#i will run through a brick wall for him if it means he will be more accepting and loving twords others

[diazsdimples]

bucktommy + "To be fair, that wasn't the stupidest thing I could've done"

"To be fair, that wasn't the stupidest thing I could've done," Buck pants as he leans against the cool, brick wall. He pulls off his helmet and runs his fingers through his hair, knowing he's likely smeared soot all over his face. The building is still smouldering behind them, but Eddie and Ravi both have the hoses directed towards the flames. It's under control. Tommy looks like he could explode. His boyfriend is usually very calm and level headed, perfect traits for a first responder, but right now he looks set to rip Buck's head off. "Wasn't the stupidest - you could have - Evan, are you fucking kidding me?" Eddie and Ravi's heads turn towards the outburst and Buck winces, not wanting their first proper fight as a couple to be on full display for all their coworkers to witness. He grabs Tommy's arm and pulls him around the side of the building, away from any flapping ears. "Tommy, it's okay, I'm fine. She's fine. We're fine," he reassures Tommy as he reaches into the pocket of his turnout and pulls out the reason behind his sudden expedition into a burning building without a second's thought. The kitten is tiny in his hands, her fur rumpled and soot smudges over the beautiful, white coat. When the little girl he and Tommy had pulled from the building had said her kitten was still stuck inside the inferno, Buck hadn't hesitated before sprinting back into the building, not even with Bobby, Tommy and Eddie all yelling at him. He just hadn't anticipated Tommy to follow him back in. "Yeah but you could have been not fine! I agreed to help this shift as a favour to Bobby, not so I could get a front row seat to my boyfriend burning alive!" Buck swallows thickly and transfers the kitten into one hand so he can reach out to cup Tommy's face with the other. Tommy doesn't meet his eye, instead looking resolutely behind Buck. His jaw ticks as Buck strokes along his cheekbone with his thumb. "Tommy, I-I'm not going to burn alive. I was just gonna get her and come right back," he explains. Tommy's got to understand, right? Buck's a professional, he'd never do anything to put himself in any real danger. If he thought he couldn't get to the kitten before the building collapsed or got too hot then he would never have set foot in it. Tommy finally meets Buck's eyes then, and Buck is alarmed to see that his eyes are swimming behind a film of tears. Fuck, he's really fucked up here hasn't he? "Tommy, I-" "I can't lose you, Evan," Tommy cuts in, circling a hand around Buck's wrist and lowering his hand from Tommy's jaw. "Not like that." Buck swallows again, and he must tighten his grip on the kitten because she lets out a pitiful meow, her tiny tongue rasping against his glove as she licks at him. "I'm sorry," he whispers, hanging his head as the gravity of the situation washes over him. Tommy thought he was going to lose Buck. Tommy thought Buck was going to die. "I didn't mean to scare you." Tommy curls his fingers under Buck's chin and lifts his head, forcing eye contact. "I know you didn't, I just - baby, you mean so much to me," Tommy says, his voice raw and choked with emotion as he searches Buck's face, his eyes drinking in every inch of Buck as if he's worried it's the last time he'll be able to see him again. "Please, please don't ever do that again." "I won't, Tommy, I swear I won't," Buck promises, and he leans forwards to kiss Tommy softly. Tommy responds instantly, wrapping his arm around Buck's waist and pulling him close. Their lips move in tandem with one another, Tommy running his tongue along the seam of Buck's lips until he opens, and Buck licking back in apology. "Hey," Buck says as they pull away, resting their foreheads together. "I love you." Tommy huffs out a small laugh and kisses Buck again, lighter this time but no less emotionally charged. "I love you too."

Send me a ship and a sentence and I'll finish it!

(once again tagging @theotherbuckley)

#james answers things #james writes #this could have gone many different ways #but I chose Feels #bucktommy #bucktommy ficlet #911 abc #evan buckley #tommy kinard #tevan #kinkley #tommybuck #buck x tommy #tuck #911 ficlet

[charliemwrites]

Part 2 of obsessive!Johnny

(Part 1 is here)

Johnny’s there when you wake up. Eyes so, so blue, hands fidgeting. You’re in a bed that’s not yours, in a room you don’t recognize, with a man you’re fond of but know nearly as well as you’d like right now.

“Don’t scream,” he says as soon as your eyes are open.

That’s not a very good thing to say to someone, you think hazily. Your head hurts. You don’t scream.

“Listen, I know how this looks,” he continues. He can’t sit still. Keeps scooting closer, then away, then twitches like he wants to touch you, then twists his fingers together. “But you passed out in the alley and I didn’t know what else to do.”

Oh right. The alley. Those creepy, aggressive men. Well, the one man and his shitty friends. You remember Johnny flying from the bar like a bat out of hell, one of them knocking into you, and then your head bouncing off the brick wall. Right.

“You… could have taken me back inside?” you venture.

There’s something off about Johnny. Something in his darting eyes and awkward smile. Something that warns you to tread carefully for there are traps hidden around your feet.

“No, I know, I realized as soon as I got you in the car…” He scratches nervously at his scruff. You were just thinking earlier that night that it’s growing in nicely. “But… but then I got to thinking.”

Alarms start ringing in your mind as he meets your eyes. A strange, fervent glint in them you’ve never seen before.

“The world is so dangerous, hen. It’s safer here with me, where I can protect you.”

You shift. There’s something around your ankle. It jingles when you move again. Johnny knows you notice it.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he hurries to say. “I was afraid you would run if I wasn’t here when you woke up. You hit your head it would be bad for you to run.”

Your heart is starting to pound, so hard and fast you can barely hear your own voice over it. Somehow, blessedly, calm and even.

“Okay… okay, soap that’s fair. Can we take it off now that I’m awake?”

“S-soon. Soon, Bonnie. There’s just - listen I want you to stay. I have to know you’re safe. I can’t… can’t function when I think about getting hurt or-or with other men…”

He’s working himself up and thats bad. That’s very bad. Especially considering that you’re his only outlet for these made up scenarios.

“Hey, hey,” you murmur, instantly getting his attention. “I think I get it. You… you just want to protect me. You like me.”

His expression melts, he leans in towards you.

“More than like you, hen. Oh, so much more than like.”

Oh. Oh you see now.

You draw in the slowest, deepest breath you can manage through trembling lungs. It’s still not enough.

“So please understand,” he continues. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen but… but I can’t let you go now. Not when I know you need someone to protect you.”

You don’t understand. You don’t understand at all.

But you don’t need to. You just need Johnny happy with you. You need to keep calm, because that will make him happy. It’ll keep you safe.

“O-okay,” you force yourself to say. “I’ll stay… at least for a while. Okay?”

Even as you say it, you can feel tears spilling over. You life and hopes and aspirations fading like smoke. Johnny makes a distressed noise, scrambles to grab onto your hand. Is still, somehow, so gentle as he strokes his thumb over your knuckles.

“I know, it’s a lot all at once, I’m sorry.” He almost sounds like he means it. “I’ll make it all up to you, I promise.”

#thoughts™️ #cod #my writing #fanfiction #dark fic #reader fic #obsessive Johnny

[shiplessoceans]

Good Omens S2 Episode 6 confession scene speculation:

Aziraphale didn't respond to the love confession from Crowley because he didn't realise it was one until Crowley mentioned the Nightingale and kissed him.

Allow me to explain.

---

Aziraphale interrupted Crowley to give him the news from Metatron, so when Crowley starts his spiel:

"We've been together a long time, I could always rely on you...we're a group....we've spent our existence pretending we aren't...if Gabriel and Beelzebub can go off together then we can...we don't need heaven/hell they're toxic...you and me whatya say?"

Aziraphale interprets everything Crowley is saying as his rebuttal to the 'good news', not a separate declaration of his feelings.

What Aziraphale just told him shaped Crowley's confession, instead of finally telling Aziraphale how he feels about him, he's now backed into a corner and trying to change Aziraphales mind. Offering to run off with him as the alternative to the Metatron's offer.

The repetition of the phrase: "go off together" from the bandstand fight in season one feels very intentional here. It would be easy for Aziraphale to think 'this is just Crowley's response when the divine plan interferes, he always wants to run away'.

Aziraphale believes that he just needs to make Crowley understand the situation and opportunity that this is and everything will be alright:

"Come with me! To heaven, I can run it, you can be my second in command. We can make a difference!"

Crowley is looking defeated already, in his mind he's bared his soul and Aziraphale is a brick wall. So if he can't tempt the angel into staying with the love he has for him (which Crowley thinks he's declared but he really hasn't), he'll get him to change his mind by evoking something else he loves:

"You can't leave this bookshop."

Aziraphale scoffs fondly. 'Silly demon, you were just suggesting we run off together and abandon it only a moment ago!' He thinks Crowley is trying to 'work' him here and the old serpent might even be selflessly trying to spare the angel the loss of his beloved bookshop in order to restore Crowley and help the world, which would be just like him to be so covertly protective. So Aziraphale reassures him, a bookshop doesn't matter to him as much as Crowley and the world. It's just a collection of objects really. Humanity is more important. Crowley is far more important.

"Oh Crowley, nothing lasts forever."

Crowley is crushed. Nothing lasts forever. Not even the two of them. So he covers his sadness with his glasses, walls back up, and he tries to leave.

Aziraphale is baffled. He just reassured Crowley that he was alright with change if it means things could be better. Why is Crowley leaving? Is he worried that they won't spend time together anymore? That he won't have time for his friend as a supreme archangel?

"Crowley come back!....we can be together, angels!...I need you!"

Crowley can't even look at him in that moment. Why would Aziraphale say that? The two of them together only if he accepts heaven again? Conditional love? That's not fair. It hurts.

Aziraphale meanwhile is hurt by Crowley's turning away, his silence and a bit incensed at what he perceives as ingratitude. Aziraphale didn't really want to go back to heaven, but he'd do it if it meant Crowley could be happy and safe and Crowley doesn't seem to appreciate that:

"I don't think you understand what I'm offering you."

Crowley went through the fall. He asked the questions. Did his best to protect humanity and it has brought him nothing but suffering. He's well aware what's on offer. He's seen heavens cruelty and capriciousness firsthand and been burned by it repeatedly. How can Aziraphale choose them over him and still think everything will work out?

"I understand. I think I understand a whole lot better than you do."

Crowley loves Aziraphale's big foolish optimism and kind heart and he thinks it's the very thing taking the angel away from him. This isn't how it was supposed to go. It's all slipping away from him.

"Listen. You hear that?"

Aziraphale can't even keep up at this point.

This is what comes of thousands of years of 'not talking about it' and living under threat of holy retribution if they are discovered. They're talking past each other, having two different conversations. Obfuscation and code has become their communication medium by necessity and it's failing them.

It's frustrating Aziraphale that he can't get a grip on this conversation:

"I don't hear anything!"

And Crowley drops the bomb.

"That's the point. No Nightingale's."

Oh. Suddenly we're on the same page. You can see from Aziraphale's face that he understands to what Crowley's referring. The Nightingale in Berkely square. Angels dining at the Ritz...

"You idiot! We could have been... us."

Crowley's talking about the big unspoken thing between them. Their relationship, thousands of years of dancing around each other like binary stars gravitationally and inexorably drawn together over and over. The thing Aziraphale was beginning to be bold about, (dancing notwithstanding) before Metatron came along and distracted him.

And it seems to Aziraphale that gut-wrenchingly, Crowley is finally acknowledging their mutual love only to point out that it's gone. Lost. They could have finally been together, an us, but Aziraphale ruined it because he's an 'idiot'.

After being quietly in love with Crowley for years, for Aziraphale to have his offer to return to heaven together and his unspoken love rejected in one fell swoop is devastating.

Overcome, he begins to cry and turns away, not wanting Crowley to see how hurt he is.

Crowley for his part is desperate. He has to do something. Maybe Aziraphale doesn't understand what Crowley is offering him! One fabulous kiss and va-voom right?

In a final desperate act, he kisses Aziraphale. Tries for passionate. Tries to show him that he loves him and show him what they could be because his words clearly aren't working.

Aziraphale is shocked and angry. He wants to kiss Crowley of course. But not like this. Not as a taunt. Crowley just told him their chance is over so what else could this be but a final insult. A kiss to punish the angel. It's a cruelty he didn't believe Crowley capable of.

And despite how mean it is. It's also what Aziraphale has wanted for so long he can't help but melt into it for a brief moment. Allow himself to feel what it would have been like to be that close before losing it forever.

Then Crowley lets go and Aziraphale breaks away on a sob, feeling wounded. Hurt beyond words that Crowley would use his feelings against him like this, gutted to be losing the man he loves and not understanding why.

The worst part is that Aziraphale doesn't have it in him to hate Crowley, even if he thinks the kiss was a cruel gesture. He still loves him. So he gathers himself and does what Aziraphale does when someone hurts him.

He forgives.

"I forgive you."

I forgive you for rejecting my attempt to restore you and make you happy, I forgive you for rejecting God and heaven yet again, I forgive you for acknowledging our love and then rejecting it. I forgive you for kissing me, giving me a fleeting glimpse of what we could have been to each other. I love you and I forgive you all that.

Crowley is done. Breath knocked out of him on a last sigh. He tried. And the Angel forgave him yet again for something he never asked or wanted forgiveness for. He doesn't want to be penitent for loving Aziraphale. Shouldn't have to apologise or regret wanting them to be together.

"Don't bother."

Aziraphale looks surprised Crowley is leaving because he genuinely is. He can't understand how it's all gone so horribly wrong. He gasps, shocked and can't even call out to him to stop, come back.

He cries, touches his lips where Crowley had kissed him. Tries to gather himself and barely has 10 seconds before Metatron is back.

At the end of that scene:

Crowley thinks he confessed his love and Aziraphale chose heaven over him because he didn't want to stop being a demon.

Aziraphale thinks Crowley rejected heaven, then rejected Aziraphale and threw their love back in his face as a final unkindness.

Aziraphale leaves and goes to heaven anyway because in his mind he's already lost Crowley and there is nothing left to stay for. If he doesn't have Crowley he needs a new purpose and it's going to be saving the world. He'll convince himself of it. And he'll push that broken heart down and the pain will fade if he just smiles through it. It will be enough, to make heaven better. It has to be. Maybe if he proves that he can make a difference Crowley might see the error of his ways and speak to him again? Surely. Hopefully.

---

Both of them are hurt and confused and lost and oh dear hell I really feel for them.

#good omens meta #good omens 2 meta #good omens s2e6 #gos2 spoilers #good omens 2 #good omens 2 analysis #gos2 meta #ineffable #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #good omens spoilers #gos2

[midnightwriter21]

jjk hcs: satoru gojo meeting soulmate!reader

characters: satoru gojo x reader, mentions of megumi, yuji, nobara, and principal yaga

warnings: language, mentions of a giant spider

AN: AS PROMISED!!! the soulmate gojo fic!! i’m a sucker for non-sorcerer!reader x gojo. so if u want a version with a sorcerer reader lmk!!!

edit: sorcerer!reader version is published!! read it HERE

- soulmate au where the first words your soulmate says to you are tattooed in their handwriting somewhere on your body!!!

SATORU GOJO

you’re working at a small, family-run cafe

which just so happens to be quite close to jujitsu high school

it’s quite often that students and staff from the school are stopping at the cafe for a quick snack, coffee, and sometimes lunch

and due to an unfortunate run in with a low grade curse during a rush, you are very aware of the jujutsu world

principal yaga himself exorcised the curse when he was on his lunch break at the cafe

usually you’re working in the kitchen, baking, whilst someone else takes orders

until a coworker of yours calls in sick at the last minute… so ur on ur own rip

taking orders, cooking, serving, all of the above on your own

the 3 first year jujutsu high students, megumi, yuji, and nobara come into the cafe after a mission

they place their orders and megumi tells you that their sensei would be joining them shortly, with yuji letting you know that their sensei would also be picking up the bill

as if it would even put a dent in gojo’s wallet

anyways after taking their orders you walk into the kitchen to begin making their food and drinks

as you get to work, gojo walks into the cafe, joining his students at their table

you’re rushing around the kitchen, flour stuck to the font of your shirt, hair sticking out in different directions

trying to get the food cooked and out to them in a timely manner

and the world is just not on your side today because guess what shows up in your kitchen…

a cursed spirit

but not any cursed spirit

a cursed spirit in the form of a spider

a GIANT spider with what seems like a million eyes, the 8 legs, kinda furry looking

oh and did i mention it was giant? by giant I mean it stood at abt 6ft tall

two words: hell. nah.

when you turn away from the stove and find it standing behind you

you, like any normal person, let out an eardrum shattering screech of terror and back away from it as fast as possible

backing yourself into the corner of the room, with no room to escape…

the 3 first years and their sensei hear your scream and spring into action, running into the kitchen to defend you

that’s a lie

the 3 first years run to defend you

their sensei takes his time, sauntering towards the kitchen with his hands in his pockets

bastard

the kitchen door slams open as the 3 first years spring through the door, with yuji pouncing on the curse

the pink haired boy delivers a heavy punch, knocking the spider curse away from you

you take the chance to run

yeah girl it’s better to give them their space fr, yuji has a habit of punching through walls with his bare hands

you run through the door, looking behind you towards the scene, and you run head first into what feels like a brick wall

before you fall onto your ass, you feel two large hands latch onto your shoulders to steady you

“woah! don’t go falling for me already.. we just met.”

you look up at the voice, finding a man with stark white hair, a blindfold, and a cocky smirk

adrenaline coursing through your body you don’t even process the man’s words and you find yourself babbling almost unintelligibly to the man

“kill it! please kill it! i can’t stand spiders!”

the mans grip on your shoulders tighten slightly before he releases you, pushing you behind him, chuckling quietly with a “anything for you, sweetheart”

and with the flick of his wrist the spider curse literally explodes

staring at the tall man in both shock and awe, you don’t realize until you smell smoke

“THE FOOD IS BURNING SHIT!” and your running back into the kitchen to see if anything is salvageable

it’s not lol but honestly the food is the last thing on anyone’s mind

as you throw the ruined food away, the same hands from earlier sit themselves on your shoulders again, turning you around

“so… if i’m gonna actually get you to fall for me, i’m gonna need your number.” and there’s a phone thrust in your face

and at his words you remember his earlier statement to you, “woah! don’t go falling for me already.. we just met.”

you look up at him in shock, putting a hand on your forearm, over your soulmate mark with those exact words covering your skin

and he just smirks and pulls the sleeve of his uniform up to show you his own forearm

and printed in your own handwriting is your terror filled words from earlier, “kill it! please kill it! i can’t stand spiders!”

as the blush crawls up your neck and into your cheeks he laughs, throwing an arm around your shoulders and saying, “so.. does this mean I get free sweets from now on?”

#jjk x reader #jjk soulmate au #jjk #jjk fluff #jjk gojo #jjk headcanons #jjk gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen soulmate au #soulmate au #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #gojou satoru x reader #gojo fluff #gojo satoru fluff #jjk itadori #megumi fushiguro #nobara kugisaki #x reader #satoru x reader #jujutsu satoru #jujutsu kaisen satoru #jjk satoru #gojou satoru x you #jjk x you #fluff

[luveline]

𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐢𝐟 𝐢 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝? | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

Eddie asks you out on your very first date, indulging you in huge philly cheesesteaks, a vanilla milkshake (with two straws), a largely neglected bucket of popcorn, and a sugary first kiss. requested here. shy fem!reader, 3.2k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

I'm actually going to die here, you think morosely. 

This was a very bad idea on your part, and perhaps a worse one on his. What possessed Eddie —ripped jeaned, silver-chained, aspiring heavy metal rockstar Eddie— to ask you on a date? Perhaps you'd appeared more formidable outside of Hawkins library than you usually did.

You were in a particularly bad mood after a chilly fall afternoon spent checking the quality of the returns, and the prospect of walking home in the cold was a dismal one. You'd been glaring at nothing when a big, hulking bucket of a van slowed to a crawl beside you, thumping bass leaking from the closed window. It rolled down, the music quieting with it, and out came a head of inky dark curls. 

"Hey, sweetheart," Eddie said, pet name rolling around in his mouth, "you heading home? Do you want a ride? It's a long walk." 

Somewhere between the library and your driveway, Eddie asked you on a date. You genuinely can't remember what you talked about or how it happened, your adrenaline high enough you could've used it to climb Everest. You do remember the quiet way he'd asked, as though he was waiting for an impending rejection, and his smile bordering goofy when you breathed out, "Yeah, okay." 

You rub at the seam of your cream sweater over and over, the pad of your thumb numb. The wind runs through you, ruffling the skirt of your black dress against your thighs. I'm an idiot, you think. Hypothermia might kill you if your racing heart doesn't. 

Eddie holds a similar sentiment, "What the fuck are you doing out here?" 

You flinch embarrassingly hard. He wasn't there a moment ago. Eddie cusses and holds his hands out to you before you can slip backward off of the low brick wall you'd been waiting on, his fingers shooting tingles down into the epidermis of your skin like wild golden sparks where they grab you, hoisting you up into a more secure standing position. 

"Fuck, I'm so sorry. Like, really really sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, just– it's like, minus ten out here? What are you doing?" 

"I–" You give him a more petrified look than you mean to. "You said to meet you here?" 

Does he not want you here? Was it a joke?

Eddie laughs out of the side of his mouth like he's holding a cigarette between his lips. "Well, yeah, but I meant inside. I've been waiting for you at the table." His amusement dissipates as he feels the chill emanating from your clothes. "Jesus, I'm sorry. Are you ready to come in?" 

Minus ten was dramatic. It's a solid 30 Fahrenheit, but the cold wind makes it feel colder. As soon as you enter the diner you're warm, heat nibbling at your fingers as the blood starts to pump. Eddie takes you to the side of the restaurant away from the noise of the games machines and the bathrooms, slipping into a booth where a worn paperback book is waiting. 

"I left that in case someone decided to steal our table." 

"What if they stole your book?" you ask, sliding into the booth seat opposite. 

"They'd love it," Eddie says. He leans forward with a mischievous air about him. "It's about a bullied teenage girl who loses her shit and gets psychic powers. I think she's gonna kill someone." He blinks. "Not that that's cool." 

"It's just a book, right? You're not a murderer."

You wonder why the fuck you'd say something like that, but he nods his agreement breezily. "Exactly." 

"Plus," you add, eager to say something he'll like, "it's hard not to root for the underdog." 

His smile twitches with an emotion you can't name. "Exactly," he says again. 

A waitress with thick rings of eyeliner comes to take your order. She has a sunny attitude, like Eddie in that way, an exterior some might say was intimidating and a bright smile. You're nervous from the get go and you have a cliche worry, watching Eddie interact with her from the corner of your eye. 

"For you?" she asks you. 

You stammer. What you'd thought about on the walk here this evening can be pinpointed into two simple lines of inquiry —what should you say to Eddie, and what should you say to the waitress. Shy to the point of aching, you'd rehearsed your order ten times, but all that comes out is hot air. 

"Um," you say, wishing you'd paid more attention to what Eddie said rather than how he looked at the waitress, "could I have, uh. Just the same? As he had, please." 

"Are you sure?" Eddie asks, nothing but patience in his tone. "Do you like pink lemonade?" 

You don't want anything carbonated tonight, nauseous enough. "Um, the same but with water instead, please." 

The waitress writes a short sentence with a big flourish. "Water," she reads, giving you and Eddie each a glowing smile. "No worries, I'll bring your drinks right out, food in twenty at most."

"Thank you," you and Eddie say together, in starkly different tones. 

Eddie waits for her to leave before he shucks off his jacket. He puts his elbows on the table and runs his knuckles up and down the length of the opposite forearm, smudging the whorls of his inky tattoos, the skinny silver chain around his wrist catching the light. "You know, I don't mind doing the talking, if you don't want to." 

You can't describe the embarrassment that bites at you, then. "It's– I'm sorry, I just couldn't think of what I wanted–" 

"I'm sorry," Eddie interrupts. "I should've told her to come back in a minute, I didn't give you chance to read the menu. I swear that's the only time I'll make a dick move tonight." 

You cough. He grimaces, teeth sinking into the pink of his bottom lip as he laughs it off. "Not like that. Or, not not like that. No dick moves," he says, "I just wanted to talk to you over a table rather than that pillar of a desk in the library." 

"It's a really tall desk." 

"It's so tall! I get that they want us to have somewhere to put the books but they have to go down to you guys anyways when you stamp 'em." 

"I don't know what the idea was behind them," you say. 

"Maybe they hired a bunch or very small librarians initially," Eddie says. He spies the waitress approaching with your drinks and leans back to accommodate her. He thanks her, but as soon as she leaves he's staring at your tap water with critical eyes. "It looks a little cloudy. You want my lemonade, instead?" 

"No, it's okay," you say, though drinking it feels like a bad idea. There's a whirlpool of scum at the top like clouds circling a mountain peak, ice cubes drifting in slow laps beneath. 

"I can take it back–" 

"Please don't," you say, "I'd be so embarrassed, it's only water." 

"I get you. Maybe I can get you something else, then. I'd say we should get hot cocoa but it's weird having hot cocoa with cheesesteaks." Eddie knocks the table. "I'm really sorry I asked you here." 

Your heart could be likened to a balloon popped by a sharp pin. You knew he'd regret asking you, knew it was too good to be true–

"We should've gone somewhere nice. Like Enzo's or Bullock's. Hey, we even could've gone into Indianapolis. And I have to say sorry double 'cos I should've asked you if I could give you a ride, I really messed it up." 

"It's not messed up," you say. "It's not." 

Eddie smiles at you, his most stripped back to date. 

Things are awkward and you theorise that it's your fault, but Eddie doesn't let you flounder in it. He asks questions, he says kind things. You have no choice but to relax and laugh at his ill-conceived jokes. You almost choke on your sub and he goes as far as to say, "Hey, you even make choking look good," having leapt up to pat your back. It's too much but it's weirdly nice at the same time. It's almost worth dying if it means Eddie's gonna rub your back with a big, unflinching hand. 

He wanders off when he's sure you're alive and you catastrophize: choking is far from attractive. He saw the way your nose wrinkled and your jaw went soft in your coughing and jumped ship. You dab the tears (from choking, though they could change at any moment) away with a napkin, sniffling. Your throat hurts and your sandwich doesn't look as appetising now. 

"Here," Eddie says, placing a tall glass in front of you grandly. 

"What is it?" you ask, though it could only be one thing. 

"Vanilla milkshake. Benny uses full fat cream, it's basically ice cream and nothing else. Is that okay?" 

You take a sip through a red and white striped straw without answering, the cold soothing your raw throat. A second straw stabs you in the cheek. 

"That ones for me," Eddie jokes. 

You swear you're gonna catch fire, putting the milkshake down with a thunk. "Oh," you say. 

"I'm kidding," he says. 

"No, I mean, if you want to share–" 

You're offering in the interest of being polite, but the look on Eddie's face reminds you of the more romantic connotations. "You sure?" he asks. 

You could say no. "Yeah. Of course." 

Between sips, you talk. Your conversation begins to feel like the unwinding a tight knot, unravelling defences you were unaware of, like a tapestry you never agreed to shaken out. Sure, you're shy, but you're interesting, and you have things to say. Eddie's eager to hear them; he won't stop pulling on the thread. 

Your throat tickles intermittently with scratchy pain. Eddie tucks a rather lustrous curl behind his ear, exposing a small stud earring and a hoop behind it. 

"I never noticed you have your ears pierced," you say, leaning forward to take another sip. 

Eddie pulls his straw from the glass to hit at yours teasingly, the slope of his eyebrows arching steeper. "Then you should look at me more often," he says. He stabs his straw into the glass and meets your eyes. To the outside observer, you're sure you look like partners getting gooey. "Notice anything else new?" 

Your pulse tangles in on itself, a snag in the thread. "Um, well…" You glance over his pale cheeks, their gentle caress of freckles. "You have freckles… and," —there, nestled between his lashes like a tiny dotted star— "a beauty mark under your eye." 

He doesn't smile, but some sweet softness plays in his eyes, his lashes kissing as they close ever so slightly. "You're prettier up close," he says quietly. "I didn't think you could get much prettier, but I've never been this close before, I guess." 

You take another sip to avoid further mortifying yourself with a stammering answer, but Eddie has a similar idea, leaning in. More awkward to pull apart, you share your drink and try not to bump his nose. The drink slurps and crackles as you finish it off together. Sitting back with twin smiles, awkward and flushed and not knowing what else to say, you fluster. There's a lot of stuff you want to ask him, but now he's finished his food and the milkshake is empty, you might not have time.

"Did you, like, wanna catch a movie or something?" Eddie asks, sounding for a second not quite as confident as he appears. 

You like metalhead Eddie, but you're starting to love this earnest version of him too. 

"Yeah, I'll see a movie with you," you say quickly. 

"Yeah? I know that's weird to plan more date in the middle of the date, I'm not trying to pressure you." 

"I've never been on a date before, so. This is setting the precedent." 

"The precedent," he says. "For future dates?" 

Is he hopeful? You open your mouth without thinking. "With you." 

His lips purse to one side, tamping down a big smile. Your cheeks hurt from how much you've smiled tonight. Is it always like this? Being with someone, dating, is it always unnervingly pleasant? You're eager to find out, and Eddie's eager to show you. 

"Let me go track down our waitress and we can probably get to the Hawk before the seven thirty," he says, clambering sideways out of the booth. 

You and Eddie are fifteen minutes late for a slasher movie, but you get there. Dark, two lone seats at the back are your only options, and you cram into them together with a frankly ridiculously huge bucket of popcorn to share. Eddie keeps whispering even when it's quiet and ticking off your rowmates, but he's being so sweet on you that you forget where you are. You forget to worry about what people are thinking. 

It's bliss. 

"Look at that," Eddie says, a handful of popcorn to his lips. "Ew, that's bloody. Shit, sweetheart, don't look at that." 

Sweetheart. "What do you think that is?" you whisper. 

"The fake blood? Isn't it pig's blood?"

"Is that legal?" 

Eddie almost drops the popcorn as something super gross happens, a silver flash and a spray of sticky orange movie blood coating the protagonist. "Holy fuck," he says, much too loudly as he puts the popcorn in your lap and covers your eyes. 

You laugh in surprise, "Woah, wait a second!" 

Someone shushes you loudly (and deservedly) from the row in front. 

"Sh, we're at the movies!" Eddie whisper-shouts. "Don't be inconsiderate." 

You peel his hand from your eyes. It doesn't drop entirely, long fingers slipping slowly down your cheek, turning your face to his. He's close, the nature of the small seats and your low conversation, his skin glowing with a red-pink and dappled white as the movie plays to your left. 

"Can I kiss you?" he whispers. 

On the walk to Benny's, your mind had drifted to the fantasy of a kiss. Eddie and his hands, the small silver bands of his rings and their heavier signets, how he'd offer to drive you home, walk you to your door, and peck you chastely in goodbye. He'd smell like his cologne that you tend to notice when he returns his borrowed books on Saturday mornings, chamomile and something deeper you've never been able to identify, no matter how long he stood there chatting. His lips would feel solid and cold from the weather, and here's where you stopped yourself from thinking any further, blood rushing to your wind-bitten cheeks. 

It's not so simply condensed, here. 

"I've never kissed anyone before," you whisper. 

"I'll have to set a good precedent, then," he says, rubbing the hollow of your under eye tenderly. "Or you can say no. That's okay, too."

You shake your head, "I want you to." 

The eagerness that's been simmering behind his eyes all night rears as he ducks in for a kiss. It's not what you're expecting, but it isn't bad; it's lots of things, his hand on your face and your elbow, your hands vying for him in startled delight, the popcorn between your knees tipping dangerously to the side as your lips give under his. 

He doesn't smell like chamomile at first, but hairspray. He presses against the seam of your lips and only as they part, forcing you to suck in a breath through your nose, do you smell it on him, close now. The cologne must linger on his shirt. 

He pulls away to shush you gently but urgently, Don't get us kicked out, it seems to say. 

And he's kissing you again. Nothing heavy, charged all the same, the barest taste of sweet popcorn shared between you. His hand does half the work, the tracing of his fingertips and the soft line they draw as he slots them behind your ear puttyifying you, like jelly in his warm palm. You make an unsure sound and he pulls away a second time, sugary brown eyes widened in concern.

"Bad?" he whispers. 

"Am I doing it right?" you ask. 

The concern becomes adoring. You feel like you've been injected with manic butterflies, having a guy like Eddie looking at you like that. "You're doing it super right," he says, so quietly you can barely hear him. "I'd tell you practise makes perfect 'cos I'm dying to do it again, but it was already perfect. You lying to me?" 

"No, of course I'm–" 

"I was kidding," he says, his side pressed heavily to the back of his chair as he drops his hand to your elbow casually.

"Oh. I knew that." 

He pats your arm, sympathetic, a tad condescending but he's hot enough to get away with it like this, lips kissed rosy and a glossy black curl falling into his eyes. 

You look down at his lips. Eddie doesn't make you beg, but he does gesture you forward, your hand landing atop his thigh as you angle up for another kiss. It's unlike you, but it's such a rush of feeling, you don't give your hokey-pokey brain time to consider the things you'd usually worry about. 

That being said, you pause just before your lips connect. You close your eyes too hard, head listing to the side self-consciously. 

Eddie must see it, whispering reassurances with a rough scratch, "Hey, it's okay. You can kiss me. You worry a lot for such a pretty girl, you know that?" He takes your hand. "Don't overthink it." 

"I can't," you say. 

"Take the night off. Let me worry…" His breath fans over your lips. "I'll take the lead," he suggests, closing the short gap between you. 

Your hand goes limp in his. 

—

The flowers are delivered to your desk sometime in the mid-afternoon. Pearly white lilies with green spots creeping toward the soft edges. Your chest yawns open and your lips curl into a smile like you've been hooked, rubbing a thick petal between your thumb and your forefinger. 

There's a long note folded and tied to one of the stems. 

Y/N, 

I am so, so sorry. So sorry. I am the sorriest boy who has ever lived, and I would love to make it up to you. Please call me when you get the flowers and tell me if they're a sufficient apology, or don't call me and I'll send you more. I know you said it was fine, but still.

Yours, Eddie Munson. 

P.S. did the flashlight guy have to be that mean? He pretty much blinded us with that thing. And did he have to make fun of my jacket? 

P.P.S I promise I will get you unbanned from the Hawk. Best date ever, yeah? 

You'll call him. Getting kicked out was a joint effort, after all, and you really want him to kiss you dizzy again, even if you found it hard to look at him on the drive home.

Maybe if he kisses you enough, you'll forget how it felt to be shepherded out of the movie theatre like a common criminal. 

You drop the note between the pages of your current read with a sigh. "Best date ever," you say. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you so much for reading! i really hope you enjoyed ♡ if you did, please considering reblogging, it means the world and makes a difference :D 

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader

[lineffability]

"Crowley."

Crowley froze, every atom of his body coming to a complete standstill. Aziraphale had appeared out of nowhere, just like that, and he felt like a fly in a spider's web, like he had just run against a glass door that he could not have seen. Oh, this was cruel. He did not turn around.

"Don't even use doors anymore?" He tried to keep his voice level, cold, unaffected. He failed considerably, but the message got across anyways.

"I'm sorry," Aziraphale said, immediately flinching at the words. The first time they were seeing each other again, after-- after that, and his first words were I'm sorry and he was apologizing for not using a door? Aziraphale felt like swearing, but could not. "I thought you wouldn't open if I-- well. I thought this was easier. Like a bandaid."

"Well, you were right. I wouldn't have." Steel was creeping into Crowley's voice, steel around his heart. With a forcing of limbs, he spun around, his gaze piercing through the armor of his sunglasses. Facing him.

"I need your help" Aziraphale said.

"What," Crowley said. He had possibly never put as much meaning into a single word. The glass door turned into a Great Wall. Aziraphale understood. But he was willing to climb.

The angel (oh, a true angel now, wasn't he--not his angel) fumbled, talking with his hands before his mouth even opened. Talking with his eyes, too, but they got lost in translation. Repelled by a black mirror.

"I know this is untoward. I know it's-- But Crowley, I don't have a lot of time."

"Nothing lasts forever, yeah," Crowley spat, hating himself the second the words left his lips. Unnecessary cruelty. Demonic, huh? Worse yet, Aziraphale accepted the verbal lashing. Don't forgive me, Crowley thought.

Crowley looked at him. He was still wearing his suit, there was tartan in it, but it had become polished, the worn edges returned to pristine, boring perfection. He looked prim. Proper. Perhaps this hurt most of all.

"Why are you here?"

Aziraphale glanced upwards. Then he looked intently at Crowley. I don't have much time. Right. He couldn't speak freely, Crowley realized. Of course he couldn't. This was exactly what he had been afraid of, what he had known would happen. His angel in chains. (Yet here he was. Here he was.)

"They don't know I'm here," Aziraphale mumbled, gesticulating weakly between them and Up. "I guess I can divert their attention now, for a bit. Comes with the new powers"--he shrugged helplessly--"but not for long. Crowley, do you know about-- about the-- what they're--"

"Armageddon 2.0? Sure."

There was an undecipherable look in Aziraphale's eyes. "Why didn't you-- well. It's not just. I mean it kind of is--it's. More than that. Crowley, I need you to do something for me."

"No."

"This is important." (This isn't about us.)

"I don't care." (There is no us anymore.)

"You do! You always have."

"Oh not this again," Crowley hissed. "You were an angel once. You can be forgiven. Shut up."

"That's not what I meant."

With two long, angry strides, Crowley closed the space between them. Menace, anger, hurt-- "Then what did you mean?" He spat the words. Like a weapon. (Then why was it a question?)

Aziraphale's face crumbled. He stood his ground nonetheless, not backing away. The angel's anger was less spiky, but it rose to meet Crowley's. It made his next words hit like bricks. "I mean that you love. I mean that you, Crowley, are the best person I know. I mean that I love you."

The words dropped like a lead balloon.

There was utter silence between them.

Why were they so close?

Why were his sunglasses so dark? Aziraphale saw only his own reflection. He couldn't bear that, and dropped his gaze. Oh, worse. There was his mouth, mere inches away.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley's lips, really really looked, and there was nothing more, now that he knew about the feeling of Crowley's lips and of his heart, there was nothing more he wanted to do than to kiss him. But he couldn't, he couldn't. Not like this. He needed the next time (he had to believe in a next time, in a time with Crowley, again)--the next time they kissed he needed it to be good and happy and an affirmation. He couldn't bear it otherwise. He would break entirely. He was sure of it.

But still, still-- Crowley was so close. He could smell nothing but him. Think of nothing but him. That weakness again, that soft spot inside him he had never known how to hold down. And with it, Want reared its greedy head. Aziraphal leaned in ever so slightly, felt their noses touch-- and then used all his strength to move away, to pull back. It was not the right time. Not yet.

He looked past Crowley, who might have as well turned to a pillar of salt. Crowley, whose face was a mask he couldn't let slip. The air flickered between them.

There were tears in his eyes when he finally forced his gaze towards Crowley's face, a silent plead to not misunderstand. Please, please. But he couldn't expect that of him. He was pulling away again. But not because he wanted to. No, there was nothing he wanted more than to pull closer. There was nothing more he wanted than to talk to him, to truly talk, to explain and apologize and make amends, but he was bound by Duty and Rules and Watching Eyes more than he ever had been.

This was his rebellion: he lifted a hand, the ghost of a touch, fingertips against cheekbone. The memory of holding on. Of never wanting to let go. Crowley flinched without moving, a shiver of his lips. Aziraphale let his hand drop, briefly, to Crowley's chest, holding it over his human heart. It was beating just like his.

This was his successful magic trick, when it counted: he drew away, leaving a crack in Crowley's steel-clad heart, and a note in his chest pocket.

"I'm sorry. I need to go."

"Of course you do."

"Oh, Crowley. I--" But he did not finish the sentence, knew there was no proper way how. So he said, quietly, softly, "Trust me, please."

And he did. Crowley hated it, hated it so much, but he did, he did trust him despite it all. But it did not erase the hurt. The festering wound. Now what was he supposed to do with that?

With one last pointed look, Aziraphale vanished.

Crowley was alone.

His defenses lay shattered at his feet, and he slowly gathered them back up. He did not mend the cracks. (That's where the light had gotten in.) He cleared his throat. Tried to banish from his mind the look in Aziraphale's eyes, the memory of his lips and of his tears.

And failed considerably.

I love you.

(Touched his cheek, and then his chest, and faltered.)

[this fic is now also on ao3 and being continued there]

#good omens #ineffable husbands #good omens fanfic #good omens fanfiction #crowley x aziraphale #in which crowley and aziraphale meet for the first time after the Divorce #oh god ok i really love this??? #i wrote it in one go and am posting unedited but #i need this ?!?!? #im also going through the whole 'i wanna know how this continues' vs 'you're the one writing it' idiocy #oh you wanna know how it ends?? then write it??? fool #but i dont know...how it continues....yet. #i do have ideas though... #inefficable #my writing

[wingedhallows]

you don't know shit ; the marauders

pairing: the marauders (+ lily x reader ; platonic ) | 1.6k words plot: Things had changed over the summer, you had changed. Why didn't you speak to them & why did you look more dead than alive? prompt: “you don’t know shit about what happened to me.” authors note: i just love angsty shit :)

navigation

Spending the summer at home was hard, horrible even. All your friends decided to spend their summer together, at James Potter's house. You couldn’t join, not when your parents were fanatic purebloods with a grip so hard it bruised, literally.

Sirius had managed to run away, to flee from his parents' iron grip. You admired him for his bravery, but in all honesty, you were a coward, right?

Did enduring it all, pushing through every insult and curse make you strong or weak? You didn’t quite know. The train came to a halt, the whistle reminding every student to get off.

You had avoided them, your friends. You’d usually walk past the Hufflepuffs to the wagon the Gryffindors inhapitated but this year you didn’t. The Slytherin wagon seemed more comfortable, quieter than their wagon. Just to avoid their questions, their worry.

With your bag around your shoulder you exited the train, a heavy feeling on your chest. You could feel it, the way they stared at you.

You looked him in the eyes, Sirius. No smile graced your face this year, there was just nothing to smile about. Your mother had made sure that you’d remember that.

“Y/N, where were yo-” he stopped talking as you walked past them, not giving them the time of day.

“What the fuck.” You heard Sirius say as James rushed after you. “Hey, Y/N.” He caught your shoulder, a confused look on his face.

“Didn’t you see-”I did.” You paused before turning around. “Let go of me, Potter.” You spat, the cold look on your face was painful. You wanted nothing more than to jump into their arms, to give them the warm smiles they deserved.

You ripped your shoulder out of his grip and stalked off, tears threatening to spill. You were sorry, so sorry it hurt.

“Y/N!” Remus yelled after you, but you were too far ahead, thankfully. You would’ve turned around otherwise.

-

Breakfast the next day was weird, you sat at your house’s table, the Slytherins. Nobody talked to you, you had sat at the Gryffindor table the past six years for all they knew.

The boys stared your way, watched how you didn’t eat. The way your eyes looked lifeless and you hadn’t touched your cup once.

It made them sick.

“She’s not eating.” Sirius said, bread in his hand. James leaned over looking over the heads of his friends.

“Is she even breathing?” he paused, taking a sip from his cup.

“She looks dead.” Lily sighed, her head whipped around to look at you.

“She’s skinnier. What did they do to her?” Remus looked over his shoulder as well, the sight of you, how broken you seemed hurt him. It was devastating to see you like this.

The food made you sick and without another thought you stood, determined to get away from it, from them.

Their eyes were on you, you could feel it. Your eyes found James’, against your will because the look in his hurt more than the crucio curse your mother had sent your way when you arrived back home this summer.

Your heart began to pound as you caught a glimpse of them making their way over to you. Your feet began to walk faster, to get away. “Y/N!” You could hear Lily but you didn’t stop walking. You cut the corner, your shoulder almost hitting the brick wall in the process. "Y/N!" Stop!” Sirius's loud voice stopped you in your tracks, your breath hitched as your eyes widened.

“Just, stop.” he spoke quieter, a hand already on your shoulder. You took a breath, eyes closing in defeat before you turned around, face in the cold mask you were just so familiar with.

“What?” you spoke, voice almost too quiet to hear. His eyebrows furrowed as he stared at you.

“What the fuck do you mean, what?”

You looked away, anywhere but his face. “Did you need anything?” A sigh escaped you and James pushed forwards.

“Are you kidding me? You’ve been avoiding us like the plague since we came back.” You crossed your arms and nodded.

“What is wrong?” Remus said, a hand outstretched to grab your arm, you flinched away. “Nothing.” 

Sirius scoffed. “You can’t fool us.” he shook his head.

“Something happened to you back home, tell us.” he tried. A cuckle escaped you, face in a frown.

“You don’t know shit about what happened to me.”

Lily took a step toward you, your herbology book in hand. You took it without saying anything. “How could we, you won’t talk to us.”

“I’m busy.” You paused and took a step back.

“Astronomy Tower, 8pm.” Was all you gave them before you took off. Lily tried to reach for you but you were too fast.

-

There they stood, 8 pm sharp. “She’s not coming.” Moony spoke, elbows on the railing. Lily sighed and sat down next to Sirius who had just lit his next fag. “Just wait.” He spoke, breathing out the smoke. “It’s not been five minutes yet.” He said, shoulder leant on the brick wall behind him.

The door squeaked and their heads whipped around, you could feel their stares. With a smooth movement, you swooped your own pack of cigarettes from your pocket. Sirius had sprung to his feet, his lighter almost lit. You were faster and lit the stick on your own. “I got it.” you almost whispered before he retreated with a frown on his face.

“So, you gon’ talk now?” James threw your way, impatiently. “God, James.” Lily spat and stood next to you.

“What? It’s the truth, she’s been avoiding us, not wanting to be around us. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you.” He directed towards you, you sighed and took another drag of your cigarette.

“I will.” You said as you pushed your hand through your hair, desperately begging your heart to stop pounding.

You reached for your wand which was tucked in your right boot and took a breath before you called off the concealment charm and within a second the atmosphere on top of the astronomy tower changed.

Your friends now saw what you saw every day.

What the mirror showed you every time your laid your eyes upon it.

The scars of the objects your mother had sent your way in a fit of anger, the bruises of charms and hexes your father had used when you spoke back and the twitch of your eye, your lips of the many crucio curses you had to endure when you defended your friends.

“Oh my god.” Remus whispered, you took another drag of your cigarette. Your left eye still stung, it was probably blue too. You lifted your head, now looking at them.

“That’s why I couldn't talk to you.” You stomped on the done cigarette and sighed.

“I’m not as brave as you, Sirius.” Tears stung at your eyes, your chest tight.

“My parents are just like yours, selfish, hateful, awful people.” You paused and turned around, staring down the tower. The view was as beautiful as it had been the first time you looked down it. Absolutely breathtaking.

“I can’t seem to leave them, though.” Lily’s hand was on your shoulder now. “I’m too weak.” You let the tears fall, your clammy cold hands wiped at your nose.

“You’re not weak, Y/N.” Sirius spoke, no next to you, his elbow rested on the railing as well. “For all I know, you’re one of the bravest people I know.” 

You stared at him now, your eye twitched again. You could feel it now, the pain, all over again.

“I’m not-”To take all of that, whatever your parents did to you and still stand here.” Lily’s hand rubbed your back as you tried to hold back the sob.

“You’re not at all weak, Y/N.”

Remus stood next to Sirius, his elbow on his friend's shoulder. A sad smile formed on his lips as he wiped the tears.

“We’ll take care of those.” He waved at the scars. “I’ve had my fare share of those myself.” he tried, a weak chuckle escaped your lips. An attempt to lighten the mood.

“There she is.” James grinned. “A smile suits you better.” You punched his shoulder softly and he chuckled at you.

“I’m sorry for ignoring you.” Lily waved you off, an arm now around your shoulder. “Don’t sweat it, love.” Sirius threw in.

“You’re not going back there, though. I hope you know that.” Sirius spoke.

“You could stay with us, I’m sure mom wouldn’t mind now that Pads is stayin’ with us anyway.” James smiled at you and you tried to give him a small smile yourself.

“Or with us, I’m sure my parents wouldn’t mind if I explained.” Lily spoke as she rubbed your shoulder.

“You’re not alone in this.” Remus spoke, a hand on your cheek to wipe the tears.

“We hold together, no matter what.” Sirius said, a hand stroked your hair as he gave you a small smile.

“I love you, all of you.” You spoke, a new fag in your mouth now.

“You’re more than friends” You paused and lit the stick.

“You’re my family.”

James barked out a laugh and took a sip from the bottle he brought up here.

“To family then.” You chuckled and nodded. “To family, cause my own sucks.” Sirius nodded and took a drag from his fag as well.

“This family only.”

#the marauders #marauders imagine #marauders era #harry potter angst #harry potter fanfic #sirius black #sirius black angst #sirius black x reader #harrypotter #hp fanfic #the marauders angst #remus lupin #lily evans #james potter #the marauders x reader #the marauders x y/n #the marauders x you #the marauders fanfiction #the marauders fanfic

[pinkrelish]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶On Monday, he was a ghost. By Friday, he was a man. Saturday night? He was the unintentional third wheel to your and Adrie's Trick-or-Treating antics.✶

NSFW — slow burn, fluff, flirting, mutual pining, reader wears eddie's jacket, light angst, 18+ overall for eventual smut, drug/alcohol mention/use

chapter: 4/20 [wc: 10.8k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12

AO3

Chapter 4: Ghost Days

Eddie went through Monday like a ghost.

A spectacle in his youth, now a specter. A phantasm phasing through walls. Not a hello, nor a goodbye. Existing in the corners of the room, watching. No attention on him, just working, and thinking. Tending to his dying garden of thoughts when the sun didn’t shine. Moving around you, and the tug of your gravitational pull, with your gaze firm on the desk in front of you, not on the haunt who brought this upon himself, and hurt you in the process.

“You okay, Eddie?” his uncle asked, running a hand up and down his back. “You’ve been staring at that pot of boiling water for ten minutes.”

Eddie fluttered his lashes at the bubbles bursting on the surface. “Sorry, got a lot on my mind.”

————

Tuesday, Wednesday he was a full-body apparition.

No morning smiles, no afternoon laughter, but a single sentence.

“Oh!” You hugged the files to your chest, not knowing Eddie was passing in the hallway to break room right as you were leaving Mr. Moore’s office. Several of the papers crinkled from running into him. Your eyes were screwed shut, expecting an impact. All signs Eddie was real; a thing of worth, a precious brick wall who cupped your arm when you stumbled, who slotted his thumb in the crease of your inner elbow. A chest to brace your hand against. Fingers grasping his dirty coveralls. He was there. He caught you.

And the next day–

“Eddie?”

Your sudden presence scared him. He slammed his black spiral-bound notebook shut and kept his palm over the devil-horned skull he drew on the front.

Sat alone at the table to eat his lunch, the low drone of the vending machines camouflaged the sound of you approaching, and he was too absorbed bin what he was writing down to notice you had entered the break room. Did not realize how close you had gotten until the heel of your palm pressed into a particularly sore muscle in his back from how you steadied yourself on his chair as you bent over.

You picked your gaze up from the notebook, and landed on his eyes. Even if you didn’t mean to, the knot between your brows relaxed the smallest degree–a nearly imperceptible amount–but with how he drank in your appearance, he detected it.

“You wrote O2 for this part here, did you mean X2?” you asked, referring to the invoice in your hand. He watched you bring the question to life. Voice and lips working together to create a lullaby for the unrest in his head. Breath cooling the wet trace of his tongue on his lips.

He was desperate for interaction. He knew. You were too. You just hid it better.

“Eddie,” you reminded him, keen on the five-o’clock-shadow peppering his cheek from neglecting a shave.

If things were different, would you have caressed your thumb along the grain? Would you have pushed his bangs off his forehead, run your fingers through his hair, and pressed your lips to the delicate curve of his temple? Would you tell him he was a good dad for fixing the water heater again, and getting his daughter to school on time, even when he wanted to do nothing more than lay on the couch and cry?

“X2,” he confirmed, “Yeah, I meant X2. Sorry.”

————

Thursday? He was corporeal.

Carl returned from his stay-cation. Stay-at-home-vacation, also known as his wife’s birthday.

He was taking a break in his story to microwave his lasagna when the fading voice of a customer went out the front door, ringing its chime. There was shuffling in the lobby. A backpack being unzipped.

The microwave beeped, and Carl picked up his container with the tips of his fingers, bringing it over to the table, where he sat in the chair facing the hallway.

You walked in with your lunch container, saw the back of Eddie’s head, and walked out.

Carl watched Eddie’s demeanor wilt at the swift exit, gaze falling to the corner of his eyes in acknowledgement of where you were just standing. Face blank, except for the heavy depression drifting his eyelids half-closed. Posture sagged more than normal.

“Is Adrie excited for Saturday?” Carl asked, keeping the conversation light, because boy, did he know that heartbroken look.

“Mm?” Eddie jerked his head up, attentive. He processed the question, and crowded his packed mish-mash of leftovers to his chest, chewing his horrible attempt at replicating Wayne’s pork chop supper as he talked, “Oh, yeah, yeah. Free candy and seeing her friends? She’s been bouncing off the walls all week.” He stabbed an undercooked carrot and brandished it with the same motion he rolled his eyes. “But,” he drew out for comedic effect, “She wanted to dress up as a bat again. Great! Same as last year. No problem, right? So, I take out her costume from the closet, have her try it on, and you know what she says?”

Carl shook his head with a slow grin stretching across his face.

“It’s not pretty enough!” Eddie ate the carrot. “She never wants to be a princess, but all her friends do, and now she’s gotten it in her head that if her costume doesn’t have the same glitter and pizzazz theirs does, it’s not good enough.”

He laughed, “My boys were easier. When they fought over who got to be Donatello, and who got to be Michaelangelo, all we had to do was switch mask colors and weapons.”

“See, they knew what they were doing with the Ninja Turtles, man. Easiest costumes to reuse.”

“Exactly.”

“Now I gotta figure out how to navigate telling her most of the stores are sold out of everything.”

“It’s a toughie, that’s for sure.”

The conversation ended with two knowing nods, sharing the same shallow gripes about parenthood. Carl finished his meal first, and left the table to return to work, while Eddie picked away at his, submerging himself in his thoughts.

A recent drizzle cast Hawkins in a misty haze. The drink machine clicked, and the steady hum rose to a higher frequency. Footsteps squeaked down the hallway. The nervous hand of a once confident woman gripped the doorframe, and she leaned into the room, speaking in a small voice, “I can help.”

Eddie perked up. Head visibly lifting, shoulders drawn back and down. He didn’t respond. Not until he turned around in his chair, and you persevered through the awkward amount of eye contact; wide and unblinking.

You reiterated, “I can help fix up Adrie’s costume so it’s glittery.. Or whatever you said.” Totally not eavesdropping. You waited for a response. “More her style,” you mumbled, filling the void when he forgot what words were.

“Y-Yeah! That–Uhm.. Yeah, you have that kind of stuff?” He clutched onto the back of his chair, knuckles white, bending the plastic from the weight he leaned on it. His face was of equal intrigue, eyes pleading for more interaction, lips parted for more questions, eyebrows pinched in and upwards to show his humility. His thanks.

In a valiant effort for normalcy, you started with a self-deprecating comment, “I mean, it’s not like I was performing on Broadway with a whole costuming department’s worth of tailors, you know. Bobbie and I had to pull all-nighters to finish our own shitty ensembles, so I’m pretty handy with a glue gun, and my sewing skills are serviceable, if I do say so myself.” You stepped further into the break room to put your unfinished lunch in the fridge. “I have tons of fabric and crafting supplies left over. Seriously, I don’t mind spicing up her costume if you wanna bring it by tomorrow. I think I can make something she likes.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to–”

His mouth sealed itself shut at the incremental smirk sneaking its way across your face.

“Well, you see,” you said, exuding pure charisma, “Now you’ve gone and phrased it in a way which enacts my policy. I have to say ‘yes.’”

Given his current state, Eddie was little more than a mess of nerves; sleeping in uncomfortable positions that had his bones aching due to Adrie’s fear of monsters under her bed sending her to sleep with him on the couch; along with the general up-and-down rush of stress when he passed by your desk, and nothing came of his sad glance in your direction.

Unfiltered relief slipped past his chapped lips as he looked up at you, “Thank you.”

————

By Friday, he was a man.

Eddie skipped his morning cigarette. He wore his lucky Metallica t-shirt under his coveralls. Adrie had to beg him to release her from his powerful hug this morning, flailing her arms and pretending to choke, until the other parents in the carpool lane stared, and he relented.

He walked into the garage’s lobby with sure steps, making a quick stop behind the receptionist desk to drop off a neatly folded pile of black fabric. Then, he looked down the shadowed hallway leading to the lively break room, and he breathed deep.

You were framed by the doorway. Your back was to him, bent over the sink, just beginning to wash the coffee pot.

One thing was for certain.

If anything ever happened between you two and it didn’t pan out, work would be weird. That much he learned this week. And that was just another reason to keep his boundaries up. Another good fucking reason to apologize, turn around, and go back to being cordial work buddies, and have that be the extent of your relationship.

And yet, here he was, flirting with the ring of fire he lit himself.

Crossing his arms, he squeezed his biceps, and leaned his shoulder on the wall outside the room, mind racing as he organized the same speech he rehearsed hundreds of times this morning. “Can we talk?”

Now, the unfortunate thing about rehearsing one-sided speeches was the unpredictability of which you’d follow the script.

“If you’re here to apologize–again–for spending a runtime of 83 minutes with me because it was just that awful, I’ll scream.”

Eddie had to manually force himself to relax out of his wince. “I deserved that,” he exhaled, speaking to himself only. He deserved your stern tone, your angry way of scrubbing the pot. The stiffness between your bunched shoulders. The tight annoyance in your throat from the way he treated you.

Yesterday was a nice break from the tension, but he hadn’t yet made amends, despite the olive branch you extended to him in the form of fixing up his daughter’s costume. “What if I apologized for something else?”

“The jury’s still out on that one.”

“Good enough,” he said. “Listen, ah, I’ve been reflecting on what happened Friday, and I realized I came across like an asshole,” –He shut his eyes, and shook his head– “I was an asshole, whether I meant to be, or not. I mean, yeah, I had a lot on my mind, but that doesn’t justify my behavior in blowing you off like that, especially when you were nothing but nice to me when you saw they set us up together, and you just wanted us to have a good time.. I can tell I hurt your feelings. I’m sorry.”

You rinsed out the soap suds and filled the pot with water, turning off the sink.

There, he apologized, now he should turn around, and go back to being cordial work buddies.

But he was so fucking stupid.

Committing to something he may come to regret, he entered the break room and stopped when he came to the counter beside the sink, bending sideways to rest his arm there, and kicking out his hip. “I didn’t even get to tell you how pretty you were.”

Immediately, you angled yourself away to pull the coffee machine towards you, and poured water into the reservoir.

Eddie let out a groan as his brain caught up with his mouth. “I meant are. How pretty you are..” he spoke at your back while you still refused to acknowledge him. “I meant to say how pretty you are.”

His stomach seized. None of this was going how he planned, so.. fuck it. “I think you’re really pretty right now, actually.”

Nothing seemed louder than his quick breaths, and heart beating in his throat.

The longer you went silent, he considered getting a new job bagging groceries for the supermarket they built on Cherry Street last year.

You slotted the pot onto the hot plate, and opened the cabinet in front of you, blocking his view of you as you reached for the coffee container. But when you closed the door, he had to clench the tremble of annoyance out of his hands.

Try as you might–lips scrunched to the side, cheeks sucked in, making a big production of counting the spoonfuls of grounds you scooped into the filter basket–your smile was obvious. Obvious, and irritating; leading him on as if his advances were a worse offense than his attitude after your date.

“Fine, fine,” you sighed like you were doing him a favor. “I guess you’ve appealed to my ego enough for me to forgive you.”

“You’re the absolute worst person I’ve ever–”

“Yeah. But you think I’m pretty.”

“Whatever,” Eddie grunted, tugging a strand of hair over his mouth, embarrassed to hear his own honesty repeated back at him. “So we’re good?”

You had a sarcastic statement ready on your tongue–he saw it in how you narrowed your eyes, and tipped your head. A loftiness to the way you regarded him; all pompous and teasing and so sure he was being silly and asking questions for the sake of bothering you.

Then, you witnessed his shy quirk, and were instantly disarmed.

“Yes, Eddie, we’re good. The best of friends.. And are you sure you weren’t disappoint–”

“If you’re about to ask me if I was disappointed that you were my date for the third time, I’ll scream.”

You laughed. You tore your gaze from his fingers playing with his curls, and closed the lid of the coffee machine, but in doing so, you turned away, and you both discovered a subtle truth about him.

Eddie was the type who wanted to witness the full scope of the joy he brought on others. When he made someone laugh, he wanted to drink it all in. He wanted to observe the exact way they smiled, how far back they threw their head, if their eyes closed with mirth, if tears sprang, if they giggled to appease him, or if they were expelling a cathartic release. When he made someone happy, he leaned in to hoard the revelry, collect it, and share it. Seeking out their gaze, mirroring them to experience their pleasure first-hand. It’s what made him happy.

It caused him to encroach on their personal space subconsciously, pursuing the pride, and sense of achievement he felt when he accomplished making someone else feel good.

He stood close to you. Very close to you, studying you unabashedly, basking the pure unadulterated validation of making you smile.

You idly scratched your thumbnail over a stain on the counter. “Pretty, huh?” you mused quietly. “Is the hoodie really doin’ it for ya?” It was once black, now sun-faded and overwashed. There was a logo on the front for a random high school. Your high school, Eddie assumed. Clearly, a beloved item, and one you wore when doing craft projects, as indicated by the layers of glitter, dried paint, and burn marks from a hot glue gun marring the sleeves.

Still leaned over, he dropped his hand from his mouth, and swept his hair to one side, exposing the length of his throat. “Maybe it is.”

“Shut up,” you snorted.

“The frumpy ‘just rolled out of bed at noon and forgot to get milk at the grocery store’ look really gets me going.”

“Frumpy–?” In the middle of pressing the ON button and shoving the coffee machine into its place on the counter, you went to pin Eddie with a glare for laying the teasing remarks on thick today, but your attention drifted. Your focus found his eyes shining with slyness, and dropped your gaze to the crook of his neck, where you spied something dastardly. “How does this keep happening? Do you not look in a mirror?”

As you nagged him, you reached for his coveralls. Somehow, the collar kept managing to tuck itself on the inside, and you were at its beck and call, slipping two fingers underneath to unfurl it, coaxing it out in a long stroke over the peak of his collarbone, and down the slope of his chest, over his heart. Longer than two beats worth. The fabric was quite rolled up today. You had to slide along his lucky shirt to find the pointed end, and pull it out, laying it flat. Smoothing down the edges, and securing his tan work jacket over it. Patting them both to seal the kind gesture.

From his periphery, he watched you tend to him, and his smirk grew.

Fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

“Guess I don’t look at myself too often,” he said, eyeing your hands lingering on his person–flattening your palms over his pec for a prolonged moment before retreating–and he nodded for you to follow him out of the room to your desk. He needed the extra seconds away from you to rid himself of his smugness.

Talking about the costume, he rounded to the taller side of your desk, while you sat opposite him in your chair, “Luckily it was big on her last year, so it still fits. It’s just a little short in the legs.”

“Gotcha.” You shook out the bat wings and rubbed the fuzzy material of the suit between your fingers. “Does she have room for another layer underneath? Warm pajamas, or something? The temperature’s supposed to drop tonight. I think a cold front is coming in.”

“Yeah, there’s room.”

“Okie dokie.” You cracked your knuckles and looked at him expectantly. He raised his eyebrows. You raised yours higher. You made a more obvious face. He made a confused one back at you. “Dude, leave. I can’t work with you watching me.”

He curled his lip in a mocking sneer, and went to work in the garage, where–ironically–you could watch him.

~~~

Turns out, you were serious about the double standards of your relationship.

Eddie caught you sneaking glances in his direction whenever he’d wheel out from underneath a car, or when he was bent over the engine of a truck, but as soon as he took his sweet time locating his favorite socket wrench from the tool cabinet (that most definitely wasn’t already in his back pocket), you blocked your project with your body and moved your lips like you were telling him off.

And when he knocked on the glass to gesture for more clean rags from the supply closet, you scrambled to hide the felt shapes you were cutting out, and sent a tube of glitter paint rolling across the lobby.

Even as he relaxed into the plush seat of his car after a long day of work, and the rumble of the engine soothed his mind from exterior worries, his eyes traveled from the bright red stop light swaying in the wind, to the custom crimson interior of his Dodge Omni Shelby, to the pile of black fabric next to him.

He drove with one hand on the wheel. He could just.. take a peek at what the hell you were doing all day.

“Don’t even think about peeking! It’s a surprise. I want Adrie to see it first, and then you can look when she’s trying it on.”

He snatched his wandering fingers away from the bat wing and cupped them around his inner thigh–his usual place for resting them.

~~~

When he opened the door to his trailer, the little lady of the hour came running at him full-speed.

“There’s my facehugger!” Eddie announced through his laugh, stepping backwards to soften the blow of her enthusiasm. And yeah, maybe he shouldn’t refer to his daughter as a parasitic alien from a horror franchise, but the clinginess comparison was accurate.

Adrienne made her immediate attempt to climb him known–clutching onto the hem of his work jacket, and shaking it. “Daddy!” she demanded, making grabby hands at him.

“Hold on, hold on.” He knelt to her level, and promised to pick her up in a few minutes if she exhibited an ounce of patience. “You remember that nice lady from work you drew pictures with?” Thinking about it, she twisted back and forth with excess energy, and gave a big nod, pressing her fingers along her smile. “Well, she heard your costume wasn’t up to your standards, so she wanted to make your Halloween extra special this year. She worked on this all day..” he said slowly, drawing out the grand reveal.

True to his word, Eddie unfolded the outfit he had clutched under his arm, and held it out in front of him, showing it to her first and watching her reaction.

Uncle Wayne opened the bathroom door in the midst of tidying up his beard, dragging a towel around his neck to wipe away the excess shaving cream. Interested in the commotion, and especially curious as to why the person he referred to as his own granddaughter was currently running around the coffee table screaming at the top of her lungs, he questioned anyone who could hear him, “What’s all this goin’ on?”

“The lady at work made my bat costume pretty–Look!” Adrie tugged on the bottom of Wayne’s flannel.

“I see,” he said, vaguely recalling the young receptionist she was referring to. He raised his eyebrows at Eddie. “She did all that?”

He shrugged. “She’s nice.”

Too excited, Adrie unzipped the back of the jumpsuit and climbed in while Eddie held it open. Still, he did not peep at the finished product. Not until every foot wiggled out of the appropriate amount of leg holes, and every sleeve found a hand.

Adrienne walked backwards into the living room and struck a pose with her arms out, flapping them.

Wayne ‘aww’d and clapped.

Eddie sat back on his calves, mouth slightly agape.

You really were nice.

The costume was magnificent. The black fleece was painted with thin strokes of white paint to give the illusion of hair, with special attention around the turtleneck collar where you glued white faux fur into a short mane. Cleverly, the pants were extended with layers of iridescent tulle that caught the light in shimmery rainbows, disguising how short they were on her.

The wings themselves were works of art. Showstoppers. Instead of hanging limp from under her arms, you had used flexible plastic to create bones, giving them some structure.

They were exactly what Adrie wanted. Silver glitter served as a mere backdrop to the myriad of foil stars glued to the fabric. As one’s attention panned downwards, they grew in size and frequency, until there was a disco ball amount of flash and pizzazz. To top it all off, there were felt clouds and crescent moons dangling on strings from the bottom. The stuffed and stitched celestial motifs swung with Adrie’s grand gestures.

And as if that wasn’t enough, Wayne picked up two little black triangles that bounced onto the carpet when Eddie revealed the costume. “C’mere, Adrie,” he said, holding them up to her head. “You’ve got two little ears on barrettes, too.”

“Jesus,” Eddie exhaled.

His next breath caught in his throat. He discovered why you snipped the fabric where it was previously attached to the suit, and gave it an extra bone structure to wrap around.

It was so he could slip his arms around his daughter, and hug her tight without any impediments. “You like it, yeah?”

She threw her arms around his neck, and imbued all her surprise into her little voice, “Are you kidding me? It’s my favorite–the best costume ever! I love it.”

“We’ll have to find a way to thank her when I see her on Monday.”

The hug lasted until Eddie’s knees ached. Still, he clung to her as one clung to a lifesaver. He passed his palm over her hair. He stroked his thumb on the back of her head. He pressed her into the darkness against his throat. He squeezed her to conceal the way he shook. If anyone were to notice the secret of his actions, it would be the person who raised him as one would raise their own son.

Wayne walked over and ruffled his nephew’s hair.

~~~

Later, after Adrie had gone to bed, Eddie confessed, “That took me so off guard, I almost cried. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s done for me, or Adrie, in years.. I mean, outside of everything you do for us. And Steve, too. I just didn’t expect her to put that much effort into a costume.. Or to care that much.”

“I know, son,” Wayne said, patting him on the knee as they sat on the couch, lit by the muted earthy tones of the local news channel. “She seems real nice.”

————

It was a howling Halloween night.

Eddie pulled off the main road into the nice neighborhood on the west side of Hawkins. Everyone knew you went to the rich houses on Halloween, as evident by the agonizing minutes it took to find a place to park, while Adrie was oblivious and just wanted out of her car seat.

Crowds swarmed the doors handing out the best candy. Groups of friends gathered in the streets. Kids ran down the sidewalk to ogle the elaborate decorations. “Is the entire population here, or somethin’?” Eddie grumbled, shifting the gear stick into park.

Once Adrie was out, he asked her, “Do you wanna stop by a few houses on the way to Steve’s?” She eyed the rowdy bigger kids pushing each other on their way up the driveway next to her, and she held out her hand for Eddie to take as a silent answer.

When she was with her friends, she was outgoing, but in this unfamiliar place, surrounded by strangers in the dark, she needed her dad to guide her.

“You’ll feel better once we have some candy in your bucket,” he promised, swinging the orange jack-o-lantern pail back and forth.

In reality, Eddie dreaded this part. Hated it. Going up to houses, knocking on doors, glancing away the second they were answered. He dressed differently. Tried to blend into the back of a big group. Kept his gaze on his daughter shying behind his legs, speaking for her, and hoping her cuteness distracted the adults from taking too close of a look at him. Shuffling away before they could recognize him, remember his last name, and make that same face they always did:

Barely concealed disgust.

Eddie held her hand for several streets until she felt comfortable going up to doors without him, thanks to finding a friend or two from preschool. Those parents were easier. Some he’d gotten to know over the last two years due to birthday parties and school events. Yet, they returned his greeting out of politeness. Waited on the sidewalk like him, but at a distance; in a circle, not inviting him to their grown-up talk.

That’s okay. He felt less alone when Adrie came jogging back to show him her candy. And although she insisted she was a big girl and didn’t need to hold his hand anymore, she walked as if she were glued to his side, three steps to his one stride.

“I don’t need you, Daddy.”

“Yeah, you do.”

On and on, they made their way up the streets, and came upon a white-picket fence dwelling sat modestly between two larger statements, right as the porch light turned off and a group of people left the home.

Fate was a funny thing.

Steve held the gate open for Nancy and whispered something in her ear as she passed, earning a withered glare before she turned and the moon caught the smile flitting across her lips. Behind her, dashing from the shadows, was their son. He held his plastic sword high above his head, and gave a brave battle cry against the person who emerged next.

Robin, also dressed as a pirate, jumped from the top of the stairs and clashed her sword with his. They tussled on their way to the fence, stopping when she feigned a dramatic death, and had to chase down her tricorn hat from rolling into the street.

Eddie’s hand was sweating–Adrie said so with a yuckiness to her words as she ran to join Steve’s son and their group of trick-or-treaters, leaving him behind to stare. And stare. And stare. And try not to burst into a grin.

He wouldn’t have to wait ‘til Monday to thank you.

Step by step, you helped their daughter teeter down the stairs. Patiently holding her hand, encouraging her to the bottom, and brought her to Steve, who was getting out the stroller from the trunk of his car.

“No! I’m–I.. Will walk,” their little girl finished in a disjointed manner, engrossed by the array of bedsheet ghosts, lispy vampires, and corn-syrup-blood-covered werewolves moving around her.

“Yeah, okay, kid,” Steve said sarcastically. “You wanna be a big girl and walk on your own, but we both know after two houses you’re gonna be begging for the stroller.”

Like most girls, she brushed him off, and turned to you for assistance with her jacket. The puffy orange snow suit hindered her movements; her walk was a waddle, and her arms stuck out from her sides helplessly. She was warm, though.

You, on the other hand, were dressed in what Eddie could only call an adult onesie. A fitted one; hugging you in places he shouldn’t notice it hugging you while you were squatting down to zip up her jacket, but a onesie, nonetheless.

“There we go.” He heard you say from where he stood, roughly a car-length away, lurking in the darkness like a creep.

But he’d have to find a way to repent later. His fate tapped you on the shoulder, and his heart set the tempo for his plucky courage’s passion.

“Adrie!” you squealed at her. She greeted you with equal fervor. “Your costume is so, so pretty!” Without a second thought, you bent over, put your hands on your thighs, and asked while waggling your eyebrows, “Wanna fly?”

“Yeah!”

Adrie unveiled her full glittery wingspan, and you clasped her under her arms, instructing her to jump. Up she went. You raised her above you to your full extent and spun in circles. Giggly, messy circles. Showing her off for everyone to see. Parading her for the slew of compliments coming from onlookers. And when your strength tired, you brought her to your hip, and held her tight, still spinning. Dizzy, silly twirls. Savoring the closeness of your foreheads almost touching.

You slowed to stop to scan the scene around you, searching the shapeless night. “Where’s your dad, hmm?”

She pointed behind you.

Over your shoulder, your gazes connected in between a family dressed as Peanuts characters.

Eddie raised his hand, but forgot to move it back and forth.

Your face brightened. The love you showed Adrie reflected in your eyes when you found him. Smiling bigger, somehow, at his stupid wave when he remembered how to perform one.

“Nice costume,” you teased, sauntering up to him with a swagger. “Light-wash blue jeans instead of black. How different.”

“Yeah, and what are you? A cat? So creative.” He meant it as an insult to your gray onesie with a tan belly, but he was the one who followed your quick glance at his stupid hand still waving like an utter moron, and he stuffed his fists in his pockets, wondering if he’d ever recover his dignity after this encounter.

“Uh, I’m clearly a mouse,” you drawled, inclining your head to show off your rounded mouse ears on your headband.

Adrie copied your exact tone and inflection to serve as a gut punch, “Yeah, Daddy, she’s clearly a mouse.”

His greatest fear mocked him. With Adrie on your hip, and your two matching smirks taunting him with your cheeks pressed to one another, he shook his head, and pinched his eyebrows up in worried exasperation. “I don’t need two of you.” A revelation he should take more seriously as you looked at Adrie, and you both giggled. Tips of your noses grazing. Hugging you around your neck. Touching your animal ears and calling you ‘Miss Mouse.’ Thanking you for her costume, and you asked, seeking her genuine approval as you fitted one of her tiny hands in yours to stretch a wing out.

“You like it?”

“I love it!”

You swayed with her in the new position, resembling two people slow dancing despite there being no background music other than shrieks of laughter, and a chorus of “trick-or-treat!”

Yeah, this feeling in his chest was evolving past the boundaries.

Shit.

Eventually you had to support her with two arms again, thus ending your waltz, and you remembered Eddie was there, and Eddie remembered to direct his tender expression at his daughter.

“So, really,” you said, nudging his white tennis shoes and giving him a once-over, “Who’re you supposed to be? A grumpy guy who couldn’t be bothered? A wet blanket?” You leaned in. “Don’t tell me you’re dressed as a stick in the mud for the second week in a row. That’s just gauche, Eddie.”

Adrie latched onto one word specifically. She pointed at him with all her might, and declared, “Grumpy! You’re Grumpy.”

“Great,” he groaned. Yet, there was not a trace of annoyance tugging at his lips–just his tongue poking through as his daughter reduced him to an unpleasant character. “Tell her what movie you watched this morning.”

“I watched Snow White with grandpa,” she said. You gave an understanding ‘ahh.’ “Grandpa is Sneezy. Daddy is Grumpy. You can be..”

“I’ll be Dopey.”

Eddie snorted, “Fitting.” You cut him a soft frown, and he shifted his focus back to his daughter. Eye contact with you was too difficult. He felt exposed. Vulnerable. A single longing look gave away too much, he had to put an end to them. “You think I’m Grumpy, huh?”

She jabbed her finger at him again. “You! Most definitely are.”

The immediate flash of devilry in his eyes was her only warning. “What’d I tell you about pointing at people?” He snatched her wrist in a weak grasp, and lunged at her, snapping his teeth, pretending to bite her finger off with a smile. She scream-laughed and buried her face in your shoulder.

“Aw, it’s okay, Adrie,” you consoled her, “I always knew he was a biter. Lemme count your fingers, ‘nd make sure you have all six.”

“Six?” she cried.

Besotted by your willingness to indulge his humor, Eddie lost track of his inhibitions, and acted on a deep-rooted impulse from his youth, when he was more expressive of his urges. He crept in close while you were busy doting over Adrie, and lowered his face to where he was allowed to whisper in a deeper register, “Hey, no picking on my kid. That’s my job.” To make matters worse, he reached for your side, aimed for your ribs through the single layer of fleece, and prodded. It was a success. You yelped. You were ticklish. Another trait to add to the list of things he shouldn’t know about you.

Steve’s bafflement pierced the rambunctious Jedi fight happening in the middle of the road, “Are you three gonna catch up, or do I need to make you get in the wagon?” he threatened. Sure enough, he was hauling a red wagon of someone else’s kids behind him dressed as various dinosaurs, complete with masks.

More parents had joined the trick-or-treat cavalry, milling about on the sidewalk, waiting for Adrie before they knocked on the next house. You recognized this quicker than Eddie, and offered to take her by, well, simply walking off with her in your arms.

For the first block he was alone with his thoughts. Watching you go from house to house holding his daughter’s hand. Sitting back while you took over for him, and lessened his burdens. When it was you crouched next to Adrie, smiling up at the adults with buckets of candy, they didn’t see Munson. They saw a cute little girl and her supposed mom participating in innocent fun.

“Hey, bud,” Steve said, swinging around to his side, tossing an arm around his shoulders, and shaking him. Eddie could sense the subject he was about to bring up from his consoling squeeze alone. “So, how goes the whole ‘not falling in love’ thing?”

Eddie had his correction at the ready, “I said ‘attached,’ not ‘fall in love.’”

Steve gave him a long, hard stare.

“And I said it was Adrie I was worried about getting attached.”

Steve deepened his stare.

Eddie looked away, then back, then away again. He was quiet for a few strained moments, shuffling his feet while the kids thanked a woman dressed as a witch for her cauldron of candy, and his passing gaze lingered on the Mouse holding his daughter’s hand.

You glanced in his direction, where he stayed on the outskirts of the group, and suppressed a giggle. You were listening to Adrie and her friend’s story about mermaids with full interest, asking questions, and gasping at the information they were disclosing, acting as if they knew the world’s secrets and deemed you worthy of its knowledge.

It was sweet. Endearing, adorable, attractive in the worst ways, and exactly the sort of fun Adrie craved that he couldn’t provide when he was overworked, tired, and stressed to the point of crying frustrated tears.

Except, of course, those bad days had become less and less since you started working at the auto shop..

Eddie surrendered. “How does it look like it’s going?”

“Like you're happier when she’s around,” Steve replied.

“Real good that’s doin’ me.”

They had reached the end of the street, and waited to cross at the stop sign.

Steve shrugged, and said, “I think it’s cute you finally found someone to have a crush on–Ow!” He clutched his side where Eddie elbowed him.

He hissed, “Not so loud,” even though you were several feet away, and talking animatedly with Robin.

“Oh, c’mon, it’s precious.” Lifting his chin, Steve alluded to the way you picked up Adrie and herded the other children across the road like sheep. “Y’know, you were right about her saying ‘yes’ to everything. Her and Robin have some wild stories. Did you know someone came up to them at one of those sleazy hole-in-the-wall bars and asked them to perform on stage–like, obviously meaning you know, stripping–but she accepted his offer, and that’s how they started doing stand up together? Yeah, they just went up there and started shouting jokes at all the drunks. Dodging beer being thrown at them, and whatever. Sounds fun.”

“Yeah, real fun,” Eddie muttered with a horrified expression, wondering how you managed to survive this long with your absurd policy.

“Anyway,” Steve surmised. “I think you should go for it.”

The mood shifted instantly. Eddie’s face went lax, aside from his flared nostrils. He spoke firmly, “I can’t do that, man.”

“Why not?” When Eddie refused to elaborate with a scornful shake of his head, and sudden tenseness to his jaw, Steve softened his nature. He tightened his hold on him in a make-shift hug, and requested, “Talk it out with me. Tell me what you’re going through, and what you want out of this, because you sure do flirt a lot for someone who keeps denying themselves a real relationship.”

“I don’t know what the fuck I want anymore,” he exhaled in mind, body, and spirit. Just a complete depletion of all his anxieties under the weight of Steve’s arm.

Eddie ran his tongue along the back of his bottom teeth while he observed you crouch in someone’s driveway to make a case for Halloween themed pencils, and how they may not be exciting as candy, but there were bats on them, and Adrienne liked bats, therefore, the pencils were cool.

The anxieties were replaced with the blooming realization of how deep his crush went, and the stab of reality pierced the good feelings.

“There’s a million reasons why it’s a bad idea,” Eddie sighed, and gathered his thoughts to list them out as succinctly as possible. “Uh, let’s see. First of all, we’re coworkers, and this week has already been a real glimpse into how this would all pan out if I took the risk and things didn’t work out.”

Steve rocked his head to the side. “Fair, but it’s pretty obvious she likes you too, with how she flirts back.”

“Perfect segue. Okay, so maybe she does like me. But does she like me? And does she like Adrie? Can’t have one without the other. And, man, she made it clear at the movies that she doesn’t even ask if her dates have kids, because there’s never been a second one–a second date, I mean. She’s that casual about it.”

“Why not try something casual, then?”

“When have I ever approached anything casually in my life?”

“You raise a good point there,” Steve answered, shivering at the sudden uptick in frigid gusts biting through his thick jacket.

You and Robin pulled off to the side so your gaggle of kids could take turns stomping on crunchy brown leaves before they blew away.

Ensuring they were at a good distance to watch, but not be overheard, Steve kept his voice low, “What else?”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Gee, I dunno, how about the fact she hates this place, and is going to leave eventually? Hate to break it to you, but even if she likes me like that, and even if things worked out for a while, I’m not ready to explain to Adrie why the nice lady she loves so much doesn’t come around anymore.”

“So make her stay around.”

“What?”

Shrugging with that stupid grin of his, Steve explained, nonchalant and lackadaisical, “You said she says ‘yes’ to everything. So just ask her to stay.”

Leaning into it, Eddie pulled an overjoyed face, and threw his arms up, gesticulating overdramatically. “Okay! Yeah, you’re right. I’ll just ask her to marry me, then she’ll be forced to stay in this hellhole with me forever. What a grand idea!”

Steve’s full-bodied laugh sent them both doubling over. “Okay, stud, going straight for marriage. It was just a suggestion that maybe she’s over the crazy party-til-dawn city life, and is looking for.. whatever it is you’ve got.”

“Thanks for the pep talk,” he said with more than a hint of sarcasm. Easing out of his glare, he broke himself out of considering Steve’s validation as anything more than an audible feedback loop of the things he wanted to hear, and not the facts he needed to hear. “Doesn’t matter. She could like me, she could not. She could want kids, she could not. She could stay, she could not. I still have to see her every day, regardless. There’s not a lot of other options out there for me, and even if she didn’t want the city life anymore, I don’t think she’s gunning for the single dad whose biggest aspiration is getting a trailer of his own, so his uncle can have his room back.”

Cynicism, cynicism, cynicism. Denial.

Steve’s mouth twisted, and he became serious. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.”

“It’s true, though.”

Ahead, a guy caught Steve’s attention and signaled that it was his turn again on wagon duty, which was the perfect excuse to make his exit because you were standing on your tip-toes, seeking out Eddie in the sea of Stormtroopers. You spotted him and waved with childlike glee, making your way over.

Steve’s hair fell into his eyes as he drew Eddie in. “One last piece of advice,” he began, gaze set on the side of his friend’s face, accepting not even he could win over his attention when it came to existing in the same universe as you. “If you’re serious about not pursuing her, maybe stop looking like you’re gonna blow your load every time she smiles at you.”

Eddie sputtered, “Jesus Christ, dude.”

With that last remark to recover from, Eddie was forced to rearrange his pale face into anything remotely appropriate while Steve got to stroll away as if nothing happened.

“Uh, hey,” he said, eyes scared wide, and showing too many teeth in his tight smile under your scrutiny.

You brought your hand up, and stepped into him until your chests were nearly together. Cocking your head, you pointed at something over yonder, and slowly, unwillingly, he stopped analyzing the nuances of your face to look at the group of kids at the house across the street. One kid in particular. Dressed in black, and with six additional arms dangling from his two human ones.

You couldn’t keep the sheer triumph out of your voice, “That spider is certainly bigger than your palm.”

He winced as if your joke physically pained him. He curled in on himself, and depleted himself of oxygen to groan a long, contemptuous, “So lame,” stressing both words to exaggerate his misery. Shaking his head as if his grievance was anything other than a ploy to discover what it felt like to reject reality, and satiate the envy he felt when Adrie got to be this close to you. Foreheads almost together. Noses almost grazing.

As if your hand trapped between your bodies was anything other than a ploy to rest the backs of your fingers on his chest as you laughed. As you leaned into him. As you tugged on his sweatshirt underneath his leather jacket, begging him to give in until, at last, he broke.

Eddie laughed with you, recklessly.

“Did you really abandon my kid to run over here and tell me that?”

“She’s safe with Bobbie,” you promised in a whisper. “And yes, I did.”

Leaf-shaped shadows danced across you both, cast from the orange glow of the streetlamp above. Autumnal bare branches, electric wires, swaying in the wind, revealing your faces in quick pieces; a wrinkled forehead here, contours of a nose there. Flashes of a puzzle you both collected and assembled in the scarce seconds before it was time to move on to the next house.

You crossed your arms tight over yourself and walked beside him, smiling at the ground.

“How’ve you enjoyed your Halloween experience?” he asked, swinging his arms wide to gesture at Hawkins in general. “I’m sure it’s a lot different than what you’re used to.”

“Oh, I love it!” you said in earnest, surrounded by all the things you’d only seen on screen before. “It’s just like the movies. Trick-or-treating, little kids running around in costumes, the weather, the decorations. It’s surreal. Usually I’d be drunk in a nightclub by now.”

Furrowing his brow, he looked upwards as if he were reading a nonexistent clock, and asked with a twinge of parental disapproval, “Isn’t it, like, 8PM?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, unperturbed. Too impassive to put him at ease. Like you were lording a secret over him. “Don’t act like you weren’t the same before you had Adrie.”

“And what does that mean?”

“Harrington’s been telling me stories about you,” you informed him, and rolled your bottom lip inward, biting it as he zeroed in on your cheeky grin getting a rise out of him.

He squinted at you. “Calling him Harrington, huh? Well, aren’t you two chummy.” Mentally rolling a Nat 20 for Stealth, he lifted his hand to your side without you noticing. “What’d he tell you?”

You made an ‘X’ over your mouth with your fingers.

The perfect position to leave yourself open for attack. I mean, the opportunity presented itself so splendidly, how could he not? How could he resist the greatest temptation?

His impending threat continued to go undetected. Giving you one last chance, he dipped his face to yours–relishing how the apples of your cheeks intruded on your eyes when you smiled this hard, forcing them to scrunch closed–and he asked, “What did he tell you?”

“I’m not repeating!” you giggled.

Oh, you were giggling all right. And in the next gasp, you were squealing, jerking away from him.

Eddie was merciless. His large hands proved too difficult to escape. He poked, prodded. Tickled you until his every, “Tell me, tell me, tell me,” was met with your, “Stop, stop, stop, please!” You fought him fruitlessly, grappling at his forearms, and failing to do little more than slip against his sleeves. He cackled at you. Mocked you with the tip of his tongue to his teeth each time you thought you got away, only to be caught again. You resisted. Resisted. Persevered in the face of evil–knocking your forehead into his chin on accident. Eddie thought you would’ve caved by now, but it was him who stopped; and not because of the unwanted attention your antics drew.

You pried him away from your ribs.

“You’re freezing!” Eddie’s mood changed on a dime at feeling your frigid fingers on top of his. He shifted so that he was enveloping your hands, encasing you in his warmth in exchange for the cold seeping to his bones.

“Yeah,” you answered sheepishly.

“You made a fuss about reminding me to put Adrie in extra layers, but you’re not wearing a jacket?”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, distorting your grin. “Yeah.”

“You’re irresponsible, you know that?”

“Yeah.”

“A real bad example.”

“Yeah.”

“An absolute pain in my ass.” Eddie grinned with you. Eyelids falling half-closed. Searing your skin with his heat. Enacting the subtle art of asking questions for the sake of prolonging the moment. Not like it was obvious, given you readily accepted his fingers curled around yours with a coy glint to your gaze. Totally discreet as he let go to shrug off his jacket and hand it over.

Obliging him, you raised your eyebrows. “What a gentleman.” You slid your arms into the sleeves, snuggled into his blanketing warmth, and tugged the collar over your mouth, rendering yourself to a pair of pretty eyes.

He was a goner.

“Tell me what Harrington said.”

“Okay,” you indulged him, breath coming out as a fog. “He said..” You were back to giggling behind the collar, remembering the story. “He said one time at a party there was this big watermelon keg he spent all day working on.” Eddie pressed his lips into a line, knowing where this was going. “He scooped out the innards. Spent painstaking hours cutting up fruit to put inside it and soak up all the rum. And then you wandered in. Already hammered, and you, you–” You snickered and peeled back the collar. “You knocked it over within ten seconds of walking in the kitchen, smashing it everywhere like a crime scene.” You hid behind the collar again, then opened it, voice gone high-pitched with suppressed laughter. “And he said you panicked, and tried to scoop it up in your hands and put it in people’s cups!” More laughter. “And when they said ‘no’ because it was fucking gross floor juice, you tried eating all the fruit yourself.” One more hide and seek of the collar as you lost it in a final squeak, “And you cried!”

He waited until you calmed down to show how thrilled he was in a deadpan tone, “Great, great. I’m so glad he told you that one.”

“It certainly conjures an image.”

Thinking the conversation was over, you took a step in the direction of your trick-or-treat group, but something caught your eye. You tilted your head. He mirrored you, tilting it the same way. You shuffled to the side. He turned with you, more, more towards the streetlamp. Curious as to what you were doing, and why you were staring at his chest, mouthing something.

“What’s Corroded Coffin?”

“Uh–It’s–It’s nothing,” Eddie said a bit too loud, wiping at his sweatshirt like the self-printed logo was a crumb he could discard himself of.

Fortunately, a wild Adrienne appeared, interrupting him from making a bigger fool of himself. “My hands are cold. Can I have my gloves?”

Eddie glided his hands over his stomach out of habit, and realized his pockets weren’t there. Without warning, he grabbed a fistful of his jacket, and yanked you to him, spinning you, manhandling you. Forcing you to catch yourself on his braced muscles–shoulder to his chest, hip to a place he’d rather not dwell on. Not gentlemanly at all.

You released a string of flustered remarks, and pushed away from him, making it appear to be a benign accident in front of his daughter.

“Here,” he said to Adrie, holding the black mittens above her head, out of her reach.

She jumped, and jumped, and stomped. “Daddy,” she whined.

Dusting yourself off from the previous encounter, you agreed, “You’re so cruel, bullying your own child.”

“She knows the magic words,” he led on.

“Please!” She jumped higher, huffing and puffing.

“And?”

“And thank you!”

He relented. His evil reign came to an end. First, the tickling, now, the height advantage over a little girl. He gave Adrie the mittens and she stuck her tongue out at him before bolting off faster than lightning.

It was you turn to poke a stern finger into his ribs. “Awful, awful man,” you scolded him. Unlucky for you, he wasn’t ticklish there, nor was he ashamed of any of his actions these past few minutes. He might come to regret them when you move back to New York and these were the memories he was left with, but he wasn’t ashamed.

No, not ashamed to overstep the boundaries he resurrected in pursuit of happiness. If only a little. Enough to feel the thrill of danger, but remain safe inside his walls.

Casual.

You liked casual.

Fuck what he said earlier. He could keep it casual. He could handle innocent flirting without it getting out of hand.

“We should probably catch up with everyone before they send Scooby and the gang to search for us,” you said, walking backwards, throwing your thumb over your shoulder.

He snorted. “Terrible joke. Are you sure you were a comedian?”

You answered him with two middle fingers, which you promptly put away. Adrie came running back after just one house, hunched over, dragging her feet; hair a loose mess, barrettes dangling. Displaying all the theatrics of her father.

She made grabby hands at you. Not him. And before he could voice his hurt, you scooped her into your arms, and she rested her chin on your shoulder.

“Hey,” he complained weakly, walking up to you from behind so he could take the treat bucket before it spilled, and talk to Adrie directly. “You told me you were a big girl who could walk on her own, and didn’t need to be held.” Her refute was a babbling grumble laced with fatigue.

Speaking to you, he said, “You don’t have to carry her.”

“I don’t mind. I think they only want to do a few more houses before we head back. Do you wanna join?”

At first, Eddie was quiet, and you spun in a slow circle to see him, catching the end of his wistful expression at the rich neighborhood and its opulent houses owned by affluent people who heard a rumor or two about Munson, and decided he wasn’t worth more than their wary glances when his kid played with theirs.

“Nah, I’m good over here.” He ran his hand over the back of Adrie’s head, and relaxed his stance, staying put.

“Let me help ya out there, Cool Guy,” you said, motioning for him to bend to you. You picked a narrow, apple-red leaf out of his tangled hair, and flicked it away.

“How long has that been there?”

Shrugging your mouth to disguise your beaming grin, you feigned ignorance while walking away. “Who’s to say?”

To further exacerbate his embarrassment into genuine distress, after two Mummies answered the door, and you were coming down the sidewalk, he saw you pull off the side for Steve to pass with the stroller, and you laid your cheek on the top of Adrie’s head. You whispered something in her ear. Something most intriguing, on account of her coming to life, no longer sleepy. The exchange was short; her asking a question, and you answering. But as you nodded with heavy-lidded eyes, and she pressed her fingers to her smile, you both turned, looked at him, and giggled.

Eddie gulped.

He didn’t like this new feeling of you two sharing secrets about him. Especially ones he couldn’t threaten out of you, no matter how many times he put his hands on your ribs.

~~~

As the evening came to a close, Eddie carried Adrie on his hip while you lugged her bucket of sweets. The plastic handle bowed from the weight of the candy, and your fingertips went numb from the burden. And maybe for your troubles, you took a piece. Or two.

The group petered out until it was left to the core of you returning to Steve’s house. The goodbyes were truncated due to the three sleepy kids in tow. You handed off the bucket to Eddie, first asking if he was sure he didn’t need help getting to his car, and when he assured you he was fine, you squeezed Adrie’s ankle and whispered a goodbye she didn’t hear, too lost in Dreamland and drooling on her dad’s shoulder to know the night was over.

He said he’d see you Monday and parted ways, walking in the opposite direction, and you waited at the white-picket fence gate for Robin to stop swapping sneaky peeks at Steve and Nancy to join you.

“Bobbie, I know you don’t want me driving.”

She made eyes at Nancy one last time, and descended the porch stairs at a leisurely pace. “Yeah, we can leave.”

~~~

The drive home was a welcomed respite after the constant overstimulation. The radio was set to low, the heater caressed warmth along your wind-burnt cheeks, the headlights spotlighted deer grazing on the sides of the lonely road. Robin kept lofting soft smiles in your direction, which you returned.

Parking at her parent’s house, you closed the car door behind you, hearing it echo off the forest. The rocky driveway crunched under your shoes on your way to the door. The porch light was on, elongating your shadows across the ground, following you step by step.

“So, you and Eddie, huh?” Robin asked, turning the key in the lock.

You snapped to attention, schooling your features from giving you away. “Just friends,” you reiterated at her suggestive tone. “Just friends and coworkers. He’s dropped more than enough hints that he’s not looking for more.” You finished in more of a sigh, “Not with me, anyway.”

“Is that so?”

Her lopsided smirk struck undesired hope in your heart.

Robin pushed open the door, and curled in her forefinger to tap her knuckle on her upper lip. She dropped her gaze to your general upper body, and hummed, “You, uh.. forget something?”

You looked down at yourself. “Oh–”

————

Eddie dropped his shoulders back expecting to feel something slide down his arms. Then, he patted his chest, and realized. “–Shit.” He stared at his coat hook next to the front door where his leather jacket usually hung, and reprimanded himself in a soft laugh. “Guess I’ll have to get it back on Monday.”

“How much candy can I have?” Adrienne asked, dumping out her bucket on the coffee table, and scrambling to pick up the Tootsie Rolls that fell on the floor. She began sorting into piles of most favorite to least favorite.

“One,” Eddie stated sternly.

He turned on the TV and sat on the couch, decompressing while Adrie cackled over her hoard like Smaug. He should’ve known something was up when she wouldn’t stop giggling to herself.

His suspicions were answered when she turned around to show him the one piece she picked out–perfectly following his rules.

“Uh, absolutely not!” Eddie swiped it from her. “Seriously, who gives out full size Snickers bars on Halloween?”

“But, Daddy, you said!”

Leaning forward to rest his arms on his thighs, he demanded her attention before the pitiful crocodile tears started. “I’ll make you a deal,” he said, and reached past her for a mini Musketeers to compare. “You can have the Snickers, but you have to share half with me. See, half is still bigger than one of these little ones, so you’ll still be coming out of this a winner. ‘Kay?” She nodded and went to grab it. “But! I don’t want any tantrums when I tell you it’s bath time.” Again, she agreed and he reeled the candybar back into himself, away from her quick fingers. “And! You have to brush your teeth after.”

“I will,” she promised with a deep frown.

“And you still have to go to bed at the normal time.”

Pushing her hair out of her face, she dropped her head in another big nod.

Eddie was satisfied and went to give it to her. But another thought crossed his mind–one of true luxury–and the allure of the idea proved too good to ignore.

Much to her dismay, he snatched the candybar away before she could get a good grasp on it, and he deepened his voice to show he was serious, “And I want to shower. Ten minutes. Uninterrupted.”

She groaned at the ceiling at his never ending list of rules. “Fine!”

~~~

Riding his tingly feel-good high, Eddie opened the bathroom door to let the steam out, and toweled off the fog on the medicine cabinet mirror. He took out his comb and scissors, and sectioned out his bangs.

Brunette snips of wet hair fell in triangles onto his white tank top and around the sink. It wasn’t a noticeable trim, just enough to get them off his eyebrows when dried.

With some amount of clarity, he looked his reflection in the eye as he evened out the cut, and didn’t know if he should be wearing the faint smile he did, or if he should listen to his better judgment, and stop making modifications to his barriers.

He knew you deserved a better life than what Hawkins could offer, but he could enjoy the innocent workplace flirtations, right? They were harmless. Little compliments here and there to boost his confidence. That’s all it was. It’s not like you actually found him attractive, right? You’d been on enough dates to know what to say to a guy. That’s all.

Though, he did need to remember to have a talk with Adrie about setting her expectations and understanding Daddy could have friends without it leading anywhere, and that was okay.

“–some.”

Jumping, Eddie said a prayer that was not righteous, and thanked the stars he was not trimming closer to his eyes when his daughter scared him. “Jesus Christ, kid,” he exhaled.

“Handsome,” she said again.

Taken aback, he let the flattery sink in. Besides last week at the movies, he didn’t get compliments often, or at all, and to receive one now while his thoughts circled back to that familiar sting of ugliness with the way other parents looked at him tonight, Adrie’s kindness matured his grin into a real smile.

“You think I’m handsome?” he asked in a mild, quick laugh. “That’s sweet.” He leaned over the sink and worked on his bangs again, snipping up into the strands between his fingers.

“Miss–ouse does.”

“What–?” Her words were incoherent from her fingers stuffed in her mouth. “Did you say..?” He dropped the comb and scissors, and spun around, eyes set on her. Adrie released a high-pitched shriek and ran from the doorway. “Wait! Adrie! She said that? She said that about me?” He chased her into the living room, dodging back and forth around the coffee table. Duping left, right. Catching her as she made a quick escape to her bedroom. “Tell me what you said? Did Miss Mouse say that about me? Did she call me handsome?”

Try as he might, threatening to tickle her until she repeated herself, Adrienne refused to tell him the secret you whispered in her ear.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #mechanic!eddie #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #the yes policy

[jayssluttywife]

Bratty Baby...

bratty!reader x tamer!sunghoon

warnings: sunghoons really rough bcz u were a brat >:(, random pet names, unprotected sex, kissing, teasing, dirty talk, and swearing, reader probs says 'dont touch me' when angry but its obvs doesnt mean that. (normally my smut are like a quickie and rushed but ill try to stretch this one out).

summary: You got angry, very angry that u couldn't control yourself, swore a little at sunghoon (maybe a lot), and got your punishment for being a brat.

"Fuck off sunghoon" you wrestled your way from his embrace, leaving his so called 'friend social hangout'. He looked at you in awe, chuckling a bit at your new misbehaviour.

He ran after you and grabbed onto your wrist earning an angry whine, you turned your head aggressively to his face, his charming, beautiful, face.

Wait what?

'No, no, no y/n you have to stay mad at him' you were chanting in your head.

You pulled and tugged, he was so much bigger than you that you could barely even move but you did, freeing your hands from him once again. Knitting your brows together, you push his chest a little, causing him to stumble back

"Don't fucking touch me sunghoon, fuck off!" you yelled, a finger pointing directly at his face.

*Meanwhile* (goofy jake incoming)

"What's going on with them" Jake said nose squished up on the window, his eyes huge, trying to examine the little wrestling match going on outside.

Heeseung rolled his eyes, embarrassed of his own best-friend.

"Stop stalking them like a creep, look even the birds are flying away from your dumb-ass looking face, YOUR TURNING PURPLE!", he jokingly said, stopping his friend form getting into your business.

*Anyways*

Sunghoon dragged you, pinning you to the closest brick-wall, and smashed his lips onto yours, biting your lips in the process to enter his tongue, slithering through your mouth, exploring every bit.

"You fucking belong to me ok?, don't act like a fucking brat right now alright?" He drags you to his car, opening the door for you and gently pushing you in, before slamming the door and entering himself.

He starts driving, eye glued onto the road, but yours where stuck onto his face. He doesn't have to look at you to realise that you were staring at him in trepidation.

You really didn't mean to shout at him, but you couldn't help it when he found your old diary, pictures filled with him,

nothings wrong with that...

But he teased you, so, so, much, that it wasn't even funny anymore, teased you to the point that he was about to tell his friends whilst you were hanging out with him!

And that's how you got here.

He turns his head to look at you when the traffic light turn red, and your eyes meet instantly. Now your thinking of how to apologise, but you just wont let the little bratty self in you do it. In any case right now, he should be apologising.

"You have something to say?, I mean you practically swore at me and pushed me" never breaking the eye contact with your big, doey eyes, as if he knew what you were thinking.

"Your not going to apologise are you?, you never will" he laughs a little at your obstinacy.

"m'k, ill just have to make you apologise isn't it?, just shove my cock into you and you suddenly start acting like a 'good girl' hm?" he says whilst driving again. "Then you'll listen wont you?, make you sob and cry until you apologise for being naughty again *sigh* c'mon y/n you know better."

You reach home, he runs to the side of the car where your sitting and opens the door for you, sticking out his hand for your, dragging both of you to the front door and opening the door in on swift move.

He pushes you against the door, his leg between yours, making you wetter at the moment. He kisses you once again, but way harshly. You couldn't help it, his hands running down your waist, other hand keeping you in a chokehold, firm but gently, his lips biting yours, his tongue gliding against your mouth.

You couldn't stop yourself from grinding against his, trying to find some friction eagerly, but sunghoon was too smart, quickly removing his leg and biting your neck causing you to moan whilst taking you to your bedroom.

He sat at the edge of the bed, motioning for you to come over, you slowly walked over to him, bending a little to pull down his trousers, his biceps looking bigger than ever.

"Sunghoon, can I... undress my s-self" you said looking down, but looked at him once again as he was chuckling.

He stroked your face a little, his fangs pointing out as he gave you his signature smirk, "well done for asking baby". You waited for his response...

"go ahead doll"

There you go.

The answer that you wanted this whole time.

You quickly took your clothes, layer after layer until you revealed your little surprise that you wore under. You cute, lacy lingerie, a bow in the middle of your low cut bra, revealing your cleavage.

"you look so cutee" he emphasised on the word 'cute', dragging you to his now practically naked body. He pulled down your underwear slowly, revealing your soaking wet pussy.

Pressing two fingers on your slit, and eyes never leaving your face, he watched your expression switch to a pleading face begging through you eyes for sunghoon to do something to you.

To ruin you.

"Fuck sunghoon " you pushed his hand away " Just do something, anything" You begged

He scoffed, "You couldn't even wait a little longer, such a bratty little girl" his voice deep but he was smiling the whole time.

He pulls you closer and onto his lap, watching your tight pussy stretch around his huge length. You let out a small 'fuck' due to the size change, him filling you up so well.

"Since you want me so badly do it yourself" he looked at you.

"What?"

"Fuck yourself on my cock"

You sighed so loudly, about to cry. Sunghoon was like 100x stronger than you and you could barely even move on him, but you were so desperate, trying your best to fuck yourself.

You put you hands on his shoulder, slowly bouncing up and down on his huge length, letting out long, dragged moans due to the felling, but when you opened your eyes, sunghoon hadn't even budged, still giving you a lusty stare.

"Fuck it sunghoon" you started letting out your crocodile tears. "Please sunghoon, please hoon-"

"uh uh" he tutted. You whimpered, starting again, forcing yourself to move up and down even thought your legs were so sore, sunghoon enjoying every bit.

"Please sunghoon". He rolls his eyes, he couldn't help but succumb into your pleading act.

He couldn't help it.

He puts your back on the bed before fucking in and out of you in an animalistic speed, making you choke on your breath.

"Gonna apologise isn't huh?" You whined again. "C'mon baby" he started increasing his speed again, breath increasing due to your tight little cunt.

How could a man speak so calmly whilst practically ripping you apart. You knew if he didn't get what he wanted, you wouldn't, so you just had to please him and finally giving in.

"S-sunghoon" he hummed in response.

"fuck- 'm sorry- fuckk! 'm s-sorry for-mmmm! being bad again sunghoooon- shit I... I wont do it again!" you let out another extended moan.

He smiled, hands wrapping around your neck, slightly chocking you, watching your eyes roll back at the small restraining,

"now that's the good girl I know" he proudly spoke, pushing your legs up to your chest and going deeper into you.

You haven't felt so manhandled in so long, sunghoon practically was playing with you like your were a toy, wrapping your legs around his waist to see your fucked out face again.

"You'll do anything for dick y-yeah?" you nodded your head aggressively not even listening to what he was saying.

"Fuck sunghoon!" you yelled his dick hitting places he never had, the spongy places that had you arching your back.

"Can I cum... pleasee!" you heard him chuckling again. He slowly nodded him head.

"C'mon, go ahead"

Your orgasm hit you so hard everything went white, sunghoon creaming and breeding into you almost at the same time. He slowed down, trying to drag the pleasure before pulling out a little, looking at your fucked up pussy with a smirk.

He pushes him cum back in with his fingers, biting onto his lip as his juices leaked out again.

"Lets go get you cleaned up" He said slowly walking out the room, thinking you were behind him.

But all he heard was heavy breathing, and an almost dead y/n laying on the bed.

"Oh" he picked you up in bridal style and taking you to the bathroom, getting a nice hot shower for both of you.

He smiled at you, whilst you looked down. "'m really sorry hoon" you muttered.

" Its alright y/n," he smiled again eyes squinting into a creasent shape.

"Your way cuter when your not bratty" you smiled.

"My bratty baby"

#enha x reader #enhypen #enhyphen hard thoughts #enhyphen x reader #enhypen smut #enhypen heeseung #sunghoon smut #sunghoon #smut

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Rigor Mortis (part 1)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Prologue, Part 2

summary: After the breakup, you move into a new place.

warnings: no warnings! cheeky bit of angst at the end

a/n: this is me admitting that realistically, miguel would be sick of our shit.

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here <3

wc: 4.2k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

or in the cold, crisp morn:

"These are the keys," Your new landlord hands you the copies, clinking against each other as you transfer them to a dish by the door. Your first thought is that there seem to be too many for this modest apartment: of varying shapes and sizes, and at least half a dozen. He steps through a wide archway to the kitchen, eerily clean. It's not modern by any means,  the top half of a hulking brownstone some time away from college.

It’s been… a trying summer. Moving halfway across the country with your boyfriend had seemed like a great idea at the time. Younger you (barely 2 years ago) had been enamoured with the promises of city life: fast-paced, bustling, and never a dull day. Naivete and big ideas that you'd been too stupid, or maybe too desperate, to let go of. After being locked in a loop of the same 3 or 4 places, the same dozen faces - in a place as big as this, mind you - maybe your ex-boyfriend had freed you. Forced you from that halfway-home; as cold and empty as it had become; and back out into the world. 

The reality was less than ideal - apartment hopping across the city for the past 4 months or so. You’d seen it all: glorified shoeboxes, fancy duplexes, viewing sublet rooms that were at least a little illegal. A box within a box within a box; coat closets rented out for double your monthly take home; and you had just about given up.

So this place seemed like a godsend: a brownstone, tucked away. Its interior is dated, but gorgeous. It had character: quirks and rich history in the brick and mortar. A fireplace tucked into the corner, window alcoves, wood panelling. Yes, the wallpaper was slightly warped with damp  but it’s affordable - a reasonably priced gem that had made you jump when you saw the ad. With the overexposed and pixelated images, they didn’t do it justice.

You pad into the kitchen, running your hands on the smooth countertops. They’re bare and spotless - suspiciously so. Not many personal items, no fridge magnets, photos; nary a blanket on the sofa or half eaten plate of toast on the worktop. It’s so clean it feels staged, and it makes you squint. Isn’t there meant to be…

“I let Miguel know… he must’ve cleaned up the place-”

“Miguel?”

“The other tenant.” He pauses, boots clicking on the grain of the floorboard. “I don’t think he’ll be back until later tonight. Should give you some time to settle in.” 

Nodding, you give him a small smile, and he steps out of the apartment. Your apartment.

~~~

You fill the rest of day with unpacking, putting some life into the place. You’d visited not long ago, fantasising about how you’d decorate. Something about sharing an apartment with your boyfriend for the past 2 years had done something to you: flattening and squeezing into a space not built with you in mind. How Jamie didn't like things on the walls, or how he needed the space for his textbooks, so why don't you find somewhere else to put your little stories? If his desk took up half the front room, then that makes sense, he needs it for work. But God forbid you needed a quiet space to study; what if the guest bedroom has your shit everywhere when his friends come over? A million compromises that didn't seem much like compromises: you'd give an inch and he'd take a mile. And so, the space to spread your wings without knocking over a gaudy plaque or two was very much appreciated. 

You want to walk around the neighbourhood, map out the convenience stores, bodegas, community hotspots and hubs. Where's the best place to get a drink? The cheapest meal? Your usual haunts were a fair distance away, so maybe you'll make the trek and pick up waffles from Pam's, as a treat. Tired already, you slump on the sofa - a tattered old thing that can clearly take a beating. Looking around the place, something settles solidly at your chest. Contentment, maybe, a strange feeling considering the past few months. This will do, you think. This will do. 

Perhaps it's not a very feminist thought, but you're not thriving . Thriving felt presumptuous, and yet coping seemed too complete a word - its implication too tidy, too neat. A mess, before; better, now…? And it didn't quite span the width and depth of the past few months; how long it had taken for the numbness to make way to anger, hot and intense - its flame fueling many a long night. And yet, maybe coping was just the way to describe your foray into this new chapter: a new year, new apartment, and whatever that brings. You had forgotten what it felt like to be alone; not lonely, but with only your own self for company. Without the ache of another person, for the first time in a while. 

…except, you had a roommate. Which you had known when signing the lease, of course, but it's taken some time to sink in. What that means for you - a new person to tiptoe around and appease - you're not too sure yet. What is he like? He's out late, so maybe a chronic partygoer - sloppy drunk and vivacious, the life of the party. He might clatter into the apartment, chattering and bubbly. What do you know about him? From the apartment, as is, it doesn't tell you much. At first glance, it had looked too clean, but not unreasonably so if he had anticipated your arrival. No, it was the lack of personal effects that confused you. How long has he been living here and there aren't any pictures or knick knacks? To clutter is to be human, you think. And with the front room as blank as it is, you wonder just what kind of man he is. 

It's getting late. Naturally, you do some snooping, lazily padding around in search of life. Onwards and upwards, to new frontiers: the cupboards and drawers in your new apartment. 

He likes coffee, you learn. There's a fancy machine on the kitchen counter, glossy and shiny and clearly taken care of. Little packets of beans and filters line the cupboards, all with names you can't quite pronounce. The fridge is similarly well-stocked, with none of the junk food you've gotten accustomed to in the past few months. Its innards are leafy green and plush; labelled tupperware with leftovers notwithstanding. All the spices in a tray above the oven and fancy knives on the wall tell you he likes to cook, or rather, he likes to eat well. The lack of junk would take some getting used to - maybe he's a health nut? The type to go on runs at the ass-crack of dawn, to blend oddly coloured smoothies, and "reflect" after a long day of… dog walking or something. 

You move on to the living room, running a light hand over the deep walnut of a side table behind the sofa. Again, it's oddly bare. When you tug at the drawers, it's brassy handles are solid. Locked. Kneeling, you run a hand across the larger cupboard door at its base. You pull at it, and it pops open with a click. Inside, it seems empty, save for a dusty box nestled in the back corner. With your top half almost completely inside its depths, you move it into the light. 

It's old, a battered shoebox adorned with coloured sharpie - shaky drawings of flowers blossoming from its sides. The cardboard crackles when you open it. It's full of junk, mostly: half-dead pens, broken crayons, dried flowers, and little plastic toys - the kind you get from cereal boxes and happy meals. And, there's something peeking out. Confused, you dig a little deeper, to uncover a pair of… soccer cleats? They're tiny, clearly for a kid but seem barely worn, with minimal scuffing on the plastic blades. 

"What the fuck are you doing?" A voice from above rumbles, and your head snaps up like a rubber band. You hadn't noticed the door open, and you are met face to face with, who you assume to be, your roommate. 

He doesn't shout: tall, broad, and back straight by the door. He's got a backpack slung over his shoulder, dressed in a crisp white shirt and slacks. His name was… Miguel? Miguel crosses his arms, brows furrowed in quiet rage. Fuck. 

"I was just looking for.. uhh…" 

You know how it looks. It's the worst time for your brain to go blank, and you're left holding the hypothetical bag. You stand up a little too quickly, and smack your knee on the lip of the table. Half of the box spills onto the floor and you dart downwards, embarrassed. 

" Shit. Sorry, let me-" 

He leaps towards the floor, and you're forced behind him, as he scrambles to put everything in its place. You start to help and he stops, stock-still. As if in slow motion, his head turns to the side and he gives you a look that could kill thousands. Retreating, you shrink back, only able to watch helplessly. 

" Chica tonta... ¿se crió en un rancho? ¿qué clase de persona entra en casa de alguien y toca todas sus cosas?" He's muttering something under his breath - too fast and not saying anything you can understand. Pausing, he throws you a look. "...y luego me ve como si yo fuera el que está mal- ojos grandes y bonitos como de perrito pateado...oh dios mío.-" 

[silly little girl… was she raised in a barn? what kind of person walks into someone's house and touches all of their stuff? // and she looks at me like I'm the one in the wrong - big, pretty eyes like a kicked puppy… oh my god-] 

He's gentle with the box, the way he puts it in its place contrasting his mood a couple of seconds before. He closes up the door and you stumble to your feet. In the glow of halogen bulbs, he follows, arms crossed like a mother hen. 

"I think… I think I'm your new roommate?" You say your name and  stretch out a hand, but Miguel doesn't move. You watch as his eyes sweep over your body, shameless. 

"Are you asking, or telling me?" He sighs, pinching at his temples. 

"...Telling?" You offer him a weak smile, and he cracks.

Softening, ever so slightly, he grumbles. "I know. I know. Mr Estévez said you would be in tomorrow, though."

"I like to be early." 

"Right. Well… don't do that. Again, I mean." He clears his throat. "Don't touch my shit either. It's too… fuck , it's too late for this. I'm going to bed."

He kicks off his shoes, and all you can do is watch as he saunters off; the door to his room shutting with a resounding slam .

~~~

His name is Miguel O'Hara - not that he told you that, or anything. He hasn't spoken to you much at all, leaving you to figure out who he is and what he does from vague clues around the apartment. You don't go snooping , learning quickly from previous mistakes; but his full name on a letter slotted through the mail was fair game, you think. The most you've gotten out of him were grunts and frustrated requests to keep to your shelf in the fridge. 

Passive-aggressive wasn't in his vocabulary, you’re convinced. A plethora of dirty looks in his arsenal? Sure. Plenty of vulgar swears in Spanish? Absolutely. Miguel was not, however, passive-aggressive. Just… aggressive. Not angry, of course. Upfront. Abhorred any passivity and indolence: umm-ing and ahh-ing for the sake of it. 

So naturally , you were sent to kill him. 

You tiptoe around the apartment, avoiding him at all costs. At first, it wasn’t on purpose, just the awkwardness of your first meeting bleeding into the next week. But you dodge and weave like an expert boxer -  particularly impressive in the small space. Miguel’s in the kitchen? Suddenly, you’re not very hungry. He’s curled up on the couch for a movie? Wow, look at the time: and you're heading to bed. You can’t read him very well, and don’t trust yourself enough to look him in the eye without fear of melting under his gaze. The few short interactions you have, you crumble; a brush against his shoulder in the kitchen, or legs against his on the dining table. Not that Miguel offers a peace branch, pursing his lips when you’d make eye contact, somewhat frustrated at your theatrics. Call it cliche: you’re avoiding confrontation at all costs. It manifests itself in peculiar ways: the Shower Incident being the most memorable. 

The Shower Incident, aptly named, happened not too long ago. The apartment is old , as you soon learnt, coming with its own plethora of quirks. What you had first taken as character and charm - window seats and wood panelling - also came in the form of a building half falling apart. Creaky floorboards, leaky pipes, and a distinct lack of central heating. The discounted price, that had seemed like a bargain before, clearly lacked some creature comforts… like heating. And a working shower. 

As you’d been in a rush, you clattered into the bathroom; stripping in no time at all. Bare feet on the tile, and you turn the knobs at the base of the shower unit. You’re not going to pretend you know how it works, just yet, but… it’s not rocket science, is it? The brassy spout sputters; but with no luck. Groaning from the pipes makes you jump, before huffing in frustration. This is not the time; late to yet another 9.00am? You want to be different this year: organised, put together, and on time to your lectures. On your tiptoes, you peer down the shower head hesitantly, like it’s the barrel of a loaded gun. With cruel irony, it sputters to life, sending a face-full of ice-cold water your way.There’s a scream, as you scramble at the handles, scurrying out of its brunt; desperately trying to turn it off. 

Unbeknownst to you, Miguel leaps out of his room towards the shouting, with a fumble and clunk of his feet on wooden floor. He’s quick , hand hovering on the bathroom door before you can register it; his voice echoing outside. 

“Are you…” There’s scuffling, which you can just about hear over the pounding of the water against tiles. “Are you okay, in there?”

You wince, stepping out of the shower – legs shaky like a baby deer – as you gurgle. “...Yeah?”

“Can I –” He clears his throat. “Are you.. clothed ? Can I come in?”

You scramble for something to cover yourself, settling for a plush towel on the rack. Wrapping yourself up, you brace yourself for the grimace that's sure to be on his face. Tentatively, you crack the door open. There Miguel is, face knitted with worry. 

There's a flash of confusion at the scene, and then, what you think is relief. Relief you haven't cracked your head open, most likely: the blood would be hard to clean from the grout. You feel guilty, as you've probably broken it, or touched something you shouldn't. The shower is still on; sputtering, starting, and it becomes a strange sort of background music to your silent exchange. 

"I don't know how to use the shower." You say with a small voice, guiltily. 

" No me digas…" No shit, he mutters, face back to the furrowed brow you're starting to become more familiar with. He sighs, easing up. "You hurt?" 

You shake your head, and swear you see a small smile on his face. You looked like a waterboarded rat, probably: big watery eyes and shaking with the sudden cold. 

A mess , he thinks. But not a bad view. 

He's still in workout clothes from his morning run, compression shirt and lazy shorts that hug his ass on; as he turns towards the shower. With some sense of shame, you try not to stare, to not watch the muscles of his back and arms flex as he angles the shower head away from his face. It's not enough that you've embarrassed yourself – twice, in the space of a couple of days – but the fact it was in front of your roommate, who is maybe the most beautiful person you've seen up close. Which, granted, narrows the field; but Miguel is gorgeous, a flash of pink tongue sticking out as he concentrates, wide palms toggling the dial. 

"You need to be careful… push it in slightly when you turn the-" You crane your head towards his movements. "Come closer, or you won't see what I'm doing."

You move towards him, half naked and shivering, trying not to buckle with the heat of his body next to yours. This is what you get for not having spoken to a man since your ex: a tight coil at the base of your stomach for someone that you've done nothing but unwittingly terrorise for the past week.  

He explains, patient and even-tempered; how to use the shower and you half-zone out to the low tone of his voice. There's no malice, or pomp in his words when there are a million things he could make fun of you for - that Jamie may have made fun of you for. You look up, at the sharp lines of his face, and chew at your lip, deep in thought. 

"...and this side is for hot water. Next time, just ask me – instead of almost drowning."

You nod, embarrassed. "Sorry."

"...For what?" He says, softly. "Place is falling apart, anyway. It's not really your fault." You're convinced everything you touch in this house breaks, but with the way he looks at you, you believe him. 

"Just ask me, next time." He echoes and makes for the door, stopping to drag his eyes up and down your frame. Oh… oh. You like that, the way he looks at you shamelessly, practically undressing you. 

He smiles, amused at your deer-in-headlights expression. 

"...I think that's mine."

He nods to the towel wrapped around your body and your eyes bulge out of their sockets. " Fuck , I didn't realise-" 

He shrugs, noncommittal. 

"...Seems like you need it more than me, anyways."

~~~

It's a rough first couple of days, and then a week, and then two. The rhythm is all off: like the jerky stop and start of an old car. He wakes up early to go on runs at the ass-crack of dawn, and you stay up late to finish papers and assignments. He has a job, you think, darting out at the same time once or twice a week in smart clothing and a backpack. Sometimes, you catch him hunched over a laptop or scribbling something in a beat up old notebook. Maybe, he’s a student - even if he doesn’t seem quite like the fresh-faced 19 year olds you see around campus. Although, you suppose it’s not implausible; you were one of the older people in your classes, after all. It’s hard to imagine O’Hara, stony-faced and serious, at a… dorm party, or something. To be that carefree, he’d need to get rid of that stick up his ass, first.

You’ve got a day off from lectures, using the time to catch up on the reading you should’ve done over a hectic break. The list seems to go on and on, already, this early into the year. Internally, you’ve made a promise to be on top of it all - the little hiccup with Jamie, notwithstanding. You’d knuckle down this morning, reading ( scanning) and summarising ( liberal use of the copy-paste function) in preparation for the rest of the semester. Miguel’s locked up in his room, somewhere, so you use the opportunity to spread out onto the dining table.

There’s a knock at the door that makes you look up from the muddle of words on your screen.

When you open the door, there’s a woman there with a notebook in hand. She’s pretty, in a classic sort of way, ginger braids cropped to her shoulders and lips slathered with gloss. Her outfit is relaxed, but carefully curated: a tight jumper and long brown legs stretching out from a black skirt. 

“Hi.” She says, visibly keening. It’s clear she wasn’t expecting you, but she quickly recovers and gives you a blinding smile. 

“...Hi,” Honestly, you’re a little confused. You haven’t seen her around the complex before; so who she was, you hadn’t a clue. Too pretty to be a door-to-door salesman, and too hot to try to convert you to Mormonism, you think. Whatever that means.

You wait expectantly, as a beat passes. 

“Oh!” She laughs, and it sounds like puppies and rainbows, much too bright and airy considering the time of day. It makes her next words even more of a shock. “I’m looking for Miguel.”

With her last words, she steps a little closer; scanning the apartment from her vantage point. Something in you bubbles up, but you try to choke down the laughter. 

“You’re looking for...Miguel?” Even out of your own mouth, it sounds absurd . The man had no friends, as far as you could tell. He seemed like the type to lock himself away in his enclosure, only stepping out for work, school, the bare minimum. In the short week that’s passed, his ‘enrichment time’ had consisted of a dry documentary on spider mating cycles - which had been a shock to walk into, the first time. 

So someone here, at the apartment? Looking for him? Fidgeting, you scratch at your neck. “Uhh, I ca-”

“Sorry about that, Jia. You can have a seat.” His voice comes from behind you, and Jia breezes into the apartment, perching on the sofa. Legs crossed, she reaches into her bag, taking out a laptop and a pen and paper. He’s changed out of his workout clothes, donned in a loose white sweater and casual trousers - relaxed, for once. With a limp thud, you close the door. There’s an odd feeling as you look around at the scene: tension, and you feel like you’re interrupting. Miguel clatters around in the kitchen, fumbling for mugs and coffee filters and God knows what else.

“...was it two sugars, or three?”

“Three!” She throws over her shoulder, tapping away at her open laptop. “I like it sweet, Miguel.”

You squint. He laughs : a small chuckle that comes with a heat at the base of your stomach. Your head almost aches, trying to recalibrate; reconcile with the version of the person you’ve barely seen around the apartment to now - present, engaged, and personable. Exasperated is the only word for it. Miguel O’Hara was, in fact, capable of joy. Dickhead.

He barely acknowledges you, but Jia does; batting her wispy eyelashes in your direction, curious. The tapping stops, and she curls the corner of her mouth up with a hint of a smile. 

“You gonna introduce me?” She calls out to Miguel, and then smiles to you; warm and genuine. It makes you feel a little more at ease. You catch the end of a sigh coming from the kitchen.

“Jia, this is my roommate.” He glances up to gesture towards you. “...this is Jia. I… help her out with work, sometimes.”

From the couch, she rolls her eyes. “He’s too modest. He’s my tutor, technically.”

With that, your eyebrows shoot up. Of everything you’d imagined him doing, tutoring students wasn’t one of them - especially considering he seemed barely out of college himself.

“...Technically?” 

“He doesn’t like to advertise it, because he’s picky with his clientele.” She giggles and he scoffs. You get the feeling there’s a joke flying over your head, just out of reach. “Word gets out on campus that Miguel’s tutoring again…”

“ Vale, vale ,” He grumbles, but his tone is good-natured and light. “S’enough, Jia.”

She gives you a wink, before turning towards her work.

You walk towards your things, still on the dining table. He’s got his head buried in a kitchen cabinet and you look on, wanting to ask a lot of things. The words seem to die in your throat: too big, too small, not the right shape. She's a stranger; that knows where the coffee’s kept and the best spot on the couch. That makes Miguel laugh . You want to ask him about the stranger in your home; but you’re too scared he’d turn and point the finger at you.

He walks to the couch, balancing two cups of coffee. You look back. Next to him, her presence is an oddity - a blip in his carefully crafted universe. With the warm sheen of familiarity, she nudges his shoulder. Taking careful sips, he pointedly ignores her, tapping a finger at her screen - as if to say, pay attention. She smiles, wide; an asteroid across the depths of space, dazzling and brilliant in the night sky. 

The exchange… it makes you think. If Miguel is the Sun, and Jia, a bright body in orbit: what’s your place in this four-walled cosmos? Where do you belong? 

_

_

_

Rigor Mortis Taglist: @bunnyrose01 @lavenderslemonade @tsukkie-daisuke @malxoxo @thekidscallmebosss @vvitcxen @theyoutubedork @doublevirgogirl @jnghs @taleiak @noblesavagex @cumikering @rebeccawinters @evanpetersrightbigtoe @saucypeanuttt @pix-stuff @maliarenee @truthuntolddd @honeycovered-bandaids @aiyaaayei @aeeliy @amplsblog @sikrettt @opuffmango @spear-bitch @maddielikesmoths @lemonpepsi @sweet-strawberryhoney @lacedinweb22 @bubbsby @jing5uan @ellaandorersoct @hibarbiesblog @valentxi @kittym1ka @delulu-dia @melovetitties @yohoe-hoe @acollectionofcells1 @froggi-mushroom @thund3rthighs

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#miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #eventual smut #angst #kat_writes😼

[welcometowhore-rrorville]

I AM LIVING FOR YOUR SLASHER HEADCANONS, esp the last post!! but i have a question: what do you think michael would do if the next time he wants to fuck, they’re like “nope, don’t want to, you didn’t make me cum” and is generally just provoking him and saying shit like “i can just find someone that CAN satisfy me” and other dumb shit. would he not care?? get jealous? knife through the door?? so many possibilities

Thank you thank you!!! <3

𝒞𝒶𝓇𝑒𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝐹𝑜𝓇

Featuring: Michael Myers

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: oral sex, fingering, rough sex, overstimulation, general nsfw things, mdni, i got carried away, unedited because I didn't think i'd write this much

As for your question(s):

I think it definitely depends on how long you've known him. The only way he'd give a flying fuck about what you think is if he was down bad. Especially if we're talking about the OG Michael. RZ Michael is easier to convince to actually give a shit what you want in bed, but it's still not a priority for him. Still, there are certain personality traits you can exploit to get what you want. . .

-

When you first brought up that you were unsatisfied in bed, it was a very soft comment after he was done and zipping his jumpsuit back up.

"I didn't even cum. . ." you mumbled, staring at your bare abdomen and leaking cunt. It was all him. You didn't even have the chance to pleasure yourself; it was too difficult with him constantly flipping you over and manhandling you. Your body was sore and bruised, but you laid there, discontent.

You moved your gaze to look at his masked face. Judging by the way he stopped his movements, he'd heard you. You bit your lip, turning your eyes away and down to your hands which fiddled with each other. You knew he didn't care, but it would be nice if he did.

"Just get out, okay?" you spoke, embarrassed and a little angry. "I'll just get myself off since you can't seem to do it."

Your tone had him walking around to the side of the bed, grabbing his discarded knife from the nightstand. You flinched, but didn't bother to run. If he wanted to kill you, he would have already.

Just as you figured, he turned back around, trudging out of your bedroom with the blade in his grip. You rolled your eyes. You were half tempted to call up and old friend of yours for a night, but realized that might end in bloodshed. Michael was much too possessive for that.

Suddenly, an idea crossed your mind. You knew Michael was selfish, but he also always had something to prove. He wanted to, no, needed to be the best at everything. Nobody could escape, outrun, or hide from him, and he knew that. So what if. . .

It was a few days later when he came back, heavy footsteps on your porch alerting you. Still, you pretended not to notice, phone up to your ear as you chatted. You were leaned against the kitchen counter, occasionally popping some popcorn into your mouth.

The door to your house creaked open before shutting again. You paid no mind.

"Go out? Ha," you spoke, fingers moving around a stray popcorn kernel absentmindedly. "If I want to get drunk, I'll do it in my own home, thank you very much."

At this point, he was looming in the kitchen doorway, but you didn't even bother with a glance.

"Oh, go out to meet someone, huh? Yeah, I guess that would be nice. . . I mean sure, there's a guy that stops by, but I'd be lying if I said I was satisfied." You leaned against your fridge, his massive form still lingering just a few feet away.

"It's just. . . other people I've been with have gotten me off four, five times a night, but this guy? Not once. Yeah. You heard me. Not once."

You made sure to emphasize that last phrase. You knew the dangerous game you were playing, but you didn't care. "Talk to him? Girl, I've tried. He's like a brick wall. Doesn't even say goodbye. As soon as he's done he's out the door. Rude? Tell me about it. Sure, I've had better, but he always keeps crawling back looking like a kicked puppy. I just kind of feel sorry for him."

You didn't have time to speak again before the phone was ripped from your grasp and tossed carelessly across the kitchen, plastic pieces shattering across the tile.

One hand wrapped around your throat while the other rested just beside your head, almost denting your poor fridge with the force. The choke was painful but not deadly, and you locked eyes with the culprit, staring intently.

He pulled you against him before slamming you back against the fridge, and you winced at the sudden force. "What's wrong with you?" you sputtered out, your hands trying to fight the grip on your throat.

He glanced at the destroyed phone, and you had to stifle a smirk from appearing on your lips.

With another slam, he finally released his hand from your neck, and you took in a few shaky breaths. Still, he loomed close enough to leave you pressed against him.

"You're angry," you spoke, rubbing the marks forming on your neck. "I assumed Michael Myers never got angry."

He looked to the shattered telephone again before looking back at you. He wanted an explanation.

"What do you want me to say? It's true. And I'm pissed about it. All you ever do is use me then leave. I haven't had a proper orgasm in weeks!" You pushed your hands against his chest angrily, but he didn't budge. "I know you're not a good man, but it still isn't fair. I can't even call anyone because you'll have a knife through their neck before they can get their pants off."

He let out a breath, both hands finding purchase on your hips. "Now's not the time," you huffed, moving to push his hands away. His grip tightened. You headbutted his chest, forehead resting against the rough material of his jumpsuit. How could he be raring to go at a time like this? "Unless you've got anything planned for me tonight, I'm not interested."

He didn't falter. You looked back up to try and read his face through his mask. It did not work. You could tell he was. . . different than usual, but he was probably still pissed off from your words over the phone.

His fingers nestled behind the waistband of your shorts, and in one fell swoop they dropped to the floor. You stayed silent. He never had the decency to take your clothes off. It was always ripped or sliced, and there was never any time taken. Hell, he'd never taken your shorts off without your underwear going with.

You stifled a laugh. Was he actually. . . trying?

He slid a knee between your thighs, pinning you. One hand explored your upper half, sliding under your shirt until he hit your bra. His other hand travelled downwards, slipping underneath your panties. You felt a rough digit slide against your clit and let out a sudden breath. Quickly, he backtracked, moving back up until he found that same spot.

You had to bite your lip to prevent a gasp from leaving it. You couldn't remember the last time you'd been stimulated there. It was suddenly all too-sensitive.

Two fingers caught the small nub, and you had to grip his shoulders to prevent yourself from falling. The digits toyed with it, squeezing and brushing like he was testing something. Your forehead pressed against his chest as heavy breaths left you.

One hand worked at massaging your chest, running a thumb against your nipple, while the other played with your clit harshly. You didn't expect him to be gentle in the slightest, but it still had you shimmying your hips in discomfort. It's not that you weren't aroused, and in fact, you were all too turned on. He'd never shown any interest in any part of you besides your cunt and mouth, and even then it was only to slide his dick into. This? This was all new. This feeling of rough hands overtaking your body, touching your skin, pleasuring you for the first time. . .

You pushed your hips forwards, trying to gain friction. With any luck, you could actually get off tonight.

Suddenly, all hands were off of you and he stepped back, tilting his head.

You rushed to hold yourself up, knees wobbly. You shot daggers at him, eyes burning. He stopped. Why the fuck did he stop?

He stared at you, waiting for something. You crossed your arms over your chest, looking as put-together as you could with wetness creeping down your thighs and shorts discarded on the floor.

"I'm not apologizing, if that's what you want," you muttered. "Congratulations, you found the clit. Took you long enough. You'll have to work a little harder if you're looking to clear your name."

In a flash, he had you hauled over his shoulder, and you let out a gasp of surprise. You could only sigh as he took you to your destination.

You were dropped onto your bed, legs dangling off the front as he pushed you down into the mattress. You cocked a brow.

In an event you'd never thought would happen, he kneeled down in front of you, hands spreading your thighs apart. Was this a dream? You were in shock. There's no way he was going to. . .

You were pulled out of your thoughts when your panties were slid down your legs and tossed aside. It didn't take long before one hand was back between your legs, rubbing your clit as the other pressed against your stomach to keep you in place. You couldn't move your thighs which were locked apart, blocked by his shoulders.

You couldn't sit up with the way he had you pinned, and so stared at the ceiling, hands gripping the sheets.

A new sensation startled you, and you tried desperately to sit up enough to see, but it was no use.

It was his tongue, dragging up your folds until he reached your clit. He took the nub in his mouth, and you had to slap a hand over your mouth to prevent the noise that threatened to come out.

That old and familiar feeling built within you, like a spring coiling and coiling, ready to snap. Your mind went blank as a tension built within you. It was like everything but your cunt was numb. There, feeling was in overdrive. Every swipe of his tongue, every prod of his fingers inside of you, swiping forward to push against your favorite spot: it was too much.

You came with a breathless gasp, back arched as your hands dug into the sheets. Even without seeing, you knew your cunt was a mess. You could feel your cum seeping out. You could smell the scent of sex in the room. Your thighs shook, pussy clenching around nothing.

You expected him to pull back, but instead you felt his tongue licking at your cunt, swiping up any spill into his mouth. You let out a whine as he prodded inside, tongue lapping up your wetness.

Digits were back to circling your clit, and you moaned, still much too sensitive. Despite this, he had no intentions of stopping, instead switching out his fingers for his mouth as he thrust a finger inside of you. You had no time to process before another joined the first. Your head pressed desperately against your bedsheets.

"Slow down," you gasped, voice shaking. He didn't heed your words, and in fact, sped up the way his fingers pushed in and out of you. You whined. The tension was already back and ready to snap within you.

"Michael," you cried, eyes clenched shut. "Please!" You weren't sure what you were pleading for.

You came again, more violently than the last. Over and over your cunt pulsed, leaking your cum to pool at your enterance, only to be pushed back in with the shove of his fingers.

"Okay! Okay! You win!" you panted, wiping the sweat from your face.

When he still showed no signs of letting up, all you could do was let out a weak groan. You got what you desired, you supposed. But it seemed he found something he liked as well.

All this because you decided to talk a little shit about him. You didn't dare tell him there was nobody on the other line.

#fanfiction #slasher #x reader #slashers x reader #reader #fanfic #slashers #horror #x y/n #halloween #smut #michael myers smut #michael myers x reader #michael myers #rz michael myers #2k #mdni #look at warnings #ask #answering asks

[sweetercalypso]

Please can you write about being catcalled when you’re with Joel? Like what do you think he would do?

wc: 0.7k cw: threats/slight violence, suggestive comments

Life in Jackson is quiet.

It’s reminiscent of a time that not many remember. Fit with a heavy artillery of patrolmen and a clinic and a working bar, Jackson made it easy to pretend that danger was no longer a concern.

Some of the men in the community weren’t so well-adjusted to easy living, and learned to find the familiarity of violence wherever they possibly could.

Walking back from Tommy’s house one evening, you’re reminded of how pervasive the threat of humanity can be.

Joel leads you home after dinner with his family. Ellie had stayed behind at Maria and Tommy’s with promises of hot chocolate and a new book that Tommy had procured on patrol the week before. You’re wrapped around Joel’s arm, giggling at whatever nonsense story he was murmuring into the quiet air when a sharp whistle kills the hazy warmth of the night.

Standing alone in the pale-yellow light of a streetlamp, one of the men from a group of newcomers stares darkly at you and Joel as the two of you pass by. His eyes had been stalking you from the time you turned the corner, like he was waiting for the perfect time to make his move.

“Lookin’ good, baby. I’d love to get a piece of that ass.”

Joel stops dead in his tracks like he’d been scorned by the man’s words. It was obvious the stranger was looking to pick a fight, and Joel was not the type to let a remark like that go.

“The fuck did he just say-”

“Ignore ‘em, Joel. He’s just trying to rile you up.”

Your grip on Joel’s sleeve tightens to give the man a chance to reconsider. Maybe he didn’t mean to offend you and he’d apologize. Maybe he’d realize who Joel was and he’d run away. Maybe –

“Let me know when the old man croaks, sweetheart. I’ll show you how a real man takes care of a pretty thing like you.”

Joel whips around abruptly with rage in his eyes and tears his arm out of your grasp before you even realize what’s happening.

He pounces on the man and grabs him by the collar, pushing him backwards until he smacks into the wall of the building behind him.

“Shut the fuck up,” Joel snarls.

He slams his hand against the faded brick, barely missing the side of the man’s face with his palm. Too stunned by the scene playing out in front of you, you’re frozen where you stand in the middle of the street.

Realizing that he had made a mistake, the man puts his hands up in surrender, opening his mouth to speak when Joel cuts him off.

“If I hear another word out of your mouth, I’ll knock your head clean off your shoulders. You got that?”

He nods frantically, clearly aware that he’s not in the position to argue.

“Don’t ever talk about my girl like that again – or any woman here, for that matter. This ain’t the kinda place where people let that slide.”

Barely an inch separates the two men as Joel barks abuse at the creep until he’s red in the face. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen him this upset.

“You so much as look at her again and you’re dead. D’you hear me?”

The man shakes his head in acknowledgement, too stunned to respond.

Joel yanks him forward and away from the wall, almost throwing him to the ground from the rough force he uses. He holds the man at arm’s length, speaking loudly enough for you to hear him where you stand a couple paces away. “Good. Now tell her you’re sorry.”

The man meets your gaze over Joel’s jacket clad shoulder, stammering through his dazed apology. “M’sorry, ma’am. Won’t happen again.”

Joel releases him with a rough shove and backs away nodding. “You’re damn right.”

He walks backwards until he’s beside you again, your hand slinking under his outer layer to rest securely over his chest.

“My hero,” you tease, pressing a kiss to his cheek as the two of you continue your journey back home.

Watching over his shoulder as the the stranger staggers into the night, Joel mutters under his breath,

“I’d rather deal with the damn clickers.”

#lovely anons #calypso writes #Joel Miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller drabble #joel miller hurt/comfort #joel miller fluff #joel x reader #joel x you #joel x y/n #the last of us #tlou #joel tlou #the last of us x reader #pedro pascal x reader

[kenjakusbrainstem]

Stuck (Mahito x Reader)

Contains: Rape, stuck in a wall, piv sex, body horror, multiple limbs.

Yo long time no see Mahito x reader fans, I admit sometimes I get far too excited to write him with Kenjaku I forget that he needs his own spotlight sometimes too. Going through some weird things irl as well so it was nice to be able to let out some of my feelings with this one, hopefully its enjoyable! Crossposted to Ao3 under the same name and shared to twitter at kenjakusbrain! Comment or rb if you like or have any thoughts <3

You regretted the split second detour as soon as you made it to the end of the dark alleyway. It was late and you didn’t normally take this way home, how were you supposed to know the alley was a dead end? A large man had been following you ever since you left the movie theater. You’d been foolish enough to try and tell him to leave you alone, which had only egged him on further. 

In an attempt to get away, you ducked into an alley. Quickly running to the end of it, before you realized it was a brick wall. It was far too tall for you to climb, especially with nothing to stand on, but you could see some light shining through from a hole about waist height. It was definitely too small to fit through, but as you heard heavy footsteps in the darkness behind you, you pushed away those thoughts.

Forcing your arm and head through the hole, you violently clawed at anything on the other side for leverage. Hand finding what you imagined to be a dumpster handle, you forced your other arm through, ignoring a crack in your shoulder. You could deal with a dislocated shoulder later.

Pain rushed through your body but it was drowned out by the adrenaline. You continued to force your body through the tight hole. Only pausing when you heard the man behind you begin to speak, words almost unintelligible, but it definitely sounded like he was arguing with someone. Perhaps someone was around to save you after all. Regardless, you still wanted to get out.

Half of you had made it through, your arms and head on one side, hips and legs on the other. Not much further to go, you thought as you attempted to get your hips to fit. 

They wouldn’t budge. 

Frantically you tried to force your way through, clawing and kicking to move your body forward, but nothing seemed to work.

The sound of flesh hitting pavement pulled your attention from trying to free yourself. A soft giggle sounded behind you, definitely not from the man who’d been pursuing you. Had you been saved?

“Hello?” You called out, unsure if you would even receive an answer.

The only response you received was a hand resting on the small of your back. Even though the gesture was not violent, it still startled you. You kicked back reflexively, but before your foot made contact with anyone, it was caught. The feeling of your leg being lifted into the air made you panic further, you could feel the material of your skirt bunching up around your hips.

“Why are you trying to go through the wall? Is that some silly human game?” A soft voice asked from behind you. He wasn’t quiet, but the intonation of the questions sounded curious, like a child asking why about some mundane thing they just didn’t understand yet.

You tried to get control of your leg back, but you could feel the hands wrapped around your ankle were strong. It didn’t make sense to you that this person could have dispatched the man that was following you and still be confused about why you were stuck like this. And what did he mean by ‘human’?

“That person was chasing me, he isn’t still there is he? It sounded like he got knocked out. I’m stuck now. Can you please help me out?” Your words ran together as you frantically tried to explain and ask questions at the same time. It should have been obvious that you were trying to escape. 

Another soft laugh echoed off the walls around you. It made your skin crawl, something had seemed off ever since you started interacting with this mystery person, even if they did save you, there was something definitely wrong with this.

“The big man? Oh you don’t need to worry about him at all, he’s in my pocket now and can’t hurt you. I could get you unstuck really easily, but it might make you sweat more than it sounds like you already are,” The man said, his words only making the situation more confusing. Nothing that he said reassured you at all, neither did the second set of hands picking up your other leg.

Even if you had been talking to only one person, the hands on your other leg made your guts twist with anxiety. Maybe you hit your head and all of this was a strange nightmare that your mind had cooked up?

You opened your mouth to ask a question, but the words were cut off by a scream as your legs were spread fully, exposing you to the person, or people, behind you. 

Before you even had the chance to beg for help or call out to maybe urge someone closer, you felt the wall you were stuck in tremble as if it had been struck by something heavy. Much to your surprise, a hand came from behind you, wrapping around your lips. 

You could make out enough of the arm in the dark to know that it was freakishly long, even ignoring the fact that it had come through the wall. The fact that you could see the elbow in front of you made your mind hazy, no wonder the thing had referred to you as a human, because he couldn’t be! Even if the fingers felt human and the skin looked normal, it had to be twice the length of a human arm or more, not to mention the strange stitch like markings covering the skin. 

“Geto said I need to get better at working with humans so he can try making more cursed womb paintings and you’re in the perfect position to practice. I hope you don’t mind that I want to get some practice alone, he says I’m usually too sensitive and finish too quickly,” The man, monster, whatever was behind you said. None of the words made sense to you other than being in a position to practice. 

This is what you had been trying to escape in fitting yourself in this hole, and yet you’d only gotten yourself into an even worse situation. Maybe if you were lucky the person would put you out of your misery after. 

Now that you were sure that it was just one person behind you, the feeling of another hand reaching out to rip your panties off of you was more frightening. There were far too many hands involved for this to be anything other than a monster. 

“Wow! You’re already so slick down here! Geto said humans only get like this when they’re excited, so maybe you like this more than it seems!” His excited words made you cringe internally. You mentally cursed whoever this ‘Geto’ he was referring to was.

The fingers that had ripped your panties now slid between your soaked folds easily. You didn’t know why you were so wet but you hated yourself for it. The tips of his fingers stroking against your clit made a spike of pleasure cut through the fear and anxiety filling you. 

He didn’t waste time teasing you for long, though. The fingers traced up, slipping around your entrance for just a second before they were replaced by the blunt head of the man’s cock. You squirmed in an attempt to get away, but you already knew the movement would do nothing for you. 

It didn’t hurt as much as you anticipated when he pressed himself into you. His size must have been below average as it barely felt like he was sticking two fingers inside. A dark moment of reprieve filled you, it could always be worse, you thought. The ache in your thighs hurt more than the stretch in your pussy as he started to slowly thrust.

Relief only lasted for a moment however, as you suddenly felt something else inside of you. It was as if with each thrust inside of you his cock grew in size. Different than if he were just getting harder. Somehow it was as if he could change his shape at will, the stretch that hadn’t bothered you before was now burning as he pressed his large, throbbing cock inside you.

Suddenly, you could feel everything, every vein on his cock filling you up so completely that you thought you’d burst. Another scream threatened to escape, but the hand on your lips kept any sound from getting out. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as his thrusting continued. 

You could barely make out the sound of whiny moaning through the wall. It seemed like you weren’t the only one that was feeling more than they had expected from this. The hands on each of your legs were squeezing tighter with every thrust, your feet had started to feel almost numb. You could only hope the numb feeling would spread.

The monster’s thrusts were hard to anticipate, it was like he was moving on instinct without any rhythm or method to the way he fucked into you. It was hard to anticipate when the next thrust would come as his hips changed pace constantly. One thrust was hard and deep, the next shallow and slow. 

It was clear he was chasing only his pleasure. 

Tears slid down your cheeks as he continued fucking you, you hated how good it felt when the thrusts weren’t too hard. Being so full did hurt, but whenever the thrusts slowed down it almost felt perfect. The slow drag of his thick cock, if this were any other situation, you were sure that you would be screaming in pleasure instead.

It wasn’t long before his thrusts became even more inconsistent, as if he were losing control. His whining moans sounded even more desperate. Only a few more deep thrusts before he pressed himself all the way into you, filling you to the brim before releasing deep inside of you. 

You were stuffed so full you could feel each spurt of his cum inside you, and even feel it leaking out of your body around his cock.

He pulled out quickly, dropping your legs as he moved. The hand that covered your mouth patted your cheek before being pulled back through the hole. Before you could even think to say anything, you heard a noise from above you. Craning your neck you watched a normal looking man jump down in front of you.

As he turned to face you, you noted the stitches on his face matching the ones on the strange arm that had held your mouth closed. Only, he looked normal, his arms were proportionate, everything about him was like that of a normal human, including the two arms with only two hands despite how many hands you had felt.

The stress of the night had finally become too much for you, as he leaned in to say something, you felt your consciousness leave you.

#mahito #jjk x reader #mahito x reader #mahito smut #kinktober #kinktober 2023

[reidsdaisies]

PROTECTIVE EMILY WITH READERRRRRR

i would love to witness emily go a lil feral if maybe the unsub punches reader or something. the things that woman makes me feel 😩😩😩 i wanna be held by her and have her kiss my tears away

‘𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭’

༉‧´ˎ˗ pairing; emily prentiss x gn bau!reader

༉‧´ˎ˗ content warnings; guns and typical cm case stuff, reader is shot in the shoulder but is okay, rephrasing of the iconic “I’ve got a Glock leveled at your crotch. What’s to stop me from taking you and the little ones out?” line, stressed emily :( and concerned emily, she blamed herself :(, you don’t blame her, kissingg<3.

༉‧´ˎ˗ wc; 1k

༉‧´ˎ˗ a/n; i don’t think this is the exact situation you wanted, but this is the direction i took it. not proof read.

𝐂𝐌 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 || 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

“Honey, don’t.”

You gave a silent nod, pressing your lips together in an attempt to keep your mouth shut. Her hand was pressed against your chest, the chest protected by the bulletproof vest you were wearing. She gave you a light pat before drawing her gun and swiftly turning the corner.

Two shots from her Glock is all it took before the unsub was out cold. You all knew he would try to ambush the two of you, just like he did with his victims, and so Emily needed you to be quiet in order for the situation to go the right way. Fortunately, it was easier than you guys had anticipated, and as she bent down to confiscate the perpetrator's weapon, she was taken aback when she looked up to see you turned around the other way, standing beside her with your gun drawn.

“Drop your weapon!” You yelled to the unknown man, but it was too late because he had already fired his shot at you. Luckily, his aim wasn’t too great, and even though you were hit by the bullet, it was in your shoulder, nowhere where the damage couldn’t be undone. You yelped, pushed back slightly by the force, hitting the brick wall behind you, completely caught off guard.

He doesn’t have a chance to redo his shot, because Emily is on it, aiming her gun at a particularly low area on his body.

“I’ve got a Glock leveled at your crotch. Nothing is stopping me from taking you and the little ones out right now, so I’d advise you to listen to my partner and drop your weapon.”

The second unsub falters at that, clearly not wanting to sacrifice his private parts just for the opportunity to maybe shoot two FBI agents and have even more charges against him than he already has. With her words, he slowly lowers down to the ground, placing his weapon down and sliding it across the ground to her.

She stops the gun while still never taking her eyes off him. “Now, hands behind your back.”

“Two unsubs? Two of them! How didn’t we know there were two of them?” She thinks aloud, pacing back and forth right in front of where you sit in the back of an ambulance. She runs a hand through her hair, sighing deeply.

“Em,” You drawl, looking at her with a look her brain, clouded by anger towards the man who hurt you, convinces her is betrayal, but in actuality is just concern.

“It’s my fault, you’re hurt and it’s my fault because I was so sure there was only one unsub.”

She winces at the memory of watching you get shot injury, her vision flashing back to the sight of you leaning yourself up against the wall, hand pressed over your shoulder, blood seeping through your fingers and down your sleeve.

“Emily, sit down and take a breath before you pass out and hit the ground and I’m no longer the only one sitting in the back of an ambulance, getting treated for a wound.”

“Right, you’re right, y/n,” she swallows, moving to sit down next to you on the edge of the ambulance. “It was just your shoulder, and we’ll be going back home soon. I didn’t mean to stress you out, it’s just I can’t stand seeing you in pain like how you were when he shot you.”

The EMT who’s treating your shoulder wound moves to your side, making room for Emily who’s now sitting on your left. You were shot in the right shoulder, so the EMT is still able to work on bandaging you up.

“I know Em, and you should know that it’s not your fault. None of us could have seen that turn of events happening, not even Reid, so don’t beat yourself up for it. And I also know you’re salty that Hotch won’t let you go over to the station to interrogate the man, but that’s most definitely for the best. I know what you’re like when you’re upset with someone for hurting the ones you love, and the guy seems like a pussy, I’m sure he would crap his pants.”

Emily lets out a small chuckle at your comment, the tension slowly dissipating from her features as she leans into your side. "You’re probably right, y/n," she admits, her voice softening with gratitude. "As much as I want to give that guy a piece of my mind, I know it's probably for the best if I leave it to Hotch, just this time."

You offer her a reassuring squeeze with the hand of your uninjured arm, a silent gesture of comfort and solidarity.

She meets your gaze, her eyes shimmering with unspoken emotion as she leans in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

She pulls back, smiling at you.

“You’re very strong, you know that y/n?”

You nod. “You remind me all the time.”

Emily breathily chuckles. “I mean it. You don’t let things like this phase you, and I admire that quality.”

This time you’re the one leaning in, pressing a kiss to her darkly-colored lips.

“Thank you for noticing, and for caring so deeply for me to the point that you get yourself all worked up about it. But also please don’t let your concern get to the level where you’re stressed like that, especially over something you didn’t have control over.”

“I can't make any promises.. but I will try, for you.” She seals her words with another kiss to your lips, the lips now tainted by her lipstick.

“All done,” the EMT says with a smile, pulling you two from your little shared moment.

“Let's get back to the station, y/n,” Emily says, hopping down from the vehicle and offering her hand to you, which you very gratefully accept.

#reidsdaisies #reidsdaisies emily <3 #emily prentiss #emily prentiss fluff #emily prentiss scenario #emily prentiss imagine #emily prentiss blurb #emily prentiss drabble #emily prentiss oneshot #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x female reader #emily prentiss x gender neutral reader #emily prentiss x fem!reader #emily prentiss x gn!reader #criminal minds #emily prentiss criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader

[selineram3421]

*those sleepy thoughts* What if?

The Red Mist

Prologue

Alastor X Sleepy Reader

Warning! ⚠

⚠ italics = thoughts, implied/suggestive comment, murder, all caps for screeching ⚠

Everything was red.

You were confused when you first opened your eyes. None of it felt real, everything felt out of place and fuzzy.

What is going on? Where am I? You thought as you walked down the street.

At some point you ended up in a bar. Not wanting to stay standing in a corner, you went over to a booth and sat down. With a sigh, you rest your head on the table, trying to gather your thoughts.

Why is everything so weird? I feel lightheaded..

You didn't notice the eyes on you from the creatures across the room.

.

Alastor was on a stroll through Hell.

For some reason today was energizing! There a strange shift in the air and he wanted to find what caused it.

Of course he had to go out!

Walking down one of the many alley ways, he finds an average sized demon surrounded by..wolves.

"Just leave me alone, I have to find-", they try to push through but get shoved back into the brick wall behind them.

"We'll help you cutie~ Just let us get a taste first.", one of the drooling beasts says.

"I said leave me alone!", they shout, shoving one of the demons away as they try to leave.

"Oh no you don't-!", one growls, reaching over to grab their arm.

Obviously before that could happen Alastor stepped in, with a snap of his fingers there were tendrils and shadows shredding the group of dogs.

He appears before the demon trying to run and holds them in place, turning them to face the glorious scene of bloodshed.

"Now, now! No need to run anymore, enjoy the show!", the deer demon's grin widens as he feels them stiffen in his grasp.

It didn't take long to tear apart the demons, so all that was left of the group of beasts was on the ground. A pile of red meat.

"The show has ended, what a shame.", the Radio Demon sighs and focuses his attention to the demon in his hold. "And who might you be?"

"Introduce yourself first.", they reply looking up at him with a glare.

How cute. Alastor grinned, releasing the demon before taking a step back and giving a proper show man bow.

"Apologies! I am Alastor, the Radio Demon.", he smiles politely as he stands straight. "Now you."

"A dreamer.", they respond, catching him by surprise.

A dreamer? What do the mean?

Before he could ask what they meant, the demon stumbled and fell forward. On instinct, he went to catch them.

Holding them close, he watched as parts of them started to fade away like mist.

"What in the-?"

They stared at him before giving a smile.

"This was a better dream.", they said, closing their eyes.

In an instant their body turned into red mist, leaving him completely confused. Moving his arms back, he stood in the alley way to think.

Dream?

.

"GET UP!", you heard before feeling something smack you in the face.

"Oof-!"

Sitting up with a groan, you see your little sister dash out of the room, hearing her mischievous giggles.

"I guess someone isn't getting pancakes!", you say.

You laugh when hearing her gasp.

"I want pancakes!", she runs back in and belly flops on the bed. "I won't do it again!"

Patting her on the head, you smile and do what any older sibling would.

Mess up her hair.

"Ah! Hey!", she yells and smacks your hand.

"Now we're even!", you say and get up to stretch. "Let's make chocolate chip pancakes.", you say before heading out of your room.

"Yay!", she cheers and runs to the kitchen. "I want strawberry milk!"

While you were getting the ingredients and cooking tools, you remembered a piece of your dream.

Red eyes? You thought while placing the mixing bowl on the counter.

Trying to put your dream together, you remember seeing a handsome face before being woken up.

Did I dream of a hot guy with red eyes?

*avoiding eye contact* 👀 May or may not have had a dream about a hot guy with red eyes.

~Seline, the person.

Part 2?

Taglist@

@willowaudreykeyes @kiraisastay @naelys-the-aster @scary-noodlesblog @ducky-died-inside @c4rved-pumpk1n @stolas-thebirb @biromanticboba @lbcreations-blog @+?

ML for Alastor🎙

#alastor x reader #gn reader #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #x reader #alastor the radio demon #fanfic #the radio demon #radio demon #sleepy reader #human reader #dreaming #the realm of dreams? #or #dimension hopping?

[thecuriousquest]

Hole in the Wall

Tag List: @issamomma @repostingmyfavs @chickennugnugnug

Warnings: Yandere themes, NSFW, lines blurred between dubcon and noncon, vaginal sex, degradation, spanking, possessive tendencies, slapping at the end, tearing of clothes

Summary: Bakugou finds you stuck in a wall. 🫠

Checkout my Master List here.

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“Come on. Quit playing around, dumbass. We have a job to do.”

“Bakugou…wait, I really am stuck!”

He grumbles something and wraps his arms around your waist, trying to pull you out. You can’t get out of the hole because of your breasts being in the way.

“Aw, that hurts!”

You hear him huff on the other side. “Well, the fuck do you want me to do? I can’t blast a hole through the wall. The bricks will kill you.”

“Try pushing me out through the other side.”

Bakugou blushes, realizing what you’re asking him. He crouches low, and trying to avoid looking at your ass and what’s between your legs, he turns his head to the side. He pushes against you with his shoulder.

You feel the rough brick scraping your skin, and this hurts even worse than when he was trying to pull you towards him.

“Aw!”

Your sharp cry of pain forces Bakugou to turn towards the sound, a hero reflex. His eyes land exactly where he didn’t want them to. He can’t help looking at how the black latex of your costume molds to your fine ass. The part that’s covering your most modest area completely at eye level with him.

He can’t help his wandering hands.

You feel finger tips graze over your clothed pussy, and you gasp, your thighs stiffening.

“Katsuki, what-“

You feel a hard smack against the crest of your ass. You wriggle your hips as much as you can and push against the brick wall beneath you. “What the fuck is wrong with you?! What are you doing? Just, help me get out of here!”

“It’s funny. I really was just trying to help you out, but now, I just can’t help myself. I mean, look at you. Stupid enough to get stuck in a hole. It’s almost like you want this.”

You feel him tearing the latex of your hero costume off of your body, your butt fully exposed to him now. His hands are rough from the life of fighting crime and very warm with the beginnings of his quirk.

“No, no, wait, you can’t! This isn’t right! Katsuki, we’re in public!”

“Nobody’s gonna fucking find us in this back alley. Hey! Anyone out there?! We need help! Please, anyone?!” His shouts for help are mocking, condescending to your current circumstances. You know he’s teasing you, and it riles you with anger.

You kick you feet, very aware of the toe of your combat boots coming into contact with the brick. Your bare knees taking the brunt of abrasions as they scrape against the surface.

Damnit, why didn’t you ever think of getting a costume that would be harder to rip? You’ve never encountered this problem before, but your outfit is way too convenient for him.

You feel large hands paw at your thighs, prying them apart. He steps in between your kicking legs and nuzzles himself up against your slit. The squirming of your ass against his covered cock makes him harder, the friction causing precome to leak out. He pulls himself free, and you feel the slippery head of his dick right behind you.

A tear slips from your eye as he impales you with his cock, not taking the slightest time to prepare you.

“So fucking tight. Who would’ve thought with the costume you run around in. Fucking tease. Bet you do this kind of shit to all the guys. You really even stuck in there, or are you just doing this for attention?”

His laugh makes you want to die. You wish you could get out of this hole so you can punch him in the throat.

His hands spread your plump ass cheeks even further apart, making the penetration even deeper, making your pained whines turn into sloppy mewls. You want him to stop, so why does it feel so good?

You hang your head in shame. You feel like you shouldn’t be enjoying this, but there’s this little spot in your walls that he keeps rubbing against.

His fingertips press deeper into your ass cheeks, and you’re sure there will be bruises later. He laughs at your pleasured sounds.

“Uh huh, someone’s having fun. Little fucking slut. Some fuckin’ eye candy in that tight ass body suit. No idea how much I’ve always wanted to tear that little number off of you and let you walk home covered in my marks.”

He sets off his quirk against your bruised bottom right where he’s holding your cheeks open. The small explosion causes a nasty, naughty sound to emerge from your lips.

“Oh, God, Bakugou!”

“Yeah? You like that? Fuckin’ pain whore. Look at you begin’ for me. Bet you like having your hair pulled too.”

Another sharp smack cracks down against your backside, this time, paired with an explosion that feels worse than the last one.

Your hands fall limply in front of you. You feel heavy with all of the stimulation. It’s as if rocks are weighing down your body, and you release that pent up feeling between your legs.

It all feels like a rush, like a tidal wave crashing over you from head to toe.

And then Bakugou huffs one loud chuckle at your reaction to his sexual pleasures.

“Came that easy, huh? That’s alright. I’ve got plenty of time to make it happen again.”

Oh, and he does. He fucks into you, hips pumping fast. Each time he ruts into you, he groans with excitement. His wandering hands can’t help but squeeze that fine ass underneath his fingertips. Everything about you is wonderful to him. It’s as if you were made for him.

You come just before he does as he gives one last thrust before bottoming out. He pulls away from you, letting go of your ass as he adjusts his clothes. He watches a mix of his and your come spilling out of your throbbing pussy.

Bakugou decides to snap a quick picture, stuffing his phone back in his pants when he’s done.

“Alright, you really want out? I’ll have to call someone.”

“No! Just, use your quirk! I don’t want anyone to see me like this! I’ll cover my head. I don’t care if the bricks fall.”

“Tch. Fine, but I warned you.”

The brick explodes around you, and you shield your head with your arms. To your amazement, only a small clump of brick hits your shoulder. It doesn’t even really hurt. The majority of the brick being thrown forward instead of crashing down against you.

You stand up and turn to look at the explosion hero. What do you say to someone who just had their way with you while you were stuck in a fucking wall?

Instead of saying anything, you slap him across the face…hard. You feel a sharp burning in your palm, and you really want to shake it out, but you’re too stubborn to show him that you’re in pain from inflicting it.

He grins at you with lascivious intent. He grabs your hair, pinning you against the wall right next to the rubble.

“So, you wanna play? That’s fine. I’ve got all the time in the world for you.”

#yandere #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #yandere themes #triggering content #triggering themes #my hero acedamia #my hero academia #yandere my hero academia #boku no hero academia #yandere boku no hero academia #katsuki bakugou #bakugou katsuki #mha katsuki bakugo #bnha katsuki bakugou #yandere katsuki #yandere bakugou #yandere katsuki bakugou #yandere katsuki x reader