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trashmouth-richie · 1 year

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eddie x fem! reader

masterlist

w/c 7.8k

summary: things heat up in more ways than one for the roommates, thanksgiving makes everyone thankful.

warnings: NO MINORS, language, fighting, mentions of child neglect, mentions of murder

a/n: thank you to my beta readers: @jo-harrington @sweetsweetjellybean pls check out their work they are both so amazingly talented 🩵 thank you to @blueywrites for screaming with me on certain parts of this story + @fracturedarkness for helping me plan future parts for this series.

again— I’m no longer doing a tag list for this series— this week as really opened my eyes to a bunch of shit in this world and I’m fucking pissed off about it.

“Do you think it’s enough food? Last year Mike ate all the mashed potatoes so I’m just hoping there is enough for everyone.”

The holidays were always a stressful time for most people, housewives stressing over meal planning, guest lists and matching outfits for their Christmas cards—ones that coordinated well and hid the fact that they were miserable with their lazy, limp dick husbands. Poor Nancy fell into that category all too well.

She’s walking circles around her dining room table, counting the dishes on her fingers. Ham, turkey, cheesy potatoes, mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole, corn, green bean casserole, a relish tray, strawberry fluff, gravy, two pumpkin pies, two pecan pies, a jello mold, two dozen caramel Rice Krispie bars, a pan of iced banana bars, and one can of jellied cranberry sauce on a crystal plate.

When Nancy asked you to join the Wheeler/Byers/Hopper’s gang for thanksgiving this year, you quickly accepted the invitation, asking if there was anything you could bring. She requested you bring the dessert. So the night before Thanksgiving, you started the tedious task of keeping Eddie from eating all the icing and caramel.

“Eddie! Have you seen the caramels I just bought? They were on the counter next to the flour canister.”

“Nope! Haven’t theen ‘em,” he answers all too quickly, “you thur you bought ‘em?”

“Yes I’m su—,”

Goddamn him.

Walking into the living room you approach the metal head, splayed out on the couch, fingers shoved in his mouth picking at his teeth, “oh Eddie?”

“Mhmm?” He hums, innocently, looking at you with big doe eyes.

“You wouldn’t happen to have caramel stuck in your teeth, the same caramel I bought and said, ‘please don’t eat these they’re for the Rice Krispie bars,’ would you?”

Rose colors his cheeks, “what? Me? Not listening? Ok O’Donnell,” he says with a scoff.

“Eddie,” you say sternly, hip thrown out and arms crossed over your chest.

“Ok! Fine! They were just so fucking good! But I’m dying right now— my teeth feel practically glued together— do we have any floss?!”

“Nance, I think there is more than enough here, you and Jonathan will have leftovers for weeks, months possibly.”

Fretting, Nancy wipes her fidgeting hands on her apron, “I just want it to be perfect— you know how I am.”

Type A, that’s how she was.

“It’ll be perfect, Nancy,” Jonathan agrees, coming up behind her and holding her around her small waist, “just like you.”

Scarlet heat accentuates her rouged cheeks. “Ok ok, no kissing the cook just yet,” she says, peeling herself from Jonathan’s arms, “can you and Argyle set the card table up in the basement?”

The turkey almost melted like butter on your tongue, the gravy was rich and savory. Karen’s cheesy potatoes were creamy and the crunchy cornflakes on top were to die for; the entire meal was delicious. The labor of Nancy’s love for her family and friends showing through her craftsmanship of amazing cuisine. You hadn’t seen Karen or Ted since the wedding, being the closest thing to parents you had, you were ecstatic when Karen joined you over the hot water and soapy sink, washing the china plates.

“So sweety, how have things been going lately? Nancy said you have a roommate?” Her tight blonde permed curls shaking behind her as she scrubs the pot used to make the gravy.

Drying the freshly rinsed dish, you answer with a coy smile on your face, “I’ve been good, doing better than I have in a while, yeah, I have a roommate, uhh Eddie Munson.”

“Oh Mike’s friend? He always was so kind to him, taking him under his wing and showing him the ropes in high school,” she looks at you then, her lavender eyeshadow catching the light over the sink, “I’m happy you two are dating.”

Dating.

Dating Eddie Munson.

Scenarios fly through your mind, Eddie holding your hand at the movie theater, him behind you—his chin resting on your shoulder helping you play video games at Arcade Land, watching him write songs and play his guitar, kissing his lips sweetly, deeply— moving down his neck, his chest. His fingers on your thighs—

You’re sweating.

Head dizzy and full of visions of you loving Eddie and Eddie loving you back dance in your head.

“W-we’re not dating, just—”

How would you describe your relationship with Eddie? Roommates? Friends? Waiting for him to kiss you?

“—friends,” you say, enunciating the word slowly, rolling it off your tongue.

“Well,” Karen says, a hidden smile on her knowing lips, “I’m happy you two are just friends.”

Friends.

Such a complicated word. Because you and Eddie were more than that, but definitely not dating. The tension between you was electric, and sometimes jarring, but you went to bed thinking of him every night, hoping he would just open the door to your room, slip beneath the sheets and hold you while you dreamed.

[Two weeks prior]

The morning after you had comforted him, you woke up alone— his side of the bed still warm as if he had just gotten up. Sleeping so soundly you weren’t sure what day it was, or the time. The alarm clock on your night stand said 7 o’clock but that couldn’t be right. You and Eddie had both slept for over twelve hours, the comforting kind of sleep that lulls babies to sleep, gentle, sweet, pillowy dreams in one another’s arms. Getting dressed for work, you slip a pair of jeans on, and change into a long navy blue cardigan, headband to match. Lacing up your converse, you open your bedroom door.

Eddie’s in his room getting dressed for work when you find him. Knocking on the opened door gently, you poke your head in, his eyes lift and meet yours, a sleepy, coy grin colors his face, but it doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Hey,” he whispers softly, stopping mid button on his work coveralls.

The black bandana around his head presses his bangs nearly flat, the soft waves of his chocolate dipped curls reflect the sun light with a honey oranged hue.

“Hi,” your voice is small and meek.

An overwhelming feeling of dread* clouds your mind. Where would this new found friendship and comfort lead you both? Maybe Eddie was regretting the entire night. You haven’t been on this comfort level with someone you were physically attracted to ever. Steve was like a brother to you. And Chad— you were never comfortable with him, your skin crawling just thinking of it. But Eddie? The sight of him gave you butterflies, his arms holding your waist while you slept was an intimacy you haven’t experienced before, and you wanted to relish in the feeling of it.

He fiddles with his rings on his fingers, rolling them around and around before his mouth opens to speak, “I’m sorry for yesterday,” he blurts out, looking down in shame, unable to meet your curious eyes.

Barely comprehending that he’s apologizing for being vulnerable, you walk towards him slowly. He notices your staggering steps and inches backward. His walls are back up, caged in with his feelings, barbed wire on the top so you couldn’t find a way in, electric fence surrounding the brick walls—the highest voltage imaginable.

“Ed—”

“Please,” he begs, voice cracked and broken, wavering on another breakdown, “please don’t… I don’t need your sympathy.”

Tears well in your eyes at his recoiling. How can a night of comfort turn into despair and hostility the next morning? Nose burning, signaling your brain that tears would be falling any second, you wipe your eyes hastily.

Eddie felt like his neck was out, exposed to the world, waiting for the guillotine’s blade to slice his skin, until the crimson of his blood spilled in the basket, severing his head, a trophy amongst the weak.

Munson’s didn’t accept charity, his whole life that's what he felt like to Wayne, a charity case, a goddamn roadblock in Wayne’s life stopping him from finding a girlfriend, sleeping on a real bed, forcing him to work overnight just for Eddie— he’d never forgive himself for the pain he’s caused him— and now you? Offering your bed to him, your fingers twirling through his hair as he came undone. Whimpering like an infant, coating your thighs with thick tears. Sure it felt nice to have someone there with him, to reassure him it was all going to be okay, sweet, angelic voice of reason. But when he woke this morning he felt disgusting, like a predator, a vicious wolf preying on a sweet innocent lamb offering herself to him because he was upset.

He didn’t want that for you. He didn’t want to taint your soul with his past.

“I’m not giving my sympathy,” you voiced into the void, whether he heard it or not you weren’t sure.

Eddie breathing heavily, trying to contain his emotions from spilling out of him, “good, because I don’t want it.”

He walks around you in a huff, the muted scent of cigarettes and cologne hit your nose, as he passes you and walks into the bathroom, shutting the door all too hard. Following him, you’re certain you are full fledged crazy at this point, like in a scary movie when the lead actress stays in the house instead of running away.

Opening the door, opening Pandora’s box, you push it til it swings wide, he’s hovering over the sink brushing his teeth, white and blue toothpaste decorate the corners of his mouth.

“Tooty,” he groans, spitting a dollop of toothpaste into the sink, “seriously— I don’t want to talk about it, whatever you have to say save it for the human Care Bear Harrington—I don’t want to hear it.” he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

Stones would be impressed with how still you’re standing, head raised waiting for him to look you in your eye. Refusing to break. A storm in your eyes threatening to flood. “Why are you acting like this?”

“I’m not acting like anything,” Eddie grunts impatiently, “are you ready?”

When you don’t say anything, he moves you out of the way, large hands around your arms, stepping around you and going into the kitchen.

Following him, you won't let up, his head in the fridge he pulls out the orange juice carton, drinking directly from the jug, “Eddie, you can talk to me about it, I’m a good listener.”

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes, gasping for breath as he swallows the citrus liquid, “I said— I said, I didn’t want to talk about it and I meant it, I’m a grown ass man— ”

Interrupting him, not giving him time to finish you blurt, “Doesn’t make you less of one just because you’re upset.”

His teeth clench so hard they almost crack, his hands balled into fists at his sides, the orange juice container crumbling in his grasp. Years of therapy as a child did nothing to help him. And neither could you.

“Stop,” he snaps, his eyes pinched tight, a wave of fury washing over him, only seeing red. “Jesus Christ enough! I don’t need this shit right now, I’m gonna be late for work!”

He stomps towards the door, shoving his boots on haphazardly, throwing his leather jacket under his arm, the same leather jacket you had worn the night before, your perfume lingering on the inside.

The smell of you lighting his fire even more, he’s losing all self control.

“What’s your problem anyway?” he grumbles, kicking open the front door, waiting for you to follow. His eyes are wide and full of hurt, anger, crippling anxiety so deep he didn’t even know if he was breathing. But no matter how mad you looked, how many tears you kept wiping away from your lash line, he couldn’t stop.

Keys in the ignition he puts the van into reverse and yanks the wheel quickly, driving like he robbed a bank.

Anytime you try to speak he cuts you off.

“Do you like getting involved with people's lives? Why are you so desperate to know what happened? Need something to gossip about at the salon? So you and your boss can whisper shit about me again? Hmm? ”

“What the fuck are y—” you try to say, but he cuts you off again, he’s raging war on himself and on you, it’s far from over, no surrender flag in sight.

“That must be it right?” he preens, barely stopping at the stop lights as he flies to your work, tires squealing around corners, “I’m here because you need something to talk about, the well full of hot gossip of Hawkins must have run dry. Well guess what sweetheart? It’s not anything I haven’t heard before.”

He’s so clueless, so expertly out of sync with what you were trying to convey, what you were begging him to understand. The tears are free falling and you don’t stop them, screaming at him, “Eddie!”

“What?!” he barks back, chest heaving with hatred filled lungs and venomous words so toxic they’re burning your skin.

Aching soul and self doubt at an all time low you try to will the words to not shake as you deliver, “do you really think I would hold you while you were sad with any other intention than consoling you!? You were upset and the least I could do after you helped me was try to make you feel better!”

He tried to argue but it’s your turn to cut him off, holding up a hand as he fumed through his nose. He parks in back of the salon, slamming on the brakes as you both jolt forward. “Let it go, Too—”

“I care about you, you stubborn asshole!” You grab your purse between your feet and open the door and jump out.

“Just stop,” Eddie pleads, his eyes brimming with tears, “don’t.”

“I can’t,” you say back in a whisper, your voice breaking at the last syllable, you reach for the door, out of breath and holding in your sobs the best you can, “oh, and for the record— Josie was telling me to be nice to you and give you a chance— my mistake.”

Slamming the door you don’t hear him break, you don’t hear him thrust the heel of his hand into the steering wheel until it aches and burns. His nerves shooting pain through his entire arm. You don’t hear him scream and hate himself as he drives to work, his body soulless, empty, fragile.

“Tooty, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you tell Josie for the tenth time.

You definitely were not fine.

Distracted the minute you got to work, your mind raced with questions of the unknown. Hurt, confused and pissed off, you had mixed the wrong color formula for your clients hair, resulting in money down the drain from your own paycheck as you threw the mixture away and started it again, for the third attempt.

At 10 o’clock you were folding towels in the back when you realized you had bleached an entire load of darks. The once rich black towels were now faded with splotches of orange.

Eddie’s words had ripped through your heart, hurdling themselves into the deepest parts of you that were sheltered away from anyone, taking up solace in your forbidden soul, hollowing it out.

By noon you were crying while rolling a client's perm rods into her hair, having to step away multiple times before Josie gently told you enough was enough and that you should go home for the day.

Not wanting to call Eddie and get a ride you decided to walk the half mile through town back to your home on Cherry lane.

Kicking a rock with the toe of your shoe for most of the walk home, you mull over the events of the day. Wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your cardigan as you tread along the sidewalk.

[Thanksgiving Day]

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me to Nancy and Jonathan’s? It’ll be fun!”

Eddie is leaned against the driver window of his van, his finger tracing a smiley face into the dust in the dash. “I wish I could, but Wayne and I go fishing every year on Thanksgiving— it’s a tradition.”

Every year since Eddie was ten years old, Wayne took him fishing on Thanksgiving, starting early in the morning and going until sundown, ending the night camping beneath the stars, cooking their daily catch for supper, “save me a piece of pie okay?” he finishes, ruffling up your hair, a shit eating grin on his lips.

Feeling horrible that your car was still out of commission, Eddie had let you borrow the van for the night after you dropped him off at Wayne’s. “And you’re positive it’s okay if I take the van?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?” Eddie’s laugh spread across his cheeks, the black beanie he has on his head inching closer to falling off every second, “Tooty,” he breathes, his brown eyes dipping into yours, “take the goddamn van and have a good time—and hurry up, you’re gonna be late.”

[2 Weeks prior]

🎶 it was the third of June another sleepy dusty delta day

I was out choppin’ cotton and my brother was baling hay

Bobbie Jo’s tune was ringing in his ears all day— no matter how loud he cranked the radio in the shop, no matter how many times he tried to hum a different tune— her -* words rang through his mind like silk, coating his skin and implementing old memories he didn’t want brought up.

He was filled with fury. A ticking time bomb. It should have been no surprise when Sean and Aaron started poking at him, how unhinged he would become.

“What’s got your panties in a twist, Munson,” Sean sneers, changing the oil on the Ford truck, “your little girlfriend finally figure out you’re a fucking loser?”

Eddie had already thrown a wrench across the shop out of frustration when he realized he forgot his lunch. He slammed the hood of a blue minivan on his fingers right after morning break, and now Aaron and Sean were starting in on him.

His breath erratic, trying to breathe through his nose to calm himself down but failing. His misery over taking his nerves. He grunts through barred teeth, “We aren’t dating,”

Sean perks up at the news, his wiry mustache splattered across his top lip like a squashed caterpillar, decrepit and sparse. “Oh shit, so she’s single, huh?”

“Damn,” Aaron chimes in, his hands cupped around his junk as he shakes it back and forth between his greasy hands, “what I wouldn't give to be balls deep in that pretty little mouth, that’d shut her up for good.”

“You’re skating on thin ice, fuck rag, I’d watch my mouth if I were you.” Eddie’s shoulders are tensed, adrenaline at an all time high. Fight or flight screaming through his blood racing through his heart and speeding up his heart rate.

“Whatchya gonna do about it, freak?” Sean spits pushing Eddie in the chest, “ ‘Name the time and place’ yeah motherfucker? How about right here right now?” Standing toe to toe with Eddie, but a foot shorter he peers into Eddie’s face, egging him on.

“Ever since you moved in with that whore you’ve been such a little bitch about everything— I mean I get it, honestly— Chad always said she had the sweetest p—”

Sean chokes on the last word as Eddie’s fist connects with his cheek, his rings would end up leaving bruises in their shape on his skin for weeks to come.

Sean throws a punch at Eddie but he is quick to dodge it, years of fighting in the trailer park giving him an upper hand. Blood spews from Sean’s mouth as Eddie upper cuts him in the chin, his tongue almost split in half as he bit down from the impact.

Eddie is blinded momentarily as Aaron socks him in the eye, a deep purpling plum colored bruise that took weeks to heal. Stumbling backwards his back hits the red sun faded tool box, Sean came swinging a crow bar out of nowhere and hit Eddie in the ribs, a groaning thud as the sound of his bones shatter in his body.

Behind his back, he reaches for whatever is closest, a wrench wrapped tight in his fingers gets thrown in the air at Sean, hitting him in the throat and knocking him over onto the smooth concrete of the shop floor, gasping for breath.

Aaron tackles Eddie, sending him into the air compressor, four fists are swinging and bodies shifting as they both struggle for dominance. Eddie’s lip is cut and his eye is swollen almost shut. Aaron’s nose is dripping blood on Eddie’s shirt as he punches him in the same place that Sean hit him with the crow bar. He’s able to get a knee up between Aaron and himself and twists his body to get above him, and when he does he lays punch after punch into Aaron’s swollen bloody face.

With each rocking fist connecting with flesh, Eddie has one thing on his mind, you. He thinks about the foul way they had disrespected you. The way you had cried when you told him you couldn’t stop caring about him. How he was close to losing you because he couldn’t open up and let you in. How terrified you must have been for all those years when you were scared and alone, nobody there to hold you and comfort you. And while he’s pummeling Aaron into a bloody pulp of cracked teeth and swollen eyes, it finally clicks for him.

The fight didn’t last long, but was effective enough to get Eddie suspended for the rest of the work day— and Aaron and Sean got a nice week's vacation with no pay.

Eddie’s knuckles are coated in a mixture of blood and spit. His jaw aches as he drives home with one eye open, it’s the clearest he’s seen in a long time.

[Thanksgiving]

“Fish ain’t bitin’ much are they?” Wayne and Eddie have both cast and reeled in their rods multiple times with zero luck. The small boat Eddie had gifted Wayne with for Christmas 3 years ago stood at still waters of Lover’s Lake, both men chilled to the bone.

“Nah, they sure aren’t. Probably no fish left in here after the summer you had.”

Since Eddie had graduated, Wayne dropped down to part time at the plant and went to dayshift. A true dream for him and for Eddie, offering to pick up most of the bills, a silent thank you for all the years that Wayne has taken care of him when he didn’t have to, but did anyway— the only caring person in his life, until you.

The wind whips through Eddie’s hair, tugging the curls out from the confinements of the cotton stocking cap snug on his head. The once crisp autumn foliage is soggy like forgotten cereal in a bowl of milk around them from the previous nights rain, chilling the usual humidity from the air and adding a depth of ice in their veins as they shake and shiver in their jackets, Eddie in his leather jacket, Wayne in a weathered faded khaki canvas coat.

Ruddy hands with silvered rings light two cigarettes, passing one to a pair of calloused, aged hands. Inhaling deeply and blowing warm smoke in the whispering winds of the quiet fog around them.

Wayne runs a rough hand over his sunned scalp, itching the small patches of hair left, as he readjusts his tattered cap, letting the nicotine settle into his bones and soothe the stubborn ache in his jaw, like ointment on an arthritic joint, “you ever gonna bring that girlfriend over to meet me or you keepin’ her alls to yourself?”

“What girl?” Eddie says quickly, coyly, blowing smoke into the space between the two of them, hiding his mouth with the curtain of his curls, opening the coffee can full of mud and worms, pushing another worm on the end of his hook.

Wayne hadn’t talked to him about girls since he was fifteen when he walked into his room and tossed a box of rubbers at his chest and grumbled, “use ‘em,” under his breath.

Irritation blooms against Wayne’s brows, “boy, don’t play dumb with me,” he cracks at Eddie, a false stern voice in his gruff voice, “the one you’re dating you little wise ass.”

“I’m not dating anyone, Wayne.” Eddie says, pretending to be preoccupied with the tackle box full of neon fishing lures and bobbers. He runs his thumb over the rough cracked surface of the faded red and white bobber, the same one Wayne gave to him when they started fishing all those years ago. The memory brings a smile to his face.

The gruff scoff from Wayne’s throat suggests bullshit to his ears from his nephew’s mouth, a noise Eddie has heard many many times in the two decades he had been living with Wayne, one that told him that he better tell the truth, and right the hell now. No matter that he now towers over Wayne, he’ll always be his boy, the wide eyed boy with a mountain of guilt on his shoulders, his son.

And as Wayne always knew— the more he poked and prodded, the more Eddie would clam up. They sit in comfortable silence, the slight breeze rippling the water on Lover’s Lake, rocking the small fiberglass boat and swaying the two Munson men gently.

How could he describe the relationship between you and him? Not dating, but hopefully more than friends. He didn’t have many friends that he’d willingly let help him battle his inner-most demons. In fact, Gareth and Jeff were still left in the dark about it. The breeze continues to grow frigid and burrows itself between the layers of his clothing, freezing his skin and peppering it with goose bumps. The chattering of Eddie’s teeth remind him of Steve’s birthday when he offered you his jacket, and opted to freeze the rest of the night just so you wouldn’t be chilly.

It’s simple really, he admitted it to Steve, but somehow admitting it to Wayne was worse than the hit from the box of condoms against his chest.

He says it all too fast, out of breath, and barely audible. But he says it. And a smile spreads across the weathered leather of Wayne’s face, pulling his mustache up, a glimmer of a sparkle in his eye, “see, now was that so bad?”

[2 weeks prior]

His knuckles ache, and he’s not positive if it’s from the blows to Aaron’s face or the way he’s gripping the steering wheel. His realization while busting open Aaron’s cheek made him eager to get home. Eager to clean himself up before he went to pick you up from work.

The house is silent as he walks through the garage, his angry hurtful words bounce back to him off the kitchen walls, the counter. The orange juice was still where he left it, crumpled and misshapen.

He truly was an asshole. Hurting the one person who cared for him other than Wayne. He sits down in a chair and unties his boots, blood splattered on the toes. Peeling the sweat stained work coveralls from his body, he tosses them down the steps to the basement, leaving them for later.

He stands partially naked in the kitchen, clad in only his underwear and socks, the kick of adrenaline wearing completely off, the promise of pain against his broken ribs rings searing heat through his body.

A glance around the kitchen stills the breath in his lungs. The kitchen is a wreck from the waffle night, the colossal beginning of a budding relationship that he was currently in the trenches hoping to fix. The once silky batter is now hard, pale concrete cemented onto the sides of the glass mixing bowl. The waffle iron was open, sprayed with cooking oil that was sitting with its cap off on the counter. The plates were sticky with cold syrup and now styrofoam resembled waffles, still on the table from where you had both sat. Forks and knives laying atop the ceramic plates in a haphazard way, awaiting the return of warm hands to finish their job.

Without thinking he starts to clean up, filling the sink with hot water, scraping the food from the plates into the garbage, putting away the orange juice and the left out butter and cooking spray. In no time the kitchen is sparkling and Eddie’s body is screaming at him to rest. The cuts on his knuckles are cleaned but swollen, soap stung from the water. His side aches, adrenaline slipping away with every growing minute.The pain is almost unbearable.

A clicking noise from the front door has him turning suddenly, a slight panic in his nerves as he stands stone still.

A block from the house, your tears return, cold, and stuck to your face like ice on poles. You’re exhausted, stomping the entire way home drove shin splints up your legs, the cold cramping dull in your calves. Thinking of Eddie the entire way home you are dumbfounded— completely and utterly confused at his reaction. How could he not know how you felt about him? Why was he begging you to stop? Wondering if you’ll ever get the answers to those questions you wipe your nose with the sleeve of your cardigan. If he was going to guard himself again, and put the barriers back up— so could you.

The door is stuck as you try to open it, pushing and shoving your shoulder into it, it finally gives, stumbling your way into the living room in the most ungraceful way. The scent of freshly wiped surfaces sting your nose and stop you dead in your tracks. You weren’t expecting to be relieved from seeing Eddie, but the relief is short lived as you notice the deep violet and indigo bruise painting his eye.

“Ed—,” you gasp, covering your mouth as you run towards him, foregoing the screaming in your legs, “wh— oh my God!”

His eyes melt at your appearance, scarlet rimmed eyes and wet cheeks take him in, eyebrows dipped into unease and apprehension. He feels your hesitancy, thick like fog surrounding you both as you reach your fingers up to his cheek. Ice cold pads of your fingertips skim the tender skin of his face, brushing the wispy hair of his bangs from his eyes with your fingertips to get a better look at him.

He doesn’t speak, barely breathing at your gentle touch on his face. The frosty coolness of your fingers burn his skin with every silky movement of your hands. He tries to avoid your eyes, avoid the pain he knew was from earlier and his cowardice.

Fingers dancing along his skin, you scan over his torso, the same way you did on the morning after Halloween, the bruising from the mishap of the steps is replaced by a pattern of splotchy deep bruising.

“They’re broke,’’ Eddie groans, his split lip ripping open, from him trying to force a smile, “looks cool though right?”

Using humor to deflect the true way he feels was an easy defense mechanism for him, but you won’t bite. Won’t take the bait he’s dropping into your waters, won’t nibble at his small offering.

Trying not to break, you stand your ground, “what happened?”

“Nothing that wasn’t deserved,” Eddie says, eyes casted downwards at your hands near his ribs, “I was just having a shitty enough day— my own fault—“, he adds quickly, his eyes flicking to yours, not wanting to put salt into the already festering wound he created, “I—uh—I took care of it.” He says in a final explanation.

“And now I’m going to take care of this,” he motions between you both, sliding his hands down your arms and settling them in your hands.

“Tooty— I,” he exhales as deep as his lungs will allow given the break in his ribs, spilling his stitched up heart to you, letting the walls fall with each word, “I’m sorry— I’m so fucking sorry. Nothing I do or say will ever amount to how shitty I feel for making you cry, for pushing you away. I’m a coward when it comes to this type of shit, and it was too heavy— too muddy for me to explain. I figured if I’d shut you out you’d go back to how it was before— before Harrington’s birthday, before Halloween befo—,”

A shake of your head and a sharp intake of breath come from your body. Did all of this mean nothing to him? The flirting, the gentle touching, the sweet gestures? It was all just something he wanted to forget?

Voice small and shallow, “Is that what you want Eddie? To go back to how it was before, when you first moved in?”

A single tear falls from your face, and without thinking, without second guessing himself or wondering if you would think he was being weird, Eddie is quick to brush it away with the curl of his forefinger. His swollen knuckles are tight and achy. He tries to hide a hiss from his teeth, wanting to live in this euphoric moment for as long as he can, as long as you will allow him to. He extends both hands now to your face, his rough thumbs rubbing over the expanse of your cheeks, fingers behind your ears, curling into your hair.

“I want,” he breathes easy now, as if the touch of your skin on his fingers mended his broken bones, his eyes soft where it allowed, one still swollen shut, “I need you to know that I care, too— and I don’t want you to ever quit caring about me— baby, I’ve cared about you for years—- and I can’t get myself to stop.”

And when a sob breaks from your chest, he pulls you into him, “c’mere,” the sensation steals the breath from your lungs, you’ve never been touched with such gentleness, such care. He’s holding you as if you’re glass. Fragile, cracked and held together with shitty Elmer’s glue that was a tempting snack for children. It’s so delicate the way he’s stroking your skin.

Minutes or hours pass you’re not sure. His warmth engulfs you, his musky cologne and spiced deodorant is a gentle blanket around you. Wrapping you in a swaddle of his admiration.

His hair tickles your cheeks, tattooed arms are twisted in your hair,and wrapped around your back. The shine of your tears coat his bare chest, his chin rests on top of yours breathing in your hair shushing you gently.

You spend the night working Eddie’s rings from his already swollen fingers, pressing ice packs to his bruises and spreading neosporin on his cut lip, rubbing it gently with the tip of your finger, Eddie giggles at the concentration on your face and the way your tongue is poked out.

He’s infatuated with the way you make him feel. His heart soaring higher and higher with each delicate touch of your fingers on his skin.

He’s up late that night, stomach full from your homemade chicken noodle soup and his heart even more full. Flying higher than cloud nine, your sweet face on his mind.

[Thanksgiving]

A sadistic voice echoes from your tv screen, “a little young for ya isn’t she Richie? BEEP BEEP RICHIE!”

Richie Tozier sips the Dixie cup of water, leaning against the bookcase in the Derry library, Pennywise continues his antics of torture as balloons drop from the ceiling, popping with blood spluttering on the library go-ers faces, oblivious to the fantasy nightmare Pennywise ensues.

The front door opens with a thud as a shriek and the popcorn bowl on your lap goes flying through the air. Eddie walks hurriedly through the door. A shivering spine of fear and realization hits you all at once. His boisterous laugh reverberates the living room walls as he picks popcorn from your hair, and places it in his mouth, a loud crunch between his teeth as he plops down next to you on the couch.

“Think you got your holidays mixed up, sweetheart— it’s Thanksgiving, Halloween was last month.”

Rolling your eyes you make a face to mock him, which only fuels his fire and has his cold fingers jabbing into your sides and tickling you so hard you scream out. Begging him to stop.

“Don’t!,” you squeal, holding your breath and giggling at his unrelenting tickling. He finally gives up after your face has gone red and your hair is a mess, laughing tears rolling down your cheeks.

Eddie sits back on the couch taking a huffing breath, a wild smile spreading from ear to ear, “that’s what you get for watching IT without me!”

Scoffing, you pick up the bowl of popcorn and the paled yellow crunchy kernels spilled on the ruby red throw blanket, “wait, weren’t you supposed to be camping with your uncle tonight?”

Eddie breathes out a sigh, bending at the waist to gather the kernels off the floor. The rest of the fishing trip with Wayne, Eddie spent it quieter than he had ever been, contemplating his next move, how could he show you that he was serious? How could he let you in? Show you his ugly past without scaring you, without you running for the hills? The answer was easy.

“I have something— somewhere I wanna show you,” he whispers, standing to his full height. Looking for the familiar mischievous glimmer in his eye, you are surprised by the genuine sparkle replacing it. His face his earnest, almost a look of doubt on his lips, scared of your reaction.

He peels the blanket from your lap and reaches down, his hand held out extended to yours, “come with me?”

The air is bitter. The driveway is glittering with a sequined frost, dancing with the shine of the street lights. Warm breath fills the inside of Eddie’s van as he slots the key into the ignition and fires it up, cranking the heat. Snuggling further into your knitted scarf, hiding the chill of your nose as Eddie backs down the driveway, heading out of town.

It doesn’t take long to get to where he was going, the drive in silence had you questioning what was going on in his mind. The path was overgrown, hidden from the road, hidden from anyone who didn’t know that it was there. The headlights of the van bob along with each sunken hole on the dirt drive. Jostling the van this way and that.

Nestled into thick trees past an old loose and corroded barbed wire fence, in place for property lines, sits a small house, paint chipped and barely visible. The roof was caved in by a large tree falling on it, the sagging porch still had bleached yellow crime scene tape hanging on by threads to the moss eaten pillar.

Eddie throws the van in park, sniffling slowly and looking around. “This uh,” he stutters, clearing his throat, “this is where I lived with my mom, my old man was in and out most of the time—drunk or in jail, I don’t remember him being here that much except the last time.”

Silence is golden, and you give him your undivided attention as he twists in his seat, bent knee leaning on the door frame.

“That,” he says pointing to the fallen tree in the back, “was an apple tree, apples this big around I swear,” he motions his hands in a circle, a chuckle in his throat, “we didn’t live here for very long, a year, or two maybe…”

His voice fades, and at first he second guesses bringing you here. He can imagine you piecing this puzzle of woe together, his life. The tragic tale of Eddie Munson, he didn’t spin a web of luxuries for you to pretend with him for a moment, a second, that he was anything other than what he was—but when your cotton gloved fingers slide into his, interlacing them—it gives him the courage, the resilience to continue.

“…I was six when it— when she was… he—,” he trails off, unable to finish, but it doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots. The abandoned house, the barely-there flicker of yellow tape, she wasn’t only dead— she was murdered, by his father’s hand.

Comprehending what he’s getting at, you can practically hear his heart breaking. Eyes never leaving his face, you take him in, his eyes are wet as he blinks back tears, using his other hand to pinch the inner corners of his eyes, and hide behind his hair, his face is ashen, once ruddy cheeks from when he came home and tickled you is now swallowed by stale ash, sucking the life from his eyes, his cheeks, his soul.

“.. right in front of me…” he hangs his head low, sniffing quietly, “Wayne took me in after that.”

Eddie and you were alike in more ways than you had thought, although your parents were still alive, they were equally absent from your life, much like Eddie’s parents. Sure you both had people who took care of you, and as sweet as the gesture was, it was never really the same. The aching torture of having to defend for yourself, put a brave face on for your temporary care takers so you don’t seem like a bother to them, so they won’t worry about the weight of taking you in— was all too familiar.

“Eddie,” you whisper softly, rubbing his hands with your thumbs.

Yearning and breaking for him, the cords of your heart reach to his, tethering them together as you slide over the center council, and carefully land into his lap. He’s surprised at first by your brazenness, but once you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him into you, he melts like chocolate at your heated touch.

Your fingers tug into his hair at the nape of his neck, his nose and lips make their way in between your scarf and your neck, the slight chill against your skin sends goosebumps down your spine, a throbbing in your core.

Realization spreads through your heart, your brain, the hair follicles on your head, the painted nails on your toes. Holding him, him holding you, his arms around you, your arms buried in his hair, his fingers rubbing patterns into your back as he sighs deeply and regulates his breath—for the first time in your life, you realize this is what love feels like.

To be loved and to be in love. It was undeniable. Right? Friends didn’t do this. Roommates didn’t do this. But two people who cared deeply for one another and were bonded together by more than just traumatic circumstances? That was love.

In this moment, nothing else matters.

It’s just you and him.

Him and you.

The flutter of your heart short circuits as it seeps hot sticky love all over your face, blooming warmly in your cheeks. Grasping him tighter, you pull away, settling your forehead into his. Whiskey poured eyes staring back into yours, for a brief second you swear you can feel his heart flutter with yours, beating as one.

Eddie doesn’t play his music loud on the way back. A comfortable echoing still in the van as it clunks along the road. His voice barely above a whisper when he speaks. He feels satisfied. Happy even? Like the weight of the world was off of his shoulders by you simply knowing his past. You didn’t ask questions and in the moment he didn’t need you to. His arms wrapped around you was more than enough, your fingers twirling in his hair, the smell of your perfume behind your ear. The way you let him grieve, let him take you somewhere he hasn’t gone in years, was something he’d appreciate for a lifetime to come.

Once home it’s like any normal night, only he doesn’t tease you. He doesn’t fight over the bathroom or use your toothbrush, he doesn’t argue when you pop Christmas Vacation into the VCR, even though you can quote the entire movie. He’s completely engulfed by you, watching you brush your hair, the extra roll of the waistband of your pajama pants. The ridiculous colors of your fuzzy socks you insisted on wearing now that the weather was colder.

He’s never felt nervous around a girl before, usually throwing himself around, showing off his exquisite rack like a stacked buck in rut, rubbing his antlers on trees, showing his mighty dominance.

But you weren’t just another lonely girl looking for a night with a lead singer, or a girl pretending to be in love with him just so she could score coke from his supplier while also fucking him behind his back, and you definitely weren’t a faceless girl that he plowed to forget it all.

Meaning much more to him than just some silly fuck, or a high school “sweetheart” that ended up being a heartless cunt, or a dumpster for his cum.

No.

You were much more than that, to him.

More than a roommate, more than a friend, more than Eyeball’s bratty fucking sister.

He could write sonnets about the little lines in between your brow when you pulled your eyebrows together, usually when you were mad at him. He could sing songs about your laugh, not the small polite one, the loud one, the one that rang every doorbell to his heart and and he gladly answered. He could hum a tune of gratitude about your cooking and the silent ways you care for him and your close friends. He’d get his ass kicked by the entire male population of Hawkins if it meant keeping you safe.

You were it for him.

The only one to make him feel, the only one he wanted to see at the end of the day, in the morning when he got up.

Watching you giggle and let out a yawn, he places a couch pillow between his hip and yours gesturing for you to lie down. He almost goes into cardiac arrest when you move the pillow entirely, your head resting in his lap. A sleepy smile on your face as you tug the blanket under your chin.

Yup.

You were it for him.

And he's a sucker, addicted to the way you made him love you so effortlessly.

hope you all enjoyed this volume! volume ix is where it heats up 🔥

@big-ope-vibes @br0ck-eddie @b-irock @loveshotzz @mopeymopeymouse @shiftingtherain @courtingchaos @nightonblogmountain @word-wytch @ghost-proofbaby @hanobe8 @abibliophobiaa @joejoequinnquinn just a few of the coven 🩵🩷

This is for you

*sacrifices 🖕🏼

#honey i’m home #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson #stranger things x y/n #eddie x you angst #Eddie x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie x you fluff

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jals-stuff · 5 months

Note

hello :) saw ur headcanons! mind doing one w deli and the sl*tty jester pleaseeee?

good day anon~ I see that everyone is barking for Domina and Famin so I'll do just that.

SPOILERS AHEAD FOR MASHLE! If you do not know Domina, Famin, Delisaster and Meliadoul, please do not read!

Unless you don't care about spoilers. Then you're free to read~

How would these Mashle characters react if they found their s/o stuck in the washing machine? + personal ratings (again)

For Meliadoul, Domina, Famin and Delisaster.

Warnings: embarrassing? there's an f-bomb somewhere in here

short washing machine headcanons (part 2!)

MELIADOUL…

She’s probably training Ochoa to do stupid things she saw on the internet when you call for her. (Thank you for saving the little guy.)

She’s going to laugh out loud when she sees you stuck head first inside the washing machine! Of course she will. “Please c’mon, please say Stepsis, I’m stuck!” but you won’t, because she’s laughing too hard for you to even understand what she just said.

When she’s finally calm again, she will try to get you out, struggling quite a lot and muttering insults towards the poor washing machine’s family tree, then finally give up and cut through it with her Magical Chainsaw.

You’ll get very scared, of course, and the chainsaw will absolutely cut through you, but you’ll feel extra relaxed afterwards. She will occasionally tease you about this episode, mostly if you’re cuddling with her.

Made fun + cut you with her Chainsaw, but now you feel nice. You aren’t even mad, 8/10.

DOMINA…

Domina is attempting to make some apple pie when his focus is broken by a muffled scream coming from the laundry room. He sighs and immediately makes his way there.

With anyone else, he would get super angry, but it’s you, and he loves you very much. “Oh no, (Y/N), are you alright?” He isn’t panicking, but he’s a little worried that you might be feeling in pain or too uncomfortable.

He will undoubtedly get you out very nice and slow, and make sure to inspect your face and arms to be absolutely certain that you aren’t hurt (you’d better hope so if you don’t want him to molest your poor washing machine afterwards).

If you’re embarrassed or uncomfortable about it, he’s going to bring you with him and keep making apple pie (it was supposed to be a surprise for you but fuck it) to distract you.

Gentle and cute, definitely makes good pies. 9/10 don’t forget to praise him for this please

FAMIN…

He’s.. I don’t know, probably stealing stuff from his brothers’ rooms when you call him, and his head makes a whole 180° turn before he realises that you need him, and he comes to see you.

Will probably sit on your back while you’re stuck. “Is it nice in there?” he’s going to ask while giggling. If you say it isn’t, he will pull you out immediately and sit next to you to check your expression for any discomfort.

However, if you’re dating Famin, you’re the type that will say it’s nice, so he will first of all pull you out of the washing machine, and then take your spot in there. He’s going to end up being stuck too.

Now you have to pull him out and you don’t know how to do that, you’re left with a jester inside a washing machine. Sounds like the beginning of an awful pun.

Helped, but got stuck instead. at least it was funny, 7/10.

DELISASTER…

He is 100% scrolling on social media or taking selfies when you call for him, and he’ll keep his eyes glued to his phone while making his way to you.

Upon seeing the pitiful display in front of him, he chuckles. “Oh, em, gee. Are you, like, stuck or something?” He will definitely sit down next to you and take selfies showing his face next to your figure, completely stuck.

He will start a TikTok livestream (titled "LMAO F IN THE CHAT FOR (Y/N)") and ask his followers for advice to get someone out of a washing machine, and make absolutely sure that everyone can see you. What a jerk.

If you start sulking or being too uncomfortable, he will put his phone away and get you out of there immediately, without any further questions. Maybe he’ll take you to a party or let you rest on his lap as an apology.

Mean, and why does he speak like a frat boy?? But at least he’s pretty and the party was nice. 7/10

#mashle fluff #mashle x reader #mashle headcanons #mashle #mashle magic and muscles #mashle x you #mashle x y/n #meliadoul amy #meliadoul amy x reader #domina blowelive #domina blowelive x reader #delisaster #famin #mashle famin #delisaster x reader #famin x reader #meliadoul x reader #domina x reader

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vampykween · 10 months

Text

Second Chances (part 2)

summary: little poppy is simon riley’s entire world and you’ve just had yours turned completely upside down. despite everything, it seems like everything falls into place when you’re with each other. cw: mentions of character death a/n: i wanted to dive into Simon and Poppy's backstory with this part so reader isn't really present in this but, i felt like it was important to establish some backstory ☻ this slightly proofread, but forgive me if there are any mistakes wc: 1789 part 1

Although his face doesn't show it, Simon is thrilled listening to Poppy talk his ear off on the walk home from school. He wouldn't dare admit he spent the whole day busying himself with household tasks to keep his mind from wandering to his little girl. As soon as they cross the threshold of their home Poppy is off like a shot, shrugging off her backpack and kicking off her black mary janes. Simon sighs fondly, hangs her backpack up on its hook, and deposits her shoes in their rightful spot on the shoe rack. One day he’ll get her to do it herself, but for now, he’s content with trailing after her and picking up every little thing she drops if it means she’ll always stay this young and innocent.

When he rounds the corner he’s met with the sight of Poppy scribbling on a large sheet of paper - her brand new box of crayons strewn across the living room table - and the sound of her favorite cartoon; which Simon finds mind-numbing but he grins and watches with her when she asks because he’ll be damned if he doesn't make her feel like the things she likes aren’t important to him.

“Whatcha working on there, lovie?” Simon asks with genuine curiosity, he hadn't expected her to come home with any work to do already. The young girl gestures to her crafts, “We’re making family trees at school, I’m a little bit stuck though daddy, I don't know who to put on the tree.” She pouts at him from her spot on the floor and Simon is hit with a wave of grief for the life his daughter could’ve had.

Six years ago

“Oh my god, Simon, are you even listening to me?!” Amelia snapped in Simon’s face as he zoned out on the couch. His body was firmly planted in their living room, but his mind wasn't. Pregnant. The word bounced around his brain like a pinball machine, he’s suddenly brought back to the present at the sound of his girlfriend's sobbing.

“God, I'm right in front of you and it’s like we're not even in the same room. I beg you time and time again to just be present with me, and you act like it’s so fucking hard.” Amelia hiccups and frustratedly wipes at her eyes, “if you don't want this tell me now, cause it’s hard enough feeling like you don't even love me, I can't imagine handling you not loving our child either.”

Simon turns sharply in her direction at her admission, he knows it’s rocky between them he’s no idiot, but to hear her say that he doesn’t love her, or wouldn't love their child fucking tears him up. He takes her hands in his, and tugs gently until she meets his eyes.

“Em, you have to know that I do love you, and hell I’m scared out of my mind right now, but god please don’t think for a second that I wouldn't love our child.” He pulls her into his arms and strokes her hair gently until her cries subside.

“I'm so scared Simon, you and I are not okay. What if that never changes?” Amelia asks somberly. She couldn't remember the last time she wasn't griping at Simon for something, or Simon giving her the silent treatment and storming off for hours at a time. She knew a baby wouldn't change that, hell it had been five years already and they still weren’t married. The wishful part of her hoped that Simon would say that he was going to change for good and that they would fix their relationship and become a happy family.

“We’ll figure it out, I promise yeah?” Simon had a way of looking at her like she was his world and for just a moment Amelia believed that everything would be okay.

Unsurprisingly things were not okay, Amelia woke in the middle of the night grasping her large bump in pain. She regrets her decision to make Simon sleep in the guest bedroom because now her options are to attempt to waddle and wake up her boyfriend? Baby daddy? Things were tense and she wasn't sure what they were anymore. The months she’s spent growing their little bundle of joy have been hellish; being pregnant exacerbated Amelia’s growing disdain for Simon and made every transgression seem far worse than ever before.

“God, Em, just let me do it. I don't need you hurting yourself.”

“Piss off Simon, I'm not a baby. I can handle building a crib by myself.”

Simon rolls his eyes but doesn't move from his spot in the doorway. Pretty much any conversation with his girlfriend was an argument waiting to happen. They both swore they would make it work, but it seemed like the longer time went on the more they were at each other’s throats.

Amelia braves the idea of trying to make it to Simon’s room when a contraction subsides. She trudged down the hallway to his room and pushed on his shoulder roughly to rouse him.

“Simon. Simon, wake up.”

“What do ya want,” he questions groggily, still half asleep.

“The baby’s fucking coming, get up. I'm dying in pain over here.”

He shoots up at her words, panic settling into his bones as he realizes that this is it. They were about to come home with a baby, they were seriously going to be parents. He smiles brightly at her in the dark room, only slightly lit by the moonlight because Simon still hadn't put up the curtains she asked him to. Amelia wanted to tell him to wipe the stupid grin off his face because she was pissy and in excruciating pain, but a part of her couldn't help but smile too. Maybe they would come home with their little bundle of joy and everything would be different.

The sound of small cries fills the hospital room and Simon is sure he’s never cried so hard in his life.

“Congratulations, it’s a girl,” the nurse says as she lays the tiny baby on Amelia's chest. She smiles down at their little girl, but it’s wobbly and the color is rapidly draining from her face. Before he could have a second to even bask in, what he’s sure is the best moment of his life, the sound of machines beeping erratically and the flurry of nurses surrounding Amelia has him paralyzed with fear.

The sterile smell of the hospital was burning his nostrils with every shaky breath he inhaled. They kept saying something about Amelia losing too much blood and that they needed to act fast and a million other things, but it felt as if his ears were filled with cotton and his head was trapped underwater. Simon’s heart was beating like a hummingbird trapped in a cage; he couldn't handle losing another person he loved. Why was it that everyone around him seemed to be viciously ripped from him?

Poppy, the name they had decided on just a few short days ago, was on the verge of having no mother and a grief-addled skeleton for a father. His lungs couldn’t hold enough air and suddenly he felt dizzy, he thought for a moment about what it would be like to let this day be his end too. But he then thought of his little girl growing up, traumatized from being abandoned as soon as she entered the world. Simon was not a man made of tears, but he found himself shedding them freely in the cold, hard hospital chairs as he waited to see if his entire world was about to come crashing down. He chides himself for all the arguments they had had recently, he can't even remember the last time he told Em that he loved her. He did love her, even if he wasn't able to love her the way she so desperately wanted him to.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a doctor comes out where he’s sat, and he feels his throat constrict at the look on her face.

“Mr. Riley, we did everything we could…”

Whatever she says after doesn't even register because he feels like the room is spinning and he can't breathe and he's going to die he’s sure of it. What did he do to deserve the cards he had been dealt? How was he supposed to go home and take care of his daughter and act like he didn't have to plan on how he was going to bury her mother?

Simon is hit with flashes of the future of all these he knows nothing about like periods, relationships, and all the things a little girl wants her mother for.

At that very moment, Simon had nothing but Poppy. He wanted to lock himself in his home and never face the light of day again, but he knew that for her, he needed to be her everything. And that meant, trudging through every painful, sinister day so she never feels anything short of loved irrevocably.

The shrill sound of Poppy crying has been Simon’s soundtrack for the better part of the day now. As if the small infant knows he’s inadequate, and most definitely not her mother, she wails loudly no matter what he does to soothe her.

Amelia would know what to do, she was always the type to have her nose buried in parenting books, and if Simon even had a moment's peace maybe he’d pick one up. That unfortunately meant going into her bedroom, not even their bed because they had been fighting and sleeping in separate rooms right before their daughter was born. The door at the end of the hall has been closed since he got home from the hospital a week ago. Every time he thinks he’s ready to brave the room, his stomach twists in knots so tight he has to remind himself he’s okay and that he’s alive.

Simon rocks his newborn gently in his arms as he sinks into the couch, sighing at the way he can still smell a hint of her mother’s perfume. He’d give anything to have Amelia ripping into him right now, just to hear the sound of her voice.

He looks down at Poppy, who magically has granted him a reprieve from her sobs, and smiles softly at her. “You look just like your mother, ya know that? You’ve got a bit of my ugly mug in there too, but your eyes? That’s all her.” The baby blinks up at him and Simon leans down and kisses the crown of her head gently. “It’s just gonna be you and I kid, but I promise I'll do my very best with ya.”

taglist: @darkravenqueen98 @jupiternighties @lunamoonbby @happy-mushrooms @yyiikes @liliumbosniacum @fluffymaxsworld

banners from @reveriesources and @cafekitsune pic creds: @ave661

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #dad!ghost #dad!simon #oc: poppy #cw: character death #second chances au #mic writes

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retrospacejelly · 3 months

Text

A Western Tension

Pairing: Ex-outlaw!Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

Summary: While eating a homemade meal in what feels like ages, Miguel learns about Y/N’s rocky past.

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Guns, Mentions of the devil’s tango, typical cowboy things, language

Part: 2/?

Part: 1, 2, 2 1/2, 3

Not proofread

A/N: This is part two of A Western Romance! I had this idea brewing for a while, and character AI helped push the plot! (Thank you Monstera for letting me expand on the plot!)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once inside her small home, she sets the clothes basket by the kitchen table. She pats her hands on her skirt, “I have Chili Verde that’s still warm. That work for ya?” she asks, walking towards the pot sitting over a small fire.

“Yes ma’am” is his reply, walking over to the washbin, wiping them with a cloth draped against its side. He then sits at the table, looking around. He notices the pictures framed on the wall. Your family, it looks like. And, no spouse. He smiles to himself.

His gaze goes over to where Y/N stands over the pot, scooping the meal into a bowl.

“Smells damn good, sugar.”

“Why thank you.” She pauses after setting the bowl down with a spoon in front of him. “I never did catch your name by the way…”

He gives a nod, just now realizing he never got yours too. He lets out a small cough.

“It’s Miguel. Miguel O’Hara,” he says. He takes a breath, hoping you don’t recognize the name.

She nods. “O’Hara…Irish father?”

He nods as he takes a spoonful of food. Y/N sits down in the chair next to his, resting her head in her hand.

“Yeah, him an’ his family migrated hear years before I was born. He fell in love with my mother, a maid on his father’s ranch.”

Y/N smiles softly as he recalls his parents' past.

“However, I get my physical attributes from my mother’s side. Tall, dark an’ handsome. You know the deal.”

She chuckles at his words, shaking her head. “Yea, handsome. I got that.”

And suddenly, “Bet ya got a nice little wife to run home to then, huh?”.

…

She covers her mouth, surprised at her sudden comment. Looking at her through his dark lashes, he chuckles quietly.

“You tryin’ to ask me somethin’? But no, Babydoll. I’m as free as a bird. Never really one to settle down.”

“Mn, that’s what my father said. Now he’s living out his days on a nice chunk a’ land. Lovin' up on my mother.”

He takes another bite of food, shrugging.

“He’s one of the lucky ones. Plenty a’ fellas out there that don’t get lucky ‘nough to find a nice lady to settle down with. End up bein’ lonely, and stuck with someone they can’t stand till death do ‘em part.”

Y/N stays silent for a moment, taking in his words. She can’t help but let her shoulders sag.

“Yea, heard that too many times.”

Miguel notices her change in appearance but chooses to not bring it up. “What about you, huh? Got a beau, Sugar?”

She sits up, not meeting his gaze. “Well, I did. But the coward ran off with some Hussy after I pulled a gun on ‘em. Found out real quick that sleeping with another woman was the biggest mistake of his life.”

Well. So much for not bringing it up.

He laughs loudly, amused by your confession. “Someone sure is a real firecracker, huh?”

“How would you feel if the supposed love of your life was beddin’ another? And in your bedroom no less!” She exclaims.

He doesn’t seem fazed by her outburst. “I’d be angry, sure, but I don’t know if I’d go as far as to pull my gun on ‘em for it. I’m not as hot-headed as you, darlin’ “.

She rolls her eyes, “Not all people are lucky to have good looks.”

Miguel gives her a look, his eyes narrowing. “What’s that got to do with any o’ this, Baby doll?”

She looks down, now clasping her hands together. The smooth grooves of the wooden table suddenly became very intriguing.

“I didn’t really care much about my appearance growing up. My father grew up with no sisters and six brothers, so he was a little lost when it came to raisin’ me. Still wanting to be involved in my life, he raised me like he would a boy, so dresses ‘n frilly lace never piqued my interest.”

She takes a breath, continuing.

“That no good cheater, Thomas, was a ranch hand for my father and the only other kid my age. We have been pretty much friends since childhood. When we turned eighteen years of age, he professed his love for me and proposed.” She smiles sadly.

“I was over the moon. I was certain no man would ever look my way, ya know, with the way I dressed and acted. And after…after he cheated and I ran him out my home after I started dressin’ in dresses ‘n bein’ more ladylike, I have yet to find myself a good husband. I put walls ‘round me for a reason. Women don’t like getting their hearts hurt.”

Miguel’s expression softens, wanting nothing more than to hold you close. You poor thing. He thought you were breathtaking. He liked that you could fend for yourself. He reaches for her hand, taking it into his own. She sucks in a breath.

“So, you’re jaded from that. Ya got your walls up, and you expect men to show up and climb over ‘em to try and get to you.”

She laughs, sadly. “None of ‘em try anyhow.”

“Looks ain’t everythin’ Baby doll. Just cause some fella’s easy on the eyes, doesn’t mean he’s trustworthy. Can’t always judge a man just by lookin’ at ‘em. You gotta give ‘em a chance.

Y/N nods, not pulling away from his touch. “Same goes for us ladies too. Guess word of me pullin’ a gun on an unfaithful man scared the rest off.”

He snorts, tilting his head. “Probably did. Not many men want to tangle with a wildcat like you, honey.”

Wanting to continue the conversation, Y/N closes her mouth, just now realizing how tired she’s become. She smiles. “I’ll show ya’ to your room if you’re done eating.”

Surprised by the sudden change in topic, he quietly nods and brings the now-empty bowl and spoon to a different wash basin where other dishes sit soaking in the water.

She starts towards the guest bedroom, and he follows close behind her. Stopping in front of a door, she turns to look up at him.

“Here’s the room. If you need to relieve yourself, there’s a bathhouse just at the end o’ the hall.”.

Miguel opens the door, scanning the room. “Pretty bare, but I guess Il’ do.” he jokes, looking back at her.

Y/N smiles at his joke, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Glad it works for ya. ‘Night.” she says, turning to retire to her own room. His smile falls, itching to reach out to her.

“Hold on one second, Lil’ Miss. You ain’t just gonna turn ‘round an’ walk away from now, are ya?”.

She sighs dramatically, “Oh I usually wouldn’t leave ya on your lonesome, but you have work to do tomorrow. Ya ain’t outta the woods yet.” she replies snarkily.

He smirks. “Oh, I ain’t too worried ‘bout fixin’ up that fence o’ yours. We still got plenty o’ time tonight, Princessa.”. He takes a step forward, leaning in. “Why you tryna avoid me all o’ sudden, hm?”

Y/N’s face flushes, and she can’t meet his gaze. “I jus’ want to retire for the night. Problem?”.

“Ya’ sure ‘bout that, sugar?”

She nods quickly, “Pretty positive.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You are on stubborn thing, ain’t ya?”. He leans in more, practically chest to chest with Y/N. She can feel his breath on her lips. His…very…kissable lips…

Without a word, she steps back and turns, quickly walking to her room. Before she shuts the door, he speaks again.

“Where you goin’ darlin’? Weren’t you sayin’ you were aimin’ to get some sleep?”

She lets out a huff. “Yeah, in my room.” The sound of her door slamming shut echoes throughout the hallway.

______________________________________________________________

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@codenameredkrystalmatrix

#miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara #for you #miguel x reader #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel atsv #miguel 2099 #cowboy #wild west

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arcaneauthor · 2 years

Text

Tattoos Tell A Story

Part 2 now up (here), Part 3 (here)

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!reader

Summary: Coloring in Ghost’s tattoos has become somewhat of a habit. It’s this habit that’s leads you to discovering a tattoo he had gotten done without your knowledge.

Warnings: Fluff, like so much fluff

A/n: This is my first time posting on tumblr and I have no idea what I’m doing. Requests now open! Pls give me some ideas😭

You found it one day during one of your little “coloring sessions”,A little habit you’ve picked up ever since that one rainy day in July. Ghost had just come back from a mission and you both wanted to soak in as much of the other as possible, just bask in one another’s presence. Three months with nothing more then a letter exchange here and there, you were gonna enjoy as much time with your boyfriend as possible.

You remember lightly stroking his arm as you curiously asked him why all of his tattoos were so dull.

~*~

“Pardon?” He questions if he heard you right.

“Your tattoos, all of them are just black. There’s no color.” Your eyes still haven’t left where you are softly tracing one of his tattoos, a depiction of an assault rifle rapped in thorns.

He raises his other tattooed arm for inspection, as if he had forgotten what it looked like.

“I don’t need em’ all flashy. Besides,” he shrugs,”Think they look better this way.”

You make a noise of disagreement, shaking your head, until a thought seems to strike you, raising your head from where it was previously laying on his shoulder, eyes looking up at him with a mischievous glint.

“Wanna bet?” Is all he gets before you bolt out of his grip, standing up to dig through the bedside drawer, grabbing a case of markers out before diving back into bed, a little too excitedly seeing as how the whole thing rocked.

You hold the case up to him as a kid would show a crayon drawing to their parents.

He stares at the markers before flicking his eyes to you.

“What are ya doin’?

You completely ignore him as you smile, a little manically, and turn to grab his arm and get to work.

He may have complained, but he never stopped you.

And he would never admit it out loud, but it did look kinda cool

It also put him to sleep

~*~

And now your little “coloring sessions” have become a bit of a recurring thing.

Sick and stuck in bed? He gives you his arm.

That time of the month and you’re curled under the covers with cramps? He’s already grabbing the markers for you.

Just having a bit of a lazy cuddle session? You’re instinctually grabbing his arm.

Today, it’s the third option. He had once again just got home from a mission and, though not as long as some of his other send offs, it still seemed way too long to you. You were sitting against one another, your back to his chest, one arm hugging you to him, the other clutched in your grasp as you fill in his uncolored tattoos with your pack of markers. His masked face was pressed against the side of your head as he watched your hands delicately glide the marker across his skin, sometimes throwing in a cheeky comment or two about how a certain color didn’t go somewhere, which earned him a slap to the thigh.

You finished filling in the rose near his elbow, moving further down towards his hand, but something catches your eye.

You’d done this countless times now, you probably know his tattoos better than he does at this point. You know that the ink goes a little off line on his skull tattoo, you know that there’s a little stray mark beside the oak tree on his bicep. You know every detail and mistake.

That’s how you know this wasn’t here before.

It’s a small little heart on the inside of his wrist, not filled in because of course it isn’t.

You bring it up closer to your face for inspection, and that’s when you notice it

The writing inside.

Y/n

It…was your name?

You whip around to look back at him with questioning eyes.

The mask completely covered the lower part of his face,though his eyes gave away the soft smirk lurking beneath.

“The boys wanted to celebrate the win. Tattoos were Mactavish’s idea.” Bastards trying to be all nonchalant about it.

“But-but, why this?” You shove his own arm into his face, like he didn’t already know what was on it.

He shrugs,”Racked my brain for an idea, but, seems you’re the only thing on my mind these days. Couldn’t get ya out of my head-“

He huffs as you plow into him with a hug, immediately engulfing you in his muscled arms.

Simon never was one for excessive pda or poetic words, rather he showed love through his actions. Attempting to cook for you, making you bubble baths, bringing you heating pads and medicine for your cramps. And this was just another one added to the list, maybe the best of them all in your opinion, cause a tattoo-a tattoo’s pretty dang permanent. In his mind, you know, this is his promise of forever to you. His version of a promise ring.

There’s no tears shed, you never were much of a crier, but the emotions were definitely felt. The warmth, the happiness, the love, all of it was basically drowning you at this point.

“You know tattoo removals hurt right?” You lean away enough to look him in the eye,”Like-like what happens if this doesn’t work out, if you decide you’re tired of me,I don’t know, piggy backing you all the time or something and you have to go get this covered?” You motion to his arm.

It’s said as a joke, but he can still somehow detect the hint of serious worry in your voice.

He lightly grabs you under the chin,”Sweetheart, if I let a catch like you go then I deserve the pain.”

Alright you know you said you weren’t a crier, but that might have brought some moisture to your eye.

He doesn’t even try and stop you as your reach to roll the mask up to his nose, a testament of how much he trusts you. Overwhelmed with emotions, you tenderly cup his face to pull him into a kiss.

It’s slow and gentle, just a smooth glide of your lips against his. His hands gently rubbing up and down your sides. You lovingly gliding your thumb across his light stubble, breathing in his musky cologne. Although intense, the kiss contains absolutely no heat, no sexual insinuation. Instead, you feel only one thing.

Love

“I love you.” You relay breathlessly as you pull away, gently knocking your forehead against his.

You share a few breathes before he replies

“I….care, about you too,” you slap his arm with an unimpressed look,”Kidding! Of course I bloody love you, got your name tattooed on my arm for gosh sa-

You cut him off with another kiss.

~*~

Bonus:

You were once again laid on the bed, squished up against his side with a thick arm wrapped around your shoulder. Your eyes caught sight of your name engraved in his skin.

You smirk at the sight,”You know,” you break silence, catching his attention away from the tv,”It would have looked better if you had gotten the heart filled in with red.”

He’s a little confused for a second before catching your line of sight. He rolls his eyes, jostling you slightly as he sat up to reach beside the bed. Now you’re the one confused.

“Well, if that was the case,” he rolls back over to present you with a red marker,”You wouldn’t get to do it yourself, now would ya’?”

You grab the marker, sparing glances between it and the proud look on Simon’s face.

Your man, This man really got a tattoo with the intent for you to do your silly little coloring on it.

Yep, definitely love him.

#ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x y/n #ghost fanfiction #fanfic #call of duty #ghost cod #reader insert #ghost fluff #fluff #writers on tumblr #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #x y/n

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ouchthathurts · 6 months

Text

❝ 𝐁𝐄𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃 ❞

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 (𝐬) ⋮ Work-Husband! Nanami Kento x Idol! Fem! Reader

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⋮ 6.4k

𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ⋮ You’re a team leader of an awful office, and thanks to your boss, you’re now stuck with a man whose exhibits everything you want to be in this office. You hope he’ll be your ally in all of this mess.

Nanami Kento

You’ve thought of Nanami for a very long time, honestly, there was something so graceful about the way he handed all conflicts, defended those with such language that left higher ups perplexed, and even inspired those to do their best regardless of his unchanging tone. You find this type of lens to view such a magnificent man that you find yourself often becoming absorbed in all things he does as you find yourself fascinated in his ways.

“Nanami Kento, one of my hardest workers being able work with you! You should be very grateful; he has experience that spans across the many departments!” Both hands on your shoulders like a bicycle as you looked up at the blond with a look of straight-faced man who had been overworked by this company, you were jealous by how he was allowed to look that tired, but you had people in the office comment about the dark circles under your eyes.

You had always hated that about the workplace, the treatment that you had been put through, your boss’s hands on your shoulders made this even more apparent as you tried to handle the disgust you felt as you looked over at the blond.

You watched as Nanami stuck out his hand to you, “I’ll be very grateful to work with you, I’m sure you have experience beyond me.” Nanami said your name with a coolness, you admired his work and ease with situations, “Oh please don’t be so humble! She was just a secretary before I so graciously made her a team worker!” Two pats on your left shoulder almost made your stomach shoot out your throat and onto the blond before you.

Nonetheless, you persevered, “Likewise, Nanami.” You shook his hand with a closed eye smile to not display the glare you wanted to give to everyone in the room.

You had no real problems with Nanami, until you realized how everyone would favor him compared to you. You told everyone to get to work and while they dragged their feet, once Nanami came in and said something they were doing backflips to their work to impress the man on the same level as you.

That’s what Nanami told you.

A humble man indeed, he had more of an effortless way of doing things and with how he did it there was more of a reaction from the members left you standing almost like a doll next to him as if you were nothing but decorative furniture to highlight Nanami’s traits.

As of right now, you were just a nagging old hag that had to make sure your team knew what they were doing. “...So demanding!” They complained to Nanami, the whispers weren’t so hushed as the childish way they called out to the man was as if they were children not being given the silver platter. It disgusted you, these people who believed they deserved the high-class treatment while you were one who stayed up long nights to help finish projects they decided to procrastinate and then have them take the work you did and slap their names on them without a care in the world.

Your small smile stayed etched in your face, sewn lips that stayed in a curve holding nothing, but the look in your eyes that always had a fog from being lost in what would take place after work. It was what your boss had suggested. “Oh, Nanami, I don’t know how you handle working ‘em!” One of the men complained to him, you remembered every assignment you had completed for him after he sobbed, and snot rocketed your clothes begging for you to help him.

You only scoffed at his talk about you, you rushed quickly to clock your hours, never working late as you had matters beyond all their comprehension. You never wanted to stay once you heard them talking about you, it felt like you staying to hear it all would make you look like you were some masochist or some welcome mat that waited for the dirt in your mouth happily. You’d never willingly stayed when they talked bad about you to Nanami, you assumed he’d join them anyways in the hate bandwagon.

While they stayed to get beers, do karaoke, and talk bad about coworkers they would then treat as if they were born from the same womb with a hateful glare under sickly sweet smiles. You were quick to rush out the building, making your way down the street with your heels clacking against the concrete with a brightness in your eyes that competed with the streetlights around your work. You rushed as fast as you could, dropping your train card as you were as eager to leave work as a newly adopted puppy.

It wouldn’t take you long, with the way you rushed you were surprised if it took you longer than 30 minutes. You found yourself alone on the street only to turn the corner and a long line of people waiting patiently to get inside the underground building. It had a large garage door with a painted girl with bright pink curls, white frilly outfit with a large mic in her hand as she winked to those in line.

You quickly made your way through the back, definitely late but not in a way where the audience was beginning to lose their marbles over the timing of such an event. You we quick to make your way through and found yourself putting on the makeup that had awaited you.

“Where have you been!?” Your co-worker shouted, sitting right next to you in the second vanity mirror as he placed the bright pink wig in his head that had two large heart shaped buns with hair draping from them. You spoke softly, a smile that felt perfect on you as you appealed to him, “I was caught up with work, they hired some new guy in the department and now I’m stuck with someone who does my job “better” because he’s more “easygoing”-He doesn’t even talk that much, he just hums and nods and doesn't have anything to offer!”

You ranted to your coworker, Nakanishi Mizuki, who had been working as underground idol way before you had even though they had just turned 19. Mizuki was blessed with smooth dark skin with and two-toned heart shaped lips that made him the most vibrant to the cast as the bright make up your managers had you wear were ones that highlighted his features and brought more attention to him.

You admired Mizuki as he showed you the ropes and you bought him food whenever you could when college began to get too stressful for him. All Mizuki could do was laugh at your attitude towards your new coworker whilst you waited for the glue on your false lashes to become tacky, the false lashes curled into one another to form hears above your irises, bright red hearts around your eyes that faded into white in the center of them. You were then given contacts that shaped your pupils into hearts.

“He can’t be that bad, he doesn’t even talk that much?” You scoffed, “Yet he can handle my whole team in seconds whilst I have to help them meet deadlines!” You shouted as you curled the wig now placed on your head, “I feel like an unappreciated mother to my own coworkers.” You hissed; Mizuki only giggled at your words as they applied the gloss on his lips with a soft giggle leaving him.

“Well, I think we better hurry, Tami is most likely waiting on us.” You sighed but nodded, after applying all your heart themed accessories such as large earrings, bracelets, and a choker.

You looked at yourself through the large vanity mirror, a dark red headband that was littered with fake chocolate strawberries, red roses, and candied hearts that cover your ears. Your top was a bright crimson corset that ended an inch above your bellybutton, it had the design similar to a large red heart shaped box of chocolates, it had a nice pink lace accent that follow from the ended of your corset to where the top ended at the top of your chest with the center of the corset having cute chocolate design.

The corset is connected by a bright red ribbon tied into a bow around your neck with a golden heart dangling from the center. You had a bright crimson tiered sleeves, not connected to the corset as they hung off your shoulders and were only on your upper forearm. The skirt you wore was a tulip one, same color as your corset, with a shiny skirt under it that popped out from the opening of the tulip skirt, this under skirt was same color as the nice pink lace design.

There were some cute chocolate designs on the skirt as well, only they were lightly glittered outlines. You wore chunky crimson heels that have a shiny red ribbon connecting to it, it crosses around your calf and reaches your mid-thigh, so it disappears under the skirt. These heels raise you a couple of inches, it varies on the person in the group it all depends on your placing in the group.

Miyuki wears the same outfit as you, however, she only has the tiered sleeve on his right arm while the other is wrapped in ribbons. It’s the exact same make up and style as his is much brighter to compliment his skin tone. Miyuki was fiddling with his skirt, fixing up the three petticoats that was red, pink, and white layered on each other and complained of their heaviness only for Tami to interrupt him.

“You guys should’ve been here 20 minutes ago! Stop gossiping like schoolgirls and get in your places!” Tami shouted at the two of you whilst you and Miyuki looked back at the large vanity mirror, Konishi Tamiko was one of the heads as she danced on stage with you and Miyuki, however, she was more in the background since she spent her time managing finances, getting the word out about performances, and working hard with your other manager.

Tamiko has the most youthful appearance as she is the youngest member. Tamiko is the shortest, she has a tanned complexion due to her gyaru sense of style her hair is often braided and kept under a wig cap or in a bonnet. Taiko loves to wear brightly colored wigs, terrified of bleaching and damaging her hair, she wears these bright colored wigs in all different variations that she keeps in her wig closet.

Tamiko’s wigs change every time they go to do a theme with your group, the managers don’t mind, and fans adore this type of adoration for her appearance. Tamiko wears the same outfit as you, however, she only has the tiered sleeve on her left arm while the other is wrapped in ribbons.

You and Miyuki take photos quickly of yourselves in the mirror before posting yourselves to your idol account, a cute caption with kaomojis and hearts litter the text with the image covered in pink hearts. You put @kisskissasako, Miyuki’s stage name, and quickly upload it before making your way towards the stage.

The three of you listened to the crowd chant your names, finding your hands moving in a rhythm to show a wave of hands leading towards Miyuki’s head rolling out from your side and slowly showing themselves to the audience with a hot pink spotlight landing on him.

The crowd cheered, they whistled and shouted as Tamiko slowly made her way from behind you with her left arm crossing her other forearm and slowly dragging down to reveal her outfit to the audience as she spined gracefully. With one more spin, your back still towards the audience as you then extended your leg back to them before dragging your other leg into a spin whilst your back had arched. Your eyes closed with a warm smile on your face before face landed on the audience only for you to put the back of your wrists onto your forehead and gasp dramatically before letting your hand fall from your forehead to the audience, Miyuki and Tamiko followed putting both their hands towards the audience then bringing them to you as you heard them all shout your stage name.

You almost felt your heart explode once the lights hit you and the music started, you, Miyuki, and Tamiko took your place with one leg out you three slowly dragged your hands up your legs before spreading your arms out and bringing them to your body to wrap around your body as you spun your hips down whilst Miyuki and Tamiko spun them up, doing the same thing in reverse before you grabbed the mic from Miyuki hat was behind his back.

It was tired with a red silk ribbon; your lips were soft and glossed under the bright lights of the blackness of the performance area. Your leg bounced, as you connected the mic with the stand decorated with red, gold, and white ribbons. The words slipped from your lips, a roar from the audience as Miyuki and Tamiko had their mics attached to the sides of their faces in order to continue dancing for the audience.

You brought your index, middle, and ring finger into your palm, extending your thumb and pinky out as you brought it to your cheek and sung the chorus with Miyuki and Tamiko joining in as they bounced up and down rolled their hands from their body to the audience as if calling them over.

The beat had begun to kick in and this feeling was more than just euphoric, the sounds of your crowd shouting your name as if you were someone so important to them than what it truly had to be. Your hips rolled against as the chorus’s beat had begun to slow down, you repeated the words with your fingers still in a hand shape as you called out to the audience with your final chorus causing the audience to shout alongside you.

The lights flew around as you sung different songs didn’t matter as it all blurred together throughout the night, you blew kisses to your audience, shouted alongside them, and cheered for your fellow performers as their solos came and you joined in with all the joy you felt. This night was more than just this one, many nights before, four times a week, and all it took was for you to fully be happy with allowing yourself to feel the moment as sing along towards an audience that treated you like the sun.

After performances were simple, say hello, sign things, take pictures, and listen to your fans tell you how much they loved you. Your heart felt the warmest after shows, once the afterglow of a show had subsided you were now being told by those who loved you and appreciated you that you were someone that mattered to them and they couldn’t wait to see you again.

You soon got changed and went home, making sure to be escorted just in case of situations of deranged and delusional fans who demanded more of you and your coworkers, you took this time to take Miyuki home since you both took the same train, only getting off a stop earlier than him. As you bid farewell you looked at your phone that vibrated, likes and comments that came rushing in after the show that praised you and Miyuki that you hoped he’d see when he got home.

You found yourself immediately passing out, waking up the next morning to say job you had been dreading for the longest. You had slowly made your way over towards your job, taking your time since you had awoken earlier than you predicted and now here you were, looking over work that was done without your help.

The incompetence of your coworkers was astounding as this work was good, but they had never put in that effort before and made you do it by guilting you. You found yourself disgusted by their sudden work ethic, specifically of how much of your coworkers clanged to Nanami whenever they finished their work and hoped he’d critique them only for him to tell him it wasn’t time yet.

You were unfortunately stuck inside, unable to clock out for lunch until you finished your list of critiques and edits for them to make.

“Oh, would you please look at this Nanami?” They cried, the blond man remained stoic, “I apologize, but you need to go check in with other members before–” They cut him off, telling him they only wanted to hear him and not some nagging hag. “She doesn’t need an echo Nanami!” The man chortled. You had heard from your cubicle; it was almost as if forces were testing you today as you knew if you left with the unsubmitted item you wouldn’t hear the end of it from your boss.

“You shouldn’t refer to her as that, in fact, she’s displayed something that a lot of you are failing to do as a team and that’s help one another out instead of trying to dump the work on others instead of having three of your team members check before I or your other team leader see it.” Your ears perked up at such wording, you listened earnestly to how Nanami talked of you.

“Nanami, come on, don’t be like her.” One of the men spoke up, two of your other workers agreed, “As I’ve said before, I do not want to hear you all speak of your team leader like this.” Nanami’s voice sounded of frustration, maybe no one heard his tone, but you did, his hardened walls were cracking and with the fixing of his tie and the clearing of his voice you found yourself a bit lost in what to feel.

“Woah, Nanami, what’s the matter?” A woman cooed, only for him to brush her off, “Oh come on, there’s no way you’re going to defend her like this when she’s never even gotten to know you or anyone else here. What bond could you possibly have for her when she won’t even talk to you like a friend? Just a coworker?” A woman complained alongside the other woman.

“Because that’s not her job.” Nanami chastised them, “She doesn’t have to be your friend, or know you personally, her job isn’t to be your friend. The whole point of her job is to get told what to inform you, check your work when having gone through three or more members of your work, then submit and display that work towards the higher ups. There is no cold tone, in fact, you all speak ill will when she has never done a thing besides not go out for drinks with you all after work.”

The workplace was silence, while some members had already left to lunch your group was trying to invite Nanami without with them after getting their papers checked. You noticed how your group were a bit lost for words, Nanami’s sober persona had now become one that displayed a compassionate side towards those in the office that had gained you an ally in a place where you found yourself hating working for such a place.

You watched as your coworkers dispersed, forming the same groups they had before Nanami showed up thus abandoning the man and casting him aside with you. You found yourself a bit warmer inside, the pale white and gray bleakness of your cubicle showing the bits of color through photos you decided to let your eyes linger at for a few moments before finding yourself getting up and looking over to Nanami who's his expression had reverted back to his serene one as he slowly brought his eyes over to you.

It was a knowing exchange of understanding and thoughtful eyes that spoke essays as you found a soft smiling slowly growing on your lips, you know most likely he was keeping up for appearance as he is a team leader, in spite of all of the other workers though, he defended you when he could’ve easily joined in with them.

You thought for a moment about what to say, you looked down at the toes of your heels before looking back at Nanami, “Would you like to accompany me for lunch, Nanami?” You bubbled. Nanami’s eyes widened a bit, only if you truly paid attention to the way his face looked, you could notice the crow's feet in the corners to deepen a bit upon joining this team.

“Okay.”

Then you two were off, you both went to a bakery where you two were seldom on talking. You two enjoyed your meal together, amongst those chatting around you and the bustle of people on the street. You both looked at one another as you both thought about what to say to one another. You looked around nervously at your food before noticing the time, you still had 20 minutes of and yet had not said a single word besides talking about what you two ordered.

Whilst you fiddled with your thumbs underneath the table while Nanami had found himself a bit lost in what to say as well, spending time with coworkers was a rare sighting unless it was one specifically told of a boss that his presence would be one that would impact his workplace environment.

Nanami admired that about you, how you left when you were supposed to, how no matter how much you heard you kept coming in and doing your work diligently, and how much you did for others once he was told how some staff would guilt you into doing their work for them. Nanami collected this information in order to make the perfect announcement of how he felt about his coworkers and their carelessness for you.

Nanami hadn’t known you were there; he was so scared of you popping up he feared that maybe you found him to little to late for not defending you sooner. Your invitation for lunch shocked him and thus he found himself incapable of making basic conversation without saying the wrong thing.

“What made you want to work here, Nanami?” You spoke effortlessly, one that Nanami could spot from miles away with how you held yourself in a high regard regardless of how people spoke of you. “Past issues. I was a failure where I was before and thus, I needed to do something I knew I could never fail.” You raised a brow at such an answer, as blunt as Nanami is, you find yourself still lost by such.

“You most likely weren’t a failure, Nanami, don’t be too hard on yourself.” You comforted the man; you spoke calmly to him a smile on your face that gave off none of the energy from when you two first met over two years ago. A cold and detached smile that felt mandatory and stapled by in by the touch of the shared boss between the two of you, nonetheless, there was something in this smile gave a warmness in his heart.

“You’re too good at all you do, Nanami.” You praise earnestly, “I’m bad at speaking, I do apologize for being so quiet around you.” You hush him, “Please, Nanami, there’s need to apologize for such a thing!” Nanami’s eyes perked up at such, “I was a bit careless in what I did before, I feel the same way in this conversation.” You found yourself looking at Nanami with the softest eyes, there was this beauty between the two of you that was embedded under the dirt with water to soak and the sun to beam on it with care.

“Don’t run away from me now, Nanami. You can tell me whatever as long as you’re comfortable with it, of course.” There’s a silence that falls between the both of you and now you wonder if you overstepped a boundary, thankfully you didn’t, as Nanami quickly speaks up about the situation beforehand.

“My previous work was draining, I needed to give it up everything for them and once I gave up on a friend, I knew I needed to leave that line of work.” You nodded at this, while you found yourself unable to say anything you still tried to profess your feelings about the situation to him. “I mean, you may have failed once but the pros may outweigh the cons... Just because you failed once doesn’t mean you can’t help people from making those same mistakes you did.”

Lost in your eyes, your caring gaze, and the way your fingers found the straw of your drink and began to swirl it around. Nanami found himself listening to your words with something in his eyes that began to soften them with a cruelty of reality as you looked towards to the clock and told Nanami that you both needed to head back to the office.

You paid the bill of meal whilst Nanami stood outside, making your way out the two of you began to make your way back over to your office, “I wanted to thank you, Nanami.” You expressed a tender tone with the man as you spoke. “Thank you for defending me today, let me know if you’d like to spend time again.” You say as you make your way out of the elevator and towards your cubicle.

In an instant, you and Nanami began to spend time together. Meeting up at the train station at the morning to go to work with one another, spend lunch together, and Nanami would walk you to your home in the late nights after working those long nights with him.

When you entered his life, your infectious tone and compassionate nature began to dismantle the carefully constructed walls guarding his heart. Nanami had never been so bewitched by someone like this, once before there was one, whose brightness was one that made him want to do more in life and pushed him to go be a salaryman after their departure.

Your connection deepened, Nanami found himself experiencing emotions that had long been dormant, stirred by your genuine care and understanding. Nanami speaking of the one he lost, it took him a long time to open up to you of his fears of uselessness and with your constant affirmations that held him tightly in a warm embrace. There was something Nanami could not shake as the months had begun to past.

You guys had done almost everything, such as getting each other Christmas presents, spending birthdays together, going to do after work shenanigans like getting drunk and doing karaoke. Things Nanami had only ever done as one he had done with no choice unless he wanted his bosses to hate him.

You embodied resilience and authenticity contrasted the bleak and draining corporate world. Your zest for life and unwavering commitment to her values resonated deeply with Nanami, causing him to question the path he had chosen. Your inspirational worlds that called to his past being one that didn’t have to be a burden to him but could push him to do more in the future if he so chose.

“What would happen if I left the office?”

Suddenly, thoughts of returning to Nanami’s true passion in his previous work started to emerge, fueled by the desire to break free from the confines of a soulless job that stifled his want for appreciation and impact those who wanted to do more for those around him who didn't have the capabilities he had as a Jujutsu Sorcerer.

Yet, you didn’t know he was a Jujutsu Sorcerer.

“I’d support you through it all, I trust what we have will last even if you’re on to bigger and better things.”

Your words were chosen so bewitchingly, he yearned to be on the level of your phrasing and tone. Nanami had thought for a moment, what would you do while he was gone? His job would take up so much time. How could you ever see him? What if one day he was gone forever, and it would seem to you that his new life became more important to him than you were? It was new year's, you two had been close friends for a year and some change now, soon reaching your late 20s that made Nanami stop and think about what he was doing as a salaryman. You two had spent this one together, like you did last year, sitting there on your balcony looking over the city with champagne glasses brought to you by Nanami who you thanked cheerfully.

As your relationship flourished with Nanami, he couldn't ignore the harsh reality of your situation – trapped in a job that undervalued your worth and failed to recognize your potential. Witnessing you endure the daily grind of a workplace that treated you as expendable ignited a fire within Nanami.

There was something in your eyes, it glowed under the darkness of the night they couldn’t compare to the city lights near the apartment, that glow he never wanted to lose as he made a firm decision to not only be your pillar of support but also your advocate for change, determined to liberate you from the chains of the workplace.

The countdown had begun, you and him counting down together as you found your arm around his waist and his around yours. You brought each other close, leaning your head on his shoulder as heard the other members of your apartment count together. A strike of midnight that cause screams and shouts from the streets and homes with fireworks shooting around the two of you.

At a crucial moment, Nanami found himself standing at a crossroads, torn between the familiarity of his corporate world and the beckoning call of a life filled with purpose as a Jujutsu Sorcerer. With you by his side, he realized that true happiness did not lie in the pursuit of material success, but rather in the freedom to follow one's heart.

It took a while for things to calm down before you and Nanami made your way insides, your laugh lighting up the world and Nanami losing himself as he asks you question. “What do you do on the nights when we don’t spend time together?” The world froze around you both, you hadn’t told him you ere underground Idol, with how things were looking however, you were about to be on a stage that wasn’t underneath a building.

It was nothing big, a venue to host 16000~, that would be above ground this time. You looked up at Nanami, unable to find the words, yet you knew with all this time. You knew you had to tell him though, you cleared your throat and poured another glass.

“Nanami, I’m an idol.”

The words slipped from your throat with a smoothness you wouldn’t have had without the alcohol, you smiled at him and couldn’t help it as you looked to him with the brightest of eyes. “I’ve been an idol since I started working at the god-forsaken office.” You sighed passionately, “If I could do it full time I would.”

Nanami was lost for words, he had no idea you did such work and even more he admired you for such, doing a job that required such rigorous work for practice, voice lessons, and so on. Nanami had no idea he could feel more for you in this moment than he had before in the year and months of knowing you.

“Why don’t you do it full time?” You propped your head up with your chin in your palm, “I’m sorry?” You raised a brow at such, “Why don’t you be a full time, Idol?” You thought for a moment, “Is it because of money?” You didn’t let Nanami finish, be grateful you did as Nanami would’ve stayed in the soul sucking job to provide you the life you wanted. “No, Nanami, I love being an Idol. I really do. I love all the people who support me, cheer my name, and make me feel seen in ways life has never.”

A soft crack in Nanami’s heart as he heard of the love you deserve more than all in the world, admiration for you that skyrocketed as he yearned more for you. “I don’t do it full time because I just don’t…” You thought, “I don't…” Why didn’t you do it full time? If you left your job, you would have more time to do more gigs and do more work, however…

“I don’t want to leave you, Nanami…”

The blond’s ears perked up at such wording, you looked into his eyes with a softness that left you feeling crumbled like a wall torn to pieces by a large wave, you couldn’t put your finger on this new desire that had begun to eat you and now you looked towards Nanami with a gaze that bolstered the feelings that had begun to bubble inside around you.

“ I don’t want to leave you either… ”

The warmness of your home, the dim lighting, the faint sounds of few straggling fireworks being lit for the amusement of those around you, and the way you were here with Nanami’s presence. There was something so loving about this moment you felt your heart ready to explode from the beauty of this moment.

Nanami finding himself also lost in what to feel, the way his heart had pounded made him anxious your silence was because you wanted to hear him struggle to hold himself together around you. A yearning in the half-lidded eyes of both you as you both found yourself coming closer and closer to one another.

“It requires me to travel everywhere, I’d be in so many places performing and I don’t know if your job would allow you to be with me everywhere…” You bit your tongue, you wanted him to be there with you and yet, this moment felt as if you were losing yourself in what could be as Nanami felt himself falling apart with the way you began to bewitch him with every word that fell from your lips that were of so soft…

You watched as Nanami’s hands came out to you, larger and hardened from the years of work, they held your hands and cradled you with his thumbs rubbing against the softness of your knuckles that had begun to eat with a loving feeling. You found yourself looking up into his eyes, had you ever been able to see how close he was to you that his cool and minty breath had hit your lips.

“I’ll find a way to travel, my old job made me go everywhere, I’ll go to places with you to watch you perform and I’ll cheer you on the way you’ve done for me.” Nanami’s words cradle you, you feel his hands slowly slide up your arms towards your elbows and slowly cup your lower back, your breath hitches at such a sudden touch as your lips slowly part almost sending Nanami off the rails.

“Is this, okay?” Nanami questions, a softness to his voice that you had never heard come from him before, he must feel what you do and in a swift moment you feel this desire for more of it. “Of course it is…” Your arms snaking around his neck as you brought his lips towards yours with your eyes closing as Nanami brought himself more into the kiss.

There was something about this kiss that brought you to your knees, and Nanami breaking his neck to have more of you gave you more than you ever wanted in a relationship as he coddled you. There was something Nanami gave you, something working in that office and as an Idol. The appreciation from someone so close to you, for someone to get to know you and bring you into an embrace where all that mattered was the comfort you got as he held you tight to himself in order for you to not to fall while twisting his body to just feel your lips against his. There was something about this chaste kiss that enveloped you into this something that could you swallow you whole, and that was the way Nanami pulled away and asked you, “I want a life with you, away from this job…”

A pause as he took a breath, losing track of time with you was one of the many things that worked as curse against the man who wanted you so dear, “Would you run away with me?” Your lashes fluttered open, looking into Nanami’s eyes that were pained with an expression of rejection as if it wasn’t you then no one else would ever compare to you and be who you were to him in the ways he had you now.

Your hands pulled from his forearms and two his collared shirt, “I’d love nothing more.” You pulled in him, your noses rubbing against each other as you kissed him as if you’d die without it. Nanami brought you closer as you both kissed into the night, the world being nothing but just a force that gratefully brought you two together, forever.

©ouchthathurts please don't translate, claim as yours, redistribute and/or plagiarize in any way. likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

#ouchlovesthem #ouchlovesnanamikento #nanami fluff #work husband nanami #jjk nanami #nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami x you #jujustu kaisen #ouchlovesjujutsukaisen

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whoschr · 1 year

Note

fav accs w good completed smaus??

hi anon! I’ll try my best to list them on the top of my head :)) I Have a lot so be ready 😈

(Disclaimer!; if your works aren’t here, and we are moots, I’m so sorry! I didn’t forget you, I’m just listing, completed works that Ive seen or already read!)

@amakumos yun; c’scorner + the rest of the series, all clear, formula of love, etc.

@chiyuv cae; the revenge pact

@ifearjwn latri; deja vu, one favor

@seungstarss sei; revelations, recall, bet

@goldenhypen em; catfish

@heeracha robi; buy one take me, you me and the moon, end of the line

@yenqa yen; more time with you @seosracha ayis; back 2 u!

@luvistqrzzz rim; the accidental Polaroid

@hanniluvi soph; my penpal- ww? @son4taa sona; heart attack

@haknom kayla; bad news @tzyuki ej; one hit wonder

💥I know you said completed but I couldn’t help it, adding some others that are still ongoing because these authors do amazing work!

@flwrshee ri; hee’s back @ifearjwn latri; natural

@yenqa yen; New Romantics @chiyuv cae; now we date, wbh (series)

@eulris nat; Cupid is so dumb!

@kazmura lana; caramel macchiato @hoonvrs saint; noona

@viyqe 예진; 건의함 @haknom kayla; sticky notes

@maiverie mai; misconduct @jennaissantes lily; love you twice @yyunari nari; stuck by glue @ctrlemis art; love dive

#anons’!★#they all though deserve love and support #so go support <33

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mondaysamiright · 3 days

Text

Heat of the Moment

Pairing: Amelia Shepherd x fem!reader

Summary: Two idiots in love and the good ole blurting out confessions of love.

Author's Notes: So Y/N is the daughter of Teddy Altman (idk why I just picked someone lol) and a paramedic with Seattle Fire. She is a part of one of their EMS units (emergency medical services) and works for Station 19 (of course). Sorry it's a bit long!

The fire raged in front of them, an angry orange beast that roared louder with every passing minute. Y/N Altman, standing with her EMS unit on the street, stared up at the burning building. A couple of other paramedics from the other EMS unit hesitated, looking toward the distant wail of the fire truck’s sirens.

Y/N didn’t hesitate.

“There’s someone still inside,” one of the neighbors screamed, pointing to the third floor. “They didn’t make it out!”

Without waiting for backup, she darted toward the building, ignoring the shouts of her fellow medics. Flames licked the door frame as Y/N barged through, smoke stinging her eyes and the acrid scent filling her lungs. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, the sound almost drowned out by the crackling fire as she moved quickly through the narrow hallway.

The heat was unbearable, and the smoke reduced her visibility to almost nothing. She could feel the warmth creeping closer to her skin, but she pushed through, her mind focused solely on finding the person trapped inside.

There. In the corner of the room, collapsed beneath a window, she spotted the figure. They were slumped, unconscious, face streaked with soot. Y/N dropped to her knees and assessed them briefly before hefting the limp body over her shoulders, gritting her teeth against the weight.

Her legs burned as she stumbled her way back through the inferno. The flames had spread, closing in fast. Y/N pushed down the panic, adrenaline surging through her as she fought her way out, sweat dripping down her brow. She could feel the heat blistering the skin on her arms, the bite of fire making its presence known in sharp, painful bursts, but there was no stopping now. The person on her back needed to survive.

The moment she burst back through the door, coughing violently, the fire trucks were arriving. Medics rushed forward, taking the unconscious patient from her. Y/N, panting hard, bent over with her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath.

Maya Bishop, her boss, was there in seconds. “What the hell were you thinking?” Maya’s voice was sharp, a mix of fury and concern. “You could’ve been killed!”

“I got them out, didn’t I?” Y/N rasped through her coughing, waving her off. The burns on her arms were starting to throb, but she ignored the pain.

“I want you checked out when we get to the hospital. No arguments, Altman,” Maya ordered, her tone brooking no room for defiance.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Grey Sloan Memorial buzzed with the usual controlled chaos, and Y/N, now in the ER, stood leaning against the wall, arms folded, her patience wearing thin. Her burns were minor—she’d had worse. All she wanted to do was get back to the station and sleep off the exhaustion. But of course, she was stuck here. Because rules.

She was ready to leave—already calculating how fast she could slip out unnoticed—when the doors to the ER flung over and Y/N couldn’t help the groan that escaped her lips.

“Y/N Altman!”

Amelia’s voice cut through the busy ER, her white coat flying behind her as stormed across the floor. She’d heard that tone before. It was the 'I’m-going-to-kill-you' tone. Amelia came to a stop right in front of her, her eyes blazed with a fury.

“What the hell were you thinking?!”

Y/N crossed her arms tighter, meeting Amelia’s glare with one of her own. “Good to see you too, Dr. Shepherd,” she said, her voice laced with sarcasm. “I was doing my job. You know, saving lives?”

Amelia’s jaw clenched, “Running into a burning building?” she shot back. “Without waiting for fire? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Please, I’m fine. It’s not like I haven’t dealt with dangerous situations before.”

“That’s not the point! You’re not a firefighter, Y/N. You had no business going into that building.”

Y/N straightened, the annoyance in her chest flaring as she pushed herself off the wall. “Oh, so now you’re suddenly concerned about how I do my job? You’ve never cared before when we’ve argued over cases.”

Amelia let out a frustrated laugh. “This isn’t about a patient, Y/N! This is about you almost dying because you thought you could play the hero!”

Y/N blinked, momentarily thrown by the emotion in Amelia’s voice. “I wasn’t playing hero,” she said, “I was doing what needed to be done.”

“No,” Amelia snapped, stepping closer, her voice shaking now. “You were doing something reckless. Something that could’ve gotten you killed.”

Y/N stared at her, bewildered. “Why are you so upset? I’m fine. The patient’s fine. It’s over.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Amelia said, her voice quieter now, but no less intense. “You could’ve died, Y/N. And you just—brush it off like it’s nothing.”

“I don’t understand why you’re—”

“Because I love you, you idiot!”

The noise of the ER seemed to vanish in an instant, the beeping monitors and hurried footsteps fading into the background as Amelia’s words hung in the air. Y/N’s mind went blank, her usual quick wit frozen.

Y/N blinked, her mouth falling open in shock. “What?” she said, the word barely escaping her lips.

Amelia swallowed hard, her eyes now glistening with unshed tears. “I love you,” she repeated, her face a mix of anger, fear, and something softer that Y/N had never seen before. “And I can’t stand watching you do this to yourself. Running into danger like you don’t care about what happens to you. I don’t want to lose you.”

Amelia’s chest heaved, her voice cracking as she spoke again. “I care about you, Y/N. More than you know. And every time you do something like this, it terrifies me. I can’t—” She broke off, shaking her head as tears finally spilled over. “I can’t lose you.”

Y/N opened her mouth to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. She had no idea what to say to this version of Amelia. The emotional wall between them had always been sturdy, but now, it was crumbling, and Y/N felt completely unequipped to deal with the fallout.

Amelia took a shaky step back, looking away as she swiped at her eyes again, her voice cracking. “I can’t do this. I can’t just watch you destroy yourself. It’ll kill me. I care too much.”

Without another word, Amelia turned and practically ran out of the ER, leaving Y/N frozen in place. The bustling activity of the ER resumed around her, but Y/N couldn’t move, couldn’t think past the whirlwind of emotions that had just swept over her.

For a long moment, Y/N just stood there, her heart pounding as Amelia’s words echoed in her ears. Finally, Y/N snapped out of her stupor. She needed to find Amelia. She couldn’t leave it like this.

Y/N jogged out of the ER, scanning the hall until she spotted Amelia near the elevators. She caught up just as Amelia angrily punched the button for the elevator, her tears falling freely now.

“What do you want?” Amelia snapped, “You came to give me a sarcastic comment? Make fun of me for crying, for caring about you?”

Y/N’s heart twisted. There was no sarcasm left, no sharp retorts. “Amelia…” Y/N started, stepping closer, but Amelia took a shaky step back, her fists trembling at her sides.

“Don’t,” Amelia choked out. “Don’t try to make this better. I hate you for making me feel like this.”

Before Y/N could open her mouth to speak, Amelia’s fist connected with her chest, the impact startling but not painful. “I hate you,” Amelia choked out. Her fists struck again, harder this time. “I hate you.”

The words stung more than the hits themselves, but Y/N knew—knew deep down—that Amelia didn’t mean it. She stood still, allowing Amelia’s fists to land again and again, her own hands at her sides, not moving to block or stop the blows.

“I hate you for making me love you!” Amelia said, her words coming out in a sob. Her fists, once forceful, were losing strength, each hit becoming weaker, more desperate.

Then at once, Amelia fell against her, her face buried in Y/N’s uniform as she sobbed, her fists gripping the material tightly. Y/N wrapped her arms around her, holding her close as Amelia cried, the sound muffled in her chest. Y/N could feel every shake of Amelia’s body, could feel the warmth of her tears soaking into her shirt, but none of it mattered. All that mattered was holding her, being there for her in this moment.

Y/N held her tighter, her hand moving to the back of Amelia’s head, gently stroking her hair. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Minutes passed, though it felt like hours, as they stood in the quiet hallway, the chaos of the hospital continuing around them. Y/N didn’t move, didn’t speak beyond the quiet, comforting words she whispered into Amelia’s hair. Eventually, Amelia’s sobs began to subside, the harsh gasps for air slowing, her grip on Y/N’s shirt loosening. She still clung to her, her head resting against Y/N’s chest, but the desperation was fading, replaced by exhaustion.

“I don’t want to keep losing people I care about,” Amelia whispered. “And you… you make me feel like I’m going to lose you every time you do something like this. I love you, Y/N. And it terrifies me.”

Y/N said nothing for a moment, just tightened her arms around Amelia. For a long moment, they just stood there. The warmth of Amelia's body against hers, the steady rise and fall of her breathing—it was enough to ground Y/N in a way she hadn’t expected.

She didn’t want to speak, not yet. But eventually, the words bubbled up, ones she’d been avoiding for too long.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N whispered, her voice soft in the silence. She felt Amelia stiffen slightly, then relax again in her arms. “I didn’t realize… I didn’t think about how much it affected you. I’ve always been… reckless, I guess. And I know we argue. A lot. But it doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

Amelia’s breathing had slowed, her head still resting against Y/N’s chest, listening.

“Despite all the fighting,” Y/N continued, her voice a little shaky now, “you’re… you’re the one I look forward to seeing. You drive me crazy, Amelia. But it’s in the best way possible. When I walk into the ER, and I know you’re there, it’s like—” She paused, trying to find the right words. “It’s like, no matter what happens that day, I get to see you. And that’s enough.”

Amelia’s grip on Y/N’s shirt tightened, but she remained quiet, listening.

“I can’t imagine not having you around,” Y/N admitted softly. “We argue, yeah, but you’re the one thing that’s constant in all the chaos. And I think, maybe I’ve been scared to admit it to myself, but…” Y/N’s voice faltered for a moment before she took a deep breath. “I love you, Amelia.”

For a second, there was nothing but silence. Then Amelia pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at Y/N, her eyes still glistening with tears but softened by the weight of Y/N’s words. She stared at Y/N, her lips parting as if to speak, but before she could, Y/N leaned down and pressed her lips to hers.

The kiss was soft at first, hesitant, as if they were both testing the waters. But then, Amelia slowly slipped her hands up to Y/N's shoulders and around her neck, pulling her closer. Y/N responded in kind, her hands dropping to Amelia's waist and her fingers gently splaying across the small of her back.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads resting together, both of them were breathless but smiling. “Well this is nice,” Y/N said after a moment.

Amelia let out a soft laugh. “As opposed to arguing all the time?”

Y/N chuckled, her fingers tracing small circles on Amelia’s back. “Yeah. This is a nice change. Although…” Y/N started, a hint of a teasing smile on her lips, “You have to admit, the arguing was kind of fun.”

Amelia rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the matching smile that spread across her face. “Only because you always thought you were right.”

“I was right,” Y/N shot back, “Most of the time, anyways.”

“You… are so impossible,” Amelia said, though the smile on her lips gave away the affection behind her words.

Y/N grinned. “I’ve been told that once or twice.”

Amelia laughed, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of her lips, “Come on. You still need to get checked out.”

Y/N groaned but didn’t argue, following Amelia’s lead as they made their way back to the ER, their fingers laced together. As they rounded the corner, they ran right into Maya, who was pacing the hall, her arms crossed and her expression stormy.

“Altman! There you are!” Maya’s voice was sharp, frustration evident as she stalked toward Y/N. “I thought you’d taken off again! You were supposed to get checked out ages ago. What the hell, Y/N? You could be—”

“Maya, I’ve got it,” Amelia interrupted. “I’m taking her to get checked out now.”

Maya blinked, her eyes darting between the two of them before she noticed their joined hands. Her stern expression faltered, a knowing smile slowly spreading across her face as she put the pieces together.

“Oh,” Maya said, her tone shifting entirely. “Oh!” She exclaimed, her grin growing. “About damn time, Altman.”

Y/N flushed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Yeah, well… it kind of just happened.”

“Please. You two have been dancing around each other for ages. I’m just glad you finally figured it out.” She raised an eyebrow and smirked. “So, does this mean there’ll be less arguing now?”

Y/N snorted, casting a sideways glance at Amelia before responding. “No promises,” She said, her words overlapping with Amelia’s, “We’ll try.”

Maya rolled her eyes. “Just get her checked out, Shepherd. And Altman, you’re still not off the hook. Come find me after.”

#amelia shepherd #grey's anatomy #amelia shepherd x reader #station 19 #maya bishop #teddy altman #grey's anatomy x reader #amelia shepherd x fem!reader

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