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lovebugism · 1 year

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band!eddie and reader finally having some alone time in the tour bus *wink wink*

18+ rockstar!eddie universe <3

It was one of those rare occasions where the rest of the band wanted to go out and you wanted to stay in. There hadn’t even been a show that day, just interview after interview after interview. It left your social battery at an all time low. So when Jeff and Gareth wanted to barhop the night away, you lamented that you were way too tired to accompany them.

And Eddie, being the nice guy he was, opted to stay in with you. “Someone’s gotta make sure the lady stays safe. Wouldn’t want someone to steal ya,” he’d half-joked.

You scoffed. “Because, god forbid, you lose your bassist, right?”

“Well, if I lost you, I think I’d die, but… yeah, having to find a replacement would definitely be more emotionally taxing.”

Eddie Munson was the only person in the world who could rival your sarcasm. It was so easy for the both of you to cover up a sweet thing with something so playfully sour. The boy finishes his quip with a stupid, lovedrunk grin that nearly makes you melt.

“Obviously,” you retort.

The rest of the boys disappear for the next several hours, enough for the sun to have set and stars to sprinkle the sky. If you had to guess, they’ve probably got a running bet on how many bars they could get free drinks from. It’ll go on until they can’t see straight anymore, no winners or losers — unless you count your manager, who’ll no doubt have to escort them back to the bus.

With them gone, the bus is practically silent for the first time all tour. There is no boyish yelling or tuning guitars or video games. There’s not even the muffled sound of tires on gravel with the tour bus parked. It’s total silence filled only with the faint sounds of Charlie’s Angels coming from the common area. The episode is practically on mute, though, because Eddie knows you’re tired and doesn’t want to disturb you.

The soft quiet ushers you into its velvet arms. It almost lulls you to sleep several times over, but something in the back of your mind refuses to let you slumber. You were annoyed at first. You were squirming in your tiny bunk for nearly an hour until you realized you were filled with a need of a different kind.

You didn’t need sleep. You needed Eddie. Like a child needs their baby’s blanket — you can’t be without him for too long, or you might start screaming. The sudden ache to be close to him hits you like a freight train.

The sliding door of the bunks glides open with a mechanical schlick. You lean against the frame of it, clad only in a too big shirt that probably belonged to all the boys before it got to you, and admire your boy in his element.

He’s all spread out on the leather couch, curly hair untamed and in a messy chestnut halo on his head. He wears a piece of outdated Corroded Coffin merch from back when you only played gigs at The Hideout. The shirt clings to his torso while a pair of old pajama pants hang low on his hips.

Eddie’s eyes are firmly trained on the small television in the corner of the bus. The chocolate of them dart around the screen as Farrah Fawcett turns flips beneath a shoddy cable service. He barely acknowledges your presence, too engrossed in the climax of his show.

“Thought you were sleeping,” he says without looking at you.

“I’m too bored to sleep,” you practically whine.

Your feet shuffle along the carpeted floor as you walk the short distance to him. You all but flop onto the couch at his side, burying your face into the warmth of his neck.

“What do you mean you’re too bored to sleep?” he mocks with a soft laugh. He turns to press his lips to your head, not exactly kissing you there, just resting against you. His words are muffled: “Why didn’t you go out with Jeff and Gareth?”

“Didn’t want to,” you answer shortly.

“Solid answer,” he nods. “What do you wanna do then?”

He doesn’t necessarily mean it suggestively. He’d probably go lie in traffic if it’d make you less bored, he loves you so damn much — but fuck if a million dirty things don’t pop into your head all at once.

It’s practically the first time you’ve been alone all tour.

Now that you think about it, every time you’ve fucked Eddie, it’s been at the discretion of prying eyes just behind a door or in a room over. Hotels are few and far between, and you and your boys are the tightest clan the universe has ever seen, so it leaves little room for opportunity time for you and Eddie.

But here you were now, with no one around, and practically all the time in the world (or rather, until sunrise, when the rest of the band shuffled back onto the bus).

“I don’t know,” you lilt, though you’re already hooking a leg over his thighs.

Eddie feels like a teenage boy all over again as you settle onto his lap. A wide grin tugs slow at the corners of his mouth. He doesn’t bother to hide his excitement. “What are ya doin’, doll?”

“Nothin’,” you shrug, feigning innocence, like you’re not slipping your fingers through the hem of his pants. The tips of them inch into his boxers and trail down the thin patch of coarse hair there with a touch that’s smoother than water.

His cock is already half-hard when you take him into your hands, warm and soft and stiffening in your grip. Eddie exhales deeply through his nose at your gentle caressing, his gaze now turned down to where work him harder.

“Keep watching your show, baby,” you tease with a knowing grin as you slip his dick from the confines of his pajamas.

“How can I—” he tries to joke, but the words get lost in his throat when you slide your panties to the side. He goes instantly stupid at the sight of your slick collecting along the manicured thatch of pubic hair just above your pussy. His brain all but ceases to function when you rub yourself along him, drenched folds parting to welcome the bulbous tip of his cock.

You feel like silk, he concludes, or maybe something somehow softer.

Eddie swallows thickly while his obedient hands settle on your hips to steady you. He continues, this time with a tremble in his voice. “How can I when you’re pullin’ this shit, huh?” his button eyes flit back up to look at you, a smirk forming on his pink lips. “You just wanna ride me, huh? That’s what you need?”

You don’t answer him. You’re barely listening, if you’re honest, too concentrated on positioning him at your opening. You gasp softly when you pierce yourself with him, then exhale low moans as you sink slowly onto his cock. The burn is a minimal one, somewhere in your lower tummy, that washes away with a flood of velvet-coated pleasure.

Eddie fills you so perfectly, just like he always does, like he was made to be seated inside you.

“Well, this is an excellent way to pass the time, if I do say so myself,” he manages to quip through bated exhales from where he’d been holding his breath. You rock your hips over his lap without warning. His pink lips form a tight line as something short of a growl bubbles in his throat and rumbles in his chest.

You watch with a proud grin as his eyes flutter shut and his head falls back. You push his curls over his shoulder to press open-mouthed kisses along the pale expanse of his neck, occasionally dragging your teeth along the milky white tendon there.

Eddie hums to himself when he feels you mewl softly against his skin. Your hips sway back and forth over his thighs, moving to a rhythm of their own accord — all slow and methodical. It’s a pace that always gets him pussy drunk. A steady rise and fall that forces him to feel all of you and makes him swear that you’re some kind of succubus.

“Oh my god,” he says within a dragged out exhale. He starts to babble to himself while you work yourself over his lap. “Fuck me… This is so… so fucking hot. Shit— your pussy is so good to be, doll…”

He forces himself to open his heavy eyes to watch you mount him. His chin tilts down towards his chest and he shifts his hips so he has the perfect view of you. Your honey coats his lap, leaving his cock and pubic hair glistening with your slick. The sight of him all shiny with you makes him dizzy.

His palm leaves your hip and seeks purchase on your ass, not really thinking about it, just gravitating to hold you there. He grips you with guitar-string calloused hands that encourage you to rock harder against him.

Your hand trails from his shoulder down to where the two of you meet. You start to rub your clit with a lust-fueled fervor that just about makes him implode. You whine when your fingers meet the sensitive button, clenching somehow tighter around him as your pleasure begins to crescendo.

“That feel good?” he wonders through bated breaths. His hand leaves your ass, rising for no more than a moment, only to come down again in a practiced slap that makes you jolt against him. The sting of his palm adds gasoline to the simmering embers of your impending orgasm.

You whine, louder this time, arching your back and keening shamelessly against him.

It makes him grin. “Huh? Feels good on your pretty little clit, doesn’t it, doll?”

“Fuck yes…” you cry through a tight throat. “Feels so good, Eddie— fuck.”

Your hips lose their rhythm as your body fights to find its own pleasure.

You’ve got his dick locked inside you with a grip so tight it’s got him seeing stars, and it makes him wonder if you’d stop. Like, if the boys barged in right now, would you keep going, too far gone and dumb on his cock not to see it through.

Something about that, you riding him for all he’s worth, whining while you come on his cock with your friends watching — seeing firsthand who you belong to — makes him want to burst all at wants.

“God, this pussy’s amazin’, baby… ’S gonna— holy fuck… You’re gonna make me come if you keep riding me like this... Shit, yeah, just like that, doll.”

When you come, you do it together.

It’s a borderline spiritual feeling, one that doesn’t happen very often because Eddie’s usually adamant about you coming twice before he has the first time. But now, both of you are sensitive and whining through your orgasms, heaving out incorrigible moans and grasping tightly onto one another.

Eddie takes to fucking up into you while you reach your simultaneous highs. He grips you hard enough to leave bruises while his thighs audibly slap slap slap against your more slick ones. You cry at the oversensitivity — electric shocks that contrasts heavily with the warm feeling of his come spitting into your fluttering walls.

You shake violently in his hold, moaning his name over and over like it’s the only word you can remember. Your orgasm comes and goes, and you’re left whining pathetic Eddie, Eddie, Eddie’s into the mostly silent tour bus.

The boy isn’t in much better shape either. He fights off a cramp in his foot from where he’d curled his toes too tightly and blinks away burning tears that sing the backs of his eyes from coming so suddenly.

Your hips come to a slow stop over his lap, too quickly and yet not soon enough. You rest your forehead over his own, knocking your nose with his before you lean in to press several lazy pecks upon his lax mouth.

“See?” you manage to tease through heavy pants. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“I guess that wasn’t the worst idea you’ve ever had,” Eddie quips with a wide grin and eyes that are still slightly glazed with dispersing pleasure. He rubs his hands over the skin of your ass to soothe where he’d held you too tight. It’s soft, too soft for what he’s about to tell you.

“Now, how about you spread yourself out on this couch and let me clean you up, ‘kay?”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #stranger things imagine #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #rockstar!eddie #eddie spaghetti drabble #st drabbles

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lymtw · 21 days

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I come bearing thoughts of Toji driving a manual sports car. Yes, I agree it's nice to think about when he drives an automatic car and he can put his hand on your thigh and do so much to you with that right hand while he drives... but I can just envision the drive home after an amazing date. Like, one where you both really mingled spiritually, his saccharine tongue not allowing your cheeks to lose their bright hue all night. The connection doesn't sever when it's time to go home. He's driving through the freeway, you by his side as his passenger princess. The sunroof is down and the wind is blowing wildly in your hair. 'Everlong' by the Foo Fighters is blasting through his sound system at max volume, competing with the sound of the crisp wind and his car revving as he switches gears to drive a little faster. He knows the adrenaline rush hits you like a freight train, especially when he's zooming past cars that are driving at the speed limit. He can see you grinning ear to ear through his peripheral vision, leaning on the door as you look out the window at all the traffic signs, and the street lights. Normally, he shifts through the gears so smoothly, but he gets a little careless when he notices how much you enjoy the vibration of the car, beneath you. He pushes the car's limit, only shifting when he knows it's absolutely necessary. Until then, he enjoys the quick glances he can get of you pressing your thighs together, trying to remain composed as the buzzing of the car goes on. He can't stop thinking about all that he would give to be able to pull over immediately, to hear your little sighs clearly and be the one making you bite your lip. He wants to be the one making your body vibrate and buzz.

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rechercheundarchiv · 6 months

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#graffiti #freight #güterzug #freightgraffiti #güter #freighttrain #cargo #traffic #clopy #wascosa

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hd-junglebook · 1 month

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Its Always Been You

Part 2 - Word Count 4932

A.N - Don't hate me for how long this is OR that it's just arguing. I needed thing to move along sue me. And if you are mad, that's why y/n got her feelings hurt. sucks to suck.

Prev - Next

Y/N stared out the window, watching the city lights blur past as Jack navigated the busy Newark streets. The silence seemed to stretch on endlessly, broken only by the soft hum of the engine and the distant sounds of traffic, each second feeling heavier than the last. Y/N had not made a peep, her thoughts racing like a freight train through her mind.

Her mind raced with questions, each one more painful than the last. How could Jack have kept something like this from her? How long had he been seeing Daphne, and why had he never mentioned her before?

Y/N had always thought that she and Jack shared everything, that their bond was unbreakable. But now, she couldn't help but wonder if she had been fooling herself all along.

The thought that Jack might have known about her feelings for him made Y/N's stomach twist with humiliation. Had she been too obvious in her affection, too transparent in her longing?

The idea that he might have been pitying her all this time, or worse, laughing at her behind her back, made her want to curl up and disappear.

Y/N's eyes burned with unshed tears, but she blinked them back, refusing to let them fall.

Instead, she focused on keeping her breathing steady, on maintaining the fragile composure that was all that was keeping her from falling apart. The streetlights flickered past in a blur, casting fleeting shadows that danced across the car's interior.

The glow from the dashboard illuminated Jack's profile, his jaw clenched and his eyes focused on the road ahead, but she could feel the tension radiating off him in waves.

Beside her, Jack gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white with tension. Y/N could feel the weight of his gaze on her, but she couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. She didn't trust herself not to break down if she did, to unleash the torrent of emotions that were swirling inside her like a hurricane.

The silence was now feeling unbearable, a thick fog that clouded her thoughts and stifled her words. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, her fingers twisting and turning in a nervous dance. Her heart felt like it was caught in a vice grip, each beat echoing loudly in her ears.

But still, she said nothing, the words lodged in her throat like shards of glass. What could she say, really? What words could possibly encompass the depth of her pain, the magnitude of her unrequited love?

“Can you please talk to me, Y/N? I don’t get what's the big deal," Jack pleaded.

She risked a glance in his direction. He looked as uncomfortable as she felt, and for a moment, Y/N felt a flicker of hope. Maybe this was all just a misunderstanding, a terrible joke that they could laugh about later.

But then she remembered the way Daphne had looked at Jack, the possessive gleam in her eye and the casual intimacy of her touch. There was no denying the truth of their relationship, no matter how much Y/N wished she could.

As they came to a stop, the soft purr of the engine died down, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. Jack pulled into the garage of the apartment building, navigating the narrow road with ease due to the sparse traffic of the late hour, making the drive up seem even longer.

“It’s nothing, Jack. I was just shocked. You never even mentioned her to me,” Y/N began, her voice shaky. Her eyes darted to his, searching for understanding as she bit her lower lip nervously. “We’re supposed to tell each other everything, and you hid a girlfriend from me,” she continued.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Jack's hands tightened on the wheel, his jaw clenching. "Y/N, I..."

Jack's hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around her wrist. "Y/N," he said, his voice hoarse. "I'm sorry. Just let me explain somehow.”

Y/N swallowed hard, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall. "Okay. Let’s just get upstairs first."

With that, Y/N pulled her wrist from his grasp, she opened the car door and stepped out into the cool night air, her legs shaking beneath her. She couldn't bear to hear whatever explanation Jack might offer, couldn't stand the thought of listening to him speak of daphne.

They made their way up the steps to their apartment, Y/N's heart felt like it was breaking with every step. She had always thought that loving Jack was the one constant in her life, the one thing she could count on no matter what.

…

As they reached their floor, Y/N fumbled with her keys, her hands shaking so badly that she nearly dropped them. She could feel Jack's eyes on her, could sense his hesitation, but she refused to meet his gaze. She didn't trust herself not to break down completely if she did.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Y/N managed to unlock the door. She stepped inside, the familiar scent of their apartment washing over her.

Behind her, Jack closed the door softly, the click of the latch sounding like a gunshot in the heavy silence. Y/N could hear him take a deep breath, could sense him searching for the right words to say.

"Y/N," Jack said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He took a step towards her, his hand outstretched. "It's not really what you think. Daphne and I... it's complicated."

Y/N laughed, the sound harsh and bitter. "Complicated? Is that what you call it when you have a girlfriend you never told your supposed best friend about?" She spun around to face him.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out eventually? Did you think you could just keep living this double life and I would never know?"

“I can't lose you, Y/N. You're my best friend, the most important person in my life. I know I screwed up, but I'll do whatever it takes to make it right. I'll spend every day proving to you that you can trust me, that I'll never keep anything from you again."

Y/N's eyes searched his face, looking for any sign of deception or insincerity. But all she saw was honesty and fear, a desperate need for her to believe him. She could feel the tension between them, thick and heavy.

"I know Jack," she answered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I’m sorry, it’s just been a long night. Let’s just let it go. I mean, for Christ’s sake you’re not even dating."

“Can we just watch a movie or something. Forget about her for tonight.” He suggested.

“Maybe tomorrow jack, I’m just really tired.” Jack looked disappointed but he nodded anyway, sitting himself on the couch as y/n walked to her room.

As she pushed open her door and stepped inside, Y/N finally allowed herself to break, the tears she had been holding back spilling down her cheeks in hot, salty tracks.

She sank to the floor, her back pressed against the door, and let the sobs wrack her body, mourning the loss of a love she had never truly had.

…

Y/N groaned as the shrill sound of her alarm pierced through the fog of sleep, dragging her back to consciousness. She blinked blearily, her eyes adjusting to the soft light filtering through her curtains.

For a moment, she couldn't remember how she had gotten into bed the night before, her memories hazy and fragmented.

The events of the previous evening came rushing back, hitting her like a tidal wave. Daphne’s appearance, the breakdown she had. Y/N threw her hands over her face, huffing out a string of unintelligible words as she tried to process the whirlwind of emotions that swirled inside her.

With a heavy sigh, she pushed off the blanket and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The apartment was eerily quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the city traffic outside her window. Y/N wondered if Jack was still asleep, or if he had already left for practice.

She padded softly to the bathroom, her bare feet cold against the hardwood floor. The thought of a hot shower to soothe her aching head and wash away the remnants of last night's tears sounded like heaven. Y/N turned the water to its highest temperature, steam filling the small room as she stepped inside.

The scalding water cascaded over her skin, turning it pink and raw. Y/N tilted her head back, letting the spray hit her face and wash away the smudged mascara that had dried on her cheeks. She closed her eyes.

A nagging voice in the back of her mind that whispered that she would never be enough, that Jack would always choose someone else over her.

Y/N shook her head, trying to dispel the negative thoughts. She couldn't let herself go down that rabbit hole, couldn't let the pain and insecurity consume her. She needed to be strong, to focus on herself and her own needs, even if that meant putting some distance between herself and Jack.

She was just about to step out when she heard the sound of footsteps approaching. Curious, she peeked through the sheer curtain, the gauzy material allowing her a glimpse into the hallway beyond, to see Jack standing in the doorway, his hair mussed from sleep and his eyes still heavy with exhaustion.

There, standing in the doorway, was Jack, looking like he had just rolled out of bed. His dark hair was mussed from sleep, sticking up in endearing tufts that made Y/N's fingers itch to smooth them down. His eyes were still heavy with exhaustion.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other, the tension from the night before still hanging heavy in the air between them.

The early morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over Jack's features and making his blue eyes appear even more vivid than usual. Y/N's heart skipped a beat as she drank in the sight of him, her gaze roaming over the strong lines of his jaw and the curve of his lips.

Even disgruntled he still looked beautiful.

Jack caught sight of himself in the mirror. His eyes widened as he took in his disheveled appearance.

Unable to resist, Y/N couldn't help but laugh at the sight of him, her shoulders shaking with mirth as she watched him pout at his reflection. The sound seemed to startle him, and he turned to face her, his lower lip jutting out in an exaggerated frown.

Even as he tried to look offended, Y/N could see the twinkle of amusement in his eyes, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Oh, you think this is funny, do you?" he asked, his voice still rough with sleep. The sound sent a shiver down Y/N's spine.

Y/N nodded, her laughter growing louder as Jack's pout deepened. She grinned at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I'm sorry," she said tucking herself behind the curtain, not sounding sorry at all.

"But you should see yourself right now. You look like a grumpy puppy who got woken up from a nap."

Jack's eyes narrowed, but the smile he had been trying to suppress finally broke through, lighting up his face and making Y/N's breath catch in her throat. "A puppy, huh?" he said, taking a step towards her. "I'll show you a puppy."

Jack's eyes sparked with mischief as he lunged towards Y/N, his hands outstretched as if to grab her from the shower. Y/N let out a yelp of surprise, her laughter echoing off the tiled walls as she quickly tucked herself behind the shower curtain, the flimsy material serving as a makeshift barrier between them.

"Jack, wait!" she pleaded, her voice breathless with laughter. "You can't hit a guy with glasses!"

Jack paused, his hands still hovering in the air as he raised an eyebrow at her. "You're not wearing glasses," he pointed out, his lips twitching with amusement.

Y/N peeked out from behind the curtain, her eyes wide with mock innocence. "Well, no, but I could be. You never know."

Jack shook his head, a chuckle escaping his lips as he stepped back from the shower, his hands raised in a sign of peace. "Alright, alright, you win. I surrender."

Y/N emerged from behind the curtain, her hair damp and her cheeks flushed from the steam. She was suddenly acutely aware of how close they were standing, the small bathroom feeling even more cramped with Jack's tall frame taking up space. She could feel the heat radiating off his body, could smell the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the clean scent of soap.

For a moment, the world seemed to fall away, and all Y/N could focus on was the intensity of Jack's gaze and the way his eyes seemed to darken as they roamed over her face. Her heart raced in her chest, her skin tingling with a sudden, electric awareness of his presence.

But then, the events of the previous night came rushing back, hitting her like a splash of cold water. The hurt, the betrayal, the overwhelming sense of confusion and uncertainty - it all came flooding back, making her throat tighten and her chest ache.

Y/N felt her smile fade, the laughter dying in her throat as she took a small step back, putting some distance between them.

She averted her gaze, suddenly finding the pattern of the shower curtain incredibly interesting as she tried to gather her thoughts.

The sound of the water hitting the tiles seemed to grow louder in the silence, the steady rhythm a stark contrast to the pounding of her heart. Y/N swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry as she struggled to find the right words.

"I'll be out in a minute, then it's all yours," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She couldn't bring herself to look at him, couldn't bear to see the hurt or confusion in his eyes.

Jack's hands fell to his sides, his expression growing serious. "Are you still mad at me?” he said softly. “I meant what I said last night, Y/N. I'll do whatever it takes to make things right between us."

Y/N nodded; her throat tight with emotion. "I know you will, Jack. I’m not mad at you, I’m just not feeling good right now.”

Jack was quiet for a moment. Y/N could hear him shift his weight, could sense the way he was searching for something to say. But in the end, he simply nodded, his shoulders slumping slightly as he took a step back.

"Okay," he said softly, his voice rough with an emotion Y/N couldn't quite place. "I'll just... I'll wait in the living room." And with that, he turned and walked out of the bathroom, the sound of his footsteps fading as he made his way down the hall.

She knew that they couldn't go on like this forever, that they would have to face the hard truths and difficult conversations sooner or later.

But for now, she simply wanted to lose herself in the warmth of the shower, to let the water wash away the pain and confusion and leave her feeling clean and new.

…

After their last awkward encounter, y/n had decided to find someone to talk to. Y/N lay sprawled on her stomach, her feet swinging lazily behind her as she cradled her phone in her hands.

The soft glow of the screen illuminated her face, casting shadows across her features as she poured her heart out to her best friend, Jenn.

"I just don't know what to do," Y/N confessed, her voice tinged with a mix of frustration and despair. "I mean, I always knew that Jack and I were just friends, but I guess a part of me always hoped that maybe, someday, he would see me as something more."

Jenn’s face filled the screen, her brows furrowed in sympathy as she listened to Y/N's tale of woe. "Oh, honey," she said softly, her voice tinny through the phone's speakers. "I'm so sorry. I can't even imagine how you must be feeling right now."

Y/N sighed, burying her face in her pillow for a moment before lifting her head to look back at the screen. "It's just... I feel so stupid, you know? Like, how could I not have seen this coming? I really thought moving all this way together would open his eyes."

Jenn shook her head, her expression fierce. "You're not stupid, Y/N. You're human. And sometimes, when we're in love, we see what we want to see, even if it's not really there."

Y/N felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, and she blinked them back furiously. "I just don't know what to do now," she said, her voice small and lost.

"I mean, Jack is my best friend, but how can I be around him knowing that he's with someone else? Knowing that he'll never see me the way I see him?"

They were quiet for a moment, Jenn/s face was pensive as she mulled over Y/N's words. "Maybe," she said slowly, her tone cautious. "Maybe it's time for you to start thinking about yourself for a change."

Y/N frowned, not quite wanting to get into her plan. "Not this again, we’re not playing matchmaker."

She leaned forward, her expression earnest. “whatever, but maybe it's time for you to put yourself out there, to start meeting new people and exploring new possibilities. You've been so focused on Jack for so long, but there's a whole world out there waiting for you, Y/N."

Y/N bit her lip, her heart racing at the thought. "I don't know, J. I'm not really the dating type. And besides, who would want to go out with me?"

She could feel the eye roll through the screen. "Are you kidding me? Y/N, you're gorgeous, smart, funny, and kind. Any guy would be lucky to have you." Y/N felt a blush creep up her cheeks at Sarah's words, a small spark of hope igniting in her chest.

Jenn nodded emphatically. “Why don't you download one of those dating apps, like Tinder or Bumble? Just to see what's out there, you know? No pressure, no expectations, just a chance to meet some new people and have some fun."

Y/N let out a surprised laugh, the sound bursting from her lips before she could stop it. "A dating app? Seriously?" The idea both thrilling and terrifying at the same time. She had never been one for casual dating, had always been more of a relationship kind of girl. But maybe Jenn was right.

Maybe it was time for her to step outside her comfort zone, to take a chance on something new. “It could be fun! And who knows, maybe you'll meet someone amazing who will make you forget all about Jack and his stupid secrets."

"Okay," she said slowly, her smile growing wider. "I'll do it. I'll download a dating app and see what happens."

…

The soft beat of y/ns favorite song played softly in the background as she stood in front of her mirror, taking one last look at her reflection, she debated between two pairs of heels when she heard the front door open, and the sound of familiar voices filled the apartment.

Her heart skipped a beat as she realized that Jack was home, and he wasn't alone. She took a deep breath before stepping out of her room.

The black mini dress hugged her curves in all the right places, and the smokey eye makeup gave her a sultry, mysterious air. She had spent the better part of an hour getting ready, determined to make a good impression on her date.

"Hi John," Y/N said, her voice soft and slightly breathless as she caught sight of Jack's teammate standing beside him. She couldn't help but notice the way John's eyes widened as he took in her appearance, his gaze traveling up and down her body appreciatively.

"Wow, Y/N," John said, a slow smile spreading across his face. "You look amazing. Got a hot date tonight?"

Y/N felt a blush creep up her cheeks, but she forced herself to maintain eye contact, a coy smile playing on her lips. "Maybe," she said, her voice teasing. "Guess you'll have to wait and see."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Jack stiffen, his jaw clenching as he watched the exchange. She tried to ignore the way her heart raced at the sight of him, the way her skin tingled with awareness of his presence.

"Well, whoever the lucky guy is, he's in for a treat," John said, his gaze lingering on her a moment longer before he turned to Jack, a knowing look in his eye. "Don't you think, Jack?" Jack's expression was unreadable, but Y/N could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands clenched at his sides.

"Yeah," he said, his voice tight. "Y/N always looks great."

Y/N felt a thrill of satisfaction at the barely concealed jealousy in his tone, but she forced herself to keep her focus on John. "Thanks, John," she said, her voice warm. "You're too sweet." She took a step closer to him, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor.

"You know, I've been meaning to ask you something," she said, her voice low and conspiratorial. "Why don’t you come over more often? It would be nice to see you more.”

John's eyes lit up, a grin spreading across his face. "Well jack here is trying to keep you to himself. Just say the word and I'll clear my schedule."

Y/N laughed, the sound light and flirtatious. "I might just take you up on that," she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

She could feel Jack's gaze burning into her back, could sense the tension radiating off him in waves. But she refused to let herself be swayed. "Well, I should probably get going," she said, glancing at her watch. "Don't want to keep my date waiting."

She brushed past John, her arm grazing against his as she made her way towards the door. "It was great seeing you, John," she called over her shoulder, her voice sweet.

"Don't be a stranger, okay?" And with that, she was gone, the sound of her heels echoing down the hallway as she made her way out of the apartment. She could feel Jack's eyes on her until the very last moment.

Y/N felt Jack's hand close around her arm, his grip firm but gentle. Before she could protest, he pulled her towards him, spinning her around until she was facing him, her body pressed against his chest.

Her breath caught in her throat as she looked up at him, their faces mere inches apart. “Supposed to tell each other everything, remember? Guess that doesn’t apply to dates or girlfriends,” he snapped, tone dripping with sarcasm. His gaze was icy, challenging him to respond.

They both stood in the dark hallway, a silent standoff. The pale blue moonlight filtered through the narrow window, casting an eerie glow on their faces. y/n finally broke the silence, his voice as cold as the icy blue of a frozen lake. "If you're going to be like this, maybe I should find somewhere else to stay tonight."

Jack's eyes narrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. The once vibrant blue of his eyes had dulled to a stormy gray, reflecting the turmoil within.

"I broke up with her three months ago, okay? You've been avoiding me for a week straight," he shot back, his words tinged with frustration and a hint of desperation.

"I..." He searched for the right words, but they eluded his grasp, slipping through his fingers like grains of sand in an hourglass. The silence stretched between them, as vast and empty as a cloudless blue sky. Jack didn't know what she wanted him to say.

In fact, all he could see was her eyes, two deep pools of blue that threatened to drown him in their depths. He was at a complete loss for words, his mind as blank as a fresh canvas.

"I know you have feelings for me. I never brought it up because if I was wrong then you'd be mad at me, but I've known for years," he finally confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating, like a thick blanket of blue smoke.

She felt a lump form in her throat as she listened to his words, each syllable carving a deeper wound in her already battered soul. The revelation was like a bolt of lightning, striking her heart with a searing pain.

She knew. Jack had known all along, yet he had chosen to remain silent, to spare her the pain of rejection. The realization settled over her like a heavy fog, obscuring her thoughts and feelings, leaving her lost and alone in a world devoid of color.

Her hand remained clasped in his, a bittersweet reminder of what could have been. She wanted to hold on, to cling to his warmth and the fleeting hope it offered, like a drowning sailor grasping at a lifeline in the vast ocean of despair.

Her fingers trembled, the icy blue of her veins visible beneath her skin, as if the color had been drained from her very being. And then, like a dagger to the heart, came his final confession.

"And I wish things were different, but there's no good way to say this. I don't like you in that way, but I really hope you find someone that does.

His voice was soft, barely audible above the deafening silence that engulfed them, but he didn't let go of her hand. It stayed there, a lifeline that tethered her to the harsh reality of the moment.

Y/N felt as if the air had been sucked from her lungs, her heart shattering into a million pieces at his words. She had always known, deep down, that Jack didn't feel the same way about her, but hearing him say it out loud was like a knife to the chest, the blade twisting with every syllable.

Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision until all she could see was a hazy blue mist. She blinked them away, unwilling to let them fall in front of him, to show him just how deeply his words had cut her.

Her free hand clenched into a fist at her side, nails digging into her palm, the pain a welcome distraction from the agony that consumed her heart.

She wanted to scream, to cry, to beg him to reconsider, but the words lodged in her throat, as heavy and immovable as a boulder. Instead, she simply nodded, a jerky, mechanical motion that belied the turmoil within.

She forced herself to meet his gaze, her eyes a dull, lifeless blue, like the sky before a storm, void of the sparkle and warmth they once held.

The tears pooled in her eyes, threatening to spill over and reveal the depth of her anguish. "How long have you known?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, a fragile wisp of sound that hung in the air between them.

Jack sighed, his shoulders slumping as he released her wrist, his hand falling limply to his side. The warmth of his touch lingered on her skin, a cruel reminder of the connection they once shared.

"A while," he admitted, his voice heavy with guilt. "I didn't know how to bring it up without hurting you, so I just... didn't."

Y/N nodded, her throat tight with emotion, the lump growing larger with each passing second. She swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the knot of pain that threatened to choke her.

"I see," she said, her voice flat, devoid of the vibrant emotion that once colored her words. "Well, I guess I should thank you for finally being honest with me, even if it is a little late."

She turned to go, her heart heavy with the weight of his rejection, each step a monumental effort as if she were wading through quicksand.

Before she could take more than a few steps, she heard Jack's voice, soft and sad, calling after her, a desperate plea for understanding.

"Y/N, I'm sorry," he said, his voice cracking with emotion, the raw honesty of his words cutting through the suffocating silence. "I never meant to hurt you. You're my best friend."

She walked away, her heels clicking on the tiled floor as she made her way to the elevator. Jack's words echoed in her mind like a cruel, endless loop, a haunting melody that played on repeat, taunting her with the knowledge of what could never be.

She had always known that loving him would end in heartbreak, the inevitable conclusion to a story that was doomed from the start.

But somehow, that knowledge did nothing to dull the pain that threatened to consume her, body and soul, leaving her hollow and empty, a mere shell of the person she once was.

As the elevator doors closed behind her, she leaned against the wall, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs, the tears she had fought so hard to contain now flowing freely down her cheeks. The fluorescent lights cast a harsh glow on her face, illuminating the tracks of her tears.

She closed her eyes, willing the pain to subside, but it only seemed to grow stronger.

…

the next chapter is going to be put off for a while since I want to get until dawn started. Also do y'all not fw Until Dawn I really think Jack could eat us up in a fic that isn't revolved around hockey. there's only so many variations. But do you guys even want until dawn, please let me know.

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willowser · 6 months

Text

now i wake up by your side—

bakugou x f!reader

wc: 2.8k+

tags: u.a. college au, canon-compliant, reader has a telekinesis/telepathic quirk, references (and potential spoilers) for the current arc in the manga, angst, a lot of secret hidden feelies

tysm to @alrightberries for giving me the opportunity to bring this lil thought of yours to life 🥺 your patience and understanding during the time it took me to write this is so appreciated it, and tbh you're the reason i'm even still here right now LOL you're so sweet, and i hold your kindness so close to my heart. i wish i could convey how much it means to me. i hope i did this even a lil justice !! happy birthday dear !!!! 🥺🩷✨️

Sero dreams of watching the sunrise on top of the Roppongi Observatory.

It’s a beautiful sight, one you’ve never seen with your own eyes, but you soak in the warmth flushing across his cheeks and the anticipated break of morning through the clouds. When he takes in a hefty breath, you feel the spring chill sting inside his chest, crisp and clear, like it’s you breathing instead of him, and it’s almost comforting enough to lull you to sleep, too.

But a clay pot shattering against a nearby bench has your eyes springing open, ripped from the haven you’d been lost to.

You have to blink several times in order to fight through the exhaustion wearing you thin, but the evening returns to you in small, bleary doses. It’s the middle of the night—or at least it was when you’d first wandered out to the training field, and you can’t be sure how many hours have passed since then. Across the yard, you’ve successfully managed to carry four pots from the garden plot near the entrance all the way to your feet with your Quirk— but number five sits in pieces in the grass.

You’ll have to clean that up by morning or Eraser will make you run laps until you puke. Again.

Kirishima flits through your mind in a suit and tie: not as a Hero, but a spy of some kind, chasing down men with masks covering their faces and wielding a gun that looks odd in his hands, even in his own dream. Despite being back in the dorms, stories up and near the end of the hall, you can see it—hear him yelling out at the criminal to stop, feel the thud of the ground under his feet. His own determination blares through you like a freight train, as strong and damning as he is, and you fight to force yourself back inside your own shoes as you try to carry another pot.

Recovery Girl used to tell you that you did this to yourself: all your worry about losing sleep psyching yourself out of it completely, chasing it away before it even had the chance. When everyone is getting ready for bed, heading out of the common room and hitting the showers, you can feel that suspense building; what will come across tonight while everyone dreams? Fantasies? Or nightmares?

During the day it’s easier to drown out the foot-traffic of everyone’s thoughts—you do it without trying, now—but your brain needs rest, too. Letting go of control for even a second, just to get some shut eye is—

Something frightening is outlined in your peripheral vision, the dash of a pale shape you aren’t able to discern before it’s gone. The air turns metallic and stale and you can hear water sloshing, though you’re nowhere near the pools. All your blood rushes in your ears and your fingers curl, like you’re gripping your seat—gripping the edge of the couch in the common room, where you’d been sitting beside Mina when Kaminari put on that horror movie. The one with the—

“The hell are you doin’?”

Your eyes snap open for the hundredth time that night—show over, credits rolling—and it’s Bakugou. Standing only feet away from the new set of clay shards of your failure, tangible and real and staring at you with an intensity not even your dreams could mimic.

You blink, eyes stinging and heavy. You must look insane. “Oh, hey,” the voice that comes out of you is far-away, chartered off to distant lands, and he notices immediately, focus razor-sharp despite how late it is. “What did you say?”

Bakugou wrinkles his nose, like he’s offended at having to repeat himself. “I said, what the hell are you doin’? It’s nearly 2 in the morning and you’re out here throwin’ shit around in your fuckin’ pajamas.”

Almost on cue, the breeze brushes past your legs, chilly enough to have you shivering, and you peek down at them as if you don’t know what they look like. The sweater you’re wearing is from second year and the U.A. logo is half-worn off, but it’s the comfiest thing you own and if you’re going to be plagued all night by the forced intimacy of your classmates’ dreams—you at least want to be cozy.

When you look back up at him, Bakugou is pointedly looking away, taking interest in something other than your wimpy state of dress.

It dawns on you then that he’s out here, too, in sweats and a simple back sweatshirt, hair a messy, golden halo in the pale, buzzing field lights. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think his face was a little rosy, but—maybe you’re seeing things.

Still. Being out and away from everyone, alone with Bakugou, makes your stomach tighten horribly. Like you’ve done too many sit-ups.

You try to brush off your sudden bout of shyness, because you know he’ll clock that in no time, too. “Well, I could ask you the same thing.” At the raise of your eyebrows, he only tchs, and casts you a filthy look. “But I think maybe I’ll just mind my own business.”

The face he makes is so awful and hot-blooded that you laugh, truly and earnestly, enough that a headache pulses to life. You wince, and the stream of pain that shoots down the middle of your skull brings back that image of Kirishima’s action-thriller: blood and knives, the sound of skin on skin, a fist against cheekbones, the ugly snap of breaking—

“Oi.”

Bakugou is closer than before, when you’re grounded back inside yourself. At least no pots have been broken this time. Less to clean up.

“Sorry,” you shoot him an apologetic smile that you know he must hate. “It’s just so—” your hand feels like it’s made of lead, but you drag it up to massage slow circles into your temple, trying not to grit your teeth and worsen the pounding in your head. “So loud sometimes.”

He’s silent until the pain ebbs out, and when you can blink without flinching, you peek up to catch how intently he’s watching your face. In the night like this, his eyelashes seem darker, longer, a kind of haunting beauty you would dream about, if you could get some sleep.

Again, you think of Kaminari’s horror movie, legs pressed against Mina’s under the heavy comforter she’d brought down from her room. It’s warm, the kind of pink, fluffy thing you’d imagine a girl like her to have—but it didn’t stop you from shivering every time you chanced a glance at Bakugou and found him already staring back.

The heat in your cheeks spreads to the back of your neck, so immediate that you think you might start sweating. “Dreams and stuff,” you murmur, by way of an explanation, “nightmares, sometimes.”

Bakugou's frown deepens, the muscle in his jaw tightening once as he grits his teeth. “What, you can just…hear that shit all night?”

“Usually,” you shrug, “It just comes in, you know? And I—” you steal another glance at him, aware, then, of just how intrusive you might sound. The veil of privacy is thin between you and others, and they don't often like being reminded of that. “Not for you, though. I don't—I don't get anything from you.”

And it's true, frustratingly enough. Not that you are ever intentionally peeking into anyone's head, but things slip through, occasionally—sudden reactions, wild, loose trains of thought.

Bakugou's face twists, regardless, and you're reminded of all the times you've been forced to spar together, at Eraser's behest. One of the smartest in your class, quick on his feet and never without a plan; every time you've managed to get a hand on Bakugou, there's been nothing but a sea-shore calm.

It's hard to do and, at this point in your life, you've seen a thousand people try it—but he's the only one that's ever succeeded in keeping you at bay.

Nothing in his expression changes, but all your nerves spread to your voice until it shakes. “You're—I don't look in there, of course, but it's—you've always been…” Bakugou is terrible at taking compliments, you know that, almost as bad as you are at giving them. “Pretty, I guess.”

Awful, at giving them.

Embarrassment floods him, suddenly stained pink as he curls into himself. “Piss off,” he barks, and though he’s scowling at you in what must be disgust—you can’t help but to smile at how aggressively bashful he is.

You almost get the guts to make matters worse, just because you can. Admit how handsome you’ve come to find him, after the last few years, until his face is steaming in the sweet nighttime chill; the kind of intimacy you wouldn’t mind dreaming about again and again.

The absence of his thoughts are a comfort for your tired mind, has all the harsh edges of night fading into something a little easier to swallow, to breathe in. You know he does it on purpose as a strictly defensive move, but you almost want to thank him. For the quiet.

You don’t know if it’s from you or him, but when you reach a hand up to hover near his temple, the air buzzes between you, gently. Charged with that same thing that had you unable to look away from him in the common room only days ago. “In here, I mean,” you murmur, and the smile you pull on feels lame, but it’s as genuine as ever. “I don’t know, I don’t know how you do it. But it’s…nice.”

You’ve seen him die a thousand times.

Mostly in Midoriya’s dreams, sometimes in Eraser’s when he nods off during last period, but that horror—like many others, from that day—stains you all. When dinner is put away and showers are finished and the lights go out and the flood gates open, someone almost always relives the ugliness of it all; you’re more familiar with that moment than you are with any of your own.

Here and now, you close your eyes and see Jirou staring back at you, face beautiful and full of hope. You see Kirishima’s torn suit jacket and the blood on his cheek and the empty gun in his hand, the most dedicated secret agent. Aoyama is dreaming of his mother, something warm that makes you feel like you’re dazzling, too.

And yet—Bakugou is silent. Even right in front of you. Even after everything.

If anyone deserves the peace and quiet, you suppose it ought to be him.

“When’s the last time you got any sleep?”

You blink until his blurry figure is clear, and it’s like you can physically feel whatever energy you had left seeping from your body at the mere mention of sleep. “Maybe a morning or two ago,” you tell him truthfully, “I usually pass out after a few rounds of ‘throwin’ shit around’.”

Bakugou only stares at you as he digests the words, and once he’s gotten them down, he shakes his head before looking out over the mess you’ve made of the training field. With his head turned like this, you can take in the full weight of his scar—the one that’s wide and still baby-pink across his cheek.

You almost get the guts to tell him he’s handsome. Almost.

Frustration is evident on his face when he looks back at you, but his voice comes out softer than you expect, like he's struggling to get out any words at all. “Can’t keep doin’ this,” he chastises. “Can’t be a Hero if you’re half asleep all the time. Gotta figure this shit out.”

“I am,” you give a lazy wave to your pots, “What’s wrong with this solution?”

“It's ass.”

“Alright, you have any better ideas, pretty boy?”

He bristles, visibly enough to have you snickering, and—you’re not sure what you expect of him; to continue his griping or leave you to your own devices, building his walls up high as he always does. Ever the fighter, ever the protector; maybe it’s a good thing, you tell yourself, because you’re weak like this and one of you needs to be thinking straight.

Despite his flush, there’s a playfulness to his grouchy expression, his raspy tone—and it has you leaning too far into things you don’t know how to name.

You never know what to expect of him.

There’s the slightest brush of skin against the back of your hand, and when you drop your eyes to the slowly-dwindling space between you—the rough pads of his fingers are touching you, gently. Softly enough to be the breeze, if it weren’t so warm.

You’re afraid to look at him, suddenly, like it will break whatever spell the night is casting over both of you; instead you press your lips together to stop their wobbling and the smile fighting to give you away. You’re waiting for that sea-shore calm, that quiet comfort, whatever it is he’s trying to offer you, strangely enough, in this moment. When you turn your hand over to catch his, the air buzzes again and the blood rushes in your ears.

You focus and—all you can see is your own face staring back at you. In a flash, like he’s cycling through his cards in a hurry, trying to find the best one.

You, across the arena during the entrance exam. You, in the locker room before the Sport's Festival. You, sitting in the common room during Christmas. You, ruined with tears and your own blood and covered in grime, on the darkest day of your life.

You, now. On the field in the stale light, prettier than you think you must look, for being so exhausted, the lines of your smile deep as you grin up at him.

—And then there's nothing.

The absence of noise is louder than anything. A stark, white silence that cuts through; a different world trickling away. A single touch and a little focus is all it takes to take root inside someone’s head and that’s always felt like a weapon, but now it feels like coming inside from a snowstorm, relief shuddering down your spine. Everyone else's fears and nerves and heartaches dissolve until they’re only a bitter taste at the back of your throat. Something far, far behind you

There’s just Bakugou. A strong silence that feels impenetrable, invulnerable to the outside. The steady beat of his heart is comforting in a way you didn’t realize it would be, has that bloody, dead-eyed image of him shifting into something else: another moment in Midoriya’s memories, of his silhouette standing in the sun, tall and fierce and alive.

Returned. Here and now with you, after numerous, unforeseen turns of events. You wonder if the ease surrounding you is his own, something else he’s sharing—or if this is just how it feels to be with him after so long. Maybe in the past it was different—you know it was; during the entrance exam, during the Sport’s Festival—but now you feel more relaxed than you ever have. A reminder that, no matter how dark the nights get, the sun is only just beyond the horizon.

Returned, comforting and quiet.

(You won't know this until much later, but your hand will go slack in Katsuki's and his fingers will tighten around your own because he's not ready to let go yet. When your knees buckle, he'll already be there, awkwardly holding you up against his shoulder as his face flames and his eyes dart around the empty field, checking for any shitty snoops.

Ears is always up damn late, too, and there's a decent chance he'd get caught trying to haul you back to your room on the third fuckin’ floor, so there's really no better option than to gently lower you both to the grass. After a couple of minutes with no movement, the field lights will shut off and only the distant glow of the stars will remain.)

(You won't know this until much later, but Katsuki will arrange the both of you so that your head isn't slumped on the hard ground, but resting on the plush of his bicep, an arm around your shoulders so that the warmth can be shared between you both. His heart will pound hard enough in his chest to be worrisome, and every time you shuffle and scoot closer to him and nudge your nose into his sweater—Katsuki will fight to stay open and true, only honest with you in this wordless way.)

(You won't know this until the sun rises high behind your lids and your bones ache and he’s shown you things he could never say, but it's the best sleep you think you've ever gotten. With him, under the stars, surrounded by his calm and his constant.)

(You won't remember this but in your dream—your real dream, born from with solace Katsuki offers you—the morning will rise and settle in and he'll walk you back to your room despite the stares and in the elevator when you're alone, his lips will touch yours and you'll feel his heart in your chest and his nerves in your stomach and his fear and relief all in one.)

(And right away, when you wake up, you'll finally have a name for this thing that's been blooming between you both for as long as you can remember—and he will, too.)

#i was so nervous about getting the quirk right kahfkahf #and then i was so nervous about it being fluffy enough bc the first draft of this was too angsty ??#SO I REWROTE IT LOL #i hope this is okay !! 🥺#i love the idea of bakugou being able to express how he feels in emotion only #that the fear he doesn't know how to name or how to explain or understand is conveyed to you somehow #whenever he touches you #🥺#tysm for giving me the chance to write it !!!#literally no but seriously you're the only reason i haven't privated this blog again LMAOOO tysm 🥺#✿ willow writes #✿ one shot: bakugou

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