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macfrog · 11 months ago

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sweet child o' mine | pt. iii

now taking name suggestions for my joel's duck doodle. must rhyme with a curse word. most creative wins.

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: as your pregnancy progresses, you and joel are getting closer. dangerously closer.

warnings: reader is literally pregnant so typical pregnancy symptoms & descriptions of stuff like extreme nausea and gagging (reader throws up off-page, no graphic description past sore throat/esophagus afterward), body changing, nerves around birth/becoming mom, another sonogram (gender reveal...?), baby kicks felt, labor pains shhh, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), joel is dating someone who isn't reader, our girl hates nye (she's valid), tommy uses colors to represent gender (he is Wrong), joel is for sure emotionally cheating at this point and reader knows it, joel kisses someone who is not his partner again, f masturbation, memories of the hot dirty sex they had whew, a SPRINKLING of breeding kink, praise kink, size kink, another parent dies (i love parents i promise ????), jealous!reader, protective!joel, alcohol consumption, cursing, a LOT of angst, lots of fluff, lil bit of smut, and duckie has the best comedic timing of any character in this entire series. :) DISCLAIMER: this series covers some issues which i know may be sensitive and possibly triggering to some. warnings will always be as thorough as possible, but if there’s ever anything you feel i’ve missed, please let me know. feel free to drop by my inbox anytime.

word count: 11.4k (sorry. lots to cover lots to do.)

pt. i / series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🩵

December.

The days are funneled by a quick pinch of dark, the breeze heavy in its sail. Houses lined with twinkling lights and windows pierced by pointed trees. Crooning from every radio station, teary-eyed movies on TV, and spiced apple everything.

You hate every fucking minute of it.

“Wait a second,” Tommy sits forward, leaning in, “you never do nothin’ for New Years?”

You shrug, lifting your eyebrows. “Nope. Just don’t like it much. That a crime?”

He considers it as he hands his empty tumbler up to Joel, his head lolling some. He’s on his…fourth drink of the night, right? Though, if you take into account his earlier argument – I’m eatin’ as I go. It don’t count. – it’s probably more like two. But it’s whiskey, so –

Never mind.

“Yeah,” Tommy finally decides, “kinda. The hell’s wrong with you, girl?”

“Tommy.”

Joel’s voice is a warning, edged by the sharp clink of three glasses pinched in his fingers.

His brother laughs amiably in response, though, nodding to your mock-offended expression. “At least you’re spendin’ it right this year. Last one before lil’ Dickie comes along, huh?”

Maria slaps his shoulder, rolling her eyes. “It’s Duckie,” she hisses, glancing over to you.

“Shoot,” he says, chuckling. “I knew that. My mistake.” And then, hand out towards you in an apology which makes your shoulders jerk with laughter, “I did know that, I swear.”

Tommy and Maria flew in a few days ago; the younger Miller adamant that he’d spend one last New Years with his big brother before he became a father. The night they arrived, they showed up on your doorstep – a hamper filled with diapers and muslins and baby socks hanging from Maria’s arm. They’ve asked to hang out with you every day since.

They’re good fun. Tommy likes you, at least, enough to tease you as much as you figure a brother might. He’s definitely the louder of the two – sometimes you swear you notice Joel cringing at him, something caught between a laugh and a frown on his face. And Maria’s sweet; she’s asked probably six times every hour since she first saw you if you’re feeling okay, if you’re tired, if you’re hungry.

Joel text you yesterday morning. Tommy and Maria wondering if you feel like coming over for NYE. No pressure, he added, I lie pretty good.

A smile snuck its way across your lips before you had the chance to tame it. Sure, you typed, I’ll bring the newspaper.

What Joel’s told them, about the wedding and the baby and everything since, you’ve no idea. You guys almost talked about it when he told you they were flying down after Christmas, but before you got the chance to ask him, Vanessa pulled up out front.

Not exactly a conversation you felt like having with the dude’s girlfriend hooked around his right arm.

She smiles at you, now, as you shuffle to the edge of the armchair you’re curled up in. Joel’s armchair – the plaid blanket cradling you, the leather soft and crinkled beneath. Your eyes quickly drop from hers when his hand reaches for your mug, your fingers crossing as you pass it up. “Let me come help,” you say, pushing from the chair.

He holds up a palm, shaking his head once. “Stay. I got it.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, settling back. Vanessa resumes smiling. You wish she’d fucking quit it. You wish you’d fucking quit focusing on her.

Joel knocks the mug gently against your shoulder with a small, almost sympathetic smile, and heads for the kitchen – leaving you sat between Tommy and Maria on one couch, and Vanessa on the other. You tuck your heels under your thighs, picking at a hangnail as you wait for the conversation to thaw.

Maria makes some comment about Austin in the winter: how different it is to Jackson, and the three of you nod and hum in agreement before the chatter fizzles to nothing again. You glance over to the clock, watching the hands chase one another to twelve.

This isn’t what you imagined a get-together with Joel’s family would feel like. Tight, tense. So tense that you can feel the weight on your chest, closing your lungs. Talking about the weather and the holiday traffic, talking about nothing to avoid talking about everything.

Tommy’s chin lifts, after a second too long of silence. “Hey, Joel!” he barks. “You ain’t shown me this nursery yet!”

Joel leans around the doorframe, half-distracted. “Barely even started it, little brother. Crib only got delivered yesterday.”

“Sheesh,” Maria’s eyes widen, “you sure are prepared.”

Vanessa laughs when Joel rolls his eyes and vanishes again. “You got no idea,” she says, “I have never seen him so…pedantic, right?” She looks to you, still smiling. So sweet, you worry your lips are pursing at the sight of it. Your neck tensing. Your eyes watering.

“Yeah,” you reply, nodding shyly and swallowing back the saccharine. “I think he’s more nervous than he’s letting on.”

Joel’s voice calls from the kitchen again: your name. When you answer, he says, “Why don’t you take Tommy up, show ‘im what we got so far?” and then, leaning back around the door, “She picked the color ‘n whatnot.”

“Ah,” Tommy says, palms pushing down on his knees, “so you’re the brains, then?”

You mirror him, accepting Joel’s request. As though you had any choice in the first place. Standing beside the younger Miller, you mutter, “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

He holds a hand out to usher you ahead, following you upstairs. Past the tousle-haired boy in grayscale, past the German shepherd, past the Christmas Day portrait. Wandering like you know the house inside out, like you might’ve picked the exact coordinates of each nail the picture frames hang on yourself.

Like the photographs pinned to the walls aren’t still as alien to you as they’d been that day you first set foot in here, the dress Joel would come to tear from your body slung over your arm.

You twist the gold handle and unveil a homely little room, painted by you and Joel just last week. The soft blue drying into his knuckles, random splatters on your palms and your jeans. The giggles drawn from your chest; the thief either the chemicals from the paint, or the man rolling it over the walls – and you’ve a pretty good idea of which.

Tommy sniffs roughly, nodding. Taps the toe of his boot against one of the two bulky boxes leant against the wall, a crib printed on one and a rocking chair on the other. His tipsy head bob bob bobbing. “Alright. ‘s nice, ain’t it?”

You settle against the window, the glass cold at your back. “Real nice, yeah. Be even better once it’s done.”

“What’s yours look like?”

“Mine?”

“Nursery at your place. Your one pink, ‘case it’s a girl?”

You snort. “Mine is a little greener. More…I guess it’s duck egg. Had some leftover paint.”

He clicks his fingers and points to you. “See what you did there. Duck egg. Duckie.”

“Hm. Wish I were that poetic. I just like the color.”

Tommy stuffs his hands in his pockets, wanders around the bare room. The faint lingering of whiskey putting up its best fight against the clean bite of fresh paint, the sweet scent shaking from him when he nods some more at the blank walls and naked windows. He clicks his teeth and asks, “How you holdin’ up, anyways?”

“How am I holding up?”

“Yep. With, uh…” he nods to the door, eyes wide, “…Vanessa,” he whispers. Louder than he must think – probably echoed, if anything, by the palm he curves around his mouth.

You cross your arms protectively, shoulders bunching. “She’s fine,” you say, voice deliberately low. You both ignore the crack in it when you add, “I like her. She’s – she’s taken this all like a champ.”

Tommy leans on the window ledge, a rugged hand you reckon you’d know was a Miller’s just by looking at it. Same rough-cut quality as Joel’s, like they’re torn from the same sheet of sandpaper. He props the other on his hip. “But, boy – it’s gotta be complicated, right?”

“I guess. But she’s real sweet about it. And Joel’s been great, too.” You sniff, the memory of your kiss flashing behind your eyes. The steady drum of Duck’s heartbeat, the gleam in Joel’s eye when he looked down at you. The guilt seeping from your skin like beads of sweat, prickling along your spine and fizzling against the cold windowpane.

Tommy blinks at you, liquor-glazed eyes scanning. His shoulders jerk, a loud huh propelling from his throat. When your head cocks in confusion, startled from your daydream, he spills. “He ‘n I had a mighty long talk when he told me.”

You feel yourself leaning in, magnetized to him – body hunched as though you’re gossiping in the corner of a house party. Inhaling secrets with the tinge of alcohol on Tommy’s breath. “Oh, yeah?”

Tommy hums. “Just wanted to make sure he’d thought it all through. Not you – I always knew he’d take care a’ you and Duck. But…involving Vanessa,” he lowers his voice again, glancing over to the warm light spilling in from the hallway, “I just wanted him to be sure.”

Your blood begins to warm, heat flooding through your body as you step closer, murmuring, “What’d he say?”

He flicks his head, seeming to toss his initial response to the wind. “You know Joel. He is his own man.”

Your face screws, head jerking back. “What’s that mean? He is his own man?”

A voice from the doorway interrupts. A shadow swimming in the golden light. “Who is?”

Tommy steps away from you, loosening his arms as his big brother drifts into the shadowy room. Dusting the conversation under the rug. The smell of whiskey backs off. “Speak of the devil. Nice paint job, Joel. Missed a couple spots, but – I’ll let you off.”

“Uhuh.” Joel’s eyes thin, his body slanted against the wall. Arms crossed, bottle of beer hanging from his fingers.

Tommy swaggers forward when Joel holds the bottle out, taking it with a wary glance at the tall figure. A dog meandering back to his owner, tail between his legs and ears flat. It takes his gritty voice to jolt you back to the room, splintering your gaze from Joel’s toned arms and huge chest. “Looks real good, you two. ‘s one lucky kid.”

Joel’s jaw lifts, his eyes landing on you. Dogs are terrible liars. “He talkin’ your ear off?”

You smile; recognizing the softer Joel you’ve grown used to over the last three months replacing the stern, cold version you once knew so well. “Only a little.”

“Tommy,” he says then, “Maria needs you for somethin’.”

The denim-donned Miller nods knowingly and heads out of the room, thud of his boots receding downstairs.

“Maria okay?” you ask, making space for Joel as he settles beside you.

He shrugs. “Only said that to get him outta your hair.”

You frown. “You sent me up here with him in the first place.”

“So I could come up ‘n check on you. Know this must be a lot – the two of them, tonight.”

“I’m fine. Promise. I’m a big girl.”

You both sigh, turning to look out at the dark street. Your arms cross, sitting somewhere above the tiny slope of your bump – a new development you’re still getting used to. Your stomach feels tighter, a little more solid than usual when you touch it. A little more…real. There’s someone in there, right? Like, actually there. They’re changing the way you look, the way you feel.

“This is it, right?” you say, staring at the white lanterns illuminating Alice Brown’s rose bushes. “This is the year.”

“The year,” Joel agrees.

“Mhm. Become a mom. Become a dad.”

He purses his lips. “Yeah, I don’t know. I’ve had bigger years, kid.”

“Let’s hear it, old man. Let’s hear about your biggest year. God knows you’ve had plenty to choose from.”

He sucks a deep breath in, eyes tracing the silhouette of the houses across the street as he thinks. “Senior year, nineteen ninety-three. Asked Stacy Moore as my date to the prom ‘n she said yes. I was so nervous that I forgot my bow tie. Was a pretty good year.”

You hum, agreeing, and then, “I see your ninety-three, and I raise you: two thousand and one. There was this bike I wanted for-fucking-ever; it had, like, little beads on the spokes – would make this ratatatat sound whenever it moved. Tassels hanging from the handlebars, all iridescent. I begged my mom the entire year for it, and on Christmas morning I woke up, and…” You lift your hands, air puffing from between your lips. “Santa Claus delivered that year, dude.”

“Well,” Joel clicks his teeth, shell hardening only a little, “thanks for making me feel old as hell.”

“You’re welcome.” You beam back at him, breaking into a laugh when he does.

The two of you stand a little distance apart, denying yourselves the innocent brushing of shoulder against shoulder, the nudging of elbows and swaying of hips. Admiring the empty sky and emptier street, bathing between the cold moonlight of outside and the warm lamplight in.

And from somewhere deep in your belly, somewhere tucked behind your ribs, beneath your slow-growing womb: an urge to ask about her. To bring her up. To tend to the curiosity that Tommy poked a clumsy, drunken finger straight into, tearing it apart at the seams.

Like pressing on a new bruise, satiating the hungry need to know where you were hurt, how you were hurt, when you were hurt. A bent fingertip, pushing heavily into a sensitive splatter of dark purple; the burst blood vessels hissing in response, whispering, You don’t know, and you don’t want to know.

But you defy them. You do want to know. Want to satisfy the disturbed thrill you felt, leaning into Joel’s brother. Hands turning over one another, wet bottom lip trembling as he rounded the corner on some sort of…what was it, a secret? Some sort of truth, a long-buried revelation about the other woman. She’s a witch, have you spotted her crooked nose? She’s plotting something, I swear. She’s up to no good.

Your eyes lift again, focusing back on the dull color of the outside world. The bland canvas of reality. She’s not a witch, nor some genius mastermind. She’s a boring, relatively normal woman. Kind, thoughtful. Naïve and a little too eager to please; too willing to forgive a situation which warrants no such kindness or empathy.

She’s just…fine. Lukewarm. And you’ve no idea why that pisses you off so much.

Which, incidentally, makes the bruise sting all the more.

“Maria, Maria,” Tommy’s voice claws its way upstairs, “turn it on, turn it – Joel? Joel! It’s midnight, Joel, you two better come on down, now! Have we missed it –? Have we –?”

The sound of cheering slowly bubbles to life behind his drawl as the TV volume picks up, the tittering of Maria and Vanessa chiming in.

“…five, four, three, two, one…Happy New Year!”

Joel’s looking over his shoulder, waiting for footsteps or voices or a girlfriend who never shows. And he ignores his brother, for he is his own man, and turns to you instead. Bracing himself on the ledge, he blinks down with a plain grin on his lips. “Happy New Year, Mom,” he whispers.

You return his smile, taking his hand when he reaches out to you. “Happy New Year, Dad,” you reply, squeezing his palm.

He pulls you in for a hug, kissing your cheek briskly as you hook your arms over his shoulders. His beard scratches your cheek, grazes the curve of your shoulder, and you don’t mind. Your small, swollen belly presses against his; the tiny curve safe in the midst of your embrace.

Outside, the sky crackles to life with the distant spatter of fireworks, color shattering across the black canvas – red, blue, green and gold, dissolving as quickly as they explode into the now-January night. A burst of purple light washes between the two of you, and you turn your head on Joel’s shoulder to watch as the sparks rain over your neighbors’ roofs.

“I should get goin’,” you whisper, feeling his heartbeat a little too strongly against your own. Becoming suddenly aware of the weight of your frames locked together.

“Glad you came,” he says as he leans away. “I know this ain’t…I know we’re all tryin’, but you’re tryin’ the most, and I appreciate it. I hope you know that.”

“I know it,” you tell him, rolling your eyes. “Now, go. Go kiss your girlfriend.”

He chuckles, making for the door. “You want me to walk you home?”

Your eyes close serenely, the image of him doused in flickers of gold burning behind your eyelids. “I’ll survive the walk across the hedgerow, Miller.”

Joel nods once and leaves, plodding downstairs to be greeted by his open-armed girlfriend, a peck between them, arms crossed behind his neck. The lyrics of Auld Lang Syne slurred against his lips.

And you think – You know what? If it’ll rip you apart from her, if it’ll keep her bright red lips and her shining curtain of hair away from you, if it’ll stop her sucking in your air and your smell and your attention for thirty fucking seconds –

Then, yeah. Walk me home. Stay for a drink. Sleep in the goddamn guestroom.

Walk me home.

You slip out of the front door when the two couples are in the kitchen, missing Joel’s calling your name – or perhaps just ignoring it altogether.

“Spread the love at St. David’s this Valentine’s Day…”

Joel slows alongside a wall of cerise hearts, each one fluttering like wings whenever the hospital doors slide open and the breeze sneaks inside. Slips scrawled with names and messages: Love you M! and J + A, crude drawings of stick figures holding hands. Your lips curl into a smirk, watching him flick through each one as you palm your round stomach.

You just saw Duck for the second time. The last time, Freya was kind enough to mention, before they’re tearing you in two. Sorry, she mouthed when your expression dropped, and went back to twisting the probe over your stomach. Silently.

You’re getting better at it, you think. Playing Mom. Like some little game of make-believe, which is only real for as long as you’re looking it square in the eye – attending doctor’s appointments, updating the neighbors on your newest list of symptoms en route to your mailbox.

A little surer on your feet, now that you’ve found a balance to it: taking it as seriously as it warrants, a dry little pill stuck on the cliff of your throat, and making it easier to swallow with humor like water, a huge gulp anytime the fear claws its way up your spine.

And no more panic, since at least before Christmas. Only a little flustered this afternoon when Freya asked if you wanted to know the sex.

It felt too big a thing to hear, too real. You’re only just getting used to the backache and the bleeding gums. (And why didn’t you know that your gums would bleed? Isn’t that something they should fucking warn you about? Congrats, you’re pregnant: prepare for blood seeping from your jaw.)

No. No, thanks. Your head shot around to Joel. No, right?

He shrugged. Makes no difference to me.

Are you sure?

I’m sure, kid. Promise.

‘cause we can find out. I mean – if you want to.

He rocked forward on the balls of his feet, tapping you amiably on the shoulder. I don’t. You’re good.

You don’t?

No, I – He sighed, a hand dragging through his hair. If you want to, I want to. If you don’t, I don’t. Alright?

Freya bit back a laugh, the closed fist over her lips doing little to hide it. You guys should write a book on co-parenting.

But then she left the room again, closed the door on that same old little bubble – the three of you perched on the bed, you and Joel blinking up at the grains of your child onscreen – and you cried. Again. More.

Everything clearer, everything even more human than before: the globe of their skull, the tiny slope of their nose. All glowing in the dark waves of your womb, twinkling like the most beautiful constellation you could ever come across. Their ankles were crossed, feet forming a tiny heart shape in the top corner of the sonogram. Your hand lifted to point it out to Joel, and before the words found voice, you choked and broke down again.

He held you, lips to your hair, body solid as a rock as you melted into him in waves of salty tears. Smiled that honey-glazed smile and said he was so proud of you, said, look what your body’s doin’, darlin’, look what you’re growin’ – which only made you weep more.

And you pretended not to wait for it – for the moment when you might tilt your head up and your lips might line with his, and he might close the achy space between you again, might shush your cries by stealing the air from your lungs and the beat from your heart.

But he didn’t.

Which is fine.

Right?

“Somethin’ on your mind, kid?” he asks now, eyes still glued to the sea of hearts.

Your stare snaps from him instantly, unaware it was even held there. You tug on the hem of your sweater and pull the sleeves over your hands, mumbling, “Fine, I’m – I’m just…Come on, man. I’m hungry. I didn’t eat lunch today.”

“’n whose fault is that?”

You glower at him. “How considerate,” you seethe, “Vanessa’s a fucking lucky woman, you know that?”

He ignores you, a dumb smile on his face. The usual. “Let’s leave one for ‘em.”

A hot temper begins to boil below the surface of your skin, squeezing between your teeth in a fist-swinging breath. Also the usual these days, apparently. “For who?”

“Duckie. Somethin’ to mark the second scan. Last time we see them, before –”

Your hand flies up, eyes closing with a wince. Shut the fuck up. “Enough. I know.”

Joel hms, still smiling to himself. His beard has grown out a little: thicker, darker, gray sewn through like little whip stitches lining his jaw. He fishes a heart shape from the tub along with a pen, which he twirls annoyingly around his fingers as he thinks.

You sink back against the clinical white wall, an offensively bright color, holding your cheeks up in something of a smile when a nurse wanders past, nodding to both of you. Your face drops back to a scowl as soon as she’s over Joel’s shoulder, and your eyes meet his again – his brows raised, expectant.

“What?” you ask, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

He holds the slip up. “What we gonna write?”

And whatever charm the moment may have held, withers instantly. You throw your arms up petulantly. “You wanted to do it! Pick something. See you soon, or something, I don’t fucking know.”

“I don’t fucking know,” Joel muses, creases by his eyes when he smirks. “Poignant.”

“That’s what you should write,” you step closer, shoving your shoulder into his as you study the trembling hearts on the board, “if you can spell poignant, write that.”

“Hilarious,” he mutters, bending to scribble onto the shape, shielding his work from your view when you hang around his shoulder to pry. Cupping over the message until he’s straightening up, tossing the pen back to the desk, stealing a pin from the tub.

“Let me read,” you protest, tugging on his flannel sleeve.

“I will,” he says, shaking you off. “Patience, darlin’.”

Joel turns to the wall and pins the heart higher than the rest, in a spot clear of its own on the corkboard – thick arms stretching higher higher higher and pulling your gaze with them. As he steps back, he takes you gently by the waist and positions you in front of his body, your shoulders brushing against his chest. Your ribs hold your heart back from hammering into his.

You push up onto your tiptoes and squint at the note, which quivers when the hospital doors pull open again. “Mom and…Mom and Dad f…You fucking…”

Joel dodges your batting arm, snickering with you as he turns to make for the exit. “You don’t like it?” he tosses over his shoulder.

The heart stares down at you, black ink carved into the paper, watching as you turn and hurry after him, giggling. “Mom and Dad fuckin love you? So much for my potty mouth. And the –” another wheezing laugh you’d otherwise be ashamed to let him hear, “– the drawing? It looks – it looks more like a giraffe than a duck. Or, like, you know those long-necked dinosaurs?”

Joel’s head tips back, his own laughter caught up by the breeze when you wander outside, slipping your wrist around the crook of his elbow. Something infectious about it, something which stirs your own laughter until you’re walking arm in arm to the truck with a man who, six months ago, you’d barely look at twice over the fence.

The blind rage bubbling from your empty stomach seems to dissipate, dwindled to nothing in the face of that same man – his swollen cheeks and crows-feet eyes. And you say, “You’re disgustingly sentimental, you know that? Like, sickening.”

And Joel smirks, the way he always fucking does, and says, “You love it. Can’t lie to me.”

“I love it,” you concede, nudging into him as he opens the door for you.

The drive home is quiet, but not uncomfortable. There’s another thing you’re getting good at: being around Joel without need for snide remarks, without feeling your tongue curl under the weight of some snappy quip, loaded and aimed. Being around him and talking about Duck, asking how Tommy and Maria are. Forcing your teeth and tongue to carve out words which ask how Vanessa is, what she’s up to, when he’s seeing her next.

None of this is ideal, that’s for sure. Joel’s girlfriend aside, you’ve spent the last five months cohabiting your body with a stranger who lives most peacefully in the eye of a raging tornado of hormones – flitting between fits of giggles and pulsating joy in your veins, to waves of tears and an anger so hot beneath your skin that you wonder if your emotions might dry up completely by the time this is all through.

It's tough. It’s scary. And some nights you lie in bed, alone, wet eyes fixed on nothing, waiting for someone to burst into the room and announce that it’s all a prank. Just a silly joke. You and Joel can go back to tossing newspapers and casting glowers.

But for now, sat in the passenger seat of his truck – the seatbelt warped around the curve of your belly, the Eagles lilting softly from the radio – it feels like you’re making a home out of that tornado, too. Feeling the swirling walls of wind toss your hair like the breeze through the truck window; the chilled caress of the evening around your outstretched arm, soaring down the highway.

Yeah, you think. I can make something outta this.

“You know what I’m craving?”

Joel’s watching the light, waiting for green. “What’s that?”

“A fucking bagel. Cream cheese, pastrami,” you groan.

He snorts, cringing when he adds, “Pickles?”

A moan tears from the base of your throat, head lolling against your seat. “I could orgasm just thinking about it.”

The light turns, and Joel swings right. “I’d rather you didn’t,” he mutters, turning the wheel with one palm. “I got bagels back at the house, if you want one.”

You stare at him, jaw loose, saliva pooling behind your bottom lip. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He smiles, shaking his head. “Let me make you one, ‘fore you go home. Big day, ‘n all.”

And you hate it – hate the way your cheeks fill with a genuine happiness, something swollen and achy, impossible to ignore when it lifts your eyes and hurts your teeth. Appreciation, or admiration, perhaps, that you figure you’ll only ever have for him. You don’t know what the fuck to call it.

So you sum it up into three words. “That’d be nice,” you whisper, and Joel places his hand over your knee, shaking it lightly as he drives on.

It stays there, until he’s pulling into his driveway.

He pushes the front door open and steps back, an arm extended to let you by first. An after you, ma’am, between his lips. And you turn to make some mocking joke, the beginnings of some comment about how gentlemanly he is, when you’re socked square on the nose by a heavy-fisted, bitter scent.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, stumbling backwards across the threshold and onto the porch again. Your throat constricting around nothing, your tongue twisting, your stomach lurching.

Joel catches you just in time to stop you from falling on your ass. “The hell’s the m–? Oh.”

“Hi!” Vanessa calls from the kitchen, leaning around the doorframe to wave you both in. “Almost ready! Take a seat.”

“V–? Hey, sweetheart?” Joel calls back, one hand around your wrist and the other between your shoulders. “What – what’s cookin’?”

She pauses, glancing back at the stove. Pulls the dish towel between her hands taut. “I…I made pasta.”

“Yeah, what kind, sweet?”

“…Bolognese.”

He can’t cover his own sigh quick enough. Thick with something which feels like anger. “Shit,” he turns back to you, “I am so sorry.”

You pull in a deep, unsteady breath, your lungs struggling to separate night air from tomato juice. A weight rolling at the bottom of your stomach, your entire body beginning to tremble with it. “I feel like I’m gonna – Joel, I’m gonna –”

“Breathe,” he whispers, voice urgent, palm slipping to cup your jaw. “Just breathe for me.”

But your throat’s tightening, swallowing hard around gags which come stronger and quicker the more you try to fight them down. “I can still fucking smell it –”

Her shadow blocks the stretch of light from the house. A nervous little thing, a timid creature’s shadow stretched wide across the porch floor. “Is…everything okay?”

“It’s – it’s fine,” Joel sighs again, torn between comforting you and letting Vanessa down gently, “it’s just – tomato is one of her…her aversions.” He’s unable to pull his eyes from you, privately asking, “Are you okay?” when Vanessa turns back to the kitchen.

“I didn’t – I didn’t know,” she mumbles, thumbnail between her teeth. “I am so sorry.”

Suddenly, your will not to throw up is overpowered by your will to tell her, “It’s fine,” sucking in a deep, sickly breath before adding, “I’m just gonna – I should go.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Joel says, his teeth guarding the words from his girlfriend.

“I’m gonna clean up in here,” Vanessa points over her shoulder, and you think she must’ve heard him, “get outta your hair. I’m so sorry, again. I would’ve never…”

Joel lets go of you as you stagger backwards, the cold air tearing down your throat to meet the burning acid tickling up your esophagus. “Please don’t apologize,” you lift a weak hand, “how could you have known? I’ll –” another sharp gasp, “– I’ll see you guys around.”

He must say your name, must try once more to pull you back to his side, but the blood’s rushing through your ears, and your heart’s pounding at the back of your tongue, and your stomach’s notching its way up your spine. You make it to your kitchen sink just in time.

He keeps you waiting all of one hour before he’s calling you. Your arm reaches over to your nightstand, fumbling in the dark for your heavy phone, the screen cold against your cheek.

“Mhm?”

“Are you okay?”

Your lungs pull a deep, slow breath. The acid painted across your throat tickles as the air passes by it, an uncomfortable, scratchy feeling.“Mhm.”

“That a lie?”

“Only a little. Is Vanessa okay?”

He takes a second to answer. Lets go of whatever he was going to say with a sigh, replacing it with, “She just left.”

“Is she mad at us?”

Another second. “Just me. Not you.”

You massage the slope below your breasts, the ache in your esophagus throbbing when you move. “Why just you?”

Ruffling, like he’s settling back into his couch. Sinking into the cushion, his body as heavy as yours feels on your mattress. “I should’ve told her you didn’t like tomatoes. ‘cause now I’m a goddamn mind reader. I mean, why the hell wouldn’t my girlfriend be in my house cookin’ a damn pasta dish while I’m out, y’know? Jesus Christ.”

“Joel,” you turn slowly onto your back, bravely waiting for the waves of nausea still lapping around your stomach to turn with you, “it was a nice thing, what she did. She didn’t mean to…She probably thought she was helping.”

“Naw, I know,” he replies, the sharp bite of his words softening again, shrinking under yours. “I don’t care about her and her helping, though, darlin’, I care about y –” He barely catches it in time. “I care about you carrying my child, and I care about making sure you don’t spend your nights fuckin’…throwing up tomato sauce.”

You gulp, neck convulsing. The backwash of bile swallowed back. Your chest floods with a heat of quick panic. “Can we…maybe…not use the word? I just –”

“Sorry, baby. Sorry. This is just – it’s a lot easier if she would just…”

Your eyes close over, a salty sting sweeping behind them. If she would just lay off. Back off. Fuck off. “…but she won’t, Joel. She loves you. ‘n you…”

The words drift off, taken by the tide, swept off into silence. And neither of you bother with trying to retrieve them – you just watch, stood safe on the shoreline, as they fold under the waves of something too big for either of you to acknowledge. Too dark, too dangerous.

So, you say, “I get it,” instead; say, “I get why you’re mad. Just – let’s forget about it, okay? Sorry for…ruining dinner.”

Joel scoffs, that old, pissed-off Joel scoff. You can see his deadened expression on the back of your eyelids. You may as well have just thrown his newspaper to the end of the earth. “You know damn well that you didn’t ruin anything. How you feelin’?”

“Tired. Throat kinda hurts.”

“Still feel like that pastrami bagel?”

“Not really. Sorry. Appetite’s gone.”

“How about a water?”

“I got some here. Thanks.”

“Okay,” Joel sniffs, “how about: you take the hint and let me come over there to see you?”

You giggle, hand over your eyes to mask your expression from the dark. “I hate you. Yeah, come over. Door’s unlocked.”

Date night – six month anniversary or whatever. Call me if you need anything.

And I mean anything. OK?

Your thumbs hover over the two gray messages, an awkward jig as your brain scrambles to offer words back. Where are you guys going? Too interested. Too weird. OK, what if I’m bored? Delete delete delete. Trying too hard. Sure, have a good n–

The ellipsis pops up and you freeze. A stupidly polite swish delivers Joel’s third text.

Boredom counts as anything, by the way.

And the fucker steals another smile from you. You notice it when you look up, clocking yourself in the mirror. Accompanied by a warmth which drips down your spine, swirls around your tummy; a fluttering you’re not sure is Duckie or something else.

Have a good night, Dad, you type back, tossing the phone to the end of your bed when you hit send. Swiping for a pillow, holding it firm to your face. Pressing so deep into the plush that even the linen won’t be able to see your grin.

Joel told you about this six-month anniversary last week. He wasn’t too thrilled about it then, either. Dinner to celebrate six months? A year, fair enough. But six months?

You swallowed your pride, swallowed the same throttling ecstasy which seeped through your pores on New Year’s Eve, on that February evening she cooked– never mind; a desperate desire to tear apart the very notion of Vanessa and her cutesy little date nights and candlelit dinners. I think it’s a fun idea, you said. Y’all should do it.

And Joel listened. Because he always fucking listens to you, these days. Listens when you tell him that you like the watermelon Sour Patch Kids best, and picks them up anytime he’s at the store. Listens to you when you tell him he should move the crib away from the window, in case the streetlights shine on Duck while they sleep.

Listens when you ramble about how sore your feet are, how heavy your belly feels, how there’s a clammy heat lingering under your skin at all times, bubbling and bubbling and never rising to anything more than steam collecting on the underside of your flesh.

Listens when you tell him to go spend time with his girlfriend. And neither of you pay attention to the jealous shadow behind your words, the hesitant quiver behind his.

He replies almost instantly, the ping like a gunshot at the beginning of a race. Pillow slammed into the mattress, body lunging forward.

You too, Mom. Don’t have too much fun without me.

You lock the phone and slide it back under your covers, smiling dumbly.

There’s still a small part of you waiting for the big reveal: none of this is really happening. A dream, maybe, something you’ll wake from with a tiny throbbing headache, a dry mouth and a new reason to avoid your neighbor at all costs.

But it seems that, each time that thought crosses your mind, you’re quicker and quicker to quash it. Realizing each time that what lies ahead – Joel, your baby, this future version of yourself that you’re yet to meet, still just a little out of reach – fills you with more excitement and wonder, than it does fear.

Mom.

It’s not something you ever imagined for yourself. Not someone you ever thought you’d be. And yet, each time you say it out loud, each time you look in the mirror and picture a baby in the crook of your arm, a toddler perched on your hip, a kid stood by your side, tugging on the hem of your shirt – she feels a little closer. A little clearer. She just has to look over her shoulder, notice you waiting. I’m right here, she says. Come find me.

Mom. Mom and Dad.

You imagine Joel right now, sat in some ritzy restaurant with jazz music and stained-glass lamps on every table, ordering Vanessa some glorified lentil soup and slapping his card over the bill before the waiter has a chance to reveal the damage to him. Your lips twist at the thought – her jewels and her long hair and her sweet little smile laced with a smug possession.

And then you slap your own wrists, hissing to yourself to shut the fuck up.

“She’s nice,” you argue out loud, thin air holding no debate. “She’s kind, and I like her. She’s good for him.”

And then the air replies. Good for him, it swirls, but you could do it better.

Your arm lifts, lingering for a beat before batting the thought away.

Three weeks. Three fucking weeks, between pushing yourself out of his embrace in bed, and pulling yourself back into it – armed with a pregnancy test and a chest full of fear. Three weeks of dodging him, of your cheeks bubbling with embarrassment and regret anytime you thought of it; of hoping to God that Alice or Diane or Steve and Kris across the street wouldn’t clairvoyantly know what had transpired that night and corner you on your own front lawn.

A one-night stand. That’s all it was. Two lonely bodies, excitement enough to convince you both that it was a good idea; a fitted suit and a backless dress crumpled together on the floor. Liquid courage lacing it all together.

Three weeks, then, of reminding yourself how it felt: how amazing you were together. Your hand between your legs and Joel’s name between your teeth.

Fuck. If only he knew. Goodforhimgoodforhim she’s so good for him but I’m better.

You did it better. You know you did. The sun was cresting the horizon by the time the two of you stopped. You hauled yourselves down to breakfast and sat at least three people apart, made forced conversation with Maria about the DJ stumbling off with one of her cousins, while the ghostly ache of Joel’s body churned somewhere deep inside you.

It travels through your veins the way that everything does right now: urgent and unforgiving. A need to be dealt with, immediately. Coursing through your body, an arrowhead pointing somewhere you know it shouldn’t. But your hands lift anyway – following it, loosening the waist of your sweatpants and skimming beneath your underwear.

Your body lights at the first touch. The first dip of your middle finger against the plush over your clit. Knees bend, thighs part. You push your underwear down your hips, settling your bottoms loose on your legs. You’re already wet. You’re already there.

Good fucking girl. She’s good but I’m better, right? Take it, baby. Does she take it like I take it? Take it. Can she take you like I did?

Quicker and quicker and quicker, your fingers heavy on your clit. The other hand sifting between your folds, dipping to collect a glimmer of wet. Yeah. Just like that. Do you fuck her like you fucked me? You feel what you do to me? Fuck no, you don’t. You’ve never fucked anyone like you fucked me.

Head back, eyes fluttering closed, lips parting to breathe answers to a man who isn’t here. To a man who, as he dips sourdough into an overpriced soup, sure as hell isn’t thinking about that time he fucked you so good he got you fucking pregnant.

Well. Maybe he is. You are, right?

Voice without body, drawl etched in your memory. Think she can take it all? You hum in amusement, waiting for him to answer his own question. Yeah, she can.

Attagirl. Your legs spread further, knee lifting as you insert two slick-coated fingers. His hands are on your thighs, following the dip of your hips, holding your waist as you guide him back inside. Attagirl. That’s my – Fuck, Joel, you’re so b– That’s my fuckin’ girl. Take it. Touch it. His thumb on your clit – his, not yours. You like that? Yeah, that’s nice, ain’t it?

The flesh of your breasts filling his palms, squeezing and nipping and rolling between. The warmth leaking between your legs: his and yours and fuck, he’s so deep and he’s filling you again and he’s groaning as more dribbles from where he splits your body around his own, holding you still until he’s done. Until he’s empty.

“Joel,” you whine, a third finger pushing in.

Between your hips. Headboard hammering against the wall. The sun hanging loose at the bottom of the sky. Gonna make me come again, baby. Do it. Do something irreversible. Change me forever. Fuck me fuck me fill me and then pull out, push back in with the wet squelch of your come mixing with mine and changing me forever. Making me brand new. Making me yours.

Another moan. Louder. Sharper.

Yours yours yours. All mine? All yours. We’re good at this. I know we are. Who fucks you like this? No one – No one – just you – just me. It’s so big, fuck, but I can take it. Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day, baby. All I do is think about you. All I fucking do – You gonna come for me? – is think about you.

Know you need it. Let ‘em hear you, downstairs.

Fuck, I’m thinking about you. Come home. I need you to come home, need you to –

Fuck me, Joel, I’m –

Good girl.

– fuck me.

Atta fuckin’ girl.

She’s good but I do it so much better.

We’re good at this. ‘s do it again.

She’s not as good as me.

Again? Again.

She’s not as good. She’s no fucking good.

Your walls clamp around your fist, entire body shuddering to a stop. Breath held by something shaped like the hook of his accent, two fingers either side of your throat. The same smirk on his lips that convinced you in the first place. Fuck, baby, fuck me.

“Joel,” you cry out, the sound ripping between your vocal cords, punching against the ceiling and reverberating in your ears. Your body convulses on the mattress, back arching and slackening again. “Fuck, I’m – oh, my –”

Just feel it, baby. Feel me. You got it.

Let go.

Your lungs lurch open again, breath flooding in like waves spilling over the gunwale and rushing down to pool at your feet. A lulling rock to your movements, chest rising and falling like the steady tide. Soothing, coming down. Foam and salt carrying the flotsam away, the jagged glass of his name disappearing to sea again.

And then he’s gone.

And you’re just alone in your bedroom.

Last you checked your phone, now face-down on the carpet at your hip, it was eight p.m. Streetlights on, the sky painted by the pale dregs of daytime.

Now, you lie in near-darkness, blinking up at the ceiling. Hand sifting through a bag of glow-in-the-dark stars, comparing the different sizes, considering where to stick them, and then tossing them back in frustration.

Your front door clicks open, a pause between the sound and his voice.

“Anyone home?” Joel calls, and you lift your wrist as though he can see it from the bottom of the fucking stairs.

“Up here,” you eventually announce, knuckles rubbing your tired eyes until Catherine wheels spatter across your eyelids.

His shadow splits the light from the hallway, the long rectangle crossing over your swollen belly. “The hell are you doin’?” he asks, wandering in.

You lift the bag. “Decorating. The hell are you doin’?”

He pulls your nursing pillow from its temporary home in the crib and tosses it down on the carpet, bending to lift your shoulders and slot it underneath. “Scooch,” he says, groaning as he lays back beside you. He smells like whiskey and cologne. All woody, pine and spice.

“You got a bad back,” you warn him. “You shouldn’t be all the way down here.”

“You’re seven months pregnant,” Joel clicks his teeth, “neither should you.”

“What if you get stuck ‘n can’t get back up?”

Offense pulls his brows together. “What if you do?”

You smile in response, feeling the heat of his shoulder against yours. Sucking the scent of him through your nose. The pair of you exchanging smirks and batting eyelashes, wrapped in the cool darkness of the room. It’s juvenile and intimate.

You’re trying not to think too much about it.

“I can’t fucking figure this out. I put two of the big stars over there,” you point to the far corner of the room, streetlight splintered by the shades on the ceiling, “but it looks stupid having two so close. So, then I thought,” moving your arm to the right, “a cluster of smaller ones, right over the crib. But I couldn’t move the damn thing to climb up, so…I’ve been down here ever since.”

Joel lifts his hand, stopping your train of thought. “Please do not climb on anything, bein’ that you are…with child.” And then, when your eyes roll to meet his, he grins, adding, “Nesting got you good, huh?”

“You should see my kitchen cupboards. Never been tidier.” Your expression dissolves, voice quietens – your most desperate plea since that morning you shook hands on his doorstep. Your broken wardrobes and his lonely wedding invite. “Will you help me?” you ask.

He thinks it over less than once, dragging his gaze from the twirling star in your fingers. A quick shake of his head, like it’s obvious. “’course I will. ‘s what I’m here for.” And then he yawns, lowering a hand absentmindedly to settle on the curve of your stomach; a gentle pat in greeting to Duck.

“How was dinner?”

“Good,” Joel lies.

“Vanessa okay?”

“Good,” again.

“Sorry.”

Joel’s eyes roll, fingers pausing. “Why do you always gotta be sorry for som’?”

You shrug when you realize it’s not a rhetorical question. He’s genuinely asking. “I don’t know. Just tryna be polite. I know you’d probably rather be at home right now, not…deciding where some plastic fuckin’ stars should go.”

“For my kid’s bedroom? For you?” He huffs something shaped like disapproval. “Do me a favor – stop with the sorrys, alright?”

“I’m not even done with the last fucking favor I said I’d do you.” Your eyes flit down to your bump.

He stares blankly. You know there’s a laugh gathering like hot air on a windowpane behind his eyes, threatening to shatter the glass.

“Fine,” you concede, “dickhead.”

“Better.”

You sigh, looking back down at the phosphorescent shape in your hands. Turning it over and over and over, matching the rhythm of his fingers tensing and then untensing on your belly. His fingers, matching the rhythm of your chest rising and falling with breath. The room quiet. The night’s eyes averted, even just for this moment.

“If it’s anything,” Joel says, “I think the stars look alright.”

Another stolen smile. Another defiant show of teeth. You place your hand on top of his: a thankful gesture, an invitation. Something in between.

Joel blinks back at you, his eyes flitting from yours to your lips. The dim light in the room swallowing the two of you whole, secluded in the upstairs of your home. And you think, Kiss me, kiss me kiss me kiss me, and you will the words over your tongue in a ragged breath – hoping that Joel might breathe them in and feel their sharp edges as they absorb into his bloodstream, each cell flipping like the star in your hand and whispering the same two words to him: Kiss her kiss her kiss her.

But right then –

There’s a burst of movement. Under your fingertips. A fluttering, like bubbles popping right below the surface of your skin.

Your eyes snap down at the same time Joel’s do; your fingers separating and hovering over your tummy.

“Did you – did you feel –?”

“Yeah. Did you?”

“Uhuh. Was that –?”

“I don’t know. Was it?”

He takes your hand, pressing it back against your stomach with his on top. Your knuckles safe in the canopy of his palm. Both staring into space as you hold your breath.

“They’re not…they’re not doin’ it, now…”

“Maybe it was just –”

“Wait! Did you feel that?”

A second burst on your womb, a tiny beat on the other side of your bump. A wide grin breaks across your cheeks, a disbelieving laugh escaping.

Joel laughs, too. “Is that – is that the first time they’ve ever –?”

“Yeah,” you sniff, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, “that’s the first I’ve ever felt ‘em, anyways.”

“Wait,” Joel says, lifting his hand and holding a finger up. Just yours on your belly. “They doin’ it?”

Your head shakes.

When he lowers his hand, Duckie kicks again. The two of you lean in to one another, exchanging laughter. You lift your own hand, watching his expression as he waits patiently.

But then his head shakes, too. “Nothing. They’re only doin’ it when it’s both of us.”

“What the fuck?” you laugh, replacing your hand and waiting for the baby drum. “How can they even tell? What the f–?”

You shift your hands around the globe of your bump, pausing every so often to feel for Duck’s movements. A tiny fist punching, or a heel kicking, or an elbow shoving right above your navel in a way that’s bordering on painful, but numbed by the sheer thrill of it.

And for a while, it’s all you do: play tag with your unborn baby, giggling when they respond to your tapping fingers and cooing voices.

Joel sits up, leaning on his elbow to talk to his kid; runs two fingers across your shirt like a pair of legs scaling a cotton covered hill. And he laughs, and you laugh at his laugh, as if he’s a kid himself again – tearing apart gifts on his birthday, gasping and throwing his head back with glee at whatever he uncovers.

“It feel weird?” he asks, glancing up at you.

“So fucking weird,” you tell him.

“Does it hurt?”

“More…ticklish, if anything. Might get kinda annoying, if they start doing it when I’m tryna sleep, or somethin’…”

Joel lowers his jaw to your stomach, whispering, “You know what to do, Duckie. Make your daddy proud.”

You slap his shoulder, muttering, “Asshole.”

“Alright,” he says, splintered by a laugh. He pushes himself to his feet, swiping the bag of stars from your side. “Let’s get these up so you two can get some sleep.”

You groan as he pulls you upright, one last pat on your stomach, looking at you a second too long and a touch too meaningful. Too warm, too inviting.

It’s the calm before the storm, though you’re still stood motionless. Still trying to work out whether the tornado is moving away, or headed directly for you.

At five in the morning, Vanessa’s sister calls her.

“Heart attack,” Joel tells you a few hours later, the rustle of paper crinkling in your ear. The truck hums in the background. He speaks through a mouthful of sandwich. “Her dad always had a condition, but they thought they were managin’ it with medication,” another crinkle, and then, voice even more obscured, “but he got rushed to hospital durin’ the night, and…”

“Poor Vanessa,” you reply, nail drawing shapes on the curve of your bump in attempt to lull Duck into a more relaxed state than the sharp kicks they’re throwing at your ribs. Now big and strong enough to do considerable damage, your voice falters each time they swing. “Is she – son of a bitch – is she okay?”

“Shaken up,” he says, turn signal ticking over his voice. “She’ll be alright. She’s pragmatic like that. Problem is – they’re in Houston. Her whole family. So I guess that’s where the funeral’s gonna be.”

You swing your legs off the couch, heaving your awkward, nine-months-pregnant body to your feet – the irritating scratch of hunger suddenly gnawing at your stomach. “Yeah?” you say, waddling through to the kitchen. “So?”

“So,” Joel takes another bite of sandwich, “she has to – I mean, we have to…go. To Houston.”

“We?” You slot the phone between your cheek and shoulder as you fish out a couple slices of bread.

“Me ‘n Vanessa.”

“Uhuh,” you carve a knife around a jar of peanut butter, “you gotta be there for her.”

Joel sounds a little defensive. “I know. And I am. I’m goin’ to be. ‘s just – I gotta be there for you, too. For – for Duck.”

Your stomach swirls, a fire catching which lights your chest in a trickle of flame.

“You are. You will be. Houston’s only, like, three hours away.”

He sighs.

The turn signal fills the silence between you, between Joel and an appropriate answer. Clicking like the sound of a tennis match, his head spinning between his grief-stricken girlfriend, and the third-trimester mother of his child.

“I’m here,” he says, and you hear the squeal of brakes out front. “Give me a sec.”

The door pushes open as you sink back into the couch, balancing the plate on the planet beneath your breasts. Joel crumples his sandwich paper in his fist and lowers his hand over the back of the couch, scrunching his fingers over your belly as he passes.

“Thought you hated that stuff,” he calls over his shoulder, disappearing into your kitchen.

“I had a craving,” you say, ripping the first bite from your sandwich. “You made me hungry.”

He returns a minute later with a glass of water which he sets down on the coffee table in front of you. He lifts your legs, letting them fall gently in his lap when he collapses into the opposite end of the couch, heels of his palms pressing against his eyes.

You tap his thigh with the ball of your foot and he turns to you, placing a hand over your ankles. A sticky paste of peanut butter and bread between your molars, you ask, “What’shup?”

Joel holds back a smirk at your chipmunk cheeks. “Just – just worried that you…you know, while I’m gone, is all.”

You scoff, gulping. “Come on. I am not gonna go into labor in the, what – two days? How long would you even be gone?”

He seems to wince at the thought, fingers sifting through his hair – a gray sweep sat casually over his left eyebrow; flicks following the curve of his ear towards the hinge of his jaw. “Less than that, if I can help it.”

“Joel.”

He turns to you, saying your name just as deflated in response.

“You have to go.”

He rolls his eyes, thumb and middle finger massaging his temples. Crosses his arms and huffs like a teenager. “Well, I ain’t happy about it.”

You snort, unable to hold it in as you take another bite. “I ‘on’t think Vanesha’sh too happy about it, either, to be honesh wih ya.”

Joel’s jaw slackens, a choked laugh bursting from the back of his throat. He lifts a cushion and swings it in your direction. “Heartless. That’s heartless, you know that? Jesus, baby.”

He leaves on Saturday morning.

You stand on your porch, watching him shove a suitcase into the backseat of his truck, squinting in the sunlight as he stalks across your front yard. Joining you in the shade, he leans into you, shoving you lightly.

“Quit it.” Your hand locking with his, steadying yourself. Something in the back of your mind begging him not to let go.

And as if he can hear the thought: “I can stay. You know I can stay, right?”

“I don’t want you to stay,” you tell him, sweeping the hair from his forehead. “We will be fine. We’ll stay up late, eat junk food and watch TV; I’ll do audio description for Duck…”

He scoffs, glancing across the street.

“…and then you’ll be back home, back to buggin’ the hell out of us. It’ll be Monday before you know it.”

Joel’s jaw tightens. “And what if…?”

“You really think that’s gonna happen? You think your kid’s that much of an asshole?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah,” he shrugs, tongue in his cheek, “they’re half you.”

“Alright,” you click your teeth, turning away from the simper on his lips, “why don’t you just fuck off to Houston now, asshole?”

“I’ll fuck off, that’s what I’ll do.”

“Uhuh. Here’s hoping you don’t break down, or get a flat, or get struck by lightning, or anything.”

“You’re so funny,” he whispers, leaning closer.

“Hm. Now go.”

His jaw turns, beard grazing your skin. And then his lips; soft and warm, damp when he kisses your cheek. A moment too long. And he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t lean back the way you both know he should. No, he lingers – his lips by your ear, eyes flitting up to the street to make sure nobody sees.

“Joel –”

“I know.”

“We shouldn’t –”

“I know.”

But your arm is hooking around his neck, asking him to do it anyway, and his lips are lowering to yours, submitting to your request, and what’s supposed to be a goodbye kiss lasts at least a few seconds too long for it to mean anything less than a don’t go kiss.

You pull away when you feel the wet dab of his tongue against yours, realizing with an ice-cold shock where you are, and who he is, and what’s happening. Realizing how fucking stupid it’d be for both of you, how catastrophic and terrible the outcome.

A one-night stand.

A one-night –

He leans his forehead against yours, nose nuzzling your cheek. “I’ll call you when we get there.”

Your arm loosens, letting him go.

Just – letting him go.

Saturday Night Live ends just after midnight.

You arch your back into the couch, your swollen belly pushing forward. It’s an effort to get to your feet, what with the steady ache in your back all day, the weight on your front, and the fucking human being smushed into every vital organ inside you.

A deep breath feels like it inflates your lungs only halfway, Duck using the bottom half as a fucking ass cushion, and scaling the stairs takes another ten minutes – by the end of which, you’re slumped against the handrail, pausing before making off for your room.

You sink into the mattress, creasing the cool, smooth sheets. Duck stirs inside you, stretches out and throws a right hook against your bladder. You curse under your breath, hoisting yourself back to your feet.

“We gotta sleep, baby,” you hum, swaying back and forth with a hand under your belly. “Shh, ‘s okay. Take your fuckin’ fist outta my bladder, you little asshole.”

Whichever traits of yours and Joel’s have blended into the human cocktail growing in your uterus, you know one thing for certain: this kid has your stubbornness. The weight remains on your bladder, regardless of how much swaying, or pacing, or rubbing, or threatening you do.

You growl, wandering through the upper floor of your house in attempt to shift Duckie, or distract yourself, or, at the very least, tire the two of you out enough to fall asleep.

From the nursery door handle hangs a little wooden star, a tauntingly sleepy smile painted on it. You push the door open with two hesitant fingers, stepping into the still bedroom, the weak wash of streetlight meeting moonlight on the greenish walls.

You suck in a deep breath, floorboards squealing as you take your first step. Over the crib hangs a plastic mobile, soft plush shapes twirling slowly. The matching changing table slotted alongside it, a rocking chair over by the window.

You pad across a fluffy rug and lower yourself into the chair, tilting back and forth on your toes as you glance around one of the two rooms you and Joel have spent the most time in since that October morning bonded you forever. A baby duck ornament perched on a shelf above the dresser, its orange legs dangling. A multi-photo frame Joel’s mom bought you, both scans in the first two slots and the third empty, lying in wait.

Your breathing fragments, struggles, eyes slipping over to the baby clothes hanging in the closet. “You know, little Duckie,” you whisper, rubbing your bump and thinking back to Tommy’s words six months ago, “you are a pretty lucky kid.”

The hooded towel robe on the back of the door, the perfect size for a newborn. The framed prints sat atop the chest of drawers, waiting to be nailed to the wall: a rainbow, a frog, a starry sky.

“You got two houses. Two bedrooms, all to yourself. You got two parents who already love you more ‘n the whole world. And,” you gulp, “you got Vanessa. And she loves you, too.”

You glance down, watching the tiny pulse of movement when the baby stretches in your womb. Your hands scoop them up, as if holding them closer than they already are. As if already cradling them, forcing yourself to feel less alone.

Duck seems to quieten, to still; seems to consider what you’re avoiding. Reads between the lines, hears the words you’re not speaking.

Two of everything, you think, and I barely even had one.

The most evidence you have of being loved by anyone in your life is the house you live in. Four brick walls and three decades’ worth of belongings, more inheritance than memories. But they roll around like marbles – they echo against the walls when they hit them. There’s nothing binding them, no thread of love, or family, or anything real enough to hold it all together.

You’re the only living organ inside a skeleton’s cage. A lonely little heartbeat, making noise for no one to hear.

And that’s the way it has been, at least since you were eight. The absence of warmth and safety isn’t anything new to you – it left the second your parents did. The last scrunch of your mom’s nails on your head, the last kiss of her lips to your plump little cheeks. The passing over to your grandma, like you were cargo, like you were a box to be checked.

Maybe you found some distant flicker of heat in the way Joel looked at you, the day you told him you were pregnant. Maybe you saw the same glimmer of a flame that you used to see in your mom’s eye. The rosy smell of her perfume, the feel of her finger inside five of yours. Maybe, for the first time since you were a kid, you felt safe.

We’re gonna work it out, he said. I’m here. We’re in this together, alright? I am not running out on you.

Together. And yet, now, sat in your child’s nursery – a room built from scratch by Joel’s two hands and strung together by every beat of your heart – you’ve never felt more alone. The same two hands that are wrapped around Vanessa right now, consoling her, wiping her tears away, massaging her shoulders and sweeping her hair from her eyes.

And the same heartbeat which quickens now, fueled by an angry desire, an impulse scratching deep into your flesh to march all the damn way to Houston and tear the pair of them apart. Like he’s yours; like the way he touches you and looks at you and talks to you means anything more than his child growing inside you.

Like it’s you he’s touching and looking at and talking to, and not Duck. Like his attention won’t cease to shine on you, the second this little baby leaves your body.

And then, washing over the scorching hot sand of anger: a foam-lined wave of guilt. Of shame, for wishing for the breakdown of something that clearly makes the two of them happy. That makes Joel…happy.

He doesn’t owe you anything – he was never yours to begin with. Just one drunken night, a mistake until you noticed the two pale lines on the pregnancy test. And by that point, he was already hers again. You had missed him without even knowing it.

You sigh, pushing up from the rocking chair and reaching for a tissue from the changing table. Turning back, giving the room one last teary glance before closing the door, you sniff.

“You’re just…the luckiest little kid who’s ever gonna live.”

At one twenty a.m., cicadas chirping and trees rustling, the low breeze carrying the sounds through your half-open window – your back begins to ache. A blunt, gnawing pain. Feels like your period, and in your doze, you stuff a pillow between your legs and pray you don’t stain the sheets with a show of blood.

The realization comes over you as if that stifling breeze flips to freezing. You slowly come around, eyes peeling open as you think it over twice, then three times, then four. Duck shifts somewhere deep inside you, somewhere you’ve never felt them shift before.

“…No. Not right now, Duck. You gotta give me, like, twenty-four hours. Just – wait until your dad gets ho–”

A blinding pain interrupts you, the moonlit-blue room fading out of focus for half a second before you’re wide awake, clutching the bottom of your spine where you’re sure the kid just tore a fucking hole straight through your uterus.

“You’re a fucking dick,” you whimper, fingers clenching in tight fists around the bedsheets. “You’re a fucking – dick.”

One twenty-three. You go into labor.

#i think duckie is my favorite character i've ever written. that fetus has more personality than vanessa icl #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #macfrog #neighbor!joel #neighbor!joel miller #babydaddy!joel #tw pregnancy

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reidmarieprentiss · 4 months ago

Text

Something Better

Summary: You overhear Spencer and Diana talking about JJ's confession, it hits too hard with the issues you and Spencer have been experiencing.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: angst, hurt

Warnings/Includes: crying, insecurities, fighting, leaving

Word count: 2.5k

a/n: sorry!!!! i am notttt having a good time in my relationship (he doesn’t know we’re in a relationship)

main masterlist part two

The complexity of your relationship with Spencer had deepened significantly, ever since the enigmatic and dangerous Cat Adams had entered the picture. Understanding the nature of Spencer's job, you had been kept well-informed about his interactions with Cat, ensuring that you were on the same page with him throughout this unsettling chapter. You and Spencer had been together for four years, a relationship that was marked not only by affection but also by the trials that had weathered your joint experiences, including Spencer's traumatic stint in prison. Amidst the turmoil, recent events had only added to the strain: Spencer had once again found himself a hostage, and in those fraught moments, JJ had confessed her love for him.

This unexpected confession stirred a troubling mix of emotions within you. Despite your deep-seated trust and the solid foundation you had built together, insecurities bubbled to the surface. The knowledge of Spencer's initial crush on JJ during his early days at the BAU added layers of doubt and fear. You couldn't help but wonder about the what-ifs—whether Spencer harbored any regrets about the path he had chosen with you instead.

—

As you held the tray with steaming mugs of tea, the warmth of the ceramic seeping into your palms, your intention was simple: to bring a small comfort to the room where Spencer and his mother, Diana, were deep in conversation. But the words that drifted through the slightly ajar door halted you in your tracks, the comforting heat from the cups suddenly replaced by a cold grip of fear tightening around your heart.

“You think that’s what I’ve been doing? Closing myself off to possibilities because I’m waiting for JJ?” Spencer's voice carried a mix of confusion and introspection, a tone you recognized all too well.

“I hope not,” Diana’s response was gentle, yet it carried an undeniable weight of concern.

The gravity of the conversation, the raw honesty of the words spoken, pierced through the veil of assurances and understandings that had surrounded your relationship with Spencer. The mention of JJ, with the concept of ‘possibilities’ he might be closing off, struck a vulnerable chord. It echoed the very insecurities that had been gnawing at you—fears of being a placeholder, of not being the ultimate choice but rather the safe harbor in the storm of his complex life.

The impact of this realization was instantaneous and visceral. The ceramic mugs slipped from your numb fingers, shattering on the floor as a symbolic fracture mirrored in your composure. A sob escaped your lips—a sound of pain so raw it seemed to carry the weight of every doubt and every shadow of fear that had gathered in the corners of your relationship.

“What was that?” Diana’s voice was sharp with alarm, slicing through the tense air as the sound of the breaking mugs echoed down the hall.

Unable to face them, to see the concern or confusion on Spencer’s face, you turned and fled down the hallway. The coolness of the walls was a stark contrast to the pain burning inside you as each step took you further from the room, from the conversation, from the man you loved yet suddenly felt miles away from. Your mind raced, caught in a whirlwind of emotion and a desperate need for solitude, a space to breathe and to grasp the full meaning of what you had just overheard.

“I’ll go check it out, Mom,” Spencer said, patting his moms hands.

Spencer's heart thudded with increasing urgency as he navigated the hallway, his eyes scanning the chaotic scene of shattered mugs and spilled tea, a silent testament to a sudden departure fueled by distress. "Y/N?" he called out again, his voice tinged with confusion and concern. The lack of response only heightened his worry, each unanswered call amplifying the fear that something was profoundly wrong.

As he passed by a window, his gaze inadvertently swept over the driveway, catching the sight of you getting into your car. The pieces clicked together in his mind, albeit without understanding the why behind your actions. His concern morphed into sheer panic, propelling him into a jog as he made his way swiftly towards the front door, his mind racing with possible reasons for your abrupt exit.

Reaching the door, he flung it open and stepped out into the cool air, his breath visible in the quiet of the afternoon. "Y/N, wait!" he shouted, hoping to catch your attention before you could drive away. His voice carried a desperate edge, a plea woven through the urgency.

Spencer's mind was a whirlwind of worry and bewilderment. He had no clue what had triggered your sudden need to escape, no understanding of the emotional turmoil that had driven you to such a rapid departure. As he jogged towards the car, his only thought was to stop you, to understand, to fix whatever had gone wrong, unaware of the conversation you had overheard and the doubts it had reignited within you.

He reached the car just as you were about to start the engine, his expression full of fear, confusion, and concern. His hands gestured slightly, asking for a moment of your time, his eyes pleading for you to stay, to talk, to explain what had caused this rift to suddenly appear between you.

As the window descended, revealing your tear-streaked face and the distress clearly written across your features, Spencer’s heart sank even further. The sight of you so visibly upset was enough to tighten the already squeezing panic in his chest.

“What happened?” he asked again, his voice rough from the sprint and the growing dread. He leaned closer, his eyes searching yours for an answer, for anything that could explain the sudden shift in the day.

“I don’t want to hold you back from anything,” you managed to say between sniffles, the words muffled slightly by your emotional state. Your voice was thick with pain, each word laden with the weight of your fears.

“What?” Spencer’s confusion deepened, his brows knitting together as he tried to decipher the meaning behind your words. His face fell, a mix of worry and incomprehension as he struggled to connect the dots. He reached out tentatively, resting his hand against the car door, needing some physical connection to bridge the gap that the conversation had opened between you.

“You’re not holding me back, Y/N. Please, tell me what’s going on,” Spencer urged, his tone softening, trying to provide a calm amid the storm of emotions swirling around you both. His eyes held yours, filled with concern and a plea for clarity, as he tried to understand the source of your sudden decision to leave.

As you struggled with the words, each one a reflection of the turmoil within, Spencer's expression shifted from confusion to a dawning realization of the depth of your concerns.

"Why haven't you proposed, Spencer?" The question came out choked, a manifestation of the culmination of doubts and fears that had been gathering, fueled by recent events and lingering insecurities.

"Y/N...what? What is happening?" Spencer's voice was tinged with a blend of confusion and fear, grappling with the sudden confrontation of an issue he hadn't realized was so pressing in your mind.

You shook your head slowly, signaling the seriousness of your need for an answer. "Just answer me," you said quietly, a firm resolve underlying your soft tone.

"I don't... I don't know," Spencer admitted, his voice faltering. His uncertainty was palpable, reflecting his own confusion about the future and his feelings about where your relationship stood, especially in light of his recent traumas and challenges.

"That's not good enough for me," you stated, the pain in your voice evident as you began to roll up the window, a physical manifestation of the emotional barrier you felt compelled to erect in the face of his indecision.

Spencer's heart raced as he saw the window closing, a barrier rising not just between him and the outside air, but between him and you. He placed his hand against the glass, a silent plea for you to stop and listen.

"Please, Y/N, wait," Spencer's voice cracked, his usual composure unraveled by the intensity of the moment. "I love you. I'm just... I've been dealing with a lot, and I didn't realize you felt this way. Can we just talk about this? Please?" His words rushed out in a torrent of emotion, a mix of apology and confusion, desperately trying to bridge the growing gap with his earnestness and vulnerability.

The tension in the air thickened as you left the window half-cracked, Spencer stood rooted to the spot, his heart heavy with the burden of your words.

"I know you’re going through a lot...I understand, I’ve been here with you through it all," you said, your voice steadier now, each word deliberate. Taking a deep breath, you lifted your gaze to meet Spencer's, the pain in your eyes a clear reflection of the turmoil within. "Are you waiting for something better?"

The question hit Spencer like a physical blow, leaving him momentarily breathless, his mind reeling. "Something better? You’re the best there is, Y/N," he managed to say, his voice laden with sincerity and a touch of desperation, wanting nothing more than to dispel your doubts.

That response, however, triggered a shift from sadness to anger. "Then why did you tell your mom you’re waiting for JJ?" you yelled, the volume of your voice a stark contrast to the quiet despair of moments before.

Spencer's face paled, the accusation and the misunderstanding cutting deep. "No, Y/N, that’s not what I meant," he stammered, his mind racing to correct the misunderstanding. "It was taken out of context. I was talking about not closing myself off to healing, to moving forward with my life, which means with you. JJ's confession threw me off, yes, but it doesn’t change how I feel about you. I love you, and I'm not waiting for anyone else."

He stepped closer to the car, his expression earnest, almost pleading. "I haven't proposed because I've been scared—scared of not being enough for you with all my baggage. But I know that's no excuse. You deserve certainty, and I've been unfair. I'm sorry for making you feel this way."

Spencer’s eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of understanding or forgiveness, hoping his words could bridge the gap that had opened up between you, driven by fears and miscommunications.

Your glare didn't waver as Spencer began to unravel the layers of the conversation you had misinterpreted, each word weighed with a heavy mix of regret and urgency to clarify the misunderstanding. He shifted uncomfortably under your intense gaze, knowing how crucial this moment was to salvage the trust and future of your relationship.

“Bullshit,” you had said, the sharpness in your voice slicing through the air.

“What?” Spencer’s confusion was evident, a mixture of desperation and hurt flashing across his features.

“That’s bullshit, Spencer. Tell me the truth,” you pressed, your voice firm, demanding honesty over comforting lies.

Spencer took a deep, steadying breath, recognizing the necessity of complete transparency. “Fine. My mom…she wants grandkids, she wanted to know why we hadn’t given her any. I told her the truth, I’m scared to bring children into this world.” His admission came out in a rush, a confession of his deepest fears about fatherhood and the future.

You continued to glare, silently urging him to continue, to explain every nuance of the conversation that had driven you to such a state of distress.

“She asked if I thought JJ made a mistake having kids. I didn’t know what to say. She thought I was being quiet because I was upset about JJ being with Will, which I am not—definitely not. And that’s what you must have heard,” Spencer explained, his voice earnest, pleading with you to understand the context and his true feelings.

The air between you seemed charged with his words, each sentence he spoke unraveling the knot of misunderstanding that had tightened around your heart. His explanation painted a different picture, one not of longing for another but of fear and apprehension about a future he felt unequipped to navigate.

Your expression softened slightly, the initial rush of anger ebbing as the truth of his words began to resonate. The misunderstanding had morphed your fear into anger, but with his honest explanation, the foundations of trust began to show signs of mending.

Spencer watched you carefully, gauging your reaction, hoping that his honesty and the vulnerability he displayed would be enough to start healing the rift that had formed. His eyes conveyed a silent plea for forgiveness, his posture open and unguarded as he stood before you, laid bare by his confessions.

“Okay,” you had said simply, leaving Spencer clinging to that word as if it were a lifeline in the turbulent sea of your relationship.

“Okay? Is that—is that all? Are we okay?” His voice was tinged with uncertainty, searching for more reassurance, more solidity than the ambiguous affirmation offered.

“I don’t know,” you replied, the honesty in your voice reflecting the turmoil within.

“Y/N...please, I love you so much,” Spencer implored, his words thick with emotion, his eyes begging you to see the depth of his sincerity.

“I love you too, but saying it and showing it are two different things,” you sighed, the weariness in your voice painting a vivid picture of your emotional state. “You’re my world, Spencer. I just want to feel like I’m yours too. Can I go please?”

His heart sank with those words, a stark reminder of the disconnect that had formed between your perceptions of the relationship. “Go? Go where? You’re leaving?” The panic was evident in his voice, his mind racing through scenarios of loss and loneliness.

“I need to be alone right now. Can you catch a cab?” you asked, your tone resolute yet gentle, not wanting to hurt him but needing the space to sort through your swirling thoughts.

“Are you breaking up with me?” The question was out before he could stop it, a fear-driven reflex.

“No,” was your simple, firm reply, a small comfort amid the storm.

Spencer nodded, accepting your need even as it pained him. “I can get a cab. I love you, darling. So, so, so much.” His words were a whispered caress, an affirmation of everything he felt, everything he hoped for despite the current heartache.

“I love you too,” you responded, a whisper of reciprocation that served as a temporary balm to his aching heart.

With that, you drove off, leaving Spencer watching the space where you had been, his mind heavy with love and fear. He pulled out his phone to arrange a ride, his heart clenching in his chest.

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moonstruckme · 4 months ago

Note

Doctor!remus being in the very early stages of having a cold but not noticing! You pick up on it before he does he’s just like “I did not see this coming.”

Thank you for requesting! Sorry I held onto it forever and then when I did finally write only this little baby blurb came out (but it's our baby anon and I will love it just as much as its siblings)

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 393 words

You only started counting a little bit ago, but Remus has sniffled five times in as many minutes.

He’s completely engrossed in his book, and so you feel at liberty to study him. He looks a bit tired, though that’s to be expected. He’s been overwhelmed by cases of the flu for a couple of weeks now, and though Remus handles the excess of appointments in a calm, methodical fashion, it would wear on anyone. There are grayish half moons under both of his eyes. His lids droop as if even the book he’s been obsessed with for the last couple of days isn’t enough to keep him alert. But the planes of his face are smooth and relaxed, that seemingly ever-present puckering of his brows softened. He’s munching absently on chocolate, breaking little pieces off the bar and then licking his fingers clean before touching the pages again. The tip of his nose, just the underside, is tinged pink. You wonder if he’s even noticed how often he’s been rubbing it.

Slowly, almost sneakily, your boyfriend’s eyes slide to you. “What?”

“I thought nothing could distract you from your reading.”

“You can. What, do I have chocolate on my face?”

“No.” You smile at him, sitting up on your knees to press a hand to his cheek. Remus returns your smile, bemused but content as he leans into the touch. When your hand moves up to his forehead, though, his eyes narrow.

“Are you planning to clue me in to what you’re doing?”

You hum, stroking your thumb over his hairline before dropping your hand. He doesn’t feel warm to you. “I think you’re coming down with something,” you tell him.

Remus’ eyebrows rise. “Really? Don’t you think I would know?”

“I think you’re bullheaded.” You grin at him, worse when his own eyes spark with amusement. “And also that your throat sounds a little sore.”

It’s true, and you see Remus realize it for himself. The little bob of his adam’s apple as he tests how congested he is.

“Shit,” he sighs.

You kiss him ruefully on the cheek, standing. “I’ll make you some of that turmeric ginger tea, okay?”

Your boyfriend’s nose wrinkles. “I hate that stuff. It’s terrible.”

“You always make me drink it when I’m sick!”

“I know,” he grumbles, slouching back over his book. “I’m the worst.”

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teamatsumu · 11 months ago

Text

exclusive. (gojo satoru x reader)

summary: A series of moments with Gojo Satoru, leading to the moment you realize you’re in love with him.

word count: 2,223

warnings: swearing, fem!reader, friends to lovers (?), jujutsu high shenanigans, this is pretty harmless fluff

tags: @keiva1000 @kindnessspreads @msbyomimi

Anyone who met Gojo Satoru for the first time had a visceral reaction to him.

Either they found him loud, obnoxious and annoying (both Shoko and Suguru described that as their first impressions of him), or they were starstruck by him. After all, he was Gojo Satoru. The wielder of the most powerful cursed technique in the Jujutsu world at present. The brilliant Six Eyes. And even at such a young age he showed potential that made the higher ups nervous.

And he was easy on the eyes too. Tall, lean, porcelain pale skin, hair like snow and eyes brighter than the blue skies. It was in the way he carried himself, shoulders set back, chin held high, imposing and demanding that all eyes met him. Girls were endlessly obsessed with him, with the idea of him. And he ate that shit up.

You however, would argue that you didn’t have any impression of him at all. He was just there. Okay, that was Gojo Satoru. Cool. Time to just shrug and walk away. He wasn’t exactly someone you had to interact with daily. He was a year older, in a different class. He had friends of his own. And he was quite literally famous. Why would he bother with you?

What you didn’t know about Gojo Satoru was that he didn’t need any reason to be obnoxious. He just was. Seeing someone indifferent to his existence lit a fire in him, and he was adamant on making sure you noticed him. One way or the other.

“So it doesn’t matter to you if I’m cursing you out? As long as I’m paying attention to you?”

You eyed him, watching as he leaned back on the two back legs of the chair he was sitting in until it teetered dangerously. The action kind of put you on edge but you would be damned if you let him know that it bothered you. Mostly because if he knew then he would never stop doing it.

He snapped his fingers and grinned in the affirmative.

“All press is good press.”

You gave him an incredulous look. “What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know, it sounds cool.”

You rolled your eyes and turned back to your textbook. A bout of silence fell on you for a few brief moments, before Satoru felt the urge to ruin it again.

“You’re not gonna fail.”

You didn’t look up. “Thanks?”

“So stop studying.”

You sighed, still not looking at him. You flipped a page. A hand grabbed at your open book, shutting it with a soft thud. You finally turned to glare at the boy. Over the curve of his shades, his eyes were as blue as ever. He grinned wide.

“There she is. Hey, pretty girl.”

Another thing about him, he flirted endlessly.

Your scowl deepened, trying to will away the heat that rushed to your ears. It was annoying, almost frustrating, how easy he thought it was to get under your skin. Saying shit like this as if it didn’t mean anything. Casual. Unserious.

Your train of thought broke when he reached forward and pinched your cheek hard. You yelped and pushed him hand away, wrestling against his strength when he tried to twist closer to you. By the time Suguru and Kento walked into the classroom, he had you pinned on the desk and was messing your hair up the best he could while you called him every colorful name you could think of.

Suguru didn’t bat an eye. Kento just sighed. This was, unfortunately, normal.

You, of course, didn’t fail your exam. Surprisingly, neither did Satoru, even though you had not seen him open a book once. Practical application was one thing (Satoru excelled in that of course), but how did he manage to get the theory right? He had spent every minute of his prep days either bothering you in person, sending you endless text messages, or lounging around in your room and watching TV. The fact that he passed and was now a third year was more surprising to you than the fact that you passed. At least you studied for it.

“You just wanted me to fail so I would be held back for the year and we could be classmates.” Satoru grinned, peeling open a packet of those overly sweet jellies he loved eating. You snorted, turning over in your bed and pulling your sheets up higher. It was nearly 10 in the morning, and Satoru had woken you up with the news that results were out and both of you had passed. Your body was still sluggish, eyelids heavy with exhaustion and residual sleep.

“Is that your breakfast?” You watched him lean back and shake the entire bag of jellies straight into his mouth from above. Your face twisted in disgust.

“Yup. Gotta start the day right.”

You didn’t bother to argue, shoving your face into the pillow and hoping it would suffocate you to death. You heard shuffling and then felt the mattress dip, grunting when you felt something heavy fall over your back.

“So what do you wanna do today?”

You let out a pained sigh, not bothering to turn and look at him, or his legs that were likely draped over you.

“I was planning to sleep in but I guess I can’t do that anymore.” Your tone was dry.

“Damn right. Let's go to the city.”

“Can’t you go bother Getou-san?”

“He isn’t as fun.”

You turned your head to look at him, just in time to see him pull apart a chocolate bar. Your eyes widened in horror.

“No!” You shoved him hard and he toppled off the bed with a loud ‘oof’, until all you could see was his legs hanging in the air.

“What the fuck?” His tone was more baffled than it was pained. You saw his messy head of hair pop up over the edge of the bed, his eyes wide, glasses nowhere to be seen.

“You’ll get chocolate on my sheets!”

“So you pushed me off?” Before he could pull himself back up, you rushed forward, trying to keep him down, slipping off the edge and falling right on top of him. You grabbed the hand with the chocolate, prying it from his fingers. You placed it carefully on your side table, finally sighing and leaning back, looking down at the boy before you. Or more accurately, under you.

Satoru was wearing a huge, toothy grin on his face, wiggling his eyebrows. He seemed to have completely forgotten his chocolate. His hands rested on your bare thighs, fingers just shy of the hem of your shorts.

“You know what, you can keep the chocolate. I’m fine right here.”

You glared at him, standing up to walk away, but not before you dug a foot into his stomach. Satoru groaned, but still grinned, grabbing your ankle.

“You should just let things happen, baby. We’d be great together, you know?”

You didn’t let his words get to you, nor did you let your mind dwell on how soft his fingers felt around your ankle, or how his hands had felt on the bare skin of your thighs. You couldn’t think about it, because nothing Satoru did was real. He was just playing. He was a good friend who tried annoying you as much as possible. That’s it.

It didn’t matter that he whined your name whenever you ignored him, or how he would wrap his arms around you until you were curled under him, or how he would pin your arms down so you wouldn’t struggle when he laid sloppy, obnoxious kisses on your cheeks and forehead. Your couch was his permanent bed, and he claimed he was there because your TV was bigger than his. You couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just buy a TV for his room. He was loaded.

You don’t know at what point everyone started assuming you were dating, but when Shoko vocalized this perception, you felt like a bucket of ice cold water had been dumped on you.

“We are not dating. What the fuck? I can barely stand him.”

You ignored the petulant ‘hey’ that left his lips, focused on your upperclassman across the table from you. Shoko was blank-faced, giving you a look that said ‘really?’. You didn’t back down.

“We aren’t! We’re good friends, yes, but-”

A snort from beside you, and finally you turned your head to glare at him. Satoru’s lips were twisted into an amused smirk, and the sight of it annoyed you. You felt like everyone at the table- Shoko, Suguru, Kento, Haibara- were laughing at you. Your face burned in embarrassment, so you lashed out at the one man who always bore the brunt of it.

“Why are you smirking? Wipe that off your face.”

He shrugged, ignoring what you said. “I just think it’s funny that you think we aren’t dating.”

“We’re not.”

“Sure.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “We’re not! What the fuck are you on? We’ve never even kissed!”

Just talking about this was making you squirm uncomfortably, let alone in front of all your friends.

“You were practically in my lap in the car on our way here.”

You smacked his bicep hard. “There were six of us! And it was a tight fit! And- you offered!”

He was grinning by now, leaning closer to you. “Of course I did. We’re dating.”

You blinked, shocked into silence. A few moments passed. “This is gaslighting. You’re gaslighting me.”

You heard a snort and turned your head towards Haibara, who tried to disguise it as a cough.

“Okay, if we’re not dating, explain this to me,” Satoru began, pulling your attention back to him. You tried to will your heart into beating slower.

“Would you have put your legs in Suguru’s lap?”

You sputtered, feeling your face burn as you glanced at the man in question, he looked unbothered.

“No! That’s- no.”

“Nanami? Haibara?”

You didn’t answer.

“Shoko?”

“She’s my senpai.”

“I’m your senpai too.”

You rolled your eyes. “You sure don’t act like it.”

“So what you’re saying is,” Satoru continued, ignoring your quip. His voice was jovial, slightly teasing, and you dreaded where he was going with this. “There’s some stuff you would do only with me?”

You glared at him.

“Almost like…… being exclusive?”

“We are not dating.” Your argument was beginning to sound weaker and weaker. Everyone around you was staring at you with amusement as the gears turned at your head.

“Okay.” Satoru smiled, and you almost reeled back at how soft it was.

“We’re not.”

Oh my god.

……………………..

It took three or four days later to finally get your thoughts straight enough to talk to Satoru about the….. dating incident.

You had been over analyzing everything, trying to look at every interaction between you and him from a third person’s perspective, and you realized how abnormal it really was. No normal friends interacted the way you and Satoru did. Relentless teasing, touching, hugging. The unending push and tug. Caught in the whirlwind that was Gojo Satoru, you had not noticed how close you were to him, and how dependent you were on his presence.

Maybe he was right. In some strange way, you two were a couple.

You sat with this newfound information, feeling it burn and chip away at your skin, leaving you raw and vulnerable. How were you supposed to bring this up with him? You watched the figures on the TV before you bound around, not absorbing anything that was being said, your attention only on the slowly simmering pot of water that was your brain and your thoughts. When your door swung open with a loud squeak, you finally looked up.

Satoru was humming something to himself as he lumbered in, spotting you on the couch and grinning.

“Hey, what are your dinner plans? I'm craving Korean barbecue.”

You stared at him for a bit, as he toed his shoes off and tried to struggle out of his uniform jacket. It settled in you like a soft cloud, the knowledge that there was nothing to talk about. Your heart skipped a beat, and you stood up.

“I’m going to change.” Your voice was low.

Satoru looked up, lips pursed into a confused pout that you almost thought was cute. “Why? You look great.”

You muscled past the compliment, not letting it get to you. “I’m going to put on a nice outfit. And do my hair. And you’re going to go change too. Dress fancy. It’s a date.”

Satoru watched you, mouth open like a goldfish, as you puttered through the room and to your closet. He was frozen, dumbfounded. It was a new look on him. And you discovered that you liked it very much. You feigned innocence as you turned to look back at him.

“What’s wrong? I thought we were dating?”

That seemed to break his trance, and a cheshire grin took over his face. He didn’t even bother putting his shoes back on, gathering them in his hands and bounding out the door, making you laugh at how eager he was.

Talking was overrated anyway. This way was more fun.

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo satoru fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n

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biteyoubiteme · 19 days ago

Note

congrats on 1k !! 🫶

thoughts on sub!beomgyu ?? 😈😌

or… sub!gyu ONLY in the bedroom… cocky everywhere else……….

AH!!

after the show

beomgyu x fem!reader

warnings: 🔞!!! sub!gyu, dom!reader, hand job, prob forgot some sorry

wc: 0.8k

an: thank you so much! 🤍 i’m so happy you requested :)) here is something short about sub gyu <333

[m.list] [1kevent m.list]

It was so fun to watch the way your boyfriend fell apart before you. It was a little secret between the two of you. Every night he would go on stage, strumming his guitar for the people screaming in the crowds, sing a song about having all the girls fall for him, how he would fuck them and leave. And yet he would wrap up the show and come right back to your hotel room. His cocky grin on display as he walked down the hall to greet those who came to the show, sweat dripping down the back of his neck making the hair stick to his skin as he rolled his eyes over the accusation that he was just a player. “How does your partner not worry about you stealing away the hearts of millions?”

“Comes with the territory,” he'd chuckle, shrugging his shoulders, holding the neck of his guitar in hand before nodding back over to where you stood waiting for him. “But I actually have to go,”

He would climb into the blacked-out car after you and the second the door was closed he would be a whining mess. His pout pulled on the crease of his brow as he leaned in for a kiss, “Comes with the territory?” you would ask, hand over his mouth. “I wonder what they would say if they could see the way you beg me for my pussy,”

That soft whimper makes his adam's apple bob, his hands twisting into his jeans because he knows if he reaches out for you, touches you without permission he will be punished. “Are you going to beg me for the privilege?” his nod was all you needed to let his mouth go. “Kiss me,”

And he'd jump on the opportunity, lips peppering over your skin, leading up to your mouth before you took over to devour his sweet noises.

It was incredible to watch the switch up the second the car pulled up at your hotel. How he would adjust himself in his pants and wrap an arm around your shoulder guiding you to the front door. The paparazzi clicked away at the sight, that sinful grin caught on the gossip pages the next morning. He would even be good on the elevator, waiting so well by the door when you dipped your hands into his front pocket looking for the key. Your fingers brushing over his erection just enough so that you could watch the way he fought the moan back.

You would have him strip for the shower, the water hot enough to fill the room with steam and It would curl around the glass door as you two stepped in. He would moan as you pushed him against the tiled wall, cool against his skin enough to make him jerk from the shock. He would melt into your touch, greedy for your kiss, hips thrusting against yours trying to find any form of release.

The second you reached your hand down to touch him he was burying his face into your shoulder, pressing his moans against your skin looking for a way to keep his noises down. But he could never stay too silent when you had your hand wrapped around his veiny shaft, slow strokes teasing him to death. “Oh god please- please,” his arms wrapped around your shoulders as you chuckled at his reaction.

Your fingers circled his tip, thumb pressed to his leaking slit as he whimpered. His hair stuck to his neck as you ran your fingers through the strands to wrap around and pull his head back to look at you. “I don't know if you've been good enough for me to let you cum,”

“I'm sorry,” eyes squeezing shut trying desperately not to think about the way you swirl your fingers. “I-I didn't mean it-”

“You didn't? You specifically picked out the one song you know gets you punished. Always singing about all the girls you could get,” you jerk your wrist, working down the length of him, “apologize,”

The increase in pace leaves him breathless, mouth opening and closing trying to work the words up his throat. “I'm sorry- im-” you drop your hand for his hair, wrapping them around his balls, giving just enough pressure to make his knees buckle. He leaned his weight on you, the water hitting your back and soaking his head on your shoulder, droplets clinging to the tip of his nose as he trembled.

Your stomach and thighs are a mess of white, droplets of his cum slipping down and washing down the drain as he lets out a stream of incoherent whines, your name mixed in with every little sound. You let him ride out his high, weak strokes slowing down until he's getting soft in your hands. “Now look at that, I wonder what all those girls would think after seeing you like this,”

taglist 🏷: @kissmekissykissme @bts-txt-ateez @seungfl0wer @lunesdesire want to be added to the taglist? check out my rules to see how to join! want to be taken off the taglist? send an ask!

#cam!answersasks #cams!1kevent #beomgyu x reader #txt x reader #beomgyu hard thoughts #beomgyu hard hours #txt smut #beomgyu smut #yeonjun #soobin #taehyun #huening kai

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eddiemunson-reader-shame · 2 days ago

Text

Be My Wife: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: A “friend” freaks out when you split a Coke with Eddie the Freak.

Warnings: references to A Clockwork Orange, bullying, STI/STD mention, backwash drinking

A/N: So… I know this isn’t a Christmas fic. But I wrote this because I had those times in my youth where someone spread horrid rumors about either me or my friends, and I had to make those split second decisions to determine my loyalty. I always try to be loyal as best I can.

Thank you to @writhingg for giving the green light on this fic. And big thanks to @rxqueenotd and @melodymunson as well. And big thanks to viewers like you. Thank you. ❤️

Resources: @strangergraphics-archive for the dividers.

Taglist: @ali-r3n @melodymunson @twihard28

“Hey droogie, can I have a sip of your Coke?”

You looked up from where you were perched on the pony wall by the Seven Eleven bike rack. You had been chatting with a classmate, Chessie Hagar, about purchasing a purse from her mother’s Avon Colorworks catalog. It was a new collection for the year 1977. Said eye catching magazine with its spread of rainbow themed products was currently held between the two of you, and the pages began to rattle as Chessie shook in fear upon hearing the deep voice.

A flutter-smack sounded from the girl dropping the catalog when Eddie The Freak approached. His stride was casual as one could be, whilst battling both midwestern humidity and pit sweat in a white hand-me-down Jimi Hendrix shirt and sleeveless denim vest. As one of the middle schoolers who had been blessed with a growth spurt, his lanky height, shredded second hand clothes, and shaved head often made those in your grade— and some of those above— piss their pants.

You alone did not fear him.

The Fates had elected to weave you both in a tangled web of coincidences: you had been his project partner in every shared class since you started at Hawkins Middle School together, and you just so happened to live in the same neighborhood on occasion. The distance from Al Munson’s janky two bedroom home to yours was but a hop skip and a jump. Eddie used to ding dong ditch your house when he was six, until one day your mother caught him by the ear and brought him in to mend his tattered jeans and offer up a hot meal.

To any other rando, he was an unstable pariah. But to you, he was just Eddie Munson— the cute boy next door who sometimes ate at your place. And you had become his droog after spending winter 1972 sneaking into the Hawk Theater, and making Stanley Kubrick films your new big boy personalities.

Without thinking, you handed the soft drink over. His fingers brushed against yours as he took the Coke out of your grip and went for a swig, with plush pink lips wrapping around the transparent jade glass of the lip and neck. His protruding Adam’s apple was bobbing with the rhythmic gulping, and you couldn’t stop staring.

“Thanks.” He belched out.

“You said a sip, not half the goddamn bottle!” You whined.

Eddie grinned sheepishly and backwashed a good mouthful. Giving a half assed apology and a promise to pay you back mumbled under his breath, he handed the bottle back.

“Still up for doing last minute project prep?” You asked, swirling the leftovers he’d saved for you.

“Nah, let’s take a break from the train wreck brothers. Catch you tomorrow, though?” He said, scratching a blackhead off his nose and snorting a bit, “I had an idea for the oral report that might earn us a little extra credit. Think you can mimic a British accent?”

“Eh. Can’t do an accent without sounding like fucking Alex DeLarge.” You groused.

“We can work on that. Leave your milk-plus at home, though. Don’t want me own droog reenacting some Roman ultra violence on me.”

“Just don’t go popping out from behind your curtains at me again, that’s a good way to get stabbed in the neck with my mom’s kitchen scissors.” You snorted.

“Ahhh, the droog’s no fun. I guess I can tone down the surprise pop ups, though. If you insist. Catch you later?” Eddie said, waving.

“Later. Peace out, man.”

Chessie let out a shaky, sobbing exhale when you made to drink the dregs of your soda, and you turned and raised an eyebrow.

“Whassamatter?” You asked.

“Are you nuts?! You just shared your drink with the freak!” She blurted out.

… since when the hell was sharing with Eddie a crime?

“Yeah, so? It’s hot out. He looked thirsty.” You said.

“Did you seriously forget everything we’ve heard about him?!” She whisper-screamed, “Don’t you care what everyone talks about?!”

You rolled your eyes. Everyone talked about Eddie. If you hadn’t heard at least one rumor from a faceless student whenever he walked by, you were either stupid or living under a rock. They said he was a bad boy— yes, even with a full vocabulary of slurs and insults available, they still called him a bad boy. Like if he was still in diapers drawing with crayon on the wall, and needed a spanking.

Depending on who you asked, Eddie either did or sold drugs, it was never clear which. Some of the other trailer park kids said he was a mean scrapper when he went to his uncle’s on alternate weeks. Women’s restroom lore stated that he carried a switchblade in the back pocket of his Wrangler jeans, and that he used it to torture animals for his Satanic rituals.

A million and one things were said about him on the daily, but you knew none of them were true in the slightest. None of the talk deterred you from spending time with him. Sometimes he came to your house, more often than not you went to his.

Every other day found the two of you parked in front of his mom’s turntable, jamming to Deep Purple and putting together an elaborate poster board with some spray painted fake leaves made into laurel crowns, along with a block of text about your chosen co-emperor of the early Roman Empire.

You had wanted to write about Caligula so you could use the word ‘orgy’ in the report without getting in trouble, but Eddie had insisted he had a better idea when he discovered a two years tumultuous ruling of brothers from 209 AD to 211 AD.

“As much as I love a good sex party on paper, you just know that’s what everyone else is gonna write about. Let’s write about this nut job Caracalla instead! Dude killed his brother in the arms of his mother, and struck his name from the record. That’s like, the most metal shit ever! Also, here’s a better word for you to learn: fratricide. Apparently there’s a whole list of technical terms for when you kill a family member.”

“… what’s the rumor mill gotta do with my Coke?” You deadpanned.

“If you drink after him, you’re gonna get mono like Cindy! You gotta throw it out!”

Cindy Bishop in your science class had told everyone that had functional ears— swearing up and down on her life— that Eddie Munson had kissed her and given her mononucleosis. A dreaded affliction whose nickname to you sounded like one of the variations of sound formats for any sort of audio.

“Mono…?”

“Yes! Or the syph!”

You knew Eddie had to have heard Chessie’s vitriol. Turning around, you could see him staring at the two of you from across the parking lot, one leg over his bike. There was a stinging look of betrayal on his face. Telltale signs of a wet cherry nose and shameful red cheeks gave away his mistrust; as if he was expecting you to do as your friend told, and throw the bottle he drank from in the trash.

His imaginary affliction was just that: imaginary. You knew that to be gospel.

The kiss with Cindy was real, unfortunately. It happened way before Cindy was kept home with mono, and you remembered the incident well. Eddie had come running to your house just to brag that he’d finally gotten his first kiss, and that pretty soon he’d be popping girl’s cherries left and right.

Just learning about the simple kiss had pissed you off, because the closest you’d ever gotten to kissing Eddie was sharing the same fork whenever you both roasted Vienna sausages on the gas burner in his kitchen. Eddie hadn’t been sick when Cindy stayed home, he came faithfully to school to trap you on the playground and speculate about the thousand and one hidden meanings behind the kiss.

With all the excitement, he never noticed the smallest details like you did. One of the guys in your PE class had been sent home with a rash and a high fever, and it was only a month after Cindy was rumored to have also kissed the collapsed boy that she got sick. You had always shared cups, utensils, and other things requiring mouth use with Eddie and had been fine. Yet Cindy and Tommy Hagan swapped spit once, and both were out of commission.

But no one would ever say anything about Tommy Hagan getting mono. They’d always redirect every disease outbreak to the poor loser who split time between Cherry Street and Forest Hills Trailer Park. The same poor loser who had the misfortune of wasting his first kiss with Cindy; a girl who frenched behind the portable classrooms with anything that had a pulse. People could be so blind and stupid, they failed to notice the sickness timelines were not matching up.

No one deserved their first anything to be with Cindy. Not with the way she stabbed people in the back.

You took a long, hard pause as you stared into Eddie’s wet brown eyes. He was asking you a silent question you already knew the answer to: were you a stinking traitorous droog, or a loyal one? Were you, his one friend in the entire world, going to stand against him?

Without saying a word, you looked at Chessie, then looked back again at Eddie.

In a world of traitors— where brothers stabbed brothers in the arms of their mothers, or where violent men disowned each other with drug laced milk bottles to the face, you would always pick instead to be Eddie Munson’s loyal droog.

You lathed at the lip of the bottle and stuck your tongue down the neck, and shotgunned all of Eddie’s backwash.

Chessie’s mouth dropped open as she began to gag, and Eddie opened his mouth in an obnoxious and breathless laugh as you chugged the entirety of his germs. The carbonation caught up to you, so you let a belch rip before turning back around to face him.

“I GOT YOUR MONO NOW, MUNSON!” You screamed out to him, “NOW YOU GOTTA MARRY ME!”

“IS THAT HOW IT WORKS, DROOGIE?” He shouted back, a shit eating grin stretched across his face, “YOU SHOULD HAVE LET ME KNOW BEFORE I TOOK A SWIG, I WOULD HAVE MADE SURE I GOT YOU A RING POP FIRST!”

“IT'S GODDAMN ROMAN CONFARREATIO LAWS, EDDIE! YOU GAVE ME MONO INSTEAD OF SPELT BREAD, NOW YOU GOTTA MARRY ME!” You joked.

You noticed from the big, smart ass grin that he was about to do something outrageous, and your heart began to sing. He immediately got to his knee on the asphalt, everyone in the Seven Eleven parking lot watching as he began to scream like an orator in the colosseum. He used your full government name and everything when he called out to the small parking lot audience.

“HEAR ME, CITIZENS OF HAWKINS! I AM BUT A VESSEL FOR THE GODS, A BEARER, A MESSENGER OF THAT MOST HOLY WORD FROM MOUNT OLYMPUS! I HAVE SHARED OF THE COOTIE WITH A WOMAN, AND THUS OUR MARRIAGE BETWEEN EMPEROR AND DROOG IS SOLEMNIZED-…!”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, FREAK!” Someone called out, immediately flinching back when Eddie rounded on him.

“THE GODS. HAVE. SPOKEN!” Eddie screeched, a glob of spit flying out of his mouth and onto the hot asphalt.

He was wide eyed. Deranged. Eddie lifted up the hem of his denim vest and held it out and to the side, to look like wings unfurling, screaming to the heavens as you began howling with him.

“YEAH!” You screamed out, raising your bottle and shouting every bit of nonsense you could think of, “GOD SANCTIONED DROOG MARRIAGE CO-RULER ULTRA-VIOLENCE! MAZEL TOV!”

“THE IMPERIAL HUSBAND NOW DEMANDS TO KISS THE DROOG BRIDE!” Eddie screamed, “PLANT ONE ON ME, GODDESS DIVINE OF THE REPUBLIC OF HAWKINS!!”

You looked at Chessie, who looked as if she was going to throw up or scream. It wasn’t immediately clear which. Instead of ending the joke, you grinned. Shrugged. The glossy magazine paper pages of the forgotten Avon Colorworks catalog ripped under the tread of your shoes when— without warning— you took off towards Eddie, and planted a fat wet kiss on his mouth. He froze for a moment, but returned the kiss with fervor, making an obnoxious hum and wet smack when you pulled away.

“Yum.” You gushed, licking your lips and changing your cadence to the unhinged Kubrick Cockney, “Them’s tasty cooties, they are, brother sir!”

“Yeah? Them false cytomegalovirus germs are what taste good to ya, droog?” He laughed, wrapping his arms around you and putting on his own terrible accent.

“That they are, sir, that’s what gives all me food and drink that plus flavor.” You grinned.

The two of you cackled, thoroughly enjoying throwing out random quotes and various insanities that to the normal person would put them off of your insanity and edge-lord humor. Chessie had long since taken off for the gated community of Loch Nora on her bike, but you didn’t care. You could live without a selection of eyeshadows, a rainbow tote purse, and all of your false friends if the choice came down to choosing them, or Eddie.

“Wanna go into the gas station and split another bottle of mono before we blow this joint?” You asked.

His grin could have rivaled that of Malcolm McDowell.

“Now, how can I say no to my new wife?” He grinned, holding out his arm for you to take, “But I am a man of my word, so you’re getting a new Coke, plus that Ring Pop so’s we can make this thing official.”

“Spare no expense, huh?” You grinned, and he pulled you in closer. Both of your hips knocking together.

“Hey… Only the best and finest gems and refreshments for Empress Droog the First of Hawkins, Indiana.” Eddie said with a confident smile.

You smiled at him, nudging one another with your bodies all the way into the gas station, until he pulled you in for another sloppy kiss in the middle of the snack aisle.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson fandom #joseph quinn #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson reader insert #eddie munson fanfic #fluff #friends to lovers #Spotify

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fqiryspit · 2 years ago

Text

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 - 𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧.𝐣

eren jaeger x fem!reader

"whose perfume is that?"

cw: 2k words, suspicions of cheating, stressing, reader and eren are married, pussy eating, shower sex, tongue fucking, dick sucking, sex in a semi-public place, v n p sex, no condom, slight corruption kink, manhandling, dom!eren, sub!reader

you pushed your hair behind your ear as you sucked in your cheek, flipping the next page as your head shot up at the sound of your front door closing.

uncrossing your legs and arms wide you grinned at a tired, stressed eren.

"long day?" you mumbled into his button up, an airy laugh escaped his lips as he wrapped his arms around you so tightly

"horribly" he added, digging his nose into your hair as he sighed, grateful to be home.

after that, he stripped from his sweaty attire and hopped into the shower as you prepared dinner, this calm lifestyle suiting you both as he decided to leave work at work and rarely snapped with stress

it's perfect. you knew when to embrace him after a long day and when to stay clear, you're not tip-toeing around him or anything, you're just picking up on his hints.

you love that..-picking up on hints that is. but not so much when it comes to perfume on his collar and staying out late. not at all.

you twirled the ring on your finger, teeth gnawing at your lip making it bloody and bruised. 2 hours late? dinners cold and your patience is thin.

he would've texted.

That's all you can think. but maybe it's hard to type a simple "gonna be late" when you're balls deep in-

"baby?"

he's home.

you're crossed-legged on your shared bed and you don't know if you wanna see him. you almost want him to stroll past you and just shower so you don't have to see his messy hair or smell another women's fragrance

"honey? are you out?"

why isn't he letting up? are you crazy? is this-

"fuck, there you are" he sighed, walking into the bedroom as he shrugged off his coat he usually hangs up in the doorway, was he really that adamant on finding you that he couldn't put his coat up? was he scared that you packed up and left, or just being a good husband? you feel insane.

he tossed it to the floor like it didn't cost 500 dollars and walked over to you, muscles straining his top as he scoops your cheeks up to look at him

"are you okay? did something happen?" he is actually worried and you're a horrible person.

"uh- no sorry, just worried about you...took a while for you to come home" you whispered, he looked at you for another minute to check if everything was alright before laying down next to you

"my phone died, sorry honey, dumbasses made me stay late and traffic was a bitch." he mumbled into the matters as you moved to lay down next to him

"mm" you hummed in response, gliding your fingers softly into his already undone hair as he lightly moans into the sheets

"missed you all day" he adds, rolling over after a minute and standing, unbuttoning his shirt

halfway done he leans in, trapping your now upright form with his hands at either side of you,

"how 'bout you join me in the shower?" he grins, waiting for your answer as your face heats up rapidly

"ok" you whisper, excitement pooling into your panties as he stares into you

he scoops you up, bringing you to the bathroom, and placing you on the counter, lips smacking against yours in almost a panic as he separates you and puts the shower on. you look over at the immediate steam as he put it to the hottest tempt. stripping your shirt off with a clean swipe and pulling your pants off with your soaked panties

as the bathroom fogs with steam, he kneels down, licking up your cunt, his groans at your heat and pulsing pussy, wrapping your thighs around him as he laps at you like a starved man

sliding his tongue into your cunt with ease, he starts fucking you with it as tears pool out of your eyes, and beg him to keep going

with cum dripping from his chin and him licking every last drop, he holds your weary frame as he enters the shower to have his way with you.

it was amazing, hand holding against the cold tile as hot steam keeps you warm, his cock sliding in and out of you as he spills praises of "so fucking gorgeous" "been thinkin' bout this all day" "so fuckin' perfect for me" "I love you so much"

the rest of the night was a blur with a sore body and him taking care of you, ordering take-out because of the cold dinner, and you cuddled up with him watching horrible tv shows while eating.

it was truly, perfect.

dumbass forget his lunch.

you text him a warning of your arrival and he responded with a "can't wait 😉"

you scoffed and hopped into your car, trying to make this fast and praying he'd be at the entrance because a tee shirt and jeans isn't an outfit you wanna meet his coworkers in.

you sighed and parked as you accepted your fate in going in. you sucked your bottom lip in as you looked like a mother bringing your forgetful child lunch mid-class.

you talked to the receptionist who had a glare on her with a verrry tight top that made you feel even more like an outcast.

"and who are you to mr. jaeger?" she said, valley accent heavy on her lips

"I'm his wife..." you cleared your throat, knowing this might be a problem

"you know...I can just call him and have him down here-" you rambled, trying to get this to end as embarrassment flooded you

"ma'am, I'll call him, okay?" she scoffed and you just had your lips in a tight line and waited.

after forever, she gave you the go-ahead to go upstairs, you thanked her and went onto the elevator where you thought out a message to leave eren because why the fuck didn't he come downstairs

you felt more secure now, if this is you before you'd be assuming the worst, but, you've been trying to stop that and just trust your damn husband

as the elevator doors open all eyes were on you and you suddenly felt like you were gonna die again. you shuffled out, scared to bother anyone as you moved through the busy halls

you saw a woman with jet-black hair cut short as she moved empty-handed, you stopped her shyly and asked if she knew eren and if so, where he'd be

"why do you need to see eren?" she questioned immediately, you sighed again, not wanting to go through receptionists 2.0

"I'm his wife" you answered for the 50th time, her eyes darkened slightly before putting on the fakest smile you've ever seen

"oo, I'm mikasa" she said as if you'd know, you nodded like you did but she caught on you were oblivious

"me and eren are great friends" she added to save her point, you nodded again, not caring too much about his work friends but more so him

"yeah, we've been friends since-" she pushes air out of her mouth as she moves a hand on her hip "gosh, I don't even know how long"

"that's nice" you said, a little too aggressive than you wanted it to be, her eyes moved to yours and she stood straight again with a sly grin on her lips

"there's no need to worry between him and I, I mean, the people here call me his wife because we're so close but I'm sure they know you as well"

this bitch

"that's nice," you repeated before taking a breath "eren doesn't talk a lot about work so I had no idea he made friends"

her eye twitched slightly and you were pleased, passive aggressiveness strong in your cheery voice as you just wanted to leave

"he probably didn't wanna worry you"

"about what?" you answered right anyway, knowing you fell into her trap and this would take long she put another almost surprised face on

"I mean, we go out a lot and people talk is all." you stared uninterested at her, taking a deep breath in and getting a hint of perfume, the same one eren had sprinkled on his collar

"like, going out to lunch and dinner isn't a big deal, but, people think that your rings on my finger haaa" she ended with an airy laugh, and you nodded with a tight-lipped smile and she finished up the conversation, and finally pointing to his fucking office

you said your goodbyes and walked into there where eren was signing some unimportant papers

"baby took you long enough" he whined, sitting up as he wrapped his arms around you, moved back to lock his lips with you as you stood almost motionless

"everything okay?" he asked backing up and taking a look at your frame

"ran into mikasa...your work wife" you said, annoyed.

"shit, she won't leave me alone...what did she say to you?" he stood up walking towards you worried she messed with you

"nothing, here's your lunch-" you lifted the small bag up but he just sighed and asked again, "what did she say?"

you bit a chunk of your cheek, deciding to do this now rather than later

"lunches, dinner, rumors, and her perfume always on your shirt coming home" you answered simply, obviously pissed off with the situation

"dammit, I'm sorry babe, I'll talk to her-"

"no, I want you to talk to me...dinners eren? is that why you're coming home late and missing mine?" you asked, he stared at you, collecting his thoughts with a tightened jaw

"she asked me to go to a place down the street once, I said yes, I made it home in time still. all those times I came home late yes I was working. goodness babe- I- I can't believe you're even asking this" he said, moving his hands around

"I'm asking because her perfume is always on you when you come home" you said, keeping your voice low

"because goodbye hugs are a part of her nightly routine, she works with me all day, hugs and lunches are normal" he pleas

"can you keep your distance from her? she's head over heels for you eren and that shit scares me" he stared at you, almost shocked

"what scares you? me or her?" he asked, not willing for a half-assed answer

"I- that bitch would tear any relationship up, do you see her?"

"so you think I'd fuck her? takes two babe." he added and you scramble to collect your thoughts

"I- I know you wouldn't do that-" "fuck, y/n, w-were married and you think I'd fall for an employee that has a crush on me?"

"who cares about what she fucking calls herself, at the end of the day I come home to you, I fuck you" he says, keeping his voice low but firm as you stood there feeling guilty

"I'm sorry" you answered and his eyes softened, you did truly feel bad for questioning his loyalty this much

"I'm sorry that you had to go crazy alone and hear that bullshit from her.." he hugs you, kissing your forehead as he rubs circles on your back

once he pulled away he looked at you as you stared up at him, almost waiting.

he leaned down and kissed you, loving at first but becoming frantic as he pressed himself against you, getting somewhat hard

"e-eren" you scolded, here? right now?

"fuck, hold on" he lead you to a personal bathroom with a complete counter, putting you up there you feel heat pool everywhere as he stood hard in his pants

"do I need to fuck your head straight? hm?" he asked, whispering on your lips as he dips down to kiss you and rubbing himself

a whine escaped your lips, bucking your hips up as you felt your wet pussy throb for his cock

he unzips his pants and pulls out his cock, jerking himself until he was fully hard

you kissed him, moving down from the counter as his brow twitched in confusion until you sunk down to your knees

"'m sorry" you mumbled, licking up his tip as he groaned. you moved your mouth across the thick vein lining his tanned cock as your pussy ached for it to choke you, you humped your thigh desperately as you sucked on the head

"fuck, you're that horny baby? didn't I just fuck you?" he groaned out, you put him into your mouth fully as you moaned on how it choked you. it's all you want right now, to have his huge cock down your throat as you hump yourself for forgiveness

he groaned digging his nails into your hair as he fucked your throat right away, you loved how your throat ached and how tears pooled out of your eyes

"fuck, you like that baby? touch yourself, touch that fucking pussy f'me"

you listen, unzipping your pants and sliding your hand down to start rubbing your swollen clit

"aw baby, feels good, feels good being a slut?" he coos but you nod, it felt great with him using you, it's all you wanted.

"fuuck" he groaned, coming close as your eyes crossed and you came on your fingers, all you wanted is his cum

you rode your fingers expecting to get a mouth full of cum but he removed his cock from your throat

"fuck, 'wanna cum in that pussy baby...did you already cum" he sighed, having his hands run through his hair as you nodded

"riding your fingers now 'cuz you want more?" he asked, taunting you with his cock in your face

"m-mhm" you choked on your tears, leaning in you sucked his cock again as he groaned

"fuuck, you're such a slut" he moved your hair back and titled it towards him

"take your filthy fingers out of your pussy and lick them" he ordered and you did so right away, sticking your fingers down your throat as your oral fixation was healed

he picked you up back on the counter and took your pants off and shoved his cock into your pussy, you cried, telling him it was too big but he just started fucking you,

so full of cock you cried as your pupils spun, squirting everywhere as he rubbed your clit to get another one out of you

"again, cum again" he said, slamming his hips against yours and his cock felt so good all you wanted was to be full of him, always.

with shaking thigh you came again, his pace hurried as he cursed under his breath. he came deep into your womb and kissed up your neck, sweaty hair getting pushed back with his hand as your fucked out flushed face stared dizzily at him

an: I'm waaaay too tired to read through that again, but, I hope you enjoyed! I can't believe I actually made a full 2k fic! I'm feeling a little shy posting such smut but whatever I'll close my eyes once I hit post :) oh, and I for once did "maybe cheating" troupe with an actual innocent eren, who would have thought!! haha, love you guys <3

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latenighttalking00 · 1 year ago

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A Work of Art

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Fem! Reader

Summary: You are a Marchioness from france and your mother is adamant that you wed. She is a very close friend of the Dowager Vicountess Bridgerton who has so generously agreed to be your sponsor for the season. Perhaps in doing this, she has unknowingly found her son's perfect match as well.

Warnings: slow-ish burn, friends to lovers, smut, 18+, minors dni, hair pulling, possessive/dirty talk, fingering, oral (f receiving). This is just porn with a plot.

Word Count: 2k

Author's Note: Hi! This is my first time writing, so apologies if it's a bit rough; English isn't my native language. Hopefully, you all absolutely drool over Benedict the same way I do. enjoy!

Once the social season had begun its approach, you and your family make haste on your return from france. Due to your newly given title, you are projected to be quite the diamond this season indeed.

As a close friend of the family, the Dowager Viscountess, Violet Bridgerton kindly offers to sponsor your debut this season, meaning that it is now of the utmost importance to arrive promptly at the Bridgerton home in London before the season is to begin.

As you sit in the drawing room, awaiting the next potential suitors you will inevitably send on their way, the clear and evident dread in your expression does not go unnoticed by your mother. A quick swat to your knee from her fan catches your attention, a visible look of warning on her face as your eyes meet hers.

"I do hope that attitude of yours is quick to dissipate." She sighs, "Men will find you quite inadequate to wed if you are to continue this ridiculous behavior. It is quite unladylike." Your mother's words cut right through you as if she had taken a hot paring knife to both of your ears. Not being able to withstand it any longer, you quickly stand from your seat and interrupt her.

"Mother, this gown and the line of men outside the door are quite suffocating enough; no need for your incessant nagging as well." You take a moment to pause, regaining your composure.

"I believe I am feeling quite faint; perhaps I've seen enough suitors today." You threaten rather than suggest, "I will return to my chambers and perhaps get a bit of rest seeing as the sun has already began it’s departure from the sky."

You bow and quickly excuse yourself before making haste out the door, walking as fast as your feet can take you, right past the men who are practically begging for just a minute of your attention.

You race directly to your bedroom, entering quickly and not even fully shutting the door before you are pulling down the zipper of your gown and letting it fall to the floor. "This retched thing must come off immediately," you mumble to yourself as you pull at the laces of your corset, loosening them just enough to slide off your body. A sigh of relief leaves your lips as you slip off your stays and slip on a beautiful white nightgown you purchased from one of the most talented modiste in france.

Shortly after the maids come to collect your gown, you are quick to wander down the halls in search of a cure to your relentless boredom. you find what appears to be an art studio and you are instantly overjoyed. you quietly sneak in through the door left ajar.

Art was your pride and joy; your sketches and the ability to produce beautiful works on canvas were the only things keeping you from becoming a mad woman.

Unbeknownst to you, Violet's second-eldest son and the owner of said art studio had just returned home from the gentleman's club. As he makes his way down the hall, prepared to return to his studio and peacefully finish up some things he started the night prior, he is met with complete and udder surprise at the sight of a woman flipping through his sketchbooks.

He feels as if the air has been knocked right from his lungs. Never once has a woman looked so real, raw, and simply ethereal to him in nothing but a simple yet elegant night gown, the pages in between your delicate fingers, the way in which you sit, your effortless and beautiful features, and the way they change and turn to show your focus, the true and utter intrigue at the charcoal etched on the paper is more than enough to bring a man directly to his knees.

He watches as you adjust your position, your nightgown sliding up your thighs as you cross a leg over the other. He feels as if he might faint.

“those are from my time traveling.” he points, making his way in to the room.

So lost in thought, you are quickly brought back by the sound of the deep and sultry voice coming from the hallway, it sends chills down your body, you are unable to fight the butterflies in your stomach and are completely unprepared for what you’re eyes are met with the second they dare to leave the pages in front of you. He is perhaps one of the most beautiful men you have ever seen, the way his features darken in the dim candle light could cause scandal merely on its own.

As he makes his way over to you, you scramble to find any sort of words to not appear as a complete and udder fool. “désolée, my Lord. All this beautiful artwork caught my eye and i could not help myself.” your voice only making his new found attraction grow even stronger.

“Benedict Bridgerton..” he says just loud enough for you to hear. He is quick to take your hand in his, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“Miss y/n y/l/n” you respond, a blush creeps over your cheeks as your eyes meet his. Your name and accent are both very quick explanations as to why a very random beautiful woman was wondering in

his family home.

“Ah yes, the Marchioness from France. My mother has done quite a bit of boasting upon your arrival, i can now see why she was so keen on you being the diamond of this social season” he chuckled lightly “merci, Lord Bridgerton.” you offer him a warm smile as you place the sketch book in his hands.

Your hand grazes his and you feel as if your body is set aflame. You quickly fumble to stand, attempting to leave before any further scandal is to happen. he is quick to catch you by the arm, his light grasp more than enough to keep you in place.

“Please, stay as long as you’d like.” He offers, taking a step towards you, but you are quick to shake your head, knowing staying any longer may very well affect your title and rank during this very precious season.

“You are more than kind.” you place a hand over his and squeeze lightly. He leans even closer, your face mere inches from his. his scent fills your nose and you cannot control the heat that consumes your body, the sheer need you have for him in this very moment. “I must- i uh-..” he raises an eyebrow at your words. though his proximity fogs your brain, you attempt to compose yourself. “Perhaps i can show you some of my art in the duration of my stay here.“ he smirks, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip as he nods “if what you create is half as beautiful as you, my art will never hold a candle to yours.” he compliments.

Your breathe catches in your throat as his words. “..Benedict- Apologies, Lord Bridgerton..” you quickly correct yourself, the use of his first name not going unnoticed by him. “I’m sure both your and my Mother will have quite the earful if i am found in here, i must go.” Before he is even able to protest, you are gone.

As the days pass, You begin to consume his every waking thought, the sound of your voice, the feeling of your skin on his is burned in to his memory and he cannot shake his want for you.

Anthony is quick to notice his admiration, the wandering stares and close proximity immediately become apparent in Anthony’s eyes. As the family settles in the drawing room, Anthony is quick to pull His younger brother aside “You’ve grown quite close with Marchioness” Anthony offers his younger brother a warning glance and Benedict simply smirks in return “Brother, are you suggesting that i’ve compromised Miss y/l/n?” he laughs. Anthony in no way finds this amusing “See to it that your intentions are well thought out and you are thinking with your brain rather than something else. She is a Marchioness, toying with oversea affairs may be more than risky, even for a Bridgerton.” Anthony notes, the clear and evident weariness in his voice wipes the smile right off Benedict’s face

“Brother, do remind me. Did you not ask for one Sharma’s hand in marriage and then proceed to marry the other? You need not inform me on scandal for i am more than well aware of what i am doing.” he place a hand on Anthony shoulder and squeezes light before walking away.

time skip

Benedict does everything in his power to gain every fraction of your attention when it is available. The two of you spending more time together than any of the men attempting to court you. This new grown fondness blossoms quickly and Benedict soon becomes one of your most trusted friends. Spending late nights in his art studio, promenades in the garden, pall mall with his family. You’ve never felt more at home than with your dear Benedict and his lovely family. This fondness grows very quickly to something much stronger. Knowing Benedict’s stance on courting and marriage in general, you shake the thought. Knowing your dear friend will never see you as anything but.

While enjoying another late night in his studio, you can’t help but feel different. You both are well aware your time together is coming to end. Suitors begin growing impatient and proposals begin rolling in faster than the tide.

“I quite like Lord Lumley, he is handsome and he finds interest in poetry.” Benedict is quick to laugh “Lord Lumley is a dimwit after nothing but your title.” you wince at his words “Clearly he’s much more of a gentleman than you.” You tease, crossing your arms over your chest. “Excuse me?” he asks, the change in his tone sending heat right between your thighs. He rises from his place on the stool and saunters over to you, his large frame towering over yours.

“Repeat what you said.” he orders

“Ben i was merely kidding i-“ you stutter, his proximity making your skin feel as if it were on fire.

“Do not make me ask you again.” he warns, a smirk on his face

You are a bit taken a back by his demeanor but the insatiable desire in your body fills you with a sudden surge of confidence. “Lord Lumley is more of a gentleman than you, Lord Bridgerton.”

Benedict lets out a low chuckle before leaning down, his mouth right by your ear.

“Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps Lord Lumley isn’t plagued by the same un-gentleman like thoughts that fill my head the moment you step into a room.” he sighs, his breath on your skin only making matters worse.

Your hands find his half buttoned shirt and you press your hands lightly to his chest “Benedict.” you warn.

he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes with his own. Your noses practically grazing as he speaks. “Tell me now that you do not desire me.” His hands rest on either side of your face “Simply speak the words and i will respectfully withdraw and allow you to be with whomever you like but first you must tell me you do not desire me and you wish for me to leave you alone.”

“Ben.” You mumble quitely. Every feeling or emotion that the second eldest Bridgerton has ever caused immediately rises to the surface. At a complete loss for words, you do what you feel is right in the very moment and you bring your lips to his.

The kiss quickly fills with passion, weeks of hidden adoration and care comes bubbling over the surface.

“Marry me.” he say breathlessly as he breaks from the kiss. “You have shown me what is it truly like to admire a woman. To look at her and feel inspiration. To delight in her beauty. So much so that all of her defenses crumble and that you would willingly take on any pain or burden for her. To honor her being with your deeds and words. You make me feel what only a true poet describes." his works nearly bring you to your knees as tears threaten to escape your eyes. “I would move the heavens down to earth for you if i knew it would make you smile.”

“Benedict.. Je vous aime.” you reassure him “I love you mon chéri, more than the moon loves the night sky. You are my everything, my best-friend. I would give anything to be your wife.” He pulls you back in for another kiss which very quickly becomes heated.

He trails hot kisses all over your jaw, neck and bosom. “My beautiful Fiancée.” he mumbles, his wandering hands sliding their way up your thighs, threatening to breach the hem of your nightgown. You are immediately reminded of your current location and you push the dark haired boy back “Ben.. not here” you breathe out, The second Bridgerton son just smirks before kneeling down in front of you.

Unsure of what he’s planning, you remain silent, eyes trained on his as he begins trailing kisses up from your ankle to your inner thigh. His hands trail up the back of your legs, giving your ass a playful squeeze as he reaches it, causing a gasp to escape from your lips.

The mere sight of him like this sends heat directly between your thighs, all logical thinking thrown out the window as he begins to tug your panties down your thighs. A blush creeps over your cheeks and your hands find his hair, tugging lightly. Benedict continues with no hesitation, pressing light kisses all over your inner thighs, leading right up to your aching core. You’re unable to fight back the sounds that leave your lips as you feel his tongue pressed against your clit. “Christ Benedict… you’re going to be the death of me.”

He wastes no time, lapping, kissing and sucking at your soaked heat as strong hands grip on to your thighs, throwing one of your legs over his shoulder. You lean against his desk to keep yourself upright while quiet moans and whimpers escape your lips, your hands pulling and tugging at his messy black hair, only encouraging him more. He pulls back only for a moment to look up at you “You taste fucking divine, my beautiful work of art.”

He is quick to return to your soaked heat. As his tongue works relentlessly on your clit, he slowly pushes two fingers inside of you, giving you a moment to adjust before slowly thrusting them in and out. Shortly after, you feel an unfamiliar knot form in the pit of your stomach and Benedict is aware immediately due to your incoherent mumbles and the way you clench around his fingers. “That’s my girl..” he says breathlessly “just like that..” After hearing his words, you completely unravel, shaky moans escape your lips as one hand grips on to the table and the other with a tight hold on your Fiancées hair.

Once your body has relaxed, he gently pulls your panties back up before standing to face you. You watch as he brings his fingers to your mouth “Open.” he commands and you immediately oblige, opening your mouth as he slides his fingers past your lips. The unfamiliar taste and the sheer sight in front of you causes a blush to fall over your face. He removes his fingers with a groan and offers your a smirk “You, my dear Fiancée are going to be the death of Me.”

A/N: Hi guys! I really hope every likes this :) if you have any request, feel free to send them to me :)

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x fem! reader #benedict #bridgerton #smut #anthony bridgerton #benedict smut #benedict bridgerton smut

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bullet-clubs-bitch · 17 days ago

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HE KNOWS WHAT HE IS DOING

When I saw this I violently started screaming, thank you AEW figure fighters 🙏🏼

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lovelyverosika · 11 months ago

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You didn’t know but with a twist

Hazbin Hotel! Adam x Fem!Reader

Warning: swearing

A/N: Hey<3 My name is Verosika and I’ll write fanfictions whenever I have the time to :) This is my first time writing one, so it’s based on the song "You didn’t know" to make it easier for me. Just to let you know english isn’t my first language..so be prepared for some grammar mistakes :,D

Y/N POV:

We all sat in the courtroom, waiting for the trail to begin. Next to me was my husband Adam and Lute. I wasn’t supposed to be here but Adam wanted me to hear the "childish" and unrealistic ideas of the princess of hell.

After everyone was here Sera spoke "We're gathered here today to determine whether or not a soul in Hell, can be redeemed into heavenly realm by means of this 'Hazbin hotel', Princess Morningstar?",Sera said wanting Charlie to speak up.

I looked down to Charlie,my head resting on Adam’s shoulder. "Webster's dictionary defines redemption as-" before Charlie could speak Adam interrupts her: "Objection, lame and unoriginal". I sighed at his immature behaviour and gave him a slight bump with my head.

Charlie was flipping through her cards making Adam roll his eyes. "If you have actually evidence, then show it already." He said,glaring at Charlie. "We have two patrons already they’re making incredible progress" Charlie defended and I smiled, "Who?", I asked. "Angel Dust" Charlie spoke. "Oh yeah, the pornstar demon" Adam snickered as he added. "He's totally worth being redeemed".

Suddenly Monika,another demon stood up. "Well then, if you know so much…what do you think it takes to get into heaven?",she spoke. It was quiet until I asked if Adam was okay. He scoffed as he pulled out a golden paper from his pockets and a pen, "Give me a fucking moment, okay?",he then started writing and gave me the paper as I read it out, "Act selfless, don't steal, stick it to the man?", I chuckled looking at him with an raised eyebrow. He shrugged "Uh, yeah? Sure got me here...didn't it?",he said seemingly questioning himself. Sera sighed before saying: "He was the first human soul in heaven."

In the following hours Charlie showed us the improvement of this demon called Angel dust and how he did everything what Adam wrote on his list but nothing happened. Sera only sighed as she wanted to declare the trail as failed and that we will see what brings someone to heaven when the first soul arrives. I sat there with my head hanging. I felt bad for keeping my secret,especially when I looked over to Emily,who held the paper that Adam had written earlier.

Emily: But she was right, Sera. She showed us a soul can improve. He saw the light, Sera. Checked all the boxes that you said would prove a person deserves a second chance. Now we turn our backs, no second glance?

Sera: It's not as simple as you think. Not everything is spelled in ink.

Charlie: It's not fair, Sera!

Vaggie: Careful, Charlie, keep a cool head.

Charlie: No! Don't you care, Sera? That just because someone is dead, it doesn't mean they can't resolve to change their ways turn the page, escape infernal blaze.

Y/N: I'm sure you wish it could be so. But there's a lot that you don't know.

Lute: What are we even talkin' about? Some crack-whore who fucked up already? He blew his shot, like the cocks in his mouth. This discussion is senseless and petty.

Lute & Adam: There's no question to be posed!He's unholy, case closed. Did you forget that Hell is forever?

Adam: A man only lives once, we'll see you in one month. Gotta say, I can't wait to…

Y/N: Adam…

Adam: Come down and exterminate you.

Emily: Wait!

Adam: Shit…

Emily: What are you saying? Let me get this straight…You go down there and kill those poor souls?

Charlie & Y/N: You didn’t know?

Adam: Whoops

Lute: Guess the cat’s out of the bag.

Adam: What’s the big deal?

Emily: Sera, tell me that you didn't know…

Sera: I thought, since I'm older it's my load to shoulder

Emily: No!

Sera: You have to listen, it was such a hard decision. I wanted to save you, the anguish it takes to do what was required.

Emily: To think that I admired you, well I don't need your condescension. I'm not a child to protect! Was talk of virtue just pretension? Was I too naive to expect you to heed the morals you're purveying?

Charlie: That's what the fuck I've been saying!

Emily,Charlie & Monika: If Hell is forever, then Heaven must be a lie! If angels can do whatever, and remain in the sky. The rules are shades of gray, when you don't do as you say. When you make the wretched suffer just to kill them again.

Monika: Don't you act all high and mighty!Adam did you ever think your "sweet" wife might be a liar?

Y/N: Huh? Wait no…please!

Monika: Don’t be such a crybaby! Why hide the fact that you were a demon just like us?

Part 2

#hazbin hotel #adam x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel adam x reader #x reader

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undead-supernova · 21 days ago

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High Tolerance Masterlist

pairings: modern!bestfriend!Eddie x bisexual!fem!reader

plot: you and Eddie decide to have a calm day before your Christmas party. and, for the first time since you met this year, you find clarity.

cw: cannabis consumption, nicotine indulgence, a dash of spice, gentle angst

wc: 3.2k

note: this is a one-off of my High Tolerance series, as well as my submission for @littlexdeaths's Christmas Event, choosing prompt 10: ghosts of Christmas past. I love you, Mari. Merry Chrysler <3

This is a Christmas present for one of my lovely best friends, @jo-harrington who has made a huge impact in my life, my heart, and my writing. Thank you for all the love you've shown me. I don't take any of it for granted.

“No, what I’m saying is that I think a man is lame if he won’t let a woman peg him.”

“That’s over dramatic.”

“What, you don’t agree with me?”

“No, I just think you’re simplifying it.��

“Are you saying that you wouldn’t let a woman peg you?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Ha!”

Eddie shook his head, carrying the last of the Kroger bags to your kitchen. “Listen, all I’m saying is that I don’t think you can judge someone like that. What if they’re straight?”

You took two of the heavier bags from him before placing them on the counter. “Well then I have more incentive to judge.” He rolled his eyes. “Would you go close the door?”

“You’re ruthless. Absolutely not,” he responded before doing exactly what you asked.

Eddie had been a big help, prepping for your Christmas party the following night as co-hosts. The decision on where to hold it was easy: your apartment was slightly bigger than his, not to mention Eddie was still figuring out how to decorate his new apartment.

Steve and Robin offered, but Eddie had been adamant that it was him and his Weirdo who would do the best job. The A-List guest list consisted of you two, Steve, Robin, Gareth, Grant, and Jeff.

While you’d gone home to see your mom and sister for Thanksgiving, Eddie’s bandmates had surprised him with the news that they were officially planning to move to Atlanta after college graduation in May. Thus, you'd been left to your own devices until now.

Eddie had made the first few weeks of December as festive as possible, surprising you with peppermint hot chocolates and the worst Christmas movies you’d ever seen. You’d begged him for a classic, like Elf or It’s a Wonderful Life, but he’d strategically saved those for the week of Christmas itself.

Without any explanation, Eddie pulled something out of his tote bag. It was a small box, wrapped in red and white striped wrapping paper with a ridiculously big bow on top.

You scowled at him. “Eddie. No.”

He grinned. “Yes.”

“No!”

“Yes!”

Shaking your head, you stated, “We said no presents.”

An overdramatically apologetic expression filled his face. “My fingers crossed unexpectedly when we said that.”

“That’s very convenient.”

“I thought so, too.”

He was insufferable.

You sighed, raising your hands. “Eddie, I can’t accept it.” Before you could think to move, he grabbed your hand and shoved it into your palm. “It’s already in your hand.”

Groaning, you conceded. “Fine! Fine.”

“Yes!” he exclaimed before shoving his hands behind his back, failing to hide his smile.

Rolling your eyes, you tore the paper and delved inside.

“It’s…oil,” you stated.

Eddie raised his pointer finger, catching your attention. “A very specific kind of oil. Delta-8.”

“Did you give me drugs for Christmas?” you asked.

“There’s no better time.” He wasn’t wrong. “Besides, you’re making that beer cheese and I thought it’d go great.”

“That’s perfect, actually,” you said seriously. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

“You know, I have a secret.”

Pages ripped from your latest notebook rested in your pocket. Actually, they weren’t exactly restful. They felt quite restless, burning a hole in your pants and your mind. The ink clogged your throat, the words swirling together in your head, preventing any clarity from forming.

“Which is?”

Here this guy was, your certified best friend standing beside you after a year and a half of silence. His presence in your life came with open arms and a struggle for pure vulnerability. You’d had your moments over the last seven months, what with your pasts coming up and all of the memories that felt like stories the moment they were shared.

Give it to him, you thought. Come on, do it.

“I actually had all of my toes crossed when we said no presents,” you said finally, fingers reaching toward your back pocket.

His eyebrows lifted. “That’s very convenient.”

“Yeah, I thought so, too.”

The pads of your fingertips grazed the paper gently before you reached around him to grab a tiny cardboard box resting on your kitchen table.

Coward.

“How did I not notice that?” he asked, taking it from you.

You shrugged. “I’m the master of disguise.”

“Clearly,” he muttered before opening the top of the box slowly. He made a show of it, closing one eye and trying to peer into the darkness. You giggled as soon as he saw what was inside.

“A joint, huh?” You nodded, biting your lip. “All for me?”

“All for you.”

He placed a hand on his chest, giving you a big smile. “That’s extremely heartfelt, sweetheart. Thank you.”

You tried to keep your smile from faltering, that note starting to singe your skin through the denim.

Give it to him, you thought again. Do it. Do it now.

“Do you want some beer cheese?” you asked.

“Under one condition,” he said, holding up a finger. Your eyebrow quirked up. “You can’t down it like you did last time.”

You scoffed. “Oh, come on! That’s not fair!”

“Those are the rules, Weirdo.”

“Ugh,” you grumbled. “Fine. Come on.”

Eddie had been shocked when you picked him up. Your face was nearly bare, wearing neutral eye shadow fading into a charcoal gray with thin-winged eyeliner and maroon lipstick. It was the first time he’d seen you without eyes completely coated in darkness.

It was startling.

You were dazzling.

Donning a black turtleneck, jeans, and combat boots, you flitted around your kitchen as you measured how much oil you’d pour into the cheese.

And, okay. Eddie didn’t mean to look at your ass. Scouts honor. However, you bent down to grab a pot from your cabinet and he couldn’t help but look. He could admire how well your jeans fit you, couldn't he?

In the midst of his perusing, he noticed paper in your back right pocket. He found it curious. It couldn’t have been your grocery list—you’d used your Notes app for that. What were you hiding?

“When do the boys come in?” you asked.

Eddie blinked, tearing his eyes away just in time to meet yours. “Oh, the band?” You nodded before turning the burner on low. “Uh, yeah. They come in at nine-thirty tomorrow.”

“And you’re sure you wanna sleep over tonight?”

He shrugged. “Only if you want to.”

“We’ll see if I get sick of you by then.”

Eddie snorted before moving past you to grab some Pringles from your cabinet. “After my killer present? Nah, I don’t think so, sweetheart.”

“Don’t sweetheart me, mister,” you said playfully before gasping. He jumped back just in time as you thrusted a cheese-covered wooden spoon in his direction. “Damn, Eddie, get your own Pringles! Those are for the party!”

He moved to the back corner of the kitchen, quickly shoving a Pringle in his mouth. As he held the can like it was the Ark of the Covenant, he grinned at you before giving a chip a rather loud crunch.

“That fucking does it!” you exclaimed, leaping towards him.

The two of you fought to claim the Pringles can for yourselves. Eddie couldn’t help but giggle the entire time, loving each touch you shared, even if it was so you could hit him.

He was grateful he’d met you. There was something extraordinary about the way you fell into each other, effortless in nature. The hesitation you once held with one another had dethawed, replaced with a promise that you’d catch each other when you fell. Even now, after you nearly slipped onto the floor.

Eddie caught you, arm scooping under your waist just in time before your head met the tile.

Maybe there was a time and a place to say how he felt. Maybe it could be today or tomorrow after the party. Christmas morning or New Year’s Eve. But when he gazed into your bewildered eyes, he reflected on everything you’d opened up to him about over the last seven months. The pain, the betrayal. You needed a friend, not another messy situation that would ultimately hurt you.

So, for now, he focused on the here and now. And by the end of the night, he’d solve the case of the mysterious note.

The south didn’t do snow.

It was a made up concept, some nearly forgotten folklore created when a hint of ice formed along mountainsides and frozen faucets. When it came to winter, the grass resembled wheat and the spindly trees towered above the cities.

And there you were with Eddie, out on your tiny balcony as you had your nightly cigarette and waited for spiked cheese to kick in.

Eddie had been rambling about a few lines of his latest song that he couldn’t quite make right, needing a better word than beaming that still held two syllables.

You’d stared out at the street, but something happened the moment you looked back at him. He was leaning against the railing, going back and forth from placing his unlit cigarette between his teeth and removing it so he could talk. Your gaze fell to his lips, watching his constant back and forth.

For a moment, perhaps in a trick of the light, an image flashed in your mind. Eddie on his knees, hands curling around your thick thighs, smirking up at you with a look of mischief. His eyes, alight with darkness that swirled into something magnificent before dipping his head under your skirt and pressing a kiss against your—

Then it was gone, replaced with Eddie’s final attempt to put the cigarette between his teeth and light the damn thing. The second he let out his first wave of smoke, you felt your breath hitch in your throat.

Because you were starting to think about his mouth around something else.

“Flaring?” he pondered, taking another thoughtful drag.

The chill of forty degree weather did nothing to stop the fire rushing to your core. His unoccupied hand bounced along the railing as he thought. There was a crude kind of desire in you to grab it and place it against the ache, relieving the tension that was starting to twist inside you.

“Flooding?”

The wetness sat in your underwear, diabolically abandoned by the man in front of you who continued rambling on. The wind rustled his hair, sending wisps into his mouth that he had to pull away. Why weren’t your fingers tugging at the strands, claiming his lips with your own?

Your impulse control felt, well, out of control.

“Surging?”

The racing of your heart was made worse the harder you pulled on that cigarette, the clouds you created only growing. But there was an emotion billowing in that smoke, signaling to you that something had shifted.

You had shifted, as quickly as the season.

Seven months. Three seasons.

Not nearly enough time to catch your bearings or build a stable foundation. However, you were starting to notice more and more that there was something else hiding behind every sleepover and good morning text.

This was an awakening.

An awakening that was surely going to ruin everything.

But when he asked what you thought of blazing instead of beaming, your heart fluttered and you answered without hesitation, “It’s perfect.”

Eddie watched with amusement as you floundered over the kitchen table like a fish, definitely feeling the effects of the beer cheese. You were starting to look like an inflatable balloon man on his final wave.

“We…” you trailed, holding up your pointer finger. “Weeee need to put up decorations.”

He laughed, leaning over to boop you on the nose. “Yooou need a timeout, Weirdo.”

You let out a sound resembling a growl. “Noooo.”

“Did you just growl at me?” he asked.

Shrugging, you poked him repeatedly before letting out another growl. “Bark, bark,” you said, lowering the pitch of your voice. “Hiss, hiss.”

“You’re fucked, sweetheart,” he commented, grabbing your finger and placing it back on the table.

Your eyes widened slightly before you snorted and waved your hand around. “Get your head out of the gutter, Munson.”

Before he could respond, your fingers were moving back to him, snatching his hand and holding it firmly. Seemingly without thought, you brought it up to your mouth and pretended to bite him. Eddie tried to yank it back, but you were surprisingly strong, lips hovering over his skin.

In a quick flicker, Eddie found himself lost in an image of your teeth clamping down on his throat, wrists caught in your grasp as you pinned him to your bed. You, grinding your hips against his in a frenzy, chasing friction as he bucked in an attempt to reach the same release.

What he wouldn’t give for you to draw blood.

“Oh, so now you’re a vampire?” he asked with a cough, trying not to let the pink meet his cheeks. Or his poor dick.

Without a word, you gave him a smirk and bit him.

Eddie jumped with a yelp, almost knocking his chair over if it hadn’t been for your death grip.

You let out one of the loudest guffaws he’d ever heard, warming his heart as he settled back into his wobbly chair. He couldn’t help but laugh along, but he unfortunately couldn’t keep his cock from getting hard.

What was it about you that drove him fucking insane?

“You’re so easy to freak out,” you said with a toothy smile, running your thumb over the bite mark you’d left behind.

Or just easy to turn on, he thought.

In the minutes that passed, you sat in silence, mutually gentle as you enjoyed your shared high. He studied your mark on him, the curve of each individual tooth imprinted on the skin between his thumb and pointer finger. If only he could keep it from returning to normal.

If only he could tell you how he felt.

“You’re holding my hand,” he observed quietly.

“Oh! Sorry,” you replied softly. But you didn’t release your grasp.

Eddie chuckled, face growing hot as he tried his hand at bravery. “You’re all good. It’s cute.”

“Cute?” you asked, lifting your head from the table.

He shrugged. “Yeah, I’d say so.”

“I like your hand. It’s warm,” you mumbled. Your tracing became languid, slow and gentle.

“Yeah?” His breath was starting to go ragged, entirely blown away by your forward nature. Of course, he knew it was because of the weed. That’s all it was to you. But, to him, it meant everything. He never wanted you to stop.

You nodded. “Yeah. It feels really nice. Softer than I expected.”

Then a thought bloomed.

“Can I ask you a very stupid question?”

“Always.”

The knuckles on his unoccupied hand drummed against the table as he asked, “What’s in your back pocket?”

Your head snapped up. “Eddie…”

“Is it bad?” You avoided his gaze. “You’re making it sound like a ransom note or nuclear codes.”

“No, that’s not…” you trailed before sighing. “That’s not it.”

Eddie watched as you deflated, shoulders hunching forward. What was going on?

“Then what is it?”

You barely gave him a glance before averting your gaze again. “I wrote you a note but I’m too scared to give it to you.”

“Why?”

“It’s cheesy.” Your hand retreated from his, leaving his palm to freeze instantly. “But sometimes if I’m not sure what to do for presents, I like to write notes. It’s just, after a while, I decided not to give it to you.”

“You could read it to me.”

Scoffing, your tone grew sarcastic. “Read it? Right. Sure.”

“Come on, Weirdo.” You bit your lip. “Do it for the spirit of Christmas.”

“Absolutely not.”

“If not for Santa, then for me.”

That’s when he finally found your eyes, pooling with indecision.

Without a word, you stood up and pulled the paper out of your back pocket.

“Eddie,” you started, sending flutters to his chest immediately. “I know that we haven’t been friends for a year yet, but you’re probably the best friend I’ve ever had.” He watched you take a deep breath, desperate to see what was settling in your eyes. “I don’t say this to put pressure on you, but to tell you that your…” another deep breath, “friendship has changed my life.”

Your glossy eyes lifted.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I can’t finish this,” you replied.

Eddie felt his heart crumble the second you crushed the paper between your fingers. He jumped up immediately, quick to try and grab the note.

“Hey, don’t do that,” he whispered, shaking his head. You took a step back, mirroring his action. “Come on, it’s not stupid. I wanna know what else you have to say.”

“It’s cheesy.”

“It’s genuine.”

He went to take it again, but you moved your hand away.

“It’s unoriginal.”

“It’s authentic.”

One more attempt at snagging the note resulted in you taking three steps back. “I hate Christmas,” you whispered. Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie found your hands shaking. “I can’t control the passage of time and whether you’re going to be here next year or not. What if I give this to you and then in six months you realize how stupid I am and you just go?”

He said your name gently, but you shook your head.

“I can see it now, you know? You’ll find the note lodged in some pocket somewhere and wonder how it got there. And you’ll be so livid that you’ll go and set it on fire and light your cigarette with the flame.”

Before you could continue your dark forebodings, Eddie fingers wrapped around your trembling, tight-knuckled fist. The contact set him ablaze as he felt the tension build. Here you two were, connected by a bittersweet tug of war.

“Hey,” he whispered, trying to keep his voice steady. But how could he? You were searching his eyes, crestfallen and confused. He could say the same for himself. “I know it sucks to open up to people you don’t know are gonna stay.”

He heard the catch in your breath before tears fell down your cheeks.

“I’m here to stay,” he said, more confident now. “You’re not sick of me yet, are you?”

You suddenly chuckled, shaking your head as you wiped your tears away. “Anything but.”

“Then there’s nothing to worry about, okay?” You nodded, tucking your crimson lips inward, disappearing into your mouth as if you were ridding yourself of speech for his sake. “Let this Christmas be this Christmas.”

“Okay.”

“And then we’ll get super cross-faded tomorrow night and then we’ll get cross-faded on New Year’s—” A watery laugh rippled through you, piercing the air and his heart. Finally, his favorite sound. “Then we’ll just keep going and figure shit out along the way. Sound cool?”

“Yeah. Sounds cool.”

Eddie didn’t know what to do next, refusing to think before he enveloped you in a tight hug. Your arms quickly squeezed him back, exchanging heartbeats under thick sweaters.

“You know what?” Eddie asked, resting his chin on your head. “I think you’ve earned a good holiday movie.”

“Which is?” you asked, voice muffled in his shirt.

The edges of Eddie’s lips quirked up as he said, “When Harry Met Sally.”

#eddie munson x reader #thetwelvedaysofpromptmas #eddie munson x female reader #Eddie Munson x you #Eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfiction #best friend!eddie #modern!eddie munson #modern!eddie x reader #best friend!Eddie x reader #high tolerance series

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milswrites · 11 months ago

Text

A thousand roses

~ Cassian X Fem!Reader

Summary: Every day you curse the books that gave you unrealistically high expectations of men. Sure you were going to be single forever until you meet Cassian. Adamant he wants to take you on a date, Cassian does his best to impress.

Warning: ⚠️ Reading this may give you unrealistically high expectations of men ⚠️

Actual warnings: Lots of sex talk and inferences to sex but no actual smut!

“And then he made her orgasm three times! Three! The last guy I was with didn’t even manage to squeeze one out of me!”

Upon finishing your latest read, you just couldn’t help but give a very detailed review of exactly what you thought about it to your co-worker. A packed cafe in Velaris during the middle of the day was probably not the most appropriate location to shout about your sex life, but you just had to share how the smut filled pages had left you more satisfied than any man had ever done.

Jadis snorted into the steaming hot tea she was drinking, liquid spilling everywhere, “I’m telling you girl, you just need to get out there, kiss a few frogs to find your prince. I don’t know how many more of your smut reviews I can take. It’s not natural to be this turned on at work.”

You hummed in response, fingers absentmindedly brushing over the pages of your book, “But that’s the problem. I’m too picky to go for a frog!” You blame the hundreds of books in your library at home for that, millions of perfect fictional men literally at your fingertips. “Real men just don’t do it for me anymore.”

This statement was confirmed as you miserably scanned your eyes over the customers in the cafe, none of the males present seeming to stick out to you meet any of your self-imposed standards. You only had yourself and your books to blame for your lack of a relationship.

“I’m just never going to find anyone! Forever reading in my house wishing I was at the mercy of one of my book boyfriends” you sighed, not wanting to seem downhearted but you just couldn’t help it. Velaris just so happened to be a haven for beautiful relationships, everywhere you turned you’d see interlocked hands, affectionate hugs and the occasional heated exchange of kisses. You could only wish that one day you’d be in the same boat as them, overwhelmingly in love with someone who you could call your own. There’s a reason the night court was so affectionately called the court of dreams.

Jadis reeled in your wandering mind, “Well darling, I hope you enjoy forever fantasising about sex rather than having it. I for one can’t wait to take Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome for a spin.”

She was referring to the moderately attractive male who had asked her out the other day during the preparation of his morning coffee. In your opinion, it wasn’t the most romantic scene. Though Jadis hadn’t been on a date in a long while and so in her own words she was going to implode if she didn’t get a good fuck in soon. So who were you to judge.

The bell above the cafe door twinkled, ending the conversation about your book and pathetic love life. Your eyes travelled to the cafe entrance and stopped when they landed on the biggest male you had ever seen. The Illyrian walked through the door, having to duck his head and draw his wings in to fit through the much smaller frame. His presence in the cafe was enough for you to lift your head from where it was sat in your palm, interest peaked.

There was no doubt that this Illyrian was one of the most attractive males you have ever seen. His long brown hair was pulled back messily into a bun. You didn’t normally like the rough, slightly barbarian-esque type, typically preferring your males to be more clean-cut. It was clear this man didn’t look like most males. No, he looked as if he had just stepped out of one of your deliciously sinful smut books.

He began to approach the counter, his body taking up so much space that he bumped into tables, displacing the drinks of customers who were grasping at the mugs and glasses to try and prevent them from spilling at the earthquake caused by this ginormous man. He apologised to each of them as he moved but kept his eyes locked ahead. Locked on you.

Your friend, noticing the effect this man had on you, spun around and immediately started acting as if she was busy with another job, leaving you to serve him in your hypnotised state.

“Just a coffee please love” he said, pulling you from your stupor as he finally came to a stop at the counter. Mother, even his voice was hot. It was resonant and also bore the twinge of gruffness which left goosebumps on your arms in its wake. There was no doubt everything about this man oozed pure sex appeal. You were too mesmerised to move, brain not registering that he had asked you to do your job. Instead, like a besotted fool, you stayed stood behind your counter, feet rooted to the ground.

“You alright there gorgeous?” The unbelievably good looking male asked, roguishly handsome smile growing on his face, clearly aware of the effect he has on you. This spurred you to move, the stacked cups surrounding you rattling at your sudden movement. “Coffee! Right. Yes, of course!” Managing to squeak a few words out, you turned around to busy yourself with making the coffee, hatred in your eyes as you glared at Jadis who left you stranded making coffee for this very handsome man who’s looks alone were doing very strange things to you and making you think very indecent things. Jadis, undeterred by your glare, wiggled her eyebrows at you, grin stretched across her face, beaming from ear to ear.

With shaky hands, you finish up with making his coffee and without turning around, afraid you’d accidentally start professing your undying love to him if you did, you ask, “any sugar?”

His honey coated voice replies, “No thanks, I’ve already got my eye on something sweeter.” You ignored the sight of your friend’s head snapping speedily to look at you in glee. Heat burning across your cheeks, you turn back to face him, avoiding the man’s eyes.

Hands still shaking, you place the coffee in front of him and wait for him to pay. The sooner he leaves the sooner you can gossip with your Jadis about him and moan about your inability to act normal in front of incredibly attractive men. He pulls out the money from his pocket and places it on the counter, pushing it towards you, but before you can take it from him he drags it back in his direction, finger holding it in place. “How about you and I go out together sometime sweetheart? You’re obviously desperate to.”

At this, the lovesick fog that had been swimming in front of your eyes since this man had entered the cafe dissipated. Rose-tinted glasses off you noticed that the smile that adorned his face was more of a cocky smirk. His confidence and tone of voice told you that he asks this question a lot and most likely always gets the answer he desires. It was clear this man wasn’t the personification of one of your book males come to life. He was just another playboy.

Not wanting to just be another name on the list for this man, you slid the money out from under his hand, sickly sarcastic smile on your face, and said, “I think I’ll pass thanks sweetheart.”

The males smirk promptly fell from his face in shock, clearly not expecting, nor used to rejection. He sputtered out a few buts and whats, flirty demeanour forgotten, a slightly pathetic butt-hurt one taking its place. This was definitely a man not used to losing.

“Have a nice day!” You enthusiastically, and very satirically, finished this interaction before walking away to busy yourself with clearing some now empty tables in the cafe. Wings hung low in defeat, the man at the counter left the cafe, bell ringing as he exited. This surprised you, having expected him to put up a little more of a fight, but nonetheless you were glad that it was over with. Cursing yourself for falling for just another pretty face, standards forgotten.

“What?!” Your friend screamed running over to you, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you vigorously as if you had lost all senses. Unafraid of scaring off the customers who still sat in the cafe, some clearly entertained by the whole event which had transpired. “Do you know who that was? Oh Y/N he was totally into you! Why did you say no?”

“Because he was looking at me as if I was a piece of meat! And no, I have no idea who he was and unlike you I don’t go jumping on every stranger who asks me out at work” You brushed Jadis off of you and started taking the dirty glasses back behind the counter to be washed, your friend hot on your heels not wanting to finish this conversation just yet.

“That was Cassian!” She continued, expression as if it should have been obvious to you who the Illyrian male was. “Good for him” you replied, no idea why it should matter to you who he was, clearly if Jadis and the few interested by standers in the cafe knew who he was he had quite the reputation in Velaris. Surely that mustn’t be a good thing.

“Cassian? Lord of bloodshed? General and Commander of the Night Court’s army?” She continued, seriously not convinced you could have absolutely no idea about him.

You snorted, “I’m sorry, no one actually has that many titles unless they’re from a book… or if they just have a very large ego”.

Jadis groaned, hands fisting her hair in exasperation, “Y/N he’s like totally hot and totally loaded and super important! And he was so checking you out!” You could tell all this was upsetting your friend who was most definitely hoping you were about to get some much needed action, but all you could do was shrug, “I’m sorry babe but I’m a romantic, it’s going to take more than pet names and a stupidly attractive face to gain my interest.”

Giving up, Jadis dropped her hands from her head in acceptance, disappointment clear on her face, “I know, but don’t come running back to me to complain how unsatisfied you are when that Illyrian god was basically throwing himself at you.”

After the topic of the male was dropped, your day continued as normal, whilst Jadis had promised not to bring it up again but you couldn’t help but notice the angry glances your friend kept throwing your way during the last few hours of your shift, distressed that you had let a man go who had seemed perfectly acceptable in her opinion.

At the end of your shift, in an attempt to get her to understand where you were coming from, you slid your book towards her, “Here. Read it and then maybe you’ll understand what I mean.” She picked it up, looking at the cover eyes bulging at the title, “Bound in chains? Really?”

“Trust me, sit down with a large glass of wine and read it. You’re going to love it!”

With that the two of you locked up the cafe, book secure in Jadis’s bag. You said your goodbyes at the door and headed your seperate ways, all thoughts of the handsome man from earlier in the day long gone. Upon your arrival at home, you wandered to your favourite room in the house, your library, wanting to select a new read to cosy up with for the evening.

Approaching your shelf that you reserved exclusively for books you had bought but had yet to read, you pulled one out by its spine, eyes glancing over the cover. The cover which bore the image of a large, well-muscled man, whose long brown hair flowed freely over his shoulders. Eyes blowing wide and blush returning to your cheeks you shoved the book back onto the shelf. Thoughts drifting back to the Illyrian with the same looks who had been flirting with you earlier. Maybe you’d be better off reading a safe fantasy book tonight. Or better yet a book that had no man in at all, although that would be a rare find in your library.

~~~~~

“I am a changed women”

Returning to work the next day, you were greeted by Jadis smiling, bouncing up and down on her feet, and holding your book in her hands.

“I take it you liked it then?”

“Liked it?”Jadis squealed, “it was like reading pure porn. I loved it”

You laughed along side her, of course Jadis would read an entire book and focus on the porn rather than the actual plot of it.

“Truly I did,” she continued, rushing about and gathering her things, “and I would love to stay behind now my shift has finished to talk about it but I have to go home and get ready for Mr Tall, Dark and Handsome, maybe tonight I can try out some of those moves I read about!” She winked at you, handing over your book before rushing out of the cafe with an excitable “Wish me luck!”

Work had been very quiet today, allowing you time to sit and read your newest book. After finishing a simple fantasy last night you were left unsatisfied by the lack of enjoyment it provided when it came to the physical romance. Needing more, you had selected one of the filthiest books you could find.

Engrossed in the pages, plot thickening by the minute, you were absorbed into the book. Only to be broken from its spell when the familiar chime rang of the bell rang out, signalling a customer had arrived. Rushing to finish the page before they reached the counter, your eyes flew over the words before you finally reached the end of the page. Enabling you to look up from behind your book only to see Cassian standing before you, lips formed into a cautious smile. As if unsure of how you’d react to his presence after yesterday.

“Coffee?” You ask, eyebrows raised, placing your book down before standing up from the stool you were sat on behind the counter.

“Please if you don’t mind, but don’t let me stop you from finishing ‘Fated Frenzy’… cauldron do women really read books like this?” Cassian exclaimed, picking up your book and flicking through the pages, holding it out of reach so you couldn’t snatch it back.

Clenching your fists together as you glared at him you replied, “well if only men knew how to actually please a woman then we wouldn’t have to.”

“Maybe you just haven’t found the right man then,” Cassian mumbled, focus still on the book that was dwarfed in his large hands. He must have reached a particularly risqué part as his eyes widened slightly, tongue peaking out from between his lips. Now as he spoke, reading from your book, he wore a large grin, “I mean not every man has a cock that looks as if it was sculpted by the gods themselves.”

You scowled, now managing to take hold of the book grasped in one of his large hands and snatched it back. “I’ve certainly never met a man like that” you replied as you slammed your book back onto the counter and moved off to make his coffee so he could leave you to read in peace.

“Don’t want to check sweetheart?” He teased from behind your back, clearly trying to get you as flustered as he had managed to yesterday. Pleased at your banter. Not wanting to give him what he wants, and definitely not wanting to turn around to see his stupidly handsome smirking face looking back at you, you replied from over your shoulder while you were busy finishing his drink, “it doesn’t take a fool to know the spymaster has a larger wingspan. Now his I’d like to see.”

You heard the catch of his breath, causing him to choke on air at what you had said, clearly not expecting your confident retort, and not saying anything at the discovery you do indeed know who he is all thanks to Jadis. Cheeks stretching into a grin of your own at his embarrassment, you turn and place his drink in front of him. Unlike yesterday, Cassian didn’t even attempt to reach for his money before asking, “Please, let me take you out somewhere nice”.

Your smile dropped, head shaking slowly, “What classes as nice in your books? Other than a quick fuck behind the back of the building.” This comment made Cassian’s eyebrows knit together, not happy with the impression you had of him. “What will it take for you to understand I’m serious? That I want to take you on a date to get to know you.” He sounded earnest you’d give him that.

“I don’t know ok! I just know that I’m not going to say yes to a man I don’t even know who asked me out while I was just doing my job.”

He stretched out his hand, trying to meet yours which was resting on the counter but you pulled away before any contact could be made. “I want to get to know you, if you’ll let me. Likes, dislikes, good bits, bad bits, everything.”

“I- I don’t know Cassian, I just don’t think this is going to work.”

“What will it take?” He begged, eyes desperate.

“For you to be like one of them” you said, nodding your head towards your book.

“An overly sexual alpha male?” He said, confused as to what you were actually referring to. This made a small laugh escape from your lips, “No that’s just a bonus. I’m sorry Cassian, I just dream about being swept of my feet by a man that acts like one of them. Romantic, sweet, not asking out every other woman they see.”

“I can be romantic” Cassian said defensively, “I can be incredibly romantic”

Wanting to get this interaction over with you decided just to agree with him. “I’m sure you can Cassian, no doubt there’s a very lucky woman waiting for you somewhere”.

You weren’t sure it was possible for his brows to furrow any more than they already were, “I’ll prove it to you. Prove that I’m all in on this. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on and I’m not going to let you go that easily.” Determined look plastered on his face Cassian grabbed his coffee and walked towards the door pulling the it open, bell chiming, and before he stepped outside he called back to you, “I’ll see you soon gorgeous, you better be ready for me” and with that Cassian left, the cafe silent apart from the bell still ringing, the sound helping you realise that Cassian was real and that interaction did actually happen.

It was only five minutes later, when your wild thoughts were tamed by another customer entering did you realise that Cassian never even paid for his drink.

~~~~~

“Y/N!” Cassian shouted bustling through the tables to reach you as he entered your work once more. Shock flooded your system, he had learnt your name from when you last spoke to him two days ago. After causing a ruckus, and spilling many drinks onto poor unsuspecting customers laps, he reached the counter where you were stood waiting for him.

“What are you-“ you started angrily, worried he would scare away valued customers. Though you were interrupted by Cassian whose arm, which was hiding behind his back, shot out revealing the largest bouquet of flowers you’ve ever seen.

He held them out expectantly, waiting for you to take them but your suprise had you rooted to the spot. Familiar with your freezing by now, Cassian impatiently shook the bouquet in your face, movement bringing your thoughts back to the present. Still not taking them, not quite believing something so beautiful could be gifted to you, you spoke, “They’re lovely Cassian but you just cut right in front of Matilda who was here first!” Cassian’s features faltered as he dropped the bouquet in disappointment.

Matilda , the lovely little old fae who frequented your cafe, leaned around Cassian’s broad figure so she could see you, “it’s alright Y/N! Take the damn flowers and talk to the man!”

Cassian thanked the older women and stuck out the flowers once more. “For you,” he said encouragingly, willing you to accept the gift, “I told you I’d prove myself to you. I’m here for a date.” By this point you had been stood there for a ridiculous time causing your Jadis to stretch her arm past you and grab the flowers smirking as she says, “Thank you Cassian, they’re beautiful, Y/N loves them. Lillies are her favourite, how did you know?” Winking as she walked off with the bouquet it was clear Cassian has been getting some insider information from the mouth of your best friend.

The Illyrian nodded his head at your friend gratefully and you finally rediscovered the ability to speak, “Thank you, but if you’re here for a date I’m sorry I can’t help you, this is my work Cas, I have to do my job.”

“Pfft bit presumptuous I’m here for a date with you”

At that your face fell slightly before you quickly returned you expression to normal, not wanting Cassian to know his words had an effect on you. Surely he wouldn’t bring you flowers just to have a date with another woman in your workplace. Was this some twisted way to try and make you jealous?

Flirty expression on his face Cassian adjusted where he was stood and flung his arm around Matilda who began to blush, “Have to find out everything I can about you from my beautiful date Matilda here! One coffee for me and one of whatever my darling date would like” he said, making Matilda giggle before asking for her usual. Relief flooding you body, your lips twitched and you began to make their order, “my, my, Matilda. I have to say I expected better in your taste of men”.

“Woah woah no need to tell her,” Cassian joked, “don’t want this hot commodity to leave me for something better” he finished, winking at Morgana who looked as happy as if it was Solstice morning. Grabbing the finished drinks you had placed before him, he headed to a table, coming back once the drinks were down to walk Matilda to her chair, but not before placing his money on the counter, saying, “Moneys there for the other day by the way, I’ll speak to you later.”

Cassian must have sat talking with Matilda for hours, watched closely by you from the corner of your eye as you worked, customer after customer coming and going. Finally when the rush had died down and your shift was coming to an end, the two who had been huddled together gossiping over more than a few coffees, hot chocolates and cakes stood to take their leave. Or more accurately, Matilda was taking her leave. Cassian had said his goodbyes bending down to give Matilda a big hug and then scooped their empty plates and cups into his arms before walking towards you.

There wasn’t enough time for him to place the items down on the counter before you watched as Matilda lay a firm smack to his backside before giggling, “I’ll see you later hot stuff.” Lucky not to break any cups, Cassian jumped, flying forwards and dropping them all onto the counter before you, eyes terrified.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, placing the cups the right way up before checking on the male, “you alright there hot stuff?”

“Oh don’t even start. That woman’s got one strong slap” he whined, hand rubbing his ass to relieve some of the pain.

“Don’t act like that’s not how all your dates end” you goaded, cheeks twinging at the effort to stop yourself from bursting out laughing.

“Trust me gorgeous, if any of my actual dates ended like that I wouldn’t be complaining” he winked at you, all the while pulling a napkin out of its holder to help you clean his mess from the counter.

As you watched him clean, you couldn’t help but admire the way his brows slightly furrow when he’s concentration, noting the way his focused mouth tilts to once side, tongue slightly poking from between his lips. He was handsome there was no denying it.

“Will you walk me home?” You blurted, snapping your mouth shut and internally cursing yourself for asking such a ridiculous thing, digging yourself into an even deeper hole you continued, “it’s only that the flowers you got me are so big… and I have all my other things…and…uh..”

“Y/N, I would love to walk you home”

“Great! I’ll just um, go and grab my stuff”

You turned, heading towards the cloakroom, only to be met by Jadis, bag and bouquet in hand. She shoved them eagerly into your arms squealing, “go get him girl!” Hands pressed against your back, she forced you to move forwards until you were in front of Cassian, “don’t have too much fun you two” she said now guiding you both from the cafe, tripping and stumbling over each others feet as Jadis’s excitement led to some very firm shoving.

~~~~~

Once outside in one piece, no thanks to Jadis, Cassian plucked the flowers from your arms allowing you to swing the strap of your book-filled bag over your shoulders. Timidness now overcame you, what were you supposed to say to him now? Had asking him to walk you home seemed too desperate?

“So what are you reading now? Not another book about a poor sexually frustrated female?” He asked, breaking your panicked thoughts as he walked side by side with you.

“No sex this time,” you giggled lightly, “this one’s about a man who sacrificed his kingdom for his true love”

“You really like that stuff huh?” Cassian spoke softly to you, he sounded like he was truly interested in finding out exactly how your brain worked, “that true love and romantic gestures shit?”

“It’s not shit” you defended, “sometimes it helps me not feel so alone. Reading about all these grand gestures and things people do for the ones they love.”

Cassian cleared his throat awkardly, his hand which was not holding the flowers moving up to scratch at his head, “and you’re into that? Romantic gestures?”

“It’s hard not to be. Pretty sure it’s every girls dream to be swept of their feet and fall as deeply as characters do in books.” Cassian was nodding along to what you were saying but his eyes showed he was lost in thought. It was your turn to draw him from his head, “you never done anything romantic for your ladies Cas?”

His name on your lips seemed to work, the clouds of thought in his eyes fading as he turned his gaze from the road ahead to you, “I guess I’ve normally always thought that just me is enough”. He didn’t say this to be cocky or narcissistic, you could tell. You didn’t mean to make him feel shame over the situation, you had been genuinely curious. Perhaps a little jealous at the thought of Cassian putting in just as much work into chasing other women as he has been with you.

“That’s ok. I think romance is more reserved for the pages of books these days than in actual reality”

Not a fan of where this conversation had turned to Cassian did his best to lift the mood, “I’m not surprised you think that if all your books were like that one I caught you reading. Heck where are you meant to find a overprotective god of war with who hates everyone but the lowly daughter of an inventor and they go on to have insane - and totally not physically possible by the way- sex!”

You scrunched your face, “Cassian there’s no way you were able to get all that from one page…Oh cauldron! You read the book! You read Fatal Frenzy!”

As if only now realising what he said to you, a flustered Cassian tried to provide you with lame excuses as to how he knew that information until it was clear you weren’t going to let it go. After about five minutes of listening to your constant prodding, poking and teasing as you walked, Cassian caved, “Fine! Fine, I read it ok. I was curious as to how he was going to put his god level cock to use!”

By this point you were full on cackling, having to stop your walking to put a hand on your stomach at the thought of this mountain of a man sitting down to read a devilishly smutty book. “I have to say”, you gasped out in-between giggles, “I’m surprised you can even read”.

Cassian acted out the most overdramatic reaction to your words, his hands flew to his heart, bouquet still in his grasp, and released loud, exaggerated noises of pain and cries of just how horrible you were. People had began to stop in the street, wondering why the Lord of Bloodshed was acting as though he had just been shot. Rolling your eyes and wanting the attention off the two of you, you elbowed his side prompting him to stop, “careful you’ll crush my flowers if you die any wilder.”

Charming grin of his face, Cassian looked down at you, “we wouldn’t want that would we? Not when a super hot guy went through the effort of finding out your favourite flowers for you.”

“You’re crazy” you said in dismissal, continuing to walk in the direction of your home.

“Your kind of crazy?” A hopeful tone in Cassian’s voice.

“I haven’t quite decided yet” you said honestly. You couldn’t deny that Cassian was already proving himself to you more than any man has. No one had ever bought you flowers before and no male had ever attempted to read a book you were reading for your attention.

“Well you just let me know when you do” Even the way Cassian looked at you made you melt.

“You’ll be the first” gentle smile on your face. Nerves building in you once more as you thought about what going further with the man next you you would entail.

Content to let you walk lost in your thoughts, Cassian didn’t try to force any conversation. A natural peace fell between the two of you, the silence not an awkward one. It wasn’t until you neared the outside of your house that you broke the silence, “Well, this is me”.

Nodding Cassian passed you the bouquet. For the first time you looked at the flowers and really admired them, admired the fact this man had gone out his way to go to your friend and make sure he got your favourite ones.

“Thank you Cassian,” you said, laying a kiss onto his stubbled cheek, “they’re beautiful.”

Cassian’s usual confidence gone, it was his turn to blush. Shyly, he tried his luck again, “so about that date?”

You walked over to your door, pulling out your key, turning back to Cassian, twinkle in your eyes, you said, “ask me again tomorrow”.

“That wasn’t a no!” He said, confidence rushing back into him. As you entered your house and peaked through the window behind your curtains you couldn’t help but watch Cassian, beam on his face, as he jumped on the spot. A small celebration that you hadn’t fully rejected him once more. A matching grin on your face as you observed him, you stayed watching until he took off from the ground, large angelic wings spread, wondering what in Prythian was this man doing to you and what sinful things you’d like to do with those wings.

~~~~~

You were sorely disappointed over the course of the next week. Since that evening Cassian had walked you home to the cafe he had not returned. Jadis tried to keep your thoughts positive, saying he was probably away on important Night Court business, being the General of its army and all. After being the one to speak to Cassian about you she was adamant that he was undoubtedly in love with you and he wouldn’t leave you hanging.

It was hard though, when the eighth day of his absence rolled round, not to think that he had found someone more interesting to pursue. Someone who didn’t make him work as hard for their affections. Your mood was so glum that you didn’t even have the heart to read. Why read about love when you’re not sure you believe in it anymore?

You had spent days wondering what you had done wrong. Had you been too forward? Or did he find your obsession with males that weren’t real a little too bizarre? You did your best not to dwell on it but it was so hard not to, the flowers you had placed in a vase on the side table in your library, right next to your reading chair, still flourished beautifully, a constant reminder of the man who crashed into your life only to leave it in shambles.

So here you were, sat on the stool in the cafe, your thoughts being the only thing to keep you busy due to your sudden lack of interest in reading. It had been another quiet day, but it wasn’t long now until Jadis would arrive, you had opened the cafe for her after she asked for a favour so she could spend the night at Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome’s, who’s name you had learnt was Arthur. Happy that even if your love life was crumbling, at least Jadis’s was blooming. However, you were thankful you weren’t actually supposed to be working today, not sure if you could survive another shift listening to her unintentionally boast about how perfect Arthur was and how good he is at sex.

So you sat there and waited for her arrival, desperate to go home and crawl into your bed. Without your typical reading to do, you found yourself spending most of your free time sleeping, wasting away the hours you didn’t know what to do with yourself in.

It was finally an hour after the time she had promised to be in for, when Jadis flew into the cafe, bell ringing aggressively at her sudden entrance. Running to where you were at the counter, coat and bags in hand, she was profusely apologising over and over for her tardiness.

“You must have had a good night with Mr Handsome” you teased, trying not to let your slight annoyance at you still being here show. Confusion flashed across her face before she quickly corrected it in realisation, “Oh yeah! Totally great sex, every woman’s dream. Hugeeee dick.”

Opening your mouth, ready to ask her about her odd behaviour, she pulled you from your stool before you could talk. Dragging you out from behind the work area, saying “Come on Y/N it’s your day off, don’t want to be here any longer than you have to be!”

Now you defiantly knew something was off, Jadis typically keeping you an hour in-between shifts to catch you up on everything that has happened since the day before. “Jadis, what’s going on?” You asked cautiously, had something happened between her and Arthur? No. Jadis would definitely tell you if that was the case, or maybe she just didn’t want to make you any more depressed than you already were. Still in that strange tone of voice, Jadis kept pushing you to leave, “Nothings wrong! I’m fine. Now leave, you still have the whole day to do something, go read one of your smut books!”

This confirmed she was definitely hiding something, knowing that you haven’t picked up a book for the past week after listening to your incessant complaining about the matter. If you weren’t so desperate to leave and go rot in bed for the rest of the day you would have stayed and forced whatever it is she was hiding out of her. You decided that was tomorrow’s job, when you had a nice six hour shift together where she couldn’t avoid your pestering.

Shrugging on your coat and promising to yourself you’d find out what she was dodging tomorrow, you left the cafe. Turning your head around to look back through the windows only to be met with Jadis and her crazed eyes watching, as if making sure you were walking in the direction of your house. Unsettled, you followed the streets leading home, praying to the Mother that your friend was alright and you weren’t about to have to kill a man for upsetting her.

Finally, you arrived at your door, turning the key in the lock you were startled to discover the door was already unlocked. You were exhausted when you left that morning but you could have sworn you weren’t so tired that you’d risk your property and your safety like that.

Fear now coursing through your veins, you quietly pushed your door open, scared you would alert anyone in your house that you were there and something bad would ensue. The fae lights in your hallway were all lit, softly casting a warm glow over your home. You stepped inside, and instead of your foot meeting the usual plush of your carpet it was met with a slight crunch.

Casting your eyes to the ground you gasped. There were hundreds of rose petals scattered across your floor, leading towards each of your rooms. Following the trail, you made it through to the entrance of your living room, if your jaw dropped any lower you were sure it’d hit the floor.

The entire room looked as if it had been covered in a red blanket, a sea of roses covering the entirety of your room to the point where you couldn’t actually see anything that wasn’t a deep shade of red.

By this point your heart was pounding in your chest and you were sure you could feel your eyes watering, the hundreds of roses placed around you getting blurrier and blurrier. But there was no sign of the man you were sure had placed them.

Turning around you sped into each of your rooms, wanting nothing more than to find Cassian and throw your arms around him. Each room the same as the last, filled to the brim with the most beautiful roses. Lillies may once have been your favourite flowers but you think the kind-hearted man, who had wormed his way into your heart, may have just changed your mind. Roses were perfect.

Still no Illyrian insight you flung open the door to your library. Room decorated just as over the top as the others. And there in the centre of it all, sat waiting for you to return home, is Cassian. He stood quickly, treading on some of the flowers placed by his feet.

“How?” You asked, voice cracking as you tried to hold the tears at bay.

“It wasn’t easy, Jadis let me in.” Cassian said lightheartedly from where he stood across the room, too far from you for your liking, “I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long. I wanted to do this the day after we last spoke but I guess I didn’t actually think about the logistics of getting thousands of roses delivered.”

You stayed silent, heart overwhelmingly filled with love for the man before you, the man who had spent the past week getting a thousand roses just to ask you on a date. Taking your silence for something bad, Cassian began to ramble, “My brother Azriel - the spymaster - he helped too…I wanted to make sure it’d be done in time. It’s a mess I get it, I’m sorry, I’ll clear it all out for you I just-“

You cut him off, tears now flowing freely down your red hot cheeks, hands trembling, “it’s perfect Cassian. Nobody…nobody has ever done anything like this for me” At the sign of your tears Cassian made to make his way towards you but was stopped by the fact he just didn’t know where to place his foot without ruining all his hard work.

“Clearly I didn’t think this through very well” he mumbled, arms out to keep him balanced and preventing him from falling. Not wanting to spend a minute more away from him after having to suffer through a whole week, you ran, roses be damned right into his arms. Throwing yourself at his muscled body as he caught you, pulling you close to his chest in midair.

“You’re crazy!” you exclaimed, head tucked into his neck as you rested it on his shoulder.

Cassian placed you down gently, arms still wrapped tightly around your waist but he wanted to look into your eyes for this, “your kind of crazy?” His eyes held that same hopeful desperation that they had when he last asked you out.

“Hell yeah” and with that you grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and connected his lips to yours.

The kiss was like nothing you had ever read before in one of your books. It was everything and more. A fire ignited within you, burning hotter and hotter and you just kept needing more. Cassian the fuel to your fire and you were sure that as long as you had him with you it was a flame that would never die out.

It was a messy clash of teeth and tongues, both of you uncaring of how sloppily and uncoordinated were kissing. All you knew was you needed each other like the pages of a book needed ink. You kissed and you kissed, hands wandering until you weren’t sure which parts belonged to Cassian and which to yourself.

The need to breathe forgotten, you continued. Hands running over his back which was rippled in muscles before reaching around his neck, holding onto him tightly as he picked you up once more.

It was only when the need for air was so overwhelming that you had no other option to pull away that you did. Heads pressed together, lips still slightly touching, a trail of saliva linking the two of you together. Cassian continued to hold you in his arms as if you were nothing but a feather, catching his breath he finally began to speak, “So about that date then?”

You giggled, pulling him even closer to you by his neck and laying a soft peck on his lips before drawing away to give your answer, Cassian’s mouth chasing after yours, “If this is how you ask me, I can’t wait to see what you have planned for our first date. Hopefully you don’t ignore me for a month whilst you prepare.”

Barking out a laugh Cassian placed you on the floor of roses, holding your hands to ensure you didn’t stumble. He looked around the room, proud smile adorning his face, he first took in the roses which he had took so long in prepping, screaming at Azriel when he hadn’t placed them down as he had pictured in his head. His gaze then swept your shelves, hundreds of books upon them.

“Ever read about this in one of your books?”

“Nope this is definitely a first”

His eyes landed on the book resting on your table, right next to the vase full of lilies he had originally given you, title in gold lettering along the front of the cover. Fated Frenzy. The book he had read because of you. You laughed as you spotted what he was staring at, his eyes travelling back to you, running up your body with hunger before finally settling on your eyes.

“You into roleplay gorgeous?”

With those words he smashed his lips back onto yours. The promise of an exciting night ahead.

Here, standing in your library entwined with the Illyrian you decided all those characters you have read about were lacking in one thing you never even knew you needed.

They weren’t Cassian.

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

Notes: You have no idea how much I wanted to finish this fic with “And so Cassian did” lol

Happy Valentines <3

#acotar #fanfic #cassian fic #cassian imagine #cassian x reader #cassian #cassian oneshot #a court of thorns and roses #acotar imagine

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hunnysnoops · 8 months ago

Text

˗ˋ𝕎𝕙𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝕋𝕖𝕖𝕥𝕙 𝕋𝕖𝕖𝕟𝕤ˊ˗

Chapter Four: History Eraser

Kyle Broflovski x fem reader

They made their paints by mixing acid wash and lemonade. In my brain I rearrange the letters on the page to spell your name.

Also available on Ao3 and Wattpad!

Premise: A birthday party takes an awry turn

Warnings: crude language and humour / blood / injury / marijuana usage

MASTERLIST

Adam's blood was still soaked into the turf by the time track and field practice was in the process of giving you heat stroke. Each gust of humid wind burned at your throat a little more than the last like someone had set fire to your lungs.

While everyone else was jogging around the track in a leisurely manner, you and Kyle were sprinting like you were headed for the sun.

"What was that?" You call behind you, turning your head just the slightest "I can't hear you, you're falling behind."

"I didn't say anything," Kyle runs up beside you, matching your pace. Ginger curls were sticking to the sweat on his forehead and neck, glistening under the fading light of the day.

"That sounds like something that someone who said something would say," you respond, glancing down at your sneakers pounding against the track before quickening your pace.

"What?" His eyebrows furrow in confusion.

With each step, you fell into a steady rhythm, feet pounding against the track with determination to be just a little better than the boy trailing you. You felt the familiar burn in your muscles, the exhilarating rush of adrenaline as you pushed yourself harder, faster.

The wind whipped through your hair, cooling the sweat on your brow as you pushed past your limits, your lungs burning with every sharp breath. You ignored the overexertion gripping at you, the nausea creeping up like little hands of wind pushing at the back of your throat.

Your thoughts focused solely on the rhythmic beating of your feet against the turf and Kyle. It took what must've been a God's power not to glance around every few seconds to see how close he was to you, how steadily he fell into tempo with your pace.

That day was shaping up to be a particularly nasty one and you were quite literally trying to run away from it. Though no matter how far your legs took you, you were still on the track, Kyle only feet behind you.

It only added to that lingering thought that rested in the back of your head that you weren't anything special, you were just as good as everyone else and you needed some way to prove them wrong.

"Aw, look they're running together," Red says from her spot on the bleachers where she sits with Leslie. You can hear the sarcasm dripping from her voice.

"Ew, what the hell," you pause looking at Red, you see Kyle ahead and awkwardly jog backwards to create more distance, you only stop completely when you're in front of Red. "We were not."

"So you were racing?"

"No," You scoff "But if we were I would totally win."

"Um, okay, I believe you" She gives Leslie a quick side glance "Are you coming over later?"

"I have a thing," You answer, hands on your hips while you press your lips into a thin line.

"A thing?" Red quirks an eyebrow "Bebe won't be there if that's what you're worried about."

"No, like I actually have a thing," You Answer "Sheila's having a birthday party and I'm obligated to go by my parents."

"Oh," Red nods like everything coming together "A swingers party." She had run a few laps before something more interesting caught her attention then she eventually settled perched on the bleachers with Leslie beside her and a redbull in hand.

"Your parents are swingers?" Leslie asks, dark bangs pinned away from her face.

"No, they're not," You deadpan, any amusement dropping from your face "My parents aren't swingers, they have never swung and they never will."

Red sucks a sharp breath through her teeth before a smile cracks onto her face "Touched a nerve there.”

"No shot," You cross your arms, chest rising and falling as you catch up on lost breath, a group of long-distance runners brushing past behind you.

"I just can't believe you're ditching me for Kyle," Red draws out a deep sigh, teasing you.

A subtle heat rose to your face though you chose to ignore it entirely "Dude, no, I'm ditching you for Kyle's mom." At this, Leslie turns to whisper something to Red before you quickly interject, throwing out one hand in her direction "What could you possibly have to say? I don't even know you."

Leslie swivels her head back to look at you, unsure what to say. Red silently mouths 'Oh my god' one hand slapping over the black headband on her forehead pushing her bangs back. "Sorry?" Leslie breaks the silence.

"Yeah, you should be," You say before bringing your attention back to Red and cutting Leslie out from the equation completely "We still on for Sunday?"

"I'm going to strangle you," Red says, disregarding the question, still stuck on your utter bluntness.

You stick your chin up, exposing your neck "Go ahead." You even brush the stray hairs aside to display your throat like you're ready for her to sink her teeth in. An uneasy quiet settled over the conversation once more as you waited for Red to stay true to her words and strangle you. Of course she doesn't, she just stares at you something like disbelief playing in her eyes. You look at Leslie "We cool?"

"We are." She answers, lips pursed.

"Okay," You say, backing away and carrying on with the run you had initially been focused on, leaving Red and Leslie to watch you lose your breath all over again.

While the younger kids were free to bum around in the basement and play video games, you and Kyle were on the edge of seventeen, not yet adults but you were close enough to intermingle with them and nod with a polite smile while they drone on and on about insignificant things that are massive in their eyes.

After your mother had shown you off to the partygoers in the gauzy white sundress that you reserved only for occasions like this, you had found yourself settled at the dining table amongst the food, scribbling down notes from your binder onto your biology project.

Kyle seemed to have the same idea, he pushed one of the three charcuterie boards aside to make space for his half of the project. He sat silently across from you, the farthest he could get without being dragged into another mindless conversation with someone who held him while he was a baby.

Between the two of you is an abundance of food, everyone seemed to have brought a dish for Sheila's birthday, you couldn't imagine that it would all be finished in one night. You had, of course, a little bit of everything piled on a side plate.

As you worked away, being sure your drawn diagram was perfected and every word had been spaced apart perfectly, you tried your best not to glance at Kyle who seemed absolutely undisturbed while he chewed absent-mindedly on his brownie.

"Oh, look at you two," your dad walked into the dining room with a smile on his face "I can't believe you're getting along."

"Me neither," Kyle answers without looking up from his work. While your mother had stuffed you into your Sunday best, Kyle was looking ready for church that he didn't attend, a white button-up tucked into black dress pants.

"Whatcha working on?" Your dad scooped some pasta salad onto his plate and proceeded to peek over your shoulder, peering down at your paper before nodding like he understood. "Nice, good job, kiddo," He gave you a firm pat on the shoulder before pointing a finger gun at Kyle "And Kyle, looking sharp."

"Thank you, sir," Kyle offers him a tight-lipped smile. In recent years he had almost mastered charming other kid's parents, especially yours who gushed on and on about how good of an influence he was.

"Oh, no need for that, buddy," Your dad waves him off before leaving the room.

"Sir?" You look at Kyle, an unimpressed look clear across your face "Kiss ass."

"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response," He says, shifting his focus to the project in front of him.

"You just did, pretentious douchebag," You mutter under your breath, looking down at your own work. "Dignify," You mock, reaching back for the brownies. Something about them had tasted familiar, somewhat nostalgic like those organic sweets your mother would bring back from the grocery store, which you had written off as being gluten-free or something along those lines.

After roughly forty minutes you had finished not only your half of the biology assignment but all of your homework for your other classes as well. You had looked past the doorway, heard the voices of middle-aged parents, and the grating sound of obnoxious laughter and decided to bum around on your phone.

Empty-headed, you stared drowsily at your timeline, constantly refreshing it in the hopes that something more interesting would pique your interest. It was only seven, the sun was still in the midst of setting yet you felt the strong urge to sleep, maybe it had been over-exertion from track or boredom telling you to close your eyes so you could wake up to something better.

You were too in your own head to notice Kyle who had long finished his assignment and now had his arms crossed in front of him flat on the table, chin resting on top of them, head slightly tilted while he stared at you through the plethora of food.

His mouth abruptly stretched with a yawn, this brought your attention over to him. "What the fuck are you looking at?"

"Nothing," Kyle pushed himself off the table until he was back sitting straight in his chair. He put one hand on his back while he stretched, his neatly tucked-in button-up coming loose from the hem of his pants in the process.

The familiar photo of Remy the rat was now displayed on your dim phone, the meme of him choking that had been floating around the internet since 2007 "Do you think Ratatouille has themes of racism and prejudice?"

"No," Kyle answers, ripping the leg of a rotisserie chicken away from the carcass and tearing the flesh away with his perfect teeth.

"No one thinks a rat can cook, sound familiar?"

"No."

"Anyone can cook," You state the quote like it emphasizes the odd point you're trying to make.

"Ratatouille is not about racism."

"How about when Remy's dad says 'This is what happens when a rat gets too comfortable around humans' and then he's like 'We look out for our own kind, Remy,'" You made sure to throw an awful Italian accent over Djangos parts.

"A movie about a rat making spaghetti is not racist."

"I didn't say it was racist, I said it has themes of racism and prejudice."

"It doesn't."

"Immigration and assimilation perhaps?"

"Stop."

"Why?"

"Because I can't think right now, I'm so tired," his hands find their way into his curls while his elbows rest on the table.

You narrow your eyes at him "Are you on drugs or something?"

"No, it's fucking late, I'm tired," He repeats.

"It's seven," You answer, face straight though your eyelids were growing heavy like they were being pulled down. You rub the back of your hand over your eyes like it's going to wipe away the feeling of daze and set you straight.

Weary you lean back in your chair, slamming your phone face down on the table. You put one hand to rest on your brow like a salute to block out the overwhelming light overhead. It was this moment where you craved nothing more than your bed, to lay your head down on satin pillowcases and let sleep consume you completely.

"This is fucking stupid," You look down awkwardly at the neckline of your dress, your chin pressing against your chest as you do so, you then use one hand to gesture to Kyle in his once wrinkle-free button "We look like we're in a cult, the kind that drinks Koolaid,"

"It was Flavour-Aid actually," He corrects.

"What the fuck is Flavour-Aid?"

"Koolaid, basically."

"Okay," You say, sinking deeper into the uncomfortable spruce chair.

"Who am I really, beyond my thoughts, memories, and experiences?" Kyles's eyes are squinted as he stares past you into absolutely nothing, his thoughts entirely somewhere else.

"Kyle Broflovksi."

"Yeah, what?"

"No, that's who you are, fucking idiot."

"Ah," He nods and the two of you fall back into stillness. Neither of you acknowledged each other for a few minutes, you had forgotten Kyle was there at all and his mind was beginning to fill with existential dread.

"Hey, dudes," In walks your uncle Richie, a cheesy smile across his face, from this alone, you can tell he's been spreading his corny humour. "Didn't know you two were still in here," He was your mother's youngest sibling, being in his mid-thirties; also known as your grandparent's accidental pregnancy.

"Nice," You answer like it's cohesive in any way.

Richie doesn't seem to gather any issue from your response, he just grabs a paper plate and begins to fill it up with all of the goods though he pauses when his eyes fall on the brownies, smile faltering. "Who put these here?"

"My mom," Kyle says.

"His mom," you point at him, repeating his statement.

"Shit, these are for the after party if you know, you know," Richie puts his plate of food down in exchange for the brownie platter "Did you guys catch who ate these?" He must've been the most under-dressed of everyone at the party with his grey sweatpants and Metallica tee poking out from beneath his red zip-up.

You and Kyle stare dead straight at each other, the realization washing over you. It wasn't sleep threatening to take you under but marijuana causing your vision to move in frames and lull you to rest and loosen your tongue.

Richie doesn't fail to catch this exchange "C'mon guys," He sticks a hand out in exasperation and you can't miss the disappointment on his face.

"Uh, we didn't know they were laced," You narrow your eyes at him, never did you think you'd side with Kyle.

"I know, I know, this is just fucked up," He runs a hand through his hair, forcing it through any tangles.

"Fucked up?" Kyle's eyes are half-lidded though he still seems furious. "We're high on my mom's birthday and there's like thirty fuck ass adults in the other room, we're getting busted."

"Nah, it's cool," Richie says and you're unsure if he's assuring you and Kyle or himself. "You're a hophead anyway so you should be a pro at pretending to be sober." He gestures at you and then turns his attention to Kyle "We've been to a handful of barbeques together and I don't think either of us wants to get in trouble right now."

"This is fucking sick," Kyle mutters, burying his head into his hands.

"I know," You nod with the glint of a smile playing on your face. As nervous as you were over the fact you would have to act sober until the party wrapped up, you couldn't ignore the comedic aspect of the situation.

"No," Kyle shoots you a glare "Not sick as in cool, sick in a bad way like I'm sick."

"You guys are teenagers, you do these things it's like a rite of passage and your parents did it all the time when they were your age," Once again, Richie tries to shrug off the circumstances.

"Get accidentally drugged by their uncle?"

"No, uh-not that, I meant getting high in general."

"How much is in them anyways?" You ask.

He shrugs "Like roughly twenty-five mg or so."

"In a single brownie?" Kyle presses for clarification with wide eyes to which Richie nods.

"Twenty-five milligrams?" You tried not to yell, this had shaken you to what felt like sobriety for only a few seconds "I didn't know you were fucking Walter White."

"Hey, man, I left them wrapped up in the fridge with a sticky note that said 'do not eat', I didn't think his mom was gonna put them out."

"Why wouldn't you leave them in your car, dude?" You're looking at him with a tilted gaze, head resting in the palm of one of your hands.

"Temperature sensitive," he says pointing out the fudgy brownies melting into brown sludge like it had been nuked in the microwave.

"What the fuck?" Your mouth falls ajar "Have you ever made a brownie before?

"They usually don't melt," Kyle adds.

"Watch it," Richie had taken this sting straight to heart "They're supposed to be fudgy and you two are the ones who ate them."

"Oh my god, we ate them," Kyle says under his breath, eyes focused on the oak table in front of him, studying each groove. His attention breaks, and he glances around at the food laid before him then reaches to scoop some macaroni onto his grubby paper plate.

"Slow down greedy gut, did you forget you're diabetic?" You slap his hand away from the cheesy macaroni.

"Yeah," He puts the spoon down "I did."

Richie takes a deep breath out "Man, you guys are roasted."

"Time for the family photo!" Sheila yells from the living room, her distinct accent rising over the seemingly endless murmurs.

"Okay, guys, just remember to be cool and act sober, okay?" He tries for a smile, sticking his thumb up and glancing back and forth between the two of you for confirmation "Sober, so good?"

"Relax," You push yourself up from the table, brushing any crumbs away from the skirt of your dress "We're fine."

"Alright," Richie turns on his heels, exiting the dining room with the tray of brownies still in hand.

The moment you and Kyle walked through the doorway, you felt like everyone was staring at you despite not one person turning their head in your direction. Kyle's family had already been sorting themselves out for the photo, he quietly slipped in there, giving his mom a quick hug before smiling at the phone which was being held by Sandra, a woman with far too much wine in her system who took the temporary role of photographer far too seriously.

You settled against a wall next to Weston who had also been suffocating in overly formal clothing. One thought ran through your mind as the Broflovski's smiled for their picture, don't act high.

"What are you doing?" Weston asked, looking up at you with a sneer.

"Huh?"

"You look like taxidermy, why are you doing that with your face?"

You hadn't noticed that the idea of sober you were trying to project was eyes as wide as the moon and a stone face. At Weston's words, you squinted your eyes slightly and began to grin like this was any more natural than the other face you had been making.

"You're weird," Weston tells you before he looks back at the Broflovski family. He wanted to duck back down into Ike's room to hide from everyone as much as you wanted to steal your dad's keys and drive to Dairy Queen.

"Okay, now let's do a silly one," Sandra smiled brightly, she had really drawn this out much longer than it needed to. After the family scrambled to do something vaguely comedic, Sheila motioned for your parents to join.

After what felt like a century, Sandra finally handed the phone back off to Sheila. Just when you're sure that the exchange has ended, Sheila speaks up "I want a picture of the kids together."

Your mom makes a pouty face, placing a hand on Sheila's shoulder "That's a great idea, we haven't taken one of them all together in ages."

"Let's get you two in the back then Weston and Ike can go in front," Sheila's directing you in front of an audience of coworkers and family friends.

Weston had one arm slung around Ike who did the same while Kyle stood stiffly behind his brother. You kept your tradition of keeping your distance from Kyle, standing one metre away from him and your brothers, hands clasped in front of you.

"Sweetie, you aren't in frame," Sheila tells you.

You nod but don't do anything beyond that, you just stay in the same spot that you had initially been in. "Jellybean, maybe you should move closer to Kyle," Your mom smiles softly, though her eyes are telling you that you should probably listen to her.

Taking a step that must've taken you a distance of an inch, you smile at the camera like this has resolved the issue.

"Um, Jellybean," Your mom had a begrudging smile on her face "I meant to stand next to him, behind your brother."

"I'm okay," you say and for a change have no animosity behind your words, you truly were okay with where you were.

Weston's eyebrows had furrowed in confusion as he watched you with a blissfully ignorant smile on your face. His arm was falling asleep, intertwined with Ikes. Kyle was staring at you, just as everyone else who had paid a speck of attention to the photoshoot was.

"Nope, closer," Your mom gestures for you to move in.

She does so rapidly until you take another side step, albeit larger than your last one though you still stood awkwardly out to the side like you were photobombing.

"For fuck sake," Your mom utters under her breath so quietly that no one had picked up on it. "He's not poison, get in there."

"I believe you meant to say venomous," You shuffle your feet again until you are standing next to where you should be, an awkward gap between Kyle where you were meant to be posing behind your brother.

"Don't do this right now, Jellybean," She says through gritted teeth, trying to uphold her composure for the sake of Sheila and the grace of your family.

"Just one quick picture," Sheila tells you, she's still holding up the phone, finger hovering above the shutter button.

Before you can pull any more nonsense that seemed perfectly reasonable in your altered state, you feel a hand slink around your waist. Kyle's hand rested on the outside of your midriff, fingers sinking into your soft skin. Your mind hadn't even processed this fact when he pulled you into him, your body briefly crashing against his. Kyle flashes the camera a movie star smile while you stare up at him, eyebrows furrowed and eyes incredulous. You looked like you were gearing up to yell at him.

Click!

The very second the picture is taken Kyle drops his hand from its spot on your waist and turns to walk away. While the others disperse, you stand stationary and watch Kyle disappear into the blinding light of the kitchen. It was impossible to ignore the heat creeping up your neck and the warmth flushing your cheeks as your hand retraced where his touch lingered.

Against better judgment, you follow him into the kitchen, unsure of what your plan is, but you do it regardless. He's alone in there with a middle-aged man who's speaking to someone on the phone and pays no attention to where Kyle rifles through the fridge.

"That had to be a misdemeanour of some kind," You say, arms crossed while you stand behind the fridge door.

"What are you talking about?" He looks up at you, grabs a jug of water and closes the fridge door.

"That is really fucked up," You add.

"You're kind of in my orbit right now," He holds a hand out and moves it in a circle.

"Then release me, boy." You watch as Kyle reaches into the cupboard to pull out a glass and pour water from the jug into it until it's on the brink of overflowing. He puts the jug down next to his glass and uses one hand to lean against the island.

He swishes his free hand around like he's casting a spell "I release you," Kyle then reaches for the jug instead of the glass he had poured and takes a long swig.

You shake your head watching him drink from the pitcher as if it were a cup "That's not right." You weren't sure what Kyle's tolerance was, you had never smoked with him before, only seeing him take a couple of hits at parties.

"You're not right," He answers, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and putting the jug back down on the marble countertops.

"One time I made you in the sims and then I made you go swimming in the pool so I could take the ladder out and kill you," You say, leaning against the kitchen island. The man on the phone takes a brief time to cast you a judgemental glance before going back to his phone call.

"Did I die?"

"Nah, they took that feature out so you kinda just climbed out from the side," You answer "I did make you bankrupt and homeless though."

"So I just wonder the streets?" He asks to which you nod "I bet I'm fighting crime."

"No, you just walk around and your hygiene is really bad, you're like visibly dirty."

Kyle freezes for a second, staring past you, he blinks his eyes out rapidly and holds a dinger out to hush you "I think I can hear myself blink." He continues to open and close his eyes "It sounds wet and squishy."

"Gross," You say, letting yourself lean in deeper on the island until you're almost bent in half, across from Kyle.

He runs a hand through his hair and then begins to twirl one finger in his ginger curls before he pats the top of his head "I think I need to cut my hair."

"I think you need to cut yourself," The words fall from your mouth like honey melting from the sun to weigh down the wings of Icarus. His mouth is slightly ajar when you look up to meet his wild gaze. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't say that, don't cut yourself," Had you been sober, you wouldn't have apologized, you would've doubled down and made the statement a million times worse.

"You're an asshole," He says simply.

"So are you," You respond, voice lazy and words drawn out. The man on the phone ends his call, gripping his cell phone like you were going to try and take it from him. He struts past you and Kyle, glaring at the both of you.

"Did we just blow our cover?"

"No, that's Marty, he's an alcoholic so if he tells anyone anything I'll say he's been drinking again," You shrug the question off.

"Is that right? Like morally," He clarifies. "Should we just admit we're high? or maybe that would be bad morally if we got Richie in trouble for something he didn't do." You can see the gears turning in Kyle's head, the way he's analyzing the situation like it's the equation that'll either end the world or save it "Nah, I don't wanna get grounded on my mom's birthday, that's kinda gay."

"That's super gay."

"It's so hot in here," The topic switches once again as Kyle is working on unbuttoning his shirt, taking a deep breath. The very second you notice your eyes linger a moment too long on his hands your head swerves to look at a sign that reads 'This kitchen is seasoned with love' You remember when Sheila bought it, she thought it was hilarious and brought you into the kitchen to see it.

Your mind trails back to the compromising state you and Kyle had been discovered in after the little forest expedition. The interrogation you had to endure, not only with Mr. Waterman but with Wendy as well made you want to hammer nails into your ears. "If it was anyone else but Wendy and our fucking teacher who found us, the rumours would be nuts."

"And that's the worst thing?"

"People thinking that we've slept together? Yeah, it is the worst thing. I'd probably shoot myself and write your name on the wall in my blood."

"How high are you right now?" he squints his eyes.

You shrug "Higher than I think, perhaps."

"Your eyes are kind of insane right now," He points at your face and in turn, you just rub them, too lazy to go check.

"Yours are almost as bright as your hair."

"This isn't even my final form yet."

"What the fuck," You stare at him blankly. You let yourself down the side of the island, spine scraping against it until you drop to the cold tile floors. The frigidness pressing against the back of your calves.

You tuck your head into your hands like it'll magically make you sober. You didn't want to be high anymore or at all that night. You needed a clear head, for your limbs to not feel so loose so you could go back to shutting your thoughts away, so they would die in your throat and never be said.

Kyle has plopped himself onto a stool by the island, peeling a banana from the fruit bowl with precision like he was defusing a time bomb. It seemed like he had entirely forgotten that you were there the second you went out of his sight.

It was nowhere close to your first time smoking though you had taken a little tolerance break for the sake of finals and it was hitting you hard. Everything seemed like it wasn't real like you were in a set where things were hand-crafted to fit the scene. You look down at your hands, balling them up into fists to see if you can feel anything. When all the sensation you receive is a light tap, you put one finger into your mouth and bite, there rested the confirmation that you weren't in a simulation.

What your mind was really craving was a two-leader bottle of diet coke and to curl up on the couch, shrouded in darkness and watch Over the Hedge. You reach a hand up the edge of the countertop to pull yourself up, in the midst of doing so, your foot slips and you are sent toppling over. Your body careened forward, face heading straight for the unforgiving edge of the countertop. There was a sickening crack as your nose collided with the hard surface, followed by a sharp, searing pain that shot through her skull. You collapse back down to the ground, eyes scrunched shut and hand covering your surely felt like a mangled nose.

"What was that?" Kyle turns his head to where he was sure you were though you were no longer in sight. He pries himself away from the stool and makes his way around the island to investigate "What's-oh my fucking god."

"Do you think it's broken?" You ask, moving your hand away to display the nose. The nasal bone itself seemed to be fine, but what rang as concerning was the gash over it that was leaking blood.

"Holy shit, we need to get your parents," He immediately moves to leave but you grab his leg to keep him in place.

"No," you say in what you intended to be a firm voice though it came off as more scared than anything else "We're high, underage, I hate hospitals, and urgent care is expensive."

"You're bleeding from your fucking face."

Gingerly, you poke around the area you had hit, fighting the urge to wince to prove that it wasn't that bad "See? We're good, just a bit of blood." The marijuana had eased the pain in just the slightest by offering the distraction of everything all at once, you were sure it would feel like hell the second you shook your mind clear.

"No, we aren't good, you're fucked up," He says.

"Kyle," Your tone shifts, absolutely serious "My dad will beat the shit out of me if he finds out I'm high, I'll go in the morning if it's actually bad," Truthfully, your dad probably would do some damage if the truth came out. Not only that, but he would bar Richie from seeing you or Weston ever again and your mom was something of a snitch who shared every waking thought with your dad.

He looks down at your figure on the floor, one hand pinching your nose to catch any blood that threatened to spill onto your white dress. His rational thoughts were telling him to rat the both of you out and get you to a hospital though the side of him hazed said it was fine. "You have to go in the morning."

When you move your hand, the blood begins to gush not only from your nostrils but the gash on your nose bridge like juice from cherries that had been torn apart. Now you had a red dress to match your red eyes.

"Yeah, okay cool," You say with a sigh of relief, awkwardly turning on the ground to push yourself up without having your face be inches away from Kyle's. "I need to go upstairs in the bathroom and fix this," What you were trying to get across was that you needed to at least bandage it with the first-aid kit, discreetly.

"What are you going to tell your parents when you go home and you have a huge honker on your face?"

"Um, that I got a nosebleed or that-I don't fucking know, I'll figure it out, fuck face," You answer as you stand up. With a yawn, you shifted to get up, your elbow swinging out in a careless motion. Unfortunately, Kyle had chosen that exact moment to lean forward to grab his phone off the counter, his face perilously close to your elbow's path. Adding another notch to the misfortune of that night, your elbow collided with Kyle's left eye with an audible thud.

Kyle recoiled, his hand instinctively flying to his injured eye as he let out a pained grunt. Your eyes widened in horror as you realized what you had done "Oh my god, it looks like I hit you."

"You did hit me," The anger in his voice isn't unmissable, it's dripping with something that borders between irritation and rage.

"Not on purpose," You retort, quickly wiping away the blood where it pooled above your lip. It had already made it down your face to dribble down your neck and chest before it soaked into the neckline of your dress.

Kyle winced as he gingerly touched the tender skin around his eye, his breath catching in his throat at the searing pain pulsating beneath his fingertips. "Fuck," he mutters.

You felt a tickle in your nose, the pressure builds, the discomfort intensifying with every breath then there came the dreaded sneeze. Instead of the usual sense of relief, there's only pain. A sharp, searing pain radiates from your nose, sending shockwaves of agony through your skull, a splatter of blood from your nose now on Kyles's once pristine button-up.

Your eyes squeeze shut, tears instinctively beginning to push from your eyes as you struggle to regain your composure. The sound that escapes your lips is not the usual sneeze, but a strangled gasp, a testament to the torment wreaked upon your nasal passages. "Fuck, oh my fucking god!" You scream, hands moving upward to cover your nose in the position of a prayer. "Fuck, that fucking hurts, pussy licking cunt face, fuck!"

"Jesus Christ," His voice is breathy, he hadn't entirely comprehended what you had said, his hazy brain was more focused on the throbbing pain enveloping his eye and the blood splattered on his white button-up.

A woman swings around the corner, Alysha, you barely remember what she looked like eight years prior before she bleached her hair to the point it was fried and filled her face with Botox and fillers. "Is everything okay in here?"

"No!" You shout, the vexation wasn't intention but you never thought sneezing would hurt so bad.

"What the hell," Any rage in Kyle's voice was replaced by fear as he stared at Aylsha's face. He looked like a deer caught in headlights though he couldn't bring himself to look away from her pillow face. She had so much filler to the point where her skin would turn loose if it were to be dissolved, her lips were the most obviously overfilled, looking minutes away from bursting. "I think as a society we're way too okay with that."

You brush past him, grabbing his wrist to pull him along. "we're going to the hospital." You're opinion on going to the hospital had changed in an instant. You could've managed if you hadn't sneezed, it felt worse than the initial break. Your senses are overwhelmed by the intensity of the tormenting sensation.

"Why do people do that to themselves?" He lowers his voice.

"Doesn't matter," You dismiss, dragging him into the living room where the majority of the partygoers were gathered. "Danger!" You shout and everyone turns to look at you, startle clear across their wrinkled faces. You split into a grin "There's actually no danger but I need to go to the hospital."

"Jellybean, what happened?" Your mother places her wineglass on the coffee table and rushes over to you, cradling your face in both of her hands while she examines you. Your father isn't far behind, jogging slowly like he was in an action movie, it would've been more efficient to walk over to you.

"We need to go to the hospital," You say simply, clamping your eyes shut so she won't see the redness.

"Kyle!" Sheila exclaims, eyebrows furrowing as she approaches him. She looks up at her tall son, gently touching his swelling eye, red from irritation "My little boy, what happened?" Sheila looks at you, the gash on your nose and the slightly crooked look of it "Did you two fight?"

"No," you answer abruptly, pointing at Richie who was working through a slice of cake "He's sober, he can take us to the hospital."

Richie responds with a nod before he goes back to his cake "Ready to go when you are."

"I just don't understand how this happened," your dad remarks. With each passing second that you weren't on the way to the emergency room, you grew more irritated.

"Kyle, did you hit her?" Gerald stands behind Sheila, his face stony.

"No," You interject "I hit him actually, on accident and I fell and smashed my head on the kitchen island and it really fucking hurts so can we please go?"

"Are you high?" Gerald leans in the slightest to see your red eyes to which you inch back.

"Are you?" Your dad's demeanour changes as he crosses his arms.

All eyes fell on you and you quickly scrambled for an answer, glancing at Richie who looked as panicked as ever before you fell to the conclusion "No, we're teenagers."

Everyone looks either around or at you in confusion over your chosen words. They wondered what exactly you meant by that and you wondered "So why are your eyes red?" Your dad asks.

"It doesn't matter, they need medical attention," Sheila tries to dismiss the topic.

"It's called life, little bro," You clap your hands together like you said something groundbreaking, a small smirk playing on your blood-stained face.

"This is ridiculous," Your dad shakes his head. You glance over at Kyle who's fallen nonverbal, letting his mom poke around his face.

"Because life isn't just all flowers and sausages but we're making the most out of it Gerald so why don't you live a little?" You raise your hands up in the air; in your mind, you are trailblazing by delivering this odd string of words to a crowd of wrinkled faces who watch you like a spectacle. "I would like to get my nose sewn back together.”

"Jellybean, you are acting so strange," Your mother says, catching on to the fact that you might be under the influence.

"It's because of blood loss," Richie cuts in, beginning to usher you and Kyle to the front door. "Don't worry, I'll take good care of them."

You turn your head to stare down your parents as you leave though Kyle's lanky figure blocks them out entirely. He trails behind you, one hand on the small of your back to keep you moving forward. You nearly shudder under his touch but don't make a fight to shake him off.

Sitting in the sterile confines of the hospital waiting room, you couldn't help but feel a mixture of relief and anticipation. Just moments ago, you had emerged from the emergency room, your broken nose carefully repaired by the skilled hands of doctors. Now, as you awaited your discharge, a sense of tiredness was creeping up on you. You had been there entirely too long though the edibles had yet to wear off.

Your nose was still tender, wrapped in layers of gauze and tape, a constant reminder of the trauma it had endured. But beneath the bandages lay four stitches are what was sure to be a nasty bruise. All you could process was that you really wanted a cigarette.

Kyle walks into the waiting room, he scans the few other people in there before his eyes settle on you. He stood still for a moment, thinking whether or not it would be weird if he sat next to you, he decided that it was and opted for the row opposite to you.

Your eyes wander down to his hands where he clutches a little orange bottling, rattling slightly with movement from the pills inside "You got meds already? They just gave me a slip to take to the pharmacy."

"Yup," He shakes the bottle "Did you know that you cracked my cheekbone?"

"No," you narrow your eyes "I don't have X-ray vision."

Silence hangs between the two of you, the only sound being background noise from other patients and nurses. Now that the heat of the painful moment had disbanded you were left unsure of how to talk to Kyle. You didn't even know if you had only shown him the smallest speck of kindness or if he had put his hand around your waist purely from the influence of the drugs.

"I can't believe my dad thought I would hit you," Kyle said the first thing that came to mind, staring at the bandage in the center of your face.

"I can't believe my parents cared more about me being high than having a mangled nose."

"That was kinda crazy."

"This is all kinda crazy," you answer, trying to keep your face as still as possible to avoid the pain of scrunching or moving your nose. "Are you going to tell everyone that I hit you?"

"Not if you don't want me to."

"Please don't," Your voice is hardly above a whisper when you ask this. "It was bad enough when I hit Cartman," That was true, Cartman had made you out to sound like a violent criminal in every rendition of the story he told. He had fabricated so many aspects of it that it seemed more like fiction than reality, even if people didn't believe him, it wouldn't stop them from spreading it.

"Okay," His tone matches the softness of yours "I won't."

"Thanks," You turn your gaze toward the ground, scraping your mind for something else to say so you don't feel like you're drowning beneath unsaid words. "We should smoke and then enter a hotdog eating contest."

"That's a good idea."

"Do you think we're the only ones who've had that idea?"

"I think if we smoked and went to a hot dog eating contest, everyone would be high."

"Do you think I would be a cat or a dog?" You change the topic again, not on purpose but because that was how your brain was functioning.

"I think we would both be dogs," He says with sureness.

"Yeah, maybe you would be like an Australian Sheppard and have gross crusty shit in your eyes because your owners hate you and they never clean you."

"I'm not Australian."

"Well, they don't have Jersey shepherds because I'm pretty sure you can't give dogs spray tans."

"I think I would be a Nova Scotia duck tolling retriever."

"You're not Canadian either and don't make up fake dog breeds, man," You cross your arms.

"It's not fake."

"Totally is, actually, you would be one of those fugly bald dogs that shake all of the time and people adopt them out of pity."

"All dogs are beautiful to me, actually," Kyle says in a matter-of-fact tone like you wouldn't believe his statement.

"Consumerism is so out of hand because how many water bottles do you really need?" You mind once again wondered to things that you had seen online hours prior. What was haunting you was a video of a woman who had collected 78 colours of a reusable water bottle, defeating the purpose of the eco-friendly aspect of it.

He genuinely thinks long and hard about your question "You need one good water bottle, maybe two depending on the circumstances."

"Hey, I have a joke, it's really funny and I just thought of it."

"Shoot."

"If Kyle falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, did he make any sound at all?" You crack an awkward, faltering smile. The second you said it out loud you realized that it wasn't as funny as intended. It was like you were teetering on the verge of sober, your mind so incredibly close to acting like yourself again before it slipped back into the haziness. "Yeah, it was pretty loud actually."

To your surprise, Kyle actually smiles. His lips curve upwards in a perfect arc, revealing a set of teeth that gleam like pearls against the backdrop of his sun-kissed skin. Each tooth is straight and even, with a dazzling whiteness that seems almost too pristine to be real. You couldn't think back to the last time he smiled at something you said without being sarcastic. Digging through your brain you weren't sure that he had ever smiled at you.

You furrow your eyebrows, mouth pulled back in a grimace, eyes squinting like his perfect grin was an offensive sight "Don't smile at me like that." You could feel your jaw tensing "Jesus, don't smile at me at all."

"Hey kids," Richie had returned, coming to your rescue just when you thought you were going to shatter from the conflict in your mind "Brought you these, a little souvenir from the gift shop," He tossed both of you a Garfield stuffed animal. Garfield looks almost frightening, his half-lidded eyes uneven, weird body emaciated, and fur pale like he's been experimenting. You loved it.

"Thanks," You smile up at your uncle, being careful not to let Garfield touch your blood-stained dress. Kyle has a small grin playing on his face as he holds it in his large hands.

"You got it," He gives you a quick thumbs up "So if everyone is in the clear are we good to go? You and Kyle both nod and Richie turns on his heels, swinging an arm in motion for you to follow him, his car keys jingling in one hand.

The automatic doors slid open as the three of you neared them, the night on the other side of them was brisk. As you and Kyle slipped into the back seat of Richie's prius, you couldn't help but cast one more look at him; a final look at the curve of his nose and sharp jaw while you could still write it off as being high.

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