#I am PINING and I am ACHING and I am YEARNING for her

[cerise-on-top]

It's me! Again 😁

Farah x GN reader

just a lazy day with her!!

○Morning cuddles

○Making breakfasts together

○Cuddles and reading

○Take out food, movies, AND MORE CUDDLES

No pressure, take your time, and take care 🫶

THANK YOU!! Lovely request, absolutely lovely idea again! I love Farah, pining for her is one of my favorite pastime activities! You can do absolutely no wrong with cod girls! Thank you for entrusting me with this request, I truly appreciate it!! It ended up being a bit long, like fic length, even if I wanted to write more headcanon things! But that's okay! It happens, it happened before and it will happen again!

Lazy Day with Farah

It wouldn’t be too uncommon for the two of you to be sleeping together at night. It’s warm, it’s calming, it's grounding. For just one night you won’t be worrying about gunshots and people dying, for just one night it’s the two of you and absolutely no one else. But even so, as morning comes, no matter how safely tucked away you’re under Farah’s chin, responsibilities await. A growling stomach and the ever growing urge to use the bathroom being your biggest enemies as you revel in her presence. Your eyes are still closed, but discomfort washes over you either way, not only because of the two aforementioned conditions, but because they won’t go away on their own. It’s disdainful, really, having to get up because the human body can’t control itself, but you had to lest something worth being scolded for happens.

Slowly, as to not rouse her from her sleep, you try to untangle yourself from Farah, but to no avail. Small in stature, she’s much stronger than anyone would think, her grip simply tightening on you. Even so, her lips curve upwards and a chuckle escapes her. In order to get a good look at you, she moves her head a bit backwards, beautiful brown eyes boring into your own. Her gaze was soft but not hazy, she must have been awake for a while, it seemed. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, she hummed a little tune before finally wishing you a good morning. You had finally awoken and she admitted to having been awake for a while. Her warmth makes you feel right at home as you nuzzle into her once again, a sigh leaving your lips. After wishing her a good morning, you complain, not wanting to get up to use the bathroom, thinking that staying in bed is a much more favorable choice just so you can take her in for a few more minutes. Your wishes were unheard as your stomach, filled with nothing but air, growled once again. Despite agreeing with you, Farah chuckled, pressing another kiss to the top of your head before getting up. After all, if she was no longer in bed with you, then you had another incentive to take care of your needs.

Her plan bore fruit. As she got herself a glass of water in the kitchen, she could hear the toilet being flushed before you, half asleep and not yet ready to tackle the day, trudged into view, your posture slouched. Taking a seat on the chair, you whined yet again, your eyes small, just barely open. It was a surprise you could see anything at all. In hopes of getting back into the warm bed, you made grabby hands at her, not bearing to even think about the room temperature kitchen, seeming so cold on your warm skin. A pat on the back and some teasing encouragement was all you got as she walked past you towards the cabinet, pulling out a pan. Even as you barely registered what she was doing, you asked her whether or not you could help her out a bit. It was much appreciated as, after setting the pan down onto the stove and while tying her hair, she said yes, calling you to her even if she wouldn’t trust you with the stove just yet. She explained to you that she was in the mood for something you both liked, something simple that wasn’t too hard to make: Kikliko. You had made those before, so it didn’t seem like too much of a task.

Two eggs, some white bread, milk, salt and oil. Eggs, milk and salt were mixed together, last one was poured into the pan. Whisking them together, you zoned out a few times as you did so. As you watched the bread soak a bit in the mixture, you were torn from your empty thoughts, interrupted with a kiss to the cheek as Farah took the bread and put it in the pan, frying it for a moment. The process was repeated a few times. By the time you were done you had some delicious food you could easily digest and stomach. And that you did, eating together while you hummed a few responses to her questions, slowly waking up to give her proper ones. It was an adorable sight to Farah. You munching on some kikliko, sighing contently as she told you about her and Alex’ endeavors, how well everything was going. Soon enough you and her could live in peace without having to worry about freedom. She had her cause, and ever since meeting you, you were a big part of it.

Although you were more sappy than she was, you expressed your gratitude, thanking her for fighting the way she does, as valiantly as she can for the freedom of her people. You may not be a soldier, but if you can make her life just the tiniest bit easier, give her something to look forward to at home and help her relax with the consequences of fighting being far from her mind for just a moment, then you know you did everything right. The sentiment got to her, a gentle smile on her face as she listened to your words intently. You did so much more than that, you made a house a home, somewhere she could settle down, enjoy her life and not be subjected to enough stress to kill most people. But you’d never know how strongly she actually felt about you. There are thousands of languages in this world, each with their own unique words, to have a chance at conveying something, anything at all. And even in those thousands of languages, not a single one could ever put into words just how much she loved you.

You put the dishes in the sink, got ready for the day, only to settle for lazing on the couch for another few minutes. A few minutes turned into an hour, an hour into several. The only time you both left each other’s arms was to grab a book each, deciding on reading to each other. It was pleasant, listening to Farah read stories out loud you couldn’t understand. One Thousand and One Nights, a book renowned throughout the world, of origins that can only be speculated these days. You couldn’t speak or understand Arabic past counting to ten, but she made those words flow from her tongue so easily, so beautifully. Indeed, she could have told you about anything, from cruel kings to malevolent spirits, and you’d be none the wiser, but it was so pleasant to listen to. Lying on her chest, feeling it rise and fall with every breath, feeling the vibrations of her voice. Your eyes were closed throughout most of the story, merely open to sometimes get a look at the foreign letters. It was astounding, how a completely different language had different letters that seemed as easy to read as the latin alphabet to some people.

But when it was finally your turn to read, allowing Farah’s vocal chords some well deserved rest, so she can bless your ears and your heart with her voice once more at a later time, you let your love settle on you instead, allowing her to rest on your chest. It was a book you had liked for quite some time, having read its contents more than once already. A collection of poems and love songs from long ago. Fragments were missing, never found, lost to time forever. But what has been passed down for you and your people to see, was as beautiful as it could be. And thus, you started reading:

        It’s very easy to make this clear

        to everyone, for Helen,

        by far surpassing mortals in beauty,

        left the best of all husbands

         and sailed to Troy,

        mindful of neither her child

        nor her dear parents, but

        with one glimpse she was seduced by

        Aphrodite. For easily bent...

        and nimbly...

        has reminded me now

        of Anactoria who is not here;

        I would much prefer to see the lovely

        way she walks and the radiant glance of her face

        than the war-chariots of the Lydians or

        their footsoldiers in arms.

Another sappy and lovestruck thing you said that day, it seemed to never end. But how could it? When you had your very own Venus lying so warmly on top of you, listening to every word you said. But a small comment was all you got from Farah. You were sappy, you were lovestruck and nauseous with adoration for the woman you held oh so gently. The words you read made your heart sing with glee, Farah was the audience for an ode to love and joy. Holding your own goddess in your arms, you continued to read, hoping your voice was as soothing to her as hers was to you. As time went on, your voice getting raspier and drier, you were distracted by your beloved staring at you from her comfortable position. A bashful smile made its way onto your lips, your voice, otherwise resolute, becoming more quiet and shaky as you tried to be serious, as you tried to hide your smile.

Hours had passed ever since you started reading and cuddling, it was only a matter of time until a human body, needy as it could be, would start to make itself known once again. Otherwise so content with floating in space, forgetting about your earthly needs, it was this void in your stomach that asked to be filled yet again. A sisyphean task, if one really thought about it. It wasn’t a plea, not a question either, but more of a demand than anything else: Farah was hungry, but she couldn’t be bothered to cook that time, too comfortable to get up. You leaving her wasn’t an option either, the only solution to the conundrum you were facing being to ask someone else to cook for you. You had money and no motivation to perform this specific task. Therefore, you took out your phone after putting the book on the table, typing in the website that would allow you to order food.

The decision was unanimous, something simple but filling it was going to be. One could do absolutely no wrong with a burger. Both of you chose one the other wasn’t going to take, the reasoning being that you could try each other’s food in that case. This was a lie on your behalf. You had had a burger from that place before, the exact one Farah chose, so all that was left for you to do was steal her food.

But until then, time needed to be killed. It was simple enough: Turning on the TV, watching some documentary about marine life. The moment the crab was in danger of being eaten by a shark, your adrenaline spiked, having gotten attached to the critter already. Invested in its life, you silently cursed the fish for scaring the little crustacean. It was an unfair fight from the start, the crab could have never won against the bite force of a shark, leaving it vulnerable and defenseless.

The documentary was fine to Farah. Crabs weren’t something she was invested in, but watching your facial expression change just a bit was amusing. The way you’d frown at sharks, the way you’d light up a bit upon watching new crabs hatch, the way you’d look relieved when they reached land and finally matured. How you could possibly love some animal in a documentary was beyond her, but it was adorable. You had such a big heart, always taking care of others, it was only natural someone had to protect you as well. Such was Farah’s job. And when the person delivering your food rang on the door, you jumped, not expecting them to have been this quick.

Whereas Farah did not negotiate, you did, wanting to see more baby crabs on the beach, thus asking Farah to come get the food. She agreed, but only if you got the cutlery for them. It was a fair deal, but you hurried to the kitchen regardless, the clanging of metal being rather loud.

Just for another second, your eyes were glued to the screen before tearing themselves away from baby animals to welcome a big, hearty burger with open arms.

The food was pretty good, but you couldn’t look away from Farah’s burger. Vile as always, you got to work as she was chewing on a piece, cutting a piece of her burger off and eating it instead. You kicked her while she was down, leading to her getting some revenge and taking away your curly fries privileges. You were certain by the time you were both done you had eaten more of each other’s food than your own. But it didn’t matter, you were both full and content. Taking the cutlery and takeout boxes into the kitchen, you refilled your glasses of water, adding a lemon slice into both of them. The glasses, however, had to have been at a safe distance before Farah would unleash her final, deadliest attack.

You were safe then, unassuming and a bit sluggish from just having eaten burgers and fries, it was the perfect time to strike. Arms wrapped around your waist, Farah pulled you down onto the couch. No matter how much you struggled, how much resisted, there was no way you could have won. Just like the crab with its puny shell within the shark’s maw, you were caught in Farah’s arms. Indeed, you were done for when she pulled you into her lap. In order to steady yourself, show yourself as more dominant than you really were, you wrapped your arms around her shoulder. A kiss from her turned into a kiss from you, both of you trying to outdo each other, show the other they were more loved.

In the end, neither of you would stay serious, giggling with each other after the tenth or so kiss. A battle of wits, of dominance and fun: Who could out-cuddle the other? You had half a day left to find out!

#cod #cod x reader #farah karim #farah karim x reader #I am PINING and I am ACHING and I am YEARNING for her #fluff like this is actually just the best because I am down bad for cuddling #nothing bad is happening and I don't have to worry about my favourite characters dying for once #I have this specific image of Farah in my mind right now and it makes me tear up because I love woman #when I saw you could play as Farah in mw3 I was ecstatic #finally you could play the women in some missions #I wholeheartedly believe the cod women deserved even more screentime and more dialogue #what I wouldn't give to hear more banter and stuff #but I'll take what I can get

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

dress - m. murdock

a/n: i am not proud of this in the way that i will not be claiming it when i am judged by god. warnings: SMUT like real sex!!! dom!matt, p in v smut, matt has a thing for talking in bed, MATT BEING A TEASE!!! many nicknames, pining, praise with slight degradation, fluff here and there, tipsy reader and matt, i'm sure i'm missing one or two word count: 3.3k summary: ten months of yearning wears you and matt down to desperation. pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader now playing: dress - taylor swift "say my name and everything just stops/i dont want you like a best friend/only bought this dress so you could take it off."

Foggy is so mad at him.

You’re a good employee, a great employee even! You’re dedicated to your job, and you bake in your free time, so you bring in all sorts of treats—Homemade bagels, donuts, cookies—His favorite are your cinnamon chai sugar cookies you make.

You’re intelligent, well-spoken, and good at explaining the issues that you run into. And you’re funny, Foggy would argue, you have incredible timing and wit. You always buy a round at Josies. You are an amazing employee and friend, and Foggy adores you.

So why, pray tell, must Matt feel the need to have you?

He won’t say it out loud, not to Karen, not to Maggie, not to Foggy, and certainly not you. But he’s entranced by you. He loves the sound of your voice as you explain things, he loves that your heart always skips a beat whenever you’re about to deliver a one liner that will crack everyone else up, he loves that when you bake, you always make things all naturally out of desire to make the best dessert you possibly can. But most of all?

He loves that your heart rate picks up whenever he enters the room.

You, on the other hand, are pretty much fascinated by Matt Murdock. You love the sound of his laughter, you love his hands, you love his charm, you love that you can see a chain around his neck when the day dwindles and he loosens his tie, and Jesus H Christ, you love that baritone.

So, it’s safe to say you’ve both been smitten since the first day you met each other.

Yet, you spend ten months cruelly dancing around your attraction for each other.

He’s hesitant to want you in any context, he’s your boss, he’s fucking Daredevil!

By then you know—Mostly accidentally on purpose. All his usual people are out of town or busy, so when he gets stabbed, he has nowhere else to go. He winds up climbing into your window, scaring the ever-living shit out of you. It’s not how he wanted to tell you about his alter ego, but he knows he can trust you.

And you hate the site of blood and gore, so you struggle to patch him up that night. And it makes your heart ache, all the ways he hurts from his nighttime hobby. And he decides right then and there that he can’t have you, not now. Not knowing how much you would—and really, will—worry about him.

So, he buries his want in other people that have no real meaning to him. He even goes on a second date with some of them. One of them even comes to visit him in the office to have lunch.

It makes you jealous to the point where you need to take a walk to dwindle your desire to go back into the office and beg on your hands and knees for her to leave so you can have him. What happens instead is that you go get a pumpkin chai latte and take it back to the office, sitting and keeping to yourself, even when the girl comes out of his office giggling as he stands in the doorway as she leaves.

He smells the pumpkin from his office, and it drives him wild. Just from how quietly you dwell in your jealousy, as you mask it with your favorite fall flavors.

He breaks up with the girl the next day.

• • •

And a week later, he gets his official invitation to Marci and Foggy’s wedding—A big to do, full of family, friends and coworkers that make it a real party. Matt will be Foggy’s best man. You and Karen aren’t in the wedding party, as you were good friends with both the bride and groom, but Karen wanted to make sure at least one of them was focused on the firm, and you hated to be the center of attention. So, you shared your love from a few aisles back.

You had gone shopping with Marci for your dress, Karen too. You enjoyed spending time with them—While you had made friends with them easily, prior friends had never really come easy to you.

It was nice to be wanted.

But they had insisted on you trying to find different dresses that made you look amazing. And for the most part, the dresses made you sort of uncomfortable. They revealed too much or revealed too little.

And then you came across this red satin dress. It hugs your curves in all the right way, and it makes you look good. It makes you feel good. You have these perfect black heels to wear with them, and then Karen says it.

“You know, Matt kind of has a thing about textures. He loves silk and satin.” Your face burns. Of course, he does. Why wouldn’t he? He can hear people's heartbeats, tell when they’re lying, why wouldn’t he be keen on nice textures?

“Karen Page, are you insisting I should by this dress to impress a man?” You laugh just to escape your nerves.

“No! But it can��t hurt! It’s not like he’s bringing a date—” She turns to Marci. “He’s not bringing a date, right?” she asks quickly. It makes her laugh.

“No, Murdock RVSP’ed for one.”  You look at yourself in the mirror again, thinking it over. And over. And over. Then you turn to your friends again, and nod.

“Alright. Alright, I’ll get it.” You grin, “And y’know.. Karen’s right, It can’t make the situation any worse.”

“You know what you need now? Good lingerie for after—” Your face is red again at your friend’s comment.

“Shut up, Marci!” You whine, heading back to the dressing room to get changed.

• • •

Matt is sitting with Foggy and his brothers, enjoying a glass of scotch before the ceremony when someone knocks on the door.

And somehow, he’s not shocked to hear your nervous heartbeat when the door opens.

“Hey Fog, Karen said you had scissors—Can I borrow ‘em quick? There’s a tag on this dress I forgot to take off and it’s impossible to reach—”

“Yes, Absolutely, and you know who would be great at helping you? Matt. An incredible knack for… Cutting things.” It’s a poor attempt to get the two of you alone, yet Foggy hands you the scissors and pushes you and Matt outside the room.

“My rooms only two doors down.” He explains, taking your hand in his and leading you there.

After finding out about his super senses, it became clear that he was more than capable of finding his way through places he’s stayed, and that he’s privy to a lot more information than people would give him credit for.

So here you are. In Matt Murdock’s hotel room. A tag itching at your back, with you unable to grab it.

“I’m just gonna—” He awkwardly reaches to the top of your dress, and you just move the hair from your neck and try to ease his anxiety.

“Just go for it, Matt. I don’t care, it’s just annoying.” You promise. And he does.

He folds the top of your dress the best he can and its only enough for the scissors to almost grab the tag without him sticking his hand down your dress. He hesitates for a second before exhaling deeply.

Then, he leans down towards your back, and scrunches the material enough so that he can reach the tag and bites the tag off.

You can feel his other hand on your hip. His hot breath on your back. He hears your heart jump as your breath becomes shaky. He wonders how bad it would be for him to skip the wedding and take you right here, in this room.

He plucks the tag from his teeth and smooths out your dress, as you let go of your hair. He feels this raw need for you.

And you feel it too. Yet he pulls away, taking a step back from you.

“We should get to the ceremony.” he said, trying to catch his breath. He yearns for you, in a way that anyone else would laugh at. It’s the type of yearning you read about in Jane Austen novels. That is the level that Matt longs to touch you. It’s desperation.

“Yeah...” You say softly, trying to recover from what just happened. You drop him back off at Foggy’s suite and head back to the hall, hoping to find Karen and put the moment behind you. And that’s just what happens. You watch the ceremony, and it’s gorgeous. You’re thrilled for Marci and Foggy, and it elates you that they put together such a beautiful ceremony.

And yet, you can’t take your eyes off Matt and how good he looks. He stands tall, and he really does look good. It makes it kind of hard to focus. It makes it really hard to focus. And you think about this all the way through their first dance song, through dinner, through cake and through all the cheesy wedding traditions Foggy insisted on.

You have a few drinks but eventually it all becomes too much, and you take a minute outside of the hall and into the cold air. And you’re thinking about Matt.

“You’re gonna catch a cold out here.”

Speak of the devil.

You turn back to him and smile.

“I’ve been thinking about you.” You say, and he hums. It’s the alcohol in both of your systems, it’s why neither of you run when you say it.

“Same goes for you, sweetheart.” He takes off his coat and wraps it around your shoulders. You note the silky texture of the inside of the jacket. It pushes you further.

“Why do we insist on playing this game? Why do we watch each other go after people who we don’t want when all we want is each other?”

He takes a moment to answer. Because in truth, he’s sure he could tell you why, he could discuss all of the horrible things that have happened to him, and you could share the same sort of stories about your own life. You could sit there and dissect past traumas for hours.

But that’s not really what you’re asking.

“I don’t know...” He says softly. His hands find themselves on your hips, and he rubs small circles into the fabric. “Satin?” You hum, melting at his touch. “Words, pretty girl. You know I like hearing your voice.”

“Satin.” You confirm, your breath catching.

“There she is...” He hums, and leans in. You feel his breath against your lip, and you take it upon yourself to close the gap between the two of you.

It’s soft, full of this hesitation because despite all the flirting, you’re still unsure of yourself. He quickly eases these fears as his hands move and you find his arms wrapped around your torso. He deepens the kiss, and you both lean into it. It becomes more desperate after that.

Your hands find their way to his hair, and you fiddle with the ends, unwilling to break the kiss, even if it means air. He breaks the kiss for a second, only to come back to your lips with more passion, biting your bottom lip, before slipping his tongue into your mouth, taking the more aggressive approach.

And you can’t take it anymore. You need him. You pull away from him, pant softly before kissing his jaw gently.

“Take me to your room.” You request. He obliges.

You find yourself taking off your heels as soon as you get in, your feet aching as you walk further into the room. The context is much different than it was this afternoon—And it makes you nervous.

Matt comes up from behind you and places his hands on your arms, rubbing them gently, before kissing your shoulder.

“You don’t have to be nervous. I’ll be gentle with you...” He says softly. You hum before he continues, “Or do you... want me to be rough with you?” he asks teasingly, landing a quick bite onto your shoulder. You make a noise of surprise and turn to him.

“You’re a tease, has anyone ever told you that?”

“Once or twice.” He begins to loosen his tie, eventually forcing it off and then starting to unbutton his shirt. You begin to help him with this task, eventually getting it all the way unbuttoned. Then you gently push him back against the bed and he laughs, falling onto it.

He thinks it’s cute. Until you sit above him, your dress hiking a bit. You lean down to kiss him as his hands find their way to the back of your thighs, and begin to move up and down, just being the tease, he is.

You whine into the kiss, and it just makes him chuckle further, before flipping the pair of you over, then planting a kiss on your neck.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? Needy from just a few kisses?” He slips off his shirt as he continues to kiss you. One hand remains on your thigh, travelling up your thigh, eventually finding your panties.

“Mhm...” You hum, your hands wrapping around his neck again to play with his hair.

“Talk to me, sweet girl...” he says softly before he continues his assault on your neck.

“Matt…” You hum. “You know, I only—” Then his fingers find your clit and begin rubbing gentle circles, just teasing you with his fingers. It turns him from tease to cruel. You let out a moan, and he only tuts in disappointment.

“Keep talking or you won’t get anything from me.” He tells you, before continuing to tease you. His fingers begin to work on your folds. You try your best to focus. He takes off your panties and throws them on the ground somewhere.

“Only bought this dress for you... Thought you might like it...” You gasp again as he slips a finger into you, “Fuck—Thought it would make you do something about it.” In fairness, it got the reaction you had only hoped for in your wildest dreams. It makes him chuckle against your skin.

“Only got this pretty little dress for me to touch you like this?” He adds another finger and starts to move. When you don’t answer, too busy getting lost in his fingers, he bites your shoulder again. “Answer me, sweetheart.”

“Yes! God, yes…” You respond. He hums in approval, continuing to curl his fingers inside of you. It only takes a few minutes before you can feel yourself near the edge of an orgasm. “Matt… Baby, please...”

“C’mon, sweet girl... I’ve got you, let go...” And it’s enough to make you, cumming all over his fingers. He lets you ride out your high, out of breath. He kisses your neck again before bringing his fingers up to his lips, tasting your juices. “Sweet girl, still.” He smirks. Your heart skips a beat. He chuckles. Then he continues, “Did so good for me, sweetheart... Wanna keep going?” He asks.

“Yes, please... Wanna feel you inside me...” you confess.

“You want me to fill you up and stretch you out, pretty girl?” You should know better by now, but you just hum in response, gaining another bite to your shoulder. “Try again.”

“Yes... I want you so badly, Matt, please... I’ve been dreaming about it for months now,” You confess, “Need you...”  He seems satisfied by this, and moves back, helping you sit up.

“Well then, we’ll need to get this pretty dress off you.” He says, his fingers working to take off his belt. Your fingers run over his chest. It’s all he can do not to rip the dress off, but he knows how much it means to you and how much it could’ve cost. So, instead, he slips the dress off you and feels you shiver against him. Still so nervous. He tosses the dress in the general direction of his suitcase, so it doesn’t sit on the floor. He leans in and starts pressing kisses to your chest, his hands reaching up to your bra and unclasping it. He throws it with much less care than the dress.

He keeps kissing down your torso as he lays you back on the bed, your hands going again to his hair.

“How come it’s fair that I’m fully naked, and you still have pants on?” You ask. It makes him laugh, and he stands straight again.

“Fair enough,” he says, taking them off. And then goes his boxers. Before you can stare at him, he’s on top of you again, kissing you deeply. You can feel his cock resting against your fold and it makes you moan into the kiss. He pulls away for just a second before asking, “Is this, okay? You’ll stop me if it’s too much?”

“Yeah, I’ll tell you.” You respond. He smiles at your words.

“Perfect. Perfect, pretty girl...” He hums as he begins to kiss your shoulders and the top of your chest, before slipping inside of you. You let out a moan, and he groans as well, taking a few minutes to take all of you in. It feels amazing. He begins to move inside of you as he brings you in for another kiss. When he pulls away, he’s talking, “Been thinking about this for... Fuck, so long...” He groans. “Been dreaming of this perfect pussy and how good it would feel around me…” He says, and it elicits a shaky moan from you.

“Faster, please...” You request, and he obliges, picking up the pace. You’ve been thinking about this for a long time too. You never imagined he’d be so controlling about the whole thing. It works you up almost as much as how vocal he is.

He leaves bites and marks down your chest as he pulls you closer to him, knowing he won’t last much longer. He feels you tighten around him and makes another demand, “Tell me how badly you want to cum, and I’ll let you.” He says this before planting a rather contrasting soft kiss to your ear.

“Please... Please, Matt, Fuck... I need to cum all over your cock... Wanna feel so good, baby...” You moan, your fingers pulling on his hair. It excites you when he moans. “And I want you to cum inside me... Fill me up, Baby, please...” You beg. He’s happy with it for now, but he knows he’ll want to hear more another time.

“C’mon, sweet girl. Cum for me…” He pants, and it’s all you need before you let yourself come undone around his cock. He continues thrusting for a few minutes, letting you ride out your high, before cumming himself, and you moan at the feeling. He lays against you for a few minutes, trying to recover, and it’s then that you notice he’s shaking.

“Are you okay?” You ask softly, brushing his hair out of his face. He looks at you with those gorgeous brown eyes. He laughs at your question.

“I’m great... You’re just... amazing...” he says honestly, kissing your shoulder one more time. “Perfect, pretty girl...” He praises. “My perfect girl...” It makes you shudder. He stays like this for a moment more before kissing you softly. Then, he sits up and goes to get a towel to clean the both of you up. And then, he’s back in bed with you. He pulls you close as you both recover from what just happened.

“I wasn’t lying,” You start, “I’ve been thinking about you for months. You’re all I’ve wanted for so long...” You confess. He kisses your head and pulls you closer.

“Me too... I was too much of an idiot to tell you though. Almost let you get away.”

“You got me.” You affirm. He hums and begins to rub all too familiar circles into your hips with his thumbs.

“And now I just want you more.”

The feeling is mutual.

#matt murdock x you #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock smut #matt murdock being hot #matthew murdock #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil #daredevil fic #first smut #yearning #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock fanfic

[emotionoitme]

safe in your skin

part two of about a girl

carmy berzatto x reader (no use of y/n)

warnings: friends with benefits, bdsm dom/sub undertones, age gap, alcohol & tobacco use, lots of dirty talk, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), unprotected vaginal sex (use condoms!!), choking, mutual pining

wc: 7.5k

a/n: thank you so much for the support on the last chapter! i was literally kicking my legs twirling my hair reading through the replies. please enjoy some more nastiness!! and lots of yearning ofc <3

title fight - safe in your skin

job hunting was a grueling task, no matter how lucky you get— the girl could feel this physically, shoulders slumped and feet aching. she had dropped off applications at 4 different places that day, eager to start a new job as soon as possible. what she didn’t expect was places seemingly desperate for help saying they’d up to a week to get back to her. she dejectedly checked the time on her phone, strolling down the relatively empty sidewalk. it was a little after 3, meaning she’d have time to check out a few more options before heading home. she wasn’t necessarily enthusiastic about the task, either, searching up bars in her vicinity to take an application to. she finds a smaller looking club on google maps 2 miles away and pulls up walking directions. she was looking for a change of pace, but a club was familiar and she catches a second wind as her steps slow in pace, smelling a delicious aroma heavy in the sunny afternoon air. she raises her head from the phone, looking around to locate the source of the smell. she continues forward, looking in the window of a small business. a makeshift sign taped on the glass reads, “the bear”, name underlined, and “help wanted”. she puts her phone back into her pocket, no longer curious about the club she had found. she opens the front door, entering the small establishment and letting her senses be overtaken by the mouth watering scent emanating from the kitchen. the push of the door rings a small bell, and after being inside alone for a few moments, a tall man comes from the kitchen to stand behind the counter. 

“hey, sweetheart, we’re closed for dinner prep. you can come back in an hour.” he tells her, voice booming. she offers him a smile, approaching the counter. 

“i’m actually here for the help wanted sign. are you guys taking applications?” she asks, pushing a piece of hair behind her ear. 

the man lets out a hardy laugh, “you wanna work here? what, victoria’s secret isn’t hiring?” he asks her, scanning her up and down. her small smile drops, rolling her eyes. 

“never mind,” she goes to turn, leave, and take her chances with the club nearby. 

“ah, hey, hey, hey, wait,” he calls after her, “i’m sorry, i’m being an asshole.”

 she shrugs, not entirely disagreeing. he puts a hand out, gesturing to stay, “wait right here and i’ll get carmy.” the tall man disappears behind the kitchen doors, and she takes a quick opportunity to look around, noting the old fashioned decor, a few parts of the restaurant seemingly in renovation. it was noticeably smaller than her old workplace, but harbored a cozy feel, the bustle of the kitchen softly filtering throughout the lobby. she took a copy of her resume out of the small tote bag she was carrying, setting it on the island in front of her. she hears motion, the kitchen doors swinging open and a man clad in a white shirt and blue apron emerges. he approaches her, separated by the counter.

“hey,” he calls, taking her in, slightly, “you, uh, here to apply?”

holy shit, she feels her throat tighten up, studying his face, strong stature, golden brown curls, “hi, yes i am! my name is -,” she introduces, sticking a hand out.

he takes it, momentarily noticing how cold her hands are. 

“carmy,” he returns, “it’s nice to meet you. you, uh, got a resume?” and lets go of her hand. 

she hands it to him, “here,” feeling slightly self conscious as he glances over it, thinking, is this supposed to be my boss? 

“you have a lot of service experience,” he notes, glancing up at her. 

“yeah,” she hesitates, “i’m not sure if that’s what you’re looking for, but i’m a fast learner.”

“no, no, that’s actually what we would need, another front of house,” he responds, “we only have richie right now.”

she feels a light flutter of hope in her chest, encouraged by the reassurance of their lack of competence in the front. 

“are you working now? this last job dates back six months,” he asks, eyes double checking the paper. there was the dreaded question. she was hoping he wouldn’t notice, heat growing in her cheeks a bit. 

“um, yeah…i actually work over at ricky’s,” she admits, hesitantly. his eyes widen a bit, eyebrows raising. 

“i don’t dance, though,” she rushedly clarifies, “i bartend.” 

his eyebrows relax, and a smile creeps at his mouth in realization.

 “yeah, uh, that’s why i didn’t put it on there,” she says, gesturing to the resume he held, “everyone always thinks i’m a dancer.” 

he clears his throat, busying himself with the piece of paper in front of him for a moment before speaking. 

“you a student?” he asks, glancing up to see her nod, bright smile adorning her face. 

“i’m only taking what i can afford right now, which is like two classes, but yeah,” she explains. he doesn’t have reason for why his tongue feels tied, and the back of his neck hot. he shoves it away. 

“well, um, i probably can’t give you more than about 30 hours a week, at least to start. tips are yours to take home but they, uh, probably won’t compare to the tips at ricky’s,” he brings a finger up to his nose, scratching a phantom itch. the girl tilts her head a bit, smiling, “i’ll take that as a challenge,” she quips. a grin breaks his face, not doubting the personable girl. 

“so, uh, when can you start?” he asks. 

“as soon as possible,” she answers, increasingly eager to quit her bartending job. he looks to the side and behind him, towards the kitchen. 

“if you want, i can get you set up today,” he turns back to her, “i think we have some extra aprons in the back.” 

“wait, really?” she reassures, him nodding in response. she lets out a small squeak, clapping her hands, big smile on her face. 

she’s cute, he thinks to himself, watching her enthusiasm, very quickly trying to shake the thought away. don’t be weird, she’s working for you now. off limits. not to mention he knew he wasn’t exactly boyfriend material, emotionally speaking. 

“is this okay to wear?” she asks, gesturing to her outfit and effectively breaking him out of his thoughts. he rakes his eyes downwards over her form, shamefully grateful for the opportunity. hugged by a tight white shirt and baggy jeans that hung to expose a long strip of her lower hips, connecting at her front and lower back. he tears his eyes back up to meet hers. 

“yeah, should be fine,” he says, trying to be as nonchalant as possible, “you won’t be working in the kitchen too much at first, so you don’t have to wear a uniform,” he tells her, putting his hands onto the counter, leaning into them slightly. 

“and just regular work clothes for my next shift?” she asks, finding herself also leaning forward to press her weight against the edge of the counter. he nods, “yeah,” a smirk creeps at the edges of his lips, “just uh, maybe not ricky’s attire,” glancing at the girl. she giggles. he thinks it sounds like bells chiming. 

“what?” she tries to sound surprised, “how am i supposed to make the same tips then?” a smile plays on her lips, meeting his eyes. he lets out a laugh, studying her face. 

“i think you’ll find a way,” he responds. the counter space between the two seemed much smaller than earlier, as now he could see her face in much finer detail. he studies it, briefly, then tears his eyes away, forcing himself to step back. he clears his throat,

“follow me,” and begins walking towards the kitchen, “we’ll try and find you an apron. and introduce you to everyone.” 

a slight feeling of nervousness as she trails behind, unsure what “everyone” will entail.

“okay,” she replies, and steps behind the counter. 

—

 he finds himself in his apartment that night, halfheartedly watching a rerun of an old sitcom on his small tv, his mind wandering back to her time again. he was oddly intrigued by her, wanting to get to know her better. it wasn’t just a physical thing—although she was easy on the eyes— it was her demeanor, sweet and gentle, that somehow immediately smoothed his edges. the staff all took an instant liking to her, welcoming her into the kitchen enthusiastically. sydney seemed happy to have another young woman in the restaurant, tina asking her about her university, richie making the occasional snide comment, but undeniably taking a liking to the new colleague. she made her way around the register system surprisingly fast without training, seamlessly taking orders with the exception of a few brief pauses. carmy kept an eye on the girl throughout the rest of the evening in case she needed him, watching her quickly adapt to the shift of environment. the dinner rush moved shockingly smooth, the large tip jar, empty while richie was manning the front, was halfway full at closing time. he was admittedly impressed with the young woman, trying hard to mentally discern between admiring and enamoring. it was almost as if a bright light had graced the restaurant that evening, leaving carmen with a lingering warm tingle throughout his body. 

he looks around his dark apartment, messy and congested, cigarettes overflowing the ashtray, dishes piling the sink. letting out a deep sigh and running his hand through his curls, he stands, shutting off the tv and making his way to the bedroom. he could clean everything up tomorrow, not that it would make much of a difference, he thinks. although the booming launch of the bear was incredibly uplifting to the chef, reassuring him of the sacrifices he made to keep mikey’s restaurant running, there was still a void carmen felt deep in his heart, growing increasingly apparent in his solitude. he often felt trapped inside of himself, wondering if this was just something he would have to learn to deal with, destined to be defined by his profession, wishing there there was a way he could give into his personal desires while maintaining his professional growth. he crawls into bed and shuts off his lamp light. 

you can’t have your cake and eat it too, a saying he heard from his mom as a kid. he shuts his eyes. 

—                        

fuck. she takes an uneasy breath, staring at herself in the bathroom mirror. turning on the faucet, wetting her palms in cold water and bringing the shaky hands to both sides of her face. 

why am i so nervous? 

she wondered if everyone felt this way before a hookup, focusing on deep breaths to calm her nerves. she wasn’t used to this. she had only ever been intimate within relationships, not having experience with casual encounters, nevertheless ones involving her boss. she knew it was a risky pursuit, especially for being a girl with an easily breakable heart, having shed many tears over lovers prior. nevertheless, something about the pull she felt to carmen was magnetic. he was strong, dominant, confident in his work, yet deeply complicated, a dull sadness within his striking eyes. he seemed the type of person to consistently be bearing the heaviest load on his back, and she had an inexplicable urge to relieve him of this, even if only for a moment. she wanted to watch him in bliss at her own control. just have to make sure it doesn’t go too far, she consistently reminds herself. she studies herself in the mirror, skinny straps of a short white sundress peak out from underneath her hair. a dress she specifically chose for him, adorning her exposed chest with a simple gold necklace. she ultimately was aiming to be comfortable for the night, yet each item was intentionally selected with a certain set of eyes in mind. 

i can do it. i’m going to have fun tonight, she tells herself, and potentially fuck my incredibly hot boss, warming at the thought, then i’m never ever gonna think about him again, she internalizes, having had enough with wasted energy on dead end flings. 

she smoothes out the white dress, satisfied with how it hugs her figure, then exits the small bathroom, making her way into her living room. the clock in the adjacent kitchen reads 11:13, and she makes her way to the large window to watch for carmy’s car. she felt erratic, heart palpitating in her chest at each set of headlights that drove by. she opens the window a few inches, breathing in the warm summer night to try and calm her increasing nervousness. it does work, a bit, and she’s able to even out her breathing before leaving. after a moment, a car slowly drives up to the pavement in front of her apartment and stops, engine idling. her phone vibrates on the counter, and she picks it up. 

carmy: i’m here. 

her heart does a leap in her chest, grabbing her keys and turning off the light before opening her front door and walking outside, locking it behind her. she feels slightly self conscious in the headlights while approaching his car, hearing the click of the passenger’s door being pushed open for her. she grabs the door, pulling it all the way open. 

“hi,” she greets, a bit shy. 

“hey,” he replies warmly, silently taking her image in. she climbs into the car and shuts the door behind her, noticing the clean car’s lack of trash and empty ashtray, differing from the previous night. she meets his eyes, a fluttering in her chest. he looks tired, lids low and white shirt wrinkled, but still has a spark in his eyes, clearly admiring the girl’s presentation. he turns his head back in front of him, breaking the eye contact and putting the car into drive. 

“how was close?” she breaks the silence with, noticing the way his eyes flicker back over to her.  

“long,” he admits, “harder without you there.” 

her heart jumps against her ribs, face growing warm at the slight praise. 

“what? you mean richie isn’t the best front of house closer ever?” she feigns surprise, smiling at the thought.

he lets out a scoff, shaking his head, and she softly giggles at this. the lull of the tires against the road fills her ears, noting the limited cars out at this time. her nerves have significantly calmed from before, but she still feels a knot in her stomach, amplified by the light smell of his cologne within the confined space. 

“are you, uh… are you hungry?” he asks her, eyes trained front. she pauses a moment, debating whether she is hungry or the gnawing feeling in her stomach is from nerves alone. 

“yeah,” she replies, “i am.” she wasn’t going to turn down a personal meal from a world class chef, and the thought of him cooking for her before anything else spreads a warmth throughout her chest. 

“good,” a small smile on his face, “i’ll make us somethin’.”

carmen couldn’t help but feel excitement bloom in his chest at the prospect of spending time alone with the young woman, having spent the day at the restaurant mentally preparing for the night. he had been chopping onions before the dinner rush when she closely brushed behind him in the confined space. he was able to smell her sweet perfume, triggering an image of her to flash across his mind— kneeled, lips parted, face flushed, chest bare, leaning into his hands— the knife slipped and he sliced the side of his finger, cursing an obscenity as soon as it happened. he dropped the knife on the cutting board, walking over to the sink, mentally cursing himself for allowing the to perverse thoughts to bleed over into his work, as he promised himself many times they wouldn’t. the bleeding of his finger had stopped quickly under the cool stream of water to reveal a small nick. he was able to put a bandaid on it and get directly back to work, but it plagued him a bit. he wondered if would he be able to maintain the professional kitchen environment in the long run, once the two were satisfied with the fun they’d had. it had proved difficult so far, thoughts of her swarming his head uncontrollably since she had stepped foot into his restaurant. 

the car slows, pulling up to the curb outside carmen’s apartment complex. he pushes the gear shift into park, turning off the engine. 

“this is you?” she asks, to which he nods. “you live closer than i thought you did,” she chimes, opening the door to step out of the car. she smooths the white dress, glancing around the complex. he comes up behind the girl, pressing a hand to the small of her back. 

“this way,” he says, ushering her forward. she can’t help but focus on the warmth of his hand, large and encompassing against her thinly clothed skin. they enter the building, taking the long flight of stairs up to his home, carmy desperately trying to look anywhere else besides the length of her legs leading up to the soft skin of her ass, fully visible as she climbs in front of him. they speedily make it to the top, carmen rustling in his front pocket for the keys. he swings the door open to a dark room, stepping in and flicking on a lamp switch. she follows him in, eyes scanning her surroundings. it was clean and tidy, with piles of various cook books stacked on side tables and a knitted green blanket draped over the old couch. the place smelled like him, and she feels her muscles relax. 

“i know it’s not much, but uh,” he shuts the door, “make yourself at home, please.”

she gives him a big smile, “it’s cute. just what i imagined,” and puts her belongings on a side table, walking around to examine the space. he feels the edges of his lips twitch at her response, watching her look at the scarcity of the place. she spins around, facing him, “you’re really clean, too.” she sounds impressed. 

he smiles at this, appreciating the assumption. 

“it’s not always like this,” he responds truthfully. she lets out a soft laugh and saunters over towards the kitchen island, pushing herself up to sit on the stool he had. he walks to the opposite side of the counter, opening the fridge to gather various ingredients for their dinner. 

“what are you gonna make?” she curiously asks. 

“just uh,” he pauses, looking for an item, “something quick.” he straightens, carrying the ingredients to the counter. he meets her eyes, the two separated by a few feet of laminate, and he feels his chest constrict under her gaze. “some roasted chicken and veggies, with a garlic herb butter,” he turns back to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of unopened wine, beginning to look for a corkscrew. 

“fuck,” she breathes out, “that sounds so good.” 

carmy tenses, stilling for a moment. he loved the way her voice sounded, wanted to hear more. it was apparent he was tightly strung from the grueling week, feeling reactive to everything she said. he pulls the corkscrew out from a drawer, opening the fresh bottle and grabbing two glasses. 

“you want some?” he asks her, holding it up. 

she nods, “yes, please,” eager for a bit of liquid encouragement. he fills the two glasses halfway, handing her one and bringing the side of his glass to clink against hers.

“cheers for making it through the week,” he toasts, earning a giggle from her. 

“cheers! and,” she continues, tilting her head, “cheers for richie not seeing my tits when i was in your office,” she grins and takes a slow sip of the wine, maintaining their eye contact. he lets out a breathy laugh, raising his wine glass to his lips, “yeah, i’ll cheers to that,” and drinks, the red wine dry on his lips. 

with both of their plates empty and the girl’s warm praise still lingering in the room, carmen drinks the remaining wine from his third glass, feeling calm and airy. the apartment is hot and fragrant from the cooking, and the young man notices a pinch of want in the back of his mind, wondering where he had put his cigarettes. 

“do you mind if i go smoke?” he asks her, wine weighing on his tongue. she smiles a bit, shaking her head.

“i’ll go with you,” her voice a bit lower and more drawn out than he would regularly hear it. he nods, standing and walking towards the bedroom to look for a pack of cigarettes. 

“i don’t have a balcony,” he calls from his room, opening his nightstand drawer, “but we can step out onto the fire escape for a bit,” he grabs his carton out of the dresser. carmy walks back into the room to find the girl standing, peering out his window at the black grated fire escape structure. he leans beside her to unlock the window, pushing it open. he puts one leg through, ducks, then steps out, offering a hand for the girl. she takes it, hand small in his, and repeats his actions, noticing a definitive impairment as she joins him outside. 

the night was warm and humid, chicago air damp with the summer monsoon. it smelled good outside, though, air fresh with recent rain, a mellow hum of cicada sounding throughout the trees. carmy flips the carton open, placing a filter between his lips and illuminating his face with the orange of the lighter’s flame. she runs her eyes over his features while they’re briefly lit up, finding herself in a close proximity to him, the two leaning up against the iron railing. she brushes her hair back behind her shoulders, watching the man smoke. the few glasses of wine she had clouded her previous anxieties. she genuinely couldn’t remember what she was worried about now, thoroughly enjoying the sight of the man in front of her. she leans into him, pressing the side of her hip into his thigh, arm flush against his. 

“can i have some?” she asks, staring up at him, glancing down at the cigarette. she didn’t know exactly what it was, the alcohol or him looking so attractive with a cancer stick in his mouth, but she felt compelled to give it another try, having a distaste from previous experience. he turns to face her, gazes locking, a glint of surprise behind his eyes. 

“sure,” he answers, remaining still, pointer and middle finger loosely grasping the cigarette. he glances at her expectantly and she leans over, bringing her mouth to the filter, lips brushing the tips of his fingers. she sucks, carmen watching, completely entranced, then stands upright again, exhaling the smoke with a slight furrow in her brow. the man lets a slight smirk break his face, bringing the cigarette back up to his mouth and inhaling. he studies the dark street behind his building, sporadically illuminated by the soft glow of a street lamp, tiredness catching up with him. she keeps her eyes trained on the man, trailing from his face down his body. she stops at his arms, admiring the sheer strength of them, tracing her sights over his various tattoos. she almost felt overtaken by want in that moment, darting her eyes back up to his lips wrapped around the cigarette. the young woman leans into him further, more of her body touching his and now facing him directly, tipsiness slightly clouding her rationality. 

“carm,” she breathes out, immediately catching his attention. he gazes down at her, cognisant of her breasts pushed against his side, studying her face to find desire written across her features. she brings a hand to his chest, leaning up and gently kissing his neck. she feels his sharp intake of breath under her body, and she smirks at this, placing a few more gentle kisses around the side of his neck. the two had a strict rule about kissing on the lips, but never made the clear distinction to forbid all types of kissing, carmy not daring to protest. his eyes fall closed, focused on the heat of her lips against his neck, the weight of her body on his. he throws the cigarette to the ground, wrapping an arm around her, sliding his fingers up her back and to the base of her skull, carding his fingers through her hair. she nips his neck suddenly, causing him to instinctively tighten his grip, pulling the hair, emanating a breathy moan from the girl. his mouth falls open, a smirk playing on the edges of his lips. wrapping his other arm around her back, hand grabbing her hip, he pulls their bodies closer together. carmen’s tight grip doesn’t falter, pulling her head back to see her face, her eyes trailing upwards to meet his. she studies his blown pupils, him drinking her in as if she were a desert oasis. her face is flushed, lids heavy, eyes locked onto his. he leans in and pulls her simultaneously, lightly putting his forehead against hers, noses touching, lips twitching. she can smell the smoke on his breath combined with his fresh deodorant. she finds herself completely intoxicated by this, tightly shutting her eyes, unsure of what she’ll do if she continues to stare. she feels his breath, warm on her lips, so desperate for contact. 

“you like this, don’t you?” he asks, voice a low rumble. 

she gently nods, nose brushing against his, not trusting her voice. a slight tug makes her softly gasp, eyes snapping open. he pulls away, but only slightly. “answer me,” the sound of his voice weakening her knees. he scans his eyes over her face.

“yes,” she breathes out, sounding far more sultry than she intended, “i really like it, carm,” she admits, tone needy. he pulls away from her completely, the girl missing the warmth from his face almost instantly. 

“get inside,” he growls, releasing her hair and removing his arm, leaning over and shoving the window open. 

she takes a second to collect herself, almost dizzy from the eye contact and the growing heat under her dress. she puts her hand on the window ledge, climbing back into the apartment as quickly as she could. carmy follows behind, shutting the window halfway. he eyes the girl, standing by the edge of the counter, then walks past her to the couch, sitting in the middle, leaning back. she shifts, unsure of what to do, her hazed courage of earlier fading. 

“c’mere,” he gestures her over. 

she slowly walks towards him, coming to stand in front of him in between his seated legs, front of her shins bumping into the sofa. he leans forward, bringing his strong hands to caress the back of her thighs, admiring the silkiness of her skin, trailing his palms up and towards the curve of her ass, softly kneading the skin, then stopping. 

“take this off,” he commands, squeezing. her face reddens, inching her hands down to the hem of her dress, slowly pulling it up her thighs. she pauses, before flipping the edge up over her head, taking the dress off completely. he softly groans at the sight, fabric removed to reveal her bare body, clothed only by a pair of skinny black panties. she drops it on the floor, shyly bringing her arms up to cover her breasts. he leans closer to her, pressing a kiss to her navel, bringing his hands up to grab her hips. he marvels at her exposed skin, feeling close to primal with desire, tempted to pull her onto his lap and shove the panties to the side. 

should i?

he glances upwards at her, a smile creeping at the edges of his lips. he slides his left hand down to her the back of her lower thigh, then quickly pulls her body towards him, the girl letting out a sound of surprise, straddling his lap. he pushes her knees open more, hand trailing towards her inner thigh, stroking the soft skin, moving closer to kiss her neck. she lets out a quiet, “yes,” as she leans into the man’s touch, hoping for some release. his fingers brush against the fabric of her clothed mound, making her buck her hips forward a bit. 

“want me to touch you?” he asks her, voice low in tone. she quickly nods her head, biting down on her lip to prevent any escaping noise. he brings his pointer finger to her clothed slit, dragging it up and down over the sensitive area a few times, noticing the abundant slickness beneath the fabric. her eyes flutter closed, cherishing the delicate contact, craving far more. carmen watches her closely, pulling his hand away. her brow furrows, to which he smiles. bringing his left hand from her thigh, he grabs the black panties and pulls them to the side, exposing her glistening core. he groans at the sight, the girls face flushing, bringing his thumb to rest on her swollen clit, unmoving. she whimpers at the sensitivity, bucking her hips forward once more, to which he tightens his grip on her thigh in response. he starts rubbing small, torturous circles with his thumb, thoroughly enjoying the reaction of her body, heat eminating from between her legs, juices dripping down the insides of her thighs and down onto his pants. 

“you’re fuckin’ soaked,” he tells her, cock straining against his pants. she’s too embarrassed to respond, closing her eyes and throwing her arms over carmen’s shoulders, resting her face in the crevice of his neck as he continues his circles at a faster pace, dipping his middle finger down to rest against her opening. she kisses his neck, needy for more and tired of waiting, giving a thrust of her hips to sink herself onto his finger. she releases a drawn out moan, clenching around the soaked digit. 

“fuck,” he curses. 

a sharp smack lands on her thigh, the girl softly whimpering in response, coming back up to meet carmen’s eyes. he has a stern look on his face, a glint of enjoyment present.

“you want me inside of you that bad?” he questions, beginning a soft curling motion with his finger, loving the way she begins to fall apart. 

“yesss,” she pleads, breathing heavily, trying to get closer to him, her hand coming up to the base of his neck to anchor herself. he increases the pace, bringing his thumb back to circle the bundle of nerves. feeling her relax at the pleasure, he pushes a second finger into her, marveling at the hot constriction of her walls. his pulses become rhythmic, middle and ring finger fucking into her, a wet squelching sound beginning to fill the room. her panting moans uncontrollably increase in crescendo, quickly clamping her teeth down to bite her lip, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of watching her come undone. he studies her face, closely— eyes screwed shut and head thrown back, trying to seem less affected by his fingers than she obviously is. 

his eyes trail down to her bare chest, nipples perked. 

jesus christ

carmy slows the pace of his fingers, thrusting them deeper now. he shifts, bringing his lips to brush against her right breast, trailing upwards to her nipple, gently sucking the bud into his mouth. 

her teeth release from her lips, letting out a whimper from the pleasure. 

he smirks a little, motivated from the noise, taking his fingers almost completely out and easing them back in entirely. his thumb continues its feather like circles around her clit, carmy teasing a gentle bite to her nipple. obscene sounds plentifully spill from her mouth, leaning forward into him as he comes up from her breast. her eyes open and lock with his,

“oh my god, yes,” she cries, breath increasingly heavy, his slow fingers bringing her to the edge. a smile pulls at the corners of her mouth as he continues the same movements, watching her approach her climax, eyes shutting tightly, head leaning back. 

“please don’t stop,” her words come rushed, “i’m-“ 

he withdraws his fingers from inside of her, removing his hand from her warmth completely. she lifts her head immediately and looks to the man, confusion and frustration apparent on her face. he lets his smirk grow. 

“what?” he asks, watching her brows furrow further, “did you think i was gonna let you cum?” he asks as he grips her thighs. 

“you’re cruel,” she whines, head falling against his shoulder. 

“yeah?” the smirk on his face was prevalent in his tone. she shifts the placement of her head and comes to gently kiss the bottom of his neck, the hand resting on his chest slowly inching down his stomach and caressing the skin that meets the edge of his pants.

“yeah,” she responds. another kiss to his neck, this one higher up. she sits up slightly to move her hands lower, unbuttoning his pants and pulling the zipper down. she goes to greedily pull the waist band of his underwear, and he stops her, grabbing her wrist. 

“get down on your knees,” he commands, voice rough. she feels a surge of excitement run through her, easing herself to the ground between his legs, eager to inflict on him the pleasure she endured moments earlier, a dull ache residing in her core. she helps him pull his jeans down around his ankles, him kicking them off completely. she runs her hands over the tops of his strong thighs, then bringing her lips to trail kisses from his lower to upper thigh, teasing closer and closer to his clothed bulge, straining against the fabric. he sits up, slightly, pulling his shirt off over his head. she could swear her mouth watered at the sight, shamelessly gawking at his broad muscles completely exposed, along with tattoos she’s never had the pleasure of seeing. she rubs the palm of her hand over the solid bulge, inching towards the waistband of his briefs. in a fluid motion she quickly peels them towards her, carmy’s cock springing from the confinement and slapping against his stomach. she can’t help but let out a soft moan at the sight, bringing a hand up to grasp the base of his cock, thick and heavy in her hand. the young woman marvels, a bit. 

“it’s big,” she observes, glancing up at him, then back down. she slowly jerks her hand up and down a few times, nervously eyeing the length. she leans forward, placing a hand on his thigh, and licking a long stripe up the side of his cock, then softly kisses the tip, brushing the head against her plumped lips. she looks up at the man’s face, jaw clenched and eyes completely fixated on her. she flattens her tongue and licks the head of his penis, swirling it around the tip. when she locks eyes with him and grins at him, tongue on his cock, he nearly explodes, throwing his head back against the couch and groaning. she presses her bare breasts against his thighs, now engulfing his length in her mouth, slowly moving up and down, hand wrapping around to stroke what she can’t fit. he grunts, bringing his hand up to his mouth, biting his knuckles for composure. she falls into a pace, saliva coating his cock, dripping onto his stomach. she forces her mouth down deeper onto him, gagging, tears brimming her eyes. 

“fuck!” he exclaims, jolting forward. he grabs her hair, gathering it with his hands to keep it out of the way, using every ounce of resistance he has to keep from pushing her head down further onto him. she sinks her mouth lower, bobbing her head and quickening her pace. he tightens his grip on her hair and says her name. she looks up in inquiry, releasing him from her mouth with a wet pop. she continues to stroke his length, meeting his eyes. 

“stand up,” he tells the girl, her immediately complying and getting up, wiping the spit away from her mouth. he comes to lean forward, eye level with her stomach, hooking his fingers into the sides of her panties and removing them altogether. he looks up to her. 

“go get on the bed,” watching her quickly nod and turn towards his bedroom, standing and following the girl, both of them stark in their nudity. his eyes fall to her round ass, bringing a hand up to give it a small smack. she lets out a little yelp in surprise, turning over her shoulder to find a grin on his face. upon entering the dark room, carmy walks to the end of the bed, switching on a lamp on his dresser. the girl crawls onto the bed, flipping to lay on her back, resting her head on his pillow. she watches him from across the room, raising a knee to stack and bringing her hand up to her chest. she runs her thumb over her perked nipple, tracing her free hand down her navel to the crease of her thigh, staring at the man. he turns to her, raking his eyes over her laying form. her hand shifts lower, fingers brushing over her slickened clit, letting out a soft gasp. she arches her back slightly, rubbing small, soft circles over her sensitivity, locking eyes with the man. 

jesus fuck, he internalizes, praying to god this image would remain forever burned into his brain, cock twitching. 

there was something about the man that completely diminished her inhibitions, allowing her to fully submit to her desires and finding her brain instantly numb at his control. she tweaks her nipple, letting out a moan, face flushing, lips parting to speak. 

“come fuck me already, carmy,” she breathes out, movements faltering. he immediately reacts, getting onto the bed, hands hooking under her thighs and pulling her lower body flush to his, his cock laying over her pelvis.

“can’t wait anymore?” he asks lowly, fully knowing his own desire is immeasurable, desperate to be inside of her. 

“no,” she whines, bucking her hips and unintentionally spreading her slickness over the bottom of his length. he lets out a strained breath, running his thumb over her hipbones, grip tightening. he pulls back, then slowly thrusts forward to glide through her folds, feeling her grow increasingly wet. he moves back slightly, now gripping his cock and giving it a stroke, pressing it against her opening. he shifts his hips, slowly inserting the head. he looks to her, meeting her eyes. 

“this ok?” he asks, scanning her face, watching her nod enthusiastically. 

“put it in, please,” she pleads. 

he pushes his hips forward, sinking inside of her inch by inch. the two watch the sight, entranced, a harmonious moan ripping through the both of them. buried to the hilt, carmy pauses, coming forward to lean over her— resting his right forearm by her head, his left arm wrapping around her leg and hoisting it up over his lower back. she wraps her arms around the back of his neck, pulling him in further. his thrusts start slow and shallow, face buried in her neck, almost in disbelief of the pleasure, so much better than those dreams. he bottoms out, hearing her gasp. 

“you feel,” she breathes out, “so good,” her eyes screwing shut. he thrusts, again, slowly, moving his hand to grip her ass. 

“fuck, baby” he groans into her neck, hips working at a delicate pace. she clenches involuntarily at the name, eager for more, urging him closer with her leg. he recognizes the cue, bringing his leg in closer, pulling out almost completely then plunging back into her. she pants, bringing a shaky hand up to grab his sturdy bicep for stability, feeling his strong muscles ripple underneath her grip. he bites down on his bottom lip, face and chest flushed as he pulls his cock back out of her tightness, thoroughly enjoying the view. he snaps his hips forward, the girl crying out, squeezing his arm tightly. carmen settles into a heightened pace, the depth of his cock igniting a fire within the girl. she moves a hand down and circles her sensitive clit with two fingers, feeling her orgasm already rapidly building as he lifts her lower back slightly off the mattress, driving into her harder. breaths grow heavy, the room gets hotter, skin slaps against skin. he brings his hand up to the side of her face, coming to hover above her, locking eyes. her whole face is flush, baby hairs sticking up, a wild lust in her gaze. carmy snaps his hips harder. 

“you’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he tells her in pace with his thrusts, the girl letting out a moan in response, ripping her hand away from her clit as to not fall over the peak. everything is almost too much as the man relentlessly fucks her, savoring every sound, feeling, sight, not knowing if this would ever happen again. her climax approaches closer with each strong thrust of his hips, and she feels compelled to ask permission. 

“carmy,” she whimpers, “can i please cum?”

he groans, moving his hand to rest on her throat. 

“hold on baby, almost,” he grits through his clenched jaw, driving his cock deeply into her, slick juices spreading everywhere. she brings her hand to the back of his neck, grabbing his curly brown locks and tugging. he lets out a sharp breath at the action, hammering his hips against her, hoisting her leg a bit higher. his thrusts stutter, feeling himself grow impossibly closer to the edge. her moans become a chorus of “please, please, please,” desperate to cum around his cock. he grins slightly at her anticipation, lightly putting pressure against her throat. 

“you gonna cum for me?” he growls, feeling himself approaching his own orgasm. she nods, tears brimming her eyes, face contorted in pleasure. his simple words snap the final string holding her together, and she comes undone with a loud cry, digging her nails into his back. the pleasure feels white hot throughout her body, waves of euphoria overtaking her. her body shivers, the clenching of her heat around carmen is enough to push him over his edge as he lets out a strangled moan, hot cum shooting into her, cock pulsing against her walls. they both lay there still, riding out the aftershocks together, bodies flush. they both catch their breaths for a moment, basking in the warmth of each other. carmy pushes himself up onto his forearm, grabbing her face with a strong hand and planting a kiss on her cheek, then one on her forehead. she tries to ignore the butterflies that erupt inside of her. he reaches over to the nightstand, grabbing a few tissues, then slowly pulls out of her, his cum spilling down the curve of her ass. he gently cleans her up with the tissue, walking to the bathroom to throw them away once she’s dry. he returns to his room to see her sprawled onto her side, laying over his pillows. he joins in, laying next to her, scooting his strong arm under her head. she scoots closer to him, hand on his chest. he’s warm, smells good, feels safe, and she finds her eyes close for a moment. 

“i’ll leave in just a sec,” she tells him softly, “i’m just so comfy.”

he wraps his other arm around her, kissing her forehead once more. 

“stay the night,” he suggests, knowing it’s for a selfish reason, currently unable to fathom sleeping in a cold and empty bed without her presence. she happily hums in response, snuggling closer, already feeling herself drifting off. he closely watches the girl laying in his arms, eyes flickering over her face. he admires her features up close, examining what he’s usually too far away to see, running his eyes over a few faded freckles, the light peach fuzz on her cheek, the glimmer of a golden nose ring. he feels a twinge in his chest, resting his forehead against the sleeping girl’s, her deep breathing melodic to his tired ears. carmy knew deep down he wouldn’t be able to entertain this forever, opting to cherish the feeling of her against him while it lasts. he reaches to the foot of the bed, pulling a throw blanket up over the two of them, not bothering to shut off the lamp. he feels a sweet relief once he pulls her into him once more, nuzzling his nose into her hair. he shuts his eyes, the events from the day catching up to him. 

he finds the last thing he thinks about before drifting into sleep is her, sweet and airy, breathing in her scent closely. he hears a dreamlike giggle, reminiscent of bells chiming, and smiles softly. 

— 

i hope you enjoyed! writing for these two gives me the butterflies fr

chapter 3 hopefully in the works! <33 if you enjoy please let me know :)

part 3 - human, for a minute

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto smut #carmy berzatto imagine #the bear imagine

[inknopewetrust]

𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐝 [𝐀 𝐆𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐔𝐬]

Summary: Years after Hawkins was saved, Nancy and Steve’s wedding draws everyone back together and with it, you are reminded of the love you lost at the price of fame. [Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader; WC: 17.4k] Warnings: language, exes to lovers, mutual pining/yearning, frightened lil beans in love, heavy angst.

A/N: I worked on this for weeks. I am very nervous to post it, and I hope you enjoy it (excuse any errors, it's time consuming loves).

What is it like to be loved?

There was something in that room that made you question it. The palpable, sudden feeling that permeated around it like a fog; a special dance that so many would be able to feel, yet it seemingly evaded you.

Her dress was beautiful. An ivory lace with sleeves that covered her soft skin. The brown of her hair so vibrant against the spring flowers she held as the chapel’s old stones warmed with the feeling reverberated with the words of the priest.

He was tall and stoic; filled with a slight fear that his true colors would show in his dark suit and dotted tie. He was joyous; he was a radiant boy filling his father’s suit and marrying the girl of his dreams.

Nancy and Steve.

For a moment, while the priest held everyone’s attention in a moment of prayer, it was quiet enough to imagine love physically filled the space before you. Head lightly dipped, the bouquet in your hand distracting you from the eyes of every person in the chapel.

A silence was asked for and responded to with grace. The silence of baseless words washing over the room in a wave of down-turned heads and folded hands. However quiet, however peaceful the room had become, that floating feeling hung from the rafters. You felt your heart sink. That heaviness of sorrow that plagued beautiful moments from a pain buried in your bones that you weren’t even sure really existed. Love. A tragic thing.

All you could ask was:

What is it liked to be loved?

Maybe it was the wedding that made you teary-eyed and soft hearted. You weren’t a hopeless romantic. You weren’t searching constantly for Mr. Right because he didn’t exist. They had shown you that, he had shown you that. Not some Marilyn Monroe waiting for the next man to sweep you off your feet and carry you into a raging bloody sunset in Los Angeles. No. The cards were dealt with precision and meaning; each turned over when the time allowed and burned when the bells tolled.

Love brewed and bubbled; love ached and pained; love existed and diminished; love stood in front of you screaming to break free but the cries fell silent—dead on the cold, stone floor.

Steve’s eyes called to Nancy like a ship lost at sea. The tears that brimmed at the corners whispered to fall after years of trauma and resolution. But they were relieved and elated and somehow, Nancy returned the sentiments with eyes elated. And it hurt to see your closest friends happy when you couldn’t be.

‘And from this day forward they would walk hand and hand into everything that You have destined them to be.’

The words echoed and echoed. The priest as happy to say them as Ted and Karen Wheeler nodded as if it were true from the pews. Steve’s parents had actually shown up too, along with hundreds of other people. Friends, coworkers, and the guests each of them brought.

‘We give our hearts and beings to You now in adoration.’

People like you didn’t give their hearts willingly. Not like Robin, not like Nancy. You weren’t sure about Max or Eleven, but perhaps they gave theirs willingly enough too as they stood beside you up on the alter. And you wanted that. You wanted to give it willingly. As their heads hung and their eyes diverted from above, there was a calling. Probably not from some higher God you weren’t sure even existed, but something—a gut feeling. One that simmered and bristled against negativity and anxiety; the same one that painfully squeezed that arduous organ in your chest. That feeling told you not to bow your head. It told you not to close your eyes and whatever it did, it made you shift your head in the slightest.

The groomsmen were just across the way beside Steve. Dustin helmed them, walking you down the aisle and reminding you that as they embraced adulthood, you were also getting older. Over one age milestone of established adulthood and half of the kids you babysat as a teenager were closer to marriage than you.

Angled perfectly with your shoulder—bare from the design of your green gown. The shape of your nose and chin and the style of your hair falling sleekly into a perfectly haloed outline as though a magician had cast their greatest spell. And when it turned just enough, where the platform was illuminated by the rays of the sun, one other head remained as perfectly crafted as yours, looking back as though the universe said: here it is.

This is what it feels like. 

Those butterflies? Love. The heart bursting panic that set off inside you? Love. The painful realization that you could have it and you could nurture it with passion? Love.

It existed. 

And it did so in the cruelest of forms. 

Because the sheen of your eyes from the beautiful wedding and the widely spoken words of the priest meant more when staring back at the one thing you had always wanted. It was one feeling, one person, and that’s what you swore you couldn’t have.

He had chosen that for you. Six years ago in a tiny apartment on the west side of Chicago, he decided his career was more important.

He was him. He was a brilliant, foul-mouthed metal rock star with impeccable hair and sense of style that made your heart leap for quiet bursts of love. He was complicated and corny and filled with a truth you hadn’t been able to recognize because everyone else clouded life. What life could be and what it could hold.

Eddie Munson was a rock star. Eddie Munson was one of the most famous musicians in the world. Eddie Munson was a friend, a hero, and Eddie Munson was the man who broke your heart and it could never heal itself.

And yet love remained deep down.

It’s regretful nature resurfacing because love was tangible in the chapel in Nantucket.

It was love. It existed. It was real. It was palpable in that room, in his eyes, against the prayer, across the aisle and in all of the pews.

‘And we welcome Your Holy Spirit amongst us. Amen.’

And the chorus filled the room. The pews creaked and heads returned upright. You lost the sight as Steve and the others lifted their heads, but the feeling remained. It sunk to the pit of your stomach where the realization remained.

“Hey,” a hushed whisper sounded near your right ear as your body jolted minutely from the call. Robin’s head tried to follow your direction but couldn’t find the destination. There were hundreds of people in that room. But she should have known. She should have known. 

“Everything alright?”

Her concern was evident. Had you been that rigid the entire time? Was the look of love one of fear? Were the tears in your eyes truly that clear?

“I’m fine, Rob. Really.”

It hadn’t convinced her but you returned your attention to the ceremony instead. Robin waited, glancing over your shoulder again and again to try to find her answer. The sentiment of conflict appearing much faster in times of clear disruption than she remembered. The feeling of the world tilting on its axis for something you couldn’t control.

Her eyes looked for the answer. Searching the crowd with an unfathomable hardened gaze until it landed back to the groomsmen and she felt everything click back into place. You had reassured Nancy and Robin that everything was fine; that you were friends. That there was no animosity nor tension remaining over the years but it had. They just wanted to believe the best, yet all the signs were there. 

The way you stood so still; scared of yourself as emotions took their hold.

Six years of separation meant nothing. Its degrees scorching the earth every moment not together, bound by the universe yet torn apart by wants, not needs.

They had all believed you. They believed Eddie’s lies that he had moved on—the woman looking straight out of a Vanity Fair magazine in the fifth row the one he brought to prove such a tale.

No.

They had all been wrong.

The two of you had imploded the meaning of love because if it couldn’t exist between the two of you, it couldn’t exist at all.

Steve and Nancy wed on a Saturday in March. 

The morning had greeted everyone with golden rays. Sunlight streaming in from the curtains of the Wauwinet’s rooms waking its patron’s with a sprinkle of joy. Early morning glow; warm and intoxicating on a day such as that. 

You couldn’t see the beach from where you laid; the white comforter covering your shoulders high, eyes peeking out from the space between the blankets and your pillow. High above on the second floor, the sky reflected its yellow and pink hues until they faded to blue. Not a cloud in the sky. 

The two days you had spent on the tiny island thus far had been a reflection of that sunrise. An excitable shimmer of beauty and grace only to fade into a familiar blue–a melancholy gloom that you hadn’t expected to feel. You stepped off the plane only to be greeted with every feeling that ran in its opposite direction; Robin and Nancy clung to you with joy, Steve and the boys, who you should probably call young men now, hugged you tightly. 

And then a cloud formed. 

The cloud was ugly, gray, and filled with matter you had buried deep. Years of pretending everything in your life was going smoothly–that you were exactly where you wanted to be–lingering above you like a joke. Laughing, jesting you with the past as happiness was rubbed into a wound like salt. 

He had a smile plastered onto his face the first time you saw him that weekend–the night before the ‘I do’s.’ He was sitting in the wine cellar with Steve, reminiscing about the past as the future was gently placed on Nancy’s finger; sparkling against the shine of the hotel’s lighting as night had long fallen on a Friday evening. 

As the thoughts lingered in your mind as the sun began to rise, it hadn’t been seeing Eddie for the first time in years that had thrown your world off its axis. The woman, clad in the most casual New England fashions, who sat beside him with her arm resting on his, did. 

A petty, jealous feeling at the sight rose within you rapidly. 

You felt there was no right for you to feel that way. 

Six years. Six years had left an open season for both he and you to find new people to love, hate, and screw, but the idea that there was a reality that existed where Eddie no longer loved you was jarring. 

The fear of it became engrained in your bones. Tattooed onto skin that was untouched and permanently stained with words that hurt and stung and ultimately resulted in the reason you had come to that wedding alone.  

Eddie had scarred you–in a beautifully tragic way that you’d never be the person you were at seventeen when he asked you to go see Temple of Doom at a theater two towns over. It was a shame you’d always tie him to that film… because you really fucking liked the movie but all you could think about was how Indy left Marion in the dust and hell, you felt like Marion sometimes. 

He just sat there. A gorgeous woman on his arm and smiling at Steve as though not a day had gone by. He looked older, more sure of himself, and dare you think it, had a bit more style than he did before. Nice, in a ‘formal but not too formal’ kind of way. 

They were all sipping on some hundred-dollar wine. He could afford it now. Red-soled shoes, a jacket with no fringe, and a bottle of wine that cost as much as your monthly rent. 

Nancy had been perched on a stool at the high-top beside Steve. The two had been going over the rehearsal that Eddie conveniently missed as well as the dinner from hours before. From what Robin had divulged, he had a show in Boston and would make his way out to Nantucket after it was over. 

You didn’t think Nancy ringing your suite for drinks would mean he’d be there too. 

The thunder from the cloud above you rumbled when Nancy caught your eye in the entryway. 

Everything, from the clothes you wore to the company of the room, felt out of place. Like you were looking from the outside and into a world that was completely yours but never one you recalled. The people in it–sparingly familiar but strangers all the same. 

Nancy had taken a sip of her wine, swallowing quickly as she perked up and waved at you. The attention drawing each eye away from Steve and to you, unwelcome and afraid of familiarity. Two looked happy, one looked curious, and the other looked like the whole world had stopped. 

A moment in time paused. No calm waiters tending to guests, no heads turning toward him because he was identifiable; it was blank. Two worlds gone completely still because for the first time in six years, you and Eddie had finally converged to one place. 

Some expensive hotel on Nantucket Island for a wedding between two people you both held near and dear to your hearts. It took nothing to imagine that if things had gone right, perhaps it would not be Steve and Nancy meeting at the alter tomorrow afternoon. 

In the stillness, a reunion is not bound by the trivial “it’s good to see you” or “its been too long.” A mind playing funny tricks and sending you back to years before–the way his entire person disappeared beyond the bedroom door only to be followed by the slamming of the front one. An apology sputtered at the end of a fight that had been brewing for weeks. 

The last time you saw Eddie Munson he had come home from a tour with no direction but up. Up to a new place, to a new life, and one that kept the past behind. Questions of love, home, and loyalty tested two people who were holding onto a fine thread before it snapped. 

Now, its lingering shreds brushed together with an easterly wind. 

You don’t know what he was thinking when the words stopped fumbling from his lips. 

“Hey!” Steve cheered happily from his spot as Eddie went quiet. “Come on, join us!” 

You felt like a fool standing there idle. Feet glued to the floor, eyes trained on Eddie a moment too long because as soon as the fifth second passed, the woman by his side asked: 

“Who’s that?” 

Steve said your name, waving at you the same way Nancy had, “She’s Ed–“ 

“My Maid of Honor!” Nancy cut in, giving the woman a smile in reassurance that it was the description most accurate to who you were. Nancy didn’t know why she cut Steve off like that; the side-eyed glance she received from him as Eddie stared back at you should have told her everything. 

Not friend, not best friend, not former classmate, but Eddie’s ex-girlfriend. What a label to have. 

Your planted feet begged you to move. The awkwardness of standing still for lingering seconds in time drawing eye after eye, raising questions as to whether or not you were having a medical emergency or just plain stupid. Your feet took those commands and walked, before your mind could even process that the night had continued to move forward without being truly ready to interact. 

“I told you she’d join us,” Nancy hit Steve’s shoulder lightly with the back of her hand, “Can’t spend the last few hours of us together as an unmarried couple without those who brought us back together.” 

Steve gave her a smile, hand squeezing her kneecap under the table because in reality, there wasn’t an ounce of a lie there. Not that any regular person would understand, but Steve had always dreamed of this moment: the night before he went to sleep one last time as an unmarried man, sipping chilled wine in an expensive hotel with his bride-to-be, his closest friends, and the reason he and Nance were at this stage. 

One piece of that puzzle had gone mute, silent as though they never heard him talk. As you approached the high top that was tucked into a corner by the windows that looked out to the Atlantic Ocean, Eddie couldn’t form words. He had prepared himself for this moment for years and yet his mind had gone blank. Emotions barren from his chest like he was an empty, cavernous being and not a person. He felt nothing–like the world had been obliterated and there was only him in space; alone and helpless to save his sanity. 

And if it hadn’t been so long since he last laid eyes on you, perhaps he could have recognized the same emotions bleeding out of you. That the wound had never truly closed and there was much unsaid floating around the two of you that the air was hard to breathe. 

But against it all, it was you who offered the closed smile and a small: 

“Hi.”

Eddie’s relief that the first words weren’t “fuck you,” or “I still hate you.” Just a simple “hi” that replayed in his mind as the seconds transpired and the ball had fallen into his court. 

But those words were hard for you to even muster. 

“It’s good to see you,” he settled on, not leaving his chair to wrap his arms around you or whisk you away to hear how your life has been since he left. He sat there, as still as you had in the entryway, and let you take the spot beside Nancy because it was the furthest away from his own that you could take. 

Eddie had completely forgotten about the woman to his right. 

No one had thought anything of the interaction. In two minds, it played out differently because the truth existed somewhere between two people unwilling to face it. For people like Nancy and Steve, there had been one story that had been told yet no one questioned the absence of the other on specific holidays, birthdays, or more. 

“We broke up,” that was what you had told Nancy and he had told Steve. Word for word, the same story. “Distance was getting too hard and we thought we’d take a break. It’s better this way and we’re still friends–we we’re friends before everything so…” 

For every truth, there were two lies. 

Nancy flagged down the waiter, tapping on her glass and holding up two fingers. You shifted in your seat as one leg crossed over the other and glanced at the woman to Eddie’s right. 

She wasn’t familiar at all. Still hanging on Eddie’s arm and fiddling with the cuff of his jacket. In all of your years together, you had never seen Eddie wear a dinner jacket. 

And against your feelings, you extended your hand over the table toward her. Eddie didn’t know what to think of that. You introduced yourself. 

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he knew the voice. It was the kind someone would use on the telephone if they were talking to a co-worker or boss, not a friend. 

“Veronica,” she lifted her hand from Eddie’s arm and graciously shook yours over the wine glasses; a tiny set of flickering candles beside a small relish tray beneath it. “I hear you’re the Maid of Honor?” 

“As much as one can be,” you told her, eyes looking over her face and form. Eddie could see it now that you were comparing yourself to her, an unfortunate circumstance of choice. “The other bridesmaids have helped a bit with planning and what not… it’s not easy work,” you scoffed, tipping your head at Nancy and the bride shook her head with a grin. 

“I promise I’m not one of those crazy brides,” Nancy jokingly defended herself to Veronica who admired the friendship before her. She knew you all of two seconds and could see how comfortable the two of you were. 

“Yeah, sure…” you trailed off as the waiter returned with two new glasses of wine. You thanked him and took a long, needed sip as the white wine’s bubbles barely had time to settle. 

Steve cleared his throat as you drank, glancing at Eddie before turning to you. “We were just catching him up on what went down at the rehearsal. Told ‘em that Robin tripped down the aisle so he’s gotta hold onto her tightly.” 

You snickered at the memory. Robin Buckley couldn’t walk in heels even if she tried to. Nodding your head, you didn’t make eye contact with Eddie to reiterate the sentiment. 

“She’ll topple over if you don’t.” 

“Will do,” Eddie replied quietly, differently than he normally would have and Veronica put her hand on his arm again, rubbing it up and down as if she knew. For once, he just wished she would stop. 

“We’re going to–“ Steve’s voice drowned itself out as he rattled on about the plans of tomorrows festivities. 

Every now and again when you’d catch a word of Steve’s, you couldn’t help but look at Eddie. Those eyes still telling of his emotions rather than the words he spoke; wide and pupils blown from both the environment and alcohol. 

You weren’t shameless about it when he caught you looking. He couldn’t help it either; it was as though he was drawn to a magnet that kept pulling him in. Just as you had observed him, everything was familiar yet strangely different. The way you held yourself, the clothes you wore, makeup and hair just enough having changed to make him notice that he didn’t know you now as he had then. 

However, he still felt that hand on his jacket. 

Yet he was looking at you. And he felt like a coward for thinking he’d rather have you cling to him like that then her. She, Veronica, didn’t deserve to have a man think that of her. 

“Are you still in Chicago?” He blurted out over Steve’s talking. Like walking in a path of quicksand, Eddie did not want to drown before his life truly began. Steve stopped and glanced at Eddie as though his friend had a stroke. 

“Mhm,” you murmured over the lip of the glass Nancy had secured for you. “Still in California?” 

“Yeah, near Bell Canyon.” 

“Is that…” Of course you wouldn’t have known exactly where that was. It wasn’t like you had a map inside of your brain or tracked his every movement. Based on the question on whether or not he still lived in California, he wondered if you read anything about him at all. 

“It’s near Los Angeles… like suburbs of it.” 

“Ah, alright,” you met his eyes briefly before taking another long sip of your wine. He could see the way you practically folded in on yourself; anxiety and fears bubbling within you the same way they used to. 

“And you still live…” he trailed off in a veiled hope that the implication went unspoken. ‘At the apartment, our apartment.’

“No,” you shook your head, “I moved a few years ago… have a nice view of the lake,” the thought of it brought a small smile to your face. It was nice. It was nearly perfect. 

“No more of the ‘L’ ruining your sleep?” 

He saw the hint of smile play on your lips. 

“It’s pretty quiet now,” for a multitude of reasons he could think of. 

“That’s good,” Eddie nodded, glancing at Steve and Nancy who provided no support to make the situation any less awkward. 

“So,” Veronica began with a perky voice for eleven-thirty at night, “Eddie said you all went to high school together?” 

The model wore these big, curious eyes. She was kind, in a doxy kind of way but her sentiment’s with her words transcended through each of you. This woman, a date, hadn’t been a steady, familiar thing to Eddie. Anyone who knew him as close as a formal, long-term partner did, would have known about the crew from Hawkins. 

“Yeah,” Steve answered as a savior, “But we weren’t all friends then… that took some time. We were all pretty different.” 

Nancy hit his arm playfully, giving a scowl as Steve quirked his eyes at Eddie. The latter had simply taken the labels he was given and ran with them–a transformative play for the man with a lengthy petty crimes list and could out smoke Pablo Escobar. 

“It doesn’t matter what we were like! We’re all friends now and those three–“ Nancy gestured her hand over Steve, Eddie, and yourself, “were in the same class.” 

“Oh!” She beamed. “How cool! I don’t really talk to anyone from my class so it’s nice to see it works for some people.” 

Everyone just gave her tight smiles. Having friends from childhood didn’t make you less of a person. It meant stronger connections and the fact that no one could say why you were all bonded so closely made things more difficult. 

“And the rest of your friends?” Veronica turned her face toward Eddie who shrugged. 

“In their rooms, I’m guessing. I think we got here a little late,” he chuckled. 

“They know you had a commitment,” Nancy reassured him. “Besides, Dustin and the others will be just as thrilled to see you in the morning.” 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “After the bachelor party, I didn’t think half of us would even make it here so it’ll be a nice surprise.” 

Thank God for Steve and his stupid jokes. It broke some tension, a smile actually cracking Eddie’s face again and one that reached his eyes. The brown, doe-eyed ones that Robin once said made her sad were recalling that party like it was the funniest thing he had ever experienced. 

‘It probably was’, you thought, ‘Steve Harrington always knew how to party.’ 

“So,” Veronica interjected, pointing a finger between you and Nancy, “the bachelorette party wasn’t anything to write home about?” Quick judgement.

“We went wine tasting in the Valley,” Nancy’s eyes lit up at the memory, “and then we went hiking… which in retrospect wasn’t something any of us liked.” 

It was the end of summer when everyone could get together and the heat ate at each of you as the sun rose higher, the drinks flowed more, and the guides took in their amusement of each woman. 

“Went to some museums, ate too much food…” you said additionally. 

“El learned she was allergic to pears and Max got stung by a bee,” Nancy interjected, “and our heroes Lucas and Mike came to save the day when we got stranded in the middle of lake because the engine died on the boat we rented.” 

“I think we’ll stick to spa days and cooking classes next time,” you picked up your glass, a side-eye to Nancy as she quickly agreed. Veronica perked up, still clutching Eddie’s arm. 

“Who’s getting married next? You?” 

She meant nothing by it. Her eyes were friendly and voice high pitched, interested in the conversation to just be a part of something more than a two-person bubble. You choked on the wine, the question startled you because it hadn’t been something you thought of in a long time. 

You put the glass down as your hand went to your mouth, wiping it dry and you, unintentionally, looked from her to Eddie. Steve noticed, Nancy didn’t. 

“No!” You replied a bit too loudly. “Sorry,” shaking the embarrassment from you, “I just–no. Not me. I would put money on Dustin and Suzie once they’re done at MIT… He’s loved her since he was in middle school.” 

She smiled at the idea of everlasting young love. “That’s cute! Sometimes, if you know, you know, right?” And she squeezed Eddie’s arm the same way her hand squeezed your heart at the sight. 

Eddie dropped his arm into his lap after her grip loosened. Her hand fell onto the table and whether she realized it or not, the rejection she felt showed on her face. 

“How did you two meet?” Nancy picked an olive with a toothpick from the small dish on the table. Veronica peered at Eddie to answer but he wasn’t going to. 

“At an event for our agency a couple…three? months back.” 

Three months.

“Cool,” Steve mumbled as he followed Nancy’s lead and took one of the pickles from the tray. “So what are you? An agent? Model...?” 

“I model for magazines, yeah,” she nodded and focused her hands at the base of her wine glass. You watched Veronica tap her white nails on the table cloth before bringing them back to the foot. “Sometimes do commercials or videos and stuff.”

Steve sat back in his chair; a thought pondered in his mind as he watched your eyes divert from the table and out the window to your left. It was dark, you couldn’t see anything beyond ten feet. The arm that had been taken off the table now sat at Eddie’s side with his hand in his lap. He had taken his thumb and twisted at the ring that rested on his ring finger–the one with a dark stone he had worn since forever. 

The groom reflected back to his bachelor party, three weeks ago, and how Eddie made no mention of Veronica but very drunkenly admitted something he didn’t want to see the light of day. 

Buried; six feet deep with the memories he had locked away in Pandora’s box. There was key to unlock them, let them fly away and spread like stars in the sky but it was booze and a little bit of weed that truly let them sing. 

Steve wasn’t sure if Eddie realized what he had told him that night. 

The way he was twisting his rings made him think that if he didn’t, Eddie was at least thinking the same thing now. 

“You know,” Steve crossed his arms as he leaned back, glancing at Veronica first before allowing his eyes to wander to you, then Eddie. “If you asked me a few years ago if I thought that Eddie, Eddie Munson, would be dating a supermodel… I would have laughed.” 

Veronica chuckled, a light blush forming on the balls of her cheeks as Eddie shook his head. It was Steve’s tone that made you turn to him. 

“Not really your type, dude,” Steve said and the woman’s face went flat. The chuckle cease and Nancy forgot how to breathe for a second. Maybe Steve had too much to drink, maybe he was done for the night, and if she whisked him away now, he wouldn’t be hung over for the wedding. 

“Come on, man…” Eddie shifted his head to the side, glaring at Steve to knock-it-off before things crossed a line he wasn’t prepared for. Eddie thought himself a jackass sometimes but he never wanted others to feel uncomfortable. 

“No offense, Veronica,” Steve held out his hand as if saying ‘I don’t mean anything by it.’ “It’s just…” He clicked his tongue, “you want the best for your friends, right? And for the last decade or more I’ve never seen you fawn over the looks of a model.” 

“Steve,” you interjected, providing the same look Eddie had given him because he was trying to open that box. “Stop being an asshole.” 

You turned to Veronica, “he’s just a little drunk, that’s all.” Nancy supported it with a smile and put her hand on Steve’s shoulder. 

Steve laughed at your words like it was the funniest thing he had ever heard. “That’s kind of rich coming from you.” 

“I think we should–“ Nancy began but Steve leaned forward on his elbows. 

“You like Lord of the Rings, Veronica? Or ever go to a thrift store and absolutely wreck the clothes you bought? Play D and D?” She looked confused so Steve stopped, “Dungeons and Dragons? Like the game? No? How about drugs? Do you do those?” 

“Steve! Fuck man…” Eddie hit Steve’s shoulder, “I think we’re a little past a buzz, huh?” 

“Tell me, Eddie,” Steve took the whack to his shoulder in stride, “You’re not thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” 

“I don’t know what you’re thinkin’ about.” 

“Okay,” Steve drug the ‘a’ out of the word, “fine!” He looked to you, “are you thinking what I’m thinking then? And when I said it’s funny, I meant in you defending her when–“ 

“Jesus Christ, Steve!” Eddie said loudly, “would you just shut the fuck up for once! I was so worried about us getting into it,” he threw a hand up and motioned between the two of you, “but you took that and ran right the fuck away with it!” 

As Eddie argued with Steve, you turned to Nancy. 

“I think you better take him to his room,” you saw how mortified she was, “or I can call up Lucas and Dustin to come get him too?” 

“I’ve got him,” she took your hand and held it tightly. “He’s just up-“ 

“—OH!” Steve’s voice cut through hers, “like you’re not giving ‘fuck me eyes’ to each other! Goddammit! It’s like living with divorced parents! No wonder you switch off holidays!” Steve pointed at you, “was that your idea? I bet it was.”

“Wait,” Veronica cut in after Steve’s ‘divorced parents’ comment, “did you two date?” her eyes flicking between Eddie and yourself. Her question went unanswered as Steve continued his tirade. 

“And Dustin reassured me there wouldn’t be an issue!” 

“There wasn’t an issue until you brought it up!” Eddie said pointedly. You downed the rest of your wine in one gulp and Nancy hopped off her chair as people started to go quiet at the surrounding tables. 

“Please!” Steve lamented, “you got fuckin’ plastered in Miami and told me and the boys that you wished it was you gettin’ married not me!” 

“When the hell did I say that?” Eddie furrowed his brows, voice still loud and defensive. Nancy shrugged on her cardigan that was on the back of her chair, Veronica looked befuddled, and you felt like you blanched. Even if they couldn’t see it, you felt it. 

“At the shitty strip club!” Not something he should have shouted in a place like this. “You got all weird and drank yourself to pieces because, and I quote,” Steve said crazed, “the wedding makes you fucking sad and you didn’t know how to handle it.” 

“Oh fuck you, man,” Eddie soured, rolling his eyes at Steve as Nancy grabbed his arm gently.

“Steve, come on,” she coaxed him, “we better get going.” 

“If you want to convince people you don’t still love each other,” Steve chided, “then maybe stop acting like the world will fall apart the moment you walk into a room.” 

“Wait,” Veronica added again, shaking her head in misunderstanding, “still love each other? When did this happen?” 

“We don’t love each other,” Eddie answered for both of you without a second to spare. “And it won’t fall apart! Look! We’re here now!” He motioned his hand between the two of you across the table again but didn’t look at the way you listened to every word like you had when you fought in the kitchen that horrible evening.

“Yeah,” Steve nodded as if he didn’t believe Eddie in the slightest, “Swear on Dustin? On your… shit… I don’t know, guitar!? Say that to her face and tell her like you didn’t just tell me you make a fucking mistake years ago.” 

Mistake. 

There were two paths of a mistake. 

One, where his choice to follow his career without you was a mistake because it wasn’t as it seemed or it wasn’t complete without you; or two, that being with you entirely was a mistake because it clouded his wants for his future. 

Eddie sighed, head bowing as he ran a hand over his face and through his hair before coming up again. 

“Do you really want this to be how you remember the night before you get married?” Eddie asked Steve as the groom sat there with his bride clutching his arm in a pleading motion to exit the wine cellar. 

“Do you want this to be how you remember the day you chickened out on being a man for once?” 

Steve knew it cut deep. The wound open and bleeding for all to see as Eddie’s face scoured into the in-between of pissed off and irate. 

“Go, Steve,” Eddie said flatly, “Big day tomorrow. Don’t want to be late.” 

Nancy gave you a supportive, closed lip smile as Steve finally got off his chair and walked to the door. She let him leave first. 

“I’m sorry about him…” She laughed with embarrassment, “He’s just overwhelmed with everything.” And Nancy wasn’t telling you or Eddie that, but Veronica. 

“It’s alright,” she told her kindly in reply, “wedding’s aren’t wedding’s without a little drama, right?” 

For that, Nancy was grateful. She looked between you and Eddie–still separated by the table yet the string still bristled. 

“Be in the bridal suite by nine, okay?” She told you, “and I think the guys are getting ready at like ten so, don’t sleep in.” 

“Got it,” from Eddie and a “yeah, okay,” from you. 

“Sorry again,” Nancy apologized, leaving to go scold Steve as the table now sat quiet and awkward. 


The flames flickered as the noises from other tables now filled the void of conversation at your own. Veronica tapped her glass, yours sat empty, and Eddie was still facing the empty seat where Steve had been. 

“So,” Veronica pursed her lips, “you two dated then?” 

You bit the inside of your cheek. It provided her the answers of why Eddie had been acting the way he had and the conciseness of dialogue that existed amongst you. The way he gazed, the way you diverted it; his own curiosity and knowledge of the sound of the elevated train that impacted your sleeping and the way the admittance that Eddie now lived in a suburb sent you the wrong way. 

Even then, you glanced at Eddie to see if he’d answer. She was his guest, after all. He turned back around in his seat–back flush against the chair, shoulders slouched. 

“Yes,” he treaded carefully, “we did.” 

“For how long?” It may have been worse that she said none of it with malice. 

Eddie flicked his eyes from where they were trained on the table top to you. And fuck, they sucked you right back in and spit you right back out. 

“About eight years…” You told her, ready to flee. 

“That’s a long time,” she nodded to reaffirm her words. “And you lived together?” 

“Mhm,” Eddie hummed as if he didn’t want her to know every detail of his life. He looked down at the table. “For four years of it.” 

“More like three,” you mumbled passively, pushing your wine glass forward on the table. 

“Four,” Eddie said firmly and his eyes shot back up to you. Sensitive subject, you suppose. He remembered every word you had said to him that evening and the comments about his time spent at home stuck. “Four,” he reiterated. 

“Tell me, when was the last time you were excited to come home?” 

You didn’t forget your words either. 

Your expression pinched; eyebrows shooting up for a brief second before your head cocked to the side with silent words. You weren’t going to embarrass yourself or this table any further by getting into a spat with Eddie over something as trivial as years spent in a shabby apartment in Chicago. 

The wine glass was already pushed; two chairs empty as bed appeared to be the best option to end the night. A soft, hotel pillow to help you replay every image your mind could remember from what you had, what you lost, and what had just happened. 

You hated that. But it was better than arguing with someone you didn’t want to argue with. 

Breathing in a deep, sharp breath, you retracted your gaze from Eddie and gave Veronica the softest one you could muster. 

“It was good to meet you,” you told her. It wasn’t her fault Eddie took your heart and ran away with it. “I hope Steve’s little scene didn’t scare you off. He can be a drama queen when he drinks.” 

“All good,” she gave a tight smile that didn’t meet her eyes. “Happens to the best of us.” 

“So it does,” you replied, giving her a nod before sliding off your chair and letting the space return to two. Eddie’s sigh was loud; the way he closed his eyes in frustration hadn’t gone unnoticed. 

As you passed on her side exiting the corner table, you put a hand on the table when your feet came to a stop. Veronica looked at you curiously and waited for another ball to drop on her toes but it didn’t. 

“Don’t let him smoke a whole pack, alright? Won’t do any of us good if he does.” 

And then you walked away. 

Veronica had only been romantically linked to Eddie for three months. She hadn’t seen any side of him that resembled the man sat beside her before and from what she knew, Eddie was not a smoker. The only comment that had surprised her more than the outburst from the groom was when Steve admitted Eddie had become hammered from the booze and weed at his bachelor party. 

But before you could escape the wine cellar fully, Eddie turned around in his seat and shouted your name across the restaurant. 

In a full, obnoxious manner that reminded you of the boy you had fallen in love with in high school. 

“I quit. Six years ago.” 

When the sun rose to its blue hue and the reminder of the night before replayed in your mind like a fresh, unadulterated film, there was a conflict brewing within you. 

The idea of love. 

Love was precious; an almost a forgettable thing when the daily grind became too much for simplistic thought yet it was what people craved the most. To love, to be loved. On a day like that–where there was not a raincloud in sight and when two people were joining each other in matrimony bound by the tethers of love–it was hard not to think about how the feeling evaded you. 

It touched you once. 

It gripped its claws into your flesh and left fatal wounds in its wake, yet you desired it so. Love, the splendid little thing that meant mountains but fell to cavernous trenches. 

You don’t know which part of Eddie you had fallen in love with first. Juvenile, childish love was innocent at seventeen. As you grew older and the complications of adulthood and circumstance of living in Hawkins transformed life, the reasons for loving him changed too. 

It wasn’t always about how he could make you laugh or the way his eyes were so expressive; the comfort he brought or the way he helped you love yourself through him loving you in return. 

It was doing the dishes together at the end of a long night. Falling asleep on the couch because making it to the bed after one of his gigs was too exhausting, but he’d wake up in the early hours of the morning and make sure you’d both end up there anyway. How Eddie made time for everyone and everything until life stopped allowing him to do so. 

It was moments where you and Eddie would be waiting for the train at Clinton station and he’d link his finger with yours because winter gloves constricted full hand movements. 

Those times made you hate what love often resolved itself with: pain and bitter resentment that life was cruel. 

And the clock ticked away as you thought of it. 

When Nancy put her veil on, Robin was the first to cry. Then Max, then Eleven, and Karen was close behind them all. You stayed for a few minutes before excusing yourself to the hallway because the sight painted you blue. 

You felt horrid for feeling bitter when Nancy’s fairytale was not an hour away. 

In the hallway, there was a series of doors that led to varying rooms. Ones that held the groomsmen and Steve, one for the flower girl and ring bearer’s families. It was decorated with seaside decor of light yellows, blues, and whites. A table down ten feet and across the way had a mirror hung above it cased in gold. 

The woman in the reflection was one you neglected to see for a long while. The apparent dissatisfaction of your own circumstance on a day filled with joy riddled on every feature. A necklace clutched in your palm feeling the brunt of sweat and aggravation as Eddie filled your thoughts again. 

You wanted to love him, to be loved by him. You tried to hook the clasp. Missed. 

Why couldn’t you just move on and be happy with someone else? Again, the clasp dug into your finger. Missed. 

Could you even remember what it truly felt like to be loved? 

The clasp evaded you. It was mocking, laughing as you struggled in the hallway mirror and began to sweat the idea that you’d never be able to secure it. Heaving a deep sigh in the mirror, you clutched the necklace in your hand and leaned against the table with two fists. 

“Get it fucking together,” you told yourself quietly. 

Regaining your posture, you tried again, ignoring the sounds of a hall door opening and closing down the way. Your fingers trembled as the clasp caught air once more. 

“You need help with that?” 

You stared at your reflection and pretended not to see where he had stopped. Jaw tense, you shook your head and attempted the connection for the tenth time. 

When you missed again, he scoffed. 

“Give it to me,” he held out his hand palm up, ready to take it from your timid fingers and do it for you. “Come on,” Eddie egged on.

“I don’t need help,” you told him.

“Yes, you do,” he said pointedly. He could see the indentations of the small lever on your index finger. “Just let me help you.”

He wasn’t going to leave. Your eyes met in the mirror and he rose his brows expectantly. More hesitantly than he wished, you held out the necklace and let it ring into his palm. A nod from your head gave him the assent he needed.

In the silence of the hallway, you felt squeezed—both your mind and heart. Eddie moved to stand behind you and you could barely breathe; the simple gesture of helping you put on a necklace far more harrowing than previously realized. He was so close. So close. His fingers trailed to the back of your neck, brushing away the hair with his fingertips and letting it fall where it would not infringe the task.

You couldn’t bear to look at him. Focused on the sconces beside the mirror, you tried not to enjoy the feeling of his hands on you for the first time in half a decade. You tried not to remember the way his touch intoxicated you; every stroke and graze intentional as his eyes watched you struggle.

Eddie lifted his arms above your head and let the jewelry fall onto your collarbone. You wondered if his heart was beating as fast as yours.

“How does she look?” Nancy. His voice was low, quiet in the hall to not disturb the others getting ready. You hadn’t even taken him in yet.

The suits Steve chose were all black, form-fitting with ties instead of bow ties. The pocket squares were filled with a white handkerchief, and the shoes were a clean, shiny black. On his lapel, a single rose was pinned.

“She looks beautiful,” you replied but still wouldn’t look at him. You heard the clasp make it. The necklace sat firm but his hands did not move. They lingered, tracing the line of the back of your neck to the tops of your shoulders.

“You look beautiful.”

You didn’t want him to say that.

“Don’t say that,” you replied morosely. 

“Why?” Eddie’s fingers brushed the necklace’s golden chain. “It’s true.”

The bottom of your lip trembled dangerously.

“Because you can’t say that.” 

“But I did,” he sounded hopeful which dug into that wound a bit further. 

“You brought a date.”

“Why won’t you look at me?” He whispered, fingers still gliding. He said your name softly, “look at me, please. Talk to me.”

You felt your heart constrict, sending a shuttered breath through you and your eyes blinked rapidly. There was no way in Hell you would let Eddie see you cry. He had moved on. He brought a date. A goddamn runway model that, in your opinion, ran circles around you in every way from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

“I need to go,” you stepped away from him, shaking your head and jetting off down the hall. “I’m sorry.”

He called your name once, twice, but you ignored him. You grasped the golden handle with a heavy hand, breathing unsteady as he stood in the distance in your peripheral. As though the world stood still again, Eddie felt that he had broken through. You would turn, talk to him, and let him relish in the company of you. 

Yet, you grasped that handle tighter. 

But, you did turn. 

And when you opened the door back to the dressing room, it wasn’t only you whose memories transported you back to the night in Chicago that plagued your mind, but Eddie too. Straight back as he made his way to the men’s dressing room in the opposite direction. 

“Stop being such an asshole!” You stood in the kitchen, hands clutching the sink as the anger seethed out of you. Eddie paced in the living space just beyond the island to your right. 

“What do you want me to say, huh?” He threw his arms up in defeat. “For once in my life things are finally looking up and people just don’t get signed to a label and expected not to do—” he fumbled his words, “everything that comes with it!”

“I’m not asking you to give up music, Eddie!“ 

“Then what are you asking me?” He craned his head to the side, hands on his hips and breathing hard. “I can’t work from here. I have to go there and the least you could do is come with me.” 

The least you could do. The least you could do. 

You tossed the dish rag that had been strangled in your grip into the sink, focusing on the window positioned across from it and scoffed. A view of the goddamn ‘L’ train tracks you despised.

“Well I can’t just get up and move,” you said as calmly as you could. “Why is it so easy for you to ask that of me but when I bring up what I want, it becomes a problem for you?” 

Eddie shook his head, hair mused as he ran a hand over it. “I don’t make it a problem, baby.” 

“Yes, you do!” You laughed exasperatedly. “You just fucking said—“ a frustrated groan left your lips and you bounded off the sink and faced him from behind the counter. “It’s not like this is Hawkins; it’s goddamn Chicago and I’ll be dammed if there isn’t a music producer in one of those skyscrapers.” 

“They’re not like they are out there. If we want any chance to make music–actually make music of our own that sells platinum records and wins awards–those producers are out there,” he pointed to the door as if it signified a world beyond this one. 

“What? So, it’s all about money?” 

“No! But hell, if that isn’t a major part of it I’d be lying!” 

“And what about our home here?” You put your hands on the counters ledge and the nails on your fingertips motioned against it with rhythmic clicks. “Everything we’ve built here goes to shit because of one possible record deal?” 

“It’s not just one deal,” Eddie groaned your name in frustration, “It’s the only deal and this… this here,” he motioned around the apartment, “was only ever temporary.” 

News to you. 

“Like Hawkins was. This isn’t really home.” 

“Not home?” You furrowed your brows at him. “Then where the hell do you think it is? You bolted from Hawkins the second you got the chance and as far as I am concerned, this is my home. You see those pictures on the wall?” 

You tipped your head in the direction of the wall that the couch sat up against. Above it was a collage of frames that held so many memories. From Nancy to Max, from Steve to Mike, everyone was on that wall. 

“Those people helped us find this one.” 

“Well,” he shook his head, “they can help us find another in California. There are people out there, baby. Real goddamn people that know just what we need.” 

Not you, Corroded Coffin. What they needed. 

“It’s not going to find us all the way out here.” 

“Tell me, when was the last time you were excited to come home?” 

He had been traveling the world with Corroded Coffin for a year and a half. In all of that time, he had come home for approximately two months. Eight weeks out of seventy-eight. This wasn’t the first fight about it; he had changed. The stronghold fame was suffocating him and was the very thing drawing you apart. 

“Hm?” You hummed as he diverted his eyes to the apartment door. 

“I’m here now.” 

“That wasn’t my question, Eddie,” the ground rumbled beneath you. The way his eyes darted to the door as if it were calling him to leave. Foundation cracked and crumbled, fragmenting as the words threatened to tumble out. “Do you even want to be here?” 

“If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be here, yeah?” He looked annoyed, lips nearly flattened. That’s how you knew he was angry. Angry at life, at you, at the world. 

“Eddie,” you pleaded softly in one last attempt to salvage the broken platform, “stop lying to me.” 

“I’m not lying.” 

“Yes, you are!” You breathed in deeply, thinking of the unthinkable questions that pondered in your mind. “I’m not asking you to stay because I don’t want you to follow your dreams—you twisted my words—but why can’t I be the selfish one and want to stay here? You’ll have more money, you can visit and we— “ 

Can work it out. It was already over when he said he had been signed that godforsaken deal. 

He said your name dejectedly. It hung there in the air as if saying ‘stop trying.’ You felt a lump form in your throat as you looked him, already decided in what he wanted because he was going after his dream. Halfway there, this was his out. 

The tears gathered at the sides of your eyes, “you don’t even try.” 

Eddie always had something to say but he couldn’t form words in that moment. 

“What?” You steeled your wet eyes on him, “can’t even say that you had? Or that you were? Eddie, I’ve been doing this alone for so long that I don’t even remember the last time you told me you loved me and you meant it.” 

That set him off. He pointed a bitter finger at you. “I always mean it when I say it. Don’t play that card.” 

“Card!?” You cried, “I’m not trying to guilt trip you into staying but you don’t mean it! Eight weeks! Eight weeks in a fucking year and a half and you expect me to get up and throw my life away for you?” 

“I was on tour! Halfway across the goddamn world!” 

“Exactly!” You exclaimed, turning away from him and trying to escape to the bedroom but you could hear his heavy feet following. 

“Stop it,” he said your name over and over as you gripped the door and tried to close it. He pressed his palm against it with a hard slap and pushed it against the wall with a deafening thud. “Would you just stop!” 

“For Fuck’s Sake!” You yelled, “I can’t move! I don’t want to move! I have a lease, a good job, and I want to stay here and build my future!” 

“You can have that in California!” He yelled back. 

His eyes were wide, trying to pretend the antithesis of the fracture was anything less than his career. 

“No, I can’t!” 

“Why not!?” 

“Because of you! You don’t want what I do!” You screamed at him, voice breaking as you cried and realized that this was the end. Eddie would move out to California and you’d be left in a tiny apartment in Chicago alone. 

“I want a family, Eddie. I want to raise kids here or in the stupid suburbs, and grow old here. You want to be a—” you swallowed hard, cheeks wet and eyes getting puffy, “—rock star and those lives don’t mix. They just don’t.” 

He was only twenty-five. He didn’t really know what he wanted from life. 

“You don’t want to be here. That’s why you haven’t come home and I get it, I do. The band is growing, you’re popular, you have a million women to choose from, but I can’t keep pretending that my wants have to be ignored for you to succeed.” 

“Are you saying I’ve ignored you?” 

“You tell me, Eddie,” you shrugged, “how would you feel if the person you loved most was gone for months only to be reassured that everything was fine by a phone call every few days?” 

He let his head tip to the floor, eyes closed because although many of the cracks stemmed from his choices, this wasn’t what he wanted. Eddie wanted to be happy, to be in love and be loved. But he was at the precipice of being what he always wanted and decisions had to be made. 

Callous and resentful decisions. 

“Do you hate me?” Eddie’s eyes spurred something in him. A hatred for himself, a despised feeling growing that a part of him that had always been missing—family—was being ripped away for a dream. 

“I don’t hate— “ 

“Yes, you do,” he looked up, giving you a knowing look as his bottom lip trembled. 

“No, I don’t. But I’m hurt and I don’t think you see that.” 

“So,” he cleared his throat, breath hitching in his chest, “this is it then? We’re just going to give up?” 

“I didn’t give up, Eddie,” you needn’t say the rest to indicate that he had. “We just want different things.” 

“No, we don’t.”

“Yes, we do,” you shook your head, sitting down on the edge of the bed with your face turned away from him. “Right now we do and it’s not doing anything for either of us.” 

It was quiet for a few minutes. Minutes. A thick fog fell over the room; marinating in every picture, the clothes folded away in the dresser, the shampoo in the shower, the two dinner plates half-cleaned in the sink. Domesticity wasn’t enough. Love wasn’t enough.

You weren’t sure how long it had been, but Eddie’s socked feet moved from the spot he stood in and approached the bed—carefully and freely. He knelt down, hands on the outsides of both your thighs and his thumbs rubbed the tops of them gently, the pressure soothing when it shouldn’t have been through your jeans. 

“I want you to be happy…” he swallowed thickly as he chose his words gently. There was no point in trying to stop you from crying when he couldn’t do so himself. “I want you to have what you want, sweetheart… and if I can do that… someday… we’ll find each other again.” 

“Eddie…” Your heart ached as you shook your head. Hope was the killer of it all. 

Hope that perhaps one day you’ll find each other again; that you’d both be free to choose the paths that crossed while maintaining your own personalities and careers without giving one up. Hope that a future existed when the flame was extinguished on a cold evening in Chicago. 

“I’m sorry,” he rubbed your thighs tenderly. 

“Me too.” 

“I love you,” he said softly as if were one last confession. The tears were quietly flowing when you leaned forward, cupping the back of his head with your hands and resting your forehead on his own. 

Just to hold him one last time. 

“I love you too.” He left the apartment an hour later and it was the last time you had seen him. No contact, no cards, and no one, in the group of friends you shared, brought up the other on purpose.

The reception was noisy. 

Like a zoo full of animals that were awakened by a whistle only they could hear; sounds of song’s you hadn’t heard since high school played from the small band the Wheeler’s had insisted on just beyond the designated space for dancing. Dustin, Lucas, Mike, and Will were losing it on the floor since the second a Michael Jackson song emitted its first few strings. 

Steve and Nancy were hand in hand greeting guests at their tables as others made their way to the bar, dessert table, or chatted with drinks in their hands. 

At the head table, El and Max were positioned at the end talking in whispers about the people in the room and you sat like a lone duck near the center of it. An abundance of flowers in white and yellow flanked the table before you, empty dishes and scattered bags and goods littered its table top. Mike left a pack of cigarettes in his spot while Dustin’s best man speech was crumbled in a quarter-fold beside his sweating glass of coke. 

Time had left you behind; sitting solemn at your best friend’s wedding while everyone else put on their best smiles and grinned their way through the evening. And maybe that’s what observation had led you to believe, that you looked as though you were wallowing in self-pity for an absence of love in your life. Loveless at an event so full of it. 

You fiddled with the necklace absent mindedly. 

The room of excitable tunes slowed. 

Couples–married and not, grabbed their partners for a dance. Robin and Eddie were standing near the center of the room beside the table that all the parents were at when Veronica slid next to Eddie, her hand slinking down his arm and into his palm as she nodded to the growing group on the dance floor. 

Hours ago, you had looked back at him when he pleaded with you to stay. Now, as his hand was gripped by a woman he wasn’t sure why he had even invited, Eddie looked back from the center of the room and to the head table where you sat. 

Veronica pulled him away before he could make a choice. 

Robin leaned against one of the chairs, watching as Eddie trailed behind the woman in orange. She did not realize Joyce and Hopper were still sitting at the table she rested against. 

“What the hell was that?” Hopper voiced, hand pointing in Eddie’s direction like a finger gun. He had a mustache that was perfectly trimmed and highlighted his frown well. Joyce crossed her arms with scrutiny.  

Robin shrugged, sighing as she turned around and pulled out a chair to sit at the table. “Two idiots in love, I think.” 

“Jesus,” Hopper scratched his forehead, “I knew it was a bad idea…” he mumbled as he watched Eddie pretend to be interest in what the woman was telling him as they danced. 

“What?” Robin shook her head, “What was a bad idea?” 

“Them breaking up!” He said as if it were obvious. “I got a call from one of the bartenders at The Hideout that there was a scuffle goin’ on one Friday night a few years ago and when I got there, Eddie was there just fuckin’ bombed on the sidewalk.” 

Joyce nodded along to his words because she had heard the story before. Robin listened intently as Hopper continued. 

“I couldn’t understand a word he was sayin’ so I put him in the truck and offered to drive him to her parents’ house because that’s where they always stayed when they came to town and he just… cried. Drunk and sobbing his goddamn eyes out in the front of my truck.” 

“Was this recent or…?” Robin pondered. 

“No,” Hopper shook his head, “years back but he was goin’ on about how he was a bad boyfriend and they broke up and he was moving to California in a few days… I just thought to myself ‘shit, man, I have never seen someone so bent out of shape from a breakup.’ Those two… If it weren’t Steve and Nancy gettin’ hitched, I would have bet money on it that it was them instead.” 

“Every Tuesday he’d pick her up from Melvald’s and take her out. He had flowers for her every time,” Joyce recalled. “I asked her about it once,” she nodded and looked at how you watched Eddie with the other woman, “she said that he never had a good example of what it meant to be a good boyfriend. I guess his dad was a piece of shit,” Hopper hummed a knowledgeable assurance that she was right. “And he wanted to be the only example he could think of–be that good guy that she deserved.” 

“I didn’t know that,” Robin said quietly. 

“I told him he needed to fly back to Chicago and fix things,” Hopper added, “but I guess he was too beaten up about it; probably thought she’d slam the door in his face.” 

“Doubt it,” Robin snorted, “I don’t think they’re idiots,” she corrected herself, “I think they know exactly what the other one is thinking but are too scared to get hurt again if it doesn’t work out.” 

Hopper scooted his chair back, adjusting his pants and jacket as he stood from the table. “Well, then we’ll just have to make it happen–or,” he clarified, “get them in the same spot.” 

Robin swiveled in her chair as Hopper rubbed Joyce’s shoulder as he passed behind her, heading straight for the head table and directly to you. 

Jim Hopper wasn’t a man that could be missed in a crowd of hundreds. His bulky frame that towered over guests and moved about the room like a boulder in grass drew your eyes to the movement immediately. He passed by Max and Eleven at the end of the table, never missing the opportunity to pat the girl he raised into a wonderful young lady on the head. 

It was a nice distraction from Eddie and Veronica swaying to a melodic tune. 

“Hey kid,” Hopper pulled out the chair beside you labeled with a table marker for ‘Robin Buckley.’ 

You gave him a closed smile. “Hi Chief.” 

“I guess I can’t really call you ‘kid’ anymore,” he groaned, chuckling as he sat down with an ache all older men his age did. “I blink and you all grow up… makes me feel like a real old man,” and then he gave you that sly, side grin that made you wish Hopper was your dad instead of the one you had. 

“You’re not old, Hopper,” he managed to pull a small laugh from your lips. The dejected film washing away for a brief second in time. 

“Well,” he cleared his throat as he put an elbow on the table and adjusted himself in the seat to face you, “that makes me feel a little better about my age. So,” Hopper gave a pointed look that answered the hundreds of questions as to what Robin was chatting to him and Joyce about, “what are you sitting all the way over here for? Don’t want to chat or dance?” 

“Just tired,” you told him, “Nance didn’t pick the most sensible shoes.” 

“Robin took hers off; I’m sure you can do the same.” 

“And walk barefoot on this floor?” You snorted. “Never.” 

He shared the amusement before turning his gaze to the groups of people beyond the tables as they danced. A goddamn direct view. ‘Cruel,’ he thought. And surpassing the stone of the church from hours before, the beach where it trickled rain as photos were snapped for scrapbooks forever, and the smells of delicious food filled his belly before reaching his mouth, Jim Hopper felt the love that filled the room. 

It touched him, as it had you and everyone else on the wedding weekend of Steve and Nancy Harrington. 

Joyce was attempting to occupy Robin in conversation but every time Jim’s eyes met hers, he knew they were both far too curious and nosey to not be gossiping about longstanding drama that befuddled even the most romantically inclined. 

The woman that restored his faith in the prospect of love and devotion had witnessed the earliest of your own. Tuesday’s at the local mart, the way Eddie would hold the door for you and attempt to steal magazine’s off the rack just to get your attention. How Eddie drove you around when your car was in the shop and eventually, would take the little rascals of Hellfire with for soda and snacks before their campaigns began–but also because he wanted to see you if even for a minute. 

Although people often judged the idea of love at a young age, Jim and Joyce both recognized its honesty between Eddie and yourself. It was pure, unadulterated, and basked in a light that only belonged to the longevity of companionship. 

“You know, the moment I knew I loved Joyce, I thought I’d never get her.” 

Hopper could see Eddie and his date having their own conversation, whatever it may have been, because a blank face melted from one of an increasing lack of emotion, to one of strife. 

“And when I did, I thought she’d see a different man than the one I believed I was.”

“She would have been blind not to see the real you, Hopper,” Joyce smiled at you as you caught her eyes. “You always tried to help us be the best versions of ourselves and she did too. If that’s not a perfect match, I don’t know what is.” 

“Are you the best version of yourself now?” He questioned, tapping his finger onto the white tablecloth of the table. “Weddings can be… sobering… but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a person look as distant as you.” 

“Flattery never was your strong suit, Hopper,” you grimaced, “and I’m fine,” you weren’t fine. “You didn’t have to come save me from myself.” 

“So, there aren’t a million thoughts swimming around in that mind of yours? I know I’m not the most intuitive dad there is but believe me when I say I’ve been trained to know when somethin’ just quite ain’t right.” 

“I have hundreds of thoughts racing through my brain. ‘Why is the cake so far away?’ ‘Rob and Joyce can stop staring at me any second now,’ and perhaps my favorite thought, ‘why does Jim Hopper care about my state of mind?” Combative. He knew the signs. 

“Maybe Jim Hopper knowns that the girl deep down inside of you just needs to heal,” he said honestly. “But there is only one way to heal what’s been lost and let me tell you, it’s not going to come waltzing on down here as you sit and mope.” 

“It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?” You scoffed at yourself, “that this wedding has only made me jealous about what I don’t have.” 

“I don’t think you’re jealous, kid,” Hopper deflated, “I think you’re realizing a mistake was made somewhere along the lines of your own life.” 

Mistake. It was that goddamn word again. 

“There’s been no mistake,” you shook your head at him, “everything has played out the way it was meant to.” 

“And you really believe that?” 

“There had been nothing in my life to prove me otherwise.” 

“And lying was never your strong suit, kid,” he put on his ‘dad’ face. “You don’t have to talk to me, fine, but if I asked to be the first person to ask for a dance tonight, would you say no?”

How could you deny Jim Hopper, Police Chief and hero of Hawkins, Indiana? You couldn’t. Even if you were flailing for support in an ocean of heartache, sparing one dance for the man was cinch. He rose from the chair, holding out his arm in hopes that you would link yours through his and entertain him one dance as Steve and Nancy added themselves to the pairs on the dance floor and swayed gently to a new song. 

His stature would block a view you’d rather not see. 

“You may be the only person to ask me to dance,” you joined him on your feet. “I can’t say no to you, Chief.” 

“That’s the spirit, kid.”

“Why did you bring me here?” 

Veronica’s voice cut through the music as couples and pairs settled onto the dance floor with the melodic hum of a song playing through sets of speakers. Instead of dancing like an adult, she had flung both her arms over Eddie’s shoulders and linked her hands behind his head. He had no choice other than to put his hand at her waist; the fabric of her orange dress was coarse under his fingertips. 

“I asked you to come,” Eddie replied. “I thought I told you that last night.” 

Ah, yes. Last night; where Steve made a scene about Eddie’s lingering feelings of letting another woman go while she sat beside him with the best intentions.

Veronica did not know Eddie Munson–the guy who grew up on the wrong side of the tracks by fate, the one who had a strange group of friends that shared varying interests and ran in different social circles, or someone who threw everything he had into a career he realized wasn’t as glamorous as the cameras and magazines made it out to be. 

He cursed those Rolling Stone magazines he scoured when he was a bit too early for closing time of Melvald’s. 

“Yeah,” Veronica said as if that hadn’t mattered in the slightest, “and here you are, barely even touching me or sparring me a second look. You know I had to sit by some stoner guy for dinner and they didn’t believe you could bring someone like me.” 

Eddie narrowed his eyes, taken aback by her comment. “What’s that supposed to mean? Those are good people. And I was a huge fuckin’ stoner once too.” 

“That’s not what I meant,” she shook her head, “I mean, they didn’t see me with you. Not because of who I am or who you are, but because it wasn’t right.” 

“You know,” Eddie lowered his voice when he caught the eye of Dustin dancing with Suzie not two feet away from him, “you’re sounding an awful lot like someone who’s about to dump someone else.” 

“Would that be such a bad thing?” Her eyebrows quirked as she tipped her head to the side. “Why waste more time on me?” 

Even if his heart raced in another direction, the sound of someone saying that to Eddie was bothersome. 

“Please don’t say that,” he said, “you’re not a waste of time.” 

“But for someone else’s love, I am,” Veronica’s lips extended into a thin line. “That’s not a bad thing, Eddie… It just means I’m not the one for you.” 

The chords of the music sobered him. 

Across the room, sitting desolate at the dinner table, his heart called. 

“Afford me this dance,” Veronica continued, “and when the time comes, do what makes you happy, however difficult that may be. She may not run into your arms as she once did,” as the motions swayed the pair, she faced the table as Jim Hopper approached. “That doesn’t mean love doesn’t exist.” 

She felt Eddie’s shoulder’s deflate from the tension he had been holding in the entire day–nay, two days–since the prospect of you had become a reality. 

“I abandoned her,” Eddie admitted quietly to her, “like a fucking ragdoll for some dream that really isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be.” 

Veronica did not know every detail. She did not know the exact history, nor did she fully grasp the levity of a near decade of love being tossed to the side for a pipedream. But she did know what it was like to leave an abundance of life behind to chase a want. 

Yet the model had never seen a group so peculiar as the one he belonged to. The tightknit communal that leaned on each other like family even though many were from different corners. She had seen the binds of friendship like never before. She had seen a broken love bonded by pain from across a candlelight tabletop and wondered why she had ever been invited if that would always have been the outcome. It was as though two ships hadn’t sailed passed one another but docked; lengths of a life finally running out of individual ink before relying on two for competition. 

“You both hurt each other,” she settled, “that is what separation does. But…” she chuckled, “I have been in love before and I’ve never witnessed such a feeling when being in the presence of the two of you–and I don’t even know her…” 

“She won’t talk to me,” Eddie confided. “I tried, earlier today because she was on the verge of a breakdown over a necklace and she could barely look at me.” 

“Don’t you think it may be because if she did, she’d fall all over again?” 

The song was coming to a close. 

“There is nothing wrong with pain, Eddie. Feeling pain, wanting to be healed, and being scared of that healing… and maybe she’ll need time. She loves you. I know she does because when women know, they know.” 

Jim Hopper stood from the chair. 

There was a comradery he felt in Veronica. Romance beside itself, the woman was a chakra. She had looked into a future he could barely imagine himself and pulled the heroic card before it was dealt. These cards overturned like quicksand settling between his toes. 

“You know,” Eddie gave her a sly, friendly grin, “you sound an awful lot like those odd fortune tellers that sell their services on the strip.” 

Veronica laughed; whole-heartedly, warmly. “Maybe in a previous life I was,” she played, “but in yours, there has always been one path and I guarantee you, from one romantic to another, loneliness was never an option for you. It’s what kids dream about–that ‘fairytale…’ Even if it is a little bit messy.” 

You linked your arm with Jim’s. 

“I’ve always been a little too messy,” Eddie said sheepishly. 

“I can tell,” Veronica groaned, “You don’t have to be perfect for her. Imperfection seizes our hearts faster than perfection… it’s enough to haunt us when perfection tears that apart.” 

“El isn’t dancing with anyone.” 

Jim Hopper held one hand in his and the other on the upper half of your back. It was as though he was dancing at an elementary father-daughter dance than anything else, stiff in his hulking frame. The music did nothing to silence your rapidly forming thoughts that Eddie and Veronica were feet away; Eddie’s eyes caught yours as Jim helped you to the floor, an anguish in them acted as a puzzle waiting to be pulled apart. 

In the eyes that watched Veronica rip the persona he had gathered for himself in the years past, Eddie could only imagine you. He waited for them to turn into your own, for her laugh to morph into yours, for her hands to run through his hair as yours once did, and the comfort of her presence to become you. Looking for that glimpse, Eddie found it inside of his imagination; searching every corner of it to find a home for his torment–self-inflicted and its mortal consequences bleeding life from him like a sieve. 

“It’s those sensible shoes…” Hopper joked. “Her feet are killing her. A couple blisters later, she’s sworn them off forever.” 

“I don’t blame her,” Lucas and Max joined the pairs beside you. The red-headed girl rested her head on his shoulder, eyes closed in the utmost content state she could be in. True love. 

“How many dances do you have in your feet?” 

“Why?” You questioned. “Am I a better partner than Joyce? She was always rather clumsy.” 

“No,” he laughed but could not disagree, “I just think those boys won’t end the evening without asking you. I think Dustin’s always had a little crush on his former babysitter.” 

“I don’t think,” you tipped your head at him, “I know he’s always had a crush on me.” 

Dustin Henderson had always been a cute boy. His pure child-like imagination and motivation had inspired you to explore your own interests without fear. You had watched him from five until his mother decided he didn’t need you anymore, but you were lucky to call him a friend now. 

“But he’s got Suzie,” you could see the two giggling as everyone danced around them. “And I can’t think of a more natural person for him. I think they’re next,” your eyes moved themselves around the room, “to get married.” 

“Too many childhood sweethearts in my opinion,” Hopper’s gruff voice was certain in that. “Not everyone is meant to be with their first loves.” 

“I think they are… just like Steve and Nancy, just like Max and Lucas.” 

“And you and Eddie.” Not a question, a statement. 

It was the scoff that left your lips that made his hopes for you feel weak. “That chapter ended, Chief. He’s moved on, so have I.” 

“No,” he clarified, “you haven’t. You wouldn’t have been moping around your best friend’s wedding if you were.” 

“I wasn’t moping,” you defended, “Jonathan was moping. I’m pretty sure he cried and had decent reason to but I was just… people watching.” 

“Person watching. You were watching Eddie and there’s nothing wrong with it,” he asserted. “You love him. There is no shame in it.” 

“Why is everyone so interested in how I feel?” Your face put on the mask of a scorned lover. Eyes drawn narrow and brows forming a crease in its center. “This is Nance and Steve’s wedding, their only wedding if they’re lucky, and I’ve had person after person question how I feel about something I no longer have.” 

“Maybe it’s because for once we all see the truth of it all…” He had seen the truth as a washed-up Eddie cried in his truck. “That the pain of the past isn’t worth the loneliness of the future.” 

“A true poet,” you mumbled, “but I’m fine. I promise you, I’m fine.” 

“I’ve said it before,” Hopper chuckled, “and I will always say it to you, but you’re a terrible liar.” 

“Lies be lies, Chief. But there’s no point in trying to make me feel better about feelings I can’t control.” 

“No one is asking you to control them,” you turned your head away from Jim’s and clocked Lucas eavesdropping. He gave a strained, tight smile before resting his cheek onto Max’s head. “That isn’t what we’re trying to do… I want the kids I watched grow up to be happy and you’re not happy, he’s not happy. I don’t know if the answer to that equation is the two of you finding each other again but I’ve never been a man capable of understanding the love you had. And that sound ridiculous coming from someone as old as your old man.” 

“I can’t even be in the same room as him without feeling like breaking down,” your voice was quiet, a mere whisper of what it was because the prospect of Eddie still having feelings for you was frightening. You didn’t want to end up becoming a ghost again. 

“It’s like I’m a nobody in a room full of somebody’s and they can’t see me.” 

“Someone will always see you,” his eyes were gentle. “He saw you when he couldn’t see himself.” 

“Then why did he leave?” 

And the way Hopper’s body stood taller, his gaze no longer meeting yours, and turning you cold told you the world was ending. This love, imploded if it couldn’t exist between the two of you, was bubbling to the surface like a volcano. Here, on the island of Nantucket, a tsunami couldn’t save you from emotional ruin. 

“I think that’s a question you’ll have to ask him.” 

Veronica’s hand extended into your peripheral vision. She held it out to Jim like a lifeline. 

“Do you mind if I steal him?” Her body came into view and you needn’t know the conversation the two had to know she had led Eddie back to you. “I need to hear all about this ‘hero of Hawkins!’”

“I’m not the hero,” Jim said rather sheepishly. “That’s all him.” 

You could feel Eddie’s presence in a room of hundreds of a room of one. It enveloped you into a cocoon against your fighting mind. 

“Those are strong words coming from you, Chief.” His voice rung out against the music. Eddie had been on the poor graces of Chief Jim Hopper for many a year before the man had seen Eddie for what he was: a good, kind man with a fierce complex.

Jim looked to you. “You got this, kid. I’ve got another partner now, so do you.” 

He took Veronica’s arm and linked it through his arm like an elderly man who needed help walking. He wasn’t that old. She took him away without a glance back at the one who had asked her to come. 

“Now,” Eddie cleared his throat from behind you, “I could ask you to dance or,” he had put on that voice like there were more options than he had, “we can go outside, sit down, and maybe you’ll talk to me.” 

‘Look at me. Why won’t you look at me,’ his words echoed in your mind. 

When you turned around to face him, he got his wish. 

Eddie looked hopeful, as if it were the permanent face he wore. His eyes were the smallest bit glassy, hands stuffed into his pockets, and the shine of his shoes to the wear of his tie was different than he had ever worn before. He was still him, yet so different all the same. 

“If we talk,” you felt like you swallowed a frog, “no lies. I don’t want to hear any lies.” 

“Wouldn’t think of it.” 

The night was cold. 

Springtime enfolded the shores of Nantucket; cattails and tall grasses billowing, soft sounds of ocean waves lapping muted the music from inside. Adirondack chairs lay vacant, pillows dewed and their wood smooth. 

You couldn’t bear to sit down. 

Allowing the night air to take you, Eddie shut the door behind him and felt the scene before him play at the edge of a cliff; every piece of you blowing away against a yearning to stay. He began shrugging his jacket off and you held out a hand in front of you. 

“I’m fine,” the frost bit at your voice. “Keep it.” 

“You’re freezing,” Eddie continued to remove his piece. “I’m not going to be an asshole and let you freeze to death because you’re stubborn.” 

You scoffed. “I am not stubborn. I don’t need it, end of story.” 

He tugged it off, folding it in his hands before tossing it on one of the chairs that separated the distance between you. His tie was long undone, the two buttons at the top of his shirt undone but the cufflinks remained. You wanted to take the jacket. You wanted to recall his scent and warmth but your stubbornness in protection vexed you. 

“Fine,” he huffed. 

“Fine,” You replied in kind. 

Only the note of waves filled the stillness. You both looked at one another as though a million years had gone by in the blink of an eye. Not unlike the seconds passed in the wine cellar the night before, the world seemed to dissipate to a single existence of two former lovers. Two people, in spite of themselves, who haven’t felt whole since a single moment six years before. 

Goosebumps raised on your skin, the jacket appeared delectable yet an item of fear as it sat, calling to say ‘put it on,’ only to be followed by a whisper of ‘forgive me.’ 

“I can’t imagine that small talk is what you wanted to discuss,” you started. 

“I don’t believe it’s what you would want either,” he countered, “and we both know that would get us nowhere.” 

“So, what?” You lightly shook your head. “You want me to ask how your life has been and catch up on all I’ve missed? There’s a reason I don’t read gossip magazines anymore… I don’t need to see beautiful women rubbed in my face or success showing me that my pain was worth something more.” 

“A lot of those things are lies,” Eddie walked his icy path with steady feet. “You don’t need to read them, no. But I would hope you still cared enough to ask about me when you visit Rob and Nance, not to mention Steve never brings you up to me.” 

“Oh, you mean the literal effort they all put in to never mention you around me?” You gazed at him as though the reason you never asked about him, or they never spoke about him, was obvious. It hurt too much. “It’s not exactly a cake walk, Eddie, to hear about your fantastic life when I could barely hold my own together.” 

“It’s not fantastic and if you asked, you would have known that.” 

“And it’s my responsibility to learn that? Did you want me to reach out, ask how you’ve been, and get lunch like you didn’t fucking break my heart?” You gawked. Eddie took his hands from his pockets and put them on his hips–a Steve move he had taken upon after establishing their friendship. “If I couldn’t talk about you, I don’t know how the hell I would have talked to you.”  

“Then maybe I should have called,” like an easy solution, “and maybe instead of… what was it Steve said? Trading holidays liked a divorced couple, we could have been civil and spent time with our friends together.” 

“Was that when you were traveling the world or recording records?” You pursed. “Or when you moved out to California and visited once a year? Tell me, Eddie, is a hypothetically cordial relationship something you really want with me? I can barely feel the world turn as it is when I’m in your presence, I doubt I would be able to have a good time with our friends.” 

Eddie laughed savagely. “I didn’t know all the fun had been sucked out of you.” 

You took a step back, careening your head out toward the ocean as you bit your cheek. He had gall. He was bold and unflinching, but his eyes told the truth. His own pain and suffering at the consequences of his actions had let the light leave him for so long. When pain overtook a person’s being, anger and callous language followed. 

“If you’re going to be an ass,” you looked back to him, “I don’t want to talk to you.” 

“It isn’t the truth, though? I’ve at least tried to have a halfway, goddamn decent time at this wedding and every time I looked at you, you’ve been nothing but bitter.” 

“No one asked you to look at me, Eddie. You brought a date. You should focus on her.” 

“How could I!?” A dam had broken inside of him. He couldn’t not look at you. “Every time I think I’ll give someone else a chance, it’s like seeing a fucking ghost in my mirror! I have to look at you. I need to look for you.” 

“No, you don’t!” You exclaimed with as much passion. “You lost that when you walked out! I am sorry that I am so shitty for being sad at a beautiful wedding. I am sorry for wishing that this time, maybe it was me walking down that goddamn aisle. And for fuck’s sake, I am so sorry that I am fearful that you’ll finally move on and want to marry someone else! Jesus fuck! It’s been six goddamn years and I still think that you’ll come walking through the door and say you made a mistake but I don’t want to hear that tumbling out of Steve’s mouth. I don’t want it to be based in lies because you feel bad I am sad at my best friend’s wedding.” 

“I love you,” he blurted out without reason. 

“Don’t say that!”

“Why!?”

“Because it isn’t true! IF I was, you never would have left! You wouldn’t have asked me to throw my life away and follow you to the ends of the fucking earth! If I wasn’t just some body, maybe somebody would love me enough to stay,” You argued loudly. 

“I do love you,” He argued back with the same ferocity. 

“You did. You don’t anymore.” 

“I do love you. I do. I haven’t fucking stopped loving you since I was seventeen and I don’t think I ever will stop. I will always love you, I have always loved you, and I know that when I am dying, I will die loving you,” he was breathless. Angered and pent up with emotions he had buried deep where his eyes were fiery and his tone was firm. 

“You can’t say things like that…” Fuck the tears that loved to threaten to fall.

“Why!? Tell me why I can’t tell the truth. You asked me not to lie and I wouldn’t do that to you!”

“Becau–” you stammered the word as your mind racked itself for answers, “because it’s not fair to me! I can’t live another day knowing that someone else out there loves you in a way that I do. I can’t keep waiting around in my shitty, fucking life for someone who walked out of it for something bigger than me.”

“And it was a mistake! I will never forgive myself for it but please, even if it’s the last thing you do, please believe that it was. I never should have asked that of you, I was selfish. I knew what I wanted in life then because it hasn’t changed. It existed deep down but was scared to come to the surface and I needed to be pulled under to see that. I love you. I love you so goddamn much that every day without you has been the most unbearable few years of my life. I want you, and only you.”

“Don’t lie to me,” your lip trembled, face hot. 

“I’m not lying,” his own eyes watery. “Please, I am not lying to you.”

“I don’t think you know how much you hurt me, Eddie,” you shook your head at him. “There are times when I don’t feel like myself because you took that away from me. I don’t depend on anyone; I’d never say that I lost everything when you left but you cracked me open, slaughtered me in the place we shared because of a dream. And believe me, really, that I am so happy you found that life but how can I know that my suffering was worth it? 

“You don’t think I suffered too?” He exclaimed loudly at the sky. “I went to Hawkins, you know, after everything because I didn’t have anywhere to go.” You didn’t know.

“I got so fucking drunk at a bar that Hopper had to come scrape me off the sidewalk and from what I remember, I exploded in the truck when he tried to take me to your parent’s place. Do you know what he did? Let me sleep on the couch and when Eleven got up the next day, she held my hand and told me that I’d be okay and I haven’t been okay. I’ve never been okay without you and I’m not scared to admit that. You are my lifeline, sweetheart. I have tried to replace that feeling but I can’t.”

“Do you know how long I wished for you to walk through that door?” You pointed to the door you walked through as if it could transform itself into the one of the apartment you shared. “I sat there, waiting for you because I barely remembered a life where you weren’t part of it and that was hard enough to imagine when it slammed in my goddamn ears,” you huffed, eyes nearly ablaze as his committed declarations of love echoed through every vacant place inside of you and right back to the moment he left. 

“There is not a day that goes by where I don’t question why you let it go so easily.” 

“It wasn’t easy,” Eddie stressed your name exasperatedly, “nothing about that choice was easy.” 

“You made it seem like it was.” 

Eddie felt the grounding he had built in his mind with his vow of love was strong. He felt the ghosts of the past begin to grip his feet; haunting and pulling him to the depths of his former despair to face a choice chastened by ambition. On the cold, concrete sidewalk and the airy Nantucket patio, it ruptured in spouts. 

Pain, longing, abjection tied to every word; you had tried in obstinate strength to keep the fortress from becoming invaded. That somewhere in your heart there was a knowledge it was stronger than the force of the man that had left you to bleed but it wasn’t. It felt his bullets like bandages. They neither wounded nor massacred its path forward, binding the holes left behind with attestation.

“When I said we wanted different things, why didn’t you tell me what you wanted?” You asked in a voice wavering. “I thought you wanted this life,” a hand painted his figure against the night, “he one with the glitz and glamor and women like Veronica. If you wanted what I did, why toss it to the side?

Eddie shook his head, backing away from you and throwing his hands on top of his head in a connected grasp. He looked out to the water so dark he couldn’t see yet heard. “You remember what I told you about my parents?”

After a second, he returned his gaze to you and in return, you nodded. 

Eddie’s perception of self was deeply rooted in the disjointed childhood he had been forced to experience. Every feeling, every action questioned by himself as to whether the receiving party had viewed it as strange, difficult, or simply heartless. He kept his heart on his sleeve, however, he kept it tethered there. When someone tried to hold it in their own palms, Eddie pulled away. 

It had taken years for him to be comfortable enough with himself to be willing to be someone he liked. 

“It doesn’t just go away with time,” he sighed. “I will always doubt myself. I always fear that I’m one step away from becoming him even if I know I’m nothing like him.” 

For a child of a loveless marriage, a brutal life, the most fearful thing they could imagine was not whether or not they could be loved later in life, it was turning into the people they hated most. 

“It’s not every day that someone comes to your concert and wants to sign you without so much as a demo session… and that overtook me. I know that now, and I knew that the second I walked out the goddamn door. I will apologize for the rest of my life if it means you know how I feel.”

Eddie let that sit. 

“You can hate me forever, I don’t mind. But don’t convince yourself I never cared enough about you.”

“I don’t hate you. I never hated you. And I’m sorry if I made it seem that way.”

Perhaps he would have to convince himself that you never hated him just as you would that he loved you.

“Even when I left?”

“There was not a piece of my body strong enough to feel anything more than empty when that happened.”

“I felt it too, you know,” his eyes shimmered in the lamplight. No joy, no hilarity–just hope that you knew the truth. 

“I do now,” you told him. 

“I’m not asking you to give me a second chance,” Eddie shrugged his shoulders lowly. In a nearly defeated sigh, he took the words he replayed in his mind for two thousand, one hundred and ninety days, “but fuck… I told you I’d find you again if the time was right and the minute I saw you in the archway I knew that was my shot… you’re the same but different… I loved you then and I love the you that you are now. And I’m sorry that it took me that long to realize it.” 

“What did you feel in that church today?” 

A cosmic connection, a fleeting moment he wished to hold onto forever. 

“Eddie,” you took a step forward, closing the distance, “tell me what you felt.” 

“I felt…” He paused. Breathing in deeply, it was not his admissions of love that proved to be most difficult. It was the regret of letting it go that scarred the deepest. “I felt… bitter.” 

“Bitter?”

“Because I don’t have what they do,” he threw a lazy arm toward the door. “Or I did have that and I let it go because of a silly dream.” 

“I don’t think your dream was silly,” you admitted, “it worked out of you in the end.” 

“But at what cost?” Eddie took a step closer to you; the chair with this tuxedo jacket the space that separated you. “Why do those dreams take everything away to make them happen? I didn’t want to do that, this, alone. Not without you.” 

“I felt helpless,” you disclosed. “In that church with the sun streaming in… like a fucking… higher power was saying to me that the way I loved you still existed inside of me. It hasn’t ever truly gone–as much as some moments I wish it was–yet it stays.” 

“Helpless because you love me?” 

“Helpless because I can’t have you.” 

“And why can’t you have me?” Another step closer. “Why do you, the only woman I have ever truly loved, feel you cannot have me?” 

“Because someone else does,” your eyes flashed toward the doors as if Eddie’s proximity and both of your vulnerabilities were forbidden. “Because someone else loves you.” 

“She doesn’t love me,” Eddie’s fingers eclipsed your own. Fanning in a light flutter, it was discovering touch again. “She isn’t mine and I am not hers.” 

He stepped closer again and every one of your senses went spiraling. Eddie leaned his head forward and rested his forehead on your own. Two sets of eyes closed at the sensation. 

“You have all of me. Every part of me since the moment I saw you.” 

“And what do you want?” 

‘I want you to have what you want, sweetheart,’ his words were distant from the past.

“What do you want now?” you asked him, breaking away as your eyes shone to his. His free hand cradled the back of your neck gently, he rubbed his thumb over your cheek. “I know what I want, but I need to hear it from you. No lies.”

“No lies,” he repeated, a quick glanced down at your lips had him soaring. “I want you, baby. I’ll only ever want you.” 

“Good,” you whispered, lips barely tracing his for the first time in six years. “Because we’re not letting this go this time.”

“Never.”

And he pulled your lips to his.

To answer the question the chapel had asked you, ‘what is it like to be loved?’, there is only one answer: 

This is what it feels like. Pain, beauty, and joy. There is no bind without strife, nor is there passion without sacrifice. 

And in the years in between said sacrifice, the tethers of a string brushed together until they found one another again on a little island off a blustery coast for the wedding of Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler.

A/N: As always, comments, reblogs are kindly encouraged :) thank you for reading!

#eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie x reader #reader x eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #stranger things #x female reader #stranger things 4 #joseph quinn #angsty as hell bitches #sunday saddies on

[newtonsheffield]

“He spends his entire life three steps behind someone he’s fallen in love with and can’t ever have”

UGH MOLLY THE YEARNING. THE PINING. AH

The mutual pining is insane in this one. It took about 3 months for Anthony to fall head over heels in love with Her Royal Highness Kate Sharma, First in line to the throne. a Queen in waiting. And he’s been her head of security for nearly two years now.

He fell in love with the way her nose wrinkles when she smiles at her dog chewing his shoelaces and the way she spends hours longer than she’s supposed to at charity events with children. He’d still like to punch James Harrington, the Duke of Bristow’s younger son, in the throat for breaking up with her in a fucking bar on a Saturday night. Fucking arsehole. He never deserved her. He fucking hated standing outside that dickhead’s flat, waiting for her to come out in the middle of the night. But what’s he going to do? She needs to get married. Maybe at 26 it doesn’t seem like the most important thing but one day, hopefully very far from now, she’ll be the Queen. And she needs to marry, she needs to have children. And it’s not going to be a glorified security guard she picks when she does.

Meanwhile, Her Royal Highness Kate Sharma has been harbouring a little crush on Anthony Bridgerton for two years now. He’s handsome, that was the first thing she noticed about him when her father introduced her to her new head of security. She could hardly avoid noticing it. Not the way his thick dark hair had fallen in his eyes as he’d bowed stiffly to her.

“Your Highness.”

But it was so much more than that. More even that the way his arms bulged in the muscle tee he wore when they went out running. He was kind, beneath the gruff exterior that had seen him shove a man back who’d rushed her suddenly one day. Barking at the other protection officers,

“Get her inside now!”

He was kind. She saw the way he snuck Newton little treats when no one was watching, and she’d heard him on the phone to his younger siblings and his tone made her chest ache. He listened to her, while she cried like a stupid, privileged little girl and shook his head

“You must think I’m so fucking stupid.” Her shoulders heaved, “I’ve had the best of everything and I’ve never had to work an actual day in my life. Why am I crying?”

“You’re not stupid.” He’d handed her a handkerchief that had been embroidered with his initials. “You’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. You’ll be… incredible for this country one day. You’re incredible now. And I… I’m lucky to know you. Well, in a professional capacity.”

She wished he’d be less professional. She felt his gaze linger on her occasionally, but she wished it was more than lust. More than who she was.

#bodyguard au #kathony #anthony x kate #kate sharma #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton #molly’s asks and answers

[svltzmans]

invisible string - c.h.

cassie howard x hockey player!fem!reader

a/n: i've been thinking about this figure skater cassie x hockey player reader au for so long and i finally am writing it!! i hope you all enjoy it <3

warnings: mutual pining, just super fluffy :)

y/n's skate blades dig into the ice beneath her with every stride, propelling her to the other side of the rink within seconds.

hockey had always been one of her passions from a young age. her father had originally taught her how to skate, hoping she would take up figure skating.

needless to say, she took a different path, but he was just as happy.

passing the puck to her teammate, y/n takes a quick glance at the clock. she sighs with relief when she sees practice is coming to an end.

she loves hockey and her team, undeniably so. but she's so exhausted that she might just love her bed a little bit more.

finally stepping off the ice, she hobbles to the locker room, quickly changing into her most comfortable hoodie and sweatpants. she's practically yearning for her bed at this point, throwing her equipment and skates into her bag.

saying her goodbyes to her teammates, y/n starts the walk to her car. she notices a group of figure skaters walking through the front door, which she recognizes as the same skaters that practice in the rink opposite to her hockey team.

except among them is a girl she has never seen before, her thick blonde locks tightly pulled into a bun. her eyelids are perfectly painted a glittery blue that compliments the costume she and the rest of the group are wearing.

y/n is gawking over this girl, and she knows it. she's never seen anyone quite like her. she feels what can only be described as a driving force pulling her toward the mystery blonde.

reluctantly, y/n heads for the door and starts her drive home once the figure skaters make their way into the rink. her thoughts are entirely taken over by a girl she has never met, and she's not upset about it.

cassie's figure skating career started when she was young, and she feels like it hasn't slowed down since. tournaments, competitions, practices. her life revolved around skating, and she didn't mind. the ice was her safe place, where she could forget about everything that bothered her and just skate.

every day she would come to the rink to practice a new routine, whether she was with her group or not. she's always been entranced by the way she feels when she lands a jump; as well as the feeling of the speed she picks up that makes her feel like she can fly.

cassie celebrates to herself as she lands her hardest jump yet. she had been practicing it for weeks, with many hours of her day being spent at the rink. with the routine finally complete, she allows herself to go home and rest her aching body.

exchanging pleasantries with her fellow skaters, cassie excuses herself to the locker room to finally sit for a moment, putting on a pair of comfortable shoes. contemplating what to eat when she gets home, she makes her way out of the rink.

as she walks out, she makes eye contact with a few members of the hockey team that plays at her home rink. she had always imagined she'd fall in love with a hockey player - it only seemed right to her. the intimidating, muscular, athletic hockey player and the dainty, delicate, beautiful figure skater...

her eyes land on a member of the team she's never seen before, carrying her hockey bag to the exit. she's shocked, having never seen such a beautiful hockey player before. having never seen such a beautiful girl playing hockey.

cassie debates on saying hello to the girl, but eventually decides she's too nervous, and the girl she was staring at had already walked through the doors of the rink into the parking lot.

after a much needed night of rest, y/n wakes up to a text from her coach.

"Practice is canceled today. Rest up and I'll see you all on Monday."

y/n sighs with a mixture of disappointment and relief. she could definitely use the rest day, but she misses the rink each day she's not there.

her mind jumps to the figure skater she had seen the day before, and she can't help but smile. she'd never been drawn to someone this way before, and she almost wasn't sure what to do.

except, of course, go to the rink.

walking into the rink without her hockey bag feels weird for y/n. she almost feels naked, or like she's missing a piece of her.

nonetheless, she makes her way into the neighboring rink, taking in the new environment. she'd never skated on this one before, knowing that it's usually reserved for figure skating practices.

and that was exactly what was happening, and what y/n had come for. she settles into one of the freezing seats, wrapping her arms around herself and pulling the hood of her sweatshirt on.

she spots the blonde skater, flying across the ice in a way that looks completely effortless, even though y/n knows firsthand it's far from it.

y/n is floored by the talent the skater is showing, watching every move intently. she feels like she's in a trance, only able to focus on the skater and the sounds of her skates landing on the surface of the ice.

time flies by, quicker than y/n can keep up with, and she forces herself to leave the rink. she has no idea how long figure skating practices go, but she does know that she has to eat lunch.

she almost finds it hard to leave. she isn't sure why, but she feels the same force drawing her to the still unknown figure skater.

cassie is exhausted, and she knows she can't skate the second she wakes up. she had taken it just a tiny bit too far the day prior, and her body is sore enough to keep her in bed for the day.

reminiscing on her practice the day before, she remembers the hockey player who had her stunned. she imagines her on the ice, moving in tandem with her team.

before cassie knows it, she's en route to the rink, knowing the team is practicing based on her own schedule.

walking into the familiar building, she finds a seat close to the ice, waiting for the team to start their practice drills.

her eyes land on y/n immediately, "y/l/n" inscribed on the back of her jersey. she watches in awe as she somehow moves so graciously in such a non-gracious setting.

cassie has never learned more about the game of hockey in such a short period of time. she watched so intently that she's sure she has the whole rulebook of the sport memorized.

she decides to wait until the team comes out of the locker room, forcing herself to at least try to talk to who she thinks may be the girl of her dreams.

y/n walks out of the locker room, ready for the best nap of her life, when she sees her favorite figure skater walking up to her.

"you're a pretty good skater for a hockey player," she flirts, smiling in a way that has y/n's heart racing faster than ever.

"you're not so bad yourself. i watched your practice yesterday."

cassie feels herself blushing at the fact that her new crush had watched her skate.

"i'm cassie, by the way," she says simply, struggling to find any other words.

"y/n. you really are an incredible skater, by the way. figure skating is so beautiful, i could never do it though."

"i think you could, you looked pretty graceful out there given the circumstances."

cassie laughs, and y/n joins her. sparks fly between them that they both can feel, their conversation feeling like a scene from a movie.

"would you want to... hang out? maybe we can skate together?" y/n asks, struggling to not hold her breath as she awaits cassie's response.

"that would be really nice. maybe you can teach me how to score a goal?"

"only if you teach me how to land one of those jumps you do."

#cassie howard #cassie howard x reader #cassie howard x fem reader #euphoria #euphoria x reader #euphoria x fem reader #cassie howard imagine #euphoria imagine #wlw

[ghost-n-butteredtoast]

Can you write fem reader x mother Miranda smut

Me: I SURE CAN.

Also me: This might get a bit ... gory.

And though this may not contain as much Mother Miranda as you might have liked, I hope you enjoy it.

So with that... 18+, smut, gore, blood material below.

(Also posted on AO3 - Click here)

Your God Can't Hear You Now

You had prayed to your God until you had fallen asleep, still kneeling at the side of the bed. Your husband's side of the bed, empty. Not that you cared. The nights you slept alone were a blessing. Still, there was much on your mind and a crippling weight on your heart. Feelings that nearly ripped your insides to shreds; the guilt clawing at you constantly.

You did not love your husband. Nor did he love you. You shared gold bands on your ring fingers,  last names, and a bed, but it meant nothing. He lusted after another woman in the village.

...and so did you.

Your husband hated that you refused to worship the Black God, that you did not bow before Mother Miranda and her four lords. He was embarrassed to be seen with you in the village and he despised the looks he received while in church.

"Mother Miranda is a healer, a miracle worker!"

"She is not my God." You whispered.

He shook his head. "You are a disgrace," he said before slamming the door, leaving you to go drown his disappointment in ale at the tavern.

As the clock struck midnight, you woke with a start, its chimes ringing just loud enough to stir you from your position on the floor. Your legs and back ached from kneeling, and you pushed yourself up from the floor and paused. 

A rapping sound?

With an oil lamp in hand, you crept to the front room to look out a window, pulling the curtain aside to see who had come calling at this hour. For a moment, you worried. Had your husband had some sort of accident and someone had been sent to inform you? The moon provided just enough light to allow your eyes to make out the form standing at the front door.

It was a woman. You unlocked the door and opened it a crack, your lamp illuminating the stranger's face. Yet it was not a stranger. There, standing before you, was the woman you had secretly pined for. 

Izabela.

Her family had a produce stand at the market. It was there you had first laid eyes on her, selling produce. Cautiously you circled the stand, discreetly watching her as you pretended to shop. Your knees grew weak when she smiled at you, thanking you for your purchase. Every day the stand was open, you went back, not for another parsnip, not for a bundle of carrots; only for her smile, and for that you would pay a hefty sum of lei to see.

"Forgive me for intruding," the woman's voice shook. She looked over her shoulder quickly, then back to you. "May I seek shelter here?" She begged.

From somewhere in the village you both heard a howl. It was hard to tell where the sound was coming from exactly. You pulled the woman inside and shut the door quickly, bolting it several times.

"Lycans?" You whispered, moving swiftly to the window to peer into the street.

"I'm not sure." The woman's voice was now calmer. "I saw your light on, it was the only light on in the street. My father's beloved dog bolted from the house and into the night. I gave chase through the streets and lost her near the cemetery." She said, a visible shiver coursing through her. "It was there I heard the first howl, and I turned back."

"You're safe here." You said placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Come away from the door. I'll put the kettle on."

You were able to calm her over a cup of tea. It was now 2:00 am. If your husband was coming home, he would have been here by now. You showed Izabela to the spare room and wished her a good night. Once in your room, you shut and leaned up against the door. You could not believe the woman you had been yearning for was in your home right across the hall. For the past two hours, you had conversed in your small kitchen. The sound of her voice, her smile, her face in the dim light of the oil lamp; everything about her made your heart race and it was only now you felt like you could breathe.

Slowly, you made your way over to your bedside, placing the oil lamp on the table, turning down the wick, and blowing out the flame. As you pushed back the covers you heard the door click. Your mouth went dry when you saw her standing in the doorway. Izabela's long, wavy hair cascaded down her back, the moonlight shining through the window illuminated her white gown.

You swallowed hard. "Is there - there something you need?"

She smiled and came closer to you, gently shaking her head, each step with more and more purpose. "I've seen how you look at me. At the market?"

Your eyes grew wide.

"Always in the market, but never with your husband."

"He-he has other things to tend to-,"

"Such as...church? He is quite devout, isn't he? But I never see you attend." 

You shook your head. "One does not need to set foot in a church to worship." Your hand shot up to the pendant that hung around your neck. Thankfully it was hidden beneath the collar of your gown. "Where one chooses to worship should not matter. God is everywhere."

Izebel tilted her head, considering your words with a low hum. She was so calm and it made your skin prickle. The speed at which her hand grabbed the one upon your chest was shocking. Had you not been backed up against the foot of your bed you surely would have fallen to the ground.

She removed your hand from the pendant around your neck, its gold engravings catching the light of the nearby lantern.

"God," she said almost mechanically. "And this God of yours," she asked, her fingers playing with the pendant, "What does your God think of a woman...a married woman at that... yearning for...the fairer sex?"

Her last words escaped her lips in a near whisper, dangerously close to your own. Air broke free from your lungs in small pants as your eyes began to water, unblinking, from staring into her icy blues.

"I don't-I,-"

Her grip on the pendant tightened and she yanked, the chain snapping and left to dangle in her clutches. You didn't even have a chance to object let alone gasp.

Izabel chucked the necklace across the room and you could hear it slide across the wood floor and disappear into the darkness. "Tonight, there is no God to worship." She said, her hand coming back to your chest as she pressed against you. "Allow me to show you how to properly worship a divine being."

The hand on your chest made haste at unbuttoning your gown. At first, you protested, your mind was scrambling to keep up with the woman before you. Her fingers came back to your shoulders and slid the gown from your body, leaving it to pool around your feet. Izabel's tongue, sweet from the honey she had put in her tea, slipped into your mouth, prodding at the muscle within to respond. You were too stunned to move, eyes locked on her icy blue orbs. It was only when you closed your eyes, that you felt her smile into the kiss, a sinister moan escaping her lips.

She shoved you onto the bed,  knocking the wind out of your lungs and giving you no time to respond to her nails that clawed at your hips as they removed your underwear. And not that you wanted to object; the woman you had secretly craved was now between your legs, nipping at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. 

But this was wrong and it was happening so fast. Your mind was clouded with lust but your gut was cramped with worry and guilt. Your husband could walk in at any moment. You may not love him, and he was indeed having relations with another woman in the village, but he was a man, he was your husband. You must obey him; respect him.

You looked down at the woman who was now on her knees and caressing your calves. She returned your gaze as if she were waiting for you to object. When no objection came, she immediately pulled you to the edge of the bed with a strength you did not expect and went to work pleasuring you.

The gasp that escaped your lips turned to sinful moans that clawed their way up your throat as your hands gripped the sheets. Izabel wasted no time, latching on to your swollen bud, sucking and moaning while she sunk her nails into your hips. They were unusually sharp, and you hissed when they made contact, your hands shooting to hers to pry them from your body.

Her grasp relaxed, and slowly her hands trailed down your body. You panted and whined as she rose above your womb, her fingers finding you and taking the place of her tongue, sliding through your wet folds, her other hand coming to rest beside you on the bed to keep her balance.

"Mmm," she licked her lips, her mouth and chin glistening with your arousal, "are you this wet when you are in the market, watching me, yearning for me?"

Your eyes went wide as her hand stilled and she stared at you, waiting for an answer.

"I, mmmfuh" was all you were able to eke out as she plunged two fingers inside your warmth.

"Perhaps if you attended church, you'd see me more often." Her tone was perplexing; a mixture of arousal and disdain. She looked down at you, eyes half-lidded, lips parted, her breath steady yet her hand sped up. "Soaking through your dress, staining the pews with your desire...could you imagine?" 

Feeling your velvet walls begin to close in on her wicked fingers, she pulled out. You screwed your eyes shut and nearly screamed at the loss, but it caught in your throat. She cocked her head and watched you with great fascination. Your body was a limp mess on the bed, glistening with perspiration and quivering with the occasional tremble. 

Suddenly, your voice cracked and rasped out a plea. "Please, Izabel. Ple-," you begged as tears of frustration welled in your eyes.

"Begging, are we?" She whispered. Izabel shifted and leaned forward, placing a hand over your frantic heart. "Perhaps you should pray to Mother Miranda for relief."

"Wha-,"

Your eyes opened and locked with hers. Was she serious? Or was this part of her game? 

"You heard me. Pray. Beg." Her fingertips pressed into your chest. She lowered herself back between your legs, her icy blue eyes never leaving yours for a moment. As her lips hovered over your throbbing core, she whispered, her hot breath mixing with your warmth, "Pray, girl."

You racked your brain for a moment, sputtering out a few words as you tried to remember the prayers from all those years ago; the prayer your parents made you memorize in hopes of keeping you safe from the monsters that ruled over the village, from the beasts that lurked in the woods and attacked without warning. The prayer your husband made you recite on your wedding day. Oh how the words on your tongue burned, but so did you with an all-consuming desire for this woman. 

"Great ones, h-hear our voice, together as one in reverence. We call on thee, ahhh-"

Izabel's tongue shot into your dripping core, exiting, flattening, and slowly trailing up to your clit. Her arm was still stretched across your torso, her fingertips continuing to prod at the tender flesh of your chest.

"...within the endless da-ahhrk to-to-to deliver us into fate's hands."

Her free hand found your pulsing clit, and her tongue returned to your opening, darting in for a taste.

At this point, your chest was heaving and you were gasping for air. Finishing this prayer would be a miracle in itself. She was stealing every bit of focus you had to give, and if you didn't come, you might literally crumble. This woman wanted to wreck you, but you were not sure why she chose to be so malicious about it. She had seemed so pure and kind in the marketplace. But now, now it felt like the devil was between your thighs, and if the devil was a woman, you would gladly go through the gates of hell to burn with her for eternity.

Her touch and her tongue were relentless and your mind was melting, forgetting the words as all you could concentrate on was your climax.

Your volume increased and your speech sped up. "As the midnight moon rises on black wings, so we make our sacrifice and await the light at the end. In life-" you swallowed hard and tore at the sheets below as your orgasm approached, the words were stuck, "I-I-in life!..."

"Finish!" She commanded loudly, barely breaking away from your core.

You came before you could complete the prayer, and as you did, a searing pain joined your ecstasy. The gut-churning sound of tearing flesh and crunching of bone picked up where your last gasp for air had left off as the hand on your chest plunged through your thoracic cavity. Blood filled your mouth as your primitive brain kicked in, your body flooding with a numbing panic in the seconds of consciousness you had remaining.

The taloned hand that literally gripped your heart pulled you into an upright position, just long enough for you to see the woman you had loved from afar, dissipate and morph into the black-winged priestess herself.  She glared at you through her gold mask, her icy blue eyes, the same ones you thought had been Izabel's, burned into yours. You sputtered and choked as blood exploded from between your lips, running down your chin and chest, back into the gaping cavity below. As your body went limp, Miranda chuckled darkly, her hand pulling out of your chest, leaving you to fall back to the mattress. 

She brought the failing organ to her lips, her tongue running over the warm muscle as your blood ran down her arms and into her robe. Turning back to you, she observed the blood seeping into the sheets beneath you.

“Just as I thought,” she snarled, squeezing your heart and letting it fall to the floor with a sickening splat, “an unfit vessel for Eva.”

#fanfics #fanfic request #resident evil 8 #re8 mother miranda #mother miranda #re8 village #re8 fandom #mother miranda x reader

[nomazee]

take me home

march 7th x reader 

word count: 1.3k

summary: it’s late at night, and your hands are stained with the harsh charcoal of your artwork—which means, naturally, that march’s hands are softening just to take care of you. 

content: COLLEGE AU, roommates, comfort (without any hurt really), pining, reader is an art major (I AM PROJECTING), sickeningly sweet, unspoken love

notes: a request has been sitting in my inbox for months now. this is not that request. i am so sorry. every time i add another wip to my in-progress page suddenly i lose all motivation to work on ANYTHING on that list and instead i do this. i vomit on a google doc. ok. anyways... ENJOY

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at midnight, you come back to the ground after working on autopilot for two hours. now that you’re present, grounded, in this world, you can feel the tremble of your hands and the ache in your stomach from only drinking lukewarm plain tea for half the day. 

it’s an awful, awful habit, and you know that. you just don’t have the space to work on fixing it in the throes of three midterm projects and an exam. you look down at your hands, stained with a mix of white and black charcoal. it’s caked under your fingers, too, and eraser shreds cling to your skin. in the dim light of your desk lamp, they kind of look like tiny worms, and the thought makes you shiver. 

march comes into your room, the only indicator being the clicks of your door opening and closing and the gentle shuffle of her slippers against your carpet. you don’t turn—you never need to, with her, because she’s already putting a gentle hand on your shoulder and leaning down to whisper something in your ear, something like “come eat, i made you dinner,” or maybe “take a shower, i’ll clean your room.” whatever it is, the specifics don’t matter, because these nights always end the same. 

it’s a gentle routine. something you don’t get often, which is good, because at least that means you don’t overwork yourself near the point of sickness too often. but it’s also terrible, because that means the uncharacteristic softness of march’s hands against your shoulders and voice against your cheek and weight against your back will always be that—uncharacteristic. like an astrological event that only comes once every million years, except you get it maybe once every month, which still isn’t enough for your yearning, empty hands. 

you’re in the kitchen, suddenly, led by march’s arm gently wrapped around your shoulders as she walks in tandem with you. her mouth presses against your cheek, you’re pretty sure, as she sits you down in your cramped, tiny kitchen and slides a hot bowl of something in front of you. 

“i’m gonna tidy your room. is there anything you don’t want me to touch?” and there’s a twitch in your face now, because you were right about the cleaning-your-room part, and march always asks this. if there’s anything she shouldn’t touch, because there’s something about the late hours of the night that makes her suddenly so considerate about little things like that. 

“just the drawing,” you tell her, because the drawing is thirty-six by forty-eight inches and took you two weeks and a lot of stress to finish, and if something happened to it then you’d burn the entire campus down, “but everything else is fine. thank— thank you.” 

and it’s hard getting that out, and you feel ridiculous for it. like you’re some spoiled kid who was never raised to say thank you in your life, but this is hard. this is different, because you’re twenty and your roommate has taken care of you more times than you’re willing to admit and yet she never expects anything of you. and it hurts because she’s the type of person who you think might hold it against you—in a joking, lighthearted way, like you have to get me one of those expensive coffee’ from the campus cafe before class tomorrow, or next time we order food you’re paying, but instead she just never mentions it and it makes you want to throw up, maybe. 

but you don’t—throw up, that is, because there’s a steaming bowl of rice and vegetables in front of you and the sound of shuffling and pencils being put away echoes from your room down the hall and everything is so domestic and it’s so late at night that you just sink into it. happy and content and warm, deep in your gut where the emptiness was sitting. 

march pulls you away, again, once your bowl is empty and you finish the cup of water she gave you. you close your eyes blearily and feel a wet wipe on your face, one of those cleansing wipes that you buy for times like this when you’re too tired to actually wash your face. of course, you didn’t expect them to be used like this when you first started buying them—with your roommate rubbing firm circles into your skin, close enough that you can hear the whistle of her nose every time she exhales. you don’t complain. not with march. never with march.

“i’m tired,” you’re saying, and your eyes are still shut and the ache in your hands has spread through your entire body. you’re well-fed and satiated and your face is damp with diluted tea tree oil instead of the icky sheen of sweat from before, and you’re tired. you whine it out, almost, like a petulant child in the car on a road trip asking are we there yet, and pretending to be asleep when the car engine slows to a stop and the car doors start to open.

march’s hands cradle your face, cleansing wipe discarded somewhere on the counter. and your eyes are still closed, and you’re really considering it—the whole faking-being-asleep thing, because you’d love nothing more than for march to guide you to bed with a hand slung around your waist, tracing the strip of skin under the hem of your shirt and maybe a gentle kiss on your cheek, or maybe even your neck. the night is deep, and your eyelids are weighing down on the rest of your body, and your inhibitions have dwindled with the sun a long time ago. there’s nothing stopping the flood of stupid sappy thoughts rushing through your sleep-addled brain. 

“i know,” march mumbles, something like affection in her voice. her words are cut off, like she wants to say something else, like she wants to tag on a pet name and call you my love or baby or sweetheart. you say, “i’m really tired, march,” because if you don’t get to bed soon then you’re going to start saying these things out loud and to her face. 

but that just makes it worse, because now it’s like she’s pouring everything she can into you. all her half-reluctant affections and the tenderness of her eyes and the way her thumbs are rubbing circles into your jaw now. she looks at you with furrowed brows and a corner of her mouth presses downward, like she’s worried, and you want to laugh because you never thought your stupid, half-rude, stubborn roommate would be worried for you. 

“okay. let’s get you to bed.” she puts an arm around your shoulder and guides you up from the couch that she set you down on when she was cleaning your face, and you want her to pick you up so badly that you can’t stop the way your hand comes up to clutch at her shoulder, too, while she walks patiently next to your weak, sluggish legs. you might cry, or kiss her, or fall asleep slumped against her side, and you don’t know what would be worse. 

there’s no more time to contemplate that, anyways, because now you’re in bed and march is tucking you in and you feel childish. “i’m sorry” bubbles up at your throat and you get half of it out before she clicks her tongue, letting out a heavy sigh as she kneels by your nightstand, tidying the scraps of paper and gum wrappers and dusty glasses of water. 

“what are you even apologizing for?” she asks rhetorically. it’s almost scolding, but she cares in her own way, and you’ve known her long enough to understand what her tone means. you wish she’d get mad instead of being so kind. you wish she would be as sarcastic as she is in the daytime with you instead of softening at the edges and at the center and at the sides. you wish she’d kiss you, maybe. 

“i don’t know.” you’re not even sure if your words are making any sense, if the vowels slur together or if your tongue even hits the roof of your mouth or if you’re already asleep—but you must be asleep, because you can feel a pressure against your cheek and surely that can’t be march kissing you goodnight. of course it wouldn’t be.

#march x reader #honkai star rail x reader #march 7th x reader #march 7 x reader #hsr x reader #honkai x reader #march 7th #honkai star rail #hsr #honkai #march 7th fanfiction #march 7th fic #honkai star rail fic #hsr fic #honkai star rail x you #march 7th x you #march 7th hsr x you #march 7th hsr x reader #march 7th fluff #honkai star rail fluff #hsr fluff #honkai x you #march 7th x y/n #march x y/n #honkai star rail x y/n #hsr x y/n

[illumiera]

WIP Not-Wednesday

I've been low on writing energy as a result of Various Ongoing IRL Events™, but the fabulous @nocturance tagged me to do WIP Wednesday not too long ago (thank you! 💖) and I figured I might as well give my motivation a poke by sharing a little somethin' somethin':

When he glances up again, she is standing before him once more, and in her hands is— It's his staff, but at the same time, it cannot be his staff. “You need something to help you while you walk, and, well, this is yours,” Elentari starts as she offers it out to him, and Miraak is struck by the note of uncertainty in her voice, as though even she wonders at herself, at how it is that she can undo death and the workings of Daedra both. “When I—When I brought you back, your eyes weren’t the only thing I… changed. It seems I restored this, too, and your sword and your mask.” “Restored it?” His own voice is scarcely a hair above a whisper; he reaches out, and with the tip of a trembling finger, he traces the rivers of gold veining the varnished wood like a repaired crack in pottery, the gleaming scales adorning the dragon’s head and the miniature golden points of its teeth, and the glittering wildfire gemstones of its eyes. “No, it… it was never like this,” he breathes as his grip curls around it. “Whatever you did when you saved this soul of mine, Elentari, ‘restored’ is not the word I would use. ‘Blessed’, perhaps, or ‘sanctified’—” “I just—” She shakes her head. “I didn’t know what I was doing, not really; it could have been anything, and I don’t think it would have mattered to me. All I wanted in that moment was—” Her eyes, wide and silver-touched in the pale starglow, search his for an answer he cannot give to her. Nor would he, not even if he could: with an ache as keen and sharp as a pang of hunger, he wants to hear her speak it aloud, to hear her tell him that he is what she yearned for so much that it eclipsed all else. “All I wanted in that moment was for you to come back,” she finishes softly, ���a-and I didn’t care what form you took as long as you were here.” His staff is still in her hands, but it slips from her grasp with the gentlest pull. Miraak clutches it for something to do with himself, all too aware that he would otherwise lurch forwards, crush her against him, and simply lose himself in the perfect flesh-and-blood realness of her. “And here I am,” he says with a tender, triumphant smile. Elentari’s shoulders rise and fall with a long, slow breath, as if she, too, must pause and usher herself away from the same ledge. “And here you are,” she confirms, and it’s like the shadow of a cloud passing overhead, the practised, precise way she drops the shutters and blinks herself back to stable ground. “You wanted to see the skies, didn’t you? Come on, then.”

there, a little bit of a Miraak and Elentari in a Predicament of Pining for you all! now, I tag some of my talented mutuals @bougainvillea-and-saltwater, @kiir-do-faal-rahhe, @shitty-drawer, @bunniletto, and @bostoniangirl21 to join in if they'd like to share anything (no pressure whatsoever)! ✨

#tag game #wip wednesday #miraak #oc: elentari #my fics #otp: i fear no fate (for you are my fate) #i fear no fate (for you are my fate) #you could hook these two up to a generator and power a small city off the amount they're pining for one another #dibella and mara have their heads in their hands somewhere

[robynlilyblack]

You’re supposed to be with me

Severus Snape and fem! slytherin! reader

slight Remus Lupin x fem! slytherin! reader

[Requested - see request here]

Summary: Y/n’s been pining after Severus for years and dealt with him ignoring her in his own pining for Lily, however when y/n befriends a certain marauder, how will Severus react?

Warnings: swearing, toxic friendship/relationship, Sev is an arse in this, Lily and Remus are sweethearts, bittersweet happy ending

A/n: 3.8k words, sorry this took so long and hope it's angsty enough for you. Thank you for the request, enjoy x

Navigation | Marauders Era Characters Masterlist

You had been friends with Severus forever, same house, year, interests. To begin with he was good friend and beautifully smart, but over the years he grew bitter and mean. His love for Lily made him that way, a toxic obsession he couldn’t seem to get enough of, even after they stopped being friends. You however never left his side, maybe it was because you could see the good in him, or because he was familiar, maybe it was because you didn’t have anyone else, but you knew the real reason, it was clear to everyone but Severus, you loved him. 

You’d loved him but he would always love her, and you would never be her. No matter how much you supported him, defended him, did anything he ever asked of you, never judged him for anything, it was her he wanted, her he yearned for.

You and he weren’t a couple by any means but most people thought it, you and he were never apart, yet only a few knew what you talked about. They didn’t see how he would talk about Lily, tell you how pretty she was, how you should wear a ribbon in your hair like her, how smart she was and how you needed to study harder. You should have known in was toxic, known this wasn’t how a real friendship was supposed to be but you didn’t care, you loved him and a part of you convinced yourself that he was yours like this, and that eventually he would see you, for you.

“Y/n seriously it’s not that hard” Severus huffs, annoyed he’s been asking the same thing for the last hour and you still couldn’t get it “We learned this last year, you’re never going to pass if you don’t study” he shakes his head

“I’m trying Sev I really am, it’s just not as natural to me as it is you” you pout, you weren’t the best student but you tried hard, so it hurt that he thought you didn’t, you studied every night and it still wasn’t good enough

“Lily would have gotten it right away” he says casually like he didn’t just insult you “You could learn something from her” he states as if he was still friends with the girl

“I’m sorry” you heart ached, resisting the urge to cry “I’m trying” you say but he’s too distracted to hear the hurt in your voice, but really, he didn’t care

“Sorry doesn’t bring back the last hour of my life y/n” he says harshly, packing up his stuff

Your eyebrows knit together “Where are you going?” 

He rolls his eyes “I have other things to study for y/n, unlike you I was smart enough to study 7 NEWT’s” he reminds you patronizingly “I can’t concentrate on my own study with you nagging me”

You nod “Oh okay” you say dejected “I’ll see you later?” you look up at him through your eyelashes

His face softens “Yeah, I think Barty, Evan and Regulus wanted to hang out later once they’re back from Hogsmeade” he nods

“Great” you look at him hopefully

“Bye” he gives you a small smile before heading out

You watch him walk away, muttering a pathetic ‘bye’ as he leaves before turning back to your book. You stared at the words for merlin knows how long, it was gibberish to you, you recognised the words but nothing sparked when you read them. The longer you stared, the more you started to panic, you felt so stupid, Severus was right, why couldn’t you be like Lily. You tried so hard to learn it, tried so hard to be smart so he’d be proud of you but slowly the tears started falling. You felt tragic, it was a Saturday and you were crying over a potions book in the library instead of at Hogsmeade with your friends. 

As you cried you didn’t notice the look of sorrow on Remus’ face as he approached the table, he had stayed back since the library was quiet on Saturdays and it meant no one had to see the newest scar on his lip “Are you okay?” he asks softly

You froze at the voice, not recognising it so you quickly tried to wipe the tears before looking up “I…I’m fine” you nod but your eyes were still watery, it was very clear you weren’t okay

Remus tilted his head before his eyes looked down at the now tear stained potions book “Do you need help?” he offers

You look at him for moment then down at the book, you did need help and you knew Remus was pretty smart, not as good as Severus, but still a million times better than you “I’m not very good” you admit “I don’t know anything” you mumble

“May I?” he gestures to the seat next to you, sitting as you nod in permission “It is something specific or a little bit of everything?” he asks, his tone wasn’t like Severus, he was asking in a kind way and it didn’t make you feel silly for not knowing

“Little bit of everything…I’ve been trying to get it for ages I just can’t…” you sigh head hanging 

“Hey” he tentatively places his hand on your shoulder making you look at him “I bet you know more than you think” he smiles at you “Let’s start simple and work our way up, okay?” 

You nod “Thank you Remus” he looked surprised you knew his name before he smiled wider, you could swear a faint blush grazed his cheeks

“You sure they were in here?” Barty asks “Oh fuck…sorry” he curses as his chocolate frog almost jumps out of his hands before apologising to the librarian

Regulus chuckles “He said they were studying because she was still struggling with Potions” he explains “Oh there…” he starts spotting you but you aren’t with Severus “…she is” he emphasises the ‘she’

Evan squints checking he recognises the boy right “Isn’t that one of your brothers’ pals” he wonders

“Yeah” Regulus nods

“Oh yeah his name starts with a…” Barty takes a second “…M or something right?” 

Regulus shakes his head “No I think that’s one of those nicknames they’ve given themselves…you think we should have nicknames?” he muses

“Nicknames are a shout…” Evan agrees “Wait I think it’s it an R?” he ponders before it comes to him “Remus” he nudges Regulus “It’s Remus” he nods before returning to the original question “But why is she studying with him and not Snape?”

“Don’t know but doesn’t she look happy?” Barty says with a small smile, watching as for the first time in a long while you have a real smile on your face as you giggle with Remus

“You think they’re a couple?” Evan asks hesitantly

Regulus shrugs “I always thought…well knew she loved Severus” he says before smiling “A bit of me hopes that’s her moving on though, she seems lighter” he notes 

“He isn’t going to be happy” Evan says sadly

The other boys hum “He is not” 

“Alright mate” Evan greets as he enters the common room, plopping himself down next to Severus

Severus looks up, giving a nod to Barty and Regulus as they take a seat on the couch opposite “How was Hogsmeade?” he asks closing the book he was reading

“Pretty good, got you and y/n some goodies” Barty holds up a bag and putting some of the contents on the table

Severus gives him a tight smile “Thanks” he says before looking over at the common room entrance “You lot see y/n on the way back?” he honestly thought you would have left and came to him for more help by now, a funny feeling in his stomach that you hadn’t

“Oh we did go to the library but she was busy with someone so we just headed back” Barty says casually, a slightly sinister smirk on his face as he watches for the boys reaction

“Busy with who?” his head snaps up that funny feeling growing

“Remus Lupin” Regulus shrugs, all three boys knowing exactly what they were doing 

“Looking pretty cosy, didn’t think she’d be into a Gryffindor” Evan insinuates watching as Severus’ jaw clenches

“You must have seen it wrong, he was probably setting up a prank for…Potter” he says the boy’s name bitterly

Almost like you had a cue, you walked into the common room smiling away “Hi” you wave at the boys as you walk in

“Hey doll” Barty greets you first holding out the bag of sweets behind him on the couch “Got you your favourite” he winks

You take it from him “Aww thank you” you lean forward wrapping your arms around his neck in a quick hug before you look at the others “Hi Reggie, Evan, you all have fun?” you ask upbeat

Severus just watched you, you didn’t say hi to him, you were too happy, were you actually seeing Remus? He hated the idea of you being with anyone else, let alone a marauder, a marauder that after last year he knew to be a monster

The boy didn’t even realise he hadn’t been paying attention until you were walking away to the dorms “Where is she off to?” he turns to the boys

“Her dorm, maybe the loo” Barty fucks with him

“She was invited to hang out later with Remus” Regulus explains before Severus can rip Barty’s head off

“Hang out?” he repeats to which the boys nod “No” he shakes his head “No way” he stands up walking straight up to your dorm leaving the three boys to debate whether they should follow

You changed your jumper and fixed your hair quickly, Remus had invited you to group study session with Lily. It was weird, you never had any malice towards the girl, she unknowingly had the person whose affections you desired most, but you also knew she was innocent in it, it wasn’t her fault.

Remus was really kind to you, he explained things carefully and was so sweet, you were excited to meet with him again because for the first time in ages you felt like you were really learning something

Your happy mood was cut short as Severus barged into your dorm “Sev?” you look at him confused, a little scared by the fury in his eyes

He slams the door shut behind him, muttering a silencing spell “REMUS LUPIN” he screeches “Remus Lupin y/n, seriously” he judges you

You shrink into yourself “W…what?” you stutter

“Don’t play innocent” he points at you “How long you been fucking him huh?” he accuses you making your eyes go wide “He’s a bully, my bully” he points angrily at himself

You just stare at him “I…I only spoke to him once” you splutter out, unsure of what was happening, he never raised his voice with you, never

“Once my arse” he shakes his head “What you pretend to be that dumb at potions just so I’ll leave and you two can canoodle…that it?” 

That hurt “N…no Sev you have it wrong” you try to explain

He was too worked up to believe you “You have any idea how dangerous he is” he says ominously “He’s mean and cruel and a bully, you are to stay away from him” he orders you

You look at him in disbelief “Dangerous? He isn’t dangerous” you shake your head “And he’s not a bully, sure he’s friends with them but he’s never done anything to you Sev”

“He’s just as bad, worse” he insists

“Why?” you gain some confidence as you question him, face hardening

“Why?” he falters clearly not expecting you to raise your voice

“Yes, why do you care so much that I’m becoming friends with…” he scoffs making you move from upset to angry “What if I was dating him” you pose “Why would that matter?” then it hit you, was he... jealous?

His breathing becomes ragged “Are you dating him?” he ignores your question, looking beyond annoyed with a twinge of something else in there

“Why does it matter?” you stand your ground

“Answer me” he insists, tone deepening 

“No. Why Sev. Why do you all of a sudden care about me dating?”

“Because…” he starts “Because…” his voice cracks as he seems to figure it out himself, mouth parting

He’s loved Lily forever, it was all he knew for years, and you were his best friend. Both you and she were constants in his life, the thought of you leaving just like she did scared him, it angered him. Now he had been pushed so far, he realised what was really been going on. 

He’d be a liar if he said he hadn’t known before now, hadn’t known how you made him feel as the years gone by, how he felt his heart began to yearn for you over Lily. How he’d pushed it down, convincing himself it was wrong because it was Lily he loved…now those feels all were rushing to the surface in a fit of jealous rage

“Because you’re mine not his” he claims, stepping forward “You’re supposed to be with me”

That shocks you “Yours?” you whisper but he heard it

“Yes, mine” he moves closer to you while you were frozen in place just staring at him wide eyed “Your mine” he says gripping your face rather harshly before kissing you roughly, possessively

You accept it, kissing back at first but as it continues your brain is racing, his lips moving mindlessly against your own. This was all you ever wanted for him to want you, but it wasn’t the way you wanted. You wanted a sweet confession, him to be soft tell you he loved you and wanted be with you, not to only realise once he’s thought you were already gone. 

You replayed his words, how rude he was to you, judgmental, if he loved you he would be happy, sad you were gone but he would respect it, right? You thought about how he acted with Lily, how he cast her out in the same way, this wasn’t love, it was obsession, he just didn’t want you to leave

You pull away from him “No” you mutter out shaking your head

“No?” he looks at you confused trying to pull you back in, face dropping when you step away “Y/n?”

“Sev I’ve loved you forever” you confess, his eyes widening clearly a little surprised but his lips tug up “I’ve stayed by your side through everything, waiting for you to finally see I was right here all this time, realise your heart belonged with me”

“And it does” he tries to convince you, his tone different than you’d ever heard it, like he was scared of where you were going with this

“Then why doesn’t it feel right” you think out loud “Why do you only want me now you think I belong to another?” you ask him directly

He looks taken aback before his face hardens “He doesn’t deserve you, you are far too wonderful to sully yourself with the likes of him” he doesn’t answer the question but, in a way, you had your answer

His use of words stuns you “Likes of him? Sev do you hear yourself?” 

“You belong with me, you’re smart and beautiful, you belong with another Slytherin, someone worthy of you” he goes on, trying to convince you

Now he thinks I’m smart? You wonder to yourself, mere hours ago he was implying the opposite, heavily…then it hit you, how badly he really had treated you, how he had abused your heart and tried to mould you into Lily like you were a replacement, hell you were wearing a little green ribbon like her right now

“What makes you think that’s you?” you ask shakily, heart breaking but you knew as sore as this was going to be it had to be done “You call me smart yet you spent an hour earlier making me feel the opposite as you always do” your eyes tear up “You say I’m pretty yet you tell me I should be more like Lily” he winces at that one, his own eyes tearing as you continue “You go on and on about her for years, breaking my heart every day and I let you, I let you because I loved you and stupidly still do even after you’ve treated me so” you were fully sobbing now

“I…” he had no words

“Let me finish…please” you plead to which he nods slowly, a tear running down his face “I was so happy a minute ago, I didn’t know why I felt so light but now I do because in the few hours I spend with Remus he showed me more kindness and patience that you have in years. He was supportive, he could have let me cry on my own, crying caused by the pressure I felt from you, but he didn’t, he helped me and…” you look at the time “I’m supposed to meet him, he’s probably outside waiting” you go to grab your back but Severus stops you

“You can’t leave like this” he refuses to the you go “Let me prove to you that I love you, that I was stupid for acting the way I did and…I don’t want you to be like her” he can’t even say her name “I want you because you are you. I love you y/n, I wouldn’t change a single thing” 

You wanted to give in, you wanted to let him take you in his arms, succumb to your heart but you had to be strong, he said it himself, you deserve someone worthy of you, someone who would treat you right. You didn’t know if that could be Remus or someone else down the road, but you knew in your head it wasn’t him, it killed you but it was a sad truth you had to face

“Then why did you?” you turn his last statement back on him “I love you” you say earnestly “But this isn’t healthy…for either of us” you start to walk away

“Wait please” he begs 

You stop not turning around “What?” you say broken

“Stay with me don’t go to him. Stay with me please y/n I can’t lose you too” the last part feels manipulative and it disappoints you

You shake your head “Please stop” you beg of him, this was hard enough as it was

“No” he walks up and spins you around to face him cupping your cheeks “Stay with me and we can work this out, don’t throw away everything we have, all those years for that mutt” he was getting desperate and that possessive side was taking over again

“Mutt?” you rip away disgusted 

“He is y/n, he’s a monster” he beeches

“No he isn’t” you defend him, he was being insane how was Remus a monster

“He’s a fiend. I’ve seen it and he almost killed me. You’ve seen all the scars” he hints but you don’t catch on “He’s a werewolf y/n, he’s dangerous and you shouldn’t be anywhere near him”

Your eyes widen, that was quite the accusation. You were about to answer before you recalled when the last full moon was, it was mere days ago, you had asked about his cut earlier, he said he caught it with his razor. Even if it was true, which it most likely was, that only furthered why you needed to leave. Werewolves weren’t bad people, Remus was the definition of that, he was recovering and he still went out of his way to help you. That was the kind of person you needed in your life, not whatever you were seeing in front of you

“I’m leaving Severus” you don’t turn back this time, walking out of the door and as soon as you were out the tears fell, pushing by the people who were passing by, not even registering them as your friends when they call out

“Y/n?” Barty says concerned trying to reach out but you were too quick

“I’m gonna kill him” Evan says marching towards the dorm just as Severus comes out

“What did you do?” Regulus asks hurt evident in his voice

“She…I…” he can’t answer “I need to go after her she’s making a mistake” he tries to walk by but Barty steps in front, towering him with his hand to his chest “Bart” he says irritated

“No” the boy shakes his head “You’ve done enough, if you love her you’ll let her be happy and give her space” Barty says, removing his hand, hoping that he’ll come back to the dorm with them

“Don’t” Regulus warns Severus as he is about to continue walking “She needs space, you won’t help if you go after her in this rage”

“Don’t lecture me on relationships Black, it’s not like you have the best track record” he says walking off leaving Regulus shocked

“That was low Severus” Evan shouts after him turning to Regulus “Are you alright?” both him and Barty moving to comfort him

As Severus exited the common room he looked around, deciding to head to Gryffindor tower but stops in his tracks as he rounds the corner to see you on the floor crying, stepping back behind the wall when he sees Remus sitting next to you and Lily kneeling in front of you with her hand on your knee

He hears them comforting you, inviting you to come stay in their common room tonight. As you are about to stand Lily notices the ribbon in your hair about to fall out, saying it looks pretty and asking if you wanted her to fix it. You hesitate before you shake your head, telling her to keep it as it matched her eyes. He watches as Remus stands holding out his hand on one side while Lily does the same on the other, you accept them, not letting go as they lead you away

Severus felt his heart drop, then shatter completely as the days, weeks, months went by and you never spoke to him. He observed how you slowly got better, got happier without him in your life while he fell into misery. It was worse than when Lily left him, it was an all-consuming loneliness, something he would never fully recover from, something he was always going to regret. 

His friends distanced themselves too, they spoke to him but it was clear they never forgave him, especially Regulus, he saw how they also drifted towards the marauders. He watched your friendship and rumoured more with one of them grow, he saw Sirius and Regulus bond again, Barty and Evan preform pranks with Sirius and James, as well as you and Lily becoming as close as sisters. He realised how better off everyone was without his toxicity, how he was holding them back.

You were wrong in one way though, he did love you, truly, and as time went by he was happy you were happy, even if it wasn’t nor would ever be with him

Thanks for reading 💛

#severus snape x reader #severus snape and reader #severus snape and you #severus snape x you #severus snape x y/n #snape x you #snape angst #remus x reader #remus lupin and reader #marauders era

[redbirb]

the way you talk with your lips

Fandom: BNHA | MHA Pairing: BKKR & KRBK | Bakugo/Kirishima Rated T: SFW w/ mild sexual tension, mostly romantic fluff & hurt/comfort, 3rd year au, kissing + intimacy, second-hand embarrassment for bakugo, for lots of kissing, also embarrassed bakugo, mina is a good friend, light angst w/ a happy ending

Also found on ao3.

-

Bakugo Katsuki is good at everything.

Until he isn’t, but nobody tells him that, not at first. And by nobody that would be his bestfriend, former crush, current boyfriend of two years, Kirishima Eijiro.

It took a lot of dancing and pining before the two got together. Eijiro had to do most of the heavy emotional lifting to get to the mutual confessions, but it had been worth it to get to now, to holding hands and kissing each other in quiet moments between class and school work.

Eijiro prided himself on honesty and open communication, navigating the hardships of any relationship with care and patience. He's cracked Katsuki's tough shell, carving himself a door to knock on when things get rough so he could be let in.

But how do you tell your boyfriend he absolutely sucks at kissing?

He endures it for two years before the sturdy hero crumbles and confesses to Mina, the only person he trusts not to blow up and tell everybody (not Kaminari who can't keep a secret to save his life).

She loses her shit, and rightfully so.

Eijiro waits her out, sitting cross-legged on her bed, watching her roll with laughter, wiping tears from her eyes before it smears her eyeliner. He sighs, chin in hand, elbow on knee, patient.

"B-Bakugo can't ki-kiss?!"

"Shh! Not so loud! The walls aren't that thick, Mina," he complains in a hushed tone. He knows he'll be in big trouble if anyone were to overhear; the idea of Sero and Denki's taunting alone has him frowning.

"I can't believe this. Am I in a fever dream?"

Eijiro wishes.

"It's not that he can't kiss," Eijiro stresses, because of course Katsuki knew how to give gentle kisses against his temple on bad days or soft presses of lips on aching hands," it's just when things get... heated he loses it a little."

Mina finally settles, pink hair a mess.

“What do you mean by that?”

He lets out a frustrated whine, falling back to sprawl against the bed. "He doesn't know how to, like, use his tongue? He gets really into it, but he doesn't know how to make it good. It's really sloppy and just... I don't know. I feel bad saying it."

Eijiro didn't really care, not when he got to fall asleep next to his boyfriend every night, not when their dates were filled with laughter and sweet, whispered words.

He didn't need their makeouts to make his toes curl and leave him shivering. He just wanted the intimacy.

“You look like a kicked puppy.”

He groans, scrubbing his hands down his face. “You’re not helping. You’re supposed to be helping.”

“Honey, why don’t you suck it up and tell him?”

“Because he’ll never talk to me again if I do. You know how Katsuki can be…”

Temperamental. Private. Prideful.

And very much in love with Eijiro as much as Eijiro was in love with him. It feels like a low blow, it shouldn't make him yearn the way he does. But how much happier would he and Katsuki be if they both knew what they were doing?

"You could teach him," Mina suggests. "If you sit him down and talk to him, give him a day to stew about it, then show him what you want."

He supposes that's true, easy enough. So why is he so scared he's about to mess up everything by being greedy?

"How do I tell my boyfriend he's a lousy kisser when he doesn't like to admit he's bad at anything?"

A sound, something hard hitting the ground, the flap of paper. Eijiro looks up, heart dropping down into his stomach.

Because Katsuki is looking at him with heartbroken eyes.

Shit. Fuck, shit, fuck, fuck, fuck, and more shit.

"I-I, what are you doing here?"

Smooth. Eijiro wanted to bash his head against the wall, unhardened. Katsuki's eyes were shining rubies, beautiful and sad, and full of emotion, but hurt being the most prominent.

His focus shifts to the magazine that's been dropped to the floor. It's a fitness book, they'd been talking about getting new weights, Eijiro could use a new punching bag, something custom made with a Red Riot logo perhaps.

Now he feels even more like an ass.

By the time he looks back up, Katsuki's gaze has sharpened, no longer vulnerable. His walls were up, ruby eyes turned into broken glass, threatening to tear Eijiro open, laid bare and wounded just as Katsuki had been.

They searched, burned, questioned.

Then Mina moved, reminding them both that she was here, and they were having a staring contest in her room. Awkward.

“Ahem. Mom, Dad, I know you’re fighting but—”

“Oh fuck off!”

Katsuki shouts and quickly turns on his heel, the door slamming right after him, rattling the walls with echoes of his frustration.

Eijiro let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Shit."

“Well that could’ve gone better.”

"Mina," he whines, grabbing a pillow and shoving it into his face, hoping to suffocate himself.

He can't see her roll her eyes, but he feels another pillow being thrown at him, landing on his chest. "Quit being a baby and go talk to your boyfriend like a manly man, or whatever it is you need to convince yourself to get off my bed."

Eijiro huffs, but does as he's told, getting up and slinking out of his friend's room. Apprehensively, he finds himself outside of Katsuki's dorm room, wringing the forgotten magazine in his hands. He finds the courage to knock, firm enough to be heard.

“Katsuki?”

He waits. After a minute he thinks he's being shut out, that he should give his boyfriend time to mope and seethe.

Then the door is ripped open, Katsuki's angry face greeting him with bared teeth. "What? Are you done humiliating me?"

“I wasn’t—”

"Shut the fuck up," Katsuki hisses, grabbing the front of Eijiro's shirt, pulling him forcibly inside the room, slamming the door then his body against it.

It’s another moment of intense eye contact.

Katsuki's nostrils flare as he attempts a breathing exercise, trying to keep himself from exploding. It's cute, as cute as a raging bull can be.

Eijiro can wait for him. He’s done it countless times before, giving his explosive boyfriend silent support.

The struggle is plain across Katsuki’s face. Eventually he calms down, slowly like a deflating balloon; hunched shoulders relax, the wrinkle in his brows smooth over, even his mouth softens.

Forehead meets shoulder, defeated. “I thought you liked kissing me.”

It's heartbreakingly melancholic. Eijiro wants to kiss the sadness away, but it'll take more than that to mend the hurt ego of his boyfriend.

"I do, I like kissing you a lot! It's just... how you kiss sometimes just—," he bites his lip, unsure.

There's a puff of hot breath at his shoulder, he can feel it through the cotton of his shirt. Katsuki lifts his head to look at him dead on. “Talk clearly, dumbass.”

"You're really sloppy!" He blurts out before he can back out. He's committed to being honest, that's what Katsuki is asking of him. The guilt is still there, tugging with greedy hands, worse when seeing his boyfriend's gobsmacked face.

"Hah!? What the fuck, Ei?"

"Look just— you said talk so just listen okay?" He points to the bed, earning a huff and small shove.

There's grumbling and shuffling, but eventually they're sitting on the bed, facing each other. Eijiro nervously presses his palms against his knees, taking a deep breath.

"I love kissing you. It's, like, my favorite thing to do! Your lips are so soft and your hands are so warm—"

“Fucking— damnit Ei, get to the point!”

Flustered, Katsuki also presses his hands against his knees, trying to wipe the nervous sweat away. He licks his lips, self-conscious.

Eijiro gives him mercy, reigning in the sappiness for now.

“You get too… excited. Like the way you use your tongue is, I don’t know, too much. If you’d just slow down maybe?”

Katsuki growls, frustrated. Was he using too much tongue? Was he too aggressive when they kissed?

"You never said anything before," he mumbles. Did he use too much teeth? No, he figured that one out after their first kiss.

“I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

“And telling Pinkie wasn’t?”

“I needed advice!”

They grow quiet again. Eventually Katsuki reaches out, grabbing one of Eijiro's hands tightly. He pulls, pulls until his boyfriend falls into his lap. With arms tightly wound around a familiar waist, Katsuki can finally breathe.

“Then show me. Show me how you want me to do it.”

Eijiro is very aware of his position, the way he's straddling his boyfriend, hands resting on strong shoulders. Manly, he can’t help thinking.

He's hesitant at first, scrutinized under Katsuki's penetrating gaze. He feels seen through, and the glimmer in those eyes challenges him, dares him to put his money where his mouth is.

Or rather his kissing skills where his mouth is.

Fingers fit along Katsuki's jaw, making him shiver. Trying to keep his heart from beating out of his chest, he stares up. Eijiro's hair is down, soft strands of red tickling his cheeks. He has half a thought to move his hands, to pull hips closer or run a hand through that hair. He doesn’t, trying to give his boyfriend the reins.

It's hard, he's used to taking the lead, but maybe that's the problem. Eijiro needs to lead, to take, and the idea is a turn on if he were honest with anyone besides his thoughts.

"Ei," he murmurs in encouragement, skin buzzing with anticipation the longer he has to wait.

And Eijiro, damn him, smiles. It's unfair how he steals Katsuki's breath away with little effort, keeping the explosive blond hopelessly in love.

Finally, Eijiro leans in, head tilting to fit their lips together. It's soft, softer than their first kiss, and it sends pleasure and happiness through Katsuki like lightning.

He can't help the way his hands grasp at the back of Eijiro's shirt, or the hushed groan that leaves his lips. There's just something about having Ei's weight on him, hands touching him gently, the careful way they slot together like puzzle pieces.

It's that moment in the romance novels he secretly reads, the one that says 'Oh, you're the sun, and the moon, and the stars, and I'm an asteroid caught in your orbit, ready to collide with you.'

Katsuki will be happy to experience it again and again, forever.

But he has to focus, figure out what he's lacking, and how he can love Eijiro better. No way is he missing out on anything, eyes closed, but trying not to get lost in it like he usually does.

The first slide of tongue is hot and slow, unhurried, almost like it's making love to his mouth. Katsuki moans, shifts the weight in his lap, trying to press closer somehow.

It's not enough, it's never enough when it comes to Eijiro unless he's pinning the other boy down—

Lips break apart with a wet 'smek!' and Katsuki growls in annoyance as he opens his eyes. Somehow Eijiro is under him, hair splayed out looking up at him in a mixture of amusement and exasperation. Their hips are flush together, Katsuki can feel heat spreading from head to toe.

“Katsuki.” Eijiro is laughing.

He can feel his face burn up worse than his quirk. "Fuck, I didn't..."

"You always do this. You get so—" Eijiro rolls his eyes, but his smile holds no malice. It makes Katsuki want to kiss him again. "I love you."

And there goes his heart, melting like a popsicle under the heat of the sun, or maybe a warm mouth like Eijiro's.

He swallows harshly, leaning in again, but a hand covering his mouth stops him. He opens his eyes, forgets ever closing them, to see Eijiro grinning, the corners of his eyes crinkling with the force of it.

“Nope. I’m cutting you off.”

He tries to say something, muffled by the palm. He growls, moving until he can get into a position to bite.

"Hey!" The hand flies back, a pout replacing the wild smile. "You didn't even say it back, jerk."

“You want me to say it?”

It's Katsuki's turn to grin, one hand sliding up Eijiro's shirt, fingers dancing along exposed skin. It has the desired effect, the body beneath him squirming instantly, trapped and unable to escape the revenge. He pairs the tickling with gentle bites along his boyfriend's neck as Eijiro fights in his hold. There's laughter, some pleading, and when Katsuki thinks he's had enough, he pulls back. He takes another long look, taking in flushed cheeks, messy hair and a panting mouth.

The grin softens into a smile. "Fucking love you," it's a whisper, like a secret, reminding Ei that these words were meant for him and him alone. A grunt, impatient, follows. "Now can I fucking kiss you?"

Eijiro laughs with a nod, settling down as lips skim across his cheek. Katsuki tries on his own this time, starting the kiss slow, applying the short lesson he allowed Eijiro to give. He molds their lips together carefully, imitating Eijiro. Slowly he inches his tongue in to join, flicking it across pointed teeth teasingly. Pride swells in his chest when Ei moans, hands moving to comb through soft blonde hair.

Katsuki presses forward, reminding himself to go slow. Eijiro deserves the effort, the time it takes to break him down into a blissed out mess. He continues licking, then pulling back to initiate another kiss in the same slow manner. Everything grows hotter, deeper.

Eijiro keeps making these pleased little noises: hums, groans, even a few gasps when Katsuki adds a little nip. And Katsuki understands now why his boyfriend felt a little underwhelmed. There's something about the slowness that makes things more intense, more intimate.

When they finally part again, they need a minute to catch their breaths. Katsuki's lungs are filled with awe at the glazed look in Eijiro's eyes, the way his boyfriend is relaxed in the bedsheets.

Katsuki is no longer an asteroid, he's a comet crashing and burning with love.

"Ha," he says the second he can breathe again," I'm the fucking best."

He's not offended by Eijiro's laugh for long, not when he's pulled back in for another kiss. Because Bakugo Katsuki is a fast learner, and he refuses to be bad at anything, especially loving Kirishima Eijiro.

#sfw fic #mha fic #bnha fic #hurt/comfort #light angst #angst with a happy ending #second hand embarrassment #fluff #kissing #intimacy #kiribaku #bakushima #bkkr #krbk #bakugo x kirishima

[tobegiggledat]

18+ CONTENT AHEAD MDNI

✦pairing: Emi Fukukado (Ms. Joke) x afab!reader

✦word count: 2.3k

✦warnings: angst, mutual pining, kissing, massages, mutual fingering, begging

Original Post ✦ Midnight Ending

Why is it only now that your thoughts of Emi have become more reoccurring and invading?

Ever since that night, most of your time is spent looking over past photos you have with her, but your heart now flutters erratically as if you weren’t the one to take them. You stalk her socials through the lense of a first-time spectator, looking over her pictures in awe at the face you're still pleased to see almost daily.

What if her jests from yesterday were nothing more than just that, jests?

It’d be her cruelest joke yet, to plant fresh seeds of romance into your chest that continue to blossom and root deeper from the nutrients of her enchanting smiles and the water of her riveting words.

The night before Valentine’s Day seems to be eternal as you occupy your imagination by putting a face to the letters you’ve accumulated, you allow yourself to be enamored by vivid but immaterial depictions of Emi drafting the very messages you long to receive.

Maybe you’ll write her a letter yourself to send to her tomorrow morning.

✦✦✦ ✦✦✦

My one and only Emi,

It is through this letter that I make a confession, a conclusion that took me many years to reach, but am delighted to make nonetheless.

I love you, and in many ways more than a friend should. I love so dearly I even ache without you in my dreams.

Do you feel the same as I?

Yearning for you every moment,

Your Dearest Companion

The email evaporates into cyberspace with a click of your fingers, but your doubts still persist long past the moment it’s sent.

Emi hasn’t messaged a word since yesterday. Your limbs are numb and prickling with each anxiety-ridden exhale that escapes you yet you must continue teaching as if that isn't so.

To maintain an impeccable composure for the rest of the school day despite this will be a testament to your resolve, and potentially a glimpse into the future of your friendship with Emi.

After all, if your feelings aren’t reciprocated, you’ll have to hone this mask to utmost perfection so that things will remain the same.

Class ends with an eerie hum of the school’s bell, and when your room has emptied, all your emotions are left unrestrained.

A day’s worth of nausea and bile finally bubbles up to the surface to manifest itself on your tongue in thick strings of drool, your throat gulps heavily to sink the chunky liquid back into your stomach until you gather yourself enough to leave your classroom.

Don’t let it slip.

You try to piece together your wavering façade on the train ride home, morphing and pulling your skin with your fingertips until your fallen brows settle back into place and your lips are no longer twitching and downturned.

Don’t let it slip.

Your awkward fumbling past your apartment lobby increases in pace, you avoid direct stares with the friendly elderly couple that accompanies in the elevator, even as they chatter to you gleefully and incessantly.

Don’t let it slip.

Your keys are jammed into your door with a jerk of your arms against it.

The familiar scent and scenery of your home trigger the stinging drops in your eyes to stream down your cheeks in hot streaks. Your knees nearly buckle beneath you before you find purchase on the nearest chair in your living room to let the sobs take hold of you completely.

You’ve ruined everything.

Your body jolts with each cough and splutter you muffle into your crimson, overworked palms, now slick with viscous snot and drool—you dejectedly eye the expensive assortment of cookies you bought yesterday to satisfy Emi’s sweet tooth.

A distant knock at your door briefly pulls you out of your melancholic haze, yet your whimpering form remains unmoving as you don’t want anyone to see you in such a decrepit state.

You let the persistent banging fade into the background until your phone buzzes to life for the first time it has all day.

Emi: Aren’t you going to open the door for your secret admirer?

You hastily dash for the kitchen sink to run cold water over your caked features and ineptly pat them dry, once finished, you twist at the door knob to meet Emi standing proudly with an elated look, a leather handbag hooked on her shoulder.

“Emi, I—”, you sputter before you're swiftly interrupted.

“Have you been crying? Your eyes are all puffy.” Emi's smile diminishes to a crooked frown, her slightly calloused palms extend to cup your cheeks so that her thumb can stroke it gently.

“I haven't heard from you all day”, your rigid neck thaws into her touch as relief settles through your muscles. “I thought I might've upset you with the email I sent.”

“No-No, never. I'm sorry, I just wanted to surprise you”, her soft voice floats through the air like cotton; it nests itself in your ear canal, tickling your senses and burrowing its dizzying wisps in the folds of your brain. “I love you, and I meant every word in those letters I wrote—”

Your damp lips crash against her plump ones to capture the rest of her confession between your teeth, imprinting her words into your mouth then swallowing them whole. Her hands are tender as they still envelope the sides of your head and attempt to bridge a nonexistent gap—pressing you closer and closer until your atoms seemingly align.

When did Emi first know she was in love with you?

You wish to ask her so that you could revisit your past conversations while over analyzing each word until it seems as though you were a fool for never noticing.

But you also wish to treasure her sentences more intimately—to dedicate a region of your brain to the ridiculous rambles she'd spew just to get a laugh out of you, and another folder of your memory to the moments your eyes couldn't part away from hers.

Lost in the throes of her passion, it takes a while for your mind to catch up to the scenery change as you're draped across your mattress, your choked pants filling the air from the bruising attacks her mouth makes against your collar.

The dull flickers of pain from her teeth turn sharp, her pointed canines searing your flesh and leaving vermilion indents but not pressing harsh enough to pierce the skin. Your pelvis bucks into her hips from the sudden pleasant zaps across your sternum, but when her tongue lathes over the tender spots afterward your writhe in her hold.

Each time her tongue pulls away between slurps she seems reluctant, as if breathing were trivial compared to relishing the divine taste of your skin. You readily comply with her cravings, presenting your delicate neck to ravenous jaws while providing her all the more surface to revere.

Her suckles and nibbles along your skin drift downward as she strips you bare, followed by her doing the same for herself with her goddess-like form presented to your overly-enthralled eyes.

“Let me take care of you”, she says quietly as she pulls away to fish around for something in the bag she brought. A small, clear bottle and a metallic red box rest firmly against her palms, she places them on the bed beside you before gently guiding you to lay on your stomach.

She mounts your lower half, shifting her weight slightly against you as she lathers her hands with the substance in the bottle, permeating the room with a rich aroma of jasmine, chamomile and other exotic scents you can’t quite place.

Her oily hands scoop along your shoulders, pressing deeply into the taut skin then swirling and flexing against it until your muscles become more supple under her touch. She repeats these motions along your back and the sides of your waist by sinking her lithe fingers into your flesh and scooping and prying at the restlessness that’s seemingly settled beneath your skin in the form of sediment—calcified worry that’s seeped into your veins to stay.

A cataclysmic burst of lust gathers at the apex of your thighs despite the innocence of the act, you’re overcome with a libidinous desire to feel more of her, to feel more of her touch in the throbbing areas that have formed across your body.

She guides you onto your back so that she could begin repeating her ministrations to your chest, her lower thigh resting close to your core but not touching it. For a moment, she peels away to fiddle with the red box from earlier, but when she returns she softly presses something against your lips.

Her eyes are lidded, lips parted in a gentle awe as she watches you take the piece into your mouth, swirling the rich chocolate flavor around your tongue until the remaining creaminess glides down your throat smoothly.

As her hands travel downward to caress your thighs, she parts them before eyeing the thin string of arousal that’s webbed over your lips and grins at it salaciously. She avoids touching your folds and instead fondles the meat around it, making slow rotations as you twitch and coil beneath her.

Another piece of chocolate is placed on your lips, but Emi captures your mouth before the sweet can dissolve, slipping her tongue between your teeth to gather some of the taste for herself then leaving you panting with drool covered lips while her leg steadily starts to rub against you.

The sensation of her nude thighs grinding into your sex makes dribbles of slick seep from your arousal, lubricating your desperate movements as you chase the euphoric tingles surging through your clit.

Dew drops of sweat coat your face in a thin luster while the combined heat from your bodies create a thick atmosphere around you, one which steadily grows into a fog from the friction of your continued frenzied glides. Your high never quite approaches as it swiftly tapers off at the cusp of your peak from lack of pinpoint strikes onto your pulsating nub.

Your understimulated sex aches for more of her fleeting but precise contact, as pure, undiluted desire swells in your neglected walls until suspended on the verge of erupting as a collapsing pressure takes its place. You need more.

“Emi, please”, you beg, futilely meeting her unfulfilling collisions with your sex in hopes your orgasm would return.

The pleasurable breaching of her agile fingers at your entrance dismantles your chance for any more intelligible pleas with your thighs snapping around her palm as your body unconsciously curls to the side. She follows your curvature, planking beside you so that you could see the delighted smirk that adorns her mouth while her hands are unremittingly sliding within you.

Her other hand guides your thumb between her legs, you place it against her peeking clit before smoothing deep circles on it so that it matches the pace she's set in your opening.

“Mhmm, like that”, she says it breathily and it sends another sublime rush of heat to your stirring gut. “I wanna see your pretty faces as I cum too.”

A harmonious symphony of sighs fill the air as you move in tandem with one another, but as Emi brushes over certain ridges your focus on her clit falters with your eyes batting before fluttering back from her calculated strokes in your hole. Her fervent kisses she stamps into your cheeks are the only way you're kept grounded, temporarily brought back to shore before once again swept away by tumultuous waves of arousal.

Your fingers tangle themselves at the roots of her soft, sea-green strands, tugging slightly to mesh your lips against hers, absorbing her wanton sounds and shivering as the vibrations flare into your bones. A balmy pool of spit gathers where your eagerly sloppy mouths meet then oozes from the sides to coat your chin in clear, sticky sap.

“Feel so good around my fingers, it’s like your swallowing me—fuck”, Emi unevenly pants before dropping her head onto your shoulder, her glassy eyes mimicking your dreamy, lidded gaze as that all too familiar coiling begins to unravel.

A series of scattered thoughts pop into your lust-drunk befuddled brain only to swiftly fizzle away with each of her ministrations, bubbling through your synapses until releasing through the air of your moans to leave you stale and breathless.

“Wanna cum with you”, she finally voices your desire but you can only murmur her name in disjointed fragments.

Your thumb is slippery and overworked—the soppy pad of your finger dull and reddened—yet the clenching of Emi’s warm thighs spur you on with the pace of your unsteady, but enthusiastic rotations quickening until you’re both whining and humping for climax.

“L-Love you, Emi”, you choke, your walls clamping wildly around the digits inside you as your orgasm breaches and gashes your overwhelmed walls for release. Strained gasps escape from Emi’s overly-parted lips while she’s also hastily strung above the peak of climax only to be dropped at the bewitching sight of your blissed-out features—her lips encapture yours the moment it torments her limbs so that she’d give you a shaky, but searing kiss.

You stare dazedly into your lover’s eyes, insides still twitching and raw from pleasure, but mesmerized by the swirling jade pools of her irises.

“Write an article about me?” Emi proposes in jest while beaming from ear to ear.

“Maybe”, you reply just as teasingly. “You did give me great material to work with.”

A tickle of laughter emits from Emi’s glossy lips as she shuffles closer until both of your noses touch. “I love you.”

You give her a gentle peck then smile cheesily. “I love you too, and I’ll forever be grateful for all the letters you’ve sent me.”

Her eyes crinkle tightly at the corners, dripping tiny droplets as her mouth curls up slightly. “Had you not sent me your own letter, I would've gone back to pretending my feelings never existed.”

[just-here-for-the-moment]

The Escape

This grew out of an unhinged convo that @deadhumourist and I had over DMs ages ago. Now that it’s wintertime and very cold where I am, I decided to write it up for her. Hope the rest of you enjoy it as well!

Word count: 1400

Rating: Mature, 18+ only (no minors)

Outline: Old West AU? Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x You (race-neutral, blank slate female reader insert; no racial description, no physical description, no name, no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: Yearning and anticipation on both sides; mentions of Jack rescuing you and helping you to escape from some kind of vague danger; Jack affectionately nicknames you “Bluebonnet”; mutual lusty pining; both characters imagining “what if”; mentions and imaginings of sex acts; cranking up the heat on this wintry day

***

The mustang’s hooves clop slowly across the hard ground as Jack guides you to safety through the barren forest. The dry, frozen air of mid-winter makes the sound seem louder than it is, echoing off nearby trees and bouncing back to your ears.

Your focus shifts as your heart rate slows. The adrenaline from Jack scooping you up onto his horse has dribbled out of your veins, bleeding into a numb calmness as he puts distance between you and your hard circumstances.

Your hand aches, clutching at the rough, wool saddle blanket that Jack had wrapped around you both, ordering you to keep it closed for warmth as his rough breath warmed your ear. The sharp, direct order had cut through your fear and you had followed his directions to the letter. You kept the blanket closed over your sternum tightly. An hour into the journey and your fingers were aching, but you refused to let go. You wanted Jack to be proud of you for following his order, for keeping his arms warm and his hands free so that he could steer properly. You wanted to be smart and useful to him.

You tried to ignore the gentle rocking of his thighs against yours where they cupped you, holding you steady on his mount. After everything, you are shocked that your mind is wandering to such lusty images, and you attempt to chastise yourself out of thinking about such things…but the rough denim of his pants conceals a bulge that rocks gently against your ass with every step the horse takes.

For his part, Jack is fighting lusty thoughts of his own. As his breath slows and the horse’s gallop changes to a saunter, Jack tries to ignore the soft curves of your hips under your long winter skirts, and the summery scent of your perfume… delectable notes of lily of the valley and rose that waft up from the heat of your body and tickle his nose. 

It makes him want to find a safe haven, some little culvert or cabin where he can build a fire and put the thick, warm blanket to better use, perhaps as a bed where he can take you gently and show you what good love is supposed to be… if you’ll have him. Maybe after what you’ve been through, he shouldn’t be thinking such things, but the rage that flared in his gut at seeing you in need of rescue has boiled down to a simmer, and he needs to let off steam one way or another. 

He clears his throat and reassures you, “Won’t be much longer now, Bluebonnet.”

“Why do you call me that?” 

“Your scarf,” he brings his left hand gently up to your face and tugs affectionately on the fabric that you’ve wrapped over your head and knotted under your chin, hoping to keep some warmth around your ears. 

“You were wearing this the first day I saw you. Same color as a field full of Texas bluebonnets.” Then, as if that’s all that needs to be said, he trails off into silence. 

You reach back in your mind and try to remember that day, but the time and distance from that moment make things fuzzy. You remember cradling your hard-won harvest of berries in your scarf, tied around your waist like an apron as you emerged from the edge of the forest. And on the road were Jack and another man riding toward town, the sun beating down on the brims of their hats, shadows obscuring their faces. 

If you had been prescient of everything that would transpire between that moment and now, you’re not sure if you would have done things any differently. 

It all ended up with you here, feeling the warmth of Jack’s body against your back, the muscles of his thighs as they tense and squeeze against yours. He’s more relaxed than when the first lengths of galloping put distance between you and that terrible town, but his breath still comes in heavy sighs, and you can tell he’s holding something back. 

“S’that all it was? The color?” You chide yourself internally for sounding hard, ungrateful for the compliment in how he compared you to a pretty sight from his home state. 

You hear Jack’s breath hitch, and then his voice comes deeper, tickling down your neck in warm puffs and up your spine in electric zig zags. “And your strength.”

You think that’s all he’s going to say, but then Jack surprises you, adding, “They go to seed, dig themselves into the dirt in th’ autumn… they grow best in hard soil, rocky places… they bide their time, gettin’ strong all winter, an’ in springtime they bloom blue and pretty and soft… whole waves of ‘em, far as the eye can see.” 

He ends it there, and your mind reels. 

This man sees you… you wonder at that, and your normally quick tongue is stunned into silence as your brain picks over all the golden threads he’s just revealed. You follow the words with your mind, chasing them around in your brain as the horse slows, then stops. 

There’s a clearing just ahead, and Jack turns the mustang slightly sideways, assessing whether it’s safe or dangerous before he approaches any further. His breath comes hot and hard against your ear through the thin material of your scarf, and you fight a whine when his left arm grips you tight around your middle. 

His hand drifts down to your left hip, and he squeezes you hard: a silent message to keep still as he shifts, perhaps making moves to dismount. You want to squirm and rub yourself against the saddle, give yourself friction and action to combat the heavy silence and the frozen air. Your heart is beating so hard you want to faint. 

You breathe in a slow drag through your nose, and that makes it worse. You can smell frost and leather and the living animal underneath you, and layered in with everything is him… smoky, manly soap and fresh sweat and his morning coffee. You turn your face away from the clearing and tuck your ear against his shoulder, and lean into the comforting warmth of Jack as he guards you and protects you. 

Jack watches the clearing and sees a slight movement and he freezes, his massive hand grips your hip harder, and you forget yourself long enough that a small, “Mmh,” escapes your lips before you stuff it back down. 

Your bitten-off moan coincides with Jack’s realization that the movement is a deer, seeking leaves where none have been for weeks, and he relaxes with a chuckle. His laugh vibrates through his chest, pressed against your back, and you exhale a sigh of relief. 

Jack’s distraction subsides and a puzzle piece falls into place. Your noise, that mewl when he gripped your hip through your skirts, and the slight shift of your hips… Jack knows what desire looks like and sounds like from a woman, and he’s happy he hasn’t been nursing a one-sided infatuation. The minute he gets you to safety he’s finding the softest bed and the warmest fire, and he’s going to make sure you don’t have to muffle those noises. He wants them all, just for himself, and he’s damned if he’ll let you hide them from him again. 

You turn as far around as you can and lift your eyes to look at Jack, and when your eyes meet you can’t breathe all over again. 

Jack’s deep brown eyes are boring into you intently, and you wonder if he’s thinking about the same things you are… how all you want to do is nuzzle the tip of your nose into the little hollow just under his earlobe and trail it up to his sideburns, because you know that that's where a man smells the most like himself. You want to brush your lips over the stubble that's dusted over the curve of his jaw, feel the contrast of it against your soft lips… press a kiss into the skin of his throat and feel his heartbeat as it moves blood through his jugular before you flick the tip of your tongue out to taste the salt of his skin… but you can’t, because you're still fleeing everything that he's rescued you from. 

You’re grateful for that, but you're so desperately aroused and so tired from running that all you want to do is turn and sit sideways across his lap, snuggle into him for warmth and safety and let him hold you and fuck you until you fall asleep. 

The moment passes, and Jack flicks his eyes toward the clearing before prompting the horse with his heels. 

“Won’t be far now, Bluebonnet, I promise.”

You turn your face toward the future, and let Jack guide you there. 

***

#jack daniels x you #jack daniels x f!reader #race-neutral fics #poc friendly fanfic #poc friendly #fanfic for everyone #race-neutral reader insert #race neutral reader insert #race neutral fanfic

[goldemas1244]

Do you think Zhask died of a broken heart?

Inside of you there is a darkness. The darkness bears young, two indiscriminate youths: The Abyss, and The Emptiness.

The Abyss is a thing that grows. It's a blooming wildflower in the midst of a desert. It feeds on the fear and longing, the passion and perfection. It disgusts, it brings sorrow, it kills.

But The Abyss stares back. And sometimes it answers.

The Emptiness is a void. It's a black hole twisting shapes into protons and plasma yet splitting atoms into pieces. No light may enter, yet no light can exist. It's a paradox, it's a sentiment, it's a blind man's sight.

The Emptiness is a hole in the heart. It tears the strings and leaves you breathless.

A man may acknowledge The Emptiness only when The Abyss has fled. Every canyon is filled with water once, every chasm can be filled.

To pine and want and love and reciprocate... those are blessings brought on by The Abyss. But what if The Abyss is filled? The Emptiness takes over.

But The Emptiness?

No man survives that wasteland.

---

How can I answer this question? To be fair, I've never lost a love before. I've lost friendships, I've been discouraged, but no, not really.

But I have yearned.

When it all ends, with a kiss and a ring, does he still kneel? Does he sit back, lean against a wall, breathless? Do tears stream from his eyes as his teeth clench? Does he twirl the gold in his hands, aching for a world where he and his love were together? Where he was perfect?

Does he curl up? Does he beg?

A poor man with want of looks, losing to one much better than him, yet much worse than him. And no matter his prayers he can never change, despite all that is required of him. Everyone else is Dr. Jekyll. He is Mr. Hyde. A twisted sack of flesh in a lab nobody dares enter. A fool. A monster.

I've felt that. It's a rib-shattering feeling. You think you've gotten a footing but then you slip and fall yet again. And when it happens I kneel and I yearn. I yearn for a life different from one I've led. I yearn for what I've lost, what I've gained. I yearn for another chance.

But I don't yearn for long. The hours pass and I am never alone. The room is filled and I have to push the heart aside to make room for the mask. I calm down. My heart doesn't break. I HAVE to live.

But the Phantom? He is alone. He isn't like me, with daily calls to my mother, or a favourite person to look forward to, even if there is still a glimmer of hope Christine will return to him. He isn't like me, with so many tasks to do I give up on them. He isn't like me at all.

He's alone. With nobody to latch onto anymore. An outcast, with no connections. While the Opera has much to offer, there is nothing he can live for. No new singer can replace the burning of his unrequited passion. No new event, nor manager, nor chance at life.

And so he pines. He pines and pines away until at last his heartstrings can never bear the pressure. The loss of a love is a harsh one. Science can back it up. Too much pressure and a heartstring will snap. Oxygenated and deoxygenated blood will mix. You will drown in your own blood.

A man of the stage is mad. Mad in love as in grief. A man of the stage knows how to act.

But how far will it go? Before the mask breaks and the true, raw horror commences?

He has nothing to live for.

If he doesn't hang or slit himself, then his heart will do it for him.

The point of no return is a one-way ticket. All he has to do is board the train.

---

But I wouldn't be surprised if he lived.

Remember The Emptiness. It kills us all.

Yet it also helps us forget. And we often do not weep for the past if we forget, now do we?

He stands up. He dusts himself off. It's Yve's choice, not his own. A woman is not a toy, she has feelings. And if her feelings desire another, then so be it.

He walks over to his mirror and takes off his mask. He takes a good look at himself.

If this be his destiny then so be it. If Yve returns then so be it. If he lives or dies so be it.

There's no use grieving what you never could have.

---

And my answer is, "He's a phantom. By definition he should already be fuckin' dead."

But no really, yes, he dies heartbroken. And he will reunite with Christine in her grief, always singing from the heavens above, a true angel now. He will be the one to invite her into the light, no matter how long it takes to wait.

And in the meantime, whenever she thinks of him, he'll sing for her. At least if he can't in body, then he may in spirit. Truly her Angel of Music, forevermore.

#Dude you're gonna make ME die of a broken heart at this point I GOT CHEST PAINS WRITING THIS #I'M NOT KIDDING #MY RIGHT HEARTLESS SIDE BEGS FOR A HEART TO COMPLETE IT #Fun fact! They say you need hugs because your heart is on the left and the right is empty so it needs someone else to complete it! #But no really I've been wearing this wired bra for almost 24 hours it hurts so bad- #Thanks for the ask! #golden answers #zhask #zhaskposting #yve #yvask #ml #mlbb #mobile legends #mobile legends bang bang

[future-dregs]

Okay so I watched Matrix Resurrections recently and I have some thoughts and feelings.

First off, number one romance movie of the year (or my year, at least) and I am not joking even a little bit. (Spoilers under the cut in case you haven't seen it and if you haven't, you should. Do something nice for yourself)

I really liked Keanu's little moves in this, the way he shook his hands and fingers as he was trying to work his way through things, and he absolutely sold trying to talk yourself through a breakdown and being afraid of it. He truly looked like the most miserable man alive.

Little touch I also liked was that the Analyst's eyeglasses did not have lenses in them.

I liked the callbacks and the clips from the previous movies being cut in, it really helped the deja vu/rewound/do it again but this time to the left, aspect of the movie.

Neo and Trinty saved the world through the power of love, faith, and trust. If a person loves you, if they believe in you, if they trust you, you can fly, and yes, the tears were running down my face at the point.

They didn't kiss but once, and it was sweet, and light. But they wanted each other, they missed each other, an undeniable ache in their hearts that they couldn't understand or heal. They yearned! They yearned and pined and ached and it was beautiful!

Also, fight or you'll never see her again? And then Neo unlocked this frantic, desperate strength?? Oh yeah, I cried.

(Also when they finally joined hands, it made a heart)

It was romance, in its true form.

(I also liked that at the very end they had matching outfits. And how Neo clung to Trinty as they escaped on her motorcycle.)

Also Niobe and her girlfriend/wife were very cute for the brief minute we saw them and I was glad to see them, they made me happy.

#The matrix #The matrix resurrections #Chit-chat #Hands joined together make a heart

[alienjaded]

Hoping you are haunted ...

Dear Soulmate,

I've found a totally anonymous way to write to you, so get ready for the sappiest, sloppiest, shit-storm of a limerent love letter that you will ever never read.

I wonder ...

If you were to, somehow, someday stumble upon this letter, without knowing the writer behind it, would you recognize my voice? Probably not; I'm being intentionally twisty with my prose. But maybe I would still faintly sound like a vaguely familiar ghost in your head ... I wouldn't mind that. I think it would be cool to haunt you, just a little bit.

Interestingly, total anonymity is total freedom to be one's self. I can speak more honestly and fearlessly to the void than I ever could to myself. Or you, of course. And while I am here, in heartfelt, whole candor, I just want to say ...

I love you. More than she does. More than the other she did, or her before her, or any preceding, current, or future hers that are not me. More than you loved any hers. Much more than you loved me, if you did at all. I love you more than I love writing ribbony sentences, misusing commas, and inappropriately playing with sexy enigmatic semicolons.

I know you know that, and I hope that it haunts you. Just a little bit, for a very long time.

You know what? Being human really fucking sucks, sometimes. I guess this is why we've emerged concepts like Heaven and Hell. And why we tell ourselves stories of ultimate power, ultimate sacrifice, ultimate nothingness, ultimate reality, and ultimate love. Because it's all fucking weird and stupid and incredibly intense ... and absolutely ultimately bonkers.

We walk forward and backward, side to side, diagonal, and ... that's all. We're forced into an orientation that feels like reality, so much so, that we'd go insane if we did not believe it. And yet, my up is down to someone in China, and they're up, my down, is no less true than my-up-their-down. We have demonizing monotheism that externalizes shadow after shadow, and demonic monism that swallows it with light and all-ness. I am miles away from you, achingly unallowed to touch your skin, and I am also the pants that you are currently wearing (or not wearing). And I am also your skin.

Somehow, in a world that makes so much room for ridiculousness, on a planet of paradoxes orbiting in pristine mathematical precision as it spirals into entropy, there is no way for us to be together. I hate practicality - it is my undying antagonist - and, quite possibly, the only pathway to your heart.

Why did you have to be so put together? I just want to kiss you. Tempt you, tease you, taste your tongue. Crawl on you. I want to love your body and breathe your breath. I want to be so deep inside of you, that I'm wearing your skin. I want you to penetrate my soul, hard. I want to be your soul. I love your soul.

I want to be your untouchable Madonna, perfectly preserved in rose colored memory. I want to be your whore. Probably mostly your whore ... I want to be a swirling kundalini genie, a disembodied force that can descend on you in your bedroom - jezebel and Lady Folly all at once, just for the chance to lick your toothbrush and use your shampoo. I get to confess this all to a priest soon. Maybe Jesus can save me from this absolutely transcendental yearning.

The anticlimactic outcome of this fire storm, apart from the odd spontaneous orgasm, is that I get to grow old only sometimes sadly staring into space, as I think about how my entire being constantly aches for yours. And I am just powerless to the mercy of time now. My only catharsis is that I can now imagine myself punishing you with an onslaught of convoluted run-on sentences, knowing full well that you've probably perfected the art of quickly forgetting irrelevant pining women.

Still, can't you help but feel that our story fell a little flat?

Maybe I am delusional. Maybe you felt nothing close to what I did. That's okay. Whatever. Really, it's fine. You were, even if only in fantasy, the greatest romance of my life ... If I had ever had you, I would tell you that you were the best that I have ever had. Instead, I'll just say, I wanted you more badly than I have ever wanted anything.

I'll hold fast to the dream that perhaps a tiny, intuitive part of you likewise recognizes that our connection was something blindingly intense.

Ultimately, it's all f i n e. C'est la vie, et la vie continue. You anchored yourself to something simpler and safer than me. Virtue, pride, principles, tradition, academia, the matrix, a head filled with montrous, repressed, unsatisfied passion (yes?); I'd say that I hope it was worth it, but that would be a lie, and I don't have to tell those when I am anonymous. I will say, though, that I honestly hope that you are happy. And I also honestly hope that you are haunted, just a little bit, for a very long time.

Your Soulmate

#love letters #anonymous