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souliebird · 17 days ago

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[[and then I met you || ch. 28]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

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Words: 4.3k 🌶️

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Sometimes, Matt forgets what it feels like to be happy.

His life has been tragedy after tragedy, many of his own making, and more than once it had been overwhelming. He remembers all too well the feeling of gravel in his knees as he begged for Death to come to him. He will never stop having nightmares about choking on ash and dust as his world collapses around him. His hands will always have blood on them.

But when you smile at him - really, truly smile - all of those memories fade into the background. They get banished to who knows where and he’s enveloped in this lightness he can’t explain. Nothing else in the world matters to him but you.

You, and how your hand goes up to try to hide your mouth, like you are too scared to let anyone see you have emotions.

You, and how breathy your voice gets when you are trying to not laugh.

You, and how your heart has calmed from jack rabbiting everywhere from just being near him to the steady rhythm he daydreams about.

You bring him this sense of peace he does not understand and all he wants in life is to do the same for you.

Love does not begin to describe what he feels for you.

He loved (loves) Elektra.

He loved (loves) Karen.

He belongs to you - body, spirit, and mind.

He would deny God and worship only at your altar for the remainder of Eternity if you even gave the hint, you wanted as much.

He would lay down his gloves and armor if that is what you wished for.

He would turn and walk away from Hell’s Kitchen if you led him elsewhere.

In such a short time, your Light has wrapped itself around him and he oh so willingly let himself be consumed. You make him want to be Better.

He wants to be a Better person, a Better fighter, a Better protector, a Better lawyer, a Better friend, a Better lover, a Better father. He wants to be Better because only then - maybe - could he possibly deserve an ounce of what you give him.

You have built so many walls around your heart that it scares him. He has a feeling you will never let him know why those walls are there or who so thoroughly broke you that you need them, but it does not matter to him. He understands, more than anyone, that they exist for a reason, and he is going to systematically tear through every single one.

He doesn’t care how slowly and methodically he has to chip away at them. He is going to savor every victory, because it is one millimeter closer to you.

Taking you out to dinner was something he was prepared to wait months for, but a unique opportunity presented itself and he decided it was worth the risk of you saying ‘no’.

But now you are sitting across from him, tucked into a corner of one of the most glamorous restaurants in the city, giggling into your palm while he tells you about one of his college adventures.

“What happened next?” you ask in an excited whisper.

His lips turn up into a mischievous grin as he concludes his story, “We were locked out on the roof all night. We managed to flag someone down in the morning, but the damage was done. I took the fall - the poor blind man got turned around and went up the wrong staircase and his nice friend went looking for him, so they didn’t press any charges, but the professor tore us a new one. Foggy refused to drink red wine for at least ten years after.”

Your body sings with laughter and Matt feels himself puff up in Pride. Your disposition is night and day from earlier in the evening - you had been stiff, and he could literally taste the anxiety rolling off you in waves. You had been hunched in and quiet. It had been a task for him to delicately untangle your nerves, but he had accomplished his goal, and his reward was your hand on top of the table, just a breath away from his own.

He is playing it slow, though.

As much as he wants to touch you - any part of you - he knows better than to push for anything. He’s asked so much of you tonight and he is not going to ruin it all by making you uncomfortable with a bold display of public affection such as hand holding.

“You are lucky it wasn’t snowing,” you comment as you go for the last sip of your wine. “You could have frozen to death.”

He gives a nonchalant half shrug, “we are not above huddling together for warmth, and it isn’t like Foggy and I haven’t shared a bed before.” He pauses, then just to soothe any worry you might have, adds, “Plus, I would have gotten us back in long before then. The building was only four stories, so it would have been easy to scale down, break in, and go unlock the door without tipping Fog off. He was that drunk.”

You exhale through your nose in a way he knows you are making a cute little pouting face. “He didn’t know?”

There’s a hint of confusion and caution in the question and Matt decides he’ll never get over how carefully you tread around certain topics. The hesitancy leaves him the option to explain or dismiss and it is something he cherishes about you.

The subject of his secrecy with his abilities with regards to his best friend isn’t something he likes to think about. It hurt both of them and the ripples of the aftermath can still be felt, but Matt won’t let that ache out, so he replies with the simple truth, “No one did.”

A soft hum escapes your throat, and he expects a follow up akin to ‘that must have been lonely’ or some other sentiment. So, of course, you go in a different direction.

“I don’t think I could climb down the side of a building.”

He chuckles at your musing and the way your Light once again chases off his ever-present dark thoughts. “No?”

You hum again in affirmative, and your lips give the slightest pop as they go up into a smile, “I was never a big jungle gym person. I don't remember the last time I climbed anything. There was a rock wall at the ESU gym I wanted to try, but they were so understaffed I didn’t want to bother them.”

Before he can comment about his experience with rock walls, the heavy thud of worn leather loafers enters into the mental perimeter he has made around the table, signaling the approach of someone.

Your hand slides off the table and away from his.

“I see the tarta de queso was the correct choice,” the front of house manager says, amusement clear in his thick New Jersey accent. Matt can tell he's been in the restaurant business for a long time - his movements are smooth as he clears the dishes from the table and the smell of garlic has seeped into his skin. Surprisingly, he doesn't reek of cigarettes or weed - a strong odor most fine dining workers carry. It is something he appreciates.

Matt had enjoyed his meal. The food was not only delicious - it was clean. The chef runs a tight kitchen. He had heard it when he had checked in to see when food would be coming out. There is no cross contamination on the knives and plates are thoroughly rinsed. He couldn't even taste the soap on the forks.

“It was perfect. And so pretty,” you say, your voice taking on a polite and pleasant tone. He's noticed that you adopt it whenever you are talking to a service worker. It's sweet.

“It was amazing,” he agrees quickly.

The man gives a hardy laugh, “Good, good. Now, would you like one more glass of wine? Maybe an after-dinner drink or coffee? Something to go? We have some albondigas that reheat in the microwave beautifully.”

Matt defers to you and your hair bounces as you shake your head, “I think I am at my limit. Everything was absolutely wonderful. Thank you so much.”

Another waiter slips into the perimeter and silently relieves the front of house manager of plates and wine glasses, leaving the man with the ability to clap his hands together. “The pleasure was all mine. Mister Murdock and his guests are welcome back anytime, our treat. Just give us a call and let us know, we will have a table for you.”

It is his turn to thank the man, and he does so, adding, “That is too kind of you.”

“Nonsense! It is the least we could do for you,” the man declares, and Matt’s neck heats up just a little. The daughter of the owner had gotten into some hot water, and he had been able to keep her out of jail. “Now! I will leave you two lovebirds be, but you let me know if you change your mind about that coffee.”

He quite literally bows out and Matt directs his full focus back to you.

All of the signals he is getting indicate you are as pleased as he is with how your night is going. He can guess you have a shy little smile with how your head is ever so slightly ducked and he wonders if you’re looking at him through your lashes. He can practically feel your gaze dancing over his features. A certain tang is starting to hit his palette that gets his blood pumping and he all but starts to salivate.

He can’t hold back the slight growl in his voice when he asks, “Want to get out of here?”

Your body gives him the reaction he wants, and he is quick to stand and offer you his arm. You get up rather gracefully - Matt thinks you are hyper aware of your movements, and you want to look composed in such an elegant restaurant - and take hold of his bicep. It is the opposite of how you usually walk, but you have no trouble leading him through the winding tables and out onto the sidewalk. The change in temperature gives you a shiver and instinctively, you press closer.

He wants to pull you flush, to get his hands on the silk he’s draped your curves in, but he reminds himself to behave.

You turn to face him, hand still on his sleeve. You roll your bottom lip between your teeth as you work up the nerve to say whatever you are going to. He is, of course, patient and lets you fret and fuss for a few seconds.

“Do you,” you start, barely above a whisper and as sweet and thick as honey, “want to get a cab back to your place?”

He had had more plans to woo you, but they are tossed away as soon as the words leave your lips. He wants nothing more than your suggestion and tells you as much before moving to flag down the nearest car. Given the popularity of the venue, it takes all but a second. He slides in behind you and gives the cabbie his address.

His apartment is only a few blocks away, but that's far too many for you to walk in your gown.

And Matt wants to get there as fast as possible.

The ride is silent as can be, but far from uneventful. Like it is a continuation from dinner, both his hand and yours end up on the seat between you. He tries to remain calm and collected, but his heart pounds in his chest like he is a teenager as he stretches his pinky out to brush against yours. Your breath catches in your throat and arousal courses through you so quickly it makes his head spin and his dick jump to attention.

So hesitantly, like the cabbie is going to turn around and start chastising you for being so scandalous, you link your finger with his. He doesn’t even try to fight the smile that takes over his face. His boyish excitement must be contagious - you’re biting at your lips again and your face radiates heat.

He is quick to take the lead for the next step, not even thinking as he turns your hand and laces your fingers with his. They fit together perfectly - and like the lovesick puppy he is, he can’t resist the cliche hand squeeze.

Apparently, you are just as cheesy as he is, because your hand clenches around his just a millisecond faster.

It is hours or minutes or days of your Light wrapping around Matt’s mind before the cab rolls up in front of his apartment and he is paying for the ride. He refuses to let go of you as you both leave the car, and he doesn’t wait for it to pull away before he’s leading you to the building’s door.

The dynamic shifts once you cross the threshold.

It is only a few steps in until you are in front of the elevator and Matt expertly pivots so he is behind you once the call button is pressed. He no longer has to hold back - there is no one around and cameras do not exist in this building. His hands go to your waist, and he tangles his fingers into the silk of your dress. It’s still cool to the touch and slides over his skin like water. His hands smooth up your body just a fraction - hitching your dress up so it no longer touches the ground.

He pulls you back, so you are flush to his chest and it is a step back you eagerly take. As he ducks his head to latch his lips to your pulse point, you let yours fall to the side, giving him so much more access. He doesn’t waste this gift - this offering - and he leaves his first mark of the night.

Your body weeps for him. If the salt from your skin wasn’t coating his tongue, the tart flavor of your arousal would be. He can hear the way your cunt flexes and clenches around nothing, and he silently promises he won’t leave you empty for much longer. You are not the only one eager and he needs to get his fix before he spends the rest of the night taking you apart.

Luckily, Foggy has agreed to babysit until one in the morning, so Matt has plenty of time to savor you.

Under his tongue, you struggle to not moan. Your control is too tight to allow that in public, but once you are in his bed, he is going to make you hoarse. The catches in your throat are the best kind of tease.

You breathe his name just as the elevator slides open. He urges you forward and follows without letting up his kissing. He goes up your neck until he can nip at your earlobe, and you melt even more under his touch.

“Sixth floor,” he whispers, not wanting to let go of you to reach for the buttons. It takes you a moment to act and you are a bit clumsy with pressing the right floor, but it doesn’t matter. The doors close and Matt has you in his arms.

His hands wander over your hips and belly - he can't get enough of you and the way your skin sounds against the fabric is like music to his ears. All he wants to do is touch you.

You press your hips back, so your ass rubs against him enticingly. He’s long since hard and the intentional friction makes his brain short circuit for a split second - it takes everything to not grind into you or pin you to the elevator wall.

Your hands find his and you oh so gently drag your nails over his knuckles while also applying pressure to his wrist with the heel of your hand. He takes it as a sign you want more, and he spreads his fingers as wide as he can to drag over your hips.

“I need my cock in you,” he breaths into your ear. You shudder and barely hold back a whine. “I need to feel you cum for me, just from that. Then I’m going to lay you out and get my fill of that perfect pussy of yours until you can’t say anything but my name. Then,” he promises, letting his voice get ragged and lower in octave, “I’m going to flip you over and mount you like I’ve been thinking about for weeks.”

“Matt..” you choke on his name, and he takes a moment to admire that you are managing to stay composed. It’s holding on by a string, but you are not giving him the satisfaction of turning you into a mess.

Yet.

The elevator finally reaches the correct floor and creaks open. You move practically as one as you both hurry out of the elevator. He hates he has to let go of you to get the keys from his pocket, but he has enough practice he doesn’t fumble with them to get the door open.

He doesn’t know who does what first once inside - all he knows is his mouth is on yours before the lock clicks shut and your hands are in his hair. You’re up against the door and it is him producing the needy noises as he ruts against you.

All of your shyness and hesitancy is gone in the privacy of his apartment. You are as hungry for him as he is for you, and it is him who has to break the kiss to be able to breathe. You start to push at his suit jacket, but he won’t allow it - instead he grabs your wrists and pins them above your head.

“Not yet,” he hums. The last of the blood in his head doesn’t let him forget that he has one last thing to do before he can take you to bed.

You pout but don’t complain, and he rewards that by lacing his fingers with yours once again. He guides you from the entrance hallway and towards his bedroom, walking backwards the entire way so he remains facing you. The click of your heels echo and with each step, his cock twitches with desire.

His bedroom has a new addition that he leads you to - a mirror. He’s propped it on his dresser just for this occasion. He understands your confusion as he positions himself behind you, but you play along with his game, not questioning his intentions.

He lets go of your hands to smooth them up your arms, to your shoulders, then the back of your dress. The zipper glides down smoothly and with a little urging from him, the gown drops from your figure to pile on the ground, leaving you in just your heels and panties.

Lace panties he had purchased and snuck into the garment bag that dress had come in. He would have bought you shoes as well, but he didn’t know your size.

“This doesn’t seem fair,” you comment, but Matt can hear how you don’t actually care about that. Your blood is thrumming, and your slick has started to creep out of its confines and down your leg.

“Patience, my darling.”

You have on earrings - dangly things that tinkle with every movement of your head. He has little practice removing such things and he is lucky they are hooks he can slide out instead of complicated studs he’s heard Karen complain about. Again, you don’t question him, only tilting your head to help him when you realize what he is doing. He sets them and his glasses on the dresser before he gently taps his shoe against your heels. That is all the instruction you need, and you step out of them.

The last thing is your panties. As much as he wants to rip them off with his teeth, that is not the plan for the night. He ghosts his hands down your sides before he hooks his thumbs at their hem and lets them fall to be with the dress.

His blood pounds in his ears as he reaches into his coat pocket. The box nestled inside is small, fitting in the palm of his hand, and he keeps it out of your view as he pulls it out. His fingers may or may not shake as he opens the box and removes the delicate chain hidden inside.

The inhale you take and the way you still as he drapes the necklace around your throat tells him everything he needs to know. Lightning is dancing up and down you as goosebumps cover your skin and he doesn’t need to taste the salt in the air to know there are tears starting to gather in your eyes.

He clasps the necklace close, then lets his hands fall so they can wrap around your waist. He hooks his chin over your shoulder and simply states, “You are beautiful.”

The necklace is a single, tear shaped pendant about the size of his fingernail, hanging from a thin chain. According to the jeweler, the gemstone is a deep red ruby. It is simple and elegant.

You hold your breath as you reach up to touch it. Your eyes are fixed on the mirror, and he can tell your lips are parted in shock as you examine yourself. He takes advantage of your distraction to kiss your shoulder.

“Will you wear this for me?” he asks with his voice.

‘Will you let me love you’ is what his heart means.

He tries to not panic when you don’t respond. He knows that your cheeks are now wet, and he Prays he did not get his signals wrong. This may have been a step too much - you might not yet be ready for this.

His doubt is vanquished as you swirl around and kiss him with everything you have.

He gets undressed in record time - you work his pants while he shrugs off his jacket and yanks his dress shirt over his head, not bothering to deal with the buttons. Soon enough you are both nude and stumbling into the bed.

Matt lets you direct him onto his back, and he reaches for the drawer of his bedside table while you crawl on top of him. It is your turn to kiss his neck and shoulders, adding in bites and scrapes of your teeth as he all but rips a condom out of its packaging. He knows you aren’t on birth control yet - and as much as he wants to fill you to the brim with his seed, he also knows pregnancy isn’t something you want in your near future.

He barely gets the protection on before your perfect heat is surrounding him. You throw your head back, shameless in your moaning as you sink down onto him.

He nearly cums from just that.

You plant your hands on his chest, nails dragging wonderfully down his skin, and begin to ride him like you were meant for it. He had wanted to fuck you into the mattress, but if this is what you want, he has no room to complain. His hands find your waist and he digs his fingers in, wanting to leave bruises as he keeps you steady on his cock.

“Take what you want, sweetheart, I’m yours. I’m yours,” he encourages. “Ride my cock.”

You squeeze around him, your body already so close to release. He needs you to chase it. “I’ve been thinking about it,” you pant as you grind your cunt on him, “been wanting this. Wanting you. Needing you.”

“Fuck, baby. Fuck, baby. Tell me what you want.”

He gets his feet planted so he can start meeting your rolls and his hands can no longer stay still. One goes down so he can rub at your already swollen and soaking clit and the other jumps to your breast. Your nipple is pebbled under his thumb, and he pinches at it, making you keen.

“Wanna…Matt..want this.”

You are far too focused on bouncing on him to get out words and he doesn’t mind one bit - he’ll get you to tell him your desires at some point. He has all night to coax it out.

You claw at him as your core begins to tighten and Matt puts himself to work. He becomes so easily lost in you - your skin on his, your taste in his mouth, your sweet noises drowning out everything else except the wet sounds of him sliding in and out of you. He wants his mouth on you, but you’ve got him pinned as you use him for support and leverage. You are starting to shake, and he takes up any slack in your riding by increasing his thrusts.

Your nails pierce his skin as your cunt begins to squeeze and pulse around him and, even with a condom, it sends him tumbling over the edge with you.

He doesn’t white out, but he misses when you collapse onto him, because the next thing he knows, you’re nuzzling into his neck with a pleased hum. He returns the noise as he brushes his nose and lips over the crown of your head.

“Don’t wanna move,” you mumble against him, and Matt finds himself agreeing. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close and greedily keeping all of your weight on him.

“We can stay here as long as you want, darling. I’m yours.”

With the smallest movement, you turn your face to hide against him and breathe out words he’s sure he’s not actually meant to hear.

“You’re mine.”

((“I love you.”))

---

im not dead anymore

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#soulie writes #fanfiction #matt murdock x reader #daredevil #and then i met you #matt murdock x you

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pinkrelish · 2 years ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶What happens when Eddie tries to hide the less-than-fun side of being a single parent from you, and you discover Miss Mouse can't always save the day?✶

NSFW — angst with a happy ending, reader wears eddie's hoodie, comfort, kissing, 18+ overall for smut, drug/alcohol mention/use

chapter: 11/20 [wc: 14.2k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12

AO3

Chapter 11: In the Beginning...

——Then——

In the beginning…

It was January 31st, 1988, and Wayne had come in to check on him again. And maybe he had a reason to when Eddie continued to stare at the pockmarked ceiling, dressed in the same clothes as three days prior, laying on the same bedsheets last washed by well-meaning, pre-aged, liver-spotted, wrinkled hands gnarled from factory work after being tanned on a big rig’s steering wheel for decades.

No music played from the stereo record player; The Doors still sat with the album art turned, stopped mid-spin. The paperback on the nightstand remained unfinished, its dog-eared page trapped as a placeholder from New Year’s Eve. Dust and cigarette ash clung to the room as if saving it in a time capsule of the morning he was arrested, and any movement would disturb the illusion.

“Eddie?” Wayne called out to him with his Free name; one that shouldn’t hold a stigma, because Eddie was a free man, wasn’t he? He was innocent. Even if they hadn’t caught the other guy yet. “You okay if I go?”

Tracing the bumpy lines of the most recent tattoo on his stomach, he answered, “Yeah, I’m fine,” and his uncle breathed as he usually did when he was wringing his mouth with indecision.

Wayne twisted the doorknob, uncertain. “If you’re sure.. And, uh, I’ll stop by the hardware store and pick up somethin’ for the spray paint on the trailer if the cookin’ oil trick doesn’t work, don’t you worry about it.”

Whatever rude thing someone wrote this time, Eddie hadn’t gone outside in days to know.

After a long silence, Wayne cleared his throat and gave a gruff, “I’ll see ya after work,” and left, as foretold by his rackety truck fading further into the night, and the deadness of winter taking over. A staleness of midnight inactivity in the crisp air invading the guitars and amps and magazines Eddie never touched anymore; the ceramic of his bedside lamp, the model car next to his lighter, the binders stacked on his desk with a pencil he hadn’t sharpened since it broke six weeks ago. He didn't get much relief from his routine of ignoring, shutting down, isolating, and desperately trying to get tears to form when he had none left to give, so he wept agape and dry, spiraling downward.

The phone rang.

He wasn’t going to answer—he hadn’t since December unless under obligation—but in case it was Wayne, he did.

“Hello?” The other end of the line was equally hesitant to answer his unrecognizable voice, gone hoarse from disuse. “Hello?” he repeated.

“Eddie?” A beat. “I guess I’ll get this over with. Look, uh, do you remember selling to a girl at Brad’s party a couple months back? Not the Halloween one,” they said, definitely a young woman’s voice, but with each word spoken she lost her fluttery nervous edge and replaced it with a direct tone, leaving no time for him to dawdle.

He hurled his mind into searching his memories before the ones made in the weeks prior, only grazing past the details which haunted him, and registering the question he was asked. “Uh, yeah, yeah I think so. Ah, Sarah? Something generic like that. Sold to her a couple times before. Why?”

Her severe silence loaded the chamber. His forthcoming nature pulled the trigger, never learning when to shut his mouth and keep information to himself. There was no telling who he was speaking to, or what happened to the girl he sold to, or why he was the subject of interest. His stomach clenched in knots at the whiff of gunpowder. He was too relaxed at the prospect of a normal conversation. He said too much. It was happening again. The police sirens would wail any minute now. Whatever happened to Sarah—or whoever—was bad, and he incriminated himself. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

But it was her next words that fired the shot. Rang in his ears. And he knew then, as the cold sweat took over his body and bile stung his throat quicker than his heart leapt black spots to his vision, life as he knew it was over.

“I’m pregnant, and it’s yours.”

————

In the beginning…

It was March 7th, 1988, and Eddie walked out.

It was better than listening to Wayne blame himself for not doing enough, or being involved enough, or whateverthefuck he was saying about failing Eddie, because soon those judgments would turn into nags about how Eddie’s irresponsibility got himself into this mess, and those arguments would become shouting matches about his lack of preparedness for raising a baby, and Eddie would end the fight with his fist through the hallway closet door, where his piece of shit father’s jacket swung on the hanger and fell to the floor.

Following the Munson name.

————

In the beginning…

It was April 29th, 1988, and Eddie left his motel room to drive forty-five minutes outside of Hawkins to sit across from a woman in a dimly lit restaurant with her hand laid atop her round belly, and his cold chicken alfredo. The cheese in his oval shaped dish had coagulated, but he wasn’t hungry anyway.

The entire time his mouth ran sentences, he kept his gaze focused on a crumb dirtying the white tablecloth as the candle flickered shadows through their untouched water glasses. Yet, his tone remained animated and optimistic, though a bit hollow. “—So, uh, with the money from workin’ at the gas station, and what I have saved from that graveyard shift I picked up at the laundromat, I can afford the crib no problem. Maybe you could, ah, come with me to pick it out! I don’t really know what I’m supposed to be looking for, but whatever you want, you got it. And—And I’ll start stocking up on diapers, and stuff. Y’know, different sizes. Some clothes. Could even get a nice baby blanket, or somethin’. I guess cribs have those teeny mattresses, so we’ll need sheets for that, too. Um, one of those, y’know, things that hangs over it and spins, puts them to sleep.” His lips hinted at his first smile in weeks at his dumb explanation for a mobile. “And with your job, you have health insurance, don’t you? That’ll.. That’ll really help us out,” he emphasized by bugging his eyes, and nodding. “There’s a position open at an auto shop in town that I’m gonna apply for, but I don’t think insurance will kick in until I work there for a certain number of days. Sucks, but it’s decent money. Better than what I make now, anyway. Um..” Thinking, he sorted through his plan for the future in his head, making sure he didn’t forget anything important—

That’s when he made the mistake of looking up, and a different type of heartache wrung his chest.

Indifference powdered her shimmery beige eyelids, darkening to smoky apathy at the outer corners with a touch of heavy mascara weighing her eyes half-closed. She appeared bored—he wished she appeared bored—but in the eternity he glanced at her, she resembled a loaded chamber moments from cutting him off.

Continuing, he said, “I can also handle the small stuff like bottles, and bibs, and pacifiers. Depending on how much the crib is, I can probably swing the carseat too, just gotta sell my other guitar, and—”

“Eddie,” she stated. He winced.

There was no trace of his smile left on his lips; trembling and licking at the sore metallic-tasting spot he bit out of habit. The first sign of rejection welled behind his eyes. A sense of shame clogged his throat, but he tried, “Are people still bothering you about me?” he asked, so meek and defeated.

Her words were a merciless killing, “Does it matter?” He shrugged, running the side of his hand along the table’s edge, concentrating on the crumb. “And don’t bother buying anything.”

“Why not?” he faltered. “I’m not gonna be some deadbeat who doesn’t provide, okay? I’m good on my word.”

“You know why.”

The cruelty, the truth he denied, struck him.

“You don’t want to try?” His voice went watery, and the candles swam in his vision. “We’re having a baby together, and you don’t want to try and work something out between us?” There was a reason he avoided addressing where the crib would go, or what the arrangement was after coming home from the hospital. In the first few calls they had, she seemed interested when he rattled off the list of cheap apartments he found around Hawkins scribbled into his notebook, and when he lightened the bleak mood with a joke, she laughed, sort of.

Though, he was always the one to call her, and her answers were refined to short words such as yeah, or no. And she did pick up the phone less often, but she was busy with University or her career or there was a family thing that had come up or she was just headed out the door, so he stuck with planning their future by himself, aware of the ugly reality twisting his stomach with dread.

Maybe he was being naive, but he thought she’d come around by now. See how responsible he was being, and maybe.. maybe..

“I’m not interested,” she dismissed him in monotonously stern frankness.

“I thought you said you liked me,” he reminded her, on the verge of something pathetic, “at the party.”

The corner of her jaw twitched from an emotion she ground between her teeth.

That was the final straw.

She swung her gaze around the restaurant, releasing a hard sigh of frustration, and shaking her head. Dropping her hand to the bottom of her belly, she leaned forward, and eviscerated any hope he had for them being together. “I’m not interested,” she hissed under the susurration of nearby tables, “in raising a baby with someone whose reputation is for giving girls discounts when they flirt with him.”

Eddie shrunk into himself, not expecting the hit below the belt.

“You’re just the loser dealer that all the guys send their girls to because they know you’re too lonely to turn them down. I wish I stuck with flirting, because let me tell you, having a couple of smarties to get me through last semester wasn’t fucking worth it.” She motioned at her stomach, he assumed. “I almost missed my finals because I couldn’t stop puking.”

Fat drops wobbled his vision. Anxious sweat from holding his breath prickled his hot face. His knuckles hurt from clacking them against one another, punching bone-on-bone in his lap to distract himself from letting the venom win. Biting impressions of his teeth into tongue from the weight of his one chance at normalcy slipping through his fingers.

The ache of deep-seated rejection stung worse, built worse, escalated worse with every heartbeat echoing in his head: not even someone who’s having your kid wants to be with you.

Chairs skid across the tiles behind him, and a family stood to leave. Eddie faced the stained glass window as they passed, pretending to admire the intricate details while warm tears spilled over the dam, and onto his cheeks in steady drops like rain. Drip, drop, drip, drop..

Embarrassment, failure, freak..

Even before he was wrongfully arrested, his reputation was trash.

Pathetic loser not good enough for his dad, his uncle. Can’t pass fucking high school, or get a girl to stick around for more than a few weeks; just long enough to feel the safety of attachment, learn their likes and dislikes, what their favorite flowers were, and then they’d leave too..

“Doesn’t matter,” she exhaled. One, two—she took two calming breaths through her nose while his was running, and he was trying to not sniffle through the grossness of crying.

Composed and diplomatic, she sat up, smoothed the buttons of her burgundy maternity blouse stretched across her swollen middle, and informed him “I’m giving her up for adoption.”

Eddie froze.

Her.

Tiny tines of salad forks ceased clinking on plates. Silly dull knives unworthy of much else sank into whipped butter, and stopped. Pretty laughter faded, leaving red lipstick kisses staining the rims of wine glasses.

Her.

He froze. A strange cliche to explain how his body reacted. How his heart pounded, and tears splashed onto his clenched fists. How his brain latched onto one word, one word only, and the blood drained from his cheeks to pool liquid rage in his empty belly. How his temper surged like a wave, and crashed, again and again on the shore of fate. How he was thinking sharper, seeing clearer, smelling the raw flame of the candle being snuffed out from his sudden movement.

The tableware rattled when he planted his elbow next to his forgotten dinner, and pointed a stern finger at her stomach. “That’s my daughter, and you will not—”

“C’mon, Ed—”

“No,” he cut her off. He didn’t give a damn if another tear rolled from his wide eyes when he said it, he put conviction behind his voice even when it cracked, “That’s my daughter, and you are not giving her up for adoption.”

“Be serious,” she spat back. “You don’t have the means to take care of a baby. I’m doing this as a favor for the both of us. Mostly for you.”

Eddie sucked his bottom lip inward and chewed the flesh. Shivers of indignation trembled his body, and his nostrils flared from the absolute power he invoked to rein his voice from the snap, bite, snarl his upper lip suggested. “I don’t care what you think is best,” he maintained through the viscous tar coating his refusal in the abhorrence she deserved. “That baby.. She’s mine.” He nodded until the motion was ingrained, and her expression changed. Pointing to himself, now. “She’s mine, and I want her.”

There wasn’t much thought put behind his decision. It was done. It was innate. It was automatic, and her soft warning—”You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,”—was as heeded as the candle’s flame.

He paid for the date. It cost five hours of his minimum wage. That was all his money. He was hungry when he got back to his shitty motel; opening the door to darkness, and a suitcase of dirty clothes he’d need to sort before going to work at the gas station at the edge of town where his boss cut his hours last week because it was making customers uncomfortable to see a criminal serve them at the till, and a new sound replaced the ding of the cash register: loser, loser, loser..

Already, he couldn’t afford diapers.

Already, he failed.

Already, he was worthless.

Already, he was alone.

Not even the woman he was having a baby with wanted to be with him.

——Now——

Eddie hung up the phone, and you watched his shoulders rise and fall for long moments, listening to the rain pattern shift above. The storm spilled its sorrows on the tin roof, uncaring if the structure could handle the stress of another trial when it was weak and susceptible. It poured, and poured. Ruthless. Vicious and brutal as nature could be, targeting the vulnerable and strong alike.

His back broadened with a breath, and finally, he dropped his hand from the yellowed plastic, staring at the dial pad as his arm went limp at his side. Absorbed by his thoughts as the old night rolled into another low growl of thunder, and whatever was on his mind reflected heavily in his vacant appearance.

“Ed?” You waited for him with a kind lift to your brows, but as soon as his glance landed, your chest tightened.

The emotion in Eddie’s eyes was heavily guarded, communicating little as to what caused the tenseness in his jaw when he averted his gaze to the floor, walking fast and purposefully away from you standing half-dressed in his kitchen, and stopping at the front door with his head down. Going through the motions of buttoning his pants, and buckling his belt, rigid and rough, snapping the leather against itself.

“Is Adrie okay?” you asked, voice coming out painfully shallow, like when you were using it to diffuse a customer service issue with the breeze of happiness and a plastered smile.

Leaned over, he shoved his feet into his boots, and began lacing. “She’s fine.”

Blunt, and closed off. Not like your Eddie from an hour ago. And you didn’t know how to navigate asking him what was wrong, and easing him into opening up to you, coaxing him back to that place of union and understanding.

Left feeling confused, you gleaned that this wasn’t the time to bother him about it, and mumbled, “Okay,” and assumed the rest. You dragged the whispery ends of the blanket across the floor, and picked your sweater off the carpet, having that particular sense of embarrassment as if you’d missed a cue, and should’ve read the room sooner, and been clothed and leaving without him asking.

You dressed in silence, doing up the buttons on the cardigan he so skillfully slipped you out of. Treading over linoleum to wash the evening off your hands and mouth. Making yourself small to fit next to him in the entryway, and putting on your shoes in a state of quiet obedience, missing the warmth of his hands and the comfort of his lovesick grin. Wilting under the coldness of his attitude, and wanting nothing more than to reach out, and soothe that bit of regret knotted between his eyebrows.

He regarded the exposed skin of your upper chest, and handed you his black hoodie from where it hung next to his canvas work jacket. “Here.”

Here wasn’t much of a break in the distance he resurrected between you, but you pulled the heavy scent of cigarettes and cologne over your head, and he almost found himself braving eye contact to tell you, “I’m dropping you off first.”

“What? No,” you blurted, “I’m going with you to pick her up. She’s just scared of thunderstorms, right? No big deal, you can drop me off after.” Which seemed like the right thing to say; that you were fine with Adrie crying, but when he set his gaze on you, a small image of yourself swam in his endless pupils, and your stomach clenched at the animal warning in his unbreakable stare.

Eddie shook his head an imperceptible amount, only enough to loosen the curtain of curls tucked beneath his jacket’s collar, and shift the lamp’s glare at the edge of his bitter coffee eyes. It was a threat to back off. Leave well enough alone. Stop encroaching on the parts of his life he hid, and keep the illusion intact.

“I wanna go,” you assured gently.

However, your support fell short when challenged against the aggressive shine swallowing you whole. He looked at you. Really looked at you with the same intensity as when his hands were on your hips and you rocked yourself in his lap, chests flush together with a lazy prayer of your name on his tongue; when nothing mattered more than honoring each other with lips and teeth, tasting sweat on necks and sucking bruises until moans were spilled from heads thrown back. But instead of unraveling you in shocks of pleasure, the ignorance of your child-free lifestyle softened the harsh lines of his face, and slowly, slowly, the shine dulled. The fight left him.

He saved his apology until his back was turned, and the squeaky doorknob gave under his heavy palm—turning it with too much force—and he cracked open the world beyond the two of you, dousing the lingering tenderness of your affection on his skin with frigid mist. “Sorry tonight ended this way.” The door banged open on the rusted iron handrail, caught on a gust.

The trailer park was bright with daylight. Flash, after flash.

Eddie’s silhouette eclipsed the doorway, outlined in lightning. He stood impossibly taller—like the animal threat still lurked within his structure, and caution stayed within your subconscious, altering how you perceived his lanky frame into something more imposing. His shoulders carried many burdens, bulked from five years of hard labor, possessing strengths you couldn’t imagine. He stepped to the side, insisting the door stay open with the spread of five fingers only, and his body no longer shielded you. You were exposed to the cold splash of rain on your shins. His palm was firm at your lower back, and you peered up at the hard set of his jaw feathering the muscle at the corner, sweeping the bone in a mature edge of stubble. Strands of his frizzy hair whipped in the wind. Droplets speckled his nose like freckles. His gaze, anchored on his car through the downpour, brewed with resentment.

His deep timber resonated in your chest beneath the safety of his hoodie, “Car door’s open, I’ll lock up behind you.”

And you were pushed.

Beaten down to a hunch, you took careful strides in your heeled shoes down the concrete steps and into the soft mud, covering your head as best you could from the cloud’s assault, and flinching at the closeness of the strikes darting around the boundary of treetops surrounding the trailer park. You tried the handle, and the car welcomed you into its dry insides. Guilt followed your tracks of caked on mud, leaves, and dead weeds on his nice red interior, but when you shivered to the bone, you didn’t care as much. Curled in on yourself, you spied Eddie’s vague shape through the waterfall blurring the windshield, and listened to his heavy boots trudge up to the door, and soon, the car sank with his weight too.

The engine roared to life. Heat wouldn’t come from the tiny AC units for some time, but the promise of such gave you hope. Eddie, beside you, drenched beyond measure, did not match your enthusiasm. Shadowed streams snaked across his pinched expression, swimming down his heavy brow, and splitting his raw lips. His bangs stuck to his forehead, and his cheeks trembled from his clacking teeth.

Soft music played from the radio station.

Riders on the Storm.

Two booms of thunder ended your small attempt at a smile from the timing.

Leftover adrenaline pulsed in your veins, fumbling your grip on the seatbelt. Wet earth and unease stroked your skin like skeletal hands, muddying your tights, and soaking his hoodie, weighing it down to your crushed sweater beneath. You wanted to speak; to poke, to prod, to press him to talk to you. The questions were there. On your tongue. At the ready; inviting him to tell you why his mood soured over a situation out of his control, other than the obvious weather.

But Eddie’s face was carved with irritation, baring his teeth as he attempted to buff circles into the icy fog on the windshield, only for it to cloud over in an instant. “C’mon..”

The wipers couldn’t keep up with the powerful current, and the tires struggled to find traction. “Fucking—damnit,” he said, interrupted by him slapping the steering wheel, cascading water off his work jacket, and onto every surface around him.

You twisted your hands in your lap at his mild slip in temper.

Now was not the time to bother him.

In a lurch, your shoulder bumped the door, and your head rocked side to side from the car backing over the swell of mud behind the tires. With another frustrated stomp on the gas, it evened out on paved road, and though the visibility was low, you were off towards the nicer side of Hawkins.

For once, he drove responsibly. Street signs could be read before he passed them. Fallen limbs in the road could be avoided, not ran over. His rings tinked off the glass when he rubbed at the thin fog, and the music was dialed to a somber ambiance behind the deep sighs through his nose. Dark stretches of treetops bent to the wind’s will. Short buildings sat so dim beyond the faint streetlights, they might as well have been deserted. Each red light was a necessary break for him to shove his fingers in the air vents to thaw them.

He never spoke. Never looked at you. He kept himself busy with tasks, and when those tasks were over and his hands were defrosted and the windshield was mostly clear, he regressed within himself. Unnervingly quiet. Turning onto streets with heavier regrets sagging his features the longer he crawled in front of white picket fence houses, and stopped.

The two story home was lit beautifully by the ornate sconces placed on either side of the doorway. Their lawn was manicured, and the sidewalk was free of weeds. No cars were at the mercy of the storm, they were parked inside the two-door garages. There was activity behind the embossed curtains hung in the living room of the residence. Presumably, the biggest shape was the father who called over the phone.

Someone who wore a business suit to the preschool’s Thanksgiving play lived here.

Eddie stalled. He remained seated forward, hands gripped at 10 and 2, squeezing the steering wheel as rain echoed in the belly of the car, battering the roof inches above your damp hair. There was a pause in his movements, his breathing. An awareness in his silence at the questions you didn’t ask. Tension in his pursed lips, rubbing them together as he surveyed the street.

He opened his mouth. Then, he thought better of it, and got out.

Your earnest call of his name was swallowed by the sea cleansing his body of your night together.

Leaping up the bullnose brick stairs, Eddie raised his hand, but before he could knock, the artisanal stained glass shimmered with movement. The immaculate door opened to a winced face. The man’s glasses were askew on his aged eyes, and his peppered hair hung over his eyebrows, no longer gelled back. He exchanged a few tight words with Eddie as Adrie was handed over, and Eddie, of course, shuffled into a meek posture, dipping his head, apologizing profusely. Almost bowing to this man dressed in matching pajamas and a robe. In horror, you watched the door close during one such apology. You could tell it happened in the middle of him speaking, because you had to sit through the agony of Eddie animatedly explaining something only for him to look up, straighten at the realization, and stand there for a few more seconds until the sconces dimmed off.

Worse, still, he cowered in the nook as cruel rain belted his back, doing his best to bundle Adrie in her tattered quilt and securing her on his hip, keeping all of her dry except her little legs wrapped around his middle. She buried her face in his neck, and he hesitated on the balls of his feet, judging the distance between the house and the car. His large palm covered the blanket over her head. All he had was his jacket.

Lightning revealed his weary frown.

At the clap of thunder, he sprinted.

Back in New York, at the going away party your friends threw in your and Robin’s honor, they warned you about moving to the Tornado Alley, and what to look for if one were to appear—green skies and all—but most importantly, they told you an incoming tornado sounded like a train. Being city dwellers, they wouldn’t actually know, but Robin confirmed it. And now you could too, because the piercing wail coming towards you could only belong to a natural disaster, not a four-year-old girl.

Murky water flooded to Eddie’s ankles from where it rushed against the sidewalk, sloshing in with his boot stomped to the floorboard for balance as he ducked inside amidst the fuss. He got Adrie into her carseat as quickly as possible. In the chaos, her overnight backpack fell somewhere in the dark, her quilt was chucked aside, and he cursed when the buckle bit into his thumb. She had a fistful of his hair, tangling it, making it harder to see what he was doing. He may have even threatened her full name to let go. It was hard to hear on account of the shrieking.

“Daddy!” The vowels were elongated, broken by hiccups. He shut the door, and in the small space with no escape, her big emotions rang louder. “Daddy!” Again, the y was screamed with the full power of her lungs, which would be impressive for their tiny size if it wasn’t for the pounding in your skull. She hollered louder when he sat heavily behind the wheel, “Daddy!” He didn’t shush her fourth tantrum spilt on his name; he accepted it, knowing it was futile.

It took all your strength to blink. Sat half-turned in your seat, frozen, gaze unfocused, marveling at your brain’s ability to function. You shifted your attention to Eddie’s face, a surprising few inches from yours.

The heat of his concentration scorched shame to your cheeks.

Avoidant no longer, your reaction to Adrie’s meltdown was the sole subject of his interest. Zeroed in on, dissected, and picked apart by just his eyes alone. Didn’t matter which eye you shied from, you were pinned in both, your discomfort blatant for him to witness. Your clamped mouth, your apologetic withdrawal, your fidgety fingers on your skirt; all of it. All of it was captured in his periphery because he didn’t dare break sight as he turned the key in the ignition, and started a raucous engine you couldn’t remember being turned off.

Humbled by the girl assaulting your senses, your questions were answered.

This was why he didn’t want you to come. This was why he slighted you with a pointed look from the recesses of his annoyance when you trivialized his daughter’s behavior as ‘No big deal.’ This was why he kept you separate from his parental sphere where everything wasn’t made of sunshine and rainbows. This—coming to terms with your inexperience staining each uncontrollable contortion of your unprepared expression—was why he never let anyone near his heart.

Adrie could no longer form his name through her open-mouthed cries, resorting to plain, wet screams which trilled past your eardrums, resulting in a throbbing headache.

At that, he grasped the gear shift, put his boot to the gas, and cut fat lines through the river overflowing the pampered neighborhood streets.

Eddie’s anger was a presence. His embarrassment, too. Just like at the auto shop when problems stacked and stacked into an unbearable weight on top of his sleepless nights and long mornings, he turned inward to delay his outburst. To feel everything so fully in his fists wringing the leather covered steering wheel until it creaked, and teeth gritted until they begged no more. Just that one second to release his frustration, and then it was suppressed from sight. But you felt it. His ire rested below your braced muscles, beneath your clammy palms and in your shallow breath. It invaded the tidy home you kept behind your ribs, taking up residence in your hammering heart.

The humiliation of having the date end when it did paid its dues in his bad mood. Disappointment radiated off his narrowed eyes, and slack frown. “Adrie,” he warned in a low tone.

She bawled louder, shriller than the crack of lightning.

The immense pressure to adapt was upon you. There was no sense in parsing what he expected you to do in this situation, it was clear he was soured by your ineptitude the moment you let it show on your face, but.. Only two short weeks ago, he relied on you to divert Adrie’s meltdown before DND night. And sure, she had already stopped crying by the time you got there, but you could come to his rescue again, couldn’t you?

You twisted around in your seat, proud of yourself for thinking of a solution, and showed him you could handle a modicum of parenthood. “Adrie, look!” you tamped down your children’s television host voice to a delightful, excited cheer, “I’m here. Miss Mouse is—!” Shocked with your hand reaching towards her, shooting pain traveled up your arm from her swift kick to your wrist. You recoiled, rubbing at your forearm without blame. It wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t even looking at you. Her fit was directed at the window she couldn’t peel her attention from, dropping tear after tear from her swollen eyes at the thunder shaking the car. “Adrie?” you tried softer, but she beat her hands on the carseat harder. Wailed until you were defeated to a wince. Yelled until you accepted a unique heartbreak you weren’t prepared for.

Miss Mouse couldn’t always save the day.

Acute twists of rejection wrung your chest. Eddie wasn’t the type to say I told you so, he wasn’t mean like that, but when you sat forward and your gazes moved past one another, never quite meeting, you knew what he was thinking.

Little else stung worse than his obvious cynicism at how this date was concluding.

Exacerbating the issue, Adrie escalated to screeching her distress. Every open sob of hers pulled your focus, invaded your brainspace, overpowered any thought before it began, and set your teeth on edge from the high-pitched squeals you swore vibrated in your bones. Her behavior seeped into your nerves, winding them up, scratching them with the very tip of a brittle nail, inciting a riot. The need to flee crawled under your skin. Breathing was uncomfortable. Your ankle hurt. There was to break in between the blinding pulses of your headache. The car was too hot, too cold, too swerving from the high winds buffeting it sideways. Your tights were too tight. His hoodie too stifling. Itchy yarn from your sweater chafed your damp neck. Alarms of panic battled inside. Louder, louder, louder—Adrie cried louder. Eddie’s lips tugged down at the corners, chin wrinkled, tensing his face from a sadder response. Your lashes fluttered from the chokehold his frown had on you. Fingernails bit your palms. You tried to bide your time, to resist snapping. Dug down deep for something, something you could do, something.. innate. Some answer within you to fix it all. To get her to stop. To get him to relax. Something, something, something—instinctual.

“Pull over!” you barked; Eddie had every right to whip his head around at your sudden demand, but in your panicked state you only cared about the road ahead. “Ju-Just—just—” You scanned the dark parking lot outside the hardware store, and stabbed your finger on the cold window, pointing past it. “The gas station! Under the roof-thing.”

When it wasn’t clear he heard you, you turned towards him at the same time he leaned forward to catch your eye. Justifiable skepticism burdened his brow, tightening the edges of his crow’s feet. His lips hung parted with a confirmation hesitating between them; however, it was silenced after you maintained your need, and the fight against the wind won.

Soppy pebbles scraped wet asphalt, muddied in the bump and grind from Eddie turning too sharply into the sloped driveway, banging into a pothole, and rattling the innards of his already rocky cargo. He careened towards the closed convenience store with its row of dim fluorescent lights inside. Pulling up alongside the gas pumps, he slammed the breaks. A second later, he slapped the windshield wipers OFF, violently shushing their grating squeak.

His patience strained thinner. Working through the sensory overload festering like infected wounds on blistered skin, he rumbled a shallow apology past his aching teeth. Quickly, it devolved into a barrage of doubt. “Look, I’m sorry she—Wait, where’re you—?” The instant fear of rejection shot past his octave. “Wait! Please don’t—”

Cruelly, he thought; heartlessly, he knew; the sun-faded black cotton draped about your shoulders was the last image his adrenaline latched onto, playing it over, and over, door slam and all. He wasn’t parked for more than a clock tick, and you hurled yourself out into the storm, leaving him behind. His first assumption was gentle. Kind whispers stroked the angst in his chest, telling him you needed a break from the noise, that was all. Then the hatred of abandonment gutted his center.

“Giving up already?” he asked aloud in a conclusion only meant to hurt himself when no one was there to answer.

As if sensing his hopelessness, Adrie sniffled into the worst of her hyperventilated cries. Broken disjointed things. Sinking him deeper, deeper into his seat, crossing his arms over his caved chest, shuddering at the hot sting wobbling his vision at his own inadequacy.

Never good enough for anyone to stay.

Tremors of repressed memories wakened the churn of nausea making him sick.

“Baby, baby, it’s okay,” soothed a voice behind him, trickling in with the splash of faraway drops. “It’s okay, sweet baby, I’m here. I’ve got you. I’m here.”

Eddie jerked his chin up and stretched his neck to see into the rearview mirror. The wall of water teetering on his lash line made everything blur, so he tugged down the slick skin beneath his eyes to suck back the tears, and almost allowed them to spill at the scene behind him anyway.

In the reflection, you crawled across the backseat and unbuckled Adrie’s carseat, learning how to maneuver the straps from watching him. She reached for you, your hair, your clothes; small fists belying their strength. You didn’t care. You calmed her struggles with pretty words. “It’s okay, yeah, you can hold on to me, baby. Let’s get you wrapped up nice and warm. There we go.” Shhh. “Let me see your face, so I can clean you up.” Shhh.

“M–M-Mizz Mou—se,” Adrie got out between body-wracked sobs.

“Mhm, I’m here.” Shhh. “Miss Mouse is here.”

—Oh.

“Baby..” So modest was his whisper when so resolute was his yearn.

He leapt into motion, flushed with adrenaline.

The ripple effect of your actions caused tidal waves to swell and crash over him; body hitched in the place where his past convinced him he lost it all, only to collapse into a stuttered exhale of acceptance, understanding there was someone out there who cared about him to this degree; throat constricting with gratitude he could only express by stumbling out into the foggy cold, throwing open the door, and sliding into the backseat with you.

His fingers grazed the baby hairs at your nape on their way to the side of your head, using his wide palm which took up too much room to cradle you steady with a gentleness unknown to his tough skin. He trusted you to forgive him for how hard he knocked his forehead to your temple, and smashed his nose to the soft of your cheek. He need not worry. Beautifully, you adjusted to the bulky arm behind your neck, leaned into the crook of his body he hollowed out for you, and filled the familiar place at his side. You worked diligently to clear his daughter’s face while he passed a strong hand over her back and dropped it to shape his grip at the end of your thigh, curving his fingers in and slotting them to the underside, behind your knee.

“S’okay, Adrie,” you cooed, wiping at the sticky grossness clinging to her nose. “I’ve got you,” you continued the mantra, albeit with a lapse in motherly tenderness as a result of trying not to gag too hard.

Outside the car, the gas station’s tall canopy provided enough coverage to stop the rain from pounding the roof. Harsh winds howled past, encouraging the woeful sobs dropped onto your breasts, but the lightning stayed within the clouds, and the thunder faded in the distance. “Look at me,” you guided, sweeping the hoodie’s cuff over her puffy cheeks glowing splotchy red from the neon beer signs in the postered up convenience store windows. “We’ve got you. Nothing bad can happen when we’re here.”

Eddie lips pulled thin against your skin, breath stuttering damp and thick on your neck like a smothered cry.

“Nothing bad can happen when we’re here, okay?” Repeating the union of you and him, you went on, “We’ve got you. You’re safe with us. Nothing bad can happen when we’re here. Right, sweet bean?” You tucked the quilt around her feet, and held her close. “We won’t let anything bad happen to you, ever.”

With her hands latched into the folds of fabric around your neck—cotton, yarn, and canvas—her big coughs were cushioned by your arms snuggling her to your front while Eddie’s chest was at her back, embracing her between your two bodies converging to protect her in a toasty nest. Warm air hummed from the vents, shooing off the stale chill clinging to the backseat, now disturbed by activity and plucky guitar strings playing over the radio.

Across the Universe.

Undertaking the complexities of the man rubbing his forehead into your hair with the same sort of neediness as his little girl wringing your clothes, you assumed the responsibility of consoling them both. “Nothings gonna change my world,” you mumbled the lyrics into the patchwork quilt covering Adrie’s curls. “Nothings gonna change my world,” you sang to Eddie, face tipped up and eyes falling closed, seeking out his nose to trace the tip of yours along the soft bumps in a devoted offering after the turbulent events causing you both inner strife.

His fingertips became an imposing force spread across the scope of your cheek, turning you toward him, capturing you in a deeper kiss than you were ready for. It was demanding, hard with desperation, misaligned and urgent. Born out of necessity in the moment. He kissed you in front of his daughter, where she could see if she picked her face up from your chest, and a dart of surprise lit your heart at the recklessness. You kept a level hand atop her head in case he’d come to regret the decision, but he didn’t seem to notice, or care. He sighed into a second helping, and at the sound of the wet smack, she stirred.

Adrienne hooked her fingers into your collar and sniffled hard, soothing herself from further cries by hugging you tight, huddling into your comfort, oblivious to what was happening around her.

Easily, you fell into the third kiss. Became what he needed, mouths mashing together at the odd angle, your lower lip plush between his. Dizzying amounts of reverence manifested in his spontaneity. He packed a lifetime’s worth of bottled up feelings into the affection he was privileged to. Giving, and taking. But his impulses were still a puzzle. When he’d drank his fill, he squeezed your leg, broke apart from your lips in a silent slick slide, and drew a deserved breath.

“Sorry, no one’s ever just.. done that for me before.” He shrugged his hand off your thigh at the poor summary of the millions of things on his mind, and left it at that.

Spurred by the praise, you seized the opportunity for communication. “Remember how before we played DND that night, I told you to call me first next time you needed help?” you reminded him, and something vulnerable, maybe even pleadful, entered your tone. “I want to be someone you can rely on, Eddie.”

An unfortunate amount of complicated emotions passed in his eyes. There wasn’t much to garner from them, nor his soft grunt when he dropped his nose to the column of your neck, above Adrie’s head, and regressed into his quiet self. Reserved. Hard to decipher. He did speak up once to warn you she would fall asleep with how you were holding her—same as he did most nights on the couch while Late Night with David Letterman aired—and you embellished your promise to him with a kiss to the stringy curls frizzing at his scalp, “That’s okay.”

And it was okay, truly, when the storm raged heaves of rain against the car, spraying the windows with shocks of water. You dabbed Adrie’s cheeks. Wiped her nose. Rocked her in the same tempo as the backs of Eddie’s fingers stroking your cheekbone, flexed bicep behind your neck. Thunder occurred. Lightning happened. But with your quick thinking, lulling gestures, and genuine effort to speak past the fondness clogging your throat, you calmed her. Calmed her so well, in fact, her hands went limp and her body relaxed, fatigue claiming her victim to the numbered sheep hopping over fences in her dreams. After her tantrums, she was taxed out. Drained.

Stuck in the cramped middle between Eddie and the carseat, you rearranged your legs before they went tingly numb from her weight on your lap, and shifted the pressure off your heels. It was sweet having her fall asleep on you. Her slow breaths filled your arms as a reward for your efforts to hush her. The quilt smelled of their home, cozying itself in your lungs and sweeping you in a sense of longing for the humidity in his kitchen after making soup.

Though, as much as you thrived on the temporary role you played as parent—taking over for Eddie and dwelling on the fact Adrie slept propped on your chest like the many times she napped on his stained coveralls—you could do without the additional pain of him leaning on you too.

You groaned at the sharp twinge in your spine from slouching sideways, and conveniently, your movement roused his consciousness. He launched into a sleepy inhale. Robust, filling his lungs to the brim, too loud, too silly and sweet. He primed you for a solid press of the bridge of his nose to your jaw by thumbing you towards him, after which he pulled away, separating himself from you fully.

Eddie rolled his shoulders, stretching out from the uncomfortable position, and faced the window. He commented in a sincere tone, “You’re good with kids.”

“I know how to entertain kids,” you corrected him. “I don’t know how to do any of the hard shit you do.”

The streetlights painted strokes of dotted orange on his complexion cast in shadow. He played with the tips of his fingers, squishing each one in a line as he ruminated, staring elsewhere, perspiration blurring the outerworld, sealing yourselves in this crowded car together. “You do a good job,” he reassured, petering out in a hoarse whisper.

Ceaseless nerves gnawed at his absent-minded ring spinning. Not a big production like when he wrung his hands or bit his nails, but enough to show he was getting anxious. You’d expected his leg to be bouncing by now, but it was laying softly against yours. Something big was on his mind.

You bumped your knee into his. “Talk to me.”

Talk to me. Yes, you asked the world of him. You knew it, too. Encouraging his gaze to flick to Adrie bundled in your arms, and back to the window. His eyes weren’t wide with fear, just larger than normal at the subtle confrontation. It was time he opened up to you. There wasn’t a concrete ultimatum if he didn’t, but there was a mutual understanding that if this were to continue, he needed to trust you to be there for him. No more reluctance.

He extended his hand towards your knee, patting twice before claiming it in the great breadth of his palm, stroking his thumb over the thin pantyhose; bridging the gap from his earlier behavior, but not yet apologizing for the soreness he caused.

Sorting his thoughts, his throat bobbed twice on the swallow.

And of all the questions he could ask, of all things he could say, of all the topics he could choose, he picked, “Did you ever want kids?”

Heat swam to your cheeks, blood rushed to your ears. Buds of true belonging bloomed at the question, adorning stems of untended longing first planted during the Christmas party at work, ever growing. Your heart pumped faster at the inherent past and implied future of the subject. His curiosity was a mild prod, perhaps not meant to encourage these leaps in logic considering he announced it in the same buckled cadence of someone who was asking about the weather—and yet, the hold it had on you was impossible to deny. A blend of you, Adrie, and him, just like now, but in different contexts—different meanings other than sitting in the back of his car—something domestic, like being piled together on the couch watching Disney movies; that’s what was pushed to the forefront of your mind.

But, despite those instantaneous fantasies, this was a place for honesty, and the significance of your pause between his question and yours was an entity of its own, stiff like his posture.

“Are you ready for this conversation?” you checked. He fostered an anxious glance and nod. “Having kids is not something I ever saw for myself, no.” The consequence of your answer marked his immediate dropped eye contact, but ever patient with him, you continued strongly, “With how I dated and moved around, I didn’t think it was for me, that sort of lifestyle. It’s just not something I put a lot of thought into except when my friends were having kids, and really, they kinda turned me off of the idea. Pregnancy sounds.. daunting. Or—you know—really fucking scary. They’d always talk about how awful it is, all the complications you could have, the risks, the near death experience in one case,” you broke off in a squirm. “And then you don’t even get the relief once the baby comes. Like, seriously, taking care of a newborn sounds straight up terrifying.”

Eddie cracked. His hiss of laughter was a welcomed reprieve, especially when it sank to his chest, gripping his shoulders in a hearty shake. “Y-Yeah,” he got out, face crinkled in all the ways you adored, “it is straight up terrifying.”

You giggled in the softest way, careful to not disturb Adrie’s shallow breaths, and careful to not swoon too head-over-heels over the image of him rocking a baby. “It seems easier when they’re older, though,” you said, broaching the real crux of the conversation with your chin dipped to the top of her head. “Like it’s not as bad when they can actually communicate why they’re crying, or tell you what’s bothering them.”

“Not necessarily easier, just different,” he clarified. “It’s less about making sure this little tiny thing that can choke on its own snot survives the night, and more about the emotionally draining problems like her telling you about her day at preschool, explaining a situation where a group of kids kept giving her tasks to do that sent her away, and she’s smiling so big when she’s telling you, thinking it was a game, but deep down you’re just waiting for the heartbreak years down the line when she realizes they gave her errands to run because they were excluding her, and the reason they were laughing every time she came back was because they took joy in being mean to her.”

Wilt tinted your faint, “Oh..”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He upped the pressure he used to pat and rub your knee. “S’part of life.”

Consumed by his side profile, you studied the scope of his impassive expression set on the premature lines edging his face. The urge to find the right thing to say amidst the convoluted churn of anger on his behalf, and sadness on Adrie’s, itched something fierce beneath your skin. Ultimately, no words of inspiration came.

Eddie took an anticipatory breath.

The radio garbled advertisements for the station’s sponsors.

“Still wouldn’t trade it for those first months when she was a newborn, though.” Pursing his mouth thin, he rolled his lips inward with a hardened brow, releasing and scrunching tension around his nose as he shook his head slowly, addressing the memories of those days with a shine of pain to his eyes, and a loud smack of his tongue. “The moment I found out Adrie’s mom was pregnant, I wanted to do the right thing—y’know?” He took his hand off your leg to demonstrate the narrow path he followed. “Kept my head down, stayed focused, didn’t bother anybody, got a real job, and kept my mouth shut. Lotta places didn’t wanna hire me, obviously, but I applied anywhere I could, and when I got the job, I’d go get another one on a different shift, and another one on a graveyard shift. Sold whatever I had—guitars, ‘nd shit—bought what I could with the money. I wanted to be a good man. Be a provider. Be worth something.” Scrubbing his shaky fingers over the stubble on his chin, he aimed to calm himself, but when bringing up the Hell he went through during those times, there was little to stop his pitch from wavering. “Still wasn’t good enough.”

A verdict aimed at him flippantly, yet the impact on his self-esteem was immeasurable.

Gathering himself, he licked the inside of his cheek, and explained, “In the beginning, when Adrie was born, I tried to make it on my own. Locked in this little motel room with a crying baby. Couldn’t go to work. Didn’t have anyone to call to watch her for me, y’know, didn’t.. didn’t have anyone to rely on after walking out on my uncle, and isolating myself from my friends. The people at the bullshit resource center said I wasn’t eligible for benefits because they were for single moms, not dads. And child support was taking too long to kick in. Not like it mattered when it couldn’t pay for a single canister of Similac. I didn’t have fucking anything. Or know anything.”

His shame was only beginning to unravel.

“There were these free classes at a clinic for expecting parents, but I..” He dropped his knuckles to his thigh and fed them along the coarse cotton, using the friction to burn away the guilt. “I-I didn’t go. I didn’t want to go alone. Be the only guy there, by myself. Have all these people w-who might know who I am fucking.. fucking staring at me.” With how he was looking down at his lap, rocking slightly with his movement, he stood no chance against the wall of tears damming at his lashes. “I didn’t want to go because of my sense of pride, and my baby suffered because of it.”

“Eddie, that’s not true—” you stepped in.

Three effective beats of his fist on his leg, and you were left to witness his face crumple from the utter contempt he had for himself.

“It is true,” his volume fluctuated in jumps. “She wouldn’t eat. She wouldn’t fucking eat and keep it down.” Droplets splashed his jeans in unyielding splats. Drip, drop, drip, drop.. They slipped and spread in splotches of salty remorse he couldn’t wipe away quick enough. “Nothing worked. Couldn’t get her to latch onto a bottle, and, and—I didn’t know, I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to microwave the formula, but she wouldn’t take it room temp, so if it was too hot she’d just scream at me until it wasn’t, and I–I just—I was having these breakdowns, I don’t know. I blacked out, and next thing I knew, I was at Harrington’s, and Nancy was taking care of her for me.” The emphasis alluded to much, though the fact their son was only a year older, and Nancy would still be producing milk said it all.

Frantic breaths which wouldn’t catch were pulled past grimaced lips parted on the unrefined sob his confession emerged on. “I never wanted to be with Adrie’s mom, but proving what she said was right, th-that I was a fucking loser who didn’t know what he was doing, it-it-it.” In a desperate flourish, he pointed at his temple, It lives in here, and another tear clung to the tip of his nose, smeared by the back of his wrist.

Stunned useless by the suffocating urge to help him, you blanked. Sat still while your favorite mechanic reduced himself to the wrong opinion of others; the same person who showed his gentle nature by picking worms out of the garage after a heavy rain so they didn’t dry out. Remaining frozen while silent pain wracked your friend’s held breath, heaved and shuddered out as a cough into the same palm he used to catch your ankle when he challenged you to a race on the creepers, and he had to cheat to win before you beat him to the service door. Saying, “Baby, no,” to the man who snuck a smirk over his daughter’s head when he caught you doting over her as she sat on his hip, and the smell of Christmas potluck embedded itself into the memory of Eddie’s eyes hinting at a deeper glint than the tease on his grin.

“I am a fucking failure,” he seeped out his regret. “C-Couldn’t give her what she needed. I still can’t. Still can’t give her what she wants, ever. T-T-Tellin’ her I can’t get her something when she asks for it—and the disappointment. Just a piece of shit who disappoints her. Never good enough—” There was another high-pitched stutter, but it was muffled behind his trembling hands covering his face, and smothered by your intervention.

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” you shot out, hand and voice working together to untangle the trauma his knotted fingers attempted to hide. “Listen to me.” No please, but no lack of kindness, either. “You are not a disappointment. Not then, not now, not ever. Do you hear me? You’re not any of those things.” You tugged at the canvas jacket around his stiff arms tucked tight to his body, and rocked him away from his huddle against the door.

In the aftermath of your scramble to comfort him, Adrienne startled awake. Her soft hmm? became a grunty whine when the sensation of slipping backwards disoriented her. “Daddy?” One of her fists found your hoodie for balance, but her groggy curiosity dealt a heartbreaking blow.

She traced the wet trail on his cheek, encountered a tear in its path, and broke the droplet’s surface tension on her finger, wondering aloud, “Why’s Daddy crying?”

Thinking quickly, you used your muscles earned through unloading car parts from delivery trucks, and scooped her from your lap onto his, diverting the nuance of grown-up-problems by fumbling out, “Daddies cry sometimes, too. Have you told him you love him today? Can you tell him? It’ll make him feel better. Please, Miss Adrie?” Whether or not it was the perfect phrasing wasn’t important. What mattered was the unsuspecting gratitude laden at the base of his frown.

“I love you, Daddy,” Adrie said, latching her arms around his neck. “I love you.”

“You’re a good man,” you added, and rolled onto your hip, fitting your body to his side. You nosed through his long, frazzly curls, and spoke earnestly, but softly into his ear, “You’re a good man, Eddie. Look at how well you take care of her. Look at how well fed, clothed, and happy she is. You make her so happy.. You make me happy, too. You’re the best dad I’ve ever met. No one else compares.”

He dragged a sniffle from his last sob into an unintelligible mumble.

“I’m here.” Shh. “I’m here.” You included Adrie in your hug as you brought your hand up to the other side of his flustered hot face, blending your fingers through the hair stuck to the sweat and stubble on his jaw. “We’re here for you. We’ve got you. Nothing bad can happen when we’re here.” Sweet with conviction, “It’s okay, handsome, I’ve got you.”

Overwhelmed by the small I love you, Daddy, on one side, followed by You’re a good man, on the other, his inhale shivered, and he cuddled Adrie to him for a watery, “I love you, too.” Croaky and real, and mouth agape on an ugly cry he let you witness until his needy reach cupped the back of your head, and smushed you to his wet cheek, scratching the same sentiment into your nape, just like you were rubbing it into his scalp, exchanging the affection without words.

Us and Them funneled through the car, mellowing the heightened emotions with its dreamy saxophone opener.

“I’m so glad to have met you,” you prized in tender sweeps of whispers and thumbs. “I actually look forward to coming into work because of you, even when you hide my pen cup, and tickle me when I go to reach for it on top of the Coke machine. Which is unfair, by the way.”

“Yeah?” he asked for dear reassurance, and distraction.

Humming against the intimate corner of his jaw, you nudged the prickly scruff, and melted into his uncoordinated pets over your ear. “I see your sacrifices, and trust me, Eddie, you’re doing a great job at raising your daughter. Stuff like buying her toys, or cookies, or whatever doesn’t matter. The love you show her is better than any of that. She’s so lucky to have you.”

Another tear dropped to the tattered quilt. Another, another dropped. He squeezed his eyes shut and more fell. Hindered breaths let go in stuttered huffs shook his chest, swayed his damp hair. You circled your thumb over the rivers on his sensitive skin, and found a dry section of your sleeve to clean the price he paid for being a good father without the proper support he needed. Soothing him with fond shushes and feather touches. Forming a ball of comfort around him: cramped in the tiny car, a cast of solid fog on the windows for privacy, Adrie’s blanket draped about your jumbled legs, and her lanky arms wrapped around his neck where precious words were stoked from the embers of a fire which he built. “I wanna color with you to-mah-rrow,” she pronounced. “You can have the dinosaur book, because I want the kitty cats. Deal?” Deal, he nodded.

Your bottom lip introduced a blessing at his sideburn, “You deserve to see yourself how we see you.”

Recovering from the unbearable throb his stuffed sinuses drove to his headache, he tried—“Thank you, baby,”—though the letters were mashed together, and further pulped by the thickness in his throat. Loud, however, was his hug. Crushing you both to him with honed strength; flexed forearms demonstrating the power lying dormant in the track of muscle he snaked around your waist. Groans were earned from his expertise. Bones protested the gesture, begging to be released. It took several seconds of your heartbeat pumping visibly at the edge of your vision, but he let go. Afterall, there was no praise to be had by flattened lungs.

“That hurt,” Adrie complained.

“Ow,” you agreed.

“Sorry,” he said in non-apology.

At a change in tone, you fawned, “But that was a nice hug.”

Adrie rated it, “An 8 out of 10.”

Crowded together, the bond was unmatched. His arms were spread like a greedy dragon hoarding its wealth. Chest open, collecting his most remarkable treasures to the roaring furnace locked within the confines of his body, ready to share the warmth to those who could appreciate its value. Clasped in your hand was Adrie’s ankle, gaining squirmy kicks for each smile and giggle traded under Eddie’s chin. Dressed in his well-loved hoodie, the crook of his elbow fit to your figure, and the backs of his fingers strummed your bicep in a trained motion. None of it was perfect, no. The hoodie could smell less like cigarettes, his forearm stuffed behind you meant you couldn’t recline comfortably, and when he patted your hip, he awakened the dull throb of the bruising grip he left during earlier events.

Those weren’t bad things, though. They were as real as human flaws. Accepted as such, too.

“Are you feeling better?”

Sporting a grin favoring one cheek more than the other, Eddie’s eyes were framed by clumped together lashes after being stripped to his barest self and given the grace he needed. “Yeah,” he answered Adrie in fondness, “I’m feeling better now.” Not forever. He wasn’t cured. But with time, he guided his gaze to the velcro shoe you were wiggling back and forth onto her heel, and climbed his soft study up to the plump concentration on your bottom lip after you released it from between your teeth.

Perceiving his attention, you clocked him with a sneaky grin. “We’re a sardine family.” Brightening at the bewildered noise he made, you tapped Adrie’s knee, and imparted your wisdom as if he should know it too. “Yeah, you know, you, me, and Adrie. Jammed packed back here like a tin of sardines. All squished together.”

They blinked at you. You blinked back.

“And I thought I was supposed to be the one with bad jokes,” Eddie offered after some thought. You cut him a look. “But I like the image,” he amended.

“I like sardines,” Adrie chimed. She didn’t know what sardines were, but you appreciated her enthusiasm.

The conversation waned from there. Drowsiness from the old night seeped into your collective huddle, slouching you all towards one another. Heavy limbs went boneless. Tender brushes of thumbs came to an end. The sound of deep breaths were heard between the local ads for Indiana’s finest antique mall and an uptick in the rain smacking the paved street. Near the edge of sleep, you convinced yourself to get Adrie up and into her carseat. Eddie sat back and watched you go through the steps of buckling her in, listening to her plea for Fluff in her backpack, tucking the quilt around her just right, and hitting your head on the roof in pursuit of making her happy. Taking care of his kid. You collapsed beside him, far closer than would be proper for coworkers, and basked in his approval, noting the pride in his charged gaze. The emotional rollercoaster of the evening took its toll on his swollen face—nevertheless, romance novels could learn a thing or two from the way his stare rendered you weak.

“Should get you home before the storm gets worse,” he warned in an attractive thrum of sternness. He might call you lil’ lady next. Or remind you he promised your father he’d have you back on time.

Floating in the fizzy pool of your crush's attention, you nodded your dizzy head, and observed without need, “Yeah, should get home before it gets worse.”

He laughed. You swam in his laugh, in the instinctual desire based in his mood after watching someone nurture his young. A silly thing to rock you into a sultry sweat considering the outcome of your second date. Luckily, when you stepped out of the car, the frigid mist stole your focus, hosing you down and keeping you from reading too much into the odd chemical imbalance that must be happening in your brain.

The night was really fucking long.

Driving with the radio on low, Eddie drifted his ringed fingers over your forearm whenever they weren’t being used on the stick shift. A small gesture letting you know he was thinking about you when there wasn’t anything to talk about, not that it was needed. The calm was nice. The storm behaved en route to the Buckley’s, avoiding the occasional tree limb blocking a lane. He removed his touch from your person, and with a glance, you were assured it wasn’t the last.

“You didn’t have to walk me to my door,” you gasped, posing with your arms stuck out, useless against mother nature sagging your soaked clothes.

A puddle formed on the wood planks where he wrung his hair. “And make you do this run all by yourself? C’mon, sweet stuff. I’m a gentleman.”

Shivering on the covered porch, your shoes were partially to blame for the slipping incident(s) in the muddy driveway. The lack of the house lights on was another, slowing down your sprint into a crawl. A yellow cast from a lamp in the back room lit the hallway, but other than its soft glow, that was it. Clearly, no one expected you to come home.

“Is it okay if, uh,” you began, “Is it okay if we kiss in front of Adrie?” Oh, how your awkward pointing from yourself to the car came to a charming halt, fingers caught in the stiff fabric of his jacket, under his spell.

Plush pink lips warmed by vented heat promised your worries away.

“I think she’s asleep anyway.” His voice was playful, tugging syllables in the way his lopsided grin ought. “But,” he softened, “yeah, we can kiss in front of her.”

The permission washed over you. Weeks and months in the making. Brewing tension under the surface in your daily interactions—and now? You kissed him. Just for fun, just to show off. You kissed him again. Gentle, pretty brushes. Tame, refined, and for the sake of exploring the lack of boundary before saying goodbye.

Working man arms defined your waist.

Fingers calloused from gripping pens grazed his steady throat.

He swallowed, and spoke endearments with his busy mouth, “Could kiss you all day, baby.” Your lips kicked into a smile which he devoured, kiss after kiss. Neat little things. Virtues, maybe.

“Could’ve kissed me since the day we met,” you answered, feeling the squeeze around your back when his belly pressed you into his embrace. Though, his dismissive snort caused you to frown. “I’m serious. Coulda had me back then. Or at least you could’ve kissed me when we were slow dancing in the garage, or standing under the mistletoe at the Christmas party. Like, seriously, way to make me feel rejected.”

His wide passionate eyes shared common ground with his genuine smirk at your feigned agony. “Excuse you, but I am not having our first kiss be at work.”

“Then why not at DND when everyone left?”

“Because, sweetheart,“ his cadence loved those two words most of all, “I knew I only had a few minutes with you. And I needed a helluva lot more than a few minutes with you.”

“Or, what about when—”

Crazy how you strove to be silenced by his mouth. Craved it like no other, provoking him into eager unions, fulfilling the itch and providing the scratch with your bottom lip between his, just how he liked.

You shifted. Your inner thighs rubbed through your ripped tights. The untimely circumstances bringing you to Robin’s door lived on the surface of your chilly skin; ushering you to reality, and he as well.

“I’m sorry for how all this turned out.” Eddie’s sincere apology pitched his voice to something sorrowful, something deeper, and maybe you underestimated how much the night ending when it did upset him as a man.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

He shuffled his stance, scraping his boots in dissatisfaction. “Baby, you didn’t even get anything,” and you knew what he meant. And it annoyed you he’d even brought it up.

Combing your fingers up from his nape through his hair, you drove him into you, chasing the molten ooze pooling at your center in effort to shut him up. Wet, hard, nipping kisses at his plump lips until they were raw like his tear-stained cheeks. You forwent air. Mouths melding as one, then apart as two, then one, then a set of awake eyes boring into his drunk ones. “Our date was perfect. We needed this.” The trust, the experience, the uncomfortable glimpse into his life and how you handled it. His breakdown, his shame, his face when he finally let go and ugly cried in front of you. “I don’t regret how our night turned out.”

Nodding into a nudge of his nose stroking the side of yours, he was honest with himself, “I don’t regret it, either.”

“Well, you might regret it in the next half-hour if this storm keeps up, and you’re stranded with Adrie in the car because a tree fell across the road.”

“Shit.” Indeed, the weather was turning again. If luck were on his side, he could deal with the high winds and sheets of rain until he got home, but, more likely, he drained his luck over the course of the date, and lightning was about to start again.

Eyeing the sky with hesitance, he asked, “Can I call you tomorrow? Or—today?”

“I’d be upset if you didn’t.” Acting as an endorsement to get going before things worsened, thick forest branches creaked in the distance, popping like warnings. You followed it with snappier affections doled between your palms fitted to his jaw. “Please be safe, Eddie.”

“I will, I will. Kay?” Urgency swept him from kiss to kiss—needy, and intense, treating them as the last. “I adore you, baby. Tell me you adore me.”

Mushy under his tender affirmations, your body went pliant and he accepted your weighty lean on his chest, making it harder than it already was for him to leave his sweetheart behind. “—dore you too, handsome,” you moaned into his mouth, sending him off on a proper goodbye.

“Jesus Christ, woman.”

Ever the lovestruck fool, he stayed rooted on the porch watching your figure move from shadow to light within the home, eyes glued to sways and curves as you met the hallway and bent to peep inside Robin’s room. It was the single lamp being turned off which broke his greedy gaze, and ended his fun. Oh well. His Monday morning was booked with penciled in meetings for his admiration and your assets.

Eddie spun on his heel and stopped stalling. He didn’t bother throwing his arms over his head, he accepted his fate, and ran. Sloshing through puddles, slipping in mud. He wrenched open the door, and fell inside the car. The heater made him sticky warm in the gross way, so he turned it down, and got comfortable behind the wheel, adjusting, adjusting.

Pulling oxygen into his outkissed lungs, he heaved a solid breath, and sank into his seat, unable to comprehend the recent events carving out a new path for him to consider where there wasn’t one before.

——Then——

In the beginning…

Summer died to autumn, and it was time to move on from Steve's. Eddie tried to make it on his own in the motel room over the three day weekend break from work, but his wallet was empty, his baby was dressed in another family's blue sailboat onesie, and come Tuesday morning at 7AM, he needed someone to watch Adrie who wasn't an overworked Nancy Harrington.

Infant in hand, pride left behind in his boyhood, Eddie knocked on his uncle's door, and in Wayne's usual manner, he answered by clearing his throat when neither words nor greetings failed to repair the strained relationship.

“Can I live with you?”

Taking in the marks of fatigue under his nephew's averted eyes, Wayne said, “Of course, son,” and welcomed him inside with a swung gesture.

The walk to the single bedroom humbled what spirit Eddie had remaining. Or, crushed what was left of it. He passed by the kitchen table which still had his chair cocked out, noticed the patched-up hole in the closet door, and flicked on the lightswitch, grazing the curled edge of a poster he hung over a decade ago. His stomach sank at the familiarity.

Blazed by the ornate lamp hung in the corner, standing out like a behemoth beside his white desk, was the crib he was never able to afford.

Adrie grunted awake in her carseat. Looking down at her would spill his tears, so he cranked his head back to stare at the ceiling, steeling himself after spotting the new bedsheets stretched across his mattress, and he knew—he knew—if he turned around, the pullout bed in the living room would still be set up.

His uncle never took his room back.

Defeated by the routine pang of worthlessness, impressed to have any self-esteem left to be stolen from him at the point, Eddie sank to his childhood mattress with his three-month-old daughter at his feet, undressed himself from his boots, and made a clear spot for them both on the bed, away from blankets or pillows. He laid on his side, legs crossed and knees bent with an arm beneath his head. Same position he assumed on the motel’s carpeted floor yesterday when Adrie experienced a milestone: rolling over. Not from her back to her stomach, she wasn’t coordinated enough for that yet, but with enough powerful kicks and wiggling, his paranoia coaxed his other arm around her.

He molded himself to be her protector. Chest sunken on a shallow breath, forearm spooned to her side closest to the edge, and gaze trained on her chubby cheek. Her babbly noise of happiness brought him a sense of reward, and though the newborn smell had faded in the weeks where motor oil stung his nostrils, he put his nose to the top of her head for a whiff of a sweet scent that wasn’t there, and felt the peace it brought him anyway.

Wayne shuffled into the room with a sizable stack of chunky hardcover books between his hands. “I, uh, checked these out from the library. Been doin’ some readin’ while you were gone.” He set them down on the bedside table, and pointed at a few of them. “Learned a lot from the one on the bottom, but they were all, ah, educational, I s’pose.. Some lean more religious than others,” he grumbled. “But, uhm..”

The expectant pause in his uncle’s speech drew Eddie’s awareness.

“Can I hold her?” Wayne asked.

“Yeah.” He almost had the strength to clear the rasp from his throat. “You can hold her.”

Putting his new knowledge to good use, Wayne first worked his palm under Adrie’s head before scooping her into his folded arms. Eddie took his shame in small doses, glancing at his uncle meeting his grandchild for the first time, and looking away when he cooed over her. Three months and his only family member had yet to meet his baby. Three months spent avoiding this trailer, and depriving his uncle from making these memories.

Self-loathing boiled under Eddie’s skin, and still, there was a fleeting desire to brag about Adrie’s neck strength, and how it wasn’t so necessary to be wary of her head falling back.

But he stayed quiet. He pushed his overgrown bangs out of his eyes, and read the book’s titles, wondering what sparked enough interest for Wayne to stuff receipts between the pages, or mark them with paper clips if they were particularly interesting.

Speaking in his gruff smoker’s voice with an edge of seldom heard unease, Wayne introduced a conversation, “I read in that yellow book there that babies shouldn’t sleep in the same bed as the parent. Dangerous, with how tired you are, ‘nd all. Should I put her in the crib?”

As gingerly and delicately as one could be when discussing the reality of a child suffocating to a parent who was well aware of the risks, Eddie regarded him with an annoyed expression, and Wayne shut his mouth in apology.

“I’ve gotta do her night routine again, so I’ll be up for a bit.”

“Yep.” A solid statement, and conclusion, to the conversation.

Bending down, Wayne positioned Adrie in the hollow Eddie created for her, and mentioned there were leftovers in the fridge on his way out. He shut the door behind him. It didn’t take long for tiny fists and tinier fingers to find a lock of his hair, and pull it into a drooly mouth. Didn’t take long, either, for his exhaustion to kick in and for the emotions to crash through his walls.

Tears slipped sideways along his features. Cresting over the bridge of his nose, colliding with his other eye, and joining the wetness at his hairline, dotting the bedsheet. He pressed his face to his baby who was too innocent for this world. “Daddy loves you,” he whispered, tasting the word for the first time. Daddy. It didn’t feel right when Steve stepped in as a father figure, but he could acknowledge it now. He was a dad. A momentous occasion followed by, “I’m so sorry you’re mine.” An apology uttered on a wet hiccup—borderline unintelligible—but after coming back to this trailer, and enduring his memories trapped between its thin walls, he promised, words slurring to a constricted squeak in his throat, “Daddy’s gonna get us a nice house, okay? Your own room. Your own bed. Daddy’s gonna do it. Just give me some time, okay? I’ll do it, I swear. Daddy loves you so much. So fucking much.” The promises bred dread even then, living in the pit of his stomach as future disappointments, knowing he would fail.

Perhaps sensing his distress, his little girl used the last of her energy to kick his arm in a fair warning before her face scrunched, and the wet coughs preluding her wail for food began.

He dried his face on the bedsheet. In this moment, it was hard to continue crying when he had another human relying on him. It was time to move on. Time to bury the pain, and move on. Time to neglect himself, and move on. Time to give up, and move on. Kiss her chubby cheeks so fucking much he feared he’d never be able to stop, and move on.

——Now——

Now, he checked the rearview mirror and Adrie was looking back at him, possessing a curious pinch between her brows at his reflection.

“You were kissing Miss Mouse,” she accused and questioned.

“I was,” he confirmed.

“What does that mean?”

“It means, ah,” he filled the pause with another ah while he searched, “It means we’ll be seeing more of each other. She’ll be coming around more, and stuff. Hanging out with us.”

Ever ponderous, ever candid, ever blunt, she asked, “Does that mean she’s my–”

Crazy Little Thing Called Love blasted their eardrums.

Eddie’s fingers slipped over the volume dial by accident—totally by accident—as he reached for the stick shift, turning the music on high and drowning out the last word of her sentence.

—Mom.

No way in hell was he ready for that conversation after the emotionally grueling night he’d had.

“Whoops,” he pretended, “Sorry, couldn’t hear you—but, uh! Hey, do you wanna start our bedtime story early? Should I go with the princess one, or the Sesame Street gang running their own bakery? Hmm.." He drew out his hum until he was in the clear of the Buckley's mailbox, swearing he wasn't the reason it was laying flat in a ditch. "How about we pick up where the princess one left off? So! The firbolgs have declared alliances with Toadstool Kingdom, and.." Throwing it into first gear, Eddie raced home as quickly, but responsibly, as possible, talking non-stop. His parched throat begged for a drink by the time he pulled into the trailer park—a scratchy pain made worse by his nervous chatter in the elusive quiet of his parked car.

He wrapped Adrie in her quilt as best he could while securing her on his hip and booked it through the rain, unlocking the front door and ducking inside right as an unlucky flash of lightning came.

And when nature’s nightlight died, he blinked and blinked at the spots in his vision.

It was unfathomably dark in his living room.

Stumbling over a small shoe in his way, he patted the wall for the lightswitch, and flipped it. And flipped it again. And harassed it some more. Sighing heavily in defeat, he grabbed the giant flashlight on the kitchen counter, and lit the way. "Looks like we're camping tonight." (Their codeword for when the power was knocked out.)

"Okie dokie," she said, ignorant to the cruel world of no pancakes for Sunday breakfast when the electric stovetop was out of commission.

In the meantime, he got them both ready for bed with the added pain of doing it by a single wobbly light source, ready to pass out the second his body sank to the mattress and his head hit the flat pillow—

But of course, Adrie rocked his shoulder incessantly, goading him into giving her attention at her whim, sanity be damned. "Mm?" he grunted, coating the noise in mild annoyance.

"Daddy?" she checked.

The wait for her question grew excruciatingly long.

He almost wasted an eye roll. "Yes, my child?"

"I wish Miss Mouse was here."

Surprised more so by his yawn than the request itself—and then surprised again when his heartbeat remained calm when confronted with the reality of Adrie noticing too much—he struggled to stay awake in his best interest, perhaps giving an inappropriate answer, and unwittingly feeding into her inner wishes, "I do too." He was fading, and quick. The hard rain had returned, droning white noise on the roof, soothing his eyelids closed over the dry sting they drew. Rolling, fighting the stiff sheets tucked around them both, he threw an arm over her before the doom-roll of thunder came. Sweet dreams greeted him in a pair of tiny arms folded to his chest. Brain shutting down. Night, night. Asleep.

"I wish she was my mom."

"Goodnight, Adrie," he stressed.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie x reader #mechanic!eddie #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson smut #the yes policy

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abyssruler · 2 years ago

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would they choose you over the world?

aether (traveler), dainsleif, scaramouche, raiden ei, lumine (abyss), venti, xiao x gn!reader

AETHER thinks he can save both, no, he knows he can. The powers of this world rests at the tips of his fingers. He’s faced monsters and gods and come out alive and better than he was before. There’s no reason to hesitate, none whatsoever to consider his decision but—but. He has never been made to choose before. There was always another way, another choice, another something he could rely on. It’s a moral dilemma, like the situation with the train where you either save five people and kill one person, or kill five people to save one person. It’s easy enough to answer when it was simply that—a moral dilemma created to confuse him, not a world ending decision that lies on his shoulders. To choose one is to doom the other. Most people would choose the world, but while Aether is called a hero and the savior of nations, he is also a person. He looks at your resigned smile, like you already know which one he’ll choose, and he decides to prove you wrong.

DAINSLEIF clings to loss like a dying man does to the edge of a cliff. The inevitability of death and your mortality rests on his shoulders much like weight of his entire nation’s death. He wonders what it says about him that he’d rather have you safe and sound than have the world be saved. Five hundred years of aimless wandering, fighting against the remnants of his fallen nation and watching the world move on while he remains untouched by time, the ghost of a past that can never be returned to. Dainsleif isn’t a hero, he’s tired. All that’s left of him are fading memories of a time gone by and moments with you that he clings to like a lifeline. What has this world ever done for him except cause him pain and needless grief? What has it done to deserve his sacrifice? Nothing. And so he rests, hand in hand with you on withering grass and waits for the world to end. At least, this time, he won’t be alone in watching the heavens descend.

SCARAMOUCHE laughs, and laughs, and laughs until he’s sure even the gods that reside in Celestia has heard the scorn and mockery in his voice. It is so laughably easy to choose you and denounce the world. Let it be turned to ash and dust, let his body dance on top of a desolate world, let him pull you in an embrace and delight in the fact that no sun and no light (for none of these exist anymore) would ever outmatch the brightness in your eyes, the smile on your face, the tinkling sound of your laughter amidst the remains of a world that once threatened to snuff your life like a candle left in the dark. He is like a flame and you, the spark. There’s a tsunami gathering on the horizon, threatening to drown everything in its wake, but instead of preventing it, he revels in the ruin it will bring. It is either your death alone or yours and everyone else, and if you have to die either way, then he will die with you and drag the rest of the world along in his self-appointed destruction. You taught him what it felt to no longer be alone, so he will make sure you’re never lonely, even in death.

EI feels weightless, like a leaf adrift in the wind. It feels like she is back to that moment five hundred (a thousand) years ago, a dilemma, a decision, a choice—follow Makoto to Khaenri’ah, or defend her people from the monsters ravaging the lands? There was uncertainty there, a small seedling of hope that she would arrive not far from Makoto and see her sister alive and waiting, and so she had made the decision to stay—but this? Faced with an ultimatum, the world or your death, Ei finds that the decision is much more difficult, much more devastating but no less heartbreaking. Had it been before, in her lonesome at the Plane of Euthymia, the choice would have been easy, barely a thought in her mind, but everything has changed and Ei wants, in a way she has never wanted before, to be with you. You with your smiles and your laughs and the warmth you induce in her frigid heart—and she finds that she cannot make a choice… so you do it for her. For the greater good.

LUMINE doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even flinch before she turns her back to the world and takes your hand. What good is the world if you’re not there in it? She won’t just stand by and watch as everything she holds dear is destroyed in front of her—not anymore. There is you, there is her, and there is the world burning, and Lumine finds that she can hardly care. Her heart has no place for faceless people, no love left for a world that has done nothing but spurn and trample on everything she had offered. Let it burn if it means having one more second, one more minute, one more lifetime with you. A choice isn’t truly a choice if the other option was never considered, and she will never consider a world without you. There are millions, billions, countless other worlds out there she could take you to. Damn this place, damn the heavens, and damn the consequences. Her brother would understand, he always has, and when Lumine meets him again in a new world, she’ll make sure to introduce you to him.

VENTI wants, like Icarus yearning for the Sun, but Venti is Venti, and Barbatos is Barbatos. Right now, he cannot afford to be that carefree bard who spun tales of your lovely hair and lovelier still lips (cannot be Icarus who flew too close to the sun and fell). Venti wants—but Barbatos knows the best option, the best choice, the least devastating one but the most heart-wrenching one. The situation is funny, laughable, hilarious, really, the kind that makes his stomach ache and brings tears to his eyes that drip down his cheeks and onto the ground and—oh, he’s crying. He’s crying and holding you close and apologizing, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, and he doesn’t deserve your forgiveness, doesn’t deserve the hand carding through his hair and the soft press of your lips on his forehead as you murmur, don’t cry, it’s alright, you’re doing the best you can. But the best means not doing this at all, the best means not having to make a choice at all, the best means not having to say goodbye. It’s okay, you tell him, I forgive you. But he never forgives himself.

XIAO thinks there must be another way, there has to be another way. He won’t accept this, won’t allow himself to choose between losing you or losing everything, because he knows, deep down, that the choice has already been made and it is not the one he wants. But he knows better than most that doing what he wants isn’t always what is needed, that certain sacrifices must be made despite his unwillingness, despite his entire body protesting against it. Rex Lapis once told him that being a god means making difficult decisions. If this is what it means to be a god, then he will accept a life of service, a life of war and fighting and breathing like every second is his last—because pain and suffering are infinitely better than having to wake everyday without your voice by his ear, giggling about how you finally caught him asleep. A world without your light, without your presence, without you is a desolate one. There must be another way, another sacrifice to be made that doesn’t involve you. Just—anything, anyone but you. Even if it has to be him.

#merry christmas <3 #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #aether x reader #dainsleif x reader #ei x reader #raiden ei x reader #raiden shogun x reader #scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #wanderer x reader #lumine x reader #venti x reader #xiao x reader #gn reader

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sirenscriptures · 11 months ago

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⋆⭒˚.⋆ angel dust — s. ryomen ⋆｡˚

synopsis: he couldn’t believe the day you’d fallen down into his home. it was such a dark place, filled with such voids that most would consider horrifying. but you…you seemed to brighten up those areas just with your presence alone … 3k

before you read: fem-bodied reader, fallen angel ! reader, kind of counts as monsterfucking??, corruption, breeding, size difference, true form sukuna, soft to rough-ish sex, mainly soft sukuna, some asphyxiation, oral sex, cock worship.

author comments: if you’ve seen this before, don’t fret. this is a reupload from last year that came from my previous blog <3 also, i would greatly appreciate any feedback on this idea. it was very well received on ao3 and i’d love to know what you think of this idea!!

there was a biting cold air spilling throughout the dark, enormous malevolent shrine that evening. it was odd, since the deep marrows and walls of the domain usually seethed with a heat that seemed closest to what hell would feel like.

quiet as usual, his looming figure sat high within the mouth of the gaping shadows that swallowed the entire space. mountains of bones sat him as his throne; rotting and decaying ones piled at the root, whilst the more robust collection of ivory spines and jaws crowned the top.

even if his gaze read otherwise, he knew something strange was circulating. the domain no longer felt as though it could hold him, yet he didn’t know why. where it usually felt so hollow and barren, it now felt heavy, as if there were something weighing directly on its surface.

sukuna could feel the tension slithering up his arms. his usually harrowing eyes were now darting around, frantically checking each and every wall, crevice and shadow like a madman.

however, standing up was worse. immediately as his feet met the surface, a painful spasm rippled through his head, his hand smacking against his forehead in response. following the sudden pain, a high pitched ring bulleted through his ears.

he let out a yowl in reaction, his entire core tensing in near unbearable pain.his body heat felt like it was burning him alive, and the entirety of his muscles felt as though they would cave in on him at any given moment. it was as if his whole body were crumbling away, alike to the bones at the very bottom of his throne.

what in the hell is wrong with me…?

with no time for another thought or exclamation, a sudden, nearly blinding light glistered over his entire vision. it was like a lightning strike when it cracked down upon a tree. but upon the impact, the light expanded outward, casting a permanent coat of shining white over what used to be orifices of shadows.

the light only lasted a few moments before slipping away, the shadows eating at the remaining whiteness casted in the malevolent shrine. but for sukuna, it felt like ages before the piercing brightness faded away.

hiding away his face in the fabric of his robe sleeves, the pain in his body from before had completely vanished. he felt now that he was in one piece, and that everything was mostly back to normal again.

that was, until he looked in front of himself.

in front of him was what looked to be a pile of white sheets strewn about messily into a wrinkled pile.

with him still trying to adjust his eyes from before, it was still a bit of a blur. the flash from before had strongly impacted his vision for a good few moments before he could truly see properly again.

but when his vision did clear, he was certain he’d been hallucinating. his eyes widened as he realized.

in front of him lay an angel…one with battered, gently stained wings. they looked to be twisted, as if they’d been purposely bent and misshapen by cruel hands.

the little clothes that they wore were torn, stained with some sort of black, ash-like debris, as if they’d been caught in some sort of smoke or fire.

now fully adjusted to the sight, he saw the faint, aura-shaped glow that was cast around their body. the dim light shifted in and out of different hues; appearing like the breathing leaves of a tree at one moment, and like ocean waves the next, transcending on and on into different textures and colors in only a matter of minutes.

even for him, the very king of curses, this was a truly mesmerizing sight. in all his time, he couldn’t ever recall encountering a fallen one.

but that didn’t stop him from wondering just how in the world a creature like you had slipped into his domain.

sukuna’s barrier was stronger than any other domains in existence. only he had the power to call upon it when he wished to trap his victims inside of it. no one could get in or out without his calling to it, and that was always how it worked.

truly, it made no sense how you’d landed here. it shouldn’t have been anywhere near possible, but he’d have to face the facts that it was now.

breathing out deeply, whatever soft expression he previously had, he quickly wiped off. whilst admittedly fascinated, sukuna wanted no more unexpected visitors lurking here. it wasn’t worth any risk, even if he could deal with any type of intruder.

walking towards your body, he stared down at you for a moment, pondering. the idea of seeing a real angel so up close, enough to where he could touch it and see all of its features, felt somewhat dangerous to him.

standing so close created ripples of tension in the air, and he could feel it. it was nearly overbearing, to a point where he almost stepped back. but he stood his ground, not wanting to lose this moment.

gently, one of his hands grasped around your shoulder, rolling you onto your back. seeing your face now, it was hard for his eyes not to narrow.

sukuna had never seen something so beautiful. being asleep and trapped in bottomless darkness for years upon years with nothing but gruesome history and deeds, made him realize just how much he failed to see from the world around him.

he knew very well that there was a world outside of his domain where time was constantly working. where lives ended and began within every passing hour. where every single person, organism, ecosystem and cell worked to keep the cycle of living and evolving forever flowing onward, until there would be nothing left but dust floating about an empty space.

did he care for it much? of course not

out there, he was feared. the very syllables of his name invoked terror into any normal human that lived today. and that didn’t bother him in the slightest. it was a title that contributed to who he truly was: the king of curses.

but this moment that lay in front of him felt much different than just the outside world. just by looking at you, it was clear you falling down here carried much more volume than if a regular human were to fall into his domain.

it was when he began to pull you into his arms that your eyes flicked open. being cradled within four arms was a feeling he only half expected you to react to, but it was still surprising for both of you.

at first, sukuna expected you to flinch away from him. maybe even throw yourself away from his grasp. after all, it only seemed appropriate to him that an angel would fear the initial sight of a curse of his stature.

it was the stare you gave him that threw him off the most. your eyes were brilliant; the color in resemblance to the hazy aura that surrounded your body after the fall. but looking deeper, it seemed like you were...admiring him?

the softness in your gaze couldn’t be described in any other way. it was painted with innocence and light, something that was so foreign to sukuna.

despite the unfamiliar soft feeling blooming within his chest, his expression remained strong, revealing little emotion to you at first. with his eyes fully fixated on you, he smirked.

“i take it you’ve lost your way?” he asked in his low, sonorous voice. red eyes blinked down at you, the contact unbreaking.

when he was met with silence, it wasn’t a shock. angels weren’t so common with the earth language as many others thought they were.

instead, you blinked back at him, that same look in your eye as he remained holding you in his arms. even though he understood that you weren’t vocal, he could begin to feel that same tension lingering in the air once more.

“you really did a number on me when you fell down here.” he chuckled, assuming the pain from before was caused by the impact.

something within your gaze flickered as your hand reached up towards his face. his first instinct was to flinch away or tense up, yet…he didn’t.

your caress on his face was gentle, so loving, it was enough to make him feel like warmth was rushing through the tips of your fingers. sukuna hadn’t felt such a sensation in an eternity. in all of his long life, he couldn’t remember ever feeling a touch as gentle and as ethereal as this one.

it truly amazed him. he’d been so used to fighting, that he forgot what a real, physical loving touch had felt like against his skin. especially in his true form, he’d never felt so many sensations coursing through him at once.

the tension only stretched once he noticed you hadn’t broken eye contact. usually, others would shy their gaze away in fear. but, with the way you looked at him, it was almost as if you were trying to persuade him to look at you.

the way you smiled at him, and the way your body was so relaxed in his grasp…something was drawing him in so deep, that he completely ignored the fact that your faces were now drawn so close together, his breath warm on your skin.

you could feel sukuna start to tense up against your body. he wasn’t saying it directly, but he hated appearing as though his walls were tumbling down. the mere idea of being vulnerable was nauseating to him. but sure enough, it was gradually spreading through him like a slow-killing virus.

for a brief moment, something switched within him. it was a sudden feeling of his normal self coming back to him.

suddenly, he placed you back on the ground. he initially wanted to turn his body away from you, but you stopped him. your hand clasped gently around one of his wrists, a slight pleading look in your eyes. you stood close to his body, battered wings flecking about torn and tangled feathers.

sukuna turned to look at you, slightly amused. if anyone else had done that to him in his domain, he could have their arm sliced off in a matter of one glance.

“what now?” he asked gently.

he almost made a smart remark following his inquiry, until your hands gently started to roam over his body.

slowly, your gentle touch sent that same euphoric sensation through him, causing his breath to hitch. the tenseness in his muscles seemed to be washed away by the feeling as your touch traveled to his waist.

he could feel your breath growing heavier by each minute that passed. your head leaned into the deep crook of his neck, hands admiringly slipping over the bulges of muscles and scars on his skin.

looking back at you, he huffed, that devilish smirk spreading slightly over his lips once more. his large hands crept over your waist, scraping the loose clothing off of your body, leaving you more vulnerable than him.

before you could react, he’d pulled you into his grasp once more, his lips connecting with yours. his tongue aggressively slithers its way into your mouth, causing you to whine.

when pulling away, a string of saliva trailed between both of your mouths, eventually dripping down your breast.

seeing your bare figure so beautifully displayed in front of him, sukuna can’t help but feel like he needs more. that feeling from before was now a craving that he felt wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d had every part of you.

leaning back to sit, he placed you conveniently onto his lap, undoing his robes. you could feel the warm excitement pulsing through you, and you were certain he could feel the same.

those dark eyes fixated on you so strongly, you felt as though he could see through you. he pulled you close to him again, his hand trailing down in between your legs.

you latched onto him in surprise when the mouth on his palm began to lap and lick at you from below. you let out a trembling whimper, wrapping your arms tight around his neck.

sukuna chuckled darkly. “now i’ve found what you like, haven't i?”

it wasn’t long before you were wet enough for his fingers to slip in between your snug walls. you could feel your legs beginning to shake uncontrollably as the mouth continued to suck and slither its tongue inside you, whilst his two fingers pumped into your wetness.

he was fascinated by the feeling. even just a mere two fingers had some struggles fitting inside you. but the way you swallowed him in so well down there made him throb.

fuck…who would’ve thought i’d get to ruin a sweet angel like this? he thought to himself. just the feeling of the dripping warmth around his fingers could drive him mad.

promptly, sukuna removed the rest of his robes, his full body exposed to you now. looking at you, he watched your eyes widen at the sight of just how big he was.

he smiled amusingly, taking your face into one of his hands gently.

“there’s nothing to be afraid of, dear.” he murmured, pulling you into a deep, long kiss.

your little whimpers sent waves of arousal through him. you were so fascinating in all ways…he just couldn’t get enough of you.

before he could do anything else, you positioned yourself beneath him, kneeling right where his thighs were.

he looked at you, confused. he could see that you appeared nervous. compared to sukuna, you felt so small. he was a giant, and you both knew that. but there was an instinct for you to serve him, even if it was just for a little while.

suddenly, you’d begun to take in one of his members into your mouth slowly, your tongue snaking around the tip.

sukuna let out a rumbling groan, muscles back to tensing and pulsing with excitement. even the feeling of your mouth was amazing…so soft and welcoming to his cock.

his head tilted back, the feeling of you sucking at him sending his mind into a blur. it was unfathomable how good you could make him feel, all with simple gestures.

after a few moments, you’d stopped. sukuna looked down at you, panting slightly.

it was the sight of you kissing his cock that made him realize what you were doing. trails of kisses led all the way to his pre-cum coated tip. your hands gently massaged and caressed his skin, humming with pleasure as you did so.

pulling you up to his lap again, he pulled you extra close, breath now hot against your neck. sukuna couldn’t keep his mouth from yours. his large hands groped at your breasts, the mouths engulfing your skin.

he loved the sound of your moans flowing into his mouth as he prepared his cock at your entrance. you sounded so meek, and at the same time desperate. as if you’d wanted more of him, which is exactly what he wanted from you.

sliding in wasn’t easy for him. not even half had slipped into you, and you were already holding onto dear life, clawing at his shoulders and wincing, tears starting to stream down your cheeks.

he cupped your face in his hands, holding you gently. “shhhh, it’s alright.” he assured.

he placed one of his hands on your chest, the thump of your heartbeat racing wildly. staring into your eyes, he never broke his soft stare, his member still partially stuffed inside you.

“breathe for me.” he murmured, hand remaining on your chest as he breathed deeply with you.

slowly, it eased its way past your walls, the warmth now engulfing him. sukuna leaned his head back, groaning.

“fuuuck…” he hissed, feeling the fluttering of your walls around him.

he looked up at you, seeing how tense you’d become. his hands gently rubbed up and down your back, soothing you to where you would relax once more.

accidentally, his hands traveled to your wings. at the initial touch, you let out a cry, but not out of pain, out of pleasure.

once again, fascination overcame him. while he started to pump himself in and out of you, his fingers gently massaged the silky feathers of your back, watching as your head and eyes rolled back.

his pace grew faster eventually, balls slapping against your flesh, your moans sobbing out of you louder. meanwhile, sukuna’s hands roamed all over you, caressing every part of you that he could.

as he fucked you, the tongue on his stomach swirled in delicate circles over your protruding clit. he could feel every part of you begin to tremble. it felt like you were about to break at the seams.

he growled out huskily as his hand wrapped around your throat. slaps rang out as he fucked you, echoing throughout his domain.

he looked at you with hooded eyes, admiring the glassy-eyed look of exhaustion and arousal that you had.

“cum for me,” he stammered out. “let me hear those pretty moans of yours…”

you could feel the pleasure washing over you, head throwing back as you let out a final cry.

with a few thrusts, he could feel his seed sputtering deep inside you. his last thrusts made sure everything stayed inside of you, filling you up as much as he could. the feeling of your warmth and fluids mixing together nearly sent the both of you into a trance.

but for sukuna, he was more entranced by you and you alone. he had yet to understand how an angel like you had fallen down here, but he figured he didn’t have to understand everything right away.

all he truly cared about now was possibly keeping you down here with him. it didn’t fully make sense at first why he felt such a drawn protection over you, but now he saw just how special you were.

holding you in his arms, he couldn’t help but smile watching you doze off, head resting against his chest as you listened to the soothing sound of his heartbeat.

written by sirenscriptures. do not repost on any other website. do not translate, copy, or use.

#jujutsu kaisen smut #sukuna smut #sukuna ryoumen smut #⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚 — sea’s scriptures #true form sukuna smut #sukuna x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #true form sukuna x reader #☾ — nightly yearning

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srslyblvck · 3 months ago

Text

it's okay, tony stark

pairing: tony stark x teen!reader

synopsis: you get dusted after thanos' snap

genre: angst

word count: 0.9k

author's note: did i cry while writing this? yes i did

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ THE WORLD HAD NEVER felt so quiet.

It was a strange, suffocating silence that pressed down on Tony Stark as the battlefield stretched out before him, reduced to rubble, ash, and despair. The wind carried nothing but dust, and in that dust, he could see the remnants of everyone he had fought so hard to save.

He stood there, frozen, as Peter crumbled in his arms.

"Mr. Stark, I don't feel so good," Peter had whispered, fear etched into every syllable. Tony had held him tighter, hoping to keep him here, hoping that somehow, this wasn’t real. But Peter’s body had turned to dust in his hands, slipping away, just like everything else in Tony’s life.

Now, Tony was left holding nothing, his mind still screaming, No, not him. Not Peter.

But it wasn’t just Peter.

From the corner of his eye, Tony saw you—stumbling, your legs shaky, like the very earth beneath you had begun to give way. His heart clenched, a sickening panic rising in his chest.

"Kid," Tony rasped, rushing to you. He dropped to his knees just in time to catch you before you fell. His hands clutched your arms, and then pulled you into his chest, holding you close. "No, not you too. Not you. Please."

You were his family, the one he'd found when the world had been just as dark as it felt now. He remembered that day so clearly—stumbling upon a Hydra base, expecting only weapons or enemies, but finding you. A scared seven-year-old, huddled inside a small cabinet, shaking uncontrollably, clutching a teddy bear that was too worn to offer any comfort. You had flinched when he tried to reach for you, pushing yourself deeper into that small space, as if the shadows could protect you.

"It's okay," he had whispered back then, voice gentle, soft, as if speaking too loudly would break you. It had taken time—God, so much time—but you'd eventually come out, and Tony had made a silent promise. He would protect you, no matter what.

But now, he was failing. Again.

Tony felt your body tremble against him as you fought to stay, to hold on. But you couldn't. He saw it in your eyes, the same way he'd seen it in Peter's just moments before. He couldn't lose you. Not you. Not the kid he raised, mentored, cared for more than he ever let on.

You looked up at him, your face pale, your breaths shaky, and tears welled up in your eyes—tears that you were desperately trying to hold back. Tony knew you didn’t want him to see you break. You didn’t want him to see the fear, because if you broke, then Tony would break too. And he couldn’t. He couldn’t lose you. Not like this.

You offered him a small, fragile smile. A smile meant to comfort him, even though you were the one slipping away. "It's gonna be okay," you whispered, your voice barely a breath. "You’ll find a way... I know you will."

Tony shook his head, his voice cracking as he mumbled, "No, no, no, don't... don't do this." He held you tighter, like somehow holding on would keep you here. "You're gonna be fine. I’ll fix this. I’ll fix everything, just—please." His voice broke into sobs that he couldn’t control.

You lifted a trembling hand to his cheek, wiping away a tear. Your smile faltered, but it didn’t fall. "Tony... it’s okay," you whispered.

You reached up, your hand shaking, and touched his face. Tony’s breath caught in his throat as he felt the warmth of your skin, the way your fingers trembled as if even that small movement was too much.

Tony shook his head violently, his throat burning as he held back the sobs that threatened to tear out of him. "No, don’t... don’t say that. You’re gonna be fine, you hear me? You have to be fine."

But even as he said it, he felt you slipping away. The trembling in your body started to ease, but not because you were calming down. It was because you were fading.

The tears welled in your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. You didn’t want to cry. You didn’t want to make this harder for him. But Tony could see the truth—you were scared. You didn’t want to die.

You took one last shaky breath, your hand dropping from his face as your body began to dissolve, turning into dust that slipped through Tony’s fingers.

"Please," Tony begged, his voice raw, broken. "Please, don’t go."

But it was too late. You were already gone.

Tony knelt there, in the ruins of the world, staring at the empty space where you had been just moments before. His mind was spinning, his heart torn apart by the loss. First Peter. Now you. The two kids who had given him hope, the ones he’d sworn to protect, were gone. And he had failed.

He pressed his hands to the ground where you had been, his body shaking uncontrollably. The battlefield was quiet again, but this time it was unbearable. It was the silence of everything he had lost, everything he could never fix.

Tony could still hear your voice in his head, the last words you had spoken to him echoing in the hollow space of his heart.

"It’s okay."

But it wasn’t. None of this was okay. You were gone, and he couldn't protect you. He couldn’t stop this, and now you—his kid—were nothing but ash scattered in the wind. The weight of it all—the failures, the loss, the utter powerlessness—was crushing.

Tony buried his face in his hands, shaking uncontrollably. The tears wouldn’t stop, not now. Not when the one person who trusted him, believed in him, was gone.

All those years ago, you had been a broken, terrified child hiding in a cabinet, and Tony had promised to keep you safe. He had failed.

And this time, there was no fixing it.

#tony stark #iron man #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark imagine #tony stark angst #tony stark x teen!reader #tony stark x daughter!reader #iron dad #avengers #avengers x teen!reader #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #angst #endgame #avengers endgame #marvel mcu

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carmensbrain · 1 month ago

Note

Heyy can you do angst like really really angst of reader dying in season 2 or 1 with Jayce x reader

This is so evil… of course I’ll do it ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧🎀

Contains- Jayce Talis x councilor! Reader

Rating- T for brains above 13!

Warnings- mentions and descriptions of death and gore(?)

Authors note- I’m currently coping with season 2 act 2 , I miss my soft lover boy Jayce so bad it’s insane ( • ᴖ • ｡)

Fic starts below the cut!

You had met Jayce in the academy days, keeping him company while he did his piles of research on hex tech. You loved to watch him work, seeing him finding that final piece of the puzzle and celebrating with you made your heart flutter. So after weeks of brushing hands, stares from across the classroom, and complements that were a bit too flirty he finally got the courage to ask you out.

Since then he’s been glued to you, fingers laced with yours while he rehearses his progress day speech for the 50th time, head resting in your lap as you work out some councilor paperwork late in the night.

One afternoon he walks into your office, face sewn with an emotion you couldn’t place.

“You’re needed in the council room, it’s important” his tone is flat but wavers at the end, after the attack on the bridge you could tell he was struggling, grappling with the weight of duties he never agreed to uphold.

You followed him into the room, dim with the sun setting just outside the large window. As he speaks to you and the rest of the council his voice is confident but the look in his eyes while he introduces the idea of a separation of piltover and zaun is full of worry.

The idea of zaun raised eyebrows but as the time to vote came the council, including you, agreed. Maybe once zaun is free the zaunites can finally find peace and piltover can focus on hex tech’s development. The final light flickers on as councilor Kiramman agreed to the proposition and a wave of relief washed over Jayce’s face, the looming dread leaving his face.

A moment later a distant explosion causes you to turn your head, momentarily blinded by the blue flash of a rocket barreling for the council building. Without time for anyone to react the room is practically reduced to rubble, a searing heat biting your skin as rubble pins you on the ground.

Everything sounds muffled as the remaining members of the council stumble to help each other, Jayce’s voice booming through the room as he searches for you. He’s able to pull a majority of the rubble off you you but the damage was already done, blood pooling on your dress as Jayce’s hand comes to cover the gash ripped in your side.

Tears fill his eyes as he tries to get help, screaming for help from the stunned councilors staring at the scene unfolding in front of them.

“Jayce…” you call out, hand reaching up to touch his face in spite of the shooting pain every movement caused. His skin is hot, stubble on his jaw pricking at your hand. His cheeks are covered in ash and dust, only broken up by tear tracks.

“I’m sorry- I- I can fix this I’m gonna get you help” He reassures, the words consoling himself more than you. His hands shake as he holds you, panic setting in while your skin grows paler and colder by the second. You guide his face to yours, lips colliding with his for the last time.

“Please… don’t blame yourself” you plead as you fight to stay conscious, every second passing increasing the pain ripping from you abdomen while the adrenaline fades. The finality in the way you spoke broke Jayce, a strangled cry leaving his lips as he felt you go limp in his arms.

Your mind brought you to a safer place, memories of the early mornings, date nights, and soft moments shared between you two playing as the sound around you fades and you can feel yourself slipping away. The pain fades and for a brief moment there is peace, no aching in your heart as you watch the man you love work himself to the bone to fix problems born centuries before him, no more constant stress about how to uphold the approval of the council while fulfilling your promise to your people in the undercity, no more fear of what tomorrow may bring.

As he finally lets your body go, lying you down as comfortably as he could so your final rest could be a good one, his gaze falls on victor.

He is in a similar position to you but there’s no visible bleeding and he’s still breathing, though shallow. A flash of panic courses through him as he rushes him to the lab, chest heaving while his thoughts cloud all of the other voices around.

I can’t lose them both tonight.

#carmen’s brain🎀#writers on tumblr #fanfic #fanfic requests #writeblr #arcane #arcane league of legends #jayce talis #jayce talis x reader #Jayce talis league of legends #arcane jayce

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redfoxwritesstuff · 5 months ago

Text

Posting schedule: Friday Misdemeanor, and Wednesdays for one the occasional one shot. Tag lists are always open.

Join us in the VoxTek Discord server for a Vox themed Hazbin place to hang and get teasers for upcoming chapters!

my AO3 and Kofi

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart

Cover done by @redvexillum

Human Alastor x married reader Rated Adult for adult themes,triggering content and sexual content. Potentially DD:DNE, mind the warnings Series Trigger Warnings: Adultery, stalking, Sexual assault, Rape, smut, Domestic Violence, Time period accurate views on women and domestic violence and skin color, murder

Summary: Fading away in an abusive marriage, each day passes just the same as the last. Painful monotony eats at you until a pair of warm brown eyes sparks the idea that you could have something more. When a business deal between men sparks a torrid affair, how long can you keep things going before the fire either leaves you a burnt out shell or burns up everything around you?

And what becomes of the radio host who thought he was above the fickle fires of the heart when the match he strikes burns his hand instead? Can he possess what rightfully belongs to another man without leaving everything he has fought for in ashes?

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59. 60

Why Is MisD Reader Coded... white? A supplemental reading explaining the historical context, why the deliberate choice was made to code the Reader as a white woman for the sake of plot points, and why I personally would find it disrespectful to have not done so.

MisD Sidepieces: One shots or fics that take place in a MisD AU or are MisD canon but written by another.

Inappropriate Demeanor by @nyx-umbrakinesis (Canon placement, end of chapter 22) Chapter 2 (canon placement between chapter 24 and 25)

Audio Chapters by Nyx Productions: Chapter 1: part 1 part 2, Chapter 2: Part 1, part 2, part 3, chapter 3, Part 1, part 2, part 3, Chapter 4: Part 1, Part 2, Chapter 5: Part 1, Part 2, Chapter 6: Part 1, Part 2

For Eternity (Completed)

Banner by @redvexillum

Alastor x Angel!Wife Oc (Isabel) Rated: Adult Warnings: This fic contains sexual content, explorations of consent within Angel Dust's contract in relation to sex work, Sexual assault, Possessive and obsessive behaviors, Power dynamics, Adam being an ass, kidnapping, Vox is in hell for a reason, Val is in hell for a reason, Vox has a weird thing for Alastor, Angel Dust is sweet as pie, murder, revenge, implied sexual assault and harassment, miscarriage and death.

Summary: Isabel died young, leaving behind her husband to pick up the pieces. Finding herself in Heaven, she waits for her husband to join her. And waits. And waits. Years and decades pass as she faces the realization that Alastor may not be joining her in Heaven, leaving her largely alone in a realm of double standards and fake smiles.

She must decide if she is going to move on from her marriage or do whatever it takes to reunite with her husband. Would he even still want her? Would she survive the dangers to find him? Would the cost be worth what could be gained?

Is Heaven really Heaven if the one you love isn't there with you?

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

Another day in Paradise (On hiatus)

Pairing: Eventually Alastor x OFC, later- light Alastor x ofc x Lucifer Rated: Adult for eventual smut Content warnings: It's Hazbin Hotel- this feels redundant. Sex, eventual smut, referenced implied suicide to be discussed in more detail later, drugs, drinking, poor coping, toxic behavior, controlling behavior, cannibalism, idk, it's fucking Hazbin Hotel, if it's worth a content warning it's probably going to come up at some point? Religious trauma. reader has a name/is a oc.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4

A Taste of Sugar

Alastor x reader Rated: Adult for smut TW: blood kink, bondage, reader with trauma from food insecurity Summary: As you work through the trauma of your life and starving to death, you dismantle your stash of snacks for what you hope will be the final time. Snack cakes, cookies and crackers are given to everyone around you, except one resident in the hotel whom you knew wouldn't enjoy or consume the treats. Then, as the flow of treats tricked to a stop, stash dismantled, small brown boxes containing treats began to appear at your door. Simple, delicious and seemingly homemade treats without so much as a note.

He watched and he waited, each week for your offer. Each week, no offer came and again he left his gift at your door. Why would you not think of him? Why would you not see him? What did he have to do for you to consider him?

Chapters: 1, 2

Wild Flowers (One shot)

Alastor x readerRated: Adult, 18+ Content warnings: Sex pollen trope and related questionable consent due to intoxication, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, knotting, praise, dancing that shouldn't be that sexy, biting, a touch of blood drinking, female masterbation, some possessiveness, Alastor being a bit of an ass

Summary: You had always loved flowers, so when you found a patch of pretty purple wildflowers growing in the small forest behind the hotel, you didn't think twice about picking a small handful to bring back to your room. While they smelled lovely, you were wholly unprepared for the side effects of exposure or the repercussions of offering the terrifyingly handsome Radio Demon a smell on your way to your room.

With your body burning from the inside out with an overwhelming need and a displeased Radio Demon pushing his way into your room, you have no idea what you're in for.

All you wanted was to pick some flowers but you got so much more.

Audio version brought to you by @nyx-umbrakinesis, Pt1, Pt2, Pt3, Pt4, Pt5, Pt6.

Steamy Situations 18+ (One shot)

Alastor x readerRated: Adults only Warnings: Smut. It's shower smut. Female bodied reader. Careful with your shower sex.

Summary: You're hot and bored and your husband is busy working. If only there was a way you could distract him, get some of his attention and cool off. Audio Fic credits: Read by the lovely @nyx-umbrakinesis (Audio fic part 1, part 2)

Read me to sleep? (One shot)

Alastor x readerRating: G Summary: After a long, shitty day out and about you drag yourself home to the hotel to seek shelter and comfort in the one place you knew you could find it.

Home is where the heart is (One shot fluff)

Vox x Reader Rated: General Warnings: I accidently spilled a little angst on the fluff serving. Sorry?

Summary: You're cooking dinner when your secret boyfriend comes home. Caught up in the moment, confessions are made and hearts are put on the line.

A Bed of Electric FLowers (One Shot)

Header done in part by the wonderful, amazing, fantastical @redvexillum

Vox x ReaderRated: Adult CW: Sex pollen trope, sex toy use, female masterbation, Vox's glowstick dick, way too many tv details, Male receiving oral,

Summary: A unexpected floral arrangement is delivered to your door as you're trying to ignore the lingering absence of your flat faced boyfriend. When Vox returns home and finds you in a compromising position, he's eager to assist even without a clue as to what has you so worked up.

Sister Dearest (One shot)

Requested: Vox x Alastor’s!Sister!Reader rated: Adult

Summary: Sneaking out of the protection of the protection of your brother's district was dangerous. Not only did you risk Alastor's wrath, you risked catching the eye of some unsavory characters. While you could meet many friends upon the streets of the forbidden tech district, you find Vox and his alluring promises of a good time.He knew of your brother and seemed to hold no animosity, surely he was a friend to the Radio Demon, right? Surely you could trust his company, right?Right?

Power (One Shot)

Vox x Reader Rating: Explicit 18+ Warnings: Porn without plot, Power dynamics, Secretary reader, Choking on dick, Office blowjob.

Summary: Vox is wound tight after his on air showdown with the newly returned Alastor. The show must go on though and you have just what he needs to get into the right headspace to move forward.

(None, for now)

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pretzel-box · 3 months ago

Text

It itched at him, an unrelenting torment that crawled under his skin, scratching at the very edges of his sanity. It burrowed deep into his mind, filling every quiet moment with a maddening buzz. Those eyes—your eyes—were like cold hands, prying at the walls he had built to protect himself, clawing at the fragile sanctuary he tried to keep intact.

Your presence was everywhere. It seeped into the endless puddles of stagnant water, glistened in the fractured reflections of broken mirror shards, and echoed through the lines of every file he had ever written. Each word was tainted by your memory, each letter a reminder of the truth he refused to confront. The truth he tried to forget.

You were like a ghost, haunting his every breath. No matter how far he ran, no matter how deep he buried his thoughts, you were there. Always. Watching. Waiting. It drove him to the brink, made him loathe the spaces you once occupied. He slashed through every picture of you with black ink, his hands shaking with rage, with sorrow—trying, so desperately, to erase you from existence. As if by smearing your face into oblivion, he could erase the pain too. He tore your name apart, shredded every letter like it was a piece of his heart. But it wasn’t enough.

Nothing ever was.

He burned everything you left behind, the flames consuming it all in a final act of destruction. Papers curling, blackening, disintegrating. He never thought paper could burn so beautifully—embers glowing, flickering in the dim light, rising up and falling like the pieces of you that lingered in his soul. The ashes scattered, but the ache remained, lodged deep in his chest, refusing to fade.

And as your file crumbled into dust, he realized with a hollow ache that no amount of fire, no amount of ink, could ever make you disappear.

You were still there, in the quiet spaces. In the silence after the flames. You would always be there.

And it would always hurt.

#sebastian solace #roblox pressure #pressure #sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace x you #sebastian solace fanfic #pressure x reader #pretzelthoughts

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acotarxreader · 6 months ago

Text

Timing Part Two

Azriel x Reader

Synopsis: You and Azriel try to navigate the awkward air the kiss you shared has left between you but the reintroduction of one of your former flames spurs action

Original Synopsis: Timing works against you and Azriel as a series of unfortunate events lands the two of you alone for the night with a broken down car and a breaking down friendship

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, silliness, miscommunication, punching and light smut, Eris being silly.

A/N: Part two of my first dance with a modern Az fic, hope you all like it! Also there are now 400 of you lovely friends!!! Hehe thank you so much for joining my lil nonsense of ACOTAR ramblings! Love you all long time! - C

Part One

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

The car hummed along in its happy tune, finally glad to have gotten the maintenance it called out for for months, the rest of the truck was shrouded in silence. Even the 80’s blaring radio had its voice stolen. Azriel’s leg bounced on the sticky carpet from one end of the journey to the next as his fist white-knuckled the overhead handle, your driving putting the truck's tune-up to the test. Not even your close call with a deer had broken the steady run of awkward silence, leading you to your arrival at the camp. You drove down the winding road to your friends had picked their site where the deafening silence was broken for the first time since this morning-

“YN…I think maybe we should talk about-” “-I don’t want to talk about it” You quickly nipped back to his soft tone.

“I think we should, I-” “-Oh there's Feyre!” You braked the truck so harshly that it cut across his words. The wheels had barely stopped before you leapt out and darted towards your best friend.

“YN! You survived the driv-” “Yes, yes I’m a terrible driver, I need to talk to you” You caught her hand from outside her tent, pulling her away from the rest of your friends while she laughed. Azriel watched you from the passenger seat of the car before leaning over and turning off the engine you didn’t even give yourself time to switch off.

“Az, you’re alive, Cass owes me money-” Rhysand beamed through the driver's side door, his face fading before continuing “-Hey? Are you okay?”

“I have no idea” Azriel’s eyes locked forward on the stained caramel-brown dashboard.

“Tough trip up? No longer friends with one another?” he laughed to attempt to lighten the mood. “I have no idea” he tore his stare off the dashboard, looking over Rhysand’s shoulder to where you and Feyre had run off to in the distance.

“More than friends?”

“I have no idea”

—---------------------------------------------------------------

Cassian and Rhysand watched from their deck chairs around the burnt-out fire pit as you and Azriel unloaded the back of the truck in complete silence, Feyre busy on the phone to Mor trying to help her with directions, the blind leading the blind Azriel had remarked to you, a small smile leaving you as you threw down your bags. Cassian watched the stacks of bags and supplies infiltrate their campsite, the disorganisation of it annoying his regimented brain.

“What’s going on with them, they won’t even look directly at one another?”

“Beats me Cass, I thought Az had decided to tell how he felt, now I think those plans have been abandoned” Rhysand whispered back, kicking a stray bit of tinder into the ashes of the firepit. A devilish smirk painted Cassian’s face, Rhysand’s eyebrow-raising as Cassian stood from his chair. Cassian waited until the two of you had circled back to the back of the truck to get the cooler, out of sightline of the stacks of bags. He whistled a tune as he ambled over, arms behind his back before he shot down to the pile, snatching the large bag of tent pegs and firing it to Rhysand who caught it and chucked it into his tent with fluidity. Cassian scurried back to his chair as the two of you carried the cooler, dropping it into the dust.

“Are you guys planning on living here forever is it?” “Please Rhys, this is just Azriel’s hair care” you laughed, Azriel smiling at you before you both dropped the smile in the awkward air that hung around you. You hauled your bag to your chest, digging through to pull out the base sheet for your tent. Azriel threw his two friends cans of beer from the cooler before beginning to build his own tent.

“Do you have the pegs YN?”

“No, they were in your bag?” You stood up from the skeleton of your tent, scanning the ground for the missing bag.

“No you had them”

“No” the two of you squared up to one another on either side of the firepit. Cassian just tipped the top of his can off of Rhysands.

“Fighting is still talking” Rhysand whispered, a small laugh leaving Cassian, causing the two of you to stare at him where he shrugged.

“Hey, I have the pegs for my tent, don’t look at me, maybe you two can camp in the back of the truck again?” You scoffed in reply, tucking your arms across your chest to half stomp away from the canvas flooring.

“Cass, what did you do?” Azriel half whispered to his brother, a devilish smirk painting his face.

“Just having fun, have you and YN tried it?” Azriel scoffed, abandoning his tent for a can of beer.

“I think she hates me right now” “Maybe remind her how much fun we can all have together?” Rhysand offered a new plan.

—----------------------------------------------------------------

For the remainder of the day, you avoided Azriel like the plague, the rest of your friends who weren’t privy to previous events being left in confusion but decided on a whole to avoid bringing it up and risk being on the other end of your temper. You watched sitting from the small cliff of rocks above the sprawling lake as your friends soaked one another in the cooling spring waters, beaming at their uninhibited joy in one another's presence. You scanned the water, Azriel noticeably missing, jumping with the slight fright Cassian gave you as he ran past your side and off the rocks, diving into the clear water below, soaking you.

“Asshole!” You shrieked with laughter.

“I knew I could make you wet YNN!” He teased back, your eyes nearly rolling from your head as you smiled down at him.

“Come down and play with us Rapunzel” Rhysand called to you, threading the water effortlessly as your friends relaxed into their surroundings behind him, basking in the sinking sun.

“Rapunzel doesn’t want to get her hair wet!” You laughed back, standing to put your hands on hips to get a better look at your dear friend while he did handstands under the water. You weren’t sure if it was the feeling of the rocks gone from under you or the feeling of scarred hands meeting your waist that you felt first but the sudden whoosh of freezing spring water was definitely felt by every nerve in your body.

“Azriel!” You squealed out as your head bobbed back to the top of the water, your frenemy howling laughter in the water alongside you and Cassian, who’d turned practically purple from laughing so hard. You splashed the water back towards him, your once furious face melting at the semblance of normalcy.

The silty ground separated from your feet as you felt someone swim beneath your legs, pushing you up suddenly on strong tattooed shoulders as Rhysand gripped your thighs. Azriel fought off the feelings of conflict at the sight, deciding to make his own moves. Your arms shot out straight for balance as Feyre was quickly lifted onto Azriel’s shoulders across from you. The four of you coated the lake in bellowing laughter as you and Feyre tried to push you from the shoulders of your seat.

“It's like wife swap” Cassian chuckled, your foot flicking to kick a wave his way accompanying Feyre throwing him a dirty look.

“Shut up Cass” You stuck your tongue out to him and he quickly clipped the back of Rhysand’s bad knee with his foot beneath the water, sending you flying back to the water.

“YNN! C’mon we’re gonna start cooking!” Mor called from the shoreline, her late arrival due to her forgetfulness in submitting assignments. You splashed Cassian again before swimming back to dry land, wringing out your hair as your feet met the rocks again, and Azriel’s eyes heated your back. Feyre was very quickly turning blue from the disappearing sun and so followed you, the promise of a fire to cook over also bringing warmth.

“Careful Az, you’re drooling”

“Leave it” Another wave of water met Cassian’s face, his tone sharper than normal when defending himself from their teasing about you.

“What happened to you guys?”

“Nothing happened last night” Azriel moved to swim from his best friends.

“Why’d you specify last night Az?-” Cassian continued his teasing, swimming alongside him “-Tell us, you were like you’d seen a ghost when you arrived this morning and that’s the first time she’s looked at you all day” “Crushed by the crush Azzie?” Rhysand added to Cassian's request for information as the three reached for their towels.

“She kinda- we kinda- I don’t know had this bizarre moment” “Most moments between you too are bizarre” Azriel whipped Cassian’s legs with the tail of his towel receiving a small yelp from the towering man.

“Tell us about it” “Tell me where you two idiots hid the pegs for our tents-” he shot back, Cassian and Rhysand sharing a brief look “-I know you have them” “I want to speak to my lawyer”

“Well, Amren isn’t coming this weekend Cassy you’re on your own” Azriel laughed, throwing his bag over his still-damp shoulder.

“Maybe you guys could figure it out at the party tonight? It's all about timing” Azriel shook his head at Rhysand’s words.

“I’ll ask Feyre what she knows” “She’s not gonna break confidence, the sisterhood of the travelling clowns” Cassian added.

“Does that make us the clowns?” the three looked amongst one another before saying no in unison with a laugh

“Clowns have tents to live in” Azriel shoved Cassian playfully again before the three head back in the direction of the camp, laughter bouncing off the tall trees.

—------------------------------------

You had managed to keep distance between yourself and Azriel at dinner and soon the campsite had become a conclave of students escaping the stress of their life for a weekend of chaos. You had all gathered around the large fire in the centre of the camp, people flowing from all directions, music dancing across every branch of the night air-soaked trees. You laughed along to the story Cassian told his dear friends about when he had signed Rhysand up for a salsa dancing elective and he had to go to get the college credits.

“You laugh but I make use of that skill all the time” Rhysand chuckled, spinning Feyre around, her drink splashing out of the cup she held, hitting Mors shoes where she shrieked.

“Ugh Feyre!” she laughed, Feyre apologising.

“Remember when YNN’s cousin got sick on your shoes Rhysand?” Cassian chuckled at the sight, drinking deeply from his can, a slight chill crossing over your shoulders.

“Oh yeah right after she slept with Az at YNN’s birthday, you must have made her sick Az” The group howled with laughter, Azriel shuffling slightly to cover his discomfort.

“I blocked that drunk night out, world's greatest misunderstanding, that was such an accident” “What did you slip and fall?” Mor shot, the group giggling along.

“No, nothing hap- I came looking for-for…actually never mind” the group booed, your attention searched for anywhere else to be interested, a tall red-head fulfilling the need. You drifted from the edge of the group as Mor began her favourite story about your cousin’s last wild visit. The group fixated on Mor as Azriel watched you walk away, forcing a smile into his beer as though he was listening to the wild story.

“Hello stranger” “YN!” Lucien placed his drink down on the makeshift table, swaddling you in a hug.

“How are you?” You smiled into his chest before separating again.

“He’s fantastic but as usual I’m better” You turned towards the equally tall male, rolling your eyes at Eris.

“I thought you fell off the face of the earth Eris” “Any day now” Lucien quipped, crossing his fingers together and wrinkling his eyes closed, his brother shoving him gently, gaining a laugh from you.

“Azriel, it looks like you’re trying to blow Eris’s head up with your mind” Cassian whispered to his brother, noticing his intense watch across the clearing. Azriel finished off his drink with one glug before opening another.

You spent an hour or so with the brothers, enjoying the company you hadn’t been around in years, your families being old friends. The music grew in volume like the crowd, people dancing freely around the fire and tree border. Eris took your hand, twirling you around as you laughed, your silky slip dress almost shimmering in the moonlight.

“I remember at my 16th birthday, dancing all night with you” He laughed in your ear, the feeling of heat meeting the side of your face, radiating from Azriel’s eyes. The simmering remained on you for the remainder of the night, the sun beginning to attempt to stretch its limbs over the mountain.

“Allow me to walk you back YNN” Eris outstretched a hand to you as you contemplated the consequences of taking it.

“YNN, c’mon we’re walking back” Azriel’s irritation joined your side, his hatred for Eris wrapping around the conversation.

“She’s all good smokey” Eris gestured with his head to Azriel’s tattoo-coated arms that promptly folded across his chest.

“Eris” you warned lightly.

“Sorry babe, c’mon let’s go” His arm slipped around you more harshly than he had met in his alcohol-infused state. You stood away from his grasp with a half-laugh, a sound Azriel knew you used to cover rising panic.

“It’s okay Eris, I’m gonna walk back with my friends but it was really lovely seeing you again” You reached to hug him, Eris turning his head slightly so you met his lips in the lightest of brief kisses, Azriel jolting back partially before completely lunging forward as you pulled back from Eris. You screamed with utter shock as Azriel rolled along the floor with Eris, the sound drawing attention to the pair. Cassian quickly hauled Azriel from above Eris where Lucien pulled him from the dusty ground.

“Calm down you idiots!” You put a hand on each of their shoulders where the two of them shrugged you off, death glaring between the space.

“Stay out of this YN” Eris bit out, eyes of pure fire towards your friend, shaking his own brother's grip loose again. Cassian released Azriel cautiously.

“Don’t speak to her like that” Azriel shoved Eris into the chest again, instigating another flare-up of heated emotions. You moved to stop another clash, timing ever in your favour coupled with the two raging men in front of you. You weren’t sure who threw the first punch, only that it met your eye instead of the target, your body sailing to the ground in a crouch.

“Fucking hell!” You cursed, pressing your hand to your face to try to stop the radiating pain. The two leapt with fright, both going to help you back to your feet, apologies rushing out like the pain rushed to your face.

“Don’t touch me! Either of you!” You shot back to your feet, stomping away from the group and brushing away any of your friend's advances in an attempt to help you.

You stormed your way back to the camp, feet almost splitting the soil as you bounced along in rage. The truck door was nearly separated from the hinges as you ripped the passenger side open. You sat in the still slightly sticky environment, pulling open the glove box to dig around for the first aid kit. You cracked the instant ice pack before sitting back into the chair, eyes closing as you exhaled your full lung capacity, your door closing in the gentle wind. A light tap came to the driver's window, a groan escaped your throat as you rolled your head along the headrest to look at Azriel.

“We flipped a coin to decide who got to speak to you first, the others are gonna stay at the party for a bit longer, they don’t want to witness my murder-” He admitted, sliding alongside you “-I’m really sor-”

“-Don't" You whisper sharply, dropping the ice pack to your lap, your sightline following it.

“But I am sorry, I just got a bit blindsided”

“Please don’t make blind jokes right now” You let a breathy laugh leave you before rolling to look back at your greatest frenemy.

“Sorry, again-” He returned the laugh “-It was just when you kissed him I just…I have no idea”

“It was just a kiss, an accident” You offered, unsure of why you felt so compelled to defend it. The quiet air returned to the cabin of the truck, almost as thick as it was when you had arrived this morning, Azriel’s bouncing his foot separating from the sticky carpet the only sound. You sighed again, outstretching your arm to land on his knee to stop the infuriating tapping, Azriel’s eyes landing on the motion.

“Was-Was when you kissed me just an accident?”

“Oh Gods, why wasn’t I just knocked out?” You groaned jokingly, sinking further in the seat, replacing the cold pack on your eye.

“YNN”

“Az” you teased back, looking towards him again, your hand unmoving from his leg as he leaned across the space between you. His hand pulled the ice pack down from your eye, the light freckles of bruising beginning to form as he cautiously pressed his lips to yours. Unlike your first kiss, neither of you pulled away, only pushing in further, his hand releasing the ice back to meet either side of your face, both turning further into what was left of the little space between you. You tilted your head as his hand traced up your jaw, into your hair, his wrist bumping gently into your bruising eye separating the two of you as you winced.

“I’m sorry about that, I have bad aim after I drink” he admitted in a whisper, your hand hovering over the mark.

“You, you’re the one who hit me!?” You found yourself laughing loudly at the absurdity as Azriel gave a guilty smile.

“Oh fuck that, I’m going back to Eris” You smirked, faking an exit from the car as he caught your forearm, pulling you back to him grinning.

“I’ll kiss you better” The hair on the back of your neck stood up at the sultry whisper.

“How drunk are you?” You managed between tender kisses, no longer capable of dismissing how the action made you feel.

“Sober enough to know I want this, drunk enough to silence the anxiety trying to deny me this” You nodded in agreement, swinging a leg over to the lie flush with the driver's door to straddle your best frenemy. Azriel’s hands traced their way around your waist to steady you as yours wrapped around his throat delicately, your thumbs tipping his jaw back deepening what you had denied one another. Your mouth parted slightly causing him to eagerly take the invitation, his tongue conducting teasing strokes that you happily match. Your hands slid to clutch the material of his shirt, afraid to let go of him and the movement as the glass of the truck began to fog. You cautiously pulled back from him, slipping your arms from the straps of your dress for it to fall to your hips. Azriel’s eyes had a laser focus on yours, his hands tracing over your now bare sides, their warmth burning the chill in your skin with an addictive nature.

“Have I ever said how much I love this truck?” You tilted back as you laughed at his words, his arms supporting your lower back as he began to nip down your chest.

“Haven’t you had enough marking me?” You pointed playfully to your eye, Azriel reaching to kiss your purpling cheekbone softly.

“I’ll forgive you for destroying the inside of this truck if you forgive me for that” “You’re the one who opened the coke!” you hit him playfully into his chest. “And you’re the one who made it a pressurised weapon with your driving!” “Shut up” You chuckled, his hand tracing up your spine to the nape of your neck.

“Gladly” he grinned into the smile he pulled you down into an electric kiss, chills tracing both of you until a sudden beating of the driver side window had you leaping back, your head sailing into the roof of the truck. Your arms slipped back into the straps of your dress, before sliding back to Azriels side in the truck. He cautiously opened the door to find Cassian staring in at him, for the second time that night Azriel contemplated murder.

“Rhysand and I would just like to know which of us is winning money in our bet?” “And what do we get?” you laughed, replacing the ice pack to your face

“Emmm your tent pegs?”

“Keep them” you both said in unison, Azriel closing the car door again before meeting you sweetly, all in perfect timing.

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

Whatcha think? hehe

Juat tagging ye because ye asked for part two @serxndipity-ipity-blog @novabeckersainz55 @happyt0exist

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frenchkisstheabyss · 11 months ago

Text

ⱧɆ₳Ɽ₮ ₴Ⱨ₳₱ɆĐ ฿ØӾ

☽ Pairing ☾ warlock!christian yu x witch!chubby!fem!reader

☽ Genre ☾ supernatural au , fluff, smut

☽ Summary ☾ When his first attempt at a spell ends in him being chased out of town, Christian stumbles through the woods and stumbles upon your cottage. Unwelcoming to visitors, you attempt to chase him off but there's just something about this stranger that makes it impossible to turn him away.

☽ Word Count ☾ 2.7k-ish

☽ Warnings ☾ mentions of death/funerals (it's handled comedically so nothing gruesome), witchcraft obviously, unprotected sex, nibbling, a lil bit of rough sex, soft dom christian vibes, overstimulation, creampie, pet names (darling, love), & that's all babes.

☽ A/N ☾ I wrote this as a request for @magoapple who loves Christian Yu as much as I do. Thank you for trusting me to write up your idea and I hope that it came out the way you wanted. Love you 💜

It was supposed to be a simple sleep spell. A few sprigs of dried mugwort, ground lepidolite, the toe of a dead man, a splash of moon water, two creams, three sugars. Or was it three creams, two sugars? Racing through the trees, bare branches grasping at his limbs like the claws of the damned, Christian knows he made a mistake somewhere.

His grandmother’s spells, written on tea stained scraps of paper, provided clear instructions. Naturally a few words here and there had faded over time but how important could they have truly been?Important enough that they might've kept him from cooking up the nauseating potion that made him pass for a corpse.

The days of grieving that preceded his funeral service were hell for everyone but him. While dozens wept he snoozed peacefully. Arrangements were made. His pinstripe white suit was tailored. An oak wood casket was measured to suit his height. The only thing missing, the very thing that saved him, was that the mortician skipped the embalming process.

In a small middle of nowhere town like this, people are prone to superstition. When the mortician placed his scalpel to Christian’s throat, prepared to make his first incision, he could’ve sworn he heard a low humming noise. A death rattle is what they call it. Unremarkable when heard coming from the dying but when it’s coming from the dead? Cut into them and the sound will haunt you for the rest of your days.

And so he quietly left him intact. Something he’d come to regret when his wife rushed into the funeral home screaming in terror that the boy had risen from the dead at his own funeral. The townspeople were unhappy to say the least. Glancing over his shoulder, Christian can still see raging globes of orange looming between the trees. The flames of torches meant to burn him to ash.

There’s chatter amongst the small group of men tasked with capturing him. Their voices aren't distinctive in the slightest but their anger—their fear—seeps into their surroundings. One of the men managed to cut his arm before he escaped. His hand clings to the wound, gathering the fabric of his tattered suit to soak up the blood that drips from it.

He’s out of breath, lungs burning with every step he takes. He doesn’t know how much longer he can run or even where he’s running to. Only that he has to keep going or he’ll be burned at the stake. He knows he’s been running in a straight line but suddenly the trees seem to bend as if he’s made a right turn. The change is dizzying, causing him to stumble but he has to keep running. Straight? No, left. No, right. No.

Thud! His body collides with something unseen, knocking him to the ground. “What the hell!” you shout, bracing yourself for the fall. You land hard on your bottom, the basket of herbs on your arm spilling out into the grass. Scrambling to your feet, you spot the beast that slammed into you though he’s no beast at all. Despite his disheveled appearance, the dark haired man has a gentleness to him that makes you want to rush to his aid.

Watching him dust himself off, you see that he’s injured...and handsome. Incredibly handsome. But how did he get here? How? “Oh my goodness, I’m so happy I found you. You have to help me!” he pleads, grasping at your arm to pull himself up. You back away, sensing the impending presence of even more unwanted company. “You led them here? To my home! Who sent you?” Eyeing the cozy cottage behind you, Christian questions if he’s alive after all.

Everything from the chestnut shingles on the roof to the cobblestone path with flowers springing out from between the cracks reminds him of the story books he read as a child. Vines of wisteria climb the walls, bundles of lavender adorning the arches of the windows and doors. A place like this—it shouldn’t be here.

“You shouldn’t be here! Whoever sent you—” you say, lowering your voice to a hush. “No one sent me. I’ve just, I’ve had a day, alright? If you don’t help me they’ll kill me so please, please help me.” You want to turn him away, send him right back in whatever direction he came from, but you can’t. The sincerity of his pleas tug at your heartstrings, playing them like a violin.

Behind him you spot the lights of the torches, bringing back dark memories of what lead to your life of solitude to begin with. Shaking away the ghosts of your past, you rush to pull his jacket off. “Take your clothes off!” “Hey!” he squeals, twisting free, “What are you doing?” “You stink of graveyard dirt. It’s interfering with my spell. Take your clothes off, anything the dirt touched, and dispose of them!”

Christian hesitates, unsure he wants to trust a strange woman’s demands to strip down, no matter how beautiful she is. “Just do it before you get us both killed!” “So feisty! Fine, I’ll do it!” Finally getting his jacket off, you toss it into the trees. Christian follows your lead, hurriedly stripping down to his underwear and disposing of the clothes in a small scattered area just beyond your grass.

You’re ashamed of yourself. Staying focused has always been your strength and men, unfortunately, have always been your weakness. His muscled body is covered in inked markings, mesmerizing you to the point of total distraction. Christian catches you staring and winks, “Like something you see, darling?” “Ugh, you’re already unbearable!” you huff, marching towards your home. “Come inside, we need to handle that wound.” “What about them?”

Pushing your front door open, you turn around and begin counting backwards from 10. Gradually, the torches snuff out and the voices fade into the night. “We’re invisible to them now. They won’t find us. They won’t find anything. The trees will twist until they can’t even find each other.” You say this with a coldness that betrays your sweet exterior and fuels his curiosity.

“You’re magnificent” he muses, making you crack something too fleeting to register as a smile though it’s something resembling one. Lowering your head to hide your amusement, you step inside and he trails behind you, a lost puppy in search of a home. “Whoa” he gasps, marveling at the decor. It’s rustic and simple yet everything in it seems priceless. Even the picture frames appear ornate, the paintings within their boundaries thriving with life.

If he stands still long enough he could swear the paintings move. “Do you plan to bleed out on my carpet?” you tease, standing in the doorway to the kitchen with a blanket and a small basket holding your own special first aid supplies.

“When did you get those?”

“Get what?”

“The blanket and the…they just…”

“Appeared?” you laugh, handing him the blanket, “Things tend to do that around here. Come sit.”

Wrapping himself in the blanket, Christian makes his way into the kitchen. “Might you have a name, stranger?” you ask, setting up your own makeshift medical station at the table. “Christian. And yours?” Unraveling a roll of gauze, you glance up to find him staring at you with a longing in his eyes that even he may not be aware of. It makes your heart skip a beat, your pulse racing as you catch yourself slipping under his spell once more.

The sound of a pot boiling over on the stove reels you back in. You clear your throat, hurrying to tend to the dinner you’d so quickly forgotten about. Jumping into action, Christian grabs an oven mitt and is right at your side helping to put out a small fire before it catches. “Goodness, look at me. I’m such a mess. Forgive me, I just—this is a lot and I—” you ramble, flustered by the culmination of events.

You stop to catch your breath, a hand clutched to your chest. This is far more excitement than you were prepared for. “Would you like something to eat, Christian?” Your question makes him suddenly aware of how long it’s been since he last had a bite to eat or even a sip of water. The aroma rising from the pots is mouthwatering, only making matters worse. If he had enough moisture in his body to drool he would.

“I would love that, thank you.” You take him by the hand, leading him back to his chair to properly examine his wound. “I’ll feed you and fix you up then off you go. Understood?” He nods obediently, praying that mind reading isn’t among your abilities. As annoyed as you may be at his arrival, there’s still something so inviting about you. You handle him with such warmth. The very warmth that was so cruelly stripped from his life without warning. What intention could he possibly have of letting you rush him off?

But he lies anyway, settling into the comfort of your touch. “Understood.”

Chirp! Chirp! The baby bird cupped in Christian’s hands flutters its wings. A thorn peeks from between its feathers, preventing it from taking flight. “Poor thing” you pout, pinching the thron and plucking it free, “There you go. All better, aren’t we?” Christian looks to you with the same admiration that he has everyday since he stumbled upon your cottage, injured and alone like this sweet little bird.

Weeks have passed since then, both of you finding excuses for him to stay before ultimately doing away with the notion altogether. Before his arrival you’d never spent mornings like this sitting barefoot in the grass enjoying the utopia your magic had created. Now every morning begins this way with him, hours spent opening up to him in ways you never thought you would with anyone.

You shudder to think of how long you spent locked up in that house, hidden from everything bad in the world and consequently everything, at least one thing, good. Christian sets the bird down in the grass, watching it hop off into the distance and disappear beyond the invisible veil that surrounds your home. “Darling,” he says, a sweet nickname he’s come to call you, “Have you ever thought about leaving?” You laugh at the obscenity of such a question, “Leaving? Wh-why would I do that?”

Sensing the anxiousness in your voice, he intertwines his fingers with yours, brushing his thumb along the back of your trembling hand. “There’s a big, wide world out there, darling. You can’t hide here forever.” It’s a knife through your heart to hear him say that word. Hide. “I’m not hiding here. This place keeps me safe. It keeps us safe.” You move to snatch your hand away but he only holds it tighter, bringing you closer to him.

“But it keeps us still. Something as beautiful as you are shouldn’t be kept. Beautiful things should be free, shouldn’t they?” “And who’ll protect me?” Christian smiles, deep brown eyes refelcting the morning sun, “I will.” Instinctively you want to make a mad dash for the front door, slam it behind you and shut everything out. But with it would go your new companion, the light at the end of a tunnel of seemingly eternal loneliness.

His other hand finds your waist, bringing you onto his lap. “I owe you everything” he whispers against your lips, “Won’t you let me give it to you?” He wraps his arms around you, kissing you with all the passion his words can’t communicate. It steals your breath away, killing that urge to run away. Your fingertips trace his jawline as you tilt forward to deepen the kiss. His tongue ventures further into your mouth, his hands finding their way under your flowy black dress.

Your skin’s softer than the most expensive silk. He can’t get enough of touching you, caressing you. Light sparks of what feels like electricity give you goosebumps as he trails up your spine. “Come with me” he begs, kissing his way down your collarbone. His tongue teases your cleavage, rounding what lush flesh of you breasts overflows from your lowcut neckline.

Christian tugs the front of your dress down, groaning in pleasure as your breasts fall free of the material. Taking your nipple between his lips, he eagerly buries his face into your chest, suckling at the bud. You throw your head back, eyes falling closed, and profess to the skies that you’ll do it. “Yes” you moan, grinding down to feel him hard against your core, “I’ll do it.”

Christian hums happily, nibbling at your stiffened bud as he reaches between your legs to stroke your slit through your panties. Only there are none. They’ve disappeared. He looks up at you, perplexed. He knows you were wearing them. “Where—” “Did you forget?” you giggle, watching the awe on his face as he feels his cock spring from his pants, “I’m magic.” “Yes, you are.”

Magic in every sense of the word. Not only in the intoxicating kiss you pull him into. Not only in the way that you sink down onto him, swallowing every throbbing inch of him into you. You’re magic in the strands of hair that fall between his fingers and in the voice that cries out his name. “Christian!” you moan, tearing his shirt away to reveal the tattooed form you’ve lusted for from the start. He bounces you in his lap, bottoming out with each thrust of his hips. It sends shockwaves through you, your juices pooling at the base of his cock.

Your toes curl, back arching as the blood rushing up his shaft has his veins pulsing while you clench around him. “I’ve wanted you for so long” he confesses, gripping the plush of your ass. “Oh god, me too. So badly.” As if you needed to say it. You’re so wet that he can feel you juices splashing on his fingers each time your bodies meet. That says everything. But he loves to hear your voice. Hear you say that you’ve wanted him as much as he wants you. “Darling” he coos, his face in your neck, inhaling your scent, “You’re shaking.”

You are. It started when he first took your hand and it hasn’t stopped since. One especially rough thrust makes you cry out, your pussy beyond overstimulated by the return of sensations you haven’t felt in years. Your eyes sparkle with tears, a tightness gripping your chest, “Too much! Ah, can’t…” In one graceful motion he has you on your back, your trembling knees pressed back to spread you wider. “Ssh, you can. You can take it for me. My brave girl, hmm?”

You squirm beneath him, this new angle perfect for slamming into your sweet spot. “You...are...the...devil” you gasp, legs wrapping around his waist. “Not the first time I’ve heard that, love” he chuckles, taking that as a challenge. Pinning your hands above your head, he picks up speed, claiming every part of you in every way he can until you’re—

“Christian—I—I’m—oh my goddesses.”

“That’s it my lovely. Wanna feel you—”

Your orgasm washes over you, the waves powerful enough to pull you under. You’re drowning and you bring him right along with you. You're overcome with every emotion all at once as you hold each other tight, flowing into each other, sticky and sweet.

The sky darkens. The air is still. For a moment you hear nothing and then your body relaxes. The sun returns, the sky somehow prettier than it was before. Christian collapses on top of you, his face disappearing beneath a mess of dark hair as he lays his head on your chest. He squints his eyes, noticing that, beyond his curtain of hair, he can spot parts of the forest he hadn’t seen before.

In the distance, the little wounded bird hops around with his friends. Not too far away he spots remnants of the clothing he tossed away when he found you. He can see everything now and that means everything can see him. It can see you. “So, where to first?” you beam, admiring the view with him.

“Anywhere you want, darling, as long as I’m with you.”

#christian yu x reader #christian yu fluff #christian yu smut #dpr ian x reader #dpr ian smut #dpr ian fluff #chubby reader #plus size reader

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