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ghost-proofbaby · 5 months ago

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GHOOOST i saw your valentine blurb event and thought i’d drop in something! 🥹

24 hours eddie has been living in my mind rent free and i can’t help but feel like he’s the type to act tough and all that, but instantly melts into a gooey simpy lovesick puddle the second you call him “baby” ❤️ like yeah he likes to be called nicknames like ed or eds, but petnames??? he’s done for. just turns into a blushing blubbering mess. especially with the way he has repressed all his emotions for so long, it’s fun to kind of tease him and call him “handsome” “pretty boy” “baby boy” just to see him break his facade and just unapologetically be the golden retriever that he really is ❤️❤️❤️

i think my favorite thing about this vision is the way he would try to fight it so bad. hiding his face in your neck and blushing all terrible and gaaaaaaaahh. i hope this does it justice <3

warnings: fem!reader. reader is described to be wearing a dress, makeup, earrings, and heels. not edited. set in twenty four hours universe, after the story!

“Eddie!”

No answer.

“Eds!”

No answer.

“Edward Munson!”

Your patience is wearing thin as you finally pop on the back of the earring you had been struggling with. The studs weren’t even anything fancy, hardly worth all the time you’d just spent fighting with it, but you were determined to look nice.

Valentine’s Day. A day meant to be filled with blissful serenity and endless heart eyes, that was really only becoming the bane of your existence.

“I swear to God,” you mumble to yourself, huffing a bit as you try to clean up the mess you’ve made of the bathroom sink. Makeup everywhere, various pieces of jewelry scattered, your curling iron still warm on the edge of porcelain. You decide rather quickly it’s a mess to be dealt with later tonight. Or tomorrow. Or next week. “If he’s still fucking with that bike.”

The sharp clicks of your heels transform as you walk from tile to laminate-wood flooring, becoming a bit more dull and less obnoxious as you take the hallway by storm.

Next year, you’re telling Steve to go fuck himself if he tries to lure you and Eddie into another double date.

“Eddie, we only have thirty minutes until we nee-” you stress as you reach the end of the hall, cutting off entirely as you catch sight of the living room.

Of the living room, and your boyfriend.

“What is that?”

You think you might actually kill him.

“What?” Eddie doesn’t even look up at you, and you make a mental strike against him, “I told you, I’m working on the bi-”

“Yes,” you cut him off, taking a few harsh steps into the very crowded living room, “You were supposed to bring up a part of the bike. Why is the entire bike in our living room, Munson?”

You mean it – you’re going to kick his ass by the end of today.

His bike is propped up there, right in front of the TV, entirely blocking the pathway to the balcony. The bike that should be outside. The bike that certainly has God knows what all over the tires, and is sitting right on your rug you just bought for the living room.

Eddie stops his tinkering with whatever piece he’d removed from the bike to work on on the coffee table, abiding by your rule of having a towel down below it to avoid getting grease everywhere, “What do you mean?”

He’s playing dumb. And he probably thinks he looks cute as he does it, but no amount of fluttering lashes or boyish grins can soothe your irritation.

“You’re an idiot, but you’re not stupid,” you hiss as you cross the room and stand right in front of him, only seeing the crown of his head as he keeps his eyes dipped low in shame, “When did you… How did you…. When the fuck did you bring the bike up?”

You can hardly manage a fluent sentence as you look between Eddie and the bike, mind blown in the truest sense.

His voice is a mere murmur as he fiddles with one of his wrenches, flipping it over a few times before he answers, “While you were in the shower.”

“How?”

“The frat boys downstairs,” he rushes out in one breath, eyes still locked on the ground rather than you. “I, uh, paid a few of them to help me lug it up.”

You sigh heavily, throwing your head back before you move to the couch and dramatically throw yourself down with defeat, “You’re a real pain in my ass, you know that, Munson?”

“You say that like it’s new news,” he says as he twists to finally look at you, eyebrow quirked and the shadow of his dimple making an appearance while he fights a smug smile, “I think you’d be more worried if I wasn’t being a pain in your ass.”

He’s right. It doesn’t slow the roll of your eyes, though.

“You know I love you, right?” you say, suddenly using a sickeningly sweet tone as you lean in closer to where he sits on the ground. His face falls a bit, confusion lacing his brows together, “But, baby, if you keep this up… I’m going to kick your ass.”

He should look a whole lot more scared than he currently does as you deliver the threat, but he entirely throws you off when he grins.

An ear splitting grin, spreading cheek from cheek, radiating with anything but trepidation. He lights up, posture perking up as he looks at you with soft eyes. It looks as though you might have told him you loved him for the first time all over again, as though you’ve just reminded him of how you wanted to spend your life with him rather than said you were going to kick his ass.

The fight and issue at hand is momentarily forgotten as he whispers, “What did you just call me?”

“What did I just call you?” you question incredulously, leaning back fully, wholly concerned now. Maybe you should call Steve and cancel the date, “I- I just threatened to kick your ass, and you’re making heart eyes at me, asking me what I just called you?”

You rewind a bit in your brain, going over the moment again, trying to figure out if you’d let something unusual slip. Deciphering any moment that might have pulled this reaction from him.

You come up empty. Nothing.

“Did you just…” he trails off, cheeks surely aching as they shine with a bit of natural blush, “Did you just call me baby?”

Oh. That.

You look about the room for a second, taking in this predicament you’d gotten yourself into, “Do you not want me to call you that? I just-”

“No!” he rushes to stop you before you can take it back, “I mean, it’s fine. That’s not the issue, I just-”

He cuts off, and you realize just how flustered he is.

Now you’re smiling, right along with him, “You like it?”

“Sort of,” he shrugs, going a bit shy on you now, “It… I mean, if you want to start calling me stuff like that, I don’t mind. It’s fine. It’s cool.”

“Baby,” you say in place of his name, so naturally, like honey. You’re leaning forward once more, entering his orbit as you softly tease, “You’re blushing.”

The words turn him even more scarlet, “Fuck off.”

“What?” it’s your turn to act innocent, rearranging yourself on the couch to be more comfortable, “I thought you said you liked it when I called you stuff like that-”

Eddie movies quickly from the floor, gathering himself up in record time that would have had him groaning in protest on any other occasion. You’ve hardly leaned an elbow back on the couch’s arm when he gets on top of you.

Even if he’s trying to stop you from all your taunting with his words, his kiss says otherwise.

It’s hot, heavy, desperate – like alarm bells might be ringing in his head and telling him to run to the nearest safety of your lips. You welcome him in, of course. Take his lips right between yours with an eagerness to match, forgetting all about the lipstick you’d just applied moments before. Thighs spreading to bring him home to you, arms quickly searching out solace of all the skin below his Deftones t-shirt. Straining biceps as he holds himself over you, squared shoulders as he balances to stay right where he belongs. His chest even heaves ever so slightly with little gasps between kisses, both your lungs needing air despite the magnetic protest between you two.

“God,” you gasp out during one of those short breaks, making him divert a kiss to the corner of your mouth instead, “If you’re gonna kiss me like this every time I call you baby, I should do it more often,” he grunts, and tries to reignite a kiss, probably just to shut you up. You don’t let him, turning a cheek and forcing his searching mouth to plant a peck there instead, laughing a little, “Maybe I should be sure to use the nickname during dinner with Steve, hm?”

“Don’t you dare,” he groans as his lips seek out your jaw and neck next, peppering kisses between words. For each syllable, there’s a smack of his lips against your skin.

You ponder back to the time before you saw this side of Eddie; before someone so soft, so caring, so affectionate existed for you. It’s hard to even recall all those times now with the puddle of a man hovering over you.

“No?” you hum, head thrown back, letting him have his way as your fingers toy with the band around his bun, “What about pretty boy instead?”

Another groan, vibrating against your skin.

“Or handsome?”

This time, he nips the sensitive spot below your ear with his teeth in response.

You gasp, half from the bite and half with faux enthusiasm, “Oh! I know! I’ll take one out of your books and call you sweetheart.”

He finally moans in annoyance, and you know it’s all an act as he faceplants into your chest. You can feel his smile, radiant as ever, muffled by your skin and dress.

“You’re such a pain in my ass,” his echo of your earlier words come out around the cotton neckline, “You know that?”

You ruffle the kinks of his curls at his scalp a little, giving a scratch for good measure, “Yeah. Tell me something I don’t know, handsome.”

The full weight of him falls along your body finally, and he has a boyish glint when he raises his head. Seeking hands find promise along your hips, bunching the fabric of your black dress up into his fists before he’s kissing you again.

A little less hot, a little less heavy, a little less desperate. Just as rewarding as before, though.

Somewhere between simply nice and deathly devoted, you two let your mouths explore at a leisure pace. His lips, the apples of his cheeks, the line of his jaw down to his chin – no space is left unkissed, and you finally notice the smear of red lipstick.

“Oh, shit,” you laugh out, not sounding the least bit sorry as you look at the fading marks left behind, “I got my lipstick all over you.”

When he lifts from the crook of your neck, you catch the stain feathering out around his own lips, a bit smeared along his chin, “And you. I dunno if we can go to dinner lookin’ like this, doll.”

You get it. His reaction to your slip of a pet name.

You have the same reaction as he does it to you, gut fluttering and chest buzzing with tenderness at the sentiments. It’s a simple thing, probably a bit cheesy and cringey to outsiders, but it works between the two of you. You like hearing him grant you the pleasure of a nickname, whether it be sweetheart or doll. You love the hidden devotion beneath the delivery, whether it be idiot or fool.

There’s always an unspoken my in the mix. A certain sense of belonging to him that you can’t really explain to others without being looked at as if you’ve grown a second head.

Why would you want to belong to another person, in any sense of the word?

The answer feels simple enough when you look up at your boy, covered and pretty in Maybelline’s “Ruby for Me”.

“You’re not getting out of this double date,” you whisper back, still toying with his hair, still looking up at him with all the love you’re capable of growing within this chest of yours. It’s a bit more than yesterday, that much you’re sure. Each day, he finds a way to push the limits just a bit more, make a little bit more room behind your ribs for all the affection you hold for him, “If I’m stuck in this impending disaster, so are you.”

He sighs, head slipping into the crook of your neck, “Yeah… Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed.”

“Me? Disappointed with you?” he gasps, breath hot on your skin still as he snuggles in a little closer, grips the soft fabric of your dress a little tighter, “Oh, never.”

“Oh, so you decide to sound sarcastic instead?” you’re fighting a grin, trying to find a reason to be mad at him again. Hell, you even glance at the motorcycle in your damn living room to reignite the smallest of sparks – nothing, “You wound me, pretty boy.”

“You’re all about stealing my lines tonight, I see,” he teases as he finally begins to peel himself away from you. He’s all soft – soft eyes, soft smile, soft cheeks, soft flush. Soft, soft, soft. “I guess if there’s no way to convince you to stay home instead of going to this stupid double date, we both gotta get cleaned up now.”

You adore him. If you could bottle up all that softness you’re witnessing with your own two eyes just for a rainy day, you would.

He starts to stand on his knees, moving to leave you entirely and take all that mellow delight away from you too soon, when you lock your heels against his lower back.

Wrapping your legs a little too tightly around his waist, you raise a brow, “You may not be able to convince me to stay home entirely, but… no one ever said you couldn’t convince me to be about, let’s say, ten minutes late.”

He tilts his head at you, eyes wide, “Only ten minutes?”

“Okay, you’ve twisted my arm. Let’s make it fifteen.”

He crashes back into you in an instant, both of you giggling in the process.

With the weight of your pretty boy between your hips, and the caress of his lips against your chest, you accidentally make it nearly thirty minutes late. You don’t really care – not when it comes to Eddie.

#ghost's stories #v-day party #beyond the hours #twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #stranger things #i love how in my mind these 2 remain so mean to each other but in an affectionate way #more soft moments but still so many moments of 'i swear i hate you so much'#all the feisty fire remains #also don't ask me the logistics of getting a motorcycle into a second floor apartment because i haven't a clue but i saw it in a tiktok

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solarmorrigan · 1 year ago

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Saw someone mention how Steve tends to get defensive when he's anxious and it stuck with me, so here's my take on the "Steve breaks a dish and has a panic attack about it" trope

cw: descriptions of nonstandard panic attack, implied/referenced child abuse

The distinct sound of shattering porcelain is followed by a vehemently hissed, “shit,” and then silence.

“Steve?” Eddie calls from the couch into the kitchen. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve calls back, but his voice sounds tight in the way it does when something definitely isn’t okay.

Eddie pushes himself up and moves to the doorway, looking in to see what the trouble is. The kitchen of the house he and Wayne had been “gifted” by the government isn’t exactly huge, and he has a straight line of sight to where Steve is standing by the sink, eyes squeezed shut as he pinches the bridge of his nose, and to the red and white shards of porcelain on the floor by his feet.

“Hey,” Eddie says, but Steve doesn’t look up; if anything, his posture only gets tenser. “You’re not cut or anything, are you?”

“No,” Steve says, and his tone is still a little off, but he doesn’t sound like he’s lying.

“What was that, anyway?” Eddie asks.

Finally, Steve takes a deep breath in and opens his eyes, looking down at the mess on the laminate. “Mug.”

As soon as he says it, Eddie recognizes the colors for what the design must have been. “Shit, the Campbell’s one?”

Steve doesn’t say a word, just gives one sharp nod.

Eddie sucks a hiss of breath in through his teeth. “Shit,” he says again. “That was Wayne’s favorite.”

“I know,” Steve says tersely. “I’m sorry.”

His tone is definitely weird. “I mean, I’m sure it was an accident, Steve–” Eddie starts.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says again, almost snapping this time. “I’ll clean it up.”

“O-kay,” Eddie says slowly, watching as Steve jerks into motion and moves over to the corner where they stash the broom and dust pan.

“I’ll apologize to Wayne when he gets home,” Steve says as he starts sweeping up, even though Eddie hasn’t said a word.

“He gets home at, like, six in the morning.”

“I’ll make sure I’m up,” Steve says shortly.

“Steve, you can just tell him what happened later, he’s not going to stand around demanding an explanation. I mean, seriously, you think Wayne is gonna be pissed if you’re not there, immediately scraping at his feet when he comes through the door?” Eddie scoffs, but Steve remains silent. Eddie watches as he finishes sweeping in short, sharp motions, brows pulling together as Steve apparently fails to pick up on the joke. “…he won’t be, y’know.”

Steve shrugs. His expression has gone eerily blank, and he takes the dustpan over to the garbage can to dump it.

“Hey, don’t–” Eddie reaches out, and Steve jerks to a stop just in time. “You don’t have to toss it, man, we might be able to glue it back together.”

Steve sends Eddie a sharp look. “I’m not gonna be able to hide that it was broken, Eddie,” he says slowly, as though this should be painfully obvious.

“I’m not suggesting we hide it, I’m just saying we might still be able to use it,” Eddie answers in the same slow manner. “It’s not junk until you’re sure you can’t fix it.”

“Right,” Steve snaps, dropping the dustpan on the counter so sharply that the shards of porcelain clink against each other. “Can’t even clean up right.”

Eddie frowns, stirrings of defensiveness rising up in his gut at Steve’s continued sour mood. “I didn’t say that. I just said we might be able to fix it.”

“Fine. We’ll try to fix it,” Steve bites out, turning away from Eddie so he can put the broom back in the corner.

Eddie shakes his head, unwilling to engage with whatever snit Steve’s got himself worked into. “What happened, anyway?” he asks instead.

Apparently, this is the wrong tactic.

“What happened is, I’m too stupid to even do the dishes right,” Steve declares as he whirls back around. “Is that what you want to hear?”

“What?” Eddie is baffled, suddenly caught in the middle of an argument he hadn’t even realized was happening. “No! Why would I want to hear that?”

Steve throws his arms up, a demonstration of giving in. “Well I already said I’m sorry, and I am, and I don’t know what else you want from me!”

The heat of Eddie’s own temper is beginning to flare, but he does his best to shake it away because he still doesn’t know what the hell is going on and he doesn’t think getting angry will help. “I don’t want anything else from you! Why are you acting like I’m yelling at you? I’m not, I’m not even upset about the stupid mug, so what the hell is your deal?”

He takes a couple of steps into the kitchen, reaching out for Steve, hoping just to touch some part of him. Physical contact has always been grounding, has always been a comfort for them both; it almost seems like they can communicate better if they can just be in contact somehow. Instead of reaching back, though, Steve tenses up; it’s not exactly a flinch, but it’s as if he’s bracing himself, as if he’s waiting for Eddie to–

Eddie takes in the painfully blank expression on Steve’s pale face, the way his chest is rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths that he can’t quite seem to control, the way he’s angled himself just slightly away from Eddie, and suddenly Eddie feels cold.

It’s as if he’s waiting for Eddie to hit him.

Eddie wonders how the hell he hadn’t realized he was walking through a minefield until he was already standing in the middle of it.

(It still takes him by surprise, sometimes, that Steve’s anxiety, his panic, tends to look more like anger. That he tends to lash out like a wounded animal when he feels backed into a corner, hurt too many times in moments of vulnerability to do otherwise.)

(It takes him by surprise, but he’s learning.)

“Steve,” Eddie says softly, dropping his hand slowly back to his side, “I’m not angry.”

Steve stares at him, almost confused, like Eddie’s not doing it right, like this isn’t what’s supposed to come next. Eddie sort of wants to break something (he thinks, briefly, that he’d like to start with the fingers on Mr. Harrington’s right hand, and then move on to his left).

“It’s just a mug, Steve, it’s okay. No one’s upset about it,” Eddie says. “I’m preemptively speaking for Wayne, because I know he’s not gonna be mad at you. Seriously, getting upset over a broken cup? Does that sound like something Wayne would do?”

Slowly, once he seems to realize that Eddie is waiting for an answer, Steve shakes his head.

“Does that sound like something I would do?” Eddie asks.

Steve shakes his head again, though he’s still watching Eddie with something approaching trepidation.

“I promise it’s fine. I’m not angry,” Eddie repeats, and chances a couple of steps closer to Steve.

Steve doesn’t react this time, no tensing, no flinching, no verbally lashing out, and so Eddie lifts a hand again, reaching slowly for Steve’s. Steve lets him.

When he gets his fingers wrapped around Steve’s own, Eddie can feel how cold they’ve gone, can feel the fine tremble of adrenaline working through them, and can’t quite choke down the noise of sympathy in his throat. He tugs on Steve’s hand.

“C’mere,” Eddie says, invites him by lifting his other arm, but leaves it up to Steve.

It only takes a moment for Steve to step in close, and when Eddie lets go of his hand to wrap his arms around Steve’s shoulders, Steve reciprocates by cinching his own arms tight around Eddie’s waist. He takes one sharp breath, and then another, and Eddie can hear the way they shake going in and out.

“There you go,” Eddie says quietly, rubbing Steve’s back.

“I just dropped it,” Steve says, his voice a little hoarse. “It was an accident.”

“I know it was,” Eddie assures him. “It’s okay.”

“It was an accident,” Steve says again, and Eddie wonders how often someone has believed him – how often he’d ever even been given a chance to explain.

“It was an accident,” Eddie agrees. “You’re okay, Steve.”

Steve lets out a little noise, like maybe he’s trying to laugh, but then he pulls in another shuddery breath and rests his chin on Eddie’s shoulder. “Okay.”

In a little bit, Eddie might lead Steve to sit down on the couch, or maybe just take them both up to bed, because fuck doing the dishes after this anyway; he’ll make sure to leave a note for Wayne about the mug (ask him not to bring it up until Steve does, to not even jokingly make a thing about it), but for now, he concentrates on holding Steve close.

He’ll stand with him as long as it takes for the shaking to stop, for his breathing to even out, for him to relax even just a little against Eddie, and he'll promise, as many times as Steve needs to hear it, that it’s okay. Things will be okay.

[Prompt: Embracing your partner]

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #eddiesteve #solar wrote #cw child abuse #referenced but does not take place in the fic #cw panic attack #even if it doesn't look like one at first #soft ending though as always I promise

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cher-rei · 8 months ago

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Hey babe

Your such a good writer please more lamine yamal fics im acc begging there literally none🙏🙏🙏🙏😪

the sitter— lamine yamal [ l.y ]

met you at the right time. this is what it feels like– feels like [gracie abrams]

pairing: lamine yamal x fem!reader

summary: a rushed call from lamine's mother to babysit kenye turns into more than just a regular afternoon

genre(s): toothrotting fluff (have your dentist on standby)

[w.c: 2.8k] masterlist

notes: I wrote this instead of watching the real sociedad match to cope with the fact that we're losing. I got a bit carried away with this one but I hope you like it <33

as you stepped into the familiar house, not even having to ring the doorbell you were greeted with the smell of fresh baked cookies and comfort. you shut the door behind you and easily walked through the familiar hallway.

when she saw you, lamine's mother's shoulders relaxed a heavy amount along with the breath of relief she let out. “my saviour,” she said with a smile and pulled you into a tight hug, her gratitude evident. “I'm so sorry for calling on short notice but I have an emergency— ow!”

she bit her tongue in frustration and looked down to see the toy car that she stepped on, her head spinning at her son's carelessness. “never have kids, you’ll regret it eventually,” she said half-joking and hurriedly led you to the living room where kenye was sitting on the floor, a toy car in his hand while he watched tv.

she didn't even have to call out to him, the second he saw you he was up and in your arms with a toothy grin. “hey, buddy. didn't expect to see me today did you?”

the older woman watched with a smile as you interacted with her son, the moment being cut off by her ringtone. she didn't even bother to look at it and instead grabbed her purse and made a beeline for the front door, yelling out instructions and goodbye's as if you hadn't been doing this for a year already.

“and thank you, sweetheart! I owe you! kenye, behave!”

the door slammed shut, leaving you to the 5 year old's energetic grasp. you quickly settled into your usual routine, skipping the snack part because he had his breakfast already since it was only after 10 am.

you took your usual seat on the carpet with him because he was usually full of energy this early and jittery. so to get it out of his system, you played games with him— built some lego, played with his toys and so on.

an hour had passed and you found yourself trying to make his yogurt seem edible. it was never an issue to get him to eat, all it took was one “hereeee comes the airplane” and he was more than compliant.

“there you go,” you said with a smile and lifted the final spoonful of yogurt to his lips, the boy clapping alone happily when it was finished. “you took that like a champ.”

that didn't last long however and he was starting to grow antsy again, his suffocated whines piercing your ears. it was obvious that he was sick of the house and needed to get out, so without another thought you cleaned him up and took him out to the backyard.

it was any kid's dream back there. a playhouse, jungle gym with a slide, a ball pit and his personal favourite— the mini football net that was more of a self indulgent addition from his older brother.

you'd known lamine for over 3 years now seeing that you attend the same high school but it was a cute coincidence that his mother picked you for the babysitting job. the job wasn't even needed, you were just bored and needed something to do on weekends, there wasn't even a proper answer for how she found you.

as you and kenye played in the sun-drenched backyard, laughter and joy radiated from your every move. the mini football net, a testament to lamine’s passion for the sport, stood like a sentinel awaiting kenye's energetic kicks. your eyes sparkled with delight as you cheered him on.

the air vibrated with the sweet scent of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass, infusing your playtime with an idyllic charm. kenye's giggles echoed throughout the yard, mingling with the chirping of the birds.

meanwhile inside the house, lamine stirred from his sleep, rubbing the remnants of sleep as he descended the stairs to look for his mother. he called for her a good few times but she didn't reply, so naturally he searched the kitchen and her bedroom only to realise that the house was awfully quiet.

she would of said something if she had something planned today, and the tv was still on so someone was definitely home. then he entered the living room, his feet padding on the tiled floor as his eyes adjusted to the light from outside.

with a yawn, he neared the sliding door to check the backyard, but just as he was about to open it his hand froze on the handle. his mind blanked, his immediate reaction to seeing you play with kenye being to hide behind the curtain.

his thoughts were reeling, not expecting you to come over today. in panic, he took one last peep outside which only made his pounding heart thump even louder at the sight of you passing the ball to his brother so effortlessly.

run. that's what he did when he got the clearance, not wasting a second to rush back upstairs and grab his phone and hit the facetime button in the group chat. after 3 rings, hector and pau were on the line with him— their confused faces synced as they watched the boy lock himself in his bathroom and start pacing.

“what happened to ‘hello'?” hector said, judgement evident in his tone but lamine didn't have time to fight his snarky comments.

he propped his phone up against the mirror and rushed to get his toothbrush, his palms sweating against the toothpaste tube.

“bro, are you going to tell us what's going on or is this some type of ‘get ready with me’ gimmick?” pau spoke up finally and put another spoonful of cereal his mouth, quickly getting distracted by the cover on the box and commenting on it.

“she's here. she's not supposed to be here today so I don't know why!” lamine muffled out through his mouth full of toothpaste but his friends got the gist of it. perks of knowing each other for nearly their entire lives.

hector couldn't suppress his laughter, his smile on the screen teasing lamine. “this is even funnier because it's actually never that deep.”

pau joined in on the laughter. “imagine asking why your brother's babysitter is over to babysit,” he snorted. “it's been a year, you're insane.”

lamine finished rinsing his mouth, double checking to see if there was anything in his teeth before splashing cold water on his face. “does it look like i just woke up?” he asked and touched up his hair. “is it giving ‘I just woke up and look this good’ or ‘I freaked out and had a panic attack in my bathroom’?”

his friends went silent, their jaws on the floor at the amount of overthinking that he was doing. he's liked you since he could remember. at first it was simple attraction, and then came the longing to know you more personally, and when he did that's when everything went to shit.

you were beautiful, that's for sure but you had this natural charm that he couldn't get enough of. you made an effort to talk to him, to help him with anything that he needed and your selflessness was barely the tip of the iceberg. family was the most important thing to him, and the fact that his family loved you and treated you as their own had him on his knees.

“it's giving, ‘I can't talk to girls I'm actually interested in'” hector deadpanned and pau was quick to follow.

“I got a better one,” he said in between his laughter. “It's giving, ‘professional winger by night, but professional wreck by day.”

the bathroom echoed with pau and hector’s non-stop laughter, both boys having rolled onto their sides by now while lamine stood with his head in his hands to try and calm himself down.

worst wingmen of the year, he liked to call them. the only advice he got was to breathe and not trip over his own feet. it was pathetic of him to let his attraction towards a girl make him this… messed up? but what was a teenage boy to do?

he put on his game face and made his way downstairs again, a smile tugging at his lips when he saw that you were watching kenye as he played in the ballpit.

when you turned around you saw him there, your heart skipping a beat as he opened the door with a warming smile. it was your turn to take a deep breath. “hey, I didn't know that you were home today,” you greeted cheerfully, you confidence oozing.

“yeah, we got the day off so I took the liberty to sleep in,” he answered a took a seat beside you on the grass to greet his brother who immediately threw one of the plastic balls at him.

laughter tickled at your throat as you watched lamine playfully throw them back at him but kenye took it personally and began hurling them at him. “we're going to have to put a warning sign on him or something,” you joked in between laughter and lamine scoffed.

“the real threat is his ability to kick a ball,” the footballer said with this lips pursed.

you playfully rolled your eyes at his comment. “oh, please, you're just mad because he already has better dribbling skills than you.”

lamine's face was contorted with mock offence, and he leant back on his hands to look at you. “are you talking about the same guy who won the kopa trophy less than 2 weeks ago.”

you couldn't shake off how laid back he looked in that moment. the way he was looking at you with such ease and playfulness made your head spin. “yes, yes I am.” you answered confidently to which he put a hand over his heart.

“you wound me,” he joked. “I'm going to start making you nurse me back to health.”

funny. he was joking. right?

kenye, thrilled by the attention hurled another ball at lamine to which his older brother caught and tossed it back at him with a gloat. “nice try, but we already have the backyard champion sitting next to me right now.”

you smile faltered for a moment. “that's only because you let me win.”

lameye's eyes twinkled as he took notice of your slightly flushed cheeks and he thought that maybe he was doing something right. “you literally crushed me.”

you shook your head at his retort, ready to counter his argument as you put your hands in the air, and swiftly as if it were second nature lamine gently took them into his own to stop you from talking further. “consider my ego bruised, you're just too good,” he joked with a shrug, his hands still holding yours.

it was for a moment that you stopped breathing, unable to function properly until you realised that kenye fell asleep in the ball pit. his light snores took the attention off from your banter and onto his peaceful figure that lamine effortlessly picked up and carried to his room.

when he came downstairs again, the house had gone quiet while you cleaned up kenye’s mess that he eventually helped with. “oh wow, okay mr house husband,” you teased and tossed one of the toys at him, his smile not wavering as he continued to help you in comfortable silence.

after lunch the two of you found yourselves in the backyard again, chatting as per normal while lamine kicked the ball at his feet. he ended up stopping mid sentence to propose an idea that you weren't too eager about. a rematch at what cost? your embarrassment?

unfortunately for you, he was persuasive as hell.

“what do I get if I win?” he shrugged at your question with a knowing smile.

“anything you want, amor.”

you nearly choked on air at the term of endearment that came from literally nowhere. he didn't seem fazed by saying it though so you were almost certain that you heard him wrong and pushed it to the back of your mind and focused on the little tournament in front of you.

the sun was high, the barcelona heat was warm on your skin as you watched lamine ready the ball. the game wasn't supposed to carry on for as long as it did, but both yours and his passionate calls for cheating and distractions played a huge role in the 40 minute rematch.

“okay, this is the last round I swear,” you said with a tired huff which he was more than happy with. the ball was at your feet for a split second before you felt lamine's hands on your waist, holding you close to his chest as he sneakily took the ball and shot it into the back of the net with ease.

you jaw dropped at the utter foulness of the round. “you cheater!” you said in shock and turned to look at him, but he was too busy relishing in his glory to care. he let go of you with a proud laugh and picked the ball up again, giving it one last kick.

“I didn't cheat,” he said through a cheeky smile and took a few steps towards you. “it's a contact sport, so it's fair.”

you rolled your eyes jokingly at his counter, still in disbelief that he'd go that far. but you weren't a spoilt sport so you congratulated him on his win, fair or not and he humbly thanked you.

you turned back with a smile and began heading inside but his hands were on your waist again, the familiar tingle setting your body on fire as he turned you to look at him, the smile on his face making your heart race.

“I'll be taking my prize, thank you,” he said with a boyish grin and let his lips gently brush your cheek, a gentle, fleeting kiss that had your knees weak for a split second.

he craned his neck to look down at you, a blushing mess and he couldn't help but coo even thought he was internally jumping off buildings. “aw, don't get shy on me now.”

you quirked your brow at what you took as a challenge, mild irritation clear in your eyes that were fluttered shut seconds later when your lips met his for what was supposed to be a quick peck.

keywords: supposed to be.

the feeling of your lips on his sent a surge of electricity through his body, and he couldn't waste the opportunity. he dropped the football that was underneath his arm and pulled you in, one hand resting on your cheek and the other on your waist as he relished the taste.

the long-awaited kiss finally came and it was everything that he hoped for and more. the way you melted into him, sent a warmth through his chest that had his head spinning and hoping that you'd never let go.

when you eventually pulled away to catch your breath, your lips tugged up into an amused smile at his lovestruck look and flushed cheeks. “isn't that a better prize?” you joked, your hands still loosely wrapped around his neck.

“I want a rematch, now,” he said immediately after, and pulled you back into the yard, his eagerness getting the best of him because he was not going down like this— “if I win then you have to marry me.”

“what?!”

#cherrei writes #footballer imagine #footballer x reader #football imagine #fanfic #lamine yamal fanfic #lamine yamal x reader #lamine yamal #lamine x reader #fc barcelona x reader #barcelona fc #fc barcelona imagine #barcelona x reader

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filmtv2022 · 9 days ago

Text

What's Got You Smiling? (18+ MDNI)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Story: Coming home from college for a long weekend, you plan to spend every waking moment with Eddie, enjoying each other's company and trying not to fall apart. Time away has done nothing but make the heart grow fonder when it comes to Eddie. But no matter how hard you try, the reality of college life is far more than you expected. On the verge of losing your dreams, you come back to the one thing that always has you smiling, Eddie.

Warnings: Sexual content/SMUT (oral - both parties receiving, unprotected p in v), language & financial struggles.

A/N: Whew! Well, this one has been brewing for a while, and I hope you enjoy it! As always, I apologize for any mistakes! One more unpublished work has made it out of the drafts.

Eddie scurried around the living room, tidying up what remained of the general mess that decorated the already cluttered space. Broken and lumpy pillows were tossed onto the tattered couch as the curly-haired boy tossed his messy mane out of his eyes. Standing to his full height, Eddie glanced around the room, scanning for any remaining mess. From his spot, his focus landed on the empty pizza box and beer cans that sat scattered on the kitchen counter.

“Shit.” He muttered under his breath. Across the room, Wayne emerged from the hall already dressed in his fishing gear as he ambled toward the last dregs of coffee in the pot. The older Munson deftly avoided the whirlwind that was his nephew as he hurried through the kitchen, tossing trash into the open-mouthed bin.

The chipped laminate of the countertop bit into his back, releasing a groan that only came with age. Wayne sipped the black sludge that filled his mug, watching the frenetic energy of Eddie's cleaning spree.

“When's she gonna be here?” Wayne asked, nose still buried in his morning cup of joe.

“Noon.” Eddie paused for the first time in several minutes, a dumb smile plastered on his face, “She was gonna try to get on the road early.”

“You tell ‘er I said ‘hi’ ”. The gray-haired man discarded the empty cup in the sink, rinsing it before fishing the wallet from his pocket. “Here, some cash for food, my treat.”

“Thanks, Wayne. An’ will do.” Eddie snatched the bills from his uncle, stuffing them in his back pocket as he continued to clean.

“Slow down, kid. You're gonna break something by hurrying around like that.” A chuckle accompanied Wayne's half-hearted joke.

“Jus’ want it to be good, ya know?” The quip was full of worry and nervous anticipation. This level of care was reserved only for you.

Spurred into action, Wayne slowly made his way to Eddie, ignoring the ache in his knees and back. With perfect timing, he was able to catch his nephew by the shoulder, holding him in place for just a moment. Ever the father figure, Wayne gave Eddie a once-over, admiring the frazzled young man before him. Wild curls framed his face, lying over his shoulder. The white t-shirt he'd chosen for the day was nicer and newer than what the young man usually gravitated toward. Even the frayed black denim that clung to his hips was less battered than normal.

“It's gonna be great, son. Besides, since when has a little clutter ever mattered to her before? Never.” Wayne nodded, encouraging Eddie to relax, “She's put up with your messy ass for years, that's not gonna change. Okay?”

“Okay.” Eddie grinned a bit wider. The younger Munson's shoulders dropped, the weight of his anxiety dissipating with the steadiness of his uncle's words. Wayne continued to babble about emergency contacts as if the pair of you weren't full-blown adults who were both fully capable of taking care of yourselves.

Shortly after, Wayne took off for his fishing trip, leaving Eddie alone in the trailer. Try as he might to occupy his mind, nothing worked. Saturday morning cartoons played silently in the background, useless as a distraction. The steady bounce of his knee from his seat on the couch had the rickety floor practically screaming. His ears were keyed to full attention, listening for the sound of a grumbling engine peeling down the lane toward the trailer. It was a sound he knew we would never forget.

Sooner than expected, the telltale sign of your approach poured through the thin siding. Eddie sprung to his feet and took off toward the door. Outside on the porch, he shielded his eyes from the sun, squinting in your direction. The pounding of his heart was loud in his ears, nearly blocking out the sharp grind of your brakes as you came to a stop. The beautiful sound of your voice snapped him out of his stupor. You were really here, and in a few quick strides, he was to you, arms open wide to pull you in.

“Eddie!” You laughed into his chest on an exhale, wrapping your arms around his lithe frame. He matched your enthusiasm, holding you tight in a monster of a hug. The sound of your name on his lips warmed you to the core.

Not ready to let go, you buried yourself in his chest, inhaling the sharp scent of tobacco and body spray that clung to him. Eddie whispered into your hair, hoping to make the moment last.

“I missed you so fuckin’ much.” You could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin as he spoke.

“Miss you too, Eds.” Your hands bunched the back of his shirt, twisting the fabric between your fingers. The two of you stayed like this, letting time pass unchecked, and the morning sun beat down on you. Guard down and safe, you were caught off kilter by the wave of emotions that rolled over you. The bridge of your nose burned, crinkling your face in an attempt to keep the feeling down. The protective embrace made that task difficult. A steady palm on the low of your back finally broke the dam.

Eddie could feel the way you held him tighter, shoulders stiff and face hidden from view. With a shaky breath, he held the back of your head, wishing for you to look at him.

“Hey, what's wrong?” Genuine concern built at the sight of your watery eyes.

“Nothing, I jus’ - I missed you. ” You hiccuped, unable to find the right words to explain how you were feeling. On the balls of your feet, you captured his lips, letting the depth of your love bleed into the embrace.

“Me too, Sweetheart.” He cooed, dipping his head to speak in soothing tones along the shell of your ear. Eddie rocked side to side, willing you to relax in his arms. The less-than-delicate art of distraction managed to work. You went boneless in his arms and made no move to rush inside. His chin rested on the crown of your head, giving him space to breathe through it all. The last time you'd spoken on the phone, he heard the exhaustion in your voice. Work and school were beating the shit out of you, but everything was normal, or at least that was how it seemed. Fearing he'd missed something, Eddie made it his mission to bring you the rest and rejuvenation he knew you needed so desperately.

“Sorry, Eds… I didn't mean to get all… well, whatever that was.” Weak and weary, you knew there was no judgment, and yet you couldn't help the habit of apologizing.

“You've got nothin’ to say sorry for, Sweets.” Feeling you lift from his chest, he matched you. Red rimmed eyes and puffiness painted a clear picture of the stress you'd been under.

“Why don't we go inside, yeah? We can talk if ya want or we can… take a nap?” His tone rose at the end, suggesting that he wanted the second option without saying it outright. You took the bait without question.

You couldn't help but chuckle, “A nap sounds so fuckin’ good.”

“Nap it is then.” Eddie very reluctantly let you step from his arms. He trailed behind by half a step, letting you lead the way. Sheepishly, he watched you take in the familiar sight of his humble home.

“Jesus Christ, Eddie… It's so clean.” You gaped at the tidy rooms.

“You say that with such disbelief.” Still behind you, he beamed with pride at your compliment.

“Can you blame me?” You glanced back at him, teasing him with a soft smile.

“Nah, you're right, you always are.” Eddie came to your side, his hand gently resting on the low of your back.

“Not always.” You couldn't meet his eyes, and for the second time that day, he found himself uncertain of how to proceed.

“Come on, you said nap, so… let's nap.” He waggled his eyebrows, nudging your shoulder with his. Down the hall in a few short strides, you followed in his wake.

The inside of his bedroom was just as you remembered it. Cassettes were stacked on every available surface. Random notebooks filled with unfinished song lyrics were tossed about with far too many broken guitar picks to count. And of course, his prized possession, the beautiful blood red guitar, hung from the wall. You perched yourself on the corner of his bed, taking it all in as Eddied rummaged about his dresser. Whatever he was looking for took longer than expected to find, giving you plenty of time to admire the sight before you.

From the relative privacy of your spot, you noticed the way his t-shirt sat perfectly over the muscles of his back. Each movement displayed his quiet strength, leaving just enough to the imagination to drive a person wild. While the black jeans hung low, letting a sliver of his plaid boxer peak over the top, and only serving to perfectly highlight the shape of his thighs. But it was the stunning grin that greeted you as he turned back in your direction that set your soul alight.

“Here.” he came to your side rather than tossing the shirt in his hand. “figured you'd want something comfy.”

The threadbare cotton of his old Metallica shirt was buttery to the touch. Eddie sat beside you in silence. His focus flitted between your face and your hands, where you worked the fabric between your fingers.

“You wanna talk about it… or?” He opened the floor for a conversation you knew was needed, but so earnestly wanted to avoid.

Avoiding the pit in your stomach, you switch focus. “I can't believe you kept this.” You could feel him watching you, observing, constant and kind. The silence that bloomed between you was far heavier than he'd anticipated for what was meant to be a weekend full of fun, lighthearted, and joyous hours spent with the person he cared about most in the world.

You'd promised you'd keep it together, that you'd shove down the worst of yourself for a few short days, but that was becoming an impossible task. Perhaps that was something that needed to be added to your growing list of failures, moral and otherwise.

“You know it's yours if you want it, right?” Soft and tender, Eddie scooped your hand in his. Palm to palm, he rubbed tight circles in the divot beside your thumb. A shaky breath was followed by a jagged huff of laughter as you snapped yourself back to the present.

“I know… but then what reason would I have to come back to this rust bucket of a trailer?” Real laughter blossomed from the pair of you, shoulders bumping with the shake of your bodies. The mood was lighter than it had been before. The sound of his joy was the antidote to everything that ails you.

“Whatever you say. I guess if you won't be gracing us with your presence here… that means I'll have to come annoy you there.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Your gut twisted, anxiety hot and heavy. Twisting to the side, you tucked a leg up on the bed, “Though I do have to warn you… my prude of a roommate might just burst into flames with your metalhead ass traipsing around… now that I think about it, maybe we should plan a trip, like right now.”

Sarcastic as ever, and hiding the truth, you grabbed for his hand, making a show of pretending to drag him out of the room. Eddie went with you, taking a few long strides toward the door before stopping dead in his tracks. Hand still in yours, he tugged gently, turning you to face him. The humor in his eyes melted to something far more intimate. Crinkled lines formed at the corners of his doe eyes.

“You say the word and I'm there.” Eddie's broad palms toyed with the bottom of your hoodie. He made no drastic moves, staying wordless as he let his touch drift higher, skimming over your ribs. The stiff wire of your bra met his fingertips, the first true barrier he'd encountered. A faint nod of acquiescence pushed him to keep going. In an awkward dance, he managed to rid you of your hoodie, discarding it at your feet.

Woozy and breathless, you held the sides of his neck, your fingers buried at his nape. Eyes fluttering shut, you focused only on the lazy patterns Eddie dragged over your skin. His fingertips brushed over sensitive spots, sending shivers down your spine and catching the air in your lungs. With fluid practice, he unhooked your bra, pushing the straps from your shoulders with ease.

“This alright?” Eddie hesitated, drawing close enough for his lips to brush yours.

“Very.” The huff of his laughter fluffed your hair at the temple.

“Good.” He captured your mouth, the embrace languid and full. The taste of mint on his tongue mixed with a hint of the cigarettes he was so unwilling to give up. Feather-light and teasing, he ghosted over your chest, rolling your nipple between his fingers. A tiny gasp of surprise and pleasure sprang free from you, and he swallowed it with pride.

Eddie let his free hand wander, drifting to the rolled waist of your sweatpants. The worn cotton was thin under his touch as he played with the edges. Your hips bucked, shocked at the sudden intrusion but desperate for more. A shudder ripped down his nerves at the feeling of you, ready and waiting for him. Deft fingers slipped further down over your underwear, letting the pressure build as he reached where he knew you wanted him the most.

“Fuck, Eddie.” You tugged at his curls, your fist sturdy and insistent. Eyes closed, you fought against the distractions all around, wanting only him. You pawed at him, grinding against the heel of his palm that pressed to sweetly against your clit.

“Use your words, Sweetheart.” He pulled back, holding you by the chin. His gaze was syrupy and lust-filled. The chocolate of his eyes was lost in the inky black of pupils. “Tell me what you want.”

You choked on your thoughts, the words jumbled in a messy heap at the back of your throat. A needy moan was all you could manage.

“I need you to say it,” Eddie demanded, forceful and sultry. His lips ghosted over yours, close enough to touch, but holding you at bay. The delicious attention he’d been giving dropped away fast. His grip at the base of your neck tightened, keeping you in place, just far enough away for him to look you in the eyes. His voluminous curls fell around his face, sticking to the light sheen of sweat at his temples. There he waited, willing and eager for your answer, but adamant in his demand.

“I wanna feel you, Eds. Let me-” He cut you off, slamming your mouths together. Tongues clashed in a desperate embrace. You both needed more from the other. Moving with the clumsy sway of one who’d grown too quickly for his body to catch up, Eddie turned you around, walking back toward the bed until your knees bumped the mattress.

You buckled, falling more harshly than he’d wanted, but it didn’t matter. Eddie went with you, letting his weight rest between your thighs. Terrified of losing the momentum, he wrapped a broad hand around the outside of your leg, hauling it higher on his hip. A force of habit and instinct had him rolling in your core, painfully hard and thankful beyond measure for the tiny bit of relief it gave him.

You clawed at him, raking up under his t-shirt and marking the swath of pale skin with angry pink lines. “Too many-”.

He knew exactly what you meant and made quick work of his shirt, throwing it far away into the vast abyss of his room. Free to explore his exposed skin, you nipped at his shoulder, soothing the bites with your tongue as he did the same along your neck. The marks were sure to be bold and unmistakable tomorrow, but neither of you gave a flying fuck about that.

Eddie worked his way lower, burying his face in your chest. The faint murmur of words against your skin sent you reeling. You had no idea what he’d said, but it didn’t seem to matter. He continued, dipping lower, kissing every inch of you he could find. The top of your sweats came into view, blocking his dissent. Tired of waiting, he gripped the fabric tightly, tugging it roughly down your body. They, too, were discarded in the depths of his room, where they were to be forgotten until social graces demanded that the pair of you clothe yourselves once more.

Knelt beside the bed, Eddie traced messy patterns from ankle to knee, following with his lips in the wake. Shivers raced down your spine, anticipation growing with every centimeter he gained. You reached for him, not quite able to find purchase in his curls. Mouthing at your inner thigh, he whispered his next demand.

“I wanna see your eyes.” He pulled back a bit, waiting for you to move, and it didn’t take long. Sitting up on your elbows, you locked eyes with him. A sly smirk was all you got before he returned to the task at hand. Hot, open-mouthed kisses paved the way to where you wanted him most. The threadbare cotton of your panties was damp with slick, and it sent him reeling.

The sturdy bridge of his nose nudged at your core, earning him a delicate whimper. His huff of laughter was warm, but it paled in comparison to the heat that rolled off you. Careful and slow, he slipped his fingers beneath the fabric, pulling it to the side, groaning at the sight. Eddie’s gaze flicked to you, ensuring that you were keeping your end of the bargain. A haze had settled over you, weak and boneless already, and he couldn’t wait to take you apart.

Eyes glued on you, he dipped his head, running the flat of his tongue over you. A rumbling groan broke, unburdened and beautiful, blending with a wicked gasp that erupted from you. Your fists clenched the blanket as he adjusted his position so that your legs fell over his shoulders. “Doin’ so good for me, Baby Girl.”

“Fuck, Eddie.” You couldn’t help it. Your back arched as he dove back in for more. The elastic of your panties bit into your skin, the harder he pulled them out of the way. Eddie worked his way higher, finding your clit. He played you perfectly, licking and sucking just where you needed. He knew you were getting close. The plush of your thighs bracketed his ears despite his attempts to hold you still, but he didn’t care.

Calloused fingertips entered the dance, curling wetly against that spot that drove you wild. Sucking air through unsteady lungs, you moaned gritting your teeth as your release broke white-hot over you. Nerves fired in waves as you clenched around him. Eddie relented only when he felt you go lax in his arms, your body twitching with his continued attention.

Eddie crawled back up your body, capturing your lips. The heady taste of you was heavy on his tongue. He hummed into the kiss, letting the pair of you breathe for a moment, but knowing full well, neither of your were done.

“You still have too many clothes on, Eds.” You chuckled lightly, reaching between you to brush over his hard-on. Blindly, you felt for his belt, deftly sliding the ends apart. Eddie let you work, focusing instead on teasing the spot along your neck that he knew was enough to get you going again. The pop of his button was followed by the zip of his fly, allowing the heavy weight of his jeans to slide down his hips.

Slow and steady, you slipped your hand inside, palming over his dick. Eddie whimpered at the touch. He strained at the blue plaid boxers, which were his favorite. On a sudden burst of confidence, you threw your weight up from the bed and turned, pinning Eddie beneath you. Your hips bracketed his as he stared up at you with wide-eyed surprise.

Your palms rested on his chest, tracing the lines of his tattoos. Black curls spread wide around his face, framing him in darkness. Eddie was, without a doubt, stunning. His strong hands found your hips, ready to follow you in whichever direction you decided to take. Your chest rose and fell in heavy breaths, keeping you still even with the reverberating energy that ran through your body. Leaning forward, you mouthed at his chest, pulling his nipple between your teeth and pulling lightly.

His hips jolted at the feeling, and you took advantage. Rolling your hips, you let your weight glide over his erection. Heavy pants filled the space around you, and it was glorious. Filled with a surety you only ever felt with him, you kept going. Face to face with Eddie, you kissed him languidly, making him chase you for more.

Moving along his jaw, you could hear every tiny sound he tried to valiantly hold in drift across the shell of your ear. Reaching his, you nipped at the lobe before leaning in further to whisper.

“I wanna taste you.” You felt him buck beneath you, “You want that too, Big Boy?”

“Yes… fuck yes.” Eddie was breathless, barely able to form a coherent thought. His eyes were screwed shut as he tried to hold himself together.

“That’s what I thought.” Hovering over his face, you smirked into the kiss. It was fast and hardly enough to satisfy.

Without warning, you stood from the bed. At this, Eddie’s eyes flew open, following you, but making no move to sit up. He watched with rapt attention as you worked your ruined panties off your body. The limp garment fell to your ankles, where you flicked it away with your toe. Eddie couldn’t help himself. His gaze raked from head to toe, committing this version of you to memory.

“You still with me?” You asked, getting close enough to put a hand on his knee.

“Yeah.” He nodded his head a bit to vigorously, and it was adorable.

“Good.” You rested part of your weight on the bed, working as best you could to rid him of his jeans and boxers. Free from their protection, and harder than he could imagine, Eddie groaned as his dick slapped against his stomach. In awe, you reached for him, your fist closing around him. A low grumble rolled from him at your attention, his hips jerking against his will as you kept going.

The pad of your thumb ran over his tip, collecting the bead of pre-cum that leaked from it. You stayed like this for a moment, gauging just how close he really was, and loving him for it. “You’re so beautiful, Eds.”

The rest of your weight came onto the mattress, letting you take what you so deeply wanted. Normally, you were one for teasing, for prolonging the main event, you both were, but this was not the time. Eddie was right there for the taking, and you were in no mood to deny yourself. Gently, you tested the water, taking his tip between your plush lips, and he was right there with you.

Eddie’s fingertips slipped into your hair, not forcing anything, but holding you close. The smooth bob of your head built in intensity with each passing second. The broken sounds of pleasure that poured from him kept you going. You could tell he wanted more, that he was holding back for your benefit, not wanting to overstep a boundary.

A lewd pop echoed as you pulled off of his, turning your head to look him in the eyes. You watched Eddie sit up on his elbows, a worried look washing over him, but you didn’t give it time to take hold.

“You wanna fuck my mouth, Eds?” You asked low, your hand resting high on his inner thigh as you spoke.

“Yes.” He’d gotten to the point where words were failing him. His eyes were blown, no amount of brown remained to be seen in this lighting.

“Then do it.” You dropped back off the bed and onto your knees, your palms resting on your thighs.

“Holy shit.” Eddie moved on instinct, his desire for you guiding his actions. Standing up, he looked down at you, his hand lovingly holding the side of your head. You turned, placing a kiss on his palm before turning back to look up at him.

“Open your mouth.” There was a sharp edge to his words, a side of him you so rarely got to see now with your busy schedules and time apart.

Eddie’s grip adjusted so that he held your hair in a makeshift ponytail. Your jaw dropped open, ready and waiting for him. His free hand wrapped around his dick, stroking it a few times before he let the tip rest on your tongue. Amused at the fucked-out look in your eyes, he wasted no time. Eddie pushed forward, and you went with him. Your lips closed around his cock, wrapping him in your warmth. His hips snapped slowly and at first, growing with confidence as he listened to the muffled moans that ripped from you.

Roughly, he hit the back of your throat, causing you to gag. Pulling away for just a moment, he gave you a fraction of a second to catch your breath. Lips parted for him, you breathed through the discomfort, lust having blown apart your senses. This time Eddie pushed further than he had before, the tip of your nose brushing against his groin, and it was glorious. Like this, he stilled, his free hand coming to rest on your throat, stunned at the feeling of himself beneath your skin.

“You’re doin’ so good, baby.” Eddie praised, sending shockwaves down your spine. Heat pooled between your legs, and you chased after your own release. Your hand dipped between your thighs, finding your clit with ease. A heady moan reverberated through him, and instantly, he knew what you were up to.

“Hands off, sweetheart.” You gave in immediately to his request, whimpering around him at the loss. “That’s it, good girl.”

Eddie picked up his pace, hips moving with precision and desire. You could feel him getting closer to the edge as his rhythm began to falter, and you were ready. Looking up at him with hooded eyes, you let your hands wander. One gripped the back of his thigh, making sure he wouldn’t pull away before you both got what you wanted, while the other explored. It started fairly innocently, if anything, the pair of you were doing could be described as that, but it didn’t stay that way for long.

Fingertips bit into his bare ass, leaving red marks in their wake before sliding around between his legs. Gingerly, knowing he was overly sensitive, you cupped his balls, adding just the right amount of pressure. That was all it took. Above you, Eddie gasped, his hips thrusting hard into your mouth, where he let his release wash over him. Thick ropes of cum painted your tongue, but you didn’t swallow, not yet.

Before he was fully recovered, Eddie released your hair and spoke once more on a shaky breath, “Show me.”

He slid from you and watched with total reverence as your mouth opened wide, giving him the view he wanted. His come sat beautifully between your lips, earning you a deep hum of praise.

“Stunning,” He tucked an errant strand behind your ear, the gesture soft and loving, and in direct opposition to his next demand, “Swallow it.”

And you did without question. Satisfied, he hauled you to your feet, supporting your wobbly legs. Without a care in the world, he pulled you in for a kiss, his tongue deep as he tasted himself. The pair of you swallowed each other’s moans, letting the embrace linger as he dragged you back onto the bed. Your legs tangled, Eddie cupped your pussy, noting the way you jumped under his touch.

“There something you want, honey?” He teased, smiling from ear to ear at your neediness, having just absolutely wasted each other.

“I want- I said I wanted to feel you.” Your hand snaked between your body, finding him semi-hard and throbbing.

“That’s right, ya did.” Eddie rolled you onto your back, stealing your hand from him his cock as he pinned your wrists above your head with your own. With his free hand, he stroked himself, letting his shaky breaths invade your senses. There was nothing but the two of you, your body melding together in an embrace you’d flocked to time and again.

It didn't take long for him to be ready again. Blood rushed through Eddie’s body, flooding to the place he needed it the most.

“You ready?” He asked so sincerely that it nearly broke your heart because no matter how rough the pair of you got, it was always from a place of total love and devotion. He let go of your hands, freeing you to touch him as you pleased.

“Yes.” You wrapped an arm around his neck, burying your hand in his hair as you brought him down for a kiss. Eddie followed, pressing into you with tender care.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good.” Eddie shuddered at the sting of your nails down his back, but he didn’t mind. Lust radiated over his body, numbing the pain and leaving only pleasure. He took his time, letting you dictate the pace. Before long, the only thing he could feel was the velvet wrap of your body around him. There was you and only you. Not a single other thing mattered in the world apart from this, and for that, he was forever grateful.

Flush with your body, he waited, watching the furrow of your brow loosen as you adjusted to his size. When you were ready, Eddie held for just a second longer, meeting your eyes.

“I love you.” His confession was sincere, and while it wasn’t the first time those precious words had been spoken, they sent butterflies storming all the same.

“I love you, too, Eddie.” You leaned up just enough to capture his lips, sealing the moment for what it was, the truest expression of love.

He fell quiet, focusing on the way you fluttered around him, and trying not to fall over the edge to quickly. You were surrounded by Eddie, his body, his scent, the slick of his skin against yours, and it was heaven. You both knew this wasn’t going to last long; the previous adventures had seen to that.

Steady and sure, Eddie rolled his hips into yours. Each thrust rocked your bodies, overstimulated and sensitive. Sweet nothings tumbled from your lips, encouraging him to keep going. He could feel how close you were, the twitch in your hips growing stronger the longer he kept at it.

“Let go, baby, I got you.” That was all it took. Your body tensed, gasping sharply at the electricity that rattled your bones. Eddie gripped your hip firm enough to leave marks that were sure to bruise later, but you didn’t care. The arch of your back softened as the peak of your release waned, leaving you breathless and weak beneath him.

Eddie had yet to join you, but you knew he was close, and you wanted to feel him come apart. Soft hands held onto his body, finding the spots that drove him wild along his neck and chest. You laid a line of fire along his collarbone, biting hard and causing him to groan.

“Shit, I’m close…where do ya- where-” He fumbled his words, his concentration lacking for good reason.

“Inside.” This caused him to falter in earnest. His eyes locked on yours, shocked and excited in equal measure.

“You sure?” Eddie paused for a second, giving you time to answer.

“More than I’ve ever been.” You smiled a broad and all-encompassing grin.

There were no words to suffice at that moment, so Eddie let his body talk for him. His curls bounced around his face, shielding the pair of you in a protective bubble, and it was like this that he fell apart. You could feel him jerk, his hips flush with yours as he kept himself buried deep. The warmth of his spend was delicious.

Not ready to let you go, he turned on his back, taking you with him. Lying on top of his body, you peppered his chest with kisses. Eddie soothed your aching muscles, working in gentle circles across your lower back. The two of you relaxed into one another, breathing in time, slow and shallow.

You could feel him sink into the broken-down mattress beneath you, his shoulders falling slack as exhaustion tugged at his eyelids. Chin propped on his pec, you glanced up at him, his lashes hiding the depth of emotion in his eyes. A joy unlike any other warmed him from the depths of his soul, joining the smile that lifted his features.

“What’s got you smiling?” You half-joked, really wanting the answer, but knowing it might be elusive in a moment like this one.

“You… It’s always you.” Sitting up, Eddie brushed his lips against yours, rolling onto his side. In this new position, the two of you were finally parted. The loss of fullness had you whimpering, tender, and yet not wanting to let go.

“Sorry, sweets.” Careful to jostle you as little as possible, Eddie rolled out of bed. You could hear him rummaging around in the kitchen, the sound coming closer as he stopped by the bathroom. The door hinges creaked as he kicked it back open.

Eddie’s hair was thrown into a messy knot at the top of his head. Trapped in the crook of his arm were two cloudy plastic cups filled with water. The liquid sloshed dangerously close to the edge as he leaned down to set them on a semi-stable cardboard box next to the bed. With his hands free, he sat next to you on the bed, a damp rag ready to go.

“Come here.” You rolled on your back. A sudden tug at your knee brought you the rest of the way to his side. The movement was sudden, but not harsh, and entirely Eddie. You couldn't help the giggle that erupted at the thought.

“What?” He’d already brought the cloth to your skin, starting a your knee to let you adjust to the temperature.

“Nothin’ ” The warm water had cooled to an almost chilly state in the time it’d taken him to get back to you. The tiny flinch had him scrunching his nose, “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“It’s okay.” You let him work, his capable hands making quick work of the mess you’d made together. Done with the task, he tossed the rag away.

“Eddie!” You admonished, scoffing at his complete lack of care compared to the wild amount of cleaning he’d done in the living room and kitchen

“What?!” He laughed, already standing up to go and get it, “I got it, I got it.”

Rag in hand, he dropped it into the overflowing hamper in the corner of his room before making his way back to the bed. He took the spot next to you, reaching for the covers to lay them over both of you. You scooted closer, tucking yourself into his chest as he hauled you into his arms.

“How ‘bout that nap? Hmm?” Eddie offered, feeling you nod against him.

“Yeah… but… umm… can I- can I tell you something first?” You hesitated, not fearful of his reaction, but simply for the fact that saying it out loud felt like speaking it into reality, even though it already was.

“Of course.” Eddie felt you move, and he went with you. Sitting up, you tucked the blanket under your arms, your eyes staring daggers across the room. You let your weight fall into him, not wanting to look at him. He let you take your time; the silence that surrounded you was heavy.

“I’m leaving school.” The truth was out, fast and sharp, taking the weight of the world with it.

“What?” Eddie was in disbelief. “Wh-why… what happened?”

“They didn’t renew my scholarship.” An uncertain hand came to hold your cheek, turning your face to meet his. The tears that pooled began to fall, streaking down your face in heavy streams. "My grades were..."

“Hey, it’s okay… I mean it doesn't feel okay, but you’re okay.” Eddie rambled, trying his best to comfort you.

“What am I supposed to do? I- I don’t know- fuck!” You scrambled to find the right words, and none of it was right.

“You don’t have to have the answer to that right now, okay? You’re here, you’re safe… an’ we- we can figure it out together, alright?”

He held the sides of your face, begging you to listen, to breathe. The shallow nod of our head, let go of the vice on his lungs. With a heavy sigh, he pulled you into his chest. Tied together, the pair of you sank back on the bed, a tangle of limbs and tears. Holding you around the waist and by the nape of your neck, Eddie let you ride through the worst of the sobs.

As the shaking of your shoulders lessened, you felt yourself succumb to exhaustion. Sleep dragged you under, releasing you from the present for just a moment. Eddie fought against the call to slumber, staving it off until he was sure you were asleep. The steady rise and fall of your chest, and the warmth of your breath on his chest gave him permssion. Later, the pair of you would have time. Time to mourn what had become of your bright and beautiful plans. Time to make new ones, ones that led you forward together. And most of all, time to enjoy one another. The only thing whose certainty was never questioned, and that was certain to bring a smile, even during the most challenging of times.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #stranger things fic

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sebmindbreak · 1 month ago

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Hey!! I LOVE YOUR WRITING SOSO MUCH!! But, I do see how quickly you're taking these requests so please be sure to pace yourself. If you still are taking requests, I'd love a Work at a Pizza Place fic (pre Forsaken I suppose). Elliot x Reader who comes in to the restaurant while Elliot is closing the place down and they chat and Elliot's flirting rewards him with a kiss!! Fluffy fluff fluff hehehe

HEHE! YIPPPEE!

ALSO TYTYTY <33 >u<

I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS ONESHOT <3

TITLE : Sweet words

The warm, mouthwatering aroma of garlic, melted cheese, and fresh dough clings heavily to the air, thick with the comforting scent of a long day well spent.

Elliot wipes down the last table with practiced ease, humming a lazy, content tune under his breath. The neon glow of the pizzeria’s sign flickers gently against the windows, painting the floor in soft pinks and reds as he strolls toward the door.

The dinner rush has long come and gone, leaving only the quiet creaks of the old wooden floors and the lingering heat from the ovens.

And then he spots you.

You’re still here.

Standing near the counter, casual and composed, your fingers tapping lightly on the cool laminate. The overhead bulbs bathe you in a soft, golden light, casting your silhouette in a way that makes his heart thud a little harder. Elliot pauses mid-step, lips tugging into an easy, familiar grin.

"Still hangin’ around, huh? Not sick of the place yet?" he teases, his voice full of warmth and curiosity. He flips the door’s lock with a satisfying click, the final punctuation of a long shift.

His gaze doesn’t leave you as he walks back inside, eyebrows quirked in amusement. "Or maybe you’re just hooked on my cooking. I get it my pizza is life-changing."

He strides over with a bit more pep in his step now, playfully tossing the cleaning rag onto the counter like it offended him. The mischief in his eyes grows clearer the closer he gets mischief wrapped in genuine affection.

"Y’know," he murmurs, his voice dipping into a gentler register as he leans on the counter, arms folded, "I swear, every time you come in here, the whole place just lights up. Even my heart melts like the cheese on the pizza."

He chuckles at himself for his CHEESINESS (haha get it ? okay ill stop-), but doesn’t retreat. No, he inches just a little closer, head tilted, gaze steady and admiring.

"You’ve got this... presence. It’s distracting, really. I’m tryin’ to toss dough and sling sauce, but all I can think about is how unfair it is that someone can look that good ordering a pepperoni slice."

And then

A kiss.

Soft, fleeting, but real enough to send a shockwave through his system.

Elliot freezes, stunned, as if the entire world has been knocked sideways. His breath catches in his throat, eyes wide, mouth parted just slightly as he processes what just happened.

Then, slowly, a dazed, lovestruck grin curls across his lips. His cheeks burn a deep crimson brighter than the tomato sauce staining his apron. He lets out a short, breathy laugh, almost like a nervous giggle.

"Okay... wow," he murmurs, almost to himself. "You just yeah, I’m gonna be thinking about that for the rest of my life."

He looks at you like you’ve just rewritten the laws of gravity, like everything he thought he knew about the day just shifted into something sweeter, something softer. His eyes sparkle, still trailing your every movement, a bit breathless.

"Next time, pizza’s on the house. Heck, you could walk in here and ask for the stars, and I’d figure out a way to bake 'em into a calzone."

As he finally turns back toward the closing chores ,stacking trays, wiping counters,his grin never wavers. Not even once.

And yet you were still here , smiling so sweetly at him.

I HOPE YOU ENJOYED!! >u<

#requests #forsaken x you #forsaken x reader #forsaken roblox #forsaken #elliot forsaken #elliot x reader #elliot work at a pizza place #elliot x you

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hometoursandotherstuff · 4 months ago

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Groovy, shagadelic, 1975 mid century modern time capsule in Fort Wayne, IN has been taken off the market, but the listing remains in case someone shows interest. 4bds, 3ba, 2,476 sq ft, $288,500. This one is different.

As is typical of some MCMs, they're not very sturdily built. This is actually the front entrance. Note the shapes of the windows.

Fancy carved front door. Notice the purple trim on the stairs- it's a preview of things to come.

The door opens to a linoleum floor, but you can see the purple shag rug ahead.

It looks as if the carpeting throughout the house was recently replaced b/c it's very clean. The fireplace is a great feature and the glass walls make it seem like you're outside.

Note that the wood pattern on the beams matches the front door. A complicated looking spiral staircase goes thru every floor of the home. There is a row of built-in benches along the wall with new orange velvet seats, plus a built-in sideboard in the corner.

The wall is also covered in purple carpet.

In the dining room/kitchen area there's a wall of windows and a built-in wall unit.

The kitchen is quite large, has original cabinets with textured laminate counters and bright blue carpet. The black appliances are new except for the original bronze tone stove that still remains.

The laundry room off the kitchen has a nice purple door.

The powder room has a big coral laminate vanity. I like the antique mirror.

The steps are all carpeted and so are the landings.

On the 2nd level there are sliders to a deck and this appears to be a family room area. The carpet looks red.

The large primary bedroom has flex arm retractable lamps above where the bed goes and it also has sliders to a deck.

There's a lot of storage in the ensuite. A double sink in laminate faux marble was a popular choice in the 70s.

It also has the favorite sunken tub of the era. It's a little weird how the carpeted floor is "sculpted" around it.

There's also a large walk-in closet.

Actually, this is a candidate for my "stairs that can kill you" posts.

Now, we're down in the basement and there's a huge rec room with some built-in sofas.

Notice the door pattern on the bases of the sofas. That wall looks like it's cork and is flaking. (Or maybe they had a cat- it would make a great scratching post.)

Kitchenette down here.

Bedroom with a built-in bed w/storage, just add a mattress. Plus there's a nice desk in the corner.

All 3 remaining bedrooms are down here. They all have desks and this one has a colorful carpet.

The 4th bedroom is the largest and has a bigger desk.

There are 2 baths down here. Nice mint green laminate and teal tile.

.66 acre lot.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/2112-Parkland-Dr-Fort-Wayne-IN-46825/73166745_zpid/

#mid century modern homes #time capsule homes #retro mid century modern homes #old house dreams #houses #house tours #home tour #homes under $300k

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laswells-ashtray · 6 months ago

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You know when you have one of those days where nothing will go right, and then it's a minor thing that breaks you.

John has one of those days. His back has been playing up since he got out of bed, the shower broke while he was mid hair wash, the landlord has just put the rent on the flat up and he's out of fags.

Then he drops the toast he made himself, and it lands on the floor with the buttered side against the laminated flooring of the kitchen. The floor he'd been meaning to clean later because it's covered in cat hair and definitely needs a mop.

He'd laugh at the way Nikolai inches forward and oh so carefully inches the butter knife out of his hands if he wasn't currently considering how much force it would take to send it through his own throat.

When he finds himself on the couch, under a large Russian who is insistent that he isn't letting John up, he wants to be irritated. But the exhaustion he feels is crumbling his bones away to dust, Nikolai is so warm, and he's pretty sure he can see the pilot's phone in his hand as he scrolls through Just Eat. So, maybe it's worth the involuntary nap.

#captain john price #john price #cod nikolai #nikprice

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nanasrkives · 3 months ago

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Navigation : midnight records the starlight EP the jjk EP

"A TRIP DOWN MEMORY LANE" — Gojo Satoru

a/n : how i love gojo angst, but i think i did a bit too much with the angst now i cant stop crying content : HEAVY ANGST NO COMFORT. no jujutsu au. exes to strangers. failed marriage. bittersweet ending. 5k + words.

Three years after the divorce, your apartment still felt temporary.

It wasn’t small, but it never grew into you. The curtains were beige when you moved in and stayed beige, not because you liked them, but because you never cared enough to replace them. The furniture matched, vaguely. Nothing was uncomfortable. The plates were clean. The sink never filled. You paid your bills on time, and no one ever slept beside you.

It wasn’t a sad life. Not exactly. It was just simple. Predictable. Like living in parentheses.

You still worked in the same neighborhood—same train line, same bento shop across the street that started giving you discounts you never asked for. You saw friends when it was convenient. You spent holidays answering texts instead of writing cards. And eventually, the ache faded into background noise, something you didn’t notice unless you really stopped to listen.

The marriage had ended with less drama than you thought a marriage should. No yelling. No infidelity. Just… unraveling. Two people who had once clung to each other with everything they had, slowly loosening their grip.

You knew Satoru had loved you. That was a fact that you never questioned. And you had loved him back just as much. So much that it scared you. But loving someone isn’t the same as knowing how to stay.

The divorce paperwork had been signed in a small office with laminate floors and a malfunctioning air conditioner. You’d shaken hands with your lawyer, smiled at the clerk, walked out into the sun and waited for it to feel different.

But it never really did.

You told yourself Tokyo had grown too loud. Too fast. Too full of versions of yourself you no longer recognized. The convenience store near your place still carried his favorite energy drink. The sushi place where you’d once celebrated an anniversary now offered takeout, and you’d stood in line with your headphones in, pretending the door hadn’t made your chest tighten.

So when the opportunity came—something peaceful, something out of the city—you took it. A small town near Kyoto. Clean air. Slower days. A job that paid less but asked less too.

You didn’t call it running away. You called it starting over.

The morning of your departure, the train station was crowded. Snow had blanketed the platforms in a layer of hush, muting the city into something that almost ressemblant to a desktop wallpaper. You arrived early. Not because you were worried about missing it, but because leaving deserved space.

You stood under the flickering schedule board, watching orange text scroll across black, your suitcase handle warm in your palm from holding it too tightly.

Kyoto — Local Express, platform 5. Delayed due to weather.

You exhaled. Took a sip of vending machine coffee that tasted vaguely like metal. Adjusted the strap of your bag.

The air smelled like cold and concrete and faint electricity. You closed your eyes for a moment and told yourself, again, that this was good. Necessary. Yours. You didn’t feel ready. But you were leaving anyway.

When the train pulled in, it hissed like something alive. The snow had begun to cling to the windows, softening the edges of the world beyond the glass. As you managed to avoid bumping into people and lost tourists, you stepped into Car 3 with a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

The air inside was warmer than the platform, but not by much. Dim overhead lights buzzed softly above your head. The heat hadn't fully kicked in, and everything felt hushed—muted by the storm curling against the windows. You walked past the first row of seats, tugging your suitcase behind you, the wheels ticking softly over the gaps in the floor.

12B.

You found it. Aisle seat.

You shifted toward the aisle, ready to lift your suitcase onto the rack before settling in, your mind already drifting toward the hours ahead—how long the delay would be, whether you’d be able to sleep, whether the train would feel as empty inside as you did.

Then you looked up. And the world shrank.

He was sitting in the window seat beside yours, legs stretched out a little too far into your space, earbuds in but not playing anything. A book in his lap. A coat slung over his arm. Hair damp from the snow.

Gojo Satoru. Your one and only ex-husband.

He didn’t notice you at first. He was looking at the window, his reflection more visible in the glass than the scenery outside. His profile was the same—still sharp, still boyish in ways that never fit the depth he carried. You hadn’t seen him in years. Not in person and definitely not this close.

You blinked. Then he turned and your eyes inevitably met.

It was barely a second, but you felt it—the recognition. The flicker of old muscle memory. He froze just slightly, not dramatically, just enough to let you know that he hadn’t expected this either.

However he quickly regained his composure and threw you a half-smile. Soft. Careful. Not forced, not bitter.

“Hey,” he said, as if this were something normal. As if you hadn’t once been everything to each other. Your voice caught in your throat, dry and brittle.“…Assigned seating?” you asked. He lifted his ticket slightly between two fingers, his shrug casual. “Apparently.”

You glanced at your own ticket. 12B. Confirmed. You almost laughed, not because it was funny—but because it seemed like a cosmic joke. After years of living in the same city without crossing paths, after carving your life into a shape that no longer included him, here he was. Gojo Satoru. Assigned to your side on a snowbound train the day you decided to finally leave it all behind.

There were empty seats nearby. You could have asked to move. You could have walked away. But you didn’t. You lifted your suitcase onto the rack, took off your coat and finally sat down.

And now it was the two of you. Next to each other, with nothing but a folding arm rest and three years of silence between you.

The first twenty minutes passed with a kind of awareness that gave goosebumps. You stared out the window, watching the city peel away in soft layers. Buildings gave way to trees. Power lines dipped in and out of view. The snow grew heavier, thickening along the glass until the landscape blurred into smudges of white and grey.

He didn’t say anything. Neither did you.

Not until the train passed by a rusted red torii gate on the edge of a small town, half-buried in snow. You remembered it from the dozens of trips you used to take together, escaping Tokyo for the weekend. Cheap inns. Local food. A private laugh between strangers.

“That gate still looks like it’s about to fall over,” Gojo muttered, voice low, almost like he wasn’t sure if he meant to say it aloud. You glanced at him. He wasn’t looking at you, just out the window, same as you.

You swallowed. “You used to try and convince me it was haunted.” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You believed me.”

“You used to say it whispered your name.”

“It did. I stand by that.”

You huffed out a laugh. He didn’t, but you saw the breath catch in his throat. For a second, it was easy to forget the 3 years between you. The divorce. The paperwork. The apartment that stopped feeling like home before either of you had the courage to admit it.

For a second, it felt like being married again. Not the falling apart. The better part.

The train bumped lightly over a set of old tracks. You shifted in your seat, pulled your coat tighter around your shoulders. He spoke again, quieter this time. “You still drink that weird jasmine milk tea?”

You turned to look at him fully now. “I haven’t in a while,” you said. “They stopped selling it at the convenience store near my place.” He nodded, like that meant something. It probably did.

You hesitated. “You still forget to eat until noon?”

“I’m improving. I usually make it to ten-thirty now.”

A small silence.

Then—“You were the only person who ever noticed that about me,” he added.

You blinked, unsure how to respond to that. It wasn’t a compliment. Not really. It was just something said aloud. Something true. You looked down at your hands, then out the window again. Snow. Forest. Empty road running parallel to the train.

“We really thought that was going to be it,” you said, before you could stop yourself. “The whole life.” Gojo didn’t flinch. He just nodded. “We dreamed like everything would fall into place—like love would be enough to hold it all up.” You let out a quiet breath. “I think about that sometimes. How we were so sure.”

He looked over at you, eyes softer than you remembered, older too. “We were sure,” he said. “That was never the problem.”

You didn’t answer, you couldn’t.

Outside, the trees blurred in white streaks, their bare branches dusted in snow. The train hummed beneath your feet, a constant low sound that had long faded into the background.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been sitting in silence this time. Five minutes? Fifteen? It didn’t matter. It never had with him. Even before the end, Gojo had been the only person you could be quiet with without feeling like you needed to fill the space. But this silence had weight. Not comfort. History.

When he spoke again, his voice was different, lower, measured. “I almost texted you last year,” he said. You looked at him slowly, your heart skipping for reasons you didn’t want to name. “Why?”

He shrugged, but it didn’t feel careless. “Your birthday. I remembered. I even had the message typed out. Just… never sent it.” Your mouth felt dry. “What were you going to say?”

He gave a soft laugh, bitter around the edges. “Something stupid, probably. ‘Hope you’re doing well.’ Like we hadn’t built a whole life together.” You didn’t answer right away.

You thought about your last birthday. It had rained. You’d spent it alone, not because you didn’t have options, but because it was easier that way. You’d bought yourself dinner, answered a few texts, and gone to bed before midnight. No candles. No cake.

You hadn’t expected him to remember. But somehow, knowing he had—that he’d typed your name again, even just with his thumbs—it hit harder than you wanted it to.

You turned toward the window again, leaning on the arm rest. “I didn’t know what to say to you,” you admitted. “After everything.”

“I didn’t either.”

“Isn’t that the worst part?” he added. “We spent years talking about everything. And when it ended, we didn’t know how to say goodbye.”

That landed somewhere low in your chest. Right where the love still lived, buried under layers of routine and resignation. You whispered, “We never actually did.”

Gojo didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. Because you were right, you’d never said goodbye, you’d just… stopped.

He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together. It was a posture you hadn’t seen in years, but one you knew. The one he always took when he was thinking too hard—when he wanted to say something that might not land softly.

“I used to think it was timing,” he said, eyes fixed on the table between you. “That if we’d met later—or earlier—maybe it wouldn’t have fallen apart.” You didn’t interrupt. “But it wasn’t timing,” he continued. “It was us. The way we loved each other. We threw everything into it like that would make it last longer. Like if we just gave it more, it wouldn’t collapse.”

You nodded once, slowly. “We loved like it was a solution.”

“And it worked for a while,” he said, voice almost wistful. “God, we were happy.” You swallowed, your throat dry. “Yeah. We really were.”

It wasn’t denial. It was memory. You had been happy. Genuinely, stupidly, safely happy. There had been Sunday mornings with pancakes that never turned out right. There had been toothbrushes beside each other in a cup. There had been warmth—the kind that settled under your skin and stayed there, even in silence. The kind you didn’t question, not once.

He’d hold you in the middle of the night like it was second nature, like sleep only counted if you were tangled together. Some nights you didn’t sleep at all. Just stayed tangled in each other, whispering sweet nothings, loving each other so hard it felt like its own kind of fever.

There had been days when just being near each other felt like proof you were still safe. You were in love. So deeply, so achingly in love. And still, it hadn’t been enough.

He leaned back, his hands running through his hair. It was a movement you recognized instantly. The way he used to touch his face when he was trying to hold everything in. “I think we didn’t know how to stop giving,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I stopped knowing how to ask for space. You stopped knowing how to need me without apologizing.”

You looked at him, and in that moment, he wasn’t Gojo Satoru, the man who broke your heart. He was just the person you once knew better than yourself. And maybe still did.

“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” you admitted. “You were so much. You were always so much.” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That was the problem. I never learned how to be without trying to be everything.”

Silence stretched again—but not the kind that asks to be filled. The kind that comes after a wound is finally named. You glanced down at your hands. “I kept thinking, if I could just love you right, it would all settle. That we’d stop spinning.”

He blinked and then looked at you, really looked for the first time since your divorce. “You did love me right,” he said. “We just didn’t know how to live inside it.”

After a moment, he train began to slow, the wheels dragging against the track, almost reluctant, as if the journey itself didn’t want to end. Outside the window, snow had turned everything into a blur of white, the world outside vanishing under the weight of winter.

The silence between you had settled into something familiar, the kind that only grows in the presence of years shared—too many words left unsaid and too many spaces between you to ever be filled.

You were nearing your stop. You could feel it—the finality of it, thick in the air. The train pulled into the station, the sign outside blurring as the train slowed to a stop. Everything seemed slower now, like time was dragging its feet on purpose.

You stood first. He rose with you. He pulled your suitcase from the rack without asking. You didn’t thank him. You didn’t need to.

The doors slid open with a low hiss.

The cold hit first—sharp and clean. You stepped off together, shoes crunching lightly against the snow-dusted platform. The sky above was a pale wash of gray, open and quiet. No announcements. No crowds. Just you, him, and the breath you were both trying to hold in.

You stood next to each other, but neither of you moved. That awful moment—the one that comes just before a final goodbye—stretched between you like a second heartbeat. And then, he asked so quietly you almost didn't hear it, “Do you regret it?”

The way he said it made your stomach twist. It wasn’t just a question. It was an invitation. To say no. To say yes. To say anything before this moment slipped away. It was the kind of question you only ask when it means now, and then, and always.

Do you regret it when you look back?

Do you regret it sitting here, knowing this is the last time?

Will you regret it tomorrow, once the door closes?

His Adam’s apple bobbed once, too sharp, like his body was trying to hold something in—something that had nowhere else to go. You didn’t look away. You glanced at him. His jaw was tense.

The sting hit your eyes before you could stop it. That familiar pressure. Heat gathering under your lashes like your body knew this was the last time it would be near his. “No,” you said. “Never.”

Then, before you could ask him the same, he answered anyway—soft, wrecked, true, “Me either, you were everything to me.” It knocked the breath out of you. Not like pain. Like closure. Like love wrapped in grief. You didn’t say anything else. You just stepped into him.

And he didn’t hesitate.

His arms wrapped around you instantly, like memory. You buried your face in his shoulder, and he held you like he knew exactly how long he had left. It wasn’t a hug meant to comfort. It was a hug meant to end something. Properly.

You held him tight. Long enough to burn it into your skin. Long enough to make sure you’d remember this version of him—not the one you divorced, but the one who once knew your body like it was his own home.

You finally pulled back from the hug, reluctantly, but you didn’t step away. Not yet. Your chest pressed against his just enough to feel how still he was. How hard he was trying to stay steady. The air between you was cold, but the space you occupied together was still warm. Still familiar.

And then—gently, like he’d done it a thousand times before—he reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered at your cheek, hesitant, reverent. He cupped your face with both hands. And you let him.

You closed your eyes as his thumbs brushed softly under them, stroking the skin just beneath, like he was trying to catch the tears before they ever had a chance to fall.

You didn’t cry. But god, you wanted to.

You reached up, almost without thinking, and placed your hands over his. Just held them there. Anchored him to your skin. Your touch wasn’t pleading. It was quiet. Final. Like you were giving him permission to hold you one last time. To remember.

Neither of you spoke for a moment.

Until he did, his voice was soft. Steady. But behind it, something fragile. “Live a good life for me.” You nodded, lips trembling—not from fear, but from love that had nowhere left to go.

Then, gently and honestly you answered “You too Satoru. I’ll always be glad I got to be married to you.” That was it. That was everything. Eventually, he dropped his hands, and you stepped back. The space between you filled with cold air, and you didn’t try to close it again.

You turned, picked up your suitcase, and walked. Not fast, but forward. And when you reached the end of the platform, just before the stairs, you stopped. Only for a second. You didn’t look back. You just let the tears come, slow and full and quiet.

Not because you wanted him back. Not because it was wrong. But because what you had was real.

And real things are the hardest to leave behind.

2025 © NANASRKIVES. / do not copy, repost, edit, plagiarize, or translate any of my works on any platforms, including ai.

TAGLIST (OPEN). / @sojumica @buckcherried @arwawawa2 @itsmeaudrieee @andysteve1311

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sv3t1ana · 2 months ago

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<< Master list ⋮ Next chapter >>

SYNOPSIS ᯓ A Bonnie and Clyde-esque, high-stakes, multi-chapter smut romance that follows a deadly criminal duo whose intense, chaotic love becomes as dangerous as the heists they pull off. Trust forged in blood, bonds built on risk.

PAIRING ᯓ Criminal! Sukuna x Criminal! Fem. Reader

WARNINGS ᯓ protectiveness?? themes of depression, mentions of weapons, planning for a heist, cute FLUFF for two criminals, stealing a vehicle, cigarette smoking, scouting, he calls you good girl!

WORD COUNT ᯓ 3.0k

Chapter 6.

Sukuna shakes you awake, palm pressing into your shoulder, fingers heavy and warm. The weight of his touch lingers, an anchor dragging you back from the depths of sleep.

“Wake up,” he says, voice slow. His sharp face is too close, the burn of his eyes the first thing you see as your eyes flicker open.

“The hell is wrong with you?” Your voice groggy, thick with sleep.

“Got somethin’ lined up. You in, or you need more beauty rest?”

You blink at him, mind tangled in the remnants of sleep. Something feels off. Not wrong, just different. You don’t remember your dreams, but you can usually recall the weightlessness of them, how your body sank into rest so deep it felt like falling into nothing. And yet, here you were awake, feeling clear-headed. The best sleep you’ve had in years, despite the circumstances. Despite the ache in your limbs and the scratch of an old blanket against your skin.

“Fine. What’s the job?” You push at his chest, a futile attempt to get him out of your space. He settles back into his haunches.

“Bank vault. Big payout. But it’s not some dumb smash-and-grab. We do this clean.”

He stretches, body shifting as he sits at the foot of the bedroll, taking up too much space, always too much space. His presence is a silent command against your senses. You sit up, rubbing your eyes.

“So why the fuck are you waking me up now?”

He shrugs. “We gotta move. New hideout. And we gotta figure out how the fuck we’re pullin’ this off.”

The drive is long, leaving yet another city. Another desolate stretch of nowhere, just far enough from prying eyes. The motel Sukuna picks is a step above the last, a rare indulgence. Two beds, fresh sheets, bulbs that actually work. Apparently he has connection here, someone on the inside slipping him a room off the books. It’s cleaner, quieter. The kind of place people check into but never talk about.

He moves like a man with a ticking clock beneath his skin. Always on edge, always looking for the next move. You’ve never seen him sleep, not really. Even now, after hauling bags into the room, he’s grabbing your wrist, pulling you back outside.

“Let’s go.”

The car is stolen, rusted, an old sedan sure not to draw attention. It sputters to life as he navigates through empty streets.

The restaurant is one of those places that exists outside of time. A 24-hour diner tucked between a pawn shop and a liquor store, the kind of place where the coffee tastes like burnt rubber and regret. The sign outside is sun-bleached, letters peeling at the edges. The door creaks when pushed open, the smell of stale cigarettes filling your nose before you even took a step in.

The floor is sticky, red leather booths cracked and patched with duct tape. A lone jukebox sits in the corner, humming some slow, bluesy song. The waitress behind the counter looks like she’s been working here since the place opened.

Sukuna slides into a booth near the window, stretching an arm along the back of the seat. You settle across from him, glancing at the laminated menu.

“Really? Out of all the places, this is where you bring me?” you ask.

His teeth flash. “What? Too fancy for you?”

You snort. “I think I can feel the FDA violations from here.”

He gives a short chuckle before glancing out the window, expression unreadable. The street outside is slick from last night’s rain, broken blinds casting thin lines of light across his face.

“So,” you prompt, “you gonna tell me more about the heist, or are we here to test our immune systems?”

He flips a sugar packet between his fingers before tearing it open and dumping it into his coffee.

“Bank vault. Big score.”

Your eyes narrow. “Yeah, you mentioned that. But you still haven’t told me how we’re getting in.”

He grins, unbothered. The waitress sets down a plate in front of you, waffles, burnt at the edges, cold in the center. He ordered for you, of course. Asshole.

“That’s where you come in,” he says, pouring way too much syrup over his own food. You never pegged him as the type to have a sweet tooth.

“What do you need?”

“I need you to scout. Go in like a regular customer. Watch the guards. Count cameras, exits, all the good shit.”

“Alright, what else?”

“There’s an alley behind the bank. Check for a back entrance. Some places have emergency exits leading to employee-only areas. We could use that for our escape.”

You nod. “So what’s your lazy ass gonna do?”

He laughs, unbothered. “I’ll handle the fun part. Gettin’ our weapons and gear. Can’t exactly walk in there with no armor and expect to come out alive.”

The morning passes like this, half-eaten food, plans laid out between sips of burnt coffee. Sukuna finishes your waffles without a second thought, barely reacting when you push the plate toward him in disgust. He eats just like he moves and fights, deliberate, all-consuming, like the world owes him everything and he’s here to collect.

After the horrible meal, you both walk over to the pawn shop. It’s dimly lit, air thick with dust, the scent of old metal and desperation. Shelves are stacked with stolen jewelry, forgotten heirlooms pawned for rent money, and cheap firearms locked behind a scuffed glass counter.

The man working behind the counter barely glances up. He’s burly, shoulders hunched forward with exhaustion, the kind that settles into the bones. Bags sag beneath his eyes, beard unkempt and flecked with gray.

“What do you need?” He rasps, voice scratchy from too many cigarettes.

“Two phones. Cash deal.” Sukuna’s voice is measured, no room for negotiation.

The pawn shop owner grunts, barely acknowledging you two as he bends to drag out a plastic bin filled with burner phones, cheap, pre-paid models with screens cracked like old porcelain, key letters worn to nothing. He slides it across the counter. “Pick.”

You sift through them, fingers brushing over devices that have passed through too many hands, seen too many secrets before being discarded like spent bullet casings. You pull out two of the least battered models. Sukuna doesn’t even hesitate before throwing a few crisp bills onto the counter, more than enough to cover the cost. An unspoken message, keep the change, keep your mouth shut.

And the owner takes the money without counting, these types of transactions routine, another brick in the foundation of his co-conspirator lifestyle.

When you step outside, Sukuna hands you one of the phones, the weight of it insignificant in your palm, the implications heavy.

“First rule,” he murmurs, sticking his pointer finger in the air. “Take the SIM out.”

He moves without hesitation, sliding the back off his phone, plucking the tiny card out with a flick of his fingers. You follow suit, prying the fragile thing loose, watching as he drops both to the ground and grinds them under his heel. Circuity crunching beneath his shoe like brittle bones. Final, absolute.

No trace.

Never a trace.

Today was like some fucking field trip, because before you knew it, you were hitting up a gas station, buying different pre-paid SIMs with cash, and now you were in some abandoned lot near a scrapyard. The scent of rust and oil clinging to your clothes.

Sukuna gets out first, and you follow suit. His eyes scan the graveyard of dead machines, picking through them like a vulture. He settles on an old black ‘97 Honda Civic, all worn down and paint chipping. No modern security, just a simple lock and ignition begging to be exploited.

He turns toward you, hands on his hips, wearing that menacing look like you’re a student getting scolded. “Lesson time. You ever hotwire a car before?” His voice turns up at the end, like he already knows the answer but wants to hear you say it.

You roll your eyes at him. “You really gotta ask?”

He nods toward the car, a silent command. “Then show me.”

You approach it, eyes flicking around the lot to see no cameras or eye witnesses, nothing but silence. From his bag, you fish out a thin metal tool, sliding it between the window and door frame, fishing for the lock mechanism. Your first attempt is shaky, a slight fumble. But with your second try, the door pops open with a satisfying click.

He leans against the hood, ankles crossed. “Not bad. Now, the fun part.”

You slip into the driver’s seat, ripping off the panel under the steering wheel. A nest of wires stare back at you. Your fingers work at it quickly, stripping the two you need and twisting them together. A few sparks leap into the air, then the engine roars to life, coughing out a growl like some beast being dragged from its slumber.

You glance at Sukuna, grinning for his approval. “That good enough for you?”

He chuckles before sliding into the passenger seat, legs sprawled out like he owns the place. “Drive.”

So you peel out, tires kicking up dust, heading toward the bank to scout it.

You park in a narrow alley, nestled between brick and shadow. It hums faintly, engine cooling. Close enough for escape, out of sight enough to be nothing at all.

Sukuna lingers near a newspaper stand, idly thumbing through a tabloid, its pages whispering beneath his rough fingers. A performance. He doesn’t care about ink-smeared scandals or drying print, his interest is elsewhere, tracking your movements like a silent god surveying the faithful.

The bank stands with an emblem of trust, the downtown of this foreign city thrumming around you. Voices overlapping, horns sharp in the distance, the scent of fresh espresso curling through the air. Life moves forward, blind and oblivious to the shifting current beneath its feet.

Inside, the bank breathes in wealth. Polished marble underfoot, ceiling high enough to inspire confidence. Recessed lighting gleams off the chandelier like a quiet promise to the money moving within the walls.

A glass partition is separating customers and tellers. Beyond it, a hallway stretches into the building’s bones, leading to the secrets.

Security stands at quiet attention, five in total. Two flanking the entrance, their presence seeming more like a formality than a deterrent. One stationed in the lobby, hands clasped while his gaze sweeps with absent authority. Two more are near the back hallway.

You don’t move for the counter, instead lingering in a side alcove stacked with pamphlets that promised home ownership and financial freedom. A glance, a whisper of calculation. There, in the far right corner, a door.

No keypad or reinforced lock, just a push-bar exit meant for employees. It leads somewhere, a maintenance alley? Parking? Either way, it’s a way out.

The burner phone is cool in your grip as you lift it to your ear, expression usual as you murmur low, a quiet thread only Sukuna can hear.

“Five guards. Two at the entrance, one on patrol, two by the back.”

His voice slips through the other line. “Armed?”

“Standard pistols. No rifles, no vests.”

A soft scoff. “Tch. They’re underestimating us.”

“There’s a back exit too, no security lock, just a push-bar.”

Silence, then, “good girl. Then that’s our way out.”

The counter gleams sterile as you approach. The teller, a woman in her late thirties, offers a practiced smile, so professional and polished.

“Welcome. How can I assist you today?”

“Thinking about opening a business account.” You let your tone dip into casual interest, the edge of idle concern. “Just wanting to know how secure you guys are. I had some issues with my last bank.”

She adjusts her glasses. “We take security very seriously. Armed guards during business hours, 24/7 surveillance, timed locks on the vault.”

“Timed locks?” You feign curiosity, tilting your head just enough. “So, like, no one can just walk in and open it?”

“That’s correct. Even employees can’t override the system. It’s a built-in safety measure.”

As she speaks you shift, angling slightly so you get a different view through the glass partition. Past the hallway you can see the vault, a steel monolith, matte black, heavy. Positioned at the end of a short corridor, tucked just out of sight from the main lobby.

You nod, taking a pamphlet at random, flicking your gaze across it without reading. You step away after thanking the teller, slipping between civilians.

Your phone is back at your ear before you reach the door.

“Got everything we need. Meet me back at the car.”

His reply drips with amusement. “Try not to sound so smug about it.”

The alley yawns ahead, Sukuna waiting, a smile carved into his face like a wolf at leisure.

Time to plan the hit.

Later that night the motel room is quiet, save for the distant sounds of traffic outside and the slow, steady burn of your cigarettes. You and Sukuna sit on opposite beds, mirroring each other, the space between you thick with smoke.

He takes a drag, eyes half-lidded in exhaustion, watching the ember glow at the tip before exhaling. “You ever think about the past?” His voice is rough, casual, like he’s not about to admit something real. “There used to be a time where I didn’t give a shit about anything. I was in and out of jail for small-time robberies to get by, some real dumb shit.” he laughs, amused at his own recklessness.

You study him through the haze. “Why did you do it?”

He hesitates, just for a second. Then his eyes drop to the floor, fingers tapping against the cigarette in thought. “My little brother, Yuji.” His voice quieter now, rough in a different way. “I wanted to make sure we had enough, y’know? I wasn’t trying to be some big-time criminal, just wanted ‘em to be safe.”

He flicks the cigarette into the glass ashtray, watching as the ashes scatter. “It just spiraled. I got in too deep, so I just roll with the tide now. Stay a step ahead.”

There’s a pause, he glances at you. Catching your face, expression dull, something that makes him sigh as he rests his elbows on his knees. “But what’s the point of thinkin’ about it now? Shit’s already been done. No turnin’ back.”

He leans back against the mattress, arms folded beneath his head and exposing the ink on his bare chest. You let your eyes trace the dark lines, the stories etched into his skin before finally speaking. “But don’t you ever think about getting out? Like, retiring? A family? A house? A life that doesn’t involve all… this?” You gesture vaguely to the scattered weapons on the floor, the silent proof of the world you live in.

He tilts his head at you, abs flexing as he shifts to meet your gaze. His lips curl, laughter slipping past them. “Me? A house with a fenced-in backyard? A fuckin’ dog? You got a beautiful imagination, doll.”

But there’s something in his eyes that doesn’t quite match the smirk on his lips. It’s gone just as fast as it appeared, but you caught the crack in his armor.

So you press. “Yeah, but no, really. There should be more to life than just being on the run always, right? Don’t you want more than this?”

His expression shifts as he weighs your words. Then, he tilts his head, all playfully like a puppy. “What about you, huh? This what keeps you up all night?”

You blink, caught off guard and accidentally answering too honestly. “No. I don’t think about it. I never even thought I’d make it to this age.”

That does something to him, and you see it. It’s subtle, the way his jaw tenses, the way his fingers twitch slightly before curling into his palm. His expression softens, just slightly, gone before you can call him on it.

He pushes up from the bed, discarding his cigarette before clapping his hands against his thighs and standing. The floor creaks under his weight as he moves to switch off the light. “Tell you what,” he says, voice lighter. “If we pull this off, if we can make it through, maybe I’ll think about it.”

Without another word, he’s climbing into bed, back to you, leaving you sitting in the dark with a cigarette still curling between your fingers.

So you retreat as well, crushing the cigarette before turning and tugging the sheets up.

Sukuna.

A man of contradictions, cold and calculating, ruthless and strangely human. There’s a darkness in him you can’t grasp, a hunger that keeps him moving forward. And yet, in the flicker of a moment, his guard falters and you catch a glimpse of something softer. Not exactly vulnerability, but the remnants of a past he can’t outrun. A past that continues to shape him in ways he doesn’t even seem to understand.

You can’t figure it out. Shifting under the covers and exhaling into the air.

Part of you wonders if there’s more to him than just bloodshed and violence. Maybe he’s a man trying to make sense of a world that’s constantly breaking him. Or maybe, he’s simply a monster who’s learned how to wear the skin of someone who isn’t.

And then there’s you. Why are you still here? Why do you play this game with him, knowing full well what he’s capable of? Why does the weight of his eyes make you shiver and pull you in simultaneously, tethering you to him in ways that feel inevitable?

It couldn’t just be the thrill of the job. You know that much. If it were, you would’ve walked away after the first heist. Instead, it’s something about the way he moves through the world, something about the way he doesn’t apologize for who he is.

Is that what you want?

He’s the chaos you don’t know how to escape, the question that never stops echoing in your mind.

You don’t trust people. That was something you established long ago, only engraving further in your mind when Hakari turned his back.

Why you? You’re subpar at best, not the smartest nor the most experienced. He could have anyone. But he keeps offering you these jobs, willing to teach you if need be.

You stare at the ceiling, probably for the thousandth time in your life.

You might be starting to want it.

taglist: @cutesytwt, @tojis-ball-sack, @gojoscumslut, @sukubusss, @vicravluv, @newasskid, @grignardsreagent, @garden0fyves

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isither · 7 days ago

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You’re Still Mine

A/N: Part two of You’ll still be mine. I do refer to the group as NewJeans in here instead of NJZ but it's like a silent manifestation that they'll win all their rights so I hope no one minds (and yes the kids names come from loona members ;p)

The clock ticked softly in the background, a slow, steady rhythm that matched the quiet thrum of the rain against the garden windows.

The house was smaller now.

Not the one they had in their late twenties with the big bay windows and heated floors and a sleek kitchen Haerin never quite mastered. That one had been sold after the last of the kids moved out, traded for something humbler: a quiet cottage outside the city, with creaky floors, ivy climbing the stone walls, and a courtyard where lavender grew in wild defiance of the seasons.

It smelled like rain and earth, and something sweeter—like the past never really left.

Y/N sat at the kitchen table, curled in a thick cardigan, watching the garden blur through rain-streaked glass. Her hands, lined and freckled with time, cupped a warm mug. The silver in her hair caught the light, her features softened with years but no less radiant. If anything, she looked more like herself than ever.

Across from her, Haerin flipped through an old photo album, squinting at the corners with her glasses resting low on her nose. She wore wool socks and an oversized hoodie stolen from their eldest daughter—a faded piece of merch from NewJeans' last world tour, long since discontinued and very obviously not her size.

"I still can't believe Jungeun let you keep that hoodie," Y/N said, sipping her tea.

"She didn't," Haerin replied, not looking up. "I just never gave it back."

Y/N snorted. "Classic."

Haerin hummed in agreement, flipping the page. There, tucked into the laminated plastic, was a photo from the day their first daughter was born. Not a professional one—this was one Hanni had snapped when the members rushed in to visit. It was grainy, slightly off-center. Y/N looked tired but glowing, cheeks flushed. Haerin had one arm wrapped around her and the other cradling their newborn, looking like she was holding the whole universe in her hands.

Y/N glanced at it, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "I still remember how nervous I was that day."

"You couldn't stop crying when the nurse took her back to clean her."

"And you couldn't stop following the nurse around like a lost puppy."

Haerin shrugged, smiling softly. "She was a cute baby who had me wrapped around her little finger the second she took her first breath. I couldn't help it."

Their laughter echoed softly through the house—warm, familiar, lived-in.

Just then, the front door creaked open.

"Grandmas?" a small voice called out.

Y/N lit up immediately, setting her mug down and rising from her chair. "Back here, baby!"

Tiny footsteps padded against the tile, and a moment later, their five year old granddaughter, Yerim, came bounding into the kitchen—her hair in pigtails, her backpack half-zipped and stuffed with glittery stickers.

She launched herself into Y/N's arms, nearly knocking the chair over.

"You're early!" Y/N laughed, lifting her with a soft grunt. "Where's your mom?"

"Still in the car with Auntie Soul. They're coming!"

Haerin closed the album with a smile just as the rest of the family trickled in—coats, umbrellas, laughter. Jungeun, their eldest, gave her mom a kiss on the cheek as she passed; her wife followed behind her, arms full of groceries. Jinsoul, their second daughter, rolled her eyes at the rain but hugged both her mothers before kicking off her shoes.

Their youngest—Jiwoo, who had just graduated university—brought up the rear, holding a tray of homemade cookies with a sheepish grin. "Okay, I may have burned a few."

"We love them crispy," Y/N said without hesitation.

"Speak for yourself," Haerin teased.

Soon the kitchen was alive with noise—dishes clinking, chairs scraping, kids playing on the floor. Remi, their old beagle, trotted around trying to beg for scraps. Someone put on music in the background, and someone else pulled out old board games from the hall closet.

Y/N stood in the doorway and watched it all unfold with a kind of stunned gratitude.

This was the future she never dared to picture when she was younger. When she used to lie awake at night wondering if Haerin would still love her when her hair turned gray. If she'd still want her when gravity pulled and the world changed. If she'd still be hers.

And now, here they were—decades in, with daughters and daughters-in-law, with a granddaughter climbing onto Haerin's lap and calling her Grandma Rin like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Y/N walked over to the couch where Haerin sat, Yerim balanced on one knee, one hand steadying a juice box while the other reached for a puzzle piece.

"You good?" Y/N murmured, brushing back Haerin's silver-streaked bangs.

Haerin tilted her head, taking her in. "I'm perfect."

Y/N flushed slightly, but the heat was different now. It was the kind that came from being seen—fully, even after all this time.

Later, after everyone had gone home and the house quieted again, Y/N and Haerin sat in their garden wrapped in a shared blanket. The moon was low and soft. The lavender swayed in the breeze, the scent thick with memory.

Y/N leaned her head against Haerin's shoulder.

"Do you remember," she said softly, "how scared I used to be?"

Haerin turned slightly, brushing a kiss to her temple. "You mean when you thought I'd trade you in for someone younger?"

"Shush," Y/N laughed, nudging her. "Yes."

"I remember," Haerin said. "And I also remember telling you you'd still be mine."

Y/N closed her eyes. "You were right."

There was a pause. A long, quiet pause filled only by crickets and distant wind chimes.

Then Haerin added, "You know what I think about sometimes?"

"What?"

"Our girls. How lucky they are."

Y/N smiled faintly. "Because they had two moms who loved them?"

"Because they got to see what it looks like when love lasts. Really lasts. Through all the boring parts. All the hard ones. All the years."

Y/N turned to look at her, eyes glassy but steady.

"They'll never have to wonder if real love exists," Haerin said. "They saw it. They grew up in it."

Y/N couldn't speak for a moment.

And maybe she didn't need to.

She leaned in and kissed her wife—slow and reverent, like a thank you, like an I still choose you.

Because she did. Every day.

And Haerin? She never stopped.

They sat in silence again for a moment, both of them gazing at the fire. Then, after a beat:

"Do you remember Lana Del Rey?" Y/N asked with a sly smile.

Haerin snorted. "You mean the woman who made you spiral at 23?"

"She didn't make me spiral. I was emotionally vulnerable."

"She had you journaling about love and death for a month."

Y/N laughed. "She understood me."

Haerin stood, stretching slightly. "Come on, my dramatic love—let's go to bed before one of the kids calls again asking if they forgot anything here."

As they walked towards the house, side by side, fingers brushing but not quite holding—Haerin paused.

"What is it?" Y/N asked.

Haerin turned, the shadows in the hallway catching on her silver hair and softened smile.

"I'm glad you believed me," she said. "That night. When I promised you I wouldn't stop loving you."

Y/N leaned her head on Haerin's shoulder, just for a second. "Of course I believed you. Because where there's true love..."

"There's me and you." Haerin finished, softly.

They smiled, soft and genuine.

And then, hand in hand, they disappeared into the quiet years—still together, still in love, exactly as they were always meant to be.

#newjeans x reader #njz x reader #haerin x reader #kpop #fem reader #newjeans imagines #njz imagines #kang haerin #kang haerin x reader #njz x fem reader #newjeans x fem reader

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blogport · 11 months ago

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lou-struck · 6 months ago

Text

Facing Me

Asmodeus x reader

Part One

W.C 1.5k

~ Spring Cleaning in the HOL takes a strange turn when you and Asmodeus find a cursed mirror.

After the House of Lamination was taken over by that Army of rats last week, Barbaots strongly recommended that the Brothers do a bit of decluttering in the attic to prevent this disaster from happening again in the future.

Being the model human you are, you volunteered to help them out. Not just from the goodness in your heart but also the curiosity you have towards the boxes upon boxes of magical items, trinkets, and antiques that have been hidden away within these walls.

You heard there was a lot to go through, but as you look over the boxes, and boxes, and boxes of items to take out and examine you wonder if there is an end in sight.

“Are you really…sure… all these need to go downstairs?” your muscles strain as you lift a heavy wooden chest off of the top of a dusty end table and walk it over to the doorway. Lucifer gives you a soft smile before taking it off of your hands.

“Yes, Barbatos said that if we wish to remain rodent free we must get rid of all unnecessary clutter.” He replies, “But If you see anything up here that you would like to keep for yourself don’t be afraid to tell me.”

“Oi, why does just Mc get to have their pick of all this stuff?” Mammon pouts from behind a cobwebbed vanity with a cracked mirror.

“Isn't it obvious?” Lucifer sighs looking at his brother. “Because you have given me no reason to trust you.”

“I’m plenty trustworthy,” Mammon stammers, his tanned cheeks flushing pink in frustration. “Lemme show you, ” He reaches for a box of books that is balancing precariously on top of some mismatched boxes, pulling the heavy weight easily toward him. “See, I can take care of junk too.”

“Wait! Look out,” Satan yells from behind you, you are pushed out of the way just as the tower of boxes collapses, glass breaks and trinkets smash against the floor where you once stood. Dust fills the air, sending you and the other Demons into a fit of coughing, but miraculously, everyone is unharmed.

But judging by the near murderous glares Lucifer and Satan send Mammon, you wonder just how long that will remain to be true.

“Look what you did you idiot,” Satan seethes, looking at his brother darkly, “They could have gotten hurt.”

“I’m fine,” you sigh tiredly, “It was an accident.”

“M’ sorry.” Mammon says, looking at you like a kicked puppy, “You gotta believe me Mc, I’d never try to hurt ya on purpose.”

You brush yourself off and take Satan’s outstretched hand. “No harm done,” you say, “I’m just a bit dustier than before.”

Lucifer’s brow creases with worry as he looks down at the disaster at his feet. “ although Mammon’s actions were extremely irresponsible. He has shown us that this room may not be the safest option for you to be in. Perhaps your assistance would be better put to use downstairs.”

“Are you demoting me?” you ask, suddenly feeling rather ashamed of your human mortality.

His gaze softens and his hand comes to gently rest on your arm. “Not at all, at this rate we seem to be clearing out the attic faster than those downstairs can sort through the boxes. You would be a great help to Asmodues and the others.”

“Why do you have to make sense all the time?” you say turning and stepping over a fallen crate. The Avatar of Prdies words of logic reassure you as you look forward to the next task at hand.

But before you can make it to the door, Satan's voice calls out to you.

“Be careful when handling the items, some of them may be enchanted or cursed. If you’re not sure about something, set it aside for later.

“Or give it to Levi,” Mammon grumbles. “Most of this junk is probably his anyway~” the back of Lucifer’s hand makes contact with Mammons shoulder. “Ow what was that for?”

You pass by Beel when you make it to the ground floor. Despite carrying armloads of heavy boxes, the sixth born looks as energized as ever. Not a drop of sweat mars his brow as he climbs the steps once again, no doubt thinking about the promised reward of Hell’s Kitchen when the job is done.

Levi sits cross legged on a chair in the living room with his laptop, his job is to research the items in the attic and if necessary look up how to dispose of them properly if they are cursed. Belphie is supposed to be doing that too, but apparently his sitting position was too comfortable and he fell victim to his Sin.

Just in the other room you find Asmodeus. The Avatar of Lust is hard at work sorting through the boxes, organizing the clutter into neat little piles, giving each one a little bit of attention. His eye for detail is put to use perfectly.

He shines an old candle stick with a pink dust cloth with a serene smile as you approach his seat at the dining room table. “Do you need a hand? I got banished from the Attic.”

“Then it’s your lucky day hon,” the demon beams, pulling out the seat next to him. “I have lots to go through and would love to spend a bit more time with you.”

“Thanks, where should I start?” you ask, sliding into the seat, eager to resume helping out in any way you can. “Do you have a system?”

“His peach colored eyes trail to the ceiling in thought as he bites his glossy lower lip. “Hmmm, not really. I’m just working through one box at a time, nothing is really gross so I'm just giving each item a little bit of TLC.”

“Got it,” you grin staring down at the worn down box wondering just where you should start first. Whoever packed this one up did it carefully, so you decided to grab a large white leatherbound book. Its title is written in some strange language you have never seen before, but you can tell from the faint warmth of magic radiating from the ink that it is some kind of spell book.

“This looks cool,” you hum dusting off the cover with a cloth, “Maybe Solomon would want to check it out.”

Asmo nods, his eyes shining as he sets the now-shining candle stick to the side and reaches back into the box. “Isn't this fun? I bet we can find all sorts of things in here. If you find any cool decorations let me know, vintage is trending on Devilgram so I would love to add a few new things to my room.”

“I will,” you say as you slide the less dusty spellbook to the other side of the table for later.

“Beautiful,” he exclaims next to you. Curiously you turn your head to find the demon holding up an antique silver mirror, although you cannot see the glass, you are blown away by the intricate collage of embedded flower shaped jewels that adorn the back of it.

“Wow it is a stunning mirror,” you breathe as the demon lets out a laugh.

“I was talking about me, but I guess it’s pretty too.” He murmurs. “Take a look for yourself Mc. He flicks his wrist over to you and you see your reflection in it briefly. But the moment you lock eyes with your mirrored image, a bright, warm light fills the room blinding the two of you.

Your hands fly to your eyes as you try to shield your eyes from the enchanted light but it seems to travel through your palms. “What’s going on?” Asmo cries as he drops the mirror, the sound of broken glass reaches your ears.

“I don’t know, all I did was look at it.” You say worriedly, your vision still flooded with painless gold. The light fades after a few seconds, but it takes a bit for you to blink away the spots in your vision, lowering your hands and you stare at the stone pattern of the floor in confusion. “W-what was that?”

Asmodeus’ worried voice catches your attention “Mc are you alright? I had no idea that would happen.”

“I think i’m alright,” you say gently looking yourself over, maybe that mirror just was enchanted to flash a bright light when someone looks at it. Even after all this time in the Devildom, you still find yourself surprised by just how many ridiculous spells there are floating around.

“How about you~” when you turn your head, you find yourself at a horrified loss for words as you look at the Demon next to you. “What the?”

“What’s wrong?” he cries no doubt seeing the look of abject horror on your face. “Is there something on my face?”

“T-that’s just it Asmo.” you say rubbing your eyes one final time to make sure your eyes aren't just playing tricks on you. “Your face. It’s gone.”

To Be Continued...

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