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#weirdly practical for this blog i know
smol-blue-bird · 1 year
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me, attempting to write a pregnant character: I wonder what symptoms she'd be experiencing at around six months. I should look it up.
every goddamn fucking pregnancy and motherhood page in the entire world: You GOT this, you girlboss, you! You're going to be one 🎀badass mama llama!!🎀 If you don't follow every item on this 450-page list, your baby will hate you forever!!! But you totes got it, GURL!💕🤪⭐️ Have that 🌺unassisted home birth!!!🌺 Never EVER use painkillers or your baby will 🌷hate🌷 you because of the 💐toxins💐 😘 Breast is best!!! $85 designer pajamas your baby will only fit for 2 months are best!!!!!!!! Medicine = chemicals = you're a bad parent 💖🤗 Here's a downloadable PDF about everything you're doing wrong, mama! Isn't motherhood such a 🌸blessing🌸, mama? If you don't sacrifice your entire identity to motherhood, your Kaymbreigh and Braylynne will hate you FORVER 😚💋💏 BUT YOU GO GIRL, MAKE THAT BABY!!!! 💖💕💓💞💝
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maganne-bonete · 1 month
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Actually I'm coming into terms that I might have a divinity kink in this fine early start of the lenten season
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brehaaorgana · 3 months
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ADHD money/budgeting system I'm currently using for my benefit is going well (I've been using it for like half a year now?), and I wanna recommend it.
You Need a Budget is EXCELLENT. 10/10 do recommend. Uhhh rambling about it and my generic disclaimers + gushing extensively under the cut but TL;DR I think it's great for ADHD ppl, I've used it for 6+ months now and I find it super SUPER helpful. also weirdly fun.
DISCLAIMERS:
Budgeting helps you understand/know your money, it can't make money appear where there is none.
Everyone should learn to budget even if you don't have much money (especially then)
This is NOT a magic trick solution. Just like everything else, it is an assistive tool. This is one of those adult things we can't simply opt out of without negative consequences, though.
My advice is based on something I am currently able to do. That is, I can spend an amount of money on this specific thing that works well for me. If you have no extra money to spend then previously I was tracking things in a notebook. So you can still do this.
I believe Dave Ramsey is a fundie fraud/hack and no one should listen to him about money.
DID YOU KNOW THEY CANCELLED MINT???
Okay? OKAY.
Ahem.
You Need a Budget is EXCELLENT.
It is called YNAB for short. The first 34 days are your free trial, and that is my referral link. If anyone uses it and then signs up for a subscription, we both get a month free. Also you can share a subscription with up to six people (account owner can see everything but individuals can pick and choose what they share amongst each other) so like...idk your whole polycule can be on one account. Or your kids. Whatever.
If you are a student, it's free for a year. If you aren't, a subscription is $99 for a year (paid all at once) or $14.99 monthly, which is equivalent to paying Amazon prime. Go cancel Prime and get this instead tbh.
They got a whole article just on ynab and ADHD. They also have like...a big variety of ways to access their info? They have a book, podcast episodes, YouTube videos, blog posts, q&A's, free live workshops you can join (you can request live captioning), emails they can send (if you want) a wiki, and so on. They got workshops on all kinds of topics!!
So whatever ends up working for your brain. It also has a matching app.
If you lost Mint this year they have a gajillion things for moving from Mint.
Also they have a "got five minutes?" Page which has a slider so you can decide how much attention/time you have before going on lol:
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They only have 4 rules of the budget, they're simple and practical, and it doesn't get judgey or like...mean about your spending.
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1. Give every dollar a job 2. Embrace your true expenses 3. Roll with the punches 4. Age your money.
THEN THEY BREAK THESE DOWN INTO SMALL STEPS FOR YOU! They even have a printable! Also these rules are great because there's built in expectations that things WILL HAPPEN and it's NOT all or nothing with a fear of total collapse into failure. Reality and The Plan don't always align, especially if you have ADHD. So it's directing our energy towards the true expenses and not clinging to The Plan!! over reality.
You can automate a lot of shit (you can sync with your bank accounts just like mint, but also automate tagging the categories of regular expenses/transactions). And if for whatever reason you accidentally do something that makes the budget look weird or wrong:
A) you can usually fix it somehow OR b) they have like, a button you can press that gives you a clean slate and archives the previous version of the budget for you.
So if you forget for a few weeks or months, or accidentally input something wildly wrong, or just don't want to look at a really terrible month anymore and feel like you need a fresh start you can usually either fix it or start fresh which is really nice.
The app also (for whatever reason) scratches my itch to have things like...have incentives or little game-like goals in a way mint never did? I don't know why. Filling up the bars or putting money into the categories to cover my expenses is satisfying lmao. You can also make a big wish expense category for all the fun shit you want, and fund it whenever you can and then you can see the little bar go up and that's fun.
Anyways I've been using it for like 6+ months now and I think it's really helped me when I use it.
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h-harleybaby · 1 year
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this might be slightly boring but i saw it on another blog and it’s been plaguing my mind ever since
making out hcs w with Butters, Kyle and Kenny pls? 🥺 it does something feral to me man idk
Making out hcs with Butters, Kyle, and Kenny
Butters
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• Butters kisses are usually really soft and gentle, y'all don't often make out because he gets too embarrassed
• He's pretty nervous but that's probably just because you're the first girl he's ever made out with and he wants to get it right for you
• He loves making out with you tho, whenever y'all do he swears sparks fly
• Turns out it just wasn't a good idea to make out in abandon building with bad wiring because sparks actually DID fly. Technically he was right tho
• He doesn't often take the lead with making out, he prefers to leave it up to you
• Butters is probably the type to accidentally moan in the kiss and feel really embarrassed about it and hope to god you didn't hear it
• You did. But you also really liked it and you encouraged him to do it more often/not hold back. He practically melted when you said that-
• He really likes it when you bite his lip while you're making out but he'll never admit that, he's scared you would think it's weird
• He's really physical, he just needs to have his hands on you. So often times he'll cup your cheeks or have his hands slightly under your shirt (only to hold your hips, he wouldn't dare go any farther without your permission)
• He also really likes it when tug on his hair a lil while y'all make out, he can't explain it for the life of him it just feels really good
Kyle
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• Making out with Kyle is really sweet, I swear! He's just really awkward about it
• But it's honestly really cute <33
• He gets so scared because he's thinking "What if I kiss weirdly?? What if they don't like my kisses?? WHERE DO I PUT MY HANDS-"
• Ya know, that kinda stuff. You probably have to guide his hands to your waist or something so he'll stop mentally freaking out and sweating
• Hear me out, Kyle probably gets so nervous that his hands start shaking, and when you put his hands on your waist his finger literally will not stop tapping you. It's a nervous habit he has, like tapping your fingers on a desk
• Once he gets in the hang of it and stops freaking out he probably thinks he died and went to heaven. You gotta be an angel, right?!
• He's probably the type to smile into a kiss and whenever y'all separate he looks at you with heart eyes
• Although at first, kissing made him really nervous once he gets used to it, it probably calms him down and makes him act like a complete simp
• The world around him disappears because now all he can think of is you and your kisses
• He just can't get enough of you <3333
Kenny
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• Kenny's really passionate when making out, and tbh he's always trying to make out with you
• He can't keep his hands to himself either, so they're gonna be everywhere
• He's also the kind of person who smirks into a kiss and literally grabs your waist to pull you in closer
• He loves when you have your hands in his hair when y'all make out, it just makes him more eager
• Y'all are probably a little light headed at the end of at least one kiss because he doesn't wanna let go
• Most of the time kisses between y'all end in making out, no matter where you are, even if it's just a lil peck
• Can you really blame him for wanting more?
• Hear me out on this, Kenny probably smokes and he accidentally got you addicted to his kisses because of the nicotine in the cigarettes he smokes
• Kenny feels really bad about it and he tries to quit smoking
• But he isn't complaining too much, it also means more making out for him
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kinnbig · 1 month
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✨ Simple Gif Colouring for Beginners ✨
I wrote up my basic gif colouring process for a friend recently, but a couple of people here mentioned they'd also find it helpful! so, as requested, this is a beginner-friendly walkthrough of the way I colour my gifs :) it's aimed at brand new gif makers with no prior experience with photoshop or photo editing.
when I first started gif making I found colouring and photoshop in general suuuper daunting, so I've tried to simplify everything here as much as possible. hopefully this will be relatively easy to follow and not too intimidating!
a couple of things to begin with:
I'm only talking about colouring here - this is not a full gif making tutorial. I've linked to some of my favourites of those here!
I personally like to make bright, 'clean' looking gifs with vibrant but natural colours, so that is the style of colouring this tutorial is geared towards. most of gif colouring is subjective and about personal taste - the only thing that I'd say is possible to get wrong is skin tones, which I talk about a lot in this guide.
as I mostly gif Thai dramas, most of the advice is geared towards colouring for East Asian/South East Asian skin tones - but the techniques should be fairly universally applicable (and here are some tutorials that talk about gif colouring for other skin tones).
I'm not an expert! I'm not claiming this is the best or the only way to colour gifs - it's just how I do it.
this post is very image-heavy. if the images aren't loading (or the gifs are running slowly or cutting/looping weirdly), then try viewing the post in its own tab (rather than on the your dash or someone's blog) and refreshing the page.
okay, full walkthrough beneath the cut!
contents:
1. intro a. natural gif colouring goals b. very very basic colour theory 2. super simple colouring (the essentials) a. curves b. selective colour (and skin tone correction) c. hue/saturation d. saving and reusing colouring e. another simple colouring example 3. other adjustment layers a. brightness/contrast b. levels c. vibrance d. colour balance e. channel mixer 4. troubleshooting a. curves b. saturation 5. fin!
1. intro
the colouring part of gif making can be super overwhelming, especially if (like me when I first started!) you're completely new to photoshop and/or have no experience with colour theory or photo/video editing.
if you're opening photoshop and making gifs for the first time, I highly recommend getting used to making a few basic, uncoloured gifs to begin with. just to practice, rather than post anywhere (though you can always come back and colour them later if you want) - but it'll make the rest of the process much easier if you're already beginning to get used to working in timeline mode of photoshop. give yourself a bit of time to practice and get a feel for things like how many frames you tend to like in a gif, where you like to crop them for the best loop, what kind of aspect ratio you like etc* - so that you're not trying to navigate all of that for the first time on top of everything else!
* frames: for me between 60-90 frames is ideal, but 40-120 frames is the absolute min-max I'd personally use in a normal gifset loops: for the smoothest loops, try to avoid cutting someone off mid-movement or mid-word if possible. aspect ratio: for full-size (540px) gifs, I tend to go for either 8:5 (slightly 'skinnier' gifs), 7:5, or 5:4 (particularly big, thick gifs lmao)
✨ natural gif colouring goals
part of what can be so daunting about starting gif making is not knowing where to start or what you want to achieve. this is definitely something that gets easier with practice - the more gifs you make, the more you'll get a feel for what kind of look you like and the more instinctively you'll know how to get there. it also helps to see if any gif makers you like have made "before and after colouring" posts - these can help with getting a sense of the kinds of changes made through gif colouring. here's one I made!
in general, I like to make my gifs bright and 'clean' looking, with vibrant but natural colours. these are the things I'm usually hoping to achieve with colouring:
brighten dark scenes
remove muddy, yellowish lighting or filters
saturate colours
correct any skin lightening filters or overexposure
make lighting and colours as consistent as possible between gifs within a single gifset, especially gifsets featuring gifs from multiple scenes/episodes/videos
this guide is focusing on natural colouring, but of course there are many cool ways to make stylised/unnaturally coloured gifs. imo you'll need to master these basics first, but if you want to learn how to do things like change the background colour of gifs or use gradients or other cool effects, then @usergif's resource directory has loads of super helpful tutorials!
✨ very very basic colour theory
[disclaimer! I don't know shit about fuck. I do not study light or art. this is just an explanation that makes sense to me exclusively for the purposes of gif making.]
the primary colours for light/digital screens are red, blue, and green. having all three colours in equal measures neutralises them (represented by the white section in the middle of the diagram).
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so to neutralise a colour within a gif, you need to add more of the colour(s) that are lacking.
in practice this usually means: the scene you want to gif is very yellow! yellow is made of red and green light, so to neutralise it you need to add more blue into your gif.
it can also mean the reverse: if you desaturate the yellow tones in a gif, it will look much more blue.
looking at the colour balance sliders on photoshop can make it easier to visualise:
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so making a gif more red also means making it less cyan.
removing green from a gif means adding magenta.
taking yellow out of a gif will make it more blue.
tl;dr:
neutralise yellows by adding blue (and vice versa)
neutralise reds by adding cyan (and vice versa)
neutralise green by adding magenta (and vice versa)
2. super simple colouring (the essentials)
starting with a nice sharpened gif in photoshop in timeline mode. (these are the sharpening settings I use!)
some scenes are much harder to colour than others - it helps to start out practising with scenes that are bright/well-lit and that don't have harsh unnaturally coloured lights/filters on. scenes with a lot of brown/orange also tend to be harder.
I usually save a base copy of my gif before I start colouring just in case I end up hating it, or find out later that it doesn't quite fit right into a set and need to redo it etc.
so here is my base gif!
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it's an okay gif, but it has a bit of a yellow tint to it that I want to reduce.
colouring is easiest to do in adjustment layers, which can be found under layer -> new adjustment layer - or for me they are here:
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there are lots of different types of adjustment layers that do lots of different things - but for me the absolute essentials for colouring are curves, selective colour, and hue/saturation.
I also use brightness/contrast, levels, exposure, vibrance, colour balance, and channel mixer sometimes, depending on the gif - but I use curves, selective colour, and hue/saturation on every single gif.
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✨ curves layer
the first thing I always do is a curves layer. when you first open one it will look like this:
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first I usually click the ‘auto’ button, just to see what happens. sometimes it makes a big difference (it usually brightens the gif a lot) - but on this gif it didn’t do much.
if it had made the gif look nicer then I would have kept it and added a second curves layer on top to do the rest of these steps.
the next step is selecting the white and black points with the little eyedropper tools.
the bottom eyedropper lets you pick a white point for the gif. click somewhere super light on the gif to see what happens - for this gif, I clicked on the lampshade on the left. if it looks weird, I just undo it and try somewhere else - it usually takes a few goes to find something that looks good.
here's what that did to the gif:
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then I pick the top eyedropper and use it to pick a black point by clicking somewhere really dark, again playing around until I find a black point that looks good.
here's what the gif looks like after picking the white and black points:
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this can take some experimenting, but you can make super easy drastic changes to your gif just with this. in this case, the curves layer took out a lot of that yellowy tint.
and this is what the curves graph looks like now:
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you can click and drag those lines to make further changes if you want - I usually leave them alone though. the colours of the lines indicate which colours have been changed in the gif - for example, you can see from that steep blue line on the graph that blue has been added to neutralise those yellows.
next I usually do another curves layer and just press the ‘auto’ button again to see what happens. usually it brightens the gif a bit more, which I like.
‼️if nothing is working: usually with a bit of fucking about a curves layer works well - but sometimes you can’t find a good white and black point anywhere, and instead your gif turns wacky colours and nothing looks good. this happens more often with very heavily colour tinted scenes :( the troubleshooting section at the end goes over some options, including starting with a levels layer instead.
✨ selective colour (and skin tone correction)
skin tones are made up of a mixture of yellow and red.
removing yellow (or adding blue or red) to a gif will make the skin-tones too red - and removing red (or adding cyan or yellow) to a gif will make the skin-tones too yellow.
adding blue to this gif with the curves layer took out the yellowy tint, which I wanted - but it also took the yellows out of Kim's skin tone, which I don’t want. so I need to put yellow back into the skin tones specifically - without putting it back into the rest of the gif.
selective colour layers let you select an individual colour and adjust the levels of other colours within that colour. you can change how yellow the green shades are, or how much cyan is in the blues, for example.
I need to add yellow back into the red tones to correct the skin tones on this gif. this is the case for most gifs in my experience - the vast majority of the time, unless a scene is very heavily tinted in another colour, a curves layer will add blue/remove yellow.
in the 'colors' dropdown, select the 'reds' section and drag the 'yellow' slider higher - this will add more yellow into just the red shades within the gif.
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the amount of yellow you need to add back into the reds depends on how much yellow was taken out of the gif initially - I just play around with the slider until it looks right. if you're not sure, it helps to have some neutrally-coloured (not white-washed!) reference photos of the people in your gif to compare to.
here's the result. Kim's skin is a lot less pink toned and much more natural looking:
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✨ hue/saturation
this adjustment layer lets you adjust the hue and saturation of the gif as a whole, and also of each colour individually.
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I don't use the hue or lightness sliders unless I'm trying to do something more complicated with the colouring.
clicking the dropdown menu that says 'master' lets you edit the saturation of each colour individually. this is useful if your gif is still super tinted in one colour.
I thought the yellows on this gif were still slightly too bright, so I switched to the yellow channel and desaturated them slightly. (remember if you do this then you need to go back to selective colour and add more yellow into the red skin tones to balance out the desaturation!)
then I increased the 'master' saturation of all the colours to +5:
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I usually find the right amount of saturation is somewhere between +5 and +12, but it depends on the gif.
‼️if the gif feels undersaturated, but the saturation slider isn't helping/is making the colours worse, try a vibrance layer instead.
done!
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✨ saving and reusing colouring
you can copy and paste adjustment layers between gifs to make your colouring even across each of your gifs for one scene - so if you're making a set of multiple gifs of the same scene, or you think you might want to gif the same scene again in the future, you can save it as a psd so you can reuse the colouring again later.
each gif's colouring will then still need tweaking - different cameras/angles/shots of the same scene can still start out with slightly different colouring.
I recommend uploading the gifs as a draft post on tumblr so you can see what they all look like next to each other and catch any inconsistencies.
✨ another one! (speedrun!)
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HI KEN!
the white point for the curves layer was in the window behind them.
the curves layer removes the muddy yellow tint, but again it makes their skin tones (especially Ken's) very red toned, which is adjusted by the selective colour layer.
3. other adjustment layers
imo many many gifs can be coloured really nicely with just those three adjustment layers, but some need different adjustments.
✨ brightness/contrast
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pretty self explanatory!
I personally usually avoid using the 'brightness' slider because I rarely like the effect - I only tend to use the 'contrast' one. 
the 'auto' button is sometimes useful though, especially if you’re struggling with the curves layer.
✨ levels
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levels alters the white and black points of the gif, like curves - but unlike curves it doesn't also alter other colours.
use the sliders beneath the graph to alter how dark/light the gif is. you can slide the black slider further to the right to make the blacks darker, and the white slider to the left to make the whites lighter.
levels is a good place to start if your curves layer isn't working.
(I'm going to hit the image limit for this post lol so here are some screenshots of a table I made to demonstrate this rather than actual gifs. sorry!)
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on both sides, I dragged the sliders up to where the big jumps are on the graph - this is usually a good place to start!
✨ vibrance
vibrance... makes the colours more vibrant. it's more subtle than saturation.
it's really helpful for gifs that feel grey. sometimes adjusting saturation just makes the greys kind of weirdly tinted, but a vibrance layer can fix that.
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vibrance is much more subtle!
✨ colour balance
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colour balance affects the overall balance of colours within a gif.
it's good for scenes with heavy tints.
I tend to stick to the 'midtones' dropdown, but you can also alter the colour balance within the shadows and highlights if you want.
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✨ channel mixer
I avoided channel mixer for such a long time because it scared me. but it's great for scenes that are very heavily tinted in one colour.
basically, it works with the levels of red, green, and blue within a gif. you select an output colour and then play around with the levels of the colour you selected within each other colour.
kind of the reverse of selective colour?
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so in the 'blue' channel, the levels of blue are at 100%, and the levels of red and green are at 0% - but you can impact how much blue is in the reds and greens and blues.
this tutorial explains it well - but imo the best way to get to grips with channel mixer is just to play around with it a bit (sorry)
(when I made this guide for my friend, I also made a slightly more complicated gif colouring walk-through that included using channel mixer. there isn't space to include it within this post, but if anyone is interested I could always upload it as an 'intermediate' gif colouring tutorial - lmk!)
4. troubleshooting
‼️curves
usually with a bit of fucking about a curves layer works well - but sometimes you can’t find a good white and black point anywhere, and instead your gif turns wacky colours and nothing looks good. this happens more often with very heavily colour tinted scenes :(
for example, with this base gif:
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using many of the brightest points as a white point turn it wacky colours, like this:
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yikes :(
some options for these cases:
try brightening the gif first with the 'auto' button on the curves layer or with a levels layer. having a brighter gif to start with can give you better options for picking a white point.
try finding an alternate, whiter/brighter white point. look for places the light reflects - on this gif, using the light on Porsche's cheekbone works well as the white point. it also helps to find places that would be white if the scene wasn't tinted - the lightest part of a white shirt is often a good place to start, for example.
skip the curves layer, and instead use a levels layer to alter your white/black points, and colour balance or channel mixer to balance the colours.
‼️over/undersaturation
if your gif (especially the skintones) is looking a little washed out or lifeless, it might be undersaturated. boost that saturation - or if that's not working, try a vibrance layer.
oversaturation is often easiest to spot in the mouths and ears of any people in a gif. if the mouths are looking unnaturally, vibrantly red, then you've gone too far with the saturation.
5. fin!
and done! I hope this was coherent helpful to somebody.
if there's anything that I've missed or that doesn't make sense pls feel free to shoot me an ask or a message and I'll do my best to help! I've also collated a bunch of additional reading/resources below.
happy gifmaking 🥰
✨ some links!
photoshop basics by @selenapastel
gifmaking for beginners by @hayaosmiyazaki
gifmaking guide for beginners by @saw-x
dreamy's gif tutorial by @scoupsy-remade (includes instructions on how to blur out burned-on subtitles or annoying video graphics)
beginner's guide to channel mixer by @aubrey-plaza
how to fix orange-washed characters by aubrey-plaza
colour correcting and fixing dark scenes by @kylos
does resampling matter? by usergif
how to put multiple gifs on one canvas by @fictionalheroine
watermarking using actions by @wonwooridul
resource directory by @usergif
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ellisgirl · 6 months
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Ellis Twilight — I Want to Know Every Inch of You Collection Event
Seperate Bodies 🔞 tw: suggestive, NSFW
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I do not own any contents of Ikemen Villains. This story being uploaded in this blog belongs solely to CYBIRD. Please support them by downloading their games and buying their stories. Both English and Japanese are not my mother tongue languages, please keep in mind that there will be mistakes and added words for my own preferences. I translate for my personal entertainment and for my own practice only.
Victor asked me to take the Crown's physical measurements for the purpose of health management and research—
I visited Ellis, who was easy to ask first, and it turned out to be the right decision.
Thanks to his great cooperation, the measurements proceeded very quickly.
Kate: “Thank you for your cooperation, Ellis. This concludes the measurement of your upper body."
Ellis: "That's good. By the way, Miss Kate, there's something I was curious about......"
Ellis: "Can you lend me a hand?"
Kate: "......? Yes, sure."
I held out my hand, wondering what he was going to do, and Ellis's hand came to rest on mine—
My hand was guided and touched his chest, which was bare…..for measurement.
I feel his moist skin all over my palm.
Ellis: ".….If you're interested in my body, you can touch it."
Kate: "Eh!? Uh, how.….”
Ellis: “Because I felt like I could feel your eyes piercing through me while you were measuring for my chest. ……Was it my misunderstanding?"
Kate: "You misunderstood..., there was nothing.”
Ellis looks slender when he's dressed, but when he takes his clothes off, he has an unexpectedly masculine body.
Although the measurements are taken seriously, I couldn't help but admire his thick chest and his well-defined abdominal muscles.
(I thought I was keeping a level head, but he knew.... How embarrassing……)
Ellis: “As much as you like, Miss Kate, go ahead.”
Kate: "E-Even if you ask me to go ahead….."
Even if I'm interested in touching another person's body, especially a man's body, my reservation and embarrassment will prevail.
(I know you're saying this for me, Ellis, but....I'll say no.)
I tried to take his hand away, saying It was fine if I didn’t touch him.
However, Ellis is holding my hand tighter than I imagined, and I can't get away from him even a little.
Ellis: "You don't have to hold back on me, so feel free to check with your hands."
You noticed I tried to take my hand away, your hands are literally so strong.
(If you've told me this much, it's not right to say no.….isn't it?)
(If I reject him excessively, then it seems like I'm being weirdly conscious of Ellis.....)
Deciding to accept the kindness, I slid my hand over his skin.
Kate: "....Muscles are softer than I thought. I thought it was harder."
Ellis: “When you're relaxed, yes. When you're exerting yourself, though, it gets harder......"
Kate: "Wow, that's amazing...!”
(Still, I think people are reluctant to have their skin touched...)
(Is Ellis used to being touched by other people…..?)
Even though the fun seems to rise, my heart is in turmoil at the defencelessness of Ellis, who let me touch him without any odd hesitation.
Ellis: "What's wrong?"
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Kate: “Well......I was wondering if you do this to anyone who asks you to.”
Regret comes immediately after speaking out.
I knew Ellis was kind to everyone, but I speak as if I’m blaming him.
Ellis: “…..Don't worry, I didn't do anything that you would be worried about.”
The reply was ambiguous, as if it were an answer, but it wasn't.
I also notice a strange pause before the reply.
(What are the things that worry me? Have you ever let some else touches you, if only a little?…..)
Ellis's trivial words and actions have stuck with me, and I don't feel refreshed, as if a lees has settled in my mind.
(There's no reason to feel like this, but why am I.….)
Ellis: “If it still bothers you... Do you want to try touching somewhere else?”
Ellis: "....I really haven't shown this place to anyone, I haven't let anyone touch it."
Ellis: "Only for Miss Kate, special"
Kate: “Eh….”
Ellis pulled my hand again.
The hand that was touching his chest went down through his stomach.....and stop at his waist.
Kate: “….Ellis?”
Ellis: “No one touches it from here down, so go ahead.”
What Ellis is showing is below the bottoms... his lower body.
Kate: "Ah, uh..... This is not usually a place to let people touch, is it?"
Ellis: “What would you like to do, Miss Kate?”
Ellis: "Rather than normal or common sense, I want to do what you want to do."
Ellis: "I've been thinking about how to make you happy."
Even if that feeling of Ellis is one that is poured out without division to all.
I was the only one in his eyes right now.
Kate: "I, am......"
(......If there is a place on Ellis's body where only I am allowed, I want to touch it.)
The sweet sound of "special" made me forget to reply and my throat started to throb.
Ellis: ".....You can do whatever you want."
I finally gave a small nod as my gentle forgiveness.
Ellis: “Shall we proceed slowly? Let's start with........to the first joint of your finger."
Is Ellis pulling my hand, or am I proceeding with my own will? I don't know anymore.
My fingertips slip under his bottoms without any sense of reality, as if I were in a dream.
Ellis: "Second joint........”
Kate: “Ah.”
My advanced fingertips feel the rough texture of the skin. It's hot and humid inside.
Ellis: “Hmm. …..fufu, I’ve gone all the way in to the base of your fingers, haven't I?"
Ellis smiled like a child whose prank had succeeded.
Contrary to that innocence, I felt like I was doing something I shouldn’t...., I was scared.
Kate: "Uh, I guess..."
I came to my senses and pulled out my fingertips, grazing the deep part of him.
Ellis: “Nn…gh”
(……!)
Ellis: “Sorry..... I was so ticklish, I made a weird noise."
Kate: “N-no, it’s not….”
Ellis's sweet voice, which leaked a little, remains in my ears.
(The fact that I'm the only one who can touch Ellis here...)
(And that lovely voice I just heard, is that just for me?)
The thought of it is irresistibly lovely and makes me want to touch and listen to it again.
(But, as expected, no more...)
Ellis: "....More touches if you like, Miss Kate."
Taking my hesitant hand again, Ellis let me touch it through the bottoms.
Kate: “……Uh”
I gasped as I felt something passionately insisting on the area I touched.
Ellis: "This is what happened, so...I would like you to lend me a hand."
Kate: "B-but...I already had taken your body measurements.….”
I finally remember my job and give my opinion with a voice that seems to disappear.
Ellis: "Well then..... Do you want to check here with your hands? If it's a measurement, then there's no problem."
Kate: "...............I got it."
(It's just an extra of his body measurements, just to make sure......)
Like a butterfly lured by sweet nectar, I slipped my hand there again.
Ellis: “Ah... Haa….."
As I stroke him slowly while watching him, Ellis lets out a hot exhale of aggravation.
Ellis: “Miss, Kate…..”
(.....I'm weird. I can't take my eyes off him.)
He is so lovely, so cute, so disturbed by my hand that I want to see more of him.
Driven by the impulse, I moved my fingers with a strong and weak pressure so that Ellis could feel good.
Ellis: “……Nngh”
Kate: “Here…..is it?”
Ellis: "Nnm..... There, it feels good...."
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His hips swayed loosely as he rubbed against my hand.
I was happy to know that I wasn't the only one who wanted to be touched.
(.....I want you to feel even better with my hand.)
At first, it was only my fingertips, but gradually I used the whole palm of my hand to wrap it up and continued to stimulate it.
Ellis: “……Nngh!”
Kate: "I-I'm sorry. Did I push too hard...?"
Ellis: “No... I'm fine. I just felt so good I was about to lose it."
Ellis: “You can touch me however you like. ....I'll make my place exclusive to you, Miss Kate."
(I, exclusive….)
The haze in my mind that I felt when I thought Ellis might have let someone else touched him cleared up.
(I see….. I wanted to monopolise you.)
(I didn't want anyone else to touch or see Ellis...that's what I thought)
If you know your feelings, there is only one thing to do.
As time permits, I continued to touch where only I was allowed and stare at Ellis, who exhaled shallowly.
Fin.
Masterlist
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tagging+* @yonaaaahowell
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I'm not even a Christmas person but, I thought this would be a fun idea. I also like how S.Coups is always a husband in my works lol. The bias is evident. This was also far longer than I initially meant for it to be. The S.Coups brainrot is apparent.
Heads up: Choi Seungcheol x Fem! Reader, crack honestly, Reader dresses up in a skimpy Mrs. Claus outfit and S.Coups is weirdly into it, they're disgustingly inlove with each other, (Mostly) Soft Dom! Seungcheol, Sub! Reader, Seungcheol being a tease, dirty talk, oral sex (f. receiving), thigh spanking (f. receiving), unprotected piv sex, creampie, mild praise kink and mild degradation (f. receiving).
I will block you if you are a minor and/or have no easily visible indication of your age on your blog if you interact with me in any way.
♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
"Can I open my eyes now?" Seungcheol asks from your shared bedroom. You can hear the smile in his voice without even seeing his face.
You really should stop listening to Jeonghan.
He was the one who suggested you buy the skimpy Mrs Claus outfit while the two of you were out together earlier. Seungcheol would love it and appreciate the humour in it, he said. And for some reason you had chosen to listen to him like the clown that you are.
"Not yet. I'll be there in a minute, Cheol," you respond, trying to find the courage to face him. You know logically that Seungcheol would never actively make you feel terrible for something you're wearing, especially an outfit that was meant to be moreso comical. However, you can't help but, feel a little ridiculous now actually wearing the get up.
Oh well, it's now or never and you promised your husband a surprise.
"You can open your eyes now," you say to him quietly and, Seungcheol is greeted with quite the eyeful when he does.
The bright red top you're wearing barely contains your tits. They're practically spilling out of the strappy top. The matching skirt isn't much better. It just passes your ass and he's sure he'd be able to see your panties clear as day if you turned around right now. The black thigh high socks you're wearing cling very attractively to your legs too. Creating little, wonderful indents in your upper thighs where they come to rest.
"Ta da," you say half-heartedly, fiddling with the hem of your skirt and studiously avoiding Seungcheol's gaze.
Seungcheol, for his part, is realising some things about himself seeing you in this outfit. He can feel his cock hardening just from taking you in. He was expecting for the two of you to laugh about this, maybe make out because he'd never miss the opportunity to make out with his ridiculously hot wife but, this was far sexier than he was prepared for.
"You look great," he says, voice already gravelly and his eyes slightly lidded.
"Don't patronise me, Seungcheol," you respond a little bit more defensive than you meant to. Eyes shooting up to finally meet his, an apology on your tongue.
However, it dies on your tongue just as quickly when you take your husband in as well. You're a little startled to see the blatantly want in his gaze. His eyes travelling across your body once more before they meet your own.
"You know I would never do that. I mean it. You look great. So fucking sexy," and this time you realise he does mean every word he's saying. Even if he was lying verbally, his facial expressions and body language always gave Seungcheol away and, right now he's practically yelling how much he wants you.
"You know, when I first thought about dressing up like this, I didn't think it would lead to discovering a new kink you have," you say a little sheepishly.
He responds with a low chuckle, a very stark contrast from his usual, endearing giggle. The sound goes straight to the junction between your thighs, a familiar, dull throb settling in.
"I'm just as surprised as you are. But, I'm not complaining. Come here, baby," he says, a commanding edge to his voice. You and him both know you'd never dream to disobey him when he sounds like that so, you steadily make your way over to him until you're standing a few centimetres from touching him.
Seungcheol taps his thigh in invitation and you need no more prompting as you move to settle yourself across his delectable lap. You can't help the little sound you make, part surprise and part desire, when you feel him pressing against you through his sweats and your panties.
"Oh wow, you're really into this," you say breathlessly, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting your fingers play with his dark hair.
His hands come up to rest on your upper thighs, eyes staring intently at your mouth with a small uptick of his own lips. "I'm generally really into anything that has to do with you, yeah," he says, leaning closer to you.
"That was really cheesy, Seungcheol. Even for you," is all you say before you press your lips to his. He groans against your mouth, hands gripping your thighs harder as the kiss begins to increase in desperation.
You can't help the way your hips move against his now fully erect cock. Your own grip in his hair becoming harsher as well while the two of you move with each other. Taking any friction you can get.
Seungcheol was the first one to pull away due to the lack of oxygen. He began to kiss along your jaw and neck, moving to now hold onto your hips and dragging you harder and faster against the length of him.
"Cheol," you gasp out, his brushes against your clit and, mouth along your neck making your panties stick to you uncomfortably now.
"You're so fucking sexy," he mutters against your skin, one of his hands coming up to cup a generous handful of your breast. He massaged you through the flimsy material of your top, smirking against you everytime he grazed your hardened nipple which caused you to shudder.
"Cheol, please," you whine, pressing against his hand and cock desperately. Feeling as though you'll lose your mind if he doesn't do something. Anything, at this point.
You grab onto his shoulders reflexively when he moves to flip the two of you over, eyes widening in surprise. Once on your back, your husband shoots you a grin from above before making sure you're comfortable against your pillows. Your heart squeezes a little in unbridled affection at him. Even through all the lust and neediness, he took the time to make sure he wasn't too sudden or rough with you. Sometimes when you think you're unable to love him anymore, your husband always makes sure to prove you wrong.
Both in the grand gestures and the more subtle ones.
Cupping his face, you pull him into another ferocious kiss. Firmly wrapping your legs around his hips and taking great delight in the moan he let's out against your mouth when he presses against your clothed centre once again.
"I take it I've been very good this year," he says as you eagerly kiss along his jaw and impatiently tug at his shirt.
Any sparky retort you had in mind completely vanishes when he pulls back to throw his shirt somewhere on your bedroom floor. Wide expanses of firm muscle free for you to ogle at and touch as you please. God, you really were the luckiest woman alive.
"Yeah, very good," you say absentmindedly, dragging your fingernails across his chest. Delighting in the way his body tensed and jumped whenever you ran them along his abs.
"I don't think I deserve to be teased if I've been good," he says lowly in your ear and, this time it's his turn to revel in the way your body reacts to him. Your hands faltering along his skin and the shiver that ran down your spine.
"Well, what do you want as a reward?"
"That's a pretty loaded question. There's so many options to choose from," he says, lazily dragging his eyes over your body. They eventually stop on your thighs. He licks his plump lips before saying, "I think I've settled on what I want."
Seungcheol gave you one more kiss against your bruised lips before moving downwards to settle himself between your thighs. Watching your face as he lightly kissed along your inner thighs, hands caressing your outer thighs and enjoying feeling the contrast between your soft skin and the cotton of your socks. The scent of your arousal was fast going to his head and making him feel hazy but, he wanted to work you up properly.
Make you beg for his mouth against you. Very little turned him on like the sounds of you begging for him.
So, he held onto every ounce of his self-restraint as he kept kissing your skin and watching you. Biting back a smirk at the antsy look in your eyes and one of your hands coming to rest against his head.
"Cheol, please," you whine out, pressing your hips up. Trying to move yourself closer to his mouth. However, he held you down firmly. His own eyes molten with desire.
"Please what? Say it."
"I- I want your mouth, please. Or even your fingers. I'll take anything,"
Seungcheol feels himself throb painfully at that. Half-tempted to just sink his cock into you right then and there and, fuck you until you were reduced to tears. However, he had a reward to claim. That could wait.
"I am using my mouth, baby," he says, pressing another kiss higher up on your inner thigh to prove his point. The pout on your lips and the slight tug on his hair makes him laugh a little against you. He can't help it, you're just so cute.
"Not there. You know where, Cheol,"
"I really don't. You have to use your words otherwise I can't help you,"
"My pussy, Cheol. Please, I want your mouth on my pussy please," you finally cry out, pulling at his hair harder this time and feeling frustrated tears build in your eyes.
That's all he needed to hear.
He immediately pressed his mouth against your pastel pink panties, shoving your skirt up your waist and out of his way. Closing his eyes and moaning at the taste of you, even with the barrier stopping him from tasting you directly. You were still heavenly. He couldn't help himself from grinding against your bed in search of some sort of relief for his throbbing cock.
"Ch-Cheol," you choke out, trying to move yourself against his mouth once more despite his steady hold on you. He doesn't let you, however. Seungcheol is taking his time licking at your through your panties, making sure to press a little harder on your clit.
Watching you gradually fall apart under his teasing only fuels the want coursing through his veins. You still get so needy and sensitive after all these years.
Deciding to show you some kindness, he does eventually tug your panties off of you. Leaving you wet and bare for him. And fuck, are you a sight to behold. He clenches his jaw as he takes in how soaked and plump with arousal you are, his cock leaking a good amount of pre-cum in his boxers now. Glancing at your face briefly, he feels himself throb violently at your expression. He hasn't even made you cum yet and you look so fucked out already. Your hair a mess against the pillows, eyes glazed over and teary, mouth open and bruised from the earlier kisses the two of you exchanged and, the straps of your top barely clinging on.
"I don't know what I've done to deserve this as a reward but, thank you," he says, his breaths hitting you directly and making you arch against him. Eyes fluttering shut as you keen from the sensations. You definitely weren't going to last long the ways things were going.
Before you can beg him to please just eat you out, he beats you to it. Looking up at you from between your thighs as he takes his first, long lick of you. Moaning from your taste and the way both of your hands fist his hair. He decides to you've been more than well-behaved enough to deserve a reward of your own so, he wastes no time in diving right in.
He laps at your clit while shifting one of his hands from its hold on you to ease two fingers inside of your eager hole. They're thick and long and fill you up in that way only Seungcheol can. He slowly moves them, taking note of the way your thighs quiver around his head every time he brushes that spot inside of you that leaves you breathless. He makes sure to curl his fingers and press against said spot hard and, is immediately graced with a sharp cry from your pretty lips, your hold on his hair bordering on painful now but, he's determined to push through.
He continues fingering you, watching your face and he can tell you're getting close. However, he pulls himself from your clit and stills his fingers inside you. Your eyes fly open to meet his and he almost groans at the frustrated, desperate look in them, "Why-Why'd you stop? I was close."
"I want you to look at me. If you close your eyes or look away, I'll stop," is all Seungcheol says before starting his ministrations back up once again. Adding more pressure to your clit as a form of apology for stopping and moving his fingers faster, making sure you're watching him all the while.
And you are. Even as a few tears make their way down your cheeks and your moans increase in pitch, you keep your eyes on him. Always such a good, obedient girl.
Good girls deserve to cum.
Seungcheol increases the intensity of his actions. Sucking a little harder on your clit and curling his fingers harder than before inside of your velvet walls, his unoccupied hand trying to keep you in place so you have no choice but, to take everything he's choosing to give you.
It's a particularly hard suck on your clit that you attribute to finally sending you over the edge. Your grip in Seungcheol's hair tightening as you arch against his mouth and his fingers. He tries his best to hold you down and work you through it.  Moaning against your clit at the fresh arousal that coats his cheeks, mouth, chin and fingers.
Your breathing is ragged as you try to come back to your body. You shuddering as Seungcheol continues to lick at you and finger you slowly, the sensations quickly shitfing in overstimulation territory.
"Che-Cheol, too much," you gasp out, gently pulling at his hair in an attempt to move him away from you. He gives your pussy one final kiss before shifting away from you and easing his fingers out of you.
He moves up your body, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. Letting you taste yourself on his tongue. "You okay?" He asks, pulling back to look over your face to make sure this wasn't too much for you.
You shoot him a lazy, amused smile and wrap your arms around his neck, "You're still such a worrier after all these years, Cheol. You know I can take more than that. I'm good."
"It never hurts to make sure," your husband pouts and you feel that familiar affection for him settle into your chest. It's hard to believe this was the same man who was determined to leave you as little more than a puddle moments ago.
Said affection prompts you to lean up and kiss him once again and, your husband is more than happy to reciprocate. Although you just came not too long ago, you can't help the way your insides ache when you feel him pressing against your thigh.
"Want you," you utter against his mouth, your hands moving to toy with the waistband of his sweatpants. "Want you too," he says, leaning back to shove his boxers and sweatpants off his body impatiently.
You don't think you'll ever really get used to seeing Seungcheol naked. His cock slaps against his stomach incredibly appealingly, smearing pre-cum in its wake. It's hard and red and making you feel very, very empty at the moment.
"As flattered as I am by my lovely wife ogling me, I'd prefer if you got undressed too. My reward and all that," he says sounding annoyingly smug. You resist the urge to roll your eyes as he helps you shuffle off your skirt and tug off your top. However, we you move to tug off the thigh high socks, his hands rest on yours to still them.
"You can keep those on,"
"How very predictable of you, Cheol," you say with a giggle, laying back down as he settles between your thighs once again.
"What can I say? I know what I like. Now, I want you to hold your thighs open for me," he says, the humour vanishing from his tone as he stares down at you and grips his cock in his hand. Sometimes it still gives you whiplash how quickly he's able to be all cute and giggly then look at you like he wants to devour you.
You quickly follow his command. Placing your hands on the backs of your thighs as he runs the head of his cock along your slit, allowing it to get coated in your arousal. You moan every time he brushes against your clit, feeling your hold on your thighs weaken with every teasing brush against you.
Seungcheol isn't having any of it, however and he promptly delivers a harsh spank to the side of your thigh. "Keep your thighs spread for me, baby. I don't want to have to punish you," he coos in mock sympathy, a devious smirk spreading across his face as he watches you gasp and recoil from the spank, fresh arousal gushing out of you.
"Y-Yes, Cheol," you stammer out, readjusting your hold on yourself until your husband was seemingly satisfied. "Good girl," he groans before pushing himself into after what feels like eons. You feel your hold slipping once again as he sinks into you, his cock feeling thick and delightfully familiar inside of you. "So fucking tight," he moans, his hands coming up to replace your own as he watches his cock gradually move in and out of you, completely covered in your juices.
You feel yourself clench and spasm around him, getting used to the feeling of him inside of you. He still thoroughly stretched your insides out all these years later, the slight sting ebbing away to give rise to nothing but, pleasure.
"Cheol, so d-deep," you gasp out when he hooks your legs over his arms and leans forward to capture one of your nipples in his mouth, picking up speed all the while.
"You're always so wet and tight for me. Your pussy takes me so well, baby," he moans against your breast, pushing into you especially hard. "Can't wait to fill you up with my cum."
His words push you closer to the edge than you anticipated, walls gripping him harshly while your fingernails dig almost red crescent moons into his biceps.
"Yes, Cheol. I want it, please. I want you to c-cum inside of me," you whine out, wishing your legs were free so you could wrap them around him to pull him closer to you.
"Yeah? My baby wants me to fill her up like the good, little cumslut she is?" He asks against your ear, his voice low with arousal as the sound of skin slapping against skin rings throughout your bedroom.
You can tell he's close based on how hard he's throbbing inside of you and the sloppiness of his thrusts. His dark locks sticking to his sweaty forehead as he chases his release, the volume of his own sounds of pleasure increasing as well.
"Y-Yes, Cheol. I want you to fill me up, please. I'm your good, little cumslut," you cry out, reaching for one of his hands. Seungcheol seems to understand what you want because he's grasping your hand in his while he moans into the side of your neck, his climax punching him squarely in the gut before he realises it.
Tears spill down your face while he weakly continues to thrust into you, his hips jolting slightly ever so often. You don't think you'll ever tire of the sensation of Seungcheol cumming inside of you. It's still as hot and exhilarating as the first time he did it.
Your second orgasm isn't quite as earthshattering as the first one but, you still arch against him and milk him for the remainder of his cum all the same. He moves from your neck to look down at you in surprise and desire when he feels the telltale signs of your release and, cups your jaw with one hand and presses a heartbreakingly gentle kiss against your lips.
"Have I told you how hot you are lately? Because you're pretty hot," he mutters against your lips, his eyes alight with humour and affection.
"You could stand to mention it more. For what it's worth, I think you're really hot too but, could you let go of my legs? I think I'm losing feeling in them," you half wheeze out.
"Oh shit, sorry," Seungcheol says, moving to untangle your legs from his arms and settling ontop of you comfortably.
Usually you'd complain about his weight on you since your husband was practically all muscle and the sticky feeling between your thighs that was quickly becoming unpleasant but, you didn't want to ruin the fragile tranquility you two currently found yourselves in.
His hands soothingly massaging your thighs while your own ran along his shoulders and back.
"Best Christmas present ever. Solid 10/10,"
"Cheol, we have sex all the time. That doesn't really count as a Christmas present,"
"Well, you don't always dress up when we have sex so, that makes this time special. Plus, it's my gift so I get to decide whether it counts or not,"
"Do you want me to dress up more often?" You ask jokingly.
The way your husband moved his head to look at you probably broke some kind of world record for how quick he was, "Are you being serious?"
"I might consider it," you say in amusement, giggling at the genuine excitement on his face.
Well, New Year's was just around the corner. Perhaps it couldn't hurt.
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thewinchestah · 28 days
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Strawberry Fields (sonhei com campos de morango) - Alastor X Reader fic
Summary: On a dreadful night, Alastor goes to collect one of his contracts. Something goes terribly wrong. He finds you.
Warnings: fem!reader, Human!reader, smut, 18+, period sex, overstimulation, light cannibalism, blood, A LOT OF BLOOD, general creeppiness, Alastor is in hell for a reason, oral sex, alastor kind of hunts reader down, possessive!Alastor
A/N: Soooo!! This was a long time coming but here it is. This idea has been on my mind for a long time now and I wanted to test the waters before i commit to a long fic. I hope you guys like it, i'm kinda on the fence about it. I'm working on the requests and they should be out soon I PROMISEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. Also I got a little carried away, i'm sorry. Hope you guys enjoy it. It's always a pleasure to write for you. The visuals and the title for this fic are heavily inspire by this music video. Not the lyrics tho, i always felt like the singer did a poor job with this concept and i wanted to do it justice.
Taglist: @markster666@jyoongim@stygianoir @pepperycookie@fraspent @aether-th3-enby  @lady-valtieri @karolinda007-blog @jesi-pinkman@polytheatrix If the tags aren’t working or you wanna be tagged, let me know.
You curse when another sharp stone cuts your feet.
You regret it a second later when you hear the ominous sounds that reverberate through the trees. They are closing in on you.
You don’t know how you got here, you just know now you are running for your life inside these woods now. The only guiding light, a full moon that looks weirdly otherworldly.
Adrenaline burns inside your bloodstream, the forest seems devoid of any living thing. It’s only you and whoever is chasing you. You wish you could hear gunshots, you wish you could hear screams. Anything besides the occasional twig snap or wind caressing the pine trees’ leaves. The eerie silence is deafening, and worse: the eerie silence makes you even more aware of your situation. 
It’s incredible how everything gets clearer when you’re about to die.
Maybe you shouldn’t have traveled alone, maybe you shouldn’t have decided to go somewhere where the closest thing to civilization is the village’s old-yet-charming dinner. 
You just wanted a little bit of quiet, a place that made introspection inviting. Next time you should go for a beach vacation.
Next time? why does next time sound so… far away? Somehow your feet carry you away from the forest’s well marked path and deeper into the thick vegetation, hiding behind a large tree. You gained a few minutes on them by taking a detour.
Breathe. Remember to breathe.
Right, your mind remembers. You’re being hunted down like prey in the creepy horror film woods, time to focus on surviving again. You can overthink later.
You assess your options: you can keep going into the woods, a deadly game of hide and seek. Zig-zag through the trees, keep them guessing. There’s a good chance you will find wildlife as you go deeper. This could be a problem, it’s too dark to make anything out, an encounter could cause enough of a distraction, you could take advantage of that. Or you could end up mauled. Plus, you are absolutely positive there are bear traps somewhere. If you're gonna die, make your death less dumb. Quite an embarrassing topic of discussion in the afterlife, saying that you died like horror film pretty girls making dumb decisions that you clearly would never make in a situation like that. You just know they are incredible hunters, you need to take them out of their element, expose them.
So yeah, going deeper isn't an option. 
Something catches your eye, there’s a big opening in the thick vegetation, there’s a clearing ahead and… sparks? You definitely see a light. You were told by the locals how the population is scattered across acres and acres of practically untouched wilderness, there’s also the park’s rangers stationed on specific places that grant them a visual advantage in case of emergencies. A big clearing is perfect for that. Maybe, just maybe there’s hope. 
Of course bolting there will make you terribly exposed, they will know your position all the time, and they can still hunt you hidden by the edge of the trail.  Besides there’s no guarantee of what awaits you when you reach the promised land, they could have a partner waiting, there could be nothing at all there. Taking this risk for nothing sounds worse than being lured into a trap. You just have this gut feeling that’s where you should go. Your brain starts to pick the plan apart, this doesn’t sound good. Hesitation can be fatal. But you are all adrenaline and primal flight intistic - 
The decision was made for you, you start running again. Taking advantage of the final stretch of cover you still have until you hit the trail again, you take several deep breaths. Oxygen needs to keep coming, so you can make decisions, so your limbs can respond quickly. Your peripheral catches something that’s also running. It’s a stag.
He’s also prey. He’s an omen. He’s your cue. 
You leap across some fallen branches and your scratched feet land on the main trial. As soon as you complete your first step you hear movement and hurried voices. They are onto you. “What do we say to the good of death? Not today” you give yourself a pep-talk as you keep running. Maybe thinking this is all fiction will help you survive this, detach yourself from the situation, don’t think about the consequences, just act. 
And like that, you don’t stop running. You sing your abcs to focus and stop spiraling. Evolution is truly amazing, the cuts you suffered don’t hurt anymore, precious shooting adrenaline, adrenaline that makes you tunnel vision towards your objective. By now you know where to step, when to dodge, when to slow down and when to go faster. Millennia of sheer force of survival catching up to you.
breathe, remember to breathe.
You inhale a good chunk of oxygen and look ahead. There’s a man on the edge of the tree line and a few meters left. Your mind wants to sing in victory, but you refrain from that, you know better than that it only ends when it’s over-
You’re positively sprinting towards the man right now, like he is your assured salvation. Something inside you screams louder and louder guiding you to him and you follow the sound. 
You hear gunshots. 
So noooooow they bring out the guns? That’s low. 
But that’s a good thing right? If they are shooting they are getting out of time. A single gunshot can take you down and they can smoothly and swiftly carry you away, like it’s a normal hunt. No one will question shooting something they didn’t see getting shot so deep into these woods. But shooting a girl in front of a witness? that’s for amateurs right? So, the man is not a partner you decide. 
remember to breathe, you are not breathing. 
You are so close now, you see an outstretched hand coming your way only a few more steps
breathe. 
You don’t, instead you leap towards your loosely established finish line and take the hand an-
 Dirt greets your face as you fall face first into the trail,  and you crawl like a zombie that just rose from its grave. You have a collection of new cuts and scrapes now, it hurts and you can’t bite your lip to suppress the pain. Still, you intertwine your fingers with his, your other arm aggressively seeking for leverage, clinging to your flesh lifeline. You blur out a bunch of incoherent things as he effortlessly lifts you up  in one swift motion. 
“Get behind me, my dear.” he asks. He has a weird voice almost like it leaves something in the air that caresses your skin, an inviting voice nonetheless. You hide yourself inside the crook of his arm, giving you the ability to witness just a little bit of the action there’s about to happen. You never let go of his hand. Your prince charming feels awfully cold.
Alastor waits, rather impatiently, for his clients to arrive. Making a deal with a human is his ticket topside and Hell is still terribly boring, even with the hotel. The Radio Demon was no stranger to contracts with humans, they were a win-win situation. Those who seek him always have a taste for the wicked and deranged, so it’s easy to figure out what they want and twist it for his own benefit. When they inevitably die, be it death by old age or death by occupational hazard, Alastor gets useful men from the moment they manifest in Hell. They always know exactly where they are and why, they are not confused sinners, petty crime or moral crime sinners. They are, most times, skilled killers who take no trouble doing Alastor’s bidding. An accomplished killer in life makes an even better prolific hellish soldier, someone who will continue indulging in their desires without the constraints of society, but eternally tied down by Alastor’s constraints. With the right incentive, they can rise in the ranks and become treasured resources for the overlord. Plus, the camaraderie isn’t all bad. Takes one to know one, they say.
However, humans these days are getting careless, sloppy. This entire display is proof of that, they should be over to kill and cover their tracks alone. The basics, for hell’s sake. 
 Alastor only takes care of the details. Tampering with some evidence here, getting a victim on the right place at the right time there. The occasional final encouragement to give into the darkness and finally kill, some advice. A self respecting killer should be able to kill and get away with it without the demon’s aid. He’s there for consulting and making sure there are no loose ends. 
But never this. Having to intervene in the middle of a kill because his client made a very very big mess that screams “you’re getting caught!” is below him. Amateurs are not worth Alastor's time.
The two men approach the tree line, clearly worked up from the hunt and shocked to see him there. If Alastor is withholding a victim, something went very, very wrong.
“Good night my good fellows!” the greeting leaves his lips in an overly-chirpy tone. Is that static in his voice?  Radio static? Is that what’s leaving goosebumps on your skin? The stress and the adrenaline are making you imagine things. You took the “pretend this is all a fantasy and you the main character” too seriously. Because now you are hiding behind Darth Vader’s skirts. That’s impossible, right? right?
“Great.” you can see the sarcasm dripping from one of your aggressors. “You’re here to watch?” the question asked all passive aggressive with an edgy tone. That’s definitely a teenager. What the fuck? you were being chased by a high school kid? This is ridiculous, utterly ridiculous, how can a teen pull this off? And you almost died? What? Your mind starts spirling. 
Alastor ignores the son, is the father he cares about. They’ve known each other for years now, and he’s underperforming to say the least. He waits for the father to address him, it’s his mess after all. The older man gives his son a stern look and finally breaks the silence. 
“Goodnight. We didn’t expect to see you here tonight, to be honest.’”
 The second voice is much older. That doesn’t quiet your thoughts at all. Is this a cult initiation thing? Hunting girls down like they are prey? WHY DID YOU TRAVEL TO THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE IN THE FIRST PLACE??? OF COURSE THERE WOULD BE CULTS HERE, DUUUUH. IF I WAS IN A CULT THIS WOULD BE THE PERFECT PLACE TO HIDE. There are so many voices screaming inside your head now, you are shivering. With anger, anticipation, fear. Your inner monologue overrides your brain and you are not sure you can cope with everything that’s going on. The voices, all the voices, sound wrong. They land weirdly inside your ear and you need to think hard to understand the words, you know how crucial every piece of information is. They could make all the difference when you talk to the police. They could help a conviction when you are on the stand, giving your official statement. You are surviving this. You are going to watch these fuckers get life in prision or worse.  You are surviving this right? There’s so much you haven’t thought through. Whose hand are you holding again? 
“Oh please. Don’t act all coy now, it doesn’t suit you old friend” Alastor is starting to cross the line from nuisance to anger. He twirls his microphone in annoyance, and makes sure to sink it deep into the moist ground. “Let me remind you about the terms of our agreement. For each 2 kills you make, one soul is mine to take. Or am I wrong?”
“No. You aren’t”. The father answers through gritted teeth.  “But I never thought you would want to collec-” Alastor tilts his head, his grin widens and he snaps “Never thought what? That I would claim what I am owed at my leisure? That I would stop waiting patiently for you, acting at your whim? You earned the privilege of killing unbothered by my vigilance. Because you always delivered your side of the bargain with excellence. I can revoke said privilege whenever I want. Especially after this pitiful performance.” The seasoned killer seems to slightly cower at Alastor’s words. Good. He always regarded the demon without fear or trepidation. His work was meticulous, spotless, basically perfect. And that gave him the justifiable confidence for going toe to toe with the Radio Demon during conversations, a bargaining chip during dealings of his contracts. Few could say that. 
You feel nauseous. Reality is crashing down at you hard and fast. How many people have these people killed? They are trading lives like it is the stock market, and yet you can’t let go of your prince charming’s hand. There’s no rational thought to justify it, actually rational thought is also being slaughtered like a sacrificial lamb tonight, because despite the gigantic red flags you are not letting go of this man’s hands. Everything about him screams danger, everything about him screams your safety. He’s the type of paradoxical that messes with your primal senses, that makes a moth go to the lights that will kill it. 
From the crook of his arm you finally gather the courage to open your eyes. You try to look up to your prince charming, but his face is concealed by the shadows of the night. Actually, everything of importance seems to be conveniently hidden from you. Your aggressor’s faces look distorted, recognizable traits melting together like watercolor painted by 100 shades of darkness, voices and words fuse together creating only cacophony. You hear things, you see things, but you can’t discern them. The three men keep going back and forth, but their conversation seems to dissipate into the air. Everything about this feels like a dream. 
Of course you can’t register anything of importance. Alastor makes sure of it. You are a potential victim after all. A liability, capable of making a positive identification. It’s wishful thinking that someone would take your account of what’s happening on this dreadful night seriously.
 Alastor has no shame in using the prejudices of your world to his advantage. If you were to tell, everyone would make the assumption that you are “just another hysterical woman, thinking too much about folktales”. You had too much to drink, partied too hard. Hallucinogens are a common party drug and this is the result of a bad trip. At worst, “someone tried to spike your drink, but nothing happened. You should be thankful, not getting in the way of important police work”. Alastor also knows that injustice is no real crime, and yet he decided to spare you. It doesn’t feel fair for you to perish in such crude ways, a practice run for a post pubescent, obnoxious serial killer in training. A precious thing like you should be honored, savored. In the odd chance that your voice was heard, the Radio Demon  guarantees that no reliable information will come out of your mouth. His clients might be lacking, but in the dealmaking business your words are your worth and Alastor has a silvertongue. Surely that pretty mouth of yours won’t be a problem. 
“I’m afraid I have to insist, my good friend. The pair of you caused enough damage already with these sloppy, impetuous spree killings. Your law enforcement is already on your scent, tracking the pattern and by the looks of it tonight’s mess will send quite a message. A message that I will have to make sure is delivered faultlessly. I will uphold my hand of the bargain, you will uphold yours. The girl will be spared. There’s plenty of prey out there, plus her death would only act as an aggravation, she’s not your type, and trust me, they will know you made a mistake, you will be exposed.” The Radio Demon’s patience is wearing thin. He shouldn’t have to justify his actions to humans. There’s no compromise to be found here, they went to him and the deal is always on his terms. You squeeze his hand really tight during the discussion of your scheduled demise, like a reminder that you are still there. Still afraid. 
 How cute. Alastor thinks. Your adrenaline is starting to wear off, dissipating into the cool forest breeze and opening space for a strong sense of false security, equally as inebriating. The smell of your sweet fear laced blood is unmistakable, assaulting your savior’s nostrils. Your knees buckle, and you struggle to keep yourself on your feet, clinging to prince charming’s hand for dear life. “Breathe darling, you are forgetting to breathe” He turns quickly towards you, his voice impossibly soft, shooting. You try to look up at charming’s face again, the only new discovery made is that he's awfully tall, and his face is still hidden by opaque darkness. You work really hard on breathing normally again, but you want to keep looking. Their faces are a monstrous distortion, vacant eyes that seem to cry blood. Your entire body tingles, you feel weird goosebumps. It takes all of your willpower to keep standing. You won’t lay yourself at their feat, defeated, like the corpse they would drag from these woods. But you just can’t keep looking, so you shut your eyes and grip the hand that has become your lifeline even tighter.
“You won’t even truly use the bitch, she’s no use for you” The entitled brat opens his mouth again. That’s the trigger.
The Radio Demon grows as tall as the native pine trees, his antlers furiously expanding and casting a shadow so dark over the two serial killers that the moon is completely obstructed. The only source of light in the forest now is the burning red dials of his eyes. The father sees the burning inferno of Alastor’s eyes and for the first time he is speechless. Maybe the realization of where destiny is sending him finally happens. The son sees raw, untamed power for the first time in his life and cowers like a scared puppy. Pathetic. 
“Now let’s get something clear here. I’m only tolerating your insolence because of my decade long relationship with your father.” You shut your eyes harder, your eyelids a shield from whatever is about to happen. Foreboding making the forest air too thick for you to breathe. You finally break down and start crying, too fucking much.  Alastor’s face meets the son on eye level. His teeth are bared, static picks up around the group to the point both men are struggling to breathe. A clawed hand traps the father’s face, a trail of blood dripping from the older serial killer’s cheek.“He’s as close to a professional as our kind gets. Shame the same thing can’t be said about you. This juvenile outburst does not make you more feared nor does it assert your dominance. It displays how weak you are, inept to succeed on this because you can’t keep your entitled demeanor in check. You are not owed anything in this lifestyle, if you want something you need to prove you’re worthy of it by taking it yourself. Whining like a petulant child won’t get you anywhere” You feel dizzy, the earth beneath your feet quakes,  whoever, whatever is holding your hand is sheeting with rage so consuming the ground shakes with the intensity of their emotions.
Alastor’s attention is now focused on the father, the red inferno from his eyes making the man feel genuine fear for the first time in his long, violence-filled life.  “Teach your spawn some manners and proper work, otherwise get him out of my sight. This was a courtesy. Fulfillment failings lead to contract termination, and contract termination means a lot of details appearing. You do not wish to make an enemy of me” Alastor delivers his last threat with a snarl. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up at the intensity of his words, you feel a powerful rush of wind, leaves ruffling, hurried steps and suddenly the world is at a standstill. The forest seems devoid of life excluding you, your mysterious prince charming and your two aggressors. All of your senses are assaulted with an overwhelming feeling of wrongness… darkness. Darkness that feels like the most luxurious silky dress on your skin, the most intense look of a passionate lover. It feels dangerously alluring and your will power is being gladly tempted by it. 
You feel like you’ve been holding your breath for hours, the rollercoaster of adrenaline inducing hyperventilation and conscious calming breaths making your brain enter some sort of high. Is that what people felt after a battle in ancient times? Is that what It means to stare death in the face and come out victorious? You don’t understand what you are feeling, but when oxygen finally feels normal again, tall, dark and handsome is escorting you deeper into the woods and you don’t even care.
 You’ve just slayed the dragon with your bare hands. You don’t care. You just want to bask on the feeling. To fucking feel. To remind yourself that you are still alive. 
Alastor is drunk on something that he rarely indulges in. Desire. Pure, raw carnality that makes him antagonize one of his greatests clients. Someone Alastor awaited his inevitable death with anxiety and hopefulness, someone he could actually call more than a partner in crime when in hell. A friend. A friendship born from blood and gore but bathed in kinship and inexplicable understanding of one’s dark nature. And the Radio Demon almost killed the man and his useless spawn and fucked everything up because when he saw your running for your life something ignited inside him. When you squeezed his hand so tightly, with such abandon and trust, like he was an Angel sent from heaven to protect you when reality was the most wicked antonym. 
Alastor spared you because you were prey. Beautiful, delicious prey that defied your destiny by accepting the nature of your condition. You didn’t dare to fight, you didn’t dare to think you could stand a chance against your hunters. You just fled. You fled and was perfectly lured into another trap, you doubled the bet when you held his hand and didn’t let go, serving all of your vulnerability on a silver platter to someone you deep down knew was way worse than any serial killer. 
Prey, that will chew its own leg to get out of a trap. Prey, that will offer herself to the most ungodly creature around if it means she can survive a few more moments, just to spite those who started the chase. Prey, that now holds his hand completely carefree and all giggles while she is led to a much more final and insidious type of slaughter. Prey that he was now going to claim.
Your wounded feet start to land on soft squishy things, a familiar scent invades your nostris. From the scent of sweat, blood and gore now to the scent of juicy, plump strawberries. 
“Hey, are we on a strawberry field?” it’s the first time you addressed him directly. You trail behind him, hurried steps crushing the strawberries on your way. You look up and for the first time you can see open skies. “You don’t need to worry my dear, you are perfectly safe now”
Are you? 
You decide that he doesn’t sound like  Darth Vader anymore, his voice is impossibly staticy, it prickles your skin and it feels like goosebumps that accompany butterflies on your stomach. He sounds like someone you would meet at a ball and have a cinderella moment with. The blanket of stars that illuminates the clearing you ferociously fought for grants you a better vision of his figure: scarlet red, snug tailcoat, perfectly tailored. Long legs and trousers that fit like skinny jeans. He dresses like the lead singer from a classic emo band. You can’t say you are complaining, you always loved the idea of a tall dark and handsome prince charming. 
“So, you have some weird friends don’t you?” you ask him. You can hear him chuckle, it is a very pleasant sound. Suddenly the twirls you, a fucking disney princess’ musical number twirl, and you find yourself in front of very big bed. 
With impeccable white sheets, you mind adds. Must be really hard to maintain white sheets in the middle of a strawberry field. Wait, what is a king size bed doing in the middle of th-
“Ah, I don’t really do friends, more like reluctant colleagues” bootleg brandon urie is the melancholic type, then. 
Alastor finally takes a good look at you when you take your seat on the bed with a contented sigh. You look marvelous. Your hair is messy and wild, your cheeks and neck flushed red from the effort. Your eyes big and pliant, waiting for his answers. You look so human, so deliciously alive. He desperately wants to be the cause of your disarray, to make the blood rush to your face under his materfully wicked touch. To feel your pulse fluttering when he touches your neck. 
You still can’t see all of him though. There’s stars, a big full moon whose light outstretches far, bathing the clearing in ethereal silver. The brightest lights cast the darkest shadows, your savior is always in the shadows.
By now you know he is purposefully hiding his identity from you, but you always liked a game.  Plus you don’t really have anything to lose now, you just want to forget everything that happened to you tonight, you just want to inebriate yourself, and charming really looks like someone who could show you a good time.
Either that or you are having a psychotic break after enduring life threatening stress. 
Anyway, you decide to bite. One possible psychotic murder, funny, charming murderer is better than two lukewarm ones.
“Do you always take random women to a creepy bed  with impeccable white sheets in the middle of the woods or am I just special?” not a chuckle now, a laugh. A beautiful, full laugh. The residual static on your skin making you shiver. 
Alastor completely understands what you are trying to do, and it’s truly hilarious. Your petulance and sarcasm towards him means to an end. You’re so precious, talking to him like this, thinking you could take him at his own game. What a beauty! Seeing you think you are succeeding in this only for him to take that conviction away from you at the last minute is going to be so entertaining. He wants you to dig your own grave, lay yourself at his feet.
He doesn’t indulge you, instead he takes a thick, silky strand of your hair and inhales deeply. You smell like sweet innocence and summer. It makes Alastor euphoric. 
His head tilts down as he smells your hair. You don’t that’s creepy, it looks creepy, it sounds creepy, but you feel reverence in his action. 
And then out of the shadows comes a revelation, you see his horns. You suspected his unhumanity, but the confirmation of it knocks the wind out of you. Your eyes widen, you simply cannot make sense of this night, everything feels too surreal and raw reality at the same time, it’s giving you whiplash.
“Are you the devil?” you ask him without much consideration of the weight of this question. You do your best to keep your voice from failing but it’s impossible. You never dropped his hand, in fact you feel like you are permanently attached to him, like a marble statue. Your fingers open and interlock again and again, reflecting your anxiety, but you don’t let go.
You can’t see it, but Alastor’s grin is as big as a cheshire cat’s.
 “Do you seek the devil?” answering a question with a question. Smoke and mirrors. Alastor waits for you to answer, but you don’t. You don’t know what to answer, you try to contemplate if enganding further could mean eternal damnation, or if you are already damned. Is he going to make you an offer you can’t refuse? an offer you aren’t allowed to refuse? Alastor will blame it on lack of patience, but the fact is he can’t wait anymore to taste you, there’s a burning desire inside him, that only gets more and more ferocious as he tastes the inebriating smell of your fear blessing the air he breathes again. 
He removes your interlocking fingers, his hand quickly trapping your tiny wrist inside. You hear heavy breathing. 
“Or do you seek a taste of the forbidden fruit?” The demon licks the long cut across our open palm. His tongue is sensual and cold, the sensation of it slowly dragging across your wounded skin a soothing balm. You moan, he growls. “Forbidden fruit it is.” he announces, delivered like a sentence. 
You are completely free of his touch for the first time since it all began, but it feels like you just suffered an enormous loss. You feel taunted, like someone just dangled a shiny new thing in front of you and took it away. It’s like your entire being has become tunnel vision and you need to get to the bottom of this, whatever this is. Consequences be damned. 
You watch closely as your paranormal paramour moves towards the bed, he is completely concealed by the darkness. Darkness deep and palpable, he morphs within it. The visuals are beautiful, it looks like one of the art’s greatest masters is painting a watercolor in front of you. Darkness from absence of light floating and mixing with otherworldly opaque darkness, flowing like a river. You wonder if it would run through your fingers like water if you touch it. 
Antlers. He has antlers, not horns. 
The not-devil settles himself behind you, back against the headboard. He quickly maneuvers you onto his lap, grabbing you by the waist. You squeal in surprise as more of him touches you, now pressed flush against his hard chest you feel something you shouldn’t be feeling, nonetheless resistance is futile, you spread your legs giving him more access. He has barely touched you, and yet you are completely surrendered to him. 
Alastor wasn’t joking when he established that a woman like you should be savored, slowly consumed so he can extract everything you have to offer. He knows your mind is exhausting itself trying to discern what is happening, how the body and the spirit get more susceptible to succumb to desire after surviving imminent death, and he intends to take full advantage of it. Alastor wants to see you writhe under his touch, pain and pleasure. He wants to torment you and make you pay for existing near him, for making him careless. For making him indulge in carnality and arousal. But mainly, he wants to punish you, because you battled so hard for your survival against them. When you should fear him. 
The Radio Demon touches your neck, exactly where your pulse is, where he can feel your beating heart, full of life pulsing. Life that taunts him and seduces him. The thump thump thump of your heart beneath his fingers like a moth going directly to the light that will kill it. He holds your entire life, your entire existence under his clawed finger, it makes him delirious. 
You feel a sharp sting on your neck, fangs that break your skin and spill your blood, red and ready for his taking. Holding your breath while he sucks the life out of you, your head swims,  and you drown on the feelings. You feel pleasure, forbidden pleasure from having something hurting and feasting on you. 
“If you are not the devil, are you a vampire?” It might be a dumb question, but it’s the logical one. Sometimes the obvious needs to be said.  He laughs again, a full deep laugh,mockery dripping from it.
“Why? If I were a vampire would it make you feel better about spilling your blood for me?” he dodges the question again. Bait and switch. He’s feeding on you and you are enjoying it.. You don’t know what he is, you don’t know his name. It only spurs the burning desire in the pit on your stomach.
Alastor licks the entire length of your neck, his other hand applying light pressure on your pulse point. He bites down on you again, harder, going deeper. You roll your eyes and moan obscenely  as he sucks on it. This is going to leave a mark for sure, but you don’t care, because whatever he’s doing to you feels delirious, it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt. 
Your blood is dripping from Alastor’s lips, he licks it not wanting to waste a drop. He can taste your eagerness, your fear, your essence, your soul. The red liquid is solid proof of how alive and defenseless you are, completely at his mercy. You keep moaning and melting on his lap at his ministrations, a finger starts tracing your arm, feather light touch that leaves you shivering in anticipation. 
He’s gently scratching, teasingly. It’s a claw, you realize. Another part of his unhumanity making you scared and deliciously trembling in anticipation. It’s Alastor’s turn to moan now, his clawed finger comes to torment your clothed nipple, he makes sure to do it tantalizing slow to give you just a taste of what it could be. He wants to hear you ask for it, beg even.
 “I’m afraid I’m way worse than the Devil, little doe” his low, threatening tone makes you close your legs together and rub, desperately seeking friction, some relief. 
“Re–really? You don’t sound that bad” A lie. You just want to say something back.
Your paramour laughs again, he takes your hand in his and starts making his way downwards. 
“How precious are you, lying like that to me” He stops both of your hands on your lower belly, threatening to cross the point of no return. You squeal and struggle on a desperate attempt to raise your hips and get something more, anything.
Delighted in seeing you writhe this badly when he has not even properly touched you, Alastor squeezes your neck tighter, inflicting just enough pain and pressure to make you sing. The Radio Demon finally makes the decision and drops any pretense of moderation, hastily dropping the band of your panties and guiding your joined hands to your slit. “I can taste the fear in your blood, how your sense of pleasure has been forever skewed”.
The two digits tease your entrance that is coated with arousal and something more, his touch is masterful, like he knows the ways of the human body the same way a talented musician knows their way around an instrument. He makes you moan, he makes you sing with only the possibility of his actions. The idea of being taken by something unholy. 
At last, Alastor finally enters your  tight wet pussy, his finger guides yours as he undoes you in ways that should not be allowed. He pumps your cunt mercilessly, gone are the careful, calculated touches, he wants to make you crash and burn as quick as possible, he wants to make you understand that you crossed the most important line of your life. There’s no going back now, your pretty mortal body is forever tainted by unholiness, by his darkness. 
“You spread yourself like this for me, a wanton little thing while I choke and feast on your blood”. Alastor curls the fingers inside you repeatedly making you move your hips in the maniac rhythm he has set. You ride your joined digits, moaning like a whore while your lover’s grip on your throat tightens and releases making your brain short circuits in pure unknown carnal feeling. “You are not the demure, feisty thing like you desperately tried to prove earlier. It only takes the slight touch of something forbidden to make you moan like a common whore” he adds another one of his huge fingers and starts scissoring inside you, the combination of two of his digits and your little one only adds insult to injury. You will never be able to replicate these ministrations, the feeling of being this full and stretched, you had a taste of the forbidden fruit, you are high on it and you will never get another hit on your own. 
Alastor alternates between choking you and curling the fingers inside you, your lightheadedness combined with the assaulting pleasure making you feel feverishly delirious. Your body is hot from desire and adrenaline combined, a starking contrast to your mysterious lover’s touch, ice cold. The two of you distinct seasons, distinct stages of existence mixing together, life and death tethering each other, blurring the lines of worlds that shouldn’t exist together. 
Orgasm building quickly, you grip the white sheets tighter and tighter and tighter but your fingers feel wet, you look down to see a mess of redness leaking from your core. 
Oh fuck, you are on your period. You completely forgot about it. In normal circumstances you would feel mortified about being fingered like this while bleeding, but right now it makes things even more erotic, you’ve learned that your lover may not be a vampire, but he definitely has a thing for blood and something inside you ignites at the idea of letting him feast on your blood, eat you out while you bleed for him. 
Your pussy flutters with the fantasy of that tongue working your pussy and with a particularly harsh pinch on your clit you are off. Waves of pleasure spread across your entire body like wildfire, he chokes you merciless making the urge to scream to the universe how fucking good you feel impossible. You want to scream his name, but you don’t know who he is, what he is. You just want more.  
While you ride the waves of your orgasm unbothered Alastor takes the opportunity to take fingers from your pussy to his mouth, red with blood and slick with arousal, he moans audibly as he tastes you, the most intimate parts of you. Only a little bit of it inebriates him, this is better than 70% of what he does in Hell. This feels better than closing a new deal, watching the princess of Hell fail miserably at rehabilitating sinners. You taste so sweet, so alive and afraid. He’s hard with the conviction of how scared you are, of how he has permanently tainted something so innocent and pure. How you stupidly threw yourself to his mercy. Perishing at the hand of those serial killers is more merciful than him. And now you will know. 
You must have babbled something while you came, about wanting to scream his name and not knowing it, because now you find yourself completely lying down, the bed feels soft like a cloud and you are sprawled like an angel, and he finally reveals something about him of his own volition.
“The name is Alastor, my dear. It has definitely been a pleasure meeting you.” Alastor, now you know, settles himself between your thighs and the pooling redness from your core. You feel him running his claws across the impossibly soft flesh of your inner thighs, you cover your face with your arm.
“Alastor I’ve never… No one has ever…” you trail off, you shouldn’t be embarrassed at this point, but nevertheless you feel your cheeks burning. Is he really going to eat your bloody pussy? fuck.
Alastor’s name on your lips sounds so soft, so pure. He wants to ruin it. He wants to destroy the careful constructed cognitive dissonance that makes you feel safe and comfortable around him. He wants you to be completely afraid and craving being scared of him, disrupting your sense of pleasure so he can ruin you completely, getting you hooked on him and delirious for more, willing to do anything for another taste of the forbidden fruit.
So, he makes you look.
“Look at me” you don’t want to. You feel a lot of things right now, but mainly you feel as if you really take a look at your dark lover tragedy is going to happen. Eros and psyche all over again, but bloodier. 
He claws your thighs, you hiss at the delicious pain, but still disobey him. 
“Look. At. Me” he snarls, definitely a threat. You feel yourself getting wetter. 
Alastor slaps your ass, hard. He’s losing patience, his temper turning quick at the realization that you not knowing who he is isn’t a perfect plan.
You moan from the pain, from the sting. It feels wickedly erotic. You almost want him to hit you again. Since when pain felt so fucking good?
So you do, you finally look at him. 
Red. The first thing that your brain fixates on is how much red there is. Scarlet red hair, red blood running down your core and staining the white sheets. Red claws that pierce your skin. 
Red eyes. Burning red eyes that entrap you. It’s like you can see the blazing fire that tortures the damned inside those eyes. 
If this is why people fall from grace, you totally understand the appeal now.
The second thing, the thing that makes you transfixed at the sight of him is how wrong he looks. His antlers are beautiful, growing from his scarlet hair beautifully adorning ears that look extremely soft, non-threatening, like a crown. His eyes are big and sharp, close together 
while he stares at your soul, eyes of a predator in the middle of softness of prey. His grin is completely predatory, dangerous, sharp teeth that hurt and maul, but at the same time bite you just the right way to make you moan in raw carnality. The skin is pale, not in a michael-jackson-thriller-way but in an ethereal way. His voice is static that seems to tickle your skin, sometimes more than others. He’s paradoxical, everything you should be afraid of and the comfort you should seek at the same time. A force you shouldn’t meddle with. Primal and raw. 
You may not know what exactly he is, but one thing is certain: he’s dangerously alluring, and you completely fell into his trap. But it hardly matters anymore, because he is about to drink blood from your pussy with that marvelous silvertongue of his.
“Fucking beautiful” you blur out, not realising he’s going to hear you.
One of Alastor’s eyebrows shoots up. He’s not regarded as beautiful often. Alluring, maybe. 
He wants to make you pay for all the soft ideas you have about him.
You soon learn how hard it is to hold the gaze of your lover’s eyes, his burning red irises entrap you. It's impossible to look away but overwhelming to stare into. 
“If all the mortal men you’ve been with are weak and pathetic enough to decline the dark gift of your bleeding cunt, then I’m honored to be your first” and without much more warning you feel a delicious cold tongue licking your entrance and you are off
 Alastor isn’t eating you out, he’s feasting on you like you are his last chance of salvation. His face is completely buried deep in between your legs as his tongue assaults you at a merciless pace. He makes sure not to waste a drop of anything your gushing pussy gives him. His tongue enters you and the contrast between your tight heat and his coldness makes you delirious. Exquisite carnal pleasure, you could cum from it alone.
Alastor is having a hard time navigating this double edged knife: you don’t know who he is what is capable of, which means your aren’t near as scared of being this vulnerable with him as you should be, a literal cannibal delighting in your soft flesh, drinking the warmth of your sacred blood. You must taste delicious terrified. But the silver lining is that the fear he inspires would make any woman who knows more compliant to this, even offering this to him freely. You have no idea about his exploits, he can and he will tarnish you with all of his unholy darkness, wrecking your world during the eleventh hour when you realize what you’ve done, who you’ve so easily corrupted your morals and your spirit for. You’re so beautiful, so naive, so trusting, so alive. You moan “Alastor, Alastor, Alastor” soft ohhhs and aaaahs as he polishes your cunt, every sound you make, every twitch of your legs and roll of your lips reminding your ungodly lover of how delicate and rare you are, aiding him on his mission. Gripping the sheets isn’t enough anymore, you instinctively place your hands on his antlers, the texture indescribable. Again, the contradiction of the softness of his velvet and the sharpness of his teeth, wickedness of his tongue giving you whiplash. You start rubbing them furiously, trying to mirror his ministries on your swollen folds. It definitely is doing something to him because he drags his teeth along your inner tie, breaking more skin, drawing more blood, hissing. You scream at the heavenly pain mixed with unholy pleasure.
Normally, Alastor wouldn’t let anyone near his antlers, arguably the most sensitive part of his body. If worked right, the sensations take him to another level of desire, insane carnality. But you taste so sweet, rich blood mixed with erotic arousal on a soft flesh platter, he consumes your innocence as he coaxes another orgasm from you. You hold on to dear life on his antlers, his velvet shedding and bloodying your hands, running through adding to the painting of reds that connects you two. Something ignites on you and it’s the most intense orgasm of your life, you feel every nerve burning from everlasting fire, that transforms and transforms until it explodes in a supernova. You don’t have the strength to scream, so you whisper Alastor’s name like a filthy prayer. 
He looks up grinning like a devil. Something makes you open your eyes as you ride out the waves of pleasure. There’s so much blood, blood dripping from his lips, blood on his nose, blood cascading down his bewitching face mixing in a flowing current of red, it ends in a glistening red pool where you meet each other in immoral sin, so inviting you could jump in. It’s like what would happen if the killers had caught you, but twisted into wicked, ungodly pleasure, it’s almost worse. Because well, if you’re killed you’d be dead and would never have experienced this, but now you have and the ephemerality of this night crashes on you and you feel conned, betrayed. 
 He licks his lips and stares right at you, a doe caught in the headlights of his eyes, you almost cum again. 
Alastor feels delirious from the bloody mess in front of him, carnality so powerful it makes him insane, he needs to finish this. He needs to sink his cook deep into your slick cunt. Pushing himself up, he starts to position his cock on your entrance. He’s so tall, the shadows of his bloodied antlers cover you and hide the welcoming silver lighting of the moon. The stars look so different today, and the welcoming sight of a full moon looks merciless, devoid of warmth and hope.
“Women like you are not meant for mortal men. They cannot honor you, they cannot savor you, they cannot satisfy you. Once you take a bite of the forbidden fruit you understand your place. Pliant and submissive beneath me. To be ravished and tamed by something beyond puny mortality. You are made to me fucked, to be owned by the better man who defied destiny and transcended what the hands of fate enforced on him. You are Helen of Troy, tailor made to fit my cock, satisfy my thirst”
He teases your entrance with just the tip, making you greedly roll your hips towards him, a primal response to the ravishing words. Alastor laughs mockling at you attempt of getting him to fuck you on your terms, your time. You may not be aware of everything but by now you know you can’t outfox and fox on his own game. 
“please. please. PLEASE” you scream the last word, you can’t take it anymore. A second without him touching your body feels like an eternity. 
“Tsk. You look so pretty when you beg” the condescending compliment lands like music on your ears and he finally enters you. Inch after inch he spreads your tight walls open, practically breaking you. You understand now why people in times before yours had sex after battle. It’s the most rare and coveted feeling in existence, to greet imminent death, escape her fatal calling and then do the thing that undoubtedly proves you are alive. Only to meet her again at the finish line of carnal sensations and no rational thought. Primal need to feel, to live.
Alastor finally bottoms out with an animalistic growl, making your shiver under him. He fucks you at a merciless pace, he fucks you with haste, with urgency and abandon. He knows what he needs and he is going to take it. 
“Hoooooly FUCK Alastor” you scream. 
“There’s nothing holy here. Everything that’s holy has abandoned you. There’s only me, your wicked god who has you completely at his mercy, to fuck, to break” he takes it all out and enters you at once. You try so bad to look at him, to hold his piercing gaze with adamantine conviction but you can’t. It’s too much, overstimulation creeps on you and everything hurts. You shut your eyes. 
“Look at me. Fucking look at me or I will stop” it’s not an order, it’s a threat. You should be scared, you feel scared, but tonight fear is diesel to your desire, and the pain makes you enter a mind numbing stage. The lines of torture and relief blurring together until you can’t discern a thing, you feel. 
You do as you’re told. You look at him as he fucks you, thrusting like a mad man, obscene sounds reverberating throughout, you are being so loud you are sure they can hear you back on the village. The village, your cabin. You had a life before tonight. Will there be life after tonight?
You don’t have time to have an existential crisis because what Alastor does next gets your undivided attention. 
“You will look at the demon who is ruining you, fucking you. You are no immaculate maiden anymore. You are a common whore for the Radio Demon” your eyes widen at the revelation. He is not a vampire, he’s not the devil. The fact that he is a demon and not satan makes you even more mortified, like you’ve settled for less. Just a little demon is what it takes to completely undo you. 
Alastor keeps thrusting at a breakneck pace, feeling vindicated. He did exactly what he said he would do, he took the last fiber of comfort, of dignity away from you. He can see your  entire world shattering on your beautiful doe eyes, making you finally feel the right amount of horror on the edge of a rapturous orgasm. 
You feel true terror now, there was still a slimmer hope that he wasn’ evil incarnated, that he had a redeeming quality. After all, he saved you. Didn’t he save you? Or did you start something you are not even close to understanding? You feel terrified because there’s a demon fucking you, biting you, feasting on your blood and you fucking love it, you want it every night. You really took a bite from the forbidden fruit and ruined yourself.
“It’s too much, Alastor I can’t” the words leave your lips and feel like confession, like somehow if you admit your complete surrender it will absolve you of something.
“Too. Bad.” Alastor punctuates his point with delicious sharp trust after each word. He finally tainted you with his darkness and made you aware of it. He feels delirious, he feels like victory incarnated. Your moans grow louder and louder, now pleasure means pain, hell means rapture. Things that should not exist together making you feel the best you have ever felt. Tears spill from your eyes, the overstimulation something you’ve never felt before, mind numbing and life-altering.
In an act of paradoxical mercy, your demon lover rubs your clit and you’re out like a light. Your walls tighten around Alastor’s cock, and white hot pain, blinding red pleasure overcomes you. You feel like falling, you feel your literal fall from grace as your body tingles and burns with ineffable, forbidden pleasure. Alastor howls and cums inside you. 
You land on silky, comfortable, alluring darkness. 
-
The cool forest breeze greets your abused skin, it stings but feels soothing at the same time. Paradoxical, like everything from this night. Alastor holds you tight, cradling your head on his chest, petting your hair. He draws lazy circles on your hip bone, featherlight touch, careful and coy. You turn on your side to face him.
“Can you see it now? It’s beautiful, he’s so beautiful” your mind asks you. You agree.
You start giggling, laughing. It is also so funny.
“What’s so funny, little doe?” Alastor asks you, genuinely amused. He feels elated from this night. He feels satiated, contented. It’s a very rare feeling for him. 
“For a while I seriously considered you are an alien” you tell him, you can’t contain your laughter now. You are so silly. Alastor’s eyebrow shoots up, quizzical. He chuckles and indulges you. “Alien, is so mundane. You could never be an Alien, it’s way too easy”. What your giddy minds means is that now you know Alastor is anything but easy, actually there’s nothing like him. He’s something else. Something entirely different, a delicious mystery that creeps inside your heart, haunts you forever. 
You stop laughing when realization hits you.
“Will I ever see you again, Alastor?” you ask him, your voice failing, nothing more than a whisper. You feel the ephemerality of this night, you feel daylight closing, ruthless sun rising that ends this everlasting dream. 
Alastor stares deeply into your eyes, he sees your wanton desire, your trepidant expectations. “That depends entirely on you, my dear doe. It’s time to make a decision.” his voice is so soft it fucking hurts. 
You look at the fading moon on the horizon, the distant stars judge you, the earliest of birds sing for you. 
Yet from those starts, no light but rather, darkness visible.
-
You open your eyes, you feel impossibly rested. Your bed feels soft and you want to visit dreamland again, but the noise stops you.
Songbirds and blazing sirens mix together a cacophony of urgency. You get up fast, trying to remember little bits and pieces of the crazy dream you had and run to the big window across the room. 
You look down, you see ambulances, police cars, lab coats and tall guys in FBI jackets.
Something definitely happened here last night.
 That explains it then, the nature of your murderous dreams. The sirens creeped their way into your subconscious making that murderous, dreadful dream. You take a quick look and your hands and see nothing. Perfect, unblemished skin. 
It felt so real. Strawberry fields and blood. 
Your neighbor from across the street gestures manically at you from her window. 
Fuck, it must have been really bad. There’s a lot of people at your doorstep. 
Hurrying to put your robe on, you fly down the stairs towards the bustling crowd outside. 
You are dying to know what happened. You were always a vivid dreamer.
You reach the hall and open the door, a polite officer starts talking to you.
You don’t notice the old radio on your vanity, or the opaque darkness that followed you from the corner of your room to the world outside.
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maraudersmyloves · 6 months
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Hi, I love your writing and I was wondering if you could maybe write about bada and reader being secretly married and reader is apart of Bebe and just how they would be on swf2? Maybe even if reader has a small injury while preparing for the K-pop mission?
Thank you in advance if you choose to write this 🩵
thank you for this lovely request i hope you like it<33
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆。゚. ───
pairing: Bada Lee x Reader
Warnings: my Bad English, twisted foot, unedited, a bit angsty
Word count: ca. 900
Disclaimer: Everything on this Blog is fiction!!!
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆。゚. ───
PS: I changed some stuff: In this, you don't get to choose the song you have to freestyle too.
Being on Street Woman Fighter has proven to be more difficult than you thought and not for the reason you expected.
You were nervous about battling for the first time but Bada helped you train to freestylie a bit. And kissed you a lot trying to help you train to freestyle, but still, it helped you calm down.
Until now.
Bada is massaging your shoulders and shaking you around, “you’ve got this. You’re the most talented person here.” She gives you an encouraging smile, her eyes flicker down to your lips for just a second. You turn away quickly to make sure you don’t lean in to kiss her.
It feels unnatural to deny her a kiss in a non-joking manner. 
You’re facing Downy when Love Shot by Exo starts playing, it’s a fairly easy and slow song the problem is going to be changing up your moves enough and that on the spot. 
As soon as you start dancing you stop thinking, you’re just feeling.
When the music stops you have no idea if you did well the only thing you hear is Bada screaming and cheering making you smile incredibly hard.
All three judges vote for you.
Obviously battling isn’t what you should’ve been worrying about.
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆。゚. ───
The problem is how little one-on-one time you get with Bada. On the breaks, the most you get is a quick kiss in the bathroom. No long talking or cuddling, mostly you’re not talking at all.
Before going on you two agreed to keep contact to a minimum since recently more people started believing you guys are more than just “Group Members and Roommates.” You are. Obviously. But they can’t know you two are happily married. No one can. 
When you get home you’re too tired and grumpy to even talk, just falling into bed while Bada is still thriving on the adrenaline, walking around and dancing at night. That however causes her to be grumpy in the morning after not getting enough sleep. The only time you are both feeling great cameras are on you. It’s truly tiring.
But you’re pushing through and it can be so much fun, hanging out with your friends all day every day is a good distraction but it can’t soothe the ache in your heart every time you have to deny yourself simple, domestic, affection with your wife.
You’re all tense as Bada gets more annoyed the more the group fucks up. Usually, you would easily go up to her and calm her down but you’re unsure of how much you can do on camera. You make a fist to stop yourself from reaching out every time she gets that one annoyed look in her eye. She does it again and you decide to speak up. “Bada?”
She only replied with a hum. You sigh stepping closer, “Maybe we should take a break after the next one, yeah?” Bada doesn’t look at you as she shakes her head slightly and whispers “Practice makes perfect,” before turning around smiling. She claps once. “Okay guys, let’s try this again!”
You smile back weakly and get into your position. Everything is going surprisingly well, you have some mistakes but all in all, it goes well.
Tatter has to do the stunt now, she trips up at the landing and bumps into you causing you to twist your foot weirdly when you’re catching yourself. You let out a cry at the sting of pain shooting through your foot. You hear gasps around you. Someone is wrapping their Arms around you to help you stand. You put your foot down out of reflex and wince.
Your eyes are closed and you yelp as you get picked up bridal style. You open your eyes to look at Bada who quickly goes to the couch in the back of the room and lays you down. She kneels next to you and gently takes your face in her hands, seemingly looking for injuries.
“Are you okay? Does it hurt a lot? Y/N?” She looks so worried, her eyebrows furrowed and her mouth turned down. You chuckle, “I'm fine Bada, don’t worry.” She sighs, letting her arms fall, and laying her head on your stomach. “No you’re not, I overworked everyone and ended up hurting you.”
You sit up and brush through Bada’s hair. “You didn’t hurt anybody, I slipped. It happens. It barely hurts anymore!”
Bada looks up, her chin still lying on your stomach, smiling slightly, her eyes a bit watery, “promise?”
You nod smiling back.
Bada stands up and turns to the group “How about we stop for today.”
The others exhale and some slightly laugh at their whipped leader. As Lusher and Tatter walk out of the room and pass Bada they coo at her and in the back Minah pretends to faint into Sowoen's arms, “Oh Y/N I would do anything for you!”
You giggle and Bada playfully glares at you, it’s so comfortable that all the stress of the past weeks flows right out of you. You stand up with very little pain and tug at Bada’s arm “Let’s get home.” She pulls you against her and kisses the top of your head, giggling without real reason.
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆。゚. ───
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hiii, I'm new to your blog and I love the way you write!!
could we have something with wade wilson/deadpool ? thank you in advance 💗💗
Taco Tuesdays
Wade Wilson x plus size reader
Tuesdays are date nights in the Wilson household and nothing is going to get in the way of Wade and his Mexican food and his woman.
Warnings: Wade Wilson, violence, implied smut, swearing
WC: 894
Minors DNI
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Tonight the music seems so loud
I wish that we could lose this crowd
Maybe it's better this way
We'd hurt each other with the things we'd want to say
Rang out through the cavernous warehouse. “Wait! Wait! Wait! Timeout!” The goons tied up in chairs around the red-clad man went silent, giving each other almost disbelieving looks. His gloved hand flew into the crotch of his weirdly tight pants and started rooting around.
“Where is it? C’mon you slippery bitch. Ah hah!” A beat up flip phone was pulled out, still ringing. “Helloooo~” He answered, pressing the cheap phone tightly to where his ear was located under the red latex. “Hi Wade! Are we still on for dinner tonight?”
“Oh my darling baby girl!” He cooed into the phone, absentmindedly twirling his katana around, the sharp tip getting dangerously close to the eyes of the man restrained closest to him. He heard you giggle through the phone bashfully, still not used to his overwhelming amount of pet names for you. “Of course we’re still having dinner tonight! When have I ever refused your deliciousness?”
“Wade.” You hissed, obviously getting flustered. His lips curled up in a devious smirk that no one could see. “What, everyone should know that my girl has the most delicious, delectable, most incredible little pus-“ 
“Wade!” But he just laughed at your screech, quite pleased with himself. He could practically see you curled in that oversized sweater that you were obsessed with, burying your head in the fabric, trying to hide your face like you always did when you were embarrassed. “You can’t say that!” 
“Of course I can! It’s true!” His blade twirled around his head as he spun around. The various men he had detained each flinched away, trying to get as far away from the deadly weapon as possible. But given how tight they were tied down, they could only crane their necks back a few inches. 
“But it’s not polite!” You insisted, your voice going up in pitch the way it always did when you were annoyed at him. 
“Can you just kill us now?” One of the goons muttered under his breath. Wade’s head whipped around so quickly he almost snapped his neck. “What the fuck did you just say?” The man opened his mouth to respond but Deadpool interrupted him. “No no, I wasn’t asking you to repeat yourself, I was just giving you time to realise how badly you fucked up.”
The katana came to rest on the man’s chest, the tip digging into the soft spot at the base of his neck. “You will die, but I’m about to make it veeeery slow like when I make sweet sweet love to my lady bird.” An indignant splutter came from his phone’s speakers, reminding Wade that said lady bird was still listening in.
“I’m going to hang up now, my precious little gremlin. I’ll be home soon to eat some tacos and then your taco.” He made some kissy noises into the phone and hung up before you could chastise him again. “Now, let’s get started.”
——————
Just as you set the last plate of taco fixings on the table, your front door burst open like it always did when Wade came home (except for the times when he came through the window, or once when he blew up a wall). “Honey! I’m home!”
His suit was a slightly more rusty red than when he left this morning, obviously caked in blood that you would have to rinse off later. There were a couple rips from where he had been injured but thankfully not many today. “Hi Wade.” You replied, still somewhat bashful. 
You could tell he was frowning under his mask. “Now why are you so embarrassed?” He wrapped you up tightly in his arms, your own curling around the back of his neck. Your fingers found the smooth edge of his mask where it met the back of his suit and you gently yanked up. He let you pull the rough material from his head, exposing his face to you.
“Don’t talk about our sex lives in front of other people.” He scoffed at your firm tone and leaned forward so he could nuzzle the tip of his nose against your own.
“It wasn’t like they were going to live to tell anyone else.” You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway. His hands quickly slipped from your lower back to your ass, giving the plump cheeks a firm squeeze.
“I’ve changed my mind, I want your enchilada first.” As his fingers slipped lower, making a b-line for the apex of your thighs, you laughed shyly, wiggling in his hold.
“But I made tacos not enchiladas.” His face fit into the juncture of your neck and shoulders, delicately nipping at your soft skin.
“They’re both the same coming out, hot lips.” You groaned at his crassness but a moan quickly slipped from your lips as he gave a particularly hard bite to your pulse point. “Let’s go to bed.” He pulled you back with him, guiding both of you to the cheap, unmade bed.
“Hey hannibals-favourite-meal?”
*Yes Wade?*
“Fade to black please.”
*But-*
“Don’t think a computer screen will stop me from coming after you for looking at me and my girl doing some fun patootie.”
*Sigh, fine.*
“Thank you.” 
The End.
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jedifarmerr · 10 months
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Chapter 6
Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader/OFC (no y/n or physical descriptions)
Rating: E (18+ blog)
Word Count: over 4k
Chapter Warnings: language, smut, very very light dom/sub undertones, pregnancy, anxiety, nightmares, discussions of parent death. (let me know if I missed anything)
Series Masterlist
Javier watched her eyes light up as she walked into the nursery. Her hand slid across the smooth white wood, clearly surprised to come home to this. She had only been gone a couple hours. Prenatal yoga, dinner afterwards with some ladies in the same class. 
All the while, Javier’s Saturday night was spent hunched over vague directions. His knees ached. He’d squinted so much that it made his crow’s feet hurt. Clearly, the print was made with someone a decade younger than him in mind. 
Instead of a regular standard crib, she had wanted something different – complicated. Circular cribs. He’d gotten tangled up in a flowy dual of sheer canopies. She’d thought they would be whimsical, fitting the theme: sweet dreams. 
“Javi. I told you I would help.” 
Javier rolled his eyes at her. Even if both his arms were broken, he would never let that happen.
At seven months pregnant, she was already uncomfortable enough without sitting on the hard ground for hours.
“I wanted to do it,” he assured her. Javier was never someone that liked to be bone-idle. For him, he needed to feel like he was actually doing something. This felt like the only way he could contribute. 
They had moved in a month ago, and really this was the only room left to finish. So, he’d personally taken it on as his own project. 
Last weekend, he painted over the custard yellow. A sage-y color; Granite Grey according to Benjamin Moore. Joe and him had lugged the changing table and dresser up the stairs. Luckily, those came practically assembled. Now, it was down to the little details. 
Coming up behind her, Javier grasped her by the arc of her hips and pulled her flat against his chest. It was the only position that allowed him to get this close to her anymore. 
He sighed as he nuzzled his nose into her neck, and inhaled. “Smell good,” he groaned. 
“There’s no way. I’m all sweaty,” she protested, but that didn’t matter when he liked all her smells. 
“So? I am too.” He kissed the nape of her neck then licked his lips. Salty. God – something was wrong with him. 
His hands roamed across her belly as he perched his chin on her shoulder. Her belly button poked out from her shirt. Her beach-ball stomach was firm and swollen. He was weirdly obsessed with it. Slightly possessive about it. 
His. His. His. Swirling around his mind.
“How’re they doing today?” 
The babies responded to him with little kicks against his palm. Javier wouldn’t pretend to know the logistics of what was going on in there, but he liked to think somehow, someway they could recognize him. They always reacted to his voice. That couldn’t be purely coincidental. 
Soon, the tiny kicks became a strong double wriggle. She winced at a particularly forceful one. Despite his primal instinct to hold on, he gave her space and let her go.
Still, his gaze stayed latched onto her. It seemed to be her shoulders, down to her lower back that was bothering her. 
“Anything I can do?” He asked, wiggling his fingers into a loose fist at his side. 
“Become a seahorse.” Her voice sounded like it came out of a clogged up pipe. She shut her eyes and paced around the room, working herself through the discomfort. Her yoga class had taught her helpful breathing techniques, calming exercises for times like this. 
The tension drained from Javier’s shoulder when it finally seemed to pass. 
“They’ve been really active today,” she explained, and Javier didn’t argue with her. If it was anything serious, he hoped she would tell him. She waddled to the door. “Have you eaten?” 
He shrugged noncommittally. “I had a little something.”
Somehow she seemed to know that was code for a handful of chips around 6. She clicked her tongue at him. “Well, it’s a good thing I brought you back something then.” 
A traitorous growl tore through his stomach. Theresa’s was some of the best Mexican food in Austin. It reminded him of his favorite spot in central Laredo. A hole-in-the-wall with top-tier mole. 
“You’re too good to me,” he cooed at her, and she scoffed. 
“You’re one to talk.” She swirled her finger around the room. “Now, go eat. I’ll be down after I shower.” 
Javier did as he was told. Inside the styrofoam box was his order exactly how he liked it. She’d even remembered an extra thing of sauce on the side. 
After scarfing down his food, they curled up on the couch and watched reruns of America’s Funniest Home Videos for the rest of night. 
Showering before bed, Javier scrubbed a towel through his damp hair. “What’re you reading there?” He asked. 
She showed off a bubblegum pink cover. The Ultimate Baby Name Book. Surprise, surprise. That seemed to be all she read nowadays. 
Javier threw his towel in the hamper, turned on his bedside lamp, then joined her on top of the covers. 
She tapped on the page. “What do you think of Eva?” 
Eva Peña. He shrugged. Not too bad. 
“Yeah. If you like it.” 
That must have been the wrong answer since she clasped the book shut, her hands stacked over the cover. “Your opinion matters just as much as mine,” she reminded him. 
“Does it?” He asked, but she didn’t laugh. Her expression cinched, and he supposed it was best to agree with her. “Alright. Eva’s fine, but let’s hear another.” 
She licked her thumb and flipped through the book. Each page was marked up. Names he must’ve blown off were crossed out, very few were highlighted, even less of them starred. 
“Okay. Gabriela?” 
“No.” Fuck no. 
“Good. Definitive. I like that. What about….Mia?” 
Javier hesitated, and made a low, drawn out thinking noise. “I knew a lot of Mia’s growing up.” 
“I get that,” she said, and her face suddenly contorted into a tight grimace.
Every muscle in his body went rigid, until he realized it was her shoulders – again. He'd caught her messing with them all night. He wouldn’t let her suffer any longer. 
He didn’t give her a choice, and plucked the book from her, throwing it on the nightstand. Once the pillows were adjusted, his legs spread out, he patted the space between his thighs. 
“Come here.” 
She usually would put up a tiny fight – assure him she was fine. But not tonight. She simply crawled over without a word. 
His hands scooped underneath the flimsy straps of her nightgown, and immediately set to work. Slow and steady. With the flat of his palm, he started chiseling away at the tension in her shoulders. She let out a low sound of relief, her head drooped forward like an over-loved stuffed animal. 
“Oh, right there,” she moaned when he hit a particularly sensitive spot between her shoulder blades. 
Laser-focused, his thumbs kneaded at the tight band of muscle, drawing little noises and sweet little whimpers. Each one burned hotter in the pit of his belly. 
“Let me get your lower back. Lean forward a little for me, baby.” 
He didn’t expect his cock to twitch when she let him guide her into position. His hand on the center of her back ran along the curve of her spine, admiring the shiny satin that stuck to her skin like spilled sangria. Pliant. So soft. If he wasn’t careful it could easily go to his head – both heads. 
Her lower back was especially aggravated. A web of knots had spun themselves around her tailbone that even the tiniest bit of pressure made her pretty lips part, panting.
Her breath hitched, tensed as he began to uncoil one embedded deep underneath the surface.  
“Relax. Let me take care of you.” His voice was low and tainted by his swelling arousal. Luckily, she seemed too lost in his dutiful hands to notice. 
“Oh, Javi,” she choked out, digging her nails into his thighs. His quads flexed under her palms. 
Desire was now swirling in his gut, and when he glanced down, his cock was tenting the baby blue cotton. But he kept ignoring it, and continued his ministrations until not an inch of her back went untouched. 
“What hurts the most?” His breath fanned over her ear, and goosebumps erupted across her skin. 
He wondered if she was as affected by this as he was. He was starting to think he would find her soaked underneath the hem of her sinfully teeny nightgown with how long it took for her to respond:
“Shoulders.” 
He discreetly tucked his cock into his waistband before urging her to lay back. She sank into his body instantly. Her head lulled around the shadow of his collarbone. When his gaze dipped to her chest, he licked his lips as her swollen breasts strained the fabric with each heavy breath.
As he kneaded the tops of her shoulders, her legs unconsciously inched apart until her feet tangled up with his. 
“Feel good?” He skimmed his lips over the sensitive spot, just behind her ear.
That seemed to make her brain fizzle out. She went to speak, but unable to form a coherent word, she simply whimpered. It stroked something primal deep inside him to have her like this.
Daring himself to go further, he snuck one hand around her and rested it on her thigh. Just below the hem, her hips automatically bucked. 
Her skin burned against his palm, but he didn’t move his hand, only his thumb in slow, maddening circles. He intended to take his time, to draw this out. He wanted to make her so desperate, so needy that she begged for it. 
He brushed his fingertips across her shoulder. Like a feather, sliding along the column of her neck. “Javi,” she said – breathless. Whiny. God – she was so sensitive. So responsive to him. It was driving him insane.
“What is it, baby?” Her neck bent to his whim as his fingers danced along her jaw. “Tell me.” He thumbed the hem of her dress.
She didn’t answer, only squirmed around. Her ass was mere inches from his cock when he tsked his tongue, gripped her thigh. 
Even though she stopped, it didn’t come without a whine. “Javiiiii.” 
Her lips formed a pout, which he traced with his thumb. She opened up like a flower, let him feed one finger, then two into her eager mouth. 
Fuck – she was a vision. 
He applied pressure to the flat of her tongue, slowly dragging his fingers up and down the length.
“Suck,” he ordered, and her lips instantly formed a tight seal around his knuckles. Her cheeks hollowed out, and the throaty, wet moan she gave hummed through his veins. She looked absolutely depraved. “Fuck - look at you. So greedy. You like this, don’t you?” 
Hooded eyes – long, fluttery lashes. She nodded, pushing his fingers deeper into her warm wet mouth. She used to get so embarrassed when she would get like this. She would try and hide from him, but not anymore. He’d snuffed out the voices, until it was only his own.
Javier made a strangled, growling noise when she nearly choked on his fingers, taking him up into the point that she was drooling. A trail of spit dripping onto the tops of her breasts.
“Your damn mouth is fucking heaven.” She mewled at his praise. Grinding her hips into the thin air, the mattress squeaked under her hips. Vaguely, he wondered if he could make her come just like this. If he weren’t so aroused, he probably would have waited to see.
His hand roamed further up her thigh, and “Fuck,” he hissed, finding her thighs sticky and wet. He gathered what he could on his fingertips. “I haven’t even touched your pussy and look at that.” 
Her slick glistened in the low lamp light. Gorgeous. 
“I bet your panties are ruined, aren’t they?” He taunted her, and his fingers left her swollen lips with a pop. He smeared the excess spit all across her lips. “Should we see?” 
She dumbly nodded, and angled her gaze to watch him slowly reveal herself to him. The dark spot on her cotton-candy pink panties made his cock throb painfully, his pants felt like a cage.
“Holy shit. You’re soaked.” He clasped her tighter to him, burrowed his face into her neck as he teased the lacey elastic band. 
Her chest expanded with a cry of his name. It echoed in the safe-keeping of their bedroom. He had to keep one hand on her hip to keep her still when his fingers formed into a V and rasped across the cotton. The dips between his fingers just barely missed her clit with each stroke. Every time her body would tense, then shudder in disappointment – desperation. 
The tip of his nose nuzzled into her plush cheek. “Want me to touch you?” 
She swallowed, insistently nodding. He swore he heard her croak - yes. 
“Then beg,” he forced the word through gritted teeth. “Beg and I’ll give it to you.” 
“Oh fuck. Javi.” She cried out. “Please baby. God. I need it - I need you. Oh, please! Please.” 
She kept babbling until he hooked his thumbs into her waistband, and she helped shimmy them off.“Hold your dress and spread your legs. Let me see you.” 
There was no hesitation. She displayed herself for him, then peered up with a glazed, glossy look in her eyes. “Please,” she whimpered, and that was it.
He sealed his lips against her temple and started to gently circle her puffy clit. Her whole body convulsed, twitched. Even with a gossamer touch, she still moaned.
Months ago, he would have kept her like this for hours. Bring her to the edge over and over until she withered into sheets and prayed for release. One time, she swore she blacked out from her orgasm. It was one of his proudest accomplishments.
“Do you want more?” He asked, continuing to tease her clit, softly swirling the swollen bud.
She opened her mouth, but all that came out was nonsense. So, instead she bobbed her head.
“You want my fingers?” She nodded even faster. “Can you be good and keep still? Let me do the work - let me take care of you?” 
She must have known he would want a verbal response because she swallowed. “I - I’ll try.” 
“That’s all I ask,” he hummed, then without any resistance, slid a single finger inside her. Her walls clamped around him, and he growled, wanting to feel her wrapped around his cock.
Soon.
After only a few moments, she was already begging for more. “I can take it. Please, Javi. I need it.”
“Yeah?” His deep chuckle rumbled around his chest. He didn’t wait for a response, and sunk two fingers into her, curling until he hit that sweet, spongy spot.
Her legs twitched, fighting to keep still as he sped up. The wet squelch was nearly enough to send him over the edge, and when he stretched her out with a third, he was about to burst. He could feel his cock leaking with each thrust, smearing around his skin and shorts as she trembled for more.
“Fuck, you’re so good. So good, baby.” He slowed down, but kept a steady pace. “You gonna let me use your pretty pussy? Wanna cum around my cock?” 
“Oh shit - Javi. Please. Please. God - I wanna cum. Wanna - fuck.” 
“Hands and knees or on top?” 
She didn’t answer verbally, but crawled to the middle of the bed instead. She yanked off her dress before presenting herself. Ass up. 
“Goddamn,” he grumbled under his breath, ripping off his shorts. He glanced down and he was way too fucking hard. His cock bobbed heavily against his stomach. The tip swollen and red as jasper. 
He squeezed the base of his cock. His fingers biting into her ass as he spread her apart. Everything was wet and swollen and all his.
“Fucking beautiful.” 
He teased his cock along her slippery slit. The fat head bumped against her clit, and she scrambled to fist the sheets. His jaw went slack, watching her cunt drip and clench around nothing.
“Shit - Javi.” She rocked back to try and catch even just the tip of him inside her. He snatched her by the hips, and held her in place. 
“Tell me what you want.” 
“Your cock,” she whined. “God, I want you to fuck me. Pleaseeee Javi!”
He praised her while lining himself up, then slowly buried himself inside her. He stared down as his cock completely disappeared. She was completely at his mercy. The thought made his cock twitch, and her pussy spasmed around him. 
Throwing his head back, he squeezed his eyes shut until his own release receded. He withdrew, taking a second to admire the ring of slick around his dick before thrusting back in.
“Holy shit. So fuck - fucking good.” She purposely clenched and it was way too tight; his stomach swooped. “Oh shit. Baby, don’t do that.” 
She gave a girlish little giggle. What a fucking menace. 
“That funny to you?” He asked, snagging the blunt head of his cock against her g-spot. Her only reply came in moan muffled by the sheets. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
With a firm grasp on her hips, he fucked her with long, deep strokes that always hit the spot. Her walls spasmed with every rock of his hips. She sobbed from being right on the edge.
He knew exactly what she needed, but couldn’t give it to her. At least, not at this angle.
“Come here, baby.” He helped haul her upwards. Her tacky skin sealed against his chest. His fingers skated across her breasts, circled her neglected nipples. He wished he could play with them, bite them, suck them, tease them, but most of the time they were too sensitive for anything but a feathery touch. The line between pain and pleasure was razor-thin and too blurry. 
Even now, the tiniest brush made her breath catch in her throat. 
Finally, Javier started to toy with her clit. With his cock grinding up into her warm, wet pussy and his lips frantically mouthing at the column of her throat, the first touch made her nearly buckle. Her walls squeezed him even tighter, and he swore this was heaven.
Javier wet his lips. “Kiss me, come on. I need it, baby.” He didn’t care how desperate he sounded. He didn’t care about the awkward angle or how messy it was when her tongue lapped against his. She tangled her fingers into his hair and gave a sharp tug. Every nerve and cell in his body fired at the same time, and he knew this wasn’t gonna last much longer.
He drove his cock as deep as it could go. Their skin slapped together and she was leaking everywhere, down his thighs, dripping onto the sheets.
“Perfect pussy,” he growled, and pinched her clit, rolling it between his fingers. “Fuck. I can feel it. So tight. Oh, come on. Fuck.” 
“Shit - Javi!” Her walls fluttered around him, and he clasped her against him right before her legs gave out.
She pulled away from his mouth, just enough to look into his eyes as he continued to split her open. The hand in his hair came to rest on his jaw; her thumb caressed over his cheek and it hooked on something deep in his chest.
He suddenly felt exposed. Vulnerable. Her eyes bore into his and he swore she could see inside him. She could see every crack and broken piece of him, and despite it - she still looked at him like that. 
She still loved him. 
There was a split-second where he felt like he couldn’t breathe. All of it became too much. All too much. His release licked across his skin, and swelled up inside him.
He made a low, punched out sound and buried his face into her neck. Lavender soap and soft skin. His own release took hold of him. 
“That’s it baby,” her voice seeped in through the dull ringing in his ears. “Fill me up, Javi.” His hips stuttered, and he didn’t recognize the noises that came out of him. Grunts. A near sob without any tears.
He swore he’d never cum so hard in his life.
Finally, his lips started to move across her throat, along the nape of her neck. Soft, sleepy kisses like the ones she would give his fingertips before bed. 
There was a strange part of him that felt like he should apologize, but he didn’t know for what exactly. 
“Was that okay?” He asked before the guilt could fester and turn into an ugly, black mold inside him. His voice sounded weak – meager. Maybe it could pass as breathless.
“Javi.” He still didn’t look at her, didn’t even move. His cock was still inside her, softening. “Javier.” 
That got his attention, and he drew back to find her eyes searching his. She seemed worried. “If it wasn’t okay, I would let you know. Alright?” She petted his cheek, “You always make me feel so good.”
“Now, you’re exaggerating.” 
His cum spilled down her legs once he pulled out of her. He groaned as he plopped onto his back, palming the space between his brows. 
She curled up beside him. “I’m serious, Javi. I liked it - a lot in fact.” 
“Okay.”
She scooped up the strands of hair stuck to his forehead. “Did you like it?” 
He hooked his arm around her, and kissed her on the nose. “Of course.” 
They laid like that for a minute, her body enfolded on him. Even with her clasped against him, he couldn’t shake himself out of this. It only seemed to make the uncomfortable feeling settle deeper into his chest.
Terminal. A sense of finality. 
He tugged her even closer, and tried to lose himself in the scent of her shampoo.
He told himself he was just tired. That was all this was.
---
Javier didn’t know what time it was, but it had to be well past midnight as the city was completely still, quiet aside from the recently awakened bugs. 
There was a storm rolling in. Flashes of white lit up the dark sky as he inhaled another drag of his cigarette. Smoke smoldered in his throat, burning his lungs like a cheap glass of whiskey.
This was exactly what he needed. Fresh air. The sweet shallowness of a nicotine buzz.
For the most part he stuck to nicorette gum, but sometimes that shit didn’t cut it. He kept a carton of Marlboros stashed in his glove boxes for moments such as this.
The nightmares didn’t happen nearly as often as they once did. He supposed, in a way, he’d grown used to the torrent memories. The flashbacks. Colombia. 
But tonight, it hadn’t been the sound of machine guns or war-torn streets that woke him up in a cold sweat. 
It was her. All his dreams lately had been about her. 
He was about half-way through his second cigarette when the sliding door opened. She was standing underneath the porch light, her satin robe shimmering. There was something so ethereal about her. 
“Thought I might find you out here,” she said. 
He gave a light chuckle; a trail of smoke wisped from the sides of his mouth, and he squished out the orange bulb. She knew about his smoking. She also knew what it meant when he did. 
She insisted on joining him on the porch step. Even though it took her a minute to get down. The silence settled comfortably around them. She seemed content to just sit there until he was ready. 
“It was just a bad dream,” he said, after a long moment. 
“Was it about me?” 
He didn’t answer, and instead stared out at the freshly-cut lawn. He’d assumed she had figured it out by now. There was no hiding anything from her. She could read him as easily as her go-to comfort book. The pages tabbed and torn, all marked up, but she cherished it nonetheless. 
He couldn’t lose her.
Each doctor’s appointment set him on edge. Complications. High-risk. It reminded him of his mom and the bullshit medical jargon they used. They gave her two years and it took her in eight months. 
Javier didn’t know how his dad did it. How he just continued to go on. How he lived in their house. If something happened to her, Javier couldn’t come back here. He didn’t even know how to live with an empty side of the bed anymore. 
“Javi.” Her soft voice beckoned him back to her. Her eyes bore into him. The warmth of her body pressed against him. “I won’t promise anything I can’t keep. But, Javi I promise, I feel fine. I feel good. And if I ever think something is wrong, I’ll tell you. Okay?” 
Javier cradled her face in his hands, brushing his thumb over her cheekbone. “Promise?” 
“I swear. I swear, I will.” 
Abruptly, he crushed his lips against her forehead, then slotted her right beside him. With his fingers rooted on her hip, she stayed curled up against him. 
The air had turned sticky and the sky had begun to rumble by the time Javier looked her in the eyes. “What if we name one after my mom?” Caught off guard, her jaw went slack, and he knew it was because he rarely brought his mom up. 
He supposed he was scared too. He’d always neatly boxed away his grief. Every loss in his life was stuffed in the same tiny closet. Now, if he opened it up something else was bound to topple out, and whatever it was – it was going to hurt. 
He wished he could talk about her more. It felt like his wife barely knew anything about her. His mom deserved better than to be a silent memory. She deserved recognition. 
“Are you thinking María or Dolores?” She asked.
Javier snorted. “Neither.” 
His mom didn’t really like her name. María Dolores. She always said it made her sound too old. No one that really knew her ever called her by either. 
“I’m thinking Lola. Pops called her Dolly, but to everyone else - she was Lola.” 
“Lola,” she repeated, and rubbed her belly. “I like that. Lola Peña. Now, we just need to figure out the second.”
She squeezed his hand, and then; it started to rain.
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edenfenixblogs · 3 months
Note
This is just terminology but regarding asking goyim to ID ourselves as such, may I ask if there's a specific reason you prefer that phrasing? Asking because I've previously heard that hearing someone self-describe as goyische can be a bit jarring due to Connotations from white supremacists "reclaiming" the term (scarequotes bc that's obviously not how reclamation works) so I'm wondering if you have an alternate perspective I should be taking into account or if it's just like, personal preference/not that deep.
Ah! @faggotry-enjoyer, My friend! I did not see this message from you until today! My deepest apologies!
I didn’t mean that every goy had to specifically call themselves goy. I’m just descended from Hungarian, Russian, French, and Mongolian Yiddish speakers and that’s more familiar a term to me than “gentiles.”
Personally, I’ve always found “gentiles” a little awkward as a term anyway. As I’ve stated repeatedly, goy is a fully neutral word with no positive or negative connotations. But the word “gentile” seems to have a weirdly positive connotation that I find off-putting. It seems far too close to the word “gentility” for me.
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It feels like “gentile” is a person of “the gentility,” thus inherently socially, behaviorally, and aesthetically superior to non-gentiles (aka Jews). Perhaps this is just because of my relationship to Hebrew (and its use of root constructions that convey connotations in the base structure of the word) that this seems to be a term that is inherently critical of Jews in a pretty blatant way. But it always seems just…idk. Uncomfortable for me to use I guess. It feels like I’m putting myself down to elevate someone else and acknowledging their inherent superiority over me.
That said, I am in no way suggesting that this is how all Jews relate to this word. I have studied Hebrew since I was very young (I’m not a fluent speaker anymore, but I was once), and I’m a writer and love words and etymologies. It is extremely likely that I am thinking more about this than someone else would or does.
So, I say goy because it is the most neutral to me. It doesn’t convey that I’m better than a goy or that a goy is better than me.
When I said “goyim identify yourself as such,” I meant more generally, “if you’re not Jewish, please indicate that in your reblog or tags when reblogging from a Jewish person.”
And to anyone who is new to my blog, the reason I asked goyim to do this is because Jews feel very alone and hated right now and a very easy way to help us feel better is to just let us know that someone outside of our community sees and hears us. It so very often feels like we are shouting from inside a soundproof room and we can only hear and be heard by each other.
There are so very few Jews left in the world. It is simply impossible for us to survive if we advocate for ourselves alone. We need goyische voices alongside our own if we hope to be heard at all amongst those who outnumber us.
One thing about Jewish culture though, we all disagree a lot about a lot of things. Someone probably does find it offensive to self-label as a goy. Someone else probably finds it offensive to reject the idea of self-labeling as a goy.
However, by and large, I think most Jews won’t be concerned that you’re appropriating our language and culture if you are using our language to identify yourself as someone who supports our culture. Yiddish isn’t a religious language, but a cultural one. While Judaism is a closed-practice religion, Yiddish is the language of our culture in exile. It is the language we used while existing in a goyische world that was and remains hostile toward Jews.
I think, personally, that if you’re not using our language to demean us, it’s not off limits. Like, call yourself a goy! You are one! It’s not a bad thing! But, like, don’t call Jews you disagree with schmucks or something like that. And, obviously, if someone is antisemitic then I do not want them using Yiddish at all.
If someone wants to condemn our culture, then I loathe the idea of them picking out the parts they can use for their own purposes. If you reject an entire culture, you do not get access to the parts of that culture you like, imho.
So, I guess (in answer to your question) it is personal preference but is also that deep. Jewish culture is old, deep, and complex. I'd never speak for other Jews, and I'm sure plenty disagree with me on this. But I have personally never heard of a Jewish person offended that a goy calls themselves a goy. Personally, I find it endearing.
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lavendertales · 1 year
Text
Guilty pleasures: Chapter 4
pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader
summary: Tommy mentions the reason why Joel refuses to celebrate his birthday. A fight breaks into the bar, and Joel's reaction to seeing you hurt awakens something in both of you.
word count: 6k
warnings: mentions of injury, alcohol. tension my beloveddd😌
A/N: this chapter kicked my ass oh god. it was much better in my head lmao but I hope it's as good as I want it to be.
AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!!!
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gif: @iero
series masterlist | AO3
AUGUST
“Again.”
Your voice is decisive and even a little harsh, but you know that Ellie’s more than capable of handling it. Poor girl’s had a handful thrown at her, and after traveling with Joel for over two years, you had no doubt that the girl was a tough cookie.
“I’m telling you, this thing’s rigged,” Ellie sighs.
You watch closely her hand on the trigger, noticing she’s squeezing harder than she should. Instantly, you reach around her and take the shotgun from her. Unable to look away, Ellie watches you lean over the rock, your hands steady and eyes locked on the practice target in the distance. Within the next second, you shoot it right in the center.
“Son of a bitch!” Ellie scoffs.
You chuckle, returning her look. “See? It’s fine.”
“Well you’re used to handling big guns! What is it with you and big guns, by the way?”
You falter, simply observing her; then, as you shrug, you notice from the corner of your eye a silhouette approaching.
Unmistakable, broad and about to get on your nerves.
But you choose to ignore it for the time being.
“Havin’ fun?”
Ellie gets up from the ground and starts telling Joel how you’ve been teaching her how to use a shotgun, how you shared tattoo wisdom and how cool you are. Joel listens, nods along, stealing the occasional glance at you.
You notice how displeased he looks. You know he hates how close you’ve gotten with Ellie over the past few weeks. Although maybe hate is too strong of a word; he’s still being cautious about you lurking around Ellie for reasons you have not been told.
Reasons you figured all on your own and kept to yourself out of respect.
So you know that your spending time with Ellie isn’t to Joel’s liking, but you’ve grown fond of her.
“I still think that thing’s rigged so I can’t shoot with it,” Ellie points at your shotgun and at you, respectively.
Joel cocks an eyebrow at you, and your breathing becomes inexistent as you exchange yet another hungry gaze.
While you’ve gotten closer with Ellie in the past month, you’ve grown more distant from Joel. The tension between you two boiled at perilous levels, especially after that evening on your porch. That unprompted kiss, birthed from some manic desire that needed to be sated, remained an unspoken secret between you, nothing more but a mistake done in the heat of the moment.
Every time you see Joel though, every time your eyes meet, you are reminded of that kiss and how much of you it consumed.
“Rigged, you say?” Joel asks, extending his hand so that you hand him the shotgun.
Almost like he’s expecting you to follow his lead without much argument.
Weirdly though, you do. You hand him the shotgun, watching nearly breathless as he steadies himself in the right position on the rock, eyeing the practice target.
“You squeeze the trigger like you love it,” Joel tells Ellie.
“Hmm.”
“Gentle, steady, nice and slow.”
“Are you gonna shoot this thing or get it pregnant?”
Joel makes a face at Ellie, then steals another quick glance at you. Only this time, Ellie takes notice of it too, much to your dismay.
“Could you not look at me when she says that?” you frown.
“I didn’t,” Joel retorts.
“You did,” Ellie adds.
“At least buy me a drink before, damn, Miller.”
Joel goes back to what he was doing prior. He replies with stoic silence, unable to come up with a good reply. So he points the shotgun right at the target practice and fires without hesitation.
He too shoots it right in the middle.
“You dick!” Ellie shouts, and you stifle a chuckle.
“Told you,” you tell her rather smugly. “You just gotta work on your aim. You nearly shot me in the head twice, and that’s just today. I’m starting to think this is personal.”
Joel lowers his head, stifling a chuckle. It’s brief, barely existent, and yet he feels its existence warming up his chest. The moment he wipes it off of his face, though, he feels empty again. As surprising as it may have felt to laugh at something you said, the second it was gone, he missed it.
Shit. He actually enjoyed that?
“Listen,” Joel mutters to you, grabbing hold of your arm as Ellie walks in front of you, “this thing with you and Ellie, I’m not a fan.”
“Quelle surprise.”
“But she seems to like you. For whatever reason.”
You don’t break the touch though; you’re not really sure why. It just feels… nice. His calloused hands wrapped around your arm, barely applying any pressure, just enough to make you pay attention to him, it’s—not bad.
You swallow your pride and bite your tongue though, all in order to reassure him. You know a concerned paternal figure when you see one.
“I told you before, I have no intention of hurting Ellie in any way,” you whisper, now inching close to his face. “I like her.”
That’s when Joel lets go of your arm, but his eyes drop to your lips and just like that, he’s transported back to the night he hastily kissed you. He reminisces of your scent, something odd yet specific, a mixture of salt, lotion and summer. He reminisces of how it felt to press his lips against yours, to have you open your mouth to welcome his, almost too eagerly and desperately, and his knees nearly give out on the spot.
“But if you wanna take over and teach her how to shoot, you should get to,” you tell him, being the first to back away. “You’re her—protector.”
Joel gulps, closely watching your figure. It feels like you are both too close and yet too far, and he knows that letting you in, allowing him to consume his thoughts and emotions, it will only bring more pain in the end.
“What are you guys doing? C’mon!” Ellie shouts.
No glances are exchanged afterwards. You walk silently into the town, and you make sure to stay well behind Joel and Ellie. The occasional smile appears on your face when you see Ellie excitedly telling Joel about her day and the things that she wants to do. The same smile that vanishes mere seconds later, being replaced by melancholy.
You realize you barely remember your own father anymore. He’s a faint figure at the back of your mind, someone you used to know who was gone too soon. And then you smile again, gathering that Joel is enjoying those moments as much as Ellie is.
As you watch them interacting, quickly forgetting you as they mind their own way, you come to appreciate that Joel is far from being cruel as you once thought. He’s still got kindness left in him, still doing things from the goodness of his heart.
Which begs the question: what happened to Joel Miller? What did the outbreak take from him that left such deep marks on him, causing him to hate the world and everyone in it?
Almost everyone.
You theorize whatever you can, but never pose any questions. It’s none of your business. Curiosity strikes you, sure, but there’s nothing else to it. You and Joel are… complicated. Best if you keep your distance from each other, especially after that unwanted moment.
There’s a sudden tug at the hem of your shorts. When you look down, you notice a little girl staring up at you. Her eyes are big and green, hair the color of caramel chocolate, and your heart drops. The resemblance is striking; you can’t get over it. If you were to believe that you could be haunted by your past… this is all the proof you need.
“Our ball fell on your porch,” she says while you stare at her, completely dumbstruck. “Can you give it back to us?”
Slowly, you come to your senses and realize the girl is with a group of friends who all stare expectantly at you. You blink several times to wake yourself up and nod rather flustered.
“Why didn’t you take it yourself?” you kindly ask the girl.
“My mom says it’s polite to ask first.”
You smile as you hand her the ball. “What’s your name?”
“Maya.”
You suck in a deep breath, eyes getting teary within a split second. Mouth ajar, you can only stare at her, your hands frozen on the ball.
But you don’t want to scare her, especially since you’re carrying a shotgun on your back and a knife in your thigh holster, nor do you want a panic attack to overwhelm you at this very moment.
Instead, you hand her the ball and smile widely at her. “It’s a—very beautiful name,” you tell her.
“What’s yours?”
You give her yours and she compliments it as well. The tears are blurring your vision at this point, but you fight them relentlessly. That is, until a woman stands next to Maya, eyeing you, and then her.
“Maya, sweetie, it’s dinner time,” she says.
“Can I play five more minutes?”
“Only five more minutes. But not any more, okay?”
“Okay.”
Maya sulks, and your smile widens. You blink again, making sure you keep your tears under control—as much as you can, at least. Then, an idea strikes you.
“Oh hey, do you like stuffed animals?”
Maya turns towards you, nodding frantically as she stares with those innocent wide eyes that simply make you melt.
“I might have something for you,” you say. “If that’s okay.”
You address her presumed mother this time, and she nods as well. You rush inside your house, opening a forgotten box at the back of your wardrobe. The moment you hold the rabbit plushie in your hands, a wave of sadness washes over you. The years clearly got to it, but that’s mostly because you haven’t had the guts to clean it properly. You let it catch dust and fade away, like the memories locked with it.
“This was my sister’s,” you tell Maya as you hand her the plushie. “She carried it with her everywhere when she was little. A little during teenage years too. Her name was Maya. Like yours. It’s a bit old, but nothing a good wash won’t erase.”
“He’s so cute! Can I name him?”
“You can name him whatever you want. He’s yours now.”
“Thank you, thank you!”
As Maya hugs your legs—at her height, it’s all she can manage—her mother looks at you, a heartfelt expression residing on her face.
“Are you sure?” she asks you.
You nod. “A kid should have it.”
“Thank you,” she smiles and touches your arm.
You watch them walk away, and finally you allow yourself a moment’s rest; you close your eyes, and the tears come pouring down your cheeks without you even trying to make it happen. You let them stain your face, you let the grief make its way from the box you’ve buried it inside your heart.
With one deep inhale, you open your eyes, face to face with Joel again. You’re very much aware of how disheveled you look now, as opposed to half an hour ago, but you couldn’t care less.
“Don’t,” you warn him, though your warning is as soft and raw as you’re feeling right now.
“Wasn’t gonna say anything.”
“That was very kind of you,” you hear Tommy’s voice, and later noticing his silhouette in your vicinity as well.
“A kid should have toys.”
“Whose was it?”
Joel’s tone is calm and understanding as opposed to all the other times the two of you have interacted. Perhaps that’s why it tightens your chest further, building towards your anger a little more.
“Just—not today, okay?” you nearly snap at him. “I’m really not in the mood for some typical Miller crap. No offense to you, Tommy, I actually like you.”
Tommy makes a flattered and impressed face. “Hear that?” he tells his brother. “I’m good.”
“I was gonna say somethin’ nice but I see this ain’t the audience for that.”
With that, Joel simply walks away, leaving a dumbfounded Tommy and a hurt you behind like there was nothing to it.
“What’s with him?” you ask Tommy. “He’s a bit snappier than usual.”
You watch as Tommy stares you down, inhaling and exhaling slowly in a well-rehearsed manner before he replies, “He always gets like this before his birthday.”
“His birthday’s coming up?”
“End of September.”
You’re surprised at the information. You wouldn’t expect someone like Joel Miller to care so much about a silly birthday, much less during such dangerous and cruel times. Questions begin to swim inside your mind once more, begging to be answered.
“I don’t suppose it has anything to do with growing older,” you say, to which Tommy shakes his head in denial almost instantly.
“No.”
When you fail to ask the next logical question, Tommy gulps, unsure if he should answer at all. It’s a family matter. After all, it’s a loss for Tommy too, and it weighs heavily on him—albeit not as cruelly as it weighs on Joel.
“September 26th,” he commences, voice grave and low. “The day of the outbreak, on his birthday… his daughter Sarah died. She was shot. Stupidest damn thing.”
Your face drops, as does your heart. Truthfully, you figured it was something along those lines, and yet somehow, when faced with the truth, you still take it much harder than you would’ve anticipated.
“Fuck,” you murmur, taken aback. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s been twenty years, but I wouldn’t bring up her name if I were you. I don’t. Joel never recovered.”
Perfectly understandable, you think.
Your mother used to tell you that there was no pain greater than the one of losing your child. The way she said it, guttural and barely breathed, made you understand how heartbreaking it must be. You prayed you’d never have to find out.
So you can only try to imagine what Joel must feel like at all times. It almost makes up for all the times you two have argued and all the times Joel left abruptly, avoiding all eye contact, as well as physical.
Of course he wouldn’t want to be close with anyone. Getting close meant caring, and caring, love, it meant one thing in the end: pain.
“I guess that explains him for the most part,” you murmur, still processing.
“He means well,” Tommy explains. “At least I hope he does. He’s just… not crazy about others in his business.”
“Understandable. So I guess… he wouldn’t be a fan of, say… having a drink with one of his least favorite people? Y’know, when his birthday comes?”
The way Tommy stares at you, in a concoction of curiosity and giggles, makes your stomach twist and turn. You expect additional questions but you dread them tremendously. Although you suppose your rivalry with Joel wouldn’t be totally lost on his little brother.
“See, I don’t get the two of y’all,” he says, arms crossed at his chest and his interest peaked to the max. “You almost always argue, and now you wanna have a drink with him?”
He looks downright amused, and that, in return, upsets you. “I’m just trying to do something nice,” you reply. “Call it pity, being kind-hearted, whatever. But you can’t share a story like that and expect people to not react. I’m not heartless.”
“Sure thing. Except—most people would leave it at ‘I’m sorry’.”
You huff. “What do you want me to say, Tommy?”
“If you’ve got anythin’ to say, don’t say it to me.”
What would you even say to Joel? That you still get flashbacks to that unprompted kiss? That it still consumes you? That you craved more of that heat, curious to know what pleasures ate at his soul, locked and hidden away?
“But just so you know,” Tommy resumes, “Joel’s not the best at… communicating.”
“I think I’ll just stick to the one drink.”
Then Tommy calls out your name as you’re getting ready to leave, catching your attention.
“A lil’ bit of advice?”
“Sure.”
“I shared a drink with someone once, got to know that someone… and now we’re married.”
You roll your eyes, exhaling.
“Really?” you ask. “What is it with everyone and marriage and kids today?”
“Who’s everyone?” Tommy asks with a deep frown.
“I thought I’d do something nice, okay? It’s not necessarily pity. I just… I get the pain, okay? I’m not heartless.”
“I know you’re not. My point was… take care.”
“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Thank you.”
“I’m sorry about your sister.”
You don’t say anything in return. The memories attached to your family are both good and dark, with the latter tending to take control more often than not. You find yourself haunted by past mistakes, frozen by the inability to save your family, and those are things you’d much rather keep private.
Just like you suppose Joel wants to keep his daughter’s death. Locked in his past, far away from anyone’s prying eyes or pitiful gazes.
As the moon emerges bright on the sky and you settle on a secluded chair at the bar, ordering a whiskey, you can’t help but feel a little guilty that you now know the main reason for Joel Miller’s—everything. Suddenly you feel like an intruder in his life, learning about the darkest moment in his life without him consenting to it. Of course, you plan on saying nothing of the sort, but the knowledge still remains deep within your mind.
It all starts to make sense: the way he’s so overprotective of Ellie, always watching over her, laughing at all of her bad jokes and going out of his way to find things that’ll make her happy.
Maybe Ellie is his second chance at fatherhood.
And maybe you were far too quick to judge him.
You are far too immersed into the amber liquid that’s occupying the glass before you to accept the presence that’s settled onto the chair on your right. You can feel their eyes on you, scanning, almost judging you, and you all but groan. Instead, you take a larger sip, letting the alcohol burn your throat and slowly, your whole body.
“If you wanna know somethin’ about me, you ask me,” the voice to your right coos.
The tone is all too familiar at this point, husky and menacing, but it does nothing to you.
Well. That is not technically true.
Despite everything that you’ve gone through having that grumpy man on your tracks for the past year, almost, he makes you feel alive. Whenever he’s around you, you feel more inclined to simply breathe in and out, feel each moment as if it’s your last; and with your every argument, every vicious look thrown back at each other, it only manages to stir something inside you that you’ve just never felt before. It’s a bizarre yearning, a longing for something unclear, yet so perfectly understandable.
You huff, slowly turning towards Joel. “Would you voluntarily tell me things about yourself?” you ask coyly.
“No.”
You hide the smile that threatens to break from the corners of your mouth, one that you suspect would anger Joel.
“I take it you talked to Tommy,” you say, almost done with your drink now.
“I told you to stay away,” Joel retorts, and his voice sounds like he’s in pain.
For a moment, just a fleeting, temporary moment, you want to look deep into his eyes and tell him it’s okay to feel things.
But the moment passes as swiftly as it arrives, and you say nothing of the sort.
“Actually, you haven’t,” you tell him, cautiously this time. “You never said anything of the sort. All you said—well, all you did was—“
Joel turns abruptly towards you, catching your attention. His face isn’t its usual dark aura, the kind of silent anger that’s boiling just beneath the surface, ready to blow over should anyone come too close.
“I didn’t do anything.” He pronounces each word carefully, as if he’s trying to let you know that if so much as mention the thing that’s on both your minds, he will lash out.
“You know what, if you wanna deny things, say they never happened, fine, do what you want,” you lean in to whisper to him. “But maybe don’t do them in the first place. Because maybe those things might keep someone up at night, thinking and wondering. And maybe that person would hate lying awake thinking of something that… how was it? It’s not a big deal.”
Joel clenches his teeth, downing his drink and now fully turns to you.
“You don’t need to know about my past and I don’t need to know about yours,” he breathes.
“Fine. But I’ll just say this. Talking about someone you lost means preserving their memory. If you stop talking about them, it’s like they never existed. You keep them alive by talking about them, by—“
“You don’t have a goddamn clue what loss is.”
That’s what triggers you. That’s what sends you over the edge, to a point of no return. You think of your baby sister, of your parents and friends and the little Maya you met today, and your heart aches and trembles in your chest, tormented by past mistakes and ghosts.
“You’re not the only one whose world stopped when you lost someone. Sure as hell not the only one who’s experienced loss in this fucked up world. So stop acting like you’re the sole victim here.”
“Kid?”
You freeze, staring at Joel for longer than you probably should have.
“Baby sister,” you reply almost inaudibly, barely able to swallow your own saliva. “And many others. So don’t you dare think you’re the only one who’s suffered a loss, or the only one with demons to face. We all got ‘em. We’ve all gone through hell, we’ve all suffered. Some of us still are. Present company included.”
“That why you can’t use a handgun? Reminds you of shooting them dead?”
You can feel your pupils dilate, your pores diluted by sheer anger. You don’t know how he intuited that or how he knew, but it’s the one thing you won’t allow to have tainted any more than it already is.
“Joel,” you warn sharply and higher, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t.”
“Stings, doesn’t it?”
“Joel… don’t fucking go there.”
Regret washes over him the moment he sees your face, filled with anger and pain.
“I asked about your stupid birthday because I thought you know what? I might enjoy having a drink with the man. Because there might be something more to him that I’d like finding out. But you know what? It doesn’t matter. Like you said. What’s the point of it, anyway?”
 Joel wants to contradict you; he wants to grab your hands into his, squeeze them as he stares into your eyes and tells you that it does fucking matter, and it was a big deal, that kiss. He wants to tell you how you’re the first person he could even look at since Tess, how you sparked his interest without even trying and slithered into his life and mind without lifting a single finger, but rather pointing your shotgun and him, meaning business.
He says none of that. He only looks at you, ashamed of his prior words and reaction, trying to swallow them along with the whiskey. He barely registers the noises around him, the indistinct chatter, cuss words being thrown around with so much ease and the shoving. He only starts to notice something is amiss when you stand from your seat, eager to leave, and not able to navigate through the sudden crowd.
When Joel looks around, he sees a fight ensued. He stands up, willing to go after you and at the very least excuse his harsh words, but when he doesn’t see you, panic bubbles in his chest.
“What the hell’s goin’ on here?!” Joel shouts around him, but there’s no reply.
Instead, Joel dodges a few punches thrown dangerously close to his own face. He soon realizes that the fight had escalated and that half of the bar was trying to break it apart. His heart is racing, and his mind is sending one signal: find her.
His eyes search through the crowd, elbowing his way through the people around him; he sees punches and kicks and he dodges them to the best of his abilities, but when he bumps into someone, his wrist gets caught onto some fabric. He pulls away sharply, the appalling aftermath of that one encounter shaking him completely.
Suddenly Joel’s eyes drop to the floor, frantically searching for his watch. It’s the first time in over twenty years that the watch is off his wrist and he’s never felt more vulnerable and exposed. Tears threaten to roll down his cheeks as he keeps searching, hopeless and maddened by the possibility that someone might step on the watch. He can’t lose it, he can’t be without it, he can’t—
The scream that he hears next chills him. Still frantic, heart almost bursting out of his chest, Joel finally spots you. You’re clutching your arm, facing away from the bar. He sprints towards you, unable to think of anything else.
“What happened?” he asks.
“One of these morons—popped my shoulder!”
“C’mon. Let’s get outside.”
On your way out, you hear Maria intervening and the fight finally broken. Then you faintly hear Tommy scolding whoever it was that started the whole thing, shouting in disapproval. Frankly, it’s kind of a blur with the blinding pain that you feel. You can’t feel most of your arm, and the warm air outside doesn’t lessen the sensation. Somehow, it gives the opposing effect and makes you feel like you’re about to catch on fire.
That, or it could also be the way Joel’s hands hold onto you so gently and carefully, guiding you to his house.
Foreign territory, you realize. But you don’t really look around, you can’t; not with white, hot pain searing through you.
Joel guides you to a couch, helping you down and taking a look at your shoulder. Then, his gaze shifts onto you, his eyes suddenly warm and soft and apologetic.
“I have to set it back in its socket,” he informs you.
You falter, spending one second too long staring at him. “Do it,” you nod.
Taking a deep breath in and closing your eyes, you try to ready yourself for what’s about to come. You’re familiar with all kinds of pain, but the one resulting from embarrassment of having someone who detests you help you in such a tense moment is something else entirely.
Nonetheless, it still takes you aback when it happens.
Joel pulls your arm, steady and carefully, but you still wail. You wail and groan, letting out the pain and a few beads of sweat protruding at your temples and on your forehead. And then you feel the same warm hands holding your arm at your chest.
“You’re good, you’re okay,” Joel coaxes you, his voice grave, yet oddly pleasant. “Focus right here, right here on me.”
You do as you’re told and lock eyes with him, breaths more even now. It hurts significantly less, though you’re not out of the woods just yet. You try to move your fingers to see whether Joel did a patch job or not, but next thing you know, his fingers are holding yours.
“Can you move them?” he asks.
“I think so.”
“Show me.”
You move the index first, wiggling it tentatively, then the middle one.
“All of them,” Joel instructs gently.
You move the ring finger and the pinky, then all of them at once, nice and slow. As you pleasantly remark that the nerves in your hand seem to be intact, you stifle a gasp at the realization that Joel’s fingers are intertwined with yours. The feeling is that of warmth and coziness, and yet… there’s electricity in it. Static, wild and treacherous.
“Looks good,” Joel concludes, clearing his throat a little.
Your eyes look up at him, finally meeting with his, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say you shivered.
“Feels good too,” you murmur, hoping it’s inaudible, or some figment of your imagination.
But it’s neither. Joel hears you, and this is very much real. Him, holding your hand and not pulling away like he usually does, it’s the realest thing he did in a while.
“Thank you,” you say.
Joel nods, back to his stoic self. He knows he should probably pull away, take his hand out of yours.
But he can’t.
“I’m—I’m sorry, by the way,” he manages to get out.
“For what?”
He falters. “For saying those things, back at the bar. I shouldn’t have said… it was cruel.”
“How did you know what happened?”
Your question is merely for pure information, nothing else. Yet shame won’t leave Joel’s body.
“The way you looked at that little girl. There was guilt in your eyes. The kind that stays with you forever, haunts you. For something you did.”
You don’t respond. You’re already feeling awfully vulnerable tonight, and opening about the biggest tragedy in your life isn’t something you wish to do. Not now, probably not ever.
“I’m also sorry for… oversteppin’ some boundaries, a while back,” Joel resumes, like he wasn’t anticipating an actual answer from your side.
You raise your eyebrows at him, waiting. That gets Joel impatient and flustered.
“You know what I—c’mon, don’t make me say it out loud,” Joel all but begs.
You smile in the slightest. “Humor me and say it anyway.”
With a loud huff, Joel manages to get out, “I’m sorry for kissing you.”
“Why’d you do it?”
Again, mere curiosity and interest. You’re not trying to get him to open up about anything, given that he didn’t do it to you when it comes to your sister.
“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” he shrugs, avoiding your eyes. “Like a lot of folks, I live my life one day at a time and I figured… I might die tonight, tomorrow mornin’… why not seize the moment with someone who ain’t half bad looking?”
You frown, unsure if you should feel flattered or insulted. “Oh, I’m not ‘half bad looking’? As opposed to what, the infected?”
“Better alternative.”
You chuckle, shaking your head, and to your surprise, Joel does the same. His chuckle is deep, but heartfelt. It stirs something inside you, something pleasant that you wish wouldn’t vanish anytime soon.
“Anyway,” Joel resumes, feeling his cheeks flushed, “sorry about that.”
“You should be. It was pretty damn terrible.”
Joel’s the one who frowns this time around, staring incredulously at you. “What?”
You nod. “Yeah. Pretty awful. It was too short.”
Stunned, Joel can only blink and stare at you, unabashedly dropping his glare at your lips and licking his own subsequently. He’s painfully aware of the fact that he’s still holding your hand, and suddenly he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s overwhelmed and there’s adrenaline pumping in his veins, and you’re so close to him—but you’re still hurt, so he couldn’t—
“Joel,” you coo, bringing him back with his feet on earth, “you said it’s no big deal. So I didn’t—I didn’t make a big deal out of it. I tried to not let it get to me, but I—“
“It’s been a… long, long time since I felt anythin’ close to this. I thought I was over feeling these things. I didn’t expect to… want more. I don’t get close to people, not anymore.”
“You got close with Ellie.”
“It sneaked up on me. I didn’t expect to care about her so damn much, but I was wrong. And now, with you... you sneaked up on me too. In a whole other way.”
Your throat’s dry, heart pounding and you feel warm all over. You’re not sure if it’s from the pain, the glass of whiskey you had less than half an hour ago or Joel’s shy words—or perhaps a mixture of those three—but you do want to ease his worries a little, if you can.
“You think I went around making friends and dating?” you ask, and you see a hint of amusement on Joel’s face. “I sure as hell didn’t. Maybe scratch an itch here and there but I’ve never—I don’t think I’ve ever felt an urge like this one, right now.”
Joel’s face moves closer to yours, his eyes roaming all over your face to the point where your cheeks redden.
“What that might be like?” he asks.
“Like I want you around all the time. Like I… I think about kissing you again. And what it would be like to touch you.”
“So far so good?”
He’s looking at your hands, joined together by your fingers, and then back at you, and you shudder. You hate the impact this man has on you, the way he raises your blood pressure and heats your body with a single look.
But boy are you mesmerized by it.
“So far so good,” you confirm.
You lean in, perhaps foolishly so, but it’s what you feel the moment calls for. Even if it’s wrong, even if there’s a thousand reasons for why you shouldn’t do it, you’d still find one to go through with it.
“Hey, there you are!”
Ellie’s cheerful voice makes you and Joel separate in an instant, your hands no longer tangled. You meet Ellie’s gaze, who seems relieved to see you.
“Hey,” you tell her.
“I’ll get you something to hold the arm in place,” Joel announces rather awkwardly.
“I heard what happened,” Ellie says. “What a bunch of douche heads. How’s your arm?”
“Feels good. Joel reset it.”
“Ouch.”
“Eh, it wasn’t as painful as you might think.”
Joel steals a glance at you from the bedroom, smiling to himself. He can’t recall the last time he ever felt the urge to just smile because of someone’s presence.
“C’mere,” he tells you, tightly wrapping a cloth around your shoulder and arm. “Hold it still. Should last you a couple of days.”
“Thank you.”
You linger with your gaze, and so does Joel. However, Ellie frowns at the two of you, surprised that you aren’t at each other’s throats.
“Glad to see you’re okay,” she tells you. “See you tomorrow, guys.”
“Goodnight, Ellie. Thanks for checking in.”
“Sure thing.”
“Don’t think this means you’re getting out of practice tomorrow morning.”
“Wasn’t counting on it.”
You smile, watching Ellie leave. Once you’re alone with Joel again, you clear your throat, feeling oddly dry as you sit up.
“I should get some sleep,” you announce.
“I should too, I think.”
The warm air is thickened by unspoken words and silence, both your hearts racing unsteady inside of you. Joel walks you to your house, meeting your eyes when you’re on the dimly lit porch.
“Goodnight, Joel,” you tell him.
“Goodnight.”
If there was ever any moment to share a kiss, this would be it.
But as he walks away, shaking his left hand and realizing again how painfully empty it feels, he comes to realize that kissing you now, after the chaotic night you’ve had, would’ve led him to want more. He was already craving things that drove him insane with lust, and so putting an abrupt end to a potential kiss would’ve ruined him.
He knows that if he would’ve kissed you now, he wouldn’t have been able to stop.  
He thinks that if he’ll ever kiss you again, he definitely won’t be able to stop.
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the-s1lly-corner · 2 months
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Shut In (Eyeless Jack x reader oneshot!)
Basic plot: its really cold outside, and you urge Jack to stay in your home with you... he decides to stay despite knowing full well that he will be fine out in the freezing temperatures. You both decide to do things to pass the time and stay warm! Turns out Jack can make a mean cup of hot coco, too
Extra notes: I dont usually write fanfics, and the last one I've written was a personal one from late August... so to say I'm rusty and underexperienced is an understatement! I feel this one ended up a little.. weirdly paced imo but I think I'm still happy with the end result! Dialogue I feel I could have done better on but I'm going to be nice to myself since I mostly write hc posts so this is way out of my comfort zone.. Drafted on Tumblr then sent through google docs to pick up on some mistakes I missed, briefly reread no proper proof reading imo... lets hope this isnt a train wreck + it copied back to tumblr okay!! LMAO
Brief joke about pregnancy/making a pregnancy but its like one small snippet but I know that can make people uncomfortable + implies at least one of the characters is AFAB
Word Count: 2915
Extra Admin's note: I want to say again that I am so so happy about this blog hitting 1k followers, when I first started this blog I was originally going to use it to burn time and have something to do on the side, as well as having a place to put out my cringe ideas and hcs. I never thought this many people would be interested in my dumb thoughts, but here we are! I intend to keep writing this year, and perhaps even make more non-celebratory one shots this year? Maybe? I don't know I guess we'll see the reception on this fic!
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It was the middle of the night, around the middle of January. Your boyfriend and you were holed up inside your apartment, you having locked the man up with you after seeing that it was below freezing out, as well as raining. You had to practically beg your boyfriend to stay with you for the night.
Your boyfriend, who also just so happened to be a man eating demon with tar dripping out of his hollowed out eye sockets. Your boyfriend, who was currently sitting still and staring forward, the only sound in the apartment coming from the dripping of your faucet. You had asked him to come visit you, it'd been a while... and he would never ever let you go to his cabin when it's this cold out. So here you both were now.
You pat the palms of your hands on your knees, sucking in one of your cheeks and working the flesh through your jaws for a moment. You were both technically stuck in the apartment now; you didn't want Jack to go out and risk getting sick, and Jack more than likely wouldn't want you to step out for the same reasons. So, you were both confined to what you already had within the space. You were about to open your mouth to speak but Jack broke the silence first. "You're shivering, do you want me to get some blankets?", blunt and almost robotic. He was never that expressive. "Or would you like to go to your room?" He added after a brief pause, his fangs poking just over his lip before he readjusted his mouth. You were both in the living room, sitting together on the couch; the front door to your left and a view of the kitchen to the right. You thought for a minute as your eyes lingered on the kitchen for a moment. You'd already eaten, before your partner arrived... but..
"That's fine, I'm probably going to make some hot coco," You pulled yourself up, stretching up. "Powdered stuff ooor..?" Jack mimicked you. You only shook your head, earning a disapproving look from him. "What?" You questioned, but he only dismissed you. "Why don't you get some blankets, I'll handle it," and he turned on his heel to make his way to the kitchen. "Maybe put on a movie, too, your choice." He added as his voice carried off. "Are you saying I can't cook?" You called back, following after him. No answer as he tugged out a pot. "I'll have you know-" you started once more
"Do you have half and half?" He was already opening your pantry to grab things.
"No, I don't,"
"Heavy cream? Whipping cream? Whatever it's called..." He mumbled as he placed various ingredients on the counter. Cocoa powder, vanilla, salt and sugar. You only nodded, and as he was about to begin working he paused. "Do you want anything else in it? Cinnamon? Nutmeg?" He paused and through gritted teeth, "Coffee?"
It was almost midnight, of course he would be opposed to you having caffeine so late.
"Cinnamon is fine," You watched him get to work. He measured everything out; even mixing the heavy cream with some milk to make a substitute for half and half.... was that really all it was? You weren't sure what you expected it to be, if it weren't..
He pulled his head up and stared at you. It was then that you noticed he had actually taken his mask off and set it at the end of the counter and out of the way. The black ooze dripping from his eyes was slow and posed little threat to dripping into your drink. He had a fistful of napkins on standby to dap his face dry should the flow quicken. "Aren't you going to get the blankets?"
You pat your hands on your thighs, pausing... watching him. His body had a warm glow on him from the old light bulb in the ceiling; it flickered every now and then. Under the yellowed light he almost looked healthy and alive, though there was no glint where his eyes should have been. His sharp nail tapping on the counter brought you back to the moment, blinking a few times. "Yeah.." you mumbled, defeated at the chance of making a drink for yourself stolen from you. But was that so bad?
You backed out of the kitchen, dragging your feet across the floor. Your apartment was.. a little on the smaller side so within a few steps you were in front of your bedroom door. You didn't really pay much attention to your surroundings as you shuffled through the blankets on the bed.. eventually you settled on just grabbing an arm full and waddling back to the living room, dumping everything you had grabbed onto the couch.
The house smelled of cinnamon and chocolate.. with a hint of vanilla.
Turning your gaze to the tv, your eyes scanned across the DVDs you had stacked messily. Nothing sounded good. "Is there anything you want specifically?" You called out as you settled yourself down criss cross in front of the tv and pulling all the cases onto the floor next to you. "Movie wise," You added as you pulled the first case into your hands. The DVD collection for Child's Play.. you had gotten it a few weeks ago, finding it on sale at your local store. You still hadn't popped it in to watch..
"I have.. Chucky, uhm..." You shuffled for the next case. "All the movies by the way.. I have that and.. most of the Friday the 13th movies," You called out. No answer, the only sound coming from the kitchen was the noise of a whisk gently being stirred. "I don't have Jason goes to hell... But!" You pulled out a third case with the Nightmare on Elm Street DVDs. "I DO have Freddy vs Jason," You mumbled and spread the three disks on the floor in front of you. Most of the disks you had, you noticed, were mostly older slasher movies. Still, Jack hadn't answered you. You pull yourself to your feet and trudge back into the kitchen. His back was to you, too preoccupied with the stove... He hadn't noticed you, not yet. An idea blossomed in your head, a smirk pulling itself across your lips. You steeled yourself, trying to force yourself to stop shivering.. Jack was always paying attention to his surroundings, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity.
You take a step forward and he still doesn't notice your approach.
Another step.
And another.
Jack wasn't the tallest, in fact if you wanted to you could rest your chin on his shoulder... and that's what you ended up doing, while wrapping your arms around his thick waist. You could feel his body seize up just a little bit against you, before relaxing. "You didn't answer, what sounds good?" You pulled your eyes down to look at the pot. Your drink was nearly finished. You view rocked as your boyfriend shrugged, still silent but the twitching of his pointed ears let you know he was listening.
"Anything's fine," Another shrug as he cuts the heat. "You're the one cooking for me, you get to pick the movie," You insisted. He paused mid-whisk, letting out a soft huff. Suddenly he spun around, his face just a few inches from yours. In the dimmed light his eye sockets seemed deeper, it's black ooze lazily dripping down his cheeks. You noticed the smudges on his face, from wiping the streaks. You briefly wondered what it was like to sleep with them, but your thoughts were cut short as he pulled a blackened and clawed hand to your hair; tucking a lock behind your ear. "How does...." He paused, sucking in his teeth. He looked almost embarrassed. "Bride of Chucky sound?"
"What? Want to study the characters again so we can dress up again this year for Halloween?" You tease. You had convinced him a few months ago to dress up with you. With him as Chucky, and you as Tiffany... It had taken some begging and convincing but you ultimately got him to agree. Although you didn't go out to get candy, you were both fine with staying inside watching movies together in costume. It was also that night you got him to watch the movies..
His ears darkened, before he scoffed. "No... actually this year I was thinking of..." He took a long pause, visibly scraping his brain for names of characters, before seemingly giving up. "Look I don't watch many movies I don't know any.. characters.." He grimaced, before gently pushing you off of him so he could turn his attention back to the hot cocoa. "We've still got nine months, more than enough time to come up with something..." You shrugged, then smirked. "Not enough time to make a Glen... or Glenda," You teased before turning on your heel. You held back a snicker as you heard Jack splutter, finally processing what you had just said to him.
"W-"
"I'm gonna go ahead and put in the disc, I'll leave it paused for you," You cut him off, still grinning to yourself as you kneeled down to do as you had said.
Soon enough Jack walked into the room with a mug, as well as a platter of cookies. "You didn't have to," You mumbled as you eyed the treats, but he only waved you off as he placed the plate and mug onto the coffee table. "You don't have to eat them, but I figured you might want a snack while watching the movie," He mumbled. You took the mug, and swirled the drink inside of it. "I hope I didn't put in too much cinnamon," Jack added as he watched you. He leaned over and started the movie.
You took a sip, smiling a little as the warmness crept in. "You did good, probably the best hot cocoa I've ever had." You offered a grin to him. "That has got to be the fakest compliment I've ever heard," Jack shot back, though you could see the corners of his mouth turning up just slightly. "Oh, I'm sorry! I believe this is the most decadent and satisfying beverage I've had ever been graced with in my life, and-" You began, only for Jack to hush you. "I'd rather you throw it on me, don't... say words like that again," He grumbled as readjusted himself into the couch. You took a sip and shrugged, "It's just absolutely immaculate," and he lightly smacked you on the arm. "I'm never making anything for you again," He snorted, before turning his attention to the movie.
You weren't going to lie, you felt a little bad treating yourself to the cookies, knowing Jack was unable to eat them without upsetting his stomach. Being a man-eating monster must really be hard. You purse your lips, and shoot a look at him from the corner of your eye. He must have been doing the same, because he turned his head to look at you. "Do you want to do something else?" He asked lightly, his grin from a few minutes ago already faded. "Do you ever miss eating.. food?" You asked before you could stop yourself. He didn't bother pausing the movie, instead he just fell silent and stared down, into the space between the two of you on the couch.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up, I know it's a touchy subject for you," You mumbled and put the mug on the table. You sucked in the air between your teeth, flicking your eyes up to the movie, before bringing them back down to your lap. It stayed like that for a minute before Jack broke the silence. "I mean... yeah, I do. But at least I don't have to eat every day like you do, means I can have more time to do what I want," He said. Clearly, he was still bothered, tip-toeing around the big.. thing about him. The air was still tense and thick, all of the previous joking gone now. It was nearly unbearable. Nearly.
"You know," Jack began after a few more seconds of silence when you didn't reply. "I've never tried cinnamon in hot cocoa, I didn't know that was a thing people did," He was changing the subject. "You haven't?" You asked, raising a brow. He eyed your mug, but you both knew there was no way he was going to take a sip.
"It's really good," You mumbled, and took the drink, "The combo, I mean," You added. He hummed, patting his knees lightly. You swirled the drink again, watching the... what was it called? Those lighter swirls in the drink.. Did that have a name?
"You've had hot cocoa before, right?" You asked. He hummed again, nodding his head. "Well.. the cinnamon makes it warm. Taste wise.. It makes it.." You took a sip and thought for a minute. "Richer, I guess? It's hard to explain," You muttered, then looked back at him. You tore your eyes back down when you saw he was looking right at you, totally hooked onto your words. "I hear nutmeg goes good in it, too.. but I've only tried nutmeg and chocolate together in baked goods," You shrugged. "You did really good with this, you know... not too much cinnamon.. not spicy, at least." You smiled. He nodded, before turning back to the movie.
"Woody, I hear people describe cinnamon like that," He leaned back into the couch, a dull pop came from his back.
"Woody," You repeated, then took a large sip of the hot cocoa. You put the mug down onto the table, and leaned into your boyfriend as the warmth crept and settled into your bones. You weren't even paying attention to the movie, your mind was now occupied with how tired you were. Your eyes slipped up to the clock on the wall, It was nearly one in the morning. Had it only been an hour since Jack walked himself into the kitchen?
You lean deeper into Jack, not caring about his body's natural chill. His clothing still smelled a little like the cocoa from earlier.. "Gotta invest in some cologne, you smell nice like this," You mumbled into his arm. "The cinnamon?" He asked, not looking down at you. "No.. the cocoa, I mean cinnamon would be a nice touch... but you don't seem like a sweet smelling guy, do you?" You muttered. "Are you already getting tired?" Jack asked, and he leaned over you to grab the remote, pausing the movie. You muttered, the heat of the hot cocoa doing way more than you expected on the tiredness you didn't notice you had. "A little," You shrugged, "But we can still try to finish the movie," You offered, but he shook his head. Of course he would, as much of a hard ass or party pooper he came off as, he was going to make sure you were going to get your rest.
You put your hand in his, the one that had the remote.. you unpaused the movie. He paused it, and you unpaused it again. It kind of kept up like this before Jack conceited and kept it playing, although he did lower the volume.. The subtitles were already on, though. "I win," You smirked up at him, before crawling into his lap. You placed your head on his chest, pausing when you felt him stiffen before relaxing against you. His heart beat for a moment before settling to its barely there rhythm. For a minute you thought about asking about his heart, as far as you knew he explained himself like he was becoming a walking corpse... how does that work?
You decided against it, you already asked about him earlier.. and besides, your mind was already beginning to blank as Jack reached to the side of the couch, and turned the lamp off.. It was dark now. It was still raining, you could more clearly hear the drops outside now that the movie was turned down. Plus, Jack was running his fingers through your hair, lightly massaging your scalp. It wouldn't be long until you finally gave in and fell asleep.
"Are you going to still be here in the morning?" You asked, melting into his chest as he hummed in response. "Plan on it, I still need to clean up the kitchen," He added as he curled your hair around his hand. "It'll still be cold in the morning," He added, "I need to make sure you bundle up before you go out for work," He added. "I'm not that dumb," You muttered and lightly slapped his arm. You swear, if he still had his eyes he would have rolled them.
"How do you see? I know you're not.. a normal person, but," You blurted out, lifting your head. He pushed your face back down, shushing you. "Sleep," He ordered, before loosening his hold on you a bit so you could get comfortable. It wasn't an order but it may as well have been with how your body started to loosen into him within the next few minutes, quickly snuffling out your curiosity and questions.
He'd still be here in the morning, you could pester him then. After all, it's what he signed up for when the two of you started to date one another..
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n0tamused · 1 year
Note
i saw ur reblog on my post, and am loving your blog so far :)
i want some headcanons for tighnari trying to learn new things that his girlfriend likes <3 like learning how to braid their hair, or teach them to make flowers crowns, or something cute like that hehe
<3
Flower Stems
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A/N: Hello! I'm so happy to hear that from you, it really warmed up my heart. I love your writing. And of course, I love Tighnari and his overall character. I hope this does him justice, and that you like it <3 I tried something else with this text divider too, reminded me off Tighnari's voicelines about bookmarks, so I doodled a flower.
Genre: fluff, not completely proofread
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The lead Forest Ranger may present himself as the warm, stern teacher to most of the folk around him, and with that being said - no one is really surprised when they catch Tighnari doing something more... domestic
He was never the kind of person to try and hide away and softness he may hold within him, but he also ensured that his kindness was never taken for granted and as some form of blindness to the rest of the world around him. If his status as a former Akademiya student isn't enough to prove his level of knowledge, his actions in his work field definitely does.
Even the mundane way he picks up long, thick stems of flowers, and the way his bare fingers weave the same stems through loops and knots - the elegant way he arranges the flower crown before your eyes makes it seem so easy, but when you try it, you're quickly proven otherwise
The fragile stems are smushed or get cracked, but Tighnari doesn't anger nor does he flick your forehead in disappointment. At best he would throw one of his witty comments, and then he'd gently take your hands, and help you weave a new flower through the previous loop, guiding you with his voice all the while
"You just need some more practice, don't wear yourself down just due to one mistake..come on, I'm watching over you. How about you go with this flower next?"
It's rare for him to find much free time to properly wind down, so he doesn't waste it whenever a sunny day comes by. He loves the feel of sunlight and lightly warm air on his tail and ears, and he loves feeling the weight of your head on his thigh as you both rest on some high branch, or in the warm shade of the undergrowth
You wouldn't have to ask him to play with your hair, he would do so on his own the moment you lay down and those strands fall over him
He knows one or two things about braiding, and he's so gentle at picking and separating small portions of your hair to play with and braid. Tighnari doesn't want to pull on your hair, and if either of you have a brush at hand, he'd brush out any knots first. He doesn't ask for you to teach him, he would prefer to hone this little skin on his own, but the first time you wince when he accidentally pulled too sharply he's asking for your aid
Those big ears of his are perked forward as you pull some hair to the front and begin explaining the classic way of braiding, and his fingers follow your motions on the previous strands he began a braid on
It feels weirdly intimate to him. He even suggested to wear matching ones, just a small one if you would prefer to do something else with the rest of your hair. He would braid yours himself, and you can make a small one in his hair. He would pull on it gently throughout the day when he's reminded of you, or just needs a semblance of stability
If, by chance, you are interested in some essential oils for your hair, Tighnari will be more than happy to offer some of his top favorites. Although he makes sure they aren't harsh, since he usually uses those on his tail, and fur and hair are quite different.
It goes without a doubt that he'd try and introduce you to more mushroom recipes. Tighnari is always mixing new ingredients into his mushroom dishes, and he would always make a portion extra for you. He would try it with you if the meal looks too intimidating to you and he would tell you all about it you're willing to listen
If the mushroom is big and sturdy enough, he would try cutting out some shapes, like crescent moons, fish, flowers..etc.
Tighnari makes a note to visit you before bed (if you are not living together again) and kiss you goodnight. He's almost parental with it, but he just wants you to be well and healthy and sleep well. He would grow grays besides his green streaks if you were to fall ill
Opposite of the last note, he would visit you earlier in the morning before his patrols, leave a flower or some breakfast on the table for you, and then he'd leave, without disturbing you.
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Ⓒ n0tamused 2022. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.
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heytherehowdyworld · 5 months
Text
Saturday Night Frights
Summary: Eddie's an angel. Your boyfriend kind of really sucks.
Disclaimer: Y'all I haven't written anything narrative in months and this popped out. The pacing is weird, there's more show than tell, and I do not have time to edit it properly. Bear with me, man. This content is like totally relatable to other people, right? Right?
WC: ~13k
Warnings: language; obviously MDNI bc this is NOT a blog for kids; poor characterisation and general story flaws; way too many commas. Enjoy.
“And that’s what I said!” You say emphatically into the phone, the grimace lining your face bleeding into the theatricality of your tone.
“But he still said no?” One floppy-haired Munson replies, pure derision lining his voice. “You went over the importance of Tolkien’s amendments in The Hobbit as they relate to the Lord of the Rings and he still ‘doesn’t get why you need two copies of the book’? What a loser.”
You snort, ever-amused at how intensely Eddie reacted to fantastical media matters. It was nice to have someone with common interests, especially since your boyfriend of six months felt no need to learn anything more about you than your shift start and end times.
The door to the bar smacks lightly against the opposite wall as you open it. “Right? But I’m supposed to remember the names of every World of Warfare character?” “What a dick.” The phone echoes weirdly as you reach the backroom, Eddie’s voice ringing through both in person and on the mobile. You end the call with a smile. “Tell me about it.”
Eddie startles, grinning when he sees you. He slips his phone into one pocket of the Tardis-like denim jacket he always wears, tilting his head at you.
“Why do you still hang around this guy, then?” The smile on his face tells you he’s not entirely serious asking the question, but with all the other flaws in your romantic relationship — which you’ve spent time telling Eddie about — it feels abrasive.
You sigh. “He’s nice to me, Eds. We get along.”
“We get along too,” he shrugs, “so?”
“It’s different between you and me, you know that. Matt and I are dating so it’s good to have our own things, right?”
“There’s a difference between ‘having your own thing’ and ‘ditching your girlfriend on date night because the boys asked you to play another round with them’,” Eddie gives you a pointed look, shucking off his jacket and hanging it up on a stray hook. He busies himself by tying the customary apron around his narrow hips, unaware of the way your eyes linger on the flex of his fingers as he does so.
“That only happened twice,” you rebut, shrugging off your own coat and hanging it neatly by his, “and he apologised for it.” Without saying more, you offer Eddie your apron by habit. He takes it from you gently, brows furrowed in thought.
“You could ask Ted to get you an apron with longer straps,” he deflects, his careful fingers wrapping the material around you, tying it with practiced precision. This action had become commonplace since a few weeks after you’d started working here, when Eddie had noticed your trouble with tying the narrow threads behind your back. And while yes, it was true you had a problem with securing the apron on you before your shifts, it was specifically Eddie you went to for help because there was something far too comforting about the way his large hands circled your waist whenever he did.
“Longer straps won’t stop my fingers from getting caught in the knot when I try to tie them, Eds.” You nod your head in thanks, stepping away from him to put your hair up in a comfortable bun.
Eddie hums, still deep in distracted thought.
“We’re good, Matt and I.” Your voice is hardly above a whisper, barely audible over the hum of the ice machine in the serving area of the bar. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
Eddie makes a slight sound of disagreement, but before anything more can be said of the matter, your co-worker Nicola walks in.
“Hi guys,” she waves, pierced lips parted in a grin. Her leather jacket creaks as she hangs it up, tinny metal music still playing through the headphones balancing around her neck.
“How was your weekend?” Eddie asks as you watch Nicola check her eyeliner in the mirror hanging above the oddly-placed backroom sink. As per usual, she’s used a graphic liner to test out a new pattern — spiders hanging from the outer corners of her eyes to tide in the hallowe’en season today.
She groans, eyes rolling up in annoyance. “My fuckin’ landlord decided to play music all night Friday,” Friday being the one day off Nicola had for the week, the others filled with classes and odd shifts at the bar, “which was terrible. Then, when I asked him to not do that again on Saturday, he threatened to evict me. And then he did it again! Saturday and Sunday!”
A sympathetic ‘humph’ leaves your throat, and you make an attempt at humour by outlining a plot to exact revenge on her landlord. Nicola laughs kindly, focussing behind you at Eddie once more.
“And yours?” Nicola braces herself on the edge of the sink, one brow arched in artful inquisition as a finger plays with a few loose strands of hair.
Flirting with him.
You suddenly feel a little out of place, existent, but no longer necessary to the conversation.
Eddie shrugs at her, signature grin igniting the dimple in his cheek. “Worked closing on Saturday, slept all day Sunday. The usual.”
You slip away, into the bar, and begin arranging liquors for tonight. The sounds of Nicola and Eddie engaged in happy discussion are quieter here, easier to ignore.
It feels wrong, bad, to be in a relationship and still yearn for your coworker and friend. There’s no reason for jealousy to pool in your stomach at the thought of Eddie and Nicola in a relationship, but it does anyway, and it makes you ill.
Really, if you hadn’t been dating Matt before you’d started working here you’d also try flirting with the man in question. And that fact disgusts you.
“Where’d you disappear to, sweets?” Eddie slides in next to you, the narrow space between each side of the bar resulting in the heat of his body warming you as he passes. The tip of his thumb brushes against you as he moves, trailing a hot line across the small of your back.
You cough, trying to dispel the want for his warmth blooming in you. “Just wanted to get ready for opening. It’s almost five.”
Eddie nods, glancing behind you as Nicola enters the small bar. Together, the three of you ready the space in preparation for its opening time. Chairs are taken off tables, odd dust is wiped away, and glasses are dried in advance.
The night itself passes steadily enough, and gossip is passed around between serving tables and shaking up cocktails.
It’s the next evening that Matt comes to visit you, all bright smiles and sparkling eyes as he greets you where you stand behind the bar. He’s brought you a treat, as a surprise, a small coconut-flavoured cupcake. You thank him, grinning, all the while mentally planning to pass it off to Nicola. She likes coconut, you never have.
It’s fine though, an easy thing to forget, and you take the kind gesture for what it is: thoughtful.
“Do I get a kiss, baby?”
“Matt, I’m at work, you know I can’t.”
“No one’s watching us.”
He’s right, a glance to either side of you will prove as much — Eddie is busy chatting up one of the groups of older women that frequent the bar, valued regulars who you’re convinced only come because they have a crush on him; Nicola and Robin are working alongside you but on the far side of the bar, busy prepping some complicated-looking cocktails and chatting up the patrons.
“Matt,” you implore, voice almost a whine.
“Just one kiss.” Matt leans over the bartop and into your personal space, drawing the attention of some regular who comes around often enough that you’d consider him a friend.
“You alrigh’?” The man asks, tone gruff.
A soft smile mollifies him enough to return to his drink and stare once again off into the middle-distance. Matt garners your attention again, and you nod in the hopes that it will pacify him.
“Just the one?” You double-check.
Matt smirks, “mhm.”
You bend at the hip, almost on your tiptoes to reach Matt over the high bartop. He leans the rest of the way over, thankfully, and you grant him a chaste peck. Before you can pull away, however, his hand wraps around the back of your neck and draws you back towards him.
The kiss deepens, turning into something that’s half tongue and all messy, and a sound of disgruntlement leaves your throat.
You finally manage to push Matt away, hands braced against his firm chest. “You said one, Matt,” your voice is chastising, but there’s no malice in it.
“Couldn’t help myself, baby.”
Your brows furrow, and you can’t help but remember the last time something similar happened. He’d aid the same then, too, pacifying apologies and sugar-sweet smiles to win your forgiveness. “Matt, I’m at work. Please help yourself next time, yeah?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll try to, baby. It’s hard to around you.”
“You said the same thing last time.”
Matt scowls, the action sprouting wrinkles across his nose, up his forehead. “Baby, why are you getting so stuck on this? It’s not even a big deal. Just a kiss. I don’t know why you’re getting all mad at me for it.”
He stands up, and you panic.
“I’m not,” you reach over the bar to catch his hand as he begins to stand, worried that you’ve said something wrong. “I’m not mad, honey. Just don’t want to get fired, y’know? Company policy that we can’t french the customers, and all.”
“Whatever.” He rolls his eyes, scowling. At least he’s sitting again.
“Are you mad at me?” Your voice is wan, scared.
Matt crosses his arms, shrugging. “No.”
“It’s just, you sound mad…”
“Jesus fucking christ, I’m not mad, okay? You wanted me to leave you alone so I’m leaving you alone.”
“Right.” Somehow, you don’t believe him, that aching in your chest that you’ve screwed up blossoming into something near-lethal. The urge to apologise consumes you. “I’m sorry, honey.”
“Whatever.”
The rest of the night goes in much the same way, with you checking in on a moping Matt every fifteen minutes to make sure you haven’t irreparably damaged your relationship. You offhandedly notice him watching Nicola and Robin, calling them over to order drinks instead of you, and it hurts.
Even more so, you’re slightly offended when Robin comes up to you with sorry eyes and apologises for it, as though it’s her fault he’d been giving her attention. You’re not mad at her, you don’t think you could ever be, but you do find your mind drifting to comparisons between your appearances.
And that’s the state of mind Eddie finds you in minutes later, still stuck in a rut where you’re listing all the ways Robin and Nicola are better than you. Shorter, because guys like that, right? Skinnier, maybe he thinks clothes lay better on her? Hotter, because of the tattoos? Funnier, because-
“Y’alright, pretty girl?” Eddie braces his elbows against the bartop, clearly taking a break from his club of adoring fangirls.
“All good,” you smile at him, eyes uncontrollably woebegone.
Eddie hums, leaning down to get closer to you. “Do you want me to believe that?” He asks, somehow reading you to dirt despite your best efforts to mask the insecurity biting at you.
“Most people believe the truth, Eds. So, yes.”
The sound he makes in reply is less than agreeable, but he nonetheless backs off. “How’s Matt?”
“Eds,” you say, a degree of warning lacing the word.
“What? If you’re all good then why shouldn’t I ask about Mr Skulk over there. Especially since he’s staring right at us.”
Hands busy cleaning off a glass, you glance slightly to the side to find that Matt is indeed glaring at you.
“Bad day at work, probably. Nothing you’ve to worry about.”
Eddie shrugs, silent for the moment, and leaves you be with a gentle squeeze to your shoulder.
“What the fuck was that?” Matt asks the moment you’re seated in his car.
“What do you mean?” You’re tired, your cheeks hurt from smiling all shift, and your head is starting to hurt with the terrible thoughts you had circling your mind the entire time you worked.
“Don’t play dumb, okay? I know that guy was flirting with you.”
You press your fingers against your temples, the action helping none. “Eddie wan’t flirting with me, Matt. He just wanted to know if everything was okay. Just checking in on me.”
“Oh, so you’re saying he didn’t touch you, then?” Matt starts the car, movements abrupt and aggressive.
“He touched my shoulder, Matt. It was just a friendly touch.”
“You’ve got to be all sorts of dumb if you don’t think he’s into you. I don’t want you being friends anymore, okay?”
“Matt…" “Me or him, babe. Take your pick. I don’t want you being around men who want you in their beds, and I don’t think that’s a big thing to ask of my fucking girlfriend. Unless you’d rather be his girl?”
“Matt, you know I love you.” Matt speeds through a red light, and your hands grip either side of your seat. “Matt… Matt, please slow down, I love you.”
“If you loved me, you’d stop being friends, or whatever you call it, with that freak.”
“We work together, Matt. It’s not that easy.”
“Then I guess you’ll have to make it up to me some other way,” he says, looking at you with a kind of feral gleam in his eye that causes goosebumps to rise along your skin.
You know what he wants, it’s what he always wants, and for all the love you hold for him you really don’t think you’re ready for that step.
And his reaction is the same as always when you tell him so.
He drops you off at your place, speeding off before you can say much more, and remains radio silent for the next week.
He texts you on Wednesday, eight days after the “argument”, asking you to meet on Monday before work. You agree, thrilled that he still cares about you, hoping you can make your inadequacies up to him.
Sunday is a difficult day, the first weekend shift you’ve had to work in a while. There’s customers filling the small bar from opening until closing, and because you offered to take over Robin’s shift so that she could flirt some more with a girl at her other job — in a bookstore, no less — you’re utterly exhausted. The thought of seeing Matt the next day truly does smooth things over, though, makes it easier to smile for the men who insist that they’d treat you right, if you just gave them a chance.
So, when you wake the next morning with your legs throbbing and tired as they always are after a long shift, it’s with a grin.
You’re excited to see him. It’s been a while since you’ve been able to spend time just one-on-one with each other, without the addition of either his friends or his roommate or your coworkers to lessen the intimacy of your shared moments.
This will be good, it’ll quell the worries flurrying within you, the thought that maybe Matt doesn’t feel for you what you do for him, the thoughts that maybe Eddie would be better.
Your phone, buried somewhere beneath yesterday’s clothes, rings. “Robin?” You say by way of greeting, mind still sleep-addled and groggy.
“Ok, so you know that girl I was telling you about?”
Yawning, you hazard a guess, “Lisa?”
“Aimee. Well, I asked her out and she said yes!” Robin’s voice turns almost shrill as the phone struggles to translate her excitement, a squeaky glitching that makes your ear hurt. “So I need you to help me pick out something to wear. Something that says I’m a lesbian, but my soulmate is a guy, but I like, really really love women.”
“That might be hard to do, Robbie. Why don’t I just get you a shirt that says all of that instead?”
“Come on, please? You’re my last hope.”
“Why can’t you ask Steve for help?” The duvet rustles beneath you as you stand, finally ready to prepare for the day ahead. “Since he’s your soulmate and all.”
“‘Cause he’s a dude. He’s gonna tell me to wear a low-cut shirt and a short skirt and like, that is hot, but does it really look gay?”
You chuckle, heading to the small kitchen of your apartment. “Sounds like you’re stereotyping here, Robs. Tsk tsk.”
“You know what I mean,” she whines, “if I take advice from a straight dude on what to wear, I’ll end up being appealing to other straight dudes. I need your feminine sensibilities. Make me look like I’m a pussy-eating champion.”
“Robin,” you laugh, feminine sensibilities shocked by her brashness. “Fine. What time is your date?”
“Six.”
“Alright,” with your phone knocking on death’s door, you manage to send a quick text to Matt alerting him of this new appointment — ‘Is it okay if I meet Robin later today?’. “I’m meeting Matt for breakie in a bit, and afterwards I’ll head over to yours?”
“Text me when you’re on your way.” The phone call ends with the customary ‘love you, love you too’ alongside best wishes on your breakfast date. You look at the clock, surprised you’d managed to wake up with so much time in the day to spare.
Matt had asked you to meet him for eleven, so you have two hours to shower and dress. You decide to pull out all the stops in an effort to impress him.
After a thorough shower — body hairless as one of those raw-chicken-looking cats and shining with some shimmer body lotion you’d been gifted a birthday or two ago — you look over your closet. It’s warm today, but cloudy on the horizon, so you opt for a comfortable sweater and dark-coloured skirt.
By the time you’ve done your makeup to a degree that suits you and twisted your hair into something comfortable, it’s ten forty-five. You decide, then, that it’s time to head over to Matt’s place. He always had valued punctuality.
Matt’s apartment is on the third storey, and you feel a cosmic gratitude at that fact because the lift is still out and you don’t think you’d manage to climb more flights of stairs than you already have to. Finding his flat when you’ve passed this obstacle is easy enough, front door marked by evidently college-boy humour.
The “babes this way” doormat stares at you as you knock on the door, afraid to ring the doorbell because last time you had it Matt had gotten so startled he’d hit his head against his bedroom door. The impact had been so hard that it had cracked almost in two, logwood splintering with every touch. It had taken you a few hours and a lot of grovelling to make sure that his landlord didn’t blame Matt for the accident — after all, it had been your action that had caused his reaction.
Needless to say, you were now wary about using the bell unnecessarily.
You knock again, rolling from the balls of your feet to your heels as you wait for an answer. When still you hear no sign of life, and the clock on your phone says it’s eleven-ten already, you try the doorknob.
It opens under your hand, pushing in to reveal the apartment expanse to you. While normally you’d have no qualms with entering Matt’s house, the idea of doing so without him stalls you some. Would he consider it invasive? But you had plans today, for this time, so maybe he lost track of time while getting ready and left the door open for you to enter when you got here?
The latter option does seem likely, although you can barely count on one hand the times he’s done something similar. Still, by Occam’s Razor, it makes sense.
You step into the short hallway and toe off your shoes, calling out for Matt. No one answers, but somewhere within the flat you think you hear muffled conversation.
You make it to the door to his bedroom before realising the sounds for what they really are — hushed moans and laboured grunts that make you nervous. Maybe he’s working out?
“Matt?” The door opens quietly as you step into his room.
The first thing you notice is its general disarray. Clothes are thrown about everywhere, feminine and masculine alike. You spy a pair of panties tossed over Matt’s study desk in the corner of the room. On the carpet, a heel eyes you mockingly.
Next, your eyes focus on the small pack of condoms on the nightstand that has been completely torn open. Little metal packets glint in the mid-morning light, spread about the small table and around the floor beneath it.
And of course, the most notable thing you see is the woman balanced on your boyfriend’s hips, riding him into oblivion. Her motions don’t stop as you enter, don’t stop as you take the whole scene in, don’t stop as you finally realise what this is and scream because how else should you react?
The girl screams too, shocked utterly. She hides beneath the blankets, and you can’t fault her for being surprised at the invasion. Hell, if it were the other way around, you’d be hiding too.
But Matt looks at you in a way that makes you think he’s not fully present, mentally. Generous as you are, you decide to bring him back into his body by tossing some odd socks lying on the floor at him.
You turn and leave, quickly, as he begins shouting. His bedroom door slams against its frame, the thin wood even less of a barrier than you thought it would be because now that you know what’s going on behind it, it’s difficult to mistake the sounds for anything else.
Matt lets loose some strangled cries, somewhere between pleasure and panic. You don’t care to figure out what he’s trying to say through them, pulling on your shoes with blurry eyes and throwing open the front door.
You make it halfway down exterior hallway before he catches up to you, swinging out his front door to yell “stop!” in your direction.
“Save it, Matt.”
“Please, baby, it’s-“
You round on him, pissed beyond belief at yourself for not seeing the signs, at the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks, and most of all at him for doing this to you. “It’s what, Matt? ‘Not what it looks like’? ‘Not real’?”
“God, what is fucking wrong with you? You barge into my apartment and then get mad at me when you see something you didn’t want to? Are you fucking insane or something, thinking you can invade my privacy like that?”
“Invading your privacy, Matt? We had a date today, one that you clearly forgot about, and I thought you’d left the door open for me. Must’ve been stupid to think you’d ever even imagine doing something like that for little old me.”
“It’s all your fault anyway, you know? ‘Cause you’re such a prude, frigid, bitch I had to find entertainment somewhere else.”
Your throat closes around any words that you might’ve begun saying, hurt taking over where anger had burned.
“What?” The word comes out more broken than you would have liked, and you make up for its weakness by running through the stairway door. You don’t want to hear the answer to your question. You don’t want to break down in the middle of the hallway, in front of Matt.
He walks after you, leaning over the third storey railing to call you a “bitch” a few more times. “Wouldn’t have to fuck other women if you just did your job right.”
In your car, you beeline for Robin’s place. You know that it’s probably not right, helping her prepare for the flush of new love when your relationship is falling to pieces, but you also can’t let her down. You said you’d show up, so you will.
You’ll bury the hurt because Robin deserves for this date to go well.
“Hi!” Robin is smiling more widely than you think you’ve ever seen, practically glowing with excitement.
“You seem excited,” you let her joy be contagious, revelling in the purity of it.
She blushes, inviting you in by way of walking further into the house and assuming you’ll follow. “Me? What reason could I possibly have to be excited?”
“None, I suppose.” You pull off your shoes, placing them neatly beside each other in the doorway. “Have you thought any more about what you’ll wear? Maybe had some breakthroughs?”
Robin shakes her head, bobbed hair twirling around her with the force of the movement. Her room, when you enter it on her tail, is in utter disarray. Skirts, shirts, dresses, pants, and all sorts of hard-to-discern items of clothing lay about the place in a way that makes you question just how she managed to make such a mess by herself.
“You’re earlier than I thought you’d be,” she says, pointing to a pile of clothes in a way that you presume means they’re contenders in the race for tonight’s outfit. “It’s only twelve thirty.”
“We, uh… ended up cutting it short. Matt had some things to take care of. No biggie.”
“Oh, babe, I’m sorry.”
You shrug, putting on a sweet smile for her, “it happens. So, tell me more about this Aimee?”
And Robin does, the adorable nervousness of going on a first date shining through in her words. This Aimee character, though you’ve never met her, seems absolutely wonderful.
Robin manages to spend almost an hour listing her attributes, and another hour just gushing over her. In that time, you manage to piece together a few potential date outfits, weed out some items of clothing that Robin had long since forgotten she owned, and found a few things to borrow from her.
“Ok, I’m thinking this is good?” Robin twirls, flare-leg pants following the movement. The outfit itself is simple enough, and considering they’d decided on a casual movie date, it seems fitting: jeans, a tight-fitting button-up vest, and a turtle-neck underneath that. She looks good, and you have the impression that she feels good too.
“I’m thinking hell yeah, Robs. You look great. I’ll be surprised if Aimee doesn’t jump your bones the second you meet her.”
“You know I never put out on a first date.”
You laugh, and it doesn’t feel as forced as you thought it would.
Spending these few hours with Robin has been lovely. It’s been refreshing, and the weight on your shoulders is lessened some as you say goodbye to her, heading to work.
Everything is good — greyscale, still melancholy, but good — until you walk into the backroom and Matt is standing there and you gasp and Eddie immediately just knows everything. His face falls as he looks between you and Matt, grin disappearing, and no amount of prompting from Nicola drags his attention back to her and the conversation they’d clearly been having before.
With a quick apology in her vague direction, he steps over to you.
You can’t control it, can’t stop it, and luckily Eddie envelops you in a hug before the first tears fall. He manages to manoeuvre you into the small bathroom across from the bar, the resounding click of the lock working as almost a trigger to the sobs fighting free of your throat.
“What’s going on?” Eddie whispers against your head, running a soothing hand through your hair. “Tell me what’s happening, darling?”
“Matt and I…” You don’t manage to finish the sentence, the burning “I walked in on him with another woman” sour in your throat. You don’t have to, though, because Eddie always knows.
Eddie wraps his arms tighter around you, if such a feat were possible with the way he’s already positively squeezing you. “I figured it was something like that when he showed up here, askin’ about you. Sorry I couldn’t get rid of him.”
“S’not your fault, Eds.”
“Maybe, but you’re still my responsibility.”
Your heart soars. “You’re too nice to me,” you say, warmed by his concern as always.
“As nice as you deserve,” he presses his lips to your forehead, “wanna tell me what happened?”
You did, you did, because you wanted the support of your friends and you couldn’t ruin Robin’s date, but now Eddie was here and asking you and it was nice. Your chest bloomed with warmth.
And then bloomed with embarrassment, fear, mortification.
“Just, uh…”
“No judgement,” he said, hands tracing a comforting line up and down your back. And you knew there wouldn’t be, this was Eddie.
You inhaled and exhaled a few times, hoping the action would soothe you, steady you. “Matt, he, uh… we had plans for breakfast, and I got to his this morning… I guess he forgot, or something, and there was this girl there and I…”
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. What a dick, I should’ve known you shouldn’t trust him based on his choice of DnD class. I mean, who picks a bard and then plays it straight?”
You giggle, wiping away tears with the palm of your hand with a sniffle. Eddie’s eyes flicker across your face, small grin dimpling his cheek in reflection of your expression. Shame still squeezes your throat, though, choking you up.
Eddie, ever aware of your emotional state, notices. “Is there something else, sweets?”
Before you can answer, Matt’s voice rings through the door, angered. The door creaks as he knocks on it, and Eddie gently moves you behind him.
“The fuck do you want, man?” He yells over the noise, one hand wrapped around your bicep and other spread out in front of him.
Matt’s voice is loud in the silence from the cessation of his action. You shiver, not necessarily scared that he’ll hurt you but worried nonetheless. You don’t want him to shout at you, don’t want to see him mad in your space. Don’t want Eddie to see your reaction at Matt being cross with you.
“Is she in there with you?” Eddie looks down at you, silently asking for the next move.
“Yeah,” you call out, “I’m here.” The three steps to the door feel like a mile, but you manage to reach it and click open the lock. Matt stands there, Nicola behind him, and if you hadn’t spent six months getting to know his habits you’d think the slouched stance he sports is casual. Instead, your eyes focus on his flaring nostrils and clenched fists.
You step away from the door, waving him in. He declines.
Matt is abrasive as he asks, “can he leave?” chin jutting in Eddie’s direction.
It’s impossible to look away from Matt, but you can picture Eddie’s face at this moment — concerned, caring. “I’d rather he not.” When Eddie, behind you, makes a noise as though to disagree, you reiterate the sentiment.
“I’d like him to stay, please."
Matt rolls his eyes, entering the small bathroom and shutting the door behind him. Nicola’s prying eyes look through the crack as it closes, and you don’t blame her for the interest. You just hope the door is thick enough that she can’t hear the conversation to come.
You start, worried that if you wait Matt will explode. “I’m sorry for running away from you today.”
“Not going to apologise for barging into my apartment, no?”
The pebble in your chest grows into a boulder, air leaving your lungs. “I’m sorry for walking in on you.”
“Dude,” Eddie cuts in, “doesn’t matter what she did, you cheated on her.”
Matt’s brows pull together, stress lines marking his forehead. He steps forward once more, hand reaching for yours, and his mouth shapes a grimace when he feels the tremor in your fingers. It looks real, genuine, but his eyes are sharp and dangerous.
“Baby,” Matt implores, “I’m so sorry. It didn’t mean anything to me, she doesn’t mean anything to me. It’s just hard, y’know?”
You nod, a slight movement that brings a frightening sparkle to Matt’s eye. He trails a hand up your arm, embracing you closely, and you let him pull you into the hard planes of his chest.
It feels awkward, sure, Matt’s hugs always do, but it’s the sentiment in the hug that counts.
“Just been hard to not get that kind of attention, baby. You’ve been holding out on me, right? Needed to go to someone else to take care of me, didn’t I?”
Eddie grunts somewhere behind you.
Matt’s words hurt, but on the best of days he makes you feel wanted. Makes you feel desirable, even if you’re not ready for that step. He’s been patient, you think, kind with the way you’re uncomfortable with intimacy.
“Yeah,” you agree, halfheartedly.
“Yeah.” Matt’s arms tighten around you, breath catching in your chest. “You forgive me, right?”
You nod, then vocalise again, “yeah.”
Eddie coughs, and it’s fake in a way that you know is meant to make a point.
Matt lets you go, slightly, just to look over your shoulder at Eddie. From your vantage point pressed against his ribcage, you can only feel as Matt’s muscles prick with the movements of what you’re sure is a silent conversation with him.
Eddie leaves the room, the clunk of his boots only ceasing for a second as he reaches the space where Matt is holding you close. “Are you okay?” He asks, voice pitched low not for the purpose of privacy, but to make it apparent that his words are only for you to respond to.
“‘M okay, Eds. Thank you.”
And Eddie leaves, the door closing softly behind him.
Things were good for two weeks.
Almost as though he were crushed by guilt, Matt played the part of the doting boyfriend with all the vigour of an actor shooting for an Oscar.
Flowers showed up in the backroom every day you had a shift, red roses and lilies, and you’d come back to your flat with him having cooked a meal often enough that you worried for the state of your pans — though, of course, it was the thought that counted, you were tired of spending hours scrubbing the burnt-on food off of them after dinner, as Matt relaxed with a movie.
Still, things were good.
Eddie still checked on you every once in a while, kind touches on the small of your back as you read the little notecard supplied with the flower bouquets; versions of “love you baby”, “would wait forever for you”, “whenever you’re ready”. You’d smile up at him, make an off comment about how kind Matt is, how considerate and thoughtful, and go on with your day.
If only the flowers made you feel as confident in your relationship as Matt seemed to be. He’d show up at least once a day when you were on shift and shower you with praise, go for kisses and hugs even though you were working.
Things were good.
They had to be. Matt was putting in so much effort, trying his absolute best, and yet there was this niggling feeling that something was wrong. Shit, you felt guilty at the thought.
“Baby!” Matt leans over the bartop, lips pursed for a kiss. With a quick look around the limited clientele here at five in the evening, you give him a quick peck and dodge his hand before he can deepen the kiss.
“How was you day, love?”
“Good,” he answers, voice light.
“Good,” you echo, painted smile crinkling the corners of your eyes.
Things were good for two weeks, and it’s the next day when that fortnight ends.
It’s a Saturday. You don’t usually work Saturdays.
You’re only working today because Robin and Aimee are having their sixth date in as many days, swept up in the excitement and nerves of new love. From their first date on that fateful days two weeks ago, they’ve spent nearly every moment possible together.
As a joke, you’d bought Robin a little Hallowe’en present of a tiny U-Haul truck key charm, which both her and Aimee had loved. The keychain became a staple decoration of the checkout counter at the bookstore they both worked in, hanging on a little hook for all to see.
Working closing isn’t particularly familiar to you, having only taken late shifts once or twice in the months spent under Ted’s employment. The basics are obvious: clean the bar, the bar floor, and the backroom; kick out the stragglers. Still, you call up Eddie to chat with him and maybe double check some of the standards.
Normally you’d just ask the other people on shift — Wren and Mindy — but neither of them seemed particularly poised for helping today.
Wren, you’d interacted with before, so you knew they preferred to just stand threateningly in the corner until closing as opposed to interacting with either staff or patrons. You didn’t mind that much, introversion was a trait you managed to share with them most of the time.
Mindy was nice too, and you chalked her lack of willingness to talk to you to the rush of people. It was difficult to get to know someone, after all, when there were rowdy folks yelling after a pint over one another.
And on another level, you’d felt as though you’d seen her before, but it was difficult to place when. Maybe she’d visited the bar once during your shift?
“So, are the toilets usually this bad?” You grit out, utterly disgusted at the toilet paper that has somehow wound up wrapped around each leg of the bathroom stall.
Eddie laughs on the line, “pretty much. Has everyone left?”
“Yeah.” You check the time on your phone quickly, nothing humourlessly that the sun would be rising soon. “Sorry to have woken you up so early.”
Eddie barely lets you finish the apology before interrupting with a fierce, “I was already awake. And anyway, I would’ve woken up just to talk to you.”
You thank any stars still in the early-morning sky that you’re alone in the bathroom, flushed at Eddie’s kindness.
“Insomniac.” You say.
“Slave to the Man,” he rebuts.
“Are you going to have an early night today, then?” You’re asking off-handedly, mostly concerned with cleaning your hands after having to touch — even through gloves — that disgusting mess.
Eddie laughs. “At least pretend that you know me, sweets.”
It’s your turn to chuckle, feeling light despite how bone-tired you are. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning with your three-sugars, half-full of cream, oat milk latte, Eds, to settle this.”
Finished washing up, you tidy away the cleaning supplies and lock down the bathroom. Odd lights are shut off as you scoot around the outer corridor of the bar, the hallway leading to the main serving area.
You hear voices, one you recognise as that of Wren saying their goodbyes and the others as Mindy and, well, someone.
“Are you going straight home after this?” Eddie asks, stealing your attention away from much more consideration of the voices.
“I should.” The heavy wooden door creaks open as you step out of the side hallway.
You gasp.
Eddie’s voice rings out from your phone speaker, but it sounds distorted and fuzzy and wrong.
The breath leaves your lungs in one exhale, one pitiful whimper.
He turns.
Mindy is balanced on his lap, one hand wandering under the hem of his shirt and the other disappearing into his pants. Matt is in no less a compromising position, clearly having been in the process of pulling down her jeans as you had walked in.
Mindy breaks the silence, voice rubbing against some feral, angry part of your brain. “Oh,” she says, “I thought you left.”
I thought you’d left.
“Still here,” you trill, already feeling the prick of fresh tears on your waterline.
You look at Mindy, who looks at Matt, who looks at you. He turns around, faces Mindy, and tucks some hair behind her ear.
“Is this a friend of yours?” he asks her, and you feel chest crack, your heart break. Again.
“I was just leaving,” you direct your words directly at Mindy, “sorry to bother you.”
Things were really good for two weeks.
Matt starts ringing you at midday, and continues to do so until you answer his call.
It’s dinnertime, and you’d managed to rustle up a hearty meal of some grapes, two grilled cheese sandwiches, and a handful of odd cereal you’d found laying about in your cupboard.
“Why haven’t you been answering me?”
You don’t want to talk to him. You don’t. You can hear Eddie’s voice in every corner of your skull saying “no! Don’t do this!”. Robin is chiming in with her two-pence, too, ever and annoyingly right: “this is a bad idea!”
You suppose you don’t owe him this, closure, after he’d managed to betray your trust twice — that you knew of. But you wanted it for yourself. You wanted to be able to talk about Matt as a silly little mistake you’d made in the past and learnt from.
“What do you want, Matt?”
“So sorry, baby.” He sounds tearful, you think, but maybe you’re projecting. You had spent the better half of the morning after returning home curled up in a little ball, overstimulated from equal parts exhaustion and anger at yourself.
You allow his ramble, allow him talk about how shocked he was seeing you there this morning, confused because he didn’t know you were on shift and why didn’t you tell him you were on shift? You should have told him you were working, it’s really an asshole move that you didn’t, so really it’s your fault, anyway.
It’s difficult to interrupt him, but you manage. “Matt, we’re over.”
There’s silence on the line.
“Matt?”
“You can’t do this to me. I’ve been so patient with you, been waiting months and months for you to put out, done everything a good boyfriend is supposed to do. I listen to you whine and mope about mean guys at the bar, don’t say a damn thing when you ask to just cuddle, and when I go see other girls to make up for what you don’t wanna give me you break up with me?”
You’d cry, if you could, but you feel dreadfully empty inside. In lieu of making any more of a fool of yourself than you already have you offer him a quiet “goodbye,” and hang up.
The phone feels heavy in your hand.
The food on your plate is unappetising.
The kitchen light above you is too bright.
You call Eddie.
Eddie shows up as quickly as he always does, heady wafts of cigarette smoke floating under your doorframe far before he knocks on it.
He’s rushing to embrace you when he steps in the room, warm touch so comforting you could die.
“Are y’alright sweets?”
“I think so…” You’re not. “Just kinda sad.”
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart, he didn’t deserve you.”
You can only laugh, self-deprecating, still mad that you’d let yourself get fooled by him, that you believed him when he said it was only a mistake he’d made.
If you were being truly honest, when hurt most was the fact that this all came about as an issue of sex.
More specifically, that you weren’t in any place to have any sort of relations with him. Was there something wrong with you, that you couldn’t find it in you to be sexually attracted to your boyfriend when it was so easy to find comfort in the hands of the man currently squishing you to his chest?
Fucking hell.
“That’s nice of you to say.”
Eddie makes a very noise of disagreement, the sound reverberating in his chest and into your eardrums. “It’s the truth.”
“I’m not sure that’s right, Eds. But I appreciate it.”
He pulls away from you just enough to even a mock-glare your way. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
You shake your head, shrugging. “Just, y’know, no one’s a saint.”
“‘M pretty sure you are, sweets. Saint to put up with me.”
At that, you do cry.
A few weeks pass. You’re dealing as well as you can, which is surprisingly well considering Ted has signed you on for a few more closing shifts — closing shifts with Mindy — so you’d had to watch her and Matt exchange spit often enough.
There had been a point right after the breakup when you’d tried to tell her about you and Matt, but she’d brushed you off with a “you don’t think I knew?” Which, needless to say, had not really improved your working relationship.
Matt hadn't approached you at all during that time, seemingly happy to just let your relationship end with the knowledge that you had nothing more to say to him. Or, maybe he was just happy that he had a girlfriend who was happy to engage in relations with him whenever he wanted it. Whatever.
It was fine though, really. Fine that Matt had been going behind your back for months longer than you’d known, fine that you still had to see him, fine that Mindy didn’t seem to care that he was a rotten old prick.
And fine, most of all, that it was sex that was the final factor in him cheating on you. Not, say, the way you chewed your salads, or the way you insisted upon setting three alarms just to get up in the morning.
Whatever, and just fine and fucking dandy.
“And then she invited me over, and well, I had forgotten that vibe I like-“
“Robin,” you snap back into reality. “I don’t want to hear about your vibrators in the middle of work.”
“But you haven’t been free for coffee lately,” she whines, “when else are we gonna gossip?”
“Just been a little caught up with stuff, y’know?”
Robin’s face falls, hands clasping at her gasping mouth. “Oh my god! I didn’t mean… I know it’s been hard and you take all the time you need to to heal, obviously. I’m not-“
You place a kind hand on her shoulder, interrupting her “you���re okay, honey. I know what you meant. How about you come over Saturday night? We can do a movie, wine, gossip, stay up painting our nails and stuff. Yeah?”
Robin still looks apologetic as she nodes, and you suddenly feel so grateful to have someone missing your appearance in their life this desperately. “Yeah. I feel like we haven’t had a nice shit-talking session for the town bike, either, so this should be super-healing for you.”
You laugh, hugging Robin to you as well as you can over the bartop. “I think I need one of those.”
And it’s Saturday night that you realise you might be attracted to one scraggly-haired Edward Munson.
Robin is sitting across from you, seventh glass of wine clutched loosely between her fingers as she recounts the night of wonderment that was Aimee’s proposal to be official. If you’re being honest, you had thought they were official ages ago, but you also weren’t the kind to turn down a good story.
You hadn’t quite zoned out, still listening in on her excitement, but somehow something she says manages to trigger a memory of that one time Eddie had told you a similar story, and you were spiralling.
You loved Eddie, that much had always been certain. Loved the way he always cheered you up, always called you first to share a funny story he’d just heard some strangers trade on the bus. Loved how kind he was to everyone, loved his sense of humour.
Loved the way he always felt warm and solid and comforting against you, grounding and caring all at once. Loved the way he remembered the little things, like that you always had to tie your shoes a certain way or you feet would go numb, or that you hated gloves and preferred mittens.
Loved him utterly and deeply.
Platonically, of course.
So just maybe you were attracted to him.
Shit.
But…
Maybe you could use this. If you loved him, platonically, of course, and trusted him, and were attracted to him, perhaps you could get over some dam in your brain that hadn’t let you take that last step with Matt.
It was a good idea, right?
Right?
Monday morning you were starting to think differently, but you’d resolved to at least ask him. Eddie got around, you knew that. He’d told you plenty about the many girls he took home by virtue of being a bartender in a band.
This would be just like that, except he’d also be doing you a favour. Right?
Right.
So, you’d cornered him at the start of your shift and asked him to take a smoke break with you — he’d looked at you funny, as you didn’t smoke, but followed you out nonetheless.
“So?” He probed, the second the door pressed closed behind you.
You take a steadying breath. “Wanted to talk with you about something.”
Eddie “mhm’s” at you, lighting a smoke and sticking it between his lips.
“Eds, I…” you start, fear drying your throat and making your words all sticky. “I want to ask you something.”
Eddie makes a small noise of assent, urging you to carry on with a movement of his head down to catch your eye. You turn away, too embarrassed to look directly at him, and clear your throat.
“Could you… so, you know how I’ve been with Matt? He, uh… he wanted to,” you make a nonsensical gesture with your hands, self-soothing and meaningless, “y’know and I just never could and I was thinking if I did do it with someone it would be easier to do it in a relationship next time and I really trust you so I was hoping…” you trail off at the incredulous look on Eddie’s face.
A few seconds pass, neither you nor him saying anything, and you begin stuttering out an apology when he grasps your hands. His voice is muffled slightly by the cigarette sticking out the corner of his mouth.
“Are you asking me to… to have sex with you?”
Your face warms, humiliation running through your veins. “Sort of? I’m asking you to take my virginity, Eds. I think that might be the problem.”
“Oh.” As mortifying as it is, you manage to glance up at him. You find him already watching your face, eyes flickering across its span to read your expression. Instead of disgust, or anger, however, he replies with “are you sure?”
“I trust you,” is your immediate response. It takes no thought, that had all been expended these past few weeks after your breakup with Matt, after your assessment of who Matt — who Eddie — was to you. Even if Eddie didn’t care for you in the way you did him, you wanted it to be him to do this. You wanted to have this memory with him.
“If this is just because of Matt…”
“It’s not. It’s not.”
“Okay.”
“You’re sure?”
Eddie exhales sharply, extinguishing his cig on the wall beside you before crushing it under his boot. “Sure I’m sure, sweets.”
And that’s the last thing said on the subject for the next three days.
It’s a slow night, tonight. Small crowd, just the regulars who liked to show their support for a small local business, or something like that. Maybe it was just the draw of liquor after a week of working, but you preferred to believe that the number of regulars recently had to do with your dazzling personality.
Eddie slips in next to you, hand finding a loop in your apron to brace his thumb on. “I wanna take you out,” he says, and the surprise at his words almost makes you drop the cocktail you’ve been shaking. For a split second, you truly do believe that he’s asking you out, before remembering your conversation from earlier this week.
And, okay. Maybe since you’d had that chat you’d come to the realisation that you might have the smallest, tiniest, minusculest crush on him. But that wouldn’t change anything, because Eddie didn’t like you like that. So he’d do you this favour and you’d find someone else and you’d be able to go back to being friends.
Still, your response is less-that-intelligent. “What?”
“If I’m going to be the one to take care of you for the first time, I wanna do it right, y’know?”
“You don’t have to do that, Eds. This isn’t like a,” you search for the words, mind and body betraying logic with the way they absolutely preen at the thought of him taking you out. “This isn’t like a,” you start again, swallowing around a lump happily lodging itself in your throat, “dating thing. It’s really not necessary.”
Eddie makes a sound of disapproval, but you can’t imagine what he’d have to argue with. It’s a sound thought, as this was an unemotional matter for the both of you. Mostly.
You manage to finish the cocktail, garnish it, run it over to the forty-something pretty woman in the corner who was clearly going through something dour, and return to start on another drink before Eddie says anything more.
“Please?” He asks, brown eyes large and pleading.
There’s not a bone in your body that can resist him at his most annoying, and the doe-like quality of his features right now is rendering you to barely-functional goop.
“Okay,” you finally nod, trying to quell the beating of your heart. Even though you know this is just Eddie helping you to the best of his abilities, it does nothing to stifle the want blossoming inside your chest.
It’s Saturday night again. You could almost laugh at the coincidence; it’s been a week since grand revelations, and here you are getting ready for a sort-of date.
It’s getting dark already, and somehow you feel more stressed than you have done since you met Eddie for the first time. Not even your first date with Matt rendered you such a mess, and that in and of itself was scary enough as your first venture into the dating world.
You dust off your dress again, the polyester-blend as clean of lint as it had been the last five times you had done so. The selection at your local shops had been slim on clothing in your style, so you had ended up wearing an old dress you’d bought once for a college party.
It's nice, overall, if unimpressive. A dark red, the neckline dipped low enough that you’d had to buy new undergarments specifically for it and its bodycon silhouette. You’d decided to just go all out and buy nice lingerie too. Go big or go home, right?
It would be untrue to say you were regretting the choice now, because the lace bralette and underwear lay nicely on your body and were soft to the touch, but it could definitely be said that you were rethinking it. Would Eddie find it too presumptuous? Too forward? Would he think that you were implying this was something more?
Well, you supposed it would be, to you, but he didn’t need to know that.
You could dwell in the thoughts circling your mind, endless and restless and quite frankly annoying, but a knock at your door struck you from your train of thought.
Eddie stood behind it, grinning as widely as ever. His dimples stood out against his cheeks, and he was beautiful. Your breath caught in your throat, eyes unable to focus on just one thing to admire.
He had made even more of an effort today than you had, band tee replaced by a deep red dress shirt, ripped jeans traded for straight-leg dress pants. His chain-linked wallet sticks oddly out of his pocket, hanging on to a belt loop. Through all this, though, he still wears a well-loved leather jacket.
It’s impossible for you to look him in the eyes, mind too invested in the sinful stretch of material across the meat of his thighs. The fact that him wearing fancy clothing marginally less tight than normal has you more pent up that seeing him in his customary skinnies is somewhat curious to you, but it’s something to assess when you’re alone in your room some other night.
“And to think I was going to go with the black one,” Eddie says, striking you out of your stupor.
“Hm?”
“Black shirt. Good thing I wore the red one instead,” he gestures at your dress, then back at his shirt, and dips his head to meet your eyes. You blink at him blankly, images of his lean muscles showing through tight fabric still pervading your thoughts.
You watch his eyebrows draw together, worry lining his features. “Are you still sure about this?”
Unable to vocalise a response for fear of telling him just how sure you are, you nod.
“Gonna need you to tell me, sweets.”
With a shaky voice, you manage a slight “yeah.”
Eddie quirks a brow, clearly looking for more of an answer.
“Yes, yes I’m still sure.” You take a steadying breath, smiling at him for the first time this evening.
He nods, reaching out a hand to you. Its rough callouses feel warm against your skin, inviting. His kind eyes look down into yours, and any anxiety you’d felt before leaves at the care in them. He pulls you out the door towards him.
“You’re right,” you say, mind finally caught up to what Eddie had said before. “It is funny you picked a shirt the same colour as my dress.”
Eddie gives you an amused smile, not quite laughing at you but not quite just laughing either. “Some would call it fate.”
“I call it similar taste in fashion,” you joke, then remember that your hand is still holding tight to his. Using the excuse of locking your door behind you, you let it drop back to his side and turn away. “So, where are we going tonight?”
“Can’t tell you that, sweets.”
“This feels very much like the start to a Forensic Files episode, Eds.”
He chuckles, slinging an arm around your waist as you face him once more. Using the grip on you, he pulls you down your flat hallway, to the lift, and into the front car park.
A motorcycle is waiting for you there, the only vehicle you don’t recognise.
“Isn’t she lovely?” Eddie asks as you walk up to it.
“Very nice,” you nod, eyes roving the metal appraisingly.
Eddie takes a helmet out from some compartment in the bike, handing it to you. When you look at it dumbly, he makes a motion of question and at your permission secures it on your head.
His fingers are gentle as he closes the clasps under your chin. “Wasn’t asking you.”
Before you can say anything at all, he closes the visor of your helmet. The motion shocks you into silence, not least because of his words prior to it.
And before you can manoeuvre the visor up, Eddie’s already got his helmet on and is sitting comfortably against the bike, hands spread as though to tell you he’s waiting. You suddenly feel very grateful that you decided on boots for this occasion instead of heels.
It’s somewhat hard to get up behind him, your balance always having been askew. Eddie helps you, hand placed firmly on your arm and waist to lift you upwards. When you’ve made it up, you’re not sure what to do with your hands. There’s no seatbelts here, no handles to grasp. Thankfully, Eddie, ever aware of your moods, takes your hands in his and settles them securely around his lithe waist.
Your face warms. For all the times you’ve heard about riding with someone on a bike (once… you’d heard of it once, and it had been from Robin, who had gone on a date with a biker chick in her experimental phase) you’d never expected this to be so intimate.
Your heart pounds at the proximity to him, fingers itching with the need to trace along the clasps and contours of his leather jacket, consumed by the hope they might feel what lays underneath it.
How were you supposed to breathe under these conditions?
“Ready?” Eddie says, and it takes him squeezing your hand to realise he’s asking you.
You make a “mhm” of agreement, then remember his words from earlier. “Yeah, I’m ready.”
And he revs the engine, the harsh motor sounds louder than you had anticipated them to be. Everything lurches forward and you fall flush against him, arms tightening around his waist with the fear that you’ll fall.
Eddie chuckles, and as sad as you are that you can’t hear it, can’t see the way the action lights up his face, you do have to admit that it’s an entirely different experience to feel the reverberations in his chest.
“How far away is this place?” You ask, and it takes you five tries, as you zoom through chock-blocked streets and near-empty alleys, to realise that Eddie can’t really hear you over the rushing wind.
The drive to… wherever… is short, barely five minutes. You’re not sure where you are, and you’re also not sure you can let go of Eddie. Your arms feel stuck to him with glue, and you distantly wonder if he will be able to scrape you off him.
“We’re here,” Eddie says, voice a husk from the frost lacing the air.
When Eddie steps closer to you, the streetlights bouncing off his helmet in a way that haloes him and creates the silhouette of an alien. Almost as though he can sense the thought, Eddie flips up both of your visors and grins at you.
His fingers, gloved and leathery, trail up your neck in a touch reminiscent of a kiss. You lean into it, into his careful touches moving towards the clasp secured under your chin. He’s much slower undoing it than he had been closing it, and you’re almost tipsy with the contact.
The helmer finally comes free, sliding up and over your head. Eddie chuckles, helps you fix some fly away hair strands, and takes his own off.
“Where’s here?” You ask as a way to distract from the heat blossoming in your chest. Maybe to also distract from the flaring burn rushing your veins at the leftover sensation of his touch.
Eddie shrugs, “somewhere.”
There’s a few shops on the street he’s decided to park on, a few restaurants that look relatively inviting. Music streams out from a few of them, interior lights spilling onto the pathways and road that paints this part of the town in shadow.
“C’mon, Eds,” you beg, “tell me?”
He sighs theatrically, and it’s with his entire body. “There’s this nice Mexican spot here. Thought you’d like it.”
“That sounds lovely. Which way?”
He lights up with a giant grin, dimples stark against his cheeks, and offers you his elbow with gentlemanly courtesy. You take it, giggling, and feel that rush of excitement in your throat that’s nothing less than juvenile and pure.
The small restaurant is nice, and the smells wafting from it are nothing less than inviting. There’s music spilling from the open door, too, light and joyous.
It doesn’t take long for Eddie to secure you a table, and your waiter comes over promptly to introduce himself. He seems happy to see Eddie, who seems less happy to see him.
“I didn’t know you were working tonight,” Eddie says, fingers tapping the table.
“I’m Steve,” the waiter tells you, hair quaff bouncing as he turns away from whatever eye-contact battle him and Eddie had been having.
Steve leans again smiles kindly when you tell him your name, and then connect the dots.
“Steve? Like, Robin’s Steve? Like, Platonic Love of Robin’s Life, Steve?”
He laughs, “yeah, I mean. I think so. How can I get you two started?”
You turn to Eddie, who’s already looking at you, and ask him his opinion; you figure he has at least an idea of what’s good given he knows Steve.
And he does, ordering several small dishes that he praises highly. Neither of you drink, Eddie because he’s driving and you because you’re dead stressed about getting back on his bike — worried that if you drink you’ll lose your balance or something and fall off it as he drives.
Dinner passes so wonderfully, brilliantly, amazingly well that you almost forget this is just a plot to get laid by someone you trust. Steve comes by a few more times, complimenting you on your outfit and sharing a few stories you’re sure you can use to blackmail Robin.
Before you know it, Eddie is pulling you with a tight — but gentle — grip on your hand and leading you out the door.
You assume this means the end of the date.
You’re wrong.
Eddie, still holding you by the hand, pulls you down the main street to a little shop filtering warm light onto the pavement. It’s beautiful, if somewhat run-down looking, the paint peeling and flaking off the open door knocking lightly against the opposite wall with the breeze.
“What is this place?” The words aren’t quite breathless, but something close, suddenly very aware that this street is fairly empty and as attracted as you are to Eddie, you have no proof he’s not a murderer.
He smiles at you, winks. “Saw you reading a tattered copy of The Colour of Magic one day, so I figured I’d get you a new copy. Where better than the best bookshop on this side of the ocean?”
Oh wow.
Actually, that’s not intense enough to cover the pounding of your heart and the weakness you’re feeling in your knees.
Oh fuck me, is decidedly better.
“You didn’t have to…”
“It’s family owned, which I thought you’d like. Samara is at home today but if you like it here I can bring you back sometime. To meet her, that is.”
Never mind, actually, because even “fuck” isn’t strong enough to cover the whirlwind of emotions spitting through your head.
Eddie’s looking at you, so kindly, and you need to answer him somehow but you really can’t. This might just be the kindest thing anyone has ever done for you, definitely the nicest thing a man has ever done for you, and the words just won’t work in your mouth.
Eddie, angel he is, asks if everything is alright and you can only nod for fear that if you do try to say something you’ll start crying right in front of him.
“That’s really kind of you, Eddie.”
He grins, says “only the best for you,” and beckons you into the bookstore with him.
It’s as beautiful within as it was externally, dark oak shelves lining every wall of the small building. There’s a smell of old tomes in the air, floral, woody, and it feels like a promise of home.
“I know I said I brought you here for good old Pratchett, but you can go wild if you want.” He’s causal when he says it, and you’re surprised at it.
You eyes go wide. “Eds, I can’t ask you to buy books for me,” you lower your tone, eyes examining your surroundings in case of an eavesdropper. “They’re expensive.”
Eddie laughs.
“To ease your mind, let’s say I get a family discount.”
“Eddie…”
“Come on, let me treat you.”
He buys you The Colour of Magic, and one more book that he’d been adamant you’d enjoy. He almost looks disappointed when you refuse to let him pay for more, treat you more, but you’re stubborn and he’s too engrossed in the look in your eyes to argue back.
You’re floating on pure joy all the way back to his apartment. Everything feels light, even the lengthy books stuffed in your bag.
There’s some level of dread that scratches at the back of your throat when Eddie parks, but you logic it out of your mind with the knowledge that you trust and love him so deeply. And nothing that happens tonight — or any other night — could change that.
You make it inside lightening-quick, worried to seem too eager, but encouraged on by Eddie’s wide smile.
He fumbles with the keys to his front door, fingers shaking with what you hope is nervous anticipation. It doesn’t really make a difference, when your own muscles are quaking in excitement.
You make it inside, and Eddie helps you shuck off your boots before latching onto you in a searing press of his lips against yours.
It’s explosive kissing him, gentle and kind and passionate all at once.
It’s suddenly very difficult to remember that he’s doing this by request, that this evening had not just occurred naturally.
Somehow, amidst the kissing, you make it back to his room. You’ve been here before, hanging out before concerts at one pub or another, but its atmosphere is so different this time.
Eddie’s arm slides around your waist, hand splaying against your back as you lie on his plush bed. His mouth travels down, down, over your neck and to the dip in your dress.
You lean up, hands winding into his hair, pushing him back towards your mouth. He groans against you, restless hands trailing your body and catching on your invisible zipper.
Your hands push his away, pulling it down and welcoming him between your legs. The dress catches on your elbow as you pull it over your head, and Eddie giggles. The sound draws heat to your cheeks, temporary embarrassment flushing you.
“Need some help with that, sweets?”
You nod, then realise he probably can’t see you, and whisper “yes.”
He laughs agains, peeling the finicky dress up and off you. “Hi,” he smiles, eyes flickering between yours as the fabric finally falls away from your face.
“Hi,” you giggle back, giddy and excited despite yourself.
Eddie kisses you again, hand wrapped around the back of your neck. He leads you to lie back on the bed, hair spread across his pillow and thighs caging his narrow hips in.
Sitting back, he looks down at you and sighs. His eyes are heated as they flicker across your form, especially appreciative of the assets pointedly left on display by the lacy lingerie just barely covering your modesty.
You stare up at him, waiting for his next move, unsure of what you’re supposed to be doing.
Eddie’s brows furrow, and he rolls away to lie beside you on the bed. Everything collapses around you.
“I can’t do this. I… I’m really sorry, sweets. But I can’t.”
Tears well in your eyes, but you still manage to reach a comforting hand towards his form. You rub circles into the flesh there, “it’s okay, Eds. It’s a lot to ask of you.”
“I’m really sorry.”
“I know. It’s okay.” You gather your dress, the shoes you had dropped somewhere along the way, and leave.
You manage to make it to the lobby of his apartment before the waterworks start, painful sobs wracking your chest and squeezing your lungs. Half the pain comes from holding back the mournful sounds rising in your throat like bile — careful not to worry the kindly older woman walking towards to lift with your emotional state.
The other half of the pain comes from the pang of rejection that echos in your heart, crushing and somehow expected all at once. You can’t blame Eddie for it, can’t get mad at him, can’t fault him for the massive bruise on your ego. This was a favour between friends, and the consent of both parties was important above all.
Still, though, it hurts to be here in this moment. It hurts to know that tomorrow night you’ll have to see him again in work after the evening you’d shared. For all the tears running spilling over your cheeks and running down your neck, your heart still yearns for a few hours ago when Eddie had been holding you to him, looking at you as though you meant the world and the stars.
So, needless to say, you enjoyed a large bowl of ice cream and some wine when you finally arrived home.
And you enjoyed a nice sleep-in the next day, as well as a nice scroll through various social medias. When that got boring, you napped, then read some good, old, supportive fanfiction. Then napped again. Then dodged a call from a friend, and ate an exquisite meal of grilled cheese before your television while rewatching that comfort show for the fifth time.
The next day passed much the same, though with an inclusion of several miscalls from Eddie. It’s slightly harder to fall back into a groove of not thinking about him after you see the notifications, but you still manage well enough to put him out of your mind for the rest of the day. Even your sleep remains dreamless, thankfully.
All things considered, the weekend passes well enough. You spend less than five hours thinking about Eddie, and less than three crying about the sting of his dismissal. The confidence, then, that you’re fine now, over it, keeps you warm as you walk to work on Monday.
Any faked pep in your step tides you through the front door, through the bar space, and truly does last until you enter the backroom and see Eddie. His smile, as per usual, greets you, and you’re keenly aware that it’s only you two standing within the room at the moment.
You test a smile, even if your ribcage feels as though it’s collapsing in on you. It feels wrong. Too wide, too sharp, too tense.
Eddie notices, of course he does. He winces, makes a move as though to step closer to you, and stands still. Well, as still as Eddie can manage, because even with muscles rigid he’s in motion; arms swinging by his sides in what could be read as careless, but you know is just from nerves.
Neither of you speaks.
Ted, your never-present boss, walks in.
Ted does the talking for both of you, plenty of it, about his wife and kids and the fourteenth birthday party his son is asking for — no theme, dad, if you’d believe it, as though he didn’t beg for a superhero party just last year — and he makes a point to mention how tired you look today. You tell him it’s just schoolwork that’s got you staying up late, recently, that it’ll pass. You promise that you’ll get some sleep tonight, and leave the backroom.
Eddie tries to catch your eye as you pass, and fails.
A while week goes by like this, the only change being that you’ve elected to come to work later so as to avoid Eddie. You did try to beg Ted to give you more closing shifts, but it had turned out that his nephew needed a job to save up for “his first Valentine’s with a girl” — or something — and that took precedence over your unsure excuses. When Ted had begun prying — was something wrong between you and Eddie? — you’d quickly shut him down and shrugged the entire ordeal off.
Whatever.
It’s not like it could get worse between you and Eddie. He was practically hanging off Nicola at this point which, well, was good. Maybe if he and Nicola got together you could get over your silly little crush on him, and the cut of rejection that it had made feel so much deeper.
You doubted it, though. Truly and genuinely.
Because even with staying away from him, being barely civil, there was only an insurmountable love running through your veins. It hurt to be away from him, but it hurt, too, to be around him.
And because you were a grown-ass woman with a grown-ass sense of emotional intelligence, you took the smart path and avoided him.
Mostly.
“Can I talk to you?” Eddie slips in next to you by the bartop, leaning so he can look you in the eye.
You try to look anywhere else but at him, you do, but somehow he manages to get close enough that his face fills up your entire view, his puppy-dog-eyes front and centre. And fuck, man, stronger people than you wouldn’t able to hold out against him.
You nod.
Eddie beckons you to the back alleyway, patrons filling the bar in a way that presumes the toilet isn’t the best place for privacy right now.
You follow him. He lights a cigarette, leans back on the wall. His fingers are jittery, tapping, tapping, tapping against any surface they can. His rings clink as they rub against each other, catching sunset-light and shining it across the bricks of the alley walls.
He speaks, and his voice is broken. “Why are you avoiding me?”
“I’m not,” is your instant response, because even if you are, you’re not doing it for the fun of things.
He gives you an incredulous look, eyebrows raised so far they disappear into his fringe. Some smoke blows out of his mouth, just the corner, because his fingers are too busy moving incessantly to remove the cigarette.
You’ll compromise, “maybe a little.”
“Maybe a lot-le.”
“Just, uh…” words are disappearing from your mind at an alarming rate, and really you’d be worried about why if you were anywhere else but here, with anyone else but him. “Just wanted to give you some space. Figured you’d want that after…” it’s a little pathetic, honestly, how you can’t even string enough words together to finish the sentence. Bile rises in your mouth, bitter and acidic and anxious. “After what happened.”
Eddie’s speechless, you think. His fingers stop their dancing.
“I’m sorry,” he says, just like he did that night, and you don’t think you can stomach him saying it again.
“Please stop apologising.”
“I-” He starts, then stops. He’s back in motion, suddenly, toe of his boot scuffing the dusty ground in front of him.
“I asked a lot of you, Eds. It’s fine. It’s not your fault it got to be…” your stomach is doing cartwheels, “too much for you.”
Eddie drops the cigarette, squishes it with his boot, and runs a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t… I wasn’t.”
“It’s really okay, Eddie. I forgive you, if that’s what you need.” And suddenly you feel like crying again, and it sucks, because you thought you’d done that enough these past few days. Whatever’s going on in your stomach spreads upwards, towards your chest, and it’s like a crippling punch. You barely manage not to double over with the way the pain spreads throughout your muscles, flares against your skull.
“I-”
“Please, Eds. Leave me be.” As you turn to re-enter the bar, strands of your hair stick to the wetness coating your cheeks.
Eddie mumbles a soft “fuck” behind you, and you hear his movements before you can feel his presence step closer. He stops just short of you, not touching you but reaching a hand around to close the door before you can open it.
“I couldn’t fuck you because I’m in love with you.” You imagine he whispers the words due to your proximity, but it sounds like yelling. Blood thrums in your ears. What the fuck?
“What the fuck?” You don’t turn around, you can’t, because you don’t want to see if this is just some huge ill-timed Eddie-typical joke.
“I just… I couldn’t have you, and then lose you, y’know? Which sounds so shitty and misogynistic and fuck, I know that, but I’ve just been thinking about it for so long and then I saw you and you were looking up at me and I-”
The word vomit stops, and it takes you a second to realise why. You come to your senses when you feel Eddie’s lips against yours, soft and gentle as you remember.
Finally, your brain manages to reason that you must’ve turned around and kissed him.
You step back from him, and the tears keep coming. Eddie’s hand reaches up, fingers hesitant as they reach towards your cheeks.
“That was really shitty of you,” you say, and as happy as you are that Eddie likes you, loves you, even, you can’t forget the blow your ego took when Eddie had you vulnerable before him and rejected you. “It really hurt, Eddie. Like, a lot. I trusted — I mean, I still do trust — you, and I opened myself up to you, and you just…” destroyed me, devastated me, made me feel unworthy, “it hurt.”
“I can only imagine, lovely. I’m so-”
“Don’t apologise again. Please.” You meet Eddie’s eyes, and everything hurts. You’re so, so, happy, and so, so sad.
Eddie nods, then moves again. His motions are slow, questioning, and careful as he wraps his arms around you. He’s comforting against you, solid and caring and so much your Eddie that your heart skips a beat.
He’s whispering against your hair, uncaring of the tear-stains drenching his shirt. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, sweets. I don’t want you to. Gotta earn back your trust. Gotta show you I deserve you first.”
A/N: Thank you for reading this mess! I will let this fade into obscurity if it comes to that bc I couldn't sleep without getting it down in a doc, and I suggest you do the same. Or don't, I don't control you (or do I?). The amount of brainrot I still have for this man is actually embarrassing.
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