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xhoneygirlxx · 8 months

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Love To See Me From Your POV

rockstar! Eddie Munson x wife! reader

summary: Seeing Eddie on the road for the first time should be an exciting moment but when your insecurities rise, you wonder if this is the life you were cut out for.

warnings: angst. reader is insecure: mentions of self hatred and low self-esteem. Eddie and Reader are both in their twenties! Rockstar Eddie. Eddie does call groupies gross. mentions of rough marriage. Eddie and reader fight! slight cheating accusations. fluff. Eddie is the sweetest husband, reader and Eddie being in love and cute. Smut 18+ Only, Minors DNI!! : mentions of sex with groupies, p in v (unprotected), cream pie, slight breeding kink, slight dom/sub, body worship/praise, oral receiving (reader), fingering, squirting. shit writing and bad grammar. Not proofread!!!!

If I missed any please let me know! *

a/n: Hello my loves, I got a request from @kellyxo1 for this little thingy right here! I hope this is okay and I hope you enjoy! Thank you all again for being so wonderful and lovely to me :) And remember if you ever want to request something, you're more than welcome!

There isn't a booklet on what to do and what not to do when you get married, and there's definitely not a booklet on how to be a rockstar's wife. Married life in itself is a difficult task, but learning the ropes of being married while also dealing with the life of fame was something you or Eddie was prepared for.

Getting married right after Eddie's third senior year was always the plan, two young and dumb freshmen solidifying it with hooked pinkies. Obviously you loved one another more than life itself, but going through the motions of being married at the ripe age of 20 is harder than any fairytale make it out to seem.

It was hard that first year, constantly worried about bills, overtired from working long shifts to pay said bills, and just learning how to live with one another. But in between all the hardships, there were small moments where both of you remembered what it was all about. Eating thirty cent noodles, decorating for holidays, the quiet Sunday mornings where you'd get tangled under bed sheets. The love that both of you hold for one another drowning out every other shitty thing around you.

The second and third year, your whole world flipped upside down. After getting lucky and getting picked up by a big record label, Corroded Coffin was now the hottest new band on the market. You remember the day the boys got signed, how most of them shed a tear of happiness, and how happy your husband looked. A moment in time that was now frozen in a picture that hung on your fridge.

You were so proud of the boys, watching them go from a crowd of seven drunks to recording their own album. There was something so special about being there with your husband for every step, cheering him on from the sidelines every time. When the album finally dropped and the number of sales went up, Eddie surprised you with the keys to the little house on Deer Run Road, the same one that the two of you always fantasied about owning.

Although he worked mostly in LA, he told you he planned on staying in Hawkins where he could still get privacy while being close to the people he loved. You also loved it because you wouldn't have to leave your job at the daycare and your husband would always come home to you.

Now on year four, you were the loneliest you've ever been. Between touring, recording, and everything that comes with being in a band, Eddie has barely home. You can't be mad at him though, he's following his dream all while providing a wonderful life for you. Of course there are nights you'd rather have him in bed with you, reading that old torn copy of Lord of The Rings rather than a phone call, but you're just glad he even has the time and energy to do so.

It was hard for the both of you, many times the two of you cried together, confessing the horrible ache that nestled itself in your hearts. You felt terrible, never being able to visit him because your schedule didn't line up with his. That's when you decided you were going to take a week off, fly to whatever city he was in, and surprise him.

With the help of Steve, who pretty much taught you the in's and out's of flying, and the band's personal assistant, you were able to buy a ticket to New York where CC would be performing their final show. That night when Eddie called you, you were buzzing with excitement and it killed you not being able to tell him.

On the way to Eddie's hotel was nerve racking. What would he think of you? Will he like how you changed your hair? Will he be shocked with how much I changed? You wondered how different he looked since the last time he saw you, the only way you got to see him was through your tv or on a cover of a magazine, and you never know how accurate those things can be.

Standing in front of his hotel room was daunting, blood rushing to your ears as your anxiety reached a whole new level. It felt like you never met him before, like he hasn't seen every single part of you or known you since he was a young man. The shakiness of your hands were only getting worse the longer you sat there, you decide it was now or never.

Raising one hand to the peephole, blocking it with your finger so he wouldn't be able to see, you use the other hand to knock on the heavy door.

"Housekeeping!" You disguise your voice the best way you can, making it high pitched and nasally.

Knocking once more, you cringe when you do it harder than before, remembering that he's probably tired from all the travel he's been through.

"Housekeeping!!" Still using the fake voice, trying to soften the blow of your heavy hand you sing the last little bit of the word.

From behind the door you can hear shuffling, yet there was no footsteps heard.

Raising your fist once more, you knock again and this time you can hear him shout something back.

"GO AWAY!" It comes muffled through the door that separates the two of you.

"Good morning, it's housekeeping!!" you cover your mouth with you hand trying to stifle the giggle that fall from your lips, knowing your husband is probably cursing to himself in anger.

Eddie's heavy footsteps and huffing are the only things coming from the room, then the door is being swung open causing the land that was leaning on it to fall dramatically.

In front of you is the man you married, hair messy from sleep, plaid pj pants hanging low on his hips, and bare chest on display. He looked so pretty, rubbing his closed eyes with the palm of his hands, pink lips jutting out in a pout, and puffy cheeks.

"I already told you to go the f-" Cracking one of his eyes open to adjust to the harsh light of the hallway, he finally sees you.

"Baby?" His raspy voice in a whisper, like he's questioning if you're real or not. Tired eyes that were once too heavy to open are now bulging out of his head, cartoonish and wild.

"Hi, Teddy." You whisper back, a saccharine smile breaking out on your face.

The air that once lived in your lungs are quickly punched out the moment he lunges towards you, gripping you up and twirling you around. In the middle of a swanky New York hotel, the two of you hold on each other, squeezing tightly to make sure that neither of you will float away in the clouds of a realistic dream.

"My baby, my beautiful girl," You hear it before you see it, the thickness of his sleepy voice does nothing to hide the shakiness. The tears of mourning you, fall from his eyes hitting the exposed part of your neck where he finds solace.

"I'm here, Teddy. I'm here." The dam you've built to hold back your own tears, has finally busted open. The tears of long nights and a cold bed fall onto his warm skin, the one thing you wished to feel once more.

Moving apart slightly, big brown eyes finally meet your own, taking in the imagine of the people they love the most. Teary eyes and stuffy noses, wobbling lips and heavy breathing, two souls reuniting after too much time away from each other.

Planting his forehead to yours, you bask in the feeling of being close. Eddie's warm lips touch yours, a sweet and tear soaked kiss makes you melt.

"I missed you so much, angel." He confesses, the warmth of his breath mixing with your own.

"I know the feeling." You joke and the both of your share a laugh.

"You know," he whispers, forehead still touching your own, "I want to be mad that I'm up at the ass crack of dawn, but you're such a beautiful sight to be woken up to." A gooey smile spreads on his lips and like a yawn, you mimic his actions.

"So you're not interested in housecleaning services this early in the morning?" You question and he snorts at your bad attempt of a joke.

"Angel, you know me better than that." He says and you roll your eyes.

"Now," Eddie lets you down gently, your feet returning to the carpeted floor. "If you don't mind, I would love nothing more than to fall asleep with the sexiest woman in the world."

Leading you into his room, he proves his point by slapping your ass hard. When you turn around to chastise him, you're met with him biting his bottom lip and his gaze still on your ass.

"Oh yeah, I'm gonna have so much fun with you." The morning rasp in his voice is replaced with a husky, lust soaked hunger.

Tossing you, lovingly, on the bed, Eddie pounces on you like a tiger. Attacking you with kisses, you try to push him off as best as you can, weak from all your laughter.

"Teddy, I still have to shower!" You shout causing him to pause over you. Catching your breath, you run your hand up and down his arm softly. "I still have yucky airport on me."

Eddie leans down and licks your cheek and you wrinkle your nose in disgust. "Oh yeah, that's my favorite flavor."

"You're such a dork." You tell him and he only smiles bigger down at you.

"Yeah but I'm your dork, Mrs. Munson."

The morning was spent with discovering each other again, not just physically but emotionally. You update him on the kids at your daycare and new Hawkins drama, while he tells you about the antics the boys have gotten into and all the cool stories from this tour.

You missed it, the simplicity of marriage. Even through all the time spent apart is torture, you still find the beauty in the small moments. Like the thirty cent noodles, you enjoy the peace and comfort of whispers passed back and forth a room that isn't your own.

All the bliss you felt from this morning has now been flushed out, now replaced with the roaring waters of doubt. You watch your husband on stage, singing songs he wrote, like you did way back when. This time the crowd isn't just drunk bar patrons, it's beautiful woman screaming his name.

They're all perfect, tiny bodies and big breasts, full hair and flawless makeup. They're everything you're not, everything you never will be. This was the one part of the job you never read about in your how to guide. This was the one thing you forgot to teach yourself about, how to handle millions of woman fawning over your man.

You weren't naïve of course, you knew that the guys had groupies, but you liked to push that into the back of your mind. You trusted Eddie more than anything, you knew he would never do anything to ruin your marriage, but that wasn't the part that had you so upset.

It was the idea of not being good enough that was eating away at you. Like everyone else in the world, you had insecurities. You went through stages with your self consciousness, earning a few battle wounds to your confidence along the way, but over time you became comfortable in your own skin.

This wasn't Hawkins though, this was the big city, and your "small town pretty" is no good here. All of the woman here could chew you up and spit you out, beating you out by miles in a beauty contest.

Your self hatred starts to write over the happy memory of watching Eddie on the biggest stage you've ever seen. Embarrassment fills your body, numbing you from head to toe. You feel so stupid, the clothes you wear are nothing compared to what they wear, you probably look like a clown in the makeup on your face, and your hair is probably flat and dull now.

This wasn't what you signed up for, this isn't in the job description when you sign on to be a rockstar’s wife. You already have to worry about the safety of not only your husband but the rest of the boys too. You worry about Eddie and if he's eating enough, if he's getting enough sleep, and if he's taking care of himself. There is already so much on your plate and you don't think you can handle worrying about the fact that you're not good enough.

The wave of guilt hits you when you look back over to your husband. His beauty is powerful, sometimes it makes you want to cry how pretty he is, and you know deep down he deserves better. Rockstar Eddie Munson deserves a girl that looks like one of them, not someone like you. It makes bile rise in your throat when you think about how he has to watch his friends pick up women from different cities and he has to sit by himself because his old ball and chain is all the way back in nowhereville.

Having a front row seat of your own demise is too much, deciding it would be better to watch on the monitor in the green room. When you're finally alone, it doesn't get any better. The large mirror that hangs on the wall captures your attention, calling to you like a siren to a fisherman.

Taking a seat, you begin to pick apart every single detail of your face. You criticize the shape of your eyes and where they sit, the length of your nose and how the shape sits weird, and how the pores that sit on your skin are way bigger than you remember.

The loud voice in your head pleads with you, begging you to stop before it's too late. "DON'T RUIN THIS" it screams and the demons that have overtaken your mind push it away, not wanting reason to ruin their demolishing.

When the guys enter the room, you realize you've been staring in the mirror for longer than you intended, almost like you were hypnotized.

"What a great fucking show!" Gareth announces as he grabs a beer from the mini fridge in the corner of the room.

"I agree." Grant says as he plops down on one of the leather sofas, exhaling loudly as the adrenaline crashes through him.

"This crowd was definitely the loudest one we've had." Jeff's voice is louder than he thinks. Clapping his hands together, he signals at Gareth to throw him a beer.

"So, what do you two lovebirds plan on doing now that touring is over?" Grant asks, leaning up from his slumped position to look over at you.

Eddie wipes his neck and face off with a towel, stalking over to you with a blissed out look on his face. Leaning down to you, he places a sloppy kiss on your forehead, removing with a loud 'mwah' sound when he does.

"I planned on taking my girl around the city before we head back home." Eddie is still looking down at you, almost like he's questioning you if it's fine with you.

Returning a fake smile, hoping he doesn't notice it doesn't reach your eyes, you nod your head to let him know you approve. A guttural moan pulls your attention to the brown haired boy over who's now sitting on the opposite couch of Grant and Jeff.

"You two are grossly in love, it actually makes me sick." Gareth rolls his eyes and the roar of chuckles ring out in the room.

"You act like we don't have a line of hot ass babes waiting for us." Jeff laughs and Gareth hums as he swallows the sip of alcohol.

"Very true, Jeff. Very fucking true." The boy laughs in agreement.

You know that their comments hold no malice to you but it stings all the same. All you heard was, "Too bad for Eddie, we get to fuck hot girls while he's left with that." It loops through your head, digging a deeper hole, bringing up every bad thought you've ever thought about yourself in the twenty something years you've been alive.

Everyone continues to talk, laughing and joking like they always do and the only thing you can do is get lost inside the storm that tears through your body. The feeling of Eddie's fingers dragging along the skin on the back of your neck has long been forgotten. The voices have all gone muffled, your own demons speaking loudly over them to even try to understand what they're talking about.

"Angel?" Eddie calls and it brings you out of the darkness of your brain.

You hum, craning your neck up to look at him. He's breathtaking, you think, even in the horrible lighting of this dressing room he looks perfect and it crushes you even more.

"You 'kay? Haven't really said much." He says, only loud enough for you to hear, not wanting to bring unwanted attention.

"M'fine, just kind of tired." You shrug. Flashing those pretty teeth at you, he smiles and it makes you sick with love.

"I'm sorry, Angel. I know I didn't give you much time to recover from the flight... and other things." He jokes, wiggling his eyebrows, earning him a light shove from you.

Leaning down once more, he captures your lips in a loving kiss and a small portion of the tension in your body fades.

"See, I told you! Sickening!" Gareth shouts, his arm stretched out and hand face up, directing everyone's eyes to the two of you.

Bashfully, you shove your face into Eddie's stomach to hide. Draping his one arm on your back, he twists his body slightly to look at the others.

"Gareth, you're clearly jealous I get to kiss my smokin' hot wife." Eddie shouts, and a collection of groans fill the room.

If only you could believe the nice words your husband said.

That night in the hotel room, you tell Eddie you're simply too tired to partake in any sexual acts, which he doesn't protest. Laying in the comfort of his strong arms arms, the thoughts are too loud to melt away to sleep. You wonder what Eddie dreams of as you lay awake, if he ever regrets marrying you, and if he wishes he could partake in the same things as the guys. You cry softly, tears pooling on the fabric of your pillow, praying to whoever to is listening to make it better.

The next morning, Eddie is like the energizer bunny when he wakes you up from your four hour sleep. Going to the local diner down the street, Eddie talks about how fun the show was, moving his hands dramatically as he retells you every detail. You try to look interested, smiling and laughing when needed but truthfully you aren't paying attention, you don't even chastise him when he speaks with a mouth full of food.

Afterwards, he shows you around the city and all the sights it offers. It pains you that you can't even enjoy it, too focused on everyone else around you, comparing yourself to every woman that walks past.

Eddie notices, he's noticed since last night but he didn't say anything. At first he genuinely thought you were tired since you never really traveled before, but when you sat across from him at the diner and poked at the food on your plate, he knew. Despite what a lot of people thought, Eddie wasn't stupid. There are many things he had knowledge on and his best subject was you.

He didn't know what was particularly bothering you but he knew all too well. You were in your head about something, beating yourself up about something that wasn't worth the fight, but he knew you could make it out. You always did.

The problem was you didn't fight out of this one. You stayed locked away in the torture chamber that was your mind and let the problem eat you alive. Eddie did everything you always talked about doing, showing you the places you dreamed about and you still didn't crack.

When you returned back to the hotel room, it was oddly quiet. Even Eddie who never stopped talking, was scarily silent. Sitting down on the bed, you started to talk off your shoes, working at the laces slowly.

Eddie stands in the doorway, leaning his body weight on the wall for support. His gaze burns into you, uncomfortably so and you're terrified to even look back at him.

"So are you going to tell me what's wrong?" His tone is serious and it terrifies you.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you meet his gaze. His arms are crossed over his chest and his features are harsh, waiting for an answer.

"I told you, I'm tired." You lie right through your teeth and like a metal detector he catches it, scoffing loudly and shaking his head.

"I need you to cut the shit, Angel. What is wrong?" He questions again and it ignites a fire within you.

"I told you, I'm fucking tired Eddie. Sorry I'm not you, I don't travel the world for a living." You snap at him.

"Are you- What the fuck did I do?" He argues back and you sigh heavily. This isn't how you wanted it to go but all the emotion from the past four years are coming out in knife like jabs.

"What the fuck did I do," You mock him. "What did you do? I'll tell you what the fuck you did. You left me, you fucking left me. Don't worry Eds, I'm happy for you, trust me. I love knowing that I'm the old ball and chain back home that keeps you from fucking groupies. But it's fine if you look, just not touch, right?"

When you're done you feel worse than before. Eddie stares at you, frown pulling on his lips and big glossy eyes that stare back at you. God, you want to kick yourself for making him feel like shit. This all could've been prevented if you just talked to him, let him in on what was happening but no, the demons won and they shot Eddie down while doing it. The worst part is, you pulled the trigger.

"Is that what you think?" His voice is small, something you've never heard from him and it breaks your heart.

"Fuck- I didn't mean that. I just-" Closing your eyes, you try to compose yourself but it doesn't work. "I just miss you so fucking much. Last night I couldn't even enjoy the show because all the tits that were on display in the front row distracted me. All I could think was 'how could he want me when all of these beautiful woman are better than me?'"

"So instead of watching the end of the show, I sat in front of the mirror and made a list of every ugly thing about me. My body, my face, my voice, every fucking thing about me is horrendous. Then when the guys mentioned fucking groupies, I felt so guilty 'cause while they're out havin fun, you have to sit there all alone because I'm all the way in Hawkins."

It all comes out like word vomit, laying on the floor of the hotel room, filling the room with the stench. Your ugly truths are now out there, you're so fucking vulnerable and all you want to do is hide.

"Are you dumb?" Eddie's voice brings you out of your pity party. Staring at him in shock, you can see his own tears staining his face.

"Do you realize that it kills me not being with you? Every city we go to, all I can think about is you and how much I want to take you there. Those girls you're talking about, the ones the guys screw around with? Yeah, I've seen them and let me tell you, they're gross." Stalking the short distance, he takes a seat right next to you on the bed.

"Do I get jealous because they get to have sex? Absolutely. It's not 'cause of the girls they bring home, it's cause I wish it were you. So many nights I laid awake, jerking off to the thought of you and it was way better than any fucking groupie could do for me." You snort at his admission, rolling your eyes still not believing. Grabbing your chin, he pulls your attention up to him.

"I'm so fucking serious, Angel. I'm so in love with you, it's maddening. Sometimes when I call you, I can't help but blush like I'm back in the ninth grade again. It blows my mind every single day that I got to marry the gorgeous girl from Click's class." His words are like warm butter, melting over you and seeping into your skin.

"Do you really mean that?" It's meek and unsure, like you're scared of what the answer could be.

"Cross my heart." He simply says, marking an 'X' over his heart with the tip of his finger.

Sniffling loudly, you wipe away the tears that roll down your cheeks. "I'm sorry, Teddy." You say and he hums, resting his forehead on your just like he did twenty four hours before.

"It's okay, baby. Trust me, I feel the same way sometimes." Furrowing your eyebrows at him, he laughs at the scowl on your face.

"Not like that, baby. I just mean, I get scared one of those hot dads are gonna try to pull a move on you when they drop their kid off." Between the serious look on his face and the honesty in his voice, you can't help but cackle.

"Eddie, who exactly would pull a move? Mr. Gardner? He's like forty and wears a very bad toupee." Eddie tries to cover the snort that comes out with a fake a cough.

"Hey, maybe you're into that kind of thing." He simply shrugs and you roll your eyes.

Settling into a comfortable silence, Eddie kisses you lightly and you pout when he pulls away.

"Can I show you how much I love you?" Your eyes scan his face for a moment before nodding.

"Please." That's all he needs to hear before he's placing you on your back, your head being cradled by the soft cotton pillows.

Eddie starts by kissing you, sweet and slow, reminiscent to the time you and him lost your virginities. The only difference about this time is he knows what he’s doing, confident in the way he glides his tongue against yours.

Moving his attention along your jawline, he places small lingering pecks down your neck. His hand moves down the sides of your body, finding purchase on the bottom of your shirt where he tugs softly on the material. Getting the hint, you sit up and help him pull the garment over your head, your bra is quick to follow.

Laying you back down on the soft cotton of the pillows, he continues his journey down your body. Soft lips leaving prints of love along your collarbones and down your sternum, invisible prints of love collect on your skin where they burn bright and settle into your bones.

“My sweet girl.” He trails more kisses around the doughy flesh of your breast.

Finding the hardened nipple, he swirls his tongue around it before pulling it into his mouth, lightly sucking on it before pulling off with a pop.

“My beautiful girl.” Moving his attention to the other breast, he repeats the same motions from before.

Moving down your tummy, he continues to map out his journey, leaving lingering tattoos onto your skin. Finally making it to his destination, he toys with the waistband of your jeans, popping the button open and pulling the zipper down.

Lifting your hips, you assist him in taking of the restrictive clothing. In one swift action, he rips off the jeans and panties that once covered you. Feeling exposed and shy, you whimper up at him to get his attention.

“What’s wrong, princess?” His tone is concerned and it makes you pout even more.

Wordlessly, you reach your hand down to grab the hem of his shirt where you yank gently. Catching your drift, Eddie pulls it over his head and let’s it fall to the ground where the rest of your close reside.

“You were feelin’ shy, huh?” You nod at his question and he leans up to press his lips to the tip of your nose. “Gotta make sure my girl is comfy.”

Shuffling himself onto his tummy, he places your legs over his shoulders so he can be face to face with your glistening sex.

Kissing the inside of both of your thighs, you squirm trying to move him to the one place you need him most. Tsking loudly, he looks up at you with a correcting gaze.

“Be patient,” he scolds and you listen, biting back your fussing and fidgeting.

A deft finger runs up your slit, moving your slick around as it does. “This pretty cunt is so miserable, huh? She’s sad without me there to make her feel better.”

Taking two of his fingers, Eddie spreads you open to exposing your core causing you to hiss when the cold air hits you.

A swift lick of his tongue hits you like a bullet train, all at once it’s too much but not enough. A sob leaves your throat when he stops, glassy eyes meeting the dark one of your husbands, pleading with him for more.

“You know,” While the pad of his thumb over your aching clit, he continues to keep eye contact with you, “I don’t like when you talk badly about my wife.”

“The strong, smart, loving, and breathtaking woman I married,” He continues his ministrations, not using his other hand to trace around your hole, “Doesn’t deserve to be talked badly about.”

He continues teasing you, not inserting his fingers into your clenching hole and not giving your bundle of nerves enough pressure. He’s making you sweat it out and you think you might die.

He coos sweetly at you, faux pity on his features as he does. “I know, honey. S’it hurt? Want me to make you feel better?”

“Please, Teddy. Please please please.” Your begging falls on deaf ears though, Eddie just continues his evil plan of torture.

“I’ll make it better,” Putting his mouth close to your cunt, you can feel his warm breath and you shy in relief. Moving away quickly, he looks back up at you and you fight the urge to yell at him. “But first, I want you to say you’re beautiful.”

“Wha- Eddie, no! Just fucking- God, just eat me out already!” You yell and he mocks you by laughing.

“Baby, I can leave you high and dry and be perfectly fine. So unless you want to get yourself off, I suggest you do what I say.” Although you know Eddie would never make you take care of yourself, his threat hits you like a lightning strike. His cool demeanor and stoic tone makes you believe every word he said.

“I’m beautiful.” It comes out in a whisper, so low he barely catches it.

“Nuh-uh, say it louder.” Eddie corrects you and the buzzing feeling over embarrassment burns your cheeks.

“I’m beautiful.” This time it’s louder but you don’t sound convincing.

“I want you to believe it. Want you to be nice to my wife.”

Something about the words being said to you makes your heart beam. All of Eddie’s statements to you have been chipping away at the guarded walls of your mind, casting light on the darkness that overshadows it. You start to believe him, you start to let the positive and loving words bring you out of the insecurities that plague your thoughts.

“I’m beautiful.”

You say it at the same volume but this time something in your eyes let’s Eddie know you believe the words you say. The glimmer of light that disappeared 24 hours ago, has finally returned to its rightful spot.

“There’s my girl.” Dimples flash at you before he dives right into you.

Eddie’s tongue replaces his thumb, adding more pressure to the pulsating spot. The finger that once teased you, is not fully seated in you, curled just right while it pumps in and out of you.

He’s not doing much, basically just warming you up for what’s to come, but something about it lights you on fire. The adoration Eddie has for you is being poured into your heart, lighting your body in a glow that he only manages to bring out of you.

Your moans grow louder when Eddie starts sucking on your clit, another finger shoved inside of you moving in and out in a faster speed than before.

You arch off of the bed like you’ve been possessed, whimpering and withering around making Eddie use his unoccupied hand to push you back down.

“Shit, you’re s’tight.” Eddie’s voice comes out slurred, drunk off of the taste of you.

“You gettin’ close? You gonna cum for me, Angel?” You don’t have the energy to answer, too lost in the feeling of your stomach tightening.

Slowing down the speed of his fingers, you huff in aggravation. Eddie’s voice pulls you back down to reality, your bliss slowly starting to fade away.

“I’ll let you cum if you say you’re perfect.” Lifting up on your elbows, you look down to see him already staring at you.

“Eddie I’m not-“ You’re immediately cut off by him, his tone more commanding than before.

“Say it, or you won’t cum at all. I just want to hear you say it.” He begs, his pace starting to quicken and his thumb now going in figure 8’s on your clit.

You’re quickly hurdled back to the euphoria you were just pulled out of. Eyes rolling around in your head, whining as the string in your stomach pulls tighter.

“I’m, shit- M’perfect. Your perfect wife.” You’re a blabbering mess, head thrashing back and forth in ecstasy.

“I’m gonna cum. Teddy, please!” You beg and he gives you exactly what you want.

“Go ‘head, Angel, let go f’me.” With one last stroke on that sweet spot, you’re catapulted into the paradise of your release.

It feels like you’re floating above the clouds, weightless and free. You don’t feel the gush that splashes your thighs or the sheets, and the voice of your husband is nothing but an angelic voice ringing out.

You return back down to the soft mattress, boneless and melting into the bed. When your breathing calms and you finally have the strength to open your eyes, you’re met with a Cheshire Cat like smile and the soaking face of your husband.

“You did such a good job for me baby,” Kissing you sweetly, you can taste yourself on his lips. Pulling away slowly, you bring your arm to his pants, rubbing your palm along the outline of his hard cock.

Shaking his head, he gently grabs your wrist and puts it above your head. “This is about you, Angel. Wanna make you feel good.”

A quiet okay leaves your lips and he continues to work himself out of his pants, letting his dick bounce out of its confides. Saliva pools in your mouth, the desire to taste him takes over and you whimper.

Chuckling at your pouty face, he moves back between your legs that you parted for him. When he runs the tip of his aching cock through your folds, you both hiss on contact.

Lining himself up, Eddie brings his hand to your hip where he rubs his thumb in soothing circles. Both of you moan in unison when he finally breaches your entrance, a feeling neither of you have gotten used to.

Pushing himself further into you, he takes his time to let you adjust to his size, something you still haven’t gotten used to. He stretches you out so nicely, filling you up like nothing else you’ve ever felt. Nothing can compare to him, every bump and ridge of his cock making it even better.

Lacing his fingers into yours, he hovers over you as he starts thrusting slowly into you. A choir of moans are made between the two of you, singing a song better than anything Eddie’s ever written.

With the way your legs are wrapped around his waist, you try to push him in deeper, wanting to stay this close with him forever. This isn’t just about fucking or getting off, this is about the man you fell in love with all those years ago and how he’s appreciating you. He’s trying to show you just how much his heart yearns for you.

“So good, so fuckin’ good for me.” Eddie pants heavily as he thrusts the tip of his cock ramming into your cervix just right.

“Always so good f’me, Angel. You take such good care of me, such a good wife for me.” He’s babbling at this point, reaching the tipping point faster than he thought.

Tears prick the corners of your eyes, all you can think about is how much love you love each other, how good he’s making you feel, and how he was able to pull you out of the darkness of your horrible thought.

Removing his hand from yours, he snakes it down your body to find you abandoned clit. With the added pleasure, you clench harder around him and the air in your lungs seeps out in a high pitched gasp.

“I can’t wait to fuck my load into you, baby. Gonna get you nice n’ round, show everyone you’re mine. You want that? Want me to fuck a baby in you?” His voice echoes in your ears and travels down into the pit of your belly, getting you closer to the edge.

“I wan’ it, s-so bad, Teddy. Wanna feel it.” You’re babbling, toes curling at you tippy toe over the line of your orgasm.

“F-fuck you sound so pretty when you beg. Come on, Angel, cum for me.”

And just like that, both of you unravel together. Him painting your walls in his release, while you guys around him. Eddie works both of you through your highs, thrusting sloppy and lazily into you until he can’t anymore.

Eddie doesn’t pull out of you right away, not wanting to let go of the feeling so soon. He lays on your chest, trying to settle his breathing as best as he can. Bringing a hand to the top of his head, you rake your nails softly into his hair.

Humming in delight, Eddie kisses your chest as a thank you. A small blip of time in a long year, the kind that makes the bad days all worth it. The secrets whispered in hotels and lingering trail that still burns on your skin, invisible kiss marks left for reminders.

It’s worth it, all the hardships and long months, when you know he’ll always find his way back to you. The sweet boy from 9th grade that promised his heart to you, now sings his undying love to you for thousands of crowds to hear.

More tears leave your eyes, not in sadness but in pure happiness. You’re so fucking in love with him and sickeningly so, just like Gareth said.

Swiveling his head up to you, Eddie rests his chin lightly on your chest.

“Hi.” He says meekly.

Eddie doesn’t question your tears because he has tears of his own and he knows they’re for the same reason.

“Hi.” You parrot back to him, a wet smile adorning your lips.

“Do you believe me now?” Sweet brown eyes pulls you in, sucking you in as they stare at you.

“Yeah, I do.” You reassure and he smiles.

Using his free hand, Eddie takes his finger to trace shapes over your heart. You melt when you feel him draw a heart with your initials and his on the inside.

“I wanted to tell you,” He flits his eyes down to his finger where it doodles on your skin, “the guys and I have a break now that tours over. So I was thinking..”

A pregnant pause settles between his statement and he makes no moves to finish it. It reminds you of the first time he asked you on a date, nervous and fidgety.

“What is it, Teddy?” Lifting his chin with your fingers, you raise an eyebrow to coax him into answering.

“I was thinkin’ maybe we could try, ya know, for a family or somethin’. “ Eddie’s cheeks and the tips of his ears are coated in a pink blush.

Your heart picks up and you know that Eddie can feel it under his finger. Smiling with all your teeth, you cheeks ache from the stretch.

“You wanna have kids with me?” Your voice is only a whisper and he giggles at you.

“Well I don’t know if you noticed but, I just blew my whole load inside of you.” The bluntness of his statement makes your cheeks burn. Slapping your hands over your face, you cover yourself from the embarrassment

“Hey, don’t need to get all shy on me now,” Pulling your hands away from your face, he smiles smugly at you. “If I recall correctly you were the one all like “yes Teddy ugh please!!”.” Eddie mocks you and you roll your eyes.

“Bye the way, I’ve been counting every eye roll since you got here and I promise your in trouble when we get home.” He points and accusatory finger at you causing you to clench around him.

“I love you, Teddy. Thank you.” You place a kiss to his lips and he smiles brightly at you.

“Don’t need to thank me, baby. I’m glad I’m here to remind you.” Pecking your lips once more, he pulls a way with an even bigger smile.

“Also, I love you too, Mrs. Munson.”

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x you #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x female reader

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lilac-5ky · 5 months

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always darkest before the dawn (Satoru x Fem!Reader)

plot: your boyfriend finds you waiting on his porch after a mission you warned him against going.

tags: hurt/comfort with a silly ending cause I'm silly for this man.

wc: 2.4k

“Baby? What are you still doing up?”

The sound of his voice gets amplified with every step he takes toward the dim-lit engawa, a pleasant break from the incessant chirping of the cicadas slowly being traded for that of the first morning sparrows—midnight sky melting into the lightest shades of blue. Stars are sprinkled over the velvet canopy like powder sugar, a subtle bronze haze dividing the horizon from the heavens above, and you almost thank them for sending their most exalted angel your way.

He comes alive again—wings heavy from the blood that soaks them, its source hardly human.

The knitted blanket slides off your shoulders as you turn around to face Satoru, his otherwise sublime features wearier and more haggard than you remember seeing them this morning by your pillow. He carries a bag in each hand, his apology wrapped in layers upon layers of aluminum foil. You wonder what it tastes like. Last time was gyoza, and the time before that drunken noodles—always accompanied by some sort of dessert from some faraway corner of the map, which he (typically) promises to revisit with you.

“Welcome home.” You sigh, mustering a smile to distract him from the dried-up tears that stain the apples of your cheeks.

It was a long night, and his absence stretched it to eternity. You realized after he left for his mission that forever is a long time to be spent alone, especially when the last words you said to him echo harder than the cumbersome footsteps of his departure, scaring you into thinking that was the last you heard of each other.

No one ever told you that being with the strongest meant becoming stronger yourself.

It’s not fair.

He doesn’t miss the opportunity to call you weak, making a habit of teasing you when your puny arms fail to carry his excessive haul of grocery bags or when you can’t open a mere jar of jam without him loosening the cap beforehand. He doesn’t admit you are stronger than him, despite you being the one to carry his burden and your worries, the two brewing into a sickly cocktail of premonition you can barely stomach—one that initiated today’s fallout.

You feel wronged. Your roles were reversed against your will; the comfort of being the weak one viciously yanked from your grasp, feet forcefully put into a pair of shoes you were never meant to wear. You should be weak. He should be strong. You should be crying, and he should be comforting. You should be able to tell him, don’t go, and he should be able to stay.

But you didn’t. And he did not.

Unaffected by the war of contradictory motions in your head, Satoru plops down beside you, large palms emptying of the cheap plastic handles to fill up with you. The thrill of the fight still hasn’t worn out, muscles taut from the action, and eyes bright under their concealment. He feels warm, warmer than the blanket that’s now receded to your thighs, though not warm enough to appease the cold in your heart, goosebumps prickling your skin from the inside out like your body is trying to escape itself.

A lump forms in your throat from where his lips touch your neck, briefly and fleetingly, before they are replaced with the familiar fluff of hair. It’s ironic how he tries to fit in you. There isn’t a part of you that hasn’t been touched by him in one way or another, and if you could pull out your own guts to make more space for him, then you would. You’d let him consume you whole if that meant never spending a second without him.

You wonder if that’s how love is supposed to be. You aren’t sure. You don’t know if you’re just another person who foolishly let themselves worship Gojo Satoru—if, in your effort to get to know the real him, you became his biggest fan.

“You are abnormally quiet.” You point out, instantly hating how ragged your voice sounds. The only dissonance in the picturesque garden of his estate.

Satoru shifts in his position, heavy jaw rubbing sweetly against your bare shoulder, hot breath fanning your neck. “I’m just mimicking you.”

“Mimicking me?” A bit better this time.

“Mhm.”

You glance at him, following the curve of his nose down to the dip of his cupid’s bow, both highlighted under the waning moonlight. Even when the stars are slowly drained and those flattering shadows dispelled, his beauty remains a certain constant. He is so beautiful that your heart aches, a longing sigh caught at the far back of your palate, his soft smile begging for its release.

He won’t hear you say it. Not tonight.

You test out the waters with a teasing poke of your tongue. He does the same, mouths almost touching with how closely he leans forward. Then a pout. A scrunch of the nose. An unserious wiggle of his eyebrows that mirrors your own—an image far more perfect than the one you’re used to seeing in the mirror.

“Would you jump down a cliff if I did?” You taunt.

“Absolutely!” He breaks the loop, answering in less than a heartbeat. “You know I would. The world would be a horrible place without my sugarplum.”

“You know, you could save us both if you wanted.” You say with a level voice.

“The greatest love stories are sealed by tragedy.” Satoru argues back. “Romeo and Juliette. Jack and Rose. Orihime and Hikoboshi. Takeru and Hikari.”

You are quick to spot the odd one out. “First of all, stop sneaking in Digimon references thinking I won’t notice, and second of all, Takeru and Hikari didn’t die.”

“No, but they never got together.” He frowns.

You roll your eyes. “You are unbelievable.”

“And you’re soooo pretty. Did you do something to your face? Your dark circles look extra dark tonight.” Satoru tries to catch your cheek in his palm, fine sand slipping through his fingers as you pull away.

“Shut up!” Your mixed chuckles course through your body, reigning over the tremors that previously had you shriveling into a ball of tightly packed limps. Staying mad at him is impossible when he’s actually there; all mood for poignancy gone in an instant.

“You never answered my question.” A featherlight hum brushes against the shell of your ear, the pout easy on his tone. “What are you still doing up?”

With a knowing smile, you peer at the sky, feeling the press of his cheek on yours as he follows the movement of your eyes. “Whenever I miss you, the only thing that calms me is looking at the sky.”

“You know I’m not dead, right?”

“Say one more stupid thing, and that will change!” You warn with your pointer up. He kisses it. God.

You tap your finger against his forehead, urging some distance be put between the two of you. “Whenever I look at the sky,” you start again, “I see you.”

Breaking from his embrace, you shape two circles with your thumbs and forefingers, narrowing their size until they turn into a pair of minuscule goggles you lower over to where his eyes supposedly lie behind the blindfold. “See? Just like your eyes.”

“Oh, I’m not too sure about that.” Satoru gazes at the sky through your fingers, eventually tipping in your direction. He smirks, “I mean, the eyes of the Gojo Satoru are kinda hard to beat. See?”

Peeling the blindfold off, he lets your palms spread over his cheeks, azure eyes losing their vibrancy as your dainty fingers frame them better than any pair of sunglasses in his collection. He’s right. The original cannot compare. It’s not Satoru’s eyes that resemble the sky. It’s the sky that resembles his eyes, for in his 28 years, he’s managed to make something as ancient as time itself seem like a cheap rip-off.

“But I am flattered.” Warm palms cushion yours as he brings them to his mouth. You don’t realize how frigid they are until he starts blowing the cold away, smiling against them. “Means I’m always on your mind with how often your head’s in the clouds.”

“Can’t go one minute without bringing me down, huh?” Your voice frail once more.

“I can. But where’s the fun in that?”

You pull each other into a gentle kiss, Satoru’s arms snaking around your waist while your fingers cup his cheeks with urgency, fearing that by the time your eyes blink open, he’ll already have faded into stardust. He doesn’t share your concern, soft pecks interrupted by muffled chuckles, the taste on his lips giving you an idea of what he brought home with him.

“Pancakes?” Your tongue drags against his bottom lip. Foreheads pressed against one another.

“Mhm. Figured you’d be hungry for breakfast at this ungodly hour.” Satoru pecks your lips again and again, making it impossible to think straight, let alone answer, given how often your mouths are smashed together.

“How did you know I’d be up?” You breathe out.

“Hmm, a premonition?” He grins, playing with fire with how he mocks your previous words of concern. “My six eyes—”

“Do your six eyes tell you that you’ll be smacked in three, two, one!”

Limitless activates before your forehead can ram into his skull, the number of times you bob your head futile.

“One of these days, my anger will outdo your technique.” You promise.

“Can’t wait for that!” Satoru beams earnestly. “Maybe then I can teach you about domains too. Make my baby into the best—well, second-best sorcerer.”

Truly impossible.

The world quiets down as the final veil of the night is lifted from the sky and dawn begins its dance, everything it touches slowly coming into life. Light seeps between the yellowing grass blades, illuminating the morning dew that rests upon them. Water sparkles as it pours from the bamboo fountain, the constant thump setting the tempo for the birds’ song. Fragrance is drawn out of the towering pine trees, grounding the elegance of the showy blue hydrangeas. No room for despair in this imagery of hope, complete with Satoru’s presence, white lashes fluttering shut as he stretches like a cat in the sun.

You love him.

You know you do. You mean it every morning and every night when he makes you say it in between chuckles, slender fingers tickling the admission out of your ribs. You mean it when he moves heaven and earth to fulfill a stupid promise you made at 4 AM when you were drunk out of your mind and he tucked you into the comfort of your shared bed—somehow less sober without a drop of alcohol in his system.

You mean it when there’s sand in his eyes, when his breath doesn’t smell as peachy as one would expect of someone as ridiculously perfect as him, when his voice cracks during a sing-along. You mean it when his tongue licks the luscious coffee cream from your lips and when it greedily laps between the puffy lips down under.

There is so much you love about him that you’d run out of synonyms for words before you could jot them all down in a way that’s not dull to read, and still, you’d lose out on describing how exactly he makes you feel.

Because Satoru isn’t a person, so much as he is art. Sometimes he is just splash of colors across a canvas without the masterful strokes needed to hone him into a finished product. Other times, he is just the notes composing the wonderful lilt of his voice, too audacious to be deemed a symphony. He can be poetry too, spilling out of the ordinary 17-syllable arrangement of a haiku. But most of all, he is raw energy, an untamed torrent ripping through mountains and a whirlwind sweeping everything in its path.

It’s hard not to romanticize him in moments like this. They don’t come too often.

“You know, you don’t need tragedy to write a good love story.” Your tendency to break the silence festers into a bad habit. “We might be doomed by the narrative, but we are here to live. I’d rather live with you than die with you, or live a life without you.” You whisper, voice getting caught in your throat.

Sincerity always scared you, but if there’s one thing more regrettable than words you’ve said, then that’d be words that were never told.

Your focus shifts to your dangling feet, grass grazing your toes at the completion of each nervous sway. You are no longer touching. Not purposely at least, contact reduced to the slight nudge of your shoulders as Satoru leans against his to smile.

“Gotcha.” He says, not quite pressuring you to face him just yet. “It was easy-peasy, by the way. Yuji and Nobara did most of the work, while Megumi—he fell inside a curse’s stomach. It was hilarious! You should visit them soon; see how my kids have grown.”

Your lips pucker their way around your mouth, tongue poking at your cheek from the inside—prelude to a slow nod. Too uncertain to be directed at him. You regret bringing this up. You should’ve let yourself bask in his affections when they didn’t require a verbal answer.

“You worry too much.” Your uneasiness prompts Satoru to crane his neck and lay a tender kiss on the crown of your head. His voice serious when he says, “I won’t die.”

“That’s what everyone says right before they die.”

“But I’m not everyone. I’m Gojo Satoru, and I won’t die.”

You gulp, then huff a forced chuckle. “H-hey, that’s a pretty good catchphrase. You should use it in your fights when you’re about to deal the killing blow.”

“I have a better one. I’m Gojo Satoru, and I love youuuu~” He sings, seconds before his lips attack your neck, deft fingers mercilessly tickling your sides against the hard wood.

“God! You are so corny!” You blurt in between giggles.

“You love it!” He protests, a wild glint to his eyes. “C’mon, don’t be shy. Say it.”

“N-no way!”

“No?” The sadist stops his torture, finding new ways to torment you as he slyly moves toward the forgotten takeout. “Guess I’ll be enjoying these myself then. Thank me for the food!”

“Hey, Satoru! Wait!” You concede.

Maybe it’s fine to let him stand on the podium alone this once.

a/n: my mood is all over the place nowadays, suffering writer's block, wrote this as a self-indulgent 5 AM craze, help satoru brainrot too strong

#gojo x reader #gojo angst #gojo fluff #gojo satoru #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jujustu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #satoru <3 #jjk gojo #jjk fanfic #satoru x reader

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murderofcrow · 2 months

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I feel like we moved on too quickly from how pretty his lashes are!!!

#pretty chaos noodle #also i wanna boop his nosie #sleep token #sleep token worship #sleep token iii #vessel iii

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cinnamonglaive · 7 months

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“I hope the ATN marriage is Griddlehark!!!”

Is it not enough for you that they are soul bound? That they reside inside each other? That Gideon gave herself as a sacrificial lamb to Harrow, and Harrow rejected this sacrifice even though it would have honored the god they were both supposed to worship? I hope Gideon marries Ianthe and everyone is miserable about it. I hope Naberius’s body is married to Noodle as some sort of sick prank on Ianthe’s part. I hope Alecto marries The First (the planet, no one else). I hope Varun marries Dominicus so the solar system remains habitable even after John is dethroned.

#mine #tlt #gtn #ntn #htn #atn #gideon nav #harrowhark nonagesimus #ianthe tridentarius #cw ianthe tridentarius #alecto the first #alecto speculation #john gaius #naberius tern #griddlehark

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siancore · 1 month

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Richonne | 1.1K words | E | AO3 |

A/N: Based on this prompt. For @msjrichonne Enjoy!

“Us against the world.”

It wasn’t just something offhanded to say. In that moment, as in every moment they spent together, that is what it felt like for Michonne: She and Rick against the world.

They clinked their glasses together as Rick replied, “Or savin’ it.”

They shared a look before Rick added, “I am surprised you took the noodles back, though.”

Michonne chuckled and said, “They pulled a gun on us. You don’t get noodles for that.”

The pair took another swig. The warm liquid soothed Michonne’s throat. The warm candlelight that filled the cabin washed over Rick’s handsome features. She felt warmth encompass her whole being as it settled somewhere deep inside.

Michonne placed her glass down, tilted her head, and let out an amused little sigh.

“Toothpaste, booze,” she said before dipping her head in his direction. “What’re you up to Grimes?”

Rick smiled a little, shook his head charmingly, and then said, “I’m just workin’ with what I’ve got.”

Then Rick reached into the top pocket of his button-down shirt. He held out the small chain he had picked up earlier; the chain with the little m on it. He placed it in the palm of Michonne’s hand. She took the gift and smiled at it, ever endeared by Rick’s thoughtfulness.

Rick got up from where he was seated and made his way over to Michonne. He held out his hand and they linked their fingers together before he pulled Michonne to her feet and drew to him. Her body pressed against his as they melted together in a passionate kiss before they fell to the bed.

Rick covered Michonne’s body with his. His lips moved from hers to her neck, eliciting pleasured moans from her. They fumbled with their clothing, eager to rid themselves of the offending garments and feel skin upon searing skin.

There was something desperate about how they clung to one another. As if, even though they had reunited, they could be torn apart at any moment. They breathed one another in as if all of the oxygen had left the room and they were each other’s lifeline.

They had never truly tired of kissing one another before they had been separated, and it was still true in that moment. Despite their hunger for one another, they could have spent the entire evening showing their need and want using just lips on skin. That was exactly where Rick’s mind was at.

He drew back, kneeled on the bed, and stared down at Michonne. The fire behind his eyes flamed wildly. She never got over that look – the way he stared at her like she was everything he had ever wanted; everything he had every revered and worshipped; everything he held dear.

“You’re so beautiful,” he rasped out, his voice low from desire. “So fucking beautiful, Michonne.”

She smiled up at Rick, took his hand, and said, “So are you.”

...

Rick had started to pepper kisses down Michonne’s neck to her collarbone. Her fingers found their way into his curls as his lips moved to her chest. His tongue swirled over her nipple, and she could not stifle the moan it elicited. Rick smiled against Michonne’s skin and continued to trail his scorching kisses down her body until she could feel his breath hot against her inner thigh.

“Rick,” she whispered as he ran his finger over her pulsing slit and pressed against her throbbing little bud. “Please.”

“Shh,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her thigh. “I got you.”

Soon, Rick’s lips replaced his finger as he brought his mouth to his wife’s center. He slid his tongue up and down her slit, dipping between her folds and drinking her up. Each clever swipe of Rick’s eager tongue pulled delighted moans and whimpers from Michonne. She gripped his curls tighter as he worked his lips and tongue over her pussy. He sucked her clit into his mouth and her body shuddered in the most delightful way.

“Rick,” she managed to say between moans.

He sucked harder as he flicked his tongue quicker. Michonne felt a heat rise in her stomach and then swirl down lower. The pulsing between her legs had grown more intense with every deft movement of Rick’s keen mouth. All of his attention culminated in a wave of pleasure that flooded Michonne’s senses and washed over her trembling body. She clenched her legs around Rick’s head and let her body soak up her orgasm.

...

Rick’s hardness was buried inside of Michonne’s tight, wet heat. She gripped tightly to his shoulders as her fingernails dug into his flesh. They shared messy kisses as Rick thrust in and out, over and over again. Michonne whimpered as he brought her close once more. She tightened her walls around his hard cock. He let out a moan that was more akin to a growl. It was intoxicating being enveloped by Michonne. Being so close to her that he could feel the beating of her heart; a rhythm that matched every eager thrust. Each thrust that was met with whimpers of pleasure falling from her heart-shaped lips. Whimpers that pushed him closer to his own release.

Their lips stayed connected with kisses that were almost frantic; almost feverish. Rick stayed planted between Michonne’s strong thighs as he drove himself harder and faster. Rick struck at Michonne’s core with more fervor as his hips suddenly bucked forward with force.

“Fuck,” he cursed. “Fuck. Michonne. Michonne.”

“Rick,” she moaned in response as her orgasm washed over her in the same moment that Rick found his release, spilling his seed and filling her womb.

...

The soft light of the candles draped Rick and Michonne in a warm light as they lay together. Her lying supine as he leaned up on his elbow and watched her. The afterglow of their lovemaking looked good on her, just like everything else did. Her skin glistened from sweat as Rick traced his fingers over her collarbone, padding over her scar and then touching the small m on the necklace he had gifted her.

“Us against the world,” said Rick, suddenly, as he searched Michonne’s gaze; she gifted him with a sweet smile. “It’s always been you, you know that, right?”

“I know,” she replied softly.

“In all o’ this,” said Rick with so much conviction and sincerity it made Michonne’s chest hurt. “It’s always been you, the only one I could see myself facing this world with. You and only you. Us against the world.”

Michonne smiled up at him as she brought her hand to caress his face while she said, “Forever.”

#richonne #richonne fanfiction

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oneatlatime · 25 days

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Sokka's Master

pleasebegoodpleasebegoodpleasebegoodpleasebegoodpleasebegood

Strange choice of master but we'll see where this goes.

The meteor shower animation is quite meditative. I wouldn't mind it as a screensaver.

How to describe something exceptional to your blind friend: "You've never not seen anything like this." It's amazing the quality put into even the tiniest of throwaway jokes.

Are meteor strikes flammable?

I love how whenever Sokka's disappointed he gets noodle arms. A surprisingly consistent characterisation.

Momo butt skate.

Iroh. The fuck?

ok. So he's playing a part for the guards. Why?

Pretty.

Funny to think about, but as a former WWE character, Toph's probably had more hero worship than the Avatar.

Lots to say about this! First, I stand corrected! i honestly thought that Sokka would be immune to this specific insecurity by virtue of him not being a bender. I was wrong! Second, I love how, as soon as Sokka expresses that he feels that he isn't as talented as the rest of them, the others respond by listing his actual, invaluable talents, without which the group would be completely at sea. They don't respond with "no you're perfect!" they respond with "no one can read a map like you can" and how he keeps their spirits up with jokes. They're not using false praise. They are using specific facts. I love that an episode that looks like it's going to deal with a character feeling down on themselves establishes from the get go that the character is invaluable, actually. So often, the 'low self esteem stock episode' puts the affirmation of the character's value at the end. Which means the viewer spends the whole episode being convinced that the character in question might actually be useless. Here, we're told from the start that the character is invaluable - the problem is that they do not perceive themselves to be so. Quite on the nose for a show that deals so much with identity.

OMIGOD IT GETS BETTER!!!!!!!!!!

Validating Katara sweeps in and a) validates his feelings, while b) clearly explaining that his self-perception is not in line with how the others see him, which c) doesn't invalidate a) !!!!

Katara has such emotional intelligence when she chooses to use it.

Nuanced intelligent discussion of the complexities of emotions and self-perception in a Sokka episode I am so happy I am blessed the gods are shining on me today I'm sitting here twirling my hair and swinging my feet and doodling hearts on the corner of my journal

SHOPPING!!!!!

btw that's the same face he makes when he says SUKI!!!

"Reinvigorate my battling" this boy. just. this boy.

He lasted a lot longer than I would have with nun chucks.

Aang the Happy Meal toy.

Some say that Halberd is still spinning today.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present: the 45 degree Sokka.

Some Foley artist had the time of their life with this weapons sequence.

Why thank you for that exposition, Mr. Exposition. Now walk away and we'll never see you again.

Toph does NOT move ONCE this whole scene and it's ever so slightly freaking me out.

Toph tells you she learned from Badgermoles and no one wants to discuss this further?!? We're going to gloss over that?

So this episode has a training montage theme.

Sokka goes freestyle on those door knockers.

That's one hell of a castle. Must be dark in there though. Tiny windows.

Which explains the several hundred candles. This show. Set up with one hand; slam dunk with the other.

This guy's reciting Sokka's s1 introduction on Kyoshi Island.

Sokka: Actually. I am a dumb. The Master: Sold.

The face of someone who is definitely picking up what you're putting down.

It's been ages since I watched the episode, but is some of what the Master saying here about swords an echo of what Zuko says to the kid in Zuko Alone when he's decapitating sunflowers?

A Sokka-less Gaang. Depressing and they know it.

The way Katara's voice actor says "oh everyone's a critic" is gold.

Multidisciplinary education vs. kid who's never been within a mile of the box he's being told to think outside of. Fight!

Yikes that was a meaty hit. Does Sokka have a nose left?

They're wearing beehives on their heads.

Was Sokka always this short?

The greens in this episode are such a delight.

The way he says "I'm finished!" Sounds like "Am finished" and you can actually hear the smiley emoji he throws in.

He's good.

What do they FEED him?

Sokka's voice actor had a great time this episode. All the voice actors had a great time actually.

Sokka invents the La Z Boy

Katara inadvertently invents a fandom war by attempting a joke.

They're all so useless and it's wonderful.

That was all only one day? That's a lot of outfit changes for one day.

"You mess things up in a very special way." Compliment? Let's go with compliment.

Sokka is so very Sokka this episode.

A reason to live is coming!

*thundering herds of shippers in the distance*

That's clever. The inciting incident gets smelted. Haven't seen that before.

This whole Iroh gets buff montage has been completely dialogue free on Iroh's part. Crazy levels of inner peace, that he'd doesn't need to snark back at the guard.

Seriously. What are they FEEDING these children. Also how is that door that shiny.

Sokka really has it in for those door knockers.

Apropos of nothing, the clouds in this episode are all so yummy. All these soft slate colours and misty layers.

Meteoric iron is actually a thing, right?

Ok but aren't mold made swords crappy?

HI YUE

I love how they managed to made a crafting montage where the character who does the least work is the one who looks like he's working the hardest.

"I saw a heart as strong as my garden decor"

"No it certainly wasn't your skills. You had none."

Creativity, versatility, intelligence, meat, sarcasm.

You've known him like two days and you can already tell he's more worthy than any man you've ever trained? Sounds like you had poor taste in students.

"No. This is my fight. Alone." Bro you are going to DIE. The first time you held a sword was two days ago. You might need the avatar on this one.

Guard who never shuts up actually kind of has a point here. He's a dick about as usual, but it's entirely possible that the rank and file of the Fire Nation army view Iroh's actions as a betrayal. Does anyone remember in Star Wars movie number 7, or maybe 8, when that Trooper sees Finn after he's switched sides and yells "traitor!" and it's the best part of the movie? Yeah, like that.

This episode throws the concept of linear time out the window. In two days, Iroh gets swole and Sokka masters sword fighting.

Do you think Sokka's realised yet that this is his final exam?

Yummy yummy clouds.

One in a million pocket sand shot.

One in a million stick placement.

So this master is like a sword spirit or something. He can't be human. There's no way he could get the scabbard to fly on perfectly without seeing.

"Try Lee, There's a million Lees. There's a tea shop in Ba Sing Se that has a super cranky waiter called Lee."

This guy's just this side of committing treason and I love it.

I see this Master is a devotee of the 'Hakoda school of shoving outrageously over the top compliments into Sokka's thick skull in the hopes that 1% of them will stick.' I approve.

This last scene has gorgeous hills and skies but you'll have to take my word for it because I've hit the image limit.

Sokka's been inducted into the super secret boy band!!!

He saved space earth for Toph! He's so considerate! He's fuelling the ships!

Let's compromise and call it space dirt instead.

Final Thoughts

This episode every two minutes: Sokka, you are currently flawless and you're about to get better. Me: Yes. Yep. Yeah. Seconded. I concur.

I like it! It's great! It's 24 minutes of the writers and characters fangirling over Sokka! Of course I like it! It made me criminally overuse exclamation marks! What else can I say?

Hands down my favourite episode is Bato of the Water Tribe. For Sokka's story, this episode is Bato of the Water Tribe part 2. Of course I'm going to love it. This episode was lab grown specifically for me.

Now let's see if I can say something about this episode that isn't poorly disguised squealing.

I love how the characters respond to Sokka saying he's not special with an evidence-based refutation rather than blanket reassurance.

I love how shopping cheers up Sokka. I love how Katara knows that shopping will cheer him up. This must be something she's learned since the show started. I don't think there were malls in the South Pole. So Katara was paying attention when Sokka and Momo went through the bag saga.

I love how much the master is baffled yet impressed by Sokka. He seems almost charmed by this breath of fresh air. I think it's hilarious that, when Sokka first approaches him, he's expecting early season 1 Sokka. He'd better send Suki a thank you card.

I also really like "The way of the sword doesn't belong to any one nation." It seems obvious to us, but in a world where there are weaponisable skills that are quite literally inseparable from the nations their wielders inhabit, it's probably something no one in the Gaang has ever heard before.

Obviously the episode is a little rushed - half hour kid's show and all that - but it's still pretty crazy that you can apparently impart a solid basic knowledge of swordplay in two days.

Toph going all tsundere is funny, and makes Aang and Katara unapologetically desperate for Sokka's company twice as funny as it already is. Toph's like "whatever" and the other two spent the day making a welcome home banner.

I love how Sokka's happiness is always so loud and shameless. It makes it contagious.

This episode highlights what Sokka's actual strengths are, by instructing him in what he thinks his strengths are. If that makes sense? Sokka is brain, which he's finally starting to realise by attending brawn lessons.

He's also heart, and I'll die on that hill.

Iroh getting swole was honestly just a thing that happened. No comment really, except it was interesting to have a reminder from the guard that a character we perceive as the good guy is currently perceived as the bad guy by everyone but us. When the Fire Nation does inevitably get defeated, a whole nation is going to have to reset their worldview and that will not be an easy process.

More like this please!

#atla #avatar: the last airbender #avatar the last airbender #sokka's master

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slashers-and-rats · 8 months

Note

slashers reacting to being their bpd gn s/o's fave person?

rat chat: i really like this prompt, because i have a lot of stuff goin’ on up in my noodle, and i also experience the fave person phenomena to a high extent. so i relate to you, and i like that.

Slashers reacting to being the gn!reader’s favourite person | sfw |

featured slashers: billy lenz, thomas hewitt, vincent sinclair

billy lenz :

billy wasn’t a stranger to obsessive tendencies. this man, at some point in his time of knowing you, watched you through holes in the ceiling and actively snuck out at night to stare at you sleeping. he knew what it was like to have someone you cherished more than anything in the world. it was a bit different, obviously, but he still related to what you were feeling.

there was a day when you had to sit down and explain it to him. it took him a bit to really chew on the words you were feeding him. he was your favourite? you wanted to always be around him? the things he did had that much impact on you? deep down, in the sicker parts of his psyche, he was elated. he wanted you to be reliant and obsessed with him, he wanted you to feel just like how he did. but, at the same time, your tone didn’t seem so chipper. he could tell it was something to tread carefully on, especially knowing that the things he did could effect you so deeply.

he was always at your disposal, so withdrawals weren’t much of a problem. the anxiety of him being away was always satiated within seconds, as he liked to stay close to you too. billy was always just a call away if you needed to be grounded and reassured he was there.

you would ask for praise from time to time, wanting to hear him say you were good and that he actually cared about you. this was a foreign concept to billy. how did you not know? he knew he didn’t say many coherent things, but even his disjointed ramblings were often worships to you. he always did what you asked tho. he’d praise you, and pepper your face in sloppy, wet kisses, and purr about how he’ll never leave you. in between his garbled noises, he’d mumble out compliments, and make sure you felt as happy as he did.

he was truly delighted to be so attached to you. the concept of bpd and having a “favourite person” might’ve been new and different, but at the end of the day, it only made him feel more comfortable with his own feelings. sometimes he felt like he was pathetic for being so clingy to you, and knowing that you, in some way or another, felt the same made him comforted.

there were some downsides. sometimes billy didn’t like being out and around people, and would coop himself up in the attic. he saw on those days how blue you’d get yourself, even without him doing anything. during those times, he’d draw you small pictures and write cat scratch notes, and slip them underneath doors as he glided through the house in complete silence. it was just reminders that he did love you, even when he needed his own space.

he just really cares about you. and is happy to know that he is so cared for as well.

thomas hewitt :

thomas has no real knowledge of mental illnesses. that’s not to say he hasn’t experienced it, he has his own issues, and his whole family is riddled with different disorders, but it’s never really been openly talked about.

that being said, when you went to him and explained it all, he picked up on the concept fairly quickly. sure, he didn’t understand all the bits and pieces being told to him, but he was really trying. he understood that you always wanted to be near him, and he could relate to that. it was something he had to get over himself, as he’d never really had a relationship like this before, and it made him over eager. he knew that his own mood could affect yours, whether he meant for it to or not. that was something he found easily maneuverable. he wasn’t the most enthusiastic guy, and you hadn’t minded before. he knew you needed lots of reassurance and praise, that you got anxious about him leaving easily. he was amazed you thought he’d be the one leaving you.

he fell into a routine quite quickly. he’d spend a little while longer in the morning cuddling you and squeezing you, his own way of saying he wanted to be with you. he kissed you lots whenever you two were alone, and always kept himself touching you somewhere. he liked making sure you knew he was there. he liked being present when he could.

tommy did have to leave during the days to go help his family with their exploits, and he always fretted over you before he left. he always lingered in his room, kissing over your face and reassuring you that he’d be back, that he’d miss you, that he couldn’t wait to be back. the second he’d get home, he’d pass right by his family (stopping at luda mae only because that was his mama) and go straight up to his room to see you again.

tommy liked bringing you trinkets and things. he liked giving you things that would remind you he’d be there. he didn’t want you to think he’d go anywhere. you were so special to him, and the idea of you being so reliant on him emotionally was new. but he liked it, somewhere inside of him. he liked knowing you were so vulnerable and open with him, and that you really were attached to him, and that he could provide you support he didn’t previously know you needed.

there were setbacks. tommy didn’t talk much, and so it was very hard for him to provide verbal reassurance. he remedied this by showing you lots of physical affection when you were both alone and away from the family. sometimes, when he was feeling particularly brave, he would utter a small “i love you”, and that always seemed to be enough to prove how much he cared about you. he didn’t talk to anyone, but you were different.

he just wanted to make you happy.

vincent sinclair :

vincent had a soft centre. on the outside, he was this large, brooding, empty eyed man, but on the inside he was filled with lavender and vanilla. he was always very understanding of your own habits and coping mechanisms, whether they made sense to him or not. as long as you sat him down and explained it to him, he made sure to be good and provide support where he could.

the idea of a favourite person resonated deep with vincent. wasn’t that how he felt about you…? whenever you were away from him, even in the other room he felt sick. he’d push his cheeks into your palms, and make you kiss him and promise him you’d never leave. it was something you both seemed to be working on. there was a mutual obsession, or a reliance on each other emotionally that you both had to navigate.

him relating made it easier for both of you, as it brought forth a conversation of what to do. the solution was simple. just do what you’ve been doing. you two spent as much time together as possible, vincent not liking when you strayed too far, scared his brother might devour you.

he didn’t talk much, but he when you were both alone and curled up, he’d speak in soft, raspy tones, whispering about how much he loved and cared about you. every time you left his workshop to go and prepare food or clean up a waxy mess spilled onto your front, you’d come back and be met with vincent fretting over you and making sure you were ok.

he didn’t show his emotions much, so it wasn’t hard for him to keep his worser feelings inside for your own good. he knew that sometimes when he let it slip that he was upset, he’d see you change, and slip into the same dreary feelings. he’d be quick to reassure you he was ok, and you’d do the same. alone, you two were almost sickeningly sweet with each other. out in the real world, outside of his studio, you two tried to stay neutral and appropriate. bo already teased vincent enough, you didn’t want to add more.

it was actually vincent that tended to have issues. he didn’t like the feeling of anxiety he got when he saw you sad. sometimes you’d be missing home, or upset that your art wasn’t going well, and he’d feel it shoot through his heart. he wanted to just take it all away and make it feel better. you always had to reassure him in those moments that there was nothing he could do, that sometimes you were just going to feel blue, and you’d let him rest his head in your lap while he calmed himself.

when you did have problems, it always came from his intense focus on his work. sometimes, without realizing it, he would ignore you for hours, and by the time he was pulled from his creative marathon, he’d see you dejected and alone in the corner. he’d always make sure to make it up to you, and have you sit on his lap while he praised you for being so good and patient. or, he’d simply have you come sit beside him while he worked, and he’d listen closely to you talk. he never really got tired of you filling the silence. either way, he’d always do something to make sure you knew you were his top priority. because you were.

over all, you two are a fairly good match.

#slasher x reader #billy lenz #billy lenz x reader #slashers #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #vincent sinclair x you #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair #ask

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multiwreckedmess · 7 months

Text

Kinktober Day 13

Prompt: Body Worship Pairing: Boyfriend!San x reader WC: 1.6k Summary: The change of seasons has always been difficult for you and today is no different. Some days you just need some help.

This is a work of fiction, it does not represent San or any Ateez member. Although this isn’t necessarily an 18+ work, for my comfort and boundaries please if you are under the age of 18 do not interact with this.

I’m going to put the TW/CW above the cut this time as TBH, it’s not really smut.

TW/CW: depression, self-hatred, vague self-harm references, leg shaving, San bathes reader.

Everything hurt. That’s all you knew as you laid in bed. A deep ache that resonated in your bones consumed your being. Nothing helped, rolling to your side, laying on your back, leg up and on your stomach, just pain. “It’s because you rolled around in bed all day,” San chides from the doorway as you groan. “You need to get up and stretch, just to rebalance your body. It’s not even about working out. If your blood pools in one spot you’ll feel off.” “I think I’m sick,” you sniff. Your sinuses are on fire, swollen and pulsing in your skull. San sighs. The sort of illness plaguing you was not the type remedied by chicken noodle soup or ibuprofen. It was one that needed time and care and understanding. One that would flare up unexpectedly, inappropriately, uninvited. Flinging back the covers you shriek as cold air hits you like a truck, grappling for the covers. Two strong warm arms scoop you up into the air as San carries you bridal style to the bathroom. “I think a bath will help,” he says, sitting you on the closed lid of the toilet.

The running water in the empty tub is loud, thundering as it hits the basin. The loudness numbs your ears for a bit. You barely notice as San busies himself as you list to the side, leaning on the side of the sink. Everything still hurts. Your jaw hurts as you adjust it, seeing if you can relieve the pain circling your ears and throat. Squatting to eye level smiles at you, trying to hide the flicker of concern in his eye. “Hey hon, i gotta take your shirt off.” “Start with pants please!” You stick your legs straight out in front of you and wobble your feet. San obliges, taking care to wait for your toes to point so the fabric slips right off. Not that it’s particularly difficult, seeing as they’re a pair of ratty sweats. The bath is half full as he scoops your shirt over your head, leaving you in just a pair of underwear. You shiver and stare at the steaming tub, arms crossing over your stomach and chest. He leans over to check the water temperature, back flexing under his white cotton shirt. Hugging yourself tighter you hate to compare yourself but can’t help it. A veritable god while you…well…your self evaluation faired far worse. The comparison stung each time you thought about it, each remembrance a tiny papercut on an unhealing body. Yet he was like a salve, patiently covering and waiting, unable to prevent but trying to ease what pain he could and somehow that burned you even more than the initial cut. “I’m going to wash you,” he says slowly, waiting for your fierce objection. Instead you look up at him, mouth a straight line, and nod. “My legs are hairy.” He shrugs, turning to the water. “Okay.” “I just thought you should know.” “Do you want me to shave them?” He offers sincerely as he turns off the tap. Steam rising from the tub in soft curls, you let your eyes trace their outline as you think. “Do you know how?” He shrugs again, “can’t be more difficult than shaving my face.” “Okay but they’re MY legs and YOUR hands. It’s a little different than doing it to yourself.” You can hear the tension in your own voice raising, almost to a forced laugh. The reaction feels strange and foreign even though it comes from your own body. Twisting on the lid of the toilet seat you dip your toe into the water. It’s hot, a little too hot. Your toe numbs quickly in the water, tingling as you withdraw it. “It was just an offer, you can say no.” San helps you, sliding down your underwear, the last barrier between you and the elements. “No, it-it sounds nice.” You stutter. Sighing as you slide yourself from your perch into the tub. The water burns but you need that. The cauterizing sear removes the sin. Or so you feel. Burn off the exoskeleton so you can feel again. San looks concerned as you slip down into the water. “Isn’t it too hot?” “I’ll get used to it.”

Hugging your knees to your chest, the soft washcloth moves in slow concentric circles across and down your back. The gentleness with which San treats you hurts almost more than the sting of the cool air. Guilty isn’t the right word for the twist in your gut. The kindness just hurts sometimes. “I love how soft your skin is when you’re fresh out of the shower.” San murmurs. “I love how the smell of soap and skin clings to you. I love how I’m the only one who gets to see these freckles on your back like this.” His list goes on as he cups handfuls of water to splash down your spine. He would bathe you all the time if you’d let him. The ritual is soothing and intimate. Every word he says a truth he rarely gets to voice without you complaining. When you are like this though, lulled into a docile state by the water, he can praise you as much as he wants. “Feels nice,” you’re muffled by your own knees. Not like it is difficult to tell what you are saying. San leans over the edge of your tub, kissing your shoulder softly, supporting your back as he lays you against the back of the tub. Working the washcloth down your arms and over you chest, you wince as he gets to your soft tummy. “It’s exposure therapy, if its too much you can tell me.” San hopes you won’t tell him. The plush squish of your stomach is something he rarely can indulge in. Washcloth as a flimsy excuse his fingers glide over your buttery soft skin. He can feel your lungs hitch in anticipation so he presses harder. You’d figured that one out together, if he pressed harder you could tolerate it more. “You know how much I love soft things. I’m a connoisseur of soft things and you are the crown jewel of my findings.” “That doesn’t help,” you mutter sourly. “What if I don’t want to be soft.” San nods, there’s nothing to say to it. Instead he heads south, skimming past your clit, it’s not the point of today. Instead he focuses on your thighs, equally soft and plush as your stomach but more easily tolerated. You always complain how they hurt, that your hips are tense. Hips carry a lot of trauma. He half washes, half massages your thighs. Letting the soap lubricate his squeezed pulls of your muscle. You moan, loudly. He can feel the thud of the knot in your quad as he presses past it. You moan again, slipping further into the tub So he does it again, and again, and again until you shudder and arch up, water splashing around you. “Did you just-” “I don’t know-” you sit bolt upright, looking at each other shocked. “It felt really good.” “Good to know.”

You relax back again. Soft and pliant he treats you like a doll, limbs limp as he moves them. Holding your leg, the water drips on his cotton shirt, clinging semi-transparaent to his abs. Slowly he lathers your calve with shea butter infused soap, then wets the razor. Funnily enough he didn’t even care if your legs had hair or not. Really if any part of you had hair or not, he wouldn’t mind as long as it was you. But you liked the sleek touch so he was happy to oblige. Another person shaving your legs is exceedingly strange. But it’s nice. You hate the process of hair removal but love the results. Laying back loosely, San takes more care than you ever would with your razor. He’s meticulous and methodical in his removal, particularly around your ankle bone, riddled with scars. You consider telling him that at this point your ankles are made of steel callus but the delicate way he lifts the pressure of the razor is endearing. It’s almost more intimate than taking his cock. At least for San it is. He could so easily hurt you like you’d hurt yourself. It would be even easier for him, it wasn’t his skin that the razor’s edge was pressed against, he didn’t know the feeling, he could only watch and hope his pressure was enough but not too much. Knowing if he slipped the sting would be worse coming from a person who loved you instead of your own hands focused his wandering mind. Giving into help wasn’t easy for you. Each time San places the razer to your ankle you have to remind yourself to relax. Using your full will to control the flex of your calves as he runs the length carefully. Even with his time and care one leg is done quickly, dipping back into the now lukewarm water as he retrieves the second leg. At least someone should love you even if you can’t. “San?” His face lifts, eyes sparkling, “yes dear?” “I love you.” Still holding your leg he leans sideways to kiss you ever so briefly. “I know you do.”

Sorry I had a hell of a couple of days and WAS NOT MONITORING and my queue broke. here’s to getting back on track. Sorry this wasn’t really smut????

#san fanfic #choi san fanfic #san smut #choi san smut #ateez fanfic #ateez smut #atz fanfic #atz smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #ateez kinktober #atz kinktober #kpop kinktober #kinktober #kinktober 2023

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ka-freaking-boom · 4 months

Text

Worship At My Altar

Deity Soap x Retired vet Ghost AU

Warnings: Implied suicide attempts, Depression, References to Ghost's backstory.

Ghost trudged through the quaint convenience store in the small, nowhere town he’d found himself in, filling the worn basket that he’d grabbed on the way in with nonperishable foods that he could carry with him on his motorcycle. He’d been getting low on funds, so if he wanted to have enough to get a decent offering for the temple, he couldn’t afford to be as picky as he normally would be while shopping and instead settled for items like canned ravioli and spam for himself.

He’d used the majority of the cash that he had on hand to get as far away from the overwhelming bustle of cities as possible. He didn’t want to use the card that he’d been issued by the government, the little piece of plastic seeming to mock him even from where it was buried deep within his duffel, wrapped up in an old sweatshirt that he’d had since his days as a fresh-faced recruit.

He set the can of soup that he’d been examining into his basket, adding to his meager collection of food before moving on to the next aisle. He was considering the various cups of cheap ramen noodles, wondering if it even mattered since it all tasted like shit regardless, when someone rushed past him.

His gaze darted away from the display and toward the flash of movement, his hand twitching toward a sidearm that he no longer carried as he located who it was that had passed him.

The tension that had coiled in his frame relaxed slightly when he realized that it was just an energetic kid, the small boy staring excitedly at the display of candy that was further down the aisle.

Ghost watched as the child began wringing his little fingers together as his wide eyes roamed over the large variety of candy that the store offered instead of just grabbing everything in sight, which was a surprising display of restraint from someone so young.

Ghost resisted the urge to flinch when the boy finally made his selection, one of his small hands abruptly darting out to snatch a bag of gummy bears off the rack before pivoting in order to walk back the way he had come, the kid pausing when he finally noticed that he had an audience.

He looked uncertain for a moment, probably unsure of how to feel about Ghost’s masked face and intimidating stature, before he seemed to shake himself out of his reservations and smiled up at Ghost, revealing the fact that he was missing one of his front teeth.

He squeezed past Ghost’s large form with a giggle, Ghost following him with his eyes until the kid reached the end of the aisle and moved out of view. Ghost took a few controlled breaths, trying to ignore how the parts of his body where the kid involuntarily brushed up against him crawled uncomfortably, reminding him of claustrophobic boxes and the sharp pain of a scorpion's sting.

Ghost forced his feet to start moving, intent on going to the checkout since he wanted to visit the temple before it was closed to the public, but he hesitated in front of the same display of candy that had entranced the child, blinking at the colorful packaging.

His dark eyes scanned over the various sugary treats, debating whether or not to buy some with his already scant funds, before he caved with a sigh and reached out in order to grab a bag of chocolate, tossing it into the basket before he could talk himself out of it.

Thankfully, the teenage cashier that scanned his things didn’t seem too bothered by his intimidating appearance, the girl too focused on getting Ghost checked out as fast as possible so that she could go back to boredly sketching on the piece of blank receipt paper that she had sitting next to the register to stare at the scarring on his face that wasn’t covered by the mask he was wearing, like most civilians that he encountered in public did.

He climbed onto his bike and pulled his black helmet over his head, feeling the uncomfortable tightness in his chest ease now that his face was hidden behind the tinted visor, before he took his groceries out of the cheap, plastic bags that the store used and began meticulously packing them away in his saddle bags, separating them based on whether it was for him or for his offering.

Once he was finished, he started the bike with a loud rumble, the engine revving as he reversed out of the parking space and floored it out of the lot, he would have to speed if he wanted to get to his destination in time to set up.

_____

Ghost wasted no time parking the bike and climbing off, impatiently yanking his helmet off and collecting the things he needed before he trotted up the stone staircase and into the looming temple, quickly passing the various priests and lingering townspeople without so much as a second glance in his haste to reach the altar.

A wave of familiar warmth greeted him the moment that he stepped into the room, Ghost taking note of the subtle changes that had been made to the decor in the altar room since his last visit, the red and gold color scheme making the space feel welcoming and cozy.

He carefully lowered himself to his knees in front of the marble platform that the statue sat atop of, Ghost setting his bag of offerings next to him before looking up at the deity that he’d been introduced to shortly after arriving to the small town. It had been immediately obvious to Ghost -even at his very first visit- that the statue had clearly been made with the utmost care, every cut reverent, every curve and divot of muscle lovingly sculpted.

Even the drape of the cloth over the statue’s hips was so flawlessly crafted that, if he reached out and touched it, he was almost convinced that he would feel soft cloth underneath his fingers instead of cool marble.

Ghost allowed his eyes to take in the bulge of muscle, the v of the man’s hips that disappeared beneath the flowing fabric that was wrapped artfully around him. His hands twitched with the urge to trace the veins that crawled across thick biceps and calloused hands, to rake through the thick line of hair at the top of the man’s head, to brush a thumb across his knowing, smug grin.

The man was undeniably beautiful.

Ghost managed to pry his gaze off of the statue in favor of silently pulling the things he’d brought with him out of his bag in order to set them onto the packed stone platform at the man’s bare feet, placing his own offering among the flowers, jewelry, money, candles and bottles of expensive amber liquor that others had left during their own visit.

Ghost meticulously put down ten candles, one for each member of the 141, and the last four for his family. He pulled out a lighter and brought the flame down to the wicks one at a time, mentally recalling the names and faces of those he cared for as he lit the corresponding candle for each person until he had reached the last one.

He took a moment to stare at the flickering flames before forcefully shaking himself out of his daze and setting a bottle of his favorite bourbon in the center of the circle of candles as well as two pretty blue glass bowls that he’d found while at the thrift shop the other day since they were the same shade that the deity’s eyes were.

Or at least what color he believed they were. During his last visit, a painting that someone had left on the altar as an offering in an impressive display of artistic skill had caught his attention, the artist having decided to depict the man with eyes that were such a vibrant blue that they looked like they were glowing, which Ghost thought was befitting of the deity.

He filled the larger bowl with a couple things that he had collected with the intent to bring to the altar. Like the smooth stone that he’d taken from the lake earlier that week, when he had contemplated wading into the crystalline water until it swallowed him up but ultimately decided against it, or the little wooden penguin figurine that he’d spent the week carving, having picked up the habit of whittling a new animal to give the statue every visit.

He then dropped a black skull keychain that he’d spotted at a gas station a few towns over, the bleached skull of a small bird, and the inspirational quote that his therapist had him write on a notecard into the big bowl before propping up the letter that he got from Roach -which mentioned how he was getting sent on a mission with Gaz and Price- behind the bowl in order to ask for protection for the mad cunts.

Ghost finished off the offering by fussing with the small bowl’s placement until he was satisfied before taking the bag of chocolate he’d bought earlier and ripping it open in order to dump the contents into the bowl. He ran a hand over the individually wrapped candies until the pile looked a little less messy before pulling his hand away and letting it rest against his thigh.

He’d come a long way since the first time he’d stopped by the temple, that initial visit having been fueled by a mix of sleep deprivation, desperation and alcohol. The only offering that he had brought with him that time had been the bullet that he’d loaded and unloaded from his firearm so many times since being discharged from the military that the motion was now practically muscle memory.

He’d wanted to get rid of the bullet and the weakness that it represented and figured that the altar of a God he didn’t believe in would be the perfect solution, though he couldn’t have accounted for how the calm atmosphere of the altar room and the kind eyes of the statue staring down at him with a soft, inviting smile kept him coming back for more, chasing that feeling of peace he only got from being in the room.

“I-” Ghost paused, internally wincing at how loud his rough voice seemed in the otherwise silent room, swallowing hard as he ignored how stupid he felt talking to a fucking statue, and continued. “I know it’s not anything extravagant, I don’t have a lot to offer…”

Ghost licked his chapped lips as he trailed off, finally glancing up from the flickering candles enveloping his small pile of gifts to gaze up at the man towering over him, unable to shake the feeling that the statue was looking directly at him despite the fact that it had been carved specifically to look down at it’s devout worshipers. The amused eyes of the man felt like encouragement, the statue's playful gaze easing Ghost's insecurities and helping the tense line of his shoulders relax.

“But you’re already far too spoiled considering the fact that you do fuck all, so I think that you’ll be okay.” Ghost finished with a wide grin that pulled at the various scars on his face, the bite taken out of his words by the soft chuckle that followed the quip as he reached out to condescendingly pat an unoccupied portion of the stone altar, his hand lingering for a moment longer than strictly necessary before he pulled away and pushed to his feet with a grunt, various old aches and pains making themselves known after kneeling for so long.

Ghost picked up his bag and made for the archway leading out of the room, sparing one last glance back at the benevolent statue before finally turning away and moving through the threshold and out of view, oblivious to the subtle sound of shifting stone as the statue’s smile seemed to briefly widen, lips parting to show a flash of perfectly straight teeth.

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