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lightsoutletsgo · 1 month

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anxiety gremlin — op.81

pairing: oscar piastri x anxious!reader

word count: 3.5k

warnings: mentions of anxiety and generalised anxiety disorder, description of physical symptoms including; nausea, headaches, sweaty hands, stomach pains, brain fog, mental struggles, mentions of panic attacks but reader doesn’t experience one, mentions of food and making food related decisions. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!! hello loves! this one is very personal to me and it was a pretty selfish write tbh... I wasn't sure if I should post it but I decided to do it in the hopes that it brings people some comfort. Oscar's dialogue at the end is a message that I, as the author, want to remind you all. you've got this, even if it doesn't feel like it! happy reading love mimi

Sometimes, it felt as though the world was out to get you. You faced the world and your flight, fight or freeze instincts kicked in. When you woke up, it seemed like it was going to be one of those days. That unexplainable feeling of nausea turning your stomach and an unexplainable headache pulled at the back of your head. Your jaw tensed as the nausea hit you in another wave and you forced yourself to roll over and close your eyes. Maybe if you could get back to sleep you’d wake up feeling better. Your mind however, had other ideas. Instead, deciding to send you down the spiral of impending doom - a lovely gift first thing in the morning. Thoughts whizzed through your head; Why did you feel so nauseous? Why did your head hurt? Had you forgotten something? What were your plans for the day and was that why this horrible feeling was creeping up? You sat up, accepting that you wouldn’t be falling back asleep and decided to get ready for the day. Perhaps a shower would help? The warm water was soothing as it rushed over you and whether it was the heat or the steam or the fact you were doing something to distract yourself, for a moment you felt a little better. Exiting the shower you decided that while the nausea had subsided, it would be a good time to start hydrating and maybe think about eating something. Your phone rang and dragged you from your internal rambling, “Hi baby!” You smiled, despite the fact that your boyfriend couldn’t see you, “Good morning angel,” You could hear Oscar’s dopey lovesick grin through the phone, “how did you sleep?” You set him down on loudspeaker as you got dressed, “I slept okay! How about you?” “I would have slept better if you didn’t keep stealing the blankets…” You gasped, “I do not!” Oscar laughed, “You absolutely do! One night I’m going to record you for evidence.” You giggled, “You do that baby.” Oscar nodded then realised you couldn’t see him, “I’m just calling to find out what you want for breakfast? I figured I’d stop off at that little cafe that you like on my way home.” You gulped, you had no clue what you wanted or how to decide, “I’d love that, thank you handsome!” You thought frantically for a solution, “Uhh you can choose for me! I trust you!” There was a pause on the other end of the line, “Are you sure angel?” “Yup, mhm, so sure!” “O-okay…” After making Oscar promise to drive safely, you hung up.

You realised that for a moment while talking to Oscar, you hadn’t even thought about feeling anxious but it was as if that realisation had summoned the feeling back. All of a sudden your hands felt shaky and it was hard to focus on anything but the disconcerting feeling in your chest. Sitting down on the couch you did your best to control your breathing. Sometimes you wished that it would just turn into a panic attack and be done with. Anything would be better than this on-off-on-off situation. It was like feeling a sneeze that wouldn’t leave your body. Unsatisfying and unsettling.

The front door opening made you snap your head up and you realised that subconsciously you had been rubbing your hands on your sweatpants to try and get rid of the clammy feeling. You shook your head and smiled as Oscar walked through the door, you were just a little bit anxious, it was no big deal.

Oscar beamed at you as he entered the living room. He noticed that you seemed distracted and almost a little shifty. Your eyes kept darting around the room and your hands were absentmindedly picking at a loose thread on the hem of your t-shirt - a habit you usually despised because it had the potential to ruin your clothes. He said nothing, just walked through the room to the kitchen and placed down the paper bags filled with breakfast. “You okay there angel?” You nodded at him but it wasn’t enough to reassure him, “Are you sure?” You nodded once more, why now of all times were you feeling sick again? You sat there grinding your teeth together and clenched your jaw, feeling too sick to open your mouth and reply. You wanted to reply, you really did! But your brain had decided that words were a step too far. “Did you do something while I was out, hmm?” Oscar joked but all it did was make you more anxious, ‘was he angry?’, ‘was he going to shout at you?’, ‘breakup with you?’, “Come on troublemaker, you can tell me!-” “Nothing! Nothing happened! Now will you please stop asking.” You snapped, immediately clapping a hand across your mouth in shock before the tears were welling up in your eyes. “Oscar I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry baby I shouldn’t have snapped… Please don’t be angry!” You rambled a million miles an hour as your hands began rubbing and grabbing the material of your sweatpants again, not even realising your breathing had turned heavy and you were sweating. Oscar stood there in shock, he had never seen you like this before, was this because of him? He slowly approached you, not sure of the issue and not sure how to resolve it. “It’s okay angel, it’s okay” He held his hand out to you but you shook your head, talking through a clenched jaw in the hopes it would help the queasy feeling in your stomach, “Hands sweaty.” Oscar nodded, “Okay then, can I sit next to you?” You nodded, he gently took a seat next to you, careful not to jostle or jolt you, “Is this a medical emergency?” You shook your head, “do I need to call an ambulance?” You shook your head once more, feeling like you wanted to cry.

How embarrassing that you were having an episode like this in front of your boyfriend after hiding it so well for so long. And even more embarrassing that you couldn’t tell him what was going on let alone why you felt the way you did, “Is this a panic attack?” You shook your head no. Oscar made a little ‘oh’ and sat quietly next to you, unsure of what to say or do. You took a deep breath and forced yourself to open your mouth, despite how heavy your tongue felt. “I’m just a bit anxious.” “What about?” You shrugged, “Nothing. Everything. Hard to explain.” Oscar smiled at you through your one word answers and short sentences, “Well I can wait, it’s okay.” You nodded, hands starting to tingle with how long you’d been rubbing them against fabric and you winced as a sudden cramping feeling started in your stomach. Oscar seemed to notice your discomfort, “Please let me hold your hand angel, I promise I don’t care if it’s sweaty and you think it’s gross, I just want to help okay?” You nodded, breathing deeply and letting him take your hand in his.

As soon as your hand was in his, his thumb was rubbing gentle circles over the back of your hand. A soothing motion that you let your eyes focus on. Watching his hands and how they moved, anything to keep your attention off of the anxious feeling.

As he sat next to you Oscar wondered how he should approach you to talk about this. Clearly there was something you weren’t telling him. He thought he knew what it was and he understood why you hadn’t told him. He knew that people got anxious, hell he was always anxious before a race, but he also knew that for some people it went beyond unsettling feelings. He guessed that that’s what you were dealing with too. He’d seen Logan feeling like this a few times and so he wracked his brain to try and remember what the American had told him was useful. How about distraction? It was worth a shot! “Want to watch a film?” You nodded, eyes still laser focused on Oscar’s hands. “I knew you had a thing for my hands but you are allowed to blink you know.” He joked, cracking the smallest sound of an exhale of laughter from you, that was a start. “What film should we watch, hmm?” He grabbed the remote to start flicking through options, his hand never leaving yours, but aware that there was enough space between you so you didn’t feel smothered. “I think something cute and funny? Yes that’s a goooood plan Oscar.” You gave a weak smile once more as he talked to himself and he smiled at you, “how about Tangled?” You nodded and he selected the film, settling back into the couch, head looking at you once more, “Do you want to cuddle?” You shook your head and he just shrugged, wanting to keep you as comfortable as possible, “That’s okay, you just let me know when you do, okay?” You nodded and he squeezed your hand to comfort you, “Do you want to sit back on the couch?” Your body was still tightly wound and feeling like a live wire so you shook your head, physically unable to relax. And still all Oscar did was smile at you.

As the film started, you did your best to focus on it, finding yourself unable to stop smiling and releasing some of the tension in your shoulders at various points when your boyfriend spoke the lines along with the characters, with facial expressions. You watched on screen as Rapunzel and Flynn entered the Ugly Duckling Pub and you realised your body finally felt relaxed enough to sit back against the couch. Oscar silently breathed a sigh of relief, all he wanted to do was fix it for you but he knew that he could only do so much.

By the time the next song had finished, your body was subconsciously leaning against him. Your head rested on his shoulder and he gently tilted his head to rest on top of yours. You gave a little contented sigh. As you sat there, a wave of tiredness hit you, the physical symptoms and mental strain you’d been feeling since you woke up taking its toll. With Oscar’s warm body next to you and the comforting sounds of one of your favourite movies on screen, it wasn’t long before you felt your eyes beginning to slowly close. Oscar looked down at you and saw that your lashes had fluttered shut. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head and let his own eyes slip shut.

When you woke up a couple of hours later, the TV was off and you were laying on the couch with a soft blanket covering you. You sat up and sleepily rubbed your eyes, “Osc?” You heard low music drifting through the door to the kitchen and you could hear Oscar mumbling to himself and humming along, cursing occasionally when pots and pans clanged together. He poked his head out from the kitchen door, “There’s my pretty girl. Good morning angel.” He cooed at you and the way you blinked back at him sleepily. “What time is it?” “It’s lunchtime! I was just reheating breakfast.” You nodded, sitting up and pulling your knees up to your chest as he padded across the room to take a seat at the end of the couch by your feet, “I’m sorry.” Oscar’s eyes searched your face as you looked down at your hands in your lap. Oscar’s hand rested on your knee, “Angel, you never have to apologise for something like that…” He trailed off, hesitant to ask you his next question, “do you want to talk about it?” You inhaled slowly, nodding, “Yeah I think I would.” He gently nudged you with his elbow and you shifted back to let him sit in front of you, both of you sitting cross legged. He held his hands out to you and you took them with a shaky exhale.

“Umm… I’m not exactly sure how to explain it?” You admitted, your fingers playing with his own in an effort to keep yourself grounded as that familiar feeling of your shoulders tightening and nausea creeping up began to settle in. He followed your gaze, “That’s okay, we have all the time in the world. Explain it however you feel is easiest.” You nodded once more, “So obviously you noticed that I was feeling anxious,” He tilted his head to one side to show you he was listening as you continued, “That’s because I have generalised anxiety disorder. And the thing is… I feel like that most of the time.” You admitted shakily, desperately willing yourself not to cry. If Oscar was surprised or taken aback he didn’t show it, instead just linking your hand with his and squeezing, encouraged you continued,

“There are good days and there are bad days but I’m always anxious… There’s this constant feeling of underlying panic or anxiety or this sense of impending doom.” You looked up and noticed how Oscar’s eyes searched yours, willing you to understand that he wasn’t going anywhere, “I feel nauseous, I feel shaky, my hands get clammy, sometimes it’s like I forget how to breathe, my head and stomach hurt for no reason, my head goes fuzzy and it’s hard to focus on anything but the feeling of how anxious I am…” “Baby…” Oscar breathed, you gave him a watery smile, tears filling your lash line,

“It makes me irritable, it makes me bitchy, it makes me snap at people I love, it makes me sensitive and emotional, I cry a lot, I cancel plans at the last second, I keep to myself and I build my walls up…” You trailed off, meeting his gaze and noticing that his eyes were filling with tears too, “Sometimes it feels like I’m two people. Me and my anxiety.” You couldn’t help the way the tears fell with a choked sob, “Angel, can I please please give you a hug?” Oscar pleaded, itching to pull you into his arms and comfort you.

You nodded through your sobs, finally feeling the huge emotional release that had been building since you’d woken up. He reached for you, gently grabbing your arms and pulling you forward onto him. Falling back against the arm of the couch with you against his chest as you both stretched your legs out. He held you for what felt like forever, tightly wrapping his arms around you and stroking your hair, gently murmuring to you and kissing your forehead. When your sobs had subsided a little, he wiped your cheeks, “My sweet girl…” He gently pressed kisses across your face, relishing in the way your crying eased and you let out a little sigh after each one, “Thank you so much for telling me angel.” He paused, “Can I ask why you didn’t tell me before?” He asked gently. You sighed, fisting his t-shirt in your hand as you fought the nervous feeling that made your stomach flip. His hand rubbed up and down your back in a soothing motion as he felt you tense up in his arms, “I’m not mad at you baby, I just want to know what I can do differently in the future. I’d hate it if you didn’t feel safe enough to come to me for help.” You nodded, nuzzling into his chest, attempting to block out the world and focus on Oscar. Just Oscar.

“Everyone I’ve told has left…” You mumbled sadly, “Hmmm?” His voice was soft, like he didn’t want to scare you out of answering, “I told a few people growing up, uni friends and stuff, and they would always answer with the usual ‘oh yeah I feel anxious too’... Until I explained I had diagnosed anxiety disorder and then,” you sighed, “then they would tell me it was too much for them to deal with, or they would get mad at me for ruining plans, or tell me to just get over it when I tried to talk to them about it.” Oscar’s hold on you tightened a little as he felt a spark of anger burn inside him. How dare they? Anyone could see that you were trying your best, he gave you his full attention as you continued, “I guess all of those things mean that I have a hard time opening up and trusting people with the knowledge of my diagnosis because it’s always backfired… Please don’t be mad at me… I do trust you, I just…” “Hey,” Oscar’s voice was low to ensure he didn’t trigger you, “I’m not mad or disappointed at you baby, I’m frustrated with myself for not noticing sooner.” “I’m pretty good at hiding it,” you admitted, the two of you led there in silence for a moment before Oscar spoke again, “Well I’m beyond proud of you. For dealing with it everyday and for opening up to me.” You tilted your head up to look at him and pressed a soft kiss to his jawline, “Thank you for listening.” He smiled back down at you, “Of course.”

You summoned up the courage to ask him the question that had been on your mind for a little while, “H-how did you know how to help?” Oscar breathed deeply for a second, “There’s someone on the grid who uhhh, struggles with the same thing. They’ve opened up to me and explained what helps them so I figured I’d try?” You pushed yourself up to look at him in surprise, “Someone on the grid?” Oscar nodded, “I won’t say who, because it’s their thing to disclose and explain,” You nodded, “Of course!” “But they’re doing their best to work on things and ask for help and they’ve been doing really well.” Oscar made a mental note to ask Logan if he would consider talking to you. “Well, Tangled was a great choice!” You giggled as Oscar nuzzled his nose into your neck, “Yeah? I wanted to pick something that wouldn’t make you feel worse.” You couldn’t help the way you threw your arms around him and cuddled into him, so thankful for him and the thought and care he gave to you. “I love you.” It was muffled against his chest but he knew what you wanted to say and so with a chuckle he kissed the top of your head, “I love you too, angel.”

You stayed there for a moment before he was gently pushing you to sit up so he could look into your eyes, “I want to say something.” He hesitated and you nodded at him to continue. He gently held your chin with one hand, keeping you looking at him as his other hand found yours in your lap, linking his fingers with yours and squeezing, despite the way your hands were starting to get a little clammy again, “You may have anxiety disorder but it’s not who you are, baby.” Your eyes widened, he continued, “You are not your diagnosis. There is so much more to you than that. You are kind and caring, you’re smart, you’re beautiful, you’re creative.” Your heart melted at how passionately he was speaking. “You’re loved and valued by me and so many others, angel… I love you, the anxiety gremlin that comes with you and all.” You giggled at how he referred to it, “Anxiety gremlin… I like it!” He smiled, kissing your nose, you scrunched it up and he kept talking, “I know I can’t fix it and make it go away, believe me baby I wish that I could. But I promise that I’ll be here through all the bad days and the good days. I’ll do everything I can to make it easier and more bearable for you.”

You couldn’t help the way you started crying again, happy tears this time, Oscar’s thumb gently wiping them away, “So when you’re feeling up to it, we’re gonna sit down and talk about how I can help. What I can do when you’re having a bad day, the things we can do together, how you like to be distracted, how I can help when we’re out in public, maybe a codeword?-” You giggled as he started speaking faster and faster, you stopped his rambling with a soft kiss, pressing your lips to his, your hand cupping his face, thumb rubbing over his cheek, “That sounds perfect baby, thank you.” Oscar kissed you once more, pulling you into him, “You just let me know when you’re ready.” You nodded, “I will, I promise.” “Good! But for now, we still need to eat our breakfast!”

#mimi.writes #tw anxiety #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 angst #f1 fluff #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri angst #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri oneshot #f1 oneshot

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a-system-of-creation · 2 years

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#why does my brain insist on tormenting me with these thoughts #please let me sleep please please #this is just gonna make me spiral and then actually all of my worst fears will come true #cus I'll drive the people i love away with my behaviour #it's already happening #i wish i could stop being a selfish miserable bastard #truthfully you probably would be better off without me #the temptation is to run away for a week and see if you maybe like it better without me #my anxiety says yes obviously #all i do is keep you apart and drag you down #make you worry about me #I'm the neurotic selfish unstable one now #you'd be happier without me and you'll figure that out one day very soon #and then what??#all my future wiped clean again #I'm terrified

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lawsfuckasshat · 23 days

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✙ ✙ ✙ olive branch. 🕊️🫀

gn!strawhat!reader, pre-dressrosa.

warnings: swearing, brief death mention, pre-relationship, law’s perspective, very short and hopefully sweet. not beta’d.

a/n: first time posting my writing ever… i hope it’s alright! i don’t think there’s an official reason for why law dislikes bread, but i like the headcanon that it’s because corazón doesn’t like it either :))

“so, is it like, a yeast thing?”

law rolls his eyes, face painted with his typical scowl. as cool, mysterious, and annoyed as ever. he crosses his arms, leaning back against the mast.

“no, __-ya.” he utters. you nod sagely, like you’re studying the guy under a microscope, and don’t seem deterred by his attitude in the slightest.

“then… is it a texture issue? ‘cause i totally understand that, i really don’t like-“

“i’m finding it difficult to understand why you want to know so badly.” law wishes that his intentionally curt answers would make you stop pestering him, would make his heart stop skipping beats every time you tried to pry open his hard outer shell. ‘mind over matter’ works well in every other aspect of how he presents himself, but the blood rushing to his face refuses to cooperate with him. great.

“i just wanna understand you,” you reply earnestly, “and what goes on in that pretty head of yours, is all. ya know?” for a split second, law is afraid that his heart has failed, if the free-falling drop in his chest is anything to go by. how could you say something like that so easily? right to his face, like you were talking about something as simple as the weather?

he tries to carefully pick his words, running through dozens of possibilities in his head, brain scrambling to say something, anything that’ll get you to leave him alone to wallow in his thoughts (…you think he’s pretty?) you wouldn’t really leave him alone if you left though, would you?

instead, he chooses to ignore you. head tilting down, one of his crossed arms coming up to tug the bill of his hat further down his face, shoulders slightly scrunching in. he feels like everything his body is doing is absolutely, incredibly, extremely obvious to you. his palms sweat uncomfortably and he’s so goddamn aware of your presence next to him, it’s driving him up the wall. he wishes he wasn’t so awkward, so scarred by all the loss in his life.

you don’t say anything, just turn your body and lean back against the mast with him. he briefly thinks his stonewalling worked.

“that’s okay.” you utter. there’s no rejection anxiety, no hurt in your voice. law’s shoulders and hidden scowl don’t relax, but he huffs out a hushed sigh. he stays quiet otherwise and waits a long minute before chancing a glance at you.

you’re leaned back against the mast, body language lax and open, although your arms are loosely crossed. your eyes are closed, skin sun-kissed. gentle sea breeze brushing across your clothes. you look warm, he thinks. he wishes you would reach out and touch him, but he also doesn’t 100% know if he’d like it. maybe he would.

law hates taking risks. he needs everything carefully planned out in his head before he makes a move, especially with the fruits of a thirteen year long effort coming to fruition in the next few days. he’s prepared to die kicking and screaming, fighting tooth and nail. he can’t fuck a single facet of his plan up.

then again, he’s dealing with the straw hat pirates here. a crew known for miracles. law steels his resolve and takes a calculated breath.

“someone i cared about a great deal didn’t like bread.”

the way you grin at him makes risking the olive branch worth it.

@ lawsfuckasshat 4.2.24

#trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar d law x reader #one piece x reader #one piece imagine #✙ my writing ✙

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pullhisteeth · 7 months

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Hi, lovely! Just wanted to drop by and say that I miss you and your amazing writing 🥹🧡 I understand if you're taking a break or stepping away from the app, but if you're up for it, I was wondering if I could drop in a request? No pressure at all! I REALLY love the way you write fluffy and angsty fics so I was wondering if you could write about a besties-to-lovers with Eddie where he asks the reader for help with asking a different girl out, without knowing about reader's feelings for him...and then along the way he realizes his feelings for the reader hehe and maybe a lil sprinkle of jealous!Eddie too 😎 Ily and I hope you're doing okay! 🩷🩷🩷

hi my love! this is the sweetest message thank you - not taking an intentional break, just busy as anything. work’s been my whole life the past couple weeks (today is actually my first day off in like a month) and what with that and trying to eat/sleep/speak to other human beings I am …… deceased

it’s so kind of you to say hello! I loved writing your request, it was a nice break for my brain and it felt good to get back into it. ♡ love you!

contains hurt/comfort, angst, fluff. tried to get some jealous!eddie in there for you :-)

3.4k

Eddie looks pretty like this.

He’s sitting at your desk in the library. You’re not sure why he’s here, though that wasn’t your first thought when you spotted him on your way over. He’s hunched over slightly, unruly hair keeping his face hidden, but it’s catching the light of the afternoon sun just right and it’s glowing a blushing golden and the flutters in your gut are relentless.

“Hey,” you murmur, wary of both startling him, and the strict Hawkins Library warden who likes to shush people like it’s a sport. Regardless he starts, shoulders jumping and face whipping up and around to look at you with wide, surprised eyes that soften when he realises who you are.

“Hi, sugar,” he says, voice ebbing as he notices how loud he’s being. He looks around quickly, just in case he’s about to get scolded, before looking back up at you and beaming. It doesn’t fool you, though; his presence here coupled with the sheen of anxiety behind his eyes gives him away.

“What’re you doing here?” you ask, setting your backpack down on the table and taking the seat opposite him.

He begins fiddling with his ring again and diverts his eye. He’s nervous and you want to know how to fix it more than you wish to let on.

You hum an encouraging noise when he says nothing, sliding textbooks out of your bag along with your pens.

“I, uh… I need your help,” he says warily.

“Oh? With what?”

“I want to, uh… I wanna ask Tara out,” he says, and the words come out in one quick breath, his eyes still on his hands. “But I dunno how.”

You’re quiet, busy hands halting with a book halfway open. You look at him, mouth agape, for a second too long - he looks up after a beat and catches you before you have the sense to close it.

“Please?” he begs, those eyes like a puppy dog, wide and brown and far too lovable. “I’d take her to the Hawk but she’s- Man, she’s way too cool, it’s intimidating, and I really wanna impress her, you know? And I think the Hawk’ll be too busy on Friday ‘cause I know that new movie’s out that all the kids wanna see, so what if-”

“Okay,” you say. You’re sharp, voice like a whip, cutting him off before he derails.

He looks at you blankly for a second before saying, “Really? Shit, thank you.”

You look down at the books in front of you, eyes on the printed pages but taking nothing in. “Take her to the Garage,” you tell him quietly.

“What?”

“The Garage,” you repeat, closing the textbook and piling it on top of the others to return them to your bag. “It’s on the east side, on the road out.”

“Yeah, I know where the Garage is, but- Wait, are you headin’ out already? You just got here.”

“Don’t feel like studying,” you say flatly. “The Garage is cool. Rob took me there once. Tara’d love it.”

“Hey, hey-” His restless hands reach over to grip your wrist, to stop you moving, but you’re slippery and quick and far too determined on leaving. “You don’t have to leave, I’ll leave you alone. Your exam’s next week, I don’t wanna-”

“It’s fine, Eddie, I’ll study tomorrow.”

“But-”

“See you around,” you say quickly, tugging on the zipper on your bag and standing so fast it makes your head spin. You can hear him protesting behind you but it’s no use - the only place you want to be right now is home.

Eddie doesn’t call that evening. He doesn’t call the next day either, or the two following that. You float between your bed, the fridge and various shifts at work without so much as daring to call him yourself, though you lie awake at night and worry you’ve done something terrible, something earth-shatteringly cruel by leaving him like you did. Something so bad that twelve years of friendship is lost forever.

“Maybe it’s better like this,” you tell Nancy over the phone. It’s Thursday night, four days until your exam, and you haven’t spoken to Eddie since Sunday. “I was gonna spend forever like that. Maybe now I can move on or somethin’.”

“We both know you’re not going to move on,” she tells you. You groan, turning over onto your back to stare at your bedroom ceiling. Your bed is like a rotten pit, unmade for nearly a week and the past five days’ dirty (and clean) laundry is littered all over the top of the comforter. “And you shouldn’t. You’d just be hiding from your feelings.”

“I hate you,” you tell her, though the way your voice comes out through your smile deceives you. “You always sound so wise, how is that?”

“I am wise,” she says, smiling too. “And I’m wise enough to know that Eddie feels the same, even if he doesn’t realise it yet. Apparently I’ve got the brains for both of us, ‘cause he’s a bit dumb like that sometimes.”

“I wish he wasn’t,” you whine, “I can’t get the image of him and Tara outta my head.”

“I can go, if you want,” she says.

“Huh?”

“I can take Rob to the Garage on Friday, keep an eye on stuff.”

“Shit, would you?”

“Yeah, why not? What’re you doing that night anyway?”

“Dunno,” you say, morose, “Probably heading to the library again.”

“Okay,” she says sympathetically. “You’re gonna smash this exam, you know that, right?”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” you grumble.”

“Well I know you will. And then Indiana State’ll have the best biologist known to man on their campus.”

“Funny,” you say.

“I’m wise and funny? You’re kind tonight.”

“I’m gonna go, Nance.”

“Okay,” she says, laughing. “I’ll call on Saturday, okay? And please eat some dinner.”

“Okay,” you reply, hanging up. You balance the receiver back on its stand and roll back over, willing the tears back when you feel them roll down your temples.

Friday nights are your favourite nights at the library.

Who else spends the one designated social evening of the week in a room designed for quiet? You, apparently, alongside two old ladies knitting in the comfy corner, and a kid who looks like he might be home from college for the holidays. You’re settled at your usual desk with textbooks and papers scattered everywhere - the tabletop, the chair next to you, the floor. You’ve been here for hours, pouring over all of your work, oblivious to most of the minimal movement and chatter happening in the room.

You’ve got a tape in your Walkman - classical, one your dad found at the record store downtown - so you feel Eddie before you see him. He startles you, his wide hand on your shoulder, and you jump, pulling your headphones down.

“Fucking hell,” you breathe, your heart beating a mile a minute. You twist in your seat and put your pen down, looking up at him. You couldn't worry about the warden if you tried, far too enamoured by him despite everything. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

He’s hovering over you, his hair a mess and cheeks flushed pink. You notice he has his nice shirt on - a deep blue, so dark it’s almost black - and his lips are rosy.

“Tara needed the bathroom on the way home, this was the closest place. How’s it going?”

There’s a lilt to his voice that churns your stomach. It’s the one he gets at parties, or that night just before your birthday when the two of you drank wine in his living room and didn’t sleep until six in the morning.

He’s been drinking and, judging by the smell lingering on his clothes, smoking, too, and his smile and the pink blooming over his cheeks only makes the churning worse.

“Fine,” you tell him. “Was in the zone, sorry.”

“No,” he breathes, finally backing away. You fill your lungs and watch him as he rounds the table. His eyes keep moving from you to the door across the room, presumably watching for her. “I interrupted you, ‘m’sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“Gotta run,” he says, face brightening in a way that makes you want to vomit. You turn back around and see Tara in the doorway, waving, beaming. “Don’t work too hard, please? Get some sleep. And eat something- Have you eaten at all today?”

He’s standing a foot or two from the table now, but he stops as he asks you this.

“Uh,” you look down at your watch. 12:07am. “I had lunch.”

“Shit, you need’ta eat something. Please.”

“Okay, Eds. I’ll have some toast when I get home. Have a nice night.”

“You’ve got this,” he says, and it’s here that the silly smile on his face falters. He still hasn’t moved, and you can see Tara looking over, watching. He’s looking at you and something breaks - his smile drops completely and his eyes go all sad and weird.

“What?” you ask, unamused.

“Nothing,” he says. “Nothing. Get some sleep okay? See you later.”

He turns and walks across to the exit, and you watch him leave. He’s slow and slumped, like someone’s just delivered bad news.

You head out fifteen minutes later, and chew unhappily on three slices of toast before you get to bed.

Studying until late is never a good idea.

You’re hopping around your bedroom, pulling stockings up your legs and praying to anything holy that the traffic on your way into work isn’t too bad.

“I know this isn’t really what you wanted to hear,” Nancy’s saying sadly. You’ve got the receiver propped between your cheek and your shoulder as you stumble around and stretch the cord within an inch of its life. “They just… It really did look like they were having fun.”

“He came to see me at the library,” you tell her breathlessly, desperate to think of anything but Eddie and Tara playing pool and laughing like lovedrunk teenagers

“What? When? Last night?”

“Yeah, said she needed a piss on the way home.” You stop hopping, both stockings finally in place, and take the phone in your hand. “He was really weird, actually.”

“Weird how?”

“I dunno. He seemed happy, but then he got all sad.”

“Did you tell him off?” she asks, faux-stern.

“No,” you tell her, “just told him I’d have dinner, and to have a good night.”

She hums, and you look at the clock.

“Shit, Nance, I’m sorry, I really gotta go, I’m gonna be so late-”

“No, no, you go, I’ll see you soon. And good luck on Monday, yeah? I know you’ll ace it.” -

Your body takes you to the library like it’s on auto-pilot or something. You finished the entrance exam three hours ago, and though it seemed to go okay, you daren’t be too optimistic. You’d hovered around town for a while, eating ice cream and watching birds, before your feet walked you right here: your desk on the first floor of Hawkins Library.

It’s here that you’ve been sitting for an hour or so, flicking through novels but finding no interest in the words on the page. Your brain is melted from a near-fatal combination overworking and overthinking, and without an exam to worry about, the latter is now the one clocking overtime.

You can’t get the picture of Eddie’s face out of your head. His eyes had been so sad, his face drooping like the dawning of some cruel realisation. The way he’d walked out of the room had matched it, sorrowful and curled over.

Worst of all, he hasn’t called.

There’s only two reasons you can think of. Firstly, he’s busy calling Tara instead of you. He’s telling her about his day, spinning new inside jokes and letting her hear his pretty laugh.

Or second: he doesn’t want to talk to you anymore. You’re too cold, flat, uninteresting. Tara is cool.

There is a third possibility that you daren’t think about for the sake of your own heart: that both are true.

You slam the hardback in your hands shut and place it roughly on the table.

“Woah, was it that bad?”

You look up and find Eddie standing across from you, precisely where he’d been that moment something had changed on Friday. He’s far less put together now, dressed in his usual bedraggled jacket and jeans.

He laughs as you stare at him. After a minute, he takes the seat opposite and pulls the book towards himself.

“Weird choice for you, sugar.”

“Quiet,” you tell him in a whisper, nodding to your right where the warden is circling.

“Sorry,” he whispers back with a smile. “What’re you still doing here? Wasn’t the exam this morning?”

“I like it here,” you tell him. A half-truth - you do, but you’d really rather be anywhere else right now.

“Right,” he says, clearly not buying it. “And how’d it go?”

You shrug. “Okay, I think. I hope.”

“You’re the smartest person I know. You’ll do great.”

“I wish people would stop saying that,” you say, looking out of the window to your left.

“What? That you’re smart?”

“That I’ll ace it. I have no idea.”

“No, you don’t,” he says. “But you’ve definitely got a better idea than me.”

“What’s that mean?” you ask, turning back to look at him.

“I just… You’ve got more brains than me, that’s all.”

He’s fiddling with his rings again, eyes trained on the tentative movements of his fingers rather than you. It gives you a chance to take in his face properly: tired, sallow, unhappy.

“How was Friday?” you chance. He shrugs. “Just okay?”

“Fine, yeah,” he says, voice flat and unfeeling. “Had fun, ‘til we came here.”

Your instinct is to be offended. You didn’t say anything cruel or unwarranted; in fact you barely said a thing at all. How could you have ruined the evening?

“What?”

“Tara, she, uh… She said bye when we left. I was walkin’ her home, only stopped here for the can, I mean- You know we’re miles from the park, took me forever to get back to mine. Thought, y’know…” You hum so he doesn’t have to utter the inevitable and break your heart.

“What happened?” you ask softly, hands on the table in front of you like an offering.

He looks troubled, truly, and it hurts - you may have gone a week without contact, the longest since he went on a fishing trip with Wayne when you were both 18, but he’s your best friend, and his pain is your pain.

He closes his eyes tight and sucks in a breath.

“When we left, she said… She told me I need to ‘really think about things’, which made no sense to me at the time, I guess ‘cause I was, like, 4 whiskey sours in and we’d smoked on the way over, and then she used the payphone outside to call a cab so I waited with her and walked home, and the next morning I realised what she meant.”

You look at him with nothing to say. He takes another deep breath.

“She probably saw me over here with you, y’know, and I’m sure to other people we seem pretty… Comfortable. And then you said you hadn’t eaten, and you looked so tired, I- All I wanted to do was take you home and make you dinner. And then the next morning, and, like, all weekend, all I could think was that one day some other guy’d be doin’ that for you, some college guy or somethin’, and I’d have to watch, ‘cause you’re my friend.”

“Eddie, I don’t understand.”

You’re genuinely bewildered. He’s still whispering, or at least talking in a low voice, and at multiple points during the past five minutes you thought you’d completely misheard him. It’s definitely your Eddie sitting opposite you - he has a tendency to be a little dramatic, and this is certainly that - but he’s never been so brashly honest like this with you before.

“I had fun with Tara, really, but… I realised I’d spent all night thinking about how much better it’d have been if you’d been there.”

You can feel the flush like fire up your neck and across your cheeks. Your palms are clammy so you pull them inwards, back towards yourself, to save yourself the embarrassment.

“I think I need to get some air,” you say, standing and leaving without waiting for him.

You hear him behind you as you descend the stairs and push the clunky glass door open. You’re met with a wall of cold air and you breathe a heaving sigh as you stand in its frost.

The door opens again only a few seconds later, and you turn to face your friend.

“Eddie,” you begin, “I need to know that you’re telling me what I think you’re telling me.”

“You left your coat,” is all he says, handing you the jacket. You don’t move, too stunned, so he steps behind you and you let him manipulate your arms into the sleeves like a sullen child.

“Eddie,” you bite, impatient and frustrated.

“Yeah,” he breathes behind you. When the coat’s on, he squeezes your shoulders, and you round on him.

“Please just tell me what the fuck is going-”

“I think I love you,” he says, louder than you. It’s a declaration, said without hesitation or subtlety. It’s so confidently loud that a couple of people leaving the library turn to look.

“It shouldn’t have taken me taking someone else out to realise it, but fuck, once I did I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I guess ‘cause we see each other all the time I never really questioned why I think about you so often, or whatever, but… I wanted to take you home and make you dinner on Friday, make sure you got some sleep, fuckin’ look after you. Made me feel dumb as hell because you’re not a kid or anythin’, but I just want you to be okay.”

You’re not sure when you started crying. Maybe it was as early as the declaration itself, but you know that by the time he told you he wants to take care of you, tears were rolling over your cheeks, unstoppable and filled with elation.

“Shit,” Eddie whispers, stepping toward you without thinking, reaching out to hold you somehow. He settles for a hand on your upper arm, almost at your shoulder. “Fuck, I’m sorry, please don’t cry, I-”

“It’s fine, I’m okay, I’m, uh- I’m happy,” you say, giggling, your tears making it wetter, thicker. “They’re happy tears.”

“Oh, good,” he breathes, shoulders sloping. You spot the beginning of a grin through cloudy vision. “Thank god.”

While you wipe your face with the sleeve of your jumper, Eddie’s hand moves from your shoulder and to your neck. You feel the heavy weight of him pressing there, not threatening but a comfort. It forces you closer, until you’re both looking at each other and laughing.

“The exam went really well,” you tell him. “Honest.”

“I knew it would,” he says, curling a finger behind your ear to move a piece of hair from your face. “You’re gonna kill it at college.”

“I’ll miss you. And everyone else.”

“We’re not going anywhere any time soon,” he says softly, fingers dancing until he’s cradling your face. His other hand is stuffed in his pocket, and you’re close enough that you can reach in and grasp it, pulling it out so you can wind your fingers between his. He looks down and smiles.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks. It’s almost a whisper and you almost miss it - almost. “For the exam, I mean. You did well, y’deserve a kiss.”

“Sure,” you say, laughing again. “For the exam, yeah.”

He chuckles before dipping his head just enough. You lift up to meet him halfway and he presses his lips to yours, firm but quick.

“Again,” you breathe, and he doesn’t ask questions. He bows again and kisses you, his force solid and homely. You kiss him back, breathless and keening.He’s warm and you want to take, take, take. You only stop when the door opens behind you again, creaking and followed by quick footsteps as someone else leaves.

Eddie kisses your nose and says, “Shit, you’re cold.”

“Can we go home?”

“No,” he says, and before you can finish protesting, he adds, “We have to celebrate. You’re done with studying! Let’s go get milkshakes or something.”

You wrinkle your nose, determined that you won’t be going to the diner you work in. “How about pizza?”

“Whatever you want, smartie pants.”

You physically bristle at the petname, cheeks flushing again despite the chill. Eddie’s arm settles around your shoulders and squeezes as he kisses your temple.

You stop walking once you reach the end of the block. He stops with you and turns to look at you without dropping your hand.

"I think I love you too, by the way," you tell him. "I didn't say- Back there, I should've said it. I- Well, I know I love you."

He smiles - beams - at your return of his declaration. He squeezes your hand in his and tugs.

"C'mon, pretty girl. Let's go."

#thank you !!!#request #honestly my life is a nightmare rn I promise u I would rather be doing this #I hope you like it x #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson request #stranger things 4 #Eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #stranger things #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader fluff

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virgo-dream · 8 months

Text

Flowing

based on this lovely post and @softest-punk’s ficlet on the reblogs. it scratched my brain so good I actually wrote something!!! this miracle took at least 76 lazari.

dreamling, t4t, fluff, all that good stuff. not beta’ed we die like Hob doesn’t yadda yadda yadda, idk how many words it’s 4:30am and I’m eepy and hungy wow

Dream’s fingers run over the keyboard on his laptop in a staccato rhythm. He feels his fingers clicking against each individual key clumsily, almost as if for a moment, he’d forgotten how words should be strung together. He hits the backspace, once, twice, holds it like he means to suffocate the words on the screen. Like they scare him, like his chest is being torn open by a fictional claw.

It’s not flowing, he tells himself. It hasn’t been flowing for a while now.

Still, he pushes through, typing away, forcing the words out, until a hand much warmer and steadier than his own reaches out, stopping Dream in his tracks.

“Dove, I can hear the cogs turning in your head. What’s the matter? You’ve been jumpy all day.”

Dream’s eyes stay focused on the screen, and time starts to dilate in his mind. He’s not sure why, but his chest tightens. He’s not sure if he’s ready to bring a name to that feeling either. Still, it’s impossible not to look at Hob, whose expression is full of warmth and kindness, and unlike Dream, seems to have his chest open and ready to bring his wreck of a lover into an embrace.

Hob wears the scars on his chest like a badge of honour. A body of his own making, a body Dream could sense from afar even before Hob had started growing into it.

“I… I’m not sure.” The words to describe his anxiety are there, Dream knows that. He’s trying to reach out for them, but he falls short.

Hob’s lips curl into a soft smile as he carefully reaches for the computer resting on Dream’s lap. “That’s alright. But maybe you’ve done enough writing for today. No point in frying your brain like that.”

Dream feels his heart climb up to his throat, hands gripping the sides of the laptop as if his life depended on it. “—I’ll stop. You’re right. There’s nothing more I can put on the page for now.” He shuts the laptop down, pulling it away from Hob and placing it on the nightstand.

He’s got nothing to hide from Hob. He’s got plenty to hide from himself. Dream can tell from how Hob’s eyebrows raise that whatever it is, he’s going to have to face it sooner rather than later.

“…ooookay. I wasn’t going to look, you know? I only want to read what you want to show me.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Silence fills the room as Dream and Hob look at each other. He can tell Hob is not going to push, but oh, how Dream wishes he would. Maybe a push is just what he needs. Maybe Hob is the only person who can do it for him.

Dream looks at Hob’s chest once more. Open, welcoming, light. Free. At his eyes, loving, wanting, sincere. At his arms, reaching out for Dream, wanting to bring him closer, to protect him, to give him strength. “Duck, is there anything you—“

“—could you use they for me sometimes? I don’t think I’m… I don’t think I’m a he. All the time. Maybe.”

Silence now sucks the air out of Dream’s lungs. They stare at each other as his— their words move through both Dream and Hob’s brains. For a split second, Dream feels a surge of fear and shame, the horrifying possibility that everything went wrong and somehow a line was crossed. A line he cannot possibly ignore now.

Before he can dive into any more assumptions, Hob’s arms are around him in a firm embrace, almost crushing. A hand goes to rest on the back of their hair, fingers tangling with the soft, dark strands. Hob holds Dream like they are the most precious thing to ever exist. “—oh duck, I’ll call you whatever makes you feel good. Thank you for trusting me, I know how difficult this is. Thank you, Dream. I love you.”

Hob’s words feel like a soothing balm to Dream’s crumpled chest, that now opens up as they take a breath, as if the weight of the world had finally been lifted off their shoulders. Hob’s embrace feels like permission, like comprehension, like support. And love, so much love, so much that Dream doesn’t know what to do with it other than let their hands go to Hob’s softly stubbled cheeks and direct his face to meet Dream’s in the middle, lips crashing clumsily at first.

When Dream opens their eyes again, they are rimmed with tears. It’s okay, though. Hob would not denounce him for crying. Hob accepts it, celebrates their moments of emotional release.

“I know. It’s scary. You did something very big right now. I’m proud of you.” Hob presses a gentle kiss to Dream’s forehead, and doesn’t let of them. Dream is not bothered by it, in fact settling into Hob’s arms, like their bodies were always meant to rest against one another.

Dream wonders if Hob knew all along, like they somehow sensed Hob’s truth years before it came to light.

The next morning, their words are flowing again.

#Dreamling #dreamling fic #the sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #amazing art #t4t dreamling is somethin else #hob gadling #my writing

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hopelesslyromanticshark · 1 month

Note

Would you be willing to do something with Will and a fem!Apollo reader? Having a really rough time or anxiety or something and Will comforting/helping? (I mean this platonic of course!)

✮⋆˙ the sun don't always shine; platonic! will solace x daughter of apollo! reader panic attack blurb

content: platonic! will solace x daughter of apollo! reader panic attack blurb warning: as you can see from the first line language, mentions and description of a panic attack author's note: doctor will to the rescue!!! also i dunno if im capturing the full effect of a panic attack still but i just...kinda dont care enough to resreach hmmmm maybe ill get stressed out enough with school to get one and then i can do hands on research...yeah that'll be fun IM KIDDING YALL DO NOT FRET FR FR

"fuck, not again..." you huffed, feeling that growing tightening of your chest. you squeezed your eyes shut and pressed a firm hand to your heaving torso. you tried the breathing techniques kayla had showed you but they were no good. the worst part is that you weren't even sure what you were panicked about. this happened to you sometimes, just this blanketing feeling of dread and aniexty that left you heaving breaths in on the floor of cabin seven.

"no, no, no, not now," you whined desperately to yourself but you knew there was no stopping it as your hands had started to shake and your knees were beginning to buckle. its times like these you wished you got your father's medical skills over the stupid ability to write poetry. sure you could compare moments like these to the sinking teeth of adulthood or the comforting hand of the past, eager to drag you down with it. but that really didn't do your inability to get air in any good in the moment. now you were starting to get lightheaded, using one of your siblings beds to slowly slower yourself to the hardwood floors, your fingers digging into their yellow comforter.

"hey, y/n, are you-" will's voice broke through the cabin but he quickly shut his mouth and made his way over to his darling sister, dropping to his knees next to you.

"oh, y/n, i'm here. it's okay, i got you," will cooed, hesitantly reaching his hands out. instantly, you slumped into his comforting hold, feeling his warm hands squeeze at your shoulders and rub over your back. and you weren't sure if he was using his blessed medical skills as still you couldn't get air in.

"you know, when i was younger, this used to happen to me all the time," will whispered, waiting for a moment as he could feel your heartbeat slowing with his words, "it was terrible for my mom, she didn't know what to do. just these inconsolable moments of tears and heaving breaths. then she took me to a doctor. he told me there was nothing wrong with me, just that sometimes my brain gets worried about me and panics my body into thinking something is wrong. he was so kind and gentle with the explanation. that was the moment i wanted to become a doctor too. tell others that there's nothing wrong with them, too. other people like you."

your breathing had mellowed out and the tears had dried against your cheeks. you glanced up at your older brother, who offered you a comforting smile as he gently ruffled your matching blonde hair.

"you okay?" he asked, offering a soft tilted smile.

"i will be," you replied, beaming back your attempt at a smile.

"well, what more could i ask for, huh?"

#postcards from covey ౨ৎ #all my love ౨ৎ #pjo #pjo fandom #hoo #will solace #pjo hoo toa

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ssahopelessly · 1 year

Text

Silent Treatment

This idea came to me earlier in the month. Enjoy!

The communication with Spencer has dropped off for a few weeks now. Maybe the occasional “agent” but nothing much more. So one night, while you both are in office, you try to get him to talk to you.

A/N: Spencer Reid is a petty bitch. And I stand by that and him. 🤍

570 words

Masterlist

“I can’t sleep at night.” The confession came out with an exhale of breath. ‘Why did I say that?’ I began asking myself. But I tried to build the mental defenses against my anxieties. I needed to say something, anything if we were to recover.

Spencer stopped in his steps between the many desks in the bullpen, freezing in place. I had almost wished he would look my way, it had been weeks now. Weeks of acting like I wasn’t there. Like I didn’t exist on the same plane of reality that he did. But I did, I always had.

“Every time I try to fall asleep, I just lay there and- I stare at the ceiling.” He didn’t move, not to look at me, not to even turn his body towards me. Spencer froze in place, like a statue in some closed off private garden. “I- I feel like I’ve tried nearly everything.” A nervous laugh did slip past my lips that time as I stepped around my desk, hesitating in that spot. “ASMR doesn’t work. I tried the aromatherapy: the lavender scents that we saw that one time at the farmers market.” Even from several desks away, I could see the miniscule movement of his hand, as it flexed by his side. But he was still facing away from me, only his ear turned towards me. “I’m actually considering taking melatonin, as much as I was against the idea originally.” There was still no reaction from him, he was as still as ever. One would think maybe this was a standoff, but I’ve seen him in a standoff.

In times of crisis, he can be the most stable and level headed person in the room, the world often not giving him half the credit he deserves for being so calm under the brains. And for a while, I knew everything about him. I knew what would keep him awake at night and how to calm his anxieties and worst nightmares. I knew with just a look, what about a case was bothering him. I knew him in the most intimate and private ways and somewhere along the weeks, I lost him.

“I even tried turning the fan up a speed, trying to get the room colder at night.” There were tears building in the corners of my eyes as my anxieties caught up to me. I tried to force them down, not wanting my voice to break as I continued in this effort to talk to him. “Nothing is working Spencer.” His shoulders fell at the sound of his name. I could see how he almost turned his head to look at me, clenching his fist to his side as he tucked it into his pocket. “I don’t know what more to do.” A tear had broken free and I wiped it away with my hand, brushing it onto the sweater I had been wearing for the day. It was then he finally looked at me, ever so slightly. He didn’t turn his full body or face to me, but I knew I was still in his peripheral vision. He swallowed something that had been caught in his throat.

“Get a cat.” Was all Spencer said to me. At that, he left the bullpen area, exiting towards the break room. I stood there as a few more tears escaped. ‘That bastard.’

I was allergic to cats.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #angst #drabble

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paganminiskirt · 9 months

Text

“Resident Evil 7’s most impressive accomplishments are in how it crafts the terror of it’s villains from those thorny existential questions [of immortality.] Jack is one of my favorite antagonists of any horror game because of his manic desperation. He is cruel, domineering, exceptionally violent, but the heart of his character is absurd helplessness. What’s happening to him is impossible, he can’t make it stop, and so he has given up on caring and reason entirely. Nothing matters. Not his body, not your body, it’s all just meat. The early confrontations with Jack are all wildly memorable because the worst damage isn’t anything that Ethan does, but what Jack does to himself to try to scare the shit out of Ethan, and the player as well. Self preservation is such a universal motivation that even without language it can be counted on. Hell, a thing doesn’t even have to be a mammal. Scorpions and spiders don’t wish to die either, and will act accordingly when endangered. To truly, truly not care, and have it be physically meaningless is an irrationality that goes against something deep in the ancient parts of the brain. Zombies might be the living dead, but they can be returned to the grave with a bullet to the brain in most lore, including Resident Evil’s. This is a different kind of monster, and a different kind of impulse of fear and anxiety.”

“The fear of zombies is mostly in their overwhelming numbers and the ease with which you become one of them. Consider, instead, [the] chainsaw duel with Jack. It’s absurd, even comedic, like it was when Dennis Hopper had his chainsaw duel in 1986’s Texas Chainsaw Massacre Part 2, yet that is clearly exactly why Jack is doing it, precisely because it is nihilistically absurd. Because he’s not afraid of what might happen if Ethan wins. It’s just meat. No meaning. Jack laughs as you kill him, spilling the molded guts of him everywhere. And, of course, he does come back in an even more massive and monstrous form - Jack’s nihilism was right on the money. Pain is a spiral leading ever inward and downward. His body is now even further gone. His consciousness is trapped as ever. Nothing did change, even when Ethan turned him into a gut slushee. That sympathetic position of helplessness deep inside him is what allows Jack to be truly frightening. Because you’re not just fighting the monster. You’re fighting the idea that the monster could be you under different circumstances. Hell, for Ethan, maybe just further down the line in these exact circumstances.”

A Thorough Look At Resident Evil, Noah Caldwell-Gervais

#jack baker #ethan winters #resident evil 7

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fangirlies · 1 year

Text

on a high - (a.p)

Pairing: ajax petropolus x fem!reader

Request: what do you think abt reader confessing her feelings to him and theyre reciprocated!

Warnings: drugs. a little groping. best friends to lovers. (Please let me know if I should be aware of anything else!)

A.N: it’s been a while fangirlies! this one wasn’t planned at all (hence why it’s not on my updates) it goes to show how much my brain loves to focus on many things at once. Anyway, enjoy this ajax fluff.

“This was such a bad idea”

“Will you shut up and stop being a wimp for once,”

Ajax took a look around the deserted, dark library. He was obviously becoming paranoid after the joint you two had smoked. He was aware that the repercussions would be severe if the two of you were found in here high and after curfew. On the other end, it was as if you were on cloud nine. You were pleased that your cunning plan to lure Ajax out of his dorm room was successful. That said, your friendship with ajax simply thrived for that very reason. He was always being pushed out of his comfort zone by you; sometimes it required a bit more effort than anticipated, but the experiences you two shared were unquestionably worthwhile. In exchange, he would provide the tiny ziplock bags with weed that would make your adventures even more enjoyable.

“Isn't this nice, Jax? A quiet library all to ourselves where no one can disturb us?” Your hands extended out as you twirled in the space free of tables and bookshelves.

Your best friend laughed at your movements, "Sounds like you're trying to seduce me." He moved toward your spinning body, his anxieties visibly fading.

“Is it working?” You teased, coming to a stop in front of him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you gazed into his warm brown eyes.

It sent chills down your back when Ajax whispered, "Maybe." The two of you frequently made jokes and flirtatious remarks were tossed either way. This one, though, felt different.

The two of you locked eyes for a split second, trying frantically to read the situation. Fearing that taking the action both of you were itching to scratch would damage a friendship that had developed over the years. But as soon as he shifted his attention to your lips, you took a chance that you hoped you wouldn't have to pay for when you sobered up and pressed your lips onto his. You could tell that he was afraid to take it too far when his hands settled on your lower back. His snakes were heard hissing under his beanie as you two shared a slow and passionate kiss. It seemed as though he had been longing to taste you for a while but never gathered the confidence. Both of your tongues were circling about in each other's mouths before you gained the courage to pull away from his kiss, which was only getting more intense by the second. You couldn't look at him, your forehead resting on his chest as if you were afraid to do so.

“Jax. . .” You spoke, trying to steady your breathing.

He was only able to reply with a low "hmm." He was once more filled with anxiety as he awaited your upcoming words.

Your eyes were now meeting his, and you wish you could read his thoughts right now. "I want you to be more than just my best friend," you say. It had been a couple of years of feeling this way but you were afraid that if your feelings weren’t reciprocated, your friendship wouldn’t be the same.

Each second that he didn’t answer felt like an eternity. You could start to feel your heart drop down to your stomach as he scanned your face and a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Are you just saying that because you want free weed?”

You scoffed before you burst out laughing.

“Maybe,”

Your back pockets were reached for by Ajax as he rolled his eyes at your response and drew you closer to his chest. It caught you off guard because he's never caressed your ass before.

"That's a bold move," he said as he leaned down to place a sweet peck on your lips—snakes dancing around his beanie in pure bliss at this point—"and just so you know, I was kinda hoping you'd say that."

A.N: feedback always welcomed! it’s my first time writing for jax, so be nice.

For the bestie that sent in this request— I hope it was more or less what you had in mind! thank you for requesting 🤍🦋🪴🧚🏼‍♀️

requests are closed at the moment however— inbox is always open! Share your thoughts! Talk to me! Get something off your mind! ✨

#wednesday netflix #wednesday #ajax petropolus #ajax x reader #ajax fluff #ajax petropolus x reader #ajax petropolus x you #wednesday characters x reader #fangirlieswriting

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eddiessluttywaist · 10 months

Text

desiderium

an eddie munson series

AGELESS/BLANK/UNDER 18 BLOGS ARE NOT WELCOME TO INTERACT. PLEASE RESPECT MY RULES AND BOUNDARIES.

summary: eddie’s odd, forgotten childhood friend seeks him out when he needs her more than he realizes.

pairing: bsf!mechanic!bartender!eddie x eccentric!bsf!fem!reader

word count: 7,488 words

content/warnings: eventual smut so MDNI, fluff, swearing, blood (accidental cut), mentions of bullying, low self esteem, anxiety, mentions of embarrassment and shame, mentions of a history of bad relationships, smoking, car trouble (sorry if any of the car stuff isn’t accurate lmao). i think that’s it!

a/n: sorry for taking so long to update! i've been very busy. i hope you enjoy the new chapter! creds to whoever owns and posted those ^ photos! they’re not mine, i just made the collage!

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5

“You what?” The man on the other line cackled in Eddie’s ear. “Ro- Robin! No, you gotta come here! Eddie called some chick a ‘good girl’. He totally scared her off, it’s hilarious.”

“Thank you, Harrington, you’re really helping me in my time of need,” Eddie seethed as he laid in bed. He heard some shuffling and then a familiar feminine voice sounded from the telephone.

“‘Good girl’? What is she? A dog?”

Eddie ran his hands over his face, jostling his bangs away from his forehead before suddenly jerking them away in gestures they couldn’t even see as he let out a bitter laugh.

“Why did I even call you two? I’m regretting so many choices today.”

“So, she didn’t like it?” Steve asked as Robin complained about him crowding the phone.

“Go use the one in the living room— no— stop-”

“This is my room. You go use the living room phone.”

“Ugh, you’re breathing on me, dingus!”

Eddie rolled his eyes over the typical bickering, choosing to focus on the question that actually had to do with their conversation.

“Uh — well — she got all freaked out and everything was awkward. When she was leaving, I was going to open the door for her and she thought I was going to hug her— I-I, ugh, it was horrible. So uhh… yeah, I’d say no. She didn’t like it… at… all.”

“You have zero game, man,” Steve chided after a beat of silence that had forced Eddie to sit with his shame.

“And neither do you.” Robin argued, finally waving him out of his own room. “Don’t listen to him, Eddie, he’s an idiot.”

“Thanks, Robin…,” he muttered even if it didn’t make him feel much better.

“You’re an idiot too, just so we’re clear,” she added, and he nodded despite the fact that — once again — she couldn’t even see him. “I can’t believe you called her a good girl.”

“Okay, how many times are we going to repeat it before I blow my brains out?” Eddie deflated with a distressed laugh, clasping his hands together. He heard another line pick up.

“What’d I miss?”

“Eddie wants to die.”

“I do not blame you, man. You know it’s never too late to come here in Indianapolis. Maybe even change your identity,” Steve suggested as he leaned up against the wall by his other phone, which he had nestled between his ear and his shoulder just like Eddie did.

“Yeah, cause I could afford living in the city,” he snickered mostly to himself before sighing as he ran his hands over his face again.

“Who is she anyway?” Robin wondered.

“She’s his weird, secret friend he’s kept from us,” Steve replied in a mutter.

“No, I- she’s not a secret and she’s not weird,” Eddie huffs. “She’s just… she hasn’t been around in a while. She’s a friend from before I moved in with Wayne.”

“Oh… oh,” Robin’s interest piqued again. “So, she’s like… a best-best friend?”

“He totally wants to nail her,” Steve tacked on, and Eddie found himself groaning as he sunk further into his bed, wishing it would swallow him whole.

“I don’t wan — will you quit it? Yes, we were very close.”

“And she just happened to show up out of nowhere. I’m telling you, Ed, she wants you. You should go for it. You haven’t been laid since Chrissy…,” Steve muttered that last comment, and Robin squeezed her eyes shut as she facepalmed.

“Or she could just need a friend…?” Robin countered, her voice weakly lilting upwards as she corrected him. She just hoped the Chrissy comment wouldn’t be enough to make Eddie draw back into himself.

“She knew you when you were kids. I’m sure you were just as weird as a little child Eddie, so I doubt she was all that fazed by you calling her uh… the thing you called her.”

“Maybe…,” Eddie muttered, picking at his nails and biting at them.

He was tired. That tea really did help, even if his exhaustion was put on hold by an absurd amount of embarrassment and anxiety. He could feel himself settling again, his eyelids getting heavier.

“I should go.”

Robin squeezed her eyes shut again and mentally chastised Steve for bringing up Chrissy so carelessly.

“Call us again. Okay, weirdo? To update us?” Robin urged, feeling a surge of protective instinct.

He was never around anymore, never called; and there was always this anxiety in the back of her mind that he wasn’t letting them know if things were getting too hard for him. Neither Steve nor she could figure out when they could check in on him because he never bothered to share his schedule with them. And when they did call it was incredibly rare for him to pick up. She couldn’t blame him for wanting to shut everyone out, but it only made her worry about what was going on with him.

“I don’t wanna bother you guys. I know you’re busy with city life,” Eddie teased with a playful theatricality to his tone, but his voice was soft with that creeping exhaustion.

“Nah, you know you can call whenever,” Steve replied, taking a break from his incessant joking to let some of his sincerity come through. “Plus, I gotta hear more about this secret girl.”

“Not a secret,” Eddie corrected, his eyes closing to soothe his urge to drift off, one brow raising lazily with his words.

“Just call, okay? Or we’ll keep bugging you until you update us,” Robin urged, a sing-song tone coming to her voice.

“Fine,” Eddie snickered, and this time he was actually able to get a goodbye in and sloppily slam his phone back down before knocking out.

There was only crackling now on the line between the two roommates.

“I worry about him,” Robin spoke up suddenly, just loud enough for Steve to catch her concerned voice.

“I know,” Steve sighed, placing the phone back onto the wall. “I do too.”

You had no intentions of ignoring Eddie after that night in his trailer, not explicitly anyways. You were still thinking about him constantly, but any pleasant thoughts were immediately invaded by embarrassment. It felt like you were experiencing it all over again and the accompanying swirl to your gut was overwhelming.

The reality of the next couple of Eddie-less days was that you were too engrossed in the aftereffects of that awkward exchange to reach out first, not to mention most of your attention going to your first job here in Hawkins. Despite your nerves, you did surprisingly well on Thursday and Friday night. Enough to get a small smile to bristle Ron’s bearded face and a mutter about maybe needing to get a new name tag ready. You were unbelievably cheery over the praise and acceptance, but you still had one more test to pass: weekend shifts. Those were their busiest, especially Saturday nights. If you make it from 4 o’clock to midnight with no major screw ups then you had the job. He promised.

So yes, you were actively avoiding being the first one to call, but to be fair you were also trying to attend to other aspects of your new life in Hawkins. Your focus was being diverted to getting this job, and spending time with Martha. You were distracted by moments of promising renewal in anticipation of the growing presence of Autumn — despite the crushing embarrassment of the other night.

That didn’t mean you weren’t thinking of him, though. If you weren’t shaking off the recent memory of Wednesday night, then you were indulging in the recent memory of Wednesday night. Him having you over; you making him tea; feeling close to him again as you exchanged stories — laughing together and smiling so hard the muscles in your cheeks hurt a little. The kind of pure smile you only got when you were with Eddie.

You thought about him as you styled your hair in a manner that helped to boost your confidence but wouldn’t get in your way during your shift. You couldn’t believe he had his own place, no matter how “shitty” he said it was. You couldn’t believe he was a tattooed mechanic and had hair. That was the real kicker for you. He didn’t have it shaved so close that he felt like a peach when you patted at the top of his head just to get on his nerves.

He had those long spirals that you wanted to reach across his small kitchen counter and swirl around your finger. Those curls inspired a habit of tilting his head to let his big brown eyes hide under his messy bangs; or sometimes he toyed with his curls to pull a chunk of it in front of his face. It was fascinating to see the way his features and behaviors have adapted to adulthood. Back home he was harassed daily for his “feminine” features, so the fluttery lashes and full lips were nothing new. But now he had grown into his generous mouth and his doe eyes, and so much of his youthful softness had made way for sharp definition — particularly in his jawline and cheekbones. He’s actually grown into the kind of person that intimidated you even if he was just Eddie. He made your palms sweat and had you thinking over every little thing you said. Y’know, things like Loo-ddie. You tried to reassure yourself that you only had nerves because you wanted to have him as a best friend again so badly, but some self-aware part of you knew the signs of an impending crush. Why couldn’t you have some self-control? Why did you have to gush over just about every man who showed you an ounce of kindness?

You wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but you even had brief heart eyes for Ron after seeing how sweet he was with Sandy. It made you yearn for what they had, and you recognized it was more about wanting such a wholesome relationship of your own than wanting someone twice your age, but you still felt ashamed about it. What’s wrong with you? You needed to let bosses stay bosses, and you needed to let best friends stay best friends. You needed Eddie to be a friend, you needed to keep those boundaries in place so you couldn’t ruin everything like always. He’s special, and you can’t just throw yourself at him and offer to give him whatever he wants just so you could feel like his everything — even if it’s only for a few minutes.

You glance at your hands now and fight the urge to chip away at your freshly painted nails to appease your low spirits. You sit with these thoughts for a moment, swallowing moisture back into your throat that felt too tight; then you forced yourself away from the cramped motel bathroom to finish getting ready for your shift. You couldn’t let yourself slip up and distract yourself with your own misery — it was Saturday, and this was your final step towards success. A measly success of a server job at a small-town bar, but you had to put a positive spin on it.

You couldn’t focus on self-loathing, and you couldn’t focus on Eddie.

“A new girl?” Eddie groaned as he rolled his sleeves up to the bends of his elbows. “The last time we had a new person I had to watch him every fucking second cause he had no clue what he was doing — shit, he even stole from you, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” Ron muttered bitterly, never happy about the reminder that someone had been sneaking cash out from under his nose. “She’s pretty good though. Real sweet and does her job.”

“I dunno… do we really need the help?”

“Kevin is back at school. We really need the help,” Ron chuckled, but felt a pang of sadness right to his chest knowing his youngest was back at college — or even in college in the first place — all the same. “Don’t be so sour. She’s a good kid.”

Eddie grumbled irritably but didn’t pester him any further. It was no use anyways. If Ron set his mind on something, then he wasn’t letting up. Sure, it made sense considering it’s his business, but he’s also stubborn as a bull and that quality had a history of surpassing logic sometimes.

About a quarter to four, Eddie was in the back when the bell rang.

“Well look at you, all nice and early again. You suckin’ up?” he heard Ron asking playfully, and Eddie rolled his eyes.

Great. A suck-up.

Just what he needed. Some goody two-shoes setting a new standard that he wouldn’t meet. He was lucky if he was on time in the first place with how much he slept in on the weekends, but Ron was always cutting him slack. Jus’ a small-town bar he’d say whenever Eddie scrambled into the building with an apology already slipping out at an incoherent pace.

He couldn’t hear the new girl’s reply, assuming it had been a nonverbal one rather than one so delicate and quiet that even Ron barely heard it before the novice made her way to the back.

“Hi, I don’t think we’ve worked together yet and I just… wanted… to… Loogie…?”

At the sound of your voice, Eddie was already turning around from where he was opening the recent delivery. His perception of the moment seemed to have been placed in slow motion and suddenly he was heating up with flashbacks of Wednesday night. Called her a good girl, no joke, called her a good girl his mind droned on repeat just to torture him.

“Wha — hey,” he laughed casually and thankfully avoided choking on his own spit. He swallowed thickly and his brow furrowed as his voice came out painfully hoarse. “You’re the new girl?”

“Guess so. If I do well tonight,” you murmured with a small smile, toying with your hands.

You had painted your fingernails a rich burgundy, and his eyes zeroed in on the small strokes of color before looking up at you again.

“I’m sure you’ll be okay, Ron seems really impressed with you…” Eddie offered with a light laugh after clearing his throat, suddenly feeling sheepish around you again.

“Don’t go tellin’ her that! I don’t want her thinking she doesn’t have to work hard tonight!” Ron shouted from the front, pulling a snicker out of you.

You swiftly place your purse on a hook before continuing the conversation. Even if it wasn’t the end of the world if Ron heard your conversation, you took a few steps closer to Eddie and lowered your voice a touch.

“So… did the tea help at all…?” you ask, risking a mention of Wednesday night. You lifted one sneakered foot up onto your toes and shifted nervously before settling it back down as you waited on his reply.

Eddie’s lips pushed out in thought as he brought his attention back to the delivery of nuts and pretzels (really, he was looking for an excuse to not have to look at you as he thought of that night).

“Oh, uh, yeah. Thanks — really helped,” he offered a partial smile as his eyes flitted over to you before turning down again just a fast.

You press your lips together in a weak smile of your own and nod but fall silent. Instead of giving into your urge to pick at your polish, you run the pads of your fingers over the smooth surface of your nails instead.

“‘m sorry for that hug,” you finally blurt out with an uneasy laugh. “I just- I really thought that was why you were reaching over, and I didn’t want to be rude so-”

Eddie’s eyes widened and finally removed himself from his suddenly oh-so-interesting task.

“No no no, you don’t have to apologize,” he promised as he stretched back to his full height. “I should’ve been offering anyw- ah, shit.”

Eddie hissed as he glanced down at his hand. While replying with a fervent need to reassure you, he had thoughtlessly grabbed at the wrong end of the box cutter and sliced the pad of his thumb.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” you rush over to him, instinctively cradling his hand with your own.

“Just a surface cut. Really.” Eddie chuckled. He really needed to go run it under cool water and bandage it, but he wasn’t ready to separate from you.

“What’s going on back there?” Ron questioned from the bar.

“Eddie cut his finger!” you replied as Eddie insisted “Nothing!” simultaneously.

Ron grumbled on his way to his back room that he had turned into a part kitchen, part break room, part delivery storage room. Surely there was some kind of code being broken there, but who cared? Clearly no one around Hawkins.

He eyed the way you two were situated but didn’t think much of it since you were probably just having a natural reaction to someone getting hurt.

“I swear…” he grumbled under his breath on his way over.

“You need to pay attention before you really hurt yourself one of these days,” Ron muttered, and grabbed Eddie’s wrist far harsher than when you reached out for him. “Aren’t you a mechanic? Don’t you know to watch where your hands are, kid?”

You cringed when he wiped at the spot with a rough napkin that sounded like it might as well have been sandpaper against the cut, then grunted.

“It’s fine. Just a bleeder,” he states with all the confidence of a certified physician and ruggedness of an old trucker before tugging up his jeans further into his partial beer gut and walking back out. “You know where the first aid kit is!”

“More than anyone,” Eddie added with a half grin to compliment his self-deprecation as he tilted his head, breathing out a soft laugh.

“Still accident prone, huh?” you ask with a slight scrunch to your nose and a lift to the corners of your lips, watching him head farther back in the multi-faceted room to the employee bathroom.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” He tilted back out of the room to offer you a cheeky grin, his hair jostling with the motion and then again when he flicked his head to get it out of his face.

“Oh, I dunno… Coulda learned your lesson after face planting into gravel,” you offer with an innocent tone, taking a moment to clock in before sauntering over.

“Well considering that happened several times, you should know better than to assume I’d ever learn,” he whispered playfully, grinning over at you.

“Guess so,” you snort, leaning into the doorframe.

“Had to rough this face up, y’know? Really dedicate myself to becoming a man,” Eddie used a deeper, rougher tone of voice and puffed his chest out as he held a paper towel to his thumb.

“It’s a shame it didn’t work,” you pouted before laughing at the hurt look he donned.

“You wound me, truly,” he moved his good hand to his chest.

“Not as often as you do, apparently,”

“Touché, touché,” he sighed, unclasping the first aid kit and flipping it open. “You’re still a lil shit, y’know that?”

“Can’t help it. Haven’t had anyone to banter with in years,” your head settled against the wood of the doorframe and his own tilted to the side as he regarded you. That smirk of his toyed on his lips as he considered your words.

He’s about to reply — surely with some cheeky remark about you needing him — but Ron was calling before he got the chance.

“Make sure you’re wearing gloves today,” Ron muttered to Eddie without lifting his attention from whatever he was writing down.

“You never wear gloves,” Eddie countered with a childish huff. “Only rich-ass bars in the city give a shit about that crap.”

“Yeah, well I ain’t a health hazard,” he snickered, finally raising his gaze to point his pencil at Eddie’s bandaged finger. “Gloves. Now.”

Eddie rolled his eyes but pulled gloves from the box under the countertop anyways. You’re on the other side of the bar, sitting on a stool and a smile pulling at your lips. Elbows on the countertop and chin balancing on your fists, you watch him intently with little giggles sneaking out.

“Don’t encourage him,” Ron pleads gruffly at the sound of you laughing over Eddie making a big show of pulling out the gloves and slipping them onto his hands.

Once he let each glove snap into place at his wrists, Eddie outstretched his arms and displayed his new accessory.

“Eh? Nice, right? Definitely won’t make everything I touch taste like latex,” Eddie nudged his boss who gave him a less than pleased look, but you were sure he was muffling his own amusement.

“Wanna learn how to bartend?” Ron asks you now. “I think there’ll be an opening soon.”

At that, Eddie leans back with a belly laugh, his dimples sinking into his cheeks.

You had unfortunately started your shift with the assumption that they had been messing with you when Ron and Sandy warned you about Saturday nights. When you arrived just before 4 o’clock there was nearly no one there besides the occasional regular; then twenty minutes past 5 o’clock came along and you were blasted back to Sunday mornings at the diner. The place was packed full of people all chummy with one another, which was charming until they were several drinks in and decided they knew you just as well.

Not all of them, but enough of them were flirting with you at every opportunity; and you were forced to use your customer service manners to deal with them. So many fake smiles were starting to make your cheeks ache.

Returning to the back with an empty tray, you rub at the muscles in one cheek with your free hand. You almost forgot how much service work meant forcing a pleasant attitude and dealing with aching feet. God, that was killing you more than anything. When you were leaving the motel, your trusty sneakers were like walking on clouds. Now, you were certain you had been stomping around on needles.

The music didn’t exactly help with your shift either while trying to hear requests and reply, especially since you weren’t one to use a loud tone. Ron insisted on live music whenever he could get it and you understood the appeal, but the band playing tonight apparently didn’t know how to have a respectable volume set for performing indoors.

You could handle it and you knew you’d form a routine with the locals that rushed in on the weekends and you’d learn how to cope with deafening musicians — you just needed to adjust to your new job.

What you couldn’t handle, as you were quickly learning, was seeing Eddie bartend. It was such a simple act, and yet it left you slack jawed while trying to stay focused on dishing out the drinks he prepared to the right people.

Something about the gloved hands and the rolled-up sleeves as he moved around the bar with such ease left you in the shadow of a crush looming overhead again. His chain bracelet and that familiar beaded bracelet were stacked on one wrist; he even had a few faded tattoos you caught glimpses of in the dim lighting. Not to mention the moving musculature in his strong forearms as he poured and served and wiped with a sort of sloppy expertise. You noticed there wasn’t a lot of mixing around here just like back home. Just a whole lot of small-town people looking for simple alcohol. The older ones seemed partial to a basic glass of whiskey or beer; and the younger ones all hopped up on the fact that they could finally drink legally were requesting shots.

Eddie had tied his hair back in a low bun with the occasional curl rebelling and framing his face that seemed to only be smiling or thinly veiling irritation whenever a mean drunk bitched about him not pouring enough. Either way it truly was something to behold.

As much as his looks should’ve been a passing thought, considering your place as an old friend, they insisted on lingering. You were still adjusting to knowing him this way and the odd disposition between knowing him like no one else and not knowing him at all continued to present a disorienting mix of feelings. The possibility of such complications never occurred to you when you became dead set on coming here, and you hated that you didn’t see it coming or brace yourself for it. Now you were stumbling through moving here for a childhood best friend and winding up finding a man in his place.

Then, of course, your thoughts circled back to your history with men. Don’t go there, don’t go there.

You let out a small sigh and checked the clock. 11:11. So close. So, so close. Before you knew it, it would be time to leave. Glancing at your notepad, you go over what that guy in the sweat stained sports tee asked for his cheap nachos. Extra jalapeños. He insisted on extra jalapeños and went into way too much detail of how “he’d be paying for it in the morning, but they’re just so damn good.”

“Having fun?” Eddie asked after his plodding jog to the back.

“Oh, you bet. An absolute blast,” you laughed, pouring the molten cheese over the thin tortilla chips. “Whatcha doing here?”

“Break,” Eddie answered simply as he flopped down in a chair in the small corner of the space dedicated to the employees. “Ron and Sandy got the bar for now.”

“Ahh,” you hum, spooning the jalapeños on top of the mountain of ingredients.

“Y’know, you’re pretty good at the whole bartending thing. It’s actually kinda cool,” you admitted, glancing over your shoulder to smile over at him.

“I just pour alcohol for the local drunks, but thanks,” Eddie laughed diffidently over the compliment, sliding his metal lunch box closer to get to his baggie of pretzels.

“Is that your dinner?” You ask now, fighting to keep the conversation alive. You’d take talking about pretzels over a lull in conversation.

“Oh uh--” he glanced down at the bag. “I might make something when I get home if I have enough energy.”

“You better. Or I’ll be forced to come over again. Pretzels aren’t dinner.”

“Oh, I see,” Eddie grinned. “Then you can come over and I can make a fool of myself again.”

“It’s okay, I’ll do it too. It’ll balance everything out,” you offered, placing the hot plate on your tray.

“Oh, well there we go. Long as we’re both fools, then it should be okay,” he agreed with feigned seriousness to your proposal then let his smile curl up his lips again.

“Of course,” you matched his endearing expression. “We’re always fools.”

“Always fools…” he tested aloud while leaning back to teeter the metal foldout chair back and forth.

“I concur, Critter.”

“They’re awfully chummy, hm?” Sandy whispered to Ron as she watched you two interact while cleaning up for the night.

“Yeah. I hate it,” Ron grumbled out, scrubbing at a stain. “He better not scare her off. She’s a good waitress.”

“Don’t be like that,” Sandy sighed, nudging her hip into his. “I think it’s sweet. And he’s a good kid, I don’t see him hurting her — let alone enough to cost us an employee.”

“So, we’re definitely keeping her ‘round?”

“Yes, we settled on that this morning — would you quit avoiding the topic?” She urged and Ron groaned as he stretched his back.

“It’s alright, I guess. Jus’ don’t want any drama around here. Too old for it.”

“So, I didn’t scare you off?” Eddie asked as you cleaned off tables together.

“Scare me off?” you repeated, glancing over at him. “Why’d you say that?”

Eddie eyed you through his lashes then looked back down at the same spot he’s wiped down probably six times now.

“Well, you brought up coming over again,” he let out a soft chuckle. “So, I’m guessing I wasn’t that much of an idiot on Wednesday?”

“Oh psh — please,” you laughed it off, standing up straighter after swiping the rag over the tabletop one more time. “If anything, I was being stupid.”

“Oh, I wasn’t saying you weren’t being stupid,” Eddie joked with that obnoxiously gorgeous grin, finally separating from that same table he kept cleaning. He sauntered over to you, his amusement and proximity warming you as he looked down at you. “Just that I was also stupid.”

“I’d say you were especially stupid, but I was trying to be nice,” you shot back in a dulcet tone, grinning up at him.

“Be nice?” Eddie repeated with a huff of disbelief, grinning when that earned him a jab to his side. “Gone soft on me, Critter? Not the same girl that’ll throw a remote at my head?”

“I only did that if you were particularly annoying while I was trying to watch TV,” you laughed, nudging his chest to just barely make him stumble back. Not that it discouraged that man who only smiled brighter.

“Well then, I guess I have an excuse for being such an idiot all the time. You really knocked something loose all those times you hit me with that remote.”

“Sure, it was me that knocked something loose,” you teased in a giggle, making your way over to the last couple of tables. Your laughter only builds up at the face he gives you — both playfully hurt and encouraged to get you back.

Within seconds you noticed the way he started to twist up his rag, and you were squealing and rushing away from him. Eddie chased after you and whipped at you with the towel whenever he got the chance, occasionally jamming his hip into a table or a chair with a breathy “Oof.” Amongst your squeaks of empty fear, you were still cackling and tried to get him back with your own towel.

“Children!” Ron suddenly announced, and you two slowed down to a stop — still breathless and giggly. “I’m old and would like to go to sleep. Maybe finish cleaning before flirting?”

Sandy gave him a look that could kill for that, then followed Eddie’s example and whipped at his behind with a rag.

Both of your faces flushed at the accusation, but thankfully weren’t forced to sit with the embarrassment of being called out by Ron. Instead, all your attention went to cackling over Ron’s tired reaction to his wife snapping a towel at his ass.

He looked genuinely angry for a moment, and then he was clearing his throat and wiping the bar cleaner off his hands and twisting up his own towel.

“Nope — no — Ron,” Sandy started with a warning tone, but she was already laughing, slowly backing away.

“Gotta play fair,” Ron pointed out and whipped at her thigh. That was enough to send Sandy squealing and Ron chased after her to the back room while the two of you leaned into your laughter.

You’d do anything for a love like that.

“Still not a fan of pretzels for dinner?” Eddie chanced a glance over at you with a lazy, half grin as he toyed with his keys and walked you over to your car.

“Definitely not a fan of pretzels for dinner,” you answered, laughing under your breath and nudging his hip with your own.

“It’s a shame cause y’know,” Eddie yawned dramatically as he stretched out his arms and then flopped into the side of your car. “I’m real tired. If someone doesn’t follow through with their offer, that’s for sure all I’ll be having.”

You tilted your head, feeling that post-customer service ache to your cheeks as you fought the urge to smile at this absolute idiot leaning against your car. His elbow was propped up on the roof, his fist supporting his head and squishing his cheek.

“I don’t know if I have the energy to cook right now,” you sighed, doing your best to match his drama. “But you know what?”

“What, Critter?” He hummed, shoving himself away from the car to move a few stray hairs from your face and in that moment, you might as well have melted into the cracked and sun-bleached pavement. “I’m invested. Do go on.”

“I can buy us fast food,” you whispered to provide a surreptitious air to burgers and fries. Screw it. You’ve been good about eating real food. Maybe it was time to associate these meals with something positive for once. Whatever excused your addiction to excessive oil and salt.

“Ah, much better than pretzels,” he laughed, shoving one of his hands into his jacket pocket. “I’d be honored.”

“Just like old times,” him being closer to you to move some hair out of your face encouraged you to toy with one of the pins on his coat. A soft breeze swirled through the parking lot, and you were both reminded of how stuffy and smoke-filled work had been as you breathed the fresh air in. You caught the scent of a distant bonfire, but it was nothing like the cloud of tobacco back in The Hideout. The chill of the air combined with the musk of a faraway fire spoke of Fall, sweetening your already pleasant mood.

“Remember that time we got large pizzas for both of us on movie night?”

“Yeah,” Eddie let out a soft laugh. “You threw up on the carpet.”

“Yeah, and you got in trouble for using your dad’s credit card,” you add a small giggle of your own, just for your heart to sink at the shift in his expression. You shuffled in your spot.

“Sorry… I probably shouldn’t… I shouldn’t keep bringing him up,” you muttered, dropping your hand away from his W.A.S.P. pin.

“No — no, no it’s okay really,” Eddie was quick to reassure you, but your mood was still steadily spoiling and dragging the pit of your stomach down with it at even a glimpse of him being bothered by you. Upset, angry, annoyed, fed up — whatever it was. You were certainly paying the cost of your penchant for nostalgia, and even the aroma of an early October night couldn’t save you.

“I like talking about when we were kids,” he added in a hushed tone that eased your spiral a touch. You glanced up at him through your lashes. “Really. I do. Makes me feel… ah, I don’t know.”

He admitted that last comment with a huff. It was filtered through amusement over his inability to speak before he rolled his lower lip inward in thought. Both of his hands were shoved in his pockets now and he swayed in his spot while kicking a piece of gravel forward. He finally released his lower lip again which was left with a slight sheen to it now, and he settled on a shrug of defeat. He couldn’t think of what he wanted to say.

You stared at him, this impromptu moment of softness burning through you in a way you weren’t expecting. Just as he couldn’t understand exactly why he enjoyed discussing his childhood as long as it was with you — you couldn’t understand the sudden pang of nausea that came from hanging onto his words and just to drop down over a noncommittal shrug. Your anxiety barreled into you in a sudden flash, leaving you somewhere in between the pain and the comfort of clinging to the past with him.

“Makes me feel cared about, I guess. Especially since we haven’t been friends in a while,” he finally concluded. “You don’t have to remember any of that stuff, but you do… it’s nice.”

“We’re always friends,” you insisted with a small smile, doing your best to not let everything fall apart over that once brief change of expression especially since things were looking up again.

“Yeahhh, you’re alright…,” Eddie murmured. “I guess I’ll keep you.”

“Oh, how generous of you,” you snort, attempting to move him to the side so you can get to your car, just for him to reach out a hand to settle on your upper arm. He gently urged you to turn around as he pushed himself off your car again.

“C’mon, I’ll drive. I don’t trust that thing,” Eddie insisted as he kept a careful hold on your elbow while guiding you towards his van.

“What?” you question, looking back at your lonely car. “I’ve had her forever, she’s perfectly safe… I can’t just leave her here.”

“Your brake pads are shit.”

“What?” you ask again with a slight pout and furrowed brows.

“When you visited me the other day,” he started with a light laugh to buffer his confession. “Your car sounded like it was screaming when you were parking.”

You reached his van that had aged gracefully over the years with a mechanic at its beck and call. Eddie unlocked the passenger side door and held it open for you, but you couldn’t stop looking at your car.

“She’s just tired s’all,” you frown, feeling guilty over abandoning an inanimate object no matter how silly it felt.

“She’s just gonna kill you if you don’t replace your brake pads s’all,” Eddie leaned into you with his mocking whisper. Your sad glance up at him is enough to make his playful expression falter. His heavy and dramatic exhale already pulls a smile back onto your face, knowing he was caving in some way or another.

“I’ll bring ‘er to Thach’s and replace them for you,”

“Thank you, Loogie,” you swooned, and he rolled his eyes over your excessively cooing tone.

You were lucky to have favoritism on your side.

“Give it to me straight, doc. Will she make it?”

Eddie glanced over at you with a faux glare.

“How many times are you going to ask me that?”

“I dunno, how many times are you going to squint at me instead of answering?”

“You know I’m doing this for free right? After hours? After already working my second job all night?”

“Ooo, you sound like such an adult,” you squeeze your shoulders up to your ears with a grin, a brown bag stocked with artery-clogging goodness on your lap. He shook his head at you, looking away again to hide his poorly masked amusement. He could say all he wanted about doing this for free, but you could still give him a hard time. He was getting paid whether he wanted it or not. Even if he didn't accept it from you personally, you'd at least leave cash at the front desk and ask the nice receptionist to give it to him.

“Alright, c’mere,” he waved you over eventually. You perked up, moving out of the hard plastic chair in the garage where you left the fast food in your place. “And can you bring that display over? On the table?”

Nodding, you snatched it on your way over to Eddie and kneel beside him.

“Okay so,” he started off with a sigh. Not a great sign.

“Best case scenario, your brake pads look like this,” a greasy index finger points to one of the pads on display before moving to the one next to it. “This is how they’d look with a more moderate amount of wear to them – not great and you'll want to replace them, and then this is how they look when you need to get them replaced ASAP.”

“And this is your brain on drugs,” you chimed in with the theme, before shrinking under the look he gave you.

“Sorry,” you murmured, even though he broke and smiled over your bad joke.

You returned to observing the gradual decline in buffers on the display and shrug a bit.

“Okay, so what about Sherry?”

Eddie groaned as he leaned back to grab the discarded piece of metal and held it up to show you. It looked like a flat, grimy cracker in comparison to the examples on the display.

“They’re practically just the backing plates at this point, I don’t know how you’re not dead,” the piece clinked against the cement floor when he dropped it back down. “How long have they been squealing?”

Eddie’s brow furrowed and he became visibly pained by the way you had to think about it. It wasn’t coming from a patronizing, “how can you be so dumb” kind of place, but rather it stemmed from the anxiety of knowing you were driving around like this.

“I dunno… I noticed a while ago, so I just played my music louder,” you shrugged, and Eddie snorted amidst his distress. He sat up more to lean his back on Sherry. “But then I had to start stomping on the brakes way before I usually would to stop in time.”

“Yeah, that’s generally not a great sign,” he snickered as you started to.

“I’m so sorry, Sherry…” you frowned despite your previous giggling, raising a hand to caress one of her doors. Eddie lifted himself up off the ground with a grunt, heading over to a sink to wash his hands. You crane your neck to follow him, dropping your hand down from your car and start playing with the creeper, rolling it back and forth.

“So, she’ll get some new brake pads and she’ll be as good as new?”

“Well, I don’t want to just replace those, I’ll check out the whole braking system,” Eddie turned to face you completely, wiping the remaining water and suds off his hands. He grabbed the bag you left on the seat and made his way back to you.

“How’d you learn all this stuff?” you asked, thanking him as he handed you your burger before taking a monstrous bite out of his own.

“Uh, my uncle taught me,” he said around his food, sucking a bit of ketchup off the side of his thumb. You noticed the sad glance down to the floor, so you backed off. You didn’t need another moment like earlier when you brought up his dad again.

“I just can’t get over the fact that you’re a grown up…” you murmured to yourself, looking down at your meal. Eddie eyed you as he kept chomping away at his food. The horrid sound that you’ve always despised motivated you to look up at him again, and laughter bloomed from your chest at the sight of the mess around his mouth. His chewing slowed as he blinked his big eyes at you. Gulp.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“You still eat like an obnoxious kid,” you teased, kicking a foot out to nudge him and pull multiple napkins out of the bag for him.

He simply shrugged in response with a cheeky grin, accepting the napkins that he unceremoniously smeared over his lips.

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to be here,” he raised his hands up in defense now, chuckling to himself.

“Yeah, I am…” you murmured, leaning your head back against Sherry as a fond smile formed on your lips while you watched him start to dig through the bag for any stray fries to add to his container. He shoved most of them right into his mouth before glancing at you again.

“What?”

“Nothing… just happy to have my best friend back,” you murmured, and he silently melted at the sincerity. God, did he feel lucky for once.

You take a beat before outstretching your arm to present him with your downturned hand with just your pinky out. Eddie recognized the old gesture and wiped his hand on his pants, despite the napkins at his disposal, before reaching his own hand out. Interlocking pinkies was of course typical of some childish pact which the two of you did plenty of times as kids, but sometimes you sought this out simply for a moment of comfort. It made you feel held and even as kids, Eddie had the emotional maturity to understand how lonely you felt because of your family. So, when you needed someone to hold your pinky, he was there. The only difference was now his pinky was closer to the width of your thumb and nearly swallowed your pinky whole when he wrapped it around yours. Just another adjustment to Eddie being an adult, which left an unlaughed snicker in your chest at the realization, but it comforted you all the same.

And this night in a dingy old garage after a long shift was easily the best night you’d had in years.

taglist: @mystars123 @h-ness1944 @ohmeg @milkymil-k @eddiesprincess86 @stopbeingcurious @corrodedcoffincumslut @sidthedollface2 @spoonflix @madaboutjoe @fckyeahlames @corrcdedcoffin @damon-loves-pie @bebe07011 @eponaartemisa @aysheashea

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson series #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #mechanic!eddie munson #mechanic!eddie #bartender!eddie munson #bartender!eddie #slow burn eddie munson #eddie munson slow burn #eddie munson x reader #bsf!eddie munson #eddie munson x fem reader #desiderium series #desiderium eddiessluttywaist

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carnivorousyandeere · 10 months

Note

tw: dubcon

my lil dream is darling admitting to marcus physical contact/physical affection/sex??? makes them uncomfortable becos of their past (if you know, you know) but it's something that torments darling becos it makes them feel like a freak. like darling wishes they could be more physically affectionate with hypothetical significant others and be able to have sex like others have sex.... and marcus instantly is like (: interesting (: well we could defo do something abt that (:

IDK YOU SAID SEX THERAPY AND I IMMEDIATELY GOD I WANT IT SO BAD

marcus starts off with just soft light touches and darling is trembling becos touch from others has always hurt and it pains marcus to see darling like that but now he gets to introduce gentle touch to them. he skims his hand across their skin and darling is so brave, eyes fluttering close, focusing on the touch.

then it escalates from there every session. marcus is always so gentle, so encouraging, so loving. they hold hands for long periods of time. they hug. after a certain session, they start sitting side by side every single session. eventually, even that escalates to darling sitting on marcus' lap, his arms wrapping around her waist.

idk abt marcus but MAYBE he likes the way that every single session, darling trembles under his touch but darling puts on a brave face anyway. like a rabbit that so desperately wants to run away from a predator but, instead, decides to face it head on. something abt it whets his appetite?

eventually, darling happily tells marcus that they've started to really recover and that they've incorporated what they've learned in therapy. they've started being okay shaking hands with friends! isn't that great??

of course it is! except, no, internally, marcus isn't okay with it. becos he liked being the only one. he liked his darling exclusively being his. so he ups the stakes.

he starts slipping his hands under their clothes, fingers skimming across their hips, across their waist, across their thighs. darling trembles, wondering if this is right but... marcus knows best doesn't he?

then marcus cups darling's cheeks and soundly kisses them. darling wants to pull away but marcus is stronger and so, instead, trembling so very much, darling returns the gesture. becos..... marcus...... maybe..... marcus knows what he's doing...... right?

and then marcus tells darling next session they'll really practice intimacy and darling can't tell if the feeling in their stomach is anxiety or butterflies.

ANON WHO ARE YOU. WHO GAVE YOU THE KEYS TO MY BRAIN?? Same wavelength it’s kinda scary 😳

Iykyk— I think I get what you’re putting down. That wasn’t exactly my experience, but for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve any of that.

( MDNI )

CW: dubcon, abuse of power/authority, EXTREMELY unethical therapy practices, manipulation

Marcus has you in his lap, facing him, positioned just so that you won’t feel his hardness. He doesn’t want to scare you by having you feel that— this is about you, about making you feel better.

You cling tightly onto his shoulders, eyes shut and lips trembling as his hand travels under your waist band to gently stroke you through your underwear.

He leans in to press a soft kiss to your hairline, reminding you as he always does that it’s okay, you’re safe with him. He won’t hurt you. You can ask him to stop any time and he will. You nod, eyes still screwed tightly shut. Marcus keeps his pace steady and touches light, waiting for the tension in your body to unspool and melt into a different sort of tension.

When he notices your breathing become shallower, Marcus pauses and moves back to cup your face in one hand. Your eyes flutter open, dark and hazy.

“Do you need me to stop?” He asks softly.

“…..No,” you whisper, before letting your eyes close again and nuzzling into his hand. “Please….?”

He smiles softly at how cute you are, despite the pain of seeing you so obviously struggling, and leans in to kiss away the little tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“It’s okay if you’re enjoying this,” he whispers. “It’s okay to feel good. This is supposed to feel good. You deserve to feel good.”

You shake your head no at that, beginning to really cry.

Marcus shushes you, wiping the tears away, “But it’s also okay for it not to feel good. You’re allowed to feel however you feel, and if it doesn’t feel good we’ll stop.”

When you don’t respond, Marcus sighs a little, fighting the urge to hug you closer to comfort you. “It’s alright, that’s enough for today. You did so well for me.”

He tries to move you off his lap to sit next to him and bring you some tissues— he can’t possibly let you leave his office like this, so wounded and vulnerable— but you just cling tighter to him and shake your head again, eyes still screwed shut and head turned down in shame.

“P-please… please don’t stop, Marcus…”

His heart stutters in his chest. How could he possibly refuse your heartfelt plea?

#mail 📬#oc Marcus #tw dubcon #cw dubcon #my thoughts #yandere #yandere oc #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere cw #yandere therapist #yandere smut #mdni #nsft

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syeren · 4 months

Text

NEW YEAR, NEW ME.

His finger shakily tapped along his knee as he braced himself for the nth time. A call. A stupid. Fucking. Call. Geto gulped down a lump in his throat as he heard a voice on the other end.

“… Hello?”

“Is this… I mean— I’ve been trying to reach you, haven’t you received my calls?”

“Oh, no sorry. I think you have the wrong number.”

“I… See, yeah… Yeah, I should’ve judged by the voice.”

“No worries! I think I’ve seen your number floating around frequently during the past week, I didn’t pick up though. Genuinely, I thought it was another spam call—“

“Ah, I’m sorry for troubling you. I’ll end the call now, have a nice day.”

“You too—“

Beep. Beep. Beep.

A clammy hand dragged down his dehydrated skin, his long lashes poking out through the gaps left open by lazy fingers. A deep rumble from a sigh vibrated in his throat, then echoed around his humid studio apartment… Drenched in nauseating vanilla musk cologne, and thick smoke billowed from a half-lit cigarette. In the corner of his apartment was a Vinyl player, playing Chet Baker softly as he thought.

“… Fuckin’ hell.”

He slowly got up from his hunched position against the wall, pushing some weight off of the surface to compensate the weakened muscles he had left. He had no courage or stamina to even reach the front door if anyone wanted to check up on him, perhaps he had been too optimistic about that mere thought.

He stumbled in his apartment, toppling over heaps of garbage and empty liquor bottles, a loud statement of his pain. As he neared his unkept bed, he plopped onto his flat, tear-stained mattress. The quiet rumble of traffic outside his apartment window was his alarm clock, while the occasional chatter from his next-door neighbours were his source of entertainment. Amongst those were the occasional pops of fireworks going off in the distance, ahh yes, the welcoming of the new year.

Another year, he thought, to wake up and go through his schedule on autopilot. It was rinse and repeat, at this point. His body clock already stopped working after countless nights of insomnia, and he spent that time thinking… Again. Another day, another year.

The record continued to play, aiding the descent into his brain once more. It had been a long time since he last seen you, heard your voice, felt you in his arms— Hell, the fact he couldn’t reach you anymore was already driving him insane. What drove you away? Perhaps it was his lack of understanding towards you, maybe it was the fact he stuck his nose into his own stuff and never had the light of day just to talk— Properly, that time. However, it may be the certain situation that he was burying himself into, the over-thinking. Did you get tired of it? Were you too exhausted to put up with it?

He wanted to understand. Those countless nights he spent just pondering over his own pessimism and confusion, it was enough for him already. He turned his dreary body around, planting his face against the pillow and shutting his eyes. He nestled into the illusion of comfort, but the true beauty of peace is long gone.

The intoxicating vanilla and musk clung to his bedsheets, doused in the saltiness of tears and a hint of fresh pine. He hadn’t taken a shower yet, a proper bath didn’t even pop into one of his hundreds of thoughts running in his brain until now; thus, he opted to submerge himself in his racks of cologne and perfume for the meantime. His eyes darted sideways, tilting his head to the darkness the night sky blanketed him with. Another sigh left his lips.

“… Did I not love them enough?” his voice broke through like a scratchy record, hoarse and unpleasant. A broken record of anxiety and negativity. “Did I love them too much?”

He laid there on top of his bed, drifting off into a dreamless sleep. Sleep sounds good, real good. To simply release those relaxing chemicals into your brain, signalling it to shut down. He wished he could that to his thoughts all day but, he holds on to something he can’t achieve— The notion to meet you once more. As the time passed, he felt his body sinking deeper into his mattress and—

Ring. Ring. Ring.

A groan bursted out as he lazily reached over to his bedside table, grabbing his phone and putting it to his ear. He knew that he would get another mouthful of false-positive comments from his buds, and he sucked in a breath once pressing ‘answer.’

“Satoru, I already—”

“Geto?”

The familiar chime sound, it was the type of bell that twinkles and flutters; much like a Furin in a soft Summer breeze. It wasn’t anything like the Church bell noise that Satoru’s voice gave off, resounding, rich, yet clanging to his ears. His eyes shot open as he clambered to sit up in his bed, crossing his legs as he tried to gather his scatterplot of thoughts.

“Hey,” he managed to croak out, albeit with a loud voice crack. “I didn’t… Expect you to call me.”

“Satoru told me I should check in with you, so that’s why,” your voice sounded like you were smiling through your words. He swore he could picture you smiling. “This is my new number, you can save it if you would like.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t want to disturb you, however.”

“No, no! You wouldn’t. Well, I just wanted to check in.”

“Okay, okay… No promises on being convinced,” he added, chuckling awkwardly as he cleared his throat into his fist.

“Alright. Well, I’m gonna hang up now, okay? Stay safe, Geto.”

“Mhm, you too. Thanks— For checking in, I mean.”

“No worries, bye!”

“Goodbye.”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

He immediately threw his phone down to his side as cold sweat profusely beaded around his temples. Black, messy locks draped over his eyes, and his gaze shot down at the mattress beneath him. Slowly, he leaned back against the wall once more, staring at the phone that connected you and him together. Even if it were brief.

All the times he called you, wanted to talk to you, hear that voice… Yet he wussed out, only managing to blurt out a quick ‘thanks for checking in.’ He wanted to profess his adoration, his emotions he held deep within his heart but once he finally got the chance to tell you, it didn’t meet to his expectations. Strings of profanities left his lips, muttering out into the silence of his own home.

Just as the clock renewed itself on that plastic display, he too, decided for that change. The unfamiliarity of the numbers twinkled in his eyes, and surely this would be a sign of hope. To pick himself up and just start anew— Well, once he figures out how to fix up his living quarters, that is.

The distant popping and cheers echoed from his complex and outside, and once Geto looked over at the clock, it was 12:00 AM sharp. A painful chuckle left his lips as his head craned back to rest against the surface. A new year, huh? It was ironic, how cheerful and abundant the atmosphere was throughout the building and the city, yet here he was wallowing in nothing but the repetitive Chet Baker record he had on. He reached in his pocket, grabbing the same pack of Camel he had and popping a cigarette up. Pressing the stick between his lips and lighting the butt, he inhaled deeply and blew out a thick cloud of smoke. The Turkish blend scattered through the air, filling the room with hazy puffs.

Another day, another year. Maybe this one will treat him better.

_______________

an; happy new year! :3 LOL i didn’t think i would make an angst for the new year, but i’ll infuse all my good energy into this post so it won’t affect ur upcoming blessings <3

#jjk #geto suguru #jjk geto #geto x reader #geto angst #jjk angst

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mmvalentine · 6 months

Text

Lucky | Feysand

It was a throw away comment and Feyre knows it.

“Stop leaving glasses out!” Rhys had said, half laughing, tugging the end of her ponytail and dropping two cups and a mug into the sink.

Rhys makes her a cup of tea every evening, and it’s one of the hundred little ways that Feyre feels spoiled. She does like to keep a glass of water on the night stand, and where Tamlin hated it when she worked, Rhys has always supported her career. So they both leave early in the morning and more often than not, there’s a small collection of glassware in their bedroom.

It's completely fair that Rhys would prefer that she take them to the kitchen in the morning.

So why is it that the comment unsteadies her?

“I’m sorry,” Feyre says, and rushes to the sink. Her hands shake on the sponge. “My brain doesn’t function in the morning, I’ll remember to wash up before bed.” She goes for casual but it comes out breathless, and the Rhys looks over with a frown.

Maybe it’s because she’s been here for four weeks but doesn’t trust this yet.

Not Rhys- he’s been nothing but gorgeous, and patient, and kind. He’s so completely sure about her and in some ways that’s the most wonderful thing about him. And in some ways, it’s a lot of fucking pressure.

Rhys comes to stand behind her and puts his nose on her neck. Closes his fingers over her wrists until she stops moving, and wraps his arms around her waist.

“That’s fair,” he murmurs. “It’s not a real gripe.”

Some nights, Feyre lies awake in the dark, long after Rhys has fallen asleep, and tries to deep-breathe the fear away. It never works. But how can she tell him? It’s not his fault. The problems are all in her head.

“I’m sorry,” Feyre whispers, and she doesn’t mean the glasses.

She knows it’s not realistic, but it’s hard to fight the urge to be as perfect as possible, because she’s never had it so good, and the fact that it could break any day now is more than enough to keep her guts in permanent knots. She’s been holding her lips closed over the anxiety. She’s been trying so hard. She’s brittle enough that the shallow criticism lands like failure in her stomach.

“It’s okay,” Rhys murmurs. He picks up a tea towel and dries her hands, dragging her waist away from the sink. “You’re safe, honey.”

Sometimes Feyre forgets that Rhys does know. Knows better than most- after all, he’s known Tamlin longer than she has. Still, she’s both embarrassed and relieved that he can read her so easily.

“I didn’t mean it,” Rhys says. “Please leave cups in the room. It means you live here and that is so wonderful, to me.”

Rhys sits down on the couch and pulls her into his lap. Feyre hides her face in his chest and wishes, for the thousandth time, that she was better than this. That her fear of Tamlin’s anger would not be an unwelcome third in her and Rhys’s house.

“Hey,” Rhys whispers. “Don’t be sad, beautiful girl.” He slides his hand under her hair, and touches their foreheads together. “You’re okay.”

And then he kisses her, and it helps.

Feyre takes a deep breath, and kisses him back. It’s difficult to be here, it’s difficult to let herself be loved like this. But touching Rhys is always easy, and soon her fingers find his collar and his jaw and the raven curls at the back of his head. And she can feel him smile against her mouth when she tugs him closer.

“Does this help?” he asks. Feyre just nods, and kisses him again. The rough of Rhys’s palms walk up her back, under her shirt, until his hand rests behind her neck.

“I have less anxiety when you’re touching me,” she admits, and Rhys chuckles softly.

“That’s good,” he says, and in the next moment he’s lifted her up out of his lap and laid her back down on the couch cushions. He settles easily between her legs, and every time it’s a thrill to Feyre that he’s hard because of her. His mouth wanders from her lips to her throat to her collar bone and back up.

“I’m not mad,” he says, because that’s always what she’s afraid of and he knows it. “Of course I’m not, you’re such a good girl, how could I be?”

And like clockwork those two words make her brain slide, and her eyes close as his tongue travels the indent that runs from under her sternum to her navel.

“Please,” Feyre breathes. Rhys just looks up at her from under the ink of his eyelashes, and continues kissing down her stomach. “Please,” she says again, and this time he leans up and kisses her heavy on the mouth.

“That’s such a pretty word on your tongue,” he tells her. Feyre doesn’t respond, she’s concentrating on Rhys’s belt buckle and the button beneath it. He glances down, and then gives her a pitying look. “My poor darling,” he says. His teeth graze the corner of her jaw. “You need this, huh?”

Feyre wins her battle with Rhys’s zipper and slides her hand down the front of his jeans. She’s rewarded with a shudder that rips across his shoulders, and it only makes her melt further into the couch.

“Yes,” she whispers.

“You need it?” Rhys asks again. He grinds against her palm and she loves how even when he’s in control, he comes undone a little under her hands. “You need me to fuck it better?”

“Yes,” Feyre says again, and now she shoves his jeans the rest of the way off him, and Rhys pulls his shirt over his head in one motion. He gets his mouth on her throat and his hand on her breast, and Feyre’s limbs reach up and around him to pull him closer than skin. He drags her tights off, agonizingly slow, and then her shirt, and every inch that’s exposed is immediately pressed up against the warmth of him, searing but sweet.

“Tell me how much,” Rhys says, and it’s only the cotton of her underwear that’s between them when he rolls his hips against hers. Feyre closes her eyes, speaks against the slant of his cheek.

“Too much,” she says. He hooks her leg over his shoulder and Feyre’s back arches up off the couch. “And too often. You have no idea…” she trails off, trying to press up against Rhys as he moves all too slowly.

“Too often?” he asks. His fingers drift down, toying with the waistband of her panties.

“All the time,” she gasps. Her hands scrabble on his shoulders as he drags the elastic down over her hips.

“I wish you’d tell me.” He starts to kiss down over her breasts, but Feyre pulls him back up to her lips and slide her tongue against his. He groans softly in her mouth, and she pulls her knees up the sides of his ribcage, digs her heels into base of his back. “I wish you’d lean over, while we’re watching TV, and tell me how bad…” here Rhys pauses to draw a shaky breath because Feyre is wet against his naked cock, “…you need to be fucked.”

“I’m telling you now,” Feyre argues, and lifts her hips to prove her point.

“You are,” Rhys concedes, and presses up against heat of her. “And you’re doing such a good job.” He pushes inside her, and Feyre’s head drops back against the cushions. She breathes in, and it feels like a long time she’s been holding her breath. “Look at me,” Rhys says, and when she opens her eyes he’s watching her face change when he moves out and back in. His hips punch forward when she meets the violet of his gaze, and Feyre gasps.

“That’s it baby,” Rhys murmurs. “Keep looking at me.”

It’s easier said than done- Rhys’s eyes scald her and every time their hips touch her mind slides.

“Come on honey, you can do it.”

Feyre’s eyes snap open, but somehow there’s five hundred years in that stare and it’s a lot to bear. She tips her head back and throws her arm over her face.

And then Rhys’s fingers close over her throat, and it’s strange that this makes her feel safer, that it always makes her feel safer when he’s holding her down because every other moment she’s on the verge of floating away altogether.

“Is that better?” Rhys asks. His eyes darken above her, and she loves knowing that he likes her like this.

“Yes,” she breathes, and his grip tightens.

“You’re so good,” he tells her. “My good girl.”

Feyre can’t help it, she moans at the praise and the sound pushes Rhys’s pace up. This time when her eyes squeeze shut he lets her. Sits up on his heels to get a deeper angle and puts his teeth on her ankle.

“You want to be good for me, don’t you?” Rhys asks. He slides his thumb against her tongue for a second, before touching it to her clit. She can’t answer, because he keeps his rhythm while he talks to her and it’s knocking the breath from her lungs. “You look so pretty like this, baby.” His eyes rake over her, hooded and muddled, and there’s nothing quite so intoxicating as watching him look at her.

Rhys leans his forearms on either side of her face and leans down over her. Feyre’s hands come up automatically to follow the muscles of his back. She thinks he’ll kiss her, but when she tilts her face up he just flicks his eyes down to her mouth and then back up. He slows down now, moves in long, languid strokes that make Feyre feel like she’s drowning.

“You know,” he murmurs. “You can always tell me if you need this.” This time he does kiss her, and the next time he speaks it’s right next to her ear. “I’d drop everything and bend you over. Empty your head just like you like.”

Feyre‘s nails dig into Rhys’s shoulders and he shifts again, moving fast now and breathing shallow.

“Come on baby,” he says, and she can hear the strain in his voice. “Feel good for me.”

She doesn’t need to be told, he always feels good and today is no exception. Not when the snap of his hips makes a steady undertow that she is fast being dragged in by, not when the smell of him this close is enough to drive her to distraction, not when she can feel him start to chase his own release and knows that she’s the one making him feel like this.

“Give it to me,” she whispers. “I want it, want to feel you…”

But Rhys just laughs and shakes his head. “You first, angel.”

Feyre is tempted to see if she can make him lose control, but the way he moves is too good to ignore. And, she’s never one to pass up an opportunity to show him how good she can be.

“Right now,” Rhys says, under her ear, and honestly it’s so easy with him. Feyre breaks in between one breath and the next, and it’s a thing that wrings her out over and over in the cage of Rhys’s arms. It’s somewhere in the aftershocks that Rhys comes too, and she hasn’t told him but this is the part to Feyre that feels so intense she never quite feels like she’ll survive it. But of course she does, and minutes later the world filters back in and the couch cushions are scratchy against her back and there is sweat in Rhys’s hair and her heart is still beating painfully hard in her chest.

And Feyre feels calm, in this moment, which is rare but increasing. She presses her nose against Rhys’s forehead, where he’s half dozing on her chest, and tries to remember the feeling of it, because there will be a next time that she feels anxious and afraid, but if she’s very lucky, and she has been very lucky, there will also be a next time for this part right here, and that makes everything worthwhile.

****

Well hello there angels! It's been a hot minute, I'm rusty don't laugh at me!

But seriously a lot of things have happened and I still kinda feel a little lost (read: completely out of control)- and not all in bad ways. I've been meaning to post some one shot type things and to talk about my book but man it is HARD. So for now here is a little angsty thing that may or may not be just be T-Swifting it about my current sitch and my book links: UK and international US eBook Australia

And ummm this feels like I am too irrelevant to pull this anymore and I'm sorry if you do not want to be on this but,

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @pitrsattabhaadmeinjao @achernarlight @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace @hopefulacademia @story-scribbler @fandomstalker27 @realbookloverproblems @dealfea @s-tormwitch @cretaceous-therapod @whenyadoesntcutit @scatterbrainedgirl @whoever-you-choose-to-love @endlessdaydream @elentiya-whitethorn @rarephloxes @timesconvert @mis-lil-red @alerialumina

#feysand #feysand fic #acotar #ooookay does anyone come to the tags for the life updates #because if you do heres the scoop #i live in london now #im about to lose my job boo #but im starting an apprenticeship yay #but its unpaid boo #anyway so end of the year im out of a house and an income #also i have a new boyfriend who wait for it is not an alcoholic #and i cannot fucking handle it because im full of trauma #anyway please read my book okay byyeeeee

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rockybloo · 8 months

Text

Thinking about Bitterbat tormenting Freebird. Not physically or even seriously but just mocking shit while in battle while he is obviously holding back because Bitterbat could obviously kill the bird man with the flick of a finger.

He very badly wants to but he knows the mess it'd cause and simply settles on mocking America's #1 via bringing up Sweetheart.

He says the typical villainous things one would expect-how she's so out of his league, how he'll never be strong enough to protect her, how she'll never return his feelings.

Of course, Freebird has protagonist brain so he keeps responding heroically. He goes on and on about how he'll defeat Bitterbat and how his words don't hurt him and is just Bitterbat projecting.

And then Freebird fucks up and states Bitterbat doesn't know anything about Sweetheart.

And there's this horrible glint in Bitterbat's eyes as he takes this slight as the green light to drop the weights a bit.

Not on his strength but on his mouth.

"I know how soft her lips are and how sweet they taste" Many, including Freebird upon hearing this think of all the kisses Bitterbat "steals" in battle.

"I know all the weak spots that make her knees buckle when touched" Again, those listening think of all the times Bitterbat has shown just how better he is in hand-to-hand combat than Sweetheart.

"I know how her voice sounds when she's trembling in my arms" Freebird glares at Bitterbat, recalling how scared Sweetheart often looks anytime she is pinned or wrapped up in Bitterbat's clutches. He knows the fact Bitterbat could easily kill her just fills her with fear and anytime he witnesses the scene as he watches the Decking City News, he wishes for nothing more than to sweep in and pull that bat wing eared monster off her.

"And I know that whenever she is around you, she is always thinking of me." A wide, twisted, and smug smile crept to Bitterbat's face as he watched the pure anger in Freebird's face change to frustrated confusion.

All the other teases had been, what many watching thought, to be battle related. But that last jab at Freebird made him pause to think about just what the hell Bitterbat meant.

And Bitterbat loved it. He wanted oh so badly to define what he meant. Go into deeper detail about the insult. Just like he wanted so badly to go into detail about the prior ones. He knew how oblivious the world was to the true relationship of Sweetheart and him. He knew when they heard his words, they simply thought of their fights together and the tricks he'd pull.

No one truly knew that each of his vague jeers were references to all the intimate times he and Sweetheart spent together off the battlefield.

No one except maybe the rabid Bittersweet Shippers. Lord knows how much they were eating this little moment up.

But Freebird was obviously not one of those and he snarled at Bitterbat, which the latter viewed as a pathetic attempt at both intimidating him as well as just sounding animalistic.

Freebird's wings bristled as, Bitterbat assumed, he tried to make himself appear bigger.

"I don't know what you're trying to pull with your disrespectful remarks to Sweetheart, but I'm not going to listen to some selfish creep that constantly forces himself upon her!"

A guttural sound crept out from Bitterbat's throat. It was deep and low and made everyone listening's bones rattle. Whatever playful energy was in this battle left immediately as Bitterbat's face lost all expression. His eyes were cold and the locked on stare they had on Freebird made him freeze instinctually.

Those watching could tell that the scene had switched from a confrontation of rivals to predator and prey.

Freebird was struggling to say anything to break up the silence. But nothing was coming out due to a strange anxiety that had built up inside of him since the moment Bitterbat stopped talking. Something deep inside of him wanted him to fly as far and fast from this battle as he could and he had to use all his will power to stay right where he was.

Bitterbat was the first to speak and it made everyone jolt due to many believing the live feed had suddenly been muted. His voice was much deeper than any had heard it. It was no longer the light and playful tone many associated with the villain. And that just made the situation even scarier for those watching.

"You dare call me the selfish creep when your accusations are merely the projections of your own actions?" Smoke leaked from Bitterbat's mouth as he spoke, deep violet and filled with high levels of toxin. "Your darling public might think you are a selfless saint but you are the biggest sinner around."

In seconds, Bitterbat's staff materialized in his hand and was jabbed into the asphalt of the street. A crack began to form from the road wound and spread toward Freebird's direction. More deep violet smoke began to billow from the crevices.

"And I promise you that a hell beyond your understanding is awaiting you with a gaping hungry maw"

Bitterbat finally smiled, and his mouth practically split his entire face in half with just how much it didn't fit on his humanly form. His fangs jutted from his mouth as razor sharp canines accompanied them. His long serpent tongue slithered out and flicked in the air, lapping up all the delicious fear that was leaking off the now trembling bird. His braid, the tip now pointed like a scorpion's tail, thrashed around in bloodlust.

The Monstrum wanted nothing more than to just kill him now and end the rest of Sweetheart's suffering. It would have been so easy with the way the hero was paralyzed in fear. Everyone was too stunned to even think of helping, including any heroes on standby for the fight. All Bitterbat really had to do was swing his staff and end it all in front of millions.

But as a sudden pink flash appeared in the sky, the King of Monsters remembered why he wasn't allowed.

Sweetheart descended, lowering herself right in the middle of Freebird and Bitterbat. She didn't want to land due to the fact Bitterbat was a foot taller than her-and her goal was ultimately to block Freebird from his view so he focused on just her. Her appearance seemed to bring some relief to everyone as the unsettling energy of what many believed to be Freebird's final day faded away. Even the smoke that was billowing from the road seemed to stop.

While everyone was frozen in fear back home, watching Bitterbat's monstrous transformation in real time, Sweetheart had been hauling ass to transform and arrive at the scene. She knew all the tell tale signs of Bitterbat's temperament worsening and when the mocking was on the way to becoming murdering.

The second it had become unclear if Bitterbat was going to remain restrained as he promised or if he was going to follow through on his many declarations to kill Freebird, Sweetheart knew she had to intervene.

Putting on her best heroic voice, she broke the silence.

"I think this battle has gone on long enough, boys." She did her best to sound playful but her eyes were locked on Bitterbat as she watched him very closely. Not in fear but to study him.

It was very clear to her that Bitterbat was enraged, even if he seemed calm to many right now. Her appearance might have eased some of that anger but it was still very present and still very much aimed at Freebird.

"I've never been more happy to see you, Sweetheart!" Freebird's tone was happy, under the false belief that he was out of the danger zone.

Sweetheart kept her eyes locked on Bitterbat. Every time his eyes flicked to try and look at Freebird, she moved so he would be looking at her instead. The magical girl responded, never taking her eyes off the Monstrum. "Yeah um, Freebird, I need you to get out of here while I deal with Bitterbat."

Freebird frowned. "But with the two of us, we could definitely deal with him now! Why would you want to go one-on-one with...that?" He gestured towards Bitterbat's...everything.

Sweetheart tried to hide the annoyance in her voice with determination. "Because I know Bitterbat better than any hero around and I don't want to risk you getting killed because of his unpredictability!"

Hearing a vague mention of the bond they shared made Bitterbat ease up a bit, the clutch on his staff loosening ever so slightly as he closed his mouth, his fangs now shrunken to their usual size to rest more comfortably in his powered down form. His braid had reverted from its scorpion tail appearance to being just hair again. The tip began to thump on the ground and the sound only got louder the longer he stared at Sweetheart.

Freebird wasn't budging. Holding in a groan at the obnoxiously protagonist coded man, Sweetheart floated closer towards Bitterbat so he was within arms reach. She watched as his eyes seemed to dilate at her approach, making him look less like an apex predator and more like an eager puppy.

Holding in an awe, Sweetheart couldn't think of any better way to make sure Bitterbat stayed put than to just simply...grab his face with her palm resting on the bridge of his nose so he hand no choice but to close his eyes. A trill of surprise came out of him but soon Sweetheart's entire arm vibrated from the force of him purring just from the skin contact.

Relieved Bitterbat was distracted enough, Sweetheart FINALLY looked towards Freebird.

"Bitterbat is my archenemy and isn't someone to take lightly. Only other Beloveds are capable of handling him. It'd be much safer if you left him to me."

Freebird took one step closer to Sweetheart and she had to squeeze Bitterbat's face as she heard his purring shift to growling.

Freebird replied, "I don't think it's safe for you to deal with that guy by yourself."

Sweetheart rolled her eyes, not even trying to hide it from the cameras-she could make an excuse about it to anyone who asked later. She responded, now growing tired of this back and forth, "I know that Bitterbat would never kill me. That makes me safer than anyone else on Earth...especially you as you were literally looking death in the face 10 seconds ago before I showed up."

Freebird would never acknowledge her being right about his fight or flight activating because he knew he was in danger. He merely crossed his arms with a smug grin. "So I'll take you showing up to save me as a sign you care?"

Every heroic bone in Sweetheart's body ached with a mighty need to let go of Bitterbat and just sick him on the bird. Bitterbat's tail began to wag as he sensed the desire in Sweetheart.

With the deepest sigh she thinks she's ever mustered in battle, Sweetheart replied one last time to Freebird as she settled on her next course of action.

"You can take me showing up to save you as a sign from some higher force that you should really pick and choose your battles much more carefully." Sweetheart allowed some sass to slip into her response. She was reminded of why it took her so long to jump into action while she was watching the scene unfold at home. Freebird was an egotistical dick and watching Bitterbat put him in his place was satisfying as hell.

Before Freebird had a chance to respond to her again, Sweetheart suddenly flew up into the sky, a tail ribbon grazing Bitterbat's cheek as a sign to follow her.

And follow he did as his focus had completely left Freebird and instead stuck to Sweetheart.

The two left in seconds, leaving nothing but swirling dust and cratered earth where Bitterbat had been standing seconds ago.

Freebird was left speechless at the sudden exit before chuckling to himself.

"Ah, she's crazy about me."

Meanwhile, miles into the sky away from Freebird, the fight scene and Decking City, Sweetheart groaned, loud and furiously. "I cannot STAND his ass. GOD he is such a prick!" She dragged her hands down her face as she flew past some clouds and a couple birds.

Bitterbat tailed her, humming blissfully as he enjoyed the sweet sounds of his girlfriend hating on his most disliked person. "Don't worry Sweetums, next time I have to deal with him, I'll make sure to slap him around a little~"

Sweetheart glanced over her shoulder to Bitterbat, the fear of hitting anything in front of her was nonexistent as the open air was much less congested than the city skylines.

"Define what you mean by 'a little'."

"A couple broken bones and bruises here and there. Nothing good ole hero healthcare can't fix."

Sweetheart pondered over the statement for a second before replying.

"Only one broken bone,"

Bitterbat trilled, his eyes lighting up in excitement. "One broken bone!? Oh, my Queen you're so generous to me~!"

Sweetheart added on "And it can't be either of his wings."

"Oh COME ON! You KNOW how badly I wanna break those! You can be as cruel as you are generous sometimes..." Bitterbat pouted, causing Sweetheart to giggle at his response.

#rocky rambles #sweetheart #bitterbat #freebird #licorice #glitter and guilt #writing

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