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#where she finds the ring and presents the finger AND the ring on it to the audience at the party the next day
edgeray · 3 days
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Arlecchino is a cold person.
(Arlecchino x Reader Blurb)
It's no suprise to anyone. It is simply an objective fact of the matter. She is aware of this. The House of the Hearth is aware of this. The Fatui are aware of this. It's ironic given the nature of her vision, but it nonetheless rings true despite the fire she possesses on her blackened fingertips. She is callous and curt, and underneath her skin there is nothing except frigid ice that envelopes her being like a fitted coat. She speaks with no warmth, acts with the absence of heat, exists in a constant state of cold emptiness--a state in which there is a void inside of her, as if sucking all that is human of her.
Years ago, when she was just a child of the same orphanage she headed, she had naive thoughts of finding companionship, someone who would provide the warmth she sought on lonesome nights. She was barely just an adolescent who dreamed of lying in someone's arms, feel the heartbeat of another so surely, it would remind her that she was indeed alive. For even the briefest of moments, she yearned for someone who would, if not shield, then distract her from the cruelties of this world. She had shed those foolish wishes aside. In the House of the Heart that she was raised in, such notions were admonished, in fact, the wishful thinking was one of the reasons she had nearly lost her life. Never again, she had promised to herself, when she mercilessly beat the backstabber. It was then that she believed when the time came, her tale would end the same way as it began for her: alone. As the years of being a Fatui, then becoming a Fatui Harbinger, hardened her, there was comfort in that view.
That is what she believed in. Until you came.
Iciness wraps her being. It is present in her expression, in her words, in her touch. But that is exactly why she finds solace in your being. Her vision could only grant her a synthetic flame, but, you, you're an everlasting hearth. She melts in your embrace every time she slots herself in your arms, as it feels like a kindling ignited in her heart. It is only with you, that she learns how warmth can be found in.
Arlecchino is a cold person.
It is why you, as a warm one, is perfect for her. You whisk away the most depraved thoughts, ease her of any emotional and mental turmoil, and you do not treat her with the same coldness as the world seems so fond of doing to her. You are her flame, the one that sparks her being and reminds her that she is alive because her heart beats with you, beats for you.
Except you are cold now. It is unfathomable to her how you can be this way when your entire being exists to warm her, but when she touches your skin, you are unbearably frozen. Your body does not tremble like it does when her clawed fingers ever so gently trace your skin. The corner of your lips doesn't quirk up into the usual small smile of yours when she appears in your sight, but they remain ever rigid like the rest of you. Uncharacteristically, your expression doesn't soften with her presence.
You are cold, just like her. And that makes her afraid. Her hand searches for it, prodding your skin for a familiar thumping that is nowhere to be found. You continue to stare at her, unblinking. Here would be the moment where you give her a beaming smirk and you'd cup her face tenderly as if she was glass. And she would let you, because you are her beloved, who has watched her shatter so many times before and wordlessly each shard back together, and it is for that reason that she would lean closer towards your touch.
Because you lie broken in her arms and her hands are stained again with the familiar color of red. Your eyes are glossy and gaze unblinkingly at her. Frozen. Even when you are covered in your blood, you are beautiful, she notes, but oh, so cold that it makes her doubt if you were warm to begin with.
She misses your warmth. Where has it gone? Or has it died along with you?
Her hearth is gone. And as she clings onto your form, her body wracking with a fear and desperation she's never known before, two revelations come to her: that there is no such thing as an everlasting fire, and even after so many years ago, she was right along.
Arlecchino is a cold person. And she will remain always cold.
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peachsayshi · 23 days
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✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ blessings ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
↬ summary: nanami kento tries to be the perfect husband and father but when a tough night fighting curses ends badly it results in nanami snapping at his daughter. 
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ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ minors / ageless / blank blogs (dni) ↬・tags: nanami x female reader; hurt/comfort; nanami has a daughter; domestic drama; being a jujutsu sorcerer is hard; momotarō is a famous Japanese folk tale :c ↬・ wc: 3,383
↬ notes: hi, everyone! I'm currently not really active at the moment so please don't feel disheartened if I haven't been responding to your messages or tagged posts. I'm taking a small break and only coming online for a bit to catch up on some messages, read fics or queue posts. I'll be back to properly posting and interacting soon but in the meantime I wanted to share that I finished up this draft over the weekend. I was actually debating if I should post this but then just decided to go for it! sending all my love xx
nanami’s head is heavy, completely clouded with despair, and it tints his brown eyes a shade of murky gray. the walls of his beautiful home feel narrow, almost claustrophobic, which explains why he’s struggling to catch his breath right now. stepping into the hallway, he instinctively peeks into the dining area to find you and his daughter eating dinner together. she’s sitting on the chair, her legs far too short to even touch the ground, holding a half eaten onigiri between her small hands. you are by her side, sneakily tidying up after her as you brush away the stray beads of rice trickling onto the table. 
a little glow blooms in nanami’s heart at the sight of you both but there is a vicious creature residing in the pit of his stomach that veils the bright light away. 
he quietly takes off his jacket, his bruised fingers loosening the tie around his neck. he clears his throat before announcing with exhaustion to you both that he’s finally home. 
your eyes meet his, the muscles on your face falling immediately. he can practically feel the blood rushing through your veins as worry washes over you. the reaction makes his chest uncomfortably tight, but he knows that he can’t hide his expressions around you like he used to. 
you both move together so fluidly now, like a single body of water that ebbs and flows to its own natural current. 
he escaped the night’s fight with a few cuts and a couple of bad bruises, but there is currently a student on shoko’s table who barely made it through. the young man arrived at jujutsu tech only a couple of weeks ago, but his naive and charismatic qualities turned into fatal flaws in the world of sorcery.
he bit off more than he could chew by trying to take on a special grade curse.  
shoko promised nanami that she would heal the boy, but admitted there was only so much she can do in regards to the aftermath of his injuries. the sorcerer couldn’t bare to leave him behind, but gojo refused that he stay and insisted that he return back home to his pretty wife and adorable daughter immediately. 
“I’ll handle things from here,” is what his superior said, while nanami’s guilt climbed up his throat. 
that student was his responsibility... 
...and he failed him entirely. 
“papa’s home!” his daughter chirps. the pitch of her voice ringing in nanami’s ears to pull him back to the present and far away from the scene where life and death were dancing together in a tango.  “papa, look, look...mama and I made onigiri!” 
her feet bounces up and down, and there’s a touch of a pink against her cheeks when her mouth stretches into a beaming grin. the innocence in her eyes makes nanami falter and he can feel himself falling deeper into the abyss. for a minute he resents himself for selfishly bringing such a beautiful thing into this world, only to gamble with the fact that she may potentially be in his shoes one day. 
he begs for that outcome to never happen, beseeches whatever higher power above him that exists to spare her from this life. she should never have to go through this, never have to experience these heartbreaks that only wither a person down. 
“I can see that,” nanami replies in a low voice before shifting his attention to his feet. 
right now, he can’t stomach an ounce of her purity, and it radiates around her like a halo. she's so unbothered by his presence, so completely unaware of the sudden change in the atmosphere around her... 
“we made tuna, salmon, and veggies...” she babbles on. 
“how nice...” nanami curtly interrupts, before anxiously running his fingers through the strands of his messy blonde hair. 
“which one do you want, papa?” she questions eagerly, pointing her sticky hands at the plate to show off the selection of triangles. 
“sweets,” you interject just as nanami turns on his heel to walk in the other direction, “how about we finish up eating our dinner, and we can save some for your daddy tomorrow...”
“nooo!” she whines far too loudly, which forces nanami to stop dead in his tracks. he glances over his shoulder to see her puffing out her bottom lip with disappointment, “you said...you said we make it so we eat together!” 
she’s only six. 
she can’t perceive that her father is struggling to hold himself together. deep down inside nanami knows that, but it isn’t enough to keep his cool. he doesn’t know why his daughter’s insistence causes him to pinch the front of his brows with annoyance or why he shoots a frustrated look in her direction. 
he doesn’t know why he’s suddenly picturing shoko calling the student’s parents to deliver the news that the man who was supposed to protect their child was unsuccessful in his duty. 
he doesn’t know why he feels at fault for everything that happened, even though the circumstances of the events were completely out of his control.  
he doesn’t know why he’s imagining himself on the receiving end of a very similar call, or why he can’t stop picturing his precious daughter on that table instead…
all of this pummels into him, and the monster emerges out from it’s cave.  
“be quiet and stop making such a fuss.” 
his voice comes out sharper than expected, and the expulsion of his frustration allows him to see the crystal clear picture before him. 
the room is dead silent. 
your face is in full shock at the hissing tone of your sweet husband snapping at his darling baby girl who he only ever speaks to with a gentle voice. 
what truly unravels nanami is the look that his daughter is giving him - her angelic features are sullen, but her eyes remain wide with surprise. her bottom lip is slack, and the only sound he can hear is her uneasy breathing. her eyes, the most beautiful gems in existence, twinkle as tears begin to form and she tries to quickly blink them away before turning her attention back to her plate.  
nanami doesn’t know he managed to stop time itself but the three of you remain frozen in place. 
he regrets his words immediately. 
he wants nothing more than to pull his precious girl close into his chest and smother her with apologies. the part of him with sense tells him to follow through and make things right with her, but instead he begrudgingly continues to wallow in his own self pity as he walks over to his room. 
・゚ ・゚·:。・゚゚・・゚ ・゚·:。・゚゚・
the house is unusually quiet now, the music of domestic joy morphing into hushed murmurs and whispers outside your room door. you settle your crestfallen daughter into her bedroom before moving to check on your husband next. 
fresh out of the shower, nanami is seated on the edge of the bed with his exhausted eyes pressed firmly into the palms of his hands. he exhales a heavy breath, his dirty work clothes still piled just outside the bathroom, and your heart nearly collapses seeing him in such a state of disarray.
you kneel before him, two hands sliding across the soft material of his sweats as you brush them along his thighs before carefully bringing them up to circle around his wrists. 
“kento?” 
he allows you to pull his palms away but your throat constricts when a band forms tightly around your neck. you swallow the lump with an upturn of your brows as you are greeted with red, exhausted eyes. you cup that handsome face in your hands, your thumbs sweetly motioning back and forth across his cheeks as you try to soothe the tension away. 
after all this time together, it hurts you to see that he still tries to hide his tears. nanami constantly holds himself to the highest standard, always ensuring that he can solidify himself as the rock for you and your daughter to depend on through thick and thin. it’s so rare for you to see him crack, to watch him crumble under the overbearing weight of the things that he is burdened to carry. 
“you had a rough night,” you point out in a low, sympathetic voice and he simply just nods his head in acknowledgement. 
his eyes flutter close again when you lean forward to press a tender, reassuring kiss on his brow. “you want a talk about it?” 
the way his voice shakes makes you shiver, but you tentatively listen as he relays the events of the night before finally concluding that satoru called him only a few minutes ago to reassure him that the student in question is alright. 
“he lost an eye, but at least he’s alive...” he concludes somberly, the warble in his final statement prompting you to wrap your arms around his neck as you pull him in for a protective hug. 
nanami receives it with gratitude, strong arms circling around your waist as he buries his nose into the crook of your shoulder and breathes in.
your scent is a reminder of his permanent sanctuary.
a safety, a reassurance of home.
you stroke his blonde locks between your fingers until he exhales, "i'm so sorry," he breathes, "I...I didn't mean to snap like that..."
a tiny smile tugs at the corners of your lips, and you unravel yourself to cup his jaw into your palms once again. "I appreciate the apology, but I don't think I should be on the receiving end of it..." you hint sweetly.
nanami closes his eyes guiltily. "I'm a horrible father."
you click your tongue with disappointment, your face falling as your disapproval pinches between the space of your brows.
"you're just human," you remind him defensively, "you're a wonderful father, the best man that our daughter can look up to"
"did you see the look on her face?" he replies, his voice unnaturally small. the tender expression he gives you is filled with regret, and it's enough to make your heart ache all over again.
"kento," you contend, "don't do this to yourself. we're both going to have days where we mess up, but that doesn't mean that the problem can't be fixed."
you thread his hair between your fingers, like your brushing through rays sunlight. "she's waiting for me to read her a bedtime story," you explain, "but I'm sure she would rather be with you instead..."
"I doubt that," your husband replies as he reaches for your hand to kiss the inside of your palm.
"we will always love you, kento," you answer back, "unconditionally. on your good days and your bad ones"
he didn't even know how desperately he needed to hear that, for your certainty to remedy away all his sorrows, until they actually left your lips.
your husband's throat tightens, tears pricking his eyes once more but he hides them away when he leans in to seek out a kiss from the woman whose heart he deeply adores.
・゚ ・゚·:。・゚゚・・゚ ・゚·:。・゚゚・
nanami leans his shoulder against the frame of his daughter's room. his heart patters lightly, making him realize that he might actually be nervous. it's strange, he thinks, that he would feel hesitant to approach his own child considering that he was her guardian but nanami had never allowed his professional life to fracture into his personal one like this before.
she's seated on the floor next to a pile of books and her stuffed rabbit secured tightly underneath her arm. there's a warmth in his chest when when he makes note of the soft toy, because he purchased that himself the day she was born and the pair have been inseparable ever since.
he clears his throat, bringing his scuffed knuckles to gently knock on the door.
"my love?" he calls out to her.
his daughter perks up, her breathing changing slightly as it rises and falls with a hint of apprehension. she glances over her shoulder to see him.
"where's mama?" she asks, her question shattering the man into a million pieces at her subtle dismissal.
"taking a shower," he answers cooly, "but I'm here to get you ready for bed..."
her lovely eyes refuse to lock into his own, and she simply tucks her lip between her bottom teeth to avoid giving nanami a reply.
she looks so much like him when he was a child. he remembered when his parents used to scold him too, and how he would also hide away in his room. the only difference is that nanami's parents were far more traditional - a time where elders were never submissive to young hearts.
"may I come in?" he requests politely, ensuring that his daughter knew she had a choice if she wanted to speak to him.
her nostrils flare slightly while she considers him, but to his relief she nods her head eagerly.
nanami steps into her room, always feeling largely out of place amongst her things. "did you find a story for bed?" he asks.
she again quietly nods her head and picks up her favorite book; a compilation of japanese folktales with beautiful illustrations. you both have been reading one for her each night ever since she got it it as a present from her grandparents.
he crouches on his knees to meet her at eye level. "you've really been enjoying this one, haven't you?" he carries on, hoping to coax more words out of her.
“yeah,” she replies in the same mousy voice of uncertainty. she shifts her attention away when she stands on her feet, clutching onto the stuffed bunny tightly while her other hand swings the book by her side.
“and what tale are we reading tonight?”
she shrugs her shoulders with indifference, a hint of pink blushing her cheek. “I dunno. I…I can just until mama is ready…”
nanami visibly slumps. her rejection an entirely new painful experience that he's never endured before. he scratches the back of his head anxiously, finding himself at a loss for words. the seconds pass, an awkward bubble surrounding both father and daughter. it’s only broken when nanami exhales a sigh, and reaches his hands towards her waist to draw her into his frame.
“darling,” he addresses tenderly, “can you look at me?”
“no, you were mean…” she blurts out, her bottom lip trembling slightly.
nanami’s heart sinks.
that’s the first time he’s ever heard those words from her lips.
“I know,” he murmurs shamefully.
her mouth forms into a tiny button of a pout but she meets his eyes for the first time as he acknowledges his behavior.
nanami arches forward to kiss her forehead, “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that, sweetheart. I’m so sorry if I upset or scared you”
she fidgets with the book in her hand. “did you not want onigiri?” she asks, her innocence tugging the corners of her father’s lips into a small grin.
“it wasn’t the onigiri, my love,” he reassures, “daddy just…had a bad day at work…”
“why was it bad?”
nanami sighs once again.
she still doesn’t know that he’s a sorcerer. you’ve both reduced his position to her by simply explaining that nanami “helps and protects people".
thankfully your daughter doesn’t pry too hard to ask any further questions.
“someone I know got hurt. so, daddy was a little shaken up when he came home…”
"shaken up?"
"scared, my love"
his daughter shakes her head in disbelief, “nu-uh, you never get scared, papa” she rebuts.
nanami huffs out a laugh, flashing her a full grin now as he brings his fingers to his chin to to ponder her sweet statement. he quirks his brow and cheekily replies, "we can't all be brave like you," in an attempt to lighten the mood.
his daughter narrows her eyes towards his hand, her mind instantly distracted with other things already. "you got hurt too papa!" she gasps, dropping the bunny by her side to point at his knuckles.
nanami glances at his fingers covered in red marks.
"wait!" she exclaims as she places the book by his side. "I have something!"
she spins on her heel and rushes towards one of her drawers. meanwhile, nanami just takes her in with his love soaked eyes, watching as she rummages through her stuff with determination until she scurries back his way.
"got it!" she squeaks with a smile, and to his surprise she jumps right into his arms with such nonchalance it nearly make him crumble on the spot.
your voice echoes in the back of his mind: "we will always love you, kento. unconditionally. on your good days and your bad ones"
"mama bought it for me," she explains, regaining her father's attention once more.
nanami rests his cheek on her shoulder, and inhales her powdery scent as he keeps one arm warmly secured around her waist. he watches her peel off the plaster of the band aid, lbefore grabbing his hand and placing it unevenly over his knuckles.
"now a kiss!" she adds, as she brings his hand to her mouth and exaggerates a loud "mwah" sound for emphasis. "mama says the kiss is what makes it all better"
nanami instantly feels significantly better from this remedy of love. he extends his digits out, and looks at the hot pink "hello kitty" band aid that now rests comfortably on his knuckles.
"thank you, my darling," he coos and peppers her cheek with a few kisses before turning her to face him once again. "you made me feel a lot better"
she flashes him an equally large smile in return, showing off her missing teeth.
"I did?"
nanami chuckles as he scoops her up in his arms to give her a well deserved bear hug. she laughs as he stands on his two feet, and sheds away any lingering thoughts of apprehension that may have stuck.
"you always do," he reassures, his soul vibrating back to life when he feels her return his embrace. “you think you can forgive me for how I spoke earlier?”
“yeah,” she confirms and squeezes him just a little tighter. "I love you lots, papa"
"oh, my angel," he hums, "you have no idea just how much I love you too..."
・゚ ・゚·:。・゚゚・・゚ ・゚·:。・゚゚・
after winding down from your evening pampering session, you decide to pass by your daughter's room to check on your little family. you peer through the cracked door to find nanami spread out on your daughter’s bed, with your daughter curled into side and her head resting on his chest.
“did I come from a peach too like momotarō?” you hear her ask, but your heart flutters at the sight of your husband’s pearly whites.
you’ll never get over how much you love seeing him smile with such genuine emotion.
“no,” you hear nanami reply calmly, his finger lightly holding the page open. “you remember your mother explaining how you used to live in her stomach first?”
“oh yeah,” your daughter replies with a hint of disappointment over the fact that she was not birthed from a piece of fruit as mentioned in one of her favorite folk tales.
“shall I carry on?”
“uh-huh,” she answers and she readjusts her position to get even more comfortable. "I think if we look hard enough we might find momotarō..."
"you think so?" your husband wonders with honest curiosity.
"I know so, papa!"
"how many peaches do you think we need to check?"
"hmmm," she mumbles, "maybe a million?"
"a million?" your husband dramatically replies, "that's a lot of peaches don't you think,"
"I mean, it's less than a billion..." she responds quite matter of factly.
you catch his gaze from between the door that’s ajar. his expression fully relaxes, and you smile knowingly in his direction at the sight of father and daughter making up.
“papa?” his daughter questions upon his sudden silence, but your husband keeps his focus on you as he hums in acknowledgement before replying, "you're not wrong, but it'll still be quite a challenge to cut through a million peaches..."
"we might need some help," your daughter adds on.
you blow him a secret kiss as to not interrupt further, and quietly close the door before heading back to your bedroom.
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lina-lovebug · 2 months
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I'd Fight The Devil
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Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
Background: (Y/N) Morningstar with her partner, Alastor, has decided to put some of the Overlords in their place.
Warning: Alastor being Alastor, mentions of pregnancy but no one's pregnant, and Alastor might have a breeding kink
_ _ _
"(Y/N)! What a surpri-!"
"I believe that's Princess (Y/N) Morningstar, Heir to the throne of Hell, and Duchess of Chaos - to you," Alastor loved doing this. He adored how (Y/N) had decided to start using her true power, and to bring respect back to her name.
The family name, to be exact.
Valentino chuckled nervously as (Y/N) scoped out the place, her horns ever presenting and tail flicking with annoyance.
"What a pleasure to be hosting you, Princess. What would be the reason for this visit?" Valentino asked, offering her a drink.
"I'm fine, thank you," She dismissed it, already smelling the poison inside the cocktail.
"I'm here to discuss Angel Dust, and your contract with him."
"If he's too much trouble for the hotel, I'll happily-"
"You're the one causing the trouble," Alastor cut him off.
Valentino sputtered, "me?!"
"You can feign innocence all you wish, Val, but I've heard that you've called my sister a bimbo, along with many other colorful names," (Y/N) slowly stood up, leaning over his desk as the lights started to go out - one by one.
"Charlie is nice. She's always been the kinder of us Morningstars, but apparently this makes you think that you can go and soil our name. My father could have strung every sinner on a hook for eternity, torturing you all second by second as your screams sung into our great halls," no one had been unfortunate enough to see the form of (Y/N) Morningstar, and Val was one of them.
Her height expanded to nine feet tall, her pretty black nails forming into claws and her eyes ablaze with scarlet serpent pupils.
And wings - oh great black wings that could make even Adam rethink his attack.
When he was still alive, of course.
"And you sully his gift by mocking us."
"Look, Vox did it first! Okay?! He said you'd never-!" Val tripped on a tentacle that came from her beloved Alastor, who dropped a TV by his feet.
But not just any TV.
"Oh God," Val gasped, "Vox. . .?"
"I took care of him earlier," Alastor grinned, still reminiscent on his screams.
"I couldn't have my dear (Y/N) sully her hands with his filth. But whatever the Princess wants, she gets."
Oh to see her come into her power was as chilling as death itself.
"You're so romantic, Alastor," (Y/N) smiled.
That's when Valentino spotted it. On the left hand of (Y/N) Morningstar was a ruby wedding ring, the band pure gold.
Alastor finally did it.
He climbed up the latter, but not through power.
Well yes, through power, but he certified that it would always be his.
By marrying Lucifers daughter.
"We're matching, isn't it adorable?" Alastor showed off his own wedding band, ruby's encrusted inside of it.
"Now, where were we?" She grinned, and as an engagement gift, the screams of Vox and Valentino were broadcasted throughout all of Hell.
And they say chivalry is dead.
_ ☆ _
"They're fucking crazy."
"They're made for each other."
On that, Angel Dust and Husker could agree.
The lovely couple had become the center of Hells attention after their engagement was announced, and even though Alastor thought it would be hilarious for Lucifer to find out through the papers, she told him first.
And he cried.
"Oh my baby is all grown up!" Lucifer sobbed loudly, clinging onto her legs, "look at you! You-you used to be this small!" Lucifer grabbed a duck, "and you were so tiny and so cute!"
"Am I invited?" Lucifer squeaked, staring up into her eyes.
"Yes, dad," She smiled, bringing him up to his feet, "but we want to wait a bit before we plan anything."
"You know she used to bite my finger?!" Lucifer grabbed the baby pictures of little (Y/N), "look at how small she was! Oh, and this one is my favorite!"
Alastor truly didn't mind how touchy Lucifer had become with him, but thankfully, Lucifer also knew when to stop.
"Wait, is that why you're getting married?! Did you impregnate my daughter?!" Lucifer gasped, shoving his hand on her stomach.
"Dad! Dad, no! I'm not pregnant!" She quickly cleared up.
"Unfortunately," Alastor muttered to himself. Oh to see her belly swell with his children - his own spawn, it made his cock twitch at the thought.
He was fond of children but his own? Oh he'd spoil his little prince or princess with all the blood sacrifices the world had to offer.
"Yeah but you know what marriage entails, kiddo!" He pointed at them both with finger guns, "first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby-oh my GOD I'll be a grandpa!"
He started crying again.
She sighed, "at least we know our hypothetical child will be taken care of."
Alastor nodded, "I could not have picked a better father-in-law."
At this point, Lucifer was ugly crying.
Alastor looked at his beloved with a soft gaze as she tried calming her father down. To be honest, Alastor never thought he would ever find solace in Hell. He anticipated every day being a fight for his life, always looking over his shoulder and always striving for more power. And as cheesy as it sounded, he saw (Y/N) as his shining light. She brought out his sad heart, and for the first time in his life, he wished his mother was with him.
To see just what a wonderful woman he managed to catch.
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yzzart · 3 months
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Tom Blyth being really fucking obsessed with actress!Reader, like constant physical contact, many kisses, maybe some moments on set? I love your writing 💖
"Oh, the lovebirds."
pairing: tom blyth x actress!reader.
summary: another compilation between you and tom? we have!
word count: 538!
notes: thank you for requesting this, anon and i hope you know that i love you and beg you to request more ideas!
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"See them over there?" — Recording and switching the camera to frontal mode, Rachel pointed to you and Tom sitting under the tree, in the forest setting, together. — "Two lovebirds in love." — Tom's arm was around your shoulder, he was saying something that was, technically, impossible to identify, but then he left a long kiss on your forehead. — "Look!"
Rachel saved that video with a triumphant, happy smile on her face in an album she had made specifically for behind the scenes and it was the thousandth video of you and Tom that she had saved. — The first and biggest fan of both of you.
It wasn't difficult, and not at all complicated, to find behind-the-scenes photos of 'The ballad of songbirds and snakes'; so soon, it wasn't hard to see photos and videos of you and Tom together on set. — So much for you posting and Rachel too.
There were videos where he put Coriolanus' peacemaker helmet on you; your hands between his rough and cut hair, commenting on the possibility of him temporarily turning blonde;; a photo they took of him and him lying on the grass. — Several moments recorded, captured and saved with lots of love.
Also, the small and peculiar fact that you left written messages or just heart symbols on paper, sometimes torn up, for each other. — Hunter thought this was cute, and she even helped Tom put one of them in your trailer.
In every interview, to repeat, in every interview, Tom always tries to be in contact with you; mainly, the physical. — It doesn't matter if your chair is a little far from his, or if you or he are on the other side of the row. — Nothing can stop that man.
The cameras record, with attention and great focus, Tom holding your hand while you answered questions from the interviewer, who was also watching, and admiring the rings that were present on your fingers; and that some were gifts from him. — If Tom had the opportunity, he would never let go of you.
He contemplated carefully; distributing affection with his fingers on your hand and your palm, at certain moments, even tickling you and, sometimes during the interviews, a brief laugh accompanied your words.
And every time it happens, that passionate smile wrapped in such a strong emotion curves on Blyth's lips.
Well, it's not just the contacts and touches between your hands that are captured by cameras and the watchful eyes of fans; Tom's arm resting on the back of your chair, your leg touching his, your head on his shoulder and once again Tom's hand resting on your knee. — You looked like a pair of magnets.
Oh, and not to mention, a moment from an interview, another one from Vogue to be a little specific, in which Tom removes one of the rings that was on his fingers, the one that is always on his pinky, and decided to put it on your finger. — God, your fans went completely crazy on all social media, especially on Twitter. — It wasn't so perfect, in the right measure, but you didn't remove it in any way.
During the premieres, several photos with you kissing Tom's cheek and him kissing your hand, like a knight, spread across networks and even on the film's official accounts. — And Rachel commented on all of them. — And the photos that show Tom's hands on your waist, holding you so gently accompanied by such a sweet and intimate look and following you wherever you went became your favorites.
Flashes and snippets of interviews, videos of Tom's hand on your back, helping you with your long dress and him brushing some locks out of your face while you answered questions. — Even the interviewers smiled witnessing those acts.
And there's always a like from Tom Blyth on Instagram posts of these photos.
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imperihoe-writes · 6 months
Text
What binds us // 1
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John 'Soap' MacTavish / fem!Reader
Summary:   Soap has to face the consequences of neglecting the love of his life in favour of his career. 
Content:   civilian wife, pure hurt and angst, divorce (?), swearing, open ending
Word Count:   1k
Part:   1/2/3 next chapter ->
Notes: Inspired by this post from @thebeesatemyknees. I read it on my way home and couldn't stop thinking about it. Decided to break this into three short stories, where we follow John as he tries to save his marriage. 🥺
"No," Soap said, voice hoarse as he clutched the tiny cell phone to his ear. The reception was bad, his battery low. He hadn't slept in over twenty hours, but when his wife called him not once but five times, he knew something was very wrong. 
They'd agreed that it would always be him who contacted her for safety reasons, and he'd been in touch with her recently, hadn't he? She'd been fine then, and that had only been, what? A week ago? Maybe two? 
"John," she sighed, his name so sweet when it came from her mouth. "I'm sorry, but it is for the best. Deep down, you know I'm right about this-"
"No, mo ghràidh, please. Don't do this to me," he whispered, swallowing against the lump in his throat. 
The Lieutenant stood a few meters away from him to give Soap some semblance of privacy, but the impatient driver for their current mission kept gesticulating wildly behind the wheel. 
Soap found that he didn't give a fuck if he was holding up state matters when the most important part of his world was collapsing in on itself. 
His marriage.
"John," his wife begged with a tiny sob in her voice now. "I- I can't do this anymore. We're practically strangers, we don't talk, you never have any time off. Nothing is holding us together besides two signatures on a paper-"
"I love you," he interrupted her, hand gripping his hair in despair. "That's what's holding us together, not a signature or a ring or a house. You're all that I have ever wanted."
She was crying now, and he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
"I'll hand in a request for leave, I'll fly home to you and we'll work through this. Do you still work the early shift at the office? I'll come pick you up and we can have dinner together, or- or go to the movies or whatever you want."
"John," she repeated his name softly. "They fired me from that job two months ago."
He was stunned, frozen in place.
"They- what? Why would they do that, they adored you!"
"I was going to tell you, but you missed the calls we agreed on, remember?"
There was no malice, no accusation in her tone. It made him feel a thousand times worse, the apathy and resigned way in which his wife spoke about the fact that he had failed her. Like she had come to terms with it, had expected nothing more from him.
He reflexively swiped his thumb over his ring finger, intending to play with his wedding band. It was a nervous habit he'd adopted in the three years since they'd tied the knot, and feeling only his skin jarred him back into the present.
Frantically, he checked his hands and trouser pockets, not finding it. And then, to his great shame, Soap noticed something else. The tan lines they had always joked about were gone, and only sunkissed skin remained.
How long ago had he taken the ring off? Was it during the undercover mission in Austria? Or perhaps when Gaz and he had infiltrated that swampy Colombian resistance fighter camp? 
He felt sick to his stomach.
"I'm sorry," he croaked, too ashamed to say anything more. The driver beeped his horn three times, and Ghost jerked his head in the universal gesture for hurry the hell up.
"I know," she replied gently, and Soap could almost imagine her running a soothing hand through his mohawk. "But I have to do this for us. I can't live like this any longer, and we both deserve better. Perhaps now is just not the right time to be married."
"How will I survive all this shit without you to come home to?" Soap whispered, shoulders sagging.
Her voice was thick with tears. "Please don't say that, John. I will always be here when you need me, I swear it. But you'll have to try and move on, focus on your career, do what's best for you. Call me when you're back, okay? The papers will be ready by then."
"I'm not signing any bloody papers, mo ghràidh. You can tell that lawyer we're not interested anymore. I love you, you're my wife. I'll see you soon."
Before she had the opportunity to answer, Soap had disconnected the call and brushed past Ghost, who watched him with an unreadable expression but didn't comment.
They drove in silence after he'd told the driver to go fuck himself and better be quiet from now on if he wanted to see another day. 
Soap opened up his text messages and tapped the second name in his contacts right after his wife's name.
JM: How fast can you get a replacement for the delivery job? JP: Three days minimum. JP: Something wrong with the package? JM: No
Soap hesitated, then continued typing.
JM: No. Need to go home for an emergency
Price didn't answer for a few minutes, and the grounding presence of his Lieutenant was the only thing keeping Soap from viciously pulling at his hair again. His knee bounced where he sat, and he kept dragging his thumb over the empty spot where his wedding ring should be. 
JP: Done. I'll send details later. JM: Thank you, Cap. 
Soap pressed his head back against the soft leather seats, stomach turning and heart pounding rapidly. 
He would make this right. He had to. 
And as soon as he got out of this shithole and onto the next available flight to Glasgow, things would turn around for them. 
He'd prove himself to his wife, show her that he was still the same man she'd fallen in love with. That he could be better for her, that he wanted her in any way he could have her, even if that meant starting from scratch.
Soap had missed her sweet laugh, her soft skin, the smell of her hair. Even just watching her as she got dressed for work, and put on her makeup. The ache to see her again, or just to dial her number and hear her voice was overwhelming, but he clutched the outside of his cargo pants in an iron fist and stared out of the window.
Three days. 
Three days and then he would do anything in his power to win her back.
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(Not Ghost standing over there like 👀☕️)
I wanted to make myself sad tonight. Big sigh. I hope you liked this first part! If you did, I'd love to hear from you! 🖤
You can find my COD masterlist here, where things usually look a lot happier and/or steamier than this. For now. Let's give Soap a chance to make things right. Or, if you're a freak fr fr, you could just leave this as it is and headcanon your own ending! 🫶🏻
Hope everybody is well and thriving! Until next time. - A✨
next chapter ->
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ourautumn86 · 6 months
Text
puppy love
dad’s bf shane mccutcheon x fem! reader
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synopsis: you’ve liked your dad’s best friend for a very long time. the time has come when you can finally have her.
cw;; +18 content! minors dni!! (i’ll hunt you down), shane is 34, reader is 18 in the first part of the fic, alcohol and drug consumption (coke and weed) (don’t do this guys!!!!), fighting, reader being mean, TENSIONNNN, puking, kissing, tattoos, piercings, teasing, praising, degradation, voyeurism (kinda), oral sex (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), cum eating, hair pulling…
you’ve had this silly little crush on your dad’s best friend since you were a teenager.
how could you not? she was beautiful, and successful and so fucking hot… she was unique. you’ve never met anyone quite like shane mccutcheon. so free.
it was innocent at first. you’d always want to spend time with her. she was the person you looked up to after all. she taught you how to skate from a a very early age. she always cut your hair when you’d need a fresh cut, and dyed it even though when she knew your dad would give her hell for it just because you wanted to (she would say sorry, but she wasn’t). she gave you your first tattoo when you turned 16 in a place where your father wouldn’t see. a hummingbird, just like hers. “my birthday present for you, kid” she had said. you could still remember the feeling of her fingertips on your thighs and waist as she tattooed your hipbone. you had tried so hard to not blush and squirm, her touch electrifying.
you could feel butterflies every time your friends would ask you about her in recess, well-known looks being shared when you’d blush. and your knees would go weak when you’d see her at the entrance of your high-school after class, waiting for you leaning against her car with her charming smile. “hey kid.” she’d mess up your hair with one of her ringed hands, hugging you close to her chest. you’d push her away, acting pissed off, when in reality all you wanted was to hug her closer and bury your face in the crook of her neck. she always smelled so nice…
but you couldn’t keep her too close ‘cause then you’d notice the hickeys on her neck, and all those butterflies would die.
your father had you at a very early age, having to raise you all by himself since your mother decided to run away and leave you. and shane had been there since the first second that she had met your father, along with the whole group, helping him push through.
so when you realized that what you felt for her was more than something platonic… your whole world came crashing down on your shoulders.
eighteen and in love with a woman twice your age… so you slowly started to drift away. you’d act busy. you’d started going out frequently, doing drugs, drinking alcohol… getting wasted and sleeping with a bunch of girls to try and forget her.
of course, she’d always find you.
“oh my god…” you groaned, turning around to face your friend with wobbly legs and your heart on your throat. “shane’s here.” you had just left the club, completely drunk out of your mind and with hickeys all over your chest and neck. you couldn’t let her see you like this. you didn’t want to see her.
“what? where?” your friend inquired and you pointed with your eyes to the side and to your back. “fuck. what do we do?”
“don’t let her see me. please, lucile.”
“okay, let’s…” but then she ducked her head, eyes shot open. “oh shit. shit. shit. she saw me.”
“fuck!” you whispered, and at the same time you heard shane’s voice coming from behind you, calling out for you. you tried to ignore her, tried to act as if she wasn’t you who she was looking for, but she wouldn’t give up.
“hey! i’m talking to you!” your whole world started spinning when you felt her hand on your shoulder, turning you around so you could face her. “do you have any idea how worried your dad is? we’ve been looking like crazy for you.” her voice sounded harsh, and she looked pissed. it was when she noticed that you weren’t looking at her, but instead hiding your eyes that she took your face with her free hand, making you face her. “fuck… you’re high?” your eyes were reddish and half lided, pupils dilated. your makeup ruined, gloss smushed. she looked at your clothes, completely out of place, bruises on your skin. “let’s go.” she grabbed onto your wrist to pull you along, but you fought her. she growled your name, slowly.
“i’m not going anywhere. i’m having fun.” you slurred, taking a swing of the bottle of alcohol on your hand. your vision was blurry, and your heart was beating too loud. “hey!” you whined when she took it from you and threw it aside, making the glass break. you whistled at her pissed off look. “somebody needs to have a little bit of fun…” you muttered.
“you’ve had enough, i’m taking you home.” her voice was stern, green eyes angry.
“you’re not my dad.” you said, and she smirked.
“yeah. thank god i’m not, ‘cause if he saw you like this, he’d kill you. move.” you rolled your eyes. “don’t be a brat with me. i’m not putting up with that shit. car, now.” she ordered, and you finally moved, walking towards her car.
you hadn’t shared a word on the whole way and you frowned when she kept going straight instead of taking a turn when the street of your neighborhood came to your view. she noticed. “i’m taking you to my house. can’t let your father see you like this.” your stomach jumped at the thought of being alone with her on her beautiful house. you could still remember how soft her bed was, how everything smelled of her. it was making you nervous. you didn’t want to be alone with her. not when she looked this good and you were this drunk and high.
she parked right outside, turning off the engine and getting out of the car. you followed her up the stairs and inside her home, groaning when she turned the lights on and it hit your eyes.
“fuck.”
“what did you take?” she inquired and you giggled.
“what did i not take?” she crossed her arms over her chest and you rolled your eyes. “i don’t know. some weed. cocaine…” she rose one of her hands to pinch the bridge of her nose.
“jesus christ. why the fuck would you do that! are you insane?”
“oh, don’t act as if you hadn’t done it before… we all know shane heart breaker mccutcheon’s reputation.” you scoffed, and she squinted at you.
“and now you want to follow my steps?”
“maybe i do.” you shrugged.
“you’re acting stupid.” she sighed.
“and you’re acting fucking annoying.” you retorted, grabbing at the sides of your head when it throbbed. “ugh you’re making my head hurt.” your legs wobbled and if it weren’t for shane grabbing you, you’d have probably fell onto the floor.
“woah. are you okay?” you shook your head.
“i think… i’m going to…” you clasped your mouth shut with one of your hands and shane’s eyes quickly shot open before she was hurriedly guiding you to the toilet. you fell on your knees, puking your guts out. she grabbed your hair on a make-shift ponytail to make sure that it wouldn’t get dirty. she rubbed your back with her free hand.
“it’s okay, let it go. that’s it.” you groaned, feeling your stomach hurt. you didn’t want her to touch you, not on this state, but at the same time, you just wanted to lean on her touch and forget about everything.
“sorry.” you apologized, not really sure about what, maybe everything. she hushed you.
“it’s okay. don’t worry about it, okay? let it all out.” after a couple of minutes, you felt your dizziness subside, although you were still pretty high. “stay here, alright? i’m gonna go for some clothes you can change into.” you nodded, resting against the cold wall as you took deep breaths.
“fuck.”
you were cringing at the thought of shane seeing you like this, a complete fucking mess, just when she came back to the bathroom with some clothes on her hands.
“come on. let’s get you up.” she offered you her help to get up, hands on your hips to stabilize you as you took off your heels. “do you need help with-“ you shook your head.
“i’m fine.”
“are you sure?”
“shane. i’m fine.” you repeated, harshly, and she nodded. she wanted to understand. if you were acting like this it had to be due to something.
“alright… i’ll… i’ll be outside if you need me.” she nodded, and left the bathroom.
you sighed, leaning on the counter. you looked at the pile of clothes she had left you, and you took them. they were soft, and just as you imagined, they smelled like her.
you pulled over your head your dress, feeling the cold of the bathroom slide into your bones. your skin rose in goosebumps when you slid her shirt on, feeling caged in her and at the same time so free… you were surrounded by shane. and you were ashamed of yourself. you were supposed to be getting over her, not thinking about how much you liked having her on you. you were deep in thought when she knocked on the door. you had already pulled up your legs the shorts she had lent you.
“you okay in there?” she inquired through the other side, and you opened up for her.
“do you have some makeup remover i could use?” you inquired her, shying away from her green deep eyes.
“oh, yeah.” she passed through you, pulling it from the drawers of the sink along with some cotton wipes.
“thank you.” you muttered when she handed it to you.
“no problem.”
there was this… awkward tension in between the two of you. shane didn’t know what to say. she had noticed how lately you’d gone off the rails, but she didn’t really know why. it was your last year of high school. maybe you were just trying to have fun before college…? she was just worried about you.
you took off your makeup, and she stood there with you, cautious in case you felt like getting sick again.
you were still pretty high, although the dizziness of the alcohol had disappeared once you’d gotten it out of your system. suddenly, you felt this knot in your throat. shit. not now.
“hey… are you…? what’s wrong?” you shook your head, wiping away the first tear that fell from your eyes.
“nothing.” you muttered, but she wasn’t having it.
“come on, something must be going on for you to be like this. talk to me, sweetheart.” she pulled you into her arms, rubbing your back as you hid on the crook of her neck. “hm?” she took your face in between her hands, thumbs caressing your cheeks.
“i love you.” you said, and she smiled.
“i love you too, kid.” you shook your head, interrupting her, your hands surrounding her wrists.
“i love you, shane.” she frowned, eyes shooting open in shock when she felt your lips on hers. your eyes were squeezed shut, heart beating harshly against your ribs. it was just a mere touch, two seconds of contact before she was softly pushing you away, breath fanning over your lips. your forehead collided with her chest. “i’m sorry.” you muttered, and shane hugged you, rubbing your back in soft circles. oh, sweet thoughtful shane.
“why don’t we get you in bed, hm?” she inquired, tenderly. she didn’t think too much of it. you were drunk, high and sad. this had all been a slip. a mistake. she had surely had many before. you nodded, and let her guide you to her bedroom. she always let you use her bed when you’d sleep over, using the sofa instead or sometimes sleeping with you when you were younger and would get scared.
“shane?” you inquired her as she made her way to the door.
“yeah?”
“do you think maybe…you could stay?”
she stood silent for a couple of seconds.
“yeah, sure.” she answered, and you moved to make some space for her. she laid on her back, and looked at you. “come here.” you got closer, and leaned on her chest, right above her heart, where you could hear her heartbeat. her hand laced on your hair, rubbing your scalp and brushing it for you to relax —something she has always done since you were little and helped you sleep—. you had to bite down on your lip and swallow your tears.
“good night, shane.” you whispered.
“good night, kid.” she answered.
the next morning. you were gone. and shane didn’t see you again.
-
4 years later…
“there’s my baby girl fresh out of college!!!” you chuckled at your dad’s excitement. you thanked the taxi driver who waved goodbye and started the car to drive away. “oh god, you’ve gotten so big!” you rolled your eyes, hugging him back as he squeezed you against his chest.
“dad… you saw me a couple of months ago!” you laughed and he grunted.
“kids grow so fast…” he sighed, shaking his head and you copied him, rolling your eyes. “come on! let’s get you inside!” he took your suitcase, pulling from it.
four years had passed since the last time you’d stepped on your city, even your house. that night after telling shane you’d loved her, you’d taken the offer one of your friends had given you to work for her during the summer in NY and left LA, later on having enrolled on the local college to continue your education. it was your dad who would come visit you on the holidays, since you’d promised yourself not to come back after you’d finally finished your degree to… disconnect. you needed change. needed to find yourself. and in reality, all of it was a simple excuse. you just needed to get away from shane. you couldn’t look her in the eyes after that night, couldn’t act as if nothing had happened and you hadn’t kissed her. couldn’t ignore the way your whole body had filled with euphoria and your stomach had blown up in butterflies.
so you ran. and did everything in your power to forget all about it. you had made new friends, met new people, dated, broke up, fucked, partied… you’d lived a brand new life away from her. and somehow…, it still felt like something was missing.
“dad… what’s all of this?” you inquired at the amount of snacks and beers decorating the isle of your kitchen. he guiltily smiled and you rose your eyebrows.
“i may of may have not invited some people to throw you a… comeback party?” you groaned.
“dad!”
“i know! but you know your aunt alice! she’s missed you so much… and angelica wouldn’t stop asking for you to bette and tina. so i thought that a little gathering wouldn’t kill anybody…” you sighed. “we’re just happy to have you back home, baby.”
you felt the itch. the need to ask about her. to say her name out loud after all this years. but you fought it.
“you’re right. i’m sorry. i’ve missed them too.” he hugged you again.
“why don’t you take a shower and get ready, hm? i’ll bring your luggage up your room for you. they’ll get here in an hour or so.” you nodded.
“okay. thanks dad.”
-
shane had been shocked to hear the drastic decision you’ve made in moving to new york. you’d packed and left the same day without even saying goodbye. she had tried calling you, of course she had. at least to try and get to know how you were doing over there in that immense city. but it’d always go straight to voice mail. your dad would tell her that it’s because you were real busy with school and your work. so she’d given you space. she had enough knowing through your father that you were alright. though she missed you. you were important for her. she adored you.
the years passed by quicker than she thought. she had taken over a couple of hair salons that now had her name, and sold her photography to great prices, giving her the chance to move to a better apartment. she hadn’t noticed the change that this years supposed for you ‘till she finally got to see you again, four years later.
you weren’t the same little teenager girl she once knew. you had grown up into this beautiful woman with radiant smile and vibrant eyes. you’d gotten a couple more tattoos, she could perfectly see the tramp stamp peeking from your low rise jeans, and outline the bars on your nipples though your tight top. jesus christ. when the hell had you gotten those?
you were wearing a beautiful lip gloss that made your lips pop, and black eyeshadow and waterline in your eyes. your nails were done in a deep shade of red, yet short.
shane had to take a deep breath when you finally noticed her, walking into your house as you took a beer from the kitchen. your dad and the group was outside by the pool, getting ready to eat some meat fresh out from the grill.
she looked good. why did she look so fucking good? and why was your heart going this crazy? for god’s sake, it had been four years already. you were sure you’d finally gotten it under control, but one look at her and those stupid butterflies were back, along with the memory of her soft lips and electrifying touch.
“well if it isn’t new york’s sweetheart…” she said as she finally reached you a smirk on her lips as she leaned on the isle, to what you scoffed. “it’s nice to see you, kid.” her voice was low, and silky. you wanted to groan. she sounded better than you remembered. but instead, you rolled your eyes, leaning on the other side of the isle to get closer.
“i’m not a kid anymore, shane.”
“yeah, i can see that.” she chuckled, eyes training on your body, eyeing you up and down when you turned around and asked:
“want a beer?”
“please.” you opened the fridge once again, bending over to get them from the last shelf, giving her the perfect view of your tattoo and ass. it read: heaven. “thanks.” she said when you handed it to her.
“no problem.” the two of you took a swing form the bottles, fresh beer spilling down your throat. somehow it didn’t help with how hot you were feeling.
“so tell me. how has new york treated you?” she inquired and you shrugged.
“it was alright. kinda busy with college.”
“oh yeah… as if college were everything you’ve been up to, huh?” she teased you, and you chuckled.
“what do you want to know, shane?” you squinted your eyes. “that the parties are amazing there? that the girls are hot?” she smiled.
“yeah, that’s more like it…” she drank again. there was this easy-going atmosphere in between the two of you. you liked it. you thought it would be harsher to face her. but she was shane. how could it be? she always made you feel safe. “see you’ve gotten more tattoos…” her eyes eyes your arms, where some of them stood. “i like them.”
“oh, yeah. have this friend back in the city that would do them for free if she could practice on me.” you laughed, showing them to her. she took your arm, soft fingertips drawing over their lines .
“well, she’s got talent, i’d give you that.” she whistled.
“yeah. taught me how to stick and poke and everything.” you laughed at her shocked expression.
“no fucking way… you tattoo?” you nodded.
“yeah, so if you ever want a new one just hit me up, i still owe you one.”
“true. the hummingbird. how’s it holding?” you pulled down your pants and panties to show it to her, soft skin in display. “might need a little ink.” she hummed, and you pushed your pants back to their spot. you might need something else.
shane tried to ignore the little speck of ink that she saw more towards your center when you pulled your pants down, but it left her with curiosity running through her veins.
you stared at each other, green eyes on yours for a couple of long seconds before she looked away, beer on hand. she couldn’t.
“where’s your dad?” she inquired, and you sighed.
“she’s out by the pool, getting the grill ready.” she nodded.
“see you later?” you nodded, and saw her go outside, being welcomed by her friends.
well… you were fucked.
-
summer in LA was hot. really hot. and shane prancing around your house with one of her wife beaters and tight jeans wasn’t of much help. you could see her arms bulge as she helped your dad put up a new relaxing space on your garden, where he’ll build a wooden ceiling and put up a few couches for you to relax by the pool.
you were currently taking a swim, small black bikini accentuating your perfect body. it was hard to say shane was having a great time.
“hey kid. enjoying the pool?” she inquired, wiping the sweat off her forehead. it was already almost night, the sunset already had been engulfed by the ocean.
you looked up at her, resting against the edge, cleavage on full and exposure.
“really. the water is so refreshing…” you smiled.
“shane!” your father called out for her. “i’m going out to buy some bear. want anything?” he inquired.
“marlboro reds?”
“got it.” she thanked him as he took his keys and left through the main door, leaving the two of you alone. you bit down on your lip at the thought of it.
“hey shane?” you muttered.
“yeah?”
“can i tell you something?”
“anything.” she nodded.
“bend over.” you whispered, and she followed, kneeling on one knee by the pool so she could get closer to you, and just as you were about to part your lips, your wet fingers gripped on her shirt, pulling her inside the pool. she was gasping for air as she came back up to the surface, wiping the water out of her face as you laughed so hard your stomach hurt. “oh god! you should have seen your face!!!”
“oh yeah? you think this is funny?” she chuckled, pointing at her wet clothes. the white wife beater let her nipples show now. you tried not to state too much.
“totally.” you nodded, taking a step back when she step closer.
“com’here.” she ordered, waving her hand.
“nah, i’m cool here.” you laughed, and shrieked when she jumped at you. “no!!”
“oh, so now the princess is begging for mercy, huh?” you sputtered as her fingers tickled you, grabbing at your sides. “how’s that? who’s laughing now, hm?” she muttered as you begged her to stop, trying to get rid of her hold. “yeah, that’s what i thought.” she left you breathless when she finally decided to let you go, although you two were close, your back against the wall of the pool.
you looked at her, and chuckled slightly at the messy state of her hair, which now stood completely drenched hiding her eyes and getting all over her face.
“what?”
“your hair. is… wait. let me.” your soft fingertips made contact with the skin of her face, pushing away the strands and behind her ear.
“thanks.” she muttered.
“you’re welcome.” you two stared at each other, realizing just how close you were. your eyes drifted to her chest, which rose and lowered in deep breaths, her perky nipples hard against the white of her tank top.
she stared at you. at your long eyelashes, flushed cheeks due to the lack of air and laughter and your glossy plump lips. somehow you two just ended closer, the hands that had tickled you still on your hips, burning your skin. your eyes met, and after a couple of seconds she looked away, clearing your throat and letting go of you, leaving you freezing.
“fuck. now i’m completely drenched.” she looked at her clothes.
“you could borrow some of mine.” you shrugged, and she scoffed. “what? i’m sure some of my clothes will fit you, shane. or do you want to get your leather seats wet?”
“fuck no.” her nose wrinkled up, and you chuckled.
“just what i thought.” you muttered, swimming towards the stairs and dipping your hair underneath the water one more time before getting out the pool. shane tried really hard to not stare at the perfect view of your ass. your dad would kill her. your dad will kill her. why was she even staring at you this way? for gods sake she had seen you grow up…
you turned around, and she quickly looked you in the eyes. “you coming or not.”
oh for sure.
“yeah.” she said before following after you.
-
“are you sure you know how to do this shit?” she inquired for like the eleventh time, and you rolled your eyes. “hey, i just want to make sure you don’t fuck it up, alright? i’ll live with it for the rest of my life.”
“shane, i’m positive. you’re not the first person i tattoo, alright?” you promised, getting the needles and ink ready.
“cool. cool.” she nodded, laying on your bed. your room stood frozen in your teenage years, full of books and pictures and posters. you even had your favorite music records (at least the ones you’ve had to leave behind for college). it gave you this nostalgic feeling that you couldn’t shake off your bones. your father was out with some of his friends, and you and shane had ended up meeting up to tattoo each other. “but-“ she tried and sit back up, but you pushed her down, pointing one of your fingers at her.
“shut the fuck up.” you ordered, and she rose her hands.
“okay.”
she was going for a simple design. a scorpion on her forearm. you’d done some before, so it would be easy. you’d also made a stencil for her, so you would be fine.
you prepped and disinfected everything, putting on your gloves. “okay. where do you exactly want it?” you inquired her, and she pointed at the place where she thought would look best and you nodded, placing the stencil there to let her see if she’d like it.
“yeah, i like it.” you nodded once again.
“alright. then i guess we’re ready. it won’t take a lot, if it hurts too much just let me know and we’ll take a break.” she scoffed.
“who do you think i am?” she sassily inquired and you rolled your eyes.
“hope you choke on your words, mccutcheon.” you shook your head, taking her arm and leaning over to start tattooing her.
“huh, you wish.” she smirked, taking a glimpse of your cleavage. she breathed deeply, squeezing her eyes shut. come on shane. focus.
those fucking nipple piercings… shit. no. don’t think about that.
you noticed her silence and you decided to check up on her.
“you alright?”
“hm?” she seemed distracted. how couldn’t she be? “oh yeah. don’t worry.” of course it wasn’t like she were thinking about your tits. absolutely not. “so… had any girlfriends in new york?” yeah, let’s change the subject.
you sighed and shrugged. “i mean… not really. messed up around but never got serious, you know what i mean?” she smirked, surprised.
“do tell…” you chuckled, playfully hitting her on the arm.
“what about you?” you inquired, trying to not sound so interested. although you were. you truly were.
“could say the same. you know me.” you nodded, and hid your excitement. so she was single.
she stared at you as you worked. fuck. you were so beautiful. new york had changed you so much. you had always been, but now, there was this… something about you she couldn’t put her finger on. she just knew she couldn’t pull her eyes away from you. and that was no good.
“okay. i’m done.” you smiled, wiping over the tattoo to stare at the end result.
“now that’s amazing.” she whistled, taking a look at it. it hadn’t hurt at all.
“told you…” you muttered and she scoffed.
“oh i’m sorry for being scared, you’re the first kid i let near me with a needle.” you rolled your eyes. there was that nickname again. kid.
did she really still looked at you like one?
she noticed your silence.
“hey. you okay?” you pushed away her touch, nodding.
“yeah, i’m fine.” no you were not. what the hell did you have to do for shane to look at you? would it always be like this? will you always be running after her? “so… you up for retouching my tattoo?” you asked and she nodded.
“yeah, sure. could i borrow your gun, though? i’m not that good at stick and poke.” you gave it to her, along with some ink, gloves and new needles.
you got up from your seat, unbuckling your pants. shane tried to not look at you as you pushed them down your thighs, leaving you in a pretty lace pair of panties. her eyes continuously drifted from you to the tattoo gun as you sat on your bed, legs spread as she sat in front of you. there was no comfortable way she could tattoo you in your room, and having her in between your legs, leaning over and so close to your barely clothed center somehow felt more intimate than the first time around. she looked at you as her fingertips made contact with the skin of your hip bone, carefully pulling your panties down just the slightest to disinfect the zone. your cheeks were burning up when her soft low voice caught your attention. “you ready?” you nodded. “alright. if you need me to stop just say the word.” and then there was the buzzing of the tattoo gun and that burning feeling of the needle breaking your skin. you hissed. you knew it was a sensitive spot, but you always forgot how sensitive.
you thanked god the tattoo was small, ‘cause you couldn’t really look at shane too much without thinking about things you shouldn’t be thinking about. she looked so good in between your legs, hair falling messily in her eyes, tongue sticking out and glossing her lips in concentration. the things you’ve thought about that tongue, the nights you’ve imagined her in this same exact position but with less clothing. this was turning you on. it shouldn’t be turning you on.
“fuck.” you groaned. and she looked at you.
“you’re doing good, just hold on a little bit more for me, alright?” you almost moaned. fuck. and now she was praising you. one particular harsh swipe of the needle almost had you gripping her hair. you could feel her breathing against your skin.
this was all too much.
“shane…” you sighed, your hips twitching upwards involuntarily due to the pain.
“i know baby, i know. i’m halfway there.”
you tried to hold in the need to move, but it hurt, and you were getting horny. there wasn’t much you could do. at one particular point, she had to harshly grip your hip with her free hand, pushing you against the duvet. “don’t move.” she ordered, and you bit down on your lip. holy fuck. this looked so much like those dreams you’d have about her…
you could feel your pussy throbbing.
shane was trying her best to keep her composure. but jesus christ, you were writhing under her, letting out this little pained sounds and you were just in a pair of panties and a tank top. it was making it hard for her. you were making it hard for her.
the room was sticky with tension. she could see the peeking of your pubic hair since she had pulled your underwear down, and your skin was so soft…
focus. focus. focus.
but then…
fuck. you were wet. you were soaked.
her green eyes met the wet patch forming on your panties, and she forgot what she was supposed to be doing. hell, she even forgot the fact that you were her best friend’s daughter.
you perked up at the feeling of her stoping with the tattoo.
“shane?” you called out for her, and then you were letting out this sound in between a moan and a gasp when you felt her fingers pushing in between your lips and over the cloth, slowly, teasingly. “oh fuck. what are you doing?” you gasped in a whisper, your hips rutting against her touch. she smirked.
“me? i’m not doing anything.” she looked at you, and slowly leaned closer to you, leaving this soft peck on your thigh. you shuddered. “tell me to stop…” she whispered. it was more like a begging. she needed you to tell her that this was wrong. that she shouldn’t be touching you right now. that it was a really stupid idea. she was your dad’s best friend. and yet…
“i can’t…” your hand laced on her hair when she started softly kissing your skin, lip in between your teeth. you wanted her. you’ve wanted her for so long… “please…”
you whimpered when her fingers bumped against your throbbing and sensitive clit, your hips bucking against her touch. “what’s this, hm?” your cheeks were beet red, thighs trembling under her green stare. “tell me baby, this all for me?” she inquired, leaving a wet kiss on your thigh and you nodded, muttering a ‘yes’ that had her short of breath.
your back arched when she kissed you on top of your panties, her tongue licking the arousal that dampened the lace. at the same time, her hands grabbed at the seam of your panties, slowly pulling them down your hips and thighs. that’s when she finally caught a glimpse of that tattoo that she had barely seen the day of your party. it was above your mound. and it said: ‘lucky you’.
shane smirked, chuckling. “lucky me…” your cheeks reddened, but all shyness and embarrassment disappeared when her fingers dipped in between your drooling folds, connected by strings of your arousal. shane felt her mouth watering. “such a pretty pussy.” you felt so exposed, but at the same time you just wanted to open up your legs for her, let her see every little crevice of you.
you let out this pornographic sweet moan when her tongue draw a long fat strip from your entrance to your clit, softly suckling on it and making your thighs squeeze her head, what made her groan and bury her face deeper into your pussy.
“fuck…” you cried out, your hands meeting her short messy dark hair, tugging at it. why did it felt so good?
she pushed your legs over her shoulders, her warm hands on your thighs as she sucked on your clit, sticking her tongue out for you to ride her face when you’d hump against her. that was until you felt one finger prodding against your hole, easily pushing inside your tight and warm walls due to how wet you were. “that’s it. open up for me, doll.” she hummed when you whimpered, starting to thrust it in and out of you, your arousal thick and white on her knuckles as you thrusted yourself on her finger and mouth.“taste so good…” she couldn’t get enough, eating you like a starved woman.
“shane.” you whined when she added her ring finger, stretching you out. and how could she resist when you sounded so sweet moaning her name? she just wanted to get more of those sounds out of you, make you cum over and over again until the only thing you could remember was her name.
she groaned. “look at you, fuck. so fucking pretty. what would your dad think, hm? her little girl letting his best friend fuck her like this.” you moaned, pulling from her hair. “oh you liked that, huh? like the idea of your daddy catching me with my tongue on your cunt, baby?” you blushed, embarrassed to like the idea of it, the adrenaline rushing through your veins making the pleasure enhance. her fingers constantly hitting your g spot had you so close to the edge… “of course you do…” she smirked, sucking on your clit. you cried out her name, your hips pushing against her mouth. “you close, princess?” you nodded, biting down on your lip. “cum for me, baby. cum on my face. i’ll clean it all up for you.” she muttered, licking at your folds before latching onto your clit. your back arched. that encouragement being all you needed to fall apart, thighs shaking as your high hit you like a tidal wave with a high pitched moan. she groaned at the taste of your white creamy cum on her tongue, lapping at it in need, the wet sounds of her tongue pushing into you and licking in between your lips filling your room. she kept finger-fucking you to help you ride off your orgasm, sucking at your clit to extend it.
you swore you could see stars on your room’s ceiling, thighs shaking and breathing ragged. it had been the best orgasm of your life.
shane finished cleaning you up, swallowing every last bit of your cum before pulling her fingers out of you and pushing them inside your mouth. her green eyes met yours as you cleaned them for her. and you could just think about the fact that you had just fucked your dad’s best friend.
and how much you wanted to do it again…
-
a/n; 😶‍🌫️
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sp0o0kylights · 7 months
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I once had to pose in a ton of photos for a friend's AP photography final back in high school so may I present to you:
Steve Harrington, who gave in to Robin's begging that he act as her weird art model for her senior year portfolio (the same one her teacher is encouraging her to bat out of the ballpark and enter into contests.) 
She's doing a whole thing on fashion, subcultures and sexuality using photos and collaged poetry, a project that has Steve trying on different outfits and posing in different places. 
"This might help me land a scholarship, Dingus." She hisses while she's got him bent over her bathtub, spraying parts of his hair blue with wash-out dye.
Steve, soulmate and best friend extraordinaire, goes through it all with minimal (for him) bitching, even if the goth outfit feels absolutely ridiculous, and the 'geek' photoshoot downright laughable.
He starts to have fun when she has him mimic Nancy's straight laced, all A's good girl aura, and equally has a blast with the country look (he has no idea where Robin got a miniature horse but it conned him for every piece of food he had on him and then some.) 
The final piece is the one they're struggling with, the one Robin's now (fake) dying his hair partially blue for. 
A few hours later and he's dressed up once again in a studded leather jacket, the tightest jeans he owns ringed with belts, and combat boots.
 Robin had even talked him into letting her use eyelash glue to attach a few metal studs on his face--two acting as an eyebrow piercing and one on his nose. 
The looks he drew took a minute to get used too when all was said and done, Robin dragging him around Hawkins while she tried to find the 'perfect backdrop' but he's not gonna lie. 
He kinda enjoys being punk Steve.
That is, until Robin has him posing in an alleyway and Eddie Munson comes around the corner, jaw right about falling to the floor.
Even better? 
Eddie doesn't recognize him. 
Not at first, when he siddles up to Steve, nodding to the handkerchief in Steve's back pocket and then flicking the pink triangle pin on his jacket with a finger. 
Steve owes Jonathan a bottle of his father's best alcohol for giving him enough knowledge to get through the music razing Eddie subjects him too, and Steve's all too happy to play the part of punk asshole to Munson's music-snob metalhead.
It's not until Eddies playing with his hair and Robin gives in to letting him have a quick break from the shoot that he gives up the ghost, leaning in to whisper in Eddie's ear. 
"Gotta say, Munson," Steve all but purrs."I wasn't expecting you to fall for the Harrington Charm that fast."
"What?" Eddie asks, jerking his head back to look at him with wide eyes. 
Maybe it's the outfit giving him the extra ounce of courage, but Steve likes to think more that it gives him the freedom to lean forward and brush their lips together. 
Eddie doesn't return it, but that's alright. 
Steve's played this game enough to know that it was merely a hook for a real kiss. 
"Okay." Robin says, annoyed, camera at her side. "Steve, I'm happy that you're finally exploring that repressed as fuck homosexuality we keep arguing about, I really am, but I have to get this last photo!" 
He ignores her, instead nudging Eddie's shoulders.
"Care to pose with me?" Steve asks, grinning. He can tell Eddie still isn't sure if this is a joke, that he's seconds from running, and reaches out to tug on his black handkerchief. "Get Robin her photo, and then talk about this after, Mr. S&M."
Eddie flushes scarlet, but after some reassurance (and wheelding) from Robin, finally agrees. 
(Later, he agrees to a date, which Steve also credits the outfit for.
Even if Robin demands half the credit.) 
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pinkrelish · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.
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singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader
✶When Eddie gets a call at work telling him Adrie is sick, he rushes to pick her up from school, accidentally leaving his black notebook behind. Being you, you find the means to return it to him. But while at his trailer, you ask him the question he's been avoiding for months.
"Let's get down to those rumors, hm?"✶
NSFW — strong tw for a dark conversation surrounding eddie's past (accusations of murder, rape), heavy angst, comfort, drug/alcohol mention/use, slow burn, fluff, flirting, 18+ overall for eventual smut
chapter: 8/20 [wc: 14.1k]
↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12
AO3
Chapter 8: The Munson Name
Leave it to Eddie to make your day special not two minutes into work.
Upon entering the garage, the back door was ajar as usual, but instead of phantom wisps of smoke swimming in the sunshaft, a shadow moved, and Eddie’s arm curled around to knock on the aluminum siding for your attention. His chain bracelet clinked from the motion, and his rings caught the light as he gestured for you to come over.
You peeked through the opening and saw him standing against the wall, but his morning smile wasn’t aimed at you, it was elsewhere, off to the side. You wrapped your fingers around the doorknob, and followed where he was looking.
A bright red cardinal sat perched on the round side mirror of Eddie’s car, chirping and hopping while fluttering its wings, spinning around in search of something, and after several twittering singsongs, it flew away.
“That was precious,” you whispered, breath fogging in awe.
“I’m glad you got to see him before he took off.” Eddie grabbed the door from you and pushed you both inside, shaking his arms in an intense shiver, and shrugging his jacket up around his neck while he hugged his hands around himself in his pockets. “Uhm..”
The goofy smile he wore was mutual, as was the dear silence. The energy between you had changed; it was charged with a new development in your relationship. One that did not need to be articulated in words. It was there, in his well-rested eyes owning a playful gleam when you looked at him, and his need to rock from foot to foot in a measured sway, like a subconscious impulse to recreate that beautiful night.
Then, he cleared his throat. You averted your gaze to the floor.
“You, uh, you said it was one gift,” he recalled with an audible wince squeezing the oxygen from his sentence.
Unsure on how best to approach you buying his daughter a generous amount of presents, and hearing the impassive edge to his voice, you shut one eye and opted for a joke, “It was one gift.. bag.”
“It was too much.”
Your demeanor sagged. “Oh.”
“No, no! Not in the bad way–No.”
You perked up. “Oh?”
A soft laugh poured from the snuggly place he had his chin tucked behind the tan canvas. He dropped his shoulders, and drove his weight forward into jaunty little steps towards you, closing the gap between your bodies. There were affectionate nuances to his fond expression when he corrected himself, “Sorry, I didn’t mean for it to sound that way. The gifts were great. Like, real home runs. Uhm, she loved them, and they were really thoughtful. Just.. really sweet of you.” Immersing himself in the steady eye contact you were both proud to uphold, he licked his lips, and raised his eyebrows. “You’re so sweet, in fact, it’s piling onto that thank you I owe you at a ridiculous rate.”
“You don’t owe me anything. I just like doing things for you and Adrie. Besides, I live rent free in a tiny town with an abysmal lack of nighttime entertainment for me to waste my money on, so I figured why not spoil my favorite four-year-old.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know I don’t owe you, but” –he moved his hand around in his pocket– “I’m gonna figure out a way to repay you. Do something nice for you. Something big. Until then, your favorite almost-five-year-old made you this.”
He presented his palm to you. Cradled in it was a bracelet made of plastic beads in an assortment of colors, some shaped as stars, some with glitter, and at the middle was a name arranged in white blocks with black lettering. M-O-U-S-E.
“I had to help her spell it,” he said, tugging up his sleeve, “but it matches mine.” D-A-D-D-Y.
There was no masking the effect the bracelet had on you; breath hitched on a raw noise, chest falling on the exhale, muscles tensed on the cusp of a bigger reaction–but you tamped down the wealth of feeling wanted, and spoke beyond the heaviness in your heart, through the strain in your throat, and behind the blurriness of tears, “A true Adrie Original. I love it, tell her thank you for me.”
You slid the elastic band over your trembling left hand. He wore his on his right.
Eddie leaned in to get a better look at you, and the amusement in his face was replaced by genuine surprise. “Are you crying?”
You crossed your arms over your chest and gripped your shoulders, laughing, smiling through the embarrassment of being caught. “Maybe! It’s–It’s really sweet.”
“I’m gonna tell her you cried!”
“Don’t!” you yelped, running away from his evil fingers advancing towards your ribs.
“But it’s cute!”
“Stop chasing me!”
Luckily for you, refuge was on the other side of the glass door you managed to lock before he could grab the handle. You guarded your safe space with a glare. He pouted, and said something. You cupped your ear. He grew more passionate, flapping his lips at a rapid rate and putting his hands up in a prayer, but you couldn’t hear what he was saying. You shouted you’d only let him in if he apologized for making fun of you. “I’m sorry.” The sincerity was lost on his smirk, but you gave in so you could make coffee and get to work, and so he could get said coffee and take your pen cup and put it just out of reach on the ledge of your desk while on his way out to the garage.
And unluckily for you, the first thing on your to-do list after the break was checking the flashing buttons on the phone. You picked up the receiver, pressed the playback for messages, and listened with a pen hovered over your new set of index cards.
The first one began with a startled, “U-uhm, right.”
The second one began with a confused laugh.
The third was a long pause before telling someone else in the room they’d try again later.
Dread pooled in your stomach. The recording button. The fucking recording button for an outgoing message taunted you. Faded yellow, and ugly.
With a clenched jaw, you prepared your racing heart, and pressed it. And oh God. You covered your eyes, more and more mortified as it played.
“We’re currently closed for the Holidays, and will open at 8AM, Mon–” Raspberry. “You! Why! That one was perfect. God, you are so–freaking–annoying. I swear. Obnoxious little..”
————
Standing at a respectable distance from where Eddie sat at the breakroom table with his notebook, you held up three calendars for the new year. “I’m replacing the one in the garage. Which do you want? Mythical Creatures drawn by Eric Carle, Coca Cola, or hot chicks posing on sports cars?”
He dropped his head back, and tipped his chair to balance on its rear legs. His bangs fell, showing his wrinkled forehead as he looked at you upside down. “Interesting options,” he commented.
“The mall didn’t have much left.” A lie. The calendar kiosk at the mall was stocked to the brim, you just had a hunch Eddie would go for one in particular.
“Does the mythical creature one have a dragon for a month?”
“Yes,” you said without checking.
“I’ll take that one, then.”
Predictable.
“Cool, I’ll give Mr. Moore the hot chicks, and I’ll take the Coke for me.” Speaking of–the front desk phone was ringing, and it was in your job description to answer it, you supposed.
You left him to get back to his writing, and put the receiver to your ear. The voice on the other end was politely stressed in the customer-friendly way. You left it in the cradle on hold, and called down the hallway, “Hey, Eddie, it’s Adrie’s school calling for you. I’m sure–” Stumbling out of his way, his jacket softened the blow of his shoulder knocking into you. He reached his hand back in an apologetic gesture, but his focus manifested in the flash of panic crossing his pale face. “I’m sure she’s fine,” you finished sympathetically.
He answered the woman on the line, and you waited along the wall, eyeing the scuff marks around the floorboards you should probably buff off at some point, and after his short conversation, he hung up.
“Adrie’s sick,” he said quickly, patting down his jacket. “Wayne’s not answering the phone, so I gotta go pick her up, and uh, I–” He pivoted in a circle, glancing around, fumbling for his keys in his pocket. “I–I’m sorry. She needs me.”
You drew your eyebrows in, and waved him off. “Yeah, it’s okay. You can leave. I’ll clock you out and let Carl know when he’s back from lunch.”
“Thank you,” he said in breathless earnest, leaving so quickly his boots left black streaks on the tile.
~~~
Lunch came and went. Carl came and went. The end of the hour posted under the CLOSED sign came and went. Eddie had yet to call the shop to update you, which was fine and dandy (aside from your anxiety over whether or not Adrie was okay), but in his rush, he left behind something important..
His black notebook with the devil-horned skull laid in the middle of the table like an ominous item from a horror movie.
And much like the horror movies, you as the final girl should leave it alone, right? Just.. walk away, and forget about it, and leave it for him to pick it up tomorrow, or whenever he’s able to come back to work..
But.
You were worried about Adrie, and when you went to the garage to replace the trash can liners, you saw his rings still on the black tray near the tool cabinet. Now, it’s not like he needed those either, however, what if you just.. returned them for him? And the notebook fell open while you were at it?
It was wrong. Everything about what you were doing was all so very, very wrong. Going inside Mr. Moore’s office and flipping the lightswitch, making your way to his desk in an innocent saunter, and–oops!–kneeling down to pick up a stray pen, and if the bottom drawer happened to be opened, and the plastic folder with the employee’s details from when he hired them was inside, who could blame you for taking the quickest, tiniest glance before closing it?
Yours was in there, of course, along with–
“Edward Munson,” you snorted. “Dorky name.” Duh his full name was Edward, but it was still funny to see.
You read over the top of the file where his address and phone number were. Thankfully, from your various car rides with Robin, you recognized the street name, placing it in your memories as the rusted sign next to the Forest Hills Trailer Park entrance.
The phone number you imprinted into your brain as a recreational activity, and put the folder away.
Closing the door behind you with a hefty jingle of heavy rings in your pocket, you approached the notebook, and gave it a pitied sigh. Having committed many sins in the past minute alone, you figured why not. You didn’t even feel shame opening the stupid thing after months of being teased by it. Besides, what’s the worst he could be hiding in it? It couldn’t be that embarrassing, right?
..Right?
“Okay, can honestly say I was not expecting a big tittied bird lady.” The drawing wasn’t overly detailed, but the artistry was above average. Small details etched the feathers covering her avian legs, and a gleam shone on her talons coming to a sharp point, posed to attack with milky white irises. Above her was Eddie’s stylized font: HARPY, with abbreviations and numbers in a column. His rushed handwriting filled the rest of the page. Reading it over, it appeared you opened to the middle of a story.
Thumbing through, you encountered your first dog-eared page.
IF CHEST IS CHOSEN, GO B
IF DOOR - ROLL FROM INDEX CHART POISON
Absolutely lost, you did see a box labeled B further down with a short bullet point list of what would happen, and more options to choose from on the next dog-eared section.
Flipping deeper towards the back, it was pages and pages of his handwriting. Names of characters fighting dragons. Fantasy towns housing creatures you’d never heard of. Countries with too many syllables and apostrophes. Whatever it was, you were more than happy to hop on your bike and ride it over to the trailer park, only second guessing your sense of direction three times, and releasing a grateful, “Thank God,” when you spotted it up ahead.
The place had an eeriness to it despite the slanted beams of afternoon sun gracing it in gold. Homes were tarnished with dents and algae staining the outside. Trailers slumped on their cinderblocks, buckling under the weight. RVs had permanent brush growing under their parking spots. A child’s scream echoed around the tree-less lot, but you couldn’t see them through the orderless blockade of dilapidated residences and abandoned cars. People watched you: glancing out their windows, or gathered around a charcoal barbeque. Curious eyes followed your trail down the main road. Bumping your bike around potholes, avoiding tetanus ridden nails and petrified clothes molded to the ground as if they’d been there for years.
Dogs walked their fences as you passed.
You were beginning to have some regrets when a beacon welcomed you. After a curve, an old van parked out front of a blue and white trailer came into view, but more importantly, dwarfed next to the Chevy behemoth, was a black car you’d recognize the red interior of anywhere.
The heat of parent’s concerned stares burned into the back of your neck as you rode up to the concrete stairs, leaned your bike against the metal handrail, and approached your fate.
Even though you were absolutely sure this was the correct address, you knocked with as much confidence as a dormouse. Any harder and the sound of your knuckles striking the aluminum would’ve been too loud in the creepy-quiet trailer park.
No answer.
You knocked again. Harder. Louder.
There was movement inside. Footsteps. A muffled voice. Your heart leapt. In your throat. Closer. Closer. This was so stupid. This was a mistake. This was a bad idea. The excuse in your mouth was weak, and you were about to embarrass yourself in front of your coworker by surprising him at his house, which you only knew where to find because you were snooping, and there was no amount of explaining that would help you out of your spot in hell–
Eddie swung open the door, and his heavy-browed, distrustful, annoyed, apprehensive, suspicious glare jumped to wide-eyed shock.
Your cheeks went hot.
“Nope!”
You winced at the slam, but nothing–no God’s will, no Devil’s agreement–would convince you to blink at the shuttered window where he once stood. No. No, no, no. No, never. Never would you want the searing glimpse at Eddie’s naked chest out of your sight before it was engraved into every second of every day of every night of every dream for the rest of your years.
In some part of your mind, you knew your gazes connected long enough to see the blood drain from his face, but your attention was soon urged downward, to the overwhelming amount of skin.
His hair was tied back, exposing a poetry of shadows. Hollow of his throat, to his clavicle, to the swell of his shoulders. Biceps twitching under a prominent vein when he caught himself on the trailer’s frame, and gripped the door handle. Muscles straining with fear, then soft with relief, then strong with fear again when he realized it was you who caught him in this shirtless state, discovering the beautiful line between his pecs when he flexed. Witnessing the fine wisps of softly auburn hair on his chest, juxtaposed to the wiry dark curls creating a blessed trail to the top of his sweatpants. Drooling over the eclectic collection of tattoos sporadically placed over his body. Too many to decipher in the brief encounter, aside from the dragon crawling up a sword etched into the subtle planes of his abs and curving around his slight stomach, with the blade ending at his waistband–a full picture of the tattoo you spied at the grocery store when he stretched his arms above his head.
The door creaked open again, and you’d yet to recover. But thinly obscured in the darkness of his home, he was visibly flustered as well.
Eddie hunched over, struggling to get the zipper of his tan jacket up, tugging it harshly, grinding the metal teeth in his anxious fight to cover his chest; and when it was snug to the splotchy kiss of pink on his neck, he squinted at you. “What’re you doing here?” he asked, voice gone hoarse from his dry mouth.
Knees locked, and oh so staring him directly in the eyes, you took the black notebook from under your arm (not remembering when you tucked it there), and showed it to him. “You left this at work.”
He took it from you slowly without a thanks.
“And, uh,” you continued, gathering the clinking jewelry in your jacket. “These too.” You dropped them into his cupped palm, brushing your pinky over a scratchy callus, experiencing the zing of intimacy of skin on skin.
And he felt it too, with how he curled his fingers in to seal the fleeting sensation.
Pocketing his rings, he stood meek in his doorway. The pain of expecting someone different to be knocking at his trailer had dwindled, but the tension was there in between his eyebrows, weighing on the slope of his gentle frown, painting brilliant highlights on the long line of his nose in the blazing dayglow threatening to invade his home.
The dull brown of his eyes glinted aside the honey as his mouth hung slightly open, tip of his tongue curled against the pearly dam of his teeth. The lined pages of the well worn notebook fanned out, flopping in his grip. “Did you read what was in here?”
Shifting your gaze to the sharp edge of the tin roof decorated in elaborate dangly fish hooks, you clasped your hands behind your back in a cute way, and delivered the answer he awaited with an inflection like it was a question, “No..?”
“For an actress, you’re bad at lying.”
“Or I’m being obvious on purpose so you tell me what it is.”
Working his jaw back and forth, he bided his time, each grind a consideration at his options in regards to how vulnerable he should be, and if this would be the final nail in the corroded coffin where you’d realize what a giant loser he was. “It’s..” You leaned towards him in interest, and he looked away. “It’s notes and stuff for Dungeons and Dragons,�� he admitted in a mumble.
“Nerd! Nerd!” You jumped up and down, pointing, shouting, “I knew it! You’re a nerd!”
Twisting his mouth in a sarcastic sneer at your childishness, he snatched the side of the door and began shutting you out. “Okay, okay. I get it. See why I didn’t want to tell you?”
“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” you exhaled, switching on a dime from your teasing to a serious tone. You caught the door, and pleaded for him to stop being an idiot, “I knew you were a dweeb when you held me hostage for an entire thirteen minute lecture about your song lyrics. The Dungeons and Dragons shit is the third least surprising thing you’ve ever told me.” You clasped your hand over your heart. “Truly.”
“What’s the second?”
“Your music tastes.”
“And the first?” he asked, despite his better judgment.
“That you’re single.”
He announced his displeasure in a deadpan expression. “And I’m beginning to see why you are, too–” All of him went rigid, withdrawing slightly into the trailer with his head lowered, ear angled towards the right of him, listening as his gaze went unfocused.
After a few seconds, his lungs reawakened with a relieved breath. “Just coughing,” he said to himself. Dragging his attention back to you, he gestured weakly at his jacket to indicate his lack of clothing, still embarrassed at the situation. “Adrie, uh.. She puked on me earlier. That’s why I wasn’t–uhm–dressed.”
Worry edged its way into your question, “Is she okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, she’s fine. Kids get sick from daycare all the time. Basically just sentient germs running around, licking their hands after touching everything.”
Your eyebrows ticked up at the memory of the awful Dayquil hangovers following the weekends you worked as a clown for children’s birthday parties.
You asked, “And what about Wayne?”
“Hm? Oh.” Recognition, and the ease of a casual conversation overtook the near-permanent anticipatory hardness to his features, softening his bristly nature around you; finding you comforting when he was in the place where he was supposed to feel safest, but didn’t.
Home wasn’t home for Eddie Munson, and you felt that icy statement behind your ribs as you watched him pat his pocket as a way to check his rings were there for reassurance, acutely aware there was an hostile world at your back, and you chose to only see each other.
There was a tender innocence to his lip crooking up in a lopsided grin as he remembered you asked him a question. “Typical old man. Wayne was outside and didn’t hear the phone ring, that’s why he didn’t answer. He’s at work now, though.”
“Mm,” you hummed. “Do you have soup?”
“Soup?”
“For Adrie,” you clarified.
He glanced over his shoulder, assumingly at the kitchen, and after some mental deduction, he shrugged in vague nonchalance. “Yeah, there’s probably soup for her.” As if you didn’t know him well enough at this point to read past the nervous habits weaving their way into his fidgety unsureness.
You backed down the stairs as you spoke, “Okay. Well then, guess I’ll get going since you have everything on lock down here. Got your sick kid, got your soup, got your notebook, and your uncle’s at work. Sounds like everything’s in order.” Hopping off the last step, you swung around the handrail and guided your bike to the road, beaming. “See ya!”
“Yeah, see ya,” he replied, settling into his usual side-ways glance around the trailer park, challenging the gawkers who watched a girl willingly walk up to his home and leave it smiling. They did not dare to say anything, of course; returning to their lives with sealed lips, pretending to pay him no mind. Just how it should be.
He held his chin high.
————
And when Eddie next answered the door, it was in the low blue hue of a setted sun, and he did so in his black jeans and a white tank top. His unzipped work jacket swayed prettily around his torso, low bun at his nape loosened to a mess, short curls in a frizz over his ears, and cheeks flushed. “I figured you’d be back,” he forced out evenly, doing his best to disguise his panting breaths.
You hugged the brown paper grocery bags to your chin, and grinned.
He stuck his foot behind him in an awkward curtsy, and swept his arm for you to enter.
Walking into his place for the first time there were many things to comprehend, absorb, fawn over, and ask about until he was tired of explaining their origins–and since you were already crossing an entire notebook’s worth of lines today, you inquired about the most obvious. “You, uh, like collecting hats and mugs?”
“They’re Wayne’s,” he grunted, unplugging the vacuum he left in the middle of the living room by yanking the cord out of the wall, and dragging it on his way to the hallway closet where he kicked and shoved things aside to make room, rattling the thin door that definitely had been punched through at one point, patched and painted over, and was now a canvas for crayon squiggles along the bottom. “Before he worked at the power plant, he was a trucker. Collected them at every rest stop in every state, that sorta thing.”
“Ah.”
In a quick spin, he surveyed the rest of the trailer, and made a similar “ah” sound when he saw the cleaning products and balled up paper towels on the tiny table squeezed against the wall. He lunged for them, stuffing the evidence and other garbage into the overflowing trash can. “I still keep up the tradition by getting him a mug for Christmas.” Jerking his chin at the shelf above him, he specified the one on the end. “This year was Looney Tunes.”
“How cute.” The bags crinkled in your arms as you stood in the entryway, nodding expectantly.
“Shit–Sorry.”
You smiled. He finished clearing a space on the wrap-around kitchen counter for you to set the groceries down, scooting a candle out of the way, flickering the flame he may have burnt himself on while lighting, if the red mark on his thumb was anything to go by. And he was back to pivoting, scanning the area, desperate to latch onto the object which would jog his memory on where he was in his cleaning: dishes dripped in the drying rack, Wayne’s grilled cheese endeavor was out of sight, the bathroom radiated the nose-burning scent of bleach.
He snapped his fingers at the overflowing trash can, and almost slipped in his frenzy to tie up the bag and rush for his boots, saying he’ll be right back on his way out, leaping down the stairs.
“Alrighty..”
The steady rumble of a washing machine rattled every loose bit of metal in the museum of belongings.
You waged war with your tennis shoes, wiggling out of them with the laces still tied, and stepped off the carpet dividing the trailer in half. The bubbling vinyl kitchen floor stuck to your socks, still damp from being mopped, and heaved the groceries onto the pale blue countertop, sliding them across decades worth of scratches scarring the material. Once you were sure you could let them go without a toppling situation, you took the goods out one at a time, but your attention was nosy and undivided.
Acting as foreground to the walls of hats and mugs was the rest of Eddie’s life. Laundry baskets occupied a couch with flattened cushions. A coffee table supported stacks of his daughter’s playthings after picking them out of the vacuum’s path. There was a fold out bed in the corner, and a modest TV situated on top of a VCR. To compensate for the lack of overhead light was an abundance of mismatched lamps on each surface.
It was a hodge podge, and it was cramped, and it was incomprehensible, and it was his house.
Turning, you began to guess at which cabinets he would store a bag of rice when you spotted the artwork hanging on the fridge.
Pinned under a teddy bear magnet was a decoupaged version of your Thanksgiving turkeys, cut out and glued to a single piece of construction paper, complete with the castle in the background. And secured safely under a smiley face magnet was a stick figure drawing of two people–one in a pink dress, one in all black scribble–and dated in neat ink by someone with less messy handwriting: 5/7/92.
Eddie came back to your wide grin, and two cans of baked beans held up in a question.
“They go over here,” he said, nodding at the skinny door next to where he stood at the small green table set for three chairs, organizing today’s mail in his hand.
You opened the pantry next to the recessed oven, and stacked the rest of the cans inside. Towards the back there were two white cereal boxes with plain blue text and nothing else, leaving you to deduce no one in his family stooped to eating unsweetened cornflakes even if that’s all they had. Meanwhile, he arranged overdue bills into a ladder style letter holder hung on the wall beside the phone, periodically taking one out and placing it down a rung, ordering them from most to least important.
“I was supposed to go grocery shopping yesterday, but I had to buy and install a new hot water heater,” he told you suddenly. Whether he was saying this because he was coasting on the fumes of his Christmas bonus until December’s child support arrived, or because he was simply too busy to go shopping, neither of you addressed it more than necessary. He accepted your help, and you didn’t pry.
“Unexpected shit sucks, huh?” you added for his benefit.
“Yeah,” he huffed in a short laugh, playing the same game.
And it was him who rested his forearms on the edge of the pale blue wrap-around counter, watching you commit good deed after good deed, guessing where groceries went in the cabinets, acclimating to his kitchen’s set up, and making room for a bag of grapes and three apples between his six pack of Pabst and block of Government cheese.
“Can I ask you kind of a weird question?”
You brightened at his voice, teetering on the edge of a smile just from that alone. “Always.”
He drew absent-minded circles with his finger as he tried to find the best way to word something he wondered about since the week you met. “When you saw Adrie for the first time, you had this really, uh, surprised look on your face.. Why was that?”
Your tone was dismissive in the wake of something that appeared to haunt him, “Oh, that?” You folded down the empty paper bags, and placed them on top of the fridge after he said Adrie would use them for arts and crafts. “Well, it’s like, Mr. Moore has dozens of pictures of his family on his desk, and Carl told me–approximately–ten different stories about his sons an hour after meeting him, and Kevin carries pictures of his dogs in his wallet. It just seemed like if you had a daughter, you would’ve shown me a picture too, like most dads.” You waved your hands around, and contorted your mouth in a silly manner. “I mean, it was just weird you never mentioned her.”
He took your assessment to heart, and opened the drawer closest to him. Amongst the clutter of junk was his black wallet resting on a coiled chain with clips on either end. Taking out the cheap leather, he cradled the width in his palm, and wiggled out a picture kept sealed behind a plastic window. He said, “Actually, I do carry a picture of her,” and handed it to you.
On instinct, you pored over the image of him first, prizing the crown of his head sporting the same wild haircut. He had his face tipped down to the newborn wrapped in a pink blanket in his arms, crooking her in their safety as he held a bottle to her lips. His knees were on display behind his ripped black jeans. His shirt was sleeveless. She was tiny and precious. He was decidedly emotionless from what you could see, sat on a couch that was not the same as the one across the room from you.
“That was taken at Harrington’s place,” he answered your unstated question, keen to the recognition washing over your face as you placed it as Nancy’s ugly pink floral loveseat.
You gave it back to him.
He looked over the captured moment in time, bleak gaze set on his little girl when she was so fragile, and small, and when he was so weak, and teetering on a long overdue breakdown.
“It took me a long time to carry this around,” he said, tone heavy with disappointment, regret, and shame. “Wayne and I were fighting constantly. And I mean, I don’t blame him. He gave up his life to take care of me when I was twelve, and I put so many gray hairs on his head that he went bald from my bullshit, and then there I was, bringing home a screaming infant I didn’t know the first thing about taking care of. Y’know, just proving I was a fuck-up right when he thought I was smart enough to get my act together.“ Tracing the sharp edge of the photo trimmed to fit his wallet, he placed it in its windowed slot and tossed it back in the drawer, closing the past from his sight. “I don’t have a lot of good memories from that time. Shit fucking sucked.”
“I can imagine,” was all you could say.
“I love her,” he said in the event you doubted him.
“I know you do,” you offered in return.
Steering the conversation in a different direction, you swung your index fingers at the extensive cabinetry, and asked, “Where’s a cutting board?” Right of the sink, he answered. “And a knife?” Top drawer next to your hip, he responded. But it took until you shook out the washed celery stalk, and snapped the ribs off, lining them up on the white plastic cutting board did he become suspicious.
He leaned more of his weight on his forearms, and kept his tone carefully neutral, “What’re you doing?”
Keeping your expression indifferent aside from your arched brows, you cut the celery into manageable sticks and began slicing them lengthways. “I believe I’m in Edward Munson’s trailer making him and his daughter soup.”
The crimson guitar pick at the end of his necklace swung forward, jostled from where it was stuck to the healthy sheen of sweat glistening along the top of his chest. “How do you know my full name?”
“A little birdie told me.”
He shifted his shoulders, head lowered, eyes narrowed, voice deep, “Better question. How do you know where I live?”
“A bigger birdie told me.”
“Someone told you about me?”
Rightfully confused, you pulled a face. “Huh? No. I was kidding. No one talks to me. Anyway, back to the soup.” You harnessed all your charm into impressing him by meeting his stare while you diced the celery, using your knuckles as guidance. “Are there any vegetables she won’t eat? Or stuff she’s allergic to?” Your flagrant insolence irked him: reading his notebook, inviting yourself to his residence, filling the voids in his kitchen with groceries, and now making him soup without ever asking if he wanted you to do those things.
Because of course he wanted you to do those things.
He surrendered to your kindness. “No allergies, and she’ll eat anything as long as it’s diced small–Yeah, like that–and cooked down to mush. It’s the one thing she’s always been good about.”
“And you?”
It took a few sad seconds for him to understand you were asking about his allergies and his preferences, not used to his needs being taken into consideration. “No, no, whatever you make is good. Uhm. Hey, you don’t have to do all of this. Don’t roll your eyes, I’m being serious. Adrie’s sick and I don’t want you to catch what she has.”
“Please,” you implored in thick sarcasm, “I’ve been coughed on by every disease known to man on the Q train. There’s not a cold or flu in existence I haven’t succumbed to. I’m immune at this point.”
You found a stock pot from the cabinet at the junction of the wrap-around counter and the sink, and set it on the cooktop to come to heat while you peeled and chopped an onion. Eddie dwelled in his observations; listening to you recount tales of working in kitchens because they were always hiring, collecting horror stories from being a dishwasher, a waitress, a morning food prepper; moving from title to title; birthday clown, bartender, craft store cashier. Flighty, flighty, flighty. He watched your hands move in quick chops and long sweeps down a carrot with skill he didn’t have the patience nor time to learn. He told you as much, how when he comes home he’s fucking tired, and doesn’t have the energy to make dinner.
“Now what’re you doing, sweetheart?” he asked in what he hoped was an exhausted tone, but he knew it was futile. The timidness was there, sneaking its way into his words when he made the leap to calling you an endearment in his own home. And how could he not when you pulled out a stack of tupperware, divided the piles of chopped vegetables between them, and wedged them into the freezer, still tending to the sweating mirepoix with a wooden spoon.
“It’s so next time you want soup they’re all ready to go. You don’t have to waste time cutting vegetables. Just dump a container in a pot and add broth and noodles, and call it a night.”
He made a fond noise in the back of his throat, looking at you through his lashes. “You’re really doing everything in your power to extort me for this ‘thank you’ I owe you, aren’t you?”
“You’re the one who promised me something good,” you reminded him.
Water splashed, sputtered in the pot, steaming into a cloud of savory humidity, filling the living space with earthy aromatics. You added bouillon cubes, and stirred the stock together while turning the dial on high to bring the soup to a boil.
“Yeah, guess I did,” he said, petering out into a mumble, straying further from the current topic. He wasn’t finished talking about the previous one yet, and he made it known.
Tracing his thumb along his plump bottom lip, he tested a boundary, tiptoeing into a realm he did his best to ignore. “So, uh, you employ the same strategy with jobs as you do dating, huh?”
“Oh, yeah,” you grinned. “Having an endless well of stories about shitty customers to pull from is perfect for stand up. Everyone loves the perpetually single girl who works in service or retail, and just can’t seem to find the love of her life, despite going on an insane amount of first dates with New York’s most average. It’s funny, and relatable.”
“And now you’re stuck as a boring receptionist in a nowhere town in a nowhere state.”
You released a sugary, syrupy, sweet giggle. “And now I’m stuck as a boring receptionist in a nowhere town in a nowhere state, and it’s the longest job I’ve ever held.”
His eyelashes fluttered from the nerves–the strong ache in his chest pressing down on him, stealing his breath. “And what about the dates? Gone on any with Hawkins’ finest?”
“Just one.” Though your back was to him while you washed and dried the cutting board, your smile was outlined in your banter. “But it was awful,” you emphasized in a dramatic sigh. “Worst date ever. He drank my Icee, wouldn’t stop talking during the movie, and, get this! He didn’t even tell me I was pretty. Not once.”
“What a jerk,” he agreed fullheartedly, scrunching his nose and twisting a curl of his hair over his stupidly smitten grin. “Sounds like a real asshole.”
“Actually, he was my favorite,” you corrected him, turning down the dial to where the coils lost their fluorescent glow. “Huge, huge nerd. Like, the biggest dork ever, but he was definitely my favorite out of any of my dates.” On your way to the green table, you bent close to his ear, and begged him in a whisper, “But don’t tell him I said that. He’ll get a real big ego about it.”
He made a zipping motion over his mouth.
“Soups gotta simmer until the potatoes are done. Might as well sit.”
He unzipped his mouth. “When did you cut up potatoes?”
“When you were staring at me all dreamy-like,” you supplied, words dipped in coy and flirt.
Undecided on which way to balk at your claim, he did them all: rolled his eyes, clicked his tongue, muttered a small “was not,” and slung himself into his usual chair at the table. He expected you to do the same, to match his silly theatrics with your own impassioned eye roll and smirk, but you didn’t. You sat across from him, poised, hands clasped together with the black notebook beside you.
The mood of the evening dipped visibly in your serious gaze set on him.
You tapped your knuckle on the metal spirals binding the worn pages of his latest campaign together. “No more secrets,” you punctuated. Three short words let go on an exhale. Three little words standing taller than the final barrier he built to keep others out. Not an ask, but a necessity if you were going to continue your relationship–platonic or not.
Your posture and expression were stern, but gentled by patience. “Let’s get to those rumors, hm.”
It was time.
No going back.
Whatever happens, happens.
Eddie took a shaky breath, and invited you over to the vulnerable truth. “Has anyone ever told you anything about me? Not like Harrington’s stories, but actual rumors?”
You shook your head. Between spending most of your time at work, or at Robin’s place, you didn’t have much opportunity to speak to random people, apart from small talk. And chit chatting about the weather was nowhere near as grave as what rooted itself in the solemn slow blink wherein he closed his eyes, and dipped his head.
“I’ll tell you everything, but can I ask you not to say anything while I explain?” he hesitated, knowing how it sounded. “I don’t know how else to word that to make it less rude, but this shit is difficult for me to talk about, and I’ll probably ramble, and go on tangents, and jump around the timeline, but, please, don’t interrupt me or say anything until I’m finished, okay? I don’t want to forget any of the details, and have to discuss this again. Can we do that?”
Digging your thumbnails harder into the flesh of your fingers, you agreed to the terms with a solid nod.
He swallowed. And when his tongue remained too thick in his dry mouth, he swallowed again, and sat up straight, pressing his back into the chair. “Okay.”
Two anxious stomachs twisted at once.
He cast his vacant stare around the room; never allowing it to land on you. This conversation was with himself and the green table and the shelf of mugs and the soup bubbling away on the stove and the washing machine entering its spinning cycle and the containers of Play-Doh on the coffee table; speaking to the non-judgemental objects instead of the person across from him.
“I’ll start with my reputation in school,” he said. “Probably doesn’t take much of an imagination to picture me as I am now with the same hobbies and opinions, just a lot louder about them. Heavy metal was the only music I listened to, and people called me weird for it. And I thought ‘weird?’ Was that supposed to bother me? I loved being weird! I wore the title ‘weird’ with pride. I didn’t want to be like everyone else. And when they saw I played Dungeons and Dragons, they called me a Satanist. Satanist? Like Ozzy, and all the bands I looked up to? Hell yeah! I thought being called a Satanist was so cool I sewed a Leviathan Cross on my jacket.” The corner of his lip jumped at a memory, smiling at something from long ago. Then, it faded. “Goes without saying I didn’t make many friends until I found other outcasts who shared those same views as me. We started a band together, and after some convincing, we made a DND club with me as the Dungeon Master. Of course people called me a cult leader for it, but being a cult leader sounded fucking awesome, so I encouraged it. Antagonized it. Weird, Devil-worshiper, cultist, freak. I wore them all like armor.”
He paused to crack his knuckles, expression falling blank as suppressed scenes unfolded in his head. “I got bullied a lot. Not that surprising. I was so aggressively opinionated about everything and never shut up. But the worst of it stopped when I got held back enough grades that I made “grown-up friends” and started dealing to help pay for my guitars and stuff.” He shrugged a single shoulder in apathy, and the tan jacket slipped down his arm, revealing a faded stick-and-poke viper above his armpit. “Unless it was Steve or someone in that friend circle, I was never invited to parties except to bring drugs. Weed, pills, whatever low scale stuff, nothing that serious, but I wasn’t very popular outside of that context.” The washing machine buzzed at the end of its cycle. “And as much as I told myself I didn’t care, I did. I did care when my friends were out on dates with their girlfriends, and I was alone, stuck in front of a record player learning a song just to give myself something to do, and something to say I did over the weekend when they all talked about the movie they saw together.. Made me feel like I was the outcast even amongst the outcasts.”
Listening, but not responding, you smoothed your thumbs over the divots in your skin your nails left behind.
Swallowing again, he faltered, “Girls didn’t like me. Even if I was the cooler, older guy who was so confident in everything he did, I was still off-putting. Or just weird in the bad way, because I didn’t know how to act, and came on too strong, or too–I don’t know–fucking dorky, doing shit like opening doors and bowing for them, laughing too loud at my own jokes when they didn’t find them funny.” It took everything you had to not to break your promise–to stay silent, and indifferent, and not gather him into a hug and assure him all those goofy mannerisms were exactly why you liked him. “I dated, y’know.. Had girlfriends here and there, but they never lasted more than a month.”
To close one chapter of his life and open another, he rubbed at his eyes, and ran a hand down his face, scrubbing over his chin as he spoke to the ceiling, “Now onto my old man.”
The hand he used to wipe the loneliness from his somber visage came to a rest on the edge of the table, and he ran the side of his palm along it as a way to fidget.
“He was in and out of jail for a number of things my whole life, but when I was twelve, he murdered someone. She was a nice lady. Well known in town, and well liked. Popular. Prom Queen, cheerleader type. Everyone loved her.. And he murdered her.”
Silence, silence, you remained in white-hot, visceral, sweat dripping, jaw-clenching silence.
“According to my criminal record, I was following in his footsteps. I had a penchant for stirring up trouble. It was fun. Stealing dumb shit, hotwiring an old car to drive us to the woods to get drunk when we were teenagers, dealing, begging Steve to throw ragers every weekend so I had an excuse to get shitfaced and run from the cops.. Yeah, it really looked like I was following in his footsteps. Following the Munson name.”
Eddie sat forward. Sleeved forearms sliding across aged coffee rings staining the green collapsible tabletop, and rubbing the backs of his fingers along the other. He was close enough for you to reach, to hold, to comfort when this was over, and the ghosts were put to rest from clouding his softhearted brown eyes.
“There was a New Year’s Eve party I was invited to” –he jumped his fingers in quotations– “on the rich side of town. It wasn’t one of Harrington’s, and I was out of my supply anyway, so I skipped out and spent the night here with my friends playing DND, and setting off fireworks in the trailer park, just having a good time.” The next inhale quivered his bottom lip, “I woke up in my bed to three cop cars blaring their sirens, and someone telling me I was being arrested for-for murder. Ah..”
You steeled yourself from blinking away.
“A girl died at that party. Prom Queen, head cheerleader. The type everyone knew, and everyone liked. And.. A-and, Jesus, I-I just need to get through this, I’m so sorry–but stuff was done to her body.”
The frankness hung in the room.
He screwed his eyes shut, and let the ugly reality spill from his mouth, “A guy from out of state went to that party with way harder shit than I sold, and she wanted to try some. They went to the bathroom together, he gave her too much, drugged her, she overdosed, and h-h-he..” His eyelids twitched with movement, and the tendons in his neck strained. You weren’t sure if he could hear the small, involuntary noise you made, but he chose the same words to avoid what you could infer. What all women could infer. “He did stuff to her body.”
His voice continued to crawl up an octave as his muscles braced in a reflexive cringe. “H-He left her there, and when her body was discovered, and the police were called, it didn’t take long before someone said they thought they saw me there, and once one person said they saw me there, suddenly everyone saw me there.” Hard swallow, palms wiped on jeans. “I was arrested the next morning, and even though I had three alibis, I didn’t have any hard receipts or any of that shit they wanted to establish where I was and at what time. And when my alibis were a bunch of Satanic cultist shithead troublemakers like me, they were brushed off. And why wouldn’t they be? It’s my friend’s word against thirty people who swore the long haired guy they saw at the party was me. Cops thought they caught their man, booked me, and had me in interrogation in under an hour from kicking down my door.”
He licked his lips.
“January of ‘88,” he said with an unsteady cadence, shooting out the sentences as they came to him, lurching faster and faster towards the horrid scars he’d never heal from. “I was so fucking lucky, so fucking lucky. DNA testing had only become a thing the year before. Mhm. That’s what saved my ass. But even then, it wasn’t like it is now. That shit took weeks to process.” He lifted his hands–fingers loosely curled, trembling. “For weeks they made me look at the pictures of her. H-Her body. The b-bruises around her neck.” He gestured at his own, and his voice swung higher pitched, “Interrogated me over and over again. For days, and weeks. Trying to get me to confess. It took weeks to prove I was innocent, and clear my name. Weeks, and weeks. A-A-And in those weeks–”
The trembling escalated to uncontrollable shaking.
“–Fuck–I don’t want to talk about this,” he said, volume fluctuating.
The air was too thick to breathe.
The wrinkles between his brows deepened, as did the lines bracketing his mouth. Red flush overtook his shuddering chest, his strained throat, his scrunched face with his eyes closed in refusal to acknowledge you sat opposite him, your expression slackened by dread.
“In the weeks between waiting f-for the DNA results,” each word wobbled worse than the last, “I found out Adrie’s mom was four months pregnant. And if I knew, then all of Hawkins knew. Everyone knew I knocked someone up, and.. and more rumors started..” He lifted his eyebrows, and his hands developed a violent shiver, hovering over the table, palms open, afraid and begging. “Because of.. what happened to the body.. People thought that she was.. That I..” each pause was a short wheeze.
Your blood ran cold with the slow realization of what word he was avoiding.
Desperation influenced his stammer, “I swear to you, w-what happened between us was consensual,” he stressed the last word in a whimper delivered straight to your dropped stomach. “She doesn’t answer my calls–but I could try, if you need to hear it from her–I promise, I promise, as soon as the rumors started, as soon as they started, she denied them. She tried to stop them from spreading. She tried. She told everyone it-it-it wasn't–that we both chose to–” he sniffed back the croaky sob, and without the grace of respite, he coughed the rasp from his throat, and ushered you into another apology you didn’t know you were owed, “I should’ve told you before we went to Adrie’s school. You had a right to know why people were staring. I’m so fucking sorry.”
In the room at the end of the dark hallway, his daughter who he sacrificed everything for rolled over in her bed, bringing the covers with her. In the belly of the trailer belonging to his uncle, you kept your feet tucked under your chair, letting the information wash over you in worse and worse crashes. In the lousy home he hated, Eddie held his breath until the aches reached their peak, and released them in a cough; and another, and another, until the pain subsided.
Deep breath, deep breath.
Your chair creaked from your uncomfortable shifting.
With time, the tension in his body waned to where his composed words could be heard in all the clarity they deserved, “I know this has been a lot to hear, and process, and I’m so sorry for unloading all of this on you at once, but I wanted you to know the whole story so you could make an informed decision.”
You weren’t sure if you were supposed to speak yet, but your whisper broke through, “Informed decision?”
Cheeks hot, but dry, and lower lashes clumped together from the rescinded tears, he answered you indirectly at first, “It took months to find and arrest the guy, and by then Hawkins didn’t care. Babe, you can be anonymous in the city, but this is how small town mentality works. All it took was one person to say I was at that party, and like that, my life was ruined. My name was stained. No one cared if I was innocent. The culprit was some other guy they’d never heard of from another state whose picture they flashed on the 6 o’clock news once. He might as well not even exist.” A pause. A change. A regret. “I want to protect you.”
There was pressure building behind your eyes, and you moved your gaze to the shelves above you in an effort to stifle the well of tears from falling–for him, for the dead girl, for what he was about to say next.
Eddie alternated between weakly slapping his hands flat on the table, then turning over to show his palms, then slapping them down again; guilt and shame and loneliness and fear working its way into every part of his gentle nature. “My name carries a stigma, and if you’re going to be coming around to my place, or be seen with me in public, you need to know there are consequences. Assumptions are going to be made about you. People are going to speculate, warn you, judge you. You don’t deserve that shit, so please, tell me, and I’ll accept just being friends at work, and leave it at that. I won’t ask questions. I won’t bother you. I won’t ask for more.”
“What?”
“I’ll understand,” he said, eyes tightening in a flinch.
“Eddie–” It came out broken. His encouragement for you to end the burden of this relationship at coworkers for the sake of your image stung like the tender throb of rejection–except, it was worse. It was him giving you permission to break things off because he didn’t see himself as worth the hassle.
Your poise collapsed. “You’re right, it is a lot to process, and it’s all I’m gonna be thinking about for the next week, a-and yeah, I wish you told me sooner, but Eddie–” His knuckles made a harsh sound when you grasped for his hand, knocking them on the table with the force of your messy coordination through the blur of true friendship disrupting your vision. “This changes nothing between us.”
Graceless under the circumstances, you took his right hand and wrapped your fingers around his thumb, fitting the meat of your palm into the curve of his. You delved your other fingers under his sleeve cuff, stroking them down, then up, slotting them beneath the stretchy bracelet. D-A-D-D-Y. He cupped his free hand over top of yours, enveloping them both, and waded through the entanglement to caress the prominent callus at the tip of his middle finger over the white blocks with black lettering. M-O-U-S-E.
“I’m with you,” you said. “I’m here. And whenever you want me here, whenever Adrie wants me here, ask and I’ll be on my bike pedaling as fast as I can.”
His face pinched in sentimental yearn. “Baby..”
Instead of suffocating the intensity of his emotions as he normally would, he slid his chair back and buried his head in the hollow of his outstretched arms; and in the pocket of space where he felt safest, he allowed himself the relief of two hot tears streaking through the fine sweat overtaking his puffy face. They clung to the tip of his nose, and dripped to his jeans in a loud splat.
He snorted, but it came out as a muted huff due to his stopped up sinuses. “Can’t believe I made it all the way through that sober and without crying, and then you just–went ahead and said something like that.”
You smiled. He probably did, too. Then as yours ebbed, his probably did, too.
The intertwined pocket where you clasped each other ran hot with body temperature, humidity, and the loaded implications of his confession and your subsequent acceptance. Heavy with the context for why people stared at him. Their significant glances at you, and the new depths and meaning beyond people thinking he was weird, and you were weird by association.
But at the same time, their stares didn’t last long. They were glances by every definition. A look over, a judgment, and then away, back to their own little world and their own little lives.
You asked, “Are the rumors still as bad as they were?”
The short curls at the crown of his head waved back and forth with his slow head shake. “I don’t think so. I think they’ve gotten better in a weird, fucked up way.” He sniffled, and wiped his nose on the inside of his sleeve before returning to the darkened confines of his arms, refusing excess stimulation until he could handle it. “Ever since Home Alone came out, my friends joke that I’m like that old man, y’know, the one all the neighborhood kids target, and turn one rumor about him into this entire narrative where he’s slayed over a dozen people, and keeps the bodies in his basement.” He laughed, truly. A warm, muffled thing. “That’s the sorta rumors going around now, I think; that I’m some Boogieman that gets blamed for every bump in the night. Adults probably know the accusations, but, like I said, Adrie’s mom did try to stop the other ones, but I guess I don’t know for sure if–when people look at you and me–that’s what they’re thinking. Uhm, I don’t know if I’m making sense anymore.”
“You’re good,” you consoled him. Your thumbs whispered sentiments on his skin, smoothing over the rough terrain from his labor, and catching on the excess sweat, wicking it away and creating more with each hindered brush across his inner wrist, trapped under the weight of his heavy hand copying you; running his fingers over wherever he could, needy, grounding himself to your presence, and seeking closure. “Thank you for finally telling me.”
“Thanks for listening,” he responded quietly.
Eddie shrugged his shoulders to his cheeks, and dried his face on his jacket to the best of his ability. Together, you sat in silence for a while longer, holding each other. Thinking. Decompressing. Plunging into the ice water of yet another development in your relationship, and emerging to the surface in unison, breaking the surface tension latched together by the same lifesaver.
You squeezed.
He squeezed back.
“I think I need a minute,” Eddie said, throwing his head towards the bathroom and letting go of you to inelegantly wipe at his runny nose. He drew further away from the table, standing up and walking in his odd, awkward way; playing with his bangs, and taking his hair out of the ponytail. “I’ll see if Adrie’s awake and wants soup, too.” The edge of the bathroom door flooded with yellowed light and a faucet was turned on high.
There was a nice moment where you nodded at the homely kitchen, lost in thought, absorbing the sounds and smells of the thick bubbling brew, and tomatoey pungence. Until it dawned on you.
“Shit, the soup–!”
Thankfully, as you stirred, the potatoes stuck to the bottom of the pot dislodged themselves, and nothing appeared burnt. Because, honestly, you couldn’t take the wound to your pride if the first time you ever cooked for Eddie Munson resulted in you burning soup.
After searching, you discovered the cabinet above the dish rack housed the dinnerware. You grabbed two mismatched bowls and hesitated on the shallow Little Mermaid one, until hearing the click of the bathroom door swinging open, and a squeak from the adjacent bedroom.
Soft footsteps announced his excitement before you could turn and see Eddie’s silly hand wave.
Come here, he mouthed, peeking from around the wall.
You dropped the serving spoon on the–had to be homemade–ceramic ashtray masquerading as spoon rest, and followed, hungry for new discoveries; the first being the (offensively ugly) pirate ship wheel chandelier hanging above the washing machine you had to have been an idiot to miss earlier. Deeper into the carpeted hallway was the coat closet with crayon squiggles, a shelf of kitschy knick knacks, and a thrifted painting of a lake scene with the curled-edge price sticker still on the corner of the glass. Passing the bathroom, you got a glimpse of a dark green shower curtain, a wet rag on a packed sink of various spilled products, and a bucket of rubber ducks next to the tub.
Eddie slowed, and you were confronted with his back. Slim shoulders on display from his oversized jacket falling further down his arms, thick canvas folding over itself around his tapered waist. The white tank top was stretched to fit him, hem of the armholes digging into his flexed lats as he eased the bedroom door open, back muscles contouring in the heavy shadows as he hunched and held his breath at the creaky hinges broadcasting his entrance. Edges of tattoos taunted you while he blinked into the darkness. And when the one who usurped his bed nearly five years ago didn’t wake, he straightened up and shook his hair out of his face.
He angled to the side, opening himself to you with his arm outstretched; an unspoken suggestion in his fingertips finding the edge of your cable knit sweater. You understood the glossy shine of unfiltered love in his gaze, and fit yourself between him and the doorway, stealing the soft filtered light brushing Adrienne’s sleeping form in tender illumination–made sweeter by the curls falling over her closed eyes, and the pale blue unicorn hugged in her arms.
‘Oh,’ you sighed in surprise, and clasped your hands on either side of your cheeks, craning to look up at him.
Just like the time he helped you hang decorations in the breakroom, your head made contact with the stick-and-poke viper, and his grin was instant.
His inhale cradled you. “She loves that thing,” he said, chest rumbling against your nape, stomach pressing to your side with an amused grunt, filling the gaps between you and him with warmth.
It was as if nothing changed. Not really.
Eddie canted his forehead to you with an expression of mild jealousy over your plush toy wrapped in his little girl’s arms when his cold plasticy ones sat at a miniature table in a pink playhouse pretending to have a tea party. His eyebrows were the same–raised, hidden beneath the wet stringy pieces of his bangs skimming his wrinkled forehead. His damp cheeks, jaw, and neck were the same after his cold water wake up call, splashing himself over the bathroom sink. His full lips were the same, pink and pulled back to show his teeth. His strong chin was the same, peppered with a recent shave. His handsome nose was the same, albeit red. The crinkles at the corner of his eyes were the same, if not slightly fuller from his recent cry.
But everything had changed.
Before, you lacked the understanding of the fear in his eyes when Mr. Moore had walked into the shop. How he had risked a painful bruise on his hip from the chair he knocked over in his scramble to get away from you. The tremble in his hands when he ran them through his hair in an urgent act to appear composed, and not like he was doing something worse with you. To you.
Everything was different, but it was felt, not seen.
The leftover adrenaline from the confrontation at his kitchen table faded, and in its place, rising from the truest, barest, rawest vulnerabilities of himself, was trust. A candid expression of respect in his palm at your back, fingers curled in to stroke his nails along the knitted design of your turtleneck. He confessed his secrets, you knew him to be an innocent man, and despite his worry for your reputation becoming infected by his, you promised him the same loyalty you always had, because there was not a lie in existence that would break the bond you facilitated months ago, born from your sheer desire to annoy the one mechanic who wouldn’t speak to you.
Felt, not seen.
A promise, and an urge.
The tingly pleasure of his nails scratching over your sweater advanced to a divine expression of affection.
He wrapped his arm around you, settling his hand in the curve above your hip. It lasted all of two seconds, long enough for him to bring you into the crook of his body for the purpose of whispering something in your ear, but it was a phenomenal improvement over the usual nervous flittering his fingers performed when in your company.
His voice was candy sweet after watching your face break into a smile for his daughter, “Maybe we should let her sleep, hmm?”
You leaned into him. “Yeah,” you sighed, rolling your head along his shoulder, guiding your silly grin from him to Adrie. “She looks so peaceful.”
“And quiet,” he observed in the wise tone of a single father after long hours of soothing his child’s headache when her cries created one of his own, and juggling the duty of cleaning up her puke from the floor, her clothes, his clothes, and bathing her while wallowing in the misery of doing it all by himself.
Eddie persuaded you into the hallway, and closed the door behind him, letting his arm fall to his side, ending the cocoon of warmth he provided with the harsh drag of the metal zipper scratching across the back of your jeans. He followed you to the kitchen and opened the fridge, muttering a string of words about deserving something as he snapped a silver and blue can from the plastic ring holding them together. “Want a beer? I don’t think you can get a DUI on a bike.”
“You actually can in some states.” You didn’t elaborate, and continued spooning soup into the bowls in questionable silence. “But no, thank you.”
Crack, tss. He held your stare over the rim as he tipped back a long gulp, pressed his lips together, and swallowed with a satisfied ‘ah,’ giving you ample time to ignore him. Finally, he moved his hand about, and asked, “Not gonna tell me why you know that?”
“Nope.”
“Okay.”
Moving on, you located two spoons from the absolute chaos of the cutlery drawer, and brought the bowls to the table while he reached into the pantry for an open sleeve of saltines, tossing them between the both of you and falling into his chair with a soft grunt.
“This looks great,” he complimented in earnest, voice and face alight with appreciation as he thrashed his arms to get out of his jacket, and took another sip of beer before crowding his side of the table with elbows, forearms, and hands; always holding the Pabst, or the soup, or reaching; always in motion, dominating the space you shared between your bowls, and beneath, where your legs were slotted in tight between his wide-spread knees.
His manners were about what you would assume after eating lunch with him many times, but that’s not what had you breathless.
He just.. took off his jacket like it was a completely normal thing he did dozens of times in front of you, sometimes accompanied by a hand rolled cigarette hanging from his lips, or joined by a sneer at some bad joke you told.
But it wasn’t normal. Not this time.
Hungry, hungry, hungry, you devoured the sight of his bare skin.
While he stirred the finely diced carrots and potatoes, you were afforded the time to admire the art no longer hidden by coveralls. Guessing at the older blotchy etches on his inner arm, theorizing about the origins of the souvenirs done in various stages between professional and very not professional, probably by himself or a friend. He didn’t have many, but it was easy to get caught up in the collection of motifs spanning from the top of his shoulders, and crawling in disorder downwards, to a tiny dagger at the apex of his bicep, two dice above his elbow, and a classic twist of barbed wire. Very cool and tough, but your roving stopped at one tattoo in particular.
Rather, one cluster of tattoos making up a whole.
“The bats..”
He perked up at your whisper–”Hm?”–and looked down at his arm. “Oh, yeah. These were my fourth, I think? Somethin’ like that. You like ‘em?” he asked, mouth cutting into the same delighted place a smirk originated from, but with more fascination as he too realized this was your first (technically second) time seeing his exposed arms.
Sucking in your cheeks to curb your habit of smiling at everything he said, you nodded in response, falling into a rhythmic head dip as you thought back to your first time meeting Adrie, and the picture she drew for you, and her Halloween costume, and how she chose not to dress as a princess like all her friends, but as a bat instead, because her daddy liked bats. “Yeah.. Yeah, I like them.”
He removed the twist tie from around the crackers and counted out three, stacking them neatly between his palms and, without warning, crushing them into his soup, sending a fine powder into the air.
It was obvious you were watching him on account of your untouched food, but it was beyond your control. Winter created a barrier between you and his skin. You needed to reap the beauty now while you could. Learn what you could, like the scorpion above his collar bone opposite the viper, and the eyeball monster with tentacles twisting over the bulk of muscles laying dormant in his solid forearms, and whatever the hell else was peeking out from under his tank top.
He scraped his spoon along the bottom of his bowl, and determined he needed one more cracker to make his soup as thick as he liked, and collected it from the crinkly pack. Yet another simple movement he had executed hundreds of times in front of you, and yet..
You stared. And stared. And stared. And made a sound of disgust. Rising from your chair, you loomed an impressive shadow over Eddie’s face as he gazed up at you with an expression of open confusion.
His eyes were trained solely on the pretty glint in yours. 
Shiver. Goosebumps.
He jumped at your bold finger slipping under the strap of his tank top to move it aside. You pinched your brows, narrowed your eyes, and pressed your palm to his skin, enthralled by the sensation of him existing under you, aware of the full breath he took to fill out his chest as you introduced the touch.
Humming, you studied your hand cupped over the black widow spider inked onto his naked pec, and concluded, “That one’s smaller than my palm.”
The pale saltine cracker shattered in his grip.
Acting oblivious, you scooted your chair under you, sat, smoothed your hands over your lap as if a napkin existed there, and slurped your spoonful of soup as if you had done something as natural as point out the weather.
He released his surprise in a huff, and brushed the crumbs from his palms. “You are the lamest person I have ever met.”
“Have you met yourself?” At his weak glare, you slurped more of your soup. An amicable silence followed–the sort of camaraderie communicated through full bellies–but there’d been something on your mind since he willingly opened himself up to you and shared his past, expecting his name to become a forgotten word in your mouth and nothing more. “Hey, since we’re like, baring our souls and shit tonight, do you want to know why I created my ‘yes’ policy?”
Instead of a comically over-quirked eyebrow, he showed genuine interest in listening to your story. He set down his spoon, and turned his full attention to you. “I’m intrigued.”
“I’m tellin’ ya now, it’s not as riveting as yours, but uh,” you faltered on a pause, and fostered the same sort of nervous shrug he did. “Growing up, my parents were really.. negative, I guess is the best way to put it. Like, they wouldn’t let me hang out with friends, told me I’d never amount to anything, said I was a disappointment. Y’know, normal stuff. Uhm, I wasn’t allowed to do much, only really leaving the house to go to school or go to my job when I was old enough to have one. They said I’d never live up to their expectations, I was a failure, I’d never get a boyfriend, I’d be a bad wife, I’m going nowhere in life, and I’m an annoyance and take up too much of their time, and I was never wanted.” You swiped your tongue along your top teeth, and popped your lips after perhaps sharing too much. “Anyway, I made good grades in high school, so I took a lot of electives, and one of those happened to be Drama class. This may come as a surprise, but I was really shy at first, but after a while I got used to playing different roles, and fell in love with the freedom of becoming whoever I wanted on stage. And one day my teacher taught us a lesson in improv, and yeah.. the moment she explained the concept of ‘Yes, and..’ I was hooked. Just the mindset of nothing being rejected, and no idea was made fun of, or shot down was brand new to me. And as you can infer by now, I adopted that ideology for my own life, and, uh, yeah, I’ve been saying ‘yes’ to everything since then and never looked back. Literally, I’ve talked to my parents like, once since moving out, and that was about my insurance.
“Uh, anyway,” you said, still talking a mile a minute, “it did kinda create a people-pleasing complex for a while. I wanted to say ‘yes’ to everyone because it made them happy, since, y’know, I was always told ‘no’ and it did the opposite. But it’s whatever. And, uh, while we’re doing this, I wanted to apologize for always pointing out that you’re single.” You avoided eye contact. “Kinda harsh in hindsight.”
He broke into a laugh–a loud clap like thunder, and curling in on himself–finding the humor in your flustered state.
“Well, I’m glad you find it so funny,” you deadpanned.
“No, no, sorry–” He concealed his giggles behind his knuckle crooked to his lips. “I, yeah, I’m sorry for pointing out that you’re single too.”
“Appreciated.”
The brief teasing commenced to a slight frown between his eyebrows. His gaze drifted to his soup, worry twisting at his lips as the bubbles of oil sloshed across the surface of the reddened broth, trembling in ripples from his bouncing leg.
Eddie was emotionally fatigued. Words weren’t coming to him–none that carried the weight they needed–so he offered an alternative to hollow apologies.
He brought a shaky spoonful of soup to his lips, and dribbled some off the side as he overcorrected the angle he needed to slide it into his mouth. The next dive for a potato proved just as awkward, trepidatious, but the struggle of eating with his non-dominant side was worth it.
Your fingertips brushed over saltine dust as you accepted the proposal of his hand resting at the center of the table, palm open, and fingers coaxing you to reunite skin on skin.
“I like your policy,” he said, voice gone gruff with the exhaustion of the day.
“Really? On more than one occasion you’ve called it stupid, irresponsible, absurd, the dumbest thing you’d ever heard of, naive–”
He shut you up by curling his fingers over yours, setting your cheeks ablaze with his unashamed thumb pressed to your bracelet. “You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for your policy.”
A powerful move, and you matched the intimacy.
You hooked your thumb around to the scars lining the backs of his fingers, and lost yourself in the warmth of his embrace, giving yourself to him with each circle you massaged over his knuckles and between the joints. He did the same. Touching, touching, touching. Trusting. Melting into each other's palms. Holding hands with a man accused of so much, and forgiven so little. Holding hands with someone, just months ago, he brushed off as flippantly as her parents did.
He was sorry for the way he treated you.
You were sorry for the way the world treated him.
He squeezed.
You squeezed back.
~~~
“Are you sure you don’t want me to help?” you asked with a whine.
The pot of leftover soup still sat without a lid on the stovetop, and the serving spoon had a layer of scum dried to it. The dirty bowls and spoons were stacked in the sink, and Eddie hadn’t moved his wet laundry from the washing machine yet. Surely, you could help by wiping up the crumbs on the table, or cleaning up the spilled toothpaste on the bathroom sink, or–
He clapped his hands on your shoulders. “No,” he stressed slowly, “it’s late, and I’d prefer it if you got home before Buckley’s mom starts filing a missing persons report, and adding another rumor to my ass.” You cupped his elbows–barricaded from his body heat by his jacket–and opened your mouth, ready to argue. “And I swear if you don’t turn on your bike’s headlight, I’m gonna–”
You threw your head back, and groaned, “You’re so annoying.”
With the trailer’s door open, the quiet night penetrated the mix of air colliding from his warm kitchen and meeting the windless cold from the season, joining where your bodies connected on his cement steps. Your shoes dragged on the pebbly concrete in a woeful goodbye, making your effort to leave appear utmost arduous, tacking on a classic bottom lip pout when you both relinquished your holds on each other, and he shooed you off.
Not like you actually wanted to clean his house, it was just fun to annoy him into thinking you did.
Leaned against the doorway, he crossed his arms and tilted his head, mirroring your fondness in his gaze. “Yeah, yeah. Get out of here before people start gossiping about the pretty girl leaving my trailer, alive.”
The sudden belly laugh escaping you reverberated off the metal boneyard.
You slapped your hand over your mouth. “Sorry,” and after a thought, you asked gently while crouched to unchain your bike from the handrail, “Do you normally joke about what happened to you?”
His shadow shrugged over the hubcap hidden amongst the crunchy brittle grass. “Makes it easier, sometimes.”
“Noted.” You threw your leg over the seat, and made a big production of clicking on the headlight situated between your handlebars. “See you at work tomorrow, pretty boy.”
The scoff he was going for devolved into a snort. “Bye. Be safe. Please.”
Eddie locked the door behind him.
For minutes he stood at the center of his uncle’s trailer. It looked much the same as any other day when he came home from work, if not neater. But things had changed. As much as he liked eating across from Adrie, the two bowls in the sink were adult-sized, and it wasn’t the scent of stale smoke clinging to Wayne’s flannels that had Eddie throwing his arms over his head, locking his grip around his wrist, and twisting back and forth on the spot.
“Not exactly what I meant when I said I was gonna invite her over,” he informed no one but the darkness behind his closed eyes, remembering he promised Adrie that you’d come over soon.
Inhaling deep, he expelled a loud sigh and addressed the leftover soup. “But what a fucking night, huh?”
Inundated by the heaviness of feeling wanted, he opened the fridge and grabbed a tall boy stuffed behind the shelf of condiments. It wasn’t a drink of sadness as it usually was, but in celebration.
Afterall, he had much to celebrate. He held your hand. Twice.
And, not to mention, you know, how he showed you the gruesome details of the reality he lived in–his home, his reputation, his daughter sneezing into his open mouth when he was instructing her on how to take her temperature while you gagged from outside her bedroom. You knew it all, and you’d see him tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. Morning smiles, afternoon laughter. Maybe he’d even ask that question he’d meant to before you left.
But for now..
He ran his fingers over the old tattoo on his shoulder, and pressed his palm over it, replicating the weight of your head resting there when you so lovingly witnessed Adrie being his best wingman, hugging her stuffed unicorn while she slept. It’s what gave him the bravery to wrap his arm around you. And what did you do in return? You leaned into him with a smile, utterly charmed by his forwardness, if his cynical eyes weren’t playing tricks on him.
A voice in the back of his head whispered a seed of doubt, but after a sip, he dismissed it.
“Still fucking got it, Munson,” he complimented himself, downing a long gulp.
————
See you at work tomorrow..
You definitely didn’t see him tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the next.
“Here you go, my lovely,” Robin cooed. She entered your room on tiptoes, ever so quiet, and placed your requested bottle of Nyquil on the bedside table with a glass of water. “How’re you feeling, sweetheart?”
You broke from your nest of blankets for the lone reason of glaring at her saccharine voice; somehow sweating through yet another t-shirt, while still shivering as if you’d just emerged from an ice bath.
“Aw, don’t look so grumpy, baby,” she comforted you with a pinch to your cheek. “It’s what you get for locking lips with Eddie.”
“I did not–” You cut your own self off with a round of coughs, making your attempts at speaking scratchier, and scratchier. And by the time you’d recovered, Robin had escorted herself out of your vicinity.
Her giggles haunted you from downstairs.
“Yeah, she’s fine!” She yelled to her mom. “Just lovesick.”
You rolled over, and sighed.
Goodbye extra sick day.
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celestialwhoree · 1 month
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I write sm of Simon with like super cutie patootie sweet softie gf's and today is not one of those days!! What about Si with a sassy, snarky spitfire of a partner.
He's kind of always thought that he'd want some soft, gentle, domestic partner to offset the general frustration and struggle of his work life. Some bird in a frilly apron to coo and preen at him like a wounded puppy.
And then he meets her.
She's some intelligence officer brought on by Laswell in hopes of attaining information on targets before missions to keep things running that little bit smoother.
She's had to not only survive, but thrive in a cutthroat mans world industry for years, and she takes not one single ounce of shit from anyone.
Price will occasionally (and very much unintentionally) simplify things for her in mission briefings and she just kind of sits there with arms crossed and a raised eyebrow until he gets the memo that he doesn't need to baby her.
She never has to actually go out into the field, so whilst the guys are all training in the gym, she sits and plays games on her phone or reads some smutty romance novels.
She didn't expect to fall flat on her ass for Simon Riley, but something about how quiet and level headed he is makes her very much metaphorically swoon.
He knows it, obviously. He's observant as fuck. He sees the way she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth when she has to crane her neck in order to look up at him, or when he casually helps her with boxes of files and she shifts bashfully from foot to foot, trying not to ogle his biceps.
When they start dating, she's not even afraid of the others finding out because they're too scared of her to tease the two of them.
They move in together and she designates the guest room for all of his man stuff, only to find out that he has like three personal items and some chargers. "The fuck you mean you don't have an ugly PC?! You're a guy?" He's so confused at her confusion until later in their relationships when she tells him that all of her past partners were kind of (major) dicks and that's why she didn't really date anymore, until she met him of course.
She tries really really hard to hide when she cries before he goes off on deployment, and works ten times harder to find useful information that will increase his chance of getting home to her safe.
He buys her really sentimental presents and she tries to hide how touched she is by calling him the softie even though she shamefully piles all of his clothes on the bed with her when he's away because she misses him so much.
She buys him a dog in secret on the same day that he comes home with a cat for her and they just sort of stand there in their front entrance like that Spiderman meme where they all point at each other.
The dog and cat love each other, almost as unlikely a pair as their owners.
She and Simon go into work one day and she's got a unique, delicate little ring on her left ring finger and the guys are like 😦"You got married and didn't invite us?" "No you fucking plebs we got engaged."
Never did anyone think they'd see the day where Simon Riley got engaged and thought about settling down.
They also thought the two of them hated each other until Simon casually is like "Oh, yeah no she and I went to this great place the other night. Good steaks."
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writingoddess1125 · 3 months
Note
I just know Mihawk and Alucare would spoil the baby. I can see her being the princess of the family
Oh absolutely! Spoiled Rotten.
Princess of the House
As Mihawk is based off Dracula I've made him be Romanian 🇷🇴 and included more of the culture
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• Dracule Mihaela
• The Jewel of the Dracule Family
• From the moment she was born, she had the whole family wrapped around her tiny finger.
• She couldn't even fuss without someone to come and wait on her hand and foot.
• It didn't help that she was also a cheerful and pretty baby, A perfect mixture of you and Mihawk.
• You getting so much time to rest and recover after giving birth to her since there where three people who took care of her in your wake.
• Mihawk only allowing you to be woken up or disturbed for feedings. Everything else was handled-
• It took you throwing a fit to be given your own baby back!
• "Damn it Mihawk! She came out of me- Let me hold my damn child!" You argued with your husband, the man glumly handing her over to you to bond with.
• Dark Hair but with your hair texture, your eye shape but with his color, even her complexion a perfect inbetween of you and Mihawk's.
• Perfect in Mihawk's eyes.
• Mihawk also having the habit of holding Mihaela everywhere he went.
• After you recovered and Mihaela started to grow she was spoiled with gifts.
• Stuffed toys from Perona, Jewlery and expensive fabrics from Mihawk and homemade toys from Alucare.
• Mihaela having more gifts them she knew what to do with-
• That paired with each major milestone in her life was met with a celebration of gifts.
• Holding head up? Silver Rattle
• Smiling? Gold Rings for each finger
• Rolling over? Silk onsies
• And so much more!
• You walking into his office, tired and already a bit irritated from waking up and finding your baby missing from what was suppose to be her naptime- Knowing that she was wide awake in Mihawk's arms while he went over paperwork.
• When Mihaela wasn't in Mihawks arms- Then she was with Alucare or Perona's.
• You having to scold both Dracule men (and Perona) for holding her too much-
• Knowing damn well both men would spoil her rotten-
• That was evident When her first birthday came around-
The castle was buzzing, having outsiders welcome for the first time in- Well forever.
"Happy First Birthday My Jewel" Mihawk said happily, watching you walk into the room with Mihaela in your arms. Her dresses in a beautiful white dress Mihaek had made for her, she smiled brightly when she saw him. Waving her arms around happily.
Mihawk pulling our a box from his pocket, a pre-present separate from the mountain of gifts waiting for her. Pulling a dark blue diamond bracelet and slipping it on her little chubby wrist as he kissed her forehead making her laugh.
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"This looks expensive Mihawk-" You muttered, raising a brow at the studded bracelet as Mihaela brought it to her mouth immediately making Mihawk smile.
"That's cause it is"
After that the party started, different games and gifts being brought out. Several other pirates who had young children of their own attending as well so it was a play date for Mihaela to meet and be around others her age. As well as lavish gifts for the toddler being gifted from other powerful pirates-
Crocodile sending a solid gold rocking horse that was shaped like a Giraffe.
Shanks sending a Silver Pacifier.
Even Buggy sending a velvet lined diamond studded box filled with different toys and baby clothes.
With plenty more which made your pockets burn with how much all this could have cost.
Finally it was cake time, a soft cake being brought out for Mihaela to have for herself as a separate one was for the party.
Happy birthday was sung of course as the cake was set infronf of Mihaela after it was done- Which she Dove her face into immediately much to everyone's amusement.
Mihawk sitting next to her with a slice of normal cake for himself as he let his daughter 'speak' with him.
"Shes been babbling all day to you" You mused, watching her smudge cake all over as she babbled at Mihawk excitedly.
"Trying to share with Tată? (Dada)" Mihawk mused as he smiled down at her-
"Tată!" She said cheerfully, holding her arms out to Mihawk with some of the frosting on her hands. The man freezing in place, staring at Miha as he continued to repeat herself as he scooped her up fast, her now grabbing at his necklace to bring into her mouth.
"Her first words!" You cheer excitedly- Clapping your hands in pride as you smile brightly as your little girl. Kissing her chubby cheeks as she giggled loudly and excitedly at the attention she was getting.
"No fair-" Alucare muttered, having been trying to get her to have her first words be his name for months.
"Tată Tată!" She continued as she giggled out.
Mihawk still silent as he stared at her with wide eyes, you looking to him surprised by his lack of reaction. That was till he tightened his hold on her and began to walk outside with her-
"Where is he going?-" Alucare started, a bit miffed by his father's reaction but you held a hand up to your son with a gentle look.
You saw it- For a brief moment as Mihawk turned away from you all to carried Mihaela outside with him..
Tears rolling down his cheek.
He got her a full blown ship afterwards-
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saerotonins · 4 months
Text
watching nanami's last dance
ft. nanami kento x reader
content warnings: fluff, light angst, jjk actor au, descriptions of nanami's scene (im so sorry), light hurt/comfort, slightly suggestive at the end
wc: 1047
note: guys he's not dead it's all just acting ok
jjk actor au masterlist
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the soft breeze of the air, the pretty scene across the beach.
kuantan, malaysia indeed looks like a sight for sore eyes. but more so is your husband.
kento looks so peaceful, the small but obvious smile adorned his face as he take his slow dance, prance like someone who had just got their freedom. he looks so free of pain, even through an untrained eye, his heart feels light.
and it was then replaced with kento's cries of pain, agony, and compassion, while fighting off curses that surrounded him.
contrary to what you have seen earlier, he looks so exhausted, yet he still fought so hard to protect the youth and save everyone with all what he has and with all what he can do.
but as soon as he felt like he did enough, as a man, kento lowers his pride, and with a soft smile on his face,
"you've got it from here," he had said as the soft smile on his vanished the moment he did.
kento jolted beside you as he heard you wail and cry while hugging the plushie of him. he can clearly see the pain in your eyes and the snot present in your face.
"NANAMI, NOOOOOOOO!" you shouted all over again as you hugged the plushie tighter. your eyes and nose are all swollen from all the crying and your breaths and voice have been escalating really bad.
she's really taking this seriously, huh, kento had thought while staring at you across the couch.
eventually, he felt a bit bad and scooted closer to you and wrapped you around his embrace as he kisses the crown of your head.
"you're here crying over a fictional man when the real thing is just right here, darling," he said with a slight hint of humor in his voice. even without seeing his face, you know he's grinning.
you try to wiggle out of his arms but unfortunately, he's stronger than you. "you're making fun of meeeee," you say as you sniffle through your still flowing tears. "he deserved betterrrrrr, he had done so much why is his ending like thisssssss," kento couldn't help but smile as he cradle you in his arms and brush your hair through his fingers as a way to comfort you.
"he deserved so much more kento, i'm so sad," you managed to muster in between tears, "i know, darling, i know, but i'm always here, alright?" he coos at you as he sways both of your bodies back in forth and hugging you closer to his body.
you stayed in the same position all while kento is still cradling you to comfort until the episode ended. once the commercials started rolling, he spoke up.
"you're so cute when you get worked up like this, darling," he chuckled as he cupped your face with his large and gentle hands so he could see you.
there, his heartstrings had been tugged once again by you. even after crying, you still look majestic despite the tear stains and snot that had decorated your face. he also felt a part of his shirt getting wet because of your tears but he doesn't mind it one bit.
"stop it, that scene was made so well it emotionally broke me, nanami deserved better," you pouted from his teasing.
"mhm-hm, i know, darling, you were so adorable," he replied accompanied by a kiss on your forehead.
"stop flirting with me right now, i literally just lost a husband," you say with faux annoyance in your voice.
you suddenly hear and see your husband let out a very hearty belly laugh, he finds your breakdown very much amusing. "alright, i'm sorry for disrespecting the dead," kento joked as he continued to laugh.
you slapped his biceps for teasing you, "you're such a menace! i'm a grieving wife and you're making fun of me," 
"alright, alright, i'll stop," kento then reached for your left hand and brought it to his face. you see him look into your eyes right before kissing the finger where your wedding and engagement rings sit. "you're still cute though, too bad i wasn't able to record it," the playful glare from your eyes made him chuckle.
"okay but seriously though, that made me so sad, i want to fulfill his wish," a frown creeped onto your face when you remembered that nanami wanted to go to malaysia.
kento's eyebrows perked up, "you want to go to malaysia?" 
"we will go to malaysia, he at least deserves to live his dreams through me," kento nods, agreeing to your idea, "alright, we'll go there around summer, i heard it's best to visit at that time, how's that sound?" kento saw a glimpse of sparkle in your eyes and your wide smile as you vigorously nodded before you pull him into a tight embrace.
a comfortable silence envelopes the both of you for a while until he breaks it and faces you, "you let a fictional man's dreams comes true but how about mine?" he said with faux jealousy and sadness in his eyes, and a hint of mischief, one that you didn't catch.
you look at him with confusion in your eyes, "huh? what would you like then?" kento closes the gap between you and whispers to your ears, "i really, really, want to have a daughter," and when he faces you again, a shit-eating grin is present on his face.
you were shocked, to say the least. "you're so stupid!" you say out of nervousness as you feel the heat rise on your face, but the stutter in your voice doesn't go unnoticed by your husband.
ah, five years of marriage and he still makes you feel like this.
you cleared your throat right after you recovered, "well, maybe we can start making that dream a reality now."
kento's smile grew even wider and let out a hearty giggle, "that's my girl," he said with a husky voice before lifting you off from the couch and carrying you bridal style as he took wide strides towards your shared bedroom.
"it's gonna take many rounds though, so i hope you're ready," he says mischievously with a bright smile spread across his face.
oh boy, it's going to be a long night.
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another note: this is a treat for my fellow kento girlies. i hope everyone is doing well (i'm still suffering btw), giving yall a big virtual hug <33
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lowkeyremi · 3 months
Note
Hi there!! I’ve read some of your works I they’re really good- you’re so talented and amazing 😭✋🏾
Bakugou x reader where he slips reader a letter telling her to proofread his letter to Santa and she’s like:??? but doesn’t judge bc she loves him, and it says that he’s asking Santa for a wife 😭🥰 and then when she looks down he’s on one knee 🥺
All I want for Christmas is You k. bakugo x fem!reader
a/n: THIS IS SO CUTE OMG IM GIGGLING STOPPPP i was about to say at his grown age he got a santa list but it made more sense after I read the rest :3
content: fluff, established relationship, bakugo is silly
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The old grandfather clock that Katsuki insisted he needed chimes loudly to announce the arrival of the next hour. You were in the kitchen getting a little snack before winding down for bed.
As you continued preparing your snack your boyfriend made his presence know in the kitchen with his humming.
"What's that?" He asks looking over your shoulder.
"I'm trying something new." You explain, taking a look at it for yourself. Honestly, you don't know what to call it. His eyes travel down to your feet where he can see you aren't wearing socks or your house slippers.
"How many times do I have to tell ya to wear something on your feet? You'll get sick." He complains for the umpteenth time this week.
"Mhm I know. I need you to be quiet you're breaking my concentration." He finds it cute how your tongue is slightly poking out as you try to frost this.. interesting looking cupcake.
"Doesn't look like ya put much effort or thought into it but okay..." He clicks his tongue and you elbow him in the stomach. Of course it doesn't hurt though, because he's built like a marble statue.
"Anyways, I need you to read over this when your done. It's my wish list to Santa." You don't respond right away, waiting to see if he's going to say he's joking or something, but he doesn't. You put down the frosting bag and stare deep into his soul.
"Are you serious? I thought Santa wasn't real. At least that's what you told Denki and ruined his Christmas." You recall last year's Christmas party when Katsuki harshly broke the news to Denki. The blond had a mental break down.
"I've reconsidered what I'd said before. He's real 'n I've been real good this year so hopefully I'll get what I wished for." He emphasizes that for some odd reason.
"I wouldn't be too sure of that. Remember when you verbally assaulted that kid who said you look like a mean Pokémon character?" He grumbles something that you don't quite catch but you get what he means.
"Just read it." He says with a roll of his eyes. You stare at him once again.
"Ughhh be happy I love your ass. I have to stop my cupcakes to read a santa list??? How old are you five?" He knows you aren't mad which is why he holds out the red envelope for you to take.
He watches you intently as you gently tear open the envelope. You pull out a piece of paper, which reads:
Dear Santa,
It's me. Bakugo.
The only thing I want for Christmas is a pretty wife who will stay with me through thick and thin. Who's also annoying and banned from going to sleep after me because of her terrible pranks.
Thanks.
As you finish reading it you're in shock. You lower the letter from your view to see your boyfriend on one knee, a pretty ring being presented to you in a very exquisite box.
"So.. will you help Santa out? Make my wish come true?" He's shaking and he looks so vulnerable it touches your heart.
You already know your answer but who would you be if you didn't give the man a run for his money.
"Well I don't know, Santa still needs to receive the letter then he'll probably come to me and we'll talk." You say crossing your arms. Katsuki glares at you and you smile back.
"Of course I will!! I mean who else would do it if not for me?" He rolls his eyes so hard you feel it.
"I could get anyone to marry me in seconds." He scoffs while putting the ring on your finger.
"All this talk and it took you 7 years to finally pop the question." Before he even gets another word out you lean down to press a soft kiss onto his lips.
"Merry Christmas, hubby." You say with a snort.
"Way to ruin a romantic moment and hubby is not going to be a new nickname."
jokes on him hubby stuck around for a long time :3
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klausysworld · 3 months
Note
Hello gorgeous!
Sooo I had this idea of Klaus and reader being married (she wants a divorce) but currently separated. She starts seeing Damon. Klaus lets her have her way for a bit as nothing has crossed the line, but then he finds out reader slept with Damon and Klaus goes absolutely feral over it and tells his wife that’s enough of this and drags back reader home and slides her wedding ring back on her finger.
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Not His, Not Yours.
Klaus and I had slowly but surely grown apart.
We had married for decades for now, just over a century actually and to begin with it was all but a dream.
He had hundreds of thousands of gifts and words to express his love. Paintings and poems to show how pure his feelings were.
He was gentle when I needed and only ever rough when I wanted when him to be.
There wasn’t a question of doubt between us both. I loved him with all of my heart and he loved me with all of his soul. So much so that he actually proposed to me. Elijah and Rebekah couldn’t believe it but were unbelievably supportive. I even turned into a vampire so that I could be with him forever.
And for a nearly eighty years, everything was okay.
Of course the gifts were less frequent but I didn’t care about that so much. Not if I still had him. Even if he forgot to tell me he loved me, I didn’t need him to, deep down I knew that he did.
One thing I didn’t like, was when he would get flirty with other women. Especially because of how he behaved when I, heaven forbid, smiled at a man.
But still, with reassurance from his siblings and Elijah’s promise to talk to Klaus about it, I dropped it and didn’t speak of it. So he flirted, it didn’t mean anything. What’s a kiss when I have his heart?
Surprisingly Klaus never slept with anyone else. I suppose it’s unfair to say surprisingly but to be honest I had feared and expected him to have from time to time.
Especially when he became more distant. When he would disappear or return in the early hours of the morning. I would beg to know where he was and after a series of repeated yelling, he would grab me and show me his memories of the night before. Often he just got drunk and would pass out somewhere random or wonder around for inspiration, sometimes he’d attack a village and slaughter hundreds in mere hours. When finished showing me, he would give me that same look and tell me that I shouldn’t look so surprised. He may love me, but he wouldn’t ever be better for me.
And I would just nod and told him I already knew that.
And I’d wait for the next time that would happen.
We went days between sex, then weeks, gradually months and eventually we just didn’t. We slept beside each other mostly out of habit but we wouldn’t touch.
I never stopped loving him, I don’t think I ever could but I wasn’t sure if I loved him the same way anymore. And I certainly didn’t think he loved me that way. But we weren’t exactly friends either. It were as though we were just strangers at this point, strangers who held each others hearts.
And I had accepted that perhaps that’s all we would be. We lived that way for a couple of years, I’d stay with him like a shadow but that’s all I would be.
Until Mystic Falls.
So much happened in not enough time. Klaus became his true self and for some reason part of me thought perhaps that would rekindle something but he showed no more nor less interest so I just went on.
Until one day, his eyes held a spark. But it wasn’t for me. It was for Caroline Forbes.
She was blonde, young and new to vampirism but still bold and confident in herself. I was like that once, before I grew quiet and obedient to Klaus’s will.
So I took another step back and let him chase her a little. I sort of wanted him to sleep with her so that maybe he would just divorce me and I would know that what we had was really over.
But he didn’t. He gave her a present, drawings and spoke poetry to her without her realising but he didn’t kiss her or even lean in.
He still would come back to bed and lay beside me like usual.
I didn’t want him to think I would hate him if he fell for someone else. I’d rather he be happy with another than miserable with me. I knew he craved more, so did I.
And so with a lot of courage, I asked for a divorce but he refused me. That I didn’t understand.
“Why?” I asked, my brows pulling together as he scowled
“Because you’re my wife” he answered as though that meant anything anymore “I have loved you for a century. I will not just be done with you”
“Loved, Klaus. Loved. It’s in the past.” I argued
“I love you now as much as I did then” he told me, his voice raising
“No Klaus…you don’t” I whispered, my eyes glancing to the floor as I let out a small sigh. This was probably one of the reasons he liked Caroline more. I showed weakness and submission too easily to him. The difference was that I knew he wouldn’t kill me if I fought back but I feared it would be worse.
“We’re not getting a divorce. Ever.” He stated calmly, though I could feel his anger.
“I can’t do this Klaus” I mumbled. “I can’t just be known and your wife and hide in the house all the time”
“Then go out” he grumbled
“You don’t let me” I answered, remembering the last time I went out without telling him and he yelled at me for being inconsiderate and stupid. Apparently it wasn’t safe for me without his protection due to being so intimately associated with him.
“Well…now you can” he replied matter of factly.
“You should ask Caroline out” I whispered “She likes you too, Rebekah heard her talking to Bonnie about you”
“I wouldn’t-“
“But maybe you should” I sighed, hesitantly looking him in the eye once again. “You should at least try…you might like to be with someone…” I paused and swallowed dryly “someone else”
“Are you seeing…someone else?” He asked quietly, his eyes flicking between mine.
“No…not yet” I whispered and he nodded
“But?”
“But I think I should” I murmured before falling back into silence.
We stood there for a while, uncomfortable and guilt ridden before his phone went and he reluctantly left.
He didn’t come to bed that night.
To me that seemed like his way of confirming that we wouldn’t be together anymore, or for a while at least.
When I saw he had made up a bed in one of the guest rooms, it was clear that was the case.
So I started to go out a little.
When I saw Klaus with Caroline at the grill, I realised I needed to leave. Leave town, his life so that I didn’t ruin his chances.
But as fate would have it, when I rushed out of the building, I walked straight into Damon Salvatore. He recognised me in an instant and was grinning like a Cheshire Cat.
“What’s Klaus’s wife doing out and about?” He snickered and I sighed
“I’m not” I mumbled and he raised a brow
“Not what? Not his wife or not out?”
“I’m going home” I whispered, walking outside but he followed.
“Oh come on, I didn’t mean to scare you off so quick” he chuckled and I rolled my eyes
“Please. You couldn’t scare me” I muttered “have you seen who I’m supposed to be married to?”
“Supposed to be eh? Things not turning out?” He pressed, walking backwards beside me as I made my way back to the mansion.
“My marriage falling apart won’t benefit your precious Elena. It’s been broken for years.” I grumbled, and he rolled his eyes
“Forgive me for being curious” he muttered, his annoyance shining making my heart sink. I didn’t like it when people were rude and now I was the one doing it.
“Sorry” I whispered “I didn’t mean to sound so snappy”
I could feel his eyes on me as we neared the manner and before I could get it the door, his hand reached for mine which however pathetic it may seem, made my smile. Nobody had touched my skin for months.
“You should come out more, I’d like to talk with you some more” he told me and I faltered
“I wouldn’t tell you anything- not about him”
“I didn’t think you would” he answered, before leaving.
After that I went out a little more.
Damon would tease me and make me laugh. He would draw out the little confidence I had left and have me use it. I’d taunt back at him and go so far as to flirt once I’d had a few drinks.
After a while he asked to take me out. I thought he was joking.
“Oh will Elena be joining us? Perhaps Stefan to?” I laughed but he didn’t even smile
“I’m serious” he stated, his hand squeezing mine “just us…anywhere you want”
I stared at him “I um…I don’t know” I whispered, nervous and confused.
“I can wait” he answered as he caressed my arm softly.
When I got home Klaus was already there, his eyes on me in an instant. Without a word he placed his wedding band on the table before him and walked out the room. I felt a lump form in my throat as I shakily slid both my wedding and engagement rings off and put them beside his.
I went upstairs and cried. And I felt stupid for it because I was the one who asked for this.
So after a moment I pulled myself together and grabbed my phone. I took a breath before sending Damon a message
I like the Italian the next town over?
He replied quickly
Friday, 7?
I’ll meet you there
I’ll see you soon
I swallowed thickly and closed my messages before searching for apartments near me to rent.
If Klaus and I were actually ending this then I wanted to do it right. That meant I needed to live without him fully, so I sent in some applications to a couple of places.
Before any of them could come back, my date with Damon came around.
It went surprisingly well. We ate, spoke, joked and laughed. He paid, insistent that I shouldn’t. He then drove me back to the mansion and kissed me goodbye.
I refused to look anywhere near Klaus when I went up the stairs. He never said anything either, we spoke only if we absolutely had to and on the occasion that Damon and I would see Klaus out, we would instead go to his house for a while.
I spent a lot of time with Damon, he made me feel more alive. He brought back the spark in me that I thought I had lost and built my confidence back up. He made me feel more things in a couple months than Klaus had in the past fifteen years.
I knew it was wrong to compare them, but when all I had ever known was Klaus…he was all I had to know how a relationship worked to be able to tell if what I had with Damon was really something.
It progressed quickly, it scared me somewhat. I worried that it was a trap to make me help him with everyone else. However when I heard him defending me to both Elena and Stefan, I double guessed myself.
Slowly I felt myself begin to trust Damon, I felt as though I was learning to love and desire once more.
It was because of that feeling that I didn’t stop him when he began to take my clothes off. Or when he trailed his lips down my skin and pressed his mouth between my legs. I cried out for him when his fingers curled inside me and I clung to him when he finally took me as his own.
I stayed beside him for the rest of the night, pressed to his chest with his arms around me. It was a warmth that I wasn’t used to anymore but that I needed and yearned for. I stayed at his house for days after, wearing his clothes and living in his arms. But unfortunately I knew that I couldn’t just move in there so soon, so I had to go back to the mansion.
————————————————————————
(3rd person)
Klaus found out that Y/n had slept with Damon the day after it happened. Stefan had told him so when in the heat of an argument.
To begin with he thought the Salvatore was just trying to piss him off but when Stefan’s face dropped and his heart sped up, Klaus realised it was true.
Immediately he went home and smashed every item in her room. Shredded her clothes and tore up every flower Damon had gifted her and the little photos she had printed of them. It was after he broke apart her bed and found the box of forgotten memories did he calm down. He found all the poems and pieces of artwork he had ever given her, love letters and other tokens of their love kept safe and close to her. It broke him.
Klaus never meant for their marriage to deteriorate so badly. He loved Y/n, truly. But throughout the years he got distracted. Whenever his family got to town, his focus was off her and whenever a threat showed up he made a point of being distanced from her to ensure they wouldn’t attack her. After the first few times he’d done that, she got upset and wouldn’t want to kiss him, not when he would go weeks of ignoring her and then expecting her affection.
So he began to drink some more, to forget her touch and her voice for just a moment. But it made everything worse. She began to worry he was cheating on her and to be honest he couldn’t blame her for thinking that but in the moment when she would accuse him, he would be outraged.
He couldn’t stop himself from yelling, being offended and snapping. But after, when he would hear her cries and see her curled up in their bed, he would push himself further away in hopes that he wouldn’t be able to hurt her as much from a distance.
It only got worse.
And now he was on the floor of a room that was once his aswell, crying for his marriage that would no longer last.
Eventually he dragged himself up from the floor and went back to his own room, or rather the spare room that he had been sleeping in. He dug through his drawers to find their rings that he took after they both removed them and put his wedding band back on, smiling sadly at the fond memories of the first time she had put it on him.
He held her rings in his hand tightly as he heard the front door open and closed quietly before soft footsteps sounded up the stairs.
————————————————————————
(1st person)
I moved as quickly but as quietly as I could up to my room. I was in jeans and one of Damons shirts so I really couldn’t let Klaus see me.
Hurriedly I opened my bedroom door only to come to a standstill. Quite literally everything was on the floor. If I didn’t know what Klaus was like, I’d have thought a hurricane had passed through the room. I stared blankly for a moment before I both heard and sensed his presence from beside me.
“What did you do?” I whisper, staring at all the little things that meant so much to me scattered and broken into pieces.
“I don’t want you seeing him” he told me, his voice firm. My head snapped to his and I felt both anger and sadness swirl inside me.
“You ruined everything I have” I uttered, my voice still barely above a whisper
“You slept with him” he stated his tone cold but his eyes showed hurt and I part of em felt guilt but the other side just wanted to smack him.
“And?” I asked, my volume increasing slightly
“And? And you’re mine. You do not get to sleep around-“
“For crying out loud Klaus! I am not yours!” I yell, pointing my finger at him “And I do not sleep around! I slept with one person”
“I should have stopped you seeing him ages ago, this shouldn’t have happened” he muttered
“You can’t control every aspect of my life Klaus. We are not together anymore. We agreed on this” i whispered, my tone tired.
“We have not agreed on anything! I never wanted this-“
“Klaus we haven’t agreed on something for a good twenty years! It’s why we’re here” I exasperated
“That does not give you the excuse to fuck someone else” he growled and I glared
“Why? Did you plan on fucking me? Because I highly doubt it Klaus. And even if you wanted to, I wouldn’t have your hands anywhere near me now” I retorted.
I knew immediately that he would speed at me and so moved out of the way, he continued to chase me round the house until eventually he had me against the wall. Both of us were panting heavily, my hands pushing at his chest but he kept me caged.
“Get off me!” I cried, kicking my feet at his legs but he only grunted and held me as still as he could. I shoved at his chest with as much strength as I could but it was obvious that I couldn’t overpower a hybrid. He faltered only slightly at the impact before his hands were grabbing my waist to lift me. Without thinking I brought my hand to his face, smacking him as hard as I could manage.
His head cracked to the side and my eyes went wide. Slowly, he turned back to me. His expression was one of surprise as he stared at me. I felt myself grow meek under his gaze and my bottom lip wobbled.
“I’m sorry” I whispered “I didn’t mean to do that- I didn’t…” I felt his hold on me weaken but I didn’t move this time. My hand tingled from where I’d hit him and so did the guilt that pooled in the pit of my stomach.
His arms slipped around me, hugging me to him and I just didn’t know how to react.
I love Klaus. I do, I always will. But I couldn’t just pretend that every bad thing hadn’t happened and fall back into his arms. I wondered if in Klaus’s mind, if he thought that just sleeping with me and telling me that he found me pretty would be enough to fix this marriage. I knew it wasn’t but I worried for what he thought.
Still, I hugged him back gently. By touch reluctant but there. His warmth enveloped me and I felt my eyes water at the once familiar sensation.
“I missed you so dearly” he mumbled, his face lowering to nuzzle the crook of my neck. He pulled away slowly and grabbed my left hand, I looked to him blankly as he slid both rings back onto my finger. “I’m gonna fix everything” he whispered
“Klaus-“ I sighed
“Just let me try” he murmured
“I-“
“Please” he whispered and I sighed softly. Only the lords know whether I was going to make the right decision or not.
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mayaflowerxs · 1 year
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JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY
Synopsis: San can’t already stand your best friend, especially when all she does is fill your head with negativity about him. But his breaking point may just be when she suggests you to start using a toy over him.
Warning: Smut / Fluff / Slight Angst . Swear word usage, jealousy, Best friend is an instigator, tension and use of sex toys. Sadism, creampie, pregnancy kink, + more.
Pairing: San x fem reader
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San is a very caring person. He’s sweet, patient, a literal definition of a sweetheart. An art created by women, but he does have one little tick. And that’s not being able to stand your best friend. In most relationships it’s an either or situation.
Either the boyfriend and partner’s best friend get along great. Siblings from different parents even, jokes are made, slight bickers erupt. But for the most part, their main concern is trying to prove to the other they love their partner/best friend more.
Then there are those who absolutely can’t stand each other. The smiles sucked out of them as soon as one of them enters the room. The scowls and the irritated huffs. The possessiveness and the slight competition to try and prove their care for their partner/best friend. A constant fight to see who gets to one up the other. The literal thought of them sends goosebumps and that’s exactly where San finds himself to be. He tries, really he does. Especially when your pouty face begs him to get along with your best friend. He tries to bury the hatchet but it’s the little remarks, the constant instigating, always pinning him to look bad. “Huh.” She begins as once again she’s crashing into yours and his place. “What?” “I’m just wondering, for your anniversary. Didn’t you buy him a Rolex?” “Yeah? Why was that too much?” San hears your voice lower. The door to your bedroom open and just across from his gaming room. The small insecurity rises in your tone which only has him wanting to get off his chair and defend your present. He loves it, he’s never taken it off and never wasted a second to show it off to his best friends.
“No but I’d expected he at least try to do something as sophisticated as well. I mean what did he do again? Buy you a purse not even half the prize of the Rolex?”
You’ve got to be kidding me. San thinks.
Your friend is a hater. Simple as that, nothing he does is ever good enough for her. Either the jewels on the 5k necklace he bought you are too small. The dinner wasn’t all that, the chores he did aren’t too impressive. He knows he shouldn’t care what she thinks. Overall, it’s not like he’s seeking for her validation. No, he seeks yours which is why she bugs the hell out of him. Never not does she whisper crap into your ears. Plaguing you of the little things San could do better at.
The bubbly smile on his face immediately curls into a scowl the second he walks into your shared suite. Finding her with a glass of wine in hand for the umpteenth time. “Baby! You’re home!” He hears your angelic voice chirp. “About time.” He ignores the murmuring from her. Walking over to you, he glares daggers at your best friend before changing his expression. A soft loving gaze evident on his face the second he meets your. His white sleeves rolled up which made his muscles on his arms more prominent. Resting his hand on the table, a clear view to your best friend of the wedding band that rests on his finger. Using his other hand to curl a finger under your chin and pull you into a deep loving kiss. Suck on that. He feels smug, a slight smirk on his face as he continues to kiss your soft cherry flavored lips. Your giggling is what unfortunately has the two of you separating. A clear distaste on your best friends face but covers it before you notice.
“How was your day my love?” San asks, lifting your hand that bares the bright shiny Diamond ring that symbolizes his love for you. A soft kiss placed on top of it, Making sure the ring falls under the light in the kitchen, the sparkle reflecting itself in the eyes of your friend. Wincing as she has to blink back a clear view. “Great! We were just having a girls chat.” “Again?” Tilting her head, she settles the wine glass down. “Problem Choi?” “I don’t know, just seems you’ve been coming a lot more often than usual. Boyfriend dumped you again?”
“San!” He feels you smack his bicep but he doesn’t break eye contact from her. Biting the inside of her cheek, she scoffs. “Don’t you got an office to lock yourself in to get to?” “Don’t you got a bar to get drunk off your ass to get to?” “Alright enough! Both of you behave. Sannie go shower, the sweat makes you hot but the stink doesn’t. We’re about ready to finish up anyway.” Nodding , he presses a kiss on your forehead before walking off.
“Seriously y/n, I don’t know how you deal with it.” Snorting, you pick up the wine glasses and proceed to set them into the sink. “Him hun, not it.” “Yeah I’m not too sure. I mean he’s so…robotic.” Scrunching your brows you give her a puzzled look as you clean up the table. “Robotic? How so?” “Well I mean San is just always doing the same thing. Like he’s programmed to do and say the exact thing over and over again. Like when was the last time you two went out on a proper adventure together?” “Well he does have a job and I have my internship.” You shrug. “Exactly, what kind of a husband spends most of their time writing their lives off on work and not their social life? You know, marriage, wife, relationship? That is what comes with having said social life?” Shaking your head you chuckle. “He’s doing the best that he can. Just two nights ago he risked being late to a meeting just so he can bring me lunch.”
“All I’m saying is, once he gets into a habit of living the same routine over and over, he may get bored and start feeling rash.” “Rash?” “All men do that, first it’s ‘oh I love you, please marry me, be with me’ then as soon as they begin to feel just a little bit of stress and boredom, boom ten years of a relationship down the drain.” Widening your eyes, you freeze in your spot. “You’re not saying San is cheating?” “Of course not dear, because if he was. I would have killed him by now.” The worry begins to form on your face as she continues to ramble on. “Tell me, when was the last time you two had sex?” Taken aback by the question you feel your cheeks begin to grow hot. “I-uh…um-wow okay, I don’t…I don’t know.” “My point exactly.”
“So what exactly is wrong? Is San getting bored of me? Is he seeing someone? Oh my god, there’s someone else right?!-“ “Shh! Relax, from what I know nothing. All I’m saying is San is getting a bit, blah.” “Blah?” “Yeah, and given he’s not being so caring like a caring husband should be. I think you should start caring for yourself.” “But, I am. I mean I do get manicures when I can and go to a spa every once and a while. I just got a facial just last week-“ Interrupted by her laugh, you watch her stand up and begin to reach for her purse. “Oh my poor y/n, that’s not what I was referring to.” “No?” You raise a brow at her. “If San isn’t doing a fine job satisfying you, then you should be finding yourself a distraction. A toy per say.”
Completely taken by surprise, you don’t get to ask any further questions as she had already made her way out the door. You never expected to have such a conversation, in fact you don’t really understand why you had. San isn’t blah? At least not to you. Yeah it sucks that with his job, you only see him in the mornings briefly as he gets ready, a kiss to your lips as he leaves for work. A text here and there and then by night, he’s home for a shower, a dinner and then bed. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss the random late night talks, the 3 am errands to the grocery store and the trips across towns. Even more, the sex. You two haven’t slept with each other in a while and when you did, it was brief and lazy. Both too tired for anything rowdy. “Babe?” You hear San call out for you. “Coming!” Your best friend didn’t know what she was talking about. San isn’t blah, your marriage is perfect and no way do you need a toy to satisfy you.
If San didn’t like your best friend then, now he despises her.
“What the hell is this?” San glares at the device in its package. A smirk on the damn woman’s face as she sits on your couch. A shy smile on your face, cheeks a rosy tint of red as you look at him. “Just thought to change things up?” “What do you mean baby?” Setting his suit case down, he cups your face. He knows you didn’t come up with this idea. No way you woke up one day and decided to buy yourself a dildo on a random Tuesday night. “What did she say now?”He adds a harsh tone to she, not a single glance over to her as he keeps his focus on you. “She did your wife a favor.” She spoke up, standing she walks over and picks up the box. “Made sure she got it extra large, you know just to make sure it’ll do a better job.” Smirking she grabs her jacket and gives you a goodbye hug. “What the hell is that suppose to mean?” His question going unanswered as you begin to walk your friend out.
As soon as the door closed, he’s about ready to bombard you with questions but is stopped when you wrap your arms around him. “I know works been a pain, it’s why I got it. Don’t want to bother you, now I’m situated.” Sending him a smile, you grab the box and head on over to your bedroom. At loss for words, San stands their bewildered. What the hell happened?
“I can’t fucking stand her.” San slams the shot glass on the table. An amused look on Yeosang and Wooyoung as they watch their favorite continuously chug down shot after shot. “San, this woman has been driving you nuts. Why can’t you just tell y/n how much she bothers you.” Wooyoung takes the bottle away from his grip. Shaking his head, he runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “They’ve been best friends since first grade, I could never tell her how much I despise her. It’ll crush her.” “Well it’s not like you’ve been keeping your hatred for her a secret.” Yeosang shrugs. “And worst of all, she had her buy a sex toy.”
“Sex toy huh? Getting kinky is she?” Wooyoung grins. “She got it so I wouldn’t have to have sex with her.” “What?” “She didn’t want to bother me, so instead of focusing on fucking me, she’ll be using that damn vibrator.” Snorting, Wooyoung can’t help but chuckle. “Never thought to live the day in which Choi San would have to be competing with a vibrator over his wife.” “Shut up Wooyoung.” He rolls his eyes, okay so maybe he’s jealous. Why wouldn’t he be? He misses you, it’s no secret the man craves sex. But he’s been holding back because he thought you weren’t up for it. Your internship has been so demanding of you. Every day he notices your nails getting shorter and shorter by how much you bite them. Legs bouncing much more rapid by how easily the stress builds in you. The eye bags only growing and all he wishes is to draw you a nice bath and fuck the stress out of you.
But he holds back, in case you weren’t up for it. He respects your wishes, and he wouldn’t dare to ever do anything you were uncomfortable with. But ever since the spawn of satan introduced you into the worlds of sex toys it’s like he no longer exists. He’s not one to oppose sex toys if it means he’s getting in on the action but this, no this was a sex repellent on him. Worse when your best friend constantly smirks victoriously at him. “It works wonders.” He hears you say one night over the phone. In the drawer, he opens and sees there it lies. Scoffing, he grabs it and tosses it on the bed. Walking over to where you sat, he picks you up abruptly. “San!” Tossing you on the bed, he rips the phone out of your grasp.
“Hang up or listen, either way I’m about to fuck my wife.” He tells your best friend as he throws the phone on the pillow before pulling your legs closer to him. “Sannie?” Jaw clenched, he rips your pajama shorts off you along with your panties. Spreading your legs as he settles in between them. “Don’t need a fucking dildo to be satisfied.” A gasp rips out of you as he takes a long lick up your cunt. “Can that toy of yours do this to you?” Hands gripping your thighs back as he begins to eat you out. Spitting and licking figure eights on your clit. Bringing two fingers up to your mouth, you oblige and take them into your mouth. He feels rumbling as you moan on his fingers. Soft doe eyes vanished and instead replaced with lust and hunger. San seems almost animalistic as he sucks, your essence only building the longer he eats you. Removing his fingers, he watches as a strip of salive fall out of your mouth. Not wasting a second in shoving them in. “San!” Throwing your head back, forcing yourself to keep wide for him. “That dildo can never be as good as me. Look how caring I am? Always making sure my princess gets nothing but mind blowing orgasms. Can it lick your pretty pussy lips like I do huh? Can it play with your clit until you shake with ecstasy?”
Whining, your hands go down to grip on his hair. A loud slap is heard as he looks at you sternly. “Answer me princess.” “No Sannie! It can’t! Fuck I’m close!” Picking up in speed, he fucks you with his fingers. Loving the view of you squirming, chest rising as your stomach clenched each time his fingers hit a particular spot. Lowering his tongue back on your pussy, as if it was his last meal. He doesn’t stop even after he brought you to a toe curling climax. “Baby!” You try to push his face but you don’t budge. Instead he pins your legs down and continue to suck. Squelching noises are echoed throughout the room along with your moans. Getting louder and louder you’re glad no one else lives on the same floor as you two. The large view of the city shown out of your window. Anyone can see at any second and it only turned you on more. You’d love for someone to see how well your man knows how to pleasure you. To see how lucky you are to have found such a gem. San wasn’t bothered, if anything the only thing bothering him is that damn vibrator. It’s lying there right by you. Almost mocking him given it’s had a few rounds with his wife. So as he detached himself from your cunt, he flips you over.
“Look at it,” Tilting your head to look at the device, he pushes your upper body down on the bed. Face right next to it. “If you think for a fucking second this damn thing can bring you pleasure then you’re fucking wrong. Only I can.” He felt pathetic, just how bothered this object made him feel. But he had to make a statement, he needed for you to know you didn’t need any object to bring your pleasure. You have him, he’s yours to love, to play with, to fuck. He’s your personal fuck toy so why the fuck did you let your stupid fucking friend talk you into buying it? “Fuck!” Your eyes roll back as he shoves his dick inside you. Hands gripping your waist as he begins to plunge into you. The creaking of the bed increases in volume the harder he fucks you on the bed. Not letting you move an inch from him. “So sensitive!” You whine as you grip the sheets.
“Take it, be a good girl and take my cock.” He huffs, strands of hair beginning to fall on his face as he focuses on making you come as many times as possible. Looking down and seeing the connection between you two. How your essence glimmered his cock, it’s own personal lube. Never do you need much preparation, always ready to take him anytime and anywhere. “God I missed this cunt.” He grunts as he thrusts harder into you. “Missed your cock!” You breathe out. Leaning down, he grips your face and smashes his lips on yours. Forcing his tongue in as he keeps thrusting without relenting.
It’s crazy just how much stamina the man had. Maybe it was the lack of sex for the last few weeks. Maybe it’s the hatred for your best friend constantly meddling in your marriage or the jealousy over the toy. Hell, maybe it’s all three. It’s why no matter how much his body begs to release, he refuses and holds it in. Orgasm after orgasm and he still doesn’t detach himself from you. Tears running, hair disheveled, lips bruises and titties covered in hickies, sheets drenched as you lie on the bed pretty and fucked out for him. “Sannie no more!” You hiccup, had just squirted all over him. Pulling away, he turns the both of you around. “One more princess. Don’t you wanna help your husband come? Mhm?” Wiping the tears off your face, you nod and climb on top of him. “Good, now sit.” The both of you moan at the intrusion again. Beginning to feel your head get fuzzy, San holds you up. “Don’t fall asleep baby, so close.”
“Yes Sannie.” Setting a pace before bouncing yourself up and down on him, the claps louder than ever. Swear on both of your foreheads as his biceps flex his muscles the tighter he holds you. Helping you bounce on him, slapping your ass to encourage you to go faster. “Just like that, fuuuck.” Throwing back his head when you begin to squeeze him. Warm walls engulfing all of him, “Shit! Keep doing that and I might fuck a baby in you.” He grunts, noticing your movements suddenly got faster. You squeezed him again as a loud whine came from you. “Oh? I see.” Wrapping his arms around you, he pulls you down to rest on top of his chest. “It’s what you want don’t you?” Stopping momentarily and then a louder moan emits from your mouth when he proceeds to fuck deep and slow in you. “Tell me, want me to get you pregnant huh?”
Mouth wide open but no words come out as the feeling his cock raw and throbbing in you is all your head can process. “Want me to make you a mama? Get your belly all round and big for me yeah?” Nodding vigorously, you cup his face. “Please San! God I want it all!” You plead him. “M’gonna give you all my babies. M’yours y/n, not that fucking device. Need someone to fuck you, come to me. Hell, come to my office and I’ll gladly fuck you stupid right in front of everyone.” Quickening his thrusts, you hold him tightly as you feel yourself begin to shake.
“Fuck I’m coming!” San grunts as he sucks on your neck. Hitting your g spot, the both of you come on the spot. Loud mewls from the both of you, heavy breathing and hearts racing. You were currently fighting to stay awake but San’s warm body made it impossible. Too fucked out to care about anything else. Caressing your hair, he lulls you to sleep. Grabbing your phone and noticing the call hadn’t ended at all and that your very sad pathetic friend had heard it all.
Typical.
“Sorry, y/n will no longer be having depressing wine drinking sessions anymore. She’ll be too busy carrying my children.”
And like that, he hangs up on her.
That’ll teach her to fuck with him.
3K notes · View notes
reiderwriter · 5 months
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◇ Now That I Found You, Stay ◇
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Chapter 11 of That's What You Get
Summary: A long, overdue conversation is finally had.
Warnings: smut, minors dni 18+, fingering, vaginal penetration, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, degradation, dirty talk, pet names, creampie, breeding kink, marking etc. Spoilers for Season 7 of Criminal Minds, episodes "Hit" and "Run."
A/N: And next week is the end of our journey! If anyone is interested, I can answer any questions you have about this series and its ending/ what I'm planning for after this, etc. in my inbox this weekend! I'm really thankful for everyone's support so far! 11 down, 1 to go!
As always, you can find my masterlist here, and my requests are currently open!! <3
You weren't expecting him to be so very prompt, but after hearing the panic in his voice on the phone call, you really shouldn't have expected any less. 
Taking in his appearance, you were almost sorry that you'd caused such an upset. His eyes were darker than usual, a look of no sleep crossing his features, but he still stood hypervigilant in the doorway. Almost as if he were scanning you for injuries or harm, he drank you in. 
"You're wearing it?" The words fell from his mouth before either of you could say hello. The second his eyes locked onto the ring on your hand, it was suddenly the only thing he could think of. 
You could see him biting back further questions as he waited for you to invite him in. 
"I'm wearing it. That's okay, isn't it?" You asked, glancing up into his panicked face as he tried to make sense of the situation. 
"Yeah, it's… it's okay, yeah. Why… why are you wearing it?" He asked hesitantly, blinking a lot as he waited for your answer. You pulled the door further open and waved him in with your arm. He stepped into the immediate space but didn't move in further, as if he were scared to go in too far for fear he'd be led straight back out again. 
"Listen, Y/N, I know I should've told you, and I'm so sorry, and-"
"I know." 
"No, you don't. You didn't remember anything when we woke up, and I was so scared that I'd forced you into it, that you were going to regret everything, and-"
"Spencer," you grabbed his attention, flattening your hand on his chest as you forced him to focus on your words. "I know." His rambling ceased as he tried to sus out your meaning, obviously coming up blank of the furrow in his brow was anything to go by. 
"Penelope was here. Thank you for that, by the way. Penelope was here, and she showed me this video she took." Your hand lazily stroked over his chest, settling into place over his heart, where you could feel the organ desperately thumping, trying to make its way to you. 
"I heard that being presented with photographic evidence of an event can spark memories of it. I guess that worked for me." You sighed and took a step towards him. 
"I know how much you love me because you told me." 
Since watching Spencer's Chapel confession, glimpses of the night had been falling into place, puzzling out the entire story. 
You remembered being in the casino with him. He'd taught you some special tricks for the card games, and you'd laughed in delight as you'd raked in the cash. You hadn't done as well as him, but you knew you never would. 
You remembered how you'd left hand in hand, him pulling you out of the casino, away from an angry security guard, who obviously had questions about his sudden luck. He'd pulled you into am alleyway, and you'd stood there, laughing, chests heaving as you grew closer, finally wrapping around each other in joy, your lips meeting as if it were something they always were meant to do. 
He had flushed beautifully as he'd pulled away, so concerned that he was taking advantage of you. He whispered his love to you into the small space between your skin, under the influence of alcohol or cupid or something that made him brave for that second.
You remembered the way he'd tried to take the words back, and you remembered just as vividly how you'd refused to let him, smile growing to the point where your cheeks had felt tired. 
He'd kept talking, though, and you remembered every word he said to you. 
"You know I have this recurring dream," he had started. "I used to have bad nightmares, but now it's a dream. I wake up in bed, and you're there. We eat together, we get ready together. We go to work together. We are together. Is it weird I have dreams about being married to you?" His eyes had flashed with panic for a second before you'd pulled him down for a kiss. 
"Okay." Your voice barely a whisper, your nose pressed against his.
"Okay, what?"
"Okay, I'll marry you. It seems like a lovely dream." And you had, and it was. 
You focused on him in the present again, looking up into his eyes as you connected your other hand with his. 
"Spencer, it was a lovely dream." His eyes soften as he breathes a sigh of relief. 
You pull back for a second, leading him out of the doorway, before turning on him. Plucking the ring from your finger, you drop it into his palm, closing his hand around it. 
"Oh. I understand, I… I get it, if you don't want this-" 
"Spencer, what I want is a question." You sink to the floor, pulling him down with you until both of you are on your knees. 
"Now that we're both sober, I want the question. I distinctly remember you not exactly asking last time." It took him a few seconds to understand, and you squirmed as you waited for him to finally give you what you needed.
"Oh." You laughed at his dumb-struck expression, still acting obviously for him to ask you to marry him. 
"Oh, right, okay. I'm sorry, I thought I'd be better at this." He fumbled the ring in his hand for a second before offering it out to you, clutched awkwardly in both of his hands. 
"Y/N, will you marry me?" The anticipation bubbling up in you spilt over as you threw your arms around him, tackling him to the floor as you shouted yes as many times as your breathless lungs would allow you. 
The ring is forgotten underneath the two of you somewhere as his lips attach themselves to yours, stealing even more of your oxygen while giving you life. His hands pulled you in by your waist until you were a mess of limbs on the floor, wrapped around one another. 
He pushed your hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear when you finally broke apart, drinking in as much air as you could. 
"Great, because I don't think I could go back to the nightmares." 
"And I don't think the title divorcée suits me very well, Spencer. This is mutually beneficial." He laughs as his lips draw yours in again, using his body weight to flip your positions, quickly but carefully lowering you to the ground, kissing every inch of your face as you curiously roll your hips up into his. 
When you try to come up for air again  he doesn't let you, pushing your shoulders down as he sucks love bites into your collarbone. 
"Spencer, how…How should we tell everyone? It's going to be a shock, right?" You tried to keep your voice steady  but even you couldn't control the reactions you were having to this man's touch.
"I have some ideas," You feel him smile into your skin as his head slopes lower and lower. The top of your dress was low enough that his head could graze the tops of your breasts without having to disturb much, and you weren't sure if you wanted an answer to your question or his undivided attention more. 
"Care to enlighten me?" You asked as he planted a final kiss to your chest before pulling up and off you slightly. 
Picking up your hand, he delicately brought the inside of your wrist to his mouth, kissing it tenderly. 
"You could walk into work with this on your hand," he said, pushing the ring back onto your finger. The cool metal and his warm touch sent shivers down your spine as you dedicatedly watched him make his way across your body. 
Back at your neck, he spoke again, softly. "I could mark you up, nice and good, until everyone knows what an obedient little wife you are." His tongue flicks over a particularly sensitive spot, and you moan as you squeal into the touch. He spends some time there, making companions for his earlier love bites. 
Letting his hands trace lower, he finally ghosts a finger across your clothed pussy. With just a few mere touches, you're putty in his hand, whimpering his name helplessly, your arms wrapped about his neck. 
"We could do it that way, too. Those motel room walls are always pretty thin. I'm sure one scream of my name and the entire team would know." Your hips buck up violently into his own  and you're surprised at your sudden lack of self-control. 
You moaned for him, waiting for him to give up his teasing and give you what you really wanted. 
His hands remained ghostly, though, and you almost cursed in frustration. Pulling your dress up, he was swift and agile, hands falling to your bare hips once he'd made sure you were displayed to him. You moaned as you tried to buck your hips up into his hands again, but he caught you before you could. 
Instead of meeting you where you wanted, be pushed your dress even higher, head moving lower to begin pressing kisses over your stomach and lower. 
"Or I could knock you up  and we can for you to introduce the baby with my last name. Really let everyone know just what a horn little slut you are for me." you contemplate grabbing a fistful of his fair, but his lips are back on yours in a flash, and you gasp as you feel him finally push your panties to the side and let his fingers dive inside of you. 
"Or I could give you a real wedding. Claim you right there in front of everyone. 
"I could take thee, to be my wedded wife," his hands slipped deeper into you still as you moaned underneath him. 
"To have and to hold," his other hand dropped to rub your clit as he kept his eyes locked with your own, mouth wide with arousal, trying desperately to prologue this pleasure and not come undone so instantly on his hands. 
"From this day forward, for better or worse," your mind goes blank, filling with his voice and only his voice. 
"For richer, for poorer," he pulls his fingers away for a second, and you moan in protest. 
"In sickness and in health," he sits you up in his lap, ridding you of your remaining clothing as he drinks in the view of your entire body. 
"To love and to cherish," he kisses you again, so soft and passionate that you are almost surprised when his dick slips into you from under you. 
"Till death do us part." He rises to his knees, holding you up in his arms as he begins thrusting into you, hard and fast. 
With his attention so wholly on you and your pleasure, you come undone in a matter of moments, Spencer still finding his rhythm as you stutter around him. 
"Good girl, you're doing so good for me, milking my cock like that." He doesn't slow down as you give yourself over to him, just stroking your hair as you readjust to all the touches you're receiving. You claw your hands into his back as you start getting over stimulated, trying desperately to retain hold of your sanity. 
He's pounding into you too desperately to sustain your position, quickly pressing your back into the floor once again, spreading you once more, and continuing his ministrations. 
Your legs wrap tightly around his waist, desperately holding on for fear that letting go would mean losing him again. You feel your nails break the skin of his back as you scratch, claw, grip.
"How about we do all of that?" He grunts in your ear. "I'll give you whatever wedding you want  I'll give you the world. If you let me breed you like a nice little whore." You moan his name in response, your entire body growing rigid again as his words build another climax inside your stomach. 
"Let me mark you and show off who you belong to." You remember the feeling of his cum shooting into you, and suddenly you find it is everything you've ever wanted.
"Fuck, Spencer I'll do anything, please just don't stop." 
His mouth finds yours again as his hand finds its way to your clit again, and suddenly your hips are jerking up and down his cock as you cum. 
He isn't far behind you, not bothering to pause his movements at all as he spills his seed inside of you, pushing it in and letting it leak out of you, your collective fluids pooling under your ass as he gently calms his movements.
Holding himself like that on top of you, your breaths sync, and even as you're both gasping for air, looking into each others eyes is enough to spark more laughter. You're all tenderness and love, and and filled with him. 
He doesn't bother to pull out, simply making sure your legs are tight around his waist and your arms are tight around his neck as he hauls himself to his feet, warming his cock inside you as he hauls you to the bedroom. 
Finally pulling away, he lays you gently on the bed, taking notice of where the carpet has bitten into your back. He slips his cock out of you and retreats to the bathroom, no doubt seeking out cleaning materials. 
When he rejoins you on the bed, he rubs your cunt lazily until you're cleaned up, but you grab his hand and urge him to keep going, before pulling him back over you. 
The remainder of the night is restless as you make vows back and forth with every clash of your bodies, mouths hot with the need to prove your love for one another. 
You finally get to wake up in his arms the next morning. He hasn't left, and you certainly didn't kick him out. You watch him peacefully for as long as you can before he stirs, and the two of you have to ready yourself for a day's work.
"We should tell everyone as soon as possible, right?" You say as you both climb out of the shower. Sharing it saves time, he'd said, but it hadn't been quite as efficient as he'd made it out to be. 
Towelling off his hair, he replied. "Honestly, most of them already know." 
"Wait… the witnesses!" You gasp as you remember what it is that you still didn't quite remember. "I know Penelope is one of them. Who was the other?" You demanded, whirling around on him as you brushed your teeth. 
If you take everyone you'd talked to so far at face value, that left only three options. 
"We're going to work soon, right? Maybe you could figure it out. Profile your second witness, perhaps." You scowled at him and threw a towel half heartedly, resisting the urge to stomp childishly when his phone begins to ring. 
"Hotch," he answers, growing serious once more. "Yeah, we're awake, I…. Where? Okay, be there soon." He hangs up quickly and turns back to you. 
"Will's partner was just killed as they responded to a call about a bank robbery. They want us to consult apparently, it's still in prog-" His hurried words are cut off by the even more hurried shrill of your phone. 
"Hotch, yeah, I know, I'm… I'm with Spencer." 
Hotch's voice is silent on the other end of the line for a second before his familiar stern tone sounds into your ear. 
"We'll talk about that after we get everything settled for now, just get yourselves into the office." 
You, too, hang up, and, with your husband, you make your way to the crime scene. 
--X--
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harunayuuka2060 · 6 months
Text
Michael: *has presented to MC (angel) the ring that contains the fragment of their soul*
MC: ...
Michael: I spent a considerable amount of time acquiring this. *smiles* Thankfully, my friend Solomon had helped me out.
MC: ...
Michael: What are you waiting for? Don't just stare at it. Wear this ring so you would be able to receive your punishment.
MC: *nods* *allowing him to slide the ring onto their finger*
Michael: *waiting for it to take effect*
MC: ...
MC: Thirteen will never forgive you.
Michael: Ah. There you are. You've been gone for so long, but I see your personality hasn't changed a little.
MC: ...
MC: What have you done?
Michael: Isn't it obvious? I've turned you into an angel after you have abandoned your mortal body in Devildom.
MC: ...
MC: *smiles, seems taunting him* I never expected that I would interest you a lot for you to trouble yourself this much.
Michael: *smiles back* Yes. I won't deny it. Besides Solomon, your existence is also interesting.
MC: ...
MC: You should be aware that I would not hesitate to take my own life.
Michael: You do and the brothers will be in danger. You might not be aware of this, but the other you residing in their household is of an evil being.
MC: Evil being? Hm. I don't think so.
Michael: An optimist, are we?
MC: *lightly chuckles* *then stares right into his eyes*
MC: I'm a little bit disappointed with Solomon, but he must've been desperate too so I would be able to forgive him.
MC: But you? *smiling* You shouldn't have created another me when the other one is still in existence.
Michael: What are you talking about?
MC: I who no longer belongs to the world... *the ring started to shimmer*
Michael: *his eyes widened*
Simeon, Raphael, Luke, and the other angels: *have heard an explosion*
Luke: Wh-What's that?!
Simeon and Raphael: ...
Simeon: It's where Michael is!
Michael: *has staggered out of his room*
Simeon and Raphael: *runs to him* Michael!
Michael: Oh, you two... *coughs*
Simeon: What happened?
Raphael: *immediately understood what's going on when Michael gave him a glance*
Michael: It was a failed experiment.
Simeon: I see. You've got us worried.
Raphael: Simeon, go and inform the others that there's only a minor accident. And that they have nothing to worry about.
Simeon: *nods* Will you be alright on your own?
Michael: Yes.
*As soon as Simeon had left*
Michael: Raphael, go and find that human. They must be still around somewhere.
Raphael: *nods* *then went on his way*
Michael: ...
Michael: *smiles* You're really dangerous.
Luke: I hope Michael is fine. That was a huge explosion. *has been told by Simeon to return to his room*
Luke: *the moment he closes the door*
MC: Luke.
Luke: !!!
Luke: *quickly turns around and sees MC standing in the middle of his room*
MC: *smiles* It's been a while.
Luke: ...MC?
Luke: ...
Luke: *runs to hug them* *then cries*
MC: I miss you, Luke.
Luke: *being unable to answer as he continues to cry while hugging them*
Thirteen: WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS, SOLOMON?! HOW COULD YOU BETRAY US?!!
Solomon: *has stayed silent after she found out about what he did*
Thirteen: MC... They have given what remained to their soul as a present for me-! Why would you steal it from me?!
Solomon: ...
Solomon: I miss them, Thirteen. And I will take every chance I have to be with them again.
Thirteen: You bastard-! *slaps him across the face*
Solomon: ...
Thirteen: You have no respect to someone's soul! And you didn't respect MC! *is on the verge of tears*
Solomon: !!!
Solomon: ...
Solomon: *accepted everything she said to him*
Solomon: *smiles bitterly* I'm a selfish human, Thirteen. You don't have to forgive me. But I'm begging you not to take their soul back.
Thirteen: ...
Thirteen: Why would I listen to you? That's a gift to me, Solomon.
Thirteen: A precious gift that none of you should have touched.
Lucifer: MC...
MC: *standing in the middle of the castle grounds while looking at the sky*
Diavolo: Have they finally returned to us?
Barbatos: ...
Barbatos: No, young master.
MC: *as if hearing Barbatos, turns their head at their direction*
MC: *lets out a tired sigh*
Lucifer, Diavolo, and Barbatos: !!!
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