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trashyswitch · 2 years

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Day 25: Ticklish Non-Human Attributes

Janus decides to make Virgil his favorite food as a way to mend their friendship. This simple act ended up going even better than they both expected.

He felt like his relationship with Virgil was more on the rocks, ever since Virgil was accepted by the other sides. So, he wanted to try and mend things between them. So, Janus decided to cook up and give Virgil one of Virgil’s favorite meals.

And what did that favorite meal happen to be?

Well…It was ramen! And not just the ramen in a cup, or the instant ramen…It was the real ramen you can get at a traditional ramen shop! The onions, the eggs, the pork cutlet, the Narutomaki, aka the fish cake, and the dark lettuce or nori (seaweed).

Janus put each item into the ramen, and grabbed the bowl of broth. He dumped the broth into the bowl without a soup spoon, and watched as the ramen and the other things started to react and float in the broth. Janus smiled at his success and put the pot down.

Then, Janus grabbed a pair of wooden chopsticks and the red renge (the spoon for ramen), and headed to Virgil’s room. He put the chopsticks on top of the ramen bowl, and put the renge, or the ramen spoon, into the ramen before knocking on the door. While he waited for Virgil to answer the door, he carefully fixed his hand position on the plate under the ramen bowl.

The door opened, revealing Virgil with his hood up to cover up his cat ears. “Oh…Hi.” Virgil said.

“Upset I’m not Patton?” Janus asked.

Virgil shook his head. “No…just surprised it’s you.” Virgil admitted.

“Alright. So…Hello Virgil. I may or may not have made you your favorite food. Would you like some?” Janus asked.

Virgil softened his expression as he smelled the ramen. It looked appetizing…almost too appetizing. Virgil hesitantly took the plate and bowl with his paws. “This isn’t poisoned…is it?” Virgil asked.

Janus raised an eyebrow. “Yes?” He replied.

Virgil narrowed his eyes before bringing the ramen further into his room. “What’s the occasion?”

Janus chuckled. “No occasion. Just thought you could use a little warm hug from something other than the traditional arm hug.” Janus replied.

Virgil hummed as he placed the ramen on his dresser. He set up a card table and placed it against the side of his bed. Virgil put the ramen bowl onto the card table, before sitting down on the side of his bed to eat.

“So…what has been happening?” Janus asked.

Virgil shrugged his shoulders, humming as he shoved some noodles into his mouth. “Not much…” Virgil replied.

Janus nodded as he sat on a chair across from Virgil. “Is it bad?” Janus asked.

Virgil shook his head as he took another mouthful. “It’th really gooth.” Virgil replied with his mouth full. Virgil swallowed. “You were always a really good cook.” Virgil added.

Janus smiled and nodded as a symbol of thanks.

“What kind of broth did you use?” Virgil asked.

“Swanson chicken broth.” Janus replied.

“I see…You didn’t make chicken broth from scratch?” Virgil teased.

Janus narrowed his eyes. “Why?” Janus asked.

Virgil chuckled. “Just joking.” Virgil replied.

Virgil ate half an egg in one bite, while Janus watched him eat for a couple minutes. “Small question:” Janus said.

Virgil looked up at Janus. “Hm?”

“Are your ears still ticklish?” Janus asked.

Virgil stared at Janus with a blank, slightly impatient face. He swallowed. “…Why?”

“…No reason.” Janus replied.

Virgil scoffed. “Sure.” He took in another mouthful of noodles along with some green onions.

Janus bit his lip and looked down. “Sorry…”

Virgil shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll tell you if you tell me.” Virgil replied.

Janus raised an eyebrow. “Tell you what?”

Virgil smiled slightly. “Are your scales still ticklish?” Virgil asked with a smirk.

Janus widened his eyes and stared at Virgil. Then, he looked to the side. “Uuuuh…”

Virgil waited for his answer. “‘Uuuh’…is that a yes? Or a no?”

Janus awkwardly scratched the back of his scaly neck. “Well…No.”

Virgil laughed. “I knew it.”

Janus chuckled nervously. “Nothing to see here…”

Virgil smirked. “Sure…”

Janus looked at Virgil. “So…what’s your answer? Yes, your ears are still ticklish? Or no, your ears are not ticklish?” Janus asked.

Virgil swallowed and put the chopsticks on top of the bowl. “Yes. My ears are still ticklish.” Virgil told Janus. “...and a melt spot.”

Janus smiled eagerly at the last sentence. “Would you mind if I tested this answer?” Janus asked.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Why?”

Janus shrugged his shoulders. “Because it was cute.”

Virgil scoffed. “Yeah, when I was 7.” He muttered.

Janus removed his gloves. “I will not tickle you hard.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Not happening, Deceit.”

“Please?” Janus asked.

“Not. Happening.” Virgil commanded.

Janus looked at Virgil with a serious look. “I’ll let you tickle me first.”

Virgil guffawed. “Wow…Willing to sacrifice your own embarrassment to embarrass me?” Virgil asked.

Janus shrugged his shoulders. “Sure.”

Virgil chuckled with a small smile. “So determined...”

Janus frowned slightly. “I will.” He put up his right hand without the glove on. “I promise.”

Virgil stared at him with a ‘you have got to be kidding’ face. “You…you’re serious about this?” Virgil asked.

Janus nodded. “Yes. 100%. Completely serious.” Janus told Virgil. He wasn’t even lying at this point. That was how dedicated Janus was.

Virgil softened his expression a bit. He bit his lip before making a choice. “Fine. But this means I’m allowed to tickle your armpits, right?” Virgil asked.

Janus nodded. “Yes.”

Virgil nodded. “Deal.” Virgil said as he got up. Virgil took off his own sweater and placed it on the bed before walking up to Janus. He wrapped his hand around Janus’s upper hip, and started squeezing his fingers on both sides. “Is thi-”

“GaaAAAHAHAHAHAHAhahahahaha!” Janus shouted. “WHOhohohoa- ohohokahay! Wohohow!” He reacted.

Virgil smirked a bit and added his other hand to the other hip to steady himself. Janus just laughed and giggled up a storm as he wiggled around uncontrollably.

“So…which hip tickles more?” Virgil asked. “This one?” Virgil started squeezing only the skin hip.

Janus threw his head back with a fit of giggles. “EEHEheheheek! Hehey!”

“Or this hip?” Virgil switched to tickling his scaly hip. Janus snorted and laughed hysterically. “BAAHAHAHAHA! THIS ONE! THIHIHIS OHONE IS WOHORRRSE!” Janus yelled.

“Oooooh! Interesting.” Virgil reacted.

Virgil moved his hands to Janus’s sides next. He lifted up Janus’s collared shirt and cracked his knuckles. “Which one tickles more? The skin side?” Virgil started squeezing and skittering his fingers on the right side, aka the skin side.

Janus felt as his hat fell off his head while he shook his head wildly. “Myhyhyhy hahahat! Nohohoho!” Janus reacted.

Virgil took a moment to move his hat over to the bed. “I’ll give you the hat after.” Virgil told him. Then, he went right to tickling the left side, aka the scarly side.

Janus wheezed and bursted out in strong, deep laughter. “Hahahahaha! Yohohou ahare a bruhuhutal tihihickleherr!” Janus reacted.

“I know~” Virgil teased.

Virgil moved his hands up to the armpits and lifted the right arm up. “Tell me: are you more ticklish here?” Virgil asked as he tickled the right armpit, aka the skin armpit.

Janus squeezed his eyes shut and giggled all high-pitched like a little giggly child.

Virgil couldn’t help but chuckle at this. “Or more ticklish here?” Virgil asked next as he lifted up Janus’s right arm and tickled Janus’s right armpit.

Janus guffawed and laughed gleefully as he wiggled around to get out of Virgil’s grasp. “THE RIHIHIGHT! THEHEHE RIHIHIGHT’S WOHOHORRRSE!” Janus yelled.

“Wow! I can certainly tell.” Virgil reacted.

“AHAHAHALRIGHT, MYHYHY TUHUHURN!” Janus told him.

“Aww…already?” Virgil asked.

“YEHEHEHEHEHESS!” Janus replied.

Virgil nodded and let go of Janus’s arm. He removed his hand from Janus’s scaly armpit, before backing up a bit to let the half-snake replenish his oxygen intake. Janus coughed a bit and took in deeper breaths so he could recuperate faster and more efficiently. Though, he was careful. He didn’t want to suck in too much air, for fear of creating a coughing fit.

Virgil grabbed the chopsticks and ate a bit more of his noodles while she waited for Janus to get better. A few mouthfuls later, Virgil put the chopsticks down again, sat down on the ground in criss-cross-apple-sauce, and smiled as Janus started to sit up.

“Alright..,my turn.” Janus said as he got up. Janus crawled himself up to Virgil and placed a hand onto his little right cat ear.

Virgil squeaked and covered his mouth in shock. Did he really just make that noise?!

Janus chuckled. “Awww…” He said.

Virgil groaned and covered his whole face with both his paws. How embarrassing…

But Janus was a good sport about it. He gently brought Virgil against his chest, and cuddled him. He petted his back for a little bit, trying to help him relax and grow calm. Amazingly, this actually worked. Virgil seemed to calm down enough in Janus’s arms. Perhaps this cuddling reminded Virgil of when they were younger?

Soon, Janus decided to proceed with his idea:

He brought his left hand up to Virgil’s ear, and started massaging the lower ear. Virgil began to smile and shake slightly from the giggles that were spilling out of his mouth.

“Mmmhmhmhmhm…” Virgil mumbled some giggles.

Janus paused his tickling. “Having fun?” Janus asked.

Virgil nodded and looked up at Janus with his wide, kitty eyes. “Mmhmm…”

Janus widened his eyes and smiled brightly. He hadn’t seen Virgil look at him like this since age 14! This was incredible!!

Janus decided to give Virgil’s ears a few more massages. He placed one hand each onto Virgil’s ears, and started massaging and scratching.

“Pfffhehehehehehe!” Virgil giggled, shoving his face further into Janus’s chest.

Janus smiled and playfully blew gentle air onto Virgil’s right ear. This made Virgil’s ear flutter as the cat let out a high pitched squeak. “Doooon’t!” Virgil whined.

“Too much?” Janus asked.

Virgil nodded, rubbing his face up and down against Janus’s chest. Janus just chuckled softly as he went back to massaging his ears again.

Virgil continued to giggle and squeal his way through janus’s gentle tickles. And once Virgil got used to his strategies for tickling, he began to enjoy it a little more. Janus always knew that his ears were a ticklish melt spot on him…and usually it was an embarrassing fact that he didn’t like about himself. But…maybe the melt spot is growing on Virgil now…

The melt spot had certainly grown onto Janus a long time ago. He loved the melt spot so much as a kid! Probably too much…to the point of really missing it when Virgil told him to stop tickling the spot. So being able to do this decades later, was a huge blessing.

Janus and Virgil stayed like this for a long time. It was long enough that when Virgil was finally able to finish his noodles, the meal was ice cold. He ended up needing to heat it up in the microwave. And when Virgil went to the kitchen, Virgil discovered the huge mess in the kitchen.

Virgil chuckled. “Well…you may be a good cook…but you are still a disaster at cleaning up your messes…”

#tickletober 2022 #day 25 #complicated relationships #strained relationships #ticklefic #switch!virgil #switch!janus

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atths--twice · 2 years

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Photographing Beauty

What do you do when the person you care and worry about is in a toxic relationship? How do you show them the hurtful words they heard were lies?

This picture was posted on Twitter and all I could think was- what if it was Mulder as a photographer taking pictures of Scully? What if it was because she had been in a bad relationship and her self esteem had plummeted as a result?

Chapter One

Fox saw her come in out of the corner of his eye on Monday morning. Turning his head, he watched her take off her large black coat and hang it on the back of her chair. His eyes traveled over her, taking in her knee high black boots, dark plum tights, thigh length black dress and oversized bulky, black cardigan.

Her red hair was piled up in its usual bun, but was held in place by a hair stick he had not seen in awhile, the one with a decorative sword handle that always brought on a Princess Bride quote battle, both of them eventually laughing hysterically.

He longed to say something to engage her, but remained silent, observing her as she readied her workspace for the day. She turned on her computer with a sigh and walked over to the coffee pot as she waited for the computer to wake up.

Two black mugs with his logo, Fox Mulder Photography, were filled with coffee. To one she added two creams and one sugar, the other remaining black. She stirred them both, though she did not need to, her silver and black bracelets clinking together softly.

Rinsing the plastic spoon, she set it back into the rainbow colored mug he had brought back from the Pride parade in June where he had taken pictures. Sighing again, she walked over to his desk and set down his mug of coffee.

“Good morning,” she said quietly, not meeting his eyes.

“Good morning, Dana. Thank you,” he replied and then she did look at him and he drew in a breath as she turned back to her desk.

Though it had been brief, it was long enough for him to see that her eyes were red rimmed and puffy. He clenched his jaw, anger rising to the surface as he watched her sit down and open the appointment book on her screen.

That fucking asshole had made her cry again. He was such a piece of shit, not worth her tears and her heartache.

“The first client should be here in half an hour, Anna Struck and her daughter. I think she said it’s for new headshots,” Dana said quietly, and he now noticed how stuffy she sounded.

Such a fucking prick.

“Thanks,” he said with a nod, trying to relax and not let her hear his anger. “Hopefully it will be quick and easy this time, but you know how she can be.”

He waited to see how she would react. Anna Struck was a rather controlling client whom they had both vented about over a glass of wine many times after the studio had closed.

But that was before Tom. Before her red, puffy eyes. Before he worried about her every night when she left his studio.

“Yeah,” she answered, barely above a whisper.

He sighed and continued to watch her, observing the droop in her shoulders.

“You okay?” he dared to ask, knowing very well that she was not. He saw her stiffen, pausing in her movements.

“I’m fine,” she said, her tone clipped. “I’ll… I’ll go get the studio set up for the shoot.”

“Dana…” he said, softly imploring her, but she ignored him, quickly walking to the studio, her boots clicking across the hardwood floor, the door closing softly behind her.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered, shaking his head with a sigh. He rolled his neck as he leaned back in his chair, chastising himself for asking, but he needed to know.

He had to know.

She had come into the studio six months ago on a whim, interested in his photography, and had walked out with a job.

It had been a day when two appointments had overlapped and he was panicking to get them finished without one of the parties leaving in anger. The Carters were in for their annual family pictures and the Fosters had a new baby and were in for their first professional pictures to celebrate her arrival. He had offered them some snacks, apologizing that they would have to wait.

He had taken the Carters into the studio, cursing himself for his mistake. Fifteen minutes into it, he had heard crying in the lobby and then silence. Knowing the Fosters must have given up on him and left, he had resigned himself to finishing the task at hand with the Carters, all while composing a lengthy apology email in his head to the Fosters.

When he had shot the last photo, he had told the Carters to take their time joining him in the lobby, their children needing to change out of their fancy clothes.

Expecting to find the lobby empty, what he had found instead had shocked him.

There sat the Fosters, the mother calmly nursing the baby beneath a light pink cover up as the father searched through the diaper bag looking frazzled. Their toddler, three-year-old Brynn, sat on the floor beside a young woman with beautiful wavy red hair. She had a book open and was reading to her in a silly voice, Brynn laughing happily and asking for more.

Fox had stood stock still looking at them, until the redheaded woman had raised her head and grinned at him, which had propelled him forward. He had apologized profusely and Mr. Foster had waved him off with an understanding smile, claiming life with a toddler and a newborn had altered his idea of patience and to please not worry about it.

Ten minutes later, he had the Fosters in the studio, the entire shoot one of the easiest he had ever done. Brynn had been easygoing and followed directions well, happy to show off her new baby sister and her beautiful purple and gold fairy dress.

When he had finished their shoot, he had escorted them out and found the redheaded woman was still in the lobby looking at a magazine. Again she had smiled as he had said his goodbyes to the Fosters, Brynn waving her lollipop at him.

As soon as the door had shut, he had turned to the woman and she rose from the dark gray couch in the waiting area. She had grinned and stepped toward him with an outstretched hand, the nails of which were painted black with multicolored glitter.

“You can thank me now,” she had said and he had raised his eyebrows in surprise as he had clasped her hand.

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh, so close,” she had teased. “I was looking for thank you. Go on, give it another go.”

He had laughed and nodded as he cleared his throat.

“Thank you,” he had said, shaking her hand and then letting it go. “Who are you?”

“Your new assistant. Which you desperately need, from what I’ve seen…” she had stated, crossing her arms and tilting her head to the side.

“Hmm, interesting name,” he had mused, liking her instantly. “Kind of long, but…” She had laughed, rolled her eyes, and shaken her head.

“My name is Dana.”

“Oh, that will be much easier to remember. It’s nice to meet you, Dana.”

“Yes, it is.”

And thus had been the beginning of a partnership he had not known he was missing.

She had been there less than a week before things had begun to change. The studio had been rearranged and organized to her liking. She had decluttered and cleaned, double checking everything she did was okay with him. She had gone through his large and messy appointment book with a tsk and transferred it all to the new computer he bought for her. Everything had been color coded with time blocked between appointments for a quick break or lunch. He had been working on his own, running on empty most days, and suddenly he had time to breathe and focus on his work.

She had been exactly what he had been needing and by the end of the second week, he had fallen for her.

It would have been hard not to, if he was honest. She was beautiful, kind, sarcastic and sassy, quick and eager to learn and help. She also made him laugh and feel he could trust someone again. How could he not fall in love with her?

They had gotten along very well, finding they had similar senses of humor and personalities. Hanging out most nights after they closed the studio for the day, they had shared a drink and talked about the clients they had seen, along with nearly everything else. He had been working up the nerve to ask her to dinner for weeks, not sure how she would respond, when she had first brought him up.

Tom.

She had met him at a friend's party and they had hit it off right away. He was tall and funny, telling her stories that had made her laugh so hard, she had choked on the vodka she had been drinking and it came out her nose, burning like a bitch.

He had swept her off her feet, giving her gifts and taking her to nice dinners and clubs, always with VIP treatment. One such dinner had been at his family’s country club, which she had described in detail, down to the dishes and silverware, smiling dreamily. She had admitted to him though, that she had felt slightly out of place compared to the other women there, her style of dress not quite right, but she would get it right for the next time.

That had been one of the first red flags for Fox.

The way she had told him the story, it sounded like Tom, whose name he could only picture in snide and sarcastic italics, had not exactly been forthcoming about the location of the date, thus leaving her unprepared for the evening. When he had said as much, certain this man was bad for her, she had laughed and dismissed it as him simply forgetting to tell her.

But to Fox, it had not been funny. She seemed to not see the signs the way he had and he worried about her.

Their times together after work became obsolete as she now left as soon as the day was over, calling a cheery goodnight as she quickly ran out the door to meet Tom for something.

Had Fox been jealous? Sure as shit he had been, but it was more than that.

He had begun to notice a change in her mannerisms and how she dressed since meeting Tom. He knew people changed when in a relationship. Hell, he himself had done so when dating Tiffany three years back.

After that train wreck of a relationship had ended, with his heart and ego broken and ten thousand dollars in debt, he had promised himself to be more vigilant and aware of others. He kept his guard up and was wary of everything until it was proven he did not have to be otherwise.

When he had begun to see similar signs in Dana’s relationship, the way she changed her hair and dress from the rather eclectic outfits she wore, which Fox had always looked forward to seeing, to ones that were more mainstream, he had tried to say something.

“Oh…” she had said, fiddling with the buttons on the thin lilac cardigan she wore over an equally thin floral summer dress in the middle of winter. “I’m just trying something new. Tom said….”

At the mention of his name, Fox had bristled and stopped listening. Anything Tom had to say, he did not want to hear because Tom was an asshole and no one needed to know what assholes had to say.

What he had done instead, was make sure the studio was warm, despite running hot himself and feeling sweaty throughout appointments. He had seen her shiver once in that dress, which had not been appropriate for the weather outside, and that had been enough to keep the studio at a comfortable temperature for her.

Tom had come in one rainy afternoon, surprising both of them. Dana had hurriedly jumped up and gone to him, hugging him hello. She had introduced them and Fox had watched the way Tom sized him up, keeping his arm possessively around Dana as he had. She had looked uncomfortable, her eyes flitting between them often, but she had said nothing.

“I thought I’d take you to lunch,” Tom had stated, looking at Fox, as though daring him to say something. “We could go somewhere nice. You look… good. We should celebrate.”

“Oh,” Dana had said, glancing at Fox. “We already had lunch and there’s an appointment scheduled in ten minutes.”

“But you’re not the photographer, babe. You don’t need to be here. We’ll go get something to eat. I’m hungry and you can get a drink. Come on.” He had grabbed her hand and started for the door.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t. I need to… help with the shoot,” she had said, stopping him and looking back at Fox. “Right?”

He had looked at her and then Tom who waited with a knowing smile on his face. Fox had wanted to punch him, knock that smile clean off, but he had remained calm and exhaled a slow breath.

“I could spare you,” he had said and Tom had grinned as Fox’s hands clenched into fists.

“See? He doesn’t need you. Let’s go, babe.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t need her. I said I could spare her. For this appointment only. I need her for the next one, which is in an hour.”

“Then we’ll see you in an hour,” Tom had said, putting his arm around Dana, his hand placed just beneath her breast, which had made Fox clench his jaw. Dana had wiggled slightly, her cheeks flushing, but Tom did not seem to notice or care.

They had left and for ten minutes, Fox had paced, his anger palpable. He had sworn more in those minutes than any in his life, the Tiffany timeline included when he had held pages visual proof of the monetary damage she had done to him.

He had gone over the words Tom had said that needled at him. Telling her she looked… good, with that pause in between his words. As though she had not looked good in her dark jeans and maroon turtleneck, her hair in a long ponytail.

And celebrate? Celebrate what? That she had met his approval when he decided to stop by unannounced? As though he had needed to make sure she was living up to his standards even when he was not around?

“What a FUCKING asshole,” he had said, shaking his head and exhaling out a growl.

He had already not been keen on Tom and by the time he had calmed enough that he hoped the Klines did not notice his anger, he hated him.

His anger had been in check, but had ramped up again when Dana had not returned by the agreed upon hour. Fifteen minutes into the next session, she had come into the studio, flustered and apologetic, smiling at the client and avoiding Fox’s eyes. She had on a new dark gray sweater, one that was larger and not as form fitting. Her hair had been pulled back differently than when she had left, neater and tidier, and pinned up in a bun and his hatred for Tom grew.

That had been the beginning of a strain on his friendship with Dana. He had accepted her apology, for it had not been her fault, but he felt a shift begin.

Tom had begun to call at lunch time, Dana leaving the lobby to take the call, forgoing her food to speak to him, pacing around outside shivering, even though she wore her coat.

Fox’s hatred for him grew even more and he had become short with her, which he knew was unfair, but he could not help.

They discussed only work, speaking in short sentences with only pertinent information. He had hated pulling away from her, especially as he felt it began to bleed into the pictures he took, never finding them to his satisfaction. The clients had been happy though and that was what mattered most, even if he had felt the pictures were heavy and wrong.

Recently, he had caught her crying, or having just finished and trying to hide it. After that first gray sweater, she had begun to wear rather drab dark clothing that was too big for her and her hair was nearly always in a bun. Her work was not suffering, but he knew she was, though she would not speak to him about it.

Tom had begun to call more often and when she answered, Fox could hear anger in his words before she stepped outside. He would watch her pacing, trying to speak, but knowing he was cutting her off and not allowing her to do so.

When she came inside, she would go into the bathroom for a few minutes. They would not speak of it when she came out, sniffling and sad. He hated the pressing silence in the room where they used to tease one another and laugh.

Then, on Friday he had arrived at the studio to a voicemail saying she was feeling sick and needed to take the day off. He had not called her back, sending a text instead that he hoped she felt better soon. He knew she was not sick, but he would not pry, her life being her own.

But he had seethed internally the entire day and been less cheerful and patient with clients. He had drunk a bottle of vodka to numb his pain when he got home and had woken up with a raging headache on Saturday afternoon and felt hungover well into Sunday, from the alcohol and his worry.

A crash from the studio pulled him abruptly from his thoughts and he stood up, walking quickly across the room. Opening the door, he saw a large wooden bowl had broken into four pieces.

“I’m sorry,” Dana said, glancing at him as she bent to pick them up. “It slipped out of my hands.”

“It’s okay. It’s just a bowl.”

“Which you use all the time. I’ll buy you another one.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, shaking his head and sighing as he closed his eyes.

“I want to. It was my fault and I… ow!”

He opened his eyes and saw her holding her right hand and looking at her fingers.

“What happened?”

“I got a splinter. Christ, that hurts,” she said with a moan.

“Come on, I’ll get it out.”

“I can do it.”

“Dana…”

He sighed as he put out his hand to her and she looked up at him. Placing her left hand into his, he pulled her gently to her feet and led her to his work table.

“Sit down.”

“Fox, it’s-”

“Stop. Just… let me help you,” he said, harsher than he had intended and he exhaled, shaking his head.

He saw her glance at him quickly as he picked up his optivisor. Placing it on his head, he pulled it down and turned on the light, reaching for her hand.

“Should have it out soon,” he said, looking at her hand and easily finding the splinter in her index finger. “Yeah, it should be quick.” He opened the drawer and took out the tweezers he kept there along with some alcohol wipes.

“I can do it. I don’t need you-” she said, trying to take the tweezers from him, but he held tight to them.

“Hey,” he said, raising his head and looking into her eyes, which were huge through the magnified lenses. “I said that I got it. Just… just sit still. Jesus…” He shook his head and looked back down at her hand.

“Okay, Mr. Skipperdoo,” she said quietly, her shoulders drooping.

“What?” he asked, looking at her again, frowning and blinking in confusion. “Who?”

“Nothing,” she said, her lips twitching as she tried not to smile. “I’ll… I’ll show you later.” He blinked again and this time she did smile slightly, something he had not seen in a while and his frown deepened as he returned to his task.

He used an alcohol wipe on her finger, apologizing when she hissed from it stinging and used another on the tweezers. Holding her finger, he took his time, working at getting the splinter out as gently as he could.

“Hmm,” she winced and he apologized again. She sniffled and he looked up in surprise to find big tears sliding down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” he asked, pushing his visor up to see her easier. “I didn’t think I-”

“It’s not that. You didn’t hurt me,” she said, wiping her cheeks and taking a shaky breath. “You’re being so nice to me. I don’t deserve it.”

“What? Why would you-”

“I’ve been so awful to you recently,” she whispered, sniffling again. “I’m sorry. Sorry for how things have been. For how I’ve treated you.”

“Dana,” he said, still holding her finger gently. “You have nothing-”

“We broke up. Or I broke up with him,” she whispered, looking down and sighing. “You were right about him and I didn’t listen.” He watched her lip quiver, large tears spilling from her eyes, and his heart ached for her.

“Dana, I-”

“Hello!” a voice called from the lobby.

“Shit, that’s Mrs. Struck,” he whispered, groaning as he looked at his watch. “She still has ten minutes until her appointment. Why is she always so goddamn early?”

“Anyone hooooome?” Mrs. Struck called out and Fox rolled his eyes as Dana sniffled, wiping her eyes again.

“We’ll be with you in a minute, Mrs. Struck. Just taking care of something.”

“Oh, it’s not a problem, hon. I know we’re a little early. We’ll just make ourselves at home out here,” she called back, laughing her obnoxious loud laugh and Fox shook his head in annoyance. She really had a way of getting on his nerves.

“Fox, I can do it,” Dana said in a quiet voice. “You need to-”

“She can wait. This can’t.” He stared at her, nodding as he pulled the visor back down, signaling the end of the discussion, and continued working to get the splinter from her finger.

Reaching the tip of it, he squeezed the tweezers and pulled as she gasped. Placing it on the alcohol wipe, he nodded as he inspected it.

“There. All done.” He rubbed her finger softly, looking to be sure the splinter was in fact completely gone. “Yeah. I got it.” He took the visor off and turned off the light, setting it back onto the table.

“Thank you,” she whispered, rubbing her finger.

“You’re welcome.”

She looked up at him and sighed before standing up and walking to the bathroom and he closed his eyes briefly. He wiped the tweezers and put them away, threw out the trash, and carefully cleaned up the broken bowl. With a glance back at the bathroom, he sighed as he left the studio to greet Mrs. Struck.

_______

The rest of the morning was busy with appointments, not allowing them time to talk. Dana left for the post office and to run other errands at lunch time, leaving him time alone to think about the fact that she broke up with Tom.

He was exceedingly happy to hear it, but he was still worried about her. Worried how Tom had taken it and if she was safe from him. He did not believe he was ever physically abusive, but verbally for certain. He changed her, made her feel bad about herself, and for that, Fox hoped he suffered greatly.

To the pain. Forever.

The fucker.

Suddenly, he had an idea and he hurried through his slice of leftover pizza and opened a new file on his computer.

If he worked fast enough, he could have it done before Dana returned.

#Alternate Universe #Photography #Friendship #Unhealthy Relationships #Worry #Caring #Strained Relationships #Apologies

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vintagehellfire · 1 year

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The Prowler | Eddie Munson x Reader

❦ 1/8 ☙ tw: unhealthy coping mechanisms, smut, abuse, broken families, 18+, minors DNI ❧ When reader moves to Hawkins from a small town in France after having been kicked out to live with their extended family, they lean on unhealthy coping skills. Rumours spread quickly and soon they are known as the town harlot, sleeping around to deal with their unfortunate circumstances.The Prowler, Eddie Munson, always around in some capacity, doesn't bat an eye at what people are saying, after all, he is the devil incarnate himself....[Based on Iron Maiden's self titled album]

Chapter One: The Prowler

“They’ll charge you a fiver for the main course, but you might even get some for free!” The roar of laughter drowned your thoughts, pressure filling your ears as you tried to ignore the sea of teenagers pointing their fingers at nobody else but you.

❦

The muddy boot connected with your trailer door, a sepulchral thunk echoing through the room amidst the rhythmic plunks of the pouring rain against the tin roof. It couldn’t be anybody but the Prowler. You’d spotted his head of hair in the halls of the hellhole that was known as Hawkins High. As much as you loather to admit it, he was quite the attractive character, but you couldn’t allow yourself those thoughts or feelings, no, it was best not to have them.

❦

The cruel smoke wafted from the cigarette that hung between their lips, a sigh of ecstasy, a moment of relief. Their « fix » having just left, leaving them in a ratty shirt, panties bunched on the floor of the trailer, and the ashtray on the floor. To say that the sex was anything but atrocious would have been a lie, but it was a coping strategy and one that was hard to give up. Sure cigarettes took the edge off, but they didn’t make you feel wanted and warm the way a body might, and that’s exactly the way in which (y/n) coped. Cigarettes, booze, and sex. In these moments of deep frustration, (y/n) ran a hand through their shock of dyed hair as they exhaled the poison, silently wishing the cancer sticks they smoked were menthols instead.

Not even a month passed and rumours of (y/n)’s afterschool activities were flying, and accusations were thrown left and right. Of course, only half of them were true. What was this cunning yet elusive figure from hell doing in such a dump as Hawkins? To be honest, there wasn’t an answer to be given, not even one that could have used to try to justify this choice to themselves. They might as well have tossed a dart at a map with their eyes closed, but they didn’t. It was actually more like extended family that did. After (y/n)’s ridiculously haute classe parents kicked them out to go abroad and live with their impoverished uncle, they didn’t really have much of a choice, however; there was a charm to the quietude the town provided in comparison to the rowdy home. Even despite proving to be a rumour mill, there was rare peace that settled upon the town which provided a becoming charm.

Fucking bastard, (Y/N) internally hissed before pushing themselves off of the creaky bed. Coincidentally, that same thought blew through the head of someone a few doors down from their trailer.

“Fucking bastard ,” Eddie gritted through his teeth as he tried to bandage the cut on his forearm, cooly dangling a cigarette from his lips. He worked away at bandaging himself up, the sting of the antiseptic solution burning his fresh wound. The poor man hadn’t had much luck, not just with his grades, but with being considered anything close to remotely human. Eddie “The Freak” Munson they all called him and just about anyone sane knew that he didn’t deserve it, but he was, of course, a metalhead, a Dungeon Master, in the middle of the oh-so-incredible “Satanic Panic”. Naming his club Hellfire sure didn’t feel like the smartest of moves at the moment. If he were honest with himself, it was huge reasoning for the big red target on his chest, and no, not just the snarling demon that adorned his old shirt.

After bandaging himself up, Eddie threw himself onto the bed, finishing up his cigarette and exhaling out the cancerous cloud, the very same that surrounded (y/n) in their trailer a few doors down.

Hawkins High, the hellhole, the place where all souls go to die… The place where after nights of debauchery rumours would spread like a wildfire in a drought. To say the stories and tall tales of (y/n)’s extracurricular didn’t get around was a lie, after all, it was of their own volition that they decided to bed the popular kid but this wasn’t to be expected. The rumours started as soon as they had stepped foot through the door. Some were gracious such as being a freak like that Munson kid, others were downright cruel, the most nefarious being that you were a harlot. To say that was definitely over the line, and it wasn’t like (y/n) solicited sex or anything, but being such a cherry bomb, it made it easy to get what they wanted and when they wanted it. How were they supposed to know that it would end in that prick spreading false accusations of solicitation? (Y/n) found themselves grinding their teeth together. If living in a small town in France had taught them anything, is that being an eyesore, a femme presenting person, who didn’t fit in in the least, put a target on their back, and it looked like it did about the same thing in Hawkins, Indiana. Well, all except for one person.

Eddie Munson, The Prowler, caught (y/n)’s attention on day one. Sharp canines, addictive smile, stupid fucking I don’t give a shit attitude, yeah, just their type, but this is what they aimed to avoid A person they were genuinely interested in? What could possibly go fucking wrong? They didn’t send (y/n) to Hawkins to fall in love with some metal head, Hawkins was supposed to be a punishment and not the place they found true love. Love, what even the fuck was love but an emotion that brought weakness? (Y/n) shook their head before sticking their headphones in and turning up their music as loud as the walkman would allow them to. Love was a weakness, there was more comfort in a fleeting moment than in an emotion that wields the power to rip the happiness from your heart and leave a black hole in its place, sucking all light into it.

When was this god-forsaken day to be over?

❦

The tangled bodies, the sweat, and the moans filled the tiny trailer.

“Fuck yeah baby, oh yes, yes, yes!” The man groaned out as (y/n) lay mostly still. It was almost a nightly ritual at this point. The man, or woman, would buy the booze, (y/n) would take them back to theirs, offer the smokes, and then put on their dominatrix act, but that didn’t always last long. Men liked to take control, tug and yank at their hair, liked to assert dominance over “the whore”. That’s what they were right? Nothing but a cheap whore for a night of fun. Sometimes men would throw in a fiver because they genuinely believed that’s what the agreement was, other times there wasn’t even so much as a goodbye. The nicest person by far had been a man who was clearly trying to have his first time but backed out after (y/n) talked him out of it.

“What are you doing fucking a nobody for the first time? Don’t you want it to be with someone you love?”

“ I don’t know that anybody would love me.”

“ That’s bullshit, look at you. You didn’t try to pay me, you treated me like a human, bought me flowers, whole nine yards, for what? A lay?” They scoffed. “Come on, I’m not gonna take your virginity, but I’ll let you hang out and have a drink.” The man nodded and thus began a night of philosophical conversation and literary analysis.

“Okay sweetheart, I’m done here.” The prick (y/n) took home declared, pulling out, tossing the condom into a corner of the room, and shimmying his pants back on. “Maybe we can do this again sometime, huh?” He offered them a tenner before throwing it at them like a cheap whore when he realised they weren’t taking it.

“I’m not a prostitute.” They called after him as he was leaving and with the clank of the door they let out a “ bitch.” Under their breath. Pulling themselves off the bed, (y/n) decided to light one up and make themselves a coffee before picking up their guitar and flinging themselves onto the worn couch.

Two doors down, Eddie had gotten up from the comfort of his bed and was grabbing his head, pacing back and forth, oblivious to the scandalous acts that had just taken place next door. He couldn’t place his finger on what exactly his Dungeons and Dragons campaign was missing, but it was something rather significant. No, no, they went through the Vecna storyline, he made it nearly impossible for the kids to get themselves out of that one, but they managed. A damsel in distress? To classic. Eddie wanted to scream. He had never had this much trouble in his goddamn life when it came to coming up with ideas for his campaign. A sigh left his lips as he ran a hand through the lion's mane that was his hair. Time to light up I guess , he thought to himself before pulling out a cigarette from behind his ear and marching to the trailer door. He ripped it open in frustration and plopped himself down on the first step, pulling the lighter from his pocket at the same time.

If he didn’t make this the best damn campaign, he’d be fucked. The pupils held him in high regard with expectations that blew through the roof. After all, it was Eddie, the theatrical and dramatic freak. He couldn’t revisit Vecna, could he bring back Kas? He shook his head and scrapped the idea quickly, taking a hit from his cigarette. As soon as the smoke hit his lungs he felt the buzz of nicotine and the gears started turning. He’d have the kids leave the clutches of Vecna’s realm, maybe face a few monsters, and he’d have to introduce a new threat, and interdimensional threat possibly. New monsters, new threats. Transition the kids to a new region? After Vecna wreaked Havoc, he had to introduce new characters, not like he had a choice. Once your character was dead, they were dead… well, Eddie could have included the option to have them unconscious for one to six turns… God, if death-saving rolls were a thing… He cursed at himself and tried to think, wishing he had pulled out his notebook. Could be interesting to force em to go through Bloodstone pass or even the Bloodstone Mines. There was a highly anticipated chapter coming up down the line and so it would give all the more meat to the storyline or he could introduce the forgotten realms, and involve more magic as opposed to total war.

His thoughts were interrupted by the delightful sound of a guitar playing in the background. Snapping his head towards the sound, he wondered how come he’d never heard this before, and he wondered just how sorrowful the person behind the playing must be.

(Y/N) strummed the gloomy chords, letting the heavy emotions fill the air with tension. Of course, making use of the Locrian mode was essential to them, especially since they played doom, haunting the ears of those who bothered to listen. The harrowing tale of their past sorrows, their current misfortunes, and the dark twisted tales of the occult filled what would otherwise be silence. They closed their eyes and lost themselves in the music they were writing, oblivious to the outside world. Music had become a sort of escapism ever since their parents had decided that they weren’t meeting their standards and (y/n) was good . They didn’t leave room for a single doubt on that front. Even those who would diminish them, their accomplishments and their peculiar choices were forced to admit they had a natural talent. It was as if it was an extension of themselves and it never went unnoticed.

(Y/n) played well into the night and eventually tired themselves out completely, having nearly shot their sorrowful voice. Gently, almost lovingly, they placed their guitar in the corner by the bed and tossed any soiled clothing to the ground before turning the light off and crawling under the warm sheets, the smell of sex lingering evermore.

It was lucky for (y/n) that despite waking up late the following day, it was no matter seeing as it was a Saturday. The birds chirping, the sound of those stupid fucking neighbours flowing into the trailer, but no sun beaming through the windows. With a groan, (y/n) pulled themselves up, rubbing their eyes and smearing whatever liner was leftover from the previous night before swinging their legs over the side of their bed and padding over to the kitchen to brew themselves a coffee. They liked their coffee strong and slightly bitter, without sugar or milk, and certainly without the sound of their neighbours having a row. As their coffee brewed, they reached into their cabinet for a mug before slamming the door shut in annoyance. Do they not shut the fuck up?! It wasn’t like the fighting was new, it had been going on for quite some time and if it hadn’t become a daily part of (y/n)’s routine, they didn’t know what had. Usually, the fight would die down by the afternoon, the husband would start his Chevy Citation II, rev the engine and speed off. Sometimes he came back at 4 am, other times he’d leave for days. Rinse and repeat.

Eddie nearly tore his hair out every time the neighbours would argue, he would regularly drown them out with music or his own playing. Sometimes he too would leave, but today was different. They had started fighting as soon as he had talked himself up to leaving his trailer to go talk to (y/n). He had seen them around school, in the music rooms, alone in the lunch room, and he knew their car as soon as it pulled into the trailer park but one thing he hadn’t seen up until last night was (y/n) singing. He found their voice soothing yet haunting, the memory of sitting in the night, smoking, and listening following him to the dawn and compelled him to try to approach. He knew of their reputation but that didn’t matter, hell, even he had a reputation as some kind of cult leader due to his little school club. Hellfire wasn’t satanic, it was far from it. It was just a group of teenagers indulging in a tabletop roleplaying game. Truth be told, it was a fantastic creative outlet for everyone involved and it had brought the gang much closer together, but that didn’t matter to anyone else.

As soon as he heard the screeching of tires and the engine of the Chevy roar, he decided he would make his way over to (y/n)’s trailer. He threw on his Hellfire shirt, and his tattered jeans, before jogging over.

(Y/n) heard a knock on their trailer door and rolled their eyes, could they get a fucking moment of peace? Absolutely not apparently. They grabbed their mug, knuckled turning white, and unintentionally stomped over to the trailer door, ripping it open just before another knock landed. They didn’t give a shit that they were still in a t-shirt and underwear, they didn’t care that their hair was matted or that the remnants of their makeup were smudged across their eyes.

“What do you want?” (Y/n) hissed before being able to process who exactly was standing in front of them.

“My apologies,” The Prowler spoke, eyes wide as saucers, “I didn’t mean to bother you, I can uh…” He turned his head to look back at his trailer. (Y/n)’s eyes flicked over to where he was looking before a grim expression crossed their face. How he knew they lived here was obvious, but didn’t make it any less strange for (y/n). “Listen, I’ll get out of your hair, but I wanted to let you know that I heard you last night,” and with that, the grim expression turned to anger, (y/n) thinking he’d heard them hooking up, “and you sounded really good, I just- yeah.” Eddie rubbed the back of his neck.

“Excuse me?” (y/n) asked in shock. “Get the fuck away from me, you fucking Prowler.” They growled, baring their teeth, and body began to shake. The intensity of the venom in their voice shook Eddie to the core. Nobody had ever called him a Prowler, that was certainly a new name to add to the books. Eyes wide, he started stuttering, unsure of what (y/n) thought he was referring to, imagining that their wires got crossed somewhere.

“No no no!” He tried to backtrack quickly. “Your voice, your singing,” he tried quickly, bringing (y/n)’s anger down a few notches, They stared intently at Eddie, letting out a huff while pursing their lips in thought. So it wasn’t what they had initially thought. The white-hot anger began to subside and they fought the urge to snap back a nasty retort.

“Thanks.” The reply was curt, almost bitter but the venom softened up and the anger subsided. “Is that all you want?” (Y/n) asked, wondering when this waking nightmare would be over.

“I- well,” Eddie rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, his usual cocky demeanor fading quickly when around (y/n). He didn’t understand why they had this effect on him, but they did, “you’re new to Hawkins right?” He asked, earning a slow nod from the other, eyes squinting slightly and jaw tightening. “Look, I- I’ve seen how people have treated you, I’ve heard the rumours.” He bit his lip and looked away, fearing he’d be subject to (y/n)’s anger once again. Their demeanor, however, softened a bit. Maybe they should be giving a chance to The Prowler despite that he may have heard about their x-rated activities. “If you need someone, a friend, a shoulder to lean on, just… My trailers right over there.” He pointed his thumb behind him.

(Y/n) couldn’t help but take a better look at Eddie, the curly head of hair, the wide yet soft brown eyes, the crow's feet by his eyes, they could see this becoming dangerous, but was it more dangerous than sleeping around without care? Probably not. They sighed.

“I’ve been a dick.” They state before gently looking away and adding, “I appreciate the gesture, I know you probably think I can’t take care of myself, but I can.” They say, running a hand through their hair, thoughts racing. It would be easier to be a dick, and push Eddie away, but what if… no. No, they wouldn’t allow themselves the luxury.

“It’s not that I don’t think you can, it’s just that we’re freaks, you know? And us freaks, we have each other.” Eddie conceded, he wanted to include those who were cast out, to be there, give them a space to be themselves, and (y/n) was no exception. “Anyway, I came here to tell you that I love your voice, you’ve got a good one for the doom-like songs you're writing.” With that, Eddie turned back and started walking back home.

❦

Over the next few weeks, (y/n) avoided Eddie. He was too kind, and all they could think of was how he would probably be a golden retriever boyfriend. He tried to invite (y/n) to lunch, or even offer them a ride home from time to time. He’d somehow always be around and that made their blood boil and so they decided that it was time to push him away in any way that they could, which so happened to be inviting someone back to their trailer to fuck the desire out.

It was a Tuesday and (y/n) was having a drink at The Hideout, unbeknownst to them, Corroded Coffin, Eddie’s band, was playing. A groan left their lips and they ordered another round, trying to forget about the dashing smile and soft gaze that the metal head shot their way. They needed to get him out of their head and they thought that maybe if they filled their bed with someone else, it would do the trick. Luckily, or rather, unluckily, a tall and handsome man slid into the seat next to (y/n).

“Hey, sugar,” He purred causing them to gag, “can I buy you a drink?” (y/n) looked him up and down, he was built, but his get-up left much to be desired. A tight white t-shirt and blue jeans, nothing special, and yet it would do. His green eyes were piercing and his sandy blonde hair flopped in front of them. He needs a haircut.

“Depends what you’re offering.” (Y/n) retorted with a little wink before taking a swig of their beer. This is fucking exhausting. What they didn’t realise from this interaction is that Eddie was watching them. To say he didn’t have a soft spot for (y/n) would be a lie, though he tried to justify it by telling himself it’s just physical attraction the more he learned about them, the more drawn to them he became, and it was pretty easy given they were neighbors. He’d often poke his head out the window to see them feeding the birds, watering the little garden they had planted, petting the dogs, and playing with them, and he’d even seen them take in a stray cat. That’s not even touching on their haunting voice.

He was so distracted that he barely registered Jeff talking to him until he snapped his fingers in front of Eddie’s face. Only then did he tear his eyes from the sight he was fixated on - the man dragging (y/n) out by the hand.

“Dude, let’s go, we’re on in a minute.” With his eyes glued to the door, Eddie nodded slowly. When he managed to tear his eyes from the door he made his way to his guitar and picked it up violently before setting everything up, making sure all his pedals were where they belonged on the pedal board and that nothing was loose. He took one look at the guys, then trailed them back to the door, grip tightening on the neck of his guitar.

“Hey everyone, we’re Corroded Coffin, hope you enjoy.” And with that, he let the first chord ring out before throwing himself into a violent performance. To say the guys had seen something like this come from Eddie would be a lie. They hadn’t seen this much rage and passion in a long time. It had to be one of their best sets to date.

❦

“Are you enjoying yourself, sugar?” The man inquired as he went down on (y/n) and all they could do in response was moan. What else were they supposed to do? The man was going at them like a fucking dog licking peanut butter off a spoon. Has he ever even eaten someone out before? “Mmm yeah let me hear you moan baby.” He hummed. God, he spoke way too much.

“Just fuck me already.” They breathed out through half-gritted teeth, waiting for this hell to be over, why they expected any one-night stand to go well was beyond them.

“So fucking needy… Mmm, I like that.” The stranger growled. “You don’t mind if I don’t use a condom right?” With that, (y/n) shot up. “It just feels be-” The man got cut off and pushed away by (y/n)’s foot connecting to his shoulder.

“Get out.” Disbelief was plastered to his face. He went to protest but was promptly and swiftly cut off. “I don’t want your excuses, get up, get dressed, and get out, now! ” they roared before getting up and pulling their panties back on. The man did as instructed while cursing.

“Don’t need to be such a frigid ass bitch. Can’t believe people say you’re an easy lay.” With that, rage flooded (y/n) and they picked up the man’s belongings and swiftly opened the window, throwing them into the mud.

“Get the fuck out, get out of my sight, and so help me god, if you call me a frigid ass bitch again…” They started to shove the man towards the door. “I will cut your fucking dick off. Don’t come back.” And with that pointed threat, they shoved him out the door and slammed it in his face. (Y/n) locked the door before pressing their back to it and sighing, reaching around for a t-shirt before sinking down to the ground. They heard the man cursing as he picked up his clothes and walked off. The relief flooded them slowly but was almost immediately replaced with a feeling of guilt and regret. They felt dirty. For the first time since sleeping around, they felt dirty .

A knock came at their trailer door soon after – or so it seemed – honestly, (y/n) had lost track of time, dipping in and out of full consciousness. They had picked up a cigarette at some point and had started to smoke yet there was no recollection of it at all. Slowly, they got up and peeled the door open only to find Eddie in front and a dumbfounded look on his face.

“What the fuck? ” Eddie let out, eyes softening as he saw you. “Are you okay? He just spat something about you being frigid” Anger overtook him, he had somehow become protective of (y/n) despite the fact that they were avoiding him like the plague. He avoided mentioning that the thick-headed jock spat something or the other about fucking the town freak right after.

“Wha-” (y/n) began but couldn’t put two and two together. In fact, they didn’t understand why the man who was at their door just a couple of weeks ago and hadn’t been there since was so worried., “Eddie… I- Come in.” They tried before moving over to let the man through.

“What did he do? Did he hurt you, (y/n)?” That was the first time he’d used your name and it struck a chord. (Y/n)’s eyes almost softened up, almost , tears brimming their eyes and threatening to spill over. They took a minute, blood roaring through their ears like a river, it was similar to when you’d put a conch shell to your ear, and the pressure in their head was becoming too much.

“I’m… I’m tired.” They broke down, the river of tears spilling over and flowing down their cheeks. “He- No, no, I’m not okay.” And with that Eddie took them into his strong arms, tangling a hand in their hair and the other around their waist. (Y/n) stiffened with shock before gently relaxing into The Prowler, Eddie Munson, the man who seemed to be everywhere they went. He smelled of tobacco, oud, and something a little woodsy, and (y/n) could safely say it was addicting and it scared them how much it made them feel at home with this man.

“It’s okay…” Eddie muttered into (y/n)’s hair. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.” He just hoped that you couldn’t feel his heart hammering in his chest. This was the closest he’d been to you and he was so afraid to fuck it up.

#eddie x y/n #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #angst #enemies to friends to enemies to lovesr #enemies to lovers #well. kind of.#reader insert #french reader #moved to hawkins #strained relationships #slowburn #1986 #stranger things #eddie munson is alive #he's a cinnamon roll #reader is a hardass #nb reader

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poppysinpebbles · 1 year

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Rin and Yukio's relationship is exactly how I picture Jeff and Liu's relationship

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200story · 1 year

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Thread

Round and round Ana wound the thread, bright turquoise running between her fingers. “If you would just let me explain…” she tried to say. “You’re not going,” the older woman announced, not even glancing away from her work on the loom. “There’s no point discussing it.” Her fingers danced like a harpist plucking the strings, but hers was a song of color and patterns that would take weeks to…

View On WordPress

#daughter #fiction #flash fiction #leaving #loom #microfiction #mother #mothers and daughters #short story #strained relationships #thread

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rai-jin-andro-jin · 2 years

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for those of you with strained, complicated, or no-contact relationships with your fathers —

you owe them nothing.

you owe yourself safety and space.

today does not have to be a happy day for you.

you don't want to celebrate your dad? that's ok. don't.

#parental relationships #fathers day #strained relationships #no contact relationships #survivors

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nmolesofadrenaline · 6 months

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#abuse survivor #emotional abuse #love love love #on love #bad relationships #heartbreak #breakup #hurtquotes #im hurtin #hurt/comfort #dark academic aesthetic #dark academism #dark academia #light acamedia #light academism #toxic relationship #strained relationships #dysfunctional family #relationship anxiety

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vexedhighness · 2 years

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yeah

#theo #long distance is killing me #borderline personality disorder #bpd fp #bpd #strained relationships

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cassemiah · 2 years

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Avoiding the passing of our gazes like headlights at night

#poems and art #poetry #spilled poetry #poets corner #poets on tumblr #spilled thoughts #poems on tumblr #spilled ink #writers on tumblr #poems #short poems #strained relationships

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tenth-sentence · 3 months

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Her ideal marriage was under a certain amount of strain because she had not conceived despite her husband's best efforts.

"Incarnations of Immortality: Being a Green Mother" - Piers Anthony

#book quote #incarnations of immortality #being a green mother #piers anthony #marriage #ideal #strain #strained relationships #childbearing

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i-am-not-your-little-princess · 2 years

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Here's a sneak peek for Heal

Not sure if this is going into the second or third chapter, but this idea wouldn't leave my brain, so I took it and ran with it!

Agustín has some choice words for his eldest hija. She needed a wake up call.

"Hello?"

"Isabela? Is that you?"

Was that Pá? And why did he sound so distraught? And why was he calling her so late?

"Pá? Is everything alright?"

There was a pause. Some shuffling noises, a muffled voice that sounded like it belonged to her mamá.

"Pá? What's going on?"

More shuffling. Isabela heard her father clear his throat a few times before he finally began to speak again.

"Isa? Are you still there?"

Isabela scrunched her eyebrows in confusion and concern. He father seemed to get more and more distracted with every word he spoke. What was going on?

"Sí, pá, I'm still here."

"Ah, good, good, that's good. Listen, mi flor, I need to tell you something, and-"

She didn't mean to interrupt him, but her excitement got the better of her.

"-Ooh, what is it?! Am I the first to know? Are we finally taking that vacation?! Are we-"

"-Isa!"

Isabela snapped her mouth shut in bewilderment. Whatever news her father had just gotten couldn't have been good, if it had left him so on edge.

"L-lo siento, mi flor, I shouldn't have snapped at you."

What was going on?

"It's okay, pá. What was it that you wanted to tell me?"

Her pá cleared his throat, again, and it sounded as if he was trying to choke back tears?

"I'm so sorry, Isa, I'm afraid it's not good news."

With her nervous energy levels rising, Isabela began to pace the floors of her apartment.

"Your hermanita is in the hospital."

Isabela froze, stopping right in her tracks. Hermanita? Hospital? Did Luisa injure herself while weightlifting? Was she okay?

"Is she okay? How bad did she injure herself? Is she still going to be able to compete?"

Her papí's lack of response to her questions were unsettling.

"W-what? Isabela, no. Luisa is doing just fine. It's Mira. Mirabel is in the hospital."

Oh.

Of course. Of course, it just had to be Mirabel. Mirabel, who was babied, and doted on, who got all of the attention from everyone. Everyone praised her for being so kind, so selfless, so intelligent. Their parents would drop anything and everything they were doing if they so much as heard her cry. It was absolutely ridiculous. She was like the girl who cried wolf. A burden.

The last time her mamí caught her calling Mirabel a burden, she gave Isabela the chancla, and threatened to do it harder next time, in the middle of town, if she ever heard those words come out of her mouth again.

Luisa and Dolores thought she was too hard on Mirabel.

Camilo was even more of a bully than she was.

But it was her papí's reaction that terrified her the most. He had a quiet rage, an anger that didn't come out much, but when it did, you'd know, because it'd be directed at you. His ice cold glare was so unnerving, it felt as if all of the blood had frozen over in her veins. His previously sunny, happy-go-lucky disposition evaporated into thin air, was replaced with a frigid, hard-hearted anger.

And when his anger reached a breaking point, well, you'd better stay out of the way.

If only Isabela had listened to her own advice.

But no. She just had to open up her stupid mouth.

"Of course." She scoffed, "Of course, it just has to be Mirabel. Your two oldest children move out, and she still needs more attention? What did she do, trip and break her pinky toe? Seriously, she's like the girl who cried wolf!"

There was nothing but silence on the other end of the phone. An eerie, unsettling silence, one that made her question everything she'd done in her life up to this very moment.

The longer the silence stretched, the more Isabela knew she'd said the absolute wrong thing.

She fucked up.

And she was about to feel the consequences of her hurtful words.

"What did you just say?"

Oh no. He was angry. No, he was more than angry. In fact, Isabela had never heard his voice sound like that before.

"I-"

He interrupted her this time. His voice had never been so cold before. At least not towards her.

"I don't know what your problem is, but this needs to stop, right now. Your mamá and I have just about had it with your attitude."

"W-what?" She scoffed. "I-I was kidding! I would never-"

Agustín sighed. "Isabela, you and I both know you weren't kidding. You think we don't see it? Do you really think Mirabel doesn't see it? How much your words hurt her?"

"I-I. I'm s-sorry."

"Are you? Because this isn't the first time you've apologized and went right back to verbally eviscerating your hermanita when you thought no one was paying attention! I don't know what happened between the two of you, but you're ruining your relationship with your hermanitas and breaking your mamá's heart."

"I-"

"Please, let me speak. Your hermanita collapsed at school today because of stomach pains. Pains we thought had gone away years ago, but have apparently been there the whole time! She told us she bore it on her own because she didn't want to be a burden anymore! Who could she possibly have gotten that idea from?!"

Isabela's heart broke as her papí's voice cracked. It shattered when he erupted into choked sobs, and the gravity of her words had finally and truly sunk in.

She said nothing. She knew he didn't want her to speak, that he wanted her to listen. So that's exactly what she did.

Agustín sniffled. "Your sister is very sick. We don't know exactly what is going on yet. But it's not good. The best case scenario is bad. I don't even want to think about the worst case scenario."

Isabela swiped fat tears from her cheeks and sat down on her kitchen floor. Her papì's voice hitched again.

"Isabela, you're an adult. It's time for you to grow up. The way you treat your hermanita needs to change, because frankly, it's juvenile. You're not a child anymore."

"I know."

"Your hermanita is going to need everyone in her corner. She's going to need you. So leave your snark and your piss-poor attitude at the door, or don't bother coming."

He hung up the phone.

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