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wandamaximoffsbadgirl · 19 days

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prompt 8 and 14 (shy readers first time) and moms bsf wanda

You Were Red and You Liked Me Because I Was Blue

Mom's bsf!Wanda Maximoff x shy!innocent!Romanoff!fem!reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, W calls herself Mommy, use of pet names, W fingers R

A/N: I worked on this all day while I didn't feel good and I have a killer headache at the moment so if I missed any warning I'm sorry. I can't think anymore.

The air was cold, without snow falling to distract you it felt unbearable to be waiting for your ride back home for break. Unfortunately you mom was off on a work trip until 3 days before Christmas so instead her best friend, Wanda would be picking you up.

Normally Wanda would have also been preoccupied this time of year, but since her and Vision finalized their divorce and custody of the boys, Vision would be getting them Christmas break first.

You couldn't imagine what that must be like for Wanda. Suddenly after 10 years of family tradition she was alone again and Wanda being alone was never a good thing. You'd known Wanda for a long time. After Natasha helped take down the red room she'd taken you, the youngest widow on the ship under her wing. The day you gained Natasha as a mom, you also gained an aunt Yelena. You had always heard stories of the famous Black Widow that got away and you'd seen Yelena training with others the greatest child assassin the world has ever known. Though you know her now as Auntie Lena who eats Mac and cheese straight out of the pot.

You're pulled out of your thoughts when you see the familiar red subaru ascent. Wanda pulled up with a smile as you opened up the trunk to set your luggage in before quickly getting in the passenger seat with a shiver. Wanda pulled you into her arms, your body instantly heating from her contact.

“Hi sweetheart. How was the flight in?” She asked near your ear, making your heart skip a beat as you pulled back, trying to calm your body down.

“It was fine. Better than having you drive five hours to come grab me.” You told her as you put on your seat belt.

“I wouldn't have minded a 5 hour road trip with you sweet girl.” You bit the inside of your cheek at her words, choosing to stare out the window as she pulled away from the airport.

With Wanda's help you brought your luggage into the house and headed to your room to finally lie down and stretch out. The flight was only an hour and a half and the car ride back was about a half hour. You had barley acknowledged Wanda when she said about her starting on dinner instead choosing to go shower and clean yourself up.

You'd been told that even though you're an adult your mom wanted Wanda there with you. She said it was so you could keep an eye on the other. For Wanda it was so you'd stay out of trouble and for you it was to keep Wanda company. Natasha knew what it was like for Wanda to be alone.

What you and Natasha didn't know though was Wanda had fawned over you since she met you. When Natasha first introduced you and Yelena you always hid away. A little mouse making little to no noise as you moved. Even your thoughts were quiet to Wanda. It was something she found solace in around you. She knew what had happened to you and the other widows. Though you were next step of perfecting what Drekovy wanted out of the widows, total control they had perfected and for you, the only survivor of your age group, an enhanced super soldier serum. It gave you all the same enhancements as Steve and Bucky, but you stayed small, unassuming so no one ever saw you coming.

“Y/N! Dinner's ready sweet girl!” Wanda called up as you looked over yourself in the mirror, the scars lining your arms, shoulders, chest. They were everywhere.

You took the stairs two at a time, hair still damp, but Wanda's cooking smelt too good to keep her waiting. She looked up from moving things from the counter to the dining table. Natasha always used to have these ‘family meals’ where her parents, Yelena, Wanda, Vision, and the boys would come over. They stopped happening when Wanda and Vision decided to get the divorce. A smile was on Wanda's face,

“I made your favorite. Help me move it over to the table.” You happily helped out so the two of you could eat dinner together.

As Wanda was cleaning up and insisting that you go relax on the couch and get a movie ready you watched her from the couch, forgoing a movie and putting on The Office instead. You needed the background noise because to you your thoughts felt so loud that Wanda must be able to hear you if you didn't have something distracting her.

As she finished up and sat next to you she gave no indication of hearing your thoughts which she often did to those around her. Her arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you against her as if you were two magnets. You bit the corner of your lips trying to watch the show.

You knew Wanda was experienced obviously, she has twins. You on the other hand haven't even gotten the opportunity to kiss a girl or a boy or anyone because from the day you met Wanda all you ever wanted was her. You'd never tell her that though.

She was with Vision when you met her nearly 13 years ago. With everything that happened after that with Thanos and then defeating him without the loss of half the population you could just live life normally for the first time.

Wanda's hand found your thigh, rubbing gently as she watched the show, one the two of you have watched multiple times over the years. You enjoyed sitcoms like she did along with being introduced to reality TV which is just a guilty pleasure really.

“W-Wands…” your voice was barely a whisper and Wanda pretended not to hear you. Not even when you started squirming under her touch as her hand grew closer to your hot center. Her hand squeezed you as you let out a little whimper. “Wands…” you tried again, trying to be louder, but you couldn't. Once again your plea goes unacknowledged as her pinky brushes against your clit, your hands fly down to her wrist. She finally looks at you. You don't dare look at her.

“What's wrong sweet girl?” She asks so innocently as if she has no idea what she's doing.

“W-Wands…I…you…” you fumble with your words. Her other hand reaches your chin, forcing you to look at her.

“What about us sweet girl?” You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. She pulls you onto her lap, her hands resting on your hips. “Just watch the show sweet girl. Let Mommy play.” You felt like fireworks went off in your stomach. Sure you'd heard the boys call Wanda Mommy and yeah you'd heard her call herself Mommy over the years, but never in the tone she just used and never directed at you.

You felt like everything on you was burning except for Wanda's hands that were always cold and clad in rings. You did as told keeping your eyes on the screen until you felt her hand push past your waistband. Your hands once again grabbing her wrist, not because you didn't want her to, you really wanted her too. You were nervous.

“W-Wands…I've never…” Wanda moved forward, tilting her head to look at you.

“Not ever at college?” She questioned. You shook your head.

“N-not even a kiss…” you admitted. Wanda's hand leaving your shorts and moving to your face.

“These precious lips haven't kissed anyone else?” You shook your head, “So I'll be your first?” She asked pulling you closer. All you could manage as your heart pounded was a soft ‘mhmm’ before her lips touched yours.

As her lips meet yours, it's a gentle yet electrifying sensation, sending waves of warmth cascading through you. Wanda's touch is tender, guiding you through this unfamiliar territory with ease and patience. With each fleeting moment, you feel yourself melting into her embrace, the world around you fading into the background.

When Wanda pulls back, there's a brief moment of hesitation, as if time itself is holding its breath. You find yourself lost in her gaze, a mixture of emotions swirling within you – anticipation, vulnerability, and a newfound courage. Slowly, a soft smile tugs at the corners of Wanda's lips, her eyes sparkling with tenderness.

With a gentle brush of her fingers against your cheek, Wanda whispers words of reassurance, her voice a soothing melody in the stillness of the room. And as you lean into her touch, a sense of peace settles within you.

The night carried on without Wanda trying to slip past your shorts instead she kept stealing kisses late into the night before deciding it was time for bed. It was when you moved you could feel just how wet you'd before and you freeze, your thighs smacking tightly together. Wanda stopped, a tug on your hand.

“What's wrong sweet girl?” She looked back at you, confusion etched on her face.

“It…its..icky…” you squirmed and Wanda smirked, taking two steps towards you.

“Don't worry my sweet girl,” she tilted your head up, “Mommy is going to take good care of you.” Her breath against your lip, her voice sweet and thick with her accent, the one you heard all those years ago. Your legs want to turn to jelly.

Wanda wasn't expecting you to stay quiet once her fingers slipped past your wet folds, but you did. Little breathy moans, small whimpers, tiny pleas fell past your lips as your face burned and your eyes screwed shut.

“Don't close your eyes Detka. Look at me.” You could only obey with her voice sounding the way it did. You looked at her, she smiled at you and only picked up her pace.

You squirmed and felt like you were going to burst as you whimpered and tried to get away, but she held you there. You tried closing your legs, but she held them open.

“Open your legs Detka. I wanna see you.” Her nails dug into your thigh.

“F-feels weird…” you squeaked out.

“You're gonna cum for Mommy it'll make you feel better. Go on. Let it happen.” As if your body was waiting on her word, that coil inside of you snapped. Your back arched as your eyes rolled back. “That's a good girl…Mommy’s good girl.” Her fingers slowed down before leaving you. Your eyes closed but soon enough Wanda was helping you sit up.

“Water sweet girl. Take a few sips.” You did as told, knowing Wanda always knew best. When she felt you had enough she tapped your cheek and you let go.

She helped you clean yourself up, the cool towel feeling nice against your hot skin and then into pajamas which only consisted of an old band t-shirt of Wanda's and a pair of your panties. As she got the two of you settled into your bed, holding you against her chest. Her fingers moved through your hair as your eyes began to flutter she spoke,

“We're going to have a lot of fun until your mom comes home.” You smiled against her skin. You almost hoped she wouldn't be home for Christmas if it meant more time playing like this with Wanda.

#ley speaks #ley writes #ley requests #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda x you #wanda x reader #mommy wanda #shy!reader #innocent!reader #fem!reader

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romanoffsbish · 4 months

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Surprise, Surprise

Scarlett Johansson x Reader (no pronouns used)

Scarlett was wrapping up another day on set when she got unexpected news… Aka, R visits her on set | WC: 1,366

A/N: Purely fluff — R is not given any description but their infant is described as looking like them both.

"Your son is the cutest!" Elizabeth sang as she giddily approached Scarlett who had been stood behind an accordion panel, changing out of her characters outfit. The blonde grinned and nodded along, it was the truth and she was used to her costar gushing over your son, but it was usually over photos she'd show her...

——

“His cheeks are just so chubby, and so squishy—you and Y/N created a little cutie; bring him to set more."

"What do you mean more?" Elizabeth's smile fell, "I am now realizing I might've ruined a surprise."

Scarlett smiled at her aloof friend, "Thanks for that!"

Then she took off in a hurry, abandoning her plans to change, leaving in her favorite pair of sweats and her character's black and blue striped crop top instead. It had been a week since she last saw you two, as you both agreed moving your son a lot wasn't ideal, so she filmed during the week and was home on weekends.

Except the last one since she had to film promo for The Outset in New York while your current home was in LA so it was random fleeting hours over FaceTime, and that made her dream for the day her schedule clears.

Scarlett needed you in her arms more than she needed anything else, well besides to kiss your son's cheeks so she kept up a decent pace even though she was winded. Just as she rounded the corner of the lot she caught sight of you walking up the steps of her trailer, her eyes sparkled with joy, but then they narrowed when she saw the diaper bag lowly dangling from your arm, with your other hand cradling your sleeping babies head to your chest, you were clearly trying to safely ascend.

The blonde jogged a little faster, concern ebbing its way into her soul as she saw you move up another step. Just as you were about to move again she arrived, her hand seamlessly took the diaper bag so you could grip the side rails while her other firmed against your back.

Scarlett felt as you sighed and it made her smile, you opened the door and almost as soon as you entered she had circled you and stopped in front of you. "Thanks."

Your wife smirked, "No need to thank me love,” her lips then closed the distance left between yours and her hand pushed you into her, “I always got your back."

Scarlett giggled when you threw your head back with a playful groan, “you’re just so cheesy Scar, stop it…”

Your wife instantly pouted, feigning offense, “Why?”

“Because I can’t have our son following your lead,” you responded while gently cupping his ears to make sure your wife understood the message. “He’s vulnerable.”

Scarlett scoffed, “If I remember correctly it was my corny quips that won you over baby, you ate it up.”

“That’s not how I remember it,” you deflected with ease as you slid from her hold and started to move towards her bed so you could set Noah down, but just before you could she pulled you back in and kissed you until you had forgotten what you were planning to do.

The blonde felt warmth slowly spread throughout her body as she melted into the feeling of your thumbs gently caressing the soft skin of her fuller hips. Just beneath her chin lay the adorable, snoring cause. It was hard for her at first, adjusting to the physical demands of pregnancy but then she had your son.

Not only was he the most adorable infant she’d ever seen, but she saw the natural way in which you took to parenthood. With the unwavering love you not only held, but expressed, like in small moments like these, she learned to cherish the changes and to crave more.

If not for her predetermined, already rearranged once schedule she would have convinced you to make more. Hell, she even considered asking you right now… This is her last commitment for a long while, and shooting was set to wrap up next month. It was the perfect time.

A soft whine pulled the two of you apart just in time for a pouting baby to whip his head back from your chest, his eyes and frown shone with deep grumpiness as he slowly blinked, eyes fluttering with a clear fight as his body decided if it was even ready to be awakened yet.

Scarlett smirked at you and you nodded your head in agreement, the two of you shared another peck before both of your lips firmly planted on your son’s cheeks. He grunted initially but the two of you felt them upturn and a gentle giggle left him at the tickling sensation.

“There’s mama’s happy boy,” Scarlett coo’d and your son’s head whipped to the side as if he had only just realized who it was that kissed you and his right cheek. His giddy babbles warmed your heart but his inability to keep still strained your back and led to you swiftly removing him from the harness so he could leap to her.

Scarlett caught him with ease and you sighed in relief. It was his new favorite habit, he’d just leap from one person to the next, hence the need for a baby carrier to restrain his urges and the potential script for Xanax you’ll need as he becomes more daringly independent.

The two of them were in their own world the moment you were no longer attached to them, swaying softly as she told him all about her week. It almost hurt your feelings but you knew it was their time to bond and hers to finally spill the movie secrets even you weren’t allowed to hear so you ventured off to the bathroom.

When you returned thirty minutes later, after having slipped off to take a walk—something you also needed, they were calmly laying in the bed, your sons sleeping face was now smushed against her exposed abdomen and you smiled at the scene from the ajar door.

“You’re letting a draft in,” your wife teased as she shut the book in her hand. Without a word you replied by shutting the door and moving further into her trailer. Scarlett watched you curiously as you slipped your shoes off then as gently as you could you joined them.

Her fingers softly stroked over the skin of your cheek, then it did the same for your sons right after as you were both currently utilizing her stomach as a pillow. As her hand returned to rest on your head yours moved to continue to caress your son’s sweet face.

Noah was your first of hopefully many, miracles, the perfect blend of you two in both features and attitude. Scarlett’s heart nearly combusted as she saw the same desires she held for months now blossom in your eyes.

“How much longer until you’re all ours Scarlett?” The blonde gently guided your face until your chin was resting against the softened muscles of her abs. “I am always all yours,” she smiled gently, her gaze genuine as she stroked your cheek. “My entire heart is here.”

“Entire?” She nodded, gaze a bit confused as you questioned her level of loyalty. “That’s too bad…”

Now she was amused, and played right along, “Why?”

“Kinda hoping there’s room for more,” you began, voice light and lovestruck as you cradled your son’s face in one hand and reached out for hers. “More?”

You nodded, then confirmed her hopes, “More little ones just like this goober that’s drooling all over you.”

Scarlett beamed, “I’ve been hoping you’d say that for actual months now baby. I want endless little you’s.”

You smiled as you placed a gentle kiss to the subtle ridges that adorned her stomach before nuzzling against the warm skin—an attempt to burrow into her which you knew to be impossible, yet you always tried.

“I love you, my beautiful baby mama,” you mumbled tiredly, lips gentle as they kissed her belly once more. The blonde chucked then stared down at your calm face in relief. “I love you too, you beautiful fool.”

#scarlett johansson #scarlett johansson blurb #scarlett johansson fluff #scarlett johansson imagine #scarlett johansson x reader #scarlett johansson x female reader #scarlett johansson x you #scarlett johansson x y/n #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #gxg

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fauxdette · 4 days

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Gwynriels: The books speak for themselves.

The books: "Would you like me to show you the garden?" • But Elain did not balk from him, did not shy away • “Beautiful." • Color bloomed high on Azriel's golden-brown cheeks, but he inclined his head in thanks and led my sister toward the back doors into the garden, sunlight bathing them. • "I can help her," said Azriel, stepping to the table as Elain silently rose. • "She doesn't need anything" • It made sense, I supposed, that Azriel alone had listened to her. • But Azriel asked softly, "What about Elain?" • "I'm getting her back." Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel's hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows. Nesta said, "Then you will die." Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, "I'm getting her back." • "Are you hurt?" •

"You came for me." • Azriel still cradling Elain to his chest. He dripped blood behind him the entire time • "We need Helion to get these chains off her." • Yet Elain didn't seem to notice them as she rose up on her toes and kissed the shadowsinger's cheek. • "This is Truth-Teller," he told her softly. "I won't be using it today—so I want you to." • I have never once seen Azriel let another person touch that knife. • Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. • "He is Elain's mate." I waited. "It would be an invasion of her privacy to track him." • "If Lucien kills Graysen, then good riddance." • "Are we supposed to get the sisters presents?" • I felt, more than saw, my sister go still as he approached. Her throat bobbed. • "Sit. I'll take care of it." • "Wait until everyone is seated before eating." • I made to move toward her, but someone beat me to it. • "Oh, that's from me." • Elain smiled again, ducking her head. Azriel mastered himself enough to say, "Thank you." • Azriel and Elain remained in the sitting room, my sister showing him the plans she'd sketched to expand the garden in the back of the town house • "Because of the shit with Elain?" Azriel stilled. "What happened to Elain?" • No one spoke, though shadows gathered in the corners of the room, like snakes preparing to strike. • "I know. I helped rescue Elain, after all." • Azriel stiffened, an outright sign of temper from him as he said quietly, "There is an innate darkness to the Dread Trove that Elain should not be exposed to." • Azriel stood in the doorway, monitoring them. As if he'd heard Elain's sharp laugh and wondered what had caused it. • Then his gaze shifted to Elain, and though it was utterly neutral, something charged went through it. Between them. • A pretty lie. She'd seen Azriel before the fire plenty. But she looked at who sat close to it and knew the answer. • Because her mate had been in the family room and Azriel had needed to stay by the door the whole time because he couldn't stand the sight of it, the scent of their mating bond • Letting his scarred fingers touch her immaculate skin. • It had never gone this far. They'd exchanged looks, the occasional brush of their fingers, but never this. Never blatant, unrestricted touching. • He needed to know what the skin of her neck tasted like. What those perfect lips tasted like. Her breasts. Her sex. He needed her coming on his tongue -- • How that beautiful face might appear as he entered her, what sounds she'd make. • Elain bit her lower lip, and it took every ounce of Azriel's restraint to keep from putting his own teeth there. • Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He'd beg on his knees for a chance to taste it. • Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother might witness them. • Tilting her face the way he wanted it. • Offer and permission • "You can't order me to do that."

#elriel

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luveline · 1 year

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𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

part one | part two

You don’t mean to make an enemy of Eddie Munson — he’s handsome, and talented, but he’s the biggest jerk you’ve ever met. Eddie thinks you’re infuriatingly pretty, emphasis on the infuriating. Too bad you just can’t seem to leave each other alone.

fem!reader, enemies-to-lovers, rival rockstars, mutual pining, slight miscommunication, angst, hurt-comfort, eddie has mixed intentions, sexual tension, TW bullying (in case), TW recreational drug use, drinking, smoking, swearing. disclaimer: I can’t play an instrument

𓆩❤︎𓆪

The Coral Apartments, California, November 1990

Eddie Munson looks good on TV. You try to convince yourself that it's the blurry imagery, the three-toned LED's, but you know it's because he's plain good-looking. Rockstar suits him. Glam suits him; eyeliner, ripped shirts, ever-bruised knuckles and cut up fingertips that speak of a wrought dedication to the music he plays.

You look away from the TV and push the sheets down with your feet, naked legs flat to the mattress and covered in your own cuts and bruises. It's not entirely Morgan's fault, but every time you see the shiny scar on your ankle you get mad at her again. She'd been sloppy on stage, pulled her mic tight and sent you reeling over it like a tripwire. You'd cut up your legs, sprained your wrist, and split your chin. On national TV. In front of thousands of people.

Your ego is pretty bruised too.

Worse was the bouquet of flowers you'd been sent the day after, huge and bursting with colour from a certain dark-haired thorn in your side.

Saw you ate shit. Stop day-dreaming about me during sets and you'll be fine. EM

You'd trashed the card but hadn't had the heart to fob the flowers. The last survivors of the bunch wilt slowly on the nightstand beside you, a much too pretty reminder of somebody you're trying to forget. Or rather, erase. You won't admit to yourself what happened at Monsters of Rock, because admitting it means he's winning.

Morgan pushes your door open with her hip. If she's perturbed to find you in your underwear she doesn't say a word, making a beeline for your bag. She takes out your Newports and taps the carton against her chest.

"What's up?" she asks, sliding a cigarette from the box and propping it between her shiny lips. "You still feeling sorry for yourself?"

"Morgan."

She lights her cigarette, laughing through an exhale of smoke. "How many times do I have to say sorry?"

"Once would be nice."

"Babe." Morgan sits at the end of your bed, in a good mood for once but still herself. "I'm sorry you fell over my mic."

She likely doesn't even see what's wrong with her apology. You accept it for what it is and hold your arm out for the pack and lighter. Knees pulled up, you settle against the headboard and light a cigarette yourself, but snuff it out after a shallow inhale. Nothing feels worth indulging in when the knot of anxiety in your chest keeps on tightening.

"Where's Ananya?" you ask.

"You're watching this again?"

You glance at the TV where Corroded Coffin play through their Monsters of Rock set.

"M'just waiting for us," you lie mildly.

"Sure… You know, you shouldn't feel bad about your spill last week. Look at Munson. Biggest crowd of his life and he's tripping over an E major."

She snorts, the two of you watching as the Eddie on screen looks to the left of the stage and misses his mark.

"How do you flub that?" She rolls her eyes. "Boys."

How did he flub it? You'd been standing on the side stage cleaned up and smiling like you were half in love with him. The recording is proof — whatever power it is that he has over you, you have something similar over him.

"Anya's in the lobby waiting for us."

You sit up.

"Why?"

Morgan points at the alarm clock on your nightstand with the smouldering tip of her cigarette. "It's Friday."

"It's Thursday."

She smiles at you. If you didn't know her, the look of pity on her face might almost feel genuine. As it stands, she's a magnanimous bitch when she wants to be. She's lucky that it suits her.

"It's Friday, babe. And we're," —she tilts her head to one side, the bemusement in her eyes unmissable— "ten minutes late."

"Shit. Shit." You stand up on wobbly legs. "Fuck."

"Don't worry! I got you something."

With Morgan, you aren't sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. But you don't really have a choice.

—

Eddie won't admit to anybody why he finds himself in California. The band isn't touring, award season is mostly over. He should go home and see Wayne because fuck he's a bad nephew, a bad son, and Wayne deserves a whole lot better than one phone call a week when Eddie's too hungover to actually listen to what his uncle is saying. He should head back to Hawkins and make sure Wayne's actually cashing in the cheque's Eddie's been sending.

He shouldn't be hanging around parties hosted by people he only knows from TV looking for you, that's for sure.

The good thing about being semi famous is that introductions don't matter. Either somebody already knows you or they don't, and everybody assumes you already know them. Eddie can't count how many times somebody's pulled him in for a one-armed hug and said "Good to see you again," when they've never met before.

It could be the coke. It's probably the ego.

Eddie isn't extremely introspective or anything, but he hopes to fuck that he isn't an asshole. He knows he is in superficial ways. He's said some hurtful shit to people — to you — he wishes every now and then that he could take back. In the moment it had felt right to tease you, to belittle you as he thought you'd belittled him. He'd wanted to put his hand out and ask how high you can jump. But then he remembers how your bandmates had spoken to you, or your glitzy smile. He remembers the twisting pain in his chest when you'd fallen over on stage a week ago (though if anybody asks, he heard about it from somebody else). You'd smashed into the floor with a cruel force, arms twisted trying to protect your guitar, not a second spared to save yourself. You'd got back on your feet with blood dripping down your chin and played the rest of the song without complaint. Not one person had stepped in to clean you up.

It drives Eddie insane. He can't help it. He hates you and he wants to linger on the sidelines and watch you play. He can't stand the despondent look in your eyes when you look at him, when you look at the floor. He needs you to know that you're better than they tell you, but he can't make himself say the words.

So he'd sent you flowers and made a lame joke, hoping for hot and coming off desperate no doubt. He'd regretted it as soon as he'd hung up the phone, but he hadn't cancelled the order. Something colourful, he'd said. What flowers cheer people up?

The florist had laughed at his awkward tone and said that all flowers do the trick.

God, he hopes so.

Which isn't to say Eddie likes you. He can't stand you, actually, come to think of it, standing in the sticky pit of some actress' kitchen as he pioneers the radio and flicks through to Roller FM. Resentment burns like fire as the dial clicks beneath his fingers, turning the volume up enough to hear the radio host introduce your band.

"And tonight, a month before their new studio album hits the charts, Godless are letting us be the first to hear the second single. The outpour of hype after their first, Down and Out, was no small feat, and we have the lovely ladies here tonight to walk us through that fresh sound. But first, let's spin that new single. Ladies and gents, this is Silver Ringed…"

Godless are about as cohesive as Corroded Coffin. They have a unique sound as most chart toppers tend to have, and as much as he thinks your front woman is a total hack, she can sing. Her voice moves from sultry and quiet to aggressive and rasping. She isn't afraid to scream when she needs to, and you and Ananya obviously won't let yourselves be outdone. Your music is visceral. It's good. Not Corroded Coffin good, you don't have the clean cut sound they do, but Eddie knows that isn't the point. It's supposed to be a little dirty, and since they let you on the writing floor it's getting worse. Better. Whatever.

Eddie rubs his face with both hands.

When the song ends, the radio host asks some questions about the new album, inspirations, touring, promotional album covers, the works, and Eddie hates himself for waiting to hear your voice. He grows irritated at the sound of Morgan's raspy nonchalance.

"I mean, you guys are really stepping into a new genre here." It's true. Godless and bands like yours are more energetic, more aggressive than what Eddie plays. It's a divisive subject. Eddie likes it, but he knows a ton of metalheads who think it's immature. It's certainly not traditional. "Your first album was a whole lot different. And it was good, Godless broke into the scene! But this is new. You guys are more original and more popular than ever. Why the change?" The host laughs. "Well, she's sitting right here."

Eddie thinks he can hear you inhale, but it's Morgan who speaks.

"I wanted more for us, you know? Our first record, we just wanted to prove we could do it. This time we want to prove no one else can."

Jamison scoffs. Eddie looks up from the radio and finds his bandmate with a beer in hand. He tries to steal it and gets an elbow to the chest for the effort.

"Dick," he says.

"Get your own." Jamison tilts his head toward the radio in a show of tuning in. "Can't tear yourself away, huh? How's your girlfriend?"

"Christ," Eddie hisses.

"You need him. Aw, she sounds so sweet."

Eddie startles back to the radio, and sure enough you've finally been allowed to talk. Your voice is soft with nerves.

"It's a lot to adjust to, I think I'm slow to- uh, get with the program. But I'm so happy to get to make music and to be a part of something this sick. Uh, this amazing, I mean."

Poor girl, he thinks. By the end of your answer you sound like you want the ground to swallow you up. Thankfully the host is a professional, and laughs warmly.

"It's a big lifestyle change! We talked a little about influence, is there a track I can play you guys out with? What's your favourite?" he asks.

"Me?" you ask.

"Yeah, you."

"Oh, uh…" You laugh, sounding frazzled and sweet at once. "It has to be Black Sabbath, right? Do you guys have, um, The Mob Rules? Mob Rules is my favourite."

Eddie needs to get very drunk, he decides, and he does. He drinks until he can't taste the difference between the shitty craft beer and seven hundred dollar cognac. Until he forgets why he was drinking in the first place, to erase the sound of your voice and your Sabbath recommendation — who the fuck picks Mob Rules over Heaven and Hell? He's tipsy and he won't remember, but he wants to fuck you stupid just for that (affectionately).

He loves Mob Rules.

They move from one party to another, sloshed in the back of a car he still can't afford with his rockstar paycheck, more than drunk in the bathroom of a Studio City mansion kissing powder off of his fingers. Whatever he's been given doesn't last very long (though it hits hard), and he comes back to reality on a huge fancy couch surrounded by people, some he knows and most he doesn't.

"I need a drink," he says.

And he gets the shock of his life.

"I don't think that's a very good idea," you say gently.

Eddie swings his head to yours, finding you in a nice dress, the gem of a necklace fallen down the valley of your chest. The lights are high and blaring and he can see the fine hairs of your face, the shine of your lipgloss like a siren call.

"Why are you here?" he asks.

You shrug. He watches your shoulders.

"I need a drink," he says again.

"Like, a beer? I don't judge but I think you’ll get alcohol poisoning if you drink anything else."

"Like a beer."

You look like you might stand up and get him one, for a second. He's ultimately glad that you don't. You twist around, elbow over the back of the couch, and your face beams like a star as you call, "Hey, Dornie? Could you toss me a beer, please?"

Eddie worries he'd wanted to see you so badly you've appeared as a hallucination, and he hates himself and it's all old news anyways, but you turn back with a cold as ice beer in hand and press it into his arm until he whines.

"I'm sobering you up," you tease, again so gently. He does not like how you're looking at him, like you feel sorry for him.

He takes the beer though the second sip makes him feel sick to his stomach, and tries not to look at you.

"What, you don't want to be my friend anymore?" you ask.

What has he said?

"Sweetheart," he says, focusing very hard on sounding solid, "a friend is the last thing I want from you."

"Could've fooled me… Hey, you wanna know a secret?"

"What?"

You lean in close, smelling of perfume, your face undeniably touchable. "I heard from somebody who heard from somebody else that they're kicking Tony Martin to the curb."

He blinks. "Sabbath?"

"Uh-huh."

"Why the fuck would they do that?"

"Think on it, baby."

If he couldn't smell the flowery punch of your perfume, or see the individual lashes that shield your waterline, he'd definitely think you were a dream. You're here, and you're talking to him like you like him, looking at him like you did, you cruel, awful thing, that day at Monsters of Rock when he'd pressed you up against a wall and kissed you until his lips burned. You'd kissed back. You'd responded, your lips pressing against his with more enthusiasm than made any sense.

Now you're calling him baby and telling him secrets, your knees tucked together and the outside of your thigh warming a stripe under his jeans. It feels surreal. Your body heat is sinking into his skin.

Somebody across the coffee table entices you into conversation. Eddie listens to you talk. Maybe high Eddie is a nicer guy than sober Eddie (unlikely), because you don't seem repulsed by his company. Considering how you left things, your little corner shop spat and his bruising kiss, he hadn't been expecting a warm welcome.

"Did you–" he starts, insecure and hiding it as best as he can, fingers itching for a cigarette, for something to do, "did you like the flowers?"

"You already asked me that." You peek down at his beer. "Could I have that?"

He hands it over numbly.

"It's not a good idea, you know? Drugs and drink, mixing them together. It messes with your heart," you tell him.

"Don't act all innocent," he says.

"No, I know, I'm not trying to lecture you 'cause I do shit I shouldn't do, but– you looked one bump from a heart attack. Seriously."

"Why do you care?"

You laugh. Your nose wrinkles. "I don't know."

It's not the answer he wanted, but it's the one he deserves.

He's spent weeks talking to himself, imagining conversations between you both. He's memorised defences, shamefully readied a few insults in case you'd prepared your own, but nothing comes to mind now. He's speechless.

You drink his beer and he thinks about how his lips had been at the mouth of it not ten minutes ago. It shouldn't matter. You've already kissed him. It shouldn't.

"I don't think I took what I meant to," he admits.

"Me neither. Morgan said they've been cutting with procaine around the hills. Did you get super numb?"

He can't remember. He doesn't want to talk about any of this with you. "I heard you on the radio."

"You did?"

"You were scared."

"No." You tear the tab off of the beer and put it in his hand. "I like high Eddie, he’s honest."

"I'm not, really…"

"Should see your pupils."

Maybe he is, then. That could explain why he keeps saying what he's thinking without pausing to check if it sounds cool. He has his defences up to the ceiling usually, wouldn't ever let you or anybody else in, not here.

He's staring at you.

You brush the side of his arm with your fingernails.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" he asks.

Your small smile flattens into a line. "I don't know, Eddie. Who are you gonna tell? Who'd believe you? As far as the tabloids and- and our friends are aware, we hate each other."

"It didn't feel like you hated me."

"I didn't."

"But you do now?"

You stand up. Eddie gets caught in your smile, charming with something worse lurking beneath. You brush the hair out of his face and station your hands at the base of his neck, dropping your head toward his ear.

"Not telling," you whisper.

He thinks for a moment you're gonna kiss him, his ear or his neck, but you scratch his scalp lightly and leave as he's getting to grips with the feeling of your breath against his skin.

—

Dolly Floor, California, December 1990

Dolly Floor is a club in West Hollywood frequented by movie stars. You're pretty sure you only get in because of Morgan's snow trail incident months ago, and you almost wish they'd sent you packing when you see how densely hedged it is inside. The temperature hikes up with every step you take inside, and soon Morgan's dropping your wrist in favour of one of her friends across the way, leaving you totally alone.

You're dressed in too much clothing for the occasion, a dress with sleeves and a leather jacket that isn't yours, big boots to protect your feet from crushing crowds. Morgan had thrown a pair of kitten heels at you in frustration. For once you'd told her no. She's been oddly friendly lately, letting you do as you please with nothing more than an irritated huff, and so you've got tights and socks alike stuffed into your shoes — you're sick of aches and pains.

If anybody steps on your toes tonight, you're going home.

The air is thick with humidity, exhaled breath, the scent of alcohol explaining the stickiness under your footsteps. You don't know many people, but you know Dornie and, irritatingly, half of Corroded Coffin, so you beeline for the band where they're holed up at the back and hope one of them will give you a drink.

There's gotta be thirty different people hanging out. How they can hear each other talk is a mystery. Dornie puts his arm out when he sees you and you slide into his side, reaching up on tiptoes to kiss his pale cheek.

"Careful," he says, "you'll make someone jealous."

You're affectionate with Dornie 'cause he's nice. Just plain nice, which is hard to find in Hollywood. He's the very first friend you've made that's yet to break your heart, and better, he hasn't tried to sleep with you.

Not that you think you're some unresistable notch.

"Who'd be jealous of me?" you ask.

"Of me." He rubs your shoulder through leather. "It's good to see you, doll. Your chin's healing up nice, yeah? Or is it make-up?"

He taps your chin.

It unlocks a reluctant memory, the shadow of a different hand, heavy with intoxication but painstakingly gentle.

"It's a bit of make-up," you admit, lifting your chin so he can see it.

"Still, it's getting better. How are your knees?"

Hiding behind your tights. "They're gnarly. Doesn't hurt to walk much now though."

Dornie grins. He has a pretty smile with white wonky teeth and three lip rings on one side. His hair is shorn short, unlike most of the guys here rocking hair to the ears or even longer. His eyes are a light brown, emphasising the bruising bags under his eyes. He looks tired.

"Don't look, but I'm getting some serious glarage from your favourite guitarist."

"You're my favourite guitarist," you say, and you mean it. His arm is a comforting weight. It feels so good to have a friend.

"Your second favourite."

You step completely into Dornie's view and look up at him. "How's he look now?"

"Chilling. Want me to guide you over to the bar like we're lovers?"

"Don't say it like that."

Dornie pulls you across the floor back to the bar, where blessed cool air seeps down from the air-conditioning and the drinks leave pools of condensation the second they're put down. Dornie buys you a mystery cocktail that tastes more like water than juice. You sip at it happily, using your more neutral vantage point to get a good look at Eddie.

He's sprawled against a booth wall with one arm behind his head, a cigarette sending smoke up to the wall. He looks better than the last time you'd seen him. There's colour in his cheeks, though that might be the lighting. Dolly Floor is a strange venue, like a strip club without the workers, or a restaurant without food. It doesn't feel like a club, but there's a small stage around the corner from the bar where good music plays live, and it doesn't take much convincing for Dornie to come and watch the show with you for a bit. Some of his friends join you, a woman called Natalie, a man named Matfield, and they're both as nice as he is.

"We heard the new record!" Matfield says across the high table, the golden watch on his wrist a beacon under the reflections of the harsh stage lights.

"Hated it?" you ask.

He chuckles. "All the screaming isn't for me, baby, but that shit doesn't matter. It was good. How's it doing?"

"I honestly haven't looked," you say, opening your box of Newports and offering them out like candy. Everybody takes one.

"Better not to know tonight," Natalie says agreeably, her perfect black hair curled toward her face like a seraphim shifting as she leans in for a light. "All you have to do is celebrate."

You'd wanted, foolishly, to celebrate with the girls. Ananya had dipped as soon as she could and you get it, she has her own friends, but Morgan knocking the door of your room had been a great relief. If at least one of them wants to spend time with you, that's enough. Only, Morgan had made it clear as she was sifting through your clothes that she was going to try and find, "like, someone who's actually interesting." You'd taken it about half as personally as you would've a few months ago.

Hence Dornie. You'd called him on the landlines and he'd said, "Yeah, babe, I'll meet you there."

Thank whatever's watching for Dornie.

He buys you another drink and then another, says your money's no good and tonight's about you. His friends are great, including you in all their jokes and smiles, and when the lights go down and the music gets louder you head out onto the glowing tiles and dance with them.

Eddie finds you not long after. Slinking up from your peripherals, hand in his pocket.

"What Eddie am I seeing tonight? The nice one?"

Eddie doesn't flinch at your sudden question. "You look good."

He'd approached from the left. You'd felt it rather than heard him, and you'd guessed right. He steps further into view, not smiling, not not smiling. He looks good too.

"I heard the album."

You hate how much you care. "Yeah?"

"It was good. It wasn't metal, but it was good."

You're laughing before he's even finished, turning away from him in a feigned sense of superiority. I don't care what you think.

Eddie doesn't grab you. You wouldn't care if he did. He follows by your elbow and says, "Come on, you know it isn't."

"Just 'cause it doesn't sound rooted in the 70s," you say with a smile.

"That's the whole point. It's baseless, there's nothing traditional in it. It isn't metal, but it's rock, and it's good, and–"

"Slow down, Munson. A girl'd think you liked her."

"I'm objective."

"You're not."

"I'm not, but my opinions are right. Everybody says that, but when I do it's true, so…"

You look at him properly. He looks present in a way he hasn’t before in front of you. There’s a total clarity behind his eyes that you yourself don’t have tonight. He looks sober. Not that you thought he was an addict, not that you didn’t. There’s a certain blasé attitude to substance abuse when you get a kick of fame. Everybody has something in their pocket and you’ll admit to buying into it, taking stuff you shouldn’t in unfamiliar places. You know, of course, that drugs are fucking dangerous. But you hadn’t been freaked out by them until the other night, when you bumped into Eddie outside of the bathroom in Dornie’s friend’s house and he hadn’t recognised you for a solid ten seconds.

He’s chewing on nothing.

“I didn’t do it to hold over you,” you say.

“What?”

“Look after you. It wasn’t… I mean, I wasn’t making fun of you. And I’m not gonna tell anybody.”

“Generous.” His eyes narrow subtly.

“So if that’s what you’re doing.” You look down to his neck where a silver chain rests, thin, new and hidden under his shirt. “Checking to make sure, I’m not.”

“You think I’m here to make sure you don’t tattle?”

You’re too tipsy to feel embarrassed. “You’re here to buy me a drink, then. I want a cherry margarita with extra shiny cherries and all the salt on the rim, please. Please,” you add, because the second one hadn’t felt polite enough.

Eddie nods and half turns. “Shiny cherry?” he asks. You almost miss it, his soft tone nearly lost in the noise.

“Maraschino… they’re pink.”

“You’re not gonna come with me?”

“Get lost often?”

Eddie holds his hand out. You’re supposed to think of how his hand looks, his callouses, his rings, the cut across his thumb, the size and length of his fingers. You think about them enough when he isn’t around, but now, right now, your heart thuds against your chest. Your thoughts are a mess until they aren’t — hold his hand. You put your fingers against his palm and he squeezes them together like he’s collected them, tugging you out of the crowd and across the room to the slick black bar.

You’re still angry with him. You’re wounded, knife to the gut and all the red blood because he’d been right, you’re a dog, you do what people tell you to, you’re doing it right now, but then he squeezes your hand with a light enough pressure that you’re sure you’ve imagined it until he does it again, leaning up against the bar as he gives your order. “Extra cherries,” he says to the barkeep with a smile, letting your hand go in favour of his own drink.

The crowd surges with a new song and people brush your calves as they walk around you. You and Eddie stay at the bar. He sips on a bottle of water. You wait for your margarita.

“Your cut’s healing up,” he says.

You try not to notice your touching arms. “It was bad, right? It must’ve been. You felt so sorry for me,” —the words burn— “you sent me the biggest bouquet I’ve ever gotten in my life.”

“I didn’t feel sorry for you, sweetheart, can you read?”

“Between the lines, yes,” you say, nodding your head once, emphatic as you accept your margarita. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t feel sorry for you. Felt bad for you-“ He holds up a pale palm. “My fault an’ all, I’ll try to be less daydream worthy.”

“I wasn’t thinking about you. Did you see it? She tripped me up with her mic doing a shitty Stevie Nicks impression.”

“Wrong genre.”

You laugh at him. “Exactly! That’s the point.”

“Yeah, I saw it.”

You raise your eyebrows. Eddie’s head tips forward and his hair hides his cheeks, the subtlest impression of his cheekbones lost to a curtain of curls. He twists one of his rings around his finger.

“She- You should be more careful,” he says.

Everything’s raw with him, criticism most of all, but you’re feeling generous. You fish one of your shiny cherries from the margarita glass, surprised to find its stalk intact, and break the delicate skin between your teeth. You mull over what he’s saying as the sweet flavour aches in your jaw. You could’ve been more cautious. You’d been having fun, and you’d thought you could trust the people you work with to have your back. It was a little silly to assume; neither Morgan nor Ananya have ever shown you much second thought.

“Yeah, I think I should be,” you say finally, putting the cherry stalk in your mouth.

“What are you doing?”

You ignore him and try to tie a cherry stem knot. You keep trying until you think you’ve got it. You pull the stem from your tongue.

“Shit,” you curse, glaring at the curved stem. “Thought I had it.”

Eddie grins and leans into your space, fingers quick to pinch a cherry from your margarita.

He brings it to your mouth. You keep your lips pressed closed and search his face for a trick. Nothing peaks out, not a hint of cruelty to his pinked lips or flush of soft lashes. You try not to breathe as you open your mouth, and Eddie pushes the round of the cherry over your bottom lip slowly.

You bite down.

Eddie takes your stalk and places it on his own tongue. He closes his mouth, and within five seconds he’s taking out a knitted stem with a prideful buzz about him. Any smugness he’d held dissipates. He looks adorable.

“Beat you,” he says.

“Arrogant doesn’t suit you.”

“Arrogant absolutely suits me,” he argues, the corners of his lips twitching up, up, up. He’s smiling so much. He reminds you of somebody. “Sore loser doesn’t suit you.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“What’s that mean?”

“What’s that mean?” you repeat. “I smile at you across a stage set and you push me up against a wall.”

“Smile? That’s what you’d call that?”

You’re facing each other now. Eddie inches closer as he speaks, each word said with a precision that can’t be unpracticed. “I’m playing in front of near enough a hundred thousand people, kind of crowd I fucking dreamed of as a kid, in front of actual real life rockstars, and you stroll up to side stage dressed like–”

He cuts himself off. An olive branch. A stopper. A dam. His inhale infuriates you.

“No, go on. Dressed like what, superstar?”

“Like a fucking groupie.”

You know he’s only said it to try and get a rise out of you. He knows that you know. He looks like he wants to take it back.

You want him to push it further.

“And you liked it,” you say, angry. Quiet. “You liked it and you couldn’t get a handle on it.”

“No,” he says, knowing what you’re implying, voice hot and fast, “I kissed you because I knew you wanted me to. I knew what it would do to you.”

“I wanted you to?” you ask.

“Didn’t you?”

“I wanted to mess with your head ‘cause you fucking harsssed me–”

He cuts you off, “You wanted to mess with me because you hated that I was right about you. Not everything, but enough. Those girls treat you like shit. And you let them, or you’ll be the next Millyana, sitting at home watching the rest of us on TV wondering why you couldn’t make it out.” Something in his expression flickers like a rubber band has struck his skin.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time, you mean it. You worked hard to get here, had people treat you a whole heap worse than Eddie’s hot and cold, than Ananya's indifference and Morgan’s narcissism. Hours in buses with your neck craned against a short ceiling scribbling music and days toeing the line with a guitar falling apart in your hands. You scrimped and saved and starved for this.

Eddie smiles at you. For the second time that night, he looks like somebody else.

“I know,” he says. “I think we’re finally on the same page.”

—

Eddie buys you another drink. Your tipsiness had felt so far away when things got heated, but now your bubbly smile is back, and you’re actually talking to him. About music, sure, but the movies, the weather, the fancy apartments the record company put you up in.

“Finally got my own room so Ananya can stop complaining about the noise,” you say with a wink.

He chokes on his water. “The noise?”

“I’m a very dedicated player.”

You let a small silence pervade before bursting into giggles, hand patting his upper arm. “I’m kidding! She gets mad ‘cos I’m trying to learn YYZ but it is so, so hard.”

“Shit is hard,” he says. “Do you even have time for that? You start touring again in a month, maybe you should, you know, slack off?”

“No, because if I’m doing nothing I’m nothing.”

Eddie — fuck fuck fuck — shouldn’t pry.

“You’re not nothing.”

You wrinkle your nose at him and he loves when you do it. It’s not cute, really, but everything you do is cute in a way he refuses to unpack. “No, I’m not, I don’t know why I said that.”

“I get it, though. You feel like… maybe it's all gonna stop one day. Wake up with a bad case of the yips and no matter how good you were…”

“Yeah.” You take a very noisy slurp of margarita. “I’m so afraid that I’m gonna be nothing that I can’t stop.”

Eddie throws his gaze around the room. It’s no coincidence that your friend Dornie keeps looking his way; the night is winding down and there’s barely anybody dancing. It’s home time.

“You won’t be nothing,” he says, easing the margarita out of your hands. He might’ve bought you one too many. “I’m sorry for, uh, getting you drunk.”

“I got myself at least three parts there. Out of five.”

“At least three parts,” he agrees.

He wants, very badly, to touch your face. Hold your cheek in his palm. “Hey,” he says lightly. “Uh, you got something. On your cheek.”

You brush your dewy skin with an embarrassed look about you, shoulder risen and eyes all droopy with booze. “Here?”

“Higher.”

He watches you scrub at nothing. He’s tricking you. He feels awful.

“Still haven’t got it?”

“‘Fraid not, baby.”

“You get it.” You brandish your cheek.

Eddie keeps a good distance. He knows what he’s doing is weird, he just wants to touch you for a second. He rubs the pad of his thumb down your face, tracing the path of a tear you haven’t shed. Eye to chin.

“You’re good,” he says, dropping his hand.

“Thank you.”

You’re slurring. He thinks you’re more tired than you are tipsy (though you are, undeniably, inebriated), and he wonders where all the time went, how it’s suddenly been an hour with you and your conversation. There’d been a moment where he thought he’d fucked it and your eyes had shone with hurt, but you’re smiling, he’s smiling, and Dornie looks aggrieved. All good things.

“I think you better get going,” he murmurs.

“Sick of me?” you ask, not teasing.

“No. Your friend’s waiting for you.”

You look over your shoulder and your smile glows. You start babbling about how that’s your friend Dornie (he knows, you’ve only told him five times) and how Dornie is sooooo nice. You deserve somebody being nice to you right from the start. Eddie’s trying to make it right but he’s said some shit he can’t take back. He wants you to have someone who’s a hundred percent sweet on you, he just doesn’t wanna have to hear the adoration in your voice when you talk about it.

Eddie’s a dick. Self-admitted.

You go home with an arm looped around Dornie’s waist. (Dornie said high-pitched, wide-eyed.) Eddie pulls a handful of bills from his wallet to pay for the drinks he’d bought, stuffing the change in a tip jar on the way back to the dregs of the coffin crew. Jamison’s long gone and Jeff didn’t wanna come, but Gareth’s smoking a cigarette with another guy’s hand mysteriously lapward.

He clears his throat. “I’m going home and taking the car.”

“Wait for me?”

Eddie cringes. “Sure.”

Eddie sits in the car. One hand on the wheel, the other in his pocket. He thinks about tonight, your hair, your smile, the way your arm had brushed up against his. He wonders if this is the right move. Eddie’s not mad at you anymore for forgetting who he was, for your teasing at the Prover Theatre or your rookie comments. And Monsters of Rock, that had been half spite and half bravado. Spur of the moment bravery. Idiocy. Yeah he’d kissed you to piss you off, but he’d also done it because he wanted to.

He sighs and takes your discarded pull tab out of his pocket. He thumbs the rounded edge, thinking harder than one guy should ever think about anything that isn’t metal. Shit, he thinks. I gotta go home.

𓆩❤︎𓆪

note: they are not done hating each other I am just warming up! thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed <3

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #stranger things fic #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #rockstar!eddie #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie munson x reader #rockstar!eddie x reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson angst

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mrsparrasblog · 16 days

Note

hi srry if you don't do requests but I have to ask cuz I love everything about your writing.

Can u write a fic where the mc is strictly monogamous but 141 are SO madly in love so they fight on who gets to be with her and it's causing actual problems between them?

Ignored this if u don't want to. Anyway stay slaying✨

Hey ☀️🩷 Ofc I take requests this is my first one tho, I hope you like It, and it's like you imagined because I always have like a little movie in my head when I write a scene and with requests. I don't know if my thoughts match with yours- performance anxiety lol. Still thank you for supporting me 🩷☀️

Fighting for you

TF 141 x Reader

You always had that one plan in your life: meet a nice guy, date for 2 years, marry him with the most extravagant wedding dress someone could imagine, and after that, you get three fat babies whom you will love and dote on.

The only problem was, as a nurse on a military base, you didn't meet guys capable of this lifestyle. You hated to see all these men trying to get in your pants while they were married.

"Why are you in the med again, Johnny?" You scolded him. Of course, you found the Scotsman funny and liked his daily visits, but still, having him here all the time felt like a lost puppy when you had work to do.

"Look, Bonnie, have a mean scratch, need stitches from ya."

"Is that so, Mr. MacTavish?"

"Yes, Bonnie, look." He showed you a scar on his biceps, and you sighed. You knew he was only coming for something else; no soldier went to the medical just because of a scratch. He started to flex his biceps.

"Johnny, that's barely anything."

"But ya always fix me good, lassie." He looked at you with puppy eyes, and you sighed, disinfecting his nonexistent wound. "Such a good caretaker, lass. Need to put a ring on ya before someone else does." You blushed at the thought of marrying someone like Johnny. He was handsome, funny, and super strong, but he was a flirt, probably flirting with every other nurse. Besides, you had a date today.

"Johnny, stop flirting. I have a date today."

"Just a date, lass. It's not like you'll marry him."

You stared at him with a dead glare. "For some people, dates are important, Johnny!"

"Who is it?"

"None of your business, and now leave," you scolded him, annoyed by his noisy behavior.

-----------

"Who of you bastards broke the agreement?" Johnny started to scream at his teammates.

"What do you mean, Soap?" Kyle asked, confused.

"We agreed that no one can have her since she doesn’t want to share, so who of you tossers broke the agreement and goes on a date with her?"

"How do you even know that mate, if you didn’t break the agreement too?"

"I just needed her to take care of my injuries, Kyle."

"Bullshit, you barely got a scratch. Admit that you wanted to break off the agreement too. Admit it." Gaz barked, walking towards Soap to pick him up by his shirt.

"Enough of you, Muppets!"

"You broke the agreement, Captain, didn't ya? Telling us all about the agreement and then taking out my future wife."

"I didn't, and even if, she'd be more happy to become Mrs. Price than Mrs. MacTavish."

They were so close to fighting; everyone accused the other of taking you on that date. They remembered the first day they saw you; all of them were smitten. You were just too precious, full of love and excitement. Perfect hair, perfect body, everything about you was perfect for them. You could walk with your greasy messy bun, and they’d kneel for you, promising you’re the most beautiful woman on earth. After a while, they noticed how every one of them was smitten, how Johnny spent every minute in the infirmary, Ghost becoming your shadow, protecting you from every danger of the world without you even knowing, the Captain always treated you better than every other staff member, you had more off days, better shifts, and even better pay, and Kyle bringing you always your favorite coffee and a bunch of pastries when you overworked yourself again.

Johnny was the first one to ask the rest if they’d be open to a poly relationship. He was the most open about his sexuality, and having Simon and you was the perfect thing for him. Whether the reasons why they agreed to try to court you in this relationship, every one of them thought you only deserved the best, and that included being worshiped by four muscular men.

Unfortunately, your best friend, who noticed their goal while you still stayed in your naive bubble, popped their bubble, telling them to sod off. You weren’t made for this kind of relationship; you were jealous and liked the idea of monogamy way too much. You only wanted to have one husband. That's how the agreement started none of them will pursue you, and they will only start something with you if you approach them, no more flirting, favoritism, or looming over you.

Nonetheless, they gave a fuck about their agreement, behind closed doors still trying to court you in various different ways, but how could they not? You were perfect, and they were obsessed and way too much in love with you to let someone else have you.

"Where the fuck is Ghost?" Kyle asked, looking around for the scary man with the skull face mask.

"Fucking hell, he is her date."

"Sick bastard."

------

Soap walked into Ghost's barracks, eager to scream at his best friend. He was the first to love you, so Ghost should not have gone on a date with you without telling him. The betrayal felt immaculate, his best friend with the love of his life.

"Aye, Lieutenant, heard you're going on a date with the lassie."

"Johnny, it just happened."

"No hard feelings, LT. Where are you taking her?"

"Alfredo's."

"Oh, okay."

Simon looked confused at Johnny. "What's wrong?"

"Take her to a better place a steakhouse or a fish restaurant. Give her a real meal, not something cheap. Lassies love this fancy shit."

"Thanks, mate."

---------------

Your date with Ghost was okay. He was brooding over something, and as he insisted on ordering something for you as a surprise, despite you telling him no, he did it, wanting to be a posh bloke who knows what his lady wants. Soap said you liked this fancy shit and heavy meat and fish.

As you looked disgusted at the filet steak, trying not to be rude by saying you're a vegetarian, he lost it mentally, not with you but with his best friend, who betrayed him just for you. He'd do the same, of course, but it's still different, right?

The date went on way too cringy, Simon spent most of the time apologizing to you for the messed-up date, and you tried to reassure him that it was okay. When he brought you back home, he asked if he could stay the night, and you politely declined.

"Johnny, I'm going to rip your fucking head off."

"Aye, shit," Johnny screamed as he began to run.

"The date went shit, I guess?" Kyle asked, unfazed by all the screaming from the two men fighting. He acted as if he didn't let slip the information that she is vegetarian next to Johnny or told Price she liked roses after she told him for 20 minutes straight how they are overrated. The best part was no one even suspected him; he was calm about the situation, not trying to solve it with violence like Johnny and Simon. While the others played checkers, he played chess to get you.

"Yes, it was."

"I told you muppets, I'm the one who deserves her."

"Shut up, Price," Ghost scoffed.

"I think so too, Captain should have her. At least he treats her well," Kyle said with a boyish grin.

So the Captain asked you out on a date, and after some convincing, you agreed, making yourself ready and waiting for him in desperation. You looked great, hair curled, mascara applied, and in a dress that was classy but a bit sexy. You knew Price could be a guy for this, maybe a bit too old, but still, you could grow old with him, and maybe he would give you everything your innocent heart desires.

After waiting for an hour, you were sure he wouldn’t come. If only you had known that Ghost was faking an accident and Soap's promise to tell you about it, not to let the sweet angel wait for the Captain. Soap was already on the way to play the knight in shining armor, fully confident to finally sweep you off your feet and make you the future Mrs. MacTavish, his sweet little angel. Oh, how the boys would look to know that he got the heart of their sweetheart finally.

Too late.

"Hey, lovely, why are you sobbing? Do I need to punch someone for you?"

"It's embarrassing, Kyle."

"Tell me about it."

"Just had a bunch of weird dates. One wanted to only bed me, I guess, and the other stood me up," you sobbed, looking into Kyle's pretty face.

"Oh, love, you know that all these guys around the boys are head over heels fighting over you like wild animals."

"Never."

"They are, how couldn't they? You're perfect."

"You're a flirt, you know that."

"And you're too pretty to cry, you know that?" He winked at you, removing the tears from your beautiful eyes.

"You think so?"

"Mhm."

"Kyle," you asked him shyly, looking deep into his brown eyes.

"Yes?"

"Are you one of the boys who fight over me too?"

"Sure as hell, love!" He almost shouted, full of enthusiasm.

"You wouldn’t want what I want."

"And how do you know that?"

"I just want you, to know all, exclusive dating."

"Mhm, I'd give you that without a doubt, love. Just let me prove to you that I'm the right one for you, love." His hand slowly went to your face, caressing the soft skin that was still tinted by your mascara tears. "You have the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen." And when you looked at him with your doe eyes, he lost it, slowly pulling his rough lips on your soft ones, holding your head for dear life as if you could vanish any second. He was afraid he did something wrong, maybe scared you like a deer, but you didn't shy away; you pulled him closer, letting his lips intertwine with yours and slowly opening your mouth to let his tongue explore yours. It felt like a firework in your body; every fiber burned with pure passion as he kissed you. You didn't want to stop; you needed him as deeply as he longed for you.

"Fucking Garrick, I didn't think he’d win her over," Ghost murmured behind the wall, watching you with the others in jealousy as Kyle got their girl.

"He played us like fucking fools, telling us it's okay if we win her over," Price muttered, annoyed and kinda proud at his sneaky bastard.

"I'm more of a looker than fucking Gaz," Soap said, annoyed.

As happy as you were right now, all of the boys knew the fight for your heart wouldn’t stop until there was a ring on your finger.

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writingintheshadowsforever · 8 months

Text

Imagine Abby confessing her love for you

You knew you were goner the first time you laid eyes on Abby Anderson. She was tough, guarded, emotionless, and serious about completing the task. Whatever it was Isaac put her charge of no matter the objective that was always her main focus. Despite her tough exterior and her knack for pushing people away whenever they tried to befriend her. Almost like it was her secret superpower or something.

You managed to worm your way into her heart with the resilience of a bear trying to protect its cubs, and the patience of a scorpion waiting for its poison to spread before moving in for the kill on its prey. If someone asked Abby how you were the one who got through to her first.

She didn't have an honest answer for them herself for she never understood how you did what you did. All she knew was once she let you in. There was no getting rid of you even if she wanted to. Abby found herself relying on someone else to keep her. Other than the need for revenge going for the first time since her dad's death. She'd do anything for you. There was nothing in the world you couldn't ask her to do that wouldn't be an automatic yes.

Unless of course you asked to be honest about her feelings for you. Because the second the two of you returned from scouting the outpost. You cornered her in the locker rooms knowing she would be in there to take a nice long, and hot shower. It was pretty late so no one else was present. You figured that would make it slightly easier to coax the truth out of her. Instead Abby gave you the run around insisting that yes while you were an important person in her life, and she indeed love you (like a friend) making sure to put an extra emphasis on the word friend. She wasn't harboring any feelings for you, or anyone else.

Abby then went on to make some stupid joke about her last relationship, and just how incompatible she was with anyone. You weren't buying it for one second, but nonetheless you still let it go. Knowing better than anyone if you pushed her too hard she'd shut down for a while.

But apparently that one push was enough because the next day Isaac asked you to report to him. He proceeded to tell you that for the next month or so. He was reassigning you to strictly supply runs only, and if you weren't need there. You were to report for dog duty every morning which included in helping training the dogs, cleaning up their kennels, and grooming them. No more field missions for you with reason being you showed reckless behavior on your last mission. That could've resulted in the death of either you, or you and your team.

"You got potential to be one of my best soldiers in the future y/n. I'll be damned if I lose you in the field because you want to be a show-off playing hero." Isaac scolded you with a grunt placing Abby's mission report on his desk.

Arguing with him wasn't going to change a thing. You might've been with the WLF longer, but Abby had way more experience in the field. Her history with the Fireflies and dedication to training moved her up the ranks faster than any other solider. She hardly ever went on a mission where she actually had to answer to someone else. So whatever she told Isaac was final.

The role change took place nearly two weeks ago, and you still hadn't adjusted in the change of pace. Plus the lack of action not to mention despite how pissed off you were with her. You missed Abby Anderson terribly. The two of you only saw each other in passing, and each time Abby avoided eye contact. Right now the supply run you were on took you a few miles away from main base. Abby had just returned from a pretty nasty confrontation with the Scars, and was resting up in the infirmary. You wouldn't be surprised if she had something to do with you being sent on a four-day run.

"Ahhh I don't see how these guys do this all day." You complained pushing the door to the lobby of the abandoned hotel open with your back. The room covered from top to bottom with containers filled with any items that were preserved and still of good use. With a grunt you heaved the large box in your arms up to stack it on top of more boxes. The pile held up not swaying the slightest bit.

You let out a sigh of relief leaning back on a heavier and stronger stack of containers. The person in charge would've made you clean it up alone if it fell. "This is literally the definition of grunt work."

"Wow its good to know how you really feel about us, and our contribution to the WLF's survival." A familiar voice chimed in only a few feet away.

You let out a surprise yelp looking up to see Nora positioned right in front of you. Her arms crossed over her chest, a single eyebrow quirked upward with a playful smile on her face. "How long have you been there?"

"Considering I'm in charge of taking inventory all day. What's in the box you brought in?" She asked her tone becoming a bit more strict for the moment.

"A bunch random clothes" You told her unsure of why it was important.

"They actually go over there." She pointed to the far left side of the lobby chuckling. At the way you groaned pushing off the containers. "Calm down I'll have some of the guys move it later."

You relaxed again shooting her a fake angry smile.

"So what did you do to get on Isaac's bad side. The only time he puts field operatives on supply runs is when we're navigating dangerous territory. And the only time he turns you guys into suppliers is when he wants to punish you." Isaac knew the change in pace of the work drew field operatives crazy.

"Its more like what I did to piss off Abby." You said unable to hide the irritation in your voice.

Nora's eyes widened a bit at your answer before her face scrunched up in confusion. "But you and Abby are like this" she stated holding up a hand with one finger crossed over the other.

"Yeah we were until I tried to make confess her feelings for me" You told her with a shrug. If Abby was going to lie about it why should you keep it a secret.

"Oh no you gotta start from the beginning girl" Nora demanded shaking her head. Not giving you a chance to protest she hoisted herself up onto a container adjacent to you.

You chuckled at her eagerness to hear some gossip, but knew nothing more exciting was going to happen. So you would indulge in it this once even though it was never your thing. Plus Nora and Abby were close enough the girl was in the inner circle. No easy feat to accomplish with Abby.

"We went on a scouting mission a few weeks ago, and got ambushed by a herd of infected. Abby got cornered and ran out of bullets, so I came to her rescue doing something that was kinda stupid." You admitted a bit guilty knowing Abby wasn't completely lying about the reckless behavior thing. "But it worked and I saved her life only I guess she thought I died in the process. Abby started freaking out and when after I reassured her I was fine. She went on to say I couldn't do stuff like because she cared about me too much, and stopped short of dropping the "L" word."

Nora held onto every single word that left your mouth following the story with genuine interest. When you to the end immediately she shook her head hoping down from her seat. "Nope we can't have this I'm going to help you get your girl."

Your eyes lit up with curiosity. "How?

"Oh don't worry I'll think of something" she replied already rubbing her chin.

You still wanted more insight which led to your next question. "Why?"

Nora turned back around and walked over to rest both of her hands on either of your shoulders. "Because you're my girl and Abby is my girl I want both of you to be happy. Plus I've been rooting for y'all since day one when the two of you met."

"And" you pressed her further sensing an ulterior motive.

"I got a running bet with Owen, Manny, and Mel about when the two of you are going to finally get together." she finally admitted with a sheepish smile. "Don't be mad."

I'm not but Mel." You laughed a little bit thrown back by the timid doctor being in on it.

"I betted it would be sooner than later, but Mel thought the opposite while Owen and Manny opted for it being never."

You wanted to disappointed in Owen but with the way Abby reacted to everything that happened. It made sense and Manny was her roommate, so he probably did have some type of insight on her unknown to you.

"So what do you get if you win? Money isn't exactly worth anything."

Nora just gave you a quick wink and motioned for you to follow her.

Three Days Later

Isaac didn't have any more assignments for suppliers, and your assistance with the dogs wasn't required. So you readied yourself to enjoy a rare free day or two, but a solider came banging on your door the morning. After you had just returned from your supply run with Nora to let you know the man wanted to see you in his office.

You dragged yourself out of bed with a sleepy groan cursing the entire world. What could Isaac possibly want now? He literally told you last night today was yours. A five minute shower and ten minutes spent going through your closest trying to determine what to wear, and a quick stop to the mess hall for breakfast. You finally arrived at his door giving it a gentle knock.

"Its y/n"

"Come in" replied his gruff voice.

You opened the door to the sight of Isaac sitting behind his desk with his hands folded together in resting atop it. Abby sat in chair on the right side with both of knees maintaining a steady bouncing pace. The second your foot stepped into the office she launched to her feet. Already red in the face jabbing a anger finger at you.

"What is she doing here?"

"Sit back down Abby" Isaac commanded rather than answer her question.

"But-" she started to protest until he fixed her with his steely gaze, and she finally listened. Plopping back down into the chair propping her elbow up on the arm, and placing her chin in her awaiting hand. Abby grumbled complaints under her breath while you took the chair beside her holding back an amused smile.

"Owen and Manny are both out of commission for the next few days, and you need a partner for your scouting mission today." Isaac said laying both of his hands flat on the desk.

"Are they okay?" You asked a bit concerned.

He nodded. "Mel said it was some type of stomach bug possibly caused by. A bad batch of fish from last night's dinner, but we're keeping them in a restricted area to be sure."

Your mind wandered back to your conservation with Nora just a day ago, and you knew without a doubt this was her doing. You fought off the urge to grin again.

"I don't need a partner Isaac I can handle this by myself." Abby argued throwing you a side glance trying to hide the guilt in them.

"After what happened on your last mission I won't risk it. The infected could be anywhere in this point, and you never know when a horde is going to show up. Plus those Scars are getting more bolder with each attack. Y/N compliments your skillset nicely, and has enough experience."

"But she's reckless-"

"And I trust you to maintain control over this mission, and put her in place if the need arises. Are you telling me you can't handle it?" Isaac narrowed his eyes at Abby almost daring her to continue questioning his decision.

"No sir I can handle it" Abby answered dropping her head with a look of despair.

The scouting mission was a simple one. Located about three miles from the main WLF base was a small cabin near a set of watchtowers. A group of soldiers stumbled upon it on they're way back, but didn't feel comfortable scoping it out. They were injured, malnourished, and sleep deprived after spending days hiding out in Scar infested territory trying not to be discovered.

It was close enough to base Isaac was sure none of the Scars were stupid enough to get this close. And if there were a few hanging out about you and Abby were more than capable of taking them out. He did order to bring one back for interrogation if the two of you found any.

The cabin was located in wooded area where the trees grew too great heights, and the bushes were dense. Abby walked ahead of you hacking any blocking vegetation away with her machete. She did it in such an aggressive way you were pretty sure this was her stress reliever. Anything would do rather than actually getting it off her chest through conservation. You followed behind her maintaining a comfortable distance. It went like this a solid hour or so into the trail before finally you couldn't take the silence anymore.

"Are you going to ignore me the whole time Abby?" You asked her.

"That depends what do you want to talk about?" she shot back not even bothering to pause to look back at you.

"I don't know how about the fact you lied to Isaac and got me put on supply duty."

Now she stopped whirling around to face you her face shrouded in disbelief at your words. "I didn't lie your actions were reckless on that mission." She raised the machete pointing at you, but then realized it and slid into the waistband of her pants.

"Yeah but that's not why you reported me is it? You accused closing the distance between you two.

"Why else would I report you y/n?"

If she was going to continue to play dumb then you were happy to bring up the elephant in the room again. "To get me away from you for a few days, so you could bury those feelings so deep inside of you again. You'd forget they were ever even there."

A red tint coated her cheeks as her eyes averted the contact from yours now. Instead she turned her gaze to the ground below swallowing a lump in her throat. "We should keep moving."

Not bothering to wait for your reply Abby turned back around and continued on the path to the cabin. You let out a sigh of exasperation running a hand down your face. Of course it wasn't going to be that easy to make her confess. You were going to play the danger card again.

The opportunity to do it without putting your life in any real danger presented itself. A whole hour later after the two of you finished hiking your way through all the deep bush. The trail cleared up a bit more till eventually one of the watchtowers came into view, and the closer you two got to it. The more realized getting to the cabin wasn't going to be easy as the group made it out to be.

The sound of rushing water filled the air when you and Abby got within ten feet of the tower. And the source of noise revealed itself once you reached the tower to it sitting on the edge of a ravine. Abby extended her arm out in front you. When both of you reached the edge of the grassy terrain that led down into a wide and deep ditch. That was filled up with water probably from the few storms to hit the area in the past few days.

You leaned over to try and determine just how deep it went wondering. If it was possible to walk across, but the bottom wasn't visible. The current was too strong to just outright risk it, and you didn't see a bridge or anything that could be used as one.

"We gotta find another way across" Abby said coming to the same conclusion. "Let's keep following the path farther down maybe the water level gets lower." She pulled out the map to look over for a possible better destination, so caught up with it. Abby missed the way your eyes lit with mischief when you looked upward. The two watchtowers were connected to one other by a decent size beam.

By the time Abby finished going over the map you were taking your first step onto the beam.

"Alright there actually might be a road..." Her voice trailed off when she discovered you were no longer beside or in front of her.

"Y/N" she called out your name her head swiveling in every direction in frantic search for you. Had the Scars managed to ambush and nab you with her so close? The thought terrified her so much she was five seconds away from working herself into hyperventilating just like last time. "Y/N" Abby cried out desperately again.

"Up here Abbs calm down" you shouted from your position standing on top of the beam. About thirty feet up in the air balancing on the metal surface with ease.

She followed the sound of your voice, and sighed with relief at the sight you. Bracing a hand to her chest she calmed her panicked breathing. It took a minute to get it back to normal then she glared up at you. "What the hell are you doing up there? Come down now."

"No we can cross this way" You argued with a tiny smirk.

"Y/N I'm not playing with you get down from there" Abby ordered again. Her voice more firm this time but you saw how nervous she was getting.

"But this is so much faster than walking like another three miles for a road that might destroyed. Plus that's farther than Isaac wanted us to go." You pointed out.

"I don't care I'm in charge and I said no. Now. Get. Down. Here." Abby pointed at you then the ground on her last two words.

"Fine I'll come down" You agreed. "But first I want to hear you say it." You added it as she relaxed again.

Your request made her quirked an eyebrow. "Say what?"

You shook your head. "No more games Abby finish what you were going to say to me. On our last mission before you stopped yourself I won't come down till you do."

Abby grabbed two fistfuls of her hair holding back a frustrated scream. It was a miracle she didn't unravel the braid. "Oh for crying out loud y/n let it go. I wasn't going to say anything besides what I actually said." Now please get down here before you fall and drown or something." Abby pleaded with wide and desperate eyes.

You dropped into a crouch swaying a bit but righting yourself immediately. A small cry exited Abby's mouths as she followed your every move in fear. "What would you do if I fell in? Would you try to save me?" You asked her softly.

"I'd do anything for you" she whispered so low you barely heard her. "Because we're friends and that's what friends do for each other." It was half a lie, and both of you knew it. You were too close to give up now. So you added more pressure by standing upright and turning to walk further away to the middle of the beam. "I thought it was because I was one of the best."

"You are y/n but you're my friend too. I'm sorry for the way I've been acting for the past couple of weeks. Is that what you wanted to hear? I'm sorry okay."

Close but not close enough.

"What exactly am I the best at Abby?"

She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. "What?" she replied.

"You said I was one of the best but at what. It can't be fighting because that title goes to you easily. I mean not even our toughest guys can take you in a sparring match." You brought up your hand placing one finger down. "I know its not sharpshooting I mean I got I'm one hell of a shot, but so is Owen." Another finger brought down as you focused you on Abby again.

She dropped her head staring at the ground with her fists clenched at her sides. Her entire body was trembling with anger, or maybe the overwhelming emotion she kept trying to suppress.

"I guess it could be tracking I am really good at that" You said pausing.

"You're the best tracker we got, and I know that for a fact I'd be dead. If it wasn't for your tracking skills back when we got trapped in that cave during the blizzard." Abby said loud enough for you to hear her.

The memory came back to you in an instant. Almost two years ago the two of you had to seek refuge in a random cave while patrolling the area of a nearby hotel. The suppliers were searching it top to bottom for any resources. Back then the harsh winters had depleted many of your medical supplies, and other items. The area had an infected problem, so a small team of soldiers went along for protection.

You and Abby ended up wandering a little too far while following a stray runner to a small nest. No more than ten of them which was easy enough as long as you used stealth rather than bullets. Then the storm picked up making it all but imposing to find the way back. You were a survivalist before joining up with the WLF. Your father raised you in the wilderness teaching you every skill you would need to conquer it. When the world fell apart you were a little more than ready, and you put all that knowledge to use in an effort to keep yourself and Abby alive.

"I never seen someone fight so hard to live in a world that's just easier to die in." Abby went on looking up at you now. "It wouldn't have been fast but better than being tuned right? I was ready to accept defeat but you were there going out in storm risking your life for mine. Each time returning with food, or wood for the fire. You built a wooden door to keep out some of the cold, and no matter how bad things got during those five days. You never lost hope, or that cheerful attitude of yours."

The fear in her eyes dissolved to be replaced with adoration and the look warmed your entire body. "You never run out of it you know. It doesn't matter how bleak the situation is. And before I met you y/n I lost all that after my dad died. I lost all hope for a better world I didn't believe there was a single thing worth fighting for anymore. Owen was the only reason I kept going, but we fell apart so it wasn't the same. Then you made me see again just how beautiful the world can be. Because if my love for you isn't the most beautiful feeling I don't know what is. There I said it I fucking love you alright, and my biggest fear in this world is losing the person I love the most again. So please come down."

The speech that led to her confession caught you off guard hitting you like a ton of bricks. Her words tugged on all your heartstrings till they came loose, and tears of happiness clouded your vision. "Damn it Abby I love you would've done just fine." You said with a teary chuckle wiping your eyes on your shirt. One of your feet lost its footing and you stumbled before finding the beam again.

"Y/N come on" Abby shouted holding out her arms as if she could catch you. If you did indeed fall from that angle. "I want kiss you so hurry up alright."

The statement made you perk up a bit as the mischief came back sparkling in your eyes. "I don't know you made me work for that confession. You should have to work for our first kiss."

Her expression darkened but she smirked daring you to try her. "Y/N don't do this."

You smirked back while walking across the rest of the beam holding her eyes for the entire duration. She watched you disappear into the other tower in amusement and slight annoyance. Not wasting another second Abby bounded to the tower and climbed the ladder as fast as she could. Slowing down at the beam to take a deep breath, and doing her best not to look down. She took the first step placing one foot in front of another. Till she reached the other end your playful laughter filling her ears as you slid down the ladder. After making sure she made it across without falling, and you hit the ground running straight for the cabin.

Abby went down the ladder halfway before taking a huge leap. She didn't bother stopping to right herself giving chase almost immediately. Even with your head she started catching up to you in just a matter of seconds.

"Abby I get the bonus points for helping you face your fear right." You called out pushing your legs to go faster.

"Not a chance" Abby yelled back matching your pace.

Her arms wrapped around your waist from behind and you were yanked backwards off your feet. You let out a shriek of laughter when her fingers dug into your sides. "Abbs no" You laughed trying to break free of her grip.

Abby secured your back to her chest with a single muscular arm while her other hand continued to wreck havoc. She tickled you into you were breathless and in tears, and before you had recover. Abby turned you around in arms and pressed her lips to yours. Any breath you managed to get back into your lungs vanished again. As your eyes closed and your body melted in her arms. Lucky for you Abby kept you upright with her arms constricted around your middle.

You had dreamed of this moment more than a hundred times. Each time wondering if the real thing would live up to your fantasy. Of course the real Abby surpassed all expectations, and your questions of rather or not she knew how to kiss went out the window. Her lips moved slowly against yours in such a way. It was like she was guiding on exactly what to do, and you followed her lead eventually your hands found their place in her hair. You tugged her a bit closer and she moaned into your mouth pulling away for a fraction of a second. Before deepening the kiss swinging your body around to push you up against a tree.

The bark bit into your skin but the only thing you could focus on right then was. How your body lit up with a want no a need for Abby. It wasn't enough your toes were curling from the passion she kissed you with. You shoved against her shoulder, and Abby pulled away immediately eyes filled with concern. "Did I hurt you?"

"No but the cabin."

She scoffed. "We got plenty of time."

You flicked her forehead causing her to yelp in pain and pull back again. "What?" she whimpered eyes zeroing in on your swollen lips.

"I bet its a lot more comfortable in there way more appropriate for making out" You told her.

"That would be inappropriate behavior" Abby started nuzzling your neck. Her lips drifted to your ear "good thing I'm in charge huh." You squealed in surprise as she lifted you in arms bridal style, and began to carry you to the cabin.

Where the two of you would stay for a few more days, and long nights. Consequences be damned this time.

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson imagine #abby anderson tlou2 #abby tlou2 #abby the last of us #abby anderson #tlou2 x reader #tlou2

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flowerandblood · 9 months

Text

The Impossible Choice (31)

[ Aemond �� Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, domination ]

[description: Aemond comes to Storm’s End to choose his future consort. However, Lord Borros Baratheon presents him with only four of his five daughters. Being attached to his youngest child, he does not want to marry her. The prince, however, thwarts his and her plans with his decision. This is slow burn, with a lot of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request)]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

Aemond thought he had gone completely and utterly mad. When he wasn't planning for war, he lay in a makeshift tent next to his wife, crying once from happiness that she had survived, once from despair, because the wounds that she had sustained were going to leave marks on her body forever.

He thought that she would never forgive him.

He ordered Alys to show him how to handle and bandage her wounds, and then told her never to go near her again. She only owed it to the fact that she had helped save her, that she still had both hands. He would have cut them off for her daring to touch her cheek and hand.

She'd wanted to drag him to her bed, and now she was pretending to worry about his wife.

Insolent whore.

When he first pulled the bandage off her arm and saw how red and cracked her skin was, he covered his mouth with his hand to keep from starting to wail loudly.

He had done this to her.

He and his family.

He applied ointment to her wounds, slowly and carefully, wanting to make sure that everything healed as quickly as possible. He knew that her scars would remain. Her whole left arm, thigh and side would be covered with them.

His wife's beautiful, wonderful, delicate body destroyed by fire.

He applied the bandages slowly and gently. He was concerned that she still hadn't woken up, she was sleeping a strong, stony sleep. He was afraid of what would happen once she opened her eyes and realised what had happened. What he would see in her gaze when she realised what he had done to her.

What her beloved husband had done to her.

Borros Baratheon's army arrived at dawn the day after Prince Daemon's attack on Harrenhal. Lord Borros and his son entered Harrenhal on horseback along with their warriors, banners with the embroidered stag flapping loudly in the wind.

They found an appalling sight and hundreds of burnt bodies. Lord Borros refused to speak to him, furious he dismounted from his horse and ordered himself led to his daughter.

Aemond watched in silence as her father knelt by her side, her older brother beside him. The two bearded, muscular, serious men pressed their lips together, their eyes red as they saw how much of her body was in bandages. Her father touched her cheek as if she were made of glass, and he felt his throat tighten at the sight.

"Why is she asleep?" Asked Royce impatiently in a slightly cracking voice, coming towards him, furious. Aemond looked at him, tired and discouraged, having not slept in peace either of the last two nights.

"Poppy milk. So that she does not suffer." He said calmly, but his words only angered her brother.

"So that she doesn't suffer?" He asked mockingly, stepping close to him. Too close for his liking. "I gave you my youngest sister to look after, and you brought her to the battlefield in the middle of a war?" He asked furiously, his eyes brimming with anger. Aemond did not even flinch at his words.

"My uncle's attack took us all by surprise." Said truthfully, Borros Baratheon laughed, rising from his knees, looking at him with pity.

"The Targaryens like to surprise each other, don't they, boy? Brothers take their sisters' crowns, uncles burn their nephews." He said loudly, approaching him slowly, Royce snorted, stepping back, allowing his father to speak. Lord Baratheon looked at him indulgently, his eyes red with the grief that now squeezed his heart.

"You took my beloved child from me. You did not protect her. You are nothing, you and your brother. I and my army are only here for her. Your uncle will pay me for what he did to her." He said, turning away, heading for the exit.

"I will convene a council with my commanders in an hour. Come if you still want to play at war." He threw him over his shoulder and disappeared outside.

Aemond swallowed the humiliating words loudly, clenching his jaw. He was furious and it was boiling inside him, but he knew that he deserved it. Some part of him was glad he had said it.

He had joined the meeting along with Criston Cole, leaving his wife in the care of her brother. He knew Royce hated him, but as far as she was concerned, he trusted only him and their father.

Aemond began the meeting by outlining what the situation was.

"My uncle has located himself in Eyrie along with his dragon and an army transported by Clorys Velaryon. He found refuge with his wife's relatives." He said, placing a few pawns on the right side of the map. "I suspect he wanted to pull all our armies onto the battlefield and force my brother to move to help. But I think then my half-sister would want to take King's Landing right away, so we can't bring all our troops here." He said calmly and matter-of-factly. Lord Baratheon laughed at his words.

"Your brother sits in his keep like a dumb cunt. Who will support a king who takes no part in his own war? Is that not what the Hand of the King is for, to rule the state on his behalf?" He asked irritably, several of his commanders nodding at his words. Criston moved restlessly, tightening his lips, Aemond looked at him in silence.

"It would be better for my brother not to be here. War is not his passion." Said shortly, Lord Borros laughed low at his words, leaning over the wooden table and maps before them.

"So is ruling." He hissed, Aemond casting him a warning, dark look.

"Be careful, my lord. Your words could be considered treason." He said slowly, not taking his eye off him.

He swore to the gods.

He swore that if they spared her, he would relinquish his dreams of the throne.

That he would be a good brother.

They measured each other's gazes for a moment, then Lord Baratheon gave in, sighing heavily, and they moved on to discussing the position of the armies. Despite the advantage he had created for himself, his uncle did not attack them again, and he did not understand why.

He figured that he had been waiting for them to make a move, watching for sure what army they would be able to assemble. He believed that he wanted to draw out as many of them as possible to take King's Landing and they couldn't let him do that.

After the council, he came out of the tent and saw, surprised that Royce was going somewhere, apparently leaving his wife alone. He approached him, frowning his eyebrows, enraged, but his brother only threw him a quick, impassive glance.

"She's awake." He said, stepping around him, and his heart froze.

She was awake.

His wife was alive and conscious.

He pressed his lips together, feeling his heart pounding, his chest tightening painfully.

He forced himself to head towards the tent and plucked up the courage to go inside.

He saw her, lying on the bedding, her eyes wide at the sight of him. They both looked at each other like that, pain, suffering and disbelief on their faces. He felt a sting in his heart seeing that her cheeks were wet, that she was crying.

That she had realised what had happened to her.

He approached her uncertainly and knelt beside her, touching her cheek gently, rubbing the wetness from her skin with his thumb, afraid that she was about to scream for him to get out.

"How are you feeling?" He asked weakly, uncertainly, feeling his throat tighten. For some reason he felt like crying from happiness and despair at the same time, for the umpteenth time in days.

She was alive, but she would always hate him, just as he hated Luke for what he had done to him.

He saw her swallow quietly and blink rapidly, breathing unevenly, scared and tired.

"Good." She choked out, and he felt that she too spoke with difficulty. That she was devastated by what had happened.

He saw after a moment a wave of tears gather across her eyelids, her soft lips tightened in pain, her eyebrows arched in helplessness. He knew what she was thinking about.

She was a woman, how he perceived her physically, if he found her beautiful and desired her as a husband was an important part of her confidence.

He knew that just as he feared she would be disgusted by his lack of an eye, she feared her wounds and scars would disgust him. He, however, only dreamed that once they had healed, he would kiss them with reverence and anointing, proof of his beloved wife's devotion to him, her total commitment.

He lay down next to her, laying on his side, looking at her beautiful, warm face, the face of his wife next to whom he had woken up every morning for almost a year.

Next to his wife whom he had ripped from her father's arms and made his own, whom he had fucked all nights, filling her with his seed. His fingertips traveled over the soft skin of her cheek, he felt a single, solitary tear of pain and suffering involuntarily fall from his eye.

"Forgive me." He whispered in a trembling voice, looking at her pleadingly. He saw her pupils dilate, her lips tremble, pain and warmth in her gaze, a feeling that made him hot.

He shuddered and sighed as her soft hand touched his cheek, her forehead pressed against his, his lungs filled with her wonderful scent. He felt his member pulsate hard under his armour.

He longed to unite with her body and soul.

He desired to enter her deeply more than ever.

He leaned towards her, his lips brushing hers, when suddenly someone entered the tent. He pulled away, terrified, and rose, breathing quietly.

He looked impassively at her brother who was holding a bowl of soup, feeling his heart pounding, his manhood completely hard and swollen.

"I'll take care of it." He said, reaching out for the bowl, willing him to leave them alone. Her brother snorted at his words.

"Are you caring now? Where were you when she was on fire? Why do you and your drunken brother, who hides in the Red Keep like a fucking cunt, always get away with everything, while my sister is disfigured for the rest of her life?" He hissed angrily, and his insides boiled over.

His wife was not disfigured.

His wife was beautiful.

"My wife is not disfigured, Lord Baratheon. Nothing can disfigure her, and the wounds she has sustained will eventually heal." He said with emphasis, impatiently, glaring at him menacingly.

They began to argue until his wife, impatient, told them both to leave, again on the verge of crying. Royce pressed his lips together, placing the bowl of her soup beside her bed after which he left the tent, throwing him a threatening, hateful look. Aemond looked at her, tightening her lips.

"I won't leave." He said lowly. Even if she didn't want to see him, he wasn't going to leave her alone. She needed help with the bandage changes and someone had to watch over her. He had become obsessed with it and wouldn't let anyone else near her.

"Where's Alys?" She asked indifferently, stirring a wooden spoon in her food, and he tightened his lips at the thought that she might want her to look after her instead of him. He didn't like the idea.

"She's treating the wounded. Shall I summon her?" He asked cautiously and she shook her head, not raising her eyes at him. He sighed quietly and knelt beside her again, looking at her tenderly.

"May I stay?" He asked softly, gently, his throat tightening again with pain and fear that she would tell him to get out. She, however, swallowed quietly and after a long moment, nodded.

He breathed a sigh of relief and summoned his servant to help him pull off his armour. They talked for a while about the war situation and their plans, until he was left in only his nightgown and trousers, and their servant finally left them alone.

He looked at her uncertainly and walked over to the bed, sitting down on it, looking over his shoulder at her, playing with his fingers. She didn't say much and he didn't know what she was thinking, what she thought of him.

He wanted her to shout out to him that she was furious with him and hated him, but she was sweet and calm as ever, and his heart was breaking.

"Can I sleep next to you?" He asked quietly and she set the empty bowl aside with a quiet hiss, apparently through a lot of discomfort, as she moved the burned part of her body. She pressed her lips together, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course. Who else would you sleep next to? Next to Alys?" She asked lowly, feigning indifference, and he hid his face in his hands, devastated by her words and the fact that she thought, that he might have shared his bed with her.

"Have mercy on me. At least you." He said weakly, feeling that the last few days had worn him down and he was barely able to stay on his feet. He shuddered, when he felt the touch of her hand on his shoulder. He looked at her surprised and touched her skin with his fingers, stroking it steadily.

"Lie down, husband. Rest." She said softly. He hummed under his breath and nodded, his heart beating like mad.

She didn't push him away.

He lay down on the side where she didn't have any burns, so as not to accidentally cause her pain. He touched her shoulder gently, and then her face, looking at her with dreamy, strained, tired eye. He saw the heat and warmth in her eyes from which his member pulsed in his trousers.

He craved her.

He craved her as he had never before in his life.

He kissed her tentatively, barely brushing her lips, wanting to see how she would react to this, whether she would pull away from him. But she sighed softly, so sweetly, so warmly that encouraged, with a pounding heart he deepened the kiss, pressing into her moist flesh, heard her moan softly as his tongue slid between her lips.

He slid his hand down her healthy thigh, placing it between her legs, running it gently over her womanhood hidden beneath her chemise.

"Does it hurt?" He asked low, his voice trembling, feeling her warm breath on his face.

"No." She whispered softly, and he already knew what he wanted to give her.

He touched his fingers against her, trailing them over her womanhood, again so wonderfully wet and ready for him, waiting for him to enter her, to take her.

He craved it, craved the comfort of her arms, to sink deep into her and come inside her, to fill her with his seed, begging her forgiveness, assuring her of his unrelenting admiration for the beauty of her body.

But he knew that he would cause her pain, that they would have to stop and they would both be unfulfilled. He wanted her to at least experience that, to know that he wasn't just thinking about himself. That he had changed.

He had promised the gods that he would be a better husband.

He watched with delight as she came under the touch of his hand, her hot, tight insides clenching steadily against his fingers, sweet, drawn-out moans coming from her mouth from which his member pulsed with pain and desire.

She felt it and wanted to touch him, but he held her back. He didn't want her in the state she was in, with her whole body aching, to focus on him and the fact that he wanted to fuck.

However, he was under no illusion that once her wounds had healed, he would have no mercy for her.

To his despair, she would not let him help her change her bandages or apply her ointment. She wanted to do it herself and asked him to leave for that time. He tried to explain to her that he was the last person to be impressed by such a sight, but he accepted that she felt uncomfortable, that the state of her body filled her with pain, uncertainty and despair.

Her father's maester who had come with them from Storm's End took over her care, and he was the only one she allowed to examine herself.

Everytime he left Aemond questioned him thoroughly and was relieved each time the medic told him, that her wounds were healing properly and scarring slowly. She no longer had open wounds and her skin no longer ached, but it was still red.

Although they had always slept naked until now, his wife now wore long nightdresses covering her body. She did not want him to look at her and tied the material up, so that not a scrap of burned skin could be seen. He suffered at the sight, but he did not want to force her to do anything against her will.

On the first day when she no longer had to wear the bandages, she smiled at him as she had before all this happened, walking around the tent and talking about something lightly.

He watched her, sitting on their bed, waiting for her to join him and untangle her braid. The Maester had told her that with quick attention to the burns and their proper care, the wounds would heal better and be less visible than originally thought.

Looking at her, behaving again as she had when they were in King's Landing, he felt desire and had the impression that he would explode. For days he had lain beside her at night, unable to touch her, to feel her, and ashamed to relieve himself with his hand in her presence. He felt like he was going to go mad.

When she extinguished the last candle and he felt her slip under the duvet, her warmth right beside him, he thought that he couldn't take it anymore.

"Turn your back on me." He said, seeing how she wanted to cling to his chest. He saw her surprised look, however, she did meekly what he asked.

He immediately pressed his manhood hidden in his trousers against her buttocks, clenching his hand on her healthy hip, pressing his face against her neck, rubbing himself against her with intense, fluid movements.

"− gods, I need this −" He exhaled helplessly and felt her whole body tremble, she began to breathe faster, her buttocks pressing against his manhood, making a low, helpless sound.

"− me too − please −" She moaned softly, embarrassed by their shared desperation. She pulled her chemise up as he quickly untied his trousers and lowered them, his hard, swollen member slapping against her bare skin.

They were both panting loudly as his hands quickly lifted her hips, directing the tip of his manhood to her hot, wet entrance. Unable to stop himself, he entered her at once, deep, all the way in, making a low, almost animalistic sound.

He tightened his hand on her hip and began to move inside her, panting and moaning along with her, their bodies hot and yearning, hitting against each other with a sticky, loud slap each time he slid into her again, pushing her tight, throbbing walls apart.

"− gods, yes − I missed that − fuck, tell me if it hurts −" He exhaled helplessly, fucking her with all his might, possessed only by lust, penetrating her so deeply that she sobbed beneath him, clasping her hands over his palms, her hips responding fervently to his every thrust.

"− oh, yes − Aemond, please, harder −" She mumbled pleadingly, and those words were enough to make him lose control completely.

He slipped out of her suddenly and forced her to lie on her back. He spread her legs in front of him, paying no attention to the fact that she was trying to cover the burns on her thigh. He took her hand, not allowing her to cover herself, untying the ties of her shirt, wanting to reveal her breasts.

"No." She whispered pleadingly, gripping his wrists. "Please."

He hesitated, seeing her face, terrified and hot, tears in her eyes. He thought that she was beautiful.

That she was his.

He pulled his eye patch from his eye and saw her draw in a loud breath, as he removed the sapphire from his eye socket in one sure movement, setting it down on the bed beside them.

That was just the way he was.

He knew what she saw before her.

There was a dark hole in the left side of his face, partially obscured by his drooping eyelid. He, without any embellishment or pretense, his body, scarred and disfigured in all its glory.

He saw her raise her trembling hand and touch his cheek, sweet smile on her face. Her touch as always gentle, warm, full of acceptance.

He thought he loved her.

"− let me fuck my wife the way I want to −" He said, grasping the strings from her nightgown with his fingers, but this time her hands did not stop him. He slipped her chemise off her shoulders, one light, the other red, slightly cracked like thirsty earth. He stared, thinking that he felt nothing but adoration for her.

He exposed her wonderful breasts, spread her legs in front of him and knelt in front of her, entering her with ease, tilting her head back. He began to move inside her even more intensely and brutally than before, panting and moaning along with her her body writhing beneath him with pleasure and indecision, her hands clenching helplessly on his chemise, her gaze expressing a plea for fulfilment.

"− just like that − a good husband knows what's best for his wife − he knows how to fuck her to make her feel good −" He exclaimed, licking his lips, feeling that he was on the verge of orgasm as much as she was, she wept loudly at his words, his thighs slapping against her buttocks loudly and perversely, their shared juices dribbling onto the bedding beneath them. "− isn't that right? −"

"− yes −" She mewled, giving herself to him completely, his member pressing against her upper wall with each thrust, bringing her body to spasms with pleasure, her lips parted wide in sweet moans.

"− oh gods, please − fuck me − fuck me − fuck me! −" She sobbed loudly and he moaned low at her words, his thrusts deep, sure and strong.

"− my sweetest − oh, fuck! −" He exhaled, tilting his head, feeling her walls begin to clench beneath him in orgasm, literally squeezing his seed out of him, his fulfilment strong, even painfully pleasurable. He felt like they were both screaming in the rapture, all sweaty, hungry for their closeness.

He collapsed on top of her and she hissed loudly. He rose immediately on his elbows, looking at her horrified.

"Forgive me −" He whispered, wanting to slide out of her immediately and take the weight of his body off her, but her hands stopped him.

"− no − please −" She mumbled, looking at him embarrassed. "− just a moment longer −"

He looked at her and hummed under his breath, leaning over her again, this time being careful not to crush her with his body. He kissed her lips, running his nose over her face.

He thought with surprise that he no longer cared what he looked like. He'd fucked her without his eye patch, without his sapphire and experienced one of the best orgasms of his life. He smiled at the thought and she blinked, stroking his cheek with her hand, her breathing calming slowly.

"−…the stone in your eye is causing you pain − you don't have to wear it in my presence, my beloved −" She said quietly, and he felt his heart squeeze at her words. A warm feeling that spread through his body.

"I will not, if you also do not veil yourself from me. Your body is meant to be bare for me every night."

_____

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boiohboii · 3 months

Text

The people's sweethearts Ch.III

(Tom Holland x f!verstappen!reader x Zendaya)

Soulmate au

YN Verstappen had been through hell, by her own father, for something she didn't even ask for. She grew up learning that she should hate what was given to her, after all it was the reason her father was always angry with her. So what should she do when the one thing she learned to hate is the one thing that brings her love, safe and comfort that not even her older brother can compare.

WARNING: not proof read, Jos Verstappen (worsned like 10 times for this fic) poly relationship, derogatory terms by father, abusive father. If I missed anything else please let me know

ChII

masterlist

Will they blister and heal over like the last time or will they bleed for days on end and leave scars?

That was yn's first thought as soon as she heard the words of Christian Horner, and with how Max was looking at her, he had similar thoughts as well, which is quite saddening.

When Max first met Kelly, his first thought wasn't how bad his punishment would be, and he hated that this was what yn's thinking about as soon as she saw one of her soulmates. Her thoughts should've been on how she will spend their first date, on when she will get to meet her other soulmate, on how much her face hurts from smiling and her heart feels like it will leap out of her chest from joy.

And although both of them try not to cross paths with their father they still end up meeting him, he still comes by yn's University, which is something that always scares her, not knowing what her father's next move is, where will his hand leave a mark this time. Has she told Max of it? Not really, Max doesn't know the extent of which Jos still treats yn, all he knows is that sometimes Jos visits her at her university whenever he allows it, whenever he is there with her, ready to protect her from the harsh words and actions of Jos Verstappen. Max doesn't know that sometimes Jos visits when he isn't there, that yn goes with him to his flat. Whenever she'd try to tell Max he'd look at her with such tenderness, like she's so innocent and had never seen what she had, that she doesn't gather enough courage to tell him- thinking that maybe if he knew, he'd never perceive her the same way, he'd just get tired and angry of her self harmming ways, that he'd leave her behind because after everything he had done for her, to keep her safe and happy, she keeps going back to Jos, she keeps listening to him and hearing out his lame, repetitive excuses.

"Umm, hi."

Yn's thoughts were interrupted by a soft voice, her soulmate's soft voice.

"Mr Holland, hello."

Max was the one to reply, he knew that his sister's mind is a mess.

"Oh please, just- just Tom is fine, Max," an awkward silence filled the air, making Tom more nervous by the millisecond "is it okay to call you Max?"

Max smiles at the actor, "yeah, of course, you're older than me anyway."

"Oh, yeah, right." Clearing his throat, Tom looked at yn hoping she'd be the one to offer for the two of them to be alone.

"Right, so," seeing his soulmate avoid his eyes hurt, it hurt so much that he could feel his nose burning and his eyes watering "I was wondering if I could speak with my soulmate."

Even with tears in his eyes and a heavy heart he kept looking at her, urging her in his mind to just look at him, to stop the poisonous thoughts from creeping into his mind telling him to prepare himself for a rejection, to prepare himself to cope with the feeling of a missing soul, to prepare himself to tell Zendaya of how her soulmate rejected her without even meeting her.

Now, Tom doesn't have any sisters, but he'd like to imagine that if he had one he'd treat her like how Max Verstappen is treating Yn. He'd turn to her with the softest look in his eyes and a comforting face, asking her if she's okay to be left with her soulmate (he tried not to let this hurt him too much), asking her if she wants to be alone or if she'd rather have him besides her.

"It's okay," he could barely hear her feathery voice over the bustling paddock "I want to speak with him alone."

And with just one sentence Tom felt like screaming at the top of his lungs, he felt the colors becoming more vivid around him and his heart becoming lighter; maybe it won't end as bad as he imagined.

"Hi."

Her voice was so small, she sounded so fragile, almost scared.

"Um, hi, hello" Tom breathed out, mesmerised by his final piece "I didn't ask for your name."

"Oh, right," clearing her throat yn finally met his eyes "yn. I'm yn verstappen."

"Yn," God why did her name sound so pretty coming from his lips

"it's nice, no, wonderful to meet you. I've been looking to this day my entire life."

"Well, I'm here." Yn shrugged her shoulder as she showed him the palms of her hands, looking like she paused in the middle of making that one silly jazz movement

"Yeah, yeah, you're really here."

"How would you-"

"Can I ask-"

Their voices stopped at the same time, allowing the other person to talk, but neither did which was why they were sitting in such an awkward silence.

"Please go ahead."

"Right," yn started "I am not going to lie to you, I am not sure about this."

"This?" His eyebrows creased as his lips turned downwards, trembling as his voice cracked, he sounded so broken, he looked on the verge of tears, she feared that if she uttered another word that he'd cry, but she had to, he has to hate her, he eventually will so the earlier the better for her.

"The whole soulmate thing, I can't handle this." Her heart clenched as she said those words, her fists clenching the black fabric of her dress at her knees, holding itself back from caressing the brit's face, from gently wiping away his tears and from kissing his forehead as she utters all the apologies and all the loving words she wishes she could say.

Yn would be lying if she said that she hadn't dreamt of this day, she used to stay up all night on weekdays imagining what it would be like to meet her soulmates, what would it be like to see the other parts of her soul, to look in their eyes and to tell them that she's ready, that she's with them forever, but she can't, as long as jos verstappen is in her life she can't see herself in a good light, all she thinks of is how much of a disappointment she was to her mother, how much of a disappointment she is for her father, and how much of a disappointment she will be to max as soon as he figures out what she does behind his back.

No one would love her, why would they love a person like her? A person who never wants to go anywhere, a person who is afraid of everything and everyone, she's always afraid of her own father- how could she possibly explain that to her soulmates, she's a person who will not be loved because she is not worthy of being loved, it's quite sad and unfair but that's the unfortunate truth- the fact that no one will ever love her and no one will ever miss her is yn's unfortunate truth.

"Why?" Tom questions as he looks through his tear filled eyes "why not?"

"I-" yn failed to come up with a fake, reasonable excuse because she doesn't want that. She doesn't want to reject her soulmate, all her life she had done things because she is afraid of her father, and it's not like she could just dump that on her soulmate on their first meeting after rejecting him "Can you accept that I just can't?"

"No, no, I can not accept that!" Tom's tone got a little too lough for his liking, clearing his throat he kept his voice in check "don't ask me to accept that you don't want me, that you don't want zendaya before you even got to know us, you haven't even met zendaya yet!"

Yn's tears got the best of her, quickly forming in her eyes and then in seconds they were streaming down her face.

"I can't, I just really can't," yn started as she tried to wipe off her tears, only for her vision to be more blurry and for even more tears to end up on her cheeks "I can't, and I know that it's unfair, I want to but I can't and I can't explain it to you because it's none of your business"

"But it is," even with all of the frustration in him, Tom made sure that he sounds reassuring and calm "it is my business because my soulmate said that she wants something, she wants me; us, but she's not saying why and I have to understand. I will understand, so please, just tell me, explain it to me," Tom moved closer to yn, stopping her palms from furiously rubbing her eyes and cheeks with his hand engulfing hers, yn could feel his skin on her cheeks "I want to understand."

Looking into his eyes, yn could feel herself calm down, the tears drying and her vision clearer "what if I don't want to? At least, not until zendaya is here?"

"Of course she'll be here, she really wants to meet you.

"She knows?"

"Well," moving his thumbs into a a Z shape onto the back of her hand Tom smiled at his younger soulmate "kinda. How about she explains it when she gets here in a few weeks, after you explain, yeah? How about the Monaco GP, would you be ok with that?"

"Yeah, I think- I think I'd like that."

NEXT CHAPTER

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kseung · 1 year

Text

Wednesday x Reader

Father's Feathers

Requested.

Warnings: child abuse, threatening, scissors, blood.

Words: 1030~

Thanks to the original creator of this Avian Reader character: @toournextadventure

Some scars never leave... usually those burnt into our brains. That was exactly your case. All thanks to you amazing father.

And he made it his mission to remind you. "All those feathers are mine, you little monster! I can pluck them out whenever I want to!" That was his go-to phrase.

It made sense why you were so uncomfortable with your wings now. Having them was hard. Being reminded daily of the hurt you went through was hard. Having people want to touch your wings was harder. But, sometimes, nothing would compare to when Wednesday threatened to pluck out your feathers. Even as a joke, it made you uneasy.

She made one of those comments one day. One particularly hard day for you. You had had a nightmare that night in which your father punished you for "misbehaving". How? Ripping your feathers, of course. Occasionally, he'd clip some feathers with a pair of scissors. And what did you do? You were playing, as a normal 6-year-old does. You tripped, got a scraped knee, and cried. You didn't sob, as it wasn't that bad. But that still made your father annoyed.

The typewriter sounds continued, La Llorona playing as background music. You were sitting on Wednesday's bed, trying your best to rest without sleeping. You hadn't slept at all since around 04:00, courtesy of the bad dreams Wednesday wasn't starring.

—You're being odd.

That comment was so sudden you almost didn't catch it. You thought she was talking to herself rather than to you. You sent her a glance, too tired to function correctly.

—I'm just tired.

She looked at you, intensely. You were tired. That was evident, judging by the dark circles under your eyes. But it wasn't only that. There was more you weren't telling her.

She lowered the volume of the music after putting away her typewriter in the big drawer. You looked around as she did so, trying to prepare yourself for the interrogation you knew was coming. She sat in front of you, cross-legged on the bed. She looked at you, holding direct eye contact as she always does.

—What is upsetting you?

You pursed your lips. You didn't want to talk about this, but you knew it'd be better to finally let go of a bit of the weight you were carrying. So you went along with it, nodding.

—My wings.

Your lip trembled when you spoke, as did your voice. Wednesday was taken aback. To her, having such wings would be her pride for life.

—I don't understand. Your wings are impressive, grandiose even. I'd be proud to have such magnificent wings.

—I know you don't get it. They're just... a burden.

—Why would you think that? Did someone say something bad about them? Who? Is that why you don't let people near them?

Having you not be happy with yourself sure made her get annoyed, anxious even. Haywire chaos happened inside her brain every time she saw you unwell. Sometimes she showed that she cared for you so obviously, yet she acted disinterested when asked.

You knew it was coming to that, so you got yourself ready. —Wednesday, I am scared. Let me try something...— You had an idea. If Wednesday had visions, maybe she'd see what you went through without you having to talk about it. She looked at you, confused, but she nodded. So you took her hand in yours and watched as her head shot backward.

She saw it. Moments of your childhood. Terrible memories. Bad terrible. She never knew you had to go through things that horrible. Now she understood why you were so wary of everyone regarding your wings. What hurt the most may have been how you were crying while being tortured by your father, and you weren't enjoying it. It made her angry, too.

When she came back to her senses, she looked at you crying silently in front of her. Her first instinct was to hug you, arms around your neck. You knew it was safe, because it was Wednesday, but you still tensed, stiff as her at the beginning of your relationship.

—I'm here for you. I'll always be, even in death. You hear me?

You nodded, now sobbing. Even if you wanted to, they just didn't stop flowing. She held you close, trying to make you listen to her heartbeat. It had always calmed you, and she hoped that time wasn't different.

She then started playing with your hair, combing it to perfection with her fingers. Little by little, her hand lowered. It had been a while when you noticed she was gently caressing your wings. She traced the pattern of you feathers carefully, silently reassuring you. It made you cry more.

—You make me feel so loved—, you sobbed onto her. By then, her clothes were stained by the tears you wept. She let you do that. It made you feel even more cared for.

She was silent, mainly in disbelief. You had indirectly called her comforting. She liked it, but only because it was you.

—Shh. Let's lie down.

Her tone was as less awkward as possible, which you appreciated. She laid down on her back, making you be on top of her. Being taller than her, and also with the wings, it seemed as though you were covering her. Her arms still rested on the back of your neck, holding you safely in your place.

You rested in silence, the thought of being there with Wednesday sinking in. It made you emotional again. You were really going through it. She noticed and hugged you tighter. It made you more thankful to have her.

—I love you so much.

Wednesday was sure that time would help you heal your wounds, she hoped so. She nodded. It always made her feel.

—I know. I love you.

You smiled.

—Be proud of your wings. I am proud of you. Your feathers, not his. Yours.

It was odd hearing Wednesday so sappy, but it was something you could get more used to. You just hummed a "yes". You were sure you'd sleep well that night.

—Thank you, Wednesday.

—You're welcome...love.

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday adams x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams #wednesday adams #wednesday #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday imagine #wednesday imagines #x reader #jenna ortega x reader #fanfic

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etfrin · 6 months

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god okayokay

reader is dewey and gale's daughter and apart of the "core 5" (reader, mindy, chad, tara and sam) and dated amber freeman in the past. though has severe ptsd from what had happened a year ago (and the fact that reader saw her dad die and almost died with him, if it wasnt for the fact that they managed to stable her) and reader killed amber to avenge her father thinking by killing amber brutally would make up for dewey. thought if she hunted down her father's killer, she'd feel better.

present time, she's living with chad and ethan in their dorm. her and ethan are in a relatively healthy relationship, but she never opened up about amber or what exactly happened back in woodsboro because she wasnt ready. in fact, he never even seen her without a shirt on (because of the scars from amber and richie), but once he walked in at the wrong time while she was changing in complete accident (since they share a room) and he apologizes PROFUSELY but he cant help but stare. hes not even disgusted hes just kind of mesmerized by her. she gets insecure abt them and he lays her down and asks her abt them, how she got them. some scars were actually from stupid little things like slipping on a skateboard while carrying around a knife in a sheath that wasnt secured all the way so reader started carrying around switchblades after that (which she used to kill amber.) but he cant help but kiss them and tell her abt how beautiful she looks with them. so im just saying switch virgin! ethan and switch experienced reader (lost her v card to quinn first staying there but its a brief thing and isnt mentioned after that) just really soft sex between the two, ethan being a caring bf and after, realizes hes fucked up because hes genuinely fallen heads over heels for the girl he should hate. he knows he cant kill her, so now he doesnt know whats more important; avenging richie or being with the one he loves. choosing between his family, or choosing a life he wouldn't have with anyone else with someone that he loves more than life itself.

may had of gone overboard but im in love w this whole idea

↳❝Scars | Ethan Landry❞ˎˊ-

Warning - NSFW | p in v sex, fingering (f. receiving), creampie, unprotected sex (wrap it dumbfucks), loss of virginity (Ethan), mentions of murder, scars and Ghostfaces. | lmk if I forgot anything!

| masterlist | bc: @cafekitsune

A/N: okay so this was supposed to be a drabble then it was suddenly 1.6k words (don't ask me what happened), I hope whichever one of you requested this likes it, I TRIED I PROMISE and here's the link to request!

virgin! Ethan Landry x female! Reader

Ethan didn't ask about the scars for a week.

He didn't act any different despite seeing the ugly healed-up wounds all over your skin. Despite some of them being from playing around, most were from your fight with the Ghostfaces.

You thought he would be disgusted when he first saw them, the one second before he had closed his eyes, but there was no visible disgust on his face. Only concern.

And he had apologized so much that you practically pitied him.

Even now that you were on his lap, your lips tangled with his in a heated kiss. His hand on your nape, another hand on your hip. He hadn't ventured far yet, being as respectful as he could be.

All the while you felt yourself getting needy for his touch. After another heated kiss, you pulled back, a string of saliva connecting your lips. Ethan's face was flushed with a crimson red, breathless from the kiss.

The hand on your hip went near the hem of your shirt and you felt yourself tense. "Can I?" He asked softly. You give him a nod, anticipating this time, he would feel disgusted. That he would leave you heartbroken.

He took off the shirt, his breath caught in his chest as your scars came into view.

The gashes were all over your skin. White healed tissue tinged with pink. "How?" He lets out a choked whisper. "Would you mind telling me how?" He said, again, his eyes looking into your so tenderly with no hint of disdain.

Taking in a deep breath, you nod and begin to tell your story, everything from your father dying and you killing Amber to get revenge, for the wounds you got from the fight. Everything.

"I know they aren't the prettiest to look at," you whispered, "I know I understand if you don't want to stay with m-" "Don't even finish that sentence," Ethan interrupted.

"Don't," he said in a firm tone, making you look up at him. His eyes were filled with tears even if they didn't fall, he pulled you in for a hug. "You went through so much," he whispered, his voice filled with emotions, filled with care and love.

"Let me take care of you, they're not pretty but they're a part of you and I love these scars just as much as I love you." He said you felt yourself nearly getting to tears as well from his words but held yourself back.

"Okay," you whispered, "Take care of me."

And that's how you end up under him, bare for his lips to kiss all over your scarred skin. You let out encouraging purrs as his kisses travel down from your neck to your collarbone. A small cut was there due to negligence while handling knives. He licked the edges of the scar. You sighed as he continued to worship your body.

He finally reached your torso, and a huge gash was there. He had stopped kissing your skin now, staring at the pinkish tissue that was a huge contrast against your skin.

'Now,' you thought to yourself, 'He's gonna realize that you're just not worth it, not with all the baggage and the scars on your skin that come with it.'

"I wish I could kill them," he whispered, his lips brushing against the scar. His words made you melt because it was tinged with truth. There was no doubt in his mind that he would kill them if he had the chance.

He pressed wet kisses onto the scar, making you let out a small sigh. He then crawled on top of you again. His voice was filled with nerves as he whispered, "I have never done this before."

You cup his face with both of your hands and pressed a small kiss on his forehead. "I have," you whispered, you had lost your virginity to Quinn so you were at least aware of what you liked or not.

"I could teach you," you offered, "Figure out what we like or not together." His doe eyes fill with relief and he gives you a smile as an affirmation.

"I would love that," he said, leaning down for another kiss as his hand traveled down to your soaked panties. He lets out a gasp into your mouth as he feels the material cling to your fold.

He panted, "Oh- you're so wet. Is that all for me, darling?" The way he asked made your cunt clench, so breathless and in wonder. "Yeah, E," you whine as his fingers glide on your clothed pussy, the slight friction making you gush out more juices.

"Can I take it off?" he asked, and you nod. He slides down the panties, and throws them on the floor, making a mental note to take it for himself later.

He pressed his fingers to your folds, sliding them across your cunt until the tip of his finger finds your entrance. You let out a small gasp, feeling yourself clench. "Can I?' He whispered, and again you nod. "Go ahead, E," you whispered.

The first digit enters, making him whimper about how tight you are, and how warm your insides feel. Your inner walls pulsate around the single digit.

He pumps the digit in and out before his index finger also joins. A whimper escapes your lips as your pussy stretches to accommodate his digits. "Is it good?" He asked, the nervousness mixed with heat in his tone.

"Perfect," you assure him, "Just crook your fingers a bit and you'll find a spot, focus on that for me, E." He eagerly does what you asked, his fingers finding your G-spot and pressing into it every time he thrusts his digits inside.

You moan, your hips bucking into his touch. Getting a bit more confidence from your pleasurable sounds, Ethan goes even faster. Your walls begin to pulse with the familiar need to snap the tension that was building but you didn't wanna cum so soon.

"Stop," you whispered and Ethan pulled back immediately with a questioning gaze. "Did I do something wrong?" He asked, concerned, "Did I hurt you? I am sorry."

You chuckled, "Nothing like that, my love. I was close…" You bite your lip, hesitating about saying the words that you knew would sound crude, "Wanna cum on your cock for the first time."

His eyes widened at your request. He nods obediently, pulling off his shirt with one hand and taking off his belt so he can slip out from the rest of his clothes.

His cock looked painfully hard with his cockslit leaking pre-cum all over his length. He stroked his cock to elevate some of his own needs.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," he whispered, as he slotted his girth near your entrance. His cockhead getting coated into your slick. You shake your head, "I want it, Ethan. So much."

He gives you a nod. He buries his face into the crook of your neck as he slowly slides into your warmth. Inch by inch, his cock stretches out your pussy, your inner walls molding into the shape of his length. He lets out whines as his veins sizzle with pleasure.

You felt his dick pulse and twitch as he whined, "Gonna cum. Gonna cum. Fuck, fuck, fuck-" Your hand goes to his hair to harshly tug at the brown curls. Effectively distracting him from the overwhelming pleasure. "Sushh, baby," you whispered, "It's okay. It's okay." He groans, "Babe…" You hum in reassurance. You make your pussy clench around his dick. Your walls squeezing his cock so suddenly makes his hips jerk into you, his cockhead grazing your g-spot.

You moan near his ear. "Like that," you whispered, "Take care of me."

It took him a few more moments to get used to the vice grip on his cock, the wetness, and the warmth before he began shallowly thrust into you.

He pressed kisses all over your neck, your throat, your breasts. Marking the places near your scars so you can remember this night. Both of you let out noises of pleasure.

He begins to thrust deeper than before as your nails dig into his back and he gets faster as well. Humping into you now, his mind getting lost in the sensation of your velvet heat.

"Am I doing all right?" He whines as his hips keep meeting yours. "Perfect," you moan in reply. His hips begin to snap faster, his thrusts deeper than before, filling you up. You moan louder as you keep getting filled with his cock. Your pussy begins to spasm around his length as the heat fills your tummy.

You were getting close with each snap of his hips. "You getting close, baby?" He moans, his lips now brushing against yours. "Cum on my dick, please, babe!" He begs, as he gets more desperate, his thrusts getting sloppy and losing their consistent pace.

Your free hand goes down to your folds to find your clit. Your thumb rubs fast circles onto the bud. You felt the telltale signs of your climax. Your stomach is coiling, just waiting to explode.

"Please, cum on my cock," Ethan whines again, his lips crashing with yours in a filthy open-mouth kiss. That snapped the tension your body was holding, you moaned into his mouth as your pussy began to squeeze his cock repeatedly. Your cunt milking his cock for all its worth. As soon as he feels your inner walls spasm and contract with a shallow thrust, he begins to cum.

He pants as his cum leaks out, too fucked out to pull out. You were both tired. Both emotionally and physically drained, it doesn't take long for you to sleep.

Ethan lays awake though, feeling the heat of your body beside him. Hearing you breath. He closed his eyes, and an image was in front. In which you're dead and cold.

He couldn't have that. He can't kill you anymore. Not after this. Not after promising forever with you, not after marking you and kissing your every scar.

He would have to choose in the future and he would choose you.

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dwobbitfromtheshire · 6 months

Text

Vickie had been invited to Steve’s house by Robin, and she was completely nervous. It was a pool party which meant swimsuits. Should she go sexy or conservative? Fuck it, she's wearing a bikini. Over the bikini, she wore a pair of jeans shorts and a floral tank top. Vickie stared at her reflection in the mirror. She ruffled up her hair and pouted, and then she scowled.

"Why I am so pale?!" Vickie exclaimed.

"Once again, dear, I apologize for passing on my genes to you," her father said as he leaned against her doorway. "I like you, so should Robin. Although not in the same way."

"Dad! You have to like me," Vickie rolled her eyes.

"Everything's going to work out," Matthew said and grabbed his daughter by the shoulders shaking her. "You just have to believe in yourself the way that I do."

"I'm starting to regret telling you," Vickie rolled her eyes.

"You know that I'm proud of you, right?" He asked. "And if your mother were still here with us, she'd proud of you too."

"Thanks, Daddy," Vickie said softly. "I just wish I got to tell her."

"Oh, pumpkin, I think she always knew," Matthew told her.

"How do you know that?" She asked.

"She's your mother. Nothing ever got past her," he said. "Now, do we need to do something breathing exercises?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, now what do we tell our anxiety first?"

"To go to hell!"

"Damn straight or in your case not so straight!"

"Daddy!"

Vickie stood in front of the large house and was immediately intimated by its size.

"It's weirdly huge, right?" A voice, and she looked to find Eddie Munson standing next to her. "I always feel like it's going to eat me. You must be Vickie."

"And you must be Eddie Munson," Vickie said in amusement.

"Nah. I'm the guy that ate him," Eddie said sarcastically, and Vickie laughed.

"You're weird," she said. "My dad would like you."

"You should know now, Vickie, that my heart is pining away for someone else. . .just so you don't get your hopes up," Eddie said.

"So is mine," she replied.

"Good, now that that's settled," Eddie told her. "What's got you so nervous?"

"The idea of taking off my clothes," Vickie scoffed.

"Yeah, same here. I've got some nasty scars recently, and they're not quite done healing. Almost. They're ugly as hell," Eddie sighed.

"I've got a scar on my stomach from a car accident when I was little, but I decided to say "fuck it" and wear a bikini anyway," Vickie said.

"That's my kind of spirit. Fuck it," Eddie grinned. "Ready to head inside, my lady?"

"I am now," Vickie said.

The party was in full swing. All of Steve and Robin's friends were here. They were Eddie's friends now, too. Jonathan Byers, some guy named Argyle who Vickie immediately liked, and Nancy Wheeler. Vickie wasn't at all curious that Steve was friends with his ex, as she was still very much friends with hers. Robin seemed to be friends with her, too. There was this bond there that connected all of them, and she wasn't sure what it was, but she was glad they had it. There was this warm feeling of family amongst all of them. The one thing she hated, though, was the fear behind their eyes and the way they all jumped sometimes. Something told her that the bond they formed didn't start from a very good place. It wasn't her story to tell, though, so she wasn't going to pry.

"Whatcha thinking about, Lady Fisher?" Eddie asked as he plopped down in the lawn chair next to hers.

Vickie had gotten tired out from swimming and had decided to sprawl out into one of the lawn chairs. She had started thinking about the way Robin's eyes landed on hers when she started taking off her clothes, and the way remained steadfast on her face as though they were trying not to look anywhere else. It had made Vickie blush and somehow her thoughts had drifted.

"Life," Vickie told Eddie.

"Ah, yes, that bitch," Eddie said and Vickie giggled.

Her eyes landed on Robin and Steve talking animatedly with one another as they stuck their feet in the pool. She could have sworn she saw Robin say her name, and it made Vickie blush. She didn't realize that Eddie was talking to her until Eddie was snapping his fingers in front of her face.

"Hmm?" She asked.

"Is the person you like Steve?" Eddie scowled.

"What?!" Vickie exclaimed. "No."

Eddie turned his head at the same time hers did. His eyes landed on Argyle nearby.

"Argyle?" He asked.

"Well, no, I mean, a little, but I think everyone likes Argyle just a bit. I mean. . .," Vickie trailed off.

"Except for Robin," they said at the same time.

They gasped and slapped their hands on their mouths at the same time. Vickie did not mean to say that, although it didn't necessarily imply that Robin is a lesbian. Still. Wait. . .Vickie removed her hand at the same time that he did.

"You know?!" They hissed.

"How do you know?!"

"She told me!"

"Stop that!"

They stayed quiet for a while. Eddie looked at her thoughtfully.

"If it's not Argyle, then . . . "

Vickie sighed and grabbed his head. She pointed him at Robin. He gasped and then looked at her in annoyance.

"I was getting there," he said defensively.

"Sure, you were," Vickie laughed and released his head.

"Just so you know, I call dibs on Steve," Eddie said.

"You can't call dibs on a person," she said.

"Sure you can. I just did," he said with a grin and rubbed his stomach, wincing.

"Your scars hurting you?" Vickie asked.

"The pain comes and goes," Eddie shrugged. "You're not curious about how I got them?"

"I am, but I'm not going to question it if you don't want me to know," Vickie said. "Besides, I just met you."

"Yes, but I have this feeling that we're like Steve and Robin. Platonic soulmates and what not," Eddie said. "I mean, how do you think they got there?"

"Well, they were in Starcourt together," Vickie said.

"Ooh, so, you think shared trauma? See, I knew about Starcourt," Eddie frowned. "I don't think we have any shared trauma. I mean, I was once in a car accident, too."

"Really?" Vickie asked gently.

"Yeah, my mom died in that accident. I was in the car with her. She threw her body on top of mine," Eddie said, his voice catching. "We were coming back from Indie when this drunk driver came out of nowhere. It caused a pretty bad pileup."

"Was it on the road with the really creepy scarecrow that no one ever does anything about?" Vickie asked.

"Yeah. I guess you heard about it like everyone else?" Eddie asked.

"Eddie. . .I think we have shared trauma," Vickie said, tears in her eyes. "Me and my mom were in that accident. My mom also died that day."

"Shit," Eddie said and moved quickly to hug her.

They were interrupted by Robin and Steve coming over to check on them.

"Is everything okay?" Robin asked.

"Yeah," Vickie said, her face wet with tears. "We were talking about our moms."

"Oh," Robin and Steve said in unison, a look of understanding in their eyes.

"Vickie, do you want to talk more inside?" Eddie asked softly and she nodded.

Eddie put his arm around her as they walked inside. They ended up on the floor of the nearest bathroom, unknowingly recreating Steve and Robin's own special moment. They talked for a while until their bathing suits were very nearly dry. They talked about how wonderful their moms were. Vickie told him how her mom used to read to her at bedtime and how she used to make her dance on her feet when they were dancing in the kitchen. Eddie told her all about how he got his love of his music from his mother even though she never could carry a tune, but she could tell a story like no one else. They talked about how they wished they were still here, how they could tell their moms about themselves.

"My mom would love Robin," Vickie said.

"My mom would love Steve, and she would love the fact that Steve would probably be the one to teach her how to cook. She always hated that she didn't know how to do that," Eddie grinned.

They went on to talk about how they hated the fact that they had to share this trauma, but there was also some relief in knowing that they didn't have to go through it alone. Eddie stood up and clapped his hands.

"Alright, enough of this sad shit," Eddie said and jumped up. "I think we're officially soulmates now."

He put his hand and helped her up, hugging her tightly.

"Definitely platonic," Vickie giggled. "You remind me too much of my dad."

They left the bathroom and found that everyone had gone home.

"How long were we in there for?" Eddie asked.

They headed to the kitchen where Robin and Steve were cleaning up.

"Party's over?" Vickie asked.

"Yeah, everyone got tired really quickly. It was weird how quickly they got so tired," Robin said, and Steve nudged her in the side.

Vickie grinned and pulled Eddie off to the side.

"I just got a great idea," Vickie said.

"And what, pray tell, is cooking in that head of yours, Fisher?" Eddie asked.

"We should ask them out together right now!" Vickie said excitedly.

"Are you crazy?" Eddie asked.

"Come on, we both know that life is short, and we could kick it at any time. They're worth risking it all, yeah," Vickie said. "Besides, they can't reject us if we're coming at them from both sides."

"Hmm, I am not seeing a single flaw in your logic," Eddie said thoughtfully and grinned. "Let's do it!"

They moved back over to Robin and Steve.

"What the hell was that all about?" Steve asked.

"That was our first official platonic soulmate huddle," Eddie said.

"Oh, so, you guys are platonic soulmates now?" Steve asked.

"That's cute," Robin said, smiling. "I mean, you know as in, you know . . . You know what I mean."

"Wait, how are we going to do this?" Eddie asked.

"Well, I figured you would look at Steve, and then I would look at Robin," Vickie said. "Then we ask them."

Eddie shot her finger guns and then leaned against the island across from them. Vickie leaned against the island, looking at Robin.

"We want to know - " Eddie nudged Vickie as he continued to gaze into Steve’s eyes.

"If you guys would like to - " Vickie said, nudging him back.

"Go out with us!" They finished together.

"Well, that was fucking cute," Steve said.

"But I think we're going to have to have a huddle of our own," Robin said, winking at Vickie.

They couldn't move very far away, but they talked quietly for a moment before squealing and then jumping up and down. They calmed down and straightened up while wiping imaginary lint off of their clothes. They walked back over, looking serious.

"We accept!" Steve and Robin exclaimed.

"But you should know that you guys didn't have to become platonic soulmates just to ask us out," Steve said.

"I know. It kind of just happened," Vickie shrugged and grinned at Eddie.

Eddie took her by the shoulders and moved Vickie directly in front of Robin.

"I am handing you my platonic soulmate. Be careful with her," Eddie said.

"And the same to you," Robin said as she pushed Steve towards Eddie.

"Why does this feel like a drug deal?" Steve asked.

"Maybe it's because you're the best kind of drug, baby," Eddie said, kissing his cheek.

"That was a good one," Vickie said.

Steve blushed and squeezed Eddie's shoulder, causing him to wince. That's when he noticed that Eddie was slightly pink.

"Eddie! You're sunburned! I told you to use sunscreen," Steve said.

"I'm a rebel, baby," Eddie winked at him.

"Oh, so you want to get skin cancer?!" Steve exclaimed.

"I smoke too! Do you want to tell me about getting lung cancer?" Eddie scoffed.

"Yes! I only ever had the occasional smoke, and I quit," Steve rolled his eyes.

"Is this how it's going to be? You worrying about me?" Eddie asked with a grin.

"Yes!" Steve said, and Eddie wrapped his arms around him, kissing his cheek. "Plus, I'd rather you not have to use an oxygen tank in between makeout sessions."

"Fair point," Eddie laughed.

Vickie and Robin giggled before sharing a look.

"Dinguses!" They exclaimed.

"Our platonic dinguses," Vickie said, and Robin kissed her cheek, causing her to blush.

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ebongawk · 28 days

Note

WAIT OK I HAVE ANOTHER ONE it’s prob cheating to send two so you can save this for another time but!!!! just chrissy fidgeting w eddie’s jewelry. his rings, his necklace. like she’s anxious abt smth and over time learned instead of like biting her nails or pulling hangnails or smth he’ll let her do that

Chrissy always had an issue with biting her nails.

As a child, whenever she was anxious about school, or nervous about dance competitions or cheer routines, her nails found their way between her teeth, chewed ragged and brittle.

Her mother called her disgusting. A ruler or wooden spoon was often produced, seemingly from thin air, to smack Chrissy across the back of her hands whenever they found their way into her mouth.

The main reason she started painting her nails was because the chemical taste of the polish made her nauseous. As her issues with food worsened, nausea became increasingly harder to control, and she found herself in the bathroom more often than not.

Her nerves, however, found new ways to ruin her.

Using those pretty nails she now sported, Chrissy dug into her cuticles. Picking at dry skin or tiny abrasions, creating hangnails she could then tear away.

Jason called her disgusting. Lightly smacking her hands with his own or with his school notebooks. Telling her constantly that every part of her was so pretty, but she was ruining her hands. Ruining the illusion of beauty he cast upon her by reminding him that she was human.

She couldn't break up with her mom. But she did break up with Jason.

Free of his oppressing weight, the urge to pick at her nailbeds lessened. It didn't disappear completely, of course, but she found healthy skin growing over her tiny scars.

Then she started hanging out with Eddie. And, for a little while, she didn't even notice how her fingertips stopped bleeding.

One day, sitting at the lunch table Eddie and his friends occupied, Chrissy's mind had been sloughing through the finals they had coming up. She was decently confident about most of them, but O'Donnell could be killer when it came to testing. Often asking things not covered by the study guide, so she and Eddie had spent the past four afternoons in his bedroom, textbooks open and flashcards made, trying to get one another ready for their teacher's unhinged brutality.

Her anxiety, during this thought spiral, had heightened exponentially. She stopped moving all at once when she remembered that Sandra had taken a bad scrape during practice yesterday – cheer season was over, but Chrissy was determined to keep the younger girls occupied through the year so they wouldn't be so rusty when they came back in August – and she'd used her last band-aid for the scrapes.

Sighing, Chrissy looked down to inspect the damage.

And saw Eddie's hand in her lap.

She glanced over. Eddie was still fully engaged in whatever conversation he was having with Jeff – his unoccupied hand twisting and twirling through the air to accentuate his points. But his left hand was loose between hers, one of his rings twisted to face his palm.

Chrissy twisted the ring back to right. Then did another circuit, finding it strange how natural it was to fiddle with his rings.

Looking up at Eddie again, he met her eye with a curious smile. Tilting his head to one side in silent question that she just shrugged at, instead scooting the tiniest bit closer and dropping herself seamlessly back into the conversation.

She didn't think of it again for a few weeks. Until she and Eddie were tucked up at his home, watching some British scary movie called Underworld and sharing a bowl of popcorn. They'd started the evening next to one another, but as the movie progressed, Chrissy found herself almost entirely in Eddie's lap. Curling into his side with every scary part, until her knees were tucked up to her chest and her feet were pressed between his thighs.

Every jump scare made her wince, shoving her face into Eddie's shoulder and peeking through one eye until the scary parts were over.

The movie was almost completely finished before she registered Eddie's hand in her lap. Her fingers twisting the rings around his over and over, slipping them up and down his knuckles.

Her nailbeds had never looked so healthy.

Remaining quiet until the previews ran, Chrissy slipped from Eddie's lap, standing and stretching as Eddie moved to flip on the light.

"What'dya think?" he asked, picking up the popcorn bowl and a few stray kernels before walking it into the kitchen. "Weird, yeah? Did I fill your weekly scary movie prescription, Miss Cunningham?"

She'd told him, ages ago, that she wanted to start liking scary movies, because he loved them so much. They now had a weekly movie date, watching something from his repertoire of slasher films before loading one of her favorite romance tapes into the VCR.

(Tonight, it was Breakfast at Tiffany's.)

"Yes, Dr. Munson, it was exactly what I needed," she said around a grin, walking into the kitchen with him. He had his back to her, squatting in front of the fridge for another movie snack, and Chrissy wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Hoisting herself onto his back and pressing her cheek against his neck.

Beneath her, Eddie let out a little chuckle. Something Chrissy turned her head to taste with her lips against his spine.

"That freaked out, sweetness?" he asked, grabbing a jar of the strawberry jam he kept just for her and a couple cans of Coke before standing. Keeping herself firmly affixed to his body with her legs around his waist.

"No," Chrissy answered. "Just wanted to be close to you, that's all."

Eddie huffed, setting his wares down and yanking her further up his back. Situating her to be a little more comfortable before he grabbed peanut butter and the half-eaten loaf of bread from the pantry.

"Yeah?" He paused in his actions, setting the clean butter knife he'd just grabbed next to the jam. "We can, uh. We can get a hell of a lot closer, y'know. If that's your real aim here."

Gosh, he could be such a boy sometimes. Chrissy snorted, burying her face in his neck.

"But what about Breakfast at Tiffany's?"

"Audrey Hepburn will be waiting for us when we're finished, sweet girl." The hand around her knee slid up, gently stroking the outside of her thigh. "Or we can put her on in the background. Make her bear witness to our incredible physical connection."

"Eddie."

"Chrissy."

Rolling her eyes, Chrissy tapped her healthy, wound-free fingertips against his collar.

"Bedroom," she finally said, laughing loudly when Eddie whooped and threw a fist in the air before sprinting down the hallway.

After, as they lay together in a sweaty pile of contentment, Chrissy snuggled into Eddie's chest. Eyes closed, relishing in the smooth, easy way his hand drifted up and down her side, from her hip to her ribs and down again.

"Eddie?"

"Hmm?" He took a final puff of his cigarette before ashing it.

"When did you notice that I pick at my nails?"

He hummed, rolling that thought around in his mind.

"I dunno," he admitted after a moment. "Early, I guess? Beginning."

Tapping her fingers against his stomach, she took his hand where it had continuously been drifting against her skin, bringing it up and pressing her lips against the rings.

"How come I didn't realize you distracted me?"

"I can't answer that, sweetness," he responded around a shrug. "I just figured you needed something to fiddle with. Better my hands than yours, in my opinion."

Chrissy paused, letting that sink in, before she opened her eyes and looked at him.

"What, so you were gonna let me pick at your nails?"

Eddie just shrugged again, a new grin stretching his cheeks. Dimples coming to life under her disbelieving grimace.

"If that's what it took."

"Eddie, that's so gross."

"Guess it's good you picked at my rings and not my nails then, huh?"

"Why would you let anyone––"

"Not anyone," he interrupted, taking her hand in his and letting her fingertips fall across his lips. "Just you."

Oh, the way he could so simply send a swarm of butterflies to flight in her stomach.

"I don't want you to hurt yourself," he said after a moment, honesty dripping like honey from his words. Sprinkling droplets of sticky sincerity across her skin, so she'd feel the mess of his truths for days and years to come. Waggling his eyebrows, he finished by saying, "But I don't mind if you hurt me a little sometimes."

"Eddie."

"Slap me, baby, I know you want to."

"Oh, my God."

#hellcheer #eddissy #eddie x chrissy #stranger things #chrissy x eddie #eddie munson #hellcheer drabble #my writing #chrissy cunningham #cw light food issues #cunninghamchrissie #anxiety reactions #nail biting

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i-cant-sing · 1 year

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Would you ever consider doing platonic yanderes where the reader is the characters mom? Reader is married to the dad and the whole family is yandere?

(Example; Reader is married to Enji (a romantic yandere) and the kids are platonic yanderes to their mom (reader), either Rei doesn’t exist or Reader is their stepmom)

Or reader finding the LOV when they were kids and just adopting them herself instead of them going down the villain path and they become platonic yanderes for the mother that wanted and loved them? (I’m a sucker for platonic yanderes)

-💗

Been there, done that. Have u read Yandere overhaul as a president au???? Its literally that, with Overhaul being yandere for his fake wife reader so that he could gain popularity and become president, and then they have triplets- Dabi, Himiko and Tomura, all of who are yanderes for their mommy. And I take it a step further by making the entire world yandere for reader.

I have thought about another au where reader, just barely entering into adulthood, suddenly has to adopt Dabi (she took him in after he ran away from home and found him sleeping in an alley). She worked very hard to bond with Dabi, and after a few months, he finally began opening up to her affection (he let's her cuddle him, and kiss his forehead before tucking him in her bed while she takes the couch because she knows Dabi has still has some issues with physical touch). Despite having little to no savings, she puts him in school (the same place where she works part time as a janitor. Though she hides herself when he's with his classmates because she doesn't want him to feel ashamed- not that he ever would). There's been one to many times when reader didn't know where the next meal would come from, but she made sure Dabi never went to sleep hungry (she would work as a server at parties and would sneak some of the food into her bag for him). Reader fell sick quite a few times because of how overworked she was, but she never had the money to get herself some medicine. However, she always found a way to get Dabi the very expensive ointment for his burns and scars. She always wore used clothes and sewed them with patches wherever they were torn, and she'd outgrown her shoes 2 years ago, but she made sure that Dabi was always well dressed, and he always got brand new clothes (she never wanted him to feel inferior to his peers. She knows how mean kids could be.) And somehow, even with multiple jobs, she made sure to be there for him on all important days, celebrated all his achievements no matter how small, and even when Dabi grows up, he can't wrap his head around why you would do all of that? How could one be so selfless, especially to a stranger she knew nothing about?

In fact, there was even a time when Dabi ran away from your house, feeling guilty for what you'd been putting yourself through for him and how he had hurt your feelings after a stupid argument. He was in shock when he saw you running around the city looking for him, tears in your eyes as you asked people to help you find "my son!" And when you finally found him, the first thing that came out of your mouth was,

"Are you okay?"

Not anger, Not rage for worrying you- but genuine concern for his well being. Dabi all but ran into your arms and broke down, sobbing into your chest and he never had to say it out loud for you to understand how sorry he was.

From there on, you two had a good relationship. I could see that perhaps reader finds a stable job as a barista at a cafe, and a part time tutor (because she is well educated), and perhaps she had been hired by Tomura's parents to teach him and his sister, and you were the best teacher they had. Then one day, Tomura accidentally murdered his family and you only found him because you were on your way to tutor him. The trauma in his eyes, in his face- it was all enough for you to understand that he didn't want this to happen. So, you reach for him, but be he jumps back, claiming that he'd kill you. You don't know what happened, but you talked to him, calmed him down, and when you finally reached for him, he didn't pull back. And when you didn't turn into a pile of ashes (maybe because of a hidden quirk, maybe because you had calmed him down), he all but jumped into your arms, wanting all the warmth and comfort you could provide. You of course, took him home and didn't contact the police because that would've turned everything to shit for Tomura and he was far to young to be experiencing cops and courts and investigations, who yo were sure would find a way to incriminate him and send him go jail or worse. You had introduced Dabi to Tomura and told him that he would staying here.

Dabi being jealous and protective of you, snarled "For how long?"

You smiled and rubbed Tomura's back in a comforting manner. "For as long as he'd like."

While reader being poor and helpless and working herself to the bone would be the typical plot to go, how about a reader who is rich- Maybe a year after she adopted Dabi, she has suddenly got a hefty inheritance from a distant relative. The first thing she does is legally adopt Dabi (with his consent of course), then adds his name in her will (he was very moved by it, but he cried alone in his room). Then Tomura comes along, and she also adopts him legally and the two "brothers" are always fighting with each other, only stopping around you because of how gravely it upsets you when they don't get along. From a very young age, you had told them that the two of them are family and they always have to stick together, have each other's backs no matter what. So while they act amicably in front of you, the moment you leave the room, they are at each other's necks.

Now that you're rich and the boys are all grown up, you decide its time for you to find love. But Dabi and Tomura have other plans.

One thing that they do agree upon is that no man or woman you date is ever gonna be good for you. So all of your dates are always gonna end up missing or ghosting you. I can also see them actively trying to prevent you from adopting more kids because they don't like to share, they don't want other greedy assholes (aka poor orphans) taking advantage of your kindness.

Maybe after you give them control of your company and decide to retire and go on a vacation, Dabi and Tomura will hire men to keep tabs on you, protect you, put a tracker on you so that they know where you are at all times. And when they find out that you're on a vacation with a "secret lover", their blood boils, more so when they find out that your s/o has proposed to you and you agreed.

IMMEADIATELY you're flown back home by their bodyguards, and you can struggle all you want, their not letting you go (although Dabi and Tomura had ordered them not to a hurt a hair on your head. You're just too soft and fragile). When you're brought home and find out that it was your own sons who did this, you are furious, yelling at them that that they can't do this.

Dabi narrows his eyes at you. "Of course, we can. We're looking out for you because you don't know whats good for you. Like lying to us and going out with some measly pervert."

Your eyes widened. How did he know? "You've been spying me-?"

"Its for your own good." Tomura said, cupping your cheek. "You're old now, so you can't take care of yourself. Just let us do it. Listen to us."

You recoiled back from him, confusion evident on your as you looked back and forth between them. What are they talking about?

"I- I don't understand this- you shouldn't be spying on me! I'm an adult! I can take care of myself. And who I date or see is not your concern! I'm well equipped to make my own decisions! And then to have me dragged here with no explanation! What would s/o think?! You've embarrassed me in front of him!" You scolded them but they both shared a look. "I'm gonna have to call him back, but this isn't over!"

"You don't have to worry about him anymore, mom." Tomura said, and you began to worry when he didn't offer an explanation.

"What do you mean?"

Dabi spoke this time, face stoic as ever. "He's been taken care of."

What?

The longer they remained silent, the more the daunting realisation hit you.

"I- no..."

Seeing the terrified look on your face, Dabi attempted to comfort you by grabbing your forearms.

"He's been taken care of. You won't ever see him again."

"No- no!" You began to struggle in his arms, trying to break free but he towered over you and held you tighter. "No! You didnt- no! Let go! LET GO! LET GO! LET GO! LET GO-!"

Tears slipped from your eyes at the silent confession of a heinous crime came from your sons, the news being too much as you lost consciousness, both from the shock and from the tiredness.

Dabi lifted you up and began walking to your room, tucking you under the covers as you felt them kiss your cheek, too tired to even flinch away from the murderers.

Perhaps they're right. Maybe you are too old now.

#yandere dabi #yandere dabi x reader #yandere tomura #yandere tomura shigaraki #yandere shigaraki #yandere bnha #bnha headcanons #yandere mha #bnha imagines #yandere platonic #platonic yanderes

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bookshelf-in-progress · 9 months

Text

Length of Years: A Rapunzel Retelling

The woman in the tower brushed her hair. It had long ago turned white, and had grown to cover most of the floor in her little stone room. She braided it with lightning speed, her gnarled fingers confidently completing the familiar task.

Her gaze wandered through the chamber filled with the works of a lifetime. Tapestries she'd woven. Books she'd read and written. Dresses she'd designed. Plants she'd carefully tended until flowering vines framed her one window to the outside world. Evidence of arts she'd mastered, skills she'd developed--once sources of pride and joy, and now simply the remains of an empty life.

Now that her mother was dead, what did she have to live for? She'd sacrificed her life out of loyalty to the woman who'd given her everything; she'd never dreamed that someday she'd be the one left alone. This tower room had been her world; now that world seemed pathetically small. A dismal showing for so many decades.

She sang to banish the thoughts--song was her only weapon in her war against the hostile silence. The song was a light ditty from her younger years, about a bird in a cage, flying free. She'd sang that song often, once upon a time, to an awestruck audience. The only visitor this tower had ever held.

Unbidden, he appeared before her mind's eye. Young. Strong. Dark-haired. Square-jawed. With scarred hands and a dimpled chin and laughing eyes. He'd come to see her, day after day, and filled her world with a joy she'd never before known.

He'd asked her to leave with him; she'd refused, for Mother's sake, again and again, until he'd spoken so abusively against Mother that she grew offended for her sake, and told him to leave and never return. He'd obeyed her wishes, as he always had, and now she had nothing left of him but memory and regret.

She sang all the stronger as the memory turned to sorrow. She'd had her chance and thrown it away. Time had devoured any hope she'd ever had. What was the use of wishing otherwise? She was, and would be, now and forever, alone.

Even the song couldn't change that, so she stopped singing.

And in the silence, she heard a voice.

"Rapunzel! Rapunzel!"

An illusion. A hallucination. A phantom voice conjured by an abundance of memory and solitude and a lack of anything else.

The voice persisted. "Let down your hair!"

The voice was weaker than the one she remembered. Graveled. Worn. Aged.

But beneath it all, a familiar tone that brought her mind back to a time when she was fair-skinned, golden-haired, slender, willowy and oh-so-young.

She raced to the window with a speed she hadn't been capable of in years. Her joints creaked as she leaned far out the window, clinging tightly to the ledge to maintain her delicate balance as she looked down.

At a man in well-worn travel clothes marked with the royal coat of arms.

"I heard your singing," he said.

His hair was shorter than she remembered, gray and frazzled but still remarkably thick. His square jaw had grown jowls, his face had grown lines, his eyes had grown dimmer. But his smile as he gazed upon her was as bright as the one she saw in her memories each night.

With a bow that was slower but no less elegant for the passing of years, he asked, "My lady, might I ascend?"

With a joy she hadn't known she could ever possess, Rapunzel gathered up her endless white lengths of braid and let down her hair.

The climb took longer than Rapunzel remembered, but at last her visitor reached the window, and Philip Peregrine Bertram, prince of Whitbay, entered her chambers once more.

He bent double as he caught his breath. "Has your window always been that high?"

"It hasn't moved," Rapunzel said.

And neither have I.

Philip heard the unsaid and more valuable words. His gaze, when he stood straight and looked at her, held the compassion she'd always admired. "I heard of your mother's passing."

"It was very sudden." Mother had collapsed in the middle of a conversation, just after a climb up the tower in the rain. Rapunzel had buried her body beneath the stones of the tower's lowest level.

"My sympathies," Philip said.

He was the first to offer them, in all these weeks. Despite the hatred Rapunzel knew he had for her mother, she knew his words were genuine.

That, more than anything, brought the tears to her eyes. "Thank you."

Philip offered a handkerchief, which she took without shame. "Do you have food? Supplies?" he asked.

Rapunzel nodded, glad for the switch to more practical matters. "There are garden boxes here in the tower, and a boy comes every week with supplies."

"And you've stayed?"

She shrugged. "I had nowhere else to go."

No one else to go to.

He heard these unspoken words, too, and his face, as he sighed, seemed to age another ten years. "Rapunzel," he breathed. "I am so very sorry."

His voice held such depth of regret that she knew he apologized for far more than her mother's passing.

Despite herself, Rapunzel's words of response sounded far younger than the girl he had known. Like a child's--small, delicate, broken, plaintive. "Why did you never come back?"

"You asked me not to," Philip said. "And I had my pride. I might have returned, when my temper cooled, but then there were the wars, the diplomatic missions, the voyages, the marriage treaty, the children..." He sat wearily on her window ledge. "By the time life slowed down, I assumed you'd long ago moved on, and it would have been disloyal to seek you out. I only came to the village by chance and heard the locals speaking of the woman in the tower. Then I came to the woods and heard your song..."

He trailed off as he gestured to the room around them.

"I see," Rapunzel said, though she could barely even imagine it. An entire life full of war and travel and conflict and change happening quickly enough to obscure the passage of time, while she'd stayed here in the same set of rooms as the long, slow seconds marched lazily by.

"Did no one else ever come to the tower?" Philip asked, sounding almost desperate to hear some hint of joy from her life.

"No one," Rapunzel said simply. "Mother made certain of that."

Philip's jaw clenched, and there was a spark of the old fire in his eye, but he did not speak ill of the dead.

"I never mentioned you to her," Rapunzel said, "but she must have been suspicious--I wept so often in the weeks after our argument. She set barriers and traps in the woods after that. Spread rumors that I was mad and violent. The only outsiders who ever came were the boys who delivered supplies, and Mother always hired slow-witted lads who didn't ask questions."

"And..." Philip swallowed back some emotion. "And she was your only company?"

"She was never unkind to me," Rapunzel said, for she hadn't been, whatever her other crimes. "She made certain I never lacked anything I wanted."

"Except for freedom."

Rapunzel shook her head softly. "For a long time, I wasn't sure I wanted that. If I left, how could you find me? And by the time I believed you'd never come, I knew enough of the world to know I was safer here."

"Friendship, then."

"I did want that," Rapunzel admitted. "You don't know how much." Her fists clenched and her words quavered. "Sometimes, I thought it would break me."

Philip rose to his feet and caught her hand between his. "But it didn't," he said, with soft reassurance.

"Not yet."

"It won't," he said, with the firm compassion of age. "Not while I live." He raised her hand between their faces and looked deep into her eyes. "We've lost so many years, Rapunzel. I can't begin to atone for what you've been denied, but I can make certain that you're denied it no more. Come with me. Leave this place."

Rapunzel felt as though the tower had crumbled beneath her, leaving her no firm place to stand. It was more than she had dared to hope for, not for years and years and years. "How can I?" she whispered. "Your wife and family..."

"My wife passed nearly ten years ago. My children won't deny me the comfort of your friendship."

She gazed out the window toward a distant world glowing with a purple sunrise. "It's been too long," she said. "Too much life wasted. So little time ahead."

Philip's eyes, when she looked back at him, were as bright as those of the boy she'd once known. "Then we'd best not lose another minute."

Her head felt impossibly light. Her hair felt strange where it brushed against her shoulders. She secured the long, long braid to the pulley outside her window, then let down her hair one last time.

Philip secured her in the braid like a harness, and slowly lowered her to the ground. When her feet were firmly on the grass--it was so much softer than she'd imagined!--he climbed down and landed beside her.

Philip took her hand in his. "Are you ready?" he asked.

She nodded, too full of joy to speak.

"We'd best be on our way, then."

With her face toward the sunrise and her hand wrapped in his, Rapunzel strode forward and left the tower behind.

#the bookshelf progresses #fairy tale retellings #rapunzel #a flash fiction image that came to me and demanded i write it #even with so little description you'd be astonished at how long this took to write #even the easy ones are never as easy as i hope #i could edit this more but also i just need to throw it out there because i don't want to spend more time on it

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