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jiminjamms · 11 months ago

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sex therapy :: 25. messed up

chapter tags/warnings: naoya fucks toji's ex-wife again. aggressive sex. creampie-ing. misogynistic! naoya. hurt/comfort. naoya views women as nothing but a hole. broken marriage. heavy angst. infidelity/adultery. family drama. strong language. manipulation undertones. corruption.

word count: 4.1k

notes: thank you always for all the support! on to the plot for our final arc! this beginning excerpt is a rewording from a line in “spy x family” (any fans out there?) that i believe captures the dynamics in our characters as well. enjoy! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

❝ Every person has a self that one conceals, a side not shown to anyone else. Not to friends. Not to lovers. Not even to family. Behind lies and painted smiles, individuals shield their true natures and desires…and, in doing so, the world thus maintains its thin veneer of peace. ❞

Who in the world was Toji Zenin?

The Toji that you had always known was Toji Fushiguro, so what was your husband’s cognomen doing besides your sex therapist’s first name on the latter's university diploma?

Even Google seemed to deny that Toji Zenin existed.

Showing results instead for ‘Toji Fushiguro.’

No, that was not what you wanted!

One step forward in understanding this enigmatic man might as well be three steps backward because, each time you thought you had learned something about him, you only come to the realization that nothing much had been discovered at all.

But as investigations via search engines, social media sites, and Wikipedia pages proved futile, sources that could quell your curiosity dwindled.

So, you turned to your last resort.

“Who’s Toji Zenin?”

“What—”

Across from you, the raspberry macaron in Mai’s hand stopped by her lips as the girl snapped her focus from the pastry to your unanticipated question, with Maki visibly turning stiff in the adjacent chair. The three of you sat surrounding a small table in the twin’s private lounge, located in the northern wing within the Zenin residence.

Visiting the central family property was not uncommon ever since your engagement and wedding earlier this year, but the architecture would never fail to impress you. The mansion itself resembled the Imperial Palace more than anything—an edificial centerpiece defined by the elegance and simplicity inherent in traditional Japanese design, with latticework embellishing the wooden exterior and, inside, carefully painted doors opening into tatami rooms.

Given that Mai and Maki were back in Tokyo for their summer breaks from universities abroad, the sisters established themselves as your close friends and had brought you into their tea room, adorned with European furnishings that would come off as atypical compared to the Japanese heirlooms elsewhere in the residence. On the table sat an imported tea set from England, at the center a French-inspired pastry tower prepared with caramel-topped croquembouches, chocolate-covered profiteroles, and the like.

In great admiration, the sisters had been barraging you with inquiries about your life back in your bachelorette days, asking about your volunteering trip to the Philippines or the charity auctions in Dubai.

Now, with the shift in discussion, the sisters exchanged an uneasy look.

An entire conversation appeared to be held in the way they traded glances. The usual sparkle in their eyes faded, which must mean the girls were remarkably uncomfortable, but Mai forced a polite smile as she placed down her macaron.

“Y/N,” she began carefully, “May we ask how you know Toji?”

Even though she tried to spin the question as casual curiosity, her apprehension could not be more obvious.

“I don’t know him, really,” you lied. While dishonesty went against your morals, watching the twins’ shoulders fall with relief was enough to assuage the guilt. “He’s just…” My friend, to put things in the mildest terms. “He’s just a name I have heard. That’s all.”

Maki dabbed at her mouth with a lace handkerchief, not making a big deal as she added, “Toji’s a cousin.”

So, the Zenin last name on his diploma was not a coincidence at all.

Such a groundbreaking discovery should have thrown you into a whole whirlwind but, to be frank, the realization did not come off as too surprising at all. If anything, Toji as a member of the Zenin family was the perfect explanation to why Toji seemed so astute, why he would talk like he knew more about Naoya than you, and—as Geto had once said—why Toji was ‘not where he could possibly be.’

While Toji’s reason for opting for the Fushiguro name remained a mystery, what you did know now was that he was indeed affiliated with the twins before you by blood, which—by extension—must mean that Toji would also be a cousin to…

…your husband.

Wait.

An unsettling chill ran down your spine.

“Cousins, as in,” part of you didn’t want to know the answer, “distant cousins? Or…?”

“No,” the older twin interjected matter-of-factly, not knowing the full background behind your seemingly innocuous question. “First cousins.”

Ah, so the closest type of cousins possible, which was exactly what you had hoped not to hear. With this additional information, you tried to hide the clamminess in your palms. What would be the best word to describe this void now? Did you feel disappointed? Misled? Betrayed? Toji certainly had known that you were wed to his younger cousin, yet he willingly chose to hide his background as he kissed you, touched you, and fucked you.

A reversal from your sentiments before, you currently felt both disgusted and hurt.

Why did Toji keep this information from you? What sick person derived satisfaction from having sex with his first cousin’s wife? You were so damn stupid for placing all your trust in him. Looking at the situation now, he was just another iteration of the same manipulative and disrespectful man you had been trying so hard to avoid.

“Are you close with Toji?”

Mai shook her head. “No. We don’t talk to him anymore.” Her comment struck as odd. Anymore? Had they once been, then? Before you could ask, her gaze darted around in caution before she leaned forward and said lowly, “For your information, Naoya got into a huge dispute with him earlier this year.”

That’s quite recent.

You understood that Mai and Maki had been uncharacteristically tight-lipped as they did not want to slander the family heir in front of his wife. Blissful ignorance was what the twins must be thinking, hoping to preserve the peace between you and your husband. However, what you had yet to reveal was the broken marriage that had been masked for everyone’s sake, disguised by a pretense that all was well.

Which was why, on that note, the timing could not have been more perfect as a tall young man with ombre hair and hazel eyes flung open the door in one unforgiving slam, rattling the fine china and startling the seated individuals inside.

“There you are, you whore!”

Your eyes widened with shock upon seeing Naoya Zenin in the entryway, your husband’s scowl icy and malicious. He came stomping toward you as his eyes held a dangerous hostility that was impossible to ignore, and you could oddly sense an impending doom when he stormed with zero regard for anything in his path, kicking aside a potted plant and toppling over a ceramic vase.

Standing up, you tried to hide the confusion that befuddled your already mish-mashed brain.

Today was Tuesday.

Was he not supposed to be at work?

“Naoya,” you began calmly, cognizant of the onlooking sisters behind you, “this is not the right place to—”

“You’re such a fucking desperate bitch, aren’t you?” His words were sharp and bitter, his glare filled with hatred like a fire doused with gasoline. Before you could request clarification, he stopped steps away and swung his right hand up, pressing a black business card to your stunned face, the paper crinkled from his intense grip and rendering you petrified in your stance.

No, this couldn’t be…

From your peripheral view, you watched Mai and Maki place their hands over their open mouths as they read Toji Fushiguro’s calligraphed name on the business card that also had in obvious words: 'sex therapist.' Shame racked your stomach. Merely minutes ago, you convinced the twins that Toji was to you nothing more than a name, and now, karma bit you back like a bitch.

With your voice evaporated, you croaked.

“Where did you find that?” You had been sure that you placed the badge away.

Naoya used his anger to crumple the card and tossed the now useless paper ball to the side. “In your purse,” he gritted, “How long were you planning to hide this from me?”

The ensuing guilt suffocated you. “I—” I don’t know.

Sensing the weakness in your will, Naoya burst into a maniacal laughter that cracked through the air, creating a disconcerting symphony. He bent forward, shoulders convulsing with every diabolic and mirthful guffaw.

“You’re so god fucking pathetic, woman. Do you have any idea who Toji Fushiguro is? That bastard is Toji Zenin, you ignorant slut—he is my cousin. Well, I guess I never told you about him, though, because he doesn’t fucking matter anymore anyway. I don’t know how you ended up crossing paths with him, but this is hilarious!” The man kept cackling and roaring like he had gone insane. “Were you two brewing shit about me? Actually, let me guess since you’d gotten hold of this business card: did you have sex with him? Did you have sex with Toji? Going around fucking your husband and then your husband’s cousin is nothing to be proud of. Tell me, did you meet the other sex therapists as well? Did you get stretched out by them, too? Whose dick did you like best? Whose? Whose? Is that what you like, being passed around and used like some sick trophy? What a fucking animal! How dare you disrespect our marriage. How dare you disrespect your own hus—”

Your hand lashed out before you could suppress the impulse and delivered one resounding slap across Naoya’s face. You watched him shut up and stumble backward, clutching his cheek.

"Ow!"

For a moment, the world seemed frozen still: the sisters gaping in complete stupefaction, your husband staring at the ground wide-eyed, and you heaving from the incoming emotional onslaught.

”How dare you…How fucking dare you disrespect me!” The coalescence of anger, agony, and resentment—bottled up in your heart for months upon months—was now being released as you dissolved into tears. “What the hell is wrong with you?! How could you say such messed up things? You are sick in the head, Naoya, you know that? Out of respect for myself, how could I possibly respect you?!” The only sound echoing in the room became your uncontrollable cries, sobs that escaped past your lips in raw and muffled bursts. Torn apart by sorrow, you could hardly breathe from how constricted your throat had become, your knees wobbling and weak. “Y-You have no idea how lonely and miserable I have been since I walked down that aisle. For the past six months, you—as my husband—have done absolutely nothing but make me feel like a rat in my own home, a mistress in my own marriage!”

“Fantastic! Exactly what I wanted to hear, I am glad I have made your life horrible!” Naoya snarled, not caring for how everyone else’s eyes widened at the scathing statement. Unbelievable. Truly, painfully unbelievable. Did your husband really just say that to your face? He could not give a shit that you wept pitifully, instead catching your shaky wrist in the tightest grasp possible as he added on, “My only regret is that I had not made your life even worse.”

“What the fuck!” you heard Mai gasp as a gut reaction.

What the fucking fuck, indeed.

While you had been subject to Naoya’s verbal harassment during these many weeks, for him to tell you that he wished he had tortured you further was beyond heartless. The searing ache that burned your skin might as well be fatal because your respiration turned erratic like someone had trapped you inside a bubble.

Hyperventilating, you subsisted on shallow gasps.

“Don’t go around thinking that you’re any better, alright? You’re calling me pathetic for sleeping with your cousin, but have you considered that I had been placed in that position because, since the start, you’ve been cheating on your wife?”

Yelling at his face allowed you to release more tears from your lachrymose eyes. Now, Mai and Maki must truly be appalled at all these revelations. What happened to the fairy-tale marriage you had told them about? Well, that never existed to begin with, and with these thoughts in mind, you found a sadistic satisfaction in watching your lawful spouse fume with deep-seated rage.

“That’s right,” you mused with derision, “we’ve been two sides of the same coin all along.”

Naoya clenched his hands at his sides, disgusted to have been compared to you. “Do not put me on the same level as—”

“No. No, you don't get to talk! All you have done since we have been married is for you to talk and complain and bitch about everything, but now, this is my turn,” you screamed in return. “I…I hate you!” and you pointed right at him, “In fact, I despise you. You never tried to see what I had to tolerate to stay with an asshole like yourself because you had been too busy sticking your dick into another woman while you could hardly look at me! No wonder your cousins worried about me. No wonder Toji told me to file for a divorce. Because you, Naoya Zenin, are a total piece of shit!”

His momentary pause hinted at the tiniest self-actualization that flickered within him. Perhaps he finally realized how you had been feeling now that you freely spat out all the turmoil that had been chaining your soul. He took one additional step toward you, torn between whether he should keep up with his anger or succumb to remorse for hurting you.

But, knowing this man, he—of course—opted for the former.

“I never,” he seethed lowly, “wanted this marriage.”

Maybe you truly have become deranged or maybe you genuinely found his statement funny, for you began to emit tearful cackles in your laughter.

“Now, that is one big fucking lie.” Since your earliest encounter, Toji had suggested that Naoya solely regarded you as nothing more than ‘a sweet, innocent fuck,’ and the longer you had stayed with your husband, the more you began to acknowledge how these accusations were all true. “We all know that you’re going to be nothing without me. A CEO who could hardly keep his wife for half a year? What a loser. What makes you believe that I wanted to be married to you? Who do you even think would want to do business with you after this? You never had respect in the real world because all that respect rests upon me.”

While you never fully understood Naoya, your words must have snapped a particular chord in him because he suddenly lunged forward.

“Fucking cunt—”

But before he could get too close, you darted away from him. “Don’t touch me!” you shrieked, voice shrill from the top of your lungs. “Do not ever touch me again. If you want to lay your dirty hands on someone, go touch your girlfriend instead!”

That’s right, he had another woman who he doted on far more than he could appreciate you. This wedding band, this engagement ring on your left hand meant absolutely nothing. Toji had been spot on—why the hell did you cling onto stupid shit like this, twisting the jewelry as if that would save your messed-up union? Without further empathy, you slid off the two rings and hurled them toward your husband’s chest before the circlets clinked upon hitting the ground.

At first, Naoya scoffed. He watched the ludicrous scene with a comical gaze, and when his brain processed what he just saw, he quickly fell onto his knees. All at once, he tossed his head back and let out a chortle—a full-bodied cachinnation that took the room completely aback—as his hysteria mounted.

“Good, good, good!” His screeches were like those of a maniac, his chuckles haunting, throaty, and lacking in sanity. “I’m glad that you’ve come to show the witch that you have been all along! Look at yourself! No wonder no one wanted you!”

Unable to be a bystander any longer, Mai stood up and hurled toward her cousin. “Shut the hell up, Naoya!”

But the said man was quick, using one powerful movement to punch the older twin first. “You shut the hell up, scum. Unless you want to be pummeled to the point where people will feel sorry to look in your direction.”

“Watch what you say!” and when Naoya turned to the new voice, the evil glint gleaming from his brown eyes appeared ablaze.

“Oh? Someone’s bold, too. Shall I bully you first then, Maki?” the timbre in his disdainful laugh crescendoed into unhinged amusement. “Say one more word, little girl,” he taunted, his imp-like face riddled with mockery. “C’mon. I dare you. I will throw you into the courtyard and beat your ugly face up. That’ll bring back warm memories from the good old days, huh?”

The younger twin gritted her teeth, her sister reaching for her arm as a signal to back down and stay levelheaded.

Meanwhile, once Naoya rose from the floor, he nonchalantly kicked at the rings because those emblems of your union had always been meaningless garbage anyway.

“If wanted to leave this badly, then fucking leave,” he deadpanned, his tone the calmest he had been this whole time. “I don’t give a fuck anymore.”

Those were your husband’s last words as he walked away, leaving you sobbing and shuddering with a lost soul and sore heart. While weeping and gasping, you had to endure watching his figure fade from view, all while wanting to stop the uncomfortable distress that heightened with his departure. You were huffing, panting, trying to stop your trembling.

The second Naoya slammed the door behind him, Maki ran up to your side and embraced your shaking form, all while you bawled and clutched at yourself. Her expression remained strong, but her palms were damp as they pressed onto your back, her arms quavering slightly as she soothed your cries.

“Sh, don’t cry. My sister and I are here, okay? Mai and I will protect you. Everything will be alright.”

Despite her reassurances, she sounded nearly as broken as you appeared, especially when your hand violently trembled because nothing could save you from the agony that drowned your tattered soul. You felt the disgusting urge to throw up—you were completely broken inside. In a futile attempt, you sought to regulate your breaths with one deep inhale.

Yet, at some point, Maki peeled back and she mouthed something.

Was she talking to you?

Why…why could you not hear her?

She sounded so muffled, as though you were underwater.

Why did everything sound so far away?

With your throat constricted, you could not breathe. Gagging. Gasping. Big, huge gulps of air, but the oxygen failed to enter your lungs. You couldn’t breathe. You could not fucking breathe.

You gripped the fabric by your chest and your other hand sought for something else to hold, but you ended up on the ground anyway. Choking. Coughing. Was something foaming at your mouth? Something warm and wet spilled from your orifices. Were you vomiting? Why were you vomiting?

Holding your body upright, Maki was the only reason that you had not remained on the floor like a fool, but even she stared at you with concern and…horror? Why did she look so scared? Was she screaming? She looked like she was screaming, but her face appeared all contorted like you were looking at her through a fish-eye lens.

After a while, you could not even see her or her sister anymore because your vision turned spotty and then black.

See!

Open your eyes, and see!

Why could you not see?

When your hearing returned to some degree, the sounds that filled your ears were frantic shouts and endless clamor.

“Call Toji! He’ll know what to do. Hurry, where is your phone?” It was Mai. Scrambling. Bags were being opened. Items being tossed. “Call Toji, now!”

A phone started to ring.

Buzzes and buzzes and more buzzes as the waiting intensified.

Then voicemail.

Hello, this is Toji Fushiguro.

“He is not picking up!”

Unfortunately, I am unable to pick up the phone right now.

“Get…”

But please leave your name and number—

“Get Megumi.”

—and I will return your call as soon as possible.

“What about Tusmiki?”

“Tsumiki is still in London at university, idiot! Call…Call Megumi!”

“Okay. I know, I know! I’m calling him already!” someone screamed back. Was this Mai? Was this Maki? You could no longer tell, but the same person shouted, “Wait, wait. He is calling back. Toji is calling me back.”

“Then pick up the phone!”

“Toji…” one of the twins started, the cracks in her tone making her sound like she was weeping too, and her words composed your last bits of memory before the world dissolved completely. “Please…help us.”

Even labeling Naoya Zenin as ballistic would be far too much of an understatement.

The rage, wrath, and sheer indignation that swelled in his every capillary surpassed the twenty-five years' worth of virulent rancor that he had for his fucked-up family.

Since when did you get so goddamn arrogant? Naoya wanted to hurt you, ruin you, and do everything in his power to sabotage you.

Not just you, though. Because that would be too easy.

But also his father, his cousins, his ex-coworkers, and—most importantly—Toji.

Such ill feelings were what led the Zenin CEO to practically leap into the Mercedes-Benz that awaited him at the entrance to his family home, and he immediately ordered his chauffeur to press on the pedal toward a very certain condominium several kilometers away.

Fifteen minutes later, a very surprised Mari opened her door and an enraged Naoya greeted her, shoving her against the wall and colliding his lips into hers for a fierce kiss. His actions lacked passion, only charged with aggression as he stripped her and threw her onto the living room sofa. He could hardly care that he treated the woman as though she was nothing more than a prostitute, while the latter mistook her boyfriend’s rage for desperation, and she begged for him to pull at her hair and force his tongue down her mouth.

At some point, Naoya drove his mistress’s face into the couch cushion and dragged her hips to have her ass raised high. He was too clouded by fury and too blinded by anger to think twice before he forcefully penetrated the woman. He fucked her raw and held her close, jostling her body as though she was a ragdoll, eliciting her loudest mewls that cried for his name.

“J-Just like that!” she whimpered, eyes rolling to the back of her head as he pummeled into her dripping hole, paying no mercy for destroying her with his ruthless pace. Her knees gave out from under her, and she crumbled from the sofa and into the carpet, only for him to tumble too to follow the socket he needed to keep his dick soaked.

“I need to break you,” he hissed.

Fuck, he was going to come soon.

His nails left crescent marks on her flesh, his hands burning her scalp as he tugged her strands and met her buttocks with hard thrusts, and he knew he was going to come.

Feeling the first of his seed trick into his mistress’s life-giving cavern, he toyed with the idea of giving Tsumiki and Megumi a baby sibling. That would be fun. He could then imagine the subsequent mortified reactions from his deplorable cousin and from his wretched wife (whom he would hardly call himself married to anymore, anyway). The fantasies, everything that he would do to spite those who had wronged him, had Naoya cackling as his viscous cum spurted from his tip and deep into his mistress’s womb.

He pulled out once he made sure that every single drop had been milked from him, his ejaculate dribbling from her pussy like someone had taken a bite from a cream-filled donut.

Rolling into the carpet and onto her back, a panting Mari took two fingers and pressed his precious seed back into her cunt. “That was so hot.” A lazy smile pulled across her face. “Thank you for the unexpected visit.”

Naoya completely dismissed her comments as he tucked himself back into his pants, not in the right mood to respond.

“Cool. Clean this mess up,” he demanded instead, “I’m leaving for work.”

He ignored the woman’s ensuing pleas to stay at least five minutes longer. Unlike her, he had better things to do, and he rushed out as he fetched his phone from his back pocket and surveyed for any messages he might have missed while he had been away.

But when he turned on his screen, his most recent notification had his blood turn cold.

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: The absolute fury in the argument, the complete panic between the twins, and the maniacal temperament in our husband…so much packed in this chapter! If you can’t tell already, my favorite POV to write from is Naoya’s, ha. Also, I took some creative liberty here to convey the intense emotions, so let me know what you think! Hugs to all.

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @nemoyr @huangfairy @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @chaoticjojofan @musicisme333 @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @tsukiyohanayome @marimoares @qirbys @puffaloxx @sakanoshitaa @arizzu @kissditrio @lewd-bunny14 @mistyheart @szired @supsii @yvy1s @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi @the-cosmos-network

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word-wytch · 1 year ago

Text

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 16

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 16/? 9k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ Frustrated by inconclusive endings, Eddie takes a seat behind the wheel.

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, true love, smut (18+ mdni), internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

✏︎ Chapter CW: general angst, paternal angst, drug mention

Thursday, December 12th 1985

Before the first morning bell, Eddie gave Judy at reception his best impression of Wayne over the phone. He wasn’t totally lying, he was in fact, quite sick. Sick of all the taunting looks from meathead jocks. Sick of the way Ms. O’Donnell cleared her throat every five minutes. Sick of waking up so goddamn early. Sick of wasting his time. So after hanging up the phone, he stuffed a few essentials in his backpack and made for the door.

Like clockwork, Wayne always came home at around 8:10 AM, and though it would be far from the first time he’d skipped school, Eddie would rather not have to explain himself. Besides, he could use a change of scenery. There was no denying winter anymore, the ice he scraped off his windshield made sure to remind him. On a typical hooky day he would drive down to Lover’s Lake and toss open the rear doors, catch a breeze, light a joint, sit back and take in the ripples on the water and the rustling leaves. But that had all frozen over, so unless he intended to burn through his whole tank of gas, he would need to get creative.

That was how he found himself at Benny’s at 7:58 on a Thursday morning, setting up camp in a booth at the back of the restaurant. He ordered his usual — bacon, scrambled eggs, and a stack of pancakes in addition to white toast. Tossing his fourth emptied sugar packet beside the leaning tower of creamers, he sat back in the sticky, padded seat and took his first deep breath all morning.

The diner was bustling lowly, a handful of regulars perched on silver, spinning stools at the bar. From the frosted window leeching cool air beside him, he watched the funeral procession of headlights down Washington under a mournful sky. Just another day for the upright citizens of Hawkins, Indiana. From his cozy booth, Eddie sipped the top off his very full mug and smiled to himself.

Sprawling his belongings around the piping hot plates, he popped on his headphones, cracked open his monster manual, and got to work. The first hour flew by like his pencil across the graph paper. Between the bacon bits that had leapt from hand to page, a formidable lineup of foes was taking shape. Bottom line; the boys were in for a world of hurt tomorrow. He did his best to resign the grease to the flimsy napkins, but by the time he was finished, syrup tacked the gargoyle and gorgon pages together.

“Anything else I can grab for ya besides the check?” Sheri—according to her name tag—asked with a tired lean as she reached to clear his plates.

Eddie glanced down sheepishly at his freshly topped off mug. “I uh, think I might be staying for lunch.”

Sheri forced a hot pink smile, catching the fork with her decorated finger when it threatened to slide off the plate. “Y’ want me to get a room set up for you too?” she joked with a wink of her spidery lashes. “Just teasin’ sweetie. You just flag me down when you’re ready.”

Switching out his tapes, Eddie shut the cassette player and stared out the window as the men at the bar tossed their napkins and fished out their wallets. Snow was falling in lazy clumps, clinging to his windshield. Somewhere behind the overcast clouds, the sun was rising steadily. It was dismal, a fitting backdrop for the opening track of Black Sabbath’s Heaven and Hell. Of all the seasons, winter belonged to metal. Like it was made for cruising down a quiet, snow-covered street in the middle of nowhere. Made for drowning out Bing Crosby crooning from the speaker in the corner above him. Tinsel glittered on the small tree perched on a cloud of fake snow beside the cash register. Ornaments on swags swayed to the thump of footsteps passing. Eddie sighed and stared into the changing street lights.

Glancing at his watch he figured you were probably wrapping up the film with second period, knitting your brow and drawing your pen across the papers you were grading. He wondered what you’d think when the bell rang for fourth and you found his seat empty. Would you think he was upset with you? There was a small part of him that hoped so, and another part that hoped you would understand. After all, he was giving you the space you asked for, was he not?

Like a siren, your story—tucked between his notebook and the magazines he’d exhausted twice cover to cover—called to him. Cracking open the plastic spine, he dove headfirst into the typewritten pages.

For the whole narrow path into Rower’s End, Cybelle had sat in the front of the caravan, breathing the briny air unhindered by a barrier. Lazarus admired the brilliant fullness of her smile as she watched the seagulls soar overhead, under the clouds she had only ever seen from above. The sunlight had graced them then, beaming down in golden rays, glinting on the distant waves as they approached the sleepy seaside town.

Eddie could feel the corners of his mouth tug as Lazarus regaled Cybelle with a story of a time when he’d accidentally taken a crab home with him after spending a day at the beach, followed by an explanation of what a crab was. Cybelle seemed delighted with the prospect of seeing one, even more-so when he told her how he’d discovered the little hitchhiker when it pinched his rear in bed that night. Eddie noticed the way Cybelle leaned closer whenever Lazarus told stories, the way her hand came to shield her bare face with a giggle when he mentioned his rear. The way her delicate, copper fingers lingered over the soft skin of his forearm when she checked beneath his bandage. The wound was healing nicely — no sign of infection and not a thorn in sight. She warned that it might scar, but Lazarus did not appear concerned—rather the opposite actually—as if a strange part of him was pleased with the idea of having something to remember her by.

As they dipped over the final hill toward Rower’s End, Lazarus told her another story. A dream, rather, of a little cottage in Shantiglade with a full sized bed, and a garden, and a goose egg omelette big enough for two. A dream that would likely never come to pass. Cybelle seemed equally enchanted by it. Sitting back against the boxy, wooden seat of the caravan, she breathed in the salty air and imagined how good it would feel to do so every day. To experience the feeling of sand between her toes, of the ocean at her ankles, of propping her elbow against their shared kitchen table and gracing Lazarus with a naked smile before trying whatever an omelette was. It was good like this too — bumping along under a clear blue sky as Turnip plodded down the scarcely trodded path, watching the wind caress the wild grass and Lazarus’ even wilder curls, hearing his tales and his laughter.

Around the time he would be slumping into his desk in the back of your classroom, the bell dinged over the door of the restaurant. Eddie cranked the volume on his headset to drown out the chatter of a family of four clambering into the booth in front of him. The little boy had brought a pair of plastic drumsticks with him, beating a rhythm on the steel-rimmed table much to the annoyance of his little sister, who was clutching her book the way Eddie was yours. Dipping his few remaining fries into the smear of ketchup, he wondered why they weren’t in school on a Thursday afternoon. As he focused back on the type-written letters, he figured he should be the last to judge.

Eddie felt for Lazarus, he really did. The way he looked at Cybelle as she emerged from the cave, cradling the ghostfern like a pale, translucent child. The scene was as beautiful as it was somber — waves lapping at the rocky shoreline as the setting sun cast its deep orange hues on both of them. The rocks—slick with algae—had Cybelle stumbling, but Lazarus was quick to offer his arm. She accepted without hesitance, clutching the plant like a bouquet as her deep earthen fingers braced the pale angles of his. He lead her down the cascading stone as if it were a chapel aisle, slow and steady until they reached the flat edge of the water. There—in the golden remains of the day—seagulls dipped and soared over the glittering ocean, clasped hands swayed in the lapping wind, and for a moment, they had everything they came for.

After what seemed like both a small eternity and an aching second, it was Cybelle who broke away, tracing the ridges of his fingers as hers fell, stating out loud what both of them knew — that night was coming soon.

The journey back to Torgaard proved easier than the journey out, at least in terms of natural foes. No fenfinks or villainous vines, but the sky seemed to hang much lower. Dark, stormy clouds loomed overhead, casting its pale grey light over the moss curtains outside of Fenwood, over the verdant forests that shuddered in the gusting wind. There was a tension, a dread looming on the horizon that grew with each passing day. Even Eddie could sense it — the way Cybelle stared out into the swath of shifting green like she was attempting to soak up enough for the rest of her life. The way that Lazarus’ jokes were swallowed the creaking of the caravan. How nights that were once spent laughing over a roaring fire were now spent silently watching its crackling embers.

One day—just a few outside of Torgaard—the sky came crashing down. It sobbed in sheets, heavy enough to soak through Cybelle’s coat, to find the tear in her tent and make a lake of it. Lazarus ushered her inside the wagon, offered her a shirt that fit like a dress, offered to sleep on the floor. Assessing the size of the bed, and then the hard, narrow walking path, it was Cybelle who insisted they share it. She was small enough, or at least that was what she rationalized out loud. Lazarus did not argue. Her logic—unlike her tent—was water-tight. And so she climbed in between the soft linen sheets, tucked herself under the weight of the down blanket, and rested her damp, weary head on a pillow that smelled just like him.

Eddie glanced sheepishly around the restaurant, shielding the binder with his arm as Lazarus climbed in beside her. He hinged on each type-written word, lingering over the ones that stirred a fuzzy feeling. Written with careful attention to the way Lazarus’ chest rose and fell, how stiff their bodies were in hyper-awareness of the nearness to each other. How solid his shoulder felt under Cybelle’s cheek when the corner of pillow no longer sufficed. Slowly, they relaxed into the feeling. Not enough to sleep, but enough for Lazarus to free the arm that she was crushing. Enough to wrap it around her shoulder, to relish in the feeling of her cold nose in the warm crook of his neck.

It was good like this. Better when her fingers draped across the landscape of his pecks, felt his chest rise and fall like waves. Best when they awoke in the morning to the sun steaming in through the small, stained glass window above them. When their giggles shook the wagon. When their eyes met, closer than they’d ever been before. There, in the dim cocoon far outside the turning world, the smile that she had hidden for so long finally grew brave enough to capture his. And by the time they reached the towering stone walls of Torgaard, there was nothing more to hide from one another.

Eddie flipped the page to find only a black, plastic pocket. He rubbed it with his fingers to make sure it wasn’t sticking to another. When it failed to separate, he sat back and fumed. That was it. There was no more. No ending, no closure.

Sheri leaned against the top of the booth seat opposite him, hand on her hip, shifting between her dirty white sneakers with a tired sigh. “Listen sweetie, I’ve got ten minutes left of my shift. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want, but I’ve gotta cash you out before I leave.”

Eddie glanced at his watch, almost 2:00. “Yeah—yeah, no problem. Sorry for the trouble.”

“’S no trouble, just the way it goes around here. Hope you enjoyed your stay,” she said with a wink as she dropped the check.

After six hours and two meals, Eddie had gotten his fill of watching the world turn through an old, frosted window. His head was spinning enough on its own. With a frustrated huff he peeled his graph paper and manual away from the sticky table before shoving them into his backpack. Slugging it over his shoulder, he grabbed the grease-stained check and made his way to the register. That was when he noticed it — the lonely, half-eaten omelette on the bar.

“Alright that’ll be ten seventy-five,” chimed Sheri.

Tinsel glittered on the tree. Red, metallic bulbs swayed in the echo of his footsteps. Judy Garland caroled on about a merry little Christmas and he wondered if your characters would ever enjoy anything over their shared kitchen table or if that dream would be abandoned for their duties as well.

“Sir?”

Snapping out of his trance, he fished for his wallet and palmed her a twenty. “Keep the change,” he muttered before turning toward the door with a hoist of his backpack.

Her jaw hung open. “Oh my word, are you serious?” she called to his back, but the bell above the door was the only answer she received.

______

Main Street Vinyls was a ghost town on a Thursday afternoon, and Eddie preferred it that way. Aside from Jerry at the counter, it was just him and his noisy thoughts, accompanied by the slow plod of his own heavy boots as they weeped against the carpet. At least in this store he could escape the onslaught of Christmas tunes. Jerry—old hippie that he was—at least had some sense. Sometimes even sense enough to play some halfway decent rock music, but today Eddie would settle for Neil Young over the jingle bell garbage blasting through every speaker in Hawkins.

Glancing down the rows of plastic cassette spines, Eddie perused the M section as he kicked himself for giving away almost ten dollars. There was an album by a new band he’d only read about in magazines called Megadeth. Turning the tape over in his hands, he examined the cover. Everything about it spoke to him — the skull with its mouth chained shut surrounded by knives and candles, the title — Killing Is My Business. Flipping it over to the back, the phrase continued in haunted red letters …and Business Is Good!

The change he gave away in a fit of blind stupidity would have easily afforded it and left him with some to spare. With a bitter sigh, he shoved the tape back in its slot, knowing for a fact that the cash register at Benny’s had eaten the last bill he had in his wallet. Padding slowly down the aisle, he began his calculations.

He had a few regular deals lined up this weekend but would need to dig into his “savings” in the bottom of an old tobacco tin and pay Rick a visit before any of that happened. He might make eighty bucks if he was lucky. Maybe eighty more over the course of the week between the deals at school. Nobody wanted to spend too much time outside this time of year, so the park bench location was always iffy depending on how bad it was. He would resort to other classic meetup spots, like under the bleachers or the back of his van.

If he networked enough he might have some left over after helping Wayne with the bills. Scanning past the Tina Turner and T-Rex tapes, he wondered how much Wayne suspected about his little business. Surely he had to have some suspicion. Gig money, odd jobs, and oil changes for neighbors couldn’t possibly afford the kind of gear he had, or the ink in his skin, or the cash he contributed monthly. Wayne was sharp, and though he was no saint himself, he shuddered to think what he would say if he discovered his nephew was straying down the same path his brother took.

Peering back over his shoulder, he eyed the Megadeth tapes again—only three in stock—lined up like gifts wrapped in cellophane. They were such tiny things. Small enough to hide beneath his palm, to slide into the pocket of his coat with room to spare. Glancing up at the angled surveillance mirror in the corner of the store, he saw Jerry at the counter, humming obliviously as he stuck price tags on a fresh shipment of tapes. Over the tall shelf that separated them, he expected to meet his own eyes, but instead saw another man. A man he hadn’t seen in quite a while.

Eddie remembered finding a G chord for the first time; how big the fretboard felt in his small hand, how awkwardly his fingers had to stretch, how a larger set of hands had helped him find it. He earned a broad smile when the chord rang out, one he would search for again and again with every strum.

Sometimes in the late evenings as he crept past Wayne with a lunchbox full of drugs while he was watching reruns of Bonanza on the couch, Eddie would tell himself that at least he wasn’t stealing cars, or drinking himself half to death, or rotting behind county bars. At least he was still in school, something Warren Munson couldn’t say even at sixteen. At least Eddie could say he was trying.

With a bitter shake of his head, he continued down the aisle, leaving the tapes behind for the record bins that lined the walls. Mindlessly he walked his fingers over the cardboard spines, glazing past titles he’d seen a dozen times. Nothing new. Nothing different. Few things ever were in Hawkins. Every day he’d wake up and slog himself to a different type of prison, sit in a classroom for eight hours and actively feel his brain rotting. He would crumple up his failed tests and shove them in his backpack, endure the stares from kids whose parents cared enough to give them a ride to school, day after day. And every day he would come home and see the twinge of pride on Wayne’s face for the fact that he’d gone at all.

There were a few perks to sticking around, like running his club, and saving lost sheep, and seeing his friends everyday. Like having a swath of potential customers all in one place. It was safe and familiar, like a cage. His little business might be dangerous and criminal but at least it could afford him one thing he valued even more than ink or gear — freedom. Time, for another thing. Flexibility. It sure as hell beat making three dollars an hour flipping burgers or having to answer to some corporate boot-licker telling him what to do. Eddie huffed sharply, wondering what you would think if you knew. You, with your tightly buttoned blouses and endless patience. You, the very last person he wanted to disappoint.

The last look he’d seen on you destroyed him when he thought about it; the pain in your eyes and bitter line your pretty lips became. You were just about the only reason he had left to show up to class anymore, and now that was getting in the way of the one thing that actually had potential in his eyes. Way more potential than a stupid piece of paper that says, congratulations, you’re a real member of society and not a complete disappointment.

You had asked him a question back when you’d first made the arrangement to help him, one that rattled around in his brain ever since. Why did he want to graduate? If his memory served him, he’d given a relatively bullshit answer: to prove all the assholes in this god-forsaken purgatory wrong. It still held a fair amount of truth, but when he glanced up at the surveillance mirror again and saw himself this time, the real answer was abundantly clear. But was proving a point worth the risk of losing you?

The smell of cardboard and cellophane kissed his face as air puffed between each record falling forward. Each a different picture, some repeats of the same. Rock gods wielding wicked weapons, bathed in holy stage lights somewhere in New York or Los Angeles probably. Somewhere important. Sometimes at the Hideout he would close his eyes and imagine he was on one of those stages, but when he would open them as the last note rung out, it was always the same — just Bill and Drunk Sam, maybe a couple of bikers perched at the bar with their backs to him. Empty stools and sticky tables. A weak applause.

Eddie stepped back from the record bin with a heavy sigh and glanced at his watch. He’d killed about thirty minutes in this store, which meant he had at least twenty more before he could return home without triggering Wayne’s suspicious questions. The walls were starting to close in around him — posters like windows into a world far out of reach. Every million dollar strum reverberating through the speakers like a mocking reminder. With a half-hearted wave to Jerry stocking shelves, he left the store. Empty handed.

The drive down Randolph was always dismal, especially in the bleak winter light. Storefronts with yellowing signs that hadn’t changed in twenty years selling mattresses and televisions. A gas station with a rusted awning, dusted with snow. Architecturally speaking, the church was about the most interesting building, but only because it was brick and made up of more than just four flimsy walls. Even that was being generous though. The most exciting thing to happen to Hawkins since the housing development over by Factory Lane thirty years ago was the shopping mall that opened this past summer. Thrilling.

No matter where he drove within a fifty mile radius, it was all the same — a tomb where dreams went to die.

Gripping the steering wheel, he watched the car in front of him make grooves in the dirty slush, hypnotized by the spray off the sides of the tires. It wasn’t until he saw the high school approaching in his peripherals that he even looked up. It always felt good to be on the other side, especially when he wasn’t supposed to be. He could almost see you in there; brushing the chalk off your hands, shifting between your tired feet as you glanced at the clock, gazing out the window with a longing he’d seen in his own reflection — caught sometimes at night in his drivers seat window as he cruised the highway, dreaming of where it could take him.

As the squat fortress faded in his rearview mirror, he pictured you five years from now. Ten. Twenty. Wasting away in front of that chalkboard. Rattling on about stories written by dead people while your own collected dust inside a closet. While your talent withered like the dead, crumpled leaves under the snow; buried and forgotten.

With a hard right onto Prospect, he set out on the final stretch towards home. Sometimes he liked to imagine what might happen if he just kept going, just drove into the sunset and only stopped for gas. He had a vague idea from the movies and the maps that swayed in the wake of Ms. O’Donnell’s lumbering footsteps. Sometimes in the height of his boredom he would lose himself in them, imagine he was at a diner in the desert on his way to a gig with an actual sound system. Because somewhere out there—beyond the flat horizon—there were mountains, and canyons, and cities where names couldn’t follow.

______

“How does it end?” Eddie asked you on Friday between the fourth and fifth period bells. You glanced up from the stack of papers on your desk, cocking your head with narrowing eyes. “Your story,” he clarified.

“Oh.” Blinking, you sat back to ponder. “You know, I don’t think I ever fully decided. Cybelle is in a difficult position. The whole reason she set out on this adventure was to save her brother. I imagine she would want to fulfill her quest, but if she returned to Myrne, it may be difficult to leave again. Plus, she may receive some sort of punishment for leaving in the first place. I had written the laws to be quite strict, if I recall. And then if she chose not to return, her mother would lose two children. No matter what, she loses.”

Eddie furrowed his brow, shifting between his boots with a pained sigh. “I would hardly call a life with Lazarus losing. She seems happy with him.”

“Right, well, of course that would be ideal, but…” you tsked, “it’s complicated, and honestly that’s partially why I abandoned it. I really wrote myself into a corner. Well, that and student teaching started to eat up my time. Then it was finals, and moving, and then after that I met…” you trailed off with a bitter shake of your head. “Anyway, I guess life got in the way. It has a way of doing that, I’ve noticed.”

Eddie looked at you, really looked. You, in your cable knit sweater with pen on your hand and sandbags under your eyes, casting them down over your work with the same amount of hope he’d seen from players rolling threes with even fewer hit points to spare. He racked his brain for something he could offer—a dramatic death speech or a new character sheet—but you weren’t playing and he wasn’t prepared. Any words of comfort forming on the tip of his tongue were swallowed by the ringing bell, and he exited your classroom feeling the same as when he entered; unsatisfied.

______

It was starting to close in around you — the colored lights and ornaments, the mall Santas and fake green swags draping from shop windows. It was the first Christmas you’d truly spent in Hawkins since you graduated college, outside of day trips for visits. Surprisingly little had changed, the main thing being the fact that there even was a mall for Santa to post up in. Duplication must have been one of his many powers because he was still at Sears too, at least he was on Saturday when you dragged yourself out of the oppressive quiet of your apartment and into the bustling chaos.

You had no idea what to get your relatives for Christmas. You never really did, but this year it seemed insurmountable. This year you had no one to bounce ideas off of, and the constant mental chatter left little to no room for inspiration. As you scanned the shelves of cookware and appliquéd dish towels with snow men and reindeers, nothing really seemed to jump out at you.

What did jump out at you—or rather, jumped out at his sister—was a little boy across the aisle hiding in a circular rack of women’s bath robes. Pressing apart the terrycloth like curtains, he would retreat into his makeshift cave to the complete oblivion of his mother, who seemed more preoccupied with the price tags on a set of lingerie than with the whereabouts of her children.

A fantasy tugged at the corners of your mind, more sinfully indulgent than the one you had in class last week involving your desk and Eddie’s tongue. This time the set was the same as the scene before you, only the little boy had a mess of dark curls and Eddie was diving in after him. Not to scold him, but to play. You could almost see those fraying knee holes widening from contact with the carpet. Almost hear the giggles and the shushes and the click of his rings against the metal pole in the center of the rack for balance. You could almost turn around and see them popping out at you, feel the laughter ripple up through your very full belly and into the corners of your eyes as you feigned surprise to both of their delight. You could almost feel the glares from the other shoppers, the regular people eager to get on with their Saturday in peace, same as any other. It wouldn’t matter though, not in your little world.

The real mother in the real world did eventually turn around, grabbing the boy by the wrist and demanding he stay by the cart. Turning a dish towel over in your palms, you lowered your eyes to the machine-embroidered stitching of a corn cob pipe and a button nose as the fantasy disintegrated. You left the store shortly after, your cart just as empty as when you’d arrived.

On Monday it was hard to look him in the eyes. It was easier to meet Diane’s. At least this week you could hold a conversation without crumbling like Ms. Click’s half-eaten fruitcake up for grabs in the teachers lounge. But the coffee was bitter on your tongue, like a lie you were telling yourself.

In accordance with your wishes, there had been no rap of knuckles on your door frame after school, no screeching of chair legs dragged across the tile, only the dull thud of folders sliding into your bag, the surprising click of a magnet under the flap.

On Wednesday you left behind footprints in the parking lot before it had even half cleared, only to be swallowed by the emptiness of your apartment. You filled the space with what you could manage — an early dinner, and an early bedtime. Sleep seemed to be the only thing that quelled the battering ram thoughts, the scales tipping back and forth so much it made you queasy. You would lie there and dream of swirling smoke and plush lips, of arthritic fingers punching numbers on an office phone as you sat and accepted your fate. You would toss and turn, back and forth until your sheets became a tangle, and when you faced the mirror Thursday morning you barely recognized the person staring back.

When the final bell rang on Friday, the hallways cleared out like someone had yelled fire. A mass exodus of students and staff, flowing into the parking lot like a tidal wave outside your classroom window. You watched them as snow fell in clumps, as bright colored backpacks disappeared into the back of sedans, as cars peeled out like a parade into the street.

Assessing the paper mountain range framing your desk, you made an educated guess at how you would be spending your two week break. In hindsight, it might have helped to make the due date for the senior creative writing project last Friday instead, but deep down you knew you would have hardly made a dent by now.

When Ms. Click popped her head in to wish you a merry Christmas on her way down the hall, she seemed surprised to find your hand still moving across paper, not swaddled in mittens like hers. You brushed it off with something casual, the type of thing any regular person would say before the holidays. That it was too much to take home. That getting work finished now would leave more time with your family. You omitted the more personal details like how empty your apartment felt and the small, naked tree your mother brought over last weekend. This seemed to placate her, and with a cheery wave she left you in the silence of your classroom with only the ruffling of paper for company.

It was eery how quiet it was, but it afforded you a small hill of graded papers in the last hour, double what you would typically accomplish in front of the television. Thumbing through what remained of that stack, you counted each staple. Five, six, seven… you stopped when a certain name jumped out in MLA format.

Eddie Munson American Literature — 4th Period 20 December 1985

No title.

Papers fluttered to the desk as they fell from your hands, leaving only his. You held it gingerly between your fingers, as if it was alive. As if it could feel you, or rather, you could feel him through every type-written letter, through the thumb-sized grease stain in the top righthand corner. You could almost hear him too, shifting into a deep, dramatic narration.

Mount Myrne loomed on the horizon like a dark omen. Towering over the bustling docks of Torgaard, it disappeared beneath the ominous clouds with a formidable presence. Merchants scattered about, hauling their wares in heavy crates and barrels onto the many zeppelins.

This was where Lazarus first met Cybelle. In his mind’s eye he could almost see her stumbling about in her clean silk boots and glimmering gold coat. But her appearance today told a different tale. Her boots were caked with mud, her coat was splattered with muck and tattered by claws, her mask hung crooked on her face. Those large eyes that once glimmered with hope and wonder now stared off into the distance with oppressive sadness at the looming mountain.

This was where he was supposed to leave her. This was what they had agreed upon many moons ago. Cybelle just stood there, shifting back and forth between her tired feet as she dug her thumbs under the straps of her heavy knapsack that now held the rare and precious ghostfern. She finally had what she came for. Any moment now she would be moving those muddy boots toward the docks and use what little coin she had to barter a one-way trip back home.

That was the plan anyway..

Cybelle was frozen though. Fearfully, woefully, bitterly, she gazed upon her gold gleaming home in the sky with a sadness that was only dwarfed by Lazarus looking down at her. He looked at her beautiful face like it was the last time he was ever going to get the chance to. He memorized it in his mind as he shuffled his own dirty boots against the cobblestone. He didn’t have eyes for anything else. Not the zeppelins, nor the merchants, nor the mountain. Only her. After a moment that felt like an eon, Cybelle took a step forward.

“Wait.” said Lazarus. Cybelle turned around with surprise but also a hint of relief. “You don’t have to do this.”

Cybelle looked up at him with a mournful frown. “Of course I do, my brother will die if I stay here.”

Lazarus shook his head bitterly. “No, he will die if the ghostfern stays here.” he said.

Cybelle sighed as she looked out across the docks, “But how is it going to get there if I do not deliver it? No one is allowed within the city walls if they are not from Myrne.”

Lazarus furrowed his brow as he watched the merchants at work, hauling their wares aboard the large, formidable aircrafts. Suddenly he had an idea. “There are docks in Myrne, correct? And Myrnish merchants who take goods into the city?”

The gears were starting to turn in Cybelle’s head. “Yes, there are.”

“Well then, can we send the plant with like, a note or something? Some instructions and directions for the merchant to take where it needs to go?”

Cybelle thought for a moment. “I do know a few of the merchants by name. Arturo and I grew up together. He was my neighbor for a long time. He would know where it needs to go, and my mother would know what to do with it.” The brightness in Cybelle’s eyes dimmed suddenly as she had another thought. “But… I would never seen them again. My family.”

“Never say never, Cybelle.” Lazarus said. “Do you know that for a fact?”

Cybelle frowned heavily, “The laws in Myrne are very strict.”

“What if in the letter you told your family to meet you on the docks some other time? Perhaps in another moon or two once your brother has recovered?” Lazarus offered.

Cybelle sighed bitterly, “Only merchants are allowed on the docks. It is strictly prohibited. I was only able to come here because I snuck inside a crate. It was a miracle that they didn’t notice me.”

Lazarus kicked a stray pebble and huffed. There was a long pause before he spoke again. “I cannot tell you what to do, Cybelle. Only you can make that choice. But what I can do, really the only thing I can do, is tell you how I feel.”

All of a sudden there was a knot in his stomach. Because if he was going to say anything he knew that this would be his last chance..

“All my life I’ve dreamed about that cottage by the sea with the garden, and the bed, and the omlet. When I saw that pendant you were wearing I knew that it would be my only shot at ever getting what I wanted. Magic tricks are….. not exactly lucrative. And actually, if I’m going to be totally honest here, I figure you should know the truth about me. The whole truth.” Lazarus sighed, swallowing the bile creeping up his throat at the mention of the truth. He was going to be honest though. Maybe for once in his whole life. “This is difficult for me to say, but I owe it to you if nothing else. I’m a thief, Cybelle.”

Lazarus winced at his own words and Cybelle’s fallen expression, but he bravely continued..

“I confess that for a moment when I first saw you I thought about stealing that pendant, but once I heard your story and saw so much of my own I simply couldn’t. There is a goodness in you that I admire, how selfless and pure your cause is. Over the course of the last few moons I have had the privilege of spending with you, I have come to discover how beautiful the woman beneath the mask truly is. How kind, and curious, and patient you are. I have been all over this land. Traveled far and wide, through forests and over mountains. I have swam in lakes and oceans and gazed out over countless valleys. But never has the world looked quite so hopeful than when I saw it through your eyes. It made me believe that if you could see the beauty there, if you could see the goodness in me, then perhaps I can as well.”

It was startling — the tear that leapt over your lash line. Violently enough to hit the page, to blur the Os in goodness.

“If you choose to stay I promise you that I will never steal another coin or pocket watch. It may leave me poor for the rest of my days but if they’re spent with you, then I would be the richest man of all. It is all that I can offer you. My honesty, and a promise that I will show you more beaches, more mountains, more of the world than you could ever imagine. And since I intend to keep my promise, here is my honesty: I love you. Regardless of what you decide.”

With a trembling hand, you turned the page only to discover there was nothing on the back. Sitting back in your seat with a ragged sigh, you stared out into your empty classroom. Your nose stung, fluorescents flaring in your tear-blurred vision. Separating the pages with your thumb, you flipped back and read it again. The last paragraph. The last two sentences. Those three type-written words. Over and over, wedging in the cracks of your armor as your sniffles echoed off the tile.

The sun was dipping below the treeline, flooding the near-empty parking lot with a wash of somber pink. The snowfall had ceased, settled into the footprints and tire tracks. Glancing up at the clock and back down at the papers, you tried to imagine lifting another, scanning over sentences and writing in the margins like you hadn’t been completely upended by the one that trembled in your grasp. You couldn’t.

Tears dripped down your cheeks as you donned your coat, as you shuffled overstuffed folders into your satchel and slung its weight over your shoulder. You swiped at them with your scratchy wool sleeve, flicking off the lights and shutting the door.

The soft pink had cooled to twilight blue when your boots met the blanket of snow, leaving tracks in the clean, fresh powder. Your breath trailed behind you in heavy clouds. It was quiet here too, barely a scattering of cars in the parking lot. Not even the wind disturbed the limbs of the orderly saplings between the curb and sidewalk, dusted with a glittering powder.

Your hands found your keys, and the key found the hole, and soon you were sliding into your frigid leather seat, tossing the weight of your satchel on the passenger’s side with a dejected thump. You sat there a moment with only your breath for company before flicking your wrist at the ignition.

Nothing.

Stomping on the break, you lurched forward with conviction this time, as if you could convince it you were serious. All it awarded you was a weak, persistent click. It’s fine, you told yourself through gritted teeth as you lunged again, snapping your wrist with a startling anger, like the seal had been cracked on a two liter pop bottle that had rolled around in the trunk for a week and a half. Still, nothing but a pathetic click. A split second thought crossed your mind—that the ferocity of your stomp might actually damage the car—but the logic was quickly snuffed out by your rage. The hard plastic key bit into your numb fingers. Over and over — stomping, twisting, cursing. Cursing yourself most of all for being stupid enough to let this continue for months. You were paying for it now.

The tears were already waiting, primed behind your eyeballs, hardly dried on your cheeks when you left out the back door. They spilled over again, cooling as they dripped past your lashes, down the slope of your nose. One more time, you begged. Just one more time and I’ll be good, I swear. But the white Chevy Nova sat unmoved, offering only a vacant whine where there should have been a roar. You tossed back in your seat and huffed, chest heaving, filling the cramped space with the furious steam of your breath.

Snowflakes glittered in the floodlights, shining like flares through the blur of your tears. It might have been beautiful on any other evening — one where the engine was warm, and your mind was clear, and your heart didn’t sink like a pit in your chest. It was hard to notice anything outside your bitter sobs, most especially the shadow that appeared in the window beside you. The rap of rings on the glass had you jumping, whipping your head to face the set of eyes you’d been avoiding most of all.

“Need some help?” Eddie offered, bracing his knees in a crouch, eyes brimming with concern.

Your stomach twisted with relief, then embarrassment, then a million other things rolled into one, sick knot. Wiping the evidence from your cheeks with a futile swipe of your sleeve, you cranked down the window with your left hand. You must have looked like an absolute basket case, jerking your arm in tight circles as the barrier lowered with the urgency of a tortoise. When where was enough space for him, Eddie braced against the top of your door and ducked his head inside.

“Hey.” The warm sigh of his greeting kissed your cheek, thawing the sting of the cold.

“Hey,” you mimicked, sounding just about as stable as you felt when it came out. “W-what are you doing here so late?”

“Hellfire,” he stated simply. “You know, I could ask you the same question.”

Despite how true it was, it still felt pathetic when the answer left your lips. “Just… trying not to take so much work home with me.” You said it as casually as you could muster, but your voice betrayed you. Your cheeks were still cooling from the remnants of your tears, framing the heat from your dripping nose.

Eddie suddenly looked very serious, splintering your armor with his softness. “You ok?”

You gestured dejectedly at nothing, offering a hollow laugh. “No.”

Eddie filled the cabin with his sigh, eyes narrowing like he wanted to lunge through the window. Instead he just thumbed at the rubber and tipped his head closer, creaking your chest plate with the weight of his gaze. “You know, I could hear you clear across the parking lot,” he joked softly. “The car—I mean. Mostly. You leave your lights on or something?”

You shook your head. “It’s been doing this for months, ever since it started getting cold. I should have taken it to get checked out, but it usually starts after a couple tries.”

“Sounds like it might be the battery, or maybe the starter. I won’t know unless I try and jump it. I’ll swing around—if—if that’s ok.”

The wind ushered a curl toward his lips, and you clenched your hand to subdue it. “Yeah, it’s ok,” you sighed. “Thank you.”

With a nod, Eddie ducked out of the window and pivoted swiftly on his heels. From your side view mirror, you watched him make tracks in the blue snow with his heavy boots, hands shoved in his pockets as he glanced left and right, the ghost of his breath trailing closely behind. The seat creaked as you sat back and blinked like the cursor on a computer monitor; processing. One glance in your rearview mirror told you how disheveled you looked. Even in the twilight there was no masking the puffiness around your eyes, the mascara bleeding toward your cheeks. You swiped at them again, this time with a napkin from your glove box.

With a yank of the frigid handle, Eddie slid across the plaid and pleather padding into the drivers seat of his van. He froze for a second, glancing in his rearview mirror toward your small white sedan. Butterflies tore through his stomach, churning like a tornado as he flicked the ignition. Out of all his ridiculous fantasies, he hadn’t entertained this one. Not exactly anyway. One where you were the damsel in distress. One where he got to be the hero.

The parking lot was vacant enough to drive across the lines. Ploughing through the naked patches where cars had spent the afternoon, he rumbled up beside you. Your stomach did a summersault when he stepped out, plodding around to the front of your car with jumper cables slung under his arm.

“Can you pop the hood for me?” he asked.

The summersault rippled south through your abdomen. Reaching down under the console, your fingers found the leaver and obeyed. You felt kind of useless, just sitting there while he propped the hood onto the stand, shielding him from vision. Before you could form another thought, your hand was moving on its own, finding the plastic leaver of your door and opening it to the cold evening air.

Eddie gave a shy look from behind his curtain of curls before stepping back with a nod. “Well, good news, there’s no monsters,” he joked.

A smile cracked across your face, so genuine it almost felt foreign. You tucked your hands into your pockets, stepping closer to assess the engine like you knew what you were looking at. Your aura prickled with proximity, like his heat could thaw you even from where you stood. Eddie’s glance was soft and quick before procuring a small flashlight from his inner coat pocket. He held it in his teeth, flipping up the red and black plastic covers on the battery terminals.

“I have hands too, you know,” you said with a smirk.

With a playful side-eye, he clamped the appropriate cables onto the terminals. Removing the silver torch from his mouth, he made room for his retort. “Mmhm, best keep ‘em warm. It’s uh, kinda chilly out.”

You shook your head as a laugh escaped your nostrils in a plume. Sauntering over to his van like a dark knight, Eddie leaned in the door to pop his own hood. Your boots made tentative tracks in the snow, drawn like a magnet as he hoisted the metal. From the light pinched in his teeth you could see the expanse of the massive engine, the shadow of his furrowed brow as he unscrewed plastic knobs. What you saw more than anything though—like a filter laid over the scene—were three type-written letters. The hands that typed them fumbled with the cables, squeezed around the thick, jaw-like clamps. When they bit right where he wanted, they released; tendons flexing, knuckles pinking from the freezing air. Reflexively, he wiped them on the chest of his black hoodie peeking out from his open coat.

It might have just been the cold, but even in the twilight—in the absence of the flashlight he was tucking into his pocket—you could have sworn his cheeks flushed when he caught you staring. “Alright, um, go ahead and start your car. I’ll do the same.”

Following the tether that joined the two vehicles, you did as he told you. Nothing came of it though, just more incessant clicking. Exasperated, you tossed back in your seat before slumping out of the car once more.

“Shit, it must be the starter. Probably cracked, that’s my guess anyway by the sound of it,” Eddie explained as he stepped around to face your engine again. Clicking his flashlight, he peered into the compartment. “See, if you follow the positive terminal line all the way down, that’s where the starter will be. Only problem is it’s tricky to get to without a lift.”

You followed his grease-stained finger down the dirt-dusted tangle of tubes, drawing nearer under the subtle guise of interest in your engine. You stopped just inches from his solid leather frame, close enough to brush him with your elbow. “You seem to know your way around a car.”

He huffed, shaking his head as he muttered. “Wish I didn’t.” But before you could comment, he was shutting the hood. “I’m sorry, but I think we’re gonna have to call a tow truck.”

Your defeated sigh rose toward the clouds as you glanced at the squat school building. The lights were off. Judy’s car was absent from the lot, as were all but a handful, including the two of yours. Glancing at your watch under the floodlights, the big hand tipped past the golden dot where a five should be.

Eddie stepped closer, filling the gap with a heavy exhale before meeting your eyes. “You know I could, um—” he scratched the back of his neck, words evaporating quicker than his breath. What could he do? What could he really do about any of this? For most of his life he’d been a leaf on the wind, scuttling across the pavement toward the gutter, struggling to steer himself away. But you were stranded, and if there was anything he was good for, it was a ride. “I could—I could take you back to your place. If you’re ok with that, I mean. We could—fuck—I mean you could call from there a-and I could—”

There were chinks in your armor, cracking with each bumbling word. You looked at him, really looked. Eddie Munson, with grease-stained hands and eyes that pierced like arrows in their pleading. Straight through to the softest part of you, the place between your ribs that cries I want. And oh, how desperately you wanted. Wanted to soothe his worried lips in yours again, to feel his pounding chest again, to be thawed by his heat again. But you just stood there, frozen.

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his open coat, he shifted on the balls of his feet as he searched for more words in the snow. “Look, I know you said you wanted space, a-and it probably seems like—shit.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, releasing with a sharp sigh. “I just want to help you. Will you just let me help you? Please?”

Your chest plate clattered to the concrete, gauntlets falling in a heap beside your greaves. There was no white flag to wave. No sword to relinquish, or shield to discard. Your surrender was nothing but a soft “okay,” barely heard above the howling wind.

______

A/N: After over a year and 100k words, the smut chapter is finally upon us! Thank you for coming with me on this very long journey and sticking it out. I have no idea how long this next one is going to take me to write, but I can promise you that when it’s finished you will experience every moment in exquisite, delicious, poetic detail.

You might have noticed that I’ve pulled a few small details like character names and places from Flight of Icarus, but I will not be retconning any of Eddie’s backstory.

Also random, tumblr decided to make that one paragraph bold once I changed it to chat font with no ability to unbold it, but that wasn't intended. It kind of worked though so I'm not mad.

Taglist: @mermaidsandcats29 @toxicjayhoo @ooo-protean-ooo @jadequeen88 @wroteclassicaly @kissmyacdc @raccoonboywrites @storiesbyrhi @trashmouth-richie @keeponquinning @munson-blurbs @blueywrites @alottanothing @bebe07011 @idkidknemore @alizztor @godcreatoreli @ethereal27cereal @munsonsgirl71 @mrsjellymunson @emxxblog @siriusmuggle @sidthedollface2 @dollalicia @lma1986 @catherinnn @eddiemunson4life420 @readsalot73 @big-ope-vibes @barbiedragon @ladylilylost @3rriberri @princess-eddie @nightless @eddieswifu @thew0rldsastage @chaoticgood-munson @hanahkatexo @eddiemunsonsbedroom @beep-beep-sherlock @averagemisfit03 @vintagehellfire @haylaansmi @sllooney @lunaladybug734 @callingmrsbarnes @ajkamins

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson older reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x teacher!reader #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson angst #don't stand so close to me #dssctm

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dancingtotuyo · 8 months ago

Text

10. hold you from the world and it's curse

Woman | Joel Miller X Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: You begin to come to terms with things. Ellie struggles with the limits of her immunity.

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (13/14 years). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.

Chapter Warnings: pregnancy related things, angst, hurt & comfort, self worth issues, Character Death, references to canon violence and gore, talk about guns & shooting people (mercifully), lots of grief, anger,

Notes: huge thank you to my constants, my rocks @ramblers-lets-get-ramblinand @janaispunk for beta reading and letting me yell and scream and break their hearts.

If you have checked out Before, I would encourage you to do so for more backstory on our dear reader! The final part is out now!

Words: 4933

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

When Maria was pregnant, she unashamedly let her bump grow in front of the gaze of the town. It came on with the winter months but she kept her coats unbuttoned and off while inside. She was excited, cherishing it all, marking and sharing milestones as she could. You don’t do any of it. You keep your bulky coats zipped and make sure your layers disguise your growing abdomen.

It’s not a secret by any means, but you know even in the tight-knit community of Jackson there are still people who don’t know as you approach your 23rd week of pregnancy, even if you feel twice as large at this stage as you did during your first pregnancy. It’s been getting easier to keep the layers on as the temperature falls and Christmas approaches.

But it’s only a few days from Christmas, and there’s a dance. You’ve fallen in love with the dances again. While it’s a relatively casual event as everything in Jackson is, you’re not prancing in there in your worn leggings and layered jacket. The body heat flowing between the dancing bodies is more than enough without your layer. With the extra heat you’re producing on your own, you’re sure you’d pass out in 20 minutes.

You have one option: the dress with quarter-length sleeves and a skirt that hits your knees. You basically lived in that dress when pregnant with Carter, but it accentuates your condition. That’s the last thing you’re ready for, the stares, the questions, the congratulations. You feel a vein of guilt rush through you. You shouldn’t dread people congratulating you on this.

You rest your hand on top of your swollen stomach. You’re starting to feel the baby move more often. It’s just as weird as it was with Carter, but it still sends a little thrill through you each time.

Joel walks out of the bathroom to find you sitting on the bed in his sweatshirt staring at the closet like a monster might come barreling out at any given moment. “Sweetheart,” he says. “It’s almost time to go.”

You bite at your thumbnail, the closet mocking you. It’s just a dress. Why does it feel like so much more? “We don’t have to go. Let’s just stay in.”

“After you bribed Morgan with heaven and earth to watch Carter?” He crosses his arms, eyebrows raised.

“We could just stay here? Do other things.” You shoot him a suggestive wink.

Joel seems to consider it for a moment. He surprisingly enjoys the dances. There’s something about the semblance of normalcy, and the night he kissed you in front of the whole town is a fond memory, but he likes being alone with you more. He sees through it though. You’re avoiding something.

Easing next to you, his shoulder brushes yours. He gazes at your profile as you keep your eyes pinned to the closet door. His fingertips brush along your cheek rounding behind your ear. “What’s actually buggin you?”

Chewing your lip, you finally meet his gaze, unshed tears shimmering in your eyes. “If I put on that dress, everyone is gonna know.”

He sighs, arm wrapping around your shoulders. You lean into him, your heart rate slowing. “We can’t avoid it forever.”

“I know. I just thought I could for longer.”

“Baby, you’re over halfway there,” Joel cracks a smile. “And I promise that most of the town already knows.”

“Yeah, but they don’t officially know.”

Joel wraps his arm around you, letting his hand fall over the one that rests on your bump. “We have to face it sooner or later. Maybe even embrace it?” He kisses your temple. He manages to pull a slight smile from your lips.

He rubs your arm softly as your head eases to his shoulder. “I’d really like to spin you around that dance floor, kiss ya for everyone to see. We don’t have to go for long, but I think you’ll feel better.”

You inhale deeply, nodding softly. “Help me up. I’ll get dressed.”

“Now I know you’re not that pregnant.” He grins, standing before you and pulling you to your feet anyway.

You laugh, arms wrapping around his shoulders. You sway, pressed against him for a few seconds. Your lips press against his and then he’s pressing against your hips, directing you toward the closet. “Get dressed, Sweetheart.”

He kisses your head and slips out of the bedroom. You steady yourself with a deep breath before finally opening the closet. You can do this.

Carter is sitting on Joel’s lap as he reads him a book. Morgan preps a light snack in the kitchen. You haven’t worn a dress in ages. This is the only one you own. You traded the others ages ago.

Carter sees you first, letting out a soft gasp. “Mommy, you look so pretty!”

Joel’s head snaps up, the book lowering in front of him. Carter jumps off Joel’s lap, rushing toward you. You laugh, going to your knee to accept his hug. He’s still small enough for you to pick up and spin around, squeezing him tightly too you. He laughs as you pepper his cheek with kisses. “You’re gonna listen to Miss Morgan, right?” You stare right into his eyes, keeping him at eye level with you.

Carter nods with a great solemness. His big eyes sparkle in the light, his nose pressed to yours. His bright eyes are so close to yours, so reminiscent of Gabe’s. It sends a soft ache through you that he doesn’t get to be here for these moments. “Daddy already made me promise.”

“Did he?” A grin captures your lips as you glance over to Joel.

Joel rises from the couch with a chuckle, adjusting his jeans over his hips.

“Mhmm,” Carter says, kissing your nose before he slides to the ground. He rushes off toward the kitchen. “Miss Morgan? Is my snack ready?”

Joel laughs, watching the child disappear before sliding his arms around your midsection. “You look beautiful, but that’s nothing new.”

Heat floods your cheeks. Once again you’re smiling like a flustered schoolgirl. “You gonna take me out, Miller?”

“Tempted to take you upstairs.” He winks. His hands travel down your back to your ass. No underwear lines, just as he expected to find. One of these days he’s going to figure out what you have against the damn garment. The last thing he needs to know is that you’re bare under the skirt, that when he spins you around tonight and your skirt spins you’ll feel the air moving against you.

You let out a laugh, pushing against his shoulders. “Too late for that, Miller. I put on the dress. We’re going.” You head toward the kitchen.

Joel lets out a groan trailing behind you. You give Morgan a few instructions, but she’s familiar with the routine by now. “I love you,” You kiss Carter’s cheek as he eats at the table. “Mommy and Daddy will be back after you go to sleep.”

“I know.” Carter grins proudly, face scrunching up slightly. “Love you, Mommy.”

Joel leans down, kissing Carter’s other cheek. “You behave.”

Carter cheese again, kissing both your cheeks in quick succession. “Love you, Daddy.”

“Love you too, bud.” He chuckles softly.

Joel pushes you toward the door, helping you into your warmest coat before you can find a way to stall. Your legs freeze on the way to the Tipsy Bison, cool air shooting right up your skirt. This might be the first time you’ve regretted your commitment to not wearing underwear.

Joel’s hand stays pressed to your back on the short walk over as if he’s trying to keep you from making a break to the safety of your home but The Tipsy Bison welcomes you in with warmth and vibrance, drowning out all your fears. When Joel helps you out of your coat, something amazing happens. The world keeps spinning. People go about their evening, seemingly oblivious to your arrival and your announcement. Throughout the night, you get a few stares and a few congratulations, you take them all with grace.

After exhausting you on the dance floor, your stamina not what it was thanks to your pregnancy, Joel guides you toward a back corner. Chairs line the wall but few people mill about on the outskirts.

“I’ll go get you some water,” Joel says, kissing your warm cheeks.

You smile at him as he weaves through the throngs of people. Before you can sit down, you catch sight of Ellie further down the line of chairs. She watches, arms resting on her knees, the cheer of the night like an outsider looking in, the rush and thrill of the night ineffective against her armor.

You tilt your head to the side before approaching. You ease beside her, letting out a soft sigh. You hook your foot under the legs of a stray chair to pull it closer so you have a place to prop your feet. Ellie doesn’t acknowledge you. She makes no movements that indicate she’s even aware of your presence.

You follow her line of sight to the opposing corner. Dina and Jesse are flirting like all of Jackson doesn’t have eyes. Cat rolls her eyes at something Chris Lamer says to her, a playful insult likely rolling off her lips. The sight brings a smile to your lips. At least within these walls, they can act like teenagers.

“You’re not feeling very social tonight?”

Ellie lets out a sigh, falling back in her chair. She shoves her hair behind her shoulder. It’s getting longer than you’ve ever seen it. She shrugs. “Just not feeling it tonight.”

“Wish I’d known that before I bribed Morgan to watch Carter.” You offer a teasing grin. She doesn’t return it, crossing her arms over her chest as she shifts in her seat. Your brow furrows. “What’s up, Ellie?”

She bristles, taking her time to find words. “You look nice tonight.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“People do that when they don’t wanna talk about things.”

“Which usually means they should talk about things.”

She glances over at you, unamused. You smile back, but she doesn’t say a word, letting her eyes fall back over to her friends.

“You know,” you say. “I didn’t want to come tonight.”

She looks surprised. “You and Joel love these things.”

“Yeah…” You nod, eyes scanning over the crowd. “But I can’t really hide this anymore.” You motion to your swollen abdomen. “Especially not in this dress. Which is about the only thing that fits me now.”

Her eyes flicker over to you, landing on your bump. You catch something in her eyes. “I thought you’d gotten used to it.”

“Don’t know that that’ll ever happen,” you sigh.

“Even with Joel moving in?”

That’s when it clicks. The changes. You should’ve known, or guessed. Joel brought the last of his things over last week. Ellie decided early on to stay in Joel’s house, or her house now.

“Ellie, if you’ve changed your mind-”

“No,” she cuts you off. “I haven’t- at least I don’t think I have.” She bites her lip, frame ridgid. “Guess I didn’t think it would feel any different. He basically lived over there already.”

“But his things are gone now.”

Her eyes snap to yours like you’ve hit the nail on the head. Her eyes look shiny under the Christmas lights strung from the rafters. She blinks a couple times.

“I didn’t think I’d miss that damn owl mug so much. I used to hate the way its eyes followed me when I was in the kitchen.”

A laugh tips out of your mouth. “Glad to hear it. I’ll smuggle it back over to you.”

Ellie’s head shakes, a smile pushing against the edges of her face. “Hell no. I said I missed it, not that I wanted it back in my house.”

The two of you laugh together until a comfortable silence forms between you. You feel like there might be another layer, but you’ve pushed as much as you can tonight surrounded by people. She’s smiling, the tension gone from her body, and that’s the most important thing right now.

“Change is hard.” Ellie says.

“So damn hard.” You agree. “Don’t make yourself a stranger, okay? I know you’re like kind of an adult in this world and a certified homeowner now.” You wink at her and she laughs with a shake of her head. “But we still want you around as much as we did. Really even more.”

“So you’re not tired of me?” she asks. She’s joking, but you catch the hint of a real question, that soft need for assurance.

Your arm wraps around her shoulders, tugging her close. “Never. I mean, who else is gonna talk to Carter about space. That shit goes right over my head.” She laughs, head falling onto your shoulder. “But in all seriousness, I don’t think I’d ever get tired of you, Ellie. You’re my family.”

“Guess I’m not very good at this family stuff.”

“We’re all still learning.”

She nods softly, waiting just a few seconds before pulling away. She looks better, lighter. Her eyes land over on her group of friends, seemingly glued to one particular female. You look between them, a knowing grin on your face. “You know, I think she’d say yes if you asked her to dance.”

Ellie’s eyes snap to you, confusion dancing in them.

“I’ve known you for years, my dear. You can’t hide much from me.”

She bites her lip as Joel finally materializes out of the crowd with your water in hand. “Sorry it took me so long. Adam was trying to rope me into trouble.”

You raise an eyebrow suspiciously.

“Stayed out of it. Cross my heart, darlin.” He leans down to kiss your cheek.

“You two are gross.” Ellie teases as she stands, stretching her arms above her head.

“Promise I can make it even grosser.” Joel chuckles, easing into the chair next to you.

“That’s not even a word.” You roll your eyes, swatting him away from you. He only laughs more, arm settling across the back of your chair, finger tips twisting and turning lightly across your shoulder.

“As much as I’d hate to see that,” Ellie says, taking a step back. She’s returned to her usual, playful self. “I’m going to join my friends.” With that, she dashes off.

You and Joel talk in hushed tones, playful flirting firing between you. He’s distracting you, definitely trying to seduce you, and it’s working. As he pulls you through the crowd, you’re surprised to see Ellie dancing with Cat.

You’re in the clinic the next afternoon when she bursts in looking wide eyed and terrified. She reminds you of the 14 year old you met two and half years ago. Your heart drops to your stomach. She was on patrol. They weren’t due back until tomorrow.

“Ellie, what-”

She collides with your chest, sobs shaking her small frame. Your arms fly around her, holding her close. Your brain wracks through names and faces. Who was she with? Who did your community lose this time? But your brain won’t work, can’t piece together who you’ve seen today tucked within the safety of the clinic and who you haven’t.

Eventually, she pulls away, eye red and swollen, cheeks flushed from crying and wind chapped. She doesn’t look any closer to sanity than when she walked in. Her eyes search frantically about.

“Ellie,” you say firmly, trying to capture her attention. She doesn’t seem to notice, slipping through your fingers when you attempt to grab her shoulders.

She scrounges through a bin until she feels the cool metal of scissors. The metal flashes in the clinic lights. She slams them down on the counter. “Cut it.”

“Cut what?” You’re confused and worried, your mind spinning as you’re still trying to process who was lost today, two days before Christmas. “Ellie-”

“My hair!” Tears stream down her hair. “I should’ve never let it get this long- I don’t even like it- and now-” Another sob breaks through, her voice cracking.

You pull her back into your arms. She fights against you. “Please, just cut it off!” She’s desperate, barely hanging on. “I want it gone.”

“Okay.” You say. “Okay. Sit down.”

She plops onto the nearest chair, eyes fixed on the letters of the eye chart straight ahead. It’s silent, nothing except the snip of the sheers. You could hear a pin drop, can hear her long tresses drop to the floor. You take it to her shoulders, about where it was when you first met her. This isn’t the first time you’ve cut her hair, but it feels like the most impactful.

“Shorter.” She says.

You place your fingers midway between her shoulders and earlobes. She shakes her head. You move a little further up and still another shake of her head. You repeat it until your fingers are right under her earlobes. Finally, you get a nod.

You hand her a hand mirror when you’re finished. She looks it over. It suits her, you think, makes her look older.

“Thanks.”

“Ellie?”

She hears the question in your voice, knows what you’re asking. She’s not sure if she can manage the words to describe the pictures looping through her mind.

“We ran into a couple infected. Got most of them except for one. I- my hair got caught on a bush.”

She holds eye contact with your reflection in the mirror. She shakes her head, the tears return. “I told Chris to go. I could handle it.”

You shudder. These are always hard, no remains to bring home, very little closure. You know first hand what it’s like, but losing teenagers on patrol is the hardest, losing someone Ellie’s age brings the danger too close.

“He came back. Put his arm in front of its mouth when it went to bite me.”

“Fuck…” it’s out of your mouth before your brain catches up.

“I told him to leave me. I had my knife. I would’ve been fine.” It's barely a whisper, her hands shake.

“Ellie.” You reach out to take the mirror from her but she slams it to the ground. It shatters.

“I would’ve been fine!” Her body shakes with all the rage it can hold, angry tears stream down her cheeks. “I had to shoot him! I would’ve been fine, but now he’s dead instead!”

You pull her into you. She tries to fight it, but you don’t let go this time, not until her tears dry up and her body stops shaking. When she pulls back, you cup her cheeks. Her voice is hoarse, scratching her throat until she settles for a whisper. “I have to do something. This can’t keep happening.”

“Ellie, it’s not your fault.”

“I think it is this time.”

Your heart breaks for her, because you see the determination set in her eyes. She’s convinced and there’s not a single thing you can say or do to change her mind.

“I could fix this. I could save people! What’s the point of everything? Why was I made immune? To watch everyone get infected and die around me?!”

“What happened to Chris wasn’t your fault.”

“He tried to save me because he thought I needed it! And then I had to put a bullet in his head. There was no reason!”

“You didn’t kill him. Cordyceps did.”

“Are you sure? Or is that just what you tell yourself so you don’t get mad at Maria for killing your husband?”

Your breath catches in your chest. You know she doesn’t mean it, but it stings. It digs deep. You had blamed her at one point, spat the words in her face, but you push it away. You apologized. She granted forgiveness. You don’t blame her anymore.

Her eyes burn with a rage you’ve never seen. You see the guilt weighing on her. You’re not sure she’ll be able to shake this one, another ghost to the host that haunts her.

It’s quiet in the clinic. You can’t explain away what she feels. This one was preventable. There was a happy ending in sight. You both know that.

“Look at my blood. I’m ready.”

“Not today.”

“Why not!?”

“You’re not in the right state of mind for this. None of us are.”

“It’s a vial of blood!”

“Not today, Ellie.” You’re firm.

“What if something happens to you? Or Joel? Or Carter? Or this baby? And I could’ve stopped it?” She’s pleading, grasping at straws.

“Another day. When you’re in a better place.”

“I can’t do nothing anymore!”

You hold her gaze. She’s stubborn, but so are you. She’s like a deer stuck in headlights, mind darting between rushing forward or darting back until it’s frozen. Then she’s gone in the blink of any eye. Only then do you allow room for your emotions to fill the empty clinic.

You’re alone for maybe an hour before Joel finds you face up on one of the cots, tears streaming from the corners of your eyes. He lets out a long sigh, kneeling at your bedside. His hand runs over your head as you turn your head to him.

“I take it you heard?”

“From the source herself.”

Joel inhales sharply. “She wouldn’t talk to me when I went over.”

You take a deep breath, chest quivering as you do. You ease into a sitting position. Joel helps you up. Your feet dangle over the side. He sits next to you, arm supporting your back.

“She feels guilty?” Joel asks.

“She’s blaming herself.” You run a hand over your face. “Chris put himself between her and the infected. Got bit so she wouldn’t.”

“Shit.” Joel cringes.

You nod, keeping the rest to yourself. It doesn’t feel right to share the rest of what happened. You walk home together. The town feels silent. You pass a few people on the street, but they’re mostly in their homes, holding their families close.

Maria comes out of Ellie’s house as you reach your congregation of houses. Unspoken words pass between you and your oldest friend. Joel kisses your head.

“I’ll go get Carter from Tommy’s,” he says, leaving you and Maria.They nod to each other in passing.

“She tell you?”

Maria nods. You catch the tension in her chest, even under her many layers. She’s reliving it too.

“You know that was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.” You’ve rarely heard her voice quiver.

Your arms wrap around her. She holds on to you. “I know.” You don’t have more tears to shed, but you would if you did. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know that… now.” Maria sighs, arms staying around you. “She doesn’t. Not sure she ever will.”

“I know.”

The two of you stand in the middle of the street, depending on each other for support until Joel and Tommy pull you inside, worried you might freeze. You spend the evening at Tommy and Maria’s. It’s mostly quiet. Joel plucks at the strings of his guitar. He’s only missing one string now. Elias plays contently in the corner. Carter sits beside Joel, intently watching the way his fingers play across the frets. You’re doing what the rest of the town is, leaning on family for support.

Eventually, the front door opens. Dina and Jesse pull Ellie inside. She looks like a ghost of herself, eyes skirting around trying to figure out who she should sit beside. You get the feeling you weren’t the only one who got snapped at today.

“We didn’t want to leave her alone,” Dina says.

You pick up the blanket on your lap, making room for her next to you on the couch. Her head picks up, looking for permission, like you might reject her after what she said earlier. You only nod your head and she’s falling beside you, curling up in a ball, head tucked into your side. You wrap the blanket around her.

“Thank you.” You smile up at Dina and Jesse.

They nod. “We’ll see you tomorrow, Ellie,” Dina says. Ellie manages a small nod.

The pair leaves and the quiet settles again. Joel is more thoughtful in his chord progressions, humming a soft melody. Carter makes his way toward you. He peers down at her.

“I like your hair, Ellie,” He whisper yells. Ellie’s lips tip up just a little bit, but she doesn’t move otherwise. “I hope you feel better soon.” He kisses her cheek before wiggling in between you and Maria on your other side.

Joel’s voice starts to raise as he sings. His voice has polished some the past few years, after being dormant for two decades. It reminds you more what he sounded like before the outbreak. Carter is asleep before the first song ends. As Joel transitions into another song, there’s movement in your womb. It’s happened more lately, but this picks up. Whatever the baby can hear, it likes.

You peel through your knowledge of gestational benchmarks. You’re approaching the mark that it would be able to hear sounds outside of your womb, your voice, Joel’s. The kicking ramps up. You shift and Ellie picks her head up. “Should I-”

“No, you’re fine.” You both keep your voices low.

But she looks unsure as you shift again. You let out a soft sigh, taking her hand and pressing it into the firm mass just above your hip. Her brow furrows and then she feels it, a firm thud right under her hand.

“Woah… That’s so weird.”

You smile. “You can hit back.” She looks confused. “Just nudge back. I promise, it doesn’t hurt.”

She does, a little soft at first and then harder. There’s a pause and then a double tap against her hand again.

Ellie laughs. She actually laughs. Joy flashes across her face. Her hand doesn’t move for the rest of the evening.

Joel is curled around you in bed that night, holding you tightly to him. Ellie sleeps in the downstairs guest room and you’re 98% sure you heard Carter’s footsteps head down stairs as soon as your bedroom door closed. It would hardly be the first time he’s crawled into bed with her.

Joel can feel the baby moving around under his arm. He doesn’t say anything about it, but you can feel the faint smile against your neck. Tonight with Ellie, the smile on her face as she essentially played with the baby, your baby sticks in your brain. You meant it to cheer her up, figured it would slide into that category of weird but cool. It seemed to, but it was really the first time you’d embraced the pregnancy, and it felt good.

“You think Ellie’s gonna be okay?” He asks.

You bite your lip, contemplating your response. You get a literal punch to the gut, getting out a soft grunt.

Joel chuckles. “That was a hard one.”

Something sprouts in your chest. He’s never directly acknowledged feeling the baby even though you know he has before tonight. You’re okay with it.

“The baby seemed to like your singing tonight.”

Joel’s arms tighten around you. His smile grows. “That so?”

“Yeah,” You lay your hand on top of his. “Guess you’ll have to sing more often.”

“Suppose I will.”

Silence falls again. You know he’s still waiting patiently for your response to his first question. You give it a minute.

“I think it’s going to take a long time.” You roll over so you can face him. He cups your face, thumb running across your cheek.

He nods, mouth opening to say something before he closes it, eyes roaming over your moonlit features.

“What is it?”

He sighs. “Just thought of something, but I shouldn’t-”

“What?”

“If we were out, and I got infected- I’d take care of it myself. I wouldn’t make you do that. Wouldn’t make anyone do it.”

You run your finger over the scar on his temple. It’s a serious conversation, one you hate the idea of, but you can’t help the teasing remark that comes out. “You so sure about that?”

Joel takes your hand in his, kissing each of your fingers. “To protect you, I’d do anything, Sweetheart.”

You let out a shaky breath, touching your forehead to his. “I think you’d have to put the bullet in my head.”

“Ain’t ever gonna happen. I’ll make sure of that.”

You want to shake your head at the chivalry, at the thing he can’t promise, but somehow you still believe him. Joel Miller will learn how to turn back time before he lets anything or anyone near you.

His hand falls back to your stomach, running over and around your bump. You inhale deeply, feeling drawn toward sleep.

“Sweetheart?”

“Hmmm?”

“If it’s something else that gets me… where I’m not putting you in danger…”

“Joel,” You want him to stop. You can’t think of that happening. You can’t think about him not coming back to you in one piece. Especially after what happened to Paul this summer. Especially now that you’re pregnant.

“I want the last thing I hear to be your voice. Not a gunshot. That’s all.” He rubs your back.

Tears gather under the lids of your closed eyes. He’s thought about this. You fight the constricting happening in your chest, remind yourself this is all hypothetical.

“Okay.” You manage, wrapping your arms around his neck. “When we’re both old and senile, I’ll make sure to tell you goodnight so that it’s the last thing you ever hear.”

He chuckles lightly, kissing your temple. “Okay.”

Taglist: @pedrotonin @amyispxnk @joeldjarin @ilovepedro @justagalwhowrites @missladym1981 @jessthebaker @annieispunk @ashleyfilm @moel-jiller @eloquentdreamer @lizzie-cakes

#joel miller #the last of us #tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro stories #pedrostories #tlou fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #woman (joel’s version)#woman (joel miller)

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jasntodds · 7 months ago

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Summary:

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Powered!Reader Summary: ❝Thesus: Stop. Give me your hand. I am your friend. Herakles: I fear to stain your clothes with blood. Thesus: Stain them. I don't care.❞ It's been a month and a half since Crane's reign of terror was stopped, leaving Gotham to finally return to normal. But, what is normal? After everything Jason and you have been through, it seems normal might be some unobtainable dream state. But that's not going to stop either of you from trying and maybe, you'll get lucky in the end. At the end of it, the two of you have suffered enough, right? Right? Warnings: Angst, Fluff, smut, mentions of being tortured, mentions of being held captive, mentions of abuse (comic!Canon), violence, mentions of death, various injuries, bruises, blood, hurt/comfort, some anxiety, ptsd, hints of depression, mentions of Batman villains being Batman villains, nightmares, some paranoia, discussions about previous homelessness, drug mentions, gore, a bomb, jason has a bomb in his helmet (comic!canon), I'm changing the timeline to season 4 a little bit because i can lol, possibly character death (lol), murder?, i am a defender of Jason’s white streak of hair in the comics A/N: I am so excited to finally be on the last book lmao I have had so many plots taking over my brain for months just to get here and I am so happy to finally share them lol The title is a reference to Penance by Holding Absence which I always recommend them lol You don’t have to read books 1 & 2 to read this one, but you might want some extra context. If you don’t want to read all of that, you can just ask me and I’ll tell you what you need to know to read this book!! tag list | playlist | full masterlist ↳ status: Ongoing updates: Wednesdays

Chapters:

Chapter 1 - Things Are Different Now Chapter 2 - Setup Chapter 3 - Project Starfire Chapter 4 - When The Dust Settles Chapter 5 - Wilt Chapter 6 - New Robins Chapter 7 - Autopsy Scar Chapter 8 - Favorite Vigilante Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Book 1 Masterlist Book 2 Masterlist

Fic Inspired Works:

Jason Todd moodboard Playlist Post Chapter 2 moodboard

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x reader #red hood x you #jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #titans fanfic #titans fanfiction #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction #penance

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enkas-illusion · 1 year ago

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One of Your Guys

One of Your Guys - Part 1/3

Fandom / Pairing: Jujutsu Kaisen / Choso x f!reader

Rating: NSFW/Explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Content Warning: Fluff, kissing, language, hurt/comfort, slight make out

Chapter Summary: You rant to your friend Choso about your crush and things take an unexpected turn when he confesses something that catches you off guard.

Author's Note: Hello, this is my first attempt at a short story. All characters are in their mid 20s. This is a pure cheesy, sappy, in-your-feelings vibe condensed into a 3-part story. If you enjoy it, feel free to like, reblog or comment; I’d love to know your thoughts. Thank you for reading!

~ Eren's Birdie

Song Dedication: One Of Your Girls by Troye Sivan

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

“I really hate to be that person but… I told you so.”

You look at your friend with narrowed eyes, fighting the urge to roll them at him. If you knew you were in for a talking-to when you called Choso over to rant about the shit-show that you call your love life, you would’ve reconsidered it.

His face shows no sympathy for his poor heartbroken friend as he leans against your kitchen counter with his hands crossed at his chest. And rightly so, why would he anyway? Afterall, he’d told you to confess your feelings to your crush before it was too late and now here you are, admitting that ‘too late’ had arrived sooner than you’d expected.

“I know but I was scared of ruining our friendship, okay?” You sigh as your shoulders slump down. He simply shrugs at you as he walks towards the microwave when it beeps. His back is turned to you and a few seconds pass as you observe him following the usual routine.

You wonder whether making hot chocolate can be fixed into one's muscle memory. In that moment, you believe it might as well be the case for Choso as he takes the hot milk out, pulling the spoon out of the drawer while simultaneously grabbing the cocoa container from the shelf above him.

You want to laugh at how ridiculous it all seems. It’s not just the ritual of making hot chocolate, but the ranting sessions along with it that have turned into a daily occurance. How many times have you made your poor friend listen to you crib about your unrequited, unnoticed love for your best friend, Satoru?

In your defence, Choso was the one who’d initially annoyed you to death to get the info out of you. The genius that he is, Choso had figured out that you liked Satoru based on the way you interacted with the latter at a common friend’s house party. If someone were to ask Choso, he would tell them that your eyes would quite literally turn into heart shapes whenever Satoru talked to you.

“I’m sure you’d understand how I’m feeling if you were in my shoes.” you add as he stirs the spoon in the mug. He stills for a split second before continuing the movement.

“Chosoooo say somethin-” you trail off when he turns around to look at you as if he’s fed up with your bullshit.

He walks towards you and hands you one of the mugs before making his way to the living room. You mutter a small ‘thank you’ as you follow behind him. When you’re settled on the sofa, you sit with your legs folded on the seat to face him as he leans back on the opposite end.

As he takes a few sips of his hot chocolate, he can see your brain working overtime to come up with a summary to explain all that you’re currently feeling. He almost finds your struggle to speak up adorable, when usually you always have 10 things to say and then some more.

“Fine, tell me exactly what he said.” Choso breaks the silence to give you an opening.

Your eyes soften with relief at his statement as you take a sip from your mug, “So… yesterday Satoru had invited me to a common friend’s house party but I had declined since I wanted to sleep the weekend away. And when I woke up in the morning, I opened Instagram to scroll a bit as usual and saw Satoru had added to his close friends’ story. I figured it’d be the usual party snaps… I was already feeling the fomo of not going so I clicked on it right away… and what do you know??? THE FIRST FUCKING PHOTO is of this pretty girl on his lap and he’s kissing her cheek. I swear it felt like my heart had dropped to my stomach.” you pause to take a few sips.

“Wait so based on a single snap, you assumed he’s dating her?” Choso frowns, visibly confused.

“No, of course not! Since Satoru often does get touchy like that with me as well, I did not want to assume so I replied to the story. I said something on the lines of ‘congrats on getting the girl big man, don’t forget about me though ahahaha.’”

This time you pause to observe Choso’s expressions and he’s visibly cringing hard. “Don’t say it… I’m aware how pathetic it is.” you pout as you fidget with a thread that’s sticking out of the sofa pillow.

Choso swats your hand away to stop your fidgeting before he gently squeezes one of your feet with his free hand that isn’t holding his mug. “Poor baby,” he teases as he rubs circles over your skin, “Go on, I promise I won’t tease you.”

“Well, he read that within seconds and I got a call from him. He sounded a bit reserved at first as he broke the news to me… apparently, they’d been talking to each other for about a month… I had no idea,” you take a deep breath as it pains you to say the next sentence, “Last night, Satoru kissed her and confessed his feelings. Turns out she feels the same way for him so now they’re together. I said congratulations and cut the call… he sounded so happy.”

You turn your face to avoid Choso’s gaze, trying hard not to let the tears slip from your eyes. He moves closer to you as he places both of your mugs on the coffee table. He pulls you by your wrists, guiding your arms around his waist as his own wrap around your shoulders. As your face rests on his chest, you start sobbing silently.

“Shhh, it’s okay, it’ll pass.” he tries to console you, brushing his fingers through your hair.

“What if I don’t want it to pass? I should be happy that the man I consider to be my best friend has found such a perfect girl for himself, but here I am, wishing it were me instead. Am I a bad friend for feeling that way?” you look up at him, still teary eyed.

“No, you’re not a bad friend. Your emotions are all over the place because something unexpected has happened. You weren’t anticipating this so you’re hurt and it’s okay to feel sad. You’re here crying in front of me instead of trying to sabotage his relationship or whatever… that is proof enough that you’d rather deal with the hurt than hurt other people.” you sigh as you listen to your friend’s soothing words.

You rest your head on his shoulder as you close your eyes. Choso rubs your back gently before adding, “You’d only be a bad friend if you refuse to wipe your tears and snot off my t-shirt later. I’m not even kidding, I want this shit washed with that soft fabric conditioner you have, all crisp and ironed to perfection!”

You slap him where your hands were resting on his lower back, causing him to let out a tiny wail. It causes you to laugh for the first time after having been sad all day long.

Choso moves away, breaking the hug to create some space between as he hands your not-so-hot chocolate back to you. His knuckles rub your cheek to wipe the wet trail that had been left behind by your tears. He opens the palm of his hand to rest it against your cheek gently.

“I know you may not feel like it now, but you’re going to be fine.” he smiles as he reassures you.

You place your hand on top of his as you lean further into his touch, finding it a little too comforting. In an attempt to take the focus away from your problems, you ask him, “Have you ever liked someone who didn’t like you back?”

“Hmm…you.” he nods. You smack his hand away as you sit up straight.

“Choso! Be serious! You never tell me anything about your love life! You’re always joking around.” you complain.

“That’s because there’s nothing there to tell! I tell you about all the other aspects of my life cause they’re much more entertaining than my love life.” he answers with a tone of sincerity. You pout, not convinced.

He rolls his eyes at your persistence and adds, “Well what do you want to hear about? Would you rather have me talk about all the Tinder dates I fuck and never see again?”

You scrunch your face at the crudeness of his words, “Nope.”

“My point exactly… anyway do you want to watch something?” he asks as he grabs the remote. You nod as you both gulp down the remaining of your drinks. You get up and take the mugs to the kitchen to wash them while Choso scrolls away on Netflix.

When you return to sit next to him, his arm grabs your waist to pull you in closer to cuddle as he presses play. You rest your head on his shoulder as it begins. When you realise what he’s playing, you tilt your head up to look at him. “Really? Bridgerton?”

“Yeah… and season 2 cause it’s the better one. We literally have the whole evening to binge” he states, unprovoked by your almost condescending tone. You decide not to tease him about it.

Before you realise it, hours pass by and you’ve binged half of the show. As the characters were introduced, Choso filled you in on the details and it almost felt like you hadn’t missed season 1 at all. There was additional unnecessary commentary that came along with his explanation of plot points, but you weren’t complaining.

Spending time with your friend like this, where the heartache you felt this morning seemed dull in comparison to laughing at his lame jokes, is exactly what you needed to relax. You let the chatter in your brain melt away and instead focus your awareness on the present moment – a task that had almost felt impossible before you’d asked Choso to come over in the afternoon.

Cuddling so close to him, you notice the smell of his perfume is a lot stronger. You breathe in his scent, a smoky wooden smell with just a tiny hint of something sweet to it. It’s a distinctly familiar scent you’ve grown accustomed to ever since the two of you began cuddling together during your frequent movie nights. The dynamic you shared with Choso was similar to your relationship with Satoru, minus the romantic feelings you had for the latter.

Choso’s right arm rested around your waist while the other rubbed lazy circles on your knee, whereas your right hand was resting on his chest with your torso leaning into his side. And while there was an unspoken agreement that even cuddling with Choso was platonic; your flatmate, Mia, was certain that it was only a matter of time before something would happen between the two of you.

You’re grateful she’s not at home for the weekend to tease you about tonight. If she saw the two of you right now, the teasing you’d have to endure would be insufferable. You smile to yourself when you think about it.

When you get to the scene where Anthony goes feral over Kate’s scent, you joke about how you feel the same way about Choso’s perfume.

“You like my perfume?” he asks, surprised, making sure he heard you right.

“Always have.” you admit, “I know it’s oud, but what’s the sweet floral scent with it?”

“Jasmine.”

“Oh… I like it. It’s perfect, not too sweet, not too harsh.” you say, trying not to be too obvious as you try to sniff at his t-shirt. Before you get a chance to do so, he leans back and shifts his torso to lean in closer to your neck instead.

“Are you wearing any right now? I never really noticed your scent.” he speaks softly and you can feel his breath on the side of your neck. You pull back instantly, feeling flustered and hot. You blink a few times before you shake your head side to side. He chuckles as he goes back to his original position, his focus shifting back to the TV.

Is he seriously oblivious to how close you two just were or does it simply not faze him at all?

You mentally slap yourself for misinterpreting his seemingly innocent actions. He leans back comfortably with one hand on top of the headrest and you shift back into his embrace. A few minutes pass before his hand behind you moves closer to caress your neck, you feel goosebumps rise on your lower spine as you move away from his touch.

“What?” he asks, confused.

Either this man is an idiot, or he’s fucking with you to rile you up.

He pauses the show to hear what you have to say. “Don’t do that. It feels… ticklish.” you choose your words wisely.

“Well, it wasn’t my intent- aww, are you ticklish?” he inquires mischievously as he raises an eyebrow. Before you can answer, he grabs one of your feet as he roughly yanks it, making your back fall flat on the sofa. You let out a shriek as he moves on top of you and cages you between his arms, ready to tickle you.

You start yelling at him to stop, laughing hysterically as he tickles you. You try pushing him away but fail to do so as his muscular figure leans even closer to yours. You have tears in your eyes from laughing and after a while, you’re basically begging him to stop.

When he finally stops, he looks at you with a smug smile of victory on his face as your laughter slowly dies down. There’s a moment of silence when your eyes meet and you get a strange feeling in your stomach. Maybe butterflies, but possibly anxiety for what your instinct tells you is about to happen.

You notice Choso’s gaze move down to your lips and you mimic him. He involuntarily licks his lips as your breath hitches in your chest. He lowers his head till your faces are just inches away from each other and he gently nudges your nose with his.

His left hand moves up to the side of your neck and he caresses your jaw with his thumb. You lift your head up at the same time when he leans down and your lips meet. His lips feel plump and wet as you close your eyes.

Who kissed who first? You wonder but all of your thoughts keep getting lost before they have a chance to rise to the surface. The only thing occupying your mind is the way his lips feel on yours, your skin burning where he’s touching you.

His right hand grips your hip to push it down further into the cushions of the sofa. His hand on your neck moves down to your throat as he chokes you slightly, as if to test the waters. He smiles into the kiss when he hears you moan.

He takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth. The way his tongue moves has you entranced. His movements feel languid, yet they contain enough force to convey an intense passion.

Your hands move of their own accord as they make their way to hug his shoulders. He breaks the kiss as his lips leave a trail of quick pecks down your neck. Your head tilts back to give him better access. He sucks on the spot just below your ear and your palms bundle up his t-shirt, creasing the fabric.

You moan louder than you’d intended to when he bites the spot and his fingers dig into the meat of your thigh. You feel the heat rise to your cheeks as he licks a strip up along the front of your neck. He hooks your leg that he’s holding around his lower back and presses his hips down to grind against yours.

“Fuck… Choso-,” you say, out of breath. You can feel how hard he is through his sweatpants. He lifts his head up and his hair is all messed up, the smaller strands have escaped the bounds of his hair tie and frame his face in a way you can only describe as delicious. He kisses you on the mouth once again and you have to close your eyes shut to regain your composure.

As much as you don’t want him to stop, you know better than to let the situation escalate even further. Your hands move to his chest and you firmly place them there but don’t push him away.

Fuck. About time you tell him to stop.

You move your head to the side as you try speaking softly, “Chos-”, but he grabs your face to turn it back to him and bites your lower lip, continuing the kiss. You’re pretty sure he can feel your wetness as he grinds his hips, pressing against you. You groan at how good it feels.

You kiss him back, pulling him impossibly closer by his t-shirt. He pulls your bottom lip with his teeth again before releasing it. “Fuck… baby, you feel so good,” he groans as his hand pulls your t-shirt down and his face moves to your collarbone to leave another hickey.

“Ahhh… Choso, please,” you moan at his touch. He comes back up again as he stares down at your neck, proud of the light mark he knows is going to turn dark purple later. He kisses you on the lips once again.

Before your desire wins over the rational part of your brain, you press your hands firmly to his chest. He leans back a bit as he understands what you mean. He reluctantly moves away from your face but his hands still hold you in place. His eyes look hazy and full of lust. By the way he looks at you, you’re certain yours don’t look any different either.

So much for not wanting to fuck up another friendship.

“We can’t...” you mumble, but clear your throat to speak up clearly, “Choso, we can’t do this.”

“Why not?” he retorts softly, his thumb moving across your bottom lip. You sigh as you grab his wrist to remove his hand. He moves his hand through his hair to push back the stray strands as he sits back up to create space between you two.

For a split-second, you find yourself missing his warmth before you sit up straight to look at him. You envelop his hand into yours and you hold it like that as he waits for you to speak up.

“This feels strange… I don’t want to make you feel as if I’m just using your body to get over Satoru. It already feels like I’m gonna lose him as my best friend, I don’t want to lose you too…” you trail off as you lower your head with shame.

“What if I didn't mind you using me to get over your stupid crush?” he replies. It was the last thing you’d expected him to say. Your eyes widen in surprise as you look up at him.

“I think it’s pretty evident that I have a thing for you,” he continues as he looks down at his crotch. Your eyes follow his and you can see the imprint of his hard on over his sweatpants. You look away quickly, not wanting to ogle at the sight.

“It’s just your dick talking…” you almost whisper, not wanting him to hear your accusatory tone. He pulls his hand out of your grasp before running his fingers through his hair once again in frustration.

You know you hit a nerve when he groans slightly as he speaks up, “Far from it… I’ve liked you for a while now. But you’re so blinded by your crush for that blue-eyed snowflake fuck that you can’t see anyone else. Least someone who can treat you far better than he does. Anyone can tell that you have a crush on him… Satoru knows, your eyes tell, he just conveniently ignores it. I’m not sure why you’re so crazy over him but it hurts me more than I'd like to admit when all you care about is Satoru this, Satoru that. Fuck Satoru! What the fuck is it going to take for you to finally see me?”

You’re speechless. Your brain feels like it has stopped computing altogether.

What the fuck?

Even if you want to say something, you fall short of the right words. Your lips part to speak but close again. Choso notices this and his jaw tightens. He mumbles a ‘be right back’ as he gets up abruptly and makes his way towards the washroom.

You’re still sitting in your place when he returns after a few minutes. The edge of his hairline is wet but he’s dried his face. As if washing his face had washed away his agitated state of mind, he looks more composed now.

“Choso..” you get up quickly and walk to him.

“It’s getting late, I better leave. I’m sorry.” he interrupts you. He turns away from you and walks towards the apartment door. You follow behind him quickly as you call out his name again. He knows how much you hate leaving things hanging in a limbo till the next meeting.

He turns around and cups your face with both his hands. They’re cold now. His eyes meet yours as he speaks, “It’s okay… I shouldn’t have sprung that on you like that. You’re going through your own shit. I shouldn’t add more onto it.”

He smiles and leans down to kiss your forehead. You try speaking up but he interrupts you once again. He does not want to give you an opening. He wants to leave things in a limbo tonight. He wants to remember the way your lips felt and not let it be overshadowed by your rejection that came after.

“We’re okay,” he presses and you know he’s not going to listen to you tonight. “Goodnight.”

You put your hands on top of his to hold them in place when you sense him pulling them away. He moves them away regardless and instead squeezes both of your hands. His touch feels so different from how it was just a few minutes ago and you want to cry.

You can’t help but feel as if you’ve ruined your friendship and you feel him slipping away. Maybe you’re being a bit dramatic but he’s being so formal and indifferent that it almost makes you feel sick.

“Hey,” he stops your train of thought, “I’ll see you later, okay?”

No, please stay. You want to say but you don’t dare to. You can’t… not with everything that just happened.

“Goodnight.” you force a smile at him and he squeezes your hands once more before leaving.

You stand there, staring at your closed door for a good few minutes before you turn the TV off completely and retire to your bedroom. Every single scenario and all the endless outcomes play in your head but above everything else, Choso’s confession of his feelings for you plays in your head on loop like a broken record.

You’re still unsure of how you feel about it as you fall asleep an hour later, still thinking about him. You hope in desperation that come morning, you’ll be wiser at deciphering the mess of your emotions a bit better.

MDNI banner: @benkeibear

#erensbirdie #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsukaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen choso #choso kamo #choso x reader #jjk choso #choso #choso smut #choso x you #choso jjk #jjk #jujutsu kaisen

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godsfavdarling · 9 months ago

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Keep Holding On (chapter list)

Spencer Reid x Original Character Fanfiction (wattpad, Ao3, my masterlist)

Molly is an elementary school teacher with a simple, fulfilling life. Her romantic life, though, remains stagnant, lacking any signs of flourishing, as she faces continuous disappointments in her pursuit of love. However, a chance encounter with Spencer, a sweet and gentle genius, might just be the catalyst for a change in her romantic fortunes.

+18! fluff, smut (oral, fingering, handjob, soft dom/sub dynamics, mutual masturbation), hurt, comfort, mentions of sobriety and addiction, protected sex with either condom or a pill, mentions of miscarriage, it gets really sad after chapter 20! sorry! but also a happy ending! + the usual criminal minds stuff. I keep up with Spencer's and the show’s story lines!

45 chapters (92k words)

chapter 01

chapter 02

chapter 03

chapter 04

chapter 05

chapter 06

chapter 07

chapter 08

chapter 09

chapter 10

chapter 11

chapter 12

chapter 13

chapter 14

chapter 15

chapter 16

chapter 17

chapter 18

chapter 19

chapter 20

chapter 21

chapter 22

chapter 23

chapter 24

chapter 25

chapter 26

chapter 27

chapter 28

chapter 29

chapter 30

chapter 31

chapter 32

chapter 33

chapter 34

chapter 35

chapter 36

chapter 37

chapter 38

chapter 39

chapter 40

chapter 41

chapter 42

chapter 43

chapter 44

epilogue

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theyanderespecialist · 6 months ago

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Base Yandere Kyojuro Rengoku Headcanons: Obsession In Flames (Demon Slayer)

[Hello, My Sexy Muffins! I am excited to do this one, it was a YouTube request, but I did it on a few other places as well! So I hope that you all enjoy this chapter here!]

(Disclaimer: The Flame Hashira Kyojuro Rengoku is not Yandere in canon, but he is 20 years old in canon. This is just for fun and not to be taken seriously at all! Simping for fictional characters and yanderes is fine, just do not be illegal or gross about it! Yanderes are not ideal partners to have in real life. Also, remember to separate fiction from reality and headcanon from canon! Thank You!)

-Base Yandere Headcanons With Flame Hashira Kyojuro Rengoku From Demon Slayer-

.Kyojuro takes an enthusastic approach to his posisition as a Hashira.

.He comes off very cheerfull and eccentric.

.He is a very go lucky man and look on the bright side of things.

.He had a love for you, and is always in the best mood when he is near you.

.He loves you so much and from the nature instilled in him by his mother, he believed that he had to protect you, as he is strog and that means he has to protect the weak.

.Even if you are strong he has a strong urge to protect you and keep you safe at all costs.

.So he is a protective yandere to his core.

.He would also be a knight in shining armor type of yandere.

.Being the one to come to your rescue you and save you from harm if there is harm.

.He is not the typical yandere because he is pure of heart.

.So he would not be the typical blood thirsty or muderous yandere.

.He does become jealous a frustrated when there are other rivals trying to steal you from him.

.He will make sure that he gets stronger and stronger, so that he is always the best choice for you have, and he can always keep you safe and sound from other his rivals.

.He is a honorable yandere, with strict moral.

.As long as he is the best choice for you and you want him he will never let you go.

.But if you want someone else and that someone else is worthy he would step to the side, and let them be with you.

.But if they cross the line and this other person harm you, cheats on you, or does anything like that he will put them in their place and teach them a lesson for hurting and or breaking your heart.

.He believes in hard work and training for a good work ethic and values in whatever you do.

.And he would support you in almost anything you do, as long as you give it your all and live your lige honestly.

.He would be a very supportive yandere in which he supports you in almost anything and almost everything.

.He will do what he can to support you as well.

.Though beneath his carefree and cheerful self he is a man who can be very tatical and serious.

.This is something that actually helps his yandere side, he might be an honorbale yandere but he is also very much thinking 10 steps ahead at all times.

.He knows how to win you over and he knows how to get rivals to give up and leave you alone without hurting you.

.He is very confident in how he can win you over and make you you his.

.He is also very confident that he knows what is best for you.

.The Yandere side and his Serious taticaul nature would make the perfect storm to do whatever it takes to keep you safe, even kidnapping you.

.In his dellusional yandere mind he is keeping you safe and sound and knows that one day you will be able to forgive him.

.You just need the time to see what he is doing.... ALL That he is doing has always been for you!

.Ultimetaly he would deal with rivals by first testing if they are worthy and if they have earned your heart.

.If they had he will stand by and let your love blossom, but the moment they step out of line he will strike.

.He will also be critical of every move they make and he will even be hopping that they step out of line!

.When they do step out of line, he makes sure they regret it, and it justifies that he can keep you safe and sound and that he is the only one worthy of you.

.Side note he is a family man and would want a family with you, if AFAB he would want to have one with you as the birth giver and if a afab he can easily adopted a child with you and keep you and them safe.

.But if you really did not want kids of your owns he would be the type to get a bunch of furbabies.

.Full on Dead Ass Stare and confidently saying. "THESE ARE OUR BABIES NOW!!" Holding a baby animal ready to raise it with you.

.He also is a very, VERY Forward yandere. When he finally decides to confess to you, which can either be a long game, or almost right away saying. you and him were meant to be and that he is will be the one to love you forever and ever.

.Whenever it is that he tells you how he feelings he will go a few ways.

.You say yes he is going to kiss you with so much passion to win you over.

.if you turn him down he will react two ways.

.If he is chill about it he would respect you and watch over you, while still trying to earn your love.

.If he is at the point he has had enough with his yandere side he knew that he will knock you out, asking for your forgiveness and that he is just doing what he thinks best for you.

.After this he will endure every bit of fight you have against him, working his way to win you over and he knows one day it will all be worth it and you will love him just as much as he loves you in return.

.In the end He is a VERY Passionate Yandere that will earn your love one way or another.

.His obsessive love is like a flame, it burns bright and shines through the roughest of nights.

[YASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS Another chapter is done! I hope you all enjoyed this, I really got into it! Stay Sexy, all of my sexy mufffins!]

#yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere kyojuro #yandere kyojuro rengoku #yandere rengoku kyojuro #yandere demon slayer #headcanons #demon slayer kyojuro #kyojuro x reader #rengoku kyojuro #kyojuro #demon slayer rengoku kyojuro #demon slayer #reader #gender neutral reader #kyojuro rengoku demon slayer #kyojuro rengoku x reader

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kyeomyun · 1 year ago

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As The Sun Dies, So Do We

pairings: husband!joshua x gn!reader

genre: angst, apocalyptic(?), hurt, end of the world type deal

warnings: alcohol consumption, major character death(s) (not really specified), you might cry?

word count: 1.4k

synopsis: you both watched as the world took its final breathes, sharing your last few minutes before this love became just a memory.

s.n.: this story is technically for @stormyjisung for her birthday even though it was last month but as a overthinker, couldn't write a angsty shua story. BUT HERE WE ARE.

network(s): @preciousillusions-net @kflixnet

20 minutes...

1,200 seconds left before this world is nothing but a molting rock above. The people within just a memory and grains of dust. Signs of life ending quicker than the creator above might have predicted.

Or did he so predict this tragic faith? A faith uncontrollable yet beautiful. Just knowing that everyone else will all perish along with you and not continue living their longed life brought a sense of solace within you.

With one more push to this insanely heavy couch, you made sure it was stable before wiping away the beads of sweat from your forehead. Your hair stuck on the skin.

You sighed, breath flowing into the polluted air. Tension left from your body as you finally slacked back onto the torn cushion of your couch.

"What's with the sigh?" A voice queried you behind you. Footsteps approaching at a minimum pace but getting to the couch whatsoever.

"Nothing," You replied honestly. "Just can't believe this is all happening and that we have a front row seats of it all."

Which you did. Your couch that was once in front of your TV, in your home, broadcasting the end of everyone's chapter, was now on a hill right above the many oceans that joins together in some way.

You always pondered around the thought of how the world would look like before it became non-existent. Maybe an apocalypse made by clumsy scientist? Or the air becoming so thick that it never makes it down your lungs? Skies blossomed with grays and melchony. But you never imagined it to look like this...

So beautiful and enticing..

The sky was painted with eternal sunsets, an ambient of oranges, yellows, pinks, littered across. Clouds faceless yet expressing their sorrow of not delivering enough rain where you would beg for it. The sun was right above the horizon, it's rays swimming in the ocean below. Just beautiful..

"Mm," Was the only response you got as well as a light groan as your lover finally sat down on the couch next to you. A cracking noise was heard before your peripheral caught attention to the beers in his hands.

15 minutes..

900 seconds that you have left with your muse. 900 more seconds before his soul is not in this same place as yours, entagled.

"Here you go," your lover announced, a beer awaiting in his grasp.

You gladly accepted. You didn't know what came over you but before you knew it, you were flushing the alcohol down your system in no time. The fizz in your tongue and the burn in your throat before letting out a light hiss as it settles down in your stomach.

"I can't believe it's actually happening.." You repeated for the umpteenth time. "We are really going out like this."

"Together." He added on.

"Together.." You repeated back with caution. The alcohol finally kicking into your system.

10 minutes.

600 more seconds before "together" becomes just a wish for you both. 600 more seconds before separation becomes the ending.

"Together..." The world slipped out once more, this time a whimper as you finally pieced together the outcome of all of this. As selfish as you were thinking how everyone will have the same faith at the same time, you sunk in that he will too have that faith. Gone from you.

"My love.." He finally spoke before embracing your trembling figure into his own. Sweaty after pushing this heavy weight of a couch up an insanely steep hill but comforting. "My dear, wonderful, Y/N.." The shakiness of his voice signaled his breaking point as well but his tear stayed solid for now. Just for now.

Tears continued to stream down and soaking the both of you. Reality was too heavy to carry at this point and hearing the nicknames that you will never hear again made you realize that you really should've cherished them more.

As for Joshua, holding you this close and sinking in the intimacy being shared was almost as suffocating as the pollution. The sky still beaming down and watching one of the many couples finally realize this was truly their final night alive as the world crumbles into nothing.

5 minutes.

300 seconds to cherish each other's love, guilt storming above the both of you knowing that way more could have been given and taken.

It sucks that the end of everything is when you finally realize such beauties could have been held onto way tighter and loved in such ways. But why is that?

Why is it we feel such intense emotion we couldn't experience before risks or threats such as this?

Because we sink in that there is no going back.

There was no going back to belting out highnotes not late nights, seeing who will get the higher score at a random karaoke bar. No more cuddles in the morning with small Ted talks, no more back hugs while you chop the vegetables and your lover taking over in fear of you possibly harming yourself, no more showers together where you make little horns out of the soaked hair, no more words to be written in this book that was supposed to go on for way longer than it did.

"My precious jewel," Joshua voiced broke again, and so did his well-being. "How about I make you fresh batch of pancakes when we meet again? With whipped cream, a smiley face," He smiled through his words. He knew meeting you again was only a chance and not a guarantee. But tricking himself into such was the only thing keeping him sane.

The thought of a life without his wife was a killer alone.

"With a side of sweet coffee, just as you like." The deluled man continued with a shaking body.

1 minute.

60 more seconds before these fantasies become just ash and wishes never are granted again. 60 more seconds where this love will remain just a memory.

Joshua pulled back, big hands cupping your soggy cheeks. "How does that sound?" He asked with a bittersweet smile spreading across his face. Tears escaping at the sight of your much more heavier sobs but he didn't want to come to terms to what those tears really mean.

All you could do was nod. Words fogged in your mind.

30 more seconds.

30 more seconds before your last night ends.

Joshua gently swiped his thumb pads over the newborn tears rolling down with ease.

"May I have my goodnight kiss? I can't sleep without it." Asked Joshua, knowing the obvious answer. Yet still wanting to hear your voice.

"You know this will be our last-"

"May I have my goodnight kiss, Y/N?"

15 more seconds.

15 more seconds to accept this last wish. 15 more seconds to feel his lips pressed onto yours. 15 more seconds to see that smile that holds more words of love. Words of love that probably doesn't exist but is rather felt.

Without a second thought, you crashed your lips onto his. Tears continued their race down your faces and down to the couch below. The bittersweet in your mouths was so prominent but you needed to feel each other just one more time..

One more..

10...

He pulled away just slightly before connecting his head with yours.

9...

"Goodnight, my precious Y/N.."

8...

A sob left from you, but you managed to spill the words out before the storm crashed above you.

"Goodnight, Joshua.."

7...

"I will forever love you. No matter what form I take, what life I live, what planet I live on, you are always within me. Our love is forever embedded."

6...

"I love you too, Hong Joshua."

5...

"Sleep well, darling.."

4...

You both sat back, cuddled into each other's sides and never to be separated. Your head was tucked right beneath his chin and his hand continue their familiar dance on your back.

3...

You both saw the infamous flash of light slowly fall down from the sky, Death riding down in amazing glory as he comes to collect his most wins.

2...

You clasped Joshua hand for extra proximity. The screaming below you both blurred down to nothing as all what matters right now is the fading memories and awaiting future. The rings glowing on your hands as a painful reminder death will truly do you part.

1...

"Sleep well, Shua."

did you enjoy your order?

if you did, please reblog, like, (pls) comment, all of that jazz :>

have a good day, sweets ^^

tagging: @stormyjisung @star1117-archives @fairyhaos (sorry) @icyminghao @etherealyoungk @m4rsluv @trblsvt @gyu-effect @odxrilove @luvhyun3

#{🥧} — jada’s recipes ♡#seventeen reactions #kflixnet #svt reactions #svt imagines #seventeen imagines #svt fanfic #seventeen fanfic #joshua x reader #hong joshua x reader #svt joshua #seventeen x reader #hong joshua #joshua #svt #seventeen

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jeanbie · 2 years ago

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𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ★ ATTACK ON TITAN Last Updated: 1st June, 2024

genres: ♥︎ sexual or mature content

⏤⏤ 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 ★

☆ lovely [ jean x reader ] ↳ jean and y/n being a domestic couple

warnings: suggestive content, non-graphic material | status: discontinued/complete

ch1. 7am ch2. den of monsters ch3. pancakes

☆ wordless [ levi x reader ] ♥︎ ↳ sometimes, saying “I love you” is inappropriate, and given your circumstances, you think it might send levi over the edge if he hears them again

genre: sugar-daddy/contract killer au | warnings: mature content, sexual themes, depictions of violence, gore, blood, gang themes, gun violence, knife violence, cheating | status: complete

ch1. 10 ways to say i love you without really saying it ch2. 20 ways to say it... ch3. 30 ways to say it... ch4. 40 ways to say it... ch5. 50 ways to say it (and two ways to make things right)

☆ ways to say i love you [ multiple characters x reader ] ↳ imagine the many ways they say "i love you".

warnings: angst series, character death, violence, heartbreak, suggestive and mature themes (see individual chapters) | status: complete

ch1. erwin ch2. zeke ♥︎ ch3. armin ch4. jean ch5. levi ch6. reiner ch7. porco

☆ qpids [ jean x reader x multiple aot ]♥︎ ↳ jean and his girlfriend make porn for a living, and they love their fans almost as much as they love eachother.

warnings: afab!reader, explicit sexual content, porn couple!au, see multiple fic warnings | status: ongoing (2/?)

ch1. lessons in love ⏤ jean x reader x eren ch2. lana ⏤ jean x reader x armin ch3. 777 ⏤ jean x reader x mikasa ch4. pretty girls make graves ⏤ jean x reader x levi x eren ch5. into twilight ⏤ jean x reader x eren

⏤⏤ 𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒 ★

⏤ eren

☆ lessons in love ; the sight of his shit-eating grin leaves eren with a prickle of hot frustration that hurts when the video rolls to an end, with no flashy end credits or promotion. just a black screen with his own idiot reflection staring back at him ♥︎ ☆ moonlight in your hands ; i never knew you could hold moonlight in your hands ☆ everything looks different (now that i see you) ; to be betrothed to eren is not only a great business advantage for your families, but a great honour for yourself. to be betrothed to eren, and one day bound to him, would be your greatest glory. ☆ if i lay here (would you lie with me?) ; eren has had enough - it's been four months since he's last seen you, and he's not going to let his fame status keep him from seeing you any longer. he just hopes that you feel the same way when you see him again. ☆ dancer in the dark ; eren hasn't found anybody who makes him feel as good as the drugs and alcohol do, but all of that changes when he stops by levi's music shop and meets you behind the counter. ♥︎

⏤ jean

☆ lessons in love ; the sight of his shit-eating grin leaves eren with a prickle of hot frustration that hurts when the video rolls to an end, with no flashy end credits or promotion. just a black screen with his own idiot reflection staring back at him ♥︎ ☆ lana ; this position is particularly ambiguous; your face is almost gone, only slightly in frame, with the lens zoomed further in to your ass and jean’s thighs, his ass there but moving as he leans for the lube across the bed. if he wanted, armin could pretend the figure beneath jean was a boy- could be him, if he wanted. he does not want ♥︎

⏤ armin

☆ lana ; this position is particularly ambiguous; your face is almost gone, only slightly in frame, with the lens zoomed further in to your ass and jean’s thighs, his ass there but moving as he leans for the lube across the bed. if he wanted, armin could pretend the figure beneath jean was a boy- could be him, if he wanted. he does not want ♥︎

⏤ levi

☆ fireflowers ; “good day?” you ask, pulling back from his neck with your arms still around him. levi settles his hands just below your ribs and looks at you, sweetly pressing a kiss to your mouth. he doesn’t pull away too far, your hands threading in the hair above the back of his neck. “better now.” ☆ sweet unwind ; when levi's not working, he likes to take things slow, and as of late, he's found that baking desserts is an excellent way to unwind. yesterday, he made a beautifully sweet strawberry drizzled cake with cream. on today's menu, his personal favourite: cream pie ♥︎ ☆ higher than heaven ; levi wants to be mad that his neighbour keeps screwing guys really loudly. but how can he be mad when she's just so goddamn pretty? ♥︎

⏤ yelena

☆ love game ; yeah. yelena didn’t really know what to say to ymir when she showed up to one of the meet-ups with the most gorgeous girl she had ever seen. in her silence, zeke made the most of the words he knew. 'normally yelena’s such a bitch, but notice how she’s suddenly silent now a fit girl’s here?' what can she say? she has eyes ☆ silver bullet ; yelena has only ever seen you at your best, and what she thought could have been your worst back on paradis. nothing could have prepared her for ever seeing you this way, bleeding out, gasping at every touch ☆ love and war ; yelena wanted nothing more but to warn you of what was to come, even better to hide you from it, but in doing so would mean running the risk of everything they’ve all worked so hard to set in motion coming crashing down

⏤ connie

☆ ghostface ; you've got no idea who dressed up as ghostface to eren's halloween party, but damn, do they fuck nice ♥︎ ☆ prescott ; after halloween, you've been trying your hardest to avoid being near connie springer, but a little bit of alcohol on porco's birthday is all it takes for you to find yourself back in his arms ♥︎

⏤ all characters / multi

☆ acts of love ; as long as you’ve got a good group of friends, anything is possible. thankfully, you’ve got the best group you could ever ask for ☆ unorthodox ; nobody knew hange zoe had a sibling, and it was more shocking to discover that you are exactly like them.

⏤⏤ 𝐀𝐔𝐒 ★

THE twitch streamer au

☆ eren is yeagerbomb ☆ mikasa is mikasa ☆ armin is artlerto ☆ jean is kirstein ☆ sasha is sashabun ☆ connie is romconnie ☆ sasha & connie are springles

THE hogwarts/harry potter au

☆ attack on titan characters & their hogwarts houses ☆ slytherin zeke ☆ slytherin erwin

THE firefighter eren au

☆ ...and how much you love when he comes home in his uniform

⏤⏤ 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 ★

⏤ all characters

☆ ...as best friends ☆ ...and how they act during zoom classes ☆ ...and their icks ☆ ...as specific things that i love ☆ ...and helping a lost child ☆ ...but they're actors ☆ ...and cats ☆ ...and how they act during the zombie apocalypse ☆ ...having a new years party ☆ ...going to the club ☆ ...aot boys and having a partner who likes their muscles/seeing them flex ☆ ...and their favourite sex positions (aot boys) ♥︎ ☆ ...and their lockscreens

⏤ eren

☆ ...comforting you when you're upset ☆ modern day headcanons ☆ ...and valentine's day ☆ nsfw alphabet ♥︎

⏤ mikasa

☆ ...comforting you when you're upset ☆ modern day headcanons ☆ ...and valentine's day

⏤ armin

☆ ...comforting you when you're upset ☆ ...and valentine's day

⏤ levi

☆ modern day headcanons ☆ dating headcanons ☆ nsfw alphabet ♥︎ ☆ ...and how he acts with his pregnant partner

⏤ zeke

☆ nsfw alphabet ♥︎

⏤ yelena

☆ ...comforting you when you're upset ☆ nsfw alphabet ♥︎ ☆ modern day nsfw alphabet ♥︎

⏤ annie

☆ modern day headcanons

⏤ porco

☆ modern day teen headcanons ☆ modern day teen headcanons pt. 2

⏤ sasha

☆ sasha and connie headcanons

⏤ connie

☆ connie and sasha headcanons ☆ modern day headcanons

⏤⏤ 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒 ★

101 days of creative writing [ multiple pairings ] status: inconsistent updates

genre: multiple | warnings: see individual fics for warnings, character on character pairings, no reader, not all pairings are romantic

1. murder on the train [ jean + erwin ] 2. four seasons [ eren x armin ] 3. unrecognisable [ jean x sasha ] 4. starting at the end [ eren x mikasa ] 5. at the museum [ sasha x levi ] 6. the suitcase [ jean + levi ] 7. shorebird song [ armin x annie ] 8. the bridge [ eren x armin ]

⏤⏤ 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂 ★

☆ modern day eren aesthetic ☆ modern day mikasa aesthetic

#🗞 masterlist #attack on titan #aot #snk #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan imagine #aot imagine #aot fanfic #aot masterlist #ittojean #magunes #jeanbie

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84reedsy · 5 months ago

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The Mentorship, Part 21

The Mentorship

Characters: Curt Hennig/FemOC , Scott Hall/FemOC

Part 21 of 22 (Parts not chapters, parts length varies)

Warnings/Considerations: Smut, Age Gap, Power Dynamics, Dirty Talk, swearing

Word Count: 2812

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20

Taglist: @writeandsurvive @theweaselandthekilt (DM or comment to be added!)

Scott locked the doors, if anyone came they’d just have to wait outside until he was ready to let them in. Just as she was starting up the steps, he came in behind her and scooped her up in his arms. She squealed a little in surprise, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck to hold herself.

“Is this ok?” He asked, realizing she’d never said outright that she was ok with him touching her, “I’m just worried about that traumatized leg of yours,” He slightly teased.

“Yes…” She looked up at him, realizing how much she’d missed the feel of his arms, his hands, his body, “I’m ok with it.” She severely understated exactly how she was feeling in the moment. She felt butterflies passing through the doorway to his room. He set her down in the bathroom, backing away.

“I’ll be right back” He held up a finger as he exited, grabbing her silky robe and the pajamas that lay on top of her suitcase. He knocked on the doorframe before entering, finding her exactly as he left her. He set down her things on the counter, sitting on the edge of the large soaking tub as he began to draw her a bath.

Brinkley felt oddly flattered by the gesture, waiting for his full attention.

“Shouldn’t take it too long…” He tested the temp of the steaming stream, adjusting it accordingly, “I can…” He motioned towards the door, implying he could leave if she wanted him to.

“No…you should stay,” She shook her head, taking a step toward him, “I might need some help,” She could feel her core tremble. She could hardly comprehend how much she wanted him.

“My help?” He cocked his head sideways slightly, “What else could I possibly help you with?”

“Well…” She blushed even though she was the one coming on to him, “for starters, taking my clothes off,” she looked at him even though it only made her cheeks burn hotter. She felt as if even the temperature of the room shot up, as his eyes flickered up and down her for a moment, looking hungrier by the second, “I am hurt, after all,” She poutedly remarked.

“Oh your gruesome injury?” He couldn’t help but smile at her weak excuse, “You need me to kiss it and make it all better, too?” He widened the spread of his legs from where he sat on the edge of the tub, rubbing his thighs as if his hands were just itching to get a hold of her, “You better c’mere then…”

Why was she so nervous for him to touch her, especially in this way? It was nothing new, it wasn’t any different than any way he’d touched her hundreds of times before. But it felt like it was. She stepped up closer to him, stopping as she stood just between his knees. She was still just in her workout gear…she suddenly became self conscious that she might smell sweaty after 2 hours in the ring. But, it was clear that Scott didn’t seem to mind even if she did.

He lifted her shirt first, tossing it to the side. He slowly pulled down the zipper of her sport’s bra, each inch building the sexual tension between them. Part of her wished he’d move more swiftly, it might dispel the smidgen of anxiety that rested in her. But as he met his eyes, and really saw him, she felt that bond of trust again. She knew it seemed too soon, but she didn’t want to punish him any more.

“You know, you drew me a bath once before,” She tried to subdue the tension.

“I remember,” He looked up at her with a wry smile, “I remember that night explicitly,”

“Me too,” Though she blushed, remembering how nervous she was feeling a stranger's hands but somehow knowing they were his.

“My only regret,” He slowly slipped her bra from her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, but his eyes remained on hers, “Is that our first time wasn’t just you and me,”

“Part of me thought that was going to happen a few times before that night,” She admitted, “Like that one time you were in my room and I was only in that towel,” She recalled that interaction, knowing it would have led to more if Curt hadn’t walked in.

“It was absolutely going to,” Scott said firmly enough that it made her shiver. He peeled her tights off, sliding his hands to her waist and pulling her to move closer to him. He gently kissed the valley between her breasts, feeling her let out a long breath.

“I wanted you…so much,” She admitted, knowing that at the time they’d been dancing around their attraction. She wasn’t now, “I want you even more now,”

Scott growled, his teeth grazing along her nipple, his hands still holding her steady as she slid her hands in his hair. He left it down now, knowing how much she liked it that way. Her hands slid down his back, pulling at his shirt until she could lift it from him.

Soon she found herself in the steamy water, Scott laying behind her. She could feel his entire body against her; his manhood throbbing against her backside. But he didn’t rush her, one hand rested across her chest as one hand teased her breast and the other slowly worked between her splayed thighs. She gripped onto his forearm that rested on her chest. As his fingers slipped between her folds, he used two to circle her clit at a mind numbingly slow pace.

Brinkley tried her best not to squirm, feeling his intimate touch. He’d slow if her arousal flared too much, backing off to the lightest, whispered touch until she calmed.

“Scott, please,” She murmured, pressing against him as she begged for firmer, faster stimulation. Though underwater, he could feel her pussy was saturated by her own wetness, he could feel her sex pulsing beneath his fingers. He could hardly manage the sensations he felt from the way she was moving against his now achingly hard shaft.

He kissed her earlobe, her cheek, along her jaw as he gave into her insistent pleas of sexual respite. The warm water lapped over her, the heat of it surrounding her submerged body. She felt as if she were his submissive captive, willing to let him decide when she could cum. His touch was controlled, but vigorous as he held her as still as he could, making her submit to his demand. She cried out his name as she came, her hands gripping tightly into his thighs.

“Scott, please…please baby, I need you,” she writhed slowly as his fingers continued their exploration over her sensitive folds, “Don't you want me?” She whimpered, wishing he would release her so she could slip under the water and find out how long she could really hold her breath.

“I’m about to fucking lose it, I want you so bad,” He growled in her ear, “But my dick is gonna explode the second its inside you…I’m gonna need a minute, baby girl,”

Brinkley thought for a moment before speaking, knowing in her heart she wanted to say it.

“I can wait for you, Daddy…” She murmured, feeling Scott tense just a little under her.

“Brinkley, baby, you don’t have to-” He started, knowing that his jealousy over that term alone had been part of his undoing.

“I wouldn’t if I didn’t want to,” She interjected, reaching her hand up to glide her fingers along his stubbled cheek, “Don’t you want me to?” she reverted back to a feigned tonal innocence.

“God yes…” He slipped his fingers down farther, working them slowly in and out of her, “turns me on so fucking much…”

She was barely dried off before Scott threw her on the bed. He kissed her slowly at first, barely resisting the urge to bury himself inside of her, his cock pulsing against her thigh.

“Scott, please,” She begged, arching a little as his lips grazed along her neck. She didn’t think she could take much longer without feeling him inside of her. She felt herself insanely consumed with want, her patience waning. She calmed slightly when he lifted up slightly, looking down at her with an intense but soft stare. Her hands paused from wandering over his body.

“Brinkley,” He looked down at her, his gut cramping with nerves for a moment, “I love you,” He felt the words slip from his lips and he didn’t immediately regret them or even in the moments after. He let out the breath he’d been holding as her hand slid across his cheek.

“I love you, too…” She said, the corners of her lips lifting into a gentle smile, happy to hear the words from him.

Her smile only lasted a few moments as Scott slipped himself into her fully with an urgent motion. She gasped, her fingertips digging into his ribs as she held on to him tightly, afraid to let go.

“What, baby?” He said a hint of teasing in his tone, “too much for you?”

She nodded, licking her lips to wet them quickly.

“Way too much…but don't stop, please don't stop,” she held on to him tightly, bracing herself for his next thrust that was just as deep and firm as the first. She loved the way he made her feel; this was the way she wanted to experience him. Should could feel his emotional closeness, could feel the desire in his movements that this was as much for her as it was for him. He kissed her as their bodies melded together, his lips hungry to touch all of her, trailing along her neck, her shoulders.

He hooked one arm around her leg, making her whimper as he drove himself deeper, his pace controlled by the collision of lust and love he’d tried to keep buried but could no longer.

He couldn’t lose her. Not this one. He’d lost so many before, but he had to be better for her and for himself.

Brinkley felt as if her body were on fire, aching for him so deeply, she thought she might cry. She wrapped her arms around him as if she were worried he would float away. She held him so tightly the friction between them nearly rubbed her skin raw, but she only begged him for more.

Her thighs quivered, her muscles felt weak, but she didn’t dare let him go. Each climax was a gift she felt grateful to receive. SHe knew he was holding back, desperately trying to give her all the pleasure he possibly could. But she wanted him to feel the same.

She begged for his release, impatient to feel his explosive seed. She wanted to hear the pained grunt that rumbled from his throat when he came. She begged him again, Scott submitting to her call as well as the one inside of him desperate for that flood of pleasure.

Each pulse of his cock made Scott nearly lightheaded, his world spinning except for the grip of her arms and legs around him, holding him steady. His breathing was so heavy that he nearly shuddered against her. He knew the weight of him must’ve been considerable, but she didn’t loosen her embrace. She adored the feel of him against her.

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

When Brinkley woke the next morning, she felt weightless, as if every care was lifted from her when she turned and saw the mass of black waves on the pillow beside her. She grinned slightly at the gentle lope of his snores. He only seemed to do that after he’d been exhausted by sex. Knowing that made her love it more. When he’d pass out drunk, his snore was far more obnoxious.

As she lay on her side, watching him sleep, she noted how peaceful he looked. She wanted to do anything she could to make him happy. She knew he struggled with himself. She hoped he trusted her. She hoped she wasn't foolishly trusting him, but she wanted to. Only time would tell; she'd have to be patient.

Scott stirred and stretched, humming as he felt her laying against his side. His bed was so much colder when she was far away on the other side of it. He noticed the sheets were still pushed to the side, seeing the varying shades of their flesh intertwined. The feel of her soft thigh laid over his hip was the most comforting weight he'd ever felt.

“Good morning, “ he pressed his lips to her forehead softly, “Big day today, huh?”

Brinkley felt her stomach flip, her nerves flaring. The only thing that was changing officially was their in ring activity. But she knew it represented much more.

“Yeah…I hope I can do you guys proud…” she did not sound as confident as she had before.

“Baby, you'll do amazing. This is what you've been working so hard for,” he reminded her, his hands gently rubbing her back, “You have a lot of talent, this is just gonna be that push you need to make your own name,”

“I feel ready,” she knew this was the goal, it just felt different than she'd anticipated, “Just…nerves, I guess,”

“I'd think there was something wrong if you weren't nervous.” He stretched again, letting out a vocal yawn, “let's take a look at that leg…” he groaned as he sat up, his body often sore first thing in the morning. Brinkley propped herself up on her elbows as he took her calf in his lap, running his thumb over the slightly broken skin, “You definitely got some rope burn. Probably won’t be the last time either,”

“I’ve had it before, but not quite this bad,” She winced a little when his thumb passed over the deepest laceration, “But I’ll live. It doesn’t really hurt,”

“Good to hear, because you’ve got a big match tonight, you big baby,” He pinched her thigh lightly as she playfully kicked him. He looked back at her, biting his lip, “You better get dressed or we’re never gonna make it out of this bedroom.

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Kevin met them at Scott’s house and the two rode together to the arena. Still trying to subscribe to kayfabe, Brinkley rode with Curt, who’d stayed the night again. She was happy to be riding with him, she felt safe venting her anxieties to him.

“What if I forget everything when I’m out there? What if I just freeze up?” She rambled on about everything that could go wrong. He smirked as he saw her sitting on her hands, trying everything not to chew on her nails.

“Brink, you won’t forget the moves. You won’t freeze up. You’re going to be the star out there and you know it.” Curt tried to bolster her confidence.

“What if I fall flat on my face and like break my nose,” She continued rambling.

“Then you come over to me, I’ll reset it and you keep going. It won’t bruise until tomorrow so you’ll be fine,” He shrugged.

“OK, Mr. I-Have-An-Answer-For-Everything,” She tried to be snide, but she was fighting a grin.

“You won’t fall, because one of us will be there to catch you,” He looked at her while they waited at a stop light, his tone soft, but more serious.

“What if I -” She looked away from him, down at her knees unable to look him in the eye, “What if I miss being your valet - what if this is a mistake?” She knew she wanted more, but she still felt unproven.

“I’m not going anywhere, Brinkley,” he reassured her, “I’ll always be backstage, we’ll be traveling together all the time. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of chances to come out and interfere with my matches,” He teased a little, trying to get a smile out of her while also knowing there was a likelihood that would happen, “Not that much is going to change…”

“Yes it will. Everything is changing,” She cut him off, “I just wanna feel like I’m ready,” She shrugged.

“You will. It’ll hit you. We all already know it. We see it. The bookers see it.” Curt could see the arena approaching ahead of him and he knew she saw it too as she took a deep breath, “You’re probably gonna usher in a new era of women in this business. It's about time, too,”

She smiled at that thought, for some reason that idea leveled her out. Though the idea of carrying the future of the women’s division on her shoulders should have been pressure - it didn’t feel that way. It gave her motivation to do better - she felt the nerves in her loosening.

“Thanks, Curt,” She looked at him as they drove through the gates, a few screaming fans on either side, “For everything,”

#wrestling fan fic #wrestling fic #wrestling fanfiction #curt hennig #wcw #wwe #wrestling #fanfiction #pro wrestling #1999 #Scott hall #kevin nash #The Mentorship #wrestling smut #cameos by a lot of wrestlers

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