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sunniskyies · 3 months

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𝐁𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 || 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: - 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Your boyfriend Percy has been at camp all summer, and you’re anxious that he’s moved on since you last saw him 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: book!Percy Jackson x fem!reader 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: - 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Fluff with a dash of pining and a sprinkle of fluff !! 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1k 𝐀/𝐍: Take a wild guess who the woman is (>ᴗ•) ♡

You're picking at your fingers again, a nervous habit Percy always scolds you for. Your hoodie —his hoodie— is soaked through with rain, the weather turned bad now the summer is over.

You've been sitting at the bus stop for hours now, and resorted to pacing to calm your anxious thoughts. It's late now, 9 pm on a Friday. The only other person here is a beautiful woman who has failed to board a single bus in the hour she's been sitting there.

You're on your 467th lap of the ground between two pavement tiles when the woman speaks up.

"What ails you, my darling?" She asks from her perch beneath the narrow lip of the bus stop.

You glance over, hesitant for a second. Is this one of the monsters Percy has talked about? She definitely seems suspicious.

"I'm just nervous to see someone I haven't seen in a while," you say cautiously. The woman delicately raises an eyebrow.

"A boy," you clarify. "My boyfriend."

A smile lights up the woman's face, revealing perfect teeth from behind her soft pink lips. "That's what I thought!" She says, adjusting her floral dress over her knees when a single drop of water hits her ivory skin. She grimaces.

"Please sit in the dry, sweetie. I'll comb out your hair while you tell me everything."

You hesitate again, not wanting Percy's first job after camp to be saving you from a monster. But something in the woman's eyes calls to be trusted. And besides, your hair is a damp, scraggly mess. Do you really want Percy to see you like this?

Of course the gorgeous woman has a literal gold comb in the Prada bag she's stashed beneath the bench, and begins running the fine teeth through your hair when you sit down beside her.

"So? Why are you so troubled?" She prompts after a beat.

You sigh, shifting on the seat. "Well, he's been away all summer at— er, a camp. And, well, I dunno. I guess I'm just worried he's moved on from me," you mumble.

You glance over your shoulder as if seeking approval from the pretty woman. But instead of seeing the blonde ringletted, pale-skinned lady who sat there before, a stunning tan woman (who can only be described as a supermodel) has replaced her.

"Wait— Did you— Weren't you..?" You stammer, eyes wide. The woman just smiles, gently shushing you.

"No, dear. It's just the lighting," she replies.

You want to argue, jump up and run away. But something about her fingers on your hair soothes you like a mother does a baby. You find yourself relaxing, all worries erased.

"So why would he move on from you? You seem very lovely to me, dear. And so pretty," she continues.

You sigh again. "Well, there's this girl. She's gorgeous, I've seen Polaroids." You think back to the scrapbook Percy had shown you last year, a beautiful girl named Annabeth with blonde curls and sun-kissed skin.

"They're like, best friends," you deflate. "And he's really talented, and she is too. I'm just some boring girl from the city he met years ago. He's sure to move on to someone like her. Isn't he?" You fret, looking back at the woman again.

The woman —who now sports luscious auburn curls and crystalline eyes— gives you another sweet, motherly smile.

"No, dear. If I know anything about love," she chuckles, "is that it is not easily swayed by beauty or talent. Love is built on something deeper."

You spin around to face her, drinking in her words. "But what if he has found someone better?" you whisper.

The woman sets the comb aside and clasps your hands with hers, her gaze locked with yours. "My dear, there will always be other people who come and go in our lives. But true love is irreplaceable. If Percy truly loves you, he will see you uniquely and fully— as you."

You nod understandingly, and it’s only later that evening that you realise you had never told her Percy’s name.

Suddenly, your intent gaze is pulled away by the sound of an approaching vehicle, and you watch as a shoddy public bus pulls into the stop with a 'splash' and a 'thunk' as it disturbs a large rain-filled pothole.

Through the window seeping warm light into the dark evening, you can make out the silhouette of a dark-haired boy. He stands from his seat and starts walking down the alley.

"That's him!" You squeak, turning back to the lady to point him out.

But the spot beside you is empty, cold and unoccupied as if she was never there.

But you don't have time to wonder because the doors of the bus are beginning to open. You stand up quickly, the nerves returning to your body.

"Trust me," you swear a woman's voice whispers in your ear, but you're distracted by Percy stepping off the bus and rushing over to you.

He sweeps you off your feet, spinning you around and around till you giggle for him to stop. He sets you down gently, green eyes dilated and sickly sweet when they meet yours.

"I missed you so much!" He says, voice filled with genuine affection, and you feel every shred of doubt leave your body.

You laugh, still dizzy. "Percy! I missed you too!"

You finally get to kiss him, and he kisses you back eagerly. He doesn't seem to care about being soaked out here in the rain, every inch of him turned to you with rapt attention.

When you pull away, Percy reaches up to brush a wet strand of hair out of your face, his fingers lingering on your flushed skin. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice brimming with adoration. "I missed this face."

You lean into him, settling into the arm he wraps around you as you begin to walk back to his place. "How was camp? I got your letters— how many people did you kill?" You ask, holding one of his bags with a spare arm.

He laughs, beginning from the start of this year's adventure. You stare up at him attentively as he talks, taking in every detail. He's right, you've missed this face.

As the two of you walk away, you can't help but look back to the bus stop once more, wondering if the woman had been a figment of your imagination.

There, on the seat, lies a gold comb.

#ph☆ebe's scribbles #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson fic #one shot #percy jackson fanfic #percy jackson x you #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson #fanfic #fanfiction

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mochinomnoms · 2 months

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i know in the leech family that its a running joke that the mc is their cleaner shrimp and i cant help but think when its finally the leech parents turn!

Imagine mc and the leech family are going out to do some family bonding and the mc causally picks off some lint or hair off papa leech or mama leech and their mood just instantly brightens :D They go like “thank you dear! Is there anything else on me?” And the parents are just spinning around happy because their child-in-law is doing shrimp things with them! (Meanwhile jade and floyd are off to the side being like “what about me D:<”)

also may I be 🪸 anon or 💫 anon?

YEEAAAAH FAMILY SHRIMP!!!

I think it's a very sweet idea! Whether it's just one of the twins or both that you've gotten involved in, they both enjoy your fretting and picking at them. Floyd most often gets your attention, as he's always getting up to stuff and messy. However, he's more prone to scrapes from basketball and burns from cooking at the lounge, so he gets lots of attention from you. Floyd loves it, he loves being taken care of for once, instead of being feared or seen as a big bad eel. He needs loving too! He needs to be treated tenderly and kindly. Floydie just wants to be loved, and who better to do that than you?

Jade on the other hand will just get dirty when hiking and foraging, but rarely get any scrapes or cuts. He might bruise here or there depending on how it went, but over all you're more likely to need to clean stray twigs, leaves, and dirt for him. In fact, you'll find Jade approaching you after his extensions, every single time, asking for your assistance. Maybe join him in the bath and help him clean up? As his cleaner shrimp? Pretty pleeease? After all, the caretaker needs some caring too sometimes.

When you eventually get introduced to the family and properly fit into your place with the Leeches, with an appropriate shrimp merform! Papa and Mama Leech are just happy that their boys have such a sweet partner. You further solidify your spot when they learn about your “shrimp” tendencies. They think it's so cute! So imagine their delight when you start tending to them like you do their sons!

Papa Leech will often find himself get into...”scuffles” after work. Normally, the family doctor would be available to patch him up, but they were already attending to a patient of theirs. Here comes their resident shrimp, offering to patch him up! You babbling about Floyd and how he always got hurt from his activities at school, so it wasn't a problem. At this point, you're practically a pro! Papa Leech has stars in his eyes, though, he has the cutest child-in-law!!! And you've been doing this for his boys, for free??!! Screw Floyd and Jade if they ever break up with you (like they'd ever would) cause Papa is keeping you in the family for the foreseeable future. Not only are you convenient, but you care for him like family, he'd be a barnacle to let you go. If you're not already married to his boys, prepare yourself, cause he's already organizing the engagement and wedding. No, he did not ask his boys beforehand.

As for Mama Leech, she's been repeated described as a worrywart, and overly cautious, especially regarding her family. I think that, since you weren't brought up in the family like her boys, would be prone to keeping you at her side. If Papa and the twins are off for “work” then you can find her snatching you up for some mother-in-law time to keep you nice and safe! This is when she gets her own version of shrimp tending, via you doing her hair and makeup! She does love dressing up and looking pretty, and is delighted when you start brushing through her hair with your fingers, braiding it and softly applying her lipstick. It's been so long since her boys were little and played dress up with her! But here you are, so sweet and soft and gentle with her! She's now become attached, if you so much as try and leave the family, Mama is sobbing and begging you to stay, while also strangling her sons for what ever they did wrong (she knows they did something the little troublemakers).

I'd say that the twins only get mildly jealous, after all, the more time you spend with their parents the less they get with you! And you're their partner!!! They suppose they should be happy that you get along so well with their parents. Except Floyd. Floyd wishes to monopolize your time and will hide you away with Jade in a dark coral nook. He called you Shrimpy first, it's his right!!!

(I will dub thee 🪸 anon!! welcome!)

#mochi asks #twst #twisted wonderland #jade leech #floyd leech #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #jade leech x reader #floyd leech x reader #leech parents #sweeties!!! the best in laws!!#🪸 anon

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gemissleeping · 2 months

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Sea Foam | Chapter Two

Theodore Nott x Siren!Reader

Read Chapter One here.

Summary: After almost pulling him to the bottom of the Black Lake the night prior, Theodore Nott can’t keep his mind off of you. But you worry things aren’t all that they may seem to him.

Length: 2.7k

Notes: More brash (kind of dark) Theo. Angst. Not smutty just saucy. Not very pc comment about drugs/addiction (but it’s a UK high school in the 90s so… real). Featuring Blaise & Milli the peak friend duo. Sprinkle of hurt/comfort if you squint. Thanks for reading, love you guys <3

When you pulled yourself from the depths of the lake an hour before sunrise, the shoreline was empty and he was gone. You could barely remember anything save for a string of flashes; his lips on yours, hands hungry for each other as you had tangled yourself in him. How you were supposed to face him in the halls today, you didn’t know. You hauled yourself onto some rocks outside of the castle’s view. A tremor running through you like a gentle current, as it always did the next day. Evasion, you eventually settled on, would be your best hope. At least until you decided what you were going to do.

An hour or so later, you were making your way towards the Great Hall. The salt licked curls of your hair the only evidence that last night might’ve happened at all. Only a few students sat, littered across their House tables. The early morning sun was casting patterns through the windows, most students likely still in the middle of their dreams.

Theo would be running Quidditch practice around now, so you wouldn’t have to fret the possibility of your paths crossing. Unfortunately, that also meant you’d have to leave before Milli and Blaise got back from practice too.

Lifting your teacup with unsteady fingers, you sat at the Slytherin table, flipping through The Daily Profit without really taking any of it in. Students slowly piling in with heavy eyes, soft yawns and hushed chatter. Filling the Great Hall until the sound rose to a low, inviting hum.

You took a hesitant bite of some plain toast, never feeling that you could stomach much after a full moon. Your attempt was soured quickly, the toast going down the way you imagined gravel might. Deciding you couldn’t eat anything more, you folded over the paper, going to stand just as a hand clamped down on your shoulder with far too much energy for the current hour.

“Alright Darling?” Blaise Zabini’s melodic voice rang out as he stepped over the bench. Taking a seat beside you with a shit eating grin.

“She’s still waking up Blaise, be nice.” Milli scolded as she sat across from you, her freckled cheeks undoubtedly blushed from the morning air.

“From those dark circles I’m not sure she slept at all.” Blaise quipped, stealing the toast from your plate as you sighed, unimpressed. “You and Nott are two of a kind this morning,” he added, demolishing half of the toast in a single bite as you stilled.

Nausea licked at your stomach, trying to crawl it’s way up. You went to speak, but your voice was lost for a moment as you caught sight of a set of sleep torn, dark blue eyes. They’d cut through the sea of students, found you even from the doorway. You swallowed, flicking open the newspaper on the table again and tearing your eyes away as you cleared your throat.

“What do you mean?” You asked, trying not to appear overly nervous as you glanced over at Milli, who was practically trying to live inside of her coffee mug.

“Looks like he was dragged through a bush backwards,” she echoed into her cup. Only taking a momentary break to answer your question before going back to drowning in her coffee. Panic flickered through your chest as you took another precarious sip of tea, a headache was forming now.

Against your will, you felt your eyes sweep across the gathered students at the Slytherin table. Locking straight onto those same tired eyes as Theo took a seat further down the table. Already looking at you from beside Matt and Enzo. Barely listening to a word either of them were saying as he watched you with an unreadable expression. You felt yourself inhale harshly before dragging yourself away from him. Doing your best to push him to the bottom of your mind as you tuned back into your friends.

“Understatement of the century,” Blaise chimed, polishing off the toast. “Whichever girl of his he shagged last night has him proper messed. Could barely even run drills this morning.” You almost choked on your tea at Blaise’s comment.

“Blaise,” Milli sighed, dropping her empty cup to the table, “you have absolutely no decorum.”

“Which is exactly why you keep me around,” Blaise grinned, pointing at her with his fork. “How else would you two get any of the gossip?”

Milli shook her head fondly as you managed to put on a small smile. Pushing your hands towards the teapot to refill your cup, very aware that Theo was still transfixed on you.

“Jesus, you’re shaking like the smack addict my Mum dated in Third Year.” Blaise crowed as you lifted your magically filled cup, barely managing to keep the tea inside of it. “Anyway enough about Theo’s ugly mug. I’ll get it out of him in Divination.”

“Rather out of character for your Mother.” Milli frowned curiously over her eggs, distracted.

“Well, you know how it goes. His wallet was heavy,” Blaise stated simply, peering over at you with discernment before turning back to Milli for a moment, “good smack’s expensive you know.”

“I don’t.” She glowered.

“Well now you do.” Blaise was looking at you sideways again. He was, unfortunately, even more perceptive than most people believed.

“And what of your Mum’s smacked up ex lovers - dead now I’m assuming?” Milli chimed from across the table. You felt Blaise’s calculating eyes leave you, utterly unamused as he turned his attention to her.

“And you say I have no decorum.”

“Neither of you should throw stones in glass houses,” you murmured, lips against your teacup as you blinked tiredly between your two friends.

“She speaks,” Blaise smiled, a slither of his concern seeming to melt away. Your friends were admittedly idiots, but they both cared for you deeply.

“Seriously though,” Milli spoke up across from you both, “are you alright? You got in after me last night.”

“Fine, just getting my ass handed to me in Potions this year.” The pair shared a glance, but neither pressed further.

The rest of the day had been long, leaving you bone-tired. Through all of the classes you had shared, you could feel Theo stealing glances at you. Perhaps he was angry, or merely curious, confused even. But it did nothing to ease the guilt and embarrassment that was rising through you. It wasn’t until Potions last period when Matt started laughing suddenly from beside him that a thought dawned on you.

You felt like a fool for not having got to it sooner, though you hadn’t exactly been clear headed today. Especially not with this headache, which had only grown. Occasionally gracing you with unwelcome fragments of last night in the middle of your Professors’ lecturing. Yet it hadn’t occurred to you until now; what if Theo told someone about last night?

You’d known him, all of the Slytherins, since you were little. In passing mostly at Galas and Dinners, but you’d never been overly close. Who was to say that he wouldn’t? Your Father had gone to every length to keep your ailment hidden, it was an embarrassment to him. In his eyes you were the worst kind of half-blood, a reminder of his weakness. It couldn’t get out, it would ruin him, ruin you.

You knew what that meant, what you had to do. Whether you could bring yourself to was something else entirely. It was while you were making your way to the Common Room after Potions, thinking about how you would do it. Brow creased with the weight of it all, when a low, strained voice spoke from behind you.

“That’s not fair.”

You turned back in surprise to see Theo at the far end of the hall. His chest rising and falling rapidly, tie loosened as he ran his hand along his jaw. The sight of him sending a wave of memories through your mind as you began to feel unsteady.

Blaise and Milli had been right. While you’d been avoiding so much as breathing in his direction all day, you hadn’t looked at him, not properly. He looked as though he hadn’t slept at all, the undersides of his eyes practically bruised from the lack of rest.

You felt yourself frowning softly as you tried to make sense of his words, choking on your own. “Excuse me?”

“It’s not fair. If you get to remember, and I have to forget.” He called back with a quiet anger, watching intently. Searching your eyes for something. You froze, locked on him in shock as the realisation slowly swept you.

He knew you had been thinking of obliviating him.

“You’re the reason I’ve had a headache all day.” You murmured, eyes widening with the gravity of Theo’s invasion dawning on you. He walked towards you carefully, like he couldn’t help himself.

“And you’re the reason I can’t think of anything. Except for-“

His eyes fell to your lips.

You knew you should go, turn and walk away. But as he approached, you couldn’t bring yourself to move. Completely stuck under his gaze. Distracted by the way his dark curls caught the fleeting light, the shadow against the slope of his nose. You saw him smile as he read you for filth, flitting through your head with ease. Your breath caught as you slammed him out, cheeks flushed.

“You’ve been using legilimency on me?” You seethed in a hush.

“I have,” he admitted, eyes darkening, “and you almost drowned me in the Black Lake. So I guess we’re both bad people.”

He took a step closer to you, and then another. Until he was so unbearably close that you were forced to look up at him. Theo was already watching you, gaze darting between your lips and your eyes as if he had no control over any of it.

“You should’ve listened to me when I told you to go,” you whispered, your own eyes falling to his lips before flickering back to his, cheeks still running warm.

You could feel your chest hammering, breath picking up. Flashes of the night prior came back to you in a flood and you broke away, taking a rushed step back from the tense stare of the boy before you. It had been him, all day it had been him, ever since breakfast.

“Stop doing that,” you gasped. Trying to shove him out of your mind again. But instead your back hit the pillar behind you with enough force to dash the air from your lungs. He closed in.

“Not until you talk to me,” Theo breathed. Eyes trailing lazily across your features in pursuit of something.

You only shook your head, unable to break the gaze he was holding. “We need to stay away from each other.”

But you didn’t mean it, he could hear it. An unbecoming frown pulled him closer to you until you were only a breath away. Theo tilted his head, as though he was failing at unraveling your mind this time. His hand raised, fingertips hesitating towards the exposed skin of your neck.

You knew better than this, knew that you should push him away the way you had last night. Knew that it wasn’t real. But when his fingers brushed so barely across your skin, dancing their way up to your jaw, all rational thought left you.

“I don’t know if I can do that.” He murmured, his face dangerously close to yours.

You faltered as his thumb drew deliberate soft circles across the arch of your cheek. Eyes burning with shame as the guilt of last night clawed at you, “I could’ve killed you.”

“But you didn’t.” Theo muttered, his other hand circling the loose sleeve of your shirt. Fingers brushing past it, pushing it up further as he explored. The rough callouses on his fingertips dancing along your arm as he continued to drown in your eyes. Thumb still running gently across your cheek. Until it faltered, a frown flickering across his features.

Trailing across the skin of your forearms, were a string of welts; left by the snaring kelp you had buried yourself in. His eyes softened as his fingers left your cheek, gently pulling the sleeve of your shirt higher with a frown.

You flinched, pulling your arm back to your side. The burning sensation ripping you into reality once again. “Believe me, I tried.”

“What can I do?” He asked, far more softly than you had ever heard him speak. “I want to help you.”

Your eyes stung, wishing that for even a moment you could let yourself believe him. But the truth was that you couldn’t afford to take that chance. You’d had no one to guide you through this after your Mother had left, no clue as to how any of it worked. No textbook had ever helped you, the sirens you found in their pages weren’t like you.

You were alone in this, and you couldn’t let yourself do this to him on the off chance that maybe it was real. Of his own volition and not drawn from him by whatever you had done to him under the full moon. You glanced back up to him as the sun sank through the stained glass windows of the empty hall.

“It’s not real, Theo. The way you feel is a, a reaction,” you could hear the crack in your voice as you sank away from him, “It will pass.”

Theo’s eyes darkened as he took a step back, hurt clouding him. The last of the sun’s warmth leaching from the air as night began to set in.

“Stop,” he breathed as his eyes found the floor, “stop doing that. You keep lying and forgetting that I can hear you.”

“Do you think this is normal?” You pleaded with him, wishing for nothing more than to make him see reason. “I almost killed you.”

“But you didn’t-“

“I wanted to,” you snapped suddenly, your voice cutting through his as pain bloomed in him from your words. “I wanted to,” you said again, softening. “Any second longer and I-“ your eyes fluttered, blinking back tears, “I would have done it. It’s not real, Theo. It’s safer for both of us if we just-”

He wasted no time in cutting you off with his lips. Gently pressing them against yours, one hand tangling tenderly through your salty hair. The other at your jaw, fingertips trailing up to tuck some of the loose strands behind your ear. It was different to last night. Gentle, fragile even. You felt your lips part in a mess of surprise and fear at the sensation. It was all the invitation he needed.

He deepened the kiss, tilting your jaw back and eliciting an involuntary gasp from you. Swallowing the sound with the softness of his lips against yours. Hands running over your skin like he was trying to memories you. His fingers brushing through your hair one last time before he pulled back gently.

“You don’t feel that?” He breathed against you, hopeful eyes lingering as he cradled your face in his palms. But you couldn’t answer him without lying, without admitting that you felt it all too. So instead you avoided his question.

“Don’t you think it’s odd? When you never seemed to before?” You countered, desperately trying to shove whatever he had drawn out of you down. “Forgive me, perhaps I’m inexperienced, or naive. But I’m fairly certain that kind of thing doesn’t happen overnight.” You finished emptily, growing tired of your rising hope.

He straightened, his hand falling from your cheek. Brushing your shoulder before dropping to his side.

“You seem very certain that it did,” Theo conceded. Taking a step back from you, his eyes hardening as he swept your face.

“What?” You breathed, his face perfectly indifferent as he gazed at you, waiting.

“That I never felt that way before last night.” He clarified, narrowing in on you. You stayed like that for a moment, watching each other carefully. Eventually, you let your eyes sink to the floor. Hand coming up to smooth down your hair.

“I won’t ask you again.” You swallowed, brushing past him as the warmth drained from you. You didn’t have to say it, you could feel him on the outside. Begging you to let him through to your mind.

So you left it there like a note upon his doorstep; that you wanted to forget. Even if it wasn’t true

Read Chapter Three here

Taglist: @hemlockmuncher @hoeforvinniehackerrr @moonlightttfae @thecraziestcrayon @itssomeonereading @leona-hawthorne @liaaanie

#theodore nott x siren!reader #gemwrites #theodore nott x y/n #slytherin boys #theodore nott x you #theodore nott angst #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott fic #theodore nott fanfiction #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott #theo nott #hogwarts fanfiction

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lighteyed · 9 months

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like you'd get your knuckles bloody for me / steve harrington

— steve's not used to people throwing punches for him, you'er not used to throwing them. anything for him, though. always, anything for him. (little short fic moment, fem reader, 1.4k words)

"Dude, your girlfriend is such a badass!" Robin skips into Family Video grinning like a madwoman. Steve, shuffling through the tapes he needs to place back onto the shelves, lifts his head and scrunches his brows together.

"I mean, yeah, but-"

Robin doesn't let him finish, she's already telling him the story. "She was all, wham bam thank you ma'am," she throws multiple air punches and Steve drops the tapes on the floor, "and Jason Carver was all, 'my nose you broke my nose-" she puts on a fake-whiney voice and Steve grips the shelf in front of him, feeling faint.

"I'm sorry, she did what-"

"And she was all, fuck you Carver, and she was totally gonna pummel him again until his friend like dragged her off him and her face hit the pavement, but like, still, she kicked ass-"

"Robin!" Steve shouts, waving his hands in front of her face. She stops, finally registering the disbelief on his face. She covers her mouth. She probably shouldn't have said anything. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"She, um, she didn't tell you?" She squeaks out, she takes a step backwards. "Forget I said anything! I'm sure she'll call you-" She trips over the cart Steve was using to stock the tapes and dashes behind the counter to avoid him, knowing you were going to kill her for saying anything and Steve was going to kill her if she didn't say anything else.

"Hey! Robin!" But she's already clocking herself in and beginning her closing shift duties, refusing to say another word on the topic because she's already said too much without meaning to. He completes the rest of his shift in silence, snapping at customers whenever they ask him a question and losing his mind when he looks at the clock and realizes only ten minutes has passed. He tries to call your house with the store phone but you don't pick up, which makes him even more worried and causes him to snap at people even worse, so Keith cuts him early with a disappointed lecture that Steve only half listens to, and he runs out of there once Keith finally shuts up, pulling out of the parking lot and on his way to your house without a second thought.

When you answer the door for him, you brace yourself for his scolding, 'cause the way he's looking at you, at your scratched face and bloody knuckles, with his soft gaze roaming all over you for any other signs of injury, you can tell he wants to. He wants to scold and lecture and fret. He wants to be mad that you got into a fist fight, let alone a fist fight with a guy who, if he had wanted to, probably could've hit you ten times harder.

He can't really be mad, though. "I didn't know Rocky Balboa was visiting Hawkins," he says, sarcastic but not mean, closing the front door behind him before coming to touch your face with his gentle hands, tilting your head to the side so he can take a good look at your cheek. It's a not a deep scratch, but you're bleeding all the same. He runs his fingers over it lightly and rests his hand there. "What'd you do, sweet girl?" You groan, retreating away from him to grab your bag of frozen peas from the counter and setting them flat across your bruise. He follows behind in earnest.

"Jason Carver can go fuck himself," you grumble. "S'all he does now, anyway, since Chrissy dumped his ass. And no wonder why. I can't stand him." You stare at where you're soaking your cheer uniform in the sink, the white fabric staining pink the more you tried to scrub Jason's blood out. You're opting to soak it out now, hoping you won't have to go buy a new one.

"Okay, what'd he do," Steve corrects, tucking your hair behind your ear.

You hesitate. You don't really want to tell Steve. It wasn't nice, what Carver had said, and in particular, it hadn't been nice to Steve. You weren't sure what had prompted Carver to start going in on your boyfriend, about how Steve was a loser, a deadbeat, pathetic, wasn't going anywhere in life, but it why he'd said it hadn't mattered to you. He'd said that you and you'd seen red, burning blistering red, and you'd punched him in the face before you could really think about whether or not that was a good idea. And you'd gotten him good, too, a nice big wallop to his smug face when he hadn't suspected it in the slightest, and you'd gotten on top of him going for more when his friend had yanked you off him by your ponytail and sent you spinning down to the asphalt. Your face had been gotten good, too. But not as good as Jason's. You were defensive when it came to Steve. You couldn't help it. He was Steve. He'd do anything for the people he loved, he was loyal and defensive and smart (as much as he'd deny that), he was sweet and had never been anything but perfect to you, perfect for you, and if someone had something to say about him, you'd make sure they'd have to answer to you. You'd never let him feel like he didn't have someone in his corner.

"Nothin'," you mutter, not looking at him, looking anywhere but him. "Just usual asshole Carver stuff."

"No, no, you don't get this worked up over nothin', baby." He wets a paper towel at your sink with rubbing alcohol and raises it to your face. "S'gonna sting, okay? Stay still," he puts it against you as soft as he can but you still hiss and draw back in pain. "You can tell me what he did. Need to know so I don't worry about you all night long." Had he put his hands on you? On one of your friends on the team? Something worse? The thought of something worse made Steve's blood run cold. He'd kill Jason himself, consequences be damned, if he'd touched you any type of way.

You scowl. "I don't wanna talk about it, Steve, seriously."

"You can't just not talk about it with me," he frowns right back at you. "If it's that bad you need to tell me. What happened? Please," he pouts his lip at you and you can't resist, you're melting in his hands, you're giving him whatever he wants the second that plush lower lip juts out at you and his pretty brown eyes go heavy-lidded and tragic-looking. You lean forward and kiss his protruding lip, wrapping your arms around his waist.

You press your face into his shoulder and murmur against his shirt, "He was talkin' bad about you, okay?" He pulls away, brow furrowed.

"Talkin' bad about me?" He places his hands on your shoulders. "Baby, you don't haveta get worked up over me, okay? And don't go throwing punches for me, Christ, you can't do that." He runs a hand through his hair, and there he goes, hands on hips, like he always does when he's worked up and stressed over something you or the kids are doing. "I don't care what he said, okay?" His hands go back to your shoulders, he's looking in your eyes, deep and distraught. "I don't care you. You don't go throwing punches for me. 'M not worth all that."

You push him off you. "Don't say that! That's not true, you're worth it! You'd do it for me, why can't I do it for you? You deserve it, too." Steve goes quiet. "You're worth it, okay? Don't be stupid." You press the frozen peas harder to your hand.

"I still don't like you fighting," he relents, and you know you've got him in the palm of your hand, he could never stay mad at you, not really, but his brows still knit together with worry. You smooth out the crease in them with your good hand and he softens exponentially with a sigh, leaning into your touch.

"As long as no one talks shit about you, I won't be," you pinch his cheek and he laughs. You'd die for that sound.

"Yeah, yeah, cool it, Rocky," he teases.

"Shut up!" You hit him with your bag of peas.

He grins, and he can't help it, he's a little proud, thinking about you punching someone in the face for him. Knuckles bloody for him. Making sure he knows he's worth fighting for. His heart swells at the thought.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington #stranger things

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scaly-freaks · 21 days

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Snippet of Rhaena/Aemond from my AO3 fic which I probably won't be able to fit into the work itself because...plot issues. Might write bits here, I don't know. We'll see.

tw // implication of dubcon

"WHERE IS SHE?"

For such a petite woman, his wife screams like a banshee. But to her little dragon - that raw, pink, ugly creature - she coos like a siren, all trills and undulations.

Rhaena's arm sweeps across the table, sending his books scattering. Half of them belonged to her grandfather, along with a few scrolls from Yi Ti scribed in a language Aemond has yet to decipher. He pores over them in the evenings, following along with Corlys's annotations - he never had much opinion on the man beyond helping to kill his wife. But Aemond must admit that he had a sharp mind for linguistics.

"Your dragon - " he pauses to finish reading a line of script, thumb pressed to the ink-stained paper. " - is safe. Don't fret."

Rhaena's voice dips low, trembling with rage. "Give her back. She needs me to feed her. She won't feed unless I prepare the bottle - "

"That's funny. She was feeding just fine when I left her with the dragonkeeper." Aemond flings the scroll on the table, and tosses one leg over the other, hands folded across his stomach.

He smiles at her - that cold, cruel, curl of a smile - and waits for it to sink in.

For months now, he has been patient, allowing his wife to come to terms with the reality of their marriage. Granted, he had forced his sister to give her stepdaughter over in marriage as the only elder left in that wretched household, but there was no mistreatment beyond that. Rhaena had her own chambers, her own separate life. All he asked was that eventually, she turn her mind to the reality of ruling a great house.

Heirs.

"Give her back," she repeats, and he almost feels sorry for her. It is clear she is struggling to draw air into her lungs, the absence of her dragon has her so distraught. "Please."

"Give me what I want and you can have your dragon."

"Sire a bastard and have your brother legitimise it. Isn't that what you fought the war for? So that you could both do as you wished? Now this realm is yours. Go! I give you permission. Find a whore and sire a whelp, but first return my dragon to me."

Aemond rises from his chair, slowly, so as not to alarm her.

Ever since the incident in the riverlands, Rhaena has treated him like a caged tiger, giving him a wide berth where and when she can. When he is reminded whose daughter she is, her fear strokes his nerves like silk on velvet, satisfies that deep, sadistic pit in his stomach he has nursed since the first time he watched Vhagar's flames swallow a man whole.

He won't hurt her - the girl is too precious for that sort of bad behaviour - but her fear keeps her in line, prevents her from choosing treason in her bid to escape. Besides, her mother's dragon now keeps watch, turning her childhood home into a prison, one which she has tried and failed to run from. The irony is steeped in poetry.

Rhaena takes a step back, and then another, glassy eyes searching his face for any indication he will accede.

"I want heirs off you." Half the battle is won through physical stature, and Aemond towers over his wife in her delicate rose-pink dress and gold-braided hair. She is a petal, easily plucked and viciously torn, unlike her sister who is all thorns and ice. "A boy, another boy, and then maybe a girl. Little fishes to populate Corlys Velaryon's grand, old Driftmark."

She is staring at him as if her mind has left her body and walked a hundred miles into the sea, deep under the white foam, to a place where he cannot reach her. Except a single trace of his finger down one of her braids brings her twitching back to him.

Only one question remains.

"So...do you want your dragon back, Rhaena?" Aemond asks, sugary sweet.

#aemond targaryen #rhaena targaryen #rhaena x aemond #rhaemond #aemond one eye #aemond fanfiction #house of the dragon #the god of wine and rainbow lamps #scalyfreakswrites

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abiiors · 10 months

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haunt // bed - pt. 2

a note about the banner: the photo in it is only meant to describe the dress, not the race, body type, hair colour, etc of the reader <3

a/n: truly out here manifesting the g and charli wedding with this one

minors dni!! part 1, part 3

wc: 3.3k

matty gently clinks a fork against his champagne flute, demanding the attention of the room.

you are standing in a corner, leaning against one of the pillars and surveying the room as you casually sip on some champagne yourself. it’s good stuff, bubbly but not too sweet. it fills up your head with fuzzy goodness. enough to make you smile at the insufferable man in the ridiculously nice suit over the rim of your glass.

“speech!” someone yells at the back of the room and a few weak laughs echo before everyone focuses their attention on the best man.

“george, charli,” he raises the glass at the couple who have their arms around each other, leaning into each other. “six months ago, you asked me if i would write something for the first dance. i was terrified, at first,” he laughs, “of fucking up, naturally. i wanted my best friends to have the perfect wedding that i did.”

you’re suddenly aware of his eyes on you; a kind of soft intensity that’s hard to look away from. his wedding—your wedding—was indeed perfect. you just didn’t think he would still have that opinion. a warmth spreads through your chest; it’s the alcohol, you tell your brain. stop drinking like a fish if you don’t want heartburn by the end of the night. but this warmth is tingly…it lingers too long in your stomach, perhaps in your whole body.

“i did write something for you,” he continues, looking away after a second, “and i hope you love it as much as i love you.” he smiles and a cheer goes up.

you straighten in your spot, no longer leaning leisurely against the column. someone brings out an acoustic guitar, making you very aware of the fact that this is the first time in almost a year that you will hear him sing. a small tremor goes through your hands and the liquid sloshes dangerously in the flute.

someone brings out a stool for him to sit on, and fixes a mic in front of him. people clear the dance floor, making room for the newlyweds. you stay transfixed in your spot; unable to move and desperate to flee.

what’s worse is that his date is already behind him, running a hand over his arm. she stumbles slightly and it’s not a surprise, you’ve already seen her down two glasses of wine. maybe that’s the key to this evening.

you look at george and charli on the dancefloor, already swaying softly in each other’s arms before he’s even begun strumming the guitar, completely lost in each other. is this what you and matty had looked like all those years ago?

your sour mood is not fair to them. this is their day, not yours. you should be honoured that charli’s asked you to be in the wedding party, not sulk in the corner like a seven year old being denied her favourite toy.

you stare at the champagne, at the bubbles rising up to the surface rapidly. time to suck it up and stop being a little bitch. with a surge of newfound annoyance, you knock the glass back, drinking the entirety of it in one go. you stagger, lightheaded for one solid moment, but it passes and matty strikes the first chord on his guitar.

his voice is all around you, echoing so clearly that for a second you wonder if it’s just the two of you in the room. his fingers move effortlessly on the frets while his other hand stums away at the strings, slows down to pluck them individually during slower moments and then speeds up again.

it’s not surprising that he sings of love and happiness. his words are full of emotions and when they fall short, the sweet tune compensates for it. what surprises you is how it makes you well up with tears.

matty has his eyes closed, smiling softly as he sings the lyrics. “so splash me with water / when we do the dishes together / i’ll take it over kisses in the rain”

one perfect curl falls on his forehead and just like that you’re back in a warm kitchen, past nine in the evening, hands slippery from the dish soap, singing along to the best of queen. matty’s hips bumping into yours as he gets too immersed into a song and forgets to rinse the plate properly. you reaching up to immediately flick him on the wrist. him tickling you as revenge, wet hands leaving damp spots on your old t-shirt.

there were happy days. in your heart, you knew it wasn’t all lonely nights and a cold bed.

his voice is replaced by loud claps and cheers as soon as the song ends. you open your eyes to a room full of people in some state of tearing up. charli has her head on george’s chest, blissfully unaware of the others. you’re glad the tears running down your face are not out of place.

“matty, that was wonderful!” his date chimes in loudly, breaking the spell.

this is the first time you’re hearing her voice. it’s high-pitched and american so when she says his name, it sounds more like ‘maddie’. and you’re once again fighting a losing battle with your brain not to stereotype her further.

“thanks, babe,” he turns to her and gives her a warm smile. the kind that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners, the kind that makes him look twenty-two again.

the kind that feels like a gut punch to you.

“careful, darling,” denise’s voice startles you. she’s been standing close to you this whole time—just a bit ahead, watching matty just like you had been.

“careful,” she says again, “the glass might break.”

“what?” you follow her line of sight, right down to the glass in your hands and your death grip on it. your knuckles are white, clutching the delicate stem so tightly. she’s right, the glass might break any minute.

“oh…uh, sorry.” heat rises up the back of your neck and up your cheeks. “i didn’t realise.”

“‘s alright,” she smiles, studying your face for a moment. “i just don’t want you to get hurt.”

the party is in full swing around you, and you have found one more thing your ex-husband was wrong about. whiskey does start to taste exceptionally amazing; especially when you’re trying not to throttle not one but two people in front of you.

“dance with me!” charli calls for you from somewhere on the dancefloor.

she’s already discarded her heels somewhere in the corner in favour of comfy shoes and sweated off her makeup. but she still looks stunning and radiates with joy at the centre of the dancefloor. “come onnnnn,” she calls for you again, almost slurring her words, and makes a run to drag you to the dance floor.

“i can’t dance in heels,” you laugh, trying to get out of the dancing without offending her. the heels do hurt, not as much as you’re making it out to be but your feet are starting to get sore now.

standing and sulking in one spot all evening will do that.

“so take them off!” she’s in front of you now, holding onto your wrist and pouting like a kid. she knows you can’t resist that face. “please!! you can’t say no to me today, come on!”

it takes absolutely two seconds for you to give in. she’s right, you can’t—you shouldn’t—say no to her. not today of all days.

“only for ten minutes,” you grumble and set the glass aside. then, on second thought, you pick it back up and down the last two sips. it burns as it goes down but this fuzz is good. this fuzz will help you ignore the man and the blonde in his arms.

as long as it makes charli happy. and by the looks of it, she’s ecstatic; loudly singing along to a brittany spears hit. you shake your head at her, laughing at first and then joining in. this is fun—normal wedding fun. this is what you’re supposed to be doing at a close friend’s wedding. you are meant to get wasted and dance like a dork on the dance floor.

you even get twirled around by ross as soon as he sees you dancing. it’s almost like the old times, all your friends having fun together again. and for a brief, blissful moment the presence of the date doesn’t even bother you.

until you feel yourself trip over your dress and stumble. right into a pair of familiar arms.

he grunts, first from being so unexpectedly knocked into and then when your elbow hits him in the stomach. a small amount of satisfaction sparks in your brain but quickly gets overshadowed by a flood of mortification.

your entire back is pressed up to matty’s chest, almost a lovers embrace as he steadies you on your feet.

“careful, darling” he warns, bending to whisper it right in your ear. funny how he repeats the same words his mother had said twenty minutes ago, yet you doubt the thumping of your heart has anything to do with the dancing you’ve been doing.

the retort is on the tip of your tongue, don’t call me that, four small words that simply refuse to come out.

“thank you,” you reply breathlessly, clearing your throat against the sudden lump that’s lodged there.

“steady?” he asks.

his scent is all around you, the same fucking cologne he has worn for the last decade. the same perfume that you can still smell on your pillows sometimes, no matter how many times you wash them.

“mm-hmm,” you nod, “you can let go now.” you make it a point to stare straight ahead at a bland spot on the wall. fuck your body for hyper-focusing on his heartbeat, fuck your head for spinning at one whiff of his cologne. and absolutely fuck your heart for breaking the second he lets go of you.

you stay still, only just touching him, still staring ahead until charli comes in your line of vision again. from this close you can smell the alcohol on her breath. she’s almost wasted at this point.

which is why it’s not really a shock when she gasps loudly.

“oh my god!” she slaps a hand on her mouth, eyes wide and excited. “you, me, george, and matty. like the old times!” she squeals, slurring half the words.

“char, no. no—”

“we should dance!” she declares.

“no, pl—”

“george, come here,” she yells over you, unbothered by your protests. and you know you’re doomed when an equally inebriated george comes into view.

there’s no way of getting out of this. the brittany song is on the last of its notes, about to change into something else. a sense of dread gnaws at your stomach.

“no, cha—”

“let’s get it over with.” it’s matty, placing a hand on your elbow and spinning you around to face him. he is so close, close enough for you to note the light stubble on his face; not clean-shaven like you’d thought at first. you know exactly what the stubble would feel like if you ran a hand over his face.

his pink lips are parted slightly, his chest rises and falls with each breath he takes, and his curls fall on his forehead. your hand twitches, desperate to brush them away because you know by the end of the night, they will be falling into his eyes. your stomach turns at the thought of how easily the urge comes. every feeling, every old habit rushing back to hit you full force.

“shall we?” he asks again, hand extended and waiting for you to take it. but all you can do is stare at it dumbly.

“right,” he says, placing his hand on yours for emphasis, “i don’t want to do it either. but i want to make my friends happy.”

his friends? indignation flares in your chest, burning hotter than the alcohol. suddenly any and all resurging feelings you’d felt for him just minutes ago evaporate into thin air. if he wants to act like he’s doing you a favour, then fine! if he wants to be an asshole then you can be a bitch right back. the song begins, something sweet and romantic but you narrow your eyes at him, ready for the battle to begin.

and if you are to win it, then you can’t be focusing too hard on the way his hand comes to rest on the small of your back; warm and reassuring and so so familiar. you can’t be relishing the feel of his warm breath on your shoulder, sending small, delicious tingles down your spine; can’t deliberately feel the way his hips press into yours, creating friction and something much more urgent.

no! so you square your shoulders and stand tall.

let’s get this over with then.

he steps to one side as the music begins to pick up; ever accustomed to taking the lead, and you step to the other side; equally determined to make this difficult for him. he knows of course, because he knows you and how your mind works. more importantly, he knows how your grudges work.

“are you really going to be difficult again?” he asks, just low enough for you to hear it over the music. “you can’t keep your pettiness aside for five minutes?”

his voice skitters over your bones, taunting and gravelly; matty from years and years ago who would raise goosebumps on your skin and make your blood heat up just by looking at you.

“my pettiness,” you grit out, “is none of your fucking concern.”

“it is when it’s my best friend’s wedding,” he cuts you off sharply.

“your best friend? as if they are no one to me?”

he tuts, condescending little shit, “can’t have the attention taken away from you for one second can you?”

your voices are rising; no longer the harsh whispers from before. and the distance between your bodies is almost negligible. his hand clutches tightly, is it his intention to hurt or to hold on? you don’t know. you don’t think he knows either.

“says the man who constantly whines for validation like a little baby,” you spit out, noses almost touching each other’s.

his eyes, warm and hazel once, are cold hard chips of brown. the anger in them turns his veins red. you imagine he’s seeing red right now, especially as his gaze dips to your mouth—painted red and curled in a sneer.

“you really have reached a new low, haven’t you, matthew?” you laugh in his face, brutally and sharp enough to cut. a sick and twisted part of you relishes in the fact that his date can see you in his arms. “oh, what must your arm candy think of you for twirling your ex around like this.”

“arm candy?” he scoffs, clearly taken aback. he must have imagined the wedding to be a fancy affair where he would get waisted and twirl his date around until they go back home and fuck in a drunken, sloppy rhythm. he would grope at her breasts like a starved man and she would hook her legs around his waist; much like how you once used to. then she would fall to her knees and satisfy all his needs. “don’t bring grace into—”

“grace?” you snap out of your disturbing train of thoughts about your ex-husband’s bedroom habits. instead, you choose to find happiness in the fact that it won’t be as smooth sailing for him as he thought. “oh, you’ve got to be fucking with me, yeah? your toy is called grace?”

you regret the words as soon as they’re out of your mouth. and not even for the right reasons.

“that sounds an awful lot like jealousy, darling” matty croons, finding his footing once again.

your breath hitches. the word is meant to be a weapon, hell, you two are right in the middle of an almost screaming match (again) yet he precisely knows how to wound you with his words (like always).

“don’t,” you warn. you’re falling for the bait by doing so, you know it, he knows it. but you’ll take the small bit of defeat over this. for emphasis, you yank your hand out of his and place it on his chest, as if to push him away.

his chest heaves slightly and suddenly you’re very aware of the muscles under the fitting white shirt. you should move away, fuck, you should stop touching his chest but your blood turns to lead, heats up your entire body as rage courses freely.

“don’t pin this on me.” you push him back just slightly, “it’s your need to overcompensate,” another push, “that’s why we’re here,” a third push.

and then his massive hand is wrapping over yours. you have no time to involuntarily mourn the loss of it on your waist; those tingles have already moved to your hand.

“losing your cool?” he tuts.

the infuriating bastard!

there’s a sudden urge to stomp on his feet with your four-inch heels, or better yet, to just knee him in the crotch. but you happen to catch the look on charli’s face. her eyes are wide, worried. this shouldn’t be happening. none of this should be happening. you’re not supposed to be creating a scene at one of your best friends’ wedding.

“would you look at that…” you peel yourself off him. the lump in your throat is almost overwhelming now and you’d be damned before you cry in front of him again. “you’re ruining your best friend’s wedding.”

before matty can reply, you turn on your heel, keeping your eyes sharply on the exit. this is too much. this evening was a mistake. saying yes to the dance was a mistake. coming here…

a lone tear escapes, tiny and pathetic. it makes you want to slap yourself that you would put your disdain for matty over your love for charli. after everything she’s done for you in the last ten months, after every night you’d spent crying in her bed and in her arms, this is the least you could have done. and yet you’ve failed; as a friend, as a wife, even as a person at this point.

footsteps slap on the marble floor behind you, getting closer as you step out into the corridor. of course, he’d follow. of course, he wouldn’t know when to leave it alone, picking at all your wounds that are only just scabbing over.

“stop!” he calls out, “you fucking coward.”

the shock of it alone is enough to freeze you in your place.

“what did you just say to me?” you blink at him slowly, taking in his cold eyes and lips pressed in a thin line.

“you fucking coward,” he repeats, “running away from every situation when it gets tough.”

“fuck you, matty,” you spit out, taking a step forward. “fuck you, fuck you, fuck you,” you punctuate each of them with a jab to his chest, stabbing your nails repeatedly into the soft spot over his heart. let him feel it. let him experience a million small deaths.

“what? nothing witty to say now?” his hand wraps around your wrist, holding it still in place. no matter how much you struggle, he won’t let go.

his face is inches away. he moves forward, backing you against the wall, holding onto your wrist tightly, mouth open and almost panting as if he can’t get enough air.

you can’t either. your head spins; so close to him, too close. your faces are inches away and involuntarily you stare at his lips, trembling with rage. this whole evening was a mistake but that doesn’t stop you from fisting your hands in his shirt and crashing your mouth onto his.

lemme know what you think pls <33 🤭

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cauldron-of-oddities · 28 days

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Pretty Things

Powder had always loved pretty things. Shiny things, useful things, things to tinker with. She was unfortunately a bit clumsy and not always useful at getting stuff (though only Mylo ever told her off) it really ruffled her feathers, though. It left her feeling all sorts of useless.

So when she met Ekko who had a knack for finding all the best shiny things, and pretty baubles, and liked to tinker like her, and for one reason or another decided he liked her too it was a done deal. They'd be friends. And then he said her hair was the prettiest blue. She then decided they'd be friends forever.

She thought Ekko was pretty too, with his white hair that almost glowed, and with warm eyes and all his warm tones. He also gave the best hugs ever, and he seemed to want them all the time. She was all too happy to oblige. She wanted them, too.

She wondered if he heard it, how her heart would flutter every time he came by just because something he found was for her. Or when something went wrong and his arms would wrap around her and comfort would sink into her, like being wrapped in a blanket made of the warmest down. She wondered if she should tell him how it made her feel.

When she was eleven and he was twelve, he braided her hair for the first time, how calm she'd felt, content to just be for a moment. She hoped it would last forever. And she wondered, could she keep him forever with her? That peace flew right out the door when her sister flew in. “Oi, Love birds. Dinner!” The voice of her sister breaking through with teasing laughter.

‘Love birds’ Oh. Oh, why did that thought make her feel all fizzy inside?

Ekko's birthday came. She’d fretted an eternity over a gift. Only his change was so quick that she'd have to wait for him to open it. His shift had been every bit as enchanting as it was supposed to be. She blushed at how bold she'd been. But he'd looked so soft, and he was just so pretty. Ekko had given her a quick peck when she said that last remark, though his chest had puffed up pridefully. And then she'd just had to touch.

Hidden in her shared room burying her hot cheeks in her pillow, the moment returns unbidden. He'd been so, so soft, she'd stood there just running her fingers over him like some sort of hypnotised freak, what would he think of her?!

Flopping onto her back, she holds up Bunny, her sister's toy once, and now hers. Her confidant for when she was too embarrassed to talk to Vi. Powder can't wait until it's her turn to shift. She hopes she's something blue, a bluebird, or maybe a jay.

Her brows scrunched together, she raised Bunny above her head and worried out loud “What if he thinks I'm a weirdo!” Then she bit her lip and then very quietly, “Will I be as beautiful as Ekko?”

“You will be Powpow.” Vi's leaning there on the doorway to their bedroom with herarms crossed, a raised eyebrow, and a fond smirk.

“And I don't think he minded, he sure wasn't making any effort to get away. Might need to have a word with him.”

“But he did nothing!” Powder rushed out. Vi's chats or rather talon noogies were notorious. “Awe, baby sis got a crush!”

Oh, how she wishes she could fly out the window and hide in some high up place to let her escape the embarrassment.

She's thirteen today and how she'd waited for this day. Now she could finally join the others, be as fast, as graceful, as strong as them. She'd shed the feathers of the klutz and her true ones would appear. She looks to Ekko, Vi's gentle teasing from last year chirping in her ears. There’s a lovely smile on his face, the one he had when he found something particularly good, so she must be something pretty right?

“A crow!” Mylo shouts. The hope shatters. “Damn” he sniggers “Nice symbolism for the jinx.”

No, no, that can't be right. A crow, a being of bad luck. A crow, a wicked thing, not a pretty wanted thing.

Not like Vi, all fierce and great with her golden eagle self.

Not like Mylo, all strut and swagger like a pheasant.

Not like Caggor colourful and resourceful like toucan.

Not like Vander, protective and strong, the bald eagle himself.

Not like Ekko, soft and wise … and beautiful.

She didn't match. It's all wrong! Her feathers ruffled, and flight comes all too easy to her. She can't stay.

The highest tower she could find seems as good as a spot to wallow in her misery. She's as puffed up as she can be, and so consumed by her own dismay, she doesn't notice Ekko land behind her until he makes a soft noise. She looks up only to turn away again.

She hears him shift, and then the gentle touch of his fingers running over her head and back. She practically melts, he's touching her like she did him and then the sweet words soothing away her greatest fear, he saw her as he always did. "You're you." 'My friend' is what she hears, too.

He keeps running his fingers over her back, and it's wonderful. Maybe she's not too bad after all, he found her, and Ekko only ever found all the best things.

What he says next has her heart stutter, and were she human she be completely red, its the sweetest devastating blow:

“Do you know how beautifully blue you glow?

the link to 'Blue'

#timebomb #ekko x jinx #companion piece to 'Blue'#ekkojinx #the owl and the crow #the mis adventures of the owl and the crow #jinx indeed had no chance #she's still his favourite colour #shapeshifter au

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pretentiousgayguyidk · 8 months

Text

~Flowers For You~

(Name) huffed, pacing around camp and running his fingers through his hair stressfully. He had been doing this for the past hour. It was getting late, although his watch was probably off, it didn't make it any better. 8:23 it read.

"Son? Why don't you take a seat, you- you're wearing yourself thin with all this- pacing!" The elderly man fretted, waving his hands around as he called out to the stressed man. (Name) sighed, his brows pinched with worry and his hair in disarray from him messing with it. He turned to Dale, crossing his arms and hugging himself.

"He should have been back by now, Dale! What if something happened? We all know Shane and Rick ain't gonna look for him... And nobody's gonna let me go after him..." He trailed off, swallowing hard as more nasty images of what could have happened out there. Dale nodded a little in understanding, stepping a little closer to his younger companion.

"Look, it'll all be okay. I- Daryl is tough, he can handle himself. Probably just found something and got caught up." The elder man reassured, gently patting (Name) on the shoulder. (Name) hugged himself tighter, knawing at his lip.

"He took a horse. There's no way he would have been out this long... Even if he got caught up- or found something he would have been back by now. I mean, Rick and Shane got back hours ago! All of the groups got back hours ago." He ranted, throwing his hands every which-a-way. Distress was practically oozing from every pore on the man's body.

"Walker. Walker!" Andrea cried out from the RV. Rick ran out of his tent looking up at Andrea with concern. (Name) felt his stomach drop a little, he clutched onto his biceps harder.

"Dale, binoculars." He demanded, a bad feeling settling into his stomach. The older man nodded, handing the object over.

"Is it just the one?" He asked, she nodded and aimed her rifle. (Name) raised the binoculars, trying to see the walker through the glare. He could barely see it, there's no way Andrea could hit it from here.

"I think I can nail it from here!" She shouted, cocking her gun. Rick raised his hand as Shane and the others grabbed their weapons. (Name) sighed, pulling out his knife and running with the other's as Rick shouted something about Hershel wanting to deal with it.

Now (Name) was cursing himself for being a lazy shut in, his legs ached and his lungs burned as he ran. He wasn't the most physically inclined, usually staying back with the women and kids to watch over the farm instead of searching. He leaned against his knees, wheezing a little as he caught his breath.

Fear struck him harder than lightning. The very man he was fretting over was standing before him. Drenched in blood, limping, ears strung around his neck.

"Is that Daryl?" Glen whispered, everyone stood on silent fear as Daryl swayed.

"That's the third time you pointed that thing at my head! You gonna pull the trigger or what?" Everyone sighed with relief when the redneck spoke. (Name) stepped a little closer and opened his mouth to say something. The loud crack of Andrea's rifle echoed throughout the fields as blood splaters, Daryl fell to the ground.

"Daryl!?" (Name) screamed, falling down to the arbalist's side and gently turning his head. The bullet grazed him. His ears rang as the shot echoed through his head, he watched in a daze as the others lifted his close friend who had fallen unconscious.

"He lost a good amount of blood, probably needs at least one transfusion. Do any of you know his blood type?" Hershel asked, looking between (Name), Shane, and Rick. They all shake their heads.

"No... But you can still take mine." (Name) stated, stepping forward with his arm held out. Hershel and the others were about to object. "My blood types O-."

"Well. That makes this a whole lot easier. Better hope that you don't ever need a transfusion yourself." The old man stated, cleaning off a needle and carefully inserting it into the young man's arm, carefully drawing the blood. The young man winced, looking the other way - glancing down at Daryl, who was still unconscious. (Name) gave the unconscious man a weak smile, silently thanking his mostly safe return.

After the one transfusion along with several stitches, Daryl was mostly okay, aside from a slight concussion. If it weren't for the bolt he probably would have been up and about by now. Yet (Name) wasn't one to complain, just glad his hillbilly friend was okay.

It took Rick and Shane shooing him away before he left Daryl's side, even after that Daryl never strayed to far from his mind. With a stressed sigh (Name) finds himself walking along the forest line, as he walks he freezes. Within the forest he can hear raspy growling of a hungry Walker. He shakily pulls out his knife and inches closer to the sound.

A women, crushed under a mossy log lay there, clawing and scraping at the dirt and air. A few feet to her left were the sprouts of delicate buds of dark maroon roses. (Name) smile a little, carefully stepping closer without getting grabbed to pluck the fullest bud. It wasn't in full bloom but it was deffinatly close, any other occasion he would have let it grow more - but with the recent incident he couldn't help but pluck it.

He gently cradled the flower as he plunged his knife into the walkers skull, finally putting the gardener to rest.

With a soft smile playing on his lips (Name) happily made his way home, tying up his (light/dark) hair. It had gotten so long already, Carol had given him a hair tie to help.

"Dale? You got anything I could use as like... A vase?" The younger man questioned, peaking into the camper. Dale blinked a little, then turning and somewhat speratically looking around. He eventually settled in opening a cabinet and handing (Name) a cup.

"Here you go son, you giving it to someone?" The elder asked, gesturing to the flower. (Name) nodded slowly, looking vaguely in the direction of Hershel's house. The young man clearly had someone in mind... And Dale caught on quick, smiling at the young adult. "Go ahead and give it to him, I'll uh... Distract Shane and Rick if I have to."

"Thank you Dale," the young man says, smiling lopsidedly with a new pep in his step - his heart no longer as heavy as he holds the budding rose in the cup close to his chest.

He sneaks his way into the house with the help of Maggie, the younger woman distracting her dad a little as (Name) slipped into the guest room... Surprised to see Daryl awake.

"Hell d'you want..." the arbalist grumbles. (Name) smiles sheepishly, gently setting the flower aside... It wasn't much, but it was something.

"I just... Wanted to check up on you, you feeling alright? Well... As alright as you can." He says with a soft chuckle, which inturn made Daryl grunt in his lazy laugh manner.

"About as fine and dandy as I can... Whatever, I found a lead on the little girl - that's all that matters 'round here." He says, grunting as he tries to sit up a little - some of the scarring on his chest and back catching (Name)'s eye... Though he didn't question it.

"A lead?" He asks, sitting at the side of the bed - which Daryl accepted surprisingly enough. The messy archer grunted a little, his usual lazy reply to any conversation.

"Found her doll, she could'a gone to the little neighborhood or somethin'." He says, pulling the doll out of his waistband - shaking it slightly to emphasize what he said. (Name) nods, gently placing his hand over Daryl's - a subconscious gesture that almost got him slapped away... Key word almost.

"You did good on her today, ain't no one gonna give you shit... If they try I'll knock their teeth out." He says in a light hearted way, knowing that Daryl isn't one for sentimentals... (Name) didn't mind finding round about ways to talk about it.

"Yeah yeah... Whatever, thanks for the flower..." Daryl grumbles, sounding annoyed but (Name) knew Daryl was grateful... And (Name) does something surprising... He kisses Daryl's temple, that is before standing up and turning to walk away.

"Get some rest..." He whispers, leaving before the slightly flustered and confused redneck could respond... "The hell was that?"

#male reader #fluff #daryl x male reader #flowers #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x male reader #male reader x walking dead #gay daryl dixon #gay #queer #mlm only

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koostarcandy · 2 years

Text

only love

pairing: jungkook x reader

summary: over 5 months of domestic bliss with your best friend turned roommate turned lover gets you thinking, alot. alternative? a fluffy, domestic morning with koo 🥰

genre: bestfriendstolovers!au, fluff

wc: around 1k

warnings: they're so sappy god, lots of kisses and soft stuff, sliiiiight mention of suggestive stuff

a/n: inspired by only and honeymoon fades !! this was very indulgent, i kept going on and I didn't know how to stop 🤧 I also took a prompt from my prompt list cause it fits well ^^ happie reading !! maybe listen to ♡ while reading?

gentle fingertips tracing your soft skin wakes you from your sleep, heavy eyelids forcing themselves open and greeted by stripes of white light, courtesy of the cream linen curtains hanging on your window.

"good morning, my love," a sleep-ridden voice beside you prompts you to turn to the source, met by messy haired yet still adorable jungkook, sleepy smile gracing his lips when your eyes meet. you nudge your nose with his, not trusting your voice at the moment. he pulls you closer, head resting on your blanket covered chest and yawning, mumbling about seeing blueberry waffles and vanilla milkshakes in his dream, deeming it as breakfast for the day.

you never knew letting your best friend move in with you while he was on the lookout for a new apartment would turn into something so wonderful. he always knew the passcode to your place, sometimes finding him passed out on your couch, tv running as background noise, curled up in his favourite blanket. it was like he lived there, except for the fact that he didn't. you're the best roommate he's had, he confesses one lazy afternoon, ice lollies in hand while you flip through your book. you let him do chores at his own pace and let him put the aircon on whenever he wants, the customary humidifier in random corners of your house.

"and then he says that she fell down the stairs! nothing about him hitting her no, he's literally gaslighting her and it's so infuriating, i wish i could punch him, koo, it's so annoying," you huff, explaining the latest book you've been reading to him.

jungkook looks up from his place on your chest, wide eyes in disbelief and chin propped up, "that asshole, i knew ryle was no good from the beginning, like, who begs someone to fuck them???" you nod furiously, leading you to another rant about how he was a walking red flag, not realising how jungkook was sporting the fondest and most content smile on his face.

you've learnt more about jungkook while living with him for more than 5 months now. he likes milk in the mornings and loves spicy ramen at the dead of night. he took it upon himself to play every game in play store with you, often ending with your limbs tangled while you fret over yet another impossible puzzle on your ipad. he's everything you've ever wanted in a roommate, the perfect balance of fun and seriousness throwing you off sometimes.

you didn't know when you would spill your feelings out to him, heart locked up with chains after miserable experiences. maybe it was the liquid courage, maybe it was jungkook being fed up of keeping his feelings bottled up inside. one soju shot after another, you're both nose to nose, forehead to forehead, deep in a game of who knows what.

"the person who takes the next shot will have to say something about the other," jungkook says randomly, heavy alcohol breaths not fazing the both of you. you flick open the next bottle, the cap rattling drowned out by the sound of you chugging at rapid speeds. alarmed, jungkook snatches the bottle from you, only to freeze at your next words.

"i'm in love with you, koo."

the bottle almost slips from his tattooed fingers but you catch it in him, despite your tipsy daze on him. "say something," you plead, eyes boring into his suddenly rigid face.

"how mad would you be if I kissed you right now?"

not mad, it turns out. you're on him in a second, frantic lips trying to convey a million emotions. pulling apart with slightly heaving chests, you cup his face, rubbing the rosy apples of his cheeks. he holds your wrists, pressing another kiss on your lips. and another, followed by a tiny giggle. he decides he wants to hear it again, peppering smooches all over your face till you're flat on the ground, laughing at goodness knows what.

"hello? do you not want whipped cream on your waffles then??" a large hand waves infront of you, breaking out of your indulgent reverie. "i want," you say and nod your head, yeah definitely, whipped cream and blueberries? perfect combination.

"what were you thinking about, love?" jungkook asks curiously, wondering what's got you zoning out, small smile dancing on your lips. "you, of course" saying it likes it's the most obvious thing in the world. pressing a sweet kiss to his forehead, you wear his t-shirt and hop off the bed, saying you'd get a headstart on breakfast. you leave him all red-eared and giggly on your bed and he hopes he's the only one on your mind who's got you all soft and giddy.

you carefully press the waffle batter and close it shut and go through your fridge for whipped cream. "koo, i can't find the can again-oh there it is," you end sheepishly when a long hand takes the can from the side of the fridge and you're met with a shirtless jungkook, small smirk playing on his face.

"you know," he starts, closing the fridge and pulling you close with a tattooed arm around your waist, "i'm starting to think you keep me around so your apartment doesn't go upside down," you scoff playfully, aware of his neat habits, "that's exactly why I keep you, darling" you say coolly, as if you don't love him with your whole heart and he didn't rock your world last night.

you set the now ready waffles on a plate, jungkook joining in on the fun and making it seem like a cake, a layer of blueberries and whipped cream between each waffle. almost half of it is gone by the time the second batch of waffles is done and jungkook groans in delight, "you made more?! I knew I loved you for a reason," he says proudly, a loud "mwah!" on your lips and he's onto making the next stack happily, feeding you and filling you in on your friends' latest shenanigans.

you suddenly find yourself hoping and praying you both never change, staying the way you are, loving each other so hard it makes you weak at the knees and wishing you'd feel that for the rest of your life. you follow his sparkly doe eyes and animated expressions, completely enamored with him and his ways. you hope you both can love through the pain and whatever is thrown your way.

"and when I told them about how i wasn't going to move in with them and stay with you, they were actually shocked?? but forget them, we didn't see us coming."

you nod in agreement, regretting the times you were oblivious to his affections. you really should've known when he wears his heart proudly on his sleeve. you smile and place a chaste kiss on his cheek, getting up so you could get the dishes done with but you're beaten to it. jungkook forcefully sits you down and says he's doing them this time and that he'll do you later, which cracks him up and gets you scrunching your nose in amusement, his childishness peeking through.

"you see that? see the technique? the snap of my wrist? only an expert could do this baby," he says proudly, stacking the dishes neatly. he wipes his hands quickly and he's next to you in a second, hand behind your neck pulling you in for a sweet kiss. you sigh happily into the kiss, arms resting on his shoulders. he places several pecks on your lips, eliciting his favourite sound, your laugh. he places you on the counter effortlessly, doe eyes peering into yours. the comfortable silence envelopes you both in a bubble, foreheads and noses touching.

"i love you," jungkook says firmly yet softly, lips moulding with yours. he trails them down to the junction between your neck and shoulder, placing a loving kiss and resting his forehead there. you press a gentle smooch to his forehead, the beginnings of a lovestruck smile dawning on your face.

"and i love you, koo" you say happily, now holding his face gently in your hands. you kiss him like it's the last time you're going to see him, pulling away just so you could gaze at his handsome face. he carries you in his arms and settles on the couch, making sure you're both as close as it can get. jungkook's already pulling up your favourite drama on tv, knowing it would be forgotten later.

The fuzzy feeling brought by the tranquil atmosphere makes you both sleepy, so you manoeuvre yourselves till you're lying together. smiley, sleepy eyes slowly close and you're both off to dreamland, wrapped in love.

pt time: @lvoekook ; @joondiary ; @soobhyun

#pls gimme feedback i'd like to know how i did this time 🥺🫂#jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #jungkook drabble #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #bts x reader #bts imagine #bts drabble #bts fic #bts fanfic #this was soooo soft and fluffy for me to write i loved it #the songs were very very helpful :D #chaenelcore

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dragondemoness · 1 year

Note

Can i request Junko, Mahiru and Maki with a S/O who is getting harassed by a guy and they go to beat the hell out of the person who is harassing Y/N? i hope this isnt breaking any rules

.It's not, don't worry. As long as it's not the characters doing it, and are just comforting the reader, then I'm fine with it. I just won't write the explicit details

Warnings: Mild violence, implications of almost s*xual assa*lt, female reader implied (sort of) but no pronouns specified

Junko, Mahiru and Maki Protecting their S/O from Assault

Junko Enoshima

“Get the fuck away from them, you piece of shit asshole!”

She arrived on the scene before he put his hands on you, thankfully

But it still ended with her foot on his throat and you having to pull her off

She gave him a final glare before taking your hand and leaving the scene

He’s never gonna bother you again, especially with her influence

Once you’re out of his sight, she immediately makes sure you’re okay and that he didn’t touch you

Then she presses kisses all over your face while holding you close (if you’re comfortable with it)

She’s gonna tell her sister about it and have her deal with the motherfucker later

But for now, her main focus is on you

She’s gonna hold you close for the rest of the night, stroking your hair and giving you soft kisses

Plus, she’ll give you thousands of affirmations, to help dissuade any negative thoughts that nasty prick planted in your head

She’s gonna keep a close eye on you next time you’re out together

And on any sleazy weirdos who flirt with you

She’s never letting that happen again

Mahiru Koizumi

“Get away from them, you creep! Never let me see you near them again!”

As sharp-tongued as she is around guys, she isn’t one to get violent most of the time

Except this time

Nobody touches her baby and gets away with it

She’s gonna land a good few punches, and send one final kick to his nuts

The second he’s out of your sight, she starts fretting over you

“Are you okay?? Are you hurt? Did he touch you? Oh, I should have been here sooner I’m so sorry-”

You’ll have to kiss her to make her calm down

It’s not gonna quell her worrying, but she’s so incredibly grateful you’re okay

She’s not taking her eye off you for the rest of the night

She’ll tend to your every need, and hold you to make you feel safe

You can feel how stiff she is while she’s holding you

Give her another kiss, and she’ll give you a small smile

Her protectiveness over you increases by like, a 100 after that

No more going out without her

Anyone who even looks at you weird is getting an earful from her

It can be overbearing, but her heart’s in the right place

Maki Harukawa

No words

Just pure, smoldering rage

She doesn’t even utter her famous line as she takes out the knife she keeps in her boot

Although her actions are telling enough

She’s gonna give him a good beatdown before leaving a small battle scar

She wants to go further, but not in front of you

“Stay away from them, or you will die. I’m not afraid to take out disgusting creeps who bring harm to my partner.”

Once he runs (or rather, limps) away, she takes your hand and brings you to her dorm

She doesn’t say a word on the way back

Once she closes the door, she takes you in her arms; a tight, strong hold

You can feel her shaking a little bit while she holds you

You head straight to the bed, and lay down in comforting silence

She runs her fingers through your hair as you rest on her chest

She doesn’t have much to say, so she expresses it through her touch

She hopes it’s enough to let you know that you’re safe, and that she’s always gonna protect you

She whispers it to you as you fall asleep

After that, you’re gonna have a protective assassin girlfriend on your arm while you’re out

She’s sending death glares to anyone who seems sketchy in any way

Things could have been far worse if she hadn’t been there, and she’s never letting anything like that happen again

Anyone who tries is gonna talk to the knife

One time was enough, but she’s not giving second chances anymore

#danganronpa #danganronpa x reader #danganronpa trigger happy havoc #danganronpa goodbye despair #danganronpa killing harmony #junko enoshima x reader #mahiru koizumi x reader #maki harukawa x reader

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phantomspiderr · 1 year

Text

New Year

Pairing: Marc Spector x gn!reader

Word Count: 2.5k+

Summary: Layla invites you to her New Year's Eve party where you get the chance to meet her ex-husband

Warnings/Tags: mentions of drinking and partying, kind of want drunk Layla around now, Marc maybe being just a little creepy, he really doesn't know how to act around people sometimes, fireworks are mentioned too, again no real mentions of readers appearance or gender(I tried to use they/them so it's a little more neutral), Steven gets a lil mention, a little swearing too. As always if I've missed anything please let me know!

a/n: Thank you, thank you all so so so much for making this year better. If you're a casual follower of my very infrequent posting or this is the first time you've come across my work, I thank you. Being able to express myself in this way has been freeing, and stressful but I'm glad I could bring any amount of joy to even one person. Thank you for every like and every reblog and every comment. I wish you all the best for this new year, may it come with happiness and joy and hopefully more really good fanfiction to read. Sending you all a little bit of love🤍

･☆: *.☽ .* :☆

Music blares throughout the flat as you weave around the people littered through the hallway. Parties definitely aren’t your favourite place to be but for your friend, you’d do anything she asked, plus it’s New Year's Eve so you thought why not. You may not have recognised a single person since you’d arrived but this is fun, this is what you’re supposed to do at your age right? Before you have any more time to fret a squeal sounds from behind you, your name quickly following, “you came!” When you turn Layla is quickly coming towards you with her arms wide open, a few people looking in your direction now because of the noise. You only manage to squeak out a hi before you’re encompassed by Layla, her arms tight around your shoulders, the force of her body against yours knocking the wind out of you. She pulls back only a little to cup your face in her hands, “I’m really glad you’re here.” You can tell by the tint of red on her cheeks she’s already a few drinks down which apparently makes her a bit more affectionate.

“Layla!” A small group of people enters the room immediately drawing the attention of the beautiful host to them, her hands dropping down to yours and she squeals again. Quickly turning back to you for just a moment, “I’ll come find you later! Have fun! Enjoy!” And just like that, she’s off running to greet more of her friends.

You wander around the decently sized flat for a while after that, finding a drink in the makeshift bar set up in the kitchen along the way, briefly chatting to a few people around, and then of course you find yourself a quiet corner. Looking amongst shelves filled with treasures and memories of Layla’s many adventures, she’d told you stories over casual lunches, even invited you on her next one. Still, even after being friends for very nearly a year, there’s still so much mystery that follows her everywhere she goes. You eventually come across a picture of someone you recognise, Layla’s father, the one person she was more than fond of talking about. She’d told you many, many tales about her father, about all the places he’d been, the things he’d discovered, and about how she wanted to be just like him. You admire the picture in its intricate gold frame, a small pendant hangs on a chain over the top of the frame, something you’re sure is a treasured possession. Your hand moves upward, fingers extending to the pendant just to get a better look at it-

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” your hand retreats to your chest so quickly you almost knock the drink out of your other hand. The person who spoke much too close for your liking, and then the chuckle that follows your gasp is short-lived as you turn to the source of the warning. You’re met with an incredibly good-looking man, his hair loosely slicked back and an amused smirk gracing his really handsome features. If he hadn’t just creepily snuck up on you you’d maybe be interested in talking to him and your expression clearly shows that when you turn back around in hopes he’ll just disappear. He doesn’t. “Sorry, it’s just that she’d be devastated if that went missing.”

“I wasn’t going to steal it.” You snap a little too harshly but then again you think he’s insinuating you’d steal from your friend. You’re increasingly becoming more frustrated the longer he stands over your shoulder, his presence is too much for you.

“I didn’t say you were. I’ve met a lot of thieves, you’re definitely not built for that.” You’re annoyed now, scowling at this complete stranger when you turn back around.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Just as the man opens his mouth to reply Layla appears again, her arm hooking around your waist to pull you closer and your face instantly changes, smiling at your ever-so-happy friend. Your own arm wrapping around her, glad for the interruption, she scrunches her nose as you exchange cute little hi’s.

“Are you having fun?” The people pleaser in you manages to get out an 'mhmm' and force a fake smile, not that Layla would notice right now. You’ve only seen her in this state maybe a handful of times, she’s less observant and much more carefree. Your eyes flicker back to the stranger still lurking across from you, Layla only now registering his presence, “ahh Marc! You met Marc!”

Marc? That’s Marc?!

Layla had told you all about Marc and even tried to set you up with her ex-husband. What kind of friend tries to set you up with their ex-husband? That is exactly what you’d said to her before changing the subject, every time she tried to bring it up. You’d somehow managed to miss every opportunity to meet most of Layla’s other friends, lots of them living in different countries and only coming to visit for short periods of time but you knew Marc had lived here and you’d personally avoided trying to meet him, not wanting to make things awkward. You knew Layla’s type for partners, they were all extremely good-looking and in your opinion way out of your league and you just didn't feel like having another unrequited crush.

“This is the husband?!” You finally manage to get out with confusion etching your features as you look between the pair.

“Ex! Ex-husband!” Marc is a little too quick to correct. You’re sure you hear a ‘smooth’ and when you look at Layla she’s grinning. Marc only gives her a grumpy look before quickly excusing himself from the conversation.

“Soooooooo,” Layla draws out as she turns to face you, her hands slipping into your free one, “what did you think?”

“Of Marc?” Your face scrunches, to which Layla just scoffs, “you didn’t tell me he was a creep.” She scoffs again, this time giggling a little.

Layla leans in as if to whisper, she even has the audacity to lift her hand to the side of her mouth but the alcohol in her system inhibits her from being able to lower her volume, “he’s just nervous to be around you. He gets weird like that around people he likes!”

“Excuse me?!” You go wide-eyed, did you hear her right? But of course, before she gets a chance to reply someone calls her name, and her head whips around, your conversation was completely forgotten to her now.

“Oh, come on they're playing beer pong!” Layla tugs at your hand, a disappointed pout appearing when you shake your head and begin to decline, “please, please, please.” She begs in the way she knows you can’t say no to and so you let her drag you toward the kitchen, still thinking about the short conversation you'd just had.

It’s almost midnight when you stumble out of the kitchen, many games of beer pong down and an even drunker Layla staying behind to do shots. Drunk Layla has exactly no inhibitions and is definitely more affectionate than normal Layla. Now you’re in need of some fresh air, all of the laughter and closeness in the kitchen is proving a bit much for you. Luckily you can see no one has made it out to the little makeshift balcony so you awkwardly climb through the window. Once outside you feel like you’re able to breathe again, you truly hadn’t realised how stuffy it had been inside. You manage to take in a deep breath before the cold hits you hard, and your body immediately reacts. Your arms wrap around your body, hands rubbing along the tops of your arms to create some warmth.

“It's cold out.” You jump again at unexpectedly hearing Marc’s voice, turning on your heels thinking he’s behind you only for no one to be there. “Up here,” you look up to the side when he talks again, there he is perched on top of an old chimney, giving you a shy wave.

“You know you have the whole creepy stalker thing down,” you speak half-heartedly but still he chuckles.

“Hey, you came to me this time.” He raises his eyebrow and shrugs his shoulders.

“You are the one sitting alone like some bird on the rooftop,” your arms fold over your chest now and Marc mumbles something you don’t quite hear before he effortlessly slides off of the chimney and casually walks down the slight incline of the roof like he’s done it a hundred times before.

“I’m not really one for parties,” you watch as he shrugs off his thin jacket, leaving him in just a t-shirt and you wonder how he isn’t freezing out here and why he's even taking his jacket off, to begin with. “Y’know it’s December, you really shouldn’t go out without a jacket,” he holds the material out to you which your confusion-clouded brain takes. Then he turns away to lean his elbows down on the balcony railing, looking out onto the lively streets of London. You feel yourself soften a little, maybe you were a bit quick to judge him and brand him a creep.

“Me too,” you pull the jacket on and join him next to the railing, watching people in nearby streets celebrating.

“So, how come you’re here?” Marc twists his head to the side so he can just look at you.

“Layla,” Marc hums in agreement, “said she’d disown me if I didn’t.” That makes Marc laugh which turns out to be a pleasant sound when you don’t think he’s trying to be some kind of perv.

“Sounds like something she’d do.”

“She didn’t actually say that, it was more like,” you think for a second, preparing yourself for your best Layla impression “‘please you always miss my parties, I want everyone to meet you!’” Your hands had somehow gripped onto his bicep in the process, exactly how you remembered the conversation with Layla going.

It all makes Marc laugh again, “that sounded nothing like her!”

“Eh, close enough,” you lean your elbows against the railing, mirroring Marc’s stance now. The balcony is so small that you have no choice but to stand a little too close to him. There’s a little pause, Marc’s laughter dying out but the sound of the party still flowing through the window. “So, how come you’re here?” You nudge your shoulder against his arm to draw his attention.

“Uh, something similar.” Suddenly he’s acting a little hostile, his body goes more rigid and his expression hardens a little. Then there’s an awkward silence and you just try to focus on some passersby on the street below. “She was a bit more like ‘please! I want you there and you need to leave the house. Plus I know you want to meet a certain person and I promise to make sure they’re there!’” You lock eyes together for a quiet moment before both bursting into laughter.

“That was terrible!” You choke out between laughs and before Marc has time to reply, loud calls draw your attention away. Everyone inside seems to have crowded around all facing the tv and all shouting along with the countdown appearing on the screen.

“Hey look out right over there, between that gap in the buildings.” Marc points out off to the side, stealing your attention back and you look hard for what he’s trying to point out. You can only see the hue of light coming from buildings and street lamps, nothing else.

“There’s nothing-“

“Just wait,” you look at him confused for a moment but his eyes are transfixed on the horizon and you can just hear him whispering along with the loud countdown coming from inside.

3…2…1…

The sky explodes into colour in front of your very eyes. Fireworks light up the night sky, far enough away that the bangs aren’t too loud but the view is still spectacular. You can hear cheers all around, from inside Layla’s flat to the pubs down the street. Marc’s face glows with the colours in the sky and he’s smiling while he watches the fireworks. He almost looks childlike like this, like he’s never experienced it before and he’s captivating.

“Happy New Year then.” Marc straightens suddenly, catching you completely off guard, almost like he’d just snapped back into his body and he just holds his hand out toward you. Slowly you raise your own hand into his, replying with a simple, “happy new year.” You both shake hands, probably the weirdest way someone has ever wished you a happy new year.

“Oh come on!” You both turn to see Layla on the other side of the window, the look on her face one of exasperation, and her eyes lock with Marc’s, “if you don’t kiss them now then I will!” Immediately you snap your head back around to look out at London, trying desperately to hide the flustered look you’re sure is showing on your face right now. Sober Layla definitely isn’t that forward.

Just for a second Marc’s accent changes as he starts spitting out apologises on your friend's behalf, "I-no-we don’t have to-" he pauses for a second as if he’s centering himself, takes a deep breath, and talks in his normal voice again. “I think I’m just going to go sober her up a bit.”

“Yeah good idea,” you try to suppress the laugh at Layla’s disagreement to be sober and the way she runs off to hide as Marc tries and fails to catch her arm before she can disappear. He lets out a big sigh before climbing back in the window, leaving you to your own devices for just a second before his head pops back out the window.

“Don’t- uh, don’t leave yet okay?” His face contorts a little like he doesn’t know what to do with it before he gives you an awkward smile.

“Okay,” you chuckle out, immediately pausing when he smacks his head off of the half-open window, "oh-oh my- are you-"

“‘m fine, it’s fine.” He holds onto the back of his head, eyes shut real tight for just a second and he just awkwardly turns away and back around, lifting his hand almost like to wave before dropping it again, "okay I’m just-" he turns and walks away. You move to stick your head through the window into the flat just to make sure he’s okay and you only just hear him mutter, “for fucks sake Steven.” Steven?

You retreat back out of the window and only then do you realise you’re still wearing his jacket. Quickly you peer back into the flat to try to catch him, “Marc-“ your eyes scan across the room, “and you’re gone.” You sigh before moving away from the window again, surely him asking you not to leave meant he wanted to see you again, or something like that, right?

You pull your focus away from your thoughts, instead looking back out at the night sky. It’s rare to see any stars in the London sky but littered around are little white dots accompanying a beautiful half-moon. Maybe this year wouldn’t be so bad after all.

#marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector fanfic #marc spector fic #marc spector #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you #moon knight fluff #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #marc spector fluff #marc spector fanfiction

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greycaelum · 2 years

Note

91.hide and seek

29. lifting him/her out of excitement

[Gentle Affection Collections]

Jujutsu Kaisen: Elf Gojo Satoru X Village Maiden Reader

[Gentle Affection Collections]

Request 91 & 29 [ List is Here ]

—hide and seek & lifting her out of excitement

Notes & Warning: elf Satoru, betrayal, run away bride, forced arrange marriage (unsuccessful), spiriting away if you squint, ; Word Count: 2.2k

"I was thinking of Vampire or Elf Satoru, and here it is, Elf Satoru wins. I hope you enjoy this and thank you for joining!" —Grey

Woods

"Satoru? Come out, this is not amusing." Your toes curled as you duck to avoid the thick bark of the trees and find your way through the forest.

"Satoru, come out." A strong gust of wind swept through you, blowing the loose ribbon of your hair, freeing your soft tresses with the breeze as they flutter down your back.

Your heart grew anxious as you shiver from the cold. You know he always has his eyes on you, perhaps even if you fall into the darkest pit he will find you but the worry is creeping into your heart as you try to search even for his shadow. Walking and evading the woods you find yourself at a crossroads.

"Satoru?" Perhaps he has already gone back. A matter that needs his immediate attention to leave you without a goodbye. It's not the first time he disappears into thin air.

Disappointed, a tired sigh slip past your parched throat from all the blind chase.

"What's with the sigh, Precious?" An airy laugh resounded behind you. Pale, slender fingers fiddled the locks of your hair and brought it to his smiling lips for a gentle kiss

"I thought you left." Your lips pursed as you turn around.

A man dressed in sheer purple flowing robes with a belt made of silk, sparkling like a starlight river secured around his waist stood before you. His height towers over as a shade from the straining sunlight through the foliage. Hooded orbs that glisten like sapphire and turquoise search for your eyes, looking at you as the center of his world as he fondly fiddles with your hair... His long white locks cascade like a waterfall parting on his pointed elvish ears down to his broad shoulders.

"Didn't you say you are going to seek for me?" He said, a tad apprehensive from your pout. "Did I upset you my Precious Flower?"

It's the way he said those words in cajoling that your heart simply cannot bear to find fault in him, not that he has.

That's right, you were playing a game that the village children play. Your eyes wandered to the otherworldly beauty before you. For a second he may seem to hold so much of the world that you could ever know but his eyes are filled with unspeakable depth.

Subconsciously your hand found its way to the beautiful elf's cheek, caressing the smooth white jade-like face. He has always worn a look of ethereal forlorn deep in his sapphire irises that moves your heart whenever your orbs held his.

"My bad Satoru. You were gone for a long and I was worried."

As soon as you say those words you realize how foolish they sound. The man before you holds the forest and earth beneath his feet and the under his disposal.

"You're the only one who frets over a trivial matter. No one can hurt me." Satoru conjured a coral peony and carefully pinned it behind your left ear, tilting your chin with a satisfied smile on his lips.

"Y/n?!"

Your friend's voice echoed through the trees. A sign that your rendezvous is about to end.

"I will lead you until the borders of the woods." Satoru offered his hand to you. The slender thoughtful hands lead you as the trees bend and give way to you and their lord.

"I'll come and visit." You promised. The mouth of the woods coming into your view.

Satoru simply smiled tucking your hair at the back of your ear and brushing the beautiful petals of the flower he gave you. A brush of sparkle kissed you, turning the flower ever vivid to behold.

"Y/n?!" Your cousin's voice got nearer and nearer signaling its time to say goodbye for now.

"I'll go now..." You murmured, squeezing your elf's hands and slowly letting go.

But before your hand could fully free from his grasp Satoru held on to your little finger and brought it to his lips, rewarding your pretty trim nails with a gentle kiss of parting.

"I will wait. Be careful." His lips smiled but it never reached his eyes.

"Y/n there you are!" Your cousin gasped.

"Hey," you glance back to where Satoru was standing but there was no more.

"Stop scaring me every time you enter the woods." She reprimanded you. Pulling you away from the gloomy trees while she shivered. "This place is so creepy."

The villagers told all the little kids to keep out of the forest for fear of the unknown elements lurking in the dark depths of the woods. A young and beautiful maiden like yourself is one of the many that entered the woods and never came out. But you were never one to listen, not when you could touch what's beyond these woodlands.

"Why are you putting the flower in your left ear? It's in the right, silly Y/n."

She chuckled and reach out to touch the flower but you held her hand away from your face.

"We should go, it's gonna rain soon." Coldly, you went ahead towards your house.

Your village is nowhere to be called an impoverished one. It is a thriving community almost considered a city by the forest all thanks to the bounties of the earth and minerals. All the traders and merchants pass by to sell their goods. Having astonishing beauty gave you privileges. The praise and favor of everyone in the village and the foreigners. The bolts of silk and ornaments coming from all corners of lands you've only read in books as tariffs to the village accepted by the village chief—your grandmother all go to you. Her beloved precious lass.

But all things come at a cost.

"You must go. He is the only suitable man for you." Your mother refused to bend down.

"He already has a son. You're asking me to be the bride of some stranger whose son is the same age as me? I don't even care if he has 10 wives and grandchildren. But marrying me to a man I never met?" You cried in frustration from the absurdity of what they are asking of you.

A man. Old enough to be your father. Nonetheless, a wealthy and influential man heard about you and sent a proposal for marriage.

"That fate is better than being taken into the woods and never coming out for the rest of your life. Never seeing you until we die." Your mother hissed. She pushed you aside and barge into your room, calling your helpers to pack your bags and prepare for departing to the village hundreds of miles away.

This is stupid. No one is going anywhere. All these people kept fearing the woods when it is the woods that has sustained and brought the village prosperity from all its bowels and roots. You march out of the house in anger. Since no one is interested to listen to you. Fine!

You could be treated no less than a carrier of offspring. A decorative trophy that keeps her mouth shut and stands behind her husband. For all, they care you could be the 10th wife.

"Satoru!" You shake off the branch of the tree from your face. "Where are you?" A broken-hearted cry rang out in the cold mist. The trees look ghastly, shadows of foliage like monsters concealing their forms clouded over you.

"Sator—agh!"

You slipped sliding down to a puddle. A burning sting spread through your ankle, your chest pounded hard feeling the damp ground dirty your dress. The sun has fully sunk and the crows are singing their haunting call like a requiem of dread in the dark woods.

"Y/n!" You heard the villagers calling out for you and the crackling of their torches.

They will drag you home and you'd probably be locked up in the carriage making sure you'll never run home. Abhornment filled your heart at how your mother tells it as if marrying you off is a better life sentence than living in the woods.

The voices grew louder prompting you to gather yourself and get away from here. Wading through the thickets of shrubs and trees you push deeper into the forest, unminding of what direction you take as long as you can get away.

It's alright, Satoru will lead you out. He always had, and always will.

"She's here!" Someone screamed, you look back in horror at the man holding a blazing torch. An unfamiliar face that you could swear came with the carriages of dowry to buy you.

You can but the long skirt got caught in the trunk of a dead tree ripping apart the fabric you took off in a panic. Your heart is beating in your throat, ears ringing in static as you run without a break fully blinded to where you're running to.

Until a harsh force yank you back and all you saw was darkness.

"Mother, why does Father always tuck the flower in your left ear while mine is in your right ear?" Your child self admired the flower tucked in your mother's left ear. Your father simply laughed and bid goodbye as he left to work.

"It means I'm already with the person I choose to spend the rest of my life with. While you my dear are still waiting and finding for yours."

Your eyes fluttered open and a canopy made of intricately carved wood with sheer glistening silk-like starlight hang loosely to provide ample privacy.

Your first inquiry is, where are you?

You remember the chase in the woods and after you've been grabbed back you lost consciousness. Did they catch you? Is this your gilded cage? Bought and crafted to fit your stature as a mistress.

The door creaked open but you made no move to see who it is. The footsteps were light, making no sound except for the sound of wood creaking open and the gentle whistle of the breeze.

"Milady, the Lord is waiting for you." The voice was of a woman, it sounded airy and strange. But you didn't dare to make a sound, turning to your side and closing your eyes in denial.

Layers of sheer purple silk dress with beaded diamonds hang on a stand. The dress is thin and danced with the wind but when you put it on it perfectly fitted you, with the outer purple robe you look simple yet regal in the flowing dress. You let your hair down and steeled your face allowing no room for any emotion to show.

"I shall take my leave, please ring the bell if you need this servant's assistance." The woman left you alone and you released a breath you'd been holding inside. Everyone has abandoned you. Before you could stop it, fat beads of tears started rolling down your cheeks from the bitter betrayal.

For a long time, you silently cried, not allowing a whimper or sob to be heard by the walls. When you've drained yourself, knowing you won't have any more tears to offer even if they taunt or degrade you, you stood up and wash your face with a bowl of water prepared by the side table.

Outside a line of maids bowed down to you and lead you to a majestic castle. The structure is too foreign for you. This place is crafted from the roots of a giant tree and everything around is green with a dash of glitters floating in the air.

"What are tho—" Before you could ask you have arrived at the place and a loud voice announced your arrival.

Your heart forgot the spectacle and hardened as the door slowly opened. A tiled path stretch afar and your eyes followed it upon a man sitting on a Malachite Throne. His soulful eyes bore in your soul faltering your heart bringing the valve of your tears to loosen.

Waiting sapphire irises surveyed you as he stood up and descend his throne. Every step he took and every breath you take you could feel your knees buckle with the sole question in your mind.

Why?

In less than a minute everyone vacated the room leaving you and the man with privacy.

"Come," his hand beckoned you to him. "My Precious Flower."

Your heart pounded in confusion and relief at the same time. Your feet almost stumbled as you threw yourself in his waiting arms. But he easily caught you and lift you up from the ground settling you in his bicep as his other hand held your waist, your forehead against each other.

Traitorous tears roll down as Satoru shush you. But this time it's not from agony but from the happiness of being in his arms. Satoru's brows furrowed in your tears as he wipe them away with his thumb, cooing to you until your frustration subsides.

"Why?" You breathe and open your eyes to stare into this beautiful elf's iridescent eyes. Gone was the forlorn sadness in his eyes, it was replaced with tranquil and determination as he answers you.

"You're finally mine, My Empress."

—GreyCaelum

PLAGIARISM IS A CRIME

Check out the Masterlist for more

All rights and credits of the Jujutsu Kaisen character(s) mentioned image(s) and song(s) used belongs to their respective owner(s)

General Series Taglist: @ice-icebaby @aeanya @gumidreams

#[gentle affection collections]#elf gojo #jjk elf au #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagines #gojo satoru imagines #greycaelum #gojo satoru x you #jjk fluff

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marshmallowichiart · 11 days

Text

The supervillain cupped his dearest nemesis’s cheeks in his hands, drawing her closer to get a better look at her and her many injuries.

His violet eyes narrowed, a dark look replacing his usual levity.

“Who hurt you?” he demanded. “I want their names. Now.”

Divinity lowered her golden gaze. It was bad enough being hurt by those she trusted, all the worse to have her sworn enemy fretting over her like this.

“I’m a hero,” she insisted. “I get hurt all the time.”

But Psychopath wasn’t so easily dissuaded. “Divinity, let’s make this easier on both of us. Tell me who did this.”

“And if I don’t?” she pressed, daring to meet his eyes.

She hated the way he looked at her, hated him for everything he’d done to this city. Why then did he have to be the one to insist on comforting her?

“I’ve got you in my grasp, darling. Reading your mind would be as easy as taking candy from a baby.”

She knew that, of course. What she didn’t know was why he didn’t just use his powers and learn what she didn’t want to say.

“Then do it already.”

His gaze softened. The last thing Divinity wanted was his pity. She couldn’t bear to hold his gaze a second longer.

“I respect you enough to not pry this information from you. Not unless I have to.”

He really wasn’t going to let this go.

And that was enough to break the floodgates. Tears poured down her cheeks as she stifled a sob. The angelic hero said the perpetrator’s name in a whisper - a rival hero and her supposed boyfriend.

The violet gentleman thief pulled his nemesis into his arms, careful not to exacerbate her pains. His chin rested atop her silver head, gloved fingers mindlessly running through her hair.

“Shh, darling. Everything will be alright. Your dearest enemy Psychopath will make sure of that.”

She didn’t have to look up to know there was murder in his eyes.

#drabble #my writing #villain x hero #supervillain x superhero #oc divinity #oc psychopath #tw domestic abuse mention

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trashmouth-richie · 1 year

Text

TWIN FLAMES: 14

twin flames masterlist

WARNING: mentions of homelessness, rough times etc

W.C 3.5k

A/N: guess who’s back…. Back again. Sorry this took so long!!! 🫣

Oh my god. What happened to him? Why is he living on the streets?! Tears prick at your eyes as you frantically run to him, discarding the bags in your arms. “Eddie! Eddie! Are you okay?” You remove the vest from his head and move aside his blonde matted hair.

A mixture of suntanned, leathery burnt skin stares at you, “Hey this mine! Git yer own!” The appearance shocks you, it wasn’t him. This poor man was not your Eddie.

Your heart breaks for a second time. The temporary tape on your heart mending it together in hopes that this poor man was in fact Eddie, is now peeling back faster than a greedy child opening a Christmas present. You were upset but needed answers. The vest meant that Eddie was here at some point in time and either lost it or donated it, but you could hardly think that he would give it away.

“Wh-where did you get the vest! It’s my friends—where did you find it?!” you ask angrily, your mother trying to drag you back from him by your upper arms.

“Found it, fair ‘n square! Out by the motel off’d the innerstate. Jus layin’ there.”

“Thank you sir,” your mother says, cautiously handing him a $20 bill.

She guides you away, holding you and the bags as you cry into her shoulder. What happened to him? Was he hurt? Injured? Lying in a hospital somewhere? Dead? Where the fuck is he?

The ride home is quick considering your hysterical crying ended up with you involuntarily falling asleep against the window, waking to find that your mom was just pulling into the driveway. The ache behind your eyes is too much, pressing into your head like coiled springs in a mattress—ready to spring free from the weight of your tears and anguish. Throwing yourself out of the car you gather the shopping bags and head inside, your mother quick on your heels.

“Honey, are you— are you alright?” She asks, eyebrows knitted with worry shoulders sagging in defeat.

You shake your head back and forth slowly, letting the weight of today consume you again as a sob racks your entire body. “I just need to lay down,” you blubber through an overflow of tears. She nods and takes the bags out of your hands, guiding you through the front door and watching you rush up the stairs to your room. Flopping onto you bed, your mind spirals out of control.

Why? Why did he leave? Why did he run to Indianapolis? Is he okay?

A thousand questions split your head, scattering around it like lightning breaking against a blackened sky. Your heart aches for him, it feels like it’s in a blender, swirling around, breaking down its soft edges, making it a bloody valve smoothie. The love you had for him was deeper than anything you’ve ever felt, it wasn’t a first kind of love all pristine and painted with daisies. This love was deeper than that. The fact that he was gone now and you not only didn’t know where he was but he possibly wasn’t safe. The thought of Eddie dead, lying somewhere on a cold street alone, body twisted and broken made you want to puke. No thinking now. You run to the connected bathroom and puke again and again until there is nothing left. Tears cloud your vision as the memories of just weeks ago in this very bathroom invade your head.

[Lighting a few candles and moving your essentials from the shower over to the edge of the tub, you turn out the lights. You remove your panties and Eddie his socks, the only clothing he had remaining. Eddie climbs in and you climb in after him, wedging yourself between his long skinny legs, leaning back against him.

This is paradise. The soft flicker of the candles casting dancing shadows against the walls in the bathroom. Eddie is humming along to music only he can hear. He lifts your left arm up and strums a guitar on your stomach moving his left fingers frantically across your arm for the frets. He sings in your ear. ]

A smile breaks across your lips at how simple things were in that moment, how desperately in love with you he was. His simple touches, feeling of his hands in your hair. The memory now feeling like a drunken night, remembering patches of the truth, a black out of if this really happened or not. He was everywhere, all around you. There wasn’t a single place in your home that a ghost of him didn’t surround. You needed him, didn’t he need you? Didn’t he love you anymore? Didn’t he care about all the times you had in the short amount of time you two had known, loved, and cared for one another. The passion behind your love, the twin flames energy bringing you both together, fighting to stay together, for you love to last. Was that all for nothing? Steve going to rehab, Mike Wheeler shooting Billy?! All of that was for him to just up and leave? Cast you aside like a used condom? Wash away all of his feelings for you in the rain that night as he screamed and was tortured by his own demons, projecting them onto you? No. You needed answers and you needed them now.

You wipe your mouth and stand up, looking at yourself in the mirror, you had seen better days. The hallows of your cheeks were deepened, the sparkle in your eye hadn’t been seen in months. You turn the sink on and splash some water onto your face. You grab your purse and immediately head down the stairs, pushing yourself faster to get your shoes on, get into your own car and drive to Hawkins, hoping to catch Wayne before he goes to work.

“…I mean it’s a lead right?” you flew to Hawkins in record time, catching Wayne right before he was getting ready to leave for work, explaining everything you had seen and what the homeless man told you.

Wayne rubs his scruffy beard, pacing around the small kitchen, “yeah it is, I’d put money on it. Goddamn boy, what the hell is he doing in Indianapolis?!”

“I’m going back, I’m gonna find him, Wayne and bring him home.”

“Darlin’ you can’t go alone.” Wayne protests, “I swear if anything happened to you, your daddy’d kill me, and I’d never forgive myself. Let me make a few calls and we will go together.” He leans forward quickly standing on his feet and making his way to the old phone hanging from the wall.

Wayne calls his work and tells them he won’t be in. You had both agreed to take your car since there was more room. “I’m gonna fill your car up quick, call your folks and let ‘em know what’s going on, I don’t want them thinking that you ran off too, they don’t want to know what that feels like.” He blinks back tears and grabs one of many caps hung by the door.

After calling your parents and explaining to them that you were going with Wayne to look for Eddie, your father had agreed to call anyone he knew in Indianapolis to keep an eye out for him. You decided to call Gareth, the only other person who might know Eddie better than you or Wayne. All of you together knowing Eddie on different levels.

Gareth had agreed to go with, almost giddy at the opportunity. He rushed down to the Forest Hills Trailer Park on his bike, the wind whipping between the tufts of the moppy honeyed curls on his head.

“Did you see anything else?” Gareth pipes up from the passenger seat. You were crammed in three across the single cab of Wayne’s pick up chugging along to Indianapolis.

“Just the vest, and the motel the guy mentioned.”

“God what the hell man?” Gareth snips, “Sorry, Mr. Munson.” Gareth checked, an awkward look upon his face.

Wayne shoots a glance over at Gareth, shrugs and says, “have you met Eddie? He isn’t exactly Mr. Proper.”

Gareth laughs, “I mean I get you guys broke up or whatever but he didn’t just leave you, he left all of us. Corroded Coffin, Hellfire Club— like none of it mattered to him, I’m gonna kick his ass when we find him.”

“Might have to beat Wayne to get to him first.” you smile softly as you look straight ahead, a smirk jumps across Wayne’s face.

You were so wrapped up in the way that you were hurt by Eddie that you hadn’t even given it a thought on how anyone else but you and Wayne were hurting from his disappearance. He abandoned everyone who loved him in Hawkins, anyone who had ever cared for him. It was sad, and you weren’t the only one who was clearly upset about it.

The drive wasn’t long, your car adding to the soft hums of some oldies radio station Wayne had insisted on listening too. The closer and closer you got to Indianapolis, the more worried you became, “Off the interstate?” Wayne asked, rubbing his scruffy beard.

You nod your head yes and intake a big breath. “What if—what if I’m wrong Wayne?” Tears threatening to spill over your lashes, as you wring the denim of your shorts. Gareth looks out the window, shuffling uncomfortably.

Deep in thought, Wayne tapped his fingers along the steering wheel. “We’ll just keep looking if that’s the case.” He smiles unconvincingly and turns his eyes back to the road.

The last thing you wanted to do was give Wayne false hope. He was hurting more than you were, impossible as that seems. The thought of burrowing a senseless hope for finding Eddie in Wayne made you physically sick.

The outline of the shady motel peered into view as Wayne craned the wheel into the parking lot, throwing the car in park and looking around at the office. “Well, this must be it,” Wayne says, peering out of the window. Neon lights of the motel were flickering. The parking lot was desolate, Eddie’s van nowhere in sight. Your stomach drops. “Let’s uh—let’s go find out what we can.”

Heavy footsteps move you all closer to the office following Wayne as Gareth trails behind you. The hotel was nearly run down, yellowing wallpaper sagging from the office walls, a fat lazy orange cat lays on the stained desk. Dying plants hung from the ceiling, decaying leaves scattered on the floor beneath them. A short brittle old woman with oversized glasses and a two pack habit thumbed through the yellow pages. Cigarette with a mile long ash hanging on for dear life. “Excuse me, ma’am?” Wayne asks with a stern voice, “have you seen a guy in here, about 20, longer brown hair, probably had a guitar?” He asks, “drives a two-toned van?”

The older woman thinks for a while, picking tuna from her teeth, “Room 38,” she said tossing Gareth a key, “and if you see him, you let him know that he owes for this passed week, and I’ll sell whatever he has in there if he doesn’t come back and clean up that mess!”

“Wait, what do you mean if we see him?” Gareth asks, “isn’t he here?”

“No idea, haven’t seen anyone go into or out of that room for about three days now.” She scowls, petting the cat as she feeds it the rest of a sad looking tuna sandwich.

“Thank you ma’am,” Wayne says politely, a slump to his broad shoulders as he heads out the door, hanging his head as he walks. The feeling of dread radiates through your body and pulls on your heart as you move toward Room 38. The broken slabs of sidewalk leading from the office to the door of room 38 are anything but comforting, the ‘3’ hanging on the door is held up by the bottom nail through the number, hanging slanted and upside down. Wayne quickly unlocks the door, eyes large as he shoves the door open.

The pay phone outside of Club Z barely worked, cords hanging on by threads, the receiver cracked and busted, more than likely broken from one too many slams against the pole it rested on, heartbreak on one end, drunken slob of a man on the other. Fumbling with a quarter he fits it into the slot, hammering the number he had memorized. Trying like hell to stand up.

He had tried so hard. So fucking hard to make this work, why wasn’t it working for him? Plenty of people left Hawkins and ended up fine, great even, why couldn’t he? He couldn’t get you out of his head. It was you who he saw when he closed his eyes at night, every single night since he left. The reality of his predicament weighing heavy on his mind, and his heart.

When it happened he just thought it was a stroke of bad luck. People get mugged in big cities all the time right? He would just have to get used to it, the busted up face? Nothing he hadn’t dealt with before. Only this time you weren’t there with him. He continued on like always, trying to sweet talk the manager of the club into letting him play a song, asking the band who did play that night if they needed an extra guy on vocals or bass. Only to be laughed out of the club entirely. But alas, he had kept his head up. Things weren’t good but they certainly weren’t the worst. He still had a little bit of money from selling some of his extra amps. A couple cans of spaghetti o’s could last him two days if he planned it out right.

And he could have kept going, could have made it—wouldn’t have been standing here clinging to the phone and trying to keep from falling over. If it hadn’t happened again.

The second mugging he was sure his ribs were broken, he wasn’t sure how many were broke, but it was difficult for him to breathe. The wound in his leg was festering and in desperate need of attention, but he didn’t care. He had lost all hope at this point, only finding thinking of you made the pain hurt a little bit less, like the blood pumped slower when he concentrated on your face, made him stop thinking about all the bad shit that continued to happen to him since he had been gone.

He was at a stoplight thumbing his fingers along to ‘For Whom The Bell Tolls’ when it happened. They came out of nowhere, whether he was too naive to see it, or simply wasn’t paying any attention, he had been blind sighted, punched in the head, and pulled hard out of the van, kicked into the ribs by at least two pairs of heavy boots, and then the final stab to the leg, ensuring he wouldn’t get up to chase them. As if that would be something he would do. They took the van and everything in it, some of his clothes, the last little bit of money to his name, and more importantly, his guitar. He was left bleeding in the street, blood painting the asphalt like a sidewalk artist with chalk.

That was two nights ago. And it has taken two full days to get back to this goddamn pay phone. He originally wanted to get back to the motel, possibly take a shower, lay in bed and then make his phone call, but he couldn’t make it that far. His energy was depleted. He just had a few numbers to punch in and then he could sit down. He wouldn’t hang up this time, he would wait for you to answer— you always did. He was just too chicken shit to say anything. But this time he needed you, needed help. Punching the last digit to your number Eddie felt woozy, closing his eyes and leaning back against the pay phone, not realizing his body is slipping down, fading into the sidewalk.

“Jesus.” Gareth muttered when the door to Eddie’s motel flung open. A quick scan of the room obviously revealed that he wasn’t there, but that he had been here at some point in time. The wallpaper was peeling from the wall in the corners, roof damage presented itself with pools of brown stains on the ceiling tiles. The shag carpet was coming up and tumbled in places that the adhesive no longer stuck to. The brass decorations clashed heavily with the warm copper and rust colored drapes and bedding.

Empty cans of spaghetti o’s and beer littered every surface, a carton of milk sat opened on top of the mini fridge, dirty socks, various band shirts and boxers littered the floor along with dozens of scraps of paper. Some just doodles of creatures from DnD others were song lyrics, scrawled across the pages in every which direction. A notebook and pen lay on the unmade bed, the mattress itself lay crooked on the mattress. Empty cigarette packs and a single guitar pic were on top of the tv. The room smelled like him, cigarettes and a hint of weed mixed with some cheap cologne. The nightstand held a telephone, a full ashtray and a book of matches. It was a mess. No wonder the old lady at the desk was pissed, it had looked like a tornado had come through here destroying everything in its wake and projectile vomiting it in complete and utter disarray.

“Let’s look for any signs of where he could be,” you decide, fumbling through the papers on the floor. Gareth started looking in the bathroom, finding nothing but strings of Eddie’s long mane stuck in the shower drain and crawling onto the sink like long legged spiders. Wayne looked through the pairs of jeans on the floor, searching the pockets for any scrap he could find. You adjusted the bed and took a seat reading through the scrawl of Eddie’s handwriting, laughing at how terrible it was.

The lyrics were full of pain, sorrow, the dark pits of despair of being alone. They were heartbreaking mostly because they were all about you. You didn’t have time for this right now, you quietly fold the papers and stuff them into the pockets of your shorts, wiping the tears away as quickly as they fall. Gareth fumbled around with his jean pockets, looking for a lighter, “anyone got a lighter?” He grumbles. You pick up the matches next to the table and toss them towards him, “gracias,” he chides.

“Holy fuck, holy fuck!” Gareth screams as he runs towards Wayne.

Wayne puts a calloused hand over his heart, “Christ you’re gonna give me a heart atta—”

“Look! Look!” Gareth is waving around the matches, like a child winning tickets at a fair. Wayne looks at the matches and grins, he tosses them to you. Printed on the back reads:

Club Z

Indianapolis, IN

‘Open 24 hrs’

Running to the office to get a phone book to find the address, Wayne and Gareth lock up Eddie’s room and start the car. You write the address down as quick as you can, getting a quick direction of where the club was from the older lady—you hurry back to the car.

Gareth sits in the passenger seat as you climb into the back Wayne wastes no time, speeding down the road to the direction of the club.

He’s swimming towards you. The closer he thinks he is the further away you get. Something's not quite right. Each time his head breaks the surface you’re standing exactly where he just was, waving him towards you, calling out to him. He tries again, but the same thing keeps happening. He’s pulled under the water, his lungs feel like they’re collapsing. He needs to breathe. He opens his mouth and takes a deep breath, expecting the taste of chlorine to fill his mouth instead it’s the sweet scent of vanilla icing, a hint of smoke, and Doritos.

His eyes flash open, and your face comes into view. Tears are dripping down his face but they aren’t his. He must be dreaming, how are you here in front of him.

“He’s awake! Wayne! He’s awake,” sobbing is heard from further away, but Eddie pays no attention to it. Only focusing on your face smiling at him, is this heaven?

Or is this hell? Surely you wouldn’t have come to get him, you wouldn’t have drove here to find him. How did you find him? No this is a fucking joke, a sick satanic dream. You didn’t want him, not after everything he put you through. Not after the way he treated you— left you at the end of your driveway crying like that in the rain. There’s no fucking way. This isn’t real, he needs to wake up. But you’re looking right at him and crying. So he must be dead. Your voice is fading in and out. He closes his eyes and paints a mental picture of your face behind his lids, a time when you were happy, a time when you were his.

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hearteyes-for-killmonger · 11 months

Text

The Matrimony

A/N: I was sleepy and accidentally posted the draft, but this is the story. I'd appreciate if this one was circulated instead of the other one. Thanks!

Summary: Erik and Aqua are getting married soon, but cold feet begin to creep in.

"Marriage is just what happens when you've been with someone forever."

Ever since Erik met Aqua in 8th grade, they've been inseparable. From high school sweethearts to college sweethearts, they've only taken breaks to feud over the inconsequential. He didn't tell her he was cutting off his locs and getting a fade, so she didn't tell him she was shaving off her long curly hair and dying what was left a platinum blonde. He didn't cry when her great-aunt Gigi died so she said he didn't care. She'd kissed a guy in their freshman year of college. He kissed a girl right after that. They'd split for a good two months then. It was a big thing for them at the time, but these are now memories they look back and laugh at.

As family and friends mingle and bond at their shared apartment over an intense run of scrabble, these are the stories they share. Aqua shows off the 1.5 karats on her well-manicured finger. It's been a nine-month engagement. Nine whole months have flown by since Erik first got on one knee to propose in front of everyone. The hall has been booked, the dress has been bought, the tux is in the closet. With the actual wedding occurring in a few weeks, Aqua has been busy and fretful. She has a vision and a supportive circle who will help her bring it to fruition.

In the meantime... days pass. She's pleasantly surprised when her friends take her to a day spa and then a dinner spot. She'd been looking forward to some bachelorette activities and they were finally happening. "How does it feel to finally be getting married," her good friend asks. "It's been so long, I'm surprised you didn't get married sooner."

Aqua had gotten that a lot through the years. People always had opinions on how long was too long to wait. Some said that if he wasn't ready yet, he'd never be. She wished she could invite those same people to her wedding just to shove it in their faces, but alas, she didn't have the extra seating.

Honestly, it felt 'right' in the way that being with him felt natural. She'd always envisioned herself married to the same man, since she was in middle school. Nothing had changed, absolutely nothing...

When the night comes, Aqua finds herself at a popular all-male strip club where nearly every guy is her type. It's a buffet for the eyes as she takes in the full-frontal nudity of muscled men with manly costumes and seductive moves. She's never been this close to a naked man who was not Erik, the love and main pillar of her life. Her friends buy her drinks, and they keep coming, giving her a liquid boldness that she's only experienced in college parties. It's been years. She stands eagerly in her princess crown when she's called to go on-stage with a male stripper by the name of Python. He has a python between his thighs... For the first time, Aqua is upside down, her legs over a stranger's shoulders as he simulates oral sex. For the first time, she lets a someone who is not Erik hump on her and grind with his naked dick against her body and she likes it. For the first time, she holds a dick in her hand and it's a different coloring. Python is a light bright. For the first time, Aqua starts to wonder what she's always been asked in the most private conversations. Is Erik good in bed because he's genuinely that nigga or is he good because it's all she knows with nothing to compare it to? Would she ever have an answer?

Across town, Erik sits in a sports bar, yelling at the screen with close friends and a restaurant full of sports fans. He's a little less surprised when his friends reveal a bachelor's party at one of their homes in his honor. "Bring out the liquor," he yells, throwing the party into full swing. When the thick, scantily clad strippers enter, his eyes follow each one. He's been a loyal man to Aqua thus far. He hasn't cheated nor has he entertained other women, but none of those women had thick juicy asses and thighs hanging free, demanding to be touched. No woman had been so bold as to take his hand and place it on her bare ass, until now. No woman has dropped to her knees with strong soul-stealing eye contact and held onto him as if to stop him from fleeing, until now. His dick was growing in his underwear causing a bulge which she kissed causing the hairs on his neck to rise. Though her forwardness was a moment for the books, the most notable part of this exchange was the fact that he knew her... very well in fact.

She rose to her feet and led him by his belt loop into his friend's bedroom, closing the door.

"Tierra?" He called her by her name, not a stage name, but the name he knew her by when they messed around for a strong month in college. That was a time he'd buried deep. No one knew about the relationship, not even his friends.

"You remember me." She smiled warmly, dropping the sex kitten routine to sit beside him on the bed. He took in the curves of her face, the shape of her eyes, and the fullness of her lips. She looked the same, despite all the make-up layered over her naturally stunning features. He touched her cheek, remembering how she used to lean into his fingers. She was perfect back then and even now.

"How could I forget?"

"You're getting married," she smiled, leaning into his fingers in that way that he remembered. Her eyes sparkled in the dim light as he gently moved his fingers to her hair. It was reflex. His body remembered her as if he'd been programmed. Every hotspot he'd ever found on her body glowed in his mind like a road map ready to be explored. The memories were instant and oh so very sweet.

"I thought about you," he admitted easily. It was true. He hadn't dumped her. Everything he'd felt for her was real. When he and Aqua split for two months in college, he was mad enough to sleep with another woman. It had led to an entire month of endless sex and deep conversation with a young lady who managed to steal his heart and break it in less than thirty days. A month later, he was back with Aqua as if nothing had happened. That was the last time he'd been with anyone else.

"Erik, I was scared. You'd just broken up with your girlfriend and I knew I was the rebound girl! I didn't mean to leave the way I did. I just didn't want you to hurt me."

"So, you hurt me first."

"I'm sorry... To be fair, at least you were able to get back with Aqua. I'm still looking for some poor fella who can handle all this," she gestures over her body and laughs. Erik's eyes are glued to every spot she gestures.

"I never would've left you. If you hadn't left me, who knows, maybe..."

"Maybe?"

The words hang on the tip of Erik's tongue. If she hadn't left, maybe he'd be engaged to her right now. Maybe their lives would be completely different.

Aqua sits nude and giggling in the hotel room her friends rented as Python gives her a private performance. He is having fun entertaining her with his python swinging in her face and she is getting handsy, stroking it. He smacks the tip on her tongue, feeling naughty. It's the only night she'll ever get to experiment, so she puts his dick in her mouth even further, swirling her lips around the tip. His hand rests on the back of her head as she sucks.

"That's right," he coaches, staring down. His abs ripple as he tenses before breathing in deeply. He loves his job.

Aqua wetly glides and bobs on the first three inches like she's learned to do with Erik. The sensation for him is at the tip, not the base. Erik likes when she holds the tip in her hand, looking into it like a volcano as she squeezes. Python's twitching can be felt on her palm, telling her he likes it too. Just like she's done since prom night, she sucks him right after. It builds pressure that causes the volcano to explode all over her tongue, her chin, and her hand. Even her leg gets some.

Python smirks at her expression. She is amazed by herself and proud that her method works on more men than just Erik. Boldy, she fondles his rippling body from his shoulders to his hips. His body is so deliciously supple yet firm, much like her fiance. She gropes his thick pecs while his hands hold tightly to her waist.

"Pull me closer," she requests as she's lifted in the air, carried to the single bed.

What if Erik is only good by comparison and this guy blows her mind? Will she forever imagine his dick and his body moving against hers while she's having sex with her husband? What kind of miserable sex life would that be?

Her thighs part and rise at Python's sides as she revels in her lust. Her friends have sworn to secrecy, voicing thoughts that she should've experimented many times over by now. Their voices play in her mind. There's a palpable determination in her eyes that comes in waves. It's intense, and then it wanes. Knowing what she's missing out on would fuck her up, but always wondering could cause her to do questionable things in her marriage.

Python takes a slow breath, gradually penetrating her body in a practiced manner. She tightens on entry as he slides in. Her hands continue to explore his large and heavy body, urging his ass closer to her hips and deeper as he moves his weight against her.

Instead of stepping out in her marriage, why not do it now? Over and over again...

Tierra puts her warm hand on Erik's as it rests on her cheek. He has a choice, and both options feel like the right one. He cups her face, his lips moving in slowly until they make contact with hers. Heaven... She feels like Heaven. Her lips are so soft. Her tongue greets his like an old friend. Desire climbs, consuming them whole.

"I wish I could rewind time," she whispers sorrowfully against his lips, crushing his last modicum of self-control. In a single sweep, he has her on her back and is on top, pushing his pants and underwear to his waist.

"I can make that happen." His kiss is eager and seeking, his fingers teasing and tracing the mapped zones of her body. "I want you to crave me, not only physically. I want to be part of your lasting DNA," he whispers against her neck as he sinks into her wet cavern, feeling her body quiver against his. His hands clasp into her hair, pulling her down onto his girthy eight inches. His teeth sink into her soft skin. "Tell me your mine," he grunts.

"I'm yours," her strained whisper breathes into the air as her body subtly shakes from the force of his moving against her. He can feel exctasy like electricity buzzing through her skin. They move like this for the better part of an hour, confessing their most sacred desires. Erik has spilled it all. In all his bravado, he is afraid to say those binding words at the altar. He's afraid to regret a mistake. Tierra holds his body still, and for a moment, they lie panting... lost in thought.

"What is marriage to you? Why are you getting married in the first place?"

The 'why' was never a thought, only 'why not'. Erik couldn't think of a reason not to love Aqua. There wasn't anything about her that turned him off so badly that he'd leave. She had no terrible habits. They agreed that she'd make an excellent mother. They got along well for the most part. So, why not marry her?

"I mean, we've been together since the eighth grade," he sighed as if the answer were obvious. It didn't feel so obvious when he said it aloud. In fact, it didn't seem relevant to the question at all. "Being with somebody for so long... you just- Marriage is the next logical step."

"Is it?"

"'Is it?' What do you mean 'Is it?' Of course it is," Erik sits up to gather his thoughts. "You date, you get married, you buy a house and have kids, a dog, it's a whole thing. Where have you been?"

"I don't know, I think life is more complex than that. You don't wanna regret, but the way you view life as having a set schedule and order... That's how you end up full of regret. Is that really the life you want?"

Erik sighs, his mind flooding with competing thoughts.

"I wanna be happy. Whatever that looks like. I want to wake up and love my life."

"Is what you painted the life you imagine when you close your eyes?"

"Tierra... I don't know, okay? I don't know."

It's her turn to sit up. "What do you mean you don't know? You know."

If he was deeply honest with himself, he did. He had a vision of happiness that was so far from what he'd outlined it was in a different zip code. In his vision, he was alone in peace. There were no women or children. Since he was a kid, he'd always been half of a couple. Never had he fully been able to revel in his solitude.

Telling Aqua that he wants to take a break seems like a daunting task that will shatter his chances of being with her. It feel selfish to separate when the wedding has been booked and paid for.

"What's that look," Tierra prods, gaining the full explanation as Erik continues to spill his truth.

Lost in the afterglow of passion, Aqua lays under the popcorned hotel ceiling thinking about the past few hours and how they stack compared to what she's accustomed to. Though she's thoroughly satisfied with Python's performance, she is not satiated. Something poignant is missing, which leaves the entire experience... Lacking.

The whole time in her mind, she was comparing. Python had this and that, versus Erik, who had that and this. She'd gone multiple rounds in bed, and still... Lacking.

What was it that she wanted? There wasn't anymore that Python could do. What more did she need? One drunken night wasn't enough to figure it out. She needed time, but how cruel would it be to push the wedding back so she could explore her individualistic needs? It felt selfish. Erik wouldn't understand, and she'd ruin her chances with him forever.

Aqua redresses in a robe and sees Python out the room door. Her friends aren't far. They're at the downstairs bar. She has a heavy decision on her shoulders to make. She doesn't want to disrespect Erik or the sanctity of their marriage, but what about her needs? She's never been single, exploring herself through others. She's never been alone with space to be honest within herself. She paces the floor before calling her friends.

Both Erik and Aqua had been working harder than ever to pay off the wedding, knowing that they deserved one that was wonderful and a honeymoon that was worthwhile. They'd decided years ago, Bora Bora was the destination. The money was aside to go.

Erik exits the bedroom redressed as his boys cheer his lascivious activities. Tierra remains planted on the bed as he announces his early departure.

"I'm going home to sleep with my wife," he jokes on his way out to shake the questioning. Actually, he has a lot of thinking to do, and he needs more than one night to do it. He calls his fiance, hoping that the call won't ruin her night. She answers fairly quickly.

"I thought you'd be buried in strippers by now."

"Same to you. What are you guys up to?"

"Just a little get together," Aqua paces, anxiously biting her nail. "I'm actually glad you called, I wanted to talk to you."

"Oh yeah? What about?" Erik sits straight in his parked car, anxiously grasping the wheel.

"Just... Do you like the direction the wedding is going so far? I feel like I'm taking over. It's for us, not just me. It's your wedding too." She rolls her eyes at her own cop-out.

"Nah... I mean, yeah it's our wedding, but you should have your spin on it. I'm cool with that."

Silence stretches between them as both parties can sense the other has something on their mind.

"Erik, I want to say something, but I just want you to listen."

"Ok." His fingers squeeze the wheel even tighter.

"I... I want to..." The words won't come out. Aqua can envision his face and it's hard for her to say something like this, let alone to his face.

"Aqua?"

"Yes." She sighs, wishing she could get it out.

"I want to take a break. It's nothing to do with you or another woman. Neither of us have ever been alone and before we come together permanently, I think we should spend a week alone."

"A week," Aqua gasps, feeling hit. It hurts her for some reason when he says it, although it's exactly what he wants. She has to take a deep breath and remember... This is what she wants. "Honestly, I'm glad you said it. I was thinking the same. I've never been with anyone but you, how is that fair?"

"I slept with someone."

The line goes quiet as Erik wonders if he's said too much. It's too fucked up. He shouldn't have told her.

"I did too," Aqua admits through a guilty squint. Erik's grasp on the wheel releases. "I thought you'd be more upset," she mumbles in confusion, hearing Erik's light chuckle of relief.

"No, I would be. I'm just relieved."

"Hm," Aqua pauses her steps, her mind whirling with new questions. She'd rather not know. "So, what now?"

"Meet me."

"Come to the Marriott downtown."

"The one near your office?"

"The one near the wedding venue... Ooh," she holds her mouth. "That sounds horrible." She hadn't even considered that she was fucking another man next to their wedding venue.

"I'll be there in 30."

As Erik drove to his fiance, he couldn't help but feel light. He sped past her friends on the lobby, rushing up to meet Aqua in the room. She'd straightened up, leaving no trace of her indiscretion. Face to face, they had a conversation about their personal needs, and the mutual need was space.

"What about the wedding," Aqua sighed. She didn't care about the actual marriage. She didn't want to lose their deposit. Neither did Erik, but he was willing to if it meant they both got what they needed.

6 Months Later

Erik is a single man who has been single for nearly seven months. He has an apartment and is still good friends with his ex-fiance Aqua. He's still good friends with a woman named Tierra. He's living his life alone, relishing in the peace and freedoms that come with. There are times that he does feel lonely, but even then... there's space for it.

Aqua is currently dating a new man for the fun of it. She's enjoying the newness of a relationship and the process of rediscovering a partner. She's seeing herself through the eyes of others, experimenting, and learning her preferences. There are times that she misses being in a relationship that feels lived in, but even then... there's space to let a new relationship grow.

Neither Aqua nor Erik knows what the future holds. They may very well get back together. But one thing is for sure. If there's a question of their love... it exists and will always exist.

The End.

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