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yourfavoritewitchbitch · 3 months

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Badge Bunny Meet Ugly

Gator Tillman x Fem!Reader

Badge Bunny AU - This can be read as a stand alone. Read more of their series here.

Summary: You're new to town. It's only supposed to be temporary. A handsome Deputy catches your eye, then seemingly ruins his chances as soon as he opens his mouth. This is not your fairytale.

18+ Only! MDNI!

Word Count: 14.5K

Warnings: Slow burn. Porn, with plot. Minimal use of Y/N. Reader is referred to as "Bunny" or "Bun". Toxic relationship (let's be honest here). Oral (m & f receiving). Choking. Semi-public sex. Degradation. Unprotected P in V (wrap it before you tap it!). Creampie.

Telling yourself you needed a fresh start, North Dakota hadn’t been your first choice but it became your last when things seemingly had started spiraling out of your control.

Your car had broken down just inside of Stark County, leaving you stranded in the middle of literal nowhere.

“No, no, no. Please. Come on!” Trying the ignition over and over to no avail. You reached for your phone, thankfully it had a signal, googling the nearest mechanic shop; only showing one in a 20-mile radius.

It’s as if the universe was playing some cruel tricks on you.

The night before, you left the sleazy hotel where you had been staying when you realized someone had taken the last bit of money you had left. Internally cursing yourself for trying to hide it in the toilet tank like a fucking cliche idiot.

It was another 30 minutes before the tow truck and owner of “Frank’s Body Shop” pulled in beside you. An older, gruff looking man with gray hair, a little wiry, sticking up from his head. You suspected you might have woken him when you called.

It was a quiet, awkward drive back to his shop.

Once he’d gotten your car into the bay you’d asked where the nearest motel might be.

“Oh, there’s one about a mile down the road on the right. Can’t miss it.” Frank said without looking up from his paperwork.

“Any chance you could drive me over? I’m new to t….”

“Do I look like a taxi service to you?” He spat. “I already got out of bed to come get ya’.”

“Alright then, at least point me in the right direction?”

“Out the front to the left. Midway Motel. Only one this side of town.” He pointed.

“Yeah, thanks.” You didn’t wait for him to respond as you headed outside. If this was what they considered hospitality in Lehigh, you didn't want to stay here a second longer than what was absolutely necessary.

Your jacket did little to shield you from the blustery cold wind. You wrapped your arms around yourself, heading off in the direction to find somewhere to lay your head for the night, leaving the light of the only streetlamp you could see in the foreseeable distance.

It was dark but the moon was unusually bright, reflecting the glint of the fresh snow fall from earlier in the day.

You hadn't made it very far down the road when you heard a rumble of an engine and headlights cut out ahead of you. You didn't bother looking up, expecting God knows what this hour of night.

The vehicle slowed as it got closer, you held your backpack strap a little tighter to your chest and wrapped your hand around the pocketknife tucked into your jacket, expecting the worst.

You finally turned on your heel to be met with an older model blazer with Stark County Sheriff's Office on the side of the door. Some of the anxiety slipped away but you kept your guard up. You'd never had any good run-ins with cops.

The driver's window slowly rolled down, an older man was behind the wheel, you couldn't make out his features in the low light, but he was wearing a cowboy hat.

“Evening, miss. Little late to be wandering the highway alone. Could be dangerous for a lady such as yourself.” His tone made you feel uneasy.

Great, another smart-ass hick, you thought.

“Evening, Officer…”

“Sheriff Tillman,” he interrupted.

“Right, Sheriff Tillman. My car broke down and I was trying to find the Midway Motel?” It came out to be more of a question than you intended.

“The Midway? It's kind of a rough place, there's a Holiday Inn on the other side of…”

“With all due respect, Sheriff, I'm just looking for somewhere for tonight and I don't exactly have enough cash to be spending it in on something like a Holiday Inn.”

“Fair enough,” he nodded. “Hop in, it's on the way.”

You looked down the highway once more, biting your lip. It was going to be a trek you dreaded, and you were already tired from the events over the last couple of days. You rolled a gravel under your shoe before finally relenting.

“Yeah, okay.” Crossing in front to open the door, removing your backpack and climbing into the passenger seat. “Thanks.”

He didn't say anything or look your way as he threw the vehicle back into drive once the door was shut.

You were able to get a better look at the Sheriff. Older, rough around the edges. An air about him that dripped with arrogance.

Sitting beside him didn't make that uneasy feeling any better, only intensifying it. Something felt off.

You were grateful for the warmth the heater provided. Rubbing your hands together in your lap.

“So, what brings you to Lehigh Miss…?” He asked.

“Uh, Y/N, and just passing through. Like I said, my car broke down, so here I am.”

“Y/N,” he said, as he mulled it over. Letting it sit on his tongue. You didn't like the way your name rolled out of his mouth.

He nodded as he kept his gaze on the road ahead. Nothing else said between the two of you in the short drive.

The Midway was, as expected, a dump. Neons lit Vacancy above you, missing a few letters with a sign out front broadcasting, “$129 weekly rates”.

“Well, this is it.” He shifts into park outside the small office, as the older woman behind the counter straightening up in her chair at the sight of the Sheriff's car.

"Well, thank you Sheriff Till…" As you reached for the door.

"Roy. And I know you're new to town, so I thought I'd extend an invitation to our church. You can come and sit with my family so you wouldn't be by yourself. I've got a son that seems about your age.”

"Uh, thanks, Sheriff. But I'm hoping my car will be done in a day or two. I don't plan on staying that long." Sliding out and gathering your bag over your shoulder. "Thanks again for the ride.”

"Anytime. Enjoy your stay,” tipping his hat, as you closed the door.

You could feel his eyes trail after you as you walked into the office before he finally drove away.

The older lady stood, “Uh hi, I just need a room for the night, I hope.”

“Sure honey, we only got a double bed.” She eyed you warily. “You know the Sheriff?”

“Huh?” Barely registering what she had said as you were digging for your wallet.

“Sheriff Tillman? You know him?”

“No. He just offered me a ride…” you trailed off. “Why?”

“Don't trust that man. That whole family is a den of vipers. Son gaining a reputation just as bad. I'd steer clear if I were you.”

“I'll take that into consideration,” you took the key from her. “Thanks.”

The room was just as inviting. Cramped space with a small double bed and a flowery duvet. An older style TV sits in the corner making it feel like the place was stuck in the 90s.

No coffee maker or mini fridge. The small bathroom at least looked clean upon inspection though you weren't sure it could be trusted.

The bed provided little comfort. The mattress was lumpy, and the pillows were flat.

Well, at least it's for one night. You tried to shut your eyes and get some rest.

“What do you mean, a couple of weeks?” You whined.

“What I just said, I can't get the part right now. Be a couple weeks.” Frank huffed. “I had to order it, so do you want it fixed or not?”

“Of course I want it fixed. Just let me know when it's done.”

Stomping your way out the garage, you shouldn't have expected anything else really. Not with the way your luck had been going.

You’d walked back to the motel, paying another week in advance and asking the lady at the front desk, Maggie, where you might find some decent work as it looked like you might be here for a while longer.

“Pretty girl like you, could always go over to the Tender Trap, you'd be out of this dump in no time,” as she proceeded to tell you the sort of place it was.

“I think I'd prefer to keep my clothes on.”

“Suit yourself,” she shrugged, pulling her cigarette to her lips. Puffs of smoke curled up as she exhaled. “Lucky Lizard across the way might be lookin’ for another waitress. Henry said last week his girl quit.”

“Here,” she pulled out a pad and pen, writing a name and number down for you.

“Thanks Maggie.”

You'd met with Henry the owner and resident bartender that afternoon. You'd been upfront about it only being temporary, but he liked your spunkiness and hired you on the spot.

He tried to warn you what you were getting into with the weekend crowd, but nothing would quite compare to seeing it in person.

Your shift started at 4. It started off easy enough. The early crowd were mostly blue-collared guys, interested in a couple of beers before heading home for the night.

Saturday's host karaoke night. The usual crowd is replaced by the rowdy 20 and 30 somethings of Lehigh looking for a good time when there is nothing else to do in nowhere USA.

Drinks flowing, the crowd loving the various renditions of their favorite songs echoing through the building.

The fight broke out before you realized what was going on.

You hadn't seen the beginning, but you were caught off guard when someone shoved you from behind, knocking the tray you held off balance. Bottles of beer went flying across the floor.

Henry called the Sheriff's department as soon as it got out of control and told you to get behind the bar until they arrived.

He had a shotgun there, pulled it out and told everyone to exit the bar. They eventually did.

“This happen often?” You asked him.

“Not usually,” he gave you a weary half smile.

You were beginning to think bad luck was following you at this point.

It didn't take long for a couple of deputies to walk through the door.

One caught your eye in particular. He waltzed in, dick first, like he owned the place. He rested his hand on the gun that was tucked away in his snug thigh holster, slung tight over his camo pants as your eyes trailed up the rest of his frame.

He was wearing the usual kevlar, adorned with a gold star badge on top of a snug long-sleeved T-shirt. You could tell the way it hugged his arms he was fit.

His head was covered with a hat that read Stark County Sheriff. It was shielding some of your view of his face at this angle, but you could make out his sharp jawline and aquiline nose.

Your eyes drank in every detail that was available as his eyes searched the crowd, turning his head slowly finally landing on you. His deep set, hazel eyes caught yours.

You felt pinned the longer he stared. He gave you a lopsided grin before lifting his hand, tipping his hat toward you. You smiled in return.

Then the moment was over, as he caught Henry's attention and beckoned him over.

You started busying yourself with cleaning up the mess the brawlers had left behind. As soon as they heard the cops were called the stragglers hightailed it out of there, along with a lot of the good paying customers.

With no one to pin it on, the cops weren't going to stay long. Statements and descriptions of the men were all they could get, along with some grainy video footage.

You were cleaning up a high top in the corner when he started to approach. You spotted him from the corner or your eye, because you hadn't stopped watching him since he entered.

Heavy boots made their way closer as you wiped down the sticky tabletop.

He cleared his throat before he spoke, gaining your attention as you were finally able to get a better look at him. He was handsome, clean cut. Not something you were expecting in a small-town Sheriff's department.

“Uh, don't believe we've met. Deputy Tillman, uh Gator.”

So, this was who Maggie had warned you about.

“Gator Tillman, huh? I've heard all about you and your daddy.” You shot back.

He smirked, but his eyebrows knit together with confusion.

“So, how is it you know all about me, but I've never seen you before. And trust me, I'd remember a pretty face like yours.” His eyes trailed slightly downward catching the top of your cleavage before moving back up.

You couldn't contain your eyes from rolling. Men were so easy. All the same. Simple creatures with only one thing on their minds.

You smiled and arched a brow, as his gaze set on your face once more.

“If you don't mind, I've got to get back to work. In case you didn't notice, this place is a mess.” You said, turning back to the table.

“I'm here on official business, need your statement. Miss…?” He paused, grabbing a pen, as if he was actually going to write any of this shit down.

You had him pegged from the moment he walked in here.

“Y/N.”

“Y/N.” He spoke. And as you expected, just stared at you. “You're not from around here, are ya’?”

“Nope and don't plan on sticking around either.”

“Yeah, Henry said you're over at the Midway? That place is rough, ya’ could…”

“Yeah, yeah I've already heard. You Tillmans have a savior complex or something?” you huffed out.

“Scuse me?” He furrowed his brows.

“Look, I don't need some hot shot, knight in shining kevlar to save me. I'm not some damsel in distress. I can take care of myself.” You looked him straight in the eye, not backing down.

“You're cute, y’know that?” he smiled, and let out a small humorless chuckle.

You watched as he produced a vape from his pocket, placing it between his pouty lips before sucking, as his cheeks hollowed just a bit. The fruity scented cloud billowed out, as he blew it hitting you square in the face.

“Seriously?” You coughed, hand waving it quickly away.

“Sorry,” he smirked again, not meaning his apology in the slightest.

“Sorry? For blowing that rancid shit right in my face? Your mama never teach you any fucking manners?” You huffed, grabbing the towel off the table and quickly walking away leaving him to stare after you.

He took another hit from his vape, letting his eyes trail your curves, watching the way your hips swayed with each step before he was knocked from his trance.

“Gator,” Andy, the other deputy, caught his attention. “Let's go.”

He nodded and bid Henry a goodbye.

He was intrigued. He could usually bat his eyes, puff his chest out a little and any girl would fall over him. Not you.

You were a little spitfire who didn't back down. He kind of liked it.

Gator was never the kind to chase tail, it fell in his lap with ease. You were different and something in the back of his mind wanted to see how far he had to push to see you give in.

You'd all but forgotten about Deputy Tillman in the following days. However, he couldn't seem to get you off his mind.

The way you had spoken so blatantly like you didn't care who he was, or what kind of weight the Tillman name carried in this county. He couldn't deny the way it kind of turned him on. Every other girl in this town was either scared of him or immediately fell at his feet.

You were different, not to mention easy on the eyes with curves that seemed to go for days easily getting any man to eat out of the palm of your hand.

He pulled into the bar, telling himself he was just doing a routine check, on the lookout for drunks.

Deep down, he wanted to catch another glimpse to see if you were truly as pretty as he remembers. Maybe he could sweet talk you into a night of fun. Let him take you back to that trashy motel and have his way with you.

He settled back into the seat, checking the time on his watch, a quarter past 2 AM. The bar had just closed for the night, so he suspected you’d be in until at least another 30 minutes tidying up the place and kicking out the stragglers.

He pulled his phone out playing Candy Crush to pass the time. Placing his vape between his lips every few minutes, getting a little more anxious with each passing second.

He jumped at the sound of someone banging on his window, dropping his vape and almost doing the same with his phone.

He looked over to see you standing there, arms crossed giving him a glare that would rival the devil himself.

It had been a long day. You were about to head back to the Midway after picking up a double shift. You headed out the back, surveying the lot.

The first thing you noticed is a black truck parked off to itself. You grumbled as soon as you saw the Stark County Sheriff logo on the side.

Instead of making the trek back to the motel, you decided to have a little fun, suspecting immediately who it might be.

Your boots stomped their way over to the driver's side door as you placed your hands on your hips. He made no attempt to roll the window down. You could see the glow of that stupid vape lit within. You wanted to yank it out of his mouth.

Growing more impatient by the second, you finally gave in using your fist to bang on the window.

You realized he hadn’t even noticed you walk up when his vape went flying out of his hand. You held in your laugh. Instead opting to hold a stern gaze, forcing your lips together and crossing your arms over your chest.

The window finally rolled down as he came into view. He wasn’t wearing a hat like the last time you’d seen him. His hair was slicked back, shorter on the sides revealing his face even more to you. Damnit, he was handsome.

“What the fuck is your problem?” He spat. Oh, this is going to be fun, you thought.

“Deputy Tillman, is that any way to speak to a lady?” You purred. “And what the hell are you doing out here? Besides looking like a creep?”

He scoffed, “My job. What the fuck does it look like?”

“Your job? You skulk around bars for your job?” You smirked. Each insult slowly getting under his skin.

“I'm watching for drunks. But I don't have to explain myself to you.” He sounded like a child. You couldn't tell in the low light but were sure his face was reddened from how strained his voice sounds.

“Right, well, good night Deputy.” You turned away from him, smirking as you went. His eyes trailing after you.

“Hey, Y/N,” he called. “Need a lift?”

“No thanks! You just stay here and watch for those drunks.” Yelling back and laughing out, the sound traveling across the parking lot back to his ears.

He shook his head and watched you go.

“Shit,” he hissed out, his head dropping back onto the headrest with a thud. Why'd he have to open his big mouth like that?

The following week he seemed to be everywhere.

He was at the gas station as you paid for your soda and nachos, trying to take a break from the motel when the walls felt like they were closing in around you.

A couple of days later, he was at the diner grabbing lunch as you were just finishing yours. He stared at you from over the top of the menu as you left some cash on the table and headed out. If he was trying to be discreet about it, he was failing miserably.

The next day, you bumped into him at the grocery store a couple of blocks away from where you were staying.

You turned the corner with your small cart, bumping into someone.

“Oh, I am so sor…” the words died as soon as you looked up to see him standing there. He grinned, pulling a box of cereal from the shelf and putting it into his own cart.

He looked good. Camo thermal under a black leather jacket with matching black cargo pants; thigh holster in place. His hair was slicked back just like you had seen it in the prior days.

You cocked a brow, “Deputy Tillman, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were stalking me.”

“Stalking you? Maybe it's the other way ‘round. Huh, sweet thing?” He moved to lean his elbow on the shelf as he looked you over, missing the edge by only a few centimeters.

He slipped, correcting himself almost immediately, straightening back up and throwing the shelf an accusatory look.

“Woah there, big fella.” You snorted. “You okay there?”

“Fine,” he sniffed, looking down his nose at you once he was back at his full height.

“What are you doing on this side of town anyway? Isn't there a nicer grocery store you could shop at?”

“Well, yeah but I like this one.” Shrugging a shoulder as he spoke.

You eye him suspiciously. So, he did choose to come here. You knew there was another store on the other side of town. It was bigger and newer with all the bells and whistles.

As if he was reading your mind he quickly tacked on, “it's more quiet here. Less crowded.”

You nodded. Slowly moving your cart to finally skirt around him.

“Well, Deputy, enjoy your shopping trip.” Moving past him.

“Hey y/n, how about you let me take you out sometime?” He blurted out before you got too far out of earshot.

“Out?” You turned back around. “Like a date?”

“I mean,” he stepped closer, leaning his elbow on the shelf successfully this time, as he lowered his voice to barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, we can call it a date. I was thinkin’ more along the lines of grabbing a bite to eat then you could invite me back to your room…” his eyes slowly trailed down your body as he spoke.

“How romantic.” You batted your lashes up at him before huffing a laugh. “I guess I should be flattered you actually offered dinner first.”

“So?” He cocked his head expectantly, completely ignoring the words that had just come out of your mouth.

“So, no. I told you I'm not sticking around.”

“Who said it had to be serious? I'm just talkin’ about gettin’ some ass s’all. Havin’ some fun while you're stuck here.” His lips curled up. Maybe he expected you to be taken aback by his bluntness, but you weren't. It just spurred you further.

“Oh, is that all? And how do you know I'm not getting’ dicked down on the daily by someone else? Hmmm?” You smirked when his eyes grew darker. Did you just make him mad? Jealous?

“Oh, sweet thing, I don't believe that for a second.” He chuckled. The air between you seemed to grow a little tense as he shifted on his feet a little.

He stepped a little closer, trying to close the gap between you.

“If that were true, you wouldn't be walkin' ‘round here with that stick up your ass.” He paused, looking you straight in the eye, “I think what ya’ need is someone to fuck this bratty attitude right out of ya’.”

You inched forward, letting your fingers graze his chest as you let them tip toe up.

“And you think you're just the man for the job?”

“Sure am.” He grinned, cocky, thinking he had you.

Your fingers moved up, up until you moved them away, only to boop his nose before completely pulling away and taking a step back.

“You're cute, you know that?” Using his own words that he'd thrown at you that night at the bar.

His mouth hung open slightly, as you turned to leave him there.

“Have a good night, Deputy.”

You faintly heard a “fuck” being muttered as you made your way over to the next aisle.

Two weeks.

Two weeks since your car broke down. Two weeks you’d been sleeping in a roach infested dump. Two weeks of sitting in said dump staring at the same four walls. Two weeks of reluctantly being the newest resident of Stark County.

Frank gave you another half-assed excuse as to why your damn car wasn’t finished this morning. You didn’t know whether he was telling the truth or blowing smoke up your ass for the hell of it. Either way, you were about to tear your hair out.

You volunteered for another double shift just to take your mind off of everything, telling Henry all of your woes for the 100th time, but he listened with a sympathetic ear as usual.

“Hey, not to pile anything on you, but do you think you could close up by yourself tonight? I’ve got to head out early.” He asked, hoping it wouldn’t get your panties even more twisted.

“I don’t mind. It’s not like anything is going on.” You held up your hands, looking around the desolate space. “And I would like to avoid going back to the room for as long as possible.” You felt a shiver run down your spine at the thought of sleeping there another night, though you knew it was inevitable.

He finished up what he was doing and slipped out the back.

It wasn’t unusual to be dead through the week, but this was almost unbearable. The last customer left about 30 minutes before Henry, leaving you alone with your thoughts weighing heavily once more.

It was currently a little past midnight, which meant you had two more hours before clocking out.

Most of the closing duties were done, now it was just you against the clock, hoping no one decided to stumble in here tonight keeping you any longer.

Your back was to the door, wiping down some newly washed glasses. As you put away another on the shelf, the front door flew open, startling you. When you jolted, you nearly dropped the glass but regained your composure.

Heavy footsteps were coming toward the bar as you turned around.

Shocked to see none other than Gator Tillman sliding into the stool directly in front of you. He looked disheveled. His usually perfectly slick hair mussed to the point it was falling in and around his face.

“Gator?” You asked hesitantly.

His eyes darted up to you, big and glossy, a little blood shot at the edges. His cheeks were flushed. Had he already been drinking before he got here?

“Oh, so you do know my name?” He huffed out. “And here I thought I was just Deputy Tillman.” It came out a little slurred.

His usual cheeky demeanor was gone. Replaced with this sarcastic asshole before you now; not an ounce of playfulness to be found. He seemed to be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Are you okay?” It seemed dumb to ask, but you couldn't help yourself.

“I'm fine Y/N. Just came here to blow off a little stream, s’all. Nothin’ to worry your pretty little head over.”

“Um sure… Gator, have you been drinking?”

He laughed out loud, lips curling into an unnatural smile. “I might’ve had a few. Might’ve run out. S’why I'm here, I need some more.”

“No, I think you need a cheeseburger and some water.” Placing a glass before him, sliding it into his view since he was staring at the bar top instead of you.

“Give me a Jack. No ice.” He said, without looking up.

“No. I'm not serving you.” Standing your ground could end up with a very pissed off Gator but at least your conscience would be clear. You were already thinking of how you could get his keys.

“Where's Henry? He'll give me what I ask for with no lip.” Finally cutting his eyes up. They were dark and intense. That usual flicker of light within now dim as if the alcohol had taken every semblance of the guy you’ve come to know.

“Not here. It's only me and I'm not serving you whiskey. I'll go make you a burger. Drink that damn water.”

He stared at the glass before him as if it would somehow magically turn into the Jack he'd asked for. Reluctantly, he finally picked it up and raised it to his lips, chugging the contents down within a few seconds.

He dropped it back to the bar top with a thud, still gripped in his hand.

“There, now give me a damn whiskey.”

“Gator, for the last time I'm not fucking serving you whiskey.” You had an idea. Your eyes flickered with delight at the prospect. And if he would cooperate, you'd both get what you needed.

He made to get up, staggering just a little, taking his keys from his pocket. This was your chance.

He looked away for a split second, he held his keys in his fist as he stood once more and turned slightly toward the door.

There was a key ring your fingers grabbed onto and firmly wanked them from his grasp.

He realized too late what was happening. His movements are slower than normal, trying but failing to reach back out for them.

“What the fuck. Give ‘em back.” He held out his hand expectantly.

“Hell no. You aren't going anywhere like this. You trying to kill yourself?” You raised your voice.

There was some look that passed over his features you couldn't quite read. He looked defeated at this moment.

��Look, just sit down. I'll make us both some burgers. We can, uh, have that meal you asked me to.”

That seemed to pique his interest, as his eyebrows edged upward. He nodded slightly and planted his ass back down on the stool as you breathed a small sigh of relief.

“Ok, just stay there. I'm going to lock the door and I'll make you the best damn burger you've ever had.” He didn't respond but you put another glass of water on the bar. “And drink that. I'll be back.”

You left him to it, locking the front door and clicking off the neon “Open” sign. You were sure no one would bother coming by this late and if Henry found out you'd just tell him the truth.

Henry usually cooked but had taught you the ins and outs of the kitchen as well. As the patties cooked on the grill top, you checked through the swinging door to make sure he was still there.

You panicked just a bit when he wasn't at the bar, but he had just moved across the room to one of the booths instead. And much to your surprise had brought the water with him. He wasn't thinking clearly but at least he could still follow directions.

You placed the plate in front of him as his eyes lit up.

“Don't say I never did anything nice for you.” You laughed and took the seat across from him.

He immediately started shoveling fries into his mouth. He wasn't much for manners, but you didn't fault him. He was eating like a man starved.

He hummed around the first bite of his burger as you smiled. You ate in silence, hoping a decent meal would sober him up for what you were about to suggest.

He finished his meal, wiping his mouth with his exposed sleeve and chugged the remaining water.

“Thanks, I need that.” He mumbled.

“Feel better?” You genuinely asked.

“Mmhmm… yeah actually. I uh…” he started.

“Nope, let's not do this ok. Don't start a sappy apology. I uh… may have had some ulterior motives here anyway.” You grinned as he finally lifted his head, furrowing his brows as his lips were set in a slight pout as if he were trying to decipher what you had just said.

“What? What are you…”

“I'm saying that I got you sober enough that at least I'm not taking advantage of you. I'd like to take you up on your offer.”

The realization hit, as he silently replied, “oh.”

He sat quietly for another moment.

“No. I don't need a goddamn pity fuck.”

You were taken aback by his brashness. Maybe this wasn't a good idea.

“I wasn't trying to give you a pity fuck you jackass. It just seemed like we could both use a distraction. But if you're not interested, never mind.” You started to ease out of the booth.

“Wait, wait.” He grabbed your wrist, halting your movements. His touch setting your skin ablaze.

He looked up at you with pleading, puppy dog eyes that pulled at your chest.

“Look, I am a jackass, ok. But I am interested. You've made it very clear you didn't want anything to do with me. Why the sudden change of heart?”

“What does it matter? We're both obviously dealing with some shit… like I said we could use a distraction.” You shrugged, pulling free from his grasp. Taking both of your plates as you slid from the seat.

He watched you disappear into the back of the bar.

Ok, she's giving me a chance. Don't fuck this up. I'm a winner. Come on. He tried to pump himself up.

It took a few minutes to wash up the dishes and put them away. Emerging from the back, he was still sitting in the booth.

“Listen,” you spoke up. “I've got a few more things to do before I can head out. You wanna just meet me at my room in about an hour?”

He stood, no stagger this time and in a few large strides he crossed the room stopping directly in front of you.

He took you by surprise, grabbing your hips, pulling you completely flush to his.

You let out a little squeak that his lips quickly cut off when they met yours.

He wasn't gentle, fingertips digging in where they met you through your shirt. You didn't need or want gentle. He was doing exactly what you hoped he would.

His lips were slightly chapped but glided against your cherry glossed ones with ease. You wrapped one hand around the base of his neck, nails raking through his hair as your other finds his bicep.

He was guiding you, fingers finding the hem of your shirt, skirting upwards, uncovering the supple flesh beneath.

His touch sent goosebumps across your bare skin. It was then his tongue danced along your bottom lip, begging for entry.

Your lips parted, his tongue immediately finding the opening, moving against yours so naturally.

You suddenly needed more, pulling him even closer, easing yourself upward to meet him on the tips of your toes.

It was suddenly a clash of teeth and tongue. Your hand glided from his bicep to his waist pulling him in.

He broke your kiss with a groan. It gave you both a moment to catch your breath. Pants being shared between you.

You took the opportunity, running your hand lower, palming his now very prominent bulge. You were surprised he was actually backing that cocky attitude.

“Fuck,” he hissed out, breath fanning your cheek.

“You're getting ahead of yourself big boy. I still need to close up.” You nipped at his neck, inching yourself backward.

“No, let me make you feel good. Let me taste you. Fuck, I need to taste you.” His voice raspy, whiny with need.

His words went straight to your core. Not sure what you were expecting, but him offering to go down on you wasn't one of them. Gator seemed very selfish, not someone who would so willingly give.

“Yeah, fuck yeah.” Willing yourself to answer as you nodded. But then it hit you. Where the fuck would you go in here?

As if he already knew what you were thinking, he grabbed your hand leading you over to the pool table.

He let go to shed his jacket into the nearest booth, as you slid up onto the felt lining, easing your ass over the lip.

You'd worn a skirt today, now thanking yourself for the easy access, as you spread your thighs to accommodate his frame.

He turned back to you. Eyes trailing up. You were like prey caught by the big, bad wolf as he licks his lips ready to devour you.

You leaned back, spreading your legs a little further, skirt rucking up, soaked panties on display.

He came to slot himself between your thighs, pulling your hips toward the edge to meet his hard cock coming to rest against your clothed core.

You had no choice but to wrap your arms around his neck to steady yourself as you gasped out.

“What's wrong, sweet thing?” He smirked, as he brought his hand up to the back of your head, threading his fingers through your hair tugging the roots making you meet his gaze.

“I…” smug bastard had the audacity to roll his hips when you tried to speak, nudging your clit slightly, pulling a small moan from you.

“Yeah, that's it. Let me hear those pretty sounds, yeah?”

This wasn't you. Letting a man reduce you to putty in his hands. You decided to throw him off, taking your legs and locking them firmly around his waist, and rolling your hips into his.

“Look at you, like a little whore in heat.” He lowered his head, lips ghosting the shell of your ear. “I fucking knew you wanted me.”

You gasped out again when he brought his broad palms against your thighs pushing them back against the table. His thumbs rubbing higher, up under the fabric of your skirt making you shudder.

He pulled back slightly to look down at you.

“Now, be a good girl and sit still f’me.”

His fingertips traveled up, hooking into the fabric so he could pull them down, lifting your ass so he could remove them.

Once he had you bare, he tucked them into his pocket for safe keeping.

His eyes darkened, breath hitching slightly once he caught sight of your bare cunt.

You were positively soaked, glistening before him.

Feeling a little brazen, you spoke up “Are you going to put your money where your mouth is or just stare at me all night like you've never seen a pussy before? ” Wiggling your ass closer to the edge as you spoke.

He didn't respond, you watched as he licked at his bottom lip and began lowering himself to the floor. Once he knelt in front of you, face to face with you, he finally spoke.

“Look at that sweet little pussy, already drooling f’me.” He slid his hands under your ass, pulling you closer to the edge, closer to his waiting mouth.

He pushed your left thigh up over his shoulder, scooting closer still, using his arm to force your other leg further open to accommodate him. His hand delicately moves your skirt further up your hips giving him full access.

You jolt when he lightly runs a fingertip up your slit. Not enough to penetrate but shooting embers through your core.

“I bet she tastes so good, huh?” Placing a kiss to your inner thigh, then another and another. Working his way toward where you needed him most.

“Please…” it's as if the word left on its own accord as it hung in the air between you. It was so breathy you'd hoped he'd mistake it for another moan.

“What's that sweet thing?” No such luck.

You look down at him, he's grinning over your mound with this mischievous glint to his eyes. You know what he's about to say before it even tumbles from his lips.

“Please what baby?”

You roll your eyes letting your head thump back against the tabletop.

“Please Gator, quit teasing. I ne… want you to fuck me.” You quickly huffed out.

He chuckled lightly, letting his finger and thumb part your lips, while his breath fanned over your sticky folds.

He hummed as he looked down, catching a glance once more before he brought his tongue down. Flattening it against your core, licking a fat stripe from your leaking entrance as he let the tip finally catch your clit.

“Oh fuck!” You moaned out. Relief. It flooded through your veins and much as it ignited you further.

He didn't stop, moving his tongue down and back up to expertly swirl it against your puffy clit.

Your back arched, pushing your pussy further into his face. His eyes flicked up to you, relishing the way he was already making you come undone.

He moved his hand from around your ass to wrap it around your leg, making sure you couldn't squirm away as his lips came to wrap around your bundle of nerves. Sucking harshly, then soothing it again with a soft lick.

You fisted your hands at your sides, fighting the urge to run your fingers through his hair.

You felt his thick finger tease your entrance as his lips remained sealed to you.

“Mmmm… yes, please. I need more.” You tried to grind your hips, but he had you firmly pinned.

He slowly inserted his finger, pushing into your velvety walls with ease, as another wanton moan left your lips.

He pulled out, only to insert a second upon re-entry. His fingers alone were filling you up in such a way your own never could.

Your cunt pulsed around him, as he hummed into you, the vibrations only adding to your pleasure.

It had been a long time since you'd been touched by anyone but yourself and your orgasm was creeping up at an embarrassingly fast rate.

He curved his digits upward with every drag, as he was hit that sweet, spongy spot within you. You knew you wouldn't last much longer.

“Gator don't stop. Right there!” He was happy to oblige, keeping his current pace but applied more pressure to your clit, working his tongue back and forth.

Your hands finally found purchase, tugging at his hair. He hummed again, filing that mental note away for later.

“It feels so good, don't… mmmm… don't fucking stop!”

Those embers were fully formed flames, licking up your spine, igniting every nerve within your core.

The pressure kept building, as you were teetering along the edge, ready to let go.

Your orgasm hit with blinding force, your legs began to shake around him as sparks soared behind your eyes, with a cry of his name he worked you through your high.

He unattached his lips, “that's it sweet thing, cum on my fingers. Yeah, you look so goddamn pretty like this, and I haven't even fucked you yet.”

Your cunt clenched around him once more with his words, as you tried to pull away from him, starting to feel oversensitive. He pulled his fingers from you, only to wrap his lips around them sucking them clean of any remnants of your arousal.

“Mmmm… so fucking sweet. I knew you'd taste good.”

He watches the way your chest is still heaving, trying to catch your breath. He takes the opportunity to raise himself up, pushing himself back between your thighs.

His cock is fucking aching and rock hard. He'd fuck you right here and now if you'd let him.

He leans slightly back over you, his cock nudging your cunt, as you whimper and finally open your eyes in time to see his shit eating grin, as he wipes the rest of your arousal from his face with the back of his hand.

“You good?” He finally asks.

There was something in his eyes that told you that you were in for a long night.

You nod pathetically, as you attempt to sit up, but your bones feel like jello.

He closes the distance, caging you in, hands splayed out on either side of you, as he speaks close to your ear, breath fanning your cheek.

“Yeah? You want me t’bend you over right here or are we going back t’your room? Your choice sweet thing, but either way I'm fuckin’ ya’ now.”

He pulls back slightly to gauge your response. You look up at him, soft doe eyes and pouty kiss-bitten lips. He's fucked. He knows it right then and there.

“Fuck, Gator. We can't fuck here. Let me grab my purse.” You push at his chest to give you some space.

He takes a few steps back, as you hop down from the pool table on wobbly legs and straighten your skirt back down.

“You aren't closin’ up?” He chuckled.

“Fuck it,” waving your hand dismissively as you walk to the back. “I work morning shift; I'll do it then.”

You quickly gathered your belongings, throwing your coat over your shoulders, shutting off the lights as you head back up front. You knew you'd be kicking yourself in the few hours you'd have to be back in for your shift but at this moment you couldn't find it within yourself to care.

You shot through the double doors, as his hands reached out and grabbed you from behind, pulling you in as he nuzzled his face into your neck.

“I can't keep my hands off of you. You're so fuckin’ hot.”

You giggle, feeling like a horny teen. It was new, exciting and as you reminded yourself just for tonight.

“Gator, come on. Let's go.” He grabbed a handful of your ass before reluctantly letting you go.

He followed you closely out the door, as you turned to lock up, he stayed there, head on a swivel, surveying the parking lot void of any life this time of night.

“Okay.” You said, pushing your hands into your pockets, suddenly realizing you still had his keys.

“Oh shit, here.” You dug them out from your purse and handed them over.

“Thanks, sweet thing, come on.” He went ahead of you and jumped into the driver's seat, turning the ignition just as quickly. You pulled yourself up, taking the opportunity to scoot right in next to him, thigh pressed tightly into his.

He stiffens as you place your hand high on his thigh, sliding it slowly, close to where his cock rests, still straining against his confines just begging to be released.

At the same time, you press your face close to his jaw, placing small kisses up, nibbling his ear lobe. You continued sliding your hand further up, finally rubbing him through his pants, causing his breath to hitch.

“Fuck, ok, ok. Let me just get us across the road.”

You giggled out, as you sat back in the seat. He seemed just as eager as you were.

“Ok big boy, let's go.”

The Midway was almost directly across the road from the Lucky Lizard, making it a quick trip.

“Which room is it?” He asked, eyes cutting to you for a moment.

“203, just up there.” Pointing in the general direction, as he slowed when he got close.

“I'll let you out, I've got to park ‘round back.” He stopped directly in front of the door.

“Yeah, sure.” You understood but it didn't hurt any less. You knew it was a dump, home to more than a couple of drug addicts but you also knew his job. It would be an embarrassment to be seen here.

You let it roll off you, as you swung the door open and stepped inside. It gave you a few minutes to freshen up and spritz a little perfume to your pulse points, as he knocked on the door.

You crossed the small space, opening the door wide, bidding him in quickly.

“I know it's not much,” you began.

“S’fine.” He said, looking around the desolate space. The only hint that you lived here was the large suitcase in the corner overflowing with your clothes and shoes.

He let his jacket fall from his shoulders, placing it on top of the dresser, toeing his boots off there as well. You had already removed your outerwear leaving you in your skirt and short sleeved shirt you'd worn all day.

He didn't look your way as he sat on the end of the bed, letting out a large sigh as the springs groaned under his weight.

For a moment he seemed distracted, with this faraway look in his eye that had you second guessing yourself, as his hand scrubbed down the side of his face.

As if he felt the weight of your stare, he looked up, “C’mere sweet thing,” patting his thighs. In normal circumstances something like that would piss you off but at this point you'd let it slide.

You crossed the small distance between you. As soon as you were close enough, he grabbed your hips once more, but you were ready this time as you steadied yourself.

Your fingertips hooked under his chin lifting lightly so he would have to look at you. His eyes were half lidded, from lust or the late hour you weren't sure, but his gaze was soft, pupils blown wide.

“Hey handsome, how about I return the favor?” You purred, as his hand roamed the expanse of your thighs, finding your ass and pulling you further into him.

You trailed a fingertip across his jaw, nail catching on stubble that was trying to form as you watched his Adam's apple bob.

Trailing it lower, down his broad chest as you began to sink to the floor between his thighs, knees pressing into the rough carpeting.

Your hands came to rest in either of his thighs, as he eagerly undid his belt and unsnapped the button of his pants. That's when you stopped him.

“Let me,” your voice was sticky sweet, as you batted his hands away, replacing them with your own, taking the zipper and slowly lowering it.

You palmed at his still clothed erection, eliciting a soft hiss from him.

He groaned, as your fingers trailed to his waistband, he aided you by lifting his hips letting you pull his pants and boxers down his hairy thighs.

His cock sprang free, the head landing just at his navel. You knew he was big, but you hadn't expected this much. You were staring at a goddamn python.

He was long, but also thick. His fat mushroom tip was flushed, a prominent vein travels down the underside of his shaft. The thought of him between your legs made your thighs involuntary clench.

“Fuck,” it was just a whisper, but he still heard it as he smirked.

“What's the matter, sweet thing? Never seen a cock before?” That teasing tone was back but you rolled your eyes in response, wrapping your hand around as much of his base that you could.

You angled him more toward you, leaning down spitting on the tip, as his hips bucked up slightly.

“Fuck, you're a dirty girl.” He grunted, the women he usually fucks were all to timid to take charge or even offer a blow job.

You ran your hand up his length, reaching the top, smearing the mixture of your saliva and his precum expertly. Taking the time to run your thumb across his slit and ruddy head at an agonizingly slow pace before finally stroking back down, as you began pumping lightly.

His breath hitched as he watched you, you were focused solely on him and the task at hand.

You brought your mouth closer, lips sticky with newly reapplied gloss as you placed a soft kiss to the tip, before flicking your tongue to the same spot. Getting the response you were after when you heard him whimper.

You grinned against him, ready to destroy this man.

You wrapped your lips around him, sucking lightly before flattening your tongue, taking as much of him as your mouth and throat would allow.

“Oh fuck,” he moaned out, as if you’d taken him by surprise. His face screwed up with pleasure as he closed his eyes. You wondered if it had been a while since he'd felt a woman's soft touch, so used to his calloused hands providing his own relief.

As the salty tang of him hit your tongue you moaned around him. The vibrations made him shudder, relaxing your throat to take him further as you continued to stroke his length.

You began to bob your head, hollowing your cheeks applying more pressure to his member.

“Goddamn sweet thing,” he breathed out, daring to glance down. You were a vision with his dick between your lips. When you looked up at him there were unshed tears along your lash line. It was enough to make him cum right then and there.

It was then you decided to pick up your pace, seeing his fucked-out expression spurred you on.

“Fuck,” he hissed out, gripping the back of your hair, tugging you back until you pulled off with a wet pop.

“You keep doing that, I'm gonna cum. I need to fuck you.” You nodded, as those words went straight to your core, pussy clenching around nothing.

“You uh, you got a condom? I didn't really come prepared.”

“Gator, I just had my mouth around your cock, if I was worried about that I wouldn't have gone down on you. I'm on birth control.” You shrugged.

“Fuck, yeah ok.” He nodded.

You quickly rose to your feet, slotting your thighs on either side of his, sinking down as his cock met your bare cunt, gliding easily through your folds bumping your clit on the way.

You moaned out in unison, as he found the hem of your shirt pulling it over your head. His lips immediately finding the tender flesh of your neck, just below your jaw sucking a small bruise there before soothing it with his tongue.

His hands palm your tits through your bra, before quickly finding the clasp at the back. He's undoing it with expertise, as the straps begin to slide down your shoulders.

He wastes no time, he pushes the cups down as his large palms engulf your breasts. His calloused hands are a little rough against your nipples, causing another moan to escape you.

You pull away slightly to capture his lips into a heated kiss. He wraps his arms around you, only to lift you off the bed with him, moving to lay you onto your back.

You let out a small squeak of surprise but he's immediately back between your thighs, gliding his cock between through your soaked folds.

“Mmmm… Gator, please don't tease me anymore.” You huffed out.

He chuckled lightly in response, but sat up to remove his shirt, kicking his pants the rest of the way off his legs. You followed his lead, lifting your hips and sliding your skirt down your plush thighs.

“Fuck, look at you.” He said, lowering himself back down.

He brought two fingers up to your lips, as he barked out “open.” Sliding them in, letting them close around his large digits and letting your tongue swirl against the rough pads.

“Good girl,” he brought them straight to your aching clit, rubbing tight circles against you.

“Mmmm… fuck.” You moaned out, keening into his touch.

He bent down, laving his tongue between your breasts. His mouth was hot, as he sucked your hardened bud between his lips. Your hands flew to his hair, pushing it back from his face tugging harshly at the roots.

He didn't let up, as he moved off your clit to pinch the other between his thumb and finger.

The sensation has you crying out. You weren't in the mood for any more teasing. The ache between your legs was almost unbearable.

You were surprised at his patience this far. Half expecting him to start railing you as soon as he entered the room.

You pulled his face up to yours, giving him no choice but to crawl up your body, meeting you lips once more. You firmly locked your legs around his waist and rolled your hips.

You swallowed each other's moans, as you repeated the motion, his tip catching your clit at just the right angle.

“No more teasing. Let's see if you know how to use that thing or if that cocky attitude is all you have.” Wiggling your hips against him as you spoke.

His eyes darkened, as he looked up at you as if it ignited something within him.

“I know how to use it, just wonderin’ if that tight pussy can handle it.” He reached between you, lining himself up with your entrance as you spread your legs further apart.

His fat tip breaches, as he pushes in slightly with a groan.

“Oh fuck,” throwing your head back, already feeling the stretch.

“Fuck, you are tight,” he hisses, watching himself as he sinks a little deeper.

Your brow starts to scrunch, closing your eyes as your mouth goes slack, a silent moan trying to escape but it feels caught in your throat.

He starts to move again, inch by inch, he slowly splits you open. You're trying not to think about the smug look he's surely got on his face. If you had opened your eyes, you would have seen he was just as fucked out as you were.

Your nails dig crescents where they rest, fingers gripping his shoulders tighter the deeper he goes.

He finally pushes to the hilt, as you let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, coming out as a whimper.

He looks down at you then, the almost pained expression on your face pulls him out of his own stuper.

“Hey, you ok?” The softness of his tone grabbed your attention the most. You looked back up to see his eyes worrying over your features.

You nodded, “mhmm… I just need a minute. It's been a while and, not to inflate your already huge ego, but you're not exactly average.”

His lips curled up into that crooked smile like the first time you'd seen him at the bar. It genuinely made you smile back.

The pinch slowly started to subside, as you asked him to move.

He slowly pulled back, almost removing himself completely, immediately sinking back in. He was taking his time, not at all what you expected. You’d wanted rough, for him to fuck your goddamn brains out.

“Gator, I need more. Harder.” Your heels pressed into his ass to get your point across.

“You sure?”

“Yes, goddamnit! Fuck me!”

He shoved himself back, pulling out of you completely.

“What are you…?”

“Y’want it rough, flip over. Ass up.” When you didn't immediately move, he added “c’mon sweet thing. Up.”

You did as you were told, rolling over and arching your ass up. You looked over your shoulder, as he grabbed onto your hip lining himself up with your dripping entrance.

“You asked for it, whore.” He breathed out as he pushed back in hard enough to punch the air from your lungs.

He wasn't soft this time, didn't bother to ask if you were okay.

You whined out with each pump, as he started to set a brutal pace. He began to pull your hips back in time to meet each thrust.

“That it, huh? This what y’wanted?”

You didn't answer, nodding as best you could with your cheek pressed into the mattress.

His hand came down hard across your ass cheek that sent you lurching forward.

“I asked you a question. This what y'wanted? Huh?”

“Yeah, yes. It's… it's what I… mmmm… wanted.” Panting out as he continued to rail you.

He leaned over, reaching his arm under your chest placing his hand around your throat. Squeezing lightly, as if he were testing the waters.

When your pussy fluttered and another moan fell from your lips when he applied more pressure it gave him all the go ahead he needed.

He hauled you up with him; your back pressed tightly to his sweaty chest with his hand still wrapped around your throat as you gripped his wrist and forearm.

He slowed his motions, only to put his lips close to your ear, “You know what they call whores who like to fuck cops? They're badge bunnies. Y’wanna be my little bunny since y’like bouncing on this cock?”

“Fuck, Gator.” You wailed out.

“I'll take that as a yes.”

He releases your neck, letting you fall forward against the mattress, holding your hip with one hand as he brings the other up between your legs as he quickly finds your clit.

You grip the sheets, as he begins rubbing harsh circles there, his length continuously stimulating that sweet spot within you with every drag against your velvety walls. It had you clenching around him as that coil within you tightened.

“You close bunny?” A little bunny, trapped by the big bad wolf. Ensnared. Nowhere to run.

“Ughhh, fuck, yeah.” All coherent thoughts pushed from your mind.

He was working you toward the edge, tighter and tighter your lower belly wound.

“Please, don't stop! Don't stop!”

He didn't let up, working your clit with the same, unrelenting pace as his cock split you open again and again in the best possible way.

“I'm not sweet thing. Can I… fuck… can I cum in this pussy?” He grunted out, trying to stave off his own. He wanted to feel you cum around his cock.

“Yes! Cum in me!”

“Fuck, I need you to cum all over my dick. C’mon baby. Need to feel you. Give it to me.”

His words only encouraged your orgasm, that coil wound tighter and tighter until it finally snapped.

You came with a shout of his name followed by “oh God, oh God, oh God” as those fireworks flew behind your eyes. It was the best orgasm anyone had ever given you. You were fucking ruined.

He continued to work you through it until you whimpered into the sheets below.

He grabbed your hips with both hands, surely to leave bruises in their wake, pulling you back to meet his punishing thrusts.

Your senses were overwhelmed and your pussy was starting to ache from overuse.

“Gator, please…” you weren't sure what you were begging for.

“Yeah, Bunny? Yeah? I'm gonna fuckin’ ruin this pussy for anyone else. Gonna be all mine from now on.” He started blabbering.

His hips stuttered, thrusts becoming a little erratic, as he started to spill inside of you. He pulled your hips flush to his, as he painted your walls with his thick ropes of cum.

“Fuckfuckfuck… that's it, that's fuckin' it.”

He stilled leaning over your back, as your legs began to give out, releasing the grip on you as he finally pulled out.

He rolled off of you, lying there beside you as you both caught your breath.

“Care if I take a nap here? I'm up in a few hours back on patrol. Don't feel like drivin’ all the way across town.”

It caught you off guard. You hadn't actually had someone sleep beside you after sex in years, but it was just one night. He'd most likely be gone before the sunrise.

“Uh, sure. I'm going to shower.” Getting up without turning back to him, you heard him mumble something under his breath as he made himself more comfortable throwing the covers over his waist.

You showered quickly just to scrub the day from yourself. The hot water heater didn't last more than 10 minutes in this damn place.

When you were finished, Gator was laying on his stomach. Arms stretched under his pillows, hair strewn in his face as soft snores escaped him.

Your eyes drank him in. Curves and plains of his strong back, moles and freckles scattered like a constellation. The sheet just barely covers his ass. You softly roll your eyes when you notice his boxers on the floor by the bed.

Your gaze flicked up, noticing a tattoo on his bicep. Snorting to yourself when you realized what it was. It was hideous but very much on brand. Making a mental note to make sure to give him hell for it later.

The bed was small, but he had scooted as far to the right that he could, giving you room to lay down beside him. Thoughtful, again he surprised you.

You threw on a tank and some clean panties, easing yourself in beside him under the sheets. He shifted just a bit, mumbling to himself before settling back in.

You turned over on your side away from him, making sure to keep a little distance between you before finally drifting off.

Gator woke a couple of hours later, turning slightly to see your sleeping form beside him. It was still dark out, a sliver of light coming in through the slit in the curtains just enough to illuminate you.

He tried to be quiet as he gathered his clothes from around the room easing them back on his body.

He checked his phone. More than a few missed calls and one single text from Roy.

Where the fuck are you?

He knew he'd get more shit as soon as he got home. After their blowout last night he's surprised no one came looking for him but that would actually mean Roy cared about his well-being.

He sat back down on the bed as softly as he could, trying not to disturb you. He watched a cockroach crawl across the toe of his boot as he laced it. His lip curled up in disgust at the thought of you living here.

Maybe he could help you out if you decided to stay but he knew that was wishful thinking. You'd also made it clear last night was a one time thing but maybe he could change your mind.

He used his phone as a light to find a small notepad and pen on your nightstand. Jotting down his number, with a simple just in case scrawled out.

He took one more look at you sleeping peacefully, slowly letting his fingers trace the curve of your cheek, moving the hair from your face.

He finally understood what his dad had always warned him about. He felt weak with this overwhelming urge to protect you. He didn't really understand it. But deep down he was hoping you'd somehow feel the same.

You woke up with a stretch and a groan. You'd slept cramped, pushed to the edge, careful not to touch the man beside you.

You turned over to a cold spot, suddenly wondering when he'd left.

Sitting up, you reached for your water at your bedside, raising it to your lips but stopped, noticing a note left there.

You gingerly picked it up. He'd left his number.

You thought about tossing it but instead grabbed your phone and input the info, quickly moving screens and typing out a text then erasing it.

You chewed the skin on your thumb, as you looked at the blank message, typing it out again.

Thanks. You took my mind off shit for a while.

Hitting send before chickening out, immediately slamming the phone down on the bed.

One time. It was supposed to be a one time thing.

He had responded to your text later that day with:

Sure bunny. you free tonite?

You had thoroughly ignored it for 2 hours before you texted him back, telling him what time he could swing by the motel after a customer had pissed you off.

It had been like that most nights since.

There were also those nights when he'd pick you up from work, always making sure to come in before close.

Taking the same seat at the bar, you'd happily grab him his usual Jack Daniels over ice. It was small talk at first but gradually became a little more.

You would laugh at his stupid jokes or tell him that he should tell his dad off after he had yet another blow out with him. He left out a lot of the details but you had inferred enough to know he was a piece of shit.

And after close, he'd slip his tongue past your lips as soon as you walked out the door, kissing you hard enough to melt the rest of the day away. His hands were all over you until you managed to get him into the truck to make that small drive across the road.

You’d fucked on just about every surface of that motel room, including some sketchy shower sex that almost landed you both in the hospital when you’d lost your footing.

He couldn’t take you back to his dad’s house, so a week later, he’s got you in the cab of his truck bouncing on his cock like your life depended on it.

The windows were fogged up, anyone passing by could easily tell what was currently playing out. He’d parked in a clearing off a gravel road, close to his ranch but far enough away that no one would bother the two of you.

His cock was kissing your cervix each time your hips met his, at this angle it felt like he was in your guts. It was on the verge of being too much but that familiar ache in your lower belly told you to keep going. You were almost to the finish line.

He currently held his hand against your throat, after he'd figured out you liked it, he started taking it a little further each time.

“I feel her gripping me, your close Bunny. Keep fuckin’ goi…” He was interrupted when a banging on the glass startled you both.

Your movements halted, both looking like deer in headlights.

“Gator, c’mon out son. Need a moment.” Roy's voice rang out against the silence.

“Fuck,” he hissed, through gritted teeth, throwing his head back onto the headrest as you quickly moved off of him, pulling down your skirt and straightening your hair sitting up in the passenger seat.

He shoved his now softening cock back into his pants, zipping them up and jumping out of the truck, slamming it shut.

You picked up your panties from the dirty floor, and shoved them into your purse. From this vantage point you couldn't hear much of what was being said, but it was mostly Roy’s muffled voice coming through.

The more you learned about their relationship the more it turned your stomach. It was one-sided, Roy asking him to jump and Gator immediately asking how high.

You had made up your mind about Roy after that first meeting. The way he treated Gator was disgusting.

After a few more agonizing minutes, the truck door finally opened back up to reveal a very crestfallen Gator.

He hopped in without saying a word, turning the ignition and throwing it into drive. He punched the gas, throwing you back into the seat.

“What the fuck, Gator?!” You yelled, gripping the door as he peeled onto the gravel road.

“Daddy really put you in a bad mood, huh?” It slipped out with a patronizing tone.

“Fuck you!” He spat, pulling his vape from his pocket, letting it hit his lips expelling that sickly sweet smelling fruit that you've come to loathe.

“I mean, we tried that before we were so rudely interrupted back there.” You laughed to yourself.

“Goddamnit,” he hit the steering wheel with his fist, “Just shut the fuck up!”

“Fine. Just take me back to the Midway and don't bother texting me later when you get bored. Fuck you, asshole!” You huffed, crossing your arms and sinking a little deeper into the seat before staring out the window.

Regret started to pool within you. It was bound to happen. It always ended like this. You could never hold your tongue, letting insults roll off so easily.

It felt like the longest ride back across town. He'd pulled up to the curb not even bothering to put the truck in park as you hopped out slamming the door behind you.

A few days passed successfully avoiding him all together. You'd contemplated deleting his number, your thumb hovering over the button each time, then slamming your phone back down.

It was just sex. You could cut ties now and let it be. Once that damn car is done, skipping town would be easy.

It was another gloomy, snowy day in Lehigh. And yet another excuse from Frank.

The heat in your room quit working, so you'd spent the morning moving your stuff down to another room that Maggie had gotten ready for you.

You'd hoped a shower might clear your head, relax you for a bit. It seemed to only make things worse. You were tired.

Checking your phone you were met with a text you'd been dreading.

You still in town?

Ignoring it, you laid down hoping a nap would do you some good.

Waking a couple hours later, you had a few missed calls and more texts from Gator.

Can we talk?

I came by the motel. Your room was empty. Did you leave?

Hello?

You groaned, sitting up.

Finally relenting and typing out a reply.

You almost sound worried, big boy. I'm fine. You can kindly fuck off now.

It began to buzz in your hand as you hit ignore. It continued off and on most of the day. A few more missed calls and messages, later that afternoon it finally stopped.

You breathed a small sigh of relief, curling back under the covers shutting the world out. Just how you preferred it.

You dozed in and out of consciousness. The TV provides soothing background noise keeping you snoozing all afternoon.

You were wrenched from your slumber when someone began to pound on the door. Dazed for a few seconds, before the pounding started again.

“Fuck, give me a second!” You yelled across the room, stumbling from the bed uncaring how you looked, sleep shorts and thin tank top with your hair askew.

Immediately jerking the door open, you’re face to face with a very agitated looking Gator. He must have been working today, dressed in his vest and gloves.

“Fuck no.” You said, and started to close the door. He was quicker, placing his boot clad foot in the way preventing you from pushing it shut.

“Move Gator.” You hissed.

“You’ve been ignoring me.”

“No shit. I told you not to bother. I should have blocked your ass. Now, move!” You shoved a little harder to no avail.

“What the fuck are you mad for, huh? You didn't get to cum that day, that it? There's a lot of things you don't understand. A lot of shit I can't talk about.”

You swung the door open, as you locked eyes with his.

“Oh, no I get it. I see it. You let daddy tell you what to do. You've been sneaking around with a whore and finally got caught, right?” He looked away, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. Bingo.

Nodding your head as he finally looked back up to you.

“Yeah, that's what I thought. It's fine.”

“No, it's not fine.” He finally spoke up. “Can I come in? Just for a few minutes.”

“Why, Gator? We both know what this was. Just some fun, nothing serious. Remember? You don't owe me an explanation. You don't owe me anything.” You laughed, but it died out once you noticed the look on his face.

If it was nothing serious, why did he look at you like you'd just knocked the wind out him? Big, glossy puppy dog eyes just like that first night you'd hooked up.

If it was nothing serious, why did your chest ache at the thought of hurting him?

“Gator, I…” You couldn't finish that sentence, he moved so quickly and in your groggy state before you could register what was happening, he placed one hand on your hip as he brought the other up to cradle the back of your head.

He kissed you so deeply, yet it had you yearning for more. You surprised him when you kissed him back, sucking his bottom lip between yours before letting go to look back up at him.

“Fuck, Y/N. I've… I've fuckin' missed you.” It came out quickly. A rushed confession you'd been expecting but to hear him say it out loud, only solidified what you'd been feeling. The reason you'd been so depressed the last couple of days missing his company.

You'd been on your own for so long, you'd forgotten what it actually meant to miss someone. For someone to miss you. It wasn't just about the sex anymore.

“It's only been a couple days.” You grinned, pushing your fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck.

“I know, I just thought you'd left and…”

You brought a finger to his lips.

“It's ok. I'm here.” For now.

“Yeah, you are Bunny. And I'm not letting you get away so easily.”

You didn't want to put a label on this or did you? Would that be so bad?

You started moving quickly, helping him out of his jacket, his shirt flying over his head in a flurry. He walked you back, letting your knees hit the edge of the mattress, laying you back slowly.

His lips sealed to yours with a searing kiss. You were needy. Tongue and teeth. Pushing and pulling at each other.

Your hands flew to his buckle, undoing it with ease. Taking him in your palm as he moaned into your mouth.

He palmed your breast through your shirt as his thumb grazed over your nipple. Your body arched into him, already craving more as he began peppering kisses along your jaw.

“I fuck… Gator… I need you. Now.”

“I've got to get you warmed up sweet thing.” He chided.

“No, now. Please.” You whimpered.

He moved his hand lower, sliding your sleep shorts to the side, immediately his fingers trailed to your entrance already dripping arousal.

“Fuck, so wet.”

“I told you, I need you. Don't make me beg.” You pleaded.

He moved his digits up, swirling them around your clit, eliciting those sweet sounds he was looking for.

Removing his hand from you, he lifted himself up so he could push his boxers past his hips. He brought his palm up to your mouth, “Spit. Yeah, good girl.”

Bringing his hand to his cock, smearing a mixture of your spit and his precum down his length.

He slid your sleep shorts back over with one hand and guided himself to your entrance.

You had to will yourself to breathe as his tip began to stretch your inner walls. It was too much and not enough.

He slowly filled your aching pussy, as you wrapped your legs around him, eager to have him pressed into you.

“How are you always so goddamn tight?” He said, as you whimpered out, his cock pushing in to the hilt.

Immediately, he pulls out, only to push back in feeling deeper than before. The force of his hips pushing you further up the mattress with each thrust.

The pretty noises he drew from you only made him double his efforts. Picking up his pace, but rolling his hips a little upward each time. The wiry curls at the base of his cock nudging your clit each time his hips meet yours.

“Gator, I'm… mmmm… I'm close.”

“Yeah, bunny? Gonna strangle my cock? Gonna let me have it?”

You nodded as your eyes rolled back, it was closer than you thought.

Your orgasm hit with a scream of his name, as your pussy clamped down like a vice around him.

“Oh, fuck.” He tried to work you through it, but with your cunt pulsing around him he was done. He spilled his thick ropes inside your velvety walls as you milked everything from him.

“Fuckfuckfuck, filling this pussy full baby.”

He finally stilled, collapsing onto you, nearly crushing you in the best possible way.

He moved his arms up under your back pressing his face into your chest, mumbling something you couldn't quite hear as you brushed the hair from his face.

“What, baby?” You whispered down to him.

Baby. Baby. Baby. The first time you'd called him by a pet name. He grinned from his spot on your chest.

“Nothing, sweet thing. Just talkin’ to myself.”

You hummed absentmindedly, raking your fingers through his hair.

“How'd you know where I was?” Suddenly remembering all of those desperate texts and calls.

He pulled his head up to look at you, resting his chin on your sternum.

“Well, I asked that lady at the front desk. Tough old broad to crack.” You giggled, Maggie would never rat you out. “So, I started bangin’ on all the doors until I found yours.”

“Gator! You're crazy.” You laughed out.

“Crazy for you.” He mumbled pulling you on for a slow kiss.

“Wanna shower and stay the night?” You asked when he pulled away.

“Of course Bunny.” The nickname was unfortunately sticking around but you didn't mind.

You'd showered together, he didn't care that he'd go back home to Roy in the morning smelling like your vanilla body wash or rose scented shampoo. He'd made up his mind you were worth the shit he'd hear from him. That's all it was, shit.

He pulled you into his chest as you curled up into the sheets. Neither of you were very tired so you watched some TV and talked long into the night until your eyes grew heavy.

He'd be there when you woke up this time, groggy smiles and giggles between the sheets as he fucked you slow, taking you to breakfast afterwards.

It was the first time you hadn't felt like you were hidden away.

After that last night, things began to shift between you. The lingering looks, soft touches and post orgasmic bliss of tangling your limbs together while falling asleep wasn't something you shared with someone you didn't care about.

The secrets shared in the dark, confessions from you both crumbling that wall you had built up so high you were sure nothing would bring it down, especially someone like Gator Tillman.

He's arrogant, disgusting and rude. But somehow exactly what you need because he'd do anything to show you he's there for you.

You know it wasn't a coincidence your car was fixed the day after mentioning it to him. Frank had been jerking you around, thinking he could get more money out of you.

He was sporting a newly broken nose and wrist when he handed over the keys with a frown etched to his face.

The car was fixed. The one thing holding you back from leaving Lehigh for good.

As you pulled up to the Midway, he was parked there waiting for you, leaned against the truck, his favorite green cap on backwards with a cloud of smoke exiting his lips, slipping his vape back into his pocket when he spotted you.

You got out, your heart hammering in your chest. Neither of you ever had questioned what might come next.

He shoved his hands into his pockets as you came to stand in front of him.

“So?” He tilted his head, looking down at you.

“So…” You looked at the keys held in your fist. That voice in the back of your head kept warning you. Time to run, little bunny. Make your escape while you still can.

“Your car's fixed. You uh… plannin’ on leavin’?”

“I haven't thought about it.”

He snorted, “Yeah, that's bullshit.”

He moved, as you watched him walk around to the front of the truck.

“Hop in. I wanna show ya’ somethin’.”

He drove you across town, and winding down a few back roads.

“If you wanted to go parking, you could’ve just said so, handsome.” You laughed.

He rolled his eyes, “It's not that. Just trust me.”

Trust. Such a powerful word. Something the two of you built over the last month. You did trust him.

You reached over to intertwine your fingers through his, as he smiles back at you.

He pulled up to a house off to itself, on the smaller side but it was quaint and charming.

“What're we doing?” You asked as he parked.

“You'll see. C'mon.”

You followed behind as he led you to the front door, producing a key and opening it for you.

“Whose house is this?”

“God Bunny, you ask too many damn questions. Get your ass in there.” He nods, leaning on the doorframe as you walk past.

It's a two bedroom, one bath home. Nicely kept. Clean. But you were still confused as to why you were standing here.

“She's yours if you wan’ it.” He finally said, as you whirled back around to face him.

“What're you talking about?” Your brows furrow, confused by the sudden statement.

“Well, I mean, if you wanted to stay here in Lehigh. It's a rental.” He shrugged. “And, no girl of mine is stayin’ in that roach infested dump another day.”

You felt heat creep up your cheeks, but shook your head. “Gator, I can't afford this place.”

“Sure you can sweet thing. It's a steal at $500 a month.” Placing his arm across your shoulders, pulling you into him.

"$500? That's cheaper than the motel.” You squinted up at him, moving from his grasp. “What did you do?”

“Me? I didn’t do anything!” Gesturing to himself. “What makes you think I did somethin’?” He finished the sentence with a not so subtle grin.

"This place is easily worth double that. So, Gator Tillman, I'll ask you again. What did you do?”

"I didn't do anything. Just know someone owes me a favor s'all." You eyed him suspiciously, still wondering if it was a half truth.

"Well, I'm sure I’ll still need the deposit, so it'll be at least another month."

"No Bunny, like I said, someone owes me.”

You mulled it over for a moment, chewing your bottom lip.

“I can't.” You watched his face fall, but you quickly put your arms around his waist, pulling him in. “Not unless you stay here with me.”

He wrapped his arms around you, resting his chin on top of your head.

“So, you stayin’?” He mumbles into your hair.

“For now. Until you piss me off.” You smiled from where your face was pressed into his chest.

No more running, that urge was quelled with him. You finally felt at home.

Home was never a place to you, so it made sense that it ended up being a person.

#gator tillman #🐊#gator tillman fanfiction #gator tillman smut #gator tillman x fem!reader #gator tillman x reader #gator x fem!reader #gator smut #gator tillman fic #gator tillman fargo s5 #gator x reader #joe keery fargo #fargo season 5 #badge bunny series #gator x badge bunny #gator x bunny #gator x you

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pureblx0d · 4 months

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“IN THE BACK SEAT” Bada Lee x Reader.

Summary: Bada and reader are best friends who share everything, even fantasies.

W: Nsfw, oral sex, dom!bada x sub!reader, a light mention of alcohol and smoking, like porn with a pretty poor plot, Open ending maybe(?), no readproof

You and Bada have been best friends since high school, you two basically grew up together and knew everything about the other from your favorite color to your most dirty secrets.

It was something almost natural and without taboos in your friendship, that's why you weren't surprised when after she got her driver's license and bought her first car told you that she wanted to fuck someone in the back seat.

What did surprise you is that months later she still hasn't fulfilled her fantasy and even more so that those words had been engraved in your brain.

Now, you were drinking with your classmates celebrating that exam season was over when suddenly the conversation wasn't so entertaining anymore and the beer was starting to taste like "I want to go home."

And that's what you did, you said goodbye to your friends before assuring them that you were sober enough to take a taxi on your own.

A taxi equal Bada, who had also become your personal driver.

Who was outside the bar leaning on her car smoking a cigarette wearing her practice clothes already waiting for you, when she saw you she put out the cigarette against the floor opening the passenger door for you.

"You know, you could get your own license so I don't have to be looking for you at 2 in the morning." Bada spoke half jokingly, half seriously once you were both in the car. "or take a taxi, a real one"

"Please you know that you love being my driver." And she couldn't deny it, she really didn't mind looking for you at 2 in the afternoon or 2 in the morning. if that ensured that you were going to arrive safely at your destination.

Once the car began the journey to your house, both having casual conversations about how her day was and some college gossip, your head was resting on the seat as you watched her speak.

But you weren't really listening to her, you were too focused on the way her fingers were tapping on the steering wheel and the car was filling with her smell that consisted of in her usual perfume mixed with the smell of her menthol cigarettes while in your mind the "I want to fuck someone in the back seat" repeated itself over and over again.

"What's the matter?" Bada asked when she saw how you watched her in a suspicious silence stopping at a red light.

"I want you to fuck me in the back seat" you blurted out without mincing words, You didn't know if it was the alcohol speaking for you (even though you hadn't had enough to drink) or the fact that you really wanted it.

Bada looked at you surprised, she knew that you were always direct and sincere to talk about what you wanted but she never expected you to say something like that so easily.

It's not that she hadn't thought about it before, she never thought about you romantically or sexually (at least not seriously) but that didn't mean that sometimes her mind will play tricks on her imagining you on situation like that.

"don't talk nonsense" She scoffed try to lighten the situation as she turned her attention to the road when the light turned green. "you should stop drinking"

"I'm being serious." You adjusted yourself better to look at her. "What's wrong, don't you want to do it or don't you want to fuck me?"

The answer to both questions was no, She wanted to do it and especially with you but you were is best friends, she didn't want to ruin your friendship by fulfilling a silly fantasy.

The car was silent, you regretting your proposal and Bada having an internal debate which ended in her grunting and stopping the car a few blocks from your house, At that time the place was deserted.

"In the back seat now" was the only thing Bada said before moving herself behind, you wasted no time and quickly positioned yourself on her lap, joining your lips with hers in a desperate and messy kiss.

Without stopping kissing you and in one smooth movement you ended up against the seat beneath her, her hands roaming your body as if she had been wanting that for a long time.

Bada moved her hands up your legs acknowledging that you had chosen to wear a skirt that day giving her better access to what she planned to do, her lips moved down to your collarbones as her hands began to play underwear teasing you.

She wasn't planning on stripping you even though what she wanted most was to be able to rip off your clothes But on the contrary, she only left a few kisses on your stomach before finally removing your panties.

Leaving wet kisses on the inside of your thigh when her tongue connected with your clit a gasp of surprise for the sudden pleasure escape your mouth and unconsciously your legs closed "you wanted this, now don't run"

Bada murmured into your skin, her hands gripping your hips to prevent you from moving, before connecting her lips to your pussy again, licking every part of you.

Your hand settled into Bada's hair, burying her head even deeper into you, both of you wondering why you hadn't done this before.

Bada took her time on you, making you enjoy every second of it, leaving little praises about how well you taste and how she could become addicted to this.

And she wasn't lying, this was a situation that she was going to repeat over and over again, she had many things planned for you.

It didn't take long for Bada to feel how your grip became looser and your breathing faster announcing that your orgasm was near, so she inserted two fingers. hitting your sensitive spot making you see stars.

When you managed to pronounce "I'm close" Bada removed her lips from your clit and starting to kiss you, leaving only her fingers to do the work.

"It's okay, you did well." Bada put her hands on your back holding you while you tried to catch your breath. "Let's go home so we can finish this."

.end.

~Mich<3

#bada lee #bada lee imagine #bada lee smut #bada lee x reader #bada lee x y/n #street woman fighter 2 #swf2 x reader #team bebe #bada imagine #bada x reader #jofiels world21

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bastardblvd · 1 year

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submitted entries for the slimeball alley on bastard boulevard collab event. please be mindful of content warnings and boundaries set by authors. want to join? read our guidelines here.

KEY: 🦠 = NSFW ⚠️ = DARK CONTENT

"DOUBLE DOWN" by @ryndicate 🦠 ⚠️

fem reader x slimeball!hirofumi yoshida, reader x stepbro!denji

"didn't know you were into that kinda stuff."

"SAFETY FIRST" by @strawberrystepmom 🦠

fem restaurant manager!reader x fake OSHA inspector!jiraiya

when an inspector unexpectedly comes to your restaurant, you figure out how to get yourself out of trouble.

"A RIDE FOR A RIDE" by @thus-spoke-lo 🦠

afab reader x taxi driver!zoro

it's 3am and walking home from your shitty job at the diner seems like a drag, so you call a cab, hoping for a quick trip back to your apartment so you can finally catch some sleep. your moss-haired, muscle-bound, directionally-challenged cabbie definitely gives you a ride you didn't expect.

"COMPLIMENTS TO THE CHEF" by @thus-spoke-lo 🦠

afab reader x slimeball line cook!sanji

a few nights pass after the sordid events of "a ride for a ride", and you're working another late night shift at franky's flapjack shack with sanji, that damned pervert cook. sanji manages to piss off your only remaining customer for the night, leaving the two of you alone in the restaurant. soon, things start to heat up in the kitchen--and not just because that one oven door won't close all the way.

"TITS FOR TAT" by @bloompompom 🦠

sorority girl!reader x tattoo artist!eren jaeger

"i hope you have a good idea about how you're going to pay for that tattoo..."

"DELIRIOUS" by @saccharine-darlin🦠 ⚠️

fem camgirl!reader x slimy sex shop owner!gojo x sex shop employee!getou

"your conservative town is something you've never thought that would let a sex shop pop up, it seemed too good to be true, and little did you know after the first time you visited you'd be caught in a web by the two perverted men who run it and quickly you learn that they always get what they want."

“PAY UP!” by @zeninsama 🦠

fem babysitter!reader x designer sunglasses model!gojo satoru

satoru's poor time management has you working overtime, and this cheap bastard has something other than cash to pay you with

"GOD BLESS ME, IT'S SUMMER" by @dolcezzzza 🦠

afab reader x slimeball ice cream truck driver!nicholas d. wolfwood

"open up."

"TRIPLE STRIKE XXX" by @em-plosion 🦠

new employee!reader x bowling alley owner!satoru gojo

"the animated neon signs glowed brightly against the wet pavement and the ‘help wanted’ flier in your hand. having to move to this hell hole of a town was bad enough but trying to find a job in it was worse, at this point this shitty bowling alley seemed to be the best option."

"HANDS TO YOURSELF" by @agirlwithapen 🦠 ⚠️

reader x dirty old man!kishibe

you’d purposely chosen the early morning transit. today was a big day, you see. you were interviewing for a position your friend had offered. it was your chance at stability, financial stability. “first impressions count.” you remember telling your soon-to-be boss over email. they do.

"CAN I HAVE A NUMBER 5?" by @gunfiendbabymama

yuuta okkotsu vs. aki hayakawa

the mcnuggets showdown.

“HONEY TRAP” by @maliciouslove 🦠

fem reader x slimeball starbucks barista!denki kaminari

having a slimebucks apron is equal to having unlimited rizz (source: me) and denki proves it by bedding his brand new colleague on her very first day of work.

“THE HR FILES” by @if-dreams-do-come-true ⚠️

afab reader x corrupt cop!kishibe

kishibe is a shameless corrupt cop with a penchant to make inappropriate advances at fresh faced interns and the reader is unfortunately his newest victim.

"STICKLER" by @princess-okkotsu 🦠

after a run-in with grimetown's sleazy cop nanami, you've come to the dmv to replace the sticker that was stolen off your car from a certain freeloader. you've got to convince the dmv employee, a stickler for the rules, that you quite badly need this problem squared away today.

#slimeball collab directory #LET'S GOOOOOO #kissing u all on the head rn #stepdaddy merc

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hanjicores · 3 months

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quit playing games with my heart

synopsis: gojo’s a gamer and so are you. in fact, you’re both so good at it, you reach top rankings in international competitions, and that’s how you notice each other. but romance is more than just a game — or is it?

cw: fem reader, rivals

author's note: welcome to the first chapter of my first story! i’m nervous but excited for you all to read and i hope you enjoy it as much as i did writing it! comments and any criticism is welcomed, thank you ♡

wc: 719 (seven hundred nineteen)

the long hours, the many restless days, if you didn’t know any better you’d think that it was utterly useless to be doing this for so many months.

although, fate would have it that your determination and dedication had in fact gotten you into another international gaming competition.

you arise from your mesh, pink chair to stretch your legs. sitting for hours on end numbed every part of your lower body and always leaving your hands glued to a keyboard and mouse threatened your joints with arthritis.

when you had the time you’d usually go for a short jog while fumbling with a fidget toy. you were only in your mid 20s and felt the consequences of gaming all day and all night.

except that this was your job. you in fact earned money from streaming video games you played and entering gaming competitions, so it was inevitable that you’d feel all these effects. it would be no different from having a normal job now, would it?

this year though, this year had to be different. you had to win this competition to prove to yourself that you are fit to do this for the rest of your life. placing second is not going to happen this year.

you were going to place first and beat gojo satoru. you were going to show him what it felt like to come in second every. damn. time.

the next few days were absolute hell. you put yourself in training mode to prepare you for the competition. minimal sleep, maximum hours on game, getting just enough hydration and nutrition to get you through to the next day.

relief crashed over you as you plopped down into your first class seat aboard the airplane. you fumbled with your seatbelt to get it fastened because you were already feeling the consequences of gaming day in and day out.

your eyelids had start to slowly close shut as you finally got some hours of rest before landing in tokyo, japan.

in the early morning of the day, your plane had finally landed at the airport. you sat up in your seat and stretched your arms straight up into the air. you let out a soft sigh as you brought your arms back down in front of you to unbuckle your seatbelt.

you were never one to rush off the plane so you patiently waited in your seat as most of the passengers had deplaned, then followed suit.

the only thing on your mind at the moment was finding the nearest place for food. you approached a small coffee cart in the terminal hallways and got yourself a small mocha latte with a matcha muffin. you scarfed down the muffin and slowly sipped away at your latte.

japan was like a second home to you since you were here whenever you got the chance to be in a gaming competition, and to tell the truth, it was almost every chance they held a gaming tournament. you knew you were one of the best top players in the world so securing a spot for yourself was child’s play.

you hailed a taxi to your hotel which was nearby since the competition was being held about an hour and a half from your place of stay. the convenience this time around was such a blessing to you so that you could leave just at the last minute.

the taxi pulled into the entrance of the hotel and you thanked the driver before exiting the vehicle. you dug through your carry on to grab your id out of your wallet.

as you sauntered for the front doors of the hotel, a tall figure had bumped into you and knocked you down to the floor.

"my bad. are you alright?"

that voice. you recognized that voice. before even looking up, you glanced at the large palm reached out towards you and disregarded it, managing to stand up on your own.

"oh, how nice it is that i'm staying at the same hotel as you, satoru." your words full of acidity, but your face showcasing a wide smile stretching ear to ear.

gojo snickered as he retracted his hand to his glasses to lower them on his button nose, exposing his azure eyes that glistened like the ocean when the sun shines down on it.

"it is, isn't it? i think this'll be very, very fun."

#writing #gojo satoru #gojo #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #rivals to lovers

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saggitary · 8 months

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Clones and Chaperoning

Ahsoka often stays at the barracks late into the night when they are on shore leave playing cards or just having fun with her men and has to catch a taxi back to the Temple. One day she makes an offhand comment about how some of the drivers can give off really bad vibes or are just kind of creepy but that’s the only way she can get home before curfew.

The 501st immediately has a brain reset because they are suddenly reminded that their commander is a 15 year old girl, even if she’s a highly capable warrior, and they internally panic.

Rex, Jesse, and Echo are quick to start stepping up to volunteer to chaperone her back to the temple, Ahsoka is a little confused at their sudden insistence but she doesn’t mind the company. It quickly becomes a coveted job in the 501st to chaperone their commander back to the Temple, the rivalry gets bad enough that they have to implement a rotating queue of who gets the job.

Everything is going quite smoothly until one night Rex goes out to see Commander Cody climbing into the speeder with Ahsoka and gets flipped off by his older brother.

The 501st declares war in the 212th shortly after.

#the clone wars #ahsoka tano #the 501st #the 212th #ahsoka and the 501st #Ahsoka and the 212th #captain rex #commander cody #they are siblings your honor #they love their lil sister #they just don’t like it when they have to fight their brothers over who gets to chaperone her #clone troopers #sag’s stuff

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shybunnie20 · 8 months

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Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

★My Masterlist

Summary: After some time in the spotlight, Eddie returns to Hawkins and finds that his unfinished confession to his best friend awaits him.

Author's Note: Here's a little something I wrote while I've been chipping away at my other WIPs. It’s way longer than I expected but I'm happy with how it turned out. The angst is very mild and it has a happy ending!

AU with no Upside Down, no use of y/n, established past friendship, Eddie and reader graduated the same year but ages aren't specified, focuses on Eddie's POV, proofread to an extent.

Word Count: 8.3k

Warnings: MDNI, mentions of sex, includes swearing

After posing for the cover of the latest Metal Edge magazine, Eddie was eager to head back home ASAP. While he enjoys his time on the East Coast, he was really looking forward to some much-needed downtime. As he boarded his private jet and set off, everything was going according to plan. However, the weather decided that he was going to make a pit stop. Rather, an emergency landing.

Plans get derailed and unpredictability is a part of the lifestyle. When your private jet is just about plucked from the sky during a lightning storm, finding a place to land is imperative, no matter the location. In this instance, his jet touched down in Indianapolis. Hopes of catching a taxi to Hawkins were dashed. No taxi driver in their right mind would willingly brave the distance from the city to the suburb in that weather. Eddie was left with one person to call upon—the man whom Eddie had been considering visiting for quite some time.

Wayne was surprised to receive the phone call but he agreed to pick Eddie up from the airport without hesitation. They haven’t been staying in touch as of late; Eddie’s life is nothing short of a whirlwind consisting of sold-out arenas and constant travel. Getting a hold of his nephew became a challenging feat. Wayne rarely got past speaking to Eddie’s assistants.

It was his uncle’s rare day off and calls at that time of night were few and far between. So, when Wayne’s canary yellow phone practically leaped off of the hook, he was astonished. After making the drive through the pattering rain, Wayne retrieved a sulking Eddie from Concourse B. As Eddie settled into the passenger seat of the fixer-upper, exhaustion from his turbulent journey was evident.

The next morning, Eddie wakes up with a protesting ache in his lower back, the result of a night spent on the pull-out couch. As he sits up straight, he lets out a low groan, vocalizing how his body yearns for the luxurious embrace of the Egyptian cotton sheets that are fitted around his California king mattress. They lay chilled without him, thousands of miles away in his opulent hillside mansion in Beverly Hills.

As he stretches in an attempt to unknot the tension between his shoulder blades, Eddie takes in his surroundings. He stumbled through the front door so late last night that he had no energy left to get reacquainted with his childhood home. He even wound up sleeping in his designer jeans, the coarse denim a far cry from the plush pajamas he would normally change into before bed.

A gentle grin forms on Eddie’s lips upon feeling comforted by the familiarity of the room. He hadn’t realized how much he missed the simple life that Wayne brought him up in. Eddie gazes around, noticing the subtle changes such as the addition of new mugs and hats to their respective displays. One particular change catches his attention and draws a fond exhale from his stale lungs. The worn-out doormat, which was torn to hell when he was a teenager, was finally replaced.

Despite his internal clock being out of whack, Eddie’s brain knows when it’s time for a cup of jitter juice. He rises from the rickety mattress, his back cracking loudly at the extension. A moan of discomfort slips out as he winces at the pinch at the base of his neck. “Jesus, fuck,” he mutters aloud. Eddie makes a mental note to buy Wayne a new sofa.

His socked feet slide across the linoleum as he steps into the kitchen. He notices that the bedroom door is closed, though it’s doing very little to dampen the loud snoring emitting behind it. Eddie yawns as he grinds his fists into his eyes, causing a splash of tingling colors across the darkness of his lids. He approaches the corner cupboard, knowing that what he’s looking for will be in the same place it always has been. The cabinet door greets him with a squeak and he’s met with a single dented can of Folgers. That shit is practically varnish remover, it simply won’t do.

Eddie sighs as the craving for his favorite Italian coffee intensifies. It’s so rich, flavorful, smooth, and yet, it packs a punch. Just the thought of the hazelnut dark roast takes him back to the first time he ever tried it in Trieste. From that moment on, he needed it imported back home.

Well, the java situation is a bust. For the time being, Eddie has a choice. Either charred slices of Wonderbread or plain cornflakes. AKA, buttered plywood or a bowl of sawdust. Ew and ew. Settling for the arguably more exciting option, Eddie decides on toast. Each bite into the brittle slice causes dark crumbs to scatter into his open palm that he holds beneath his chin. He can’t be bothered to get a plate, even as an adult. The burnt bits accumulate in his hand as he continues to nibble. While Eddie brushes his palms over the sink to rid himself of crumbs, he catches sight of the magazine clipping held to the fridge door by a Tweety Bird magnet. Frozen in time on glossy paper is a photo of him at the American Music Awards last year. “Damn, I looked good.” He smirks as he recalls the tailored suit, the lapels encrusted with dazzling gems, and his pale bare chest blinding the paparazzi from beneath it. The memories of that night come rushing, the flashing cameras and the cheers of his fans.

With his tummy partially pleased but the craving for quality coffee intensifying, Eddie recalls that there’s only one good place around here to get a quality cup of Joe. Eddie takes a brisk shower to wash away the residual stickiness that clings to his skin from a night spent fully clothed in the stuffy trailer. He dresses in the most pedestrian outfit that’s in his suitcase, hoping to blend in as much as possible, and heads out.

Eddie’s stride carries him through the glass door of Morningside Café, the cheerful bell above it announces his arrival. The café is bustling, as one would expect on a Saturday morning. The patrons have come for their morning pick-me-up, much like Eddie.

Initially, he considers keeping his onyx-lensed sunglasses on, a barrier that would shield him from potential recognition and the commotion that would ensue. But he decides to take them off, knowing that he might stick out if he’s wearing sunglasses indoors. Eddie tucks one of the folded arms of the frame into the collar of his t-shirt. To his surprise, nobody reacts. No one gasps or falls to their knees at his feet. The world around him continues to turn. Part of him yearns for the ego boost that comes with being recognized but, all in all, he’s relieved to experience a semblance of normalcy for the first time in what feels like an eternity.

Taking a moment to soak in his surroundings, Eddie’s gaze sweeps across the interior of the shop. His eyes linger on the display case where flaky pastries drizzled with chocolate and caramel sauces are housed. The cabin-esque aesthetic warms the soul with rich wood tones and a brick fireplace. It stands dormant, flameless, because it’s too warm out for a fire this time of year.

Beside the fireplace sit two figures that catch his attention. Even from a short distance, Eddie recognizes the mane of luscious locks, a signature feature that only belongs to one person. He strolls over with excitement tugging at his chest.

“Excuse me,” Eddie’s voice is hushed as he addresses the two figures engrossed in conversation. “Do you happen to know if the creamer here is fat-free?”

Steve and Robin’s dialogue comes to an abrupt halt, their voices silenced by the unexpected interruption. They exchange a glance, their eyebrows raising in unison. Simultaneously, their heads turn to peer over their shoulders. And there he stands, Eddie, someone they never thought they’d see again.

Steve gets to his feet a beat faster than Robin and he’s all smiles. “Look what the cat dragged in!”

“Must be an expensive cat,” Robin quips while she eyes Eddie, a quick assessment that catches details he overlooked in his haste to blend in. Her comment refers to the flashy jewelry he neglected to take off. “Persian, right? Those are the goblin-looking ones that rich people like? Ugly little fluff balls, if you ask me.”

Eddie’s sigh carries relief, expressing his genuine pleasure in knowing that Robin remains candid and unfiltered, just as he remembers her. As he extends his hand, Steve meets him with a firm handshake.

A friendly slap on the shoulder from Steve follows. “What brings you to this god-forsaken town?” His question is punctuated by true curiosity and a hint of humor, alluding to Eddie’s past that has kept him from ever returning up until now.

“I was in the area,” Eddie replies with a sense of restraint, deliberately avoiding the true source of his change in plans. “Figured I'd swing by to see what’s what.”

Robin gestures for Eddie to take the seat opposite of them. They all settle into their mahogany-colored chairs. Eddie shifts awkwardly, the denim of his jeans dragging on the leather noisily.

With her elbows digging into her knees, Robin leans forward and supports her chin with her balled fists, positioned to hear the greatest story in her life. “So?”

Eddie blinks dumbly, bemusement evident on his face. “What?”

Reclined deeply into his chair, Steve rests his hands on his belly with interlocked fingers. “Enlighten us. Where the hell did ya go?”

“Oh,” Eddie breathes, “Well, uh, I migrated west and lived in my van for a while. Then I found an ad in the paper for a spare bedroom in a janky apartment. I did the roommate thing for a bit and then- I dunno,” He twists the grim reaper-shaped ring around the base of his middle finger. “Things just worked out, I guess.”

Robin blows a raspberry and sits back into a less anticipatory position. “Long story short, huh? The last I saw, you were on the red carpet escorting Heather Locklear.”

Her reference to Eddie’s past event appearance draws a smirk from him, feeling a sense of satisfaction in knowing that his old friends have been keeping up with the big things he’s been doing. While she encourages Eddie to delve into the details of his daily life, Steve looks across the room at you. Your nose is to the grindstone, your hands working deftly to maintain the rhythm that ensures that the orders are being fulfilled in a timely manner.

Opening shifts are the worst, for the customers and the employees alike. Nobody is at their friendliest due to the dark clouds of exhaustion hanging over everyone’s heads. Not to mention, regulars have their quirks. Some are particularly anal—specifying exact temperatures for their flavored fuel. They scrutinize your every move, even going as far as monitoring the thermometer to ensure that their demands are met.

The grind of the morning rush is draining, yet, you soldier on. You wipe away spilled coffee grounds from the countertop and amidst the clatter and constant flow of orders, you catch Steve staring right at you. His expression is peculiar, his arched brows paired with a subtle curve to his lips. You tilt your head inquisitively at him. What?

Steve subtly points across from him and mouths, Eddie Munson.

Your hand freezes mid-motion, the damp rag caught between your palm and the solution-streaked surface. Instinct takes over as you lean onto your tiptoes, straining to catch a glimpse over the top of the coffee machine. And no shit, there’s that head of chocolate curls. Your pulse spikes as apprehension floods your belly. Returning your gaze to Steve, you mouth back to him, oh my god.

Steve’s frantic wave beckons you over, his urgency not leaving room for subtlety. Eddie takes notice of Steve and he looks to see who he’s motioning to. Your eyes meet and for a split second, utter disbelief is mirrored on both of your faces.

You panic and duck out of sight, retreating to the relative cover near the floor. Your thoughts race, your heartbeat pounding twice that. “What the actual fuck is he doing here?” you ask yourself, unable to grapple with the overwhelming emotions.

Eddie’s heavy-footed steps carry him up to the counter, the air around him feeling electrically charged, making his arm hair stand up straight. His chest constricts as he approaches the ledge and looks behind it. There you are, sitting on the floor with your legs pulled close to your chest and your forehead against your knees.

“Sweetheart,” he chuckles airily, though his brows are pulled together as to why you’re down there.

Reluctantly, you lift your head and meet his eyes. A sheepish grin tugs at your lips and you can’t help but scrunch your nose. “Eddie, hi!”

“Whatcha doin’ down there?” he asks playfully, then catching his bottom lip between his teeth in an attempt to suppress the smile that threatens to form. “Almost looks like you’re tryin’ to hide from me.”

You shake your head, only slightly annoyed at his amusement. “I’m just busted, aren’t I?” As you get to your feet, you wipe your palms on your apron before rounding the corner of the counter.

Eddie’s arms are already outstretched before you’re even in full view. You find yourself stepping forward to meet his embrace. The hug is brief, not quite as long as Eddie would’ve liked it to be. His beaming smile accompanies his glittering stare as it follows your features, studying the subtle changes since he saw you last. “Long time no see,” he teases with the lick of his lip.

You’ve already taken a step back, creating a bit of space between the two of you. With a deep breath, you nod. “Tell me about it, it’s been like what, six years?” It’s your turn to trace the contours of his face.

You’ve seen the tabloids on the racks in the supermarket, the pages that showcase his exhilarating career. You’ve seen his music videos on MTV. Regardless of the set design and general concept, there’s a constant—Eddie, partially naked with jeans slung low on his hips, surrounded by bleach-blonde stunners hanging off of him one way or another. He always stood tall, an embodiment of untouchability despite being touched just about everywhere by sets of cherry-painted fingernails. His image has become synonymous with charismatic magnetism and sex appeal.

And now, he’s standing right in front of you. Eddie’s silver nose ring catches the overhead lighting, a rebellious contrast to the well-groomed beard that frames his jaw. He has far more tattoos than he had when you were friends.

The dangling layers of necklaces twinkle like constellations. While you hugged him, you recognized his natural scent which was mostly the same, but with a faint woody undertone. The cologne he wears seems to have become one with his clothes, the scent being inseparable from him no matter how many times the article is washed.

Eddie also looks stronger and his physical presence is more defined. His slim frame matured into something more substantial, and his muscles are built and bound with raw talent.

It’s a curious juxtaposition to see him in such plain clothes. He almost resembles the Eddie that you knew, feeling both familiar and transformed, an evolution you’re struggling to take in all at once.

“Yeah, coming up on six. Feels like it’s been longer than that,” Eddie replies, the joy in his voice unconcealed. He shamelessly looks over your uniform, the baby blue polo shirt beneath the navy apron, with his interest plain for anyone to see. He took in your scent too. Your natural smell blended with coffee, and it struck a chord within him. The combination of the two is better than his beloved Italian coffee beans alone.

“How long are you in town for?” You inquire while playing with the hem of your apron. Meanwhile, you shift your weight on the balls of your feet, attempting to soothe yourself with the rocking motion.

Eddie sucks air through his teeth with resignation. “Just today, actually.”

“Oh,” you mumble, your expression subtly crestfallen at the news of his limited stay. “That’s too bad. You really can’t stay any longer?”

“I wish I could but stopping by wasn’t exactly on my to-do list. I was flying home from New York and then my jet-”

You’re startled as your supervisor’s voice booms from behind you, yanking you back to reality. Her words are stern, reprimanding you for being distracted. She scolds, saying that the line is twice as long as it should be. A quick glance at your coworker makes you feel guilty, seeing as he’s struggling to keep up with taking and filling orders by himself.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, “Coming!” With a final moment of eye contact with Eddie, you offer him a rueful smile. “Sorry, duty calls,” As you turn and make your way back to your station, you call out to Eddie over your shoulder. “It was great to see you.”

The sentiment hangs in the air, one that Eddie wishes you had a chance to elaborate on. But, time is of the essence and you’re already back to filling cups without waiting for his response. For a few seconds, Eddie watches you seamlessly shift back into work mode as if he isn’t there anymore. Returning to Steve and Robin, he’s met with pointed looks that are laden with interest. The weight of the encounter, the unexpected vulnerability he felt looking into your eyes, settles on his shoulders. As Eddie returns to the seat across from them, he slumps down with a pout.

Robin’s brows furrow at his sudden change in demeanor. “Why the long face? Didn’t you ask her out?”

Eddie’s response is a sullen half-note while he stares fixedly at a speck of mud on Steve’s shoe. “No,” he says, “I didn’t, and quite frankly, I don’t think she’d even want to.” In the way that Eddie is carrying himself, it’s obvious that his insecurities have been stirred up. “You should’ve seen the way she looked at me. It was like she hardly recognized me.”

Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I dunno, man. Kinda hard to believe a hot shot like you can’t get whatever girl he sets his sights on.”

That remark sparks something within Eddie, a realization that switches his perspective. Steve’s words hit home—he’s Eddie fucking Munson. A Grammy award-winning recording artist for Christ’s sake. Casanova, heavy hitter, ladies’ man. His confidence resurfaces, becoming acutely aware of the charm he can whip out whenever he needs it; he’s well equipped for this moment.

Summoning the deepest breath he’s ever taken, Eddie rises to his feet once again, feeling sure of himself this time. His hands smooth down his shirt and he clears his throat. When Eddie chances a look behind him, Steve and Robin are giving him two, technically four, thumbs up as a means of encouragement.

With newfound resolve, Eddie approaches the counter once again. You’re a flurry of motion, caught up in the demands of your job. A bead of sweat threatens to drip from your brow as you ensure that the whipped cream on top of the ice-cold beverage is the perfect amount.

“Hey,” Eddie’s voice cuts through the ambient noise, a little louder than necessary to ensure that you’ve heard him.

You peek up at him with a grin in acknowledgment. “Hi,” Though his presence is noted, your focus is unwavering, determined not to let any more interruptions affect your efficiency.

Eddie’s knuckles wrap against the counter, a drumming that underscores his everlasting nerves when it comes to you. “What are you doing tonight?”

Powdered cinnamon dusts the air as you gently tap the kitchen dredger over the tower of whipped cream. The finely ground burnt umber falls where it’s meant to, rather than onto your apron. “I don’t have any plans, why?” You hand the completed drink to the awaiting customer beside Eddie, giving them a polite smile that’s a testament to your professionalism.

The act of biting the inside of his cheek does little to help Eddie relax. “Would you maybe wanna grab a bite to eat?” he hesitates for a beat, the thudding of his heart is on the verge of drowning out his voice. “I’ll bet you’ll have worked up quite the appetite by the time you’re shift is done.”

You sigh softly, mulling over Eddie’s offer. “I don’t know…” You say contemplatively while flipping the switches on the machine, causing it to roar to life.

Eddie holds his breath, every passing second heightening his senses.

“Okay, I suppose I will be pretty hungry,” you concede, your eyes nearly forming tears of stress as you accept the ever-present line of customers. “Early dinner at Benny’s?” You suggest with an inviting tone.

“Just like old times,” Eddie smiles so wide that it feels like the corners of his lips might split and bleed. “Yeah, that sounds perfect.” He offers to pick you up, which he’d truly rather not. That would mean that he’d be taking you out in his uncle’s jalopy. In Eddie’s mind's eye, he would pick you up in a sports car and rev the engine to the point where you’re pressing your thighs together to stave off the vibrations coursing through you. A man can dream.

“No, I’ll meet you there,” you assert, your voice firm with certainty. The authenticity of your smile bridges the previously placed distance between you. “Thank you, though.”

His knuckles leave one last sequence of knocks on the marble surface, a rhythm of pride and assurance. “See you later, then,” Eddie confirms, his tone dancing on the edge of excitement.

You nod. “Later,”

Eddie turns away and finds his friends with expectant gazes plastered on their faces, awaiting the verdict of the exchange. His smile hasn’t fallen in the slightest, his dazzling white teeth and flushed cheeks don’t go unnoticed. Eddie’s enthusiasm is palpable, his words coming out in a hushed rush. “She said yes!” he exclaims, trying to shake the blood back into his fingers as the tingling sensation bites at him. “It’s a date,” He adds in triumph.

Sitting at the mini kitchen table in Wayne’s trailer, the rusty metal chair squeaks under his weight anytime he shifts. He can’t even sit still, despite there being plentiful hours between now and when he’ll see you again. Eddie finds himself flipping through the scrapbook you put so much time into making the summer before your senior year. That particular summer holds such significance to him, a time when the days were endless, and the bond between you felt unshakeable.

Each photograph feels as warm and breezy as the one before it. Sunbathing on the shore of Lover’s Lake, your toes dipping into the water as you prepared to leap off of the dock. The memory is vivid—your skin glistening and energy positively radiant with innocence and naivety. One of the snapshots of Eddie is far less flattering. He’s captured with sharp tan lines, the contrast in tones creating the illusion of him wearing a white shirt, despite being topless.

Eddie bites down on his lip as he studies the photograph of you riding your bike in cutoff shorts, your t-shirt having met an equal fate. The wind tangled through your hair in a way that he wished he could with his fingers.

The picture beside it features the two of you together. Obviously, Wayne had taken on the role of photographer. You’re both posed proudly beside a tower of playing cards that you spent 45 minutes building card by card, on the very table that Eddie is sitting at. Both of you held your breath and didn’t speak a word to avoid knocking it down. Taped across the same page are watermelon and grape-flavored blow pop wrappers, unredeemed arcade tickets, movie stubs, and receipts saved from snack runs made on days that you were craving specific treats.

With the turn of a page, Eddie melts a little as he comes across the photobooth strips. It was necessary for you to sit on his lap in order for both of you to fit within the frame. He was able to wrap his arms around your waist and hold you close as if there was anywhere for you to go inside the cramped box. Your arms encircled his neck and rested on his shoulders while you made silly faces at the camera, and even better, at each other.

Eddie recoils at the picture of him with red-stained popsicle sticks protruding from his mouth, immaturely imitating a walrus, of all things. You laughed so hard that you insisted on taking a photo, and as much as dislikes the image itself, he’s still eating up how delighted you were by his antics.

The moments that weren’t captured on film come flooding back just as vividly as if they’re pasted to the paper before him. Inhaling helium from balloons and laughing hysterically at one another is a night that comes to mind. He knew he’d never get sick of making you laugh. And that time when playfully tossing popcorn into each other's mouths evolved from being a fun game to a skill. Last but not least, Eddie reminisces about sitting in his van together with the windows down, sharing cigarettes and music as the cool evening air enveloped you both. The quieter memories are just as deafening as the amusing ones.

His life had its fair share of upheaval and dysfunction that seemed to pull him in all directions. Amidst the chaos, one constant remained. You. Eddie didn’t need more than that, you already made life worth living.

But, as life often goes, the sweet moments can become bitter in the blink of an eye.

It was the night of your graduation party, a celebration meant to be an intimate gathering among close friends—you, Eddie, Robin, and Steve. But when Eddie pulled up to your parent’s house, a scene was unfolding before him that he hadn’t anticipated. The yard was dotted with clusters of students while the front door was revolving with people drunkenly coming and going. Inside the belly of the beast was even more lively.

Eddie hesitantly navigated the throngs of teens in the hallway, people he was sure that you weren’t even on a first-name basis with. He knew your house like the back of his hand but it felt foreign due to the sheer number of bodies dancing, running, and tumbling over.

He was going to finally tell you how he felt, a declaration that had been building within him for some time. Eddie understood that you were out of his league, the unspoken boundaries dictating that best friends aren’t supposed to fall in love, yet he found himself helplessly ensnared by his adoration for you. For so long, Eddie was afraid of pressing his luck, and even more so, was in a state of constant disbelief that he was lucky enough to call you the most important person in his life.

Graduation marks a turning point in a young person’s life, a juncture where change is inevitable. Eddie was ready for change and he wanted his dreams to bleed into reality. He yearned to hold you without any limitations, to kiss you like he needed to in order to survive. It was time for a new chapter and Eddie hoped that when he turned the page, he’d get the girl he wanted more than anything in the world.

You were in the kitchen. Typically, he gets a kick out of the way you act when you’re that buzzed. Your joyful disposition under the influence of celebration and booze led to you being the most laid-back version of yourself. However, he was facing an unanticipated predicament. Eddie was trying to have a serious conversation with you at a rowdy party. His hands were trembling, and luckily, his leather jacket concealed the fact that he’d soaked the pits of his t-shirt.

“There you are,” Eddie hummed and stepped closer to make sure that you could hear him over the music and chatter.

“Here I am!” you giggled, your cheeks flushed and energy unreserved. “Isn’t this wild?” You motioned to the piles of assorted cups and bags of snacks scattered haphazardly.

“Yeah,” Eddie responded, glancing over his shoulder as he was jolted by a stranger bumping into him. “What happened to watching movies and ordering pizza?”

The trace of disappointment in Eddie’s tone might have been discernable to a sober individual, but in your inebriated state, it slipped under your radar. Your smile remained and you swayed. The movement was more so a result of your jelly legs than unenthusiastic dancing. “I know, but my parents went all out and invited our entire class! I guess they figured that throwing a rager was a good way to congratulate me,” You chuckled and took another burning sip from your cup.

Eddie leaned in, his voice carrying a sense of urgency. “Can we go somewhere and talk?” he pleaded. “There’s something I need to tell you.” The weight of his unspoken feelings was on the verge of suffocating him and the heat of the room paled in comparison to the fire in his belly.

You tilted your head slightly, your eyes ever so bright. “What is it?”

Given that you hadn’t budged an inch, that meant that the conversation was gonna happen right where you stood. Eddie tried to breathe steadily, knowing that he’d rehearsed this and he knew what he wanted to say. Unfortunately, the words had startled to scramble in his head. “You, uh- you know that you’re my favorite person in the whole world, right?”

“Of course, you’re mine too,” you agreed as you pawed at his shoulder before leaning back against the counter to make up for your lessening ability to stand up straight.

“I couldn’t ask for a better best friend-” Unfortunately for him, the timing couldn’t have been worse. The song that had been playing ended abruptly. “But I wanna be more than that.”

Eddie’s heart sank as his words hung in the air. The confession that was meant for your ears only was now released into the open, leaving Eddie exposed. A mocking laughter filled the air that the music once inhabited; Jack Carver, the asshole who’s had it out for Eddie since the fifth grade, was locked and loaded.

Eddie’s blood ran cold at the sound as it collided with his ears. His fight-or-flight instincts kicked in, his body tensing as he struggled to prepare himself for what was about to happen.

Jack Carver’s taunting cut like a sharp blade, drawing a wave of laughter from the surrounding students with it. “Did everybody hear that?” he shouted with derision, “The freak wants himself a little girlfriend.”

Defenseless, Eddie clenched his knuckles as the walls began to close in on him. He knew it wasn’t over yet.

“There’s a reason you’re still a virgin, and you’ll die one, too.” Jack sneered.

Prior to that evening, Eddie had steeled himself for the possibility of rejection from you. He‘d surrender to the emotional blow to keep you as his best friend. But he wasn’t armed for the level of humiliation that Jack’s provocation brought down on him. It was the wounds of his childhood, the physical and emotional scars from years of being picked on, that were torn open. Jack always knew how to hit him where it hurt.

The tears that blurred Eddie’s vision shielded him from your pitying and startled expression. It all felt like a cruel twist of fate, a reminder that he was meant to be the outsider, forever on the fringes without someone to hold him close at night. As the laughter continued to echo around him, Eddie fled before the atmosphere could swallow him whole. Without a second thought, he shoved his way through the crowd and bolted out of your front door.

The night air hit him like a wall, cooling the hot tears that streamed down his scorched cheeks. Eddie stumbled to his van and slammed the door shut behind him. He leaned his forehead against the steering wheel and let out a shuddering breath, feeling like everything inside of him was coming apart at the seams. Eddie squeezed his eyes shut to clear his vision by forcing the pooled tears to flow and he raised his head back up. He saw you stepping off of your front porch, a concerned look branded on your features while you called out to him, searching.

At that moment, he decided that he was gonna show every single person who thought so little of him that he could be somebody. Eddie was going to outdo all of them and kick the expectation that he was going to end up in prison like his father, that he was going to be dealing drugs for the rest of his life, and that he’d always be trailer trash.

If Eddie could go back in time, things would have gone differently. But after chasing the California sunrise, he’d mastered the world of glamorous parties, adoring fans, and beautiful women. They threw themselves at him. He didn’t have to worry about rejection because he could have his pick, he had whatever flavor he wanted for the night. But no one satiated the craving he continued to have for you. No one laughed the way you did, no one understood him the way you always had.

You’d never have another moment together, he accepted that. And it didn’t matter anymore because he became the man. He didn’t have time to sit around and sulk about a small-town girl who wouldn’t give him the time of day. But despite putting his feelings in the rearview mirror, he daydreamed nonetheless. Eddie wondered what it would be like to show you the new and improved version of himself. He hoped that you’d be impressed. More importantly, did you listen to his music? Or read about his scandalous escapades in the gossip magazines that wove lies into the truth?

Even so, that night set him straight. It wasn’t going to happen for you and him. His only star had fallen, so he put all of his time and energy into making a name for himself. The songs on his albums are about living life in the fast lane and the thrill of the night. They’re about trashing hotel rooms and experiencing things he never dreamed he would because that’s what sells records.

But at home in his lyric notepad lays the songs of unpursued love, melodies about chances taken and lost. There’s one ballad in particular, its verses tell the story of him introducing you to his newfound confidence, something that you never knew him to have. It speaks of how he’s seen the world twice over, and yet, his favorite place to be is tucked away in the memories where things hadn’t changed yet.

Those heartfelt lyrics remain buried, never to be shared with the world. They’re a tribute to you, the unsung song in his life.

Eddie’s experience when it comes to the attention of women should, theoretically, render him immune to being nervous. Yet, he finds himself impossibly so. The source of his unease? You. This isn’t just anyone, you’re not just some chick. The late afternoon swings around and Eddie’s nerves are in full swing. He’s feeling just as anxious as he did the night of that party because second chances are rare for him. Eddie is acutely aware that this is very likely to be his last shot with you. This isn’t just any date—it’s your first date. The significance isn’t lost on him, and he’s determined to make it count.

Standing in front of Wayne’s bathroom mirror, Eddie attempts to wield the cheap razor to trim the edges of his beard. His curls, normally styled to perfection, look deflated and lackluster without his fancy shampoo and hair products to nourish them. The trailer park’s hard water isn’t doing his hair any favors when it comes to frizz either. As Eddie rinses away his beard trimmings from the basin, he exhales dramatically, watching his self-esteem swirling down the drain. He tries to remind himself of his good looks by reciting a silent pep talk. The thought of disappointing you, or not meeting your expectations, is something he can’t bear.

Eddie parks Wayne’s car outside of Benny’s Burgers and takes a moment to double-check his appearance in the visor mirror. He wants to make certain that he looks as decent as he can. This is the chance he’s been waiting for, this is for all the marbles. Unlike his usual casual encounters, where names and personalities go unlearned, this is different. Eddie has to earn your affection back.

He peers down at his fingernails, thankful that they’re still in good shape from his last manicure. Eddie mutters to himself, trying to get a feel for an appropriate greeting. “Hi, you look… pretty,” Lame. Frustrated, he twists the skull ring on his finger, adjusting it from its sideways position to face the right way up. “It’s so nice out tonight, but you look even nicer.” Eddie groans, banging his head back against the headrest. “Jesus Christ, Munson. Get your fucking shit together.”

With a thick swallow, Eddie steps out of the car and makes his way across the parking lot that crunches beneath his sneakers. As he enters the restaurant, he’s happy to see that this place hasn’t changed one bit. Eddie debates waiting by the door for you or to sit down for the time being. Anxiety wins, and he chooses the latter. As he strides across the room, he tries to keep his easily recognizable face relatively hidden. Eddie slides into the booth that the two of you always sat in. You spent innumerable Saturday nights sitting here, laughing and teasing, talking shit and venting about how high school felt so life or death at the time.

A soft chuckle slips out as he traces the initials that he carved into the table all those years ago. He grins, recalling how much you scolded him while he chipped EM into the wood with his pocket knife. Eddie absentmindedly fiddles with the lid on the ketchup bottle from the condiment caddy, lost in his own thoughts, until the restaurant’s door opens. His heart thumps madly as he watches you stroll in and scan the room until your gaze lands on him. Beyond his control, Eddie’s eyes are gleaming, overwhelmed with the privilege of being in the same room as you once more.

He stands from the booth as you approach, his legs acting with a mind of their own. Once you reach him, he’s not exactly sure what to do with his hands. He decides against offering a hug since you don’t initiate one. Eddie returns to his seat as you settle into the one opposite of him.

“Hey,” you greet him warmly, placing your purse beside you on the seat.

“Hi, there,” he replies, the red of his cheeks deepening as his hands go right back to fidgeting. Eddie clears his throat. “How was the rest of your day?”

“It was okay, nothing special,” you reply vaguely, your voice dripping with fatigue.

Eddie takes note of and appreciates the slightest bit of makeup you’ve applied since he saw you this morning, simply because it accentuates your natural beauty. It’s a small detail, but it doesn’t go unnoticed, and it warms his heart to think that you might have put some effort into your appearance to meet up with him. Or maybe he’s getting ahead of himself and you just don’t like wearing makeup at work. Regardless, just as a complement is about to roll off of his tongue, the table is approached by an old woman.

“My goodness, I remember you too!” She beams, clutching her miniature notepad tightly. “You’re all grown up now.”

You nod respectfully, clearly remembering her. Eddie, on the other hand, does not recognize her as quickly. It’s like he’s buffering as he thinks, and then his eyes widen, suddenly remembering that the woman is the waitress who always served the two of you every weekend. Holy shit, he thought she looked old back then but now she looks ancient. “It’s nice to see you,” He performs, trying his best to be a gentleman and show you that he’s good-natured.

“I’ll be right back, I know just what to get you,” She says sing-songy manner and bounces away into the back kitchen. Even after all this time, she still knows your orders by heart.

Despite the breath that you release, the hurt isn’t evident on your face. “Why’d you disappear on me that night?”

Your straightforwardness catches Eddie off guard, and he struggles to find the right words to respond. “Doesn’t matter why,” he begins, trying to deflect from the topic. He’d much rather you ask him if he has any pets or if he’s read any good books lately. “That was ages ago, what matters is that I’m not a pathetic loser anymore.”

“You were never a loser, Eddie.” You say looking into his eyes, reminding every fiber of his being that you always liked him for who he was. But just as quickly, your gaze drops. You always hated when he talked about himself that way because you thought he was a total catch.

Eddie’s gaze lingers on you, studying the shift. Slowly, the realization dawns on him that your hurt runs deep, possibly deeper than his own. Coming to terms with his self-centered perspective makes his chest ache. He was so consumed by his own insecurities that he never spared a thought for how his sudden departure wounded you.

You change gears with an almost perfected ease, smoothly transitioning from the heaviness of the subject. “So, Mr. Super Star, what’s it like being you?”

A chill is sent up his spine, uneasiness caused by how swiftly you just rebuilt your walls before his eyes. He bites anyway, hoping that your interest in his stories is genuine. “From the outside, it looks like fun but it’s nothing short of chaos. When you’ve got a show every other night, and a band wants you on their new album, and then someone’s throwing a massive party...” Eddie trails off, afraid that his rambling is coming off as braggery. “Anyway, enough about all that. How ‘bout you? How’d you end up working at Morningside?”

There’s a flicker of joy on your face that shows your appreciation for his desire to hear you talk about yourself. “I needed something part-time, I’m actually studying to be a-”

EEK! You both startle at the ear-shattering squeals of three middle school-aged school girls. They’re gathered around Eddie, borderline frothing at the mouth to be looking at and breathing the same air as him. They’re all talking a mile a minute over one another, asking for autographs, wanting hugs, and gushing about his music.

Eddie looks at you and he can’t quite gauge your reaction, your expression is practically unreadable. “One second, I’m sorry,” he sincerely apologizes, scooting out of the booth to greet the rabid girls. He figures that if he handles this interaction skillfully, they’ll likely leave both of you alone afterward.

As you watch him engage, you’re beyond disappointed. It seems like he’s more interested in the attention and adoration of his fans than he is in spending time with you. He should’ve just told them to go away. Now you’re certain of where his priorities lie and you should’ve known from the moment you saw his face this morning. He isn’t here to mend things, Eddie has less than pure intentions and you’re not going to wait to find out what they are.

While Eddie is busy giving the girls his full attention with his back turned to you, you seize the moment to slip out of the booth and quietly exit the restaurant. One of the girls is clinging onto him after a hug and he has to pry her off of himself. In doing so, he sees your hurried movement out of the corner of his eye. He half-heartedly thanks his fans and rushes after you, his mouth going dry as reality hits him like a freight train; he’s getting a taste of his own medicine.

“Wait up,” Eddie calls out to you, his chest heaving.

You stop in your tracks and turn to him with a hardened look on your face. “Why did you come here? Was it so you could show off how untouchable you are now?”

Eddie’s mouth falls open. “No,” he steps forward but you inch away. “Of course not.”

“Then what? Because I don’t even know why I agreed to come here. You’ve obviously outgrown Hawkins and everyone in it. I wasn’t good enough for you to stick around for, much less stay in touch with.”

Eddie’s heart breaks in two at the sunset reflecting in the glossy pools that have formed along your lower lash line. “You were always enough for me,” he says weakly.

You roll your eyes and your car keys jingle in your hand as you cross your arms over your chest. “Do you really expect me to believe that when it’s been nothing but radio silence for six years?”

“Yeah, kinda,” he snaps, suddenly feeling defensive. Memories of the night he left come flooding back and he’s transported to that place of feeling unworthy and inadequate. His chest puffs up and his shoulders tense. “At least I made something of myself. Can’t you at least be a little bit happy for me?

He immediately realizes that was a low blow, evident in the way the tears start pouring from your eyes. The hurt on your face cuts a deep pang in Eddie’s chest for his thoughtless comment. You’ve always been there for him, you were always in his corner for as long as you’d known each other.

You shrink into yourself, avoiding his intense stare as you crumble. “I am happy for you. It just sucks that I had to be forgotten about for you to get there. But I understand, I really do. You had to ditch this town to chase after what you wanted for your life, and that included leaving me behind too.” You wipe your nose with the back of your hand and sniffle.

Eddie’s tense posture relaxes and his expression turns sorrowful as he watches you fall apart from his wrongdoings. It hurts to watch you run a hand through your hair and wipe the mascara from below your eyes in an attempt to compose yourself. The sound of your fumbling car keys is like a thundering countdown in his ears, urging him that his time is running out before he’s lost you entirely. Eddie’s mind races as he fights the impulse to do something, anything, to make amends. “Don’t go,” he begs. “I’m sorry.”

You respond with your eyes fixed on inserting your key into the lock of the car door, your trembling hands making it difficult to do so. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Yes I do,” he insists, getting as physically close as possible without crossing any boundaries.

The piercing glare that was previously on his face has found its way onto yours. “I disagree. You got everything you could’ve ever wanted.”

When your eyes meet, he can feel it in his toes. “I didn’t, though.” Eddie notices the inflamed veins in your eyes, hating himself for being the reason you’re crying. It’s an odd feeling, but a small, sad smile tugs at his lips.

The scoff from you hits like a slap to his cheek. “Let’s see,” you hold out your hand and begin counting on your fingers. “Expensive clothes, a massive house, I’m sure you have multiple cars. You probably have a personal chef-” All true. “For fuck’s sake, you have a private jet. What more could you possibly want?”

Eddie is terrified of making a move that might push you further away, yet he musters the courage to try to ground you with his touch. His fingers gently wrap around your wrist and both of you watch as he brushes his thumb over your veins. “I never got to have you,” Eddie’s voice cracks ever so slightly as he lays all of his cards on the table. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

A tear dribbles off of your cheek and splashes onto the pavement as your hands begin to interact with his.

You contemplate pulling your hand away, the heartache inching back into the forefront of your mind. “If you wanted me you would’ve been here all along.”

Eddie holds his breath as your fingers intertwine and your palms press together. “I’m here now, and I want you just as badly as I did back then.” His lips press a soft kiss to the tops of your knuckles and his teary eyes meet yours. “I was just a stupid kid who turned heel and ran when things didn’t go the way I wanted them to.”

“Yeah, you were,” you agree with a bite of your lip. “You didn’t even give me the chance to tell you that I felt the same way.”

Eddie grins, giving your hand a squeeze and another kiss. “Is there any chance that you still feel that way? Because I’m still stupidly in love with you.”

“I do,” you breathe with relief, swallowing the pressure in your throat. “I’m in love with you too.”

“Wanna be stupid together?” Eddie tilts his head at you, continuing to hold your hand to his plush lips.

“Yeah,” you giggle wetly, “I’d really like that.”

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kimsmuse · 9 months

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Hiii, I just came across your blog, and I L O V E it! Since you said you were looking for a recommendation, here's one from me. Yandere school president. They have immense power at their school because not only are they the president, but their parents own the school. Their word is quite literally the law at this school. He just so happens to be head over heels in love and obsessed with you. Give in to their obsessive and possessive love or suffer the consequences. Since he holds so much power, he can make you a school outcast in less then a week, and he can have teachers fail you or pick on you for the stupidest reasons ever, he'll make your life a living hell at school if you don't accept his twisted and fucked up love, it's best to just be a good darling, and let yourself be loved on his own terms. It's a concept I've thought about a lot, but I haven't seen much of it. Anyways, thank you for your time, and keep up the good work!!!

okay okay omg first of all your brain???? this way too good and oml now i'm sad i spent my entire school life without a class prez like this :( but let's talk about this !!! this is mildly inspired by this one guy from the kdrama called taxi driver (ep 3) !!!

gender neutral!reader. warnings for obsessive behavior, mentions of killing someone but it's nothing graphic. blackmail/coercion type thing?? and typical yandere behavior.

okay so yandere!class president who is so focused, he's the top student of the grade and he's good at sports too?? captain of the basket ball team?? i don't know how he does it because i really couldn't but anyway even apart from that he keeps on taking part and neatly scoring in debates, and writing contests, you name it and he's doing it. it does happen sometimes that he ends up getting silver or bronze but he's there on the list somehow.

and obviously if you've ever been a teenager then you know how attractive this type of people are, because they're good at everything, because they look very unattainable and bonus for our class president is that he's super hot as well. so obviously he had a classroom filled with admirers. and he loved the attention, who doesn't? but he's never thought more of it than that, the aspect of romance is kinda alien to him, he's had his fair share of physical relationships (if they can be even called that) but none of them too good to stay.

so he keeps on with his day, his cram school, having lunch, dinner, studying, more studying.

and when he bumps into you from his way back from the library, he just stops dead in his tracks as you attempt to pick up the books you both dropped, and when you look up at him he's literally frozen. who are you? why has he never seen you around? why do you look so pretty? hey, where's that romantic instrumental playing from? why-

"hey, mister, are you okay? i didn't hit your head or anything right?"

and trust me when he's the literal embodiment of the ":0" emoji.

anyway, but that guy has never had a crush before so at first he just feels like its some kinda internal intuition? that there's something wrong with you or something.

but then he finds himself trying to find your class, sitting there on the excuse of talking to some friends and obviously he's welcomed there.

and he figures that his initial impression might be a wrong because you were such a sweetheart. not as popular as him, and you stuck to your 2-3 friends but he saw the way you would smile at people - a gentle, warm one. and he quite literally died when you greeted him that way once, surprised that you would know about his existence

it wasn’t that he forgot he was famous but having a crush really does wonders to your self esteem.

also you best believe he's digging up all your information, your past schooling if you've transferred, your parents' background, your social media and duh, where you live, where you work.

and if you work somewhere like a cafè or a convenience store, he's there for half the day, "studying" for exams and stuff, he claims it helps more than studying at home. and all the time his eyes barely register a page because he's looking at you as you're hard at work, helping customers, greeting them with that damned, charming smile and then in rare moments he looks at you as you lose that demeanor and sigh out of exhaustion. poor baby, he wished he could something for you so bad in those moments.

and then comes the part where his friends (he has a lot of friends but he believed that when you have a crush you shouldn’t tell everyone? also given his popularity... he figured it wouldn't be a greatest idea ever. so he only told like a guy or two) they adviced him to just go up to you and ask you out? what's the problem even? he's literally the golden boy of the school, why would someone reject him ever? you shouldn’t even be worried about that, dude! but with that confidence in himself, he decides on a day, nothing too significant and he looks at himself in the mirror.

"uh, actually, i do have a partner," did you hear that? the glass shattering? uh, that was his heart. that was his reaction when you told him this. but it was true, you had a partner in another country (which made sense that the yandere did not come to know of this before because he had been following you, just to make sure you were safe ofcourse, and he did not see a persosn who could classify as a romantic threat) and you loved them very much! no matter how cute and great this guy was, you were loyal to them.

and now cue the yandere's sad era. but only for like a day or two. until he realizes something. this was absurd, you were rejecting him? when so many people would literally kill for something like this? it was unbelievable. but he was deadset, this was the first time he felt this way for someone and he was determind to make you feel the same, or at least keep you with him, and he would do it with any means necessary.

he realized that your friends' parents were mere employees in his dad's company so all it took was one meeting. "stop talking to y/n." for them to start ignoring you and they did not even try to keep it lowkey and you had to resort to sitting alone at lunch, giving an easy access to the guy who used it as a time to sit beside you and tell you about his day, nevermind the fact that for the first few times you would just up and leave. and then you finally decided to just snap.

"what the fuck do you want?" you look at him, frustrated by all these things, and changes happening in your life in less than a week.

he just smirked, that mf had the audacity to smirk? "you, ofcourse,"

now he wasn’t quite violent because he'd just entered adulthood, he did not want to fuck up and spend the rest of his years in jail (not that he actually would because his parents would be hiring the world's best lawyers for him) but he did imagine it, murdering your s/o. he did not know what they looked like, but all they saw was you happy in their arms and as much he loved that little smile of yours, he wanted it to be for himself! not someone else!

so anyway, after you storm out on him after the last conversation, you get your english test results back and a big, red F is staring at you.

and normally your parents weren't grade obsessed but you would boast to them about how good you were at english and how much you loved the subject and even the teacher agreed thaf you were good at it.

when you meet with the teacher after class, he just removes his spectacles and rubs his eyes, "listen, y/n, you're one of the smartest students i've had the pleasure of teaching. so make the right choice, it's good for your future. just say yes to him. he's not bad, you know,"

he was behind this???????

you felt even more utterly helpless when you found that the yandere's parents fund almost more than half of the school so there’s nobody who would be willing to go against them and help you, no matter how much you would plead them.

"a transfer? don't even think about it, baby, nobody is going to issue that certificate unless i say so,"

chills run down your neck as he whispers this. you were truly stuck with him.

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sweetly-yours-and-mine · 1 year

Text

Chicago - Oneshot

Pairing: Marc Spector x Reader

Word Count: 12.7k

Summary: You and Marc go back to Chicago.

Warnings: as close to smut as I can write, 18+ only please, unprotected sex (please practice safe sex), reader takes the morning after pill, essentially a dive into Marc's past

A/N: I am not Jewish so if there is anything I misrepresented, particularly regarding Jewish burial practices please let me know.

This is part of The Dress universe, but can be read on its own.

I don't own photos, dividers or characters.

Marc’s hand is heavy and warm within yours. It not only carries your hand, but the weight of the world and the love he holds for you. Even on a day like today, as you both walk down the street towards a home that had been turned into a prison for him, you can feel the weight of his love. It hangs about you like a cloud heavy with rain, rumbling with thunder.

He’d insisted that he take your luggage, and it’s now click-click-clicking across the square cobblestones of the sidewalk. Your carry-on, a small backpack, is slung over one of his shoulders, bumping into his own backpack on the other shoulder.

Always the light-packer, Marc hadn’t checked any luggage, though it was complimentary with the international flight. So, you’d packed a couple of things for him as well. Steven’s latest book, a favourite baseball cap of Marc’s, a fuzzy, soft blanket that was a favourite of the three of you. Bits and pieces of home that weren’t a necessity, like the items in his backpack, but a comfort. Something to help him stay calm, grounded. Face the week ahead a little easier.

At the bottom of it all, squeezed between a pair of sweatpants and Marc’s favourite dress, is a little surprise. A Cubs jersey that you’d scavenged half of London to get your hands on. You’re planning to wear it on Sunday, when the Cubs were playing the Mets, a home game that Marc was going to take you to.

“Hey,” you slow down, right before the final twist to his home street. Marc had, on purpose, given the taxi driver the wrong address. You’d stayed quiet and let him pretend you didn’t realise, that you hadn’t sifted through the mail a few months ago and the address on an expedited letter from the United States hadn’t caught your eye. “You know…” you don’t mean to pressure him to look at you, knowing that this is already exponentially hard for him. But he does. He turns to you with soft eyes, tense shoulders.

“You know…” you’re fumbling for words now, wishing you had that magical ability of Marc’s to say exactly the right thing, in the least amount of words. With a sigh and tilt of your chin, you lean up a little towards him. On instinct, Marc presses his forehead against yours. His eyes fall closed. The heat of his breath against your face is more comforting than the sun. “We can go away now, take the rest of the week off and be tourists. Go to all those tacky places everyone raves about.”

Your eyes fall open just in time to catch a smile break across Marc’s face like a butterfly. The smell of his cologne is wrapping around you. You feel indestructible beside him. You hope he feels the same.

“Don’t worry, honey,” there’s the traces of the smile still in his voice, even if his face is neutral again. “I’ll take you to see The Bean regardless.” He squeezes your hand, turns the corner with renewed strength.

He knows that that’s the last thing you’ve come here to see. As the two of you were going to the bank to get a mortgage pre-approval, a bank that you’d made sure had an international branch in Spain, you’d hesitated. Paused and asked him if it was possible that you were moving too fast.

Misunderstanding your intentions, Marc had dropped to one knee and stuttered out a half-proposal before you’d dragged him up by the shoulders and told him what you meant.

So, Marc delayed your appointment with the advisor, booked two round flights for Chicago and took a couple extra shifts at work.

A month later, here you were.

You convince him to let you help with the luggage as you climb the stairs to the red-brick townhouse. The place you’d only heard of through Marc and Steven’s stories. You wait patiently, let Marc collect himself and grab the knocker in his own time. There are light curtains drawn at the windows, which shuffle at the sound of his knock, a grey head of curly hair and thick-rimmed glasses peeking out from the little gap before it disappears, and the lock and its door clicks open.

Surreal, it’s all surreal really. The house and the curtains you don’t recall ever having made their way into any of the stories you’d heard. Marc’s father, who, even a wrinkled and old, looks the spitting image of his son.

“Hi, Marc,” he speaks up first, his grip on the door so tight that his knuckles turn white. His gaze falls to you, searching. You smile at him, let Marc decide how, when and if he wants to introduce you to his father. If he wanted to turn back now, without even a hello, you’d let him.

You hope Marc knows that you’d do anything for him, let him do anything to you.

“Hi,” Marc’s voice is more gruff than when he talks with you. He lets go of your hand and smooths his palm down your back, pulling you into his side. He introduces you, tells his father your name, “My partner.” Marc hates the word girlfriend, you know that it makes his mouth sour to say it. A label that wasn’t fitting for what you were.

“Hi, Mr. Spector,” the words fall onto the little mat in front of the door. You step over them as you step into his arms for a hug. His whiskers scratch your skin as you feel a kiss pressed close to your temple. The weight of words unsaid, conversations to be had is heavy around the three of you.

“Elias please,” up close you can see the tears in his eyes, as he grips your shoulder comfortingly and lets you go. Magnet-like as always, you return to Marc’s side. His father gives the two of you another shaky smile, fidgets as he pushes his glasses back up his nose, plays with the hem of his cardigan. He waits a second longer than what would be considered normal, his eyes drifting up and down your frames quickly before he opens his mouth to say something but thinks the better of it. Stepping to the side, he opens the door for you, “Please, come in.”

You silently help Marc tug the suitcase into the door, let your hand rest on his a second too long on the handle, close the door quietly behind you.

The squeal of the kettle is the saving grace from the weighted silence that would have fallen on the three of you. Elias rushes to the kitchen, tells you in half-sentences to make yourself at home. He’s a flurry of curls and the worn wool of his sweater.

You do as he heads, take your shoes off and reach to take Marc’s hand in yours again. He shucks the backpacks off him, tosses them to the side, intertwines your fingers and starts going into the house.

He pauses when he catches sight of the pillows and blankets that are on one of the bottom stairs of the staircase. You squeeze his hand and lean up, whisper to him over the clanging of cabinets and the murmuring from the kitchen, that you don’t have to stay the week here, that there are plenty of cheap hotels nearby or farther away, if that’s what he wants, you’d be happy to stay at.

He nods, tense and curt. Leads you over to the couch, places your hand on his knee with a reaffirming tap of his hand. You catch his eye and he winks at you. Heavy and weighted. You smile back at him, squeeze his leg and let him know that it’s ok. More for yourself than him, you lean in and kiss his cheek. Fleeting, you feel like a girl before prom, sneaking in a kiss like this in his childhood house.

A tray of three mugs, all mismatched and chipped are plopped in front of you. A shaky smile sent your way from Elias. You don’t miss the way they drop to his son, the way his fingers tremble and find refuge in the magazines strewn on the table. Tutting he starts to gather them up, “Sorry, I-I, I’ve meant to clean this place up, but no matter what I do, the mess stays the same, and after a while trying I just gave up,” he pauses and looks at the two of you. “I don’t often get visitors.”

“You have a lovely home,” you look around, catch sight of a sepia-tinted photo hanging on the walls of a smiling little boy with chubby cheeks and look away as if burned. “Is it a remodel or?”

You know Marc is laughing at you, internally at least. Though the mortgage pre-approval still had to be approved, you’d taken up the house search with a commitment that scared him sometimes. He’d wake in the middle of the night, see you still scrolling on your computer after you’d promised him that you’d be done in just five minutes, baby, I have a feeling this is the one. You had an eye for houses now, would look upon them with a buying hand and could speak lingo that he barely understood.

The first time you talk with Marc’s father, your father-in-law of sorts, you speak about nothing at all. Marc stays quiet through all of it, dropping in quiet, strained sentences in between your words. Lets his hands wander where he wants them, your legs and arms, around your back and shoulders. It’s his way of letting you know that it’s alright, you’re doing good, he’s doing good.

Elias asks you about your job, London, your family. Sometimes, you think you’ve caught Marc smiling, his smile that hides behind his eyes. You can’t look at him too long for fear of making him too uncomfortable and so, you’re not sure if it’s just your mind playing tricks on you or if it’s really just Marc.

You miss him. He’s sitting right next to you, his hands warm against your body, and yet your heart yearns for him in ways you’ve only dreamt of someone else longing for you.

You drink tea and eat some crackers, hear the crack in Marc’s voice when he asks his father why he’s still buying these things.

“They’re good, they’ve become my favourite too,” there’s a faltering smile on Elias’ face, a crack in his voice that mirrors Marc’s.

You make a mental note of the brand and decide that it’s worth it to buy another suitcase just to be filled up with the crackers. Marc’s hands flutter to your waist.

As he starts to calm down, you see glimpses of the man Elias has become. Soft-spoken with a gentle temperament. A father grieving over two sons and a wife.

Your heart quivers as you think about how it’d feel to lose Marc, Marc whom you’ve only known for a few years. Marc whose fingers are trying to push the tension out of your muscles. Your treasure, Marc.

That evening, Marc devours a whole deep-dish pizza by himself, makes your heart warm with his renewed appetite. That evening, he decides that he wants to spend the night at his father’s. Mumbles something along the lines of getting a cab at this hour. So, you help his father make up the guest room for you, help Marc lug the suitcase up and stay discretely quiet as you pass the closed door right at the top of the stairs.

Elias sneaks in when he hears the shower running, sees the opened suitcase still filled with clothes, and his face falls.

“I-uh,” there’s a loss of zeal in his actions, as he holds up a handful of towels. “Just thought I’d drop these off, for extra. Though I don’t think you’ll be needing them anymore.” His gaze falls back to the suitcase, the empty chest of drawers.

“You know, Elias,” you stand up and take the towels from him, place them on the bed and make him hold your eyes. “We don’t actually have a hotel booked.”

He grins, forces himself to stop and then grins again and runs his hand across his face, looking away. The scene makes you smile, biting the inside of your cheek. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

In a burst of affection, he wraps his arms around you, hugs you much harder than what he did in the entrance of his home with the heat of Marc’s gaze on him. You feel a scratchy brush of his lips as he kisses your forehead, pulls away and looks you up and down again. He opens his mouth to speak when he hears the shower being turned off and rushes away. “Well, good night.”

“Good night,” the door closes moments later, only for the bathroom door to open and reveal Marc, with only a towel wrapped around his waist.

“My father was in here,” he swallows thickly, running a hand over his face in a gesture eerily similar to Elias’ a few moments ago.

You nod, take a towel and lead Marc into a chair. “Just dropping off some things we might need.” You start working the water out of his hair, knowing that he’d just let it dry, sopping wet as it is right now, and risk getting a cold. You refrain from scenting him like a dog, though you know Marc always smells amazing after a shower, and it makes you curl yourself into his body at nights in your sleep. You know tonight is going to be no different, if the jet lag doesn’t get to you.

Taking care of Marc’s hair is one of your favourite things to do with him. You like drawing him a bath filled with bubbles, pouring water over his hair and working in shampoo and conditioner. His hair is beautiful, and you hope that, when the time is right, his child will have the same.

When the majority of the water has been absorbed into the towel, you hang it up, and search through your suitcase for the little bottle of hair product you’d bought for him. The bottle that he begrudgingly uses for your sake, Steven less so. It makes their hair softer, more defined, easier to manage.

“Fuck, baby, you packed that thing?” You hope his eye doesn’t fall on all the other things you’ve packed, not wanting to go through the charade where he scolds you for packing sentimentally and not practically. Where he holds up items accusingly and tilts his head, silently asking you what was going through your head.

The answer is embarrassing. Him. Always him and Steven. They’re your world and you’re not sure if you want to explain to Marc that it’s difficult to stop thinking about the world, even for just a few moments.

“Hush, Spector,” you come back behind him and open the bottle, pour some of the product into your hand. Marc’s eyes fall shut as you start to work it into his hair. “You need to keep your curls moisturised, otherwise they get all frizzy.”

“Maybe I like them frizzy.” In the privacy of your shared room, you see his walls eb away, and he turns back into the man you’ve grown to know. Witty, affectionate, teasing. He always loves you, that never changes wherever you are.

So, you quip back and forth with him, let him kiss you breathless in bed and tease you a little more about getting turned on so easily. He’s escaping a little, letting the pressure of the house fade away into nothingness. You read to him out loud, let his hands crawl under your shirt and shamelessly grope at your chest, press his nose in the space between your breasts knowing that that’s where you always spray your perfume.

The sheets are soft against your skin, Marc’s body and his love warming you up. The house quiets down, the curtains are drawn. The feeling of his skin against yours is intoxicating. Marc falls asleep earlier than you, so entangled with you that you can feel his heartbeat against yours. Your hearts start to sync up together and the rhythm makes you sleepy.

The headlights of a car are dulled by the blinds as it hums its way down the street. Marc’s even breaths are the last things you register before falling asleep yourself.

The stress of the day before gets to Marc more than the jet lag, and as he sleeps soundly, you slip away from him and put on a sweater of his, padding softly downstairs with a book. The sun has barely risen and you’ve barely gotten over four hours of sleep, but another minute in bed with Marc, seeing him sleeping so effortlessly when you couldn’t was going to drive you insane.

So, downstairs it was.

The smell of coffee and toasted bread takes you by surprise. You peer into the kitchen to see Marc’s father, in a plaid robe and slippers standing and looking outside the window into the backyard, his hair a crowsnest. There’s the gentle drip of the coffee machine, the hum of the fridge, abandoned plates and glasses from last night’s dinner in the sink.

“Morning,” you say quietly for fear of breaking the early morning calm you and Steven love so much.

“Hi,” he’s beaming at you as he turns around. In another whirlwind of movements, he rushes you to the dining table, set on being a good host. He presses a cup in your hands, places some sugar on the table and asks if you take anything else with your coffee. He offers to buy some cream for you, if that’s what you prefer. Unspoken but still there is the question of Marc, the answer to which he’s dying to hear.

Like his son, it seems, Elias talks through his eyes.

You smile and let him know that it’s alright, tacking on that Marc drinks his coffee black anyways. You stay quiet about Steven, about his experimental superfood, plant-based lattes he gifts you every morning. The way his eyes light up when you compliment them, the way he kisses your forehead and cheeks and the way your heart stutters when you think of having to leave him for work.

Elias latches on to that little bit of information like a moth to a flame, “Black?” His eyes light up, he plays his nails against the ceramic of his own mug and makes quiet clinks. Nodding, you confirm and he shakes himself out of his trance, “You sleep alright? Was the bed comfortable?”

“Yes, very,” you opt not to tell him about the jet lag, about how your eyes are glueing together when you blink. You take a sip of coffee instead, “Just an early riser that’s all.”

“Good, good,” he shifts, adjusts his glasses, brushes his hand through his hair.

“Did you sleep well?” you’re spooning some sugar into your coffee, expecting that the conversation is going to go in the same direction as the night before.

Laughing nervously, he looks away from you, “No, actually. Couldn’t lay still for the life of me. Too nervous I guess.”

Your eyes soften, “It must have been hard for you, with Marc gone for so long.”

“What?” he turns back to you with trembling lips that he hides behind his coffee cup. “Oh, well-” he makes a low noise at the back of his throat that sounds suspiciously like Marc’s when he’s trying to push back tears “-can’t say I blame him for staying away that much. I wouldn’t have done anything different.”

You smile at him, look down at your coffee to alleviate some of the pressure settling in the room around you. Your loyalties to Marc and Steven are wrapped tight around your heart, and they keep you quiet as you don’t try to contest Elias’ claim. To say that there wasn’t a time you had just as much unbridled hatred toward the man sitting in front of you as you had for his wife would be wrong to say. But you’re in his home, with his son, here to cross bridges, alleviate the weight on Marc’s shoulders a little, and so, though you don’t try to actively comfort Elias, you don’t bring him down either.

There’s still much to learn about him, to figure out, and you won’t cause any more unnecessary drama this week than there will already be. The photo is still hanging on the wall, right behind the couch you and Marc were sitting on yesterday, beaming like a spotlight that you discretely ignore.

Instead you stand up, head to the sink and start on the dishes from the night before, warding off any half-hearted attempts of Elias’ to stay put, that guests don’t do chores in his house. You tell him that you don’t mind, that you like having something to do with your hands. So, he sits quietly and reads through yesterday’s paper, finishes his coffee.

The sun starts to rise to the melody of the running tap, the occasional rustle of the paper.

Your mind drifts back to yesterday in the plane, it felt like lifetimes ago. Marc had claimed that he was going to stay awake the whole eight hour plane ride. That you two were travelling west, you’d gain an ungodly amount of hours, and get there only three hours, Chicago time, after your departure.

He told you to go to sleep, for he knew how long you were up the night before packing. That he’d stay awake, not only for his circadian rhythm, but for you as well. Make sure he got yours and his money’s worth of aeroplane snacks, let you lay on his shoulder, wake you up before landing so you could pop your ears ahead of time.

His high ideals had lasted him all of take-off. The moment the plane leaped into the sky it was as if someone pressed the off switch in his mind. He collapsed into your lap almost instantly, and you had no choice but to stay awake so as to ensure you got the cookies for his sweet tooth, thread your fingers through his hair and wake him up before landing so his ears would pop ahead of time.

You drank your fill of Marc in those hours. Gazed down at him for so long that your neck became sore and you started getting concerned gazes from the flight attendants. Your eyes traced his face, in a well-known rhythm you spent the early mornings playing until he woke up and pulled you back into his arms again with a grumble.

You dry your hands and turn around, come to sit back down at the table and take your coffee and book in hand.

For a few seconds you wish you’d stayed in bed, so you could do the same with Marc. So you could give him some soft touches and kiss his neck until he pushed you away.

“You’re good for him, I can tell,” at the sound of his voice your gaze focuses back in and you realise you’ve never actually focused on the page. You look at him and he offers you a meek smile.

Your heart stutters, you’re not sure if you can tell Elias how much that sentence means to you, that you’re going to store it away, bring it out for when you’re feeling doubtful and play it over and over to comfort you. “Oh,” a smile creeps on your face, eyes fill with tears before you look down and blink them away. This trip was for you as much as it was for Marc it seemed. “I-I…I’m not-” you take a stuttering breath away and wipe away a stray tear and smile at Elias. “He’s good for me too, brings out the best in me.”

Touch comforts you, he must have noticed that last night with his son touching you every second of every minute. Elias reaches forward and places a warm hand on yours, giving you a gentle squeeze.

He pulls away, fidgets with the edge of his newspaper and makes a faint crinkling sound, “Do you mind me asking how you two met?”

You tell him it’s alright. Run through the story over again. The bookstore, Marc, the sushi place and how his son was so nervous you were scared that he’d gotten food poisoning.

It feels like you’ve taken a stack of photographs, held your thumb against the edge and are flipping through at rapid pace. You try to slow down, go back and forth in your story as you try to savour the moment, make Elias see the high-energy atmosphere of the little hole-in-the-wall restaurant, the way Marc looked at you as if you held the sun in your arms, the way your heart flip-flopped around through the whole thing and how you were awash with disappointment when he didn’t kiss you at the end.

The narrative is so jumbled up now, that you’re not even sure where you are in the story of your first date before he surprises you, shows you that he’s been hanging on to every word you’ve said until now, even if it just sounds like confused, lovesick ramblings to your ears. “I thought they were tulips?”

You’re at that point where Marc is walking you back to your place, where he tells you to stay where you are for just one minute as he pops into a florist shop, closing for the day and returns with a box of long-stemmed roses and a sheepish expression on his face. “No, he got me both,” you still feel giddy when you think of that night, still feel like it was plucked out of a fairy tale. “Tulips before, and roses after.”

Your cheeks heat up under the scrutiny of his stare, as he tries to sort out what he thinks of it and you look back down to your book.

Though you might joke around with Marc about it sometimes, it was a small detail about the beginning of your relationship with him that you felt was as vital to your health as your heart.

When you’re with friends, you state the fact proudly, that your partner got you not one, but two bouquets on your first date to show that he was serious, that the body-crushing connection between your souls was not one-sided. You still have the roses, dried up and placed lovingly in the box they came in, tucked away safely in your closet. Every once in a while, usually when you’re alone in your apartment, you put on the outfit you wore that night and take the flowers out of their box, twirling around your living room with them cradled in your arms like a baby.

Marc would surely laugh at you if he knew you did this. Elias is most likely on his way to find it all ridiculous, call you a senseless romantic and take back his positive judgement of you.

“Why both?” is all he asks.

You try not to read into it too much and decide not tell him about how Marc had overanalyzed himself into a little corner of his mind and changed his mind before the date, had almost cancelled on you if it wasn’t so late. “He couldn’t decide, so I got both.”

“That’s lovely,” his warm tone is what convinces you to look back at him. There’s not a trace of resentment in his features. His face is soft, eyebrows wrinkled together in sympathy. Elias is more perceptive than you give him credit for, “Truly, it’s a lovely story.”

A little flame of possessiveness flares up inside you. Mine. You want to tell him that it’s your story, that you lived through it and you were the one that got to tell it and make other people look at you and Marc with jealousy laced into their body like the back of a corset.

You bite your tongue instead, watch as he gets up and refills your coffee cups, rummages through the pantry for a package of cookies, and offers them to you.

“They’re really very good,” he presses with a slight smile when you decline. He reminds you of the way Steven strings adverbs together as if making a pearl necklace. You relent and smile back at him, thank him and take one.

Trying to talk with Elias, without having had a conversation about it first with Marc, is worse than walking on eggshells. It’s not even walking, just meaningless circles around and around. As soon as you start to make some progress, the leash around your neck is pulled back, reminding you that you still need to talk with Marc, Marc still needs to talk with his father.

The last thing you want to do is betray Marc’s trust, the last thing you want is to make Elias feel he can’t trust you.

The sound of water running through the pipes comes from upstairs and you excuse yourself to your room to go check on Marc.

He’s still in the washroom when you go up, the bed neatly made with all the corners tucked in. Though Marc often tries to stop his presence from making an impression on the world around him, the room radiates with him, his soul a candle that you like to hold to your chest to warm you up, as it lights the space around you.

Over the years, you’ve come to realise how you’ve grown to be dependent on Marc’s presence. How your skin tingles when you’re away from him, the way your fingers itch to touch him if he’s close by. It’s the by-product of spending almost every minute you’ve had with him, alone, usually in his apartment or yours.

Now, you know that if he’s not in bed with you, you’ll need an extra blanket to stay warm enough to sleep. Physically and emotionally, you depend on Marc, and so does Marc depend on you. It’s the most intimate bond you’ve ever shared with a person, that comes with its little perks and side effects.

So, when Marc opens the door of the washroom, rubbing at his eye with the back of his finger and catches sight of you, he bounds the length of the room in moments and is hugging you as if he hasn’t seen you in three years. It’s an aspect of your life a therapist would frown upon and would immediately start taking steps to fix.

You don’t care. You like the way your heart flutters when it’s away from Marc, the way it flutters when you see him again. The way he holds you as if you’re life itself and everything in between.

“Where were you?” he murmurs into your hair. He presses his hands into your shoulder blades and closes the particles of space between you. “Woke up alone.”

You make a small noise at the back of your throat, hug him tighter. The image he puts in your mind makes you hurt, “M’sorry. I couldn’t sleep. Jet lag.”

There’s a sound at the back of his throat that mirrors yours. With his hand soothing the back of your head, he tells you that you shouldn’t nap today, no matter how hard it’ll be. That he’ll treat you instead to an early bedtime and fix your sleep schedule overnight.

“You’re so sweet,” you pull away and cup his face, running your thumbs over the soft skin underneath his eyes. “For taking care of me the way you do.”

His hands come to rest on yours, he smiles that subtle Marc smile that to an untrained eye looks like indifference. To you it looks like love, adoration, the promise of taking care of you for as long as you’ll have him. Eyes falling closed, you feel his forehead against yours before it’s even there.

He’s perfect.

He’s yours and he’s perfect and you’re his. You never want to be parted from him from this day on. You want to wake up beside him for the rest of your mornings left. You want him and everything else he has to offer you. A life without Marc Spector in it doesn’t make sense to you anymore. A life where the intense need and desire your soul holds for his is returned to you in spades.

Marc Spector has integrated himself into your heart as an extra artery, vital and essential. You can’t fathom living without him as much as you can’t fathom living without your coffee machine or living without an artery.

The intense feelings wash over you, the exhaustion probably kicking in right around now and you hear Marc cooing, feel his shaking fingers wiping away your tears, “Now, honey…” you open your eyes and smile watery, two tears spilling over your cheeks as you do. You know how easily Marc gets affected when you cry, and you try to stop, “What’s wrong? What’s happening?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head and look down. Taking his hands, you guide them back to where they were on your face. He guides you in turn to look back up at him, and sends you a nervous smile once you do, “I love you, Marc.”

He doesn’t need to say it back for you to hear it from him, yet he does, and he makes you cry even more because of it, “I love you.” Marc knows how itchy your skin gets if your tears fall and dry, so he’s quick to wipe them away, a crease furrowed between his eyebrows, “But I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing, nothing,” you half-laugh, half-cry. He shoots you a look, that makes you elaborate, “I missed you that’s all.”

“I was just upstairs, honey,” he’s teasing you lightly, but you know he knows what you mean. He makes sure of that by kissing you, and you push some of his hair behind his ears, letting your hands rest on his neck. His arms slither around your waist, and they start to lean in your weight into his body.

They’re innocent touches, but with Marc the intention is there, and they’re too early for where you are, for what the time is right now. But you’ve never known how to say no to Marc, particularly when he’s giving you the soft things your body craves for.

There’s a clatter of pots and pans downstairs, that brings you out of the little love cloud you’ve been sharing until now. Reminds you that you’re not at his place, in London, where he can kiss your collarbones whenever he likes and make you weak in the knees.

You pull away and you see the walls shoot back up in his face, see his smile fade, and the frown take its place. He kisses the space above and then below your lips, finally pressing a butterfly of a kiss on them.

You hear his question without him having to say it, and can see it on his face, “I’ll only take a minute.”

“Alright,” he squeezes your hips, looks down at you for a second too long before heading out the door and downstairs.

Elias will be spending the morning at the community centre, running his weekly carpentry class for teenagers. He’d invited you two to join, but Marc had only shook his head.

Breakfast had passed like the dinner the night before. You chatted with Elias as if you’d bumped into him in passing at a coffee shop and were sharing a table for the next half hour. Marc is silent beside you as his father raved on and on about the different attractions Chicago had to offer, discreetly slipping in the lowering crime rates and top-rated schools in the area.

Maybe not as discreet as he’d hoped however, since Marc shifts and clears his throat pointedly. You place your hand on his thigh, and he takes your hand in his.

He’d asked you two what you were planning on doing with the day, when Marc speaks up, “Shedd.” It takes his father and you by surprise. He’s speechless and you’re staring at him, “I got a couple discount tickets online.”

“Well,” Elias starts to fiddle with his fork, until it drops out of his hand and clangs to the plate underneath. “Oh-well, have fun. It’s…lovely…used to take Marc there all the time.”

He doesn’t even give you a moment to respond before he starts clearing the table. Marc’s returned to his phone, and he starts asking about borrowing the car, what the traffic was looking like right about now towards downtown.

They’re pretending like this wasn’t the first time Elias has voluntarily pressed a finger on the blister of the past that hangs heavy around the house like fog. But it was there, and you’re going to hold on to the little snippet of the Marc you were given over breakfast.

He likes Fritos’ corn chips and the aquarium.

You file it all away, store it for an opportune time.

You know you’re already going to start searching for good aquariums in London, probably Spain as well, probably look at membership pricings on top of it.

In London, you don’t often get to see Marc drive. Sometimes, he rents a car for the day. Usually, you’re riding the trains and buses with him and Steven, because it’s cheaper and convenient. But you like watching him drive. Watching his side profile, the way his neck looks as he shoulder checks and changes lanes.

Your mother always told you the best way to know someone was when they sat behind the wheel. Every time he’s sat behind the wheel, he’s made you only fall harder for him. He’s found different ways for your affection to grow in different parts of your body, like an overripe potato sprouting out in the most bizarre places.

He must feel the way your eyes are trained on his face, for he chuckles, places a warm hand on your thigh and squeezes, “You’re starin’.” His accent started to come out the moment you’d stepped foot in the airport. It’s a tilt to his voice that makes you heady, like all aspects of Marc Spector do.

“I am,” you sigh exaggeratedly and look out the window instead. “Can’t help myself. You look so pretty.” It’s a corny pick-up line at best, probably far too immature for where your relationship is at.

But to your surprise, it affects him heavily. The colour rises to his face, his eyes darting back and forth between the rearview mirror enough times for you to know that he’s not checking the cars behind him. “I fly you all the way to fuckin’ Chicago and you can’t quit staring at me like a creep.”

This makes you laugh, makes you seek out his hand on your leg and intertwine your fingers together so you can run your thumb against his palm. “How’s Steven doing?” He hasn’t fronted since you two had left the flat. It wasn’t that long ago, but for Steven it’s been ages.

“Oh, just fine,” his eyes catch the rearview mirror and he grins, changes lanes and merges off the highway. He pauses, glances at the mirror again and then rolls his eyes, “He also says that you should try chamomile tea tonight, to sleep better.”

“I will.” You feel giddy, “Tell him thanks for me.”

“He’s heard you,” his voice is a little strained as he looks over his shoulder, once, twice and changes lanes. A horn is blared and he grumbles, glaring through the rearview mirror at the car behind him, “Fuckin’ tourists.”

Pouting, you say, “But I want you to tell Steven, I don’t want Steven to hear it from me.”

When a glance in your direction tells him that you’re deadly serious about this, even if there’s a smile hanging around your face, he looks back to the rearview mirror and mutters, “She says thanks. For the tea.” He stops at a red light and keeps looking at the mirror. After a pause, “He says he loves you.”

You press the backs of your fingers against your cheeks, as they start heating up, “And do you love me?”

“I love you. Of course.” You know he does. You don’t need to hear it from him to know. Yet he knows you like it when he says it, so he does, and makes the butterflies take flight inside your chest.

Shedd is enormous. The attendant who checks your tickets tells you to set aside a good three hours if you want to see the whole thing. They rave about the beluga whales, pointing out various presentations happening in different exhibits that day and their times.

You can tell from the disgruntled little downturn of Marc’s mouth that he’s only trying to be agreeable. It’s the same look Steven gets when someone tries to dispute a claim he’s made about Egyptology.

But, unlike his alter who is quick to correct and to defend, Marc just shuffles further inside his little shell, bites his cheek and tries to bide his time until it’s over.

You wish he wouldn’t be so tolerant, so flexible with his boundaries. At the beginning of your relationship, and still even now, it creates a lot of tension between you two. Sometimes, you don’t know how to identify certain triggers and stimulations of his, certain things he’d rather not do but puts up with for your sake and pretends to be fine with it.

Of course, he’s not fine with it. He lets it build and fester inside of him for so long that he self-destructs. Retreats into himself at the smallest comment and doesn’t front for weeks at a time.

So, instead, you feign interest in one of the exhibitions and manage to cut the conversation short. A glance at Marc shows that the hinge of his jaw has relaxed, the corner of his mouth turned neutral. His hand is warm and comforting on the small of your back as he guides you towards the entrance and you wonder if you could fall in love with him more.

First, Marc takes you to see the Moon jellyfish in the Wild Reef exhibit. There, you also see three types of sharks, and a chocolate-chip starfish, the name and appearance of which delights you. It delights Marc as well, you know for you’ve grown accustomed to his type of humour, but he’s just better at hiding it than you.

However, he’s amused enough by your reaction to the clownfish, similar to the children around you who are parroting the words it’s Nemo! over and over again, to smile. Actually smile and he holds it long enough for you to catch it, and he grins when he catches your eye.

You realise how much of Marc you’ve been missing out on in London, Steven’s stomping ground. In Chicago, there are memories of Marc in every corner, the soft shadow of him as a child following behind you wherever you go.

It’s there in the practised ease with which he takes you through the streets, how comfortable he is behind the wheel of the car, the way his eyes twinkle the same way Steven’s did when you met Crawley for the first time when he sees a familiar street corner.

It’s there when he leans into the glass of another exhibit and murmurs a faint, “Hey, old lady,” to Nickel, the green sea turtle, and arguably the star of the whole show. You’re not sure if you’re just being a romantic but you manage to fool yourself into thinking that there’s a spark of recognition in the animal’s eye as well as she glides smoothly past Marc’s face and cuts through the middle of a school of angelfish.

But he’s also still your Marc. Just because Chicago is familiar to him, he doesn’t forget you, your intricate language made up of gestures and looks. He sees when you’ve become oversaturated with what you’ve seen, where a fish starts to look like any old fish and he changes itinerary without ever telling you.

The next stop was supposed to be the Oceanarium, but Marc takes a left turn instead of a right and takes you to the cafe and buys you a cinnamon roll that he’ll eat half of anyways but he’ll never confess to later. He gets himself a coffee and for you a hot drink.

Even the sight of him pulling American bills out of his wallet, the familiar leather fraying and hanging on by the seams, twists your stomach and chest together into swirls.

Marc, ever resistant to voluntary change because he’s had so much of it in his life, still pays with cash. It’s one of his old habits from the days he’s lived in secret from Steven and has never shaken off. It goes hand-in-hand in the way he cleans out the coffee filter the moment it’s brewed, how he actively seeks out one-pot recipes to minimise the time he spends cleaning up after himself.

He’s sitting across from you, tucked into a corner with his back to the wall and stuffing some of the roll into his mouth. There’s a bit of filling that’s left over at the corner of his lips, and you smear it away with your thumb, still deep in thought.

You see now that his muscle memory kicked in the moment your plane landed yesterday.

Chicago seems to have accepted Marc back into its fabric without a qualm and question of where he’s been the past twenty years.

His home is with you and Steven. In the memories you’ve built together and the soft touches you’ve given to and will continue to give to each other. But he grew up in Chicago.

To know Marc completely is to also discover the city he grew up in. To know the city is to know Marc.

You’ll hear an inflection in a word from a stranger passing by. You’ll see a mannerism, a furtive glance of an eye.

And it clicks into place for you.

Attitudes and behaviours that you found strange in Marc you now attribute to the city. And for that, you fall in love with the people as well.

You fall in love with the attendant at the front of the aquarium, the cabbie who brought you from the airport to Elias’. There’s a child a few metres away from you that calls out to his friend, his hey distinctly similar to Marc’s cadence of speech. You love that child, no older than seven, after having seen just a brief seven second glance of him.

The murmur of the music around you filters to your ears. The hiss and hum of the espresso machines of the cafe, the squeak of a toddler’s shoes as she tramples in front of her parents.

The American accents that were initially grating to your ears have revealed their true nature to you, gold mines where bits and pieces of the man you love reside.

This was what you were searching for when you asked Marc to take you to Chicago. To be able to see him carry himself with the practised ease Steven carries around his books and messily scrawled notes.

Chicago, though it has equal parts good and bad memories, acts like a salve for Marc.

He’s missed the city without ever knowing that he has.

“Marc?” You’re not sure if this is the best way to approach him about it. His gaze flicks back to yours. “Did…” the question formed easier in your head. With a tsk, you reach for his free hand and he gives it to you without question, save for the concerned waves of his eyes.

As always, everything becomes remarkably clear and simple the moment his skin meets yours. “How,” you swallow down your fear and his hand squeezes yours affectionately. “How often did you come here with Elias?”

His face closes off, tension returning to his shoulders as his mouth turns down. You loosen your grip on his hand in preparation for the moment that he will inevitably pull away from you.

The moment never comes.

“You almost done with that?” his eyes are downturned to the table, and he gestures with his head to the cinnamon roll.

“Yeah.”

His hand still in yours, he finishes it off without a word, washing it down with the remainder of your drinks. He doesn’t spare you a glance through it all, making your heart crawl up your throat with every second that passes.

You want to get up and leave him. It would be the easier thing to do. To take your hand away before he gets the chance to, and go see the beluga whales and dolphins by yourself, Marc be damned.

It would be easier, but it would be horribly wrong. To ask him a question so heavy and weighted and not be there for the inevitable spiral when he’s stuck with you through much the same.

So, you try and remind yourself that the many conversations you’ve had with Marc usually are like this anyways. You and Marc always have unlimited rain checks for each other. Sometimes it ends up being awkward and clunky, and if you read into it too much, it can look like he’s avoiding you.

It’s what works so well about your relationship. There’s the acknowledgment that conversations like these are supposed to be awkward and clunky, and to a third party it might seem avoidant. But it’s the conditions under which both you and Marc thrive off of.

He stands up now, gathering up your coffee cups and plates, placing them on the counter of the cafe.

When he comes back, he takes your coat in his arm and guides you towards the exit, back towards the Oceanarium.

Before you arrive, you stop, and look at him. “Marc, can I kiss you?” You wonder if he’ll taste like cinnamon.

He does. You kiss the corner of his mouth first, then press your lips together. He tastes like cinnamon and coffee, and if you close your eyes, you think that things will be alright between you.

“Thanks,” you murmur, slightly out of breath like you are after all of Marc’s kisses.

“‘Course,” he wraps his free arm around your waist and starts to walk. “You never gotta ask.”

The beluga whales exceed your expectations. You were expecting to be enthralled with the sea otters and their playful circles and flips in the water as they tried to rub water into their fur.

But it’s the smooth glide of the whales, their chirps and bellows that enthral you. The way they look like they’re smiling at you when they open their mouths in front of you. Their playful side-eyes as they bob their heads up above the water.

In many ways they remind you of Steven.

In many more ways, they remind you of Marc, of the soft, duvet-like interior he manages to shield so well from so many, including you sometimes.

Guilt crawls up into your stomach as you remember what happened in the cafe, and a sharp tide of self-loathing washes over you. You feel unworthy of even standing so close to the animals, let alone looking at them.

You go and sit down on one of the benches. You’re uncharacteristically cold for the humid air around you.

Marc’s jacket is draped over your shoulders and he sits down beside you, rubbing his palms together as he looks down at them.

The jacket smells like him, of course it does. But it also reminds you of the London apartment, their bed and myriad of blankets and quilts on top of it.

You think of Gus and hope that he’s doing ok, that the automatic feeder is doing its job. You miss Gus as well, the soothing hum of his water filter having ten times the effect the aquarium could have on you. Pushing your arms through the sleeves of Marc’s jacket, you do up the top bottom and cross your legs.

“Are you tired?”

You can feel him looking at you and you look back at him, “A little.”

“Do you want to go?”

You shake your head in response. He bites his upper lip and frowns, looking back down to the floor. The sight tugs at your throat, for how hard he’s trying for you and you reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers together. You press your other hand to the back of his, caging it in between your own.

You’re content to stay like this forever.

“They uh-” his voice is raspy when he starts to talk. He stops and clears his throat, “They loved the beluga whales.” You shuffle along the bench and press your shoulder against his. “My father and…” his throat moves as he swallows harshly and you want to press your fingers against his neck to feel it, but you also refuse to move from where you are right now. “Randall.”

Your look back to the animals, swimming around blissfully unaware of the weight that’s associated with them in Marc’s mind.

Leaning forward, you kiss his temple, the curve of his ear.

“I liked Nickel the best,” he’s not looking at you but you’re looking at him. Images of the sea turtle rise back up in your mind, the soft murmur of his voice floating in your ears.

You think back to the photo hanging up in Elias’ living room, you think of Elias this morning, shy and bashful, not knowing what to do with himself.

“What about Steven?”

He gives you a dry chuckle, squeezes your hand, “Hates aquariums with a passion.”

“Is he ok? With all this?” You’re smiling, thinking of the depression of fear and disgust that would have been on his face, had he been fronting.

Marc nods his head, almost imperceptibly.

His arm falls around your shoulders and he pulls you into him as much as he can. “We,” he takes a deep breath and lets it out. You feel the way his ribs expand and contract with it. “Roro and I would fight all the time about where we should go.”

You’re suddenly acutely aware of where you are, of the way he’d asked you if you were tired and wanted to leave, “Marc, if you want we can go somewhere else-”

He shakes his head, soothing his hand against your shoulder, “My father always settled the whole thing with a cinnamon roll. And after-” he presses his nose against your head and takes a deep breath. “After…Roro, he would still bring me here every weekend, and let me sit with Nickel as long as I wanted.”

A ball rolls towards his feet, breaking him out of the dreamlike state he was in. A platter of footsteps follows soon after, a little girl no more than four or five years old looking up at him shyly. The ball is made out of a green plastic, littered with small daisies.

Letting go of you, Marc stoops down and picks it up with both hands, as though it was made out of glass. “This yours, honey?” His accent is strong now, you almost don’t recognise his voice.

She nods, daring to take a couple steps forwards. Marc holds out the ball for her to take and in a furtive movement, she snatches it from him and runs away.

When the girl disappears out of view, he looks at you, offers you a small smile that you scoop from his palms and press into your skin.

It’s late afternoon by the time you’re done with Shedd.

You say you want to see Nickel again, and let Marc stay with her as long as he wanted. You spend more time looking at him than the turtle, and you don’t regret a minute of it.

The sun is shining a heated red that hits your skin and warms you straight to your bone marrow. Marc buys you a hot dog from a stand close to the aquarium. He kisses you lazily as you try to eat it, littering his love along your shoulders and neck.

You fall asleep on the drive back and he makes no move to wake you, despite the fact that he’d promised to fix your sleep schedule overnight and that was contingent on the fact that you stay awake for the rest of the day. He’s quiet as he carries you from the car and back to your bed and you’re about to fall asleep again when he whispers to you that he’s going to be going on a walk with his father.

You dream of Nickel and the beluga whales. Of plastic balls and squeaking shoes. Of Marc with a baby and soft sunshine that feels like everything you’ve ever wanted.

Marc is silent as you go through the motions of getting a hotel room, his presence as heavy as the hand he’s keeping on the side of your waist. He hasn’t said a single word since he’d woken you up and said that he wasn’t going to be spending the night at Elias’.

You’re not sure where he is right now, what Steven is telling him and even, if Steven is there at all, soothing Marc in ways you only wish you could. You can only do what you can, and it usually just feels inadequate.

The moment the door closes behind you in the room, Marc’s agony is let go of. It spills out of his chest and into yours. You feel him hesitate, you feel him start to pull back, to zip up and run away from you. But you have it. You grapple, hold your arms open for him and he runs back to you.

Pushing you up against the wall, he kisses you, his mouth rough on yours as he starts to tear away at your clothes until you’re naked. It feels intensely vulnerable, to feel the rough material of his jeans rubbing against your thighs, to be so exposed when he’s still covered.

But his hands start to wander and you feel dressed in love again. You’re not sure how much of Marc you’re going to see tonight, any if all. You’ll accept what he’s going to give you, you want to give him the feeling of being enough, a feeling he’s never gotten from Wendy or Elias.

“I don’t have a condom with me,” he murmurs against the skin of your neck. A low groan rumbles through you, the pressure of his body against yours lifting, “I’ll go-”

“No,” he looks at you in surprise. You’re shaking your head, keeling over with the weight of what he’s asking of you, and desperate to give it to him, to soothe him better, “No, Marc, I don’t mind.” You’ll find a pharmacy in the morning and get the pill. The last thing you want is for him to be separated from you right now. Looping your arms around his neck you bring his forehead to yours.

His hands drop to your waist, his voice aching with desire and a fleeting sense of control, “You sure?”

You reassure him again wordlessly, pressing a butterfly of a kiss to his lips, fingers finding purchase in the collar of his jacket and urging him to take it off. He listens, of course he listens, even now when he has every right not to. He grants the small wishes of your heart and deepens the kiss, so your ears go staticky and you can barely make out the faint thud of his jacket hitting the ground.

His fingers go to the soft skin behind your knees, pressing softly. You jump, he’s there and he catches you, stumbling towards the bed and holding you as you fall back onto the covers. His lips never leave yours, the immense pain oozing out of him and onto you only making you want to merge your skin with his even to take a bit of the weight off of him.

Instead, you reach for his belt, so overwhelmed with the emotions Marc is making you feel that your fingers start to fumble. You’re about to flip him on his back, so you can kiss down his chest, so he can thread his fingers through your hair and use your mouth the way he wants to when he stops. He’s able to read you better than himself, knowing what you want to do even before you do it.

There’s the brief glimpses of remorse and guilt, apologies streaming from his eyes, “Ok,” you nod, grasping his face between your hands. “It’s ok, honey.” He’s barely touched you, and you’re already breathless, desperation wet between your thighs.

He swallows, the emotions receding back like the tide of the ocean. Dipping his fingers between your folds, he hides in your neck, pressing kisses to your skin that burn like hot coals.

Your eyes flutter shut, sighing at the way he touches you.

Fervent and loving.

It’s always like this with him, but the pain, the years of agony he’s had to endure alone are heavy and present in each movement of his against your body right now. It brings tears to your eyes, tears you feel you have no right to shed. Taking deep shuddering breaths, you push them away, try to think of Marc, only of Marc, to be here and present for him like he’s done countless times with you.

The fire burns down your chest as he kisses down between breasts, to your navel and lower stomach. He pauses for a moment and reaches for your hands, eyes brushing against yours as he guides them towards his head. When he presses his mouth against your core, you cry out.

Marc makes you come two times like that. Shuddering and gasping out his name as he moans and presses his hips against the bed.

He’s right there with you, but he’s never felt farther away. In the AC’d air of the hotel room, the goosebumps rise to your skin as he doesn’t relent, searching and desperate between your legs. You push back the hair falling in front of his forehead, in hopes of catching his eye. When you do, he presses two fingers inside you, curls them just right and makes stars explode in your mind.

Just as quickly, the cold ebbs away from your body, a searing heat spreading like wildfire in its place. You’re still laying down on your back, but you grow lightheaded, losing your sense of direction for a moment. Marc’s name falls from your lips over and over again.

At that moment nothing exists apart from him, apart from the love you hold for him and the way you want to press your hands against his wounds until they stop bleeding, no matter how long it takes, no matter what it takes.

The goodness, the kindness that on his best days he doubts the existence of, is there. It’s always there. Shining bright inside his chest, and bathing you in warmth and love. There’s never a moment where you doubt it’s there. It’d be like trying to ignore the existence of the sun.

If there’s anyone deserving of affection and adoration it’s Marc Spector, who, after a world of pain can still touch you so gently and make pleasure alight in your body. You’re set on giving it to him, everyday and in every way you can until he realises that it’s his right to take.

Slowly, the fuzz fades away from the edges of your mind, your sense of North returning. Marc’s leaving sticky kisses to the inside of your thighs and you feel it’s been years since you last saw him. You cup his cheek in your hand, and guide him back to your face. He moves a little easier than before, and doesn’t resist when you lean up and capture his lips.

Your taste floods your mouth and a feral curl of possessiveness takes a hold of the chambers of your heart. Hooking a leg around his waist, you press him down into you, his arousal hard against your thigh. He’s still fully clothed, and the sensation of the denim against your skin is ten times as intense as it was at the beginning.

Marc curls a hand into your hair, you drift your fingers down his back, feeling for his muscles underneath his shirt. He nips at your bottom lip and makes you whimper, unconsciously pressing your hips up.

Pulling away, lips swollen and eyes blown, curls falling forward on his head, his voice is rough when he says, “You still sure?” You hum, trying to pull your thoughts together to see what he’s trying to say. Chest still struggling to return your breath to normal, you nod. It’s not enough for Marc, he kisses your cheek, nudges his nose against yours, “Sweetheart?”

Your eyes focus back into him, into the slick that hangs around the edges of his mouth like dew and makes the heat rise in your lower stomach. “Yeah,” you lose all hope of returning your heartbeat to normal. “Yeah. I don’t mind.”

When Marc presses into you, you lose your North. You forget where you are and what happened and will happen soon enough. You know only of Marc, of the agony he holds to himself like a second skin and you feel yourself drown in it.

Your anchor, your only rock in a turbulent sea of mothers wielding belts and deadly tides threatening to pull you under is Marc, the darkened brown of his eyes, the thundering of his heart, the way he’s seated deep inside you and the way he thrusts, gentle and rough all at once.

You’re not able to control the tears anymore, and with each press of his hips against yours, they roll down your cheeks, and you cry out.

Marc isn’t hurting you. He could never. But for a brief moment, you feel as if your skin has truly fused with his, and that you can feel the torture pressed into his body like the fibres of a cotton-weave fabric. A primal anger rises inside you, and if you could, you would have burned the world to the ground at that moment, starting with the townhouse on Milwaukee avenue.

When you come, it’s with his name on your lips. He’s whispering or murmuring things to you, broken by his moans. You don’t understand a thing. You only know of the aching need inside your heart to make sure Marc isn’t hurt again.

The faint beep and click of the room door opening wakes you. You’re disoriented almost immediately, the sliver of light streams in from the hallway and disappears the moment he closes the door and steps in doing nothing to help remind you where you are.

Your head pounds and your legs are sore, but you reach up to the bedside lamp and turn it on. You’re not sure how long it’s been since you drifted off. When your legs rub together as you sit up to lean against the headboard, the sticky, rough feeling you’re expecting is not there.

Marc looks at you, the rustle of the white paper bag in his grip sounds out as his knuckles lose their colour.

“Hi,” you watch him as he comes to sit beside you on the bed. You find a strange amount of comfort in the way the duvet creases underneath his weight, the physics of the way the mattress leans towards him and makes you lean towards him in turn.

He tugs at the staple holding the bag together until it rips open, “I got you some levonorgestrel.” He takes out a small blue box, a protein bar and a bottle of water. “The pharmacist said to-uh-” his eye catches yours and he looks away as if burned “-to take it with food. Said it helps with the nausea.”

Only Marc would be able to know what you were only planning on doing ahead of time, and do it first.

“She also said to take it as soon as possible,” he wrings his hands together, ears going red as he continues to refuse to look at you. Scrunching his nose, he shakes his head, “That whole ‘morning after’ thing is sortuva myth.”

On instinct, a quip rises to your tongue, something about him changing his mind about you having his kid, something to make him a tad bit flustered and to see him floundering for words. You bite it back, silently reach for the protein bar and start to eat it.

After about half of it is finished, you open the box and break out the pill from the foil, washing it down with water. You finish the bottle and place it on the side table.

He nods to the rest of the protein bar in your lap, “Can you finish that?” He reaches back inside the bag, a bag of chips, a chocolate bar, and two more levonorgestrel boxes come out in his hand. “There’s more, just in case you might throw up.”

“Marc?” he looks in your direction, not at you. “Thank you,” his gaze snaps up to yours, shock and remorse written over it, the ever present bags a little deeper than they were this morning. “For taking care of me the way you do.”

His face starts to twitch and you lean forward on your knees to cup his cheeks with your palms. “I love you,” you murmur, eyes roving his face, faint scars from childhood Khonshu was either too lazy or too cruel to remove. There’s one just above his eyebrow that calls out to you, and you press your lips against it. “I love you, Marc Spector.”

You feel his arms wrap around your waist, his face press into your neck. His shoulders start to shake and his tears start to fall against your skin and down your chest.

The whimpers he lets out strike straight to your heart.

Steven had one time recounted to you the sheer helplessness he’d felt watching Marc cry on the street at Wendy’s shiva. You only remember being struck with the sudden urge to hug Marc, to give him the soft things he’s deserved since he was a child and was cruelly deprived of.

Now, you thread your fingers through his hair, you kiss at his temple and feel the same helplessness Steven described to you. It wracks at your bones, your lungs. The other half of your soul is crying and all you can do is wipe away his tears.

In a rough voice, he starts to mumble his apologies. Though you want to reassure him he has nothing to apologise for, you only say that it’s alright, that he’s forgiven, that he’s safe with you and you love him. That he’s enough.

Your eyes fall shut and the tears start to fall in tandem with Marc’s silently. He presses his fingers into your skin and pulls you closer. You climb into his lap, not letting go of the hold you have of him.

His sobs die off suddenly, but his chest is still heaving, shoulders shaking with the exertion of holding them back. You soothe your hand against his cheek and make him look at you. Blotchy-eyed and a tear-stained face looks back, eyebrows furrowed in pain.

“It’s ok, baby,” your thumbs move to wipe away his tears. “Darling, I’m here.”

He breaks down again, pulling you into his frame as he cries out. You press one hand to his heart, the other to the back of his head. He still feels miles away from you. You yearn for him as you would yearn for blood.

Moments or maybe hours later, you’re half-expecting Steven to front, considering the way he’s gone quiet. He presses a kiss to your chest, to your collarbone, to the junction of your shoulder and neck. You let your hands drift down his back in comforting shapes that you hope are working to calm him down, to make him feel loved.

“I’m sorry,” Marc’s voice is rough, but considerably calmer, and it rumbles through you. The feeling brings you great pleasure, because it means Marc is still here, and with you.

You shake your head, slide your fingers underneath his chin and lift his face to yours. A couple of words and sentences arise, but they seem redundant, incapable of expressing what you want to say, how you feel and what you want Marc to feel.

Instead, you kiss his cheek, his other cheek, the space between his eyebrows and down the bridge of his nose. The skin underneath his eyes is wet, but you press your lips there all the same. You kiss the space above his mouth, the corners, his chin and finally, you cup his face, one hand on his cheek, the other on his neck so you can feel his pulse and revel in it, and so you can kiss him.

Randall’s grave is a soft off-white. There’s the Star of David on top, some writing in Hebrew and his name in capitals below. Underneath are a short set of years that tugs at your heart.

There’s a collection of stones both on his gravestone and on the ground surrounding.

You and Marc add to it, each of you putting one down with your left hands.

When Elias opens the door for you two, it’s clear that he hadn’t been expecting either of you to show up again.

How you’d been in this exact spot a couple days ago, jet-lagged and ridden with anxiety, nostalgia almost kicking you in the stomach before you remember how much has changed and how much you’re hoping will change.

Still, if Marc wanted to turn back right now, without even a hello, you’d let him.

Some things would never change.

“Hi,” Marc is the one to speak up first, fiddling with the button on the suitcase handle. Elias, eyes puffy and stained red, is about to speak before his son beats him to it, “Hi, Dad.”

He lets out a sob and you can see how hard he’s holding himself back from taking Marc into his arms. Instead, Elias reaches forward and clasps his upper arm, “Hi.” His voice is warm and watery with unshed tears.

In heartbeats, Marc is hugging his father. Though you can’t see his face, you see the way his frame trembles in Elias’ arms, the way the many burdens he’s carried on his shoulders have lifted.

You’re about to turn away to find something to occupy yourself with when Elias sniffs and clears his throat, “Please, come in. I’ll put the kettle on.” He catches Marc’s eye and smiles, giddy and boyish. He makes no move to wipe it off his face.

And, even better, the gift you’ve always asked for, Marc grins back.

The crowd is livid, vibrating with the excitement of the match and the heat of the late summer day.

Marc is muttering underneath his breath, perched on the edge of his seat, his eyes tracking every movement on the diamond. He’s so deeply invested in it that it’s cute.

Baseball. Another bit of Marc that you get to revel in. Baseball and turtles and corn chips.

“Are you happy you came, Marc?” you lean in and ask during a brief lull.

It had taken some convincing on your part to take him here, after he’d seen the jersey and his favourite dress on you.

He turns and catches your eye. “Yeah,” he grins and kisses you, your heart in his chest and his hands warm around your waist.

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed it please consider leaving feedback, I've been working on this for about five months.

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