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itsharleystuff · 9 months

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↳ I. 𝘞𝘖𝘙𝘓𝘋 𝘊𝘓𝘈𝘚𝘚 𝘚𝘐𝘕𝘕𝘌𝘙

Gif not mine! | Read part two here.

— 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dbf!Joel Miller x afab!fem reader (no outbreak au)

— 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.4k

— 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After two years of absence and finally graduating college, it’s time you go back to Texas; to come home with your dad. But the prospect of facing the Joel Miller, your dad’s best friend and your secret crush, has your mind scattered.

— 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 18+ content (minors dni!), smoking, alcohol consumption, age gap (reader is twenty four, Joel is late forties), oral sex (f! receiving), fingering, spitting, mentions of masturbation, pet-names (sweetheart, darling), moral conflict, semi-public sex, slight dirty talk, pussy-drunk Joel, no use of y/n. I think that’s it, let me know if I missed something:)

— a/n: I honestly have tons of ideas for this particular universe, so I might make more parts if y’all like it<3 btw, reader is a fashion designer in this. Thought it might be important to mention, lol.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

You had never met him before. Not in person, at the very least.

Up until a while ago, you'd only seen him in the pictures your dad kept hanging around the house. And he had plenty of those: both of them in college, a road-trip with other friends or even after a hunt. Of course, you'd heard a lot about him too, but whenever you visited Texas your dad would dedicate his whole days to you exclusively. No time to visit his best friend-slash-neighbor, despite all the opportunities presented.

So the first time you ever saw him face to face was two years ago, in a Fourth of July barbecue he hosted.

Joel Miller.

Joel mother-fucking Miller.

Tall, broad, rugged looking, moody and with a seemingly stern exterior. An absolute dilf.

You always found him rather appealing— nothing but a silly little thought from whenever you would stare at the photographs. But meeting him personally was a whole eye-opening experience, like getting glasses after discovering you’ve had astigmatism your entire life.

"He liked you, y'know?" your dad had told you the next day. "Joel isn't usually that nice."

"Maybe it's because I'm your daughter," you joked. "I bet that helped with my impression."

"No," said him, laughing and shaking his head, "it was something else."

You didn't interrogate him on the matter. Whatever it was, you sure were glad to be in his grace.

That summer you saw a lot of him— specially since it was the longest you had spent in Austin ever since your mom passed away. You were twenty two at the time, right in the middle of your college studies. But the amazing thing about Joel was that he never made you feel patronized, neither did he treat you like you had to fit in the 'best friend's daughter' box. He was nice and made you feel comfortable in all ways possible.

Frankly, deep down you wanted him to be an asshole. If that were the case, you could've had the perfect excuse to push him away. Instead, your crush simply grew stronger.

Because, fucking hell, the man was hot in a striking, yet brooding manner. Joel Miller was attractive in the way a man is supposed to be attractive. Which was quite a contrast compared to the boys that usually neared you, who had no sense of themselves and were always fooling around with no idea what they were doing.

It was so bad that even now, after two years without seeing him —or your dad, for that matter— you feel anxious and eager at the thought of a reunion.

You're now officially graduated, and after a lifetime of traveling the states to visit both your parents, added to four years of college in New York, it's finally time to settle down for a while. To move in with your dad and make up for the lost time.

"Are you really going to stay in Texas?" Sophie, your best friend, asked through the phone speaker. "After all these years in the big city?"

"Yeah, I ought to stay with him. After all, we're the only family we've got," you replied, staring out the window of the cab. "When I told him I was coming he got so excited, you should've heard him. He said he'd throw me a homecoming party, can you believe that? Who's even going to attend?"

You hear her giggle on the other side. "What about that Mr. Miller you always brag so much about?"

"What about him?" you wondered with half strained voice.

"Oh, don't play coy, honey," she mocks. "We both know how much you want him to give you a sweet old Texan welcome."

"I have no idea what that is," you respond, smiling.

"I just made it up. No idea what they do in the south. I'm from Brooklyn." Of course she made it up. "But I meant it's pretty obvious how much you want his head between your legs..."

"Okay, yeah- I get it." You interrupt, starting to see familiar houses from your dad's neighborhood. "You're right. But he's... Righteous. Apparently."

"Sweetie, let's be honest," Sophie talks softly, "no man is righteous. Just show them a bit of skin and they'll be wrapped around your finger forever."

"I'm not sure I-"

"Try it. And keep me updated," she mumbles hastily. "I've got to go now. I have an appointment with the Ralph Lauren executives in ten minutes."

"Treat them nicely, Sophie. Don't waste my recommendation letter," the girl laughs.

"Yeah, yeah... I'm serious about Miller, though. Be sure to wear something low-cut. Bye, bye!"

She hangs up right when you're outside the house; the one you knew so well and at the same time felt so unknown. The one where you spend each summer and occasional holiday in. Your childhood home. Oddly enough, the door is open but you can't see your dad anywhere near. You hoped he'd be around to help you with the luggage, though it didn't seem like it.

"Dad?" You call for him from the entrance, carrying both heavy suitcases. "Anyone here?!"

The faint noise of footsteps is barely audible before you see him leaning against the kitchen door, arms crossed over his sturdy chest.

Breathtaking.

"M'not your old man but pretty sure I can help you with that," he says with that characteristic Texan drawl of his, gesturing towards your cases.

"But if it isn't Joel Miller in the flesh," he tilts his head with a faint smile, approaching your side. "You haven't aged a day since I last saw you."

It was true. Perhaps his skin looked a bit more tan, his hair somewhat longer and curlier, his beard starting to gray. But everything else remained the same. He smelled just like you remembered —fresh soap and musky cologne—, and still held onto the same mode choices: flannels, boots and dark jeans.

"Quite the opposite to ya," he says, taking both your suitcases from your hands. "I like your new hair."

"Are you implying I look old?" Joel grins smudgily.

"None of that, darlin'. I'd say mature." His words manage to make your pulse raise. "Shall I take this upstairs?"

"Yeah, I- I'll walk you to my room," he chuckles as he steps on the stairs. "What?"

The man shakes his head as he makes his way to the second floor, followed closely by you. Nothing about this house seemed different. Nevertheless, you felt different.

"Nothing. S'just..." he takes a deep breath, but changes the subject quickly. "Your dad went to the store to get some beers. He'll be back any second."

You nod, opening the door to your dorm. It was exactly the same as it was two years ago, simply tidier and with a poster that read 'welcome home and happy graduation' in messy, colorful handwriting over your bed.

"He made that himself. Though, I've gotta say, I'm glad he didn't pursue an artistic career." You both laugh at the comment.

"A for effort." Joel sets your luggage next to the doorframe, being monitored by your keen eye. "Will I see you tonight? I know you're not a big fan of social gatherings."

"Your dad'll kill me if I'm not. He's got me here since ten o'clock to help him out." You look up at him, feeling vaguely nostalgic when watching your surroundings. "But I'm also hoping we'll catch up. I'd like to hear all about your adventures in the big city, aight?"

"Oh, I'm not sure you'd like that," you retort. "I'm afraid you'll see a side of me you might disapprove of."

Joel's brows shot up in a cocky expression. "And here we were all thinking you were such a nice girl. Forget 'bout me, sweetheart. Your old man would drop dead if he gets the news."

You can't hold back the smirk that spreads across your face as you look him dead in the eye. Truth be told, you had wished for him to change, in any sort of way. Maybe if he had gotten a couple more wrinkles or grey hairs you'd be able to not find him attractive anymore. But age suited Joel. Maybe if he stopped being so warm to you, so kind, it might be able to fade away.

'Righteous', you'd called him.

But he isn't so much. No man ever is.

In your last visit you weren't bold enough with him, but each time you'd say something slightly suspicious, every occasional brush or brief skin to skin contact during a shared moment, had an effect on him. He reacted to you, even if he thought you wouldn't know. Sure, he was well restrained and you probably wouldn't have noticed if you weren't actually looking for any signs. That didn’t change the facts, anyway.

"I've never really been much of a nice girl, to be honest," you retaliate, dragging the words. "But I bet you can keep a secret, can't you?"

Something in your voice causes him to unconsciously stop breathing. His brows knit together and it takes him a second to regain composure. However, he doesn't get to say a thing, your dad's voice suddenly floating from the floor beneath.

With your blood rushing, you practically flee downstairs, seeing his face change completely at the sight of his beloved daughter.

"You're here early, what the heck?" The man mumbles with a kindhearted smile, embracing you in a tight hug.

"Figured I might surprise you." The boxes of beer he bought were quickly discarded when he saw you. "So, are you surprised?"

"Very. But I was supposed to pick you up at the airport. Did you take a cab?"

"Don't worry about that," you reassure with a gesture. "It was included in the airport bill."

"Oh, man..." your dad turns to see his friend, "you leavin' already?"

"I have to pick up Sarah," he explains, peeking at his watch. "She had soccer practice today."

"Can I expect to see her later, too?"

Joel nods at your question, faintly beaming. "F'course. She loves you."

⩇⩇:⩇⩇✧˖°

Shortly after Miller's departure your dad sent you off to bed, arguing that you were probably tired. And even if you wanted to stay and chat with him for a while, you had to admit he wasn't mistaken. Either way, you still had the rest of the day —and plenty more ahead— to do that. Besides, he still needed to sort some things out before the party.

So, without unpacking or undoing your bed, you slept for hours, dreaming about how your new life was going to be.

(...)

When you finally woke up, night had already fallen. Your dad mustn't have wanted to wake you, but it made you feel in a rush to get ready. You took a cold shower and kept your makeup neutral in order to be quick. Furthermore, Sophie's advice to wear something low-cut was taken under consideration.

Judging by the noise coming from the backyard, you guessed the guests had already started to arrive. You heard talking and music, aside from smelling the hamburgers your dad was preparing. There were kids running around and a couple of people chatting in the living room when you entered, setting all eyes on you.

You knew most of them, neighbors and friends of your dad's. They immediately monopolized your attention, asking questions regarding your career life, reasons why you chose your major and saying how much your dad loved and missed you. It wasn't bad, you liked the courtesy and praise; nonetheless, in the back of your mind you were solely expecting the Millers' arrival.

After a while, you excuse yourself and decide to join your dad outside, stepping onto the fresh air.

"How's everything here?" you ask friendly. "Need any help?"

He was surrounded by some other of his pals, all of whom you'd met in your last visit, except for one– still, you couldn't help but think that he had a familiar air.

"We're alright, honey." You greet them all with a smile as your dad hooks an arm over your shoulders, offering a beer that you decided to decline.

"My niece was right," said the man you didn't know. "You're quite beautiful." He spoke subtly and on the right lines, giving you a affectionate smile.

"Ah- I don't believe you've met Tommy," your dad chimed in. "He's Joel's younger brother."

"Oh, yeah..." you remembered, "he mentioned you last time I came. It's nice to finally meet you."

Now that you saw him up-close, he did resemble his brother in a certain way. There was something very emblematic that all the Millers had, a sparkle in their eyes that you picked-up on Sarah, but that enchanted you in—

"Speak of the devil..." your head jerked to the side, watching as your most expected guests come to join you.

"My goodness!" you speak in surprise, sharing a hug with Joel's daughter. "You've grown so much in the last two years... You're even taller than me now and I'm wearing heels." The girl giggles, charming as always. "Didn't you just turn seventeen?"

"A month ago," she answers. "But let's not talk about that, it makes dad feel old."

"Joel?" You look behind her, locking glances with him. "But he's in his prime!" he rolls his eyes sardonically.

"Come on, sunshine," Tommy says, "you know it's not polite to make fun of the elderly."

They laugh and you can vaguely hear your dad scolding him, but don't really pay attention to it as they go back to their conversation. In the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of his smile.

He looked handsome. To you, he always did. Tonight, however, he decided to change the flannels for an olive button up shirt and a black leather jacket. His curls seemed carefully styled and he smelled of sandalwood.

"By the way," you address Sarah, "I brought you something from New York. It's one of my designs..."

"Seriously?" Her whole face lit up at your words. "You know how much I love your work!"

"Yeah, thought you might like it. But I'll give it tomorrow. I haven't unpacked and my things are real a mess."

"That reminds me." The girl turns to Joel. "Did you bring it?" he nods and takes a small box from the pocket of his jacket, handing it to her.

"What's that?" you question out of curiosity.

"I got you a lil' present," Sarah answered.

"You, did what?" Joel countered with a reproachful tone.

"I mean- I chose a present..." the man clears his throat and she rolls her eyes. "We chose a present, which he payed for. Buuut, it was my idea so-"

His dad snorts and shakes his head, turning to chat with the rest of the men. The younger one drags you away to have some privacy, taking a solitary spot under the big apple tree. During your conversation, you discuss the details of your so called 'highlife' and open the tiny box they gifted, finding a shiny ring sitting on the bottom.

"Do you like it?" You grin and nod in response, deciding to put it on in that same instant. "Dad noticed you like wearing lots of rings.”

Joel noticed.

"I love it," you remark. "Thank you. Both."

Your eyes drift to the crowd gathered around the grill, men laughing and sharing beers. The surprising part was that when you finally found your target, he was already staring at you. If he was expecting you to notice or not, there was no sign. But the older one held your lingering glance and everything else seemed to fade away, suddenly becoming white noise in the background. There was a challenging fire behind his brown orbs, kind of like he was saying 'I know what you're doing and I can do it too'.

"So," you turn back to Sarah with a strange, thrilling sensation in the pit of your stomach, "what's up with you? How's high school?"

"Boring. You know the drill."

"And the boys?" she almost looks flustered at the question.

"Complicated. Bet you know all ‘bout that." Your brows furrow slightly.

"What gave you that idea?"

"Just an impression," her fingers fidget nervously.

You shrug, deciding to change the subject. "You're graduating soon... Have you decided on any universities yet?"

"Not quite," she sighs. "I'm worried about my dad, really. I don't want him to feel alone if I move out."

A sly smile parts your lips. "He won't be. There's my dad, your uncle and... Me. I'll make him a Tinder profile. He'll be fine."

Sarah chuckles and shakes her head. "He talks about you, y'know?"

"What, Joel?" you ask in a sarcastic tone, cocking an eyebrow at her. "Hard to believe."

"It's true! I think he admires you, in a way..."

With a hand gesture, you stop her. "Are we talking about the same man here?"

"Ask him. He might deny it, but it's often your name is brought up in conversations," she unfolds. "When you got that internship in Ralph Lauren, the articles you've written, magazines you've appeared in..."

"It sounds extremely rare for someone like your dad would be interested in the fashion industry. Even if it's just for me, cause I'm certain my own dad is the one forcing all this information onto him."

"Maybe," Sarah agrees. "Whatever it may be, I'm sure he'll be alright if you're around. At least happy, I think."

⩇⩇:⩇⩇✧˖°

The kitchen was a good shelter from all the gossip and noisy kids that turned out to be overwhelming after some time. No one came in there unless they needed to; and as of now they all seemed more concerned with other sorts of business. Besides, it was pretty late and most people had already headed home.

A bottle of wine was opened and poured into a glass, accompanied by a Marlboro cigarette from the depths of your purse, enjoying them while watching the night sky through the window. All your mind could think about was him and his odd behavior: Joel picking up on details, Joel talking about you with Sarah. Him. Just him.

"Am I interrupting somethin'?" you shake your head without looking back, recognizing his voice.

He walks over to you silently. The man is somehow very silent for someone so big, to the point where you didn't even listen when he opened the door. He leans against the counter, his body so close to yours that you can feel his warmth even if you're not seeing him.

"Want some?" you ask, raising your half-empty glass of red liquid and whipping your body to face him, standing shoulder to shoulder, closing the curtain in the meantime.

"Thanks," he mutters, showing his can of beer, “m'not that fancy." You titter, taking a short drag from the dart. "I'll have one of those, if you can spare."

With the fag between your teeth, you take the pack of smokes from your bag and hand it to him, shooting an inquiry expression.

"What?" he asks with an arrogant beam.

"Nothing..." your voice comes out weird from holding back laughter as you take the lighter in your fist. "I just didn't know you smoked."

He takes one to his lips, keeping close eye contact with you all the while. The action sends a rush of excitement throughout your whole body as you duck forward to burn the unlit end, staring back at him with hooded eyes.

"I rarely do," he admits, setting the package aside.

If he wasn't hot enough already, the practiced mannerisms he had when smoking simply added to his sultriness.

"Why you hiding?" you wonder, ashing the cigarette over the sink.

"Not hidin'. Just sent Sarah home, but I wanted to catch you before leavin'."

It didn't surprise you, they lived across the street and, after all, he did say he wanted to talk.

"Did I mention how handsome you look today?" He sneers shortly.

"Well, my daughter was very clear 'bout not wanting me to wear flannels around a fashion designer." Joel takes a sip from his drink, holding the cig between his fingers.

"She gives me too much credit," you say, a bit embarrassed.

"You deserve it," the man replies grimly. "And you look absolutely beautiful, too. One of yours?"

His eyes briefly set on your chest, for such a short second that you actually believed you had probably imagined it. The dress you chose for the occasion was one of your first designs; pearl colored, cinched from the waist above and slightly loose over your thighs.

"Yes," you gulp, diverting your gaze to the glass on your hand. "So how's everything 'round here?" Joel shrugs his shoulders with indifference.

"'S alright. Same as always," he meditates on it. "Boring without you to keep us entertained."

You utter a mocking snort. "Do my silly little experiences really entertain you?"

The older one tilts his head to blow some smoke. "You always talk so freely about your dreams and the goals you've accomplished. And your dad's enthusiasm is contagious, I might say." He licks his bottom lip, thinking. "I don't know... I'm glad someone close is doing all 'at. Feels like you ain't afraid of anything."

His words put a bright smile on your face. "Life's a risk, isn't it? Better be bold if you want to end up somewhere."

He huffs a laugh, nodding in agreement. A comfortable silence veils between you as you enjoy the alcohol and cigarettes. It was always nice to hang out with him like this.

"By the way, how are you holding up?" the question clasps his curiosity. "Parenting a teenager can be quite difficult, I've heard."

"Jesus," he grunts, "it's driving me insane. Not her per say, but the whole 'boy talk' 's just too much."

"I bet," you chortle, "although, I wouldn't worry too much. It's just a phase."

"Yeah?" Joel scoffs. "You gon' tell me you ain't got tons of guys chasing around ya' anymore?"

"Oh, they're there," your tone matches his energy. "All these old ladies kept trying to introduce me to their sons a couple hours ago. Nevertheless, I gotta say..." He leaves the empty can on the bar across him. "Boys make me sick."

His eyes widen in surprise, but the rest of his face remained in composure. "How so?"

The atmosphere swiftly changes, a kind of heated tension rising to the top, palpable in your fingertips and waving in his chest.

"I've had my fair share of them," you explain playfully. "Guys my age never know what they want or what they're doing. I've decided to change my focus to men, instead."

He knows what you're up to. You can tell he does.

The question is: will he take the bait?

"Meaning?" Joel's lips curve around the orange filter in a smug smirk. You jerk your head to the right, setting the glass of wine aside.

"I'm not sure..." he laughs dryly at your hesitation.

"I think you are, sweetheart."

The abiding silence that followed that statement was nothing but electrifying. Clouds of burning tobacco linger around as you share an intense gaze, creating a solemn, intriguing ambience.

"Well, how am I supposed to tell you, out of all people, that I'm looking to get attended by an older man?" you rag. "Don't you think it's inappropriate?"

"Mhm," his grin is still visible under the dim, warm lights in the kitchen, "clever girl. I see what you're tryin' to do."

"I don't know what you mean," you murmur, scowling and intending to sound clueless.

He doesn't buy it.

"No-uh. You're many things, darlin', but dumb isn't one." He leans forward, his face barely inches away from yours, eyes scanning your features. Eventually, he decides to keep playing your little game. "Why's that, anyway?"

"See, Joel," you blow some smoke right under his nose, "boys I've been with always take. Everything's gotta be about themselves. I've never been the type to believe in relationships, but if they're gonna suck at that too, the least they could do is make you cum, not leave you drier than a fucking desert." Your words daze his mind and he finds himself pending for something that he wasn't supposed to. "Shit- I'm sorry... I shouldn't talk like this."

"Damn right you shouldn't," he rasps out, "what would your dad think if he heard you?"

Joel Miller never considered himself a weak man. Not once in his life. It's not who he is.

But right now, under your curious, passionate gape, he's slowly crumbling.

"Good thing you aren't my dad, then."

His heart is pounding in expectation and confusion. He keeps thinking 'this can't be happening'. He tries to convince himself that it's all in his mind, like he did last time you were in Austin. But you bat your pretty eyelashes at him an it feels like you're begging to be taken away.

"Sweetheart, I don't think you know what you're asking for," he talks strictly, like you wouldn't actually understand. "Say this things to the wrong person and they might take advantage of you."

You laugh under your breath. "Are you the wrong person?"

He remains silent for a couple seconds, contemplating your question, meditating this whole parade in order to keep his head cold and ignoring the increasing heat that soared all around.

"M'not sure," he huffs.

It's true. He doesn't know anymore.

Your cig has burned out.

"I think you are, Mr. Miller."

Oh, such a clever girl indeed.

Suspense is killing him, like he's walking on the edge of a blade. Your closeness is intoxicating, the smell of your perfume gets him dizzy and his skin burned there where your limbs brushed against each other's. His lungs felt like crushing under the weight of anticipation.

"Quit beating around the bush," he downright demands. "Tell me what you want."

Honesty is a virtue; one you didn't lack with him.

"You," his chest puffs with a shaky breath. "Ever since we first met, you've been the only man on my mind."

Dangerous. This whole situation is dangerous.

But Joel would be lying if he said he didn't feel the same. That was the worst part of it.

For little more than a decade he had been perfectly content with his singleness; the sole thought of going on a date being absolutely terrifying. His best friend did try to set him up with a couple of his female acquaintances multiple times; yet he declined or merely accepted out of sympathy, never taking things further than a one night stand. Joel never expected that the one woman that would grasp his attention would be you.

He had never been into younger girls, at least not that young. But there was something enchanting about you. Whether it was your charming smile, your cunning eyes or your confident, determined nature that made all heads turn in your direction when you walked into a place.

Something about you bewitched him.

Perhaps it was none of that and he was simply depraved. Perhaps it was all of that and more.

For all he knew, you could've put a spell on him. Since your last visit, you had been on his mind like a mist that fogged his senses. He felt torn apart by his morals and desires, trying his best to get rid of the ghost of you.

That was until your dad told him you were coming back to stay for an undefined amount of time. What kind of sick game was fate playing with him?

"You tryin' to get me killed?" he locks a snarl behind his teeth.

His cigarette has burned out too.

"I know I'm asking for much," you say, "that I put you in a difficult position. With my dad and all 'at." Swallowing hard, you muster enough courage to raise a hand to his jacket, just laying your palm flat there. He allows it. "So I understand if you say no. You can decline and we’ll just act like nothing happened."

If Joel were a better man, he would've.

He definitely should have.

"It's okay. I can always call the next older lad on my hotline," you joke. "Your brother Tommy... I think he'll be interested."

He'd be damned.

No. Joel was just a man, and like every other, he could only take so much.

Quicker than you'd expect, his hand catches your wrist and moves your arm away from his body, the other raising your head up with two fingers under your chin. His face is so close to yours that his breath tickles your skin.

"Is that so?" his voice drops an octave. "You disappoint me, sweetheart."

Your legs quiver, feeling suddenly weak on the knees and hot on your lower abdomen. "How?"

His thumb sweeps over your bottom lip, staring down at you as if he had you wrapped around his finger. Truth be told, he really did.

"Thought there was a bit more fight in ya'," he whispers, letting go of your hand and laying his palm flat on your hip. "I haven't yet given my answer and you're already thinking of fucking my brother?"

You lick your lips nervously, glancing at his own and then back at his eyes. Your breathing pattern is completely altered and the ache between your legs starts to grow.

"Or was that just to tease me?" he asks with a grin.

"I don't know..." your hands clench in fists, wanting to touch him but wallowing in this new power dynamic. "Maybe."

"That's rather vague, darling." He takes a step forward, eradicating the distance that separated your bodies. "I'll ask again..." his fingers curl around your throat, not applying pressure but merely holding you in place. "What do you want?"

It's too late to look back now. Though you wouldn't think of it. "I want you to fuck me, Joel."

Music to his ears.

He doesn't respond, eyes boring into yours intently. The unholy words that you spoke scatter his brain and all he wants to do is accept. But he wouldn't indulge so easily. If you wanted to play games, he'd teach you how to play better.

You tilt your head upwards, searching for his mouth with limited mobility. Your eyes briefly close at the feeling of your lips barely brushing against his own, waiting for him to kiss you. Except he does not, simply caressing the soft flesh teasingly.

Joel's body is flushed against yours, keeping you caged between the counter and him. The hand that rested on your hip gradually travels to your ass, splaying his fingers over your covered butt and giving a firm squeeze that makes you squeal. Every breath he takes is the very air you breathe. The proximity and his scent are slowly —but surely— making you lose your sanity.

"Such a pretty girl," he mutters hoarsely, "with such filthy thoughts." You look at him through heavy lids, gaining enough courage to move your hands to his broad chest. "What am I gonna do with you?"

"Please, just- kiss me." The plea is so desperate and pathetic that it doesn't even sound like you.

"Can't do," he says at last. "If you want to be treated like a slut, you'll get treated like one. Sluts don't get kissed." You feel yourself get wet with his attitude, trying to clench your thighs together in order to create some friction. "I can't give you what you want, sweetheart. Not tonight, at least."

His lips move to your jawline, tracing open-mouthed kisses along your bare neck and collarbones that have you panting in seconds, his facial hair scratching your skin deliciously before coming back up again.

"But don't worry, angel," he pours into the shell of your ear, "I'll make sure you cum, since you want it so bad."

"Fuck, Joel-" you stutter when he abruptly spins your body around, his growing bulge grinding against your lower back.

His face nuzzles on the crook of your neck as his hand roams over your thigh, leisurely making its way beneath your dress. You feel his teeth lightly scraping your flesh, the hardness of his crotch poking your ass and your own arousal pooling in your panties.

"Jesus..." he groans when his fingers reach the dampness between your legs. "I've barely touched you and you're already soaked."

"I meant it when-" your sentence gets muffled by a strangled moan that escapes your lips, "when I said I've been wanting you for so long."

His body vibrates with a laugh, ruffling your hair with his breath. He starts rubbing small circles on your clit, making your whole body shiver and squirm while he pushes the fabric aside, gathering your slick with his index and spreading it all the way back to your bud, repeating his actions until your arousal covered his knuckles.

"Wanna know a lil' secret?" his voice comes out soothing and husky as he eases two digits inside you, stretching you out in a way that makes both of you groan. "I felt the same."

His fingers are thicker, bigger and rougher than yours, adding to a new, unlocked satisfaction you had not yet experienced.

Joel took his time to explore the spots that provided more pleasure, that had your hips chasing him and biting your lip to refrain from making noise. His other hand gropes your breast, caressing your delicate nipple over the thin fabric, easily done due to the lack of a bra. He keeps altering his ministrations, collecting the wetness from your core and bringing it up to your bundle of nerves, prior to sliding into your cunt again. All that can be heard in the kitchen are the squelching, utterly pornographic sounds of your pussy and your pitiful whines, inaudible to everyone but him.

"You like this, sweetheart?" he hums, feeling your sticky arousal drip down your thighs, rejoicing in your responsiveness to him. "Being fingered by a man twice your age while your dad's just a few steps away?"

You squeeze his thick fingers, picturing just how big his cock must be just from the boner pressing your back. "Y-yes..."

He simply loves the way he's got you so needy, coming undone with so little. You were easy to please, so he wondered how awful your past lovers must've been if they couldn't get you wet. A primal instinct surges on Joel, wanting to erase all of them from your mind, as he wanted to be the only man you ever think about if you're having an orgasm.

"That's my girl," he coos, thrusting his fingers at a nice pace, curling them upwards to hit that soft spot that made your knees tremble.

You hold onto the counter for dear life, throwing your head back and laying it on his chest. He sighs every time your cunt tightens around his digits, mesmerized by your enticing cries and whimpers that had him painfully hard in his jeans. The sensation is overwhelming, adrenaline filling both of you at the prospect of getting caught.

A burning sensation builds on your lower belly, tiny beads of sweat rolling down your temple at the incoming crescendo. His thumb kneads over your clit with the right amount of pressure and your body gives in to him, all tension melting away as your muscles relax.

"Just like that, darling." His deep voice reverberates through you, holding you up by the grip on your waist. "Take what I give you."

"Joel, Joel, Joel-" he chuckles once again at your delirious state, biting down the sensitive skin on your neck as he helps you carry out your high.

He pulls his fingers out and you mewl in complaint, mouth slightly agape. You can't see his face but you watch as he takes both his sticky fingers to his mouth, your chest rising and falling while trying to regain composure. He licks them clean, savoring your sweet taste and feeling his cock twitch from the mere idea of his tongue exploring your folds, taking that same flavor straight from the source.

"I'm not done with you," he growls, swirling your body around.

He's fucked up now. He has found his own, favorite drug between your thighs and can’t seem to stop himself from getting it. He had a small taste and now craved for more like he was a famished man.

"Can I get a kiss now?" Joel finds your insistence amusing.

Those eyes of yours were driving him insane, staring at him wildly, sparkling with an etching desire. Your lips were plumped and glossy, cheeks flushed red and hands fisting his shirt. Seeing this side of you was like displaying one of his darkest fantasies, the kind that would randomly appear in his dreams and had him waking up guilty and needy.

"No," he grumbles, cupping your face in his hand and forcing you to glance up at him. "Open up."

You obligue without hesitation, parting your lips shamelessly— which further spurs him on—. Almost instinctively, you already know what he's going to do, catching that inquiring look in his darkened eyes. With a light tap to his chest, you give him the green light and he spits right into your mouth. You don't think about it twice; in fact, you can't even process what you're actually doing, unconsciously swallowing down while keeping eye contact.

"Good girl," he purrs, caressing the side of your face with gentle stokes of his thumb.

His voice and praise send you to oblivion, managing to give you goosebumps. But Joel won't allow you to catch a break, glueing his lips to the hollow of your throat and making his way down, down, down, until he's kneeling before you, feeling the way you tense and shake for him. He grips your body strongly, the pads of his thumbs dipping on your hipbones as he rests his forehead on your lower abdomen, taking a deep breath in. Your hands run through his curls, tenderly grazing his scalp with your nails.

The man feels as if he's wasted; your scent, all around him, on him, intoxicating every fiber on his body. He'd be haunted by it, by you, in the upcoming days.

He reaches beneath the hem of your dress, fingers skating along the band of your panties and tugging them down at a tortuous pace, meanwhile his eyes pierce your soul. Joel lets the drenched underwear pool at your ankles and drags the thin, satiny fabric all the way up to your tummy, inhaling sharply at the sight of your sticky slick covering your inner thighs.

"Fuck..." he touches you like you're sacred, like he was granted permission to do so but couldn't fully believe it. "Jesus Christ, you're beautiful," he mumbles when he coaxes your legs apart.

You blush at the comment, growing partially embarrassed. A shadow of pure lust covers his gaze as he stares at your exposed, wet cunt. He basks in the view of your damp skin and swollen clit, feeling his mouth water and his pants strain.

"Joel-"

"Forgive me, darlin'. Been a while since I..." he clears his throat, trying to regain hold of himself, "since I went down on a woman."

Your fingers tangle on his locks and you give him a reassuring smile. "You don't have to-"

"But I want to," Joel blurts out. "I need to taste you, sweetheart. Would you allow me to?"

Did he even need to ask?

"Yes- god. Please..."

It's all he had to hear. He leaves small kisses on your swollen lips, taking pleasure in your silent gasps as his mouth inched closer to your clit. Your hips buck against his face when his tongue finally landed on that sensitive bundle of nerves, making you moan a bit louder.

"Fucking hell," you babble, gripping his hair tighter.

He groans, his tongue flattening above your delicate bud and sucking on it. Joel can see in your face how hard you're trying to refrain from making any noise, your brows slightly furrowed and mouth partially open as you throw your head back. His chest swells with pride, knowing he's the one making you feel this good.

Then you have to hold yourself up when he suddenly hooks one hand around your calf and lifts your leg, placing it over his shoulder to keep you open for him. His face buries between your thighs, tongue sliding across your wet folds and savoring your arousal mixed with your previous release. He uninhibitedly whimpers, lapping up the slick that kept pouring out of you, devouring your pussy like he had never had anything as good.

The man can't take it anymore, he's reached his limit. One of his hands snake down to fumble at his belt, as he sloppily palms his bulge through the briefs, trying to get some relief. He's drunk, feral, when he eats you out most earnestly, finding your weak spots rather quickly— the ones that made you shiver, that made you shut your eyes from sheer pleasure or grind against his face, but specially the ones that had you tugging harshly at his hair.

"Joel- please, I'm so close..." you cry out lowly, the only thing that kept you standing being his hand on your waist.

His beard makes your skin feel feverish and it's nearly impossible for you to hold back a whine when his nose grazes your clit and right in that instant you're coming hard, nerves buzzing and ears ringing. You feel lightheaded, white spots appearing in front of your eyes as the orgasm rips through you intensely. He drinks you down, licking you clean as if it was a crime not to, and you gasp at the overstimulation.

He helps you steady yourself as he gets back on his feet, hovering above you. His lips were shining with saliva and your own juices, dripping down to his chin. You breathe rapidly, pulse still racing while you look up at him with glassy eyes.

It's right in this moment when Joel knows for certain that he'd do it all again, consequences be damned.

If he was going to hell for what he'd done, then he would gladly do it, knowing that he had seen heaven the moment his tongue was inside you.

"Did I live up to your expectations, sweetheart?"

Instead of replying, your hand shoots to his jaw, the pad of your thumb brushing over his bottom lip. He lets out a shaky exhale and you don't miss the opportunity to finally lean in for a kiss. And despite his previous declines to your wish, Joel happily corresponded. You taste him and yourself when his mouth explores yours in depth, feeling his unsteady heartbeat against your own chest.

It's madness; a blur of wet, messy kisses as your hand coasts down his pants and underneath his briefs. You swallow down his lewd moans when you grasp his throbbing length, a deep groan coming from his throat when you circle the tip with one finger, coating it with his leaking precome. He takes your wrist to prevent you from going any further.

"Enough of that," he grunts, still not pushing your hand away. "I'm too worked up, I don't wanna be coming in my pants like a goddamned teenager."

You respect his decision, drawing your hand back and guiding your fingers to your lips with a cheeky smile. Fucking tease.

"I think it'd be hot," you murmur, dragging the words and leaning next to his ear. "Maybe afterwards I can help you clean up the mess..." you carefully nip at his earlobe, delighting in the way his body jumped and a sigh escaped him. "With my mou-"

"Fuuuck..." the mental image you were describing was not helping his situation. "We- we’ll do that next time.”

And before you can move a muscle, he gives you a soft forehead kiss and rearranges his pants, asking you to say goodbye to your dad in his behalf as he sneaked out. You stand there for a couple of minutes, dumbfounded and completely blown away from your post-orgasm bliss, still processing that all this had actually happened and it was not just another of your sexual fantasies and daydreams.

Joel was in a similar position. In spite of taking a cold shower and fucking his fist in the meantime, tonight's events kept being relived every time he closed his eyes, making him yearn for you all over again. It was a tough night of not much sleeping.

He thinks he might feel guilty in the morning.

Maybe he should. But he honestly doesn't.

Not even when he faces your dad the next day and he tells him how happy he is to have his darling daughter back home.

Nor do you. There's not a hint of guilt in your body when you go to his house in the next few days, solely to spend time with Sarah. No shame in the looks you share, regardless of the little to zero time you could spend together, always being surrounded by other people.

None of that mattered. All the while, the only question that roams your minds is: when will you do it again?

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x y/n #joel miller smut #the last of us hbo #dbf!joel

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thecursedjazz · 5 days

Text

Postal 1 dude isn't evil (and is genuinely the most morally grounded and decent person we've actually met in the Postal Universe)

From what we gather he was living a very normal life prior to going crazy, not like the other dudes who go on senseless rampages when tasked with mundane everyday things. As Promo material does state he's a well educated and mannered person so it's only realistic that this man did have a genuine job and was generating a level of income prior to his decline in mental health and moving to Paradise.

And as stated before he is well mannered in the sense of being stated a "quiet nice boy" and "voted the most likely to succeed". From what we gather this guy was the text book example of a model citizen. The only "flaw" is that he kept referring to a girl he only dated once as his girlfriend but even then that could come down his delusions along with his lack of grip on reality causing him to genuinely think she's his girlfriend or the fact he's canonically quiet (as shown from the Promo material and also the fact that he doesn't actually physically speak AT ALL during the game) and most likely doesn't understand social ques as of it.

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But the most important thing is that he doesn't even have malicious intentions.

The very first thing he proposes after being "attacked" by "groups of lunatics trying to invade his home" is.....go the sherrif for help. The Dude didn't have any Intention to go on a murder spree, he'd rather of just went to the authorities like any other average Joe. The whole thing really tells us that he's not usually a violent person.

Even rewinding back to level one: the war journals (and Vince) did state that the Dude was entirely convinced that he was being attacked by group of lunatics, one of which even firing rockets at him, goes without saying that self defence is really the only option here.

Course it remains solely as self defence until the Dude reaches the train station, the significance being his war journal where he writes "if I can get out i can warn everybody...YES, I CAN WARN EVERYBODY!". The dudes goal has shifted into saving the country as a whole rather than himself which ultimately steers him into going to the air force to find out what has happened to cause the supposed hate plague. The dudes actions represent him more as selfless now with him now doing this in the bigger scheme of things rather than his own self preservation. If its not clear already: maniacs wouldn't care about warning/ saving people from a hate plague, Dude 2 most likely wouldn't give a shit and let it spread since he was totally cool with nuking the entirety of paradise and its innocent civilians.

Furthermore he openly states that he doesn't want to kill people. At the trailer park he writes that "There must be others like me, immune to this...germ warfare or whatever it is". Practically he's saying that he'd much rather run into some normal people instead of having to kill them, it's a stark contrast to the other dudes with the Postal 1 dude appearing as genuinely empathetic whereas the others will literally kill people for something as simple as waiting in line and afterwards not think anything of it.

Also very worth noting that when he enters the ghetto he mentions he's genuinely worried he'll get mugged, we're really getting the picture that he's literally just some normal ass guy with the idea of going to the rough side of town shakes him up.

(Even worth pointing out that only for the ghetto does he go back to calling it a diary like he's momentarily lost his soldier/war mentality at the thought of going into the rough side of town).

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So simple and short:

Postal 1 dudes literally just some average everyday guy (who's been through some really fucked up shit that's forever gonna remain unexplained beyond the veteran theory) who's trying to do the right thing but he's woefully misguided due to his deteriorating mental state as well as being possessed by an entity beyond his broken minds comprehension.

He's literally the complete opposite to every other postal dude (and if anything he's one of the most morally grounded people in the franchise as crazy as it is)

Oh and if this wasn't enough: rws did say on a twitter post that he's literally Just some average guy who's had some shitty days.

(I wrote this at 4am so soz if it's all over the place)

#postal 1 #postal dude #postal #postal 1 dude #running with scissors #postal redux

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belokhvostikova · 6 months

Text

𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | What was supposed to be a summer vacation to your boyfriend's hometown, turned into God's greatest test of morality against you. In other words, you basically fuck your boyfriend's best friend, Eddie Munson.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, mention of alcohol, drug use, jealousy, possessiveness, small violence, a threat of murder (little yandere, but not really-ish, I don't know, to be honest), slightly dark (I think, right? Maybe?) cheating, and explicit sexual content: fondling, spitting, dom/sub dynamic, name calling, degradation/praise kink, finger sucking, nipple play, face slapping, pussy slapping, masturbation (male, but of female), fingering, handjob, cum eating, squirting, and unprotected vaginal sex.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | I... don't know what this is. Just take, goddamn it, there, take me for all I'm worth! Do I condone cheating? No. But did this idea make me really horny? Yes. And he's a little mean, so be warned.

𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐃𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.

Sometimes… you wished he’d never spoken those words.

When two weeks into his summer vacation in Hawkins, Indiana was enough time spent away from the debilitating semesters of university to have his newfound room—proffered by the closest of a distant family member, because two months with the folks would just be too much—smelling of the fresh cologne of clean air and washed linen; the smell that warmed you with the loving memories of ten months of sweet kisses and heavenly whispers.

When his navy blue comforter wrinkled under the weight of tussling bodies, because in those mere two weeks—his half in Hawkins, yours in Indianapolis—both hearts ached for the touch of one another, and he refused to deprive himself from the physical contact of his love, you. Crushing kisses, trailing hands, and connecting bodies to commemorate the rising sun, because a town miles away from the bustling city of beeping traffic and screaming pedestrians left room for the morning songs of the Northern Cardinal.

When the exhaustion of a two hour journey through cornfields and even smaller towns guided you to the place where he relished you in the memories of his boyhood; swing sets on the playground, the arcade after homework, Tuesday performances at the Hideout. Such memories came to life for you when the aluminum stock sign welcomed you into Hawkins. Sore from stiffness, your limbs crashed into the embrace of your lover, where your first night in the cursed town consisted of fucking the Friday night darkness away, until bodies glowed under the welcoming sun of the Saturday morning, where dewy grass freshened the air in contrast to the concrete slabs of cracked busy sidewalks you grew up on.

But then… he spoke those words.

When a stroking thumb against the hairs of your brow elicited the tired whine from your mouth, as you nuzzled your face into his naked chest to shield you from the burning sunshine pouring from the basement window. Your eyes woke to his dozy lips, chapped with pinched corners to show off the crookedness of his teeth that brought such beautiful character to his soul. Puffs of morning breath warmed your somnolent face with his morning greeting.

“I know I’ve told you this like a million times,” he croaked, “but I really am so happy that you’re here. With me.” His heavy hand landed on the apple of cheek to encourage your growing smile. “Can’t wait to show you around, can’t wait for you to meet my friends- the guys.”

Now, a new cologne of ashy darkwood and burning spices tarnished the content bubble of ten months of sweet kisses and heavenly whispers with groping handfuls and filthy intimacy. An anxious pit of guilty dread now eats you alive when the musk of his igniting cigarettes invades your being, but how can you think of such worrisome, when it’s the same scent that has your face torching with flames of desire and heart fluttering with anticipation for a new love- a different kind of love?

Other times… you are happy that he spoke those words.

Because it led you to Eddie Munson.

Her diamond scintillated, shoved in your face by her persistent eagerness to show off the glowing ring that beamed under strobe lights of greens and reds that twirled from the tiny disco ball. Eric Marcher, who couldn’t give you anything more than a nod of acknowledgement when introduced—despite his intimate hand clasp and hug combo with your boyfriend, had been detailed to you as the man needed when small town goers were itching for party favors. Now, in the cul-de-sac of Mirkwood, a lively get-together of strangers, like Cheryl “soon-to-be-Levison” Daniels, bombarded you with the overwhelming hospitality of detailing their personal life to the woman who snagged Braun Peterson.

A large smile matched that of her ring, beaming with a boastfulness of pride for fulfilling that suburban wife “dream” role, but you couldn’t blame her. A fat rock rested upon her finger to symbolize her everlasting love with her partner? Hell, you’d shove it in other people’s faces, as well. “It belonged to Nana Leslie before Oliver got it with her blessing. See, my daddy was never able to give it to my momma, because well, Nana never liked her,” you met her seven minutes ago, “but, anyways, it’s been in the family for two generations, and now it’s mine!”

“Oh, wow.” You liked her and her family drama. Your hands maneuvered to twist her finger, watching how beautifully the jewelry captured the light.

“I mean, it was kinda rash, ya’know, with the war and whatnot.” Her Midwestern accent sang. “Oliver wanted to tie the knot before his deployment, but I was not about to do it in City Hall. Though, he did promise me a big wedding when he comes back from Iraq.” She longingly sighed, as you nodded along. “Ya’know, something that doesn’t involve a smelly courthouse. “What about you?”

You chuckled. “What about me?”

“Have you and Braun discussed when you’d be getting married?”

You nearly choked on your drink despite not even having one. “Oh.” Quite the response to offer. “We’re, um, not exactly there yet. I mean, we haven’t even been dating for a year.” You awkwardly laughed.

“Well, you don’t wanna wait too long!” Cheryl huffed out an airy laugh. “It’s like, when ya’know you know, ya’know?” Her attempt to philosophize the concept of love left your head nodding along to move the conversation, but Cheryl “soon-to-be-Levison” Daniels surely had to knack to keep talking. “And don’t you know?”

Do you know? “Um-”

“Would you quit harassing my girlfriend?” A familiar hand squeezed your shoulder, before the presence of Braun Peterson came from behind the couch, where he bent down to smile at you.

“I am not harassing your girlfriend.” Cheryl scoffed. “And come on, I’ve been your best friend since we were babies! I know you! And I know you always talked about getting married!” She sternly punctuated. “I mean, it’s literally what made you cuter than the rest of the boys on the playground.”

Braun derided. “Okay, first of all, we were never best friends, I just had to endure being in the same grade as you.” You both chuckled, as Cheryl dramatically gasped. “And secondly, in case it wasn’t obvious, I’m not a seven-year-old that’s desperate to propose to any girl who was willing to push me on the swingset.”

“Oh!” You piqued his interest. “I happen to be a great companion on the swingset, I’d love to join you.” You sweetly beamed, an endearing feature that had him devastatingly blushing with love.

“Yeah?” He whispered in your face, where you met his question with a nod, reeling him in for a kiss.

“Ugh, see!” Cheryl’s voice had you separating with a hot face. “Marriage material! At least a proposal by the first year mark.” Her brows teased, forcing him to laugh in disbelief.

But Braun Peterson smiled, nonetheless, and your throat had constricted. While the idea of marrying your first serious boyfriend wasn’t the most unsettling notion, the reality of it coming faster than anticipated from the opinions of those closest to him, who unfortunately were raised in the small town mindset of a white picket fence before the age of twenty-five, had your tummy swirling with queasiness. Freshly out of university, the last thing you needed was a ring waying you down by a man whose loud chewing you were still trying to adjust to. A proposal in two months was not in schedule.

Because dinner was on Saturday. Meeting the parents was next Wednesday. Niece’s birthday party in two weeks. At least three years of dating before moving in. The fourth year, an engagement. The fifth, a wedding. Children? Somewhere long after.

Strict? Maybe. But perfect in your mind of precision? Absolutely.

“Um, could you get me something to drink?” You interrupted the possibility of any more talks of the future. “I just have to, uh, run to the bathroom real quick.”

His hand rubbed down your back so perfectly, calming the nerves that festered in your stomach. “Absolutely.” He assured you, as always. “I’ll find us something to eat, too, baby.”

So perfect, so perfect.

Your legs had guided you away from the living room before you could muster a brief goodbye. Maneuvering around shifting bodies, you found yourself counting the steps of the staircase, feeling the utter disappointment when the last steps came out in odd numbers, but the bathroom was two doors down, and the last thing you needed was to obtain tunnel vision from the minor details that didn’t fit your standards of life.

A knock to the wooden door with a silent response lifted the weight off your shoulders, permitting you to open the door and finally receive some peace. But the breath that nested in your throat lost its chance to be of relief, when a presence carried over from behind you, shoving you into the bathroom, with a determined slam to the door.

A rough hand muffled any of your attempts to yell out, but your stiffened body had luckily learned to vaguely relax when the man behind you turned you against the bathroom counter, and you came face-to-face with someone who familiarly made your body shudder under his stare.

His hands moved to grip the porcelain of the sink on either sides of you. “Eddie…” You gulped, as your chest heaved. “God, y-you scared, um, I- is s-something wrong?”

“You’re making quite the impression out there, aren’t ya?” His lip barely curled into a smile, as he stared down at you. “Everyone just fucking loves you, don’t they?”

You refused to meet his eye, trying to move from the caging of his arms, but his persistence left you trapped. “Um,” you sighed, “y-yeah, all your friends are nice-”

“Oh, no, sweetheart, they aren’t my friends.” He spoke so dauntingly. “They’re your boyfriend’s friends, remember? Your boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat, “um, I should go, Eddie. I need to leave.”

“No, you fucking don’t.” He deeply chuckled, finding amusement in the panicked look of your face. “You just got here.”

“Look, Eddie, I don’t know what you’re trying to do-”

“Me?” He scoffed. “I’m not tryna do anything, you’re the one that fucking started it.” His forehead forcefully pressed against yours, shoving your head back so you’d finally look him in the eye. “Remember?” He tauntingly cooed at you, getting in your face. “Remember you being a slut, and startin’ it? Because I sure fucking do.” He spat. “So don’t ask me what the fuck I’m doing, when you started it.”

Your breath heavied, as his nose ran against yours, and you squeezed your eyes shut to wield the strength to compose your anger, a hatred solely targeted to yourself. You were certain Eddie was feeding off of the visceral pounding of your heartbeat, getting off on the sheer panic of your being.

And you hated yourself for loving it.

“N-Not here.” You thickly swallowed. “Please.” Such a desperate plea, and it had him laughing in your face.

“‘Not here?’” He mocked. “I think I can have you wherever I want, no? It’s sure as hell not like you’re gonna stop me, pretty girl.” A soft kiss planted on your cheek had your eyes opening. “God, you really are so pretty, y’know that, baby? Do you know just how pretty you are?”

“Eddie…” His eyes bored into yours, piercing your desire with a burning itch that had you intoxicated on his strong scent. You watched a smirk etch onto his face, as he watched you follow the outline of his plump lips. Do it. Do it. Do it. You were screaming at yourself to just give in. Thighs clenching, heart racing, mouth salivating for the man that enticed you like no other. Your breath shuddered, as your shaky fingers delicately placed themselves against his shaven face.

Just a taste. Just a little.

You reached onto your tippy toes to feel the soft skin of his lips gently brush against yours. You were dictating this. He was letting you dictate this. Because when it all crashed, you started it, you’d be to blame. All it took was the shy kiss fueled by your hesitancy for Eddie Munson to consume what he wanted, and his tongue shoved past your teeth to ravage your taste. He had you gasping against his lips, nothing touching you but his mouth, but it felt like he was pinning you against your will.

Eddie’s knuckles blurred white from the tightening grip you had him enduring, because frustration coursed through his body, as he fought the restraints keeping him from just giving in and fucking you against the bathroom sink. A guttural growl lurched from his chest, “What are you doin’?” He smashed his lips against you. “I didn’t ask you to kiss me.” He sneered.

His comment forced a lump to be caught in your throat, urging you to push away from his chasing lips. “N-No…” Another breathless kiss smeared against you. “Stop, Eddie, we can’t-”

“Shut your fucking mouth.” He interrupted with his tongue injected into your mouth. “Remember you wanted this.”

You were awful. “No!” You whined, unwilling to face the reality of your cruelness.

“Oh, but, yes, baby.” He humiliated you with his mocking tone. “Yes, remember?” He whispered into your make out. “It was you, you fucking looked at me.” Eddie scorned. “How fucking stupid are you to think I wouldn’t do somethin’ about you lookin’ at me, huh? You remember lookin’ at me?” His kisses were becoming more aggressive. “You fucking looked at me, sweetheart!” You felt the air in your lungs burn from his resistance to letting you breathe. “What the fuck do you expect me to do when you were fucking lookin’ at me like that, huh?!”

And you had been looking at him…

Three days ago, the Hideout had been an unfamiliar experience to you on the night of May 30th. It became evident as such when Mary Jane platform pumps rather distastefully met the abhorrent crunch of breaking asphalt from the gravel parking lot, where beat up cars and pick-up trucks haphazardly parked themselves with no formation, clearly lacking the etiquette for what was promised to you as a “nice” establishment. A wave of regret had drowned you in despair as you walked out of your car, immediately being met with the obscene noises coming from a drunken man nearly hacking a lung out, only to shoot his spit and mucus onto the dead bushes that once decorated the place wonderfully in the 60s. You begrudgingly passed the neglected entrance; its doors open for the sleazy, middle-aged men of Hawkins, Indiana to make themselves right at home, as they littered themselves amongst the breadth of the property, sparsely filling up tables and stools with cold beers to accompany them. A gasp of disgust had petered out of your lips, when each step you took sticky film residing on the weathered wood of the floor clung to the outsoles of your beloved heels, coating them with decades of syrupy beer that had found solace within the bar from the happy accidents that tailored the feng shui of the Hideout.

You were appalled.

It was beyond the definitions of obvious that you had overly dressed yourself for the occasion. It was at this moment, you were mentally curing Braun Peterson for providing the wrong impression, completely overselling the bar he once played in, and disregarding the lack of formality that came with the building and its loyal customers.

“Babe, it’s got a decked out bar, you can order whatever you like, trust me, my boy Johnny will whip it up, and it’s got plenty of tables for you to sit your pretty self down and enjoy the show. Not to mention, the nicest stage where you can watch me perform. It’s gonna be great, I promise!”

With a rush of worriment devouring you, you insecurely hugged your bare arms over yourself in an attempt to shield yourself from the preying eyes of unabashed stares coming from bulky men, old enough to be your father, who proclaimed themselves as regulars and patently peering to you as new meat.

Endeavoring the will to appear not so lost and clueless, you walked with your head held high, a fabricated facade of confidence, and you took refuge onto the high top table that accommodated two uncomfortable stools that shared the same layer of dust as the plastic faux wood of the table.

Yeah, you were definitely going to have it out with Braun Peterson.

Your body felt rigid, guarding yourself from potentially coming in contact with anything biohazardous, while also feeling so small from the persistent scary stares that you felt so strongly were examining your body as if you had no autonomy. And maybe you were being a bit pretentious at this moment, but given the overflow of staggering malaise that was consuming your being and clearly placing you into an uncomfortable environment, there was an absolute negative chance of actually enjoying the night, especially after you were going to dish one out to Braun.

Speaking of which, you caught sight of the slick-back, blond hair that was pursuing your way from a slim hallway that catered to the southend of the building, which presumably led backstage. “Hey, you made it!” Incompetent to your unease, Braun had merely stepped up and shoved you into a tight hug, a kiss swiftly placed onto your lips with a smacking mwah.

While he spoke so highly, clearly excited for his performance, you couldn’t fathom reciprocating his energy, immediately stating your concerns with a whine into his embrace. “What is literally wrong with you?”

Judging by your tone, anyone could have discerned the genuine disturbance from being in such situation, but ever the comedian, Braun merely chuckled. “That could be an hour long discussion, babe.” Your eyes flashed with disbelief at his choice to dismiss your evident worries.

You sighed, resisting the urge to not scream in public to cater to his comfort. “No, Braun, I’m serious. Why didn’t you tell me what kind of bar this was?” You pleaded, hoping he’d acknowledge your troubles rather than brushing them off. That was one thing you had quickly discovered from the months of making it official with Braun Peterson; he had quite the sense of humor, which wasn’t at all particularly harmful, but this “sense of humor” had a funny way of not knowing when to draw the line. The line always seemingly crossing your boundaries. But god forbid you spoke out. Last time you did, his roommate Josh asked you to quit being uptight on Braun’s behalf. “I look like I’m dining at a Michelin Star restaurant, not grabbing drinks at some middle-of-nowhere bar. Why didn’t you specify?”

You really didn’t want to cause such a confrontation on his first night back performing at the place in which he claimed was “the start of everything” for him but, my god, you were seething with irritation.

“Shit,” he huffed, understanding your worries once he took a glimpse of the perverted looks the attendees were more than glad to show off. “Look, babe, I seriously didn’t mean for this to happen-”

“You said this place was nice, Braun.”

“I know, I- I just knew you wouldn’t be into these kinda bars, but I really wanted you to come see me tonight.” He sighed. “I swear, baby,” he secured your shoulders into his hand, “I just wanted you to be here with me, b-but I screwed up. I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

You heaved in defeat, seeing the genuine remorse in his eyes. He hadn’t been far off with his assumption; twenty-three years of a city setting in the upper east side, where renovated brownstones of contemporary decor were more of your liking rather than the casualness of a lonesome bar.

Your lips jutted with a mumbled “it’s okay” to pass the tension. But Braun’s hands had worked their way to the fullness of your cheeks, where his thumbs delicately swept under your eyes. “Thank you for doing this.” He poured his eyes into yours. “I know it’s not your scene, but I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this, baby.” Braun leaned in to press his lips to yours, and that loving comfort was enough to ease your body into relaxation against his hold. His hands released for the brief seconds it took to take off his leather jacket and hang it over your shoulders. “Keep this on, and if anyone bothers you or-or does something, please just tell me.” He implored. “I’ll be right on stage, only a couple feet away, I’ll see you, okay?”

Huffing a sigh, you simply nodded, choosing to come to a consensus of trying to enjoy the night. It had been close to reaching a year that you agreed to be Braun’s girlfriend, and from then, he’d been dying to show you everything about himself. Following the end of the school year from university, Braun had made plans to spend the summer back in his hometown of Hawkins, Indiana, where he had adamantly informed you about the band, the one in which he partook throughout his high school career, Corroded Coffin. And there was no denying it, the bubbling feelings of a blossoming relationship, one where your boyfriend had an actual desire to share the intimate parts of his life with, like seeing where he grew up, made you burst with excitement.

Because even with his flaws, Braun Peterson had a gentle touch that filled your heart with a promising future of blissful contentment.

“I won’t leave you out here,” his hand found its way to your thigh, “afterwards, I’ll have drinks brought backstage, where me, you, and the guys can just relax in peace. Away from these creeps.” He gripped with loving reassurance. “And- and, I promise you some of the most incredible food, okay?”

You snickered through your nose with a bit of suspicion. “From here?”

Braun laughed at your wariness. “From Benny’s Burger, got the best diner food for your pretty belly.” You arched your brow, pushing it until he gave in. “Okay, okay, Enzo’s. Seconds, thirds, all on me, baby, whatever you want.”

“Deal.” He sealed your agreement with a playful handshake.

He smiled at you, bringing a comforting hand to your neck. “Thank you, again, pretty.” His thumb caressed. “Just wanna share this experience with you. Wanna let you know how cool I was back in high school.” He teased, as you giggled. “Here, gimme kiss.”

Braun pulled you in for a sweet kiss, letting your worries wash away with his reassurement, because he always had you. “You’re gonna do great, I’m sure of it.” You smiled against him.

“Only ‘cause I have you here cheering me on.” Braun finished you off with one more kiss. “Remember, I’m only a couple feet away, I’ll come grab you once we’re done.”

With that, Braun Peterson left you to your own accord, securing the warm leather of his jacket around you, as you watched him disappear into the back. Disagreements and solutions. Compromises and sacrifices. This is what it meant for the man who cherished your time, and publicly showed it like no other. Everything was okay. Until the minutes passed of tugging on your lip with anticipation, and the staged lights dimmed.

Everything was okay.

But the center spotlight had rained against a figure, and you hadn’t even internalized the fact that a stranger physically made your body react with a gasp, as you merely took in the sight of him.

Him, who caressed his warlock, fingers teasing the strings, and lips kissing the mic with heavy pants of excitement. “Nice to see some familiar faces!” He grinned, scanning the all too familiar bar that let his amateur band of misfits play every Tuesday night; the regular bar goers seemingly flooding him with memories of his youth years. But then, his eyes landed on you. Front and center. “Even better to see some… new faces.” His lips curled into a menacing smirk, drinking up your stunning face.

Your heartbeat pummeled out of your chest, heat chewing at your cheeks, as his daunting figure had you shying away with a flush state, like you were a school girl receiving her first valentine, forcing you to wrap Braun’s jacket tighter around you.

Shit, Braun!

Quickly, your eyes diverted to the man you should have been gawking at, tuning his guitar before peering up with a smile that held all the good in the world, one he solely dedicated to you on a daily basis. You mustered a shy smile back, attempting to swallow the guilt. And this is where it should have ended. It’d be quite ignorant to dismiss the reality that attractive people come and go everyday during relationships, so this is all it was. You saw something pretty, you admired it, you left it. That’s what you promised. That’s what you committed. So you blinked yourself straight, and gave small claps of encouragement to your boyfriend.

But the eerie feedback from the mic had your head snapping to the front man, and as expected, his gaze hadn’t left your body once; a smirk devouring his face when your eyes caught his. That night, an alluring spark ignited within Eddie Munson, and he was determined to indulge in it.

“We’re gonna perform a couple songs for old times’ sake, bring some life back into you old fucks.” He jabbed comments eliciting some laughter from the crowd that watched these antsy boys torment their ears years before. “So just like back then, as always, I’m Eddie and we’re fucking Corroded Coffin!”

The thrash to his guitar introduced the blaring cords of a song, reminiscent to one Braun typically played for the background noise of when your naked bodies dreamily slapped together. The frontman’s stage performance flooded your senses as you became mesmerized by the fluid movement of his fingers abusing the delicate strings, and his husky voice yelling the lyrics to the abrasive song. He was encapsulating the beauty of metal with such ease and grace, playing his heart out for a dingy bar filled with good-for-nothing men. It felt so utterly undeserving. He was meant for a real stage.

Eddie.

That’s what it was. That’s all it fucking was. It had to be. You weren’t a bad person. You couldn’t be. The familiar tunes matching that of how Braun Peterson would rut his hips into yours was the sole reason for the tantalizing heat that was creeping within your body, not because of the man with the long hair who punctured his hungry glare against you, as he belted the grotesque lyrics of whatever song it was that you never cared to officially learn the title to. But how could you have ever found the will to learn, when Braun would consume your thoughts with the drilling of his cock to the beat of the song? Why couldn’t that be enough? Why had your hips subconsciously rolled to find some needed friction against your seat to the thought of Eddie burying his face between the warmth of your body?

Why did it feel like he was burning you alive?

The disgusting reality of your endeavor to get off on a dirty stool to another man had hit you like a ton of bricks, rightfully slapping you in the face with utter shame for who you were, and you didn’t dare to spare Eddie another glance; eyes fluttering around embarrassingly to look at anything other than Eddie.

Braun. Braun. Braun.

He was right there. He always had been.

The night dragged on for an unbearable hour, filled with the ongoing cycle of desiring something that wasn’t yours and the self-loathing hatred to follow. The burn of Eddie gaze had your body crippling with anxiety, and you engaged yourself to only peer at the man who’d brought you pure happiness for the last ten months of your life. But he was there; torturing you with his eyes that felt laser-cutting from a mile away, despite how adamant you forced yourself to refuse his attention.

You hadn’t even verbalized a word to him yet. And it was devastatingly pathetic how submissive he had you.

The last cord of the night strung out with the fellow patrons commemorating their boys for the nice trip down memory lane. You adjusted yourself to gently cheer along, feeling awful when Braun’s brightful smile had never once dropped because of your presence in the crowd. Just focus on him. It was all you had to do. As the men walked off with their equipment, Braun’s sweaty figure jumped from the stage, heading straight for you.

You immediately jumped from your seat, forgoing the complaints of him being sweaty to hold him in your arms with such fervency. “You did so great!” His hands held your back, delicate kisses pressing into the crook of your neck.

“Yeah?” He searched for your validation, only ever caring for your words, as he mumbled into your neck, inhaling your sweet smell that comforted the adrenaline high he was experiencing. “You, uh, you liked the first song I picked out?” His brows teased.

“Of course!” You cupped his face to bring him into a smearing kiss that he gladly reciprocated. You pulled away, staring into his soft eyes that held all innocence, and you cursed yourself for ever thinking of another man when such beauty was held in the palm of your hand. Your thumbs gently swept on the underside of his eyes, as he smiled down at you. “You were amazing, Braun.” You sincerely spoke. Overcompensating? Completely. But you needed him to be okay, and his happiness was worth it. “You always are so amazing, Braun.”

He brought you in for another embrace, and sealed it with a loving kiss that had you melting in his arms. “You’re pretty fucking amazing, too, Y/N.” He spoke. “C’mon, baby, let's go on back.”

“W-wait!” You steadied yourself within your position, holding his hand tightly. “Um, w-we can just stay out here, I’m sorry for getting mad earlier.”

His head dropped, lips jutting at you before he landed a quick kiss to your forehead. “Don’t apologize where you don’t need to apologize, baby.” He urged. “Don’t gotta make yourself uncomfortable for me- in fact, I won’t allow it. Not after dragging you here in the first place.”

“No, really it’s fine-”

“It’s not, baby, I don’t want you out here.” Braun persisted. “Plus, I’ve been talkin’ the guys’ ears off about you, I’m sure they’d love to put your pretty face to your name. Promise they’re not as scary as you think.”

What a fucking lie.

A journey to the back hallway led you to the chipped door, where Braun relinquished a double courtesy knock before entering the room, where a waft of sweat and cologne welcomed you to the small dressing room that held the members of Corroded Coffin. Shifting behind your boyfriend, your eyes landed around the burgundy painted walls, littered with posters of the previous self-made artist who first established themselves at the Hideout. Where they were now? More than likely not Hollywood, given the cheesy names teenagers thought were cool at the time.

“Hey, uh, guys, gained a new fan today, Y/N, this is Gareth, Jeff, and…” A polite smile to both identified men waving back to greet you was easy enough. “Where’s Ed?” Thank god.

Braun directed you to the couch, leather and torn, with its yellow foam of cushion peering from the tears after years of being broken in by body weight. “Talkin’ to Nicky out back by the stage.” Gareth had answered, as a hand towel harshly rubbed against his head to ease the dripping sweat from his frizzy curls.

“Nicky’s the bar owner.” Braun intimately informed you, graciously bringing you into the loop.

“You enjoy the show?” Jeff, with a genuine attempt at conversation, had gestured for you to engage in. Perhaps it was the blatant stiffness of your body from the wariness of sitting on the couch that surely soaked copious amounts of bodily fluids than you’d like to imagine, that got him to ask for your honest opinion. Or, the other obvious, that you clearly dress far from the usual scene that was typical for a Corroded Coffin performance at the Hideout.

Trying to atone your ignorance to the metal scene, and whatever the hell tension that was between you and the frontman, your head awkwardly nodded in response. “Yeah, um, yeah, I did.” Braun’s reassuring hand landed on your knee. “I’m still getting used to our difference in music taste,” luckily that was receptive to a couple chuckles, “but it was great seeing him, a-and you guys out there, as well.”

Heavy footsteps from the stage announced themselves as they entered the dressing room, and your body hardened at the mere sight of his shining chest, coated in his perspiration, drenching the line of hairs of his abdomen to seep into the low hanging waistline of his pants. Your eyes snapped to the wooden floors, as Braun jumped to give a brief greeting to his friend who ultimately settled against the water dispenser right in front of you.

“Ah, now that you’re all here, babe, this is Eddie; Ed, this is girlfriend, Y/N.” Already accustomed to your presence, Gareth and Jeff felt no need to weigh in another hello, which resulted in an unfortunate silence, after Eddie, himself, decided staring at you was the only formal approach.

But it wasn’t until his intentionally loud, “huh,” that pierced the silent, did your stomach drop with fear. “This is your girlfriend?” Your eyes stung at the inevitable occurrence of your boyfriend’s friend outing you in front of everyone as the girl who just couldn’t keep her eyes to herself.

Braun’s brows cinched at his question, huffing in confusion. “Why’re you sayin’ it like that?”

Eddie had quickly dismissed him with a nonchalant shake to his head. “I dunno, what’ve pictured you with a girl like Mindy, ‘s all.” What an asshole.

You knew it’d be hypocritical to suddenly interrogate your boyfriend on whoever it was Eddie was referring to, especially when it showed Eddie’s intentions were not the purest of them all with the mention of a certain ex. “The fuck, dude, no, that was nearly two years ago.” Braun quickly shut down, evidently not amused with whatever game his buddy was trying to pull.

“Relax.” He chuckled, plucking a small toothpick from the table of plattered junk food into his mouth. “Only teasin’, man, y’know me. Plus, it’s good, shows good progress on your part; movin’ from small town pretty to big city pretty.” Eddie pointed a ringed finger at you.

Braun merely rolled his eyes at the arrogant attitude he’d learned to adjust to throughout his years in high school, but when he turned to you, and saw the tight-lipped smile you gave, he leaned in to comfort you. “Don’t give him a second thought.” He whispered against your hair. “Eddie’s just… out there.”

Patting your thigh, Braun walked to join his friend at the water dispenser, leaving you to heave the tightening breaths of your chest from the sudden suffocation you felt from guilt and anxiety. “C’mon, man, lay off the comments, alright?” Braun quietly spoke to Eddie. “I don’t need you chasin’ her away when I actually love her.”

“‘Love?’” Eddie playfully whistled. “Hm, you must actually care for this girl, huh?”

Braun confirmed with his lovesick smile that made Eddie want to hurl. Soon, Braun was leaning in close to bump his friend in the chest. “So what d'ya think?”

Eddie’s daunting eyes looked past Braun’s shoulder, connecting with your fretful ones, and a sickeningly smile creased his face. He tsked, watching your ostentatious manner refusing to touch the furniture he and his buddies called home. “Seems a little… anal-retentive.” He smirked at Braun. “But, hey, she’s cute, and y’know what, if you like, I like her.” If only Braun Peterson knew of the extent of the underlying meaning his closest friend was alluding to. “You good to her? Treat her well?” Eddie questioned.

“Of course.” Your boyfriend was quick to answer.

“That’s good, that’s good.” Eddie casually nodded along, chewing on the wooden stick between his teeth. “Aye, because y’know pretty girls like her will be quick to look for another man to satisfy her. Gotta treat ‘em well, so they keep their fucking legs closed.” The toothpick snapped at the sudden clenching of his teeth, before Eddie sighed a heavy breath to calm himself. “But I think you gotta good girl on your hands, Brauny, nothin’ to worry about.” Eddie dragged out, before calling to you. “Hey, that seat comfortable for you sweetheart? Need a stool or somethin’?”

A wave of nausea slapped you, as you watched his sinister smile.

Eddie Munson totally saw trying to get off at the sight of him.

His minacious laugh puffed in your face, as he loved watching your eyes crumble in self-reproach from your actions. “Yeah, you fuckin’ remember, baby?” He cooed, as your head dropped with guilt as to what you had just done. But his abrasive hand was quick to forcefully grab your face, cheeks squishing under his tight grip. “Don’t feel bad, princess, it’s okay to share a little.” Eddie smiled, as your eyes frantically looked into his. “Quit the fucking innocent act.” He advised you. “You and I both know how much of a slut you are.”

“I-I,” your thoughts had been racing with the screams of wanting him off of you, but your body was falling limp in his arms, ready to let him take what you so desperately wanted him to take. The words died on your tongue, when suddenly harshing pounding came from the door.

“Yo, anyone in there?!” A drunken voice called out.

“I’ll be out a second!” You managed to rip through your shaky voice, while Eddie breathily chuckled, his hand refusing to let go of your face.

Hearing the partygoer’s footsteps decline in the distance, your heart eased for the slightest moment, and suddenly your nervous system was wailing for you to leave while you could. But before you knew it, unexpectedly, the softest kiss was placed upon your scrunched lips from the man who nearly devoured your mouth so aggressively two seconds ago; you had no choice but to be receptive. “So sweet.” He gently moved his lips against you, it had your tummy erupting with the sensations of a new touch. “So fucking perfect, y’know that? Just how perfect you are?”

Every time he briefly left your lips, you whined for more attention, quickly bringing your lips back to him with a sigh of his name, “Eddie.”

“Mm,” he moaned against your mouth. “I can see why Brauny never shuts the fuck up about you.” The mention of his name had you stiffening. “Tell me, baby, do you suck his cock as good as you kiss him?”

Stunned and repulsed by the jerk you let kiss you, you shoved Eddie’s chest back, finally getting him off of you, and before you mind could process, your hand connected to his cheek with a stinging slap. Your burning hand had trembled, as it slowly clasped it over your mouth in disbelief. Eddie slowly turned to you with a sly grin, but before he could make any movements, your feet finally found the courage to sweep you out of the bathroom with a harsh slam to the door.

On autopilot, you quickly descended down the stairs into the lively living room that did little to ease the bloodcurdling thud of your beating heart that felt as if it was going to rip out of you. It wasn’t until a hand latched itself to the bicep of your arm, reeling you back against a body.

“Hey, hey, you okay, hon?” Braun’s voice echoed into your ear.

“U-Um-”

“Baby, look, if this is about what Cheryl said, please don’t pay any mind to it.” He stroked your arm with concern. “She- everybody here just has a traditional way of thinking, but it’s not what I think. I promise, I’m not looking to shove a proposal down your throat when you’re not ready.” Braun had a fascinating way of calming your worries that drastically differed from the rush Eddie had just forced you through. “Hell, I’m not even ready.” He chuckled, which was able to elicit a small smile from you, at least. “I wanna take my time with you, cherish my moments with you, baby.”

God, you were an awful human being.

Peering behind his shoulder, you watched Eddie saunter his way down the stairs with a lingering stare that quickly found yours. “C-Can we go?” You hastily rushed out. “I’m just a little overwhelmed m-meeting all these new people.”

“Okay, yeah, yeah.” He’s quick to drop off the beers to the living room side tables that were supposed to be your drinks. “C’mon, baby, let’s just take a breather.”

If you knew the guilt Braun Peterson felt for the sole reason of throwing you into a crowd of overwhelming people when you’d literally just kissed his closest friend, you would have pathetically begged on your knees for his forgiveness in front of everyone, and detailed the million ways he was so incredible. But this would stay quiet; suppurating within you, because the peace on his face was more important than wrecking his life. As he guided you to the front door, you looked back to meet the eyes of the man who sparked a match inside you, his arm hanging around a blonde, when you wanted to be the one held under it. Eddie Munson winked at you, cruelly changing the course of your life.

For the days to come, Braun saw an immense amount of affection coming from your part. But who was he to complain, when someone as pretty and sweet as you willingly showed the world how much you loved him? Welcoming the morning sun with your tongue prodded at the slit of his tip, before ferociously waking him with the ride of his life, as your ass pummeled against his thighs, only for the cherry on top to come when breakfast was served like you suddenly became a housewife to your boyfriend. But you’d do whatever if it meant getting the image of his best friend out of your head, despite it leading to the best orgasm you’ve ever had when you pictured it was his cock you were riding, only to realize your lip had been sputtering with blood, because you refused your mouth the need to call out his name, Eddie!

But Friday night came, and it seemed your thoughts satiated under the cuddle of your boyfriend, who agreed to a movie night that entailed buying an obscene amount of candy from the Family Video store, where Labyrinth was purchased alongside the sweets. Wrapped under his embrace, a thick woven blanket swallowed you against the rugged couch of the basement, where you felt yourself sinking deeper and deeper.

For once, peace had come, tranquilizing the tumultuous feelings that consumed you alive. That was until the basement door impetuously flung open before echoing with a slam, that had yours and Braun’s head snapping to the stairs that creaked under the incoming weight. “Mason?” He called out for his cousin.

But it wasn’t the familiar face of his family member who lent you both the basement of his house, and your stomach twisted with fear. “Nope.” He popped the enunciation, as his hair bounced with every step until he reached the bottom step. “But he let me in.”

Braun sat up with a curious look, too occupied with the arrival of his friend to notice the rash way you curled into his side. “Hey, you alright? What’s up?” His eyes followed, as Eddie dramatically plopped himself on the singular recliner next to the couch.

“Ah, nothing.” He made himself at home, clearly lacking the regard of his intrusion to your night. “Just hangin’ around, thought I’d stop by.” His eyes glued to the television screen.

“Not that we don’t appreciate you, man,” Braun began, “but, uh, this is kinda just a movie night… for us.”

Eddie watched the oddity of the movie for a split second, before his head twisted to the both of you, eyeing the closeness with a piqued brow. “Which one of you freaks picked this movie? Was it you, sweetheart?” He smiled, as he watched you shift uncomfortably.

“Alright, c’mon, Ed, seriously.” Braun interjected.

“I’m kidding.” Eddie scoffed. “C’mon, Brauny, it’s been months since I’ve seen you, the least you two could do is spare the couple minutes of whatever touching is going on under that blanket, and let me relax here for a minute.” He argued, sinking into his chair. You watched Braun sigh, for whatever reason suddenly becoming a lap dog to the friend he long admired throughout high school, merely bringing you closer as means to make up for it.

“By the way, driving all the way here seems to be the last resort to relaxing.” Braun poked.

“Aw, c’mon did you actually think I was thinkin’ of you, Brauny?” He wooed, his eyes briefly connecting with you, as Braun rolled his. “Was seein’ Cynthia down the street.” Eddie answered.

“Dude, Ed, doesn’t she have a kid?” Braun grimaced, recalling the moments in which his cousin’s neighbor—three doors down with a minivan and white shutters—threw him an occasional hello with a stroller evident on her walk around the neighborhood.

“So fuckin’ what?” He laughed, causing your stomach to churn with disgust. “That kid made her have massive tits, it’s not like I’m looking to be the stepfather.” Eddie smiled looking back at you, your eyes refusing to meet his. “Just a simple exchange of goods for services.” He proudly announced. “Speakin’ of which, I happen to give Cynthia my last couple’a joints, you got any to smoke here?”

“No.” Braun sighed, scruffing his hair with his hand. “Haven’t gotten the chance to speak to Rick to get some, miss it, though.”

“Then go get some.”

Fuck, you knew what he was doing.

“Me? This is my place you barged into, you go.” Braun retaliated to his friend’s taunting.

“Can’t,” Eddie tsked, “kinda fucked around with the blonde Rick had his eye on a couple nights ago at Eric’s.” He laughed. “But in my defense, she never clarified, and was fairly easy, so, I mean…”

“Can you ever learn to just keep it in your pants?” Braun jabbed, forcing his friend to chuckle at the joke.

“Priorities, Brauny, Priorities.” Eddie winked, before reaching into his back pocket, retrieving the loose dollar bills from his tattered wallet to slap against the center coffee table. “Look, it’s on me, we can wait for you here, right, sweetheart?”

No, no, no. Your knees clutched to your chest, as you tried to steady the breaths that were already becoming uneasy from his presence alone. Braun peered down at you. “You can come if you want. Just gotta wait in the car, don’t want you meetin’ someone like him.”

Your eyes flickered to the man who was sickeningly grinning, somehow having the power to pull a pulsating sensation from your pussy that had you swallowing thickly. “I-It’s okay.” It wasn’t. “I can just wait here.” You spoke so meekly, as though you’d been the victim in this situation, when Braun’s pure smile beamed down at you.

“Thirty minutes top, baby.” A quick kiss landed against you, before he stood from the couch. “Don’t let him burn the house down, please.” Braun joked, slamming his hand against the table to pocket the money Eddie provided.

“Gotta good girl’s influence hanging over me,” Eddie smiled, “nothing to worry about, Brauny.”

Your boyfriend chuckled, running a soft hand against the top of your head to wish you goodbye. “Love you, baby, be right back.”

“I love you.” You shared the sentiment, watching him jog upstairs, where the basement door closed behind him with a deafening silence that shot through you. You watched the door for far longer than needed, a pressuring sting coming from your nail digging into your cuticle to get rid of the apprehension that festered in your belly.

Eddie laughed. “What a fucking liar.” Your head snapped, ready to scream at him that your words held truth; the deep admiration for the man who did nothing wro- “That I am.” Eddie added, pulling out a zippo lighter from his pocket followed by a joint. He lavished in the twitching of your eyes, flashing from anger to anxiousness under the action of him shedding his jacket to light what was brought to his lips.

A puff of cloud escaped his mouth before he spoke. “Take a hit, baby, you’re so goddamn tense I can practically feel the stick up your ass.” He stood from his place to sit next to you, immediately rolling his eyes as he found you shifting away from him, until your back hit the far end of arm rest, feet digging into the cushion as your knees stayed glued to your chest. “Relax, alright-”

“Eddie, we can’t-”

“I’m only tryin’ to get you to relax, shut up for two seconds and take a fucking hit.” He scolded, and your eyes widened under his intimidation. His body scooted until your painted toes were trapped beneath the heavy weight of his denim-clad thick thighs, allowing him to bring the joint to your face. “Don’t wanna have to get mean, just put it in your mouth.” You wondered where the anger from your assault to his face was lingering, surely the hit had to have pissed him off to some degree. His fingertips pressed against your lips, as your mouth enveloped the end of the joint, welcoming the burn to your throat. “Look so cute with that shit in your mouth, so good, princess.”

You pushed his hand away when it became too much, trying to control your coughing from the large intake. “T-Too much.”

“Mhm, I know, baby.” He whispered, watching your lips pout, as his hand caressed your leg. Bringing the joint to his lips and hearing it sizzle, Eddie moaned against it. “Fuck, I can taste your mouth on it.”

You pushed your knee away to get his hand to fall back into his lap, where his fingers only moved to hover over the bulge of his pants, as he took more hits. Soon, his sole hand was undoing the buckle of his belt, and your brows arched against his movement, yet your mouth stayed quiet from any protest.

Your lips parted in awe watching his cock spring against his belly, pants coming to hang around his thighs. His finger came to gently tease the head, before his hand wrapped to smear the precum that oozed from the tip. So casually, Eddie Munson began fucking his hand so casually, as if you weren’t sitting next to him. He acted as though he was in the comfort of his own bedroom, and you wondered whether the bit of anger that mixed in with the arousal that pressed against your belly was from the fact that he could get off without even sparing a glance at you.

He smoked and jerked his cock, letting you bask in the glory of his heavy member, where his hand tugged the loose skin of his big balls to smack against his hairy thighs. As casual as he was, Eddie was itching to turn his head and watch your legs clench with need, something his peripheral could only get a glance at, but Eddie Munson wasn’t giving in. He felt your toes curl under his thigh, your body speaking for itself to be touched.

“Fuck, that’s so good.” He twisted his palm against the slick head of his cock, before he squeezed down to his base for more tugs that had him wondering if your pussy felt anywhere near as good as his hand. You watched his fingers pull up his shirt, until his teeth bit down to hold the fabric up, and his toned toros was cramping from the sensation he was bringing himself. “Mmm!” He moaned, wetting his shirt with his mouth, as his hand became relentless against the thumping veins of his cock.

No longer a thought of need, his fingers abandoned the lit joint to the ashtray that stayed stationed on the table with a few cigarettes, and his free fingers traveled to toy with his nipples, pulling the pebbled nubs to spark up his impending orgasm. “Ugh, mm!” His hips were gyrating upward, chasing the fleshlight that was his hand, as his speed increased, and your hands grasped onto the old couch for the needed restraint to not throw yourself onto him.

With an aggressive jerk to his cock, and a stinging pinch to his nipple, the angry red head of his dick sputtered out his creamy cum, dribbling against his belly before the pool collected against his unruly pubic hair.

His shirt slowly slipped from his teeth, as Eddie caught his breath with heavy grunts. “Fuck me, shit.” Taking his fingers, he dragged it around the breadth of his belly to gather the seeping cum, where he finally turned to you with dark eyes, and used his cum tainted fingers to motion you closer.

You body mindlessly complied until those same fingers were pressing into your mouth, letting his salty spent invade your taste buds, before your throat began getting fucked. “Wanna fucking slap me and walk away, huh?” His free hand wrapped behind your neck to keep you gagging at his mercy. “Wanna get mad at me for you being a filthy slut? ‘N drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy?” You whined, holding his wrist in an attempt to ease the thrashing of his fingers down your throat. “God, so fucking pretty.”

His fingers ripped from your tongue, but before your lungs could get a breath of fresh air, his mouth was on you, replacing his fingers with his tongue, as he kissed you with such ferocity, it nearly felt like a punishment. Teeth clashing and biting, you mewled in protest. “Eddie!” You gasped pushing away, but his hands kept your face close.

“What, you don’t want me to?” He mocked, before laughing. “Y’know I don’t give a fuck.” Pushing you back against the couch, Eddie climbed over you where his mouth continued his assault against your lips, and your hands wavered into his sweaty curls.

In the briefest moment your lips disconnected, “W-We need to-” You moaned, feeling his plump lip suction against yours. “Stop, Eddie, we should- ugh!” Eddie pulled away and watched your body crave more, but your eyes stung with its glassy coating of tears that were threatening to spill. “Braun…”

“Aw, he’s gonna come back soon, ‘n you don’t wanna get caught.” He whispered, as his forehead fell against yours.

“He’s your friend.” Your voice cracked with guilt.

Eddie huffed. “You better listen clearly.” His hand wrapped around your jaw to force your eyes to his. “Brauny’s a big boy. Yeah, he may be my friend, but Brauny’s got this pretty, little thing that I need to play with, so being frank with you, baby, I don’t care.” His nose flared with anger, as his words stung. “And I’m gonna need you to cut this bullshit sorry act, because it’s really pissin’ me off, and I don’t wanna have to get angry with you.” He hissed. “Okay, baby?”

You stared into his dark eyes, mouth gulping to reply. “Okay.” And once again, your lips grazed his, letting him groan into your mouth.

“Mm, you really are so pretty, angel, such a good girl listenin’ to me.” He murmured. “Looking like this, how could your boyfriend ever expect me to keep my hands off of you?” He kissed. “You gonna let me touch you- touch that needy fuckin’ clit. I’ve never touched one before, you gonna let me touch yours?” He tormented with the brushing of his fingers against your pajama shorts.

You pouted your lips at him, brows cinching at his words. “I feel like you’re lying to me.”

And Eddie Munson snuck that signature laugh in your laugh that you didn’t appreciate, but your pussy surely did. “What does it matter if I’m lyin’ to you, you’re gonna let me touch you, anyway.” His fingers curled around the scrunchy waistband, before pulling them from your legs to expose your sopping cunt to the cold air of the basement. “Fuck, look at that.”

You didn’t know what came over you, but with a hand over his where he parted your legs, you chin tucked in to delicately ask him a question. “Did you really have sex with those girls?”

Eddie smiled, tongue lapping at his lip as he looked at you. “Does it hurt your feelings if I did?” You shrugged, not really sure why you asked, though clearly agitated by the knowing answer. “Do I gotta tell you pretty things, so you don’t get hurt?”

His hand combed through your patch of pubes, tickling your abdomen in a way that had your body seeking for more. “Please, Eddie.”

“Mm, what is it, baby?” His nails raked down the side of your pussy lips, deliberately avoiding your slit to tease the nerves of your mound. “Need your little pussy touched? It’s so fucking gorgeous.” You nodded, scratching his forearm down to his wrist to urge his movements further. “Gimme another kiss first, princess.”

You pulled him in, letting your kiss spark up the butterflies that loved to erupt in your tummy whenever you saw him. Not so harshly as before, your kiss passionately swallowed you both, with the sweet connection of saliva that strung between your moving lips. But you had an appetite for more, grossly moving the kiss into a heated direction that had him moaning on your teeth. Denying yourself from him was punishment enough, the care no longer festered, you were getting what you deserved.

“Uh, calm yourself, baby.” He spoke between kisses with a teasing chuckle. “Look at you so desperate, shh, calm down. Be slow with me for a second, sweetheart.” You obeyed, slowing your movements into a languid interaction, before your lips latched onto his tongue, pulling it out from his mouth to suck on, as if it was his cock, because you never got the chance to fully taste his musk.

Eddie mewled, cock twitching against your thigh, as your action had him melting with a burning desire. Finally, the squelching noise of your dripping arousal echoed into the room, as his fingers dove into the folds of your pussy. “Is that your fucking clit, baby? Listen to how wet your pussy is for me.”

“Mm, Eddie.” You sucked in a breath, as your fat bud was being toyed with.

“Moaning for me, princess, you’re moaning.” He whispered into your ear. “‘Cause you're mine right now, I’m making you moan, not him, hm. Not your little Brauny. You only moan for me, at least for right now, because you have a boyfriend.” You absentmindedly nodded along to whatever words he was feeding you, too caught up with your pussy being played with to care. “We’ll see about that.” He laughed, before nipping at your earlobe.

“Wanna touch you, too, baby.” You whined, reaching for his hung cock, letting your hands twirl around the heated length that was circulating with enough blood to fuck you for multiple rounds.

Eddie hissed. “Sss, what are you doin’? Grabbin’ my fucking cock?” He smiled, as you stroked him, allowing him to plunge his fingers into your tightening cunt, as both your movements fell in sync with one another. “Grab it, yes, baby, fuckin’ grab that cock!”

“Fuck, that feels so good, Eddie!” His fingers pulled out to rub your clit, before suddenly your pelvis jolted with the burning sensation of his hand coming down to your pussy. “Eddie!”

“Lemme slap that clit, lemme slap that fucking clit, baby.” Your wetness splashed against your inner thighs with each spanking of his hand. “God, you don’t know what you do to me, sweetheart. Such a pretty girl, I’m fucking losin’ my control over you. Got you strokin’ my cock, while my fingers fuck your pussy, and I love it, baby, I love it so fucking much.” He babbled, teeth biting down to keep the worse words in. Your brows furrowed, as his fingers blasted within you, hooking inside to scratch that throbbing g-spot that had you wailing with want. “Smile for me, baby, smile ‘cause I’m making my baby feel so good.”

And you did, letting your head crash back with your mouth hanging open with an inebriated smile tugging at your lips, as you played with each other. His lips crashed down for another smearing kiss that had your tongues desperately pirouetting around each other.

Your thighs began shaking under his control, pistoling his fingers in a way that was bringing you closer to your release. While looking down at your thrusting hips, he simultaneously pulled away from your kiss, leaving you to whine for his return. “No! More!”

He looked back up into those pathetic round eyes and scrunched brows with your bitten lips that nearly had him collapsing with another orgasm, as your hands pulled at the head of his cock and squeezed his balls. “Don’t you fuckin’ look at me like that.” He warned, not ready to release his load if it wasn’t going to be inside of you, but you couldn’t take your eyes off of his sweaty face, beads of perspiration invading his hairline, as his face flushed with a blushing rose that surely made him feel embarrassed with how vulnerable he looked. “Don’t fuckin’- don’t you- ugh- no, no, no, no!”

His large hand slapped your cheek, forcing your face away, leaving you gasping in disbelief. “I’ll fuckin’ slap you.” He spat, watching you merely turn your head back with a sparking revelation in your eyes that made you look even more beautiful. “I’ll slap your stupid fucking face-” Another stinging crash to you cheek that had you crying in pain, but you kept looking for more. “You like that shit?”

You hurriedly nodded, letting your tears pool from the growing pain that tightened your pussy around his fingers. “Yes, more!”

A harsh smack landed on your cheek once more, agitating your poor skin. “Mhm, like that, me fucking slapping that stupid, little fucking face.” His hand felt the wetness of your tears drenching your cheeks with every slap. “Bruisin’ that pretty fucking face, fuck! C’mere, c’mere!”

His tongue lavished against your burning skin, bringing tingles to your body when his spit-covered tongue ran against your hot cheek to lick up your salty tears. “Get your fuckin’ hands off my cock, I’m shovin’ it inside your desperate cunt.” Eddie declared, slapping his tip to your pussy, to let your wetness pour on his dick.

A harsh stab to your pussy lunged his thick cock into your pulsating walls, urging a screaming moan from your lungs. “Fuck! You’re so fucking tight!” His hands clamped around the front of your thighs to fold you in half.

“Ugh, fuck! Slow, p-please, baby, slow!” You wailed.

“Yeah?” He cooed, driving his thrust down to one punctuated one every second. “You want this cock slowly, can’t fucking handle this tight, little pussy getting fucked hard?”

Your trembling hands cupped his face, letting you bring him down for a consuming kiss. “J-Just wanna feel all of you.”

“You are, baby, you are.” Eddie pierced himself into your g-spot. “Feel it deep inside, baby, feel my fucking cock all the way inside! Just for you! You- you fucking dirty, filthy whore!” The muscles of his ass tightly clenched to pound you thoroughly with each stroke. “Gonna let me do it faster? Huh? Fuck you into this fucking couch until your some braindead slut? Look at you taking my cock!” His hips began slapping faster. “Gonna be fucking good for me?”

“Uh-huh! Always, fuck!”

“You will?” He taunted. “You fucking will? You’ll take this cock whenever I want you to? Whenever I want this pussy of mine? In front of your boyfriend? Tie him to a fuckin’ chair, and force him to watch me fuck his pretty girlfriend’s little cunt!”

“Yes! Yes! Fuck me better than him!” Your hips moved to meet his slapping thighs, as you clenched around his cock to milk him with the cum you wanted in your cunt. “Want him to watch me take your fat cock!”

An animalistic growl forced its way out of chest, as the image of his best friend crying over the despair of betrayal elicited him to rut his hips into you fervently. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” His head dropped against your chest, reveling in the commotion of your bouncing tits that were urging to be freed. His hands pulled at your shirt, exposing your boobs that were quickly squished together under his hands, as his tongue lapped around your nipple.

“Ugh, yes, you’re gonna make me cum!” You heaved, finding your hand had landed on his thigh at a weak attempt to slow his crashing movements into your pussy.

“Beautiful fucking tits!” He nibbled on your pointy nipples, forcing those whines that drove him crazy to come out. “So fuckin’ delicious! And just for me!”

“Just for you! Only you!”

“Yeah?” He pouted at you. “Fuck, fucking lick my hand, lick my fucking hand, you bitch.” His palm landed on your mouth, where you dumbly stuck your tongue out to taste the sweatiness of his hand, before that same hand came crashing down on your cheek for the umpteenth time. “Stick that filthy fuckin’ tongue out when I slap you in the fuckin’ face!”

You obliged, letting the wet muscle hang out as another slap landed on your face, forcing your head to the side. But turning your face back with the expectation of one more slap fell short, when instead, a glob of warm spit hit your tongue, one after another.

“Fuckin’ clean that asshole from you fucking holes!” More spit. “‘Cause you’re mine! Not his! With my spit in your mouth and my cum in your pussy, you’ll be fuckin mine, right?!”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, as the rope in your belly was hanging on by a mere thread ready to snap. “Yes! Yes! Just yours!” You cried out. “Cleanse me! Cleanse me with your cum and make me yours!”

Eddie’s hand pressed down against your pelvis harshly, prompting a gushing stream of your hot squirt to wet yourself and his thighs, as you screamed from the highs of orgasmic ecstasy. “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck! I’m cumming! I’m- FUCK!”

Nothing but heavy breaths could be heard in the basement that reeked of sex and bodily fluids. Your hands fell limp around his neck, whereas he sagged the entirety of his dead weight against your chest. His teeth grinded from the continuation of your pussy clenching around him, as your body tried to settle at the unfamiliar size that inculcated itself brutality into your cunt.

It was quiet. It was peace.

Until the ringing in your ears subsided, and slowly began picking up on the maniacal laugh that was coming from the man who slowly picked up his head from your chest to greet your un-whitening vision with a sinister smile, and suddenly you felt the pit in your stomach sink.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’ve just made a big fuckin’ mistake.” He chuckled, harshly pressing his forehead into yours, causing the seat cushion to dent beneath you. “Y’know why?” He tantalized, watching your eyes grow big with fear. “Because if your little boyfriend touches you after you just said you were mine,” he placed a delicate kiss to your lips that you couldn’t muster to reciprocate, too scared to do so, “I’m gonna fucking kill him.” He laughed.

A minute and eight seconds.

Braun Peterson had leaned the weight of his body against the counter, letting the low hum of the buzzing microwave lull his mind to ease, as the fingers of his hand shoved against his eye to wake from the tiredness of the morning day. It hadn’t been until the slap of a heavy hand against his bare shoulder jolted his eyes open to see his cousin slugging his socked feet against the linoleum tiles, before scratching the floor with the chair legs to have a seat at the kitchen table.

Mason had yawned, stretching his jaw from the bitter soreness of having to deal with a restless night of grinding his teeth. “Where’s the missus?” His nails scratched over his stubble. “Sleepin’ in?” Given your gratitude for a place to stay, Mason had spent the few days of your presence waking up to a full breakfast of all the fixins, differing greatly to the two-minute microwave food the young welder had to succumb to for his poor skills behind the stove.

The morning had changed with the sight of Braun in front of the buzzing appliance. “Out, actually.”

“Already?”

“Yeah, couple days ago,” Braun cleared his dry throat, “she met Cheryl- you remember Cheryl?” Not exactly someone from Mason's graduating class, but given Hawkins’ small breadth of streets, a distant young face of hormonal acne and blue eyeshadow was all that could be pulled from his string of memories, as Cheryl Daniels still sported that purity ring that had long gone been switched out for an engagement ring to her military fiance, whom she could relish his fat benefits with. So, Mason simply nodded to get the story along. “Anyway, yeah, Y/N met her, and, well, you know how women are; one giddy introduction, next thing y’know they’re doing 9:00 a.m pilates and leavin’ me behind to eat some shit food for breakfast.”

Mason peered at the counter to see the empty box of his frozen food. “You asshole, ‘s that my last Hot Pocket?” His mundane voice spoke, too tired to hold any real malice behind it.

“I’ll head to the store and buy you a whole new pack, relax.”

Braun Peterson steadily watched the last couple of seconds tick down. “If anything, man, I deserve that one after you and Y/N kept me up last night.” Mason breathily chuckled.

“Ah, sorry,” Braun stretched his arms, “Y’know Eddie came over, we watched a movie, didn’t realize it was so loud- which if you want any advice, don’t watch Labyrinth high, unless you wanna have a total freak out.”

“Not talking about that.” Mason shook his head with a laugh. “But, aye, next time you bring Munson around and make my basement reek of weed, the least you could do is save me some.”

But Braun’s eyebrows had stayed scrunched with concern to ever consider his cousin’s future word of advice. “The hell are you talking about then?” He curiously poked.

“You and Y/N.” Mason emphasized with a sly smirk to tease. “I mean, you guys are usually pretty considerate, but I guess the weed really got to y’all or somthing, man, you two were fucking loud last night- and I mean that literally.” He laughed. “Would’ve taken her as a quiet girl.”

Braun Peterson blinked. You had went straight to bed last night after the movie. In fact, you heavily implored him to do the same, after swifty prompting Eddie out of the door when the credit scenes rolled. “Y/N and I- we didn’t… no, we didn’t-”

The microwave beeped.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female character #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson blurb #mean!eddie munson #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic

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sparrow-bear · 8 months

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Okay so here’s the thing that gets me about Good Omens (s2 in particular):

Earth and humanity are (as far as we know) meant to exist so that heaven and hell have a playing field to best one another, initially by seeing who can exert their influence on humans most and ultimately as a battleground for their war. Humans themselves are kinda inconsequential.

But! Anyone from either side who comes to earth with even a *skerrick* of curiosity immediately starts to fall for the emergent properties of humanity- the music, the food, the art, the shades of grey that simply do not exist in heaven or hell. We see this in Aziraphale and Crowley who have found ways to keep their positions on earth for 6000 years yes, but we see it even more in Beelzebub and Gabriel, who have been to earth many times but only started to *see* it for the first time together, and in Muriel who we are told has never been to Earth before and is overcome with excitement seemingly within seconds of arriving.

There is something so deliciously pure and healing about this story that centres not just love between individuals being the most powerful thing in the universe, but also the simple love of *being alive*. It’s so potent that celestial/demonic powers succumb to the joy of living the *moment* they open themselves up to it. To see these timeless entities stumbling together through human history interacting with and delighting at, not humans themselves so much but the things that they have created. To know that the joy they find in these human constructs is literally changing the very fabric of who they are in ways that they clearly find freeing and deeply fulfilling. That they would literally rather live their quaint little lives on earth, drinking and eating their fill and experiencing human creations, than fulfil their purpose in some cosmic destiny. That they’ll fight to protect it so fiercely even though they’ve been told it’s destruction is preordained.

It’s wild that a story that doesn’t have human characters at it’s centre (in the show anyway), so expertly conveys the joy of being human. Whether you believe humanity exists for a purpose or not, we are simply silly little creatures with an overactive pleasure drive making things that are infinitely more complex than the sum of their parts.

Idk man, it’s the absolute reverence for simple contentment this story holds above all else that gives me life (especially in contrast to its irreverence of Christian morality). I liked season 1 a lot but season 2 soothed some deep hurt in my heart and I’m just so grateful it exists.

#I don’t even know if I properly described it here #I just have so many emotions #*slaps my own back* this baby can fit so many feelings in them #good omens #good omens 2 #good omens season 2 #good omens spoilers #ineffable husbands #ineffable bureaucracy #Muriel must be protected at all costs #good omens analysis #good omens meta #okay wow we’re all a little starving for the simple joys of life huh

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greensagephase · 4 months

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Blanca Navidad (Nonviolent Communication Christmas One-Shot)

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x SpiderFemaleReader (colleagues to friends to lovers; currently in the friendship era, so no romance.) Summary: Christmas Eve at Miguel's. Word Count: 11,928 (someone come take my laptop from my hands) Warnings: Mention of injuries and near death experience (from the past). Some Spanish included but translations can be found at the end. Lots of Mexican/Latin food mentioned; you can find some of those items in this reference guide. Short A/N: This is a one-shot for my Nonviolent Communication fanfic but can be read as a standalone. Masterlist Songs inspo: "Last Christmas" - Wham! "Blanca Navidad" - Matisse, Ha*Ash "Noche de Paz" - Reik

Merry Christmas to those who celebrate! 🎄

You repeatedly offered to host dinner at your place. It was only fair, you thought, especially after Miguel hosted Thanksgiving at his place but he refused. Each time. The only thing he asked of you was some dessert because apparently he really loves your baking, so that’s what you arrive with to his penthouse on Christmas Eve. It’s 7pm when you step out of the multidimensional portal and into Miguel’s living room. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve been here now; how many times you’ve stepped into the space and hung out on his couches and talked with him over café de olla and pan dulce about anything and everything.

You glance at the fireplace as you hold on to your bag with baked desserts. Miguel’s penthouse is warm and cozy, a sharp contrast with the cold and freezing temperatures outside. You take a quick glance behind you to look out the windows. It’s supposed to snow at some point during the night and of course, the children and some adults were all excited about a white Christmas, or at least they seem so this morning when you did your morning patrol across your city. Your thoughts are interrupted when you hear steps, Miguel’s, coming from what you assume is the kitchen and dining area of his penthouse. You turn back and there he is. Once again, he’s wearing his apron since he’s cooking. He looks cozy and comfortable in a grey cable knit sweater, with the sleeves folded neatly up his forearms, and his dark pants. You notice his hair looks damp, which for some reason reminds you of the times you helped him showered so many months ago due to his injuries during a mission. Your free hand curls into a soft fist as you recall how his hair felt. You smile at him as he enters the living room.

“Hey, Merry Christmas Eve!” you greet him softly.

“Merry Christmas Eve,” he repeats with a soft smile as he approaches you. “Here, let me get that for you.”

You don’t decline or refuse his help, even though you don’t need it, when he motions for the bag with baked desserts. You’re learning to accept that Miguel is a gentleman no matter what, so you lift your bag for him to take.

“The food is ready, so we can go ahead and have dinner if you want,” he says with a soft grin, motioning for you to follow him into the kitchen, carrying your bag.

The scent of food engulfs you as you enter the kitchen behind Miguel, making you excited about the food. As you follow Miguel, you notice his Christmas tree is still up. You noticed it earlier this month when you came over for dinner on a Saturday. The sight was a nice surprise that day and even now, as it gives you hope that Miguel feels the holiday spirit this year.

Miguel sets your bag on the counter, careful to avoid messing anything up before he takes a glance at you. He noticed as soon as he saw you wearing a coat, reminding him that you were in Miles’s universe earlier. Mr. and Mrs. Morales invited the whole gang, including Miguel, to their annual Christmas Eve building party but much like last year, Miguel politely declined the invitation. Many things have happened over the year, the most important being Miguel starting his healing journey. He’s taken steps in the right direction, perhaps small ones, but they’re all significant to Miguel. Yet, when he was approached by Miles once again about the Christmas Eve party, he still couldn’t say yes to the invitation.

He’s tried more with the group over the last months but it’s still something he needs to work on. Besides, Miguel could already imagine the questioning of some guests. It would be too much for him. However, that didn’t mean that he wasn’t open to this. To dinner with you for Christmas Eve. He asked you a week later after Thanksgiving about your plans, wanting to plan better than he did for that dinner, especially because he knew you were likely invited to Miles’s building Christmas Eve party again. So, he asked you and you happily agreed to having dinner together. Except when you started talking about what you could cook, Miguel told you he was hosting and he shot down all your attempts, only asking for dessert, if you wanted. You wanted to make it even since he cooked for Thanksgiving but Miguel didn’t want you to stress out about cooking, considering you were invited to Miles’s universe. He didn’t want you to stress out over it or end up missing the party to cook, and besides, Miguel loves cooking and sharing food from his background with you. So, it was better this way for him. Miguel gestures to your coat now, a sign that you were at Miles’s universe a little while ago, if not minutes ago, out in the cold.

“May I?” he asks.

You look at yourself and realize. “Oh, my coat.” You smile at him and nod before he walks around you and helps you out of it. You thank him as he hangs your coat over a chair gently. “Oh, the Morales wish you a Merry Christmas and they sent food.”

Miguel nods, smiling softly as he watches you begin to unpack your bag. You set out the plates the Morales’s prepared, reminding you of last year when they sent you to drop off food for Miguel because they didn’t want him to spend Christmas Eve on his own.

“The fried plantains are to die for,” you tell him as you set down what you baked.

“I can imagine. Last year’s were great,” Miguel says quietly, remembering last Christmas Eve and feeling in awe that a whole year has passed already. Everything was so different then, he thinks. Last year, you were only supposed to drop the food off but you ended up staying until midnight. This year, however, you left the party early to join him for dinner. This year it was planned for you to come. Miguel smiles to himself. So much has changed. He clears his throat softly. “I will certainly eat some of that in a bit, especially the fried plantains. Do you want to have dinner now?” he asks. “Or, maybe you ate at the party and you’re not too hungry yet.”

“I’d love to have dinner. I didn’t eat much so I could save some space for dinner. I’m not missing out on anything,” you say with a soft chuckle that makes Miguel grin since he knows you like his cooking, something that pleases him a lot.

“Great, then we can start. I made some tinga since I know you love it,” he says as he gets into full host mode. “Go ahead and take a seat, make yourself comfortable.” Miguel walks around his kitchen island to the stove where he has multiple pots and pans of food, and possibly drinks like last year. “We can have it with burritos or with tostadas, whichever you like. There’s also…” Miguel continues, listing everything he has cooked, once again surprising you with his wide menu.

You listen intently, with a smile, as Miguel tells you about the pozole.

“I couldn’t decide, so I made a bit of both red and green. I think last year I made green, so hopefully you like the red one.”

You tell him you’re sure you will, considering everything he cooks is amazing. He goes on to tell you about the tamales and how he made different ones this year, too.

“There’s some with rajas de chile poblano and queso fresco. These are really good. And then, there’s the sweet ones. These were my favorite growing up,” Miguel tells you as he shows you small, pink tamales with dark spots here and there that indicate small bits from cinnamon sticks to sweeten the dough.

“Those would go very well with café de olla,” you tell him, which makes him grin.

“I thought you’d think so,” he replies before he taps a pot’s lid. “Café de olla right here.”

You grin back.

“Then, there’s some ponche and I made champurrado. I think - you might like it,” he says.

“If possible, I’m trying everything,” you tell him with a soft smile, which makes Miguel smile back.

“Well, no pressure but please feel welcome to. I hope you like it,” he says turning fully around to face you. “I forgot, there’s also buñuelos. So… what would you like to have first?” he asks, having a feeling that he knows what you’re going to go first for.

You stare at Miguel, knowing exactly what you’d like to eat first. “Maybe it’s surprising or not too surprising, but may I please have some burritos de tinga?”

Miguel chuckles. “Ya lo sabia. I had a feeling that was going to be your choice.”

You shrug with a little smile. “You tell me there’s burritos de tinga, I’m gonna go for that. It’s your fault I love them so much.”

Miguel shakes his head at you, amused. He grabs the flour tortillas from one of his counters and sets a pan to heat them up. “I’m glad you like them so much,” he says, truly meaning it. He’s cooked this dish for you a few times over the months ever since the two of you started to have dinner together every Saturday when it’s his turn to host. You tried it last Christmas Eve after he asked if you wanted to join him for dinner right on the spot when you dropped off the food the Morales family sent him. Come to think of it, Miguel realizes that was the very first time he ever invited you for dinner.

He had no plans to cook or to even be home. He had the opportunity to spend one Christmas with Gabriella and it was the first time he had celebrated in years after Gabriel’s death. After everything that happened with Gabriella and her universe and the events surrounding Miles, the last thing Miguel wanted to do was celebrate. He thought he’d spend the day at HQ like any other day, even if the building was vacant since everyone was off for the holidays. He tries to remember now, what was it that made him leave HQ and gave him the motivation to cook a bit of everything? He reasons now that it was probably nostalgia from those childhood days.

The holidays were always decent in the O’Hara household since those were rare days when his parents weren’t arguing or acting up. Those were also days in which Conchata treated him like a mother should. She spoiled Gabriel and him with sweet food like Mexican hot chocolate, buñuelos, and sweet tamales; even letting them add the food coloring to make the tamales colorful. Perhaps, it was those memories that made Miguel leave HQ last year. Either way, he hadn’t expected to be home. He had no decorations up, nor expected anyone but then there was Lyla, popping out of nowhere as he was finishing showering, while the last of the food was cooking, to tell him that you were looking for him because you had food from the Morales family. Before he knew it, he was inviting you to join him for dinner and you did, and Miguel enjoyed it.

“Do you want agua de Jamaica?” he asks, pausing his thoughts for now.

“Yes, I’d love some. I can get that for us, while you look after the tortillas,” you offer, standing up even though Miguel shakes his head. “I know you’re the host but you don’t have to do everything. You already cooked - I imagine for hours. Please, it’s the least I can do,” you tell him and he begrudgingly nods.

“Alright, if you wish to,” he says, which makes you smile as you reach for glasses from his cupboards since you know your way around his kitchen all too well, much like he knows his way around yours. You notice his pouting as he flips the tortillas, with bare hands as always, and hold back from chuckling. You walk to his fridge to retrieve the pitcher with agua de Jamaica, finding it endearing that Miguel insists on doing everything when he hosts. He tries to help even on the weekends when it’s your turn, always offering his help one way or another, and of course, you always decline but that doesn’t stop him from offering his help anyway.

You set the glasses and pitcher on the counter and walk towards him, standing a few feet away to give him space.

“May I help with something else?”

He shakes his head, meeting your gaze. “You’re my guest, Y/N. Please go ahead and take a seat. I’ll have your burritos ready in a minute or two.”

Your shoulders slump dramatically. “Really?”

Miguel’s eyebrow raises gently. “Really.”

You hum in response and walk away, defeated. With a sigh, you take a seat and now you pout but it’s quickly replaced with a grin when Lyla appears before you.

“Merry Christmas Eve, Y/N!” she says throwing her arms in the air in a cheery tone, making her santa hat move around dramatically.

“Merry Christmas Eve, Lyla.”

“I see you’ve been prohibited from the kitchen.”

You chuckle softly.

“I heard that, Lyla,” Miguel says, looking over his shoulder with a glare that Lyla dismisses.

“Merry Christmas Eve to you, too, boss,” she retorts with a roll of her eyes. “How about some music? Something for the Christmas spirit? I prepared a playlist just for this.”

“Oh, really? You have the classics, I assume,” you tell her.

“Definitely. Some are Miguel’s favorites. Or used to. I don’t know. It has some of my favorites for sure.”

“Like…?” you ask.

“You know…” Lyla shrugs. “Like ‘Last Christmas’ by Wham!”

“Oh, a classic,” you reply with a smile, approving.

“I knew you’d understand me. Let’s put it on,” she says and of course, the music immediately fills the air thanks to Miguel’s amazing sound system.

You nod in appreciation. “Nice choice, Lyla.”

“Thank you! It feels good to be appreciated for my music taste. Some people don’t like it.”

“That’s because you blast it at full volume with no warning,” Miguel replies grumpily, as he reaches the counter with two plates with food.

Lyla shrugs again. “It doesn’t sound too loud to me.”

“The burritos are ready, Y/N. Let me get the toppings,” Miguel says, deciding to ignore Lyla.

“Thank you,” you reply softly as he places the plate in front of you.

“Always,” he answers as he serves agua de Jamaica for the two of you.

“Ooh, should we see Miguel’s official holiday card? I look good in it,” Lyla says immediately displaying the holiday card every Spider Society member received before either you or Miguel can even respond.

Miguel groans quietly as he takes a seat. “Lyla, put that away.”

“I’m just showing Y/N. Look at my outfit. I look good in the card,” she replies with a grin.

You chuckle quietly as you stare at it, remembering Miguel’s mood since you were there. He didn’t want his picture to be taken but Jess, Peter B., and Lyla said he had to as he’s the leader and founder of the Spider Society. Despite Miguel’s protests, Peter B. and Mayday somehow managed to slip on a santa hat to his head, catching Miguel by surprise. He glared at Peter B., who was next to Jess in a flash, urging her to take the photo before Miguel took it off, and of course, Jess was quick to snap a photo. Now, everyone has a holiday card with Miguel glaring at the camera in his full suit with a santa hat while Lyla floats above his head, happy as can be.

“And there’s this one, too. Come to think of it, we should’ve used this one,” Lyla says, displaying a photo of Miguel, still wearing the santa hat but showing his face now, and you standing nearby showing him your progress on the society’s weekly reports. You notice the difference on Miguel. His glare from the official holiday card is replaced with a relaxed face and a small smile directed at you.

Miguel stares at it, noticing the difference, too, which makes his cheeks feel slightly hot, or maybe it’s just the heat from the food and the stove, he doesn’t know.

“Aww, I’ll let you two have dinner now, Merry Christmas Eve!” Lyla says with a smirk before she disappears, leaving Miguel and you alone with the Christmas music still playing in the background.

You grin softly and shake your head. “She really does get in a mood with the holidays,” you say as you add toppings to your plate.

“She does. She’s already too much sometimes and with the holidays…” Miguel scoffs in disbelief yet also in a playful way. “Even more but anyway - how was the party?” he asks softly as you pass him the toppings.

“It was great. There was more of Miles’s family this year, so we had to keep introducing ourselves to them. I think some of them thought it was weird Miles invited his school mentor,” you say with a grin. “That’s me.”

Miguel chuckles. “You’re the school mentor - I can see that.”

You raise an eyebrow, smiling and thinking. “Who would you be?”

Miguel turns to you, thinking. “I don’t know.”

“Hm… we’ll have to think about that,” you reply before you take a drink of agua de Jamaica.

Miguel grins, thinking that if he had gone to the party, he would’ve simply said that he was the school mentor’s close friend but saying that would mean stating out loud that you’re his friend. Despite the months, and the healing Miguel has done this year, his fear that something will happen to you still exists inside of him. He doesn’t want to jinx losing you - his close friend - by saying it out loud, directly. He’s alluded to it so many times in different ways to tell you how he feels. You’re his close friend. Yet, he hasn’t said those words specifically. Not yet anyway, but Miguel is certain one day, he will. Could it be next year? Or the following one? Miguel doesn’t know but he knows he will one day. For now, he says and acts on it however he can, whenever he can, in his own way.

“This is - as always - amazing,” you say with a soft sigh after having the first bite of a burrito. “I can never tire of this.”

Miguel smiles, amused yet happy with your reaction. He doesn’t know why, but it always pleases him to see how much you enjoy his cooking. He loves seeing that delighted look on your face when you eat what he cooks.

The two of you move through the other food, trying all the tamales, minus the sweet ones because you decided to save those for the dessert part. Miguel is once again, pleased when he sees you love the tamales with rajas and queso fresco. Pozole is last, and of course, you try the other kind he made.

“Which one is your favorite?” you ask him. “Red or green?”

Miguel thinks about it for a few seconds as he gently wipes his mouth with a napkin. “I think - green. What about yours?”

“I think green is my favorite, too.”

You grin at each other before you continue eating from your bowls. All the while, the two of you talk about the last few days and how everyone at HQ was excited for the holidays. Even members with few or no family, like yourself and Miguel, had plans with other members. The two of you talk about that, and how wonderful it is that the Spider Society has led to friendships so deep they feel like family. The two of you leave it at that, not wanting to dampen the mood with sadness of loved ones long gone though both of you think about your deceased loved ones anyway.

At last, Miguel brings a plate stacked with sweet, pink tamales. He sets it on the counter so the two of you can just grab from it instead of having to walk back and forth. He also brings along a plate with buñuelos, and of course, there’s the desserts you brought along, too.

“You want ponche, champurrado, or café de olla?” Miguel asks.

“I think - I’m going to leave the café de olla for last, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. So, ponche or champurrado… Or both?” he asks, a little amused. Noting your indecisiveness, Miguel adds, “I’m grabbing both.”

You grin. “Both for me, too, then. May I help you?”

“No,” Miguel says softly, shaking his head at you before he turns around to prep everything. “Thank you but no. You’re my guest.”

You sigh, knowing there’s no arguing. “Just let me know if I can help. I don’t mind, Miguel.”

“I know you don’t,” he replies softly with a smile as he grabs the mugs. “But please - let me do this.” He turns around, holding two mugs in each hand perfectly. He doesn’t need to say anything else for you know what he’s saying. He’s trying to move forward. He’s trying to show you his appreciation and caring for you. He’s trying to express what you mean to him in his own ways, even if it’s just him merely serving you food or a drink and taking it to you. He’s trying in his own way until he can say it out loud.

You nod and smile softly.

Satisfied with your reaction, Miguel turns around and proceeds to serve the drinks. You grin as upbeat holiday music continues to play. It seems that Lyla’s playlist is quite long and diverse since you recognize Mexican Christmas music. You listen intently to it, while Miguel fixes the drinks until he approaches the kitchen island with your two mugs. He places them carefully in front of you before he retrieves his, joining your side once again. You can’t help but think about how the two of you have sat in these same chairs ever since… exactly a year ago, almost as if you have unassigned assigned seats. You smile as you come to this realization, finding it endearing in a way but also realizing just how much has changed in a year.

One year ago, you were in Miles’s universe when Mr. and Mrs. Morales approached you, asking if you could take food to Miguel and stay with him while he ate so he wouldn’t be alone on Christmas Eve. You agreed because the Morales family has taken you in as part of their family, inviting you over to dinner and their gatherings but also because you had thought about the same thing. You didn’t like the idea of Miguel alone over the holidays even though your friendship was barely beginning. You had shared some moments with each other at that point like your celebration of Peter’s birthday and Miguel letting you see his ofrenda on Dia de Los Muertos. Miguel was barely beginning to open up and you knew it was too soon to ask him anything about the holidays but then, there were Miles’s parents, asking you for this favor. And you couldn’t say no.

You look over at Miguel as he brings one of the mugs to his mouth, blowing softly on it to cool off. You smile and grab one of your own, opting for the ponche first as you continue to remember last year. You were so nervous about it even though you agreed to it and wished that Miguel hadn’t spent the entire day alone. You guessed he was going to be at HQ like always, since you knew that he worked around the clock but to your surprise, he was here at home. You almost chuckle to yourself as you now remember standing in a dark and empty alleyway in Miles’s universe talking to Lyla, asking her about Miguel’s location to meet and give him the food. It was how you learned he was here. You remember Lyla giving you a hard time back then when you asked her if she could ask Miguel to meet you at HQ since he was home. You didn’t know where he lived back then and besides, you didn’t want to intrude on Miguel’s privacy nor make Miguel feel like you wanted to know where he lived but Lyla, who for some reason was busy at the time, told you she’d ask if you could simply come over, telling you that she’d give you the coordinates if Miguel agreed.

Then, you swear it took less than thirty seconds before the coordinates were on your gizmo, ready for you to travel directly to Miguel’s home, and that’s how you first entered his home a year ago, with plates of food in your hands, and party favors and cans of soda in your coat’s pockets, feeling cold from being outside to suddenly surrounded by warmth from Miguel’s penthouse. And of course, there was Miguel suddenly, standing in his universe’s fashion instead of the suit like he used to back then. It was the first time you ever saw him out of the suit. Now, the sight of him in normal attire is a familiar one. A lot has really changed since that night a year ago.

You turn to Miguel’s holographic Christmas tree, smiling. Last year he didn't have one when you arrived but he showed it to you afterward and told you all about them and how people in Nueva York design holographic ornaments as a tradition, though traditional trees are still a thing in some homes when they can be afforded. Miguel even showed you how to design ornaments before he had you design one.

“You want to look at it?” Miguel asks, noticing your gaze on it.

You turn to meet his gaze, still smiling and nod. “Sure.”

He nods with a soft grin and stands up, thinking to himself about how he actually put his tree up earlier this month. Last year he had no plans nor did he feel the festivities to put up his tree until Christmas Eve when you got here.

The two of you walk over to it, holding your mugs in hand before you stop in front of it.

You admire the tree, still in awe even a year later with the difference. In your universe, traditional Christmas trees are still the norm. Smiling, your eyes catch certain ornaments you didn’t see the previous year. You tell yourself you probably just missed them but you’re certain you would’ve remember seeing the ornaments with Conchata and Gabriel’s names along with the year they were designed on them. You silently conclude you wouldn’t have missed them, considering they would’ve caught your attention. Your eyes stop on one of Gabriel’s. You smile warmly at it, seeing the year it was made, 2084.

“Gabriel,” you say softly, tenderly, as if you knew him, though you never did nor will.

Miguel turns to look at you, smiling softly as he detects that tenderness in your voice while saying his younger brother’s name. It makes him feel warm and appreciation towards you even more, while also making him wish once again that you could’ve met Gabriel. He’s thought about it in the past a lot. He believes that Gabriel and you would’ve been good friends, too. He turns to look at the ornament, taking a drink from his mug. He wishes you could’ve met not only Gabriel but also Gabriella because he knows she would’ve loved you just like Gabriel.

Miguel consoles himself with the fact that you’ve at least met them in his dreams as he often sees them there. After what happened with Gabriella’s universe, Miguel’s dreams were plagued by nightmares, leading him to avoid sleep and only sleeping when his body was at the verge of exhaustion for months. He still has nightmares sometimes but his dreams are far more pleasant these days thanks to you. Ever since the spring after his near death experience, when he discovered that your scent and the sound of your breathing while you sleep help him, he has been sleeping better and with less nightmares.

Now, he dreams of Gabriella and Gabriel often. Conchata and his late wife sometimes make appearances, though not as often as the first two. Not as often as you now. You started showing up in his dreams two months after his near death experience and ever since then, you’ve become a regular. It’s how he consoles himself when he wishes you could’ve met two of the most important people in his life, Gabriella and Gabriel. You engage with them in his dreams and they both love you, which only fuels his belief that they would’ve loved you in life, too.

Miguel smiles softly as he thinks of them. There’s some heartache, and he knows there will always be. However, for the first time in years, Miguel doesn’t feel overwhelmed by his heartache like he used to. He doesn’t feel like that because he’s not alone. He looks over at you, noticing the awe in your eyes as you continue to take in the Christmas tree and how your eyes linger on something specific.

You’ve been admiring the ornaments, silently reading the different years of the ornaments and even finding some of Miguel’s from previous years when your eyes land on one specific ornament.

Yours.

You stare at it. You weren’t expecting to see it and if you were honest, you thought Miguel had probably erased your file or simply omitted it from the final copy last year but no, it’s on the tree. You wonder if he simply missed it and that’s why it’s on here as a simple mistake. You look around it, your eyes also finding the one Miguel made last year when he was showing you how the design program worked. It’s next to yours much like it was last year. You stare at the two ornaments until a screen, a tablet, meets your vision. You blink.

“Want to give it another go?” Miguel asks with a soft grin, offering you a tablet.

You smile and accept it, recognizing the ornament design program from last year. You look over at him, finding him smiling softly as he holds his mug and another tablet. You silently wonder where he retrieved the two tablets from since he hasn’t left your side. You glance at the dining table, questioning if they were there all along and whether Miguel planned for this.

“Sure, why not? I think I can do better this year,” you reply, still smiling.

“You did pretty great last year,” Miguel says reassuringly before he gestures to the dining table.

The two of you sit down, next to each other. The mugs are placed on the table before the designing of ornaments begins. The two of you design your ornaments, falling into a comforting and peaceful silence though soft Christmas music still plays in the background. It’s not until five or so minutes that the silence is disrupted.

“Aww, you’re designing ornaments! How cute,” Lyla says appearing between the two of you and taking a glance at each tablet. “No offense Miguel but Y/N is doing so much better than you.”

“Thanks, Lyla,” Miguel replies, not even looking up at her as he continues to design.

You smile and decide not to say anything.

“I’m just saying, it looks like Y/N has had more years of experience doing this than you. And this is your universe…” Lyla says.

“You’re so encouraging,” Miguel answers.

Lyla shrugs. “I try my best.”

You shake your head at Lyla and continue to work on your ornaments for a few more minutes until the two of you are done. You show each other your screens and smile as you see that you’ve both stuck to Miguel's Christmas tree theme colors and added the current year in Nueva York.

“You added more detail,” Miguel notes as he looks at yours, feeling happy that you even added the year underneath your name just like he did. “Are you ready to upload it?”

You nod and so, Miguel uploads both his and your ornament, saving it to the program. You both get up to add the ornaments through the tablet to see where the program places them since it’s supposedly done randomly, making it a bit of a fun game.

Miguel uploads his first, showing up somewhere around the top before you add yours. You both search for it and find it at last, placed just below his new one.

“That was fun. Thank you, Miguel,” you gently say, breaking the silence.

“It's no traditional tree but…” he says, looking at the ornaments.

“It's wonderful,” you finish with a smile, looking at the tree yourself.

Your response tears Miguel's gaze from the ornaments to you, his red eyes taking you in. He silently gives thanks for you, something he has found himself doing more as the months have gone by. He's quick to remember now the gifts he got you but a part of him is still going back and forth on it. What if you don't like them? Or worse, what if you find it odd that he’s giving you gifts? He turns his gaze away from you to look behind the Christmas tree. He placed the gift bag there earlier behind the tree, where he knows it’s not visible, just in case he brings himself to do it at some point during the night. He sighs softly, reassuring himself he still has time, and besides, he also has tomorrow to give it to you since he plans on inviting you for the recalentado.

The two of you stand there for a little while longer, admiring the Christmas tree, silently thinking about how much has changed in a year, and deciding that you wouldn’t change anything about it.

After a little while later, Miguel checks the time.

“The Christmas show will start soon,” he quietly says.

You turn, remembering. You thought about it earlier this month but it seemed to have escaped your mind today as it’s been a busy day. You visited your parents, Aunt May, and Peter’s graves earlier this morning to change their flowers since it’s Sunday. Then, there was your morning patrol because even on the holidays, you like to check up on your city, just in case. And of course, there was the party at Miles’s universe where you and your friends did a gift exchange just like the previous year.

“How long till it starts?” you ask.

“About fifteen minutes,” Miguel replies with a smile. “Plenty of time to drink the champurrado.”

You grin and nod, turning to walk back to the kitchen island. You take one last glance at the tree, your eyes finding your ornaments. You briefly think about how there’s now two ornaments with your name on them on Miguel’s tree. The sight spreads a warmth through your chest for you never imagined this. You turn away and follow Miguel to the kitchen island for the other drink.

He offers the buñuelos and more sweet tamales, which you happily accept. You eat and talk in the privacy of Miguel’s home with a holographic countdown in display, counting down the minutes until the holographic Christmas show starts.

“It’s supposed to snow again,” Miguel says as he turns his body sideways on the chair, facing you completely now.

“We’re supposed to get snow, too. All the kids and some adults were excited about it this morning when I was on morning patrol,” you say with a chuckle that makes Miguel grin.

You turn slightly, facing Miguel more with your body but still making sure to give Miguel space. Over the last few months you’ve brushed hands, arms, and legs here and there. It has been accidental, as you’re always trying to make sure to respect Miguel’s boundaries regarding physical contact. Ever since losing Gabriella in his arms, Miguel finds physical touch hard but you’ve noticed the way he has slowly opened up to it. It’s not much compared to how open you are to it with your friends like a hug or a pat on the shoulder. Miguel is not there yet but you’ve noticed the brushing of his fingers against yours when you hand him items has become more intentional than accidental on his end over the last few months, which makes you happy that he’s starting to feel more comfortable with it.

Then, there’s been the slight squeeze of his pinky around yours. It’s happened three times so far, and it’s been on times when the two of you have shared something personal. The first time Miguel did it was after he shared with you his childhood and Spider-Man origins. The second time was on Peter’s birthday this year when you invited Miguel again for your small celebration in his honor. There were a few tears on your end, for you couldn’t help but feel sentimental. You guess Miguel did it to comfort you in a small way, not realizing that his presence alone was more than comforting to you. The third and last time was over a month ago on Dia de Los Muertos, when he invited you to see his ofrenda for the second time.

Except this year, he invited you earlier in the evening while he cooked all his loved ones’ food and prepared the decorations, even inviting you to help him cut the colorful tissue paper into the beautiful and intricate designs to adorn his offering. He even made extra this year of everything so the two of you could eat and by midnight when the ofrenda was completed and lit up by flickering candles that cast shadows over the marigolds, you could tell Miguel was sentimental as his eyes scanned the four photos. His mother, his wife, Gabriel, and Gabriella.

You thought he was sad, naturally, but he was sentimental because he was recalling a dream - or was it a vision - Miguel still goes back and forth on this. It was the dream he had while he passed away for a few minutes back in the spring. He saw his wife, Gabriel, Gabriella, and even his counterpart, who gave him closure on his guilt for stepping up as Gabriella’s father after his passing. He thought about the dream that night on Dia de Los Muertos, as the two of you knelt in front of his ofrenda for the second time, and remembered Gabriella’s sweet words, thanking Miguel for all her favorite food and the toys he offered the previous year. He also remembered his loved ones’ assurances that they were always with him. He grew sentimental that night, wondering if they were there at that moment, with him and you.

You wanted to comfort him like so many times before but you knew and continue to know that Miguel is still not fully ready for such physical touch. He noticed it, like so many other times, and decided to let you in his own, small way; by squeezing your pinky with his own when he handed you a mug with café de olla. That was the third, and you’re certain it will be, the last time of this year.

It’s small but you’re very happy for Miguel. You’re immensely thankful that he has allowed you into his life and that he trusts you. You smile at him as you continue to face him.

“I can imagine the excitement. You can’t beat una blanca navidad,” he says turning to the windows, wondering if he’ll still be awake by the time it’s supposed to start snowing.

“That’s true,” you reply as you turn to the windows yourself.

“Three minutes,” Miguel says looking at the countdown. “Should we save the café de olla for after the show?”

“If you want to,” you reply softly, looking at your current mug. “I still have a little champurrado left.”

Miguel nods. “Me, too. Café de olla for after then.”

You grin at him before you stand up, fixing your top and feeling excitement. Last year you got to watch the Christmas show and it was amazing as it was all holographic and playing in front of Miguel’s building. You recall the Santa Claus even waved at you as he rode past in his sleigh.

Miguel and you head to the windows, mugs in hand. You lean sideways on the window just like he does, facing each other as you await. At last, the Christmas holographic show begins with a large and bright yellow star.

“It’s starting,” you whisper softly, eyes wide in fascination.

Miguel’s eyes flicker to you subtly, gently smiling at your reaction before he returns his gaze to the show.

The star begins to spin, rapidly, sending sparks flying through the air. The star spins so fast, it begins to look more like a yellow portal. Suddenly, holographic reindeer gallop out into the night sky before Santa’s sleigh and Santa himself fly out of the portal, pulled by the reindeer. He waves his arm around before pulling holographic gifts from his sack of gifts to show them off, even pointing at the windows and gesturing to the gifts as if saying “this is for you.”

You grin softly, loving every second of this but then it gets better because snowmen step, or rather glide out of the still spinning star/portal, waving hello before they start a dance performance that sends holographic snowflakes flying through the sky. You chuckle softly as the snowmen continue to dance while Santa and his reindeer fly above them. Miguel chuckles quietly as well, enjoying the show and briefly recalling previous years when he would stand next to little Gabriel to watch the show together when they were just kids. Gabriel’s favorite part was always when Santa made his appearance.

“¡Miguel, mira, mira! It’s Santa!” Gabriel would exclaim excitedly each year, waving his small hand through the glass window, hoping to catch the holographic Santa’s attention.

Miguel would nod, smiling and feeling the excitement himself but he showed it in a more reserved way, which always led Gabriel to grab Miguel’s top from the hem.

“Miguel, wave to Santa! He’ll notice the two of us! Miguel!” Gabriel used to say, pouting.

“Okay, okay,” Miguel would reply before waving, unable to refuse his brother’s demands.

Miguel sighs softly at the memories of his little brother now. He always thought he’d be the first to pass away, being the oldest, but life had other plans for Gabriel. Still, Miguel silently hopes that Gabriel gets to watch the show from wherever he is.

His thoughts fade away as a new thing happens, catching both his and your attention. A neon red string comes out of the yellow spinning star and attaches to Santa’s sleigh. Your eyebrow raises as the color is familiar and sure enough, it is. Spider-Man 2099, as a hologram, swings out of the portal and pulls himself onto Santa’s sleigh at the back. You gasp softly in both surprise and delight, turning to look at Miguel briefly to see his reaction. He looks just as surprised. Your eyes return to him, or his hologram version, as he begins to wave towards the windows, wearing a santa hat.

The two of you, and the rest of Nueva York, watch the interaction between Santa and Spider-Man 2099 as the man in all red offers the other one a plate with cookies. The superhero accepts one and nods back at Santa in gratitude before they begin to fly around, closer to the windows now. You’re smiling the entire time, finding it endearing that the city included Miguel this year in the holographic Christmas show.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” Miguel says next to you with a grin.

You look up at him, smiling. “It was a nice surprise. I bet all your supporters are delighted.”

Miguel hums in response and looks at you with his little grin. “I hope so.”

“I’m sure they are! I’m not even from this dimension and I’m delighted by it,” you reply turning back to look at the windows just in time as Santa’s sleigh flies by Miguel’s windows.

You cover your mouth in delight as Santa waves at the two of you with Spider-Man 2099 just behind him on the sleigh. You can’t help yourself so you wave back at Santa and then at Spider-Man 2099 when Santa moves his sleigh further ahead so the superhero can face both Miguel and you. He gives Miguel a nod, which you find amusing considering the irony before the hologram turns to you. He leans closer and offers a high-five, which you reciprocate with a soft laugh as you’ve never seen Miguel do such a thing. Just as you put your hand down, the hologram gives you a wink.

“Oh,” you say simply, amused but surprised before both Santa and Spider-Man 2099 wave goodbye and fly lower to other floors. You steal a glance at Miguel and notice his eyes on the still dancing snowmen. There’s a soft blush covering his cheeks as he leans his entire body on the window sideways with his free hand in his pocket since the two of you have placed your mugs on the window’s ledge. Is he avoiding your gaze? You turn back to the show with a small smile.

Miguel stares at the snowmen, they’re still dancing and sending holographic snowflakes into the air. His face feels hot and he’s sure it shows. He wasn’t expecting to be part of the show this year, even though he’s been added to it before but what was more surprising was the hologram’s behavior. He smiles and shakes his head to himself as he looks at you. Your attention is back to the show. He hasn’t even offered a high-five to you - or anyone - since Gabriella, so he finds it amusing that the hologram beat him to it. The winking on the other hand… Makes his cheeks flush and wonder what were the odds that the hologram winked at you specifically. He sighs silently and returns his attention back to the show, thinking that his small embarrassment was worth it, considering you found the interaction amusing and it made you happy. He decides he can handle some light embarrassment if that’s the outcome, your happiness.

The show concludes with Santa and Spider-Man 2099 making one last round across the sky, snowmen dancing with snowflakes falling. They wave goodbye as they fly around before they head straight for the yellow portal, disappearing into it with a bright glow. The snowmen follow, waving goodbye, still dancing in a line as they enter the spinning star. At last there’s nothing left except for the spinning star which begins to slow down until it stops completely. It blinks in and out. Once, twice, thrice… before it explodes into tiny yellow flickers of light that begin to form words, spelling out “¡Feliz Navidad, Nueva York!”

You smile fondly as the show concludes. “That was awesome,” you say softly.

Miguel scoffs playfully. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

You nod and retrieve your mug, finishing up your drink.

“And this was really good, too. I can’t decide which one I like more. Champurrado or ponche,” you say, raising an eyebrow as you ponder this.

Miguel chuckles softly. “It’s a hard choice… Now add café de olla to the mix.”

“I’m choosing café de olla.”

Miguel blinks at how fast you responded, then chuckles again. “I’m taking that as a cue from you.”

You laugh. “I didn’t mean it like that but if you’re still offering, I’m not declining,” you say with a little shrug, which amuses Miguel.

He gestures back to the kitchen. “It’s amazing with sweet tamales.”

And that’s all it takes for the two of you to find yourselves back in the kitchen island with different mugs now holding café de olla. Since he recalled all those previous years, Miguel finds himself sharing those days, telling you all about Gabriel and how excited he was each year. You smile as he shares those fond memories, making you wish you could’ve met the younger O’Hara brother with the cheeky smile.

It’s past midnight when you look around the kitchen, noticing the pans and pots. The two of you have been sitting here just talking and drinking coffee but you realize you should probably head home soon.

“May I help you clean up?” you ask Miguel.

And of course, he immediately shakes his head. “Thank you but don’t worry about it. I got it.”

You frown softly. “I don’t mind. That way it’s done quicker and you can rest sooner. You must be tired after cooking all on your own.”

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it, Y/N,” he replies gently but you shake your head.

“Please. It’s the least I can do. We’ll tackle it quicker together. C’mon,” you say, standing up.

“Y/N,” Miguel replies, almost grumpily because the last thing he wants is for you to be doing any cleaning when you’re his guest but you’re already around the kitchen island, facing him.

“Does it matter what containers I use?” you ask him.

Miguel stares at you, wishing he could glare at you for insisting on doing this but he finds himself unable to. All he does is pout and shake his head before he stands up, giving up and accepting your help. Midway through the cleaning he decides it’s a good thing anyway, since it means that you’re spending more time with him here at his penthouse. It also gives him more time to build the courage and give you your Christmas gift. After some time, the kitchen is spotless and the food has been stored away. You neatly fold a towel over the counter before walking back to the chairs. It’s about 12:30 am, Christmas Day. You know it’s time to head home now as you want Miguel to rest, and you could use some sleep yourself. You reach for your coat, swinging it over your arm, thinking about something.

“I should head home now. It’s pretty late and you must be tired,” you say, looking at Miguel just as he walks around the kitchen island to meet you.

He leans on the counter with one hand. “I’m not too tired, don’t worry,” he says with a small grin. Miguel’s definitely a bit tired but he’ll gladly stay up later if it means you’ll stay a bit longer.

“You should still get some rest,” you reply with a small. “Thank you so much for dinner. As always, I loved everything.”

Miguel nods slowly. “Always. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

You hum in response, smiling. You nod, ready to wish him a Merry Christmas before heading out but he straightens up.

“Before you go…” Miguel starts, trailing off. He looks at the tree, gaining that courage at last. “Here.”

He walks to the tree and retrieves a holiday gift bag from behind it. Your eyebrows raise in surprise and for some strange reason, your heart speeds up. Did Miguel get you a gift?

Miguel walks back to you, standing just a few feet away before he hands it to you. He feels his own heart race as he watches you carefully accept the bag, with your eyes filled with surprise.

“Oh… Miguel. You didn’t have to, really,” you say so softly as you stare at the bag. “But… thank you. Thank you, Miguel,” you say with a warm smile before you remember what you were thinking about just a minute ago. “Wait, can you give me like five minutes? I need to go home. I’ll be right back, I promise,” you say as you gently place his gift bag on the counter. “I’ll be right back, is that okay with you?”

Miguel nods, wondering why you need to go home, though a part of him suspects the reason. “Yes, that’s okay. I’ll wait here.”

You nod eagerly, smiling as you begin to walk backwards, heading to the living room. “I’ll be right back!”

You head to the living room, quickly opening a portal as you do so. You return to your dimension and in less than five minutes you’re back in Nueva York. You walk back into the kitchen and dining area of Miguel’s penthouse with a large box wrapped in Christmas wrapping paper and an equally tall gift bag. You find Miguel exactly where he stayed when you left and upon seeing the box and bag, his eyebrows raise gently, surprised. You approach him slowly.

“I was debating… giving it to you,” you start gently. “I didn’t know if you’d find the gesture - as too much - and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I hope it doesn’t,” you finish softly as you offer him the box. “I hope you like it, Miguel,” you add sheepishly because you thought about it for days. What could you gift to someone who had the money to buy it himself if he didn’t have it already? What was something that you could give him that would be meaningful? You had to sit down and brainstorm.

Miguel takes the box from you because he doesn’t want you to keep holding such a large box on top of a gift bag on your own, even if you’re Spider-Woman and you can certainly carry more than that.

“You didn’t have to,” Miguel says softly as he feels the weight. “Thank you, Y/N,” he says looking up at you, taken aback. He wasn’t thinking about receiving gifts nor did he buy anything for himself as he’s not really about receiving gifts, at least not since he was a kid.

You nod and smile. “Always. And here’s the gift bag, too.”

Miguel places the box on the kitchen island and accepts the bag. “Are you sure?” he asks, raising his eyebrows again. “Whatever is in the box, I think that’s - I hope you didn’t waste too much money,” he says, nervously.

“Don’t worry about that, please. You don’t have to open it now if you don’t want to, by the way,” you reply, thinking now that he may find it more comfortable to open it without you around.

“No, that would be rude. I’ll open it now. If you open yours,” Miguel says, meeting your gaze.

You chuckle and nod. “I’ll open it here with you then.”

“You first,” he replies, holding the gift bag you’ve given him.

You don’t argue and nod, trying to make this a pleasant moment for Miguel. You pick up the gift bag he gave you and open it, before gently pulling out decorative tissue paper. You look inside and realize there’s multiple gifts, all individually wrapped in Christmas wrapping paper. You look up at Miguel and grin softly, shaking your head at him because you’ve done something similar.

“You didn’t have to get me so many things.”

Miguel shrugs, smiling softly. “I could tell you the same thing.”

You laugh and pull out the first item. It’s a box that you carefully unwrap, revealing a white box. You open it, finding the item surrounded in tissue paper. At last, you pull it to the side and find a sweatshirt. You pull it out of the box with a smile, spreading it open to see the design on the front. It has Nueva York’s skyline printed on it and the sweatshirt is in one of your favorite colors.

“I thought since you really like sweatshirts…” Miguel says, hoping you like it.

“I love sweatshirts and I love this one! It’s so cute, thank you!” you happily tell him as you pull it towards your chest. “Seriously, I love this so much! Thank you, Miguel,” you add much softly.

Miguel grins, relieved because he can see your genuine reaction. It only makes him more excited to see you open the rest.

“Go ahead and open the others,” he says gently.

You nod happily and continue, pulling out another box but this one is heavier. After carefully unwrapping it, you’re holding a brand new tablet from this dimension.

Miguel walks closer to you, hoping you like it. “I found a way to make sure it’ll work in your dimension, much like the gizmos and other devices we use for the society. You’ll have access to any dimension’s internet, if it has internet, of course. I… I always see how much you seem to enjoy working with the tablets here and I thought you’d like your own for your personal use,” Miguel starts, sounding excited as he tells you more about it and all the features you’ll have access to.

You smile and eagerly nod, happy to see Miguel so excited as he tells you about it. You can only look at him in awe as he thought about everything and any potential issues you may have, even thinking about a protective screen and case.

“I can tell you more about it later, there’s a few more things in the bag,” Miguel says, stepping back to give you space.

You thank him once again for the tablet, suspecting that it was rather expensive. You go through the rest of the bag, finding books for you to read since you’ve told Miguel over the last months about books you’ve read, and he has noticed it himself by spotting books on your coffee table. You notice he bought books that fit your vibe perfectly, which you find endearing. Along with that, Miguel bought you multiple packages of book tabs because he also noticed some of your books back home had some, marking passages that you really liked. You smile warmly as you put those items back, thanking Miguel for being so thoughtful, into yet another gift. He packaged the books and book tabs into a reusable tote bag with some of Nueva York's most important buildings printed on it, which you absolutely love.

At last, you reach the final present. You pull it out, the item feeling familiar. You look at it with curiosity and proceed to open it with Miguel's encouragement. You smile slowly.

“Miguel…” you say softly as you reveal four records. You read the titles, recognizing the artists. You smile at him as you realize.

Lyla plays music sometimes for the two of you on Saturdays when Miguel hosts dinner and during those times, you've discovered some new music from this universe. The only problem is that they don't exist in your dimension.

“Thank you… This means so much to me. You know how much I love their music. Now I can add it to my collection. Thank you!” you tell him warmly, wishing you could give him a hug right now. “Thank you for everything, Miguel.”

Miguel grins softly and nods. “Always. I'm glad you like your gifts,” he replies, truly feeling happy. He's also glad you don't seem to mind that he got you a few things, nor find it odd that he’s bought you gifts.

“Your turn,” you tell him softly.

Miguel scoffs playfully but nods. “Alright. Which one should I open first?”

“The box,” you answer quickly, excited.

Miguel nods and moves towards the box, silently wondering what's inside as he remembers the weight. He smiles softly at you before he starts unwrapping it, slowly revealing an image on the box. He pauses as he realizes what it is.

“Y/N…” he says, looking up at you with surprise and happiness in his eyes.

“I've noticed you don't have one but that you enjoy the records back at my universe so… I thought I'd get you one. I know the sound quality from the ones here in your universe is probably better but-” you stop as Miguel shakes his head at you, his hand flat on the record player, or its packaging box at least.

“No, this one is perfect,” Miguel says in such a way that there's no room for debate. “Thank you, this is so thoughtful, Y/N. I know exactly where I'm going to set it up,” he adds softly, grinning, already thinking about the perfect place.

You smile at him, noticing a glimmer in his eyes.

“Always. I'm so happy you like it… You still have the bag though!” you remind him, chuckling.

“Right. I got too excited with the record player.”

He grabs the bag and opens it, pulling out decorative tissue paper just as gently as you did with yours, finding individual gifts wrapped as well. He chuckles to himself, finding it amusing that you both did the same thing.

He pulls out a small box and unwraps it, revealing a pair of black mittens. His eyebrows furrow, noticing they'll definitely fit. He hasn't found mittens nor gloves that fit his hands before, at least not in stores. It didn’t matter much in the last few years, considering he was always wearing his suit but now that he's been wearing his clothes and going out to retrieve groceries, he could really use them with winter and all.

He picks one up and tries it, fitting him perfectly. Miguel smiles turning his hand and that's when he sees the small personalization with his last name on the bottom of the glove in silver thread. He chuckles softly, realizing you had these custom-made for sure.

“Are they okay?” you ask.

“Yes, they're more than okay.” Miguel looks up and shows you. “They fit. I've never been able to find any for my hands since I became Spider-Man. Thank you so much, and the personalization… I've never been gifted something so personalized. Thank you, Y/N, truly” Miguel says with a smile, knowing that he'll be using them a lot for the winter.

He pulls out another box and smiles softly when he finds books. Many months ago at your apartment, Miguel mentioned that he liked to read though it's something he rarely does these days. He recalls telling you that time that he enjoyed reading history and sci-fi books, exactly the kind you got him. The fact that you remembered this tiny detail from so long ago, makes Miguel smile in appreciation. He thanks you for remembering and promises to try and read them soon, silently telling himself that for the new year, he’s going to try and get back into reading.

At last, he reaches the final package. It feels heavy and when Miguel looks at you with wonder and curiosity, he sees a glimmer in your eyes, excitement.

With your encouragement, he unwraps and opens the package. He stares into the box, feeling a warmth spread through him. He looks at you and gives you a gentle smile before he pulls out the first record.

“You…” Miguel starts quietly, with tenderness. He can't help but feel ternura for you **in this moment.

You walk closer to him, smiling. “You've mentioned liking some of the records. Some are my personal ones, others were Peter's… and I remembered you didn't have a record player, so I thought I could get you one, and also some records to help you start a collection,” you explain softly.

Miguel nods as he pulls out another record, and yes, the two he's pulled out so far are records he truly enjoys from your universe. He smiles softly at you, filled with ternura. Your gifts are so thoughtful and sweet, and the fact that you've paid attention to what records he enjoys when he’s mentioned it in passing, makes him feel heard, appreciated, and… loved.

“Thank you - so much, Y/N. For everything,” Miguel says softly, almost a whisper. “I can't wait to set the record player up and continue adding to the collection you've started for me. Thank you.”

“Always. I'm glad you like it, Miguel,” you answer softly. “And if you ever just want to borrow one of the records, let me know. I'll happily let you.”

Miguel nods, smiling gently, in appreciation. You can only return the smile before both of you notice the white, soft spots through the windows.

“Una blanca Navidad,” Miguel says quietly.

“A white Christmas,” you repeat. “Merry Christmas, Miguel,” you tell him.

Miguel smiles. “Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

You both watch the snow for a few minutes, mentioning how excited the kids will be when they wake up before Miguel continues to appreciate every record you gifted him.

After some more talking about the records and Miguel thanking you a few times more, you stand in his living room with your tote bag and bag with gifts. A portal is behind you, waiting for you to step in to return home.

“Thank you for dinner once again. Everything was so amazing! And thank you for the thoughtful gifts, Miguel,” you tell him warmly with a smile.

“Always… I'm happy you liked dinner and the gifts.” Miguel smiles back at you and then he remembers. “Come back for the recalentado, please. Just like last year,” he says, stepping closer. Ever since opening his gifts, he's had the need to hug you but it's still too soon, still too much for him to handle.

“Of course, thank you. What time is best for you?” you ask with a grin.

Miguel pauses for a moment, thinking. And then, he invites you for breakfast.

“The recalentado is for dinner. You can go home after breakfast, don't feel pressured to be here all day. I know you probably have plans to see everyone else at some point today and then you can come back for dinner, or… If you want to spend the day here - I wouldn't mind at all but you probably have plans and-” Miguel says, scratching his neck softly, not knowing how to simply say that he’d be open to you spending the day here with him without it sounding off.

“I wouldn't mind either.”

Miguel lowers his hand. “Oh…” He smiles slowly and nods. “Then…”

“I’ll see you in the morning - or well, I guess in a few hours?”

“In a few hours then,” he replies softly. “I’ll wait for you for breakfast.”

You thank him again and with one last goodbye from both of you, you enter the portal and return home. Miguel stands in his living room, the light of the portal fading slowly. He looks past it and out the windows, the snow is really picking up now. He smiles softly, planning on doing one more thing before heading to bed for the night.

The next morning you shower and get ready to go to Miguel's universe. You grab your gizmo from the coffee table, accidentally knocking off a notice you and the entire building received earlier this month from your landlord, something about not overloading extension cords and electrical sockets because of the holidays to avoid a short circuit.

You pick it up and place it back on the table before you open a portal. You find yourself in Miguel's living room once again, only a few hours later.

The fireplace is on already, making the entire penthouse feel cozy and warm. The sound of music fills your ears, except the quality is different and you recognize the song. Your eyes search for it and you find it quickly. You smile in delight as you see that Miguel has given his new record player and records a home in his living room, and that he's already using it.

“Good morning, Merry Christmas,” Miguel says making you turn in surprise, which makes him chuckle softly.

You chuckle as you take him in. His hair is damp from a shower and he's wearing a beige sweater that looks incredibly cozy on him. He steps closer, gesturing to the record player. His scent surrounds you and you find yourself recognizing every aspect of it - from his shampoo to his body wash and his shaving products to his deodorant and cologne, to his scent alone. You blink, surprised at yourself by how well you recognize the different notes of his scent, even months later since you helped him shower when he was injured and nearly lost his life back in the spring.

You push those thoughts away and smile at Miguel as he tells you about how he set up the record player after you left and that he's been playing music from it since he woke up. You don’t fail to notice the happy tone in his voice as he tells you about it before he leads you to the kitchen and dining area of his penthouse where a lovely breakfast, cooked by Miguel, awaits the two of you.

Over music and conversation, you have breakfast together. You don’t leave afterward and instead stick around, especially when Miguel mentioned there was a holiday special for the movie series the two of you got into when he was recovering from his injuries in the spring. And so, you spent the entirety of the day in each other's presence on this Blanca Navidad.

🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄

Translations: café de olla - Mexican coffee made in a pot pan dulce - Mexican sweet bread tinga - Latin dish made out of meat (pork, chicken) in sauce with onions, chiles chipotle, and tomatoes. Can be eaten on tostadas or as burritos (my experience) and topped with different toppings like sour cream, salsa, lettuce. burritos - I think everyone knows this tostadas - toasted tortillas; usually used as a base for different culinary dishes pozole - A kind of soup/stew made from hominy and meat (can be chicken or beef) and can be green or red, based on what chiles are used rajas de chile poblano - slices of chile poblano queso fresco - fresh cheese ponche - a Mexican Christmas punch made out of fresh fruit, spices (like hibiscus flowers), and sugar cane champurrado - chocolate-based atole, which is made of masa harina (in my experience). buñuelos - Christmas dessert; fried dough fritter (so good with atole) "Ya lo sabia" - "I knew it" agua de Jamaica - hibiscus tea Dia de Los Muertos - Day of the Dead ofrenda - altar for Day of the Dead recalentado - word translates to "reheated" but this is when you invite your closest friends and family to eat the reheated leftovers from the previous day of some event. It's supposed to be a smaller tight-knit group situation and less formal since it's with close friends/family. "una blanca Navidad" - "a white Christmas" "mira" - "look" Feliz Navidad - Merry Christmas ternura - endearment, tenderness; I still can't find a word in English that makes me feel like the word "ternura" does

_____________

Long A/N: Merry Christmas! I was hoping to have this out sooner, but the holidays got to me. I was also not planning on writing anything like this for Nonviolent Communication, but then I was like

Didn't I write a Christmas part (for Nonviolent Communication) back in like September because Christmas and Miguel just sound so cozy and warm? And now when it's the holidays I'm gonna miss the chance to write something for the story? In this economy? No. So, I got the idea and started writing, and here it is now! Thank you to everyone who responded to this post regarding what you'd give Miguel for Christmas. I had a horrible migraine while working on this yesterday and my brain was not cooperating. Thank you to @winniethewife for mentioning mittens! And thank you to @lulu-baked-beans for the lovely idea of gifting Miguel a record player and some records to start his own collection! I already had Miguel set to gift reader some records from his universe, so this was such a perfect little coincidence!

I hope you guys enjoy this, and thank you for reading if you got this far! Happy Holidays! ❤️🎄

Also, here's a little BTS of me working on this with someone special who arrived Friday (just in time to help with the tamales and everything else 🤣). He said he'd go with café de olla, too!

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subtract-me-from-your-heart · 1 year

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I like the show version of Chishiya, and here’s why.

I love manga!Chishiya, but he always felt pretty one-dimensional to me. His backstory is one of parental neglect, similar to Arisu. Chishiya basically fails to develop a sense of empathy (unlike Arisu, who just has ye olde Main Character Syndrome). He decides to enter med school because he thinks that a profession where he saves lives might actually help him grow a Give-a-Shitter. Spoiler: it doesn’t.

Manga!Chishiya is an emotional flat line. He doesn’t care about other characters because he can’t. I remember thinking that he had a lot of the same traits as a serial killer. He viewed the world through nothing but intellect, and other people were either nonexistent or pawns to be used to further his own ends. Even the idea that maybe being responsible for the lives of others will help him grow some empathy is a chilling one.

That’s cool. I actually really like those kinds of characters. I also think there are enough characters like that in the story. Characters who you look at and think, “Okay, yes, you are terrible.” The big problem is that it makes his weird self-sacrifice with Usagi absolutely senseless. Like, it came out of nowhere. There wasn't any sort of satisfying build-up where I felt like, "Okay, yeah, this makes sense."

His updated backstory adds a dimension that wasn’t present in the manga version. Rather than simply lacking empathy for other people, you can actually see the moment in which he makes the conscious decision to turn it off. He has this light bulb moment where he realizes that the world is a cruel and unfair place. He realizes that allowing himself to feel for other people is only going to hurt him in the end because he’s powerless to change the systems that are actively harming them. It's better to protect himself and survive.

Chishiya is a selfish character, but the idea that his selfishness stems out of a desire to protect himself from pain gives his character some actual depth that was always missing for me. It also makes the King of Diamonds game a lot more meaningful. Kuzuryu went through the same exact thing, but instead of turning off his feelings, he paralyzed himself with a moral dilemma. Where Chishiya chose to treat all human life as equally worthless, Kuzuryu couldn’t stop looking for some value to assign, whether that was to ease his conscience or to inform a sense of justice he was desperately trying to find.

I really, really like how that dichotomy played out.

I also think it's interesting that Chishiya feels a lot more psychological in the show. He's clearly highly intelligent in both the manga and the show, and maybe it's just Murakami's performance, but there's something more sinister to him. He's clearly developed some sort of friendly relationship with Kuina. He displays an ability to be playful and seems to genuinely be extending an offer of friendship to Arisu (up until he sells him out for one corn chip). Seeing how he can make these connections that feel genuine to the people involved (unlike his manga self who is pretty universally despised) and still be willing to fuck those people over for his own survival makes him feel a lot more menacing to me.

This ability to flawlessly manipulate and betray also means he has a deep understanding of human emotion, which is illogical by nature. In the manga, Chishiya says outright that he isn't suited for Hearts games, but show!Chishiya feels tailor-made for them.

It's also interesting that in the manga, he seems to get harsher and more isolated. By contrast, in the show, he feels to me like he softens episode by episode. It really struck me in the Jack of Hearts game when he said something about his partner dying because he was too kind. On the surface, you could take it as a typical judgy Chishiya comment, but there actually appeared to be a glimmer of sadness, or envy, or regret. Or all of the above. Or maybe it's just Murakami Nijiro's face that made me think that. Either way, I think it was smart of the showrunners to throw him in that game.

In the end, the King of Diamonds game pushes him to the realization that he really is envious of people who have the ability to be kind. He's envious of people who can make the selfless choice. And it's not because he can't be. It's because he's closed himself off to the vulnerability that allows a person to make that kind of decision. You can't truly save others if you're always protecting yourself.

So, he saves Usagi to try to become that person. And I don't feel it was out of character at all.

#alice in borderland #sky in the borderland #chishiya shuntaro #you all can take this with a grain of salt #i spend too much time thinking about him lmfao

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flwr-sun · 11 months

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meeting you - across the spiderverse

- hobie, miles, gwen, miguel x gn!reader

hobie brown

london pubs are always busy on a friday night. a loud punk band are playing, drowning out any conversations that were previously happening. although some people seem frustrated by the aggressive vocals and fast paced music, you’re transfixed by the lead guitarist. his high cheekbones, perfect wicks and awesome piercings immediately catch your attention, and it may not be obvious but you catch his attention too! after his band leaves he definitely approaches you, he’s not a shy guy, and is like, “so, d’you like it? I’m hobie by the way.”

miles morales

starting at brooklyn visions was super intimidating for you, everyone rushing around with their books and you feeling so overwhelmed by it all. to be honest, miles doesn’t notice you until he runs straight into you (rushing to get back to class after being spiderman - but he won’t tell you that!). he apologises so much before realising how shell shocked you look, when he offers to show you to class while asking about you. “i’m sorry i forgot to ask before - what’s your name, i’ve not seen you before!”

gwen stacy

music is playing loudly through your headphones, and you're not properly paying attention to your subway ride. as you reach your stop, you look up and catch eyes with a blonde girl with dip dyed pink hair. she's carrying a bag with her, covered in various pins badged and with teal pointe shoes hanging from one of the straps. walking off the train, she gets up too and stands next to you, waiting for the doors to open. your headphones have a bit of leakage and as you turn away she says to you, "nice music by the way."

miguel o'hara

miguel is super invested in the spider society so you’d definitely be another spider person. one day you’d be fighting an anomaly in your universe when a strange portal opens up and out walks the most intimidating man you’ve ever seen, but wait, is he in a spider suit? you’re so confused as to what’s going on but can’t take your eyes off the action, so continue to fight with miguel joining alongside you. whilst you fight, you can’t seem to stop yourself from watching him as he gracefully weaves webs to catch the anomaly - it’s so contrasting to your first impression of him. it takes some time, but you catch the anomaly and sit down to catch your breath. slowly he approaches you, and you’re unsure what to make of him. he explains the society, and as he leaves he asks, “so i’ll see you again” and walks through the portal before you can respond.

#across the spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse #hobie brown x reader #gwen stacy x reader #miles morales x reader #miguel o’hara x reader

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nadiawritessomething · 2 months

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ЕАRTH 42 | PART 1

Its rules, politics, lore, and why you shouldn't underestimate this element of the plot.

Many of you have asked to read my thoughts/analysis on Earth 42, and here I am!

I want to make sure to mention that the author of this post does not support any racial stereotypes, hatred of certain characters, or false information, so if you happen to find any of the above, please let me know right away.

I will continue this branch of my thoughts if this has at least one loyal reader, really. I have a lot to say about each character from Earth 42, you could tell that this is my fandom profile. I am here only for these analyzes.

So, I'd like to start by saying that many fans see Earth 42 as just a "scary and uncomfortable place" where fires are always burning and gunshots are always heard. And this description is not fundamentally wrong, it has its reasons: this is how the authors showed this universe at the end of the movie. Earth 42 was supposed to give the viewer goosebumps and the feeling that "something is wrong here" — and they did a great job!

But our task, as fans, is to develop the ability to see what the authors have deliberately left beyond the surface perception. So to speak, to "dig deeper," because it is the unwillingness of many to analyze beyond the surface level is the thing that leads to hedcanons about the toxic, evil Miles G or abusive 42Aaron. Both of these characters seemed "alien" and reserved, and therefore received this label from the fans.

But what is Earth 42 in the simplest of explanations? The answer lies in its LORE, which we also forget about quite often. Earth 42 is controlled, in whole or in part, by the Sinister Six. The Sinister Six is a group of 6 "classic" Spider-Man villains, including Electro, Vulture, Sandman, Dr. Octavius, Kraven, and Mysterio.

It's hard to say how long the Six ruled New York (or the world). Each of the official sources gives different information on this point. For example, the official art book "Across the Spiderverse: the art of the movie" says that the Sinister Six Cartel "took over the world", Jameson on TV says that they are only "fighting" for the control over the "streets" (it is not known whether it is a specific neighborhood or the whole city) and does not say anything about the whole WORLD that they hold in their hands.

Nevertheless, we, as viewers, can see the influence of the Sinister Six on at least Brooklyn clearly: Electro, for example, has his own 2G coverage and cell phone company, Octavius has his own corporation, and Vulture has an entire company. We can only guess at the exact purpose and goal of these companies because of the way the logos look, but it's easy to guess that they are most likely just bought out "old" brands that the Six, like every group of highly skilled, respectable villains, simply named after themselves and seemingly significantly degraded the service itself (c'mon, 2G coverage is a mockery of people, Mr. Electro)

We have to remember that there are people living under this tight control of supervillains (who are certainly smart or scientists, but I don't think they have ever run for politics), that everything we saw on the screen was not just a set piece effect - real citizens live in this place, struggling to exist in unknown conditions.

The fact that New Yorkers don't feel comfortable is shown not only by the lights and sounds of police sirens, but also by the details in the background.

For example, more than 80% of the windows in the high-rise buildings of Earth 42 are dark and faded, as if no one lives there (in contrast, Earth 1610 has many bright windows in almost every building shown). The poster of the popular song "Always 21" on the background of the 42nd dimension turns into "Never 21", which seems to hint that 1) children in this city do not hope to live to adulthood 2) the Six does not care about the state or quality of life of the citizens under their control.

Even the Morales' house itself shows the state of the Earth: the furniture is older and more "shabby", and the large wardrobes are replaced by old, neat nightstands on 42. A light bulb flickers in the corridor, and the only noticeable, bright light source is in the kitchen (this lighting was also done to draw the viewer's attention to Aaron and Rio standing there, but I am a supporter of the idea that no solution leads to one result only).

(By the way, in contrast, Aaron's apartment is more "modern" - there is a bike, several computers with headphones, and wires scattered around the place. I think it's more likely that Aaron has more money than Miles or Rio in general - he clearly showed us that when he "gave" money to Ms. Morales. There's a chance that this is the property he accumulated while working for Kingpin. Or maybe he's just lucky, lol)

On Earth 42, the colors green, black, and purple predominate. Not only do they signify the colors of the Prowler as an symbol, but are also quite cold and "unwelcoming" in their own right, especially this dark shade of green mixed with almost black rain.

At some points, there is also blue on the screen (mostly in the scene with the Mural), but this is most likely just the way the Sony's show the color scheme of nighttime.

If you ask me about my theories about Earth 42, I think the Six will be here for at most 5 years, at least 2 years. I think so precisely because it takes time to control a city (let's leave out the "whole world" part for now, because it's rather vague and was mentioned only once, let's just take New York for now). Even if we take into account the fact that the Sinister Six clearly did not agree to any "civilian" agreements, and local business bonafide owners were most likely asked to be removed, time plays a big role in fully controlling the power grid or building their laboratories/enterprises, it cannot be done in a month or even two. Especially if we consider that neither the city nor the enterprises themselves were empty: they still had potential customers and employees (if they were willing to work, of course, as 42Rio does, which is about two shifts a day on average).

We were also made to understand that Jeff's death was somehow connected to the Six's rise to power, as his mural is labeled "hero," which makes it clear that he did not die peacefully or from illness, and in the criminal situation close to Brooklyn 1610, there was no reason to die "heroically" because Spider-Man always kept things peaceful and calm there. My theory suggests that Jeff was probably one of the few police officers who did not agree to go over to the Six, and therefore paid with his life.

Jeff's death (if we take the photo in the Morales house, where Jeff, unlike the identical one on 1610, is not present, and Miles G looks younger than the conventional 13 years) occurred before Aaron's (1610) death, but if we take the closest dates to it, two or three years, at least. And, if we take the moment of Jeff's death as the "beginning" of the Six rebellion, we get this period of time as the minimum point in the chronology.

Speaking for the residents of the local Brooklyn, we should definitely check the depression statistics, I think the world has never seen anything like it. On Earth 42, guns are canonically encouraged and legalized (billboards with the words "Got a gun?" on one of the early concept art), no one prevents fires and sirens, and the city looks like a complete chaos. And so those who did not find a way out in their past lives descend into crime, which is permitted here, and those who are less risky work from morning to night for a pittance.

Another interesting detail is that, despite all this, they are still quite... selective in their thoughts about their rescue. So, again, Jameson is on the TV literally begging for a vigilante to be sent to them, whom the Daily Bugle will support one hundred percent, while Miles G, the Prowler, the full-fledged vigilante of this city, walks by.

This indicates that the inhabitants of Earth 42 do not perceive the Prowler as a vigilante, and probably places him only one step above the conventional Mysterio or Octavius. Most likely, this is due to the fact that 42 lost their Spider-Man, and therefore desperately want him, a heroic, "proper" savior, and an antihero who can blow up a building or tie up a bunch of people when needed... is not so necessary. I'll come back to this part in the analysis of Miles G, but for now, let's just leave it as an analysis of the mentality of the local minds - they are desperate enough to ask for help directly, but not desperate enough not to ask for it on their own terms.

We can't really talk about details such as censorship, certain moments of life, or the infrastructure of Earth 42: we don't have a lot of information about it, so we can only make hedcanons.

In my hedcanons, the sides of the coins are called "Mysterio" and "the Lizard", and many new holidays have been introduced, such as "Octavius Glasses Day" or "National Electro SIM Card Day".

So far, we can only say that the Six has almost complete control over the city, its life is drowning in sadness and a continuous dark path, and people are trying to survive in all this, like drowning in water.

In conclusion, I can only say that Earth 42 has much more than just "fear and fire". It is, first of all, a world of suffering and hopelessness, showing all that Earth 1610 could have become (what Miles could have become) if it hadn't gotten Spider-Man. It's a place of horrors and habits, a place of agony and strange peace, a place of lovers and desperate people, a place of loss and oblivion.

...And an incredibly interesting universe for analysis and thoughts. So please think of it as such.

Tag list: @hobiebrownismygod @futureblackfilmaker @igorsnumber1fan @0luna123 @teaboot

#across the spiderverse #atsv #miles 42 #miles morales #prowler miles #miles g morales #earth 42 miles #spiderverse #aaron davis #jefferson morales #earth 42 #analysis #I hate this “10 imges per post” thing #LIKE I NEED MORE #MORE PROOFS PLS #LET ME SHOW MORE PROOFS #anyways hope you liked it!#will tag everyone in the comments

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purplink8 · 4 months

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I think it's worth noting just how much Light detests being called evil. Which is likely due to his father's morality being strictly ingrained in his personality.

On Lind. L. Tailor's appearance, Light was surprised, sure, but he also took him lightly:

He was amused really. I don't think Light was thinking about killing this guy at this point. Lind. L. Tailor was, after all, a 'moron' as far as Light was concerned, and wasn't much of a challenge.

Contrast this with the striking kneejerk reaction Light has when the aforementioned 'moron' uses Light's trigger word ('EVIL'):

...wow. ('L' went from a regular moron -> too damn stupid haha)

In all seriousness, the worst thing you can call Light is probably 'Evil'. He CANNOT stand it.

This is because Light spends his whole life trying to live up to his father's ideals, to be righteous, to incorporate his dad's morals to every fiber of his being.

So look at how emotionally conflicted (and hurt) he is when Soichiro indirectly calls him (Kira) evil. He is much more affected by Soichiro being the one saying it (compared to when Lind. L. Tailor said it) as he can't bring himself to completely dismiss it (compared to Lind. L. Tailor: Light didn't give a damn about his opinions).

His father would not ever bow to evil (said in reference to the Kira case, but it holds true universally for Soichiro).

Being Kira complicates matters since his father very obviously doesn't agree with Kira's morals- so Light draws a line in the sand for himself.

He would not, under any circumstance, cause any harm to his family as Kira.

But since Death Note is a Tragedy, we know that Light being Kira indirectly puts his family at risk and then we come to this heartbreaking scene:

This, as can be expected, CRUSHES Light. Not only does it mean that Soichiro had doubts against Light being Kira even after the mock execution, it also means that he still views Kira as evil, as he's glad that Light isn't Kira, inadvertently disowning Light (who IS Kira) on his death bed.

And the worst thing is, Light would never get a chance to change his father's mind.

#death note #light yagami #lind. l. tailor #soichiro yagami #l lawliet #Light & Soichiro #musings #mangacaps #p #100 #150 #my meta

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frannyzooey · 1 year

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Tell me about a time that Frankie was holding off from ✨taking care of himself✨ for days before he saw his girl, working himself up through withdrawal, so that he was on the EDGE the minute she touched him.

LOVE YA SLUT

Frankie Morales x f!reader, Weeknights Universe

Rating: Explicit

He’s been so worked up all day — the soft length of his cock pressed against the curve of your ass this morning in bed, his fingers dipping into waistband of your leggings with intent while you made breakfast, the heavy, warm weight of his hand on your inner thigh in the car while running errands.

Days without him, your flight didn't get in until late last night and he had plans for you, but stopped himself when he saw how exhausted you looked. Later, he thought - but then later turned into getting interrupted every time he tried to initiate something, and a heavy ache sat low in his gut the entire day, watching you and waiting.

Finally getting Lucia out the door to stay with her mom for the weekend, you found him antsy and restless in the living room, pacing behind the couch. When he tried to immediately lead you to the bedroom, you took his hand and pulled him in for a kiss.

His need overtakes your body, pressing you into the back of the couch with his hips, his hands mapping everything he can find. The weight of your breasts in his palms, the soft cheeks of your ass, each sliver of skin he's gifted when he pushes your shirt up just enough to slip his hands under it.

“I’m so fucking hard,” he pants into your mouth. “I need your pussy, okay?”

You nod with a small sound in the back of your throat, bright lust clouding your mind and when he tries to turn you and bend you over the back of the couch, you sink to your knees instead.

"No, baby --" he protests, but not stopping you as he watches your hands nimbly undo his belt.

You work his button and then the zipper, his hands grasping the back of the couch as you tug his jeans down his hips and taking his briefs with them, your fist wraps around his hard cock with a firm tug, making him groan out loud.

"Goddamnit," he groans, his head tipping back to look up at the ceiling as his hips chase the wet heat of your mouth when you try to fit him inside. "This isn't -- fuck. You're gonna make me come too fast. I'm too worked up, you gotta stop."

His words in direct contrast with the way his hips are pushing forward to fuck your mouth, he looks down and watches himself disappear inch by inch past your lips, glistening more and more when he pulls out to slide back in. The rounded tip hits the back of your throat, your hand working what you can't fit and his hands white knuckle in their hold, his body bending forward to crowd you against the back of the couch.

You're trapped, nothing but a vessel for him to use, surrounded by the bulk of his body as he blocks out the light from the windows and fills your mouth with everything you can take and more, and when you moan, he spills salty drips along the back of your tongue.

"I wanted to fuck you," he rasps, his lush lips parted as he watches you work, work, work. "I wanted to come in your pussy, but I'm just -- christ, baby -- I think I'm gonna have to come on your face instead."

Your approval is wordless, a moan saturated with pleasure when you hum it along his length and he hardens even more, swelling along your tongue.

"Get ready," he warns, breathless as he pulls himself from your mouth and his fist is a rapid, slick beat for only a couple of pumps before he's coming all over your the width of your tongue, your mouth open and waiting. Some of it catches as the edge of your lips, some dripping down over your chin and his hand doesn't stop working until every last drop hits your skin.

You kiss the tip, hearing a hiss from above and he's still half hard and thick in your hand when you look up and smile.

"My turn?" you ask, your tongue sliding along your bottom lip to catch what he didn't get in your mouth.

He hums, reaching for you and pulling you up into his arms, he lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe off your face -- quickly, before he's guiding you back to where he had you before: bent over the back of the couch.

"Fuck yes it's your turn," he says, his hand wedging itself between your thighs from behind. Finding where you are slick and waiting for him, he sinks two thick fingers inside, rubbing where you need him the most.

"Come like this," he says over your higher pitched moan, your upper body dropping against the couch to push your ass back into his hand. Your back arches, forcing his fingers deeper and then he's adding a third, groaning when you take them all.

"Come like this and then I'll eat your pussy, okay?"

The filthy words force you higher, wetness collecting around the base of his fingers as he works them in and out, and you nod, your cheek sliding against the rough cushion.

"I didn't touch myself the entire time you were gone, because I wanted to wait for this sweet pussy," he confesses, bending low to say the words into your ear. "And then you make me come so fast it's embarrassing. That what you wanted? For me to come all over your face because you couldn't wait?"

"You're the one who couldn't wait," you moan, fucking yourself on his hand. "You're --"

"You're fucking right I couldn't wait," he replies. "You feel so goddamn good right now, taking me like this. I can't wait to feel you come on my tongue and my cock."

Your fingers dig into the couch, a whine pulling from your throat as you raise yourself on your tiptoes and feel the press of his jeans against the back of your thighs, your skirt pooled at your waist.

"Frankie," you warn, tightening around him and he groans, watching you take him over, and over, and over.

"I had to wait, baby," he says, "but you don't." His mouth waters as you get wetter around him, starting to clench down.

"Fuck, baby. Yes," he praises. "That's my girl."

#frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales/you #frankie morales/reader

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ffverr · 6 days

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On the discourse (that somehow still exists) of why the X-Men are feared and hated but other genetically modified heroes like the Fantastic Four or some of the Avengers aren't :

I still see this argument online that some people, usually not X-Men fans, pull out in a sort of gotcha moment. To kind of stick it to Marvel for being unrealistic or to vouch for the fearing of other heroes in the marvel universe to tip the scales.

There are two points for the "why is *random x-men* oppressed and not *random marvel hero*" discourse that people are always intentionally missing.

One- A base of mutant fear and repression is the argument that "it could happen to your children too". It could happen to ANYONE, from birth, and there is nothing you can do about it. No being careful of scientific experiences can stop your close ones from becoming a mutant. (Kind of like people are okay with gay celebrities as long as they're doing their thing from afar but it's a threat when it comes to their children/Friends/family being gay)

They layed it on thick with this amazing advertisment back in the day: "do you know what your children are"??? I mean come on it's not rocket science

Fun fact, the kid labeled "mutie" here is actually Franklin Richards, son of Mister Fantastic and Invisible woman. He used to be a mutant and this goes to show how somehow johnny storm can be beloved but his super powered nephew doesn't get the same treatment.

Two- Spider-Man, the F4, the Avengers etc... All these heros who get some powers by some incident. They're supposed to be rare and few in between. The fear of mutants mainly comes from the fact that they started popping up in the MILLIONS. A mutant isn't necessarly seen as an honorable individual that acquires powers and realises they have the responsibility to use it for good. To humans, they're millions of people (or at least hundreds of thousands) that are, just by existing, threatening the status quo of humanity. They are changing the natural dominance of humans for good.

So of course humans love the F4 (usually). Because they're not scared to be replaced by them in their day to day life, however they are scared to be rendered obsolete by mutants. When humans look at the F4 they see brave selfless HUMAN heroes. They relate to them, they identify with them. They're a sweet family dedicated to the world's safety. In contrast, the mutants represent a world changing threat that truly shifts the balance. And that's not comfy at all no matter how cute or harmless the power is.

This difference can even cause very understandable tension in between the X-men and other super powered groups:

In short, the mutant moral panic comes from the fact that for exemple:

-humans are afraid to loose their jobs to super powered level talents.

-humans are scared from groups of super powered people that could threaten their safety.

-Governments are scared of these groups being the equivalent of entire armies concentrated in a single individual.

- They're scared that their children could turn into something unimaginable once they hit puberty

-And some just hate the idea of being manipulated by a random telepath on the street without ever knowing.

In contrast of Spider-Man, humans feel like nature is done with homo sapiens and THAT'S what brings hate and fear.

That's why everytime a mutant hate crime happens in the comics, it's always accompanied by some human saying "y'think you're better than us weirdo".

+ Contrary to the avengers, mutants also claim a culture, a shared history and common experiences between thousands. This binds them together in a way they doesn't necessarly make them identify with humans. And this is overall irritating and scary to humans.

Also, religious fear-mongering of mutants is rampant!!! It does a ton to set appart the mutants from the scientifically modified heros of the marvel universe.

In the end, one of the best comic to portray this whole thing is still God loves man Kills.

It depicts a villain, Striker, that gains popularity by spreading religious propaganda to justify mutant hate. In an emotional and shocking twist, we come to find that Striker has had a mutant son, that he killed with his own hand because he was a "monster".

You can understand how Captain America, with his super body, doesn't really evoke the same existential dread. Bigotry isn't rational, but also, a shit ton of things complicate the mutant's inclusion into society that doesn't necessarly parallel perfectly with real world struggles so that's also to take into consideration.

#the only part of truth i'll concede to this discourse is that yeah it's blurry how humans wouldn't assume #that any super powered person is a mutant #but this is i think a useless gripe that would just make mutants too present in other marvel books #xmen #marvel #comics #x men comics #scott summers #comic panels #jean grey #xmen 97 #the x allegory #mutant 101 #magneto #professor x #charles xavier #storm #kitty pryde

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artbyblastweave · 2 months

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I was thinking the other day that Red Hood is a compelling character but inherently an extremely high context one. It's really obvious that he's a character who required the two-decades and change of publication history, editorial evolution and fandom debate that it took for him to bake. Red hood presupposes, bare minimum:

that there's an established Batman/Joker rivalry that's been going for a while

That Batman has gotten past the year-one section of his career and brought at least one Robin into the fold

That after the crowbar incident Batman has continued to operate as Batman for a significant amount of time

That the version of the DCU you're looking at includes some method of resurrection, be that the Lazarus Pit or the retcon punch

Ideally, you'd have Dick Grayson as Robin first, because you obviously lose a lot of the crunch if Jason doesn't exist uncomfortably in Dick's shadow prior to his death, but if you had an executive breathing down your neck about how the narrative has too many moving parts you could maybe drop this

On top of all this the story arc also presupposes audience familiarity with the out-of-universe debate about the no-kill rule, and moreover it presupposes that the version of Joker you're looking is specifically awful enough that there's an actual utilitarian argument in favor of breaking the no-kill rule- Can't do Under the Red Hood with Ceaser Romero's take on the character. You may or may not have had time to establish his track record.

Oh, yeah, and it's gotta be a version of the continuity where the censors let you kill people on screen! Nearly forgot that. I recall thinking that despite the obvious scramble to introduce all the priors, Under The Red Hood was remarkably effective for being able to import everything it needed to create the sense of time, place and progression of Batman's character, the very specific point in his development where you need to catch him for Red Hood to make any sense. By contrast I remember thinking that the half-hearted attempt to backport Red Hood into the DCAU in the comics-IIRC he actually post-dates that continuity- was just very obviously doomed, like come on, you're trying to cram a third robin into an established timeline? You already made a decision to hopscotch him when you went right from Dick to Tim, no backsies! There are other characters I bucket like this, characters who I think have some there-there, but are immensely high-context in a way that seems tough to negotiate in an adaptation. Miles Morales is one, and I was amazed at how gracefully the Spider-verse films navigated that, how gracefully something with a four-or-five hour runtime integrated the broader concept of continuity lockout/creep/what-have you into the story. Power Girl is another, and they've never really figured out how to integrate her as far as I'm aware- Galatea in JLU being the closest I know of. I have no doubt that if I were more familiar with the Teen Titans side of things I could start rattling off ancillary characters from that space. I don't have anywhere in particular I was going with this, I just think about this category of character a lot.

#thoughts #meta #late night rambles #dc #dc comics #red hood #under the red hood #batman

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scottishcommune · 6 months

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youtube

On Saturday the 14th of October 2023, at a rally for Palestine in Dundee, Scotland, 3rd year student Tánaiste had a speech read out in his absence. In his speech he called out the University of Dundee for refusing to release a statement condemning ethnic cleansing and war crimes against Palestinians, contrasting this with his university's speedy condemnation of the Russian invasion of Ukraine. In this speech he declared that, if the university has not released an appropriate statement by Friday the 20th of October, then beginning on Monday 23rd Tánaiste fully intends to start a hunger strike. His stated aim is to organise the students and staff at the uni into a campaign that will cause the faculty leadership to reconsider whether silence in the face of genocide is truly in the best interests of the institution. Updates are likely to be shared on Tánaiste's instagram, which can be found here, and on the Dundee University Socialist Society's facebook page, which can be found here.

The full text of his speech is as follows:

I am in England and am unable to be here. Thank you to my comrades for reading this out for me.

My name is TAW-nish-ta (Tánaiste) I'm a 3rd year Community Education student at the University of Dundee. I remember when Russia invaded Ukraine on Saturday 20th February 2022, by Thursday my university and student union had put out a statement: "It is our sincere hope that, even at this stage, a more peaceful solution can be found to the current conflict that avoids bloodshed and tragedy."

A fortnight later, they put out a further statement outlining: "the University’s unequivocal condemnation of the invasion... We must continue to hope that international pressure on Russia will have a positive effect, however bleak the situation may look today."

No public statement has come this time, as we face the real prospect of a genocide, aided and abetted by our own government and so called Leader of the Opposition. I directly asked the Principal why we have put out no statement. This was the University’s response: "The current situation is tragic with a shocking level of unjustifiable violence against innocent people. But it is also very complex and there will be many different perspectives on it. For that reason the University will not be taking a public stance on the matter."

I have no words for this act of moral cowardice. No words. What is complex about ethnic cleansing? What is complex about collective punishment? Which syllable of genocide do they need repeating? I saw a tweet which summed it up so well: "Universities be like 'We support genocide and apartheid. Please seek mental health support.'"

The leadership of my university are making the judgment that it is not in their institutional interest to even condemn genocide. Perhaps they are right. Perhaps the balance of power and PR is that actually to remain silent is in Dundee University’s best interest.

Our task as students is to change their calculation by all means available to us. There are many methods available. We have a student council and student union. They can be used. We can organise mass letters. And other tactics exist.

Our cause is moral, is just, and is seen to be so by the majority of students and staff at my university. They are waiting to be stirred at action, to be mobilised, to be quickened. I would like to announce my contribution to this campaign.

If the university has not issued an appropriate statement by Friday 20th October, I shall not eat food until the University publicly denounces the war and calls for an immediate ceasefire. I do not pretend this will end the war, but as my Principal said, "We must continue to hope that international pressure" will work.

One thing we have learnt so brutally in the comparison of how Ukraine and Palestine have been treated is that Black Lives Don't Matter. The imminent extermination of 2 million Gazans does not provoke our governments let alone our universities, to offer even token support for universal human rights. In the circumstances, a hunger strike for an achievable victory is the least I can do.

I know the University cares about its public image. I gently suggest to them that "Dundee student dies on hunger strike because University won't denounce genocide" will be bad PR. Their open day on 28th October will be marred by day 6 of a hunger strike for all prospective students to see.

I hope that my University looks at the prospect of a white British student starving to death and extends its compassion to the millions in Palestine who, for only the crime of existing, are being hourly killed.

#Palestine #Dundee #University of Dundee #hunger strike #uk pol #scot pol

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hobisfavoritespritecan · 1 year

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PASSENGER

Lee X Reader

Lee has traveled everywhere with you ever since meeting you in the store the night after your father left you. He's never given you a reason not to trust he'll stay, but your anxiousness gets in the way after he admits to you that he wants to be closer than ever before.

⚠️ Warnings: Blood and gore, mentions of cannibalism, talks about sex, reader and Lee almost have sex, anxiety⚠️

The truck bounced up and down as the tires made harsh contact with the gravelly road beneath it. The bumps and swerves were almost soothing as they rocked both you and the pink haired boy next to you, who had taken comfort in the passenger seat staring out the window. His lips were drawn into a tight line and his eyes were closed but flitting back and forth as he dreamt of nightmares, presumably. It was hard to live the life the two of you shared and not feel a little scarred on the inside. Being on the road without any sense of direction was so freeing compared to the life you were living before. After discovering the news of your mother in the psych ward and your father leaving you to fend for yourself, the path towards self-love and acceptance has not been an easy one. Picking up people along the way and carrying their stories with you seemed to be the only attempt at salvation when it came to your humanity. That's what people with morals did. Did you have morals anymore? It was hard to tell.

"It's getting dark. Are we almost to the lake?" The boy piped in, interrupting your thoughts as your hands gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter as you prepared to turn right towards your special campsite. It was just a small spot by the trees and the lake that you two often shared a cigarette and a story or two. Sleeping under the stars has become normality.

"We're here." You said, turning over to glance at his expression of contentment yet sorrow. If there was anyone in the world who could manage to make both expressions visible at once, it was Lee.

The sky has darkened tremendously from when you first embarked on your little journey out towards the fields. The stars hung overhead in dim glowing orbs that contrasted against the rest of the universe above. The crescent moon illuminated the trees and the path to the usual parking spot under the bridge. It was beautiful at this time of night to say the least, and you felt your shoulders lose their tension as a serene wave washed over you.

The car's engine turned off and there was a silence between the two of you. Nothing uncomfortable, but a very distinct kind of silence where both parties are listening to the whims of nature. A cicada here and there and the rushing of water. It was all too perfect but unsettling at the same time. However, the only unsettling things were you and Lee; he only terrors that travelled in the dark were you and him. The kinds of beasts in fairy tales and children's nightmares. You consumed others and not just for their emotional intelligence. You consumed the very essence of their being. A trace of blood under the bottom of the boy's lips and scraped knees were prevalent as you took in the sights around you and remembered you were never normal to begin with. The smell of the last person you killed hung heavy in the backseat of the car and it was a stench that would not be rid of unless there was a strip cleaning of the entire vehicle. The man who kissed Lee in the same way you did at the carnival who was expecting a night of frivolity and excitement presumably due to having to hide his sexuality... was now nothing more than a couple of bloodied shirts and old pictures. Lee had monstrously slit his throat while you watched from outside in the night air similar to this one. The gleaming thick substance dripping from the man's neck and now took home in the mouth of your lover. And yet, for being this type of monster, Lee looked so lovely under the soft glow of the moon cascading down through the pick-up truck's slightly dirty windows.

All of a sudden, you broke the silence that had dawned on you two as fast as it now ended.

"What are you thinking of?" You asked, alluding to the familiar brightness behind his eyes.

"You. Me. Us." He said with clarity but uncertainty. There was more to this topic than he was letting on.

"Is something wrong between us?" You asked, wondering what it could've been that would make him think of your relationship. Was it a tension that he felt? Was it him explaining to you that the man from last night was not just due to a sense of sexuality, but had now awoken something in him that wasn't there before, and he could no longer continue being with you? Or had that sense of sexuality always been there, and you were just a way at him preventing the realization of who he knew he was? And now, in contrast to your last stream of thoughts, you decided maybe your humanity wasn't entirely diminished and that you might be more of a teenage girl than you thought.

"No, not at all," he said, reaching for a strand of your hair and pushing it behind your ear with a loving and slight obsessive look in his eyes. his hair was strewn about his face, and he allowed the loose curls to fall just above his eyebrows in pink spirals similar to fanciful ribbons. It was inviting and alluring, and you didn't want to look away from him. "I want to make love to you."

The confession hit you like a train, hard and fast as you finally realized what had been troubling your boyfriend. It wasn't unlike him to want something of the sort, considering he was a teenage boy, but it still left you slightly startled. After everything the two of you had been through, this didn't seem like something that wouldn't have ever happened. Your love with Lee was fast and exciting and wonderful but also horribly founded on the fact that you shared the desire to eat human flesh. Sometimes, you had a hard time distinguishing between what portion of your relationship was bloodlust and what was true emotional and physical connection. But then again, you felt no such connection with Sully, who had tried to coerce you into banding with him on his journey of collecting the locks of corpses.

Sounding less assured than you usually liked to, you let out an anxious mumble: "You- you want to make love? To me?"

He smiled and leaned in closer until you could feel his hot breath against your skin, alluring and charming once more.

"I want to be one together. In the ways that we can be with other people when we devour their flesh. There's something poetic about it, no? We wouldn't necessarily eat each other as we did with the guy from the carnival, but this is the closest lovers can truly get in the physical sense. And oh, (Y/N), have you consumed me in the emotional sense."

This conversation definitely took a turn you weren't expecting. Before any objections could escape you, his lips were flush against yours, pulling you into him or as close as the stick shift would allow. The dashboard was littered with papers that fell down to the floor and under the glove compartment, resting at Lee's soles. His arms, although gentle in composure, were firmly placed on the sides of you with one holding the back of your head and the other placed on your hip. He started to move his fingers up and down alongside your thigh in a polite but provocative manner. He wasn't forcing you into anything you were uncertain of, but he still wanted to show how terribly he needed you.

Breaking away to gasp for air, you look at his proud expression as he treated every moment spent with you as though it would be the last. His eyes said everything he didn't say in that moment. He worshipped you. And it wasn't in the honeymoon phase type of way, it was in an 'I see you as though you were crafted by the gods' way. His lips were slightly swollen from the kiss he'd just given you, and his sharp, shallow breaths showed you he was just as tense as you were. His pants were still covered in the mud from the cornfield where you ditched Carnival Man's body, and his shirt was torn and fraying towards the bottom. You had to have been in rough shape as well but you hadn't looked in a mirror anytime soon to confirm or deny whether that was a true statement.

Your collective breaths being the only sounds within the car and outside it made this moment so much more intimate. His face loomed inches away from your pursuing lips, as you had wanted more of his taste; your hands beckoned ever so slightly in a race to see which one would reach the beautiful boy's skin first, Lee's collarbone was the finish line. You had thought about making love to Lee before, of course. With only your thoughts to keep you company as of recent, it wasn't entirely a new concept for you to wake up after a long drive with Lee at the steering wheel; the heat between your legs unbeknownst to him. You had wondered at one point if he had ever thought of something similar, but you would never have had the courage to bring about a situation like this and bring your fantasies to fruition. But, Lee had been the one to make the first move and you were thankful.

Noticing your hesitance but desire, Lee took that as a sign to lean in closer until you were nose to nose.

"Would you make love to me?" He asked, waiting until he had your consent before he continued. The last thing he would ever want to do would be to make you uncomfortable, and for a moment he thought he had. Until you reached for the hem of his shirt which grazed his collarbone, he leant in fully and continued to kiss you with a more feverish passion.

Hot breaths and hands everywhere, everything was so awkward but fun. There would be a pause in between your kisses to allow for breathing room before Lee dove back in and offered you more of the sweet gesture. All the while, you realized the burning sensation in the core of both your chest and lower abdomen was increasing with every touch of your lips. It was as if there was something inside of you asking- no -begging to touch Lee further. A fiery feeling that you'd never fully experienced before pushed itself to the very undersides of your skin, clawing at being held within your body and not being let loose as this beast wanted. It was the same desire you felt when you watched the life drained from someone you would eventually feed on and your mouth would be already drooling with the promise of what was to come. It was a same immenseness as your cannibalistic tendencies, but at the same time what you had with Lee was entirely different. You wanted to consume his soul and his persona, not his physical components. And with this realization also came the understanding that cannibalism is a beautiful allegory to love.

Lee pulled away for a moment to give you a loving but questioning glance. His face was barely illuminated now considering the clouds that had taken control of the night sky. But still, you knew he looked so handsome as he took your hands and gently guided them to the hem of his jeans. It was again, nowhere near forceful, but entirely romantic and sweet as he was taking into account how this was just as awkward for you.

"Would you want to continue?" He asked, lightly holding onto your hands as they toyed with the fabric of his jeans.

"I want you, Lee." You finally gave him a more definitive answer than your previous attempts at vocalizing exactly what it was you wanted in this moment. It was his turn to blush, even though you wouldn't see due to the darkness of the surrounding area, but you had an inkling that his face was redder than before. Unbuttoning the top of his jeans and unzipping the fly, this became more of a reality to you. What is Lee would be done with you after this? What if he joined this whole escapade of finding your true family and what happened to you just so that he could receive sexual favors in return? You never thought of Lee in that way, but maybe because of the way he treated Carnival Man he hoped you would be next?

Halting his movements, he noticed you seemed distressed. "Is everything okay, my love?" He questioned. Lee didn't know what had happened to change the mood all of a sudden, but he assumed it had to be his fault as he was the one who had brought up the idea in the first place.

"I'm so so sorry if I pressured you into doing anything you didn't want to-"

"No, you didn't Lee." You said, trying to understand the way you were feeling. That burning feeling had left your body and was now instead an anxious and gut-wrenching pressure. Why did you have to overthink everything? You really wanted this with Lee so why would you let your thoughts get the best of you?

"Are we taking things too fast?" He asked, after a short moment of silence. He zipped up his jeans and leant beside you, hesitating at first, but then opting to put his hand on your shoulder just in case he had done something to make you uncomfortable. If you were shying away from his touch, he wouldn't want to make you feel that way again.

But to his relief, you didn't shy away. Instead, you rest your head on his shoulder and allowed for him to put his arm around you. Feeling comfortable, you wait for the anxiety to dispel a bit before vocalizing the troubling thoughts on your mind; Lee waiting patiently.

"Lee, I really want this with you. But I want to make sure that you want me."

Lee was very confused at this point. He was your boyfriend and had asked to make love to you because he wanted you, of course. He instantly felt a pang of guilt for making you feel as though you weren't wanted by him. In reality, he would follow you anywhere. His nightmare from earlier was about losing you. And not to another man or any of that type of thing, but just not being able to be in your presence again. The universe worked in strange ways and everything was uncertain, even the present.

"I want you very much," Lee said, moving in closer to you to give you a proper hug, "very much. And I apologize if I've made you feel any differently."

You sighed a breath of relief. Of course he automatically thought there was something wrong on his end.

"No, Lee. You've made me feel very wanted. I just want to make sure that it lasts. Everyone I've held dear to me has left in different ways, and I don't want to have to loose you too." You calmed him as you explained what was wrong. He tightened his grip on you, not in a way that was possessive, but in a more firm and loving way.

"(Y/N). Anyone would be a fool to leave you."

(A/N): I've been listening to a lot of Deftones lately and their music has been my go to for daydreaming about Bones and All. Anyhow, it's been forever since I've posted and I'll explain in another post for anyone who's interested! I hope this is alright as I try to ease myself back into writing as frequently as before. Love you guys! 💛🦐

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