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#or maybe I’ll just take a nap! there are no rules!!!!!
alleiwentcrazy · 1 year
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Eddie hates it when people don’t answer his calls. He hates it with passion.
It reminds him of too many things. It reminds him of manhunts and abandoned sheds, and no one on the other side of the line. It reminds him of cold, clammy hands, of hunger, of fear. Breaking bones and eldritch horrors he’d thought existed solely in cheap movies, not in real life, until he was brutally made aware of the fact that when people say everything’s possible, everything is possible.
Every time someone doesn’t answer the phone when he calls, panic starts to boil inside his veins and his brain immediately makes at least a dozen painful scenarios for him to dwell on. He knows that technically, they just don’t know that it’s him. But it doesn’t make him worry any less, so everyone’s learned to respect the rule. They just have to pick up. No matter what. Or he’ll freak out, drop everything he’s doing and come unexpectedly to check if everything’s alright.
There hasn’t been a single situation when things were actually bad—people go get groceries, take solid, deep naps, or they’re simply too lazy to pick up sometimes—but he always does that. Always.
Especially if it’s Steve who doesn’t answer. What if he fell? Or someone mugged him? Or he got into a fight? This brain can’t take any more damage. What if he’s in the hospital now, waiting to be anesthetized before surgery, and no one’s called Eddie yet, because to society they’re just some dudes living together?
There are too many options. Eddie doesn’t like taking chances anymore, so he slaps the “I’ll be back in a few” sign on the door, closes the shop and speeds through the town like he has nothing to lose. (And it’s quite stupid, because he has too many things to lose now—but he’s allowed to freak out once in a while.)
When he gets there and sees Steve pacing and gesturing animatedly in front of the window of their tiny but awfully cluttered kitchen, he finds out exactly what it means to have the whole world on your shoulders. Or, rather, to be finally freed from the pressure it creates.
It’s okay. It’s just a stupid phone call. It wasn’t even important, anyway.
Despite that, he takes his helmet off. Won’t hurt to remind Steve of the rule. And maybe kiss his pretty face a little while he’s here.
He doesn’t even have to enter their apartment to know that Steve’s not alone. First off – if Steve’s pacing and rambling, an anxious trait he’s picked up from Robin, wasn’t a hint enough – it’s loud. Their paper walls can barely hold back a normal conversation, let alone something resemblant of a heated discussion. Honestly, Eddie has no idea how their neighbors can stand them sometimes, with his metal, their late-night conversations and non-conversations alike, with the kids visiting so often. Although Steve is optimistic (they have some lovely neighbors, like sweet Gran Fran, but don’t ever let Eddie express his opinions about that old hag from across the hallway, Miss Hermans), he’s still waiting for that complaint to be filed.
Second, he smells coffee. Steve never makes coffee for just himself.
Eddie opens the door gingerly, remembering how easy it is to completely unhinge them by accident, and is about to scream something about getting home, when none other than Dustin Henderson cuts him off with a shriek.
“—because it’s actually pathetic, that’s why! Get a grip, man, just do it!”
“Oh, it’s so easy for you to say, because you’ve never actually tried—”
“And maybe I never will! If you won’t do it, how can I learn how to do it myself? You know that you guys are the closest thing to father figures!”
“Hey, don’t make it about yourself for once, maybe? Some humility?”
Dustin’s quiet for a second, but Eddie knows he’s not about to admit full defeat. “Yes, sorry,” he chokes out, finally. “But you’ve tried so many times, you should know that it doesn’t get any easier on another try. Just do it, it doesn’t matter how.”
“It does, though! To me, it—it does. It matters,” Steve mumbles back, and Eddie can picture his face in perfect detail. It’s Steve’s small voice, which means he’s worried about something, even though his worry doesn’t make any sense in everyone else’s eyes. He’s unsure: his brows are pinched, lips pursed, stare skittering around the room, never focusing on anything. Dustin knows this face too, because his tone gets softer.
“Okay, then walk me through it.”
“What?”
“Walk me through it. You’ll know what you want, how you want it, when and where, and it’ll be easier when you try it next time.”
“Dustin, I really don’t—I’m not sure it can get easier, ever.”
“Because you’re scared.”
Steve sighs deeply before he responds. “Yes. Because I’m scared.”
“It’s been eight years, Steve. What are you scared of?” Dustin’s voice is gentle, curious. He’s not judging, he genuinely wants to know the reasons, and so does Eddie. He leans against the wall, trying to sneak a peek of the kitchen unsuccessfully, and listens. A while passes before Steve speaks again.
“I think—There are so many things I’m afraid of. But the main one… It’s still rejection. Not being enough. Because it’s not like it’s anything formal, right? It’s only a promise, and if it ends up turned down…”
Chair legs scrape the floor and Eddie can hear two soft slaps – hands on shoulders, probably.
“Steve Harrington. Calm down. You know it’s not going to happen—no, don’t argue. I know it, and this alone should be enough. You are an amazing person. You’re great with people, you’re bright, you’re sweet, caring, you have so many talents. I love you, Steve,” the pause that follows is filled with something so heavy there’s a shift in the air. It has a different smell now. A little salty, a little warm. “And he loves you. More than you can imagine, probably. So just pop the question, Steve. And don’t back out with some stupid excuse like this morning.”
“Pop the question,” Steve says, his voice firm, only a little timid. “Yes, I think—I think I can do that.”
Eddie bounces off the wall and takes quiet, slow steps backwards. He can’t hear anything else, even though the conversation continues. He bites his tongue hard enough to make it bleed a little. A coppery taste floods his mouth as he closes the door.
Oh, it’s just so, so stupid. He would have said yes. Each and every time, he would have said yes.
*
Later that day, when they’re lying in bed together, with the sheets rumpled, their bodies warm and mushy from the nap, with Eddie’s lips on Steve’s and Steve’s hands in Eddie’s hair, Eddie remembers the overheard conversation.
Well, no. That’s a lie. Because he hasn’t stopped thinking about it ever since.
Every single second of what, at first, seemed to be yet another annoying Monday, has been filled with reverie and anticipation. Dustin’s right – Eddie loves Steve. He loves him enough to risk hell for him, enough to argue with anyone who’s in any way mean to him. Enough to take his hand and say “You don’t have to be afraid when I’m with you”, even though Eddie’s the biggest coward in the whole wide world.
Eddie loves him. Loves his goofy smiles and scrunched happy faces, loves his moles and the uneven mustache he grows out sometimes when he’s bored. Eddie loves how gentle Steve is, how thoughtful and kind-hearted he is. How he helps Gran Fran replant her flowers each month with more enthusiasm than Eddie’s ever shown to anyone. How he talks to children, how much respect he has for those undermined by everyone else.
Eddie loves how he’s learned to stand up for himself. He’s proud of Steve, of how much he’s grown, of how he knows how to express what he needs and what he wants now. Eddie’s loved him for ages, maybe even longer than he’s aware of, but every single significant and insignificant change in Steve’s behavior and point of view makes him fall a little bit harder, every time. In any shape, in any form, there’s one constant in Eddie’s life: his love for Steve.
He likes to think that they do that to each other, both of them. That they help each other through inevitable changes, painful regressions and euphoric victories alike. He likes to think that together, they make one, healthy, living being – and apart they’re good, because they’ve grown to be good people thanks to the connections they’ve made overall. He likes this idea of just being good, together and apart. And he loves Steve for giving him the opportunity to be just that.
Eddie wants it to last. Desperately, intensely, madly. He wants it to last and he needs it to keep happening – he knows that, and he knows he has the capacity to do that. To be there, to stay. His hands touch Steve’s thigh, not in the slightest covered by those silly Hawkins Tigers shorts he’s kept, then they touch Steve’s soft, scarred belly, then they touch his chest, where his heart is beating steadily and peacefully, and he keeps kissing him and Steve keeps clingling back to him, and Eddie’s so sure.
He wants this. He wants to experience growing old together, he wants them to get all wrinkly and bald together, he wants the fights over who gets the most comfortable chair in their grandkids’ living room. He wants them to experience the highs and the lows of the family that they already have, and the one they’re going to build someday.
Eddie wants this. He wants Steve. The whole deal; the promised forever. And he doesn’t want to wait another second.
“Steve,” Eddie says, cutting the kiss short so suddenly Steve actually pulls him closer, chasing after the warmth of his lips. “I’m saying yes.”
“Mm. Okay,” he mumbles back, too kiss- and sleep-hazy to catch Eddie’s intention right away. He tries to bump their noses together—which is adorable, really, but Eddie can’t let him hijack and self-sabotage this proposal too.
“No, Steve,” he squeezes Steve’s side until he looks at him properly. “I love you. I’m saying yes.”
In awe, Eddie watches as Steve’s face goes through confusion, true bewilderment, a bit of fear and fleeting exhilaration, to finally settle on disbelief.
“How did you—”
Eddie laughs a little at that. “I called and you didn’t pick up.” Steve makes a little oh sound, already looking like a kicked puppy. “But it’s okay, doesn’t matter, not the point,” Eddie jumps in, anticipating an unnecessary apology. “The point is, I love you, and I’m saying yes.”
Steve stares at him for a long second, his eyes wide and earnest. His fingers slide from Eddie’s hair to finally settle on both of his cheeks, cradling them lovingly. Eddie kinda wants to cry.
“You’ll marry me?” Steve asks, incredulous, his voice only a bit louder than a whisper. The way he accentuates the word “marry” gives yet another layer of meaning to such a simple question. You’ll love me? Forever?
“I’ll marry you,” he replies without hesitation. “You’ll marry me?” You’ll love me? With my flaws?
“I’ll marry you,” Steve says back. Then he grins with his eyes glistening in the bedside light, and squishes Eddie’s cheeks so hard it squeezes the unshed tear right from his eye. “We’ll get married!”
Steve giggles happily, and Eddie laughs with him. There’s so much joy inside him—them, the whole room seems to get bigger. “We will,” he adds through a smile, already peppering his fiancé’s face with kisses.
“Oh gosh, I have to call Robin,” Steve manages through his giggles and Eddie loves him so much. “And Dustin!”
So, so much.
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abibliophobiaa · 9 months
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Beyond - s.h. x f!reader
Chapter Six: Would I Lie to You, Baby?
special thank you to @myosotisa and @loveshotzz for the beta read and also @myosotisa for helping me with a special scene that takes place in this chapter!!
warnings: minor injury; mentions of alcohol; unwanted advances/flirting/touching - R receiving end; and a whole lot of fluffy modern day!rich!fake-husband!steve x afab!reader. (9.3k words)
masterlist
——
——
 What’s that saying? 
Woman down. 
Abort mission. 
Houston, we have a problem. And boy do you have one. 
The day starts like any other, only because of the rainy weather that has plagued the city since September bled into October, you’ve been forced to take your morning walk indoors. And it’s not like it’s the first time you’ve used the personal gym in your home either. In fact, by now you’ve used it countless times. 
No. Instead, it’s the image that greets you upon entering that is a definitive ‘first time’ for you. Because there’s no forgetting the sight of your husband, bare chested, catching his breath as he rests on a bench. His hair is hidden beneath a baseball cap, a water bottle between his plush lips that manages to spill onto his chest with the intensity he’s chugging it. 
Oh, and his face? He hasn’t shaved in a few days, and Steve Harrington with a growing mustache and beard should be illegal. 
Jail time and a permanent sentence if you have any say in the matter. 
The reason why? 
Riling up his fake wife into a tizzy.  
The optic is…not helping your present situation. The dawning realization that seems intent on reminding you every single day that you’re attracted to your husband. Emotionally, physically—the whole of it. It’s infuriating, daunting and downright terrifying. But he can’t know that—can never know that, because of the deal. 
The deal. The arrangement. The rules. 
But lately, you want to throw them all out and burn that ridiculous contract he had you sign seemingly so long ago now. 
Suddenly, you’re hyper aware of the fact you’re staring, watching as his brows draw high on his forehead. With a swallow, you turn your head away, hating how your damn cheeks start to warm under his scrutiny. 
He’s probably loving it, too. Loving the way you shift on the spot, unsure of what to do beneath his stare, hugging yourself tight. 
Basing it on the smug grin that curls his lips alone, you know he has to be. 
“Figured I’d get in a workout because Charlie is napping,” you explain, stepping further into the room, stopping in front of the endless rows of dumbbells your husband keeps on a rack against the far wall of the room with wall to wall mirrors reflecting your nervous image back at you. “And also because it’s raining, I couldn’t go outside.”
“Uh huh.” He takes a final gulp of his water and places it down onto the floor beside him, about to start more bicep curls when he catches your image in the mirror. “Looking for something?” 
Maybe it’s your inability to figure out what weight dumbbells you should start with. Maybe it’s because you’re already forgetting the layout of the TikTok workout you watched earlier that evening you intended to try. Maybe it’s the fact you know you want to start lifting weights, if only to help with your running and dog walking business (some of those bigger dogs get a little rowdy). Maybe it’s the fact you have absolutely no idea what you’re doing. As a result of all of that, your teeth pinch against your bottom lip, skin taut between, meeting his stare in the mirror.  
“I’ll probably just hop on the treadmill. Go for a walk,” you decide, cowering away from his curious stare to rush to the farther corner of the room where the cardio equipment is. 
The present set up has a treadmill, elliptical, stairmaster, and spin bike. More than you’ll ever need, but you’ll never complain because one of the perks now in being married to Steve is that you were able to cancel your own membership and save a little extra cash every month. Hopping on, you tap on the large screen panel to set your leisurely walking pace, pop a pair of headphones in your ears, and drown out the sounds in the room. 
The plan works. 
For all of five minutes. 
Because you’re minding your own business, bobbing along to “Bad Girls” by M.I.A. as you strut across your runway slash treadmill belt, when Steve decides to lift his weights once more. Uses his knees to help prop them up, going right into a set of overhead dumbbell presses. 
And damn it, if the sight of him when you walked in hadn’t sent you into orbit, this certainly does. 
From where you’re standing you can see his back. The constellation of moles you never really paid much attention to, but now want to mark the path of with your fingers. Want to trace them like the stars in the night sky. With every overhead arch, his sinewy back ripples, muscles in his arms straining, veins sparking to life beneath his skin. You can see the lines of his abdomen, the sweat pooling across ridges, clinging to those perfectly sculpted divots. Can see the way his chest jumps with each movement, making your thighs clench. 
Only—one's thighs shouldn’t clench on the treadmill. 
Except yours do. 
And promptly send you crashing onto the belt, skin ripping from your kneecap in one rapid swipe. 
A giant, gaping black hole in the floor would be a good escape right now. That or a meteor falling from the sky, with its target directed at your head. Anything to rid yourself of the mortification of your current dose of reality. 
Steve’s already dropping the dumbbells by the time you fall onto your rear, nearly crashing into the glass window in the process, your trembling hands clutching your scraped up knee. 
It burns. A white hot heat that has your eyes prickling, embarrassment burning like a heated iron in your chest. And to make matters worse, Steve utters out a soft “baby” as he drops down in front of you, and that might as well signify the end of all life function. Because not only have you fallen off a treadmill ogling your increasingly “not-so-fake-husband,” but now he is calling you “baby” on top of it all.  
“Baby, let me see,” you realize he’s saying as you come crashing back to reality, the hazel of his eyes growing darker as he crawls closer on the floor, trying to inspect your knee. With a reluctant sigh, your hands fall away, revealing the freshly torn skin. “That’s a mean looking burn. Come on, let's put something on that.”
“I’m fine right here,” you argue, back pressing against the mirrored wall.
“Why?” 
His brows lift high on his forehead, left hand curling over the unbroken skin of your left knee. You can see he’s wearing a black silicone wedding band today, not his usual wedding ring, and yet you don’t miss that simple gesture. Always wearing that symbol of your union, while your own are presently sitting high enough in a ring holder so Charlie won’t be able to mistake them for very expensive doggy chew toys.  
“It’s gonna hurt like a bitch.” 
“It’s a little burn, and then you’ll feel better,” he promises, giving your knee a little squeeze. “I’ll be so gentle.” 
“Steve.”
“Honey.”
“Well when you say it like that,” you say, snorting. 
He takes it as joking. Head shaking as you curl your hand around his and allow him to help lift you off the floor, body nearly careening into his at the force of it. But there’s a sincerity behind the joke; the way your heart thumps a little faster every time he utters his affections like that; every time he graces you with a token of his appreciation, or the lingering sweetness of a fond title when no one is around to hear it. Those little moments that are completely yours for the taking, hidden away from those who would watch your marriage under a microscope—those you continue to act in front of to keep up your facade.  
There’s an expectation, though you’re uncertain where it derives from, that he’ll take you to your bathroom, connected to your bedroom. It’s closest to the gym, as it is. But when you pass your doorway and end up in front of his bedroom, drawing the excited gaze of your puppy lazing on Steve’s bed, you find yourself freezing. Pausing in the entryway as you take in his room. Like your living room when you first moved in, it’s minimalistic. Huge, with a california king bed in the middle. But it’s limited in decor. White walls, black furniture and bedding, with a few pictures strewn about his walls. 
This is where he sleeps every night. Where he slips away to when you bid one another goodbye. Briefly, you wonder if he sleeps on his side, or maybe his back. Wonder if he slings a forearm over his eyes or tucks the back of his hand beneath his cheek to draw comfort. Or if he sleeps with the comforter pulled all the way up over his shoulders, or if he prefers them slung low around his hips. All things you shouldn’t be thinking about; especially not now, not as he tugs you along behind him into the adjoining master bathroom, telling Charlie to ‘sit’ in the doorway. 
The puppy drops down onto his haunches, and then lower still, onto his little elbows as Steve gestures for you to hop up onto the sink counter. Palms curl around the edge as he starts to rummage about in his medicine cabinet, finding the topical ointment he’d been looking for. He hadn’t been lying about being gentle. He’s all gentle brushes of a clean warm washcloth damp with water. He then lets the wound air dry as he stands in the cradle of your thighs, looking down at your face.   
“What were you doing for this to happen?” he asks, opening a large band aid to cover the surface of your knee and gliding a small helping of the antibacterial cream there. 
“Just…tripped.” 
“Just a little spill?” 
At your rapid nod, he presses the edge of the band aid down and glides the rest over the surface area of the burn. There’s a bit of a sting, but it settles into a dull ache. His touch lingers. A slow, delicate sweep over the top of your thigh that draws your gaze to his point of contact. It has you wishing nothing more than to lock your ankles around his narrow waist, tug him near, and drag his mouth down against yours. 
Only you don’t. 
Because they’re all fantasies. All fantasies struck up by close proximity to the man. A normal reaction after living with a man like Steve and playing house for four months now. 
Right…?
“You didn’t happen to be distracted or anything?” your husband queries, giving you another one of those swipes of his thumb over your bare thigh. 
Dangerous. 
He’s verging on dangerous territory. 
“My music was pretty loud.” 
He barks out a laugh. “Was it?” 
“Uh huh.” Another swipe. Is it getting hot in this damn bathroom? Must be an October heat wave. “What’s the damage, Dr. Harrington? Will I make it?”
“Might lose the knee,” he says gravely, bowing his head in faux sympathy.
A little gasp spills from your lips, hand curling over your heart dramatically. “The knee?” 
Charlie jumps to attention at that, rushing over to bump Steve’s thigh with the tip of his nose. You lean down a bit to pet him, and holy mother of god he’s still half naked, you remind yourself as your face comes a little too close to Steve’s hip, eyes stuttering on those moles that litter his abdomen. 
And then he’s flexing. 
Fucking flexing, because you’ve been caught. He knows it, too. Lips curling upward slowly in that self-satisfied grin of his that makes your stomach swoop low. 
Woman down. 
Dead on arrival. 
The jig is up. 
I can fix this, you think, clearing your throat. “Actually, if you must know…I wanted to learn how to lift weights. I figured it would come in handy with the dogs. Charlie, too. He’s a little reckless on our walks still.”
Steve listens, patting Charlie on the head for emphasis as you lean back against the bathroom mirror, your knees still on either side of your husband’s hips. 
“And you,” you explain, waving a hand in the air, very noncommittal, and hopefully lackadaisical because you’re still trying to play it cool and all of that, “seem to have a wonderful form.”
“You mean wonderful form.” 
Record scratch. Steve’s finger’s pause in their dastardly trail, your eyes darting up to his. Dark. They’re so damn dark, and you swallow the thickness forming like a knot in your throat. 
Mortification rising, cheeks burning, you amend, “That’s what I said.”
“It's not,” he muses, “but if you say so.” 
Another swipe along your injured knee, while Charlie rests his snout on your other. Both your guys, all together in one room. It would make for a cute family moment were it not for the way your husband’s mouth twitches higher, enjoying your turmoil a little too much for your liking. 
“Remember we’re married. We live in the same home. I can still kill you in your sleep.” It’s a deadpan. But your facade breaks a moment later, a giggle rising up despite your threat.  
He leans in closer, and you briefly wonder if this is the first time you’ve noticed those little green flecks he has in his eyes thanks to broad daylight filtering in through the window. When you’re out to dinner for social functions, it’s usually in those dark, dimly lit rooms where you pretend to be absolutely smitten with the man. 
But after that kiss on your cheek after getting Charlie, there’s been a shift. Additional touches, sitting closer on the couch—under the guise of sharing the puppy, naturally—a brush of shoulders as you pass in the hall. The whisper of a kiss against your temple when you fall asleep on the couch watching your shows (or at least when he thinks you’ve fallen asleep). 
Changing. 
Things are changing with the seasons and each day a new layer is added into the reasons why remaining married to Steve Harrington for the next nearly two and a half years might be the most difficult challenge you’ve faced yet. 
Because the only casualty at the end of this…is your heart. 
You’ve never forgotten that, no matter how blurry the lines seem as of late. 
He whispers, “Remember the wife is always the first suspect.” 
His hand finally moves away, and you loathe that you miss it as soon as he does. Charlie scampers into the doorway as Steve helps you down off the counter, gritting your teeth against the flare of pain in your burnt kneecap. You walk down the hall together, saying nothing, basking in the comfortable silence as you enter the kitchen, pulling bottles of water free for both Steve and yourself. He accepts it gratefully, chugging half before leaning his elbows onto the kitchen island. 
“I could show you,” he says, smiling softly at your arching brows. “How to train. I could teach you.”
“Like…workout together?”
His head dips, fingers coming up to remove the hat from his head. And maybe your heart does a somersault when he shakes his hair out, now grown out quite a bit. 
“If you want to,” he says, rubbing his left palm over his stubbly cheek. 
And you do. So you agree to his suggestion and find yourself standing at a squat rack the next morning, thanks to yet another rainy day in the city. 
Steve’s foregone his shirt again. 
A fact you find equal parts exhilarating and infuriating. 
Him with his low hung gym shorts, highlighting the lines of his abdomen, the line of hair your eyes hitch on dipping below the waistband. 
Charlie sits in the distance, a happily distracted bystander to his parents trying to figure out what the hell they’ve gotten themselves into, thanks to the doggy bone Steve brought home for him the prior evening. 
“We’ll start with just the bar.” At the hesitance in which you approach, eyeing it precariously, he adds, “It's not that I don’t think you can handle more. You wrangle animals every day. But your form is important so you don’t injure yourself. Can’t have you ruining the other knee.”
“Couldn't have that,” you laugh, running your finger along the barbell. “Okay, now what?”
“You’re going to stand in front of the bar, legs shoulder width apart.” He does exactly as he says while he’s explaining, thighs separating just enough as he needs to. “You’re going to wrap your hands around the bar, thumbs around the bar. I’m going to get under and rest it just below the base of my neck.” 
He slips under with ease in a maneuver you’ve seen often enough from the numerous TikTok videos you watched in preparation. His biceps shift with the movement, fingers loosening and tightening as he gets into comfortable positioning. He unracks the bar with ease, spreading his legs a little wider, eyes on his reflection across from him. 
“You’re going to take a deep breath and brace your core before squatting.” 
He demonstrates, the bar clearly too light for him, because there’s no struggle on the descent. His thighs don’t even quiver, they merely tighten, highlighting the definition honed from years of time well spent in the gym. 
“You’re going to want your thighs to be parallel to the ground.” 
He lowers until he’s in the proper position. 
Pauses. 
“And then you’ll drive up through the heel.” 
He rises, hips drawing forward, racks the bar, and turns to you. Growing warm at the sudden attention on your figure, you push down the lip of the hat he wears, rushing in front of him to stand warily in front of the squat rack. 
Suddenly, you’re aware of the set of eyes staring at your form in the mirror that belong to Steve. The way he walks up behind you and curls his palms over your shoulder, kneading the muscle there. Suddenly, you’re overly aware of the fact that here's your ridiculously fit husband, and in front of him…you. 
You’re wearing a pair of running shoes you bought a few years ago, a ratty old tee shirt from your early years of college, oversized basketball shorts, and mismatched socks. 
“You know I can always tell when you’re overthinking, right?” Steve asks, rubbing particularly hard on a spot that has you about ready to melt into his arms and call it a wrap on your workout. 
I’m beat, looks like we’re all done here! Great workout, honey. Let’s hit the showers, you want to say, before folding into his embrace. 
“You won’t judge me? For being nervous?” 
“Why the nerves?” He turns you around to face him, peering down at your eyes. “It’s me. Me…who you’ve seen every day for four months now.”
You shrug, because there really isn’t a reason for it. With a heavy sigh of resignation, you turn back around and face your reflection in the mirror, trying to follow Steve’s instructions closely. Feet, shoulder width apart. Fingers around the bar, thumbs curled, palms facing forward. Duck, slide under the bar and rest it at the base of your neck. 
And here’s the part that has you nervous, the lifting up onto your feet, driving the bar up and out of the rack, wobbling a little bit at the unsteadiness of the suddenness of the weight on your shoulders. 
Before you can even start to panic, Steve’s fingers are hovering underneath the spaces beside your fingers, letting you start to adjust a bit and find your balance.  
“I’ve got you,” he says, chest barely brushing your back as you take a couple steps backward on unsteady feet closer to him. “I’ve always got you. I promise.”
I’ve got you. I’ve always got you. I promise. 
You’re brought back to your wedding day. Dancing in the middle of a room full of strangers, arms around your new husband’s neck, swaying to a song you both liked enough to be the one to “define” your day as a couple for your first dance. Recall those words he spoke then. You’re the Harringtons. You’re not alone. It’s the two of you now. Different, and yet the same. Providing you with the strength you need to steel yourself, righting the bar, and training your gaze on the girl in the mirror. 
And you trust him. Wholeheartedly, you trust him, as you drop down into your first squat. Then the second, and the third. The fourth and the fifth come with a little resistance. Six feels like your thighs are burning. Seven has Steve coming up a little closer behind you, his arms extending out into the air on either side of your waist, hovering beneath the bar. 
“Do you have one more?” he asks, and you try…you really do. 
The descent is fine, despite the quivering of your thighs from exertion. But as you try and push back up through the heel your breath rushes out in a puff, head shaking. Steve hurries forward and pushes the bar up and onto the rack, just as you slide out from beneath it and smack backward into a chest. A firm, yet soft, and sweaty chest. That chest comes equipped with arms that curl around your form to keep you upright, and then linger for a moment as you collect your bearings. 
Like this, you can feel every inch of him. The contours of his body, the fullness of his biceps, the hair on his chest. Can feel the cradle of his hips…pressed precariously flush against your backside. And as you glance up at your forms in the mirror, it’s almost like you’re hugging. 
It’s not even an almost, because you are hugging. 
His arms around your waist. His ringed finger resting comfortably against your bicep. His chin over your shoulder, your cheek flush with his. Spine to chest, ass to hip, his breath fanning against your skin, your chest rising and falling rapidly beneath his weight. 
It’s a perfect moment, and neither of you want to disrupt it. There’s only his breath at your back, his arms around your waist, your hands across his forearms. Peace. Safety. Rest. That is, until Charlie Harrington decides he’s not about to let his parents hug without getting a hug of his own, running over to thump his paws against Steve’s hip, demanding his own cuddles. And you both oblige him, dropping down onto the gym floor to give him all the belly rubs he could ever want, pink tongue rolling out of his mouth, paws in the air. 
Laughter. There’s laughter and Charlie’s little yips of happiness. Laughter and Steve’s eyes on your profile. Laughter and your eyes darting to meet him. Laughter…and this unspoken thing left to linger in the air between the two of you. Laughter and maybe something tentative. Something more? A little breathlessness, the rush of air falling from your lungs as he reaches over and tells you how well you did. The gentle squeeze of his hand around your uninjured knee, a sweep of thumb across your skin, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in its wake. 
Eventually, Charlie gets his fill and scampers off. You return to your training session with your husband. There are gentle touches throughout, his arms there to correct your form, to guide you through the program for the day. There aren’t any more lingering hugs, but that ‘something’ burgeoning remains. 
It’s in his easy smiles. In his encouragement. In the brushes of his hands at your arms, your sides, your hips with your consent as he shows you how to move this way and that way. It’s in his praises and his promises. And later, it’s in his maneuvering in the kitchen as he prepares you a smoothie, as he looks at your knee again in his bathroom. 
And you…well, you want to explore it. 
Heart be damned. 
 ——
 Breathtaking. The material of your silk evening gown exudes elegance and sophistication. Eye catching, meticulously crafted, and designed for your exact measurements. 
It’s a timeless silhouette that only enhances your figure. Delicate sweetheart neckline that hugs your chest and shoulders, draping sumptuously at the middle of your bicep. Every movement of your body has it shimmering where it hugs the curves of your body, like an inky night sky. 
However, it’s the back of the dress that’s your favorite part. The captivating open design, leading to the fabric that drapes at the smallest point of your lower back. The way the dress falls down to the floor, swaying and shifting as you smooth your hands over the fronts of your thighs one last time. Exhaling deeply, you reach over to grab your rings from their holder. 
For the first time ever, you feel like Mrs. Harrington. Truly. 
“Well, what do you think, Charlie?” The Bernedoodle lifts his head from your bed where he’s been trying to get the squeaker out of his penguin toy. “Do you think your dad will like it?”
The puppy in question rests his head back down on his paws, nuzzling his face into the blankets you have pushed to the edge of the bed. It’s as good a response as you’ll get, and with one last glimpse at yourself in the mirror, you slide your rings up onto your finger and step out into the hall where Steve’s already dressed in a black tuxedo. And…the sight is just as wonderful, if not better, than on your wedding day. 
Hair freshly blown out and coiffed to perfection, facial hair trimmed, the tux tailored to perfection. He’s foregone his glasses tonight, instead opting for contacts, and you rush over when you notice he’s fiddling with his watch, reaching out to help him settle it into place. 
It’s better than locking eyes with him. Better than pretending you miss the way his eyes roam your form, round and full of reverence—for you. As the watch locks into place he catches your fingers within his own, holding them lightly as he takes a step back and gazes at you. 
“You look…” He pauses. Swallows thickly. You wonder if he can feel the sweat of your palms, can hear the beat of your heart slamming against your sternum. “Wow. You’re—well, you’re always beautiful. But…just…you’re stunning.”
“T-thank you.” 
You stutter your reply, parting enough to take him in. Hair curling around his ears, now in need of a trim. The hair along his jawline and upper lip, the dark tuxedo hugging his form. He’s handsome. Handsome in a way that has you feeling a little breathless, a little nervous as he laces your fingers between his own. 
“Should we…?” The words you speak are left to linger in the air, because Steve moves forward and cups the bottom of your chin. Tips your head up just in the slightest and presses a kiss to your forehead. Warm. He’s so damn warm and you’re pretty sure you’ve now lost all feeling in your toes. “What was that for, Steve?”
“I’m just…I’m really happy you're here with me tonight.”
“Part of the agreement, right?” 
It’s meant to be a joke. But Steve’s face drops, mouth drawing into a firm line. He coughs into his elbow, head turning away from you, and in that you know you’ve messed up. And not wanting to start the night off on a bad foot, you curl your arm around his bicep and drag him forward, forehead against his jaw, left to nuzzle there for a moment. 
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, feeling his hand tighten around yours. “I say things sometimes and I don’t think about how they might be perceived. I think you might actually be my best friend, Steve.” 
“Yeah?” he asks, pulling back enough to stare down into your eyes. “Best friends, huh? I’ll take it.”
“Four months of marriage definitely gets us best friend status,” you tell him, winking. “I’m excited to spend this night with you. I’m a little scared about being around all these people…but I’ll be the perfect Mrs. Harrington, don’t you even worry.” 
“Just be yourself,” he says softly, and you feel your heart jackhammer in your chest. “They’ll love you.”
After that, the two of you make your way down to the main floor as a couple. The doormen whistle and holler as the two of you walk by, dressed to the nines, and apparently looking a little extra loved up, because Hopper gives the two of you a look you’ve never seen before as you approach. Brows high on his forehead, shit eating grin in place, and smug as all hell. 
“Mrs. Harrington,” he says as he opens the door for you and Steve helps you in with an extended hand. “You look wonderful.”
“She does, doesn’t she?” Steve muses as you settle down. 
And fuck, you hate what that does to the butterflies in your belly. They’re not even just fluttering anymore. It’s like they all picked up fireworks and set them into motion. There’s not much time to linger on it, however, as Steve rushes around the other side and clambers in beside you, your left hand sliding over onto his lap. You tell yourself it’s because you’re nervous, because you’re about to be around socialites, celebrities, dignitaries and businesspeople alike. 
But when you don’t let go—well, there’s no one to blame but yourself.
The drive is spent in nervous silence. Your fingers around Steve’s and his around yours, playing with your rings as always. The gala is being held at one of your husband’s hotels, and yet nothing prepares you for the grandeur of the Harrington Hotel looming before you. It’s massive. Reaches high up into the city sky, bracketed by workers prepared to take care of the guests’ cars, weaving in and out seamlessly as evening gown after evening gown pours out of classic cars, luxury cars, limousines, and the like. 
“Hey,” Steve says as Hopper opens the door for you and you both step out onto the busy city streets. You whirl around, facing him. Your chests brush lightly. His hand comes to rest in yours, pulling it up to his mouth to brush a gentle kiss to the skin there. “Eyes on me. It’s the two of us, remember?”
 ——
Harrington Hotel’s ballroom is unlike anything you’ve ever seen. High, vaulted ceilings that go on endlessly. White walls with ornate carvings in their tasteful pillars situated on the outside edges of the room. Drapery that likely costs a small fortune hangs from the walls in sweeping arcs, a projection of your new last initial displayed against the far wall, with the charity information beneath.
The room itself is dim, cast in a pretty blue light, with a large chandelier twinkling from up above. Set on each table are beautiful centerpieces with gorgeous flower arrangements. Various deep shades for the approaching fall season, with candles lit on the table below, flickering atop the tablecloth, gold embellished chairs awaiting their many guests for the evening.
Steve helps you get situated upon arriving at your table, tugging your chair out despite your protests that you don’t need him to. And before you can even utter a request, you’re being handed a glass of champagne from one of the many workers on staff for the evening, and finding yourself tugged into a hug by Eddie, who Steve purposefully placed at your table so you’d have someone by your side at all times throughout the night.
A fact you become increasingly thankful for as time ticks by and Steve’s immediately pulled this way and that way into various conversations you can’t seem to keep up with, before he’s ultimately tugged away from you with a promise to be back soon, your request for another glass of champagne when he gets back met with a glowing smile as he rushes off with another businessman, leaving you alone with Eddie.
 “Nope.” Eddie shakes his head, ringed fingers waving in the air. “Nope. No! I know how this goes.”
“How what goes?”
“You’re eye fucking your husband,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Your fake husband, need I remind you. This whole charade has an expiration date. You two decided this. You made your bed, and now you both get to lay in it.”
“I am not.” You exhale deeply, watching your husband raise his hand to the bartender, capturing their gaze so he can order you another champagne. “I just…have been spending a lot of time with him lately. And would it really be the worst thing if I was…interested in the man I’m already legally married to?”
Eddie seems to consider this, twirling around his glass tumbler on the tabletop, silver rings glinting in the chandelier light above. “Look. That would be the best case scenario. I’d love for you two to fall in love, be disgustingly gross together forever looking at him the way you are now. But need I remind you of high school? Early college?”
“Eddie…”
“I just don’t want you to get hurt. For a while there it was just you and me against the world.” 
You know this. Eddie’s been there for it all. For that first boyfriend in freshman year you dated for all of one week, and yet felt like they’d ripped the rug from beneath your whole world. 
To that asshole senior you dated while you were in your junior year, thinking that because he was an ‘older man’ that must mean he’s more mature. That must have meant he knew loyalty wasn’t making out with another girl while you went to grab him another beer at a party. 
And then there was freshman year of college. The pre-med student who promised you the world, only to decide two years later he liked the pretty nurse in L&D and broke things off through a text message.  
He’d been there for those major milestones and all the silly relationships in between. The fleeting things, and yet there all the same. Watching your heart crumble over people who never had any right to it in the first place, with his arms tight around your frame in a hug, a glass of wine at the ready, or your favorite tub of ice cream already purchased and thrown into your lap as soon as you let him know you were coming over. 
The stress remains on his face now. The downward drag of his lips, the furrow of his brows, the way his chocolate brown eyes regard you carefully, like you might shatter right in front of him now. 
But Steve…Steve is different, isn’t he? Steve, who stands right now with his elbow on the bar, tuxedo sculpted flush around his bicep, mid-conversation with a man with salt and pepper hair and thick black glasses. They laugh, and you can hear it from where you're sitting, your thumb running idly on the underside of your wedding rings. 
Eddie catches the movement and slides a palm over your own, stilling you in your movements. “Steve is a good guy. I wouldn’t have let you carry on with this crazy situation if he wasn’t—”
“Wouldn’t let me? When have I ever let anyone tell me what I can and cannot do?” 
Narrowing your eyes at him playfully, he amends with, “I would have strongly advised against it. Maybe stood up when the officiant asked if anyone opposed the marriage.” He swallows, giving your hand a squeeze. “He’s my best friend. But you’re family. And if he fucks it all up, I just want you to know my couch is always open. Don’t know if I’ll be around because of tours and all of that, but you know it’s yours. My snack pantry, too.”
You clap a hand over your mouth in a dramatic gasp. “The snack pantry?”
“The snack pantry.” He nods. 
“I wouldn’t worry too much about it, though,” you tell him, rubbing your hand along your forearm. “Pretty sure it’s one sided.” 
At that, Eddie breaks out into barking laughter, drawing the curious gazes of multiple tables around him. Someone even hisses for him to be quiet, and he reaches to grab a piece of caviar, poised at the ready to throw it right back at them. Luckily, you manage to whip your arm out and stop him before he can get himself kicked out of the gala. 
“What was that for?” Your voice is a whisper, but you’re shrieking it at him all the same. 
“One-sided?” Eddie laughs again, head shaking. “I’ve seen Harrington flirt with women. I’ve seen him fail time and time again, and because of that…I’ve seen him give up on the whole thing. He said when it happens, it’ll happen. I always thought that was just a thing people said. Today when you two walked in, he looked so damn happy to have you at his side. This room is full of people, but he’s only got eyes for one.”
Nose wrinkling at his words, you snort. “You’re going soft in your old age.”
“It’s called having you as a best friend since we were in middle school, and knowing if I say the wrong thing you could justifiably stab me and I’d have earned it.” His head turns to where Steve is gripping the stem of a champagne flute in one hand, and a glass of whiskey in another. “I just want you to be happy. I trust him. I do. But at the same time, I care about you enough to also know I don’t want to see you cry over another guy ever again. So I’m telling you again, no matter what…my couch always has space for you.”
“Thanks, Eddie,” you breathe out, sniffling on a shaky inhale. 
The backs of your hands dab beneath your lash line, making sure you don’t actually cry in front of the man, and smile fondly up at Steve when he walks over and leans down to press a kiss to your temple, handing you your glass. 
Eddie dips his head at Steve, extending his fingers around the glass he holds in greeting. He lifts the glass to his lips and downs the rest of his drink in one go, before standing to his feet. “Now if you don’t mind me, I am going to try and talk to Chrissy Cunningham. Wish me luck.”
“You’ve been trying to talk to her for m—” At Steve’s pleading gaze, you pause. 
Eddie’s been crushing on the actress for months now. Met her at some party you'd been invited to, where Steve introduced the two of them. She had shyly waved at Eddie, and he’d waved back. 
Annnnd then they never said another word to one another for the rest of that evening, their nervousness too grand. 
Today she looks gorgeous in a powdery blue shimmering gown that matches the hue of her eyes, blonde hair curled to perfection, falling down from the high, slicked back pony tail on her head. From where you’re sitting you can see her laughing at something her friend has said, a bright smile glimmering in the dim light of the ballroom. 
“Ask her about her favorite song. Or—oh, her favorite cheese!” You suggest, bouncing on your chair, clasping Steve’s hand excitedly. 
“Could also ask her if she’d prefer an extra toe or an extra nipple—”
“Surprisingly enough, I actually don’t want to know what kind of stuff you two are into,” Eddie interjects, pinching the bridge of his nose. He levels his gaze with Steve. “Just…take care of her, okay?”
There's silence. Steve’s mouth twitches, his head nodding once. And then, “You know me.” 
Eddie only smiles. You don’t know what the hell that means, nor do you have time to investigate their odd exchange, because Eddie’s off to find Chrissy. 
 —— 
 The gala passes in a blur. 
Evening becomes night, and the ballroom is suddenly illuminated in a lavender glow. Your husband stands on the stage in the far corner of the space, thanking those for joining, and reminds everyone of the purpose of the evening: raising money for charity. 
All of this, this evening, is nothing to him if he’s not giving back. It’s one of the many things you admire about him. The acknowledgement that though he was fortunate to grow up with a life where he never needed to worry, not all experience the same. And the drive to want to do something about it. 
The room erupts into clapping and people disperse to grab drinks, interact with friends and family members, make new acquaintances, and give their donations. 
Your feet have never hurt more in your life in these way too expensive heels, you’re still itching for a dance with your husband once they announce for those wishing to to walk onto the dance floor, and your champagne glass is empty. 
Caught up in a conversation with a business partner, you offer to refill yours and Steve’s glasses, trying to no avail to call over the bartender. 
All around you you're made aware of the decadence in which these people live their lives. 
Women and men alike seemingly drape over the bar, garbed in fancy suits and flowing dresses. Hair perfectly done, makeup to perfection, men showing off with the most expensive watches, shoes that likely cost a small fortune, cufflinks with family initials on them, encrusted with diamond embellishments. 
Tonight, they behave like you’re one of them. A member of their seemingly secret society. They pass you smiles as you go, veneers glowing in the dim light, those who weren’t present at your wedding congratulating you on your marriage. And for a moment, however brief, you allow yourself to enjoy it. To enjoy the affection from strangers. To enjoy being Steve’s wife. Being perceived as the woman who gets the joy of spending forever with a man so well loved by many. 
“I don’t think I’ve seen you at these social functions before. I would definitely have remembered you,” a voice from beside you practically purrs. You stand up on your tippy toes once more, waving at a bartender who seems to completely miss you as they rush on by, trying to keep afloat in a sea of bodies. The man waves a hand in the air, and a bartender finally notices. “Jason Carver. Quarterback for the—”
“My husband watches your team.” 
Simple. 
Curt. 
He’s shock of blonde hair and a handsome face, a multi millionaire, ridiculously popular for being one of the best at what he does, but you can already feel the asshole aura radiating off of him—made only more so noticeable when you catch the flash of his smirk directed at you, the trail of his gaze on your bare shoulders, and then the flash of his ring on his left ring finger.
Briefly, you recall meeting his wife, Tina, earlier that evening. A smiling face with a hand never straying far from her presently rounded belly. A little girl due in early January, she’d told you fondly, muttering how she hopes the baby gets her husband's eyes. Those same eyes that look at you now with increasingly questionable intent. 
With that knowledge, you train your stare ahead, rambling off your husband’s order and yours. Jason shifts closer, the heat from his body making your skin crawl, back ramrod straight. 
“And your name?”
You tell him in a rush, watching the bartender start on your husband’s drink behind the bar. There’s a touch along your tricep that has your throat closing, the feeling of his breath nearing your ear as he leans down closer into your personal space making your stomach curl. 
“Can I just say,” he whispers, and your eyes dart up to reluctantly meet him, “you are absolutely beautiful.” 
The backs of those fingertips trail your flesh. Unwarranted and unwanted, chest heaving with the flurry of your choked breaths. The room starts to swirl around the edges, Jason’s voice a revolting caress down your spine, colors melding into a kaleidoscope around you.
Harnessing the shiver of disgust into power, you shift out of his grasp, barely brushing against the person standing on the other side of you. “And you, Jason Carver, are making a fool of yourself.”
And then you hear him. The familiar sound of Steve’s voice in your ears, and then feel his hand at the small of your back, the warmth of his palm and the slight tingle of his wedding ring against your spine tethering you back to reality. Grounding you once more.  
Jason stills beside you as the bartender slides your drinks over into your waiting palms. Steve takes his from your extended hand and sips, leaning down to tug you closer and press a kiss to your temple. All still unfamiliar, all still sending new waves of electricity along your skin. 
“I see you’ve met my wife,” Steve says calmly, and you glide your hand over your husband’s chest for emphasis. 
“I have,” he says thickly, dipping his head. 
“Sweetheart,” you begin, “we were just talking about how lovely and beautiful Jason’s wife, Tina, is. He’s so lucky to have someone like her in his life and definitely shouldn’t ever forget that. We were also talking about how exciting it is that they’ll be having a little girl in just a few months. He was just getting back to her, wasn’t he?”
Jason wastes no time in making himself scarce, leaving you to stand near the bar, still pressing against Steve’s side. Neither of you moves for a bit, and you simply relish in the nearness—shocked by the comfort that barrels into your bloodstream over simply having him there. 
“For the record—”
“You didn’t need me to do that,” he finishes, and your brows shoot up because how the hell did he know what you were thinking. “I know you can take care of yourself. It’s one of the things I…honestly admire about you. But I also want to remind you that you’re never alone. You have me. You know that, right? Isn’t that what a…best friend would do?” 
You snort at the title. “I know. I-I do know that, Steve.” 
But you’d been taking care of yourself for so long you don’t know any differently. So instead you glance over to where Jason and Tina are sitting at their table, his hand over her rounded midsection, overly affectionate for someone who had just moments ago been flirting with another woman.
Another married woman, on top of it. With her husband only a few feet away. 
“He’s an asshole,” you tell Steve. 
“I know. I saw him touching you. I watched you tense up.” His fingers trace the path Jason’s had trailed, covering the tracks he left with his own. “I’m serious. You look for me in a crowd, and I’ll always be there.” 
There’s such a sincerity there. A plea behind those hazel eyes that has you swallowing the remnants of your drink and placing it down on the bar, gripping Steve’s hand tightly within yours. Without another word, you pull him along behind you, Steve managing to drop his drink down onto your table before you tug him over to the dance floor where other couples are now slow dancing, far away in their own little worlds. 
“What are you—”
“I want you to dance with me,” you tell Steve simply, stopping in front of him. Your heels to his leather shoes. “I really really want you to dance with me. I feel like a damn princess in a silly dress, at a ridiculously fancy party with my husband, and I want him to dance with me. Because I hate that I’m enjoying this. I hate that my last name is plastered on everything here, and that I’m in this dress, with these shoes on, and I feel like a pumpkin carriage is going to pull up at any moment and take me home. And if I’m enjoying it, and if at twelve I’m going to be whisked away from here, then I at least want the full experience.”
Steve’s not judgemental. He’s never been. Has never questioned your past, wondered where and what you came from. He’s only ever been open to knowing who you are at present. The everyday. The chaotic and crazy moments. The monotonous ones. The time spent watching your shows, cooking to music in your kitchen together, playing with Charlie in the living room as a movie plays in the background. 
But standing before him now. Him in his tuxedo, staring at you the way he is now, his hands moving to curl around your waist and draw you close—it’s the first time you really feel like someone could take a needle to your current reality and pop it. Like all of this would disappear at any given moment, like it’s all a dream conjured up in your mind. You hate it. Hate it so much that your eyes start to burn with it. 
Sensing your inner turmoil, or seemingly just wanting to hold you, Steve folds you into his chest. Rests one forearm low against your back, and curls his hand around yours, swaying you back and forth on the dance floor as “The Way You Look Tonight” by Frank Sinatra starts playing in the distance. Your dress shifts and moves across the floor, your cheek to his chest, head tucked beneath his chin. He’s warm and solid and you can hear the frantic flutter of his heart, and can feel the slickness of his palm against your back. He’s not wholly unaffected by all of this, either. There’s a sense of comfort in it. This unfamiliarity of feeling—and the uncertainty of what? 
“Can I be honest?” he asks at the top of your head. 
“Always.”
“I hate all of this, too.” 
“Steve, it’s horrifying. Our name is on literally everything.”
“I know,” he laughs, the rumble rattling your skull. You nestle in closer, and his arm drags you in tighter. “Does it make you feel less bad if you strip away all of the—” He waves his hand around at the grandeur of the room. “stuff and just focus on the fact you’re allowed a night out where you dress up. Away from school, away from stress, with the people who care about you? Because take all of this away, and that’s all this is.”
It’s not. And even so, you know he’s right. Because take away all the gorgeous scenery, the fancy clothing, the endless drinks, the designer cars, and the end result is the same: Eddie and Steve are here. 
You’re not sure when Steve became one of those constants, yet it’s the truth all the same. 
“If I’m being honest, parties like this usually end up feeling lonely,” he says heavily, and you tip your head back enough to get a good look at him. “I grew up going to these things. My parents were always leaving to talk to friends, leaving me to sit back at the table. And I mean, people talk to me now, but only because they need something. Never because they want to. Not really.”
And that laugh that…wrinkles your nose…
“I want to,” you tell him softly. 
It touches my foolish heart…
“I know. And that means more to me than you’ll ever know,” he mutters back, a little choked, a little breathless against your skin as he lowers his face into the space beside your ear, cheek to cheek now. 
Lovely…don’t you ever change…
There’s a whisper of a kiss against your shoulder, meant for those looking to see, nothing unusual there. And then he adds, “The parties aren’t so lonely anymore either.”
Keep that breathless charm…won’t you please arrange it?
He holds you closer, if possible. Hides his face in your shoulder—trembling against you as though the words he’s spoken terrify him. They terrify you too. The implication of them. The meaning. The lines in the sand that become blurrier by the day. His head leans back, eyes locking with yours, dancing to your lips, then moving back up again. 
His fingers curl around the side of your cheek, and he leans down. Presses his lips to yours in a way that’s familiar. You’ve done this before countless times at dinner. A short peck. The smallest of brushes. Yet you sigh against him all the same, palm resting over his sternum, his hand along your back. Against your skin that burns hot—hotter now. 
“No one is watching,” you murmur against his mouth and open your eyes to find the room swirling around you. 
They’re not. You’re surrounded by a sea of couples on the dance floor. Even Theobald and Cami, who you would try to go above and beyond to sell your marriage to, are tucked away in their own little world. Forehead to forehead, hand to hand, heart to heart. 
Cause I love you…just the way you look…tonight…
But he doesn’t speak. 
Doesn’t say a word as you sway to the song, chest to chest in what feels like a slow motion love potion, his other hand joining the first on your opposite cheek. His eyes roam your face, a frantic slide across your features, before he’s leaning down and kissing you anew.
I’ll be gentle, echoes in your mind, his soothing words like balm across the sudden skip of your heart. He is nothing but gentle as his lips slot with yours, your lower lip between the plush curves of his mouth. Warmth, warmth, warmth abounds as your eyes flutter closed and you lose yourself in it. 
You’re not his fake-wife right now. You’re not under contract, you’re not putting on a performance for investors or chairmen or Theo, you’re not practicing to make sure it all looks real. This is real—the press of his nose against your cheek, how he uses the touch on your jaw to adjust your head to press in at a better angle, the gentle glide of his soft lips around yours as he kisses you like you’re something delicate. Something precious. Something real.
Time stands still and time rushes forward all at once, the moment exploding through all those ‘what if’s and ‘what are we doing’s and ‘should we’s. None of that exists here as your swaying comes to a stop in the middle of the dancefloor, your fingers tucking into the lapels of his tuxedo in a show of please don’t go.
His steady hand skates down, sliding along the side of your throat to press the tips of his fingers into the nape of your neck, thumb beside your ear in a show of I’m right here.
You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until your lungs absolutely burn in your chest, pulling just a sparse inch away to gasp in air like you’ve just surfaced from water. Steve is similarly affected, shoulders in a heaving rise and fall as he presses his forehead to yours. Neither of you say a word as you catch your breath—your eyes lost in the mossy green woven into the golden brown of his hazel eyes, his flicking back and forth between your gaze and the shine of your lip gloss like he can’t think about anything else.
A gentle clear of his throat, a harsh swallow of nerves before his lips, the ones that just kissed you, tilt in a bashful smile. “I didn’t mean to take your breath away,” he murmurs in a tease, hot air puffing against your lower face as he gently laughs.
Unable to find the part of you that wants to tease back, to make it a joke, to keep it safe, you’re pouring out honesty when you tell him, “You don’t have to try very hard to.”
He remains there, you both do, bodies swaying, foreheads pressing close. There are no more stolen kisses, no whispers of breath between the two of you, only the quiet of togetherness that drowns out the rest of the room. There are no decisions for the ‘what next?’ nor the ‘what does this all mean?’ Instead you relish in the moment, hands still around his lapels, his own covering yours, keeping you near to him. 
And that’s more than enough. 
 ——
——
if there was ever a chapter i would love to hear your thoughts on—it’s this one! please consider reblogging, liking, leaving a comment. you all mean the world to me. haha seeing everyone get excited over this fic has made my week. xo luna. 🤍
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adrianasunderworld · 2 years
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Papa Crewel
a drabble In which Yuu/Mc realizes Crewel has become their father figure.
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Summer vacation is fast approaching and Yuu is...still there. It’s not surprising but also very upsetting. But right now the most pressing issue is how they will spend the summer. Because with the school being closed for the next few months, Yuu is kinda screwed and will likely be stuck as a grounds keeper for Crowley just so they have a place to stay. Luckily for them, the rest of the staff won’t let that happen. They all debate on who should act as Yuus guardian over the summer. Trein initially offers. He’s a father himself and raised two girls, what's one more child for a couple months? Crewel immediately shoots it down, and says he will gladly take Yuu in. He says it would be best for them to go with who they would be most comfortable with, and as their homeroom teacher they know him best. But truthfully Crewel has grown rather fond of Yuu over the school year. To simply pass them off on someone else felt wrong. Besides, a summer with old Trein? His pup would be bored out of their skull and he can’t have that. Other staff members offered up their homes, but Crewel refused to back down on the matter, and it was decided Yuu would be sent to live with him.
On the last day of school, after everyone had gone, Yuu and Grim packed whatever few belonging they had into the back of Crewels car before bidding campus farewell for the time being. The drive isn't very long, and they are soon pulling up to the surprisingly large house. A few excited dogs run up to greet them, and Yuu thinks this may not be so bad. Crewel shows them to their room. Grim makes himself comfortable on the bed as Crewel explains the house rules. Which isn't much, mostly the usual clean up after your self, if you're going out let him know, etc. For such a strict professor, he’s oddly lax as a guardian. As the next couple weeks pass, things are...normal. Yuu sleeps in a bit, plays with the dogs, maybe walk around with Grim to explore the neighborhood, is always back in time to help Crewel make dinner. This is the most stability Yuu has had in almost a year and it feels surreal. They keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it never comes. Instead of Overblots and magical misshaps, they get lake visits and shopping trips. 
Their room is comfortable. The first week there Crewel helped them unpack and even offered to take them to get a few things to make it more to their liking. Like picking out bedsheets, curtains, maybe some posters. Yuu doesn't want to take advantage of their teachers' generosity, but Crewel won’t take no for an answer, and soon the room feels almost like Yuu had lived there the whole time. Even the dogs have taken to napping at the foot of the bed with Grim as if it's always been this way. Among the things Crewel got for Yuu was a new phone. He said the one Crowely gave them was no better than a cheap brick, and that they needed something that wasn’t going to give out on them anytime soon. Especially in an emergency. Yuu realized Crewel was serious when they and Grim got lost on one of their outings. They ventured farther into town and got completely lost. Every Turn seemed to make it worse and the streetlights had already come on. Not knowing what else to do, Yuu called Crewel who picked up after a couple rings.
 “Hello, Pup, having fun out there?”
 “Um…Crewel? I need help.”
His voice got very serious at hearing how worried they sounded. “What’s wrong?”
   “Grim and I got lost in town and I have no clue how to get back to the house.”
   “Do you know the street name you're on?”
   “Um…White Avenue. And there's a cafe nearby called the Red Rose.”
   “Alright, I’ll be there in about ten minutes. Just stay put.”
   And true to his word, Crewel pulls up in his car soon after, asking if they're okay. Yuu felt an overwhelming sense of relief. They had gotten so used to dealing with everything themselves, that something as simple as being picked up when they're lost was refreshing.
As the summer went on Crewel continued to look after Yuu. From getting their back to school supplies. Taking them on day trips to visit friends. Even scolding them to stay in bed and drink their medicine when they got a nasty cold after getting caught in the rain. One night as they were video chatting with Deuce and Ace, Crewel came into the room and reminded them not to be up too late since they had a ton of errands to run tomorrow and said goodnight.
“He sounds like your dad.” Ace joked.
“Papa Crewel!” Grim agreed, knowing better than the boys that that wasn’t much of an exaggeration. 
Yuu only rolled their eyes. “He’s just being responsible and looking after me.”
“Like a parent would.” Deuce said.
“Are you going to change your last name when Crewel adopts you?” Ace continued to tease. Yuu let him have his fun, but the thought of their professor being like their dad stuck in their head long after the call ended.
An old friend of Crewels was having a baby, and Yuu had tagged along with him to the shower. Everyone was nice to them, people were laughing as the new mother opened gifts. Parents were sharing stories and had their children running about. Yet Yuu had never felt so…alone. In school they had their peers and friends, there was hardly a chance to be lonely. But here everyone was so familiar with one another, family and life long friends. Yuu felt that familiar sense of hollowness they felt over winter break. They missed their friends and family back home. They tried not to dwell on the very real possibility they would never see them again. When it was finally time to leave, Crewel noted how silent Yuu was on the drive back.
Yuu can’t sleep that night. Not wanting to disturb Grim or the dogs, they slowly slip out of bed and wander the halls of the large house. Eventually they sat in the dark of the living room. Hugging a furry pillow, Yuu started to cry. All the loneliness and homesickness that had built up finally came bursting out in muffled sobs. They didn’t know how long they sat in the dark until a familiar voice interrupted.
“Pup? What’s wrong?”
Crewel sat next to them wondering if Yuu had hurt themselves or something. Instead they threw their arms around him and kept crying, the sound no longer muffled by the pillow. Through their sniffling, he managed to figure out what was wrong and hugged them back. Telling them that it would be alright. They weren’t alone. They had him, Grim, and all their friends. 
As Crewel continued to comfort them, they realized Ace wasn’t really joking. Crewel had become a father to them in every way that mattered. 
4K notes · View notes
rollingsins · 1 year
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all hers, part xiv
part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v | part vi | part vii | part viii | part ix | part x | part xi | part xii | part xiii | part xiv | part xv | part xvi | part xvii | part xviii | part xix | part xx | part xxi | part xxii | part xxiii | part xxiv | part xxv | part xxvi | epilogue
summary: The scooby-gang formulate a plot to stop Ghostface in his tracks. Tara and R deal with the aftermath of the attack.
warnings: (+18), Tara is Ghostface, smut, 18+. pussy-eating, vaginal fingering, face-sitting, rim jobs, mention of anal sex.
word count: 3.5k
a/n: 👀 smut delivered as per popular request. as always, thanks so much for your support - let me know what you want to see next!
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The morning passes in a blur. 
Tara is glued to your side throughout, scouring the hallways and the backs of classrooms like Ghostface might pop out at any second. 
In a combination of her morning vigilance and lack of sleep, her eyes are red and watery by lunchtime. 
You sit together in the cafeteria, her head resting against your shoulder, her eyes drooping slightly. Her food is left untouched. 
“What’s wrong with her?” Liv asks as she settles down into the seat opposite you. 
You press a protective hand to the top of Tara’s head, thread your fingers through her dark hair. 
“She didn’t sleep well, that’s all.” You say.
“I wouldn’t sleep well either if my girlfriend was being hunted by Ghostface,” Chad says without thinking, his mouth full. 
Liv smacks him. If Tara hears his comment, she doesn’t react, just nestles in a little closer, determined to use your shoulder as a pillow. 
“Why don’t we go home?” You say, rubbing her back, “My parents will be out, they’ll never know we skipped.”
“No.” Tara says, sleepy voice roused suddenly, “Us home alone in the middle of the day? That’s the perfect time for Ghostface to attack.” 
“It is.” Mindy agrees, scooting into the spot next to Chad, “Although, I wouldn’t get too comfortable here, either.” She gestures behind her, “Ghostface attacked Sidney Prescott in the middle of the day in that bathroom like twenty-something years ago.” 
You glare as Tara sits up, suddenly wide awake. 
“Can you not say things like that?” You hiss, “She’s already freaked out enough.” 
“She should be.” Mindy says, “And so should you. This isn’t the time to get comfortable. We need to figure out who Ghostface is and what they want with you.” 
“I know who it is,” Tara says, “It’s Richie, my sister’s freak of a boyfriend.” 
“We don’t know that,” You say. You glare at Mindy, a little. Now she’d set Tara off there was no hearing the end of it. 
Mindy ignores you, her interest piqued. 
“Tell me more about him.” 
“He’s a deadbeat,” Tara says, a little too enthusiastically, “Went to college but he works at a bowling alley. Plays video-games all day in his tighty-whities.”
Mindy scrunches her nose, “A little too much information, Tara.” 
“None of this started until he moved in with us,” Tara insists. 
“What about motive?” Mindy asks, eyebrows scrunched like she’s trying to solve a particularly difficult math problem. 
“I’ve not exactly been the most… welcoming host,” Tara says with a shrug, “Maybe he’s got thin skin.” 
This is a pointless exercise. You know the motive, and so does Tara. Mindy is quite literally taking a stab in the dark. You touch Tara’s face, just under her tired eyes. 
“We’ll call the Sheriff after school. See if Richie’s story about driving to the restaurant is true,” You say, hoping it’ll be enough to satiate her, “But can we not rule out other people? It could be anyone, babe.” 
“She’s right,” Mindy says, taking a bite of her salad, “It could be anyone. That’s the only rule in Woodsboro.” 
Tara purses her lips, but she doesn’t argue. Leaning back into you, like she’s just remembered her fatigue. You press your lips to her forehead. 
“If you won’t come home, let’s go to the library.” You press, rubbing the back of her neck, “There’s always tons of people there. You can nap and I’ll keep watch.” 
“We’ll come too,” Chad pipes up, his mouth half full of pizza, “I hate Chemistry anyway. Besides, we’re a team right? That masked coward isn’t taking anymore of us.” 
Mindy and Liv nod in agreement.
It’s an odd sort of setup but it works. 
The librarian isn’t paid enough to care that the five of you should be in class, so you scoot right past her to a small breakout area near the back of the library. 
You take the couch, let Tara stretch out and lay her head in your lap. Chad and Liv sit opposite, Mindy on an armchair, back against the wall so she can keep watch. Tara only agrees to sleep after making the four of you swear black and blue you’ll wake her at the first sign of trouble.
You hand curls around the taser in your pocket, ready to whip it out at any sudden movement. Tara, seemingly secure, falls asleep within minutes. She’s so sweet when she’s sleeping, fingers curled tight around your hand, eyes fluttered shut, her mouth slightly open. You brush her hair out of her eyes, rub her cheek soothingly. 
Liv watches you, catches your eye as you look over at her. 
“I’ve been thinking,” She says, a little slowly, like she’s trying to be careful with her words, “Ghostface is going to keep coming after you, right? He doesn’t often let a victim escape.” 
You stare. 
“Yeah. Thanks for reminding me, Liv.” 
“No,” She shakes her head, like you’re misunderstanding, “What I mean is, we don’t know who he is. And if he’s going to keep coming for you anyway - maybe there’s something we can do to stop him. Unmask him.” 
“You want to trap him?” You ask, chewing your lip. 
Liv nods, enthusiastically. She looks to Chad for his backup. He looks a little hesitant.  
“I don’t know Liv..” 
“Babe. Come on.” Liv insists. She tugs at his hand, “They’re our friends, we can’t just let Ghostface come for them.” 
“We’re not.” Chad says, gesturing around, “Why do you think we’re all in the library watching Tara sleep? For fun?” He raises his voice a little too high. You shush him, press your hand against Tara’s head, trying to muffle the sounds of their voices. She doesn’t move, still deep in her much-needed sleep. 
“It’s not a bad idea,” Mindy says, slowly, “I mean, the biggest advantage he has is that you don’t know who he is. If we can identify him, it’s all over.” 
Liv nods, enthusiastically. 
“We could lure him into a trap. Unmask him. And then you’ll both be safe.” 
You bite your lip. It sounds risky, sure, but no riskier than your situation already is. Liv’s right: Ghostface isn’t likely to stop coming after you. 
“We’ll see what Tara thinks when she wakes up.” You say, rub her back, ever so slightly. 
A little while goes by. Chad and Liv hold hands, quietly chat. Mindy watches the door. You watch Tara, content with the steady sounds of her breathing. 
And then that second coffee you’d had in the morning comes around for payback. 
You look around the library, biting your lip. The last thing you want to do is leave Tara. But you don’t want to wake her either. You’ll leave her with Chad and Mindy, take Liv for security. You’re in the process of trying to shuffle Tara’s head off your lap without waking her when a voice stops you. 
“Don’t even think about it,” Mindy says, not looking up from her phone. 
“Huh?” You say
Mindy shoots you a look. 
“You’re thinking about going off somewhere by yourself. To get food, or to pee. Don’t even think about it.” 
“I wasn’t going to go alone,” You assure, your back up a little, “I was going to ask Liv to come with me.” 
Mindy snorts. 
“My point exactly. And what sort of help do you suppose Liv is going to give you if Ghostface attacks? Other than being a meat shield?”
“Hey!” Liv pipes up. Mindy ignores her. 
“Fine,” You say, “You come with me then.” You press your hand to Tara’s head, “Please. She needs to sleep, I don’t want to wake her.” 
“Absolutely not,” Mindy says, her attention back on her phone, “No offense, but I don’t want to be responsible for you. I’d rather fight Ghostface himself than Tara if something were to go wrong. Besides-” 
She sits up, eyes glinting, “How do you know I’m not Ghostface?” 
“Because if you were Ghostface you would have agreed to go with her,” Tara says, voice groggy as she stirs in your lap. 
You shoot Mindy a look, try to press Tara back down into your lap. 
“Baby,” You soothe her, “It’s okay, go back to sleep.”
She stirs, sitting up in your lap, a yawn on her lips, “It’s fine, I’m up now. Where do you want to go?” 
-
The five of you leave the Library together, reconvening in the girls bathroom. You feel like you’re the President or something, four bodyguards by your side, marching you down the hallways, ready to take on anyone who crosses paths with you. 
Chad and Mindy agree to keep watch outside the door while Tara and Liv accompany you into the bathroom. 
Liv immediately finds the mirror, desperate to apply her lipstick of all things. You could make a snide comment about her gussying herself up for Ghostface but you need to pee far too bad to bother. Tara hovers at the cubicle stall, her hand pressed against the door. 
“You okay, babe?” She asks, for the fourth time since you’d sat down, “I don’t hear anything.” 
You didn’t anticipate how difficult it would be to go under these conditions. Half of you wishes she’d waited outside. 
“I’m fine, Tara,” You assure, “Can you back up a bit? I don’t want you to hear me pee.” 
“Oh, I totally get that,” You hear Liv’s voice from the mirror, “There’s nothing romantic about hearing your significant other pee. I don’t even let Chad fart in front of me. If he needs to, he has to go outside.” 
Tara huffs. You squint your eyes, trying to force it. Leaving Liv and Tara in an enclosed space is suddenly less appealing than Tara hearing you pee.  
“I’ll run the facet, babe.” Tara says, stepping away. 
Then, you hear the door open, hear Mindy’s voice. 
“What’s taking so long in here?” She asks, “We’re skipping classes, remember? Not a great look if a teacher catches us roaming the halls.” 
“Since when do you care about not being in class?” Tara asks. 
The door opens again. 
“Chad, this is the girls bathroom.” Liv says, sounding scandalized, “Get out.” 
“No way. I’m not standing out there by myself,” Chad says. He shuts the door behind him, “There’s a psycho running around.”
He pauses. 
“What’s taking so long? Is she pooping?”
“Okay, everybody out.” You declare, loudly, “I can’t pee if you’re all here.” 
They grumble, but file out one by one. Tara doesn't move, you can see her sneakers under the stall door. 
“Babe, you too.” 
She doesn’t want to, you can tell by the way she hesitates. 
“Babe. Please.” 
She relents. 
“All right,” She says, “I’ll be right outside. Use your whistle if you need anything. I’ll be back in a minute.” 
You hear the door close behind her and sigh with relief. 
-
You don’t get attacked mid-pee, perhaps the greatest victory of the day. 
You spend the rest of the afternoon holed up in the library with Tara and her friends, waiting for an attack that never comes. You swear Mindy is a little disappointed when she drives off with Chad and Liv in tow, promising the five of you would come up with a game plan for the Ghostface trap tomorrow in school. 
When you and Tara get home, she’s still a little on edge. 
“Let’s have an early night,” You suggest after your shower, curling her hand around yours as you lead her to your bedroom, “You need to get some sleep.”
But she doesn’t fall asleep, even after promising she would. 
She tosses and turns in your arms, sitting up abruptly at any sudden noise. Her heartbeat wild, erratic. She’s unsettled. She’s scared. Even with the handgun at your side. 
“Baby,” You groan as she sits up again suddenly, leaning over you to double check the gun is loaded, “Please. You need to sleep.” 
“I’m trying,” She says, “I hate this. I feel like he’s going to burst through the window at any moment and if I’m asleep-”
“I’ll be awake,” You finish, pull her back down into you, “And I’ll wake you straight away. Like I promised.” 
“What if you fall asleep?” She asks, chewing her lip. 
“I won’t babe, I promise.” You say. You rub her bare thighs, try to calm her down. 
“You need to relax.” 
You kiss her softly, a thought occurring at the way her hands grip tight on your t-shirt. You tug her a little closer, dip down to squeeze her ass. 
“And I think I know something that will calm you down.” 
She murmurs something inaudible as you lean down to kiss her neck, tightening your grip on her hips. It works like a charm. You feel her physically relax against you, threading her fingers through your hair as you trail your lips over her collarbone. 
You swipe your tongue across her neck, tease her gently with your lips and tongue until she’s sighing, grinding her hips into yours. It isn’t hard to pry her out of her nightshirt, underwear soon to follow. She’s equally concerned with getting you naked, the thrill that shoots through you at her naked body on yours never getting old. 
Then she’s pulling away, a dangerous look in her eyes. 
“You know what would relax me?” She says, eyes sparkling, “If you let me do that thing I’ve been wanting to do.” 
That thing involves Tara sticking her strap-on somewhere it definitely didn’t belong. Your stomach flips at the thought. 
“Nice try.” You say, press a kiss to her lips, “You know the deal. You can do it to me if I can do it to you. You first.” 
She pouts, cups your sex with her hand. 
“Not even a finger?” She says, voice coy. 
You shake your head. 
“What about my tongue?”
You consider it. 
It turns you on, the fact that she wants it so badly. You’ll let her have it eventually, you’d let her do almost anything to you. But you want her to earn it. You want to make it all the more special when she finally gets it. 
“Tongue is fine. Outside only.” 
She leans down and kisses you, eyes filling with excitement. 
“Yes, Ma’am.” She murmurs before she’s slipping down your body to pull your thighs over her shoulders, looking like a kid in a candy store. 
Her lips are hot against your inner thighs, hands gripping around your thighs as she pulls you closer to her. She works you up just right, nipping and licking and sucking at your thighs, pressing warm kisses to the inside of your knees. You moan under her as her lips find your folds, lapping leisurely at the syrup that is the fruits of her labor. 
“Baby,” You groan as she diverts back to your thighs, “Don’t tease.” 
She’s a sucker for you, you know by the way she relents within moments. Her tongue runs over your clit gently, then down to lap at your entrance. You gasp. Her fingers tighten around your thighs as she moves back up and takes your clit between her lips, sucking hard. 
You writhe underneath her, embarrassingly close to cumming before she’s trailing her lips down, disappointment flooding through you as she releases your clit. 
And then you feel her tongue there. 
You can help the low groan that slips out of your mouth. 
It feels dirty, taboo. Exciting. 
It feels different.
She trails her tongue around the rim, then she’s lapping at your asshole like there’s no tomorrow. Her fingers slip inside your pussy, she curls her fingers upwards creating the strangest and most pleasant sensation. 
You sigh, grip your own breasts in your hands as she works her magic, tilting just to the edge - so close. 
And then stops. 
You almost cry out of frustration. 
She kisses her way back up your stomach to your mouth, slipping her fingers out. They’re sticky, warm against your hips as she squeezes you. 
And then you feel her drop them down lower. Fingertips skirting gently against your asshole. 
The look in her eyes is animalistic. 
“Let me put them in,” She almost begs, her voice desperate, needy, “Please baby, I want your ass so bad. I just want to be inside you.” 
You reach down for her hand, redirect her fingers and slip them knuckle deep inside your pussy. 
“There,” You say, cheeky smile on your face, “Now you’re inside me.”
“I hate you,” She mumbles, but kisses you all the same, curls her fingers only slightly. You gasp, tilt your hips up to meet her fingers. 
It only takes a few hard thrusts before you’re groaning, tightening around her fingers. Eyes closed, body thrumming as your orgasm overtakes you. She kisses you through it, holds you tight as you come down. 
When your heartbeat has slowed, she’s still pressing kisses to your chest. You feel her against your thigh, sticky and wet. Desire floods through you once again. 
“Come up here,” You murmur, tilting her hips up to you. 
She gets the message quickly, skirts up your body until her thighs are either side of your head. You grip her hips, pull her down to meet your mouth. She’s wet, so wet, you don’t even need to tease her. 
You wrap your hands around her thighs, wanting to be encompassed by her. Lips finding her wet heat immediately. You lick her folds once, clean her up a little before trailing your tongue to her entrance, letting her tight pussy encompass your tongue. She rides you a little, before you lick your way up to her clit and lovingly work her into an orgasm. 
Her smell, her taste is perfect. You could do this forever. Have her sit upon your face and make her moan and gasp the way she is right now. She’s given up all pretense of trying to hold herself upright, her full weight atop you. Your fingernails dig into the milky skin of her thighs, trying to keep her in place as you suck her. In only minutes, she’s groaning, rewarding your efforts with an orgasm and a fresh wave of cum drizzling into your open mouth. 
You’re a little disappointed when she climbs off you, slumping down to curl into your body. Sweat on her forehead, sticky, keeping her dark hair welded to it. You kiss her head. Murmur that you love her against her sticky skin. 
And then silence falls over the two of you, just enjoying each other’s post-coital company. All thought of Ghostface gone, just you and her, the way it should be. 
And then her phone starts to buzz. 
She reaches out, silences it. Presses her lips to your mouth, a little sleepy. 
“You think you’ll be able to sleep?” You ask, pressing another kiss to her forehead. She’s a little limp in your arms. You’ve worn her out. 
“I think so.” She says. She closes her eyes, rests her head against your shoulder. 
“Who is that?” You ask as her phone buzzes again. 
She reaches out for it, Sam’s name across the screen. 
She rejects the call, puts the phone back to the nightstand. 
“Babe,” You chide, “It could be important.” 
“It’s her telling me I need to come home,” Tara says, “She’s been calling all day.” 
“Answer it.” You kiss her, reach for her phone and drop it back into your hands, “I’m going to the bathroom.” 
“I’ll come with you.” She says, immediately, but you shake your head, reaching out for your shirt and pulling it over your head. 
“You know I can’t go when you’re there.” You say, kiss her once before you’re climbing off the bed.
“Take your whistle.” She says, and you roll your eyes, tugging it around your neck. You show it to her. 
“There. Got the whistle. Happy?”
“Ecstatic.” She says, deadpanned as she lifts her phone to her ear, “Don’t be long or I’m going to come looking for you.” 
You slip out of the bedroom, trail down the dark hall to the bathroom. Your Dad is asleep, you can hear his snoring through the walls. You flip on the bathroom light.
And then you feel it. Something’s wrong. It comes over you all at once. The hallway is empty - you checked - and you don’t hear anything. Nothing out of the ordinary. But you feel it. It seizes through your chest, instinctual. You raise your hands to the whistle, grip it between your fingertips, ready to blow it. Your heartbeat hammers. You tilt your head, all your senses coming alive. Trying to figure out if something is truly wrong or if you’re just imagining it. 
You don’t like it. You leave the bathroom, scurry back down the hallway to your bedroom. To your safety. To Tara. 
And then just as you’re about to press your hand to the doorknob, strong around grip around you, pulling you close. A hand over your mouth. The figure tugs you back down the hallway.  
You cry out, eyes wide, but the hand over your lips muffles the sound. Your Dad’s snoring doesn’t relent. 
“Stop struggling.” 
You recognize the voice immediately. It’s Richie. His breath is hot against your ear, sour, laced with booze. You cry out again, eyes bulging. Desperate for Tara, your Dad, your mom, anyone. But no one hears a sound. His grip on you is too tight. 
“I’m not going to hurt you. We’re going downstairs. Outside. So we can talk.” He drags you like you're a ragdoll. Rough. Impatient. Tears flood down your cheeks. You struggle hard against him but it’s no use. He’s too strong. 
“Stop it,” He hisses, arms strong, keeping you in place, “We can’t talk like this. We can’t talk if you scream.”
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877 notes · View notes
writer-komaru · 9 months
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₊˚✩。+・ Queen of Hearts ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭*⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆
✧Rating: Smut + Exhibitionism
✧Characters: Nikolai
✧Word Count: 3.2k
✧Summary: While participating in a very important annual agency meeting every member is forced to attend, you find yourself in a very stressful situation. You’re completely at the mercy of a very aroused and sadistic clown, one who’s ready to make your life as hard as possible. As sudden, familiar hands appear out of nowhere and start groping you from under your clothes, you soon find out just how hard he can make you~
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The dreaded time was finally here. Once the clock struck 2:30, you watched as Kenji, Dazai, Kunikida, and Atsushi flooded into the meeting room. You closed your laptop and sighed to yourself. This would be your first real meeting as a new member of the esteemed armed detective agency and you were both excited and terrified. Being in a room full of some of the strongest gifted in all of Japan was more nerve racking than getting pulled over in the middle of nowhere! Nonetheless, you knew you were ready for this. You took a seat next to Junichiro and Kyoka, looking up at the white board in the center of the room pinned with at least 20 photos and newspaper clippings. Kunikida stood next to it with a long ruler in his hand, giving everyone an authoritative stare, like a teacher ready to scold a group of misbehaving students.
“For today’s annual group meeting, I’ll be starting it by addressing our most recent case!” His glasses flashed with determination as he cracked the ruler against the white board, using it to point at one of the pictures. Atsushi jumped at the noise, Dazai rolled his eyes, and Yosano rested her head against her left hand.
“The case deals with a large-scale human trafficking scandal being sponsored by the port mafia. We’ve managed to collect a few pictures, physical evidence, witness testimony, and a few newspaper clippings detailing some of the people involved. It’s our duty to locate the victims and ensure they return to their families safely and arrest the perpetrators. The first suspect is- Ranpo are you SLEEPING!!?!” Kunikida bears his teeth and slaps the ruler against the table to wake him up.
“I’d much rather be asleep than attending this boring meeting,” he raised his head and yawned, clearly unbothered by the threat of human trafficking. Does he not care about the people in danger or does he not see it as a big deal? Wasn’t he the detective prodigy the agency was built around?
“Maybe I’ll let you take a nap if you help us locate their base of operations,” Kunikida crossed his arms and huffed.
While you watched with confusion as Ranpo revealed a long explanation of the case, you felt your phone buzz in your pocket. Good thing you put it on silent; if all the attention was suddenly on you, you might just curl up in a ball and return to the soil. You took your phone out of your pocket and sneakily hid it under the table. You were getting a call from…. Your eyes widened in fear. Why now, if all times?!
“U-uh, can I use the bathroom real quick? It’s an emergency,” your trembling hand rose to ask the question, causing your fear of being in the spotlight to come true.
“I’m sorry but you should have gone before the meeting started. Rules are no one can leave until the meeting is over,” Kunikida’s wrath snapped to Dazai, “Including you too!!”
“Hey I haven't even done anything yet!” He held his hands up defensively.
“Yeah yeah, emphasis on YET!” He growled back.
Your worried eyes looked back to your phone, finger hovering between the accept and decline buttons. The caller ID pfp was almost taunting you. If you didn’t take this call, you knew damn well you’d be punished somehow, but if you took it, the private info being discussed could be leaked. You just couldn’t risk your relationship with the ADA so soon. With a heavy heart you hit the decline button, praying to your lucky stars he would shed even a sliver of mercy on you this time. Just before you could put your phone back into your pocket, an ominous text was sent to your phone; It was from him.
‘Playing hard to get, my darling dove? You know what happens when you try to ignore me~ come on, let’s have some fun together!~ Fwahahah!~♦️ See you soon! Your love, Nikolai~’
Well shit, now you’re definitely fucked. That’s what you get for testing the will of a deviant like him. You shifted nervously in your seat, anticipating the tricks he might try to experiment on you. Suddenly, you felt a light hand tap on your shoulder.
“Ah?!” You gasp, only to see it was Kyoka. She didn’t respond, only giving you a look that read, ‘Are you alright?’ It wasn’t a look she gave very many people, you’ve found out. You smiled and shared a nod, making her nod back. As your eyes returned to Kunikida as he continued his rant, a faint golden glow from under the table made your blood run cold. The glow expanded into a glittering swirl of sparkles, like a whirlpool of liquid sunshine. It was almost hypnotic. Out from the circle appeared a frighteningly familiar gloved hand, holding a singular playing card. What pentrified you was not the random floating hand coming out of what appeared to be a portal, but the details of the card. It meant two things. One, Nikolai was ready to play his sadistic little game with you. Two, you were both lucky and deeply misfortunate.
Nikolai was a very sly and cheeky character when it comes to you. He treats you both like a sweet pet he loves to pamper and play with, and like a little ragdoll he uses for when he gets bored. That’s just the price you have to pay for making a deal with the devil. And the word devil is no exaggeration. His little games he plays with you vary in extremes; he can go from playing fluffy games like tag (but he always cheats and uses his teleportation), tickle fights, riddles, hide and seek (which he also cheats on too), magic tricks, and dress up. To more explicit games like lewd cat and mouse, stamina tests, edging, exhibitionism, mind break, and seduction. To more dangerous games he uses as punishment, like knife play, gun play, public humiliation, choking, bondage, psychological abuse, somnophilia, and even roping his fellow angels of decay into torturing you. The memories make you shudder. He ties these levels of debauchery with a specific type of playing card. (I know all of this sounds unnecessary and extreme but that’s just his forte. He gets off on the chaos.) Diamonds mean he’s too busy to play an actual game but still wants to share his love with you. Spades mean he’s about to play a friendly game. Hearts mean he’s about to play an explicit game. And clubs means he’s about to play a dangerous game. Their numbers and houses signal the exact game and severity he’ll put you through, but there’s just no way you can memorize all 52 of them. Sometimes you think he comes up with them on the spot and pretends like he’s planned out the games from the start.
Nevertheless, the card held up proudly in between two fingers was a frightening Queen of hearts. You felt your thighs immediately rub together as a blanket of heat fell over your body. Oh, you were really in for it now. The card and the hand holding it vanished just as randomly as it appeared, triggering the calm before the storm. You wanted to run out of the room and hide, lock yourself in a bathroom stall and brace yourself for the torment he has planned for you. But not only was it likely someone would follow you, but you would probably get in deep trouble.
Shit shit shit…
Suddenly, the portal reappeared underneath your right leg and two fingers began to stroke your inner thigh, painting your skin in goosebumps. It was light and delicate, but calculated enough to send shockwaves straight to your heated core. You shivered as they inched closer to your bulge; making you embarrassingly cover the inappropriate sight with the hem of your loose tee. Trying to keep a poker face and ignore it was the only option you had at this point. But you know the clown has his ways to make you break.
“If we can station Kenji at the entrance of their base, we can distract the guards long enough to let the rest of us sneak in. Kyoka and Atsushi will search the halls and take out the rest of the guards, me and Junichiro will sneak into the bunker and look for the victims, Dazai and Y/N will secure the perimeter in case they call in backup. Any objections?” Kunikida ordered, slapping the ruler against his hand.
“Sounds great to me, but are you sure that’s alright with Y/N? He’s pretty neeewww~” Dazai glances over to you with a smirk. Oh how desperately you wanted to smack him for bringing the attention yet again back to you at literally the worst time possible.
“I believe Y/N is more than capable of handling their task. You on the other hand is a different story,” he grunted and crossed his arms again.
“Aw come on; I’m a trustworthy guy, Kunikida, you know that~” Dazai stuck out his tongue playfully.
“Settle down you two. Let Y/N speak,” Fukuzawa’s voice was like a growling lion, freezing the two men in place like icicles.
“Y-yes sir!” Kunikida exclaimed, bowing dramatically.
Dazai chuckled behind his hand, sending the blonde man a teasing smirk. Kunikida ignored him, focusing his eyes on your twitching form. He raised an eyebrow, “Are you alright, Y/N? You look like you caught a fever.”
“If it’s a fever… I can treat that easily~” Yosano chimed in, sharing an eerie grin.
You cleared your throat as both his hands began to stroke up and down your thighs, his fingertips ghosting over your plush skin in just the way to make your spine quiver, “I-I’m alright, just a bit nervous is all.”
“You don’t need to be nervous, I know you’ll do great, Y/N,” Atsushi smiles.
“And Dazai may seem like a lazy idiot, but as much as I hate to admit it, he’s a dependable ally,” Kunikida pushes up his glasses.
“You’ll…. Do okay,” Kyoka tries to comfort, but instead sounds a bit cold.
“Trust in your abilities and do your very best,” Junichiro uplifts.
“We have your back just like you have ours. We can do this together,” Kenji pumps a fist into the air.
Fukuzawa stays silent, but gives you a reassuring nod.
“T-thank you all. I feel a lot better n-ngh-“ your voice catches in your throat as the sinful fingers of Nikolai trace over your clothed sex, pressing small strokes from your twitching head. That bastard; you hated how he had arousing you down to an art form. Even from behind the portal, he could sense every hitch of your breath, tense of your thighs, and drop of sweat on your brow.
As the rest of the members continued to discuss the case, you let out a sigh of relief. At least they weren’t staring directly into your soul anymore. But the feeling was short lived as a pair of curious eyes stayed on you. The eyes of the master detective. You shivered in your seat; could he tell what was going on between your legs? The likelihood was alarmingly high. The only thing you could do was try to play it off as Nikolai pulled down your fly along with your boxers, letting your length spring free. It felt humiliating, how hard and wet you felt already, fighting back the urge to buck into anything that could give you some sort of stimulation.
“Ehehehhe~ what a naughty pet, being so deliciously horny during an important meeting~ I wonder how easy I bet it would be to coax out a little whimper from you~” a sadistic whisper echoed from the portal as two fingers squeezed and rubbed your head around between them. Before you could bite your lip, a groan escaped your lips. God damn it. You looked around fearfully if anyone heard that, mentally cursing at yourself for letting him get to you so easily. Thankfully, no one seemed to hear it.
“Oh ho ho!~ how delightful~” Nikolai chuckled through the portal, wrapping his hand around your dick and pumping it slowly, making your eyes screw shut. He made sure to give your head a few rubs with his thumb every so often just to stimulate you a little more. If things couldn’t get worse, you felt two fingers pressing right against your taint. Your legs trembled more and more, the temptation to buck into his hand becoming more of a guarantee than a fantasy. Was he really going to make you cum in front of the whole agency?!
Your hips lurched forward, ever so slightly fucking your aching dick into the tight grip of his hand, playing into the perverse little game he was putting you through. Suddenly, to your relief and dismay, his hands retreated back into the portals and disappeared.
“Y/N, are you sure you’re okay?” Junichiro asked with a concerned expression.
“Uh… it’s complicated,” you chuckled, scratching the back of your neck.
As Junichiro tried to push you for answers, the faint golden glow out of the corner of your eye told you Nikolai was clearly not willing to give up yet.
“Don’t worry, if it’s something serious, I’ll make sure to tell you- H-huh?!“ To your horror, your throbbing length is enveloped in a warm, wet, velvety feeling. You peeked under the table to find yourself face to face with Nikolai himself, fully taking your sex into the hot expanse of his mouth and bobbing his head up and down. The playful smirk he gave you made your blood boil with anger and arousal.
“Are you sure you’re alright…?” Jumichiro tilted his head curiously and tried to catch a glance of what you were looking at under the table. You quickly pushed Nikolai’s head off your dick and covered yourself with your shirt.
“Yeah, absolutely great. Perfect, even,” you hissed through your teeth. Junichiro gave you a shrug and turned back to the white board, leaving you to deal with the ruthless incubus under the table.
“Come on, let me get an actual taste this time~ you can’t avoid me forever~” his eyes narrowed as he smirked up at you.
“H-hey, w-wait- Ahh!~” a moan slips from your lips as his mouth slides back up and down your dick, making your whole body tremble.
“Please please, not here, please, not here,” you begged weakly, gripping his hair. You wanted to push his mouth off you again but to your surprise and his delight, you shoved your dick into the back of his throat, groaning as his tongue lapped at the bulging vein under your cock. There’s just no use trying to fight it anymore; you lost the very second you saw that dreadful queen of hearts.
“Good little dove… just give in; let them catch us, it’ll be more fun that way~” he cooed to you as your sex slid even further into his lewd mouth. It just felt so good, so wrong yet so right. The needy pulses of your cockhead against the back of his throat made your mind go blank. More, more, more; you just couldn’t stop craving more. Nikolai’s minaical chuckles grew louder and louder as you urgently humped against his mouth. As his free hand tucked back into his magic cloak, you felt a familiar firm rub against your taint. At that moment, you could care less if the room was empty or filled with 100 people. The only thought in your mind was to cum, to paint his mouth white with your built up seed. More more more, all you wanted was more.
“That’s right… Go wild… show your agency freinds how much fun we have together~” His words sounded like choking against the thrusting of your dick, transforming into a cackle as your head flew back to release a needy moan. Your dick throbbed wildly in his mouth and the knot in your stomach began to tighten, the humiliation sending tears pouring from your eyes. Everything was going exactly to Nikolai’s plan.
“Damn it… damn it damn it da-ahhh~ Aghhh!!~” One final convulsion of your head sent hot cum squirting directly down his throat, the leftover mess filling his mouth and dripping from his smirking lips. You let out a whine as come cum even splattered on his cheek. He licked it off with an evil smirk, just like the cock hungry whore he is.
“What a beautiful performance~ you did so well, my doll~” he crawled out from under the table and to your horror sat right on your lap.
“W-W-WAIT, they will see u-ughhh~” your eyes rolled back as he rubbed himself against your abused cock, giving out a series of strained whines.
“Look around, silly dove~ what do you see?”
He leaned down and whispered in your ear, licking a long stripe up your neck. When your blurry eyes adjusted to your surroundings, you realized the room was different. Instead of being greeted with the disgusted faces of your coworkers, you instead found the room totally empty. But how can that be? Did he use his portal on them? No, he would need to use his cape for that, but the whole time it was neatly resting on his shoulders.
“Stumped?~ I’d love to tease you more, but because you were so good in letting me torture you a little, I’ll reveal the secret~ it was all thanks to Junichiro and Ranpo!~” he exclaimed cheerfully, sending you a wink, “While you were too busy helping yourself to my warm mouth, Ranpo immediately knew what was happening. He passed Junichiro a note to use an illusion on the room to make it seem like everyone was still talking while they all left so we could have some free time together~”
Even though the news wasn’t exactly surprising, your cheeks still burned with embarrassment. You knew Ranpo would find out but god did it still suck.
You groaned and hid your face in your hands, “Why did you have to do that? I’ll never be able to look any of them in the eyes anymore…”
“Awww, dove, don’t be like that~ You were having so much fun weren’t you?~ Why not we… have a round two?~” he chuckles sinfully as he slides his striped pants down and lines himself over your oozing dick. He licks his lips as he slams himself down on you, panting and laughing as he rides the life out of you.
“N-no no no, ughhh n-nooo we’re gunna to get f-found aghhhh-a-again~” you whine as he uses your dick like a dildo. It felt really fucking good but dreadfully shameful. He slaps a hand over your drooling mouth and stares directly into your eyes.
“One more word out of you and I’ll edge you for two months,” he threatens, making your skin crawl. You knew damn well he meant it. All you can do is lay beneath him as he uses you for his pleasure, proving to you just how helpless you are when it comes to him. As a second orgasm builds in your lower stomach, you once again pray to whatever god there is out there everyone in the agency won’t hear you two thrusting against each other like animals in rut.
Curse that queen of hearts. ♥️
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Reblog + Comment + Like if you’d like to see more Bungo Stray Dogs or Nikolai specific content! [And it just really helps me out :’)]
(I know this post is a few days before my supposed posting time buuuuut I’ve been having you guys wait long enough, so here’s early access!!~ Enjoy!!!)
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dcawritings · 3 months
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In which Sun likes to bully you a little and he’s kinda into it. ☀️
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“Oh, what vision! I think this is the best thing I’ve seen you make aaaaaall day!”
The words are bright and chipper, but they don’t match with the motions as the animatronic takes your carefully-crafted paper pal and shoves it into the shredder built into the work bench. Why is that there? Why did he do that? Why…?
You try not to let the rejection get the better of your senses. It’s been an hour at least, and that was the only one that Sun offered any praise over—every previous project was met with all the distain of a diva that saw every little flaw in even your most genuine attempts. It… bothered you a little. More than a little, actually, though you hoped that the tears could be blinked away faster than Sun could notice them in the corners of your eyes.
“Oooh, what’s that look on your face for?”
Fuck.
You shake your head and turn to look towards one of the craft supply cabinets, hoping that you could rub the tears away with a conveniently-timed cough to excuse bringing your wrist up towards your face.
“N-nothing,” you finally say, a lie right through your teeth. “I’m just f-fine…”
Sun crosses his arms. Though his expression is static, you can practically feel the lift of an eyebrow; he obviously doesn’t believe your answer.
“It’s against the rules to liiieeee~” he says singsongingly, as if finding amusement in your attempts. “Go on and tell your good ol’ friend Sun what’s wrong now huh?”
You are silent.
“Don’t be shy, tell me!”
More silence.
Sun makes a low noise, then takes a quick step forward and reaches his hand out faster than you can dodge. He grabs your chin and forces you to look at him.
“Tell me now.”
Your lips tremble, and tears begin to well up in your eyes—his voice is low and commanding, dropped like a rock over a cliffside. You know that Sun would never hurt you, you trust him and Moon too much, but you can’t deny that his abrasiveness is a lot to handle right now. Tears begin to roll down your cheeks and a sob hiccups in the back of your throat.
“Wh-why are y-you being s-s-so mean to me-meee?”
You’re shocked that anyone could understand you, but Sun practically coos as if he is soothing a child after scraping their knee on the daycare floor.
“You’re so cute when you cry like that,” he purrs, but sympathy does begin to fill his gaze after a moment. He brushes away a few tears with his thumbs. “But don’t cry now, no need for tears on such a pretty little face! You haven’t broken any rules!”
“B-but you r-ripped up my p-p-paper pal…?”
“Oh little star, did it bother you that much?”
You nod, then feel your lips tremble and face fill with heat at the answer that spills out. “It’s b-because I made it for yuh-y-you….” Fresh tears roll down your cheek, and Sun’s thumbs are quick to wipe them away with a surprising sense of tenderness.
His expression is unreadable (as always), but you could swear that something changes a little with your words—maybe it’s the subtle warmth in Sun’s tone, exhaustion leaking into his shrill act of a voice.
“…let’s take a little itty-bitty break from craft time,” he finally says, his hands still cupping your face, faceplate tilting in a way that you’d call sympathetic. “Something else?”
You nod fervently.
“Nap time?”
A shake of your head—not because you were afraid of seeing Moon, but simply because you’re not tired.
Sun hums, then says, “Would you like me to read you a little storybook? You’d like that, wouldn’t ya?”
After a moment, you gently bounce your chin against his hands in a nod. Sun giggles, giving you barely a moment to react before he reaches over the workbench and wraps his arms around you.
“Perfect! Let’s find a quiet little spot—so no more crying, starlight, I’ll dry those little tears right up!
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midnight-moth · 4 months
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Ok I fell asleep for like an hour and woke up with massive Midwest emo ghouls au brainworm. Need to expel before sleep. There probably so many typos.
Mist - owner of local record shop. Makes all of the ladies who walk in the door feel like queens and makes condescending music bros shrivel.
Aurora - works at small cafe across the street. Amazing work ethic, short temper. Trying to find her place in the world as well as within a band that contains several very large personalities.
Mist comes in every day, wallet chain and massive key ring jangling in harmony with the brass bell hanging over the door. Orders a pour over every time, not because it tastes better. They really can’t tell the difference.
But because it takes longer. So they can admire Aurora’s deft hands stacking paper cups, refilling the sugar dispenser, smacking the side of the bean grinder to dislodge whatever’s stuck in there.
Aurora gives her a large. But she only charges her for a small. Slips her a cookie or a muffin cause it’s a funny shape, no one will buy it, it’s a day old (even though it tastes pretty damn fresh to Mist.)
Eventually she stops making excuses when she slides the brown paper bag across the counter, cause she’s too busy burying her blush when Mist reaches for it and grazes the top of her hand with their calloused finger tops, conditioned by steel core and round wire.
Aurora finds herself wanting to take a walk outside on her break. No longer content to put her headphones on and take a nap on top of a few sacks of coffee beans. Because Zeph frowns on that just a little.
She finds herself strolling past the window of the record shop, watching Mist prop up new releases against the window. At first they wave, but then y hey beckon.
The crisp chill in the air is a plausible excuse as to why the apples of Auroras cheeks are still so persistently red.
Mist asks if Aurora has a record player. And she does of course. “Have you listened to this?” Mist asks, plucking a record from beneath the counter.
Aurora hesitated, and admits, “No, I haven’t.” Aurora admonishes the fact that she hasn’t been in this world for very long at all and she’s a little bit intimidated by the seemingly vast and endless array for artists and genres.
“Take it for a spin. Let me know what you think.” Mist pushes the record across the gouged counter where various employees in the past 3 decades have carved their initials and perhaps some unsavory phrases.
“Oh, well, I don’t - we’ll - this is embarrassing. But I’m on sort of a tight budget.” The admission forms a hairline crack in her heart, and she isn’t sure why. Maybe Aurora simply does not want to refuse anything Mist has to offer.
“Don’t worry about that, you can bring it back later.” Sensing the hesitation in Aurora as her hand hovers over the record, they push it into her hand with a wink.
It’s so warm in there, Aurora can’t blame the chill and so she buried her face in her scarf and says “thanks, I’ve gotta get back. But, thank you. I’m so - I’ll - excited to listen.” She cringes inwardly and her feet stumble although not as much as her words as she heads for the exit.
She finished the rest of her shift, looking at her backpack with x-ray vision, as if she can see the record inside with Mist’s fingerprints all over it along with whatever she felt when she listened to it.
She kneels on the floor as in front of her stereo as soon as she gets home. Shoes and coat, scarf, lunch bag, all abandoned behind her like a trail of breadcrumbs.
GLORIA, G-L-O-R-I-A.
Jesus died for somebody's sins but not mine
Meltin' in a pot of thieves
Wild card up my sleeve
Thick heart of stone
My sins my own
They belong to me, me
People say "beware!"
But I don't care
The words are just
Rules and regulations to me, me
She’s vaguely aware of the dull throb in her knees and despite how loud she has the music cranked she’s kneeling on the floor practically pressing her ear to the speaker.
Her voice is loud and infectious, the words are irreverent and rebellious. She’s already hooked. And she flips the vinyl over 4 times before the gnawing in her stomach forces her to trudge to the kitchen and make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
Normally a creature of habit, and a neat one at that, the plate doesn’t make it to the sink and the knife sticks to the counter, laden with jam, and there are crumbs on the floor. She doesn’t care.
She tries to go bed early because she has the opening shift. But that contralto voice is ringing in her mind and her feet are dancing under the covers.
She crawls to work and his through the motions, but she finds she’s less tired than expected. Still high on the energy of what she considers truly powerful. It’s like a talisman, no one can fuck with her today. She can’t help but occasionally run her fingers over the record, safely stowed under the counter to return to its owner.
When Mist arrives, they grins like a shark once they hears what’s playing over the shop’s speakers.
Counting the time, then you came to my room
And you whispered to me and we took the big plunge
And oh you were so good, oh, you were so fine
And I gotta tell the world that I make her mine, make her mine
Make her mine, make her mine, make her mine, make her mine
G-l-o-are-i-a, Gloria, G-l-o-are-i-a, Gloria, G-l-o-are-i-a, Gloria
G-l-o-are-i-a, Gloria
Aurora can’t even be bothered to feel shame as she shouts the newly memorized lyrics at the top of her lungs while preparing Mist’s pour over.
“So I guess you liked it?”
“You could say that.” Aurora is surprised that she can manage to say something remotely intelligible. She pulls the record out from under the register to slide back over the counter.
“No, keep it for now. But come by later. I think I have something else you’d like.”
Aurora is inclined to believe them. She takes the record back and in exchange slides over a brown craft paper bag. It feels heavier than usual.
When Mist dumps their belongings on the counter and flicks on the lights, they open it and sees it contains two cookies. And they are not deformed in the slightest.
Aurora comes in on her lunch, on a breeze that smells like roasted coffee and sandalwood. And she returns, with another record under her arm.
Zeph cannot find it within himself to chide her for being late. Nor will he for the days and weeks to come. When her 30 minute lunch break turns into 40 minutes. 45 minutes. 55 minutes.
Because an education in feminist proto-punk cannot be rushed. Nor can her deep dive into the riot grrl movement. Nor can love, Zeph knows that better than anyone.
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juliakayyy · 2 months
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🚄 w e e k ly 🌊 t a g ✨w e d n e s d a y ✈️
Thank you @deedala for putting it together this week! and thanks for the tags @energievie, @creepkinginc, @sam-loves-seb, @lingy910y @michellemisfit @mybrainismelted
_____________________
Name: Julia (or Julia Gulia if you love to quote The Wedding Singer)
Age: if everyone’s doing it… double Nosho plus maybe one more
Location: Pacific Time!
we're going on a trip!!
📍where are we going? Japan (and then I change my departure ticket and just stay backpacking across Asia)
📍whats the weather like there right now? Whatever it usually is when the Cherry Blossom Festival is happening (I think it's soon! so spring?) 
📍are you an over-packer or a light-packer? Fairly light - I know no matter what I pack, I’ll end up wearing the same 2 outfits on rotation 
📍are we taking a plane or a train? Flying (first class, of course, because I make the rules here, right?)
📍early morning departure or an overnight trip? For a long trip like that, overnight (whether i’ll be able to sleep is a whole other story)
📍what song are you playing in the car while we drive to catch our departure? so i remember to come home...
📍we need to grab something on the way, starbucks or dunkin? a whatever they have Starbucks latte, extra hot because I can’t let it get lukewarm while I wait to board - bleh
📍we've made it to the transportation place 🚂✈️! be honest, are we on-time or are we rushing because we're running late? On time, i never trust traffic getting to the airport (which is quite nice, so i don't mind wandering around)
📍are you taking the window seat or the aisle seat? joining the aisle team - just like the movie theater, i hate climbing over people to go to the restroom!
📍we're settled in our seats, are you gonna read or watch a movie/show? a 12+ hour flight and my 100+ open fic tabs and library books on my phone are all glaring at me… so read til my eyes burn/head spins, and then watch a movie
📍what are you reading/watching? let's go with whatever romcom they have on deck in the movie section
📍are you using wireless or wired headphones? If they make you use your phone on the entertainment system, wireless - if it’s fancy and i get a screen, whatever headphones they give me
📍are you going to take a nap or stay awake? reeeeally try to nap, but i’m terrible at those
📍do you want a salty snack or a sweet snack? both?  I’ll take both! but also will need water with those salty ones 
📍we've arrived! are we heading straight to activities or are we gonna rest at the hotel? i’m pretty much ready to explore the minute i get off the plane. i’m too curious to sit still
📍finally, pick a treat to reward yourself for a travel day well done! the jasmin green milk tea boba i’m drinking BELOW
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Thank you @michellemisfit @mybrainismelted and @creepkinginc for tagging me in this Pic Crew!
For the record I haven't worn overalls since college, but it's the first outfit i gravitate to in these!
Care to travel and pic crew today? Both or just one your choice! 🪄 @sweetperversiongirl @palepinkgoat @gembu-tortuesouscafeine @jrooc @metalheadmickey @steorie @callivich @darlingian @thepupperino @deathclassic @heymrspatel @crossmydna @gallawitchxx @sweetbee78 @francesrose3 @deathclassic @jessieoneday @krysmiss @ian-galagher @bawlbrayker @ifallonblackdays @vintagelacerosette @stocious @look-i-love-u @mmmichyyy @rereadanon @sleepyfacetoughguy @heymacy @ms-moonlight-inn @suzy-queued
And everyone who sees this post!
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Day 12 - bites/nibbles
Baizhu x Changsheng
This is completely platonic because Changsheng is a damn snake. We’re better than this guys why do I have to clarify these things😭
“I think that was the lassst patient of the day, Baizhu.”
“Me too, Changsheng,” Baizhu talks to his snake companion as he waves Herbalist Gui goodbye as the man leaves the pharmacy for the day.
“Ssso what now? Do we clossse ssshop?”
“Now, now, you know we have to check the stock of herbs before we end the shift.”
Changsheng hisses under her breath. She hoped that Baizhu forgot about that part- it’s so boring.
“Changsheng, behave.”
“Hmph, I am.”
Baizhu walks to the storage room of the pharmacy, taking notes of the stock at the end of the day.
“That’s…thirty violetgrass…here’s seven Qixing- wait…seven? How…?”
“Qiqi sssaid sssomething about SSShenhe arriving for more herbsss to sssnack on.”
“Ah, you’re right.”
Changsheng continues waiting impatiently as Baizhu continues taking stock.
“Fifteen silk flowers- ah!”
Baizhu flinches, jerking his head to the side.
Changsheng snickers, “hshshs, sssorry~”
Baizhu sighs, “Changsheng you know the rule.”
“I know, I know, but sssometimesss I can’t help myssself.”
“What’s gotten into you, then, hm? It’s rare that you ever- hey!”
Changsheng makes a sudden dive for the certain spot behind Baizhu’s ears and the pharmacist raises his hands to block the attack.
“Sssorrry, I think I just slipped, hshshs~”
“Sure, you did. Can I continue my stock intake now? I still need to do the top shelf.”
“Yesss, be my guessst.”
Baizhu talks with a hint of sarcasm in his voice, “thanks, how kind of you.”
Baizhu raises his arms to take down the boxes of herbs from the top shelf.
Changsheng dives into Baizhu’s shirt, slithering all over his torso.
“Ah- hah-! Changsheng!”
Baizhu clamps his arms back down, hugging himself as he tries to catch the sneaky snake.
“Yesss?”
“Stop that-! Ah! Hahaha!”
“My kind hasss poor eyesssight…where isss the way out…? Isss it here?”
Changsheng wiggles her tail underneath Baizhu’s arms.
“Wait- hahahahah! Changsheng- hahahaha!”
“What isss the matter?”
“Changshahahahaheng! St- hahahahaha!”
“Ah, sssorry…maybe thisss isss the exit, then?”
The snake slithers downward, out of Baizhu's shirt and onto his stomach.
With Changsheng now exposed, Baizhu tries to grab the snake but she coils around his wrists, holding them together. Changsheng nibbles around the perimeter of Baizhu’s belly button.
The pharmacist wheezes, “hah-! Wait- hahahaha! Ah- hahahaha!”
“What wasss that, Baizhu?”
“Changshen- gah! Hahahahaha! Stop- hihihit! Hahahaha!”
The snake starts nibbling the inside of the Baizhu’s belly button and the pharmacist falls over, collapsing onto the ground.
Changsheng stops immediately, “isss everything okay?”
“Ah…haha…I just…lost my breath…aha…sorry about that…”
“No, it’sss fine. I wasss the one that went a bit overboard.”
Baizhu takes a deep breath as Changsheng takes her usual place around his neck once more.
“What was...all of that for, if I may ask?”
“I wasss bored.”
“Is that all?”
“Well…I alssso don’t want to be here anymore. I’m ssso sssleepy…”
“Aha, well, I suppose that I’ll let you sleep then…just don’t do that again, how’s that sound?”
“Hm, fine, thanksss…”
Baizhu sighs with a smile, “no problem, but you could’ve asked to take a nap, instead of going through all this.”
“Hehe, maybe I wanted to sssee you sssmile.”
Baizhu clears his throat with a small blush, “ahem- I see…well, thank you…I suppose I needed that pick me up…I’ve been thinking a lot lately.”
“I know you have…but it’sss inevitable, ssso why dwell on it?”
“I suppose I just can’t help myself sometimes.”
“Well, next time talk to me about it, ssso it’ll be lessss daunting, okay?”
“Hmm…perhaps- ah!”
Baizhu feels a nibble at his collarbone, “okay-! I will-! Changsheng!”
Changsheng snickers, “hshshs, very good. Now hurry up with the ssstock ssso we can go.”
“Of course.”
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dilemmaontwolegs · 1 year
Text
Running from the Flames {19}
Pairing: Pierre Gasly x OFC Warnings: 18+ only, fluff, slight angst - this is a work of fiction and the events are not based on reality. Chapter: One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten || Eleven* || Twelve || Thirteen || Fourteen || Fifteen || Sixteen || Seventeen || Eighteen || Nineteen || Twenty || under construction
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Mum called Tuesday with an update. Pierre and I were curled up on the couch watching a rerun of The Grand Tour while Addie was lying across us having an afternoon nap, his hand softly stroking her hair while she slept. We all needed a rest after the busy morning spent showing Pierre our favourite parts of London and I regretted not taking my car when we went along High Street and bought more than we could really carry, but parking in the city was a bitch. 
Pierre paused the show when he saw me accept the video call and I introduced the two of them before greeting dad who was sitting to the side of the screen drinking a beer with his lunch. Pierre did a double take seeing dad in track pants and a singlet after only seeing him in pressed suits for work. 
“I’m guessing this isn’t a social call,” I commented as mum moved to her home office and put her reading glasses on.
“Unfortunately not. We need to talk about what our options are to deal with this.” She dropped the dossier of documents I had scanned through to her onto her desk with a loud thud. “The fastest option would be to offer a settlement out of court and pay Gordon for the damages, namely a broken nose and bruised ego.”
“Why should I give him a single penny? He came and harassed me!”
She sighed and rubbed at her temples just like I did when Addie was stressing me out. “We could countersue and file our own charges for breaching the restraining order. That would likely bankrupt him again because he can’t afford to drag out a case against us.”
“If he goes bankrupt again he will just have another axe to grind with me. I want him out of my life, not a reason to come at me again.”
“You’ve gotta work with me here, querida. Nothing is going to be a perfect solution,” she said as she sat back in her chair chewing the end of her pen.
“Could we go to court and see what a judge thinks of the case?”
“It would likely be a jury, not a judge, but I wouldn’t advise it. Have you read this?” she asked as she waved the papers around.
I looked down sheepishly and admitted, “Not all of it.” 
Mum knew that actually meant I hadn’t read any of it. “The stipulations of this would mean your passports are surrendered until the verdict is ruled, which would take considerably longer than the other options.”
I looked at Pierre as I digested the news. “So I would be stuck here?”
“You would be grounded, yes.”
I swallowed deeply at the thought and shook my head. I wasn’t willing to waste the time I had left with Pierre before I started work. I could already feel the date looming over me like a guillotine. “Offer a settlement. I don’t care what it takes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Maybe we should talk about this,” Pierre stopped me from answering with a hand on my thigh.
“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m coming with you to Canada next week, end of story.” I placed my hand on his and squeezed it before I looked back at mum with a nod. “Do it.”
“Okay, honey, I’ll give you an update when I have one. Drive safe tomorrow and give Adelaide a kiss from me.”
“Gracias, mamá. Hasta mañana.” I ended the video call and leaned back into Pierre’s shoulder with a sigh and expected to see him looking at me but he was staring intently at the tv though it was still on pause. “Babe, what’s wrong?”
He dragged his eyes away from the frozen Jeremy Clarkson and chewed on his bottom lip. “Are you sure you want to go with a settlement? Shouldn’t you think about it a little longer?”
“I’m not going to just stay stuck here while you’re halfway across the world.” Doubt started to creep in and I carefully shifted Addie so I could turn to face him. “I know a lot has happened in a short time and you said it was fine but if this is too much, just let me know. I’ll understand if…”
Pierre reached for my face and cupped my jaw as his lips pressed together. “I’m not going to leave you, Bri, so please stop suggesting it. I’m already having a hard time thinking about what happens after Belgium.”
I carefully shifted back into his arms but the stirring was still enough to wake Addie and she sat up, rubbing her bleary eyes as she murmured, “We go park now?”
“Mummy has to go see someone soon and Pierre is going to stay and play with you.”
“I’m happy to take her, if that’s alright with you?” he asked in French so she didn’t understand and get too excited in case I said no.
“If you’re up for it, there’s spare keys on the hook in the kitchen.” I checked my watch and saw I needed to leave soon to make it to Dr Pascoe’s office in time. I pulled Addie into my arms and hugged her tight as I told her the rules again. “Be the good girl I know you are and no running away. Listen to Pierre and do as he tells you, he wants to keep you safe. I love you.”
“Love you,” she said, planting a big wet kiss on my cheek before laughing and running to the shoe rack. “Let’s gooooo!”
“She was asleep 10 seconds ago,” Pierre said as he looked to his empty lap in dismay.
“She goes zero to 60 in 3.5.” 
Pierre got up and offered a hand, pulling me to my feet and into his arms. Every time we kissed I was amazed to find I was still on solid ground because I always got a little light headed and I expected to open my eyes and find myself in the clouds. 
“Je t’aime.” 
Kissing him left me dizzy but hearing those words made me swoon and I pressed my body closer, my hands sneaking beneath his hoodie so I could feel his muscles move beneath his smooth skin. I lost track of time as I stared into those mesmerising eyes of his and echoed, “I love you.”
I dropped Pierre and Addie off at the playground on my way to Dr Pascoe’s and my eyes kept lingering on them in the rearview as I left. There was always a big grin on Addie’s face when she was with Pierre and he was no different as they walked off holding hands. 
The image was still on my mind while I sat opposite Sarah and updated her on my latest epiphany. 
“Do you think I’m moving too fast?” I asked, even though I knew the next words that were going to come out of her mouth.
“Do you?”
“If I were an uninvolved third party, just spectating, I would say yes. But, I’m not and I don’t think so? I don’t even know if that makes sense. I think his profession doesn’t help because it's so dangerous, I mean last weekend he had a hell of a crash and I keep thinking if I hadn’t told him how I felt and he had been seriously injured, or worse, then I would have felt absolutely sick to my stomach.”
“Good, you are proactively thinking these things while making your choices, that is good.” She scribbled some notes down before flicking back a few pages and tapping what was written there. “And has anything happened since the incident with Trent Gordon?”
I groaned and shifted in the leather chair, my arms folding over my chest and she wrote down something new in her notepad. 
“I take that as a yes. Would you like to talk about it?”
It didn’t take much to start me off on that saga and bring her up to speed with the settlement and how Pierre reacted.
“Part of me thinks he doesn’t want me to go with him. Maybe this is too much baggage, it’s unfair of me to expect so much from him,” I said with a resigned sigh as I vocalised the worry that had been whispered in my head.
“Have you asked him?”
“Of course. He says he wants Addie and I with him wherever he goes.”
“Then you should trust his decision.”
“What if he’s just too nice to say anything? He seemed opposed to me making the settlement.”
“That is something you will have to discuss with him but perhaps he is worried you will resent him later on because he knows don’t want to give Mr Gordon the money. Is that something you think you may come to regret?”
“I don’t want to give Trent a single cent but this is just a simple transaction and that is how I am going to treat it. I know how fortunate I am that I am in a position to be able to value time over money because of my family. I want to spend my time with Pierre. So, if it takes giving that assho- sorry, that man some money to make that time possible then I will spend it without regret.”
“I think you should explain to him exactly what you said to me, it might just be what he needs to hear.” She looked up at the clock and closed her book as the hour ended. “We’ll have to work out the time differences but I think a quick catch up while you are away could be a good idea. And if you have any more nightmares or panic attacks, call the emergency number because I want to find out a little more about what’s triggering these again.”
I called Pierre as soon as I was out of the building and he said they were still at the playground. Addie had made a friend, unsurprisingly, and she didn’t want to leave. Pierre didn’t seem too concerned about spending so long in the park since he wasn’t as easily recognised by parents that were busy chasing their own kids around.
“Boo,” I whispered as I rose on my tiptoes and kissed his ear after sneaking up on him. He didn’t even flinch, merely chuckled as he pulled me around him and into his arms so my back was flush to his chest. “How did you know I was there? I dodged every twig and leaf.”
He pointed to the ground in front of us as he rested his chin on my shoulder. “Sorry, beautiful ninja, your shadow gave you away.”
“I’ll sneak something by you one day.” I waved at Addie when she spotted me and she waved back before climbing up the playground with the other little girl her age. “Is that her friend? What happened to her hair?”
Pierre chuckled nervously. “Her hair tie came out and it was getting in her face. I kind of tried to tie it back.”
I struggled to hold back the laughter and failed when Addie jumped down the ledge, the loose band falling away and releasing all her dark curls in a cascade. “Not a bad first attempt,” I said through the giggles, “but we’ll work on that.”
“It lasted a whole 5 minutes, just saying. I think that deserves a reward.”
I turned in his arms and peeked up at him from under my lashes as I licked my lips. “Yeah? What did you have in mind?”
“A few things,” he smirked before whispering in my ear, “all dirty things.”
Click here to for chapter twenty.
Tagging: @my-only-way-tocooperatewithlife
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honestlydarkprincess · 7 months
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fic stats meme! 💌
rules: give us the links to your fic with the most hits, second most kudos, third most comments, fourth most bookmarks, fifth most words, and fic with the least words.
tagged by @loserdiaz, @hippolotamus
this isn't completely accurate because i forgot to do flat view so this is only for the stats of my 911 fics
most hits
christopher diaz has two fathers and no one can tell him otherwise
Christopher just wanted to make a Father's Day card for his Buck. He doesn't understand why Ms. Flores is being so mean!
second most kudos
we're gonna be okay, kid
The last thing Buck is expecting is to be woken up from his ill advised mid-morning nap with a call from Christopher's school, telling him that Chris is sick and should go home. He can't leave his favourite kid to fend for himself so even though Eddie might get mad at him, again, he's on his way to pick up Chris before he can even think about it.
third most comments
with you is where i wanna be (take me home)
“C’mon, Buck. Let’s go.” Eddie said, coming up behind him and clapping him on the back. 
Buck cracked one eye open and turned to look at his best friend. “Huh?” 
“You’re coming home with me,” Eddie replied, not even looking at Buck as he opened his own locker and started pulling out things to shove into his duffle bag. “You have spare clothes and everything else you need to spend the night already at the house. I’ll bring you back here tomorrow so you can get your car.” 
Buck hummed in answer, too tired to come up with words for a proper reply. 
Or, the one in which Buck is too exhausted to drive himself home so Eddie takes him back to his place. Includes Buckley-Diaz family fluff, pining, and sleepy cuddles.
fourth most bookmarks
yours and mine equals ours
At the 118's annual Fourth of July BBQ, Ana is supposed to be keeping an eye on Christopher while Eddie grabs them some food; however her attention is on the fact that Eddie doesn't trust her the way he trusts Buck. With her preoccupied, she doesn't notice Christopher losing his balance until it's too late. Christopher has a little fall and Eddie has some realizations.
fifth most words
i'll take the road that leads me back to you
Post-Lawsuit AU. 
Buck's finally back with his family but nothing is the same. The people he considered his family could barely look at him, the man he'd fallen in love with was ignoring him and dating some teacher. 
He decides he needs some time away, maybe some space will finally let them all heal. Will he come back? Will the 118 be able to finally move on and forgive each other?
fic with the least words
to be okay
Every morning is the same. Buck wakes up, and doesn’t fully breathe until his phone is in his hand and the message thread with Bobby is open. After Bobby has replied and Buck can breathe again knowing that Bobby is okay, he texts Eddie and Christopher.
tagging: @bigfootsmom, @lovebuck, @monsterrae1, @housewifebuck, @madneyporchengagement, @theyarnmaidstale, @barbiebuckley-han, @barbiediaz, @diazblunt, @transbuck, @wikiangela, @princessfbi, @911onabc, and @alyxmastershipper
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Text
Lost & Found - Chapter Twenty.
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Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen
Words - 3,699
Warnings - 18+ content throughout, Minors DNI. Recounts of kidnap, child trafficking, physical/verbal/sexual abuse.
Hot kisses peppered her spine, the wet drag of a tongue evoking a flush of goose pimples, her butt grasped in the hard grip of two big, tattooed hands. Using his knees, he pushed her legs further apart, the hard press of his cock sinking into her slowly, his body blanketing hers completely.  
The feel of chiselled muscles moving across the contours of her back, coupled with the grip of his hands at her waist sent her reeling into heady bliss, forgetting how tired she was from the fact that the early hours had consisted of little more than cat naps around a marathon of sex.  
Everything had gone from an all-out hungered display of sexual greed to extreme slow burn, both still a little dreamy from sleep, the ebullient flush of tingles from the scraping of his cock against her walls waking them with gleaming pleasure. Nothing was hurried, everything slow and warm, the sexual equivalent of a sumptuously slow drip of honey, sweet and indulgent, both trembling their way to orgasm at a pace that barely even shifted up in tempo. 
“You scrambled my brain, I just came so fucking hard,” she panted, her voice muffled from the crumpled linens beneath her. “Mother Mary, that was so hot.” He didn’t reply, his breaths hot at the side of her neck, Emma turning her head. “Are you okay?” 
“So damned pussy drunk, I can’t... speak.”  
She giggled, feeling him pull from her slowly, shuddering a little and placing a kiss between her shoulders, lying down on his back beside her. When he did finally speak, though, it was with words she didn’t expect to hear.  
“If all of this goes south, and I don’t think that it will necessarily, but if it does, we go to Mexico. I love my club, but not enough to be a sitting fucking duck, waiting for the Romano crime family to rain hellfire upon us. Yeah, the club will try and fight it, but Lombardi, he won’t play by the rules. 
“Him and his guys won’t just turn up one day to battle it out, I can bet. He’ll pick us off one by one, we won’t see it coming, and I ain’t about waiting for that. If it was just me then maybe, cuz’ I know this is what I signed up for and club comes first, but I can’t have that. I can’t have my last dying thought being that I’ll be gone and you’ll be alone and in danger again. That’s not happening on my watch, Em.” 
She shuffled closer to him, resting her chin on his chest. “You’ve been thinking about this, huh?” He nodded, his fingers weaving into her hair, stroking swirls against her scalp. “To be honest, he wouldn’t pick you off one by one. His methods of dispatch for more than one person tend to favour fire or explosions. There was a street gang in the Bronx who’d ripped him off a few years ago, and his retaliation was to blow up the bar they were all regulars at. He wiped them out entirely. No negotiations, no nothing. Boom, gone.” 
He leaned to kiss her forehead, his hand stroking her thigh where it rested across his hips. “That ain’t gonna be us. I fucking love you way too much for that to be us.” 
“I love you, too.” Her whispered words preceded her resting her cheek to his chest, stroking the hard muscles beneath the heavily tattooed skin, wondering if it would indeed come to that. While they lay curled up together, Lee and Gilly were once again stationed down in the bar, the former enjoying the very good quality fresh coffee while the latter despaired a little. 
“What? You and that fuckin’ face, Gilberto!” 
He shook with silent laughter, sighing. “You, over caffeinated, again!” 
She was nonchalant, taking another sip. “It’s damned good coffee! I gotta find what beans they use. Really aromatic, full of flavour, tastes fuckin’ great!” 
“I’d say they dip ‘em in fucking energy drink, from how jazzed out you get from drinking it.” She’d done forty lengths in the pool the previous evening, and still returned to the room a little wired. He managed to talk her into switching to herbal tea after an hour, Lee sipping the beverage as she looked out into the lobby, her eyes scanning for anyone of the Italian American persuasion while Gilly went to use the restroom. 
“I’m onto you, you know.” 
Spinning around on the barstool, she raised an eyebrow at the guy who was setting up for the day, drying the dishwasher fresh glasses. “Excuse me?” 
He leaned closer, nodding over her shoulder. “I sussed you out, why you and your guy were sitting here all day yesterday, watching the lobby.” She made her best puzzled face, the guy setting the glass down before he continued. “You guys are mafia geeks, right? Hoping to get a glimpse at Rocco Lombardi?” 
Lee’s mouth twitched, the man giving her the perfect explanation without even realising it. She held up her hands, feigning bashfulness. “Ahh, you got me! Yeah, my husband and I are really into all of that, total mob nerds, man. We only knew he was here because we overheard somebody else talking about recognising him!”  
“I knew it!” She let him have his triumph, Lee watching as he picked up the next glass, continuing wiping it down with the soft cloth in his hand. “He’s out at the moment, hit the golf course at eight this morning, but to save you from having to sit here and wait around all day, I can call you when he comes back? I really shouldn’t, and you can’t tell anyone, but from one geek to another, I’ll do you a little solid. He always calls in an order for sandwiches and coffee to be laid out here in the bar for him and his friends after they’d played a round, so once he has, I’ll call you.” 
“For real?” she beamed, the man winking. “Oh my god, I’m so excited! I’m gonna get to see a real gangster in the flesh, wow! We do all the stuff, you know, mob museums, mafia tours in New York and Chicago, wow! This is amazing!”  
She hammed up the part of enthusiastic mob fan so well that the guy didn’t suspect her as anything less even for a moment, taking her cell number and promising to call in around four hours, the estimated time it would take for Lombardi and his associates to play eighteen holes out on the course.  
“C’mon, we’re outta here!” She announced when Gilly arrived back, the big man looking puzzled. “We got the hook up, guy behind the bar things we’re mafia geeks, so he’s calling me once Lombardi is on his way back from the golf course. Until then, we’re hitting the spa. My fuckin’ pores need a good steaming, and I bet you wouldn’t say no to a massage.” 
He was about to complain, until he thought of the relaxation benefits of such. “Just don’t be getting them to put any mud or stuff on me. I ain’t down with that.”  
Lee being Lee, she did manage to talk him into lying in a large mud bath for half an hour, Gilly complaining for the entire duration. He wasn’t about to let anyone know how much he enjoyed it, though. He had a street cred to consider.  
Just over four and a half hours later, and Clinton, aka the eagle-eyed bartender called, Lee and Gilly hot footing it back to sit and watch, ordering themselves burgers for lunch, which were definitely fancier than anything they were used to. A caramelised onion jus with black truffle mayonnaise were the kind of toppings you’d get looked at as if you were crazy if you requested them within Santo Padre.  
While they ate, she sent Emma a text telling her to be ready in case there was a moment Vincent returned to his room, figuring it best she be on standby. All the while, Lee stole little glances at the table, Emma’s story flitting through her brain, her foot beginning to shake as she expended the angry energy being in such close proximity to the man who’d hurt her friend had stirred. She wondered how many of them at that table had raped her, chewing her fries angrily, Gilly reading it clearly.  
He reached to grasp her arm, eyes widening a little. “Calm it down, dude. I got enough to worry about with the thought that Guero might fly off the handle at any given fucking moment and go pop a couple of bullets in the back of his head, without you gunning for him too,” he whispered quietly, Lee clenching her jaw.  
“Can’t help it. That scumbag took her life from her, man. I ain’t gonna do anything, but fuckin’ fuck, the things I could do to him, given half the fuckin’ chance.”  
Gilly was given no time to reply, Vincent and a couple of others standing, the former announcing that he was going to change before joining them all down by the outdoor pool. Now was her chance. Sliding from her seat, she moved across the bar and out into the lobby, waiting behind him for the elevator. He and the two men stood chatting about birdies and things being under par, golf jargon Lee neither understood nor cared about, the elevator arriving.  
“Hey, Mario,” Vincent spoke, halting the man when he stepped forward. “Where’s your goddamned manners?” He then turned to nod right at Lee. “Let the lady on first. After you, ma’am.” 
She smiled politely, thanking him, pressing the button for the third floor. His floor. Mario and the other man with them pressed for the second, the doors gliding closed, the men still conversing about their game before they got off, leaving just her and Vincent.  
Looking straight ahead, she saw his outline in the brushed metal doors turn to view her, her heart leaping in her chest, although she had no clue why. He couldn’t see inside of her head.  
“I gotta say it, hon. Tattooed women have never been my thing, but your arms are beautiful. Like an entire gallery etched onto your skin. Those swans and roses? Exquisite, incredible art you got there.”  
She bit her tongue, surprising the urge to come out with her usual snipe, something along the lines of her not giving a shit whether or not her appearance met anyone else’s approval, smiling and thanking him as the elevator stopped. Vincent remained gentlemanly, gesturing for her to step out first. Striding down the hallway, he tailed off about halfway along, entering his room, Lee pulling out her cell and racing around the corner to hide, calling Emma. 
“We fuckin’ have lift off, he’s in his room, third floor. Get your ass up here, sunshine. I’ll keep watch, make sure nobody comes to him.”  
Emma’s heart was catapulted into her mouth, ending the call and getting up, sliding her feet into her shoes and pulling her wig and glasses back on, feeling her stomach tingling unpleasantly.  
“Hey, I’m gonna be with you the entire time, it’s alright,” Guero reassured her, kissing her head before they left the room, placing a protective arm around her. As soon as they walked into the lobby, her body began to tremble, being able to see into the bar area, catching a glimpse of him, the man who had caused her so much pain and trauma for the two decades she’d lived under his rule, her heart jackrabbiting against her ribs, feeling a little lightheaded.  
Moving to the elevator, she was relieved it was already there on the ground floor, the doors sliding open instantly once the button was pushed. She remained silent for their short ride up, her hand clenched tightly upon Guero’s.  
“Whatever happens, we’re gonna be fine, alright?” he spoke, holding the doors once they arrived on the third floor. “I love you, and I ain’t gonna let anything bad happen to you, you hear me?” 
She nodded, gulping. “I do.”  
Exiting, Emma looked to the room numbers upon the doors, her mouth going dry as she counted them down. Three zero three, three zero four, five, six... three zero seven. Hearing a psst sound, she looked up to see Lee’s head around the corner about ten rooms along, giving them the thumbs up before she hid once more. Keeping the watch was a smart move, she thought.  
Emma reached, pausing before her knuckles softly rapped upon the door, her entire body tingly and light with nerves. Honestly, how she didn’t pass out was anybody’s guess, feeling the tumult rise like a tide within her, the door opening to reveal the face of a man she hadn’t seen in close to a year. He looked confused for a second, Emma removing her sunglasses, smiling thinly. 
Taking her in, Vincent’s eyes widened in utter astonishment, shock hitting him sharply. “For the love of the goddamned holy ghost, I thought you were dead.” Scanning the hallway, he then jerked his head back. “Get inside, before anybody sees you.”  
As soon as the door closed, he was on her with questions, the tall Sicilian resting his hands to his hips. “What the hell are you doing here? How did you even know I was here, kid? Your mother, Emma... she’s been going insane, thinking what we’ve all by nature assumed, that Rocco had you whacked.” 
He was the only man within their world who knew of the close bond between her and Marie, Emma revealing that she thought of her as her mom to him in the times they’d spent talking, times where he should have been between her legs, but never was.  
“Mom knows I’m safe,” she began, Vincent touching a gentle hand to her arm, gesturing with the other to the table on the other side of his spacious mini suite. “I reached out to her a few months ago. Forgive her for not telling you that, but...” 
Vincent waved his hand, shaking his head before adjusting his pants and taking a seat. “Forget about it, I know, nothing to forgive. She wanted to keep you safe, so of course she didn’t wanna tell nobody. Not even me.” He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “Christ, kid. You look good. You look well. At last.” 
She nodded in acknowledgement, relaxing a little. “Thank you. Anyway, as to why I’m here, I think my guy here can explain that for you. He’s a member of the MC running your heroin.” 
Vincent’s eyes moved straight to him, sat on high alert, chin lifted, unblinking, unflinching. A hand was extended in his direction, Guero cool in his reaction to it. “Vincent Calabrese, but I’m guessing you know that already.” He took in his demeanour, a distinct unwillingness to return the gesture. “Relax, tough guy.” Eventually, Guero shook the hand offered to him, Vincent continuing. “I always thought the world of this one here. Trust me, pal. If I could have gotten her outta there, I woulda.”  
“Guero Ortiz. It counts for a lot with me, that you never touched her when you could have, but that doesn’t mean ain’t suspicious of anybody close to Lombardi,” he stated carefully, Vincent nodding deeply.  
“Naturally, naturally,” he repeated. “So, this explanation?”  
Guero began to speak, Emma interjecting every so often, Vincent’s eyes flitting between them as he took in everything they were telling him, small nods and ‘umhm’ sounds here and there but other than that, giving absolutely nothing away. Her heart hammered with nerves, feeling her arms begin to tremble, trying desperately to supress them.  
“So yeah, with EZ’s assistance, you’d be primed to take the spot we all feel you were always destined to land in, the heroin keeps moving, but no tiny consignment. I get that you’re gonna need time to think about it,” Guero finished, Vincent closing his eyes for a second, standing slowly, walking over to the corner of the suite.  
Guero’s hand slipped to the waistband of his jeans, feeling the cool metal of his gun against his fingertips as he readied himself. All Vincent went to prepare was three glasses and a very expensive bottle of vodka, bringing them back to the table. He poured three large measures, sliding two of the glasses over the polished mahogany, picking up his own. 
His fingers curled around the cut crystal, lifting the glass aloft. “Tell Ezekiel that potentially, he has a deal. I don’t know how much you understand about our world, but to take out a boss, we gotta take it to The Commission. What that means is that we gotta have the approval from one of the other five families to take him out. Sometimes it can be sought after a hit, make it okay and all, but respect dictates that to be proper, you should seek it first. Trust me when I say that Rocco is so antagonistic, I doubt this’ll be an issue. Especially if we’re not directly making the hit, merely sanctioning it.”  
Emma’s eyes widened. “So, this disapproval of child trafficking runs that deep, huh? I always thought it was just you.”  
Vincent sunk the contents of his glass, his lips thinning for a moment, refilling it and gesturing that she should drink up, Guero downing his, too. “No, hon. Not just me. Others and I within the organisation have been quietly concerned for some time, just how loud Rocco is becoming. By loud, I mean the positions he’s putting us all in, the risks and yeah, we do run that, of course we fucking do by the very nature of the men we are. Trust me, there’s been talk of having him whacked.” 
He then looked to Guero, seeming to address him more with his next words. “The world of the tiny consignment is not one that myself and others ever wanted to meander into. Like I told this one here many years ago, it’s an affront to god, and while by no means are my hands clean, that is a dirt a man can never remove from himself. Children are innocent, and I’d never fucking sully myself like that, should the choice be mine alone to make. It’s why I never laid a hand on her when she was offered to me. I might be a lot of things some might find unsavoury, but not for nothing, I ain’t a fucking rapist.  
“That’s what happens to half these fucking kids, too. Sold into the sex trade, little girls even younger than Emma was when she was snatched, living the hell of being a child concubine. It turns my stomach. I want us out of it, and believe me, so do many other notable men. It ain’t just the vulgarity of it, it’s the risk. Our operations don’t need no more heat, know what I mean?” 
“Listen, whether it be by god’s divine grace, sheer dumb luck or fortune, I’m actually staying on in California after this little guy’s break. My youngest kid, she goes to college out here, so my wife is joining me up in Los Angeles. I’d appreciate a face to face with your president prior to that happening. I’d like to even out every last detail. You’ll have a definite answer within the next two weeks.”  
Satisfied by his reply, Guero stood, pulling out his phone and going across the suite to call EZ, his eyes on Emma the entire time. Vincent picked up on it, turning to her with a small smile. “He’s protective, that one.”  
“Very much so,” she confirmed, Vincent then shaking his head with a long sigh. 
“God in heaven, kid. How’d you fucking do it, huh? How’d you get all the way out here? He had us looking everywhere for you, although we all thought that was a front and that he’d shot you, for whatever reason he might’a had.”  
She shared her story with him, Vincent looking honestly horrified over her ordeal, interjecting at various points with little whispers of ‘Jesus in heaven’ or ’for the love of god’ every so often, listening intently.  
“All of this, ain’t gonna be a problem for you much longer. This I fucking promise. That man, he’s a liability now, far from how his father - may he rest - taught him to handle our endeavours. Stand on me, kid. This all goes away soon.”  
She stood, Vincent opening his arms, giving her a little hug, telling her how good she looked and how happy he was to see her well, thriving in her new life.  
She left the hotel room with the same caution she had upon arriving in it, taking the stairs back down to the ground floor, just in case. It was with elevation in her heart, though, and a new confidence that come a couple of weeks, things would be fine. That same confidence shone through as they left the hotel a day later, her insides feeling gleamed by the deal they’d managed to put in motion. She just had to hope that Vincent got a favourable result when taking it to The Commission. 
Guero took the first driving stint, returning to the back of the car after three and a half hours, Emma resting her head down on his lap, looking up at him with a smile. She seemed much more unburdened, the fear that had been pushed to the very forefront of her being on the way up there now lessened with the hope that one day soon, she’d be free of it entirely.  
It was as if the shadow she’d been living under had been banished by a sudden burst of light, Emma reaching to stroke his face, mouthing “I love you” to him, Guero beaming, leaning to kiss her. He noticed all that and more, the tiny details of her demeanour that looked so different to him now. 
It was just a pity that none of them noticed the dark car that followed along at a distance behind them for the duration of the journey home.  
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chocmarss · 2 years
Text
I’ve said this on twitter before but I’ll say it again here: it would be EXTREMELY funny if Rex, Ahsoka, and Bo-Katan meet again post episode IV, specifically in the Mandalorian era.
Ahsoka: You lost the Darksaber again?
Bo-Katan: [has been hiding the fact she did lose the Darksaber the 2nd time but by the gods has she been trying her best to keep that from Ahsoka] How—
Ahsoka: Rex told me. Sabine gave it to you and you lost it. How’d that happened, Bo? There were no evil ex-Sith Lords to steal it from you again, and you lost it?
Bo-Katan: I didn’t lose it—
Ahsoka: Then, how did Din get it?
Rex: Who’s he?
Ahsoka: The new Manda’lor
Bo-Katan: He is not the new Manda’lor—
This is the day Bo-Katan was reminded that these two might be dangerous on their own but together —Clone War vets who have been working together for almost 30 years and are basically each other’s persons— they’re a bunch of lethally dangerous assholes.
Okay, yeah, so maybe Bo-Katan did lose the Darksaber, but they didn’t have to be insufferable about it. They’re so annoying, honestly. They’re beginning to sound like Boba, and it doesn’t help that Rex shares the same genetic gnome with the dude, like ugh.
Rex: Oh yeah, I know he rules Tatooine. I visit him sometimes to make his life a mess, like he did when he was little and decided to be a little brat to us on Kamino.
I didn’t think much of this other than Bo-Katan drops over to Rex’s house before that because she knows Ahsoka’s there but walks in on them being like. old people sappy.
Bo-Katan: [watches them] I see you two have gotten… close
Ahsoka: [slow dancing with Rex around his garden] What of it?
Rex isn’t exactly young anymore, but he has his own house to retire and all, so Ahsoka drops by once in a while to spend some time with him and do all the nice things they wouldn’t imagine doing since they’ve been in too many wars one went through a lifetime, so forgive her if she’s enjoying herself, Bo.
Maybe you should join them, listen to the music coming out from the clanky old radio, breathe in the fresh air. Take a nap maybe, since you look like the last time they’re about to take over a whole planet.
Wha— you’re going to Mandalore again? Why?
To help Din? That’s a first. No, we’re not making fun of you, it’s just that you hate the guy’s guts, and usually, you’d die for that Darksaber if it means getting it from him.
You want our help to get him around the sewages? But you’re going to be there though, why won’t you do it?
You’re going there first. To wait for him. While the Manda’lor himself is somewhere around the galaxy doing. Whatever. Can’t you just look for him and then you go together?
Bo-Katan: [feeling a headache coming along] I have other business to look into, will you help me or not?
Rex: [taking a tray of freshly baked bread out of the oven] Nope. Permanently retired, remember?
Ahsoka finally agrees to follow Bo-Katan to Mandalore and Rex gives her a little kiss goodbye and saying things like, “Make sure there aren’t any old ghosts trying to kill you.” and “If you need help, just tell me, and I’ll go.”
Bo-Katan: What happened to retiring?
Rex: [gives Ahsoka a Keldabe kiss]
Bo-Katan: [full of heavy judgement] Forget I asked.
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tinyboxxtink · 9 months
Text
"Summer Of '87" [Chapter 5]
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Chapter 4
Chapter 6
-----------
You had taken one of the bunks in the back to take a nap before you arrived in Toledo. There were only four bunks so Eddie took the couch. Even after you insisted he keep his bunk and you’d take the couch.
“Nah, I’ll be fine princess. I used to sleep on a couch all the time back at home.” he assured you. 
Now here you were, waking up in the daylight. You sat up and stretched, quickly noticing you were alone on the bus. 
“What the--?”  You spoke out loud as you walked to the front of the bus. The bus is sitting in the back of a building, no one is around to be seen. 
“How rude!” You said aloud once more to the air as you walked towards the door of the building. It read “BACKSTAGE MEMBERS ONLY” . You naturally open the door to go in, but there’s a huge bodyguard standing right in front of it inside. 
“Sorry, no fans.” He tells you in a gruff voice. 
“What?!” You unintentionally screech. “I am not a--” 
“She’s cool, Jerry,” you recognize the bus driver “claiming” you. “She’s with Munson,” 
“I am not--” You started shutting down what he was implying, but the look he gave you made you pause. 
“Yup, that’s me. Eddie Munson’s concubine,” you rolled your eyes as you pushed past Jerry. 
“You’re welcome,” the bus driver smirked. 
“Yeah, thanks---” you muttered sarcastically as he led you through the venue.
“The boys are on stage sound doing sound check if you wanna go watch them,” he informed you while pointing to a doorway marked STAGE.
“Sure, why not,” you shrugged as you walked over and through the doorway. 
This venue was about the size of The Chicago Theater, but with a pit in front of the stage. You took a seat in one of the higher upper rows and sat, just watching them. Well, let’s be honest. You were watching Eddie.
The way his fingers moved on the guitar, it just made you wonder how good they would feel -- NOPE. Can’t be thinking stuff like that, nope. That’s exactly what should NOT be happening right now. 
As soon as the song was over he came out of his “Show mode” when he saw you. 
“Alright take five guys!” he yelled excitedly. 
“Take five?” Gareth groaned. “Dude we’re almost--” 
He started to protest that they had just started, but Eddie was already off stage and running up the arena stairs to you.
“Hey you!” he smiled widely, plopping down in the plastic seat next to you. “Sleep well?” 
“Yeah, actually,” you couldn’t help but match his energy with a smile of your own. “THose beds are surprisingly comfy,” 
“Oh yeah, for sure.” he nodded. “We sprung for the comfy beds, gotta get my beauty sleep.” 
“Oh,” you suddenly felt guilty taking his bunk. “I’m sorry, I should’ve let you--”
“Oh no!” he quickly backtracked upon seeing your face. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. It was just a joke,” 
“Yeah, well--” you blushed. “I still feel bad,”
“Well, maybe next time we just share it,” he winked. “Although I don’t think we’d get much sleeping done.” 
“Eddie!!!” you hit him as your face turned a deeper shade of crimson. “You’re the one that set the one month rule, remember?” 
“Yeah, and I’ve been kicking myself all night for it,” he sighed as he leaned back in the chair. 
“Aw, poor baby,” you giggled. “Well think of it this way: we can get to know each other before we-- y’know,” 
“Give in to our urges?” He wiggled his eyebrows. 
“Yes, exactly,” you bit your lip with a smile. 
“Hey if you two are done smelling each other or whatever,” Gareth called from the stage. “Some of us would like to finish rehearsal so we can eat!!” 
“I’m gonna kill him before the end of the month, and then we won’t have to wait,” Eddie said in annoyancde as he stood up.
“Then you’d have to find another drummer,” you reminded him. 
“True,” He nodded before kissing your cheek and heading back down the the stage, yelling something vulgar to Gareth you couldn’t quite discern, but you assumed it was vicious.
---------------
After sound check the band headed back out into the foyer where you met them. 
“Alright, so where can we get some food in this town?”
“You mean, somewhere where girls won’t follow your every move? Steal your food to sell to the highest CC fan?”
“Yes, that.” 
“Well, I do know of a small sandwich shop nearby. It’s family owned and I used to go there every day after classes.” 
“Sandwich shop?” Quentin crinkled his nose. “Sounds fancy,”
“How does that sound fancy?” Eddie rolled his eyes. “You mean if it’s not greasy, grilled or fried it’s too ‘fancy’ for you?” 
“Yeah!” 
“And ‘fancy’ sounds expensive.” Jeff added.
“Will you two shut up,” Eddie hit the both of them. 
“I promise you boys, it is neither ‘fancy’ nor ‘expensive.” 
“Fine,” Gareth sighed. “But if there are flowers and pictures of old-timey folks on the walls, I’m leaving.”
“....What kind of definition of fancy is that?” You whispered to eddie as you walked out of the arena.
“His mom watched too much ‘Keeping Up Appearances’ when he was a kid,” he chuckled. 
-------------------
As soon as you walked into the shop, the owner saw you from a mile away and ran over to hug you. 
“Y/N!” He cried joyfully as he hugged you. “So good to see you, we’ve missed you since you went away to fancy school,” 
“Oh Arthur,” you chuckled as you hugged him back. “It’s just grad school.” 
“Mama!” he called to the back. “Look who’s here!”
A little old lady came shuffling out of the back when he called. Her eyes lit up when she saw you, and she came running over.
“Y/N!!” She also grabbed you in a bear hug. “We’ve missed you!!!” 
“I heard,” you smiled. 
“In fact,” Arthur chuckled as he grabbed you a menu and handed it to you. “We missed you so much mama insisted we do this,”
You took the menu curiously and opened the page. There in the middle of the menu read: “THE Y/N”; it was the same meal you ordered everyday. A grilled cheese made with white and yellow cheddar, the bread buttered on both sides with fries and a cherry coke.
“Arthur!” You gasped while Eddie peered over your shoulder. “Emily you really shouldn’t have,”
“That actually sounds really good,” he smiled as he showed the rest of the band members. “Grilled AND greasy, Q,” 
“Oh, are these boys with you?” Emily asked. “I guess I should’ve known, we don’t get too many of you metal boys here,” 
“You know what metal is?” Jeff asked in shock as they followed her to a small table in the back. 
“Oh yes, our granddaughter is crazy about you.” Arthur chuckled. “Collided Crowbar, is it?” 
“Corroded Coffin, sir,” Eddie stifled a laugh as he corrected him. 
“Right, right,” He nodded. “So, will it be five Y/N specials then?” 
“Sounds good to me!” Gareth grinned. He loved grilled cheeses and cherry coke. 
“Yes that would be great sir,” Eddie replied in a polite tone as the others nodded in agreement. 
“Excellent!” he beamed. “Be right back,” 
--------
When he was gone, Eddie looked at you with an impressed smile. 
“What…?” you blushed. 
“A sandwich named after you, huh?” he smirked. “We don’t even have that,” 
“Oh yeah?” you smirked back. “And what would a ‘Collided Crowar’ sandwich have on it?” 
“Bacon!” Jeff chimed in. “Lots of bacon,” 
“And anchovies,” Quentin grinned. 
“Ewwwwww,”
“Absolutely NOT,” Eddie waved his hand. 
“Five cherry cokes!” Emily smiled as she approached the tables with a tray of soda. “And your food will be out soon,”
“Thank you ma’am,” Eddie smiled at her. 
“Oooh, young man.” Emily smiled back at him dreamily. “If i was younger, you and I would have quite the time,” 
“Emily!!!” you gasped while the boys snickered and Eddie blushed like a tomato.
“Oh, sorry dear.” She looks at you apologetically. “I didn’t realize you two were together,” 
“We’re not!!” You shut her down so quickly you noticed Eddie’s face falter a bit.
“Could’ve fooled me,” Arthur came up behind Emily with the food. 
“You two are awful,” you shook your head as they handed out the plates. 
“Yeah, awful,” Eddie said softly in a hurt tone while picking at his sandwich. 
“Oh come on Eddie,” you put a hand on his knee under the table. “You know I didn’t mean it like that--” 
“UH, if you’re trying to make eddie jealous or something, this ain’t it,” Gareth shifted his knee, the one you were actually caressing. 
“Oh my god,” you quickly removed your hand and sat it back in your lap, turning bright red while the rest of the group laughed loudly leaving Eddie clueless.  
“What…?” 
“Just-- eat your sandwich dear,” you blushed harder while Eddie furrowed his eyebrows. 
“No, what--”
“Your girlfriend just tried feeling me up, Munson,” Gareth smirked, making Eddie’s pop out of his head. 
“WHAT?!”
“I thought it was you!!!” You hissed, trying not to make a scene. “I thought I was doing this,” You made sure you gripped his knee this time. 
“But i didn’t do this,” you added with a sexy smile as your fingers ran up his thigh, causing his leg to thump the table so hard it shook everyone’s plates.
“Check please!” Quentin laughed. 
“Oh, don’t worry about it boys,” Arthur came walking over, having heard none of the conversation except the check. 
“Any friends of Y/N’s are friends here,” 
“You really don’t have to do that,” You insisted as the boys finished up their food and walked towards the front. 
“Nonsense,” Arthur kissed your forehead. “It was just nice to see you again, sweetheart.” 
“Well sir,” Eddie pulled out his wallet. “Please at least take this tip,” he handed him a fifty dollar bill.
“Oh no son, I couldn’t.” he waved his hands but you stuck the fifty in his shirt pocket. 
“You can and you will, Arthur.” You said semi sternly. “I know how hard this business is,” 
“Well, alright,” Arthur said softly with a grateful look between the two of you. You said your goodbyes to Emily and Arthur then met the band outside to walk back.
--------
“Well I gotta admit Y/N, you taste pretty good,” Gareth smirked, causing Eddie to punch his shoulder roughly.
“Say one more thing about her and I won’t hold back,” he growled as you held his upper arm. 
“Edds, it’s okay…” You soothed him. 
“No, he’s been nothing but nasty to you, even though he’s the one who asked you to come with us!” He argued. 
“Maybe he’s jealous,” Jeff suggested, immediately causing Gareth to smack him.
“Jealous of me?” Eddie laughed sarcastically. “Did you honestly ask Y/N to come because you like her?” 
“Yeah, um Edds--” Quentin coughed awkwardly. “I don’t think that’s what Jeff was--”
“Everybody SHUT UP,” Gareth grabbed Quentin by the collar while he yelled violently. 
“Whoa whoa whoa! Chill, Gar!” Eddie grabbed him by his jacket. “I was only--”
“Eddie you better let him go,” you warned as you saw the looks on the boy’s faces. You quickly realized what was happening and thankful Eddie hadn’t seemed to catch on. 
“Wha--?” he let go of Gareth and the three of them started to speed walk ahead of you. 
“What was that?” he just watched them leave in confusion.
“Babe, let’s just say I don’t think you have to worry about competing with Gareth, okay?” You took his hand. 
“Um…okay,” he nodded as he interlaced your fingers while continuing to walk.
You made a mental note to find Gareth after the show to have a heart to heart about what just happened. That wouldn’t be awkward, right?
-----
if you llke what you read, please considering buying me a Ko-Fi☕, it's the only source of income I have right now. https://ko-fi.com/tinyboxtink
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crimsonrosinante · 8 months
Text
Glue - JingRen
Sleepy Paramedic Jing Yuan x Far-Too-Often Patient Blade | 3.8k Words | ⚠️ References to Suicide, Blood and Injury | Fluff, Dark Comedy, Hurt/Comfort
Jing Yuan spends his time between naps saving lives, while Blade spends all his time trying to end his.
“Goddamn, it’s always the same one. Can’t somebody just lock him up or let him die already? Jesus Christ, it never ends…”
One of Jing Yuan’s eyes slowly crept open as he peered at his fellow paramedic making a fuss, impatiently tapping his foot as he glared down at his work phone from the other side of the break room. He stretched like a cat in the chair he had fallen asleep in while awaiting his next shift and propped his chin in his hand as he called out to the figure whose complaints had roused him. “What’s got your panties in a twist, hm?” he questioned teasingly.
Daggers were flung in Jing Yuan’s direction as his colleague looked up at him with a grimace. “I get a house call to the same damn address almost twice a month now. Guy’s a suicidal maniac. Just tried killing himself again. He Leapt from the fire escape since the building manager blocked off the roof from his last attempt, but all he’s ended up with are a couple of scrapes, maybe a concussion or a break, maybe a sprain… Fucking hopeless idiot,” he complained.
Jing Yuan digested the words; that same faint, genial smile he carried for the world resting on his lips, despite the way his free hand tightly curled around the chair’s arm. He rose to his feet and padded over with a thoughtful hum, in part meant to quell the curses his tongue couldn’t help holding onto before opening his mouth to speak again, “I’ll take the calls, then. Let our coordinator know that address can be under my jurisdiction from now on.”
His co-worker regarded him with an inquisitive brow and scoffed, “You sure you wanna give up your precious beauty sleep, princess? I’m sure the poor bastard will finally get it right soon enough—” Jing Yuan interrupted him with a firm hand on his shoulder and an even brighter smile, “I’m already pretty enough, aren’t I? What’s one hour of my time? I’ll head off now. Forward me the location details. Maybe, get some sleep yourself, huh? You’re looking pretty rough these days, bud.” As he brushed past, Jing Yuan lightly chuckled to himself as he heard a few disdained grumbles behind him.
As he reached the parking lot out front, his phone chimed and he dug it out of his back pocket to see precisely where he was headed. The shared contact with the address and addressee was saved under the name ‘Blade’. Jing Yuan bit the inside of his cheek with a sigh at his colleague’s continued campaign toward being the new poster child for lacking empathy before copy-pasting the location into his GPS app and climbing into his assigned ambulance alone.
It was unusual for Jing Yuan to bend the rules and take on a call solo, but given the fact that the situation itself was out of the norm, and he was supposed to be on break, he had no team to accompany him. With his stature and build, and the person of interest being more a danger to themself than to him, he figured he shouldn’t have an issue handling things alone if only just this once.
The ride there was quick and he parked across the street, already seeing an elderly woman at the front of the apartment complex flagging him down. He climbed out of his vehicle, prying a pair of disposable gloves from the box on his dashboard on his way out, and made his way over with a million-dollar grin. As he approached, the woman took pause, eyeing him up and down with her mouth slightly agape, Jing Yuan caught her muttering the word ‘handsome’ under her breath just before she cleared her throat to speak up, “You’re a new face.” A face much easier on the eyes, she meant.
“I presume you’re the building manager who keeps calling in on our patient’s behalf. The address was reassigned after some, er… department changes. I’m Jing Yuan. Could you show me where he is?” he introduced himself, telling his little white lie as his gaze shifted around the perimeter for any sight of ‘Blade’.
She gestured with her hand for him to follow after her as she rounded the corner and began to walk through the narrow alleyway to the left of the complex. “That broken-winged bird… He’s a pretty one at that, you’ll see. You know that old poem, The Raven? He’s a real Edgar Allan-Poe type, you see—poor thing. If I didn’t feel so sorry for him, I’d send him packing for ruining my lot value,” the old woman chattered on and on with Jing Yuan behind her until they reached the iron stairwell to the fire escape, as well as a dark-haired figure lying on the ground just beside it.
“Ren! Ren, you got yourself a new nurse. And he’s a looker!” the elderly manager chirped as Jing Yuan came to stand beside her. Slowly, the crumpled silhouette turned on their side with a groan and defeatedly looked up at the two of them.
A tiny glimmer formed in the amber that swirled about Jing Yuan’s irises as he was met with two down-turned eyes of brandished vermillion, no less so than the caking blood that dripped from his scalp like aged wine to pool just above his brow.
‘Yeah’, Jing Yuan thought to himself, ‘he’s quite the pretty bird, alright’.
Ren squinted up at the broad-shouldered paramedic looming over him, blocking out the midsummer sun with a mess of half-tied silverine waves and a lopsided smile. His face twitched slightly, concealing his pain, as he tried to move his arm in an attempt to sit up, coming up short.
Jing Yuan stepped forward and crouched in front of Ren before turning to the older woman and signaling to her that he had the situation handled so she could go back to her own business. Once she stopped breaking neck to look back at them with every step and actually took her leave, Jing Yuan returned his attention to his raven-haired patient.
His arms were battered with scrapes and cuts, and scars from many more purposeful cuts amidst a series of red and black floral tattoos. Jing Yuan’s usual smile became tainted with bitterness as his eyes raked over the etchings throughout Ren’s flesh. He reached out gingerly and asked permission, “May I?”
Ren stared for a moment, then averted his gaze and nodded. Jing Yuan took his hand in both of his with a cradling touch, gently examining every inch of skin to assess his injuries properly. A sprain in his wrist… Bruised rotator cuff… He proceeded to check his other arm before moving to his torso. Ren’s black tank top clung to his plush chest and bunch at his trim waist, leaving part of his lower abdomen exposed.
Jing Yuan’s moral compass spun erratically in his gut as his fingers found the hem of Ren’s shirt as if he hadn’t done this a thousand times in the most professional of ways. And it made him feel insurmountably worse thinking how stupidly gorgeous his patient looked with blooms of crimson and merlot littered across his flesh. The very thing he was meant to aid in doing away with.
Curious garnet orbs followed those wandering gloved hands, then glanced up at Jing Yuan’s face, finding nothing but serene focus there. Golden sunlight reflected back at him as Ren’s gaze was met with a checkmate stare. “Sorry, I- uh, have to check your ribs for fractures. It’ll only be a second, pardon my touch…” Jing Yuan’s voice rumbled deep and soft like a slow-burning hearth as his hands trailed underneath Ren’s top.
The drag of latex against his skin was an odd sensation, making goosebumps rise along his forearms, but he never took his eyes off Jing Yuan’s delicately up-turned lips or the phantom of a dimple at his cheek. When he reached Ren’s rib cage, his fingertips grazed over the raised flesh curving around either side of his breastbone, forming a thoughtful hum at the back of his throat.
Jing Yuan held his gaze once more as he splayed his palms, feeling for any irregularities one by one as he pressed along the lines of each rib, gauging Ren’s expression intently for any sign of pain. They remained there for a minute, swathed in a strangely not discomforting silence as Ren’s jaw relaxed under the spell of the paramedic’s unexpectedly soothing touch, only making a sound when Jing Yuan finally brushed over a bruise.
“Does it hurt?” Jing Yuan asked, his mouth dabbing at the words so gently, as if they were doused in antiseptic and he was afraid they might sting.
It was a simple enough question, but entirely foreign to Ren’s silver-bitten ears.
He cared for no one, really, and less so himself. Being treated carelessly in return was as routine for him as breathing; the latter being to his detriment, but true nonetheless. Every memory he had was an ache that throbbed in his skull, as though a sharpened blade was lodged there from the moment he was born. He wasn’t used to softness, save for the stray black cat that tiptoed through his apartment window one afternoon and settled in his lap, claiming its new home.
Ren knew nothing but coldness; the burn of frostbite that never just ate through the bone. And then, all at once, he thawed to the marrow.
Between Jing Yuan’s sun-soaked tresses framing his face, those eyes flickering like candlelight, the warmth that seeped through the latex from his fingertips, the fireside timbre of his voice, and that smile… that smile … Ren felt every ounce of pain he ever carried melt into the asphalt beneath him.
“I’ve had worse,” he replied hoarsely with the slightest quirk of his lips.
Jing Yuan blinked at him a few times before a soft rumble of laughter like crushed velvet escaped him. His hands slipped away entirely and Ren unconsciously made a tiny noise of protest, though the silver-haired paramedic thankfully didn’t seem to notice.
“I’m relieved to hear that. Hopefully, the worst is behind us, then,” Jing Yuan said while examining his legs, tapping at Ren’s knees to make sure his reflexes responded normally. The meaning laced between his words was subtle, but not in a way that felt condescending or bearing impatience, and quite unlike the usual tone of “Quit making my life harder with your suicidal bullshit” Ren was used to.
When he offered no reply, Jing Yuan’s sighed, shifting onto his knees and holding out his hand. “Let’s at least get you somewhere a little more comfortable, huh? Pretty sure I saw a rat the size of a chihuahua on my way over crawling around here and I don’t think I’m equipped with any kind of rabies vaccine today,” he jested. Ren scoffed out something close to a chuckle, though his expression remained dull, but this time, Jing Yuan did notice.
With his good arm, Ren pushed himself up and Jing Yuan quickly leaned in, clutching the small of Ren’s back to hold him steady. ‘Stubborn,’ he chided amusedly in his mind, but chose to let his raven-haired patient be accepting of help at his own pace.
Jing Yuan grabbed his medical kit with one hand then looped his other arm around Ren’s waist to ensure he kept his balance as he came up to stand, knowing from the fall he’d likely be a little dizzy getting to his feet. The problem was, pressed so closely to his side, Ren felt even more lightheaded. He could smell the ambergris cologne that clung to Jing Yuan’s nape, toasted cinnamon on his tongue leftover from the gum he chewed on his drive, and jasmine flowers in every lock of silvery hair that brushed Ren’s jaw.
Jing Yuan felt it then. The weight of Ren’s body pressing even further into his. And when he turned his face to check if he’d fainted, his golden gaze shone at the sight.
Ren’s eyes were closed as his cheek rested atop Jing Yuan’s shoulder, that perpetual pout on his lips brought to peace. Without even realizing, he’d given in and keened to Jing Yuan’s touch, as though he’d just exhaled after holding his breath for a thousand years.
Even as he faced forward to walk Ren up to his apartment, Jing Yuan snuck glances from his periphery, admiring how delicate his features appeared when free of tension, like a blood-stained magnolia. It made him curious to know what caused the brain in that pretty skull of his to make him lust after death so insistently. But, he wouldn’t pry, not because it wasn’t his place to, no… But, because he had only one intention coming here. To heal.
The old woman was nowhere to be seen as Jing Yuan brought Ren through the building’s front entrance, leaving him to chew the inside of his cheek in frustration at the thought of having to rouse the half-dozing figure in his arms. He carefully guided them both into the complex’s narrow, unrenovated elevator, having to fight with the rusted accordion gate to get through. A silent sigh heaved from his chest as he glanced between Ren and the twelve floor buttons in front of him, including the one meant for the roof covered with duct tape and a very aggressively drawn red ‘X’.
Just as Jing Yuan was about to quietly clear his throat and wake him, Ren mumbled the answer with his eyes still shut, “Four. It’s 4B”. The silver-haired paramedic’s ears perked at the sound and he chuckled lowly in amusement. “You’d make a pretty good Jedi with senses like that,” he said as his finger reached out to push the fourth-floor button. Ren hummed into the crook of Jing Yuan’s neck before grumbling a reply, “Wouldn’t have pinned you for a Star Wars nerd…”
Another warm laugh bubbled in Jing Yuan’s chest as he quipped back, “Looks can be deceiving.” Ren remained silent for a few moments after and Jing Yuan assumed he’d nodded off once more until he heard Ren’s nicotine-coated rasp in his ear again, “...I was Anakin for Halloween once.”
Jing Yuan quirked a brow and his dimples deepened as his smile grew. “Alright, maybe not always so deceitful,” he teased. Ren groaned at the comment as the elevator doors creaked open and Jing Yuan chuckled at his disdain as he led them out into the fourth-floor hallway.
Once they reached the door to Ren’s apartment, he dug into the side pocket of his sweatpants for the key, wincing as he brushed over a bruise on his hipbone. He twisted the key into the lock and cursed as he tried to shove his way through. Jing Yuan gently placed his hand over Ren’s forearm, silently asking him to concede before trying the door himself. Ren watched the muscles flex and the veins stretch taut beneath the flesh of Jing Yuan’s arm as he got the door unstuck from its time-worn hinges.
Inside, Jing Yuan’s mouth fell partially agape as he couldn’t help but marvel at his surroundings as he softly shut the door behind them and slid out of his shoes, though it hardly mattered. It was a mess. A terrible nightmare of a mess. Dishes were stacked high in the kitchen sink, books were strewn across the floor and tabletops with their spines splayed, clothes in piles or thrown haphazardly over the couch and bed, paint spills and splatters from floor to ceiling alongside the open and half-used tubes they came from, and an easel at the studio’s center crowded by unfinished or destroyed canvasses and more crumpled paintings than Jing Yuan could dare to count. At the furthest wall was the window to the fire escape, left wide open, with a black cat perched on the sill, licking its paw clean.
If it were anyone else, Ren wouldn’t have batted an eye about having them see his place in disarray, especially considering he never voluntarily had guests over. But, Jing Yuan standing there with that dumbstruck look on his face actually made him wish he’d tidied up, even just a little. He muttered an apology that Jing Yuan chose to ignore as he cleared up some clutter on the sofa to have Ren take a seat; his eyes still bouncing between the artwork littered about the space.
As if in a trance, the paramedic set down his kit on the coffee table between a pizza box and a half-eaten takeout carton of dan dan noodles, traversing a minefield of objects and questionable substances on the ground as he made his way toward the large easel.
The canvas on display was dyed entirely in black paint, drip marks dried up at its edges. There was a reflection like moonlight on ripples of water in the background, and a sea of vermillion spider lilies rolling over the waves as though they were impossible to drown. Jing Yuan dragged his fingertips along the brushstrokes in awe while Ren observed him from the couch, quivering as if his own flesh had been caressed instead.
“Fuck…” Jing Yuan whispered in admiration before realizing he’d gotten off-track, “Shit– I mean sorry, I didn’t mean to, uh… Your work is just… Captivating. He stumbled over a crate of used brushes and mixing plates, making him immediately curse again, to which Ren couldn’t help but let out a scoff of a laugh. Jing Yuan’s eyes lit up at the sound as he padded over, his socks already splotched with multicolor paint. “Oh, good. You know how to laugh,” he mused. Ren’s face, of course, returned to its stoic nature at that.
Jing Yuan made quick work of grabbing his medical supplies and plopping down on the sofa beside Ren. He took great care in ensuring he tended to Ren’s wounds thoroughly, leaning in to purse his lips and blow cool air on the scrapes that stung enough to make his raven-haired patient flinch. “Alternate between hot and cold compresses on both your wrist and shoulder throughout the day for fifteen-minute intervals. Don’t fall asleep with them on. And get plenty of rest. If you wanna accelerate the bruising a bit, you can order some arnica supplements and aloe water if they’re not available at a store close by,” Jing Yuan advised.
Ren didn’t offer any real indication that he was truly listening, tapping his fingers against his knee expectantly, awaiting the futile mental health pep talk. Jing Yuan noted his anxious fidgeting but said nothing of it. Instead, to Ren’s surprise, the paramedic packed up his medical case and rose to stand with a smile. “Well, that’s as far as my service lends itself. Don’t feel like you need to get up, I’ll see myself out,” he said, already making his way toward the door.
A couple of feet felt like miles as Ren gazed at Jing Yuan’s broad back moving further away. He wouldn’t stop him. He wouldn’t say anything else. But, as Jing Yuan curled his hand around the doorknob, he looked back over his shoulder with a grin and said, “I hope I don’t see you again, Ren.”
But, fate, and Ren himself, were fickle things.
And while Ren couldn’t seem to stop wanting to die… he couldn’t seem to stop wanting to see Jing Yuan again either.
It went on for months, much like the very first day. Jing Yuan swaddled a drenched, shivering Ren in layers of thick towels as he held up a hot blow dryer after Ren tried to drown himself in the bathtub. Ren’s hair was tied as Jing Yuan rubbed his back while he retched over the toilet with the paramedic’s fingers in his mouth after taking one too many painkillers. Vaseline massaged over the searing rope-burn marks on Ren’s neck after Jing Yuan cut him down from his ceiling fan. And Jing Yuan’s least favorite: Getting on his hands and knees to scrub the blood out of the bathroom tile while Ren lies passed out in his bed after Jing Yuan had to frantically staunch his gushing wrists.
Even Jing Yuan had his limits.
The paintbrush in Ren’s hand took pause as he heard a loud knock even with the music blasting from his headphones. He set his brush down and pried the headphones off, hanging them on the easel’s edge, wringing his bandaged left wrist with a groan. Walking toward the door, the knocks persisted and a sigh of annoyance left him. When he unlatched the lock and saw just who was on the other side, his jaw slackened and the crimson in his irises burned brighter.
Jing Yuan stood there, chest heaving, silvery strands matted against his forehead, soaked from the downpour hailing down outside, and with no uniform in sight. Ren opened his mouth to speak slowly, “I’m fine–” The words barely left his tongue before Jing Yuan strode forward until Ren could feel his every shallow exhale fan across his face. “If you want to see me so badly, just ask. I’m not some angel. You don’t have to be on the brink of death just to see me. So quit fucking trying to die already before I lose my m–” his voice was trembling, passionate, and too much for Ren to resist as he clutched Jing Yuan’s face within both his palms and kissed him like he was offering his very last breath.
Eager fingertips tangled into the midnight-colored hair at Ren’s nape, kissing him back like he wanted for nothing more than to kiss him every minute for the rest of his days. He sought to give every bit of warmth Ren ever missed and with the taste of sunshine pooling onto his tongue, Jing Yuan felt him smile for the first time.
Ren broke the kiss, touching his forehead to Jing Yuan’s as his bandaged hand was taken hostage; Jing Yuan kept their fingers tightly interlocked as he pressed one tender kiss after another along each of Ren’s knuckles and down his wrist.
“I can’t make any promises,” Ren whispered. To which Jing Yuan exhaled through his nose slowly and said, “I know.”
“I’m really fucked up in the head,” Ren added. To which Jing Yuan softly chuckled and said, “I know.”
Scarlet and amber met in the middle then, a match made in heaven and hell. Ren held Jing Yuan’s unwavering gaze of adoration with a faint grin.
“But, you make it better,” he admitted. And Jing Yuan couldn’t help but kiss him again.
And again.
And again.
Then he finally whispered against Ren’s lips, “If that’s the case, we’ll just have to up your dosage from now on…” Ren cringed at the comment and nibbled on Jing Yuan’s bottom lip as punishment. But, Jing Yuan’s smile only stretched wider as he laughed heartily, winding his arm around Ren’s waist and peppering kisses along his jaw as he shut the door behind them.
“Maybe I’m a little too good at my job.”
“One more stupid joke and I’m killing myself in front of you.”
“You’ve already tried that, multiple times.”
“Please shut up, and kiss me.”
“They do say sugar helps the medicine go dow– agh! ”
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skittlewaffle · 8 months
Text
Different Flavors of Daycare Attendants (WIP maybe ??)
PLEASE NOTE that I do not read fics a lot and certainly don’t know everything. These are just general headcanons about the Daycare Attendant placed into categories! Personally my view is a mix of a good handful of every category
But yes this was all made for fun because I have brainrot. I’ll keep adding to this post or make a part two if this is something people enjoy, and I’m happy to accept any help! I know there are plenty more headcanons that I don’t have under categories yet.
… Some sections were rushed because I just wanted to post this before Ruin comes out and the Biblically Accurate section gets muddled.. haha. JUST,, enjoy !!!
Canon
Sun
Unhinged
Potentially partially virused, though it’s generally assumed not
Theatrical antics
Probably overdramatic on purpose / playing his theater role but in a child care setting
LIGHTS ON!!
Overbearing, offputting, and loud
Stickler for rules and cleanliness
Keeps daycare clean and organized, but not himself or his room
Might not be restricted to daycare out of frame, but implications are present that he may be lonely
It’s unclear if he and Moon have a connection in their headspace, but it is sometimes assumed they don’t
Probably unaware of Moon’s virused state
Moon
Silly gremlin
Fully virused
Theatrical antics amplified; evil stage persona is more literal
Naptime protocol amplified; what feels to him like putting people to sleep is actually killing people
Childcare and entertainment programming still seems functional
Creepy
Loves to stalk, dance, and play pretend
Shares Sun’s obsession with rules and cleanup
Strong enough to knock out a Glamrock
Seems quite lightweight
Sounds like he has a built-in, broken music box ??
* HEADCANON: Has a different mode meant to reflect the gentler character he appears to be in the Moondrop candy advertisements, instead of his theater villain role
Anxious boys
Sun
Restricted to daycare, refuses to take even a single step out
Doesn’t know what he’s doing
Scares or hurts the kids on accident, proceeds to freak out over it
Weak to compliments and praise; he just wants to do a good job
Needs affirmation, stat
Will 100% fall in love with anyone who is consistently nice to him
Acts like a kicked puppy when spoken to sternly, lectured, or yelled at
Lets people walk all over him
Constant fidgeting
Stutters a lot
Stressed OUT
Constantly at his breaking point; help him
Moon
Self-conscious about his naturally creepy looks and mannerisms
Bad first impressions
Often keeps a distance, watching from afar
Uses few words
Wishes to be liked
A kid likes him? His child now.
Sad to see them go :(
Rather graceful, slow movements that give him eerie vibes
Tends to word things in ways that sound like red flags (like offering candy in a shady area), but doesn’t quite realize it
False reputation amongst patrons
Many complaints from parents for his bad vibes
Heavily misjudged; really means no harm
Wet napkin
Likes to dance on his wire; keeps him busy when he can’t socialize
Will perform many tricks for people who do become his friend
Never forgets anyone who is kind to him in even one instance
Confident boys / high experience DCA
Sun
Practically built for childcare; knows what to do in pretty much every situation
Loved by all the children
Social towards everyone, no matter how stubborn or closed off they may be
Manages to put a smile on all faces
Really not afraid of drawing attention or being embarrassing if it means making a child happy
Always knows just what to say
Very helpful to new employees
Might step outside the Daycare from time to time
Reads faces very well, in adults and children
Capable of disobeying protocols for more serious reasons
MUCH more observant than you think
Roasts Karens lol
Moon
Is both the Naptime Attendant and a nighttime security bot
Many children want to cuddle with him during nap time
Has a ton of patience
Especially loves getting to hold babies
Very protective of the little ones
The most feared security in the entire Pizzaplex
Takes his job as security bot very seriously; loves his job as a childcare worker
High Tech
DCA has many upgrades
Still very versatile and could be upgraded more
AI advanced enough to be considered eligible for human rights
Movements, speech, and feelings are very realistic, almost not robotic at all
Can experience human senses (smell, touch, etc.)
Softer casing to simulate a more human feel
Can blush and cry tears, but not bleed (unless it’s oil in their machinery)
Feels pain and temperature, and is ticklish
Can get overstimulated and feel disgust at certain textures
Has certain mannerisms that could classify them under certain diagnosable human conditions or mental disorders (which they technically aren’t; the diagnoses are worded for us humans to better understand and relate to)
Cannot get sick and doesn’t need to eat or breathe, but can pretend to
Has eyelids, lips, tongue, and movable facial features to emote better
Acts sleepy or drunk when low on battery, and genuinely feels like that
Has a simulated heartbeat and breathing
Waterproof
Multipurpose
Perfectly capable of obtaining a PHD
Seems to have built-in tools for almost anything, mostly for human health and first aid purposes
Might need some recovery time after P&S visits, similar to pain after human surgery (tight screws, rearranged wires, etc)
More capable of fighting viruses and defending themself and others
Low Tech
Basically a stereotypical cartoon robot
Still sentient and can learn, but still operates mostly on programming
Still have the basic qualities of Sun and Moon’s original personalities (cheery and loud; calm and quiet)
States what they’re doing out loud (processing, downloading, initiating protocol, etc.)
States warnings and errors out loud (low battery, update failed, null object reference, ERROR!!)
Static smile
Uses prerecorded lines often; new lines sometimes sound broken like AI or TTS
Might not understand certain topics
Might mishear you
Sometimes treats other everyday machinery like they are alive, mostly holding grudges, fearing them, or being jealous of them
Cares much more about the feelings of others than their own
Less capable of fighting viruses or preventing other unwanted actions towards them
Whores
Aimed towards the more mature side of the fandom
Bastards / smug / absolute sluts (affectionate or derogatory, whatever you feel lol)
Wear suits, ties, suspenders… fancy stuff
Shirts are often only partially buttoned, ties loose or just draping over
Also may wear feminine clothing, depending on the type of storyline
Can drink and smoke somehow
More laid back and flirtatious
Occasionally / casually threatening
Might have cool hats
Sometimes have guns / some kind of weapon
AWOOGA
Often involves suggestive implications
Call you nicknames you probably love but your Y/N often hates
Plot involving high stakes and serious danger
Simp material
We are attracted to any red flag they may have /hj
Animalistic
Sun
Dog
A big dog who thinks he’s a lap dog
Probably fell in love with you immediately
Separation anxiety / abandonment issues
Loyal; will always wait for you no matter what
Whines if you’re gone for too long :(
Misses you sooo much
Begs a lot
Head tilts
Extremely attentive, affectionate and excitable
Might tackle you
Loves playfighting
Always weak to praise and cuddles
Is a good boy, the best boy
Full of energy; loves to play
Rays fold backwards / retract when guilty, angry, or defensive
More apologetic than really necessary
Would probably be very sorry if you called him bad, even if he did nothing wrong
Easily excited / distracted at particular things or favorite items
Highly possessive of favorite items
Hides his favorite items in random corners of your house
Gets the zoomies (and may or may not accidentally break something from jumping over / running into furniture and stuff)
Very aware of people
Likes to sunbathe
Got muddy and needs a bath .. again
Has stim toys, many of them squeaky
Doesn’t sit on the couch right
Wants to protect you
Loves the outdoors and going for walkies
Always sleeps on your bed / somewhere in the same room
Wakes you with a complete ONSLAUGHT of smooches
Moon
Cat
First meeting was likely him hunting and pouncing at you
Still likes to stalk and prowl for fun / as a game
Likes to rest in elevated places, including the top of your fridge
Loafs
Hisses
Interested in silly / shiny little trinkets
Gremlin; knocks your stuff down on purpose and runs away
Has claws, could be retractable
Eyes dilate / shrink
Might flinch when touched, but still leans into it if he wants the attention
Slinks away from touch when distracted by something else
Likes to fall asleep on you; you can’t move (he is aware of this)
Likes laser pointers and dangly thingies
Enjoys sneaking up on you
Purrs (or has some robotic equivalent of purring, like whirring or broken music box)
Gets 3AM zoomies
Elegant s t r e t c h
Changes from bipedal to quadrupedal when he feels like it
Likes the window
Hates water, but likes to keep clean and tidy
Movements are fluid; he is liquid
Tries to fit into small spaces, twists his animatronic body to do so
Has favorite hiding places
Territorial
Hunts pests in your home if he’s bored.. might even bring them to you
Stares at you. Slow blinks. Affection.
Head bonks while sitting next to you
Lazy / sleepy bitch disease
Prefers to stay inside, but likes to explore occasionally and go for nighttime walkies
Always curls up beside you at night
You wake up to him kneading at you or rubbing his face on you
* DCA may have tails and / or beans
Brothers
Mostly tends to be a separate bodies view
Inseparable either way
Chaotic duo
Quite the opposite in a way they still have a close bond
Lots of playfighting
Sometimes actual fighting
Care a lot for each other, but have a sort of friendly rivalry
Never one without the other
Not afraid of speaking their mind plainly, to their benefit or detriment
Great teamwork on their better days
Immature pouting / silent treatment on their worse days
Do most everything together
Often competitive
Disagreements are most often more comedic than serious
Their fights are childish and silly; you can’t help but laugh
Sometimes complains about who the “big brother” is
Get into the silliest shenanigans; it’s trouble, but endearing all the same as they love having a story of adventure to tell
Know each other better than anyone else can
Look very closely after each other, especially when someone else gets close
Favorite colors are what the other wears most often / is themed after (Sun: blue; Moon: yellow)
Applies to their eye colors, especially if chosen by them for upgrades
While both are very different, both also exhibit certain behaviors that directly parallel / mirror the other
Lovers
(NOT brothers at the same time. Fuck off)
The most wholesome shit you’ve ever seen
Fluff, comfort, cuddles, words of affirmation… the dream
Tons of celestial nicknames, phrases, and metaphors
Very poetic; immerses you in calm, dreamlike scenery, like a storybook
Emotional support partners
Each often doesn’t take care of themself until the other notices and helps them
The cutest little dates (tea parties, art sessions, and sleepovers are common)
Still prone to angst, but has a happy ending
I hope
AUGHH
That is all for now; I hope you enjoyed!! If we have a continuation of this, I have category ideas, such as a Cartoonish DCA, a DCA with very very many features, Sun and Moon as enemies, or any other types of DCA you have in mind! Thanks for reading :D
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