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#❃ I might just blow up in your face! IC ❃
goresugarsxx · 10 months
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❃ The smoke from the campfire he had made stung at his eyes but he couldn't get out of the way, it blew no matter where he sat, so he accepted it. Noticing someone nearby, the blonde turned his gaze, without moving away from the source of warmth. "Oi, don't bother me, hm. Not looking for a fight- anyway."
@ofdraiocht for Iruka!
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hon3y-y · 4 months
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ੈ✩‧₊˚ pov: hockeyplayer!suguru is your loving boyfriend<3
Inclusive to all fem readers<3 (no deep description of body type or skin color)
Enjoy<3
Hockeyplayer!bf! Suguru who’s hair flows behind him while he skates on the ice, flashing you a bright smile as he skates past you to score. He immediately blows a kiss to you and goes to celebrate with his team. He’ll go skating to the benches and practically throws himself over, “you see me babe?” He calls up to you. You nod, blushing as his coach tells him to sit down and grumbles “keep your head in the game, suguru. We haven’t won yet…” he’ll blow a kiss to you before sitting down, pushing away his teasing teammates.
Hockeyplayer!bf! Suguru who tells the opposing player standing next to him during the face-off, “by the way, I’m scoring off of this..” the guy looks confused and scoffs at your boyfriends cockiness, but ends up shocked when he does. Before he can fully process how fast suguru scored, he sees getou rush to where you are in the stands, calling out to his lucky charm.
I mean, he’s in front of his favorite person in the world? When is a better time to show off…
He’ll beg you to come to practices, showing you his smooth tricks and waiting for your approval every time. He absolutely loves praise and hearing you cheer for him, even during an empty practice? It scratches his brain in a way that pushes him to try harder, move faster, and win. He just loves to make you proud.
Hockeyplayer!bf! Suguru who’s own team is freaking out when you said you might not be able to make the game. He’s sulking, and his teammates are all trying to make him feel better.
‘She’ll come, don’t worry!’
‘She’s probably on her way right now.’
‘Just breathe, bro…’ which only makes him grumpier
After confirming you won't be able to make it, he’s out of it the first two periods, allowing the team they’re against to get ahead three points. During intermission you call him, saying you heard they were behind and you’d be able to be there the last period. Somehow he miraculously is back on his game and they end up only lost by one point. You apologized for missing the first half to which he shushes you, “my lucky charm made us lose with dignity, baby. I’m just happy you’re here.” He says while wrapping you in his arms, smiling like he won the Stanley cup.
When he goes home with you for the holiday, he plays hockey with your cousins and lets them win(cause he’s so sweet T-T. Probably dramatically throws himself onto the floor when they score making them giggle every time. Anyway..) That is until your nosey and annoying next door neighbor starts making comments on his plays. He rolls his eyes, leaning on his stick while focusing on the way the neighbor leans into you or comments on how pretty you look and suddenly there’s a puck flying, nearly hitting the annoying man. He goes to where you two are wrapping a protective arm around you, he’s acting shocked too. The neighbors eyes wide in shock sputtering nonsense as you try not to laugh, “shit man, usually I don’t miss.”
Hockeyplayer!bf! Suguru who runs out of the changing rooms as soon as he’s done and goes to meet you. His eyes sparkling, grin wide on his face as he moves his hockey gear to give you a bear hug. “How’d i do?” His voice is mumbled into your neck, tightening his arms and breathing in your comforting scent. You laugh at the ticklish feeling before facing him, “so good my love, couldn’t take my eyes off you~” making him blush.
Suguru is always worked up after a game, pulling you out to his car with a smirk on his lips. He’s staring down your shirt and smacks your ass when you pass him holding the door for you, “suguru! We’re in public—“ to which he just laughs and begins to tease you, “i thought you liked being watched? Didn’t have a problem when i made you cum on my fingers in front of satoru last week?” To which you gasp and immediately reach up to cover his filthy mouth. “I didn’t know he came in!” Your cheeks are flushed pink and you mumble a tiny ‘hmph’ before going to the passenger seat of the car.
You're confused when he doesn’t open it, turning to look at him and noticing his crossed arms. “That’s my job, princess.” And just like that, your putty for him again. You giggle and turn away as he strolls over only for you to stop him. “Open the back, gonna need it more…” you lean up to his ear and whisper making him bite his lip. “Anything for you, baby.”
NSFW below;
Hockeyplayer!bf! Suguru who currently has you in his lap in the backseat of his car, his hands grabbing and caressing anything he can. He plays with your tits through your shirt, nipping at your lip and rolling his hips up to grind his aching cock into your covered pussy. “Mmh—take this off, please..” he’s pawing at your shirt, helping you remove the item before immediately pulling your bra down to stare at your pretty tits. He tugs and plays with your nipples, chuckling when you push his hands lower “guru, play with this instead~”
Clothes are thrown around the car, both of you guys impatiently wanting to feel each other. You climb on top of him again, feeling your mouth salivate at the sight of how large he is (never failing to impress you)
The feeling of his tip pushing into you makes you let out a sharp cry, the stretch painful without the prep but your dripping pussy helps glide him inside. Suguru reaches up to caress your soft cheek, kissing your watering eyes while whispering words of encouragement. “I know baby,” he leans his head against the headrest, trying not to cum just by the feeling of his head popping through your tiny, wet hole. “Slow baby, you can take it~” his hands rest on your hips, moving to play with your clit and try to help you adjust.
When you finally sink down onto him fully, he holds you still, closing his eyes and trying to not succumb to cumming right there. Your face is twisted up as his cock nestles against every nerve you have, panting at just how full he makes you. “Su-guru, ‘ure so big—nghh!” You moan when he rolls his hips up.
With your hands using his shoulders as leverage, you begin to ride him. Suguru is noisy, he doesn’t mind showing his lover how good he feels. And as he leans into your ear, telling you how good you’re doing, you can’t be more grateful it’s you he’s talking to
“Good job baby—oh fuck!—riding me so g-good.” He moves his hands to your ass, spanking it and watching the jiggle it makes before grabbing it for leverage. He’s also a little impatient so it’s not long until he fucks up into your pussy, making eye contact with you so he can watch the way you lose yourself in the pleasure. His cock hit your g-spot harshly, you clench tightly around him with your eyes rolling back. You moaned uncontrollably, any attempt to shush yourself stopped by suguru. “Move ur’ fucking—hands.”
Your tears egged him on, enjoying your choked sobs that echoed in the confined space. The car had fog on the windows, shaking lightly and if anyone of his teammates saw, it would be nearly impossible to argue what the two of you are doing.
He slows down, changing his rough pace to slow loving thrusts. He pulls you to him, kissing you passionately and enjoying the intimate moment while reaching down to thumb your clit. You gasp into the kiss, brows furrowing at the double stimulation. “Don’t s-stop!” You beg, messily kissing him letting out shakey breaths. Suguru playfully smiles while nodding, “i won’t baby, promise…”
He adjusts the two of you, laying you down and lifting your legs to your chest before pushing back into you. He groans, and grabs your jaw. “Open.” You do as you’re told and feel suguru spit into your mouth, picking up his pace after watching you swallow it without instruction. “Good—fuckin—girl.” He emphasized with every thrust, nearly hypnotized by how pretty you look.
You tighten around him when he leans down to suck on your harden nipple, bucking your hips to meet him halfway. You’re being fucked dumb, eyes rolling whenever he fucks you full, feeling yourself getting closer to the edge with every drag of his cock. Your voice pitches, “Gon-na cum!”
Suguru wraps his hand around your throat, “yeah? Not even asking? What a brat.” He scoffs. You try and speak, wanting to beg and be his good girl but you can’t. You can feel it building, unable to have any control. His eyes darken, “really? Still not gonna ask?” And you start crying. Your brain is fried, the need to please losing to your own selfish desire to cum.
“S-sor-ry!” You yelp as it snaps. you cum hard, your eyes squeezed tight as your back arches up and your whole body tightening. You're shaking, throwing your arms over your eyes as you curl into yourself as intense wave after wave courses through you. With ringing ears, you don’t know when you finally regain senses but the first thing you feel is Suguru's rough hands caressing your cheek.
Suguru has pulled out of you, “holy shit, looked so hot babe.” You laugh at the surprised look on his face. You look down and notice the wet spot on his seat and try to sit up, embarrassed. “Woah, take a second to breathe, mama.” He jokes while pushing you back down.
“Guru, I’m sorry. Ill clean—“ he cuts you off with an annoyed groan, playfully smacking your pussy making you gasp. “You should only apologize because I didn't get it on camera.” You look up at him and smirk, “you didn’t cum yet, think you can make me do it again?”
Hockeyplayer!bf! Suguru who does make you cream on his cock again but this time on video. The same video that, with your permission of course, he shows to his teammate satoru with an open invitation to join in on that nights after party
Hockeyplayer!bf! Suguru is just the best<3333
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A/n: it’s finally done🙏 i have finals coming up so idk when imma write again💔
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eiightysixbaby · 4 months
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santa baby
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eddie munson x fem!reader
2.3k
summary: watching eddie play santa for your kids makes you want to show him some…. appreciation
cw: 18+ ONLY. reader and eddie are married & have kids, oral (m receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, breeding kink
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Presents in crinkly patterned paper are placed delicately under the tree, your nimble fingers making sure each bow is perfect and every tag that reads ‘From: Santa’ is visible.
Eddie tip-toes into the living room from your bedroom, the final stack of gifts in his arms. Your two daughters sleep soundly in their beds, likely dreaming of those sugarplums the stories talk about. He hands you each present one by one, letting you find the perfect place for them around the base of your glittering tree. The tiny colored lightbulbs cast a pretty pink glow throughout the room, and it fills your heart with warmth.
When you’ve finished your work, you turn to see Eddie filling the stockings, the ball of his Santa hat bobbing with each movement. He hangs each one back on the mantle with so much care, he wouldn’t want to drop one and send one of your little ones running to see what caused the noise. A fire crackles in the fireplace, fending off the cold of the snowy landscape outside.
“Is that everything?” he double checks, giving you a sweet grin.
“Not quite. Santa has to eat his cookies,” you tease, moving closer to him and tugging on his hat as you press a kiss to his lips.
“Damn, how could I forget these delicious cookies?” he asks, kissing you on your cheek and squeezing a healthy handful of your ass before moving towards the small table that holds a plate of sugar cookies. You giggle, still blushing like you did the day you met him.
You can’t help but smile when you turn to look at the baked treats, each one having been eagerly frosted by tiny hands. The girls had done their very best, and you know your husband certainly won’t complain about a little too much icing dripping down the sides. A glass of milk rests beside the plate, and Eddie takes a hearty sip of it after polishing off his first cookie.
It makes your heart swell, the way he breaks off one little bit of the second cookie to leave on the plate. A tiny splash of milk rests in the bottom of the cup. To make it look as though Santa couldn’t quite finish it all. This is the first year your girls are both old enough to really enjoy and get excited about the holiday, and it makes you so happy to witness it through their eyes.
Having a partner that plays along perfectly only makes it sweeter. Honestly, Eddie has probably been more into it than you, making everything so fun for your children. He stops at nothing to make them happy, to make things magical for them. He makes things magical for you, too, and it fills you with an impossible amount of joy.
To your surprise, it also fills you with need. A deep, hot desire for the man you’ve made a home with. It’s insatiable, the way it hits you like a train. Something about watching him play up this whimsical figure for the sake of your kids, something about him in that damn Santa hat. Before you realize it, he catches you staring as he sits back in the comfy chair, his eyes meeting yours and his face breaking into a cheeky smile. You might as well be drooling.
“What’re you looking at, Mrs. Claus?” he asks, stretching his arms behind his head, his pajama-clad legs spreading wide.
“I just think…” you start, stalking closer to him, eyes trained on his. “That Santa works so hard…” you murmur, sinking onto your knees between his legs. “Maybe he deserves to be properly thanked.”
“Oh—” Eddie gasps when your hand palms over his clothed cock, feeling it stiffen against your touch.
Wasting not even a second you tug his pants down, his hips raising to help you, and you feel your eyes blow wider at the sight of him. You’ll never get tired of seeing his cock — never. The way it leaks for you, the way he gets so hard from the simplest things that you do. You open your mouth, letting the weight of him rest heavy on your tongue. Licking the tip gently, you run your fingers up and down one of his legs.
“Baby,” he sighs, tipping his head back a bit. “What got into you?”
“Jus’ something about watchin’ you play Santa…” you say, kissing the tip of his cock. “You’re so good to us. To me. Wanna worship you for it,” you say softly, blinking up at him.
And God, how could he turn you down?
“The girls, what if they—?”
“Just be quiet, and they won’t,” you say like it’s simple, and he doesn’t have a moment to respond before you’re kissing your way down his shaft.
He’s struck dumb when you take the head into your mouth, suckling on it with pretty lips. One hand reaches up to grip the base of him, your tongue licking his slit. A heavy breath leaves his nose, his lips pressed in a thin line. His fingers tangle in your hair, his other hand gripping the armrest of the chair so tight it could rip.
You glance up at him, licking a long and slow stripe up the underside of his length. His eyes are half-lidded and dazed as he stares down at you, watching in disbelief. You stop teasing, then, taking him as far into your mouth as he’ll go. Your nose brushes the patch of coarse hair that sits at his base, exhaling through your nose as you adjust to the way he presses against the back of your throat.
“Oh fuck,” he whispers when you start to bob your head, trying your very best to keep the wet, slurping sounds to a minimum.
The hand that was gripping his shaft moves down to his balls, squeezing softly as you hollow your cheeks around him. You can hear the way he struggles to quiet the groans that claw their way up his throat, his breathing ragged. His hands reach up, yanking the Santa hat off so his fingers can run through his hair, tangling themselves in it.
“Christ, baby, thatfeelssogood,” he rushes out, voice breathy. “Your mouth is fuckin’ perfect.”
You pull off of him, still rolling the flesh of his heavy balls between your fingers. You make out with the head of his cock, tongue running over it, saliva dripping everywhere. He takes a handful of your hair, pulling gently to make you look up at him.
“Get up here. Right now,” he says. You know he’s trying to be demanding, but he sounds so fucked out it doesn’t quite work. It makes you want him even more.
Following instruction, you climb onto his lap and straddle it, but not before slipping off your pajama pants. With just your underwear separating his cock from your heat, you grind your hips down on him, sucking in a sharp breath when his tip nudges your clit. His strong hands guide your movements, taking control as he peppers kisses on your jawline, making you tilt your head back in pleasure.
“Need you inside me, Ed, please,” you croon, your breaths staggered.
“I don’t know, have you been a good girl this year? Do you deserve it?” he taunts, raising his brows at you. His teasing holds no weight, he has every intention of giving it to you, but you still nod.
“Been so good,” you say softly, teeth tugging at his earlobe.
A strangled, breathy sound leaves him before he’s shoving your panties to the side, running a thick finger through your wet folds. Wet is an understatement, honestly. You’re soaked for him, and he’s barely done anything to you.
“God damn, honey,” he growls low in your ear. “You’re so wet.” His teeth nip at your jaw before moving to your neck, his lips planting themselves on the delicate skin and sucking. “Watching me play Santa really got you that hot, huh?” You can hear the smirk in his voice, and if you weren’t so needy for him you’d roll your eyes. But unfortunately, he’s right.
You whine instead, a featherlight sound that he almost misses through the crackling of the fire. He grips his cock, lining himself up with you as you hover above his lap. You reach down to help him, guiding him into your aching heat as you slowly sink down. You gasp in unison when he parts your walls, each of your mouths hanging open until he’s fully sheathed inside you. Calloused fingers press into your doughy hips, beginning to bounce you on his thick cock. A high-pitched squeak escapes you when you feel him press deep inside, and he instantly covers your mouth with one big palm. He stills his movements.
“Remember when you told me to be quiet? Hm? Now you can’t control yourself?” he whispers hotly in your ear, his breath making your skin prickle.
His hand is removed from your mouth in favor of guiding the roll of your hips once more, keeping you bouncing steadily. You can hear the way his cock glides through your sticky folds, pushing in and pulling out and pushing back in again. His eyes are impossibly dark as they watch you, especially in the dim light, but you can see the lust and adoration burning behind them all the same. You swear you can feel him in every inch of your body as he pushes himself as deep as he can possibly go, making you drop your forehead against his and bite back a moan.
One of his hands pulls the hem of your shirt up in order to expose your breasts to him, his open palm giving the first one a squeeze before rolling your nipple between his fingers and pinching. Your back straightens slightly, arching into his touch. He dips his head down, sucking on the nipple his fingers aren’t already toying with. He kisses the soft swells of flesh, nipping and sucking gently while you start to take some control, bouncing yourself on his cock.
“Fuck,” he mutters around a mouthful of your tits, his tongue flicking over the sensitive buds on each one.
He diverts his attention, moving away from your breasts and instead reaching a hand down down down to where your bodies connect. The pad of his thumb swipes over your clit, making a filthy, desperate huff leave your mouth. You’re getting so close, your body desperate for him to bring you to release.
“Eds,” you sigh, rolling your hips slowly on top of him, savoring every single second of this bliss.
“What is it, sweetheart?” he asks, bringing his free hand up to cup your cheek, thumb stroking along your cheekbone. He smiles at you, soft and sweet as he continues to circle your clit.
���So good,” you breathe, feeling the tension in the pit of your stomach grow and grow. “Want you to cum, baby, give it all to me.”
“Yeah? Want me to fill you up?” he taunts, leaning forward and catching your bottom lip between his teeth. “Get you pregnant again? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Everything in you screams yes. Your hormones are on overdrive, wanting him to pump you full of his seed and make it stick.
“Fuck, yes, Eddie,” you agree, throwing your head back.
He bucks his hips up, his cock stretching you so deliciously, reaching the deepest parts of you. His lips kiss any part of your skin they can reach as you completely fall apart for him. Your walls clench so tightly around him as you cum, drenching his cock in your arousal. Giving you a few final thrusts, his movements get less precise as he unravels. Soft grunts leave his mouth as he fucks you through his orgasm, ropes of cum painting your walls in spurts. You cling to him, panting as you recover from your high. Gentle hands rub your back, sliding up under your shirt and soothing you with repetitive motions.
“I love you,” you say softly, crossing your eyes to watch as he presses a kiss to your nose. One reaches your lips immediately after; a drawn-out, lingering kiss that you don’t want to ever end.
“I love you, too,” he says, millimeters away from your mouth after he pulls away. You feel it, almost overwhelmingly, in the way he holds you close.
You shift on his lap, letting him pull out of you carefully. Your thighs are sticky with your own arousal and his as it drips out of you, but you don’t want to leave his comforting embrace. The warmth from the fireplace kisses your skin, making you sleepy in Eddie’s arms. You take his left hand in your own, running your thumb over his wedding band, a pleased hum reverberating within you.
He turns, looking at the clock that rests on the mantle. Just after midnight.
“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he says, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head.
“Merry Christmas, handsome,” you coo, reaching up to brush some of his hair out of his face.
“Can we make this a Christmas tradition?” he asks, giving you a cheeky smile as he pinches the fat of your ass.
“Whatever you want, Mr. C,” you laugh, leaning in to kiss him once more.
The night ends with the both of you creeping quietly down the hallway to your bedroom, tangling yourselves beneath warm blankets. Snow falls outside, you can see it through the gap in the curtains as sleep starts to take over your body. Blinking slowly, heavily, you feel Eddie’s strong arms wrap around you, pressing you close to his chest.
In the morning, your girls will wake you with unbridled excitement, ready to see what Santa brought them. But for now, it’s just you and the man himself, dreaming cozy winter dreams.
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mahgyu · 1 month
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Thinking about Nanami, who always warned her not to be upset if he didn't cry during their wedding ceremony.
Yes, it's obvious that he loves her more than anything in the world. He would face anyone to keep her safe above all else, but Nanami doesn't consider herself the type to express her emotions through the crying, whether they are good or bad.
So, as the wedding date approaches, Nanami begins to prevent any possible disappointment, trying to reassure her that, even if he doesn't cry at their wedding, he will be more than happy and fulfilled with the occasion. You clearly wouldn't expect anything like that from him, but Nanami started to fear that you might find him a bit rude for not getting emotional during the most important day of your lives. But, you and Nanami have been together long enough for you to know every aspect of him, knowing him from the first strand of hair to the last toe. You would never find him rude for dealing with his emotions in his own way.
However, we truly only know how to deal with situations when they are happening before our eyes. Holding the wedding ceremony on the beach was of both decision, just for close family and friends. Nanami stood beneath the altar, trying to cope with the growing anxiety as he heard the wedding march begin to play. In the distance, you appeared, resembling a princess from a fairy tale, the one and only and exclusive princess of Kento Nanami.
Time stood still, the entire journey of you two together flashed through Nanami's mind. He never believed he would live this, always dedicating his life solely to work and refraining from relationships. He doesn't even dare to think what would become of him if you had never accidentally bumped into him at the bakery Nanami frequented. The icing from your cake that ended up staining Nanami's suit also marked the beginning of your conjugal life.
All Nanami had in mind now was to build a family with you, to move to a peaceful environment in a big enough house to comfortably accommodate all the children he dreams of having, to come home from work and be greeted by the people he loves most and lives for. And as he grows older, to carefully enjoy what remains of life alongside the family he built, next to the woman he loved the most and with whom he could share every dream fulfilled.
And after all, Nanami was mistaken, tears trickled slowly down his face, clouding your smiling image that was coming towards him.
When you joined him at the altar, with the sunset kissing your face, your eyes shining with tears that also flooded them, and your smile that would be able to bring Nanami back to life, Kento could swear that this would be the image that he would carry with him forever and ever.
"I thought you said you wouldn't cry," you break the silence jokingly while holding one of Nanami's slightly trembling hands and, with your other hand, wiping the glistening drops off the man's cheeks. "You can't blame me for loving too much," he responds, smiling genuinely, while briefly kissing your forehead.
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The truth is Gojo would be sitting in the front row, crying even louder and more dramatically than the bride and groom themselves while blowing his nose with a handkerchief ( ˃ ᵕ ˂ )
Let me know what you think of it. Comments and reblogs are appreciated! <3
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thepastdied · 6 months
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You're nervous about cougar groupies getting Eddie's attention.
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"Uh... Eddie?" You nervously shifted on your feet as you watched your best friend run back and forth to get the stage set up for his weekly Corroded Coffin show.
The Hideout never attracted a crowd on Tuesday nights. I mean, it wasn't a good night for him to choose in the first place, but... it wasn't your business. Today is Friday, though. And you know there are gonna be more people. You know that there might be some hot milfs there looking for a good fuck from one of the band members and, of course, Eddie would definitely be attracting many eyes aside from the handsome and freshly graduated (and legal) Jeff.
"What's up, buttercup?" He called over his shoulder, only looking back at you for a moment before turning his attention back to the tangled cords that his fingers fiddled with, his tongue sticking out in concentration.
Your stomach tied in knots. You should be happy for him. This was a big night for him. A crowd of 20-30, maybe more, instead of the usual 10 max? Fuck, that's great. But what if he...
"Can I talk to you for a sec? Just... just a sec." You forced out.
Eddie turned his head again and really looked at you this time. His grin faded as he dropped the cords to the floor and instantly skipped over to you.
"You okay?" He dipped his head slightly to make his eyes level with yours.
You nodded and blinked a few times, trying to figure out how to say this.
"Eddie... uhm. You know, there's gonna be more people tonight. And, I just... you know, as your best friend, I just think that you should... be careful of the... uh.." Your eyes were glued to his, begging for him to understand what you meant despite being very vague.
"Uhm..." He stared off for a moment, his eyes focusing on nothing before moving back to yours. God, they were so warm...
"I've never fallen on stage, man. Don't worry. I ain't nervous at all." He grinned widely before slapping your shoulder, causing your whole body to jolt.
You frowned as you watched his hair swoosh while he turned back around.
"N-no! It's not that." You called out, your cheeks warming at your outburst.
He tilted his head quizzically and waited for you to continue.
"There's definitely going to be some women here, older women that are looking to... you know that..." Your eyes were again pleading for him to catch your drift.
Eddie laughed out loud, his eyes closing before smirking.
"Oh, I know.." He wiggled his eyebrows jokingly and laughed again, making a blow job motion with his hand. You frowned even more, and he noticed.
"Woah, woah, wait. Hey..." He stepped closer to you, placing his hands on your shoulders and dipping his eyes level again, looking at you through his bangs.
"I'm.. I'm kidding. You don't think I'd actually..." His eyes remained on yours, narrowing as he turned his head slightly.
Your cheeks warmed again and you looked away.
"Hey, look at me." Eddie poked your cheek as he struggled to hold back a smile.
You shyly looked back to him.
"First of all..." Eddie made a face as he cringed and shook his body. "No way." He laughed lightly. He paused for a moment, nervously swallowing as he looked your face over, wondering if this was the moment that he would finally... that he would... after all this time of frustration between the two of you, he should just...
"And second of all... you know I already got my favorite girl right here." He gave you a lopsided smile as his eyes danced around your face, trying to read you. It was the perfect time to... after all this time, after all this tension and... He sighed as he looked at your lips. Yeah, he just needed to...
Eddie glanced at your lips and noticed how you lightly bit on it to hold back from grinning like an idiot. But he didn't. He allowed his lips to curl into a grin like a fool before moving a hand to your neck firmly and pulling you closer to him, smashing his lips against yours into a crushing kiss.
His rings were ice cold, and you shivered. Or was it just him? Probably just him. Your hands clenched and unclenched, unsure of what to do with them before they grabbed onto his shirt that was clung to his waist. Though it didn't stay there for too long as he pulled away, his hand still holding your face close to his by your throat. Both of your cheeks were flushed as you looked at one another, lips pink from the force of the kiss. He licked his bottom lip, tasting your lipgloss and grinning again.
"Strawberry." He gave you a cheeky smile.
"Y-you just.... you-" Your mouth opened and closed dumbly as you tried to spit out a sentence.
He laughed as he smirked and took a few clumsy steps back toward the cords he was previously attempting to unravel, snapping his fingers and shooting you with finger guns as he winked.
"Catch you after the show, babe."
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cevansbrat0007 · 2 months
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Sweet Tooth
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Summary: Ari gets inventive when he finds himself in the doghouse with you. Be sure to check out the follow-up drabble, Sweet Tooth Deluxe!
Warnings: Smut, Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Arch Nemesis', Dominant Ari, Aprons, Arguments, Oral Sex (fem rec mentioned), Spanking (mentioned), Pussy spanking (mentioned), Pet Names, Cursing, Violent Thoughts, Minors DNI
A/N: Written for @honeygngergemini. Part of my Sweet Renegades Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!
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Ari leans back in his chair, one long leg coming to rest atop his knee as he levels a hard look at Officer Milton Foster. He scrubs a tired hand over his face, his mind working overtime to process what the young man had just said.
“But that makes zero fucking sense.” He grumbles, groaning when he sees Milton just shake his head.
“Aye, man.” The dark-haired deputy  throws up his hands. “You asked me where I thought you went wrong and I told you.” He turns in his office chair to spare a quick glance at his computer. “Do not shoot the messenger.”
“No one’s being shot, alright? I just don’t get the logic behind any of the shit you just said.”
Couple that with the fact that you’d been icing him out for the past several days for reasons unbeknownst to him – which had left him in a god awful mood. He missed you. Your laugh, your warmth, your smile. 
All of it.
Not to mention that deliciously curvy body that had been keeping him warm at night. He really missed that. More than than anything he needed a fucking kiss.
But you were ignoring him. And Ari had discovered pretty quickly that he didn’t like any of it. Not one bit.
So, he’d turned to what he felt like was his only ally in this god-forsaken town: the newly minted sheriff’s deputy, Milton Foster.
“So you’re really trying to tell me that the reason my woman is pissed at me is because I ate Charline Marshall’s pecan pie at the town potluck, liked it, and asked for seconds.” Ari smooths an annoyed hand over his bearded face. Trying to understand Bell’s Creek’s local politics could really do a number on a person. 
“And don’t forget that she purposely dropped your lady’s bramble berry pie on the ground.” Milton does a quick spin in his chair. “She tried to pretend it was an accident, but most of us know better. Charline Marshall has eyes for you and I think she might be ready to make it known.”
“I’m pretty sure that I couldn’t even pick that woman out of a lineup.”  
Milton simply shrugs before taking another spin in his desk chair. “You’ve got a lot of admirers, Mr. Bounty Hunter. A man like you blows into town…well, you’re downright exotic. Every single red-blooded woman under 75 wants a taste.”
Ari visibly shudders before crossing his legs at the ankle. He didn’t want anyone else. This particularly surly Bounty Hunter wanted you. He only wanted to eat your food. Enjoy your sweets. Fall to his knees and devour the fuck out of your pretty little pussy.
“Hard pass, buddy.” Your lawman sighs. “I didn’t know shit about the pie incident. I mean, how could I when she was barely talking to me or anyone at that party?”
“Not saying it’s your fault, big guy. Logically, what would you have been able to do if she had told you?”
Ari looks up at him, his piercing blue gaze never once leaving the young deputy’s. “I would’ve taken her back to my place and spent the rest of the night making her feel better. I would’ve done everything in my power to take my girl’s mind off that petty shit.”
“Mmm.” Milton murmurs as understanding suddenly dawns. “I really don’t wanna get too deep in your business, but your lady is like a sister to me.” He leans back in his chair so that he can kick his feet up on his desk. “We used to play on the playground together as kids. And full disclosure, she used to beat my ass.” The deputy chuckles as he begins to recount all the way you used to be a tiny force of nature. 
“I…can see that.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Anyway, I think your original plan was a good one.” 
“Meaning?” Ari leans over to take a sip of his now cold coffee. It tasted like shit anyway, even when it was hot. In fact he longed for you, his BIrd, to make him one of your little caffeine-infused concoctions – preferably while wearing nothing but his shirt. 
So he could also take a bite out of that luscious ass while you refreshed his mug. After all, he was a man who prided himself on his ability to multitask. 
“Meaning, you need to find a way to distract her while making your point.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, you’re a smart fuckin’ guy who set his sights on someone who could easily be the most stubborn woman in the whole damned state.” A smirking Milton offers up a salute with his can of Dr. Pepper. “That’s for you to figure out. All I can do at this point is wish you luck.” 
“Thanks.” Ari grunts, wishing that he had a better idea of what to do with you.
Oh, rest assured that he’d figure it out. You were too important to him not to. He just hoped you’d find it in your heart to take it easy on him for his mistake. 
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The Next Day
You wake up to the smell of cooking sausage wafting into your room. It makes you smile as you stretch your arms over your head. Your stomach growls in agreement, subtly reminding you that you’d neglected to make dinner last night. 
Oops. You hadn’t meant to forget, it had just happened. Normally you would end your night with speaking to your Beast of a Bounty Hunter, who always made sure you ate. But lately, you have been both mad at him and embarrassed.   
Because at a recent town potluck, Ari had eaten your rival’s pecan pie. Now, you weren’t children, but this had also been after she’d purposely sabotaged your own dessert by accidentally dropping it on the ground. 
Charline pretended that it had been a mistake. But the way you’d witnessed her laugh after the fact. And then she’d fed your man, reveling in every minute. You’d known her pecan pie was dry, but Ari had seemed to enjoy it. So much so that he’d asked for a second piece. 
Which was fine, except it had hurt your feelings. And you hadn’t been sure how to relay exactly relay that fact either. So you’d clamped down. You’d bottled up. 
And as a result, your poor, sweet man was suffering. Which meant you needed to apologize. But you weren’t quite sure how to go about it. As you sit up, you vow to yourself to give him a call today. As soon as you sat down and enjoyed your breakfast.
And then it occurs to you. You weren’t the one cooking. Which meant someone was in your house. 
You spring out of bed and grab your Louisville Slugger that you always kept nearby. Taking a deep breath, you quietly make your way down the stairs, your trusty bat poised to take a swing at whatever moron who’d chosen to take up residence in your kitchen.
Baring your teeth, you crest around the corner on bare feet, ready to make your presence known. 
“You gonna hit me, Bird?” Ari muses as he adds a dash of salt, followed by pepper to whatever it is he’s got cooking in the skillet. Your flippin' skillet. “Is that really how this ends? You take me out while I’m being kind enough to whip us up some breakfast?”
Momentarily flummoxed you find yourself lowering your weapon in favor of taking in the scene before you. This man – your Bounty Hunter – was currently standing in your kitchen clad in nothing but an apron. 
Your apron. And yet somehow it fit him better
“Wh–what are you doing?” You ask him, letting your baseball bat clatter to the floor at your feet. You wouldn’t need it. You were safe with this man, but only to a point. “And how’d you get in?” You hadn’t given him a key yet. 
That was supposed to be a present for later. 
“Eh.” Ari shrugs, flipping a pancake with surprising skill. “Maybe I saw my gift and swiped it after the potluck. Maybe you weren’t listening to me and I couldn’t get a read on you, so I had to be an asshole and make an executive decision.” He turns away from you to drop a finished pancake on a plate, giving you a fantastic view of his perfectly muscled ass.
“You mad?” 
“N-no.” You respond as you feel your thighs clench. God, how you wished that you’d come down here wearing pants. “I was actually planning to reach out to you today. Can I ask what you’re doing?” You shiver as you feel your thighs grow damp, your traitorous pussy working against you. 
You should be mad that your Beast had broken into your house. Instead you were happy to see him with a much deserved apology ready to fall from your lips. 
“Making you breakfast. Chocolate chip pancakes, eggs, and sausage.” He adds another delicious pancake to the stack. “I’m gonna feed you, and then I’m gonna fuck you, and make you rethink ever ignoring me again.” He purrs, the intoxicating rumble coming from somewhere deep in his chest. 
Fuck you were so wet it was almost embarrasing. 
“I’ve earned the rights to that tight little pussy, baby. And when I make a mistake like I did with that goddamned Charline, I want you to tell me.” Ari turns off the range, pulling the food off the heat and onto a plate.
“I’m sorry.” You murmur, both hating and loving the way your nipples pebble beneath the thin fabric of your oversized t-shirts. Actually, it was one of his. A detail he also seemed to notice. “How can I make it up to you?”
Ari studies you for a moment, his handsome face tilting to the side. And then your eyes stray to the sight of his impressive erection. You watch as one of his big hands reaches down to fist his hard cock, pumping it once. Twice. 
“You can start by going back upstairs. I want you naked, on all fours. I want to come up there and feast my eyes on your soaking wet cunt.” His heated gaze bores into your own, making your already drenched core spasm one more. “And you’d better be wet for me, otherwise I’m gonna spank it. And you.” 
“O-okay.” You find yourself taking a step back, your hand clutching at the wall. 
“I’m gonna eat it baby.” Ari growls, his voice filled with a mix of unbridled lust and determination. “I’m gonna make that pussy fucking cry. And you’re gonna fucking take it. You hear me?”
“Yes.” You whisper, resisting the urge to reach down as you stroke your eager fingers over your throbbing clit. “Yes, Sir.”
He takes a menacing step towards you, his body delighting in the way that you shiver. You’d been bad. Which means it was time to pay the price. And what better man to exact that payment than your own handsome, 6”4 Beast? 
“And then I’m gonna fuck you in front of that brand new mirror I bought you. I’m gonna show you who owns that beautiful body and remind you why it’s important to talk to me when you need me.” Another menacing step. “And then I’m gonna feed those delectable curves after I’ve had my fill.”
“And then…” He tilts his head from side to side, cracking his neck. “You’re gonna let me kiss it all better while I make love to you.”
“Y-yes, please.” Right now you were willing to give this man whatever he wanted. Whatever helped you atone for your supposed sins.
“There’s a good girl.” He intones as he unties the apron, leaving him naked and aroused in your simple kitchen. “Now run.”
END
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ghost-proofbaby · 8 months
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twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)
HOUR TWENTY TWO
in which eddie is honest. for real, this time.
→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn
→ warnings: strong language, discussion of/allusions to smut from last chapter, angst, not edited (what's new though), upside down does not exist, minors dni
→ wc: 11.1k+
→ a/n: welp. this... yeah, this is a lot. i truly hope it's worth it. in the waiting, anticipation, and length. if it isn't... my bad. i'm sorry in advance. also, please note, pov change only applies to the memory.
masterlist.
spotify playlist.
◁ previous part, next part▷
22:00 ──────────────ㅇ─ 24:00
His regret turns to pain as you whisper, “What did you just say?”
HOUR TWENTY TWO – 1:00 PM
You can’t speak. It’s as if you’re frozen; every muscle, including your tongue, has gone rigid. Every racing thought escapes just beyond your reach. Every single one of the last twenty two hours pound behind your rib cage, and you think you might just faint. Right here, right now. The blood rushes your ears as your body goes ice cold, and even the railing cutting into your palm seems to drift away from you. 
“I’m sorry.” 
He doesn’t even try to deny it. He knows you heard what he said – he can’t take it back. It’s written plainly on his face that if he could, he would swallow back down those disastrous words. He’d grab that destruction four letter word right out of the air, no doubt, and set it aflame. He’d blow away the ash if he could guarantee you would have never heard it.
But he can’t. You heard him. 
I’ve loved you for so long. 
Everything is heavy. The air, your limbs, your godforsaken tongue. 
“Say something,” he suddenly begs. You’ve never seen Eddie look so desperate, eyes wet and voice cracking, “Anything.” 
You want to answer him. Your bones ache with the need – the need to reply, the need to question, the need to do anything but stare at him with what he must surely mistake for horror.
Were you horrified? Were you?
You don’t know. 
It’s why you can’t answer him. 
“I-” he starts up again, breaking down even further right before your eyes. You want to reach out, to coddle him, to tell him it’s fine. But it’s not fine. 
You don’t even get the chance to ruminate on just how not fine it is, or that heat beginning to come to a boil in the pit of your stomach, because the sound of one of the neighbors exiting out onto their own balcony interrupts the infinitely delicate moment. 
“Hey there, Eds-” You don’t know what actually interrupts the gruff man that steps out, who exudes familiarity with Eddie until he takes in the scene before him. 
Eddie, completely fucking naked. You, with only a shirt on. If it weren’t for the moment at hand and the trembling emotions coming to fruition inside of you, you’d probably find it comical. You’d probably find a way to join in the old man’s single guffaw before the two of you meet each other’s gaze and become aware of what exactly is happening.
But it’s not funny. You’re both fucking naked — physically and emotionally — and it’s not funny.
You’re mortified as both of you are scrambling across the balcony, a whirlwind of discarded clothes fisted and nearly tripping over each other to shove back into Eddie’s living room. That embarrassment now trickles down into the start of a boil, everything in you becoming red-hot from how flustered you’ve become and the way you can’t have a second to just process it all. 
When you turn to face Eddie once the sliding door has slammed shut, his cheeks are the brightest pink imaginable. 
“What the fuck,” you whisper out, trying to steady your breathing, trying to take it all in. 
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Your adrenaline is almost making you sick. 
“I’m so fucking sorry,” he catches your whisper amongst your stoic silence and seems to forget the moment that his neighbor had just shattered, voice clear as day as he pulls his curtains shut. You swear you catch the old man still staring, still laughing, and you’re just grateful that you’re not the one completely nude, “I had no idea Mr. Jenkins would come outside, usually none of those fuckers see the light of day before sundow-”
“Your neighbor just saw us naked,” you almost scream. You want to shout, want to throw everything in sight. You crave to flip that coffee table in the center of the room and throw a fit that outdoes even the most petulant of toddlers.
“I know, I-“
“If you say sorry again, I’m walking back out there,” you take a deep breath, but it does nothing to calm you’re shaking body, “And I’m throwing myself off the fucking balcony.”
Maybe you’ll be able to laugh about it in five years. A year, even. Hell, a month or as soon as next week. But you can’t right now; all you want to do is cry.
Some random man just saw you naked. Eddie apparently fucking loves you. 
It might be the sleep deprivation and it might be the fact that it feels like the Universe is laughing in your face at every turn right now. Whatever higher power exists seems to be waiting around every corner for the chance to kick you repeatedly as you stumble to this finish line. And you can’t fucking take it.
So you give in. You give in to that childish need to stomp your feet and scream until you’re blue in your lips.
“I just- Fuck!” Eddie jumps a bit at your exclamation, he’s still naked, “I can’t catch a break! I can’t catch a fucking break. First, I’m showing up here, and I’m stuck with you for twenty four hours. I’m stuck with the man I hate for a whole fucking day,” you’re full on pacing, not caring how ridiculous this scene would appear to anyone. Your hands wave erratically in the space around you, and all Eddie can do is stare, tense with wide eyes, “And I cry in front of you, have full breakdowns in front of you. I listen to you remind me over and over how much you truly despise only to now suddenly find out that, hey! I actually love you! And do I get to process that? No. Because now, some fucking old man that lives next door to you has seen my goddamn vag-“ 
Eddie’s entire demeanor collapses. “Oh, so now I’m back to being the man you hate?” 
You pause your ranting, realizing what you’ve said. 
You’re just angry. You should have thought before you spoke, before you opened your mouth and began to spew your venom, because you can see the way the words have struck Eddie. Not your intention.
“I didn’t mean that.”
“But you said that,” he flatly argues back. 
Your stomach twists.
“I’m just-“ your tongue is back to being heavy as the two of you face one another. Feet apart, worlds apart. “I’m fucking embarrassed, Eddie.” 
“You think I’m not?” he scowls, and you try to tell your racing heart it’s a good sign. But it’s not. You almost preferred his walls dividing the two of you, “Shit fucking happens. We got caught — we fucking dirty talked about getting caught! Big fucking deal! Karmic justice or whatever bullshit people spew. It doesn’t mean I’m going to- It doesn’t change-“ he’s stuttering now, matching that exasperation that had you pacing just moments before. He huffs, a hand reaching up and dragging his bangs upward, harsh at the root as he finally drops his hands in his own defeat, palms slapping his sides, “Everything changes. You said that, not me. You said everything changes, and all it takes is a little bit of fucking embarrassment to go back on your word?” 
He’s still fucking naked. You still can’t think.
“I’m not having this conversation with you naked,” you whisper, almost in disbelief as you shake your head, “I’m- Put your fucking clothes on. Please.” 
“Put my clothes on?” he scoffs, taking a step closer to you, “Put my clothes on? Do you mean the same clothes you just insisted I take off not even ten minutes ago?” 
“We were having sex!” you yell. You’re sure if the old man is no longer on his balcony, he can hear you through the walls. Hell, even if he is still outside, it’s likely he hears the screaming match beginning, “Why- Why are you turning this on me right now? You just said you fucking love me! The least of our issues right now is me telling you to get fucking dressed!” 
“Why are you lashing out at me right now?” Eddie’s voice is louder than yours, something more broken inside of it, “I-“
“Clothes,” you grit out, avoiding his eyes as you start to yank your panties on violently, “Now.” 
You can still feel him. His essence is dripping between your thighs. And you don’t find any sense of enjoyment in it, you don’t savor that quick-fading warmth nor the reminder of the pleasure he’d just brought you. It just reminds you of the words he had said all while not even looking you in the eyes. He couldn’t even face you as he had admitted it. 
One thing at a time, you try to remind yourself. One fucking thing at a time. 
Eddie’s own redressing is another sight that maybe, hopefully, one day you’ll look back on and laugh at. But right now, it can’t spark any amusement in you. Not as all your emotions slam back into you at full force.
You’re embarrassed. You’re confused. You’re angry.
“Happy?” he spits out once his boxers are on, shirt tugged back on so hard over his head that his curls frizz up.
“No,” your eyes are burning, and you feel it again. All those desperate emotions. Like a wild animal inside of you has begun to claw at your insides, making you bleed from the inside out. 
Eddie loves you — and he has, for a long time, apparently.  
Eddie’s neighbor has seen you naked. Saw your full bottom half exposed.
You’ve managed to hurt Eddie’s feelings, again.
Eddie fucking loves you and never thought to mention it. He has for a long time.
All your tempered strings snap, that wild and stricken thing inside of you finally cutting loose.
You don’t know what you’re angry at. You’re angry at him, and yet you’re not. You’re angry at the situation, and yet you’re not. You are bitter from words withheld and you are sour from every moment that paves the road that brought you two to this very moment.
You’re just angry.
“What did you mean?” the question comes out sharply enough to make his own defiant anger fade ever so slightly as he physically flinches, “I- I need to know what the Hell you meant, Eddie.” 
Anger is metallic on your tongue. It seeps from your skin, floods the air, only further dampens everything already so heavy. 
The longer he doesn’t answer you, the more smothering the entirety of the apartment becomes.
“Just tell me. Make it make sense, because right now?” you pause for a deep and shaky breath. Your eyesight is blurry now. Eyes red rimmed with tears that will surely sear your cheeks if they find the nerve to be shed, “Right now, I don’t get it. Over and over and over again, you have reminded me that you hate me. Prior to tonight, it was safe to assume that scorning my existence was one of your favorite pastimes. And I know, I get it — everything has changed. But- But-“ 
How can anything change if you weren’t honest to begin with? 
Did anything change for him? While you were discovering and tending to sore feelings that had been festering for a while but had never seen the light of day, was he only nursing an old wound? 
“But what?” his voice drops low. His entire demeanor has dropped, cowering down before you. His head dips down, his shoulders droop with prepared rejection, you watch the man before you, the man you had just let defile you and the man you had just worshiped on your goddamn knees, turn to dust.
A shaky gasp. Wobbly knees. The blood rushes through your ears again, flushing out any noise except the two of you breathing out of sync. His deep breaths, accepting and welcoming a rejection he was so sure he was receiving. Your shallow breaths, panting and rapid and trying to just get everything to slow the fuck down.
You were right. Once the tears shed, they burn a trail of Hellish fury right down the center of each cheek. “When I say everything has changed between us, what does that mean to you?” 
He’s undressing an old wound, an open slash that seems to be unable to form a scab. You’re pressing on bruises, aching parts of you that had purpled from his neglect long ago. It’s clear as day now — the difference.
You no longer care about the embarrassment of being caught.
“What do you want it to mean?” 
“Don’t do that,” the tears fall faster now. You can’t even begin to dig into this chasm of emotions. Are you angry at him? Are you disappointed by the circumstances? Do you love him? “I want an answer — I need your answer. You promised me your honesty, so give me it. Now.” 
His eyes meet yours, and your entire world seems to fold into itself, “It… doesn’t mean much. It doesn’t change much.” 
Everything has only changed for you. 
“So it means nothing, then? You have me at your disposal, you have me on my fucking knees for you, you tell me you fucking love me, and it all means nothing?” 
You’re twisting his words and you know it. But you can’t help it, can’t stop it. 
“I never said that!” his voice is no longer low and quiet. Sudden worry creases beside his eyes as his mouth goes slack in shock, “I never said it meant nothing.” 
“But it doesn’t mean much, right?” You hate your wet cheeks. You hate the way everything in you is somehow slow-breaking, yet suddenly shattering. An unnerving juxtaposition that is drowning you and sending you reeling over and over again, “It doesn’t change much, right? Because when I said that, Eddie, I meant it – everything fucking changed for me. It wasn’t- It’s not- This isn’t just some throwaway thing to me. Not even a day ago, I thought I had to hate you with everything I had. I thought I had to hate you.”
And I don’t. Not even a little bit. Even right now, when I should. 
“Is that what you think I’m saying?” his voice is low where your voice has risen, his face calm where yours has gone stormy. 
Where you’re on fire, he’s treading still waters. The opposite dilemma that has always existed, and the one you had the nerve to see as poetic. But water meeting flames is never poetic. It never ends well. You should have seen that coming from a mile away.
“What am I supposed to think?” you also quiet your tone to match his. You wonder if the neighbors really had heard a thing. You almost hope they had, that this argument is affecting someone else’s day the way it’s affecting you, “You’re standing here, and you’re telling me it doesn’t mean much, and-“
“It doesn’t change much,” he corrects, and you’re now the one flinching at the crack in his voice. “Not for me. Not when I-“
Not when I’ve loved you for so long.
He can’t even finish his own sentence.
“So what does it change?” you throw your hands out in exasperation, “If it doesn’t change much, what has it changed?” 
There it is again — his silence, your anger. 
“Is it not enough to just know it changes something?” 
If you were stupid, you’d take his tone as pleading. You’d mistake it for begging. But you can’t. For all your fury, you can’t believe that he’s actually stooped so low as to beg for you, especially after what he’s just said. Time and time again, you had repeatedly cracked yourself wide open for him, and he’d managed to rip your heart right out of your chest with such a simply yet damning statement. The most casually cruel bit of honesty he had offered you yet tonight: that nothing changes.
“We’re back to square one,” you choke out in realization, “I- Fuck. This entire time, you weren’t honest with me.” 
He opens his mouth quickly, and for a second you believe he’ll offer an explanation that can soothe over the ache. He’ll come up with an excuse that you can buy, he’ll explain himself in a way that proves you wrong, and the sweet oblivious bliss can return. 
“No,” he says instead after careful consideration, “I wasn’t honest with you.” 
Your tears are running rampant as you only nod slowly, pressing your lips together in defeat, “Awesome. Great,” you reach up, sniffling as you swipe at your nose, still silently quiet but no longer awarding him with any display of your rage, of your hurt, of anything but your acceptance, “No, really, that’s- Cool. Nothing changes. I get it.” 
I’ve loved you for so long. 
It didn’t make sense, but you don’t have it in you to dissect it any further. He had loved you the entire time, and still set out to make you bleed. His grand admission doesn’t change a single fucking thing. 
You don’t say another word as you grab your pair of jeans up into your fist, being sure to move slowly and not in the haste every nerve in your body calls for. You need to leave – you need out of this apartment, and you need to never see Eddie Munson again. It wouldn’t be a far leap from what your friends already deal with. If the friendships take blows of damage from it, so be it-
“Where are you going?” he asks, standing stiller than a statue as he watches you.
You grab your bag, “I’m leaving. The deal’s off. Or- I don’t know. Tell them the bet’s off-”
“The bet is not off-”
“It is,” you turn to him, absolutely frozen in your resolution, “It really, really is. You can even fucking lie to them if you want, I don’t care. Figure out a way to get the money but I don’t want it. I’m done.” 
“So that’s it?” he scoffs in disbelief. When you pull on your jeans, when you sling your bag back over your shoulder and begin to walk to the counter where your phone was left, he realizes that it’s really happening. He realizes you’re truly done, “No questions? I just told you I wasn’t fucking honest, and you’re just going to walk away, not even demand I tell the tru-”
“I’m tired of pulling the truth from you,” you finally move with some of the aggression you felt, hand smacking the counter beside your phone, “If you care so much, if you love me, I shouldn’t have to beg until my knees bleed for you to actually be honest with me,” you take your phone, shoving it into your back pocket before you look at him, “I can’t keep doing this. You were always right. They’re your friends. Congratulations, you got what you always said you wanted. You won’t have to deal with me anymore – consider this a farewell from your life. I’ll make sure no one invites you to my fucking funeral.” 
You assume he grabs you due to your cruel reference to his insult from the very beginning of the night, that he’s going to fight you for that bit of your oddly calm speech. But when his hands wrap around your bicep, and you face him with those silent tears still racing, what comes out of his mouth stuns you. 
“I’ll be honest,” he is pleading, he is begging, “Stay, and I’ll tell you everything. I don’t even fucking care about the bet — we can call off, everyone else can go to Hell. I don’t care about the money, I don’t care about the bet, I just-” he pauses, and you watch the desperation building taller and taller within him, “Stay and let me explain.”
You should tell him no. You should tell him to go to Hell. If you stay and hear him out, it will only end in pain for you. You should leave.
Instead, your bag begins to slip off your shoulder. 
“You have ten minutes,” you whisper as his hand finally releases its grip, “Explain.”
SIX MONTHS EARLIER - EDDIE’S POV
If he were smart, Eddie would’ve kept his word.
He’d told them he wasn’t showing up. He’d told them he had work (not a complete lie), and that he wouldn’t make it tonight. He just hadn’t felt like drinking anymore — not since two weeks prior, when he’d gotten black out drunk while hanging out with Nancy, throwing his own personal pity party. 
Pathetic.
It wasn’t just that killer headache that had been haunting Eddie since that night. It was much more than that; it was solid and palpable regret. He’d thrown back too many beers, mixed it with some sort of wine coolers that Nancy offered him once he started to feel the buzz. All it took was just a bit too much alcohol in his system, and suddenly, his rant that Nancy had agreed to indulge him in became so much more. One moment, he was just complaining about you. And the next, he was rambling, letting less harsh words slip between the complaints, more compliments than things he wanted you to change. One wine cooler in, and he was no longer complaining about the way everyone had been fawning over you after a full six months of friendship, but instead the way that your sad eyes and pouting lips following him around a room was cosmically unfair. 
He didn’t remember much of the rest of the night, and he was glad when Nancy had given him a pitiful look over the cups of coffee she offered. 
He’d told her. He knew he’d admitted his stupid, annoying, despicable crush on you to her. Probably whined about the way you and Harrington had clearly had something going on. Definitely spoke too much about how badly he wanted to experience your gentle hand in his calloused one, or to feel your arms wrap around his neck in greeting rather than daggers from your glare every time he entered a room. Hell, he’s sure there was a good thirty minute period amongst the fuzzy memories where he’d sat on the edge of tears as he continued to mumble about how he wasn’t good enough for you.
Nancy Wheeler, his best friend, finally knew. Six fucking months of keeping it under wraps, and Eddie Munson had finally slipped up.
And she clearly hasn’t forgotten as Eddie had prayed she would every single night as she’s the one to answer his knocks on Steve’s door, grinning with the hidden knowledge.
She’d texted him with one last plea for him to show up. Insisted everyone was here. Went so far as to make him a list, and made sure to add your name at the end. It had been phrased like an afterthought on the screen, but he knew her too well. He knew Nancy purposefully mentioned you.
“Munson! Finally! It took you long enough,” she squeals, clearly already halfway to drunk before she quiets down, “And you said you weren’t coming. Wonder what, or who, changed your mind.” 
“Fuck off.” 
It had been a bad day. Work, classes, a phone call with Wayne that had just left Eddie disheartened and terribly homesick. It was selfish, but the thought of seeing you in passing tonight, even if you did seem to dislike him just as he had intended, made it all a bit more bearable. 
Coming home. Seeing you felt like coming home, even if you’d slammed the front door on his face.
He follows Nancy down the hall, a pit growing in the bottom of his stomach, heavy as ever. He shouldn’t have even wanted to see you. The last time he had seen you, you’d been out for blood, blatantly ruining a date he’d managed to bag with Chrissy Cunningham. Chrissy, who never gave him the time of day in high school. Chrissy, who was clearly set on using him as a rebound during yet another break from Jason. Chrissy, who’s only flaw wasn't just the fact that she wasn’t you.
“Eddie, my man!” Argyle greets Eddie the moment he enters the living room. He’s lounging on the couch, Jonathan to his right and a space where Nancy clearly had occupied now empty. 
Eddie nods, still feeling the week weighing him down. No sight of you yet, “Hey, man.” 
He just wanted to see you. One glimpse, preferably before you’ve caught sight of him, and he’d be fine. He’d learned to live with those fleeting moments the last six months, he could keep it up for just a bit longer.
He’d get over you eventually. Even if it killed him.
He had to give his plan time to work. So far, he’d done well, easily offering you a cold shoulder and nothing more after that first night. It wasn’t easy — he doesn’t think anyone would find the task of being cool towards someone as radiant as you easy — but he’d done it. Brick by brick, his wall of invincibility was standing tall and strong between you two. It was safer this way, he had to remind himself. It was better to run off of brief glances of your smiles and laughter never directed at him than to risk anything more. He’d only disappoint you, or you’d magically disappoint him, and it would end in bloodshed. Someone like you, someone so good and kind and easy to gravitate towards, would leave Eddie broken beyond damage. 
You didn’t go for guys like Eddie. Steve had made that clear since day one.
Eddie takes the loveseat as Nancy returns to Jonathan’s side. He tries to make it subtle, the way he twists his head to glance around the room as he removes his jacket, eyes roaming until he finds you. In the kitchen, with Steve and Robin, tense back telling him you’d already noticed his arrival.
So much for seeing you smile.
He tries to keep up with the conversation going on. Argyle and Jonathan are having some sort of debate about aliens, nothing short of heated and passionate, and he’d normally be jumping in without hesitation. But his eyes can’t stop flickering to the kitchen and each time, he can see you downing even more alcohol. He knows you don’t like him, but did you hate him that much?
“You’re awfully quiet,” Nancy leans over to whisper as Jonathan grows in volume about another branch of a conspiracy theory.
“Just tired,” he flatly replies. He’s suddenly itching to get his hands onto some alcohol of his own. Fuck the lessons he should’ve learned a few weeks ago. Fuck his regret in confiding in Nancy.
“Was work rough?”
He hums pathetically in response, eyes glued to the kitchen still. To you.
Nancy’s eyes finally follow his focus, “Have you… I don’t know, ever tried just talking to her?”
He snaps from his daze at that, head turning quickly to Nancy, “I talk to her all the time.” 
“You do not.”
“I do too.”
“Never nicely,” she points out, narrowing her eyes, “You’re like a little boy on the playground, tugging on her pigtails until she figures it ou-“ 
“I don’t want her to figure it out,” he cuts off the assumption, eyes widening in horror at the thought, “Christ, Nance. I thought I made that clear when I ended up shitfaced on your couch.” 
Nancy softens. She can see what’s happening here, see every dampening thought that weighs Eddie down. He might not remember his drunken rambles, but she does. 
“The only thing you made clear is what a spectacular ass you’re making out of yourself,” her words hold no bite, only truth, “Who cares what Steve said that night? He was drunk.” 
“So was I,” Eddie’s eyes are back on you, palms running up his outer thighs until he curls them to fists by his hips, “I was drunk when I talked to you about her. Forget about it.” 
Surprisingly, his stubborn best friend leaves it be. Puts the pointless argument to rest.
Eddie’s feelings can’t rest, though. 
Every night, he tells himself it’ll all go away. The distance will make his heart grow harder, and he’ll eventually be able to wash himself of you one of these days. And every night, all the feelings you’ve sprouted inside of him only teem their way higher, up into his throat and choking him with every last breath before he falls asleep. He can’t forget those first few weeks, the way you seemed to think his coldness was a phase. You’d tried so desperately to seek him out at every function, sparked so many failed conversations with him that left him to burn. Every smile you’d offered him during that time, he’d taken for granted.
Even last week, when you’d interrupted his date, he’d let himself relish in the memory of your attention. Pathetic. 
Had you been jealous? Had you just been spiteful, finally giving him a taste of his own medicine? He couldn’t decide, wouldn’t let himself linger on the reasoning. But he’d remembered your touch, could still feel it scarring his skin wherever your palm of fingertips had rested as you’d scared off Chrissy. He’d even hesitated in the shower that night, pausing for a moment before washing over the shoulder you’d gripped when you’d first approached their table and embarrassed him without care. 
He deserved your spite. 
And he deserves to have to overhear the conversation you’re currently having in the kitchen. You’re going on and on about all the men you’ve had dates with, detailing out every one night stand for Steve and Robin who listen with eager ears.
It makes his stomach churn and twist sharply. Each new man you bring to your roster makes his throat burn with jealousy, plain and simple. And he knows it written all over his face when Nancy leans over and puts a hand on his knee, giving him a concerned look. 
Even the change of topic between Argyle and Jonathan on goddamn Bigfoot can’t overtake the sharp cut of your bragging. 
“I’ve never seen your eyes so green, Eddie.” 
He’s about to snipe back that his eyes are brown, and be unnecessarily cruel from his sour mood, when he realizes what she means.
“I’m not jealous,” he lies through his teeth.
“You very much are.” 
He doesn’t have it in him to bicker back and forth about this again. Not about you, and not with Nancy, “What does it matter? Like I said, me and her? Never gonna happen.”
He had said that. He remembers that, at least, from his drunken confession. He’s sure he reiterated that point several times once he’d made it past the point of coherency. 
“She’s lying,” Nancy casually whispers, pulling her hand back, “She- Us girls talk, you know? Just… she’s lying.” 
“I went on a date with Chrissy. It doesn’t matter.” 
And she has no clue how fucking hung up on her I am. She’ll never know if I have anything to do with it.
“You can keep saying that,” Nancy glances, making sure their other two friends on the couch are still too deep in conversation to listen in, “But we both know that’s not true.” 
Unsurprising. Even if Nancy hadn’t listened to him cry that night about all his miserable yearning, all his unrequited feelings born out of a mess he got himself into, she would have known. Eddie has tried to guard himself when it comes to you, but there’s some times his leashed affection can’t help but seep out. 
Whenever you stumble on sidewalks beside him, his arms and hands are the first to fly out. Whenever the group has gone out to bars altogether, he watches you like a hawk, almost daring the men surrounding you to disrespect you. Whenever your birthday came around, he’d bought that damn gift card to his favorite coffee shop, all because he saw you frequent it twice. Although, to be fair, he’d made Harrington be the messenger there. He wouldn’t have been able to look you in your eye, wouldn’t have been able to put up the bitter persona on a day that should be special to you. He didn’t want to ruin your birthday, so he’d simply sat on the sidelines. Let everyone else go out and celebrate with you. Let everyone else pour enough affection into your cup, even when he wishes his own could have been the final drops to cause it to overfill. 
He had to tread carefully. It’d be too easy — to let himself pour out all these silly feelings and meaningless attraction. One wrong move, and he’d cause his own undoing. His own destruction. It doesn’t matter if it would be by your hand; he’d only have himself to blame at the end of the day.
He’s lost in thought, still itching for a drink, when Nancy is suddenly standing over him. “We’re going out for a smoke, you in?” 
He shakes his head numbly. His mind is far away now, getting lost in all that he’s done wrong, all that he can’t have. 
He’s homesick. He’s watched the way you’ve interacted with Robin and Steve the entire night, and he’s goddamn homesick for a home that he’ll never hold the keys to. 
“You sure, man?” Argyle asks him, wiggling his brows, “I brought the good shit.” 
Numbing his mind with drugs. It’s tempting.
“I’m good,” he reaffirms, still speaking in monotone. He doesn’t have the energy to put up a brave face, too focused on his heavy chest and that miserable pit in his gut still. 
And everyone leaves. He’s sure there’s something poetic for his stormy mind to pick up on there, as he watches his friends gather without him and exit to the outside, but he’s more focused on a miniscule detail.
You’re not with them.
Meaning you’re still in the kitchen.
And God, he really should know better. He should stay planted in his seat and he should sit in his misery until they all return. Only trouble can come from not doing so. But then his body moves to its own accord, fueled by something wickedly cruel and terribly homesick as he grabs one of the bottles of beer off the coffee table. It’s Nancy’s, he’s sure of it. Her lipstick stains the opposite side of the rim he takes a swig from. The beer has long since gone lukewarm, but beggars can’t be choosers. He clears his throat as the bitter lingers on his tongue.
He should know better.
But he doesn’t. He really, really doesn’t as he enters the kitchen. You’re on your phone as he stands in the doorway, and there’s no time to hide what you’d been glancing over.
A dating app.
You spin to face him, and he imagines a world where your eyes land on him and light up. Something akin to that first night, to those first few weeks. Where you look at him with purpose, and he sees relief flood your irises rather than irritation or fear. 
No such luck. He only has himself to blame.
He can’t think of anything else to say, so like an idiot, he gestures vaguely with the bottle of beer towards your phone, “Those apps fucking suck.” 
That jealousy is still gnawing at him. Hateful, painful, reckless. 
You look down at your phone for a second, and click to exit whatever messages you’d been on. And then you look back up at him.
“You’ve used them in the past?” you question him, but he’s still stuck on all the recounts of your escapades he’d overheard tonight. Whether or not they were true didn’t matter. All he sees when he closes his eyes is you, with other men. You, looking at someone else with purpose, relieved eyes awarded to someone more worthy.
He’s lucky he can choke out a short, “Nope,” and make it not sound strangled. 
“Okay,” your attention returns to your phone screen, and Eddie’s returns to his internal battle.
He’s jealous. So goddamn jealous it’s insufferable. It’s not your fault – he chose to push you away, he chose to lash out like a child for his own sanity and his own safety. You’d ruin him; you’ve already ruined him without even trying. If he gave up on the act, on this carefully thought out plan, he’d be beyond leftover rubble of a man. He’d be gone beyond recognition, reduced to ash and smoke. A nameless, forgotten whisper of dust that people would only point to and say, see? Look at that. That’s what becomes of you when you never learn. 
He’s pined enough in his lifetime after girls like you. Girls who were too good for him. He’d done it with Chrissy, and it was still causing him nothing but trouble. 
That burden didn’t hang over Chrissy, or over you. It was all Eddie’s own fault. Neither of you could help that he wasn’t good enough; it wasn’t either of your jobs to fix him or lower your standards for him. You’d even been kind, you’d even nearly fallen into that trap. 
It was for the better. All of it was for the better this way. 
And yet the jealousy remains. The anger still thrives between his ribs, and begs for release. 
“Why are you even still on them?” he should think over his words more carefully as they begin to roll off his tongues. He knows he’s in the wrong before he even continues, “I heard you’ve been having a shit time with the guys on there – quite the opposite of what you’ve been telling Harrington tonight, might I point out.” 
Each word is sharpened so intentionally, glinting from raking against that anger inside of him. You don’t deserve their prick. Really, he should just be comforting you the way the others do – how Robin surely was, how Steve must be. 
But it’s part of the plan. So he tampers down the jealousy and he feeds into the anger, lets it consume him. Because making you hate him is easier than letting you like him. It’s easier to watch the one you can’t have sneer at you like the enemy than let them smile at you like you’re just a friend. 
“I-” you falter in your words, and he decides to straighten his back, takes a deep breath as he slips the mask on effortlessly. He hates how easy it’s become. He hates how quickly he turns everything with you into a fight, “You win some, you lose some. It’s the nature of the app.” 
Sometimes, it’s like a game. And he can pretend that your hatred, your distaste, is also all a facade. Like the both of you are two sides of the same coin. A playful banter rather than an actual argument between two people who can’t even call themselves friends. When he looks at it like that, blinded by his delusion, it makes the ache dull. Sends it away for a few fleeting seconds, convinces himself he really can carry on this way. 
“You haven’t made it sound like you’re losing at all, tonight. I nearly started a drinking game with Nance where we took a swig every time you said you managed to pull another ‘fuck ‘em and leave ‘em’. Quite the boy count you’ve got there, player,” he forces a grin as he leans on the counter, watching his words get under your skin exactly as he had intended. 
You’re cute like this. Clearly drunk, getting flustered. He revels in the way your face physically scrunches in annoyance, the way he can watch you gear up to fight fire with fire. A sick, twisted game of cat and mouse that always can entertain him in the moment and haunt him at night. 
“You’re bluffing. You couldn’t hear me from all the way over there.”
He wonders, for a second, if you’d caught him staring at any point. He wonders if you’d even care.
“We could.”
“No, you couldn’t.”
“Yes, we could.”
“You’re lying.” 
You cross your arms, and he can’t help but watch the way they push your chest up. He can’t help but ponder on how much better it would all feel if this were really playful banter. 
He has to refrain from physically shaking the thought from his mind. 
It’s for the better. 
He narrows his eyes, he grips onto the anger again, that hidden jealousy. He should know better. He should stop it. The words even feel heavy on his tongue, terribly forced. Because his anger isn’t at you. 
“I’m lying? You’re the one who’s been telling Stevie nothing but lies tonight,” and oh, how ironic, for the liar to be calling out someone’s little white lies, “Why do you need to even lie about all that, anyways? It’s not like the truth would be any more pathetic than the act you’re putting up,” the words come out a bit easier when imagines the barrel of the gun pointed at himself, as if he were speaking so casually cruelly into a mirror rather than at you, “Everyone strikes ou-”
He’s clearly struck a nerve. And it aches, but he reminds himself that that’s the point. That’s his goal.
 “I’m pathetic? Just last week, you lied to the group. You were trying to avoid being where I’d be and told them you had to walk your neighbor’s dog.” 
He wasn’t trying to avoid you. He was trying to avoid Nancy after his entire drunken confession fiasco. 
“I did!” he continues to lie. Even with no one to show for, he piles up his lies high. Buries himself beneath them, beneath his pathetic act and worthless reasons. It’s probably for the best that you had assumed that he was avoiding you. 
“Your apartment has a strict no pet policy, Eddie.” 
The act cracks for a moment as he freezes. Why did you know about his apartment’s pet policy? 
“How do you know that?”
It can’t be because you care, or even get curious about him. He’s done everything in his power to cause the exact opposite, to make you be repulsed by him and to run the other way if you can help it. 
“I didn’t, but Nancy did,” He doesn’t even react to the roll of your eyes, unable to get riled up as he usually would at that. It clicks for him; it makes sense, because Nancy had stormed down his door not even a day later, “It’s all I had to hear about the entire night. How she wishes we could get along, how she hates when you lie to her. Thanks for that, by the way.” 
Eddie does feel guilty about that. He doesn’t mean for his own self-destructive behavior to leach out to his friends, or even you. His goal has always been to make it so that when he’s not around, he’s not even an afterthought to you. But selfishly, part of him preens at the idea of you being reminded of him, of you thinking of him when he’s not in the room with you. It’s a conundrum. It’s almost deadlier than his other option. 
“It’s not my fuckin’ fault you go out with my friends,” he grumbles like a damn child, almost pouting in his guilt. There’s another selfish sliver of him that’s also upset at that – upset at the fact everyone else gets to bloom with your friendship and positive attention, but not him. Once again, it’s his own doing. He really shouldn’t be angry at you about it. 
“And it’s not my fault that you don’t.” 
Times like these make him want to give it all up. He has to physically tense his body, tick his jaw and bite his tongue to avoid throwing the entire act to the side. He wants nothing more than to grab you by your shoulders and shake you, scream that sometimes it is your fault. But you don’t know it – you can’t read his mind, see past his intentions. 
You don’t know what Steve had so generously reminded him of that very first night. 
“Whatever. Why are you lying to Steve?” his voice is devoid of all emotion despite the storm brewing inside of him. He can’t even blame it on alcohol – he wishes he could, but his tolerance to beer can handle the single sip he’s taken. He crosses his arms, wrapping them around his body, trying to protect that terrible vulnerability only he’s aware of. When your position mirrors his, he wonders for a moment if you’re also feeling it. 
But you’ve been drinking. This entire conversation, every emotion, can be blamed on that. You’re luckier than Eddie. 
“I’m not lying.”
“You are. With Steve, and with me at this very moment.” 
He lets a reaction at his own irony slip through for a brief second, eyebrows furrowing as the voice inside him screams hypocrite! Hypocrite! Hypocrite!
He wishes he could pretend to be oblivious to why he can’t stop bringing Steve up, but he knows better. He can bury the jealousy alive, but it still bites all the same. 
“How the fuck do you even know how my dating life is going? We aren’t exactly friends. Did Robin tell you? Did Steve tell you?” 
We aren’t exactly friends. 
He should relish that confirmation that his plan is working, that you truly don’t see him as a friend, but it just fucking stings. He swallows hard physically, as if it can help him swallow down the truth any better, but it does nothing for him. The truth only continues to choke him up. His tongue has momentarily frozen over in his mouth as he tries to push past the painful reminder and wrap up this conversation. He feels it, that sharp burn of an unattended wound, and he realizes at the wrong moment that whether or not he keeps you at an arm's length, bloodshed will always occur. 
At least this way, he tells himself it’s protecting himself. This way, the knife isn’t pointed at his own heart. 
“You’re right. We aren’t friends,” the words are poison on his tongue. They taste of dirt and rust, like a grave that screams to be dug up but he has no shovel. He’d tossed it once he’d sealed the tomb, like a fool, “But Rob and Nance are, and Nance and me are. See where I’m going with that one?” 
At least he wasn’t lying to you for a brief moment. Nance had told him. He’d throw you that bone, at least. 
“Well-” and with your own pause, you seemingly return the favor. You’re handing him yet another opportunity on a silver platter; exposing an insecurity that he should let live and let die, but he won’t for the sake of the wall he has bled to put up between you two, “You say that as if Nancy and I aren’t friends.” 
“Are you?” 
He’ll regret that taunt for the rest of his days. Two simple words, and he’s damned himself. The conversation that follows, about Instagram and followers and social standards of friendship, doesn’t even matter to him. It’s just a routine. Constant knives, clashing swords of words, lie after lie piling up with the bile in his throat as he shoots for kills. He hands over reason after reason for you to resent him, and makes sure that each punch lands. Ignores the ache, the one billowing in his knuckles as if each subtle insult he tosses your way doesn’t bruise his innards all the same way. By the end of the back and forth, it should be enough, for both of you. He’s accomplished the same thing he always sets out to do with every conversation: he pisses you off, putting another inch in that stretch between you two. 
But then you turn your back on him. And he deserves it. God, he deserves it. But he’s still full of bad ideas tonight, the awfulness of the last few days still suffocating him, and so he makes another decision to regret. He walks up behind you.
You open your phone, and he sees it. You’re on the dating app again, and the screen flashes with the face of your latest contender. 
He knows that face. He schools his face to remain even, but he fucking knows that face. 
The bartender at his local haunt. The only other person besides Nancy who had ever seen Eddie so miserable over you. He had been drinking alone that night, and the whiskey had him pouring out his guts to the poor guy. Slurred words of the girl who had slipped between his fingers, of the one who got away, of you. 
And that same bartender had been the one to sympathize with Eddie, claiming he understood. That he knew that feeling – dating around and doing anything in your power to get the girl you truly want off your mind. He said he had one of his own. He’d told Eddie that his pain-riddled speeches helped him make up his mind, that he was going to go after the girl he really wanted, that Eddie should do the same. 
Was this bartender your ex-boyfriend? Had the two of them been discussing the exact same girl?
Bad decisions. Over, and over, and over. It all comes to a rise within Eddie – not just the anger, but the jealousy and the hurt and the goddamn envy of the man on the screen. He hates the bartender, he hates himself, he hates the world at this point.
He tells himself he should add you to that list. But he doesn’t. He can’t. 
And it all spirals out of control before he can prove that to himself. Words grow sharper, small kindles of tension between the two of you finally explode to full blown flames, and he’s suddenly saying things he doesn’t mean. Things he’ll linger on for the days and weeks, the months to come. 
“You’re so dense, you never realize that you’re not wanted, Not by those assholes, not here-” 
He’s mid-lie, one finger on the trigger of the gun he assumed was aimed at his own chest, when it finally happens. A snap within both of you. Timed perfectly with the glass that shatters against the wall beside his head. 
Eddie learns two things that night. 
One, half of his plan worked. He’s succeeded. You hated Eddie Munson’s guts, and instead of him being content in his success, he’s sick to his stomach. It doesn’t bandage the wound inside of him, doesn’t pack away cotton nor cauterize the bleeding. It only worsens it. Widens it, impossibly so. He swears shards of that broken glass fly right into his unsuspecting chest, even if Nancy doesn’t find a trace on him when she comes back inside to see the aftermath. You hate him, he’s proven his point. He has proven himself to be the worst possible version of himself, the most unlovable man he had always seen in the mirror now residing in him staunchly enough that every single one of his friends sees it. 
He’d done it. He’d diminished any chance he had ever held of being friends with you. And he thought that, without a doubt, that meant he’d diminished any disastrous chance of letting you close enough to risk the chance of any more of his feelings getting involved. He thought it would have meant that he’d done it – he’d protected himself, and in some sick twisted way you, from inevitable bloodshed. 
But blood had still been shed. Even if his friends were only cleaning up broken glass in the kitchen, he could still see the stain of red across the floor and walls from you and him. He was bleeding out for you, but he had just driven the knife in deep enough that you would never return the feeling. There was no world where you would be bleeding out for him, only because of him. 
The second revelation comes a bit later in the night.
Closer to midnight, hours after the fight, when Eddie finds himself alone as per usual. He stumbles to his usual bar, thankful for the late hours, fully prepared to get so fucking wasted he can’t remember his own name. He’d wish to not remember your face, especially when he had spewed such hateful intent your way, but he knows there’s not a single brand or amount of whiskey out there that can cleanse him of that. Your name is just another ghost to add to the lineup. You’ll haunt him until his dying day. And he deserves that. 
But then, when he walks into the bar, he sees the bartender. 
The same man who had stood you up just the night before. The same man Eddie simply couldn’t understand. He was clearly on a date, a nice girl sat at the table across from him, laughing at every word he said. Eddie remembers their conversation, although a bit hazy. 
“I think you’re onto something, man. Some girls are just… irreplaceable. I’ve got a girl like that of my own – prettiest eyes you’ll ever see, a smile that could cure cancer – and… you know what? I think we should both go for it. Give up on the girls who could never compare.” 
He wants to vomit. The bastard had even poured a round of shots on the house, had fucking cheered with Eddie before throwing back the alcohol with him in the promise of moving onto the girls who matter. 
He had said cheers to discarding you. Brushing off you. To you being one of the girls who could never compare. 
Eddie’s vision goes red, and he knows half of the blame falls on himself. He’d been the reason this asshole stood you up. He had already been the reason for your pain tonight before he’d even said a word to you. His self hatred has never burned so deeply, so viciously.
But you can’t punch yourself. And so instead, Eddie doesn’t hold back when he approaches the table and lands his right knuckles right on the bastard’s cheek bone. Even goes in for a second punch. He would have gotten in a third punch, but the bartender hits back. Not as hard as Eddie, fists fueled by self-defense rather than ravaging guilt and crippling self-hatred, but enough to get deter him until security could gather both men up.
It’s in the alleyway that he has his second revelation. At the hands of the man who had just hurt you. It was like looking in a mirror. Eddie nearly does finally vomit as he leans against the brickwall, security a few paces away, ready to file a police report. But then, the bastard still manages to somehow be better than Eddie, throwing up a hand to stop them from dialing for the cops. 
“Don’t,” is all he says, leveling a stare when Eddie’s eyes fill with tears.
“Really?” Eddie cocks an eyebrow, pushing his luck. He needs someone to punish him. He needs to be thrown in a cell for the night, to be treated as the degenerate he truly was, “I just rearranged your fucking face and-”
“Why’d you punch me?” the bartender spits out some blood, nose crooked, “You- You’re a fucking regular, dude. How’d I piss in your cheerios?” 
Eddie’s feeling vulnerable. All his actual feelings boiling and burning in the back of his throat, begging to be released. He doesn’t need a drop of whiskey this time to be honest. 
“The girl,” Eddie rasps, tears threatening to spill as he pictures your face again, “I told you about the girl. The one no one else compared to.” 
The bartender’s eyes widen, “Jesus, fuc- are you telling me that we were talking about the same fucking girl? I- Vanessa told me she wasn’t seeing anyone else, I can’t believe she fucking lie-”
“Not her,” Fuck Vanessa, Eddie thinks bitterly, almost laughing. He has no right to say his next words, but he does, and they cause a pain worse than even the most nightmarish hangovers he’s ever experienced, “My girl is the one you stood up for her.”
You weren’t his girl. You never would be his girl. 
The bartender only looks more confused, and Eddie’s anger flares a bit more at the thought of him talking to more girls beyond you. The man before him had had everything Eddie wanted: he had had you. And just like Eddie, he had fucked it all up. It was easy to misdirect his anger in the moment. 
He says your name out loud, a searing iron in his throat that makes it come out garbled and strangled. Some recognition falls upon the man’s face. 
“Oh… her.” 
Eddie doesn’t hold back, “Her? That’s all you have to fucking say? You stood her up, you fucking- Jesus Christ, go burn in Hell,” He’s being irrational. He doesn’t care, “Call the cops on me. Tell them to let me rot in a fucking cell. I deserve it – but so do you. That girl… that… her. She’s one in a fucking million, she’s a thousand times better than whatever girl you have waiting on you inside, and you couldn’t see that. You’re a goddamn dick.” 
No one makes the move for the call. The bartender just shakes his head again, being far too patient. Eddie opens his mouth, ready to scream now as he demands they punish him. Make him pay for his crimes. Not just the punches, but everything he had broken tonight.
He broke you tonight. He deserves to burn in Hell far more than the man before him. 
“I knew you were in love with her, but-”
Eddie cuts him off, “I’m not in love with her.”
He hates the look he receives. It’s the same pity that Nancy now looks at him with. That same hidden judgment, like everyone else knows something that he doesn’t. 
“You may hate to hear it,” the bartender is choosing his words very carefully as he swipes in a contrasting carelessness at the blood pouring out of one of his nostrils, “But you don’t throw punches like that for a girl you’re not in love with. So I suggest you mind your business, and if she is as valuable as you keep going on about, you tell her rather than punching the dude he just serves you fucking alcohol.” 
He doesn’t even have to close his eyes to see you anymore. The image of you is clear as day, even with his eyes open. You, broken and vulnerable and full of hatred for him. Just as he had intended. 
Success tastes metallic and bitter. Eddie finally empties what little he had in his stomach onto that concrete alleyway.
He doesn’t leave the wall. Not when the bartender goes back inside with one of the bar’s bouncers, not when the remaining bouncer eyes him and nervously steps forward, not when they return with a paper declaring him banned from the bar. 
He can’t move. All he sees is you. He hasn’t drank more than that one pitiful swig of beer at Steve’s, but he feels like his world has gone incoherent all the same. 
He fucked up. 
He crinkles that piece of paper harshly once he’s properly left alone in the alleyway, angry enough that it tears a bit from his force. It doesn’t phase him; he didn’t intend on returning anyways. He carries it with him the entire way home, regardless, rolls it between his palms until it’s gone soft with the sweat of his hands. 
It’s for the better. He fucked up, but it’s for the better. 
He tosses the wadded ball into the trash when he gets home. Goes through the numb motions of taking off his shoes, tossing his jacket on the counter rather than the hook he’d put up for it, and leaves his bike’s keys beside it. Eventually, he makes his way to the bathroom, brushing his teeth but never once glancing up in the mirror. As a matter of fact, he avoided every single reflective surface in his apartment that night. 
He still sees your face, broken and teary, as he turns off his bedroom light and lays on his mattress that night. It doesn’t matter how many times he repeats it to himself, reminds himself over and over, the mantra of it being for the better doesn’t work. It can’t break through. All because of a pathetic revelation.
Eddie learns that night that he is, in fact, in love with you. And it doesn’t matter, because you hate his fucking guts, just as he had intended. 
You don’t make a single move once Eddie breathlessly finishes his explanation. Not even to breathe. 
He’s been in love with you since that night at Steve’s. 
You’d known that he had punched the bartender that night. You’d known that he had been banned from his usual bar that night. But you hadn’t known the entire truth. You couldn’t have ever imagined it, ever pieced it together, until now. 
And you don’t know if that speaks more on you and how dense you’ve been this entire time, or on Eddie and how dishonest he’s been this entire time. 
“God, I’ve loved you for so long, and I’ll never be fucking worthy.”
It suddenly makes sense. At a sickening and sudden pace, it clicks into place. 
“Eddie, I-” 
“Don’t,” he stops you, looking you directly in your eyes. You nearly shrink under his attention. Your fury is gone; you just feel empty, “You… You don’t need to say it back. You don’t need to say anything – the bet’s off. I’m not being honest to stop you from leaving,” he admits, every single wall crumbling at both of your feet, “I’m just being honest because you deserve it. I should have told you that night. I should- I actually should have never done any of this. Any of it.” 
You remember the girl you once were. In a bar, surrounded by strangers and new friends, with tunnel vision for the boy in front of you. You remember that feeling of coming home, the way you ached for him to let you in and had been fooled for one night that it was possible. 
A year later, and he was letting you in, too late. 
“Why?” your voice cracks. You should just pick up your bag and go, but you can’t. Not until you stick the final stitches into the wound, seal up this hurt once and for all. For you and for Eddie. “Why would you… Why would you do that? Why would you set out to make me hate you?” 
“Because I didn’t deserve you,” he says it like a simple fact, like it doesn’t shatter you apart, “Because I knew if I didn’t create the rift and kept letting you in, I’d fall in love with you. At first, I thought I needed you to hate me to prevent it. Figured you’d be stronger than me about it. If I made you hate me, I was… Honestly, I was saving myself. I’d tell myself it was about saving you, but it wasn’t. I was being fucking selfish.”
You nod silently, swallowing down tears. Tears for what could have been, tears for what you still want so badly that it aches. 
“All because of Steve making…” you trail off, head trying to wrap around all the honesty he had just presented you with, “Making some off-handed, drunk comment.” 
It was Eddie’s turn to silently nod. To swallow hard and flutter his eyes shut so you couldn’t see the hurt lit within them. 
“You said you hated me,” you’re thinking out loud more than you’re properly speaking to him at this point, voice broken and soft, hands fighting the urge to reach out for him. Even after it all. Every reminder of what he had done for you, and now having the pitiful reason behind it all, still couldn’t break what had formed here tonight. Everything has still changed for you, “When I said everything changes, I meant the hate – I didn’t want to hate you anymore.” 
“I know,” he bites his lip, as if he’s trying to hold back any careless words. Words that might hurt you, but not for the same reasons as they used to, “That’s why… not much has changed. I never hated you. God knows I wanted to. I told myself I had to hate you, because if I didn’t hate you, I’d love you. And I couldn’t do that again – I couldn’t handle falling in love with someone I couldn’t have. I knew I wouldn’t survive loving you when you’d never love me back. It wouldn’t be fair… to either of us.” 
“But you did it anyway,” you almost laugh at the awfulness of it all, terribly irony stacking up between you, “You fell in love with me, you said it yourself. You… you loved me.”
“Love,” he corrects, eyes now wide open, “I love you. It’s not- It’s not some feeling in the past tense. You should still hate me, because I still love you.” 
He’s right, you finally realize. You should hate him for all of this. 
“And all of this counted on the first part of your plan working,” he has to take a step closer, whether it be subconscious or due to how low your voice has dropped. The physical distance erased aches. Splinters each of your bones and all of your emotions, “Which you never even asked me if it worked, even now. You just assumed.” 
He takes a deep, brave breath before he quietly asks you, “Did it work?”
You both already know the answer now, “No.”
But it changes nothing. You know that, he knows that. It’s just as he said – the point of saying it out loud no longer has anything to do with repairing what’s been damaged just tonight. You’re both being honest only because you both deserve it. You both deserve to finally close this tomb. 
You don’t know if you’ll ever be able to close it, though. Not truly. Not properly. 
“I can’t stay,” you whisper, “I still… I still need to leave.” 
Especially now. 
“I know you do,” he responds. He’s gentle, understanding. 
It doesn’t stop the tear you see break from his lower lashes. He doesn’t draw any attention to it, doesn’t so much as move to clear it from his cheek. As if he’s scared if he does, you’ll notice it if you hadn’t already.
“The bet’s still off,” you continue, unable to meet his gaze as you pick up your bag once more. 
“I know it is.” 
He doesn’t try to stop you this time. And part of you, this time, wishes he would have as you slip back out the front door of apartment 2C and let the door shut with a quiet click behind you.
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maeby-cursed · 5 months
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KISS ME, TRY TO FIX IT…
𓂃 COULD YOU JUST TRY TO LISTEN ?
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a/n: starting a new series of songfics ! this one is very obviously inspired by sad, beautiful, tragic, so you can see where this might be going. enjoy the results of my brainrot ♡ (also, i’ve never written for gojo before, please have mercy)
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✧ synopsis: you’ve been waiting for satoru gojo for ten years, but there’s no trace of the man you fell in love with when you were sixteen years old. it’s time to let go, but he might not want to.
✧ pairings: satoru gojo x fem!reader
✧ wc: 2k
✧ rating: angst. so much of it, angst to drown in. might get suggestive at some points.
✧ cw: mentions of drinking, of the great jjk tragedy of 2006 and its aftermath, implied cheating, gojo may be ooc, toxic relationship ??
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An ice-cold wind blows through the window as you wait.
It’s not even December yet but it’s already snowing.
Soft snowflakes the size of stars, far away in their firmament, enter your living room. When they land on the sofa, they dissolve, leaving in their wake thousands of specks of water that look disturbingly like tears.
It doesn't matter. You don't think he's going to notice anyway.
It's been ten long years of waiting. Ten long years of fighting, of fixing what's broken and denying that it's ever been broken.
It's over. Let winter freeze everything in its path.
When Satoru walks in through the door, you hesitate for a moment. A moment of madness when you see his hair, as white as the snowfall that has invaded your home. Just a moment when you see him in his burgundy turtleneck sweater, his tight-fitting coat. One single moment when you recognize the cold in his pink cheeks.
But it's all over when you meet his crystalline eyes. The fault is theirs.
"Is the window broken again?" he asks, dropping his keys on the entryway’s table.
The window has been broken since September.
You nod and he grunts, running a hand over his face.
"I'll call someone tomorrow, although you could have said something," he says. This is your fault. Of course.
You keep your eyes fixed on the snow. From the living room you can see the sidewalk across the street, covered in a blanket of white that sparkles under the street lamps. It's so painfully beautiful it makes you nostalgic.
You and Satoru moved into this house three years ago, when he got his teaching position, and you can't quite get over the fact that it's time to say goodbye.
You've spent three years of solstices here. You've seen the sidewalks covered with dead leaves, with thousands of little flowers that broke the pavement in their wake. But it’s never snowed. 
It’s not fair, not one bit.
Satoru says no more. He goes to your room and undresses; he replaces his street clothes with a black outfit that seems very appropriate for the occasion. Since you’ve known him, he always takes off his glasses when he crosses the hall of your building, but for once, you wish he'd put them back on. 
When he returns, his hair is dripping over his forehead. You hadn't even noticed that he was taking a shower. 
But he hasn't noticed that your bedside table is empty, either; that your slippers are missing, that there's a seeping coldness in the hearth of your house, and it's not coming from the window.
"What's for dinner?" he asks, plopping down on the couch with his cell phone in his hand.
You get up.
9:26 p.m., November 8. This is where it ends.
"I don't know. I'm going out to dinner," you say.
He doesn’t even bother to look up.
"Hmm, where are you going? Are you bringing something back or should I order myself a pizza?"
It's painful to watch as nothing seems to touch him. He’s infinite — always infinite.
"I'm going to a work friend's house."
"The one with the lovely curly hair and those pretty hazel eyes?"
Christ.
"No. I'm moving in with Rhea. Dark-eyed, blonde, leggy."
"Hmm, how nice."
A moment passes where he just keeps staring at the screen, and you despair.
"Satoru."
"What's up, baby?"
"I'm moving."
At last – at last – he looks up. In his eyes you see nothing; two blue marbles that have sworn you two to an unjust fate.
"You're moving out? Why?"
Where to begin? Because you have been loving a man destined to save everything and everyone for a decade, because you have been trying to fill a void that is not your size for eight years, because the windows are broken and the bed is cold and Satoru arrives several nights smelling of anisette and the perfume of another, because you don't want to live looking at the Strongest, the possessor of the Six Eyes. Because you thought that in some hidden corner Satoru Gojo was still there, and he isn’t.
"Because it's killing me to live like this.” You settle for that as your explanation and try to keep your stare unwavering.
"Like this how?" he questions, suddenly irritated. "In a luxurious house?" He gestures around him with the cell phone in his hand. "Comfortably, with your dream job? Knowing you'll never have to worry about money?"
"No, Satoru. Like this, without you loving me."
That chills him to the bone.
"Of course I love you."
"Do you? Do you want me for anything other than to warm your bed and your cock? Do you want me here, as your partner? Do you need me for anything at all?"
You don’t gesticulate, you barely move from your spot in the middle of the room. Everything in this fucking place is white and uncannily clean; the sofas, the coffee table, the walls, even the snow; but you and Satoru. He’s in all black, you’re in all red. It’s almost dreamlike, and you struggle to stay grounded. 
The only thing you could remove from this house that would grab his attention would be you.
"Yesterday you weren't complaining about any of this, what the fuck is the matter with you today?"
And you can't stand it anymore. The winter current lifts your hair, soaks the back of your neck and disguises your tears.
"THE MATTER IS THAT I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR TEN YEARS. WAITING FOR YOU. WAITING FOR THE MAN I MET AT SIXTEEN TO COME BACK, SLEEPING WITH A MAN OF ABSENT GAZE WHO STAGGERS INTO MY BED WHEN HE'S TIRED OF BEING IN EVERYONE ELSE'S. I DON'T WANT TO BE YOUR DOG, SATORU. I DON'T WANT YOU TO COME HOME AND FEEL OBLIGATED TO GIVE ME A WALK, A PETTING."
The words come spilling out of you without remedy, every wound bursting open through the stitches. He just looks at you.
"You think I don't love you?"
It hurts to hear him say it, it fucking hurts. You were prepared for the yelling and the coldness, even for a quick vulnerable stare. But never for his trembling voice and soft frown.
You inhale deeply.
"I don't think your love is of any use to me any longer."
Satoru stands up at that.
He's tall, tall and beautiful like Michelangelo's David. All your life, you've been feeling like you had no right to touch him. His infinity assured you that was the case. 
He takes a step in your direction and whispers:
"Then what should I do now?"
Your eyes, fixed on the ground, rise to meet his. There's something in the void and you're not sure if it's just your reflection.
"What?" you mutter. 
"How do I fix it? What do you need that I can't give you? Do you want me to quit work, for us to leave, for me to come home and kiss your temple, to cook for you, to listen to you, to cherish you in bed?” A heartbeat. “I will."
There’s something about the desperation in his tone, you aren’t sure of what to say next.
Satoru knows how to lie, but you don't know how to tell the difference.
"I don't want anything, Satoru. I'm tired," you whisper back, eyes full of water. "I want it to end. I want you to let it end."
He shakes his head, frowning, and through the mist of your tears you recognize that he is crying too.
"There has to be something. Anything. Something I can do, I can do it all."
It's partly true. He's Satoru Gojo; all-powerful, all-knowing. Eternal and young and beautiful and tragic as a poem.
You are just another person. You cried when Suguru left, when Haibara died, when Kento gave up the Jujutsu world and when Ieri locked herself in her office. You clung to Satoru, who resembled an empty seashell more than a person. 
You remember those nights back in 2007. You remember blindfolding him so he wouldn't activate infinity by accident, by reflex, out of overstimulation. You remember cutting his hair when he couldn’t and looking for him in his old antics. You remember taking care of Megumi – always reluctant – and Tsumiki – who you felt was too mature for her age. You remember the burden of being eighteen and having lost a world.
And, above all else, you remember Satoru under the rain. Under the pressure of the world you had lost, the one that he was trying to put back together. There was a month where he seemed catatonic; no smiles, drinking anisette as if it were his one source of life. A thirty-day period followed by the rebirth of a person who looked like the one that stood before, but who seemed cold and alien to you.
"Don't you love me, my darling?" he seeks for you, reaching out a hand to brush against your cheek.
Of course you love him. You love him even like this, like you have loved each and every one of his versions.
"I adore you, Satoru. But I can't stay; you can't fix it."
"Of course I can," he reaches out to you, holding your face between his fingers, "Of course I can."
His lips connect with yours — one last attempt, you don't know by whom.
Snow fills the room and it's cold, but you drink from his mouth, from his everlasting warmth; everything in him lasts forever.
Between kisses, you show him everything you have been for years. Ten years of kisses, of hands looking for hands and flesh searching for flesh.
He moves backwards, keeping you between his hands and guiding you towards the hallway and from the hallway to your shared bed.
This is where it ends.
"Satoru..." you whisper.
"I'm here. I'm here, beautiful, my favorite girl. Talk to me."
A sob escapes you as he utters those words. My favorite girl. That’s what he used to call you. Talk to me, he used to plead, that year at sixteen, when everything was about to start.
Isn't it beautiful that it ends the exact same way?
"Satoru, I'm leaving," you press a farewell kiss to his jaw.
"No, you're not leaving," he murmurs, smiling against your mouth, searching for your lips.
You back away and look at him one more time. And you smile, because there's nothing left.
"I'm already gone. Just let go of me, please."
"But..." he starts, his smile hesitant, "But I'm going to fix it."
You take one of his hands between yours and kiss it as it presses against your cheek, before lowering it to your lap.
"Satoru..." You pronounce each syllable of his name carefully and he stifles a cry. "I'm not going to go any further. I've already made the move and Rhea's expecting me at her house in an hour. I love you, I’ll love you until I run out of kisses, but it does me no good to love you. It is of no use to me, this love. I wanted to tell you. I wanted you one last time. Wasn’t it my turn to be the selfish one for once?"
He watches you, and his mouth shuts close. You've never seen Satoru lose. 
No, that's not true. There was a time, one time, where you saw him lose everything.
His eyes fill up with you one second and empty the next.
This is his second time.
He lifts his chin with an arrogance that no longer means anything and lets go of your hands.
"Go then, if you want. I'm not going to do anything to stop you,” he drags the words with feign disinterest. “I can't do anything."
That's the last gift he can give you. An honesty unbecoming of him, a truth that will never belong to Satoru Gojo ever again. 
From god to human in three kisses and a goodbye.
"Thank you," you say to him. Then you get up, heading for the living room, where your coat and your escape door await you.
He stays in the bedroom – with himself as he always is – after you leave. 
And he hides you where he always hides the things he breaks, in the back of his eyes, where no one can reach to see anything.
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© 2023, MAEBY-CURSED — do not copy/repost/edit.
(reblogs are appreciated !!)
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pedge-page · 3 months
Text
#6 Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife: NOT Hungry
can be read with others in series or standalone
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Warnings: fluff, brief puking, Joel being an overreactive sensitive bitch
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Ever since your fourth date with Joel, where you spent the evening at his apartment, and he made you his homemade empanadas while you two discussed your favorite books and movies, you were hooked. Not just to the man who would eventually be your husband and baby daddy, but to his immaculate cooking as well.
So now, years later with a ring on your finger and both of your and Joel’s belly a little fuller—okay, yours a LOT fuller—you find yourself gawking at him, propped up on the kitchen island in a high chair you took 4 minutes to climb atop, feet swaying in the air, elbows resting on the granite countertop, palms holding your chin with beady heart eyes as Joel finishes plating his hot homemade dish for you.
“Blow on it, babe. It’s hot,” he warns, not too keen on having you burn your tongue again due to your impatience. He holds a fork out as you drag the plate in front of you.
“Yes you are, handsome.”
He shakes his head, not caring that he’s blushing hard. It’s not difficult for him to admit that having you gush over his cooking for years makes him extremely proud, excited, and even more in love with you.
You can’t tell if the gurgling, rumbling summersaults in your middle is the baby kicking or your stomach growling, neither of which bother you in the slightest as you splinter the hot shell, pausing to waft the steam of shredded chicken, glazed onions and corn, a hint of his secret secret secret ingredient (its a touch of sugar—but you don’t want him to know you know), and then—
You stop, fork held in front of your mouth like the Choo Choo train hit the breaks before it could dock with the station. And suddenly something doesn’t feel very pleasant, and your senses are off, strangely, for something that should be glorious and pleasurable consuming you is now —extremely unpleasant, almost—
You drop the fork with a clatter to the plate and b-line straight to the bathroom, barely bending to your knees to the tiled floor as you hurl your stomach into the basin. 
It only lasts for a few seconds, your stomach being relatively empty with no dinner having made its way down there. You wash your hands, and mouth, and then sadly waddle back into the kitchen.
“Um, Joel, I don’t think the baby likes them,” you say meekly, rubbing your hand over your belly who punches your ribcage with dignified agreement.
Joel looks at you, face plain, lips in a thin line with an unreadable expression. He calmly places the pan back on the stove, wiping his hand with the washcloth. The kitchen feels scarily quiet. Joel then puts both hands flat on the counter, holding himself up, gritting his teeth back and forth. He brings his eyes to you, with such a chilling seriousness that it sends you into shivers. 
“And might I ask who’s baby you got growing’ in there then?”
EXCUSE ME?
“Joel what—what the fuck—“
“Cuz no baby o’MINE would EVER dislike my empenadas. So I’ll ask you again, who’s baby do y’got growing inside you?”
“Are you fucking serious. Because the baby doesn’t like your greasy food, I’m suddenly a cheater?”
“I’m just sayin—“
“Fuck off Joel,” you seethe, not sure if you should be trembling in rage or laughter. “The baby. Doesn’t. Like. It. Grow up. The doctor said this could happen.”
Yeah, he was there, he knows, but Jesus, it was more plausible to believe his baby wouldn’t like collard greens or strawberry ice cream, not … his fabulous abuelas homemade receipt of empanadas that his wife has adored ever since she first tried it!
Joel pulls his hands off the counter, wringing them in shame with pouty lips. “M’sorry. That was—that was wrong o’me to way that. I don’t—I know you wouldn’t…”
He struggles to suppress the little sniffle under all that macho, and suddenly you’re paddling over to him, soothingly gliding your hand over the expanse of his muscled back, kissing his massive shoulder. 
“Awww, are you upset your baby doesn’t like them?”
“M’not upset,” he pouts unconvincingly. “Just—what if after you pop the kid, you still don’t like ‘em either? Then who am I gonna cook ‘em for?”
“Tommy?”
“Fuck that man-child. He can make his own shit.”
You giggle into his arm, nuzzling your face into his denim shirt. You inhale the smell of him, the mix of pine, wood and mint, a little bit of sweat, enough that its blocking the nauseating scent of the grease in the air and suddenly you feel a wave of calm wash over you, relaxed in his gentle embrace. 
You smile, carding your fingers through his and bringing his flat hand to the base of your tummy. 
“I promise: this baby is definitely yours. So calm now because Daddy’s scent is here to comfort her.”
Joel’s lips curl into a smile, welcoming the touch of warmth cradled by your rounded belly. “Still think it’s a girl?”
You cup his face, bringing him to you as you plant a loving kiss on the scruffy patch on his peppered cheek.
“I know it.”
- - - -
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leonw4nter · 3 months
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She’s Everything and He’s… He’s There Too I Guess
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Hockeyplayer!RE2R!Leon x Figureskater!Reader
“Those damned hockey players…”, you quietly hiss to yourself as you skate off to the side. You had almost fallen down and cracked your head open as there was a crater in the ice, left behind by those rowdy hockey players who used the arena before you did. You usually used the arena before the players could since the ice was at its best but because you ran late, you ended up with deformed ice. You stayed at the side a little more, checking your skates and looking around for some more craters so you wouldn’t embarrass yourself in front of the hockey team flail embarrassingly and land face-first. Besides palms that had a slight dull ache to them, you were lucky you didn’t fall hard and end up with a serious injury. “Sorry for uh– the ice,” a voice piped up behind you. You turn around and the first thing your gaze falls on is a pair of irises that are a hue of a midwinter sky. “I’m apologizing on behalf of my team. Do you, um… need any help…?,” he shyly asks. This guy looks new, might be a rookie since you haven’t seen a blonde-haired, rosy cheeked, baby-faced athlete that contrasts the rugged, brunette guys with faint stubbles. His blond hair is slightly tousled, the tips of his ears pink. “No, it’s fine– I’m fine,” you respond with a small nod. He looks at the rink before he asks if you're sure, genuine concern flashing in his eyes before you respond that you’re really sure, shooting him a small smile. He eventually turns around to get back to his team but not before he looks back once or twice. “Kennedy”, the back of his navy blue jersey reads. He’s cute; polite too. ──────────────────────────────────────────────────────
That’s how your friendship started out with the shy, good-souled starting goalie whose name is Leon. He’s looked out for you whenever you skated and offered moral support when he wasn’t training, shooting you a thumbs up and that adorably goofy smile of his. Whenever you’d blow him an air kiss mid-spin, he’d divert his gaze elsewhere as his cheeks and the tip of his ears redden up; his teammates would tease him too, which you found endearing. After your first interaction with Leon, you noticed that the team would usually arrive earlier than they normally do (and shoot Leon teasing grins and looks). They watch you skate to pass the time, some of them complimenting your moves as you leave the ice and they take their respective posts; all the players easily tossed compliments, except for Leon. “You um… you l-looked good out there–”, he would quickly mumble.
“Leon we’re literally friends, how are you still so shy?,” you would say with a bright smile. He often stuttered or rushed whatever he had to say, though you would usually giggle and softly offer a ‘thank you’ whilst he said his ‘no problem’ or ‘your welcome’. You give him a small pat to the arm before moving to the seat where you placed your bag and you swear you could hear Chris, Leon’s teammate, tease Leon and say ‘your girl’ or something close to that. Back then, you would immediately freshen up and get going after practice but after making friends with Leon, you’d stay at the arena to cheer and watch him play just like he does with you.“Good luck!,” you exclaim before they start a practice game. Leon shoots you that hundred-watt smile before pulling his helmet down, getting his game-face on. A giddy sizzle of electricity runs up and down your spine, making you feel all warmly odd and fuzzy. A smile curls the tip of your lips upward, bringing your head down to release a small chuckle. Goddamn Leon, you’re making the ice princess feel awfully warm.
“Give it your all Kennedy; your girlfriend’s watching you!,” Chris yells in an awfully happy voice.
“Shut up man, she’s not my girlfriend!,” Leon yells back, silently thankful for the fact that his helmet is hiding the beet-red flush of his cheeks. After some time, the practice game finally ended. You got up from your seat to bid Leon and the guys goodbye before you finally left.
“Bye guys, bye Leon!,” you say with a small wave. All the guys said bye in unison, with Leon’s own response being slightly delayed since he was ruffling his silvery blond hair.
“Bro got his own special goodbye greeting,” Chris says to no one in particular. The other guys turn their heads to give Leon a knowing look along with a teasing snicker, prompting Leon to shyly mumble a “shut up” even though no one really said anything besides Chris.
This is your routine for the next 5 months. You and Leon have managed to grow closer too– now going on hangouts, lunch runs, and sometimes teaching each other basic moves from your respective sports. You also noticed that Leon seemed to be a little more awkward around you, unable to maintain eye contact when doing something as simple as talking and choosing to focus on other parts of your face like your cheeks and occasionally your lips too. There was an instance, about a month ago, where you both were watching His Girl Friday. Leon was saying the lines at the same time as Cary Grant’s character was, seemingly familiar with the film. He kept spilling facts about the movie, obviously very enthused. You know some facts too, but not as in-depth as him. His eyes twinkled with interest, his legs bouncing with enthusiasm whenever a scene he liked came on. Though he never looked you straight in the eye for no more than seven seconds, you would often catch him stealing a glance when he thought you weren’t looking. You feel him shift on the couch so you turn to look at him but you’re instead met with a piercing gaze. Odd. He inches a little closer, his gaze unsure whether to focus on your eyes or… lips. Heart pounding like a jackhammer in your chest and mind fading into nothing, you did what you thought was the most un-awkward thing at the moment: share a piece of trivia.
“Um– Howard Hawks and Charles Lederer also worked on Gentlemen Prefer Blondes,” you swiftly say, causing the words to sound a little mashed together.
“I know,” he simply says. There’s a rasp in his voice, his gaze fixed on your eyes now. Slowly, he closes the gap and you follow him too but he stops and pulls back at the last minute. “Nevermind,” he murmurs before turning his attention back on the screen. You sit there, frozen still and trying to process what happened. “Did he just try to kiss me,” you silently think to yourself. You clear your throat and adjust your position, trying to get your focus back on the movie but all you can really think about was that moment. “If I could travel back in time, Cary Grant is one of the people I’d like to meet,” he suddenly says. He turns to you, that goofy grin on his mouth again; he’s acting as if that moment mere seconds ago never happened. Maybe I’m just overthinking this.
Instances like this keep happening for a month or so; he leans in close, you keep thinking that this is it, he pulls away saying “nevermind” or “nothing”. Leon always wore his heart on his sleeve: he spoke what he truly felt so keeping something secret was definitely uncharacteristic but not too odd. He did start being more affectionate though: buying you flowers, getting you food, and even buying you random stuff (like a leg warmer that you had told him was cute once). He even began holding your hand or giving you hugs, which made you feel special but that feeling went down the drain when you saw him hug Chris’ sister Claire. All this was confusing you, since you liked him too and you wanted to know if this was a one-sided thing with all the signals thrown around. This time, you were determined to get your assumptions about his feelings straight so you wouldn’t be all the more confused and possibly misled. Jill, a friend of Claire's, arranged an outdoor ice skating get-together. Claire invited Chris, who in turn invited Leon and then invited you. For the next two hours, the four of you spent the time skating around. Jill and Claire needed help maintaining their balance so the three of you had to stay around them so they wouldn’t fall and possibly injure themselves. Since there weren’t so many people in the rink, Leon and Chris got to race each other whilst you got to do your jumps and spins. Not too long after, it was down to you and Leon doing the skating. “This is it. Showtime,” you thought to yourself. Catching up to Leon, you decided to pop the question.
“Soo… are you into Claire? Or Jill?,” you asked innocently.
“Huh– Um, no–,” Leon responded. Flustered, the tips of his ears reddened.
“C’mon. Just tell me so I can maybe play matchmaker and set you up with either of them,” you coax. You masked your own personal feelings for him by using this method. Although it stung slightly, you can’t force him to like you so the most you can do for him is to help him out regarding matters of the heart.
“I mean… they’re kind and beautiful and overall great people but they’re just not, you know… they’re not my type,” he shyly responds.
“Okay… then who’s your type?”
“You.”
You stop pushing your feet and just slide across the ice, staring into Leon’s face with a puzzled expression. “Did I hear that right?”
“Yeah, you did,” Leon quietly says. Looking back at the others, he sees that they’re sitting down and having a chat over some hot chocolate in a thermos so he takes this chance to finally speak.
“Y’know, when I went up to you those 5 months ago and apologized about the ice, I didn’t think my decision would hit me with a vengeance. At first I thought you were pretty and good at what you do but after being friends with you, you look much more divine to me and seeing you march to the beat of your own drum and- and actually getting a look into your actual personality, I knew that I’d love you. I’d love you through my screw-ups and through yours too,” he confessed. You two were still skating but at a slower pace now. Snow was beginning to gently fall down, tiny snowflakes gliding through the frigid air. Steam softly billowed out of your mouths, both your cheeks red like apples but not as red as Leon’s.
“Claire and Jill are amazing women– they’re just like you: they’re nice, attractive, helpful– overall decent people but out of all the possible personalities in here, my favorite type is you,” he finishes. His heart is doing quadruple Axels in his chest, ready to take flight or shatter any moment now. His hands, stuffed inside his warm coat pocket, are feeling clammy and sweaty. Suddenly, he kind of regrets letting out such a long confession.
“Hey I’m s-,” you cut him off in the best way ever.
You skate in front of him, hands extending towards him. Your left hand tugs at the collar of his gray trench coat whilst your right hand travels to the back of his neck, your fingers gently digging into the back of his head and threading themselves amongst the tufts of soft hair. You draw him near, closing the gap with a tender kiss. His body tenses up, his system shutting down, and he freezes but soon regains his bearings and kisses you back. His fingers leave his pockets and situate themselves on your waist, his thumbs gently drawing circle patterns. He doesn’t ask for more, just giving and taking. His slightly chapped lips spread into a giddy smile whilst still pressed against yours; Leon could only describe this kiss as a comforting breath of the sun that could keep the winter away. You pull away reluctantly and gaze into his eyes, ink-hued pupils swallowing the icy blue of his irises.
“I love you too,” you breathlessly say with an equally giddy grin.
A surprised laugh escapes Leon’s slightly parted mouth as he hugs you, lifting you up.
“Hey lovebirds!,” Jill calls out. You two look at Jill, who is cupping her mouth with gloved hands. “We saved some hot cocoa for you both! Come while Chris’ ass isn’t chugging it yet!”.
You two look at each other again, a small chuckle escaping your lips as you guys’ eyes glimmer in the shared love being realized. Leon takes your hand in his, intertwining his fingers with yours. You skate over to where Chris, Jill, and Claire are waiting. Jill hands the cup to Leon but Leon politely declines, offering it to you instead which earns raised eyebrows and smirks from the three. You take a sip of the drink, a comforting warmth taking over your body like a nice warm, weighted blanket.
“Don’t you want some?,” you ask Leon.
“I have a better way of tasting it later,” Leon responds with a cheeky wink.
“I heard that!,” Chris’ loud voice booms.
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NOTE - This is my first time writing and working on something like this so if you liked it then that's really great and if not then feel free to tell me what you want me to improve on! My uploading schedule isn't super definite since I write whenever I feel like it. That's it and thanks for reading :)
The dividers (the ones with the star and circle) are made by @cafekitsune , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).
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chrisevansonly · 5 months
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𝐒𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐢𝐨 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: lando norris x female reader
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: it’s your favourite boy’s birthday, and of course he gets all the love in the world
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: none just very fluffy!
𝐚/𝐧: happy birthday to our scorpio king!!! lando is 24 which is my age and it’s kinda of weird to think im one year older than him, anyway here’s a lil birthday blurb
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Lando wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he got home from a brand meeting, but it wasn’t the hundreds of balloons that filled the lower level of your home, accompanied by his favourite song playing through your speakers and confetti lining the hardwood floor. Needless to say he was stunned but he should expect nothing less from you
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABY!!!”
You yelled as you jumped out behind the kitchen counter, a cute little birthday hat on your head, a sparkler in your hand as you giggled excitedly
“I think you love my birthday more than me angel”
“Of course I do!! On this day twenty four years ago my favourite sassy scorpio was born!”
Lando couldn’t help but smile even more seeing tire excitement, walking over to you and pressing a kiss to your lips as he pulled you in for a hug
“Thank you angel, I love it so much..you went all out for me”
Happy with his reaction you brought over the cake you made, two candles in the shape of the twenty four numbers and of course it said ‘scorpio baby’ on the top of it, you were quite proud of your creation.
“Did you make this yourself?”
“Mhm, your favourite flavour too!”
In this moment Lando couldn’t have been happier, he had the woman of his dreams, a birthday surprise that would leave him grinning like a cheshire cat for the rest of the day and of course the hundreds of balloons that would no doubt take hours to clean up.
“Make a wish baby!”
Lando thought for a few seconds before blowing out the candles and watching as you set the cake down, moving to put a hat on his head gently
“So what did you wish for this year..?”
Even though some say it was bad luck to tell your wishes, you and Lando often told one another each birthday what you wished for, but his smirk right now told you otherwise
“This wish, is secret angel…you’ll just have to wait to find out”
Before you could protest he brought you back in for another kiss, holding you to him as his hands slid under your sweater to hold your hips, effectively halting your questions and inquiries about his mystery wish.
It might have been his birthday, but the engagement ring in the top drawer hidden beneath the socks, held a wish that both of you had been hoping for together. Lando pulled away from you gently, admiring the way your face was flushed and your chest rose from the cut off of oxygen
“Happy birthday baby”
Lando kissed your cheek before picking up some icing and smearing it on your nose
“Happy Birthday indeed”
Soon the quiet celebrations would turn into a dinner with friends and family followed by more partying into the late hours of the night, and right now Lando enjoyed every second he got to enjoy with just you, because tonight he wouldn’t only be celebrating his birthday with his girlfriend, but he’d be celebrating it with his fiancée.
And what could be better than that?
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goresugarsxx · 8 months
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❃ He’s been trying to open the jar of peanut jam for an hour but the tongue from his hand keeps licking the top of the lid making it impossible. Deidara refuses to ask for help.
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dumbseee · 3 months
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thunder and lightning.
in which, you and jude broke up after a long relationship and you perform the song you wrote for him, in front of him at the ballon d’or ceremony.
jude bellingham x singer!reader.
fc: madison beer.
note: please read this and listen to "thunder and lightning" by serayah. / might turn this into a small serie 🤭
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liked by bellahadid, tatemcrae, sabrinacarpenter and 1 829 000 others.
y/n: my most precious and raw song "thunder and lightning" is now yours 🤍 now it’s time to grow and move on.
_
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_
you were standing in the middle of this big stage. in front of these important people, some of them used to be people you’d hang out with. but breaking up with jude meant saying goodbye to them too, even if it was hard since you made good friendships thanks to your ex. it was too hard to keep contact with them without jude haunting your thoughts, and they understood that. your break up with jude occured a few months ago now, and you thought you were doing better, but being on this stage, about to perform the song you wrote in one hour, the day he broke up with you, sent shivers all over your body. and you even considered running away.
but you were stronger than before, you worked hard on this song and you needed jude to hear it. you looked absolutely stunning in this dress, you tried to put a smile on your face but only pain and anxiety could be seen. you saw all these people looking at you, some with adoration, others with envy and some with sadness because they knew how hurt you were. thunder and lightning started and you closed your eyes before taking a deep breath. you got this.
"can't you look at me and see that i love ya? and i’d do anything for ya?" you began, looking at the crowd but your eyes immediately found his. you almost stutter on the lyrics but immediately closed your eyes to refocus. his eyes were glowing and his face was torn with concern and almost regret. ha, too late for that boy. "and i’ll do anything for ya, climb up mount everest without a rope, dive into the bermuda without a boat." because it was true, you could do anything for this boy, anything and everything without thinking it twice. you loved him with your whole soul, it was insane. you could’ve quit music if he asked, and that without a second thought because that’s how loyal and in love you were.
"like thunder and lightning, we were meant to be, wrapped up inside your arms, that's right where i belong." you hit the hook with more vulnerability in your voice, it resonated in the whole room and inside people’s heart. you knew some people in the audience would relate to your situation, girlfriends of footballers who suffered the disrespect of their partner. or even footballers themselves having their heart broken by women who never actually loved them. this song wasn’t just about you and jude, it was about this feeling of despair when you see the person you love, leaving you heartbroken and alone. you saw some old friends bobbing their heads to your song and even sending smiles and thumbs ups to you.
you soon end the song, for a minute the room is frozen in silence, no one moves. and the one to break the ice was jude, he got up and clapped you like no one ever clapped for you. soon enough the whole room followed, giving you a standing ovation. you felt your eyes getting watery as you locked eyes with jude, his expression was unreadable. you were the one to break the eye contact as you bowed to the audience and blowed a kiss to the camera. you left the stage and almost ran backstage to let the tears you kept inside since the beginning of the performance, run down your cheeks. you let yourself fall to the ground, your agent and friend hugged you from behind and kissed the top of your head. "let’s go home now." you whispered between a sob.
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liked by trentarnold66, vinijr, rodrygogoes and 3 729 028 others.
judebellingham: such an honour to win these trophies. making my parents proud and being a good role model for my brother has always been my top priority, thank you for the support and thank you for always being by my side.
_
fan1: CONGRATS KING
fan2: deserved so much more but i’m so happy for him
fan3: making the parents proud >>
fan4: the fact that y/n was there too and probably congratulated him :(
fan5: lmao nah she probably left after the performance, she hates his ass now
fan6: as she should tbh
fan7: y/n deserved way better
vinijr: 🔥🔥🔥
philfoden: congrats mate! keep shinning ����🏼
fan8: i’m a huge fan but you should be held accountable for how you treated y/n
fan9: DON’T LISTEN TO THE HATERS KING
fan10: the future of football is right there
fan11: keep showing them who’s the boss jude!
fan12: he looked so good tho 🥴
fan13: finally a stylist who does him justice
deuxmoi: hm, being a good role model right? then care to explain why a little bird came to us with receipts about the night she had with you, while you were dating y/n?
fan14: WTF
fan15: WTFFFABSKSKSLDDD WHAT IS THIS
fan16: nah they must be lying jude would NEVER cheat
fan17: deuxmoi isn’t even a reliable source!
fan18: yeah but apparently they got receipts so…
view all comment.
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y/n just posted a story!
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caption: couldn’t relate more.
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wonbriiize · 5 months
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baking with riize
how the members would act if you’d suggest baking something together…
⋆。‧˚ʚ shotaro ɞ˚‧。⋆
biggest grin on his face. he stood up and walked over to the kitchen before you could even finish your sentence. “of course i want to bake with you! let’s start right away,” he is so excited. “we should bake cupcakes!”. it‘s making you nervous that you have to tell him that you guys need to buy the ingredients first (you got nothing at home) because you don’t want shotaro to feel sad about it, but not even that is bothering him. “so what? let’s go buy them,” he grabs after your hand. “i‘m going to put so much love in making these cupcakes, just for you.”
⋆。‧˚ʚ eunseok ɞ˚‧。⋆
baking isn’t really his thing, he’d rather cook. so, you’re not too sad about him not participating in the baking process because he always cooks for you — now it is your turn to make something for him. you decide to bake your delicious brownies. “you’re going to love my brownies!” “you‘re making them specifically for me, so of course i will love them,” he smiles at you. and even though eunseok said he doesn’t want to help you bake them, he can’t just sit there and watch you do all the work. he stands up, puts on his apron and walks right next to you. “they are going to taste even better now because we will make them together. tell me what i can do.”
⋆。‧˚ʚ sungchan ɞ˚‧。⋆
flour fight. it started when sungchan tried to pour the flour into the bowl but he missed, which resulted in half of the flour landing on the kitchen counter. you wanted to clean it but sungchan thought it would be funny to blow the flour.. right into your face. “you did not just do that,” you rub your hands over your face, cleaning it. sungchan laughs. “you look like a clown.” opening your eyes, you glare at him. he apologetically puts his hands up. “i meant a lovely clown! not these creepy ones.. but if you keep looking at me like this i might change my opinion,” he laughs even more. you grab after the flour in the bowl and throw it at him. the two of you keep doing this until all the flour is gone.. poured all over the kitchen. you would be mad, but honestly, this was far more entertaining than baking.
⋆。‧˚ʚ wonbin ɞ˚‧。⋆
decorating the cookies you two have just baked is serious business to him and he’s not letting himself get distracted. not even when you plant kisses all over his face (because you’re so proud that he‘s working so hard on this). “y/n you have to stop, i need to concentrate.” this makes you pout, but you pull yourself together and let him work on the cookies. you decide to decorate your own cookies and you are so invested in it that you don’t bother to look at how wonbin decorated his cookies until he puts one in front of you. he drew a heart and wrote your initials in it. looking over to his side of the counter, you see that he has done it to every single one of the cookies he has decorated (and he has decorated a lot). when wonbin sees how speechless you are, he smiles proudly, pulling you close to him. now it’s his turn to plant kisses all over your face.
⋆。‧˚ʚ seunghan ɞ˚‧。⋆
heart-shaped. to everything you suggest to bake, seunghan keeps saying “it needs to be heart-shaped!”. after you decide on making a big heart-shaped cake, seunghan can’t wait to start baking. it takes the two of you hours to finish (because sometimes seunghan would wrap his arms around you, start kissing you and you’d just get lost in it), but once you do, the cake turns out to be better than you could have imagined it. before you could decide on how to decorate the cake, seunghan is already on it. he writes down “seunghan loves *y/n* very much” with icing and proudly grins at you afterwards.
⋆。‧˚ʚ sohee ɞ˚‧。⋆
“i haven’t baked in ages,” sohee admits when you ask him to bake pizza together. “oh, c’mon, pizza isn’t that hard to make,” you plead with your eyes and sohee can’t help but to give in. whenever you look at him with those beautiful eyes of yours, he has no other choice. he would do anything to see them sparkle. once you finish making your own pizza, you look over to see how sohee is doing. “don’t look yet!” he says, trying to cover up the pizza he has been working on, but it’s too late, you’ve already seen that he cut off the edges to make the pizza look like a heart. it makes you smile so hard that your cheeks start hurting. sohee sighs when he notices that you’ve seen his surprise for you. “i even put on your favorite toppings,” he softly smiles.
⋆。‧˚ʚ anton ɞ˚‧。⋆
“i don‘t think i‘m good at baking,” anton shyly says when you drag him into the kitchen. “you don’t have to be, you got me. just follow my orders,” you grin at him. anton nods, not really trying to get out of the situation because he knows you won’t let him. you two decide to bake muffins and as of right now, everything is going well. you only had to help anton once (out of nervousness, he almost poured salt into the bowl instead of sugar so you had to stop him). it’s making you really happy that anton is here, trying his best even though he isn’t very good at baking. “thank you for doing this with me,” you nudge him softly and he smiles. “you know i’d do anything for you.”
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enclosed in our souls
multiple bsd characters x reader. reader is gn (gender neutral)
about: headcanon of things bsd characters do when they have a crush on you
featuring: dazai, chuuya, atsushi, akutagawa, fyodor and nikolai.
kiel notes: my first multi chara post, more charas r coming!!! i wrote this while listening to i hope to be around (live) by men i trust. and this feels corny as hell
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DAZAI — tries to find alone time together and seek intimacy
you think dazai has been talking nonstop recently. he yaps a lot, always bothering kunikida or you during work. but since a few weeks ago, he’s been way more playful than usual. constantly following you around, whining and tugging at your sleeves. he’d drag you to the couch and talk about his day, facts, and new discoveries. anything, just anything to hold your attention, to find an excuse to stare into your beautiful eyes lovingly. to have some peace and quiet from his chaotic mind and maybe fall asleep on your shoulders because your presence grounds him.
CHUUYA — drives you around and take late-night bike rides
chuuya is always ready to drive you to and fro. he offers to drive you around all the time, and you think his gestures are really sweet (who’s gonna tell y/n?). after school? he’s ready to pick you up outside your university campus. of course, he only drives you when he’s free, which is all the time because he clears his schedule for you. he offers to drive you home after every failed job interview, ready with tissue and your favourite ice cream in the passenger seat. on nights when you need a temporary escape, he’s already outside your apartment with his red bike and an extra helmet in his hand. even if the world fails you, he’d still be here on your loneliest rides.
ATSUSHI — takes strolls with you and walks you home
atsushi loves his strolls with you. simple strolls like going for lunch or buying supplies for the agency make his heart full. he had been so used to being alone all the time, but ever since you offered to stroll with him that one time, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. it meant a lot to him, and now he asks you to go on strolls instead. hell, he doesn’t have to ask, because it’s a routine. he waits for you to pack up your desk and you both leave together to walk home. the wind blows your hair, and you walk with both hands behind your back in comfortable silence. often in the sunset, on the way home, atsushi hopes that one day he’s able to stroll into your heart.
AKUTAGAWA — volunteers to go on missions with you
akutagawa is not one to be obvious about his crush, so he shows it in a super duper not obvious way. he requests to go on more missions with you, to keep you safe and spend time on the battlefield. mori thinks it’s weird. akutagawa putting in special requests to go with y/n all the time? that’s unlike him. that’s right, because he’s a fool in love right now. the way you fight is mesmerising him, and he was almost shot dead that one time (by a cupid, who knows?) if it wasn’t for you who jumped in. he likes the way you revel in fighting, which is similar to his bloodlust. he stands behind you during missions, guarding you, and his heart.
FYODOR — plays his cello for you
fyodor plays his cello for everyone, including his victims before they were killed, so it wasn’t anything special. that’s what you thought, and you were dead wrong. he’d learn classical pieces you like in hopes of hearing you compliment him. his pretty and slender fingers would be calloused, but he didn’t mind. it’s all for you. he’d invite you over for tea often and have you listen to him play the cello for hours. his cello might be off-tune, but his heart isn’t.
NIKOLAI — tries to make you laugh
nikolai noticed how you liked to laugh. your laughter is light and playful, with a touch of whimsy that brings a smile to his face. the decay of angel members aren’t amused by his usual antics, but you liked it. you’d giggle at his silliness and his heartbeat quickens. he scrambles to be dramatic again, pulling a rose out of his coat and handing it to you. you giggle again. he likes (a huge understatement) the sound of your laughter; he thinks he needs to hear it ten times a day (or maybe even more). because the day you stop laughing is the day he’s gone.
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main menu ☆
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kiwanopie · 1 year
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Physical Therapy
boyfriend!kiyoomi part V!! smut smut smut but also fluff and a little bit of dom!reader. mommy is used (1) once but not by kiyoomi. minors do not interact.
Your voice comes out airily. A little frayed, a little frustrated.
“Thank god for HIPAA laws because I swear,” You run your fingers through Kiyoomi’s hair. “These mothers wouldn’t know autonomy if I smacked them in the back of the head with it.”
“Mhm.”
“I mean, one of my clients’ mother’s been mass emailing all week trying to get me to hint to her ‘troubled son’ that his panic attacks have been putting a “massive strain” on her recently-“
“Hm…”
“Like no wonder these kids have such a hard time opening up at home, their - ah - parents have a skewed understanding of what real priorities are!”
“Hm- Mhm.”
You scoff. God, he loves it when you get all psychiatric but there’s like no blood flowing to his head right now. “I swear, It’s like some of these parents drop their kids off at my office and expect me to program them into becoming… hm… be-…coming their ideal child…! My best guess is half of these adults should consider - fuck - seeking out a therapist themsel- ohh my god…”
Your hips drunkenly rock into his face from where he’s got your hips all but pinned against him. Rough fingers gripping so tightly into your work skirt that they audibly creak against the fabric, and if not for the running volleyball game playing on half volume behind you, you’re certain that the room would be filled with the sodden sounds of his sloppy tongue; digging you out while you complain about your workload this week. Kiyoomi was already springing into action the moment he saw you slump your way out of his genkan and straight to the ice cream stash in the kitchen. So quick on your heels that he could barely bother to pause the game he was re-watching.
Call it a love language. After last month when he moped his way into your humble flat to complain to you about some contract changes with his current sponsor. Something about more media interaction, that and he was gonna have to DIY a few ads for them on his social media. He could barely get a few words out before you were nuzzling your nose against his zipper. Lovingly rubbing up his thighs as you insisted he got all his frustrations out.
“A-All my frustrations out? You want me to…?”
You guide his hand until he’s grazing the short hairs on the top of your neck. “Be as rough with me as you need, baby. I’m here for you.”
Kiyoomi’s moans are muffled by the squish of your thighs. Who’s getting more out of this? He couldn’t say. But if the way his eyes roll when your fingers dig into his scalp should say anything, he might be safe calling it 50/50.
Your lips part as one of his free hands pull at your blouse until the buttons are popping, roughly palming your tits through your bra as you whine against him. “It’s a… good thing I took this pediatric job. If not for a - godd, oh fuck - difference in perspective.”
Kiyoomi answers you with a sound that’s more of a groan than a dutiful hum. Raising his hips like it’ll give him more friction where he wants it, but like the godsend you are you reach behind yourself to rub him through his sweats.
“‘Least I know… that if we had kids I’d be a half decent mother…”
You must feel the way his cock needily twitches under your palm at the sound of that because your voice evens in a way that makes him goosebump. “You like that, huh? Oh don’t tell me Omi’s really been dying to make me a mommy?”
The vibrations of his broken groan makes your thighs tighten over his ears.
“Ah - You wanna fuck me full? Fill me up till I’m brain dead?”
His tongue rolls over your clit with just enough force to have your voice pitching. He tilts his chin up just to make sure it’s his tongue you're clamping around when you start to cum.
Although with what you all but hiss next, grabbing a rough hold of his scalp and pressing his head back like he’s just a warm mouth to fuck. “- Or, would you just be satisfied with blowing your load into my hand, you fucking slut.”
Kiyoomi cums so hard he thinks he may have gone deaf.
Because he barely hears the pathetic whimpers he lets out in your spasming cunt as he starts to hump into your hand like a dog. Lilted voice breaking off into a gravelly groan, so cum-drunk that he keeps at it even as his seed wets a dark spot in sweatpants. For a moment, he can’t even register the sound of your broken - clearly overstimulated mewls.
Kiyoomi reluctantly lets you go when you finally climb off of him.
“You okay?”
“Mhm.”
You giggle a little before pecking him on his wet mouth.
Kiyoomi’s a little sluggish in his attempt to scoot his large body to the side to make room for you to lay comfortably beside him. Pressing his back into the head of the couch even as the springs quietly creak, but any room you don’t have to be completely sunken into the sofa he makes up for by using his arm to belt you against him.
He sighs.
“Move in with me.”
“Hm?”
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