#I ever have before. So I don’t feel too bad | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

halfmoonaria · 3 days ago

Text

what i can’t say

pairing: tara carpenter & female reader

summary: tara wants the only person she can’t have, but she’ll do whatever it takes to change that —even if it means risking everything.

word count: 10.7k

author’s note: yall don’t forget to wish me a happy birthday this friday on the 22nd!

Tara wasn't used to hearing the word "no."

Growing up, she'd mastered the art of getting exactly what she wanted, whether it was a toy, a treat, or just a little more attention.

All it took was a well-timed look, a hint of a pout, or a small scene in a public place—not that she ever felt bad about it. After all, it always worked, and it always felt worth it.

But more than any toy or treat, Tara always seemed to have what she wanted most: you.

Her best friend since... well, since you both were small enough to think scraped knees were the end of the world. You'd been there from the start, the friend who laughed with her, who stood by her through every phase and whim.

Tara didn't have to beg or throw a fit to keep you close. You just were. It was like you were woven into each other's lives, and if anyone asked, she'd say you'd always be there—like you were something she'd managed to keep just for herself.

If anyone asked, Tara couldn't quite recall a time before you.

You were there in every memory that mattered, the friend who understood her quirks, finished her sentences, and knew every dream she'd ever had.

You were inseparable, not just in the way kids cling to each other, but in the way people do when they know they'll never quite find someone who gets them like this again.

You shared everything with your clothes, midnight snacks, and every embarrassing crush you'd ever had.

You laughed together about the silly things you thought were love back then, sharing conversations about who you'd marry someday and who had the best smile.

Although. Tara was always a little quieter during these talks, listening more than sharing, and you never thought much of it. That was just Tara, after all, always keeping a bit of herself back, tucked away in her own mind.

But when it came to your middle school crush, she never missed a chance to tease you, brushing him off as if he wasn't as special as you seemed to think.

She'd laugh and tell you he wasn't as funny as you made him out to be, or that his smile really wasn't anything to write home about.

To you, it was just typical Tara, always finding a way to poke holes in the things you liked.

You didn't notice how her smile faltered when you gushed over him or how her gaze turned a little sharper, though even she didn't fully understand why.

It left her with an uneasy feeling, the kind she could never quite explain, that made her want to change the subject whenever she could.

And as time passed during this time, it seemed like your crush only grew, and so did the way you talked about him.

No matter how many times Tara brushed off your comments or tried to steer the conversation elsewhere, you still lit up whenever his name came up.

Brian.

Brian slipped into conversations almost daily, whether it was about the way he made everyone laugh in class or how he'd held the door for you that morning. And each time you brought him up, Tara felt a pang of irritation she couldn't quite explain.

She never told you how much she despised Brian, but the feeling ran deep. It gnawed at her whenever you mentioned him, and even though she tried to brush it off, she found herself disliking him more and more.

The worst part was, she couldn't understand why. It wasn't like you weren't allowed to like a boy—that was just part of life, after all.

Whenever she hinted at her frustration with her mom, she'd hear the same thing: it was normal, fun even, to have a crush, and Tara would experience it too someday.

But she hadn't. She'd never felt that way about any boy in your grade, no matter how many times she tried to convince herself she should.

It confused her, and in a way, it confused you too. You'd always laughed off the fact that Tara never seemed to "crush" the way you did, teasing her about how she'd figure it out someday.

But whenever you'd gush over Brian, Tara would just sit quietly, trying to ignore the strange knot in her stomach that seemed to tighten with every word you said.

Time went on, and those middle school crushes never quite faded.

Brian only seemed to grow more attractive, transitioning from the shy boy you liked to someone who was effortlessly charming, with a confidence that made everyone notice him.

Back then, you'd have called him "cute," but now, there were new words—hot, gorgeous—terms that made Tara roll her eyes every time they left your mouth.

But you still felt that rush of excitement when he was around, that same giddiness you'd had since you were ten, only now it felt a little more real.

Tara, on the other hand, hadn't changed much when it came to relationships.

While others around you both dated, broke up, and fell in love, she stayed quietly distant, brushing off questions and teasing about why she never seemed interested in anyone.

The truth was, she didn't really know why herself. There was a part of her that felt left out when you gushed about Brian, when your other friends talked about crushes or brought dates to dances. She tried to tell herself that she just wasn't interested yet, that maybe someday she'd feel what everyone else seemed to.

But as the years went by, Tara started to realize that maybe she was different—and she couldn't shake the strange sense of frustration that came with that realization, especially whenever Brian was mentioned.

Somewhere along the way, as high school turned into something more serious, so did her thoughts about you.

Tara didn't want to admit it at first—not to herself, not to anyone. The idea crept up quietly, unexpected and unwanted, like some shadow she couldn't shake.

The way you'd laugh at something silly, the familiar warmth of your hand in hers, or the way her heart would skip when you'd throw an arm around her shoulders. It all made sense now, but it was a sense she desperately didn't want.

When the realization hit her, it was like she couldn't breathe.

There was this tiny voice in her mind that whispered, almost cruelly, You're in love with her. Tara's immediate reaction was to shut it down, to deny it with everything she had. This couldn't be right. She wasn't in love with you.

That wasn't what best friends did. She told herself she was just confused, that maybe it was normal to feel this strongly about someone you'd known your entire life.

But every time she saw you look at Brian—every time you said his name with that sparkle in your eyes—it felt like a punch to the gut, and there was no denying it anymore.

The more she tried to reason with herself, the clearer it became. And that terrified her.

She couldn't let herself feel this way about you. You were her best friend, the person who knew her better than anyone else.

The idea of telling you—of you finding out and looking at her with pity, or worse, disgust—made her stomach twist. She could already imagine the awkward smile, the way you might back away, laugh it off, or even leave her behind. It would shatter her, and she knew that.

And so, she decided then and there that this secret would stay with her.

She'd lock it away, bury it so deep that even she could forget about it someday. Telling anyone—even her parents—wasn't an option.

Not only did she fear their reaction, but she knew they wouldn't understand. To them, you were her friend, nothing more, and the thought of losing you, or of anyone making her feel like her love was wrong, was enough to keep her quiet.

But keeping quiet wasn't easy. The secret felt like it was burning a hole through her, consuming her thoughts and leaving her frustrated in ways she couldn't explain.

She wanted to be around you, but every moment with you felt like a reminder of what she could never have, and it only made the ache grow stronger.

She was angry, scared, and hopelessly in love with the one person she could never tell.

So she became skilled at hiding the depth of her feelings, putting on a mask that had somehow become part of her daily life.

She played her role well, acting like nothing had changed between you both.

At school, she kept her gaze casual, listening to you talk as if she didn't want to lose herself in the way your lips moved.

During sleepovers, she'd lie next to you, forcing herself to focus on anything but the warmth of your arm just inches from hers.

And at parties, now that you were both old enough to go, she'd laugh and dance alongside you, all while pretending her stomach wasn't in knots from the way you looked at her under dim lights, a playful grin lighting up your face.

It was like living with a constant tug-of-war inside her, balancing between wanting to be near you and needing to keep her heart steady.

She'd perfected the art of nonchalance, even when you made it nearly impossible. When you got excited about something—eyes wide, laughing about some small victory—Tara would have to swallow down the urge to reach out, to brush a strand of hair from your face or lean in just a little closer.

The hardest moments were the little things, the 'normal' things, like when you'd give her an easy, carefree compliment, your eyes warm and sincere.

She'd feel the blush rise to her cheeks, and she'd quickly look away or laugh it off, hoping you didn't notice the way her voice wavered.

And when you held her hands, like you always did, squeezing them to give her a little boost of courage, she'd act as though it didn't send her heart racing, as though she wasn't fighting the impulse to hold on tighter.

Every smile you threw her way, every moment you lingered too close, she had to act like it didn't make her insides flip.

She trained herself to respond with that same easy smile, to pretend she didn't feel like the air had been knocked out of her whenever you looked at her like she was the only one in the room.

It was a constant game of pretending, a battle against herself that she had to win every single day.

And as much as she tried to hide it, each touch, each laugh, each simple, familiar look left her more tangled in her own emotions.

She tried to tell herself that these things were just... normal. Friends did these things all the time, she told herself, even if everything in her felt far from normal.

But no matter how many times she told herself that, her resolve was starting to crack. She couldn't help but notice her jealousy flare up when she saw you talking to other people, especially Brian.

Then, one Tuesday at lunch, you dropped a bombshell that flipped her world just a bit more.

She leaned back, half-focused on your conversation with the others at the table, when she saw you walking toward her with a grin so bright it felt like it could light up the whole room.

Tara felt her heart jump at the sight, her thoughts immediately swept into the excitement that was clearly radiating off of you.

You barely took your seat before bursting with excitement. "Tara!"

Tara's smile matched yours, though a part of her already felt a small pang of unease. But she pushed it aside and leaned in eagerly, mirroring your excitement. "What happened?"

You practically glowed as you told her, "He sat next to me in class today." Tara's chest tightened, but she held her expression steady, keeping that casual, easy smile.

She already knew who you meant—you didn't even have to say his name. It was in the way your voice softened, how your eyes sparkled with excitement she rarely saw except when you were really, really happy.

She couldn't stand the sight of it. Seeing you so... in love, so giddy, felt like a punch she wasn't ready for.

You practically glowed, your whole personality seeming to shift as if you were that younger version of yourself again, like back in middle school when every new crush filled you with wide-eyed excitement.

Except now, it wasn't an innocent schoolgirl crush; it was real, and you were already slipping further from her reach with each passing second.

Tara kept smiling, but inside, every bit of her was tangled up in knots.

You'd never look at her like that. Never talk about her with that bubbly, uncontainable happiness. The thought clawed at her, a reminder she could never push away.

She was your best friend, sure, but she'd never be the person who made your cheeks flush or your heart race. And somehow, knowing that made it even harder to keep that same easy smile on her face.

"And?" she asked, hoping her voice didn't betray her, even as she felt a knot forming. She listened as you recounted every word, every laugh you'd shared with him in that class.

Then you dropped the real news, your eyes sparkling. Your grin only widened. "And then, right before class ended, he asked me to go with him to that party next weekend."

Tara's heart sank, yet she barely let the smile slip. She forced herself to open her mouth in surprise, eyes wide, like she was just as thrilled as you were. "Really?" she said, trying to sound as shocked and happy as you seemed, her voice just a bit too bright. "Did you... did you say yes?"

Of course you did. Tara felt stupid for even considering asking you that question.

But you didn't seem to mind, you just nodded eagerly, your whole face lighting up. "Obviously!"

"Oh, wow. That's... that's great, actually," she said, her voice a little too steady, but it was the best she could manage.

Inside, though, she was unraveling. You were actually going with him. It shouldn't have been such a shock—after all, this was what you wanted, right?

But knowing that you'd be there, dressed up, all smiles and laughter... with him... felt like a lead weight sinking in her chest.

She could already picture it, the two of you in some dimly lit room with music thumping, Ethan leaning in close to say something to make you laugh, you smiling up at him like he was the only person in the world.

The thought of it made her throat tighten, her mind racing with feelings she didn't even want to name.

"Are you excited?" she asked, her voice coming out just barely above a whisper. She hoped you wouldn't notice how strained it sounded, how much effort it took just to ask.

You nodded, your smile impossibly bright. "Yeah, I mean... I didn't think he even noticed me like that, you know? But now... maybe he does."

The way you said it—hopeful, almost in disbelief—cut deeper than she wanted to admit. Maybe he does. Those three words stayed in her head, echoing louder with each second.

She was supposed to be happy for you, and maybe part of her was, but mostly, she just felt hollow.

Because even though you'd never know it, she'd been looking at you the way you were looking at him, longing for that same chance to mean something more to you. And now she was faced with the awful reality that she might never get that chance.

Swallowing down the bitterness, she forced a tight-lipped smile. "You'll have a great time, I'm sure."

But even as she said it, a part of her was already wondering if she'd do something she'd regret. The thought of watching you fall for someone else—someone who wasn't her—was more than she could stand.

And as much as she hated to admit it, she knew she'd do almost anything to keep you from slipping away.

Your eyes brightened again. "You should come with us!"

Tara's heart twisted at the invitation, feeling both flattered and devastated. Of course you'd want her there, being the good friend you were—unaware of what it did to her to see you light up over someone else.

Forcing herself to stay casual, she shrugged, managing a small playful smirk. "I'm not exactly great at third-wheeling."

Her voice sounded steady enough, but inside, it felt like she was clinging to the last threads of composure.

She couldn't stand the thought of watching you fall for him right in front of her, yet the idea of saying no, of letting you go without her... that hurt, too.

Maybe if she was there, she could stop whatever was beginning to grow between you and him. Just maybe, she thought, she'd find a way to keep you by her side, where you'd always belonged.

Her mind spun, the smile on her face frozen, all she could focus on was the sinking realization that she might actually lose you.

Until now, she'd convinced herself that her feelings for you were something she could handle, something she'd eventually learn to live with. But now, with Brian's name hanging between you, that quiet acceptance shattered.

She could see the way this might unfold, each painful step already clear in her mind.

She'd watched enough romance movies to know how these things went, and as much as she wanted to push the thoughts away, they crept in, vivid and unrelenting.

First, you'd go to the party together, and maybe he'd make you laugh so much that you'd find yourself leaning in, your hand brushing his.

She could already picture the two of you on future dates—sharing secrets over a quiet dinner or standing too close on some sidewalk, your face lit up in a way that made her stomach twist with envy.

And worse, she could imagine what might happen after those dates, how one day soon he'd reach for your hand, and you wouldn't hesitate to hold his back.

She didn't want to picture it, but the thought seeped into her mind anyway, filling her with a fierce, unfamiliar ache.

The image of you wrapped up in his arms, whispering into his ear, or—even worse—laughing with that same joy you always shared with her, but this time meant for him, made her chest feel hollow.

The thought kept spiraling, her mind betraying her with scenes she couldn't bear to picture.

You, with Brian, alone, closer than she'd ever be, maybe even leaning in for a kiss.

She imagined his hand brushing your cheek, the two of you getting so lost in each other that you forgot everyone else around you—including her.

The jealousy was sharp, hotter than anything she'd felt before.

She hated the way it took over, the way it made her feel small and powerless, like she was losing something that had never even been hers to begin with.

And then, a terrible, aching thought hit her: she might never get to be close to you in that way.

She might never get to be the person who held you, who kissed you, who made you laugh like that.

It wasn't just about watching you fall for someone else—it was the crushing realization that you might never look at her the way you looked at him.

Maybe it would be better if she came along?

The idea took a root in Tara's mind, an unexpected, half-formed plan that both excited and unsettled her.

If she went to the party with you and Brian, it might give her a chance to keep things from moving forward between you two.

She could play it off as tagging along to "keep an eye" on you, to make sure you had fun—and stay close enough to step in if Brian tried anything. It was risky, maybe even a little desperate, but what choice did she have?

At least if she was there, she'd know exactly what was happening. She wouldn't have to lie awake later, imagining him whispering things in your ear, pulling you close, stealing the attention she wanted only for herself.

She could keep you safe from all that, and maybe, if she was careful enough, find subtle ways to draw your attention back to her, where it belonged.

In her mind, it sounded almost justified. A "protective friend" sticking close to make sure you were all right. But the truth simmered beneath that excuse—she knew this was more than friendship, that she wanted to keep you to herself in ways you might never understand.

If Brian was going to try to win you over, he'd have to do it with her there, watching his every move, ready to swoop in the second things started looking too cozy.

And maybe, just maybe, she could find a way to make sure that night ended with you still hers—still looking at her with that easy, trusting smile that had always been her anchor.

Her chest tightened at the thought of it, the chance to stay close to you a little longer, to stave off the reality she dreaded.

If you didn't have the chance to fall for him—if she could prevent that—maybe she'd finally have the time and courage to make you see her the way she saw you.

You nudged her lightly, snapping Tara out of her thoughts, leaning in with that familiar, hopeful smile that always made it so hard to say no to you. "Come on, Tara. It'll be fun—just this once. Please?"

Tara's chest tightened at the way you looked at her, like her answer actually mattered to you. It made something inside her ache, the way your face lit up with excitement, completely oblivious to the storm brewing in her mind.

She should've said no. She wanted to say no.

But the thought of watching you leave without her—without knowing what might happen between you and Brian—made her stomach twist painfully.

And now, thanks to the idea she'd let herself entertain earlier, the thought of staying home didn't feel like an option anymore.

That plan, desperate and reckless as it was, had already taken root, and no matter how much a small part of her whispered it wasn't right, she couldn't let it go.

What if she stayed behind and missed her chance to stop something from blossoming between the two of you? What if she sat in her room, alone, while you fell for him right in front of everyone? The mere idea made her skin crawl.

But going wasn't any better. If she went, she'd have to watch you fawn over him, maybe even see you with him. And that thought was enough to make her want to bolt from the room. Yet here you were, looking at her like her presence actually mattered.

But why? Did you think she needed convincing, or was there some part of you that truly wanted her by your side? Her stomach churned at the thought.

She hesitated, her fingers brushing the hem of her shirt as she tried to keep her expression neutral. If she said no, you'd go without her, and that stung more than she wanted to admit. But if she said yes...

Her mind spun with the possibilities. She didn't even know what she'd do if she went—how far she was willing to take this twisted plan of hers. But what she did know, with a growing certainty, was that she couldn't stay behind. Not when the thought of Brian pulling you closer was enough to make her chest burn with jealousy.

Your face shifted slightly, your brows knitting together when she didn't answer right away.

"Tara," you pressed gently, your voice dipping into that teasing tone you always used when you were trying to coax her into something. "Come on," you pressed again, your grin widening when she hesitated. "You have to come. It won't be the same without you."

It won't be the same without you.

Those words sealed it, though not in the way you meant them to. Something twisted and desperate bloomed in her chest, making her pulse quicken.

You didn't even realize it, but you were giving her exactly what she wanted: a reason to stay close. A reason to be where she could see you—and control what happened between you and Brian.

"Fine," she said at last, forcing a smirk that didn't quite reach her eyes. "But don't complain when I tell you it sucks."

The way your entire face lit up at her answer sent an ache through her chest. Her stomach fluttered against her will, a mix of longing and guilt tangling together in a way that made it hard to breathe. She hated how much it affected her, how happy you seemed just because she'd agreed to go.

She looked away quickly, pretending to focus on something across the room, anything to avoid the way your joy sent another wave of guilt and longing through her.

She knew it wasn't right—none of this was. But she couldn't let it go. Not when her plan had already started to take shape. Not when the thought of Brian having you was enough to make her reckless.

Because no matter how hard she tried to tell herself this was just a party, just a stupid night out, deep down, she knew she wasn't going for the music or the fun.

She was going because if Brian thought he was going to win you over tonight, he was dead wrong.

___

"What about this one?"

Tara looked up from where she was sitting on the edge of your bed, her gaze drawn to the shimmering fabric you held up against yourself. It was a short, fitted dress, one you'd clearly been saving for a moment like this.

The way Tara sat there, watching you flit around the room, sifting through piles of clothes you'd pulled from your closet.

It reminded her of when you were younger, back when the two of you would raid your moms' closets, parading around in oversized heels and dresses that pooled around your feet. You'd giggle uncontrollably, striking exaggerated poses in front of the mirror.

But this wasn't dress-up anymore.

Now, the clothes were your own—real, grown-up outfits that fit you perfectly, accentuating curves and edges Tara wasn't sure she was supposed to notice. It wasn't just playtime; this was your life now. And tonight, you weren't dressing up for laughs or pretend tea parties.

You were dressing up for him.

Her eyes flickered briefly over the dress before settling on your face. You were beaming, the excitement practically radiating off you as you turned to the mirror, holding the dress against your body.

She should've said something. A simple "looks great" or even a teasing "a bit much, don't you think?" would've worked, but the words caught in her throat.

It wasn't the dress—it was the way your whole body hummed with energy, the way your smile was just a little too wide, your movements a little too quick. Tara saw it all, and it was like watching you wear your feelings on your sleeve.

The way you twirled the dress in front of the mirror, the way your hands moved restlessly as you smoothed down imaginary creases—it was all too familiar. She knew exactly what you were feeling, even if you didn't say it out loud.

Did Brian? She doubted it.

He didn't know the little things, like how your voice got higher when you were nervous or how you couldn't stand still when you were excited. He didn't know the way your lips pressed together when you were thinking too hard about something or the way your shoulders tensed when you wanted something to go perfectly.

He didn't know you, not like she did.

"What do you think?" you asked again, snapping her out of her thoughts. You turned, holding the dress out at arm's length, giving her a better look. "Too much? Not enough?"

Tara forced a smile, her heart twisting as she watched you. "I think it's... nice," she said carefully, her voice steady even as her stomach churned.

Nice. The word felt like a betrayal. It didn't come close to how she really felt—how beautiful you looked, how much she wished those bright eyes were sparkling for her instead of someone else.

"You think Brian'll like it?" you asked, your tone innocent, but the question struck Tara like a punch.

She swallowed hard, her fingers curling into the fabric of your comforter. She wanted to tell you Brian didn't deserve you, that he wouldn't know how to appreciate all the little things that made you you. But instead, she kept her tone casual, masking the storm inside her.

"I mean... yeah," she said after a pause. "It's hard not to like you in anything."

Your grin widened, lighting up the room in a way that made her stomach flutter. You didn't notice the tightness in her smile, the way her eyes lingered on you for just a second too long.

"You're the best." you said, turning back to the mirror.

Tara's chest tightened, a quiet ache settling beneath her ribs. She glanced away, forcing a small smile as she leaned back on her hands.

She let her fingers dug slightly into the comforter as she watched you move across the room again, this time heading toward your closet. You sifted through the hangers with an almost frantic energy, pulling out one piece of clothing after another until something caught your eye.

"This," you announced, holding up a sleek black skirt and a tiny top with delicate lace accents.

Tara blinked, her focus shifting from the faint hum of her own thoughts to the outfit in your hands. The skirt was just short enough to grab attention, and the top would clung to the curves in all the right places—your curves, she couldn't help but think.

Her stomach twisted again, but not with the same bitterness from earlier. No, this was something else entirely. She couldn't stop herself from picturing you in it, couldn't stop the way her mind immediately conjured the image of you standing there, all done up, looking effortlessly hot and completely out of her reach.

She swallowed hard, tearing her gaze away. "You're not wearing the dress?" she asked, her voice steadier than she felt.

"Oh, I am," you replied with a grin, holding the outfit closer to her. "This is for you!"

Tara froze. For a moment, she forgot how to breathe, her chest tightening as your words sank in.

She had been so caught up in watching you, so wrapped up in her own spiral of emotions, that she had momentarily forgotten she was actually going to this party.

"Me?" she echoed, her brows furrowing slightly as she tried to act like the idea of dressing up didn't make her stomach drop.

You laughed softly, stepping closer to hold the outfit up against her frame. "Yeah, you! Come on, Tara, you can't just wear that." You half-pointed to her attire.

Tara's eyes darted to the mirror, catching a glimpse of herself in her usual hoodie and jeans.

She had planned on blending into the background tonight, just another shadow in the corner, but now you were holding out a version of herself she wasn't sure she wanted to confront.

"It's... a little much, don't you think?" she murmured, her fingers brushing over the fabric.

"Not at all," you said, undeterred. "Trust me, you'll look amazing.

The way you looked at her, so excited, so hopeful, made it impossible for her to argue. The truth was, she didn't want to blend into the background—not really. Not if it meant letting Brian win.

"Alright," she said finally, forcing a small smirk as she reached for the outfit.

You grinned, clearly thrilled, and the sight sent her heart fluttering all over again.

As she stood up to take the clothes in you, the weight of the night ahead settled on her shoulders again. She knew this wasn't about the clothes or the party. It was about you—about keeping you close, about holding onto the part of you that still felt like hers, even if it wasn't.

And as much as she hated to admit it, she was willing to do whatever it took to keep it that way.

Tara pulled the clothes from your hands, her fingers brushing yours for just a second longer than necessary before she turned away.

She hesitated only briefly, her eyes darting to the bathroom door, but then she decided against it. It wasn't like this was anything new. You'd seen her change plenty of times before.

Slipping off her hoodie, she pulled the top over her head, the soft lace brushing against her skin in a way that felt oddly delicate, almost foreign.

The skirt followed, the fabric snug around her waist and flaring slightly at her hips. When she finally turned back toward you, she caught sight of herself in the mirror.

It was strange. She didn't recognize the girl staring back at her right away—not entirely. The clothes fit her so well, so effortlessly, that she felt a flicker of something unexpected: pride.

She looked... pretty. Not in the same way you did, with your radiant energy that drew everyone in, but still. Pretty enough.

Her heart jumped a little at the thought of you seeing her like this, of you noticing her in the way she always noticed you. She didn't know why she wanted that so badly, but the hope curled tightly in her chest, warm and persistent.

You looked up from where you'd been smoothing out your own dress, and your reaction was immediate. Your eyes widened slightly, and then your face lit up in that effortless way that always made her stomach flutter.

"Tara, oh my god, you look so good," you said, your voice soft but genuine, carrying none of the over-the-top excitement you sometimes used when joking around. This was real.

Tara felt her cheeks warm under your gaze, her fingers automatically reaching to adjust the hem of the skirt, as if she could somehow shield herself from the weight of your words. She tried to play it off, shrugging casually. "It's just a skirt," she mumbled, but her voice lacked its usual bite.

"It's not just a skirt," you countered, stepping closer. "You look amazing. Seriously, this is perfect for you."

Your words were kind, almost too kind, and Tara wasn't sure how to process them. There was no teasing, no playful edge, just an earnestness that made her chest feel tight and achy.

She glanced away, pretending to focus on her reflection again, but the warmth of your approval lingered, sinking into her skin like the lace of the top.

She wanted to feel good about it, to let herself bask in the way you saw her, but the nagging thought that this wasn't for her—that it was all part of your excitement for Brian—kept her grounded.

Still, the way you smiled at her, so unreserved and so entirely you, made her feel something she hadn't in a long time: seen. She wished, just for a second, that you were saying all of this for the same reason she wished you would.

You spun on your heel, nearly tripping over the pile of discarded clothes strewn across the floor in your excitement. Tara's breath caught for a second, her hand twitching instinctively like she was about to reach for you, but you caught yourself, laughing it off as if nothing had happened.

"You need to clean your room before someone gets hurt," Tara muttered, though her tone held more amusement than annoyance.

You ignored her, too caught up in the moment as you reached your makeup table, rifling through your collection with a kind of chaotic precision.

Pulling out a palette, you held it up, the colors catching the light as you grinned at her. "What do you think? Want me to do your makeup?"

Your voice was so full of unfiltered excitement, your smile so wide it made her stomach flip. Tara hesitated, her fingers brushing the hem of her skirt as she glanced at the palette in your hands. She wasn't really the makeup type—not like you were—but the way you looked at her, like you were just waiting to make her feel special, made it impossible to say no.

"You don't have to," Tara said finally, though her voice lacked conviction.

"I want to!" you insisted, stepping closer, the palette still in hand. "Please, Tara? I promise I'll keep it simple. Just a little something to go with the outfit."

She sighed, feigning reluctance as she sat back down on the edge of the bed. "Fine."

You grabbed a chair and pulled it in front of her, gesturing for her to sit. "Alright, let's make you even more stunning."

Tara rolled her eyes, though the faintest smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she leaned forward.

___

The buzz of the party hit you as soon as you stepped through the door.

Music pulsed through the house, the bass vibrating in your chest as voices overlapped in a cacophony of laughter and shouted greetings.

People crowded the space—groups gathered near the kitchen, couples pressed close against walls, and a few brave souls danced in the living room, already letting loose despite how early it was in the night.

You glanced over at Tara, catching the way her shoulders stiffened slightly as the noise and energy enveloped her. She'd been quiet on the drive over, her fingers drumming against her thigh in a way that let you know her nerves were kicking in. But she'd never admit that, not to you.

"See?" you said brightly, bumping her shoulder with yours as you stepped further into the house. "I told you this would be fun."

Tara gave you a look, one that was half-skepticism and half-amusement, as she tugged at the hem of her skirt. "Yeah, we'll see about that."

Your laugh was warm and easy, a sound that somehow made the chaos of the party seem less overwhelming. You reached back to grab her hand, pulling her through the crowd as you made your way toward the kitchen. The feel of your fingers around hers made something in Tara's chest twist uncomfortably, though she forced herself to ignore it.

The kitchen was just as packed as the rest of the house, but you managed to snag two drinks from the counter, handing one to her with a grin. "Alright, party rule number one: stay hydrated."

Tara raised an eyebrow, glancing at the cup in her hand. "This is definitely not water."

"Details." You waved her off, your playful smirk making her stomach flutter in that maddeningly familiar way.

Before she could respond, a voice called out from across the room. "Y/N! There you are!"

Tara's grip on her cup tightened as she followed your gaze, her stomach sinking when she saw him—Brian—making his way toward you. His smile was wide and easy, the kind of grin that would make anyone else swoon.

But Tara wasn't anyone else.

"Brian!" you said, your face lighting up in a way that made Tara's chest ache. She stepped back slightly, letting go of your hand as he drew closer, though her eyes never left you.

He didn't deserve that smile.

Brian's gaze flickered to her briefly, his smile faltering just a bit. "Tara, right?"

She nodded, her expression neutral as she took a sip of her drink. "That's me."

If he noticed the edge in her tone, he didn't comment on it, turning his attention back to you instead. "You look amazing," he said, his eyes raking over your dress in a way that made Tara's jaw tighten.

You beamed at him, clearly pleased by the compliment, and Tara had to look away, her hand gripping her cup so tightly she was surprised it didn't crack.

This was going to be a long night.

And it most definitely was.

As the night went on, the party only grew louder and more chaotic. People drifted in and out of the circle you, Tara, and Brian had settled into, friends of his joining the conversation with easy smiles and casual jokes.

You made a genuine effort to include Tara, always pulling her back in when she started to fade into the background, but it was clear who held your focus.

Brian.

He stood close to you, his arm brushing yours as he leaned in to talk over the music.

You didn't seem to notice—or maybe you did, and you didn't mind. Either way, the proximity between you two only seemed to grow as the minutes ticked by, and Tara couldn't stop watching.

Every time you laughed at something he said, her chest tightened just a little more.

You weren't doing it on purpose. Tara knew that. She knew you didn't notice the way her jaw clenched or how her fingers drummed against her cup.

You were just being you—kind, bubbly, and effortlessly charming. But watching you with Brian, seeing how much of your attention he was soaking up, felt like a slow, relentless sting.

She hadn't expected it to bother her this much.

At first, Tara tried to play along, chiming in when she could and taking small sips of her drink to distract herself.

But then Brian's friends started joining the conversation, their loud energy making it harder for her to keep up. You were still trying to include her, turning to her every so often to ask her opinion or flash her one of your brilliant smiles, but it wasn't enough.

Not when you lit up like a damn firework every time Brian said something that made you laugh.

Tara tipped back her cup, finishing it quicker than she probably should have. She wasn't much of a drinker to begin with—she never really liked how it made her feel—but tonight was different. Tonight, she needed the edge taken off.

"Want another?" you asked, noticing her empty cup.

She hesitated, but before she could respond, Brian offered. "I'll grab her one. Be right back."

She opened her mouth to say she didn't need another, but he was already walking away.

You smiled after him before turning back to Tara, your expression so full of effortless warmth it made her stomach churn. "You having fun?"

She forced a small nod, her grip tightening on the plastic cup. "Yeah. It's... fine."

You didn't notice the strain in her voice, too caught up in the energy of the party to catch on.

By the time Brian returned with her drink, she'd already decided she wasn't going to overthink it. She took it with a quiet "thanks" and drank just enough to feel the buzz set in. It wasn't much—maybe two drinks total—but Tara was short, and she always felt the effects quicker than most.

The alcohol didn't drown out her frustration, though.

Every laugh you gave Brian, every time you leaned in to whisper something to him, only seemed to magnify it.

And you? You were oblivious. Still trying to keep her in the conversation, pulling her in with the same ease you always had. But she could feel the gap widening.

Tara's foot tapped against the floor as she shifted her weight, her eyes flickering between you and Brian. She should've left, should've wandered off to another part of the house to escape this torturous little triangle, but she stayed.

Because if she left, she'd have to admit to herself why she couldn't handle this.

So instead, she took another sip of her drink and plastered on a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"You okay?" you asked, your voice cutting through her thoughts.

"Yeah," she said quickly, her words sharper than she intended. "I'm fine."

But she wasn't. And as the night wore on, that became harder and harder to hide.

And after an hour, or maybe even more.

The alcohol was definitely working its way through Tara's veins. She could feel it, the familiar warmth spreading through her chest, making her limbs feel looser but her thoughts louder.

The edges of the room blurred ever so slightly, but her focus on you was sharp as ever, almost painfully so.

You were giggling at something Brian said again, your hand brushing his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Tara had been watching you both like a hawk all night, trying to play it cool, but the subtle touches, the shared smiles, the way your eyes sparkled when you looked at him—it was getting under her skin.

She clenched her jaw, tipping back the rest of her drink as if it might drown out the frustration bubbling inside her. But it didn't.

It wasn't just the alcohol making her feel reckless, though it didn't help. Tara was desperate.

Desperate to do something—anything—that might shift the balance back in her favor. But how? She wasn't like Brian. She didn't have easy jokes or effortless charm. And she wasn't like you, all soft laughter and open smiles.

So she sat there, stewing in her own silence, searching for an opening she couldn't find.

Then she turned her head for just a moment.

A distraction—a loud burst of laughter from somewhere across the room. She glanced over, barely processing the source, and when she looked back...

Her heart stopped.

You and Brian were kissing.

It wasn't shy or hesitant. It was full and unguarded, like something out of the movies. His hands rested lightly on your waist, your fingers clutching the front of his shirt as though you were afraid to let go.

Tara's first thought wasn't sadness. It wasn't heartbreak or even surprise.

It was rage.

Her body went rigid, the plastic cup in her hand creaking under the force of her grip.

Because of course this wasn't a problem.

Why would it be?

You weren't hers. You'd never been hers. You were allowed to kiss boys, especially the boy you'd been crushing on for as long as she could remember. It wasn't like you were breaking some unspoken rule. She had no claim to you, no right to feel betrayed or blindsided.

But God, it felt like a betrayal.

Her rational mind tried to reason with her, repeating the same useless mantra: This isn't a problem. This isn't a problem. This isn't a problem.

But the other side of her mind—the side that had been clawing its way to the surface all night—was screaming the opposite.

It was a problem. A huge one.

The anger burned through her like a wildfire, consuming every rational thought as it spread. It started in her chest, hot and heavy, before curling into her throat and setting her teeth on edge. Her nails dug into the soft plastic of her cup until it crumpled under her grip, a sharp crack breaking through the buzz of the party.

And still, she couldn't look away.

She hated it. Hated the way his hands touched you so easily, like he'd earned that right. Hated the way you kissed him back like you'd been waiting for this your whole life. Hated how he got to have what she wanted so desperately without even knowing how much it mattered.

Her breaths came quicker, each one catching in her chest as if she couldn't quite fill her lungs. The alcohol amplified everything, stripping her bare of the filters she usually relied on. Every raw, unspoken feeling she'd buried for years was rising to the surface now, and there was no stopping it.

She wanted to scream.

To grab you and pull you away, to tell Brian to get his hands off you, to do something.

But she didn't.

Because no matter how angry she was, no matter how much she hated what she was seeing, there was a part of her—a small, quiet, agonizing part—that whispered:

You're not supposed to feel like this.

So instead, Tara sat there, her body tense and trembling, her nails biting into the palms of her hands. She didn't even realize she'd crumpled her cup until the sticky remnants of her drink dripped onto her lap.

And still, she couldn't look away.

Eventually you pulled back from Brian, cheeks flushed and eyes slightly glassy from the alcohol coursing through your system.

A small, almost dazed laugh escaped your lips as you glanced at him, then turned to find Tara in the crowd. She hadn't moved from where she'd been watching, her posture stiff and her eyes fixed on some indistinct point on the wall—anywhere but you.

When your gaze landed on her, your smile widened, bright and unrestrained, like you hadn't just set her entire world on fire.

Tara's chest tightened, the molten frustration inside her bubbling hotter with every passing second. She couldn't stop her thoughts, couldn't silence the storm brewing in her mind.

You stumbled a little as you reached her, still grinning like a fool, your energy infectious to everyone but Tara. You leaned close, tipping forward on your toes, your voice loud but slurred enough to betray your tipsy state.

"I think he kissed me," you said, as if it hadn't been entirely mutual.

Tara felt something snap.

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms so hard she half-expected to draw blood.

She couldn't speak, couldn't trust herself to even try. If she opened her mouth, she was sure she'd yell or say something she couldn't take back. Worse, she might cry—and that wasn't an option.

Her silence stretched on, but you didn't seem to notice. You were too lost in your own world, your thoughts spinning with the buzz of the alcohol and the remnants of Brian's touch. Tara's silence didn't matter, because you filled the space with another easy laugh, leaning closer so she could hear you over the pounding music.

"I need to use the bathroom," you said, your lips brushing near her ear. The warmth of your breath made her stomach twist. "Wanna come?"

Tara's mind scrambled for an excuse, her mouth dry as she fought the urge to say something reckless.

"No," she said finally, forcing her voice to sound casual, detached. "I think I'm good down here."

It wasn't true. She wasn't good down here, or anywhere else in the universe at that moment.

You gave her a light shrug, your expression still full of that easy joy that made her want to scream. "Okay! Be right back!"

You disappeared into the crowd, weaving your way toward the bathroom, leaving Tara standing there alone.

The second you were out of sight, she exhaled sharply, her hands shaking as she reached for another drink she didn't need.

She wasn't sure if it was the alcohol, the anger, or the ache of jealousy threatening to overwhelm her. Maybe it was all three, swirling into something she couldn't control.

But one thing was clear—she couldn't keep this up. Not tonight. Not with you and Brian. Not with her chest full of feelings she couldn't name and didn't want to face.

Tara's eyes burned as they landed on Brian, standing not far from where you'd left him. His posture was easy, relaxed—too relaxed.

He stood there like nothing had happened, chatting casually with a couple of his friends, his hand lifting a red cup to his lips like this was just another night. Like he hadn't just kissed you.

The most beautiful girl on the planet.

Tara felt her stomach twist painfully, her grip tightening around the drink in her hand. How could he be so unbothered? So unaffected? He wasn't grinning ear to ear, wasn't puffing out his chest or gushing about how lucky he was.

He wasn't laughing with joy or smirking proudly like any sane person would if they'd just kissed you.

How was he not telling everyone in earshot about what had happened? How was he not reeling from the fact that you—you, with your blinding smile and endless energy—had given him even a second of your time, let alone your lips?

Her jaw clenched, teeth grinding together as she stared at him, her anger bubbling hotter with every second he stayed calm. Her hands itched to grab him by the collar, to shake him and demand he act like he understood the weight of what had just happened.

Did he even realize how lucky he was?

Did he know how many people in that room—how many people in general—would kill to be in his place? To have even the tiniest fraction of your attention, let alone that?

Her vision blurred, and it wasn't from the alcohol. Her chest felt like it was about to implode, like something inside her was trying desperately to escape, and she didn't know how much longer she could keep it together.

Brian's laughter snapped her out of her spiraling thoughts. He was laughing at something one of his friends said, his expression light, carefree—unbothered.

Tara nearly saw red.

She downed the rest of her drink in one go, the sharp burn doing nothing to dull the fury roaring in her chest. How could he be like this? How could he act so normal, so indifferent, after kissing you?

How could he not be overwhelmed by the fact that you'd chosen him, even for a fleeting moment?

It was insulting. Infuriating.

She wanted to march over there, to grab him and make him feel the way she was feeling. She wanted him to hurt, to ache, to boil with jealousy the way she was.

But she couldn't.

Because none of this was his fault.

The real issue—the one she didn't want to admit—wasn't Brian. It was the simple, heartbreaking truth that he could kiss you without consequence.

He could have you.

Tara wasn't sure what happened next.

What she was thinking when it happened, or if she was even thinking at all. Maybe it was the anger—burning hot and uncontrollable—making her body move before her brain could catch up. Or maybe it was the alcohol, buzzing in her veins and drowning out every voice in her head that might've told her to stop.

All she knew was that one second she was standing there, glaring at Brian like he'd committed some unforgivable sin, and the next, she was storming toward him.

His friends noticed her first, their chatter faltering as they shifted awkwardly under her sharp glare. But Brian, oblivious as ever, didn't see her coming. He was mid-sentence, that stupidly calm look still plastered on his face, when Tara grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him down to her level.

The movement was forceful enough to knock the air out of both of them, and before he could even process what was happening—before she could process what was happening—she pressed her lips against his.

It wasn't soft.

It wasn't sweet.

It was messy, rough, and fueled by a cocktail of rage and desperation. Her hands fisted his shirt tightly, holding him in place, her nails biting into the fabric. Brian stiffened for a second, shocked, but then his hands hovered awkwardly near her waist, unsure of what to do.

Tara didn't care. She didn't care about his reaction, about his hesitation.

Because this wasn't about him.

It wasn't about his stupid, clueless face or the fact that he'd kissed you without giving it a second thought. It wasn't about him being unbothered or unaffected.

This was about her.

Her anger, her frustration, her absolute inability to sit there for another second and watch him act like kissing you was nothing.

The kiss deepened as her grip on his shirt tightened, pulling him even closer. She wanted to erase the memory of you from his lips, to replace it with her own. To make him feel something, anything, the way she was feeling.

But it wasn't working.

If anything, the kiss only made it worse.

Because no matter how hard she pressed, no matter how desperate her movements were, it didn't feel right.

It didn't feel like you.

And that thought was like a punch to the gut.

Brian made a soft, surprised noise against her lips, his hands finally settling on her hips, but it only made her angrier. How dare he hesitate now? How dare he act so unsure, like he didn't know exactly what he wanted when he'd so easily taken you from her just minutes ago?

Her chest heaved as she pulled back slightly, her lips still brushing against his, her heart pounding in her ears.

His wide eyes stared at her, confused and more than a little alarmed. "Tara—" his voice laced with bewilderment, but she silenced him with another kiss, pressing harder, needing to cut him off.

She didn't want to hear his voice. She didn't want to hear him try to make sense of this, because she didn't have an explanation. This wasn't about him.

It wasn't about you either—not entirely, at least.

It was about her. About the way she felt like she was unraveling, about how every smile you gave Brian felt like another thread being yanked loose, every laugh you shared with him felt like a blow to the chest.

She didn't know how to make it stop, and the only thing her mind could come up with was this. She didn't have to think when she was kissing Brian. Didn't have to feel the jagged ache of watching you be so happy with someone else.

This wasn't about him.

But it was all she could do to stop herself from falling apart completely.

And Tara wasn't sure what was happening anymore.

Brian hadn't pushed her away. He hadn't stopped her, hadn't hesitated for even a moment after that first surprised noise.

No, he'd leaned into it. He'd kissed her back with the kind of intent that only made her angrier, made the fire in her chest blaze so hot she thought she might combust right there.

Because it wasn't supposed to go like this.

His hands slid from her hips, pulling her closer, pressing her tighter against him, and she hated it. Hated the way he responded like this was exactly what he wanted, hated the way he kissed her back like she wasn't just a replacement for you.

And worse than anything, she hated herself for not stopping it.

His hands moved lower, gripping her ass, pulling her even closer, and she felt herself clench her fists tighter into the fabric of his shirt.

She didn't know if it was the alcohol buzzing in her veins, numbing her better judgment, or if it was the anger still consuming her every thought, but she didn't do anything to stop him.

She should've.

But she didn't.

Because in this moment, it wasn't about him. It wasn't even about you. It was about the chaos she felt boiling in her chest, about the way she felt like she was spiraling further and further out of control.

Brian murmured something against her lips—she didn't catch it, didn't even try to—but his hands stayed firm on her, guiding her, pulling her toward the stairs.

And she let him.

Every step felt like she was wading through quicksand, her mind shouting at her to stop, to push him away, to pull herself together. But her body wasn't listening. She didn't know if it was the heat of his hands on her or the fog of alcohol clouding her better judgment, but she let him lead her.

Because stopping meant facing the truth. And Tara wasn't ready to do that.

Not yet.

She'd barely registered how they ended up in the room. One second, she was being pulled up the stairs, Brian's hand gripping hers tightly, and the next, they were in a dimly lit bedroom, the door clicking shut behind them.

Her heart was racing, but not from excitement. There was no thrill, no anticipation, just a gnawing sense of wrongness she couldn't shake. Yet she didn't stop it. She didn't stop him as his hands found her waist, as his lips trailed down her neck. She didn't stop herself from responding, from letting this spiral further than it ever should have.

It was mechanical, empty, and every moment felt like it was happening to someone else. Brian's touch wasn't unpleasant, but it wasn't what she wanted. His lips weren't the ones she craved, his hands didn't spark anything but an aching hollowness inside her.

And yet, she let it happen.

Because, for a fleeting second, it felt like power. Like control. Like maybe, just maybe, if she could take this from him—take you from him in some twisted, nonsensical way—it would hurt less.

But it didn't.

Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word she barely heard, only drove the knife deeper into her chest.

When it was over, the silence was deafening. Tara lay there, staring at the ceiling, her body still and her mind racing. Brian shifted beside her, saying something she didn't hear, and the sound of his voice made her stomach twist. She felt nauseous, disgusted—not with him, but with herself.

What had she done?

Her chest tightened as she fought to keep her breathing steady, refusing to let him see the tears threatening to spill over. It hadn't helped. It hadn't made anything better. If anything, it had only made everything worse.

Because no matter what she did, no matter how far she went, it would never be enough to make her stop wanting you.

Afterwards Tara laid still, the dim light of the room casting shadows that felt too heavy, too oppressive.

Brian was beside her, breathing evening out as if nothing monumental had just happened. As if this was just another casual moment in his life.

Her mind, however, wouldn't stop.

It wasn't Brian she was thinking about—not the way he'd touched her, not the way he'd looked at her. No, every thought clawed its way back to you.

She pictured you in the bathroom, probably still staring at yourself in the mirror, giddy and flushed. She could almost see your smile, so wide it was infectious, and the way you'd probably tilt your head, trying to relive every second of that kiss.

You'd been dreaming of that moment since second grade, scribbling his name in the margins of your notebooks and lighting up every time he was near. Tara could already imagine how you'd be practically glowing, heart racing with excitement as you ran your fingers over your lips, trying to make the feeling last.

She wanted to hate you for it. But she couldn't. She never could.

You'd come out of that bathroom with a smile so bright it could light up the whole house, your hopeful eyes scanning the crowd as you made your way back to the spot you'd all been standing. And what would you find?

Nothing.

Tara wasn't there. Brian wasn't there.

She could imagine how your smile would falter, confusion settling in as you looked around, searching for the two people who were supposed to be waiting for you. How long would it take for the excitement to drain from your face? How quickly would hope turn to disappointment?

The thought was like a knife twisting in her gut.

And yet, she still couldn't make sense of why she'd done this. Why she'd let it happen. Because it didn't feel like she'd won anything. She hadn't taken Brian away from you. If anything, she'd stolen something from herself—something she could never get back.

Her chest tightened as the realization hit her like a freight train. She hadn't wanted him. She hadn't wanted this.

She'd wanted you.

And now she'd ruined everything.

#jenna ortega x reader #mabel x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #vada cavell x reader #wednesday addams x reader #melissa barrera x reader #sam carpenter #ask #sam carpenter x reader

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itsabouttimex2 · 2 days ago

Text

Eclipse Kings

Part Four: Sweet Little Star

(Part One: Mountain Monkeys) (Part Two: Barbed Dusk) (Part Three: Wild Dawn) (Part Four: You Are Here)

(Extra One) (Art! Thank you to @lemon-ti)

(The “servants” around this lovely ecliptic pagoda are well-tailored to the needs of their lords, no matter the scenario- including hot meals and tension breakers.

You are the only sanctuary that MK has ever known. Through blistering summers spent as the shores of a rippling blue lake, through winters spent huddled together under a stack of blankets, hidden in a hole of straw-lined mud to try and avoid withering chills.

You are all the “home” that MK knows.

But the two demons who call him are certainly trying their damnedest to make up for lost time… to very little avail.

“Since we found you so late yesterday, we never got a chance to celebrate your birthday, Xiaotian... we can-

“Yesterday wasn’t my birthday,” the boy huffs, fingers deeply kneading the thick cotton trim of his new cape. “That’s not until winter.”

“…Xiaotian,” Macaque says, almost astonished at how confidently incorrect his son was, “you were born in the middle of autumn - who told you that it was winter?”

“Y/N.”

“…ah. No, that- okay,” he huffs, pinching the growing knot on his scarifying forehead- without the crown, his usual gouges were quickly healing - as he quickly pieced things together. “They didn’t know your birthday, so… so they just made that up. You were too little to remember the day, so Y/N lied-“

“Nuh uh! They wouldn’t lie to me !”

“…my bad, kid. Of course not. No, you were too little to remember, so Y/N just… pretended to know so you could celebrate. But your real birthday is in the middle of fall- it was yesterday.”

“No, cause it’s in the winter!”

Wukong laughs as his sable mate sits beside him, nestling into the plush cushions and groaning.

“Easy, moonbeam. Don’t push yourself- he’s still a toddler. We’ll get through to him.”

“I’d rather him just remember us and everything we did together,” Macaque snaps back throwing his head into Wukong’s lap- who, for his part, begins to smooth out the inky tresses of fur laid out before him. They stay there for a minute, quietly enjoying each other’s company, and then-

All of Macaque’s ears stiffen, six sharp points flaring up under his fur, which Wukong fluffs to hide them from sight. As much as he loves them, his mate’s feelings are very dissimilar.

He looks over with both hands over Macaque’s ears, looking to the marble doorway-

And it’s just you , wearing “your” lovely sky-blue hanfu, sash shoddily tied and silk pouch held close.

The umbrakinetic demon stands up without a noise, slowly walking over to you for a closer examination- he had heard about your little fit, and didn’t want a repeat for himself.

“It suits you,” Macaque says, giving an approving look to your new outfit- he reaches for the sash, maybe to correct or tighten it, but pulls away when you flinch, simply saying: “You can keep it. If you want.”

Be polite. You want this outfit. And you want the pouch. Be polite.

“…thank you. And.. were you… talking about his birthday?”

The king rolls his shoulders to stretch them, causing the thick spikes of fur on his head to swish and temporarily dip over his many, many forehead scars- they’re a lot more obvious now that he’s smashed the barbed circlet and scrubbed the dried blood from his forehead. “We were. Xiaotian didn’t know that it was in the middle of autumn. I hear the two of you celebrated it in winter.”

“Well, most of the time- it was just whenever snow fell for the first time in the year- I… I really didn’t have… I didn’t have too much to work with. So it was… usually in winter, or really late fall, one time we got really unlucky and it was mid-spring.”

“…what do you mean, ‘unlucky’?” Asks the Monkey King, standing up from his lavish recliner to replace all his accessories, each string of citrine beads and looping gold chains clinking against each other as he threaded them back into place. “I don’t remember ever hearing the mortals talk about a bad snow during spring- not anytime this century, at least.”

“It wasn’t bad- not for anyone else. We- MK and I,” you start, trying to ignore their little twitches at you using his nickname, “we lived in a little sunken hut. It was always falling apart in place, and- and I had to patch it up all the time- so snow was always really hard, cause it would make the mud I used all wet, and it’d drip from the holes-“

“You were using mud to keep your house together?”

Both of them share the same look, worriedly gazing upon little MK with a sort of regretful hindsight, thinking on how hard it must’ve been for him to reside in that squalid, rotted hovel- though Wukong is the one who speaks up. “So you- you and Xiaotian were living in a little muddy wreck?”

Macaque- you can’t read his expression, not quite, stares on with a deeply set frown- if you had to wager a guess, he seems to be some form of vaguely disappointed . Maybe that’s standard for kings when they hear about things like this. You don’t really care what he thinks- not when MK was fed, warm, and happy.

That was enough for you.

If they wanted to pull back and say it wasn’t enough for them, then- oh well.

But that’s not what happens. There is no remand or reproach, nor any discouraging words as to your care of their darling boy.

They just frown, thinking of what you- and more importantly, MK - might have gone through.

And you frown too, caught in a tense silence louder than any storm, more charged than a bolt of lightning forming in graying skies.

It’s simply… too much. There’s been too much everything across too little a timeline to accommodate for proper adjustment, so now everything has wound to a point of near shattering, fractures displayed so prominently across the terse “bond” shared that they were nearly visible to the naked eye.

And it isn’t for a solitary second that the quiet stretches on, heavy and suffocating- it’s pervasive, leaving you all standing there quietly.

You can feel their eyes on you, assessing, judging—not just your words but the years you spent with MK, the choices you made when you had nothing to work with but scraps and hope. They’ve swooped in now, claiming- reclaiming, as the nagging voice in your head reminds - him as theirs, and though you know he’s safer here, better provided for, the thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

He had been fine without them.

He had been fine with you.

Why couldn’t it have just kept being you and- not your “temporary charge” Qi Xiaotian, Golden Star of Flower Fruit Mountain- but your little brother, MK?

Life had been miserably hard. It had been cold and drudging and dreary, and more than once you had come to one of the many peering peaks across the mountain, and sat on the idea of a quick end to the struggling.

And you had met your little “Monkie Kid”, just as cold and alone as you had been.

He had not just been your little brother-

He had been your entire reason for living.

And what did you have to live for now, with two people who could grant him ever luxury and possession a child could desire?

What did you have to live for?

Was there anything you-

“Excuse me,” calls a curt voice from behind, slicing the tension with practiced, professional ease. “We’ve prepared dinner for you, my lords.”

Like a metal door long unopened, there’s a hesitant, straining moment before the inevitable give , and then you all turn to look- at a very lovely woman. Her hair has been trimmed chin-short and styled into thick black waves, pulled to each side of her face to prominently display a golden ferronnière.

“My husband and I have finished cooking, and we wished to call you in before the meal grew cold,” she says, utterly unabated by the gone-cold atmosphere. “So we insist that you come and eat soon- preferably, right now. ”

There is no rolling of heads or smashing of bones arisen from the terse almost-command, and instead the Monkey King nods along with a chuckle and a laugh half-forced. “Of course, of course. Sorry for forgetting-“

“If you were truly sorry, you’d be in the kitchen eating all of our hard work.”

“Ahahaha! Fair enough! Moonbeam, let’s go have dinner. We can talk about celebrations tonight, together- when it’s quieter.”

Without you around to interject, of course.

Because why would anyone care about how long you spent in a crumbling shack held half-together with scraps of scrounged fabric and dried mud when you offered inconvenient things like “makeshift birthdays” and “learned attachments”?

Before your thoughts get too seething, the woman lightly claps her hands, snapping you and MK to attention.

“Since the two of you have… “lived a life of little substance”, let’s say, we’ve prepared a list of softer meals to help you both adjust to proper eating as quickly as possible- in about the course of a week. Sudden indulgence to richer foods could sicken you both- especially Lord Xiaotian. Today we’ve made a honeyed rice porridge with ripe tropical fruit, but I imagine you’ll also see fortified broth with bouillon powder, and… well, we’d be here all day if I laid them all out.

As the woman sends you and your brother down a hall together, before turning back to her eployers.

“And,” she whispers to the two kings, voice nearly low enough for you miss it, “ we’ve set aside some fruit purée and steamed milk with honey, if nothing else will work.”

“You are such a gem,” Macaque breathes, expressly pleased with her loyal diligence. “Now, if you’ll excuse me-“

“Your children are waiting,” she confirms, nudging him along. “Hurry and eat with them-“

And though he starts to correct her, to clarify that you are in fact not his child- the woman is gone in a swish of her long green dress.

You keep your head down, one hand gripping all of MK’s tiny fingers during your unflinching trek down the ornate hall. There’s hand-drawn pictures of many different demons, all portrayed with respect and pride. In one a purple minotaur holds an axe over his shoulder, horns and blade polished to a shine, in the next he’s standing beside a red-robed woman, tears brimming through his amber eyes as they focus on a small bundle in her arms. In another there’s a pachyderm demon, portrayed with thick glasses and a gargantuan stack of books- including one he must’ve been working on when the picture was drawn. The next is a bird with golden wings held aloft, spear dug into a training dummy made of stone. Then a lion, holding as many mortals possible aloft while trudging in waist-deep waters. One after another, demon after demon- though only those same four, aside from the woman.

Whoever they are, the kings clearly cherish them.

And said demons walk in unison just backwind of you, though their steps lack the carefree rhythm of easygoing camaraderie. They are just in steady lockstep, too close behind for comfort. You can hear the faint clinking of Wukong’s gold chains and the occasional rustle of Macaque’s red and black robe as they exchange glances, silent communication passing between them.

And then MK squeezes your fingers at tightly as his little fingers allow- a familiar gesture you’ve known through harsh nights and sluggish days, through famine and sickness and chill.

An anchor of reassurance in the overwhelming storm of unfamiliarity.

The shift you underwent was violent and painful. You had woken up half-paralyzed and nude, being scrubbed down by the two beings you feared most, incapable of speaking or moving- it had left a not-insignificant mark.

But MK?

MK had made a choice. He had chosen to come back, you were sure of it, sure that he had made a deal for your safety and retrieval alongside his own- of course he was going to adjust better than you.

But he was still a little boy.

A little boy who had spent his life in the hollow embrace of mud walls and patchwork blankets, in the firm grip of your scarred arms. This was a kingdom of excess, a world so vast and strange that it overwhelmed just as much as it comforted. He looks up to you, his tiny thumb fiddling with your knuckles, and you know what is being asked.

Are you staying?

You squeeze his hand back.

Always.

Neither of you is exactly cozy , but the air between you feels warmer for that little exchange, the newfound fuzziness lasting until the tall and gilded arc of a lavish dining room stands before the two of you, beckoning in.

Inside, the dining room gleams with you might bitterly call opulence . The long table stretches nearly half the length of the room, carved from a dark wood polished to a mirror’s finish. Gold filigree edges the surface, intertwining in swirling patterns that catch the warm glow of the lanterns overhead. The chairs are high-backed and cushioned, draped in fine fabrics with purple and gold-threaded embroidery. The centerpiece is a grand arrangement of flowers- peach blossoms and chrysanthemums interspersed with glowing lotuses.

The sheer decadence is suffocating .

MK gasps loudly at the sight, his wide eyes reflecting the glittering splendor. You squeeze his hand again, grounding him, grounding yourself. The boy looks up at you, half in wonder, half in unease. You feel it too- the crushing weight of not belonging. This isn’t your world. Not really. Not ever.

Not yet.

A man; dressed as elegantly as the woman that you presume to be his wife, is stocking the table with loaded plates. Not a drop spills onto his gold-lined white tangzhuang, no matter how much he moves.

“It’s an honor to be serving you again, Lord Xiaotian. And an honor to serve his savior, dear child.

He pushes up the bridge of his circular glasses, causing a sharp gleam to roll over them before coming over to usher you both in.

“Now, please- take your seats.”

There’s two chairs set aside specifically, both piled with stiff cushions to help someone of the height-disadvantaged reach the table- MK’s is especially egregious, containing no less than four.

Speaking of the boy, he tugs at your hand again, his curious eyes shifting between you and the chair meant for him. “Can we really sit here?” he whispers, voice laced with awe and a hint of anxiety.

Before you can answer, Macaque’s low voice cuts through the air as he and Wukong stride into the room after you, affably clapping their servant on his shoulders. “Of course you can,” he says, his tone soft but firm as both golden eyes land on you both. “This is your home now, Xiaotian. You can be wherever you want.”

Home. The word burns.

Maybe it sears even worse than the branding iron that haunts your dreams.

You take the seat beside his, allowing the cushion to sink as best it can under your meager weight, providing a nice abatement to your sore legs- though the cream Macaque had used to clear out grime and dirt had stopped burning not long after it was used, there was a dull ache left from both the concoction and, well… everything , really.

The man with glasses places bowls of warm, sweet-smelling rice porridge before you and MK, forcing your eyes to the bowl. The simple meal is an obvious concession to your past, but the presentation is impeccable, garnished with thin slices of banana and a drizzle of honey. It’s almost too beautiful to eat. Almost .

MK digs in immediately , tiny hands clutching the spoon with the clumsy enthusiasm only a child could muster. His muffled hum of delight sounds out at the first bite, drawing adoring coos from the two kings, and a faint, weary smile from you.

He deserves this, you think. He deserves a hundred lifetimes of warm meals, safe beds, and more love than his little heart could stand to hold.

You, however, hesitate. The porridge is still steaming, the honey forming golden rivulets over the creamy surface, but you can’t bring yourself to taste it just yet. It feels foreign, indulgent in a way that grates against the life you’ve lived- against the life that has shaped you into a scrapes-by survivor accustomed to spare bits of fuel.

You manage to lift the spoon and take a small bite.

The honeyed porridge is warm and sweet, slices of ripe banana on top to add a buttery texture that melts effortlessly on your tongue, imbuing a whisper of richness to each bite.

It’s good. Too good. It makes your chest ache.

Hunger is the world you have known, sprinkled through every aspects of your life in pieces. In the cold of winter on your stick-thin ribs, never enough meat to keep warm. In the gnawing ache that follows you to sleep. In the morning, curling like smoke in your chest as you wake, already weary. Hunger walks beside you, a shadow that stretches long.

A word heartbreakingly uttered from the lips of your darling little brother, spurring you to further and further extremes to keep him fed.

But today you are both full and warm, dressed and clean.

The thought pricks your eyes with tears, and the spoon seizes as a lump grows in your throat.

You could have never given this to MK.

The movement of your unwieldy hand grows faster and faster, shoveling more and more of the sweet porridge into your mouth, smearing it over your lips as tears begin to fall. Your spare hand drifts downwards to cusp the mildly growing curve of your stomach, feeling the meal compound through you. You drop the intricate spoon, and it clatters uselessly to the ground. In favor of scooping the meal bite by bite into your mouth, you do the simplest- and more importantly, fastest- thing possible.

You upend the contents directly into your mouth, the honeyed porridge spilling past your lips and onto your chin and cheeks. You drain it to the last drop and lick the remnants like a starving dog, and then set down the exquisite piece of china to reveal the tears dribbling over the sticky mess across your face.

“I want more,” you beg, voice plain and will broken. “Please, I-“

“ I don’t want to be hungry anymore.”

“…get them another bowl,” says Macaque, looking at you more closely than ever before. “As many as they need.”

”Until they’re full.”

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #Yandere Sun Wukong #Yandere Macaque #MK #Yandere Father #Shadowpeach #Eclipse Kings #Not The Beloved #3K

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meitantei-shitpost · 2 days ago

Text

We can’t sleep on this quote from the chef either. I just watched the ep and had to chime in, there’s a lot to unpack.

He says this right before he’s dragged down to the bottom of the tank.

A lot of this episode seems to be a warning to Conan to throw aside his pride and arrogance. Shinichi’s overarching character development is basically just getting humbled. He looks down on childish things like candy and kids meals because he thinks he’s too good for them, regardless of whether or not he would actually enjoy them.

This episode is so different tone wise from every other episode and I’m curious if there’s any symbolism behind Conan’s dream. For example, the chef obviously parallels Conan, being an arrogant genius. But his 3 henchmen remind me a lot of the detective boys (2 boys, one overweight, one girl).

And when the chef fails to get Conan due to his arrogance, the three get dragged down with him. It felt like a warning or just a bad omen in general.

This episode is really one of the few glimpses we get into Shinichi’s psyche. One of my biggest gripes with Detective Conan is that while it shows what happens in the story, we don’t ever really get to see how it affects the characters (which is why I read an ungodly amount of fanfic). I actually really like this episode. It in itself feels like a mystery we the audience have to solve and I really like that.

The people who complain that the episode is stupid or weird just took it at face value and nothing else. A lot of people even think the dream sequence was something that actually happened and then criticized it for being unrealistic😭😭 those people on other forums did NOT pass high school literature class.

No matter how special it is, a kid's lunch is still just a kid's lunch.

I dunno, I liked "The Genius Restaurant" (Episode 1,089).

Happy (belated) birthday, Jimjam.

[Song link] [YouTube link]

#dcmk #rambling

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greengoblinswifey · 21 hours ago

Note

Hi!!! Can I maybe do a request? It would be like; Eddie is your boyfriend and both of you are in a dinner with your parents at your house (you still living with them) and you get suddenly so hot, and you are hurry and says an excuse like you want to go out for a while to walk with Eddie or whatever. But in reality you go with him to fuck in wherever or his car or in a public place or whatever you want because you have to return to your parent's house. It's this request possible? if it is, do it when you have time, and thank you so much for taking the time to read. I hope you're well ♡

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

warnings— semi public sex, oral(f!receiving), praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie.

a/n— you guys do not want to know how long this was in my drafts for….but enjoy <3

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

“Mom, dad, I think we're full now, time for that walk around the neighbourhood,” you smiled, dragging Eddie away eagerly.

You weren’t full. In fact, you were far from it. You didn’t want to be full of your parents’ food, you’d much rather be full of Eddie’s cock. And now, you needed that more than ever.

“Well hurry back before curfew,” your father uttered and you rolled your eyes, grabbing your boyfriend’s bicep and hurrying out the door.

“Goddamn, felt like your parents were gonna eat me alive—”

Before Eddie could finish his ranting about your parents, your pouty lips crashed onto his, capturing them in a needy, desperate kiss.

“Mm— fuck, what’s gotten into you baby?” he inquired.

“I just need you, so bad, please,” you whined, “we can go to the park. There’s a secluded spot no one goes to at this hour.”

“Alright sweetheart, whatever you want.”

You practically ran to the park, desperate to feel Eddie’s large hands over your frame. There was a bench that he sat on and pulled you onto his lap.

He gripped your neck and sucked on your lips harshly while you undid his handcuffs for a belt buckle and pulled out his hard dick.

“You sure you wanna do this princess? Here?” he asked.

The desperate look in your eyes told him all he needed to know. Your mini skirt gave him easy access and, he shifted your underwear and positioned the leaking, bulbous head at your entrance.

“Please baby, please fuck me. Need you inside me so bad,” you whined, “need that fat cock deep inside me.”

Eddie held your hips and helped you slowly sink down onto his awaiting cock. You felt as if you’d been waiting for ages and as soon as you felt him inside you, you threw your head against his shoulder.

“Fuck sweetheart,” Eddie moaned shakily. Your pussy pulsated around him as he slowly wiggled and thrusted up into you. His hands roamed over your body until they reach your breasts. You whimpered as you felt him fondle them. His other hand made its way to your clit, rubbing rough, wet circles as you jolted on top of him.

“You like that baby, does it feel good?”

“S-so much Ed, need to cum,” you whined.

The night was dark and quiet, the only sounds coming from the rustling leaves and your soft moans echoing through the empty park. “You’ve gotta keep it down, sweetheart,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear. But you couldn’t help it—the way he moved, the way he filled you—everything was overwhelming.

“Eddie, I—” your voice came out in a broken gasp, far too loud for comfort. Before you could finish, his lips crashed against yours, swallowing your cries with a heated kiss. His hand slid up your back to pull you closer, while his other hand groped your thigh, kneading the soft dark skin.

“You’re so loud, babe,” he teased against your lips, his voice a low growl. “Don’t want someone catching us, do you?” His smirk said otherwise, but the thought only heightened the thrill.

You couldn’t respond, the pace of his hips stole the words right out of your mouth. Then it hit you, a wave of heat and pleasure crashing through your body. Your legs trembled, and a shudder wracked through you as you came hard, your release soaking the both of you.

“Good girl,” Eddie breathed, a little breathless himself, his hands holding you steady as you slumped against him. But he wasn’t finished.

Gently, he lifted you off him and laid his leather jacket down on the bench. “Lie back for me,” he coaxed, his voice rough but soft. You complied, your chest heaving as you felt him nudge your knees apart. He tugged your soaked panties to the side and leaned in, his lips brushing your inner thigh.

“Eddie,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “What if—someone—”

“No one’s out here, didn’t you say that?” he reassured, grinning up at you. “And even if they are, let ’em hear how good I make you feel.”

The first swipe of his tongue sent a jolt through you, and you tried to stifle a moan. He didn’t make it easy, though, holding your hips down and diving in deeper. “You taste so good,” he murmured, his words muffled against your skin.

Your fingers found their way to his long hair, tugging gently as he worked you over, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. “Eddie, please,” you whimpered, your voice trembling as you fought the urge to scream his name.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he urged, his voice low and commanding. “I want to feel you.” With that, you let go, your orgasm hitting you in waves as your body shuddered under his touch.

“Holy—” Eddie pulled back, his lips glistening, his eyes wide with amazement. “You’re so damn horny, aren’t you?” He grinned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

You nodded, breathless, as he moved to hover over you. He positioned himself at your leaking entrance slipping back inside with a moan. One hand cupped the back of your head, protecting it from the hard bench as he thrust into you, slow and deep.

“You feel amazing,” he rasped, his forehead resting against yours. “So tight, so perfect.”

“Eddie,” you moaned, your hands gripping his shoulders as you arched into him, desperate for more.

“That’s it, baby,” he praised, his voice thick with desire. “Take my cock. You’re doing so good.”

The tension built again, the two of you moving together, the world around you forgotten. “Cum with me,” he groaned, his pace quickening. “I want to feel you gush around my cock.”

You held onto him, your nails digging into his back as you reached the peak together. His release was deep, filling you with warmth, and you trembled beneath him.

For a moment, neither of you moved, your breaths mingling in the cool night air. Then, with a soft kiss to your forehead, Eddie pulled away, fixing your clothes and helping you sit up. “We better head back, baby” he said with a grin, his tone light despite the flush in his cheeks.

The walk back to his parents’ house was quiet as you held hands, but the heat between you lingered. When you stepped inside, your dad’s eyes flicked to you both, narrowing slightly. “Have fun out there?” he asked, his voice casual but laced with suspicion.

“Oh, we had a lot of fun,” Eddie replied smoothly, throwing you a wink.

You bit back a smile, heading to the kitchen to help your mom with the dishes, all the while aware of the evidence of your night with Eddie’s cum dripping down your thighs.

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gay-dorito-dust · 18 hours ago

Note

Isekai Reader, looking at the half-bitten cookie: .....

Isekai Reader, looks at Damian and Duke: Are you guys sure none of you put anything in here?

Alfred, checking their temperature: I was with them the whole time and any type of liquid that should not be in my kitchen is strictly prohibited

Isekai Reader looks at the transparent couple behind the two boys: I think I saw Bruce's parents... am I high?

Damian: what are you blabbering at?

Isekai Reader: Ya deaf boy? I said I can see your grandmother and granfather from your father's side who is behind you

Alfred, concerned(a bit hopeful too): are you sure?

Martha looks at her husband: How bout you tell him this so he can believe you dear, he is the only one who knows of this

Isekai Reader: hey Mr. Alfred wanna know what miss Martha told me?

Alfred: I'm afraid I don't know would you care to?

Isekai Reader: Wanna bet?

.....

Alfred:....

Alfred, clears his throat: Ahem, I will appreciate it if you don't tell this to any of them no matter what the cost

Isekai Reader: Don't worry I won't traumatize your already traumatized grandkids even more

.....

Bruce: should we send you to a therapist?

Isekai Reader: you're coming with me then

Bruce: absolutely not

Isekai Reader: Then no♥️

Isekai reader either high as balls or actually seeing ghosts? More news at 5.

Isekai! Reader/ you: after all you’ve been through, have any of you ever been to therapy before? Like genuinely gone and or considered going?

Bruce: I’m rich

Dick: once or twice but then I remember that I have to open up. No thanks.

Jason: why pay for therapy when killing crime lords and drug dealers is completely free.

Damian: therapy is beneath me.

Tim: what’s that? Never heard of it.

Duke: I missed one session! One!

Isekai! Reader/ you: if I had money I’d open up a hospital and shove you all inside it. not you Duke, you’re my favourite right now.

Duke: :)

…

-I love this concept, thanks anon-

Isekai! Reader/you: *seeing Martha and Thomas again as they watched over Bruce* fuck sake I’m high again.

*martha and Thomas resting their hands on their son’s shoulders, smiling at him*

Isekai! Reader/ you: *feeling a little sentimental* awww. They’re watching over their baby boy. *smiles softly*

Bruce, noticed: why you smiling.

Isekai! Reader/ you: just remembering how stupid you looked when dressed up as nightwing.

Bruce: Dick and Jason showed you the pictures?

Isekai! Reader/ you: that suit was struggling to keep itself together and I thought your whole asshole was going to fall out if honestly is what your after.

Bruce: it was a phase! *buries head into hands*

Isekai! Reader/ you: that’s what they all say, but you dressing up as a bat and beating people so bad they’re left in a comatose state has to be the longest phases you’ve been in. Ever.

…

Jason: *does anything*

Isekai! Reader/ you: I can take him.

Duke: in a fight right?

Isekai! Reader/ you: :)

Duke, scared: in a fight right?!

Bruce, from a distance: STAY AWAY FROM MY SON!

Isekai! Reader/ you: I WILL FUCK YOUR SON WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT! HES TOO FINE TO BE LEFT SINGLE! ITS CRIMINAL!

Duke: …

Bruce: …

Jason: :)

…

Bruce: what you got there?

Isekai! Reader/ you: a big ass plushie that’s half my body height. *picks said plushie up and squeezes it*

Damian: are you a child?

Isekai! Reader/you: unlike you I had actually got to experience a childhood…at least I think…I can’t remember most of it but I’m sure that’s normal.

Bruce: …

Damian: …

Duke: I’m pretty sure that having gaps in your memory in regards of your childhood isn’t healthy nor a good reflection on your childhood. I could be wrong though so don’t take my word for it.

Isekai!reader/ you: …consider this healing the inner child with a rich man’s credit card.

#dc x reader #dc imagine #dc x you #dc comics x reader #dc x y/n #dc imagines #batfam x reader #batfam imagine #batfamily imagine #batfamily imagines #batfam imagines #isekai reader

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sheepispink · 1 day ago

Text

A LIGHT THAT NEVER GOES OUT

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

Masterlist AO3

pairings: Simon Ghost Riley/ Reader (platonic or romantic, up to you)

tags: probably loads of military inaccuracies, anxiety attacks (possibly?), heavy angst, angst and comfort, paranoia, bad mental health, cuddling and literal sleeping together (up to you romantic or platonic)

A/N: I’d appreciate if no one complained abt the accuract/realistic of the story (ofc if its the characterisation of ghost that’s perfectly ok!) i’m open for criticisation for how i write etc etc but this is a sensitive topic and.. based off personal experiences 😅😅 so it’s very realistic to me even if its not to you!

This technically takes place after this fic but it’s not a big deal in which the order you read it

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

You’re an introvert, even if you do get excited really quickly, loud around people you’ve known for a while and love meeting new people. Yet still, you call yourself an introvert, even if that technically still makes you an extroverted introvert. You don't like the sound of an extrovert— someone who thrives off of others' attention and loves to be the center of it, who brightens their days with their friends and always wants to make plans with anyone and everyone. You like the attention sometimes; when Price mentions your name in a conversation, praising your skills, your heart thumps a little louder. Being at the limelight of the party isn't always the worst thing either, especially when everyone laughs at your jokes so hard they double over, grinning so wide you can't help it either. You love your friends, your teammates, even the random soldiers you’ve only exchanged small greetings with. The love for others is held tight in your heart’s vessels, bursting each and every time they make you smile or you just see their presence. You feel so warm and alive when you give them a grin in the mornings, even more so when they seek out your presence throughout the day.

Though, that only applies sometimes— never always.

A familiar soldier could ask you out to lunch and yet your chest begins to twist uncomfortably, like someone is wringing your intestines with their hands. Something screams at you when they say those words, like an invisible line had just been crossed that had been clear in everyone's heads. You had only ever spoken to those soldiers in the gym or around base, there was nowhere else even remotely personal you’d think to take them to. One on one conversations were not common either, since it wasnt that often. It’s not that you don't like them, it’s just.. not right. You’d shake your head apologetically as you force an excuse between your teeth. The regret you then express is a lie, along with the love you felt before— only reduced to a being who could never hold any of those things.

The truth is, you have a sick little parasite in you, it claws at that heart muscle, tearing away the flesh and devouring any love you feel for the people you care about and replacing it with an empty feeling which is always followed by an unreasonable hatred. Your mind grows dark, headaches permanent, as you live through the day as a skeleton of yourself— no longer able to hold any love within you as it slips past your bones in seconds. You don't like the boundaries you’ve mentally set for each person to be crossed, even if it’s a perfectly normal task. In fact, some may even say you’re scared of change. You don’t like to put a label on these things, hell you don't even like to think too hard on these things. It begins to make sense when you sit and reflect, piecing all the reasons for your behaviour together until you hit the final point. Soon you’re done, finally aware of the most significant reasoning behind your antics. The only issue is, being self aware doesn't mean you get any better; no matter how many nights you sit and stare at that mirror, nothing changes.

The only thing you gained was the ability to squash down the parasite from prying eyes. Excuses fall from your lips quickly, no matter how bad you feel when they give you that look of disappointment. It’s not your fault— you know you won't be able to handle an outing like that, you’d get too worked up. Why? You don't need to dwell on it, not right now. This continues for multiple people, multiple soldiers for two weeks, until you're ‘normal’ and you hang around others again. People begin to subconsciously catch on and so your little routine continues to carry on moving so well, staying right on track.

“Sarge? You aint comin’ to team night? Why?”

Ghost stands at the door of your quarters, dressed in his typical training attire whilst you’re sitting in something cozy, made for home wear. You have to fight the urge to cover yourself up. “Oh right.. i, uh..yknow, lot of paperwork to do. Thought i’d stay in.”

You say with a small smile, attempting to ease any concerns he had before but little did you know, he was already growing aware of your little issue, or at least the fact there was one within you. “Paperwork? On a Friday? You should be relaxin’.” You grit your teeth a little, the burning urge inside of your chest returning just like the sick pit in your stomach. It felt so awful fearing just a simple team night out, but it was just so late and you were so tired— you didnt have the energy to be rational the whole time, to think of your next move constantly.

“It’s not a big deal. I’ll come to the next one.” You shrug, turning back to your small desk as you pull another small stack of papers in front of you. His boots thump loudly against the floorboards, sounding like the heavy thump of your heart in your ears. It stops, suddenly, behind your back and your body stiffens as he leans down, looking at the paperwork you’re going through. It’s a lie— naturally, you finished it all. He doesn't even have to stare at you first nor visibly raise a brow; you’re already waiting for him to call out your bluff just as quickly.

“You can just say you want some time alone, yknow.” That catches you off guard, half expecting him to just tell you to stop whining and grab some drinks. His words were still difficult though, how could you easily just say that? Of course, the words itself aren't the hard part, nor speaking it—it’s the implications behind said words. An excuse means you have other things to occupy you, so no one dares to disturb you much after that, however explaining you want some alone time gives way to more questions. Specifically the first being: why? Then they begin to wonder if you’ve been doing okay recently or if you’re struggling with something. You dont like the idea of that at all— people thinking about you in that way. It feels weird, almost like it’s wrong. Sometimes you wished people would just not care, and leave you alone to wallow with yourself.

“Sarge?” You snap out of it, sheepishly scratching the back of your head as he still stands behind you and you turn in your chair, putting the best meek face you can on for the night. “What? No, that’s not why I declined. I’m not really feeling any alcohol today and a new episode of a series I previously binged on the weekend just came out. Sorry.. didn't want to make it seem i was ditching anyone for a show.” Perfect, an awkward grin had tied it all off into a well constructed excuse. Even if it was partially true and this really wasn't fake, it sure felt like everything you did was an act. After all, you really didn't want them to think you were ditching anyone, and you didn't feel like having any alcohol tonight. “A new series” He says gruffly, and you nod with a tight smile, teeth gritting so hard you’re sure they’ll break in a few seconds. “I’ll join you then.”

You blink once, twice, three times in pure utter confusion. Ghost—The Ghost, whose name is rumoured across the battlefield and known for never giving into idle small talk—wants to watch the series you lied about, with you.

You’ve never felt more guilty in your entire life, practically fumbling for a solution. You could just tell the truth, say no and admit you needed to be alone. But this is the first time he’s ever expressed wanting to hang around you, actually together and alone— and miss out on a team night?! He may just want an excuse out of it, but still, you can't just say no now. “Well yeah, i just..” You hate how there’s no easy way out of this in the slightest, torn between saving your own mental health or finally getting close to the teammate who you’ve been on eggshells around for nearly a year now. “My room’s not exactly clean--“

He cuts you off with a gruff, shake of his head, a scoff resounding in his next words, promptly embarrassing you too. “There ya go— knew you wanted to be alone.”

You fumble, not understanding how he managed to pry it out of you so fast, just a simple lie blowing your cover. “I said it wasn't like-“

“See you tomorrow.” He’s gone just as fast as he silenced you, heavy footsteps disappearing out of your door and down the corridors. What you couldn't wrap your head around is how fast he had figured it out and made you confess to your lies that fast— it was a real problem, something you couldn't just let slide. If he knew, did others too?

Unfortunately for you, the very much needed alone time didn’t help as well as it usually did considering this new information has threatened everything that made up the core of your very being—specifically everything keeping you glued together. You just couldn't sit there and possibly relax like you usually did when alone (more specifically think over everything you’ve done wrong until you quite literally fell asleep mid thought)— not when Ghost could clearly read everything you had ever thought about in your life.

That being said, you’ve been a nervous wreck all week, concentrating so hard on looking sane that you’ve barely paid a second of attention to things you should’ve listened to. It’s not like you slipped up regularly, but before that day you were already feeling pretty uneasy and now with still no relief and the added stress, you feel like you really might lose it any second now. Every time you see him, every word exchanged with your teammates—with another person—it eats at you, tugging further on the ropes you’re hanging onto. They’re already been pulled thin, especially since you’ve been put in charge of a group of rookies for the past few weeks now. Of course, you had pulled the short straw when assignments went round because not only did your group love to talk back, but they loved to test every limit by asking the most stupid of questions possible. It’s the second time now you’ve had to lecture one of the rookies about why you can’t just ‘throw a grenade at the enemies’. It’s only temporary, just basic training exercises and medical procedures they need to know until the Officer, who usually oversees them, returns from their sick leave.

You let out a long breath as you enter the small break room, also known as taskforce 141’s meeting room but they’ve let you lounge in here too many times to count. It’s quiet in here, Soap and Gaz both on missions and you assume Ghost must be too. It’s the first time you’ve been able to relax all week, knowing damn well Price is down in London with Gaz. Your shoulders sag, the miserable look returning to cover your features now that you don't need to pull that tight smile anymore. Your chest physically aches from how anxious you’ve been all day, the weight of the day’s mistakes and fears of the future swelling deep in your gut. You know it’s a Friday, know you should just take a long sleep but you can’t help but think about all you have to do for the days to follow. You’re busy the whole day tomorrow, a team outing you can’t deny no matter how much you really do not want to go. Just thinking of all the final work you’ll have to cram in on Sunday makes a splitting pain run along the bumps in your brain. Even your breaths begin to feel shorter, an uncomfortable feeling that you just still cant rid of no matter how long you take deep breaths. Your eyes are weighed down with exhaustion and yet your brain refuses to let you sleep yet. No, you cannot. If you sleep the night away then you’ll only have Sunday left for yourself, and that won't work out, will it?

You pick up the mug you had just stirred, hoping the drink would soothe at least something if not your dehydrated body. Taking a small sip, the hot liquid spills down your throat, leaving a warm feeling in your ribs. “Alone by choice or force?” A gruff voice rings out behind you, along with an arm reaching around to supposedly grab a teabag as well, is enough to make you flinch. Stumbling on your own feet, your mug jolts and the steaming water splashes against your shoulder. If you were worried about someone catching you so vulnerable before, you were certainly terrified now, especially since your skin was burning from a small startle.

“Fuck— sorry—“

Ghost’s gloved hand settle on one side of your waist while the other quickly takes the mug from your hands and places it upon the counter. You cant respond, barely processing the situation and everything just feels like too much and your skin feels so hot, you know he’s seeing you fall apart and still there’s nothing you can do—

Your thoughts snap to a blank when he presses the cold rag against your burning skin. Thankfully the layers of the training uniform stops any severe marks from forming. His other hand rubs your cheek, his mask so close it could brush your face, and you can actually see every speck of brown in his irises. You can't look at him for long though, moving your gaze away quickly, not when you know what you’ve done. For the past week or two you’ve hated him, painting the most horrible picture in your mind. It wasnt even on purpose, you’ve just started seeing everything wrong about him. He doesnt give the rookies much mercy, nor does he particularly entertain any of Soap’s antics even when the situation is pretty lax. He’s boring, he seems to care about nothing but himself somedays, he refuses to let you do something stupid and he never takes that damn mask off even when you’re all supposed to trust one another. You’ve lied to him, yes, forgetting about your hatred when he made you laugh with those gruff remarks. But he’s not the only one— no, you’ve began to hate everyone in this task force, picking at them and every little thing. It’s weird, you don't want to victimize yourself, because you know you’ve done just as much wrong too. But still, somedays you really can't look past the list of things you dislike about your own friends.

“Are you alright? I havent seen you all week.”

Of course he hasn't, you’ve been avoiding them all. It’s nearly impossible to think straight these days and you knew you wouldn’t be able to fake it so naturally, you just stayed away. The more you did it, the better it began to feel. Avoiding them was the solution— you were just the thorn in their side with your tricky mood swings and anxiety always painting them to be the villain. You couldnt just allow this to happen, to destroy them with your issues even if they had no idea about it.

But now, face to face with him, all you feel is unexplainable guilt for everything you’ve done to them— how could you even hate them for a second? His hand is still rubbing at your skin, nudging your face gently upwards just so you’d at least look at him for a second. “Really? The silent treatment now?.” He sighs and you hate yourself, how did you let this spiral to this point— to where he’s apologising to you and yet you wish you could just disappear. Isnt this what you wanted? For everyone to be kind to you? So why are you running— why do you refuse care?

Your lips press together as your teeth bite down on the soft flesh, torn from how much you’ve picked at the skin the whole week. It aches with anxiety, and your teeth hurt from how often you’ve clenched them so hard they scraped against eachother. The only thing you can do is stand there as Ghost fusses over you, trying to get you to move a damn muscle instead of falling apart silently like some kind of broken watch, unable to move forward or backwards. Just still.

“Sarge— snap out of it, look, I'm sorry. Okay?”

His hands are still on you, and you’ve begged for a day where someone would care this much about you and still, you step back, almost afraid. “I’m sorry, Ghost.” You croak out, your hands reaching up to your eyes as you wipe at your skin obsessively, trying to hide and stop anything from leaking. “Why’re you apologising?” He says gruffly, confused by all of this, this sudden onslaught of emotion.

He’s not stupid, he had a feeling you weren't quite yourself this week. Stupidly, he figured you’d just deal with it on your own. That's what everyone did, right? He knows he just takes a breather when he feels a little rough— even Price had his own battles. Comfort isn't a strong point for Ghost, not even when he was Simon Riley, never has and he never thinks it will be. He’s born and bred on violence and the coldness that comes after it, the lack of warmth even as hot blood trickles and emptiness consumes the space where his fellow soldiers should be. So watching you crumble right before him, apologising profusely while your body wracks with shaken breaths, makes something stop in him too. He doesn't know how he’ll do it, but he knows damn well no one fights alone anymore.

“Look at me.”

He says firmly, both his hands landing firmly on your shoulders, one hand even tempted to just force your chin up but you shake your head profusely. “Why not?” He stays patient for you, even if he knows he may have to force you soon— its the least he can do for you. “I cant look at you. Not after everything i did.” He pauses, hands now settling on your jaw in confusion, he knows this is moving towards an interrogation but he has to know. “What are you talking about?! What did you do?”

“I hated all of you! I avoided you all and destroyed our relationship, i fucked it all up.”

With that he cant stand to see this continue, a gloved hand firmly planted over your mouth as the other wraps around your back. He leads you to the couch even as you squirm, not caring in the slightest. He knows he has strength and not comfort, so he’ll use it to shut you up whilst the truth comforts you instead.

“Look at me.” He says sternly and you do, eyes snapping up with wide fear as you look at him. “That’s not true— okay? None of us consider our relationship with you ruined, not one of us has even mentioned you in a bad light at all.” He makes sure your whole body is pressed against the back of the couch, considering that you didnt particularly look as if you could hold yourself up right now.

“Soap has only talked to me about you once recently— he told me you helped him organize the training schedules for the rookies. Told me to thank you for it because he felt he did not express his gratitude enough. Do you understand now? No one’s mad at you– not one of us have even considered anything to have gone wrong.”

His hand grabs your own, settling it on the center of his chest so you can feel the pattern of his breathing, silently praying you’d try and match it. You can only blink at him though, slowly processing his words with each passing second until his hand leaves your mouth and your lips part, breath hitched before you swallow a sharp breath. “I’ve avoided all of you– i’ve been hating all of you.” You choke out, chest clenching with regret and the weight of unreasonable guilt and his other hand moves to hold your face again, his brown eyes piercing into yours with his silence.

“What is like to hate someone?”

“What?”?

“What is it like to hate someone?” He repeats, his thumb pressing gently into the curve of your cheek.

“I-...” You falter, thinking for a moment before your lips part again. “I dont like things that they do— the way they act and everything about them.”

“You’d avoid them too, right? Like that general you hated. Remember when he touched you and you pushed his hand away?

You nod along in agreement, breathing a bit slower to hopefully ease the pressure on your chest at the moment.

“Y-yeah.. i’d express my dislike clearly..”

“So why did you never push me away the past few weeks? You said you avoided us, but you would always speak to us if we needed to. You still helped Soap too.”

You pause, blinking at him in confusion now, you had convinced yourself that you hated them so why did you never.. actually express it?

“You’re also letting me touch you now and last week you didn't want to hang out with us, but you didnt want to hurt our feelings by saying that.”

You’re left silent, baffled and confused because in your head, you were being horrible to them, hating their guts like it was nothing.

“I think… whatever is going on in that head of yours.” He says slowly, tapping at your forehead gently as you look up at him with widened eyes. “You’ve held it in for too long. You’ve dwelled on those thoughts, so self aware of your own anxieties that you’ve distorted reality. You think you’ve done something bad, because you can't understand why you always feel so bad.” His voice is softer than usual, even if his words are still gruff and holds his thick Manchester accent.

Somehow that alone reminds you that Simon has never lied, not even once, to you. That stern voice of his is straightforward, doesnt mess around and forces his way through any problem. Just like he had just pushed himself to the root of your mind and destroyed your seeds of doubt.

“You’re allowed to talk to us you know. I have a funny feeling you’re scared o’ somethin’. Not sure what just yet.”

He doesnt force you to respond, just speaking his thoughts even if that’s what you usually do when you’re together. The couch creaks as he stand up, pulling you to get up aswell beside him. He places a hand on the crook of your back, gently encouraging you to begin walking towards the door. “Cmon, back to my room. Lets get you cleaned up properly.”

Before you know it, you’re sitting against the headboard of his bed, something you had only felt months ago when you first came here, scared and confused over a stupid hornet. You trusted him to help you then, but you dont understand why you suddenly felt that fear again. Meanwhile, your shirt is half off, Ghost sat on the bed beside you as he inspects the burns on your chest from the tea. It’s harsh, the skin reddened but not enough to be something serious thankfully. He presses a cool towel against it, soothing the stinging skin but he knows it’ll fade out soon enough. You’re wearing his old shirt, and he gave you some comfortable sweatpants too for good measure. You just watch all his moves so quietly, feeling like a ghost yourself in this moment from how detached you are. It’s weird, feeling so much yet nothing at the same time.

“Nothing too bad, should be alright by the morning.” He hums, lifting the fresh mug of tea he brewed for you and brings it to your lips for you to sip before he steals some for himself. “Is your chest still tight?” You blink, not expecting him to ask that of all things because you hadnt exactly mentioned that part and yes, it was. “How did you know..?” Your hand reaches out, silently asking for more of the tea he graciously lets you sip, unable to fathom how he brews it so perfectly each time. “You were clutching at your chest before and your breaths are a little shorter than they should be.” He’s seen straight through you again so you slump your shoulders and just nod quietly. “Yeah, it’s really tight. It’s always like this and i dont know how to make it stop.”

His gloved hand reaches out, gently rubbing at your chest thus making you sink a little back into the pillows. Before he can respond, you speak up with a quiet confession. “That day, when you came ‘round, I was upset. You said you wanted to watch the series with me and I felt so bad. I didn't want to give up my only chance of spending time with you, but I knew my head couldn't take it.”

He nods along quietly, letting you reveal it all to him. “T-then you figured me all out and i got scared— i didnt want someone to know everything about me because i didnt want to be a problem. I want someone to listen but i dont want to be seen as something different. I just.. i dont know how to handle all of this. I dont feel like the person i am when i look in the mirror.”

The strangest thing of all is that it didnt actually take you long to figure it out. You knew all along, of course, but when you’re fighting against yourself, you’re supporting both sides and so a part of you decided not to dwell on a certain bit of information too much. The reason for that to be pushed aside is no part of you wanted to face it.

Your heart always secretly wished someone would find out— that someone would push past the walls you’ve banged so hard against even if they were crafted by the webs of your brain. You prayed and prayed that they’d read through it all, express their concern and one day, one day you’d be saved from this hellish feeling. It was a common daydream for you and yet you were terrified of it. If someone knew, there was no guarantee they’d follow the fantasy. They could ridicule you, or they couldnt be able to comfort you at all, maybe they’d try and it wouldnt even do anything or maybe, just maybe— they wouldnt give a damn about it. What happened then? If that daydream was real, and that was the final outcome, there was no turning back in time. It seemed like only one person would ever figure you out, after all, no one had up until this point.

But then Simon became aware, and you got terrified. You hid away because you were too scared to know his reaction to your problems, even more so his reaction to you. You wanted someone to help, you really did, and yet your brain feared to know the uncertain future of it.

His ungloved hands card through your hair, the callouses gentle against your scalp as he slowly scratches at it. “You need to speak with us, and the others. Your feelings are real— hell, we all have our doubts. I used to feel it before every mission. Soap began to tell me his, then Gaz joined too. Price always looks for a way to solve it, and i give my two pence when i feel i want to. Just cause you feel different, doesnt mean you are. Plenty o’ people felt the same way you did before.”

“Really..? I’m not like.. crazy?”

“No, never. Even if you do some stupid shit sometimes.”

That makes you finally crack a real smile, even if its small and you’re unable to stifle the small chuckle that bubbles in your throat and although he’s the epitome of stoicism, he smiles beneath the mask. “Everyone’s out on a mission, ya can't leave me alone tonight. C’mere.”

You settle yourself in the crook of arm as he lays back against the bed with you, propping up his laptop on his lap as he searches for a good movie.

“You better report back to me everyday this week, alright? I want you here at nine pm sharp, dressed in your pajamas. That’s an order.”

Thinking over all your previous daydreams of how this would eventually go, this was far from how you expected it to be. Firstly, you never expected Ghost, nor it to happen in the military at all. Perhaps you thought maybe later in life it’d occur or maybe Soap or Price would figure it out. Either way, you arent actually upset over it. No one would be your fairy tale saviour in life, coming forward to fight the demons that plagued your head all the time. Even so, the way Ghost had shut you up and calmed you down makes you think he’s pretty damn close to being one, even if knights usually dont scoff at their princess.

He doesnt even look like he’d be willing to give a little kid a hug, but still, you couldnt be happier with how this turned out in the end. Compared to fairytale princes and men in the movies, you knew Ghost and you knew he was serious— so if he wanted to help you, he would. And no, he wouldnt ridicule you throughout the process, nor ever feel like you’ve been misheard. You know that if you spoke to Ghost, he’d listen earnesty and never forget, carrying that around with him even if those anxieties eventually died out.

You knew he’d always linger around, never forgetting you or leaving you behind. Just like a Ghost.

“Okay, i promise i will.”

You say softly, pressing your cheek against the curve of his chest, the faint thump of his heartbeat drowning out any lost thoughts. He was your support, and no matter how bad it got for you, no matter how many times you get overwhelmed and lash out, not even when you avoid everyone— he’d never break away. No, he would always be beside you.

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kvroomi · 3 days ago

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thinking about bf!kuroo who insists you start your mornings off by picking a random word and seeing who can weave it into the most conversations throughout the day. winner gets bragging rights, obviously.

which leads you to your current position: standing in a coffee shop while kuroo taps his foot, plotting. today’s word of the day is perpendicular. there’s a smirk on his lips so strong he has his entire face twisted to look in the opposite direction so you don’t notice. alas, it doesn’t work.

“what are you planning?” your eyes narrow as you look up at him.

“relax, babe.” he bumps his hip into yours, playfully as your eyebrows furrow and your frown deepens. he continues,

“just making life more interesting,” and winks at you, before resting an arm around your shoulders.

when it’s finally your turn to order, the cashier greets you with friendly smile and politely asks what you’d like to get. before you can even think to open your mouth, kuroo steps in.

“hey there!” he says, far too loud and enthusiastic for 9am on a sunday.

“i was just admiring how perfectly perpendicular this counter is to the floor.” he rubs at the front of the marbled table, even going as far as to step backwards and act like he was admiring the ground. oh my god you think.

“very impressive craftsmanship.”

the cashier blinks confused and you have to bite your lip to avoid cussing him out (it was actually to stop yourself from laughing but you’d never tell kuroo that), as he continues to double down.

“it’s not every day you see such a perpendicular set up! must make the coffee taste better, huh?” he adds with a dramatic nod as if he’d just uncovered something groundbreaking.

the cashier looks from him to you, unsure whether it was a weird joke the two of you were trying to play, or if kuroo genuinely was just passionate about counters.

“uh… probably?” they say hesitantly.

you roll your eyes but you can’t fight off the smile that slowly begins to make its way to your face. you cut in, suddenly feeling bad for subjecting the cashier to kuroo’s jokes so early in the morning and order

“we’ll just get 1 large vanilla iced americano with a dash of oat milk, and a large oat milk mocha to takeaway, please.”

you watch the cashier nod and kuroo walks up to pay.

as you walk away from the counter, you whip your head towards kuroo’s as you both burst into immediate laughter.

“stop tormenting the workers!” you manage to choke out.

he grins, very clearly pleased with himself and leans toward you. “i’m just living up to the word of the day. don’t hate the game, babe.”

you hear your coffee order get called and you drag him up to collect it.

he holds the door for you as you leave and you can’t help the soft smile that lingers as you comment with a shake of your head, “you’re the biggest dork i’ve ever met.”

and, of course, kuroo responds with a boisterous laugh: “yeah, but i’m your dork.”

there’s a beat before he’s laughing to himself again,

“perpendicularly yours.”

#I HAVE SO MANY MORE IDEAS FOR THIS #HES SO SILLY I LOVE HIM #haikyuu #haikyuu masterlist #fanfiction #haikyu #kuroo tetsuro fluff #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo x reader #kuroo x reader fluff #kuroo fanfic #kuroo headcanons

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lisacameron99 · 2 days ago

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Second (JJ x reader) (outer banks)

warning: angst, fighting, fluff, fluffy ending, feelings of insecurity, nakedness but no sex, illusions to sex

“I’m late, I know I’m late,” JJ said, rushing into the house. You stayed silent. There wasn’t much to say. “You’re soaked… did you walk?”

“Yeah, JJ. I didn’t want to stay on The Cut all night.” You deadpanned.

“Why didn’t you call somebody?”

“I did JJ! I called you! Pope! Kie! Johnny! Even Sarah. But nobody answered. Too busy helping John B find dad!”

“… Y/N…” JJ said, guilt swimming in his eyes.

“I mean, God, JJ. I don’t think I asked a lot when I asked you to pick me up.” JJ swallowed hard. He knew he fucked up. He knew he did. But they were so close on finding Big John, “And you don’t have anything to say because you know I’m right.” There was a beat of silence. “I’m going to shower. You should go back to Johnny, because he clearly needs you more than you think I need you.”

“Babe,” JJ ran a hand through his hair and over his jaw.

“Just - just - don’t.” You were growing more frustrated. “I’m going to take a shower.” You dragged yourself to the bathroom, piling you clothes by the sink. Stepping into the shower, you had it on the hottest setting your body could handle. The water pressure wasn’t the best, but you loved your little shower. Tears ran down your face, but you knew JJ wasn't going to be able to tell the difference between the tears and the water when it was on your face.

You prolonged your shower, longer than you normally would have, just so you could think everything through. Johnny was just going to have to suck it up and pay the water bill. JJ was sitting on the toilet, fiddling with his hat. He just wanting to be near you. You knew he did it as much for himself as he did you. You both thrived on both quality time and physical touch.

He handed you your towel when you opened the old curtain. “Thanks,” you muttered, squeezing your hair out and watching the drops hit the floor. You wrapped the towel around your body, drying yourself off.

You guys both made your way to the room you shared, and JJ threw an old shirt of his at you. Because you weren’t paying attention, it hit you smack in the face and fell on the floor. You stared at it before looking back to JJ. Your e/c met his blue and you both burst into laughter. JJ snagged it off the ground and pulled it over your head. A smile graced both of your faces as your eyes met.

“Hi,” you said softly.

“Hey.” He returned the gesture. You blinked, still keeping your eyes on his blue ones. After a few beats, he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry I wasn't there."

You shrugged, trying not to think about the stinging feeling in your chest. "It's fine." You said shortly.

"It's not." JJ said, rubbing your arms. "It's not fine. I told you I'd be there and I wasn't. I'm sorry."

"Well, it's done and over with now." You shrugged again before sitting on the bed. "No sense in dwelling on it."

"You think John B matters more than you do. And that's just not true." JJ responded. "I love John B, he's my brother. Always has been, always will be. But you matter to me. I love you. And I'm sorry that I made you feel as though you are less than him."

Tears welded up in your eyes. "I'm just very tired of this happening. JJ, I literally called you five times. I called Kie twice, Sarah twice, Pope twice, and Johnny three times and none of you answered. I mean, I work all the time because I have to keep groceries in the house, and the mortgage and the electricity bills paid for. Johnny takes care of the water and gas and what not, and you always, always, always do what you can, but I'm tired of being made second best just because I'm keeping us afloat."

"I'm sorry." JJ whispered, beginning to pace around the room. "I'm so so sorry." JJ sighed, mad at himself for making you feel low about yourself. "I love you, Y/N. More than I've ever loved anybody. I'm sorry that I'm bad at showing it, and I'm really sorry that I left you at The Cut today."

"I love you too, JJ. But we need to be better at being there for each other when we commit to each other." JJ pulled you to your feet and hugged you too him. Face planted against his shoulder, you wrapped your arms tightly around his waist. He threaded one hand through your hair and the other around your shoulders. You stood there hugging each other tightly for a few moments before words came to JJ.

"You don't need to be better at it, you already are great at it. I need to be better. And I will be."

You nodded slowly. "Okay."

"Let's go to bed, yeah?" JJ asked you, gesturing to the bed.

You nodded, flopping on the bed. JJ went to go on his side of the bed, but you dragged him to be on top of you.

When his eyes glanced up at you, you gave him a soft smile. "Hi."

"Hi yourself." He placed his mouth on yours and kissed you deeply. You both pressed into each other, trying to feel as much of each other as possible. Your hands ran through his hair, clutching tightly while his rans down your sides and planted themselves on your hips.

You finally pulled yourself away from JJ, panting as he kissed down your neck. What a perfect way to end the night, you thought to yourself, as JJ kissed further down. Make up sex was so underrated.

End.

lmk if you all want a part two!

#jj maybank #fanfiction #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank angst #jj maybank x routledge!reader #obx #obx fic #obx fanfiction #outer banks #outerbank #outerbanks #obx fandom

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b0ng05 · 2 days ago

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Jealous - Sam Carpenter

(Angst/Fluff)

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Prompt: Y/n gets jealous after she sees how Sam and Danny interact. On their way home, Y/n and Sam start to argue in the car.

Word Count: 1474

Also, Not Proofread 💅

Masterlist

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Sam’s foot slams down on the break and her head whips over to look at me. My eyes averting to the window, trying to avoid hers. “Did you seriously just say that?” Sam scoffs, looking at me expectantly. “Yes.” I give a curt nod, crossing my arms.

“You’re seriously starting a fight over this? Real mature.” Sam rolls her eyes, before turning her attention back to pulling out of the parking lot. “Are you kidding me Sam? I voiced my opinion on how I felt about Danny. If you can’t have an adult conversation about feelings, pull over.” I huff, biting my cheek to hold back.

“You’re getting jealous over our neighbor and I’m the bad guy?” Sam let’s out a humorless chuckle. “With the way you feed into his flirting,” I seethe, reaching to unbuckle my seatbelt but my wrist is caught by Sam before I could.

“I do not feed into his flirting! He doesn’t even flirt with me!” Sam rolls her eyes again, adjusting her hold on my wrist into holding my hand. “He does! And I don’t wanna sit here and keep arguing about it if you aren’t going to actually hear me.” My hand attempts to slip away from Sam’s but she keeps her hold tight.

Sam pulls the car over on the side of the road, putting it in park before turning her attention to me. Her hand reaches over and gently turns my chin to look at her. She takes a deep breath, collecting her words as her deep brown eyes stare into mine, calculating how to react in a productive way. She lets out a breath before speaking as softly and lovingly as possible.

“I’m sorry if you feel like I wasn’t listening to you. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. I just could never see Danny in that way, and it was just starting to frustrate me that I haven’t made you feel secure enough to trust that.” Sam explains, softly caressing my cheek. “I love you, so much. I promise nothing is gonna happen between me and Danny. Nor has anything ever happened between us. And whatever you need me to do to help you feel secure in that, I’ll do it, no hesistation.” Sam whispers, kissing my cheek delicately. Her thumb softly rubbing along my cheekbone.

My bottom lip trembles a bit and I unbuckle my seatbelt so I can lean over and hug her easier. She wraps her arms around me the best she can with the middle console between us. My face tucked into the crook her neck. “I’m sorry for arguing, Sammy. I love you too.” My words muffled as I press my face into the soft cloth of her hoodie. She lets out a light chuckle, kissing the crown of my forehead, and softly rubbing circles on the small of my back.

“Are we okay?” She whispers. I nod, giving her neck a small kiss before pulling away. I reach up and caress her cheek. “I hate when we argue.” I mumble, leaning up to kiss her. She kisses back before she gently pushes me back into my seat, her arm reaching around me to grab my seatbelt and buckle me back in.

“I feel like I need to leash you. You’re a flight risk.” Sam lightheartedly teases, moving back into position so she can drive. “If you leash me, I’ll be even more tempted to run, just so you have to chase me.” I joke, poking her bicep.

“A new way for me to get my cardio in,” Sam plays along, a subtle grin poking the corner of her lips. Her eyes focusing on the road as she begins driving again. “Yeah? And what if I drop to the floor and refuse to move?” I hypothesize, a cheeky grin on my face.

“You know I have no problem with carrying you,” Sam jests, entertwining her free hand with mine. “Yeah and that definitely won’t look strange to a passersby,” I tease, lifting our hands so I can kiss the back of Sam’s.

“I wouldn’t be too concerned with them,” Sam says, a subtle smirk lifting her lips. “Oh yeah? And why’s that?” I ask, playing with the fingers of her free hand as she drives. “I’d be too busy thinking about your punishment for being a brat in public,” Sam smirks, her hand slipping from mine to caress my upper thigh, her cold rings causing a pleasurable shiver to run straight to my core.

“What kind of punishment?” I ask, biting my lower lip as the prurient actions of her hand run higher up my thigh. Her fingers tease up and under my skirt, her hand moving to cup my core over my panties, fingers running over the dampened fabric, rolling around my clit, leaving me with a desperate desire in my lower half.

“Thinking about you bent over my lap, and me, spanking your pretty little ass red.” Sam licks her lips, her dark eyes focused on the road as she drives. I squirm in my seat, her amorous words making my desire grow tenfold. The drive had begun to feel like hours despite only being minutes. Her words creating an image in my mind that I wanted desperately to recreate.

“You like that idea, huh, pretty girl?” Sam teases, her hand slipping under my panties, her finger swiping through my folds feeling the surplus of wetness. “Mhm~,’ I let out a soft moan at her actions, my hips bucking towards her hand but before I can even hope for more, her hand is crudely swiped away. My eyes dart over to her, watching as her finger slips between her lips, tongue swirling around her digit, licking it clean as she hums at the taste. Her eyes momentarily closing before glancing at me with a dark look that I knew well.

“God, I can’t wait to get you home, honey.” Sam’s hand moves back to grab my thigh and give it a light squeeze. “Drive faster,” I mumble, flustered by the older woman. My cheeks a shade of red and my thighs clenching together.

“You don’t get to make demands, baby,” Sam smirks, her fingers teasing up and down my thigh. The torturous teasing continued as Sam drove us back home. When she finally parked the car, I was quick to remove my seatbelt and get out of the car.

“Someone’s eager,” Sam teases, slapping my ass I walk passed her to go into the lobby of the apartment building. “You can’t tease me and expect me not to dart off,” I call to her, glancing back with a mischievous smirk. I giggle as I walk faster to the elevator. “Like I said, flight risk.” Sam calls back with a grin, easily catching up with longer strides. When she gets in the elevator with me, she presses the button for our floor, waiting until the doors closed to strike. When we start to descend up, Sam pins me against the cool metal of the wall, one hand on my hip, the other resting beside my head. “Maybe the leash could still be in play here,” Sam teases. I blush as I reach up to tug her collar down for a kiss. It starts out slow but quickly heats into something much more passionate. Sadly being interrupted by the ding of the elevator doors opening.

“Come on,” Sam whispers, grabbing my hand in hers to guide us down the hallway to our apartment. I kissed along her shoulder as she unlocked the front door, “You can’t wait, can you?” Sam teases, giving a light teasing pinch to my behind as I walk through the door. I give a small yelp at the pinch, playfully smacking her hand as I turn around. “Admit it, you can’t either.” I muse, watching as she locks the door back up before she turns to me.

“Oh, baby, I never said I could.” Sam smirks, coming closer and wrapping her arms around my waist. She taps my thighs, signally me to jump. I comply and Sam easily lifts me. My legs wrapping around her waist, arms around the back of her neck as her hands rest on my ass. I playfully raise an eyebrow at her hand placement. Sam catches the look and lets out a small huff of laughter, “Can’t blame me, that skirt does things to me.”

I playfully roll my eyes at her words, kiss her cheek sweetly. “Carry me to bed already,” I tease, “Then I can do other things to you in this skirt.” Sam laughs and gives my ass a small squeeze before starting to make carry me to our bedroom. The rest of the night filled with Sam proving me to that I had absolutely no reason to be jealous over some dude.

Authors Note-

Heyyy, I'm back. Its been a hot minute, I got a job so I been a little busy. But I do have a lot of stories I'm working on, I have seen my inbox and I will be getting to requests as soon as I can. 🫶🏼

#sam carpenter x you #sam carpenter x female reader #sam carpenter x fem reader #samantha carpenter x reader #sam carpenter x y/n #samantha carpenter #sam carpenter #sam carpenter x reader

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literaryvein-reblogs · 3 days ago

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1912 Diary Entries: Franz Kafka

31 January. Wrote nothing.

25 February. Hold fast to the diary from today on! Write regularly! Don’t surrender! Even if no salvation should come, I want to be worthy of it at every moment.

26 February. Better consciousness of myself.

8 March. Day before yesterday was blamed because of the factory. Then for an hour on the sofa thought about jumping-out-of-the-window.

11 March. Yesterday unendurable.

16 March. Rather be sleepless than live on in this way.

17 March. Today, painfully tired, spent the afternoon on the sofa.

18 March. I was wise, if you like, because I was prepared for death at any moment, but not because I had taken care of everything that was given to me to do, rather because I had done none of it and could not even hope ever to do any of it.

22 March. (The last few days I have been writing down the wrong dates.)

29 March. Delighted with the bathroom. Gradual understanding. The afternoons I spent on my hair.

1 April. For the first time in a week an almost complete failure in writing. Why? Last week too I lived through various moods and kept their influence away from my writing; but I am afraid to write about it.

8 April. Saturday before Easter. Complete knowledge of oneself.

6 May. 11 o’clock. For the first time in a considerable while a complete failure in writing. The feeling of a tried man.

22 May. Yesterday a wonderfully beautiful evening with Max. If I love myself, I love him more.

25 May. Weak tempo, little blood.

1 June. Wrote nothing.

2 June. Wrote almost nothing.

6 June. Without weight, without bones, without body, walked through the streets for two hours considering what I overcame this afternoon while writing.

7 June. Bad. Wrote nothing today. Tomorrow no time.

6 July. Monday. Began a little. Am a little sleepy. Also lost among these entirely strange people.

9 July. Nothing written for so long. Begin tomorrow. Otherwise I shall again get into a prolonged, irresistible dissatisfaction; I am really in it already. The nervous states are beginning. But if I can do something, then I can do it without superstitious precautions.

7 August. Long torment.

8 August. Completed ‘Confidence Trickster’ more or less satisfactorily. With the last strength of a normal state of mind.

9 August. The upset night.

10 August. Wrote nothing.

11 August. Nothing, nothing.

15 August. Wasted day. Spent sleeping and lying down.

16 August. Nothing, either in the office or at home.

30 August. All this time did nothing.

25 September. By force kept myself from writing.

Excerpts from "The diaries of Franz Kafka 1910-1923"

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cielie-voss · 14 hours ago

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The guinea pig whisperer

Eddie Munson x fem!reader (and her guinea pigs)

Summary: When your family needs your help, you turn to your best friend Eddie Munson to take care of your beloved guinea pigs. Couldn't be that difficult, right?

Warnings: use of y/n, but other than that none I think

Wordcount: 4.4k

Taglist: @violettsoul @evileyeandthecattywhumps

Masterlist

If you want to be tagged in coming fanfics or if you want to request something, feel free to send me a dm or an ask. 🥰 Likes, comments and especially reblogs are always welcome. 🤗

“Okay, guys, we’ve got this,” Eddie said softly as he knelt down, trying to convince himself as much as the little creatures in front of him.

“We totally got this.”

Who was he kidding? He totally didn’t have this. What had possessed him to agree to this quest?

As the little furballs scurried back into their houses, teeth chattering in disapproval of the strange guy invading their space, Eddie leaned back against the rustling beanbag and sighed.

Eddie loved animals—really, he did. Sometimes, he even loved them more than people. But most animals didn’t seem to love him back. He was usually too loud, too hectic, too fidgety, and he ended up scaring them away.

“Come on, I’m not a bad guy,” he tried to convince the crested guinea pig that was cautiously sticking its nose out of the door, sniffling and clearly unimpressed with Eddie's presence.

“Hey, it’s not my fault, okay? You’re the one who needs special care. I’m just doing what I’ve been told,” Eddie said, as if reasoning with the little ball of fur would somehow help. Did the guinea pig even understand him? Probably not—it’s just a guinea pig. Guinea pigs couldn’t understand humans, right?

When you had asked him to take care of your guinea pigs for a few days while you were out of town, he figured it wouldn’t be that hard. Feed them a couple of times a day, refill their water bottle—how complicated could it be?

But, oh boy, was he wrong.

You were the most generous person he’d ever met, always caring for every creature that crossed your path. For as long as he’d known you, you’d always had special needs animals in your care. Abandoned rabbits, blind cats, deaf dogs, birds with deformed wings, abused animals—you always tried to give these innocent souls a place of refuge.

The other day, you got a call from your family, needing your help with your grandma’s funeral. In a panic, you reached out to Eddie, asking if he could take care of your beloved guinea pigs. Knowing Eddie’s kind nature and willingness to help, you entrusted him with the responsibility of looking after Elvis and the other guinea pigs in your absence.

Who could possibly refuse such a request?

Certainly not Eddie.

Before you left, you handed him a list of instructions on how to take care of the guinea pigs, especially Elvis, your oldest guinea pig who needed special attention due to his dental issues.

Veggies cut in thin slices.

He eats pretty slowly, so make sure the others don’t steal his food.

Make sure nothing gets stuck where his teeth are growing back.

Nothing complicated, right? But he hadn’t expected Elvis to be such a diva. When you led him into the living room, where the huge guinea pig cage took up half the space, the other guinea pigs had excitedly approached the glass pane enclosing the cage. But Elvis stayed at the back, laying majestically in his snuggle sack, eyeing Eddie warily, clearly unimpressed by his presence.

As soon as you left and Eddie tried to introduce himself, Elvis sprinted into one of the wooden houses, out of Eddie’s reach. Realizing this task might be more complicated than he’d thought, Eddie sat down and observed the guinea pigs for a while. Maybe they just needed to get used to his presence? Maybe they were just shy and needed to see that he wasn’t a threat?

He glanced at the list you gave him: Treats are in the drawer next to the cage.

Treats sounded like a good idea. He grabbed a handful of pea flakes and tried to lure the guinea pigs out, carefully whispering reassuring words to them as if they could understand him.

Bit by bit, the first noses peeked out of the houses, sniffing the delicious treats in his hand. But it took some more time before the first guinea pig dared to approach Eddie, sneaking up to him cautiously. Excited, Eddie held his breath, freezing like a statue so as not to scare the fragile, timid creature. Just as he was struggling to hold his breath any longer, the guinea pig grabbed one of the flakes and, with its head held high, ran back into one of the houses.

He knew he had to be patient to gain their trust, but no matter what he tried, Elvis wouldn’t come out, making the task nearly impossible.

The rest of the day, Eddie spent in the living room, switching between the couch and the bean bag next to the cage. Whenever he moved around, he made sure to be as quiet as possible. Sitting still was something Eddie wasn’t really good at—he was always fidgeting with anything he could get his hands on.

After a while, he decided to read something to them. Maybe the sound of his voice would help the piggies get used to him? At least it would help him stay still. He figured it didn’t matter what he read aloud, so he inspected the small bookshelf in the corner of the room.

“Romeo and Juliet?” He glanced over his shoulder, searching for approval.

“No, maybe… What about Dracula? No, that’s probably too scary for you guys.” His eyes scanned the other titles. “Red Dragon? No, not appropriate. The Shining? Or maybe Carrie?” He furrowed his brows as he picked up one of the books and turned it around to read the blurb.

“Goddamn, these are some pretty bloody and violent books for such a gentle girl,” he muttered, surprised by your choice in literature. He put Cujo back on the shelf before finding Howl’s Moving Castle.

That might do the trick.

To lure the piggies out of their houses, he placed a bowl of thinly sliced vegetables in the middle of the cage and sat down on the bean bag, reading to them in a soft voice. But still, Elvis remained stubborn, refusing to come out of his house.

“Damn, you really are one headstrong little guy, huh?” Eddie peeked through the entrance of Elvis’s hiding place. “I won’t hurt you. I just wanna make sure you get enough food.”

They locked eyes in a silent standoff—two stubborn souls, neither willing to give in. Eddie cocked his head, looking at Elvis with pleading puppy eyes.

“Come on, dude. Do it for Y/N,” he said, a hint of desperation in his voice, as he held out his hand, offering some pea flakes. But Elvis simply turned his back on Eddie. Groaning, Eddie leaned back into the bean bag. How was he supposed to take care of this little guy?

The next couple of hours were a trial of patience for Eddie. Bit by bit the other guinea pigs started to become comfortable around Eddie - accepting the neatly cut veggie strips he offered them in an attempt to gain their trust. They even let him touch them and ate right out of his hand after some time. But Elvis? Hell no. There was no sign he started to trust Eddie. No matter what Eddie tried - pea flakes, grapes, cucumber or even blueberries - Elvis wouldn’t even look at him.

Slowly Eddie became frustrated, even anxiously because Elvis simply wouldn’t eat anything other than hay. After countless rejections Eddie searched through your kitchen, not actually knowing what he was looking for. He let out a sigh, his fingers running through his hair, about to give up, when finally he found a big bush of parsley taking up the space of the kitchen's windowsill. “Okay, one last try” he declared and gently picked a few twigs.

With the parsley in hand Eddie sat down on the bean bag again. “Hopefully this’ll work” he said before he tried to lure Elvis out of his hiding place. And miraculously it was working. Slowly Elvis’ nose peeked out of the little plushy tunnel he was hiding in. And it didn’t take long before, paw after paw, he followed the smell of the parsley in Eddie's hand.

“So you’re just like everyone else,” Eddie stated, grinning like an idiot, “Everyone is corruptible, even a guinea pig like you.” Relieved Eddie watched the little guy munch on that parsley. The little triumph filled Eddie with so much pride, he was convinced that there was nothing stopping him from successfully completing this quest. Even though Elvis was still on high alert, inspecting Eddie attentively and freezing every now and then when Eddie dared to move ever so slightly, it was another small step in the right direction, another piece of the puzzle that was earning the trust of these tiny creatures—Elvis, most of all.

Every morning, he would sit by the cage, reading softly from Howl’s Moving Castle, carefully offering treats, and speaking in his gentlest tone. The other guinea pigs had started to warm up to him, now eagerly gathering around whenever they saw or heard him coming. But Elvis remained stubborn, only occasionally poking his nose out to observe the others before retreating back into his hideaway.

Eddie found himself growing more and more determined. There was something about the challenge that made him even more committed to winning Elvis’s trust. Maybe it was because you had entrusted him with such an important task, or maybe it was because he recognized a kindred spirit in the little guy—a fellow outcast, wary of letting others in.

On the third day, a breakthrough happened. Eddie was lying on the floor next to the cage, chin resting on his hands, his voice low and soothing as he read another chapter. He hadn’t noticed at first, but slowly, ever so slowly, Elvis began to inch closer to the entrance of his wooden house. Eddie kept reading, trying not to make any sudden movements. After what felt like an eternity, Elvis crept out just enough to sniff the air, his tiny whiskers twitching.

Eddie’s heart raced. He didn’t move, barely even breathed, as Elvis cautiously approached the bowl of veggies. The little guy sniffed around, eyes constantly flicking up to keep Eddie in sight. But eventually, he started to nibble on a piece of lettuce, his guard seemingly lowered. Eddie smiled to himself, feeling a surge of triumph. Maybe, just maybe, they were slowly starting to understand each other.

But getting Elvis to eat in his presence was one thing; getting him to trust Eddie enough to be touched was another. Every time Eddie tried to reach out, Elvis would dart back into his house, and they would be back to square one. Frustration gnawed at Eddie, but he refused to give up. He tried everything he could think of—different treats, talking to Elvis in even softer tones, staying as still as a statue whenever the guinea pig ventured out. But nothing seemed to work.

One afternoon, after another failed attempt to coax Elvis out, Eddie slumped onto the couch, feeling defeated. He had a sprig of parsley in his hand, the latest in his arsenal of treats, but Elvis wasn’t biting—literally or figuratively. Eddie absentmindedly twirled the parsley between his fingers, thinking about what he might be doing wrong. Then, a thought struck him. He remembered how you had once mentioned that animals, especially small ones like guinea pigs, relied heavily on scent. Maybe Elvis was so attached to you because he associated your scent with safety.

Eddie searched through your apartment until he found a little cupboard in the bathroom, filled with makeup, different sorts of hairspray and a few little flacons of perfume. He stared at it for a moment, the idea forming in his mind. It was ridiculous, wasn’t it? But then again, everything else had failed. What did he have to lose?

With a determined sigh, Eddie grabbed the bottle and spritzed a small amount on his hoodie. The familiar scent filled the air, a mix of something floral and earthy, like freshly cut grass. He couldn’t help but smile a little—this was so absurd it just might work.

Feeling a bit silly, but hopeful, Eddie returned to the cage. He gently placed the parsley in front of Elvis’s hideaway and then sat back, waiting. Eventually, Elvis emerged, sniffing the air as usual. But this time, something was different. His tiny nose twitched more rapidly, almost excited, and he stepped out a little farther than usual, his gaze fixed on Eddie. The guinea pig’s hesitation seemed to lessen, and to Eddie’s astonishment, Elvis slowly made his way over to him, stopping just short of where Eddie’s hand rested on the floor.

Eddie’s heart pounded as Elvis sniffed at his hand, clearly intrigued by the scent. He stayed perfectly still, allowing the little creature to take his time. Finally, with what seemed like a deep breath of resolve, Elvis nudged the parsley with his nose and then—almost miraculously—climbed into Eddie’s lap. Eddie was so shocked he barely dared to move. But Elvis, after a moment of careful observation, seemed to decide that this strange new version of Eddie was okay, settling down on his lap.

Eddie let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Gently, he raised a hand and started to stroke Elvis’s soft fur. This time, the guinea pig didn’t flinch or run. Instead, he let out a tiny, contented squeak, closing his eyes and stretching out his legs as Eddie continued to pet him. Eddie grinned like a fool, feeling like he’d just won the lottery.

Eddie had settled into a routine with the guinea pigs over the next couple of days. He'd spend his mornings preparing their veggies, carefully slicing them just the way you had shown him, then patiently coaxing Elvis out of his hideaway with a mix of treats, soft words and the scent of your perfume. Though Elvis had finally started to warm up to him, Eddie still found himself with plenty of downtime as the guinea pigs quietly went about their business.

That afternoon, as the guinea pigs dozed off after their midday snack, Eddie found himself drawn to his guitar, which he had brought along just in case he needed something to pass the time. He hadn’t played much since he’d been focused on the guinea pigs, but the itch to strum a few chords was starting to get to him. So, he grabbed his guitar and lay down on the floor, fingers absentmindedly picking at the strings.

He started with something soft, just a few random chords, not really thinking about what he was playing. The sound of the guitar strings filled the room, blending with the soft rustle of hay from the guinea pig cage. Eddie smiled to himself, feeling the familiar comfort of the guitar beneath his fingers.

But as he relaxed into the music, his fingers instinctively drifted into a familiar riff—Metallica's "For Whom the Bell Tolls." The heavy, thrumming notes reverberated through the room, and Eddie couldn’t help but get into it, his fingers moving more confidently across the strings as he lost himself in the music.

He was just starting to really enjoy himself when he noticed something strange. The peaceful quiet of the room had been interrupted by a series of sharp, disapproving clicks. Eddie paused mid-riff and looked over at the cage, where all five guinea pigs were wide awake, teeth chattering in what could only be described as intense disapproval.

Eddie raised an eyebrow, his fingers hovering above the strings. "Seriously, guys?" he muttered, half-amused, half-offended. He plucked another string experimentally, and the chattering grew louder, the guinea pigs shifting restlessly in their cage.

He chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "What, you don’t like Metallica? I thought you guys had better taste than that." But the guinea pigs weren’t having it—every time he strummed a chord, their chatter became more insistent, as if they were staging a tiny, furry protest.

Eddie couldn’t help but laugh. “Alright, alright, I get it. No Metallica,” he conceded, setting his guitar aside with a grin. “Guess you’re more into the easy-listening stuff, huh?” He rolled onto his back, looking up at the ceiling with a sigh. “Can’t believe I’m getting critiqued by a bunch of guinea pigs,” he muttered to himself, a smile still tugging at his lips.

The room fell back into a peaceful silence, the guinea pigs settling down once more as Eddie let the moment wash over him. He was still smiling, even as he turned his thoughts back to the challenge of getting Elvis to trust him completely.

A few minutes later, he picked up his guitar again, but this time, instead of metal, he gently strummed a softer melody—something calm and soothing, more to the guinea pigs' taste. The chatter subsided, and Eddie felt a small sense of victory as he noticed them relaxing again.

As the days passed, Elvis began to venture closer and closer to Eddie. The once hesitant little guinea pig now seemed less afraid of the strange man who had taken over his home. Eddie noticed the subtle changes—how Elvis would come out of his hiding spot more often, how he’d eat his veggies with less hesitation, and how he’d sometimes watch Eddie with what looked like growing curiosity.

One afternoon, after hours of reading aloud and playing soft melodies on his guitar, Eddie felt the weight of the day catching up to him. The warm afternoon sun filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. The rhythmic sounds of the guinea pigs munching on their food, coupled with the cozy warmth of the bean bag, lulled Eddie into a sleepy daze.

Before he knew it, he had dozed off, his head resting against the back of the bean bag, his breathing slow and steady.

Unbeknownst to Eddie, Elvis had also grown sleepy. The little guinea pig had gradually moved closer to the side of the cage nearest Eddie, his tiny body finally relaxing as he curled up in a pile of hay. For the first time since you had left, Elvis drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep, feeling safe with Eddie nearby.

About an hour later, Eddie stirred awake. His neck ached slightly from the angle he’d been sleeping in, but as he stretched and rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the nap had been surprisingly refreshing. He turned to check on the guinea pigs, expecting to see them scurrying around or nibbling on some hay.

But then he noticed Elvis, who was still lying in the same spot, completely still. Eddie’s smile faded as a pang of worry shot through him. He leaned closer to the cage, his heart starting to race. Elvis wasn’t moving at all.

“Elvis?” Eddie called softly, tapping the side of the cage. “Hey, buddy, you okay?”

There was no response. No twitch of the nose, no flutter of the ears—nothing. Eddie’s mind immediately jumped to the worst-case scenario. Was Elvis…? No, he couldn’t be. But the stillness, the lack of movement, made Eddie’s stomach twist in fear.

Panic set in as Eddie quickly reached out to gently pet Elvis’ white crest, his hands trembling. “Elvis, come on, don’t do this to me,” he murmured, trying to nudge the guinea pig gently. But Elvis remained motionless, his tiny body limp and unresponsive.

“Oh god,” Eddie breathed, his voice tinged with desperation. “Y/N’s gonna kill me. I’m so sorry, Elvis, I didn’t—”

He froze mid-sentence, his brain scrambling for a solution. Maybe Elvis was just in a deep sleep, right? Maybe he just needed a little incentive to wake up. Eddie’s eyes darted around the room, searching for something—anything—that might help.

Then he remembered the parsley. Seemingly Elvis’ favorite thing to snack.

Practically diving for the drawer, Eddie grabbed a sprig of parsley, his hands shaking as he brought it up to Elvis’s nose. “Come on, little guy,” Eddie begged, holding his breath and praying to whatever god might hear him right now. “I know you love this stuff. Just wake up, please.”

For a moment, nothing happened. Eddie’s heart pounded in his chest, and he was on the verge of full-blown panic. But then, just as he was about to lose hope, Elvis’s nose twitched. It was barely noticeable at first, but Eddie’s sharp eyes caught it. Then, slowly, Elvis’s whiskers twitched, and he took a long, deep sniff of the parsley.

Eddie nearly sagged with relief. “Oh, thank God,” he muttered, watching as Elvis’s eyes fluttered open, the guinea pig groggily lifting his head to nibble on the parsley. The sight of Elvis happily munching away, casually as if nothing happened, made Eddie laugh out loud, though his laughter was shaky with the remnants of his panic.

"You scared the hell out of me, you little rascal,” Eddie said, his voice filled with both amusement and lingering relief. He gently stroked Elvis’s fur as the guinea pig chewed contentedly, seemingly unaware of the scare he’d just given Eddie.

Eddie sat back on the bean bag, his heart rate gradually returning to normal as he watched Elvis eat. The little guy had just been in a deep sleep, completely comfortable in Eddie’s presence. Eddie couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride—Elvis finally trusted him enough to sleep so soundly, something that seemed impossible just days ago.

Eddie chuckled to himself, shaking his head. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?” he teased, though his tone was affectionate. “But hey, at least I know how to wake you up now.”

For the rest of the day, Elvis stayed close to Eddie, either nestled in his hoodie or perched on his chest as Eddie lay on the couch. They watched TV together, with Eddie flipping through channels until he found an old movie that wouldn’t be too loud or scary.

When you returned that evening, the first thing you noticed was the unusual stillness in your living room. Expecting the usual rustling of hay and the soft chattering of your guinea pigs, you tiptoed in, not wanting to disturb whatever was happening. As you rounded the corner, the sight before you made you stop in your tracks, your heart melting instantly.

Eddie Munson, the chaotic, metal-as-fuck guy you knew, was stretched out on your couch, his wild curls splayed out on the cushion, with Elvis nestled snugly inside his hoodie, just below his chin. The two of them were watching some cheesy sitcom, but it was clear they were both on the verge of dozing off. Elvis looked completely at ease, his tiny nose twitching as he snuggled deeper into Eddie’s hoodie.

You had to stifle a giggle, half from the absurdity of the scene and half from the warmth it brought to your chest. You almost didn’t want to disturb them, but curiosity got the better of you. “How the hell did you do that?” you whispered, eyes wide with amazement. Elvis had always been so fixated on you, never letting anyone else get near him, let alone cuddle up like that. Not even your closest friends or family had managed to gain his trust like this.

Eddie stirred at the sound of your voice, blinking groggily as he turned his head to look at you. A slow, sleepy grin spread across his face when he saw the look of disbelief on yours. He glanced down at Elvis, who remained contentedly curled up, his little body rising and falling with Eddie’s steady breaths. “Oh, this?” Eddie said with a playful smirk, his voice still heavy with sleep. “I found out he’s a sucker for parsley. And, well… your perfume.”

Your eyes widened as you stepped closer, leaning in to catch the familiar scent lingering on Eddie’s hoodie. Sure enough, there it was - your perfume, the one you always wore. The realization hit you like a warm wave, making your heart flutter. “You’re wearing my perfume?” you asked, half amused, half touched by the gesture.

Eddie chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “What can I say? Figured if I couldn’t be you, I could at least smell like you. Gotta say, I think it’s working. Might have to start wearing this stuff all the time, I think it suits me, don’t you?” He winked, clearly enjoying your reaction.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Ridiculously charming,” he teased, raising an eyebrow as if daring you to disagree. “I mean, it worked, didn’t it? This little guy’s all about the Munson charm now.” He gently stroked Elvis’s fur with the back of his finger, the guinea pig letting out a contented little purr in response.

“Looks like he’s not the only one,” you muttered under your breath, though a smile tugged at your lips as you said it.

Eddie’s grin widened as he caught your words, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “Is that so?” he drawled, his tone light but his gaze warm.

You rolled your eyes, but there was no denying the flutter in your stomach. “Maybe,” you replied, your voice just above a whisper.

For a moment, the room was quiet, filled only with the soft sounds of the sitcom. You gently draped a blanket over Eddie and Elvis, who both looked completely content in their shared little cocoon. The sight of Eddie, usually so loud and full of energy, lying there with your favorite guinea pig snuggled up against him, melted away any lingering doubts you had about him.

“Thanks for taking care of them,” you said softly, your hand lingering on the blanket for just a moment longer than necessary.

“Anytime,” Eddie replied. “I kinda get it now. Why you’re so into these little guys. Elvis is pretty cool once you get past the whole ‘tiny ball of anxiety’ thing.” His voice was sincere, though the playful glint in his eye remained. “But just so you know, I’m expecting a bonus for going above and beyond the call of duty here.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? And what kind of bonus are we talking about?”

He grinned, tilting his head slightly as he looked up at you. “How about dinner? You know, as a thank you. And maybe you could tell me more about this perfume - I’m thinking of making it my signature scent.”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Dinner, huh? I suppose I owe you that much.”

Eddie’s smile softened, his teasing fading into something more genuine. “You don’t owe me anything,” he said quietly, “but I wouldn’t mind spending more time with you. And Elvis, of course. We make a pretty good team.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and as you looked down at the two of them, the warmth in your chest spread until it felt like you might burst. Maybe there was something special here - something you hadn’t expected to find.

“Well,” you said, your voice soft, “I guess dinner it is.”

xxx

I wrote this just for myself because I miss my little diva so so much. But I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. The picture above is one of my favorites, Elvis in his favorite blanket, sleeping on my hand.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson one shot #eddie stranger things #guinea pigs #eddie munson x fem!reader

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fanbasetwo · 2 days ago

Note

Hii love! I couldn’t tell if your asks are open or not but I wanted to request reader having their first kiss with hao </3☹️

I love your writing so much btw! 🤍

NOTE : my asks are always open but you can still check it out on the pinned post where I do mention the ask status (if it's closed or not) this is my first hao ask btw + tysm for the compliment, I'm glad you enjoy my works 💕 MASTERLIST!!

You and Zhang Hao had been together since high school. When it was time to grow up and explore job opportunities, the two of you managed to make long-distance work, though you’d always joked about who’d be the one to kiss first once you reunited. When Hao finally moved back to your city after landing a job, things shifted—not in a bad way, but definitely in a new direction. You both decided to live together because, honestly, after five years of dating, it didn’t feel like a big leap.

Still, there were moments of awkwardness, like when you’d share the same bed at night. Sure, you’d cuddle, but neither of you ever took it further—not because you didn’t want to, but because you were both too shy to take the first step. Every touch felt hesitant, every glance carrying the weight of unspoken feelings.

“Hao?” you whispered, nudging him gently. He was sprawled on the bed after a long day at work, clearly exhausted. You both split rent evenly, and lately, you’d noticed how much effort he put into his job. He hummed softly, his body shifting as he turned on his side to face you. Without a word, he pulled you closer, his arm draped around your waist.

“Did you have a hard time at work?” you asked, your voice barely above a murmur as your sleepy eyes met his. He blinked at you, his gaze warm yet hesitant, before one hand reached up to cup your cheek.

“It’s not work,” he said quietly, shaking his head slightly.

“Then what is it?” you pressed, your curiosity piqued.

He hesitated for a moment, his thumb gently brushing against your skin. “It’s about us,” he admitted, his voice soft but tinged with uncertainty. “Are you... not attracted to me anymore?” The question caught you off guard, and you frowned, trying to piece together why he’d think that. “Of course I’m attracted to you,” you replied quickly, your tone laced with confusion. “Why would you feel otherwise?”

He let out a small sigh, looking almost embarrassed. “Because... you never, you know... take any hints. And you don’t really drop any hints either. About wanting... my kisses.”

His words trailed off, his cheeks dusted with a faint pink as he avoided your gaze. You stared at him for a moment before giggling softly, the nervousness between you both dissolving just a little. “Is it because I smell?” he asked suddenly, his tone half-serious, making you laugh even harder.

“Hao, no!” you managed to say through your giggles, shaking your head. “I’m just... nervous.”

“Then... can we do it now?” Hao's voice was barely a whisper, his nose brushing against yours as his hand rested gently on your cheek.

“Right now?” you echoed, your heart racing at his sudden question. His shy yet eager nod made your cheeks flush, and though you wanted to take the lead, the thought itself made you feel timid.

“Okay,” you murmured, giving a small nod of your own.

Neither of you moved at first, the shyness between you lingering in the space where your breaths mingled. It was as though a silent agreement passed between you: close your eyes and let it happen naturally. You squeezed your eyes shut, nerves buzzing through your entire body. And then, it happened—a soft, fleeting brush of his lips against yours. The touch sent a jolt down your spine, warm and electric, leaving you breathless even in its gentleness.

Both of you were lying on your sides, facing each other, and though the moment was slightly awkward, it was perfect in its own way. You tried to remember the romantic scenes you'd seen in dramas and movies, hesitantly capturing his upper lip between your own. Hao followed suit, tentatively suckling on your bottom lip, his movements clumsy yet tender. The kiss was inexperienced, both of you unsure of what to do next, but that only made it more endearing.

Your lips moved together in a rhythm that was anything but polished, yet the emotions behind it made your chest feel tight in the best way. With every soft press, every subtle tilt of your heads, you felt your connection deepen.

It wasn’t perfect or seamless, but it was real, filled with the quiet love and nervous excitement you’d built over the years.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, faces mere inches apart as you opened your eyes. Hao’s lips were slightly parted, his cheeks glowing with a faint blush as he grinned at you.

“That was...” he began, trailing off as he searched for the right word.

You giggled, touching your lips lightly. “Messy?”

“Perfect,” he corrected, his gaze soft and adoring.

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seitmai · 2 days ago

Text

Many thoughts

You want more than just his hands. You want a lot more than his hands. And when you’re at home, and should be sleeping, or at the very least on your knees in prayer, all you can think about is his mouth between your legs. His hands on your thighs, pulling your legs further apart to accommodate the width of his body. They way he’ll rise over you, and he’ll lay his cock over your mound. Begging you to look and see just how deep he’s going to be.

😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

Slinging the covers off your legs, you down at your modest nightgown. This isn’t good enough for Ari. Not that it’s ever stopped him before, but you don’t want to be hidden with him. You don’t want to look different with him. You want him to stare at you with wide eyes because you do have skin showing. Others could see, but you are only concerned about where his eyes are. You wanted to feel pretty with Ari. Look in the way that he makes you feel.

This is such a valid feeling!

“Did you choose those filthy books on purpose?” Of course she did. Those books gave you so many ideas, confused your brain, and made you long for something you didn’t fully understand. And Ari curses himself for how feral that thought makes him. You had a filthy mind from words alone, and he gets to nurture that part of you. Nobody else.

Whoops 🤭

“She’s a sexually frustrated woman, living in a community that tells her sex is bad — yeah,” She smiles, nodding her head proudly. “That woman needed to read those books, and she needed to know that her sexuality is beautiful. Now, how has that helped you out?” “One of them has a reverse harem,” Her mouth turns into an o, and then she smiles sweetly, only a little bit sorry. “You can’t do that. She,” Ari didn’t want to betray any of your trust, even if he knew his sister wouldn’t judge you. “She knew nothing. Multiple men is going too far.”

Oh come on Ari, those are some good books 😉

“Okay, so I won’t send the one with a gun kink,” Ari knows that Hannah’s mouth is turning into a wide grin. He knows how she is, and how she enjoys making him squirm.

Hahah love her 😂

“You’ve told me far too much information. Certain things as your brother I should not know,” Hannah shrugs. Her sole reason for living is to annoy her brother, and making him uncomfortable.

Sibling core 😂

“I kinda employ her. But she arrives before the stupid heads that work outside do. It gives me a chance to,” he smiles seeing your figure coming up the driveway. “Gives me a chance to twirl her around and smile before I softly kiss her lips.”

That's so cute 🥹🥰

He’s never had to teach, and still learn. He’s never really looked at sex as anything but pleasure. Your pleasure is the most fascinating thing to see, and feel. Coupled with the sounds that you try to hide. His favorite is how reactionary your body is because you just want to feel. But your ultimate curiosity is his drug. He can’t get enough. He doubts he ever will. But he will forever try.

Urgh he is so dreamy

“I don’t feel Amish anymore though,” it’s not so much as changing for him as it is, realizing that for most it’s just a stupid little dress. For you it’s taking back your womanhood that nobody ever gave you. You may hate the dress on your body, but you’ve never been given the choice of that dress. so you don’t know if it’s any better or worse than anything else.

I love that she gets to make this choice and (re)claim their power

“Can I get waxed today?” His eyes blow wide as he stares at you. “We’re going to town, yes?” “We’re going out of town,” he didn’t want to risk you getting caught, and prematurely being shunned by everything you’ve ever know. “Then I want waxed.”

Bold choice 🫡 I would not choose getting waxed as like my first thing haha

“Ari?” He hums as he wraps the bra around your body, “I just thought I would let you know that I’m always wetter when I’m around you,” he stands up straight just to give you complete eye contact. “Do you want to feel?” he shakes his head no, but you see he desperately wants to say yes. “Can I feel you?”

I love that she just says these things out loud🤭

“I’m trying,” he presses the softest kiss to your heated skin, and your back bows, arching into him, and his free arm goes around you to hold you up. He pushes your body more into his. “Ari,” your voice is almost a sob, and he moves his hand, rolling his body into yours. His bulge adding the slightest friction and pressure to your needy cunt. The absence of sex, making this so much more appealing to him. It’s the discovery of the action.

😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

“I’m not really taking my clothes off. Just,” you exhale slowly. You’re going to be stepping out with the English, without looking like you’re Amish. It slowly sinks in. You start with the bonnet, and Ari looks towards you, gawking. You choose to ignore him, while you adjust to feeling a bit more exposed. You’ve never removed the bonnet since being with him. It feels foreign, and yet, right, “The road is in front of you.” Ari stops the truck abruptly, putting it in park. He sits back a bit more comfortably, and turns to look at you. “Ari, drive,” you don’t mean it. You want him to look. “I’m just looking,” his eyes go up and down your body, and you peer at him through your lashes. “C’mere,” he curls his finger, beckoning you to him, but also, you into him. Upon seeing him, he looks like the most tender predator. Wanting to relax his prey before he devours you, “I’m going to kiss you.”

Don't kiss and drive ☝🏻🤭

There’s so much to see. So much to taste. So much to hear. You’re just overwhelmed with everything that is going on. Smiling at Ari freely as you walk through the mall. Letting him hold onto your hip, or hand. Whatever he wants. You like that he’s an overly touchy, and affectionate person, and how alert he is of everyone around you. You didn’t even care if he asserted his dominance and claim on you.

They are both so proud of being together out and about 🥰

“You don’t have to change anything, you know that, right?” “I want to get some razors,” you respond with finality. Nobody is asking or telling. It’s what you want to do. The freedom to make decisions for yourself. The freedom to make the choice on what you want to do. And you want to shave your legs. At least once. Maybe try makeup. Maybe try writing your own stories. Or watching a movie. “I just want to try everything.”

Yes 👏🏻

“Only for you,” if you could pout, you would. All you know is you need relief. And your answers are fuel to Ari’s restlessness to just take you. He would spend on night on his knees worshiping at your altar if that’s what you wanted. He would pray for you, bless you, you are his religion at this point.

🤭🤭🤭

Your body stiffens as it heats up, “You look so pretty when you’re about to lose control. The pressure and pleasure keeps building. Climbing,” your body is on autopilot as sounds and words wail out of your mouth that you have never heard. “Not stopping up,” something in your body snaps as a raging euphoria courses through your veins like blood, “Until you jump off that peak. What a good girl,” he praises you for reaching the finish line.

His descriptions is so 😮‍💨🥵🤤

How I'm Looking At You, Part 6

Summary: you go on a date

Pairings: Ari Levinson X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, teasing, anticipation, fingering, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 6.8K

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

You can’t stop smiling. Smiling doesn’t even cover it. You’re always beaming from ear to ear. You can barely close your eyes without seeing Ari’s face. Feeling him all over your body. Obviously the sexy parts of your relationship are invigorating. But even without that, you still see his face, and hear his voice. His kindness, and his never judging you. Eventually in your daydreams you feel his hands all over you.

You don’t have to look, you can feel the weight of his heavy girth, and just know how deep he’s going to be. But you’re a curious kitten, and you have to look, and you chirp. Whimpering, and pawing at him because you don’t think you can take it all. And so softly, but with that deep timbre, he assures you, “We’ll make it fit.”

Everything is about the both of you. You sigh in frustration, pulling your hands out of your panties as you stare up at the ceiling. Nothing quite feels like Ari. Your fingers aren’t quite the same as his. And part of the appeal of having him with you is his breath, and his voice. But also, the weight of him. You haven’t had too much of him on you. Even just him leaning over you on the counter felt heavenly.

You’re glad Ari stopped things yesterday. Once you got away from him, and could breathe on your walk home, it felt right for him not to have had sex with you. Sex. Fuck. Rail. Rut. So many colorful words for just him coming into you. You wanted it. Wanted all of it. Wanted to explore all the things that the books talked about. And you also want to just listen to Ari about ’out there’.

The real world, outside of the community. It’s what you want. But every time you go out in public, you get gawked at because of the dress, and the bonnet. If you want to have a normal date with him, you can’t look like you.

You wanted to feel pretty with Ari. Look in the way that he makes you feel. He makes you feel all swarmmy and warm in your belly. This bubbly feeling is always in your gut, and then a deep need in your core. A rapid flutter of your nether region whenever you see him. You want him. And you enjoy him when he’s not making your brain fuzzy. He’s also taken up for you which is more than you could say about the so called men in your community.

It’s easy, while you’re laying in bed to think you’re going to just ride off into the sunset with Ari. But then you hear the snore of your father, and know that you could never come back and truly be welcomed again. If they even knew what you were doing you’d be shunned, and labeled a harlot. You were no good for marriage.

To Amish man. You weren’t the most desired to Amish men, and if they knew what you and Ari are doing, you would be useless. But you’ve never been useless to Ari. So that settles that. Ari was going to have all of you. For as long as he would have you. You sigh. If Ari grew tired of you, and you couldn’t come back to the community, would you be okay? You’re more educated than most of the women here. Definitely more read — but you didn’t want to tell them that.

Before you fully decide you’re ready to leave with Ari, you need to know more. You want to feel more. You desire all of him. But his heart is what you really want.

Ari pulls away from the window, scowling as he talks to his sister, “When is she getting there? And is it dark outside? You should drive her there, instead of her walking. And how are those books working out for you?” She giggles on the line, while Ari growls in frustration. “What?”

“You’re very strange,” Ari starts, narrowing his eyes as he stares out the window. His sister is too small with too big of a personality. But Hannah meant well, even if she was too personal. “What I can say is she reads all this, and has all these thoughts running through her head, and she’s just swimming in a sexual awakening. You didn’t have to go so hard on her.”

“Like which book?” She wiggles her eyebrows again, but she knows her brother has too many lines drawn when it comes to his sex life. For her, it even wasn’t about his sex life as much as realizing her brother is falling in love. He’s been given the time to fall because you haven’t jumped into sex too quickly.

“One of them has a reverse harem,” Her mouth turns into an o, and then she smiles sweetly, only a little bit sorry. “You can’t do that. She,” Ari didn’t want to betray any of your trust, even if he knew his sister wouldn’t judge you. “She knew nothing. Multiple men is going too far.”

“Okay, so I won’t send the one with a gun kink,” Ari knows that Hannah’s mouth is turning into a wide grin. He knows how she is, and how she enjoys making him squirm.

“Have you read this?” He doesn’t know why he asked. He just blurted it out, and now that it’s out there, he can’t take it back.

“Yes, It’s quite nice.”

“You’ve told me far too much information. Certain things as your brother I should not know,” Hannah shrugs. Her sole reason for living is to annoy her brother, and making him uncomfortable.

“Is she there yet? You know her schedule?” Ari nods his head even though his sister can’t see him. He knew everything. Except what you thought about when you are alone.

Hannah sits quietly for a moment. Smiling at knowing just how happy her brother is. “Did you get my package?”

“It wasn’t addressed to me,” he responds flatly. He’s ready to let her go so he can give you the undivided attention you deserve.

“Your girlfriend really wouldn’t like me sending that to her house,” Ari’s eyes go wide, gasping, “It’s not lingerie. Most people would just consider it a dress,” Ari moans as he imagines you in a summer dress. He didn’t even care what color, or what it was supposed to be called, but the idea of seeing so much of your skin on display for him, and having people around that could see, but could not touch.

“You are a horn dog. But yeah, the package is plenty of clothes for her.”

“Hannah, you’re very weird sometimes, but I appreciate you. Now, I’ve got to go,” she mumbles something in the background about Ari being a simp, and maybe he is. Maybe, just maybe, he found someone worth all of it. Worth going against everything he thought was who he is.

And When you walk through the door, he knows he’s been lying to himself this entire time. But only because it was never you. There was never a woman whose eyes shined up at him the way yours do. Never was there someone that had a smile that literally radiated throughout your body. And he has never picked someone up and twirled them around, and he does with you every single day. Never has had a woman fold herself into him, and giggle against his skin. It’s the simple things. It’s you.

“Good morning to you, too,” your laughter sings up at him. “So what are we doing today?”

“You’re not going to be working in the kitchen all day,” you cock an eyebrow up to look at him, and he bashfully looks away. You’re not quite sure why it’s so cute, but also empowering knowing that you make Ari feel fuzzy. “Oh, my sister, she sent you a package. I might know what is in there, and I just want you to know you don’t have to feel pressured.”

“Did she get me a butt plug?” Ari looks away again, shaking his head with a smile, “I was wondering how close you English people can get with your siblings. Can I?” You’d noticed the giant box on his couch, but chose to ignore it. As soon as Ari nods his head, you spring into action, rushing over to the box. You’re sure whatever you’re doing is a sin, but pure excitement and joy just make sense. Someone has sent you a gift, and you’re just showing your appreciation.

The more time you spend with Ari the more you realize that the out of touch nature of your community is way overrated. You’ve never felt so much at ease as you do with him. Free to be who you want to be. He allows you to explore things you may like. Your father isn’t a tyrant like some of the men here, but he had his flaws. Sure Ari does, too. You’re sure you’ll see them eventually. But Ari seems to have your best interest.

Opening up the box, you squeal. Taking a look back at him before lifting it in your arms. “They’re going to be on the east field?” The furthest field away from the house. You’d wondered how you were going to get clothes, especially to surprise Ari, but his sister took care of that for you. He gives you a nod, and you start towards the stairs. “Can we do something today?”

“What did you have in mind, Darling?”

“A date?” He grins, and nods his head. Laughing when you squeal again. “I’ll put this under my dress. I can take it off when we get away from here?”

“I’ll make breakfast,” you squeal again. Your feet tapping in excitement before heading towards your room. He was going to be out with you in public. Laying the box on the bed, you rifle through each piece. Running your fingers over the different fabrics, and colors. Marveling at how well they look against your skin. Ari is going to get to see you without a bonnet. He’s going to see your legs, and arms, and cleavage.

He was going to see you as his equal. Nobody is going to gawk at you, point their finger, and make you feel like a science experiment. You’re going to be normal out there. You’ve always been different, and it’s honestly time to admit that you didn’t belong here. Even without Ari. You haven’t been happy for a long time. You’ve been starving for an escape, and release.

Your fingers stop on a green frock. It feels right. It will cover a bit, so you won’t have to feel too uncomfortable for your first time in English clothes. You’ve read enough books to know the thin straps will make for an easy pull down. Not that you’re expecting anything. And Ari wouldn’t do anything you weren’t comfortable with. But it could be an option.

You inhale sharply, and let it release slowly. Starting to undo your dress before you lose your cool. Glancing into the mirror, you shriek. “Ari!”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean — I didn’t want to startle you. Breakfast is finished cooking,” you bite at your lip, and nod your head. Looking at your reflection before submissively looking towards the floor, “You don’t have to change who you are for me.”

“Can I help?” He peers at you through his lashes, no bit of that predatory bear can be seen on him. It’s almost childlike, his question. Nodding your head, you spin around to face away from him. His fingers slide down the expanse of your spine. Leaving a trail of goose pimples in their wake, and making breathing more difficult.

It’s too quiet in this tiny room, and you’re sure that neither of you are in taking oxygen. He unfastens the safety pin, and lays it on the dresser. Pulling apart your dress, he watches the heavy fabric fall to the ground, and he finally exhales on your bare skin. The warmth of his breath heating up more than your skin. Peeking behind you, he’s in such deep concentration. Struggling to keep his hands by his side as he stares at you in just panties.

“I have to,” you gulp, wrapping your arms around your bare chest. “I need to put on the other — the other - other panties. Will you choose a set?”

He clears his throat, nodding rapidly as he turns to walk to your drawers. Before you had water to separate you and Ari. Now you have nothing. A bed mere feet away, and you feel so vulnerable in this amount of undress. “What about white ones?” You whisper, ‘yes’, and give him a smile as he holds them out to you, but you shake your head no. “What is it?”

“Can you put them on me?” You’re a little minx that has his cock throbbing, and swelling in his jeans. Instead of responding he sinks to his knees, and you spin around to face him, and Ari reaches up. Hooking his fingers around the panties that you’ve made, he pulls them down. Stopping when you're uncovered.

Ari presses a chaste kiss to your mound before his tongue darts out of his mouth. He runs the muscle through your split, and you whimper. Gripping onto his hair, you attempt to hold him there, but he pulls back, “Breakfast is getting cold,” smirking, he pulls those panties fully down, tapping on each foot for you to lift it out of the undergarment before he tosses them aside. “Let me see.”

His eyes roam up your naked body, stopping on your face as you drop your arms. Standing completely nude before him, and he’s fully dressed. The complete vulnerability and embarrassment adding to how utterly sexy this is. His cock may be pressing up against his jeans and ready to bury himself in you, but he's still in control. His eyes follow down every curve of your body before he holds open the panties. And you step into them.

His fingertips feel like a paintbrush moving up your skin, and once he covers your pussy back up, he presses the softest kiss against your covered flesh. “Ari?”

“Yes, Darling,” he keeps his face pressed up against your core, breathing your scent in deeply.

“Do you think I should shave?”

“I truly do not care,” that didn’t help.

“Would you show me?”

“How to shave your pussy?” You nod your head, among other things. You wouldn’t mind if he just helped you shave everything. He grunts as he stands, “Is that what you want to do?”

“I’d like to try it. Maybe I should wax it?”

“As long as you know, I don’t care. Whatever you feel comfortable with.”

“Can I get waxed today?” His eyes blow wide as he stares at you. “We’re going to town, yes?”

“We’re going out of town,” he didn’t want to risk you getting caught, and prematurely being shunned by everything you’ve ever know.

“Then I want waxed.”

“Okay,” giggling, you wrap your arms around his neck. “Let's finish getting you dressed. And we’ll go eat.”

“Darling, you’re killing me here. But go ahead. Touch me, and see just how your teasing ass has got me all riled up this early in the morning,” your eyes roll up to meet him. You’re constantly reminded of just how giant he is compared to you. How much he towers over you, and that thought alone makes you want to melt into him and let him hold you all day. “Go on,” he pleads.

Your hand lifts, and barely grazes over his bulge, causing his eyes to flutter. A haggard breath pushes out his lips, and you let your hand consume him. Laying your hand over the tight to the angry cock of Ari. You gulp at his size. The warmth. The pulsing. He is so heavy. Whimpering, you try to grip him through his jeans. Smiling when his mouth drops open. “You look pretty like that,” Ari opens his eyes to smirk at you.

“I don’t know if you can fit inside of me.”

“It’ll be difficult,” he whispers before cupping your pussy quickly, and you struggle to breathe, “Shh,” he steps closer to you, using his nose to pet over your neck. You lean, giving him easier access, “Breathe.”

“I’ll make it fit if I have to,” his voice is broken, and you pout up at him. Even just his breath on you is such a taunt of something you desire, and don’t understand. “Darling, you should get dressed, so we can eat, and go out for a long long day.”

“Okay,” he steps away from you too soon causing you to sway back and he chuckles. “Don’t be cruel.”

“I don’t think I’m the one being cruel. You’re standing there with nothing but a bra and panties. I know you’re soaked, heated, and throbbing. And you just hand your hand rubbing on my cock. Who is cruel now?” He stands there smiling at you as you reach for the dress you intend on wearing.

“I want this to be a surprise,” he bows, and leaves you alone to get dressed again. Wondering exactly what you’re going to look like. What you’re going to feel like. He is desperate for you, and also getting turned on more by the waiting. It’s an exploration of who you are, and what your body can do. It’s everything. And so much more than sex. It’s primal. It’s — love.

“Should you be watching the road?” He looks quickly back to the road, but his eyes switch towards you again. He is struggling to keep looking at the road when you’re in the process of shedding your Amish dress. It’s unfair that he can’t watch, “Ari!”

“What?”

Ari stops the truck abruptly, putting it in park. He sits back a bit more comfortably, and turns to look at you. “Ari, drive,” you don’t mean it. You want him to look.

“You’re distracting me by looking so beautiful,” your cheeks flare with heat, and you bashfully look away. Being able to feel his heated gaze on your back. The tension and heat is palatable in this small cab. “Are you going to take the dress off?”

Inhale. Exhale.

Turning your back to Ari, you peek over your shoulder, “Can you help again?” He responds by reaching up to the safety pin. Undoing it slowly before he slides his hands under the dress at the neck. Grazing over your skin as he removes the potato sack from your shoulders. His throat is so loud, gulping and trying to show some restraint with how much of your skin is showing.

Lifting up, you pull the ugly thing off you. Twisting straight in your seat, you stare out the windshield, struggling to look at him. “Should we not be driving?”

“I’m just looking,” his eyes go up and down your body, and you peer at him through your lashes. “C’mere,” he curls his finger, beckoning you to him, but also, you into him. Upon seeing him, he looks like the most tender predator. Wanting to relax his prey before he devours you, “I’m going to kiss you.”

“Okay,” and his lips slot against yours with no warning. Taking the last breath out of your body. It’s so soft and sensual, and you want more. You maneuver yourself onto your knees, inching your body closer to him. Closer. And then his hand pulls you harder, wanting you to be on top of his faster. He guides you to straddle his lap, and his hands settle on your hips, coaxing you to gyrate on him, and you take more. Rapidly rolling your hips, and moaning at the feeling.

Ari’s tongue tickles on your lip, and you open up. Granting him access, while your lungs scream for air that you don’t want to give them. You don’t want to waste any time apart from him. If you pass out from the lack of oxygen, it will be worth it.

“Get out of the fucking road!” The car behind you blares on their horn, and you jump away from him. Not embarrassed as much as you’re giggling. Your body is on fire. Slicked up, and humming from him, “Move!”

“I told you that you shouldn’t stop in the road,” Ari rolls his eyes as he puts the truck into gear. Letting it roll slowly down the gravel. “Do you think they know?” The last thing you want is to barely get out of the community, and someone see you grinding on Ari while making out with him.

“Nobody is ever going to know. And nobody should even care.”

You watch every woman here. Seeing the way that they walk, and talk. How they react with their significant other, but there is one thing that bothered you all day, apart from the awkward and exhilarating waxing. It had been a wonderful day with Ari smiling and laughing with you. Even getting to try on some more dresses for him. And still one thing remained.

“Do you have a bathtub in your house?” Ari’s brows lift up. His smile crooks to the side, and he nods his head.

“I also have running water in my house, but we don’t have to tell anyone that. Why are you asking, Darling?”

“I’ve never shaved,” he nods. When silence surrounds Ari, it’s a lack of not knowing what to say, or how to approach you. “Do you have razors at your house?” he shakes his head no. “We should get some razors. And the creamy stuff.”

“You don’t have to change anything, you know that, right?”

“I want to get some razors,” you respond with finality. Nobody is asking or telling. It’s what you want to do. The freedom to make decisions for yourself. The freedom to make the choice on what you want to do. And you want to shave your legs. At least once. Maybe try makeup. Maybe try writing your own stories. Or watching a movie. “I just want to try everything.”

Ari is his usual self. Smiling and nodding his head.

This could cut you. It’s supposed to rid your skin of hair. A little bit of hair. Not too much because it’s only scratching the surface. But how does one hold their leg? How are you supposed to do anything when the water feels this nice? And you didn't have to boil it, you just got in and it’s fascinating.

“Ari?”

“Yes?” His voice is way too close. He’s just on the other side of the door, and you’re in here with bubbles and a razor. The door is now his enemy, but it’s separating him from you, “Darling?”

“Can I cut myself with this?” He’d never forgive himself if you cut your leg.

“Yeah. Do,” you hear a slight tap on the door, due to his head pushing on it. “I mean would you — um like, what I mean to say is…”

“Can you help me?” The door opens immediately, and you thank the bubbles for covering you up. Between his look of shock, and his roaming eyes, you feel beyond exposed. And you like it, “That was quick.”

“I was leaning my head against the door. I’ve been a bit concerned,” he doesn’t look concerned. He looks horny. His pants tenting again as you lift your leg. “I’ve been very very concerned with your well being, and not knowing what to do, or how to help.”

This is the hottest thing he’s ever seen. Bubbles cover your curves, while leaving just the right amount of skin exposed. And your leg propped up on the edge of the tub has him ready to blow a load just looking at you. He’s been on edge all day. First it was just removing the shell of a life you are ready to leave behind, and now it’s you looking like a siren, and guiding him to his death.

But today, it was the way that dress swished around as you walked. Or when you would bend over, and it would hike up your body. He slyly stood behind you so you could browse the shelves. Nobody else was going to look at you, but he did look cheekily. Imagined himself rucking the dress up to the swell of your ass. Maybe even press his hard length into your warmth. You made today difficult, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

And then, your little minx self had to have a hot dog. Had to. You insisted. Did you understand how suggestive that was, and it shouldn’t have been? He was ready to push you to your knees, and make you swallow every inch of his cock just so he could see tears in your eyes.

He’s currently exhausted because his thoughts range from purely just watching you discover your likes and dislikes, to the depraved thoughts of him sinking into your wet heat for the first time. The tears, the stretch, the inevitable blood, and the way that you’ll look up at him in confusion and love. Feeling beyond full with his girth, but hopefully you feel the — the something from him.

He can’t wait until he gets to kiss all over your body. Spreading so much passion over your skin. Making you soft and pliable. Spending so much time getting you worked up and relaxed that you open up easier. The taste of your skin is going to be heavenly.

“Ari, just breathe,” you giggle, biting on your lip like the cutest devil he’s ever seen. Dipping his hand into the water, he gives you a little splash. His own laughter erupts in the bathroom. “Isn’t that what you tell me?”

“Yes, but you don’t need to be using my words of wisdom against me,” you have truly rendered him speechless, and he wants to do this with you every single day for the rest of his life.

“Does it bother you that I’m in this bathtub naked?” He shakes his head. There is nothing about this moment that is bothering him. Making his resolve a bit harder, yes. Making his body uncomfortable with the wait, of course. And he’ll continue to wait.

He looks at you through his lashes before he holds up a hand, “Gimme your hand,” you do as you're told, and he presses your soaked bubbly hand on his crotch, “Do you think it bothers me?”

“I think you should get in the tub with me,” his eyes slowly close, and he takes three calculated breaths. “Nothing has to happen. But wouldn’t it be easier for you to sit behind me and show me how to shave,” Ari breathes a few beats before he’s lifting the bottom hem of his shirt. Stepping himself, while you hungrily watch.

Standing up he undoes his jeans, and rips them down. You don’t cower away. You stay staring at his body in awe. Your eyes follow the lines of his chest, all the way down to his cock that is at full mast. “You’re not going to touch me just yet. Scoot up.”

You lean forward, and let him settle behind you before you melt into his chest, “This is nice,” he’s so soft as his hands explore your curves. Ari ghosts his lips over your temple. His ministrations are so slow and calculated. His nose nuzzles into your neck as his kisses up the sensitive column, “I’ve never taken this much time on a woman.”

“How many were there?”

“None matter now,” you try to remain calm. Try to not let it bother you. Would knowing make it any better? Men like Ari didn’t come around often. And sure you have his attention now, but how long would it last?

Lifting up his left hand out of the water, you play with each of his fingers. Using your own to outline the digits, to see how much bigger his hand is than yours. “Ari, I don’t know if I want multiple partners.”

“I just want you.”

You aren’t sure if he understands. You want him, and still need to protect your heart. “No, I mean — I don’t want to sleep around. I don’t think that I would want to,” you sigh. Just let it out, “I want sex to mean something. I want it, but I’m glad you didn’t give it to me the other day. I want just one person.”

“I can live with that,” twisting your neck, you move your vision over his face, “I told you, I’m not in a rush. I’m enjoying this more innocent part of our relationship,” there is nothing innocent about this. It’s raw, and heated, and vulnerable. “And there’s so many ways to get off without sex. There’s so many things for us to talk about. And I believe I said I’d shave your legs. Put your leg on the ledge.”

His cock is throbbing on your back, and your heart and pussy are beating against each other. The low slow vibrations are a stark difference to the rapid pace of your heart. Confliction doesn’t even begin to explain the battle between your brain, heart, and aching core. The way he spreads the creamy shaving gel on you is like a drug.

You yearn for him in ways you have never yearned for anything. Your brain is so fuzzy, and your body wants, no, needs friction. It starts grinding on him of its own accord, and his growl on your ear does nothing to dispel the feeling. It desires even more. “Let me shave you first, and then I’ll relieve you.”

Whining, you struggle to hold still. Letting Ari pull the razor so carefully up your leg before he cleanses it in the water, and you’re back to wiggling, and moving. It’s becoming too much for you to focus, “Ari, I can’t,” you sound like a whining child, but you can’t help it. It hurts, you want some relief so bad. You are quivering with so much need. So much desire to have him, even if you also want to wait.

Ari doesn’t answer with words, he lets your leg fall into the water, rinsing it clean before he places each leg on either side of the clawfoot tub. the calloused tips of his fingers ribbon down your body before falling between your legs. Instead of going directly where you need him, he teases the apex of your thighs. Blowing heated air on you when you whimper out his name.

“You’re so fucking needy.”

You take a sharp breath in as both hands move to your quivering cunt, and your body lifts up at the lightning that radiates from his fingertips. The intimacy of having him so close to you, and the only barrier is the water. It’s like you and Ari are finally fusing. You can think about the brain and heart parts later. Right now it’s just Ari.

“How is that?” He asks, pulling you apart, exposing your swollen clit, and he slowly rubs over it. “You like it?”

“Uh huh,” you liked it too much. Even if he’s going a bit too slow and gentle, he’s giving you where you need attention. Fulfilling too many desires, and not enough.

“You’re in a tub of water, and I can still tell just how slick you are. You’re so frustrated you can’t think, hmm?” You nod your head, and his movement is so swift you don’t even realize his finger circles your entrance, “It’s not enough, is it?” Judging by your actions, it’s not nearly enough, you’re body is screaming for his cock, but your mind is begging to go slower. He won’t be fucking you today.

“No. It’s not enough. Mmm!” His finger plunges into your warmth, and your body lights up. Your brain is blacked out, and your body is high as a kite. His palm flattens on your sensitive nub, while he moves himself in and out of you. “More!”

Adding another finger, you sob his name. Your body starts to follow his lead, pulling him in deeper. Faster. Harder. It could be crazy, but you want the burn, and stretch of feeling full with him. That added finger makes you feel so full of Ari, “More. Ahh!”

Ari adds a third finger with difficulty, and holds himself still. Kissing over your shoulders, and up to your neck while you fuck his fingers. Bucking over him just like nature wanted you to, “There you go. There’s my good girl. Taking three of my fingers just like a sweet little whore. And look at how needy your greedy little cunt is. Stretched so much for me,” you grind down harder. Desperately trying to race to the finish line, and never wanting it to stop.

It’s exhilarating that you get to make yourself feel like this. That Ari is giving you the ability to act on your desires. Your breasts bounce over the water, bubbles slosh over the side of the tub, and you just move faster. Envisioning what it will feel like to fuck him. What he will look like when your pussy is wrapped around his cock. Sleeving him in your velvety walls.

You get so close. Too close, and it overwhelms you. Panting, you stop. It’s enough. “Oh no, you don’t,” his fingers stab into with so much speed that your toes curl. Eyes rolling in the back of your head as you launch your body upwards. “You were so close. That wasn’t an orgasm. You keep going. Pushing yourself. Not stopping until you’re blind with pleasure, and forget how to breathe.”

He still fucks himself into you, but the movements are slower. Softer. He coaxes your body down from its high. Waiting for your vision to clear back up. Ari peppers kisses all over your shoulders before you start to relax. “What does an orgasm feel like for you?”

“I’ve never had an orgasm inside of you, so I don’t think I’ve reached my pentacle yet. It’s explosive, just as yours. It’s otherworldly. It’s the best drug. But while you're still relaxed, put one of your legs back, and let's shaving,” how he could think of something so silly at a time like this is beyond your thinking. But you do it.

You lift up your leg, and he smears the cream back on your body. Sliding the razor up your skin, and dipping it into the water to clean it. You could take a nap in his arms. Nothing has ever felt quite so comforting like being in his arms post orgasm. The tenderness to your core, makes you smile. Ari had been three fingers into you. And you pray that you continue to feel him later. Giving you a reminder that it wasn’t a dream.

“Shh,” he’s so soft in your ear, and you try to open your eyes; they’re just extra heavy today, and your head jars backwards, “Get some sleep. I’ll finish up here, okay?” You respond with a nod of your head, “Will you let me dress you?”

You give him a nod, but smirk, “Will you look at my pussy?”

“Of course I will,” your mouth quirks up into a sleepy smile, “I gotta see just how stretched out I had you, okay?” As vulgar as it sounds, you didn’t care if Ari took it upon himself to look at your pussy as he dresses you. You hum in response, hoping he understands that you’re completely okay with him doing it. You want him to look.

Want him to see what’s his.

All his.

Only his.

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