#when is it my turn to be happy. i'm starting to hate you and i hate that. just fucking be honest with me and tell me you don't want to talk

[woso-dreamzzz]

Head

Hardersson x Teen!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You get a concussion

It was a rare day off for both Magda and Pernille, one they spend watching movies without a certain thirteen year old studying at the kitchen table.

It's during a small gap in choosing the next movie when Pernille gets the call.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Miss Harder. We're just calling in regards to y/n?"

Pernille sits up. "Why? Is something wrong?"

Her first thought is that you've had an anxiety attack. You haven't had one in a while. You've been happy with your school work and you've been happy with your training. But Pernille can't think of any other reason why the staff were calling her.

"I'm afraid that she caught a ball in the face a little while ago and collided with her posts," The staff member explains," We've had her checked out by the medics and it's a low-grade concussion but we're just wanting you to come and pick her up."

"Yeah, yeah, of course. We'll be right there."

Magda looks confused as Pernille drops the call, not really getting an answer until they're already in the car.

You're sitting by the receptionist when they get there, holding a cold compress to your head.

"That's quite the egg you've got there," Magda teases as she looks over the swelling," Does it hurt?"

You huff. "A little bit. Is it true I can't come back to training for ten days?"

"You can't come back until you're fully healed," Magda says," Ten days is the average. Could be up to fourteen."

You huff again, kicking your training bag in annoyance. "It's not that bad!"

"It's bad if you start getting into the habit of playing while injured," Magda replies with a pointed look," Come on, up. Let's get you home."

You stubbornly don't talk in the car, arms crossed over your chest until Pernille snaps at you for not using the icepack.

She fusses with you when you get home as you're shepherded onto the sofa and buried under blankets.

You groan when she flashes a penlight in your eyes.

"Why do you even have one of those?" You complain, trying to push her hand away.

"Who cares why?" Pernille says," Stop moving."

"They already did it at practice," You say, still trying to avoid the light," I'm fine. It's just a headache."

"Did they give you painkillers?"

"Momma," You say," I'm fine."

She gives you a look. "Magda, grab some painkillers please."

Magda rolls her eyes. "If she says she's fine then she's fine."

"That would be the case if she wasn't your daughter," Pernille argues back," You do this too, so painkillers, please, Magda."

You're practically forced to swallow down some pills before Momma and Morsa settle in with you. You lay horizontally on the sofa with your feet in Morsa's lap and your head in Momma's.

The tv is switched off due to your concussion but you can hear Morsa watching something on her phone.

You try to sit up but Momma's gentle hand in your hair forces it to remain in her lap.

"Momma," You complain," I just want to-"

"Go on your Morsa's phone, yes, I know but you know concussion protocol. No technology."

"It's unfair," You say," She's teasing me!"

"Hey!" Morsa laughs," It's not my fault you got hit in the head!"

You stick your tongue out at her and the argument goes back and forth for a while before Momma manoeuvres you to your feet.

"I don't want to nap!" You say as she pulls you up the stairs.

Pernille doesn't listen to you and, for some reason, you allow yourself to be tucked into bed. Your head pounds even though you've taken a painkiller and you reach out to grab her wrist when she moves to go.

"Momma," You say, hating how your voice suddenly sounds all weak and pathetic," Please don't go."

"Of course not, princesse," She assures you," I'm just going to turn off your light. You're silly for thinking I'm leaving you alone while you're injured."

"You're silly for thinking either of us are leaving." Morsa appears in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame as you give her a wry smile.

"Are you here to go on your phone while I can't?"

Morsa laughs. "Who do you think I am, princesse? I can't just want to take a nap with you?"

"Going by your track record? No."

She slips into bed with you, wiggling around under the covers for a moment. "Can I have some pillow?"

You turn on your side, resting your head on Momma's chest with a smug smile. "No."

"Come on! You're not even using it!"

"Why don't you use your phone as a pillow?" You taunt and Morsa groans.

"Are you really holding that against me? I'm not the one with the concussion!"

"Magda," Momma says," Stop teasing her."

"Yeah, Morsa, stop teasing me!"

"And you," Momma says," We're meant to be napping. You're hurt."

You huff. "Do I have to?"

"Yes. So close your eyes and go to sleep. Maybe if you nap, you'll heal up quicker."

You don't need much more convincing than that.

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #the big adventures universe

[wasteddmoondust]

pineapple || james potter

pairing: james potter x reader 1,219 words, teacher and james go on their first date! what could go wrong? a/n: can you tell i am horrible at titling my fics... somehow i just need it to relate to what happens. so uh. enjoy!

prev. chapter

You feel your heart going absolutely crazy. You know it's first-date jitters, but somehow it feels worse this time. It's nothing special, really. You try to tell yourself. Just another first date. Just like other first dates (that has turned to nothing...) And now this first date is the father of one of the children you teach. Yeah, nothing special.

After several attempts to make yourself busy by looking at your phone, you hear your name. It's James and he's walking up to you.

"First name basis already?" you ask smugly.

He chuckles, "What? Sorry, I guess I'll just call you-"

"Please don't, I hate being called that outside of work."

"Got it."

The two of you walk together and he leads you to a quaint coffee shop, James swears by the coffee made here. When the orders are made you find a seat and sit down.

"It's been a while since I've been on a date," he says, hands fidgeting with the receipt.

"Same here," you admit.

He stops playing with the receipt and furrows his brows. "Really? But I'm the parent."

"And I'm the one taking care of your kid for a whole day, 20 kids, actually."

"Huh... and you don't even meet people in the industry?"

You snort. "Unfortunately no, a lot of them are older and married with kids. There's no one to date there. Trust me, even the older teachers try to make me get on dating apps. If anything, you're doing them a favour."

He grins that grin that makes your heart do a little flip. Oh god, it's happening, huh?

"I'm happy to do that."

You continue your conversation, keeping it light with small talk. Then, a waiter comes by to give you your meal and you both thank him. James' phone dings, he checks the message and he replies to it while you patiently wait for him.

He looks back up at you and keeps his phone. "Sorry, my best friend is taking care of Harry today, he was just sending an update."

"That's alright. Is he doing okay?"

"Harry?" he asks, looking a little nervous. His arms are resting crossed on the table. "Uh- yeah. He's fine. Not so sure about Sirius. He just said he's letting Harry use his tattoos as a colouring book."

You laugh. "Yeah, I can see that. He does love to colour. Have you always wanted to be a father?"

James looks stunned, but laughs it off. "Not a normal question for the first date, is it?"

"Well since you already are one," you shrug.

James thinks for a while before answering. "Yeah... I've always wanted kids... Well I'm sure you've seen from the documents I sent to the school when Harry enrolled. I'm widowed..."

You nod, you do in fact know this, you had read through those documents for every child. Understanding their family structure and dynamics can be a big help in understanding the child and improving their development in school and at home.

"She uh- had complications at birth and didn't make it." He let out a sigh and shrugged. "So now it's just me and Harry. And I wouldn't trade him for the world.

"You really love him, don't you?"

"I do."

"You know you can talk about him, right?"

James looks down and purses his lips. "It's just that... other people I've dated weren't really... keen on the fact that I have a kid. You know, another person's child and all."

You tilt your head down to try and make eye contact with him. Somehow, your hand reaches out to his. "You know that doesn't matter to me, right? I already knew you had a son, hell, I even taught him for a whole year, and I still accepted your date."

His mouth forms a small frown, but his hand grabs yours anyway. "I just didn't want to seem weird."

"You're not. Promise," you give his hand a squeeze.

"Is it too early to want to kiss you?"

You both stare at each other for a second before you burst out laughing, making him laugh too.

James starts to tell you about Harry, and visibly gets more comfortable the more he does it. He tells stories from his first words to potty fails. He shows videos and pictures. From there, the both of you fall into an easy rhythm of branching from topic to topic in your conversation. You exchange bites of your food. Before you know it, you're laughing while your meal is long done and you're both on your second cup of coffee.

For some reason, you feel an itch in your throat.

Nonchalantly, you ask, "Did your pasta have pineapple?"

"Yes, why?"

"Firstly, who the hell puts pineapple in pasta? Secondly, I think I'm having an allergic reaction."

James sits up in a panic. "Oh god- I'm so sorry-"

You cough into your first. "It's fine, it usually doesn't react as bad as it used to but I like to stay away from pineapples anyway. I'm not gonna die. Can you get me some cold water, please?"

He immediately stands up and gets you a glass from the counter. You down the glass in seconds and you feel better.

"I'm so sorry that was embarrassing-"

"You're sorry? I gave you a bite!"

"I forgot to ask, it's my fault."

He gently places a hand on your shoulder. "I'm so sorry, let me make it up to you"

"James, trust me, it's fine-"

"I'll bring you on a second date."

You furrow your brows. "You just saw me cough my lungs out from an allergic reaction and you still want to bring me out?" you can't help but laugh at the ridiculousness.

"I mean... I still find you attractive after all that so if you find me attractive after I rambled about my own child to you though you have taught him for this past year I don't see why not."

At this point, you're pretty sure your cheeks hurt from all the smiling you've been doing the entire time.

Despite your protests, James insists on driving you home. When you reach the entrance to your apartment building, he tells you to wait before rushing out of the car to open the door to the passenger's side. You giggle and take the hand he holds out to you as you step out of his car.

He tugs the hand that is holding yours to make you face him. He's so close, you're desperately hoping your cheeks don't show how flushed you are.

"So... same time next week?" you suggest.

He nods. "No pineapples this time, guaranteed."

"And you're allowed to talk about Harry."

He beams at that, looking down and letting out a sigh before looking back at you. "Is it still too early to kiss you?"

"Yes, but for now I'll give you this," you press a kiss to his cheek. You slowly walk towards your building, your arms stretching until you gently let go when you're too far away. "I'll see you next week!"

And like that, you disappear into the building. James is left standing there, still in disbelief of the entire day.

He lets out a sigh, smiling, and gets into his car. He 's so excited to tell Sirius when he gets home.

a/n: if i'm being so honest i have zero idea how most allergies work so please don't get technical with me... also!!!! thank you so much for the love on part one eek i am on a roll i'm so happy to be writing this series.

taglist: @willows-lane @celosiastarr @nsr-15

#marauders x reader #marauders imagine #zee writes #james potter x reader #james potter imagine #james potter x you

[penelopepine]

Don't be a stranger! Pt. 2

Part 1 Part 2

Simon "Ghost" Riley x FemReader

Content: Neighbors AU, fluff, developing relationship

"If you're going to insist on making dinner for the both of us I might as well pay for the groceries." Simon was standing next to your door waiting for you to finish getting ready. You had asked him this morning what he wanted for dinner as you were going to the store after work and could get anything he wanted.

"Me making dinner for you is supposed to be a thank you for helping me Simon. I love that you're joining me, but I'm not going to let you pay."

"We'll see."

You finally walk out of your bedroom towards Simon, "Your job on this trip is going to be pushing the cart and looking pretty. I'm going to be grabbing everything and paying." Giving Simon a playful glare as the two of you makes your way out the door.

Pretty?

Do you really think he looks pretty? 

-

Simon hated grocery shopping; he has always felt that it was a waste of time, far too many people walking around, and the lights in here were almost blinding. He’s not happy to be here, but he also wasn’t going to let you continue to let you do all this work and not help in some way. 

At the very least shopping with you did make the experience more enjoyable. All he had to do was follow you. Letting you take control of where they went and did was strangely freeing from his usual day to day. Plus getting to just watch and listen to you ramble about your day was not something he was going to give up now that he’s here. 

"You know you still haven't told me what you wanted. I've been making my favorites every time you come over; it's your turn now to decide the menu." 

"I've been living off military mess hall food for most of my life. Anything you make is going to be a favorite of mine, love."

"How about you tell me at least one thing you want?" 

"Anything I want?"

"Anything!" 

You. 

That is the answer Simon wants to say, but he knows he can't, "I like shepherd’s pie.” 

“Shepherd’s pie it is!” You say, giving him a wide grin. 

The rest of the shopping is mostly uneventful. It isn't until the two of you were at the end of your grocery list did you seem to realize something was missing. 

“Oh, meet me at the front! I forgot to add apples to the list; I’ll go grab it real quick.” 

Before Simon could even disagree and say he’d just go with you; your figure was already speeding away from him. Slowly he made his way to the front of the store out of the way of others to wait. It wasn’t until eight minutes later when he saw no sign of you that he started to worry. 

It took all but a moment to find you, and he was not pleased with what he saw when he did. A man was standing far too close to you. The uncomfortable look on your face only served in sealing the man’s fate. 

Neither of you seemed to notice as he walked closer, but he was able to finally hear your conversation now. 

“-on, just one date. I promise I’ll make it worth it.” 

"My boyfriend is waiting for me; you need to leave me alone." You try to step around him, but the man is quick to side step in front of you and makes a move to grab you. Simon would happily beat the man into the ground, but he doesn’t want to frighten you. So he does the next best thing which is to rail the man with the cart. 

With a loud grunt the man falls onto the ground holding his side in pain. 

“She said to leave her alone. So why don’t you crawl away now like the worm you are.” Simon snarls down at him. Moving the cart and himself to stand between you and the man. 

"What the fuck man!" 

"I'll give you five seconds to get out of here." Simon wasn't about to have a pointless back and forth with this guy. The only thing he cared about right now was getting him away from you.

He stands slowly and glares in your direction before practically running away from Simon and you.

As soon as his figure disappears from sight Simon turns to you and gently grips your shoulder; tucking you into his side as he guides you back to the front of the store.

"Thank you for doing that; you didn't have to but I really appreciate it." 

"It's no problem," Simon continued his hold on your shoulder; not wanting to yet let go of you, "If anyone messes with you send them my way. I'll deal with them." 

You give him a smile in return. "That was honestly really funny by the way; hitting him with the cart." 

"I would have ran him over with it, but I didn’t want you having to find a new grocery store because I got the two of us banned." 

You laugh at his words and it makes his chest feel tight. He almost wants to record it just so that he could take it with him anywhere he goes. 

"C'mon, let's get out of here before they change their minds then!" 

Simon had of course won in the end when it came to who was going to be paying. He knew he would, but you still put in a good fight to beat him to it. He’d let you win in a lot of things, but this wasn’t one of them. 

-

It wasn’t until the two of you were sitting in your flat after eating did you seem to notice that he had been acting more reserved than he normally would be. Of course you weren’t about to just let him stew in thoughts for long once you caught on to it. 

“What’s wrong Simon? You’re acting a lot broodier tonight.” 

“I’m leaving soon; next week.” There was no point in lying to you; Simon had gotten the call from Price just a couple of days ago. He had been wondering how he was going to break the news to you. 

“Leaving? So soon; do you know when you’ll be back?”

No he doesn’t know when he’ll get to see you again. For all he knows the day he leaves could be the last day the two of you ever see each other again. “No, but I’ll see what I can do to come back soon.” 

“You better,” You give him a soft elbow jab to the side, “I’m gonna miss you y'know. I’ve gotten so used to having you around these past few weeks.” 

He had as well, almost regrettably so. Your presence in his life had done something to him that he’d never be able to undo. Simon wasn’t sure how he was going to feel not being able to see you. The daily morning walks, evening dinners, and weekend hangouts had quickly become a staple in his life. 

For now though the only thing he wanted to do was live in the moment. He didn’t have to say goodbye right now and he wasn’t going to act like he did while he was with you. That time would come later.

Taglist:

@nexthyperfix @spicyspicyliving

#simon riley x reader #fem reader #x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #task force 141 #tf 141 #call of duty #female reader

[jazeswhbhaven]

He Never Misses! (Leraye Limited Event React I)

Okay so, here's the damn thing about this event.

I loved the amount of peeking into each noble's dynamic with each other so much and I love the fact that this is pretty much a slice-of-life approach to how a "normal" day in Gehenna was and is.

In an overall sense we get a good dose of Sitri, interesting pop-ins from Astaroth and Paimon, and a little surprise visit that had me squealing later.

This, my lovelies is 6 part reaction because I took that many damn screenshots and I honestly wish there was a better way to upload them all on one or two posts without a photo limit. BUT alas...

Make sure to grab a snacky snack, and let's dive in...to the life of long-haired Leraye~ ┬─┬(◕‿◕♡)

So we enter with Astraoth just minding his business and cruising around the palace and Sitri just comes up and starts getting onto him about not being at the palace lol

Turns out he was gone for a while because he was tending to his hobbies which is corrupting...

You hear that everyone? He corrupts anyone so keep your windows open (ʘ‿ʘ✿)

I'm really crying right now, so basically he's telling why it took particularly long this time around because he was dealing with someone who hated their dead-end job. (sounds fucking familiar right?)

nah now think about it, imagine wildly that someone at pb put that in the event as a joke when in reality somebody either once quit before or secretly a current employee can't stand work and low key just slid that idea in....buttt let's get back to the event lmao

Sitri hit 'em with the "Sorry I'll you finish but-" treatment. Though it's for good reason..

Awhhhh Roro...(yes my nickname for him leave me be) LET HIM FINISH

So basically what happened is that Sitri lost his favorite pen (rly?) it's the color of Solomon's hair and he put some of this man's hair in the ink and now he's lost it and he can't find it.

It's funny because Astaroth said the same thing as me "Why would you do that?" but he understood the sentiment behind it and was willing to give Sitri some insight on who to ask to find something like that.

LERAYE!

So our boy has crazy good eyesight. Like dangerously good to the point where I want to swap my eyes out with his because good lord I'd love a reason to not spend money on glasses with these expensive ass lenses.

So fun side note here that everyone leaves their door open except for Sitri, who most likely just likes his privacy or is used to having his door closed because perhaps the room he stayed in during Hades always had the door closed? Something along those lines I would like to think.

So now here are some nice Leraye and Paimon dynamics <3 our poor fave femboy lost his piercing recently and was asking Leraye to help find it. So it appears that either the piercing is shaped like Ppyong like the barette on his hair, or it's as big as he is, which last time I checked isn't Ppyong technically the largest red lump? (idk everyone else is pretty tiny when compared to him in the red lump family)

Okay nvm my previous thing it's shaped like Ppyong (LMAO) and this sounds cute actually, beside the fact that it becomes a fucking bomb all of the sudden (ʘ‿ʘ✿)

like imagine the TSA having a field day finding one of those...

I love how Paimon is like "Someone might die but most importantly my piercing is going to be destroyed :("

Amazing priorities bby, I support you.

Also, Astaroth is interested in how the piercing works and its explosive properties so he wants to tag along (he's so weird i love him) And Leraye with his cheery self is happy to help. So he goes to the window to start his search with those amazing eyeballs of his and his hair is blowing in the wind (imagine bouncy music in the background, his hair flowing and him humming while trying to find it)

Paimon is over here thirsting over watching him and it really fuels my "Paimon probably flirts with the nobles from time to time but he's never serious about it"

So within moments, he says he has a lead but hasn't really found it yet so the three go out looking around and well, so far not so good. This is pretty much the third time Leraye had moved positions and and updated on the status of finding the piercing and Paimon is getting a bit impatient.

You see that little pouty angry face? This event isn't voiced but I can hear him now getting all upset. But tbh I get upset too when I'm trying to find something and it's always "almost, maybe the next place it will be there"

Thanks Astaroth, really helping out here lmao

So it appears that even though he was circliing around alot he finally appears to have a lock in on the piercing's whereabouts which excites Paimon. Astraoth starts being poetic about Leraye's rooftop running and Paimon is just like-

You heard him! Stfu and get your ass movin' Roro!!! (I love how Paimon is super agitated easily when it comes to something he cares about lol)

I threw this scene in here because I was like "ah yes the devil with the good eyes I wish that were me lmao"

okay so pitt stop...because even though he's not known for his endurance he surely wasn't having a problem during his h-scene so....( ͡° ͜ʖ├┬┴┬┴

So when he's catching his breath Paimon and Astaroth catch up whose pretty much questioning how Leraye can even see this far ahead and it sounds like they traveled pretty damn far. (remember it's a flashback so Astaroth didn't know about his abilities yet)

And then out of fucking nowhere Leraye just goes to this random hole in the alleyway and throws something at Astaroth while Paimon is like omfg watch out???!!!

So we find out that it was Astaroth's snake that was in that hole just hiding out. So i noticed his name is Apophis and the described him as white but he's clearly black .-. ANYWAY.

(don't worry everyone he was just coming back from filming his role in Meg the Stallion's music video /j lol) So apparently Apophis was lost and Roro was looking for him but weren't they looking for Paimon's piercing?

Lol Apophis bites Leraye and possibly others when Astaroth isn't around and that's cute. Ofc he'd only trust his owner.

And ofc we find out that the snake has swallowed Paimon's piercing...and I'm just like. Oh yikes...so how are we getting this out? lol

So for this little scene Leraye explains plainly that he can see the shape of the piercing inside Apophis' stomach and yet the other two can't and that Leraye just assumes they can because he's naive in his thinking just like most devils, a childlike wonder and view.

And while Astaroth is reflecting on that Paimon asks for him to get the earring out which again I'm like how is he even going to do that???

┬┴┬┴┤•ᴥ•ʔ├┬┴┬┴ oh.....

he can make his voice deeper?

Me too Apophis...me too. I'm shaking, crying and throwing up.

Because think about that shit...Astaroth coming into your room to just randomly corrupt and fuck with you and even if you are corrupt he has a thing for making it even worse...and then he pulls this poetic, deep-voiced nsfw audio shit on you and now you're committing crimes you never even knew you could because of it.

BUT that stops for now with part 1, phew...only 5 more to go...! (i'm really sleepy rn so I'm going to get a couple hours of sleep and then get up and start back up again lol)

#whb #what in hell is bad #whb leraye #whb astaroth #whb paimon #whb gehenna bois❤️ #whb event #whb spoilers #whb screencaps #let's goooooo noble event!

[schemmentis]

La Cosa Nostra - Pt. 12

Cowritten w/ @janeyseymour

La Cosa Nostra (Written w/ @janeyseymour) - Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11

Summary: Melissa's side business begins, and you begin to feel the heaviness of your situation.

WC: 2.3k

“Good morning, Tony.” Shaw greets the salon manager as he steps towards him and his partner. “Where's Y/N?”

Tony crosses his arms. “Takin’ a vacation.” He answers coldly. “You got more questions; you're gonna have to ask me.”

“Tony,” Danik sighs. “We've been through this before, haven't we? The first time we were here. You know how it works, how about you save us the time and call your boss down here?”

“My boss?” Tony echoes. After a moment he nods. “Yeah, sure. I'll call my boss for ya.”

The last time they were here, the agents had paced the front of the salon as they waited, eyeing everything they could in their search. Today, they stay in a corner, watching the few stylists and Tony at work. Danik is a moment away from asking Tony how long this is going to take when someone walks into the front from the back of the salon.

The man is tall. His dark hair slicked back on his head, shiny with the product used to keep it in place. He looks at ease, calm, as he approaches the agents. He flashes a smile when he nears, white teeth shown and his eyes crinkling at the edges with the motion. His hand is held out to Danik and Shaw individually.

“My apologies for keeping you waiting, Agents. I had to finish things up with my other business.”

“I'm sorry…” Shaw starts as he shakes the man's hand. “Who are you?”

The man chuckles, nodding. “Ah sí, sí, mi scusi. I forget myself this morning. Luca Bellino, at your service. I'm happy to answer any questions you have or walk you through the back again if you like.”

The agents share a look between each other.

“I think there's been some misunderstanding.” Danik says as she looks back to Luca. “We asked to speak with Y/N.”

Luca’s head tilts to the side, looking back at the confused looking agents, matching their expression. “Did you?” He asks as his brow furrows. “I was told you requested the owner.”

“Well, yes.” Shaw says, a bit slowly. “The owner. Y/N.”

“Ah, I see, I see.” Luca sighs in sudden understanding. “Please, come with me.” He requests, turning and leading the agents to the back office of the salon.

“You must not have been informed.” Luca says as he steps through the office, opening a drawer of the filing cabinet and pulling a yellow file folder from it before closing it once more.

He sets the file folder to the desk, facing the agents standing on the other side of the wood. Deft fingers open the folder, tapping the papers now visible. “You see?” Luca says, looking back up to Danik and Shaw. “I'm the owner now. The salon was signed over to me a few days ago.”

“Y/N sold the salon to you?” Danik asks as she's studying the forms in front of them.

“Sí.” Luca answers as his hands cross at the wrists to rest at his waist, his head nodding. “You've seen our books, no? The salon hasn't been as profitable in the last few months. Y/N tried to bring it out of the red but in the end it was safer to sell, especially with her little family to think about.”

“So, now you're going to try to bring the salon’s profits up?” Shaw asks.

Luca smiles, though this time it doesn't reach his eyes. “Do not tell the stylists, or Tony.” He says softer, leaning a bit forward. “I haven't had the chance to speak with them yet and I'd hate for them to learn from anyone other than me but I’m working out the details of shutting the salon down.” Luca sighs, looking for all the world like he wishes he had another choice. “It's just too much to turn around and the clients aren't coming in like they used to. It's the best thing we can do before it gets worse.”.

Danik raises a brow, but he relents. 

The two agents head out, but not before Luca calls out to them, “Whatever you have against the Schemmenti family, drop it. They had nothin’ to do with Bobby’s demise.”

Your day is uneventful. You have nothing to do now that the girls are at school, Melissa is at work, and the salon is out of your hands. You mill around the house, doing as much cleaning as you possibly can before you groan and fall face first onto the couch, bored out of your mind.

You lay there for a few moments before you finally sigh and grab your keys. You make your way out of the house and towards Twelve Tables.

Melissa would say she’s shocked to see you when you come in through the back- but she isn’t. She knows how hard this is for you to not be involved in any of your work right now, both salon and other wise.

“Hi, my love,” you sigh as you pick up a knife and start chopping the broccoli next to her.

“What’re you doing here?” She just briefly glances at you before going back to her own work.

“I think I’m dying of boredom,” you tell her. “I can’t remember the last time I had this much time off from everything.”

“Would you mind chopping this up then while I attend to other business?”

“Other business?” Val asks as she makes her way out of the walk-in fridge.

“I have things to do in the office,” Melissa says, just a bit too quickly. “Scheduling, finances… I think we may need to look into other companies to deliver.”

You raise a brow, as does the manager, but you nod. You know that what she’s actually doing is trying to clean up the area in order to run your other business alongside this one. If you’re going to execute this, and execute it well, everything has to be in it's own place. 

So, that’s what the redhead heads into the office to do.

“Melissa seems frazzled lately,” Valentina notes softly. “Is everything okay at home?”

You shrug. “I uh… had to sell the salon,” you lie through your teeth. “It hasn’t been making money, so… you know. She’s probably stressed over that.”

The woman hums, and for the rest of the time that you’re there until you have to pick up your girls you’re directed on what to chop, dice, slice, and grate.

Finally, you pop your head into the back. “Mel? I have to go pick up the girls. Are you coming with me?”

“Hmm?” Her eyes don’t even leave the new ledger that she’s creating. “I have to wait for the shipment to come in, so… I’ll be home for bedtime though.”

She isn’t. And your girls are beyond confused as to why the three of you can’t stop down at the restaurant for a quick hug and kiss from Mommy and why they can’t have coloring time with Valentina. You can’t tell them the real reason- you just explain that Melissa is busy.

“But Mommy is always busy, and we still always get to go there!” Rosie whines. 

“Not tonight, sweetheart.” You sigh. You know you still could, technically, take them down to the restaurant. Just long enough to say goodnight. Except you can feel your wife glaring at you from across town if you did. Or worse, picture her having to keep her attention away from your girls because she's so busy. 

It becomes a point of contention the rest of the night. Your girls both throw fits because they don't understand. Just getting them dinner fed has you stretched thin. By the time you're fighting with them about bath time you're feeling yourself begin to shake slightly. The girls’ attitudes and fits this evening aren't really what upsets you; it's just the last straw on top of everything else.

You just barely get them both towel dry from the bath when you tell them to pick out their pajamas. The one thing they don't argue with you on this evening as they get to choose their own clothes; one of their favorite things.

You kneel on the tile, letting the bath water out. One of the girl's towels still in your hand you lean to wipe up a small puddle. You toss the towel to the pile near the door to put in the laundry. You sigh, and instead of getting up you let yourself shift backward to sit on the bathroom floor with your back against the wall. 

You bury your face in your hands as you try to stop the sudden tears from overflowing. You just need a minute, you tell yourself. Just a minute you'll let it happen and then you'll pull yourself together. Except you can't. You force deep breaths but you can't stop the tears still rolling from your eyes down your cheeks. You lean your head against the wall as you hear little voices calling.

“Mam! Mam!” It's both Cat and Rosie, steadily getting closer. 

You really try to stop as you wipe your eyes. You don't want them to see you like this. Yet each swipe at your face just sees more tears filling your eyes. 

“Mam! Look at my slippies! I did them on myself!” Rosie exclaims as she shuffles into the doorway, looking at her feet. She's wearing your wife’s house slippers. Backwards.

“Mam!” Cat is saying beneath her sister speaking, appearing at her side at the same time. “I don't have slippies! It's not fair, Rosie has slippies!”

You go to look up, but you hate showing any signs of weakness in front of your girls, so your head stays down as you attempt to pull yourself up from the floor. You lean against the sink, hands tightly gripping the porcelain sink, knuckles growing about as white as the utility in front of you. You keep your back to them, not wanting them to see you as the mess that you are right now.

“Girls,” you sigh shakily. “Mam cannot right now. Get yourselves to bed, and I’ll be in to read your story to you in a few minutes.”

“But Mam!” Cat whines out. You hear her stomp her little foot against the cool bathroom tile, and you can practically see the way that her arms are crossed over her chest- a look that she absolutely picked up from your wife. “Rosie has slippies, and I want-”

Wiping away your tears, you turn around. “Caterina Ann.”

At seeing your face so distraught and aged, both of your twins’ faces drop. “Mam?” They both ask.

“Mam just needs a minute,” you sigh softly, hating the way that your voice breaks just slightly. “Please, girls.”

At that, both of your girls slink off. Your oldest walks off while your youngest shuffles her feet quietly. You half-expect to hear her giggles at the way she’s heading down the hall, but you don’t. Even at their young ages, Cat and Rosie understand that your crying in front of them is not okay- something isn’t right.

When you find it in you to pull yourself out of the bathroom, you head for their room. When you get there though, they aren’t in their beds like you expect them to be. In fact, their pillows and the stuffed animals they insist on sleeping with every night have vanished too. That only means one thing.

You appear in the doorway of your own room, and you see them curled up in your bed. Silently, you thank God you had let your wife talk you into splurging and getting a king-sized bed. It comes in handy for nights like this when both girls worm their way into your bed and Melissa will be getting home and sliding in too.

“Mam,” Rosie pats the spot in between her and her sister. “We leaved room for you.”

Despite the sadness that had inhabited your soul just a few seconds ago, you let a soft smile slip at the kindness and thoughtfulness of your girls. You may not be doing everything right in this world, but you are raising two wonderful, wonderful young ladies.

“Give me a few minutes to change and prepare for bed,” you sigh softly as you wipe new tears from your eyes. “And then I’ll be in.”

It’s about ten minutes later, once you’ve gotten into your sleep apparel and shed a few more tears without the girls’ knowledge, that you slip in between them. Cat hands you a book- your favorite book to read aloud to them. 

After their story, they both curl up into your sides and promptly fall asleep, tired from their crazy day in kindergarten.

And once they’re asleep? Your tears return. Silent sobs shake your body as you mourn the death of Bobby all over again, one that you never wanted in the first place- you had actually pleaded for them to not order the hit on the man. You bite your lip and let the tears flow over the fact that you’ve been taken off of the salon- that you have no idea what’s happening there now despite the fact that it’s only been a few days. You hate the fact that your wife is taking all of this on- that her restaurant is in danger now because you got the feds on your tail and don’t know how to shake them loose. Your heart breaks when you remember that Barbara is now in danger because she holds onto the ledger that determines your, and now your wife’s, fate, and she was still there for you in a moment of weakness at the church. It gets to a point where you’re just crying over it all, a hand clamped over your mouth as the sobs bubble up inside of you, and you have to muffle the noise or else you’ll wake your girls. You end up crying yourself to sleep, body exhausted with all of the emotions coursing through it like a river. You’re drowning- absolutely drowning in it all.

#melissa schemmenti fanfiction #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you #abbott elementary fanfiction #la cosa nostra #collab fic

[ch3rriiii-bunn]

Muzan with a demon that constantly changes to suit their needs (like if evolution was simple and easy to do). if they needed to get away very fast, they'll sprout wings and fly home. If they need to get something in the water they'll become scaley & fishy and breath water.

Seeing as Muzan hates change and has stated so... What if their s/o was like that?

Shape shifter

Paring: Muzan x Demon!Gender neutral reader

Synopsis: Muzan hates your shape-shifting (to a certain extent because I wanna make it cute)

Content: reader is a shape-shifting demon, mean Muzan, some wholesome moments, soft muzan (a little), reader taking on/turning into animal like forms, my stupid humor, Muzan being a cat person.

Word count: 0.6♡

A/n: AHHH THIS IS SUCH A CUTE IDEA OMG. I'm gonna write it in headcanons :3

Muzan. Who hates your shape-shifting at random times. Muzan, you and gyokko heard there was a magic lake that healed humans without any medicated water. You heard the rumors, so it was your job to take Muzan and Gokko there. Muzan was about to order Gyokko to do a search drive in the lake but you, decided to take it upon yourself to dive in with the appearance of a half fish half woman, almost like a mermaid to start the search. "They're good!" Gyokko said and looked at Muzan, who's now shaking his head in filtration.

They watched you emerge from out of the water and swim back to Muzan. "I didn't find anything- AHHH!!" You screamed as Muzan began to throw salt on you, knowing full well how sea creatures react to salt. "Change back! Now!" Muzan said, and gyokko tried to stop Muzan, but he also got hit with salt as well.

Muzan. Who will take advantage of your useful blood demon when nessacary. Nakime fell ill, and Muzan needed to get somewhere quickly due to his busy schedule. When you heard your boyfriend master Muzan, needed to get somewhere quickly, the frist thing you decided to do was shape-shift yourself into a harpy. You flew, holding Muzan's arms with your claws and you looked down to see his grumpy/annoyed expression.

"That bird version of hantengu taught you how to do this, didn't he?" Muzan asked, and you nodded happy. "Yes, his name is Urogi," you said to Muzan, but he scoffed. "Yeah. You smell like him, too. Fucking disgusting" he said. You weren't paying attention and ended up crashing into the tree.

Muzan. Who needed you to catch a really fast slayer with yellow hair. The reason? Muzan couldn't stand the bright color, and so you got down on all fours, shape shifting to have the appearance of a cheetah. "When I said get him, I didn't mean like that!" Muzan shouted as you ran off and already stressed out with how stupid you look.

You stopped running and sat down exactly like a big cat. "So... should I turn into a car? I don't think I can do that," you said, bringing your paw to your chin to think meanwhile the yellow haired slayer had run away further. "GO FUCKING GET HIM" Muzan screamed.

Muzan. Who arrived at the main spot in the infinitely castle where upper moon meetings are held. "Oh wow! You really did it! Look at that Akaza-dono," Douma said. They hadn't noticed Muzan's arrival yet, and he raised his brow, moving a bit closer to see what Douma and Akaza were so invested in. Muzan noticed you used your blood demon art to shape shifts into a small cat.

He didn't even know you could ever do that, especially at this tiny size. "Mm. I didn't think you could do it. Good job, I love cats." Akaza was about to pet you when he realized his own hand had fallen to the ground next to you after being severed. "Huh?" Akaza and Douma said, relaxing that you were also gone. They look behind them and froze in fear.

"How dare you touch my significant other," Muzan said, his voice rough as he glares at Akaza and Douma. Before they could explain themselves, they heared loud purring sounds. "...Master. I think you've taken alike to one of your significant other appearances" Kokushibo leaned down to Muzan's height, snapping him out of it to realize his thumb was rubbing your cheek. When muzan realized what he was doing, he just dropped you.

"Idiotic is what it is.." he said angrily and walked away with you still as a cat following him. However, the upper 3 could see Muzan actually found this form cute since they got a glimpse of the blush on his cheeks.

#demon slayer fanfic #demon slayer x reader #kny x reader #kny muzan #muzan x reader #muzan fluff

[voxofthevoid]

We're at Shibuya Swap Wednesday #9, and I still can't predict an end. Part 3 was largely unplotted when I started writing it, and I think I can see the end—and it's miraculously shorter than I anticipated—but let's see how the path there looks.

I didn't write a lot this week, so the fic is at 85k and halfway through Chapter 16. There's a fuckton of conversations in this part because I'm still reaping what I sowed in Part 1. Several bits were like pulling teeth, but I'm happy with the final shape. The following section is a goyuu reunion of sorts:

Yuuji opens the door and steps into the dark.

His eyes don’t need an adjustment period; he’s always had good night vision. The tall figure standing stock-still, silhouetted by the sparse moonlight outside an open window, still makes him startle. A second later, two pools of radiant blue cut through the dark—Gojou’s open eyes, fixed right on Yuuji.

“Gojou-sensei,” Yuuji breathes.

“Hello, Yuuji,” comes the soft reply.

The door gently clicks shut behind Yuuji, almost making him jump. His heart is in his throat, and it stays right there as the seconds stretch on, held in place by reasons better and worse than a door closing on its own. On the opposite end, Gojou is still and unmoving. His features are blank, the shadows on his face made strange by the glow of his own eyes. Yuuji’s known for a while that Gojou’s eyes have their own fire, but he’s never seen them like this.

He’s never seen Gojou like this.

“Sensei,” Yuuji says, speaking in hushed tones on instinct, “I’m gonna turn the light on.”

“Go on,” is all Gojou says.

Yuuji gropes around the walls beside the door, and it’d be easier if he just looked, but he finds that he can’t take his eyes off Gojou. A part of him is afraid, not that Gojou will do anything but that he’ll melt into the shadows if Yuuji takes his eyes off him, vanishing like he was never here.

He finds the switchboard and promptly blinds himself.

“Shit,” he swears, slapping his hands over his eyes. He rubs the tears away, peering out from between his fingers and getting smarting eyes for his trouble. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” Gojou says, sounding amused; the familiarity of it makes something in Yuuji unclench.

He blinks and squints until the light don’t feel like it’s stabbing his eyes anymore, and then Gojou’s there in full color, eyes bared and hair down and smiling at Yuuji, as solid as a dream can ever get.

“Gojou-sensei,” Yuuji says helplessly, “you’re back.”

“I am. Miss me?”

“I—yes, I was—”

“Worried?”

“…Yeah.”

Gojou’s smile widens. It’s not really a nice expression, too sharp around the edges, but Gojou means these smiles. They’re real, even if they’re poised to cut.

“I’m not the kind of man,” Gojou murmurs, “you should worry about, Yuuji.”

“Yeah, well…” Yuuji shrugs. “Can’t help it, I guess. And it’s different this time.”

“Oh?”

“You were walking into a trap, weren’t you?”

“Oh?” Gojou repeats with an unholy amount of relish. “You really have been thinking about me.”

Yuuji fights down the urge to throw up his arms. “I just told you that!”

“So you did,” Gojou admits. “No need to worry about your dear teacher—I won’t be outmaneuvered twice by the same person. Once was enough. My pride won’t survive a repeat, and we’d hate that, wouldn’t we?”

“Uh, sure,” Yuuji says, not sure how to say Gojou’s pride isn’t what he’s worried about.

Gojou chuckles like he can tell anyway. “Your mother’s a wily bastard, by the way. I hope you haven’t inherited any of that. I quite like how straightforward you are. You’re not hiding some Machiavellian cunning under all that cute pink fluff, are you?”

“What?” Yuuji asks, his brain stuck on cute pink fluff.

“No.” Gojou tilts his head, humming. “No, you’re a different breed.”

“Okay?” Yuuji wrenches his attention back to the point. “How’d it go? Did you find them, did you—”

“I found the body,” Gojou answers. “Booby-trapped to hell, with the most innovative mix of barriers and seals I’ve ever seen. Maybe I should start teaching you those. See if you’ve got a knack for it. Genetics isn’t everything, but for sorcerers, it means something more often than not.”

Any other time, Yuuji would have leaped at the chance to learn more and get stronger, but right now, all he can focus on is—

“The body?” he asks.

Gojou blinks once; his eyes are glowing even in the bright light. “The brain was absent. The residuals led me on a wild goose chase for a while, but they didn’t lead to anything. I knew it wouldn’t. I was tracking that body’s cursed energy, you see. And I found it. It’s all I found. We should have killed them at Shibuya. But every version of you will be a sentimental fool, won’t you, Yuuji?”

Yuuji takes half a step back before forcing himself to stop. Gojou’s stare is a piercing thing, like twin lasers—hotter than the sun, with none of its warmth. Yuuji feels like it’ll sear off his flesh, chunk of cooked meat falling to the ground at his feet.

He can’t feel Gojou’s cursed energy at all.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuji says very gently, “about your friend.”

Gojou stills, somehow without moving a single muscle. Something seems to suck the air out of the room.

Yuuji smothers the urge to yank the door open and throw himself out of this room. It’s not real anyway. Yuuji doesn’t actually want to run away from Gojou. He’s not scared. It’s just that, sometimes, Gojou gets like this, all silent and still, and every animal instinct Yuuji has starts screaming. It happened with Sukuna too, the one time they met face to face, but Yuuji was too angry then to feel anything else, and it was only later, when the way his spine writhed as Gojou bore down on that volcanic curse felt oddly familiar, that Yuuji even realized that a part of him had responded the same way to that blood-and-bone domain and its vicious master.

With Gojou, there’s no anger to swallow everything else, and Yuuji’s left to grapple uncomfortably with the disconnect between his instincts and his feelings. It makes him feel guilty too. Gojou’s on a whole other level as a sorcerer, as a living being, but he’s still just a person. And he’s Yuuji’s teacher. Yuuji likes him; he worries about him. There’s something profane about any part of Yuuji reacting to Gojou the way it did to Sukuna, and Yuuji has a hundred reasons to want to get stronger, but one of them, close to the top of the list, is that he wants to bear the brunt of Gojou’s power without even a sliver of his soul squirming.

He takes a step closer to Gojou, not once looking away from the violent supernova of his eyes.

Something shifts in Gojou’s expression. It doesn’t soften, but it’s less blank, less alien.

“I’d ask who’s been telling tales,” Gojou murmurs, “but it doesn’t matter, hm? You should save your pity for the ones who matter, Yuuji. My old friend lost that right years ago.”

Yuuji…has no idea what to do make of that.

But he knows one thing. “It’s not pity, sensei. I just wish none of it happened to you.”

“And what would you know of what happened to me?”

Yuuji shrugs, trying and failing to shake off the discomfort layering his skin. “Not much. Just that your friend became a curse user and, uh, died. And then Kenjaku took his body.”

“That’s not all you know,” Gojou says with damning certainty. “Tell me how he died, Yuuji.”

Yuuji looks down at his feet for a moment, breathing in deep. Getting air into him still feel like a fight, and his heartbeat is echoed all over his body, from the skull to the soles of his feet. There’s something unnatural happening.

But he trusts Gojou.

Yuuji looks him in the eyes and says, “You killed him.”

“I did. Are you sorry about that too?”

“Yes, sensei.”

“What if I told you I didn’t even hesitate? He was my best friend, you know. The only one I ever had.”

Yuuji’s eyes smart again, his chest squeezing tight. “That must have felt terrible.”

Gojou blinks.

The air lightens.

There’s a long, heavy sigh, followed by Gojou slumping back against the open window, his entire torso supported by empty space. His eyes haven’t wavered from Yuuji or lessened any in intensity, but there’s a pout on his mouth that doesn’t suit the situation at all.

“Are you for real?” he complains.

“Uh, yes?”

“I don’t believe it. Come here, I need to pinch you.”

“What? I’m not doing that!”

“I’ll come there then.”

“No—eck.”

Yuuji didn’t even see Gojou move, but there are fingers pinching his cheek and a toothy grin filling his vision, and his instinctive struggling does down as he processes the new proximity, the rest of the world fading to make room for the warmth and size of Gojou’s body. He’s so close to Yuuji, their chests almost touching, and more and more of his features burn themselves into Yuuji’s vision. His jaw is a sharp curve, the kind you could cut yourself on, and the rest of his face isn’t any better, painfully pretty. Yuuji can’t help noticing that his lips are cracked, without a hint of their usual glossy sheen. It only becomes more obvious when Gojou’s impish grin eases up, settling into a quiet, crooked smile.

Yuuji stares at them for a very long moment, his mouth drying out to match Gojou’s lips.

He looks up. Radioactive eyes gleam a hot blue, threatening to swallow him whole.

#goyuu #jjk snippets #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #wip wednesday #my fic #fic: how the story changes #divider credit: saradika-graphics

[ahundredtimesover]

Hi.. I grew up in the part of the world where sex is dirty, a sin. And a woman wanting and enjoying sex is just something so bad. She is considered a who*e. Even if she is married.Sex is just a means to make babies or obviously for men to have fun. And so I grew up uncomfortable with the idea of a naked body.. even mine.. and obviously with age and harmones... I wanted physical intimacy and I hated myself for wanting it. But then I came across BTS.. eventually Wattpad, Tumblr... And you and few other writers make sex a part of the story.. so intimate.. so deep.. Really... You and few other writers changed my perspective towards sex. I don't hate myself or my partner for wanting it. I started appreciating his attraction towards me even more. It in turn made me love my body a bit more . Even though I am still insecure af.

And directly/indirectly addressing issues.. like past traumas.. childhood trauma... Addressing issues.. accountability... I mean ur stories have them all... Somehow I became a better person in terms of understanding myself.. not there yet . But opening myself for the possibilities of my triggers, my reactions. I don't know. I try to handle myself better.. bcz all of you beautiful writers helped me get in touch with my emotions n feelings. I have always avoided them. So thank you for existing.. for sharing ur beautiful beautiful amazing creations with us..

Love 💗

Hi. Before anything, I just want to say that this message means so much to me. 🥹 And I just want to thank you for being brave in sharing something so personal and vulnerable. I understand that there are many societies that treat sex this way. And I'm sorry that you had to go through that discomfort or even shame for wanting it, and if it affected your relationship. It's always a tough thing to navigate.

For me personally, I used to be scandalised by it. That changed when I got a boyfriend but I would still get insecure and feel shy to explore. One thing that writing has done for me was allow myself to explore that side of me that wanted that intimacy, that bit of roughness but gentleness; it allowed me to know what I want and how to express that to my partner. I think my stories reflect what I feel about sex. Sure, it's pleasurable and it has many purposes. But there's something so special when it's done with someone you care about, when there's trust and respect and this overflowing desire to be in each other's presence, to learn about each other and make the other feel good and happy.

I started appreciating his attraction towards me even more. It in turn made me love my body a bit more - I absolutely love this. I love that there's that acceptance now, and though you may still get insecure sometimes, you know that someone will love you regardless. I love writing banter and admiration and body worship in my scenes bc I feel like they're so natural. They make the act more genuine and real. So I'm happy that even with just these stories, it can change the way you approach it and think about yourself. 😊

Somehow I became a better person in terms of understanding myself - I love how you framed this, because learning to understand ourselves is one way to be better. I started writing as a form of release. I just got off my anti-depressants then and I needed to cope. Writing was cathartic, and I was able to put my fears and desires into words, it let me express my emotions in a way that stabilised me, and I'll always be thankful that in doing so, it helped you be in touch with your emotions, too. It's such a beautiful thing we can do for ourselves - to be kinder, to be gentler. I hope we can always strive towards that.

Thank you for dropping by, and for trusting me enough to share this. I'm glad that I, and other writers in this space just trying to get by, could do something for you in such small way. Please always be well. And I'm sending you love. 💕💕💕

#mimianswers #💌

[keeps-ache]

and it is a sunday once again.. my collection grows

#just me hi #i've lived 951 sundays now :D #what a pleasant number #not one i would like usually but it's a lot (to me) !! oo one day i'll have a thousand !!! :DD #//i'm learning to read again and it has been fun #or. mostly hfvhs - my dad means the best i know he does but i do not like the way he is trying fhsvh #he gives me books when i've just started and then asks me stuff while i'm in the middle of them #which sounds fine but i have a dumb brain and i don't think anybody wants to hear a disjointed ramble on why this and that and who and why #hfhsh #which is yea mostly dumb brain talking but let me at least get it in order hbvfhs #/sigh. i miss my little fiction books from when i was little lol #chisholm trail mothertrucker... i hate you so much why do i know your birthday lmaooo.... (1867) #//anywaYs i've got the p1nk space in my brain again which is niiiiice #not like the usual rabies kind but the kind where i'm staring into the abyss and taking turns rotating each character very slowly in my min #you get what i mean you get it 🤝 #//anyway tomorrow will be my 951st monday!! how neat :D #this whole week is a 951st actually hfbvhs #i'm just kind of happy about the individual days thing lol :>> #/on my way rn though!! cheers ~✧ !! #(i have sweet teeeeeeeea Yayyyyy :D)

[joycrispy]

I wanna talk about The Angel Who Would Be Crowley.

Because I had a certain set of expectations, which got thoroughly trashed in the first five minutes of S2, and my genuine response is, "Oh, fuck, yup. You're right. That's WAY better."

Looking around at GO fandom, I'm not alone in this. So let's talk about it.

Basically, a lot of people (myself included) believed that he was a high-ranking angel, and therefore as chilly and remote as every other powerful angel we'd seen at that point. We pictured Crowley-To-Be as long-haired, regal and imposing --and the fanart at the time reflected this. I'd link some if Tumblr didn't hate links.

Something like this:

We were collectively drawing on a few things --mostly, Crawly's appearance and general bearing in the Biblical scenes of S1--

--But also scattered hints of his importance, backed up by conspicuous absences in Heaven and a few profound displays of power. That's all better covered elsewhere, so I won't reiterate the arguments here. All I'm saying is: I think our headcanons were justified.

But it turns out he was this:

!!!

With his curly little--!!

And his neat white--!!

IT TURNS OUT, he was an angel who squeaked and squealed when he was happy; who flailed his arms around and made explosion noises with his mouth to explain nebulas; who preened when told his stars were pretty. Furfur, who knew him before the Fall, says:

"You used to jump on me back, little monkey in a waistcoat..."

(The use of a diminutive there, 'little'...oh, that fascinates me.)

In a pretty huge subversion of expectations, we're given these glimpses of an angel who was sweet, and joyful, and heart-meltingly silly.

In sum...an innocent.

(Perhaps innocent to a troubling degree.

We see how he troubles Aziraphale, during their first conversation. He starts looking around and behind them, checking to make sure that no one can HEAR the blithe and reckless things coming out of this angel's mouth. This angel who talks like he's never been reprimanded in his life; like it's never occurred to him that anyone would want to hurt him.

Before the Beginning, Aziraphale understood Heaven better than he did. The danger is plainly occurring to Aziraphale.)

So now, we the viewers are in on a cruel joke that Aziraphale has known all along, which is that this --THIS-- is the angel who--

*checks notes*

--did a million lightyear freestyle dive into a boiling pool of sulphur. For asking questions.

...Imagine you are Aziraphale, and everything inside you wants to believe Heaven are the Good Guys, and God is Good and Everything She does is capital-R Right...and now try to reconcile that. Keep trying. I don't think he ever totally managed it in 6000 years.

All this gets further complicated when we learn that, despite all of the above, we were still right. That sweet excitable babby up there?

He WAS a powerful and high-ranking angel.

That much is explicitly confirmed, with significant evidence that he could have been among the mightiest of archangels...

...Who apparently accosted his fellow angels for piggyback rides. And was remembered millennia later by those (now fallen) angels as something 'little.'

What does that tell us about who he was? Is?

Hell, Aziraphale has known to be wary of the archangels (and the judgements of Heaven in general) since before the Fall even happened. He chooses to believe they are Good; he can't fool himself into thinking they are Safe.

Yet he's absolutely certain that Crowley won't hurt Job's children. Enough to stand in a burning building and say to them, "I can't save you, but don't be afraid. I won't need to."

And what reason does he give?

("I know you."

"You do not know me."

"I know the angel you were.")

What does that tell us about who he was? Is?

("The angel you knew is not me."

But how is Aziraphale supposed to believe that, when he can see him all the time?)

tl;dr --yes, this is better. I love the tragedy of it.

'Innocence died screaming' and all that.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #Crowley #Aziraphale #good omens 2 #good omens meta

[indecisivemuch]

Look at me

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: Being oblivious to Luke’s feelings, you tried to get over him by getting a boyfriend, who just does not know how to treat you right. Inspired by the song ‘Boyfriend’ by Dove Cameron ~ “I could be a better boyfriend than him.” (jealous luke, friends-to-lovers, fluff, angst, pining, happy ending.)

Warning: Just the boyfriend being an asshole and unwanted physical touch for a split second, but nothing serious. Sorry if your name is Cole. Violence (physical fighting)

Note: I’m sorry if there are a lot of errors, I haven’t had the chance to edit this thoroughly so if it feels like a train wreck, then I'm sorry. I just needed to write this out, get it out there, so I can go back to revising for my exams in peace lol, cause this plot/idea has been at the back of my head, I could not stop thinking about it or study properly. Lowkey hated how this one turned out, but whoops.

Word count: 4.8k

“People say that eyes are the windows to one's soul,” you once told him. You two have been best friends for a very long time: five years of being attached to the hip. Yet, you were completely oblivious to the way he looked at you. Even everybody at camp noticed and thought it was bound to happen. They were so sure that Luke and you would end up together. So imagine everybody’s surprise when something else occurred.

It happened right in front of Luke: Cole - a boy from Cabin 5 and son of Ares - asked you out, and you said yes.

It has been two months since that day. All Luke could do was sulk as he watched his best friend slip away. Of course, you still tried to spend as much time as possible with him. But even then, things have changed. There were no more of those content silences between the two of you. There were no more carefree laughs that made Luke feel like you two were the only ones that existed in this place. He used to walk you back to your cabin every night, hugging you good night or kissing your forehead close to your hairline if he felt brave enough. Moments like those convinced him you two would be like that forever. But his solace was taken in a split second. Now, you were so near, yet so out of reach. 

It didn’t help that he saw you every day, like right now, as you sat in the middle of a gathering hosted by your cabin. Gods, even the wind seems to be in love with you, judging by the way it was blowing through your hair as if it was trying to twirl itself around those lovely locks that Luke himself used to always tug behind your ears. The sight of you always bathed him in this warm feeling, like the morning sun. Hence his nickname for you: sunshine. 

Then his brown eyes landed on the figure next to you, and they hardened. He has witnessed it all: Cole’s backhanded compliments, ignoring you on your birthday, leaving you alone to talk to his friends, occasionally flirting back with girls who batted an eyelash at him, and then blatantly telling you that you were overthinking it. Luke knew he could treat you so much better. 

You were sitting with your boyfriend and his group of friends, who often gave you weird looks or snickers. Gods, if it was him you were with, he’d never make you feel excluded. He would have his arms around you and defend you if his friends ever made snarky remarks. Not that that would ever happen anyway; you were well-loved at camp, and all his friends loved you. But he would treat you well, nevertheless, not like that dumbass sitting next to you.

One of your favorite songs started playing, and Luke watched as you genuinely smiled for once tonight. You touched your boyfriend’s arm, muttering something to him. Luke knew exactly what you were saying to Cole because you and Luke used to do this together. Except, you never had to ask Luke. 

Whenever your favorite tunes were on, Luke would immediately pull you out of your seat and dance with you, laughing as if nothing mattered at all. Nights like those, he liked to imagine that the stars above envied them and what the two of you had. Now? He felt like one of them, watching from the outside. 

Luke’s jaw clenched as he saw Cole shrugging off your hand on his arm. Gods, Luke felt like that idiot was taking you for granted, and his blood boiled. Before Cole, Luke used to always orchestrated some excuse to have you touch him - getting injured on purpose sometimes just to watch you frantically panic over his wounds and take care of him, volunteering to help you out with swords training just to touch your hand and pretend to adjust the way you were holding it, hugging you every time he greeted you and so on.

For a second, your mask slipped, and you had that look on your face, like something had left you emotionally wounded. It was the kind of look Luke would kill to never see again, and oh, the things he would do to get rid of Cole. Luke had to wrestle with the thought of marching up to Cole and beating him to a pulp. However, he did stand up to approach you.

You felt a hand touch your shoulder. When you peered at the person standing, your eyes immediately glimmered as they caught Luke’s. However, something foreign was gleaming in his eyes. The Hermes boy has always looked at you sweetly. But the way he was looking at you right now was filled with something much more intense - borderline fervent, like an obsession. 

Cole finally glanced over at you for the first time the entire night. Unlike you, he instantly recognized the look in Luke’s eyes: hunger and longing. It was clear as day to everybody but you.

Luke extended his hand out for you to take and you understood right away. For the first time in two months, your hand touched his. Luke’s chest sunk and his breathing lost its usual rhythm for a second as your skin made contact with his. The Hermes boy finally looked over to Cole, and the Ares boy saw an immediate shift in his eyes. Now, they were filled with animosity and - the most obvious of all - heated jealousy. 

Luke led you away from Cole and started twirling you around. You let out a laugh - the kind that was infectious and has always brought a smile to Luke’s lips. You both sang along to the lyrics. For once, your relationship felt restored, just like the good old days. Was it wrong that this was the happiest you have felt since you got together with Cole? You shrugged away the thought as the song slowly ended. Luke settled with both hands on your waist while yours were around his neck. Usually, you would put your head on his chest as you both slightly swayed around. But now that you were in a relationship, you kept a bit of distance between the two of you. You gaze up at Luke, who was already staring at you sweetly. The moment was perfect. Gods, you almost wished to stay in it forever.

Meanwhile, Luke hoped he could convey his thoughts through his eyes - the unspoken words he wished he had told you sooner. Could you not see the infatuation coursing through his veins whenever he was with you? Could you not see that you got him at your beck and call? 

The look you gave him almost convinced him that you heard his thoughts. You leaned your head on his chest, caught off-guard by the speed of his heartbeat as it soothed you along with the music in the background. Feeling a heated look over his way, Luke glanced around and locked eyes with your boyfriend. Cole narrowed his eyes while Luke gave Cole a look of resentment and immense loathing. 

Gods, he could be a much better boyfriend than Cole.

“Hey, man,” when you heard your boyfriend’s voice, you lifted your head from Luke’s chest and withdrew your hands around his neck. “I’ll take over from here,” Cole practically pulled you away from Luke and started swaying with you. Instead of feeling happy that Cole finally danced with you after two months of dating, you felt wrong. Cole's hands were on your waist, but they felt sluggish like his heart was not in it at all. Your ear was against Cole’s chest, so you caught the sound of his heartbeat. It sounded…too calm, almost cold and shallow, causing you to twist your lips into a frown.

You glanced up at your boyfriend but saw him staring behind you instead. So you glanced back and caught a glimpse of Luke before getting pulled around by Cole, who roughly yanked your face towards him. He kissed you almost aggressively. There was something cynical and bitter about the way he was kissing you. 

Cole opened his eyes and conceitedly made eye contact with Luke. The Hermes boy glared at the sight of Cole handling you so roughly, claiming your lips so smugly. If it was him, he would be kissing you for you; he would be kissing you to show you how much he worshiped you and the ground you walk on, not to prove an empty point.

You finally managed to pull away when Cole let go of your chin. “All right, we’re done for the night, don’t you think?” your boyfriend muttered, quickly leaving you to return to his friends as if nothing had happened. Despite feeling slightly aggravated at Cole, you hated that you couldn't care less of his words at that moment, and the first thing you did was look in the direction Luke had been before. 

Yet, he was not there anymore.

~~~

Your cabin was not on the same side as Luke’s cabin for this match of capture the flag. You were fighting off some people who were on the blue team. Years of training with Luke paid off because you managed to point your sword at the person’s neck and grinned when they put their hands up in surrender. You continued perusing through the area, trying to regroup with your team or take down another blue team member. However, you almost tripped as you witnessed Cole on the ground with Luke on top of him, repeatedly punching his face..

“Luke!” you called out, watching as Luke’s action faltered, and his eyes darted around frantically around like a lost wild animal. However, Cole took advantage of Luke’s momentary distraction to land a hit on Luke’s face. The Ares boy got off the ground as Luke stumbled and went for another punch. However, Luke dodged it effortlessly and rammed Cole against a tree instead.

“Hey, knock it off,” you yelled, standing between the boys to stop their flight. Luke immediately backed off, afraid he would accidentally hurt you if he didn’t. But Cole, in the middle of his blind rage, still swung for Luke and ended up striking you across the face instead. Right when that happened, Luke pushed Cole again and rushed to your side to assess your injury. At that very moment, Chiron approached the scene with one of Cole’s friends next to him, who promptly told the man:

“It was him. Luke initiated the fight.” 

~~~

Luke wished for somebody to put him out of this misery as he stared at you from afar helplessly. He was so dotted that it hurt. Somebody must have answered his prayers because your eyes met his from across the field. There was a bit of sadness behind them, perhaps regret from how things ended yesterday. You whispered something to your boyfriend, but Cole did not even spare you a glance and waved his hand as if dismissing you from the discussion. Luke’s hand once again curled into a fist. He bit the inside of his cheek from the pain induced by his injury. The Hermes cabin counselor felt no bit of guilt in his body about his physical altercation with Cole. He felt smug at the sight of Cole with one black eye, busted lip, swollen cheek and a body sporting way more bruises than him. 

You deserved better. 

“Hey, stranger,” you greeted, sitting beside Luke. Almost immediately, he hooked one finger under your chin, tilting your head lightly as if he was afraid he might break you. The boy scanned over your injury, sighing at the sight of purple forming under your skin, indicating an emerging bruise. Even so, under the moonlight, you still looked heavenly to him.

“Devon said you initiated the fight. Is that true, Luke?” Luke frowned at the mention of Cole’s friend. Great, now he knew another idiot’s name. Meanwhile, you have asked this because you knew him. There was no way the boy you knew would lose control like this and swing his hands first. 

“No, but what’s the point of telling Chiron that? It’s two against one,” he breathed out.

“Luke, you’re literally the friendliest and nicest counselor here. Of course, he would believe you,” you reasoned. You sighed disappointingly as Luke only shook his head in response as if asking you to drop it.

Now, you two sat in silence. It felt the same as the comforting ones you have had with him before - the ones that made you feel like you were at home in front of your fireplace, curled up with a book. 

“Why are you with him?” and with that, the comfort evaporated as the air thickened. You and Luke rarely argued or even disagreed, so it felt like an unfamiliar territory every time it felt relatively tense between you two. 

“I know you, which is why I know that you’re absolutely miserable with him, so I don’t understand why you’re still with Cole,” Luke commented, though his voice was quiet because he was considerate of drawing this type of attention to you. He had seen it before - Cole causing public altercations and storming off and you running after him with tears emerging from your eyes. He did not want to put you in the same position.

“Y/N, please, as your best friend…” there it was again, the word that used to make you smile brightly, was now the same one that brought you pain. You wanted more. “...You deserve better,” he uttered, his eyebrows slightly scrunched as he looked at you with those eyes. There it was again, the look so intense that you were convinced they could swallow you whole. Yet, you could not interpret them. So, you looked away.

“Luke…” you said his name almost like a warning sign. The boy sighed at this. 

His fingers gently tilted your chin towards him, urging you to face him. There was so much contrast in the way he touches you and the way Cole does. You knew precisely why Luke wanted you to look at him: your eyes were your tell for him. Years ago, after you told him that eyes were the windows to one's soul, he told you that he knew this already because he had learned that your eyes will always tell the truth for you. That’s how, in so many instances, he would be the first to notice whenever you're upset. 

“Y/N, does he make you happy?” you stiffened at the question. Words choked up in your throat as your mouth opened to answer. You wanted to say yes so you both could get over this conversation. But you knew he would be able to tell you were lying. The way he looked at you right now, as if you were the only thing that mattered. He seemed so vulnerable. Little did you right at this moment, Luke was willing to surrender and let you go if you said yes.

“Oh, this is who you left me to talk to?” Cole's voice broke you both out of the trance. “The person who beat your boyfriend?” Cole passive-aggressively spat, sneering from above as he looked down at the two of you. You called out to your boyfriend, but he quickly cut you off with a quick “Unbelievable,” before walking away. But Cole did this on purpose. He liked the attention he drew, even if they were at your expense, especially because he knew you would chase after him.

“I’m so sorry,” you muttered to Luke on your boyfriend's behalf as you stood up to run after him. Luke frowned as he shook his head. If you were his, he would never allow you to apologize on his behalf, nor would he give a reason for you to ever do that.

“Uhm, what are you waiting for?” Annabeth’s voice broke Luke from his irritated state. “Go after her,” the young girl nudged.

“I doubt I should do that, Annabeth. Last time I was with him, he ended up in the infirmary.”

“Yes, but you need to go after her before it’s too late.”

“It’s already too late.”

“No, it’s not,” the girl stated sternly, and when Luke peered over at her, he recognized the look on her face. From experience, he knew better than to doubt when Annabeth was right. So, he stood up and walked in the direction where you disappeared after your boyfriend.

“Stop it, Cole. I don’t want to…” Your voice grabbed Luke’s attention as he started walking in that direction, eyebrows furrowed.

“Come on, this is the least you could do to make it up to me,” Cole replied. 

When Luke reached the scene, he almost went into an uncontrollable wrath when he saw Cole trying to take off your shirt as you objected and struggled out of his grip. 

“I said ‘let go,’ Cole,” you yelled this time, pushing him back. Upon finally doing so successfully, a figure stormed past you and immediately flung at Cole’s cheek, right at the spot that was already bruising. The impact knocked Cole to the ground as he wailed from the pain. Averting your gaze to the person, you saw Luke. Like a deranged bull, Luke grabbed Cole by the collar and lifted him up, going in for another hit, but you quickly stopped him, calling out his name.

Cole, who did not learn his lesson, spoke again, “Gods, of course! He runs to your aid again. You must be a good fuck for him to get this attached. How many times have you fucked him, huh? Gods, you’re such a whore, you know that?” If it were not for your hands stopping Luke and removing his grip from Cole’ shirt, Luke would have ensured Cole no longer had a face. 

“Cole, stay the fuck away from me. We are over.” Your words seemed to affect Luke more than Cole. It was as if Luke could feel an immense weight being lifted from his shoulders. “Let’s go, this is not worth it,” you told Luke. Cole barked a laugh at this.

“Man, you’re more trouble than it's worth. Do you know why no guys ever asked you out? You’re fucking difficult and clingy, that’s why. If it was not for that fucking bet, I would not have either.” Luke was about to launch at Cole but was caught off guard because you had already done it yourself. You punched him, aiming for his nose and teeth, making sure to break a few.

“You fucking bitch!” Cole spoke after he howled in agony. He spat out blood as his nose started bleeding, “Gods, you’re gonna pay for this.”

“Oh yeah? Come on!” you challenged him, motioning him to come over. Any sense of calm or restraint you had was long gone. “I’ll be the one sending you to the fucking infirmary this time,” right when you started approaching Cole again, you were quickly stopped by Luke. He stood behind you, one of his hands soothingly rubbing your back in an attempt to calm you down. Luke averted his gaze to Cole.

“If you know any better, then leave, Cole. And don’t come near any of us again, or I promise you…” Luke trailed off, shaking his head as his eyes bore the weight of the promise he left unsaid, leaving it to Cole’s imagination as to what Luke would ever do to him if he ever saw the boy again. Something seemed to dawn on Cole as he saw the dark look on Luke’s face. Cole finally decided to leave the scene, limping away from the area as he muttered some insults under his breath.

You turned around and inspected Luke’s hand, which started bleeding again through the bandage. Taking his non-injured hand in yours, you wordlessly dragged the boy to the infirmary. Despite the excruciating pain spreading through his injured hand, Luke blushed at your action and followed you like a lost puppy.

The Apollo person on shift was someone you knew, so you managed to convince them to let you do the work on the Hermes boy. You observed his hand again, peeling off the dirty bandage from it. As you went to grab disinfectant, Luke softly held you back by flipped over his hand that was in yours so that he could take a look at your hand instead.

“Are you okay?” His words made you swiftly look over at him instead. There was a sad look on his face as he sat on the infirmary bed. You haven’t seen him this hurt and dejected in a long time.

“Am I okay? You’re the one with the bleeding hand.”

“You punched him quite hard.”

“He deserved it,” you settled on answering, hesitantly pulling your hand out of his so you could grab the things you needed. 

“You know I had that handled, right?” you asked mindlessly, trying to fill the silence as you disinfected his hand and wrapped a new bandage over it. “I don’t need you to defend my honor or anything, Luke. I can hold my own ground,” you tried joking.

“No, I know you can hold your own ground. Besides, I wasn’t defending your honor,” he spoke softly, watching as you delicately held his hand with so much care. He wished you could hold him like that as well. A quivering sigh escaped his soft lips, his voice much less firm than he wanted it to be: 

“I was defending the girl I’m in love with.”

You immediately looked at him, only to see him already gazing up at you. It was as if a blindfold had been taken off, you finally understood what your other friends were referring to when they said that Luke had always “looked” at you. His eyes were filled with adoration. However, this time, they were also decorated with pain.

“I could be a better boyfriend than him,” he stated, almost like it was a fact, and your gut knew it was true, too. 

“So….Why not me? I watched you give Cole - a complete asshole - a chance with you. I watched him give you so much less than what you deserve. It pains me, but I still sit here and wait for you to look in my direction for even one second in the way I have always looked at you. I could be so good to you, Y/N. I waited for you to realize I could be the one who loves you so endlessly and treats you way better than all these guys combined. So…why? Please tell me why and put me out of my misery. Why is it not me?”

“Luke…” you rasped out his name. Despite the pain he was in, his heart could not help but throb for a second as it yearned for the sound of your voice calling out to him again. He almost scowled at himself for the way he was reacting to you. Gods, you managed to unravel him through the sound of his name from your lips. He hesitated for a second, wondering if he would even be able to take it at all - if he was given a chance with you. Would he be able to handle the way your skin felt against his, or would his heart burst into unstoppable flames? Would he ever be able to move on if you ended up breaking his heart, or would it remain in scattered pieces of you?

“I love you,” he uttered so effortlessly, which almost convinced you he had said it a thousand times before. In a way, he did, but only in his mind after every time he bid you goodnight. Gods, never did you think he’d say it out loud and put it out there. You almost said it before as well - out loud to the universe, but never brave enough.

“Luke, I never knew,” Luke wanted to sigh as he looked away from you. For the first time ever, he did not want to be vulnerable and let you see his eyes. The same ones that had been looking longingly at you for the past five years, and you were too blinded to see.

He could have sworn that he had been laying it on thick for the past years - all the touches, the looks, his actions. Luke would always linger near you and select you first every time he had to go on a quest. And if he ever were selected to go on one without you, the first thing he would do after returning is wrap his arms around your waist as he pulled you into a hug, breathing in your presence like it would bring him back to life from the gruesome battles he had to go through while out of camp. Did all those actions throughout five years not show you enough that he was infatuated with you? He wanted to reassure you that what Cole said previously was not true. Many guys wanted you but never asked you out because they knew he would be first in line no matter what. 

"Luke, please, look at me," Of course he obeyed. His eyes met yours - the ones he always tried to find in a crowd of demigods.

“I never knew that you were an option. I did not know that I could choose you. I thought that even attempting to tell you about my feelings would break our friendship forever. I didn’t know you felt this way, too. In fact,” you dryly chuckled. “I was giving Cole a chance because I was trying to move on from you.” Luke tugged you closer to him, his fingers lingering on your hips. Thousands of thoughts speared through him as he tried to collect himself. A glimmer of hope presented itself as his mind toyed with the idea of you wanting him too.There was no way he was letting you move on now, not when you both have mutual feelings. 

“I thought I was deep in the friend zone. Did you not see all the moves I pulled on you?” he asked.

“What moves?”

“Uhm—the physical contact?”

“I thought you were just touchy.”

“I walked you back to your cabin every night!”

“Well, I thought it was just a best friend thing?”

“The first thing I do after every quest is search for you, you’re always the first one I want to see.”

“I really, really thought it was because you were my best friend.” He groaned at all of your responses.

“But do know, Luke. You have always been my first option in everything. And I would have chosen you again and again, the first pick every round…if I knew you were up for it.” He groaned again, but this time out of temptation and satisfaction. He didn’t think the metaphorical butterflies were real. He slowly but surely stood up from the infirmary’s bed and wrapped his arms around your waist. You reciprocated, your hands around his neck. He leaned closer to you and gulped. He wanted to say the right words, do the right things and not mess this up. He took a deep breath and finally settled on what to say next.

“Can I kiss you?” He muttered in a low, raspy voice with a restrained manner, as if he was holding himself back. Five years of pining led him to this point. You almost melted at the sound of his voice.

“Kiss me, Luke.”

And he did. He pulled you up and arched down, connecting your lips together. He dove in as if he had been waiting for this day his whole life. He felt every breath knocked out of his lungs. He sunk himself into this moment like he was living for it rather than in it. He kissed you as if it was the only time he could and as if you would evaporate if he stopped. His hands moved to your face to embrace your cheeks in his palm.

You started moving your hands up his head and played with his curly hair. You tugged it slightly, and the action drew a moan from Luke. The sound caused you to break away. It made you flustered that you had evoked such an alluring sound from the Hermes boy. 

“I wanna go slow for you, I really do. But it feels like I’ve been waiting for so long. I want to be a gentleman and not skip steps. But I can’t wait anymore,” he whispered before whimpering against your lips, “please be mine.”

He went in for another kiss again, but you pulled away. His heart clenched at this. The boy bit his lip and wanted to scowl at himself for attempting to speed things up. He was too greedy and wanted things too quickly for you. He almost whined at the thought of losing the chance he barely had.

“That was not a question, Luke. Ask me, and I’ll give you an answer,” he stared into your eyes, and it almost set him on fire. He never saw that much passion in them before. It almost matched his, and that made his heart fasten again.

“Will you be mine, sunshine?”

“Yes, Luke. As long as you’re mine too.”

“I have always been yours.”

——————————

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[vaspider]

Pete Buttigieg is just a faggot.

It's very important to me that younger queers understand this: to the people who you're trying to be more respectable for when you say things like neopronouns set the trans movement back or you're why the cishets don't accept us or including [aces/bi people with the 'wrong kind' of partners/non-binary people/kinksters/non-passing trans ppl/furries/polyam people] just hurts us, can't you wait until we get all our rights before we talk about some of yours? -- to those people? Pete Buttigieg is just a fag.

On Sunday at Pride Northwest, some kids -- late teens, early 20s -- asked what our button I survived Reagan for this? meant. All of the queer adults at the tables making up our ad hoc counter looked at each other and sighed a little. Emet and another adult started to explain the way that the Reagan Administration handled -- or didn't handle -- the beginning of the AIDS crisis. How many people died. How much we were ignored. The Ashes Action. The Time Magazine article which explicitly blamed bisexual men for passing the pandemic to the cishet community, playing on all the worst stereotypical bullshit. The way that even when the CDC started paying attention, they were so focused on gay men that they ignored AIDS in the lesbian community, leading to the "women don't get AIDS, they just die from it" poster. And so on.

I finished counting out change and passed the last Bear Pride raised fist pin over to a bear a little older than me, then turned my head and interjected, "they didn't care until it started infecting more than just the fags." I turned my head back and handed him his change. He laughed bitterly and said, "remember when they called it 'gay cancer?'"

That what I need you to understand. The people for whom you are folding yourself into smaller and smaller boxes will never see you as anything but a freak. A queer. A dyke. A tranny. A fag.

Never.

These are people who will stand by and let you wither away and die alone, gasping for breath in a cinderblock room, and not even claim your ashes, and they will say you deserve it, because of your lifestyle. If they speak of you at all it will be by the wrong name, with the pictures you hate the most. They will curse at your lover, throw him out of the home you shared, and steal the gift you gave last Christmas to throw it in the trash just so he can't have it and they'll say Jesus loves you! while they do it. They'll feel good and righteous and blessed and holy and pure for doing it.

And for them, you spit in the eye of your sister. For them, you disavow your sibling. For their sake, you trim away bits of your heart and lace yourself up tight. Never too loud. Never too queer. Never inconvenient or embarrassing, never asking for too much.

Pete Buttigieg is what happens when your Boomer dad turns out gay. Middle America. Parents still married. Suburban-sprouted. Valedictorian. Harvard-educated. Rhodes Scholarship. Military service. More power to him: I hope he and Chasten are very happy together. Genuinely, I do.

You couldn't create a more respectable gay if you grew one in a lab run by concerned voter focus groups.

But Pete Buttigieg? Is just a fag.

That's the part you don't seem to get: when they abandoned us, they abandoned all of us. Rock Hudson was a beloved movie star and even personally friendly with that horrid pair of ambitious jackals. Nancy Reagan refused to help him get into the only place in the world that could treat him at the time, and he died.

It was 1985, 4 years after the CDC first released papers on what would eventually become known as HIV/AIDS and 7 years after the first known death from an infection from HIV-2. Reagan hadn't even said the word AIDS by the time Hudson died.

Pete Buttigieg is just a fag, and so am I. Unless I'm a dyke, which seems to depend on who's yelling what from which window and what day it is.

Yes, there will be people who genuinely love and accept you. Those people are worth all the frustration of the rest, thankfully, and they're the ones who love you in a pup mask or a leather harness and a neon jock like the ones sold by the men up the row from us last weekend. They're the ones who laugh out loud when you tell them you hid the word "dyke" in your company name, the ones who love you in all your messiness and uncertainty and the way you don't fit into neat boxes all scrubbed up and clean.

Most cishets, though... well, they don't actively mean you specifically any harm, at least not when they have to look at you. Not when you're right there in front of them. Maybe they'll be okay with you, personally, especially if you're the kind of gay who makes a good rhetorical device, and as long as you remain a good rhetorical device.

They need people to know that they don't have a problem with the gays, after all, and there you are, being all convenient. You make a nice token, and as long as you do, well. You're useful.

But they call you by your deadname when you're not around, and they put the wrong pronouns in your medical record even though they met you years after you came out, and they won't put themselves out to save you. Not one little bit.

I didn't want to be here again. The year I graduated from high school was the worst year of the AIDS crisis. The world into which I became an adult was a world in which an advisor and friend to Reagan, William F. Buckley, openly advocated for forcibly tattooing the HIV status of HIV+ gay men on their buttocks (and IV drug users on their forearms), and in which my father not only told me that when I was 14 or so, but when was told me that he'd advocated for that tattoo being "over their assholes."

(Buckley wrote that in '86, but he doubled down on it in 2005.

Fucker.)

But yeah. I didn't want to be here again. I wanted my daughter to inherit a better world. I wanted Obergefell and Lawrence v. Texas and Hope & Change to really mean something. I work for it, today and all days. I haven't given up.

I need you to know that, too. This isn't a white flag. I'm not surrendering. This isn't over. To misquote Henry Rollins, this is what Marsha and Sylvia and Stormé and Leslie and Brenda and Auntie Sugar trained us for. This is punk rock time.

But I need you to understand that if Pete Buttigieg is just a fag, if that human embodiment of a Wonder Bread, mayo and Oscar Meyer bologna sandwich is not respectable enough for them -- and he's not -- then the rest of us have absolutely no hope of measuring up. Not even if we trim away every colorful, beautiful piece of our community, not even if the Sisters Of Perpetual Indulgence vanish into the ether, not even if we sacrifice the five elements of vogue on the altar of white supremacist cishet middle-class conformity: we can't trim ourselves down to something they'll accept.

The only other option is radical acceptance of our queer selves. The only other option is solidarity. The only other option is for fats and femme queens and drags and kinksters and queers and zine writers and sex workers and furries and addicts and kids and the ones who can look us in the eye and see all of us to say we're here, we're queer, get used to it just the way we did 30 years ago. It's revolutionary, complete and total acceptance of our entire community, not just the ones the cishets can pretend to be comfortable with as long as we don't challenge them too much, or it's conceding the shoreline inch by inch to the rising waters of fascism until we've got nowhere left to stand and some of us start drowning.

That's it. Either it's all of us or it's none of us, because if we leave the answer up to the Reagans of the world and all the people who enabled him in the name of lower taxes and Democrats who wring their hands, weeping oh I don't agree with it but we'll lose the election if we fight it right now, the answer is none of us.

The brunch gays can come, too, I guess.

#long post #uncensored slurs #slurs #homophobic slurs #ronald reagan's grave is a gender neutral toilet #lgbtq #queer #trans #transgender #fag #dyke #lgbt

[chuluoyi]

HAPPY MARRIAGE

- nanami kento x reader

“you don't deserve to be unhappy. and i don’t want to be unhappy, either.” you have always wondered where did you and kento go wrong. in the wake of your divorce, as you both returned to single lives, you and kento would come to realize what constitutes a happy marriage is... and it takes more than just love

genre: post-divorce angst, crack, misunderstandings, arguments, hurt/comfort, bestfriend!gojo is going to help your love life, and fluff in the end!

note: this fic... goes through a major change overnight after i was struck with a wholly different plot *sobs* and then i went through a major writing block for at least a week before i know what words i'm going to write :') anyways, this isn't really proofread so please forgive any typos to the anon who requested this and others, i do hope you'll enjoy it! tagging @tiredkitten as per request <3

listen to: today more than yesterday - kim jong kook

a part of 1K MILESTONE EVENT

series masterlist | oneshot masterlist

No divorce ever comes easy.

When couples enter into marriage, they do so with the dream of a lifelong bond filled with love and compassion. You too did once. And even until now, you still want that for yourself.

When you married Nanami Kento three years ago, you thought it was for eternity. He was your dream man, the only man you could see yourself with. He embodied everything that was just and righteous, and he was also kind man, who would always put you first, shielding you from any sort of harm.

Even if the source of that ‘harm’ turned out to be himself.

“You don't deserve to be unhappy. and I don’t want to be unhappy, either.”

Strangely, you didn't resent Kento that much, in the end. At that time, both of you had come to terms with it and you couldn't blame anyone. But now, six months later, as you sat in this shabby bar, downing shots of gin with your thoughts swirling in an alcohol-induced haze, your emotions were all over the place, and moreover, the presence of a certain clown before you was just particularly irksome, and you knew that he was someone you could blame—

“Gojo, you prick!”

Gojo raised one righteous eyebrow. "Who, me? Sorry, but I'm not your ex-husband?"

Gojo Satoru was the witness to several milestone in your life. Insufferable as he was, somehow you clicked with him ever since your early days as a jujutsu sorcerer. You remembered sending him your handpicked wedding invitation, having him celebrating your promotions, and then coming to him with tears running down your face in the middle of the night, telling him, “We are getting a divorce.”

"You!" you snapped, slamming down your glass of gin, whipping your head around to face the blindfolded idiot that was your longtime friend. Your index finger accusingly aimed at him. "This is all your fault!"

"Wha—"

"Because of you!"

"Okay, now it's clear that you're just too far gone—"

You hiccupped, your tone laced with fiery emotion. "If it weren't for you—if you hadn't been so adamant about setting us up back then—!"

Gojo grimaced. Ah, so this was the so-called drunken musings. While it was amusing to see his friend of 7 years in this state, even he couldn't deny how a tad bit pitiful you were.

"...then maybe," you started to deflate, eyes watering and lips trembling, sniffling. "I-I won't have to go through this..."

Correction, you were so pitiful you had no idea. But still, as a longtime associate, he couldn't bring himself to abandon you there, wallowing in your sorrows all alone.

He sighed and patted your back. "There, there... what about I introduce you to other guys, hmm? See if it'll lessen the pain away?"

You shot him a look so hateful despite your bleary vision. "No! Last time you did, it ended in a divorce for me! I refuse to let you turn me into a two-time divorcee!"

"I'm pretty sure your marriage is far from my business, I'm just your kind-hearted, handsome broker—"

"Bah! You— tasteless prick!"

You burped loudly afterwards and Gojo winced, and then you suddenly (and theatrically, he might add) slumped face-down onto the table with a thud, passed out in all your drunken glory.

And Gojo could only stare at you in somewhat disbelief.

. . .

He thought then, that you were definitely going to owe him one after this.

More often than not, throughout the past six months, Nanami also found himself thinking about you too.

Despite his calm exterior, separation with you didn't come easy for him. There was a reason he married you in the first place—he had loved you, and he too wanted it to last. You used to be the reason he went home on time each and everyday, the reason he eagerly anticipated spending his weekends with.

Everything had fallen apart before either of you realized it. Some disagreements suddenly spiraled into lonely nights, no updates during longer missions, your tears, and then ended with both of you filing the papers in the city hall to end it all.

Six months ago, he thought he was final with his decision. He thought it was the best as he was faced with the sight of your tear-streaked face.

“Kento, I’m not asking m-much, am I?” you asked between sobs, wiping your tears harshly. “Aren’t w-we family? Shouldn’t we be doing a lot of things—together?”

Recalling that moment now, it tugged at his heartstrings anew. Yet, despite everything...

“I’m telling you, I know my limits—”

“Is that all you have to say? Don’t you know how sick with worry I am?” you ended up shouting at him, voice quivering. “Put yourself in my shoes and think: how can I possibly sleep at night, constantly fearing that my husband might—” your voice broke, fresh tears flowing freely. “—might not come back?!”

He was the one who backed away first, who made you lose all hope, and ultimately, placed the sentence upon you.

“If you don't have it in you to... then, perhaps it's for the best that we... just get a divorce.”

"Nanami-san, you okay?"

He looked up from the sizzling barbeque grill pan to his junior, Ino Takuma, who looked concerned as he flipped the meat. "You have been staring into space for a while..."

"I'm fine, Ino-kun." He looked down and grabbed the tongs, flipping his side of beef.

Ino let out a sympathetic sigh. "Honestly, lately, you seem down."

Words he was holding back were "ever since your divorce", but Ino was pretty sure his senior understood the implicaton.

Nanami hummed. "Sometimes life just doesn't go as swimmingly... I'm fine."

Ino never really knew you that well and was curious. In fact, he was so very curious. When it comes to Nanami Kento, everything he does and has done is always with justified and sound reason, but he might be biased because the 7:3 sorcerer was his role model.

It might verge on invading his privacy, but—

"They said... Gojo-san was your matchmaker back then?" he went through with the question anyway, testing the waters. "I don't mean to pry, but I just thought it's cute."

To Ino's surprise, Nanami's lips curled into a small smile. "It's fine, Ino-kun. I think it has become common knowledge by now. Yeah... he was."

"For you to have fallen for someone who was Gojo's acquaintance... it speaks volumes about how charming Y/N is."

"Mmm," he nodded slightly as he indulged in the grilled meat. "She is."

"Nanami-san." Okay, Ino was starting to think that he wouldn't be getting his point across if he went the roundabout way. He would shoot it straight then. "I don't mean to patronize you... but if you're really that miserable, then I think you should go back to her and talk things out, no?"

Nanami put down his chopsticks and let out a soft sigh, making Ino to immediately regret his blatant suggestion.

"Before arriving at such a difficult decision, of course we did try to discuss some things," he explained, his gaze meeting his calmly. "I don't take matters like divorce lightly, Ino-kun."

"But still... now—"

To drove the point home, Nanami chose to vocalize the conclusion that still left a bitter taste in his mouth to this day:

"She is unhappy with the way things are, and I have to come to terms with the fact that I can't provide what she needs."

Ino's gaze fell in dejection. "Nanami-san..."

Nanami chuckled fondly. “I appreciate your concern, Ino-kun. Thank you.”

In front of his junior, he could maintain composure and narrated the collapse of his own marriage as if he were a mere spectator. But in his heart of hearts, Nanami Kento wasn’t at all the stoic man he made everyone believed he was—the fact that he had failed to give you the life of happiness he promised on the day he proposed to you still stung him to this day.

It hurt him, but echoing your words, he couldn't subject you to a marriage that felt like a dull cohabitation with little understanding.

“We never really talk anymore, do we...? We never really work on our problems too. Kento, lately, I feel like... things have changed.”

Suppose what he had to do was letting you go now.

It was easier said than done, because when Nanami saw you the next day at the school—this being the first time in several weeks—he almost couldn’t keep his cool.

"Ichiji, don't be too stiff!" you slapped the poor guy in the back with a giggle. "It's just me, it's been a while!"

You didn't look much different than the last he saw you—still the chirpy self he unwittingly fell in love with, staying on top of the latest fashion trends and all. Yet, there was definitely something different about you, something he just couldn't quite identify...

And then those cheerfulness deflated when your gaze met his, eyes widening as you tried to get your bearings. "Oh—h-hi, Kento."

That's too forced. It was so unnatural that made him almost wince.

"Hello." But the tremble in his voice, too, betrayed him. "Have you been well?"

You shifted your gaze away from him, and right before you answered, you let out a cough, and that was when he spotted it: you looked kind of pale.

"I'm fine."

"Oh, that's good then."

Silence. This was the absolute worst.

Nanami exhaled. It was you he was talking to, his ex-wife. He knew you inside out—or at least, he used to. He knew you didn't like this dryness as much as he did. He had to say something.

He braved himself. "Are you here for a mission?"

You looked at him in slight surprise. "Oh... yeah."

Darn it. Another dry reply.

"There... is a cursed totem in North Tokyo," you elaborated, not really looking at him. "Gojo's out from tomorrow until next week. I'm substituting for him to assist the first years."

"Are you sure you're up for that?" Nanami found himself asking before he could stop. "I mean no disrespect, but you look a bit pale."

"I am," you snapped, leaving him surprised. It was as though he had unintentionally struck a nerve, quickly turning your mood sour. "I'm fully capable of handling this, Kento."

"Please, I don't mean to upset you. I'm just..."

Worried about you. Somehow his throat closed in, it didn't really feel right to say that now.

"—I know how rash you can be." He regretted his words as soon as they were out.

It was clearly a bad choice of words as you took offense, your expression quickly turned into one of disdain.

"How rich... that it's coming from you," you scowled.

Memories of your failed marriage flooded your mind's eye. The long nights your ex-husband didn't bother to leave you a message. How he would return home with wounds and blood staining his clothes. And now... he had the nerve to insinuate that you were the reckless one?

"I can take care of myse—"

"That's a whole load of bullshit!"

Good grief. Why must Gojo pick this exact scene to show up?

The blindfold took big strides and halted between the two of you, pointing one finger in your face.

“Last night, she got wasted. Like totally wasted! She could barely walk straight afterwards and then she had the audacity to blame me! Me! For all her mess! Goodness, I’m just a very chivalrous friend and yet—”

"Shut up!" you were horrified, face flushed with embarrassment. "Gojo, you complete jerk!"

Nanami wouldn't admit it, but there was always something between you and Gojo Satoru that made him a bit uncomfortable, even way back when the two of you were still married. Perhaps the closeness, the candidness you shared. He knew you wouldn't harbor anything for someone as elusive as Gojo Satoru, but still, it remained an uncomfortable sight for him.

Like there was nothing pleasant about knowing Gojo Satoru was the one taking care of you in your drunken stupor. You shouldn't have in the first place. If it were him, he wouldn't let you hurt yourself. If he were still the one by your side—

Despite himself, thoughts like that swirled in his mind far often than he would've liked.

Suddenly, the air felt stifling. Nanami didn't like this at all, and even as you two were still harmlessly bickering, he chose to leave.

"Oiii, Nanami!"

He had barely left the room when the person he disliked the most emerged from the door, following closely behind him. Gojo evidently knew what his thoughts were. As irritating as he was, the bloke was smart, he wasn't the strongest for nothing.

"Na-na-mi! You can't just leave like that! We're going to have lunch together—"

"Gojo-san," Nanami stopped in his tracks and let out an exasperated sigh, throwing the white-haired idiot a glare so hard it would curse him if only glares could. "Please stop bothering me."

“How cold-hearted,” the blindfold replied in a mocking scoff. “No matter how, she was once your wife. How could you not care one bit?”

“We have gone on our separate ways, and if she is good with the way things are, then so am I.”

What a lie. He still couldn't help but to care. If you ever needed his help in whatever way even now, he would still move heavens for you.

“And that’s where you’re wrong, Nanami,” Gojo suddenly interjected in a less playful manner. “She is really missing you, you know.”

But you had your best friend by your side, didn't you? Someone perfect, without equal. Surely, you wouldn't need him anymore.

Gojo raised an eyebrow. "How are you so sure that she's good with the way things are?"

"What exactly is she not good with?"

"Everything? You never ask her."

This was getting irritating, and before Nanami really lost control over himself, he finally drew a line.

"Gojo-san, I'm tired of people assuming things about our current relationship," he said, leveling a piercing look at him. "We are both adults. We reached the decision to separate because we both know why. If this is your way of showing concern, then thank you—but I'd prefer if you didn't interfere any further. We're handling this just fine, and by all means, I think people should stop associating us anymore."

With that, he left. Even when he wanted to stay longer with you, even when, in his wildest dreams, he wanted to rebuild everything with you again—

He knew you were there, hearing all of this.

Gojo clicked his tongue, clearly annoyed. "Grr... You're so stubborn..."

. . .

There was a reason why you went to the school. Yaga's sudden request and of course, the chance to see Nanami again.

But when your conversation ended in a bitter note and he walked away, a part of you plunged into instant panic, compelling you to eavesdrop on his conversation with Gojo.

But as expected from you cool ex-husband, he was all rationale and logic.

By all means, I think people should stop associating us anymore.

Nanami would think so, wouldn't he? And he wouldn't be bothered either.

You shouldn't have expected more. This was no television drama in which the couple would get back together that easily. You were living in the harsh reality of jujutsu world, which basically, was the cause of your divorce in the first place.

At one point, you found it all to be exhausting, but upon reflection, it was more painful to acknowledge that he never truly fought to keep you by his side.

Tears welled up in your eyes unbidden, and you walked away quickly, brushing them away.

This is it. There is no use hoping anymore.

If you weren't on missions, then you'd likely be drinking. This had been the undeniable truth over the past few weeks.

Gojo found both you and Nanami to be irritating. The way both of you would evade each other was just plain stupid by this point, since it was clear to anyone with eyes that you were still not over each other.

"Nanami! Why don't you join us for dinner tonight!"

And since you were such an irritable drunk, he chose to keep poking the easier target.

Nanami shot him a scathing look, definitely done. "I have a prior appointment. Goodbye."

"Hoh?! But! They'll have free drinks!"

For the life of him, Nanami just wanted to go back home. He had minus interest in free drinks and even less in Gojo himself, and he would make his points clear.

"For the last time, I'm telling you, I don't want any part in your—"

Ring! Ring! Ring!

"Ooh, wait a minute, Nanamin! I got a call!"

Nanami gritted his teeth in pure annoyance. He truly didn't care about his call and seized the chance to walk away quickly, eager to flee.

Until—

"Hello? Yes. Yes... what? Huh— Y/N is rushed to hospital?"

...and that caused him to halt abruptly. Suddenly, his entire body went rigid, as if he had been doused with a bucket of cold water.

You're hurt?

"I mean why—the hell? Severe bleeding?!" Gojo's voice dramatically rose, seemingly in surprise. "Whoa, uh, traffic accident?!"

Within seconds, everything as he knew it came to an end. He spun around, yanking the phone from Gojo's grasp, indifferent to whether it caught the latter off guard or not.

"Which hospital is this?" he demanded from the person on the other end, his voice rough and harsh. Suddenly, the fog in his mind dissipated, and he was consumed by panic.

"I'm sorry, sir, that's not—oh, it's Tokyo General Hospital—"

"Thank you." Nanami shoved the phone back to Gojo and broke into a sprint, in search of taxi.

At this moment, everything was a plethora of chaos—his surroundings melded into a blur, the constant honking of nearby vehicles echoed in his ears, and the relentless pounding in his chest threatened to overwhelm him. Nothing else held any significance. Nothing, except you.

Why did you get hurt? How did you even get into a traffic accident?

This was maddening. His world was falling apart hard and fast. The beginnings of heartbreak, stirring and churning in the depths of his stomach, once again threatened to drown him whole—

To others it may seem laughable that he was this shaken over an ex-wife, but precisely because you were his ex-wife was why he was running through the streets of Shibuya, opting not to take the cab as the traffic jam was at its peak.

Oh, how Nanami regretted it. He regretted a multitude of things; those long nights, silent treatments, your tears, divorcing you. If he could turn back the time, he'd do anything in his power to prevent that divorce from ever happening. He'd treasure you better, he'd make time for you more—

Because what if, now you were really slipping away from him for good? What if, he would never see you ever again?

Within minutes, he arrived at the said hospital, haggard, spooking the nurses, demanding your room number.

Thank heavens that the visiting hour wasn't over yet. He marched towards the said room, all of his logic and rationale flying out of window as he threw open the door.

And then he saw the pristine bed, IV drip, and you—

Sitting upright on the bed, turning a page of a magazine, your eyes widening and blinking at him in complete confusion—

Huh, what?

The last thing you would expect after waking up in the hospital was your ex-husband barging in unannounced, looking as though he'd just survived a whirlwind.

"Kento...?" you almost squeaked, taken aback at the sight.

His hair was a sweaty mess, his usually immaculate suit was crinkled and his tie was loosened, but it was the look in his eyes that grabbed your attention—as if expecting the worst.

“Are you alright?” he grounded out, approaching you in deliberately slow steps. “How long has it since you woke up?”

“Um... yes? Since about an hour or so.” You frowned. “Kento, what are you doing here?”

“They said you have severe bleeding, involved in an accident—”

“What! No! Did the hospital reach out to you?” you felt a bit uncomfortable at the thought. “I was sure I have removed you from my emergency contacts—”

“Gojo did—”

Suddenly, understanding dawned on him, and he cursed under his breath. “That rotten bastard!”

You blinked, unsure of what he meant at all. To his credit, Nanami didn’t dwell long on his thoughts and faced you once again with another fresh batch of confusion. “Wait, Gojo is your emergency contact? Why?”

“Should anything happen to me and a payment is required to settle it, he can handle the bills first?”

If Nanami didn’t look exasperated before then he sure did now. “Y/N… you…”

He released the deepest sigh imaginable before settling onto the sofa, further tousling his hair and removing his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose.

“Did you know I ran to get here because I thought something bad happened to you?” Nanami stated in a strained voice.

Why did your heart skip a beat? Why was Nanami suddenly playing the part of a concerned husband when the time for it has long passed?

Feeling suddenly irritated, you rolled your eyes. “I just passed out due to high blood pressure. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” his eyes squared on you, quiet anger behind them. “In what sense does you passing out ever ‘not a big deal’? What have you been doing?”

"Why does that even matter to you still?" you contested. "You were the one who said everyone should stop linking us together by now."

"Y/N, you're missing the—"

"You divorced me!" you screamed, tears threatening to spill from your eyes as the urge to cry threatened to consume you. "You... h-have divorced me, Nanami Kento!"

Nanami felt as if a blade had pierced and twisted his chest at the sight of you—your quivering form, the stifled sobs. He had never wished to see you in such despair again.

"So why!" you finally broke down and sobbed. "Why did you play the caring husband now? Why not before? Why do you keep toying with my feelings...?"

"I'm not." Nanami grunted, getting up and approaching your bed. "I never meant to. That was never my intention. I never—"

"Then what!? What are you doing? Why did you throw me out just like that and why now—"

"Believe me when I said that I never want you to be miserable!"

You halted mid-rant, eyes wide as you gazed at him. Blinking, you felt a tear roll down your cheek. It was the first time Nanami had ever raised his voice at you. Even in the past, he never had.

But suddenly, a sharp pain pierced through your abdomen, causing you to instinctively clutch it. You whimpered, a nearly involuntary squeak escaping you, feeling the intense burn inside.

Nanami immediately got a hold of your hunched form, alarmed. "What is it? What hurts?" When all you could manage were pained sniffles in response, he swiftly hit the nurses' button and enveloped you in his embrace.

"Hold on," he comforted, placing a hand over where you clutched your abdomen, trying to offer some relief in any way. "They'll be here soon, don't pass out!"

"Mmngh," you gripped his hand in response, squeezing it as you slumped into his chest. For the first time in six months, you were enveloped in his warmth once again, and despite everything that had transpired, you were deeply moved by his gesture.

It took seeing you in such distress to dispel any doubts Nanami may have had. You were so petite against him, so delicate as you squirmed amidst your tears.

Had you experienced pain like this in the past six months? The thought made his heart lurch. Did no one comfort you at all?

. . .

And that was when he decided it.

He never, ever wants to see you in any sort of pain, ever again. And should it happen, then he'll be the one staying by your side, just like this.

Alcoholic gastritis. You consumed so much alcohol that it irritated your ulcer and causes a really painful tummy ache.

You could feel Nanami's judging gaze on you as your attending doctor explained your predicament. Truth to be told, you were quite ashamed. Your unhealthy lifestyle were laid bare before your ex-husband and it made you feel like a kid being scolded for misbehaving.

After the doctor left, Nanami sighed and pulled out a chair next to your bed. "Are you feeling better now?"

"Yeah..." you mumbled, avoiding his eyes. "Sorry, that... you have to see that."

But thankfully, he was unflappable as ever. "Nothing to be sorry about. It's fine."

You were kind of embarrassed of your outburst earlier too. While you didn't regret expressing your feelings, you pondered if could've done it in a less confrontational way.

At this point, you'd accept anything. Even if Nanami told you off after this—

"Let me continue from what I was saying earlier," he suddenly began, catching your attention. You perked up, and looked at him expectantly.

Nanami released a deep sigh, and the words he spoke next were ones you never thought you'd hear from him again.

"Did you remember what I said when I proposed our divorce?" he asked, somewhat rhetorically. You wordlessly nodded, because it was one of the lines that made you unable to hate him completely.

"I said, you don't deserve to be unhappy." Nanami looked you right in the eyes, undaunted. "And that still stands until now."

Now fully engrossed in his words, the rhythm of your heart intensified, echoing in your chest.

"It wasn't a decision I blurted out lightly. I know you're hurt, because I am too. I married you with a reason. I have loved you. and if you were to ask me now, my answer would be the same—I am still in love with you."

Why did it feel like your vision was beginning to blur once more?

"But," Nanami's face contorted into a frown, gazing hard at you. "If staying with me is what makes you miserable—if waiting nights after nights, hoping I can make it each time haunts you so much—then I'm more than willing to release you from that burden. I don't want to subject you to that life."

Warm tears slid down your cheeks. Sniffling, you averted your gaze, looking downwards.

"Look, I make you cry again," he sighed, a mix of fondness and sadness in his voice, as a bitter smile graced his lips. One of his thumbs gently lifted your jaw, while the other tenderly wiped away your tears.

"Kento, I—" you quickly looked up, swallowing the lump in your throat. You had made up your mind. "I don't want you to leav—"

"I know," he cut in, his voice solemn, as he stroked your tear-streaked cheeks. "I know, and that's exactly why I'm going to say what I'm about to say next."

And with his next words, your heart burst into complete, utter warmth—

"Let's start over." Nanami Kento's voice was your lifeline, anchoring you and keeping you afloat. "We can take our time. There's no rush—we can return to how things were in the beginning. And when you're ready, then and only then... will I ask you to marry me again."

The one person who has your heart in his grasp, someone whom you are willing to care way more than yourself... You were openly sobbing now and yet a radiant smile broke through your tears.

There was only one answer you had in mind.

Five years later

"Yes! Yes! Yay!"

Today was sunny, just like the day of your wedding. Memories flooded back as you glanced at the grand wedding portrait in the foyer, a snapshot of yourself and your husband in blissful celebration.

A smile tugged at your lips as you stared at the gentle smile on Kento's face amidst his typically stiff posture. You remembered his vows to you.

The one person who I will look for the rest of my life... is you. I have never met someone so important and precious to me that it hurts.

The sound of a car pulling up snapped you out of your reverie. Oh, he's home.

As you opened the door, your smile grew even broader, until a small figure darted past you at such speed that you were left gawking.

"Daddy!" your daughter's voice rang out with pure delight, leaping into your husband's arms the moment he swung the car door open, catching him off guard.

"Oh my, why are you so sweaty?" Kento inquired, scrutinizing your daughter with a puzzled frown, yet holding her close. "I thought we're going to the playground after this?"

"She's so excited for it that she keeps running and jumping around all the while," you chimed in with a gentle sigh, affectionately ruffling your daughter's hair as she beamed up at both of you.

Before long, the three of you set off to the playground, fulfilling the promise you had made to your daughter. As she entertained herself with the slides, Kento's low chuckle drew your attention. "What's so funny?"

"She takes after you a lot, you know," he remarked, a fond smile on his face. "The way she is just full of energy."

"Really? But sometimes she'll get this wrinkly little scowl on her face when she's annoyed—she looks like you then."

"Wrinkly...? No, surely I don't have that many wrinkles yet..."

Your laughter filled the air, a testament to the joy found in these simple, everyday moments.

Unexpected moments of joy, the comfort of family, and a love that had grown and evolved, stronger and more resilient with time...

And this, is what you'd call a happy marriage.

#nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #jjk x reader #kento nanami x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader angst #nanami kento x reader fluff #nanami kento x reader angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader fluff #jjk fanfic #jjk imagines #nanami kento fluff #nanami kento x y/n #nanami kento angst #jjk #nanami fluff #nanami kento #jjk angst #jjk fluff #kento nanami #kento nanami x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff

[uglyducklingofthe2000s]

I'll Do Anything You Tell Me To - LN

Dark fic 18+ - if you don't like this or the warnings/themes make you uncomfortable. I can't stress this enough, DO NOT READ THIS

Summary: Lando's girlfriend features on his stream, but everyone can see there's something off about it. Not that Lando cares what other people say. Y/n will do anything he tells her to do.

Themes/warning: Manipulation, slightly forceful pushing out of comfort zones, semi-public sex(does live stream count if the watchers don't really know), cockwarming (my fave;)), controlling behaviour, HANDS HANDS HANDS (big theme, love Lando's hands and letting my imagination run wild with uses for them), mean!Lando

"Y/n, baby!" Lando calls making her curse pulling on a t-shirt as the minimum of clothing.

"What-"

"Ah, no. Jesus, y/n. The cameras on." Lando states shooting forward with his hand pushing on her stomach to make sure she's not at risk of being caught on frame.

"S-Sorry." Y/n mumbles earning a sigh. "Is the mic on?"

"No." Lando frowns making her nod as his hand slide down teasing between her legs making her refrain from allowing herself to shiver under his touch. "Did you just come out the shower?"

"Yeah." Y/n nods then biting her lip a little while Lando hums lightly. "Lando, you live."

"Join me?"

"The camera." Y/n murmurs making him hum but his eyes take a darker glint.

"I'll just turn it off for game play. I'm on with the boys at the moment." Lando shrugs earning a small nod.

There's few things that Lando loves more than how blindly obedient y/n is. Even if she looks uncomfortable, she'll do what Lando wants to keep him happy. He could hope for a girlfriend better than her.

"Wait here a second."

Y/n nods watching Lando slide back into frame, only using one hand before he reaches up to turn the camera. As if making sure that there is no chance at the camera capturing what he's about to do.

"Come here." Lando instructs making her move to sit on his lap, him hooking her legs over his own and managing to get his headphones back on. "You gotta be quiet baby. Mic is gonna be on."

Y/n nods shuddering feeling his breath hit her neck as she feels his fingers slide into her with a shameless ease that makes her shiver again.

"I want you to get yourself off, baby." Lando states giving her g-spot a gentle nudge which makes her swallow thickly. Y/n bites her lip, chewing on it as he turns the mic on.

Y/n is aware that Lando likes to play these games, it's a big part of their relationship. She won't be allowed to leave or get up from his lap until she's done as she's told.

Best method is to make it as quick as possible. She begins rocking herself back and forth on his fingers, feeling her pulse begin to beat around her body. Lando hasn't even started the next game because everyone is bickering, including him. Though heat is just completely coursing through her from his touch.

Y/n is really locking her jaw trying to keep herself quiet. Her body feeling so on the edge.

"That's it." Lando whispers knowing that his mic won't pick it up.

Y/n keeps going refraining herself from panting like she wants, keeps going till she feels herself soak Lando's already wet hand, almost dropping down.

"Alright, boys when are we actually getting on with this?" Lando asks kicking off another argument and as the others blame each other for the delay, Lando flicks off his mic. "Climb on me baby. I wanna feel you."

"The chat knows though." Y/n mumbles nervously having read the chat as she had slumped back against him. "Lando-"

"I don't remember asking baby." Lando cuts in. "Are you saying no?"

"But-"

"That's a no then. Alright, you can clean up-"

"No. I don't want to go." Y/n frowns hating that he's managed to corner her into insisting she do as he wants.

Y/n moves managing to shift and pull his dick out before he pulls her against himself maybe a little faster than she would've done herself but the game is starting.

He manages to grab some tissues to quickly cleaning his hand as he turns on his mic again. Y/n doesn't hate being here with Lando while he plays, but she hates the fact it does actually have such an effect on her.

Her eyes are trained on his hands, his hand that was actually in her only a few minutes ago still has visible residue on his skin. If Lando couldn't already tell, the pulse she can feel beating and squeezing around Lando's dick was giving her away just how turned on she is.

The pressure of him filling her as she looks at his hands, she's in a daze of edging closer to another orgasm without even meaning to and while Lando is trying to focus on the game. There's only so much he can block out. Y/n getting off using him again.

He can't even stop himself from getting to some quiet spot in the game and quickly muting the mic again, his hand catching her throat as she tips forward spasming and clenching around him as a moan escapes her.

"Enjoying yourself?" Lando questions then cursing as he finds himself shot. Deciding to make the most of it, he decides to go for another orgasm from her seeing just what she'll take.

"Lando!" Y/n yells out feeling him pinch at her clit. She really wasn't finished with her orgasm but the oversensitivity makes her almost closer her legs on his hand but his free hand keeps at least one of her legs from closing the space.

"What? You were just fine getting yourself off using me. I'm just helping you do it again." Lando states making her whine. "You're going to let me help?"

"Mmm...yes." Y/n murmurs, struggling to make her mouth form proper words.

Lando can hear voices in his ears but they're thankfully just assuming he's disappeared for some reason or another since he's dead anyway.

The third orgasm hits her in a rush of heat, burning through her whole body. she's almost certain she'd fall on the floor if it wasn't for Lando keeping himself very much buried deep inside of her. If she didn't feel so completely focused on herself, she might wonder how the hell she hasn't triggered him into an orgasm.

"Fucking hell, y/n." Lando chuckles then smirking as an idea hits him. "Get up baby. We both need to clean up a little."

Y/n manages to get up with wobbly legs, him holding his hand out to support her weight for a moment as he unmutes himself.

"Hey, boys. I'm just helping y/n with something. I'll be a few more minutes." Lando states into the mic while y/n latches onto his hand tightly feeling herself struggle with her balance.

Lando definitely rushes a clean up for them both and before y/n knows it, he's setting up to camera to look at the two of them again.

By the time Lando pulls y/n down to straddle him, sliding down on his length he decides he's not going to be able to control himself anymore.

"Fuck." Lando mutters lifting her and controlling a pretty brutal pace, which give she's only just got out her daze of 3 orgasms deep. It takes almost just the hit of his breath on her neck as he practically slams her down on himself before groaning the feeling of his orgasms sending her tumbling into her own.

Neither have ever been quiet or very vanilla in their sex lives with each other. But 4 orgasms within the span of less than an hour has completely ruined her and she really didn't even want to do it with the mic and camera so close.

"Don't you dare." Lando grumbles keeping her locked down in place when she makes an admittedly weak attempt at getting off of him.

"I don't want to be on camera like this." Y/n murmurs very hyper aware that she's very much naked from the waist down.

"You'll be fine, it's not in frame." Lando mutters while moving them forward towards the desk. He pulls his headphones on and turns on the mic. "Alright chat you can shut up now. I'm back. Y/n's isn't feeling well so she's here too."

He clicks to turn the camera.

Y/n refrains from sighing and instead just nuzzles her face into his neck, she's pretty much fucked out and isn't overly happy about being stuck there with him still inside her.

-

Online fans are definitely suspecting something with Lando and y/n. Comments and clips from the stream saying body language and the way Lando wouldn't speak to y/n without muting his mic or covering his mouth so they couldn't even read his lips.

Y/n also didn't look very impressed.

Lando has chosen not to address it. But he's pushed y/n into addressing it online.

"Is that ok?" Y/n mumbles handing her phone to Lando as they sit in the car on the way to the paddock.

Lando takes her phone with a small frown read over the little paragraph she's posting on her story.

"Yeah, that's good." Lando nods then smiling and kissing her cheek. "Thank you for doing this."

Not exactly like he gave her much of a choice, but if it makes him happy then she'll do anything for him. Including tell his fans that the stream was nothing to be concerned about and that there has never been anything that Lando has done which should ever make them concerned for her. Along with telling them that a relationship that so rarely actually gets shown to the public is not shown enough for them to make assumptions and calls on.

"It's just the truth. They're being stupid." Y/n mumbles making the McLaren driver smile, his hand coming up to gently hold her neck pulling her into a heavy kiss.

By the time they get to the paddock, Lando's possessiveness leaves him almost ignoring fans on the way in and while walking through the paddock once they've past the security gate.

Dark fic Taglist: @hiireadstuff @ellienorriss @decafmickey @daemyratwst @flowersonstreets @bethanymccauley @randomnessis-mine-me @sunf1ower16 @rylie-lothbrok @cixrosie @8justme @jehun @scopeiguess @bborra @poppyflower-22 @noneofyourfbusinessworld @igotnorrrizz @unknownmystery22 @nirrahbrii @sbella13 @d3kstar @neilakk @kawaiisadoglu @a-moment-captured @aeri101 @st4rshine @meadhbhcavanagh @molten-m122 @charizznorizz @simpingcorner @bubbleswrld @gisellesprettylies @urfavsgf @landogirly27

#f1 #fanfic #formula 1 #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #ln4 x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando x reader #lando #norris #dark!lando norris #dark!fic #dark!f1 #dark lando norris #lando norris one shot #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x you #lando norris smut #lando norris fic #ln4 one shot #ln4 #ln4 imagine #ln4 fic #ln4 smut #ln4 x you #lando norris f1 #mclaren formula 1 #mclaren #mclaren f1

[dilftaroooo]

Not sure if your requests are closes right now sorry if they are-

But you should do Yuji fucking fem!reader or eating her out and Sukuna switching with him in the middle of it 😊

nonnie im so happy to breath the same air as u

★tags: aged up characters + afab reader + she/her pronouns + spanking + oral (f. receiving) + fingering + implied piv sex (very brief tho) + praising + sukuna bashing yuji smdh.

Your beloved boyfriend always manages to find himself emerging in the sloppy heat that rests between your thighs. Salmon fields adorned with restless digits splay across the top of his head as he licks and laps at you desperately. It's good pussy for the soul and he would hate if he would've missed this opportunity to have you sing out his name while you involuntarily send pressure to the sides of his head with your rigid thighs.

Your chest heaves and ho's at the heavy mass of passion with each inconsistent breath you take--jagged whenever Yuji coos at your hard clit, telling her how he's obsessed with her and her owner before giving her a light peck.

"I want you to fuck me already, Yu." You croak impatiently, wiggling your hips to emphasize your desires but Yuji gives you a quick slap to the side of your ass and squeezes it right after.

"Not now, baby. Let me enjoy what's in front of me first. Can I get that?" He watches you under the rise of your pelvis. His words are soft and whispered in a tone he always uses with you whenever he wants to feel you clench. Honey-glazed globes look at the feast upon him amorously. Your previously shaven hairs start to grow into stubble as it retrieves itself back to its original state; wet and coated with your juices. He buries his nose further.

A moan was a good enough answer for your boyfriend and he keeps doing what he was born to do. You continue to plead for him as he eats you out. "I'm right here, lovely. Not going anywhere." He'd respond with each fervid call.

His sucks at your cunt arouses you tenfold once you feel yourself coming to that edge at the tippy top of a mountain as gusty winds roughly kiss at the apples of your cheeks and the lids of your closed eyes. It's easy to tell you're close as Yuji hums into wet folds causing you to rattle.

"Oh fuck, Yuji. Keep going, sweet boy. 'M gonna come soon..."

Your nails cautiously dig into his scalp, not enough to hurt him severely, and your legs wrap around bulging muscle for support of your incoming orgasm. His body glistens under the light of the living room and blesses you with each defined section of muscle to pop under dark shadows.

But the devil is a conniving bastard for your reach to climax was interrupted when you flinch at the harsh bite gnaw at your clit, sending you to scurry backward away from the abrupt pain but strong arms keep your legs in place to force you into more torture. Looking down, you noticed Yuji's canines were sharper than usual. His skin was tainted in elongated markings, ones Yuji had never worn. His nails were painted in a deep violet and you think to yourself, 'Yuji couldn't have possibly put that on so fast,'.

"That sappy shit was starting to churn my stomach. How about you do that whenever I'm not possessing you? I already get nauseous knowing I'm living inside a fucking idiot." His voice was deeper too.

"Y-You're Sukuna, right? Yuji told me about you." You've never seen eyes glaringly red like his--four of them. They all watch you with a look of interest paired with a cunning smirk.

"That's right, dollface. Very good. Glad you know of me already, so we can skip the greetings." He resumes his host's previous ministrations but turns it up a notch by adding a finger or two to your drooling pussy. He teases a glossy, purple tip along the quivering hole before pushing in deep. As soon as he learns you can perfectly take one, he puts the second one in. A grin remains still on his face when hearing your moans crescendo.

"My, my. You're already soaking my fingers, dove. Guess that brat is doing something properly for once. Slobbering all over the couch, fuck, can't remember the last time I've seen pussy like this." His index and middle fingers dance across the gushy ridges in you, he moves them in ways Yuji knows you love and that feature shocks you.

He gorges on your clit and eats your pussy out like it's his last meal on earth before being sentenced to death. Saliva runs down the length of your labia, bubbles forming along the way by his boisterous lapping. Your hips can't resist gyrating against his face, ruby red remains settled on your helpless figure as you revisit that same high as before. You bathe his fingers with cum til they prune and you're too overstimulated to feel sorry.

The couch dips and you're instantly turned around on your stomach, facing the decorative pillow you believed matched the aesthetic of your living room.

"Hey, what're you-"

"You said you wanted to get fucked remember? Your cunt is still drooling cus she's hungry. Didn't give her enough." The smacks he gave your ass were harder than Yuji's and that just goes to show how rough this curse really is but you writhed nonetheless.

He was gonna fuck you good. You already figured much as hands grip around the fat at your hips and his cock carefully grinds into you.

#itadori x reader #itadori smut #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #nonnies!

[luveline]

𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary You're having trouble sleeping and pot seems like the only solution. Good thing your dealer, Eddie Munson, knows of another method that he's willing to to teach you. You get more than you bargained for when he tells you what he gets off to every night - you. [8.8k]

warnings 18+ only smut, fem!reader, eddie teaches you how to masturbate, p in v sex, light praise kink, mutual pining/lusting, lots of kissing, dirty talk, weed ment, aftercare, they are not so secretly infatuated with one another, eddie is a soft dork but also dirty <3 r implied as dressing very femininely

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Eddie kneels outside his trailer. 

You stop at the lip of the grass and wonder what he's doing. His back is to you, covered by a band shirt familiar even from this angle and riddled with rips and moth holes. You're about to call out to him when he speaks. 

"You're hot, huh, sweetheart?" Softer than you've ever heard him. "Why don't you go inside? Escape the heat, yeah?"

You approach slowly, footfall smothered by the lush green underfoot. He's scratching behind the ears of a tabby cat. 

"It's so hot out! The sun's gonna cook you," he says, whisper-shouting.

Like the tabby can understand what he's saying it stands, stretches tall and then slinks off into the trailer. "Good girl," Eddie says, standing up. 

"Are you collecting strays?" you ask lightly. 

He turns to you, surprised but not scared. "Don't worry, you're still my favourite." 

Good girl. His words ring loud between both ears. "I'm not a stray." 

"Uh-huh. What's my shy girl want today?" You spin on your heel and Eddie starts laughing. "Sorry, I'm sorry! Come on, you'll like what I have!" 

"You know I can't talk to you when you get like this," you tell him, pouting from over your shoulder. 

He pushes a mess of black curls behind his ear and beckons you forward. "Come on," he says, sing-song. "Let daddy set you up."

"Jesus Christ," you mutter, following Eddie into his house unhappily. 

You hate when he gets in this mood, not because he's ever really made you uncomfortable, but because you like to be teased, and he knows it. Or he likes watching you squirm. Either way, it's dangerous territory. 

"How much did you want?" he asks. 

The cool inside of his trailer is a blessing. You hold your naked arms away from your skin and try to take a deep breath of cool air. "I have thirty dollars. So… however much that is." 

"Babe, what the fuck do you want so much for?" he asks, glancing over his shoulder at you incredulously. 

You follow him into his room. "Do you not have it?" you ask, tracing posters you've seen upwards of ten times by now. Eddie's a good dealer – reliable, sweet, and prone to freebies without any pervy requests in place. 

He once swapped you an eighth for a cheap charm bracelet. He wears it now, the silver delicate and entirely too sweet for his metalhead appearance. It looks good on him, anyhow. 

He pulls open the usual lunchbox you hadn't noticed sitting on one of his amps and pulls out more pot than you've ever seen at one time. "Don't I?" 

"Woah."

"Uh-huh. Ern't she preddy?" he asks in a drawing southern accent. 

You hold out your hands and he lets you take it. When you open the zip lock bag, the smell isn't awful. The buds are thick with green fuzz, and your eyes water. 

You pass it back to him. "How much can I have for thirty?" 

"For you? Half." 

"Don't do that, Eddie. Gimme what you'd give anyone else." 

"But you're not anyone else, babe. You're my favourite customer." 

"I'm gonna put you out of business," you say, lightly chiding. "Can I sit down?" 

He hums and nods and you sit cross legged at the top of his bed. His bed sheets are pushed away and the space is cold. His pillow under your hand is colder. 

Eddie doesn't bother weighing it. You roll your eyes at him but also feel amazingly happy, because it's a lot of pot for not a lot of money, because his favouritism speaks for what you hope might be a small crush. Still, when he passes you the new bag you feel guilty. 

"Eddie, I can't take that. I know that's more than thirty." 

His eyebrows jump. "I don't care. What's the point in doing this if I can't give pretty girls a little something extra?" 

"I don't know. To make money?" 

He holds out the bag. You don't take it. "Fine," he says, sighing.

"Thank you." You watch him fish three or four bigger buds out of the bag. He presents you with a much more reasonable amount, his hands stained with the smell. "Thank you," you say again.

"Yeah. Wanna stay and watch a movie?" 

You've known Eddie since middle school. Classmates, not really friends, not not friends, though ever since you've started buying a small kinship has blossomed between you. 

"What movie?" 

"Whatever you want." 

You nibble the inside of your lip. "You'll roll up for me?" 

"Sure will." 

So you end up on Eddie's couch with the tabby cat that isn't his purring heavily on your lap as he rolls a couple of joints for you. You won't smoke anything until tonight so Eddie drops them into your newly acquired ziplock bag with papers and the leftover bud. 

He sniffs. "So, you're not sleeping?" he asks knowingly, straightening out with a groan and disappearing out of view into the kitchenette. You're a total overthinker. Pot helps you calm down.

"I'm sleeping." 

"After toking up." 

"There's…" You scratch the vibrating cat behind its ears, frowning to yourself. "Worse things to do." 

"Better ones, though. Hey, do you want a drink?" 

You say no and he brings you a glass of water anyways. His hands smell strongly of hand soap and faintly of weed as he passes it to you. You take it carefully, wary of disturbing your cuddle partner. 

"Like what?" you ask.

"Cranking one out, for starters." 

You wince, afraid to bring the lip of the glass to your mouth in case you choke on it. "Anything else?"

"Running?" Eddie suggests, sitting with you but leaving a more than comfortable gap between your legs.

"Not my thing," you murmur. 

It's weird, but anything above murmuring feels like shouting in the calm of his home. The movie plays on the TV and the cat purs, Eddie spreads his legs out and slouches into the cushions, his face surrounded by dark hair. He smiles at you like he always does, amicable if slightly flirty. 

"Maybe pot is your only option," he says mournfully. He pulls a lock of hair in front of his face and his eyebrows pinch together. "Make sure you brush your teeth after though. Or you'll get bad teeth."

"Bad teeth?" 

"Smoking ruins your pearls." 

You put down your glass of water and weave your fingers into the cat's rough fur. Eddie is really nice. Really really nice. And he probably likes you, so… what's the worst that could happen, by asking? 

I'm only asking, you decide. 

"Eddie," you say softly, disrupting a big tobacco rant that he'd started. "What- when you say cranking one out, that's-" 

"You know." He holds his hand above his crotch and squeezes the air. You feel a terrible heat start to collect in your abdomen. "Five to one? Uh- Nulling the void?" He grasps for words at your lost expression. "Making soup?" 

His voice goes high. You think he's as embarrassed as you are, and you're not gonna ask again. You giggle. "Oh, right." 

He drops his hand heavy against the seat of his pants and leans back. "Crank one out and sleep like a log." 

"That works for you?" you ask tentatively. 

"Every night." 

You sink down into the couch and hide your face in cat fur. Eddie starts asking about how your job is, a genuine, earnest interest that further cements your next decision. You clear your throat. 

"Eddie, can I ask you something?" He grins and waves his hand. "When you," you wince, "'make soup', do you just- how do you…" You slink down so far you're almost falling off of the couch. "How do you make yourself-" You gesture to your pelvis and then screw your hand into a fist, self-conscious.

He blinks. "Finish?" 

You look at the chain around his neck rather than his face. "Yeah." 

"Are you asking me because you want to know how I do it, or because you don't know how to do it to yourself?" 

You rub your cheek with your shoulder. "The second option." 

"Shit," he mutters. 

"Sorry, you don't have to- I just thought-" 

Eddie sits up. He looks more serious than he had before but not any less patient, elbows braced on his knees and head propped up in his hand. He parts his fingers over his lips. 

"You don't know how?" he asks. 

"I must've missed that lesson in sex ed," you try to joke. It comes out awkward. Eddie laughs anyways, a huff of breath. 

"Lucky you, I've sat through sex ed three times." He grins brilliantly, but his joking tone softens when he sees your hesitant expression. "If you wanna know, I'm happy to tell you." 

"Are you sure?"

"We're friends, right? What are friends for?" You don't miss the sarcastic twist to his words or his ironic smile. 

Friends like you and Eddie likely aren't meant to be giving one another lessons on masturbation. But really, he's the only person you know who you could ask and wouldn't feel totally looked down on. Eddie's nice to his core, but better – he doesn't judge. 

You struggle to know what to ask. 

The cat chooses this moment to wake and jump off of you, strutting out of the trailer's open door and back into the sunlight without so much as a grateful look back. 

And now you're alone with him. 

"How's your anatomy?" he asks. You shake your head slowly. "You know, grade wise? Are we passing? B? B-? C?" 

"I don't know what you're talking about, Munson." 

"Do you know what's what?" he asks concisely.

You sit up and press your knees together, suddenly very aware of your 'anatomy'. "I think so." 

He purses his lips for a few seconds before shrugging. "Alright. We can work with that." Eddie pushes his cheek into the couch and looks at your face unflinching as he says, "You know what your clit is?" 

You cringe. Full body. 

Eddie shrugs. "What? That's what it's called. You don't have to be embarrassed about it." 

"I know what it is." 

"And you can't make yourself-" 

"No." 

He doesn't miss your frustration. "Hey, hey, it's fine. Some people think that it's, like, a magic on-button, but it's not. There's a whole process." 

"How do you know?" you ask genuinely. 

His answering smile is wolfish. "I'm in a band, babe. Fucking a guitarist is like, a bucket list thing or some shit. Girls will tell you exactly what they want if you're willing to listen." 

Something about his knowing look has your heart skipping a beat. Maybe two. He pushes his hand across the couch and you're not sure if it's on purpose or accident, only that he's leaning in, a small smile on his face. 

"And I'm a damn good listener." 

You meet his eyes and know what he's offering. He waits, ring heavy fingers splayed wide in the space between you. It's the sight of them – thick, long and adorned in string-wrought calluses – that tips you over the edge. 

He's already pulling back with a reassuring smile on his face, lips parted to likely say something too nice when you interrupt him. 

"Will you teach me?" you ask quietly. 

A split-second of surprise is quickly overtaken by enthusiasm. "You're not high, are you?" 

"No." 

He gets up to close the door and starts for his room. You linger on the couch uselessly and he doubles back, hand on the wall. "Are you coming?" 

The noise from the TV fades as you walk down the hall and into his room. Your socked foot nudges into a tower of books close to the door and you reach out to steady them. Eddie pulls the sheets back into place and flicks on the lamp. He pauses by the stereo before turning that on, too. 

A song you don't recognise starts to play. Eddie climbs up onto his bed and stands there for a second, suddenly very tall. "You wanna take off your jacket?"

"It's a cardigan." You peel the thin white cotton off of your shoulders and shift from foot to foot, unsure of yourself. 

Eddie settles on his knees, pulls off his rings. "It's pretty. Come here," he says, holding out his arms. 

You slide onto the bed cautiously, naked calves rubbing against the sheets. You feel as though every sense has been dialled to eleven; you're thinking about every brush of fabric, every small sound that they make. 

Eddie takes one of your hands and you sit with one leg crossed and the other hanging off the edge of the bed, surprised at his soft touch. He soothes your hand and brings it to his lap, eyes on your now-bared shoulders. 

"You dress real pretty." He says it with his usual dramatics, though there's enough sincerity there to make you smile. 

You look down at your delicate clothes thoughtfully. "You think so?" 

"Mh-hm. It suits you," he says as he drums his thumbs against the back of your hand. 

He pushes one palm up the length of your arm and pulls it towards him at the same time. You've never been touched like this before and you want it bad, shuffling towards him with a shameful speed. He takes it in stride, hand bumping up the hill of your shoulder. His index finger slides under the skinny strap of your top and tugs at it playfully. 

"You look sweet. Really sweet," he says, his voice more hushed than before. His eyes drop to your thighs. "You'll have to take those off, though."

"My shirt too?" you ask weakly, eyebrows pinched up at the starts. 

"Not if you don't want to." You hesitate. He takes your thigh into a big hand and gives you a small shake. "It's okay. Take your time. Or, if you changed your mind, that's totally cool." 

"No, I haven't," you deny, voice trembling with a mixture of nerves and anticipation. You kick your legs out in front of you one at a time and ease your shorts over the slopes of your thighs and calves, pushing them off of his bed with your feet. 

“If you change your mind at any point-“

“I’ll tell you,” you say, nodding as you pull your knees together. 

Eddie manoeuvres so he’s close, twisted toward you with his hand braced by your thigh. The cold metal of the charm bracelet you'd swapped him bites into your skin. If you leaned back and he leaned forward, he could kiss you. You think maybe he has the same idea as his eyes dart to your lips. 

They linger. 

He blinks and it’s gone. 

“I’m gonna rub your leg,” he says quietly, “and when I get to the inside, I’m gonna touch you. Okay?”

As he says it, his hand moves onto your thigh. Down to your knee.

Slowly, so slowly, back up. His fingers caress the inside of your thigh. He pauses. 

“‘Kay,” you whisper. 

His fingers flex over your flesh as he draws in. Then, like a shock, his fingertips press to your underwear. 

“I’m not surprised,” he says steadily, fingers brushing over your cunt, ghosting but never truly touching where you want him to. 

“By what?” 

“That you wear such cute panties.” He strokes the hem with the tip of his finger and you hold your breath as he slides it under the elastic, running the fabric over his digit gently. “S’exactly the kind of thing I pictured you wearing.”

“You’ve pictured them?” 

He looks up from his teasing and your panties snap into place. You gasp on instinct and his eyes narrow, his lashes kissing in the corners. “Does that bother you?” he murmurs. 

You shake your head. His lips quirk up, a smugness that makes your heart race ever faster. 

"Do you do anything like this with yourself?" he asks. 

"I'm never this nice." 

"That's a crime," he says, and he laughs loud, momentarily shattering the distilled atmosphere that had settled over you both. "Thighs like these and you don't touch them?"

"Is that what you do?" you ask, insecure.

"No, but it's different. I don't need to get warmed up like you do." 

"Warmed up?" you whisper. Having to ask these questions feels so embarrassing. 

Eddie being so soft about it makes it easier. "Relaxed," he whispers in turn, laughing towards the end.

His thumb rubs the elastic of your underwear and drifts slowly inward until he's pushing over your folds. You gasp and it's slightly startled, sounding too close to panic for Eddie, who's hand flinches away. 

"Didn't like that?" he asks. 

You rush, "It's okay. Surprised." 

One big hand holds your thigh, the other strokes your cunt. He's a little firmer now, pushing the breadth of his thumb over your panties until he touches something very sensitive. "Here?" He pushes up a little higher and your breath catches. He makes an almost inaudible cooing sound and flattens his hand, rubbing the length of your cunt without finesse. It feels good anyway. It surprises you how much you like it. 

He pinches your panties.

"Ready to take them off?" he asks. 

"Yeah." 

You lift your hips and peel your underwear down, folding your legs to pull them off of your ankles. You clutch them in your hand, unsure. 

Eddie sits back and pulls you towards him. You let him manhandle you with a small gasp, his hands pressing into the soft of your tummy. You can't see his face anymore. 

"Alright," he murmurs, pulling your thigh over his lap and spreading you wide. His voice is loud in your ear because of his proximity, and you resist the temptation to turn your face to his.

"Let's just-" he works your underwear out of your hand and tosses them aside. 

His hand lands on your knee and moves down fast. 

You lean back heavily into his chest with your hands pulled to your sternum. 

"Eddie," you say, "what do I do?" 

He hums. "Touch yourself." 

You seize up and he's quick to soothe, fingers closing around the crook of your elbow.

"Hey, I'm gonna show you. I'm gonna show you," he repeats. He pulls at the lip of your cunt and spreads you open, groaning softly. You wouldn't hear it if his lips weren't so close to your face. "How'd you have a cunt this sweet and never touch it? I mean, fuck." 

His fingertips whisper past your pubic hair like he's going to say something more, but he only asks, "Hand?" 

You put your hand into his, the back to his palm. 

He sets it to your thigh. "Do what I did before, okay? Slowly…" He drags your hand up and down the length of your thigh. 

Your heart is racing. Every time you crawl close to your cunt the burning longing to be touched, to touch yourself, and to have him touch you intensifies. 

Eventually he pulls your hand to your clit. "You're so sensitive. Is it always this bad?" he asks sympathetically when you jump, tickled at the feelin. 

"I haven't tried in a while." 

"Oh, I see." Eddie encourages you to push your fingertip into the bead of your clit, drawing slow circles. "Poor baby. Just desperate to have someone take care of you." His voice is so low, so ridiculously soft, you find yourself sinking into his hold. He squeezes the crook of your elbow with one hand, the other still guiding your ministrations. You bite your lip at the sensation that's begun, the tiny spark of pleasure.

"Here, let me-" He lifts your hand away from your clit and you whine involuntarily. "Shh, sweetheart, I'm only gonna give you something to work with." 

You turn your head to him and watch as his mouth opens. He sucks the very tip of your finger between his lips, the heat of his tongue a momentary flash. When he pulls it back, your finger shines with his spit. 

Your eyes are half-lidded, watching through the crush of your lashes as he presses it back to your clit. "How's that? S'that better?" he asks, crooning. His tone sports an underlying mockery, a light-hearted teasing that's slowly turning intense. 

It is better. It's different. Your fingertip searches for purchase against the slick skin and struggles to find it, the wetness allowing for freer, faster movement. 

You push a second finger against the first. 

Eddie stops helping. You pause, confused. 

"No, you got it, sweetheart. You keep going," he reassures, grabbing a hold of your thigh again. He teases the dough there, never cruel but maybe close, fat moulding under his fingers as he squeezes. 

Your breathing builds with pleasure. Still, it's hot enough; there's no sign of an oncoming climax, no tightening coil in your tummy. You huff with exertion and frustration. "Eddie, it's not working." 

"I'm not done." He sounds almost stern. Your stomach flips. "You have to think about what you want." 

"What I want?" 

"What turns you on." 

You think of his hands and their rings. His happy trail. 

His voice. Good girl. 

You slam your eyes shut.

Eddie gives you another mean squeeze. "What do you think about, when you-" 

You don't let him finish. "What do you think about?" you ask, too loud. 

He stills. His nose pushes into your shoulder, his hair tickling your skin as he asks, "Are you sure you wanna know?"

Your breath catches. Your fingers stutter where they work into your clit and Eddie starts you right back up again. His lips brush your shoulder. 

"Yes," you say, gasping as pleasure like little shocks of heat shoot to your core. 

The hand at your elbow starts to rove, tickling your arm as he strokes downwards. "You first," he murmurs, teasing your wrist. You swear you can feel his smile against your shoulder. 

You breathe in through your nose. "Uh, I think of- of somebody…" You try, but you just can't say it. 

Eddie's fingers push down your crease. Stop right before your entrance. "Is this okay?" 

"Yeah." 

"Mmm…" He circles your entrance. "Now what does a pretty girl like you think of when she's touching herself?" You don't think he wants an answer. His middle finger brushes across the slick well and pushes in. You squirm and he holds you in place. 

There's something very hard digging into your spine. 

"Something sweet as you… Let me guess. Boy next door comes around to mow the lawn, you invite him in for a drink, one thing comes to another-" He pushes his finger in deeper. "And he's fucking you.

"That sound about right?" 

You shake your head. His own perks up where it rests on your shoulder. "No? Huh." 

Your circles have grown slow and staggered, distracted by his touch as he eases his ring finger in beside his middle. "Something more romantic? Wedding night, love of your life. Guy that's gonna treat you like a diamond. Way a girl like you deserves." He pushes in, stretches them out. You moan as he curls them, as his arm works back and forth. "Gives it to you gentle." His movements slow to match.

And sure, that sounds nice. But it's not what you think about. 

"No," you manage to get out through shallow breaths. 

"No? You don't want it gentle?" 

"Not- not all the time." 

"How about right now?"

"Please." 

Slowly, slowly, the shape of Eddie's hard cock against your back starts to move in time with the thrusts of his hand. He pushes in deep, fingers searching emphatically for the sweet spot, the thing that's gonna make you- 

"Fuck," you whimper. 

His cock jumps. You feel it. 

"You keep rubbing that pretty little clit of yours, sweetheart." 

You do as he asks. You're desperate enough now that you imagine you'd do most anything he says, your climax a tangible, physical possibility. Your tummy feels heavy and aching with want, worse when he probes deeply and marks your sweet spot again. His lips press to your shoulder, soft enough that you worry you're imagining it. 

"You see what I'm doing here? See what fingers I'm using?" he asks. You open your eyes reluctantly. His wrist turns. You watch his fingers sink into the gummy heat of your cunt. "Tight little hole's just pulling me in, fucking clinging to me, baby, she's greedy." 

You gasp, a hiccup of scandalised sound. 

"Want you to try, okay? You gonna do that for me?" 

"Yeah, Eddie." 

"Good girl." You moan, you don't mean to, but he's fucking into your quick and your finger pushes into your clit roughly. Eddie revels in it. "You like that? You like being called a good girl? I fucking knew it." 

You frown and start to turn to him. He presses his cheek to your head so you can't, stuck looking down the length of the bed at your trembling legs. 

"You looked so flustered, standing all sweet and quiet by the van out front with your thighs squeezed together. You think I didn't see that shit?" 

You're limp against him, thighs spread wide as you work into your clit, chasing this new feeling. You can hardly breathe, every exhale a keening moan that has you shame-faced and weepy. You roll your hips to meet his fingers, his hand slapping against your cunt with a slick slap. 

"You looked so sweet. Y'always do." He turns his lips to your ear and curls into you until your squealing. "Guess looks can be deceiving." 

You're so close, so close. Tendrils of heat curl heavily at your core. "Eddie, I'm- I'm-"

"You wanna cum?"

"Yes," you pant. 

He pulls his fingers from your cunt and you're so confused that you stop, your climax slipping away in seconds. 

"Sorry, but you have to do it yourself. This is all pointless if you can't get there on your own," he says. 

Your chest heaves. "That's mean. You're mean." 

"I never claimed otherwise. Here, middle and marriage, babe." He guides your hand to your entrance. You push your fingers inside, your tongue between your lips in concentration. Your fingers aren't as thick as his, they don't feel quite the same, but Eddie pushes your thumb into your clit. "Move your wrist. Feel that? Feel how soft you are? How fucking warm you are?" 

You're not nearly as good as he was but every clumsy touch feels electric. You push your thumb into sweeping circles and pant your frustration aloud, feeling close to tears. 

"You wanna know what I think about, when I jerk off?" he asks unexpectedly.

You nod, your head moving back into his collar. He rubs the lengths of your arms leisurely, his lazy demeanour in total juxtaposition to your desperation.

"There's this girl that comes to see me," he starts, coloured by a smug amusement. "Sweet thing, soft-spoken, always wearing these pretty clothes looking like something straight out of the movies.

"I think about a lot of things. Her thighs-" One of his hands falls to your thigh in time, massaging, "fuck, just wanna bury my face in them and never come out. Pull down those cotton shorts she's so partial to with the dainty stitching and-" He laughs and his lips part over your shoulder. His teeth scratch up, up, up. "Make her fucking cry my name. Feel those thighs tense up around me." 

You're so close your entire body shudders. You slow without meaning to, holding your breath in wait for Eddie to finish his story  

He gives you one final push. "Always wondered if she sounds as pretty as she looks when she cums." He kisses the small graze he'd given you mere seconds ago and everything is blue-white with heat. "Gonna clue me in, sweetheart? Gonna cum for me?" 

Your eyes close hard and you breathe out, an exhale ragged and weak and mewling. You don't moan so much as sob without tears, tensing up in Eddie's arms as bliss blooms. You pull your hand from your sopping cunt and feel your walls contract around nothing as you cum.

He pulls you close, throbbing cock pressing hard into your back. "Fuck," he hisses, hands placating where they lay. 

You go lax, head tipping back as you suck in air that had felt elusive moments ago. 

Eddie rubs your arms without saying anything. You cover his hands and try to summon up words. 

"Just as pretty as you look," he murmurs. 

He's so fuckng nice. So fucking nice, and what? He thinks about you when he jacks off? Since when? 

You sit up and drop your chin to your chest, panting still. 

"You okay?"

After a few seconds you smile and turn to him, intent on saying, Yes, thank you, and maybe something with more gratitude, something silly, just something. But you can't speak.

His face is close. 

Eddie brings a hand to the slope of your rising shoulder, follows a line to the curve of your neck. You look to his eyes and find him staring at your lips unabashedly. 

He pulls you into him. You close your eyes. 

Eddie Munson tastes like lots of things as he kisses you.

Cigarettes, unavoidable. Under that, sugar. Something sweet but heavy as bourbon vanilla. Your lips part and close in tandem with his, slow and hungry. Your heart races and your fingers are still wet as you twist in his arms and take his face into your hands. 

You climb up onto your knees and Eddie doesn't know what to do with you. 

He smiles so hard he has to pull away. Not smirking, smiling, a cheek-aching, too-happy smile that softens everything in your chest. 

You rub a shaking thumb over his cheek. You don't know if it's because of the post-orgasm rush of hormones or because he just kissed you and now he's smiling like he might do it again. 

He does. He kisses you and grabs your waist. His fingers mess with the hem of your shirt and he breaks the kiss short to say, "Take it off?" 

You sit back on your knees, feel the mess of wet between your legs spread as you grab at the edge of your shirt and pull it up. Eddie helps though he doesn't need to, and just like that you're shirtless. 

"Oh my god, I can't believe this is happening," he says, voice weak in what you suspect is one of his dramatics. 

He slides his hands up your sides and stops just below your breasts. His thumbs grace the undersides and his brow puckers. "Fuck," he mouths appreciatively. 

You flush head to toe. "Yours, too?" you ask gently. 

Eddie reaches back to pull off his shirt. His hair's in total disarray and he runs his hands through it, biceps flexing with the movement, torso taut. The black ink of his tattoos move with him and your eyes eat up every single one. 

He catches your eyes where they linger on the volley of bats. "You like that one?" 

"I've always liked that one." 

He grins and it's honey thick, hands at the small of your back and tugging. You spread your knees wide on impulse and find yourself flush to his chest, his arms locking you into place as he dives in for another kiss. Again you're surprised at how deeply he kisses you, how it ebbs and flows from slow to fast like he's both savouring and gorging himself on your closeness. 

You've never been kissed like this. You're weightless. You feel every contiguity between you, the hot and wet of his mouth, the crook of his elbow against the nape of your neck, your nipples peaked against his chest and the length of his dick pushing up into your aching cunt. 

"Fucking pretty," he says, pulling back just enough to kiss the corner of your mouth, your chin. He kisses your jaw over and over and over, lips pulling into crescents and then the same word. Pretty. 

His mouth opens wide at your throat, teeth scratching lightly as it closes. He sucks your skin between his lips and rolls it, hand spreading wide and palm flat at your shoulder blade. Steadying. . 

"That's cute," he says when he pulls away, lips shining. 

"What?" you ask, hand drifting up. You poke at the quick-forming contusion.

He nudges it aside with his face as he moves in to further mark up your neck. "You're so fucking pretty," he says, each word separated by a nipping kiss. 

His hands are everywhere.

Everything is warm and you can't breathe. You plant your hands at his shoulders and push away from him, and he stops you from falling flat on your back, levelling you with a worried glance. 

"Is it too much?" he asks. 

"No, I'm just hot. Really hot." You take a big breath and wipe your face with the back of both hands. 

"That's true," he says, leaning back against the wall. His hands fall to your thighs. "Are you okay?" 

You drop your hands abruptly and can't believe the fondness you're feeling. "You're pretty, too," you tell him. Honest if very shy; meek, entirely sincere. "I'm okay. I want…" 

"You want?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. 

"I have this fantasy," you begin. 

Eddie widens your legs to move from under them. It doesn't surprise you when he comes to lie on your chest, holding his weight off of you with an arm at the side of your ribs. His hair falls and hides the room from view. All you can see is his face, and it's beautiful. 

"Tell me about it." 

"It's- okay. It's…" You drift off as he dips down to kiss your collar, only chaste pecks but enough to distract you. "It's kind of like this." 

"Yeah?" His breath warms your chest. More ditzy kisses.

"I get here and you're coming out of the shower-" 

"Tasteful." 

"With a towel low on your hips," you add pointedly. It's useless, his sarcasm has pinned you spot on. "And you- you touch me." 

Eddie kitten licks the skin he's just nibbled and looks up. "Like this?" 

"Like this." 

"And after that," his hand moves between you to the zipper of his jeans, the sound of metal clicking metal ringing through the room, "what do I do?" 

"You push me down into the bed, and-" You feel the fabric of his jeans rub your thighs as he pulls them down. "You…" 

"What do I do, sweetheart?" 

"You push my legs up and you fuck me," you confess.

He scrambles back towards his nightstand, a hand on your ankle that says, I'm not going far. "How do I fuck you? Am I rough?" 

"Not at first." 

There, in his hands, the red plastic of a condom wrapper, bright as a maraschino cherry. He holds it up and you nod. 

"Not at first," he murmurs, ripping open the condom, hissing as he pulls it over his weeping cock. It's big – not too thick, but big, surrounded by a thatch of dark curls trimmed neat. "But eventually?" 

He rolls it on tight and then there's nothing but this admission of your guiltiest fantasy. You spread your legs without thinking and he pulls you towards him, thumb collecting slick where it's pooled and pushing it up towards your entrance. What's left on his fingers he smears over the length of his shaft. You watch him rub at the head and sigh. 

"Eventually," you agree. 

His cock rubs up against you as he leans down and pinches your chin between his fingers, lips parted from a sharp gasp and opening further. "Can I fuck you? Is that what you want?" 

You nod voraciously. 

He gives you a very firm kiss at the highest point of your cheek. "In words." 

"Yes, you can fuck me. That's what I want," you say without hesitation. 

"You tell me if I do something you don't like," he says, lining up. 

"I will," you say earnestly. 

Eddie pushes your leg up towards your tummy and holds it there. "Good girl," he praises, and pushes in.

You're already worked open by his hand, your own hand and your climax, and still it's a snug fit. You cross your arm over your chest with your lips bitten hard to stop from making what you anticipate to be a very great and mortifying sound. He takes it slow, real slow, towering over you with his brows furrowed just slightly and his back arching. Every move he makes is accompanied by a careful thrust of his hips. He's rhythm in motion. 

"Fuck," he mutters, more than once. He's halfway when you feel that stretch, your pulpy walls accommodating him with little complaint and a lot of pleasure. 

You drop your head back against the bed sheets and hug yourself. 

Eddie reaches for your hand where its cracking your breast absentmindedly and squeezes your fingers. "How's that?" he asks. "How's that feel?" 

You close your eyes. "S'good, Eddie." You lay out your own roll of expletives as he pushes in ever deeper. "You're really- oh," you gasp, "really deep." 

"You should see it, babe, pretty pussy gripping my every fucking inch." He leans down and his cock fills another inch of you. Your fingers ache with how hard he's squeezing them, and you look up to find his eyes on yours. "I'm gonna fill you up, okay? You gonna be a good girl for me and take it?" 

You blink and your lashes feel heavy with tears. "Yeah. I can take it. I can take it." 

"I know," he says, hovering over you, close enough to hug if you wanted to. 

He grabs your side and his thumb pushes into the soft swell of your breast, his grip tightening as he fits those last inches of his cock inside you. You rub your cheek against his bedsheets, your head fuzzy from being so full. He takes your bared neck as an opportunity and ducks into the juncture of it and his face fits there like it was made to, his nose bobbing against the column of your throat as he starts to fuck into you. His hips roll, a mess of his sticky pubes kissing your clit. 

This close you can smell him, the heavy scents of pot and smoke, the sweet nutty smell of oil clinging to his hair. Sweat, as you imagine you smell of too, and sex. The room is filled with it, the smells and the sounds of his thighs thudding into yours. 

"Eddie- Eddie," you whimper, muffled by the sheets beneath you. 

He pushes in deep and rubs his nose into your skin emphatically. "What's wrong, hm? What's got you all wound up?" 

You wrap your arms around his back. You're not sure if you're allowed to but you're hardly thinking ahead – you can't. Every thrust, every movement he makes is at the forefront of your mind, commanding all of your attention. The tickling of his hair against the side of your face. The skipping of the chains of his necklace where it teases your neck. 

"Babe?" he asks, pulling back to turn your head. He stills inside you. 

You protest, loud and completely unlike yourself. "Eddie, don't stop. Please don't." Your hands push into his shoulder blades. He ruts in at your request, thumb rubbing your cheek. "Feels so good," you say. You trip over your praise, voice breaking. 

He starts up again, whispering, "Do you want me to hold your leg up, pretty girl?" and, "Taking me so well- taking it so fucking well," and, worse, "Fuck, sweetheart, just like that," when you tigthen around him. 

You weave your fingers into the messy crush of black curls surrounding his face, careful not to tug as you covet the back of his head and nape of his neck, scratching his scalp lightly with one hand as the other strokes his side. 

Your moans become a half-sobbing sort of mess, quiet and desperate, drawn out of you with every tap of his cock into your soft spot. When he finds it he can't not search for it, rutting into it over and over until you can't produce anything but an unintelligible stream of babble and happy sighs. 

He laps lazily at your neck, the stretch of skin dampened and stinging from love bites. He thrusts in hard and hits something sweet that has you clinging to him. 

"You smell good," he says into your skin.

Your hips ache with pleasure. "I must taste pretty good," you say. What, with how he's willing to nibble on you like this. 

He squeezes your neck and narrows his eyes at you playfully. "I intend to find out." He moves down until your lips are a hair's width from touching. "Bet you taste as sweet as everything else."

You lift your chin and kiss him, dedicating your affections to his top lip. He groans into your mouth, hips moving slow and thrusts shallow when suddenly they're not. His cock drags out slowly and slams in deep, his pelvis hitting into yours. 

You keen into the kiss, gentle and at odds with his fucking. His fingers find your ear and his thumb follows down the shell until he's pinching your earlobe, a split-second touch that melts you into putty. He pulls away from the kiss and inhales loudly, his fingers under your ear and pushing your face to the side so that he can wade in from a new angle.

You curl your fingers around his wrist and let yourself be kissed and fucked and touched. Anything he wants to do, he can do. 

Eddie breaks the kiss.

"What did I taste like?" you ask breathlessly. 

He traces an invisible teardrop down your cheek with the back of his pinky finger. "Oh, sweetheart," he says quietly, lowering his lips to the shell of your ear. "That's not where I meant." 

Another hard thrust. You gasp at the dull aching spreading through your tummy and Eddie softens slightly, not so deep but just as fast, faster, his cheek to your cheek as he works you open. His rugged panting in your ear is everything you need. You force your hand between your body and Eddie's and search for the wet mess of your clit, chasing quick circles into the swollen bump. 

Eddie realises what's happening and his fucking turns desperate. "You gonna cum again? Shit- keep touching, I'll get you there, fucking promise you." He's hardly pulling out an inch before he's rutting back in, kicking up the speed until all you can feel is pleasure again. 

Eddie slows down as you cum, moaning as you tighten around him. He pushes away from you to kneel between your legs again, eyes locking onto your cunt obstinately, his panting loud as he drags his cock in and out. 

"Insane," he mumbles, hands coasting down your legs until he's grasping the fat of your thighs and pulling you back onto his cock. "You're insane." 

As if proving it, his hands rove the hills and troughs of your torso, your skin clammy underhand, his hips moving mindlessly. You cover your mouth with the back of your hand and blink back into focus. 

"Are you close?" you ask him, whispering. 

You're lucky he can hear you with the music he's playing and the sounds of your slick hole being stretched. Eddie tucks a lock of sweat-dark hair behind his ear and his eyes pause in their reverential searching to meet yours. 

He peels your hand off of your mouth and holds it. 

"Fucking teetering, babe. Been close ever since I felt you wrapped around my fingers." He pulls your hand and you take it as a cue to try and sit up. Eddie helps you into his lap, your thighs straddling his thighs, slipping down his length until you're stuffed to bursting. 

You hide your face in his shoulder and he rubs your back. "You're okay," he says sympathetically, "I got you. You just sit pretty, there's a good girl." 

You wrap your arms around his neck and try your best to bounce on his cock as he thrust up into you, a steady pace that turns sloppy. You rake your hands through his curls and kiss at the curve of his neck down to the slope of his shoulder, dizzied and cock-drunk, totally fucked out. You hum into your kisses with every prodding of his mushroom tip against your deepest spot, rambling nonsense at him in a way you hope is making a difference. 

"Fucking me so good," you mumble, equal parts tearful and euphoric, lips wet and spreading a shine like frost in the sun over his lean shoulder. "So good, Eddie. Thought about this too much." 

"Yeah?" he asks, sounding like a different person. Voice rough as hewn stone and hands bruising where they grip you, his heavy sack slapping into you with every sluggish rock of his hips. "Good as you pictured? M'I fucking you like you wanted?" 

"Better," you say sincerely. 

"Fuck, sweetheart," he says, and he's close, you know he is.

You roll your pelvis in circles and try your hardest, aflame as you plead, "Cum for me, please? Please, Eddie, wanna feel it." 

Despite your shy intonation Eddie goes rigid. He fucks in with one final thrust that sends shocks deep to your core and spreading out, cutting your happy little gasp short as he pulls your head tight to his neck. His hips twitch underneath you and he's making sounds that are going to haunt you, whiney, begging moans over your head. 

Eddie's tight hold on you slowly loosens. You're breathing fast, finally out of motion. Your thighs burn where they're spread over his lap and you squirm unintentionally. 

He pulls your neck back from his shoulder and looks over your face, concern lining the soft set of his eyes. He cups your cheek in question. 

"I'm okay," you say softly. "I'm more than okay. That was amazing." 

"It was amazing," he agrees, caught off guard.

"Yeah." 

You shift backwards and the two of you wince at the sensitivity. You ease your legs open and Eddie pulls out, pumping the sticky shaft once. His eyes flutter closed. 

You move off of his lap and turn to the side so you can stretch out your aching legs. Eddie follows suit, collapsing off of his knees and onto his back, the pillow behind him keeping him propped up. 

You watch him ease the condom off of his cock curiously, White cum has smeared and drips down the length of him, his pubes tangled by a mixture of your slick and his. 

He spots you watching and smiles. "What, sweetness? What are you thinking about?"

"I made you cum." 

His eyebrows jump but quickly smooth. "I think I went blind, for a second." 

You giggle at his hyperbole and he pulls you down against his chest, your side pressing into his navel. Your cheek to the space shy of his heart. 

His hand comes to rest on your forehead. 

"Do you really think about me?" you ask, knowing the answer. 

"Every night." 

You close your eyes and hide your smile in his skin. He chuckles and wraps you up in one arm, his hand a firm pressure as he massage the dipped plane of your back. 

Nestling your cheek into his chest, you say, "I think about it, too. All the time." 

"Uh-huh. Maybe we can make some more of those racy thoughts a reality. What was that one about me coming out of the shower?" 

You like this casual conversation and decide to try and make him laugh, stretching your words out low. "Well, you're coming out of the shower, and your towel slips open-" There, his bumping laughter at your over the top salaciousness. 

"That's awful. Most cliche, overdone, cheap porno concept ever," he chastens. 

"I never said I was creative." 

"What happens after that?" 

"The towel gets swept away by a sudden gust of wind, so I have to cover you. With my body." 

He bursts. There's no other word to describe it, his back arches with the force of his laughter and he holds his fist to his mouth, shaking and giggling like an idiot. 

"Where's the wind coming from?" he questions incredulously. 

"I don't know! The window?" 

"Oh my god," he says. He hooks his hand under your arm and pulls you up his chest, dotting a fond kiss to your forehead as you near. "And after that?" 

"Well, I told you that part." 

"Right, we hook up, but after that." 

You clench your fists, insecure. "After?" 

He brings the hand that isn't loving the length of your back to your face, stroking the skin under your chin with the backs of his index and middle finger, the flat of his fingernails sliding gently in a soothing back and forth. 

"I guess it's kind of like this," you answer eventually. 

"Does fantasy Eddie get another kiss, too? Or does he- do they stop, afterwards?" 

"It's a fantasy. The kisses never stop," you tell him. Adrenaline must linger in your veins; you can barely speak.

His expression becomes impassive, and a lull in the conversation blossoms. He searches your face for something and you don't know what, but he must find it, because he dips down and kisses you chaste on the lips. 

Your hands are back to tentative as they explore his neck. Your fingertips grace the curves of his throat and then sink behind, into the dampened mess of his hair. 

He stays chaste, dainty kisses, pulling back to dot them against your lips over and over. 

"Eddie," you say softly, "what are you doing?" 

"It feels like kissing," he says, tone a mirror of your own. 

You huff a laugh against his lips and kiss back. 

Later, after more kisses than you could ever count and an hour dozing on his chest whilst his hand rubbed circles into your tired back, you get dressed into your clothes that he likes so much and slip your goodie bag into the belly of your strappy purse. 

"Don't go over the top with it, alright?" he says, watching the green bud dissappear.

Jeans back in place and still bare-chested, Eddie sits on the end of his bed and scratches the back of his neck. You give him a grateful smile. "No, I won't. I actually think I might sleep really well tonight without it." 

He smirks. "I bet you will." 

Eddie walks with you to the front porch. You'd linger if you didn't have to go, and you're pretty sure he'd let you. There's a fraction of awkward silence.

"See you later," you say, walking sideways down one step, another. 

Eddie catches your hand. It takes you a second to realise what he's done: forced your crumpled thirty dollars back into your hand. Your heart misses a beat and you feel your stomach plumet – you hadn't fucked him for the free pot. 

"Eddie-" 

"My girl can't pay for her own supply. That's not happening." 

You take one step up. "Your girl?" 

He has the good graces to look nervous. "If you wanna be." 

You don't know how to answer. He looks pretty like this in the last dregs of sunshine, big brown eyes waiting patiently for you to say something, hand clutching his elbow. It doesn't feel entirely real. 

You step on tip toes and work your hands behind his neck to kiss his cheek before rubbing your forehead against his chin. "I'll come by tomorrow?" you ask hopefully. He relaxes under your weight.

"Any time you want. I'll take you some place nice, if you're up for it." 

You set back on your heels and pull away. "You don't need to go all fancy on me, Munson." You're happy to get stoned and eat burgers on the couch.

He looks you up and down, eyes catching on the flanks of your thighs before he takes in your face. His smile is almost dorky when he says, "No I- I think I do. I'll see you tomorrow, pretty girl." 

You nod with an aching smile and are a little ways away when he smugly calls, "Sleep well!" 

After the lesson he just gave you, you're sure you will. 

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