl @timelordhunterandmysterysolver @sheerangermany @clearwater-hoe @Blackbluerose666 @ivy-plays @random-human02 @delightfulbluebirdstarlight @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @gaymazinglula @l3ejm @angelfuzzy2 @losa12308 @thekinkpopstandsforkrackheads @flyawayprincess @ropickle @catbusloki @deviat3dsn0wf0x @lovesanimals0000 @unrevived @h-naec @cutesnakemum @zudooms @itsmytimetoodream @stinkii-boii @acoolnight @anothercoffeeblogx @irishblend10 @from-now-on-im-switzerland @kyraslife2 @naolvshan @kiiwiigii @rosedpetal @kiaraandrea @foolsgoldxo @heartfilia01 @azuredgalaxies @Geekysimmerthings @graciereads @ramen-girl-2424 @0hmydekiru @creeqvealley @cherriebat @whichwitchisthebitch @dragon-rider-with-a-book @secretfairytailpetscookie @psychobitchsthings

#jasper hale x reader #jasper hale fanfiction #redamancy series #jasper hale x female!reader #twilight fanfiction #jasper whitlock hale #twilight #bless-my-demons #jasper hale #female reader insert

[zeltqz]

𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒 [𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐃] SIX

pairing. ex!ran x fem!reader

word count. 7k

series synopsis. bonten is forming and in the midst of it all, you find yourself caught in the sticky webs of your ex boyfriend and current bonten executive, haitani ran.

content. smoking, mild drug use, SMUT, mentions of past alcohol addiction, murder/implied death threats

a/n: i am so SORRRY you all had to wait like two fucking months for the next chapter. I came back from my summer vacation and had my birthday recently so i was inactive sorry sososrryryryryr 😔😔 hope you enjoyed this chapter ily all

2006

You tried concentrating as you poured some milk into your cereal but the sounds of the TV channels being flipped every two seconds drove you to borderline insanity. “Would you chill out?” you asked, glaring at Ran over your bowl of cereal.

“Can’t find anything worth watching.” He was lounging around in your living room, his feet kicked up on your table and shrugged, turning to look at you and flashing a cheesy yet charming grin in your direction. 

Your mother walked down the stairs, rubbing her eyes tiredly. When she saw a shirtless Ran sitting on her couch, she almost passed out when she saw the litter of tattoos on his chest, trailing up and down his leg and arm. 

Ran felt her stare and glanced at her, raising a curious eyebrow and anything she had to complain about instantly faded as she shut her mouth and walked over to the kitchen. 

She dragged you to a corner of the kitchen, one where Ran couldn’t hear. “Is this the guy…you were telling me about?” she asked, concerned.

“Yes?” you responded, looking at her weirdly and scooped your spoon back into your cereal. “Why?”

“Why is he here..? At ten in the morning?”

“Oh. Because he slept over.” You took a bite of your food, satisfied with the small unhelpful answers you were giving her.

“Oh. I didn’t see him last night. What time did you get home?”

You shrugged. “Around 2-3?”

She pressed her lips together, firmly. “Where’s his shirt?”

“I got hot during the night,” you laughed but she didn’t find it funny.

“Well couldn’t you give him another one?”

“Unless you want to see him in one of my tank tops then no.” The amusement slowly drifted away when you realised she wasn’t humouring you at all and she was being serious. “Why are you asking so many questions?”

She gave you a concerned look, like she expected the answer to be obvious but it only pissed you off more. Who the hell was she to judge who you liked?

Reading the look on your face, she instantly dropped the topic, not wanting to get into another argument with you, especially not sober. “Okay, fine. I won’t ask any questions.” She crossed her arms and leaned against the cupboard. “Are you at least going to school today? It started three hours ago.”

You shook your head. “I’m staying here with Ran today. You’ll be gone, right? For that job interview?”

“...yeah. My AA sponsor said I should start getting back on my feet.”

“Good.” You put your cereal bowl down. “I can stop carrying the household on my back and you can start doing your job as a mother,” you said sweetly, tilting your head condescendingly to the side. 

She returned your incredibly fake smile for a second and then sighed, dropping the act and returning back to concerned mother. “Skipping school for a boy though…? Is that really smart?”

You glared at her, pushing your side off the counter to stand in front of her. “Don’t start this. Not now. I’m happy, and he makes me happy. If you cared about me, you’d accept it. Hiro likes him too!”

She shook her head and took a deep breath, trying to come off as gentle yet firm. “You may think he makes you happy, but—”

“I think I know what I like mom. I’m eighteen! I’m not some child that doesn’t know what she’s doing.”

“You’re dating a guy that looks at least twenty—”

“I’m nineteen,” Ran called back from the living room, his eyes glued onto his phone. 

Your mother’s mouth closed shut as she ate down her words and you looked at her, waiting to see what bullshit she’d come up with next. She lowered her voice to a whisper, “I didn’t know he could hear us.”

“So?”

Your mother grabbed your hands and squeezed them reassuringly. “What you’re going through, baby, is what every teenage girl goes through at your age. It’s a phase.”

“It’s not a—fuck! Mom!”

“It is!! I went through the same thing at your age. Next thing you know I got knocked up by a—”  she lowered her voice to ensure Ran couldn’t hear this time, “a delinquent. And how do you think that turned out?” You shrugged your shoulders. “Exactly. He fucking left. Where else do you think your dad is right now?”

“I don’t care about that man. Ran is nothing like that. He actually cares about me. He got me a job, taught me things and even let’s me stay at his place when I don’t want to stay here.”

“Wait, you stay at his? Like live with him?” 

You nodded slowly. “The fact you don’t even know when I’m gone is concerning. What’s the problem anyway?I use protection if that’s what you’re so scared of—” 

“I just don’t want you fucking up your life like I did mine. Especially at your age. Okay?”

“Who said I’m—”  Your mother shushed you when your volume was starting to rise. You cleared your throat and spoke again, but more quietly, “who said I’m fucking my life up?”

“You’re literally skipping school!”

“It’s the first time! Just for today! It’s his only free day, okay? I dunno when I’ll be able to spend time with him again. Just let me have this. Please? I’ll catch up on my school work tomorrow. I promise.”

“He’s not a good influence, baby. You’re smart, you can do better than this.” 

“Are we done here?” You sighed, rubbing your temples in irritation. Your mother looked like she had more to say but closed her mouth and slowly shook her head. “Good.” You walked away from the kitchen, into the living room and flopped down on the couch next to Ran. 

You waited until your mother walked back up the stairs before turning to face Ran, putting your head on his shoulder.

 “Hey, pretty girl. You done arguing with your mother yet?” He said, attention fully on his phone and lifted his arm up to wrap around your shoulder, holding you tightly against his side. 

“Hiya,” you smiled and nuzzled your face in his chest, taking in his strong scent. “My mother thinks you’re a bad influence.”

“Can’t say I disagree,” he said, grinning. You playfully slapped his arm and he slid his hand down to your sides before lifting you up and to straddle his lap. 

“I’m sorry you had to hear that,” you said softly, lacing your arms behind his head and leaning down to peck him on the lips. “She’s just a hypocrite.”

“It’s fine baby. C’mere.” You shifted on his lap to rest your head against his shoulder. “You worry too much. Who cares what people think.”

“I don’t care. I just hate her fucking opinion. She always judges everything I do. Then once she starts drinking again she becomes the most irresponsible person on the planet, but expects me to be a saint? It’s so tiring.” 

Ran hummed and kissed your forehead. “Want me to make you feel better?”

You bit your lip and looked up at him before smiling. He tossed his phone on the opposite couch and flipped your positions, your back resting flat against the couch as he hovered over you. You erupted in a fit of giggles and laughter as he kissed his way down your stomach, making you squirm and squeal with excitement. The buzz of butterflies flew in your stomach as he kissed down your belly. Your shorts were short enough to show him the lace of your panties Mira helped you pick out during your shopping spree last week. You watched intently, bunching his long hair up and out of his face as his lips lingered close to your thighs. Your breath hitched as he stuck out his tongue, running it along the thin fabric, then licked a trail back up your body, to your face, kissing you deeply. 

Your mother watched from the staircase shaking her head in disappointment as she watched you fall for someone like him. She's had experience with guys like Ran, she knows what kind of monster they are deep down inside and knows exactly how they were. After all, she fucked around with a guy like that and got pregnant at 20. Your dad was a deadbeat, refusing to accept you as his own and left when you were four. Ever since that night, she's been drinking to cope with the loneliness, unable to function by herself after getting so attached to him. They'd be on and off for a couple years, and constantly get your hopes up that you'd be a happy family, but they just weren't meant to work out.

In all honesty, she would have loved for you to meet someone else, a nice guy who could give you a stable relationship, but that's impossible. In her eyes, Ran was bad news, he was all fun and games, but deep down he had no feelings for you other than lust. And once you fell for him, he would use you until he got bored and moved onto the next girl. She couldn't imagine why you would fall for him. But it was obvious how happy you are with him. So you can only hope that she was wrong. That maybe one day you will meet someone special, and not end up like her.

So she let out a heavy sigh, and went back upstairs. 

Present day.

It had been a week, and the phone Mikey gave you remained eerily silent, devoid of any notifications or messages. You spent the weekend at Shion’s house, keeping conversations to a minimum, only sharing faint smiles when he’d place his hand on your waist for a kiss. You weren’t in the mood, and you felt guilty for taking your sour mood on him, but the conversation with Dona and the plan Mikey and Sanzu formed had put a damper on your entire mood.

You hadn’t left Shion’s house either; instead, you laid on the bed, consumed by your thoughts about what you’d have to do with Mira. Your finger hovered over Mira’s contact for a few moments before you finally decided to get over yourself and text her.

You: MIRAA i missed you so much. Are you free anytime soon? 

You cringed at the text but sighed and hit send. Mira seemed likely to be busy, what with her engagement to the head of police, or chief of police? Frankly, you couldn’t be bothered to remember Naoto’s job title. While waiting for her response, you managed to clean both Shion’s bedroom and the living room. Boredom had driven you to it, there was nothing else for you to do anyway. 

Ran’s number remained blocked, even though you knew it wasn’t his fault that lackeys broke into Hiro’s house and beat him half to death like you thought initially. But at the end of the day, you still promised Hiro you’d stay away from Ran. It wasn’t as simple as it sounded, especially since the initial anger toward him had faded now that you knew the incident wasn’t planned, not even Mikey had been aware of it.

You were in the midst of wiping down the kitchen counters, earphones playing your favourite song in your eyes when your phone suddenly buzzed in your back pocket. The vibration startled you, and you hastily set the cleaning wipes aside. After drying your hands on the sides of your jeans, you grabbed your phone from your pocket.

Mira: HEY!!!!!!!!! ITS BEEN SO LONG I MISSED YOU SO MUCH :( SORRY BUT I’M BUSY ALL WEEK. I’M FREE THIS WEEKEND THOUGH. IS SATURDAY ALRIGHT?

You chewed the inside of your cheek, taking a moment to think. Next Saturday seems fine, but you feel by then it’ll have already been two weeks and you don’t want to wait too long before Mikey and Sanzu think you’re stalling. You brought out the burner phone in your dresser and unlocked it, pulling out Dona’s saved contact details and called her for advice.

You had a few questions on your mind to ask her. How long does it take to piss Mikey off, how many bodies does Sanzu have, how to quit this Bonten agreement with all your limbs and organs intact. It still angered you to even think about asking Dona, especially after the argument, but you had no other choice.

It seemed like the idea of talking to you pissed Dona off as well since she practically growled, “What the hell do you want?” the second she picked up the phone.

“Oh grow up, would you? This 8 year one sided grudge you have isn’t cute.”

“Did you think for a second that maybe it’s not a ‘one-sided grudge’ and I just genuinely don’t fucking like you?”

You rolled your eyes so far back in your head and settled down on the bed with a hefty sigh. “Cool. Anyway, are you free on Saturday?”

“...why?”

“Is it not fucking obvious why?” you snapped. There was a long silence on the other end before you groaned loudly. “Mira? The plan? The whole entire reason we’re even talking right now?”

“Oh. That. Can’t, sorry. I’m busy on Saturday.”

“Well that’s the only day Mira is available so clear up some damn room and cancel your plans.”

“I’ll think about it.” Dona said.

“‘Kay. Thank you D—” There was a beep and the disconnected sound blared in your eyes. “Bitch.” You tossed the burner back into the dresser with a thud and you quickly made sure you didn’t crack the screen. Inspection over, you grabbed your main phone and texted Mira saying you couldn’t wait to see her this weekend, smiling when she sent a string of emojis mixed with hearts and smiley faces before disappearing offline.

Your heart warmed knowing she hadn’t changed a single bit, always sending those same string of emojis whenever you both parted ways during texts. You left your phone on the bed, about to head back to the kitchen when your phone buzzed against the sheets. You picked up the phone, only to see there were no notifications. Confused, you looked around, remembering the burner phone and grabbed it. 

The phone only had 9 saved numbers: Mikey, Sanzu and Dona were the only ones that you knew of. You didn’t bother checking the rest. Pulling up the contacts, you saw the names of all the other executives: Ran, Rindou, Kokonoi, Takeomi, Mochizuki and Kakucho.

“Oh my god, Kaku,” you said to nobody but yourself. You were faintly acquainted with Kakucho, only saying hello and exchanging waves whenever you crossed paths, which wasn’t often either. You barely saw Ran’s friends back then except Rindou. 

You checked the recent messages on the burner. You couldn’t help but feel lightness in your chest when you saw the message was from Ran. 

Ran: so this is where you’ve been hiding

You smiled at the text, shifting onto your back on the bed and typed back a response. 

You: how did you find me

Ran: you forget who I work for?

You: oh. yeah makes sense

You: so what do you want

Ran: i miss you

You: u went 8 years without me. You’ll live

Ran: and I joined a criminal organisation, cut my hair short and dyed it pink and purple. What does that tell you

You: that I’m amazzzingggg

Ran: ik u are. 

Ran: come over tonight 

You: I can’t sorry. I made a promise that I can’t see u again

Ran: I would take that seriously if you didn’t make that same exact promise to ur mother ten years ago

Ran: and I still got u in my bed

You: …

You: fine. But I don’t want your drivers driving me around anymore. 

Ran: thought you would like the princess treatment 

You: no I don’t. You can help buy me a car tho?

Ran: ?

You: plsplsplsplspslspslssss

Ran: I’ll think about it

You: and I’ll see you tonight 

Ran: alright baby

“I’m back!” Shion called from the front door. 

You turned your phone off and entered the living room, approaching Shion from behind. You wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him into a bear hug. He stumbled forward from the impact, taking a second to catch his footing before peeking behind his arm at your face dug into his back. “Aw, you missed me.”

He turned around and you let go of his waist, his hands rising to hold your face and plaster a wet sticky kiss on your forehead. 

“Ew, gross,” you mumbled, a hint of a playful smile on your lips as you wiped your hand over the leftover spit. He grumbled for you to shut up and walked over to the kitchen, opening the fridge door to examine its contents. “I’m not gonna be home on Saturday,” you said as you followed behind him.

“Really? Why?”

“I’m hanging out with Mira. A little reunion thing, you know?”

“That’s cute.” He pulled out the milk and opened it, sniffing it, then grimaced and tossed it in the trash. “But who the hell is Mira?”

“You really don’t remember her? Me, her and Dona?”

Shion removed his head from the fridge and looked at you and shrugged. “Oh wait.” He took a moment and you crossed your arms, waiting. “Oh! Her! Didn’t she have a crush on me?” he smirked.

You rolled your eyes. “She found you cute at first, then you got knocked out in a fight. Instant ick.”

His eyes narrowed. “That fight wasn’t fair and you know it. Nobody told Hanma to bring a goddamn bat.”

“Like you’d win if he didn’t have the bat—” You just about dodged the empty water bottle he tossed at you. You quickly grabbed it and threw it back in his direction. He swiftly swatted it away before it could hit him and you scoffed. “If only you could fight as good as you could dodg—”

“That’s it.” He picked you up by the legs and carried you over to the couch, ignoring your complaints which eventually turned into laughter when he set you onto the couch. He swatted away some cushions and pinned you against the surface. 

“You caught me off guard. That’s all.”

“Yeah okay.” He laughed and dipped his head down towards yours. You parted your lips when his tongue slid past your teeth, hot against your own. You giggled, closing your eyes as he nipped at your bottom lip. 

“Lemme borrow your car later,” you said in between kisses, wrapping your legs around his waist as he started nibbling at your neck.

“What?” he mumbled softly, breaking the kiss and looking down at you. “Fuck it’s been so long since I fucked you.”

“I said,'' you wound your arms around his neck. “Can you lemme borrow your car tonight?”

His eyes travelled down your body and his gaze lingered on the swell of your tits through your shirt for a moment before moving back up to your eyes when you purposefully moved your head to his eyeline. “Please?”

“Uh. What for?”

You shrugged and lolled your head back against the couch, your finger rising to wrap your finger around the silver chain dangling from his neck. “I just want to drive around. I’m bored. Please?”

“I mean sure…but—” You swiftly sat up and kissed his cheek as a distraction. His cheeks were flushed slightly and he bit down on his lower lip, a satisfied grin forming on his face when your lips slowly trailed from his cheeks to his lips, kissing him slowly and passionately, the way you know he likes it. 

You pulled away and brought his head down to your lips, whispering, “please?” into his ear. He groaned and kissed you one last time before thoroughly agreeing. “Thank you thank you thank you! Mwah.” You planted one more kiss on his lips before pushing him off of you and slipping off the couch.

~*~

“What exactly is this supposed to be?”

Ran shrugged, finished downing his drink and placed it back on the counter top before leaning forward to get a closer look at the little baggie you had in your hand. “Kokonoi gave it to me.”

“Yeah okay, but—” You let out a noise of doubt and put it back on the table. “I don’t trust it.”

“Since when were you a pussy?” 

You looked up at Ran and glared at the smug smile on his face. “I’m not a pussy Ran. I just don’t want to eat a random pill that you yourself said you don’t know what it's called!”

He rested his elbows on the marble countertop and his grin widened. “I took it earlier and I’m fine.”

“That’s because you barely have brain cells left to scramble.” You reached over the counter and ruffled his perfectly styled hair. “I’ll do it because I trust you.” You removed the pink pill from the baggie and held it up to your eyes, examining it cautiously. “If this kills me—”

“It won’t, you big baby. Eat it.”

You bit your lip and thought for a moment before looking back up at him. “Fine. Get me some water.”

“Just swallow it.”

You huffed, “I need some water to help. I can’t just swallow it.”

He looked at you, amused, and crossed his arms. “Why not?”

“Because! Ugh, shut up!” You put the pill back on the counter and stormed over to the cabinet, grabbing an empty glass, then to the tap to fill it with tap water. Ran laughed from his corner of the kitchen as he watched you stomp your way around his kitchen, like a storm. You turned to glare at him, his laugh only making you even more annoyed. “What the hell is so funny?”

“You,” he cackled again when your eyebrows furrowed deeper. “Your temper. It’s hilarious.”

“I don’t have a goddamn temper.”

“You explode at anything small. It’s cute.” He walked over towards you and booped your nose, the tip of his finger skirting down your cheek to your chin, lifting your face up to his eyeline. “You really haven’t changed a single bit. It’s reassuring.”

“Well, thanks.” You looked down at the glass of water with an uncertain look on your face. “This’ll get me high right?”

“Yeah.” You took a second for motivation and Ran moved to grab the pill off the counter. He returned in front of you, “Open your mouth.” He waited until your mouth was open before slotting the pill on the flat pink of your tongue. You brought the water up to your mouth and took a sip before digesting it. 

Thanks to the water, you couldn’t feel the full effects of the pill hitting you until a few hours later, you resting on top of Ran’s chest, drifting in and out of sleep. He had you locked tight around his arms, enjoying the warmth and weight of you atop of him. He felt you shuffle around, trying to get comfortable.  

“What car do you want?” Ran asked, looking down at your head resting against his chest. Your head was tucked under his chin, one arm wrapped around his waist as the other clutched onto his shirt. 

Your head felt heavy when you tried to lift it from his chest and squinted up at him. With the drugs running through your veins, everything looked brighter and crispier, colours seeming sharper than usual. It was hard to focus. “Ummm, what car?” you asked slowly.

Ran chuckled softly and leaned downwards, pressing his lips against your forehead. “The one you asked me to buy you.”

“Hm.” You sat up from his chest and straddled his lap. He slid his hands up your thighs to hold onto your hips. Your hands rested beside his head as you hazily looked down at him. “I wasn’t serious about that. You know?”

“Serious or not, I’ll buy it for you. Anything you want. Just tell me.”

“Really?” you smiled and bit your lip.

He shifted upwards, inching closer to your face, your nose brushing against his. “Anything you want.”

You couldn’t resist the close proximity anymore and dipped your head downwards, kissing him gently. You lifted one hand from the bed to rest on the side of his face. He pulled your hips closer, pressing you hard against his erection. The friction and the heat of his body against yours made you moan softly, which he eagerly swallowed up with each kiss. 

You could feel his cock begin to harden against your inner thigh and bit down on his lip before sucking it back into his mouth, relishing in the low groan he left out when you slowly pushed your hips back against his lap. Your hands gripped onto the pillow under him, digging your nails into the fabric as you latched your lips onto the skin of his neck, biting and sucking gently on the flesh. His hand skimmed past your thighs, along the curve of your ass and gripped it, squeezing whatever he could grab and groaned at the feeling of your soft lips against his skin, sucking softly.

You broke the kiss and licked down his neck. His skin tasted sweet and tangy, sending tingles throughout your entire body. 

Your world was flipped when he switched positions in the blink of an eye and hovered above you, gazing into your eyes with lust filled desire. You looped your arms around his neck and pulled him close, locking your lips together.You felt Ran’s hands slide across your leg and hitched it upwards to wrap around his waist, and you whimpered in response, your back arching as you let yourself loose around him.

“This okay?” he murmured softly against your lips as his hand slowly entered inside your jeans. You nodded vigorously and pulled him back down for a kiss, slipping your tongue desperately between his lips. The sheets got tangled beneath your bodies as you both kissed passionately. 

You pushed him onto his side, his hand lifting your thigh to rest over your leg. His fingers unzipped your jeans and helped you toss them off before lifting your thigh to rest over his leg, sliding his hand down to rest against your ass, his grip creating a heat wild enough within you and sending a jolt of electricity to your core.

With every inch of his body pressed against you, you couldn’t help but moan. “Fuck me please Ran. I need it.”

Ran hummed deeply against your lips and pushed you onto your back. He knelt between your legs and you giggled as he parted them open with his big hands. You reached downwards, his fingers teasing the waistband of his pants and you helped him push it down and off his hips. You grabbed his cock, the tip wet with pre and positioned it by your entrance. He braced his hands beside your head, his forehead touching yours as your pussy twitched when he moved closer to you, trailing kisses along your neck.

“Oh fuck,” you gasped, closing your eyes shut when you felt his cock slowly enter you. “Fuck fuck fuck oh my god.” You dug your fingers into his shoulder blades and arched your back, feeling the head slide past your barrier, stretching you out.

“Almost there baby.” He kept thrusting slowly, taking his time and going further inside of you with each stroke. You cried out loud, louder than before, moaning constantly as he pushed himself deeper into you. “God, you’re so tight.” He groaned out your name and your body shivered at the raspiness of his voice.

“More,” you panted desperately, your eyes meeting his gaze for the first time since entering you. 

He snapped his hips forward, filling you completely and pulled all the way out, his cock wet with your juices before fucking back into you. The heat of his skin searing your walls as you sank your nails into his shoulders. His lips found yours again, soft and warm. Your fingertips flipped across his back and you felt his cock throb within you. Each thrust had you clenching around him, clutching him tight to your body as he fucked you with slow, methodical strokes.

You tossed your head back, panting and crying out, clutching onto his hair, the back of his shirt, anything you could possibly muster. 

“Arms up baby,” he ordered and sat back, his cock still warming your sides. His hands held onto your hips, digging into the soft flesh as you shrugged your shirt off, reaching behind your back to unclasp your bra and toss it off the bed. It landed into a sorry puddle on the floor along with your shirt and Ran’s jeans, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, not when you looked back and saw Ran in the middle of shedding his shirt off. 

“I always loved this tattoo,” you giggled, running your arms along the pattern before bringing him back down to your level, arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him down for another steamy kiss. 

You spread your legs wider apart and pressed down on his lower back to get him deeper inside you. His mouth travelled to your breasts where he started sucking on your nipples, biting down softly and nibbling on them. He slipped his hand beneath your body and grasped your clit, rubbing lightly in circles causing you to gasp loudly. You came apart in his arms, shattering into pieces and screaming his name in his ear. He pumped faster and harder, his hips slamming against yours as you tightened around his cock once more. His climax shot through him, thrusting every inch of his cum spilling inside of you. Every drop was heaven, you felt yourself tighten up once more and seconds later your orgasm arrived, intensifying everything. You dripped on his cock and held onto him so tight you swore there were permanent nail marks on the bone of his shoulder.

He pulled out and collapsed beside you, breathing heavily. Your muscles relaxed slightly and your eyes fluttered closed as he pulled you to lay close against him. He kissed your neck softly, stroking your thighs with his hands. 

“You alright?” he asked quietly.

“Mmmm. I’m amazing,” you hummed in agreement, resting your head against his chest and nuzzling against him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. “I really missed you Ran.”

His eyes traced your face and he saw the genuinity in your eyes. “Me too baby.” He smiled softly and his hands slid down your bare back and cupped your ass, pulling you tighter against him. “Missed this too.”

He leaned in and kissed you on the lips. Anything you had to say melted away as you indulged in him, humming softly into his mouth before pulling away. 

~*~

The supermarket was busy and bustling as Mira walked through the aisles with her shopping cart. She had a whole list ready and was looking for the dairy aisle when she bumped into someone’s cart. “Sorry!” she apologised and gasped when she looked up and saw who it was. “Dona?”

Dona smiled at her and waved, putting her basket on the floor as Mira practically pounced on her, pulling her into a suffocating hug. 

“I thought I’d never see you again! What the hell?!” Mira pulled away and rested her hands on Dona’s shoulders, practically buzzing with excitement. “You look so good!”

“Oh stop,” Dona pushed her hands off her shoulders. “You’re still so damn energetic, it’s crazy.” She put her hands in her pocket. “What’s up though. What’re you shopping for?”

“Oh this stupid party Naoto wants me to host for his cop buddies.” Mira sighed and walked back to her cart. “I love Naoto but fuck, those damn cops are so annoying.”

“Really?” Dona asked, grabbing her shopping list. “Wouldn’t expect nothing more from a buncha cops. I’m surprised you’re even with one to be honest. Thought you hated them.”

“I do!” Mira said, hiding her face behind her hands while laughing. “No but Naoto’s…different.”

Dona stared blankly at her. “Different…?”

“Yeah! He’s not like those backwards, misogynistic asshole cops. He’s so sweet and treats me like a queen and he’s so sweet! Oh my god! He does this cute thing in the mornings and brushes my hair out of my face and whispers “good morning beautiful” in my ear every morning. I pretend I’m asleep just so I can hear him say it and he kisses me goodbye before work and—”

“Okay I get it! Sheesh, rub in your relationship more in my face would you?” Dona sighed and picked up her basket, following next to Mira as she began walking with her trolley. 

“I can’t believe you’re still single! Guess he really broke your heart, huh?”

“Don’t even talk about him right now. Fuck Shuji. That fucking asshole.”

Mira laughed. “That was like what, ten years ago? You need to let that go.”

“I’m trying! Okay?! But my minds been occupied with…stuff.”

Mira stopped by the meat aisle and began searching for some chicken breast. “Stuff or someone?”

“Someone as in a boy?” Dona asked and Mira nodded, checking the back of the package before dumping it into the trolley. “No, I'm not seeing someone.”

“You should.”

“I’m good.”

“You used to be so boy crazy! What happened?”

Dona shrugged and looked down at the floor for a short moment, biting the soft tissue of her cheek. “I just grew up I guess. Anyway, this party thing. When is it?”

“Tomorrow night. I have to cook for a bunch of weirdo cops. Not looking forward to it.” Mira paused for a moment and then gasped. “You should come with me!”

Dona blinked at her. “What?”

“Yes! Oh my god please please please. I’ll need someone to keep me company.” She clung onto Dona’s arms as she begged. “I’m so sick of all the other cops' wives. They’re all judgemental and yucky and like three times my age. Definitely jealous of my youth.”

Dona laughed and Mira pouted, hoping it’ll be enough to convince her. With a final sigh, Dona finally gave in. “Fine. But only for two hours. I have work.”

“Really? What do you work as?”

“I uh…it’s complicated.”

“At least you have a job. I’m just known as Naoto’s wife and stay at home all day. Maybe I could come visit you on your free days?”

“It’s oof.” Dona thought about it for a moment. “I can take you to a club I work at whenever you’re free. Sometimes we gamble and stuff. You wanna join?”

“Gambling…? I thought that was illegal.”

“Never stopped us back in the day.” Dona winked, playing around and watched the conflict flicker all over her face. “It’ll be a little secret. You don’t have to tell Naoto anything.”

“Of course I won’t! I may be marrying a cop but I’m not a snitch. Especially on my best friend. I’m just worried about what Naoto would think about me going to a gambling club. He’d definitely lock the place up, haha.”

Dona rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to tell him anything. You’re allowed to have secrets.”

“Legal secrets, yeah.”

“Come onnnnnnnnn. Join me! It’ll be fun, I promise. I’ll even invite (Name) over.”

Mira’s face lit up even more. “Really?! She can come!?

“She fuckin’ better come.” 

“Oh my god the gang's back together!” Mira chirped and jumped before pulling Dona into a big hug. “I can’t wait! Lemme go text (Name) right now!”

“You go do that.” Dona checked her phone. “I gotta go anyway. My boss wants me to clock in now.” She pulled Mira in for another hug. “I’ll see you as soon as I can, okay.”

“Okay, bye bye!”

When Dona left the store, she quickly typed a message to you before entering her car and driving off.

~*~

“Are you busy tomorrow?” you asked hesitantly.

Ran laughed softly. “I’m working tomorrow. Probably be gone for most of the day.” He shifted onto his back and laced his arms behind his head. You propped yourself onto your side and frowned. “What’s wrong baby.”

You shrugged and looked downwards at the mattress, speaking in a quiet voice. “I dunno, I'm just lonely. And bored. I don’t really have anything to do lately.”

He ran his thumb down your cheekbone. “You wanna come with me?”

“Depends. Do I have to witness a murder?”

He grinned widely. “If everything goes well tomorrow night then there’ll be no murder.”

You snorted. “So there’s still a possibility, huh?”

“People die everyday,” he mused and you looked at him with a serious face, pursing your lips together and he sighed. “Fine. Fine. Even if things go to shit tomorrow I promise I won’t kill anybody. I’ll…think of other things.”

“Good enough for me.” You leaned in to kiss him again but stopped short when your phone buzzed. You groaned and reached behind you, fumbling for it on the dresser, bringing it up and reading the text from Mira and Dona. 

Mira: I RAN INTO DONA AT THE SUPERMARKET AND SHE WANTS TO HANG OUT TOMORROW!!!! ARE YOU FREE?

Dona: got mira to come to the club. Be there tomorrow at 7

“Oh fuck,” you muttered under your breath. 

“What’s wrong?” Ran leaned his head on your shoulder and read the text message. 

“Guess I won’t be following you to work tomorrow then,” you said, turning your phone off. You looked over at the heavyweight on your shoulder and rested your head against his. “I’m seeing Mira tomorrow. So I guess you know what that means?”

“Is this about that stupid plan you made with Sanzu?” He asked, pulling away from your head, reaching inside his drawer for a cigarette. You nodded and watched him light the end and shifted back on the bed, bringing the covers over your naked body to cover you. 

“You know about that plan?”

“Little bit.” He lit the cigarette and tossed the lighter back into the drawer. “If it’s not affecting me or any of my business, I don’t care enough to ask more.”

“It’s not affecting you? This Naoto dude?” you asked, trying to get a bigger picture.

“I mean he is, but I’m careful. He’s not catching me anytime soon.”

“Still cocky as ever huh,” you said and he grinned widely around his cigarette. “Anyway I hate the plan a lot. But it's for Hiro's benefit and I’m willing to do anything for him. Even if it means fucking up Mira’s marriage and her fiance’s career forever.”

Ran could feel like there was something up with you and eyed you for a moment. To anyone it was clear the plan was bugging you and as much as you tried acting cool about it, he could tell the guilt was slowly eating you inside. He exhaled cigarette smoke out before putting it on the ashtray beside his bed, shifting back against the bedframe and opened his arms for you to fit in. “C’mere.”

You looked at him and his open arms and shifted forward, crawling the distance between you both and rested between his arms. He enclosed them around you, the side of his face resting against your forehead.

“Do you need some advice from me or want me to shut up and stay silent?” he asked for a moment.

You let out a silent laugh and nodded. “Advice please.”

“Okay.” He cleared his throat and began speaking. “Sometimes in life you gotta do bad shit. Even if you don’t wanna.” He finished talking and you waited a couple seconds for him to continue. 

You were confused when he unwrapped his arms around you and slid off the bed, putting his boxers back on and stretching. 

“What the hell? Is that it Ran?”

“Yeah.” He walked over to his closet and began rummaging for tomorrow’s outfit.

“What kind of advice was that?!” You groaned, stopping your eyes from rolling back. “Sometimes I forget how useless you are.”

“Temper baby,” he responded back, flicking through the range of suits and blazers hung in his closet. You took a moment to admire his closet, impressed with his collection of suits, ranging in different colours and couldn’t help but imagine anybody but Ran pulling it off.

He found an old dress hung up and tossed it in your direction. “Try this shit on for me.” 

The dress landed on your face and you grimaced and pulled it off. Holding it up in the air, you examined it, front to back. “Why the hell do you even have a dress? It’s so small it can’t even fit me!”

“Some girl must’ve left it over,” he said casually, picking out a purple form fitting suit from the hanger and left it on the edge of his bed. All forms of amusement on your face slowly melted at the mention of another girl and you deadpanned in his direction, but he missed it as he began changing back into his clothes. “Does it fit you?” he asked, fitting his shirt over his head.

“Don’t tell me you expect me to wear this? I’m not wearing some recycled dress.”

“You want me to buy you a new dress?” he asked, looking at you.

“Duh.”

He knelt down on the edge of the bed and grabbed the dress, tossing it towards the end of the bed. Your complaint was cut short when he grabbed your ankle and tugged, successfully tipping your back onto the mattress as he inched forwards, climbing over you. His hands laced between yours and you looked up at him, wide eyed. 

“I wonder what it’ll take to get rid of this attitude of yours, hm.” You tried to struggle out of his grip but your attempts were pointless. 

“I don’t have an attitude.”

“Yeah you do. Now ask nicely and I’ll get you what you want.”

You bit down on your tongue and swallowed your pride before lowering your voice to a whisper. “Can you buy me a dress?”

“Can’t hear youuu,” he leaned his ear down lower to your mouth to hear better. “Use your words.”

“You heard me. I’m not saying it again.”

He pulled away and stood up from the bed. “Baby steps. But fine. I’ll take you shopping tomorrow.”

“Not tomorrow. I’m busy.”

“When are you free then?”

“Any day that’s not tomorrow.” You stood up from the bed. “But I’ll probably have to see you tomorrow if you’re going to be at the club Dona sent me.”

“Maybe.” He pulled you closer for a hug. Your arms wrapped around his midsection and you dug your face in his chest, enjoying how big and warm he was. 

“Can I stay over tonight?” you asked after a moment, looking up at him. 

“You’re gonna be home alone though. I’m not coming back till late.”

“How late?” He pulled his arms away from you. “Dunno. Maybe three? Four?”

“Jesus what the hell do you do all day?”

“Don’t worry.” He booped your nose and you scrunched it in response. “Get some sleep okay? I can see your damn eye bags.”

“Fine. Goodnight and thanks for letting me stay.” You got into bed, grabbing the big warm sheets and covering your whole body. 

“Anytime baby.”

masterlist

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#—tr </3 #series : wasted times #ran x reader #tokrev x reader #tokyorev x reader #haitani ran x reader #ran haitani x reader #haitani ran smut #ran smut #haitani ran headcanons #ran haitani smut

[formulaforza]

miss americana & the heartbreak prince

—05. Monte Carlo Ave. —word count: 9.3k —warnings: obvious implications of sex, no smut. club activities, so much fluff you'd wish you were dead. angst in the middle. love, mackie... so, just like chapter 4, there is a nsfw cut of this chapter whose link is embedded in the post. all nsfw warnings will be on that post. thank you for bearing with me while I took my sweet ass time writing this next part--there is no exaggerating how busy my life has become in the past couple months.

He wakes up at five-thirty-seven in the morning, exactly twenty-three minutes before his alarm is set to go off. Charles can’t remember the last time he was awake before his alarm, or the last time his alarm at home was set to go off before the sun rose. 

It was fear that woke him up—fear of waking her up. 

Her. Chris. His girlfriend, who is sound asleep next to him, in his bed, in his apartment, in his city. 

She’s a cute sleeper, he knew—he knew, because she’d fallen asleep on FaceTime calls half a dozen times, because he’d watched her for a nearly creepily amount of time in Abu Dhabi, when he couldn’t believe she was actually there. She’s a cute sleeper, and yet, the shine hasn’t worn off yet, because he still watches. 

She’d gone to bed in a hoodie from work and no pants, because, of course she had. Of course she had. She’s got one hand awkwardly craned under her pillow and another wrapped up in the comforter like it’s a finger trap, and her hair is messy, so messy and half-stuck to her cheek. It’s fucking adorable, and he feels so lucky. 

He gets nervous then, nervous that she’s going to wake up and he’s going to be staring and it’s going to be weird, so. Instead of continuing to ogle, he reaches for his phone from the nightstand, turns the volume all the way down and scrolls through social media pretending not to steal a glance every time she takes a deep breath or moves a muscle. 

It’s half an hour before she yawns awake, and he’s relieved that he doesn’t have to wake her up, after all. 

“Morning,” he says, clicks the power button on his phone and lets it fall face down on his chest. 

Chris smiles. “Morning,” she breathes, and leans over to kiss him. 

“Mmm,” he hums, pushes his index finger against her lips. “What happened to morning breath?” He asks. 

“Nope,” she speaks against his finger, threatens to bite it. He knows he wouldn’t stop her, but moves his finger anyway to kiss her properly, to let her smile out of it. “You’re stuck with me now, boyfriend and all that.”

“Gross,” he smiles. “I love it.”

She flops back against the mattress with a laugh, “What time is it?” she asks, leaning over to reach for her own phone. 

“Six,” he hums. She scowls at her lock screen. “We have plans at seven.”

“Oh?” She peruses, sits up to stretch properly, to yawn again and ruffle her hair and God, she is so beautiful. He might never get over it. 

“Padel…” he smiles, wonders if he’s about to get in trouble, to start their first fight as a couple at six in the morning on a Tuesday. He probably should have run this past her, he thinks, run all of it past her. He’d just gotten so caught up in the planning of it all. “...with my brothers.”

Her hands flop from her hair onto the comforter, landing with a soft thud on the padded fabric. When she looks at him, she’s still smiling, but her eyes are tired, confused. “Baby, what is padel?”

– – –

They cook breakfast together—well, Charles cooks breakfast. Chris spends the entire time leaning against the kitchen counter cradling her phone, watching a YouTube video on the basis of padel playing. Charles keeps leaning over her shoulder, plastic spatula in hand, and correcting the man in the video. That’s not what you do, he hums. They don’t know what they’re talking about. 

After the fifth comment in as many minutes, she turns to him with a chill-inducing glare. “I’m going to padel you upside the head,” she says, with a smile on her face—which only makes it that much more terrifying. He nods, steps back from her shoulder and returns to the crepes he’s butchering on the stovetop. 

– – –

“I have to know,” she asks, sat on the floor in the bedroom, in the limited space at the end of the bed, tying her shoes. “What was the plan if I didn’t pack workout clothes?”

“Eh,” he mutters, rifling through the hangers of sweatshirts hanging in his closet. “I would have put on you some of my clothes,” he continues, pulls his two best options down from the hangers and holds them up for her. One, a blue Ferrari crewneck. The other, gray, from his friend’s line. 

“You would have put me in your clothes,” she corrects his English, and if it was anyone else he’d find it insufferable. But he doesn’t, not with her, so he chuckles and his smile grows and he can feel his dimples. For the dramatics, though, he rolls his eyes. 

“Which one?” He asks, taking turns raising the two sweatshirts. 

“As tempting as the team kit is,” she laughs, and he tosses the gray one to her. He could have guessed the gray one, he thinks, but she’s surprised him more than once before. “Thank you,” she hums, pulling it over her head and carefully fixing the wisps of hair that fall from her ponytail when she does it. 

“Always,” he nods, holds a hand out to pull her to her feet.

– – –

Arthur and Lorenzo are already at the court when Chris and Charles arrive, attempting—and failing—to play a round of singles padel on the doubles court Charles had reserved for the morning.

Just as they approach, a shot ricochets off of Arthur’s racquet and flies past Lorenzo, colliding with the glass wall behind him with a thud. Lorenzo jogs after the ball, laughing, pointing at his brother in a sore act of celebration. 

Arthur is just as sore a loser. “Ah!” He calls out, gesturing with his own racquet to the tape that runs along the top of the net. “Filet!” Net!

Lorenzo blows air from his cheeks and scoffs, firmly bouncing the ball against the ground a few times before picking it up properly. “S'il te plaît!” Please!

“Mon pote, allez,” Mate, come on, Arthur groans. “Ça tremble encore!” It’s still shaking!

“Arthur, j'étais à trois mètres,” I was three meters away. 

Charles grins, pulls open the door to the court, holding it open for Chris to step in front of him. “Retiens ton feu,” hold your fire, he calls out to his brothers, “trouve ton anglais,” find your English.

Both boys' heads shoot over, scowls still apparent. “Do you see this? Do you see him run into this net?” Arthur shouts, still gesturing wildly with his racquet. 

“Do not let him convince you, you know what you saw,” Lorenzo interjects, carries on even though the game has been abandoned and they instead jog over to greet Chris and Charles. Lorenzo is first over, kissing either of Charles’ cheeks. “You saw this?” He asks, and Charles laughs, nods. 

“I did.”

“Bullshit,” he laughs, shoves Charles’ shoulder and turns to greet Chris. “You?”

Charles expects to find some apprehension on Chris’ face, something that shows she’s not sure of her place yet, but he doesn’t find any. Confidently, she speaks, “He’s crazy, you weren’t even close,” and then kisses each cheek. 

Lorenzo tosses his arm around Chris with a laugh. “Charles,” he speaks, points to her with the same hand that’s thrown over her shoulder. “My team.”

Charles chuckles. “I try not to make a habit of telling my girlfriend what to do.” Chris blushes at the very mention of it—girlfriend. If he knew it would be that easy to make her blush he would’ve asked weeks ago. He might’ve asked in Austin, if he’s being completely honest with himself. 

“Oh-ho?” Arthur’s already teasing, clapping his hands on Charles’ shoulders and laughing like a madman. “Girlfriend, huh?”

Neither of them—Chris or Charles, say anything. Between the flush of her cheeks and the depth of his dimples, they might as well have it spray painted on their foreheads. “Right,” Lorenzo offers, “well, Chris, as the only person around here with some sense, you’re on my team.”

“You can have her,” Charles teases, Lorenzo quirks a brow. “She has no idea how to play, but also she is a rule master.”

“Abandoning your own girlfriend,” Chris interjects, the same teasing tone laced in her voice. She pretends to shiver, grand and dramatic, even though it’s eighteen degrees and sunny and she’s got long pants and a sweatshirt—his sweatshirt on. “It’s cold, man.”

He rolls his eyes, sticks a racquet in her hand and moves to kiss her, which is more than close enough to Lorenzo for him to abandon his position next to Chris, retreating to the safety of the court, bouncing the padel ball as he walks. “Ready to take us?” Charles asks quietly, just to her. Arthur is somewhere in the space behind him gulping a water bottle in an almost comical manner. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she replies, half-chuckled, demeanor light and bouncy. There’s something about her that always seems full of energy, ready to take on whatever is put in front of her head-on.

“Don’t worry,” he practically whispers, winks and gives her shoulder a soft squeeze. “I’ll go easy on you.”

Chris clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, feigns offense and scoffs loudly, bringing the head of the racquet up to the center of his chest, pushing him back a few steps. “Don’t you dare.”

He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him, offering—practically promising—to let someone else win. There’s still a basket somewhere in a storage closet full of broken video game controllers from his childhood. And once, for three entire weeks when they were six and nine, he and Arthur weren’t allowed at the dinner table together because they would race to finish their food and promptly get sick. Then again, it is Chris, all bouncy ponytail and quick wit in his home in his clothes, so. Maybe it isn’t as far-fetched as it seems. 

As expected, it becomes apparent quickly that Chris is a beginner at a game the boys have spent years playing. She misses shots and struggles to find her footing and the best positioning, but it doesn’t crush her mood, dampen her energy. Lorenzo—her teammate, takes on quite a coaching role, offers an equal amount of encouragement and advice. 

She’s a quick learner, though. Charles knew she would be. So, despite the sound loss she and Lorenzo take in the first game, she manages a decent amount of solid shots and a spattering of genuinely impressive ones. She’s quick, that’s her advantage. She might not know what to do when she gets to the ball, but she always gets there. And, when she scores her first point, actually jumps into the air when she gives Lorenzo a high-five, he can’t help but find himself soft, a smile tugging on his lips, holding back on the points that follow in hopes of seeing her goofy grin again. 

“You did quite well out there,” he tells her when they’re between games. Her eyes light up and she hums around a mouthful of water, hurries to swallow it before she laughs. 

“Really?” She coughs, clears her throat. “You think?”

He nods. “You’re quick,” he mutters before taking a drink of his own water. 

“I ran track in high school.” He quirks a brow, which makes her smile, which makes him choke on a laugh mid-swallow. You’d think neither of them had ever had a drink from a plastic water bottle before. 

“Really?” She nods, hums her response, toying with her ponytail. Her bangs are loose, untucked from her ears and her hair-tie, and he feels the overwhelming urge to brush it from her face. “Why did I not know this?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs. “Why didn’t you know that?”

“Google said nothing about this.”

“You Googled me?!” Briefly. Briefly, he had googled her at the very beginning of it all. Really, it was more Googling her family than it was her, they are the ones with all the information out there. He needed to make sure he wasn’t starting something with a raging white supremacist or a murderer. 

“You didn’t Google me?” She scratches the back of her head, not-so discreetly looks anywhere but her. “Yeah,” he laughs. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

With a playful eye roll, she promptly changes the subject: “you want to be on my team?”

“I…” he laughs, “...don’t know if we are there yet.”

“Oh,” She laughs, brows raised with a goofy smile and it’s official—her laugh is never going to not give him butterflies, never not going to be so much better in person. “The truth comes out.”

Chris is soundly defeated in three straight games, despite finding herself with a new teammate each round—first Lorenzo, then Arhur, and finally, after five minutes of her best puppy-dog eyes, the most competitive man alive ( her boyfriend) agreed to be her teammate. 

It’s hours later by the time they leave the country club—no, no, Charles said it was specifically a padel club. They part ways with his brothers and then they’re driving back through the winding streets to his apartment. She ogles, like she’s been doing since she got here, all the careful, intricate architecture and the perfectly manicured manner of the whole place. It’s like people don’t live here, like she’s in a made-up land. She latches onto every imperfection—a crack in the sidewalk, a shrub with a single projection, a half-ragged French flag on the stern of a super yacht. It makes it all feel human, lived in, like the place someone can grow up, the place he grew up. 

After two hurried showers and a change of clothes they set off for lunch at Charles’ self-proclaimed “favorite restaurant.” It’s a sushi place, which she finds interesting, because not once has she heard him talk about sushi when talking about his favorite foods. 

Charles parks in a garage that’s a fifteen minute walk from the restaurant because, as he puts it, she’s walking the streets with the nation’s best tour guide. He starts the tour with the middle three corners of the Grand Prix, in reverse order—the hairpin, mirabeau bas, and portier, and then they take the quarter-or-so mile walk to the first of many monuments that Chris wouldn’t even attempt to pronounce in her own head. It’s there, somewhere between the forced tourist photos he snaps of her at Le Pêcheur and the one at the Promenade Princesse Louise-Hyppolyte, the truth comes to light. 

“What do you mean you did not tell anyone you were here?!” He exclaims all dramatic-like, dropping the phone from in front of his face, abandoning the search for what he considers the perfect angle. “You left the country, Chris.” She shrugs, doesn’t really see the big deal in all of it. It’s not like she… no, it is like she purposely didn’t tell people. That’s exactly what it is, actually. 

“I thought we were keeping this on the down-low.”

“Not that low!” He scolds, but she can tell he wants to laugh. He should, she thinks. It’s funny. “What if you die?”

She rolls her eyes. “Are you planning on killing me?” He glares daggers, burns a you’re not funny look into her head. “Letting me be killed?” She’s sure it annoys him to no end, positive almost, but it’s not like she can go back in time and tell everyone, and even if she could, she’s not sure she would. She likes this being just theirs, at least for now, while they can still manage it. She likes not having to report back to her parents—to her dad, especially—about her hotshot, young punk racing driver of a boyfriend and the silver spoon he feeds her french delicacies with. 

He sighs, shoulders wildly heavy, and holds her phone back out to her. His eyes are soft, frustrated in a way she didn’t expect them to be. She really didn’t think it was that crazy of a decision. “You should have told someone,” he says, and she feels immensely guilty. 

“Hannah knows,” she blurts, an honest offer of anything she has to not get such a serious look from him. He’s not meant to be serious.

“Hannah knows?”

“She knows I went somewhere. I didn’t tell her where,” she says.  I didn’t tell her where because my brother and father don’t want me to date a race driver, she doesn’t say, because that would only make him more nervous. 

“You should have told someone you were here,” he says, drags out the vowel sounds and tosses an arm over her shoulder. He kisses her temple, pulls her into him and chuckles. Okay, okay. He’s not actually upset.

“Probably,” she nods, a smile pulling on the corners of her lips. “I can tell them when I get home, if you want. Start some drama over Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure making a good impression will not be hard after that.”

MayaBay, that’s the name of his favorite restaurant, Thai and Japanese and a sushi bar that Charles talks about for the entire walk there. Apparently securing a reservation at the restaurant was hard enough, but a seat at the coveted sushi bar was something else entirely, and, according to Charles, was his first failed call after Chris’ visit was planned. She tries to tell him that it doesn’t matter where in the restaurant they eat, but he’s insistent that he’s going to try again and again, and again every time she comes to visit until he can manage to get them in. 

Her cheeks flush red at the revelation and she continues to hold out hope he’s oblivious to the heat that radiates from her face every time he meets her with some sort of compliment or insistence of inclusion. She doesn’t even think he’s conscious of the latter, which makes it all that more special. He doesn’t have to take special care to include her in his life, he just does it—does it like he’s always been doing it, always been sharing these small parts of his life with her. 

Lunch is enough to leave her full for the entire day. Po Pia Kung and Ceviche and Roti and Nigiri—two plates, no wasabi, per Charles’s request—and she’s worried that she’ll be full before getting the chance to lay eyes on their entrees. 

“This place is so special,” she tells him from across the tiny table, around the too-big centerpiece. “Thank you.”

He hums around a mouthful of Roti, brings a napkin to his mouth when he swallows so he can start talking that little bit sooner. “For what?”

Chris shrugs. Thank you… for. For. For everything, she supposes. “For wanting me here.”

He smiles, dimples digging deep, cheeks turning a rosy shade of pink when he adjusts in his seat, leans forward enough that it’s just barely perceivable. “Thank you for wanting to be here,” and you blush right back. 

It’s got to be quite the sight for any onlookers, the two of them acting all middle-school. They aren’t aware enough of the other people in the restaurant for it to be of note, and even if they were, they wouldn’t care. 

It’s Pad Thai for the main course with a side of three bites of Charles’ Kadou Yang stolen in the midst of quiet conversation, and then, as if they haven’t shared everything else already, they split the restaurant’s signature, meant to share dessert. 

“So,” he hums, somewhere on the walk back to the car—or, to the surprise Charles refuses to reveal that’s on the way back to the car. He swings their interlocked hands between their body, drags the action out in the same way he does the vowel. “When do I get to come to Georgia?”

It takes her by surprise, puts a kiddish smile on her face. It should be obvious that he would want to come, because, well, it’s where she lives. But, every conversation has always been about her coming to him. And it makes sense to her, because he’s always moving and she’s always in the same place. It makes sense that he wouldn’t come to her, but now that she thinks about it, it makes more sense that he would. “You want to come to Georgia?”

“That,” he laughs, “that is a silly question. Of course I want to.”

“Well, I mean. You’re always welcome, but I don’t know what your schedule looks like.” She knows it’s a mess, undoubtedly, even if she’s never laid eyes on it. She can only imagine the amount of people wanting him in places year round, and having all of that squished into a couple month period of time? She wouldn’t be surprised if he spends more time traveling in the offseason than he does when he’s actually racing. 

“I don’t know what it looks like, either,” he takes out his phone and clicks through half a dozen apps with his free hand—the one not intertwined with hers. “Uh…,” he chuckles at the screen like even he can’t believe just how in demand he is. “Next month I’m in Italy for some days, then France for Christmas and London for New Year.” Chris leans over to look at his calendar. 

“What about there?” She asks,  pointing to the block of dates that are empty between his color-coded trips to Italy and France. “My brother’s wedding is that weekend,” she says, and then realizes how crazy the proposition sounds and instantly attempts to retract it, “but you probably don’t want to go to that.”

She’d love more than anything to have him at Chase and Hannah’s wedding, but she can understand why he would want to do anything else. It’s one thing to make him travel all that way, but then to make him travel all that way for a wedding, where he’ll have to meet the parents and the siblings and dog—that’s just a cruel thing to imply is expected of him. It’s certainly no way to keep him wanting to come back for another visit. 

He bumps his shoulder against hers. “I love weddings.”

“Yeah?” She bumps back, dumb little smile on her face. “When you don’t know anyone there and your girlfriend is in the bridal party?”

He nods. “Yes.”

Unconsciously, she puts distance between their arms, to keep from getting too hot or to keep them from tripping or maybe for no reason at all because she really doesn’t notice that she does it. “My whole family’ll be there,” she continues meekly, and their arms are almost taught. 

“Good,” Charles scoffs, and pulls her right back to his side, like even an arm’s length is too far.  “I can fix the first impression you’re going to break.”

Chris rolls her eyes, both at his words and his actions—painfully endeared by both.  “Why are you so convinced I’m going to have something bad to say about you?”

“I’m not worried really about what you say, but your father is not going to like me if you say to him, ‘this is my boyfriend who I saw in two different countries without telling to you.’”

“Yeah,” she nods, bites back a laugh against the skin on the inside of her cheek. It shouldn’t be as funny as it is to her; the state of her life. “Yeah, you definitely have a point there,” she cuts the vowel short, chokes on a laugh, sucks in her own lips in an attempt to keep them from spilling, the laugh escaping silently through her nose. He meets her with a matching—no, a somehow dramatized mirroring—of her expression that only makes it that much harder not to laugh. When she finally does break, there are practically tears in her eyes, and it was never even that funny. 

He smiles at her laugh, like always, and shakes his head. “I will have to come to this wedding to do damage control.” 

“Probably,” she nods, still laughing. It’s like it’s all just sunk in for her—the boyfriend. The long distance boyfriend, as in, long distance. Whatever everyone else considers long distance, times the distance of the Atlantic Ocean and the average net worth of his hometown. The fact that he was a stranger just a few months ago, and now she’s in her second foreign country in three days with him and it all feels so normal. The fact that she didn’t even want to go on that Hot Lap—hot laps, plural— or that she didn’t have any interest in going to the race. If she’d tried just a little bit harder to get out of it, or stayed in the beer tent for just ten minutes longer or, or, or. It’s not funny at all, and yet it’s hilarious. 

“You’re ridiculous, you know this?”

“I know this.” She sighs, deep and slow and grounding, one stray chuckle slipping through her lips before she can continue. “Don’t book any flights, then—Until I make sure it’s all good with Hannah.”

“Yes ma’am,” he says, salutes her with his phone still in his hand and everything.

“Okay, so,” Charles sighs, drops his head against the pillow with a soft plop. Lunch was hours ago, now, succeeded by a walk around the Japanese Gardens, a trip to the supermarket because his fridge is, as Chris so affectionately referred to it as—bachelor pad chic—and a personal tour around the Prince’s Car Collection where he got to show off his favorite memories. It’s after dinner, even. After half-stale pasta made by him and meal-saving chicken expertly prepared by her, after two episodes of a French reality show with English closed captioning, after a day he won’t soon forget. It’s then, in bed, while she reads the final pages of the book she’s been cutting away at for weeks now, that he tests his knowledge on the information he’s been quizzing her for afternoon. “Chandler is the oldest, and she’s dating Alexis.”

“Correct,” Chris says, turns the page on her book. 

“But the drama is that Alexis doesn’t like any of your family, so she and your sister moved away and don’t come to anything.” She hums her response this time, and he wonders if she’s even listening all that much or if he could get her to agree to anything right now. “And then Chase is in the middle, he’s marrying Hannah. But the drama is Hannah was—” before he can even get the next word out, she’s glancing over at him to interject. “Hannah is your best friend, and was before Chase dated her. And she has a little boy named Reid with a dickhead.”

“Yup.”

“And then you, my perfect little angel.”

She smiles at the pages of her book. He likes making her smile. “Don’t forget it.”

“Your parents are Bill and Cindy, short for… William and,” he pauses. She pauses. He has no idea what Cindy is short for. “Lucinda?” Chris blinks, hard, dog ears the corner of her page and shuts her book. If he didn’t already know it was a pretty shit guess, he sure knows it now. Sometimes a blink is worth a thousand and one words. 

“No,” she says, furrows her brows so subtly that it shouldn’t be recognizable, but it is. And then she blinks again. 

“I knew that,” he boasts, his best cocky tone and a matching smug expression on his face. “I was just testing you.”

She chuckles, leans to her right to set the book down on the bed-side table there. “On my own mother’s name?” She questions, tucking herself under the covers and scooching over, leaning against his chest comfortably. He would let her lie like this as long as she wanted. It’s so sweet to have her in his arms.

“Well, you call her ‘Mom,’” he explains, even down to the forced American accent when he says ‘Mom.’ “So maybe you did not know.”

“Cindy isn’t short for anything.”

“Like I said,” he twists her hair around his finger slowly, mindlessly, without any sort of purpose or intention. When she uses him like a pillow this way, he can always smell her shampoo. He’s been trying to place it for days now. Coconut, he knows—but there is something else there, too, something he can’t put his finger on.  “I know this.”

“Okay, continue then.”

“I will,” he says, lets the twirled hair fall from his finger and kisses her head with a smile on his face. “They have a dog called Beans that you call Beanie-Baby,” he pauses. “And the drama is, your parents do not like me.”

He can see the apples of her cheeks flare in his peripheral, a laugh stirring in her chest. “The drama is: there is no drama with them,” she says. “They’re all bark no bite.”

He adjusts underneath her, sighs all heavy and deflated because the thought of it—her family, her parents. It’s so fucking intimidating, it is. Because he knows how important they are to her, how highly she regards their opinion, even if she pretends that she doesn’t. He knows that it’s everything to her, and if he makes even a single mis-step he could ruin it all—their opinion, her opinion, all of it. And something in his gut, a pit in his stomach tells him that she’s already made a mis-step for him when she came over here without telling anyone she was coming. Why wouldn’t she tell anyone she was coming? “What do I even talk to them about?”

“I don’t know,” she says, adjusts to accommodate his adjustment, and eventually they’ll get properly comfortable. “Racing.”

“We race in different cars.”

“But it’s all cars.”

He opens his mouth to speak, pauses, clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and then finally, “it’s different.”

“I think you’re overreacting a bit, here,” she says, and he rolls his eyes. He’s not overreacting, she’s underreacting. “I get along with your Mom and your brothers and I don't know what anyone is saying half of the time.” Okay, okay, maybe she has a point there. He did kind of throw her to the wolves this week—not that his family are wolves, just. Meeting the parents before the relationship is even a relationship is. It’s just messed up for him to do, and she’d handled it gracefully, perfectly and flawlessly charmed everyone. 

But then again. “Yeah, but you’re you.” Anyone would be charmed by her. She’s very charming. 

“And you’re you.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t understand.” She can’t possibly understand it because he doesn’t even properly understand it, the way he feels about her. The fear he feels about losing all the indecipherable feelings. It’s just good, everything about her, about being near her. It’s all so sweet and nice and good and he really, really doesn’t want to screw it up.

“You’ve already met my Dad,” she starts, clearly trying to calm him down, to ease his nerves. “My brother is just like him but more annoying,” she laughs, and even though he’s half deflated, her laugh still puts a weak smile on his face. “My sister probably won’t speak to you, and my Mom loves anyone that calls her ma’am and tells her she looks young. Just don’t talk about racing with her.”

“You just told me—”

“With the boys,” Chris clarifies.

“Your Mum doesn’t like Chase racing?”

“Does yours?” Good point. Is there a mother on the face of the planet, over all of history, that loved the idea of their kid racing other kids around high speed corners without any regard for their own lives?

“Then why did she let him?”

“I’m sure the same reason yours let you. Dad’s can be very convincing.”

His stomach drops. “Yeah. Yeah, they can be. My dad was.” His fingers trace mindless circles on the skin of her arm, soft and warm and clean. His eyes focus on the little red light on the bottom of his television, the one that’s only on when the TV is off. “He would spend so much time at the karting track with my brothers and I, you would not believe it. Sometimes my Mum would say that we lived there and should take blankets to sleep in the karts,” He says, and Chris laughs, makes him aware of his tracing fingers, but doesn’t stop them. “She would always say to us, ‘be careful, drive slow,’ and my Dad would always say ‘be careful, have fun.’ Now Mum will say to us just to be careful.”

“Did your Dad drop the ‘have fun,’ too?”

Red Light. Soft skin. He knew it was coming, it’s always coming, only a matter of time before he had to tell her. Honestly, he’s surprised it had gone this long, that she hadn’t asked about his father the moment she met the rest of the family and he was absent. He can’t stomach the look of pity she’ll give him. She can take it from everyone else, always had—but the image of that look on her face, the dead dad look. He never wants her to look at him like that. 

Red light. Stupid shapes. “No, uh,” he drags out his own words, putting off the inevitable by even a few more moments. “My father died when I was a teenager.” 

At least he knows her google search of him months earlier wasn’t too in-depth. “Oh my God, Charles,” She says, voice quiet and soft, like she thinks her words will break him. They won’t. He wishes she knew they won’t. 

“No,” he chuckles, kisses the top of her head. “No. Don’t look at me like that,”

“I’m not,” she protests, but he doesn’t have to look at her to confirm. Nobody is above the look of pity. 

“You are.”

“You’re not even looking at me,” she says, sits up off his chest. He keeps his eyes on the red light. “Look at me,” she insists, a soft hand on his jaw, pulling him back to her. 

He rolls his eyes before he looks, before there’s an eternity of silent eye contact because she doesn’t have the look on her face. Anyone can tell she feels bad, especially him, but it’s different. It’s different, and he doesn’t feel like some pathetic puppy in a cold corner. He doesn’t feel like a nineteen year old who’s world is in shambles. He just feels like him. Like it’s all okay. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t know,” she finally speaks, and he hears it now. She doesn’t think he’s going to break, that’s now why she’s meek. She feels guilty, guilty that she brought it up, that she didn’t know, that he thinks she would ever think he would break.

“How would you?”

Sincere in her apology, in her guilt, she doubles down. “I’m still sorry.”

Her eyes are filled with something pure, some innocent kind of affection and he feels awful that she feels awful. “I’m sorry for going on about him.”

“I’ll listen as long as you want to talk.”

He smiles, a genuine laugh falling from his lips. “I can talk forever.”

“Then,” she smiles, leans over to kiss him before getting comfortable again, snuggling into his chest like before. “Tell me all about him.”

They sleep late the next morning. Maybe they’re adjusting to the timezone—unlikely, especially in Chris’ case—or they were just up to late talking, but Chris is stretching against the sheets, against Charles, just after nine.

It’s no surprise that she wakes up tangled in a mess of limbs, not even something she minds. Even with her hand asleep and painfully tingley. She knows that she won’t get to wake up like this tomorrow morning, or the morning after, or every morning for at least a month, so. She doesn’t mind the heat and the sleeping limbs and the threat of a knot in her shoulder. 

She wiggles out from his grip without waking him, grabs her phone from the bedside table and checks the time. She scans the room, eyes floating over all of her things scattered about. She should start packing up, she thinks. Start packing and getting ready to leave. 

She tiptoes across the room, around the corner into the bathroom to start there, far away from his sleeping body. Quietly, carefully, she brushes her teeth, washes her face and tugs a brush through her hair, tying it back into a ponytail. Slowly, she gathers her stuff—makeup and hair tools and skincare—and packs it away carefully into her toiletries bag. 

When she comes back into the bedroom, still cringing with every creak of the floor under her feet, she finds Charles awake in bed, soft, sleepy smile when she turns the corner. “Come back to bed,” he’s pleading before she can even mutter a good morning. 

“I have to pack,” she argues half-heartedly, because she wants nothing more than to climb back into bed, and his voice is no help—all hoarse and raspy with sleep. 

“Why?” He asks, drags the letter sounds out into a yawn that makes her smile. 

“Because,” she says, draws out the e-sound to tease his cadence. “It’s almost nine-thirty, and I'm leaving in two hours.”

“You don’t have two hours of stuff,” he protests. 

“I don’t like to be late,” she continues over her shoulder, opening her suitcase and laying it flat on the floor at the end of the bed, readjusting the still-folded clothes she hadn’t ended up wearing. 

“Well,” he says, stretches against his sheets and then he’s getting out of bed with another yawn. “Let me help you, then.”

He steps around her open suitcase carefully. There isn’t exactly a surplus of floorspace for him to find his footing in. He disappears into the bathroom, locks the door behind him while she continues to gather her things, reappearing ten minutes later. “Give me a kiss,” he says, trudging over to her with open arms. 

“You’re so needy this morning,” she quips, slinking her arms around his neck and pulling him down into a kiss. He hums against her lips in agreement and the vibration makes her giggle into his mouth. 

Chris makes an attempt to return to the task at hand, but he has different plans, and follows around right behind her. His arms wrap around her torso everytime she stills for even a moment and he hugs her from behind, kisses her shoulders and her neck and her hair. 

“You make it hard to pack,” she tells him, and he laughs into the crook of her neck. What she really means is: you make it hard to leave. 

“Come back to bed.”

“I want to,” she sighs, leans back against his body.

He turns with her so they’re facing the bed. “It is right there,” he says, and she groans. “Look at it, all warm and comfy.” He’s right, the sheets look so soft, the pillows so fluffed. It’s a bed begging to be slept in, to be lounged on, to be snuggled by. 

She wiggles from his grasp, backs away from him towards the door and makes a challenge that she knows she has no intention of winning; “We can go back to bed,” she starts, still inching further away from him, further away from the bed, “if you can catch me,” and then she bolts. 

Chris’ high school claim to fame might have been that she was an all-state track and field athlete, but she’s got nothing on her boyfriend, who’s made a career out of his reflexes. It’s all pants and squeals and laughs that go on for entirely too long. 

She realizes that she’s trapped when they’re stood on opposite sides of his dining room table, and she couldn’t be the least bit bothered. She tries to fake him out, to move left and then right, but he predicts the move before she even makes it, catches her with a strong grip around her waist and lifts  her off her feet, carries her into the bedroom and tackles her onto the bed. 

click here for the nsfw cut

Chris’ flight leaves Nice at 12:30 pm, and then it’s a two and a half hour layover in Amsterdam, until finally, she lands in Atlanta long after sunset. She Ubers home and by the time she’s flopping down onto her couch, it’s almost eleven. Charles is the only call she makes before crashing. Then again, who else would she call? He’s one of two people who knew she was anywhere but home, and the only one who’d made her promise to call—despite the time difference and the Uber delay—with the threat of calling the first Georgia police number he could find on google to report her missing. 

He answers on the third ring, voice with the same rasp of that morning. “Hello?”

“Hi,” she speaks through a yawn, lays the phone beside her ear on the couch cushion and leaving it on speaker. 

“Hey,” he laughs, and she can perfectly hear the smile on his lips. She can almost feel it, the way the room reacts to it. 

“You gave me a hickey,” she says, fingering the bruise that lies an inch above her collarbone. His giggle on the other end is loud and boyish—particularly teenager-ish. 

“So, you made it home safe?”

“Well, if you ignore the vampire bruise on my neck.”

“Sorry,” he says, but he’s still laughing like a little kid. 

“It’s not funny,” she warns, thinly veiled because even she can hear the tired laugh at the back of her throat. 

“It’s a little funny.”

Chris rolls her eyes. “I have to see my entire family tomorrow!”

“Eh,” he hums, and just like the smile, she can see the shrug. She can see him so well it’s like he’s here or she’s there or that they’re somewhere together. Somewhere that doesn’t really matter, because they’re both there, smiling and laughing and shrugging. God. God, she already misses him so much. “They already don’t like me.”

“Charles!” She scolds, but she’s laughing now, too.

“I’m sorry,” he smooths. “I am. I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“I know,” Chris sighs, pokes her own neck. “I’m not upset, I’ll just have to whisk it all morning.”

He chuckles. “You have to do what?” 

“You know, like. For eggs…or baking. A whisk,” with every word that leaves her mouth, another letter is types into her phone’s search bar. Google Translate: whisk.  “Le fouet?”

“Le fouet??” He questions with a tone that would make her think she’d called him a slur. “I do not think that is right.”

“Le fouet à…” she trails off, debating internally over the pronunciation of the words in front of her. “How do you say the ‘o’ and the ‘e’ when they’re together?” She asks, butchers it before he has the chance to give her any answer. “Œufs?”

“I have no idea what you are telling to me.”

“Telling you,” Chris corrects. “What I’m telling you.”

“Oh, mon dieu,” he groans. “This is sad. We can talk in the morning.”

“Okay,” she nods, yawns again. It’s long past her bedtime, and she has no idea how many hours now she’s been awake for. It’s gotta be going on twenty or more, surely. Surely. 

“Thank you for calling me,” he says, softly, genuinely grateful for the call. She’s grateful he’s grateful. It’s sweet, all the little things he does to show he cares. The way he does most of them without realizing it. 

“Thank you for wanting me to call.”

last chapter masterlist next chapter

#ma&thbp #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc x reader #Charles Leclerc x oc #Charles Leclerc fluff #Charles Leclerc blurb #Charles Leclerc angsst #f1 edit #f1 fic #f1 fandom #f1 fanfic #f1 2023 #f1 imagine #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 x oc #ferrari #Charles leclerc #cameos from #lorenzo leclerc #arthur leclerc #I think its just them

[hungermakesmonsters]

Catch Me If You Can

Chapter Twenty-Four

Plot summary : When your friend interviews for a position at Anvil, you have a chance encounter with Billy Russo. He takes you for coffee and, by the time you’re done, Billy decides he’s anything but done with you.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R 

Chapter Rating : R - some violence

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Violence and death (as expected tbh), Krista being a mega bitch again, and some vague mentions of Billy's childhood trauma. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : ~5.1k

A/N : The aftermath of the last chapter.

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN | CHAPTER EIGHT | CHAPTER NINE | CHAPTER TEN | CHAPTER ELEVEN | CHAPTER TWELVE | CHAPTER THIRTEEN | CHAPTER FOURTEEN | CHAPTER FIFTEEN | CHAPTER SIXTEEN | CHAPTER SEVENTEEN | CHAPTER EIGHTEEN | CHAPTER NINETEEN | CHAPTER TWENTY | CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE | CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO | CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Chapter Twenty-Four

Too late.

He got back to New York too late. It was only a matter of minutes, stuck in traffic with Karen, just around the corner from your apartment when he got the call from Frank, and his whole world came to a halt. It felt like his worst nightmare had come true. He barely heard a thing Frank said after the initial news, the only thing he could hear was a ringing in his ears as his chest got tight and he had to force himself to breathe. 

Karen had to demand he pull over so she could drive, not mentioning the panic attack but giving him concerned glances all the way to the hospital.

But they were late again; you’d been taken for surgery, Frank explained, as he held Karen tight.

Billy knew that he should stay, that he should be there when you woke up. (If you woke you - no, no he couldn’t think like that, he wasn’t going to lose you. He couldn’t lose you.)

He felt lost, still reeling from the panic attack he’d suffered in the car, but he knew he needed to do something. 

“I need you to stay here and tell me when she gets out of surgery -”

“Bill, what the fuck are -” Frank tried to interrupt, but Billy kept on going.

“Her brother should be on the way. I’ll text him to come here instead of the apartment. I should be back by the time -”

“Bill, there ain’t no way I’m letting you go on your own,” Frank let go of Karen and took a step forward.

“Go where? What the fuck are you talking about, she needs...” she fell silent the moment she realised what was going on. “Are you fucking insane?”

“He could’ve killed her. He’s not getting away with that,” Billy answered before looking to Frank. “You should stay here.”

“The hell I am.” Frank countered. Billy knew there was no arguing with him and that they didn’t have time. “Karen, can you stay here and let us know if anything happens?”

“I guess there's no talking you out of this?” She sighed.

“He can't get away with this,” Billy shook his head.

“What about the cops?” She asked. “Can't they -”

“He's already tried to kill her once before, I'm not letting him have a third go,” Billy answered impatiently, “Can you just -”

“Yeah, I’ll keep you up to date. Just be careful,” her gaze lingered on Frank before shifting to Billy, “both of you.”

Both men nodded before heading for Frank’s truck. There was no conversation - there was really nothing to say, they both knew where they were heading and what needed to be done. The only stop was at Anvil, to collect what they needed and change vehicles, all the while acting like everything was perfectly normal and that they weren’t about to do some unspeakable and terrible thing.

There was a blind rage inside of him, the likes of which he’d never felt before. He’d been driven to violence in the past, but he’d never felt it so intensely before. All he could think about was how he could have lost you, how he could still lose you. Frank spoke from time to time, but Billy had no idea what he was saying. He couldn’t hear anything above the ringing in his ears and all of his own panicked thoughts.

He knew that Frank was probably still trying to talk him out of it, telling him that it wasn’t too late to go back to the hospital and wait for you to get out of surgery, but Billy knew that he couldn’t. He couldn’t face you again until he'd put things right, until he knew you’d never be in any danger again.

When the van finally stopped, he looked at Frank, catching the worry on his friend’s face.

“You don't have to do this, Bill,” Frank offered, trying to give his friend a way out. “We could leave it to the cops...”

“What would you do if it was your girl in the hospital?”

Frank hesitated a moment. “I'd tear the fucker limb from limb.”

“Exactly. You should get outta here before anyone sees you, Frankie.” Billy told him, pulling up his hood and grabbing the duffle of supplies he’d packed at Anvil. “I’ll meet you at the hospital later, let me know if...” he couldn’t even bring himself to say it, let alone think about it.

Frank gave a nod and Billy closed the door, stepping away from the car. He took a breath, forcing away every thought except for one; his mission.

They’d known where Scott was staying the moment he got into the city, even though the AirBnB was booked under a fake name and paid for using a store-bought prepaid credit card. Truth was, that Billy had had one of the analysts at Anvil tracking Scott’s movements ever since he found out about the PI, and it had always been his intention to keep you safe without you even knowing. 

But he’d failed. Your decision to come back to New York had made it impossible, and he hadn’t been able to get Frank to you in time to stop Scott from hurting you.

And, now, Scott was going to pay.

Billy moved slowly but purposefully, getting off the street and into the building as quickly as possible. There was no surveillance in the area, but he still couldn’t risk anyone stopping him. Recon showed that the building was mostly empty at the moment; most of the apartments were owned by the same asshole, all put up on AirBnB causing rent prices in the area to skyrocket. A real fucking racket.

But, there was an empty apartment between Scott and the next occupied unit and that was good news for Billy, and he made his way up to the fourth floor completely unnoticed. When he reached the door, Billy dropped to his knees and made quick work of picking the lock.

Once he was in the apartment, he quietly placed the bag down by the door. It didn’t take him long to find his target, lounging on the sofa like he didn’t have a care in the world. The asshole even had his gun just sitting there on the coffee table. Billy took a breath before unsheathing his knife and clearing his throat, alerting Scott to his presence.

He went for the gun on the table, but Billy was faster, his blade cutting so deep into Scott’s wrist that it severed tendons before he could even think about trying to pull the trigger. The gun dropped to the floor and Billy kicked it away, having no use for it.

Scott clutched his bleeding wrist to his chest, staggering backwards.

“What the fuck -”

“Don’t play dumb, Scott. We both know why I’m here; you hurt someone I care about, and I can’t let you keep living after that.” Billy almost smirked at the flash of fear and realisation that spread across Scott’s face.

“You’re the boyfriend, right?” He grit out. “You think that little whore is worth it? Do you even know who I am? Do you know what’ll happen to you if -”

Billy’s boot connected with his stomach, winding him and effectively silencing him. Scott continued to stagger back until his back was against the wall.

“She’s more than worth it,” Billy snarled. “And I know exactly who you are - I know what you are. Your family might be a big deal in Florida but you’re nothing in New York.”

Billy found a sense of satisfaction in the way Scott was practically cowering. It made him think about you, about all the times this piece of shit made you feel scared. Never again. He was going to see to it that you never had to worry about this prick again. And, for all of his posturing, he was pretty sure that Scott had reached the same conclusion that he had; he was about to die.

“I can pay you; just name your price,” he tried a different tack, trying to appeal to Billy as a businessman, pressing himself back against the wall like he thought he still had somewhere to hide.

“You’re gonna pay, just not with money,” He fought back a grin as the distance between them shrank to nothing at all, his blade pressed against Scott’s stomach. “The price is your life for her freedom. I can’t give her back the time you took from her, the time she spent scared and looking over her shoulder, but I can make it so she never has to worry about you again.”

Scott swung an awkward punch, catching Billy on the cheek, and he was repaid with a knee to the stomach.

“You really are pathetic, aren’t you?” Billy let out a huff of laughter, his free arm pinned against Scott’s throat, holding him in place. “Guess that’s why you went after a girl six years younger than you.”

“Are you really prepared to kill for that bitch?” He managed to choke out. “She tell you she loves you? Know how many times she told me that? She’s a liar, she’s -”

Billy pressed forward, the knife sinking in.

“Keep talking, please, give me a reason to make this slow,” he spoke through gritted teeth, face barely inches from Scott’s, struggling to hold himself back, while Scott tried to push him away. “No? You done talking? Not so fucking scary when you’re dealing with a grown man, are you? Guess I’m harder to push around -”

“I loved her!” He managed in an awful, painful gasp, as if that made anything better, as if he thought that might convince Billy that there was a reasonable explanation for what he’d done.

“No,” Billy snapped, twisting the knife. “I love her. And I’d rather die than hurt her like you did.”

He didn’t wait for a response, pulling back the knife before sinking it in, again and again. As he listened to the choked, wet gasps for breath, every ounce of anger came to the fore. He loved you - he loved you so fucking much, and this asshole had tried to take you away from him.

For a few moments he lost himself to it, to the rage and anger and pain inside of him. And the last thing Scott got to hear was Billy repeating those three simple and terrifyingly complicated words; “I love her.”

It wasn’t until he finally stepped back that he realised he wasn’t alone. Frank was there - how long he’d be there, Billy couldn’t say and he didn’t want to guess.

“I told you -”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Frank shrugged, dropping the duffle Billy had left by the door, filled with things they’d need to get rid of the body. “Wasn’t going to leave you to do this alone, brother. We need to get this cleaned up, Karen says they should be finishing surgery soon.”

For a few seconds both men stood, looking at the body and the mess that Billy had created.

“Shit, Bill,” Frank muttered.

“I love her, Frankie,” Billy admitted quietly, sounding more scared than Frank had ever heard him.

Frank placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder and offered a reassuring squeeze. “I know you do. She’s gonna be alright. Doctor’s told Karen it was a through-and-though, didn’t hit anything vital.” 

“Guess this prick was as bad a shot as he was a boyfriend,” Billy shook his head, silently glad of the fact.

“Yeah,” Frank huffed. “Think I saw a suitcase in the hallway big enough to stuff him in.” 

“Right,” Billy nodded, knowing that they needed to get moving, but it took him a moment to tear himself from his thoughts. “I’ll go get some water.”

Both men separated, Frank heading to the hallway to find the suitcase, while Billy made his way to the kitchen to find a bucket.

They barely spoke as they went about wrapping the body in the plastic sheeting cleaning, both knowing that it would never be perfect, but that they could destroy enough evidence to make it almost impossible for anyone to say for certain just what went on.

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

The room came into focus slowly, your head hurt and it felt like your brain was pulsing behind your eyes. It felt like the worst hangover you’d ever had, only you didn’t remember drinking. In fact, you couldn’t remember much of anything. You closed your eyes, wanting nothing more than to drift off and sleep until the pain stopped, but then you heard it; the beep-beep-beep of a heart rate monitor. For a few terrifying seconds you were transported back in time, back to the moment you woke up in hospital after the crash. 

Your stomach knotted and threatened to turn itself inside out as the sterile smell filled your nose when you tried to take a deep, calming breath. Desperately, you tried to fill in the blanks and understand what had happened; the crash had been years ago, you’d moved to New York, you’d met Billy, you’d been in Mexico...

Billy.

Where was Billy?

A clumsy hand tried to wipe your eyes, hoping to clear your vision a little more, instead finding bandages wrapped around your forehead. And, when you tried to sit, you found that you couldn’t move for the burning, throbbing pain in your abdomen.

“You’re awake,” there was something familiar about the feminine voice, but you couldn’t quite place it.

You struggled to focus on the figure sitting off to the side of your bed, blinking as your vision slowly came back into focus, though her name eluded you for a few, long moments.

“Krista?” Voice betraying your confusion. Why was Krista there?

“Good,” she smiled and shifted a little closer to you, “you remember me.”

“What happened? Why are you here?” Why were you in the hospital? Your eyes drifted from Krista for a moment, taking in the sight of your hospital room, looking for anything that might tell you what was going on.

“You don’t remember?” She asked and you shook your head. “You were shot. Luckily the bullet went right through, but it seems that you hit your head when you fell, which might account for any memory problems you’re having, though short-term memory loss can also be caused by traumatic circumstances. I’ve been asked to evaluate you and find out what you remember.”

“Where’s Billy? Why isn’t Billy here?” You tried desperately to remember the last time you’d seen him. Mexic; at dinner with him and Karen, then you’d gone back to his room and - after that, there was nothing but fuzziness. The monitor next to you started to beep faster as the panic set in. Had something happened to him too?

“We’re not sure where William is. The NYPD are looking for him -”

“Looking for him? Why?” You were struggling to follow what she was trying to tell you and it was starting to frustrate you.

“In connection with your shooting,” she said it like it was obvious, like it was fact. They thought that Billy had done this to you. “He was tracked on a private jet, arriving back in New York an hour before the shooting - from what we’ve managed to put together, you cut your vacation in Mexico short and returned back to the city alone, Billy followed you. After you were shot, his business partner, Frank Castle, found you and brought you to the hospital.”

“No, Billy would never -” your head was pounding and all you wanted to do was close your eyes again, but you knew you couldn’t. “Billy would never hurt me.”

“I know it’s not easy to admit that the man you love is capable of violence, but men with his training and his trauma -”

“What trauma?” You demanded. “You keep acting like he’s some psychopath.”

“What has Billy told you about his childhood?” She answered back with an air of smugness that had you wishing you could get out of bed and punch her.

“Everything,” you answered without hesitation, certain that you knew far more about Billy than she ever would.

“He told you about his shoulder? About Arthur Walsh?” The corner of her lip seemed to curl up ever so slightly. “He told you about the assault?”

“Yes,” you answered, not bothering to hold back your annoyance, “I know that he tried -”

“Tried? Is that what Billy told you?” you were speechless, your mind racing over the implications of her words. “Ask yourself this; why would a man like Billy, a man with an ego like his, ever admit to being hurt like that unless he was using that admission to distract from something worse. He wasn’t the only victim of Arthur Walsh, do you really think he was the only who was able to -”

“Even if that’s true, it’s not your place to tell me,” you snapped, not willing to sit there and listen to her trying to expose Billy over something that might never have happened, not when you knew that she wasn’t saying it to be helpful, she was trying to destroy Billy. “Why are you so obsessed with wanting him to be broken? He’s not going to go back to you, Krista.”

“I’ve seen hundreds of men like William, they all snap and hurt someone eventually. At least I know how to control a dangerous man like William.” She answered back.

“He’s not dangerous, and he didn’t do this to me. He’d never hurt me - you can tell the cops that.”

“Because he loves you?” Her professional facade almost dropped completely and you could hear the derision in her words. “I wonder, has he managed to say the words yet?”

“Get out!” You finally screamed, the monitor besides you along with your screaming was enough to alert a doctor to your distress. “Get the fuck out, Krista!” 

She was quickly removed from your room and you were given assurances that she wouldn’t be allowed to return. The doctor took the opportunity to check your injuries and give you something extra for the pain that helped you drift off to sleep again.

A couple of hours passed before you woke again, this time feeling a little sharper than before. There was a hand holding yours tight and, for a few moments, you assumed that it was Billy. But, as you opened your eyes, you realised that wasn’t the case.

“Sam?” Again, you found yourself reliving the hours after the crash and how you’d found him at your bedside, just like this.

“Hey,” he struggled for a moment, obviously not sure what to say to you, “how are you feeling? Do you need me to get you a doctor?”

“No, I - I’m fine. What are you doing here?”

“Your boyfriend called me.” You didn’t miss the clipped way he referred to Billy. “What the fuck have you gotten yourself into this time?”

You weren’t sure what it was about the moment, whether it was the worry on your brother’s face, the tremor in his voice, or the fact that you hadn’t seen him in over two years, but you found yourself bursting into floods of tears. You hated that this was how you were seeing him again, and how you felt so pathetic and useless because of it. It felt like he’d been proven right; that you couldn’t take care of yourself.

It was overwhelming and all you could do was sob at how out of control you felt.

“I’m sorry,” you told him as he tried to hold you without hurting you.

“It’s not your fault, you don’t need to apologise,” he muttered softly, “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to protect you.”

It took a few minutes for you to calm down enough to speak properly but Sam didn’t pressure you to talk, dropping back to his chair and keeping a tight grip on your hand. As upsetting as the whole situation was, you were glad that he was there with you.

“I don’t know what happened,” you told him, sniffling back more tears, trying to control the tremor in your voice. “The cops think it was Billy - it wasn’t, he’d never hurt me.”

“I know,” Sam answered with an unexpected certainty. “It was Scott. That’s how I got here so fast; Billy let me know that Scott was in New York looking for you. The cops know he didn’t do it.”

If Billy knew that Scott had done this to you, and he knew he was in New York...

“Where is he?” You demanded, voice threatening to break. “Where’s Billy?”

“He’s fine. That’s all you need to know.” There was something in his voice you didn’t like. He knew what was going on but he was deliberately keeping it from you, trying to protect you by keeping you in the dark. “He’s on his way here now.”

“But -” there were so many questions, so many things that you needed to know, but your brother shushed you.

“Don’t worry about it. The only thing you need to think about is resting, we’re taking care of everything.” Though his words did little to quell all of the panicked thoughts.

“I don’t want to stay here,” you told him suddenly. “I don’t like hospitals.”

“I know,” he sighed, squeezing your hand, “I promise I’ll get you out of here as soon as I can. Just close your eyes and rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

As much as you didn’t want to, you soon found your eyes drifting shut again, exhausted and overwhelmed by everything that was happening, and the pain medication certainly wasn’t helping. Sam kept hold of your hand until you started to fall asleep again, drifting in and out of consciousness. 

You were half asleep when you heard Billy’s voice and you had to force your eyes open to make sure that he was really there and that you weren’t just dreaming it. The rough sound of Sam’s voice and the unmistakable sound of someone getting hit was enough to drag you out of your dream-like state. Your eyes opened in time to see Billy staggering backwards and frank stepping between him and your brother, trying to separate them.

“Guess I deserved that,” Billy grumbled, running a hand over his cheek.

“Damn right you do, you let this happen -”

“I was trying to keep her safe,” Billy spat back.

“Yeah, well, you did a shit job, didn’t you? She could’ve died, she -”

“Stop!” You interrupted, reminding everyone of your presence.

Whatever Billy might have wanted to say to Sam quickly died on his lips, and he moved to your side, taking your hand in his and leaning to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he muttered, his voice cracking, threatening to break.

“I won’t, I’m so sorry.” You told him, squeezing his hand as tight as you could, all but forgetting that there was anyone else in the room with you. 

Billy seemed to forget too, pulling the chair beside your bed closer so he could sit and keep hold of your hand, his entire attention focused on you. Frank muttered something to Sam and, reluctantly, your brother agreed to leave you alone with Billy for a little while. 

“What happened?” You dared to ask. “Last thing I remember, we were still in Mexico with Karen.”

“We had a stupid argument. You got upset with me, remember?” Billy sighed. There was a fuzzy memory in the back of your mind, a feeling of worry that you couldn’t quite place, but that was all. You shook your head. “You realised I was hiding something from you, but I didn’t want to tell you, so you left...”

“You knew about Scott,” and suddenly everything made sense.

“After that day at Anvil, I had one of our analysts start tracking him. When I found out he was heading to New York, I knew I couldn’t let you come home until we’d figured out a way to deal with him.”

“Deal with him?” You repeated as your stomach started to tie itself in knots. “Billy... what did you do?” Though you weren’t sure you wanted an answer.

He reached for you, gently brushing your hair away from your face as he let out a soft sigh. “I did what I had to,” he whispered softly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to keep you safe, but I made sure he’ll never hurt you again.”

“Billy...” you didn’t dare ask for clarification, almost certain you knew exactly what he was confessing to. Maybe you should have felt more than you did in that moment but, honestly, all you felt was relief. He’d killed a man to keep you safe and you did feel safe, you felt safer than you had in years, like you could finally breathe.

“I couldn’t risk him ever hurting you again,” his gaze lowered and his head hung forward. You could tell he was scared of what you might be thinking.

Reaching for him, you softly cupped his bruised cheek, gently urging him to look at you but, when he did, you found yourself lost for words for a few moments. What were you supposed to say? You couldn’t thank him for killing someone, and it wasn’t your place to forgive him.

“It’s okay, Billy,” is what you settled on.

“I thought I was gonna lose you,” he admitted, your heart skipping a beat at the panic in his voice, hating how vulnerable he sounded.

“The doctors say I’m gonna be fine,” you tried to reassure him, not wanting him to linger on dark thoughts like that.

“I love you,” he all but blurted out like it might be his last chance. “I should’ve told you sooner, I should’ve told you months ago. I never would’ve forgiven myself if you’d died and I hadn’t -”

“I know,” you told him softly, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “I’ve always known, Billy. You never had to say it, you’ve always shown me how much you love me.” His relief was palpable as he leaned in to press his lips to yours. Your fingers moved to tangle in his hair, holding him in the kiss for a few, sweet moments, before you muttered against his lips; “can you stay with me a little while? I - I don’t like hospitals...”

“Sweetheart, nothing is going to make me leave your side,” he smiled, sitting back and softly stroking your hair with his free hand. 

It was enough to have you closing your eyes again. “I love you, Billy.”

“I love you too.”

When your eyes opened again, the room was mostly dark, save for the light that spilled in from the hallway. Billy was still with you, his head resting on folded arms on the edge of the bed, fast asleep. You couldn’t resist the urge to run your fingers through his hair, though you immediately felt guilty the moment he stirred. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he muttered sleepily, not bothering to lift his head.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” you told him, fingers still running through his hair. “You look tired.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll sleep when I get you home in a day or two,” he smiled up at you. 

The low light in the room almost hid the bruising on his cheek until he turned his head a little and you found yourself reaching for his cheek.

“This looks sore.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“I’m sorry about Sam,” you muttered, inspecting the damage.

“I deserved it. He was right, I should’ve done more to stop this,” he shrugged. 

You hated that he was making this all his fault, acting like there was anything he could have done to stop things, like he believed he should have been able to predict the future. But, you knew you weren’t going to change his mind, at least not while you were still laying in a hospital bed.

“What’s going to happen now?” Keeping your voice to little more than a whisper so you couldn’t be overheard.

“What d’you mean?” He asked, finally lifting his head a little.

“About... y’know, Scott...” you whispered, “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

“Me and Frank took care of it, don’t worry. Nothing bad is going to happen. Nothing bad is going to happen to you ever again, sweetheart, I promise.”

While his promise made you smile, you couldn’t help but shake your head. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Billy.”

His hand moved, covering yours and holding it against his cheek. “I mean it. There’s nothing I won’t do to keep you safe and happy. You’re mine, sweetheart, and I protect what’s mine.”

You fell silent again, letting your eyes close, his hand still on yours, just enjoying being with each other again. But there was something else in the back of your mind, a thought that wouldn’t go away now matter how much you wanted it to.

“Billy, Krista was here when I woke up,” opening your eyes, you watched for a response and noticed his shoulder tick upwards. 

“What did she want?”

“She tried to convince me that you were the one who shot me,” you told him. “I didn’t believe her, but then she...” you stopped, not sure you wanted to say anything. You didn’t want to ask him about it, didn’t want to put him on the spot. It wasn’t your place, just like it hadn’t been hers, but just thinking about it made your heart ache.

“What?” He gently prompted, even though you were certain he didn’t want to hear it.

“She said something about when you were a kid, when you were hurt...” you paused again and, this time, Billy didn’t prompt you to continue. The silence hung for a round thirty seconds while you decided what you wanted to say. “Whatever happened that day, I just - I want you to know that there’s nothing that could make me stop loving you.”

Billy stayed silent but you saw the way he awkwardly tried to swallow the lump in his throat. And there was something about his discomfort in that moment that helped you remember Mexico, the night you’d left his room. You remembered the argument about his panic attacks.

“I’m sorry,” you broke the silence. “I don’t want to be like Krista. I don’t want to treat you the way she did.”

“You don’t,” he shook his head, pressing your hand tighter against his cheek.

“Can you just promise me one thing?” 

“Anything,” he answered without hesitation.

“I don’t need to know what causes the panic attacks, I just need to know you’re okay,” you explained as delicately as you could. “So, can you promise me that if you’re ever not okay, you’ll let me know? You don’t even need to tell me why, I just need to know so I can be there for you.”

His answer wasn’t immediate and, for a moment, you could have sworn you saw a tear in the corner of his eye.

“I promise,” he all but whispered as he leaned in to kiss you again before muttering against your lips, “I love you so much.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

END NOTES :  I just want to say I loved the responses to last chapter, and I really hope this chapter lives up to the hype? It was weird trying to write Billy's POV from second person, but hopefully it didn't turn out too bad. IDK if people were expecting more from Billy confronting Scott but, ultimately I decided that Scott was a piece of shit and not worth Billy's time or effort - just in case anyone was wondering lmao.

Anyway, I'm not 100% sure yet but I think next week might actually be the last chapter of this story (or I might do one more chapter and a separate epilogue). But I'm honestly just so happy that people seem to have enjoyed reading this, and I'm so thankful for all the support and lovely messages I've received over the course of this story!

If you want adding/removing from the tag list let me know (I know it’s not working for everyone - if it’s not working and you don’t want to miss a chapter, I post every Friday around 7:30pm gmt)

TAG LIST

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[darklydeliciousdesires]

Nobody's Girl - Chapter Eight.

Fuck it, it's Friday, I'm feeling generous, have another chapter! Enjoy, besties!

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven

Taglist - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed

Words - 3,145

Warnings - Adult content throughout, minors DNI!

Hundreds of times. Hundreds? She didn’t know why, when infidelity was infidelity, but having the assumption that he’d only partook of a few extra marital dalliances shattered by the fact that it had been over a hundred women throughout the eighteen-year span of his marriage, was suddenly so much worse to bear. Especially when he’d surmised it as “a few” when confessing that to her.  

Hundreds was far from few. 

Not really knowing what to do or where to go, she wandered through the rooms, hearing her name called eventually when she got to the sprawling lounge. 

“Dolly, hey. You alright?” Greta asked gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. She turned, the woman feeling her heart sink. “No, you aren't. Come on, come here.” She let herself be pulled into the hug, crying further, feeling tumultuous inside. “Scared, huh, that he’ll do the same thing to you.” 

“No... maybe... oh, god, I don’t know,” she sniffed, pulling back, thanking Greta for the handkerchief she offered. “He says it’s different with me, that he hasn’t cheated and doesn’t plan on doing so either. Am I stupid to believe that? When he told me he’d been unfaithful in the past, he left out the part detailing exactly how much. He said a few, Greta. Hundreds is not a few!” 

Her friend sighed through a sad smile, her eyebrows drawing up, eyes full of sympathy for the poor girl. “I can’t answer that question for you, toots. All I can say though is, and I dunno if this is wishful thinking or not, but maybe he’s got it outta his system now? He’s forty-three, more grown than he was back in his twenties when he and Fil got married. Maybe he just didn’t wanna scare you by being so candid with the exact number?”  

She was attempting her best to stick a dressing over her pain, and while Emily thought such charity was very indicative of Greta’s kind nature, it wasn’t what she needed. “Do leopards ever really change their spots?” 

Shrugging, Greta called upon a few examples. “Well, the man used to chain smoke like a chimney, but quit two years back since he said, and I quote, ‘I don’t think my chest is meant to fuckin’ rattle when I breathe’, which he noticed went away the less he smoked. S’why he always has the...” 

“Toothpick,” Emily finished for her, “to distract himself from wanting to light up. Yeah, he told me about that. It isn’t the same, though. Smoking is a habit.” 

“So’s fucking other women, dolly. Habits can be broken, if you want it badly enough.”  

Sighing, she looked down at her feet for a second, lips pursing as she twisted them from side to side, still under the duress of discomfort though her tears had finally stopped. “It’s the fact he glossed over it that bothers me more than anything.” Leaning to Greta, she kissed her cheek. “Thanks for being a good friend. I’m going to take a little walk; I need to calm down.” 

Her walk took her across the property over to a long line of trees, a dirt road that looked to lead down to a group of outbuildings. She’d have taken the lake, but she didn’t want to run into Luca on his way around it with the kids. Besides, she wasn’t ready to face him yet.  

It was conflicting to her, having virtually no temper, always preferring the calm approach regarding conflict and now being left with nothing but fury in her belly and the desire to slap his face for downplaying his infidelities. Why had he lied? If he’d opened up enough to tell her in the first place, be candid, then why was he hiding the complete truth?  

Her mind could only go to one place; the place of him knowing deep down, he’d probably do it again. That was, if he hadn’t already.  

Fear shunted through her veins like a freight train, the distressing thought of losing him because he couldn’t be faithful to her. The pain of it crushed her fragile spirit, and that was only in imagining what it would be like to discover his deceit. It flew in stark contrast to the fact that Emily well knew his gaze towards her was fonder than anybody else, save his children. Love came in at the eyes and took a path directly to the heart, and every time he looked at her, she felt it beam his adoration right into her chest.  

Truly, she had no reason to doubt his sincerity, and she honestly had believed him when he’d sworn he hadn’t ever been untrue to her. Funnily enough, she was perhaps the only person in his life who knew when he was lying. He didn’t do it often, but every time he did, his thumb stroked over the crucifix tattoo upon the middle finger of his right hand, as if silently asking forgiveness from god for his sins. It was a barely noticeable tell, but she’d picked up on it when witnessing him bullshitting people.  

Reaching the outbuildings, she saw that it had once housed a stable block, the structure now crumbling from rotted wood, in no fit state to house a living creature. It was a shame, she thought, imagining what it must have looked like back when it was built, which she guessed was likely in the eighteen seventies, going on the overall design of the property.  

He said he lost count when he hit triple digits. 

Filomena’s words smacked her sharply again, raking a hand through her curls as she sighed, kicking a pebble across the dusty ground beneath her feet. Would he, though? Was the man who was all hers truly looking to seek out an alternative to it just being him and her? The man who confessed his sins to her in the dead of night as they lay talking, truly, would he forsake the bond they shared for the dalliance with a warm body that was not hers?  

She’d truly liked to have thought she was much less naive than she had been in the almost six months she had been in his life for, learning from him how not to let anyone take her for a ride, learn how to be shrewder, wiser, less easy to manipulate. Why teach her to be anything else, if he indented to hoodwink her? Surely, the man would want her to remain the unworldly little waif who always put her trust in the wrong people, should he have planned to be deceitful to her?  

It didn’t make sense.  

A frown knitted her dainty features, turning to slope off back the way she’d come, her ears picking up on the sound of a cawing coming from one of the huge trees to the side of the path. Looking up, there upon the branches slowly becoming thicker with the lush green of spring, sat a pure white crow. She’d never seen one before, stopping to look up at the bird, its blue eyes staring back at her before it began to caw again, ruffling its feathers.  

A second bird then swooped down, its coal black wings wide, folding neatly as it landed beside its white counterpart, the creatures making soft noises of greeting to one another. She witnessed it, the little display of affection, the black one beginning to preen the white, gentle beak clicks sounding its contentment.  

They reminded her of she and Luca; the light and the dark, bonded effortlessly despite being so different.  

Walking back towards the house, she still had no idea what on earth to say to him when they came face to face, picking out the figure of Filomena still sitting outside, hearing the sound of the children screaming with mirth as they ran up from the lake. She thought he’d maybe gone inside already, but as she took the stone steps that led back up the rolling garden, she heard him shout behind her, telling Guiseppe not to throw rocks at his sister.  

She hurried her pace, wanting to move back into the house and avoid him, but that wasn’t easy when her man had legs longer than the average Derby winner. “Hey, where are you rushing to, amore?” 

The face he was met with took him aback, her expression hardened a little as her eyes darted and she dropped her chin. “Inside.” 

Of course, he persisted. “What’s wrong, huh? You’re not your usual self.”  

His hands prevented her movement, Emily pulling herself from his grasp, her hand moving to strike him sharply across the cheek. It was the first time she’d slapped anyone, and she hated it, especially watching the confusion and anger flit across his face, his mood darkening rapidly. “I never am when I’m lied to. A few, you told me of your affairs. Not over a hundred women, as I learned.” 

He bit his back teeth together, his head snapping to look up at the house, where Filomena sat, a very captive audience to it. “I told you not to listen to her poison, Emily. I explicitly told you that.”  

The fact he couldn’t meet her eye confirmed it. “It isn’t poison when it’s true though, is it? No matter how malicious her intent was. It’s still true, and you still tried to hide that from me.”  

Walking away, she was just stepping back into the house again when she heard Luca explode like a bomb, hurling insults towards his ex-wife in savagely delivered Italian, his fury let loose. “Excuse me, please can you show me up to the bedroom?” she asked Catherine, the housekeeper who had come with them, the woman nodding as she changed direction immediately.  

She looked relieved to be escaping the immediate proximity of the Italian hellfire being flung back and forth outside, Emily closing her ears to it as she trotted up the many steps comprising the marble staircase behind the woman who looked like she had seen the two people they’d left in their wake becoming furious with one another one too many times before.  

“End of the hallway, miss. If you’ll excuse me, I have to go and help chef prepare dinner.” Pulling her shoes from her slightly sore feet, she carried them while padding along the carpeted hallway, again studying her surroundings as she went, trying to take her mind off her current predicament.  

Entering the bedroom, her mouth fell open, the space absolutely beautiful. It was all art deco, the decadence actually very simply done, black walls with white mouldings and ceiling, the hardwood floor furnished with fluffy white rugs, and as Luca had already revealed, a very big four poster bed in the centre. Sitting on the edge, she fell back into the comfort of the fresh, white linen, her eyes picking out the details of the ornate moulding around the chandelier that hung above, glad she was surrounded by silence.  

Needing something to do in order to keep her mind occupied, she moved to where their belongings had been placed, Luca bringing very little with him since he of course already had everything he needed right there. She began to hang up her own items in the large, sparse wardrobe, knowing that she’d packed too much, remembering back to that morning when he’d told her that, too.  

Just as she was placing her jewellery away, her peace was disturbed by a tightly wound looking Luca, coming in and clicking the door shut behind him.  

“Emily, I’m sorry for what she said to you.” 

An interesting choice of words. “You’re sorry for what she said, but not the fact you tried to hide the extent of your philandering from me?” She spoke tersely, fingers untangling her multi-stranded pearl necklace. She knew she should have brought it up in a box as opposed to the silk bag she’d stashed everything in to save space. 

He moved to her, standing there in imposition, giving her no choice but to eventually look up at him once she’d finished her task. “Please, honey. Don’t let her get between us. This? It's exactly what that fuckin’ rattlesnake of a woman is lookin’ for.” 

She couldn’t believe her ears. “It might be what she’s looking for, I don’t deny that from what you’ve told me about her. She isn’t coming between us, though. I asked you straight up, how many times you’d been unfaithful to her and what was your reply? A few. A fucking few! Losing count when you got to a hundred isn’t a few, Luca. Jesus god!” 

Moving to the window, she needed space between them, irritated when he followed her. “Emily, just listen...” 

“To what?” she snapped, “more lies?” 

“I didn’t tell you ‘cuz I wanted to spare you it, the fuckin’ ugly truth of the man I was with her.” He reached for her cheek, stroking it, his chest a field of sharpened glass when she knocked his hand away. “I ain’t that man anymore, baby. Not now I have you.” 

Her nostrils flared, eyes fixing him sternly. “You still lied to me. I needed to know the whole truth, Luca.” 

“Oh, you fuckin’ did, huh?” he replied, his agitation winding once more, like somebody weaving thread into a loom. Why wasn’t the fact he wanted to be better for her enough?  

“Yes, I fucking did!” she yelled, tipping him to explosion. 

“What is it that you want me to tell you, Emily? You wanna hear it all, huh? How I was fuckin’ everything with a pulse from day one? You wanna hear how I took a waitress into the bathroom at my own wedding and fucked her over the sinks? Or how about when nobody could get a hold of me when Fil was in labour with Milania, because instead of bein’ a good husband and waiting outside for my first child to arrive, I was at a private sex club in Manhattan in the middle of an orgy? How about that, huh?” 

It hit her in cold waves, to hear of such behaviour, delivered so loudly too. He never shouted or went on angry tirades, and she hated bearing the brunt of it. It wasn’t her he was angry at, though, and she saw it so clearly. He couldn’t meet her eye, pacing slowly as he dropped his head and ran his hand over the back of his neck.  

She moved to him, reaching for his arm, stroking the lean muscle beneath the white shirt. “It isn’t Filomena you’re mad at, is it?” 

His eyes locked onto a point in the distance, jaw tightened, offering only silence.  

“Luca, you can’t make amends for how you acted in your marriage by being flawless in your relationship with me. And I love that you are, I believe you when you say you haven’t and won’t stray from me. I’m not the one who needs your apology, though. She does. She’s still hurting because you hurt her.”  

There it was, the truth his ego had successfully stuffed down for the last year, tried to mask behind the lie he told himself that his wife didn’t care about his infidelity when in fact, she did. She simply didn’t want to break her heart or her marriage by confronting him over it, until she was literally confronted by his adultery right there in their bed.  

He’d never be a good man, not truly. He was the head of an organised crime family, after all. He could, however, be better to the people who cared about him, though. Even if it was now in past tense. His pride still swelled, much too strongly to come out and tell Emily she was right in that moment, his eyes finally finding hers as he turned, taking her hands in his and squeezing them.  

“Gimme a minute.” Striding out of the room, he moved through the house, Emily looking down at the lawn below where Filomena stood, Luca joining her after a few moments.  

She turned around, her eyes glassy, looking up at the man who had torn her heart out, Luca opening his arms and wrapping her in a hug. He stroked her hair, kissing the top of her head multiple times as she wept against his chest, finally - and earnestly - delivering the words she’d so sorely needed to hear. 

“I’m sorry. For everythin’ I put you through. Wasn’t your fault, it was all me.” 

She cried harder upon hearing the apology, looking up at him, her eyes pleading as she stroked his face. “Then if you’re sorry, come back to me. Please. We’re you’re family, Luca. Send the girl packin’, let’s start again.”  

Her statement took him by huge surprise, seeing the sudden vulnerability in the woman so formidable, so embittered by her need to hurt him as much as he had her. It truly rocked him for a few seconds, letting out a long sigh. He covered her hands for his own for a moment, removing them from his cheeks. “No, Fil,” he spoke, shaking his head, “my future is with her now. I’ve been angry at myself all this time, not you, and you needed to know that. That’s all. I ain’t ever gonna be no one else’s but hers.”  

“She won’t love you like I do,” she tried, Luca shaking his head again.  

“She won’t, no. She loves me differently, holds me fuckin’ accountable, makes me wanna be better. I shouldda been better to you, though. Just know that I know, but we ain’t tryin’ again. It’s not what I want.” He walked away then, knowing she likely wouldn’t take his rejection lying down. It wasn’t the woman she was. The man he’d become, though, was somebody he intended on remaining, going back into the house, finding Emily still within the bedroom, and taking her in his arms to plant a passionate kiss upon her mouth.  

“What was that for?” she asked, a little breathless from it, her cheeks flushing.  

He rested his forehead to hers, hands stroking her neck. “For being you, cara mia. I ain’t ever gonna be a good man, but I will be to you. Because of you.” His mouth met hers again, fingers beginning to tease the buttons of her dress undone, their need and longing for one another flickering into greater heat, his big hands grasping her narrow waist and carrying her to the bed.  

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” he began, lips planted kisses on her neck, “and I’m sorry I yelled at you.” His lips rained hot over her breasts, pulling her brassiere from her after flicking the clasps undone, “and I need you to know how much I fuckin’ love you.”  

“Don’t tell me,” she gasped, hands all over him, desire charging over her skin. “Show me.” 

Oh, how he showed her. 

#luca changretta fanficition #luca changretta #luca changretta smut #luca changretta x ofc #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fic #luca changretta fanfic #luca changretta fic #nobody's girl #luca and emily

[yeonjunszn]

so sick !

pairing: idol!lee heeseung x non-idol!f!reader

genres: fluff﹒crack﹒smallest amount of angst possible

warnings: mature language (nothing new), strangers to friends to lovers, mentions of cheating (its not from any of the mcs), unfunny jokes, the plot takes place during/starting with the release of dimension : dilemma and will end around dimension : answer era, uni!au bc reader is a uni student, reader is literally the sweetest person alive laurv her saur much, heeseung is borderline insane, but so is reader’s entire friend group so whatever, everyone except enhypen are uni students, the only idols are enha, also (for clarification since they are name dropped) — txt exists in this universe without gyu and tyun, more warnings per individual chapter!

feat: the rest of enhypen, ryujin from itzy, sumin from stayc, taehyun and beomgyu from txt, hyunjin and felix from skz

summary: when your boyfriend of almost eight years cheats on you your senior year of university, you decide that you’re done with anything and everything to do with love. that is, until you meet a guy who sings love songs for a living.

status: completed!

started: may 21, 2022

ended: september 13, 2022

— WOWWW CANT BELIEVE MIXED UP IS DONE 🙁🙁 i’m kinda sad but it’s okay!! bc we have this baby here now!! i got the inspiration for this from so sick by ne-yo and also that one song by lauv that heeseung sang on i-land LMFAO

— send an ask to join the taglist!!

profiles: sunshine y/n & friends | 7 overgrown children | the fake fan accounts

zero. happy anniversary, asshole (477)

one. self love >>

two. hypehouseification of lee heeseung

three. double homicide

four. australianized tamed-dashed

five. why is he kinda..

six. pneumonia

seven. partner project in english

eight. happy birthday heeseung

nine. AWOOOOO 🐺

ten. stuck together (1.3k)

eleven. congrats! or sorry that happened!

twelve. can this be us

thirteen. down baddery and stalking

fourteen. ayo hitman bang introduces

fifteen. s(he) be(lie)ve(d)

sixteen. sevendeez nuts

seventeen. #emo #different #notlikeothergirls

eighteen. jungwon my savior

nineteen. sexy starfish

twenty. bring it on the musical

twenty one. simpy mcsimpson

twenty two. peer pressure is a bitch

twenty three. Y/N.EXE HAS CRASHED

twenty four. they grow up so fast

twenty five. october 30th (3.9k)

twenty six. back off.

twenty seven. h-hyunjin being logical ??

twenty eight. coffee again

twenty nine. jongseonglations

thirty. illegal and banned in 27 countries

thirty one. questions

thirty two. *screams quietly*

thirty three. 11/11 11:11

thirty four. stfu glee boy

thirty five. everything is fine

thirty six. worth it (830)

thirty seven. heeseung hate club

thirty eight. seoul uni’s ms. sunshine condoning violence

thirty nine. rest in piece cookie 💔💔😔

forty. let me love you (until you learn to love yourself)

forty one. taylor swift

forty two. he’s insane

forty three. more than friends less than lovers

forty four. thankful for you

forty five. feels so right (1k)

forty six. a pick me boy :/

forty seven. touch some grass

forty eight. life update: it got worse

forty nine. can’t stay away

fifty. no longer bitchless (1.3k)

fifty one. engenes better sleep with one eye open

fifty two. merry christmas my beautiful swan

fifty three. IM GONNA STRANGLE YOU (affectionately)

fifty four. he is human too

fifty five. taehyun be fucking fr

fifty six. twt user enhatranslate

fifty seven. proud gf moment

end. polaroid love

BONUSES

one. anonymous source

two. date night

three. best thread ever

four. y/n outsold floplift

five. ban enhypen_members

six. that feeling when

© yeonjunszn. do not steal, claim, or repost.

#SAUR EXCITED #i hope i do this justice LMFAO i’m in love with the plot tbh #i’m also happy that i can give riki his gremlin personality finally #enhypen smau #enhypen social media au #enhypen socmed au #enha smau #enha socmed au #enha social media au #enhypen heeseung smau #enhypen heeseung x reader #lee heeseung smau #lee heeseung x reader #⭒ — fluffy fluff #🦌 — lhs #so.sick.heeseung❤️‍🩹 #yeonjunszn

[makethatelevenrings]

Angel By the Wings - TWENTY

Chapter Warnings: discussion of abortion, small mention of domestic violence, pregnancy

Series Masterlist AND Mobile Masterlist

Bradley pressed the name in his contacts and waited for the phone to dial before he let himself think and further. His feet carried him a mile away from Hangman’s house to some 24-hour diner where the waitress called him baby and he could order a stack of pancakes larger than Jake’s ego.

Pregnant. Fuck. It could easily be his kid. Four weeks ago, he was pulling delicious noises from you as he fucked you like it was his goddamn job. And then when you said the words, it felt like ice water had been poured over his head. 

Because he had just gotten back from a mission where he nearly died and all he could think about was the fact that he could have easily left his kid behind like his dad did. He didn’t remember much of his dad, just bits and pieces that he learned mostly through absorbing it from other people, namely his mom and Maverick. But he was keenly aware of the grief that consumed his mom. She might have died from cancer, but he still believed a broken heart played a role in that.

He couldn’t do that to you. He wouldn’t. He saw what losing his dad did to his mom. He wouldn’t let that happen to you or Jake.

But it could be your kid, that traitorous voice in the back of his mind whispered. Do you really want to give up that opportunity? To be a dad? To be in a kid’s life? To impact them the way you were impacted, even if it had just been the legacy Goose left behind?

“Hello?” Maverick sounded confused when he answered Bradley’s call. They had seen each other only two hours earlier and now Bradley was calling him out of the blue.

“How did my dad react when he found out my mom was pregnant?” He figured he didn’t really have time for pleasantries when it felt like the walls were shrinking around him.

“I…well, he was excited. I think he was honestly more excited than your mother. Carole told him over the phone because we were deployed on a carrier for three months and he damn near hit the roof.” A soft laugh escaped Maverick. “He spent the next few months constantly talking to any parent on the boat asking for advice. And the moment he saw her at the baggage claim, he just started crying. I’d never seen him cry so much.”

Bradley looked out the window and saw his reflection stare back at him, a smile lifted on his face. His mom always spoke of Goose as though he hung the moon, but it was different hearing about their love from an outsider perspective.

“And did he ever…was he ever scared?”

“Oh, he was scared shitless. Carole told me he fainted during labor and I swear he had, like, six parenting books at all times.”

“But was he ever scared about…leaving me?”

Something rustled on the other end of the line before Maverick finally replied, his voice quiet. “What’s this about, kid?”

How do you explain to the guy who basically raised you after your dad died that you might have knocked up a girl and the other potential father was Hangman?

“Just curious,” he replied.

“Bradley.” Yeah, he knew that tone. That was Mav’s “you can’t out bullshit the bullshitter” tone. Bradley ran his hand over his face and then rested his forehead on his palm, eyes squeezed shut. The encompassing scent of black coffee curled around his shoulders and he was grateful for Doris’ continued refills.

“She’s four weeks pregnant, Mav, and the kid could be mine and the minute I found out, I just…”

“Ran,” Maverick sighed. “Because you thought about your mom. And you got scared.”

Damnit. Years of not speaking and he still had Bradley figured out in seconds. Bradley shouldn’t have called. He just dumped this on the man he was yelling at a week ago and nearly died with three days prior.

“Goose never regretted having you. The opposite, actually. He told me that he was grateful Carole had you around because he saw that she was an amazing mother. Of course, he wanted more time with you, but I can say for certain that he never, ever regretted having you.”

Bradley hated the sudden burn of tears that pressed against the back of his eyes and he focused his attention outside again where dark, heavy clouds were rolling in on the horizon. Huh, maybe a storm was coming in.

“Bradley,” Maverick got his attention again. “Any kid would be lucky to have you as a dad. You can’t let the past keep holding you back from your future. You’ll never give yourself a chance to live.”

“But what if I die and leave this kid and her behind?”

“And what if you don’t? Are you really just going to up and leave this kid? The mom? Carole Bradshaw didn’t raise you to be like this.”

That sent a shockwave of realization across his spine. Holy shit. His mom would kill him if she could see him right now. His mom who sacrificed so much and tried to keep a smile on her face even when she was in her deepest pits of grief. His mom who would have absolutely adored you and would have teased Jake endlessly.

“Thanks, Mav. I gotta go.”

“Hey, listen. You should come by my place sometime soon. We still need to have that talk, I recall. Bring your girl along, I’d love to meet her.”

Bradley grinned. “Yeah, that would be great.”

He hung up and tossed a twenty onto the table before he jogged out into the humid air outside. Shit, yeah, it really was about to storm. Even with busted ribs and his body feeling like it got hit by a freight train, he could probably outrun the storm.

Probably.

San Diego rarely got thunderstorms, but it was fitting that the silence in Jake’s apartment was shattered with a low rumble of thunder off in the distance. The sun was obscured by the thick clouds that swallowed the sky and you pushed off the bed you were curled up on. Hopefully, Jake would be in his room or napping on the couch or not paying attention to the fact that you were creeping out to stand on the porch and watch the storm roll in.

The moment you settled yourself on his cement porch, a blanket draped over your shoulders and you sighed. Of course he heard you.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured once he sat next to you. Jake pulled the other edge of the blanket around his own shoulder, sealing the heat between the two of you. Lightning flashed across the sky and you tensed minutely, relaxing when you remembered the warm, steady form next to you.

“There’s no excuse for what I said, I was angry and I took it out on you and I’m sorry,” you added. He still said nothing and you took that as a moment to glance over at him. He was studying the clouds with the same cool indifference he looked at the pool table at the Hard Deck. You were about to beg him to say something when he began to speak.

“After my mom had Liz, she realized she couldn’t keep having kids if she wanted to run from my dad sooner than later. When she got pregnant again, she was able to make an appointment at the local clinic. She was only gone a few hours while the neighbor watched us, but when she came back, she seemed…I don’t know. She was sad but also there was this weight off of her shoulders. She had the chance to protect herself and protect us and save any future kid from that bastard.”

He spoke about his father with such venom that you had to reach out and cup his cheek, your thumb brushing along his hairline. Jake inhaled against your touch and then turned to face you, his bright eyes clouded by memories.

“Whatever you choose, I’ll be there. I’ll drive you to the clinic and take care of you afterwards. If you keep this kid, I’m all in. I never considered being a father before and I’m scared out of my fucking mind, but I swear to you that I would never, ever treat you or them like my father did.”

“Oh, Jake,” your voice broke at his promise. “I know you would never hurt me. I don’t think you’re even capable of hurting a fly. You’re all bark and no bite, Tex.” You bumped your shoulder against his and he leaned into you, his lips coming up to press against your temple.

“I’m terrified, but there’s this part of me that keeps saying what if? What if I keep it? What if I give this kid the best damn life? What if I have the life I always wanted but never thought I could have?”

“Whatever you need, you’ll have. Money, clothes, a house, furniture, I’ll handle it. If you want me around, I’ll be there. If you want me gone, I’ll disappear.”

You pressed your forehead against his shoulder and smiled against the growing tears in your eyes. Rain was starting to patter down onto the ground, filling the air with the rich smell of soil.

But above the noise of the rain came another pounding.

You raised your head just in time to see Rooster jog around the side of Hangman’s truck and stop directly in front of you two in the pouring rain. Jake sat ramrod straight, his gaze darting all over Bradley as the brunet bent over to catch his breath.

“Jesus, Bradshaw, you have cracked ribs and you ran?” Jake exclaimed.

“You have what?!” you yelped. Bradley waved both of your concerns off and then straightened up.

“My dad died when I was two,” he rushed out. “And it wrecked my mother. And I can’t let that happen to you, but Mav basically told me I’m being an idiot and he’s right. I can’t let the past continue to make my decisions. I can’t let that fear hold me back.”

You stared at him, wide eyed, as you took in his words. You pushed the blanket off of your shoulders and stood. The cool rain poured down on your head, but you didn’t care. You needed to hear this straight.

“And if the baby isn’t yours?” you directed the question to both of them. “I can’t get a paternity test for five more weeks.”

“Fuck the what ifs! If anyone has questions or judgment, they can fuck off,” Bradley shouted. He raised his arms from his sides and extended them out, welcoming the incoming storm. Jake stood as well, a wild grin on his lips that made you breathless.

“I agree with the chicken for once, darlin’. Fuck ‘em. Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out when we get there.”

You could feel your own smile blossom and you glanced between the two men. “So if I told you right now that I wanted to keep this baby, you would be okay with that?”

Bradley swooped in, his chilled hands enclosing around your cheeks as he laid a kiss on your lips before retracting so he could do the same to Jake. Your heart was beating quickly, not from anxiety but from exhilaration. Holy shit, the three of you were doing this.

You grabbed one of each man’s arms and tugged them further down the driveway. The rain soaked you to the bone, but you didn’t care. You threw your hands up in the air and let out a burst of laughter. Jake wrapped his arms around your waist and spun you around. The three of you were like little kids. You jumped into puddles, danced in the rain, and laughed harder than you had in days.

“Alright,” Jake surprisingly was the one who ended the fun. “Back inside you two. Can’t have our angel catching a cold and you need to rest, Roo.”

You rolled your eyes but acquiesced. Of course they were going to become incredibly protective. Jake wrapped his arm around your shoulders as you headed back into the apartment.

“Miss,” Bradley said with an air of elegance. He bowed as you stepped across the threshold and you snorted at his theatrics. 

“Thank you, sir.” You curtsied and accepted the towel he offered you.

“You should take a shower, angel. To warm up,” Jake said as he shut the door behind him and locked it. You considered his words for a second and took a step backwards into the apartment. Your soaking wet shirt was plastered to your skin but you tugged it off and chucked it in the direction of the laundry room.

“I’d hate for you boys to miss out on all the warm water,” you taunted. You spun on your heel and dashed off towards the bathroom with two pairs of footsteps following close behind.

As the warm water trickled down on their heads, you found yourself shielded from the brunt of the spray as the men sandwiched you between them. Jake stood at your back, his left hand splayed across your torso and his lips pressed under your ear. Bradley delicately slid the loofah across your skin, watching in awe as the suds traveled across your skin and disappeared in the water. You gently slid your fingers through Bradley’s curls and let your nails scratch across his scalp, eliciting a delicious moan from him.

You helped the soap wash out of Bradley’s hair before you grabbed his hand just as he swiped the rough fabric against your thigh. You grasped his left hand and Jake’s right, settling them both over the slight rounding of your stomach.

“That’s her?” Bradley whispered.

“How do you know it’s a she?” Jake hummed. He stroked his hand down the tiny curve of your barely-there bump. “It could be a he.”

“Angel isn’t that cursed. Three of us?” Bradley shot back. You chuckled and rested your head back on Jake’s shoulder.

“As small as a poppy seed,” you murmured. Fuck, how on earth could you care for something so small? How could you protect this little thing from the world? What about when it came out of you?

“Don’t you worry, baby,” Jake whispered into your hair. He sensed your trepidation and instantly set about soothing away your worries. “Roo and I would never let anything happen to you two.”

The brunet’s handsome face earned a fierce glare and he nodded, head jerking sharply before he moved in closer. “Promise.”

A million questions swirled around in your head and you were plagued with even more worries. But here, in this moment, supported by these two men, you felt safer than you had ever felt before.

Tag List: @mizzzpink​ @xoxabs88xox​ @dreaminglandsworld​ @khaylin27​ @loveforaugust​ @phoenixssugarbaby​ @atarmychick007​ @mak-32​ @itsmytimetoodream​ @krismdavis​ @emma8895eb​ @startrekfangirl​ @hangmandruigandmav​ @lunamoonbby​ @startrekfangirl2233​

#jake seresin x reader #jake seresin imagine #rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader x jake seresin #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster x reader #hangman x reader #abtw

[fanficforlife]

Chapter Three

A strangled cry left your lips as you shot up, wide awake. Your chest heaved, and sweat covered your palms. It was just a dream. He-he's not here. I'm okay...I'm... You got out of bed, wrapped the quilt around you, and went to the kitchen to make coffee. Even though it was only twenty after four in the morning. 

After pouring coffee into a mug, you went out onto the porch and sat down on the stairs. Tears started streaming from your eyes as the dream played through your mind. 

"Violet?" Your hands frantically dried your face while John's oldest son sat down next to you. "What's wrong? And, don't even think about saying nothing because I saw you crying." 

You chewed on your lower lip. 

"Is it your neighbors? Your good-for-nothing piece of shit ex?"

"My...my ex...I just had a bad dream, that's all. It's fine. I'm fine."

"You sitting out here before the suns even up, crying because of a nightmare you had about your ex, isn't fine. He put you through what I'm guessing was hell because you had to run away to get away from him. you've been living in motels, moving to a new one every few days scared that any minute he could burst through the door." You nodded and he reached for your hand. "I'm a pretty good listener and pretty good at keeping secrets. It might help if you unpack some of that baggage, whether it's everything or just about the nightmare."

You chewed on your lower lip before finally nodding. "The nightmare was a memory." After taking a shaky breath you continued. "A few days after we moved into our new house, we met a couple of his friends for drinks, two guys that he grew up with and work with, Tom and Sam. Halfway through the night, they were waiting for the waitress to come around to get them drink number six or whatever it was. It was really busy so I just went up to the bar to get them. When I was up there a guy come over and started flirting with me. I told him I was engaged. He said he was a lucky guy and smiled, I smiled back to be polite, got the drinks, and went back to the table. The rest of the time there was good and we went home." Your fingers started playing with the blanket as your eyes glazed over, taking you back to the past.

"Come here," Nick demanded after appearing in the closet doorway.

You finally got home and all you wanted to do was go to bed. "I want to change first then-"

“No. Now," he grabbed your arm and roughly yanked you down to the basement. "Did you think I wouldn't find out?"

“Find out what?" You asked as you tried to pry his hand off of you. 

"About you flirting with him!"

Fear filled you when you saw the man who had flirted with you at the bar, on his knees and being held in place by your fiancé's friends. "N-Nick, what-"

“You made plans to see him next time I'm off work, didn't you?!"

“No, I didn't." You whimpered when he grabbed your arms, towering over you with a psychotic stare. "I told him I was engaged and came back to the table."

“Don't fucking lie to me! I saw you smile at him before you left."

“She was being polite, that's all." The man who flirted with you insisted. 

“She shouldn't have fucking talked to you in the first place." Nick spat at the man before his fiery gaze came back to you. "I thought you would know that by now."

“Nick, I-I'm sorry. I-"

The back of his hand connected with your cheek before he spun you around. One of his arms wrapped around you, securing your arms against your sides while he crushed you against him. His chest confirmed to your back, his breath hot on your neck. "You should be sorry because now you're going to watch him die."

“What the fuck?!" The innocent man on his knees tried to get free. "All I did was ask if I could buy her a drink?"

“You should have looked at her finger first. The ring that cost a fortune and takes up practically her whole ring finger." Nick nodded to his friends. After they put the scared man's hands behind his head, Tom held them there while Sam went to stand in front of him. His fist connected with the man's face. 

“No!"

“Sam." Your fiancé pushed you into his friend, who took over holding you prisoner. When Sam secured you in his arms Nick went and stood in front of the man who had blood trickling from a cut on his lip. "It's time for me to make you pay for trying to take what's mine." His fists took over for his friend. He kept hitting the man who did nothing wrong, again and again.

“Nick, stop! You're going to kill him. Stop! Stop!"

Nick turned around and stalked towards you, gripping your chin firmly in his blood-spattered hand. "Keep your fucking voice down. We don't want the neighbors to get suspicious." He let out a chuckle. "Not that it would matter because there are three cops here already."

“Just let him go. Nick, please." You begged as tears flowed from your eyes.

“He should have paid attention so he knew you already belonged to someone." His fingers dug into your jaw, "now keep your pretty little mouth shut." After letting your chin go he resumed his attack on the man who was now lying on the floor. 

“No. No. No. No." Sobs cut off your pleas while Nick went from using his fists to his feet. 

Fifteen minutes later, Nick stood over the man he had just killed with a triumphant grin while you crumpled to the floor. Your sobs had stopped, giving way to silent tears. You sat there staring at the growing pool of blood in shock. You didn't notice when Sam and Tom wrapped the body in a tarp and carried it upstairs or when Nick left, returning with a bucket of water and a rag. 

“Now," Nick's hand fisted your hair and pulled your head back, forcing you to look at him, "clean up this mess."

“W-what?" 

“Clean his blood off of the floor. I'm not going to tell you again." 

With trembling hands, you did what he said. By the time you were done, your hands were stained red. You pushed yourself up off your knees and went to walk towards the stairs but your fiancé stepped in front of you. 

“What are you doing?"

The shock had worn off leaving you angry and disgusted. "You killed him! All he did was ask to buy me a drink and I said I was engaged, that was it. And, you killed him for it! You're insane! I can't-I can't do this-be with you."

He grabbed your upper arms and slammed you against the wall. "I killed him because he tried to take what's mine."

Let me go." You tried to hit him, kick him, you pushed against him, trying to get free. When none of that worked, you tried to go for his face but couldn't reach it. Your fingers clawed at whatever they could and you managed to scratch his neck. 

“Bitch." He seethed before backhanding you, the hard blow sending you to the floor. Before you could get away, he crouched over you and his hands went for your neck. Your foot connected with his shin and you scrambled away. "Where do you think you're going?" He grabbed your ankle and yanked you back. 

“No! Let me go." You begged as he pinned your arms above your head in the same spot he had just murdered someone. Fresh tears started pouring from your eyes. "I hate you. Please let me go. I don't want to be here. Please!"

“You are mine." His knee pried your legs apart and settled between them. "Only mine. And, you will be until the day you die." He reached between you and unzipped his pants. "It looks like I need to remind you of that."

"Fuck." Lee sat there looking at you in shock. 

"I...I shouldn't be here. I need to leave."

"No." Lee grabbed your hand. "Violet, look at me."

"If he finds me here, he'll kill you, all of you."

"No, he won't. We can handle him."

"He's crazy and the best at what he does. He knows how to make it look like an accident or like someone else did it. He-he-" Lee wrapped his arms around you and hugged you tightly as you cried. "I'm scared. I-I can't go back. I would rather die than be with him again."

"We're the best at what we do. If by some miracle he does find out you're here, he's going to be dead before he knew what happened. I...I don't want to scare you or push you away but Kayce's not the only one who's killed people. When we do, it's to protect the family, the ranch and we don't get caught. I figured you should know what you're gonna be marrying into someday." His eyes suddenly widened. "Shit. I didn't think- with your ex and me bugging you and Kayce all the time-"

"It's okay."

"I knew you liked my mop-haired little brother."

"I umm...I-" you started shaking your head. 

"Violet, look at me." He didn't continue until you met his brown eyes. "From what you've told me about your ex, I can only imagine how scared you are about liking someone again. But, if you do like Kayce, you don't need to be scared. He would never hurt you or force you to do anything you didn't want to do. I'm not saying to rush into anything you aren't ready for. I know it's only been...I don't know when you left him but you've only been here for a month."

"I left December seventeenth. We were supposed to get married a week later, on Christmas Eve."

"Christmas Eve?"

"He and his family picked the date."

He let out an unimpressed huff. "Well, when you and Kayce get married you can pick everything." Blush stained your cheeks and he squeezed your knee. "So, you left the piece of shit three and a half months before you came here. If he's as good as you say he is at being a detective, he would've found you by now." When you didn't respond, he squeezed your knee again causing you to look at him. "You're safe here, Vi. You can relax now because this is your home and you have a ranch full of overprotective people who love you and will stop at nothing to keep you safe."

You finally nodded in agreement and he put his arm around you. "Thank you." 

"No need to thank me. I'm your future big brother, it's my job to be here for you." He chuckled when red crept across your cheeks again. "You know I love you, right?"

"I know. Love you too." Your head rested on his shoulder and sat there in comfortable silence, watching the sun slowly make its way above the mountains. 

*****

"Here you go." You smiled as you handed Tate a plate of cookies that the two of you just finished making. 

His eyes widened with excitement as he looked at the still-warm cookies. "Grandpa, look!" He hurried to the living room as fast as he could while balancing the cookies. "We even made some raisin ones for you!"

"These taste just like the ones my mom used to make," Kayce said after taking a bite of one of the raisin ones from the container sitting on the island. 

"It's her recipe. I was dusting the shelf with all of the cookbooks this morning and found a notebook hiding in the back. It has a bunch of recipes that she wrote down." You swallowed as you placed your hand on the blue notebook sitting by the container full of cookies. "I...I hope it's okay I used it."

Kayce reached across the kitchen island and squeezed your hand. "Of course it's okay. I remember this notebook. Most of the recipes in it have been passed down through the years. The original ones my great, great, great grandma wrote were so tattered mom wrote them in here." He opened the notebook to the back page. "She taped the original ones back here. It's crazy to think of my great, great, great grandma making them here for the first time after they settled here."

"Your great, great, great grandma knew what she was doing." You picked up a raisin cookie and took a bite. 

"That she did." He finished his cookie. "You...you're more than welcome to watch the movie with us. Tate would love it."

The look in his eyes, you knew that he wasn't asking for Tate. I...I can't. "We made a triple batch of cookies so I was actually going to take these out to the bunkhouse."

Disappointed flashed across his face before he put on a smile. "They're going to love them."

"Yeah." You smiled softly before Tate's voice traveled down the hall. 

"Dad! Hurry up!"

A giggle left your lips. His eyes dropped to your mouth when he heard it and you unconsciously licked your lips. "Tate-they're waiting and I should bring these out there. Enjoy your movie."

"I will." He smiled before joining his family in the living room. 

I can't get too close. It's for the best. You pushed away thoughts of how nice it felt when his hand held yours, picked up the container of cookies, and went outside. 

*

You knocked on the door to the bunkhouse and a few seconds later, Rip opened it. "Violet, hi."

"Hi. I made cookies."

He smiled and held the door for you. "Listen up. Violet's here so watch the language."

"It's okay." You giggled before everyone said hi in unison. "Hi, Tate and I made a triple batch of cookies. I thought you might like some."

"Hell yeah." Teeter, a spunky, faded pink-haired Texan and only woman wrangler in the bunch, cheered as you set the container in the middle of the table they were all gathered around. 

Lloyd picked out a raisin one and took a bite. His eyes widened before he took another one and threw it to Rip. "Try it and tell me what ya think."

"Shit." Rip chuckled. "These taste just like the ones Evelyn used to make." Lloyd nodded in agreement. 

"I found her old recipe book. It's her recipe. The chocolate chip ones are the same, Tate and I just switched out the raisins." 

"You normally don't come out here." Lloyd laughed as Ryan and Colby fought over a cookie they both picked up at the same time. "By the looks of it, we're gonna want you to spend every evening with us."

You giggled as Teeter swooped in and took a bite out of the cookie in the two wrangler's hands, who handed it over to her. "Yeah, they're all watching a movie inside and I didn't feel like reading." 

"Sit down, kiddo." The old cowboy ordered with a smile after pulling out an empty chair, the only empty chair around the table. 

"Want me to deal ya in?" Jake, asked as he shuffled a deck of cards. "Poker." 

"I don't know how to play."

"I can teach ya if ya want?" You nodded enthusiastically at Lloyd making him chuckle. 

"Wait. I didn't bring any money out here with me."

"You brought something better." Rip picked up the half-empty container of cookies and set it in front of you. "They're off limits unless she loses 'em."

"I have a feeling they aren't going to have to wait very long to get them back."

Rip looked at Lloyd with a smirk. "I don't know. This old guy's been around for a while so he's played his fair share of poker."

"He's never had to deal with me though." You teased. 

Lloyd chuckled as he squeezed your shoulder. "Deal her in, Jake." 

*

"Have you seen Violet?" Lee asked as he burst through the bunkhouse door. "She's not inside-" the concern left his face when he saw you seated at the table. 

"Sorry. I didn't think I would be out here this long."

"It's okay." The cowboy smiled. "I see you've been busy."

"Violet's a natural." Lloyd grinned proudly as he glanced at the stack of bills in front of you. "She should hit up the casinos in Vegas." 

Lee's smile grew into a smirk. "My lovesick little brother could go with her and they can get hitched after."

You rolled your eyes and stood up. When you tried giving the wranglers back the money you won, they refused. "But, all I had were cookies. It's not fair."

"I would gladly play for those cookies any day of the week," Jake said. "I'm pretty sure that doesn't just go for me." 

The other wranglers nodded. "Feel free to come out here anytime, especially if you got them cookies."

"I will." You smiled at Teeter. 

"Warn us though 'cause I'm gonna need to take out some cash. You cleaned me out." Ryan laughed. You went to hand him his money back but he pointed at you. "Don't even think about it."

You picked up the empty cookie container and your winnings before kissing Lloyd's cheek. "Thank you for showing me how to play."

"You're welcome kiddo."

"Don't be a stranger," Rip added while Lee held the door open for you. 

Lee fell in step with you and took the money from your hand. "Two hundred and thirty bucks. Damn, you did good." After handing your winnings back to you his smile faded. "I have a feeling your ex is responsible for you having such a good poker face."

You nodded. "No one knew what he was really like. I covered up the bruises with makeup. If I didn't do a good enough job and people could still see them or my sweater slipped off my shoulder and people saw a bruise in the shape of his hand on my arm, I had to lie. According to his family and his friends, I'm the clumsiest girl on the planet. If the bruise was on my arm, he grabbed me after I tripped and saved me from falling down the stairs or whatever. I...I'm not going to play poker with them anymore. It's not fair."

"Violet, you can't keep letting him control your life. You didn't win every game, there was a lot of money in front of the others too. Plus, you had fun." When you nodded slowly, the oldest Dutton son put his arm around you. "I know it's going to take a while to get used to but you're free. It's probably going to take longer to go back to how you were before you met him; apologizing all the time, being scared, all of it. But, I promise you that you will be you again."

You sniffed back tears and his hold on you tightened. 

"I'll always be here for ya, no matter what. Love ya...future sister-in-law." He added with a grin. 

You giggled and gave him a playful shove. "Wait. When you came into the bunkhouse looking for me you sounded worried."

"You weren't back inside yet after the movie and with the talk we had last week about your nightmare, I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"You thought he might have found me? I shouldn't have said anything. I don't want you to worry all the time."

"Him finding you crossed my mind even though in the back of my head I know that you're safe here. This was a one-time thing. That dinosaur movie Tate loves kind of creeps me out." 

You laughed. "You do know dinosaurs are long gone, right? Besides, you deal with grizzly bears who want to eat you." 

"Dinosaurs are a hell of a lot meaner than any old bear. If I need to, one shot and the bears down. Have you seen the size of a T-Rex? It would take more bullets than I could carry to bring one of those down. And, where we are, the mountains, they could easily be hiding out here." 

"I'm pretty sure we would know if a dinosaur was hiding out in the mountains. Remember when they put the cow in with the raptors? I think you'd be missing quite a few of your cows. Unless they just go for people now." You continued teasing. "Maybe you should be worried about me. I would hate to be eaten by a dinosaur."

He laughed and draped his arm around your shoulders. "I'm not worried about ya 'cause my idiot brother watches you every chance he can, especially when he's supposed to be working." He chuckled when your cheeks turned red. "I win." A mischievous smile pulled at his lips while you walked into the main house. 

"It looks like you made out pretty well." John smiled from in front of the fireplace. 

"Yeah. Lloyd's a great teacher." You smiled back. "I'm going to head to bed. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Violet."

Lee winked at you. "Goodnight. Make sure you buy something nice with your winnings."

You knew what you wanted to do with the money and after putting the empty container in the kitchen, you went to your room. Just in case. An image of Nick finding you flitted through your head as you put the lid back on the tin where you had been keeping your change. You also took out most of your first paycheque and had it in there in case you had to leave and couldn't risk stopping at a bank to withdraw any money. At least you would have some to last you for a while. You did feel safe here though...safer than you had anywhere else that you've been. But, you couldn't get too comfortable because you knew Nick and you would never be able to truly settle somewhere as long as he was alive. 

"It sounds like you had fun out there." Kayce's voice from the doorway made you jump. "Sorry, I thought you heard me."

"It's okay. And, yeah I did. All of the cookies are gone though. How was your movie?" 

"Jurassic Park for god knows how many times was good. Finally got the kid settled after reading him five stories."

"Let me guess. They were all about dinosaurs." You smiled as you walked over to the door and mindlessly started playing with the doorknob. 

He smiled his perfect smile and it made the butterflies in your stomach flutter their wings. "You would be correct. Well, I should get to bed. I'm glad you had a good evening."

"I'm glad you enjoyed your movie. Goodnight, Kayce."

"Goodnight, Letty." When he continued standing there, you took a small step back. 

His smile faded slightly and it made your heart ache. I work here, that's it. Nothing more. You gave him a soft smile. 

The smile that had awakened the butterflies returned though. "Oh, I'm taking Tate with us when we check fences in the morning so you'll at least have half a Saturday to yourself."

"How many times do I have to tell you I don't mind when he's hanging around?"

"I know but still."

You giggled. "Sleep well."

"You too." 

After closing the door, you rested your forehead against the stained wood. I work for him. I'm not- I can't. You buried your ever-growing feelings and focused on getting ready for bed.

#yellowstone #yellowstone fanfic #yellowstone imagine #Kayce Dutton #kayce dutton imagine #kayce dutton x reader #kayce dutton fanfic #kayce dutton smut #luke grimes #imagine #fanfic writing #fanfiction writer #fanfic #wattpad fanfiction #writers on tumblr #Wattpad #wattpad writer #writer #female writers #writers #Smut #fluff #romance #romantic #slow burn #rip wheeler #beth dutton #john dutton #teeter #kayce dutton x OC

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Here, Kitty, Kitty (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Aizawa x Black!Catgirl!Reader

Synopsis: In which you find yourself in the weirdest predicament after you’re scooped up and taken to a cat cafe after you decide to take the streets to fight some crime, and you’re adopted by your very anti-social and hot coworker Aizawa aka Eraserhead.

Story Warnings: Smutty smut, 18+ (MINORS GET AWAY), Swearing, Adult!Reader, Ear and Tail Stroking, Light Degradation, Spanking, Exhibitionism, Multiple Positions, Creampie, Unprotected PIV Sex, Facial, Scent Play, Collaring, Deepthroat, Cunnlingus, Begging, Edgeplay, Power Play, Rope Play/Shibari, Master Kink, Some Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Some Action

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: This took fucking FOREVER to type. Y'all know how much time smut AND action sequences take?? Please be nice to me. -Jazz

Read on AO3 here!

Other Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two. Twenty-Three. Twenty-Four. Twenty-Five.

*************

EIGHTEEN.

Aizawa waits for you that night at the opera, and you appear out of the darkness to meet him. 

Literally. You’ve been hiding in the shadows of the alleyway across the street for nearly fifteen minutes after shifting out of your cat form.

You watch him now from the alleyway, anxiety mingled with arousal in your body at the sight of him. He looks absolutely scrumptious in his fly-ass black Armani suit, red bottom shoes, and low ponytail as he leans against the wall, one foot up and scanning the streets. He fits right in with the gaudy, wealthy folks that pull up to the theatre in their expensive cars. 

You hope to fit in with the crowd too, especially since you’re undercover. You look into the window of the shop you stand beside, the woman reflecting back at you looking nothing like you. She wears a slim red dress that highlights her complexion and gives the illusion of an hourglass shape.

The push-up bra she wears allows her breasts to sit perfectly in the sweetheart bosom of the dress, the rest of it sleeveless. Her braids are pulled back in a carefully-braided French braid that exposes her dangling gold earrings, matching choker, and glamorous makeup–dark eyeshadow; blush; red lipstick.

She made sure to disguise herself as much as possible. She stands tall in her pumps that are hidden under the floor-length skirts that she has to hold up in order to walk. 

She looks sexy; alluring; classy. Like an old movie star or a model straight out of the 1950s. And she’s you. Just like that, the fight earlier with Nemuri leaves your mind and all you can think about is tonight. 

After taking a deep exhale and saying a quiet pep talk in your head, you take a handful of your dress and strut across the street once it is safe to do so. You don’t stop or pause in fear of changing your mind or letting your anxiety get the best of you. You keep your eyes firmly on Aizawa and your mind on the mission. When Aizawa sees you, his eyes widen an inch. They skate down your body and up and down, taking in every feature of you. “Wow,” he exhales. 

Your heart slows somewhat at the sound of his voice and the astonishment in his gaze. ”Well, that definitely calms my nerves,” you giggle, poking his chest with your clutch. “You don’t look too bad yourself.” Already, you feel the anxiety you felt earlier leave you. 

Aizawa goes to say more, possibly something dirty, but stops, his face looking incredibly irked. “Hang on,” he grumbles. He presses against his ear where an earpiece sits, noticeable to only you. “Yeah?” he curtly asks the person in his ear. “Yeah, I just got here. The show hasn’t started yet, so I don’t think he’s inside yet, but I’ll check.” He takes his fingers off of his ear and tiredly sighs. “Sorry. Damn cops keep buggin’ me about our target.” 

That anxiety that comes from reality comes rising back within you. You nearly forgot that you aren’t here for a regular date. “They don’t know I’m here too?” you ask. 

“No, but you can talk freely,” Aizawa replies. They can only hear me when I press the button on my earpiece.” He pauses to check his watch, pulling back his suit sleeve to do so. “The show doesn’t start for another twenty minutes so we have time to plan everything. Come on.” He presents you with his elbow and you take it, placing your hand on his arm. 

He escorts you towards the cherrywood double doors of the theatre where a line has already formed near the ticket booths. All you see are people in the most expensive of gowns and designer suits, dripping in finery and wealth.

With Aizawa by your side, so calm and collected, you feel as if you could fit in, at least for tonight. You can play the part well if it means completing this mission. When you and Aizawa finally arrive at the booth, you’re all smiles with your back straight and shoulders squared. 

“Good evening!” the young man at the booth cheerfully says. “How can I help you?” 

“Two tickets, please,” Aizawa replies, barely cracking a smile.

The young man luckily doesn’t take fear as Aizawa pulls his credit card out of his pocket and hands it over to the young man who completes the transaction. “Enjoy the show!” He chirps as he hands Aizawa two tickets. You give him a grateful smile before Aizawa whisks you away towards the theatre. 

There are several entrances into the theatre depending on which floor one is on, and each one has people flooding in. You try to get a quick look at each person’s face or demeanor, searching for something that makes you feel slightly off or unnatural.

You don't realize that you are gripping Aizawa’s arm until he visibly winches. You look down, finding your claws digging into his suit jacket and possibly scratching his skin. “I’m so sorry!” you gasp, horrified at yourself. You quickly let go of him and retract your claws, furious at yourself for acting so paranoid. 

Aizawa peers down at you, his brows furrowed in concern. “You okay, kitty?” he worriedly murmurs to you. You plaster on a reassuring smile, hoping he doesn't see through you. “I’m fine!” you squeak out. “Just…I’ve never been to an opera before. Or around all these rich folks.” 

But that doesn’t fool him for a second. “That ain’t it,” he grumbles, turning around to fully face you. You lower your head in shame, knowing damn well trying to lie was a foolish idea. “You nervous about tonight?” he softly asks. “Y/N, if you don’t want to do this, you know you can–” 

“No,” you firmly respond, fixing your eyes up at him. “I’m not leaving. You didn’t have to let me come along tonight, but you did. The least I can do is see this through.”

The worry in Aizawa’s eyes only makes you feel worse. You don’t want to disappoint him or make him feel as if you’re not fit for this, but you also don't want to deceive him any more than you already have. The least you can do is tell him how you feel. 

Embarrassment blooms inside of you, making you flush in your pretty gown. “I just don’t wanna fuck up,” you softly confess. “I wanna be good for you.” You feel weak; useless. You wither like a pretty, red flower, feeling oh-so horrible in your dress. 

Aizawa suddenly takes your hand and you see an intensity in his charcoal eyes. “Come here,” he demands, already snatching you off to the side. “Where there are no eyes.”

You have no choice but to follow him as he leads you away from the doorway to the theatre and down an empty hall. You’re breathing heavily, your calves aching to catch up with his long strides. “Where are we going, Shouta?” you demand, utterly confused. “What if the villain is here?” 

“Even if he is, he won’t attack until the show starts and the lights are off,” he replies, still focused on moving. “It’s called ‘the element of surprise’.”

He suddenly pauses and you nearly crash into him. You watch as he pushes open the door to an empty inclusive bathroom. “In here,” he mutters, holding the door open for you. Though you’re still confused, you tip-toe into the bathroom anyway, your cat eyes adjusting to the dark shapes of the bathroom sinks and stalls. 

You turn to Aizawa to ask him what the hell is going on, but the intensity in his eyes has begun to grow and it leaves you silent. He takes off his jacket and hangs it over the sink counter before popping two buttons to his crisp shirt, revealing his strong neck and bobbing Adam’s Apple. “We’ve got seventeen minutes until the show starts, which gives you just enough time to cum all over my face.”

You blink at him, perplexed. What the fuck did he just say? “W-What?” you stammer. 

He begins to walk toward you like a predator stalking its prey, causing you to walk backward until you hit the sink counter. He traps you between his arms and the counter, giving you the illusion that you have no place to run or ride. It’s so fucking hot. 

“You’re in your head,” he explains, “which will make it a lot harder to go through with this mission. If you’re gonna work with me, kitty, then you need to trust yourself and clear your mind.” He gives you a crooked, lustful smirk. “I’m here for that.”

Before you can protest or even take a breath, he yanks you into his arms and envelopes your mouth in a toe-curling, mind-blowing kiss. As his soft lips move against yours, one hand grips the back of your neck while the other palms at your ass in your dress, squeezing and needing the soft globes of flesh. “Shouta,” you sigh, grappling for his collar. 

Aizawa takes that moment to begin kissing your neck and shoulders, his lips touching every single sensitive bit part of you. “Tell me you want this,” he hoarsely tells you as his lips caress every part of your naked skin. “Tell me you want me to clear your head.” His fingers glide under your dress to slip between your lips, touching your now-aching pussy through your panties. “Yes, Shouta,” you moan. “Please…just please do something!” 

You don’t care what he does to you. You just want him to take care of you. Aizawa wastes no time pulling you over to the sink and bending you over, his big hands on your hips. You softly moan as he does so, this dominant side of him turning you on heavily. You press your hands against the cool counter of the sink, your breathing labored and your heart pounding.

You feel his calloused fingers glide up the hem of your gown as he pulls it up over your hips. “Thank God for the slit here,” he growls. “Makes my life a whole lot easier.” 

His fingers then loop through the waistband of your panties and pulls them down your shaky legs. He doesn’t waste any time–his wet kisses are immediately planted all over your inner thighs and pussy lips as his hands begin to massage your ass.

You moan at the feeling, biting your lip to avoid getting any louder. The last thing you need is someone coming in here and seeing you…though the thought of it makes you wetter. Aizawa comments on it as his fingers glide over your slit, hissing quietly at the wetness he finds there. “You’re soaked already,” he groans. “What I wouldn’t give to fuck this wet, little pussy right now.” 

You whimper at his dirty words and close your eyes, already picturing him fucking you while you’re bent over the sink counter, completely vulnerable and open for him. “But we’ll have time for that later,” Aizawa softly murmurs before his face is planted in your ass and his tongue is gliding along your pussy. He takes his sweet time despite there being a very important mission, his tongue swirling along your clit and your slit. 

You moan and grind your hips back into his mouth, your mouth wide open as the pleasure explodes all over you. “Fuck, Sho, baby,” you whine, gripping the counter. “You’re so…so good!” He moans into your pussy, occupying his tongue in your pussy while his fingers begin to rub soft circles around your clit. His soft touch nearly sends you into orbit. 

And though this feeling is good and amazing, it only does so much to curb your anxiety. No matter how good Aizawa’s mouth and fingers are, those intrusive thoughts about tonight come rushing back to you. Thoughts of whether or not you’ll be good enough; if you’ll be able to keep up with Aizawa; if you’ll end up hurt or possibly dead. They propel you into a dark hole, farther and farther away from the pleasure and tender, loving care you’re receiving now. 

“You’re tense,” Aizawa murmurs from behind you. His hand moves to stroke your ass soothingly. “Relax, kitty. I’m here with you.” His hand then moves up your back, stroking it slowly. His fingers feel heavenly. “You don’t have to think about anything but what you’re feeling right now.” 

You flush, feeling guilty for your emotions. Here this man is, on his knees on a dirty bathroom floor and working his jaw like it’s his duty, doing everything he can to make you feel better. And yet, you just can't get out of your head. “I’m sorry,” you weakly say. “I just…I’m just scared.” You inhale and exhale deeply, trying to calm yourself down. “I’m okay,” you whisper. “Please continue. Don’t stop.” 

But Aizawa doesn’t touch you. Instead, he stands and you can feel him behind you. “You’re still shaking though,” he comments, his voice deep and blunt. You flush with embarrassment, hating your body for betraying you. Now he’s going to stop and lecture you for being too insecure in your skills and abilities. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to stop the dam of tears from breaking and flooding behind your eye sockets. 

“Turn around,” he orders, firmly but softly. You slowly do so, your eyes still closed. His hand touches your cheek, his thumb caressing your skin. You slowly open your eyes to stare into the worried, charcoal pools staring down at you. “I wanna do something for you to help, but I need you to be absolutely sure about it before you say yes. I know we’ve only been intimate for a short while, but I think this could help relax your body and your mind.” 

You blink at him, confused yet intrigued. “What did you have in mind?” you question. He continues to stroke your cheek, the feeling soothing you already, though he looks almost uncertain about his idea. His lips are drawn into a tight line and he seems like he’s in his own head. But before you can ask what’s up, he drops his hand from his cheek and takes his suit jacket from the sink. There, he retrieves his scarves and turns to you. Even in the darkness, you feel the intensity of his gaze on you. 

“I’m gonna be upfront with you,” he bluntly says. “I’d like to tie your wrists and ankles with these, but only those. Restricting your limbs will help your body relax and your mind would have no choice but to focus on the pleasure because your body can’t move. I’ll only do it with your permission though.” 

You silently stare at him for a moment, the gears in your head slowly turning. He wants to what? Your eyes tick down to the scarves hanging loosely from his hands before ticking back up to his waiting eyes. 

You clear your throat, flushing. “Uh…you’re into that?” You can’t help but nervously giggle. You never thought Aizawa would be so kinky, but then again, he’s also the same one who groped you in a school elevator. 

Though you can’t quite make out his complexion in the darkness, you can tell that he’s blushing by his eyes flicking away from yours. “A little, but I’ve only done it with a few. Not everyone really…gets…what I’m into.” Your eyes widen. What the fuck else is this man into besides bondage? You suddenly remember him mentioning a collar the night you two had sex for the first time and you blush. 

Aizawa takes your silence for discomfort even though your mind is short-circuiting. “If you don’t want to, I completely understand,” he quickly adds. “There’s no pressure. I just want you to clear your head for a while and feel every ounce of pleasure I want to give you because you deserve it.” 

You stare into his eyes, searching for any confirmation that he means what he says. He does. You can tell by the way he stares you down, his gaze soft but unyielding. You’ve never done something like this before. It’s way out of your world, especially when it comes to sex. But the idea of being tied up by Aizawa’s scarves and given a good orgasm arouses you more than you understand. Your pussy clenches and gushes impatiently in your panties, desperate for this fantasy to become a reality. 

“Okay,” you decide. “Let’s try it.” Aizawa’s eyes widen, obviously not thinking you would agree. “But only on one condition.” With a sway in your hips, you sashay up to him, your heels clicking against the tiled floor. You press a hand to his toned stomach and slowly slide it up to his chest, feeling him up. “When you tie me up, I want you to fuck me just like that,” you purr. 

The shock on Aizawa’s face immediately fades, replaced with a darker, more intense look. It’s intimidating. It’s sexy. “So I have your permission to do this?” he asks, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble that excites you. You slowly nod.

“And you can revoke that consent at any point during this. Your pleasure and your safety are all that matter to me, and they should be all that matter to you.” He cups your chin in his hand, forcing you to keep his eyes on his. “Am I clear?” he asks. 

Though your mind is going blank and your tongue feels dry, you manage to answer: “Yes.” He raises an expectant brow. “Yes what?” he probes.

You swallow your now-dry throat, feeling like you’re in the damn Sahara desert now. “Yes…sir?” you timidly answer though it comes to as a question.

That satisfies him though, a crooked smile crossing his lips. “Good girl,” he chuckles, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “Now turn around and face the mirror with your legs together and arms behind your back, one wrist over the other.” 

Trembling in excitement, you do as he commands and turn toward the mirror. You watch the woman staring back at you place her hands behind her back and stand with her legs pressed tight together. Aizawa comes up behind her and gently takes one of her wrists into his hand where he begins to wrap his scarf around it. He does the same to the other until both are tied together, stuck behind your back. You flex your hands in your new binds, the restrictions tight but not painful.

“That okay?” he asks, looking up at you for your reactions. “It doesn’t hurt?” 

You slowly shake your head. “No,” you answer. “But I can’t move them either.” The grin that stretches across his face is no short of devious. “Good; now we do your ankles.”

He bends down and gives your ankles the same treatment, his fingers working expertly to tie a knot around the back of your ankles that pulls them tightly together. Finally, you’re finished and you feel completely stuck. You can hardly move and even if you try to, you know that you’ll trip due to your feet being restricted. The fact that you’re completely at Aizawa’s mercy makes your heart thump faster in your chest, especially when you feel his hand press on the middle of your back. 

That anxiousness twirling in your stomach is replaced with pleasure when you feel Aizawa bend you over the counter and lightly glide his fingers against your cunt. “You’re still so wet,” he growls, arousal deep in his voice. He begins to stroke you there, emitting breathless moans from your lips. You shut your eyes from the feeling, unable to hold yourself together.

You suddenly feel Aizawa at your side, his hot, minty breath fanning your face. “Is this turnin’ you on, kitty?” he teasingly asks, his lips at your ear. “Havin’ nowhere to run or hide because you’re tied up in my scarves? I could do anything I want to you at this point.” 

You whimper at his words, already picturing him doing that. He could fuck you in any position he wants; move your body however he sees fit. The more Aizawa plays with your pussy, the harder you can feel him becoming in his pants as he pushes against you, the wetter and more impatient you get. You need him. Now. “Shouta, please,” you pitifully whine. “Please just fuck me. Please make me forget.” 

Sensing your neediness, Aizawa doesn’t waste time unbuckling and unzipping his slacks with one hand. “I’ve got you, baby,” he murmurs, and you feel his cock press against your entrance. He lightly strokes your slit for a few seconds, coating his head in your juices, before he pushes himself inside of your aching, waiting cunt, stretching you out. You gasp at the feeling, your toes curling in your heels and muscles turning to jelly. 

Aizawa slowly begins to rock his hips against your ass, creating a symphony of skin slapping against skin. “God, you’re tight!” he grunts. “Keep your thighs pushed together. Keep yourself tight for me.”

You do as he says, clenching your thighs tightly together, causing your pussy walls to clench around his cock. He takes that as his cue to go faster, bumping his hips mercilessly against your ass that bounces and claps against his lower stomach. Every time he thrusts, he strokes another part of your pussy walls that has you seeing stars and glides against the underside of your G-spot. 

“God, Shouta!” you gasp. “I can’t…can’t…” Your breath comes out in huffs as he fucks you silly against the sink. It’s too much. He’s just too good. Your mind is now a blank canvas, blinded by the euphoric feeling that Aizawa is serving you on a silver platter. You have no choice but to take it, your restrictions forcing you to.

“Can’t what?” he huffs with laughter from behind you. "Can't take it? You wanted this, right? Wanted me to fuck all of those bad thoughts out of that pretty brain of yours?”

He grabs your hips and rams into you faster, turning your pussy to mush. You can no longer hold back and start to sob and whine, your voice bouncing off the bathroom walls. “Talk to me, kitty,” he demands. “Answer me.” 

“Yes!” you sob, nearly crying at the sheer pleasure. “Yes, sir, I need this! I need you!” Aizawa continues to sharply snap his hips, ramming his cock into your pussy again, bringing you to the brink of orgasm with every thrust. You are gone, absolutely “Please keep fucking me like that!” you babble. “Please, please, Master!” 

Your eyes pop open, horrified at your words. Aizawa falters for a moment in his thrusts, obviously catching that word too. ‘Oh, no,’ you lament inwardly. ‘Now look what you’ve done, stupid! Now he’s gonna think you’re weird! You’ve ruined every–‘ 

The self-critical thought is instantly squashed when Aizawa begins to claw at one of your breasts, bringing it out of your dress to fondle as he proceeds to fuck you dumb again. “Say that again,” he hoarsely demands, almost begging you. “Call me that again.” 

Your pussy clenches desperately around his cock, your clit swelling as you get closer to that orgasm. “Please, Master!” you beg. “Please make me cum! I’m so, so close…” A string of mewing moans leaves your lips as he speeds up, doing his damnedest to make you both cum.

“Cum all around my cock,” he growls. “Do it right now. Give it all to me, kitty.” As you clamp down around his cock, prepared to do just as he ordered you, he grips your breast and your hip hard enough to draw bruises. “Fuck, I’m cumming!” he grunts. “Gonna cum deep inside this pretty lil’ pussy…” 

After a few more earth-shattering thrusts that knock the wind out of you, he grips your body to him for dear life and bursts inside of you with a primal growl that makes you unravel in his arms and scarves. Combined with the feeling of being restricted, his dick gliding over your G-spot, and his warm cum gushing inside of you, you finally cum all over his cock. Your orgasm washes over you in a blissful tsunami that has you curling your toes in your heels and biting your lip to keep from screaming at the top of your lungs. 

You are overcome with mind-bending, back-breaking pleasure. And Aizawa. Your senses come alive with every part of him–his scent; his touch; the warmth radiating off of his body. And for the first time since tonight started, you feel good. You feel so good that you can hardly control your breathing. Your chest rises and falls rapidly as the aftershocks of your orgasm take over your body, making you writhe and buck against the restraints. Aizawa slowly slides out of you and presses his nose to your cheek, nuzzling it. 

“Breathe, baby,” he whispers. “Just breathe through it.” You do as he commands, slowly inhaling and exhaling through your nostrils until the aftershocks fade. Aizawa pulls away enough to let you lean your head back into his chest. You feel spent and sweaty but oh-so satisfied with what just happened. “Thank you,” you mewl softly. “That was amazing. Definitely did the job.”

He chuckles and presses a kiss to your forehead. “I am to please. Now let’s get you out of my scarves.” 

You feel slightly disappointed when he unties your wrists and ankles. And then you’re shocked at yourself feeling such a way. Did you really enjoy being tied up by him like that? Do you like the idea of being vulnerable and possibly controlled by him? ‘Very,’ you think, and you bite your lip at the naughtiness of it. You never considered yourself that submissive, but something about having Aizawa dominate you yet still take immense pleasure in your pleasure is totally arousing to you. 

After you and Aizawa wash your hands and clean up, you quickly get dressed. You smooth out your gown, check your hair in the mirror to make sure it doesn’t look too fucked-out, and apply fresh lipstick in the mirror. You don’t need anyone questioning where you were. Once finished, you turn to Aizawa who is fully dressed and tucking his scarves into his suit jacket. He turns to you, his gaze soft and giving you butterflies. “Ready, kitty?” He asks, and the pentane you’ve become so familiar and accustomed to makes your heart soar. 

You smile at him as you strut up to him, a newfound confidence in you that can only be given by a good fucking. “Yeah,” you reply with conviction. “Let’s do it.” And off to the opera you go, hand in hand. 

No one is around when you two come out of the bathroom, fortunately, so the trip to your seats is smooth. Everyone is already sitting in their seats, the entire place packed. Aizawa lets you enter your aisle first to find your seat before he follows. The seats are under a balcony where others sit above you and though high up, you still get a great view of the stage below. “The show starts in five,” Aizawa whispers as he sits next to you. “He should be here soon.” 

You bite your lip as you begin to scan every seat surrounding you–down, up, left, and right. “What does he look like?” you whisper, eyes still scanning the audience below.

Aizawa does the same, his eyes shifting among the sea of heads. “Look for a man with terrible, scarred skin, green eyes, and long, black hair. Supposedly, he’ll be wearing a black suit and he’ll be here with a woman too, obviously as a cover for a hit tonight.” 

You cross your legs and put your hands in your lap, clutching your purse in an effort to relax. “What do you want me to do if I see him?” you ask, unable to calm down. Aizawa puts his hand in yours, holding it. “Just squeeze my hand twice and I’ll know. You can just be my lookout for now.” He goes back to looking straight ahead at the stage, looking calm and collected, but you can tell he’s alert. 

You wonder how you can be like that. How does he stay so calm in such a high-alert situation? You can barely keep still. You’re jumpy; unable to keep from voicing your concerns to Aizawa. “But what if–“ Before you can get the rest of your words out, the lights in the room are dimming, shrouding the audience in darkness, and the crowd is excitedly applauding for the start of the show. 

You instantly grip the arm of your chair, your claws sinking into the cushion there and ripping it. You’re reacting as if a villain will pop right out of the stage. Aizawa grips your hand, his thumb running comfortingly across your knuckles. “Relax, honey,” he coos. “Just keep breathin’ for me. You’re doin’ great so far.” 

On stage, a spotlight appears, illuminating a woman in a long, black gown and the most beautiful, glossy curls you’ve ever seen. As she opens her mouth to sing, a string section below the stage begins to lay alongside her melody and a big, white moon rises above her in the background. “It’s not that,” you whisper fearfully. “What if he sees us first and attacks us?”

Aizawa shakes his head. “He wouldn’t do that unless he wants to make a scene. With how low-key he’s been, it wouldn’t make sense for him to do such an irresponsible thing. That would be like painting a target on his back.” He turns back to the stage, paying attention to the singer…or at least acting like it. 

You try to do so, but the loud sounds of horns, flutes, and drums coming from the band below make your anxiety reach a crescendo along with the music. You busy yourself with being Aizawa’s trusted lookout and slowly scan the audience to your left. Thanks to your cat eyesight, you can make out each face in the darkness. You check their eyes; their hair; their features.

You see no one that matches Aizawa’s description of the villain or one that looks remotely close to being a threat. You can feel yourself becoming frustrated. How are you supposed to find him in such a big audience? He could be anywhere! 

But when your eyes scan up to your left towards the balcony seats, you know you’ve found him. He stands out immediately like a sore thumb. And he might as well be–his skin is terrible, pebbled with healed scars across his cheeks and jaw. His hair is long and black like Aizawa’s, but not as luscious or sexy. It looks oily and cascades down his shoulders in waves. He wears a dark indigo suit that matches his eyes and the dress of the beautiful woman he sits next to. They sit in their own seats isolated at arm’s length away from the rest of the audience.

While his date doesn't give off the vibe of evil, he certainly does. His appearance makes you weary and the way he sits–back straight and rigidly as if he’s about to get up at any moment–makes you uneasy. 

You know for a fact that you’ve found the villain. You waste no time squeezing Aizawa’s hand twice and he immediately turns to you. “See him?” he whispers. You nod, motioning your head to your left where the balcony seats are. 

He shifts his body to look, pretending to be whispering to you. You shift your eyes to the left to keep your eyes on the villain and his date. She leans over to whisper something to him, her hand on his knee. He nods and whispers something back, making her grin and slap him on the arm. She then rises from her seat and walks towards the exit behind her. “Looks like she’s getting up,” Aizawa whispers, already rising from his seat with you. “C’mon before she comes back.” 

“What!?” you quietly hiss, shocked at you are already moving in action. What are you supposed to do? But Aizawa doesn’t explain, instead taking your hand to get you out of your seat. He whispers “excuse me” to your seatmates as you squeeze past them before heading up the steps to one of the exits. With his hand still in yours, he hurries to the next exit on the left where the balcony seats, and your target, are. You see the back of his head and feel those nervous butterflies return.

You turn to Aizawa for comfort but he is busy talking to someone in his earpiece. “Yeah, I see him,” he tells the person in his ear. “I’m approaching the target now for interrogation.” 

Your eyes shift to the villain and back to Aizawa who proceeds to creep towards the balcony. You stop him, your hand on his shoulder. “Wait, Shouta,” you protest. He cocks an eyebrow at you, confused. “He may recognize you and freak. Let me try to get him first before you do.” You know the villain won’t recognize you and if you act right, you would seal the deal on this mission for both you and Aizawa. 

The pro looks uncertain and a little afraid. “You sure?” he worriedly asks. You nod, determined to show him that you’re more than capable of doing this. He finally nods, presenting his hand in an “after you” motion toward the villain. “Go get ‘em, baby.” 

You grin, wanting to kiss him. ‘I certainly will.’

Slowly, you creep towards the balcony seats, glad that the singing is loud enough that your heels clicking across the floor aren’t heard. You move slowly and methodically, keeping watch of the villain’s head to make sure you're not heard. But he’s too busy staring ahead. Holding your breath, you finally make your way to the seat next to him and sit down, finally exhaling. You try to keep calm and not give yourself away as his cologne hits your nose. 

He barely glances your way when you finally settle into his date’s seat. “You’re back,” he says, his voice gritty and low. “That was quick.” You feel his hand move to grip your thigh. You do your best to not claw it off. “I just couldn’t wait to get back here and see your handsome face, darling,” you purr. 

You glance at him, watching his scarred face morph into a scowl. He finally turns toward you and his eyes widen in shock. “Who the fuck–“ 

“Nice outfit, right?” you chuckle deviously, motioning over your red gown. “I did a quick change. And how ‘bout my nails? You like ‘em?” You present your hand to him where your claws jut out of your nails, sharp and glinting in the darkness. 

Before the villain can say anything more, he is suddenly yanked back into his seat by his neck where a scarf is wrapped tightly around it from behind. “Say one word or make one move, and I’ll snap your neck,” Aizawa warns, his voice dangerously low. “I’m gonna ask you some questions and I want you to answer them honestly. Maybe then the cops will go easy on you.” 

The villain grunts slightly as his breathing is slightly restricted but not enough to choke. “Eraserhead?” he chuckles in disbelief. “They got you?” His indigo eyes shift your way, ticking up and down your face. “Who’s the chick?” he curiously asks. 

Aizawa’s fists clench around the scarf wrapped around the villain’s neck, causing him to wheeze. “Her name is Night Claw and she’ll most definitely put those claws to use if you don’t start talking.” You flash your claws at the villain and even grip his knee for good measure, causing his body to tense. “What’s your real name?” Aizawa demands. 

“Toyoma Kaneki,” he hoarsely responds. Aizawa nods as if expecting him to say that. You don't doubt that he did. “What are you here for?” he demands. “It can’t just be for a night out to enjoy the singing. You’re here for someone.” Toyoma defiantly grits his teeth and Aizawa tightens his grip, causing Toyoma’s face to turn beet red as he tries to choke down air.

Aizawa finally releases his hold and the villain gasps. “God!” he coughs. “It’s him! Multi-millionaire and politician.” He nods at the bald man wearing glasses sitting several seats below. “Someone paid me to do it, but I wasn’t gonna kill him!” 

“How can we believe that?” you scoff. “You have a track record for murder and assault, apparently.” 

Toyoma visibly shakes as Aizawa’s tightens his grip again. “I-I just get paid to it!” he stammers. “Plus, these people are bad news too: blackmail; money laundering…I’m doing the streets a favor for takin’ them out.” 

“That’s not up for you to decide, Toyoma,” Aizawa lectures, sounding like a father lecturing his son for bad behavior. “So what do you wanna do here?” Toyama continues to stare ahead at his target, a scowl on his face. His shoulders then slump in defeat. “You caught me, I guess,” he sighs, raising his hands. “I know if I do anything, you’ll fuck me up. If the cops are waiting for me outside, just take me to ‘em.” 

You and Aizawa instantly share a look of pure confusion. That doesn’t sound right. Before you can question Toyoma if he's serious, the clicking of heels startles you, and your ears perk up high on your head. You and Aizawa turn, finding Toyoma’s standing there in a state of shock. 

“What’s going on here?” she demands, squinting at you. “Who are you?” When she sees Aizawa, her eyes just about pop out of her gorgeous skull. “Eraserhead?!” she gasps, loud enough to catch some eyes. Before either of you can speak, Toyoma suddenly sinks into his seat and disappears into the floor like he isn’t made of solid matter. You can hardly believe your eyes. 

“Fuck!” Aizawa growls, already racing to the exit past Toyoma's distraught date. You follow him as fast as you can in your heels. As you do, you rapidly search the area for a way downstairs, knowing Toyoma could be on any of the lower floors.

You swear you get blessed when you find a staircase near the elevators. “Shouta, this way!” you shout before quickly venturing down the staircase. Aizawa follows close behind, his dress shoes slapping against the stairs as your heels slam furiously down each step. You know you’ll be feeling this tomorrow. 

The staircase is luckily only five floors, leading right down to the final floor: the basement, right behind a door. Though out of breath, you immediately grasp the doorknob and jiggle it, finding it locked. “The door!” you growl, frustrated as you continue to pull and push with no use.

With his hand on your shoulder, Aizawa silently moves you out of the way, keeping you as far from himself and the door as possible. He then raises his left leg and forces the basement door open with one swift kick. The door nearly breaks off its hinges as it slams open, revealing a dank, dark basement with creaky floorboards, cement walls, and dusty tools, stage equipment, and dining tables. 

Aizawa carefully walks in first, his movements silent and methodical. Before you enter after him, you unstrap your heels and carry them instead, not wanting to make any unnecessary noise. Walking barefoot allows you the silence you’re looking for. The basement is quiet but not unnervingly so when you follow Aizawa into the room. When the door shuts behind you, it engulfs you in total darkness.

You’ve never been more thankful for your senses than now when your feline sight kicks in, allowing you to see the shapes of different items and Aizawa standing in the middle of the room. “Sense anything?” he asks, his voice hushed and low. 

You take a moment to tap into your senses. Though it’s dark, you don’t see anything move; not even the tiniest bug or dust particle. You don’t hear anything despite a show happening several floors above. You also don’t smell something out of the ordinary that isn’t mold or dankness.

You don’t sense…anything. And that frightens you. Toyoma is clearly a very skilled villain which means he knows when to attack and when not to. Aizawa has to keep on his toes. You turn to warn him, but before you can, you suddenly find yourself being kicked hard in the middle of your back and falling chest-first on the floor. You gasp, the wind completely knocked out of your lungs. 

“Y/N!” Aizawa shouts, racing to help you but is stopped when Toyoma materializes from the solid floor beneath him and punches him in the face. Aizawa falters slightly but manages to quickly recover and scoop you up with one arm. Carefully, he carries you away to the other side of the room and lays you on your side. “Y/N, stay down,” he demands. “I’ve got him.” You can’t even protest; you’re in too much pain. 

You have no choice but to watch Aizawa as charges at Toyoma, drawing his scarves and immediately targeting them at Toyoma. His attack is done in vain when Toyoma disappears into the floor again. Aizawa barely has time to look for his opponent when he suddenly appears right behind him from the floor and wrenches an arm around his neck. Toyoma is incredibly fast, you realize. So fast that neither of you can sense him. 

Aizawa grunts, his knees buckling as Toyoma locks his arm around his neck. “You should’ve known better than to have followed me down here,” he grunts, working his damnedest to choke Aizawa. “You should’ve let me leave.” Aizawa gargles and grunts in Toyoma’s deadly hold, his face turning a dark shade of red the more time he goes without breathing. 

He’s killing you, you realize with fear flaring in your gut. And if you don’t do something, Aizawa is sure to die. Thinking quick and concealed by the darkness, you press a hand to your stomach and roll over to the nearest wall where you find an old toolbox. You grab the first thing your eyes land on–a crowbar–and quickly rise to your feet. You run towards Toyoma and quickly hit him over the head with the crowbar, glad for your swiftness and the silence your bare feet allow you. 

Toyoma grunts in pain as he falls to his knees, grabbing the back of his head. Aizawa immediately crumbles and begins to cough, gulping down air. Toyoma glares up at you like you just murdered his entire family. “And you should’ve known better than to have fucked with us,” you growl before bringing the crowbar forward to hit him across the face. 

Toyoma quickly sinks into the floor and appears again through a wall, this time on the far left. You’re on him immediately, ignoring the pain in your stomach as you draw your claws and swipe at him. Toyoma backs up with every single swipe of your hands, moving as you do.

You dip low to try and kick him from below, but he one-ups you by grabbing your leg and swinging you around like you weigh absolutely nothing. You shriek as he does, becoming dizzy from the constant whirl. When he finally releases you, you go soaring into the air and quickly twist your body to land on your hands. You then flip backward and land in a squat, your heart pounding and lungs burning. 

Toyoma chuckles at your skill. “Your bitch can fight, Eraser,” he spits. “But she’s not gonna stop me. Neither one of you fuckin’ idiots are!” He opens his jacket and Aizawa is on him, quickly charging toward him with his scarves drawn and eyes flashing red.

But before he can stop him, he reaches into his back pocket, pulls out a small canister, and forcefully throws it down. As soon as it hits the floor, the canister explodes into a plume of thick, blinding smoke that has you coughing and your eyes tearing. You find sanctuary on the nearest wall and press your back against it as the smoke gets thicker. 

“Y/N!” Aizawa shouts in the smoke. “Where are you?” His voice is loud and clear despite the smoke concealing your sight. He sounds close by, but where is the question.

You begin to try and walk along the wall, keeping your hands on it to give you some balance. “I’m right here!” you call to him, squinting into the thick, gray fog. “The motherfucker was ready, apparently.” 

“Stay right here you are,” Aizawa grunts. “I’ll come to you.” You want to ask him how when the fog is too thick, but you stop when you hear something: the honk of cars. It is coming from your left, right where you remember the small window being. Toyoma is escaping. “Wait, I hear him!” you shout. “He’s near the window! He’s getting away!” 

“Y/N, wait!” Aizawa warns. “Don’t go anywhere!” But you don’t listen, too pumped up on adrenaline and the fear that this piece of shit will get away for good.

Crouching in the fog, you quickly crawl on all fours, navigating through that way until you feel another solid wall. You trail your hands up until you feel nothing but the cool night breeze on them. The window. Reaching your hands out, you grasp the window and open it further. Hopefully, the air will clear the fog for Aizawa’s sake. 

Quickly, you securely grasp the top of the window ledge and climb through, now squatting in the window. You twist your head to look up, finding a poster for the opera hanging there. You sink your clothes into the fabric and begin to climb up one at a time, grunting as you do. The farther you climb, the more distant the sounds of the street become, but you don’t look down. If you do, you know you’ll stop. You keep your eyes up, trained on the stars above.

‘Do it for Shouta,’ you think. ‘He needs you.’ 

When you finally reach the rooftop, you pull yourself up with all of the strength you can muster. Toyoma is there, standing at the ledge with his back to you. When he hears you, he barely spares you a glance. “Don't move,” you demand, your voice low and dangerous. “If you know what’s good for you.” 

You can’t help but wonder why Toyoma didn’t just use his quirk to escape. You get your answer when he turns around and reveals the bomb sitting there, attached to dozens of wires. “Do you know what’s good for you, bitch?” he mocks you, an overly cocky smirk on his face. “If you take one step toward me, I’m settin’ this thing off. Consider it my plan B.” 

He retracts a device from his jacket–a remote with one single button. You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to know that it’s for the bomb. Fear flows through you like ice was just shot into your veins, making you freeze up.

'So that’s why Toyoma came up here: he’s planning to bomb the theatre.'

He cocks his head to the side, staring you down like you’re nothing more than a child playing dress-up. And you do feel like you’re a child playing dress-up right now. You are now faced with one of the most malicious villains you’ve ever come across. 

“I knew one of you stupid heroes would be here undercover tryin’ to stop my mission,” Toyoma spits. “So I improvised. If you even think about comin’ near me, I’ll kill every single person in this building, including you and your man.” His thumb grazes the remote button, making your heart lurch. “Just leave me be and I won’t do it. I’ll even spare your life.” 

You know that all he spouts are lies. He may even kill you or worse, Aizawa even if you let him off the hook. Even worse though, he could be telling the truth. If you do as he says, you know it’s only a matter of time until he successfully accomplishes his mission or kills someone else the way he’s been doing so far. But if you decide to attack, he’ll bomb this entire place.

Sweat gathers at the back of your neck as you find yourself caught between decisions. ‘What do I do?’ you think in a panic. ‘What would Shouta do?’ 

You squeeze your eyes shut as frustrated tears prick at your eyes. You wish you could disappear somehow to take Toyoma by surprise. Maybe shrink down enough to sneak behind him and…wait. A lightbulb flickers in your head and you nearly laugh. ‘That’s it!’

Toyoma continues to stare at you, his thumb hovering tauntingly over the button. “What are you still standin’ there for?” he cackles. “What’s the matter? Cat gotcha tongue?”

You smirk at him, using those lines as the perfect time to shift. The world suddenly gets bigger and Toyoma appears much taller than he is when you shrink down onto all fours, your skin and clothes morphing into fur. Toyoma watches in horror and awe as your limbs shrink, your human ears shift into points, and your hands and feet transform into paws. Whiskers protrude from your cheeks. Your nose is now a snout. Your cat irises shift, directed right at him. 

“What the fuck?!” He shouts, nearly dropping the remote. You waste no time rushing towards him on your feline legs and pounce on him, your claws extended and fangs drawn. The shock on his face is absolutely hilarious, even when you drag your set of claws across his cheek and sink your teeth into his nose. “Ow!” he screams, holding his now bleeding face. 

As you land perfectly on your feet, you take the remote from his hand and into your mouth. Quickly, you shift back into your human form and slip the remote into your back pocket. Toyoma gives you a deathly stare, ragged claw marks on his cheek, and blood bubbling from the teeth marks in his nose. “That’s for calling’ me a bitch, bitch,” you hiss at him. “And this is for bein’ a dickhead.” You begin to charge at him, prepared to tackle him off of the building. 

You don’t count on him suddenly disappearing through the rooftop, stopping you dead in your tracks. You barely have time to look for him when you suddenly feel his hands grip your ankles from below. You shriek, trying to free yourself, but you only lose your balance. You gasp as you find yourself teetering off of the ledge of the building. Quickly, you grip the ledge with both hands, your claws scratching at the stone. “Shit!” You gasp, your heart leaping into your throat. 

You scramble to press your feet to the wall but you’re unable to find your footing. You sneak a look down below, finding the city traffic below you. Even if you did manage to land perfectly, you’d be squashed by one of the cars. A whimper leaves your lips as you grip the ledge, desperate to climb back up.

But Toyoma stops you when he appears in your line of vision and gives you a menacing smirk. “Now who’s the bitch?” he chuckles down at you. “That’s all you’re ever gonna be when you splatter all over the pavement for playin’ pretend.” 

He kneels down to give a good look at his eyes. “You think don’t see that you’re not a real pro?” he asks, squinting at you. “That I can’t see right through you?” He presses his foot to one of your hands, nearly crushing your fingers. “Now look at you: seconds away from death. Let’s see if cats really do have nine lives.” 

“Please!” you beg, but you can’t stop him when he pries your hands off of the ledge. You squeeze your eyes shut and wait to feel your body hitting the ground…but you don’t feel pain or hear the splat of your body hitting the cold pavement below. 

What you do feel is something gripping your wrist to stop your fall and hear Toyoma grunting from above you. You open your eyes, finding Aizawa’s scarves wrapped around your wrist and Toyoma’s body, restricting his movement.

“Get the fuck away from her,” Aizawa demands, rage written all across his handsome face and in his eyes that glow pure, deadly red. Toyoma's eyes widen for a moment, obviously feeling the effects of Aizawa’s quirk draining him of his power. “No!” he growls and squeezes his eyes shut behind he sinks through the rooftop once more. 

Aizawa isn’t too concerned with that though. He’s way more concerned with getting you up to safety. He begins to pull you up by one of your arms though you’re afraid to let go. “I’ve gotcha,” he grunts. “Grab my hand.”

He reaches his free hand out to you. Though hesitantly, you do so and he yanks you up by both of your wrists. Once you feel your feet touch the ground, your claws retract and your body relaxes though you still tremble. 

Aizawa immediately unties his scarf from around your wrist and wraps his arms around you. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. All of the fear and relief you can feel radiating off of his big, hard body pressed against yours in his tight embrace. He is solid, real, and true. Everything that you need to know that you’re okay.

You reach into your back pocket, presenting the remote to him. “I-I got the remote for the bomb,” you softly stammer. "He was planning to bomb this place.” 

He silently nods, not even acknowledging it too much. He just continues to squeeze you as if afraid you’ll disappear again. You lean into his chest, allowing yourself to melt into him, even feeling those tears threatening to rise to the surface. He rubs your back soothingly, reassuring you (and possibly himself) that everything is okay now. 

But everything isn’t okay. "Goddammit!” you growl frustratedly in his chest. “He got away again.” Tears begin to flow freely down your face now, ruining your makeup. "I almost had him! I almost–“ 

“Stop,” Aizawa firmly demands, taking hold of your shoulders. “You don’t need to worry about him right now. I knew he was gonna get away anyway. He’s skilled, remember?” His hand moves to caress your cheek, his thumb wiping away a lone tear.

“But I had him, Shouta!” you shout, feeling so much like a loser. “He was right there! If I would’ve just…” You hang your head in shame. “I’m a failure,” you defeatedly mutter to yourself. 

“No, you’re not,” Aizawa growls intensely, his stare firm and almost angered. “I don’t wanna ever hear you say that shit again, do you understand? You’re not a failure, Y/N. You’re strong, intelligent, and a damn great fighter. You’ve shown me tonight and so many other nights that you’re needed by my side.” He wipes away another lone tear, cupping your face into both of his hands now. ”Don’t ever call yourself a failure, understand?” 

Knowing he wants an answer, you defeatedly slump your shoulders. “Yes,” you huff under your breath. His grip on your face tightens.

“What was that?” he firmly asks. You try to ignore the way your heart leaps at his dominance and the effect it has on you. “Yes…sir,” you hesitantly repeat. He nods once, pleased with that. He opens his mouth to possibly say more, but his expression morphs into one of irritation and his hand goes to his ear. “Eraser!” a gruff voice yells from the earpiece. “Eraser, come in!”

He sighs, pressing his ear. “I hear you, chief,” he huffs, irritated. “I lost him, unfortunately…yeah, I’ll visit the department later tonight with information on him. Stay put.” 

“Do you need me to come with you?” you ask, hoping he’ll say yes and you could be more help to him. You could make up for losing Toyoma. “No,” he replies, and disappointment blooms inside of you. “You almost got knocked off a building tonight, baby. Go home and rest.” His lips stretch into a thin line which means he definitely doesn't want the backtalk tonight.

But you never listen. “But I–“ 

“No buts,” he firmly states. “Get home. Now.” His charcoal eyes drill a hole in you, daring you to protest or argue. But you don’t, the exhaustion of tonight just too much. You smile up at him despite yourself and fix his tie. “Still so bossy,” you softly giggle. That earns you a smile. 

Minutes later after collecting your heels and getting escorted outside by Aizawa, you do go home. But against his wishes and your better judgment, you show up at his door hours later in the night. You sit and wait for him patiently by the door and once he arrives in his tracksuit hours later, you give him a big greeting, purring and curling your tail around his ankles. 

“Hey, you,” he coos. 

#shouta aizawa #shoutaaa #smutty smut #my fic shit #my works #here kitty kitty #bnha smut #black coded reader #black fanfic writer #black writers #aizawa x black!reader #shouta aizawa x black!reader

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Stuck Between a Jock and a Metalhead

Summary: Nancy, on a whim, decides to visit Steve at Scoops Ahoy, which leads to her overhearing confessions from Steve that leads her to think about the decisions she's made. A few days later, she decides to come back. She finds him being hit on by the town freak. What's a girl to do? Oh, get stuck in a freezer with the both of them.

Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five - Chapter Six - Chapter Seven - Chapter Eight - Chapter Nine - Chapter Ten - Chapter Eleven - Chapter Twelve - Chapter Thirteen - Chapter Fourteen - Chapter Fifteen - Chapter Sixteen - Chapter Seventeen - Chapter Eighteen - Chapter Nineteen - Chapter Twenty - Chapter Twenty-One - Chapter Twenty-Two - Chapter Twenty-Three - Chapter Twenty-Four - Chapter Twenty-Five - Chapter Twenty-Six - Chapter Twenty-Seven - Chapter Twenty-Eight - Chapter Twenty-Nine - Chapter Thirty

@nightmareglitter

Tw: miscarriage, loss of a child (I needed to appeal to Kas.)

Chapter Thirty-One

Eddie's POV

He could still feel them, biting into his flesh. . . The sound of Dustin screaming his name was just as piercing. He heard Nancy crying and then Steve. There had been a lot of pain, searing, but now he felt nothing. He was floating, up and up. . .until he was surrounded by blackness. There was water beneath his feet, and the sound of footsteps drew closer to him. Suddenly, his sister stood before him. Her head was shaven.

"Eddie," she gasped and pressed a hand to her mouth.

"Did I die?" Eddie asked.

"Yes," she sobbed and drew her hand away from her mouth.

"Did you die?" Eddie asked, and she shook her head. "Well, that's something, at least."

"You have to fight, Eddie," El said.

"How can I fight if I'm dead?" He asked.

"You can still fight," El said and paused. "I felt you die."

"Oh, sweetheart. . .I'm sorry," Eddie said softly.

"I am sorry," she said.

"You've got nothing to be sorry for," he said and drew her into a hug.

"You have to fight him," El said. "Promise me."

"I promise."

"Open the door."

Suddenly, El was yanked away from him, and everything turned into red smoke. A voice came from out of the darkness.

"You belong to me now, Eddie."

Open the door? What the hell did El mean by that? Before Eddie could ponder that further, the red smoke entered his body. Another voice, different from the other, spoke inside his head.

"Hmm, I like it in here. It's been such a long time since I had a body. Yes, this is perfect. What's this name inside your head, boy? Hm. Kas the Bloody Handed? Kas the Betrayer? It has a certain ring to it. I think I'll take it as my own," the voice purred.

"Get the fuck out!" Eddie shrieked.

"It's going to take a lot more than that, boy," Kas said. "It helps that you already started to turn. I'll just speed up the process."

The ground was shaking when Eddie woke up. He was in. . .the Wheelers dining room? Where was everyone? Eddie could still see through his eyes, but when he stood up, he realized that he wasn't in control of his own body anymore. He could feel Kas smirking with his own lips as he walked into the hallway. Everyone was outside. He could see Nancy and Steve. He wanted to call out to them, but Kas wouldn't let him. Kas started moving towards the backdoor and pulled it open. Eddie felt something on his head, as did Kas. He pulled it off Eddie's head and held it out. It was a flower crown. Steve. He knew that Steve had done this. He screamed as Kas crushed the flower in his hand and dropped the remains on the ground.

"ASSHOLE!" Eddie screamed as he threw himself against the barrier that Kas held him in.

Eddie could only watch as Kas walked his body off into the woods. He wasn't sure where he was going, but he could feel a voice calling to Kas in the back of his mind. Suddenly, there was a rustle amongst the trees as something darted among the branches.

"The creatures won't bother us," Kas said. "What do you call them? Demogorgons. . . and demobats."

Just as Kas said that, a black blur flew out of the darkness and attacked Kas. It was clawing at him and biting his neck. Kas screamed and grabbed the black furrball, throwing it. Mayhem stood before them, her eyes red now as furry wings sprouted from her back. Instead of one tail, she had three of them.

"I don't think she likes me using your body," Kas smirked.

Mayhem hissed, flapped her wings, and flew at him. Kas growled. Eddie could feel something ripping out of his back. . .were they wings? Something was sprouting at the top of his jeans. . .three tails like Mayhem. Eddie could feel his nails elongating. Kas flew at her and swiped, flinging her against a tree. Eddie screamed. Mayhem got up and pounced, slamming Kas to the ground. Mayhem scratched at Kas, almost as if she were trying to get to Eddie. Kas grabbed Mayhem, flew up, and slammed her to the ground. She hissed as she stood up shakily. Mayhem rammed into Kas again, the force slamming Kas's head against the tree. It caused him to be disoriented, and then he lost consciousness for a bit, allowing the barrier to slip. Eddie managed to take control of his own body for a minute. Eddie blinked, gasping for breath, and reached behind him to feel the wings sprouting from his back. They didn't feel so bad. . .they were kind of soft, actually.

"Weird," Eddie muttered.

Mayhem meowed and brushed against his leg. Eddie gasped and smiled before picking her up into his arms. Mayhem was still his sweet girl and just as protective. He scratched behind her ears and pressed kisses to the top of her head. Mayhem purred, much louder and deeper than usual, before tucking her head into the crook of his shoulder. She was just as relieved to see him. And just like that, Kas woke up and yanked Eddie into his mind. He was surrounded by red smoke again. It started to form a humanoid shape. It was still nothing but smoke, but it held the definite shape of a human.

"I told you this body is mine now," Kas growled.

"No, it's mine!" Eddie screamed. "It's always been mine."

Suddenly, the darkness around them grew lighter, and Eddie could hear someone else's heartbeat. It was a memory, the earliest memory that he had ever recalled. He never remembered before, couldn't remember.

"I can't do this," a woman's voice wept.

The last time he had heard his mother's voice was when he had been six years old, and she had been on her deathbed. That was her voice, though. Elizabeth Franklin Munson.

"Yes, you can, sweetheart," Al's voice talked to her softly.

Eddie frowned. With the way Al was in and out of his life, he always assumed that he hadn't been present at his birth.

"What if I mess things up? What if I'm a terrible mother?" She sobbed.

"Oh, baby. You only ever made things better," Al said. "You've made my life better. Wayne and I wouldn't have the relationship we have now if it weren't for you. You make me want to be a better man."

"Oh, you do that all on your own," Elizabeth said as a contraction hit her. "You're going to be a great father."

"You're the only person in the world who believes that," Al said.

"If you start believing it, then I won't be the only one," Elizabeth said.

The scene changed, and suddenly, Eddie was young. About two, he guessed. He was toddling up to Elizabeth, her belly round. Eddie frowned. He didn't recall his mother ever being pregnant.

"Mama's belly big," little Eddie said.

"That's because your brother is in there," Elizabeth said.

"Mama ate him," little Eddie gasped.

"No," she laughed. "Mama's home for little brother until he's ready to come out."

"Not ready?" Little Eddie asked. "Scared?"

"A little. He needs time to grow," she said.

"It's okay," little Eddie whispered to her belly.

The front door opened, and Al slipped off his boots before coming inside. Eddie shrieked and ran over to him.

"DADDY!"

"Hey, buddy," Al greeted before scooping him up and hugging him tightly. "I sure could have used that today."

"What happened?" Elizabeth asked.

"Well, they fired me," Al sighed as he sat down beside her.

"Over that little mistake? They didn't fire Paul when he messed up, and his was worse," she scowled.

"Yeah, well, they were looking for any reason to fire me," Al said. "But I'm not worried. One door closes, and another one opens. I talked to Lonnie - "

"Oh. What did he have to say?" She asked coldly.

"He might have another job for me, and if it's as good as he says it is, we won't have to worry about money for a while," Al said.

"Yeah, because Lonnie Byers's word is so dependable," Elizabeth said.

"You don't even know him, Lizzie," Al said.

"I heard plenty about him," she replied.

"You always hated when people talked shit about me," Al said.

"From other people, yes. Wayne knows what he's talking about," she said.

"Right, Wayne," Al muttered.

"I just don't want you to fall back into your old ways," Elizabeth said.

"I won't, I promise," Al swore and kissed her deeply.

The scene changed, and Eddie watched himself walk behind his mother being held up by his Uncle Wayne.

"He should have been here," Wayne muttered.

"He's providing for us, Wayne," Elizabeth sniffled.

"Not in the way he should," Wayne said.

Wayne helped Elizabeth onto the couch. Eddie's heart clenched. She was no longer pregnant. There was still a bump, but not as big as it was before.

"Where's brother?" Eddie asked.

"I'm sorry, honey, no brother," Elizabeth said and burst into tears.

Eddie crawled into her lap and hugged her tightly.

"It's okay, mama," Eddie whispered.

Little Eddie was much older, and he definitely remembered this. . . Dancing around the kitchen with his mother. She was so happy.

"You're very happy, mom," Eddie said. "Is dad finally coming home?"

"No, darling, I made sure of that," she sighed.

"He messed up again?" Eddie asked. "He hurt your feelings?"

"Yeah, honey," Elizabeth said.

"I'm here though," Eddie said. "I won't hurt you, mama."

"You're going to be a good big brother," Elizabeth said.

"Really? You're having a baby?" Eddie asked. "Does dad know? Is that why he hurt your feelings? He doesn't want the baby? He doesn't want us?"

"Oh, darling, your dad didn't give me the baby," Elizabeth said, patting his cheek.

"Who?" Little Eddie asked.

The memory changed of Eddie curling up his mother's arms in her bed. She was very sickly looking.

"Mama. . .I don't want you to go," Eddie sobbed.

"I'm sorry, darling. I did my best. It wasn't an easy choice, but I had to try everything to bring your brother into this world," Elizabeth said. "I didn't think I'd get so sick. I thought for sure I could give you a brother. I thought I could fight this."

"Maybe you still can," Eddie said. "With magic."

Wayne chuckled from next to Elizabeth's bedside.

"Your mama is very magical. If anyone can make it possible, it's her," Wayne said and held Elizabeth's hand.

"I'll send you someone special," Elizabeth said. "Maybe more than one. I'll send you someone special, too, Wayne."

Eddie looked at Wayne and tilted his head to the side. His eyes widened. Holy shit! Wayne and his mom?! His mom and Wayne?! His uncle and his mother?! His shock was quickly turned into sadness when his mother's prone body lay on the bed, and Wayne was holding little Eddie in his arms.

"I'll always be here for you," Wayne whispered.

"That's what dad always said," little Eddie muttered, tears dripping onto Wayne's shirt.

"I'll prove it to you every single day, I'm going to do my best to show up for you, son, because you deserve it," Wayne said, his own tears falling.

He remembered this, but what he didn't catch was the fact that Wayne had been in love with his mother. The scene faded, and it all turned black. Eddie was standing next to him.

"That's what I'm fighting for," Eddie said. "And it's what going to keep me fighting."

Several more images swam through the blackness. Eddie, growing up with his dad in and out of his life with Wayne doing everything he can to be there for him. Eddie was meeting Ronnie, then the rest of Hellfire and Corroded Coffin. Eddie was being picked up by Nancy, then with them almost dying in the freezer. Moments spent with Steve and Nancy in the apartment. . . Their first date. . .saying I love you to each other. . .moments with Mayhem and the kids. . . Moments with Dustin. . . Reading with El. . . Eddie was playing guitar for the first time. . . reading Lord of the Rings. . .dancing with his mom. . . Christmas with the Wheelers. . . Letting Holly put makeup on him and do his hair. . .they all swirled around them and picked up speed.

"STOP!" Kas screamed. "You don't think I had a life once before I was sent to hell. . .long before Henry came along, but it's no use, I can not get it back. Neither can you."

"And wouldn't you do anything to get it back?" Eddie said softly.

"I had a mother once and a sister," Kas said softly, and then he groaned. "Goddamnit! Fine! Where am I supposed to go?"

Suddenly, there came a loud meow. Eddie grinned.

"I think Mayhem is offering a temporary solution, Kas," Eddie grinned.

"You are going to need my help," Kas replied with a sigh. "Fine."

The smoke disappeared, and Eddie woke up with a gasp. He was in full control of his body again. He looked down at Mayhem, and he knew that it wasn't Mayhem looking back at him but at Kas.

"I'm going to get my cat back and my town. You better have a plan," Eddie said.

Two days later. . .

Eddie watched from Mount Weathertop as people fought down below. Nancy and Steve were fighting down below with the others. Vecna was standing beside him.

"It's cute how they think they can win," Vecna said.

"Yeah," Eddie said with a smirk. "You were right, Henry, it is better that I'm by your side. I think I can still convince Nancy. You can't be seen, though."

"Hmm, I will be watching," Vecna said and disappeared into the trees.

Eddie continued watching from Mount Weathertop when Nancy and the others moved closer. They were down at the bottom of the hill when Steve and Nancy spotted him. Without alerting the others, Steve and Nancy ran up the hill. Breathing heavily, Steve and Nancy made it to the top.

"Eddie, this isn't you. You don't have to do this," Nancy pleaded.

"Oh, isn't it, though? I mean, it's what everyone believes about me. Eddie Munson. . .the rotten apple of Hawkins, Indiana," Eddie grinned. "Might as well make the people's dreams come true."

"Don't listen to them. You're better than them," Steve said.

"Well, Nancy still has a chance to stand behind us. Not you, Steve, I think Henry has this thing about threes," Eddie said. "Join us, Nancy."

"No," Nancy said firmly.

"I think you might need a little convincing," Eddie said.

He flew at Steve and pinned him down by his throat. Steve’s weapon dropped to the ground as Eddie squeezed, cutting off his air. Nancy screamed.

"No! Eddie! Please!" Nancy sobbed.

"What's it going to be, Nancy?" Eddie asked.

"Never," she said with conviction.

Eddie laughed as he snapped Steve’s neck. Nancy let out a yell and threw herself at Eddie. He quickly extended his claws and slammed them into her stomach. Nancy fell to the ground.

"NO!" Henry roared as he came out of the trees.

Eddie laughed, his claws dripping with Nancy's blood.

"I'm sorry, Henry. Was this not your plan?" He asked.

"I WILL KILL YOU," Vecna yelled.

"That's kind of hard to do when you're not the one in control," Eddie said.

"What?!" He snapped.

"It's not so fun, is it, when your little game is turned on you," he spat. "It's time to wake up now, though, Henry. I want you to see it happen. To witness it. This is going to fucking hurt."

Eddie continued to stand on Weathertop, but Vecna was down below, standing in his own trance. Eddie watched him wake out of his trance for a split moment, and then Nancy swung the axe with all of her might. Vecna's head toppled from his shoulders and onto the ground. Nancy swung the axe again, slamming it into his skull. She did it again and again until she collapsed on the ground. Eddie was startled by Kas's red smoke, appearing next to him.

"You did great. You didn't even need me," Kas said. "You never did. Smart using the dream."

"A door can be opened both ways," Eddie grinned. "What are you going to do now?"

"Go home, as should you. I will bring the creatures with me. I haven't belonged here in a long time, but you still do. You and Mayhem both," Kas said.

The ground shook as the cracks started to close as best they could. Kas flew away, signaling the creatures with a loud whistle. Eddie watched as the creatures followed Kas and he smiled.

"Come on, Mayhem, time to go home," Eddie whispered, and Mayhem meowed in agreement.

Epilogue

#stranger things #nancy wheeler #steve harrington #nancy wheeler x steve harrington #stancy #eddie munson #nancy wheeler x eddie munson #edancy #eddie munson x steve harrington #steddie #nancy wheeler x steve harrington x eddie munson #stedancy #nessie #gunfire royalty #bisexual eddie munson #bisexual steve harrington #pansexual nancy wheeler #pan4bi4bi #robin buckley #lesbian robin buckley #platonic stobin #platonic ronance #platonic reddie #stranger things fanfiction

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

the moon will sing a song for me

The first of two chapters of my fic for @fandomtrumpshate is up! It's a gift for Kali, a modern with magic AU featuring werewolf!Jaskier, lots of pining, questionable taste in pizza toppings, and angst with a happy ending (in more ways than one.)

Relationship: Geralt/Jaskier

Rating: E

Warnings: none

Summary: When Jaskier returns after a full moon trapped in his wolf form, Geralt knows something is terribly wrong with his best friend and roommate—who Geralt may or may not have been pining over for the past decade. But as the days pass and Geralt, his fellow witchers, and Yennefer fail to figure out what's wrong with Jaskier, Jaskier starts to lose himself to the wolf. Can Geralt get him back before it’s too late?

You can read the first couple of scenes below or the whole thing here on AO3!

***

"So, are you going to kill me?" the werewolf asks through a mouthful of pineapple and pepperoni pizza. There's a string of cheese hanging from his bottom lip.

"Do I need to kill you?" Geralt hopes he sounds less uncertain than he actually is.

Nothing about the call they received at headquarters an hour ago about a vicious werewolf on Hierarch Boulevard prepared him for this. Not because he found a vicious werewolf, but because he found a young man busking outside a pizza parlor, wearing a seasonally inappropriate flowered shirt and a pair of jeans with so many holes in them, they may as well have been shorts.

When the kid—he only looks a couple of years younger than Geralt’s age of twenty-three, but he has a baby face that makes Geralt think ‘kid’—realized that the man standing over him was a witcher, he seemed more resigned than terrified.

“If we’re going to do this, you’re going to buy me a slice of pizza first,” he said and bewildered, Geralt agreed. And somehow ended up buying him an entire pie.

Now, the werewolf shrugs. He's doing everything he can to look casual, though Geralt can smell his anxiety. "I sure hope not."

"We got a call that you were menacing people on Hierarch Boulevard."

The werewolf's eyebrows draw together. "Look, I know my cover of 'Don't Go Breaking My Heart' wasn't my best work, but calling it menacing seems like an overreaction."

“Hm.”

“First of all.” The kid raises his piece of pizza as if making a point. “You’ll notice that I was playing my guitar. That’s impossible to do in my wolf form. I’ve tried. Second of all, we’re two weeks from a full moon. Even a baby werewolf probably won’t lose control this time of month. I’m twenty. I’ve been able to control my shift since I was like fourteen. Third, if I was going to go berserk, I wouldn’t do it in my favorite busking spot. I have a rapport with all the local business owners and mauling people is bad for business.”

“Then why would someone call and report you?”

The werewolf lets out a laugh entirely devoid of humor. “My guess is that it was that fuck Earl de Stael. He’s my girlfriend’s other boyfriend. We’ve never gotten along and lately he seems to have a bug up his butt, thinking Victoria likes me more than him. Which she probably does, but he has a trust fund, which more than makes up for the lack of personality and the terrible taste in clothes."

“Hm,” Geralt says again, because he really doesn’t know what to say.

“So.” The werewolf grabs a fifth slice of pizza. “What’s it like, being a witcher?”

“Not sure yet,” Geralt says mildly. “Only got my certification six months ago.”

“Is it true that you’re like a super soldier?”

“I don’t know about that.” Geralt shrugs.

“I mean, they did something to you.” The werewolf gestures at his face with a pizza crust. “Unless you were born with golden, slit-pupiled eyes?”

“I wasn’t. My eyes were green.” Geralt isn’t sure why he says that, but the words just come out.

“Fascinating.” The werewolf wipes his mouth on his sleeve. “So, am I your first werewolf?”

“No.”

“Did you buy the last one pizza?”

“No, I killed her.”

The werewolf’s heartbeat picks up and his eyes flick towards the door. “Ah.”

Geralt grimaces. “She had killed one person and was an active danger to three others. I had no choice.”

And he still threw up afterwards.

The werewolf smells afraid and Geralt hates that. The hardest thing about waking up after the Trials was suddenly being able to smell how scared everyone was of him. He tries to sound gentle, or as gentle as he can sound with his fucked up, gravelly voice, as he says, “Look, I’m not going to kill you. From what I can tell, the most monstrous thing about you is your taste in pizza toppings.”

The werewolf’s relief morphs into outrage, his mouth dropping open to reveal a ball of chewed up cheese, bread, and meat. “What in Melitele’s name is wrong with my taste in pizza toppings?”

“Pineapple and pepperoni?”

“The sweetness of the pineapple and the spiciness of the pepperoni—”

“No.”

“Just try it.” The werewolf shoves the tray of pizza at him. “It will change your life.”

“Hm.”

“Come on.” Blue eyes twinkle at him with mirth. They’re pretty blue eyes, Geralt can’t help but notice. “Do you trust me?”

“I’ve known you for fifteen minutes.” But Geralt takes a slice of pizza. Because he’s hungry and a little curious. Not because of the blue eyes.

“What do you think?” The werewolf sits forward.

“It tastes like shitty pizza with pineapple and pepperoni on top.” Geralt drops the rest of his slice back on the tray.

“So amazing?”

Geralt only grunts in answer.

The werewolf puts a hand over his heart. “How disappointing to learn that my new best friend has shit taste in pizza.”

“We’re not friends.”

“You saved my life. Well, spared it. I think that makes us friends.”

Geralt wants to say that the werewolf’s life was never in any danger, that no witcher he knows would have walked up to an innocent person who wasn’t even in wolf form and killed them. But then he thinks of some of the older witchers he’s met—like fucking Varin—and rethinks that. “I don’t even know your name. We can’t be friends if I don’t know your name.”

“Well, that’s easy enough to fix,” the werewolf says. “I’m Jaskier.”

***

Ten Years Later

The house is always too quiet on full moons.

When Geralt and Jaskier first moved in together eight years ago, it took Geralt months to adjust to all the noises his new roommate made. He and Jaskier had been friends for just over two years at that point, but Geralt had still been taken off guard by the sheer volume of noise that Jaskier could make. He even brushed his teeth loudly and his snores kept Geralt awake every night until he invested in a white noise machine and a pair of noise-canceling headphones.

But over the years, Geralt has grown so accustomed to the noise that the silence that greets him when he steps through the front door may as well be a roar. He’s used to coming home from his hunts to the sounds of Jaskier puttering around the kitchen on a mission to make late night pancakes, strumming on his guitar, or snoring in front of the TV. He always waits up for Geralt to come home from his hunts—or tries to, at least—even after all these years.

“If I go to bed before you get home, how will I know if you’ve had your insides torn out by a wyvern and are lying in a ditch somewhere?” Jaskier demanded the last time Geralt told him that the waiting up was unnecessary.

“That was one time.”

“Oh, you’ve only been disemboweled one time. How silly of me, I won’t worry anymore.”

The silence of the house is broken by a meow as Roach comes to greet Geralt, tail twitching in irritation at the indignity of being left alone for hours.

“Hey, girl.” Geralt scoops her up, scratching under her chin. “How’s it been?”

Roach meows at him again. She never likes full moons either. 

“I know,” Geralt says. “He’ll be back in the morning.”

That earns him an unimpressed look. Geralt almost reminds her that he’s the one who found her in the basement of a wraith-haunted abandoned house when she was just a tiny ball of fluff and brought her home to nurse her back to health, and then remembers that arguing with his cat that she should love him more than she loves his roommate probably isn’t a good sign. Anyway, he can’t begrudge Jaskier Roach’s love; his friend is far too lovable for anyone’s good, including Geralt’s.

Geralt carefully puts that thought out of his mind as he makes his way into the kitchen, Roach tucked under one arm. If Jaskier were here, he would be peppering Geralt with questions about tonight’s alghoul hunt, fussing over Geralt’s nonexistent wounds, and complaining loudly about the stench of necrophage that lingers on his armor. Geralt tries not to pay attention to the pang of regret in his belly as he heeds Roach’s pitiful meows and adds some fresh wet food to her half-full food bowl.

He checks the fridge to make sure they have enough eggs, then takes a rib-eye steak out of the freezer to defrost. When Jaskier comes home around dawn, exhausted and smelling like rabbit blood, Geralt will have breakfast waiting for him so Jaskier can wolf down an entire steak, a dozen eggs, and a pile of toast before going to bed to sleep off his full moon hangover. Geralt will spend the day curled up in bed with him, keeping him warm and comfortable.

If Jaskier were part of a pack, he would spend his full moon gamboling around the woods with his fellow werewolves and spend the day after collapsed in a puppy pile with his packmates. But Jaskier doesn’t have that. He spends his full moons alone and the day after, all he has is Geralt. While Jaskier usually is usually sanguine about his estrangement from the Novigrad and Lettenhove packs, it always seems to weigh on him in the days after the full moon. It’s the least Geralt can do to try and ease his loneliness.

Roach meows at him again and Geralt realizes he’s been staring out the sliding glass door at the woods behind their house, watching for a glint of blue eyes in the dark. He looks down to find his cat staring up at him in clear judgment. “Fuck off,” he tells her. “You miss him too.”

With an irritable twitch of her tail, she returns to her food and Geralt heads down the hall to wash the alghoul blood out of his hair before he goes to sleep.  Dawn—and Jaskier—will be here before he knows it.

***

Geralt wakes to sunlight streaming through the window and Roach stepping on his face. He groans as he relocates her to the pillow, glancing at the clock to see that it's well past 8 AM. It takes him a moment to realize what’s wrong with this picture: the sound of the sliding glass door in the kitchen should have woken him hours ago when Jaskier returned home. Jaskier is never sneaky, especially when he’s clumsy with exhaustion the morning after a full moon.

“Fuck.” Geralt stumbles out of bed and across the hall to Jaskier’s room. He’s unsurprised to find the door ajar and Jaskier’s bed still empty, the blue and yellow comforter crumpled on the floor, just like it was the night before. Jaskier’s scent of eucalyptus and mint is present, but faint. He didn’t sleep here last night.

There are plenty of good reasons that Jaskier may not have returned home last night, Geralt tells himself, even as his sense of unease grows. Maybe he met another lone wolf last night and they’re off somewhere, cuddled together as they sleep off the moon’s effects. It wouldn’t be the first time Jaskier has forgotten to tell Geralt when he was going off with some new paramour.

But lone wolves like Jaskier are vulnerable, both to trophy hunters and to other werewolves. Jaskier has no pack to protect him if he gets into trouble. Hell, Earl de Stael alone has tried to kill him at least a half a dozen times in the past decade. The thought of Jaskier in a hunter’s snare or falling under another werewolf’s claws sends a nauseous feeling crawling up Geralt’s throat. Not panic. Witchers don’t get the luxury of panic.

A scratching noise from the kitchen distracts him from his not-panic. Heart pounding a bit too hard than a witcher’s should, Geralt hurries down the hall to the kitchen and finds Roach standing at the sliding glass door, meowing insistently. There’s a bear-sized wolf with brown fur and bright blue eyes standing on the back porch, panting in clear agitation. Geralt only occasionally sees Jaskier in his wolf form, because Jaskier rarely shifts outside of full moons, but he would know those blue eyes anywhere. He can see the fear in them.

“What the fuck, Jaskier?” Geralt slides the door open and immediately winds up with a face full of fur as Jaskier jumps up, nosing at his face insistently. Geralt stumbles back under the unexpected weight and Jaskier backs off, whining apologetically. His ears are pinned back and his tail is tucked between his legs. Even trying to make himself look as small as possible, he takes up most of their tiny kitchen.

“What happened?” Geralt runs his fingers through Jaskier’s fur, searching for signs of injury. There’s a bit of dried blood crusted around his mouth, but that more than likely belongs to whatever forest critter was Jaskier’s dinner last night.

Jaskier only whines in response.

“Why are you still a wolf?” Geralt asks.

Big blue eyes stare up at him mournfully.

A horrible thought occurs to Geralt. “Can you not shift back?”

Jaskier shakes his massive head from side to side.

Geralt knows that young werewolves often have this problem. Jaskier likes to laughingly tell the story of shifting into wolf form in his middle school bathroom after a pretty girl asked for his number and not being able to shift back for the rest of the day. But Jaskier isn’t a pimply preteen, but a thirty year old man. Outside of a full moon, he should be in perfect control of his shift. Most of the time, the only signs that he’s not perfectly human are his penchant for extra-rare meat and his superhuman stamina (which Geralt has only heard about secondhand.)

“Did someone do something to you?” Geralt demands.

Jaskier whines and shakes his head again.

Geralt has a thousand other questions, but Jaskier can’t answer any of them right now and seems to be growing more agitated by the minute. Running what he hopes is a soothing hand down Jaskier’s back, Geralt says, “It’s going to be okay, Jask. I’ll call Yenn. Whatever happened, she can help us sort it out.”

***

“What the fuck have you gotten into now, Jaskier?” Yennefer demands, arms folded over her chest in clear disapproval.

From the wreckage of what was once their couch—it turns out that the couch they picked up at a yard sale six years ago wasn’t structurally sound enough to support the weight of a full-grown werewolf leaping onto it—Jaskier grumbles.

“Don’t start,” Yennefer snaps. “I just had to get up early the morning after a full moon for this.”

Normally, Geralt is amused by Jaskier and Yennefer’s bickering. When he first met Yennefer, she and Jaskier couldn’t stand each other. By the time he and Yennefer broke up, she and Jaskier were such good friends that Geralt was a little worried that Jaskier would choose her friendship over his. But he and Yennefer managed to make it through their breakup and become better friends than they ever were lovers, and now she and Jaskier meet up for brunch every other weekend. They bicker constantly, complain about each other endlessly, and would both happily kill anyone who so much as looked at the other one wrong—including Geralt, he often suspects.

But Geralt can’t find any amusement right now, not when Jaskier still looks so frightened. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him. I don’t think he can shift back.”

Yennefer frowns down at Jaskier.

“Can you fix this?” Geralt hears the thread of desperation in her own voice.

“You’re assuming there’s something to fix.” Yennefer walks over to the werewolf, putting a hand on his snout. Jaskier closes his eyes and leans into the touch. Her expression softens. “I’m going to have to look into your mind, Jaskier. I’m not going to see something that will scar me for life, will I?”

Jaskier huffs.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” But Yennefer still slides her hand up to rest on top of Jaksier’s head and closes her eyes. Geralt’s medallion starts to hum around his neck while she works her mind-reading magic. He tries not to look visibly impatient as he watches the two of them for what feels like an eternity.

Finally, Yennefer steps back and Geralt asks, “What did you see?”

“Nothing.” She frowns down at Jaskier. “He doesn’t know why this has happened and neither do I. If there’s a curse on him, it’s subtle enough that I can’t detect it. He has no memory of being attacked. He’s not injured. There’s no explanation that I can figure out.”

“Then how do we fix it?” Geralt’s voice comes out rougher than he intends.

Jaskier whines, ducking his head.

Yennefer shoots Geralt a sharp look. “Of course I’m not going to let you stay a wolf, Jaskier. You’re coming with me to the Conclave at Thanedd next month, remember? I can’t tolerate that many sorcerers without you there to scandalize them.”

Jaskier makes an annoyed grumbling noise.

“What’s he saying?” Geralt asks.

“He says he’s more worried that he’s going to miss his gig with Priscilla on Friday night,” Yennefer says. “Maybe he was cursed by someone who wants to have a nice night out without listening to his warbling.”

Jaskier barks and Yennefer reaches over to scratch his nose, which causes him to huff, even as he leans into it.

“So what do we do?” Geralt asks. “If it’s most likely not a curse, how do we turn him human again?”

Jaskier whines softly into Yennefer’s hand and she frowns, all the humor leaving her face.

“What’s wrong?” Geralt demands.

Yennefer hesitates, then shakes her head. “Nothing. He’s just being his dramatic self.” Pulling away from Jaskier, she turns to Geralt. “I’ll see if I can find a spell to safely force a shift. In the meantime, I’m sure there’s someone in the Novigrad Pack who will know something.”

“You’re assuming we can find someone in the Novigrad Pack that will help us,” Geralt says and Jaskier barks an agreement.

“Wave your swords around if you have to. Most people find that sufficiently motivating.”

Geralt is about to argue, then notices Jaskier looking at him with big, worried eyes. He knows he’ll wave his swords at whoever he needs to if it means hearing Jaskier’s voice again and seeing his eyes spark with laughter instead of worry. With a sigh, he crosses the room to kneel down in front of his friend, leaning his forehead against Jaskier’s. He doesn’t even complain when Jaskier licks him on the chin, even though his breath smells like dead rabbits and worse things.

“We’ll figure this out, Jask,” he murmurs, burying his fingers into soft brown fur. “We’ll fix this, I promise.”

***

Read the rest on AO3!

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #ghost's fic #ghost's writing

[bratshaws]

goodness gracious 29. brb x oc

a/n: this chapter went everywhere three times before I wrote this version down. Also, when I found out that a+ man beef Bradley Bradshaw speaks Spanish I love my fucking mind.

check out the fic's playlist made by the sweet @wiipes !!

pairing: plus size!oc x rooster

warnings: mentions of Carole's disease, Bradley deals with a lot of shit :(, Bea worries a lot.

chapters:

1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17/18/19/20/21/22/23/24/25/26/27/28

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taglist: @mirandastuckinthe80s @roosterschanelslut @wiipes @lcahwriter @shrimping-for-all @gretagerwigsmuse @frenchtoastix

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@peachiicherries @mak-32 @lizziespidiepridie @roosterswifey @ollyoxenfrees @piceous21 @sqrlgrl22

-

“BALL!”

Beatrice quickly snatched her head towards the direction of the said ball, cupping her hands together to toss it over the net, hitting the opposite side with a slam.  It’s their first day of practice, their team of six separated into three so they’d play against each other in this empty open gym.

She didn’t know how Evelyn did it, maybe her parents helped her out a bit - not that she’d ask her about it - on keeping it vacant until they were done. Beatrice,Shells and Carmen were together, while Evelyn, Eliza and Jennifer were the opposing ‘team.’ Beatrice now remembered why Evelyn was team captain, denying as she might, she had the presence of a Navy Vice-Admiral within herself. She commanded the court without ever raising her voice and her firm stares were enough to understand where everyone was doing something wrong.

She was serious about this game, just like she was with everything else, with an eagle’s focus on doing a good job no matter what. Beatrice admired that so much, she wished she could have just the smidge of confidence Evelyn had for certain situations. She was still nervous about this game, nervous about the other team, nervous about letting people down.

Evelyn didn’t tell them much about who they’d be playing up against only that they are a professional team. She didn’t prod Evelyn either, she knew that the other woman would share information with the others when she felt like it. They stopped the practice a few times whenever Evelyn commented how their poses were off or if their set wasn’t strong enough.

It was intense but it had a good reason to be. “Alright,” Evelyn says after they’ve been practicing for one whole hour, “Water break guys.” She keeps the ball next to her side, following the other women as they sit on the benches close to the water cooler. They were sweating and panting like dogs, it’s been a while since they had such a strenuous workout like that. Even if she and Shells had Tiff’s class, their bodies got used to it now but when it came  to volleyball their joints just screamed from time to time thanks to disuse.

Carmen was the first to break the silence when the others were still drinking water, “Hey Ev, what can you tell us about this other team?” she asks, her bright pink hair pulled up in a ponytail with some strands sticking to her temples and forehead.

Evelyn thought about it, bringing the water to her lips to take a sip, “They are ‘professional’,” she air quoted, “As in they were part of regional championships but had…certain issues.”

“Issues?” Eliza asks, her hazel eyes shining with worry, “What issues?”

“Temperamental issues.” She says, “They are a bit over the top and think they are great. I actually met their team captain back when Prof.Richards told me and she is…” Evelyn’s face grimaces for a second, “...something else.”

Jennifer, the youngest of them all at the age of twenty three, scratched her hair underneath the headband with a frown, “So they won’t make this easy on us.”

“Nope, doesn’t help they are all clearly younger than we are.” Evelyn says, “They are eighteen to nineteen at best, the captain actually called me old timer.” The collective gasp of surprise and disgust echoed around the empty gym, but this was Evelyn and Evelyn always had a comeback, “So I just told her to fix her diapers before talking to me and I don’t think she appreciated it.”

They laughed together, but Beatrice furrowed her eyebrows with worry with her chuckle faltering into silence, squeezing the edges of the bench they were seated with a frown, “They will come at us with a vengeance.” she whispers, “You said they had temperamental issues, they’ll definitely throw insults at us…or worse.”

“I’d like to see them try and pick a fight with us,” Shells laughed, “I know karate, I can put them down in seconds.”

They all stared at the blonde with confused glances, Carmen arching one eyebrow “Weren’t you like eight years old when you left karate class?”

“I still know the basics!”

Evelyn frowns, holding up a hand to stop the conversation, “We are not going to beat anyone up.” Shells deflated with a scowl, crossing her arms over her bust, “This is for charity, we are just doing this because Professor Richards was one of the nicest people while we were in college, this is just a favor to him.”

The other girls quietly nodded, Shells muttering a ‘this is some bullshit’ under her breath before they got back to practice. She couldn’t say if it was because Evelyn explained the opposite team would be younger than they were or because they got a bit pissed about the captain calling Evelyn an old timer - which was messed up since her and Beatrice are both twenty nine, so she took offense to it as well- but they were a lot better than one hour ago.

Fire in their eyes as they tossed the ball back and forth, no score in mind, but Beatrice’s side definitely won according to Shells. Their time was up when they heard people wandering inside, quickly grabbing their things to get out of there and give them space while still regaining their breathing.

Beatrice stepped out and immediately smiled, seeing the Blue Bronco parked not too far from there with Bradley leaning on the hood with his hands on his pockets. He tilted his head in her direction when he heard the sound of voices, smirking as he pushed his lower back off the hood, “Who’s that?” she heard Carmen ask, watching Beatrice speed up her step to meet Bradley halfway, “Wait, that’s Bea’s boyfriend??”

“We told you she was dating,” Shells added, trying to hold back a snicker when the three other women just stared wide eyed, “Why the shock?”

“God, good for her,”Eliza commented, “She deserves someone better than that prick.”

“He’s really tall,” Jennifer whispers, still staring at Bradley and Beatrice, “And big,where did Bea find him anyway??”

“At the Hard Deck, he’s an aviator.” Evelyn said, she knew the three women had no malice in their questioning and no second guesses if Beatrice deserved Bradley or not. They were just genuinely surprised, and happy, that Beatrice had someone. “You guys know she’s working there.”

“I mean, yes,” Eliza adds, “But wow, what does the Navy give their pilots? I expected them to be…I don't know, skinnier.”

Meanwhile, Beatrice leaned up to kiss his lips with a little smile, completely oblivious to her friends chatting a bit farther from them, “Hey, gorgeous,” he coos, “How was practice?”

“It was fine!’ she replies with a smile, “I’m a bit sore but it’s okay, I just need to get used to it again.” She turns her head to where her friends were, seeing they were all in a circle talking amongst themselves Evelyn looks back at Bea, giving her a smile and a ‘go on’ motion with her hand, signaling she didn’t have to stay. The brunette nods, waving them all goodbye as Bradley takes her bag from her hands, tossing it on the backseat before they get inside.

Beatrice sighs, frowning at how sticky she is thanks to sweat, pulling her ponytail up into a bun to cool her neck a bit more. When he drives them away from the open gym, his eyes dart to the left with a furrow of his brows. He didn’t know if he was seeing things, but he was sure he saw the same red truck from the supermarket back on Halloween on the opposite side of the street, parked with its windows up.

Something inside of him made him keep his eyes on the truck by the rear view mirror until it disappeared. Now, he could be very wrong and it was just a coincidence that a similar truck was parked close to an area where Beatrice would be, but the back of his mind told him to keep that truck’s memory fresh in case he’d need to.  Again he chose to not tell Beatrice, not yet at least, seeing it would only make her feel nervous about coming back.

He couldn’t see the plate numbers from where he was, but he noticed there was a bulldog decal glued to the trunk, a simple white one of a bulldog growling at the viewer. Bradley moved his gaze away when they were far enough, trying to shake the uneasy feeling when Beatrice talked to him about the game and the team they’d go against. There was a pang in his heart when she said the other team called Evelyn, a twenty nine years old, an old timer. “Ouch,” he touches his chest, “What does that make me then?”

“They were just stooping low, Roos,” she says, laughing at him, “The girl wanted a reaction out of Ev and she just told her to change her diapers before talking shit.And if I’m completely honest you look nothing like your age.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I mean, Leo is one year older than you and he had a bit of a breakdown when I told him how old you were.” she says, shrugging, “So you look a lot younger than you are.”

Rooster chuckled, puffing his chest as the words hit his ears, straightening himself on the seat. That was an ego booster if he ever saw one, he couldn’t lie. He had a giddy smile on his lips as he repeated the words over and over in his head, “I’m flattered.” he says, dropping one of his big hands from the wheel to her thigh, rubbing the fabric of her leggings as he drove them away. 

After taking a quick shower once she got home, she couldn’t help but take a good look at her bare reflection. Normally she wouldn’t do that, but she’s been noticing how easier it has become after a few months, having someone like Bradley being so…interested, certainly helped.

He called her a goddess. Never would Beatrice describe herself as one, she could call herself pretty, but a goddess? Her damp hair framed her face, water droplets sliding down her neck to the valley of her breasts, disappearing on the curve of her stomach. While she hasn’t changed much physically - she still had her soft stomach and hips- Tiff’s class certainly gave her more muscles than she thought it would.

Her thighs were firmer now as did her arms, but she still remained the same as she was even before she joined. Beatrice bit her lower lip, running her fingers to a fading hickey on the side of her neck, twisting her body and seeing that the one on her left buttcheek was disappearing as well. 

She smiled however, even if her cheeks reddened with the memories of these past days or how Rooster decided he’d spend most of his leave with her, in her house, even bringing some of his stuff to sleep in. And he loved her. He loved her without any shame within himself. She cupped her own cheeks, feeling the warm flesh touch her cooling palms, closing her eyes with a smile.

It was a dream come true. Something people said a girl like her would never get unless she changed her body. But he got interested in her, with her body like this! God and he was so, dare she say it, insatiable in a way she had never had someone feel for her before. It’s the way he’d rake his eyes down her body, or how he’d kiss her neck or how he’d pick her up in his arms during love making. When he talked to her before they went to the wedding, about how he didn’t want her to doubt herself around him, she was surprised she didn’t cry.

Maybe that’s why the confession came out like it did, from both of them, she felt so relieved and happy with him. She wouldn’t trade this feeling for the world. With one final smile at her reflection, she slipped on dark jeans, a white t-shirt and a red and green flannel before she walked out towards the stairs.

She blinked in surprise seeing him at the bottom of the stairs, supporting himself on the railing and smiling up at her, “I’m sorry,” she said softly while her feet padded down the steps, “Did I take too long?”

“No, I just wanted to be here when you walked out.” he says with a grin, letting go of the railing to pick her up, supporting her ass on his arms and carrying her down the rest of the way. She laughed, holding herself upright by hugging his neck, thanking him once he put her down, “You look very comfortable.”

Beatrice smiled, the sleeves of her flannel fell over her hands - just how she liked it - before she pulled the sleeves up to run her hand through her hair, “I am. I really needed a shower, especially after today.”

Rooster followed her to her kitchen, where she opened a cabinet to pick up a glass and fill it with water. Beatrice blinked, seeing he was just leaning against the wall, staring at her in silence, “What?” she asks with a confused smile, watching him shake his head with a little grin.

“I just like looking at you.” he murmurs, loving how her cheeks immediately redden and she picks up her glass of water, “Because you are just so pretty.”

“Oh my God, stop.” she giggles, looking away from him only for Rooster to step behind her, tugging her close to himself from behind. She looks up at him with her lashes fluttering, “You just like making me blush.”

“That I do, I won’t deny it.” He finishes his sentence by pressing a noisy kiss to her lips, “You still up for going out?”

Beatrice smiled brightly, “Yes! I haven’t been to an amusement park in years!” she says, when he suggested the two of them went earlier that morning she couldn’t hide her excitement. She always loved amusement parks, it was always so fun for her…also when you have a large family, it’s good to have options of what to do when it comes to entertainment. 

Truth is, neither had he and while he had a bit of a distaste when it came to clowns, he couldn’t help but think that’d be a good time for them to spend together. Plus, it was Wednesday, so it wouldn't have a lot of people.

-

There were a lot of people. 

Rooster and Beatrice watched with wide eyes as the crowd moved about the amusement park. While not a huge park, it still had attractions that called people’s attention like roller coasters and a ferris wheel and several stands with food or prizes. 

Beatrice pursed her lips, her hand clasped to his as she looked at the people walking by through her sunglasses, “Well,” she begins, “It’s not so bad, right?”

“It’s not, no,” he says, leading the two ahead. He really thought that there would be less people, if not because it was the middle of the week, because the weather was getting colder. But alas, neither of those prevented people from coming. “Where do you want to go first?” 

“I don’t mind!” she smiles, getting closer to him “Let’s just walk around a bit.”

“Sounds good to me,” he says, bringing her closer to him to press a kiss to her scalp, his arm draped over her shoulders as her fingers played with his. Sure there were a lot of things to do and games to play, but they weren’t in a hurry.

He had a fourteen days leave and god damn it he’d enjoy it however he pleased. And if he wanted to spend it at an amusement park with his girlfriend, he’d do so. He did however flinch when he saw a clown giving balloons to kids not too far from them, subtly trying to avoid the colorful man and hoping Bea wouldn’t notice, but she did, turning her head up to him, “You don’t like clowns?”

Bradley just kept the clown within his line of vision, memories of when he was a little boy and had the unfortunate luck of finding the It miniseries by accident. He had never really recovered from the fear, even if it was small now, part of him was still hesitant about approaching the jolly entertainers, “Not really.”

Beatrice smiled, hugging his torso, “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.” she says, leaning up to kiss the curve of his jawline but didn’t stop walking when he turned them away from the clown, going farther and farther until the man disappeared from their view. 

He smiles, kissing her scalp one more time,“Going to protect me from harm, are you?” he joked, but he didn’t expect Beatrice to look at him right in the eyes with her face firm, telling she’d always try her best to. God he loved her so much. 

But her attention went somewhere else, her head tilting up when she saw they were approaching the ferris wheel, “Oh wow!” she says, stepping closer to the silver and blue ride “It’s huge! Can we go? The ferris wheel was always my favorite ride!”

Bradley just nodded with a smile, that only got wider when they got in line and she kept looking up. There was something about Beatrice being so excited about stuff that warmed his heart a lot, it was so endearingly genuine, like she wanted to enjoy every second of it no matter how mundane it’d be.

They entered one of the round cabins, sitting next to each other, with Beatrice immediately looking behind her to watch the wheel move up as she lifted the sunglasses to her hairline. “I love this.” she whispers, sitting on her knees as they get even higher, her happy gasp when they could see the horizon - the blue turning into purples and pinks as the sun went down - was one of his favorite sounds, “It’s like we are flying….I-I mean, not that we are– you know how it is to fly, I just mean we are very high.”

“I know gorgeous,” he says, leaning back on the seat to look down to the ground, where the people turned into moving colorful dots the higher they got, hooking his sunglasses on the collar of his white tee. Their cabin stopped on top of the wheel, “Why is this your favorite ride?”

Beatrice is still looking ahead when she says it, a wistful smile on her face, “I dunno, I just like this a lot. I was never one for roller coasters or intense rides like that…me and my nonna would come to the ferris wheel and just spend time here quite often.” she giggles, “Sometimes we’d try to sneak back in line to go again, but never really worked.”

“You two seemed very close.”

Beatrice’s smile dimmed and she sat back down on the soft pleather covered seats as she looked at him, “We were.” she says quietly, “I don’t know, she had a very young soul and always said to live life to the fullest. One time, she picked me up from school and took me to a spa.” she chuckles softly, reminiscing, “Then we went out for ice cream and she brought me home past curfew time. She did tell my parents, but they thought I was with her at her book club.”

Bradley’s own gaze softened when her voice lowered volume, he could identify the pain in her eyes easily when talking about her nonna. “When I was a kid,” he begins, startling her out of her sad thoughts, “My mom and I used to go on the bumper cars. It was dingy, clearly dangerous and there was rust everywhere, but it was so fun. We’d always use the blue car because it was my favorite color.”

Now it was her time to soften her gaze at him, smiling sweetly, “She sounds amazing,” she whispers, “She seemed to be a lot of fun.”

Bradley smiles, “She was.” but then inhaled sharply, scratching his jaw - he still remembered the last image of his mother was of her lying on the couch watching tv - “It’s been…a few years since she passed.” he got home and she wasn’t moving anymore, he couldn’t even call the ambulance with how much his hands were shaking. 

Mav? He couldn’t call Mav. He was alone now, God he was so alone. He was alone and scared and he wanted his mother back and his father and Mav– a soft touch made him snap out of his thoughts, Beatrice’s thumb rubbing his cheek.

She just looked at him with an worried gaze, before she engulfed him in a hug, pressing his face to her shoulder while her hand caressed the back of his head, “It’s okay Brad,” she whispers and he feels his shoulders easing the shuddering and his own breathing calming down, “It’s okay.”

He hadn’t even noticed he was shaking, nor that he was breathing hard, nor that there were tears coming out of his eyes. He just wrapped his arms around Bea’s waist, clenching his eyes shut tight while trying to calm down. He was reminded of how Beatrice told him he made her feel safe and… he noticed that she made him feel safe too. Normally he’d go through these moments alone, in his room, sometimes in his office because he didn’t want anyone to know it, but it felt so good to have her with him.

His heartbeat slowed down and his mind drained out the dark thoughts of what he could’ve done, what he should’ve done, why wasn’t he faster and why hadn’t he paid more attention when she started showing symptoms. His mind only had the soft shushing of her voice and the smell of lavender. She kept caressing his hair, gently combing the golden-brown strands with her fingers, the soft fabric of her flannel shirt reminding him of a blanket with how soft it was, “It’s okay,” she repeated, “You are okay.”

He was okay. He wasn’t alone anymore.

Bradley inhales her perfume one last time before he pulls his head up, his hand coming up to wipe his eyes but she’s faster. She brings the sleeve up to her hand, gently dabbing the tears away from his cheeks “I’m sorry,” she says “I shouldn’t have brought it up.” he’s shaking his head but she continues, ‘I-I didn’t mean to-”

“Bea, stop,” he holds her hand, sniffling to himself, “You don’t–don’t have to apologize. You really don’t.”

“But–”

“No, no,” he sighs, “You couldn’t have known this would happen.” she still looks worried, her own eyes shining with tears as she fidgets with the ends of her now damp sleeve, “Bea…look at me,” she does with much hesitance, her eyebrows curved downwards and big green eyes glazed, “I’m serious, I’m not mad at you…I…” his own words felt stuck to his throat, so he tried to regain his thinking process, “...I’m usually alone when this happens.”

“Alone?” Beatrice frowns, “Brad…”

“I know,” he chuckles sadly, leaning back against the seat and rubbing his hand over his face, “Yeah…fucking sucks. But it’s not your fault, it really isn’t, okay? I know you didn’t mean to…I just remembered a lot of stuff I hadn’t thought about in a while.”

She still didn’t seem convinced if her expression was any giveaway, pushing herself away from him with a deeper frown. Bradley knew, he knew she was beating herself for what happened and overthinking on how that would affect how he saw her.”Gorgeous,” she says nothing, nor moves, “Gorgeous look at me.” she shakes her head, biting her lower lip hard with her fingers clenched together so tight he could see them turning pale. “Bea,” he scoots closer, grabbing her clenched hands in his, rubbing her fingers to bring the circulation back, “Bea, I am not mad at you.”

She gives him a suspicious side glance, “I’m not, I swear.” he brings her hands to his lips, kissing her soft skin before he places her hands on his cheeks just like she does on her own. He keeps her hands there, noticing how her shoulders slowly relaxed and her worried gaze moved back to him.

“...are you sure?’ she asks quietly, looking at him by the corner of her eye.

“I am very sure.” he says, still keeping her hands on his cheeks, “You didn’t know, you made an innocent comment.”

Beatrice looked away from him then returned her gaze, “...okay…” she murmurs, “If…if you are sure…” Bea said quietly, their bodies jolting a bit when the cabin finally moved back down. He stepped out first when they reached the bottom, offering her his hand to which she hesitantly took, keeping her eyes on her shoes or around herself. 

Stupid girl, stupid girl…tsk tsk tsk. Can’t you keep your fucking mouth shut? You’ll lose him, you’ll lose him forever now. You did it. 

Beatrice closed her eyes briefly, letting Rooster guide them through the crowd as she tried to calm herself down now. She hated thinking that her words triggered something out of him, even if it wasn’t intentional, she didn’t want to repeat it. Blinking her eyes open, her vision sharpening to her surroundings, she noticed they had stopped walking and Bradley was looking at her, “...I’m fine!”

“You are blaming yourself.” he says softly, “For something that wasn’t your fault.”

She tries to reply but she’s only able to move her mouth without words coming out, her fingers digging on the fabric of her flannel shirt before she just nodded mutely. She didn’t agree it wasn’t her fault, but she did agree she was blaming herself.

Bradley sighs, taking her to the side of the Haunted House, leaning against the green and purple walls with his hand still holding hers, “I’m serious when I said I wasn’t mad.” she chewed her lower lip again, “I haven’t talked about my mom for a while, you couldn’t have known.”

“But I should–”

“Be careful?” he suggests, “When talking about my mom? I don’t want you to do that, Bea.” she frowns, looking at their joined hands instead of his brown eyes, “I like talking about her, I love talking about her and I wouldn’t want anything more than to talk about her with you.” he got closer to Beatrice, wrapping his arms around her in a hug, her closed fists pressed against his chest as she stood immobile, “You are my girl, you are the woman I love…I’d want to share about her with no one else but you.”

Beatrice made a sound against his chest, then tilted her head up to look at him, looking to where one of her fingers was following the leaves design on his shirt. “...okay, Brad.”

“Okay?” he arched one eyebrow, “For real this time?”

“For real.” She looks up at him with a tiny smile, making him sigh out in relief, kissing the top of her head before he pulls back from the hug. She does feel a bit better, the angry gremlin like voice in the back of her head disappearing until there wasn’t anything else. He brings her close to his side, regaining the same position from when they got to the park a few minutes ago.

The sun was setting and the families in the park were switched now by couples and groups of young adults. The temperature also dropped, making Bea snuggle closer to Bradley and then blink up at him, “How are you not cold?” she asks, looking at his short sleeved Hawaiian shirt, with surprise. 

“Well, someone called me very hot once, as I recall.” he says, smirking down at her and her blooming red cheeks, “So I don’t care much for cold.” Bradley leans down to kiss her head yet again, his free hand sliding into his front pocket as they walk without any hurry through the rest of the amusement park.

Neither of them felt like going to the other rides, honestly they were just happy to walk around. With what happened earlier now in the back of their minds, they thought about enjoying the night before it got too cold for them to stay out.

However, they did have a lot of fun at the games of skill, with Beatrice winning a large elephant plush she’d definitely give to Bianca and Bradley winning Beatrice glowing rings that would run out of battery the second they stepped out of the park. But she did kiss him in thanks either way.

Now they were both sitting on the hood of his car, sharing a huge pink cotton candy as they watched the people walk into the park they were minutes ago. She let the sugar melt in her tongue before speaking, “You know what was my favorite park food?” he rips another piece of the cotton candy with a questioning sound, “Candy apples, not caramel apples. The red ones with the sugar layer around them.”

“You mean the fucking rocks that taste like apples and are meant to break your teeth?” he laughs, then slaps his hand over his heart. “Also, ow? How the hell do you think they are better than caramel apples?”

“I mean, caramel apples are nice,” she smiles at his offended ‘nice??’, eating another piece of the artificially colored sugar cloud “But they lack the crunch.”

“You can put literally anything on a caramel apple to make it crunchy.”

“Sure but then you lose the taste of caramel.”

Bradley huffs, ripping a huge chunk of cotton candy and shoving it into his mouth, “Caramel apples are far superior babe. I’m sorry, but I’ll have to greatly disagree with you.”

Beatrice giggled, bumping his shoulder playfully before offering more of the sweet treat, “We’ll agree to disagree then.” She taps the heels of her boots together as they sit there, tilting her head up to the sky to see the stars glinting above their heads. Once they are done with the cotton candy, Bradley tosses it on the trash can as if it was a basketball. The stick flips in the air before landing inside with a metallic ‘twang’ and her boyfriend fist pumps at the victory.

Beatrice’s smile widens as she tilts her head at him, moving closer so there was no space between them. He lowers his arm so it lands on the expanse of her thigh and his head turns so he kisses her forehead, his mustache tickling her scalp when he does so, “You know, I noticed we had dessert before dinner.”

“Would cotton candy even be considered dessert?”

He tilts his head to the side, “True…caramel apples would be considered dessert since they are so much better than candy apples.” he purses his lips with a smile, giving her an amused look.

“...I’ll ignore what you said so I can ask you if you want to have dinner.” she giggles, “Do you want to have dinner?”

“Hell yeah,” he pushes himself off the hood, then turns around to pick her up by the waist and lift her up before she could do it herself, “I’m feeling…tacos.”

“Tacos?”

“Quesabirria tacos to be exact.” he says with a grin, “They are so fucking good. There’s a food truck that has the best quesabirria tacos I’ve had in ages. Ooh, or al pastor too. Maybe some chicharrón too if I feel like it.”

Beatrice blinks at him with a confused smile, “That was the smoothest Spanish I’ve heard.”

Bradley grins, “Cariño, hablo español.” he says with a shrug, enjoying how Beatrice stared at him with wide eyes and her face turning a violent shade of red, “¿Qué? Soy un hombre lleno de sorpresas mi amor.” he leaned down to press a kiss to her parted lips, his poor girlfriend looking like she forgot how to speak, “Come on babe, do you want tacos or not?”

Beatrice blinked her shock away, then followed Brad inside the Bronco still digesting her boyfriend spoke Spanish as fluently as if he was a native speaker.

He was indeed full of surprises.

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