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crimson-calligraphyx · 6 months

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Tag List: @cheyfi @kingdomof-omens @daylightlvrs @blade-in-red @ladyveronikawrites @jay02bo @itsmrsfuentes @cncohshit @catj422 @lma1986

Time moved at a snail's pace when I finally crawled into bed after throwing up until there was simply nothing left to come out.

My mind was just a never-ending vortex of the disaster I created, and the vertigo was so intense that it made me physically sick. I had heaved and heaved, leaving me with an intense stomachache and a raw throat.

It felt like an eternity had passed when in reality it was probably only an hour or two of staring at the ceiling. I could feel everything so intensely; the air felt too heavy, the room felt too dark, the silence was deafening, my head throbbed, my stomach burned, and I couldn't fucking sleep because of it. That, and the fact that I was quite literally killing my husband, the image of how sick and heartbroken he was, branded into my mind.

I wished that I could take this all back, and have things go back to the way they were. I wished that I could erase not only the pain that I felt but the pain that I was inflicting on him, too. It was affecting him more than it was affecting me, that much was obvious.

With a huff, I rolled over and took hold of Noah's pillow, tucking myself into a ball as I clutched it to me. I imagined that it was him as I breathed in the remanence of his cologne, holding it so tight as if I could will this back into existence.

There was a pressure behind my eyes, and my cheeks were suddenly warm and damp as the past images continued to flash before me. All the good, all the bad. I was crying again, though no sounds came out of me. I was so sick of crying, I just wanted to sleep—I needed to distract myself somehow.

I reached for my phone on the nightstand, shutting my eyes for a moment as the light from the screen shot daggers through my head. I peeked one eye open and unlocked my phone, dialing the only person I felt I could still call at 2 in the morning.

"You bitch—" "I'm killing Noah," I whimpered into my phone. I didn't even let Vic finish her usual greeting whenever I called her in the middle of the night. I hear rustling on the other end, and I know she's rolling her eyes as she sits up in bed. "You know that's my job, Liv," she humors, but I don't laugh. "What did he do this time?" I sniffle, screwing my eyes shut as fresh tears spring in my eyes. "Vic, I'm not joking. He's sick." "What do you mean sick?"

I don't say anything as my lips tremble. I can't. I knew the second the name of that disease made it out of my mouth, I'd be inconsolable.

"No," she breathes. "Olivia, no, it can't be that. I know how much you love him." I sucked in a choppy breath, shaking my head. "He showed me the flowers, Vic," I whispered. "He's sick—suffering—a-and it's all my fault. And he left because of it." I hear her curse under her breath. "Where is he now?" "Nick's," I croaked, "and all I fucking see when I close my eyes is him hacking, struggling to breathe as he closed the door." "Just give him time, Liv. He'll come back, I swear to you," she tries, her voice quivering. I knew the tone in her voice—she was not only trying to convince me, but herself, too.

JANUARY 29

I woke up this morning to a pounding headache, the constant buzzing of my phone under my face from how I had fallen asleep like a fucking chainsaw inside my skull. I knew I was being flooded by a multitude of 'Happy Birthday' texts; I was officially 29, on the 29th.

I scrolled through my messages and threw my phone down on the mattress with a huff, telling myself I'd get back to thanking them eventually. None of them were from the one person I wanted to hear from the most, but that was to be expected—it's been nearly a month since I've talked to Noah, why would my birthday make it any different?

I did what I've been doing every morning since he left. Wake up, lie in bed until it was nearly time for me to get to the bakery, force myself up, and swallow some Advil and Tums to rid the hangover-induced headache and nausea. Throw on whatever clean clothes that I had, put my hair in a bun, and go my merry way. I'd have coffee and breakfast at work.

When I walked into work shortly after noon, I was met by pink and white streamers twisted and strung from the ceiling, and an archway of balloons of the same color scheme. Holly and Juliana made their way around the counter as they sang 'Happy Birthday', a small cake in hand adorned with a sparkler rather than a candle.

I laughed, shaking my head at them, and accepted the cake. "You didn't have to do all this." "But we wanted to, Liv," Juliana states, giving me a reassuring squeeze on my shoulder. "We've noticed that you seemed a little distant lately and just wanted to show you that we care. Besides, it's your birthday! Everyone deserves cake on their birthday."

My heart sank a tad at how obvious it was that I wasn't doing well, my eyes dropping to the sparkler burning lower and lower as the seconds ticked by. "Thanks, guys. I really appreciate it," I feigned a smile, blowing out the flame as I made a wish that I was doubtful would come true—do wishes even count on sparklers? I brought my gaze back up to the girls, motioning the cake towards the back. "Let's dig in. I'm starving."

We each cut ourselves a slice of cake, all the while being asked if I had any plans with Noah for my birthday. I hid my cringe with a huge mouthful of cake, nodding my head 'yes', even though I didn't. Before they could question me any further, I told them I had some extra work to do, and took my breakfast to my office.

I shut the door, hastily tossing the paper plate on my desk before collapsing into my chair with a huff. I never mentioned anything to the girls—as far as they knew, everything was peachy keen in my marriage. I just wasn't ready to explain the situation to them, not fully understanding what the fuck was going on myself.

All I knew was that he was sick because of me, and I felt nothing but guilt because of that. I never meant for this to happen, I never wanted this to happen, and I wasn't sure if we were going to try to make this work again. Hell, I wasn't even sure if he was ever going to speak to me again. The uncertainty of that made my heart race and my stomach churn.

And churn.

The next thing that I knew, I was puking in the wastebasket that I had under my desk. My eyes immediately watered; tears slid down my face as I spit, trying to clear the acrid taste that sat on my tongue.

With a sniffle, I sat up and wiped under my nose when I was sure that I was done vomiting. This was the third time I've gotten sick in the past week, and I had no idea what the reasoning behind it was. The flu? Stress? Drinking too much? Probably the latter.

Either way, it was exhausting, and I just wanted to go home and back to bed. I couldn't, though; I had a job to do.

I ran my now sweaty hands down my thighs and clambered out of my chair, throwing the cake out and tying the trash bag before leaving my office. I threw it in the barrel, washed my hands, and finally made my way back out to the floor, stopping dead in my tracks when I saw my best friend standing there. Smug expression, arms folded over her chest and all.

I immediately ran around the counter, pulling her into a tight hug now that her arms were welcoming me in. "What the Hell are you doing here?" I practically yelled as we bounced side to side on our feet, giggling. "Bitch, it's your birthday," she says, placing her hands on my shoulders to look at me. "Noah's being a ding-dong, so I'm taking my girl out to celebrate." I laughed lightly, shaking my head. "It's me that's being the ding-dong, Vic. Not him." She rolls her eyes exasperatedly, her head following suit with a scoff. "Okay, so you're both ding-dongs, whatever. Let's go," she cocks her head towards the front door, beckoning me to follow her.

I furrow my brows and put my arms out, palms up while taking a gander around the bakery. "I can't just leave work, Vic. I got shit to do; baking, start of inventory, paperwork—" She holds her hands up in surrender, "Okay, Suzi Q, I get it. I'll just...hang out at your place, I guess. Keys?" She then holds her hand out, folding her fingers to her palm. "You are unbelievable," I chuckle, shaking my head at her. I unclip my set of keys from my belt loop, sliding just the house key off the ring, and press it into her hand. "Don't lose it, and don't lock me out of my own home. Help yourself to whatever, the spare bedroom is available if you want to nap—" She waves me off, "Yeah, yeah. I'll see you in a bit." "I hate you." She winks with a smirk plastered on her face, "Love you, too."

After she had left, I went to the back to take care of what needed to be done, eager to get out as soon as possible to see what it was that Vic had planned.

When I got home, I was met by a bouquet of roses on the kitchen island, peppered with baby's breath. The vase they sat in was beautiful; it stood at least a foot and a half tall, crystal clear with golden vines wrapping around its body, and up and over the lip. I smiled softly with a shake of my head, astonished.

"You didn't have to buy me these, Vic!" I called out, not knowing where she was. I heard her footsteps against the linoleum shortly thereafter, turning to see her rubbing her eyes. She must've taken that nap, after all. "I didn't," she denies through a loud yawn. "Ruffles stopped by to deliver them." I scrunch my face in skepticism, jerking my head back slightly. "Nick bought me flowers for my birthday?" She shrugs, another yawn escaping her. "I think there's a card."

Sure enough, there was a white envelope placed delicately between the flowers. I carefully plucked it from where it sat, reading my name written in messy cursive on the front—I recognized the handwriting immediately. I took a sharp inhale, nearly dropping it while my heart hammers in my chest and my hands shake with nerves.

I opened the envelope and saw there was not only a card, but a flash drive tucked in it. I pulled the items out and began to read the card.

Happy Birthday, Love

I know things between us aren't the way they used to be, but I still want you to enjoy your birthday. I know that flowers don't make up for what I put you through, but I at least hope they put a smile on your face. I know they're your favorite.

I'm sorry that I haven't been home or called you, it's been difficult for me to comprehend all of this. Just know that not a day has gone by where I haven't thought of you.

I don't know where my head is at. I don't know what's to come of us, but one thing I do know is how much I love you. Don't forget that. Please.

-Your dweeb, Noah

P.S. Listen to the song on the flash drive whenever you're able to, or ready to. It's not finished, but I think you should hear it.

"I can't believe he remembered," I whispered, shaking my head. "He doesn't even like celebrating birthdays." I clutched the flash drive in my hand, curling my fist to my chest as I continued to read his note over and over again until the words blurred, my eyes filling with tears. I feel the card slip from my fingers, knowing Vic took it so she could read it, too.

"Damn," she breathes after a minute. "Of course he'd remember your birthday. He really loves you, Olivia—" "I fucked up," I whimpered, shaking my head incredulously as the tears fell from my eyes. "I've been so goddamn selfish." She plants her hands on my shoulders, having me look at her. "None of that, Liv. Your feelings are valid." "But I'm killing him, Vic!" I hollered, shouldering her hands off of me and taking a step back. "Then fix it." I scoffed, clapping my hands against the sides of my thighs in exasperation. "I-I can't just make myself fall back in love with him. That's not how that works—" "Then you have to let him try," she says sternly, folding her arms over her chest. "Because you know damn well that boy has been, but you're too stubborn to accept it. Too stubborn to accept that you both have had your lives change from moving across the country, and that you need to adapt to it. His career is just as hard on him, as it is on you."

I drop my gaze from her, bringing my attention back to the flash drive in my hand as I soaked in her words. "No more overthinking, no more planting fake scenarios in your head, and no more drinking.” I feel my heart skip a beat, shame making its way in. "I haven't been drinking," I mumbled a lie, spinning the plastic in my hands. "Cut the shit." She tips my head towards her by my chin, her hazel eyes fierce as they locked with mine. "You think I didn't notice the bottles by the recycling? I know damn well those aren't Noah's."

My eyes burn with fresh tears, my throat aches from trying not to cry. This was so fucking humiliating; being called out for all of your faults by your best friend, on your birthday, of all days. She was right, thought. I had to start accepting things for what they really are, I had to stop feeling sorry for myself, I had to stop drinking.

"I'm sorry Olivia," I feel Vic's thumbs swipe across my cheeks as she sighs. "I didn't mean to make you cry. I love you, and I can't watch my best friend fall apart again. It had to be said." "You're right," I nodded in her hands, not realizing I had been sobbing. "I gotta fix this."

Noah

I settled into the couch in the living room, wrapped in a large fleece blanket with a steaming cup of chamomile tea. I leisurely sipped at the tea, hoping it would calm my nerves a bit to take some pressure off my chest.

My chest was exceptionally tight today, the flowers spreading in my lungs accompanied by the apprehension I felt from sending Nicholas to my house with a bouquet of roses for Olivia.

It's been almost a month since I've seen her, and I wanted so badly to go home so that I could, but I was too afraid of what would unfold if I had. I was too winded to reason with her—it was hard enough trying to record the snippet of a song for her, nevermind the possibility of an argument after climbing the front steps, as small as they were. Breathing had become that difficult.

I heard the front door open, Nick making his way back in after the small task I gave him. "How you feeling?" he asks, shouldering off the light jacket he wore, hanging it up. I shrugged, "About the same." We're quiet for a beat as he joins me on the couch. "How is she?" "She wasn't home, but Vic was there. That was awkward to say the least," he snorts, kicking his feet up on the coffee table and leaning into the couch some. I let out the start of a chuckle, a round of coughs crashing over it.

I sat up quickly and put my tea on the table, already knowing what was to come as sharp pains shot through my ribs, my muscles strained from the amount of coughing I've been doing. I was genuinely surprised that I hadn't broken a rib yet like last time.

Even though I already knew what was coming, I never got used to the way my lungs burned as the flowers made their way out. The tiny thorns that accompanied the petals was the worst part, clawing into my throat as I coughed and coughed. I grabbed a tissue off the table, cupping my mouth to catch what I expelled.

Exhausted, I collapsed back against the cushions, my lungs rattling as I heaved, and tears welled in my eyes from the pain. I didn't know how much longer I'd be able to handle this—at this point, I was ready to ingest Roundup. Maybe that would kill the flowers growing inside me.

Nick takes the tissue from my hand, replacing it with the tea that I nearly forgotten. I gave him a weak smile in thanks as he stands. "You hungry? I can make you some soup or something." I shake my head 'no', and he rolls his eyes. "Too bad. You haven't been eating. You need to eat, dude." "Fine," I grumbled.

My phone chimes in my pocket, and with a huff I dug it out. I nearly drop it, reading the message across the screen.

Olivia: Thank you for the roses, they're beautiful.

It was such a short, simple message, but my heart swelled reading it. I smiled wide; it was like a huge weight being lifted off my chest finally hearing from her. I felt like I could breathe a little easier.

Me: of course, love. i hope youre having a good birthday

Olivia: I am. This helped

"What's got you so happy?" Nick asks, and I hear the humor laced in his voice. I couldn't help the stupid grin on my face, reading our three texts over and over again. He hands me the chicken noodle soup that he heated for me, his eyebrow perked in curiosity. "She texted me." "I knew she would," he grins, clapping his hand on my shoulder and giving me a little shake. "Looks like there's another text." I looked down at my phone, and sure enough there was another message from Liv.

Olivia: Please come home soon. I miss you.

|Chapter 16|

#fanfic #fan fiction #noah sebastian #bad omens #bad omens band #fanfic writing #romance #fantasy #quandary #noah sebastian x oc

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befuddled-calico-whump · 3 months

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Total $hit$how: Roses for the Knuckles

in which Hunter doesn't always listen

cw: referenced violence, adult language, implied abuse

previous /// masterlist /// next

×~×~×

“You'll each get one hour. Nowhere near enough time for anything real, but it should serve its purpose.”

Everyone was in the room with the mats, where they should've been running through their morning training. Obstacle courses or fighting or some shit, but instead of doing what they were supposed to, Sahota was following muscle girl's dumb idea.

Hunter knew what its 'purpose' was. Proving them all wrong, demonstrating that he was better than them for the hundredth time. Why was he even gonna bother? Why not just tell them no and be done with it? Why not just do what Vic wanted?

He didn't know what the big deal was anyway. Muscle girl had been in the army or some shit, so hadn't she already killed people? And fucking Manak didn't seem like he gave a shit about anyone else, so why did he care? Hunter didn't care. It wasn't like he knew Finley anyway, and he could just forget about the whole matter after she was dead and they had what they wanted.

If he would’ve told Vic about this last night during their training session, maybe he could’ve put a stop to this bullshit, but the ancient law of snitches get stitches kept his mouth shut. It wasn’t that big a deal anyway. Just a waste of time.

Hunter slouched as Sahota droned on and on about the rules, body and face rigid as he addressed the group. Like a fucking statue.

“I want each of you to come up with some arbitrary information that you want from me, and then I want you to try to extract it. You are permitted to do anything, so long as I can recover from it by tomorrow.”

Whatever that meant. It had been two days since he'd got his face beat in, and he already seemed just fine.

Muscle girl raised her hand. “What's the point?”

“I’ve been in the business for a while,” Sahota replied. “I know a good technique when I see one. If you manage to impress me, you win. I'll let you do it your way.” He thumbed at the scabbed-over cut running through his lip. “But don’t count on it.”

Some of the rest threw in their own questions, but Hunter tuned them out, pinching the skin of a knuckle between two fingernails until flowers started blooming there. No one would want to hear his side of the argument, his ‘we should listen to Vic, not Sahota’. If they didn't hate him already, he'd bet they definitely hated him after the video, after he was the only one who didn't want to go save their asshole trainer. But he'd been right, Vic had been right. Sahota got back just fine, not the slightest shift in his stupid slate-gray color unless you counted the bruises on his face.

He was right, but it seemed like no one wanted to look at him anymore. Not that they had in the first place, but it seemed more on-purpose now. Manak had been just as icy as ever when they'd worked together on the list, a task mostly completed in bitter silence. Hunter hadn't helped much, just kinda leaned back in his chair and looked for new patterns, distracting himself from the red ribbon of irritation that started coiling around the other man as soon as Sahota told them to work together.

And whatever, he didn't care. He didn't need Manak to like him, or Sahota, or muscle girl, or even… even the big guy. No, he didn't need them, not when he had Vic on his side, not when Vic wanted him to stay.

“Cavan, why don't you start us off?” Sahota said, and muscle girl straightened, her neutral blue brightening.

Cavan. Cavan, Cavan, Cavan, he’d try to remember it, but sometimes names were hard.

“I want the rest of you training. Spar for the first hour, then branch off into individual skills.” He gave Cavan a curt nod, and she followed him out, leaving a fading trail of blue behind. Hunter couldn’t tell if she was excited or nervous, and didn’t really care.

Beside him, the big guy let out a heavy sigh. “So… sparring?”

“Dibs on Jericho,” makeup guy said quickly, sidestepping towards the big guy and slipping an arm through the crook of his elbow.

Jericho, Jericho.

That left him with Manak. Whatever. Smug little richboy wasn’t that great with his fists, and Hunter wouldn’t mind breaking his stupid snobby nose. The big guy—Jericho—seemed to catch a whiff of Hunter’s plan though, a brighter flash that was probably alarm arcing through his purple.

“Actually, I think I’ll fight Harbor,” he said, shaking himself free of makeup guy, who put on a pouty expression. Hunter scowled up at him, squaring his shoulders.

“Yeah? What if I don’t wanna fight you?” he challenged, scanning the big guy’s—Jericho, it’s Jericho, fucking dumbass—silhouette for a shift in his color. The purple didn’t change.

“Do you not want to?” A little smile crossed his face. “You’re pretty good. I just want to see what you’ve got.”

Hunter scrunched his nose. He was good, but he knew what was really happening. Just the b–Jericho trying to save Manak’s ass. Whatever. Whatever, a fight was a fight. Training was training and he didn't need to be liked. He didn't need to be chosen for him, not by them.

“Fine.” He lifted his fists. Roses for the knuckles. “Fight me.”

~~~

The first hour went fast. Sparring always went fast, at least for Hunter. Maybe ‘cause it was something he was actually good at. Muscle girl (Cavan) came strolling back in near the end of the matches, and makeup guy (Benny?) took her place. From the dull in her blue, Hunter guessed she hadn't been successful. He coulda told her that.

Jericho spent the next hour looking over the folder with her and Manak, so Hunter spent his time wandering and practicing with patterns.

Find a pen, find a tool, find one of those screws that has an X on top, until makeup guy came back and Manak replaced him and his head was pounding.

He ignored the oncoming migraine.

I want you to come back after.

The next hour passed, the headache dug blunt teeth into his skull, and then it was Hunter's turn.

~~~

Sahota was sitting comfy when he entered, bound in place by ropes that wound around his wrists and the arms of the chair he was planted in. No sign of any blooming colors in his slate-gray, no hint of an expression on his bruise-mottled face.

Like an oil slick, he thought. Guess it's your turn to wear it.

The three who'd gone before him hadn't done shit by the looks of it. If anything, Sahota looked bored. Hunter could change that.

“So what,” he said, lingering in the doorway with his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. “Do I just start?”

“What information are you pretending to be after?” Sahota asked, hardly shifting in his seat. Hunter wished he'd slouch, or sneeze, or yawn, or do something a normal human would do.

“I dunno,” he said, eyes darting away from the stiff slate shape of him, looking for anything shinier. “Your birthday or whatever.”

“Creative bunch.”

Hunter scowled, pulling his hands from his pockets and pinching a fresh cut that cracked through the back of his hand like a line in a broken plate. A little shower of rose petals started pouring from it in reply. “Can I hit you?”

“Do it.” Sahota rolled his neck, shrugging his shoulders like he was prepping himself for the first blow. “Is that your plan for Finley?”

“I don't have a plan for Finley,” Hunter said. “I didn’t ask to do this. You can just kill her for all I care.” That's what Vic had said to do. Why was Sahota of all people trying something different? He was in the spy shit too, shouldn’t he know better? Didn't he want to follow Vic?

The trainer’s gray sat plain and stony as Hunter talked, not the slightest flash of surprise, or approval, or even just being pissed off that he didn’t want to play along popping up.

“Are you going to participate?” he asked in a flat voice. “Or should I have you send for Davis?”

He'd like that, wouldn't he? Hunter leaving, giving up, going away. What would he think, if he knew that Vic wanted him here, if he knew that maybe, maybe Vic liked him better?

“I’ll play the stupid game,” Hunter said, rubbing his knuckles. “Just wanted you to know that it’s stupid.” A pattern had begun to swirl around them, starting out small and starry and distorting into silvery splatters. They might’ve been a warning, but Hunter didn’t know for what. That Sahota would get pissed and try to beat him up? That he’d try and kick him off the team? Fat chance, not when Vic was here to say otherwise.

“What’s your birthday?” he muttered. Sahota replied with a silent stare, his stupid gray color unchanging, his stupid expression stony and blank. Fuckin' statue.

Hunter hit him. Not hard, or anything. A little backhanded stroke across the face that didn't draw the slightest ripple through Sahota's gray. The back of his hand stung with the blow. Roses.

Sahota planted the even stare on him again, like he was challenging him, saying, ‘is that all you got?’

Hunter’s upper lip pulled back into a snarl. “When’s your birthday?” he said again, practically spitting the words out. The splattering silver whirled around him like a tornado. He tried not to look at it. He didn’t need his headache getting any worse.

Sahota still didn’t answer, so Hunter popped him across the other cheek.

“Do you really think this will get you anywhere?”

“You think I’d fucking know that?” Hunter snapped. “I’m not a psycho like you. I never tortured anyone.”

That seemed to have an effect, the gray getting a few shades darker in the middle of Sahota’s chest. Hunter’s mouth tipped up in a grin.

“S’wrong?” he said, circling the chair in an unhurried stride. “Don't like being called out on it?”

But just as fast, the gray was gone, and Sahota was quiet again. Of fucking course.

“When's your birthday?” Hunter said, this time leaning over the trainer's shoulder to hiss it into his ear.

“You’re sloppy,” Sahota replied, not seeming to care when Hunter popped him in the jaw. Barely even a grimace.

Sloppy. Just like he'd said when they fought the first time. Well who was the one getting hit? Sahota was sloppy, for letting the rest of the team have their way when an easier solution was right in front of them.

“When's your birthday?”

“Is that all you have to say? Does your entire plan revolve around asking the same question on repeat?”

“I told you, I don't have a fucking plan,” Hunter snapped, hitting him a little harder than he'd meant to. Closed fist tangling with the bruises on his cheek, reopening the cut that cracked his knuckles, rose petals.

That got a little gasp from Sahota. A blinking wince that made Hunter hesitate, his fist dropping to swing at his side.

I'm sorry. He wasn't. Sahota asked to do this, Sahota said he could hit him. He could take punches, they could both take punches, it was no big deal.

“I want to listen to Vic,” he said in a small voice. “I want to just… just kill her. If that's the easy way.”

Sahota's eyes narrowed. “You've never killed anyone.”

“Don't pretend you know me,” Hunter said, his voice rising again. “You don't know shit.”

He had, probably. He'd never actually watched them die, but he'd been in enough gunfights and brawls and shit that he'd probably killed someone. “I don't care, anyway,” he said, taking a half step backwards. The silver-spatter pattern swirled faster now, dizzy and bright. “Vic knows best, so if he says that's what we should do…”

“Vic doesn't always know best,” Sahota said. “Not for you.”

There it was. Hunter scowled, scanning the trainer's shape, seeing no sign of the jealous black cracks that had come crawling out of his throat before. Not like that meant shit. Maybe they weren't jealousy. He didn't know fuckall about what they could be because he didn't know fuckall about Sahota.

“What do you know about what's best?” he grumbled. Maybe he should've gone to Vic about this bright idea after all. Maybe this had all been a ploy to trick Hunter into going against Vic’s idea, to highlight him as a problem, to make him another outsider.

“I know this isn't the life you want," Sahota replied. "Finish this job and get out, or you'll end up wishing you had.”

Had Vic told him about the plan? About letting him stay? Was he just spouting this bullshit because he couldn't stand the thought of Hunter sticking around?

“You don't know what I want,” Hunter spat. “There’s nothing else for me. There's nothing else to want.”

Sahota grimaced. His gray was starting to darken at the center again, spreading like black clouds. “Harbor—”

“You want me to get out?” Hunter cut him off. “Fucking fine, I'll get out. Already said this was stupid.”

The green, the burning of chlorine in his nose hit him before he could turn around. Vic.

“Done already?” the handler asked in a voice that was danger-quiet. Like if Hunter answered wrong there'd be trouble. He'd heard it before. With teachers at school, with his dad at home, with Rex and the syndicate.

He froze. Sometimes the best answer was silence.

“I heard you're running them through an impromptu training exercise, Sahota,” Vic said, and Hunter realized the tone wasn't for him. He felt the tension seep away from his shoulders; vines unwinding and hanging there like deadweight limbs.

“Quite an interesting lesson plan today.”

“It's a demonstration, sir.” Sahota’s eyes dropped. “Proof that interrogation doesn't work the way they think.”

“Oh? Do you not think my word is proof enough for them?”

“I didn't mean that.”

Vic clicked his tongue. “I was under the impression that today's training was meant to be a little more standardized. Was that a lie?”

“No, I… it seemed like something too small to bother you with. Once they failed, we'd move on. Nothing would change.”

“So you'd rather keep it from me.”

“No, sir.”

Vic let out a little hm, letting silence sit prickly in the room for what was probably a full minute before he spoke again. “I do apologize for interrupting.”

Sahota didn't lift his gaze. Or even say anything.

“It's fine,” Hunter put in. “This is a waste of time anyway. Right? We should just—”

“No no, it's not my place to swoop in and change the curriculum for the day,” Vic said, letting out a small sigh. “I'm sure it's exactly as beneficial as you say, Sahota.”

Hunter didn't know why the change in his tone wasn't letting him relax, why the splatters in the air were turning razored at the edges, why some anxious color was starting to squeeze him again.

“In fact, why don't I watch the rest of the lesson? It's interrogation, right? You're letting them ask you questions?”

“Yes, sir,” Sahota said in a flat voice.

“Wonderful. Hunter?”

“Yeah?”

“Carry on.”

Hunter shook his hands loose, nervous energy bundling up in his fingers, tiny vines tangling between them like thread. Sticky and annoying. Vic wanted to watch? But what if he fucked it up? What if he wasn't good enough?

“When's your birthday?” he asked, his tone emptier than it had been before. Sahota didn't answer, just like before. Hunter hit him, not like before. This time he was careful to aim for even, unbruised color, to pull back on the blow.

He turned back to face Vic, feet shuffling him away from the man in the chair. “That's what I've been doing, Vi—sir. Pretty much just that.” Nothing to see here, no reason to watch, to find faults.

Vic chuckled. “And this is your idea of an interrogation?”

Hunter shrugged, letting out a quiet, “guess so.” Vic couldn't blame him for being bad at it, right? He'd never done this before, so it wasn't his fault, right? All he had to go off of was movies and the bloodied remains of Rex’s discarded rivals, and at the time he was too busy hoping it would never be him dead on the cement to memorize the fucking injuries.

“Here.” His handler stood, laying a hand on his shoulder, gently guiding him so he was standing in front of Sahota again.

Silent, stony, Sahota.

“Let me help you out.” Vic pressed something into his hand. Cold metal, warmed by fingerprints. He didn't want to glance down, but it was from Vic, so he made himself look, eyes confirming the shape that he held. Brass knuckles.

A thought sped through his mind as he looked at them, wondering whether Vic just always had the weapon with him, or if he'd packed it for the occasion, if he knew this would be the outcome before he'd even stepped into the room.

“Try them on.”

Metal slipped past his fingertips to circle his knuckles, the shiny brown quickly choked out by dull green vines. Vic patted him on the shoulder.

“Looks good on you.”

Something pleasant zipped through Hunter at the words, but it felt wrong, out of place

“Go on, Hunter. Hit him again. And this time, don't hold back.” Vic squeezed his shoulder. “Let's show you what a real interrogation can look like.”

Hunter clenched his fist around the metal that enclosed them, letting it pinch the skin on the inside of his fingers. Hit him again, hit him with a weapon, hurt him, why did Vic want him to hurt him? Weren't he and Sahota partners?

“Vic…”

“What are you waiting for?” The handler leaned in, hands on his shoulders, lips on his ear. “Show me you can handle this much. Show me you belong here.”

Hunter tried to steady himself with an inhale, but the chlorine smell was choking him and the room was all dizzy from the spinning silver. He kept upright, locking his gaze on the man in the chair who sat stiff-backed. Unflinching.

He didn't want to hit him, he didn't want to hit him again, he hadn't even wanted to watch him get hit on the video two days ago but it was what Vic wanted.

The black cracks were back, branching out from the pit of Sahota's throat as they met eyes, and Hunter knew then that it wasn't hatred. It wasn't annoyance, or even jealousy.

It was fear.

~~~

@theonewithallthefixations , @violets-whumperflies , @whump-me , @pirefyrelight , @soheavyaburden , @snakebites-and-ink , @whumpsday , @kixngiggles , @echo-goes-aaa

#love when hunter makes casual references to his questionable and Really Pretty Sad past its one of my favorite parts of writing him #anyways this was one of the first scene ideas i had!!#it was originally supposed to be a kinda humorous comic but then i got to hunter's turn and went 😶#total$hit$how #interrogation #angst #stoic whumpee #implied abuse #beating

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tempobrucera · 1 year

Text

Token of Love

Pairing: Thomas x Reader x Vic x Ethan Wordcount: 12.5k Description: For some reason you think it’s a good idea to gift a box of love tokens to your partners. Maybe it ensues more chaos (and sex) than you would have thought. Warning(s): Fluff, some (playful and not so) fighting, smut (foursome, no panties, public, orgasm denial, D/s dynamics, safeword use)

Add yourself to my taglist. / Masterlist .#####. Thomas hugs you close from behind, his arms securely around you. It’s early, the sun has barely risen and you can feel tiredness still washing over you.

“How come you’re already awake?” You ask and strain yourself to put a kiss on his lips. “Before everyone else? Are you okay or did you have a nightmare again?”

“I’m okay,” he is pressing kisses to your shoulder, “No nightmare this time. I wanted to get up so I could make breakfast.”

“You? Offering to make breakfast? In the morning? Are you sure you are okay? Or is … Oh.”

Oh. It’s Valentine's. Which explains why Thomas is up too early for his own good.

“I thought the other two wouldn’t complain about food … but it could still be … romantic.”

The other two, Vic and Ethan, are laying next to you in Thomas’ bed. Which was one of his only requirements when he looked for a place for himself, a bedroom to put a bed big enough for all of you in there and a roof terrace. Ethan is hugging his pillow and Vic is snoring at his side.

“You’re cute, Thom.”

“Well, knowing all of you, I’m the only one who thought about it,” he says but he still has a smile on his face.

“Maybe.”

You’re smiling as well and yawn before you fall asleep again. Only rummaging around you, is waking you up again. Victoria bickering, Ethan laughing. The clattering of plates against each other, liquid filled into glasses. Thomas’ lips on your forehead.

“Breakfast is ready!”

The bed turned into a minefield to get up, it’s hard not to put your hand somewhere or into something, Ethan has the courtesy to help you while Vic laughs at Thomas’ shoulder and Thomas beams at you. For Thomas’ standards the food looks good, there’s some fruit, some scrambled eggs that only look a little bit off, some absolutely burnt sad looking toast, some pancakes that are only burnt at the edges, some sausages, some cheese and there’s a little heart shaped box of chocolates on everyone’s plate, next to a flower.

“Thank you, caro.” You give him a kiss on the cheek. Vic just rolls her eyes, it’s just another day and Thomas is trying to make everything as special as possible all the time but all of you three know that this day is still important to him.

Vic and you both know better, but you still try the toast and the scrambled eggs while Ethan sticks to the least burnt pancake and carefully bites into a sausage. The toast isn’t palatable, and it’s hard to swallow, while the eggs are mushy, salty and something else. It’s a taste experience you wish you wouldn’t have had, you’re sure Vic’s face mirrors yours. Thomas is still smiling, so is Ethan who seems to have made the better decision.

“Please tell me, you also have something to drink for us?” Vic looks at him, grimacing.

“Oh, I forgot, yes. What do you want? Tea, milk, hot chocolate, juice, tomato smoothie, water, champagne?”

Vic and you both flinch at the mention of a tomato smoothie: “Something which makes me forget that I just ate this out of love for you. So maybe give me the champagne, the bottle should do.”

“That was horrible,” Vic says after Thomas skipped out of the room to get drinks. “Please tell me this is edible.”

“It’s not too bad, a bit burnt, a bit sugary, there’s some kind of vanilla in there?” Ethan looks at his plate. “And some … orange juice, I believe? You can eat it though, maybe it would be actually nice without the burnt bits and much less sugar. And the sausages taste like sausages.”

“You already had me at it’s not too bad,” you say, “This was not good for my stomach.”

Thomas is coming back with the bottle of champagne, something that looks suspiciously like the tomato smoothie and something you hope will be juice, normal juice. Vic and you both put the rest of your food on Thomas’ plate, shaking your heads. He pouts but when he looks at the plate he carefully scraps the scrambled eggs to the side.

“I actually have something as well.” You get yourself out of bed and shudder, it was warm and cozy next to the others in bed and you’re just in your panties and one of Thomas’ shirts. You get the box from your bag and put it down between them.

Thomas, looks at the box first. It’s in the shape of a heart, you handpainted it with some flowers and little things that remind you of each of them. Then he looks at you wide eyed, excited. Ethan and Victoria are sighing, annoyed. You even catch Victoria how she rolls her eyes at Ethan, who tries not to laugh but he fails when Thomas is squealing.

“God, this will break him.”

“Thank you!” “You don’t even know what it is yet.” Victoria reminds him.

“And? At least I’m saying thank you,” Thomas says, “Are you gonna say thank you for the breakfast I served you in bed?”

“You want me to say thank you for burnt toa-” You whack Vic over the head and he beams at you. “Thank you, Thomas.”

“Can I open it?”

Thomas opens the box carefully, almost as if he doesn’t want to break it or afraid he will have paint stick to himself again. Like the last time when you painted and he touched it before it was dry.

“Oh no, that’s a never ending box of bullsh-” Vic says when she sees the little envelopes in the box. This time it’s Thomas who whacks her over the head.

“Hey, you can’t read them yet, that’s not how it works.” You lightly slap Thomas’ hand when he greedily wants to open one of the envelopes. “I thought one of you could pick one out of the box every few days?”

“God bless tour life,” Victoria mumbles.

“Maybe we could take some and take them on tour with us?” Thomas looks at you, pleading eyes. “Use them when we want to? And the rest we can pick when we are here?”

“Okay,” you sigh - you can’t say no to the pouting, “I’ll give each of you three for tour, but I’ll give them to you.”

“That sounds great and then we c-”

Victoria interrupts him mid-sentence, slapping his ass. A small yelp comes from Thomas’ lips but nothing else.

“You can talk somewhere else now, caro, like here.” Ethan and you laugh, but Thomas obediently crawls between Vic’s spread legs, his head disappearing under her nightgown. “That’s better.”

Ethan sits behind you, wrapping his arms around you, kissing your shoulders, your neck. There’s no urge for him to do anything else, just leaving soft kisses all over your skin. Meanwhile you can hear Victoria moan, the wet noises Thomas’ tongue makes. Little whimpers coming from him and Vic getting louder. You know Vic is giving him exactly what he needs, she always does. While you often give him everything he wants - and more. You couldn’t just interrupt him in the middle of a sentence, you love him talking, hanging on every word coming from his lips. But he needs it. And Ethan somehow always finds a balance. There’s one more loud moan from Vic and then she lets him go. He looks a bit like a deer in headlights when he’s rolling himself together in your lap not even a minute later, you can see that he’s hard. Ethan is still kissing your neck when you card your fingers through Thomas’ hair.

“Sleepy.”

“I know, babe, I know.” You press a kiss to Thomas’ forehead, he blinks at you when you put him into Ethan’s arms. “Vic and I are gonna clean up and do the dishes, you can sleep.”

“Your boyfriend has the most talented tongue, almost makes up for that box of horror.” Vic says when you’re both in the kitchen, she is sitting on the counter while you're discarding the scrambled eggs into the bin. “I’m glad that you’re sharing him, and I know Ethan is really grateful for that as well.”

“It’s not like I’m not getting anything out of this,” you smile at her and kiss her. It’s tame but not unpleasant. “And I love seeing Thom with both of you. It’s what he wants, it makes him happy and I am glad that he’s sharing this with me.”

“Do I have to participate in this?” Vic changes the topic.

“There’s not only romantic stuff in there, also some other things.”

“Please say dirty stuff,” Vic is crossing her fingers, “please say dirty stuff.”

“If you make the fill out the blank cards dirty then maybe.”

“Oh god, he will be even more insufferable.”

“These tokens are Thomas' proof. I’m planning on taking them out before it’s his turn.”

Victoria grins at you: “So even you have your limits?”

Your answer is just a sigh when Thomas comes barging in, looks at you without saying a word, grabs a bottle of water and then vanishes again without looking back. It’s bizarre, he’s behaving weirdly. Victoria doesn’t notice, or she decides not to mention it when you clean up. Back in the bedroom Ethan and Thomas are cuddled up together. Ethan spooning him from behind, his arms around his waist. If you wouldn’t know him as well as you do, you wouldn’t notice but you can hear the soft purr, the tiny little whimpers, coming from Thomas. With one hand he’s twisting one of Thomas’ nipples, the other one sprawling out over his stomach, just over where he’s still bulging his briefs. You know it’s not what he wants, but Ethan knows it’s what he needs. Thomas’ little noises speak for themselves.

.#####.

“Can we open one before tour starts?” Thomas asks one evening, and you can’t do anything about it, he smiles at you sweetly, and you can just give in. Before he can take the box from you, Vic already took it out of your hand.

“Ladies first,” she says and grins at a confused Thomas. Takes an envelope, looks at it and then at you, “This isn’t too bad. Create your own Cocktails.”

“Sounds like fun,” Ethan says. You can see Thomas taking the little envelope of Vic and pocketing it. “We could make it a challenge and only use things we already have here.”

In the evening you’re all in the kitchen, looking at different bottles of alcohol, other bottles, fruit, some random boba pearls in too many flavours Thomas has stacked away in his cabinets, juices and mixers, edible glitter you used for baking a while ago, some random stuff Thomas puts out with a shrug. It’s fun, seeing what everyone else is doing, trying random stuff for yourself, Ethan and you both drawn to the boba pearls, and everyone laughing at Thomas and the monstrous thing he creates.

By the end of the evening, you have four cocktails. Some are more enjoyable than others but no one is saying it. There’s Ethan’s coffee cocktail - you laughed earlier when he was brewing coffee, cooling it down, trying to find the perfect mix of coffee and Kahlua and finishing it off with some tapioca boba and milk. You saw him sniffing the milk that came out of Thomas’ fridge longer than is normal, Thomas looking at him offended in return. It tastes nice, but Vic announces it is nothing special. There’s your own cocktail, it shimmers and it’s way too sweet, especially for Thomas who’s wrinkling his nose. It’s prosecco, jasmine tea, rose syrup, too much glitter - your hand slipped for a second, lychee bubbles and strawberry boba that’s shaped into little hearts. Ethan seems to enjoy it more than the other two but Thomas’ finger poking you is getting you out of your thoughts. He delicately has one of the strawberry hearts between his teeth and you’re happily kissing the sweetness off his lips, taking the heart off him with your tongue.

Then there’s Thomas’ cocktail that looks intimidating to everyone, even to Thomas himself. No one wants to take the first sip until you show mercy. You don’t know how Thomas always does it but the texture has you shuddering. If you would take another sip, you are sure you would go off the walls or won’t sleep. It’s the mix of the coffee he stole of Ethan, the vanilla coke and the chocolate liqueur. There’s something alcoholic you can’t place and a slight hint of banana as an aftertaste, you shudder again. And there’s the misplaced popcorn, that should have gone on Ethan’s cocktail you think, on top of the drink. When you try to pass it on to Ethan, he shakes his head but Vic is brave enough once again.

“This is disgusting.”

“I have done worse,” Thomas smiles at her. Nipping at his straw and slurping his cocktail, all three of you watching on in disbelief.

And then there’s Vic’s. Which just is tequila, some ice, Corona and topped off with a lime.

“I won,” Victoria says. Ethan scoffs at her. “Simple, but at least you can drink it.”

“I didn’t know this was a competition,” Thomas says.

“It’s not like you would have won against me, if I would have told you about it beforehand.”

.#####.

Tour starts again, somehow comes earlier than it felt like a few days ago, and you’re back home alone, once again. They all received their tokens from you before leaving, Thomas kissing you goodbye and Vic mumbling something that sounded like And here I was hoping you forgot about it. First you just wanted to give them at random but too many tokens you would like to be part of crossed your way, which is why you selected tokens for each of them.

It doesn’t take long, a few days, and Ethan is posting a photo of a token in your group chat - One uninterrupted afternoon nap, whatever happens.

I am cashing this in, I’m tired!!!! Don’t annoy me.

Later Ethan is sending you a photo from bed. He has a cup of tea and the book he packed to read on tour.

Thanks for giving me a break from the chaos these two are causing!

A few hours later, Vic is sending you a photo. It shows Ethan snoozing, sleep mask over his eyes, but there’s also Thomas next to him, rolled up as small as possible in Ethan’s arms. Slumbering blissfully as well.

.#####.

“Thomas,” Ethan sighs, “you really have to clean this. I can’t clean up after you in every hotel we step foot in.”

He looks up from his phone, isn’t saying anything but then wanders over to his suitcase and puts a tiny envelope into Ethan’s hands.

“Any household chore done for you,” Ethan reads and he sighs. Thomas picking the little envelope out of his hand again. “You want me to clean here and pack your suitcase, don’t you?”

He still isn’t speaking, smoking at the window, but nodding his head. It doesn’t take Ethan too long, Thomas is chaotic and it looks shit but most of it just needs folding and some things have to make acquaintance with the bin but nothing worse than that.

“Are you okay?”

Thomas just mumbles a Thank you against Ethan’s shoulder when he hugs him and Ethan leaves it at that.

.#####.

Vic puts a token into the chat on a concert free day.

One day of no complaints or reminders.

Ethan and Thomas both text you, upset and displeased. It’s quite comical to witness and a reason why you handed it to them. Funnier when you aren’t involved in this one.

Boys, it’s just for a day! You can make it!

By the end of the day, you yourself aren’t sure if you will make it through the whole day. Instead of complaining to Vic, the boys complain to you. A lot, and you understand. Vic is using her power with them not being allowed to talk back or complain about her demands. Ethan loses it when she asks him for a foot massage, he isn’t doing it, Thomas doesn’t mind and takes over. But he loses it a few hours later when she demands to deal with some stuff for her, and to listen to her for the evening when they’re going out.

“Can you believe that?” Thomas snorts over the phone. “She called me a kitty and told me to behave in that sweet voice, all while she was scratching me behind my ears.”

You have to cackle, you’re sure he purred, but Thomas groans - he doesn’t sound happy.

“What was the problem, Thom?”

“She did it in front of Damiano and Ethan…. In a car with someone driving who I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry,” you sigh, “That wasn’t okay of her. The day is over soon, Tho and tomorrow you can tell her to piss off.”

“I don’t want to go out now,” he admits. Something else is behind this statement, at least you have the feeling but he isn’t saying more.

After you hang up, you call Vic.

“I know, no complaining,” you start and once again you sigh, “but … You’re taking it a bit far, don’t you?”

“But it’s so fun to see them suffer,” she laughs.

“Fair enough. But could you … could you not do that with Thomas again without asking him first. Or not in front of people, that’s his limit and I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t cross that.”

“Yes, okay, sure.” Victoria’s voice is small. “He looked fine, he could have told me.”

“Vic, we both know when he isn’t allowed to do something, he won’t if he can avoid it and …,” you smile, “You know his brain stops working when you’re scratching behind his ears.”

“I don’t want to make him uncomfortable with it,” Vic admits. “I know he likes it when it’s only us, I won’t do it again in front of people. I … I somehow never think about Thomas’ limits, I need to change that, I know but he also never talks about it, I know that isn’t making it better, I should know better. You don’t have to tell me, I know that’s bad, actually it’s horrible, thanks for calling me out on it.”

Vic apologised to me

It’s what Thomas texts you a while later and you finally feel like you can go to bed without everyone ending up in a fight.

.#####.

The next morning there’s another picture in the chat, it came from Ethan. It’s the blank token you gave him.

I would like Thomas to tell me why he’s upset lately

You would like to know as well, you feel relieved that you aren’t the only one thinking something is off with him.

Nothings wrong

It’s only two words but it’s two words and you know he’s lying. He only picks the phone up after you try to call a third time, he rejects the video.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Can you turn on your camera? I just want to talk, we can talk about something else if you want to.”

He looks dishevelled and tired. A bit too tired, even for Thomas’ standards.

“Did you sleep well?”

He shakes his head: “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Did you sleep the night before?” You’re worried about him.

Again he shakes his head, he doesn’t look at you.

“Thom?”

“I can’t sleep,” he bites his lips, “I don’t want to sleep alone, it sucks.”

“Honey.” You know Ethan and Vic would be there but you also know they wouldn’t just climb into Thomas’ bed. It’s the first tour after you figured things out between the four of you, after Thomas admitted that him staring at Ethan and having thoughts beyond friendship and the one time he dreamt of Vic holding him down might deserve an honest conversation. They are part of it when you want but he’s yours, they respect that. It must be tough for Thomas, he struggles. And it must be even harder having them with him and still staring at the ceiling not having anyone next to him. “You can tell them, you don’t have to sleep alone.”

During the evening Ethan asks you, if you’re okay with them sleeping in Thomas’ bed, without you. You are, there’s nothing you could have against it when it makes him feel better. There’s just one rule you set, no sex with Thomas in any way, you don’t care what Vic and Ethan do with each other. Ethan asks if he can cuddle. You imagine that he laughs when he reads your I am not a fucking monster. Just no sex, not with Thomas on top or as a bottom, especially not the second. It makes you squeezy, you are open to renegotiate at a later time but now you don’t feel comfortable. But cuddling, he can have all the cuddles he wants to have.

Victoria and Ethan both end up in Thomas’ bed. They are watching a film, while you’re out for wine with a friend. Ethan sends you a pic of Thomas sleeping in Vic’s arms after midnight and your heart is a little bit lighter again.

.#####.

The Italian leg of the tour comes around faster than you thought. Thomas catches you when you jump into his arms. You took the time to go to two concerts, there’s nothing better than to see them live. To see Thomas doing what he loves, what brings him joy and how it puts that huge grin on his face. There’s nothing better.

“It’s time to redeem this token,” Vic says after the show in Milan, “Night at your favourite nightclub, maybe this box isn’t a box of horrors after all.”

You’re all getting ready in Vic’s hotel room, Vic having fun doing Thomas’ and your make up, she puts glitter eyeshadow on Thomas’ eyelids and you might love her a little bit more for it. Ethan already opened a bottle of prosecco while Victoria tells you which club she wants to go to, she puts some pink-coral-toned red lipstick on Thomas’ lips.

“Are you for real?” He furrows his brows at her. “That’s the best club you can choose?”

“My token,” she grins at him, “my choice.”

Ethan and you roll your eyes while they bicker like a couple that has been together for the past twenty years, married, divorced and remarried again. They are still having a go when you reach the club almost an hour later. You take Ethan on the dancefloor with you.

“A day without them having a quarrel with each other,” Ethan laughs - putting his hands on your waist, “And they would die.”

Thomas turns up behind you, kissing your neck: “That’s not the best club,” he grumbles into your ear.

“You can still have fun and now you’re dancing with me, doesn’t matter where that is,” Vic is squeezing herself between Ethan and you, “Usually you don’t care, you can always have fun.”

Ethan sighs and gets something out of his jeans pocket, you can see it’s a token and you have to laugh. You know what he’s going about to do.

“You leave me no other choice,” he clears his throat and reads: “You win the argument. Wanted to keep this to for one of your fights but it’s enough, I win the argument, clubs are shit, no matter what. And now behave and have fun.”

You dance the night away, you watch Vic dancing with Thomas, Thomas climbing on a table, Ethan kissing him. He dances with you, the glitter looks adorable on him when he leans down to kiss you. And you only stumble out of the club when they kick you out hours later.

“That wasn’t too bad, was it?” Vic asks.

Thomas kisses her while holding Ethan’s and your hand.

.#####.

Thomas sends you a voice message when you’re back home again.

“We noticed something. Did you take any of the tokens?” You press pause, you’re surprised. You made the tokens, they aren’t for you. “We know you made them, but you should take some as well, just some. It should be fun for you as well and we’re insufferable, I know, but it’s fun, even with all the complaining, really. I don’t think any of us said that yet. And I just want you to have some for yourself. I am gonna give my token to you, you can use it whenever you want. You get some flowers. You can’t say no by the way, it’s yours now.”

He’s the sweetest, you think. And you love flowers, he knows, which makes it even sweeter.

I would love some flowers, Maso!

The next morning there’s a little ivy plant in front of your door. A bouquet of white and rosa flowers with some green eucalyptus twigs strown in. And a lovely bouquet of dried wildflowers. It has a note on them: Love you! I know you like to keep them but the other one was catching my eye as well. Thom

.#####.

You can’t wait for Thomas to come home, for them to come home. It's been two months since Milan and now you are the one who can’t sleep alone. When they are all together in bed with you again, Thomas hugging you close, it’s better again. You missed them.

“I still have this token from tour,” Vic says in the morning - you almost forgot about it, “One day without the others most annoying habit. Finally I can have a day with all of you but Thomas is shutting up.”

Thomas and you are both looking at her, you furrow your brows - Ethan looks at you with a little bit of concern.

“But …”

Vic shakes her head: “No talking, Thomas.”

During the morning it works, you’re in bed, he cuddles up to you, bumps his nose against your skin. He gets his head scratched and scratches behind the ears before he starts purring happily on your stomach and then on Ethan’s chest. He avoids Vic, he looks at her carefully from time to time but if any of you looks at him then, he turns his head back.

“Hey,” you try to get his attention when Vic is leaving to have a shower, “This isn’t a punishment, okay?”

He only shrugs, pretending not to care but you know he does. He watches something on his phone, while Ethan reads a book next to you - glasses low on his nose, and you write in your notebook. The next time you look, Thomas fell asleep.

When you’re all sitting for dinner in a restaurant, Vic is the only one talking. Ethan is too busy studying the menu to care. You’re too distracted looking at every little gesture and facial expressions Thomas shows and when she asks you something directly, you just shrug. Vic snorts, but you can see the tiny smile appearing on Thomas’ face.

“Anyone?” Vic looks at all of you.

Thomas raises his hand and Vic looks at him expectantly but he isn’t saying anything.

“God, please talk. Please!”

He takes his phone from the table and types:

I’m sure you can beg better and a bit longer

Ethan and you have to laugh, so loud that some people look at you.

“Thomas, please. Everything, just talk, god that was a shit idea.”

Everything?

“Everything. Just talk, please.”

“Okay,” he grins, “My turn to talk and you can shut up and I might have another idea.”

He winks. And Ethan and you laugh again.

Later Victoria follows you when you go to the bathroom: “I fucked up again, didn’t I?”

“Not talking out of context is like a punishment for him.” You look at her through the mirror. “He needs context, Vic. And we need to talk, all of us actually, we need some ground rules and limits. I don’t want him to think, he can’t share a bed with you on tour again or Ethan thinking he can’t touch him when I’m not around, and I made this box to have fun.”

“Okay. Ground rules and limits.”

.#####.

Thomas is the next one who draws a token out of the box.

Movie marathon - Your choice of films

“I’m getting the snacks and drinks,” Thomas says and looks at you, “But you can choose the movies.”

In the end, you can’t decide. You’re overthinking it, Thomas tells you to chill, no one will judge you for your choice of films. That’s why you go for your favourite childhood movie, Thomas’ favourite film and after snooping around the favourite films of Ethan and Victoria. By the end of the evening, you’re picking popcorn that Vic threw at him out of Thomas’ hair.

.#####.

“Thomas,” you aren’t annoyed but you’re running around like a headless chicken cleaning around him, “Could you at least vacuum?”

“Hmmm.” He gives you something and you groan, you almost forgot that you gave that to him. “Next time.”

Any household chore done for you.

“It’s our turn to clean up,” Ethan says a few days later after dinner. Vic helped you cook pasta earlier, and the boys will clear the table before you move to the couch for a lazy evening in. “Thomas?”

You furrow your brows when he gives a token to him, Ethan also raises his eyebrows. But Victoria is the one speaking up: “You used that on me three times already.”

“On me as well,” Ethan says.

“And you only gave that to me not even a week ago.”

He looks at you sheepishly and pouts.

“Oh, you’re in trouble,” Ethan comments.

Thomas still smiles, there’s a blush creeping up his throat for being called out but then he turns over another token to you.

Get out of trouble, no questions asked.

.#####.

“What is the token?” Vic asks him. “You went a bit pale.”

Ethan takes it out of Thomas’ hand: “One wild fantasy fulfilled.”

“Thomas' wild fantasy is probably having dinner under the eiffel tower or some shit,” Vic jokes.

You can see how he swallows heavily. And you know it’s nothing like what Vic imagines at this moment.

“No … no panties for you,” he steps closer to you and you just nod, “when we go out.”

“Uhhhh, interesting.” Vic’s eyes light up.

The day comes sooner than you think it would arrive. One morning you’re already dressed when Thomas comes out of the shower, only a towel around his hips, and looks you over. That he puts one of his hands down your tights isn’t too surprising, that he rubs you through your panties until you can feel yourself getting wet isn’t either. But then he’s getting you out of your tights.

“Thom, we don’t have time to fuck.” You’re supposed to meet Vic and Ethan for a shopping trip and a day out, and you’re already running late, thanks to Thomas’ talent for oversleeping.

“Oh, don’t worry, we aren’t fucking.” He frees you from your panties as well. “Open your mouth for me.”

When you woke up a few hours ago you wouldn’t have thought that today is the day where Thomas would use your own panties as a gag on you while he feels you up and then starts fingering you without warning. You grab onto his hair to have some kind of stability but your legs are violently shaking. Just before you cum, he stops, it’s almost a ruined orgasm and you mewl around the panties in your mouth. Sometimes you forget that he can be much more cruel than Ethan and much cruller than Vic expects him to be.

“Don’t think you will need them today.” He takes the panties out of your mouth and kisses you sweetly. You put your tights back on while Thomas rummages through the wardrobe naked and then gets dressed, you try not to stare too obviously. “You ready?”

You aren’t ready at all.

Thomas and Ethan are in the seats in front of the car, while Vic is in the back with you. She’s almost sitting on top of you, letting her fingers wander. Over your knees, up your thighs, Thomas is smiling at you wolfishly through the rearview mirror. And then Vic’s hand is in your tights before you can stop her, there’s no obstacle of more fabric in her way and you whimper.

Vic smiles: “You already got her wet.”

“No touching,” Thomas scolds her, “That goes for both of you and for you.”

Whereas you nod obediently, Vic and Ethan try to question his authority but Vic pulls her hand back and lets the elastic of your tights snap back onto your skin, you yelp.

Shopping always is a blast with them, you almost forget that you aren’t dressed appropriately and about the wetness between your legs. Sometimes, when Thomas puts his hand a bit too low on your hips, you have to swallow. But then Vic puts a silly hat on Thomas’ head and you have to laugh instead.

Somehow Thomas shoves you into a fitting room, all three of you. It’s cramped but before anyone even has the chance to complain about it, Thomas already pushes you against Ethan and both of you against the wall and then he’s on his knees. He deliberately pushes down your tights and he looks at you with big eyes before his head ends up under your skirt. You can’t stop the moan that follows when he starts to lick and Ethan heavily breathing into your ear. Your consciousness tells you that you’re way too loud for such a tiny space but you can’t bring yourself to stop. On the contrary, it feels like you are losing your mind when Thomas licks through your folds and presses his wet lips to your clit now and then. You’re only getting louder - until Ethan puts his hand over your mouth and you can just pant.

There’s someone clearing their throat in front of the fitting room: “Everything okay in here?”

“Yes,” Vic answers happily and to your shock even pulls back the curtain a little bit to pop her head out. Your only comfort is that the curtains are floor-length, so the store assistant can’t see Thomas on his knees, you still blush furiously and gasp into Ethan’s hand when Thomas sloppily presses his tongue deeper. “My friend has a busted arm, I’m just helping her with some tops. I hope that is okay?”

“Sure, please let me know if you need any help.”

As soon as you hear how the footsteps are getting more distant, you cum all over Thomas’ face. You can hear him laugh under your skirt. When he emerges again, he cleans his face, Ethan cleans his hand but when you take the tissues from Ethan, Thomas takes them away from you again. Maybe Thomas looks more fucked then you when you leave the store, he’s dishevelled, lips swollen, and a clear outline in his tight jeans which he partially tries to hide under his coat and partially doesn’t give a fuck about. You’re only ruining your tights and your mind is racing, maybe you don’t look any better.

You’re grateful that the restaurant you go to later isn’t anything fancy. The waiter doesn’t look at any of you twice, just wants your orders, a photo with Vic while ignoring Ethan and Thomas and then he pisses off again. Waiting for food is a test of patience for you, you’re hungry, and Thomas dipping his fingers under your skirt from time to time almost has you jump. You excuse yourself to go to the bathroom but when you look at yourself in the mirror Vic is standing behind you, she’s dragging you into one of the cubicles wordlessly.

The kiss you’re sharing has you gasp for air. Vic easily guides your hand into her underwear, she doesn’t have to tell you what to do or what she wants. Your fingers find their way into her pussy easily, finding a rhythm, you moan into her mouth when she slips her hand into your tights in return.

“No … no touch-,” you moan again, “Thomas said no touching.”

“Can’t see him anywhere,” she laughs but she seems to see your pleading eyes, “Don’t worry, he was really happy about the idea. Just be good and make me cum, honey.”

You know how to touch her, you know how to move your fingers in her, how deep you have to go for her, which rhythm she likes - you know how to get her off. How she will always moan loudly when someone sucks at her collarbone - Thomas, Ethan or today you. She only needs soft pressure to her clit and then she cums, moaning into your mouth. Her fingers are still playing with you when you try to pull back.

“Vic,” you whimper, “please let me cum.”

“No,” she smiles at you sweetly, “Thomas said no.”

“Pleeease,” you beg, “please, Vic.”

“That isn’t my decision.” But she gets out her phone and you can hear Thomas’ voice not even a few seconds later. “Someone has a question for you.”

“Please.” Vic is moving her fingers in you faster. “Can I cum, please, god, I need to …”

“No.” You know he says it with a smile even when you can’t see him. “Only when I want you to.”

“I love when he is like this,” Victoria whispers into your ear after hanging up.

Thomas kisses your nose sweetly when you’re sitting back next to him.

For some reason Ethan is the one who wants to go dancing, it’s so suspicious that you think it’s Thomas’ idea after all. The club is dark and you’re dancing between Ethan and Thomas, Thomas lightening himself a cigarette without care. The beat is vibrating through your veins, it’s loud, Ethan has his lips against your neck. They both take your hands, dragging and pushing you at the same time until you end up in a small room with a couch on which Ethan takes a seat. It’s not like that they were people all around you making out a few seconds ago, and doing worse than fucking. You wouldn’t have had a problem for Ethan showing you off like this, but this is Thomas’ game. Not Ethan’s, and certainly not yours.

Thomas is undressing you slowly and to your surprise fully. He kisses along your neckline up to your ear, leaving sloppy kisses on the shell. His hands caressing your hips, then your thighs and you whimper.

“I think it’s Ethan’s turn.”

You don’t need another invitation, Ethan is sitting on the sofa, his jeans and his briefs partially pulled down. He’s soft with you, helps you getting on top of him, kisses your hair. He whispers sweet nothings into your ear while Thomas watches your every move. You whimper even more when his dick stretches you out, how he finds a slow but no less torturing rhythm. You moan into the kiss he gives you. For the thousands time your head spins today and it spins even more when you think about Victoria and the girl she vanished with, a girl she will make cum, while you’re still going to be denied.

“Please,” you whimper again but you lose your train of thought when Ethan bucks his hips up into you and Thomas steps behind you, pinching your nipples. “Please.”

“No, honey, no.” Thomas coughs sweetly and pinches your nipples harder. “I promise, I’ll make it hurt when you cum. I’ll ruin it for you.”

Ethan cums with a loud groan and you lose your mind completely.

“I’m gonna clean you up when we’re home,” Thomas says and kisses you between your shoulder blades.

He does make good on his promise when you’re home, Vic in tow again - her smile satisfied. Your eyes roll back on their own accord when Thomas cleans you with a warm wet washcloth. It’s too much, but at the same time not enough. You’re already overstimulated but you still can’t cum. It doesn’t help that Thomas has you in front of the bathroom mirror and that you can see yourself.

“Please … let me … please.”

He laughs, you can hear, you can see it through the mirror. How are you this in love is the only question in your mind for a few seconds until Vic and Ethan enter the bathroom as well.

“No,” he still laughs, “I told you, if you’re even thinking about it, I’ll ruin your orgasm.”

Almost you say fuck it, you want to see what happens, you want to know how it feels. Thomas sometimes threatens you with it but you never misbehaved as much to have him do it. The thought comes and goes when he presses himself against your body and you realise that he cleaned you up just to fuck you again.

Your brain is in overdrive, there’s no way to calm yourself down. Thomas isn’t letting you. Ethan and Vic are watching, he has her in his arms. Your sanity suspends when Thomas enters you. Your fingers tighten around the bathroom sink, just to anchor yourself to something. His groan is loud and too close to your ear. And Ethan and Vic make it their challenge to make you cum while Thomas still tells you no. Vic is going down on her knees, licking over your clit, Ethan is kissing you. And everything drives you crazy. But in the end Thomas’ no still rings louder in your head than anything around you. He holds you up and then everything stops, Thomas cumming over your thighs, he kisses you behind your ear. He cleans you up again and Ethan carries you to bed, you are sure your legs wouldn’t have worked.

Thomas caresses your back, kisses you, just holds you in his arms until he falls asleep. You can hear the evenly breathing of all of them all around you. His heartbeat under your ear. But you still … You still want to cum. If you wouldn’t be so sure to wake him up from it, you would use Thomas’ thigh. You yelp in surprise when Thomas catches your hand between your legs and looks at you out of wide eyes.

“What do you think you're doing?”

“Please.”

“Come here,” he gets his thigh between your legs and you rub yourself against him without thinking, “When you cum, you’ll cum as many times as I want you to, okay?”

“Yes, just …” You whimper and it just washes over you. You crash and then you crash down on Thomas who holds you close.

“And now again.”

.#####.

“Your turn,” Thomas shoves the box in front of Ethan’s face.

“Oh, nice.” He turns it over - it’s blank.

“Why is he getting all of them?” Vic is looking at you.

“Luck?” You shrug.

“I want to plant a fig tree.”

You doubt that any of you has a clue how to plant a fig tree but Ethan looks happy with his choice. You already see yourself washing dirt out of Thomas’ hair.

.#####.

“How about we all get a token for the weekend and try to combine them with each other?” Thomas says one Wednesday evening. They are off for the weekend and it’s the perfect opportunity.

Thomas picks an envelope but Vic takes it out of his hand before he can open it: “My one, thank you. Uhhhhhhh, massage night. I’m up for that.”

Ethan picks next and reads it to you: “Weekend getaway to a destination of your choice. That’s nice, we will take my car, and I’ll drive, that’s my only condition.”

“Shotgun, I’m sitting in front!” Vic looks at him. “No way, I’m putting my legs in the back of that convertible.”

“Okay, now you.” Thomas passes the box to you. You want to protest but they all shake their heads at you.

“Back kisses.”

“Wonderful, and now me.” Thomas picks the last envelope before putting it back where it lives on the windowsill. “A post sex snack. Nom, that’s better than a massage.”

“You’re just greedy for food,” Vic laughs. “Where are you carrying us off to?”

“Alberobello.”

“Albe-what?”

“Alberobello, Thom,” you say, “I want to go there. I said I want to see the trulli houses and I want to go to Lecce to the botanical garden and I want to see Martina Franca.”

Thomas blinks at you: “Okay, how about we start tomorrow, go to Alberobello, stay there for a night and then stay in some town?”

That’s what you do, the next day all four of you scramble into Ethan’s car. You marvel over the architecture, take photos of the houses and silly photos of Ethan who seems the only one to care. Victoria and Thomas are sitting on a bench in the sun, drinking Aperol. Someone carefully approaches them and asks for a photo. You stay for the night and Vic gets her token out.

“Massage time.”

“I definitely have to massage Thom’s nose with suncream.” There’s a sunburn blooming on his face. “Or at least some aftersun, you will look like a crab by Sunday otherwise.”

“You can nurse him,” Vic laughs, “Ethan can take care of my back.”

Ethan is sitting on Victoria’s thighs, massaging her shoulders, sometimes dipping lower to her waist, she’s blissfully sighing. On the other side of the bed you’re taking care of Thomas’ nose and his face, there’s no blissful sighing, he looks like he’s being tortured. His mood changes when you scratch behind his ears, his eyes flutter shut and he hums. After a while Ethan and you switch places. You massage Vic’s back, Ethan massages Thomas’ shoulder. Vic is pushing you down between her legs after a while, you can hear Thomas’ breath hitch before there’s a loud whimper. You can’t see, Vic holding you down, but the next morning there’s a massive bite mark where his throat meets his shoulder.

Friday you spend in Martina Franca, this time you put suncream on Thomas before leaving the house. Ethan and you are restlessly wandering around the city, ancient walls around you. There’s too much to see, too many photos to take, food to try, you stopped counting the amount of drinks Thomas and Vic already had. They giggle when you’re visiting a Basilica and at Ethan and you looking at the ceiling. Too many narrow streets to walk, Thomas finds some traditional cured ham that he’s munching next to you while you take a photo of Ethan who is leaning down to Vic. You just fall into bed when night comes.

Lecce is a beautiful baroque town. More narrow streets, another Basilica that took 200 years to build as Ethan and you learn, more food, more drinks, the botanical garden you want to see. At one point Thomas just sits down and refuses to walk another step, you can only coax him with the promise of getting lasagna for dinner. You took a photo of an angel on one of the walls. Another one of Thomas kissing it hands, and Vic jumping his back. Ethan is immersed in the tourist guide book but you can hear him laugh.

“I want my back kisses now,” you say even before your head hits the pillows of the hotel bed. Waiting isn’t your strong suit, and luckily you don’t have to wait, Thomas’ hands are freeing you from your dress and then your bra. His lips on your shoulders, Vic’s on your lower back, Ethan’s somewhere in-between. Thomas sucks a love bite into your skin, Vic biting and Ethan licking over the skin she bit mere seconds ago. You don’t know who initiates it but you end up on your back, Thomas on top of you - between your legs, Vic playing with your nipples and Ethan’s hands on Thomas’ hips. Everything's a blur, even when you cum, until he crashes down on you, panting and heaving, still in you.

“Snack?” You can hear Ethan whispering into his ear and Vic giggles.

“I want chicken nuggets.”

“That’s not a snack,” Vic reminds him but Thomas doesn’t care.

“That counts as a snack for me.”

He rolls you around until he can kiss your back again.

.#####.

“I would take one, if that’s okay?” Ethan looks at you and Thomas. You’re sure Vic would raise her eyebrows if she were there. You nod your head. “One Knock-Your-Off-Your-Feet Kiss. Exactly what I need right now, can I cash this in with everyone of you?”

“No.”

Thomas immediately shuts up when you both look at him: “I don’t think, you have any right to say that, Mr. I’m using this token until I drop dead.”

“Good,” he gets closer to Thomas’ face, “I’m starting here.”

You have seen them kiss before but it’s breathtaking. Thomas leans into every of Ethan’s movements, his hands tangled up in Ethan’s hair and Ethan pulling his hair in return. Thomas’ eyes are closed, there’s a tiny bit of spit on his chin and you can hear him moan into Ethan’s mouth. It would be a lie to say that it doesn’t get you hot and bothered.

Your kiss happens a few hours later when you’re both on the balcony. Ethan is smoking and then he’s pulling you close, cigarette still in hand. Where with Thomas he was still careful to not scare him aware, he isn’t with you. His tongue is everywhere where you want it and you finally kiss back. You know, Thomas isn’t busy with his phone anymore.

Ethan gets his kiss from Vic a few evenings later. And Thomas and you are both staring.

.#####.

Your choice of date night.

Thomas is delighted when he reads it to you. You step on Vic’s foot when she says something that sounds like You should’ve taken this one out as well. Somehow she thinks it’s the worst thing to have Thomas plan a date night, but you know it’ll be nice and still chill, he just puts more thought into it.

You kiss his cheek when he gives you some flowers on the evening of the date.

“Giving you some flowers, would be like throwing money out of the window,” he says to Vic but gives her a bottle of wine before he gives some flowers to Ethan as well. “Looking at you, I am hilariously underdressed.”

It’s as chill as you thought it would be, he takes you to a small but not too fancy restaurant. He doesn’t complain when it’s time to pay, he gets Vic some gelato when she’s whining. And you’re watching a film in some outdoor cinema, hidden in the back, so no one of them is drawing any attention, before heading home.

.#####.

Vic takes a token out of the box without anyone bullying her into it one weekend. Which earns her some comments out of Thomas’ direction.

“Paint something together.” She smiles at you and wiggles her eyebrows, “You could have just asked, this doesn’t involve body paint by any chance?”

Ethan rolls his eyes and Thomas giggles.

“No,” you smile back, “painting on a canvas.”

“Can I just fling paint at it?” Thomas asks but he looks interested.

You should have known that he would fling paint at everything that moves, including you, as well.

.#####.

Spend a whole day in bed.

It’s almost funny that Ethan draws this one as well. It would have been the perfect one for Thomas but he didn’t get this or the one for a nap. You aren’t sure if he really pouts or if you imagine it. Luckily Ethan is taking everyone to bed with him, he reads, immersed into another world. Vic is listening to music, scrolling her phone, poking Thomas’ side when she gets bored. You’re listening to the video Thomas is watching on his laptop while embroidering but you’re thinking about knitting a beanie for Thomas - like a grandma Vic would say. And not even ten minutes into the day, Thomas is out. He falls asleep on Ethan’s stomach, Ethan mindlessly scratching his head and playing with strands of his hair.

“Does this include dinner in bed?” Thomas asks yawning when he opens his eyes again.

.#####.

Thomas and you are both alone when he picks another envelope out of the box. There’s one with a bend, you’re sure you know which token it is but Thomas isn’t getting the hint when you put it directly under his nose.

“Ugh,” he says, “Can I take a different one?”

You shouldn’t allow it but he looks at you with puppy eyes. You want him to get the bend one, you choose it with Thomas in mind from the beginning. That’s why you take the envelope from him and give him the other one: “Here, that one is better.”

“Is this because you’re keeping the blank ones from me?”

“You …”

“Yes, I know,” he shrugs, “I … The only funny thing is that Vic isn’t getting them either.”

“Mysterious,” you smile at him. The truth is, you trust Ethan to be responsible with them. “Open your token, Maso. I’m sure it’s a good one.”

“Watching the sunrise and sunset on the same day,” he reads - his hands shake a little bit, “Oh my god, that’s perfect. Can we do that somewhere at the beach?”

“There’s a token for a beach picnic somewhere in here.”

He looks at you pleadingly again, you skim through the envelope until you find the token.

Picnic at the beach.

“You know this is cheating,” Thomas laughs at you. You don’t care, as long as it makes him happy. “Can we do this alone? I want to spend some time with you, without the dickheads.”

Victoria is happy to get out of the whole thing, no questions asks, only the plea to Thomas to not send her pictures of the fucking sun. Ethan doesn’t complain, somehow he still ends up in the supermarket with you when you have a grocery run for your beach picnic. Thomas goes crazy, it’s on brand but Ethan still looks confused.

“Is he about to buy the whole place?” Ethan asks you.

You don’t even have time to answer: “Do you think I could afford that?”

“I guess?” He looks around. “It’s small, so they don’t have that much inventory but … before I give you silly ideas, that’s a lot of perishable food, Thom.”

There’s no doubt that you’ll have enough food for the next week when you step out of the supermarket again.

For once Thomas is awake when he has to, yawning but vibrating with excitement so much that he doesn’t care about the tiredness. It’s still dark outside and you’re happy that he agreed to driving, you fall asleep for most of the ride.

You’re happy that Thomas knows his secluded beach spots, you’ll be alone for most of the day. You’re still half asleep when the sun rises, you don’t stop him when he sends a photo to Vic and captions it with The fucking sun. By the evening you have the second bottle of wine between your legs, Thomas smokes and you couldn’t be happier when you lean your head on his shoulder and the sun goes down.

.#####.

Vic is crinkling her nose looking at the token she got out of the envelope: “This sucks.”

“Why?”

“Can I put it back and take a different one?”

No one answers her, but Ethan takes the token out of her hand: “That isn’t bad,” he says, “One screen free evening - no phones.”

“That is hell,” Vic corrects him, “I can’t do that, I’ll miss something.”

“We could go out for dinner,” Thomas suggests - he might be feeling bad for her drawing the token he put back, “or have some drinks, go out for the night, go to a concert. Fuck, if that helps.”

“Can we do all of that?”

After the third time Vic is reaching for her phone, Ethan takes it away from her.

“But I’ll miss something,” she complains.

“Yes, you’re missing what’s going on around you,” he says, “Believe me you can have a conversation with us without clinging to that.”

“But what is the time? We’re gonna be late to ....”

Ethan looks at his watch: “It’s quarter to eight.”

“Good that we have someone sophisticated enough to wear a watch in our midst,” Thomas jokes and Ethan pockets Vic’s phone under loud protest coming from her.

When you’re laying next to her in bed, heavily breathing, hours later, she fumbles for her phone again. Thomas catches her wrist: “What do you possibly need your phone for now? Do you want to tweet how much you love my dick?”

“You would love that.” Ethan and you snort, but Victoria doesn’t stop there. “Next time you can blow yourself.”

“I might just do that.”

“Careful,” Ethan interferes in the conversation and puts his hand on Thomas’ throat - you can see him swallow, “Don’t promise me anything you can’t deliver. You know how that ends, kitten, don’t you?”

Thomas swallows again and nods.

“That might be more interesting than my phone.”

.#####.

The seasons are slowly changing from summer to autumn when Ethan picks the next token, and this time he’s delighted while Victoria and Thomas already roll their eyes and high five each other.

“Antique market and thrift store shopping,” he reads, “I decide how we use this, right? I want some decor and have a look around for some books.”

“Some weird lamps again, perhaps?”

Thomas laughs about Vic’s joke but Ethan’s gaze is shutting him up.

“You’re all going to accompany me,” he announces and Victoria rolls her eyes once again.

“It can’t be that bad, right?” you whisper to Thomas.

He looks at you amused: “You clearly are underestimating the amount of weird shit Ethan is into.”

You know hours later when Thomas is carrying around some of Vic’s purchases and Ethan is still looking at some antique clothes racks. Thomas seems to give up on life when you enter a shop for antique clocks. His hands are shaking, and you suspect it’s the cut off of nicotine as he chain smoked the whole mid-morning. It doesn’t surprise you when he wanders outside to light another one.

“How many clocks can he look at?” Vic asks when she joins you outside.

.#####.

They are releasing a new single, you know that they’re excited but that means a few weeks on your own again while they are on a promo tour. It eases you that you talked about stuff like this a few months ago.

“You should take one,” Vic says and gives you the box.

Board Game Night.

Not the best thing to do on your own, you think sarcastically. Thomas seems to see the annoyance on your face.

“We can have one online when we’re gone,” he says, “and then we can have another one when we’re all together? You can choose all the games.”

When the time comes, they are all on their laptops in their own hotel rooms - you’re grateful for it, that you’re all on your own and it isn’t only you. You play Monopoly for hours and Vic is the first one to accuse Thomas of cheating when he wins. He does that when you play at home, taking money out of the bank when he thinks no one looks at him, somehow having a house or a hotel on one of his streets where the last time you looked was none. It got so bad one time that Victoria announced she would rather piss herself than leaving Thomas unattended or even out of her eyesight with the board. Board game nights were usually them bickering and Ethan and you picking up the pieces afterwards, but after every night they swore that they loved it. Sometimes the competitive aspect just turned their heads in. You can’t wait for the game night in person after everyone says their goodbyes and Thomas blows you a kiss.

Could we puzzle?

No!

No!!!!

You didn’t expect anything different from Vic and Thomas. He lacks the concentration for it and Vic admitted it drives her insane. At least they can hate something together, you giggle to yourself.

YES!

On the other hand Ethan was always up for a night in with a puzzle.

You two think puzzle mats are the best invention of the century. You shouldn’t have a vote in this.

Somehow Vic seems to have forgotten that you can choose every game you want, and you want to puzzle.

It’s the best, go die mad about it. Anything in mind?

You send a link to a puzzle with 42.000 pieces. It’s more of a joke but at the same it’s a dream.

Noted

Wait what? That’s against the geneva convention and my human rights!!!!!!

You’re a bit dramatic, Thomas.

Do you want me dead or something?

Victoria and Thomas try to argue that a puzzle technically isn’t a board game but they both take defeat when you remind them that Thomas said everything you want, their opinion on the matter doesn’t count. It’s fun, for once Vic and Thomas are helping each other without noticing it. Vic takes Thomas’ hand when she sees that he’s getting frustrated with himself and how he loses focus. Thomas helps her looking for the piece she’s missing when she groans. And Ethan and you are looking at each other knowingly, smiling.

.#####.

The next is one of Vic’s token again, and this time she’s happy about it.

“Dress up for dinner and dancing or a movie at home,” she grins, “This is gonna be a party, you’re all gonna dress up pretty for me and we’re going to decorate this place. I want a mirror ball.”

You don’t question it but Ethan gets her the desired mirror ball, he goes so far to order some buffet style catering and turns up in a fancy suit. Vic is dressed in a fancy short dress, your dress isn’t showing as much but it’s fancy enough. Thomas is dressed in wide suit pants, for some reason he’s barefoot, and in a shirt that’s mostly unbuttoned showing off his chest hair. If you could, you would be on your knees for all three of them but you’re sure that’s a different kind of party.

“Here,” Thomas blushes furiously when Vic puts a collar around his neck. His fingernails are digging into the skin of your hand he’s holding, “You should be thankful that I’m not putting you on a leash.”

You can see how the blush deepens.

“Say thank you.”

“Thank you.”

You can hear how she whispers to him, you’re sure that you can hear her asking if this is okay, and the grip he has on your hand loosens.

All four of you are dancing, drinking, kissing, your hand wanders into Thomas’ trousers while Vic and Ethan are whispering into his ears, he blushes and moans and then you dance again. Thomas looks a bit lost and wobbly on the legs when you get him to dance again. Until one of Thomas; neighbours threatens to call the police on you as the music is way too loud.

When you clean up a little bit, so you don’t have to do it the next day with a horrible hangover, you see that Victoria really brought a leash. It surprises you but out of fun you ask Thomas to give it back to her. He swallows, hard. But he’s still doing what you asked of him.

“Oh,” you can hear Vic laugh, “You want me to leash you?”

“Or I can spank you with it,” you see Thomas squirm on the spot when Ethan speaks, “Your choice.”

“No-none,” he almost chokes on his words, “None, please. Please. Red.”

And then you’re all three all over him, you’re kissing his face, Ethan and Vic hugging him.

“I’m proud of you, Maso.” He looks at you confused, he’s sniffing. “For knowing it’s enough and using your safeword.”

.#####.

After the party at home, you should have known how serious Ethan can take some things when he’s allowed to do so. It turns out that he can still surprise you when he gets the token Have a tasting party with a box of chocolates.

The box of chocolate is some quality chocolate but you all thought you would eat it, joke around a bit and otherwise enjoy the evening. Somehow Ethan has other plans. Every chocolate is on a tiny plate, with some tiny plagues on which he wrote what it is, some tasting notes on the side and he serves wine with it. He’s in a waistcoat, when he starts a speech which he’s reading from a handkerchief, Thomas sitting next to you loses it and snorts the wine almost through his nose. Vic is biting her lip so hard it almost starts bleeding.

“Silence,” Ethan claps into his hands, “Your undivided attention on chocolate number one, please.”

.#####.

There’s some confusion the next time around. Thomas tells you that Vic took a token but when you ask her she denies it. Problem is, you know Thomas is right, as there’s a token missing out of the box. After closer inspection you know why, someone doesn’t want to go stargazing - it’s the token missing out of the box.

Spend an evening stargazing.

“Would it help if we take a bottle of wine?” You ask her when you’re all on the couch, Thomas caressing your feet in his lap.

“We could use mine,” Ethan shrugs when you look at him, “I took someone earlier, it says Champagne and strawberries on it. I don’t know if that would help.”

“Does that somehow make stargazing more appealing to you, Vic?”

“Only if I can watch Thomas lick that champagne from your nipples.”

You sigh but Thomas all of a sudden is way more interested in the conversation than before, even stargazing didn’t have him pique up like this.

“As long as we can do that after and not in the park.”

.#####.

Thomas is next up for a token and he already blushes when he reads it, and even more when he shows it to the three of you.

You get a compliment every day for a week.

“Oh, you will blush a lot the next seven days,” Vic laughs.

There’s a range of compliments from, you’re the loveliest clown - Vic, you have the prettiest eyes - Ethan to you’re the best person to wake up in the middle of the night to go on a walk with me - you. But there’s also the compliments that make him blush like Vic predicted. All the pretty noises you make - you, the way your blush starts on your chest - Vic, the way you look when you come - Ethan.

You can see how he gets more and more flattered day by day but there’s something else. And he breaks one night when you cuddle up to him and whisper against his lips: “You’re the best and loveliest chaotic idiot to me. God, I love you.”

He squirms, he’s getting uncomfortable, he looks like he isn’t believing you.

“It’s true, I -”

You kiss him instead.

.#####.

As soon as Ethan is smirking at Vic, you’re sure that she isn’t going to like whatever he has planned.

“You choose who is boss for the day.”

“Oh, you’re choosing me, right?”

“No, I’m choosing Thomas.” He’s still smirking at her.

“What?” She looks at him. “Are you serious?”

“I thought you’re into Thomas being more bossy?” You have to laugh as well.

“In bed,” she looks at you, furious, while Thomas laughs, “With you.”

“We can arrange that,” Thomas says, “I can boss you around both.”

To no one's surprise Vic has to suffer the most under Thomas’ regime and you have to try not to giggle when she groans at him for the billionth time.

“He deserves that,” Ethan whispers to you.

.#####.

“Recreate your first date. Does that mean ours?” Thomas gestures between you and him, “Or does that mean ours?”

“What was your first date?” Ethan asks.

“We went to a museum, Thom took me to a wine bar,” you smile at the memory, “And then I fell asleep on him drunk a few hours later.”

“Yes, and we had pasta,” he smiles at you.

“What was our date again?” Ethan asks.

“We fucked,” Vic laughs, “First Thomas confessed a lot of kinky shit to us and then we fucked for like two days.”

“Oh,” Ethan grins, “How could I forget that?”

“How about both?”

.#####.

“I’m gonna already start arguing that I think this should translate to sex,” Vic says before reading the token to you, “Dessert only dinner.”

“You have a problem,” Thomas comments, “I am not getting reduced to dessert.”

In the end, Vic is outvoted and Thomas isn’t getting reduced to anything but he’s patting his stomach by the end of the evening. You all had too much food and somehow Vic managed to eat the most. You had cheese and grapes, cake, tiramisu, dessert wine, cannoli and florentines.

You pass out in Thomas’ lap while he smokes. Overindulgence.

.#####.

Ethan takes one of the last tokens, it’s a blank one once again.

“How is that possible?” Vic looks at Ethan, then at you. “Why am I not getting one of them?”

“Maybe they don’t like you,” Thomas winks at you, “They don’t like me either.”

“Back to my token, I want a night in a honeymoon suite.”

“Okay?” Thomas looks interested.

“I want room service, a pool or a whirlpool,” he looks directly at Thomas, “a bed big enough for us and where I can tie up Tho.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t think they have beds where you can tie him up,” Vic says - her phone is already out, “And can you compromise on having a butler but no hot tub?”

“Can you look for a room with a terrace then? I can tie him to the railings as well.”

“Would that be okay, kitten?”

Thomas only shamelessly moans and then hides his face on your shoulder.

The suite Vic chooses in the end, does have room service for food that’s too fancy for your liking (who pays 12€ for blueberry juice you ask but Ethan just looks at you and deadpans me) and a terrace, just as he requested.

Thomas adam’s apple bobs, he already whimpers.

.#####.

There’s only two tokens left and one you kept hidden for last.

“Last one,” Vic says before opening the envelope, “before I can forget about this box of horrors.”

She squeals - it’s a blank one.

“Oh no.” As if Thomas already knows what’s coming his way.

“I could do with some new lingerie,” she muses, “A lot of new lingerie actually and Thom is going to pay for it.”

“Anything else?” he groans.

“Hmmm, I could do with a new strap,” she sticks her tongue out at him, “You know … to fuck your girlfriend.”

.#####.

“The last one is yours,” Thomas says and gives the envelope to you.

Swing on the swings at a nearby playground.

“I want to give that one to you.”

“No,” he protests, “you barely took any. It’s yours.”

“You should have it. I know it’s cheating, but …,” you smile at him, “I want you to have it and you can use it with me whenever you feel like it.”

“That means I can take you tonight?” He looks at you as if he doesn’t trust what he just heard. “We can take a bottle of wine and when I feel like it next week or next month we can repeat it?”

“As often as you want,” you assure him.

That night you end up drunk on a swing set with Thomas for the first time.

.#####.

“I have one last one, just for fun.” You feel like making an announcement. Vic is blinking at you confused but Ethan takes the envelope from you.

“Gift hunt. At the shopping centre everyone is getting 15€ for each partner and an hour to buy something for the other.”

“That sounds like fun.” You’re surprised to hear that from Vic but you’re happy about it, she seems excited.

The array of gifts and your reactions is cute to look at. Vic gives her presents to you first. There’s a pair of nicely padded handcuffs for Thomas, he blushes and you suspect that she used more than her 15€ she had to spend. There’s a beautiful strappy bra with embroidered flowers she gives to you, and then you’re sure she used more than she should have. Ethan grins when she gives him a leather paddle and your head spins. There’s something else everyone gets: It’s a little V on a keychain.

“Are you trying to mark me?” Ethan asks amused and gives her smack on the thigh.

“Yeah, I sure feel pissed on,” Thomas says and she wiggles her eyebrows at him suggestively, “No, no, no, no. We talked about this, Victoria!”

She shrugs and you laugh but Thomas looks at you terrified: “If you ever change your mind …”

The next round of gifts comes from Ethan. It’s little portraits, a bit bigger than a business card. After closer inspection you can see that they differ slightly. Ethan has the “original” of the four of you for himself, he is carrying it in his wallet. On Vic’s version she makes bunny ears behind Thomas’ head. On Thomas’ version you’re kissing his cheek, there is a headband with kitten ears on his head. On your version Thomas is kissing your cheek.

There’s no theme to the gifts you got for everyone. You have a poetry collection of Rainer Maria Rilke for Ethan. There’s lipstick in a deep burgundy red for Vic. A coffee table book of sunsets for Thomas and a little box - it has love tokens written on it.

“You gotta be joking?” Vic looks at you in disbelief.

“It’s not for you,” Thomas says and kisses you on the cheek like he does so often, “That’s for me only.”

And lastly there’s Thomas, you hope that you didn’t stress him too much, you know he takes his buying presents for people business really seriously. You can imagine how he was biting his nails because of the time restraint. He gives his present to Ethan first. It’s a notebook with a matching pen and a small puzzle that shows a Roman alley. For Vic he got something that looks a lot like lube and a book titled “Getting Off: One Woman's Journey Through Sex and Porn Addiction” - Vic only rolls her eyes at him. And then there’s the one for you, it’s a little flower press.

“You know that the place will be plastered in flowers?”

“Good,” he smiles at you.

.#####.

A few evenings later Vic and you find Thomas sitting on the floor, hunched over. He happily hums to the vinyl that plays in the background. When he hears you, he tries to hide what he’s doing but Victoria steps behind him.

“That’s why all the tokens were puzzle pieces?” she laughs, “And why you pocketed them all? Are you going to betray me and enjoy puzzling now?”

“I’m missing one,” he tells her.

“I think, I can help with that,” you give him the chore token you took off him.

And he puts the last piece in place.

.#####.

END.

Taglist: @writingmaneskin, @oro-e-diamanti, @iamtashaquinn, @teenyweenynightghost, @findaqueenwithoutaking, @foreveryking-thatdied, @findoutwhoyougonnacall, @maneskinbrainrot, @little-moonbeam-666, @ethaneskin, @maneskin-dimensione, @l0standn0tf0und, @butkutee, @gr8rainbowpunk, @maneslut, @maneskintifoso, @weareoddlydrawn, @hiraetheral, @imjustanerdwholikestoread, @cuzimitaliano, @hopelessromantic727, @dating-villain, @maneskinsimp, @lauraosheaoh, @till-you-scream-and-cry, @wonderlandishell, @h1ppieth1ngs, @paralianeyes, @livvyysstuff, @que–sera–sera, @roisinmillar123, @romanoffswoman, @lovelyy-moonlight, @crwnnjules, @roisinlove123, @chocolatepizzatyrant, @whitewolf-writes, @lizzylynch1, @fugg1977, @unitersmoonshine, @lauraosheaoh

#maneskin fanfiction #måneskin #maneskin smut #maneskin x reader #thomas raggi #victoria de angelis #ethan torchio #vic de angelis #maneskin #maneskin fanfic #maneskin imagine #thomas raggi x reader #thomas raggi x y/n #victoria de angelis x y/n #victoria de angelis x reader #ethan torchio x y/n #ethan torchio x reader

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maneskintifoso · 2 years

Text

Date night 🫶

Victoria x reader

— warnings— smut, fingering, oral (female receiving) and bdsm dynamics —

— summary: you and vic go on a date and it ends with fun at the hotel —

So when she asked you out on a date you were taken aback, why would the hot famous rockstar want to date you? It was definitely a shock and you weren't sure whether you should just say no but you were more ready for a relationship now and you really liked her. So you said yes. And now you were standing in your room mildly regretting it.

Victoria had sent you the address and it was a fancy restaurant that was in the east village. You knew that Vics vibe was very rock n roll and very fashionable. You on the other hand felt very unfashionable, you tended to for floral prints and sweaters and midi dresses. After lots of changes and fresh outfits you decide on a tight black dress with little pink flowers on and lace details. You feel sexy and pretty and you feel like it kind of matches Vics vibe. After applying makeup and finishing your hair, you get stuck on what shoes to wear. Black converse or platform doc martens. You settle on the doc martens as they are easier to get off.

Your phone rings and its vic

“Hey i'm just leaving now” you are running down the stairs in a rush not be late.

“Cool cool, yeah i was just ringing to check you are still up for tonight but clearly you are '' she lets out an awkward laugh and you can tell that she's also nervous.

“Yeah no i'm really excited”

“Yeah me too, i'll let you go cause you sound like you are running a marathon”

“Haha ok i'll see you soon”

“Ciao” you put your phone safely in your pocket and keep walking as fast as you can.

When you are just around the corner from the restaurant you stop and take a deep breath, you don't really know how adult first dates work and your friends have given you advice but what if you forgot or it was awkward.

You walk towards the restaurant and you see vic casually leaning against a wall, you put on a smile and walk up to her.

“Hey you look really nice” you chastise yourself for saying ‘really nice’ why did you say that? Why didn't you say really pretty or sexy or something more enthusiastic?

“Ciao,you look absolutely stunning, shall we go in?” she nods toward the door and extends her arm.

“Yeah lets go” you link her arm with yours.

The waitress shows you to your table which is tucked away in the corner of the restaurant and for a minute you are worried it will be awkward but vic is already talking to you and you are sucked into the conversation. Vic asks you about your job and hobbies and your college major and what life for you was like. You try your best to ask her questions about her job and what the whole fame thing is like and her friends back home but vic seems more eager to talk about you then herself. You order the only vegan thing on the menu which was a vegan burger and when she realises you are vegan she apologises profusely for not picking somewhere more vegan friendly. The date had gone really well and you were proud of yourself doing something that is out of your comfort zone.

“Nightcap at my hotel?” vic asks on the way out of the restaurant, you are pretty sure she is just asking you back for sex but who are you to disagree.

“Yeah sure” the uber ride to your hotel you talk about music and the models of basses that you wished you owned. It was sweet and you were so happy to have someone to talk about this with. You loved your band but the rest of the band played their instruments and had no interest in yours.

“So do you and your band do shows or anything?” you nod

“Yeah we play the occasional bar show and clubs sometimes, people are really getting into indie music so we are definitely getting more and more shows” she smiles widely

“Would you ever tour?”

“I would love to, I mean I guess it would need to be after we finish college but definitely” she looks like she is plotting something and you aren't sure what she is going to say next.

“You're always welcome to join us on tour”

“Ummm thats really nice of you, we wouldn't want to intrude”

“You could never intrude” she runs her hand up your thigh and a shiver runs through you.

“Do you like that princess?” you nod adamantly and she puts her hand closer to your pussy. You hold back a whimper for the sake of the poor taxi driver.

When you make it up to her hotel room you look around at the luxury interior, the dim lights and the neatly made bed. This was something you had never experienced, you had always lived in new york, the furthest you had moved was to your new flat. You stand in the doorway staring at the room, vic clearly notices you freezing and wraps her arms around your neck. You initiate a kiss, it's not even really a kiss, your mouths are just slotted together. She runs her tongue over your teeth, ist a funny feeling but not a bad one. She signals for you to jump and you are confused, you aren't sure how she's going to hold you. You are both similar sizes but you are a little bit taller than her and you are worried that she won't be able to hold you and it will be awkward. So the only thing to do is redirect her, you start kissing her neck. She makes these little throaty noises and you can feel yourself getting wetter.

She runs her hands over the bottom of your dress and you expect her to pull it over your head but she just runs her hands over your wet underwear. She lingers on your clit and you let out a moan, you expect her to withdraw her hand but she then pushes your underwear to the side and slides in a finger. Without any trouble she finds your g spot and your knees buckle no one has ever been able to do this. You had just got out of a relationship when you met victoria and lets just say that it had been very dry sex. But with vic it was magical.

You expect her to do something more or you hope that she does something else but she just pulls out her fingers and you try to almost chase after them. She lets out a raspy laugh and you know she's laughing at you but you don't feel embarrassed at all. You decide enough is enough and pull your dress over your head, when you look at her she doesn't look happy with you at all.

“Did I tell you to do that?” she says in a dominating tone. You look down in guilt.

“No mistress” she yanks your hair making your head snap up toward her face.

“On the bed and on your hands and knees now” you instantly get onto the bed in hope that Victoria will go easy on you. But you know that was probably unlikely.

She spanks you hard on your thigh and it causes you to jump and tumble onto your elbows.

“You will count for me cucciola and when i am done you will thank me”

“Yes mistress”

She starts hitting you alternating between each of your cheeks and your thighs. You keep count and after 20 you wonder if she has plans to stop but she doesn't she just keeps going. You can feel the tingling and stinging in you ass and thighs and you know sitting down tomorrow will hurt like a bitch.

“Puppy you are getting slow on the counting” she hits you again and again and you consider safewording but she must sense that you are getting close to your limit because she announces that she is doing the final 10 spanks.

After she's done you managed to stutter out a quiet “thank you miss”

“Do you want to keep going princess?” she gently rubs your back and its so soothing.

“Yes mistress” you can see her smile and she spanks you again.

“Lay flat on your back” she commands from behind you. You quickly lay on your back and lean up on your elbows to see what she is doing.There is a sharp pain on your ass from the spanks “I didn’t say you could look at me puppy” you quickly put your arms down so you are laying flat and look at the white ceiling.

She straddles your waist and her face is suddenly above yours.

“You look so good beneath me” she leans down and places a gentle kiss on your lips and it throws you off. You try to deepen the kiss and chase her lips but she sits up before you can. “Show how much you want me, touch yourself for me cucciola” you have never mastrubated in front of someone else before.

You weren’t really sure what to do, you never really did much to get off when you were alone and you were worried that it wouldn’t be good enough for Victoria.

You apphenively reach your hand down and toward your clit. You start rubbing slow circles and occasionally going up and down, it’s not doing a whole lot for you especially with the nerves. You let out a fake moan and vic pulls back from the kiss to look at you.

“Tell me you aren’t for real” she sounds snappy and you feel more embarrassed.

“Sorry princess I didn’t mean to make you feel self conscious” she rubs up and down your arms and you are unsure of what to say.

“I just rather have you touch me” you say quietly.

“Do you deserve it?” She’s got a more dominant tone again and instantly you are back into the scene.

“I took all your spanks mistress” it comes out slightly bratty and she’s got a frown.

“Tell me what you want then baby”

“Just touch me anywhere”

She runs her hand down to your pussy and rubs her hand over it. She starts to circle around your entrance and puts part of her finger in, you buckle your hips toward her fingers and she completely moves her hand away. You make a keeling noise and she shakes her head at you.

“If you can’t stay still then I’ll have to tie you up” you moan at the idea of her tying you up again. “Oh you really are a slut, wait there then Princess” she gets off you and goes to her suitcase. She gets out a tie and a scarf, it surprises you that she doesn’t carry round a whole sex shop with her.

“Have to improvise” she has a smile on her face and she is pulling your arms above your head and tying them to the headboard. She moves down to your ankles and uses one of her scarves to tie one leg apart and then the other to the headboard.

“Thank you mistress” she is kissing down your body and working towards you pussy. As she gets closer you start to get worked up and she gets closer but she just misses it and kisses your thighs instead. You roll your head back in annoyance and she just keeps going on her mission.

“Please vic” she moves up again and finally her mouth is on you. You let out a loud moan at her tongue on your clit and she uses her fingers to finger you slowly. She keeps going and your moans are getting louder and louder as you get closer to finishing.

“Do you want to come?” You nod ferociously.

“Let me hear you then baby” you moan loudly as she gets you closer to finishing and you let out little cries. “So pretty baby” your legs are starting to shake from how intense it is.

“Come for me” you come loudly with her tongue on you. She licks up the aftermath of your orgasm and it feels so sensitive, you are letting out little sounds from how sensitive you are.

She moves to lay beside you and you switch positions with her. You kiss her neck and she is letting out whimpers, you kiss down her chest and slowly start to finger her. She spreads her legs more and more as you start to go faster. “Put a second one in”

“You aren’t ready”

“Just because you are on top does not mean you are in charge” you mutter a quiet sorry and put a second finger in, it takes a bit of a push but when you do it she moans louder than she has so far today.

“Thank you Princess” she starts to get more frantic as she gets closer and you are starting to get more worked up. You can tell she’s getting closer when her moans get more and more frequent.

“I’m so close baby” you start to move your hand faster and swipe your thumb over her clit. She almost screams as she comes and you smile at her.

You lay beside her and she is breathing loudly and you watch her chest rise and fall.

“I’ll go get some cream for you ass and a glass of water, just give me a second” she rolls over and just lays there for a minute.

She gets and gently rubs a cold cream into the marks. You let out a little gasp from the temperature and she quietly apologises about it.

“I really enjoyed today” she lays back next to you and you smile at her. “Thank you for putting up with me” she seems a bit insecure about it

“I love spending time with you vic, I will always put up with you” she cuddles into you and kisses you lightly and you hope this will be forever.

#maneskin #victoria de angelis #victoria x reader #victoria de angelis x reader #maneskin smut #thomas raggi #ethan torchio #damiano david #måneskin

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that-fruitier-emo · 1 month

Text

|| TFE/Vic's OC Master Post || Part 1 || Characters ||

Edwyn Percius Vanhaggen

[Green eyes, he/him pronouns]

He does have top surgery scars

He prefers to wear videogame graphic tshirts, and hoodies (hoodies are either orange or magenta)

Whenever he wears button down or polo shirts he never buttons the top two buttons

He usually wears navy blue or black jeans that have tears in the kneecaps

His left wrist is covered in friendship bracelets

Wears crystal necklaces of multiple colors

Black converse style shoes with stage blood spatters on the tips

His sleep wear is a "My chemical romance" t-shirt and boxers

He dyes his hair brown to match Archer and Julie halfway though book 2

Absolutely fucking skinny

Changes his last name to Broadren after his 18th birthday

Cedric Gordon Vanhaggen

[Blue eyes, he/they pronouns]

Usually wears darker colored band tees

Navy blue zip-up hoodies

Likes wearing chokers of all kinds

Interchanges between back fingerless gloves and black and white striped fingerless gloves

Nail polish is either jet black, or deep red

Always wears either navy blue ripped jeans, or dark grey sweat pants

Black high top shoes with pen doodles on the tip and sides

His sleep wear is just his street clothes

Multiple ear piercings

Archer Alexander Broadren

[Brown eyes, he/him pronouns]

He usually enjoys wearing more natural/neutral colors (greys, greens, dull blues, yellows, browns and blacks)

His style normally looks like the other picture above

Always wears a grey tank top underneath his t-shirts

Will layer t-shirts over long sleeve shirts

Likes to wear jeans without holes

Knee socks, usually cartoon themed

Wears sort of rusty looking necklaces

Wears a lot of beaded bracelets

Brown converse

Darker freckles

Acne mostly just on his face

Way more phisicaly fit than Edwyn

Long legs

Sleep wear is a black tank top and basketball shorts

Julie (Juliette) Genevieve Broadren

[Brown eyes, she/her pronouns]

Most of her jewelry is fruit themed

Her makeup inspiration is mostly drag queens, but her daily makeup is much more tame

Likes to wear rings

Makes her own jewelry

Likes wearing baggier clothes for casual wear

Despite dressing mainly for comfort, she's never apposed to getting dolled up

Same darkish freckles as Archer, just with clearer skin with less noticable acne

A lot of her t-shirts are themed after boy bands, or male celebrities she likes

Lights blue zip-up hoodies

Detests flannels, she thinks they look unflattering on her

She usually wears light blue men's jeans because she believes in pockets

When she's not wearing full jeans, she's wearing shorter jean shorts with patterned leggings underneath

She wears black converse, and ankle socks

Occasionally she wears ankle bracelets, and a fake nose ring

Likes painting her nails more pastel colors

If she knows she's going to be taking a photo she puts a small amount of glitter on her face to make her cheeks sparkle

Likes to wear headbands on specific occasions

Every once in a while will wear a flower crown

@todds-diary @thatdumbgoth

#tfe rambles #noodles talks #oc content #{edwyn}#{cedric}#{archer}#{julie}#tfe writes #noodles writes

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perhaps-in-anotherdream · 1 year

Text

[CN] Victor’s Sea-circle Event (Chapter 4)

⌚ This post contains detailed spoilers for content yet to be released on the global server! ⌚

✧ mum’s smile || little gentleman || art and love || mum’s companionship || endearing thoughts

【Mum’s Companionship】

A journal recording Victor’s growth during the study tour program in France.

What she hid in here is not only memories but also her regrets for not being able to be there to constantly care for him and nag him during the time he was growing up.

[Note: Victor’s mum used to call him “Yan Yan,” which as always, I’ve translated as Vic-Vic~]

—

✧ DATE: 05/21

He safely arrived in France at noon today. Following the teacher’s instructions, I was waiting at the designated meeting point when I saw him getting off the bus with a big bouquet of carnations in his hands. The teacher said that when they were passing by a florist, Vic-Vic requested to stop briefly and wait for him; he then especially picked out those flowers for me. This adorable little gentleman… did he watch some French romantic movies!

—

✧ DATE: 05/21

Vic-Vic’s dad said he packed his luggage all by himself for this trip. And sure enough, Vic-Vic immediately opened his suitcase in the living room after we returned home today. Although this little grown-up didn’t say anything, I knew he was probably trying to attract my attention. So, I thought of teasing him a little and deliberately pretended to not see, going about my business as usual.

But to my surprise, Vic–Vic was extremely patient. He just sat there on the sofa and waited quietly. Before long, I couldn’t resist anymore and succumbed in my heart, promptly making up for it by rewarding him with the recognition he deserved. Vic-Vic took out a certificate from his suitcase and presented it to me, saying that he would bring an even better trophy next time. I knew he was trying to tell me through this gesture that he was studying diligently and growing up well. So I hugged him and told him he was truly amazing. But what I didn’t tell him was– “Actually, you are already outstanding in your mum’s heart, and you don’t need these awards as validation.”

—

✧ DATE: 05/25

We visited a vinyl record store, and I initially thought that at Vic-Vic’s age, he might find this type of music medium too old-fashioned. But he listened attentively to the teacher’s explanations throughout the visit. I asked him if he wanted to buy a vinyl record as a souvenir for himself, and he quickly nodded. Eventually, with the curator’s recommendation, we selected a collection of Miles Davis’ famous tracks.

Sticky Note:

As soon as we got home in the evening, Vic-Vic couldn’t wait to play the vinyl record. I was curious about why he was so interested, and he explained that the unique sound of vinyl records made him feel like he was traveling through time.

—

✧ DATE: 05/31

To my surprise, Vic-Vic helped me secure the tickets to the music concert that I had missed out on earlier through a knowledge quiz.

My son is truly amazing~

—

✧ DATE: 06/05

I still remember the first time I made pudding for Vic-Vic. With a frown on his little face, he peered at the kitchen countertop and asked me in an earnest tone if we needed to hire a professional cleaner to tidy it up? Just the thought of his deadly serious expression makes me somewhat unable to contain my laughter. I wonder if he will ask the same question again when he sees the kitchen in its current state after waking up?

—

✧ DATE: 06/05

…in the blink of an eye, you are already leaving for home today. There are many things Mum doesn’t know how to say to you face-to-face, so I’ll just write them down here silently.

As the person dearest to you, I’m truly sorry that Mum can’t always be by your side and witness you growing up. Seeing how sensible you are, Mum feels gratified, but my heart also aches at the same time. If I had been by your side all the time, perhaps you would have been able to be like the other kids, often acting coquettishly and being stubborn with Mum, wouldn’t you…

Regardless of anything, I hope that one day you will understand that no matter where you are, I will always be blessing you, watching over you, and loving you. And also, remember to smile a lot more. Mum absolutely loves the way that smile lights up your face~

P.S. The teacher said that this record needs to be submitted to the school, but Mum is really unwilling to part with these precious memories and give them to someone else. So I lied to the teacher and told them that I accidentally lost the journal…

After you leave, I’ll secretly hide it away. You can revisit these memories at your own pace when you grow up.

—

✧ next stop: endearing thoughts

—

#DAMMIT PG WHY DID YOU CHOOSE VIOLENCE ON THE 4TH DAY ALREADY ༼⁠;⁠´⁠༎ຶ⁠ ⁠۝ ⁠༎ຶ⁠༽#you can see how much impact his mom has on him despite her rare presence. his love for romantic French movies- collecting vinyl records...#the way he still brings her flowers every time he visits. the throwback to how she taught him to make pudding—#and remember how he said that MC resembles him mom strikingly?? you can feel their resemblance through these pages too—#both his mum and MC – “your existence itself is the grandest miracle.” and their quirks too— 😭👊#I JUST— I JUST— ITS ALMOST MIDNIGHT AND IM HERE FLAILING ARMS CLUTCHING MY CHEST ༼⁠;⁠´⁠༎ຶ⁠ ⁠۝ ⁠༎ຶ⁠༽#mlqc victor #mlqc li zeyan #mlqc #mr love victor #mr love queen's choice #恋与制作人 #李泽言 #love and producer #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc translations

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oro-e-diamanti · 1 year

Text

Puppet Masterlist

Content | Fluff

Word count | 1.6k

Epilogue

The bag was heavy on your shoulder and in constant danger of slipping as you wrestled with the box of supplies in one hand and your sewing machine in the other. You really should have asked for help. Taken a cab. Even the bus would have been better at this point. But no, your stubborn ass insisted you’d be fine walking home on your own.

At least the weather wasn’t punishing you for it. No rain and a mild late January sun made it as bearable as possible, under the circumstances. But you’d be lying if you weren’t counting down the minutes until you made it back to your tiny Rome apartment.

However, when you turned around the last corner, sweet relief almost in sight, you almost dropped your bearings upon spotting three very familiar figures lingering in front of your door. Had you been any less burdened with literal baggage you would have jumped on them immediately, but for now, you were forced to show your excitement only in the beaming smile on your face and the increased speed at which you walked, suddenly feeling your energy renewing. You hadn't seen most of them since New Year's, almost a month ago now, both their hectic schedule and your university examinations at fault.

Ethan was the first one to spot you, immediately rushing over and taking the box off your hands, Damiano following suit to grab the sewing machine. You sent him a look that clearly said careful but he simply sent a wink back. It was fair enough, you thought, they were the ones who had bought it for you. You hoped he knew you would absolutely make them buy another one if Damiano left so much as a new scratch on it though.

Vic lazily tagged behind, waiting for the men to get out of the way before enveloping you in a hug. You only noticed she was holding a gorgeous bouquet of flowers when it almost got crushed between you.

“You get prettier every time I see you,” she flirted, leaving a kiss on your cheek. From the corner of your eye, you could see Damiano preparing to make a silly comment but one pointed look of yours shut him down.

“What's the flowers for?” you asked as you took them from her.

“You finishing your first semester!” Ethan beamed. “And we heard with amazing grades and feedback too.”

“There's also a chance we just wanted to get drunk with you,” Damaino added, holding up a bottle of liquor.

Vic groaned, probably because Damiano was always extremely talented at ruining moments like these, but you simply giggled, fishing your keys from your bag and opening the door to the house. You were impatient to get up the two flights of stairs and into your flat, but Ethan had other plans. Seeing him place the box on the steps, you were about to ask what he was doing, but as soon as the door had shut behind the four of you, he had you pressed up against the wall, hungry lips attaching to yours.

You fell into the passion easily, enjoying the feeling of his hard body against yours, the way his soft hair tickled your skin. You had missed this, so much more than you would have admitted in words.

“Oh come on, at least wait until we’re at her place, you greedy bastard!” Vic complained but you could hear the smile in her voice. With a giggle, you pushed Ethan away, gesturing for him to get back to the task at hand - meaning the box, not you - and started rushing up the stairs.

“By the way,” Damiano threw in as he ascended after you, “we have no idea where Thomas is. We tried texting and calling him to come along but he’s probably in a sleep coma.”

And no one could be bothered to deal with that, you finished in your head with a smile. You couldn’t blame them. Sleepy Thomas when you had the time to spend the day in bed was a dream come true. Tired Thomas when you needed to get going was akin to a nightmare. You were sure he would turn up sooner or later - whenever he wound up checking his phone.

You unlocked the door to your apartment, two rooms, tiny, but your own. You dropped your bag into a corner, the only one that wasn’t full of mismatched furniture or stacks of things that had no permanent place. Damiano carefully placed the bottle and the sewing machine on your dining table and you silently thanked him for being so gentle with it, before dragging him towards you and kissing him. He was talented, you’d always enjoyed that about him, but it was the love that shone through that made you feel your knees weakening.

“Okay, enough of that,” Vic decided as she roughly pulled you away from Damiano and into her lap on the dining room chair. You briefly panicked about it not being sturdy enough to hold both of your weights, but as soon as her hands traveled underneath your shirt and her mouth found yours, you decided it was worth the risk. She was soft and lovely under all her dominance in a way that never failed to make you melt.

“Well, now you’re truly on the way to killing the flowers,” Damiano remarked. You separated from Vic just to see him pick the abandoned bouquet up from the floor where she had dropped it.

“Aw, we can’t have that,” you cooed, getting up from your seat under protest and grabbing the flowers from him. You started rummaging through your kitchen cabinets, trying to find anything that could convincingly be used as a vase, as the conversation carried on without you.

You’d missed them terribly, more than you would ever admit to them out loud. Their sheer presence elevated your mood in a way nothing else could. The last months had been a rollercoaster trying to navigate the world with the new rules that had been put upon you, but you hadn’t regretted your choice for a single second. Not being able to touch the others in public the way you often craved to do had been a learning curve, but you had simply poured it onto Thomas instead, who happily held your hand and kissed your head at any opportunity, strangers around you be damned.

Plus, you knew all rules were off as soon as the door shut behind you and you were alone with the loves of your life. You treasured those times beyond belief, always craving more, craving their bodies and their minds in any way possible. The way they let the excitement course through your veins while letting you feel relaxation like never before, all at the same time. You’d never tire of it, you were sure.

“So, when did you last see your boyfriend,” Damiano mocked, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Which one?” you replied with a smile, knowing full well he meant Thomas, considering the other two were currently in the room with you.

“The pretty one,” Vic commented and you could see in Damiano’s fake-shocked face and the way that Ethan rolled his eyes that there was a quibble about to start, but then you accidentally distracted yourself by remembering you did, in fact, have a vase that you’d been gifted ages ago that was rotting away in your bedroom.

Moving past the others, still clutching the bouquet, you walked over to your closed bedroom door, opening it with much more force than necessary. You were about to breeze into the room when your eyes fell onto your bed and your whole body stopped.

“Oh, I’ve seen him,” you called out to the others. “Just now, actually.”

Thomas was on your bed, kneeling on your bed, in all his naked glory. Well, not quite, a collar and a harness decorating his body in beautiful red, matching the tiny red satin underwear perfectly. His head was bowed, even now that you had entered the room and he was sure to hear the turmoil behind you as the others tried to catch a look at whatever had made you halt in your tracks.

You were amazed at the way Thomas didn’t seem tempted to look up. Proud, even. You’d been playing this way for a while now, without the others and he had taken it on better than you could have ever dreamed. Even now, in this unexpected situation, with three additional pairs of eyes on him, he didn’t falter.

You wondered how long he had been kneeling there for, utterly submissive, a present waiting for you to get home. He’d probably had the same idea as the others - a little celebration in the eyes of you finishing your semester. Only, his gift to you had a much different quality to it.

“You know, I also would have offered sex at some point tonight, but it seems you’ve got that covered,” Vic grinned with a knowing smile on her face. You simply gave her a wink as you turned around and caught her eye, before stepping further into the room and toward Thomas.

Your hand gently petted his hair, along his face, briefly resting on his shoulder, before you hooked your finger into the silver ring on his collar, jerking him ever so slightly forward with it. He finally looked up at you, knowing he was finally allowed, eyes wide and loving. You smiled at him, a soft touch to his cheek.

“Oh, I’m sure he won’t mind some company,” you said to the others as they filtered into the room behind you. “Will you, puppet?”

***

Taglist | @till-you-scream-and-cry @ethaneskin @blackberryblossom @lifeofa-fangirll @bethanysnow @noeprd27 @polygraph-paperplane @iambandloverr @xx-x-frxnny @thewitchinthemountain @crazyonthelines @vicbellaangelis @mortyandem @icarodamiano @tellmesomething01 @elvirabelle @moonlight-simp @little-moonbeam-666 @theimpossiblehologramtree @ha-la-ansia @l0standn0tf0und @iamtashaquinn @myleftsock @maneskintifoso @katmoonz @cuzimitaliano @wow-ihateithere @searchingford @gr8rainbowpunk @randombush3 @wonderlandishell @befenak @mandy-bo-bandy @lizzylynch1 @andyyxeve @twioss @romanoffswoman

#maneskin fiction #maneskin smut #maneskin fluff #maneskin x reader #maneskin x you #damiano david x reader #victoria de angelis x reader #ethan torchio x reader #thomas raggi x reader #puppet #writing #my writing

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dadsbongos · 2 years

Text

skipping through a john hughes' movie

8.3K words

warnings - reader has major anxiety (but it’s the 80s so people just call you insane), speedrun friends to enemies to lovers, allusions to children-having but no actual kids or anything

summary - Your Home Economics teacher assigns a project - take care of an egg for a full week and present your report on it. You assumed it would be a solo project, so imagine the surprise when your golden-girl cheerleading ass was paired with Eddie “the freak” Munson. At least your best friend, Chrissy, seems excited for you. ~~

There was one bright side to Ms. Vin’s painfully boring sixth period Home Ec. class, you and Chrissy were designated seat partners since the beginning of the year. Meaning every project - every quilt, dish, quiz, and assignment in the books - was done as a top-tier team. This one, despite being what you’ll assume is a solo project, is no different.

“So, how’re you gonna decorate your egg?” Chrissy grins, setting her chin into her palm, “I was thinking Barbie meets Madonna but on, like, a really bad bender.”

“I dunno, I might just draw whatever I want on it until time’s up,” you pick up one of Chrissy’s sparkly pens, “Mind if I borrow this?”

She shakes her head and beams at you, “Take whatever you want - my pens are your pens, doll face.”

You glare and she giggles.

“Ick,” you uncap the pen and lean back into your chair, taking the violently shiny pink pigment to your skin and doodling a flower over your thumb, “Ick, I say, Chris.”

Meanwhile, Eddie is busy braiding a section of his bangs while Gareth draws on their shared table.

“Honestly, I don’t even think I should do it,” Gareth murmurs.

“Do what?” Eddie pauses, finally realizing his poor friend had actually been talking to him.

“Were you not listening?” Eddie shakes his head, “Jesus. I was saying that my sister wants my egg when we’re done with this whole thing, but I don’t think I should give it to her. She’s just gonna put it under someone’s pillow or some shit.”

Eddie nods solemnly, watching as Ms. Vic begins handing out eggs, “At least you’ll pass, man. Knowing my luck, it’ll slip right outta my hands the second I grab it,” then he points at the table right in front of them - yours and Chrissy’s table, “Only good thing about this being a solo project is I don’t have to worry about fucking up someone’s grade.”

Since the beginning of your senior year, you’ve felt it. The stares. You’ve heard them - the whispers. And it certainly doesn’t help when people like Eddie Munson don’t shy away from mentioning it.

Chrissy side-eyes Eddie and no matter how much she may enjoy his presence, she can’t excuse him now. She lays a hand to your shoulder, “Hey, he’s, like, the only person who talks about it.”

“But everyone thinks it,” you meet Chrissy’s eyes and don’t notice that Ms. Vic is only leaving one egg per table, “Everyone’s just weird around me.”

Everyone except Chrissy.

You were always quiet in the crowd, and that’s mostly because you hate crowds. But it’s also because of the incident last year - being quieter means less people notice you which means less people talk about you which means eventually the incident stops getting brought up. Unless it’s a group as vindictive as Eddie and his band of freaks.

“So, many of you already know what this project is about, but I just want to go over it again. Just in case,” Ms. Vic stands at the front of the room, an empty carton of eggs in one hand and the other beginning to write on the chalkboard, “This will be a paired project, not a solo like I’ve been hearing!” you and Chrissy smile at one another while Eddie and Gareth share a nod (though with a lot of groaning and mumbling from Eddie), “You’ll have one egg to care for from this point until class next Monday. Then, your team will have to present to the class your method of caretaking, why you decorated your egg the way you did, any mishaps and accidents, and so on and so forth. I will then grade your pair by both presentation and how roughed up your egg is.”

She steps away from the board to reveal a list of names. And there’s something hot in your veins, freezing cold on your skin when you see your name.

You pray to God, but He isn’t there - and part of you now thinks He never was.

“These will be the pairs! Go ahead and move to sit by your partner!”

Your jaw drops and there’s a raucous from behind - Eddie laughing, “No fuckin’ way!”

“Mr. Munson,” Ms. Vic snaps, “we don’t use that language in school! I don’t care if you’re older than the other students.”

Eddie merely mutters under his breath while you put your head in your hands, “That felt uncalled for.”

Your name is right there on the chalkboard - right there, right next to Edward Munson in thick, unforgiving white chalk.

MONDAY

Your name is right there on the chalkboard - right there, right next to Edward Munson in thick, unforgiving white chalk.

Chrissy hisses as though your partner stings her and pats your shoulder, “Sorry, girl. Good luck.”

“Easy for you to say,” you groan.

Chrissy got paired with the chess club captain - Corey Watts. A sweetheart who’s the easiest, most agreeable person to work with since a corpse.

There’s a clang and screech and squeak of metal scratching linoleum, and Eddie has finally slammed himself into the seat beside you.

You straighten up and plaster on a grin, “Hi, Munson.”

“Munson?” he pouts and tilts his head, “Aw, c’mon, I know you’re all pissy about this, but don’t be so cold. We’ve gone to the same school together since we were little, I’d say we’re on a first name basis.”

“I feel more comfortable using ‘Munson’,” you grab the egg and hold it softly, “Unless you prefer Edward?”

He retches, holding his stomach, and you hate how you laugh. It’s a little too loud, you think, but Eddie seems to shine under the sound.

“How do you wanna decorate it?” you hold up the fragile egg.

Eddie holds up a pair of scissors from the table’s tin to his head, “What d’ya think, sweets? Wanna give the little tyke his daddy’s hair?”

You gasp and cradle the egg to your chest, “You will do no such thing! That’d be so weird!”

“Yeah, that’s the whole point,” he sets down the scissors and holds out a hand for the egg, “You can pretend it wouldn’t be fun all you want, I know you would’ve laughed.”

“I would’ve gagged when you made the whole room smell like burnt hair,” you point across the classroom to the counter that holds the hot glue guns.

“Fine, what about James Hetfield?” he suggests, kicking his feet up onto the table.

You swat his shin and furrow your brows, “Who the hell is James Hetfield?”

His big eyes widen impossibly further, “Oh my God,” he looks at you like you said the ocean was neon pink, “you’re so out of the loop it’s fucking insane.”

“If he’s from one of your bands then I’m not out of the loop,” you roll your eyes, “It’s just not my thing.”

“Metallica should be everyone’s thing,” he plucks the egg from your grasp, where it was still pressed gently to your chest, “I’ll show you later. Just say ‘yes’ so we don’t have to fight in front of the baby.”

“Fine, fine, but you’re gonna have to do it yourself, ‘cuz I don’t know who James Hetfield is,” you lean forward, resting your cheek on the table, “And you’re gonna show me what? Metallica?”

“Hell yeah,” he says it like you should already know the answer, “you’re missing out, sweetheart.”

“You’re nuts, Munson.”

If he were just a little more comfortable, he’d call you nuts. But Chrissy is burning a hole into the side of his head and even if he doesn’t feel that close to you, she’s his friend (even if it’s secret) and he doesn’t like hurting his friends. So he lets it slide and passes you the egg with the promise to retrieve a couple googly eyes and a hot glue gun.

He makes you glue the eyes on, not that you really trusted Eddie Munson with such a task - he might actually try gluing his hair on if you did.

But you can feel it - his eyes on you. Not your hands, but your face; your tongue between your teeth - a habit for when you’re trying to focus.

“Why’re you staring, Munson? Last I checked, I’m not the one who reeks of cigarettes,” your eyes draw to his and you grin sardonically, “Gross, by the way.”

Eddie’s twirling a piece of hair in front of his mouth but you can see the way his lips are pulled high - the way his eyes crinkle with the tellings of a smile, “Your teeth are sharp.”

“Huh?” you rear back, laughing half in earnest and half in shock.

“Your canines,” he nudges his head towards yours, “they’re sharp.”

“Yeah, they’re canines! Obviously, they’re gonna be sharp.”

“But they’re sharp like mine,” he lowers his hair and opens his mouth as if you would inspect his teeth, “Two freaks with stupidly sharp canine teeth.”

A couple of people stare following your outburst, but you can’t bring yourself to care much. Not when Eddie’s hunched over, brows scrunched and tongue out in concentration as he now tries coloring the egg in black marker like it’s wearing clothes.

“You should probably take it home,” Eddie hands you the egg and you reach into the pile of yarn he’d gotten for hair, “I don’t trust myself to not lose it.”

“Sure,” you’re a little surprised at how down-to-earth Eddie seems, considering what all your peers had said about him, “and then switch off between classes? Just so one person isn’t doing all the work.”

Clearing a spot on the table, Eddie lays his head down and nods, “I’m fuckin’ exhausted already.”

He’s right. It’s a little too peaceful. Nothing like your usual crowd (not that you’re all too enamored with the loudmouths of your usual crowd).

“I think you should take the egg during lunch no matter what, though,” you hiss when some hot glue touches the pad of your finger and that sends Eddie sitting straight up, “My table’s riddled with jocks, so I think he’ll survive at yours. Just try not to step on him during your table rants.”

“That was only three times,” he huffs jokingly before taking the hand you burned, “Lemme see.”

“It’s fine,” you’re almost tempted to rip your hand away, but more than that - you want him to keep it. His palm is warm and, despite the calluses, feels nice against yours. Weird.

“Just don’t want our princess hurt,” he releases your hand, “Looks fine. Shouldn’t scar.”

“Yeah, I figure,” the bell rings and you shoot up from your seat, “Uh, sorry- do you mind taking him now? My next hour is taken up by cheer practice.”

“Thought you guys practiced after school,” he’s whining but he holds his hand out for the egg anyway.

“It’s either more practice or regular gym and the regular gym coach scares me.”

Eddie hates to admit it, but the golden girl, golden cheerleader, golden little smile you shoot him would’ve made him agree no matter what.

TUESDAY

“Fiskle is a good partner,” Gareth, weirdly enough, isn’t complaining about a project as he speaks to the lunch table, “Said she’d take care of the egg the whole time, I just have to write up the presentation.”

“I’m not looking forward to taking care of an egg,” Dustin shakes his head, “Sounds nerve-wracking and boring at the same time.”

“It is,” Gareth nudges his head towards the head of their lunch table - to a suspiciously silent DM, “Eddie got paired with the psycho cheerleader.”

Mike and Dustin glance at each other, confused, then turn to stare at the cheerleaders.

“Oh, shit,” Jeff laughs at the freshmen, “you guys don’t know.”

“Know what?” Mike tosses up his hands, a brow quirked, “They all look normal.”

“Bland, even,” Dustin agrees.

“People don’t even talk about it that much,” Grant takes a glance at you from his peripheral.

“But why shouldn’t they?” Gareth’s eyes narrow, “‘Cuz why does she get to go around like that and it’s all good, but we just like a game and we’re nutbag cultists?”

“Well, what the fuck happened?” Mike throws a fry at Gareth, “Stop stalling ‘n’ tell us.”

Eddie sighs, loud and heavy, and finally looks up from your shared egg. He can see a smudge of glittery pink pen over the face, and he hates how it makes him think of you. And he hates that every time he thinks of you, he has to justify it - only to himself and only because he isn’t big enough to admit that he finds a cheerleader pretty. Still.

“You want to know the tale of the nutso cheerleader, young paladin?” Eddie looks at Mike, then Dustin, “It’s a harrowing story, not for the faint of heart. Or children.”

“Get on with it,” Mike jeers, throwing yet another fry.

“Get on with it,” Chrissy teases, pinching your arm, “You’re so adorable when you lie to yourself.”

“Shut up,” you huff, “I’m serious, though. Sure, Munson’s not that bad, but it isn’t like we’re gonna be friends.”

She sets you with a pointed look, “It’s totally possible, though.”

“As if.”

“Well, I think it’s for sure,” Chrissy’s eyes fly past you and an impish grin raises to her lips, “His little minions are staring at you pretty hardcore.”

If you hadn’t turned - oh, if only you hadn’t turned - then nobody else would’ve noticed. Andy wouldn’t have noticed and turned to Patrick who turned to Jason Carver.

Jason is Jason and Jason is an asshole, so he stands from his seat and squares his shoulders like he’s really about to fight a pair of freshmen just for looking at cheerleaders. You wouldn’t put it past him, though.

“Jason,” Chrissy whispers, “c’mon, don’t.”

But Jason doesn’t listen well, “What’re you freaks staring at?!”

Immediately, Mike and Dustin go pale - snapping their bodies back into their original position. Eddie’s hands settle on the table, ready to stand.

You reach out and grab Jason by the sleeve, “It’s not a big deal, Carver, just leave them be. They’re kids.”

“They’re old enough to know staring isn’t polite,” Jason’s loud enough for them to hear and you hate seeing how the boys flinch, “If I didn’t know better, I’d think they’re planning something.”

“They’re- “ you groan and stand, pushing Jason back by the chest, “It’s fine, Jason. Seriously. Leave them alone. Please.”

Jason is an ass, but he always thinks he’s doing what’s right. Sees himself as a knight in shining armor - little does he know, all the joints are rusting and everyone cowers under his fist. His brows draw and he frowns, “What if they hurt you?”

“They’re kids,” you toss up your hands in exasperation, “I’m fine, Jason. You’re just making a scene.”

Chrissy stands as well, her lithe hands settlinh on her boyfriend’s shoulders, “Yeah, just sit back down and enjoy lunch, okay? They didn’t mean anything by it.”

Jason waits. One second. Five seconds. Ten uncomfortable seconds pass before he relents and takes his seat at the table. You watch Eddie settle back into his seat and you don’t get the same opportunity before the bell suddenly rings.

Hellfire files out of the cafeteria quicker than usual and you can assume why. Jason is hot on their tale, Chrissy hot on his. You meet Eddie at his table and wave.

He takes up his bag and holds out your egg, “Thank you, sweet princess, for extending your neck in the name of a couple freaks.”

You roll your eyes at his sarcastic tone, “Yeah, okay. I think more people should.”

He agrees. He’s only unwilling to thank you sincerely because while he does appreciate it - it’s what you should do, right? Yes, it’s kind, but there’s that undeniable part of him that grows increasingly bitter about how only Chrissy stood up with you. But it’s easier to play up the part of the freak than be vulnerable with someone like you (a stranger, a cheerleader - same difference).

“Wow, you’re a regular Josie, aren’t you?”

You tense and his eyes anxiously fly to your face, but you’re smiling. Big and bright as you hold the egg carefully.

“You good?” he tilts his head, smile nothing if not mocking.

“Sorry, I’m just…” you giggle, fit with nerves and insecurity, “I loved Josie and the Pussycats - I hated that it ended.”

“Aw,” he pouts and the two of you finally exit the cafeteria, “that must’ve been tragic for you.”

“It was. My little 3-year-old self couldn’t get out of bed. And then when I got older and rewatched it, I was just as inconsolable.”

“Oh? And when’s the last time you watched Ms. Josie and her rock band of the ages?”

“Last week.”

You like his laugh. And his smile. It’s sweeter than what the jocks pull - a whole lot sweeter.

The minute bell rings and Eddie decides to swallow his pride - a consolation prize for Josie and the Pussycats ending.

“Thanks again, I really didn’t feel like getting my ass suspended defending those little shits,” Eddie scratches the side of his nose.

You shrug off the gratitude, “‘s no big deal, Eddie,” he hates the giddy in his chest when his name flows from your mouth, “It’s fine, honestly. You know, everyone thinks I’m, like, some superficial bitch. Or whatever.”

Eddie smiles, cat-that-ate-the-canary and snarky, “Yeah.”

“Oh my God,” you grab his arm and gasp, “I thought you were against the system!”

“I am!” a spark flutters through the arm you’re holding, even under the leather jacket, “Until it proves me right.”

You huff and grin and wave him off. Your cheer skirt flutters as you turn and walk down the hall, but your voice echoes through the walls,

“Dick!”

The bell for class to begin shrills and Eddie just watches you go. He’s ashamed of falling into the stereotype - but then again, he’s a super senior that deals drugs, so that isn’t actually new, is it?

WEDNESDAY

Five minutes. You’re trying not to freak out. You’re five minutes late.

Sorry, Chrissy mouths, frowning.

Five minutes ago, you were supposed to meet Eddie at his van so you could take your egg home, and cheer practice was nowhere near done. Despite being captain, Chrissy didn’t really call the shots of when to end practice and you can’t blame her.

None of the girls notice you’re anxiously glancing at the clock every other second, and honestly, if they did, you doubt they would care.

Then, the doors slam open - each girl jumps and attention snaps to the jingling chains and clanking rings that storm through. A circus of boos ring around the gym and Chelsea Rivers even throws a pom-pom at poor Eddie.

But in true Munson fashion, he catches it with the hand not holding your egg and holds it above his head - muttering as if in prayer and tossing it back.

“What’d you do, freak?” Chelsea jumps away from the pom-pom, it tumbles and the tassels just barely brush her sneaker.

“Just some casual demonic ritual, don’t worry about it!” he cheers, blowing a kiss when Chelsea kicks the pom-pom away.

“He’s fucking with you,” you pick up the pom-pom and hand it to Chelsea, then calling to the rest of the squad, “Chill out, girls, he’s here for me!”

Eddie kneels as you approach, presenting the egg as though it’s a prize on a game show.

“Thanks,” you wring your hands, “Uh, practice should be over soon, but I totally get it if you just wanna leave the egg here ‘n’ go.”

“No, no,” he holds the egg to his chest when you try to grab it and sits back on the bleachers, “I will be patient and celebratory of your cheer duties, as I should be.”

“If you insist,” you bow and that’s how you know you’re starting to spend a little too much time with Eddie for the sake of a project, “then I guess I just have to give a proper show.”

Eddie’s loud as he watches you all. Every stunt - back handspring, round-off, pike, tumble - no matter how repeated, earns you a ‘woo!’ and banging on the bleacher.

“Eddie,” you wave him off, grinning, “Seriously, you’re being distracting.”

“I’m being supportive,” he points to where the egg is now nestled on his bundled-up leather jacket beside him, “Now stop whining and be the mom he can be proud of.”

You flip him off and he gasps, covering the egg’s googly eyes.

Chelsea leans close and while Eddie can’t hear her whispers, he already knows what she’s saying. He’s been down this road and it always leads to the same dead end. She moves away, eyes flickering between you and Eddie and he can’t help but groan.

You pull back from Chelsea, eyes narrowed, “Huh?”

“I said,” she crosses her arms, “is he making you uncomfortable?”

If it were Jason here for Chrissy, nobody would be saying anything. And you’re perplexed until you remember who Eddie is to these people, and you don’t understand how they can think that until you remember you used to believe it, too. Maybe not to the full extent they do, but it isn’t like you ever approached him in the halls.

You were even initially mortified to be working with him, and now you’re giggling at his jests.

Eddie stands and you watch him until you can find your muscles again. You rush to him without responding to Chelsea and you can hear the questions that the other girls are raising behind you.

Maybe if people see how much you actually enjoy being his project partner, they’ll get over themselves.

But the most cynical part of you doubts it.

“Hey,” your hand wraps around his, your lips tugged in a frown and Eddie has to look away lest he be tempted to fix it, “you don’t have to go, y’know?”

The way you’re pouting at him is dangerous. It reminds him of sick, twisted feelings. Reminds him of the stereotype he is - where the freak falls for the cheerleader that’s nice to him. Reminds him of just how badly he wants to kiss you under the bleachers he hides under during pep rallies (‘cuz of course, who wouldn’t? You’re a cheerleader. A gorgeous, competent, kind cheerleader).

It’s dangerous because it’s unreal and it makes him overthink. If he can’t do so much as get the girl, how will any of his other dreams come to fruition?

So Eddie just laughs, “I’m not very welcomed.”

“Well, what if I want you here?” you look down at your white sneakers while he stares - wide-eyed and sweet - at you, “Hate to admit it, Munson, but maybe your hollering is good for something.”

“In that case…” he glances at the lone egg on the bleachers, to your squad, to you. You, sweet and smart and so, so unattainable, “if I must be a cheerleader’s cheerleader, then how could I ever refuse?”

THURSDAY

Ms. Vic’s sixth hour Home Ec. class has gotten more interesting since Eddie’s been your seat partner.

“Not a single dick on this desk,” Eddie ‘tsk’s and shakes his head, “Shameful. What the hell do you and Cunningham even do over here?”

“We talk, like friends do,” you rub a thumb over the smooth shell of the egg as Ms. Vic passes out a packet to each pair, “Is that what you and Gareth do? Draw dicks all over the table like children?”

Eddie hums and leans over as if to check, “Yep. And demons. Sometimes both at once.”

“Dick demons?”

There’s a lull as Ms. Vic comes by to set down your team’s packet.

When she’s gone, Eddie nods curtly, “Demons’ dicks.”

“Gross,” you open the packet.

It seems straightforward. One column for mishaps. One for cracks. One for shatters.

Obviously your egg hasn’t shattered.

“Check for cracks, please?” you pass the egg to Eddie.

“Just mark whatever you want, it’s not like she’s actually looking at it.”

“No way, if we don’t properly do this and then later she catches us in a lie, we’re…” you shake your head and wave your hands about, “It’s just not gonna happen. I’m not lying on an assignment, Eddie. Now stop whining and inspect the egg.”

“Fine, here you go, sweetheart,” he makes a show of himself, what else is new? He hums and nods and ‘ooh’s and ‘ahh’s, “Yeah, we’re clear.”

“Har, har,” you take the egg to double-check it.

“Oh my God, do you distrust me that much?”

“Yeah.”

“Cold-blooded!” Eddie rocks his head back, “How could you, sweet princess?”

“Easily.”

Gareth watches in terror, only because he’s known Eddie for a long, long time. He’s seen Eddie get crushes and he can tell that the crush he had on you last year is striking again at full force. He’s seen the way light dies a little in Eddie’s eyes when he sees the guys you hang out with - not out of jealousy, but realization. Eddie always gets his hopes up and then remembers how different you two are. How different your circles are. He’s seen the more bold girls come and fuck with Eddie for free weed, and he’s seen how it hurts the poor bastard (not that said poor bastard would ever admit it).

Chrissy, meanwhile, watches in glee because she can see how much you’re enjoying yourself. She likes that you’ve made another friend - an actual friend - outside the circle jerk of jocks and preps. A friend who isn’t judging you for being the “psycho cheerleader”.

FRIDAY

A regional cheer competition was the talk of Hawkins High. Until seventh period, the cheer squad was gone and everyone who actually cared about where they were was overcome with concerns about if they would win. Hawkins had a reputation of flailing last minute when it came to stuff like this and Coach G was increasingly - visibly - sick of it.

Hellfire never cared for that, or at least they didn’t until Eddie was just staring at the jocks’ lunch table for something other than trying to rile them up.

Eddie finds it unrelentingly bizarre how miserable he feels. He hates the ball of muck and tar that’s collected in his chest - sticky and thick and aching. He knows you’ll be back by the end of the day, but that doesn’t mean his stupid heart doesn’t clench at your current absence any less.

Stupid, stupid, stupid…

The other guys have noticed it, too. The table is quieter than usual because nobody’s prodding Eddie and he isn’t leaping for interaction either. It’s weird.

Eddie’s not dumb, though. He knows why he misses you. He knows why it stings to see a you-sized gaping hole at the table.

Gareth knows, too, and that only makes him more nervous.

SATURDAY

“I brought the egg,” you pull the fragile thing from your shirt’s front pocket, “Figured you’d wanna see your son.”

“Aren’t you adorable,” Eddie pushes open his trailer door and takes the egg, “Thanks, Mama.”

“Don’t call me that,” you’re hot in the face and your giggle is nervous. You aren’t dumb enough to not know that he’s why.

“Aw, why?” he leans in close, lips wide and teeth on display.

“‘s intimate,” you whisper it like it’ll burn you to be uttered.

“You’re precious,” Eddie nudges his head further into the trailer, “My room’s down here.”

You see a familiar body in the kitchen of the trailer, though; making coffee for his thermos before heading off to a grueling shift at work.

“Hey, Mr. Wayne!”

He turns and waves and that’s enough from such a naturally stoic guy, “Just Wayne, girl, you know that.”

“Didn’t know you two were friends,” Eddie holds open his bedroom door for you, eyes fluttering between you and his uncle, “How’d you meet?”

“We’re not friends,” you shrug, “And we just see each other for volunteer work: cleaning up waste ‘n’ stuff. He usually gets stuck with Chrissy and I because he doesn’t bother getting into other teams and nobody likes working with teenagers.”

“Just when I thought you couldn’t get sweeter.”

Your eyes trail after Eddie as he hurriedly picks up scattered items on his floor. His shirt rises from time to time. Sometimes there’s a peek of the course, dark hair on his tummy that leads to his jeans and sometimes there’s a view of his boxers. You just try to be respectful - eyes slamming to the clock he keeps on his nightstand, then the handcuffs right by his bed.

“Volunteer work is, like, completely mandatory for the cheer squad, Eds.”

He shrugs and pretends his heart didn’t clench at the precious nickname on your tongue, “But you could volunteer anywhere, and you choose waste cleanup.”

“It’s not even that big a deal, we aren’t even doing actual work with the waste, we clean up the aftermath of other cleanups. We’re the just-in-case crew.”

“Still,” he insists, “so cute, I could eat you up.”

“Shush, hush,” you swat at Eddie and step over a twisted, tossed shirt left behind in his bedroom’s doorway, “Anyway, handcuffs?”

Eddie immediately grabs the cuffs and throws them into his overstuffed laundry basket, “You’re delusional. You never saw any handcuffs.”

“I think that’s manipulation,” you pluck the egg from his hands and look around the room. It’s still messy, but you don’t think any other room would fit Eddie, and you don’t think you’d want to be in any room that wasn’t Eddie’s.

Then you see it. Right on his desk. Next to the ashtray and dust-ridden sunglasses that look two-sizes too small for his head.

“Uhh,” you pick up the small blue box and shake it by your head, “had big plans for tonight, Munson?”

Eddie’s eyes are wide at the box of condoms in your hand. You can see endless possibilities in those baby browns - actions, words, every response he has planned. Irreverent denial, acceptance, laughter, joking insistence. But eventually, he settles to square his jaw and his eyes are back to usual.

He nods curtly and folds his arms, “Yes, princess, I brought you to my trailer after saying we should go to your house and then intentionally parade myself for an ass kicking by hooking up with the state’s golden girl.”

“I am not the state’s golden girl,” your nervous breakdown last year soiled such a title for the rest of your life.

“And why not?”

“As if you don’t know what happened.”

He does but he keeps quiet. Shrugs. Throws himself onto his bed and smiles when you kneel on the mattress next to him.

“Who cares? ‘s not like anybody important even talks about it.”

He’s instantly smacked with guilt, but then again, he’s nobody important - not at all. Not until you’re giggling at him.

“Yeah, whatever,” you lay the egg in your lap and watch it tilt, rock, then balance, “Imagine if this was a real baby, it would not be this well off.”

“I dunno, I’d think baby Munson would love watching you practice your, uh,” he blinks up at the ceiling and waves his arms out wide with flair, loose and flimsy, “jumps and kicks.”

“I think baby Munson would get used for football practice by Jason ‘n’ his goons,” you turn to Eddie as he smiles and it brings one out of you, too. You raise a hand and make it look like you’re palming a football, “His soft spot would look gnarly as hell, though.”

You like the way Eddie laughs at your jokes. Your jokes usually fall flat with your friends.

You once heard that in order to find someone funny, you first have to find them smart enough to be capable of making a joke. And if Eddie’s enjoying himself this much at a simple jab, then he must think you’re some kind of Einstein. Or perhaps he’s just that willing to freely enjoy himself.

Either way, you like it.

SUNDAY

You know that feeling you get when you’re walking up to a group of people and they instantly stop talking, and you know they were talking about you?

What’s worse than that?

When they don’t see you coming and don’t stop talking.

You can see it in their faces that you weren’t supposed to hear what they were saying, but they shouldn’t have been saying it in the first place.

In a handful of measly minutes, the week leading up to now was smashed and you can only watch Eddie’s cheeks flush in embarrassment. Then it drops into realization.

A handful of minutes ago, you were first walking into Eddie’s trailer to finish up the presentation you two started yesterday. The door was unlocked and you could hear him and his friends in his room - the door was cracked just enough for you to hear them when you got close. Before you get to open the door, you hear your name.

You freeze and the hum of Eddie’s guitar pauses.

“What?”

“I’m just saying,” Gareth tenses, looking between Eddie to Mike and Dustin, “you need to back off your partner,” when all Eddie does is stare like he’d heard the date of his own death, Gareth continues, “I get it, you know, she’s nice and all but come on… you know better than that. She’s a walking hazard sign.”

Eddie looks over to Dustin and Mike - for assurance, support, affirmation, he isn’t completely sure - and they only look away.

Gareth puts up three fingers, “She’s a cheerleader, it’d never work out, your social standings are way too different,” his ring finger goes down, “Even if it did work, you’ll get your ass beat by her family, like, every Tuesday,” his index finger goes down and he’s flipping Eddie off, “She’s completely mental.”

Eddie immediately snaps to attention, body rigid and stiff and hands frozen on his guitar, “She is not mental, Emerson.”

Mike butts in, “I mean… you guys don’t call her the psycho cheerleader for nothing.”

Dustin shrugs, “Not the most intense freakout, but… with all things considered, I don’t know, Eddie.”

He doesn’t know you’re there - silently begging for backup. So he sits back and bites his lip, “Whatever. Fuck you guys.”

Silent defeat.

Silent admission.

His bedroom door creaks as it opens and each head whips around to face you. Egg and papers in one hand, the other wrapped loosely around the knob.

You look defeated, sound defeated, “You what?” your eyes fall to your white sneakers and suddenly the room is just a little too hot, a little too stuffy. Your throat swollen and eyes burning, “I didn’t even think you guys cared about that sort of thing…”

Wasn’t their whole deal about the system being bullshit?

You could understand when Eddie thought you were like the other cheerleaders before you two actually met, but now it was different. He was still actively using a name that burned you when you thought that you two might actually be able to be friends. Maybe more.

You hate that you ever hoped for more.

You hate that you already miss him.

You kick at the floor of Eddie’s cluttered room, “None of the other cheerleaders even call me that. But yeah, they’re two-faced.”

None of them can gather the courage to so much as look at you, even Eddie - who you thought prided himself on being big and loud and unafraid.

You roll your eyes just to hide the disappointment and tears and you’re trying so hard to sound stern, but there’s no way to keep your voice from shaking, “Here’s the egg. Do the final yourself, and if we fail - it’s your ass, Munson… Might go fuckin’ crazy on you or some shit,” you sniffle and laugh dryly, walking away.

Eddie suddenly finds himself and stands just as he hears you mutter a borderline acidic “stupid dick”.

Not that he can even blame you for saying it. He’s dug his grave and when you’re already driving away and he remembers he doesn’t know where you live - he knows that he must lie in it.

His best option - his only option - is to write a good presentation and apologize like hell at school tomorrow. Maybe you’ll forgive him.

Or maybe he’s doomed.

MONDAY

Eddie managed to catch you right at your locker during zero hour.

“Do you think you can just say whatever you want, Munson?” he rears back, eyes wide. You laugh, bitter and dry and only a little teary-eyed, “You think that just because you’ve been screwed over, that gives you the right to turn your back on someone because they’re a cheerleader. You think we’re all the same and you didn’t bother defending me ‘cuz I’m just another cheerleader to you,” he opens his mouth but you put up a finger to shush him, “I bet the people here aren’t even people in your head, are they? We’re just faceless masses that you lump in with the ones that pick on your friends. It’s bullshit, Eddie.”

“And what? You’re so special because you’re what?” he shouldn’t be talking like this - he should just grit his teeth and bow his head, but you’ve struck a chord and he’s never been good at backing down, “You’re… the quiet one, right? That’s your little calling card. You’re the nice one that can smile and laugh at the freak’s jokes and that makes you better than the others.”

“I didn’t say that,” you snap.

“You didn’t have to,” Eddie’s face is stone cold and it’s more unnerving than the worst horror movie, “I’m not a fucking idiot. That’s your schtick. Your gimmick. You’re the sweet one that even the losers like because she sticks up for them, but we’re not friends, and we never would’ve been.”

He should shut up. He needs to shut up. But right now there’s a burning ball of anger and hatred and it’s all at himself and the jocks and the school that would end you if you two did become friends.

“We could’ve been friends,” you stand tall, but your voice wavers just a little. Just enough for him to know you’re insecure, “We really could’ve.”

“Your friends would eat me alive and mine would eat you,” Eddie has to look away, lest he’s swayed into begging forgiveness on his knees at the sight of your crestfallen face, “It’s better like this. No little cheerleader has to get hurt, and I’m just a good memory with a bad ending. That’s how it would’ve gone anyway, now we’re just skipping to the finale of a John Hughes’ movie.”

Chrissy doesn’t recognize the boy in front of her. This isn’t the Eddie that always made her feel safe. This isn’t the Eddie that was always going to be a friend after high school was done. This isn’t the Eddie she’s proud to know.

“Fine,” you shake your head. There’s something inside you that’s screaming - shouting that this is wrong. Your Eddie wouldn’t say this. He isn’t like this, “Do you really think that, or are you just being pissy?”

“We both know I’m just being pissy,” he’s quiet. It’s odd. You hate it.

Chrissy shakes her head and tugs on your arm, “C’mon, we’re gonna be late.”

If you two leave now, you’ll actually be two minutes early, but you have no idea how to carry on and you’re sure Eddie doesn’t either. So you leave with nothing more than a “Talk to me when you get your head out of your ass, Munson.”, and he doesn’t follow.

It’s like that for the rest of the day, too. Between classes, when you’re meant to be trading the egg - he initially tried not taking it, but it hadn’t worked. Not at all.

With Chrissy, concerned and tender, you’d leave. One arm looped with your cheer captain’s and the other carefully carrying your egg. And when he returns the egg, it’s nothing different.

Only when you’re sat by each other during sixth period Home Economics does he finally get the chance to speak.

“Alright, yeah, I know,” Eddie sighs and reaches into his metal lunchbox and pulls out two slightly torn pieces of loose leaf, “I fucked up, sweets. I know. I’m sorry, really, I’m sorry. What can I do? Just say the word and I’ll do it - whatever you want.”

You take one of the papers he holds and wrinkle your nose at the resounding stench of weed, “Do you keep drugs in there or something, Munson?”

Without hesitation, he nods, “Yeah. I thought you knew.”

“I didn’t think you carried it to class!”

“Never know when an emergency will strike.”

You hate the grin that wants to creep over your face, “You’re an idiot, Edward.”

He grimaces, shaking his head so theatrically, his hair flutters around his shoulders, “I’ll literally let you stab me if you just never call me Edward again.”

“So dramatic,” you swat the boy in the arm and shrug, “And maybe I’ll forgive you, if we ace this presentation,” you hold up your paper and shake it about.

“Then thank God I’m the one who wrote it,” he grumbles.

“I believe in you, Eds,” you punch his shoulder and watch his chest puff up - big and proud.

It deflates as soon as your names are called. Ms. Vic gestures to the floor beside her desk and smiles - kindly and ignorant to the teenage angst festering between you and Eddie.

You clutch the presentation - lips pressed and hands clammy. There’s a burning, aching that lies on your heart - guts entwining and sweat breaking over your skin. Sure, you’re a cheerleader and sure, you’re technically popular, but in no way do you actually enjoy being around throngs of people.

You put up with the pep rallies and the games and the parties and the crowded lunch tables because that’s what’s best for your image. And that’s what’s best for Chrissy’s image. And Chrissy is your best friend and you just want her to be happy and you don’t want her to be stuck with you like you’re stuck in these situations.

Eyes scorch at you and you realize how long you’ve been stalling. God, they must all think you’re a freak. Your knees strike straight and you think you can feel your lunch coming up.

“Uh- “ you clear your throat, shake your head, anything to just rid yourself of this feeling, “The- so…”

Air is short and thin and there’s an overwhelming need to run. You’ve felt like this before. You know it. You deeply know it.

You’ve felt it many times - before every rally and game and party and in front of every single crowd - but only one time has it been this severe.

Last year - second semester, fourth quarter, Mr. Perry’s first hour U.S History class. The second week until the end of school, your parents took you out of Hawkins for a family emergency and just your luck - an exam was taken that day. An exam you couldn’t make up no matter how much you begged and an exam that dropped your A to a C.

When you earned the title of school psycho for flipping your lid on Mr. Perry on the last day of your junior year because you got a C+.

But nobody understood, they really didn’t. It was more. It was different. It was so, so different.

And now you’re practically hyperventilating in front of your classmates and now it isn’t even about the stupid fucking presentation. It’s about knowing that tomorrow you’re gonna get those weird stares and miserable glances. It’s about knowing that no matter what you do and no matter how hard you try - you’ll always be nothing more than Chrissy’s neurotic best friend prone to a nervous breakdown at the slightest sign of danger.

It’s about knowing that Eddie will call you crazy with his stupid friends at his stupid lunch table with his stupid smile and those stupid laughs.

Ms. Vic leans around to see your eyes clenching shut, head turning down, but before she can - Eddie takes a rather obnoxiously large step in front of you.

He beams at Ms. Vic, hands flying to your shoulders, “A moment.”

She nudges her head towards the classroom door and calls the next group.

Once in the hall, you’ve let the tears fall. You’re crumpling the paper in your hand and nearly wailing, “Oh my God, I- I’m so sorry, Eddie.”

Eddie squats down so your downturned gaze is forced to lock with his, “Hey, no,” his hands find yours and he squeezes, rings biting at your palm, “it’s alright. You froze up, so what?”

“I could feel them staring at me,” you sniffle and whimper and hiccup, “I don’t wanna go back in there, I can’t look at them. I can’t do this, Eddie. I fucking hate this.”

This overwhelming dread whenever you’re faced with too many faces and too much judgment. This need to cry and hide and run like a child when you’re overwhelmed. This painful, exhausting, languishing need for people to just like you and be proud that they know you.

“Goddammit,” you rip your hands away and cover your eyes with your arms, “I wanna go home.”

Eddie waits a moment and you’re convinced he left. He’s better off that way; delivering the presentation alone so that Hawkins’ local nutjob can’t fuck up his last chance to graduate. Then you feel a hand on your cheek, tender and affectionate.

“Wanna look at me, sweets?” you shake your head and keep your eyes down, “Alright, hey, don’t worry about them, baby, you got this. You’re a rockstar here, remember?” your brows furrow and you purse your lips, “Don’t let a couple dorks with eggs stop you from killing this presentation.”

“We’re dorks with an egg,” you mutter. You look away, “Do you think I’m crazy? Like your friends do.”

“No,” he shakes his head, then remembers last night, then gently brushes his thumb over your cheek, “I mean, sure, I dunno anybody else who explodes on teachers or anything, but you’re not crazy. You just do crazy shit sometimes, sweetpea, ‘s totally different. Not even that crazy, just a little odd, maybe.”

You shoot him a disbelieving stare.

“Really, honey, you’re completely fine. Got some cold feet, that’s all. We just go back in there and kick ass, right?”

“It’s gonna be so fucking weird, Eds.”

“Just don’t let it be,” he stands and you hold your head up this time, still clutching the presentation he wrote last night, “Really, I didn’t stay up all last night writing this just for my pretty partner to not read it.”

“Fine,” you jam the toe of your sneaker into the linoleum floor, “Okay. Fine.”

Eddie holds his arms out, “Hug, for my brave knightly duties?”

“Hug,” you meet him in the middle and squeeze your arms around his waist, Eddie’s arms looping around your neck - his lips dangerously close to your forehead, “Thanks, Eds.”

“Don’t mention it.”

You two return inside and Ms. Vic moves aside for you. She mouths a quick ‘are you okay?’ and no, no you aren’t, but you nod and swallow the marble in your throat all the same.

“Hi,” you do your best to appeal to the people who would throw you overboard for a misplaced giggle, “sorry.”

Your eyes flutter to Eddie and he winks. You take his hand and he squeezes yours - a loving three times.

You keep your eyes on the paper, brows furrowing, “‘We decided to model our egg after James Hetfield, the lead singer of Metallica, and that made it all the more important that we don’t crack it’?” you shoot a quizzical look to Eddie, who only nods excitedly, “‘Our main method of egg-watching was to switch between the two of us during each passing period. That way we could both get the real experience of this project and wouldn’t let one person burden the other.”

Some of Eddie’s words don’t quite make sense where they are. Some of his wording is simply too clunky. A lot of it - most of it, in fact, is misspelled. But you’re slowly forgetting that this is being delivered to a room of other people, and you’re having fun. Weirdly enough.

You’ve had a lot of fun, actually.

Maybe forgiving Eddie won’t be quite as hard as you originally thought.

Chrissy, as usual, cheers you on the loudest. She cups her hands so her clapping can be heard over the mild applause of everyone else - including Ms. Vic’s. Gareth gives you a thumbs up and you start to think that maybe in another universe, this is the final stretch of a cheesy coming of age movie. Written and directed by John Hughes.

Eddie releases your hand and part of you is terribly embarrassed over how much you miss the warmth of his palm on yours.

You two wander back to your seats as Gareth and Sally are called to present. You feel bad for tuning them out, but it’s forgotten in the way sunshine flits through the window and lays kisses to Eddie’s profile.

He grins suddenly, his eyes catching yours and you look away. There’s a chuckle in his throat and you feel his fingers loop with yours once again. You find the courage to stare at him again and he hasn’t looked away from you yet.

You don’t know where this puts you and Eddie, but you do know that tomorrow shouldn't be boring. No day following today will be boring with Eddie Munson.

There’s stars in his eyes as he watches you. His pretty lips whisper, “Wanna go out?”

You squeeze his hand and nod, earnestly bashful.

Because yeah, maybe going out with Eddie Munson will be a form of social suicide, but it isn’t like your standing was all that great in the first place. Besides, you had more fun this week in the sparse moments with Eddie - and your stupid James Hetfield egg - than you think you’ve ever had at Hawkins before.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #eddie.🍓

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ambrossart · 3 months

Text

Paper Men: Ch. 31 *Preview #2*

Once again, apologies for the long wait. I should have the full release ready to go next week.

This preview contains the full Evelyn-Henry flashback (I shared a small excerpt from it previously) as well as some additional content.

Thanks for reading! ❤️

Word count: 3,200

____________________________________________

"Did you get a brain freeze, too?"

Henry had been sitting on the curb, just like he was doing now, when he felt someone sit down next to him. It was a girl, younger than he was, smaller than he was, dressed in a pink shirt with yellow flowers on the front. Her lips were stained a deep and absurd purple, but Henry hadn’t cared enough to ask why.

“Go away,” he said, but she didn’t. She just sat there staring at him with this dumb, fascinated expression, her head tossed to one side, purple lips slightly parted as if struck by sudden bewilderment. Henry glared back at her uncomfortably, feeling vulnerable and exposed. He didn’t like those brown eyes of hers, so large and curious. They seemed to be searching for something, something Henry kept hidden deep inside him… and they found it; somehow, they found it.

He saw her hand coming toward him next, reaching, preparing to take it, and he smacked her hand away as hard as he could. It all happened so fast. Lightning fast. Henry never even had a chance to think about it. His fist made a loud, meaty thwack. It was a very satisfying sound—the sound of power, the sound of respect, the sound of ill-mannered children finally being put back in their place. But then those eyes, those curious brown eyes, widened with such surprised hurt. The sight of them made Henry’s screaming red world bleed away. Guilt cut through him. His left hand uncurled and fell limp at his side. He had hit her too hard, much too hard, and now her hand was turning red, much too red. She cradled it against her chest and bore her pain in silence, just as his mother had.

“Sorry,” she said afterward. Her voice was soft and timid.

What are you saying sorry for? Henry thought, dumbfounded, while his culpable hand lay open beside him. He hadn’t meant to hit her so hard.

“You have a cut on your face,” the girl said carefully. “Does it hurt?”

“Huh?” Henry touched his hand to the apple of his cheek and felt the ghostly twinge of last night’s wound. His cut had started to bleed again, but only a little. “Oh… no.”

“Well, it looks like it hurts.”

The girl observed her injured hand and flexed it a few times: opening it, closing it, wiggling all of her fingers. She seemed satisfied, but Henry wasn’t. He really shouldn’t have hit her so hard.

“You should put a bandaid on that cut,” she said, “or else it could get infected.”

“Infected?”

“Mhm, and that would be bad… like really bad. You might need an amputation.”

“Am-pyuh-tay-shun?” The word was large and ominous. “What’s that?”

“It’s when the doctor cuts off part of your body. My friend Vic told me about it once. It sounds really scary.”

“They would cut off my face?”

“I guess so.”

Henry tried to imagine that, but he couldn’t.

“I think you’re lying,” he said. “You’re trying to trick me.”

“I’m not lying. I never lie.”

“Everyone lies.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“That’s a lie right there.”

Glaring at him, the girl opened her mouth to argue, snapped it closed without a word, and then forced a big huff of hot air through her nostrils. “Well, you should get one anyway.”

“Get what?”

“A bandaid. Just in case.”

Henry frowned. “I don’t have any bandaids.”

“You don’t? Hmm… well, doesn’t your mom have some?”

Henry’s frown deepened. It hurt too much to think about his mom right now. “I guess she does… or she did… but I don’t know where she keeps them.”

“Oh…” Her face crinkled into a troubled expression. “My mom keeps ours under the sink in her bathroom. She has a whole case of ‘em. I’m not supposed to go in there ‘cause there’s really dangerous stuff under the sink, chemicals and stuff, but…” She went quiet for a minute, lost in grave contemplation. Then she hopped to her feet. “Okay, I’ll be back.”

Back?

That word made Henry’s whole body tense up. He thought of his mother’s kitchen pantry, of that empty shelf where the chicken stock was supposed to sit, and he drew his knees into his chest and wrapped his arms around them. “If you wanna go, just go. You don’t have to make up a lie.”

“What? I’m not lying. I’m gonna go get you a bandaid. Then I’ll come right back.” She turned around, took a few steps, and stopped. “Hey, you’re not gonna leave, are you?”

“Huh?”

“If I come back and you’re not here, I’m gonna be really mad.”

Henry couldn’t imagine this girl being mad, not even a little bit.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said anyway.

“Pinky swear?”

“What?”

“Pinky swear!” She came to him with her right pinky out. Henry let her hook it around his. He felt like he had no other choice. “Now you better not be lying,” she said, “or else your pinky will fall off.”

“What?”

She giggled. “Just kidding! My dad says that all the time. It probably won’t happen, but you better keep your promise anyway, just in case.” She released his pinky and stepped back again, her warmth lingering on his skin. “I’ll be back in, uhh, five minutes, okay? Wait right here.”

She took off running and was gone. Henry sat on the curb and waited. Five minutes came, then went. Ten minutes came, then went. With each passing second, Henry felt his disappointment building, burning, rekindling his briefly forgotten hatred.

Everyone lies. Why did he think she would be any different?

Henry considered leaving himself. A couple times he almost did, but then he looked down at his pinky, remembered his promise, and sat back down. He waited for twenty minutes that day, sure that she was never coming back, scared that she was never coming back, and then he heard her cheerful voice ringing in the distance:

“Mission accomplished!”

She was running and panting and lugging a giant plastic case along by the handle. She had gone to get a bandaid and came back with her mother’s first aid kit.

“Why’d you bring the whole thing?” Henry asked, marveling at her.

“I didn’t know what size to get.”

Turns out, the girl wasn’t a liar, after all. She just had no concept of time.

She sat down beside him, caught her breath, popped open the case, and started pulling out bandaids and comparing them against the size of Henry’s cut. “Too big… too big… way too big… hmm…” She held up a tiny yellow bandaid and kept it there for a moment, her brown eyes taking on a prideful shine. “This one. This one’s perfect.” While unwrapping it, she said, “These are my special bandaids, but you can have one. I don’t mind.”

She pressed the bandaid to his cheek. It almost felt like a kiss.

“There,” she said. “You should be okay now.”

Henry felt his face get hot, but not unpleasantly so. “They won’t cut my face off?”

“I hope not.” The girl smiled at him, a sunny, perfect smile, and Henry’s face got hotter still. “I’m Evelyn, but you can call me Evie if you want. Most people do.”

“Okay.”

Evelyn giggled. Her laugh was as sweet and disarming as she was. “You’re supposed to say your name now.”

“Oh…” Henry reached down to dust off some of the dirt from his black sneakers. Hers were white, pretty, and had been doodled all over with colored markers. “It’s Henry. My name’s Henry.”

She said Henry was a very nice name, that it suited him perfectly, but Henry had never thought so, not until he heard her say it.

Evelyn. So her name was Evelyn… but you can call me Evie if you want. Most people do. But he wouldn’t. No, if most people called her Evie, then Henry didn’t want to. He wanted to call her something different. Something special. Something that made her think of him. Only him. Henry didn’t know where this feeling came from, but he knew it couldn’t be ignored.

“Hey, Evie!” someone shouted from far away.

Henry looked across the street and saw two boys standing on the other side. One was small and scrawny, with dirty blond hair, a shade lighter than Henry’s own. The other boy was taller, with darker hair, and he didn’t look like he wanted to be there at all. Evelyn’s face lit up as soon as she saw them. Meanwhile, Henry sat in her shadow, feeling cold and alone. He didn’t like these two boys, whoever they were. He wanted them to go away.

“Jimmy,” Evelyn said, “you’re back!”

“Uh-huh!” The small boy—Jimmy—answered. “We’re heading over to the playground now if you wanna come.”

Evelyn gasped excitedly. “I can come? Really? You’re not fooling?”

The tall boy answered with an annoyed groan: “No, Evelyn, we’re not fooling you. Now hurry up before we change our minds.”

The small boy said something then, something Henry couldn’t quite hear, but whatever it was, it made the tall boy go quiet, shuffle back a step, and stare down at the ground. Henry didn’t like this tall boy, not at all, yet he couldn’t understand why.

Even more upsetting was how fast Evelyn jumped to her feet.

“This is my time to shine!” she said to herself. “Don’t mess this up, Evie, don’t mess this up!”

And now that cold feeling was back again. She was leaving. She was leaving with those two boys and Henry would never see her again. I don’t care, Henry decided. He wasn’t planning on sticking around anyway.

But then he heard Evelyn’s voice again, and felt her bright smile warming his face.

“You wanna come to the playground with us? Vic can be a little mean sometimes, but Jimmy’s really nice. We can play on the jungle gym and the merry-go-round and swing on the swings. I like to swing real high and then jump off—shoom!—but I fall sometimes. Last week, I hurt my knee. See?” She showed Henry the scabbed-over scrape on her right knee. Henry thought she needed to be more careful. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, but my mom said I’m not allowed to jump off the swings anymore. She said I might break something, and that would be bad… Anyway, you wanna come? It’ll be a lotta fun.”

Henry shook his head. He didn’t want to go to the playground, not if those boys were going, too.

“Oh…” She pouted a little. “Well, I guess I’ll see you at school then. I’m starting kindergarten tomorrow. I’m a little scared, but mostly excited. What grade are you in?”

“First grade,” Henry answered. His kindergarten teacher, Miss Kissel, had recommended he stay in kindergarten for another year (he wasn’t learning his letters fast enough), but his father didn’t think that was necessary. Now Henry wished he had been kept back. It would’ve been nice to see Evelyn at school every day.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Evelyn said, sounding equally disappointed. “Well, maybe I’ll see you at recess… maybe… but you’ll probably be playing with your other friends then. You’ll probably ignore me. Boys always get meaner when they’re with their other friends. It’s not really fair, but—”

“I don’t have any friends,” Henry told her, “but you probably won’t see me anyway.”

“Huh? Why not?”

“Because I’m running away today.”

Evelyn’s eyes widened. “Running away?” She clasped her hands over her mouth and stared at him in disbelief. It was as if Henry had just uttered the mother of all curse words. Shock and sadness swam in her eyes. In a heartbroken voice, she asked, “Why would you wanna run away?”

Her friends were calling out to her now: “Evie! Evie! Are you coming or not?”

“I’m coming!” Evelyn yelled back frantically. “Don’t go without me, I’m coming!” She looked at her friends, then down at Henry, and her face darkened with conflicted pain. “I wanna go, but…”

In the end, she didn’t. She told her friends to go play without her.

“C’mon,” she said to Henry, “I wanna show you something,” and she took him to her special spot, which would eventually become their special spot, situated outside the Derry city limits.

“You said you wanted to get outta Derry, right? Well, here ya go! You’re officially outta Derry. Pretty neat, huh?”

It was just a rock on the side of the road, a giant rock surrounded by dirt, grass, and trees, yet it was the only place Henry could breathe freely, think clearly. Henry always wondered why that was. Maybe it was the location or maybe it was simply the company he kept. He and Evelyn stayed on that rock for the rest of the day, huddled together, sometimes talking, sometimes just sitting quietly and enjoying the silence. Afterward, as the sun began to set, she turned to him with the saddest smile Henry had ever seen.

“I have to go home now,” she said, “but you can stay if you want… or leave; I guess you can do that too, if you still want to.”

Henry had every intention of running away that day. In hindsight, he probably should have.

But how could he leave when Evelyn was still stuck in Derry?

She’s not worth it, Henry thought presently, soberly, his anger finally receding into a woeful grey calm. Did I really say that to her? Did I? Did I?

Yes. Yes, he did.

The realization made his stomach wrench with such sickening guilt. He hadn’t meant to say that. She had to know he had never meant to say that… not out loud, anyway.

Another wave of guilt crashed over him. Bearing it, Henry lifted his head and felt a tear escape his eye. Just one. One was all he could manage. It slipped out, stopped halfway down his face, and dried there against the wind. No more tears came after that. It had been a long time since Henry allowed himself to have a proper cry. He didn’t trust himself anymore. The last time had really fucked things up for him.

I guess that’s my fault, too.

Henry didn’t know why he sought out Evelyn that day, why that one beating broke him more than any of the others. His dad found out he was failing math, geography, and English, and Henry would have to attend summer school if he wanted to stay on track. His dad said summer school wasn’t an option. Butch couldn’t afford to be down a man during the farm’s busiest season. Henry refused. He didn’t want to repeat the ninth grade, fall behind, and watch his friends go on without him—and he wouldn't. Butch, saying nothing, struck him with his open palm and sent him sprawling across the kitchen floor. Then he ripped off his belt and hit him a dozen more times. At least. Henry stopped counting after that. It didn’t matter how many times that belt came down, how hard it came down; all Henry could think about was Evelyn moving on without him, graduating without him, getting out of Derry, going off to college, getting married, raising a family, all while Henry was stuck right here. In this house. In this hell. Alone.

Maybe that was what broke him. Maybe that was why he so desperately needed to see her that day.

So he did. Henry went to her and she was there. Didn’t even ask him what happened. She probably didn’t need to.

And when Evelyn brought him into her house, into her room, into her bed, when Henry sat upon her soft floral quilt and saw all the postcards on her wall—depicting places Henry would probably never see himself—something inside him shattered. He started sobbing uncontrollably, releasing a near decade’s worth of pent-up emotions. He thought of his mother, of the last kiss she ever gave him. He thought of her empty bed and her closet full of clothes. All her makeup. Her hairbrush. Her jewelry. Everything exactly as she left it. He thought of the broken picture frame on top of his dresser. He had torn out her photo years ago but kept the frame. It was still there, right next to the blue gel pen Evelyn had given him earlier that year. Henry never used it because he didn’t want the ink to run out, because he knew one day that pen would be the only thing he had left of her, and that made him cry even harder. Grief suffocated him. Reality slipped away from him. His mind skidded sideways and suddenly he was back in his house, in his kitchen, bawling under the table like a baby, like a scared little baby waiting for his mommy to come home. Except she was never coming home.

That’s when he heard Evelyn’s voice and felt her warm weight next to him, friendly, womanly, perhaps even a little motherly—yeah, there was no denying that. Ten years ago, Henry’s mother walked out of his life. The next day, Evelyn entered it. She was five. She was fifteen. She was sitting right beside him, always beside him. It didn’t matter where Henry was, what he said, what he did, Evelyn was always there: as his friend, his mother, his lover, whatever Henry needed her to be.

That day, he just needed her to be there.

I think I’m putting too much on you, he realized then as he looked at her, her face awash with sympathy and sorrow, brown eyes reflecting his pain. She looked so beautiful like that. How much more can you take before you break, I wonder. A lot? A little? Can you handle just a little more?

It was almost sadistic, the way he treated her, but Henry didn’t care. He couldn’t care. He ached so deeply and she was the only one who could make that pain go away. It was hard not to get a little greedy. Was it fair? Probably not, but then again life wasn’t fair, was it? Henry didn’t ask to be born into an abusive household. Didn’t ask for his mother to abandon him. Didn’t ask for Evelyn to wander over, sit down next to him, and smile that perfect smile. She just appeared. She appeared when Henry needed her most. Almost like she was made for him. Why shouldn’t he use her as often as he pleased? However he pleased? Why shouldn’t he take and take and take until there’s nothing left? Henry hated himself for thinking this, yet he selfishly clung to her anyway. He almost cried when he felt her hand brush against his face, warm, soft. Her sparkling eyes sought his earnestly, innocently, and asked for a little something in return. Henry knew what she wanted. He had seen it in her eyes ten years ago. He thought she had forgotten about it by now.

Take it, he thought. It’s broken and worthless now, but you can have it if you want. It’s probably all rotten inside, but you can have it if you want. I won’t fight you anymore. Just don’t blame me if it kills you in the end. I never asked for any of this.

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