#if i turn all the lights off and black out curtains this might work | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luveline · 2 years

Text

𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

part one | part two | part three | part four

summary you’re a single mom living three trailers down. eddie thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. queue the movies, nachos, cherry cough syrup, and a couple of moments of clarity. [10k]

warnings teen mom!reader, fem!reader, r is junie’s birth mother, fluff, hurt/comfort, eddie being a total girl dad (<3), mutual pining, yearning etc, tw for not having much money, general mom struggles :(, slowburn friends to lovers, idiots in love!!! tw sick fic

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Eddie has the most peculiar curl tucked up by his neck. Where most are frizzy and loose, this one falls in a perfect shiny ringlet below his ear. He shifts and it's out of view, a curtain of dark hair falling forward and hiding his face as he puts your car in park.

"Remind me why you had to drive?" you ask, ducking down to look at the glaring white lights of the movie theatre across the street.

"You were gonna fall asleep behind the wheel."

For once, Eddie might not be exaggerating. He grins at your lack of rebuttal and throws an arm behind your shoulders, twisting in the driver's seat to set his sights on Junie.

"Are you ready?" he asks her.

She wiggles. It's an ecstatic movement. Her clothes are prim and sweet if you do say so yourself, a long sleeved shirt under a pair of the world's cutest dungarees. They crinkle as she moves, pressed to perfection.

You and Eddie open opposite doors in tandem and step out into the brisk, early night. The sidewalk shines with rain, a black slickness stretching in every direction. You shiver and pull your thin jacket tighter to your torso as you turn back to the car, intending to retrieve Junie and rush into the theatre before you can freeze on the spot.

Eddie's already swung open the door and rescued your daughter from the confines of her car seat, neatening up the hem of one of her socks with her face pushed over his shoulder.

She giggles about something and Eddie says, "Sorry, June. 'M tickling you, am I?" so fondly you have to avert your eyes.

He locks the car and hands over your keys with a smile. You smile back, heart flipping like a spinning coin. Head over tails, over and over.

The big, ring-heavy hand he holds to Junie's back reaches for you suddenly enough that you flinch.

"I'm sorry," he apologises, suppressing a laugh, "your necklace is twisted."

He moves in a second time and you raise your chin, chest aflame as his fingers glance off of your bare skin. He slips the chain over his index and pulls, encouraging the links around until the clasp is hidden again.

"Thank you." You huff an awkward, sheepish laugh.

"You owe me," he says, mock-severe.

Your laugh is much more genuine as you follow him across the road.

You're squinting as you approach The Hawk movie theatre. The title cards are hard to look at, aggressively white with black capital letters that read, 'The Great Mouse Detective 7'.

There's a small line of families waiting by the front. You realise it like a shock, that the three of you must look like a family too.

Eddie carries Junie with the surety of a dad that's carried his child a hundred times before; he strokes the back of her head with the affection of one, soothing the mess of flyaways she'd acquired by squirming in her car seat. Junie responds with familiarity, hands tucked into his hair and tugging. She's trying to be nice but his hair won't allow it, all his long curls tangled at the ends from a day at work.

Still, he says, "Thanks, baby. Make sure you get the back, okay?"

"Okay," she echoes.

You look down at your wringing hands. There's ink smudged up the side of your writing hand. You scratch at it half-heartedly, blinking against your fatigue.

You're exhausted tonight and it's only Wednesday. You can't imagine how you'll fare tomorrow considering how little sleep you're expecting tonight — there are a thousand things to do when you get home. Laundry to wash and press, cleaning to do, dinner to make.

You'd been writing cheques for due bills when Eddie had come knocking, well-dressed, stupid-handsome, and announced that tonight you would be accompanying him to the movies. He'd actually said 'accompanying'.

Despite a full agenda, you'd said yes. You're not very good at saying no. At least, not to him.

It takes you a moment to realise you're at the front of the line. You pay for the tickets before Eddie can try it, and with his hands full he can't really stop you. He whines about it all the way to the concession stand.

"You can buy the snacks," you say. His face lights up, and you amend, "If you're reasonable."

"I'm always reasonable…ly over the top," he says, chided by your hard stare.

"Yes, you are."

He follows you down the two steps to the concession and cuts in front of you. "How did you do that? What face was that? I felt my soul leave my body."

"That's my disapproving mom look. I'm disapproving."

"Ah." He pats Junie's side sympathetically.

She pulls her head from over his shoulder and smiles at you. Her arms vy for your hold. You steal her from Eddie and kiss her all over her tiny face, uplifted by how much she loves you, how happy she is to be in your arms.

"What snacks do you want? Do you eat popcorn with butter? Without?" Eddie asks, his newly emptied arms already posed thoughtfully, a hand under his chin as he thinks over his options.

The theatre has a huge array of jellies, an even bigger array of candy bars. There are more brands of soda than there are glasses in your kitchen cabinet.

You're daunted.

"Whatever you want," you say.

Eddie groans and tips his head back. "Don't play with me like this. Butter or no butter? It's an easy question."

"I don't know. Without?"

"You are so weird," he says happily.

You pout and pull Junie closer.

Standing at the side while he gathers concessions, too many things, you watch in awe as Eddie stacks it all against his chest with the sure confidence of someone who's done it before.

He grins at you from between two huge cups. "Are we ready?"

If you could, you'd leave him here in the foyer with his jumbo deluxe popcorn. As it stands, you like him too much to leave him behind. You juggle Junie and your bag to push open the doors for him outside of screen two.

"Thanks, babe," he says outside of screen two. You bite your lip, surprised by his easy tone.

You climb up the stairs and into your seats. You're high enough for Junie to sit in her own chair between you and Eddie and see the screen comfortably but she adamantly refuses, stretching out in your lap like an alley cat hungry for affection.

Eddie moves into the ragtag velvet seat beside you, a million things in his lap and at your feet. He's pretty enough under the theatre lights to dull the panging ache at the back of your head. "If she won't sit here, I will. I got you a lemonade, is that cool?"

If it weren't you'd hardly tell him.

"She's being extremely well-behaved," Eddie notes, an inkling of pride in his tone.

You could sucker punch him. Why does he do this to you?

"I know," you say with a shy smile, "it's suspicious, isn't it?"

"I don't know. If I were in your lap I might be well-behaved too." He raises his eyebrows, an over-exaggerated show of flirtatiousness.

You reach over the arm to take a handful of popcorn. Eyes on Junie, you offer her your stolen goods and say, "I've got two thighs."

"Don't tempt me."

Junie all but snatches the popcorn and tilts her head back. A kernel falls from her hand and disappears between the seats. You make a mental note to pick it up afterward, ears full of her chomping.

You'd worried she might be a little loud for the movies but there's a bunch of kids and none seem keen on keeping quiet, a cacophony of childish complaints to hide your conversation.

"Are babies supposed to eat popcorn?"

You freeze up. "Oh- I don't know," you say, turning Junie toward you so you can watch her swallow.

"I thought I read that somewhere, but-"

"No, I think you're right. Um…" Junie looks at you with obvious confusion. "Was that yummy?" you ask. You hide your concern with a strained bubbly attentiveness.

"I guess she's old enough."

Eddie's being very casual – it is casual. He's just thinking out loud. You know he's not criticising you. He never has, though sometimes you think he should.

It must show on your face anyhow that you're having a 'I'm a bad mom' crisis. A mean stroke of insecurity.

"Sweetheart," Eddie says suddenly, brows pinched, "it's alright. It was just a thought. And she had no problem eating it, I'm sure she's gonna be aces. Better than aces."

Junie climbs out of your lap and into his. He sets the popcorn on the floor to take her, and when her hands reach for his drink he holds the straw to her mouth. All the while his eyes move between her and you.

"Okay," you say, because you're being silly.

Junie is fine. Eddie was only saying something that's very well true. Babies aren't supposed to have popcorn, but June's not a baby, really. She knows how to chew properly. It's unlikely she'll choke.

Eddie has to keep his focus on her to avoid getting soaked – she barely knows how to use a straw and keeps trying to turn the cup upside down.

"Not like that, trouble. Right way up. You got it."

You pick at the loose stitching at the end of your shirt and have to change the subject before the embarrassment of it all swallows you. Such a small thing.

"Can I try one of these?" you ask, grabbing the first bag of candy you can find. They're a bag of Super Sour Suckers.

He looks at you over Junie's head, startled and hiding it poorly. Then, a smile so bright it increases the embarrassment you're feeling tenfold.

"You have to! Robin said they're even worse than the normal ones, I don't wanna go through that alone," he says urgently.

Robin is one of his friends. You're not jealous that he has friends (though you are, because you want your own, but not jealous that he has friends that aren't you). He's mentioned her in passing before. When you'd asked as bravely as you dared if they were anything more than friends he'd laughed maniacally.

"We're definitely just friends," he'd said.

You fight to stay smiling and pull open the bag of candies. Ironically, the jellies inside are shaped like pacifiers. Covered in sugar packed densely and looking almost wet with what you suspect to be citric acid, you shake the packet wearily and search for a candy that won't ruin your tongue.

Eddie holds out his hand. You drop a green one into his palm. Your fingertips ride up the curve of his thumb.

He's unflinching as he eats it. After a few seconds his eyes screw up and he clutches June tight to his chest, raising an unhelpful hand to his jaw.

"Holy sugar," he says, wincing.

You bite into a pink pacifier unfortunately layered in sugar and wait nervously for the sourness to kick in. Sure enough, it comes quick and torturous. It's a knife cutting through fog.

It's hard to feel tired when there's something this sour in your mouth.

"You can't spit it out!" Eddie says.

You stop with your hand halfway to your mouth. "What?" you ask incredulously, trying not to dribble.

"You gotta eat it! Chew and swallow!"

You chew miserably. He laughs at your expression – a warm and hyper sound, practically giggling. Junie joins in as she always does. His joy can't be overstated.

The lights go down while you're still fighting for your life. Your eyes water and you have to smother the taste with a quick drink and a gasping breath.

"You're sick. I can't believe you let me eat that," you whisper.

"You saw me eat mine! You knew what you were getting into… Think June wants one?"

Your outrage has him laughing again. It's a magnetic sound. Every time he does it you want to touch him, his arm one pole and your hand another.

Junie gets comfortable on his right leg, head tipped expectantly against his chest and eyes drawn to the screen as the trailers begin. You don't bother with jealousy; in ten minutes she'll be climbing over the arm to sit with you again, or want to sit in her own seat. She may even try to walk around. Toddlers are indecisive and easily distracted.

Even if she weren't. Even if she sat there in his lap for the next hour and a half and didn't look your way, you're not sure you could harbour any envy against him. His hand spreads over the front of her torso with fingers splayed against her ribs, stroking thoughtlessly through the fabric of her thick clothes.

He tips his head toward your chair. "There's nachos."

"I saw."

"Wanna eat some before they get cold?"

"Subtle."

He snorts. "Yep. That's what they call me. Eddie Subtle Munson."

You reach over the dark floor for the tray of nachos and balance them carefully on the armrest between your two seats. Eddie digs in without fuss, you fret over which ones have jalapeños on them, and Junie gets mad that nobody's sharing with her. She puts her hands straight in a mound of orange cheese. Her face is a picture when she brings it to her mouth. She's discovered molten gold.

"Junie," Eddie says lightly, carding hair away from her ear so she can hear him properly. "Don't get cheese on your pretty clothes. It took your mom a week to get the rocky road out of your strawberry jammies, you know?"

He doesn't care that she's mauled the food. He's worried she might stain her dungarees. Your heart goes crazy, another sudden surge of clarity.

Junie climbs back into your own lap as the movie begins. You whisper to her about proper theatre etiquette in your mommy voice and she doesn't do too bad a job at listening. She finds the appearance of the Great Mouse Detective himself quite funny, and laughs at his grave features and expressions every now and then. It's a golden sound.

Try as you might, you can't keep your eyes open. Junie's having such a good time and Eddie whispers funny commentary beside you, but eventually your eyelids creep shut and Eddie squeezes your arm, skin braceleted by his thick, warm fingers.

"C'mere," Eddie prompts, hands vying for your daughter where she's perched in your lap.

"Why?" Junie asks.

He's surprised at her inquisition. "You don't want a hug?"

She nods voraciously. Eddie lifts her off of your lap before she can use you as a climbing frame and into his own.

"I think mommy's sleeping," he tells her.

Junie looks at you curiously. You've got a wet wipe in your limp hand, which he takes and discards, and your head's fallen to one side. You'll have an awesome crick in your neck when you wake up.

Junie gives him a hug. He loves her hugs. They're so small and sweet, she's genuinely an extremely loving little girl. Her smile when she hugs people is beautiful as yours is, though her affection is less hesitant.

Everything's going well until she catches a look at the huge, scary bad guy Professor Ratigan somewhere in the middle.

Eddie's crunching through a greedy mouthful of popcorn and almost chokes as she turns around and hides in his chest. He brings a hand up to her back protectively though he doesn't know what happened, eyes moving between her and the screen at lightning speed.

"Aw, June," he murmurs sympathetically. He really is a scary looking guy.

"Eddie," she says, dangerously close to tears.

"Sweetheart, it's okay! He's only on TV."

She says something that might be, "Don't want." It's not quite there but Eddie thinks she's doing a great job lately with her talking, patting her back in a silent well done as he attempts to reassure her. "Basil's gonna outsmart him, Junie. The Great Mouse Detective is gonna save the day, scout's honour."

"No," she whines softly.

He covers her unhappy face with his hand.

"It's okay," he murmurs, melted and bemused. "It's okay, junebug. I swear."

Despite his best efforts, she starts to cry. Eddie freezes up because she doesn't cry often, not with him. When she does you're always there to find a solution. He supposes the novelty of being a new person has long worn off, and that he's going to have to make more of an effort than just tickling her or petting her hair to make it better.

Her volume increases. He shushes her, clumsy and awkward but earnest, trying the best that he can to make it up. He offers candies and drinks, he rummages through your baby bag for Mr. Bear. She takes it all but none of it lasts.

Someone in the chair behind him coughs pointedly.

Eddie turns to wake you up. He gets one good look at your face and can't follow through.

You're sleeping deeply, at the movie theatre of all places. How tired are you, and why hadn't you said? He'd known to some extent — it's why he'd offered to drive — but with the movie blaring and all the kids and noise and now Junie's crying, he realises you must be exhausted to sleep through it. Why hadn't he noticed? He kicks himself.

He lifts her up with his head angled down, giving your shoulder a swift squeeze and then bumping down the steps with Junie until he's out into the lights of the hallway. The door swings closed.

It's oddly quiet and extremely bright. Junie stops crying to blink, and starts to cry again once she's adjusted.

Eddie does not know what to do. It's a kick to his ego that he quickly accepts, though he does murmur a rueful, "Babe, I thought you liked me."

Lost on deaf ears, his comment hangs in the air.

He pats her back some more, wracking his brain for how you take care of her when she gets like this. Mostly, you're patient. You hum and you wait. Eddie tries to emulate you and your kind heart, walking her up and down the hall as he taps the bottom of her spine.

"It's okay," he repeats. The more he says it the easier it feels. It is okay. He has to find a way to help June understand that, is all.

She grizzles. It's a long process. A couple of times he wonders if he's in over his head, if it's even his place, if he should wake you up and admit defeat.

But Eddie Munson is trying to prove something.

He works Mr. Bear out of Junie's iron grip and pinches his back taut so that his face and arms wiggle when he wants them to.

"Baby June," he begins, in as gruff a voice as he can manage. He tries to channel his uncle's sternness, and his fondness. "Won't you quit crying? You're getting tears on the neck of your t-shirt and all over your cheeks."

Junie quietens. She still cries, but the severity of the situation noticeably shifts.

Eddie keeps on. "I got just the thing," he says, pushing Mr. Bear forward and making smacking sounds as he kisses both of her cheeks. "Gotta kiss these tears right off a'you."

She laughs as Mr. Bear kisses her face dry and laughs some more when Eddie kisses the top of her head.

Eddie loves Junie.

He knows it for a fact.

She's very easy to love. She's beautiful as you are, she's loving, she's sweet. Her laugh is adorable and her smile is more. When she cries, Eddie finds he's never annoyed. Grated by the repetitive sound, maybe, but he can't find it in himself to be mad with her ever. He wants to help her work through it. To get you both through it. Eddie wants to be good at this.

He has Mr. Bear kiss Junie all over her face.

"See?" Mr. Bear asks. "Isn't that better? No more tears, little girl, or we'll never see the end of the movie!"

As Eddie says it, he wonders if taking her back into the theatre is a good idea.

"Hey, junebug?" he says, all drama set aside.

Junie lifts her flushed face.

He smiles gratefully. "Do you wanna go back inside? Go check on mommy?" Leaving you by yourself doesn't exactly sit right with him.

Ah, there's the face he was expecting. Puzzlement, surprise. Junie frowns at him and looks over his shoulder, her own, searching the empty hallway for you and finding only reflective floor lights and patterned carpet.

Eddie starts back into the screen room before she can cry over your being missing, chatting quietly but in a way that commands her attention. He's effective in the art of distraction if nothing else.

The mouse detective and his friends have defeated Professor Ratigan, though Eddie shields Junie's head from the screen in case he's thinking about making a comeback, finding his way back to you in the dark. He picks over other people's snacks and then the abundance of your own, finding you still sound asleep. The sight doesn't spell good tidings.

"Here she is," Eddie tells Junie, "here's mom. You wanna give her a kiss?"

He sits down in his seat and squishes a bag of gummy worms under his boot. Junie immediately bends over the armrest and grabs at your front. You'd worried to him once that she had separation anxiety, and Eddie didn't know anything about it to agree or not. This display makes him think she might. She's clinging to you, desperately wanting your attention.

Eddie winces as she grabs your face. She's obviously not trying to be cruel, hand stroking over your cheek as you'd stroke hers.

"Mom," she whispers, the action itself enough to get Eddie laughing. Her version of whispering is almost like a character in a pantomime.

He doesn't laugh for very long. You're not easy to wake up. Junie squishes your cheek and tries again. "Mommy," she says.

You groan in your sleep and your eyes scrunch together. "What?" you murmur finally, voice scratchy.

"You're missing the movie," Eddie says, patting your thigh.

Your arms come to life before you do. You wrap them around Junie's short torso and encourage her up your chest until you can nose at the top of her head. You rub slow lines, a steady back and forth. Eddie would bet money you don't have a clue in the world where you are.

"S'loud," you complain. Your voice is weak with sleep.

Junie looks at Eddie weirdly. He suspects it's her way of asking him to help out without asking.

He tenses his hand where it rests at your thigh. "Do you wanna go home?"

You don't answer. You go limp under his touch and Junie's weight, nose and lips set in a frown but otherwise near languid.

Eddie's small (and alarmingly ever-present) worry for you multiplies by a hundred.

He grabs up a bag of chips and entices your daughter back onto his thigh. She digs through half the bag as the movie draws to a finish, distracted if not happy, her face and fingers swiftly flaked in corn dust. The lights are thrown up and the noise is immense, a hundred pairs of shoes over tipped popcorn, babies and young kids unsettled, their parents eager to head home and watch their own movies no doubt.

Eddie can't say he'd really watched the film besides precursory glances, his focus on you and your fidgety offspring. He'd been excited to tell you about his Junie success, but now he just wants to get you home.

He says your name as clearly as he can, his hand finding its way to your thigh for the third time. He rubs down toward your knee and gives your leg a shake.

Junie climbs off of his own. Now the lights are on she can see the grand assortment of snacks laid out before her, and she seems eager to try them all.

You eventually, thankfully rouse, you drag a palm over your eyes and cross your legs, squishing his hand in the process. He steals it back.

"Babe, you gotta get up. The attendants are looking at us funny. I think they think I've run you ragged, and while the dad tag doesn't bother me, 'cruel husband' doesn't suit me."

"What?" you ask.

He shrugs. "Junie pissed her pants."

Your eyes open, lashes parting clumsily. You move like the air around you has turned to glue and moan in a quiet display of agony as your neck clicks. "She leaked through?"

"Nah, I'm messing with you. Movie's done. Getting some weird stares."

You're quiet, but you shrug on your jacket and Eddie packs what he can of the leftover candy into your bag. He swings it over his shoulder.

"You wanna come up?" he asks Junie.

She raises both arms.

You stand on shaky legs. Eddie stations Junie on one hip with one arm wrapped around her and holds out the other. You let him fold you up into his side.

"You okay?" he asks.

Your face drops into his shoulder. "I'm so tired."

"You're alright to walk out to the car?"

His worry is like a rubber band. You snap to attention, disengage from his hold. It's a foreign and really uncomfortable feeling to see you out of sorts.

Eddie walks behind you with a hand nearly but not touching your back. If you topple, he's not sure how he's gonna save you. Determined anyways, he guards you down the hollow stairs and through the hallway, one step behind you.

It's a cool, crisp night outside.

The smell of rain sticks around. You lift your chin. It's much colder now that night's fallen. The breeze kisses your damp skin. When did you start sweating?

He presses his hand to your shoulders and guides you across the road.

Junie starts her lovely babbling in his ear. "Mouse 'tective," she says at one point. You don't react, affirming his theory: you're more than tired. You're sick.

"Mouse detective," he agrees, arm around your shoulder to assuage his own worries as he gives Junie the best of his attention. "You liked that one, huh?" Besides the evil Professor. "Better than the Muppets in New York? Junebug, you little traitor. How easily your favour changes."

"Are you surprised? She took to you like," — you yawn wide enough that Eddie feels it under his arm, a full body thing — "a duck to water."

He beams, relieved to hear your voice. "Yeah, well, I'm special."

"That's true."

Eddie walks you around to the passenger side and opens your door.

"Flirting! Awesome. You're not too sick to forget how much of a catch I am. Watch your head."

"I gotta do Junie's straps," you say.

"I think I can do it by now."

He's only sort of bluffing. It takes him much longer than it would've taken you. He celebrates his win by pinching her cheek lightly and then whacking his head hard on the roof of your car.

"Fuck," he mutters as he jogs around the hood, scrubbing at the back of his head.

You're staring at him as he opens the door.

He puts the baby bag in your lap and shoves the key in the ignition, trying not to buckle under the weight of your gaze. He cracks quicker than he should, hand paused in its action.

"What?"

"You tryna give yourself a concussion?"

"Kiss it better?"

You kiss the tip of your finger and touch it to his head. It's an instant healing potion.

Getting you both home is easy enough, it's the trying to leave that's hard. You collapse heavily into the couch, Junie drapes herself over your lap and begs for her clothes to be taken off. Your second wind has worn away to nothing, leaving you plainly exhausted.

Eddie can't go home, not until he knows you're alright.

He slinks into your bedroom and tries not to look around too much. It feels like an invasion of privacy despite having made it in here a couple of times, always with his hip to the door as you search for something. He fails spectacularly and straight away, always hungry to know more about you. These days especially.

Your bed looks like you shook out the duvet but never tucked the corners. Your pillow's on the floor, your thin throw blanket is screwed up in a ball. There's a bunch of Junie's stuffies against the headboard. He grins at their straight backs.

He makes for your wardrobe, a cheap bit of cherry wood with one sagging door. As much as he wants to outfit Junie in her goodwill band t-shirt, he pulls a soft pair of cotton pyjamas out from a neatly folded stack, thumbing the blue fabric fondly. There's a noticeable disparity between her clothes and yours. One work skirt and one work shirt hang from two lonely hangers, accompanied only by your infamous 'best jeans'. He frowns at a small stain at the knee and scratches it fruitlessly. Not her best jeans, he thinks in horror, picturing your unhappy face. He can see it so clearly, the pinching of your brows.

Junie squeals happily from the living room. Eddie remembers himself and follows the sound, finding you both on the ground. You're kneeling, blowing raspberries into Junie's naked stomach where she lays on her changing mat, a discarded diaper and her dirty clothes to the side.

There's a big break between raspberries where your eyes drift shut sluggishly. Junie whines for another.

Eddie sits next to you. Stupidly close, his crossed leg kisses your thigh. He could wrap you up in a hug easily right here, and he wants to. Your tired face has his stomach aching with guilt.

"Sweetheart," he says to you firmly, "get back on the couch. You look like you're gonna fall asleep right here."

You don't argue, leaving Eddie the impossible duty of dressing your baby. Junie hates the shirt more than he can describe, loathes the fabric as it covers her face. He has to pick her up to get her into her pants, another fury. She forgives him easily once he's done, lingering by his side with Mr. Bear in hand. She pinches his back and imitates Eddie's low growl, laughing at herself as she does. She finds it very funny. Eddie can't help giggling with her.

"Eddie?" you ask.

He turns. You look miserable.

"What?" he asks softly, startled by your intense expression.

"Thank you."

"Oh, baby," he says, loud and brash as he twists where he is to grab both of your knees. He practically throws himself at you, at your feet, ducking his cheek to your leg. "You really are sick as a dog."

You look visibly embarrassed.

"Listen," he says, insistent, "If we start saying thank you to each other, we won't stop. We'll be a loop of thank yous."

"I think I have more to say than you do," you murmur.

He shakes his head, exasperated at your inability to see him for what he is even now. It's funny. Eddie thinks you've a better view of him than anybody else, that you see him more generously than anyone has ever seen him, and you still haven't noticed he's a boy in love.

You must feel his grin as he kisses your knee, his thumb stroking over the ridge of the cap.

"If I started to say thanks for all the things you've given me I wouldn't stop. I'd talk myself hoarse," Eddie argues.

You laugh at his dungeon master dramatics, but reaffirm, "I haven't given you anything."

"You don't know what you've given me," he says into your leg.

Eddie lifts his head, weary of his chin digging into your leg.

Now isn't the best time to declare devotion, or drop kisses into you when you can't offer any in return. Not that he's expecting you to. Not that he wouldn't receive them gratefully.

"I should go home."

You reach for him. Your hand moves slowly like you've a weight around your wrist, but your fingertips curve over his cheek; you move from the corner of his lip, under his eye, and then finish your circle at the skin beneath his ear.

"Can you hug me?" you ask.

"Yeah," Eddie says. He doesn't waste any time.

He gets up, slides a knee between your knees and rests his full weight on the couch between them as his arms curve around you and his hands feel for the dip of your lower back. He clutches without any hesitation.

"Can I? Did you mean it like that? My arms work fine."

You curl your arms around him and groan. "You're gonna crush me."

"Really?" He pulls you closer. "How 'bout now?"

"Ow," you whine.

He laughs and pushes his face toward your ear. "Liar," he whispers. "No way that hurts."

"Why's everybody always on top of me?"

"That's your issue?" He pulls back. "You want to sit in my lap?"

"No!"

"Aw, my poor girl. You totally wanna sit in my lap. Alright, get in it."

He sits down beside you and waits, one arm still behind your back. He gives you an encouraging tug.

"I'm not sitting in your lap."

"I didn't think you would, just- Just c'mere," he prompts, pulling your face into his chest.

Your arms slide around his waist. He can feel the scratchy skin on your left index finger, a scar of a recent kitchen accident, against his hip where his shirt has ridden.

"You're really handsy. Has anyone told you that before?" Eddie asks, trying to cover the entirety of your back with his arms alone.

You push your face as far as it'll go into his chest. Eddie keeps you there, and soon a little body has found its way onto the couch next to you both, demanding to be included. Eddie quickly drags her in.

Long minutes of quiet hugs.

"Wish we could stay like this forever," you murmur.

"Well, I'm not going anywhere. If you were worried."

He massages over the slope of your shoulder, a tight looking muscle. You sigh inaudibly, a hot patch over his heart.

"I wasn't," you say.

Eddie thinks you might finally be on the same page.

You get really, really sick.

"On my days off!" you croak, the injustice too much to handle.

Eddie laughs from the end of your bed, a bandana tied around his face like a doctor from one of his awful horror movies, though the bandana is far from a clinical white. "That's exactly why you're still sick. Your body sensed the weekend."

Hadn't it? You'd been achy and awful on Friday and Benny had sent you home at lunch, citing a need to keep his patrons from infection. Which sucked, because you'd really wanted to stick around for the very beginning of the Friday night rush and get some payday tips. People are generous when they're high on the buzz of a forthcoming weekend, especially to over obsequious waitresses.

It had sucked worse when Junie came out of daycare in the best mood ever and demanded kisses. You'd had a headache the size of a tennis ball behind your eyes and didn't want to pass anything over, and the crushed look on her face had made you cry in the car on the way home.

Eddie dropped in particularly early that night with soup. "I had a feeling," he'd said.

And now here he is again the day after.

"At least one of us is enjoying this," you say.

"You think I'm enjoying this?" Eddie asks.

You give his precautionary outfit a once over. "Yes."

"This is just something I had lying around."

"Shut up! Shut up, no it wasn't!" You're voice cracks, giggly and giddy even with the spikes of pain to your tender head.

"It was. We did a campaign, I was a plague doctor-"

"That is in terrible taste."

"It was perfectly appropriate, thank you very much. You're determined to vilify me. Need to slow down with the cold medicine, I think."

You shriek as he tries to take the bottle. "No! No, please, my throat hurts."

He takes the bottle. It is a hurtful defeat. You curl your fingers around nothing and sulk, slouching down into a sanctuary of pillows and blankets to hide from him. Extra pillows provided by Eddie. With fresh covers, duh. They smell like him anyway. You turn your nose into it indulgently.

"You've had too much to safely be responsible for any further consumption."

"Further consumption," you echo, eyes closing in defeat as he leaves.

"You okay, June?" you hear him ask, voice occluded partially by the sound of the TV.

"Okay, Eddie?" she asks.

You grin to yourself.

"I'm great. This looks very fun. I'm gonna make mom a cold pack for her head and then you can help me make dinner, okay? Does that sound fun? Tell me, June."

The 'Tell me, June,' isn't a command so much as a gentle reminder that she can answer the question if she wants to.

"Fun," she says.

"Hey, great. Oh, thank you. Thank you."

They better not be cuddling without me, you think bitterly, grin swiftly replaced by a self-pitying frown.

You cough into your hand, roil in your own misery for a second and then grab the big glass of water Eddie had insisted on from the night stand. You tip it down yourself in your hurry.

"Missed your mouth," Eddie says, appearing at exactly the wrong moment.

"Don't baby me."

He pads into the room with a cold pack wrapped in a hand towel. "For your head."

"This is silly. I don't need to be in bed."

"Obviously you do. You're sick, did you notice? Stupid question," he adds regretfully, gesturing for you to lie back. He sets the pack to your forehead. "You wouldn't notice a hole in your stomach. You'd be dripping entrails in the freezer aisle wondering if Junie wants corn on the cob or mashed potato with dinner tonight."

"What does she want for dinner tonight?"

"Boo! Exactly my point."

"I'm gonna go ask her-"

Eddie puts an unapologetic hand in the middle of your chest and pushes down. "You will do no such thing." He lowers his face to yours. "I'm willing to get physical. So behave."

You flush with heat because you're sick and not because he says it a certain way, dropping back down into your fluffed pillows without another word.

Eddie's hand climbs up to your collar, your neck. His fingers slide one after another behind it. It's a blessed cold. You can't find a comfortable temperature today, moving between chills and hot flashes at the drop of a hat.

Or a bandana. Eddie unties the dark fabric from his neck and leaves it where it lands, staring at you without saying anything.

His thumb presses into your sore throat carefully, the barest hint of pressure, and his lips part. He doesn't say anything for a while. It looks like he wants to.

"Do me a favour?" he asks finally.

"Of course." Anything to feel useful right now.

"Take it easy." He again lowers his head, talking to you with a private smile. "The sooner you chill out, the sooner you'll beat this thing."

"Don't say that. Like I have something serious."

"The sooner you'll beat this moderate-"

"Mild-"

"-affliction." He strokes quarter-circles into your neck.

"I don't need to lie down. There's things I have to do."

"On a Saturday?"

"Yes. There's things I need to do everyday." You clear your throat. It's useless, the lump remains and your voice stays scratchy. "I have- I always have laundry. So that first. Gotta wash it and put it out and bring it in and press it. I gotta make sure Junie has lunch for daycare this week 'n if she doesn't I have to go get it, I gotta," — you cover his hand with your own thoughtlessly — "make sure her rash is getting better. And I promised we'd do a tea party tomorrow, I have to make sandwiches!"

"We both know she doesn't remember the tea party."

"I promised."

"And if I… If I tried to get all those things done, would you stay in bed?"

"You can't."

"But if I tried it? I can do laundry. I'm good at it. Get oil stains out of Wayne's coveralls every Sunday."

You slump into a lump of sadness and achy arms. "Don't do my laundry. Don't do any of that stuff. I'll punch you if you do."

Eddie bursts into laughter. "You'll punch me? You horrible woman."

"I will," you promise, fingers curling around his arm to hold him in place.

"Why don't I believe you?"

"I don't know. 'Cos you're a know-it-all who dislikes me."

"I far from dislike you." He grins at you, all dimpled and pretty. "I don't believe you'd hit me because I know you, idiot."

"Name-calling."

"Uh-huh. Are you sleeping or am I helping you out onto the couch?"

While you're happy for the compromise, you have one problem. "I don't think I can move."

Eddie lets his face fall amicably to your collar. "No, I bet you can't. More reason for me to get you on the couch. I think you've genuinely had too much cough syrup," he worries, warm breath fanning over your skin.

You bring your spare hand to his head. He has so many curls.

He lifts his head and you're close enough to kiss. There's no other reason anyone has ever been this close.

"I can see your beauty mark," you say, hushed. You don't wanna breathe on him too much.

"Freckle."

"Your freckle." You lift and drop his curls, fingers toying through the softness towards his roots, the frizz at the ends.

"You- You smell like fucking cherry syrup."

You abandon his hair to clap a hand over your mouth. "I'm sorry."

He covers his own mouth. "It's okay," he says, similarly muffled. "I like the sweet stuff."

What the fuck does that mean? Your stomach doesn't flip — it leaps right up into your throat. "You're an idiot," you breathe, caught off guard.

"What was that?" he asks, taking away his hand. "Didn't catch it."

"I said, 'You're an-"

"Amazing friend and confidante?"

You try to talk and he says, "A real stand-up guy?"

You try again and he says, "A total rockstar? Baby, if you really think all this you should've said."

You flop completely onto your back, away from his hands, his jokes and his lovely brown eyes where they bore into your own. Eddie hums and rubs brashly over the top of your arm until the skin glows with heat.

"Please stay in bed," Eddie says as he stands.

Medicine or his touch, you're feeling pretty tired. You pull up your blankets and sink like a stone, head disappearing into a mess of pillows and throws.

It's much later when you wake. You move into the land of the living abrupt as whiplash.

Eddie seems very sorry. "Sweetheart, June's past due for a new diaper, and I-"

"Oh, right," you say, sounding much more alert than you feel. You're a girl made of sandpaper.

"I would've, I mean. If it wouldn't make you uncomfortable, I would've tried. But I've never changed a diaper in my life."

You scratch your flaky eyes, disorientated and head like a boiling saucepan with the lid glued on.

"That's okay," you say. Your voice refuses to cooperate with you, gruff and too quiet. "It wouldn't bother me, but it's also not your job, so… Um." You yawn wide and cover your entire face.

You spend a minute rubbing your eyes.

"Fuck, what time's it?" you ask, squinting at him and bringing your hands to either side of your face.

"Like, seven. Ish."

"Eddie…"

"I know. I thought you could use the rest. I knew you could. And it's not urgent, you know? Come around, first. Everything's stellar."

You peel back the sheets. You're a clammy, too-hot mess with weak legs.

Eddie sees you wobble and rushes to wrap an arm around your waist. Completely unnecessarily, heart-achingly kind. You wince at the dampness of your shirt under his touch.

Junie sits on the couch in her jammies with a yellow-green soup stain down the front. She's propped up like a princess, a pillow behind her head between the armrest and her blanket covering her legs, cheek pressed to the cushions. Eyes trained on the TV and her bottle propped in a slackening grip, your baby is peaceful, near luxurious.

Only a little wiggle might suggest she's uncomfortable.

You part from Eddie's side and sit down beside her, the seat warm. She doesn't even look up.

"What, no hi for mom?" you ask tenderly, hand falling to the top of her head. She's lovely.

She gasps, little lungs fit to burst. It's pure excitement, her bottle dislodged and the blanket pushed away immediately. She doesn't bother getting to her feet, throwing herself into your lap and assuming you'll do the rest. Of course you will. You pull her up and kiss the top of her head, though you quickly hold her at arm's length.

"Sorry, mommy's still sick," you tell her, sympathetic at her crushed expression.

"Mis'd," she says.

"Yeah? You missed me?" you ask hopefully.

Her lips part in comprehension. "Missed you," she confirms.

You throw your gaze over your shoulder to Eddie. He stands by Junie's changing station with a smug smile. "What?"

"You're not very convincing."

"I'm not trying to convince you, thanks," he says, holding up two hands in surrender.

"She didn't learn that herself," you argue.

"She might've. You tell her enough."

You go back to your girl, pleased at her own smug smile. "I missed you, too, I missed you so much. Missed you millions. Sorry I've been sleeping all day, you've been such a good girl. She has, hasn't she?"

Eddie sorts through a nearly empty bag of diapers and brandishes one with fish printed on the back. "Oh, yeah. Junebug's been amazing. She came in with me to see you earlier, took your temperature." You frown. "From a distance. Kind of. I held her above you. It was… acrobatic."

You close your eyes at his absurdity, your laugh prompting another spike of pain.

Junie forces herself closer and gets both arms around your neck.

You sag into the contact, defeated. "Aw, June," you mumble ruefully. "M'trying to make sure you don't get sick too. Wasting my time."

"Mommy," she says into your neck.

"That's me."

You know she has something she wants to say. You can't wait for the days where she can. Exciting, to think that one day she'll be able to share all of her thoughts.

Right now, she's probably thinking, Woah, mom, you smell weird. And you look weirder.

You feel her back with your hand and cringe. Definitely time to get her changed.

Afterward, you sit with your back to the open front door on one of the porch steps. Physical exertion of any kind seems to be inadvisable; you're sweating up a storm. Junie sits beside you at her own insistence, her hand clasped in your hand and her head on your arm. You look down at her thighs next to your own and marvel at their small size. The evening breeze is a blessing.

Eddie stands in front of you with his backpack slung over his shoulder and a checklist.

"Tea party sandwiches are badly made and saran wrapped in the fridge. Junie doesn't have lunch for Monday but I can go tomorrow if you want me to. Her clothes are folded in the hamper. Uh, some stuff got left out, you might need to press them. Not tonight though, please."

"Thank you."

He talks around a smile. "Soup's on the stove. I'll come back later, if-"

"You don't have to."

"I want to. I wouldn't actually leave, but-"

"Eddie-" You cough into your shoulder. He waits for you to finish. "You- You didn't have to take care of me."

"What does that mean? Of course I did."

He hikes his backpack higher up his shoulder and pads back up the steps, not all of them but enough for him to lean down and stare at Junie.

"Thanks for the best day ever," he says seriously, looking out of the corner of his eye at you. "Almost. See you later?"

Junie nods voraciously and reaches up with her empty hand. Eddie takes it and kisses her temple. He does the same to you, lips brushing soft as downy-feather over your skin.

"I'll come back around ten? Is that cool?"

"Don't knock too loudly," you mumble, very aware of his proximity.

He backs up and bows like an idiot, hand moving in circles.

You and Junie wave him off.

"To work?" Junie asks.

Your eyebrows jump as you pull your gaze from his retreating figure. "Huh?"

"To work?"

You play with her fingers. "No, he's not going to work. He's going to take care of someone else, now."

Wayne, Eddie said, in a fondly exasperated tone that explained everything you needed to know. His uncle's self-preservation must come in similar disinterest to himself as yours does to you.

"We'll see him tomorrow," you say. It's not even a lie, you will both see him tomorrow.

But apparently he's coming back tonight.

True to his word, Eddie Munson knocks your door carefully at nearing ten o'clock.

Wayne's dismissal chases his heels. He'd spent an hour worrying about you at the dinner table with his uncle, fingers curling anxiously in his hair.

Wayne had been talking about some gab the boys in the shop had heard about killer mice or killer lice or something when he'd suddenly cleared his throat and snapped Eddie to attention.

"You're a good kid. Notice how I said good, and not smart," Wayne had said.

"Gee, thanks. You always did know how to make a guy feel loved, Wayne."

"You don't wanna be here."

Eddie had frowned. "Obviously I do."

"Kid, what I mean is, you gotta," — he'd nodded his head hard to one side and raised his eyebrows — "you know."

"Haven't brushed up on my mysterious gestures lately. Translate that one for me?"

Wayne had flicked up his newspaper and sighed. "Don't be dumb."

"You keep saying that."

"You keep being dumb, boy."

"I don't know what you want me to do."

"Think you better go look after your girl, don't you?" Wayne had asked finally, clearing his throat.

So here he is to look after you. A tad early, worried you'll be sleeping on the couch with a misbehaving baby in your lap or passed out in the bathroom after an impromptu cleaning.

Thankfully, you open the door in different clothes than he'd left you in, the neckline dark with run-off and face damp under your eyes and by your ears. You dab at your tacky skin with your index knuckle.

"You look better," he says. He wishes he could take it back instantly, though you don't take any offence.

"Hot shower," you explain.

You step back to let him in. Eddie closes the door behind him without turning, eyes glued to your fresh face. He's depressed by the lingering fatigue he finds lining your darling features.

"You okay?" you ask him, perturbed by his silence.

Eddie's better than okay.

He steps close. You look like you might step back, make room for him he doesn't want, so he reaches out for your face and holds it in one hand, the other landing in tandem on your arm.

Your cheek lists into his hand as he wipes away what's left of the dampness on your face. He's not sure you know you're doing it.

"Did you take any more medicine?" he asks quietly, rubbing under your eye carefully with the tip of his thumb.

"No, I- I think you fixed me, Munson. Me and Junie had your soup, and after a shower I felt way better. It was really nice. She slept easy."

He presses the back of his hand to your forehead. "You don't feel too hot."

"Like I said. Fixed me. My hero."

He looks over your shoulder at your life — at his life, or at least where a majority of it seems to take place. All his favourite parts these days happen right there on your couch, or at that table, or knee to knee with a baby that isn't his but- but-

"You said that to me the first time we met," Eddie recalls, shaking his head. It's like there's water in his ears. A few strands of hair drift into his eyes.

You catch his elbows in both hands. "It feels like a really long time ago now."

Months. Only months. "I feel like I've known you for years."

He strokes over your face, chin to cheek, the tip of his thumb pressed to the corner of your mouth.

"That's how I feel, too," you whisper. Utter. Hushed, your words ring loud anyway. "You're my best friend."

Eddie doesn't take it for a door closing because it isn't. It's a door kicked wide open. Split on its hinges. You and Eddie stand on equal ground, and, for once, the same page.

"You know I don't mind taking care of you?" he asks, hand passing over your ear to hide behind it. He wants to see all of your face.

Predictably, you drop your eyes to his neck, pupils wobbling as you search for somewhere to plant yourself. "I know. I'm not sure I deserve it."

"Why wouldn't you deserve it? Everyone deserves taking care of."

"Even murderers?"

"Maybe not murderers-"

"The evil guys from your game? Necromancers?"

"They're not all evil." His left palm skirts up the curve of your neck, encouraging your face back to his. "Don't change the subject."

You press your lips together, caught.

"I actually…" — he gathers as much bravery as he has — "want to take care of you."

"You do."

He holds your face in both hands. "You know you- You know you started it, right? You know it's- that without your-" He cringes internally at his stammering, but he has to get this part right. "You have gold where your heart should be."

"Y/N The Golden Hearted. Doesn't have the best ring to it," you muse, hands clinging to the crooks of his elbows like twin pooled teardrops waiting to fall.

Eddie stares at you, floored.

"What about you?"

"What about me?" he asks.

"What's your name?" you demand, grinning.

"Eddie the Subtle. Munson the Mad."

You huff a laugh. "That's a cop-out."

"Maybe."

"How about…" The air feels thick as jelly. Light from under the bedroom door stops short of your legs, your toes almost touching. His rubber soles, your socks. "Eddie the Indomitable?"

He crinkles his nose. "I'd almost think you were trying to flirt with me, that's how bad that is."

Your blinks are slow. Your eyes soften.

"What if I was?" you ask.

A stock-still silence pervades, filled only by the hum of the refrigerator and the droning of the bathroom light, left on. He could tell you the contents of this room by its sounds alone.

His hand moves of its own accord, up and down the slope of your neck. "I'd say you needed a better pick up line."

"Like what?" you ask, chest rising too fast.

Eddie takes a step and feels his jacket zipper cut into the cotton of your shirt. It's your matching band t-shirt.

Eddie drags his gaze slowly to your widened eyes, your lashes as they move almost imperceptibly upward. Taking him in as he inches closer.

"You're so fucking pretty," he says.

He leans in. He closes the gap. Eddie Munson takes the leap.

Your hand comes quickly to his upper arm and you turn your face just enough to force his lips, his kiss landing a centimetre shy of your nose.

He struggles to keep his eyes closed. His heart thrums like a blown amp.

"You can't kiss me," you say. Eddie struggles to discern your tone.

His nose presses to yours. Not desperately, but almost. "I can't?" he asks, throat thick with emotion, a stickying, cloying taffy.

"I'll make you sick."

He turns your face with his palm, lips hovering above yours, a hair's width. Close enough to feel their heat.

"Can I trust you'll nurse me back to health, in the event that that happens?" Would you take care of me? His hands tremble where they're touching you. He's too scared to open his eyes.

You don't answer.

You cover his hands and the seconds stretch endlessly, a thousand moments of terror and pining and want suddenly flattened into one as you kiss him.

He exhales against you. His relief is a palpable, viscous thing as he pulls you in and his nose digs into yours. Lips soft as he'd imagined, as he'd known they'd be, you kiss back tentatively. Sweetly.

You're kissing him like he's something that needs a careful touch.

Eddie screws his eyes shut tight enough to see stars, firecrackers, a shattering bouquet of colours as you move beneath him. He can't believe he's kissing you. He can't believe there was a time where he wasn't.

He yields, leaning back just enough to see your face. You keep your eyes shut, your eyelashes kissing the delicate skin beneath. They move like blades of grass in the breeze as Eddie tries to catch his breath, regaining some of his composure. It's hard while he's here, this close.

You make a small sound, a breath like a barb. The shaky demarcation of tears.

"Okay?" he asks, more movement than sound. His lips skip over your own.

You have to feel it.

A laugh bubbles up through your parted lips like a hiccup. "I'm definitely gonna make you sick," you mumble regretfully.

"Make me sick, sweetheart," he says, begs. Whatever.

Whatever word you want to use. He doesn't care if he pays for it afterwards, he wants to be close to you now, unapologetically close. And kissing you — kissing you like this, your reciprocation, it's everything because it means you feel the same as he does.

Or a fraction the same. He's reassured either way. If you felt a fraction of what he felt, that's enough.

It's a lot. To be touching you, finally. He grabs at the nape of your neck and kisses, kisses, kisses. He goes slowly, not quite sweetly. He's never been as sweet as you have, never as soft or patient.

It doesn't feel like it matters.

You pull his hands from your face, press his and your own, all four hands to the collar of your shirt.

"It wasn't just a, uh, pick up line, was it?" you ask breathlessly.

"Wh- No." Eddie massages the back of your hands. "No, you're the fucking prettiest girl ever. I think you're aces. Killer. Everything."

"Everything," you say, an almost indecipherable glassiness to your eyes.

"Everything," he says. He spreads his hand over your heart.

You don't throw yourself at him, but you move alarmingly quickly. Arms over his shoulders, hands crossed and buried in his hair. Your laugh is magic, a bright and exuberant sound loud in his ear and then the skin underneath. He's barely got an arm around the small of your back when you start to kiss him, repetitive, chaste pecks over his pulse. It capers under your lips.

"I don't know what kind of girl you think I am-" He begins deadpan and breaks abruptly, your second wave of laughter impossible to ignore.

Your arms tighten at his laughing, palm cupping the back of his head.

"You're my best friend, too," he says. "But you knew that."

"Maybe," you murmur, your smile wide against his skin. You're uncharacteristically mischievous.

He lets his back bend under your weight until your heels lift and you're scrabbling to stay on your own two feet and is rewarded by your shrieking laughter.

Oh, god, he thinks, ecstatic.

"Wait," you say, bargaining for freedom as he squeezes you hard enough to make you laugh again, and again, "wait, wait! Wait, let go. I have something to tell you."

Eddie sets you down. He's reluctant to let you go, almost desperate to hug you now that he knows he can, but his curiosity gets the better of him. What could you have to tell him now that isn't confessional? It's like being promised something good.

You stand sure and sweet in front of him.

"It's…" You look shyly at his lips.

"What?"

"I…"

He shakes his head gently from side to side. "What? Tell me."

"Nothing," you say, beaming. Act dropped, you take his face into both hands and kiss him soundly.

Eddie's barely got his hands on you before you're pulling back.

"Just wanted to do that," you say.

𓆩❤︎𓆪

thank you for reading! | my masterlist | this fic is multi-chapter

if you enjoyed (i I really hope you did), please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x afab reader #mom!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #stranger things fanfiction #fem!reader #Single mom!reader #reader insert

10K notes · View notes

mayasaura · 6 months

Note

one problem with a theatrical adaption of tlt is htn, where the reveal that Gideon lives on works because of the change of second person to first.

the only way i can think of it working is that the actor playing gideon works backstage, like the lights system (but is hidden from the audience aside from subtle hints)

the biggest hint is when when wake breaches pal's river bubble she 'breaks' the lighting system and the stage goes dark. harrow is ushered into the wings by pal so she doesn't see anything, but the lights flick back on just before the curtains drop for a scene change, and pal looks directly up at the light box in surprise and smiles. if the audience is quick to turn around they can see a flash of a black robe.

Oh boy my friend, have you come to the right place!!

So, fun fact about ninja. Bear with me, I am going somewhere with this. The image of a ninja covered head to toe in black, with a hood and mask, comes from Kabuki theatre. It was originally a stagehand uniform. Like stagehands in modern theatre, stagehands in Kabuki would wear all black to signify that they were not really there, and whatever effect they were causing (carrying a prop, creating a breeze, ect.) was to be taken as happening on its own. Basic stagehand stuff, a lot of productions in many styles around the world do it, especially if they don't have fancy rigging systems.

Someone (I don't remember who now, or in what play) had the idea to dress the ninja in a production up as a stagehand. In the convention of the theatre, this made them invisible. The audience was already so used to ignoring stagehands, they didn't know any more than the characters that the ninja was present, despite the actor being clearly visible on stage. Which meant when the ninja struck, it was as if out of nowhere. I can only imagine the uproar in the theatre the first time it happened. It worked so well as to become commonplace, and the rest is history. The popular image of a ninja is still a kabuki stagehand.

So, back to the stage play of Harrow the Ninth. I think you've hit almost exactly on how to incorporate the Gideon twist into a theatrical production. But not as a lighting tech. Gideon is a stage hand. Maybe there would be more than one stagehand, maybe she would be the only one, but she would operate in full view of the audience, literally setting the scenes. I think it works best if she's the only one, but if the production needs more, she should subtly stand out in some way. As the play went on, we would notice that this one stage hand... increasingly interacts with Harrow, though Harrow never acknowledges it. At first it might look like she's playing Harrow's necromancy, because that would be the main special effect she would need to help with. When Harrow is unconscious at the end of a scene, it's always the same stagehand carrying her out. But we all know she's not really there. Until Palamedes acknowledges her. Turns to look right at her, and speaks to her. I can see the scene clearly. He would look at her, stunned, until Gideon finally took off her mask. The line "Kill us twice, shame on God," would be addressed to Gideon, and then he would turn back to Harrow, kiss her on the forehead, and tell her to go. Gideon, always out of Harrow's line of sight, would guide Harrow away while Harrow looked back at Palamedes.

#the locked tomb #harrow the ninth #I have a few ideas how to do gideon as harrow but it needs a lot of workshopping #I love this idea #htn spoilers #gideon nav #speaking as someone who has worked as a light tech that specifically doesn't work so well #because techs are rarely on stage messing with the lights during a production #maybe if there was a spot on the catwalk or if the array was small and the gels needed changing #but anyone who can turn off all the lights on stage is usually behind the audience in a little control room with a lot of switches and dial #that said the stage SHOULD go completely dark immediately after this scene #and the lights should come up suddenly on Gideon and Harrow alone on stage together #harrow having a crisis and staring resolutely forward while Gideon behind her reaches for her and can't touch her #just for a brief moment

600 notes · View notes

fourmoony · 1 year

Text

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚

𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⭒⭒⭒

𝟏𝟖+ 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤. 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐃𝐍𝐈. 𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐯. 𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐱. 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐩𝐢𝐞. 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐧𝐨 𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭.

𝟏.𝟐𝐤 - masterlist

⭒⭒⭒

“Shit – Jamie!”

The sun is shining through the small gap in the curtains, dust molecules illuminated in the bright light. The air is thick with humidity, hearts racing, lips entangled, skin meeting skin and James – oh, James – is setting a delicious, relentless pace that you think might just kill you. You’ve no idea how he does it. Be it his to the dot Quidditch training schedule, luck, or just plain determination, you really don’t care. It’s benefiting you, his inhuman ability to be anything other than extraordinary, and you’re not one to complain, or question, or have any coherent thoughts, really.

It had started slow, just like it always did, and built into the sweetest, most delicious torture you’d ever experienced. James had you, the minute you’d shown up to his empty dorm room, nothing but a pair of pyjama shorts and his quidditch jersey on. He’d been half hard at the mere idea of your arrival, and it had taken him a breaking record of five minutes to have you naked and writhing, moaning his name with your legs over his shoulders, hands in his messy black hair.

James hikes your leg higher up his waist in response to your keening, hips slamming at breakneck speed into yours and your brain short circuits when he moans your name into the flesh on your neck. You’re both sweaty, worked up, getting needier the longer he holds out. He’s been doing it for hours, it feels. Speeding up, getting relentless, dragging you close, close, close, to the edge, just to stop, slow down, ‘take a breather’ as he calls it. Except he knows exactly what he’s doing. And he knows that no matter how much you whine and complain, that you love it just as much.

“Please, Jamie. Please, please, please…”

You know you don’t make any sense; he’s quite literally fucked you into delirium and the only thing you can think of is how good he makes you feel.

“I know, baby, I know. Gonna make you feel so good.” He promises, his hand that isn’t pressed against the headboard comes to grab at the flesh of your arse, lifting your hips just the tiniest bit but oh, gods, does it feel good.

It’s maddening, really, the feel of him on top of you, hot and heavy, and inside you, even hotter, larger, and hitting every single spot that could ever need to be hit. His hips roll into yours; his teeth graze the pulse point by your neck, your legs wrap tighter around him, the hand previously on your arse comes back around to reach between your writhing bodies, attaches itself to the swollen bundle of nerves that’s been swollen and lacking attention for what’s felt like hours.

James gets frantic the louder you get, babbling nonsense, veins on fire with pleasure, head spinning with desire.

It’s dizzying, the drag of his skin against your hard nipples, and you scream when James’ hand slips on the headboard and he forcibly ruts further into you.

“Baby, baby,” James groans, his eyes meeting yours, filled with a bright twinkle only sex can bring about, “You’re doing so well. Always so well.”

James isn’t making much sense either, barely sentences strung together in an attempt to praise you.

With his hand off the headboard, James switches your position, pulling you up and into his lap as he sits on his haunches. His eyes darken at the sight of you, sweaty, delirious, but a blinding light of ethereal beauty. You know he’s challenging you, about to tell you your least favourite words of all, because James is a dutiful boyfriend, he’s attentive and caring and would bend over backwards for you. It’s safe to say that in the year you’ve been together, he’s singlehandedly – through his own actions, and no fault of your own, definitely not – turned you into that of a spoiled, bratty, pillow princess.

“Get yourself off on me, baby,” James tells you, eyes dark, smile mocking.

He knows this only makes you more frustrated, more needy. And you know that’s what he loves; you, begging for him, needy, restless, at his disposal.

It’s mean.

“Jamie, please,” You pout, circling your hips.

He winces, hips twitching upwards, and you smile that sickly sweet smile.

“You want to finish? Do. It. Yourself.” James orders, hand leaving your hip to slide menacingly up your navel, landing on your neck.

He doesn’t apply too much pressure, just enough to have you seeing stars, your hips lifting on their own accord. He feels impossibly larger like this, dragging menacingly against your walls, a delicious form of torture you’ll never, ever tire of. Every nerve ending is on fire, arching into James, his hand holding you up by your neck. It’s filthy, raw, and you wouldn’t dare to have it any other way.

You build a rhythm, loving the way the inside of your thighs are slick, rubbing against James’ every time you return to his lap. James switches from looking at your face, a contorted mix of pleasure and desperate need, and puts his face between your breasts, licking and biting at the skin there. You whine, moving impossible faster.

You’re tired, past the brink of exhaustion and your muscles hurt, and James puts both hands back on your hips, lifts you up and down forcefully until you’re slamming down onto his lap. It’s wet and messy, you feel yourself climbing closer to that edge again and you’ll be fucking damned if James takes it away from you. You speed up, James’ hands help, strong and steadying and your breath hitches when he takes a hard nipple into his mouth and tugs.

“Ohmygod.” He groans around the skin when you clench around him, hips stuttering as you fall into release.

You see stars, and songbirds, hear crashing waves, a white-hot flush of pure pleasure and you scream his name, over and over like a mantra. You continue to rut against James until he follows after you, biting hard against the flesh of your breast, the pain is dizzyingly amazing, as his release washes over him. You fee him spill inside you, hot and white and it makes you giggle deliriously, happy and content.

“I love you,” He breathes, craning his neck to look up at you, “I love you,” He kisses your collarbone, “I love you,” another kiss to the base of your neck, “I love you,” Your jaw, “I love you,” a soft kiss to your lips.

You smile, floating, and press a kiss to his lips, “I love you, too.”

Your bodies are slick, exhausted, trembling with the last remains of pleasure.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, baby.” James says after he catches his breath.

He kicks his legs out from under him, shuffling with you still in his lap toward the end of the bed where he stands. You wrap your legs around him, wincing when his softening member shifts inside of you, he carries you both to the bathroom, giggling and squealing when he swats your arse and sets you down onto the toilet.

The loss of him is debilitating, but with the cheeky smile on his face as he reaches over and turns on the shower, you guess he’s a long way from being done.

James Potter and his never ending stamina.

2K notes · View notes

6ronze · 15 days

Text

𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐋!𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐙𝐔 thoughts..

warning(s) : just smth short w sassy sanzu. you can imagine platinum/white or pink haired sanzu here it doesn’t matter. model!au so no deaths or wtvr. he’s a fucking jerk. model!fem!reader. nsfw. mdni. reader smokes. intoxicated pussy eating. clothed eating out. sanzu having a whole plan to fuck you sloppy so you keep coming back for more so maybe a bit toxic if you squint. wc is 1.5k

MODEL!SANZU who was a male model you were made to work with last minute. You couldn’t even refuse or take a second to at least search up his name to see if he was someone you could work with—your manager decided that for you instead.

On the night of the fashion show, you met with pink haired man backstage, briefly introduced to one another by his manager since yours was busy instructing the girls who had their makeup done to change into the clothes assigned to them.

Amidst the busy, cramped space you guys were in, it seemed like the world around seemed to stop when his uninterested eyes finally met yours, the pretty, unique scars on each corners of his lips curling up to an almost mocking smirk. You hated that look on his face, hated him right off the bat. And you also hated how easily his face gave you butterflies.

“You better keep up. ‘m not slowing down if you fall off the runway,” his velvety voice laced with arrogant teasing reaching yours ears like nails on a chalk board, your perfectly touched up face contorting ever so slightly at him. But you didn’t turn to him, refusing to have any sort of connection with your one-night partner.

Lights dimmed, curtains slid open, music cued—you two opened the show. It was a quick-paced walk, not much pressure since you’ve been opening and closing fashion shows for a few years—but for some fucked up reason, you felt the nerves in your prickle your skin. He walked in sync with you, though it was more like he was leading the whole fucking walk with how inconsiderate he was being, walking like you didn’t even exist beside him.

Once you returned backstage, waiting for the rest of the models to walk the runway so you could join the closing walk, you felt awfully peeved. Trying to find out the cause, you turned your head to the first suspect, MODEL!SANZU.

He felt your glare on him but simply chose to ignore you, knowing it’ll probably piss you off more. A scoff left his lips when it was proven true with how you clicked your tongue at him.

“What? Not like it’s your first time walking with your tits out,” he snickered, standing still as a makeup artist touched up his face and dabbed the sweat from his pale skin. “Unless, I made you nervous,” he added after a short period of silence, mesmerising turquoise eyes glancing your way to meet your glare, brows raised with an amused sneer that told you he had no intentions to stop provoking you.

What made it all the worse for you, was that you were liking his attention, as condescending as he might be. Plus, everything about him made you want to stare at him for as long as you could. From his silky long hair, to his lean yet muscular build, and not to mention the scars on the edge of his lips. He was a work of art, ruined in the best way possible.

The night came to an end, finally. It was a few minutes past midnight after the show. While all the bigshots and guests were at the after-party of the event, you models were taking smoke breaks out the backdoor of the building with nothing but black robes or maybe a faux fur coat like the one you were wearing right now.

“Didn’t think you were a smoker. Such a big girl now, aren’t ya?” You heard a familiar voice call out to you from behind, yours lips pursing to a thin straight line with the light smudges of eyeshadow sharpening your already narrowed eyes that glanced at him.

Flick, “not gonna join the party? Some millionaire’s you could sleep with there,” he muttered with a cigarette between his lips as he directed the flame of his lighter below the edge of it.

“Money without good dick doesn’t turn me on,” you huffed, trail of smoke leaving your lips along with your sigh. You turned your head to look at him, expecting some kind of remark to your response—but all you saw was some shitty grin on his face, eyes looking you up and down without an ounce of subtly. Your hand moved to pull your coat tighter over your body as if you were already naked underneath, save for your panties and lace stockings.

“Oh, please. Trynna hide yourself as if I didn’t already see the shape of yours tits and ass. They were quite the view though, can’t lie,” he teased with an initial roll of his eyes, inhaling the cigarette then releasing the smoke.

MODEL!SANZU couldn’t help the twisted pleasure he felt from the sight of your stunning features contorting to a mask of disgust, or even a nasty glare. He liked it even better when you muttered some nasty comment telling him to fuck off, only to see you not lift a finger to make him really go away. You were feisty, knowing how to keep him on his toes while simultaneously pulling him close.

“Come over. Just for the night,” he blurted out, sounding more decisive than he truly was. He punched himself in his mind for suddenly inviting you over, annoyed at himself in fear of going too fast. But he kept a straight face on the outside—a skill he gained from his modelling work.

Your eyes flicked your eyes over to him again, removing the cigarette from your lips and keeping it held between your index and middle finger. It didn’t take you long to ponder for an answer. And he didn’t seem to question you much either. All that happened was a quick nod from you and a brief trip back inside to grab your bag before heading out again to get in his car.

In a blink of an eye, you were in his apartment—a messy space with essential furniture, his taste in colour and interior design something you almost admired. He didn’t bother opening the lights, letting the city lights from outside illuminate the room from the big windows.

Minutes passed in his apartment, red wine served to you in a glass and cigarettes shared and passed. The conversations between you two were somewhat heavy yet filled with banter, the atmosphere starting to get intoxicating the closer and bolder you leaned into him, legs over his lap, giving him a sight of your clothes pussy if he so wished to peek. And being the opportunist he was, he did. Stared at your figure appreciatively even.

Soon enough, hands began to wander and clothes were stripped. It didn’t take long for him to lift your legs of his lap and hang them over his shoulders instead, shifting on the couch to position himself between your legs, leaning down to give half-hearted swipes of his tongue over your dampening folds. His eyes seemed glazed over, as if he was intoxicated, which he was.

You leaned back against the armrest of the plush dark velvet couch, fur coat slipping off your body to reveal your tits, stomach lazily skimmed over by his hand. He felt you squirm from his licks and it almost made him chuckle, hand on your belly sliding over to grip your hip instead. He buried his face further into the apex of your legs, his tongue flicking up and down your clothed pussy with more effort than before, parting your thighs more so he could delve past your folds and reach your clit.

When he finally found your pulsing buds, you felt a subtle jolt wash over your body, a soft moan leaving your tired lips before sipping a hand down to his head, threading your fingers through his locks and tugging on them weakly at first, matching the rhythm of his tongue that soon picked up the pace.

He was getting greedier in seconds, moving his tongue faster up and down your clit, probing your aching slit that he could barely reach due to the fabric that stopped him. As much as the lace annoyed him, he didn’t want to let you have the full experience of his capabilities, yet. He wanted you needy and curious the next morning, he wanted you coming back for more—he didn’t want you to leave.

Your fingers tangled in his hair only tightened with every passing moment, your legs quivering as he brought closer and closer to that sweet release you craved. His saliva made it better, sloppier, wetter. The lewd suckled he made desperately on your bundle on nerves and on your puffy folds made you whine pathetically, eyes closed shut and head straining to brace yourself for the orgasm he gracefully gave you. You gathered a fistful of his hair, pulling onto him to shove him deeper, riding his mouth with every buck of your hips without care if he breathed or not. But you didn’t worry much about him either, since his hands that clawed the fat of your ass and thighs told you he probably enjoyed it as much as you did.

#A mess #this was not short whatsoever #This is a half-assed fic ig #Sanzu x reader #sanzu smut #tokyorev #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x reader #sanzu haruchiyo x reader #sanzu x reader smut #tokyo revengers haruchiyo sanzu #sanzu x you #sanzu x y/n #tokyorev x you #tokyo rev #Sanzu x you smut

166 notes · View notes

silv3rswirls · 6 months

Text

Hound

Summary: What did a suffering lamb even accomplish? Who did it save, when would it end?

Warnings: serial killer/yandere jk, kidnapping, stalking, references to death, suggestive scenes, delusions, religious themes/trauma, minor description of sick/rotting bodies/animals, murder, reader goes on a weird little adventure with killer jk?? She dies at the end

Note: idk I kind of lost the original plot of this one and this is what it turned out to be. Please mind the warnings and as always, hope ya’ll like it. ALSO, I didn't have it in me to edit this, so mind that. I might come back to this

There’s something in the corner; watching. It’s been there so long, you couldn’t remember when it invited itself in. It’s starving and sickly, black fur clinging to bones and eyes droopy and white. You stopped feeding it a long time ago, but still, it lingers. In every facet of your life, it lingers. You’ve lived like this for so many years, have you always lived like this?

What time was it?

Your eyes shifted from their fixed position on the wall to the clock, passing over the thin, gold cross mounted just beside it. Your eyes strained to read it against your bedroom's dark wood panels and dim, ugly yellow light. Whatever time it was, you knew it was time to get out of bed and start dinner before your husband got home from work. You make your way to the kitchen, the house dims now that the sun has set. You avoid flicking many lights on, it’ll save money your husband insisted. You hated fumbling around a dark house but had given up arguing with him a long time ago.

You peek through the sheer curtains, the sink running and steaming water burning your hands as you finish that morning's dishes. It was dark, and windy as the tree in your front yard shook and branches brushed against the roof. It was the cusp of winter, very cold but snow hadn’t started to fall yet. The neighborhood was quiet, street lamps harsh against the dark backdrop of houses. You stare hard outside, it's there. Standing there, watching you. That sick dog, with hackles raised and tongue hanging from its mouth.

The curtains fall back into place as you turn the water off and dry your hands. You pass the phone, that’s been ringing for the past five minutes. You don’t answer because it's just your parents again, all they wanted was to guilt you into going to church with them on Sunday morning. They went every day, once upon a time you had gone as well, but now you could only stand to give them Sundays. Last week you had pretended to be sick to get out of it, your husband went along and you were sure he spent most of the day badmouthing and complaining about you not coming.

The last time you found yourself in a church you were standing at an altar listening to a man feed the room empty vows. You stood stiff, draped in satin, with eyes downcast. This is what everyone wanted; this is what you wanted. What a waste, as he fumbled the paper with his crudely written vows. What a waste of a man who couldn’t memorize a few short promises. What a waste of a man who couldn’t stand there and pretend to be in love with you, to dare to call himself righteous, the perfect match to keep their daughter in line with a faith you had stopped believing years ago.

You didn’t want to get married. You had stopped liking the fantasy of having a husband years ago, and around the same time, you began to feel a sour taste over your parents' religion. What happened to you? What happened to our beautiful girl? They would ask, more so plead with you for answers. Truthfully, you had stopped believing in god. It was restricting; days to weeks to months to years. It was always the same. The same scripture, the same ravings of the pastor that drove such fear of doing anything wrong into you, leaving holes in your body that oozed with guilt and shame; you didn’t know why.

You had begged god to save you, even after all the terrible things he must’ve seen you do. Still, on the morning of your wedding and every day after that, you begged. Knelt until your knees were raw and aching, your hands clasped so tight until your nails pricked your aching skin and drew blood. You begged, for something, anything, you weren’t even sure what anymore. But nothing ever changed. When would god find time for you again? You live, you do as you’re told. You do everything you’re supposed to, and yet nothing. You live how you’re told. You grow, you work, you’re a wife. You follow and you ignore the hound scratching at your walls. You’ll die soon, you can feel it. When will he come back to you?

That night you refused to go inside, letting your feet go numb buried in snow in the backyard. Looking into the treeline, you’d rather be fed by the creatures lurking there than by some angry boy playing dog inside. You wanted to hurt him, for him to feel how you had the past year. He didn’t think you could, but you wanted to show him you would.

But when you looked down at your trembling hands, stiff and half frozen from the cold, you knew there was no way you could show him. How you felt and how you acted were two different things; forever separate as much as you wanted them to be the same. You could talk a big game, think about how so badly you wanted to hurt him, and that was all. It had to keep being enough.

Something in you wanted more, so much more. You could rest because of it. You had stopped fighting your parents now, you were hoping things could change. Maybe you’d find peace again, though you weren’t sure how. You grew weary, tired of hating god and resenting your parents. You wanted so badly to be separate from it all. To no longer have a feeling of guilt hounding you. To no longer hate the church and everyone in it, the teachings and echoes of preaching lingering in your mind. The years you lost there; lost to fear and manipulation. How you hadn’t been able to enjoy a single thing in your adolescence. How after your first kiss you had gone home and sobbed until throwing up. As you were on your knees cleaning it up, trying to hush your cries to not wake your parents, you closed your eyes and pleaded between gasps and hiccups for god not to hate you. How you trembled and sat there until your skin was rubbed raw against the carpet,

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face and looking around the dark living room from the kitchen. You felt like you could see it; that creature lying on the sofa staring at you. Mouth parted, teeth pointed, its soul-bearing into your own. You turned away with the familiar feeling of guilt washing over your body. Your gaze rested on the floor, but the faint outline of shoes made your brow furrow; your husband wasn’t due home for another hour. Very slowly you pick your gaze up to see the man standing in the hall. Faint light from the open backdoor pooled in behind him. You stared at the young man longer than probably should have. Maybe you should've screamed sooner and ran before he got that close to you but you had frozen in place.

Break-ins didn’t happen around your neighborhood, let alone kidnappings.

What horrible luck that you’d be the first?

What had you done? What had you done to deserve this?

He carried you out of your house, but still, you couldn’t bring it in you to scream for help. You wondered deep down if anyone would help you. He puts you in the back of his car and drives, the windows down and bitter cold pouring in. You’re lying in the backseat, wrists bound tight. He’d been eerily silent through this whole ordeal.

“How come you haven’t begged me not to kill you yet?” He asked, looking back at you. His voice came jumbling from his mouth fast, a bit irritated. Like he had been frustrated with your lack of struggle.

“Were you going to kill me?” Your skin crawls with goosebumps from the cold.

He pauses and stares at you, “Do you want me to kill you?” He turns back to watch the road, neither of you answering his question. A long stretch of silence follows, he doesn’t look at you again, not even a glance from the mirror. “I’ve been watching you for a long time. I’m going to give you what you want, and then I’m going to kill you.”

You’re throat dries and your face pales. “You don’t know what I want.” Watching you? You felt an uneasiness come over you as you thought back to what you had done the past few weeks. Nothing to be honest. You had barely left the house. You imagined him peeking through windows, hiding in the yard, and watching you collect groceries and throw the trash away. Had he been in your house before? You look at him, he didn’t seem familiar at all. You’d never seen him around before.

He dragged you from the car, you didn’t struggle but you remained limp, dead weight for him as he covered your eyes and drug you inside. When inside you feel his boot on you, pressing into your shoulder. Pressing into you, your eyes trail over the shine of leather and then up to him. He was standing above you. Taller, stronger, better than you; that's what he wanted right? You’d stare at him, was this what you wanted?

The house was messy, recently abandoned you assumed. It was clear he had been holding up here for a while. He shoved you on the ground, circling around you as you looked up at him. “What are you going to do?” You ask.

“Gonna kill you.” He admitted earnestly. “I know you, I’ve been watching you for a long time- really, I’m just helping you.”

Was he your savior? Was he doing you a favor? Would he do to you what you had never been brave enough to do yourself? Is this what you truly were? An animal built to serve? To be depraved, to crawl across glass and pour blood for someone like him?

“But I…I don’t want to die.” He gives you this pitiful look; his lips pout and his eyes soften for a moment. As if telling you you didn’t know what you were talking about, and how pitiful it was you couldn’t accept it. “What’s your name?” You ask, feeling silly for being hopeful you might be able to get any information out of him. “Jungkook.” You lower your head, wondering if trying to collect any information for authorities was even worth it. Everything about this man was intimidating. He was larger and stronger, it didn’t matter if you fought or not he could drag you around like a ragdoll all he wanted.

Jungkook gets up and walks around the living room, rummaging through piles of what you assumed were his things. “I’ve been watching you for over a year now.” He admits, “Since you went on vacation for your friend's birthday. You were so drunk at that bar, I was going to kill you then, but something told me not to.” He turns back to you with a small bound notebook in hand. “So I followed you back here and got to know you more. Imagine my shock when I realized you were getting married. Was that trip your last night of freedom, is that why you got so messy?” You stare up at him, unsure of what to say. Yes, it was your last night. You came home and your parents pushed you into marriage sooner because of it. He hands you to the notebook, urging you to open it. “I’ve been watching you since. Your life turned out to be so interesting, I couldn’t just kill you after everything.”

You flip through the pages slowly. Pictures of you and your family. Pictures of you at the altar. Scribbled paragraphs about things he heard others say about you, quotes of things you were sure you had said. Notes and bullet points of every piece of information he got. “So, what do you want to do first?”

“Can I take a bath?” You ask, mind going a bit blank and voice flat as you set the notebook down and try to take it all in.

He let you. The water was hot and steaming when he pushed you in and closed the door. No windows, no way to get out. You settle into the water, the sweat from stress and anxiety washing off as you try and fail to relax. Could you be forgiven for things not of your control? You sink further into the water. You could hear him outside in the hall pacing. His steps were heavy and loud, ringing in your ears as you stared up at the night, fluorescent bathroom light. They did this to you, they all did this to you. Why were you being punished? Why had Jungkook laid eyes on the most pitiful woman in town and decided it was to be her? You thought about your wedding day, and your husband back home. Maybe if you had just settled, stayed with them, and did your duty as a wife Jungkook wouldn’t have stumbled into your life. Yes. you should have wanted less, you decide. Because it seems Jungkook was ready to give it all to you.

You raise your hands out of the water, the deep imprints of the zip ties he had kept you bound with were still there. Angry and a pale red color. The bathwater around you, swirling unpleasantly around you. The hot, humid air inside the bathroom, the hum of the lights, and the moths flying around them.

You felt rotten like your teeth were falling out, hanging just barely to your gums. Truly, you felt disgusting.

Jungkook is in the hall waiting when you finally get out. You looked up at him and saw nothing. No starving dog trying to pretend. No confusion, or games, or lies. He knew what he wanted to be and he was exactly that. He wasn’t lying, pretending, or trying to make you believe his actions were right. He said it outright; he wanted to kill you. He was going to kill you.

“I want my wedding dress” you slowly say.

“You don’t like the one you wore at your wedding, you cried the day you tried it on.” Jungkook glances at you, watching you silently agree with him.

“So you won't get it for me?”

“Don’t you want more?” He asks, “I’ll get you a new dress, whatever one you want.”

Jungkook stares at you the same way the beast that lingered in the corners of your house did. An eager stare, unrelenting, you couldn’t move out of its sight. “I just want that dress.” You repeat, clasping your hands together and pursing your lips, “You said I could have whatever I wanted…”

A smile stretched his lips, “I’ll get it for you.”

You lay down on the floor of the backseat of the car. Your hands are zip-tied again, and you can’t see Jungkook from your position. What an odd turn of events to say the least…you had fully expected to die the moment he dragged you out of the car and into that house, but now you could see faint glimpses of familiar landmarks leading to your neighborhood from what you can make out from the window. You think about the day of your wedding, and the events that even led up to your parents making a match for you and pushing for it so hard. Despite how vocal you had been about your unhappiness with everything about your childhood, how much you never wanted to step food into their church again; they held a firm belief that you’d come crawling back. If they shamed and argued and pushed enough you’d come back.

For as much hate you felt, twice the amount of guilt weighed you down. After a while, it all became so hopeless. It was exhausting. It made you sick, you couldn’t do anything without guilt nipping your heels, chasing you down until you drowned in it. You couldn’t live, so you came home. Let them talk you into marriage because it would fix everything, they insisted. You just needed a husband, the stability of it, someone to care about other than yourself. Have a few kids and you’ll start walking the right path again.

You waited, but it never came. You never felt better about any of your choices. Deep down you had known you wouldn’t, but you had spent so much of your life blind. Going back to it didn’t help, it wasn’t even familiar anymore. Nothing ever changed. When will God find time for you again? You live, you do as you’re told. You do everything you’re supposed to, and yet nothing. You live how you’re told. You grow, you work, you’re a wife. You follow and you ignore the hound scratching at your walls. You’ll die soon, you can feel it. When will he come back to you?

You weren’t even sure why you wanted that stupid dress. You weren’t sure if you cared what happened to you, or feared what Jungkook was going to do. Maybe it is comforting, in a weird way. No one paid attention to you, no one bothered with you. They wouldn’t until you changed, and deep down you didn’t want to change. But outside of your life now you had no idea what you would do. You never had higher dreams than staying local and marrying within your church growing up. You didn’t even attend college. You never aspired for more, now it felt like it was too late. Jungkook was talking to you from the driver's seat but you couldn’t hear him. Too enveloped in your head to focus on him, he was spouting things he had found about you the last year or so. How he’d never felt a need to stalk the people went after before, let alone this in depth. It was “life-altering” and you were going to be special to him.

The car stops and you feel a weight on your body; the canine-like creature is standing over you. Paws pressing to your stomach and legs, its breath hot, its ears perked up as Jungkook gets out of the car. You feel an immense guilt weighted on you and you consider stopping Jungkook and telling him to just leave and kill you.

You didn’t want this. You did want this. You weren’t sure. Your husband was home, he wasn’t going to just let Jungkook in to take what he wanted.

You lay there for what felt like an eternity until he came back, opening the back door and pulling you out of the car. It’s still dark out, chilly, and unmoving as he hooks his arms under yours and drags you back inside. He sits you down in the entryway and locks the door. You look around. “Where’s-”

“Don’t worry about him.” Jungkook shows your husband's wedding band now on his hand. “Come one” he scoffs, “you knew what I was going to do.”

You stare at him, glance and the very faint outline of the body on your kitchen floor. Had you known? You feel a bit sick, deep down you had hoped for it. He leaves you there to find the wedding dress. Jungkook smiles at you one more time before going towards the back bedroom.

When Jungkook saw you, he had every intention of following you out of that bar to kill you. It was his typical hunting ground. Every few months when the desire struck him again he would wait patiently for the right girl to cross his path. You were hard to ignore that night; annoying, he had half a mind to kill you just to shut you up. But when he followed you outside, watching you slump against the wall and fiddle with your phone he took a moment to watch. Turning away and nursing a cigarette on the opposite side of the entryway.

The way you sniffled and cried on the phone with your mom, asking if there was any other way than to get married. You were too drunk to give him a coherent story of what you were going through, but apparently, you just hated the dress and the groom so much. He crept closer as you hung up, making some lighthearted comment about how rough you looked, and offered you a cigarette.

You talked a bit more about your ass of a fiance and how you felt like you had no other options anymore. He asked where you were from and you told him. He left you there once your friend found you and would see you again a month later. He’d been crammed in his car for days, a map of the town and surrounding forests resting on his steering wheel as he scribbled out the last few leads he had gotten on where exactly you lived. he looked up and there you were, walking with a group of older women into a boutique down the street, exiting with a pretty wrapped box a bit later. He followed you home, and everywhere after that. Watched you walk down the aisle, the wedding open to all members of the church, and allowing him to walk right in. he watched you go home and cry in the backyard, watched you talk your dress off through the window, watched your husband fuck you for the first time. He watched you sit restless every day after that.

Jungkook found your dress backed away in that same ornate gift box on the top shelf of your closet. He smiled and smoothed a hand over the box. All he knew was that he wanted you, wanted to make you happy, and then he wanted to kill you. Put you out of your misery. You’d be better off, he told himself. Clearly, you needed to be saved, so he’d kill for a better reason this time.

You were crying when he came back. Looking up at him with red, water eyes and pressing your lips together to try and keep quiet. Jungkook set the box beside you, kneeling in front of you and tilting his head. But all you can see before you is that beast, sitting with flattened ears and tongue hanging from between rotting teeth. Staring at you with those eyes, like they were reflecting everything upsetting right back to you.

“All this guilt, there’s no use feeling it.”

“I can’t help it.” You choke out. “I can’t stop it, I see it- feel it everywhere.” You rubbed your eyes, looking at Jungkook and trying to stop your trembling bottom lip.

“Crying won’t won’t make things different. Just because you’re guilty won’t make this better. Your guilt won’t purify you.” He clicks his tongue, reaching to push your hair out of your face. “You wanted me to kill your husband, and that’s okay.”

“Thank god, the psycho thinks everything is alright. How comforting.” You weep.

“Stop holding back, come on. You want things to change, doesn’t matter how they change right? You hated him, I heard you say it myself so many times. Say it.”

“I wanted him to die.” You admit quietly. Something in you wanted this to happen. Asking Jungkook to come back here, a part of you knew the possibility. “It’s just not fair. It's not fair. I’ve done nothing but what I’m supposed to do. My whole life, I’ve been trying so hard my whole life to be what I’m supposed to be, but I don’t understand. Everything was supposed to be better, but I hated him. I hated him so much. Then you got here and I…I just wanted to feel all the pain that he’s caused, but I can’t even stomach it. I wanna be cruel, don’t I deserve to? I can’t stop crying though.”

Jungkook coos, pulling you into the chest and wrapping his arms around you. “Baby, there’s nothing wrong with that. That’s why I’m here, I want you to let go, want you to just do what you want. I watch you every day. You’re so miserable, it’s so weird. I felt bad for you.” Jungkook muses, “I’m here for you now baby, we only have a few hours left though.”

“Can I put the dress on?” Your voice was low and tired. Jungkook nodded, shifting over to take the box's lid off and peel back the tissue paper wrapped around your wedding dress. He takes it out, unraveling it carefully as you watch.

Your wedding had been a disaster. You cried through most of it, though no one seemed to care at the time. Your late husband was glad just to have a woman to take home. He wasn’t romantic at all, nothing about him attracted you to him. He was one of the slimier men you had come across in your time in the congregation. He interpreted things how he wanted to, and often reminded you of all the things in your life you had done wrong and had yet to be forgiven for. This was the man your parents hoped to whip you back into shape. It worked in a sense, you supposed. You had been forced to settle. Your hate faded each dull day that passed, you grew weary and unhappier.

The dress was modest. Long-sleeved, high neckline, mane with heavy ugly satin. You put it on there in the hall, feeling too numb to worry about any shame you had in front of Jungkook anymore. He zipped it up for you. Jungkook was kneeling, fixing the skirt, and letting it fluff out. He smooths it down and looks up at you. Despite the heavy eyes and tear-stricken face he smiled, “You look pretty.”

No one told you that on your wedding day, no one told you that the day your mother chose the dress for you. You smiled, feeling a small ounce of joy for the first time tonight. “What do you want to do now?”

You ignore his question, “Is that why you’re doing all of this, are you obsessed with me or something?”

“I guess in some sick way I am.” He wanted to kill you, but at the same time, you were the prettiest girl he’d seen in a long time. Something about the repressed guilt and how you teetered on the edge of breaking completely just got him he supposed. “I watched you the night of your wedding, you were so perfect. Everything was perfect until he came in.” He scowls at the thought, “It’s a shame.”

“Do you want to…” you trailed off, your voice a bit nervous.

Jungkook’s fingers twitch, he's playing with the trim of your skirt. “I do” he murmured, “I’ve thought about you every night since I met you” He raves, “you’re the only one- why? Why do you make me so crazy?” He asks, brushing off any answer you try to give him. “Want you, need you” He breathed, the fabric of your wedding dress bunching up as he pulled at it.

“I can’t-” you grabbed at his hands. You could feel it, the guilt creeping in. Your eyes land on your wedding ring. Torn with morbid want and a last shred of gut-wrenching guilt, you looked into his eyes. Tempting dark pools stare back at you he grabs at your hand. “We’ve come so far already, don’t stop now. Besides” he makes it a point to flash your late husband's wedding band. “I’m your husband now.” you flush, the words twisting in your ears are wrong; everything about tonight was wrong. It felt like a dream more than reality.

“I know you think I’m attractive” he pushes through the layers of the dress, his hands cold as he rests them on your thighs. “It’s so wrong of you baby” he purrs, “you know I’m gonna kill you, but you want me don’t you?”

“I know” you whimper, chest heaving as you watch him. His fingers trace against your skin, his hand moving between your legs.

“When’s the last time your husband touched you?” He asks, “This is what you want, right? You want someone to want you?”

Your fingers twist in his hair, gripping tight as if you were about to fall. Your legs trembled under the weight of guilt and need over what was happening. He was right though, it had been a long time since you felt wanted at all. The moment you had sex the first time those years ago, you knew no one would want you. Not in the church, not here. Impure, a whore. Your mother had even said it when you sobbed and told her.

Your back arches, your thighs tremble, and you let your grip on his hair loosen. You fear toppling over, your breathing a bit ragged. You felt his lips trace your inner thigh, leaving half-hearted kisses and sinking his teeth into your skin.

“You look so pretty in your dress.” Jungkook reappears, kneeling before you a minute longer. Fixing the skirt of the dress, smoothing the fabric down then reaching for your hand. He traces the wedding ring a few times.

“Where do you want me to do it?” Jungkook’s question falls on deaf ears. You’re sitting in the passenger side of his car, still wearing a dress and still trying to steady your pounding heart.

Where did you want to die?

Did you want to die?

You were scared of living as much as dying; but was there anything left for you anyways?

Jungkook you supposed, there was a weird want for him. Maybe it was messed up, he was into you. He took all this time to watch you and wanted you to be happy before you died. You weren’t sure if you were happy.

Before you got out of high school the town church moved to a new building. A bigger, newer, and nicer one. The old one was small, typical of what you would imagine a small, secluded town’s church would look like. He took you there, unprompted. It was fitting maybe. You walked in front of him and listened to Jungkook load the gun and mutter under his breath. Once inside you stand in place, waiting for him to turn and shoot. You look around the familiar space, your stomach turning, memories of the past playing in your mind.

The cross mounted above you is entrancing, draped in sheer black fabric, and its shadowy outline is stark against the moon's light. Your eyes flicker back to Jungkook, who seems to have caught onto your staring and also happens to stand before you draped in the moonlight.

Your last moments would be here. Everything around you felt distorted, and unreal as you looked around another time.

Staining his hands red and tearing into something clean was all he was. All he wanted. You were both ugly in a sense, he was just more open about it. You look up at him. It’s scary now. You had known what was going to happen from the moment he took you. You knew. You knew he wouldn’t give you a happy ending, only give you a temporary release from everything. He killed your husband, it made you happy. He let you prance around in a wedding dress and pretend one last time you could do it all again. He played well with you, you had been able to push aside the dark truth of your situation for a time. But now he was standing before you, reveling in some kind of glory of it all. Did glory taste different to him? You couldn’t imagine- but was letting him kill that man no different than this? In a way, you had killed your husband, was this all some kind of long, drawn-out punishment for that? For lifelong confusion and defiance?

You hoped someone would find you when you were. Find your carcass and see, understand that you had been, still were, always being ripped open. Torn to pieces and dragged to muddy waters, you hoped they’d know you hadn’t been scared, maybe even welcomed it. Let them know this was love; in some twisted way. Love from Jungkook, or god sending him your way. You stopped believing in god a long time ago, grappled with it for so long, but you hoped he had loved you; at least once. Make the struggle worth it, prove you wrong. Or maybe it was love from yourself for closing your eyes and accepting it.

Please, let this be love. Let your body be stained with love for once.

taglist: @aft3rhrs

#bts x reader #bts imagine #yandere bts #yandere jeon jungkook #yandere jungkook #yandere jungkook x reader #yandere jungkook imagine

182 notes · View notes

lilgarbitch · 26 days

Text

Running in Circles- Three

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Reader

CW: Fainting, should I be adding swearing as a warning…or is it just obvious at this point?

Word Count: 9k

Author’s Note: Don’t hate me for being a cliche. Also, don’t hate me for involving my favorite artists;) It might not be everyone’s cup of tea, but many more faces will be popping up throughout this story. Some of you might hate it, but I know a lot of you will love it.

Part two

Y/N

I awoke to laughter outside my bunk, causing me to stir and finally open my eyes to see that the curtain to my bunk was open and three fat-headed boys were staring at me. I rub my eyes and yawn, then wipe my mouth when I realize I had been drooling.

“Fuck offfff,” I groan out to them in a tired voice, covering my eyes from the light shining in.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty. You were snoring like a goddamn horse, so I went to check on you and saw you drooling all over Noah’s hoodie.” Cam laughs out. I quickly open my eyes and look down at my sleeve, now with a giant wet spot on it. Goddamnit. There’s nowhere to even fucking wash this unless I can stop at a laundry mat or wash it in the sink somewhere.

“Are you gonna mention her mumbling his name every ten minutes,” Tony mumbled from behind Cam, causing me to groan, smack whatever body part was closest and reach for the curtain, pulling it back to cover me.

“FUCK OFF,” I yelled at them, trying not to laugh as I turned back over, burying my face into my pillow..that now had that amazing musk soaked into it from the hoodie…

“You better get ready soon, love. We get there in three hours,” Tommy calls in, causing another groan to escape my lips.

Wiping my face one more time, I hop out of the bunk and walk to my bags. Well, try to, as the hangover was absolutely kicking my ass and the room was still spinning. I use my barely open eyes to look over what my choices for today could be when they land on that lace tank top (that was actually more like a soft corset) that I almost wore yesterday and decide that even though I feel like the devil was about to come and pull me down any minute now, I should look cute again today. So I grab that, a pair of lower-rise black shorts, almost knee-high socks, and other essentials before walking to the bathroom and taking my much-needed shower.

I walk out of the bathroom, after probably an hour, needing to soak all the sticky sweat from my sleep off, finally feeling fresh and clean and looking like a normal person again.

“Can someone pretty please find some pain killers for me while I finish getting ready,” I ask, peaking my head into the room that all the boys were sitting in. I rub my eyes with deep pressure, hoping to bring some relief. Someone could be banging against my head with a hammer right now, and it wouldn’t even compete with the pounding inside it.

“Way ahead of ya,” Tony responded, holding up Advil and a water bottle. I look at him like he was a goddamn angel and give him a wide smile and a small exasperated ‘thank you’ before taking some and chugging the water. Then, Cam handed me an energy drink, and I just about kissed him.

“What would I do without you three,” I gushed as I cracked open the can.

“Probably not be so hung over,” Tommy jokes, making me giggle before turning back around to finish getting ready. Grabbing my make-up bag and whatever hair tools I brought with me, I head into the back of the bus, not caring how bumpy it would be. I just needed some space from voices.

But I still opened my phone to put on some quiet music since it was impossible for me to actually handle pure quiet, and see I had another message from Noah, making me smile. I looked around, checking to see if anyone had caught me, before saving his number on my phone. After I send him a simple good morning text, I turn on some music and go back to getting ready for the day.

After over an hour, my arms felt sore from forcing myself to put extra work into my hair. My make-up and hair were done, and I walked to the bathroom to take one last close-up glance over my appearance. Smiling at how well I did my eyeliner and wiping off any make-up that ended up on my piercings, I step back and glance at my full outfit. I was showing off a lot more skin than yesterday, and my stomach tattoos and a bit of my back piece were showing off since my shirt was more of a crop top, but I felt cute.

I make my way back out to the living area and expect to see the boys, but noticed we were already at the next venue, so they were probably out hanging with the other group already. Pulling out my phone again, I check the time and weather, seeing that I still had a lot of time before we had to do anything, and that it was a little warmer than where we were yesterday, even though it was mid-October, so I should probably still grab my cardigan and bring it with me just in case. But then my eyes land on a new message notification.

Noah🖤- Morning? It’s 2 pm

Noah🖤- but good morning to you too:)

Y/N- Shush

Y/N- I don’t know why I let you guys convince me to drink last night. I feel like death.

I close my phone and glance around the bus. This is probably one of the only moments I will get to myself on this tour, so I’m absolutely going to take advantage of it. I have a good two hours until sound check, so I walk over to the speaker on our bus and turn it on, pairing it with my phone and pressing play on one of my playlists before going to my bag and grabbing my laptop. I sit down in the back of the bus, turn on Demon Slayer, rewatching it for the millionth time, and sing along with my music. Maybe getting a little too into the music, since it wasn’t often that I had time to sing along to my favorite songs as loud as I could without feeling like I was bothering the boys.

Still choking on the bed

Found your waste while the ember red

Keeps falling down and burning in holes

Until the pillow and the mattress glow

I sang along to one of my favorite albums, not really paying attention to anything else as I tried to hit Vic’s notes.

Now I want to be the tattoo ink

That swims down through the needle in your skin

That’s when I heard someone cough to catch my attention, making me open my eyes. I guess I had been so entranced in the song and in hitting the notes that I was now sat back on the couch with my eyes closed.

I blink a few times and clear my throat before my eyes focus and I see Noah standing in front of me with a smirk on his face.

“I texted you a few times asking if you wanted to come join us, and then Tony told me to come and see what you were doing,” he confessed before laughing, “I was a little worried I’d walk in on something embarrassing, but that was actually really good.” I blushed a little at his compliment, hoping that my make-up covered it well.

“I- uh. Sorry. I just figured this was one of those rare times that I had to myself, you know? So I just let you all do your thing until you needed me.” I replied with an embarrassed chuckle.

“No, no, you’re all good. If you want me to leave, I’ll just get Tommy or someone to come get you when you’re needed,” he said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. Then his eyes caught my laptop. “Are you watching Demon Slayer?”

“Yeah..?” I replied, eyeing him to see his reaction. He came over to me and motioned for me to scooch over so he could sit.

“I fucking love that anime.” I laughed as his eyes didn’t leave my screen. I stood up and walked over to where my phone sat and turned off my music, disconnecting it from the speaker and walked back. He had moved closer to the laptop, which was at an angle to face where I was sitting, so I walked around the small table it was sitting on, and moved the laptop to face straight towards the couch, and sat down about a foot from him, the show now being played in front of us. I know I wanted alone time, but this wasn’t so bad. I figured being alone with Noah would be awkward and uncomfortable, so it was nice being able to be in his presence and know I didn’t need to be so freaked out yesterday. I’m not sure if it was because I opened up my personality to him so easily yesterday, or just how sweet he was and how much we had in common, but I almost felt like I could treat him like any other friend. Like I had been close to him for years.

We watched for a little while before I felt eyes on me. I look up from the screen and see Noah looking at me, making me smirk. His eyes trailed down my body, following the lines of the ink in my skin like a maze. A giggle escaped my lips as I watched him out of the corner of my eye. He immediately dropped his gaze to the screen again after noticing he had been caught.

“You’re gonna miss some important scenes if you don’t pay attention,” I tease. He chucked softly.

“I’ve seen this anime so many times. I already know what’s gonna happen,” he defended with a shy smile. I gave him a fake, shocked look.

“So you intruded on my ‘me’ time to watch a show you’ve already seen?” I ask with my eyebrow raised. He looks at me with slightly widened eyes, about to defend himself, before I laugh, cutting him off,” I’m just kidding. This is probably my tenth time seeing it.” His head fell as he shook it with a smile before going back to watching, so I did, too.

“You sounded really good earlier, by the way,” he mumbled out after a few minutes. I look over at him through the side of my eye and smile.

“Thank you. I’ve been really working on hitting higher notes like that. It’s not easy for my vocal range.” I respond with a warm smile.

“Pfft. You have the craziest range I’ve ever heard. I can’t see those notes ever being a struggle for you.” he says, making me shake my head in disbelief.

“As if! I saw you guys a few years back, and you were hitting and holding notes I couldn’t even imagine doing.” I confess, elbowing him lightly, which caused him to laugh. But then his smile faltered slightly.

“Are you..uh.. talking about that one festival we did...?” He asked, watching for my reaction. I turned my head to the side, confused, before nodding, remembering that day, once again, as if it were yesterday.

“How..?”

“I uh.. I actually think I remember seeing you in the crowd.” he trailed off, his arm raising so his elbow rested on the back of the couch as he rubbed the back of his neck, losing eye contact in embarrassment. I did my best to hide the shocked look on my face as I turned to face him, giving him my full attention.

“Th-that’s kind of crazy..but actually pretty cool. Seeing each other again all these years later..” I weakly respond, not knowing how I should react to him remembering me on the day my life took a complete turn.

“Yeah. I actually..uh.. I also remember the day I saw a friend of mine post pictures of your band when he was traveling, and I just had to give you guys a listen, and I was really impressed.” I giggled softly, still shocked.

“Is that why the next day, Jolly reached out to Tommy? Because you saw us?” I teased. The words left my mouth before I even had control of it because, of course, the only way I knew how to keep conversations from being awkward was by joking. I internally curse myself before he answers.

“Yeah, I mean, I could never let a voice like that go unrecognized. I’m actually really happy that Jolly and Tommy became friends.. and that we managed to get this tour set up. I’m really glad… I got to finally meet you.” he confessed, making complete eye contact again.

“I can’t lie, I was worried I was never gonna see you again.” I said, before realizing I spoke before thinking, “You know..because..I enjoyed your music so much,” I tried adding with an awkward laugh and internally cursed at myself again. He gave me a look, letting me know he didn’t believe me.

“I was actually thinking the same thing…” he trailed off as we looked at each other. That was when I noticed how close I was to him. He had leaned in when talking, and now our faces were barely a foot apart. My breath hitched when I glanced down at his lips as he finished speaking. Don’t do it, Y/N. Not yet. You can’t let yourself give in on the second day of finally seeing him again. You won’t be able to handle it if this goes south in the future. I looked back into his eyes and saw that he was now looking at my lips, slowly inching forward. And I was too, not even in control of my body. I could feel his breath on me the closer we got, and suddenly, all restraint in my body left as I was about to close the distance, desperately needing to feel his lips on mine.

“SOUNDCHECK IN TEN MINUTES. GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE, Y/N,” Cam shouted in through the door of the bus, causing both Noah and I to jump. I look up at him with a shocked look before standing up, letting out a quiet ‘fuck’ before quickly grabbing my phone and cardigan. I feel a soft touch on my wrist but ignore it before rushing out the door and past Cam.

“Also, have you seen Noah? We sent him to get you, but he just disappeared.. never mind, then.” I heard him ask as I ignored him and walked to the venue.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck are you thinking? You know better than this. Why the fuck did you let him stay and watch? You told yourself time and time again you wouldn’t let your feelings take control when you finally saw him again. And even fucking better, you haven’t even fully warmed up today! This is a goddamn job, Y/N. Not a touring party bus with occasional performances. I run my fingers through my hair, pulling on it, trying to ground myself again. God, I’m a fucking idiot. He probably only even tried kissing me because I’m the only girl here. Because that definitely wouldn’t be the first. Fucking hell, dude. You’re gonna ruin the tour for everyone.

I had reached side stage, waiting for the rest of my band, and started pacing. I feel a presence behind me and jump, looking over. Thank god it was just Tommy, with the other boys trailing behind him.

“Are you okay?” Tommy asked with a concerned look on his face. I finally stopped my subconscious pacing and let out a sigh.

“I uh..I just haven’t warned up..” which wasn’t a complete lie.

“Is that why I saw Noah walking out behind you on the bus?” Cam teased with a smirk, causing Tommy to smack him in the stomach, earning a slight ‘oof.’ I completely ignored them and saw the stage manager beckon us on stage for our soundcheck. I immediately walk out and in front of my mic, trying my hardest to ignore the weird looks I was getting from the boys. I let out a deep sigh before we started.

The boys sounded fine, but I didn’t. My voice cracked at every high note and I couldn’t hold my growls. I could feel tears threaten to escape my eyes.

“Y/N, what’s going on with you?” Tony asked from behind me. I turn to him and he immediately shuts his mouth when he sees the redness in my eyes. I hear someone walking up behind me.

“Hun, you can warm up when they do their soundcheck. It’s okay..” Tommy tries to comfort me as he rubs my back. I know he knows that it wasn’t my voice bothering me. Hell, something was upsetting me so much that it was throwing my vocals off. But he didn’t dare ask. He never did, not once in over five years I had been lying to him about the thoughts in my head. I give him a weak nod, and we all walk off stage. As we do, we run into the other group of boys. Folio goes to greet me but closes his mouth when he sees my appearance.

“She’s uh..she’s just having some trouble with her vocals today. So she’s gonna warm up then stay on vocal rest until we have to head on..” Tommy thankfully answers for me. Nick nods, and the other boys give me a pitying look. I don’t even glance at the tallest, not wanting to see what he looks like right now. My band and I walk to the room backstage and sit down as the other group walks on stage. I sit down, and Tommy continues to rub my back as I take some deep breaths.

“I know you don’t like to talk about these things, but you can’t do this all tour. For you. For us. For the other boys. So, please, Y/N, please talk to me when you need to,” Tommy spoke softly into my ear. He rarely ever used my name, always calling me one pet name or another, so I knew he was serious. I nodded with another deep breath.

“Can we have this talk tonight? I just...I need to warm up..” I asked him and he gave me a fast nod, surprised I was finally willing. I knew he was right. It’s been way too long bottling all of this up, so I had to say something, especially now that I gad to see the problem every single day.

“Do you want to do our warm-up, or do you want to be alone?” Cam asked me softly, almost like he didn’t want to upset me.

“I think it’s better for me to do it alone today. I have to let out some emotions...you know?” He nodded, understanding what I meant, and patted Tony’s shoulder, signaling for them to head somewhere else. Tommy gave me a kiss on my temple before standing up.

“If you need anything, just call. If one of those fuckers starts bothering you, I’ll beat their ass,” he jokingly threatened, hooking a thumb over his shoulder, pointing towards the stage. That made me giggle, which made him smile, seemingly happy he put a smile on my face. He followed the boys, and now I was left alone. With one last large sigh, I pulled out my phone, ignoring every notification, and opened Spotify, knowing exactly what song I had to put on to practice to let out some pent-up feelings. I typed it into the search bar, pressing the song, and turning my phone all the way up. The music started off soft and I cleared my throat. I had a good few minutes until they were gonna come off stage, so I was able to be alone just long enough to ‘sing’ this song with no embarrassment.

The vocals were about to start, so I inhaled, holding the phone up to one ear and my other hand cupped my other ear so I could hear myself, then I started singing along. My head and body moved as I tried to hold and reach each note, so I started walking around the room. There was a reason I never really sang songs like this in front of anyone. I had a few times around the boys, but after being told so many times that I sounded too manly when I showed off my ‘party tricks,’ even their compliments didn’t help, so I started hiding it from them again.

We’re dancing like flames

Flickering in the night

We sway in time with the wind

Before melting away

You're far from my reach

But not far out of sight

You know the way to my heart

But you just play the strings again

I paused to control my breath as the song continued. I hadn’t sung along to Lorna Shore in so long, not really having time to. I couldn’t do each scream Will did, but I had worked on different screams over the years that I could replace the ones I’ve been unable to learn. I joined back in singing along with the lyrics after a minute, and the grumble in my chest felt amazing. I really missed this. I held out every growl as long as I could and tried replicating his screeches to the best of my ability. The tunnel screams were my favorite to both hear and do. Eventually, the song ended, and I was so in the zone that I just let the next one play. I felt every emotion in my chest get shaken out with every growl I made. My head felt empty enough that I genuinely didn’t care if the boys came in to check on me.

‘Sun//Eater’ was now playing, and I continued letting out everything in my body as I sang along. I’d get a little frustrated when I couldn’t replicate certain parts of it, but I got so into it that I didn’t stop until the music faded out. I pulled my hands away from my head and turned down my phone volume after closing Spotify. I didn’t actually need to ‘warm up’ per se, so my clean vocals didn’t need any practice. I truly just needed to get all these emotions out.

I turn to make my way towards the door, ready to join back up with my band, when I came face to face with four incredibly shocked men. I paused and stood there equally as stunned. My mouth gaped open, about to let out a small ‘I’m sorry,’ but was immediately cut off.

“DUDE, THAT WAS SICK! WHAT THE FUCK!” Ruffilo yelled as he walked towards me. I couldn’t remove the shocked look on my face as the rest of them agreed almost as loudly. I didn’t know if I was more shocked at them catching me or the praise. I know we were both bands in the metal genre and that they were all nice guys who enjoyed my band's music, but I still never got a reaction like this from anyone before.

“I- uh,” and then I got cut off again as my band came running back, I’m assuming after hearing the yelling. I looked up at them with a shocked look as the other group looked at them like they had just discovered the most insane thing in their lives. My boys looked between all of us before finally making the connection.

“Oh, come on! I haven’t heard Y/N scream in so long, but you guys get to hear it?” Cam whines. Tony and Tommy walked over to me, and Tony put a hand on my shoulder.

“It’s crazy, right? But we can never convince her to perform like that on stage no matter how much we try.” Tony says with fake sadness, smirking down at me. Oh, they’re about to team up on me again, aren’t they? They did this every time they heard it. Just now, there are more people here to pressure me. The shocked look still hadn’t left my face, but was now closer to an offended one when I realized what he was trying to do. I look back at the rest of them, and they were all staring at me once again. I instantly shook my head. Absolutely not.

“Come onnnn,” Folio chimed in, “ That was the most incredible shit I’ve ever heard. If you don’t go do that on stage, I’m coming out and doing it, and you don’t want that.” he laughs out. I look between all their faces, each with a reassuring yet pressuring grin. I didn’t know how to respond, still overwhelmed by everything that just happened.

“I- I,” I stutter out. I really don’t want to, but they’re all begging me at this point. I continue looking at all of them, Tommy now having a pout and puppy-dog eyes.

“Fuck! Okay! I will. I guess I’ll try it out tonight, but if I get any bad reactions, none of you are ever allowed to hear me sing again.” I say exasperated. This caused them all to reach in and hug me, almost causing a dog pile, making me laugh.

“Wait, how would that work? You’re our lead singer.” Cam questions with a confused look on his face.

“Trust me, I’ll find a way, even if it means deafening you.” I threatened, pointing a finger at him, which caused a scared smile to form on his face.

I had just finished most of the songs on our set. My mind has been on overdrive this whole show, and I feel terrible that I haven't connected with the crowd as much as I usually do. We only had three songs left to do, the ‘Fan’s Choice’ and our two encore songs. My mind was running a mile a minute as I wondered if I should do this or back down. It was rare that I stole the choice away from the fans, so I’m worried they’ll be upset about that, and I’m also worried they won’t even enjoy it. I took some deep breaths before setting my mic back on its stand and looking towards the crowd, one full of beautiful fans who had been singing with me the whole night. I really didn’t want to disappoint them. So, with one heavy exhale, I began speaking.

“So, I know you may all know that it’s around the time for our special ‘Fan’s Choice’ song. And I know so many of you love it, which is why we do them every show. But tonight, we’re gonna do something a little different.” I spoke into the mic. The crowd cheered when I finished, but they quieted down a little when they saw my serious demeanor.

“Now, this wasn’t my choice, I have to warn you. So, if any of you have complaints, take them up with the boys behind me,” I paused to point at my bandmates, “ And the wonderful yet pressuring boys of Bad Omens.” I paused once more, knowing the crowd would get loud hearing their name. A smile creeps up on my face as they do.

“Tonight, I’m gonna sing something a little different. Hopefully, it’s a song many of you enjoy, but again, if you don’t, it’s not my fault,” I said, holding my hands up in defense with a smile. The music began over the speakers since none of the boys had any time to practice this. So it was just me and the speakers. It was just me performing this song. A few people in the crowd got rowdy as they recognized the opening cords, which gave me a little hope.

“I hope you all enjoy Lorna Shore because this is ‘To the Hellfire,” I yell into the mic as the music got louder and I was about to start. The crowd got so loud I could hear them over the music and even through my earpiece. I pulled the mic off the stand and began moving around, knowing I was about to put my whole body and soul into this cover after doing it so many times in my room alone. I let every inkling of anxiety leave my body as I begin screaming.

I’ll hold onto feeling until my final breath escapes

Gazing upon this world until it fades

Fall with me into the other night

We can go beyond the horizon again

Fall with me until we’re out of time

Let the current swallow

These whispers keep clawing

Your mind is dissolving light

I hold out the last note the best I can. My mind was entirely somewhere else. I forgot about all the people staring at me as I put my whole body into these screams. I know I don’t sound anything like Will, but I’m doing everything I can to at least hit his notes, even if I’m not getting his exact growls right.

After a good minute, I open my eyes, remembering where I was and turn towards the crowd. I felt so good in this moment, screaming my heart out. As my eyes reach the crowd, I see them going absolutely insane. There’s two giant mosh pits forming, and I’ve never felt so accomplished in my entire life. This is all I’ve wanted when I became a vocalist and started teaching myself to scream. I was close to the end of the song when I knew exactly what I wanted. I look towards Tony and nudge my head towards the crowd, holding the hand that wasn’t holding the mic out in front of me and moved it outwards, signaling to him what I needed his help for. He immediately understood with an excited smile on his face. He grabbed his mic and ran towards the front of the stage. The instrumental began as he shouted into the mic.

“ALRIGHT! I NEED EVERYONE TO SPLIT THIS BITCH DOWN THE FUCKING MIDDLE.” Instantly, those who were moshing stopped and began moving back. Those who were staying away from the moshers moved even farther back, knowing exactly what was about to happen, and did not want to get sucked in. I see Cam zoom past me out of the corner of my eye and jump off stage, right into the open floor, with the widest smile on his face. He stood exactly in the center, holding both arms in the air, and Tony joined him by raising the arm that wasn’t holding the mic.

“ON YOUR FUCKING MARK” Tony shouted.

Sink while you bathe in hallucination

“READY”

My final breath

“SET”

Swallowed by the womb of-

“GO”

DEATH

Cam’s and Tony’s arms shoot down like they were starting a race. I held out the note in the deepest tunnel scream I could. I watched as two waves of people ran to each other as fast as they could.

As you pass through the fucking gate

I did the best screech I could, switching halfway to a fry scream as I watched hundreds of people run full force into each other. I lost Cam the second the two walls of people met, but I knew he was loving every second of it.

Descending towards the end faster

Now was my time to shine. I did the pig squeals and snorts the best I could. After four good enough ones, I clenched my eyes shut, arched my back, and faced the ceiling, holding the mic above my mouth as I let out the longest pig squeal I’ve ever tried, shifting into a goblin scream halfway through as I threw my body forward into itself, compressing my lungs to get the loudest noise I could.

After I finished, my abs were killing me, but the feeling was immediately diminished as I saw the crowd lose their fucking mind. I pulled out my earpiece to hear them better. I laughed as I watched them all push each other and scream in adrenaline and excitement. I finally see Cam being crowd-surfed to the front with the widest, most insane smile I’ve ever seen, making me laugh harder. He returns to the stage and climbs onto it, out of breath. I feel hands on my shoulder and look to see Tommy with a proud look on his face. Instantly, I felt two more large men tackle me in a giant hug, screaming about how proud they were of me, and all I could do was try to keep my balance and laugh.

Finally, they pulled away, and I turned towards the still rowdy crowd with a proud grin.

“So, what I’m hearing is.. that you all enjoyed that?” I asked into the mic, immediately getting ground-shaking cheers in response. I made a face like I was thinking, “Hmm. I’ll see what I can do in the future then.”

The crowd was still insane as we sang the rest of the set, and it didn’t take too much to get them hyped up for the rest of the show. With a proud smile on my face and my brothers patting my back, we walked off stage and into the back, immediately getting tackled by more large men.

“That was so fucking good, Y/N, are you fucking kidding me?” Ruffilo praised. I gave them all a bright smile. Until my eyes landed on Noah’s, who was also wearing a proud smile. I looked down, biting my lip as I tried to hide my smile, and did my best to shimmy my way out of everyone’s embrace. I walked towards Noah, who was standing a foot away from the group. I had so much confidence pouring out that I completely forgot about how awkward the encounter should be.

“Hi,” I awkwardly greeted with a giggle.

“Hi”

“So..what’d you think?” I asked, rubbing the back of my neck, looking up at him with a shy smile.

“That was insane, Y/N.” He complimented with a low laugh. I looked down again, trying to hide my blush. “I knew you could sing and scream, but that...that was fucking incredible.”

“Really? You’re not just saying that?” I teased, crinkling my face in embarrassment.

“Fuck no. I told you earlier that your voice is amazing. I literally forced the whole band to listen to you when I first heard you, and to know you also had this in you is absolutely mind-blowing.” I feel my cheeks heating up more. And as much as I wish they didn’t, his words went straight to my ego. Probably because it was coming from him, of all people, but I think I’m finally feeling good about this. I looked back into his eyes and smiled.

“Thank you. I’m actually really thankful for you and your band. You guys gave us a chance, and you all pressured me into doing this,” I said with a laugh, “So I really appreciate it.”

“I’m just glad to see you finally believing in yourself like the rest of us believe in you, Y/N,” he spoke lowly after a moment, leaning down to my height like he only wanted me to hear. I bit my lip and looked at him. I didn’t understand. He was so… perfect? I know everyone’s been nice to me, but he especially has. Not once since we finally met has he done anything but help me or compliment me. All I could think when I looked at him was..appreciation? Adoration? I wasn’t sure. But when I looked into his eyes, I just felt..good. Like when you finally come home after a long day. When you finally lay in bed after being on your feet all day. Like being surrounded by the people who bring out the best in you.

And then I looked at his lips. All the thoughts from earlier came rushing back. Suddenly, there was no one else in the room but us. Hell, it felt like there was no one else on this earth but us. I glanced back up into his eyes, and it felt like I was back at that festival all those years ago. All my senses shut down. The only thing that my brain registered was his eyes. His beautiful fucking eyes. The eyes that haunted my dreams. My every waking thought. I can’t tell if I’m upset that this keeps happening or if I’m starting to enjoy it.

Jolly whips an arm over and pats Noah on the back, bringing me, or probably both of us, back to earth. I blink a few times and turn to everyone. Thankfully, the boys were all still in their own little conversation, probably talking about how they can use and abuse this ‘talent’ of mine now that they know I’m slowly opening up to it. But truthfully, I wasn’t actually paying attention. I couldn’t. Even though I looked away, I was still stuck in his presence, like a bubble keeping me in, drowning me in the same thoughts I’ve had for so long, just more concentrated. I can see Jolly say something to Noah, and him nodding back as a response. I see five mouths moving as they speak over each other, yet not a single voice registers in my brain. Wait, this was starting to get scary. What the fuck do I do? No, like actually. I feel stuck.

I watch as Noah gives me a short glance, almost contemplating something, before following Jolly past the other boys. Ruffilo and Folio catch them, say their goodbyes, and follow them as well. And now it was just me and my boys. But I was still stuck. He was gone, and I’m still stuck. My mind races, and I try hard to pick apart what specific thought is keeping me shut off from the world. Was it the compliments? Was it finally hitting me exactly what was happening, that I’d been spending time with the man who has plagued my being for what felt like centuries at this point? Was it my feelings towards him? Just hitting even harder now?

I get pulled from my thoughts to a hand waving in front of my face. I slowly look up and see Tommy with a concerned look on his face. He’s speaking, but once again, every word is just unintelligible to my brain. I go to open my mouth to speak, but there are no words I could even form right now. I watch as Tommy glances back at the other boys, who are now a little concerned as well. Tony comes forward and says something. I tried to read his lips, but everything was like I was underwater. Words jumbled, and everything became a blur. And then more blurry. And slowly, my peripherals turned dark. I saw Tommy reach out to hold my shoulders as Cam came forward, looking like he’d seen a ghost. I wanted to ask what was wrong, but then everything went black.

I quickly sat up, gasping, like I had just regained the ability to breathe. The world slowly came into sight. I blink a few times, then scrunch my face in discomfort as my ears begin ringing. Slowly but surely, the ringing passed, and I could finally hear again. What the fuck happened?

“Hun?” I hear to my left. I blink a few more times and turn, seeing Tommy looking at me. I give him a confused look. Tony was sitting next to him, looking the exact same. I coughed a bit before speaking.

“What the fuck happened?” It came out harsh as if I desperately needed water.

“Medics said it was probably an adrenaline crash... Dude, you scared the shit out of us.” Tony reached forward and held my hand tight.

“You’ve been out for a hot minute. Cam was freaking the fuck out, so we made him go wait off stage to let the guys know what’s happening.” Tommy said, reaching to rub my back. I run my hand through my hair and scrunch my face, trying to remember what even happened. Suddenly, I hear feet slamming against the pavement outside, then up the bus stairs. Noah appears, looking wild as his eyes finally land on me. He lets out a breath of relief once he sees me. He walks forward and crouches by my feet, resting a hand on my ankle.

“What happened? I come off stage to see Cam looking like someone died, and when we finally get anything out of him, he says she passed out.” Noah asks the two in front of me, running a hand over his face, both collecting sweat and to soothe himself.

“I don’t know, man. You guys head on stage, and we turn to her, and she’s as white as a ghost. Couldn’t even get her to say anything before she passed out in Tom’s arms. Medics say adrenaline crash, but I don’t know. It was fuckin scary, man.” Tony gets out, looking stressed as ever, hand still holding mine like I was about to drift away. Noah looks at me with a look mixed with terror and confusion, but also relief that I’m still here. I open my mouth to speak, causing him to tighten his grip on my ankle ever so slightly.

“Water.” was all I could get out. Noah and Tommy instantly stand up as Tony points to the case of water with the hand not holding mine. Tommy reaches it first and hands it to me. I chug it like I hadn’t had water in days. Once it was gone, Noah reached over and grabbed another, setting it beside me and returning to his spot at my feet. I run my hand through my hair again. I probably look like a fucking mess right now.

“I want to try to stand,” I state. They all look at me like I’m insane but slowly back up. I hook my feet around and off the couch that I guess someone laid me on. Using my arms, I push myself up. All three watched me, ready to catch me if anything happened. Gaining stability, I let out a deep breath and walk towards the bathroom. I take a peek at myself in the mirror and grimace. Who knows when my mascara started running, but it was everywhere. I grab an old towel and wet it, wiping under my eyes, before holding my hands under the water, letting the feeling ground me.

After about a minute, I walk back out to the boys, who all still looked like I was going to drop dead any minute, and I snicker.

“I’m fine, guys.“ I say, chuckling a little at their concern. I know I shouldn’t, but their faces were just a little funny. “Aren’t we off tomorrow? Shouldn’t we be heading to a hotel or something?”

They all nod, calming down a little that I’m now normal again, but still tense and on edge. I move to walk passed them.

“I’m gonna go let everyone else know that I’m okay, and then we can head over,” I say, walking down the stairs of the bus. I watch my feet, knowing I’m still a little out of it, but once I get on solid ground, I glance up, seeing four boys giving me the same look as the others, causing me to laugh again.

“Oh my god, I’m so glad you’re okay,” Cam gushes as he walks over to me and holds me tight. “I didn’t want to overwhelm you, so I stayed out here, but I almost cried.”

I chuckled and looked past Cam and at the other boys, who all nodded, agreeing that he did, in fact, almost cry, making me laugh harder. I gave Cam a tight squeeze before pulling away and looking up at him.

“I’m okay, I promise. I’m gonna rest on the way to the hotel, and everything will be back to normal once we get there,” I reassured him. And I guess the mention of the hotel reminded everyone, who all let out a tired groan.

“I’m so fucking ready to sleep in a bed again. I know it’s only been like three days, but those bunks are ass,” Folio whined, causing everyone else to nod in agreement.

“Alright, then, I’ll see you all in a little bit. I need some fucking water.” I said, turning around to head back into the bus. But once I turned, I almost ran face-first into Noah’s chest. I look up at him in shock as he looks down at me with the same reaction.

“Sorry..” he squeaked out. “I uh.. you all good riding back? I can join you if you need..” he mumbles. I give him a warm smile.

“I’ll be okay. The boys can take care of me if need be. I’ll see you all in less than an hour.” I give his arm a soft squeeze as he nods. I walk past him and onto the bus, Cam following suit. I sit back where I was lying before, grabbing the water he handed me earlier and opening it. Taking a quick glance out the window, I see them teasing him over something before walking back to their own bus, making me chuckle. After taking a few gulps from the water bottle, I set it down and turned to the three guys staring me down. My eyes widen, not knowing what I should’ve prepared for.

“You know I care about you, we all do, and we’re glad you’re okay, but you gotta spill.” Tony eyed me down. “I don’t care if you wanna just talk to me, I’ll kick these two into the back, but you’re telling me what the fuck happened earlier today, and if that had anything to do with you passing out.” I let out a sigh and leaned my head back against the couch.

“I mean... I guess it’s time I spilled everything. To all of you. Even though I know you’re all gonna tease me one way or another, it’s been too long to deal with this myself.” and that’s when I told them everything. From the day at the festival. To the days I spent lying in bed only thinking of him. The depression it caused. The rage. The song lyrics. Almost kissing him today. Even what I could remember before I passed out. I told them everything I could. All three of their faces switched between shock, concern, understanding, and outright bewilderment as I spoke. I spoke the whole ride to the hotel, and surprisingly, I was not interrupted once. Once I finished, they all seemed speechless.

“And now we’re at the hotel..” I notified them, bringing them out of their shock. I stood up to grab a bag, filling it with everything I needed for one night, and walked back to them. Not a single one has said a word yet. “You should probably grab some things so we can head in.”

“Oh! Yeah, yeah.” Cam said, being knocked back into reality as he stood, the others following him. I gave a nod towards the bus driver as I opened the door and walked off towards the hotel, leaving the boys and apparently him too in their own shock.

I walk through the doors of the hotel and see four giants causing a ruckus, probably waiting for us. They all stop when they see me like they got caught by their moms, making me laugh.

“By the way, the boys are gonna seem a little..perplexed..when you see them. Pay them no mind. They’re..uh..still upset about the whole passing out situation.” I laughed as they looked at me, then at my boys as they came walking in behind me, looking dazed out and deep in thought. It was a bad lie, but oh well.

“Anyway, we only have four rooms for all of us, and since you’re the only girl, you get to choose a roommate first,” Jolly said, handing me my card.

“Oh, pick me, pick me, pick me,” Folko joked, looking up and crossing his fingers, until Noah smacked him in the stomach, causing a loud ‘oof’ and a laugh from all of us. I thought for a moment. Do I say fuck it and pick Noah? Should I pick Tony or Cam and deal with their annoying asses all night? Do I pick one of the other boys and get to know them? Or choose the safe bet and pick Tommy?

“Uhh..Tommy,” I finally said. Jolly handed Tommy his card, and the rest figured out who was bunking with whom. I walk over to Tommy and lean a head against his shoulder, not tall enough to rest on it. He wraps an arm around me, and I look up but see that he was still lost in thought.

Once everything was situated, we all headed to the rooms we were given. I unpacked what I needed and headed to shower, not even calling dibs because I knew he would let me take it first anyway. Once I came out, clean and in my pajamas, oversized band tee, and shorts with fuzzy socks, I sat down in the bed I claimed earlier. Glancing over, I see Tommy still deep in thought.

“Penny for your thoughts, love?” I ask, catching his attention.

“So this whole time..”

“Yes, this whole time, it was Noah.”

“Since the festival?”

“Yes, the festival, like five years ago.”

“Why’d you never tell us?”

“It wasn’t really anything I was ready to be teased about until now.” I answered, shrugging.

“Are you planning to say anything to him?”

“What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, I think the gods above put me in a trance when I first saw you, and now I’m stuck?” He took a minute to respond to that.

“I get that, but what if he likes you back?”

“You remember what I dealt with last time. After Gus, I was a fucking mess. Which is why I was even harder on myself with all of this.”

“Y/N. Noah isn’t Gus. Noah won’t hurt you that badly then..you know..”

“I know... it’s just..hard. Plus, I just finally met the dude face-to-face. I can’t confess anything to him now.”

“I get that. But you’re almost 27. You barely let yourself live after Gus. And then you hid yourself away the second whatever the fuck that was happened with Noah. So maybe just.. live a little?” After he said that, it really hit me. He was right. I definitely did my fair share of partying, but I was dealing with my ex for so long and just never put effort into mingling after. I sat there for a while, thinking about the best course of action to take here. Like, how long can I let this play out? Do I just go the rest of the tour, almost passing out when I see him? Do I act now? Can I rely on the fact that there is definitely something there? Am I even ready for something like this? If not, would he wait for me? Fuck, does he even like me? I mean, he tried to kiss me. There’s something there. But what if this feeling was only one-sided? What if I’m losing my mind over him, and he just has a small crush? Or what if he really likes me and immediately wants to start something? I don’t know if I could even handle a relationship right now. I just finally met him. Fuck. I let out a deep sigh. Fuck it. No matter the decision I make, my feelings will be at severe risk.

“Should I..should I go see him?” I finally ask wearily. I turn to see Tommy looking at me with wide eyes, but then they turn mischievous as he smirks.

“Just go..talk..you know?” He replies, a little too suspiciously. I immediately understood his undertones and rolled my eyes.

“Not like that. But yeah. To talk.” I chew on my lip, knowing that with talking alone comes with me losing control. But talking has to be done.

“Bitch! Go talk to him!” He whisper yells, emphasizing ‘talk’ again, making me laugh. I pull out my phone. It’s already midnight. Would he even be okay with hanging out right now? What if I bother whoever he’s staying with? I chew on my lip some more, feeling Tommy staring me down, before finally clicking on his contact and texting him. I hit send, and anxiety rushes over me. I just fucked up, didn’t I? I definitely did.

“Okay, well…I’m gonna go shower. If you’re not here when I’m back, just text me in the morning,” He winks at me before walking into the bathroom. I roll my eyes before letting out a groan. What the fuck did I just do?

Noah

I glance at my phone again. It’s already past midnight, and I’m too worked up to sleep. I want to text her and ask if she’s okay, but I know it’s stupid. She was fine when I saw her downstairs. I just got so scared. Cam looked at us with pure terror, I thought someone died. When he said her name with such sorrow, I almost took off there and then. Thankfully, I waited for him to finish and she had just passed out, but the pure fear I felt just wouldn’t go away. It still won’t.

Jolly keeps tossing and turning in the bed across the room, so at least I know I’m not the only one who can’t sleep. Who knows if it’s from the same thing, or just the fact we haven’t had a normal sleeping schedule in so long.

Suddenly, my phone buzzes. I assume it’s one of the guys who also can’t sleep, asking if we wanted to hang. I sit up and open my phone, clicking on the notification without even looking to see who it was. But as I read it, my eyebrows furrowed until I finally checked the contact.

Y/N🦇- Can I come over?

Y/N🦇- to talk?

I drop my phone and scramble to turn the light on beside my bed. The second I find the switch and light shines through the room, Jolly groans.

“The fuck, man?” he mumbles out.

“Y/N wants to come over..to talk? So uh… out.” I say, pointing towards the door. He looks at me, annoyed, but you can see the words register in his head before he gives me a tired smirk. He pushes himself off the bed, and throws a shirt and slides on.

“Have fun talking.” he teases with a chuckle as he grabs his phone and heads towards the door. I roll my eyes when he leaves before picking my phone back up.

Noah- Yeah of course. room 203

Y/N🦇- Okay:) I’ll be there in a few minutes.

My heart starts racing once I realize what’s actually happening. Why now? I mean, is she really coming to talk, or is this some type of booty-call? I rub my hand over my face, groaning. She’s definitely not a booty-call type of person. And she literally fucking passed out earlier. Plus, she freaked out when we almost kissed earlier…Fuck. I forgot we almost kissed earlier... Okay, just keep your distance and keep her comfortable. But what does she want to talk about?

Part Four

#noah sebastian #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian and reader #badomens #bad omens #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian smut #noah sebastian reader insert

70 notes · View notes

tozettastone · 1 month

Text

Maddie & Kakuzu (& Hidan) ficlet that's not really an actual part of the series but which I wrote anyway

---

Buying an actual house changed Maddie's relationship with her father slightly.

"So... Do you want me to make one of those rooms a guest room?" she wondered, leaning heavily on the door frame as she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. "Like with a bed?"

Kakuzu's chakra signature hadn't woken her up when he'd arrived — whenever that had been — and neither did Hidan's much more obvious one. But once she got up, their presence did make her choose to put on pants before coming out here. But that was the sum total of her accommodations.

Her furniture included a massive claw-footed tub, a table that could seat four but for which she'd only got one chair, and a second-hand couch that absolutely did not fit all of Kakuzu's tall, broad body. Or Hidan's. Definitely not both.

"No. The couch is fine."

The couch was obviously not fine.

It wasn't so much that it was ugly and old (although it was), for Kakuzu prioritised utility over aesthetics and, because he was a shambling ragdoll monster in human skin, he had no need to baby his aging joints. Rather, the problem was that he obviously did not fit on the ugly old couch. Currently he was pinned in place upon it by Hidan's sprawled, dozing body, and both their feet were hanging far off the end.

Kakuzu also had one heavily muscled forearm thrown over his own eyes, because he was flat on his back and she hadn't bothered with curtains in the main room. When the sun came out, the light was inside.

"Uh-huh," said Maddie, heading into the kitchen area with the little pat-pat-pat of bare feet. "Can I ask a different question?"

She didn't have an electric or gas stove, but she did have a venerable black iron one. She couldn't, like, make candy or anything that required a really specific temperature, but she'd been cooking over a fire for years. It was easy to just shove some wood in and light it up with a little chakra trick — her lightning-affinity heart gave a deep thump as she coaxed a crackle of elemental chakra from her fingertips.

"Asking is free," Kakuzu said. There was an implied warning in that statement: asking was free, but answers might cost you.

The house had clean running water. She filled her kettle and put it on the stove to heat.

"Do you plan to visit often?"

There was a short silence. "No. Don't mistake anything," he added repressively, because he was a mean old bastard, "I'm here because it's convenient."

Uh-huh, she thought, turning to lean against the table and look at those dangling feet, but will it be 'convenient' often?

"Well, I plan to visit all the fucking time," said Hidan, voice thick and deep with sleep. He didn't move his face from where it was crushed into Kakuzu's chest. He could probably hear, like, a whole drum kit in there. "You went from a camp in a cursed swamp to a permanent beach house."

It really was pretty idyllic here on her little stretch of Wave, in its way: forest on one side, massive stretch of of beach on the other. She even had Barry's cutting, Barry the Second, taking root right in her back yard.

"Right. Okay." She looked around. At least the floors were stone and not wood. They'd clean well, which was a perennial consideration if Hidan visited often.

That morning, Maddie endured the spectacle of Kakuzu's tooth-grinding impatience to leave while his partner tested his temper. He loomed like a storm cloud while Hidan made his own breakfast, consumed it at an obnoxiously leisurely pace, and prayed for a solid half hour, apparently just to try everyone around him.

Then, at last, they were gone and Maddie was left in peace, sipping her tea and considering the cheapest place to get a futon for Hidan's — apparently inevitable — visits. She checked her traps and surrendered a crab to the clumsy grasping of Barry the Second, which was growing like a weed now that she was feeding it so regularly.

There was, of course, no work in town, so she didn't have any of that to do, and there was nobody (yet) to whom to rent her second property. The economy sucked and nobody wanted to move here. But the beach itself was lovely, the fresh air was nice and the local hunting was good, so Maddie was perfectly content to wait for Tazuna to get his bridge-building act together.

She did get Hidan a futon, though. It was second hand, which meant she didn't really want to contemplate what might have been soaked into it over its life. But given the kinds of fluids Hidan rolled around in, she didn't think he had any room to complain.

There wasn't any need to commit to dressing up an extensive guest room or anything, but she figured the futon just seemed prudent.

Then, of course, the following month opened with Kakuzu embarking on a mission in Mist, just across the water, and therefore fetching up on Hidan's futon — obviously, right? Maddie's house was cheaper than an inn and way more convenient than camping.

"Thought you didn't need a bed," she mused, peering into the guest room.

Kakuzu had appeared overnight without a sound, and she'd only known he was there at all because of his chakra signature. Kakuzu alone was a much quieter affair than Kakuzu and Hidan. But... she'd also left the windows unlocked.

"I don't need anything," he said flatly, without even opening his eyes. He said this less, she thought, because he didn't want to inconvenience her and more because he rejected the idea of permanence in another person's home. "But it's stupid not to use it."

"Right," said Maddie. "I'm making myself a pot of tea, and I guess if you so happen to show up near the pot, I'll pour you one."

Kakuzu cracked open one sinister green eye just to glower at her, but she closed the door to leave him to his rest.

#naruto oc: murakami madeline

85 notes · View notes

milesmolasses · 1 year

Text

Don't Blame Me

miles morales x reader

warnings: nothing i can think of

basically, you and Miles are a cute little couple, and you help him dye his hair at midnight (he has waves)

The time was 12.34pm EST, and most of the apartments in Ocean Hill Brooklyn had their lights off and curtains closed. You and Miles were in a 24HR drug store across the street from his apartment, checking out their hair supplies aisle- just when you were about to grab your hair mask treatment, Miles came running to you from halfway down the aisle.

"YEOOOOO, look what I found! We finna bring the demons out tonight," he said in a playful, scratchy tone. You looked at what he had in his hand and saw the platinum blonde hair dye he was holding.

"You wanna be Frank Ocean so damn bad, don't you? You know you're destroying your hair if you do that, right?"

"Nah, I've had virgin hair for forever; my hair can't get ruined after dying it once. That's just stupid," he waved his hand dismissively to my comment on him literally killing his beautiful hair.

"Miles use your head: it's 12 in the morning, and you aren't thinking straight. Trust, you don't want to do this and wake up in the morning regretting shit," I tried to grab the dye out of his hand, but he held onto the box with such a tight grip and a determined look on his cute face, really telling me he wanted to do this.

"No, no no no no, I am thinking straight; believe me, I have thought about this a lot. I can show you my Pinterest hair board right now, and it's full of niggas with blonde waves. Frank Ocean is calling my name Y/N, PLEASE let me do this," he went on and on. He looked at me with a pleading look in his eye, attempting a cute puppy dog face with his chapped pouty lips.

"... A'ight fine, but we getting you some damn chapstick with your cracked ass lips."

"Alright not too much on me, baby. You gon help me dye it though?"

It felt as if he was counting on me to say yes, so I agreed to help him dye his hair. We soon walked up to the register with my hair mask and a new conditioner for his hair, a bag of mini KitKats, the blonde dye, and some Vaseline. I paid for the items, wondering how much I would have to apologize to Rio for destroying her sons hair.

As we walked back to his place, we stopped by the deli to pick up some more snacks- two bags of chips, jolly ranchers, and a sandwich for Miles. We made it back and quietly snuck upstairs to the bathroom, but not without first dropping the food off in Miles's room. We made our way to the bathroom with the dye and the purple conditioner/toner, and I made Miles sit down on the edge of the bath tub while I prepped all the supplies.

"You're a W girlfriend for dying my hair and buying me snacks..." I was having my doubts about this whole "dying my boyfriend's hair thing" because I really didn't want to be the cause of something Miles might regret later on. Also, I kinda liked his regular black hair- I thought it was cute, plus he already had waves, so I didn't get why he wanted to dye his hair on top of that.

"Look, don't be upset with me, ok? I've been actually wanting to do this for the longest time, and I really do appreciate you doing this for me."

"Oh Miles, I'm not upset with you. C'mon, you know I love you but I'm just a little worried about how this will all turn out. I don't want you to regret this later on. Plus keeping up with dyed hair is expensive as fuck, bro," he looked at me again, this time, without the puppy dog looks; more like a sad and disappointed seal. He didn't want to make me worried I could tell.

"Alright look, imma dye it, fix up your hair, and we'll see how it looks unwrapped in the morning, is that ok?" He smiled and took my hand kissing it softly while looking up at me.

"Perfect."

And so I got to work, giving him a towel to drape over his shoulders, bleaching his hair while listening to his moans and groans about how much it burned, putting in the platinum color in his hair, and toning it after. We washed his hair and dried it with a t-shirt, added light amounts of pomade to his hair, finger waved and brushed it, and finally came the durag.

"How did it look? You was the one doin' it, so tell me, how did it look?"

"You gonna have to find out when you wake up tomorrow. Yo, lemme crash here. I'm mad tired right now," I walked out of the bathroom, already knowing his answer to my question. I walked my way back to his room, opening the black deli bag of snacks.

He turned on the ceiling projector which showed what seemed like trillions of little life-like stars on his ceiling. He plopped down onto his bed with me, turning to the bag to grab his sandwich as we stared at the ceiling projector eating our food.

The sunlight crept through Miles's curtains, basking us in the warm indication that a new day had arrived. My eyes blinked slowly and steadily as I shuffled through the bed I was lying in. I looked to my right and saw that the bed was empty and called out "Miles" absentmindedly.

"I'm in here," he yelled out of what I assumed was his bathroom. I rubbed my eyes as I strolled out of his bed and towards his bathroom. I walked in on a sight to behold;

A Miles I had never seen before was staring straight into the mirror, rubbing the neat blonde waves on the top of his head, smiling a smile I had never seen before.

"You are amazing. I can't believe this is what I look like, holy shit.." his smile grew even larger than before when his eyes finally met mine.

"Oh my lord, look at my mannnn," I squealed as I put my hands over my mouth in shock. Of course, I knew what the waves had looked like— I'm the one who did his hair— but seeing him so happy with my finished work made me even happier with myself and Miles.

"Me and Frank Ocean are literally twinning right now."

"He prolly don't even have them blonde waves no more."

"Why can't you just let me be happy?"

I laughed at his straight face when he said that, knowing it was only a joke. I walked closer to him so that we were both seen in the mirror, just looking at each other. He placed his hands on my shoulder as he kissed the top of my head. Something about this kiss screamed "thank you" or "I love you for this," and it made me feel warm inside as I stared into his eyes through the mirror.

Suddenly, as if he had just come to a realization, he whispered, "I gotta show my mom... shit"

AYEEEE this took me so long to write for literally no reason

can u tell how much i love frank ocean? lol

I DO NOT CONDONE SLEEPING IN BED WITH YOUR OUTSIDE CLOTHES! THAT SHIT IS DIRTY!

#milesmolasses #miles morales x reader #miles morales #into the spider verse #across the spiderverse #spiderman #spiderman miles morales

704 notes · View notes

severinapina · 1 month

Text

Just a Wednesday————-ONE SHOT

He slowly opened his eyes, feeling well-rested. He watched the sun gradually brighten as it filtered through the curtains in his room. The sounds from outside suggested it was probably around eight or eight-thirty in the morning. On Wednesdays, he didn’t start at the Academy until noon, but Satoru had to be there much earlier. He could hear him in the kitchen using the orange juicer, trying, though not very successfully, to be quiet. Then, the smell of coffee. Gojo didn’t drink it, but he did. He smiled contentedly, thinking that not only had Satoru made breakfast that morning, but he’d also let him sleep in.

What Suguru didn’t know was that Satoru had been up for about three hours. He needed to prepare an exam for the day, something crucial about channeling telluric energy. But level 2,978 of Candy Crush had taken up all his time and energy. How was it possible that this ridiculous game was such a challenge? Confident, the albino thought it would take him maybe three minutes, but he was wrong; he was two and a half hours in when his boyfriend’s alarm went off. He looked at the clock, then at his empty teaching papers, and then at his boyfriend. He watched him sleep for a little while.

Suguru’s breathing was calm, his body barely moving. The morning light was beginning to sneak in, almost shyly, through the curtains, softly illuminating the contours of his wonderful face. Dark strands of hair fell messily over his forehead, framing his relaxed features. Time seemed to stand still in those moments when his mouth exhaled a tiny thread of air. The peace surrounding his boyfriend’s strong jawline was worthy of praise and songs, a peace Satoru rarely saw in Suguru when he was awake. He leaned in a little closer, soaking in every detail, from the curve of his lips to the way his eyelashes cast delicate shadows on his cheeks. In those stolen seconds, Satoru allowed himself a rare moment of vulnerability, silently marveling at the simple beauty of having Suguru by his side.

He took a breath and quietly jumped out of bed. Such a work of art deserved, at the very least, breakfast.

Half an hour later, Suguru was covering his naked body with his black silk robe.

“Everyone thinks not, but…” he murmured to himself, “…I hit the jackpot with this guy.”

He sneakily entered the kitchen and wrapped Satoru in a tender hug from behind.

“I thought today was my turn to cook,” Geto whispered in his ear.

Satoru set the toast aside, turned around, and kissed him.

“You’re not off the hook. Instead, you’ll help me with the laundry.”

Suguru raised an eyebrow.

“Are you giving me orders?”

Gojo laughed and playfully bit Suguru’s left cheek.

“Yeah. Only I can give orders to the new Jujutsu Tech director.”

Suguru blushed, partly from the pain of his boyfriend’s childish game, and partly from the hint at what would probably be his new position.

“Ouch, Satoru!” He carefully pushed him away. “That’s not a sure thing yet.”

“The fuck is not,” said Satoru, stuffing a whole piece of toast into his mouth. “The old guy wants to retire and might recommend someone. Nanami’s practically nonexistent, Haibara doesn’t seem like he’ll be back anytime soon, and between Shoko and me…no. Impossible.”

“Satoru…” he began, adjusting the white bandage he’d been wearing lately.

“What?”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” he said, laughing, as he shoved another piece of toast into the albino’s mouth, which he happily received.

He smiled, calm. The truth was, Satoru was right. The Tokyo academic body was basically reduced to everyone Gojo had named and him. Thoughtfully, he considered his supposed competition. As for Nanami, his situation was a bit murky; the sorcerer split his time between the school and his bakery, with a strong preference for the latter, making his appearances at the academy increasingly rare. In Haibara’s case, there wasn’t much to say; he was also a good teacher, in fact, one of the best, but on a mission to Hawaii, he discovered surfing and became instantly addicted. And Shoko…well, Shoko didn’t even call herself a teacher. Her way of dealing with the kids was offering them cigarettes and talking about the importance of introducing clonazepam into daily life once you hit thirty. And then there was Satoru.

Oh, Satoru. The Six Eyes heir had many virtues, tons of them. He could kick your ass in Mario Kart, read the Critique of Pure Reason, and play three full football matches, all in one day, but teaching wasn’t his thing. As much as he tried, this year he was in charge of the third-years, the class where Megumi was. And considering that Megumi had moved to the dorms to get away from Gojo, things weren’t looking too good. Satoru swore he was trying, but Suguru knew not enough. He just skipped his classes and swapped with whoever was in charge of the first or second-years. So, no. Teaching wasn’t his thing. Less so with Megumi.

Thinking about Fushiguro reminded him of his other kids. Tsumiki was also at the school, but he didn’t hear about the girls.

“Nana and Mimi?” he asked, concerned.

Satoru laughed mischievously. One of the things he’d done before starting breakfast was hand over his credit card to the girls so they could go eat whatever they wanted, wherever they wanted, which included a shopping spree at the mall.

Suguru guessed what was going on. It wasn’t the first time. Both relieved and annoyed, he gave the albino a little nudge.

“Stop spoiling them! They should be in school too!”

Satoru shrugged. He didn’t care much about spoiling them. The girls had their own strong opinions about Satoru, but when he waved the black card in front of their little noses, all resentment disappeared. There, Satoru went from being the scruffy simp that Geto Sama had unfortunately chosen as a partner to the cool albino uncle. That was enough for Gojo. It allowed him moments like this, alone with his beloved curse manipulator.

“And they’re going to school! Just in the afternoon, to train with Maki.”

Suguru took his coffee cup, took a sip, and then looked at Satoru, thoughtful. He knew him well. The albino didn’t want to go to the academy that day, but why?

As if on cue, the albino’s phone rang. Suguru glimpsed Shoko’s picture before Satoru hung up.

“You should let her know if you’re going to be late,” Suguru said, pointing at the phone with his cup.

“Who says I’m going to be late? I’ll get the laundry done in less than ten minutes,” said the albino, as he dashed to the laundry room. “Hey, Suguru, don’t play dumb. You need to help me.”

Suguru leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and watched as Satoru tossed the laundry into the washer without a care. He smiled, seeing how he picked up the underwear with disgust, as if they weren’t his. He thought he was looking at a kid in a thirty-year-old’s body.

Then, he watched as Satoru grabbed a couple of wool skirts and tossed them in with the rest. He approached cautiously and gently took them from his hands.

“These are Nana’s. You know how careful she is with her clothes. They need to be hand-washed,” he said, setting them aside in a different basket.

Satoru leaned on a pile of shirts, annoyed. He really hated this chore. He’d much rather vacuum or wash dishes. There was always some action involved, whether it was encountering a spiderweb full of flies or preventing a couple of glasses from breaking. But doing laundry was slow, contemplative, and, worst of all, there were always garments that needed extra care, which Satoru almost always forgot. That’s why he always wanted Suguru to help him.

“I don’t think anyone will notice if a robot or their dad hand-washed the skirt,” he said, watching Suguru remove some small lint.

“Wow, Satoru, don’t you remember what happened last time?”

Gojo clicked his tongue. Yeah, he had forgotten the disaster of mixing Mimiko’s red socks with Nanako’s blue ribbons, Tsumiki’s white blouses, and Megumi’s black pants. All he’d heard for a whole afternoon were insults like “you’re the worst,” “that’s why nobody goes to your classes,” and “I don’t understand why Geto Sama even lets you handle things.” Well, at least Tsumiki said she was happy her blouses were now pink.

Gojo reflected on that. Things had been much calmer since Megumi and Tsumiki decided to move to the academy dorms. The twins, however, still lived with them and didn’t seem to have any respect for him. Especially Nanako. But the girl’s mind seemed to calm down on days like this, when she and her sister roamed the best shops in town. Though, now that he thought about it, it might not have been the best decision. Last time had cost a lot. More than he usually spent.

Suguru looked at his boyfriend. He was pressing his cheeks with his hands, as he always did when he was lost in thought or worried.

He moved closer and lifted the bandage, revealing Satoru’s right eye. He smiled when he saw him. For some reason, Satoru with one eye seemed strangely attractive.

“It’s not that bad if you forget to separate the colors, little one. I can handle it,” Suguru said, as he put away the rest of the clothes.

Satoru stepped aside to make it easier for his boyfriend, ending up behind him. He walked backward a couple of steps to stand right by the door. He finished removing the bandage and fixed his eyes on what was in front of him.

Gojo Satoru, at almost thirty-one years old, had traveled all over the world. He knew the Great Wall of China, the Eiffel Tower and the Empire State Building. He had also heard whale song, petted a free elephant and watched the northern lights at their peak. All of the above were astonishing wonders that any mortal would want to experience. But he was not just any mortal. He was above all others because he, the strongest of all, walked in the company of the most exquisite creature ever created. No sight compared to what he was seeing: Suguru, just being Suguru.

His blue eyes followed the movements of the curse manipulator. They measured his long back, then settled on his pronounced shoulder blades, which, with each folded garment, made their presence known with masculine elegance. Suguru felt his boyfriend's penetrating gaze and, in a now familiar game of seduction, let his hair, always graceful, fall over his shoulders. Satoru bit his lips as he watched how that black silk bathed his back, whose length ended just at his waist.

Shit, his waist. There was little else to say about it, except that wrapping his hands around that tight, narrow curve felt, always, like an invitation to heaven made by St. Peter himself. That is when you consider that heaven, for Satoru, was only a few inches below.

His breath hitched as he rested his unseemly gaze on Suguru's ass. What had he done so well, in his past life, that he could now enjoy such a magnificent view? An impeccable roundness, the firmness that only years of martial arts practice could give him and a magnificent bearing that invited him to fall asleep on it; all that encompassed his boyfriend's perfect backside.

Geto, guessing where his eyes were already, leaned back. His buttocks met Satoru's hard crotch.

"Ouch, what if you move, can't you see there's laundry to do? ",Suguru asked, flirtatiously.

Satoru grabbed him by the waist and pulled him tight against him. He fiddled with the fabric of his robe and slowly slipped two of his fingers inside it, just enough to feel his generous member and stir Geto's breathing.

"I don't think I'm interested in teaching today,” he whispered in her ear.

"Satoru...” he sighed, throwing his head back slightly. His violet gaze met Gojo's blue one right away, “Today it's your turn to take exams for the third year students."

Gojo pressed his hips harder against Suguru's butt. Suguru let out a moan.

Ah, here they go again.

"I might get sick,” Satoru began to unbutton Suguru's robe with his right hand, while his left hand caressed Suguru's butt.

"You...you don't get sick,” Suguru moaned, as he grabbed his boyfriend's neck, forcing him to direct his lips to his.

Gojo inhaled with desire at the nape of Suguru's neck. The fragrance of his hair drove him crazy since the first time he had felt it, more than ten years ago. That clean, fresh scent, similar but not the same as lavender, which also enclosed warm, woody notes that intertwined with the natural scent of his skin, a fragrance that invited him to drown in it. Sandalwood and cedarwood came together in a whisper as soft as his moans, a promise of comfort and familiarity that made Satoru feel at home.

And tremendously excited.

Suguru felt the touch of his nose and knew what the albino was feeling. The tresses, violet from the morning sunlight streaming through the curtains, were as soft as the fur of the most majestic of minks. He closed his eyes and listened to his breathing, getting louder and louder.

He turned and finished removing her blindfold.

"It's okay,” he whispered in his ear. "Let's get sick together."

Gojo smiled and took his face in his hands. He began to kiss him, first tenderly, as he used to do; Suguru's face was, at first, as fragile as porcelain. However, as his hands moved down his neck, reached his ches and ended at his waist, his tongue more explored that of the curse manipulator. Nothing tasted sweeter to him than that sensual mouth.

Suguru pushed him away. Eagerly, he pulled down the albino's pants. He was ready to put between his lips that magnificent member, a creation that, probably, came from the hand of Eros. He opened his mouth and first ran his tongue along its entire length, then thrust it all the way in. He licked and sucked while, with his fingers, he fiddled around the outside of Satoru's hole.

Gojo couldn't help but bite his lips, to the point of almost breaking them. There was a kind of desperation, a hunger, in the way Suguru licked his cock that made his back tighten in an electric shiver. He closed his eyes. The busy morning noises outside, full of voices and horns were not enough to quiet the sound of his moans. Gojo's deep voice transformed into a soft chant as he emptied his cum into his adoring boyfriend's mouth.

Suguru stood up and kissed him, with the same desire as the first time. It couldn't be any other way. The man in front of him was simply spectacular. There was no one like him in the whole damn world. Geto would get down on his knees for him every time he asked. He smothered him with his tongue, then followed with his neck. He rested both elbows on the washer and wrapped his legs around him, so that only Satoru's hands on his firm ass kept him from falling to the floor.

"So that's what you want, huh?"

Suguru just laughed.

"Just do your job, Gojo Satoru."

The albino chuckled. Damn, what a blessed job he had.

"Are you ready?"

Geto squeezed him around the waist with his legs.

"What do you think?"

Satoru ran his tongue over his lips again, eager as a hungry man would be in front of the fullest of banquets. He gripped his ass tightly, almost digging his nails into it, and slowly penetrated it.

The smell of flowers from the detergent that Suguru threw away at the uncontrolled pleasure of having him inside him, invaded the atmosphere. They laughed, and then their loud moans and the rubbing of their skin was the only thing that could be heard.

"Suguru..."

Geto didn't answer. He couldn't speak at that moment. His boyfriend's hard member was accomplishing what he was born to do; the only mission he had in the universe, was to bring him to a satisfying and strong orgasm.

"Suguru...” continued the albino, "say my... say my name...".

Suguru's narrow ass was driving him crazy. There was nothing else at that moment, in all the world, that Gojo would rather be doing. The albino was as sure of how much he loved to penetrate him as he was that the darkest of nights is followed by the sun. Fucking him was, quite simply, inevitable.

Suguru clenched his fists. He was ready. And he wanted his beloved to come with him.

"Sa...Sato...."

Gojo began to ram him harder. Geto couldn't hold on any longer. The pleasure was building up in a dangerous snowball effect, generating that burning hot craving to scream, to drown, to explode, that only the luckiest beings on this earth know.

"Satoru..."

The name of the heir of the six eyes functioned as a kind of magic word. As soon as it was pronounced, his whole body tensed and, for the second time that day, he filled Suguru with his liquid, who, already letting himself be carried away by how delicious it was to feel the tingling of his penis inside him, succumbed to orgasm.

Gojo moved in and kissed him, as Suguru's body settled. They both breathed shakily and looked at each other as if one was the reflection of the other.

Because that's what they were, after all.

Suddenly Suguru began to laugh out loud.

"What? What are you laughing at? ", Gojo asked, while fixing his pants.

"Well...we'll have to wash all these clothes again".

Satoru, looking at the mess they had left, also began to laugh. Then he kissed him on the cheek.

"I love you, Suguru. You don't know how much,” he whispered. "You can't even imagine."

Suguru smiled, touched. He would never tire of hearing those words.

"I love you too, Satoru."

And he would never tire of saying them.

A while later, sitting on the living room couch, the sorcerers looked at each other. Satoru’s legs were resting on Suguru’s thighs, and Suguru’s feet were firmly planted on the ground, as always. They didn’t say a word, letting the sounds of bustling Tokyo be the only thing they heard. Each was absorbed in their own thoughts, but also in the face of the other. Satoru munched on sweets and blinked, calm but almost expectant, like a dog waiting for a gentle pat. Suguru moved his fingers, making swirls in his hair, playing with it like the most innocent of princesses.

He smiled to himself. There was a warm feeling in being silent with Satoru, in watching the trivialities of routine pass by together, without the need for constant expressions of anything. An intimacy that couldn’t be shared with anyone else, because Suguru knew, simply knew, that there was no safer place than in his partner’s arms. In those moments, Suguru felt with every cell in his body that Satoru was his home.

In the immovability of that moment, Satoru noticed Suguru’s hidden smile. Even though he didn’t express it, something changed on his face. That’s how ingrained Satoru had become with the face of the man who was with him. He moved his feet, and Suguru began to stroke them. Gojo felt the warmth of his hands, still palpable through his thin fingers, and the rhythm of his breathing. He also smiled to himself, realizing that their hearts were beating at exactly the same rhythm. Probably few people would dare to claim with such certainty that they had met their reflection, their other half; Satoru was lucky to be one of them. The synchronization of their breaths was just another expression of the level of connection they shared. If love needed to materialize, there was no better vessel than the two of them. If it needed a language, only they spoke it. And if love needed recognition, only they could give it. In those moments, Satoru realized that Suguru was, to him, everything. Simply, everything.

Suddenly, his phone rang again. Shoko, once more. Gojo cut the call again and then went to the kitchen.

“I’m soooo hungry,” he said, pulling out flour from the pantry and a plate of spaghetti from the fridge.

With a worried expression, Suguru appeared in the room.

“It’s noon and I haven’t gone to the academy.”

Satoru tossed a candy wrapper at him playfully.

“Did you have to give a class?”

“No… just administrative work but…”

The albino started laughing, moved closer, and picked him up by the waist, lifting him above his head.

“But nothing. We got sick together, remember?”

Suguru signaled for him to put him down and then buried his head in the albino’s neck, embarrassed.

“We need to stop fucking so much, everywhere and at every chance…”

He couldn’t finish his sentence because Satoru interrupted him with a loud laugh.

“Come on, idiot! You don’t believe that for even a millisecond!” he said, throwing a handful of flour at him.

The flour swirled in the air before landing in Suguru’s dark hair, covering it in white. Suguru blinked in surprise for a second before bursting into laughter.

“Is that why you got the flour, you idiot? You’ll see!”

Without thinking twice, Suguru grabbed a tomato from the counter and threw it at Satoru. The tomato splattered against Satoru’s chest, leaving a red stain on his pecs. Satoru feigned an exaggerated look of horror, placing a hand over his heart as if he’d been gravely injured.

“This means war, Geto Suguru!”

Quickly, Satoru lunged for the handful of spaghetti he had pulled out and threw it at Suguru, who was laughing loudly as he dodged most of the noodles, though a few ended up hanging from his hair.

“You can’t even aim properly, Satoru!”

Laughter intensified as Suguru responded by tossing a spoonful of tomato sauce, which Satoru barely dodged in time. But before Suguru could celebrate his apparent victory, Satoru slid behind him and wrapped him in a hug from behind, pressing him against his chest.

“Got you, dummy!” Satoru declared triumphantly, his voice full of affection.

Suguru laughed and relaxed in Satoru’s arms, feeling the warmth radiating from him.

“Alright, alright, I’ll surrender this time,” he said, turning his head to look at Satoru with a smile.

Satoru smiled back, lowering his head to kiss Suguru’s cheek gently.

“You know you’d always win if it were serious,” Suguru murmured.

He turned completely in Satoru’s arms, wrapping his arms around his neck.

“Maybe... but I like it better when we play like this,” Satoru replied before kissing him.

As always, their kiss was the culmination of what they were: one, in everything. Everything, in one.

Dizzy from the kiss, Suguru leaned back.

“Wow…” he said.

“What?”

“We’ve just left another mess!”

They both laughed, nearly collapsing to the floor. Suguru wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes and headed for the broom. He started sweeping while Satoru watched, mesmerized.

He framed the moment with his hands and pretended to press a fake shutter, taking a nonexistent photograph. Realizing what he’d done, Suguru blushed, but moments later, he threw a dish towel at Satoru.

“You’re not escaping cleaning just because you’re charming, Gojo Satoru!”

As he bent down to clean, Satoru stuck his tongue out at him.

“Bah. Stick your tongue out as much as you want because…” Suguru began.

“I love you, idiot.”

Again, the same words, and with them, the same tenderness, the same emotion, and the same desire to always be within his soul.

Suguru sat on the floor, getting to his level.

“I love you too, stupid.”

He returned the gesture, sticking his tongue out at him as well.

After cleaning the kitchen, they returned to the sofa. They decided to order something. They were too tired to cook.

To pass the time, Satoru grabbed the PlayStation controller and turned it on. Suguru, raising an eyebrow, took it from him.

“Shouldn’t we do something together?” Suguru asked.

Gojo smiled at him, showing all his white teeth.

“Yeah, play FIFA.”

The TV screen went dark as Suguru left the controller on one end of the coffee table and the TV remote on the other.

“Let’s flip a coin. Heads, a movie. Tails, FIFA. But not the 2019 version, I can’t build my team properly in that one,” Suguru said, a bit thoughtfully, as he took a coin out of his wallet.

Satoru, with the agility of a cat, snatched it from him and, instead of tossing it into the air, threw it hard onto the table.

“Satoru! That’s not how you play heads or tails! And the wood! It’s walnut!”

Gojo put his index finger on his mouth, sensually making the shushing gesture.

“Shhh. Look, it’s in your favor.”

Suguru looked at the table. The coin was on top of the TV remote. He smiled. He knew the albino had done it on purpose. He couldn’t control chance, but he could control how he tossed the coin.

He was so damn perfect.

“You choose, then. But not Dragon Ball, please. I’m so sick of Broly.”

“It’s impossible to get tired of Broly. You just don’t know, Suguru.”

Geto laughed. His favorite hobby was cinema. That, plus a diploma in film appreciation, contradicted the albino’s statement.

“Fine, impress me,” Suguru said.

Satoru frowned. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, that Geto hadn’t seen, and knowing which ones he wanted to repeat was like trying to count grains of sand. He tossed him the controller while leaning back on the sofa.

“You win, dummy.”

Suguru smiled, a look of childish mischief in his violet eyes. He was about to start one of his favorite movies when Satoru’s phone rang again. Again, it was his friend and colleague’s photo, and again, Gojo hung up.

He looked at him, worried.

“Why did you really miss today? Satoru, if you have a problem or…”

Satoru pushed the hair from his forehead and kissed him. It made him feel tender that his boyfriend was so disciplined, that he couldn’t conceive a day of pure and simple laziness. Because, hours earlier, seeing him asleep, he felt so ineffably in love, so immersed in the strands of his black hair, so lost in the violet of his eyes, that he couldn’t conceive another way to spend his hours.

“I just wanted to be with you,” he said, while caressing him. He took his left hand and started to play with his ring finger.

Suguru’s heart began to beat hard. He knew what that meant.

“Something is missing here…” Gojo said, laughing.

Suguru took the albino’s left hand and did the same.

“Yeah. Here too.”

Satoru brought his nose close to Suguru’s and rubbed it gently.

“When…?”

“Soon, Satoru. Soon.”

He kissed him on the cheek, took the remote control, and started the movie. Satoru closed his eyes with a smile. He wasn’t worried that they still weren’t engaged. At this point, no ring could symbolize the immense love he had. Besides, he knew it was just a matter of time. Nothing could make him distrust what they had. The best thing he could do at that moment was to enjoy every second with him, even if it meant falling asleep during the Tarkovsky film Suguru had so boringly chosen.

Suguru looked at him, amused. He knew he would fall asleep, but that was what he wanted. He was much more concerned about his erratic schedules than having a ring on his finger. Yes, he wanted to marry Satoru, that was obvious with every laugh he brought him, but it wasn’t the main thing. For now, he just wanted him to stop behaving every day as if he were immortal. If there was one thing Geto was sure of, it was wanting to live many, many years with the man beside him.

Without turning off the TV, he snuggled up next to Satoru and rested his head on his chest. He felt his breathing rise and fall, slowly and smoothly, like few things were in the albino’s life. He stroked his abdomen, outlining each of his muscles. He stopped when he reached his groin. He didn’t want to wake him.

Suddenly, the albino opened his eyes. He looked at him, laughed, took his hand, and kissed it. Then, playfully, he grabbed Suguru and placed him on top.

Geto moved, amused, on his lap.

“You never stop, Satoru.”

Gojo released Suguru’s hair and placed it over his shoulders. He looked at him for a moment. Yes, perfect. The words of Shakespeare, Neruda, and Keats would seem small, insufficient to describe his face. And it wasn’t necessary to do so, not when he was lucky enough to admire it every day, he thought, as he wrapped his fingers in his long hair.

“You’re beautiful, Suguru.”

Geto’s cheeks turned pink. All this time together and he was still embarrassed by the albino’s compliments, not because he didn’t believe them, but because he was touched by the sincere tone of his voice. No one could doubt, ever, that Satoru truly believed that Geto was molded in the image and likeness of the gods of Olympus.

He kissed him, first on the lips and then moved down to his neck. He was thinking of continuing, but this time it was his phone that rang. It was Shoko.

“Let it ring,” Satoru pleaded.

“Honey, she’s called more than three times. If she calls me now, it’s for a reason,” Suguru replied as he put on his black silk robe.

“Hello?” he answered the phone, while he was getting dressed.

“Hi, idiot! What are you doing?”

Suguru tightened his mouth. Shoko was probably the last person who wanted to know he was about to have sex with Satoru. Oh no, that was Nanami. But Shoko was definitely the second last.

“Did something happen?”

“Well, if you call having to cover your classes something, then yes. I hate teaching, you know that. And I’ve been bored all day. I just wanted to talk to you, you wouldn’t believe what happened.”

Suguru moved a little. He didn’t want Satoru to hear that the sorceress had called him just to chat.

“What happened?” he asked quietly.

“Ijichi asked me out. What do you think? Should I say yes?”

He covered his mouth, excited by the gossip. He had a lot to say about it. However, that could wait.

“How about we go out for a beer tomorrow and you can tell me all about it?” He looked at Satoru, who had turned his back with his eyes closed. “I’m a bit busy right now.”

Shoko’s loud laughter came from the phone. Suguru moved the phone a bit away from his ear as the sorceress continued talking about her day.

Just as Suguru was about to hang up, he heard her say:

“…Well, and those are the kinds of things Nanami only says. And you? Did you just stay home with your ridiculous boyfriend? I didn’t think you were the type to do nothing on a Wednesday.”

Suguru looked at Satoru, who had turned back to sleep, mouth open, drooling. What had he really done? Drink coffee, do laundry, have sex with the love of his life, try to cook, propose to watch a movie with him. Look at his eyes, listen to his voice, laugh at his clumsiness. Feel him.

Feel him.

That was something, definitely. But so intimate, so woven into each other’s souls, that telling Shoko about it didn’t make sense.

He walked to the couch and stroked Satoru’s hair, tucking his rebellious strands behind his ears.

“I think you’d rather not know,” he said, laughing.

As Shoko’s disgusted scream was heard from the other end of the phone, Suguru hung up. He looked at Satoru, who opened his eyes, mischievous, and kissed him.

“Shall we go again?” he asked, with a kind of purring voice, his face blushing and full of hope.

Suguru laughed and stroked his cheeks.

“Let’s go again.”

———————————🖤🤍

Art by ©️ Mindiiw.com

—————-AO3:

#stsg #stsg brainrot #jjk stsg #gojo x geto #satosugu #geto suguru #gojo satoru #stsg fanfic #satosugu fanart #stsg fluff #one shot #jjk fluff #domestic fluff

75 notes · View notes

sytoran · 1 year

Text

double-edged sword | teom part i

Wanda Maximoff's marriage with her husband is not going too well. To add insult to injury, her new neighbour is pretty fuckin' hot.

──── PAIRING. sub!milf!wanda x dark!player!reader

──── CONT. established wandavision, implied unhealthy coping mechanisms, infidelity, thirsting, unresolved sexual tension, reader uses she/they pronouns

──── WORD COUNT. 1.5k

series m.list | main m.list | join the taglist | AO3

A ray of the morning glow on her eyes takes Wanda out of her sweet slumber. Groggily rubbing at her face, Wanda’s eyes slowly adjust as she scans the room.

Viridescent eyes fall to the empty side of the bed next to her. Of course.

Vision, her husband, had been acting different lately. Private phone calls, late nights at work, leaving early in the morning. She no factual evidence to prove what smelt like infidelity, but it was definitely there and Wanda wasn’t as naive as her husband thought she was.

But well, there was only so much she could do about it.

To any outsider, it might seem like she was already living the high life: With a rich husband who worked as a banker, two sprightly kids who were essentially bundles of joy, a big house with a white picket fence...... She had nothing to complain about, right?

Turns out, that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Life was too monotone. too standard, too peaceful, too perfect. Sometimes, Wanda felt like her life was one of those sitcoms she so loved: The picture-perfect family, a portmanteau of situational comedy — But that was it, and that false idealisation of perfection was all Wanda would ever be able to actually achieve.

At the recognition of things going awry, Wanda shudders. the room suddenly wasn’t so comfortable. It was spacious, but it was empty, and it didn’t feel like home.

Home. What was home, anyway?

Was it the nights spent with Pietro and her parents, watching sitcoms and eating stale snacks? Was it her sons’ football games she went to, to cheer them on and scream her lungs out?

Well, either way, it definitely wasn’t how Vision had been treating her.

Wanda lets a soft groan fall from her lips and she stretches. As she’s about to finally get out of bed, the sound of a motorcycle revving from a distance hauls Wanda out of her train of thought.

Her ears prick up, sliding off the covers to look out of the window that had a good view of the house next door.

Wanda watches, with keen eyes, as a moving truck pulls up into the driveway. “Right, I’m getting a new neighbour,” Wanda muses, remembering how Agatha told her last Friday that the Simmons had managed to sell the house for a fair bit and then some more.

A bearded man with long blonde hair gets out of the truck, jogging over to the back to start shifting the boxes.

The brunette is about to shut her curtains and carry on with her day, when a different person pulls up into the driveway on a black motorcycle, then leaping off and kicking the stand in a swift motion. Wanda’s attention is tugged back again, her heart inexplicably thrumming a little faster than normal.

“Thanks, Thor!” the motorcyclist calls out, slapping the older man on the back. “I’ve got it from here!”

Wanda shifts closer to the window, hand gripping the windowsill. There was no explanation for why she was so enthralled by that mysterious woman, with the structured arms and glorious physique.

With a pinch of inquisitiveness, Wanda waits and watches as 'Thor' unloads the truck and drives off with a cheery wave. The tall motorcyclist is left there, face glowing the warm sun, light effortlessly reflecting off their arms.

Wanda peels her eyes from that sin-stained window, shaking her head in a means to stop being a fool. You’ve just been sexually repressed, that’s all, Wanda reasons.

She leaves to make herself a cup of hot tea, but when she’s done she finds herself going back to her bedroom window to stare at the new, hot neighbour again. This time, you’re moving the boxes, a sheen of sweat covering layers of muscle, all the yardwork being unreasonably attractive to Wanda.

“You’re married,” Wanda whispers to herself, eyes going to the wedding photo with vision. It seemed grey, compared to the burst of colours before her eyes.

Despite her chastising, Wanda’s marital state didn’t deter her from the inexplicable enthrallment towards her neighbour, however. When you reached up to stretch, and your black tank top rode up to expose an impeccably-sculpted torso, Wanda let out a shuddering breath.

Almost as if on cue, you chance upon that exact timing to look up at Wanda’s window, and her breath comes to a standstill.

There was no relieving herself from the embarrassing situation. Wanda clutches the cup of tea harder, expression frozen, knowing she must look like some kind of freak. A married lady in her late thirties thirsting over a younger woman in their early twenties?

To Wanda’s surprise and downfall of her beating heart, the motorcyclist sends her a quick wink, and as quickly goes back to unpacking and moving.

Wanda Maximoff’s heart nearly gives out.

She basically throws the curtains shut, collapsing into her bed once again with an embarrassed cry and a suspiciously pleased noise. Already, she finds herself recalling the specks of dirt over their face and arms, their grunts of exhaustion, and that sinful, rouguish, wink.

Shit, living next to someone so effortlessly irresistible was going to be a living hell.

===

Fame was a double-edged sword.

Sure, it seemed like the high life, with countless fans and ungodly amounts of money, and interviews all over the radios, and expensive liquor, and women-

It was never right.

As a basketball player, You were thrown into the unwanted limelight at a mere ten years old – With a play a little too amazing for someone yet to hit puberty, it was all set in stone. From there, you rose through the ranks, faster than the basketball world had ever seen. Match after match, record after record, victory after victory…… it was a means to an end.

A private life was non-existent, something uncalled for, for such an inspirational and famous individual. Celebrity, some might call it. Shoved on a pedestal, more like.

The darker aspects were ugly and scarred. Press interviews so stressful and questions so invading you had to do everything to not throw up there and then. Practice after practice, so grueling and body-wracking, and your head never stopped spinning, and the fans never stopped chanting.

Breakdowns turned into a means for escapism, turned into twisted coping mechanisms. No one knew.

There were……fantasies. Desires. Longing. Wrong, that’s for sure, but it helped. It feasted on you like an apex predator, urging you to tap into it.

You had to escape.

Because fame was a scythe pierced into your neck, missing your jugular vein by mere inches.

Your sweet saviour was something unorthodox, coming in the form of a humble town named Westview. A private area, tucked away and unappealing. There were hardly any residents, and they were of a generally older population.

No media, no paparazzi, no matches, no tournaments. You bought a decently comfy house in less than a month after your discovery. not to appease your public image. Just for you, in fact. Just for you and your much-needed rest.

It was the beginning of something good.

Or so you naively believed.

Remember the aforementioned coping mechanisms? Dark, and twisted little fantasies? Corrupt, and evil, and morally grey?

Well, turns out, your forbidden fruit would happen to lie in the form of your very married next-door neighbour.

===

Yes, your neighbour is hot. Like, really fuckin' hot.

That's the first thing you notice when looking up at the window of the house next door, to find that she was already looking at you.

Your neighbour looked reasonably older than you, but ethereal nonetheless. Slightly curly long brown hair pulled into a bun atop her head, stray hairs somehow impeccably framing her face, small hands gripping onto a teacup adorably.

From a distance, you weren’t graced with the vision of clarity — but from what you could see, the way her green eyes shone, flecks of gold and glimmering with light — you didn’t think your eyes had ever laid on something more breathtaking.

When you winked at her, and she blushed instantaneously while fidgeting with her hands – the desired reaction, by the way – you already knew that your new neighbour would be your latest conquest.

A slow smirk grew on your face, thanking the higher powers that lead you to Westview.

Oh, say it's wrong, to treat a pretty girl like a coping mechanism, to please one after the other, until there were none left.

Then look at me in the eyes and tell me that a pretty girl screaming your name as she falls apart in your hands isn't the best thrill in the world, to conquer and devour and make yourself her world, even if it’s for those few sacred moments.

You shrug off the intrusive thoughts, releasing a short gush of air, reminding yourself once again that you were here for a new change of pace. Your inner urges could take its toll afterwards.

It seemed like keeping those inner urges at bay would prove to be a difficult task, though.

You sigh, averting your attention back the remaining unmoved furniture.

It was going to be a long day.

taglist: @natashamaximoff69 @ohsugar-honey-iced-tea @fayhar @bibliophilicbi @screechcat @rowanyaboats @nahnahnahwhat @the-night-owl-blr @nemowevoli @wannabe-fic-reader @natsxwife @wandsmxmff @enanna-h @jemilyswhor3 @manyfandomsfanvergent @scarsw1fe @jlsammy23 @spongebobs-tie1 @kiyozoe6778 @girllcver @natashaswife4125 @godsfavouritelesbiann @ezay @forthelesbians @wlwfanfictionss @forthelesbians @cowxpoke @supaheroine @saqua14 @olsensnpm @33-mrvl @kellyc30-blog @eatkobi @cqllarbones @lovelyy-moonlight @diannaswhore @shuriri4life @inluvwithfictionalwomen @Cooldogs02 @jedi-athen-orion @alyciaddict @blackqueensforeva @lovelyy-moonlight

series m.list | main m.list | join the taglist | AO3

#marvel women #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximommy #wanda maximilf #x reader #wanda x reader #wanda x y/n #dom reader #sub wanda maximoff #bottom wanda maximoff #top reader #marvel #women of marvel #my works #teom series

768 notes · View notes

bunnylovesani · 10 months

Text

The Bratty Belle

Chapter 1

Summary: You’ve just moved to the city and want to get to know your new neighbours. One very snarky and very handsome one in particular presents you with a challenge.

WC: 2k

After spending all day unpacking, you finally sat down to observe your new surroundings: you’d kept most of your old furniture, like the vanity table perched in the corner along with your beloved princess bed- complete with an intricately carved wooden headboard. The room was pleasantly familiar beside the new addition of white chiffon curtains that hung around your bed, shrouding you in a comforting cocoon. You let out a dreamy sigh, fiddling with the numerous pillows and plushies littered all over your plush bedding. You might be old enough to move to the big city and have your own condo, but you’ll still cuddle your tatty old teddy to sleep.

Peering out the window, you observe the neighbouring houses strewn along the street opposite, a green meadow separating the complexes. Most of them had a door and mailbox per floor, signifying that a different person resided on each of the levels. The same could not be said, however, for the last house at the very end of the street, which stood detached and boasted a single entryway. It was the only house you could see into being that it was directly opposite yours- unlike the other condos, which joined together in rows a little further up the road. You’d only moved in 2 days ago but noticed that the blinds were shut and the lights always remained off. Maybe no one lived there?

As a reward for your gruelling work unpacking, you took some candy along with your sketchpad and headed out to the field outside your new home. Deciding against another layer over your pink mini dress, you grabbed a picnic blanket and staked out the perfect spot - cosy and tucked away so that the neighbours down the road wouldn’t notice you. Your feet kicked the air playfully as you doodled the flowers in your line of sight, humming contentedly with a cherry-flavoured lollipop hanging from your lips. You were so engrossed in your sketch that you almost didn’t notice the shadow looming over you, blocking the warm sunlight.

“Who are you?” A tall man with dark features frowned at you and you looked up, mirroring his frown.

“I don’t talk to strangers.” You huffed, returning your attention to your notebook. That wasn’t strictly true- you were bubbly and befriended anyone who would have you but this man in particular intimidated you.

“What are you, ten?” He scoffed and raised his thick eyebrows, forehead wrinkles deepening.

Much to your annoyance, you could sense that he wasn’t leaving before he got a satisfactory response - so you put your pencil down and looked up at him again. His cerulean blue eyes shone so brightly they practically twinkled and a sharp spark flew through your heart at the sight. Rugged, almost-black hair choppily framed his chiselled face, which had smudges of dirt and sweat flecking his tanned skin. A manual labourer, perhaps?

“I’m Bunny. Jus’ moved in over there.” You turn around and point at the apartment behind you. “And you are?”

“Happy to see you.” His deep, raspy voice replied teasingly.

“I meant your name.” You corrected him snappily.

“My real one or a fake one like you just gave me?” You pout your lips; you didn’t like his sharp tongue.

“I’m James. James Kelly.” He said after a while of staring at your scrunched-up face. “I’ll call you by your stupid pet name if you crave affection that badly.”

Your mouth gaped open at his callous words and you felt as though you’d been unmasked. It was undoubtedly pathetic but the truth was you considered your first name to be too harsh, too cold. You much preferred being sensitively referred to by an affectionate pet name- one that people often didn’t realise they were being duped into using, assuming it was real. But not him.

“You won’t get the opportunity to use it, I’ll make sure of that.” You crossed your arms and furrowed your brows.

“Well you’re just a little ball of anger aren’t you?” He chuckled, finding your short temper adorable. “Very tense for one so young.”

“And you’re very nosy for one so old.” You gather your colouring pencils into your fluffy pencil case, your creative inspiration rattled by his presence. You surmised that he was at least 10 years your senior; his hands looked weathered but still supple, his crows feet visible but not yet entrenched.

“Hey, you don’t have to move, I’m leaving.” He protests but you’re already on your feet. “Alright moody, suit yourself.”

You shoot him a displeased look as you clutch your sketchpad tightly against your chest, turning your back to him and taking a step forward.

“By the way.” He adds and you halt tentatively. “You should really wear a longer dress if you’re gonna be laying down like that. I could see your panties.”

Your cheeks flush a burning red and you screw your eyes shut in embarrassment.

“They’re cute though. I like the strawberry print.” You can feel his grin beaming through his words and you want nothing more than to run away and never see his stupid handsome face again.

“Leave me alone.” You attempt to say confidently but it comes out as more of a squeak. You tried to walk off with as much dignity as you could manage under the pressure of his burning gaze but you ended up frantically skipping back, wanting to go home and bury your face in your pillows as soon as possible.

“What a rude man.” You thought. “Rude and irritatingly attractive.”

Later that evening, you took it upon yourself to bake several lots of chocolate chip cookies- eager to use them as a way of getting into your new neighbour’s good graces since you lived off a steady diet of praise and compliments. You separated the different batches and ordered them into various paper bags, each lovingly wrapped with a ribbon and placed delicately into a woven wicker basket. Glancing into the mirror before you set off, you manoeuvred your lace-trimmed tank top down a little to accentuate your cleavage- you loved to watch men struggle to maintain eye contact with you.

After determining your chest looked too bare, you bounded over to the bedroom to retrieve your favourite necklace- a dainty silver rabbit pendant. As you fiddled with the clasp, something out of the window caught your eye- you noticed that the house usually shrouded in darkness had a glimmer of light peeking through its half-opened blinds.

Curiosity inevitably got the better of you so you grabbed your baked goods and made a beeline to the dark house, intrigued by the prospect of who its resident might be.

Clearing your throat and brushing some creases out of your skirt, you press the sooty doorbell and hope your mystery neighbour is in a sociable mood. The hopeful smile is wiped off your face when the door opens and you see the same rude man from this morning before you.

“Look at that! My very own girl scout.” He laughs incredulously and you form a face of disgust.

“It’s you.” You recoiled.

“Try saying that with less repulsion.” He retaliated, eyes flicking between your frowning face, your tits and the basket of cookies. “Coming to a man’s house and being disappointed that he lives there. That a hobby of yours?”

“N-no, I didn’t know who lived here.” You stuttered, taking in the sight before you: he must’ve just gotten out the shower as his hair was dripping wet and his shirt unbuttoned, a silver cross necklace dangling over his collarbones and positioned between his firm pecs.

“Thought you said you don’t talk to strangers, let alone turn up at their house.” He cocked his head to the side, leaning against his doorframe. “Uninvited, at that.”

“I don’t. At least not the rude ones who make comments about a girl’s underwear.” You retorted petulantly.

“Hey, that was me looking out for you. Don’t know what kind of pervs live ‘round here- they could take advantage of a girl like you. Those for me?” He points at the basket.

“I-I guess.” You go to take out one bag but he snatches the whole basket. “What do you mean a girl like me?”

“Oh you know-“ He speaks casually, mouth half full of his first helping of baked goods already. “Ditzy. Spoilt and naive.”

You huff in disbelief- you’d hardly had two conversations with the guy and he’d managed to insult you several times already.

“Don’t get offended, princess. I’m sure you’re not used to people speaking so candidly with you but welcome to the real world.” He makes a face indicating that he was impressed with your confectionary, licking the crumbs off his fingers. “This your first time living away from home?” He points his second cookie at your face before stuffing that in his mouth too.

“Uh, yeah.” You drawl, confused. What planet was this guy from?

“Alone?” He lowers his voice, staring hungrily into your eyes.

“Yeah.” You squeak, wondering why your confidence had abandoned you.

“Shouldn’t have told me that.” He sneered. “I could be a predator and you’ve just armed me with the knowledge that you have no one to protect you.” His eyes look crazed and you get the sense that he got a kick out of playing around with you.

“Well, are you?” You reply unamused and he drops the act, looking at you through squinted discerning eyes.

“Mm, no.” He sniffed. “Haven’t got the stomach for it. Great cookies, by the way. You’re quite the little baker.”

You can’t resist the smile that creeps up on your face, delighted with his approval. “I try.” You humbly gleam, teetering on your tiptoes.

“Aw, you actually look sort of pretty when you’re not scowling.” Your glowing face drops in an instant, marred by his insult.

“Sort of?”

“Yeah. Like in an endearing but bratty child kind of way.” He notices your sullen face, tensed up with disapproval and confusion. “You’re not really my type, sweetheart.”

“Y-you’re not mine either!” You spit out a little too fast.

“The only difference is I don’t care.” He snorts and you remain in stunned silence, your ego bruised beyond words. “What’s the matter? Never had a man uninterested in you? Come in, I’ll make you a consolatory coffee.”

He gestures for you to enter and you walk in cautiously, following his lead to the lounge. His house was minimalist, fitted with sleek black furniture and a surprisingly clean kitchen at the other end of the living room.

“I don’t drink coffee. And what is your type then?” You sink down onto his leather armchair and cross your arms.

“I like a more mature, developed woman.” You look down at your large round breasts. “I meant emotionally.” He adds before you can say anything.

“I’m plenty mature.” You think grumpily. You knew better than to base your self-worth on the validation of a man but goddamn it, you wanted him to like you even if you didn’t like him.

“My type is also mature men.” You countered haughtily.

“I don’t recall asking.” He pours himself a coffee and sits down opposite you, continuing to steal glances at your chest.

“I also like them wealthy.” You add, spurred on by his disaffection.

“Like your daddy?” He smirks as he takes a sip and you scowl at him.

“Oh no, not the frown again.” He falters mockingly. “If looks could kill…you know Bunny, you shouldn’t let things get to you so easily.”

“Can’t help it. I’m sensitive.” You mumble half-mindedly, preoccupied with plotting all the ways in which you could seduce him. You tried to have self-respect, you really did, but it was just so hard. Especially when you’d just been dealt such an unprecedently juicy challenge; a man who didn’t want to sleep with you? It was practically unheard of and you humbly decided you would take it upon yourself to cure him of this affliction.

Next chapter

Taglist:

@crazy4hotmen @erinkeifer @mortalheartache @arzua10 @mugwump327 @offthethirlwall

#hayden christensen #hayden christensen fanfiction #anakin skywalker #James Kelly #American heist #james Kelly fanfiction #anakin skywalker smut #anakin x reader #anakin x you

290 notes · View notes

i-am-hungry-24-7 · 9 months

Text

Spider Webs Part 2 - König*Fem!Reader

Let’s play a game with our colonel.

Part two of my previous writing:

content warning: 18+, mdni, phone sex, masturbation, monitoring

100% will have part 3 because this isn’t what I’m planning first and I accidentally made myself need to write another chapter to finish this work, but hope you enjoy! :)

part 3 bonus chapter 1

Since the day König discovered your obsession with him at your home, your relationship shifted from “superior and subordinate” to something much more intimate, between lovers and predators with their prey.

Who is the predator, and who is the prey? Nice question.

You would feign that you were going to give him his favorite latte and report some “important information”, went into his office, and came out 20 minutes later.

“gott, your hands... so tight... shit...! ahh...”Your delicate hands wrapped tightly around his cock, moving at a swift pace, and after you gave him a playful squeeze on the tip, König came with a moan in your hand, cum splattered on your black shirt.

“Oooh, colonel.” You said with a fake concerned tone “You’re too loud, and you stained my shirt. Do you want your comrades to know what a slutty pervert you are? Cumming hard in your assistant’s hands behind the door of your office?”

“Nein...”

His voice was raspy, weakly spoken due to the exhaustion of post-orgasm.

You took out your handkerchief — the one you hid before so he would come to your house to find it — wiping the cum from your hand and your clothes while maintaining eye contact with König.

“Let’s play a game, colonel.” A mischievous smile appeared on your face. “From now on, no more self pleasuring, no more helping each other, or even sex for us."

“Whoever breaks the rules first needs to listen to the other person's order.” He watched you fold the handkerchief into a perfect square, put it on his desk, and left him panting on his chair.

You didn’t give him a chance to reject, not like he wouldn’t oblige though.

You gave him three tiny monitors and told him to set them up in his office and his room, of course, no blind spots were allowed. In return, you gave him access to those monitors you set up before to catch him sneaking into your house.

With these monitors, you both were able to see what the other was doing all the time.

Including the bathroom, because you both were sick perverts.

König’s libido wasn't that high until he met you, so he thought he might be able to beat you by imagining what he could do to you as a reward for the longtime self-control he maintained during your dangerous game.

But apparently, you weren’t an easy competitor to be beaten.

Sometimes he opened his laptop, clicked on the app for the monitors, and saw you walking in a black nightgown, the silky and close-fitting one that hugs your curves and challenged his self-control.

Well, you should admit he was doing much better than you estimated too.

You bought a second monitor for your computer, just for you to watch him every moment, and he really didn’t do anything sex-related.

You praised him right into his ear when he sat on his office chair, noticing him clutched onto the armrest hard enough to make his knuckles white, but he still played the game pretty well.

But no matter how he well performed, it’s still your game, you would win, eventually.

König came back from a two-week mission at night, it’s not arduous, but it’s an annoying one.

He walked to his office, took off his gear, and sat on his chair with a tired grunt.

The curtains were down, avoiding any moonlight pouring into the room,and he sat under the dim light of the lamp, eyes flickered around, finally lying on his laptop.

What were you doing now?

He missed you, he hadn’t seen you for two weeks, he missed the little praises you whispered to him, missed the heart-warming smile you gave to others, which only turned to a fetching one when you looked at him with evil glints in your eyes.

Open the laptop and clicked on the app he opened countless times before, he searched over the monitors to find your figure.

and there you are, lying on your bed, wearing a silver-white nightgown this time.

Your chest rose and fell at a steady pace, your facial expression was calm.

You looked divine in his eyes, like a goddess.

But his gaze moved down, to the place the strap of the nightgown fell down your shoulder, and down to the part of your skirt riding up, revealing your thigh.

König felt his body was consumed by fire, burning fiercely at the sight of you, even though you looked serene, the dirty thoughts about you were unstoppable in his mind.

How eager he wanted to kiss your soft lips, grab your thighs and ram into your pussy with an unforgivable pace, and left a bite mark on your shoulder until you cry out his name loudly.

He looked at the monitor again, you hadn't moved an inch, dead asleep because it was already midnight at the moment.

He hesitantly put his hand over the obvious bulge his cock made in his cargo pants. You wouldn’t discover if he pleasured himself this time, right?

but when he touched his shaft over his pants, he knew it was unable to stop right now.

He quickly pulled his cargo pants to his knee, letting his cock spring out with how hard it already was, the precum made a mess to his palm when he started moving his hand at a quick speed.

“Hmm...so gut...” He closed his eyes, recalling the memory of you falling to your knees, pink lips swallowing his cock, and he could almost hear the squelch sounds when you took him deep down in your throat.

but his breath hitched and a stuttered groan left him when he opened his eyes again.

You stared right at him through the camera, the corner of your eyes crinkling as your lips formed a cheeky grin.

Oh, he was so fucked up.

He watched you reached your arm, opened the bedside drawer, and took out your phone.

His work phone rang a few seconds later.

“Good evening, sir.” Your happiness was obvious in your voice. “What are doing now? Hmm?”

“I’m sorry, Schatz...” König moaned out, but his hand only became quicker once your voice flowed into his ear.

“Don’t feel sorry, colonel.” You cooed, and his eyes were glued to your body when you sat up on the edge of your bed, eyes never left the camera.

“Just came back from a tough mission, right? I know, don’t worry.” Your leg are placed over the other. “Let me help you, okay?”

“Bitte... I need you, h-help me...” König’s hand shakily holding his phone, and he knew he must sounded pathetic.

“I missed you so much, König. You know that?” You shift your hips a little bit, pulling your nightgown higher, and higher until fully expose your lacy black underwear to him.

“How much I want to lay my hands on you..... feel your cock twitch under my touch......”

You opened your legs. König can see it clearly even through the monitor, your panties were already been soaked by your arousal, making a darker spot at the clothes cling to your pussy, and he moaned out at the sight.

“When you come to the office in the daytime, what should I do to you as my trophy? Should I make you lick all my juices when I sit on your face, making your hood dampen by them? Or should I bring you a collar with my name on it, and make you mine forever?”

König already felt like he was about to cum, too long without having any relief, without seeing your pretty face and hearing your sugary words,making his orgasm build up much faster than usual.

“Ja! Make me yours! Bitte... Mach mich zu deinem...verlass mich nicht...ahh” (Make me yours...don’t leave me)

He tumbled over the edge with a high pitch whine, lukewarm cum spilled all over his skin and his abdomen, and in his hazy mind, he could only hear your enchanting voice, telling him the thing he wanted to hear the most.

“Good...So good for me. Now, ready for your punishment, yeah?”

#könig #konig x reader #könig x reader #könig x you #konig smut #cod imagine #female pronouns

195 notes · View notes

cemoras27-but-writing-this-time · 1 year

Text

Red's Robin. pt 1.

@im-totally-not-an-alien-2, hi I finished the first chapter :), spent way too long on it but Im happy at how it came out and fully intend on making more

@faeriekit since you were apart of that little conversation I assume you wanted to be tagged to, sorry if not!

Also the formatting may be off at the end, typing like texting is hard! I dont know how humans type other than me! And I've seen Tim typing like he doesn't know how to spell in fics before!

I hope you all Have a Great Day!!

Ao3:(to be added)

Tim sighs as he looks at his window sill. The small orange and gray bird that had perched on it stared at him through the closed window. Almost like it was asking him to let it in. But that's crazy! It's just a little bird, it probably just thinks he’ll feed it and that's why it's looking at him. But he’s not Damian and won’t adopt a wild animal the second he sees it.

It pecks at the window, and stares. Again it pecks.

Tap, tap, tap. It continues as if it's knocking. Tim turns back to his laptop, the Riddler is out of Arkham and has been suspiciously quiet.

Tap, tap, tap. Tim doesn’t look. Tap, tap, pause. Taptaptaptap taptap tap. The noise doesn’t stop. Tim swings around and closes the curtains. And the noise persists, until it pauses. Breathing out a sigh Tim can finally make some progre-

BANG. The window shakes.

‘Did… did it just fly into the window? Can’t birds die like that?’ Tim peeks around the curtain to see the small robin-like bird shaking its head and turn to fly off. Only for it to slam body first into the window again. It takes a moment before it flies off. Tim opens the curtains and sees it quickly flying towards the closed reinforced window. He's able to open the window before it can kill itself and it rams into his chest instead. Which painfully sends him careening back onto his chair.

‘Ouch… it hits harder than expected…’ He looked down at the small bird that had moved down onto his lap, now that it's closer he notices that he has never seen a bird- robin(?) like this one. Its body is a light bluish-gray and slender with an orange head with little yellow markings next to its eyes, with tiny black legs with three talons. It stood barely a foot tall and its tail had odd white markings that vaguely resembled an arrow fletch.

The bird adjusted itself and opened its wings, showing a white underwing, and flapped them until it was hovering next to Tim’s face. Small black eyes stare into blue.

“‘Chling!” it chirped and swooped up to land on his head, where it immediately started to peck at his hair. ‘Is it preening me? I thought birds need to trust a person to do that,’ Tim thought, his hair getting thrown into his eyes.

“Hey, stop that. Get off!” he gently batted at the bird trying to dislodge it from its roosting place, getting a stern peck in return. He looks at his laptop. He could just keep working but the bird would be a distraction. Damian might look at the bird, he had more information about animals than Tim did. But did he want to talk to Damian? Not really. He really needed to continue to track the Riddler, he's too much of a threat to be left unattende-

His stomach growls. The bird’s stomach growls. In a weird serenade the organs announce their mutual hunger.

‘When was the last time I ate? When did the bird eat last?’ Tim thought, overwhelming hunger tearing at his abdomen and dizziness makes itself known. Ok snack then he can look into the bird and hopefully find the Riddler. His minifridge is empty, he knows that but still checks it -yep still empty, so he has to go to the kitchen. He grabs his phone from his desk and checks it.

9:49 - Friday, June 2 - 26% battery

He still has about an hour and a half until he needs to get ready for patrol. He closes his bedroom door behind him quietly and pulls up the search bar.

‘What do robins eat?’

He's walking down the stairs, the search engine shows several articles, mostly about the most recent spotting of Nightwing, Red Robin, and Robin outside Batburger with pictures showing the three with the fast food bags. Cass was there too but nobody saw her.

He adds bird to the search

‘Mealworms, insects, and berries. Steph ate the last of the strawberries.’ Tim reaches the Kitchen, thankfully no one is in there. The bird finally flutters off of his head and onto the kitchen island and starts hopping around. There’s no other ‘berry’ fitting fruits either. “Sorry little guy, I don't think we have anything you're interested in. Alfie would kill us if we brought any bugs in.” He speaks to the room and grabs his preferred snack, an Alfred made orange-cranberry muffin, and turns to the island.

The bird is pecking at the banana stand. Tim had forgotten about the bananas, Alfred only gets them to brown for banana bread. Everyone besides Dick hates the texture, and the rest of the kitchen is always stocked with something else to eat.

“Oh I guess there is something.” he sets his muffin down and rips one off the bunch and peels it as far as he’s willing. He wipes his hand against his pants and continues with his muffin.

The bird hops onto the yellow fruit and sticks its beak into the soft insides. And they eat quietly together. Tim watches as the bird snips the sides of the peel to open it up more. He pulls up the camera app on his phone and takes a picture of it when it lifts its head up. He then goes to google.

‘Orange and gray bird’

‘Orange and blue gray bird’

‘Robin species’

‘Robin BIRD species’

‘Small birds species’

‘Thrush bird species’

‘Finch species’

‘Bird with orange heads and gray bodies;

‘Birds with white underwings and orange heads’

‘Birds with white stripes on tail with orange heads’

Nothing he searches comes close to the bird in front of him. He sighs and pulls up his messages, and throws away the muffin wrapper.

Demon Child:

lol lokat tis thig

Would you type properly, Drake?

no u

[Image of fletchling]

Unlike you Drake I do type properly.

What kind of avian is that? I do not recognize it.

Idk im ak u

Drake is that our kitchen? Did you let a wild animal into our home?

It was hungy 🥺

Aldo no one eafs the babfas anyway

I am aware of our family’s dislike of bananas Drake.

That does not excuse nor explains why there is a wild animal in our kitchen!

It wan ted insid

Kept hittting my windo

What did you use as bait?

My Good Looks

Drake.

IDK man

It jst wanted in

I think it’s hurt

Didn want you bothefing B over a ded borb outdid

So i open d the window

An it flewa in and won t leab

I won’t be able to look it over until I get home.

And that will not be for another hour. Keep it inside. I will look at it before I go with Father for patrol.

At this point the bird had finished with it’s snack and Tim had thrown away it’s peel. It perched on his shoulder looking at his messages to Damian. Tim took another picture of the bird on his shoulder and sent it to Damian and went back to his room.

If anything, the bird seemed to like him, and he could use that to annoy Damian until he got home.

#dpxdc #cem's writing #Red's Robin #dp x dc

515 notes · View notes

daengtokki · 6 months

Text

𝓌𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝐼 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹

────────────────────✦

Kim Seungmin/noona reader

wc: 6.8k

rating: fluff/explicit/18+ ಇ (idiots to lovers)

contains: light angst, weight mention, medication mention, virgin!Minnie, unprotected sex

songs to listen to while reading: violents - awake and pretty much sober / orion sun - water

part one / part two // masterlist ☽

Every story I write is a work of love, and I enjoy spending my free time doing it, regardless of the attention is receives, but your reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! If you enjoy anything I write, please reblog! ❣️

────────────────♡───✦

There should be tension, but there isn’t. It’s dark—every light is off, and the curtains are closed to the city outside. All either of you can see is what your eyes allow in the pitch black.

Seungmin keeps to his side, respecting the empty space between you.

He’s tight under the covers, but his eyes are wide open and taking in as much as possible. You, however, are beginning to doze off. You’re exhausted, and he’s smiling as your eyes get heavier—they close longer each time you force yourself awake to look at him.

“Sleep”

It may be the start of a dream, but you think you hear him speak to you.

“Sleep, you’ll feel better in the morning”

The curtains are pulled back when your eyes open again, and it’s so bright in the room, you have no choice but to pull the blanket over your head. Seungmin isn’t where you can see him. The spot where he should have been is neat and doesn’t look slept in. Your heart sinks. Did your head bring him back after he left? You fell asleep thinking he was with you, speaking softly as you drifted off to sleep.

“Good morning”

You turn, and there he is, leaning against the doorway. He changed his clothes, probably into whatever he kept in his overnight bag, but his hair is evidence of how hard he slept.

“You’re here”

“I’m here. I made some coffee, if you’re ready to get up. But sleep more if you need to.”

“No, I’m good. I’ll be out in a few minutes.

Seungmin did stay. Or, you didn’t kick him out, at least. Last night is hazy, and drinking was a stupid mistake, so the only thing you can remember is that you acted like a fool. And only he knows just how much of a fool. You feel okay, though. You’re not as hungover as you should be, but you do feel the ghost of a headache pushing at the back of your eyes.

When you finally come out, he watches you from the same spot he sat in last night, on the far side of the coffee table. There’s a mug already poured for you, right next to his.

“Are you hungry? Some haejangguk might be good for both of us.”

Calm and sweet and soft as always. You know his other side, the brat…the comedian—the one who always has a sarcastic comment to give out. You love both of them. But you know there’s so much more.

He seems to realize you drank well beyond your limit, he just hasn’t said it yet.

You look at him over the rim of your mug as you sip. He’s staring hard at his coffee.

“We drank too much last night, I think”

“I drank too much, not you…you don’t have to go easy on me. I acted like an idiot.”

“What happened? Did you mean what you said last night?”

“More than an idiot”

“No,” he shakes his head. “You were so upset, it was scary. Tell me you’re okay.”

“It’s so late, you must be busy today”

“I told the guys to call me in sick. I don’t have to be anywhere. Do you feel okay?” He cautiously inches his hand towards you, “do you feel like yourself?”

Sometimes you forget how much of yourself you’ve given to him over the months, and it seems like he knows you were out of it last night, literally…mentally. Not just drunk. But it’s been a while, and your tolerance has obviously diminished. Whatever adjustments you’ve had in your medication recently, it certainly doesn’t want any alcohol on top of it.

“Yeah, I think so. I can’t remember much of what happened. I thought I only dreamt that you stayed with me last night.”

“I was here,” his hand goes for your cheek, and runs his thumb across it. “And you slept soundly all morning.”

“Thank you for staying”

“Thank you for letting me”

“…but I understand if you don’t want to anymore”

Seungmin smiles and shakes his head, “how long have we known each other now?”

You do the math in your head as soon as you remember what day it is. “A year and…” when you look up at him again, he looks like he’s thinking along with you, “two months, three weeks...five days.”

“No hours?”

“Almost two hours, I think it was around noon when we met”

“You remember that?” His eyes light up when you nod at him, “well, in all that time, I have never not enjoyed your company, or wanted to cut our time short. I will stay for as long you’ll have me.”

“Seungmin, how long have you felt…like this? How I feel?”

“Let me think…” he sips his coffee, but his eyes don’t move from yours. And you can see the grin behind his mug. “Uhm, it was the day before Seotdal Geumeum, and you had just come back from a trip.”

The story already sounds familiar. You weren’t even sure he’d remember a certain day or conversation between the two of you, but knowing he kept this memory in his head—you suddenly need to get closer to him. Your eyes fall to the empty space on his crossed legs, and a memory from last night jumps up, but you shake it off and go back to his eyes.

“I saw you walking toward the cafeteria, and you stopped to say hi to me. I wasn’t sure you actually remembered who I was. Or if you knew my name. But you looked right at me, smiled and said, ‘good morning Seungmin, did you have breakfast already?’ And I thought for a moment that you were asking me to get breakfast, but…how silly, why would you want to get breakfast with me?”

The story is familiar. You remember this exact moment with him, and you laugh, but keep quiet until he finishes.

“I told you I did. You said ‘maybe next time’, and walked away. I watched you until you were gone. And every time I went down to eat, I hoped I would see you, so you could ask me again.”

“But you asked me”

Seungmin laughs and gets to his feet, “I’ll get us more coffee.”

“I was so upset that first time, when you told me you’d already eaten. It took so long to finally work up the courage to talk to you while you were alone. But I did that much, at least.”

More memories of him come to you as you watch him make your coffee; the first time you did eat with him, but not in the cafe at work. Seungmin asked if you’d go to the park and get hotteok with him because he was craving something sweet, and nobody else wanted to go. It was the first time he caught you alone, just as you were leaving. And of course you went—you cherished every moment of those two hours together because you weren’t sure if it would happen again.

Thinking back to that night makes you wonder how it took this long to get here.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone to look at me over Chan or Minho hyung…any of them, really. Especially wasn’t expecting it to be you.” Seungmin sits back down and looks at you, and he stares quietly for much longer than necessary. He blinks slowly, and you can tell something is going on behind his eyes. “I’m pretty sure I remember Chan hyung talking about you before that, before we started spending time together. I feel like he was interested in you, but never did anything. I’m sure he still is. Anyway…I think I was kind of in love from that moment on.”

The air catches in your throat, and your heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of your chest. When you look at him, he sips his coffee like he didn’t just say what he said, but the pink of his cheeks makes you think otherwise.

“You were?” Sounding casual is impossible. You barely get the words out in a whisper.

“What? Oh, I’m sorry. That was—“

“I don’t wanna disappoint you,” you stop and look toward the kitchen, toward the bedroom, then back at Seungmin. “Shit, I’m starting to remember last night.”

Bits and pieces pop up to the surface; the very moment your self conscious brain took over, when he lifted your shirt over your head, how concerned he was, how tight he held you. You remember him turning off the light to try to make you more comfortable, but nothing was going to fix what was already in motion.

“Too much? I can take that back, and save it for another time.”

And then he silently refused to leave. If you had ended up having your way, and if Seungmin had failed to see through you, you’d be having a very different morning.

“No, I’ll take it now.”

─ ⋅⋅ ─

A week goes by before you have a chance to see him again, but it feels like a month. As the days pass, and you lay in bed at night trying to sleep, the things you did and said to him that night slowly resurface. And you hate yourself for it. The intrusive thoughts and self-doubt aren’t new, but you can’t believe you unleashed it on him. Seungmin didn’t deserve that.

The worst part of all of it, is that he remembers even more than you. Seungmin remembers every word and look you gave him. But he still left that night and texted you to check up, and he kept texting you…

I’ll see you tonight! If that’s still the plan. It’s been a long week, so I’m looking forward to it. I don’t want you to feel bad if you aren’t up to it, though.

Just let me know. If so, maybe I can just call you. I hope you have a good day.

You don’t want to mess things up again, and you won’t. The two of you will have dinner, watch a movie, nothing crazy…and hopefully afterward, you can pick up where you left off before things went downhill. But if not, you’re just happy to have him here with you again.

─ ⋅⋅ ─

He arrives right on time. When you open the door to greet him, his hands are stuffed in his pockets, his backpack is slung over one shoulder. The smile on his face is a little reserved.

Last week, when he left, things weren’t tense or awkward, so you’re not worried about that. What you don’t know is that Seungmin has been busy dwelling on his own words—his accidental confession…telling you he’s been in love with you. Not just harboring a secret crush, a physical attraction, a desire for sex—actually in love with you. He feels stupid for saying it. He feels silly and vulnerable for feeling it.

“Get in here,” you grab one of the straps and pull him in enough to close the door, “it’s good to see your face again.”

“Is it? I haven’t slept much the last few nights. I feel so tired and puffy.” He rubs his hands down his face and groans.

“Why haven’t you slept?” As much as you want to yank him down and kiss him, you don’t. You need to be careful, because even without the alcohol messing things up, you’re nervous. You reach out for him, “I don’t mind if you fall asleep on the couch.”

He leans onto your hand as it cups his chin. “I want to make sure I didn’t make things weird last time.”

“You? Make things weird?”

“Yes, because I kinda…said…the “L” word”

“No Minnie, you didn’t say anything wrong. I’m more afraid of you not feeling that way.”

You don’t have to worry about kissing him—he goes for it first. His hands wrap softly around the sides of your neck as he works on your mouth, and he’s so good at it. Or maybe he’s not, and you just think he is. Maybe you’re both a little awkward. It doesn’t matter—his tongue sliding against yours, and his hands squeezing your neck is heaven.

Seungmin is desperately pulling you closer to his height. His arm grabs around your waist and lifts, and your stomach drops at the thought of him trying to pick you up and failing. You’re too heavy for this. He doesn’t try, though—just brings you closer to his mouth, touches all over your back. Then bites down hard on your lip.

You ouch and laugh into the kiss as he slowly lets go, and he brings some blood back with him.

“I…oh you’re bleeding,” he licks it from his lips and wipes at yours with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “I’m such an idiot, I’m sorry. Does it hurt?”

“No, I’m okay! It’s no big deal, it’s just a little scratch.”

He watches it for a moment to see if it starts again, and it does. “Let’s go put something on it.”

You won’t tell him, but your bottom lip is throbbing. Seungmin already feels bad enough, and you watch his worried face as he wets a washcloth, rings it out, and puts it on you. And the cold feels so nice.

“See, it did hurt,” he peeks at it again to see if he got anymore blood. “That feels good, yeah?”

“It does”

“I didn’t know my teeth were so sharp,” he says it mostly to himself, “maybe it was my braces.”

His tongue slides across his top teeth to check. Then his bottom teeth. And then he does the same thing with his thumb and index finger.

“It’s okay, Minnie. It’s not gonna discourage me from kissing you.”

“Mm, but it might hurt if we do that right now,” he frowns and runs his thumb over the mark he made, across your lips, then leans forward to kiss your forehead.

“I can be patient”

Seungmin stays there for a while, lips pressed firmly against you. Your mouth still throbs a little, but you push it out of your mind and go straight for his neck. So, not very patient. You can only reach him when he’s bent down like this, so he lets you go after him until you bite down.

“Oh, you’re just getting back at me!”

“That wasn’t the plan, but I took the opportunity”

“Do it again,” he grabs you and lifts until you can nuzzle against his neck.

“Okay, just one more”

You kiss the same spot and suck, sink your teeth in a little, just until you hear him sigh. Seungmin likes getting bit, and maybe doesn’t mind you leaving marks. You move down a little near his collar bone, and suck again.

“That’s two,” he laughs and groans when you bite down.

“Stop me if you want”

The mm mm in your ear tickles and tingles down your spine, and you’re lifted again, but this time your feet leave the floor and you have no choice but to grab him around the neck, “Seungmin!”

“Yeah?” He holds you securely around your hips, and he’s smiling, very satisfied with himself. “What?” He smiles even wider, “you don’t like being held?”

“No, I just wasn’t sure you could lift me”

“I wasn’t worried,” he squeezes even tighter and licks his lips. “Besides, I’m stronger than I look.”

“I see that…” the pain in your lip still hasn’t quit, thanks to your biting, so you go for another soft kiss on his lips, “strong legs.”

“Strong core.” Seungmin returns the kiss, just as softly.

The thought of him and his core sends your stomach swirling, and it dips down slowly and makes your thighs shake. Seungmin feels you tighten around him, and his fingers dig into your back.

“Are you gonna take me somewhere?”

“Hm? Oh…yes, but this is also nice,” he takes a few steps out of the kitchen, toward the couch, gaze stuck on yours.

It’s a smooth walk, and you’re still a little surprised at how easy it seems to be for him—but you think too soon, because it feels like you’re going to fall, but you don’t, because Seungmin catches himself before you both end up the floor. He still holds tight and looks at you with wide eyes.

“Sorry, uh…”

“Coffee table”

“Yeah, forgot about the coffee table. You good?”

Just as you nod, he bends down and very carefully sets you on the couch. But he doesn’t sit with you, or climb over you like you want him to. Seungmin stands and looms, pushes his hair back and away from his eyes. He just looks at you for a moment, then his stare very obviously moves down your body, then back up.

“Be right back”

He turns and walks off before you can protest. Off toward the bathroom, you think, or you assume. Where else could he possibly be going? You lie there for a while and wonder if the room is too quiet, too awkward, considering what might be about to happen. Dinner is still in the oven staying warm, and as much as you want to get up and check on it, you don’t want him to come back out and see you some where he didn’t put you.

What you can do is reach for your phone on the coffee table, connect to your speakers, and get rid of the silence. You do, and you fight with yourself for far too long about what to put on, about what would even be appropriate for right now.

Then you look down at yourself—the outfit you threw on is a little short of date night, but you knew you were staying in, and you wanted to be comfortable. Seungmin always is…he came in his usual sweatpants and t-shirt tonight. You loosen the string on your shorts and tie it in a bow just as he comes back out.

“Are you comfy?” He bends down and kisses your forehead again, then looks around. “I like the mood music.”

“Yeah, you okay? You were gone for a while.”

“I’m okay,” his voice softens as he looks at your hand hanging from his pocket. “I’m good.”

Seungmin doesn’t stop you when you slide it closer and touch him. He’s still soft, but not completely—he’s growing, and he twitches against your fingertips. It feels like last time, though, and you don’t want to recreate that, even if you are okay tonight. But Seungmin whines when you pull your hand away.

“I can turn some lights down,” he whispers, “gimme a second.”

He starts with the lamp right above you, then heads toward one of the windows and clicks off another one as he pulls the blinds shut. Now the only light is what’s spilling in from the kitchen. It’s much better.

Seungmin stands over you again, mostly a silhouette, and the light lays softly on one side of him, “is that better?”

His voice is warm, and he looks warm—he is warm, you know that—and your need for him is pulsing through every vein and muscle and limb . It feels like your heart could explode, and keeping your breathing steady is much more work than it should be. You sit up a little and reach for him again, his waistband this time, and tuck your fingers into it. Your knuckles run across his sharp hip, you pull, and Seungmin pulls on his other side.

There’s no teasing this time. You pull down, he follows, and you take his cock in your hand once he’s free. Still not fully hard, but considering his size, you’re not surprised.

“Seungmin?” When you look up at his face, mostly hidden by the dark, you can see his lust drunk eyes getting heavy.

“Mm?”

He falls to one knee on the couch and puts all of his weight on it, and grabs for you. The feeling of your strokes has him a little dizzy, so when you use your mouth, it feels like he might collapse into you. He stays up, though. One hand grips the back of your neck, the other uses the couch for balance. Watching you is making him delirious.

You slow down, but your lips don’t leave him. They graze lightly over his length, and your tongue comes out to lap up the pre-cum. When you look up at him, you wonder if he realizes how out of it he looks. You’re surprised his legs haven’t given out on him. “Sit.”

He listens and pulls at his sweats on his way down. It’s a relief to be relaxing, melting into the couch as you swallow him again. Now his hands can touch you more, slide across your neck and back, move down until his fingers slip under your shorts and squeeze. Seungmin has been quiet, but he finally moans, and it sends you over the edge.

As soon as you stop, he whines again—just a barely audible no as his hips writhe beneath the loose grip of your hand.

“Minnie,” you start again, and your strokes are slow and careful, and just enough to keep him where he’s at. A change of position wakes him up a little. “Look at me.”

“I’m looking,” he smiles and grabs your hip. “I’m here.”

“You sure?”

He’s as here as he’s going to be. Soon, he’ll be even more lost, but Seungmin nods seriously as he watches you.

“Min…hey can I ask you something?”

He doesn’t answer. His eyes are too busy following the up and down of your hand on his cock. The sound, the way you squeeze so gently and move your thumb across his head.

“Minnie?” This time you stop completely, and it breaks the trance he’s in. “Let’s go to the bedroom.”

A quick, dazed nod, then he patiently waits as you put his dick away and fix his sweatpants. Now he holds you tight. He’s not sure how well he’ll stand with his legs so unstable, and with this painfully hard erection sucking the blood from his limbs, but he’s going to try.

“Hold onto me,” he scoots up and plants his feet firmly on the floor, and then he’s up with nothing but a tiny grunt. Seungmin sighs as he gets his bearings, and starts to move.

“I could’ve walked,” but you like this…you like the smile on his face when he hitches you up and holds you securely against him. This view almost makes you forget all of the things you remembered from before—the thoughts, and doubts that still float into your mind when you have too much time to think. Looking at him makes them less powerful each time.

“Bedroooom,” he sings it, and it empties your head and gives you butterflies. “I won’t trip this time.”

The only thing on your mind is him.

“What were you gonna ask me?”

What were you going to ask? It’ll come back to you eventually, but for now, it’s not important.

“I’ll let you know when I remember.”

The trip to the far side of the bed is long. Seungmin takes his time, walking slowly, watching you but peeking over your shoulder to make sure he isn’t running into anything. He pulls you close before setting you down, kisses your shoulder and neck.

“You are a surprise…”

He tilts his head, “why am I a surprise?”

The head tilt, the soft biting on his bottom lip…there’s something so strangely confident about him as he stands over you. Now you remember what you wanted to ask him.

“You’re a little romantic”

Seungmin pulls his shirt off and shakes his hair flat again, “I am? Is that not what you expected?”

“No, I guess it isn’t.”

He’s on you before you can finish your thought, first just hovering, looking at you. He waits for you to touch him, because as soon as your hands slide up his sides, he comes down and kisses again. Ear, neck, all along your shoulder.

“Why not?”

Because you’ve only ever, until very recently, seen his unserious side. Sweet, yes…and always there when you need him. But never, even in your countless daydreams and musings, did you think him one to carry you to your bed, and kiss you so lovingly wherever he could find a spot. At least not so quickly. He’s still doing it right now. Seungmin’s lips are tracing a line down your arm, of all places, and he keeps going until he gets to your fingers.

“Maybe I don’t know you as well I think I do. We’re both bad with our feelings, right?”

“Mm, but not right now”

No, not right now. Seungmin seems to have no trouble showing you his feelings right at this moment. His mouth moves to your hip, and you can feel his fingers tug at the string on your shorts. Your heart pounds, and you’re afraid of him noticing how fucked up your breathing is. It’s taking a lot of effort to keep calm. You want this, you want him. You absolutely want him. So why can’t you let yourself have him?

“It’s alright,” he looks up at you from your hip and smiles. “Take a nice big breath.”

He can tell—he knows. Just like last time, only last time you told him you were nervous when you were actually terrified. Now it’s just nerves, and you can get yourself through it. You do what he says, and you take a deep breath. Exhale slowly.

“Maybe if you tell me. Why am I making you nervous? And don’t tell me I’m perfect.”

“I’m just…out of practice." It's kind of a lie, but you stick with it. You can't give him the same stupid answers again.

“Me too, maybe we’re a little even”

He moves slowly, lifting your shirt just enough to find more skin to kiss.

“You are? So you’re not…you have had sex?”

His eyes seem to grow twice as big as he looks at you, “no…no I guess I said that wrong. This is my first time.”

“Good to know”

“I’m sorry”

“I’m not”

You feel his fingers hook beneath your shorts, but he doesn’t pull yet, “is this okay?”

They’re off as soon as you lift your hips for him—your heart somehow beats even faster, and the dark of the room presses so hard against your eyes, you feel like you’re blind. But you feel him, so close, not the least bit shy as he moves his lips across more new skin. So close that you think he might close his mouth around your cunt. You want him to because you readied yourself for anything the night might bring, and you’re aching for his touch. Any part of him.

His lips press softly against your clit, and he opens up just enough to lick before continuing upward. You hear his faint giggle when you can’t hold back a moan, and when you peek again, he’s getting out of his sweats and back between your legs. Dick in hand, slow, lazy strokes as he stares down, and his free hand pushes your thighs further apart.

Everything from this point on happens so fast.

Seungmin is there again, kissing, eyes open and watching you, maybe for some sort of protest or hesitation. He’s used to getting stopped now, but you’re not doing that again. You’re well past that point. It’s the furthest thing from your mind.

The heat of his cock is on you, sliding down, and then up across your clit. Seungmin still watches, but lowers himself until his forehead touches yours. And then the pressure of him pushing in sends you further up into the pillow.

“Sorry…sorry” he pulls back and lifts himself up. “I’ll slow down.”

“You’re okay, Min. We might need some extra help.” You’re wet, you can feel it, and you can feel yourself continue to get more and more hungry for him. “Try it from up there.”

He nods and pulls you down by your hips until your thighs lay over his, “do you like this position? On your back?”

“Yeah, it’s a good start…considering”

Seungmin’s sigh is a little dramatic, very cute, and manages to relax you a little. He’s looking down at himself, but his hand is exploring you. His finger slides over your clit and moves down, slowly, feeling how wet you are.

“What’s that sigh for?” You catch his eyes as your legs squeeze him a little, and it seems to get him back in the moment. He’s pressing into you again, and this time, he slides in a little.

“I was afraid…” he stops and waits a few seconds before pushing in further, “we’d have trouble.”

“We’ll be okay”

“Aah…yeah,” his breath hitches as he goes, and he slides in with such ease he has to stop himself.

“Fuck…Minnie”

“Too much?”

“No no it’s good.” Your breathing steadies, and you savor the feeling of him finally inside of you—the stretch, almost too much, but not. The pain dulls a little as he pulls out, and all of the slick arousal clinging to him helps him slide back in so smoothly. It’s so much softer, and more mind numbingly good than you thought it would be. “Didn’t need extra help”

Seungmin’s face relaxes, but his eyes look down at you like they’ve never looked at you before.

“Is it good, Minnie?”

No, he has looked at you like this before—when you pulled away from your first kiss. It feels the same. Warm and comfortable. In, then out, and in so slowly you know it has to be driving him crazy. Still, he’s quiet.

“Tell me”

He nods and comes down on his palms. Finally, his face gives you an answer, and you can reach up to touch his cheek.

“Mm, yes yes,” he nods again, moans, and moves his face against your palm, “you’re so…“ another moan escapes mid-thought, and he’s lost again, but still careful as he pumps in and out of you. Careful for you, or careful for himself, you’re not sure, but it’s good—his speed and depth aren’t hurting you, not yet.

“More,” you take his hips in your hands and guide him in deeper, “faster…a little faster.”

He follows your touch and slowly speeds up, but taking all of him hurts, so you push your palms against his stomach to hold him back.

“Good?” His eyes move along your lips and neck, and he comes down to kiss the skin on your chest he can get to.

The shallow, shaky breaths hitting you as he moves back up makes you think he might be getting close.

“Slow”

“Slow,” he whispers and kisses your ear.

The smooth, delicate roll of his hips as he finds his new pace; the tickle of his lips on your ear; his low, relaxed groan. Everything is perfect. And it’s him—it’s Minnie. Tonight is not a forgettable date you won’t talk to again. It’s not a shitty one night stand you put up with because you needed to come, and you needed to scream his name in your head while you did it. You finally have him in your arms.

“Hey, look at me”

He’s busy kissing along your jaw, but eventually, he listens. “Hi, hi…I’m looking.”

“That’s better”

The pace picks up, just enough. This closeness is all that matters for you, and the feeling of him gives you plenty of pleasure—this is all for him, though.

There’s a heady look in his eyes, he licks his lips, his breath stutters. His fingers clench the sheets and his elbow hits the bed as he tries to keep himself steady.

“Good…come for me Minnie.”

Seungmin isn’t being too shy about making noises, thank god. He’s not loud, but you can hear how good he feels, and that’s all you need. But when he comes, you know it. His eyes get glassy and big, his mouth hangs open. The moan trickling out of him rises until it turns into a satisfied cry. His orgasm is intense, and you can feel his cock twitch and pulse as he empties himself inside of you, bites his lip and smiles, and somehow, manages to keep his eyes on yours the entire time.

Then it's quiet. Just out of sync, shakey breaths—yours and his, and the ghostly sound of the music sneaking in from the living room.

“Oh…oh,” he can’t hold back his giddy, post-orgasm giggle.

“Yeah?” you pull him down for a kiss, and hope he does that every time.

“That was fast, I’m sorry”

You have to grab his face to keep his eyes from wandering now, “but how was it?”

Very gently, he brings himself down on top of you. “…you feel so good, so warm and,” tucks his arms around you and holds tight, “perfect.”

The satisfaction in his voice, and the sweet, dizzy way he says it warms you all over, gives you butterflies. It makes you feel stupid and in love. Right now you think you might be able to deal with whatever gets in the way of you and Minnie, including yourself. Especially yourself. You're high on him again, and you don't think you could go without anymore.

“That’s all that matters right now, then.”

─ ⋅⋅ ─

The steady sounds of his breathing make you believe he’s asleep, and he should be. Seungmin said he hasn’t been sleeping very well lately, and now he’s worked hard getting you through this first time, for both of you. You’re still a little taken back by his gentle nature and patience, but that’s probably because most of the men you sleep with are nothing like that—not even close.

Seungmin didn’t like the idea of you not coming, but you eventually got him to relax, and now you’re here. And he’s fast asleep. And everything feels okay for the moment.

You lie down and face him; admire him again. This is the first time you’ve been able to really look at his face with no interruption—no food being stuffed in his mouth, no talking a mile an hour. This time you’re completely sober, and wide awake. His hair is still a little damp from sweat and clinging to his brow, lips are soft and pouty, cheeks are so round, and you long to run a finger across them, but you don’t want to wake him.

And very slowly, his eyes flutter open. He stares at you for a long moment while his lips turn up into a smile. “Hi.”

You suspect he wasn’t sleeping at all.

“Go back to sleep.” Now you take the opportunity to run your thumb across his cheek, then his chin, and you can feel the faintest scratch of stubble.

“I felt you staring at me”

“Sorry”

In place of a reply, you get a kiss.

“It’s hard not to look at you”

Seungmin shakes his head and wrinkles his nose, “no, I’m a sweaty mess right now.”

“I like your little afterglow.”

“I have an afterglow?”

Yes, ruddy cheeks and a smile that he can’t put down, eyes bigger and darker than usual, “you do.” And there’s the shape of his naked body underneath your sheet. The stretch of his shoulder blades, the delicate dip of his lower back rises just slightly over a tiny curve of ass. Not much, but enough to grab. He notices your eyes taking in every inch of him, and when you clench the sheet to pull, Seungmin suddenly gets very shy.

"Heeey," he giggles, but rolls until it wraps around him. Now he's trapped in there. "It feels different when you're not blinded by the...horniness." Seungmin sets his head back down on the pillow and looks at you.

"I understand. You were probably running off half of your blood supply with that erection."

"I’m not that big!" His face is shoved into the pillow, so it's just a mumble, but you understand what he says. "I mean, you were okay, right?" One eye peeks out.

You nod at him, because you're not going to tell him right now that he's going to take some getting used to.

"That's why I ran off to the bathroom earlier."

"Checking your size?"

"No!" He pushes himself up on his elbows, and his stupid grin and narrowed eyes are so animated and distinctly him. His laugh is enough to recharge you. "I was nervous. I just went in there to calm myself, and see what was going on...down there, I guess. It doesn't always cooperate when I want it to."

"I see. I'm glad everything worked tonight. I'm pretty sure it's worked everytime you've come over, though."

"Oh, you noticed?"

"Yeah yeah, it was really hard to stop at your thigh the first night you came over. But you can't hide that."

“That doesn’t usually happen, but, ya know…”

“Was I really your first?”

He nods, but thinks for a few moments. There’s nothing he needs to explain to you—it doesn’t matter that much—but you are interested in anything he has to tell you about himself.

“Going that far? Yes. I’ve had a few other encounters that didn’t go anywhere, or if they did they were kind of awkward. But this was not like that.”

“Good”

His eyes very obviously look you up and down, and he stops right at your core. “So can we keep going?”

“What would you like to do, Minnie?”

“I just wanna touch you, make you feel good.” Seungmin doesn’t wait for an answer before he moves close and wraps an arm around you. “Can I do that?”

The soft squeeze of his hand on your hip gets you going again—a warm throb in your stomach, your clit. “Yes, please.” Between your legs is still the mess the two of you made. You can feel his come dripping out of you, and when his finger slides down and gently pushes into your entrance, you feel yourself gush even more. Seungmin groans and sucks at the skin of your neck, then his thumb pushes up and slides right over your clit.

“Did I get it?” he asks when you whine in his ear, laughs. He does it again; rubs in soft little circles; pushes in and out, finding a good spot with his nimble fingers. “Tell me what you like.”

“I like—”

Seungmin looks at you so sharply. He needs to know exactly what you want, and he doesn’t need much direction, but you still slide your hand down and place it over his.

“I like you touching me”

He pulls out and slides two wet fingers between your folds, so slowly until he gets to your clit again. Your hips jump, and he smiles.

“You like this, right here…” he moves his fingers carefully, watching your face and listening to every little sound you make. “Nice and slow and light,” he sings. Seungmin isn’t asking, he’s just figuring it out as he goes.

It’s cute and it’s sexy; the way he is, and the way he talks to you. The combination is so deadly, and it’s one of the reason why he makes you feel the way he does.

Before everything, even the very first time you met him, you could tell he was special—not just the most beautiful face in a room full of beautiful faces. The way he looked at you, and the way he listened when you spoke. When you’d talk on the phone, go out for lunch, he always found a way to put you first and make you feel like the only person in the world.

“Yeah,” it comes out on your breath, “right there.”

You grip his forearm, but he doesn’t change a thing. Same speed, same pressure. And he adjusts as your hips roll into his hand. You’re going to come fast, too, just like he did. It’s already rising as you look at him, and looking at him is making it so much more. You’re not using a picture on your phone, or the photos pinned to the wall, and you're not listening to the cute voice messages he's left for you in the past—he’s right here, warm breath moving across your face, the sweet, sharp smell of his sweat, and just as you feel like you’re going to explode, his lips are on yours and your moan fills him up.

Your grip moves from his arm to his shoulder, then to his neck as he deepens the kiss. At the same time, a perfect, intense orgasm shakes you. His fingers move until you relax and let your hips fall back on the bed. Only then does he slow down, then stop.

“Seungmin”

You’re out of breath, and he’s still kissing.

“Minnie…Minnie, I need to catch my breath.”

He pulls back, looks at you, “sorry,” then kisses everywhere except your mouth. “How’s your lip?”

The pain in your lip eventually faded, and you forgot about it. It’s back now, throbbing away. “It’s okay…how does it look?”

“It’s a little swollen. More ice should help, I can get you some.”

“No, stay here with me”

“How about a bath, to clean up?” He looks down at the space between your legs. “We made a mess.”

“Only if you join me”

“Okay, I like my baths very hot, though”

“Yeah, me too”

130 notes · View notes