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butdaddyilovehim-hs · 7 months

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Obsession - Part 1

Summary: Y/N meets her brother's girlfriend's dad for the first time... and they can't seem to stay away from each other. Warnings: older!H, age gap romance, smut to come, angst

Word Count - 4k

"Jake, they're going to be here soon, right? You need to come downstairs so you can introduce me when they get here."

"Calm down, Y/N. I'm coming. Is the food ready?" Jake calls from his room. Y/N nods as she pulls the tray out of the oven before realising that he can't see her and yells back an affirmative. This is big. Jake had never invited any of his girlfriend's families to meet her - it had simply never been that serious before. But he seems to really like Isla, and Y/N, being the protective big sister, made him organise something. From what Y/N knows, Isla's mom is out of the picture, and she lives with her dad.

As Y/N quickly sets the table, she can't help but think about how much has changed since their parents' tragic accident five years ago. She was just 19 at the time, thrust into a world of responsibilities she hadn't been prepared for. But she rose to the challenge, becoming not only Jake's guardian but also his closest confidante and friend.

Now, at 24, Y/N is balancing her own life as well. She's in her final year at university, pursuing a degree in literature. Her love for books and storytelling has always been a part of her, and it's no surprise to anyone who knows her that she has chosen this path. Her dream is to become a writer one day, like her mom had been, crafting novels that will transport readers to different worlds, if only for a little while.

Jake emerges from his room, his usually tousled hair neatly combed. He wears a crisp shirt and a slightly anxious expression. Y/N can't help but smile at her brother. He has grown into a responsible and kind-hearted young man, and she is proud of him for taking this step.

"You look great," Y/N says, offering a reassuring smile. "Just be yourself, and everything will go fine."

Jake nods, though his nervousness is still evident. Y/N knows how much he cares about Isla, and she is determined to make this dinner a pleasant experience for all of them.

As they hear the doorbell ring, Y/N takes a deep breath and prepares herself, sneaking a quick glance at her brother, who looks even more anxious.

"Remember," Y/N whispers to Jake, "just be genuine. Show him that you truly care about Isla, and he'll see the same good-hearted young man that I see."

Jake nods, and they both make their way to the front door. Y/N swings it open and it takes everything in her to keep her jaw from falling open. Isla and her father stand in the doorway, the latter carrying a large bouquet of flowers. But the flowers aren't what has Y/N so taken aback.

The first thing that strikes her is his striking handsomeness. He has a timeless charm about him, with a chiseled jawline, piercing green eyes, and salt-and-pepper hair that only seems to enhance his rugged appeal. His eyes scan her up and down before he offers her a smile, one that Y/N feels in her core. He couldn’t have been older than 45, and he carries himself well. He oozes wealth and success, and Y/N has to remind herself to maintain her composure.

"Hello, Mr. Styles," she manages to say, though her voice quivers slightly. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I'm Y/N, Jake's sister."

Mr. Styles extends his hand with a warm smile. "Y/N, the pleasure is mine, but it's Harry. I insist,” he replies, his voice smooth and comforting.

As they shake hands, Y/N can't help but feel a subtle connection between them, beyond the initial surprise of his appearance. His hand is warm, and she revels in the touch before realizing she might have been holding on a bit too long. She quickly composes herself, dropping his grip as Isla introduces herself, and Y/N sends the young girl what she hopes is a welcoming smile.

As they all settle at the dinner table, Y/N tries to put her initial surprise behind her and focus on making the evening enjoyable for everyone. The conversation flows smoothly, with Jake and Isla sharing stories of their time together. Harry doesn't grill Jake like Y/N had been worried he would, but instead, he is polite and extremely well-spoken. The sleeve of his jacket slides up slightly while he speaks, gesturing with his hands, and Y/N's eyes almost roll off her head when she catches sight of the start of a sleeve of tattoos. He must have noticed her staring because Y/N suddenly feels his eyes on her, and she meets his gaze to find him wearing a slightly mischievous smirk.

"So, Y/N, we haven't heard much from you this evening. Tell me about yourself." He leans forward, taking a sip of his wine, staring at her over the top of his glass.

"Oh, um," Y/N begins, feeling the blush rise to her cheeks. She is mindful that Jake and Isla are also seated at the table, so she needs to control herself.

"I'm in my final year at university currently. I'm studying literature."

"Really? It's one of my interests as well. I used to teach it before I took over running my father's company."

"Oh, that's amazing. I'm the same way… Jake likes to joke that we're going to run out of space for all my books." Y/N laughs, and Harry joins in her laughter. Jake simply rolls his eyes, muttering to Isla about how Y/N is going to fill his room with books when he moves out.

"Y/N, I forgot to ask you about this, and Mr. Styles, I hope it's alright, but I actually managed to get Isla and me concert tickets for this evening. Would it be alright if we went? I promise we'll be back before midnight." Jake pipes up, rubbing his hands together nervously. Y/N shoots Harry a look, who simply shrugs and nods.

"As long as you're being safe, I think that should be okay. Have fun, you two. Y/N and I will clean up."

Jake and Isla quickly bid their goodbyes, with Y/N and Isla exchanging numbers, and Y/N making the younger girl promise to text her if she ever needs anything. When the door shuts behind them, Harry and Y/N are left alone, and the air in the room shifts considerably.

"So…"

"So…" Harry mimics, coaxing a small laugh from Y/N.

"You don't have to stay. I can clean up alone. I'm sure you'd rather get home." Y/N says as she starts taking the plates to the sink.

"No, I'd like to stay. Get to know you a bit more." Harry picks up the wine glasses and follows her into the kitchen. Her breath hitches as she feels him behind her, but he simply reaches over her to place the glasses in the sink before moving back to the table to grab more things.

"Are you sure? No one waiting for you at home?" The question slips out before Y/N can stop it, and she internally facepalms. Get it together, Y/N. He isn’t interested. He's older than her, by a lot. Even if he didn’t have a girlfriend, what he did have was a hell of a lot more experience.

Harry appears back in the doorway of the kitchen, holding more plates, his smirk back on his face.

"No… no one at home. Are you trying to kick me out? Got a boyfriend coming over?"

"No boyfriend. I… haven’t had much luck in that department." She turns away from him, facing the sink so he wouldn’t be able to see the blush on her cheeks.

"Really? Pretty girl like you? I would assume the boys would be falling at your feet."

She shakes her head in a silent laugh as she loads the dishwasher before pulling out two clean wine glasses, lifting one in offering.

"One more glass wouldn’t hurt. Then I’ll leave you to your evening." He takes it with a nod of thanks, opening the bottle, and Y/N moves to sit on the couch, bringing the glasses with her. He sits beside her, and Y/N forces herself to relax when she realises how close he is. She can smell his cologne now. It’s vanilla, intoxicating, and almost euphoric.

"It’s fine. I enjoy some new company once in a while. Jake is a great kid, but we do get tired of each other."

"He seems great. Isla really likes him."

"Isla’s really amazing. You’ve done a really great job with her." At this, Harry looks proud.

"I appreciate that. Raising a kid alone has been a struggle, but we’ve managed this far. I can’t believe she’s going to be 18. So, I’m curious to know more about your thoughts on some classics. I don’t know many people who take as much of an interest in books as I do. What are your favourites?

“I love this question. I've always been fascinated by the works of Russian authors. Dostoevsky, in particular, has this incredible ability to explore the depths of human psychology. 'Crime and Punishment' is a masterpiece in that regard.”

Harry nods, his gaze fixed on Y/N as if hanging on to her every word.

"I couldn't agree more. Dostoevsky's exploration of guilt, morality, and the human condition is both thought-provoking and intense. 'The Brothers Karamazov' is another one of his works that left a profound impact on me.”

"And what about contemporary literature? Are there any recent books or authors that have caught your attention?”

Y/N pauses, considering her response, swirling what is left in her glass.

"Well, I've been quite taken by the works of Kazuo Ishiguro. His ability to craft emotionally resonant narratives is truly remarkable. 'Never Let Me Go' is a haunting exploration of identity and mortality."

Harry nods again in agreement. "Ishiguro's prose is beautifully understated, and his exploration of themes like memory and love is incredibly moving. 'The Remains of the Day' is another gem. I have a really great article on some of his work. What’s your number? I’ll send you the link.” He pulls out his phone and looks at her expectantly.

Y/N rattles off the digits and her heart races when he phone dings on the table. She has his number.

There’s silence for a moment as they both drink from their glasses. Y/N can tell they’re both well aware of the tension, but Harry is better at hiding how he’s affected compared to her.

"Have you dated since Isla’s mother?" Y/N isn’t quite sure where the question comes from, but her wine glass is getting awfully low, and Harry’s presence is messing with her head. Every few seconds, her eyes wander to his lips, and Harry follows her gaze. They’re treading in dangerous waters, and they both know it, but for some reason, it’s even more exciting. Y/N shifts slightly on the couch, and her knee brushes his. Harry doesn’t flinch; he doesn’t move; he just keeps his leg where it is, maintaining the contact. She watches as he takes another sip of wine, his gaze fixed on her, his eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and desire.

"Dated is a strong term. I sleep with people when I feel the urge. I haven’t met anyone that I’ve wanted to start anything serious with. No one I wanted to… what is it your generation says? Wine and dine?" He raises his glass in Y/N’s direction, his eyes locked onto hers.

Y/N can't help but laugh at his playful tone, even as her heart races at the implications of his words.

"Yes, wine and dine. That's certainly an approach, Mr. Styles.” She hadn’t meant for the name to sound as suggestive as it did. Or maybe she did. He swallows thickly at the use of his last name, shifting in his seat.

“Well maybe I just haven’t met the woman who’s made me want to change.”

“That’s a… possibility.” He’s slightly closer to her now and his scent is overwhelming her. Her gaze flicks from his eyes back down to his lips again and this time, he calls her out on it.

“Do you need something Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

“I asked if you needed something. You seem rather fascinated… is there something on my face?”

“Oh! No! There’s nothing on your face it’s fine.” “Just fine?” He teases and Y/N covers her face with her hands, her head spinning slightly from the alcohol. She looks up at him again, meeting his eyes and trapping her bottom lip between her teeth. He groans, almost inaudibly.

“Stop looking at me like that Y/N or I’m going to think-” He trails off, before shaking his head and running a hand over his face. He stands, picking up his wine glass and moves towards the kitchen.

“Think what Harry?” Y/N follows him, standing in the doorway, forcing him to look at her.

“I- I think I should be going. It was lovely to meet you and Jake finally, I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.”

Y/N decides to play dumb. She is fully aware of what’s behind his sudden change of mood, and she knows he’s cautious. Wary. Normally she would be too, but the wine has made her bold and he’s captivating.

"Harry," Y/N says softly, taking a step closer to him."Is everything okay?”

Harry lets out a sigh, his shoulders slumping as he looks at her with a mixture of longing and frustration. "Y/N, you're making it really difficult for me to leave," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

“So don’t.” Her arms go up, around his neck and they’re close now. Close enough that Y/N can feel the warmth of his breath on her face. And then he’s leaning in.

Their lips touch for the first time and it’s electric. Harry’s hands move up her body, tangling in her hair, pulling slightly and Y/N moans into his mouth. He quickly establishes dominance in the kiss, kissing her until she’s gasping for air. He walks with her, pushing her until her back is against the wall and he’s leaning into her. Harry pulls back for a moment to breathe and Y/N pulls him closer, wanting needing him in her orbit. He sinks into her touch for a second, two, three and then he’s pulling away from her, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Fuck.” He mutters, almost to himself and his internal turmoil is more than evident on his face.

“Harry? What’s wrong?”

“Y/N I’m almost twice your age. And this?” He gestures between them. “Can’t happen.”

“Why not? You feel it don’t you? The pull? There’s something here.” Y/N steps closer and Harry lets her.

“Of course I feel it Y/N and that’s why I know that whatever it is, we need to ignore. You’re young, and I’m well…”

“Just because I’m young, it doesn’t mean I’m immature Harry. As an adult, I’m telling you that whatever this is, I’m ok with it.”

“I can’t- I don’t… Y/N, I have to go.”

Y/N stands there speechless as Harry pushes away from her. He grabs his jacket off the couch and moves towards the door.

“Harry, let’s talk about this.”

“Thanks for dinner.” And then he’s gone, shutting the door behind him, leaving Y/N alone, incredible confused and slightly turned on.

It’s been two weeks since Y/N saw Harry at dinner and it’s been about two minutes since she last thought about him. Well to be more precise, since she last thought about the feeling of his lips on hers. If she closes her eyes, she can picture it. The warmth of his touch, the way he pushed her up against the wall…

“Y/N? Are you even listening to me?” Jake waves a hand in front of his sisters face, noting that it’s the 3rd time that she’s zoned out during the conversation.

“Oh. Sorry. What were you saying?” Y/N forces herself to pay attention.

“Isla said she’d text you but she wanted to know if you’d be cool with going over to their place to help her with an assignment for her literature class.”

“Umm… is her dad going to be there?”

“Mr Styles?” Jake raises a quizzical brow. “I don’t know… why?”

“Uh, no reason. When does she want me to come over? I’m working most of this week except tomorrow.”

“I told her that, she said tomorrow was fine. Thanks for helping her Y/N she’ll appreciate it.”

“No worries Jake.” Y/N offered a small smile but internally, she couldn’t be more stressed. The thought of seeing Harry again, especially after he left in such a rush, made her incredibly nervous. Maybe he wouldn’t be there. Hopefully he wouldn’t be home.

(4:09pm) Isla Styles: Hi Y/N! Jake told me you were happy to come over and help me tomorrow! Thank you so much! I should be home around 6pm, usually I work till 8 but I’ll ask to finish early. Dad shouldn’t be home so I’ll leave a key under the mat for you. Let yourself in at 6 if I’m not home yet and I’ll meet you there.

(4:34pm) Y/N: Hey Isla! No worries, happy to help. See you tomorrow :)

6pm rolls around and Y/N finds herself standing in front of the house… well mansion Isla had given her the address for. There are no cars in the driveway so Y/N assumes Isla is running late. But just in case, she knocks. And she waits. There’s no sound from inside the house so Y/N fumbles under the mat for the key and slides it in the lock. She’s aware she’s alone in the house but she still tiptoes inside quietly. The ceilings are high, and there is a large statement staircase in the middle of the entrance. Floor to ceiling windows are in excess and Y/N stands quietly in awe for a few moments. It’s modern, and clean and everything Y/N would want in a house. She finds the living room easily, deciding to set up the few things she brought to help Isla with her assignment on the dining table.

(6:09pm) Isla Styles: I’m on my way! 15 minutes, I swear! Make yourself at home x

Y/N is opening her laptop when she hears a noise. A noise that sounds a lot like a moan. And then it happens again. It’s faint, muffled due to where she is in the house, so she moves from the dining table to the bottom of the staircase.

“Fuck Harry. Right there, oh my GOD!” The woman’s voice is high pitched, her moans increasing in volume as Harry, from what Y/N can gather, fucks the shit out of her.

“You like that baby? Gonna come for me? You feel so good. Fuck Y/N.”

Y/N stills at the sound of her name, not waiting to hear the other woman’s response before scrambling back to the kitchen. Did he just…? Surely not.

10 minutes passes and Y/N hears heels click clacking down the stairs. From where she sits, she gets a glimpse of a woman in a short blue dress, who lets herself out without another sound.

At least they’re done, Y/N thinks to herself.

She’s scrolling mindlessly on her phone, willing Isla to appear, when she hears footsteps. She didn’t hear the front door open again which means…

Harry appears in front of her, with only a pair of boxers on, making his way to the fridge and pulling out a bottle of water. He hasn’t noticed her yet and Y/N doesn’t really know how to handle it. But as usual, her mouth speaks before her brain catches up.

“Do you usually call the women you’re hooking up with my name? Or is that just a more recent thing?”

He jumps, spilling a bit of water down his chest, as he realises who is sitting at his dining room table.

“Y/N what the fuck are you doing in my house?”

“Hello to you too. Isla wanted help with an assignment. She’s late, so she told me to let myself in. She also told me you wouldn’t be home. But obviously you are… and someone else is too it seems.” She smirks at how uncomfortable he seems as she makes her way over to him.

“Isla isn’t home till after 8 on Saturdays.” Is all he can think of to say.

“Mmm. You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m not discussing my sex life with you Y/N. I told you, nothing is going to happen between us.” But even so, he steps closer.

“Ok, but if you’re calling other women my name, you must want it to. And I want it to. So that makes us two consenting adults. I don’t think I can stay away from you, Harry.”

Harry’s eyes shut as he inhales the smell of Y/N’s perfume, the intoxicating scent taking him back to the night a few weeks before. This time Y/N is the one to lean in, attaching her lips to his. She’s mindful that he was fucking someone else just moments before but in the moment she can’t bring herself to care. She can feel the moment that Harry gives in, caging her in against the kitchen counter, devouring her mouth with his. Y/N runs her fingers down his chest, revelling in the chance she gets to touch and feel. His skin is smooth and his curls are soft. She finds the harder she pulls, the more insatiable he becomes.

“Y/N? Are you here?” Isla’s voice rings out from the foyer and both Harry and Y/N freeze, pulling away from each other.

“Get out of here… when she sees you without any fucking clothes on she’s going to ask questions.” Y/N pushes on his bare chest and Harry quickly moves up the back stairs up to his room, but not before pressing a small peck to her lips again.

“I’m so sorry I’m a bit late! Are you ready to get started?” Isla chirps, completely oblivious as to what was happening just moments before.

Y/N nods, and starts to show Isla some of the books she brought when her phone dings. Once, twice, then three times.

“Someone’s popular!” Isla jokes. Y/N offers her a small smile as she flips her phone over.

(6:31pm) Harry: You’re right.

(6:31pm) Harry: I don’t think I can stay away from you either.

(6:31pm) Harry: Let me take you out for dinner. Let’s talk.

Y/N glances nervously over at Isla, who seems engrossed in her reading material.

(6:33pm) Y/N: Ok. We’ll talk.

A/N: Hi!!! Thank you for reading, I am SO excited for this series to begin. What do we think of our characters so far...? Reblogs and Feedback are always appreciated 💋

Tags:

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urdepressedslut · 9 months

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You’re Mine, Sunshine ❝part seven❞

♡ Pairing: Grumpy!Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Fem!Reader

♡ Summary: Bucky finds you making a mess in the kitchen, attempting to bake and offers his help. The two of you get to talking and some reveals about each other begin to come out. Will he finally tell you about your stalker?

♡ Warnings: language, light angst, super fluffy, talk of parent death, mentions of guns, these two are so adorable im literally melting

Part 8

Trope ⇢ Grumpy x Sunshine | Mob!Au Bodyguard!Au

“I appreciate you passing on the message Captain, you know I’d do it personally but— I’m a busy man.” Pierce told Steve with a smirk at the end.

Steve nodded in welcome, but otherwise found it strange Pierce didn’t find the whole stalker situation concerning.

Pierce had called Steve in to make sure he had informed Bucky of the whole box— stalker thing. Pierce choosing not to do it himself, had Steve playing messenger.

“I understand sir.” Steve said lastly, turning to exit the room, knowing he shouldn’t take up too much of Pierce’s time.

“Oh and one more thing Captain,” Pierce rushed out, halting Steve in his tracks, “I need you to do something for me.”

“Okay a tablespoon of… wait no…” You mumbled to yourself, hands hovering over the mess that was baking supplies on the island of the kitchen.

You grabbed what you thought was an empty cup and pulled it towards your body— but you were unaware of the flour that was already filled inside.

The white powder went flying all over your front, covering your face and down your shirt— dusting onto your pants.

“Ah shit.” You mumbled under your breath.

Bucky seemed to enter at a perfect time, catching you attempting to cough away the flour on your lips— and catching you swearing which surprised him. He bit his lip, trying to keep his laugh from bubbling out.

You heard his light chuckle and glanced up, slightly embarrassed that he caught you in such a state. You were attempting to wipe away the flour from your lashes before speaking up— happy the white powder was covering your red cheeks.

“Hi James— kinda a bad time.” You chuckled, your vision still blurred with flour.

“I can see that. You need help?” He offered.

Truthfully, he’d wanted to help from the beginning but didn’t want to intrude on your time. He had to remind himself that he was strictly your bodyguard— and that didn’t mean he had to do everything you’re doing.

You smirked at his offer to help, knowing it would be a lot more fun to bake with someone. Especially if that someone was him.

“Of course, that’d be great! Thanks James!” You almost squeaked in excitement.

He wastes no time and hurried around the counter, scooting right next to you— hovering his hands over the messy island.

“It’s no problem doll— now where do we start?” He let his eyes dart to your face for a moment, knowing the nickname flustered you.

He couldn’t control the power he felt when he watched you get all ancy— loving the way your face dusted pink almost immediately.

Clearing your throat, you pointed to a recipe card hidden in the piles of flour everywhere.

“There— read me how many eggs we need.” You asked him, still attempting to wipe the white powder off your face.

He grabbed the card, shaking off the flour and squinting his eyes to read the pretty cursive writing.

Ingredients:

1 cup Unsalted Butter (softened) 1 ½ cups Sugar 2 large Eggs 2 teaspoons Vanilla 2 ¾ cup Flour 1 ½ teaspoon Cream of Tartar ½ teaspoon Baking Soda 1 teaspoon Salt

He smiled at the writing, seeing the smudges of cinnamon on the card. The warm, peppery scent filling his senses. It was clearly hand written, and he wondered if it was yours.

"It says you need two large eggs." He told you.

You coughed another cloud of flour out, causing Bucky to chuckle. He set down the recipe card, walking closer to you.

"Hold still." He told you.

Without giving it much thought, he practically pushed the front of his body to yours, his eyes focusing on your flour covered face. He grabbed a cloth and started gently wiping off the flour. He was so engrossed in his task of clearing the flour, he didn't notice your now exposed flushed cheeks.

You could feel his breath fanning your face, his breath minty from the gum he had been chewing. You felt the butterflies fluttering around violently in your stomach, the nerves filling your veins.

He wiped most of the flour off by now, his eyes narrowed in focus. He held the cloth in his metal hand, and before he could stop himself, he raised his flesh hand— rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip.

The rough pad of his thumb wiped off the layer of white dust, revealing your plump bottom lip.

The act seemed innocent, but his gesture felt so intimate. The way your lip could feel his warmth through his thumb, the faintest thump of his pulse— beating into your lip. He gently pinched your bottom lip in between his pointer finger and thumb, trapping his own bottom lip in between his teeth when he heard you gasp.

Your heart was beating violently in your chest as he stared at your mouth— the way he was lost in thought for moment.

He seemed to snap out of his trance, and cleared his throat— backing away. It was only then he realized just how close he was to you.

"Sorry uh... there— I think I got it all." He said lowly.

You swallowed nervously, your cheeks a vibrant red by now. You felt like you could still feel the ghost of his touch on your lips.

"Uh yeah... two large eggs." He repeated, trying to get back on track ignore the little moment that had just happened.

You had to stop your hand from raising to smooth over your lip, wanting to ease the pleasant buzz he had left. You shook your head, attempting to clear your mind. But the butterflies kept tickling your stomach— they wouldn't slow their attack.

"O-okay good, I've got them in the fridge. Uh... how much butter again? I usually remember but it's been awhile." You laughed, happy that you didn't have any flour blurring your vision.

He skimmed the recipe card again, his tongue poking slightly out in focus. You glanced up and found the little quirk cute. He had found the butter part but decided to ask the question that was burning at the front of his mind.

"Is this your hand writing?" He asked finally.

You smiled at him, lowering your gaze to the mixing bowl in front of you. You mixed the flour around carelessly as your mind filled with sweet memories.

"No, it's my Mothers." You told him. "She has... had such beautiful hand writing."

Bucky winced slightly at your correction, and suddenly he felt bad for brining it up. He didn't want to bring the mood down— which is what he felt like he was always doing.

"Sorry I... I didn't mean to—"

You glanced up to meet his apologetic eyes and quickly reassured him.

"No, no— it's fine really... I love talking about her."

He relaxed instantly, relieved he didn't make you upset. That was the last thing he wanted to do. He nodded and let himself ask the questions that started bubbling up in his brain.

"What was she like?" He tested the waters, and by the way your smile only grew— clearly lost in thought thinking about her. He knew he was safe.

Meanwhile, you were trying to find the best way to describe her. No words could ever do her justice. She was the most incredible woman you will ever meet. She was everything you wanted to be.

"God she was... she was wonderful." You wanting to kick yourself for using such a simple word to describe the goddess that your Mother was. "She had the biggest heart... one that tended to get her in trouble."

You giggled, a certain memory popping into your head.

"Her and I were walking downtown one day and she saw a homeless man asking for money— so she gave him fifty dollars." You told the story.

"That's nice of her." Bucky thought out loud.

"Yes... But later that day we ended up getting robbed. A man held us both up at gun point— asking her for her wallet. Seems pretty typical, we didn't think too much of it. We were both shaken up— but otherwise okay." You trailed off, shivering as you remember that day so clearly.

Bucky widened his eyes, the situation sounding scary.

"Jesus..." He breathed out.

"The cops ended up catching the guy a couple days later. Through the process of questioning the man, they found out the man had watched my Mother give money to the homeless man earlier that day— and he was able to see just how much cash was in my Mother's wallet." You revealed and giggled at the next part of the story.

Bucky furrowed his brows, confused why this story was funny. But once again the sweet sound of your laugh had his mouth curving into a smile.

"What's so funny?" He wondered.

"The robbing part isn't what's making me laugh," You stated, "When my Mother got her wallet back— there was still a decent amount of cash inside. That's when I realized how bulky my Mother's wallet was— it looked like her wallet was about to give birth. I pointed it out to her and she started laughing so hard she was crying. God— I had never seen her laugh so hard."

Your cheeks hurt from smiling, but your Mother's laughter rung through your head. The tune playing like a melody— you felt warm inside just from the memory.

Bucky watched your eyes lose its light just slightly, the way your smile started to vanish by the end of your story. You sported a faraway look and he couldn't help but feel bad.

"I really miss her." You whispered, the small sound breaking his heart. "Sometimes I try to call her... and I completely forget that she isn't here anymore."

Bucky listened with heavy heart, this was sparking up memories of his own. He swallowed, feeling his emotions trying to claw their way up.

"I'd give anything to have just a little bit more time with her. I wanna actually be able to say goodbye." You confessed. "We didn't end on bad terms by any means but— I just had no idea that was going to be the last time I saw her."

You glanced up briefly, meeting his sorrowful stare. You expected to hate his pitied gaze, but you found it felt different. Your Father didn’t care— but Bucky did. There was a difference.

“She passed from a car crash.” You told him, remembering the way your Father broke the news to you. It was a horrific day.

Bucky furrowed his brows, but did his best to keep a poker face. With everything he knew— he wasn’t sure if your Mother had actually died from a car crash. There seemed to be some darker twist to this story, and again he felt bad for keeping it from you. He needed to tell you.

You didn't have time to prepare or even accept your Mother's passing. Ever since that dreadful day, time either moved in slow motion— or it sped by. Not giving you anytime to take breath. You were waiting for the day that the pain lessened. Would it ever? It didn't seem like something you were mean't to get over. You were bound to make room for the pain— knowing deep down it would never go away.

"She sounds amazing... I'm sorry you had to lose her." Bucky spoke genuinely, reaching over the counter to grab your hand.

You snapped out of your dark thoughts from his touch, and you wondered— was he always this touchy? Not that you minded it. His touch was welcomed and appreciated, his presence comforting. For once you felt good talking about her, to have someone listen. It was such a different change of pace— from how things were with your Father.

"You know I'm strong believer on everything happens for a reason, but I've yet to find the reason for her being gone."

Bucky didn’t know how to respond, knowing whatever he came up with wouldn’t be much comfort— so he squeezed your hand instead. Letting you know he was still here— listening.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to get all sappy… it’s just nice to have someone to talk to. Especially about my Mother and all that.” You trailed off. “If I’m ever rambling about god knows what— just tell me to stop and I will. I know I can get annoying, but I don’t mean to be.”

Bucky’s heart broke. Angry at whoever made you feel that way, that you needed to be silenced. He had a good idea on who— but kept the thought to himself. Knowing that Pierce seemed to be a sensitive topic— well depending on the day.

“You don’t have to apologize for talking.” He simply said, his eyes occasionally darting down to your still attached hands.

He was just trying to give you some comfort… yeah.

You smiled at him, squeezing his hand back and then letting go.

“Well still…” You tried to argue, but couldn’t come up with any reasonable answer.

The room filled with a comfortable silence— the baking plans forgotten. The quiet let you think clearly, and the first thing that came to mind was the earlier events. You weren’t hiding any big secret— but you felt bad that you had spied on him.

“Hey James?” You broke the silence.

He was already looking at you during the moment of quiet and just raised his brows— hoping you didn’t catch him staring.

“Yeah?”

“I need to tell you something… just please don’t get mad— I didn’t mean to. I happened to walk downstairs at the wrong time and—” You started rambling and Bucky came to your rescue.

“(Y/n)— I won’t get mad. Just tell me.” He playfully rolled his eyes, which made you giggle.

“Okay, okay.” You cleared your throat, stomach full of nerves that really weren’t necessary. “I kinda listened in on your conversation with that guy today.”

Bucky didn’t know what you were going to say— but he was definitely not expecting that. His jaw clenched and his eyes squinted, but it wasn’t out of anger. It was embarrassment. He didn’t know why he felt so flustered by the idea that you had heard him— truthfully he didn’t remember all that he said. But he knew he was speaking in defense of you.

You watched his features morph into what you thought was anger and swallowed anxiously.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t get mad.” You said quietly, hoping that you wouldn’t poke the bear into a full angry frenzy.

He immediately snapped out of his thoughts, your small voice bringing him back to the moment.

“Doll— (Y/n)… I’m not mad.” He told you truthfully, his face felt hot with embarrassment.

You looked at him with confusion, his words not matching up with the way he was looking.

“You sure? You got your angry eyes on.” You tried to joke, but asked seriously.

He let out of breath, running a hand through his hair— making it spike up slightly.

“Yeah, I promise I’m not mad.” He assured you.

“But then why did you have angry ey—”

“(Y/n)… I’m not mad! I’m…” He trailed off, “I’m embarrassed.”

You softened your gaze, watching his face flush. You didn’t want him to feel bad— if anything you were happy that he had stuck up for you. You wondered why he would be embarrassed.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed James… I actually think it was super sweet of you to defend me like that. No one ever has.” You told him.

He glanced up finally to you, not surprised to find your gaze warm and comforting. He felt the embarrassment fading away— but not completely.

“Well… I’m still embarrassed.” He mumbled, pretending to focus on the baking ingredients instead of your intense gaze.

“Don’t be. You have done more for me than my…” You trailed off, swallowing through the sudden tightness in your throat, “Than my own Father. I’m extremely grateful and lucky to have you around. Please don’t be embarrassed James, I appreciate having you here with me.”

Your confession left him speechless, and suddenly the room felt hotter. His eyes dilated— like he was in a trance. He could almost feel the chemicals in his brain shifting— and suddenly he was starting to see you in a completely different light.

Oh— he was fucked.

“Thank you, I appreciate that.” He responded finally, his true answer not wanting to make its appearance.

You just smiled back and tried to focus back on baking— though neither of you cared much about the baking anymore. You both found yourselves entrapped in each other. Conversation flowed so smoothly, the way it came so naturally and easy. It was so welcoming.

The room was settling into silence again and this time, it gave Bucky time to drown in his thoughts. He needed to tell you— he was just afraid what the outcome would be. He feared Pierce would send him away— or worse. It was rare you hear one of his men go against his orders and live the next day.

At the end of the day, he wanted to do what’s right. He didn’t have a problem with lying— most of his life had been playing a part. But with you, he felt he couldn’t keep up the lie. The guilt and shame are away at him, knowing you didn’t deserve to have this kept from you. He knew the longer it was kept from you— the harder it would be when the moment finally came.

“(Y/n)… I need to tell you something.” He started, gaining your attention.

You raised your brows, waiting patiently for him to speak. You were slightly concerned, but trusted it wasn’t anything that bad.

Bucky felt extremely nervous— the devil and angel on his shoulders screaming into his ears. It was the right thing to do… but the outcome would be disastrous.

“(Y/n) there is someone—”

The doorbell rung suddenly, making you and Bucky jump in fright. So lost in the moment you had forgotten you weren’t just in a world where it was just you two.

You were slightly disappointed that he didn’t get to finish his thought— but knew he’d tell you eventually. Bucky bit his lip in frustration, the timing of everything just perfect. He motioned for you to go upstairs.

“I’ll get the door, you head upstairs.” He told you, and you nodded your head— ditching all the baking supplies and immediately trudged up the stairs.

Bucky waited until you vanished down the hallway, before he made his way to the door. The silhouette on the other side didn’t look like Steve’s— which is who he thought was at the door. Peeking through the frosty glass, he was shocked to find it was Pierce.

Well fuck.

Opening the door, Pierce stood— many of his men guarding the front entrance behind him.

“Mr. Barnes…” He started and walked closer to him, “We have much to discuss.”

Bucky wasn’t sure what he had come here for, but considering he was physically here and not sending on of his men— it wasn’t good. He knew it could be just business talk, but with the smirk Pierce sported— Bucky felt his throat tighten with nerves.

🤍taglist for this series is officially closed 🤍

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damoselcastel · 9 months

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Watching second season of Sugar Apple Fairy tale, and I've never wanted to jump through the screen to punch a character so much.

Something about the way Challe scathingly went "you want my [freedom] and don't actually care if I desire you in return" and Bridget is just "Oh YES, of course, that'd be the best!" And then she proceeds to make him a pleasure slave... yeah, please walk off a cliff, Bridget.

(...I'm reminded that I hated Jonas just as much in Season 1. This writer has a way of making want to YEET brats into the sunset) I do enjoy how Challe tells Bridget disregard for feelings is mutual. He was just a big of a pain while Anne had his wing, yay, consistency.

Also, damn, I am such a sucker for Faerie Bride/Monster Husband stories. Challe/Anne is cuuuuuuuuute, save him girl.

#spoilers #sugar apple fairy tale #anime #welcome to the salt mines #blah blah blah

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inhuman-obey-me · 4 months

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Hello! Congratulations of 4000+ followers! Y'all do amazing writing, and its been really cool to see the blog grow overtime

For the event, may I request⚡️with Diavolo and yes on MC! Thank you so much, and I hope y'all have a good day

Thank you so much!! ;//u//; And also thank you for sticking around for so long -- it really does mean a lot! 💕

"What good is this "great power" of mine? Absolutely everything slips through my fingers." - Diavolo/MC

You hadn’t asked for this power.

No, it was something that had been thrust into your hands, into your very being as the trajectory of your life changed the instant you opened your eyes and found your gaze held by pools of gold in an unknown and dangerous world. It was that one moment that began the unraveling, the revealing of all that you were and to be.

It seems like such a distant memory now, that first day in the Devildom.

No, you hadn’t asked for this power, but you didn’t refute it either. You had welcomed it, reveled in it. You had been plunged into a world of magic and monsters, angels and demons, witches and sorcerers – and you, a mere human who had been oblivious to the very real existence of this world in the shadows, were considered to be one of the most powerful mortals among it.

And yet, as of late, you had been feeling absolutely powerless.

“Love, you’ve barely touched your food.” Diavolo’s gentle voice brings you out of your thoughts, and you look up now to meet those same golden eyes you first held all those years ago. His gaze flickers to your hand, where you’ve been fidgeting with the Ring of Light. The one thing stopping your very existence from ending the world as you knew it.

“Sorry,” You give him an apologetic smile as you lift your fork, letting it slowly sink into one of the vegetables on your plate. “I guess I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Care to share?” He’s worried. “You know you can tell me anything.”

“I know.” A sigh, and you set your fork down as you lean back in your chair. You try to find the words, your emotions half-formed on your tongue. “It’s just…with everything going on, I feel rather…useless.”

“Useless? You?” Diavolo nearly scoffs, leaning forward in bewilderment. “What makes you think that? Surely, we’ve all told you how you’ve done so much for us, for the Three Realms.”

“Have I, though?” You feel your throat begin to tighten, so you try to force your feelings down. “Everyone says that, and sure, to some extent I’ve played my part. But,” Your fingers tighten around the napkin in your lap. “You all have helped each other. I’ve just been a conduit, and sometimes I…I’ve been more of a problem to solve than a solution.”

“That’s not true–”

“But it is!”

Your voice cracks then, and you realize you can’t keep down the swirl of doubt and agony any longer. Before you even feel the tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, you find Diavolo now right beside you, holding your hands in his.

“My love, you hold more power than you can even begin to imagine.”

“And what of it!” You hastily remove your hands from his grasp, waving to the air around you. “What good is this ‘great power’ of mine?” The tears have escaped, and there’s a pang in your chest. “Absolutely everything slips through my fingers. I’ve barely begun to understand it and…and I don’t even know if I could save the very ones I care about from those that wish them harm.” Your eyes flicker to the ceiling, and you try to blink back the salt that hasn’t already slid down your cheeks. “I’ve come closer to destroying everything with it!”

The silence that follows your outburst is heavy. Diavolo examines your visage with a somber expression, his lips that so often are curved into a grin now taut and straight. It feels like ages before he finally speaks.

“It’s a terrible feeling, isn’t it?” You don’t know if you’ve ever heard his voice so low before. He was a demon who could make a whole room shake with his jovial laugh. “There are days where I, too, feel utterly powerless.”

“You?” Grasping at that napkin again, you bring it up to dry your face. “But–”

“I’m the ruler of the Devildom? One of the most powerful beings in the Three Realms? Yes, my dear. All great power comes with its golden chains, with its obstacles.” With a heavy sigh, Diavolo looks around the lavish dining hall you were both seated in. “A faction of the House of Lords continuously tries to undermine me, scheming behind my back to try and throw me out of my position.” His gaze now falls onto a painting on the distant wall, brushstrokes capturing war and fury. “The Celestial Realm tests my patience, mocking me at times as they play their own games, mainly of semantics.”

He turns his attention back to you with a sad smile. “They’re all waiting to find a crack, see what will bring me down to my knees. They’ve nearly succeeded at times. Made me feel like I was just a child playing at king. Made me feel that no matter the power I possessed, they could still pull the rug from under me.”

His hands find yours again, and this time you let them stay.

“But what I found is that despite it all, despite all the power that I possess, what really puts my feet on solid ground is having those who still stand by my side through it all.” He looks deep into your eyes, and once more you’re captivated by that calming gold.

“And you, darling, have some of the best by yours.”

#first time I've written in months and of course this got so much longer than intended ajlsdf #anyways not enough people talk about season 2 mc angst #obey me #obey me!#obey me swd #obey me shall we date #omswd #obey me nightbringer #omnb #obey me diavolo #obey me diavolo x mc #obey me diavolo x reader #obey me fic #obey me drabble #4000 follower celebration #writings #the all encompassing [mod] cosmos

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ofoceansandtombsanew · 5 months

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i cherish you, halcyon days (gojou satoru x reader)

“you’re gonna die, kid. in the worst way possible. but because i like you so much, i’ll let you ask three questions about it.” you’re 15 years old when you’re told you’re going to die. you’re 17 when you realize who your killer will be. and you’re a day away from turning 19 when you make peace with the fact you wouldn’t want it any other way.

tags: gn!reader, annoyance to friends to lovers, you and gojou share a birthday month and you're not amused, it's canon that jujutsu school curriculum last 4 years so don't say nothin' when i mention 4th year students, now a multi-chaptered fic read here

[2005. Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College ー 1st year]

Do you like Gojou Satoru?

If someone were to ask you that, you would have to answer ‘no’. You’d answer ‘no’ even if no one asked. Gojou Satoru is impossible for you to like from his stupid sunglasses to his shit-eating grins. Even worse is his arrogance. It’s only an additional sprinkle of salt in the wound when you found out later in the year that he was rich, part of some big name clan in the world of jujutsu you yourself were only scouted into.

I don’t like him at all.

You’re the odd man out in your class, though. Despite your less than stellar review of the boy, your classmates, Suguru and Shoko, got along just fine with him.

To spite you even further, it seemed the universe enjoyed pinning the two of you together as well.

It wasn’t enough for the universe to have you both in the same school, year and class. No, you even shared a birthday month.

Gojou’s December 7th to your December 9th.

The week of your shared births, Gojou was especially intolerable. “You’re the baby of the class,” he’d taunt gleefully like he wasn’t only two days older than you.

To cut on time and effort, your teacher and classmates decided that from 1st year on, December 8th would be the day both of your birthdays were celebrated. And thus, December 8th was 'Satoru and [First] Day'. Your cake was his cake and present unwrapping was a joint activity.

By the gods, I wanna punch him so much.

At the very least, you can rest easy in knowing the fact that the feelings of dislike are mutual.

Gojou Satoru is strong, it’s an irrefutable fact no matter how much you’d like to deny it. He’s strong and in turn, the strong are the only ones Gojou respects. You apparently don’t make the cut.

And that’s fine. Strength came in all sorts of ways. You disliked Gojou Satoru but you could live with the fact that, at the very least, you were going to be stuck together for four years. Because even if he was strong, life sometimes paid you back with small moments of grace where someone put the golden boy of the Gojou Clan in his place.

You thought it was one of those days when you met Takamatsu Akira. It was a week before your birthday when he told you were going to die.

You raise an eyebrow at the unfamiliar name, “who?” It’s lunch at Jujutsu Tech and you’re eating with your classmates when Shoko name dropped a person you never heard of. “Never heard of ‘em.”

“He’s a sorcerer that can see glimpses of a person’s future when he looks at them,” Suguru answers in her stead over a sip of his oi ocha. “He’s apparently at the school today for some sort of meeting.

"Hands off the goods," your eyes widen in amazement as you quickly smack away Gojou’s hand from your lunch. “Really? And it’s all accurate too?”

“He’s a major asshole, though,” the white-haired boy hisses with a pout. You roll your eyes. I’m not sure how reliable your words are if you of all people are calling someone an asshole. Your incredulousness must show on your face because Gojou’s next words are, “seriously! He only tells people he thinks have interesting futures anything about it.”

“And?”

“Satoru’s just mad because apparently his future isn’t interesting,” Suguru smirks, smugly welcoming his best friend’s unamused side eye. “He told me about mine though.”

You bite back a snort when your curiosity to know Suguru's fortune wins. “What did he say about it?”

Suguru touched his chin thoughtfully, recalling back the day he met the seer. “He said that one day I’ll be stuck at a crossroads between two paths and make a life changing decision,” he pauses dramatically and you lean forward in anticipation. “That’s all he told me though.”

Damn it.

The brown-eyed boy chuckles but he shoots you a look of amused sympathy, “he never really tells you too much about it apparently. I was disappointed too.”

“Did he ever tell you anything about your future, Shoko?” You ask your class’ resident slacker.

Shoko shook her head, bob gently moving with her. “I’m one of the boring ones too,” she says with a lazy wave of her hand. “Like Gojou.”

“Don’t worry, my friends,” Suguru places a hand over his chest and bows with far too much grace and humility. “I alone will shoulder the burden of having an interesting future. Unlike Satoru.”

You choke, unable to stop yourself from chortling this time. Whatever Gojou sputters in his self-defense, you don’t hear it over the sound of your own laughter. “Maybe he’ll tell me about my future too,” you sigh when your giggles subside. You sincerely doubt it, but it’s fun to think about the possibilities. I want an interesting life plot twist, like the reveal I’m actually a long-lost member of some royal family he just won’t tell me which one.

“He’ll probably stop by because you’re here,” Shoko rests her chin on her palm. You were the newest in your class, starting a month later than the rest. “He likes seeing if new students will have interesting futures ahead of them.”

“Don’t get too excited, [First],” Gojou quickly rains on your parade with a lot of arrogance for someone whose future is apparently so boring a seer won’t even talk to him about it. “I’m the most interesting person in this place and he won’t even talk to me. So who knows what sort of reaction you’ll get.”

“Oh quit being bitter that your future is gonna be boring, asshole,” before any other quips and gripes can be exchanged, the class door slides open abruptly. You look over with a start, wondering if it’s your teacher when you see it isn’t. The man is a bit younger than Yaga but his hair is already graying and his eyes are a deep green reminiscent of pine trees. You have a feeling you already know who it is and grin. “You wouldn’t happen to be Takamatsu Akira, would you? Gojou here was telling me about his boring future soー” you stop yourself with a shudder when you blinked and realized that man was in front of your face and much too close for comfort.

“Now that is something,” the man blinks owlishly, eyes almost glowing in his amazement.

Your discomfort flies away faster than a seagull with someone else’s lunch, “really?”

The man leans back with a grin and a snap of his fingers, “really, really.”

With that you look at Gojou and stick out your tongue and he sticks his tongue in return.

[First] 1, Gojou 0.

Suguru chuckles and Shoko grins and all the while, Gojou Satoru flicks your forehead too quickly for you to react. “Look, hater, it isn’t my fault that your future’s boring, quit trying to rain on my parade,” you snicker, batting your eyelashes. “Mr. Takamatsu, I’d really appreciate it if you could tell me about my future if you don’t mind. Before the naysayers get more butthurt than they already are.”

“You’re gonna die, kid.”

With four words, your blood freezes and you find yourself blinking once, twice slowly. It’s the matching looks of shock and surprise on your classmates' faces that tells you you heard Takamatsu correctly. Stiffly, you look back at the seer hoping for that revelation to be nothing but a joke, but instead you find yourself looking at a maniacal grin. That grin feels more like a knife in your gut. “In the worst way possible.”

The knife sinks deeper into your flesh, twisting.

“Hey,” out of the four of you, Gojou is the one who finds his voice first.

Takamatsu ignores the boy with snow white hair as if he’s nothing but a minor breeze, “But,” he beams like he’s only told you that he found a discount at the convenience store. “Because I like you so much, I’ll let you ask three questions about it.”

“O-okay,” you stammer almost instinctively. Like a zombie, you find yourself stumbling onto your feet and Takamatsu nods at the door. These answers will be for you and you alone. You aren’t sure what expression you wear on your face as you exit, nor the expressions of your peers. You can't bring yourself to look at them as you follow the future-seeing sorcerer into the halls of your school.

I’m going to die.

In the worst way possible.

It’s only once you’re relatively alone that the seer halts his walking in the middle of the hall to look at you. “Feel free to ask your questions,” he tells you. “Your classmates shouldn’t be able to hear, even if they keep looking out the door. So ask away,” he reassures you, waving his hand nonchalantly.

You glance to your left and sure enough there are three heads leaning out of the door, staring straight at you both. You can’t bring yourself to smile reassuringly before you return your gaze to the sorcerer in front of you.

Three questions.

Your first question can only be so obvious. “Howー how do I die?”

Takamatsu’s amusement is sapped from his face at that question. “Really?” He yawns with a shake of his head. “That’s what you’re going to ask? That’s quite boring.”

Boring? Boring?! It’s my life! “Yeah but-”

“You know what, fine,” Takamatsu sighs, crossing his arms. He recalls his vision in his mind for a moment before he opens his lips. “You’re going to be killed by someone precious to you. Ask me something more… riveting this time.”

You blink slowly.

You’re going to be killed by someone you care about.

When do I die?

Was it an accident?

On purpose?

Why would they want to kill me?

You don’t think those are questions Takamatsu will find intriguing in the slightest. In a panic, you ask the most original question that enters your brain. “Do I die… angry at them?” No. Fucking. Shit, me. “Wait, that was dumb don’t answer th-”

“Nope, it counts,” Takamatsu clicks his tongue. Maybe it’s payback for your first question being so predictable and unoriginal. “And my answer for that is no. Your heart will surprisingly bear no anger towards the person who kills you.” A revelation that shakes you to the core. “Well, one question left to go, kid. No more mess ups, I’ll take it even if it’s something as a dumb as a repeat question.”

“Okay, okay,” you exhale nervously, biting your lip. I need to think.

You know yourself.

You’re selfish at times, who isn’t? If it really came down to it though, you know you’d always put someone else’s life over your own. You can talk big, you can snort when you watch a movie and say ‘yeah sorry, they’d be stuck on their own. I’m not dying in a situation like that, I’d wanna go home’. But you know yourself enough to know that despite thinking it, your feet would inevitably turn towards the other person. Maybe you’d die in the end but you know you’d try your damnedest to get them out.

Why else would you put yourself on the line fighting curses?

But I’d like to think that in a life or death fight where it’s me or them, I’d choose me. You shake your head pushing the thought to the side. You almost forgot the most important detail. Your killer will be someone who matters to you. But I won’t be mad about it. If it was life or death, I’d choose me. I know that. Stranger on the street or a lifelong sworn enemy. And I know if I was killed by someone, I’d definitely be bitter about it. I’m not that forgiving.

Future you isn’t in agreement. Your eyes turn to the ground.

Is it a life or death fight situation or an accident? You open your mouth briefly before closing it again.

They’re precious to me.

They’re someone I care about.

But I won’t be angry.

I mustn’t have been trying that hard then, you wet your lips as a light bulb flickers deeply in the recesses of your mind. You couldn’t have been. How else could your future self’s lack of anger be justified? One day, there will be someone you care for so greatly that even in a life or death battle, you’d still choose them.

You raise your head to look into dark green eyes dancing with amusement, a grin accompanying them. The grin morphs from clear to distorted at the welling of tears in your eyes. I wasn’t trying. “I must really love this person, don’t I?”

Takamatsu's grin grows even wider, eyes flashing in pleasant surprise. “Yeah,” he leans against the wall, crossing his arms. “It seems like you do.”

Tears roll down your cheeks like streams into a river yet your arms hang loosely at your side. “That’s three questions then,” you murmur, throat constricting. You inhale slowly, hold your breath and release before wiping your eyes. “Thank you for answering my questions, Mr. Takamatsu. Lunch is gonna be over soon, so I’m gonna go finish eating now.”

You bow before turning on your heel back to your class, your classmates are still there. You don’t really care to receive their pity or empathy.

“I’m gonna die, it’s gonna suck and that’s all he really told me,” you say before anyone can ask. You bite into your egg harshly.

It’s hours after classes have ended for the day and you’re cooking in the communal kitchen when you see Gojou again.

“Hey,” Gojou says and his tone is so serious it startles you. You set your knife down on the cutting board before looking at him. His face doesn’t seem right to you and it dawns on you a second later it’s because he’s frowning and it’s not the usual childish frown you’re used to seeing. “Don’t take what that guy said seriously. Like I said, he’s an asshole. He was probably saying all of that to freak you out.” There’s a pause and Gojou scratches the back of his head, looking uncomfortable in his skin. “So don’t, like, cry about it. Takamatsu’s a prick.”

“Are you,” you squint, looking Gojou over suspiciously. “Trying to make me feel better or something in your own weird Gojou way?”

“Someone has to make sure the class baby isn’t drowning in their sorrows,” Gojou returns to his usual brand of cocky, with a grin. His sunglasses slide down, revealing playful eyes.

“I don’t want the comfort then,” you roll your eyes and return to chopping your vegetables. “Besides, I don’t need it anyways, I’m strong”

“Eeeeh.”

Asshole.

“There’s different kinds of strong, you jackass,” you argue for argument’s sake. You vaguely notice that in spite of your annoyance, your shoulders aren’t stiff and your jaw is loose. Apparently Gojou is good for something, after all. “Strong looks different for different people. A kid is strong when they act tough after tripping. A grown man crying and being open with his emotions is strong,” you recount some of the ways you’ve seen people be strong in your life. You’ve witnessed strength in various ways in your 15 years of living. “... Even just living despite how hard it can be is strong.”

Save for the sound of you cutting green celery and the light simmer of the pan, silence falls over the two of you.

“What did you guys talk about when he said you could ask him questions?”

“... nothing important.”

[2006. Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College ー 2nd year]

You’re 16 and you’re still alive and kicking.

You’re an upperclassman now, not that it means anything when there are still two whole grades of jujutsu schooling ahead of you. Still, you welcome the newfound responsibilities and admiration you receive in going up a level. At least, one of your underclassmen seems to admire you. Haibara Yuu does, though you’re pretty sure he adores Suguru even more. Nanami Kento is nice though, albeit a bit reserved.

The three of them are like you, individuals scouted into the world of curses and sorcerers rather than born into it. It’s nice to know you’re not alone in that sense.

Even if they weren’t, however, you’re sure that Gojou’s presence would find a way to override any sort of 'being alone'. You can’t be alone when he’s around even if you want to.

Gojou is just as annoying as he was when you were first years, but he’s surprisingly more tolerable.

He still bothers you whenever he has the chance and he still refers to you as the ‘class baby’. You’d also be lying to yourself if you said his hubris has gone down since you first met. He’s just as smug as he’s always been but it’s a bit easier seeing the charm in it in your second year compared to your first.

So maybe ー in the absolute loosest sense of the word ー the two of you have become friends. Something like it at least.

This is why you don’t mind it when the boy plops his ass on your desk when you’re trying to read the recent volume of Fruits Basket to tell you about his newest feats he accomplished on his most recent mission. Nor do you mind it much when he follows you to the dorms to continue telling you what feels like an exaggerated tale, but you know Gojou’s abilities enough to know that 99% percent of it is true.

“So yeah,” he finishes with an air of satisfaction, nose pointing towards the sky with pride. “You could say that Suguru really didn’t even need to come, I pretty much crushed it by myself.”

You’re pretty sure if Suguru was here, Gojou would be in a headlock. “Better not let your bestie catch you saying that,” you warn playfully.

“Come on, [First],” Gojou beams broadly with no care in the world. “Isn’t this the part where you’re supposed to praise me?”

You shake your head in bemusement, smiling lightly. “I can admit it, I’m impressed,” your words are genuine. With all the blessings he has in the world, being strong is the standard for your classmate. He’s a natural talent to boot. Yet for all his nonchalance, you can give credit where credit is due. The guy works hard to perfect his techniques and he’s a perpetual motion machine when it comes to improvement. “Good job, Gojou, you’ve worked really hard. I’m happy you’re seeing the payoff.”

It takes you a second to realize that you’re walking by yourself and you turn around, eyebrow quirked. “What’s up?” Gojou doesn’t respond immediately and you have no idea what his eyes look like beneath the sunglasses. “Hey are you alright?”

The boy comes to at your prodding, sauntering after you lazily, “nothing, nothing,” Gojou replies smoothly with a grin. “I am pretty great, huh?”

“Don’t ruin the moment, Gojou,” you give him a light shove that barely moves him an inch. Geez he’s a giant, you won’t be surprised if in the future he’s taller than even Yaga.

“Since I’m working so hard, do you think you could make me a congratulatory lunch tomorrow?” You’re pretty sure he isn’t serious. Or at the very least you’re sure Gojou expects your answer to be negative. You never cook for him, the closest he ever gets is pilfering samples of it before you chase him out of the kitchen. “Just ki-”

“Sure, what do you want?”

With near comedic timing, Gojou’s shades slide down the bridge of his nose and his eyes are wide in astonishment. “Seriously?”

Your grin widens, “I can change my mind if you-”

“No, no, no! No take backs allowed, [First]!” Gojou covers your mouth with a large palm. “I’m putting in my special requests!”

You move his hand from your mouth with a sage nod, “then please make your requests, young pupil, I’ll prepare you a feast of feasts!” Gojou opens his mouth promptly, giddy. “Within reason.”

You snicker when he whines about the unfairness of your new stipulations.

It takes a week before lunch becomes dinner too.

Gojou’s nice sometimes, you can admit.

And maybe you can also admit that you are ー in more than the loosest sense of the word ー actually friends. A friend whose status as a special grade sorcerer is something you can be proud of rather than annoyed by. He’s reckless and sometimes that recklessness gets him in trouble, but still you enjoy his company when you have it. Even if sometimes he gets you in trouble because of his shenanigans. Or even when he is annoying Utahime whom he is presently taunting in favor of saying her partner for this mission is stronger than she is.

“Mei Mei,” you wave your fingers daintily at the strong partner in question. “Finally gonna let me take you out some time?” You’re mostly joking. 5% at least. Beautiful as she is, Mei Mei isn’t really your type.

The blue-haired sorcerer laughs lightly, crossing her arms, “I’ll have to warn you that my dinners aren’t cheap.”

“Worry not, I’m an amazing cook,” you’re barely able to wink in the money-loving sorcerer’s direction when Gojou’s lanky arm is thrown over your shoulder and he saunters over to a distressed Utahime. “What the heck!”

“Check out how the path Utahime walked on is falling apart,” Gojou snickers.

“Oh shut up,” Suguru looks far too pleased to actually mean his words though.

For Utahime’s sake, you fight back the urge to giggle at their tomfoolery. You like Utahime, you bonded in your first year over finding Gojou Satoru’s presence an annoyance. You’ve sadly, however, become a bit of a traitor to your Hating Gojou Alliance, much to her dismay when you confessed months prior that you and Gojou had become chill.

“By the way,” Mei Mei brings the conversation back to a reasonable plane. “Where’s the veil?”

Gojou’s nice sometimes, you can admit. And maybe you can also admit that you are ー in more than the loosest sense of the word ー actually friends. A friend you can be proud of. A friend whose company you enjoy even if sometimes he gets you in trouble because of his shenanigans.

Like the fact you somehow forgot to put up the veil?! How the hell do you forget to put up the veil?! Nevermind the fact you technically forgot too, Gojou was the one who said he’d put it up. That’s why you have no problem pointing in his direction when Yaga sternly asks who was the Forget Futaba in your band.

“Is a veil that necessary in the first place,” Gojou whines in the gym later in the afternoon. “It’s not like it matters if normies see or not, right? They can’t see cursed spirits or cursed techniques anyway.”

“Pretty sure it’s for the best that normal people don’t start seeing spontaneously exploding buildings on the regular, Gojou,” you watch with an impressed whistle at how your classmate tosses a basketball effortlessly to a hoop. You’re sure if Suguru hadn’t stopped it, the ball would have been a perfect three pointer.

“Of course it’s not good for them to see,” Suguru affirms your words resolutely. “The strongest deterrent against the outbreak of cursed spirits is the mental calm of the populace.” It becomes a battle of the philosophies when Gojou steals the ball back with finesse.

“Looking out for the weak is so exhausting, honestly,” Gojou sighs and Suguru shoots back with narrowed eyes 'Survival of the Weakest'. “Assigning reasons and responsibility to strength is what those who are weak do.”

Should we…? You glance at Shoko.

Yeah, we probably should. The brunette glances back.

“Time to dip,” Shoko sprints out of the gymnasium faster than you’ve ever seen her.

“I’ve got a pretty wild date with Battle Royale right now,” you skip after her in a hurry right as Suguru summons one of his cursed spirits like it's a pokemon.

The next time you see Gojou, he knocks and enters your room when you go ‘huh?’ “Yo, I’ve got a mission.”

“Already?” You raise an eyebrow. “We just got back from the Mei Mei and Utahime thing.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “ Teach says we have to protect the star plasma vessel.”

“That information got leaked?”

“Wait, you know what the star plasma vessel is?”

“Tengen stuff is, like, the bare minimum of stuff we should have learned about in first year, Gojou.”

“... anyways, Suguru and I are heading out early tomorrow,” he says, like what you told him moments prior wasn’t anything important.

You smile with pride, “well, that’s a pretty big mission for a couple of students to have,” it really is, honestly. If anything, that’s something you think the adults should have. It’s pretty cool that two of your classmates were chosen for it. “That’s cool. You should be really proud of yourself, Gojou.”

Your words get his lips to morph into a smile a bit more authentic and veritable than his usual smug grins and confident jeers. “I am pretty cool, huh?”

You roll your eyes in good fun before looking at your book again. Your favorite character's dead but you at least wanna see who gets off this shitty island. “Y’all not still fighting about earlier are you?”

“Nah, we’re over it,” Gojou sits at a chair by your bedside desk, swirling in it. “It’s whatever in the end. Suguru can believe whatever he wants.” A silence somewhere between comfortable but hesitant falls over you briefly before Gojou asks, “you believe that stuff he was saying too?”

“Dunno, you’re probably asking the wrong person,” you turn the page with a shrug. It’s been nearly a year since you met Takamatsu Akira. Nearly a year since you were told someone you loved would kill you in the worst way possible and yet you’d have no anger in your heart about it. The future is technically always changing. It’s never stagnant. If you wanted, you could take what the seer said to heart and run with your tail between your legs. Yet here you were, laid on your stomach reading Battle Royale in your room located in Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College instead of elsewhere; living in perpetual paranoia about any relationship you have. “The weak’s the majority, they need protection. It should be the duty of the strong to protect them. But… I can also get the exhaustion. If you’re the strongest, who’s gonna protect you then?”

You close your mouth and purse your lips thoughtfully and vaguely you find it a bit amazing that Gojou hasn’t made any sort of quip yet.

“But… I guess I probably align myself more with Suguru’s line of thinking,” you decide after a heartbeat. “I’m the one who’s gonna die in the most horrible way possible, remember? But here I am, still kickin’ it here with you guys. I should probably run while I have the chance, huh?”

“I already told you not to listen to that crap,” you look away from your book, surprised at the harshness in Gojou’s tone. Your eyes look into angry azure and you glance away just as quickly. “That guy’s a prick. There’s no point in listening to him. So quit worrying your pretty little head about that. You’re supposed to be strong, right?”

Your eyes skim over your book, not sure what else to settle your eyes on. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I’m pretty strong, I guess.”

That appears to be the right answer. “Exactly, so stop giving that stuff he said the time of day.”

You chuckle, “yeah you’re right, sorry,” ‘I’m always right’ Gojou says flippantly and you find your head shaking with a warmth settling in your chest. “Grab me a souvenir or two while you’re gone, Mr. Special Grade.”

“I’m not leaving Tokyo, you know,” Gojou tosses a crumpled piece of paper at your head.

“So?” You toss the paper back, watching as it bounced off his infinity. Cheater. “Grab me something extra nice anyways! I deserve it as payback for cooking for you all the time, you eat like a horse.”

The mission goes horribly wrong.

Shoko tells you over a phone call that the mission went horribly wrong in all the worst ways. Suguru was injured. Gojou was dead.

Parts of campus look like it was hit by a tornado when you get there, out of breath, lungs screaming but you still push through it to get Suguru’s room banging on the door. “Su-”

“Satoru’s okay,” is the first thing out of his mouth when he opens the door and your knees almost buckle in your relief. “He’s alive. He was injured but he’s alive. He’s in his room, right now.”

He’s okay.

Your breath is shaky as you let your friend’s words permeate through your entire being. “That,” you lick your lips, holding yourself. “That’s good.” It’s all you can say although it doesn’t encompass even a tenth of the emotion you feel. “I’m glad you’re both alright.” The quiet is almost deafening; what do you say to ease the hurt when the mission went wrong in every way it could have? “I’m gonna start cooking in an hour or two. I’ll bring you something to eat later, any requests?”

“It’s okay,” Suguru’s smile is small but polite. “I’m not that hungry. Maybe Satoru’ll eat something.” The door closes promptly before you can ask if your friend is sure he doesn’t want anything. I’ll check on you again later, I promise.

Your nerves are frazzled when your eyes sweep over to the door that leads to Gojou’s room, hardly able to make yourself move towards it.

“He was injured but he’s alive.”

How injured is injured?

Has he gone to see Shoko?

“Gojou?” Your knock is barely audible.

You knock once more with a soft confidence.

“Satoru?” Your voice falters, just above being a whisper. “Hey, it’s me. I know you probably don’t want to talk right now but I just want you to know I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. If you wanna talk, I’m just down the hall, okay?” You pause, ears straining to hear anything on the other side of the door. You’re met with silence. “Get some rest. I’ll bring you dinner later, alright?”

With a sigh, you turn around to go to your room only for your heart to leap out of your chest when you realize someone is already in it. You jump, clutching your chest when you realize it’s Satoru, sitting on your bed with his back slumped against the wall.

He looks like hell and impossibly small wrapped in your blanket. Russet stains his white locks that are even messier than usual and his eyes have a chilling emptiness to them. He doesn’t meet your eyes, you aren’t sure if he has the will to. You don’t have the will to say anything despite the thoughts running through your head.

Wordlessly, Satoru raises the blanket in an invitation. Like he’s welcoming you through a barrier.

So wordlessly, you sit on your bed and nestle beside him. You don’t mind the scent of sweat, blood and dirt. Nor do you mind when the tall and lanky teen slumps against your side, resting his head atop yours. You simply find his hand and brush your fingers together, feeling the roughness of his callouses, before twining your fingers with his.

You clutch each other’s hands almost painfully.

[2007. Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College ー 3rd year]

It’s you, isn’t it?

You realize that one day Satoru is going to kill you on a rainy night in December in your room laying on your bed. The two of you had taken to sharing a space on nights you felt lonely since you were 16 and the star plasma vessel mission went wrong in every way possible. Last week, you both turned 18.

Another year has past and you're still alive and kicking.

You’re facing each other, your head resting on your hand with your elbow angled to keep your head up.

“You won’t leave too, right?” Satoru asks softly, fingers messing with a stray string on your shirt.

Suguru’s gone. So is Haibara.

Both are gone in different ways.

Death is what took Haibara, leaving Nanami Jujutsu Tech’s sole second year.

Suguru was swallowed in madness and disillusionment, defecting to accomplish a new goal of creating a world with only jujutsu sorcerers.

It stings, but you know Satoru is hurt the most.

“It’s unfortunate to tell you but you’re pretty much stuck with me, Satoru,” you give him a weak nudge with your free hand.

“Even though Takamatsu said you’re going to die?”

“We’re all gonna die someday,” you tell him easily. It’s you. You aren’t sure how you’re able to smile like you aren’t having the worst realization in the world but you smile. “Besides, you’re the one who said not to worry about that, right? Because I’m strong.”

“Yeah,” Satoru whispers. “You’re strong.”

“And you’re the strongest sorcerer in the world,” you remind him unnecessarily. It is an inherent fact of the world. Gojou Satoru, born only two days before you came into this world, shook the entire world when he was born.

“And because you’re the strongest, that’s why I have to stay with you,” you run your fingers through his hair gently. When is he going to do it? When is everything going to go wrong? You want to remember every feature he has before you one day have no choice but to leave them behind. “Who’s going to protect you otherwise?”

Satoru smiles for the first time that night, looking up at you almost dreamily from where he lays. “You’re gonna protect me?”

“Yeah,” you vow sincerely.

[2008. Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College ー 4th year]

“Happy birthday to us, happy birthday to us,” Satoru sings crudely while you roll your eyes. It’s technically neither of your birthdays. It’s the 8th, the one day mid-point between your birthdays. The Official ‘Satoru-[First]’ Birthday Bash Celebration. Contrast to your first year as a student at Jujutsu Tech, you find yourself in a more pleasant mood about it. “Happy birthday to the both of us, happy birthday to us!”

“Isn’t it a bit too early to sing,” you shake your head with a chuckle.

“Early shmurly,” Satoru shrugs off your nonchalant concern like water off a duck’s back. You can’t bring yourself to scold him. “They throw us a surprise party every year. It’s not even a surprise if we know it’s coming. They always make us wait all day in class or tell us to leave campus though.”

“It’s part of the atmosphere, Satoru. Tradition!” You grin, giving his leg a light flick as he plops his ass right on top of your desk. “We gotta wait and act completely oblivious to everything until someone tells us to head to the dorms.”

It’s nice to see him smiling. It’s his second birthday without his best friend. A fact that will always resonate through your reality like ripples through the water.

“You’ll like my gift the best by the way,” you tell him with a self-assured confidence.

“Funny, I was about to say that to you,” Satoru winks, leg swinging lazily. He’s not wearing his sunglasses for onceー they’re off to the side resting on the teacher’s podium. “Of course, my gifts are always the best.”

A comfortable silence fills the room and you close your eyes.

Tomorrow you turn 19 and you’re still alive and kicking.

Moments like this make it hard to believe that one day you won’t be. Sometimes you wonder what would happen if you told Satoru the truth of everything Takamatsu told you that day. You consider telling him this very moment, eyes resting on his face. He's smiling gently to himself, thinking about something unknown to you.

He’s so beautiful it makes you want to cry.

“Hey,” you can barely hear yourself.

“Hmm?” Satoru looks at you, lips upturned in a mellow, peaceful expression.

“We should get married.”

One second passes,

two seconds.

“Yeah, we should,” Satoru nods, seemingly enchanted.

You blink dumbly, “what?”

“Let’s do it,” Satoru repeats himself purposefully. “Let’s get married.”

“... Satoru, I was 60% joking when I said that,” you don’t even know why that’s what came out of your mouth.

In spite of your attempt to brush him off, Satoru stands to his feet all the more determined. His large hands cup yours gently as he pulls you into standing with him. “And I’m being 100% serious,” he means it, you can see it in his eyes. They’re more clear than any lake you’ve seen. “Let’s get married. We can go after your birthday.”

“Satoru, we’re high schoolers,” you try reasoning.

“We’re old enough to get married in this country.”

Despite that fact, you shake your head again, “we’re not getting married in high school.”

“Then we can tie the knot after we graduate,” Satoru decides like that’s the only issue at present.

“Fresh out of high school?”

“Fresh out of high school,” he affirms. “We can have a big wedding just like in the movies. Whatever you want. We’ve already got the headstart on the kids with that Zenin kid and his sister.”

You find yourself laughing unexpectedly at the absurdity, at the certainty. “Satoru.”

“[First].”

“Your clan is not gonna be happy with you marrying some jujutsu nobody,” you tell him.

“Like I care what a bunch of old farts think.”

“I’m pretty sure your parents aren’t gonna like me.”

“I’ll love you enough to make up for it,” Satoru rests his forehead on yours. That motion alone damn near breaks your heart. “I wanna marry you, [First].”

“Yeah,” you sniff. This boy who is quickly becoming a man in front of your very eyes is beautiful enough to make you cry. “Let’s get married.”

For a smile so small, it beams like a thousand suns, “Right after we graduate?”

“Right after we graduate.”

“Even if you think my parents aren’t gonna like you?”

“Screw ‘em. I’ll love you more than enough to make up for it.”

One day Gojou Satoru is going to kill you.

You don’t know what will lead you down the path of finding yourself on the opposing side of the boy you’ve grown to love. You don’t know whether it will be a death that’s accidental or as intentional as Suguru’s defection from your organization.

So many unknowns, yet the fact remains the sameー one day you’re going to die and it’s going to be Satoru that sends you to the other side. You let him kiss you despite that fact.

It’s you.

You know it in your heart.

Because if someone were to ask you if Gojou Satoru was precious enough to you that you wouldn’t bear any anger towards him for killing you, you knew what your answer would be in a heartbeat.

Yes, you kiss him tenderly, holding his face in your hands while your heart cupped the precious memories you shared. Memories you would never allow yourself to forget. The halcyon days of past, present and future. He is.

[20xx. kuzuivencdcsusahduvtaydr ー ???? oayn]

It’s snowing in Tokyo, a lot of it.

That’s not common for the area of Japan you live in.

Maybe Tokyo will see one or two days of light snowfall, but it’s almost never enough to cloak the city like this. That’s why it’s a perfect day for a snowball fight and it is perfect, save for the fact that Satoru is definitely cheating.

His tosses may be light but the jerk still has on his infinity, your snow dissipating in powdery puffs whenever it hits the barrier keeping him perpetually safe.

You can’t stop yourself from giggling though, even as he pelts you with an unfair barrage of snow.

The laugh is barreling from your form even more when Satoru rushes you out of nowhere, the largest snowball you’ve ever seen in his hands laughing like he’s five. Your fall is softened by the snow underneath you, barely even much of a drop, and Satoru’s on top of you with his legs on either side of your torso.

He’s merciful enough not to slam dunk his snowball of fury into your face though.

“Okay, okay, you win!” You laugh good naturedly. “Please, Gojou Satoru, I yield!” Despite your words, your hand is working quickly on the side to form a snowball. He’s touching you, you can feel the warmth of his legs on either side of you. His infinity’s down then. You open your eyes mischievously, bracing yourself for a toss when you feel something warm fall onto your face.

One drop,

two drops.

Your breath falters.

“Why are you crying, Satoru?”

It occurs to you then in all your years of knowing him, you’ve never seen Satoru cry. Yet there he is, right atop you, holding the world’s largest snowball in his trembling arms. All the while, tears are running down his face, flowing from those beautiful eyes of his. Those eyes filled with a greater sadness than you’ve ever seen as he looks at you.

The snowball you were clutching drops from your hand immediately in your concern, “hey what’s wrong?”

Satoru doesn’t answer you. Instead, the strongest sorcerer in the world drapes himself over you with body-wracking sobs. The snowball he was holding has disappeared to who knows where, his hands now clutching the front of your jacket tightly. Satoru’s only response is his body-wracking sobs, his knuckles painfully white. He sobs, sobs and sobs like you’ve never seen before.

Slowly, you bring your arms up to hug him and nuzzle the top of his hair that matches the snow around you. “It’s okay,” you whisper to the boy crying in your arms. You smile softly and you close your eyes once more. “It’s okay,” you tell him again. “I'll protect you.”

i was inspired by chainsaw man with the idea of a future devil sorcerer and a reader who shares the same fate as aki

*bonus note: also in japan, the legal age marrying age for women is 16 and men is 18, i heard from a prof they're working on changing that but at least during the setting the time of the fic that is still the same so hence why you'd both be of marrying age despite still being students

*final note: i am a huge final fantasy nerd and the final chapter is written in al bhed, a language from final fantasy x. feel free to use this translator

#look she's writing #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #gojou x reader #fun fact: december 9th is MY birthday #gojo angst #gojou angst #whoops #happy birthday gojo

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impala-dreamer · 5 months

Text

Pondering Fate While Ignoring The Obvious

A Ten Inch Hero Story

~Priestly has got it so bad for Tish that he can barely see past the end of her... well, her back end, anyway. He's love sick and forever rejected, constantly stuck inside his own head. When a new girl in town starts messing with him, he quickly loses his cool...~

Boaz Priestly x F!Reader

2,511 Words

Warnings: Nuttin' but fluff and banter. ;)

A/N: This is another square for my @jacklesversebingo card. The prompt is "Backhanded Compliment/Convenience Store/Sugar Addict"

Now listen- I've never written for this movie before, but I had so much fun doing it. If you've seen the movie, I think you'll love this. If you haven't seen it, you may not totally get it, but you'll still love it because it's cute and fluffy and I said so. Give it a chance ;)

Another day, another spicy Italian with no oil and no vinegar. How you could eat a hero dry was a question he could never quite grasp the answer to, but in the end, did another weird order really matter? He’d put a condom on the bun if they asked for it. Maybe not a used one, but then again, Tish was looking extra spicy herself today.

Tish. Goddamnit. There she goes flirting with every male in existence except him. There she is leaning over the counter in that not-so-sneaky way that pushes her tits up and out, giving everyone and their mother a look into the valley of the Promised Land.

For fuck’s sake, if she’d only do that for him.

Then again, nothin’ he hadn’t seen before.

Fingers snapped in front of his face and Priestly blinked himself back into reality.

“Can I help you?” he asked, still half dazed and half hard after staring so intently at his coworker.

Piper sighed. “Yeah. You gotta make a run down the street.”

He sighed harder. “You know, you ladies are capable of patronizing the convenience store now and then. It’s not really hard. You just pick out what you need and exchange it for cash.”

The tiny blonde pouted and batted her lashes. “Please? My feet hurt from standing all day.”

He scoffed. “And mine don't?”

“I’m not used to it. I’m delicate.”

Priestly scratched at the bright green spikes that sat atop his head for the day, masquerading as a hairstyle. He frowned but relented. “Fine. Gimme the list.”

He saw her from the street. He wasn’t purposely peeping through the window like a stalker, but he felt like it all the same. It wasn’t his fault, not really. Things mostly stayed the same around town, so when something was different, when someone new showed up, it tended to stick out a bit.

The new girl at the register was cute, not particularly daring in her style or makeup palette, but she was attractive. Probably the thing Priestly noticed first was the lollipop stick hanging from her painted lips.

His entrance was announced by the jangling of bells and she looked up as he came in. She smiled around the pop and twirled the white paper stick between her fingers.

“Welcome.”

He looked back at her over his shoulder and nodded. “Hey.”

Slowly, she pulled the treat from her mouth and licked the very tip. Her tongue was as red as the pop and Priestley was sure that his cheeks were turning the same shade. He cleared his throat quickly and turned back, going about his business.

The store was otherwise empty except for Mr. Jacobson, the old man who never seemed to go anywhere but was always wherever you went. He was currently lingering at the end of the aisle, amazed at the sheer amount of chip flavors the new millennium had to offer.

“Back in my day we had regular and salt & vinegar, and we were grateful!”

Priestly laughed under his breath and looked over the rack at the register. She was laughing softly as well, and when their eyes met, she didn’t shy away.

He did; quickly tearing his gaze from the cherry pop and focusing on the aluminum foil instead. There was no use flirting with her anyway- she’d never go for him. She looked too normal, too pretty to fall for his shenanigans. Best not to even think about it.

Arms fully stocked, he headed her way, keeping his eyes on the black and gray tiled floor and praying she wouldn’t make his heart race any faster.

She sucked hard on the Blow Pop and then took a bite, making him jump. Sugar crackled between her teeth and she winked.

“I hope you overcharge them,” she said dryly, staring him down.

Confusion took the place of shyness and Priestly’s face scrunched up. “What?” he snapped, jerking away from the counter.

The girl rolled her eyes and went about ringing up his order without another word.

Cash exchanged, Priestly thanked her and walked out, still wondering what the hell she was talking about.

Monday.

Priestly stared out the front window, wondering if the day was going to go his way or not. He knew he shouldn’t bother pondering the Fates, because they always seemed against him, but he liked to think he had some hope tucked away somewhere beneath the Manic Panic hair dye and all the metal sticking out of his head. If there was, he couldn’t find any today.

Tish was late, as usual, probably rolling out of some strange guy’s arms and fishing for her bra underneath the bed.

Someday… someday, that’d be his bed she was searching under. Someday, those would be his arms she rolled out of. He just had to keep hoping.

Or not. He really didn’t care.

The sun was too bright, the grill was too hot. He hated everything.

Except the sound of bubblegum popping behind him. He didn’t seem to hate that.

With spatula in hand, he turned and startled just enough to make the bubblegum appear between coyly smiling pink lips.

“Hey.”

Priestley squinted. “You’re that chick from the store.”

Annoyance crept onto her face. “And you’re that dude with too much eyeliner.”

He laughed before realizing she was insulting him and ended up jolting up on his toes awkwardly, half a smile curled on his lip.

He cleared his throat. “Priestly.”

She squinted. “Like Elvis?”

He shrugged. “And you are?”

“Hungry.”

Slapping a five on the counter, she picked up her hero and spun away, heading toward the door. She turned to push it open with her backside and popped her gum again.

Her eyes were glued to him and Priestly felt his stomach flip. He met her gaze and she smiled.

“I always do.”

He wanted to say something, to ask her what the hell she was talking about, but she was gone before the words reached his tongue.

“Always do what?”

Jen turned her head his way, but her eyes were still locked on the computer screen. “What’s up?”

He sighed. “Nothing. Just a weird girl from…nothing.”

It was nothing. She was just the weird girl from down the street. And anyway, he was supposed to be hating everything today, not shifting his ponderance to the mystery of the gum chewing, pop crunching girl from the convenience store.

“Nothing.”

Blue hair; don’t care.

Priestly cracked an egg on the grill and watched the edges sizzle. He wasn’t great at a lot of things, but cooking eggs was something he did exceptionally well. The butter bubbled around the perimeter, curling the whites just slightly, and he pushed the tip of his spatula against it.

Not ready yet.

The girls were, yet again, chatting about men, and he kept one ear on the sizzle and the other in their conversation.

“I just don’t understand how hard it is to find. It’s right there.” Tish laughed and pushed a delicate hand back through her hair. “It’s a clit, not the Holy Grail.”

Priestly raised a brow. “Some would call it that though,” he interjected.

She rolled her eyes. “You would.”

Offended, he sucked in a quick breath. “Ya know something-”

She turned, one hand on her hip, waiting. “Yeah?”

His lips pursed and dejected, he turned back to the grill. “Forget it.”

“Thought so,” she laughed.

God, she was such a bitch sometimes. OK, most times, but still.

Tish went back to leaning on the counter and he took the opportunity to peek at her ass.

Behind him, a throat was cleared.

Priestly sighed, knowing what was waiting for him when he turned. Or, rather, who.

“You again.” He batted his lashes.

She smacked her lips. “Me again.” From her pocket, she withdrew a pink Starburst and fiddled with the wrapper.

He eyed the candy and followed it to her mouth. Her lips were darker today and it reminded him of the cherry pop. “You eat too much sugar, you know that?”

She smiled gently. “And you dye your hair too much. That isn’t good for you. All those chemicals are gonna fry your brain.”

“Joke’s on you, it’s already fried- shit!” Fried egg. Burnt to a crisp. “Damnit.”

Sugar Girl swallowed a laugh and the Starburst.

He turned around, annoyed at himself and her laughter. “Are you- do you want something?”

“Yup.” She nodded and took her order from Piper, who was holding a small, paper-wrapped hero. “Thanks.”

Green eyes narrowed on her smile. She was weird. Way too weird. And kinda rude.

“You ever gonna tell me your name?” he asked, calling out as she pushed open the door.

“Sure,” she replied, “Soon as I get my free sample.”

“Huh?”

Confusion always seemed to linger when she left, that and the smell of strawberries. Or cherries, or whatever she’d been sucking on.

Sucking on…

His eyes flickered over to Tish and he wondered if she was as good at sucking things as she claimed.

It was raining and he was cranky.

He’d missed his alarm, the car wouldn’t start, and a passing bus nearly drenched him head to toe.

It wasn’t supposed to rain at the beach. It was practically against the law. Nature’s law, anyway.

And to top it all off, Tish was bragging about the amazing night she’d had with a handsome stranger visiting from New York.

“He’s just in town for a few days, so it’s nothing serious,” she explained to a wide-eyed Piper who was drinking down every word. “But man, I wouldn’t be mad if it was. He’s… tall and handsome and-”

Priestly cleared his throat. “Ya know I’m pretty tall.”

She clicked her tongue. “And?”

His heart ached at her callousness. “And… just thought I’d remind you.”

Maybe she didn’t know what she was doing to him, but he thought his advances were fairly obvious. Maybe she was just a bitch.

Jen derailed his thought train with a shopping list she’d printed out.

He shook his head. “No.”

“Please?”

The shop on the corner was the last place he wanted to go. Nameless Sugar Girl was the last person he wanted to see. “Why do I always have to go?” He pouted and gestured to the window. “It’s pouring rain out there.”

Jen looked up with puppy-dog eyes. “Which is why I’m asking you to please go.”

A heavy sigh was his only reply. Priestly grabbed the paper from her hand, crumpling it beyond repair, and set out into the downpour.

He was dripping by the time he made it down the street. He sneered at the water on his face, rolled his eyes at the welcome mat, swatted viciously at the bells as they rang above his head.

“Rough morning?” she asked, watching his huffy entrance.

He scowled. “You could say that.”

A peppermint rolled on her tongue and the red and white stripes caught his eye. “Well, lemme know if you need any assistance.”

Priestly ran a hand through his teal-tinted hair and shook out a puddle’s worth of rain. “Yeah. Thanks.”

It took him a while to collect the goods, having trouble finding the right paper towels that would fit into the holder in the bathrooms. He’d never had any issues in the store before; seemed like someone had rearranged.

Someone.

He looked across the rows of sundries and wondered what her deal was. Hell, he still didn’t even know her name. Not that he wanted to, of course.

Of course.

Finally, and with much annoyance, he arrived at the register.

She laughed softly as he unloaded his arms.

He shook his head. “What?”

“I… I shouldn’t even touch this one.”

He had no clue what she was talking about, he never did, and he was at the end of his rope.

His patience snapped. “What?”

She sat back, clearly hurt by his tone. “Your shirt.”

She pointed at his chest and he looked down, reading the big black letters upside down.

‘Save a tree, eat a beaver’

His shoulders fell. “Oh. Yeah. Whatever.”

“Yeah,” she echoed, the sting heavy in her voice. “Whatever.”

He couldn’t take it anymore. Dropping a can of coffee onto the counter, he slapped his palms down on either side of it and leaned in.

“Ya know, everytime I see you, you’ve got something snarky to say.”

Her eyes went wide. “Snarky?” She frowned. “I thought I was flirting.”

The fight drained out of him along with the blood in his cheeks. Confused once more. “Uh… what?”

Pushing herself up off the stool, she mirrored his pose, hands falling dangerously close to his. “Flirting,” she said again. “It’s an ancient ritual in which a sexually interested party attempts to lure their prey into bed with witty and charming wordplay.”

He balked. “I know what flirting is!”

She glared. “Then why haven’t you picked up on the fact that I’ve been trying to pick you up for weeks now?”

“I uh…” His elbows buckled and he stood up fully. “You have?” No way. She wasn’t…

Memories of the past month flooded his mind. Each time he’d seen her she was smiling at him, not being snarky. She was teasing him, answering the ridiculous sayings on his shirt.

‘I sell crack for the CIA.’ … “I hope you overcharge them”

‘Surf naked.’ … “I always do.”

‘Orgasm Donor - Ask for your free sample’ … “As soon as I get my free sample.”

It had been smacking him in the damned face and he hadn’t seen it. She had been playing with him the whole time, not trying to annoy him. She wanted him to notice her, but he was too busy dreaming of Tish, wondering when she’d notice him.

He sucked in a stunned breath. “You have. Wow.”

A tiny smile returned to her cherry lips. “Come on, I know you’re not as dumb as your fashion sense implies.”

Priestly felt a dip in his gut, something fluttering around inside. He grinned. “Oh, I’m way dumber.”

Reaching across the counter, she grabbed hold of his shirt and pulled him close. “Good.”

Her lips were soft, the kiss as sweet as the candy she was always eating. He breathed her in as her tongue swept over his. He was stunned, confused but in a good way. Maybe he needed to push Tish aside and pay more attention to the world around him. Maybe this was a good thing. A really good thing. His eyebrows raised in surprise, his blood pressure raised even higher.

She pulled away slowly, her lips lingering on his.

“You get it now?”

She waited, blinking at him with the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen. He should have looked sooner, closer; should have given her a chance.

“Yeah,” he whispered in a laugh. “I think I do.”

Another kiss, a press of her hand at the nape of his neck.

“You ever gonna tell me your name?”

She smiled. “Y/N.”

He reached for her cheek; fingers landing lightly on her soft skin.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

2023 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@aditimukul @agirlwithdemonblood @akshi8278 @alwayskeepfightingsweetheart @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @charred-angelwings @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @djs8891 @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @deansyahtzee @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @iamsapphine @idreamofdeanie @ilsawasanacrobat @impalaspixie @iprobablyshipit91 @jackles010378 @justcallmeasmodeus @kazsrm67 @kittenofdoomage @k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @mariekoukie6661 @maggiegirl17 @pandaxo79 @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @roseblue373 @sacriceria @samwellwinchesterthebrave @sexyvixen7 @spideysimpossiblegirl @spnexploration @stevekempscocktails @the-wounded-healer05

#ten inch hero #fanfiction #priestly x reader #boaz priestly x reader #fluff #jacklesversebingo23

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blueywrites · 1 year

Text

Where you and Steve swing with Eddie and Chrissy, and it gets complicated.

TO KNOW YOU'RE MINE (modern!swingers!au) (18+ only)

eddie munson x you

fem!reader, chubby!reader, minimal use of y/n, body insecurity, extreme fluff, smut, oral (f receiving), anal play (f receiving), fingering (v & a), p in v, praise kink, breeding kink

chapter twelve (epilogue): late bloomer (14.5k) | playlist | AO3

🎵 in this au, deftones=corroded coffin. the playlist is a combination of R's sad girl music vibes and some foreshadowing. the songs for this chapter are #37-40. #37, the title song, is not featured in the text, so you can play it whenever feels appropriate. Here is a female version of 'Passenger.'

He’s a late bloomer

He lives in the in-between

But he’s getting it right

First she started a seed

She proceeded to cut the weeds

And she’s facing the sky

'Cause late bloomers still rise

Late Bloomer — Mereba

The salt you scrape from your sneakers leaves tiny pink crystals on the welcome mat, and even before your numb knuckles rap against worn wood, the plastic bag dangling from your fist announces your arrival to the man inside.

"Coming!"

The call comes from beyond the door, and muffled footsteps follow. You step back off the mat in preparation for the door to swing open. When it does, revealing a mop of unruly golden-brown hair above clear blue eyes, you greet one another pleasantly, your enthusiasm calmed by weeks of following the same song and dance.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” you reply, sticking out your arm, your plastic bag held aloft in offering. His brows quirk in a silent question which you answer readily. “Mexican again this week.”

The blandness of his voice sparks with genuine enthusiasm then. “Sweet!” Gareth takes the bag, peering into its contents as he abandons the threshold to wander back toward the living room. You let yourself in, closing the door behind you and toeing off your sneakers next to the scuffed black Docs and Vans belonging to the apartment’s occupants.

It’s quiet inside except for the low murmuring of the television and the crinkling of plastic as Gareth drops your food delivery onto the coffee table. As you head directly to his bedroom, he doesn’t spare you a glance, already pulling apart the contents of the bag as he plops onto the couch. You’re peeling your scrub shirt over your head without bothering to close the door when you hear him call hopefully from the living room, “Are the nachos for me?”

“Yep,” you call back, smiling to yourself when you hear him rip the plastic lid from the package without any further adieu. You shuck your pants, riffling in the top drawer of Gareth’s dresser for a change of clothes. Inside is a tangle of blacks and soft blues, deep grays and creams, threadbare t-shirts and soft sweaters— a drawer relinquished to a friend in need, filled first with Eddie and slowly acquiring bits of you as your weekly visits continued for one month and then two. You dress for the December chill in soft leggings and a slouchy sweater, folding your wrinkled scrubs as you shuffle out of the bedroom in your socks. You quickly drop them in a neat pile by the door before skirting by Gareth’s knees and curling up on the opposite side of the couch. You settle into that familiar nook, passing the time unwrapping your dinner and watching whatever show Gareth has chosen. The tacos are crunchy, all salty shredded pork, crisp lettuce, and mild cheese, though you chew and swallow mechanically; the show is engaging, a mystery-thriller with an attractive leading man, but its colors are dull and your eyes drift from the action.

Because where you’re nestled now is in the shade. Your blooms are lazy and half-closed, your leaves soft and lax, drooping downward towards fertile earth. You’re eating and watching, but really, you’re waiting— waiting for a brightness that doesn’t come until you hear distant heavy bootsteps that grow steadily louder before halting just outside the apartment. There’s the briefest pause and then the jiggle of the doorknob.

And when Gareth’s front door opens, only then do you bloom again.

Eddie shoulders his way inside in his dirty coveralls and his workboots and with his wild hair balled into a low, greasy bun; even when filthy as all hell, he still manages to suck all the light from the room. When he tugs his boot laces loose, you unfold your legs and straighten your spine in anticipation of his approach. As Eddie pads over, he and Gareth exchange casual greetings, and you wait patiently for him to turn amber brown toward you. That’s where all the room’s light is because when he meets your eyes, it bathes over you like the warmth of the summer sun emerging from behind a cloud.

“Hi, baby,” Eddie says.

“Hi, Ed,” you reply, and your face tips up automatically, knowing how he’ll greet you: a warm, broad hand resting on your shoulder for leverage as he leans over to press a kiss to your forehead.

The tang of motor oil and sweat envelops you, and Eddie’s lips are chapped from the winter but warm as he presses them to your skin. He hums contentedly when you lean into him, and your love wells up from the bottom of you, rising up your green like sweet water as your vines plump, your leaves rise, and your flowers glow white in the sun. You’re craving so much more the second he pulls away, and you know from the curve of his lips and the look in his eyes that Eddie feels the same, but you both refrain for Gareth’s sake, sating yourselves with loaded glances and fond words for now. “How was your day?” Eddie asks you, squeezing your shoulder three times deliberately before he’s straightening up and rocking back on his heels. You smile at the secret meaning behind his touch, snatching his wrist before he can turn away and squeezing three times back.

“Oh, you know,” Gareth drawls, flapping his hand, “same ol’ same ol’. Thanks for asking, baby.”

Eddie shoots Gareth a flat look, but you giggle as your boyfriend shoves one dirty hand into the food bag on the coffee table, rooting for his dinner. “Wasn’t talkin’ to you, dipshit,” he says, though his lips twitch with a repressed smile. He pulls the remaining item from the bag with an air of triumph: an overstuffed burrito wrapped in shiny foil, looking fit to burst. Exactly how he likes it, you think, pleased when you see his eyes gleam eagerly as he starts to peel it open.

“It was fine.” You squint, derailed from your typical follow-up question about his day as Eddie steps around the coffee table, still unwrapping his dinner. “Are you not gonna eat with us?”

“Gotta shower today. I’m disgusting,” he says, tacking on quickly, “more disgusting than usual” before Gareth can open his mouth.

Your squint turns to a confused frown. “You can’t eat a burrito in the shower, Ed.”

By this time he’s peeled back enough foil to expose the bulging tortilla, and Eddie descends on it like a man starved, cheeks bulging as he replies through the mouthful. “Can eat it on the way to the shower,” he muffles through beans and rice, grinning cheekily as best he can when your eyebrows pinch in fond exasperation.

“Dude, do not drip sauce on the floor,” Gareth shouts after him, and you look over the back of the couch to see Eddie waving his hand dismissively without looking back before he disappears into the bathroom. From the other side of the couch, you feel Gareth’s eyes on you like a heavy presence, and you settle back against the cushions, crossing your legs again before glancing at him. He’s looking at you dully, almost accusingly, and you grimace sympathetically. “Soon,” you whisper. “I promise.”

It’s another familiar song and dance. Any time you’re over and Eddie does something, well, Eddie-ish, you promise Gareth that you and Eddie would be getting your own place soon, and Gareth grumbles that you’d said that last week. You know he doesn’t really mind that Eddie’s become his impromptu roommate these last two months since getting kicked out of the apartment he’d shared with Chrissy. Gareth has done his faithful best to accommodate Eddie though his apartment is a one-bedroom and barely bigger than a studio, so Eddie’s nights are spent on the couch, and his belongings are fitted into spare drawers and whatever unoccupied crannies could be found. They’ve known each other for years, and Gareth is happy to help his friend and bandmate, but as the weeks drag on, some friction has formed between the two men as they share such a small space.

To cut Gareth a break, you and Eddie try to spend most of your nights together at your place, only opting for Gareth’s when Penny has Charlie over to give them some space. She’s been very understanding about Eddie being over so often, and you’re already well aware that your sister hadn’t signed up for a package deal when you’d asked if you could move in.

You’re hoping that by this time next month, barring any unexpected expenses, you and Eddie will be ready to move in together. It isn’t a matter of commitment; you know he'd want nothing more than to get a place with you now, and you feel the same way, but the two of you haven’t saved up enough to make that decision practical yet. There’s the matter of a deposit and two months' rent, plus utilities, insurance, new furniture… it all adds up, and though Penny had adamantly refused to let you pay partial rent with her, you know Eddie had insisted on splitting half-and-half with Gareth. It doesn't matter that he just sleeps on the couch. Eddie Munson is never going to take any handouts.

Penny and Eddie are stubborn and more alike than they realize, you’d thought on more than one occasion.

The couch dips, and when the warmth of Eddie’s body settles against you, you welcome it wholeheartedly, shifting into him instinctively. His arm is a heavy but comforting weight slung over your shoulders, and he smells of smoke and apples when you snuggle against him, lifting your knees to fold towards him. His curls are cold and damp as they brush against your neck, and you shiver but don’t pull away. You’re rewarded with the heat of his stubbled jaw when he leans it against your temple. Your hand settles automatically at the soft of his waist, thumb trailing along the little pudge of fat below his navel, stroking over his threadbare t-shirt, and Eddie’s fingers ghost against your upper arm, scratching slowly in time with your movements.

In this way, you and Eddie can steal subtle touches and relish in each others’ presence as he and Gareth bicker over what to watch. They settle on a comedy movie, and while you don’t really mind either way what they choose, secretly, you do prefer these comedy nights. Though sci-fi and fantasy hold your interest the most, and horror provides opportunities for Eddie to comfort you, which you enjoy, comedies are by far the most fun to watch with him because he’s at his wildest and, frankly, his most joyful. You grin when Eddie’s stomach leaps under your hand as he throws his head back and laughs without restraint, squeezing you tighter against his side. You giggle when Eddie jostles you as he leans forward and gestures widely with his free hand, spouting off complaints and eager observations alike, flopping back against the cushions and dragging you with him. You glow when Eddie murmurs commentary into your hair, remarks for only you to hear— observations about how so-and-so reminds him of something you've said, or questions he wouldn’t want to ask Gareth for fear of looking stupid, or little whispers of affection, sappy nonsense to make you blush so he can nuzzle his nose against your cheek and call you cute.

And that’s how you spend the evening: belly full, tucked into your boyfriend’s side, watching a movie with him and his best friend until the hour grows late. It’s the same as it goes every week, a song and dance you’ve come to know so well you could hear its phantom notes in your sleep, a melody you’ll never tire of singing.

By the time the movie finishes, Gareth is rubbing his eyes, flinging a sleepy wave over his shoulder as he shuffles off to the bedroom. You and Eddie mumble your goodnights to him, lazing against one another for a moment before moving. You breathe deep and stretch as Eddie’s weight leaves you and he maneuvers onto his knees, craning over the cushioned back. His shirt rides up, and your eyes are drawn to the wide sliver of pale skin as he drags his blanket up from behind the couch, piling it in your lap for you to straighten out as he leans even further to reach his pillow. That gets plopped at the opposite end as you stand and tug the blanket over your shoulders, waiting for Eddie to flop down, lanky legs splayed and arms open and ready for you to join him. Eddie’s hair is dry now but still fragrant, smelling of apples as he enfolds you in his arms and it tickles your cheeks. You shimmy together, tangling your limbs and finally sating the desire for closeness you’d been assuaging all night with small touches that would never be enough.

Eddie buries his face in your neck, huffing against your skin as he burrows into you insistently, and you know he wants affection. You love it when Eddie gets needy like this— dragging you greedily against his body, almost manhandling you, flopping his leg over yours and wiggling until he’s comfortable. You tuck your fingers into his curls and scratch his scalp in big circles, smiling softly when he melts into you, boneless and lax as you lavish him with attention. Humming contentedly, you reach up under his t-shirt to feel his hot skin, dragging your nails over his back. He stretches against you like a cat, arching into your touch and pressing his lips to your throat in a mute thank you.

He tries to reciprocate, calloused fingers stuttering over your side as he attempts to stroke your skin in return, but Eddie is nearer to sleep than you are. When you feel his legs twitch, that tell-tale sign that he’s about to drift off, you pull your hand from beneath his t-shirt, smoothing it down as you rest your hand against his lower back. You don’t anticipate the low whine he muffles into your throat, and you chuckle when he shimmies to communicate his dissatisfaction. It almost seems antithetical that this man, typically clothed in ink and leather and chains, typically sharp and wolfish with eager flashing grins and a teasing black-smoke rasp, now whines unabashedly for your touch and pouts up at you with hazy brown eyes and pooched pink lips, soft white underbelly exposed for you to do with it what you will.

You love Eddie’s black, but his white is only for you, so you can’t help but covet it even more.

Your hand tucks obligingly back under his shirt, tracing random patterns, and as Eddie sighs against your neck, a question floats up, one that’s been hovering on the edges of your mind for some time now. It's a question that causes pins and needles of nervousness to prickle low in your chest, but in the dark hush of the living room, it feels possible to voice it.

“So, I’ve been thinking—”

“Always dangerous,” Eddie mumbles, and when you huff and your fingers stall on his back, his head pops up, eyes holding yours contritely as he rests against the pillow instead so he can look at you. He’d be a vision of innocent devotion with those beautiful curls and big brown eyes if it weren’t for the amused dimple threatening at the corner of his lips.

"So,” you repeat, “I've been thinking.” That prickle of nervousness surges again. “We’ve been dating— officially, I guess— for a couple of months now, and… well, there's been something I wanna do. Someone I wanna—"

“Uh-uh.” He cuts you off with a sharp shake of his head, and your heart falls. Before you can say anything, you’re being flipped onto your back as Eddie covers you with his body, hips pinning your pelvis to the couch, brown eyes glittering with intensity. Your eyes dart between his, wide with alarm as he says, "Oh, fuck no. Never again.” Your lips part in confusion, but Eddie barrels on, brows jerking up in emphasis. “You're all mine now. You’re my sweet girl. I'm not sharing you."

His meaning hits you all at once, leaving you winded and incredulous as his name strangles in your throat. You think he must be joking, must be pretending to be serious— but when his fierceness doesn’t subside, your incredulity transforms into something resembling offense.

You scoff disbelievingly. "Eddie!” You hush his name in an outraged exclamation, a little miffed that he’d actually think you’d be suggesting you swing with someone else, but nonetheless a little fluttery at his immediate possessiveness. Still, as you push at his shoulders, you frown petulantly. “That's not what I was gonna say at all! What the hell?"

Eddie doesn’t relent as you resist him, though the fierceness in his expression finally melts away at your unmistakable shock; instead, in a whiplash mood reversal, he wrestles you playfully, tickling you with his face and hair until you’re no longer at the edge of anger and are filled with giggles instead. "What then, hm?" he snaps teasingly from underneath his hair, shaking his head like a dog until you press your hands to his ears, holding his head steady between your soft palms.

You clear the hair gently from his face, feeling a little shy again as his eyes are revealed from the curtain of his curls, staring at you curiously. "Well, I was trying to say that we’ve been dating for a little while, and you’ve already met Penny, and I was thinking….” You push through your nervousness at the potential for rejection, voice quiet in your throat. “I wanna meet your uncle. If you want me to."

Eddie visibly softens, amber eyes going gooey like honey. His smoke voice is deep and rich and sure. "I'd really like that."

Your wings flutter at the gentleness in his gaze, warmth spreading to soothe the prickle of nerves. “Yeah?”

Eddie tucks your hair behind your ear and drags his thumb down the shell to your lobe, which he pinches three times slowly and deliberately. “Yeah, my sweet girl. I want you to meet my family.”

You take his hand, brushing his knuckles with your lips and squeezing three times back. It’s a quiet way to communicate when words aren’t needed or can’t be used. Three presses, slow and deliberate, a gesture that always means the same thing.

I love you.

It's snowing in Hawkins, Indiana, and while Forest Hills Trailer Park typically isn’t much to look at, it’s a wonderland in white.

The tires carve deep grooves in that white as you pull down the lane, and all— every flat roof and rusted car, every trashcan and skeletal flowerpot— is covered in a thick blanket of delicate powder. When Eddie turns the key to cut the engine, the silent stillness feels different from usual. Magical, almost, suspended in time and space as fat, dry flakes drift soundlessly down from a dove gray sky. As you dismount the vehicle with your host’s bag of gifts in hand, even the slam of your car door doesn’t echo quite as far. It’s muffled by the surrounding blanketed forest, where every piney branch is covered in a hush of snow, shifting occasionally like wings unfurling when powder falls into the sea of white below.

Eddie clomps up the worn porch steps first, leaving imprints for you to follow in. You match his stride with your smaller feet all the way up to the front door, eyes caught on the lumpy couch shaded by the awning, its front face dusted with white that clings like powdered sugar to the rough fabric. Eddie's rings rap against the plastic frame, and it’s then that your heart starts to pound. Nervous anticipation flutters in your stomach, borne of desperate yearning— a yearning to make a good impression on the most important man in your boyfriend’s life, to be deemed good enough for the most important man in yours.

Wayne Munson’s aging face is grizzled and creased, but the dimple in his cheek and the softness of his nose are so familiar they kick you in the chest. The sound he makes when he locks eyes with his nephew is husky and full, the bark of his laugh matching the smoke of Eddie’s when he clasps his nephew in a rough and eager embrace. His hands are tan but broad like Eddie’s, also worn from years of toil as they clutch at the back of your boyfriend's leather jacket. The men rock for a moment in the shared contentment of their reunion, and you wait behind Eddie, nearly fidgeting with the anticipation of meeting his uncle for the first time. But when they finally part and Eddie steps aside to reveal your shy smile and soft hands carrying your bag of offerings, the way Wayne Munson looks at you makes one thing abundantly clear:

You needn’t have worried.

“This is her,” Eddie says, and the audible pride in his voice floods your cheeks with pleased but bashful warmth. You’re ready to meet him where he is, but Wayne steps down from the threshold of his doorway onto the porch, his crooked smile widening as his blue eyes meet yours.

“It’s a pleasure t’meet you, sweetheart.” He pulls you into a much more careful hug than was bestowed on his nephew, and his worn denim shirt is soft beneath your chin and smells of laundry powder and cigarettes. The paper bag knocks against his back, and when he pulls away, he eyes it curiously. “That f’r me?”

You nod, shyness still gripping your tongue, but Eddie’s palm on the small of your back is grounding. “Just hold your horses, old man,” he gripes. “Let us inside before you stick your nose in.”

Wayne grumbles but obliges, stepping up first and leading the way into his home.

The indoor heat glows pleasantly against your cheeks as Eddie pulls the front door shut behind you, closing you in the cozy clutter of his childhood home. The place is cramped but well-kept, messy in the way you’d expect from a single man, but not dirty. There’s much to look at; the decor is quite eclectic, walls and surfaces covered with items both practical and sentimental. The most interesting is the ship wheel ceiling fixture in the kitchen, loaded with mismatched bulbs of different colors that cast the space in varied shades of light. The effect only adds to the charm, and you can nearly see a younger Eddie bounding down the narrow hallway from the back of the house, smoke voice high with adolescence as he calls out a goodbye to his uncle, curls bouncing against his forehead as he rushes past you out the door.

“So—” Wayne’s gruff voice startles you from your imaginings, and you catch his twinkling blue eyes as he jerks his chin toward the bag in your hands. “You gonna gimme that or what?”

The tease in his voice has you giggling despite Eddie’s huff. “Ungrateful,” he mutters under his breath, but you pull out the first item obligingly— a square box wrapped with paper to conceal what’s inside. You pass it over to Wayne, who shakes it, you suspect, just to make his nephew scowl. “You know what it is,” Eddie says, trying to be stern, though when they share a look, a smile can’t help but crack through. “Just open it.”

Your confusion over Eddie’s insistence on this particular type of gift has eased now that you’ve seen the primary decor adorning the trailer’s walls, but you watch Wayne carefully nonetheless, curious as to how he’ll react as he peels the paper back to reveal the picture on the front of the box.

Wayne’s brows contort in a mixture of confusion and amusement as he stares down at it for a moment before a guffaw rips from his throat. “What is this, kid?!” he turns his accusatory gaze toward Eddie. “You sayin’ I’m old and sickly?”

“You are old,” Eddie quips back, plush lips slanted in a smirk. “But, no.” His amber-brown eyes flash to yours. “It’s ‘cause of y/n.”

Wayne’s crinkled face swings to you then, and you smack Eddie lightly in the stomach in silent chastisement of his vagueness. “It’s ‘cause I work in healthcare.” You speak for the first time, voice small, gaze dropping to the picture in Wayne’s hands. It shows a mug in the shape of an orange pill bottle, complete with a white ridged rim to depict the child-safety lid and quite accurate in its mimicry of a prescription label, though the patient’s name is a clearly fictional ‘Mr. Java Joe Espresso.’ “It was Eddie’s choice,” you defend, pursing your lips against a smile when your boyfriend knocks you playfully with his elbow.

Wayne lifts the box closer to his nose to peer at the writing, finally huffing amusedly through his nose. “All right,” he concedes, and as he places it on the island counter behind him, you pull out his second and final gift. At the sight of the crumbly peach cobbler, Wayne looks considerably more enthused. “Now that’s more like it.”

Eddie helps you gather three plates, loading them with slices of cobbler as Wayne sinks into what must be his preferred armchair with a bone-weary sigh. You pass one to him, thumb on the spine of the fork to keep it from slipping as he takes it. “Thank you, darlin,’” he says, and you settle next to Eddie on the couch, sinking into his side.

It begins, you suppose, the way all introductions to family typically begin. “So, how’d you two meet?”

You nestle into Eddie’s side, fork playing with golden crumble and soft fruit as Eddie’s smoke curls gently against your cheek. “Through a mutual friend,” he says, and his voice is so calm and even that you feel the tightness in your belly ease. Eddie’s palm finds your knee, a comforting weight that warms your skin through your jeans.

“The first time I saw him, he was on stage,” you pipe up, one finger running against the textured bottom edge of the ceramic plate, the lip upon which it rests. “He was…”

You pause as you remember it: that black and white, the gash of red, the aggressive ink of his torso against pale quartz, the press of his lips to the mic, the enchanting smoke of his voice. You hadn’t known how to describe your impression of him that day in the dressing room when you’d met Eddie for the first time, but you know now. “I thought he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard,” you say, sweet as the peach cobbler you’d brought his uncle, and Eddie’s fingers tighten against your leg, squeezing slow, pressing once, twice, and then again.

The curve of Wayne’s mouth gentles beneath his grizzled salt-and-pepper beard. “Ain’t he something, though. My boy.”

You nod your keen agreement. Though you’re angled toward Wayne and Eddie is behind you, you can feel the warmth of his blush without looking. “Y/n works in pediatric medicine,” he says quickly. “She helps sick kids all day. And she can sing, too. Got the voice of an angel.”

Now it’s your turn to flush, and what ensues is a fierce competition of deflection as both you and Eddie brag on each other to his uncle, trying to divert the attention from yourselves. It’s a valiant effort that leaves Wayne positively tickled as he looks back and forth between you until he finally holds up his hands for mercy. “Look, I get it,” he interrupts, “you each think the sun shines out the other’s ass. Consider me convinced.”

Eddie snorts, wrapping his arm around your bashful shoulders as they try to scrunch up to your ears. Unable to concede without winning, he plants a loud smacking kiss to your cheek, grinning manically as he leaves you positively burning. “Eddie!” you hiss as Wayne chuckles, squirming your discomfort but oh, so sweetly blooming nonetheless.

You’re surprised to find that the afternoon spent in Wayne’s company slips by as quickly as snow melts from sun-drenched branches. The man is gruff but so easy in his way that you’re comfortable before you know it, sinking deep into Eddie’s side to swing your foot idly and suck sweet pie filling from your fork. You’re perfectly content to listen to them banter through updates about Wayne’s life and Eddie’s, about the shop and the band and the friends Wayne remembers from Hawkins. You’re a little worried the sudden absence of Chrissy might come up, considering how she was such a long-time fixture in Eddie’s life, but Wayne is far more tactful than Eddie can sometimes be, and your concern never comes to pass. You’re both fascinated and thoroughly delighted by the anecdotes they share, silly stories of Eddie's childhood and recollections of times long past but fondly remembered. You talk about yourself when prompted, telling Wayne about your family, your work, and your interests, falling so far into the contentment of this exchange with the Munson men that by the time the sun has begun to wane, you find yourself genuinely disappointed that the visit is over.

Wayne tries to send you off with the remains of the cobbler, citing his nephew’s sweet tooth, but Eddie is adamant in pointing out that Wayne's is just as big. Well wishes are exchanged; soft plans and promises are made to see one another again soon. "You should come and see us next time," Eddie throws over his shoulder on his way to the door, "once we have our own place."

"Yes," you add eagerly, "We can take you to the bakery where the cobbler came from. They make really great cannolis, too, if you like those."

Wayne claps an open palm against his nephew's shoulder, eyes crinkling with his grin. "You better treat 'er good, son," he says sincerely. "She's a keeper."

Your voice is so firm, firmer than it's been all afternoon, that the Munson men nearly startle with it. “No.” They both blink at your vehemence, but you turn your resolute gaze to dark curls and quartz skin, pink lips and amber eyes. “He’s the keeper.”

You look at Eddie, and you know what your eyes are saying: that he's the only one that can make you flutter and bloom, that every sweet drop of succulent fruit spilling from your tongue is for him. You know you've peeled back your layers and shown your green. And when that gentle pink spreads over his cheeks— when Eddie's expression softens, glowing with bashful pleasure, pride, and adoration— you find it's quite alright that you’ve let these two men see all the way down to the center of you.

The asphalt of the bar's parking lot is worn and cracked, but you know it so well you don't have to look down to avoid the potholes when you skirt around the side of the building, heading towards the back. Your eyes quickly find where Eddie's van is parked alongside the wall, but you don't approach it; that isn't why you've ventured here. Instead, you head right for that gray door set into crumbling brick, the one with the light that floods it from above, illuminating its chipping paint. Your duffel brushes against the flakes as you rap quickly, glancing around tensely until the door cracks open to reveal a familiar dirty-blonde mop and blue eyes.

You pass the bag into Gareth's waiting hand, voice low and intent. "We still good?"

"Yeah," he says a little breathlessly, darting a quick look over his shoulder before his face whips back to you. "Head back during 'Around the Fur.' Tania will show you where to go."

You nod, and in a flash, he's gone. You twist the handle, bracing against its weight, and with your careful guidance, the door thumps gently closed.

A handful of minutes later and you're seated at your normal spot at the bar, sipping on soda water mixed with grenadine for color to maintain the illusion of normalcy. Your normal spot is in the front corner directly beside the hinge-top, so you can sit up there when the weekend crowds make it difficult to see from a barstool. Thursday isn't typically a busy day, but tonight's occasion is special, so the place is already buzzing even though the performance isn't supposed to begin for another forty minutes. You're facing the bar rather than out towards the crowd, chatting idly with Jimmy as he makes drinks for customers. You're trying to distract yourself from the bouncing of your knee and the nerves making your leaves shake restlessly, but it's hard when your eyes keep catching on the black streamers behind the bar.

You'd spent winter, spring, and summer watching Corroded Coffin slowly grow from regular performers at a single bar to a healthy rotation at half a dozen, from averaging one show a week to four, from modest crowds of screaming fans to immodest crowds of a whole lot more. Eddie was beyond pleased, as were Gareth, Jeff, and Brian, and you'd relished in their success with your consistent presence at their shows at least once a week, more if you could swing it. Of all the places Corroded Coffin plays, this bar— despite its dingy, seedy visage— is still your favorite because it had been the first, the beginning of everything for them and for you. It makes sense why Eddie had chosen here for the festivities tonight, and you were grateful for it because of that intimacy. Still, even with all the shows you've seen, you've never been as nervous as you are for this one.

A hand on your shoulder draws your attention from Jimmy to green eyes shimmering with iridescent powder, and despite your nerves, you beam as you spin on the stool to embrace your friend, muffling your eager greeting into her auburn hair. She shimmies you in her grasp, squealing her enthusiasm as you rest your chin on her shoulder, meeting familiar hazel eyes beneath an artfully disheveled fringe. Tan fingers run through the strands as Steve waits to greet you with a broad, lopsided smile, though you’re both diverted when his girlfriend steps away to survey you, her nose wrinkling in confusion. “Is that what you’re wearing up there?”

You look down at your cream dress with its sweetheart neckline, extending a foot to examine one delicate ballet flat. It’s very in line with what you’d typically wear, both to Eddie’s shows and otherwise. You squint at Karoline skeptically, about to explain when Steve beats you to it. “Kar,” he says, fondly amused, “it’s a surprise, remember?”

Steve looks to you, and you nod your confirmation, holding up your virgin drink as you add, “All for the illusion. I worked everything out with the guys. You’ll see.”

In typical dramatic fashion, Karoline actually smacks her forehead. “Duh,” she says, chuckling self-deprecatingly, and you surge with admiration for her ability not to let anything embarrass her. She leans into Steve’s side, who wraps an arm around her comfortably. “Of course you have it all planned out. It’s gonna be the best birthday present Eddie’s ever had in his life.”

You smile, though you feel your nerves mix with bashfulness. “Well, I don’t know about that,” you hedge, but you pout when you see Steve shaking his head in exasperation, hazel eyes locked on you. “What?” you ask, crossing your arms tight in your lap, feeling a little exposed under his gaze.

But that hazel isn’t dulled like briny mud or sharp with bitterness. Instead, Steve just huffs a wry laugh as his lips curl knowingly. “Yeah,” he says quietly, fondly, and it pierces through the self-consciousness. “She’s right, y/n. He’s gonna love it.”

Though you don’t reply, your gaze softens, and you know Steve can read the gratefulness there. “Come on, Kar.” He nudges his girlfriend gently, and she reaches out to squeeze your hand one last time before they head off into the gathering crowd. You squeeze back, taking strength from their support before they slip away.

Steve and Karoline aren’t your only friends here. As you sip your drink and the sweet fizz of the flavored soda water dances on your tongue, you remain facing the room, eyes scanning the sea of bodies that buzz with impatient energy as they await the start of the show. Slowly, some other beloved faces emerge from the anonymity: Tara and Lisa nestled snug in the middle, Penny in the back corner, as far from the stage as she can manage to avoid the potential of Eddie spotting her. Their presence is a temporary balm for your nerves, offering silent support despite the distance. Part of you wishes they were right beside you, but you’d told them to stay away; you didn’t want to risk tipping Eddie off, valuing the sake of your surprise over the comfort they’d provide you.

It hadn’t been easy keeping your plans from Eddie, though you’d been determined to do it, knowing the payoff would be worth it. It took weeks of frantic last-minute meetings with the guys you could only swing when Eddie was working overtime (which he never remembered to tell you about ahead of time), weeks of singing the same song over and over in your empty apartment, snatching moments of opportunity in those tiny gaps before Eddie’s return would have you falling mute. You practiced relentlessly, knowing you’d chosen a challenging song, one that would not only showcase but stretch the limits of your skill. You wanted your performance to be perfect, but not for the crowd, though that was, of course, a factor. Mostly, you wanted to impress Eddie, to show him how tall you’ve grown with his tending. And after all those weeks of scheming and sneaking, weeks you’d spent on edge knowing one small misstep from anyone involved would have Eddie— blessedly, cursedly intuitive Eddie— poking at you relentlessly until he’d pried the secret from your clamped lips and ruined everything… somehow, he’d never caught on. And now, as the bar’s lights dim almost to darkness and the stage billows with haze that drips like liquid smoke onto the floor below, it’s finally time.

Watching Eddie perform always takes your breath away, but this time feels different. When he mosies up to center stage, strumming the two chords of the song they’d chosen to open with tonight, the crowd’s raucous cheering matches the broad, wolfish grin on his face, sharp and black and utterly delighted at the electricity in the air. The energy stirs you too: blood thrums hot in your veins, washing you with heady anticipation as Eddie’s dark eyes find yours like they always do a moment before he presses his plush lips to the mic. “Hey,” he purrs, and feminine shrieks fill the air, mixing with the clash of drums and the grinding of Eddie’s guitar. This is familiar, too; when he knows you’ll be there, Eddie always starts the set with the same song. “This town don’t feel mine,” he croons, and the flutter of your wings surges from the pit of your stomach up to your ribcage, stirring your green to restlessness. Not just because of what this means to you— it always means something that Eddie begins with the song you’d told him you liked most the first night you’d met— but also because you know that tonight, you won’t just be looking up at him, watching him from below. You’ll be joining him up there, allowing yourself to be perceived.

Nonetheless, you smile at him, hoping the curve of your lips doesn’t tremble before he looks away. Once he releases you, your shoulders sag, relief rushing as you reach absentmindedly for the dainty gold chain around your neck, rubbing your thumb against the textured object hanging there as you watch the guys perform. There’s rarely a moment you aren’t wearing the red and white shell, so the gesture has become nearly automatic, a soothing repetitive motion you turn to whenever Eddie isn’t near. It doesn’t quite settle your nerves now, but it carries you through the next couple of songs, keeping your fidgeting from becoming obvious. And your nerves are almost forgotten completely when Eddie turns around for the first time to show off the new ink on his back, an early birthday present to himself he’s debuting for his fans today: a pair of dragon wings curving across his shoulders and down to his waist, shifting as he continues to strum during the breakdown. The screeches that accompany the reveal are nearly feral, and you giggle when you see the tell-tale quiver of his shoulders that tells you he's trying not to laugh.

You’re okay until Gareth whips his sweat-damp mop of hair, beating out the distinctive hits that begin Around the Fur. No amount of self-soothing could quell the wave of adrenaline that rushes through you then, rustling your green like a gust of tumultuous wind. You take a deep breath before you slide off the stool, and your legs are nearly jelly beneath you as you press through the sea of bodies, cutting a laborious path toward the back of the crowd. Resisting the rising claustrophobia, you make a large circle around to the other side of the stage, slipping into the corridor that leads to the bathroom. It’s blessedly wide and empty, cavernously echoing with the reverberations of Brian’s bass and Gareth’s kick drum. You savor the relief of being freed from the crush of damp bodies for just a moment before striding down the hallway, bypassing the bathrooms and heading directly to the door that leads backstage.

Sure enough, just as Gareth had promised, his girlfriend Tania is there to collect you, her eyes wide with focused intent as she leads you to the dressing room she’d prepared. You rush after her, heart pounding as she ushers you inside and closes the door. “We’ve got about five minutes before you need to be at the side stage,” she says, striding over to the rack as you step out of your flats and lift the hem of your dress at the same time. You shed your clothes hastily, eyes locked on the outfit that hangs from the bar, the one she’d helped you pick last week. It's all black and comprised of a mix of textures, some tight, some sheer, topped with leather and accents of silver to match Eddie’s chains. More daring than you’ve ever worn and perfectly curated for this moment.

Expertly, Tania gathers the fabric of your thin tights in her fingers, rolling them down for you to step into. Together, you clothe your body in the rest: the short, tight dress, the sheer mesh turtleneck that layers beneath it, the tall boots that tie over your knees. You swap your dainty gold studs for dangling silver swords, lifting your arms so Tania can clasp the buckles of your harness belt over your chest and around your waist, tugging gently on the straps and stepping back to ensure it’s sitting right. She nods sharply, satisfied, glancing at her smartwatch. “Two minutes for makeup,” she says, and though your face flashes with nervousness, obediently you sit, folding your hands in your lap as she snatches up the eyeliner from the beauty counter beside you. With a tightly-knit brow, she lines your lids using quick, fast strokes, smudging the liner expertly with the side of her thumb before twisting open a tube of burgundy lipstick. She takes her time with your lips, surveying you clinically afterward before her black lips split in an eager grin.

“You’re ready,” she says, and the surety in her voice almost makes you believe it.

Backstage the floor is a mess of wires which you step over carefully like they're landmines. You hover in the wings with a fluttering heart as you wait for your cue, the muted mic growing slippery in your hands. It feels suddenly surreal to be here, gazing at the band from this new vantage point. You can see Gareth wailing on the drums, Brian’s thick fingers working the bass, Jeff’s head bobbing as he hunches over the keys, but your eyes are drawn time and again to the front lights glowing on the sweat-slick skin of Eddie’s back, burnishing his dark curls to deep, rich brown as the wings on his back shift and roil. Beyond him are blurs of movement, the undulating shapes of indiscernible bodies captivated by his performance. As you see the flash of hands reaching from that sea of dark, you feel a sudden shiver of doubt prickle up your spine. Eddie’s been performing for years; he commands the stage with ease. What if you, in comparison, are lackluster? What if the crowd is disappointed by your sudden intrusion? Doubt settles heavy in your stomach.

What if they don’t like me?

The sudden thought has your head spinning, but there isn’t time to dwell on that because Gareth’s beating on the cymbals, and the song is ending, and Jeff is speaking, voice hoarse with exertion but forming the words that seal your fate.

“—as you all might know, today is a special day. Today, this motherfucker right here turns twenty-six.” Eddie’s curls whip as he looks at Jeff, a shared manic grin splitting their faces as the audience whoops and hollers for him.

“You’re fuckin’ old, dude!” Gareth shouts, loud enough to be heard even though he isn’t mic’d, and there’s a wave of laughter.

“Oh, fuck off, man,” Eddie’s amplified voice is sharp and loud, nearly startling, and you duck back slightly so he won't see you, heart hammering as he twists to give Gareth the middle finger. The words could be angry, but he’s smiling, and his voice warms to match it. “No, but honestly, there’s nowhere else I’d rather celebrate one more year of dodging the grave than right here with all of you, in the place this whole fuckin’ mess really took off, with the guys who made it happen—” From behind, you see Eddie’s head turn towards the bar, towards where you’re always sitting. “And—” when his voice falters, you know he’s noticed you aren’t there anymore.

Jeff cuts in quickly. “And we’ve planned a special treat for you.” He pauses dramatically, teeth flashing into a smug smile. “A special treat for you, Ed,” he clarifies, and you don’t have the luxury of watching Eddie’s head whip toward him again because that’s your cue.

You lift your chin, and as you move out of the shadows, each successive step allows the glare of the front lights to illuminate you more and more: every dip and curve of your body, every sway of your ample hips as you approach your boyfriend from behind. It takes a moment for the crowd to realize what’s happening, and once they do, you hear the realization wash over them in a tittering wave. You thought you’d known what it would be like to be on stage, to have all those eyes on you, staring, boring down to the most minute details of your appearance. But it’s one thing to know it and quite another to experience it. And the doubt, the nervousness, the fear, the self-consciousness— they’re suddenly all laid bare in the harshness of the unforgiving spotlight you’re walking into.

You keep your eyes fixed on black and white, the reason you’re here. They run over Eddie’s slack arm hanging at his side, over those chunky rings and ruddy knuckles, over the tapestry of dark ink, the way the curve of his shoulder slopes into the cords of his pale quartz neck, the curl of his damp hair against his cheek. The moment feels longer than it lasts in reality, the time between the audience’s noticing and Eddie’s, and you use it to caress him with your gaze, to memorize the flutter of his dark lashes and the rise of his bare chest as he finally starts to turn.

The moment whittles down to nothing but the look in those honey-brown eyes as Eddie finally sees you, a look powerful enough to wither the depth of your doubt. You flick the switch on the side of the mic as you walk toward him, illuminated fully now, light gleaming off the smoke and silver of your armor, armor that matches your beloved’s. The armor is his, but your voice is all your own when you finally speak.

“Hi, Ed,” you say into the mic, and your voice is velvety like a hush of wings but also rich like sweet, ripe fruit.

Eddie’s plush lips hang open as his eyes dart over you, unable to settle, his face slack and stupefied, brown eyes impossibly large in his pretty face. There’s a moment of silence before he replies almost dazedly, “Hi, sweet girl.”

A wave titters through the crowd again, murmurs of recognition, encouragement, and disappointment alike— disappointment, perhaps, from some of the girls that didn’t realize Eddie was taken— but they don’t matter now. Because the whole reason you’re here is staring at you like he’s trying not to pinch himself to check if he’s dreaming. In the face of Eddie’s slack-jawed awe, you smile. “Happy birthday, Eddie,” you say, and Jeff starts the track for Passenger.

It seems to take a moment for Eddie to understand what’s happening— that you’re not only on stage with him, dressed the way you’re dressed, looking the way you look, but that you’re holding the mic to your lips, not retreating as the song begins. He misses the first strum but scrambles to catch up as Gareth starts the drumbeat, fingers moving but eyes locked on you. And you’re looking back at him, looking back until your eyes slip closed so you can sink into that familiar headspace and let the rest of the world— the stage, the lights, the stares, the crowd— fall away. Until it’s just you, your voice, and Eddie’s song, the song you’re singing to him.

“Here I lay, still and breathless; just like always, still I want some more—”

It’s exactly how you’d sounded in the quiet of your apartment, breathy and haunting, but even better now with the microphone’s vocal effects. You sink into the comfort of your weeks of practice, letting that carry you through to the final line of the verse, the last moment of gentleness before the song intensifies.

“Now to calm me, this time won’t you please—” your brow scrunches and your voice surges up as you drag out the words, “—drive faster!”

The grinding of the guitar, the thrum of the bass, the fury of the drums— they fill you up like Eddie’s smoke voice, like the light in his eyes and the rasp of his calloused hands against your green. You channel it all as you sing the chorus, pouring out your passion for all to see.

“Roll the window down, this cool night air is curious. Let the whole world look in, who cares who sees anything? I’m your passenger. I’m your passenger.”

With Eddie, you’ve grown tall and strong. For Eddie, you’re blooming right open, finally unafraid to be perceived.

You’ve given Eddie a precious gift, and he intends to thank you, to ensure you know that you belong to him.

He’d been on you the moment you both walked through the front door, hasty and needful, fisting his broad hands at your inner thighs and ripping your thin tights to shreds to expose your heat. Your desire rushed hot and thick as he dragged you down to the ground, burying his face in your pussy right there on the dining room floor, too hungry for you to wait for the bedroom. He devoured you, relentless despite the writhing of your hips and your fists tugging at his curls in a grip that must have been painful.

You came the first time on his tongue.

Afterward, he’d lifted you in his arms and carried you to the bed you share, laying you gently across the down comforter as your chest heaved with your panting. He undressed you tenderly, working you back up unhurriedly, pressing teasing kisses to every inch of your skin until you were squirming and needy again. Then, when you were ready, Eddie fucked you deep and slow, tucking your knees to your chest, his guitar pick swinging to brush against your skin with every grind of his hips until you came a second time on his cock, shuddering and whimpering.

And now he has you on all fours, face down, arms curled atop the sheets as his hips smack against your ass, making your doughy flesh jiggle. He’s clutching your hips so tight you know there’ll be marks tomorrow, little oval bruises that act as evidence of his passion for you. It only makes you burn hotter for him. As do his words— his smoke that you inhale eagerly with heaving breaths until it coils rich and heady in your belly.

“—so fuckin’ sexy up there, singing my song like that. Got me so fuckin’ hard, babe, I could’ve fucked you right there on that stage—” You whimper, pushing your hips back, his praise motivating you to take him deeper. “Oh yeah,” Eddie groans, raspy with approval. “That’s it, sweet thing. Bounce that perfect ass on me.” He starts to fuck into you harder as you obey, rocking back against him until the claps echo alongside your whimpers and his low, breathy sounds of pleasure.

It’s fairly commonplace for Eddie to make you cum twice, but your third orgasm has long been elusive. You’ve typically found yourself too sensitized for it, your clit too puffy and raw for even Eddie’s light, careful touch to be pleasant. But something seems different tonight. Maybe it’s the thrill of performing successfully on stage with him, or the patience with which he’s playing your body so expertly, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s not touching your clit directly, that it’s just his heavy balls swaying rhythmically against your lips, a slight slap that makes you tingle every time you push back to meet his steady thrusts. Whatever it is, you can feel the cinders of your arousal build back up again under his faithful attention, and you drag your teeth against your bottom lip, relishing in the feeling of him behind you.

His fingers had been pressing bruisingly into your hips, but now Eddie’s grip softens and shifts, his broad, calloused hands rubbing wide circles over your ass as he praises you again. “Have I ever told you,” Eddie says musingly, his voice low and edged with teasing, “how goddamn gorgeous your ass is?”

He plays idly with your cheeks as you chuckle. “Only all the time,” you say, and the sound of your laugh hitches when he grabs two handfuls of your pliant flesh, pulling your cheeks apart as he continues to fuck you steadily. When he continues to hold your ass like that, and you hear a low groan, you rush with heat as you realize he must be watching himself disappear into your heat. You imagine what he sees: his cock, thick and flushed pink, engulfed over and over down to the hilt by your slick, puffy pussy. Your entrance is stretched tight, dragging with him slightly as if reluctant to let him go when he pulls his hips back. You flutter at the thought, squirming in his hold as your cinders catch to a low flame again, now for the third time. You can feel your thighs sticking to his on every thrust, can hear how wet you sound, and you’re suddenly envious of his view—

“Shit, baby,” Eddie breathes, and the heat in his voice makes you pulse. “You’re so fuckin’ messy, coating my whole dick. Pussy’s so creamy, just wanna—”

You’re left with no warning before his thick length is suddenly and abruptly pulled from you, leaving you mournfully empty as you feel the bed shift and lurch behind you, jostling your knees. Eddie isn’t gone from you long, though, as you quickly feel his breath puff hot against your skin before he licks a broad stripe up your pussy.

You sigh at the feeling of his tongue on your puffy lips, which is so gentle it’s almost a relief compared to the, admittedly, delicious pounding you’d just been receiving. Eddie groans his eager satisfaction as he tastes you, and you answer back with a moan of your own, widening your knees and settling into the new sensation. Your hips jerk slightly when his chin bumps against your sensitized clit, but Eddie doesn’t linger there long. Instead, after laving your entrance thoroughly, tasting you until he’s satisfied, he merely starts at the apex of your heat, dragging his tongue briefly along your clit on his journey up to your entrance. Up, slowly and steadily and deliberately— up to your entrance but then past it, because Eddie just keeps moving up, up, up, and he doesn’t stop until his tongue has dragged across the tight pucker of your hole.

You burst instantly with flutters, with fire that licks your belly and leaves your head rushing at the unexpected feeling of Eddie’s tongue there. It’s not something you’ve never done together, but it’s not something you do all the time, and the novelty of it feels both naughty and profoundly thrilling. Your breath deepens as you wait, muscles tensed as you feel Eddie’s breath puff warm against your skin again, but this time at that delicate, sensitive spot between your cheeks. The anticipation is torturous, and involuntarily, you feel yourself clench and flutter at the feeling. Eddie hums low in his throat like he’s both satisfied and amused at your reaction, and you’re near to a whine when you feel his tongue— broad and firm, warm and wet— as he licks your ass again.

Your whine melts to a breathy gasp as Eddie’s calloused hands land on your cheeks, his thumbs prying them apart for better access as he pushes his face closer. The way he’s licking you here isn’t the same as the way he licks your pussy. With your pussy, Eddie varies the pressure and the rhythm, sometimes swirling and sometimes sucking as he plays with your lips and your clit. Now, each stroke of his tongue is even and consistent, predictable almost, like he’s slowly devouring an ice cream cone.

But oh, is it effective. Before long, you’re whimpering, a high sound of feminine need, louder when you feel one hand leave your cheek and Eddie fills your pussy with two fingers, curling them deliciously so your hips buck. He ignores your clit, working you with his fingers in time with his broad tongue which swipes against you again and again, dragging warm and wet over your puckered hole. Your fingers fist in the bedding as your hips begin to shift, tiny circles that match his movements. His fingers continue, but you feel his tongue pause so he can croon, “Aw. It's like that, huh?”

Eddie’s voice is smug, knowing, and it only twists you tighter, making the flame of your desire burn brighter for him.

“Fuck, Eddie, that feels so—” you break off in a desperate whine, very undeniably affected by what he’s doing.

"I know, baby, I know.” Eddie chuckles, licking your ass through his laughter, and the breathy sound of his amusement shouldn’t be arousing, but it is. “You were winking at me back here. Couldn't resist.”

He keeps licking you, long, measured strokes that he times with the push and crook of his fingers until you’re desperate for him to stretch you open again. This feels good, really good, but the flame growing in your belly— the burn of your need— can only be sated by one thing. “Ed,” you plead, “please, please fuck me again— need your cock now, need you—”

No matter how much he might tease and play with you, Eddie can never resist the sweetness of your voice when you beg for him.

You feel the bed shift behind you again, Eddie’s knees brushing the inside of yours as he straightens up and shuffles closer to you. You feel his head firm and spongy against your puffy lips, and though his length has been left neglected for a while, if anything, he’s even harder now as he pushes back inside you. The thought that Eddie was just as aroused by licking your ass as you were to feel him do it makes you shiver, pleasurable tingles racing up your spine as he slides thick and hot back where he belongs inside you. The stretch is delicious, as is the rasp of his wiry hair against your clit when he grinds in slow and firm, pressing as deep as he can go.

“Mmm—” you push back into him, widening your legs to lower the angle just slightly, and Eddie hisses as he nudges against the end of you.

“Feel good?” he rasps, kneading your thighs as he circles his hips languidly, letting you enjoy the deep press of him inside you. “Is my cock makin’ you feel good, sweet girl?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, “yeah, Eddie, I love your cock, baby. You make my pussy feel so good.”

He sighs harshly, and you flutter and tingle with pleasure as he pulls back and thrusts forward sharply, punching a delighted moan out of you. “Yeah, Eddie, like that,” you say, voice thick and sticky with your need for him. “Fuck me like that.”

He thrusts into you once more, slowly building up his pace until he’s fucking you evenly like he was before, holding your hips in his broad hands. His cock stokes the burn in your belly, filling you with steady pleasure that is making you feel good like you’d told him. But after his tongue, the air of your bedroom is cold on your hole, slick from Eddie’s spit. And you’re just realizing you really miss the feeling when something hits you there— something wet and warm that lingers for a moment before beginning to slide, guided by gravity to drip down the delicate skin between your ass and your entrance.

Eddie’s spit.

You’re just recovering from the realization that Eddie has spit on your hole when you feel the calloused pad of his thumb press against it, rubbing you there as he maintains the pace of his hips. You moan, arching your back and rocking eagerly into the feeling of him massaging you with his thumb while he fucks your pussy. Before you know it, you’re panting, nearly squirming with your desire for more— more cock, more thumb, more touch, more something.

Your desire is purring within you, making your answer to Eddie’s question come quick and easy. “You want my thumb inside?” he asks, and immediately you’re nodding, the tingling fire of your arousal bursting to life again.

You know that nodding isn’t really enough to confirm what you want, but a little vocalization is all you can manage. “Mm-hmm,” you hum, voice wavering as your body rushes with anticipation.

“Shit, that’s so hot,” Eddie mutters under his breath, and you whimper when he pauses in his movements, both his thumb and his hips as if he needs to stop entirely in order to concentrate. And then the pressure against your hole steadily and evenly begins to increase.

You arch your back further, encouraging him with your posture and the little breathy sounds you let spill from your lips as you pant. He pushes in steadily until the tip of his thumb pops inside you up to the first knuckle, and the breach has you clenching on him instantly. "That's it, baby. Take it,” Eddie husks, and the smoke of his voice settles low in your belly, mixing with the heat of your fire as he starts to thrust his cock into you again.

As he resumes his pace, splaying the rest of his fingers along one cheek to hold onto you comfortably, you find yourself nearly overwhelmed by all the sensations— the rasp of his wiry curls against your heated lips, the lewd shlicking sounds of your wetness as he pounds into you, the pleasant sting of his thumb and the delicious stretch of his cock, the feeling of being breached and filled by him in two places instead of one. Your flames twist high, flaring hotter and hotter until you’ve turned into a whiny mess— lips parted, brow scrunched, eyes screwed shut as you twist the comforter in your fists and bury your face in it. It doesn’t stop your whines and moans, though they’re muffled now, uttered into the soft fabric beneath you.

“Ah-ah—” Eddie’s rasp is chastizing as he bends over your back, his hot, sticky chest now flush with the breadth of your shoulders. As he does, incidentally, he presses further in: his cock bullies up against the end of you and his thumb slips deeper, stretching you as you stutter a moan into the comforter. He grips your hair to turn your head, pausing for a moment to press his palm lightly against the side of your face for emphasis. "Don’t do that,” Eddie pants, pushing himself up with one hand against the bed before grabbing hold of your hip and fucking into you again, his other hand still firmly gripping your cheek with his thumb buried inside. “Wanna hear every sound out of those pretty lips.”

You’re officially a wreck now. Panting, moaning with every breath, mouth open and drooling against the bed, face hot and flushed as he pounds you, brain empty of anything but Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. You look up at him, glassy-eyed and adoring, and he groans raggedly, face pinching as he sees just how fucked out you are. "Jesus Christ, you look so—” He breaks off in a grunt, dragging his teeth against his plush bottom lip before groaning, “fuck, m'close, but I want another one from you. Can you give me one more, sweet girl?"

Your nose skims the sheets with each thrust as you rock with Eddie’s movements, teary eyes locked on his pretty face: the flush of his cheeks, how his damp curls kiss them as they sway; the plush of his swollen lips as he swipes his pink tongue across them; the shadow of his jaw and the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallows thickly; the look in his brown eyes, heavy and hazy, molten to deep honey as he watches you take him so well like the good girl you are. Your thoughts are sluggish, melty with the heat of your desire, the flames that lick up your abdomen. It takes you a moment to realize Eddie has asked you a question.

Can you give me one more, sweet girl? Will you let me make you cum again?

Your focus hones to the stretch of him filling you, his cock pumping hot and thick in your pussy, his thumb and splayed fingers holding you in place. And as you think about it— think about how pretty Eddie looks, how his cock feels inside you— you find yourself wanting one thing. You want Eddie to cum. You want to see the way his brow pinches and his mouth falls open, to hear his smoke voice high and tight as you make him moan, to feel the way he holds you as he twitches and pumps warm cum deep inside you, claiming you as his.

Your bottom lip drags against the comforter as you close your drooling mouth, and you bite it through a tiny, petulant whine of protest at the realization that waiting for your orgasm means having to wait longer for Eddie’s. “Eddie,” you whine, brow crinkled pleadingly, trying to urge him toward what you desire. “Want your cum in me.”

Eddie huffs, cheeks pinking further, eyes darkening at the petulance in your voice. “Yeah, baby?” he husks. “You want my load?”

Your eyes widen hopefully, an expression of earnest, cock-dumb need. “Mm-hmm,” you hum, whimpery and urging again. “Please cum in me, Ed.”

Eddie can never resist your pleading, but this time, your words make his brown eyes flash. He chuckles breathlessly, expression lighting with mischief. And you should have been prepared, but you’re too gone to notice, so it takes you entirely off-guard when Eddie purrs, "I know what you really want, y/n. You want me to fuck a baby into you.”

Instantly, you burst with tingling flutters; you gasp sharply as goosebumps rush along your back and arms, racing up your spine to tingle in your scalp, tightening your nipples and leaving you reeling. It’s not something you and Eddie have discussed before, and you aren’t expecting how affected you are by the thought of Eddie giving you a baby. You shudder, a full-bodied and unmistakeably obvious physical reaction to his words, one you have no hope of stifling.

Eddie groans, deep and low in his chest as he feels and sees your reaction to his words. “Shit, you do, don’t you? I fuckin’ knew it.”

He sounds smug but excited, and you can’t help but feel embarrassed by the strength of your sudden desire. Because you do want that— in just the same way as the first time you had your mouth on him, when Eddie asked you if you wanted his cum. Though the suggestion hadn’t consciously occurred to you before, you realize it has been there, buried deep down like the seed that has since sprouted and grown tall under his careful tending. A hidden desire that now has been exposed, leaving you open and vulnerable.

But then Eddie’s smoke voice gentles, sounding so sincere as he says, “I can't wait to see you, y/n.” The fingers clutching at your hip ease, and your breath hitches as Eddie slides his calloused hand down to cup the soft of your stomach, holding you, supporting you in an embrace seemingly at odds with the way he’s fucking into you. “Gonna be so gorgeous. Belly all round, tits so big… beautiful, sweet girl.” You feel your green quiver and bloom with the strength of your love, but also with this poignant, sharp longing that floods you.

He’s right behind you, holding you, inside you. Eddie couldn’t be closer, but you still want more.

His voice is growing huskier, grittier, hoarsening with desire as he keeps talking. “I want everyone to see you. To see how incredible you are. They’ll see you, and everyone will know…” he breaks off in a grunt, chest heaving, words a little shakier as he continues, “they’ll know I fucked you full of my cum. I want everyone to know you’re my girl. I want them to know you’re mine."

That’s the more you’re yearning for: Eddie claiming you, filling you, marking you not just with bruises from his fingertips and his kisses but with his seed, with the evidence of your shared love growing inside you, sheltered by your body. A piece of Eddie and a piece of you, forever entangled. And as you hear each successive word, your longing twists tighter and your flame burns brighter and hotter until it’s tingling between your hips, driving you toward that elusive place you’ve already visited twice tonight.

Eddie’s fucking you hard and fast now, wound tight, seemingly stirred by his own words. “Is that what you want?” he pants. “You want me to give you a baby, y/n?”

You do. You really do. You want it so bad you can’t even speak beyond a broken, keening noise in your throat. “Tell me,” Eddie urges you, brown eyes nearly desperate. “Please, tell me you want it.”

Through your gasps and whimpers, you force out the words in a choked sob, only for him. "I want your baby, Eddie, I want—"

Your orgasm surges up so quickly your words cut off in a scream, and you cry out desperately, high and hoarse as it rushes through you. Longing and pleasure, desire and devotion, a combination so intense that you lose control of your body, swept away by an all-encompassing wave that has you twisting your fingers in the sheets and writhing, twitching, spasming on Eddie’s cock. You don’t even notice when he pulls out his thumb; your pussy flutters wildly as he holds on tight to your hips, wide-eyed and nearly overwhelmed by the vehemence of your reaction.

The illusion of his control shatters. Eddie’s hips stutter as he starts to whine, and now, he’s almost as much a mess as you are, though you’re too far gone to notice it. As you start to come down, all you can hear is his wavering smoke voice, choked and raw. "Oh, my God— good girl, you’re so— so good, my girl, oh shit, g-gonna make me cum, oh fuck, I-I’m—"

Eddie keens desperately, whiny and high, a beautiful broken sound of desperation as he finally spills inside you, filling you and filling you and filling you.

In the aftershocks of your pleasure, the warmth of Eddie’s cum brings a sense of peace and completion. When he chokes on a moan, rutting his hips against your ass as he shakes and trembles, you press back into him, sighing as you feel his cock twitch and jerk rhythmically with his release. If you had the energy, you’d push yourself up so you could press your back against his chest and thread your fingers in his curls to cradle his head, but after three orgasms and more than an hour of intense love-making, you’re feeling utterly exhausted. Luckily, Eddie’s feeling the same desire for closeness as you are— you hum, eyes blinking heavy-lidded as he drapes his sweaty torso over your back and wraps his firm arms around your middle, holding you close.

You relish the press of Eddie’s chest against your back, the frantic beating of his heart and the rise and fall of his breath, though his weight quickly becomes too heavy for your trembling, boneless arms. You push out a whimper and he gets the hint, pulling out and collapsing onto the bed in a heap beside you. Quick as you can, you turn towards him, fighting against the protest of your sore muscles to shimmy closer until you’re enveloped by his heat. You tangle your limbs together, ignoring all else: the sweat that makes your skin stick everywhere it touches, the mess of cum leaking from your pussy onto the comforter as you shift, the slightly-uncomfortable poking of his half-hard cock against your soft tummy. Because you don’t care about those things when you can gaze into the tired, sated eyes of the man you love, caress his cheek, kiss him softly, and hold him close, knowing this moment can last as long as you like.

You lay there basking in the glow until Eddie begins to untangle you, choosing to ignore your petulant grunt aside from a quick fond chuckle he huffs through his nose when he rolls off the bed. Your head flops back to the mattress, and you drift into that place just at the edge of dreaming, the distant sound of running water a fuzz of pleasant white noise in your ears. When the mattress dips, it pulls you out of it, and you stretch luxuriously across the bedding as you feel a warm, damp cloth against your inner thighs. You hum, rolling onto your back and spreading your legs for him, smiling up at Eddie as he cleans you gently. “Thank you,” you say, voice quiet and sleepy and sated. Eddie’s curls tickle your cheeks when he ducks to press a kiss to your lips. You frown suddenly in realization. “Hey,” you say, still quiet but a little more awake now as his lips pull away, dragging yours with them slightly. “Wait a minute. It’s your birthday— I should be taking care of you.”

Eddie flops down next to you, eyes sparkling as he grins, and you wonder how he can still have so much energy after fucking you for hours. “You’re right,” he says, “it is my birthday. And I wanna take you somewhere.”

Your frown turns from consternation to confusion. “You wanna take me somewhere for your birthday?” When he just nods, gazing at you hopefully, you soften. “Okay,” you hush through a smile, playing with a lock of his curls. “Of course. Where do you wanna go?”

Those plush lips twist a little sheepishly. “Well, it’s kind of far. Not that far,” he rushes, “it’s within driving distance, but… it would take a couple hours.” You don’t understand his hesitance until he adds, “And we’d need to leave soon.”

You squint. “How soon, Eddie?”

He grins, and there’s an edge of intentional charm in it, like he knows you can’t resist him when he’s being cute. “Um, in like… three hours.”

Your brows flash up. “You mean we’d have to leave at three in the morning?” When he looks at you, those pretty brown eyes all big and wide and pleading, it’s almost disgusting how quickly you relent. “Let’s do it,” you say, and the sparkling, crinkly-eyed beam that lights his face is an instant reward.

You and Eddie weave back together to steal a brief naked nap, waking with snuffles and pulling on warm comfortable clothes before rubbing the crust from your eyes. You make a pitstop in the living room so Eddie can check on Smaug the bearded dragon; you smile fondly as your boyfriend croons over him while Smaug blinks lazily, looking up at him from inside his elaborate glass enclosure.

“We should feed him before we go,” Eddie says, and your lips curve with a smile.

“How about a treat? Then we can give him his mealworms when we get back,” you suggest, giggling when Eddie wraps you in his arms, shuffling you forward with little steps over to the fridge. You pass him the small container of mushy strawberries, watching as Smaug snatches them up with his pale tongue, mashing the fruit with little smacks of his tiny jaws.

And as you prepare to head out, a sense of childish giddiness overtakes you at the fact that you're leaving in the middle of the night when it feels like the rest of the world is asleep, off on an impromptu adventure to who-knows-where. You turn to Eddie to see him bundled in his sweatshirt and thick joggers, lanky frame covered by swaths of soft fabric, his feet stuffed in his untied Reeboks. He jams a beanie over his wild curls, tugging until it’s arranged how he wants it, snug but not quite straight. You consider asking Eddie where he's taking you, but as he carefully fits a second knit beanie over your head, tongue poking between his lips as he adjusts it against your forehead, you decide you’d rather leave it a surprise.

You don’t need to know where you’re going; it’s enough to know who you’re going with.

Still, you can’t say you’d expected to end up where you are.

By late September, no one is looking to visit the beach. Certainly not at five in the morning, and especially not when the gate to access the park at the edge of the island is closed.

No one except Eddie Munson, that is.

To be fair, he hadn’t expected it to be gated off, though that was, in fact, his own oversight. But you had driven two hours to get here, and it is his birthday—well, the day after his birthday now— so it doesn’t take much coaxing at all to convince you to let him park on the sand half-concealed behind some scraggly trees and help you hop the gate.

It's quite a bit colder here at the shoreline than it was in the city; the salt air is gritty and harsh against your cheeks, and you're glad for the beanie keeping your ears protected as Eddie slings an arm over your shoulder, pulling you into his warm side. It's cold and dark, but luckily, Eddie seems to know where he's going, illuminating your path with the flashlight on his phone. When the lighthouse looms out of the dark, towering red and white and still as a silent sentinel at the edge of the ocean, you assume that's where he intends to take you. But instead, Eddie skirts around it, leading you from concrete to sand before hopping spryly onto a low, flat rock that leads to the jetty.

Only then do you become wary. You'd been faithfully following along after him so far on this adventure, but the thought of feeling your way along giant rocks in the pitch black with nothing but the stars and your phone to guide you is unnerving. You squint, trying to gaze down the line of large, dark stones to see how far they go. They seem to stretch on almost endlessly. You shiver with apprehension as you imagine turning around to see the distant pricks of civilization at the shoreline, surrounded on both sides by the rush of the undulating sea, entirely exposed to the unknown.

But Eddie is holding out his broad hand, silver rings gleaming in the moonlight. Even in the dark of twilight you can see the rough callouses on his fingertips, the familiar scars of toil and dedication to his craft. You see the leather bracelet that wraps around his thin wrist, the strong tendons that disappear under the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

You look from his hand to his face, and even in the dark, there's light in Eddie's eyes.

"Come on, sweet girl," he says. "I got you. We'll go slow, okay?" His lips tilt with an earnest smile. "It'll be worth it," he murmurs. "I promise."

It is so worth it.

Every uncertain step, every slippery rock, every gap, Eddie guides you over with patience and care. Eddie's fingers hold yours tightly, growing slippery with the salt spray on the wind but never faltering in their firm grip on you. Carefully, slowly, you step from flat stone to flat stone, following in Eddie's steady, sure footsteps until the tightness in your chest eases. The jetty extends on forever, but you and Eddie tackle it bit by bit. You watch the sea play in the divots between stone as gradually, the sky lightens. It softens slowly from deep, dark velvet until, by the time you've reached the end of the jetty, it's bloomed into the cool, pale blue of approaching dawn.

Eddie goes before you, scuttling down the last few steps and holding out his arms for you. His hands close around your waist as you hop from the jetty to the sand, and you take his hand as he guides you to the strip of beach at the end of the island, edged by untamed green. You know deep down that you and Eddie are not the first to be here, but it almost feels that way. It feels as though you’re both removed from it all, claiming a little oasis for your own at the back of the world.

Cold seeps through your leggings as you sit, and Eddie flops ungracefully to mirror your position: legs bent, sneakers digging divots into the pliant sand, forearms resting on knees. The sea breeze plays with your hair beneath your beanies, but you’re used to its chill now, and you can feel the warmth of Eddie’s body right beside you— not quite touching, but close enough to keep you from shivering. You sit there quietly for some time, sitting side-by-side with Eddie, staring out at the sea. There is peace in watching the waves crash into foam that spreads thin across the beach, carrying delicate stones that dance when it recedes back into itself, only to return again and again.

As the pale blue of the sky begins to deepen to orange at the horizon line, you finally speak, your voice quiet and creaky from disuse. “Sunrise on the beach, Ed?” You slant a teasing glance at him. “This is a pretty sappy birthday gift.”

In the deepening light you can see that Eddie’s soft nose is stung pink from the cold, and he sniffles and wrinkles it before returning your glance. The sea wind is playing with his curls, turning them frizzy and wild and free. “Well,” he says, just as quietly, because in this oasis at the back of the world, there’s no need to raise his voice. “A while ago, I took a walk on the beach with this chick in Miami. Thought I might wanna do it again. See the sunrise with her this time.”

You try to bite back the wideness of your smile, but Eddie sees right through you, down to the heat in your cheeks and the sparkle of adoration in your eye and the verdant green of your soul. He shows off his dimple, grinning at you, pleased as he unfolds one arm to pinch your chin in his strong but gentle fingers. He looks at you for a moment, dark eyes dragging over your face in a soft caress before his thumb draws across your skin. “You like it?”

“I love it,” you say, thick and melty like honey. “I love you, Eddie.”

There’s soft pink on Eddie’s face. There’s the orange light of dawn in his eyes. “I love you, too,” he says. “I love you more than anything.”

You don’t try to stifle your smile that time. Instead, you direct it toward the sea, toward the rising sun, the cleft of brightness that emerges from the dark toil of the water. You lean your temple against the soft plush of Eddie’s shoulder, and he straightens his elbow to rest it again on his knee. You extend your arm, and he extends his, sliding his rough palm along your soft one and shifting his fingers ‘til they’re intertwined with yours.

Dawn is breaking, and you’re thinking about the beginning of things.

You don’t turn to look at him, because then, your courage might fail. “Earlier,” you say, small and quiet, almost a whisper, “was that just dirty talk? Or…?”

You don’t need to clarify further; Eddie knows what you’re referring to. His smoke voice is quiet when he answers, but it isn’t unsure. “No,” he says. “Not just dirty talk, sweet girl. I do want that.” His thumb strokes across the back of your hand, and its rasp leaves tingles in its wake. “Soon, if that’s what you want.”

Your blooms sigh. Your fruit is plentiful, more than enough to share. “I do,” you say, and Eddie turns his face to rest gently against your beanie.

His chin skims cold along your forehead, but his breath is warm as he murmurs, almost to himself, “Just wanna marry you first.”

The sun rises, and as you watch the new day dawn, the promise of the future has never tasted quite so succulently sweet.

#blueywrites #tkym #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #stranger things fanfiction

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thedeviltohisangel · 23 days

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All The Things I Did (7): I Thought About Thinking It Through

a/n: ok so the first blurb of the sleep talking interlude has been somewhat negated so I apologize but promise it is worth it. heavy shit this chapter as we get the full story on sidney landry. but john might say the L word...

warnings: mentions of domestic violence, mentions of character just wanting it all to stop

When John walked into the pub that night, the sounds of an angel laughing reached his ears but the cause was making his fists curl. Cass was seated at a table in the back corner with a man, who he presumed was Mr. Foster, sitting across from her. Her chin was in her hand the way it was whenever he told her a funny story. Her smile was as soft as candlelight as she nodded along to whatever he was telling her. Swears he felt his blood boil when her hand brushed against his across the table.

“Hey, baby, I didn’t think I was going to see you here tonight.” His annoyance was washed away as she turned to greet him with a smile. She said his name and brought him in for a kiss, John using her proximity to press a few more to her lips.

“John, this is Captain Will Foster. We went to spook school in Maryland together.” John kept one arm around the back of her chair as he shook the man’s hand.

“Major Egan, it’s an honor, sir.”

“Hear that, Cass, some people think it’s an honor to meet me.” She rolled her eyes as she took a sip of her soda. “You’re the one who’s going to keep an eye on my girl in Berlin?”

“I’ll do my best, sir, but this is Cass’ operation. I’m just here to do what she tells me.” Cass blushed and ducked her head. “Lieutenant Cooper graduated top of our class. Highest marks the entire year.”

“It’s not that impressive,” she began. “Not like I can fly a plane.”

“None of that,” John stated as he gripped her chin between his fingers. “You are the smartest, most gorgeous, most impressive woman that has ever walked this earth.” She smiled in spite of the ridiculousness and let him pull her in for another kiss.

“Careful, John, or all this is going to go to my head. Then I’ll be truly insufferable.”

“I have never once complained about your company.” As it always did, the rest of the world sealed itself off from the space between them. As soon as they had their eyes on each other there was nothing else that mattered. “Can I get you a refill?”

“Yes, please.” John kissed her forehead and was off in the direction of the bar.

“You and the Major, huh?”

“He is…a welcome surprise. I saw him get off a plane one day and couldn’t shake the look in his eyes.”

“Curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back,” Will replied with a swig of his beer. “You always were good at learning everything about your target without giving up even a hint of yourself.”

“John’s not my target. He’s my-” She stopped. What was he? Was there a word to describe their relationship status? Partner seemed too severe and official. Boyfriend seemed too trivial. “Mine. He’s just mine. And I’m his.”

“Simple. That works.” Oh, if he only knew. The feelings they had for each other, ability to express them agnostic, were simple. They were pure. They were real. They were warm and comforting and made her nerves tingle. But the world around them was so complicated. The lives they led as individuals were complicated, how were they supposed to twine them together? “And to think you were a runaway bride when I first met you.”

“Runaway bride?” John chose the perfect time to return. Catching the one part of that comment that Cass felt in her chest. “You?”

“It’s an exaggeration of the circumstances.” Cass transitioned to damage control. The topic of why she had left South Carolina in the first place hadn’t come up between her and John. And she had wanted to keep it that way. There was no use pouring salt in her old wounds.

“Oh, come on, Cass. Engaged to marry the big time banker’s son and fleeing the engagement party to enlist in the OSS? It’s an incredible story.” For the second time that day, John found himself furious with the tone someone was using to speak to her. She had fully retreated into herself, focused on the condensation rolling down the side of the bottle, her hands shaking in her lap at the reminder of that night.

“Doesn’t seem like she wants to talk about it, Captain.” There was authority in his tone. It was protective. Purposeful. No room to misinterpret his words. “You okay?” It looked like she was having trouble breathing. As if the amount of trauma trapped in her chest was suffocating her.

“No. I just need some air. Alone.” She doesn’t think she could look John in the eye. Not when he now knew the awful truth. Not when she was now nothing but damaged and spoiled goods. John watched her walk away with a clenched jaw.

“Major-”

“I don’t know what the fuck happened in South Carolina, Foster, but if I ever hear you mention it again it will be the last thing you ever do.” John drained the rest of his whiskey and slammed it on the table. He didn’t wait for a response. He meant the words he said. And Will knew it.

----

“There’s more than one of them,” John mocked as he sat across from the RAF officers. “I can see more than one of you, too. I could knock all of you out.” Cass hadn’t come back into the pub and John had just drowned his anger and worry in amber liquid. Buck and Veal helped settle him down as he yelled he could do it in only one punch.

“You want to get Major excited? Baseball. Specifically the Yankees,” Curt offered.

“Really? I would have thought it was the little poppet who left close to tears.” No one tried to stop him when he stood this time.

“Say that again,” he threatened.

“Why don’t we make a bit of sport out of it, Major?”

“I’ve got him, John, let me take care of him,” Curt reasoned. Really, they were all afraid John might kill him. A better man would know when to step aside. Let a more level head prevail. But John wasn’t in any particular mood to take the high ground.

“Not this time. People in this goddamn pub need to stop talking about her.” They all milled outside and John tossed his blazer into the grass. He wondered if Cass would appreciate the gesture or be repulsed by it. If she ever believed violence was the answer or always chose to think her way out of everything. He ducked the weak hand of the Brit as he thought about the way she looked earlier. The way she had hid herself from his gaze and his touch and requested she be alone. He didn’t like the hole in his chest that she left whenever she wasn’t near.

His fist landed square on his target’s face and the sickening crunch of breaking bone echoed throughout the night air. He pictured Harding’s lovesick eyes when his Cass entered the room. Pictured Foster and his words quelling the fire inside of his Cass in an instant. Pictured this pompous asshole watching his Cass walk from the pub with a shake to her shoulders. Cass was a deity that mere men were not meant to get too close to. John didn’t even believe he deserved the way she looked at him. The way she touched him and comforted him and made him feel at home in a faraway land.

“You good, Bucky?” The others were cheering and laughing and slapping him on the shoulder but Buck looked concerned more than anything.

“I gotta protect her, Buck. I can’t let this place take her from me.” He couldn’t even feel the wounds to his knuckles or the blood of another man trickling down his fingers. “I’ll find you guys later.” John ignored their groans and pleas and grabbed his jacket from the ground before heading off in her direction. His north star. He would always follow her home.

----

He knocked softly against her door, Mary not hiding her eye roll at his disheveled uniform and bloodied knuckles when she had begrudgingly let him in, his forehead landing against the wood as he waited for her to answer.

“You found me,” she whispered softly as she cracked the door open an inch.

“Always will,” he replied sincerely. “Can I come in?” She nodded and opened the door wider, John closing it behind him as she sat on the edge of her bed. He looked around and noticed a packed bag on the floor and a stack of envelopes on her desk. The one on top looked like it was addressed to her parents.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come back after…” John shook his head.

“You were upset. He shouldn’t have said what he said.” Cass chuckled drily and looked at the ceiling.

“You have my back, just like that? Without even knowing what it was he was talking about?” He sat down in her chair, elbows landing on the top of his thighs. “What happened to your hand?” She surged forward and held his hand in hers with a delicacy that made him shudder.

“I was having your back.” Not asking any further, she opened a drawer and pulled out a first aid kit. “And to answer your question, yes. It doesn’t matter what he was talking about. If it made you uncomfortable, it needed to stop.” He didn’t wince as she cleaned the blood from his hand, kissing each knuckle for extra measure, and wrapping a bandage to seal in her love.

“I appreciate that, John, but what he said was true.” He winced now.

“About being another man’s bride?” The thought made him sick. The thought that Cass was already someone else’s. That she hadn’t told him and let him fall in love with her and share in those sacred moments together. That maybe that was why she so rigidly didn’t want him to say so.

“I was supposed to be. Before I left for training, I was engaged.” She paused and waited for his reaction. Waited for him to be angry or upset and tell her she wasn’t worth the trouble.

“And I’m sure you left for a reason, Cass.” His desire to understand her almost hurt her chest. It reminded her exactly why she had left. Why Sidney Landry was most certainly not the man she was meant to marry. “You don’t have to tell me. I don’t want to drudge something up if you’ve already gotten over it.”

“No, if…if me and you are going to be me and you, you need to know. You deserve to know.” John leaned forward to hold her hands, kissing the back of them with all the love he could muster. “His name is Sidney Landry. His father is the biggest banker in the state and they’ve been looking to get their claws into my family’s business for decades.” Her hands shook slightly and he squeezed them tight.

“I’m here,” he whispered. “I’m not leaving.”

“By all accounts it was an advantageous match. They were wealthy and powerful and Sidney could have any girl in Charleston that he wanted but for some god awful reason he wanted me. My mother was so delighted. She had found a man who was willing to try to tame me.” A tear rolled down her cheek and John’s thumb wiped it away.

“Cass…”

“I had no choice but to say yes and let him parade me around like some blue ribbon. I was so miserable every second I was with him. He would grab my arms so tight they bruised everytime we went somewhere. He would say the crudest things about me having his children. I spent months just wanting it all to stop.” The tears were coming in full force. Her hands grasping John’s like he was her anchor in the storm. His own eyes were swimming with emotion as he watched her exorcize these demons from within her. “One night he had been drinking so much I couldn’t understand what he was saying. But he was so angry I wouldn’t let him touch me. So angry that he…”

“You don’t have to tell me,” he repeated, “I know all I need to, Cass.” John already knew he was going to kill Sidney Landry. Didn’t know when but he knew it would be slow.

“His hands were around my neck and I thought he was going to kill me. I hit him as hard as I could over and over before he stopped. I ran and I ran and I ran until I couldn’t breathe.”

“You ran all the way to London, huh?” he said in the hopes of getting a smile to crack across her face. It worked.

“I thought I ended up here because I was running away from him but maybe I was really just running to you.”

“That sounds about right,” he murmured as he stroked the top of her cheeks. “What you went through…You are so fucking strong, Cass. You deserve to be happy and to feel loved and protected.”

“I’m so damaged, John. I’m not meant for a life of teacups and doilies and standing there silently. No one is going to want this version of me.” Now that he knew the truth, she expected him to run too. To find a simple girl who could be the wife he deserved and the mother to his children he deserved.

“That’s not true, Cass, because I,” he swallowed and held her face between his hands, steady and strong, “because I love you. I am so fucking in love with you, Cassandra Cooper. I love every last bit of you and I love this version of you and know I’ll love every version that comes after.” She kissed him ferociously, not able to get enough of him even with no distance between them. “Come home with me when this is all over. Do me the honor and make me the happiest man alive.”

“I will, John, I will.” He kissed her with a groan, eager to lock this promise between them. “John, you need to know that I leave for Berlin in the morning. The operation it��s…it’s…others have tried and they haven’t come back.”

“I’m not letting you say goodbye,” he reasoned. “Not when you got me thinking about an after.” Oh it was so cruel and dangerous for the universe to do this to him. Give him the one thing he’d been wanting only to have her live her life on the same edge he did.

“If something happens to me, I need you to know I feel the same way you do.” She just needed to get through this. If she could survive Berlin, she could survive this whole thing. She could love John Egan wholeheartedly and unabashedly. She could find the courage to go back home if he was with her. “When I went to see Harding this morning, I went to turn down Berlin.”

“Turn it down?”

“I would have rather been here with you than anywhere else. No matter what those consequences were. But then I saw Buck’s letter and I was so angry.”

“I know. I deserve that.” She shook her head.

“No, you don’t because here I am doing the exact same thing.”

“Hey, you’re not going to need those farewell letters on your desk, okay? You’re going to go to Berlin, kick someone’s ass or steal state secrets to end the war and you’re going to come right back home to me. Just like how I am always going to come right back home to you.”

“Forever and ever?” she asked.

“Forever and ever,” he promised. “You going to let me hold you while we try and get some sleep tonight?”

And that was how Mary found them before the sun rose the following morning. John protectively wrapped around Cass from behind, their fingers interlocked at her middle. And they both studied each other for a few more minutes until Mary said it was really, really time for Cass to go. John not wanting to forget a single thing about this very moment. Cass not wanting to forget a single detail about the face of the man she loved. The face of the man she was fighting to keep safe.

“Don’t get distracted by thoughts of your love for me while you’re flying,” she teased as he pecked her lips a few times.

“I am going to fly so much faster with that admission off my chest.” She giggled and fell back into him easily, her plane whirring to life behind them.

“If you do, I might let you show me how much you love me when I get back.” That twinkle of mischief was there that he loved so dearly.

“Is that so? You better hurry then. I’m a patient man, Spook, but not when it comes to loving on you.”

“Cass! We got to go! Weather’s moving in!” Her heart dropped along with her smile as she turned back to John. The part she was dreading.

“I’ll see you when I get back,” she said, her fingers tracing the contours of his face one last time. His knuckles brushed her cheek and he kissed her one last time.

“I love you. You come back to me in one piece. That’s an order, Lieutenant.”

“I’ll do my best, Major.” She pulled him by the front of his jacket for her own last kiss. To tell him she loved him without saying the words. Those would be for after.

She walked backwards until she couldn’t anymore. Her hand pressing to her lips before she released it into the wind, John catching the sentiment with ease. He had never felt such torment watching a plane take off as he did in that moment. It was carrying everything he held dear off to a faraway place.

“Please come back to me, Cass.”

#masters of the air #john egan #callum turner #mota #masters of the air fanfiction #john egan fanfiction #callum turner fanfiction #mota fanfiction #masters of the air fanfic #john egan fanfic #mota fanfic #callum turner fanfic #john egan x oc #john egan x reader #cass and bucky

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forbidden-sunlight · 7 months

Text

yandere! kusuriuri with chise!reader headcanons

Warnings: obsessive behavior, violence, and blood.

There may also be possible triggers in this story.

If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, please hit the 'back' button on your device or computer and read something much more pleasant than a possible series of unfortunate events.

Hey guys, welcome to the finale in this mini-series, featuring the beloved Medicine Seller of the classic anime horror series, Mononoke, and the character!reader who is Chise Hatori from the fantastic world of The Ancient Magus Bride. There will also be some references from the aforementioned manga/anime series as well as from the cozy novel Emily Wilde’s Encyclopedia of Faeries by Heather Fawcett. I highly recommend it! :)

Shout-out to @enryegotrip for being a collaborator and being an awesome person as well @deathmetalunicorn1 for providing feedback and making sure all the characters weren’t too OOC 😅 Check out their stuff, guys, their blogs are fantastic.

So with that being said, sit back, relax, and enjoy the ending of this cozy yandere fic :) If you would like to see more adventures featuring these two, please let me know in the comments!

PART ONE

PART TWO

PART THREE : A FOX’S WEDDING PREPARATIONS

The flow of time is erratic and completely unpredictable in the Fairy Kingdom. A day here could be an entire season in the human world or even a week. It is not controlled by the rulers of this plane, so the neighbors cannot be completely blamed when they lure a beautiful human away from their home with enchanting music for the purpose of playing with them until there is nothing left of them, a soulless husk. That was how they entertained themselves for centuries. It would even be considered a sport. Fortunately, the number of incidents has decreased drastically since I succeeded Elias as the mage of this village. My workload, however, is not the reason why I haven’t been writing in the leatherbound notebooks as I should have been; there is one to record my daily life, and another to document whatever discoveries I make in the field.

As I am writing this, I am recounting what my houseguest Kusuriuri has told me, word for word. These are his words, not mine. The last memory I have is returning home from a day in the city. I had collected supplies for a lecture at the College. Because I am a Sleigh Beggy, I am much closer to the source of magic than any living creature, save for those who have existed for eons, such as Ashen Eyes and the ancient spirits that surround the forest just beyond the village. That was why the Director invited me to speak to the students, and impart my knowledge to them. Including a lengthy discussion, I was also entrusted with overseeing the first-years interacting with the neighbors, and stepping in if things got out of hand.

Yet when I stepped into the backroom where I worked, organizing everything for the following morning, I had collapsed. Ruth had been the first one to hear the loud thud, having sat outside of the door curled up in a ball, bored and waiting for dinner to be ready so he could drag me out of there. Silky was in the kitchen, and so was he, Kusuriuri, assisting her in preparing the evening’s meal since he had already gone for a walk around the village and read some books earlier. He claimed to have heard Ruth's barking and followed the sound to see me laying on the floor, unconscious and bleeding from the mouth.

Silky panicked, naturally, and rushed back to the kitchen to grab the smelling salts and other herbs that Elias had told her to specifically brew as soon as she saw symptoms of magical depletion. Kusuriuri lowered to the ground and lifted me off of the floor, being careful not to jostle me. When he saw Ruth mirroring the same condition as I, he asked him to get back in the shadows, as from what he understood, it is safer for him to maintain his state of mind and spiritual body. He swore to Ruth that he would look after me, doing whatever he could to help.

It was Ruth who had instructed him to take me to see Shannon, the changeling doctor who has been treating me for my condition. By offering a trinket to the Ariels, he was led to a fairy mound and took me there, bundled up in a thick blanket and a blindfold around my eyes so that my body did not keep unconsciously absorbing the magic around me. They led him past the mound’s barrier, down the evergreen steps and into the Fairy Kingdom where Shannon ran her clinic.

It appears that as soon as he stepped into the Fairy Kingdom, the glamor charms he had placed on him were removed. The Kusuriuri who now sits beside me in a chair with a strange smile, is the true form of my foxy guest. Wavy light pink hair that reflected orange highlights beneath the realm’s eternal sunlight, cat-yellow eyes, and skin that accentuated the intricate patterns that were painted on his face. The bright, hallucinogenic patterns of his kimono were turned inside out, transforming into greens, reds, and blues against obsidian silk. He was, is, truly beautiful in such an ethereal way, anyone who could not succumb to his seduction charms would know immediately he was not a human. Then again, seduction charms have ensured that the fox spirits were still alive to this very day and not hunted down tirelessly by exorcists.

If there is one truth I hate to admit…it is never knowing whether I have used too much magic, or just enough so that I do not keep passing out and getting treatment. I hate being a burden to others, even when I am getting better at asking for help if I truly need it. It is hard to believe that it might already be close to half of a year since Ruth brought him home, injured and very confused in an era of modern society that is nothing like his home country.

But I am getting ahead of myself. Presently, Shannon is having me undergo extensive treatment, physical and magical therapy to be precise. Angela will need to be contacted to create another talisman to regulate the magic being absorbed and expelled from my body. Kusuriuri….well….he asked me a question that caught me off guard, completely out of the blue.

“At death’s door, you are given two choices: to be young, healthy, and beautiful forevermore….or would allow yourself to be ferried to the afterlife, and be judged for the life you have led as a human?”

Yes. That is what he asked me. And I answered truthfully, because….well, I cannot lie, even if I wanted to. Being an immortal does not give someone the ability to go against the laws of nature and control. Their time is just extended, and soon everything and everyone will return from where they came from; the soil beneath our feet, or the river of magic that sustains all life for the hidden ones. There is not a single being in this world that is an exception of the inevitable. Looking back, from when I had almost all hope and sold myself on the black market, to being a respectable mage who has come to accept the demons of the past yet cannot forgive those who have harmed me and my loved ones…I’d say I have lived a very fulfilling life.

If I had died that day I blacked out in the lab...I would have only regretted being a burden to Silky and Ruth, for they have been here for me ever since Elias to travel the world on a sabbatical. He stared at me, wide-eyed and mouth hanging open for but only a moment before he smiled softly. He then stood from his chair, stepping forward and pulling me into his arms, one hand placed on my shoulder and the other resting on the back of my head.

He whispered softly in my ear, two words that startled and confused me greatly. “You pass.”

Pass? What did I pass, exactly?

Unfortunately I did not have an opportunity to ask what he meant because Shannon is now here, announcing it is time for our physical therapy session in the woods, which is why I will stop writing in here until much later, hopefully…

Kusuriuri watched the changeling and her patient walk away from the cottage towards the forest. Albeit tempted to follow them and become more familiarized with Shannon’s medical methods, he tried not to worry; the red string attached to his pinky reminded him that no matter where or how far he was apart from [First Name], he would always find his bride. There is no doubt that his creator is already aware that the mage had passed his test and was already coordinating with the other gods to prepare the wedding ceremony. Inari-sama always got like this whenever his children found their lifelong companion, acting more like an anxious mother-in-law who wanted everything to be perfect.

No doubt it would take place in the temple, a traditional procession where the world would go silent as his kindred trailed after the bride, donned in kimonos and masks that coordinated with the clans they were affiliated with. Still…perhaps it was not too much of a stretch to ask his creator to allow him to have a tiny bit of control over the ceremony before things got too out of hand, yes? He is the groom after all.

He felt his face heat up at the image of [First Name] donned in the white bridal kimono and wearing a fox mask, his heart beginning to hammer against his ribs. Ah…she would be so beautiful that day, he had no doubt. And she will be all his, so very, very, soon. But he must be patient. He had not waited this long to attain a bride he personally desired by being hasty. A love like theirs must be gently nurtured, after all.

The love of a mage and a zenko who kills Mononoke, that is.

And a zenko will always guard what they treasure the most, keep them away from those who would dare to try and claim what is rightfully theirs.

Bonus Content:

Because his bride possessed the Gift of Sight, [First Name] is able to see the Mononoke as clear as day. This revelation both relieved Kusuriuri and elevated his overprotective nature tenfold, especially when they traveled to Japan for their honeymoon. Neither had expected to cross paths with a highly aggressive bakeneko in the halls of an inn renowned for its hot springs, yet [First Name] proved herself to be highly efficient in using magical tools to keep the Mononoke at bay as well as helping him figure out its Form, Truth, and Regret.

Did he also mention...that she was also exceptionally beautiful when she yelled at him at the top of her lungs to release the Sword of Exorcism as she pushed back against the Mononoke, utilizing strength of The Dragon's Curse that was nestled within her arm?

Perhaps...he'll make more of an attempt to purposely anger if it meant seeing such a lovely expression on her face.

Taglist:

@saltyfruitbat

@westsidedrives

@himurakenshin25

@nastysparrow

@littlemintsister

@sketchlove

@i-am-the-pirate-queen

@simpgoddess3000

@praisethesuuun

@mitra555

@rin-matsuoka345-blog

@cassanderasblog

#forbidden-sunlight #yandere x reader #yandere male #x reader #ns.fw #ror x reader #yandere #mononoke 2007 #mononoke kusuriuri x reader #mononoke medicine seller #mononoke 2024 #mononoke medicine seller x reader #cw dubious consent #cw blood #cw obsessive behavior #cw obsession #tw obsessive love #tw obsessive behavior #chise!reader

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thelightsandtheroses · 7 months

Text

Two: there goes the fear again

Your Hand In Mine | Joel Miller x female reader

Summary: When Joel finds you on your self-assigned insomnia bench one night, it sparks an unexpected friendship that quickly develops into more. Finding peace in the middle of an apocalypse always seemed impossible, but being with Joel feels natural, like a missing piece has fallen into place at last. When a ghost from your past threatens to destroy the peace you’ve found in Jackson, everything will change.

Word Count – 4.3k Chapter Warnings - 18+ blog minors DNI, description of a nightmare, insomnia, mentions of Salt Lake City, reader had a backstory and her age is not specified but an age range is lightly implied in this chapter, secondary characters and ocs, reader is a parent. Notes: Thank you so much for the kind feedback and comments so far - I’ve been honestly quite blown away by it all. As it's Joel's birthday today, I wanted to push myself to get this chapter out. So happy birthday Joel, sorry about the outbreak? 😂 Chapter title is from There Goes the Fear Again by Doves.

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The memories come back to you in flashes, framed with distorted static like an old VHS. They usually start in the years Before, nostalgia tinged memories that lull you into a false sense of security that tonight may not be so bad.

Sometimes you welcome it, the reminder of your family and life before. It was normal, it was filled with love and normality and peace. You had problems, like anyone else, but schoolyard bullies, your roommate and class assignments seem so trivial compared to what the world is now.

You’re by the beach, listening to the soothing rhythm of the waves, watching Sean surf as you pretend to study, scrunch your toes in the sand. You can feel the heat of the sun of your skin, the way you scrunch your toes in the sand and want to soak in every moment of this summer. You daydream of what’s going to happen once you start college. Will Sean still be your best friend as your paths start to digress? Will anyone even like you there?

You were still agonising about those trivialities on the night that the world ended right in front of you. In hindsight, you’ll notice the signs in front of you that day that something was coming, something was wrong. It was just a normal day though. The last one. You remember it all. So much loss, so many mistakes, so much fear. The memory of your family; of the last conversations you had with them, of how unsatisfactory that was.

Then it’s you and Sean and his little sister, Isabella, and you’ve got to find a new path. College feels like lifetime ago now.

It’s here the replay of your past becomes distorted; all black and white static and poorly compiled edits after that, time jumps and skips and sequences completely out of order.

You’re in the woods and there’s blood stains on your clothes and you’re running and it’s never going to be far enough, it’s never going to leave you. It doesn’t matter how far you run; it’s buried under your skin now.

And then your mind goes to that place. To every nightmarish thought and the memories you avoid. It’s too much.

The blood. The flames. The shame.

It’s the fact you’ve bought a child into a world where monsters are real and you don’t know if you can keep them safe.

More memories.

Then it’s the fear; the unspoken terror that one day soon you’ll lose everyone, that you’ll just watch it unfold in from you. That you’ll be the only one left, doomed to loneliness and emptiness. That you’ll watch as everyone you love is taken from you; by illness, or violence, or such an innocuous looking fungus.

You’ll be left all alone and then they’ll find you.

Tendrils of anxiety twist around your body, constricting with each thought, each memory, each possible future, until you feel like you’re suffocating and your heart is racing and surely you can’t wake up from this.

It’s not real.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Joel asks placidly as you walk over to the bench, your rucksack casually slung over one shoulder. It’s clear that he’s been here for a while already but he’s left one side clear and ready for you.

“Just here for the view,” you say calmly, stuffing your hands into your pockets as you try and push away the lingering unease from your sleep.

“Aren’t we all?”

You sit next to him, playing your bag by the edge of your feet.

It’s been more than a week since he first came to your bench and since then you’ve had more run-ins with Tommy’s brother. The two of you have seen several sunrises together in a wordless peace. Neither of you have truly acknowledged each other outside of the bench, nothing beyond polite nods in the community hall at mealtimes and the pleasantries you both would surely afford to any other member of this community.

You’ve spent each night on the bench observing Joel. You’ve quietly noticed his features; the freckles and sun marks, the way his eyes warm when he smiles or and the depths in them when he’s avoiding a subject.

There’s a lot you still don’t know about him.

Neither of you have talked much about the substance of your lives before Jackson. It’s to be expected though. These days, it’s safe to assume that if you’re still alive, it came at a cost and perhaps you don’t need to dwell on that.

You know Joel a little more now - each of you have given small hints about the person you are. Not a lot, not everything, but it’s just enough that Joel feels more real to you.

“I heard it was a rough patrol yesterday,” you say after a moment. Beau had told you all about the horde of infected they’d bumped into. He told you that him, Bonnie, Tommy, and Joel had almost been surrounded at one point.

Sometimes you almost forget about the infected. For a little while anyway.

For the past twenty years, most of the true terror you’d felt was at the hands of humans, not cordyceps. Were you frightened of losing people to it? Of course. Had your few encounters with clickers or runners been terrifying? Yes. Were you terrified of the world you’d leave your son one day? Naturally.

It was just in the QZs, in the worlds you’d moved in between then, you always encountered more humans than infected. The outbreak had changed everything and it had amplified so much; there was no court of law now, no shallow allusions of propriety no order outside of dictatorial QZs, so in some places, the anticipated lawlessness and loss of humanity was your true fear.

Jackson is an exception.

Joel looks down for a moment after you speak and you wonder if you shouldn’t have bought up the patrol at all.

“It was fine,” Joel says gruffly.

“Okay.”

“Do you go on a lot of patrols?” he asks.

“Sometimes,” you say. “Only when it’s my rotation. I’m mostly based in the library and sometimes I help Sean in the greenhouses too.” You pause and wonder if you should add more that you’re good with a bow and arrow now, but you still freeze in close contact.

After a while, as the breeze reaches your fingers and you regret not packing gloves, you reach down and pull a thermos out of your rucksack. You take a long sip, savouring the hot liquid and warming your fingers on the container.

You look over at Joel and then down at the flask in your hands.

“It’s just chicory coffee,” you say, offering the thermos to him politely. “A little dandelion root too I think.”

He looks at you curiously.

“Why?”

“I’m getting chilly, and it seems rude to sit here and drink coffee and not offer any to you.” Jackson has burrowed its way under your skin now; there’s no way you would have done this a year ago. Or perhaps it’s the bench, the magic of this place in the middle of the night. It’s like the rules you’ve built over the years can ease slightly here. The air feels just minutely lighter.

“Thanks.” Joel accepts the battered thermos, takes a long look at it, and then takes a tentative sip of the drink.

“Still nowhere near as good as the real thing,” you say wistfully. “And it’s caffeine free, but sometimes I can pretend it isn’t.”

“Better than nothing, I guess.”

“Exactly.”

“Where do you get it from? I know FEDRA had regular supplies and they grew it out in one of the QZs.”

“It grows wild around Wyoming and Sean’s cultivated a patch of it in the gardens too. Esther, in town, she makes it all. Esther’s definitely a good person to befriend if you want to keep a supply of it. She’s nice too.”

“Yeah, Tommy mentioned her.”

You smirk, imagining exactly the nature of the conversation between the two brothers.

“What’s that for?”

“Nothing.”

“Sure it is. Just you really seem to be settling into Jackson now.”

Joel shakes his head with a smile. “Don’t you start.”

“Okay, I won’t. So, how’s Ellie? I saw her in the library today, well, yesterday now,” you say lightly.

“Oh yeah?”

“Uh huh, she’s going through our space section pretty quickly. We’ll have to see what we can find on patrols.”

“Yeah, she’s really into space.” You can hear the affection in his voice; the deep love he has for her and that sense of pride that he knows this about her, knows about her interests.

“If any new books come in, I can put them aside for her.”

He looks at you with an unreadable expression. “Thanks.”

“It’s nothing.” You pause. “I think I get it. I never had a space phase, but I spent several months really fascinated with deep sea exploration when I was a kid. We moved to the coast and suddenly it was right there and I’d never thought about it before. I mean that I get where she’s coming from.” You have no idea where this sudden burst of honesty came from and you feel your face heat at what you’ve said.

“We’re a long way from the coast now,” he says softly. “Don’t think I’ve seen a beach in years.”

“No?” You smile sadly. “Me either. We’ve mostly only travelled inland since - well, since everything and sometimes I really miss it. Sean and I, we’ve been friends since we were kids and we used to just spend every weekend by the water.” You remember the start of your dream and fold your arms around yourself.

“What about you?” you ask, eager to change the subject and curious about the man beside you. “What was your thing?”

“I um,” Joel pauses as though he’s genuinely bewildered by being asked this question “I was into, uh -” He looks away from you. “The usual stuff, football and uh, all that.”

“Really? Just football?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Joel asks, folding his arms.

“Nothing, nothing at all.”

He exhales and stretches his long legs out on the bench more. You follow the line from his feet up to his body and eventually his face. He looks uncertain, as though there’s something he wants to add, but he’s not sure.

“I wanted to be a writer, or to work with books, or words in some way. Had all these ideas about being an investigate journalist, or an editor, or just ... I think I just wanted to make art of some type. It’s probably why I’m so focused on the library now.”

“Music,” he whispers. “I was really into that.”

“So, you played … something? Guitar?” You look at him and decide he was most definitely a guitarist. He has the look, might even have the hands for it.

“Maybe,” Joel says,

“Please tell me you were in a terrible garage rock band at one point?” You smile at the image this conjures of the broad and elusive man next to you.

“In high school, for a brief moment. Then uh, things changed for us all and I - I had other priorities in my life than music.”

“That’s a shame.”

“It was the right call.”

“Still, if you loved it … it’s never too late? Did you know, they sometimes do open mic nights at the Tipsy Bison, but it’s … ropey, some of it.” You grimace at the memory of the last one that Sean and Beau had dragged you to a few months ago.

“You’re really selling this to me, sweetheart.”

“Hey, until you’ve heard Seth sing karaoke, you truly haven’t hit rock bottom.”

Joel scoffs, a small smile on his face that crinkles his eyes and warms every feature.

You thought you would hate sharing your bench, or having an intrusion on your solitude, but you don’t.

Over time, you’ve perfected sneaking back into this house. There’s a way to shut the back door just so to prevent anyone hearing you wander in. You avoid the bottom stair which creaks, and the other creaky floorboards on the landing.

Every time you do this, you feel like a teenager again. You grew up reading books and watching movies where teenagers snuck out to and from parties, but that had never been your life. You were studious, deferent to the rules. Your focus was singular; college, success, making a name for yourself. Sean used to try and persuade you to join him at parties or even just when he and his friends would hang out at the beach in the evening after surfing. You had thought you had time.

The world had different plans for you all though.

By the time you’ve crept back to your room, changed, and got ready for the day ahead, you can hear the familiar sounds of cupboards being opened and closed in the kitchen below.

“Mornin’ sweetie,” you say, squeezing Gabe’s shoulder as you walk into the kitchen.

Your son squirms but smiles lightly when he meets your eyes. The last twenty years have been an unending endurance test, painful and exhausting, but now you have Gabriel. You weren’t ready for him; you felt too young, too scared, too everything. He means everything to you now though.

He wears so many of your features and mannerisms, or features you remember seeing in your family. You find it uncanny; that mix of uniqueness and familiarity all at once.

“Is anyone else up yet?” you ask, stifling a yawn as you scan the kitchen for additional cups or plates, any sign the others are awake.

“Beau’s still asleep but Sean said he’d be down in five -”

“Which means he’ll be down in ten,” you both say together.

You were offered separate houses when the four of you first arrived in Jackson. There was an entire house that Maria told you could just be for you and Gabriel. After almost a decade of living in a small, crapped apartment in Kansas with too thin walls and continual threats it had seemed unbelievable. Sean and Beau had been offered the house opposite you too. Maria had recognised how close you all were.

There’d been too much death along the way though; too much loss. You and Sean had been together so much of it all too. You were close friends before the outbreak and now hopelessly and hideously co-dependent on each other. Even back in Kansas, your apartment had been next to his and Beau’s. For more than a decade, you haven’t had more than a single wall separating you.

The idea of being so separate, of being more than a wall away, in a new community prettified you. You were frightened about what Jackson really could be; what it could be hiding, how quickly you may need to run. You felt like a deer in the headlights, a wild animal being stalked by prey. For the first weeks in Jackson, the town itched your skin and filled you with anxiety. There had to be a dark side, it couldn’t be that simple. You all needed to be ready to run.

The four of you had decided to stay together, to stay close, just in case. It was meant to be temporary.

It’s been two years now.

It also means you never have to worry about Gabe when you sneak out at night, it means your son has his uncles in his life every day. It means you’re not alone throughout everything.

They’re only people you have left now - the family you both found and made. They are the ones who have shaped the last twenty years of your life.

You take a sip of your tea and smile at your son.

“So, small bit of news I asked if Uncle Beau could take me on patrol next week,” he says quietly after a moment. “He said yes.”

“No. Gabriel, you’re -”

“I’m sixteen.”

“I know.” You swallow and look at him carefully. You remember him being so small you could hold him in one hand but now he’s sitting opposite you and he looks both so young and like a man all at once. Patrols? That’s normal for him now, that’s the way of life in Jackson. He’s still so young though.

You hear a creak on the staircase and listen carefully as your son continues making his case.

“It’s time I started learning about this and Beau will watch out for me if you’re worried. He said the route next week is the best to get started with,” he says, brow furrowing with concern at your reaction. “I’m ready though.”

“I’m sure you are. I know Uncle Beau will be there with you, I’m glad of that.” It’s better if he goes with Beau. You know him, you trust him and he will ensure that your son is safe.

“So how do you feel about that, patrol? Is this your idea or have you been volunteered?” Your son starting on this path is one thing if it’s his choice, but if he’s only going along with this because he thinks he’s supposed to, or because of teenage peer pressure? Well, the consequences are a lot worse in your son’s world, than chunky highlights or double denim could ever have been.

“It’s my idea. I’m fine with it,” he says quickly, avoiding your gaze.

You put your cup down and raise an eyebrow at him.

“Ergh, look, okay Jesse did his first patrol last week. Please - I can do it, I know I can. I want to.”

You’re tempted to reply, ‘and if Jesse walked off a cliff, would you?’ If you say it out loud though, there is no way you can deny you are turning into your mother, so instead you take a long sip of your drink.

It feels like a losing battle. Patrols are part of normal life in Jackson. However, if he’s with Beau then maybe that’s okay. If you know anything about Beau it’s that he is fiercely protective of the people he cares about. These days, that’s pretty much only Sean, you, and Gabriel.

“If you feel you’re ready and if Uncle Beau agrees and it’s a sensible patrol route … It needs to be in daylight, and just a short one.”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay.”

He beams in response.

“I’ve got classes, I better go.” He stretches and stands up, downing the rest of his drink.

“Okay, I’ll see you later. Love you. ”

“Yeah, you too, mum.” he says quickly, looking around as if one if his friends could secretly be listening by the window. He looks back at you and his face turns softer before he quickly moves away. “Hey Uncle Sean,” he says as they cross in the doorway.

“Morning Gabe.” Sean looks over at you and says good morning to you, says your name with a cheerful smile as he pours himself a tea and then sits down opposite you at the kitchen table.

“How much of that did you hear?”

“I started eavesdropping when Gabe mentioned Beau and patrols. I thought you handled it beautifully, by the way.”

“You’re only trying to make me less mad at Beau.”

Sean raises his hands in mock surrender and then leans back against his chair.

“Anyway, are you going to tell me about where you went last night?”

“Where I went?”

“Heard you leave, sweetie.”

“I … shit. Sorry, I thought I was quiet.”

“You are.” He sighs heavily. “So, where’d you go? Got a late-night Jackson booty call I don’t know about?”

For some unknown reason an image of Joel fills your mind, his unruly hair particularly. He often comes to the bench with mussed up hair from where you imagine he was in his own bed, trying to sleep. You imagine other ways his hair could get messy like that; your hands in his hair as he ...

No.

Absolutely not.

“You do have a hook up?” Sean asks incredulously.

“No. No. I don’t. I just go for a walk is all.”

“Alone?” Sean waggles his eyebrows mischievously.

“Yes.” Technically you walk to the bench alone and then you and Joel only walk back together so that doesn’t count … and his house is before yours anyway It really doesn’t count, right?

“Okay,” Sean says, frowning. “Are you having nightmares again? Do you need to talk about it?”

You shake your head, biting your lip. “Do you?”

“I’m okay.”

You and Sean have been friends since you first moved to the beach town you spent your teenage years in. The bond between you is irrevocable. He’s your brother, your best friend, one of the people you love most in the world.

You share scars.

The same turmoil and trauma and ghosts have buried under both of your skins in different ways. He’s been there through it all for you. You’ve been there through it all for him.

He’s the only person in the world who will ever understand the parts of you that you keep locked in boxes you can never open. And for him? For him, you know the secrets that he hasn’t even told Beau.

“Gabe … he’s been asking me and Beau about … before. He’s asking questions again,” Sean says after a moment, looking around the kitchen carefully and speaking in a low voice. “I wondered if this patrol thing was about that at first, about what we all said and … it’s getting harder to not give him any specifics.”

“Me too, but I think it’s because Jesse went on his first patrol recently.” That’s what you’re hoping anyway.

“Huh, how about that? Look, it doesn’t matter because this isn’t going away. He’s going to keep asking.”

“This all seemed so much easier when he was a baby.”

Sean raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, I remember sixteen years ago, I wouldn’t say any of it was easier back then. It’s just the kid believed whatever we said with no questions.”

“Sean, tell me he still thinks …”

“Yeah. He just needs some details, honey. I know it hurts to talk about, but you have to give him something. He’s almost a man now and he’s got valid questions. I can - I would have been the same, so would you.“

You swallow and look out of the window. “I’ll handle it, Sean.”

You don’t flinch when you hear the crunch of Joel’s boots. You’ve come to expect it, anticipate the sound.

It makes you smile.

The bench doesn’t quite feel the same without him anymore.

“Howdy,” he says, the slight twang of his southern drawl more pronounced than usual.

You wave for him to come and join you on the bench.

“I didn’t see you here yesterday,” Joel says softly.

“Oh, I uh - was wiped out and I - I guess I just slept?” You notice how surprised your voice is there; you’re surprised you had a good night’s sleep for once, and you’re surprised that Joel noticed you weren’t there. In fairness, you had been due a night’s sleep as the exhaustion from your insomnia finally won out over your overthinking and anxiety. Gabriel had been on patrol with Beau that day and you’d worried yourself to the point of complete exhaustion.

Joel noticed though. He noticed you weren’t here.

“Were - were you here?”

Joel nods.

“Guess I’ve got sorta used to you being here too now.”

“I mean, it’s more the other way around. This was technically my bench first.”

“Really?” he says your name in a low, teasing voice. “You really wanna go there, huh?”

“I’m just saying. I’ve been here longer, technically and I’m saying this as a mere technicality, I have dibs on this bench.”

“An’ here I thought no-one truly owned anything in Jackson.”

“Benches are exceptions, everyone knows that.”

The two of you laugh, it’s light and somehow more soothing to you than the cup of herbal tea you’d drank before bed in the hope of repeating the night before and sleeping for once.

“I’m willing to consider joint custody or a small timeshare though,” you say.

“Oh wow, I’m real lucky.”

“I know. I wouldn’t bestow that right on just anyone.”

“I hope not.” Joel smiles and oh, you love it when he smiles. It’s so captivating.

“It got me thinkin’ though-“

“Sounds dangerous.”

“You know it. Anyway, I was thinking,” Joel looks away from you, towards the horizon and he wrings his hands together. “I guess it reminded me we have this whole world outside this bench.”

You’d thought the same thing, but you can’t say it. The words fall heavy on your tongue, your mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton.

“I wondered if maybe, you wanted to get a drink one day?” He’s not looking at you. “It’s a stupid idea.”

“No, no, it’s not. Why? Why would you want that with me?”

“Maybe I just want a drink with you,” he says.

You pause. Deflection is your standard response to something like this. The idea that Joel could want to spend time with you outside of your insomnia ridden nights surprises you. Why would he want that?

You can’t lie to yourself though; there’s something about Joel that draws you in. He’s easy to talk to and despite appearances and town mumbling, you can tell he’s not a bad person. He’s kind to you, thoughtful and you’ve thought about him.

You’ve thought about him a lot.

“Technically we’ve shared my thermos of coffee multiple times now,” you say weakly.

“That doesn’t count, sweetheart.”

“Wow, now you’re spurning my chicory coffee now, huh? That’s not good enough for you?”

“A real drink.” You can hear the meaning behind his words and it doesn’t fill you with the caution you would normally anticipate.

“And does this drink happen to be served somewhere this isn’t this bench?”

“As long as it ain’t karaoke night.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Joel Miller.” You pause for a moment, tilt your head in mock contemplation. “Okay, a drink.”

You meet Joel’s smile this time.

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