#they wrote ''the Cigarettes are harmless''

[scorndotexe]

i miss my girlfriend :(

[rubydracogirl]

WOW SO

I did not expect that drawing of Stanley to get notes. Thank you all so much for that, I keep rolling around in the likes and reblogs like a husky in fresh fallen snow.

Since I wrote a one-shot with Reader kissing Ford, I thought about it, and Stan needs a hug.

Why don't we give him one? ^_^

Stanley PinesXReader

Rated T for depictions of tobacco and adult conversations.

"Just A Hug"

It had been such a long day at work. You couldn’t wait to lock up and leave, though you dreaded walking in the snow. The bitter cold was waiting for you with wide arms, and as you clocked out and zipped up your coat, you regretted taking this shift.

Fuck it, I need the money….

To your surprise, when you stepped out, you noticed someone out in the parking lot. A lone car, with someone leaning against it, smoking. You squinted, recognizing the silhouette. It was that weird science guy from the woods. Stan something. He’d just come in for a pack of cigarettes, a loaf of bread and a carton of eggs an hour before the store closed. But that was over an hour ago…

What was he still doing here?

You weren’t normally nosy, but it was late, and you had some… neighborly concerns. You didn't know him well, he'd always been a bit of a hermit. He had been coming into town more often this past month, so you'd seen him a lot more. You liked him alright, he seemed harmless.

You shivered in your jacket.

Why was he sitting out here in the freezing cold?

Screw it.

“Hey there, buddy, y’doing alright?”

He seemed slightly startled by your voice as you began to walk over and he waved at you sheepishly.

“Fine, fine, just, uh, enjoyin’ the uh, night life.” His gravelly voice called back to you.

“Yeah, real wild hangout this is. You should see it in the summer, we get all sorts around here.” You chuckled. “Can I bum one off ya?”

He looked at you with surprise before reaching back into his pocket.

“Didn’t take ya for a smoker, toots.”

“On occasion. Much appreciated.” You replied, reaching into your own pocket for a lighter.

You lit up before taking a deep drag, ignoring the cold and focusing on the calming rush of nicotine. As you blew out a thin wisp of smoke into the air, you looked at him from the corner of your eye.

“So, you wanna tell me why you’re hanging out so late at night?”

He gave a hoarse chuckle.

“Didn’t think anyone would care. It's not illegal, right?”

“No. Not illegal… but weird.” You replied. The pale smoke drifted into the air, and you leaned against his car with him. 

“C’mon, buddy. You can talk to me.”

He looked at you with narrowed eyes.

“Sweetheart, I don’t even know your name. M'not gonna bare my soul to a stranger, even if you are cute.”

“I wear a name tag, y’know. You probably would’ve seen it if you weren’t so busy looking at my tits all the time.” you replied boldly.

He snorted sheepishly at that. “Sorry. I uh, thought I was being discreet about it.”

“You’re not exactly the type of person I would label 'discreet'.” You chuckled. “You’re also not the first guy to ogle…. It’s (y/n), by the way. You’re Stan, right?”

“Yeah…Stanford Pines.”

You hummed thoughtfully.

“There, we’re acquainted now, for better or worse.”

He chuckled.

“You’re awfully pushy, Miss (y/n). I don't know if I like that.”

“Hey now, I'm not pushy, just worried… no one just hangs out in an empty parking lot during awful weather, not even in this backwoods town.”

He grunted.

“I don’t really want to talk about it, no offense, toots.”

You nodded.

“That’s fair… can you at least promise that you’re not up to mischief here, Mr. Mysterious guy?”

He looked down at you, and you saw the barest hint of a smirk appear on his rugged face.

“Not the kind of mischief that you need to worry about, honey.”

You squinted, trying to read his emotions. It was impossible, though you could clearly see lines of care and some deep worry behind his tired, dark eyes. In that moment, with the cold night pressing in and his presence the only warmth around for miles, you felt your heart clench into a single desire. He didn't want to talk to you, that was fine… but you weren't going to leave him like this.

“Ok, Stan. I won’t bug you anymore… can I ask for a favor though?”

“Depends on the favor, but shoot."

“Can I hug you?”

He actually choked, coughing out smoke and turning from you as he tried to regain control.

You winced in sympathy, but as he turned back to you, his already reddened cheeks were even redder.

“You're serious? A hug?” He repeated incredulously, his voice raw from the coughing. 

You nodded, adding sternly, “Don’t get any bright ideas, wise guy. It’s only a hug.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t- that wasn’t…. Sure. Yeah. I could hug you.”

It was obvious you had caught him off guard, but as you put out your cigarette and opened your arms, you didn't expect how strong he was. He pulled you in against his body effortlessly. The heat from his body stole your breath and suddenly, you didn't feel so cold.

His bulky frame shielded you from the winter air, his arms enveloping you perfectly. Your heart skipped as you felt him sigh.

You squeezed him tightly, resting your head against his shoulder. He smelled like cigarettes, cheap cologne and some strange, musky smell, like burnt metal. It was a strangely comforting scent, and you thought you felt him turn his head towards you. 

"You're so small…" he murmured softly, his breath puffing against your hair.

"Naw, you're just big." You shot back, but didn't lean away or let go. In truth, you didn't want this moment to end...

Inevitably, he let go after a moment, awkwardly patting your back, his cheeks still rosy, though it could have been from the cold. You gave him a smile. 

"Hey, if nothing else works out for you, you can at least know that you're a good hugger, Stan Pines."

"... Thanks." He replied quietly. You suspected he wasn't just thanking you for the compliment.

It was getting close to midnight, and you decided you had been nosy long enough. You patted his shoulder, giving him a soft grin.

"I suppose I'll leave you to it. See ya around, Stanford."

He piped up, looking somewhat embarrassed.

"Wait, (y/n)… look, do you, uh, need a ride?"

You considered it.

"Hmm. You're not gonna kidnap me, right?"

"No! No... Not tonight, no." He chuckled.

You giggled.

"Not tonight huh? Too bad. But, well, sure, I could go for a ride. Thank you."

He grinned back, a spark of sincerity lighting up his dark eyes.

"Don't mention it. Let's get out of this crummy weather."

[zablife]

Hello, Lee! 💋 I hope you're doing lovely! It is amazing to see your requests open! I've dropped in to put my request in your ask ever since my last gifset here the thought of getting on his nerves while he works is massacring the insides of my head 🫠 imagining the whole scenario over how tommy would give the reaction to his wife, i was hoping if you'd write something related to this!

Totally not squealing as i send this in but I fully leave the idea upto you & whatever you will come up with cause i believe in you!! Take your time and have fun with it, darling! BUT one thing I'd mighty love to give you is the category....can it be smut? 😈

Holding in my own uncontrollable squeals of glee at your request, M 🤭 Tysm for sending this! I hope you enjoy the short piece I wrote based on your magnificent gifset and some Marilyn Monroe inspo you posted the other day 😉

Midnight Wanderings 🔞

"It's after midnight, Y/n. What are you doing awake?" Tommy asked without looking toward the open door. Even in the dim light from the fireplace, he knew you by the voluptuous shadow you cast upon the wall.

"I couldn't sleep without you. Come to bed," you purred. You crossed to him, swaying your hips so the shimmering satin of your thin, nude colored dressing gown would catch the flickering firelight.

Despite the fog of cigarette smoke surrounding his desk,  the distraction worked. When Tommy looked up at you, his eyes grew wide at the sight of your curves draped in the luscious fabric. He sat motionless for a few moments as he took in the high slit at the side of your leg. It opened with each subtle movement, exposing just enough of your thigh to reveal you weren't wearing any underwear. He swallowed harshly at the plunging neckline which displayed the tops of your breasts threatening to spill forth and the way your nipples were stiffening in the chilly air of his office.

Removing his glasses with two hands, Tommy exhaled deeply, as he pushed away thoughts of who else might have seen you in such a vulnerable state, tempting them to have their way with you. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he cleared his throat before attempting to discipline you. Bringing his palms together as if in prayer he pleaded, "For the last time, Y/n, would you stop wandering the halls half naked?"

Feeling bratty, you rolled your eyes at your husband’s over protective, and frankly prudish, nature. You’d attempted to reassure him several times your desire to be naked was a harmless habit and quite natural. You disliked the feeling of rough fabrics upon your sensitive skin, preferring to sleep in the nude, skin to skin with Tommy. And how did he expect you to rest this evening without his comforting warmth? There was only one solution and that was luring him back upstairs.

Your hand hovered over the bow at your waist, fingertips tugging ever so slightly as you boldly replied, “I can come down nude next time if you like. In fact, I prefer it.” Tommy’s eyes momentarily flashed with fire at your disobedience. Seeing the veins in his hands protrude as he flexed and his jaw clench in frustration flooded you with an even greater need for him.

You bit your lip as you wondered if he might take you on the velvet sofa, hands and knees sunk deep into the plush cushions. Or if he was truly angry, you’d be left to satisfy yourself against the rough tweed of his trousers, clutching his neck while murmuring half-hearted apologies. Suddenly you didn’t care what the outcome would be so long as you had him close to you. Shrugging off the thin layer of material you wore, you proudly displayed every inch of yourself as you ran a hand down your body enticingly.

“Get over here,” Tommy commanded, watching you preen, but the slight hitch of his breath and the hungry look in his eye told you his desire far outweighed his twisted jealousy. Pushing away from his desk you could see the effects of your teasing, the bulge in his trousers growing as you perched on his lap to soothe him with a manicured hand.  

“Take me to bed,” you suggested sweetly, resting your head on his shoulder.

He caught your chin in a firm grasp, craning your neck toward his face at an awkward angle as he raised an eyebrow at you in challenge. “Not yet," he whispered against your lips before stealing a kiss. He lifted you up onto your feet and turned you away from him in one swift movement, caging your body against the desk. You stifled a gasp of surprise as your stomach hit the edge, listening to the jingle of his belt with delicious anticipation.

Entering you with a single, harsh thrust, he gripped your waist as he fucked the tension away, your little whimpers and moans spurring him on. The feeling of his skin meeting yours sent you into a delirious state and you nearly collapsed if not for his strong hold on you. His hand slipped to your throat possessively as he urged you toward your end, praising you for taking him so well.

Unable to hold out any longer, he came inside you with a sigh of satisfaction before placing a tender kiss to your shoulder. Then he withdrew with a hiss, leaving you empty, but blissfully exhausted. “Now we can go up,” he said quietly, tucking himself back into his trousers.

You nodded lazily, moving to gather your robe, but Tommy's hand pulled you back. “Leave it,” he instructed with a wicked smile. "Isn't that what you want?" Splaying a large hand against your lower back, he guided you up the grand staircase and down the hall toward your bedroom. And as he watched you sway happily in the candlelight, his pupils dilated once more at the wetness seeping from between your thighs. He had to admit, you’d never looked more beautiful wandering the halls of Arrow House.

[cyarikaplease]

punisher - part one

singer!joel miller x fan!reader

summary: Joel Miller is a famous singer, living the life of any typical musician in LA and you’re his number one fan. What happens when you finally cross paths?

“When the speed kicks in

I go to the store for nothing

And walk right by

The house where you lived with Snow White”

She moves through the night in a daze, aimlessly wandering around with no real mission in mind. She just moved to this side of town with the goal of getting closer to someone. That someone is Joel Miller, a singer. He sings a weird combination of folk, blues and country. Whatever it is, his music speaks to her in the most inexplicable fashion. To put it simply, she’s obsessed in an unhealthy way. She knows everything about him; where he was born, what he does in his free time, what he orders at a bar. You name it, she knows it about him. 

She’s kind of a loner, roaming the neighborhood in her free time (which was almost always). The locals grew to know her as Joel Miller’s stalker fan but they deemed that she’s harmless; just a fangirl who’s a bit too old for this sort of behavior. She’s off putting but everyone tends to feel bad for her, letting her take comfort in their shop or restaurant or bar. Sometimes she’s on drugs, sometimes she’s not.

On this particular night she’s on the prowl, looking for something specific. She’s trying to get closer to Joel Miller, as close as she could possibly be. And tonight, she’s looking for a house he used to live in. And when she finds it she’s like a kid in the candy store. Because for her, this is like being at Disneyland. She stops and stares at the white cottage in front of her, not caring about the current owners and whether or not they see her. The house looks like it belongs in a fairytale. It sits in a collection of other identical houses, all connected by a black wrought iron fence and small stone pillars. Despite all the houses looking exactly the same, she knows exactly which one used to be Joel’s. She knows all of the songs he wrote here in a drug induced haze. She feels like she can sense his presence here, even though he hasn’t lived here for a long time. She pictures him sitting on his couch with his guitar, smoking a cigarette with lines of cocaine on the table as he writes, in her opinion, masterpieces. She stands there in awe; in awe that she’s at a place where Joel Miller once was. She takes in all of the little details; the brick pathway to the front door, the stormy gray storybook tile roof, the white stucco exterior, the perfectly manicured lawn. She pictures living here with Joel, watching him as he creates his art. 

She stares off into space directly at the window until the owner opens the front door and shouts, “Get lost, you fucking creep!”

Those words don’t bother her. She’s heard it all before. She turns on her heel and walks down the street and away from the owner’s shouts, feeling satisfied with the little treasure she’s found. 

“The drug stores are open all night

The only real reason I moved to the east side

I love a good place to hide in plain sight”

It’s late at this point, well past midnight. She continues her evening stroll through the streets until she finds a drug store, open twenty four hours; another perk of moving to this neighborhood. The white fluorescent lighting and the burst of air conditioning shock her as she enters the CVS. She meanders up and down the aisles, not looking for anything in particular. She’s just not ready for her drug induced journey to end. The young cashier gives her strange looks as she paces through the aisles. But you can’t really blame him, this is an odd sight. She fantasizes further about a life with Joel, attending music events together and going on tour. All she wants to do is tell him how much his music means to her and she would be satisfied, though… or so she hopes. 

She’s walking through the first aid aisle for like the fifth time when she sees him walk in. She freezes; not knowing what to do with herself. She wants to run over to him; to tell him everything. She wants to tell him how she thinks he’s a lyrical genius and how she knows every line. But she doesn’t. She’s too starstruck. She watches as he grabs a case of beer from the cooler and takes note of the kind he buys (Miller Lite). She watches as he heads over to the cash register. The cashier doesn’t ID him, of course. He pays and disappears into the night, never noticing her the whole time. But why would he? 

She exits the store quickly, trying to catch a glimpse of what direction he was heading. She watches him stumble down the street and she starts following him, always keeping a distance. Eventually he makes a left onto a different residential street and she picks up the pace, trying to catch what house he stops at. He stops at a large house with a gate. There’s a party going on there. He buzzes the intercom and the gate opens. She’s disappointed. It’s not his house. He just left the house party to pick up more beer. Makes sense as to why it wasn’t a fancy, celebrity type of beer. It was a last minute late night decision.

“And here everyone knows you're the way to my heart

Hear so many stories of you at the bar

Most times alone, and some looking your worst

But never not sweet to the trust funds and punishers”

The gate is taking a while to close, moving ever so slowly. Without even thinking she bolts towards it, slipping inside just before the gate closes. She’s feeling exhilarated, in disbelief that she actually did this. But if she’s gonna do this, she’s gonna do it all the way. So, she makes the long trek up the pathway and to the front door. It’s unlocked of course because who would be crazy enough to sneak through the locked gate?

She enters and finds a sea of familiar faces; other musicians she recognizes and even some locals in the neighborhood. But when the locals see her a worried expression paints their faces. They know her; they know her deal. They know exactly why she’s here. None of them dare to interact with her, not in this setting. It’s different when she’s frequenting their places of business. But here, she’s an intruder; an outsider. She turns the corner and stands on the other side of the wall, looking to eavesdrop. They think she’s gone and they sigh in relief, continuing their conversation. 

“Yeah Miller was trashed last weekend… Hope the guy’s doing okay…”

“He’s been on like a six month long bender.”

“I think he’s going through something.”

She listened on the other side of the wall in pure glee at the insider information she was receiving. He’s in need , she thinks to herself, I can be there for him; I can help him. 

“Yeah he looks like shit lately… really nice guy, though. Hope he gets the help he needs.”

She decides to look for him again, weaving through clusters of drunk people, eyes constantly scanning the crowd. She spots an empty bathroom, a rare find for a house party like this, and does a line in preparation. Just in case she happens to find him. 

She steps outside into the backyard where it’s less congested. She walks along the lavish pool, pool chairs spread out all around it with people talking, drinking, and making out on them. She spots a pool house in the back of the yard with its door slightly ajar. Curious, she makes a beeline for it, hoping and praying in her head that he’s there. 

“What if I told you I feel like I know you

But we never met?”

It must be her lucky day. She pokes her head in to find none other than Joel Miller, sitting on the couch under the dim light, downing his beer. He looks at her as she enters and there’s a sense of recognition in his eyes but he doesn’t comment on it. She’s too stunned to say anything and she’s worried if she does she won’t be able to stop. Strangely enough, he’s kind to her, inviting her to sit down on the couch with him. 

“You’re welcome to take a seat with me, darlin’,” he says, slurring his words ever so slightly. 

Between the drugs and how starstruck she is, her legs can barely move. It feels like they’re thousands of pounds as she tries to make it to the couch, sitting gingerly beside him. She goes to say something, anything, but when she opens her mouth nothing comes out. 

As if he can read her mind he says, “We don’t have to talk much darlin’.”

She nods and looks down at her hands, fiddling with them as she sneaks small glimpses at him. She looks at the way his legs are spread apart; the way his hand is wrapped around the beer bottle, the Adam's apple bobbing in his neck as he takes a sip. God, she wants him so bad. But she doesn’t know how to act on it. She needs him to take the lead. 

“I’m gonna say something crazy,” she starts, the words just falling out of her mouth and she can’t stop, “I know we’ve never met… But I feel like I know you.”

That doesn’t seem to phase him. 

“That’s not the first time I’ve heard that, darlin’ but it’s nice you feel that way.”

She doesn’t really know what to say to that. She wants to prove him wrong; prove that she’s different. Without thinking she scooches closer and closer to him. He doesn’t fight it. He looks at her with the wild look she has in her eyes. Between the drugs, alcohol and the strange, inexplicable attraction they have for each other their lips just come crashing together. She pulls herself into his lap and straddles him, grinding her hips against him as they kiss each other passionately. Her hands find his hair as his hands gravitate towards his waist. She’s internally flipping the fuck out that she is kissing the Joel Miller in this random fucking pool house. She reaches between her legs and rubs the spot where his cock is pitching a tent in his pants. He moans against her lips as her hands caress him above the fabric. She moves her lips from his and finds his neck, pressing wet kisses there as he throws his head back against the couch. She moves herself off of him and kneels on the floor, unbuckling his jeans to fight the wet spot in his boxers where his pre-cum leaked out. She gropes him again, this time with less fabric in the way, driving him insane. His eyes are shut with pleasure and anticipation as she works him harder and harder. She pulls his cock from his boxers and wastes no time sucking him off, taking as much of him as she can in her mouth and down her throat. He grunts and groans as she moves one hand to his balls, cupping them lightly as she takes care of his cock. One of his hands grabs her hair, pulling her closer to his groin. Tears spring in her eyes as she takes him further, pushing into the back of her throat. He grinds his hips against her as he fucks her face. She looks up at him through her tear filled eyes as he brings himself closer to the edge with her mouth. She takes a mental picture of him above her in complete and utter pleasure, feeling proud of herself that she did this to him. She feels his cock twitch and harden in her mouth and she knows he’s at the edge. She can’t stop now no matter how uncomfortable her jaw is. She wills herself to take him a smidgen deeper as he cums in her mouth. His moans like music to her ears as she swallows every last drop of his warm release. His grip on her hair softens as he comes down from his high, panting and cursing profusely. She removes him slowly from her mouth and catches her breath. Her mind is internally screaming at her right now, torn between being proud but also freaking the fuck out. They both sat there catching their breath before either of them spoke. 

“I can't open my mouth and forget how to talk

'Cause even if I could, wouldn't know where to start

Wouldn't know when to stop”

And it’s Joel who speaks first, “That was a damn good time, darlin’.”

She’s silent and he doesn’t know what to do with that. Anything and everything she wants to say to him is on the tip of her tongue, aching to be heard. But now she’s paranoid, surely from the drugs. She’s going ballistic in her mind that she got this close to Joel; too close. She wipes her chin, gets up and bolts, leaving him there on the couch with his cock still out in the open and wet. She weaves in and out of the crowd of people again, on the edge of panic attack. Yet when she finds herself on the street she’s already thinking about where to see him again. 

[javierssunglasses]

If Leaving Comes To Staying

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

WC: ~650

Warnings: kinda toxic relationship dynamic

AN: I’m trying to get out of my writing/reading slump so here’s this drabble I wrote this ages ago based off of this song and finally just got around to editing. Ty again @catchallfangirl for beta reading I love you!!! Divider by @saradika-graphics

This was never what Javier pictured when he imagined being in love. He’d never been in a relationship filled with so much emotion it hurt. With a sigh, he took a long drag from his cigarette.

Both of you had agreed to give each other some space to breathe before continuing the conversation. You’d practically barricaded yourself in the bedroom the second you got home, leaving him out on the back porch with his thoughts,simply letting the cigarette burn as his mind raced.

He hadn’t meant to start the fight. He never did, really. All too regular of an occurrence than either of you liked to admit.

You never held it against him. Not talking about Colombia or the things that happened. He just got so in his head sometimes that he couldn’t turn it into words. He’d simply shut off. Flip the switch from Javi to Agent Peña.

It was a joke that started it on the small trek from the bar to his truck at the back of the parking lot.

I bet this is what you liked to do with all of the Colombian pussy, huh Javi?

Nothing more than a teasing jab towards his previous life in Colombia. Had he been in any other state of mind, he would’ve thought it was funny. Rolled his eyes and shot back some sarcastic comment. It might’ve been a bit insensitive, sure. But ultimately harmless. He didn’t mean to raise his voice. That was always how it started.

In the beginning, he thought he might be better off leaving. But he’d never felt this before. Not with Lorraine. Not with anyone. He wasn’t stupid or young enough to think he’d ever find this again.

You fought the entire drive home. Neither letting up. Every word out of your mouth was like a punch to the gut. His were equally cheap shots, with no meaning other than to hurt. And then finally, you’d said it.

“Work your shit out or I’m leaving.”

His jaw clenched. Knuckles white against the steering wheel. He wanted to yell, to hit something, to say something else just to hurt you the way you had hurt him.

Except he didn’t. He didn’t want to hurt you at all. He loved you too much. Hell, his mama had raised him better than that. He paused before taking a deep breath.

“No one is leaving. We can come back to this later.” He forced out as calm and steady as he could manage.

He was trying. And he was getting better. He wanted to be better for you. The fighting used to be much more frequent. More explosive. He was starting to learn to let things go. Starting to learn to talk things over instead of walking away.

It wasn’t much longer before he found himself pacing in front of the door of your shared bedroom.

“Can we talk?”

You opened the door without a word. He didn’t miss your puffy eyes or stained cheeks. He hated knowing he was the one who had caused it. He lingered by the doorway, ready to be kicked out as soon as he started.

“I’m sorry-”

“That’s a good start.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying not to snap back, “Honey.”

“Sorry.”

“I didn’t mean to yell. That wasn’t how our night was supposed to go.”

Finally you softened at the defeated look in his eye, “I need you to tell me when things get like that. I can’t handle the pointless fighting.”

“I know.” He sighed, leaning back against the doorframe, “If you want to go, I won’t stop you. Just know that I love you more than anything.”

“I’m not leaving, jackass.”

Without another word you tugged him back into the room by his shirt until your knees met the bed, taking him with you as you fell back onto it. As much as he hated the fighting, there was nothing better than making up.

[inkrabbit]

Mary Goore

You're almost surprised when she calls out their name. You knew Mary. Hell, you know their band and had even joined them for a tour, helping move equipment.

Your heart raced as you watched him sit up, a mischievous grin on his face. They said goodbye to their bandmates and sauntered over to you, playfully taking your hand and bringing it up to his lips, lightly kissing your knuckles.

"Shall we?" You hold his hand, following him to the storage closet. Mary's always been a flirt, especially to you. You wrote it off as harmless, friendly fun in the past but now that you're alone with them, in such a small, cramped room, you can't help but feel anxious. Your heart refused to slow down as the door shut, engulfing you both in darkness, and you felt the heat rise to your cheeks when Mary's breath wafted against your skin. He smells like the bar and cigarettes. That's not too surprising since you're sure their shift had just ended before they came to the party. What was surprising was the hint of cologne. It wasn't strong and you can only assume they put it on to try and mask the smell of alcohol. In fact, if you remembered correctly, this was the same cologne DD wore.

"Sorry. Am I making you uncomfortable?" Mary's soft voice cuts through the silence, pulling you out of your thoughts. You notice how he shuffles back, letting out a soft grunt when you hear the unmistakable sound of him bumping into the metal shelves.

"It's okay," The words tumble out of your mouth and while you would never verbally admit it, you miss them being so close to you. "I just... didn't think we would get paired."

"Is that a bad thing?" Mary's voice is playful but there's an underlying sound of hurt to it. Of course it's not a bad thing. You had liked him ever since you met him.

"Of course it's not. I was worried I would get paired with someone I didn't like," you explain. Even though it's dark in the storage room, you can practically see the grin that spreads across their face.

"Well, I've never played this before," he tells you, taking his time to explain, like he's worried about pushing any potential boundaries. "but I've heard what happens in here. Is that... something you'd be interested in?"

You hesitate, feeling your breath catch in your throat. You give a shy nod, only to stammer out a verbal response when you remember Mary can't see in the darkness. "Y-yeah. I am."

It takes a few seconds but you feel lithe fingers on you, a hand cupping your cheek as the other gently holds onto your shoulder as you're pulled in. Their plush and chapped lips brush against yours, almost hesitant, and you lean in further, kissing him fully. Their hands stay where they are and you move yours to gently cup their face as well, feeling the prickle of stubble beneath your touch.

The kiss isn't what most people would expect from a punk like Mary. It's not hungry or aggressive. There's no knocking of teeth or their tongue shoving past your lips to get inside your mouth. In fact, the kiss is slow and gentle, both of you taking this time to get used to each other. You're surprised with how sweet Mary is being. Even when his arm circles your waist and pulls you closer, he leaves some room between you two so you're not pressed against him. You take initiative and press your body against theirs, feeling the warmth of their body against yours.

When the door opens and light floods in, Mary is reluctant to pull away, their signature scowl cementing itself on his face.

"Times up." Of course it is. Surprisingly, Mary keeps a firm hold on your hand, pushing past the woman and escorting you back over to his bandmates. They just give you a smile, softly greeting you as you take a seat in Mary's lap, feeling their arms embrace you. They're still being gentle but it's clear you won't be leaving their side anytime soon.

[bedlamsbard]

For MCU asks, favorite thing you have learned from your WWII fic research so far?

In terms of "sheer WTF but basically harmless," the fact that the American jewelry industry basically invented (American) men's wedding rings and by extension the double-ring ceremony in weddings during the war. Prior to the 1940s most married men did not wear wedding bands (there was an attempt by the industry to popularize men's wedding rings in the 1920s, but it didn't really take off), but after the end of the Depression and during the war the jewelry industry managed to invent the "tradition" of the double ring ceremony. Advertisements from the 1940s focus on soldier's wedding rings as a way to keep the ring from being too "feminized," as well as being a reminder of home, a symbol of hope that deployed men will return from the war, and a commitment to their brides.

I found this out after I wrote the wedding ring scene in Home 1, but fortunately by 1945 it was common for married GIs to wear rings, so it's not an anachronism. Occasionally men's wedding rings from MIA soldiers still turn up in Europe and the Pacific, I found a bunch of news articles about that when I started looking; most of the rest of what I found was jeweler and wedding blogs talking about how men's wedding rings took off during WWII because soldiers wanted to show their commitment to their wives. Which, yes -- but only because the jewelry industry WANTED them too, men's rings don't spontaneously generate.

[advertisement from January 1944 issue of The Jeweler' Circular-Keystone, from J.R. Wood & Sons, Inc, the premier wedding band manufacturer in the U.S. the picture shows a GI looking at his wedding ring, with his rifle slung over his shoulder.

text: MEN IN THE ARMED SERVICES MOST IMPORTANT POST-WAR INFLUENCE: When you make your Post-War Plans, consider the more than 100,000,000 men in the Armed Services. They are the best-dressed, best-fed, best-educated group of men in the country. And, after the War, they will be the most important influence in this country at Peace. A far smaller group of men, in the First World War, came back to revolutionize markets and buying. Cigarettes, quick smoke in the trenches, became the smoking habit of the nation. The wrist-watch, born of war-time practicality, became the peace-time time-piece. In this war, too, influences are daily at work, which will leave their impact on the era to come.

[sidebar: Helpful Hint on Post-War Planning] One trend that is sharply evident today and limited only by the restrictions of war-time manufacture is the service man's interest in the companion wedding ring. The double-ring ceremony has caught on -- and will undoubtedly be one of the generally accepted practices of tomorrow. Plan now to dramatize this trend!

No one can predict exactly what the Post-War World will bring. But the influences which will guide those years ahead are clear to see -- and heed!]

Source: Howard, Vicki. “A ‘Real Man’s Ring’: Gender and the Invention of Tradition.” Journal of Social History 36, no. 4 (2003): 837–56. http://www.jstor.org/stable/3790353.

[naradivision]

“A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.”

Timeline

Age 0:

Born the second and last child to Enchu Kanata and Mayonaka Kanata, making Mamori Kanata his big sister.

Age 2:

His father strongly disagrees with his mother in regard to a certain matter.

His Mother becomes colder and pays less attention to him whenever she has a quarrel with her husband.

One time by chance, he heard his mother said he was such a pain in the neck out of rage and that carves a deep damage on the young boy’s heart.

Aside from his father who usually busy with work at his studio, his big sis is the only one who is always by his side.

Age 9:

Often gets picked on by the rowdy kids in his school because he is always seen clinging to his sister’s side, but the last time he winds up beating their leader to a bloody pulp after that foul-mouthed starts making fun of his big sis, making it all known and clear that he isn’t so ‘harmless’ as everyone thinks.

Feels very guilty afterwards and gets badly scowled. He promises his big sis not to use violence as the solution ever again.

Age 10:

After the quarrel surpasses their breaking point, his mother divorces his father and changes her name back to her maiden name, Komayaka ███████.

His mother decides to move out with her daughter back to her parents’ place which later on becomes the territory under Chuohku.

His older sister bids him a bitter farewell at the end of his 10th summer, already worsening the old wound in his heart.

His father begins his single-dad life raising him.

Becomes fascinated with his father’s work.

Age 13:

Somehow his sister stops contacting him.

To cope with loneliness, he tries learning to play guitar on his own.

Age 15:

Helps out at his neighbor’s grocery store and earns his first extra pocket money.

After observing how his father works on his project, he makes attempts to mix his favorite tracks in secret and sometimes shares them on the online platform

Gains his first fan who often encourages him to try various styles of music, sparking his love in making music even more, although that said fan is keeping their identity anonymous like other incognito users on the internet.

Sadly due to the nature of their tele-friendship, at some point he has lost touch with them. However, he believes that if he keeps making friends with others, then their paths will eventually intersect in one day.

Age 16:

Starts high school

Just before his 16th summer, butters up his courage showing a piece of melody that he wrote by himself to his father and hopefully asks him if he could add this new piece into his upcoming album, which his father happily agrees and brings it to his workplace, promising his only son that he’ll come back to celebrate his birthday with him.

A fire suddenly breaks out at the “Σummer sign” studio on one night at the beginning of his 16th summer —Or to speak more precisely; on his own birthday. The boy fell asleep while waiting for his dad without knowing that he will never coming back.

The police verify that the dead body they found is his father and sum up the case to be just another accident caused by his cigarette yet to be completely extinguished. This news rips his heart to shreds in the next morning, making him put the blame on himself that he is the reason his father had to stay late on that night.

With the forever absence of the band’s heart, his father’s band “Σummer sign” disbands afterwards.

Suddenly drops out due to the shock from his father’s demise.

Lives in his apartment all alone, throwing most of his time into getting more and more part-time work.

Seems to withdraw himself from music for a while as he becomes frustrated whether his love for music is actually his own liking or just because he wants to be close to his father.

Age 17:

Returns to school and repeats his first year after getting his circumstance set in stone.

While having nowhere to go after school, still finding himself stop at an unknown clubroom where he heard his father’s song being played and that’s the first time when he meets a senior who later invites him to join his music club.

Returns to music once again. At some point he is even open for commissions of mixing the audio for clients online.

Asks his senior to coach him on honing his guitar skills.

Succeeds to convince Takane Gunjou, the other student rumored to be the problematic dropout of his class, to come back to school.

Takane becomes his friend and soon joins in his club.

Age 19:

Present

His senior graduates, asking him to look after his club and the newcomers.

Encounters the gangsters trying to snatch away the mysterious package that was designated to Ajisai Residence. Discovers the three Hypnosis Microphone contained inside, together with a trapped Siamese kitten.

Decides to participate in Division Rap Battles alongside with Asahi Tomoharu and Saigo Fuyugami, as the leader of Nara Division “Miraitabi”

Temporarily takes the kitten into his team’s care, naming her “Ojou-chan”.

Comes across Gentaro Yumeno during his field trip at Shibuya. After exchanging a few talks, he starts to doubt that the writer has known something about his father.

Asks Takane to be the new president of their club instead of himself

Meets ANGE, the enigmatic cyber girl who reveals herself that she has been pirated in his house’s electrical system, and establishes some agreement with her in order to let her stay at his place for the time being.

Meets the suspicious guy named Asebi Minazuki who introduces himself as his father’s old friend —Finding out later that he is actually a celebrity who has just returned from his mysterious hiatus 2 years ago.

Finally graduates from High School and starts attending the university in the department of ‘Music Production’.

Asebi introduces him to Unkai Haruka, the professional audio engineer of 怪陸 Production, and somehow succeeds in coercing convincing the misanthropic musician to accept him as his apprentice.

Starts an unofficial internship at the said agency.

With much of ANGE’s pestering, is planing to learn more about other instruments.

Debuts an indie unit “Sunflower & Sea anemone” together with ANGE.

Schedule

12 p.m. - 1 p.m.:  Work on the tracks

1 a.m. - 7:10 a.m.:  Asleep

7:10 a.m. - 7:30 a.m.:  Freshens up and gets dressed 

7:30 a.m. - 8:20 a.m.:  Grabs something to eat or makes breakfast 

8:20 a.m. - 8:30 a.m.:  Drops Ojou-chan at Asahi’s shop 

8:30 a.m. - 9 a.m.:  On his way to the university 

9 a.m. - 12 p.m.:  At class

12 p.m. - 1 p.m.:  Lunchtime 

1 p.m. - 4 p.m.:  At class

4 p.m. - 7 p.m.:  Part-time jobs / Given task by his mentor

7:00 p.m. - 7:15 p.m.:  Bikes to Ajisai Residence

7:15 p.m. - 9 p.m.:  Dinner and spends time with the rest of his team 

9 p.m. - 9:15 p.m.:  Bikes back to his apartment with Ojou-chan

9:15 p.m. - 9:30 p.m.:  Showers 

9:30 p.m. - 12 a.m.:  Free time / Work on the tracks

Character Hashtags

Regular Hashtags

#Nara boy at your service

#Best wishes

#Utattemita

Trauma Hashtags

#Home alone

#I’m fine just a bit tired

#Fleeting like the summer dream

Other Info

Hobbies: Has many… but ones of those involve making music and organizing his place

Weaknesses: Self-critism

Trauma: “No matter how hard I try, those whom I love so dearly were all fading away from my life.”

Social Media: @summer4yuu

Drinks: Can I pass?

Smokes: Hell no–

Special Skill: “I’d like to assume my adaptability in singing or DIY-ing things, but somehow my friends insist that my greatest forte is just being my usual me —WHAT”

Intro Quote: “Hello there, welcome to Nara! The weather looks nice today, doesn’t it?”

Trauma Quote: “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! Maybe everything is just my fault for hoping a little bit too much...!”

Ending Quote: “Ah, it’s summer again —Make sure you don’t get lost this time!”

[slashingdisneypasta]

M.I. again :) Thanks for the turtle gif it was very sweet. Enemies to lovers is totally my jam, so I'm glad you like it. Though, if you ask Blackie it's just a friendly rivalry where people's souls hang in the balance...harmless fun

(BTW, read the thing you wrote about Wayne and lmao..."It's not cake, only Wayne. Disappointing" is such a sick burn. And good luck on your future wedding to breeding kink grandpa lol)

1972

The woman is shaking when she comes in, tucking herself into the booth furthest from the door. Keeping a watchful, wary eye on it as she does. She's fashionably dressed. Obviously comes from money, and you doubt she's ever let a hair slip out of place until now. The gray-streaked brown strands look like they haven't been brushed today.

"What can I get you," you chirp, maintaining a cheerful air even as you notice the gun shoved haphazardly under the jumble in her partially-zipped purse.

She keeps the purse in her lap, clutching it closed as best she can. But the gun is simply too large to be entirely hidden by the small bag.

"Just coffee," she says, never once looking at you.

All the same, you notice her eyes are glassy. She's been crying.

You hurry away, breathing a silent prayer that The Cafe had flickered into view before she could do whatever it was she'd meant to do. Adding a mental note to the freshly-brewed pot that she needs decaf. The sight of the weapon has made you uneasy, bringing to mind memories of a night filled with pain and hopelessness, but if you don't get back to her before Blackie shows up...

The amount of victories to failures has finally started to skew in your favor. Not that it stops him from trying. Though you've got to admit he helps as much as he hinders, the latter is practically a compulsion for him. He's forever trying to convince you or Tommy to make a bet with him on something. Or ignore a customer in need. Just let him handle it.

"Comfort food," you whisper hastily through the kitchen window to Tommy. "Tomato soup or something light."

He nods, then tilts his chin in a warning way. Look behind you. For a moment, you freeze in fear but upon forcing yourself to turn around it's replaced by irritation.

There's Blackie. Right on time. Sauntering in through the entrance. Making a beeline for the woman as she takes out a cigarette, smoothly offering a light as he sits down. She looks startled, but thanks him without protest.

Grabbing up the coffeepot and an empty cup, you nearly sprint back to her table. Narrowly avoiding sloshing the hot liquid all over the place with how quickly you pour.

"Is he bothering you?"

Not waiting for ana answer, you fix him with a stern expression.

"Go away," you order.

He holds up his hands in surrender, vacating the booth. The ease of it makes you trust him even less.

"Blackie, I swear-" you hiss in warning, grabbing his arm with your free hand.

"I know. At me. All the time."

He looks down at your hand, then back up to meet your eyes. Giving one of those grins that leaves you feeling violent. There are worse things than a disappearing dishtowel. Like thumbtacks appearing every time you sit down, waiting until after you've given the seat a thorough, paranoid once over. Or flopping into bed to find that your pillow is actually a rock. If you go past angry words into actions, he's definitely going to retaliate. While smugly acting as if he's got the moral highground for not physically touching you.

He's practically daring you to fall back into the habit he's broken you of. Maybe even do worse than swat him with the towel. And you know exactly why. There's a nervous, would-be murderer sitting at the table. If you give in, you don't have the right to tell her violence is never the answer.

You're not losing this one.

You let go of him, wrinkling your nose in disgust when he winks at you before walking away.

"I'm sorry," you say to her, loud enough for him to hear. "He's kind of a terrible person."

"Worse than someone who gives his mistress his wife's grandmother's engagement ring?"

Spinning around, you gape at him. Blackie's behind the counter, now, leaning forward; chin resting in his hands. He flutters his lashes like some wide-eyed ingenue as you give an outraged exclamation of his name. You'd been working up to gently asking her what the not-so-secret weapon was for..

"How did you-" the woman asks faintly at the same time, the words nearly drowned out by your cry.

"What," he asks. "I'm just saying. Guy like that should be shot. Don't you think?"

He looks past you at the last question, directing the remark toward the shocked woman. Pushing off from the counter, he turns toward the kitchen window with a languid grace that makes you incredibly angry. Swanning around all nonchalant, as if he didn't just detonate a conversational bomb.

"Soup ready? I'm starving."

Tommy's glaring as hard as you are, dipping and passing a bowl through the window. Blackie takes the booth right behind your customer, in the seat facing her. Sighing, you take the empty spot he left at her table. Apologizing again for his very existence and giving her the rundown of her situation.

She's at a crossroads. The Cafe came to her because she needed help. And for the love of God, please ignore Blackie and his thousand little interjections because he's a complete dick!

"Look, it's not an easy thing, taking someone's life-"

"-Is with a gun," he interrupts, tone absent. "Just pull the trigger, keep your distance and it's almost not even your fault."

"Shut up and eat," you snap, not giving him the satisfaction of looking behind. Keeping your eyes solely focused on the woman.

You try talking her around by pointing out that killing even one of the people who'd wronged her means they'll win. She'll be the one punished. But she's fully-prepared for jail, not caring as long as they aren't breathing. It's the only way either of them will know how much this hurts.

But wouldn't it be better, you ask, to get grandma's ring back the legal way and take her husband to the cleaners in the divorce? Imagine how much he'll hate signing the alimony check every month instead of spending more on that homewrecker.

Plus, you just happen to know a guy who can recommend some absolutely ruthless lawyers. (You know he'll do that much for her, even if he is likely the one who sold her the gun. He likes to amuse himself by handing out what he deems poetic justice.)

"Could I have some of that soup," the woman asks with a watery laugh.

"Sure thing. Tommy, soup," you call, raising your voice to carry into the kitchen.

You're a little peeved that he took Blackie's obvious hint and kept his distance from the lady with the gun. As if you aren't also afraid of them.

You immediately forgive him when the woman takes the gun from her purse, freezing Tommy in his tracks and making a chill crawl up your spine. Then you sag in relief when she only slides it across the table. He finishes bringing over the soup with an air of extreme caution.

"Here. I won't need this," she says.

You pick it up gingerly, unsure what you're meant to do with it beyond passing it along to Tommy.

"Get rid of it," you say and receive a confused, helpless glance in response.

He's not sure, either. Just carries it off to the kitchen. Who knows where it'll wind up from there.

The woman eats her soup and goes on her way with a different sort of determination than the one that brought her in.

Later, the three of you gather to watch the divorce hearing of Sarah and Jonathan Berkowitz. Blackie's perched on a stool, cigar in hand. You're standing directly across from him, arms folded and one hip jutted against the counter. Tommy's just behind, his taller form meaning he has no trouble seeing over you. His hand rests on your shoulder and you're okay with that.

You've slowly come to realize that you didn't love him anymore by the time your lives ended, only clinging to the words as a point of comfort. But since you've been here, he's started to become someone you could almost like. Introspective. Thinking before he acts.

You're even glad, now, that he hid from the gun. A little sad, too, because you remember a time when the only thing that scared him was your rightful anger. Still, his lack of involvement means that when Sarah hits the jackpot in court, it only compounds your already stunning victory. Yours.

Turning your head, you throw Blackie a triumphant smirk of your own.

He touches his index finger to his forehead and nods slightly, the tiniest salute but still an amazing acknowledgement of your latest win. Your first encounter with a would-be killer (sort of, but you're not counting the one who got you) and you've managed to stop her all by yourself.

Nice of him to admit that's a pretty big deal.

Your smile turns a little more sincere. This time his answering grin -stretched too wide around the cigar- feels more like a friendly challenge than condescension.

MMMMMMMMM I AM LOVING THIS SO SO MUCH YOU'RE A GENIUS WRITER XD

I can f e e l the chemistry! Ughh. I need her to compare Tommy and Blackie so b a d-

And thank you- wedding is set for the 31st of February ^^ XD

[amatisherondaale]

you, me, and our friend molly at the new order concert. our mission to pick up my monstera.

would you look at that. I can still smell the latex on my fingers and you ask me if I want to restore the past. I choose yes. because maybe the smell’s not there, maybe it’s placebo and maybe I’m happy. maybe I’m not ready to upend my life as I know it. maybe it’s what I told him on friday, what I thought but couldn’t say, that he gets to leave and I have to stay. I have to stay and face people. I have to stay and live with the consequences. maybe this is my way of forcing my hand. maybe it won’t work. maybe my lines aren’t drawn in ink like I thought they were. maybe my past self knew something I didn’t when she wrote your name in the sand.

it started with a goodbye. and it was only much later that he kissed me. or maybe I kissed him. the timeline’s all a bit blurry because there were many goodbyes. I think it started with my leaving for the summer, something about hanneke’s boom. a hug goodbye, harmless enough. then came the real goodbye, him leaving for forever or at least for the foreseeable future. again, hanneke’s boom. I have hala to thank or blame for that, and panos too. I don’t know what happened, I was supposed to go back home and pack but one goodbye turned into another turned into one drink turned into pitchers turned into shots. beers and limoncellos. cliff rambling and lena crying. then, one by one, people start leaving until it’s just the four of us at a picnic table. me facing him, him facing me, the street light shining into my eyes. we share a cigarette and I bang my head on the floor. later, inside, one more round of limoncellos and we dance to amy winehouse. back outside, we’re walking to the station, the two of them are walking ahead of us or maybe we’ve fallen behind. I wrap my scarf around his neck and it’s an act of intimacy. we kiss. I don’t know if they see. I should’ve taken the bus but I get on the train instead. we hold hands. it should feel strange and it does but not as strange as I expect. and then we say our final final final goodbye. it’s not every day that you move to canada.

now it’s just you and me again. me and you and all our skeletons.

[marlowe1-blog]

Another Story (The Stories of John Cheever)

Italian Prince comes to America. Has a bad time

This is a weird one. Mostly it's making me think of stereotypes because everything that Marcantonio Parlapiano (what the hell is with that last name? Parlor Piano? Also the first name is two names - Mark Antonio - Mark Antony?) does is an Italian stereotype, but why are Italian stereotypes so different than Italian American stereotypes. Italian American stereotypes are gangers, tough guys, distinguished gentlemen who are very polite until you don't give them what you want and then there's a horse head in your bed.

Italians have weird stereotypes. Despite Mussolini and Machiavelli and Garibaldi, Americans typically think of Robert Beningi as the stereotype. The goofy heavily accented guy who just is whacky all the time. Even in Fellini movies, there's a bit of a wild horny element going on. I guess "talking with one's hands" is there, but frankly, it's just interesting that Italian Americans have managed to create a scary stereotype while Italians are stereotypical goofballs (and then we can also talk about how Jews and Italians look alike to the point that when an Italian seems nebbish or goofy, he plays Jewish characters and when a Jew can seem tough and nasty, he plays Italians.)

And if I start talking about Nicholas Cage, we could be here all night.

Suffice it to say that Mark Anthony Player Piano, aka Boobee, is the harmless Italian stereotype. Cheever wrote this one in 1967 and it's all about the cultural divide. Poor Boobee (yes, he prefers to be called Boobee) can't speak English that well, keeps getting shit from people, marries a woman whose family hates Italians (and Jews!) and then confides in the narrator who is a New England blueblood schmuck who can't deal with "emotions".

So the narrator is telling the story of Boobee and it's one of those in-and-out relationships where the narrator keeps tacitly comparing himself to Boobee. Boobee can't deal with his wife wanting a career in music. Boobee can't deal with his wife trying to do something. Boobee won't stop talking about it to the narrator. The narrator hates this honesty.

Poor Boobee. Finally Boobee just goes home. The wife gives a concert and it's terrible according to most accounts. But since Boobee never respected her in the first place, it doesn't really matter, now does it?

And then we get this anecdote at the end where a guy tells the narrator a story about how his wife worked at Newark airport and how she kept taking her work home with her. Like she sounded so official when she told him to come to dinner or come to bed.

So how the fuck are these stories related? I mean, did John Cheever just not know how to end the story? So he felt like it was a wet fart of an ending and had to include this other sad husband?

Or maybe it's all about how marriage is hard, especially if you are man who doesn't even want your wife working in the first place? Or maybe it's just that there is a foolishness when it comes to women happening here. This is the 1960s.

But honestly it's a weird sad story about weird sad people who don't understand each other and can't really get over patriarchy. Boobee expects his wife to be ok with being a wife. The other guy expects his wife to at least stop with the work and maybe that's also about how he resents the fact that she's working. The narrator doesn't really care much for his wife. Everyone is drunk.

Buy cigarettes!

[thornhilljosie]

The morning after Adam's first overdose, he sat on the front porch outside. It was May in Georgia, the air already thick with heat in the late AM. I went outside to smoke, and he looked up at me, "You are saving my life."

I scoffed, brushing it off. I realized he was referring not just to being there last night, but also helping him get off drugs. Who wouldn't have helped him, though? Who could leave another human to die when they were sick? Who could walk away? It did not even occur to me as an option.

"No," he said, waiting to catch my eyes. "Look at me. I'm serious. You're saving my life. Thank you."

I didn't know how to respond. I took a drag off my menthol cigarette and told myself he'd been narced many times before by many different people. I was nothing special.

He got out his red journal and wrote. I made eggs and pancakes, came outside to smoke again, found him writing still. I took a shower, came outside to check on him. He was writing still.

"Give me a minute," he said every time I stepped outside to remind him to eat breakfast. He was not a writer, but when he handed me the journal, he had filled seven pages addressed to me.

In my anger, months later, I ripped every page out of that journal. I shredded them and screamed, pressing my index finger into his chest. I roared, "You NEVER fucking loved me! You're a monster! I hate you."

Those pages are lost forever because of my anger. I only remember fragments from the pieces of paper I tried to fit and tape together:

I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't been there last night. You saved my life.

Do you think I haven't woken up before in my own vomit in a gas station bathroom? And what a shit way to die… pun intended.

This has been a problem of mine for a long time, and I tried to keep you away from me. I tried not to love you. I didn't mean to, but I do. How can I not? I love you, and I'm sorry… When I ripped up the pages and spit insults after he flirted online with another girl at work, I "split" on him as I have on many others throughout my life. My perspective became black and white, and I saw a monster instead of victim to a disease. He became a villain, taking advantage of a girl 11 years younger than him. I saw nothing but a one-dimensional narcissist instead of the fully formed human rife with flaws and strong points, unique weaknesses and strengths - the human I had fallen in love with.

I was too hard on myself. When I looked in the mirror, I only saw a collection of flaws: angry, moody, anxious, reclusive, closed off, jealous, insecure, snobby, and sometimes even psychotic. I didn't think that I was easy to love. I hurt people because I was in pain. I didn't mean to, but it was no excuse. And so I avoided my family, I broke up with boyfriends, I didn't answer the phone, and I said to myself:

You are broken and your shards cut the ones you love. You have to hide to protect them.

When I found someone who hurt me like me, who hurt other people without meaning to, I thought, Oh, I understand this. I can do this. I know what it's like to be hard to love.

And so, within a day or two, I forgave Adam for messaging other women behind my back. I forgave Adam for stealing money from me to buy heroin. I forgave Adam for everything because I thought true love was unconditional. He was trying to cheat? No, it was just harmless flirting. He was going through a lot, right? And heroin lowered inhibitions, right? It wasn't his fault.

And so, we loved each other, and we hurt each other, and we tried to get better and stop hurting each other, but it was also all we knew because we were sick. And I think, in some way, Adam and I believed that love was supposed to hurt, that we deserved it.

[sinnerlillith]

My good (bad) boy

summary: a confused Eddie said nothing while a "client" of his flirted with him, so he needs to be taught a lesson.

includes: sub (slight brat) Eddie, slight brat tamer reader, hand cuffs, nipple stimulation, hair pulling, choking, underwear gag, biting, hickeys, unprotected sex

A/N: ive seen no fics where eddie has sensitive nipples, so i wrote this one to show how much my *very correct and factual* sensitive nipples head cannon suits him 

word count: 5.8k

"She's supposed to be here by now." you grumble impatiently. You and your boyfriend have been waiting 30 minutes longer than the agreed time that his client was supposed to arrive, so now you're both sitting in his van in an empty parking lot at sundown.

Eddie turns his head to yours, which isn't even looking his way. You're looking straight ahead, arms crossed in disappointment. "Yeah I know, but she's been late before so I'm not surprised." He says to you, flatly. He takes another drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out of his open window that his arm is resting on. 

Eddie actually hates the idea of taking you to a drug deal. He always refuses to let you tag along, but this is a repeat client who is practically harmless so he doesn't mind selling her some weed while y'all are hanging out after his band practice.

You sigh. “Yeah, but this is stupid. We should leave if she doesn’t show up in the next-”

A small white car pulls up into your right side view before you can finish your sentence. It then parks with its blinding headlights directly in-front of eddies van, both fronts of the cars facing each other. 

“Finally.” Eddie says under his breath. You realize that must be the client. Your eyes adjust to the headlights and see 3 girls in the car. Two in the front and one in the back. I thought it was supposed to be one chick...? You say in your head, but before you can turn to ask Eddie, he’s stepping out of the van and grabbing his black metal lunch box, window still open. He wants this deal over as soon as possible so he can take you both to his trailer. He drops the cig on the floor and puts it out under his black boots, shutting the van door.

The girl in the back gets out to meet Eddie as he walks to the side on your left to meet her. Her pleated baby blue skirt bounces with each step of her white converse and white frilly socks to match. He dirty blonde hair is in a pony tail with an even bluer scrunchy. You notice the girls giggle in the car as they watch their friend excitedly step out and walk to him. 

“Hiiii Eddieee” she says with a high pitched voice. It seems like she’s drunk but she’s really not, she just gets flustered around Eddie. 

“Tina.” he greets her back with the complete opposite energy. He places his box on the hood of the girls car and pulls out Tinas usual amount of weed. 

“Ok so, for this half ounce that’ll be-”

“You look so good in that jacket, by the way...” Tinas eyes move from the bottom of his leather jacket covering his hellfire shirt to his shoulders underneath it, then back to his eyes. 

“Um, thanks? Anyways,” his full body is now turned to Tina as he holds the bag in his right hand, he gives it a little shake. “You should already know how much it costs anyway, so...” his eyes trail down to her hands, waiting for her to pull out cash. 

“Oh, right!” She says while turning to her car. She taps the window so her friends know to roll it down for her. She dives full torso into the open car window, only leaving her rear and legs to hang out, skirt beginning to ride up. Exactly what she hoped for. She purposefully searches for her cash longer than needed, hoping Eddie is staring at her bare legs but his eyes are looking away. His head turns to his left shoulder as his left hand comes up to rub his nose. 

You’re scoffing at this obvious failed display of flirting. I mean, this girl has to be way more direct to get through Eddies thick skull. She takes out the cash and counts it up, placing it in his now open left hand. Before he can take his hand away, she’s grabbing it. His eyes look into hers, confused. She’s smiling at him as she says “Before this is over, you should come hang out with us!” 

Her eyelashes flutter. Eddie chuckles awkwardly and says “Nah, actually. I’m good.” shaking his head slowly. “Oh come onnn,” Tina whines “We need more hot guys for our party, plus you can sell more!” that smile still on her face, Eddies hand was still being gripped. 

“She did not just...” you mumble to yourself, now staring daggers at her. You hold off on stepping out of his van and walking up to his side to hang onto his arm, whining “Baby, whats taking so long?” You want to see how he would handle the situation on his own.

Hot guys? Eddie says in his own head, taken aback by how and why his client thinks he’s hot. He pulls his left hand out of her hands and replaced her empty hands with her weed in one swift, yet awkward, motion. “Im... busy tonight.” he says with an awkward smile on his face. 

“Whattt? What on earth could Eddie Munson be busy doing? You got a girlfriend or something?” She teased, hoping he would say he’s single.

“Yeah yeah, alright Tina. I get it.” He pockets the money she handed to him.

You see his reaction and actually feel a little frustrated. Why didn’t he say he’s busy with his girlfriend instead? or, ‘Yeah, I have a girlfriend, stop flirting. It’s not gonna happen.’ ? Why is he so hesitant to mention me, I’m right here like 5 feet behind him?

“Thanks for buyin’ I guess, gotta go.” He says as he points behind him to his van with his lips in a flat line and eyes widened in disbelief. He then turns to grab his lunch box and shuffles to his door quickly. Tina drops her hands to her sides with a bratty frown and turns heel to enter the car her friends are in. They laugh at her as she enters, you notice her mouth a “shut up” to them. 

The door opens to his van as he places the lunchbox at your feet before climbing into his seat. “Well,” he says in a huff as he rolls up the window and starts the van. “That was... something.” He turns to you with a half grin, expecting you to agree, but you ignore him. You don’t look his way, you just yawn and cross your arms. His eye brow raises, but then he turns back to face the front as he reverses out to leave the parking lot. The whole ride you barely talked to him.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

You’re both finally parked at the trailer park and Eddie is still disturbed by your lack of words. 

“You tired?” he asks, hands on the wheel shutting the car off. His head turns to you.

“Something like that.” you say emotionless, straight faced, and without looking his way. He notices something is up, but you are already unfastening your seat belt to get out of the van.

“Whats wrong?” he says so gently and concerned it makes your heart ache. It’s hard to ignore him now that his hand covers your own before your door is fully open.

“Lets just go inside right now.” you say glancing at him then back at the door. You both walk into his trailer. He moves to sit on his couch with a sigh from his long day of practice. You go to stand infront of the outer part of the kitchen, leaning on the back of the counter.

“Did you realize she was flirting with you?” you blurt out as his hair turns to show his face and look at you from his seat on the couch. Your arms are crossed again and it finally clicks in his head. Now he knows why you were so silent. 

His head leans down to his feet, eyes closed, trying to prepare himself for how he wants to tell you that theres nothing to worry about because that wasn't flirting going (in his eyes). Then it lifts back up to look at you with a soft smile. "Honey, baby, that was not flirting." he says to you and you’re absolutely baffled. Your jaw drops at his confidence in his words.

“So, someone calling you hot isn’t flirting?”

“I mean... she was just joking right?” he says, smile now fades. Wait...was she actually flirting with me? I thought she was playing around to get a discount.... He begins to question the situation. His eyes trail away as he thinks.

“Ok fine. So if a guy tells me to come to his party because he needs more ‘hot girls’ there,” you say with air quotes, “then he’s totally not flirting, right?”

“Well.... yeah I guess he is...” he says, his heart starts to race at the confrontation. And also the idea of a guy saying that to you, but he tries to ignore it. “But I’m dating you, so her flirting doesn’t matter.”

“Thats the point,” you start to look at him now. “you are dating me, but you never told her that. I’m just a little disappointed. If someone flirted with me so obviously, I would say ‘i have a boyfriend and I’m really not interested.’ I wouldn’t just- never mind, Eddie.” you huff. Your eyes look away from him. You don’t even want to talk about it anymore. It’s starting to piss you off.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I just didn’t kn- there was so much- I was really confused, ok?” he stutters. He’s starting to get nervous as his hands raise to his sides in defense. “I was uncomfortable, that situation was so unexpected. And I thought she was trying to get a discount!” his eyes are wide now. 

A discount? You thought to yourself held back a laugh at his inability to get a clue. You bring your right hand to your eyes to hide your face. You sigh, but it’s not a frustrated sigh. Your shoulders actually relax at his confession. 

He really isn’t used to other girls giving him attention, so he hasn't had much practice with rejection. “Well then Eddie,” you bring your hand down to meet his eyes, “you know what to say next time now, right?” 

He nods. You cant help it, you bust out laughing. You bend over at the waist, tears almost falling out from all the laughter. 

“You idiot!” you laugh still. “You’re lucky you’re cute, man..” you say with a smile as you begin to finish laughing. 

He smiles a toothy grin at you, heart fluttering at your words and laughs. He pats the couch, signaling for you to sit next to him. You walk over to him and have a seat. His arm slides around your waist as he kisses your cheek, then your temple, then back to your cheek again. His kisses trail to your jaw and he’s smiling the whole time. You squirm at the affection, but he holds your body closer to him instead. Kisses not settling down anytime soon. He exhales through his nose with short exhales, almost like he’s laughing at you through his nose. Your hands find their way to his chest and you attempt shove him playfully.

His kisses go from up your neck to your ear, then he whispers “You looked so angry, sweetheart...” more kisses around your ear follows. “I almost asked you if you wanted to take it out on me...” he licks your earlobe with a suggestive smile. You heat up at the contact and his dirty thoughts. Your thighs clench, an idea soon following.

You use force to get up from your spot on the couch and walk away from him, not looking back. 

"Hey wait, where are you going?" he calls out for you.

Little does he know, you're walking into his room to grab his handcuffs. You turn around and walk back out, balancing the cuffs on your right pointer finger. He eyes the cuffs from his spot on the couch, mouthing an "oh" as he sees what you left the conversation to do.

His eyes look up into your own, then you both smile, the same thought in your heads. You walk towards him slowly, eye contact not breaking as he licks his lips in anticipation. You’re soon standing in front of him, in-between his legs on the couch. Your left hand comes out to caress his tangled frizzy hair while his wide palms and veiny hands, adorned with rings, come out to touch the outermost parts of the sides of your exposed thighs in your shorts. He sneaks them around to the backs of your thighs, just below your ass, to give that part of your legs a squeeze, smiling up at you. He breaks eye contact to pull his face forward to place light and gentle kisses on your thighs. You’re looking down at the sight, eyes softening at his sweet kisses. 

“I think...” you say, he meets your eyes in between his kisses, looking up at you as your left hand brushes down the side of his face, cuffs still in your right hand hanging. “....I should teach you a lesson. How does that sound?” you ask in a sultry tone. 

His heart literally skips a beat as his hands grip you harder in a surprised manner. His eyelashes flutter and butterflies arise at his thoughts of all the things you could do to him with those hand cuffs. His lips break away from your thighs to look up as you with a lazy nod. You smile down at him. “Good boy, Eddie. Don’t forget our safe word, ok?” He nods again as you climb down into his lap, placing the hand cuffs besides him so you can put your hands on his shoulders. His hands move up from your thighs to your waist to help guide you onto his lap.

You straddle him and bring his face in for a kiss. The kiss is slow and intimate, as if he’s trying to be apologetic with you. Your head tilts further to the side so your mouths can open more to each other. His hands travel from off your waist to the back pockets of your shorts, squeezing and releasing them. This makes you move your hips inwards and your hands travel to the back of his head, kissing him harder. Your tongues lick over each other as he whines into your mouth, wanting you to tug on his hair, but you’re unaware of that dirty desire of his. You get butterflies at the noise that slipped through him, your hips shifting forward again in response. 

You both start exhaling heavy through your noses. The sounds of your kissing fills the smokey and air freshener scented living room. You break away out of breath, slightly irritated with the amount of clothes separating you both. You tilt your head to the right to tease at his neck, nipping and lightly kissing on it. He moves his head away further to let you cover more areas on his skin. His mouth falls open so he can beg for you to be rougher with his neck.

“Be rougher... please y/n” he pleas. You’re not ready to give him what he wants yet, so you let your lips trail up to his ear. Your hand travels to the back of his neck to pull his body further up, straight against your own.

“You look so good in that jacket...” your voice is pitchy in his ear, mocking Tina from earlier as you talk to him. You bite harshly at his ear lobe, tugging it then releasing.

He attempts to turn his head towards you but fails since your grip on the back of his neck is so strong. He rolls his eyes with a grin at your humor. “y/n...” he says, head falling onto your left shoulder. You smirk at him.

Your mouth travels back down to his ear to speak into it lowly, just barely under your breath. “You look even better with it off...” you place a kiss on his ear, “with all of your clothes off actually.” You pull back to look into his deep brown eyes, and they’re wide with arousal. He was blushing the whole time you were teasing him, but those final words made his dick half hard. 

“Is that so, pretty princess? Well I’m flattered.” he says lowly, trying to give you a hard time and put a dent in your dominance. Your hands travel up to his face, your right thumb presses and traces over his bottom pink lip.

“Take this off for me, tough guy” you ask, dominance not faltering whatsoever  with your hands now on his leather jacket, which hides his firm shoulders. He eyes your mouth, the corner of his lip tugs up into an excited half smirk. “Yes ma’am.” he says through his toothy grin. His dark eyes move up to your own eyes, looking down at him. His back arches and twists to tug off his jacket, never breaking eye contact with you. 

Your stomach flips at his obedience. Both of your hands now rest on his clothed chest, and travel down his abdomen, still holding that intense eye contact, watching his eyebrows shift in pleasure at your slow movements. Your fingertips find the bottom of his shirt and pull it over his shoulders, helping his head come out. His brown frizzy hair falls from underneath the warm fabric and he catches you off guard by going in for a kiss. Your lips meet and his hands are roaming all over your upper body under your shirt, impatiently. 

They trace over the curves of your back, bra strap, dips in your shoulder blades, bumps of your ribcage, warmth of your waist, all of it. His curious hands make your breathing speed up so you break the kiss to catch your breath. 

You lean back and hold his face in your hands. “You know, you really pissed me off earlier Eddie.” You confess carefully, trying not to kill the mood. 

“Oh really?” he says smiling at your lips before he gives them a quick, wet peck. “Fuck me like it then.”

Instant butterflies. Yup, mood was definitely not ruined. In fact, it completely shifted.

“Hands behind your back.” the command falls from your mouth effortlessly, after all, you know exactly that you want. You want to see this ignorantly confident pretty boy restrained at his wrists and drooling as you bounce on his agonizingly hard dick. You want to see his eyes shut in pleasure, eyebrows scrunched tightly on his pretty face, begging, whining, crying for you to go faster. Whimpering how good you feel with a fucked out smile on his warm face. 

He leans forward and crosses his arms behind his back and you reach to the side to grab the cuffs. You lift to your knees to hunch over his shoulder and put the cuffs on him. You struggle at first, but eventually get them on. you’re still hunched over as you ask him if they feel too tight. He says they’re fine and leans back into the back couch cushions fully. You settle back to your spot on his lap, finally noticing how hard he’s gotten and you haven’t even taken your clothes off yet. 

“Oh? You’re a little excited aren't you, honey?” you say sarcastically as you roll your hips on his bulge. His eyes shut, then look back up at you.

“No fuckin shit” he replies out of breath. 

“Damn Eddie, you eat pussy with that mouth of yours?” 

He smiles a devilish grin, definitely not the grin of a man handcuffed on his own couch. “What? You wanna find out or something?” he teases.

“I have a better idea.” You get up from off your spot on his lap. You go to unbutton your shorts which are covered by Eddies shirt he let you wear. You slip them off in front of him, but he cant see your underwear thats still on below your long shirt. He feels so teased, but can’t stop staring. You then pull off your underwear which has a thin first layer of slick from the all the arousal. 

Now that you’re standing commando, you hold your underwear up in your hand, looking down at him with an excited grin. You climb back on top of him while bunching the cloth in your hand. You grab his chin to lift his mouth up and tell him to open it. “Since you were so quiet earlier,” you refer back to his drug deal, stuffing the warm slightly damp fabric into his mouth gagging him, “you’re gonna have to be quiet again now.” successfully shutting him up. 

He’s now cuffed and gagged as you push his hair to the side and start sucking hickeys onto his neck. Your hand travels from the back of his neck, to his collar bone, then to his naked chest. Fingertips brush over his nipple before you go down to his pants. But before you can reach his pants, you notice him tense at your fingertips brushing over his pink nipple. You experimentally bring your pointer and middle fingers back up to squeeze the left and right side of his now hard nipple between your finger pads. He lets out a whimper and his shoulders flinch.

“Oh? sensitive nipples, huh?” He lets out a muffled whine in response, followed by a very shy nod. You smile against the part between his shoulder and base of his neck, licking a long stripe up as you pinch at his nipple again, mixing your teasing nipple stimulation with your warm tongue. His hips buck up and his head falls back onto the couch cushion, exposing his now bruised throat. You’re purposefully not pinching hard since he’s so sensitive, but you want to see how far you can push him.

“If it hurts too bad, give me a sign ok? Like, swing your head around violently or something, ok?” he nods. 

You move your head to the opposite side of his exposed neck to leave marks there. You bite at his skin, then lick over your marks. Your fingers switch to your thumb and pointer finger as you pinch then twist his bud, drawing out muffled groans under your panty gag and short exhales through his nose. His eyes open wide, then squint in pleasure at the celling every time you release his nipple, just to squeeze it again.

You then pull back to look at his face and lift both your hands up over both his nipples. His neck lifts up off the couch to look at your face, but his eyes drop to find your hands instead. Your thumbs and pointer fingers pinch hard and then pull his nipples outward and release them. His chest lifts up making his back arch away from the cushion and towards you, trying to follow the painful and pleasurable stimulation. You release then pinch them again, for longer this time, getting wetter and wetter by the second. You want to see how much he can take, but all he does is make pitcher muffled whines over and over again, one after the other, almost as if he’s going to cry and cum at the same time. His head falls back quickly, eyes shutting, shoulders start to twitch around, and you take this as a sign to give his stimulated buds a break. 

When you pull your fingers off, he starts to breath harsher through his nose, chest matching his puffs. “So I take it you’re having fun?” you tease. Your thumb rubs soothing circles on his nipples, before taking out his gag. You want to hear him respond to you.

“You’re mean, y/n... pinching so roughly like that” he says out of breath, once again. His head and neck lifts from off the upper cushions of the couch .

“Then tell me why you enjoyed it so much...” you say, hands now trailing to the destination they were supposed to be at before. Your fingers tuck into the hem of his boxers under his black jeans, and they just sit there. 

Eddie gets shy at your question, as if he’s ashamed of how much he enjoyed having his nipples played with while your underwear was stuffed into his mouth. “Shut up...” he replies, rolling his eyes, then moving to sit up and rest his head on your left shoulder. 

“Is that a threat?” you question, hand going up the base of his head, gripping on his lower scalp, hair now in your hands. You yank his head back, semi harshly to make him look into your eyes. 

“Fuck, I was waiting for that” he says with a pretty sigh, loving when you pull on his hair. He smiles at your firmness. The effect your dominance has on him is starting to make your toes curl and your exposed groin leak against his dark jeans. You want to fuck him so badly now.

“Well, theres plenty more where that came from, if you be a good boy of course.” You warn, getting up off of him to slide his jeans and boxers down his thighs and stop just before his knees to release his dick. You climb back on-top of him and discard your shirt. His eyes fall to your chest, covered in a bra. He licks his lips at you infront if his dick, only having a bra on. 

Your wetness sits a few inches before his dick, not even touching it. You see his eyes on your body, and you decide to move your hand over to touch your dripping heat. Your middle finger glides over your wet slit effortlessly. You let it slip from the top and bottom of your entrance, collecting your slick on your single finger. He watches and gulps at the sight, only hearing how absolutely fucking wet you are. It’s driving him crazy, he wants to feel what you’re touching surround his shaft.

You let a quiet sigh fall from you lips as you lean into his shoulder. He watches you finger yourself, prepping your hole for his dick. You then bring your fingers up to his mouth and he automatically opens it, leaning forward off the couch with you still on his shoulder letting his tongue fall out to lick up your wetness. 

Your head rises from off his shoulder and now next to his ear. “Are you gonna be a good boy now?” You question lowly into his ear, hovering your entrance over his tip, fingers still being licked up with his tongue. He nods his head up and down in a rushed manner “Mhmm” you hear him say, licking the rest of your wetness of his plush pink lips.

Your hand his tongue was just on moves to press your thumb on one side of his neck, and your other fingers on the opposite side. You begin to choke him lightly in a spot that lets you simultaneously lift his head up so his lips aren’t far from yours. You meet his big deep brown eyes with your own.

You sink down onto him, exhaling through your mouth making both Eddies and your own eyes flutter. You tuck your bottom lip into your mouth as the base of him finally fills you. You rise up again, feeling his bare veins kiss against your walls with every inch until you reach his tip. You sink back down on him slowly, feeling the stretch all over again. His mouth falls open, eyebrows droop downward, wrists behind his back still as he struggles to keep himself from leaning back onto the couch. He wants to kiss you so bad.

Your eyes trail from his eyes to his wet lips. He lets out pleas for you to kiss him, and you do. Ask you kiss, your hand on his neck squeezes harder. You bite on his lower lip and tug it back, making his mouth open so you can slip your tongue in. You begin to stop moving your hips vertically to ride him, and instead shift to roll you hips forward in slow horizontal figure eights. The movements, the kiss, the moans into his mouth create hot and heavy intimacy between you both. 

You start to feel so good that you can’t kiss him back normally anymore. You break the kiss to moan into his neck that your hand is slowly sliding off of. He leans back into the couch and lets out the groans he was holding in. 

The rocking forwards of your hips on him speed up and your hands find his shoulders to stabilize yourself. Your mouth is still moaning onto his neck with a mix of his name and curses. Your face is heating up, you feel euphoric. You lean back, off of his chest.

You meet his face, but he’s... smiling as if he’s amused? 

He opens his mouth to speak, slightly tilting his head to the side. "Is that all you got, sweetheart?" 

He didn’t just... He taunted you?

You move a hand behind his scalp and pull his hair harshly and he lets an entire open mouthed whimper fall out before biting his lip to stifle the rest of his noises. His head is pulled back, neck exposed once again, eyes shut tight in pleasure. His scalp burns at your roughness, but dick twitches at your walls clamping around him. 

“Fuck ” he exhales a shakey moan, making your toes curl.

“Look at me, Eddie.” you say as you stilled on his dick, no longer riding him.

His eyes open. When they do, he sees your underwear in your hand again.

“Open up pretty boy, looks like you want me to use this again.” He opens and you stuff the cloth into his mouth, gagging him again. But this time, your palm goes sideways over his mouth, flatting over the gag. 

You being to lift off of him, just to slam back down roughly. You ride him aggressively like this, hand over his mouth, bodies sweating, the skin of your thighs and base of your ass slapping onto the upper parts of his own thighs.

You take a quick look to admire his body under you. His head has fallen back onto the couch, exposing his neck with that guitar pick necklace he always wears, now sticking to his glistening skin. His neck is covered in your dark purple and red hickeys you gave him. His chest with tattoos rises and falls quickly at your pace. His face, his pretty face... its twisted in pleasure as you feel his drool prick at your palm over his mouth. His eyes shut and open over and over again. You hear him moan even louder due to your roughness, though its muffled. His cuffed hands so badly want to be released so he can hold onto you. He’s losing his mind at the pleasure you’re giving him and needs to grip onto you to bring his head back down to reality. 

You begin to let your own moans out once again. You whimper as you feel your clit bump over his lower abdomen, stimulating it, over and over again. You want to hear his voice, you want to hear how good you’re making him feel. Your palm lifts off his mouth as you tug the gag out. You put your thumb on the middle point of his jaw and chin bone, with the rest of your fingers on the opposite side of his face. You roughly tug his face up to make him look at you.

“Who’s dick is this? who does it belong to?” you huff, still bouncing on him.

“Its yours, all yours” he says all in one rushed exhale.

Your hand moves off his face to snake to the back of his frizzy dark hair, gripping it to keep his head back.

“Say it then” you command with yet another yank at his hair.

“Fuck y/n, I belong to you- shit - nngh”

Your pussy clenches on him at his words.

“Such a good boy for me, baby.” you try to say confidently, but it comes out at a whine. Your harshness begins to crumble, he just feels too good. your stomach is fluttering, your legs tingle, your head falls back. Your hand that was on his scalp releases his hair as it moves down his chest to pinch at his nipple roughly, your head falls back down to look at his reaction.

“You like that dont you?” you smile down at him.

“ha- yes, yeah- ah fuck!” he’s stuttering so much and you can tell by the way he’s gasping that he’s going to cum soon. His shoulders shake because he wants to bring his hands up to cover his mouth, but he can’t. Somehow, that turns him on even more.

“mmm, fucking shit y/n,” he stumbles on his words “gonna- m’ gonna cum..” he whimpers. “’m sorry, so sorry,” he slurs out, “wanted you to- oh god- to..cum first”

You can’t help but smile at him. Your head falls forward onto his shoulder as you moan his name. You don’t even care if he’s going to cum before you do because everything feels so good right now, but you don’t want him to know that yet. You want to play with him for a little longer.

You look into his eyes, still riding him. “You’re mine, you understand?” you pant out, almost out of breath.

He nods aggressively, huffing and panting.

“So say it, Eddie. say it until- oh shit- until you cum” you moan out your last command as his thighs start to shake. His head tucks forward into your neck, arms flinching, wanting to break free. He’s crying out over and over again ‘I’m yours, I’m yours’ until you feel his cum pour inside you. 

You still rotate your hips on him, during and after he cums. You want to cum too but your legs are getting tired. You begin to slow down on him and catch your breath. He’s still inside you as you rest your head on his shoulder and grip his back, letting your body relax. He softens inside you. His head turns to give your own a kiss. You lift yourself off of his half soft shaft, feeling empty.

“Can you take the cuffs off now?” he mumbles against your hair.

“Oh shit, yeah sorry. Forgot” You scramble to get them off, still straddling him. He brings his uncuffed wrists forward and rubs them. He puts his ringed hands on your shoulder blades and brushed them down over your back while kissing your cheeks and neck, making you shudder. You still haven’t cum after all, and you really want to. You let your neck move to the side and you whine his name, still very horny.

He speaks against your neck between kisses. “Yes, I do eat pussy with this mouth by the way.” you giggle tiredly at him. “Lean back for me, pretty.” 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.●∘◦❀◦∘●.* :☆ﾟ. ───

i told yall he has sensitive nipples, and now i have officially proved it, 3 days after my promise. comment your favorite part/detail so i know what to continue writing into my fics :) 

plz reblog if you enjoyed. or if you’re wet n shaking from the images in your mind cuz i am

THIS IS ALSO MY FAVE FIC IVE WRITTEN SO FAR UGHHHH I LOVE SUB EDDIE, HE’S SUCH A GOOD BOY 

taglist: @cringerat @cyberfaii @dickfacemcshitboner @cringerat @eddiemvnsongf @julietsecretdiary @iveseenstrangerthings50 @shortstoriesbyher @sansthelonelypunster @toxickinkysoulPost

[izvmimi]

cw: dark content. stalking. murder. toxic/yandere behavior. pregnancy mention.

a/n: it’s been a while since I wrote for Illumi damn.

The longer the man in your direct path attempts to hold your attention, the faster he careens to an untimely death. Of course, the young man before you is none the wiser, barely noticing the nervous tap in your foot as he continues to chat you up to the best of his ability. If he knew what were good for him, he’d move out of your way, but usually men of this sort don’t - not the type of man who’d put out his cigarette and corner you on your way out of a convenience store in the dead of night, engaging you in conversation you are not interested in.

“All I’m saying is that it’s dangerous out there, and perhaps you should consider letting me accompany you home,” he finishes his proposition. The smile on his face is sleazy, but just that is not enough to warrant death. He leans over, eyes running up and down your form as though you’re not shrouded in an oversized hoodie and baggy sweatpants that reveal very little about your shape or condition.

The calm demeanor on your face does not betray the fact that your heart is starting to pick up in pace. From the moment he started talking, you’ve been counting in time with an internal stopwatch. You’re close to 2 minutes, perhaps 3. You’re surprised he’s still breathing.

After all, you have a shadow. 

A mean one. Well, mean is not the word for it, but rather, cruel. One with little respect for human life. The shadow takes many forms. You’re not sure which one it’ll be today. But greater than 2 minutes have passed, enough for your shadow to realize this conversation is unnecessary and unwarranted. Disrespectful, even. 

You smile politely, which the man returns, scratching his chin as though he’s appraising a fine jewel. What about a smile says yes, I will go home with you? Is it the slight nervous expression that accompanies it, as harmless-appearing girls often adopt when telling - no, pleading - to members of the opposite sex to leave them alone? The one that betrays vulnerability, particularly when so few people are watching? 

Even if you said no, there’s nothing to stop him from following you. 

“I’m not interested,” you nod pleasantly. It is right to pay respects to the dead. You attempt to move past him, and he shifts to mirror you, obstructing your path yet again, and the dance begins.

“Come on, babe-” he begins to whine, and you close your eyes.

3... 2... 1...

There’s the sound of whistling - something - that cuts through the air. A high-pitched sound. You wonder how it’ll happen this time. Your body tenses.

There’s a sound he makes that is like pure shock made audible.

Your eyes snap open and the man still stands, leaning slightly over you, but his mouth is wide open, a quivering ‘O’. His eyes are widened to match. Glassy and faded. 

And then he begins to fall over. You swallow hard and take a step back, and he collapses into a heap, face down. There’s something sharp, and geometric sticking out of the back of his skull.

A glistening card. Black. A credit card.

You curse under your breath. From how deep the card is lodged, you are certain the man is dead, and you squat to his level, watching him closer to see the lack of chest rise.

He’s no longer breathing.

“Goddammit, Illumi,” you murmur under your breath. There’s a pounding in your temples that immediately begins, somewhere between fear and irritation.

You stare out into the darkness, the approximate direction from which the makeshift weapon must have come. It takes a moment for your eyes to focus.

You expect a butler, again tasked to follow you around mercilessly as it’s been for the past few months ever since you... told him the truth. Your body, constantly doubled, has not felt like your own since. And of course, this isn’t the first, nor will it be the last, body to crumple in front of you in this way.

“Is this really necessary?!” you call out into the darkness as you get to your feet. If it were the first time someone had died in your presence, your blood would not have warmed back up to normal so quickly, but this is becoming a common occurrence that you have started to react less and less. Humans adapt to anything.

“Of course it is.” 

You blink a few times in succession. Illumi himself approaches quickly, running a hand through his hair in that nonchalant way of his and you find yourself frozen stiff and still, the same way a deer would be in headlights. You didn’t expect him to be around personally this time. Not at this time of night, when it is easier for him to work.

Illumi takes his time, giving you a quick once over and then bends over ever so slightly to retrieve his weapon. There’s a somewhat sickening wet sound as the credit card slides out of brain and bone.

He hands it to you.

“I told you not to spend your own money,” he reminds you, voice light as though he hasn’t just killed someone.

You want to scream at him, but instead settle for a scoff, your arms folding over your chest. He raises his eyebrows ever so slightly, hand still outstretched as though he is confused.

“Are you refusing my funds?” he asks. Before you can answer, he exclaims, “Oh!” as nonchalantly as remembering a funny story he heard and would like to share, and then wipes the bloody card on the front of his pants, before handing it back to you. 

“Where are my manners?” he says, stepping over the body to get closer to you. “It’s quite disgusting, I’ve forgotten about your sensitivity to these things.”

Your stomach twists and he takes your arm by the wrist, putting the card in the palm of your hand whether you like it or not.

“I don’t need your money,” you hiss at him.

“You don’t but you’ll have it,” he replies, unbothered. The small plastic bag you carried is quickly recovered by him and his free hand grips yours tightly.

“I’ve told you time and time again not to leave home at night.”

You hate the way he says, “home.” It is not his home, or your shared home, it is your apartment that he enters and leaves as he pleases.

You start walking. It’s cold and so is his hand, and you’d like to be somewhere safer, well rather, warmer, as soon as possible.

“I ran out of ice cream.”

“You could have asked me.”

You would turn to him and give him an awful look, but that would only encourage him further. His hand around yours is not comforting but it is steady and secure.

“You’ve learned from Hisoka,” you finally settle on saying moments later. It’s a bland, observational statement but it attempts to make conversation. You’ve been walking for a moment, and it is quiet. You never know what he’s thinking after he’s ended a life. Speaking casually would make the idea less horrifying.

“Have I?” He continues to stare straight ahead, as though he’s scanning the surroundings, as if he isn’t the danger.

You don’t know what to say to that.

You round the block to your apartment. Illumi’s hand does not release yours until he leaves you in front of your door, unlocking it himself and pushing you inside. You wonder why he’s not coming in but decide it’s not worth asking. 

“I won’t be back tonight,” he lets you know, then lets out a sigh. “Unless you ask.”

Why would you ask? You think but rather you nod in understanding. His eyes slide from your face to your belly.

“Stay away from tuna,” he reminds you. You remember the convenience store sushi in your bag, right next to the tub of ice cream, and are sheepish. 

“Okay.”

There’s no use arguing with him. 

“If there are any more incidents, I’m taking you to the manor.”

You nod again. Unintentionally, your hand slips under your sweatshirt and t-shirt to your stomach, caressing the skin. You are not showing yet, but you wonder if Illumi sees anything else in you but the developing child in your womb.

Illumi offers the ghost of a smile, and it unsettles you but you have to admit some of it also brings warmth to your cheeks. You wonder how you ended up like this, and you wonder about the future.

He turns to leave.

“Call if you need me,” he repeats.

And he disappears.

[writerdream22]

requested by: anonymous, I sincerely hope you like this ✨🌻💛

pairing: Thomas Shelby x reader

warnings: none, except for a few curse words. English is not my first language so there might be some grammatical errors

feedbacks are always appreciated!

Tides thrash inside

Baby, I'm high octane

Fever in a shock wave

My core vibrates in an opium haze

Thomas Shelby was both the best thing and the worst thing that had ever happened to you.

He was just like a pack of cigarettes, the ones he oh-so-loved. Beautiful, entertaining, addicting— but dangerous at the same time.

You never argued, no, but his lifestyle compared to yours was complete madness. You'd met on the front; you, a nurse, had aided him after he'd gotten an injury on his leg which prevented him from walking properly and therefore could compromise his proficiency at work. After that, he would send you letters any time he was able to do so, and even managed to get you a flower once.

Yet you think we're the same

The skyline falls as I try to make sense of it all

You weren't born in Birmingham, but you were from London. Your family wasn't rich, nor it was poor, hence your mother would say you were “lower middle class”. The aforementioned didn't like Small Heath; she had spent a few years of her life there, and she always said that crime was commonplace and you couldn't trust anyone. You never trusted anyone anyways, so you didn't see the problem in visiting the place.

When Thomas had finally told you where he came from, fearful that it might lead you away, you wrote “Yeah, so?”. He was quite surprised by your reaction, but shrugged his thoughts off immediately. He was too enamoured to think about your provenance, and so were you.

I thought I'd uncovered your secrets but turns out there's more

You adored me before

Oh, my good looking boy

After the war ended you decided to start officially courting each other (that's what your family wanted after all), and you both felt happy. You imagined having children, two or three at least, and Tommy promised countless times that he would provide for you and give you the best things he would.

The Peaky Blinders and the whole of Small Heath started feeling more like home, and the women of the family had welcomed you with open arms. Especially Polly.

Unfortunately, you were too enamoured to see that there was something Thomas kept hidden. It was something a handful of people knew, that not even Polly was aware of at first. She suspected that he had an affair, that he was messing around with that blonde-haired bartender at the Garrison; hence, she warned you. “I don't care whether he's my nephew or not, y/n” she'd said “You don't deserve to be treated like this”

You couldn't bear to live in doubt. Therefore, on a rainy day, knowing that the Peaky boys were at the Garrison, you walked there and asked to talk to Thomas. At first, Harry was hesitant to let you in, but your glare and ominous-looking hat that you were wearing convinced him otherwise.

And so you confronted Thomas. You both went outside, in the pouring rain, and you demanded an explanation.

“What's wrong with you, Tommy?”

“What do you mean?”

“You're hiding something from me. Pol told me, and I want to know. Are you fucking around with Grace or not?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Of course not!”

“You really think I would cheat on you with a fuckin' barmaid? You think so lowly of me? You consider me to be a kind of husband that cheats on his wife just because?”

“No, but Polly—”

“It's not about Grace, y/n! There's something hidden— a cargo, something very big, and I don't want you to get hurt! Do you understand?”

“Yes. However, I don't like that you don't tell me things. I decided to be with you, didn't I? I accepted to become part of this. I am aware of the risks that there are in being a Peaky Blinder, and I don't want to think that you're cheating on me when it's just really something harmless”

Play casino holes of my eyeballs

Roll the dice on my thighs

You stop for breath and I sped up

Just to impress you

Thomas loved you more than ever. He did, really. And so did you.

You started going to the Garrison more often, and Thomas chuckled when he saw you talking with Grace. He knew what you were doing— analyzing her, that is— and he could notice that the blonde-haired woman was doing the same to you.

What Thomas found so attractive in you, she couldn't understand. But as much as she tried to, she couldn't get under Thomas's skin.

He was too in love with you, too enthralled by your smile and your beautiful eyes filled with curiosity. Sometimes, he said, it seemed like you were a baby seeing things for the first time.

You're not who you are to anyone, to anyone

You're not who you are to anyone, to anyone these days

I'm not who I am to anyone, no, not me at all

I'm not who I am to anyone these days, not at all

After some time, in late October 1920, Thomas asked you to be his wife and you got married not soon after. You felt like bursting with happiness— you were going to be officially a Shelby, finally!

But what you didn't know that marriage was going to be your downfall. Marrying Thomas was a great deal, and it caught the attention of lots of people— both good and bad. The whole family vowed to protect you, the girl coming from London that got the heart of a Small Heath boy, but there were times in which it was inevitable for you to get hurt.

Thomas was a great man, you were aware of that. And you were also aware of the fact that he was awfully good-looking and the eyes of every woman in the society were on him.

In the bathrooms, when you went to restaurants or pubs of any kind, you heard the voices of those harpies saying that he deserved something more— not a grey Londoner who was surely after his wealth and prestige. Little did they know, you'd met him way before the Blinders became as powerful as they were in that moment.

Nonetheless, it made you feel sick to the stomach. People's words were like a Black Widow's bite— it hurt you deeply. You never told Thomas, in fear that he might have overreacted or something, but be noticed nevertheless.

You were his wife after all. His one and only, his true love.

And he was your husband. The man who'd turned your world upside down. The man who had promised you the world and handed it to you, just like that. He was the love of your life, and you were more than proud to say that you were a Shelby.

The skyline falls as I try to make sense of it all

I thought I'd uncovered your secrets but turns out there's more

You adored me before

Oh, my good looking boy

[daisiesinaforest]

“I won’t be taken for a fool, Thomas Shelby.” Your voice was icier than his eyes. You watched as a muscle in his jaw twitched, the only confirmation he had heard your words at all.

Working for the Shelbys came with a risk. You knew that when you signed on as Tommy’s bookkeeper and secretary. Your brother, a Blinder, had warned you of the dangers that came with being associated with Birmingham’s most ruthless gang, but with so few options available to you, the opportunity for paid work and protection had won out in the end.

Now, you stood across from the head of that gang, only his desk separating your bodies. You were leaned forward, displaying the account papers, showing Tommy the proof that he had been lying to you.

“I am more than willing to help you, Thomas, but I will not be lied to. I want to know what you’re hiding. From me. From everyone. Look, extra money withdrawn. Every week. Who are you paying off? What are you buying? Why?” Your voice began to rise.

Tommy had been distant for awhile, not that you would have ever considered your relationship close. Yes, you knew how he clenched his hands when he was holding back anger. Yes, you knew the way he held his whiskey to his lips to hide his small smiles. Yes, you cared for him, but he knew nothing of you. Didn’t know the way you went out of your way to make his life easier, smoother. You had put up with so much, but this, this utter disregard and distrust of you, this was too much.

Tommy cleared his throat, sat back, folded his hands and flicked his eyebrows. “I tell you what you need to know.”

The anger began swelling up. Usually, you were able to dampen it, but there was something about today. Maybe it was the way his arrogance showed he knew you were harmless. Maybe it was the smudge of lipstick on his collar.

“Tell me or I walk out. I deserve to know what it is I sign checks for. I deserve to know what I’m risking myself for.” You stood up straight to emphasize the point. You deserved answers. And by god, you were going to get them. Or find someone else to ask questions of.

His eyebrows furrowed in true agitation. “You know you’re protected. Is someone bothering you?”

Your traitorous heart did a little flutter at the tenderness in his voice. “What? No. I just want to know what’s going on. I deserve to know. Tell me.” Tommy took a pack of cigarettes out his pocket and began pulling one out. You shifted on your feet as he put it in his mouth, your determination for answers waning slightly.

“Y/N, if I don’t tell my family what the fuck I’m doing, what would make you think I’d ever tell you?” The only sound in the room was the sharp intake of your breath.

Somehow, that answered not the question you had asked, but answered all the questions you hadn’t. You looked at the man before you, whom you had given so much silent support to. And you realized you owed yourself the same. Another shuddering breath.

“You can take this as my formal resignation, Mr. Shelby.” His only reaction was a quick knit of his brows.

“I’m afraid, Ms. L/N, I only accept resignations in writing.” Your fists clenched. Your hand shot out and grabbed the pen from beside whatever paper he had been working on. You turned over the ledger that had started this all and wrote in capital letters: FUCK OFF, THOMAS SHELBY. Signed, Ms. Y/N L/N.

You threw the pen down and flipped the paper towards Tommy. A small smile adorned his face as he read your letter.

You straightened your blouse. “I’ll collect my last check tomorrow.”

“Y/N…”

“Thomas.” You refused to let him have the last word. You turned on your heel and stormed out of his office, fighting the urge to look back.