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hellfirexwhore · 2 years ago

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Forget What You've Heard E.M.

Line cook!Eddie Munson x Bartender!Reader

Sorry it took so long between posts! I've been working all day every day so it's busy over here. I hope you enjoy!

I do not give permission for my work to be copied / posted as original work on any platform.

Your favorite co-worker's flirty nature is your favorite part of the workday, but is it genuine? Someone is feeding you lies just as your patrons are being fed mozzarella sticks and Eddie is determined to convince you he's not just playing games with your heart.

Misunderstanding, hurt/comfort, fluff, cursing, an asshole named Dylan (We all know one), use of Y/N

Wordcount 4.7k

You smile to yourself as you count up the tips you've made so far. Bartending has done wonders for your wallet, and it's totally worth it if you can look over the long hours on your feet, creeps trying to get into your pants, and going home smelling like sour mix and sweat. You just moved to Hawkins 6 months ago and since living on your own is expensive, you serve beers and shake cocktails at the karaoke bar downtown to make a living. It's easy work and you're good at it, but there's just one issue; your favorite co-worker is a huge distraction. Eddie is the cutest damn line cook you've ever seen with his curly hair always tied into a low bun and his smile that you're sure could cure a number of diseases, but those things don't make it easy to do your job efficiently. It's nearly impossible to grab a platter of nachos from the window without him throwing out a wink and calling you sweetheart, telling you you're doing a good job, or even sliding a basket of fries to you with a finger to his lips as a way of saying "Don't tell on me, honey."

Tonight is no different. Eddie has been a total menace all night, flashing you that flirty smile, keeping you from your work with his corny pick-up lines that he insists will get him a date with you one day, making conversation, and giving you extra sides of ranch without making you ring them in first like the kitchen manager does. The second you walked into the back to set your bag down after arriving, he told you your hair looked absolutely ravishing even though it's just thrown into a clip like always, making you blush like crazy. It took nearly 20 minutes to get the scarlet red tint to leave your cheeks, and though you tried your hardest to hide it, Eddie sure as hell noticed, leaving a smile on his face throughout the busy evening.

"Hey sweetheart, I've got those wings for the bar top ready for you." You hear from behind you, snapping you out of your thoughts. You smile to yourself at the nickname and put the glass you've just finished washing upside down on the drying mat.

You turn around to an always grinning Eddie leaning his elbows on the stainless steel of the mini counter under the window to the back of house and holding the ticket in between his index and middle digits. You take the slip of paper out of his hand slowly, letting your fingers touch for a moment before stabbing it through the small metal spike to your right. Every once in a while, you like to indulge in his flirtatiousness, though it makes you nervous. Eddie's fun, he's nice, and dishing back what he gives to you every day isn't hurting anyone. "Thank you, Eddie."

"Any time, sugar." He replies, winking and turning to grab a new ticket and drop an order of potato skins in the fryer. You shake your head, smiling from ear to ear, turning to serve the hot plate to one of your regulars.

The rest of the shift goes great. Your tips are higher than you had planned, nobody had to be thrown out for fighting, and you got to hear a wonderful rendition of "My Heart Will Go On" sang by a very intoxicated older gentleman during the karaoke session. As you clean up the bar for the night, as always, you can't stop thinking about Eddie. You think tonight might actually be the night you ask him to hang out with you outside of work, though he's invited you to go get some late night pizza before, playfully pouting when you have to decline, telling him that you're exhausted and have to go back to the bar to open the next day. You've wanted to say yes, but Eddie makes you nervous. You're feeling bold tonight though, and you're optimistic.

Unbeknownst to you, Eddie is in the kitchen cleaning the fryers, taking out the trash, and scrubbing the floors absentmindedly, almost like he's in auto-pilot because he can't get you out of his head. He wants so badly to ask you out, but he's tried that and you don't seem interested. He realizes you probably just flirt with him for fun, a harmless workplace friendship with some winks and pet names sprinkled in, but over the past four months, he's developed a serious crush on you.

There's just something about you that makes you so different from everyone he's ever dated or been interested in. He doesn't feel like he has to change who he is for you. There's nothing better for Eddie's ego than how easy it is to make you smile, and goddammit what a beautiful smile it is. Every time you look at him through your lashes, blushing at something stupid he's said, Eddie feels like he could lift the entire building up with one hand and not even break a sweat. He fears he's in too deep at this point, the innocent flirting leading to him finding himself thinking about you even once he's gone home for the night.

"Hey Eddie boy, I think you missed a spot." Eddie rolls his eyes at the irritating voice coming at him from his left. Dylan is one of the most insufferable people he's ever met and of course, he has the honor of working beside him at least 3 nights out of the week.

Eddie doesn't turn his attention to Dylan, just continues wiping down the steel counter top. "Bite me, jackass."

"Wow, someone's sassy today, huh? What, you didn't get enough attention from your little bartender tonight?" He smarmily replies, a disgustingly annoying grin on his face. Dylan, to Eddie's dismay, has picked up on the little "situation" between you two, making a joke of it every chance he can in an attempt to piss him off.

Eddie laughs humorlessly, throwing his rag down and turning to the bane of his existence, crossing his arms over his chest. "Dude shut the fuck up."

"Hey look man, I get it! I'm just saying it's embarrassing watching you stare at her like a fucking creep all day. She does look pretty smokin' in those jeans though, so I don't blame you. Hey maybe I'll ask her out tonight, see if I can get some tail. Think she'll give up the goods?" He's smirking while Eddie's blood is raising in temperature. He can practically feel smoke coming out of his ears hearing this sorry excuse for a man speaking about you like you're just a piece of ass and not the sweet, funny, beautiful person you are.

"I swear to God, I'll bust your teeth in." Eddie seethes, trying to keep his cool, at least while you're in the building. You're blissfully unaware of their hatred for one another and the last thing he needs is for you to see him throwing his fist into Dylan's face for talking about you. That wouldn't be very "innocent flirtationship" of him.

"Guys! Come on, finish cleaning and knock it off. I don't have the energy for your cat fights tonight." The kitchen manager huffs, stepping between the two of them with a severely annoyed look on his face. Wordlessly, Eddie takes one more look at Dylan, picks his rag back up, and continues his task of degreasing all of the surfaces. He wants to get it over with and be able to clock in time to catch you before you leave and walk you to your car.

Dylan, the vindictive man he is, takes the opportunity to make his way through the swinging kitchen door and into the main bar area while Eddie isn't paying attention. You look up, expecting to find Eddie standing there, but confused when it's the guy you barely speak to heading in your direction.

"Hey Y/N, you do good tonight?" He asks, leaning against the bar. You smile politely, still wrist deep in soapy water from washing the bar glasses and beer mugs.

"Yeah, better than I expected actually. Did you need something?" You ask, not rudely, but assuming he came for something specific seeing as he's never made small talk with you before.

Dylan takes a breath and rests his elbows on the hard wood of the bar top, shaking his head like he's trying to think of how to tell you what he sauntered up to you for. You begin to dry your hands, getting a little nervous thinking that maybe the manager had sent him up here to tell you something you've done wrong. You're still relatively new and you've never gotten in trouble here before, but you can't think of anything else he would need to say to you. "Look, I know you and Munson are friends, and I see the way you look at him. You like him, and before you deny it, just listen to me."

Your heart starts to race. Did he tell Eddie? Did Eddie say something to him? How are you going to face him when apparently other people are picking up on this? Are you this obvious? You can't take it anymore so you nod, waiting for more information as you toy with your hands.

"You seem sweet, okay and I don't want to see someone like you hurt by someone like him. Eddie and I are cool, but this is what he does. he flirts with the new ones, takes them home, and never speaks to them again. When another newbie comes in, he starts it all over again. I just thought you should know since I'm sure you're a genuinely nice person and I'm certain Eddie is taking advantage of that." Your heart drops at his words. You feared you were being played with, but you didn't want to believe it. You fell for Eddie's charms, and now it's time to face the harsh reality that you had completely misunderstood this whole situation and made yourself look like an idiot in front of everyone.

"Um, wow. Well thanks for telling me, I appreciate it. I'm gonna finish up here and head out. Have a good rest of your night." You say, rushing through so you don't tear up mid-sentence. Dylan nods, not saying another word but offering a sympathetic smile before turning on his heel and going back through the door he came. You pull the plug to the dish sink, gather your signed receipts to shove into the drawer, and give the glazed wood one last wipe down. You hear Eddie say your name through the window but you act like you can't hear him.

This whole thing could have been avoided if you wouldn't have fallen for the good looks and quirks of the fuzzy-headed, wild-eyed line cook. You never should have caught feelings in the workplace; that's like rule number 001 in the service industry. Never, under any circumstances, canoodle with your co-workers. You thought maybe this was an exception but now here you are, proven wrong.

Heading through the swinging door to the kitchen, you avoid eye contact with everyone, especially Eddie, as you walk straight to the back to gather your things. You feel humiliated and giving Eddie the satisfaction of seeing you upset is out of the question so the sooner you can get out of the building, the better. You give quiet goodbyes to the managers and make a quick escape, or you at least try to before a hand reaches out to hold your forearm.

"Hey, wait for me. I'll walk you to your car." Eddie says softly, giving you a soft smile. You can't bear to look him in the eyes, so you gently pull away, shaking your head.

"It's fine Eddie, thanks though." You reply, turning to finally leave. Eddie watches as you throw your bag strap onto your shoulder and hurriedly make your way to the exit. Hurt washes over him and he's more confused than when he learned what a tampon is in middle school. He furrows his brow and slumps his shoulders, going back to his final task before he can leave for the night. He doubts you're still going to be in the parking lot by the time he can get out there, but his heart is racing like he might have a shot at catching you before you leave.

Did he say something? Did his flirting finally make you uncomfortable tonight? He racks his brain trying to come up with some sort of reason why you would be upset with him. Normally, he would suggest that maybe you're just tired but even when you're on the verge of falling asleep where you stand, you can still manage to give him a sleepy smile and a breathy laugh at another one of his terrible jokes. Maybe he took it too far. Maybe he weirded you out or gave you the wrong idea. It wouldn't be the first time he's scared someone off.

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You continue to go to work as normal, doing your best to not entertain anything Eddie had to say. The more distance you can create between the two of you, the less likely you'll get hurt. The time for stepping away from him to protect your feelings ended long ago but now it's time to do some damage control before you get worse. You get attached to people, and unfortunately that includes the bad people too.

You thought long and hard about whether or not you actually believed Dylan. I mean it's his first time actually talking to you and he breaks the news to you that Eddie just wanted to get into your pants? Why would he care? After going back and forth with yourself over it for your entire day off, you don't know what to think but what you do know is that if they really are friends and if Dylan actually does care, then the safe bet is to just stay away. If he's telling the truth and you ignore that to continue growing your feelings for Eddie, you're in for a world of hurt and that's just not something you can deal with right now.

You're not mean to Eddie when you work now; you just treat him like everyone else. You say "please" and "thank you", you ring in your extra sauces when you need them, you greet him just like you greet every other cook, and you don't flirt or bat your lashes at him anymore. Eventually, he is going to ask why but until he does, you can't bring yourself to ask him about it. It's humiliating and if he does have bad intentions, he's not going to be honest about it anyway so what's the point in starting that conversation?

Eddie is trying everything. These past few days have been hell for him and he's grasping at straws. He offers to make you fries, you tell him, "Thank you, but I'm not hungry." He tries to ask you about your day, you apologize and say you're busy. He tries to catch you before you leave at night, but you practically sprint for the door the second you're finished with your side work.

He watches through the window as you smile at your last patron of the night, desperately wishing that smile was for him. You haven't paid him any mind in 3 days and it's driving him crazy. It might be a little better if he actually knew what he did, but he's completely clueless. The awkward interactions are eating away at Eddie, and he knows if he doesn't say something soon, he'll explode. He starts his cleaning and breaking down the line as quickly as possible in an attempt to finish before you do so you don't run away from him again like you have been. If he doesn't get this straightened out, he doesn't know what he'll do.

Your last tab is cashed out and you begin your cleaning, causing Eddie to pick up his pace. He knows it'll take you 20 minutes max now that you and him aren't chatting throughout to slow you down. As long as nobody gets in his way, he's determined to finally be able to talk to you tonight. Not playful banter, no pick up lines, just a real conversation. The sooner he gets back into your good graces, the better.

"Trouble in paradise?" Eddie turns to see Dylan smirking with his arms across his chest. So much for nobody getting in his way.

Eddie laughs humorlessly and goes back to his work. "Fuck off, dude."

"Look man I'm just saying it seems like there's a little riff between the lovebirds lately. I wonder what happened, hm?" Dylan replies, his tone condescending as ever, doing his best to get a rise out of Eddie. To his dismay, it's working.

"You don't know shit." Eddie mumbles, wringing out a sanitizer rag, his fingers already becoming little prunes extended from his hands from the extensive cleaning.

"I don't know about that one, Ed. We had a really riveting conversation, seriously it was interesting, and I'm sure I know a little more than you think." This stops Eddie in his tracks. He breathes hard through his nose and turns on his heel, grabbing Dylan by his shirt and shoving him against the wall.

"What the fuck did you say to her? Huh? Are you the reason she won't fucking talk to me? What the hell is wrong with you, you jealous son of a bitch?!" Eddie shouts. The manager on duty is already trying to break the two of them up and you hear the commotion from the front, peering your head into the window to see what the hell is going on.

"Ooh Munson is mad! I just told her exactly what you're up to, that's all." Dylan says, calm as ever, a disgusting smile on his face. "Punching me won't undo it, so go ahead."

"Enough! I swear to god, I will kick you both out." Eddie reluctantly loosens his grip on the boy's clothing, only pulling away completely when he's certain the risk of getting fired isn't worth hitting Dylan, even though the want to is overwhelming.

Eddie looks to you, his heart breaking at the disappointed look on your face. He decides this ends now. He has no idea what filth and lies have been planted in your head, but he needs to fix it and fast. He gives one last scowl to the man he was just threatening, and backs up, walking out of the kitchen door.

He approaches the bar and you freeze. You don't know what you're supposed to say or do, so you do and say nothing. He has a soft look on his face, one very different than the one he was wearing in the kitchen just a minute prior. It's almost as if his rock hard persona turns to cotton candy when he's in your presence, and if you ask Eddie, that's exactly how that works.

"Look, I know you don't want to talk to me and I'm still not entirely sure why, but please wait for me. Please talk to me, let me figure out what the hell happened, and let me fix it." He pleads. You think it over quickly, trying to figure out of this is something you even want to get into right now. You question his motives, still confused as ever. Helpless, you nod and see the relief wash over his entire body, giving you the same feeling as when you're in the middle of a horrific thunderstorm, and in an instant, the sun comes out of the dark clouds. Whether this conversation leaves you feeling like a sunny summer day or it leads to another crack of thunder, you're unsure but you have half an hour before you find out.

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You sit there at the bar having finished your closing work, waiting for Eddie to finish his. Against your better judgement, you're happy to talk to him again but nothing can stop the knot in your stomach from growing tighter. All you wanted to do today was make some money, go home, cook dinner, take a bath, and watch a movie in bed but now, you're sitting here, anxiety building up in your body like a tower of mix-matched Lego pieces.

You're taken out of your thoughts when Eddie exits the kitchen and walks toward you, not looking any less nervous than he did earlier in the evening. "Hey, sorry I took so long."

"It's okay." You say quietly, standing up from the bar stool and pulling the strap of your backpack up onto your shoulder. "Do you want to talk outside?"

Eddie nods, giving you a tight smile. He leads you out of the front door and around to the side of the building to the employee parking lot, not saying a word just yet. the silence is broken by the flick of your lighter, illuminating the tip of a cigarette freshly placed in your mouth, inhaling the smoke and feeling the tiniest amount of tension wash away.

You lean against your car waiting for him to speak, still not really sure what you're supposed to say. He's the one that needed to defend himself, he's the one who wanted this conversation to happen.

"Look, I don't know what Dylan told you but I can assure you it was a lie." He starts. He's fidgeting with his fingers, avoiding eye contact. He's lost every ounce of confidence he once had when he's on the other side of the wall passing you a basket of chicken tenders.

"If you don't know what he said, then how would you know that?" You reply, taking another drag of your cigarette. You're hoping he's being genuine and not just defensive right off the bat, but if someone is lying about you, you'd feel defensive too. Everything is still fuzzy and figuring out this mess is like putting the pieces of a clear puzzle together.

"Because he fucking hates me. He does shit just to piss me off." Eddie shakes his head, pulling his own pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, lighting one between his lush lips.

"Why would he hate you, Eddie? What did you do?" You don't mean to point blame at him but he had to have done something to make someone hate him to the point of making up a lie to make you ignore him for days.

"When I first started, he thought I was flirting with this girl he had a thing for, and she got a crush on me. She didn't want to hang out with him anymore and he thought I just swooped in and stole her. I didn't even like her like that but since then, he's made it his job to make my life a living hell when he's here. That includes fucking this-" Eddie gestures his hand between the both of you, "-up for me."

"He told me you're fucking with me." You say, suddenly fixing your eyes on your sneakers. You almost shudder thinking back at the way your heart dropped to your stomach when Dylan first spoke to you. "Said you flirt with the new ones to get into their pants and then move on to the next one."

Eddie's eyes widen, looking like he's a child being told Santa isn't real. The genuine look of shock is very convincing, and you're close to dropping every allegation from that expression alone. "Jesus Christ. Y/N, I promise that's not what's going on here."

"How can I know that for sure? I felt like an idiot after he told me that. I was humiliated thinking I fell for some sleazy game you were playing." You're trying not to tear up. You can feel the thickness in your throat as you speak, hoping Eddie doesn't pick up on it. Six months of growing feelings for someone isn't something to fuck around about, and you might have taken this more seriously than it was intended, but when you're in that close of proximity with someone for that long, itching for the other to make a move, it's hard to not be heartbroken when something happens to it.

"Sweetheart, I flirt with you because I like you. At first, it was just fun and I thought you were cute, but now I have a big, fat, stupid crush on you and I think about you all the time. I don't ask you to hang out with me after work so I can take you to my van and get your clothes off. I ask you to hang out with me because I like the way you make me feel." Eddie responds, making eye contact with you finally, searching your eyes for any trace of doubt. He wants you to know how serious he is. This isn't just a fling for him, much like it never was for you. You had a feeling this could turn into something special, though it goes against everything people tell you about workplace relationships.

"And what would that feeling be?" You inquire, not breaking the contact between his chocolate pools and your own, finding a boldness in yourself that you didn't know existed.

"You make me feel like I'm the coolest guy in the world. You laugh at my stupid jokes, you compliment me, you're interested in what I have to say.." He trails off with a fond smile on his face. There's a softness about him that balances out the roughness of his edges, endearing you even further. He reaches out to grab your soft hand with his rough one. "I really fucking like you."

"I really like you too. I was going to ask you out the night Dylan dropped a bomb on me." You admit, rubbing your thumb over the skin of his hand.

"That motherfucker." Eddie shakes his head, getting angry all over again at the fact that he finally had his chance and it got ruined for him in an instant. "I'm going to kick his ass."

You pull your hand out of his and smack him lightly on the chest. "No, you can't get fired! Who will I talk to all day?"

"You've been doing just fine not talking to anyone." Eddie jokes, raising his eyebrows and bringing his cigarette to his lips, inhaling the smoke that seems to make this whole thing easier. After having a sick stomach for hours, he skipped his smoke breaks, partially leading to his angry outburst.

"Yeah and it was miserable! Do you know how much I hated having to go through my shift without hearing you call me sweetheart?" You laugh, a sound Eddie missed, even for just three days.

He smiles down at you, dazzling as always. You missing him as much as he missed you is actively washing away his worries one by one like a salty body of water washing away a structurally questionable sandcastle. "I won't deprive you anymore."

"I appreciate that." You grin, taking his hand back into yours.

"Does that mean you believe me? You can ask anyone, I'm serious. I talk about you all the time. The guys make fun of me for my "heart eyes" the entire time you're here. Ask Adam, Levi, Grant, Brandon-"

"Okay, okay." You cut off his adorable rambling. "Yes, I believe you."

Eddie breathes a sigh of relief. You can see his shoulders relax, his jaw loosen, and his posture seems straighter. "Good because I mean it. I'm sorry this was such a mess for you. Hopefully I can make up for it?"

"And how do you plan to do that, Munson?" You tease, giving him the flirty look he had been wishing to see from you again. He can't take his eyes off of the way you look at him through your thick lashes.

He moves closer to you subtly, moving slowly so he can relish in the moment. "Can I start with that date?"

"You sure can." You say just above a whisper. You're lost in his eyes once again, but this time, it's not just playful. There's a brand new feeling getting introduced here and it blows your mind that it was first kindled in a greasy kitchen.

As long as Eddie is here, things are easy. You have your flirty boy back and being at work is a little easier again. With Eddie right behind you serving up winks and pet names just as often as he serves up appetizers, going home smelling like beer and deep fried cheese is worth it.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x reader angst #eddie munson x reader hurt/comfort #eddie x reader #eddie x reader angst #eddie x reader fluff #eddie x reader hurt/comfort #line cook eddie #line cook!eddie x reader #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction

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im-his-druidess · 1 year ago

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A little part 2 to this 😗 👉👈

"I told you a hundred times already! I am not hungry I just want to go home," you said slowly, anger and desperation clinging to your words and sticking in the back of your throat, but the man in front of you didn't seem to hear you.

Either that or he just didn't care.

Vincent, you recalled his name from the mechanic yelling at him earlier, was busy pushing a paper plate towards you. A simple peanut butter and jelly sandwich sitting on it. You wanted nothing more than to scarf down the food to appease your empty stomach, but you were more desperate to escape this murderous Alpha than anything else. You were now in the beginning phase of your Heat and it seemed the Alpha had no idea what to do. You were hoping to talk sense into him while you still had all your faculties about you, the simmering in your blood eased only by the Alphas pheromones he was unwittingly releasing, but you knew the clock was ticking before you were crawling all over the man to help ease your pain.

It had been about three days since you arrived in the ghost town called Ambrose from what you could tell, your only source of that information was by the type of food the Alpha tried to feed you and by the way the hundreds of candles burned around you, and you were nearly at your wits end. You tried screaming at the silent man, tried to yank yourself free from the chain around your wrists that were bolted to the wall, tried to calmly bargain with him, and eventually bawled your eyes out until your eyes ran dry.

The only response was him petting your head and sliding you a plastic cup full of lukewarm water.

It seemed that no matter what you said it wouldn't get through this man, especially since it seemed he was running on pure instinct, and you began to dread your future even more. You were chained in what appeared to be an underground labyrinth with nothing but candles to light your surroundings, a bed directly beside you and some blurry sketches pinned to the wall was the only thing you could see, and you were glad for that. The room you were in was sectioned off, but you had spotted a stainless steel gurney and an array of medieval looking tools when you were first carried down here. Worse, was when Vincent disappeared for a bit and the smell of burning flesh and muffled groaning filled the air, and you had dry-heaved when you caught the faded scent of one of your friends before the loud clanging of pipes and the hiss of a machine seemed to erase the scent.

You knew then that whatever happened, that you were the lone survivor of your group, and that had caused the first meltdown that lead you to scream and thrash around like a woman possessed. All that accomplished was having Vincent race to your side, a soothing yet croaky purr rumbling in his chest that you felt more than heard, and pet over you until you exhausted yourself. The feel of a plate being placed gingerly on your lap dragged you from your thoughts and you looked down to see that the Alpha had managed to get closer and place the sandwich on your lap, before looking at you expectantly. This close you could see his lone blue eye, bright and creepily intense, and you noticed his habit of cocking his head to the side to move his long black hair out of his field of vison. You wanted to bang your head against the wall as he glanced to the sandwich to you and back again, his intention clear, and you cursed his stupid Alpha instincts that seemed to want nothing more than to "take care" of the Omega nearby.

You briefly wondered if he even knew what he was doing.

"Fuck you," you hissed with as much venom as you could muster, before picking up the sandwich and taking a pointedly large bite, silently praying that you would choke and end this horrible nightmare.

His reaction was instantaneous. Long fingers stroked over your hair, his eye crinkling at the corners which you figured must mean he was smiling, and that strange purr filled the air again. You wanted to spit the food in his face, the mask would block your attack but the message would be clear, however you were swallowing and shoving the sandwich in your mouth without much direction from your brain. It seems hunger, and the subconscious need to hoard food in preparation for your Heat, won out in the end. You were busy licking the crumbs off your fingers when that same plastic cup was shoved under your nose and you wasted no time in snatching it and chugging. You had peanut butter stuck to the roof of your mouth, but you made sure your displeasure was shown by the was you glared daggers at him the entire time.

The fucker didn't even flinch.

He just chirped happily and continued to pet over you until you finished. When those long overly warm fingers drifted to your throat, you jerked away and hissed, but your anger was quickly replaced by ice cold fear as he fisted your hair at the nape of your neck and forcibly yanked you closer. Some strands of hair were pulled free at the harsh movement and you whimpered at the stinging in your scalp. You stayed completely still as he shoved his face in the crook of your neck, not wanting to entice his anger any more, and his entire body seemed to slump against you as he breathed in deep. His own spicy Alpha scent flared in response to your pre-Heat scent and you felt your stomach roll and twist into knots. His long hair brushed against you as he moved closer, broad shoulders blocking out any light, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

You had a sinking feeling that things were only going to get worse from here on out.

#Vincent Sinclair #House of Wax #Vincent Sinclair x Reader #House of Wax headcanons #Vincent Sinclair headcanons #slashers #slasher x Reader #slashers fandom #slasher fandom #House of Wax 2005 #the cryptid posts

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transhuman-priestess · 1 year ago

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Lesson

A short story, by Ivy Michaels.

The following story contains a graphic depiction of surgery, with all the drugs and violence involved. It also includes graphic descriptions of pain. That is, in fact, the idea behind writing it.

And yes, this is smut.

“You know, dear, you’ve been such a good pupil these last few weeks.” Her voice comes to me through the curtain. I hear the click-clack of her heels on the linoleum floor, making an off-beat rhythm with the beeps and hums of monitors and pumps. She draws closer, and continues, “I think we’ve worked enough on theory, it’s time to move on to your practical lessons.”

The curtain is drawn back and I open my bleary eyes to see her. She’s dressed in the uniform she always wears. Rubberized olive drab canvas, sleeves pulled over the gloves, all seams taped over. Her face is mostly obscured by a surgical mask. Her hair is tied up under a paper hair net, though I can see a few strands of raven hair. All this despite the hood she wears with the clear face plate. I think she likes hiding her face from me, she’s never let me see it. Not all of it, not all at once.

“My darling,” she says, as kind and bubbly as ever, “you did so well on your nephrology unit last week, that I thought I’d give you a little treat!”

Images flash in my head. A slideshow of dissections. Parts of organs labeled. Ureter, renal artery, nephrons.

“Ah!” she says, approvingly, “I see you remember well!”

This is how it always is. She always knows what I’m thinking. I don’t know how that works. I have vague memories of sitting in a chair with my head in a device to immobilize it, but I can’t remember if that was a dream or an actual procedure. Memories are like that here. I know I haven’t been here long, but it feels like forever.

“I know you don’t understand, honey,” her voice falls to a gentle coo, “but don’t worry, I promise you will, eventually.”

I don’t mind it here, really. She’s very sweet to me. She teaches me things about myself I never knew. The other day, I think, she showed me where the vagus nerve is. I had forgotten what the bones in my palm are called, so she showed me how easily I could be disabled simply by applying a small electric shock to that nerve. The name of the bones was “metacarpals”.

That might seem harsh but she means well. Not in the sense that I’m rationalizing, either. I may not be able to remember why I’m here, but I sense that I am here by choice. I know it in my core It is, in fact, the only thing I know for certain.

“So, dear, are you ready?” she asks, “I’ve prepped room #5. The one with the seafoam green tile. I know it’s your favorite."

I hardly have to think about an affirmation. The bed thunks beneath me as she releases the brakes and begins rolling me into the hallway. One of the few things I recall from my time outside is this sensation, when I was very small, of being rolled through a hospital corridor on a cot. I can’t remember why I was there.

We turn a corner and my eyes come to rest on a pair of two-way doors, steel painted beige, with thin sheets of stainless to protect the doors from the impact of a gurney. Small windows of reinforced glass. The doors swing open and the cart jolts with the transfer of momentum.

Inside there are three other figures, all dressed identically to her, save for tinted, opaque faceplates. They are standing off to the side. Sometimes, they observe closely, sometimes they aren’t present at all, but always they listen to her commands, and never do they touch me without her explicit instructions. It makes me feel safe, knowing that she is the one in charge.

“Alright, dear, hold still while we move you to the table.” She grabs me by the shoulders, gently cradling me. One of the other figures grasps my legs, and together they move me onto the operating table. A second figure connects an IV line to the port in my arm. There’s a large mirror on the ceiling, so that I can observe.

“For this one, dear, you have a choice. Would you like the pain, or no?”

I want the pain. I always want the pain.

“Very well then. Paralytic only.” She nods to one of the figures, who hangs the appropriate bag on a hook above the table.

“Flex your fingers, dear.” She commands. I comply. After a few seconds I experience the sensation, curious as always, of being unable to move. An electric thrill of anticipation flies through me. It is almost time.

She unbuttons my gown, starting from the top, exposing first my breasts, then my stomach, and finally my groin. “Oh!” she says, “someone’s excited.” Of course I am. She’s never taken off my whole gown. This is something special.

“Oh,” she says, “I almost forgot, we’ll need to intubate.” One of the trio of assistants wheels over a cart with a ventilator. She takes a tube from it and tilts my head back, ever so sweetly. I feel the tube go down my throat, down past the epiglottis, my body trying to fight but finding itself disarmed by the paralytic. For ever so brief a moment I cannot breathe, and then I feel the beautiful sensation of air returning into my lungs.

“You did so well. I’m so proud of you!” she praises me as she applies tape hold the breathing tube in place.

“You know, this hood is very warm.” She says, and reaches up to unzip the hood from her suit. This is new. She hands the hood to one of the assistants, before bending down next to my ear and whispering, “I’m so proud of you.” And then she kisses me on the forehead, through her mask.

Standing back upright she says, “Okay, I’m going to make an incision…here.” she traces a line gently with her finger, from my sternum down, around my navel, ending at my pubic bone. “Are you ready?”

I am so ready that, if not for the paralytic, I think I might sob. She looks at me through the overhead mirror. I can see her smile through the surgical mask. “Very well then.”

She presses the scalpel to my flesh. Just a light pressure at first. Then, a stinging, and finally the burning, electric sensation of nerve endings being torn from their neighbors. It is the most incredible, all-consuming feeling. I can feel my brain trying desperately to force my limbs to push her away, to run from the room. I don’t want to, but I cannot, by myself, suppress the survival instinct. I feel tears well up in my eyes and flow down my cheeks.

“Very, very good.” she tells me, reaching up and stroking my hair. “You’re doing so well. Now, let’s see if you can tell me the names of everything in here.”

And gently, ever so tenderly, she slips her hand into my abdomen. I can’t remember what sex feels like, but I’m sure it doesn’t even come close to this. Knowing she’s so close to me is intoxicating. I feel her hand touch my small intestine.

“Very good!” she says, as she works her way up, to my stomach.

“That’s right” before moving on to my liver.

“That’s three for three! Very good!” the warmth in her voice fills my heart with joy. She’s so gentle. The pain is incredible, but it feels so good, because I know she’s the one causing it. I know she loves me, and I love her.

“Moving further down,” she continues, pulling her hand out, much to my disappointment. “Oh dear, don’t worry, I’ll be right back in in one moment”

And once again she plunges into my abdomen. The white-hot fire of the incision has faded slightly to merely red-hot smoldering. I feel her touch my sigmoid colon. “Excellent.”

Her hand moves to my left kidney. “Very good!”

I feel her grasp my bladder. “Perfect.”

She sighs, “It’s a shame I can’t reach your prostate from here, love.” A laugh.

“But that will be for later.” She stands and looks at one of the assistants. “Okay, sew her back up. Be gentle.” She must sense my disappointment, though, because she turns back to me. “Oh don’t worry, my dear, there’s one more thing left.”

It takes a while for the assistant to finish closing the incision in my abdomen. Time moves strangely in here, so I couldn’t say how long. By this point my body has numbed the incision area all on its own, leaving only the faint pulling and tugging of the sutures to be sent to my brain.

She walks back over and stands at the foot of the table. “You did so well there. I’m so proud of you. As a reward for how well you’ve done so far in your lessons, I’m going to perform one last procedure today.”

And with her most gentle touch yet, she pulls my legs to either side. “I know how much these bother you.” For a moment I panic, but she’s quick to reassure me. “Oh, not your legs, hon.” And it clicks.

“I’m going to cut right here.” she traces a line down the center of my scrotum. “And you’ll be rid of these forever.”

I feel the cold steel of the scalpel press in. The faint sting followed by the roaring thunder of pain. That high, heady feeling of endorphins rushes in again. I feel her, very faintly, reaching in and grabbing my right testicle.

"So, I know you hate these things. I hated mine, too.” She squeezes, hard, sending yet another rush of pain up and into my abdomen. “So I figured, why not simply take them away?” I feel the odd sensation of cold steel on my vas deferens. “Are you ready?”

I am.

I feel, for the briefest moment, a zing of pain and then the loss of signal that indicates a part of my body was severed. I feel her tying off the end.

“That’s one down. Time for the other.” Another hard squeeze on my left. “You’re taking this all so well! I’ll be sure to reward you when you’ve healed.” That same zing, that same loss of signal. I feel tears welling up. Not tears of pain, but joy, and love. I feel the repeated sting and tug and sting and tug as she sutures me back up.

“Okay love,” she says, at my side now, stroking my hair. “we’re going to push the painkillers now, and bring you out of the paralysis.” And with that, I feel the rush and the heady fuzz of opioids entering my system, the relief washing over me like a cool shower on a hot summer day.

“I want you to flex your fingers. Just keep flexing them.”

At first I can’t. I try and I try. But slowly, I start to feel them twitching, and after not too long I feel myself able to make a weak fist.

“Very good. You’re such a good girl.” Before I can say or even think anything, she reaches up, and removes first her cap, and then her hair tie. A shoulder-length crop of raven curls falls out. And then, to my amazement, she reaches up to her ear and removes the mask.

I see her face for the first time. I’m able to take in her sculpted jaw, her chin. She has a beauty spot on her right cheek. Her green eyes fill with warmth and, for the first time, I see her smile. “Let’s get that tube out.” She removes the tape on the tube. “Okay, I need you to take a deep breath. On three, I want you to exhale as hard as you can. One, two, three!” I blow and the tube slides out. I cough quite a bit.

Rather uncharacteristically, she tosses the tube aside. “You did so good today babe.” She comes in close, leaning over me, and our lips meet. Her kiss is so soft, so tender. I’m so lucky to have her. After what might be hours, or maybe no time at all, she pulls away.

Shakily, with a voice that hasn’t seen use in a long time, I say, “Thank you, Teacher.”

#Ivy Michaels Writing

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bashyam · 5 months ago

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kasienda · 7 months ago

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Bend the World Around It: Ch 3 - One Day a Week

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Read on Ao3

(Amazing and Stunning Artwork by @blur0se)

Chapter 3: One Day a Week

They don’t talk about their names and identities.

He doesn’t ask and she doesn’t want to talk about it anyway. It’ll just make them both sad.

But one night a week, they share an evening together in their shared apartment - their home.

Alya always covers for her with her parents. Alya thinks it’s for her standing “patrol” night with Chat Noir, but if Alya had noticed that no patrolling was taking place she hadn’t said anything. Marinette isn’t entirely sure why she keeps her new part-time living arrangement a secret from Alya. It all just feels too fragile, like if she breathes too hard the illusion will dissipate like smoke.

Or an alarm will go off and she’ll wake up from the dream.

Because being transformed as Ladybug while slicing vegetables for a stir fry dinner while Chat Noir observes from over her shoulder feels positively ridiculous.

Ridiculous enough to be a dream for sure.

“So you just wait until the oil is hot,” she explains as she dumps carrots into the pan with a satisfying sizzle. “And then add the vegetables in one at a time. The order is based on what takes the longest to cook.”

Ladybug stirs the carrots around the pan before adding onions, and then mushrooms. Then she hands the spatula to him. He replicates her work with a level of enthusiasm the task absolutely does not deserve.

It makes her smile.

“That’s it?” he asks. “It can’t be that simple.”

She laughs. “I mean, I’m not a professional chef or anything, but basic cooking isn’t too hard once you’ve done it a few times.”

The timer goes off, and she flinches at the sound. Her eyes squeeze closed. It’s the smell of grilled onions that ground her more than anything. Then his hand, squeezing her shoulder. She looks at him and his eyes are so warm. It’s impossible not to smile back.

She’s already awake. This is real. She doesn’t need to wake up.

“Pasta’s done,” she says, flipping the heat off. “Do you know where I can find a colander?”

“A what?” he asks, his eyebrows scrunched up in genuine confusion.

“Umm… a pasta strainer,” she clarifies.

“What’s a pasta strainer?”

She blinks at him in shock. “Oh my god! You’ve really never stepped foot inside a kitchen, have you?”

She yanks open a cupboard, and then another, rifling through pots and pans.

“I've been inside a kitchen.”

She snorts.

“What?! I have!”

“Clearly very little cooking took place while you were there.”

He grins back sheepishly and shrugs as she places the colander in the stainless steel sink.

“I can’t believe I married you.”

He pulls away from the stove to step in behind her, his hands resting at her waist as he kisses her cheek. “You don’t even regret it,” he whispers, and she can hear the grin in his voice.

And he’s right. She doesn’t regret it.

Not even a little bit.

…

Ladybug serves out the food on the plates. Grilled veggies and chicken pile up on top of the pasta, and she tops it off with crushed walnuts. Her presentation is as artful as any professional plate Adrien has seen in his very privileged life, and he finds himself doubting that she’s not a professional chef.

He scoops each plate from the counter and brings it to adjacent corners of the small dining table. When they sit, she’s so close their knees bump. He relishes in the contact.

He taps the side of her knee with his own on purpose.

Her smile is positively indulgent.

“You’re like a child, poking and poking for attention.”

“I’m just excited!”

Her cheeks bloom with the color of pink rose buds. “About?”

“That you’re here! That I can touch you!” He offers his hand, and she takes it instantly. “That we can have this.”

Her eyes turn glassy. “Me too,” she admits.

Adrien has never had family dinners like these. Not even when his mother was alive.

He’s never ever going to let them get old.

…

Marinette laughs into her cereal the next morning, remembering Chat’s cheeky expression as shared good byes not an hour earlier. She can’t believe it took her so long to let herself love him.

“You’re in a good mood.”

Marinette startles and looks up into the amused eyes of both her parents, sitting across from her at the breakfast table.

“I am!” she agrees. “I had a really good day yesterday.”

“Anything in particular happen that made it a good day?” her mother asks.

Marinette’s smile wilts just a bit at the edges.

“Nothing in particular,” she says.

“So you’re going to make me guess,” her papa teases.

“Go ahead.” There’s no way they could possibly guess that she literally dreamed up a boyfriend for herself and was now living with him one day a week.

More than anything though, she wishes she could tell them. They would love him.

…

Adrien sits across from his father at the long formal dining table in the Agreste mansion.

Every clink of his silverware echoes throughout the cavernous room.

They don’t speak.

Adrien doesn’t bother trying to make conversation the way he used to. He knows from previous experience that initiating conversation often is either pulling teeth or navigating a minefield and he doesn’t have the energy for either.

But it’s hard to sit still, and the hour-long meal feels like an eternity.

There’s no teasing or banter as they eat. His father would never tolerate a game of footside under the table even if they sat close enough to each other for that to be a possibility. He misses Ladybug’s voice and her laughter. Meals are meant to be shared, and Adrien didn’t know what that was like before Jubilation.

He doesn’t know how to go back to this.

Being dismissed afterwards to his room offers no reprieve. For all that his room is filled with books, games, a basketball hoop, and a zipline, there’s nothing in it. Not for him. It’s all soulless.

He doesn’t even want to sit down.

“Plagg, do you think anyone would notice if I stopped sleeping here?”

Plagg shrugs.

Adrien takes that as permission and transforms.

He lands on the balcony and slips inside into the living room. She’s not there, but it almost doesn’t matter because the silence here is peaceful instead of oppressive.

And it’s already filled with memories of her. Real memories of her.

He stares at the blank wall opposite the dining table that used to hold all his mother’s pictures.

He has an idea.

…

Ladybug does a double take as she walks through the dining area. The wall is covered in framed pictures of her and Chat Noir. Some, she recognizes from the Ladyblog. Others are selfies that she knows he captured on his baton. She pulls the Oblivio kiss from the wall, and touches the glass where their hands are joined.

It’s a kiss that actually happened for all that she can’t remember it. But now, she can remember so many kisses that never actually happened. The first time she saw this picture she wanted to deny its existence. Now, with the way he’s holding her with such care, the way their fingers are interlaced, she doesn’t understand how she ever saw anything in it other than love.

“Penny for your thoughts,” he asks.

“Why this kiss and not the Dark Cupid One? It was first.”

He shrugs. “I think this one was more special? It looks like it was something we both wanted.”

“Do you remember it?“

He shakes his head. “Just looks like our amnesiac selves saw something in each other that maybe took us longer to realize.”

“Not you,” she counters.

He rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know if that’s true. The way I felt in the beginning and the way I feel now… I don’t know. It’s different.”

She frowns, glancing up from the picture to him. “In a good way?”

“Yes!”

She takes in the picture for another several seconds. He’s right.

She places it back on the wall so she can look at it every time she walks past, every time they sit down for a meal together.

Then she catches sight of the one next to it.

“No! Absolutely not!” she exclaims, ripping it from the wall.

“What? Why not?”

“Why not?! It’s a terrible picture!” Her eyes are half closed and she’s making a creepy grin, and his mouth is twisted in some weird way as he’s clearly in the middle of speaking. It flatters neither of them. Its only redeeming quality is that she remembers the patrol the picture came from and they had spent the whole thing laughing so hard they could barely breathe.

“Why do you want to look at it every day?”

“It’s a real picture,” he says, taking it from her and placing it reverently back on the wall.

And there’s something in the way he says real that has her eyes narrowing. She wants to ask, but he shakes his head.

“Please?” he asks. He’s begging.

It’s a terrible picture. She hates it. There has to be better ones.

She knows he’ll let her take it down.

But he has a reason. The picture means something to him that he can’t explain. She can’t take that away without understanding why.

She huffs. “Fine.”

He grins in pure delight. “It’ll be your favorite by Christmas.”

She groans, knowing he’s likely right.

He laughs, and pulls her into an embrace, kissing the side of her face.

Because she's going to laugh every time she sees it. And like he said, it’s real .

Unlike the rest of her life.

…

“Hey cupcake! You okay?” her father asks, poking his head up through the trap door.

“I’m fine,” she lies. “Why do you ask?”

It’s a stupid question. She’s wilted over her desk doing absolutely nothing. She doesn’t even have a project laid out or a video playing. Of course he’s worried that she’s not okay.

She really needs to get better at pretending.

“You’ve just been pining away all day. And it’s the weekend.”

“I promise I’m not pining.” She can’t be pining over Chat if she and Chat are together.

Sure, she misses him every moment they’re apart. Even his stupid jokes and his total lack of cooking experience–though she’s being unfair. He’s proven himself a fast learner.

She wishes she could call him or send him stupid texts, wishes that she could bring him over to meet her parents.

Who is she kidding? She’s totally pining.

“We’ve just been worried about you. You’ve been really quiet lately, and sleeping maybe too much.”

She wasn’t sleeping. It was just hard to get up in the morning when everything felt pointless.

“I’m okay. Just… trapped in the routine, I think.”

“Well, come downstairs and break it up!” her father invites.

She forces herself to smile, but she doesn’t feel it.

…

The bell rings signaling the end of class, and Nino starts to pack up, but Adrien is much slower to move. Was class really already over? Adrien feels like he just got there.

Nino bumps his shoulder. “You okay, mec?”

Adrien’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “I’m fine.”

He’s better than fine! He had low-key moved out of his house, and Ladybug was living with him part time! And sure, he can’t tell Nino any of that. And he can’t share anything about his day with his girlfriend either. He can’t introduce his best friend to his girlfriend or his girlfriend to his best friend. He knows they already know each other, so it seems like it shouldn’t matter.

And yet, it’s not the same.

“Do I not seem fine?” he asks.

“You didn’t take any notes,” Nino points out.

Adrien blinks down at the empty document on the screen of his tablet. “I just couldn’t focus.” That much is true at least.

“Anything you want to talk about?” Nino offers.

There’s so much he wants to talk about. He wants to tell Nino all of it.

But his life is all cut up into pieces, more than it ever had been before, and every way Adrien turns he’s bumping into walls that he never wanted to be there. He feels cut off, like he’s looking at the world through the glass of his bedroom window. He should be used to it. He’s no stranger to loneliness. He’s been lonely his whole life.

But now, he’s had a taste of something more.

He’s had a literal taste of home cooked meals, been blessed with evenings full of lively conversation and joyous laughter, felt the warmth of Ladybug wrapped up in his arms as they fall asleep.

It feels so good, he almost can’t believe it’s real.

But there’s no flying alarm clocks here threatening to shatter his dream.

Just six neverending excruciating days between each glorious evening in paradise.

But even if one day a week is all he can have, it’s still the best his life has ever been.

“No,” he tells Nino with a smile. “I really am okay.”

He wills himself to believe it.

…

She wakes up in his arms. And it’s both the best and worst part of her day. Because she loves being in his arms, loves waking up with their heads pressed and their legs tangled together, loves how warm and treasured she feels in his hold.

And it’s also the moment when she has to tear herself away to go back to her normal life.

The life she doesn’t get to share with him.

One day a week is not enough. Not even close to enough.

She steals his pillow to take home. It’s not quite the same, but at least it smells like him.

But it doesn’t change the fact that the clock has reset and she’s six long never ending days away from seeing him again.

She trudges to school the next morning. She’s not excited about any of it, but she also has nothing better to fill her time with.

After class, Rose is talking. Marinette tries to listen. She tries more than once, but she can barely hear a world of it. Something about trying to see a new specialist. And Marinette feels guilty. Rose deserves her attention. Marinette wants to be a part of her life, wants to be a part of all of her friends’ lives.

But she can’t let them be a part of hers in the most fundamental way.

And it’s becoming harder and harder each day with all her friends, with the classes she sits through counting down every minute - not until the bell rings, but until her night with Chat Noir arrives.

For the one night a week where she gets to live .

“Marinette? Are you okay?” The fact that it’s Juleka asking showcases how distant she must be acting.

She summons a smile. It might even pass muster. “Of course! Just tired.”

Four skeptical pairs of eyes peer at her.

An akuma alert saves her from having to answer.

But more than that, that alert doesn’t fill her with unease or panic. That alarm sends her heart skyrocketing and her stomach fluttering in the most pleasant of ways.

That sound means she gets to see him more than once that week.

…

“This is not the time for flirting!”

Chat grins. If there’s one thing he’s learned in the last few years it’s that it’s always time for flirting.

She likes it when he flirts. And the more stressed she is, the more important it is because it keeps her out of her own head.

And more importantly than any of that, he thinks she’s amazing and brilliant, and he wants her to know it every minute of every day.

“M’lady! I’m just trying to ensure that if we should fall in battle, the last thing you’ll ever hear is my undying affection for you,” he says while swinging his baton like a bat to reflect the akuma’s powers.

“Gah! I really can't believe I ever agreed to marry you.”

He laughs in delight, twisting around her to shield her from another strike.

Once they’re in the clear, he leans towards her. “You know it was the best decision in your life.”

Something flashes in her eyes, and she softens.

“Why is it impossible to stay mad at you?”

“Love you, too, M’lady,” he says cheekily, knowing full well that she wasn’t ever actually mad.

…

Despite the one akuma, the rest of the week drags on like one of Ms Mendeleiev’s Chemistry lectures. When school is out, Marinette races home, makes a show of packing a bag “for Alya’s” and is out the door with barely a wave. Ladybug swings through the window an hour early, and somehow he’s beaten her there. Her joy at seeing him overwhelms the slight disappointment that she won’t be able to surprise him with a homemade dessert.

“Hello m’la–”

She cuts him off with a desperate kiss. He diligently drops whatever he was holding with a thud, and his arms wrap around her. Her hands tangle into his hair, caressing his cat ears to send him into a purr. She presses every centimeter of herself into every centimeter of him as if she can push hard enough to melt into him so they’ll never be separated again. She breathes in his breath, savors it, wishing she could breathe him in and take a little piece of him with her.

When he tries to pull away, she kisses him again and again until he’s all she can see, all she can feel.

“I love you,” he breathes against her mouth.

“I love you, and I’ve missed you so much. There weren’t enough akumas this week.”

He laughs. “I never thought I’d hear you say that.”

“A week is too long.”

“A week is waaay too long,” he agrees. He takes her hand and leads her to the sofa. “I got something for you. Wait right here.”

She sits as he darts into the other room and comes back with a box wrapped in red paper, decorated with a tiny little ladybug plush and a big black bow.

“Aww! This is adorable,” she coos at the little ladybug.

“Open it!” he urges, his excitement bubbling over. She tears through the paper rapidly and finds herself face to face with a baby doll.

It’s meant to be a joke. She knows that it is, but she’s stroking the plastic baby’s face and hair, and she’s crying.

“It’s Emma,” she chokes out. And his arms are around her instantly.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. I just — We’ll have an Emma someday. A real baby.”

And it’s so beautiful. She wants it now.

But it feels impossible. She can’t even tell him her name.

She clings to him as the tears come. And he holds her, his hands rub her back and he coos soothing sounds and words into her ear.

He’s so strong. He seems to accept their situation so easily, it’s almost not fair.

“How do you do it?” she whispers.

“Do what?” he asks softly, leaning his head against hers.

“Go back and forth?” she says over his shoulder. “Keep this life and your regular life separate?”

He turns her head to look at his, his eyes swirling in concern.

“I just— I hate going back,” she continues, desperate to keep talking before the tears overwhelm her completely. “I can’t talk about you, and I can’t introduce you to my parents, I can’t tell you about any of it! And I can’t— None of it feels real!”

Her sobs break past her defense like a dam braking, and he yanks her to his chest once again.

“I just want this all the time.”

He kisses her head, her hands, her cheeks, and then her mouth, never letting go of her.

“How do you do it?” she asks again.

His catlike eyes search her face.

“I thought keeping everything separate was what you wanted,” he finally says, his thumbs stroking each of her hands. “I can do it because if this is all you’re able to give me, I will take it. But I don’t want to go back either. You broke out of the dream, M’lady. I would have stayed there forever. I survive losing the dream every week because I know it will come back.”

She blinks rapidly, trying to fend off the burn of threatened tears. He thinks she’s stronger than him, but she knows that he’s wrong. He’s always been the stronger of the two of them. He carries so much that always felt She loves him so much.

“But if you’re telling me this is what you want full time all the time? I will tell you my name right now. Just say the word!”

Hope bubbles up in her chest, and she nods rapidly.

“No.”

They both bolt to their feet at the unexpected voice.

Bunnyx is standing there in the center of the living room.

It’s so strange to see anyone there who isn’t them, Marinette feels dizzy. She blinks a few times, and Chat squeezes her hand. She knows he will follow her lead.

Marinette clears her throat. “Why are you here?”

“Ladybug, I’ve told you — you can’t know each other’s identities.”

A rock lodges in her throat, and she blinks back tears.

Why can’t they know?

“We wouldn’t tell anyone!” Chat Noir insists.

Bunnyx smiles softly, but it’s tinged with sadness. “I know, but you’ll get caught.”

“Monarch already knows we love each other,” Chat Noir argues back. “He’s seen us together. We haven’t been subtle during the last batch of akumas.”

“He’s seen Ladybug and Chat Noir together,” Bunnyx concedes. “It’s your civilian sides that allow him to figure it out. And then one of you always gets akumatized. And it’s a Chat Blanc situation every time!”

“Chat Blanc?” Chat echoes.

“Do you want to explain it to him, or shall I?” Bunnyx asks. There’s no bite or malice to her tone.

Marinette turns to him, let’s her finger caress the side of his face. “I told you,” she chokes out, “our love destroys the world.”

He yanks her into his arms, and rocks her fiercely back and forth, shaking his head. “There’s no way, m’lady.”

“I saw—“

“He’s right,” Bunnyx tells her with a smile. “It’s not your love. It’s your identities and it’s not anything the two of you do. It’s not your fault. Not ever. Not a single time. It’s Monarch.”

Marinette sobs harder. It isn’t fair. The only thing she and Chat had ever done was try and protect Paris over and over again. She wants to love him with all of herself, she wants to love him openly.

Why can’t they have that?

“I think you’ve made your point,” Chat says coldly over her shoulder. “You can leave now.”

“No, wait!” Marinette objects, twisting in his arms to face their uninvited guest. “You said, it’s our civilian side that messes things up?”

Bunnyx’s answering smile stretches across her whole face. She taps her own cheek. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

A portal opens up behind her and she backs into it. “Don’t have too much fun, kids!”

The portal shrinks into a dot and they are alone once again. Marinette turns to Chat, grinning.

His eyebrows are scrunched up in that adorable way when he’s confused. “I don’t understand.”

“Ladybug and Chat Noir can date! Outside and in the open! We just have to do it as our hero selves!”

“We can have more than this,” she says, “if you want.”

He answers her with another kiss that steals all of Marinette’s breath.

“I want everything we can have, M’lady.”

...

#miraculous ladybug #ladynoir #established relationship #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #pre reveal #jubilation au #romance #speed write #only write the fun parts #my own content #bend the world around it

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drunkinchicago · 1 year ago

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coriolanus snow x lucy gray baird

link: chapter 1, link: chapter 2

Chapter 3: fallen angel

Coriolanus is the name given to a Roman general after his military feats against the Volscians at Corioli. Following his success he seeks to be consul, but his disdain for the plebeians and mutual hostility with the tribunes lead to his banishment from Rome. In exile, he presents himself to the Volscians, then leads them against Rome. After he relents and agrees to a peace with Rome, he is killed by his previous Volscian allies.

In reference to Gnaeus Marcius Coriolanus, (5th century BC)

"The fallen angel becomes a malignant devil. Yet even that enemy of God and man had friends and associates in his desolation; I am alone."

Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

Coriolanus did not revisit the conversation between himself and Dr. Gaul until much later, her words reverberating in his skull as he hung his coat. It’s known that the two of you didn’t sleep together; how distracted you’d be with that little songbird in your bedroom. He walked toward the dining room with his hands shaking. Bedroom. Songbird. Bedroom. Two of you, together. Sleep together. Lucy Gray, God, Lucy Gray.

An array of platters awaited him at the dinner table, each covered with a stainless steel cloche. Coriolanus stared at them blankly, noticing that only one setting was arranged. Tigris must have notified the staff that she would not be present, but then again, she rarely was. Coriolanus wasn’t sure where she spent the majority of her time anymore - he only knew that he was largely by his lonesome in the Snow penthouse. There wasn’t a financial need in Tigris continuing her employment, and she hadn’t a variety of acquaintances to stay with. The most he’d seen of his cousin recently was in the final days of Grandma’am’s life and her funeral, during which Tigris would often descend into nostalgic recollections of their childhood. Coriolanus refused to indulge them, struggling to remember much other than the sound of cockroaches scuttling along the rotting floors. He could tell that her opinion of him changed, and funnily enough, she hardly knew the half of it. Tigris had no way of knowing the reality of Sejanus’ death, and she didn’t ask for details about his life in Twelve. Only once had she asked about the end of his relationship with Lucy Gray, to which he bitterly responded:

“She left me.”

But that’s not the end, Coriolanus reminded himself as he removed the silver lid of the largest plate, revealing roasted duck and an endive salad. Dr. Gaul was going to find her. It was true that the Capitol had been taken with Lucy Gray - the public would be ecstatic at the return of their sweetheart. His sweetheart. There was much more advantage than disadvantage in obtaining her from wherever she was, shivering in a tattered dress. It’d been months since he’d seen her. Was she thinner, if possible? How was she surviving? He almost choked on his duck as he recalled the rage of losing her, eternally possessing a snakebite shaped scar to remind him of his stupidity. That fury was ebbing, though, making way for the notion of understanding - what they had before, they could find again, all the good parts of it. He planned to make her kiss that scar. Kiss it better, Lucy Gray, kiss me there first and everywhere after.

During his meals alone, he liked to remember the Games. Selfishly, Coriolanus found himself missing them dearly. At any time, he knew where she was and who she was with, and greatest of all, she needed him. Lucy Gray yearned for him so much then, her eyes coming to life when he approached her cage at the zoo. He desired nothing more than to be back in those moments of budding attraction, her skirt tearing on the concrete floor as she ate and drank only what he provided her with. With his hand on the enclosure bars and his eyes flickering toward her lips, it was then that he began to visualize what he wanted. He became acutely aware of it when they kissed the first time, feverishly and as though they could eat each other alive. Maybe he wanted to. He couldn’t imagine how good she’d taste.

When he’d given her that white rose at their first meeting, she’d locked eyes with him and opened her mouth wide, placing the petal she’d plucked on her tongue. “Tastes like bedtime,” she’d murmured. He loved that view, towering above her as their height difference permanently allowed. Lucy Gray had looked particularly innocent and intimate then, dirt grazing her soft cheeks, fingers in her mouth. One day he hoped to ask her to recreate that scene, to bathe her himself in rose petals and buttermilk. When she arrived, she would be allowed to have however many roses she wanted. He’d pluck the stems for her, place them behind her ear with his other hand around her neck, bringing her to the edge. That was just one of the many scenarios he envisioned, playing them on a loop.

She wouldn’t be getting the roses at first, though. Coriolanus knew he had to be strong and make her prove herself. Why did you leave me, Lucy Gray? Why did you leave me? He hoped she’d arrive at his doorstep in shackles even though the sight of her in chains had once deeply disquieted him. She had lessons to learn. He’d answer her questions, too, prove himself in the same light. It was going to be difficult not to ravage her. That would be the hardest part, keeping his hands to himself when Lucy Gray was before him. He’d never really gotten the post-Games reunion he’d envisioned, the one interrupted by his Peacekeeper sentencing. If only his cheating hadn’t been discovered! Coriolanus had been practically running through the halls, looking for his tribute, excited to see and feel all the ways she was going to thank him. He wanted it in the Capitol, and that’s how it was supposed to be. Coriolanus Snow and Lucy Gray Baird, winners of the 10th Annual Hunger Games - didn’t they deserve it? It was a moment they’d never be able to retrieve. He was just going to have to invent better.

Although he knew it was well-prepared, everything tasted sour in Coriolanus’ mouth. He tossed the plates to the side, slamming his hands on the table as he stood to signal to the maids that he was finished. They quietly entered the room just as he was leaving it, gathering the untouched feast. He wanted to be in his room - that’s where he could remember her best.

His quarters had been entirely transformed at the hands of the Plinths, resembling the likeness of a castle rather than its prior rat-infested, dilapidated state. Nightly he slept on a grand canopy bed with velvet drapes and silk sheets, sizable enough to fit several people. A hand-painted portrait of himself on his first day of University hung directly parallel to the room’s door, being the first thing anybody saw when they entered. His hair was shorter there than now, combed to one side. He preferred his curls despite their boyish cadence. This was how he looked when Lucy Gray met him after all, his hair falling in front of his face as they kissed. Isn’t that when she fell for him? He wanted to set the scene for her when they would inevitably reunite. Strabo Plinth had pointedly installed a fireplace on one end of the room, a massive one that cast an ominous red glow when lit. “For when Snow gets cold,” Strabo had joked, nudging Coriolanus as though he was actually his father. In response, Coriolanus simply forced a laugh.

Other furnishings in the bedroom included several bookcases equipped with countless historical texts, a dark wood loveseat in one corner, and an impressively sized desk covered with ink pens and writing paper. His brocade curtains allowed for utmost privacy, only a shade lighter than obsidian. They were frame-tall, setting off his curved windows like a picture. When they were open, he could see so much of the city, so much of what he wanted to own and control. The final detail was several imported Persian rugs, placed carefully to cover ancient stains. On occasion, Coriolanus would lay flat against them, welcoming their warmth and carefully woven texture. They were expensive, luxurious, and fit for a king. He couldn’t wait to show them to Lucy Gray, imagining her own body laying against one, her hair fanning out around her face. Perfect.

At least Lucy Gray would never see the penthouse how it used to be, dimly lit and falling in on itself. He wanted her to see him as a true Snow, and get the Snow experience as a result. She was bound to love it, the life of a victor. How could she not? She’d not known something this good, and he was going to show it to her, to what he owned. She’d fit right in with everything else that belonged to him.

As Coriolanus crawled into bed, he wondered how much longer he’d have to sleep in it alone. Dr. Gaul was right. They’d hadn’t slept with another, and it wasn’t because he hadn’t wanted to. Of course he did. He’d had the desire from the second he saw her on television on Reaping Day with her tight corset and doe eyes. There just hadn’t been the right setting for it to take place. Their run of things hadn’t been the easiest after all, but they still found room for kissing, for lots of it, for biting each other’s lips and holding one another’s faces. When he thought back to the sensation of kissing her, Coriolanus realized that he would kill for it. He would commit murder to touch her. Hadn’t he already?

Enjoy the show.

That damn voice, the automated welcome to the arena. It consumed him at night, reminded him of the wanting, the fear, the intensity, the power of it all.

Enjoy the show.

Holding her as they walked into the arena tour, the small intimacies in the dark, moving just as the cameras came into view.

Enjoy the show.

The club in his hand, up, down, up, down, crashing onto Bobbin’s face over and over and over and…

Enjoy the show.

“And last but least, District Twelve girl . . . she belongs to Coriolanus Snow.”

Enjoy the show.

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #thg series #thg #tbosas spoilers #coriolanus snow #snow #president snow #snowbaird #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus x lucy gray #lucy gray baird #lucy gray x coriolanus #suzanne collins #archive of our own #ao3

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identifyingtrainsinposts · 8 months ago

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hi do you take requests for id that arent actually posts? im watching the x files and i Think the train car that gets decoupled is from the pioneer zephyr family of trains, but im not sure.

heres the best pictures i got

and heres some crappy dark ones

thanks in advance!

My boy... that is a Budd Company - RDC-2

If I've ever seen one.

RDC stands for Rail Diesel Car. That means it can move around on its own. Presumably it's being used as a railcar here cause it looks like one and it can control itself for whatever tomfoolery happens in the show. Curiously the windows have been plated over. I guess they did that for the show. As for the Pioneer Zephyr connection... they were made by the same company! Everything Budd got their hands on was made of stainless steel though. I hesitate to call them related. Zephyrs have a dedicated power car and the earlier ones have semi-permanently coupled cars. The RDCs are easier to work with… every car is a power car so you can just slap more on if need be.

(Side tangent, The Pioneer Zephyr is just the first one made. Burlington Route named all their trainsets of that style the [X] Zephyr. Really the Zephyrs deserve their own post, they're great fun!)

#Budd #Budd Company #diesel electric #diesel #railcar #north america #sorry i kinda forgot about this for a bit >_<#dmu #well actually it’s just a du but shh

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kimberlychapman · 5 months ago

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I haz a new Trek nail plate!

It's from a company in Mexico so shipping costs more than the plate, but now I haz Data and Dad nails so I'm happy. Here's the link:

Unfortunate that they've misspelled Picard as Pickard, but I'll just pretend it's the lady in Time's Arrow who keeps saying his name as that.

I tried to get that text lined up so it said Data on that nail but I missed slightly. Oh well.

Very pleased overall.

No criticism or advice please, I do this for joy, not perfection.

Other products used are listed in my old FB post on the topic here: https://www.facebook.com/kim.chapman.96199/posts/pfbid02Aco8S8K5kANU8ZvziubUe1QekB64Ahuz4h1aNHLD9NnEZsR2gvgTn4WKoKKMCqEEl

#star trek #star trek the next generation #data tng #data soong #the very best spaceboi #star trek tng #picard #jean luc picard #captain picard #spock #star trek: tng #star trek nails #nails #jelly stamped nails

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machineplatesonline · 2 years ago

Video

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#youtube #Name Plates #locker plate #equipment nameplates #locker number plates #locker name plates #laser cut name plates #stainless steel nameplate

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myloveforhergoeson · 5 months ago

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tw: discussion of scars + childhood injury

“woah… what’s this?”

gingerly, roxy caught james’ left wrist between her calloused fingers, turning his forearm to face her direction as they cuddled on one of the many lounge chairs by the pool. with his well maintained tan from hours spent in the los angeles sun, the thin white line was almost impossible to spot; she’d certainly never noticed it before today.

thumb swiping over the scarred area, she felt james slightly flinch at her touch. “it’s nothing… old injury.”

removing the right arm slung around her waist, he shifted to the left a bit, dark sunglasses obscuring the look on his face. he covered the mark with his hand for a moment, palm over the area like a bandaid, before taking a breath and gathering his girlfriend in his arms once more.

with her ear to his chest, she could hear his heart race. though that might be due to their proximity, the feeling of his palms growing clammy on her bare skin told her otherwise.

she silently praised her choice of a red crop top for the day.

“i’ve got one on the back of my leg,” she said in response to the chill, moving her right foot into the air and wiggling it a bit to ease the tension she could sense radiating off of him in waves. “one of dani’s dogs didn’t like me very much. i got too close to her one day and she really decided to let me know… god, that shit hurt like hell.”

one of his brows raised, signifying she’d caught his attention. “you had to know that she didn’t like you. dogs are super vocal about that type of thing aren’t they? like, missy really hates logan. we think she can sense he’s more of a cat person.”

“i know you’re not blaming me for being viciously bit by a crazy animal right now. everybody else loves me! why should i assume bear felt any different?”

air shot out of his nostrils in a silent chuckle, tickling the top of her head, almost going unheard against the chatter of other hotel patrons on the deck around them. “the dog was named bear?! baby, you were totally asking for it!”

visions of the black labradoodle ran through her mind, much like how bear loved to run through dani’s family’s large, open property. “she was a total sweetheart when mag and dani were around her… maybe she doesn’t like gorgeous, talented women or something.”

james’ nose exhale turned into full on laughter, roxy practically bouncing off his chest as his body shook at her words.

from the table beside their lounger, roxy reached out to take a drink of the lemonade she’d picked up from the cafe, offering the cup out to her boyfriend as well.

after a long, slow sip, james’ free hand set it down before sinking into her long hair. instinctively, her arm draped around his waist. “i forgot to put the blade guards on my skates after practice one night. coach worked us so hard that day i was just happy to get off the ice and get home; too distracted by what my mom might be making for dinner to think straight. walked out of the arena with my bag in one hand and my stick and skates in the other, hit a patch of black ice before i reached her car, and ended up cutting myself up pretty darn good.”

just the thought of the sharp, stainless steel of an ice skate anywhere near her skin caused a shiver to crawl down the girl’s spine. “that must have been awful…”

“well a trip to the er, sixteen stitches, and a bunch of ibuprofen later i was feeling just fine. i think my ego was more bruised than anything. my mom was super freaked though.”

“well yeah,” roxy nodded, finger rising to trace the lines of the soft black tank top james wore, “any mom would be worried about such a substantial injury. i’ve never had stitches but i imagine sixteen means it was very big and very deep.”

closing his eyes, james took another breath. “deep? yes. big? eh. nothing like the time carlos got a metal plate put in his head.”

“jesus christ. i’m going to pass out just thinking of it…” her hand curled into a fist, taking the smooth fabric with it.

a few kids from their class were starting up a game of volleyball in the pool in front of them, sounds of shouting and splashing water distracting the writer from their conversation momentarily.

“but you’re right,” james continued. “my mom was worried - just not about me. more about the mark it would leave than anything… she even called an emergency meeting for her product development team to start work on a scar cream. i still use it to this day.”

roxy chose not to comment on the success of the cream if she was still able to see the mark that remained on her boyfriend’s skin, though her heart panged at his words. clearly, brooke’s concern had reached him, just for the wrong reasons. she saw it in the way he instinctively covered the area when she’d mentioned it, in the solemn way he discussed the product he still used, months, maybe years, after his accident.

without thinking, her fingers caught his wrist again from where they tangled in her locks and pulled his forearm to the sun once more. the scar stood out more prominently to her now, and now she couldn’t even remember what he looked like without it. it was part of what made james james. “she shouldn’t have made you feel that way... it was an accident; you were seriously hurt. who cares what it would look like in the future? what should have mattered was your safety in that moment and beyond.”

he didn’t respond to her, gaze somewhere off in the distance behind the tint of his shades. this time, when roxy swiped her thumb over the area, he didn’t jump.

“we all show concern in our own way i suppose,” he whispered into her hair, placing a kiss on her crown before resting his chin there.

as they cuddled by the pool, james hugged roxy just a little bit tighter.

#so yeah a kid bit me at work and it’s scarring. here you go.#thats all she wrote fic

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