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fic-over-cannon · 2 months

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Nothing Fucks With My Baby (Part 2)

link to part 1

jason todd x f!reader

summary: jason has always feared he’d be the monster of his life. what he doesn’t realize is that between the two of you, you will always be the bigger monster, and you will love him anyway.

tags: violence, murder, implied child abuse, manipulation, implied sexual content

rating: mature | wc: 5.8k

a/n: this plot bunny took over my brain and wouldn’t let me go until i’d finished it. reader’s pov can get pretty twisted, so please mind the tags on this one and let me know if i’ve missed any.

Lucy Nesbit dies remarkably young. Only eight years old and she had drowned in a stormwater overflow. Poor thing, the adults had all said. Should have minded her step better, shouldn’t have been playing in dangerous places. The school had held a week of mourning. A tragedy. It hadn’t taken much effort to kill her. A sharp shove, then kneeling on her back until the bubbles stopped, and suddenly there went Lucy. Stones thrown at recess, scissors searching for your hair, harsh names and turned backs all stopped with just a few moments of effort.

The killing of Lucy Nesbit is likely the most important lesson you learned from that school. No one at the foster home had noticed you come home soaking wet, blood on the tip of your shoe. No one had asked you any questions when you didn’t gasp with the rest of your class as the principal announced the death of poor little Lucy, gone too soon. Nobody had noticed that you had been the one to make the world a less scary place. It is a lesson you keep close to you.

Only Jason Todd had noticed anything different at all. Found you in the corner of the yard staring down at the pavement during recess. Tucked his hands and looked up at the sky, squinted.

“Don’t need me to look out for you anymore,” he sighs. Nudges your shoulder with his and says “Lucy won’t be pickin’ on you again.” He’s right, of course. She won’t be doing anything important really.

“Sometimes I wished she’d die so they’d leave me alone,” you whisper. “‘Cause it was bad when you were there but when she’d wait for you to leave it was always worse. Does that mean I’m a bad person?” It’s a thought that’s crossed your mind before. Is there something so wrong, so terrible about you that the well-fed well-heeled could just look at you and know there was something awful about you? The same thing that led to getting left behind, bullied, belittled. Had Lucy Nesbit taken one look at you and known you were something to be destroyed?

“Nah. You’re my best friend and I wouldn’t be best friends with anyone bad.” He grins at you, front left tooth still missing from where you’d helped him pull it out three weeks ago. The bell rings, shrill and discordant, signaling the end of recess.

It’s only years later that you understand the tremble of her lips and the wobble of her chin before she would call you names, dig her nails into the meat of your arm, lead the other girls in pretending you didn’t exist. Lovely Lucy Nesbit, sweet cheeked with glossy curls, had been afraid. She should have been. The new girl who’d only moved to the Alley recently after her father’s embezzlement conviction, oh she should have been afraid of the children chewing her up and spitting her out like a rotten peach. Instead, she chose someone else to make afraid. The little girl with only one friend and no one waiting for her at home. All of that glitz and Diamond District shine wasn’t enough to bury the ugly truth of Lucy.

Jason Todd dies at 11 years old. He dies at the hand of the Batman, Gotham’s own protector.

Three weeks after Catherine had died and two weeks after he stopped showing up to school, Jason shows up at your foster home. More particularly, at the window of the bathroom you’re currently hiding in. The knocking startles you, hands coming away from where they’d been pressed to your ears to block out the fighting. He grins and waves at you through the window, suspicious smears across his nose and temple. You have to stand on the very tips of your toes to push open the latch but you manage it. He presses his face to the bars, hands wrapping around the solid metal.

“Jason?” you ask, tone tinged with wonder. “What are you doing here?”

“Jus’ wanted to tell you I’m okay.” Something smashes within the house and the voices raise. “Couldn’t stick around for long after the funer— after. Didn’t wanna stick around to see if they’d stick me in a place like this.”

“But what are you going to do? Where do you live?”

“Found an empty building that’s pretty warm. Sometimes I find stuff and Mr. Baker at the garage buys ‘em from me so I can buy loads of snacks. You know—” there’s a loud pounding on the bathroom door, staccato sharp, that causes you both to jump. One of the older foster kids yells at you to hurry the fuck up, then slams on the door again for good measure. In a hurried whisper, Jason continues “You know the old building across the park with the purple window sills? Come find me there.”

The night Jason Todd dies, you’d managed to sneak out again. Knew from previous trips the best way to get to the old house was to go out the back and use the garbage bins to boost over the fence. Jason’s not there when you let yourself in, hands careful to put the loose board back exactly the same. He does this sometimes. ‘Finds’ things to sell to Mr. Baker so he can come back with candy from the bodega to share with you. You settle yourself in to wait in the blanket you’d snuck out for him when there’s a noise from the lane behind the house. Clutching the scratchy blanket closer to you, you feel your way through the dark, breath held in your chest like a treasure. The slats nailed over the painted window sills have just enough of a gap that you can see between them without being seen yourself. What you see out in the night causes you to grip the old wood until splinters dig into your palms.

The Bat holds Jason in his grip even as he struggles, even as he swears. Jason’s angry, snarling face is nothing like his smiles for you. The Bat shakes him as Jason tries to twirl out of his grip, head lolling like a doll’s. Jason goes limp as he is bundled into the looming machine parked down the lane. The last thing you see of him is his eyes, wide and fearful.

Jason Wayne puppets the body of your friend for years after. He is not the boy that stood between you and Lucy Nesbit and matched her stone for stone. This Jason Wayne smiles for pictures without baring his teeth as a warning. He doesn’t remember cruel words or the way the world works. He doesn’t remember the lessons and the secrets the two of you had passed between you. No, this Jason Wayne doesn’t remember you at all. The only explanation is that your friend is dead. The fine sweet thing with his round cheeks and charming school uniform you only glimpse in the paparazzi photos printed in gossip rags half-melted into garbage heaps is not your friend. Just another leech of the city with pretty powder and paint, fattened on too much while there exists too little.

You get the news that Jason Wayne has died while at your third foster home since the one Jason had found you in. You find out the same way everyone else in Gotham does, the public broadcast of Bruce Wayne’s press conference. It steals the breath from you, the anger that slams into you. Heat surges through you and it is all you can do to uncurl your fingers from their fists. It hadn’t escaped you that four months after Jason Todd died there was a new Robin in town. That this Robin had a gaped tooth grin that would make even the dull mourning for a girl you hated seem bearable. The red rimmed eyes of Bruce Wayne on the staticky screen of the common room television confirms what you already know: Bruce Wayne is the Bat and he has killed your friend twice over.

Screaming into your pillow that night, your understanding of how the city works crystallizes. The Bat does not protect you, does not make your city better. He takes and he takes until there is nothing left for you. He throws out in a week food that would sustain you for a month, drops money on batted eyelashes and shiny new toys for him to destroy more of the city with. He is not the saviour some people say he is. He will not save you.

You are the Alley girl with the strange knobbly knees and the eyes that see too much. You will save yourself. You will keep your lessons about the ways the world works and what it takes to change them close to your heart.

The City of Gotham is never short of two things: crime and government money to prosecute it. Certifying as a court stenographer isn’t cheap, not with juggling your ejection from the foster system at 18 and having no funds to speak of. Second and third jobs keep you afloat until the scholarships and grants kick in. But by 20 your future is secured, government pension squirreling away into your accounts. You even manage to buy the house with the purple windows. It goes for a song on account of the murder that took place there all those years ago, but brand new flooring takes care of the more suspicious stains. It should be enough, to have saved yourself. It isn’t.

Every day you go to work and dutifully take down every damning word said. You record the lies and the horrors and the not guilty verdicts and every word you transcribe breaks your faith a little more. You have not saved yourself. The world has not changed, you aren’t any safer than you were at 13 and scared that the drunk man calling out crude words might actually carry them out on your walk home. No safety exists save for the pretty little lie you had painted for yourself. The only thing that has changed is that you are not scrabbling in the dirt.

Somewhere along the way, in the mess of bureaucratic paperwork that had become your life, you had forgotten the lessons you were meant to remember. Forgetting had not served you well. It takes a drunken night out gone badly to force you to remember.

A coworker pressures you to come out with the rest of the stenographers, a newly opened bar just close enough to the edge of the Alley to give the old money blood suckers the illusion of danger. The dance floor is crowded but you choose to stay hunched over your drink, wary of this glittering crowd. A man sidles up to you, rests his forearm against yours and offers you a smile that reeks of Texas oil wells and Manhattan construction firms. You look him in the eye as he fumbles through some pickup lines, nearly sick with the realization that he doesn’t recognize you. DUI, ran through a school crosswalk at the end of the school day, one child dead and two permanently disfigured. Got off with community service and a hefty donation. He wants to fuck you.

The police find him behind the bar the next morning, throat slashed and wallet missing, and chalk it up to a mugging gone wrong. He should have known better than to go flashing so much cash so close to where criminals live, the news anchors tut. Unable to withstand the scandal, the bar closes. You savour the top shelf whiskey bottle you’d bought at their closing, the same one he’d tried to buy you and drug you with, and attribute the glow in your belly to having done a good thing. His driver’s license finds a home under your living room floorboards.

The Red Hood arrives and the Alley almost seems to reverberate with the shockwaves. Still, pretty young things with a hankering for a bit of rough to tell all their friends about with champagne glasses in their hands and haughty titters wind up dead. You don’t recognize all of them from work, some of them you simply want power over. To reveal to these silver spoon fed creatures exactly how fragile their influence is. Disposing of them does not save you, but it makes you feel safe to know that the world does not turn solely around those shiny, fragile things. You are careful and you are not caught.

At the courthouse, you watch the aftermath of the Hood’s vendettas play out. Chat about cases with your coworkers between trials just to get a feel for what his game is. He’s an unknown to most of them, but not to you. You look at how the number of drug convictions of minors plummet this quarter, watch at how fewer pimps get brought in for killing their girls, note the way gang violence reduces down to just the Hood’s own orders and you understand. Whoever the Hood is, whatever he is, he knows the same lessons engraved on your heart. That the world is not safe unless you make it, and that the world doesn’t care what methods it takes to get it done.

Your first run in with Gotham’s newest crime lord isn’t planned. Quite specifically, you had never intended to make your way onto his radar at all. He had different plans, however. Taking out the garbage, you all but trip over his feet one late night. He’s slumped against your fence with one hand pressed against his neck. Blood dribbles between his fingers, dark under the fluorescent burn of the street lights.

The gun pointing at your head does not dissuade you from attempting to push him into a standing position.

“If you wanted to die in my yard, the least you could have done is climbed in through the back,” you say, voice measured and cold. “I’m not letting you bleed out in my front yard and make me a target for whoever carved you that second smile.” That jolts a reaction out of him, gun wavering from it’s unerring focus on your face. “So what we’re going to do is get you out of the open and then I’m going to call whoever you want to come stitch you up.”

A man of his size dwarfs the chair set in your kitchen but he will not be moved from his vantage point. Defensive, back to the wall and all entrances in sight. The wound still bleeds sluggishly. Determined not to have this man die in your kitchen, not when he’s actually out there doing some good in the world, you lay out your first aid kit and go for his throat. The gun jamming into the side of your ribs immediately lets you know just how badly you’ve not thought this idea out.

“You’re still bleeding, pretty badly too. I just want to take a look to see if I can patch you up long enough until whoever gets here can do something.”

The moment draws out, neither of you saying anything. With every breath you can feel the muzzle of the gun dig into you further. Something must read as sincere on your face, not that you’d ever be able to name what it was, and he reaches up for his helmet. Pushes a button at the nape of his neck to release it, before deliberately placing it on the kitchen table one handed. He smiles at you with bloodied teeth and, oh, that’s your boy.

“Well,” he rasps, “get to it.”

At that exact moment you press down with gauze, forcing a grunt out of him. Good. Jason’s scared you enough for a single lifetime. Trying to secure the gauze with medical tape and spite, you’re forced to lean into him until the feverish glow of his skin warms your own.

“Not afraid ‘m gonna bite?”

“I know you’re not going to hurt me because you’re my best friend and I wouldn’t be friends with a bad person.” Leaning back, you inspect your work. Shoddy, but it’ll do until someone actually medically trained can stitch him up. Finally, you let yourself actually look at him. Behind the domino mask you’d swear there’s slack jawed wonder. A brusque knock at the back door interrupts the moment and then great big hulking men are carrying Jason away. You know he’ll be back.

The next time you run into the man who might be Jason, you are tripping out of a bar on the arm of your next pretty bright thing, too whiskey-headed to tell that you’re nowhere near as disoriented as you should be after what you’d knocked back. He knocks over a homeless man’s collection bowl and snickers when the coins get knocked down a grate. Grabbing your wrist, he tugs, pulls you into the side alley and tries to pin you behind the dumpster. The broken bottle shard is already in your hand when the man drops down dead. A neat hole in his head sending droplets all over your blouse. There’s no way dry cleaning will save it. The Red Hood steps into sight, gun muzzle lowered. And just like that, Jason Todd — not Jason Wayne — is back from the dead.

Jason kisses you sweetly for the first time after he drives you home from the traveling fair that had set up on the outskirts of the city. The feeling of his lips — soft, chapped, heartbreakingly gentle — slots something broken back into the hollow between your ribs. He kisses you and the axis of your world shifts. He kisses you, and you know that he will look at you like you are everything good and kind that you pretend to be if only you will love him back. The tender thing in your chest growing claws, fanning hunger into conflagration. Loving him will save you both.

He pulls back and you let him. Look up at him from below mascara-lengthened lashes and allow yourself a smile. Fiddle with the hem of your dress and tell him haltingly just how much you’d enjoyed the evening and how excited you were to do this again. Jason’s declared himself as yours for the taking and you will not let him slip through your greedy fingers.

You let Jason court you. Accept the flowers he brings to your door with quiet murmurs of appreciation. Wear soft dresses that invite him to touch but are just enough out of season for the weather so he’ll wrap his own jacket around you. Send him off to patrol with packets of his favourite candies tucked into his jacket pockets and laugh with him over the meals he cooks for you in the same kitchen he had nearly bled out in. You would have done most of these things for him anyway, but now they are your weapons. Each action meant to pierce another hook into his heart until he is as unable to leave you behind as you could him. You will never believe the world is safe without him in it.

The number of Gotham’s most elite reprobates coming to unfortunate ends zeroes out. You’ve got the prettiest up and comer on your arm these days, with his many scars and fearsome attitude. Jason in his many forms makes the world a better place, makes you safer with every bullet lodged in a skull. He is not the same boy that yelled at Lucy Nesbit for you or split a chocolate bar with you in an abandoned house. The cracks show through. Violence drips out of his every pore despite his hand wringing to you late at night. You are his confessor and absolve him of any sin. A fangless creature is useless to you, though you would grudgingly love it nonetheless.

The first time Jason sleeps with you, you engineer it, encourage it. Why? Because it ties him to you. Binds him through sweat and flesh in a way that nothing else but the kiss of death can. Lean in and wrap your arms low around his stomach as he drives you home on his motorcycle. Linger in his good night kiss before inviting him in to see how the flowers he gave you are doing. Sweep your hair away from your neck as you bend down to place his mug of tea on the rickety coffee table. You close your eyes and smile where he can’t see at the feeling of warm lips pressed to your spine.

It’s slow. It’s sweet. You’ve never felt like a more precious thing than in his arms. He looks at you like you’ve hung the moon in the sky and set the sun to burning. You kiss his scars and tell him to give you his stories when he’s ready. One day there will be nothing you don’t know about him. If Jason wasn’t in love with you before tonight, he is now.

You are told the tale of Jason’s deaths and rebirths only once, but it is enough to open up the yawning chasm of fear under you again. The world is not safe, not for Jason, not for you, not when so many of your enemies still walk this side of the grave. Gotham is safer after the Red Hood. Jason is still in as much danger as he ever was. The horror, the possibility that he could be cut down — by Falcone, by Sionis, by the Joker, by the Bat — it shakes you to your core. You want to scream, to rage. What you do instead is kiss Jason on the forehead and let him go to pieces in your arms.

Jason always says you bring out the best in him. If that is true, then he brings out the darkest parts of you. The parts that twist and grow cold until you see the world as sets of acceptable losses for acceptable benefits. In your eyes, any loss is acceptable for Jason’s sake. He becomes lighter after the revelation, no more secrets between you he says. Accepts your heartbreak on his behalf with teary eyes and a wry smile. The day he tells you that Bruce — his father, the Bat — had been the one to carve him open the time he’d turned up in your garden is the day he becomes wholly yours.

“Jason, Jason he shouldn’t have done that to you,” you say gently, cupping his wet cheeks in your palms. He won’t look you in the eyes.

“He was— he was lookin’ at me like I was the monster, like my murderer wasn’t standing there too,” he confesses. “I just wanted him to love me like when I was a kid.” He shatters. “I just wanted to feel safe again.”

“Oh honey,” you coo, shears tucked into your hand. “I love you, and you’re no monster to me. You know me, do you think I could love something truly evil? You do so much good, you help so many people and you ask for so little in return,” your gaze is tender, loving. “I’d keep you safe, Jay, if I could. And I’d do it because I love you. Someone that won’t do that, well, it’s no kind of love at all.” You see the blow land, have already calculated its trajectory and velocity.

“I don’t— but he loved me. He loves me,” Jason insists, plaintive and raw voiced. “Doesn’t he?”

“I think he might’ve once. When you were younger, sweeter. But Jason, everything he’s done since then hasn’t been love. If he still loves you, it wouldn’t matter that you came back different, came back changed.” You can feel the last threads of his relationship with the Bat fraying under the blades of your words. It’s time to make the final cut. “Can you really say he loves who you are now?”

Jason asks, once, if you ever thought about kids.

“I thought maybe I’d foster some day. Save some poor kids the same trouble I went through, so that others don’t run off scared like you did.” It’s a lie, of course, but you know it makes him feel better to think of you as anything but selfish. “Not now though, not with the way the world is.” You rest your head on his shoulder, curl your fingers into his shirt. “Besides, the life you lead is dangerous enough. It would be cruel to bring children into our lives right now. Maybe one day, if the world ever becomes a little safer.”

He hums, thoughtfully, and leaves the matter there. But the seed has been planted in the dark corners of his mind and one day they will bear fruit.

The house with the purple window sills is officially only a home to you, but Jason comes round for dinner, to spend the night in your bed so often, that it may as well be his home too. He listens to you talk about your long days at work, the court cases that worm their way under your skin and won’t leave until you purge yourself of them. Really, he’s more horrified than you were at the beginning of this at how badly broken the system is. You give no names, simply the crimes and the sentences, and even those details are too much to bear.

One night you come home from work silent. Red rimmed eyes dry and sightless, you collapse into him. It takes an hour, more if you count the time spent panicking over a hypothetical injury, to coax the story out of you. A snake in the grass of a financial adviser, stolen pensions, and three suicides. All charges dropped. The testimony of crying grandchildren still not enough to make a difference. It is the first time he demands a name from you. It is not the last.

The day your old foster father comes across your judge’s docket is the day the world finally feels less terrifying. He is acquitted, of course. The testimony of trauma victims are notoriously inconsistent after all, if the witness is truly traumatized and not just lying for attention. It hurts to hear his public defender say those things, but it does make what you have planned easier.

The moment Jason comes through the door you are on him. Clinging to him all weak limbs and fought back tears. He holds you gently and strokes your hair.

“I need… I need you to do something for me Jay,” you whisper into his chest.

“Just gotta ask baby.”

“I need you to kill somebody and I need you to let me watch.” He stiffens under you, but you will not lose him here. “D’you remember when you came to find me at the foster home, the one with the yelling?” He nods, presses a kiss to the top of your head. “That foster father walked free today, acquitted and all charges dropped. I need to know he’s not gonna stay that way Jay, that someone cared enough to stop him, or otherwise I’ll go crazy.” He exhales sharply through his nose.

“I’ll take care of him, jus’ like I take care of all those names you give me. But do you hafta be there? Isn’t it enough to just know he’s dead? I don’t wanna drag you down into the dirt with me.”

“You’re not tainting me, honey. You’re freeing me.”

You watch the man die, a slow drawn out thing as he begs for kindness. His pain means nothing to you. Only the final blow, dealt by Jason’s bloodied hands, shifts the burden of memory from you. You stop being afraid of this particular threat. The body is found scattered across the railroad tracks. Police mark it down as a suicide.

This victory is twofold. Your world is a little safer and Jason has killed for you, on your express order and with you as witness. There is no greater high than this, the power that sings through your blood. Jason will reshape the world to keep you safe. Now you will reshape the world for him.

It takes three more months of witnessing his work and not flinching before Jason brings him to you. In the end, it’s really quite simple. You ask for the chance to show Jason how much he is loved, to let you take care of this one thing to keep him safe. He puts up a token fight, insistent on keeping your hands clean of his business, but the two of you know that your hands are far from pristine. The Joker is bound at your feet by the end of the day. A quick drag of your wrist and he is just another thing to be taken out with Saturday’s trash to eventually be illegally dumped in the harbour. Jason sobs in your arms that night.

He is not the boy you’d wished to have returned to you as a child. Jason is not quite the Bat’s son, or the weapon of the League either. He is some half-raised creature of the city’s own design and you love him because of that. You know he does not see you half as clearly as you see him, but you will accept his wonderful naïveté for all the ways it will let you protect him. Protect you by extension. Jason’s trust, his devotion to you, it is everything you’ve ever wanted. It is more than you have ever expected to have. That forgotten little Alley girl, now the centre of someone’s world.

And so you plan. A list of names a mile long of people who make this city worse just by breathing. Kingpins and crime lords and all their networks, culled from your networks and court cases. Heroes and vigilantes who already work tirelessly to hamstring the work the Red Hood does, uncaring of all the lives he’s saved. A list that, when all of the occupants are dead, will mean you are finally safe in a world that belongs to Jason. Convincing Jason, with all of his infinite love for you, to wipe the slate clean of them all is still no easy matter. Instead, you let the Bat make your argument for you.

Another bar, another drunk cell-less jailbird, only this time you know that Jason is waiting in the shadows, that the Bat is in the rafters. The man stumbles, his too shiny shoes catching on the cracks in the pavement. Jason moves to raise his gun and a flicker of metal sends his aim wide. The man on your arm shies at the sound of gunfire but your grip is iron. A body slides between Jason and his prey and you refuse to let this one escape. The pen knife lodges beneath the jaw bone, catches on something and sticks. His death rattle is unsightly but he goes down easy, life slipping away down the sewer grate. A booted step, heavier than Jason’s, causes your head to snap up.

A wraith looms over you and it’s pure terror that sends your stomach into free fall. The Bat turns on you, advances until your back is pressed up against the brick. A gloved hand reaches for you but pulls back like stung when a bullet narrowly misses a finger.

“Last warning. Back. Off.” growls the modulated voice of the Red Hood. He prowls forward, legs eating up the distance. The Bat simply grunts. Back to the wall, you try to inch away, but the feeling of cold metal stops you. The cuff around your wrist cinches shut so tightly you can feel the bones of your wrist grind together. You whimper, high in your throat. Jason’s fist goes crashing into the cowl.

“I said back off!” the Bat catches his next punch, before returning a hit of his own.

“She just killed someone in cold blood, Hood. You’re protecting a murderer.”

“At least she did something, Bruce! D’you even know what that man did? What you let him do to this city?” he screams the last word then headbutts the Bat.

The alley descends into a flurry of blows, bodies colliding with metal and concrete. Neither of them notice you pick yourself up from knees and flee. Home’s not safe, not until Jason tells you. But he’ll come back for you. You’ve gotten so good at waiting for Jason, what’s a few hours more?

He finds you in the safe house he’d made you memorize the address of way back in the infancy of your relationship. Nerves have you sitting in the dark, too afraid that even a light will give you away. It is a cold kind of silence that blankets the small kitchen with its empty cupboards. Dried blood has started to flake off of your skin and you begin to pick at it. For a moment, the repetitive motions distract you until you can’t bear the prickly feeling on your skin anymore. With a clatter you rush to the tap, the trailing handcuff clanging against the metal sink. A stone rolls in your gut and you retch until there is nothing left in it. Everything rests on this. The future rests on this. You lean back and rest your forehead on the cool edge of the sink.

The sound of the window jimmying open causes you to jump, whirling around to face the threat. It’s Jason, only Jason, flailing around in the dark. The streetlights reflect off of his helmet, revealing the cracks in the patina. You launch yourself at him, fingers curling into the collar of his coat. He smells of blood and grime, but beneath it all, warmth. Jason crushes you to him, hand cradling the back of your head with a tenderness that overwhelms you.

“M’sorry I’m late baby,” he murmurs. “Why’s it so dark in here?” Unable to form words, you simply shake your head and press yourself closer. Fear has always dogged you, but never have you gotten so close to the source of it. Jason raises a hand and wraps it reassuringly around your wrist. “Let’s get some light and we’ll get this thing off of you,” he says while stroking a thumb over where the cuff digs into your skin.

You have to stifle a giggle at the absurd parallel to the night he tore back into your life. The two of you sat at a table tending to wounds inflicted by Gotham’s self-titled vengeance, the uncertainty of the future hanging over you. Hands gentler than they’ve ever been, Jason traces over the blooming bruises on your wrist, handcuffs discarded on the table.

“He’s never going to stop chasing me, is he?” you whisper, slow fear poisoning your voice. “He’s never gonna stop trying to take me away from you. Not while I’m alive.” Jason trails his grip to your palm and turns it over, brings it to his lips and places a featherlight kiss on your fourth knuckle.

“No, baby. Not while he’s alive.”

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd fic #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #red hood fic #sunnie writes 🌻

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lovebugism · 1 year

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I need the next part to the costumer’s always right like yesterday. The roller coaster this story is sending me through is insane. :’)))))

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | family vacation

summary: the gang takes a brief break from the chaos of hawkins and spends a weekend at lake lemon. you and eddie find that it's difficult to be in love and babysit at the same time. (10k)

pairing: virgin!eddie munson / f!reader

tags: experienced!reader, idiots in love (road trip edition), newly established relationship, r's nickname is peach, eddie wants to kiss you but the kids think it's gross :(, the fluffiest chapter yet i dare say, steve in his babysitter era, the gangs all here! TW probable typos, very brief mentions of abusive relationships, briefer mentions of b*lly h*rgrove, talks of sexual/romantic insecurities

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˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

It’s t-minus seven minutes until spring break, and you’re spending it with Steve The Hair Harrington.

The parking lot of Hawkins High is relatively empty, filled only with vacant cars and whipping wind that carries the scent of mowed grass and blue skies — the promise of a soon summer. Without your friends and other strangers to fill the quiet with their resounding laughter and booming voices, the strip of concrete is sleepy and silent.

You and Steve turn it all to velvet.

On the hood of his Beamer, you sit with your chins tilted to the sky. Puffy white clouds glide eastward against a blanket of sapphire, and the two of you try to make shapes out of them. Giving meaning to globs of disfigured marshmallows in the sky is a lost art, if you had anything to say about it.

“Aw, that one looks like a heart!” you awe, feeling like a child again as you point to the pretty cloud for Steve to see.

He doesn’t find as much joy in the mundane as you seem to. He only agreed to do it because you asked so nicely — “Wanna watch the clouds with me, Stevie?” you’d said, followed by a drawn-out “Please?” when he initially denied you.

Besides, it was a pretty alright way to pass the time. Steve always said he lacked the organ that produced patience in other people; seven minutes tend to go by like seven hours for him. Especially when there’s nothing to do but make things out of a bunch of clouds that don’t look like anything to begin with. It’s like a test with no wrong answers that he’s failing somehow anyway.

The boy follows your finger and squints at the sky. “I don’t know. Looks sorta like a penis to me.”

“Steve!” you scold, shoving him with a halfhearted hand. Your brows pinch in horror like he’s just tainted your innocent fun.

His face twists in confusion. “What?”

“That’s obviously a heart.”

“No,” Steve insists like a bickering older sibling. Despite his initial lack of enthusiasm, he presses his shoulder into yours and points his own finger toward the vaguely shaped penis-heart cloud. “That’s the tip right there, see? And those are the balls,” he explains, somewhat crass, as he traces the rounded top of the heart you’d identified.

He scoffs like he can’t believe you can’t see it. “I mean, seriously, Peach. You should see it more clearly than I do.”

“Why?” you challenge with a squint.

Steve only rolls his eyes in response. He knows where this is going. You’ll never pass up the chance to take the piss out of him.

“Because I’m a slut?” you continue, obviously joking, but with a perfected look of offense twisting your features. “Is that it, Steve Harrington? You think I’m a disgusting wh—”

“Alright! That’s enough.”

A giggle spills from your mouth at his scolding. As funny as it is to mock him, it always feels a little rewarding to know he doesn’t find it as amusing as you do — or the rest of Hawkins, for that matter.

He huffs, impatient and irritable. “God, you’re so annoying…”

“I know,” you lilt with a too sweet smile as you tilt your head to your shoulder.

The fleeting thought that you can’t wait to annoy him on your weekend getaway passes the plane of your mind, and you remember to ask— “Wait, you packed your shit, right? ‘Cause we definitely aren’t going to make it to Lake Lemon before dark if we have to spend three hours helping you pack your hair products, Stevie.”

“Yes, I packed my shit. Mom.”

Your brows raise, not believing him. He’s rarely ever so responsible on the first go around. Not without a little push from someone — you mainly, Robin on occasion, and his parents whenever they care enough to check on him.

“So you have enough socks and underwear to last until Monday?”

“Yes.”

“And you brought the booze?”

“Yep,” he nods, popping the p. “The alcohol was the first thing I packed, actually.”

“And you have your toothbrush and deodorant and shower stuff?”

He opens his rosy mouth to answer in the affirmative but shuts it again, quickly like a fish. His brows furrow and his lips jut softly out as he thinks to himself. “…Shit,” he answers without really answering.

“At least that’s sorta stuff you can buy on the way there,” you tell him, giggling. “Won’t have to drive three hours back from Lake Lemon for your Farah Fawcett hairspray— ‘cause I absolutely know you would, so there’s no use in arguing with me.”

He doesn’t

Instead, he fiddles with the silver Zippo in his right hand and changes the subject. “Speaking of Lake Lemon,” he singsongs, his sheepish gaze flitting between the lighter and you. “It’s not, like, super weird that I invited Nancy, is it?”

Your brows furrow. An awkward giggle tumbles from your mouth. “No?”

“It’s just— you invited Max and her friends, and I figured Eddie was coming too because, you know, you’re…” His face screws up as he tries to think of the right word. You lean in closer to him, an anticipatory smile on your lips. “Canoodling or whatever. And I just didn’t want Nancy to be left out of the loop. That’s all.”

“And why would that be weird?”

“Well, because— I don’t know, okay? I just wasn’t sure if you guys have spoken since… everything.”

He says it like it was an armageddon or something similarly catastrophic that changed the course of the history of the world. Maybe not the world — just yours. His, too, in a way.

For a while, it ruined you. The thought of never being truly loved ate you alive and left hardly more than bones and strips of flesh in its wake. You found Billy after it spat you out, and god, you thought you were finally becoming whole again. Really, though, you were just holding onto the absence in your heart as though it were another life.

Then everything from before just kept on ruining you.

But now you’ve got Eddie.

And Eddie kisses you even though you taste like heartache. Eddie makes you feel like your lips shouldn’t be anywhere except his mouth. Eddie is the golden sunlight that streams in through an open window, and you stand amid the flaxen streams — safe and warm and whole again.

Now, you exist in two places — where you stand now and wherever Eddie may be. You don’t belong to the past anymore. Tragedy isn’t your religion anymore. Instead, you pick your teeth with the shards of bone agony left behind and find new faith in the crooks of Eddie’s body.

The everything from before stops feeling so heavy. It’s still cold at times, but in the spring sort of way. Now you love so hard you could weep.

“That was a long time ago, Steve,” you assure him, smiling. He’s almost surprised by its sincerity. “We’ve all moved on since then. It’s not weird, okay? I promise.”

“Okay…” the boy wavers, nodding with a grin that doesn’t meet his eyes.

You wonder if he just doesn’t believe you. Or if he hasn’t entirely moved on.

The bell rings. It’s harsh and shrill, even from where the two of you sit across the parking lot. The muddled voices of a sea of teenagers come muffled at first before breaking into an all-out swell of a thousand incoherent conversations. Kids flood through the front doors in packs.

Steve’s kids, namely.

Dustin is the first of them. His voice is distinct as he migrates through the masses to where your car is parked next to Steve’s on the other side of the lot.

“This is gonna be the best spring break ever!” he shouts, smiling with a mouthful of braces.

It makes you smile, too. How could you not? This curly-headed boy is practically sunshine incarnate.

Steve, who’s gotten too used to the yelling to find it as cute as you do, only rolls his eyes in return. His sneaker-clad feet scuff against the concrete when he descends from the hood of his car.

“Alright. Take it down a few notches, okay?” the boy grouses, waving his hands in front of him. “I’m not driving three hours to Lake Lemon with your hyper ass in the back the whole way.”

Dustin’s grin fades into an unimpressed deadpan when two of Steve’s fingers tap the blue brim of his Thinking Cap.

“Well, I’m riding with Eddie, so...” the younger boy trails off, flashing his middle finger and a sugary sweet smile.

Steve’s brows pinch, almost in offense. “Wait— then, who’s all going with who?”

“Me, Lucas, and Max are going with Eddie and Peach. And Mike and El are riding with you and Robin.”

“Oh, great. I get the lovebirds,” Steve monotones, hands rising and falling at his sides in exasperation.

A deep, feminine, and familiar voice pierces the jumbled sounds of the forming crowd. “It’s better than suffering two hours in Eddie’s van,” Robin quips with a rouge-tinted smirk as she appears from the horde alongside the boy himself. The two walk side-by-side with duffle bags slung over their shoulders.

Eddie Munson fakes a pout and nudges the girl with a leather-clad shoulder. “Rude.”

A beam breaks out on your face at the sight of the boy, like sunshine to rain clouds. You hop down from Steve’s hood and rush to him without thinking. He nearly topples over at the force you launch yourself at him with. His arms wrap around you to keep you pressed against him.

His laugh fans against your cheek. “Well, hello to you, too, sweetheart.”

Your nose nestles into his umber curls as you embrace him. He smells like cigarette smoke and floral hair detangler — familiar like a house you’ve lived in all your life.

“How’d it go?” you ask once you’ve pulled back from him. Not enough to let him go, of course, just enough to see the smile he looks at you with.

His grin widens and his chocolate eyes swim with a boyish excitement that makes your chest swell. “C plus, baby,” he singsongs lowly. “Ms. O’Donnell thinks if I can pass the final, I might actually graduate.”

“That’s amazing, Eds!” you beam, laughing in pure mirth as your hands reach for his glowing cheeks. “I’m so proud of you!”

You smack the most innocent of pecks upon his rosy mouth.

Robin groans from where she’s planted herself at Steve’s side. “God, I am so glad you graduated already. I could not suffer this for eight hours every day.”

You roll your eyes at her dramatics, then look back to Eddie with a quieter smile. “I’m so proud of you,” you repeat, just for him to hear.

He tilts his head to his shoulder, somehow both shy and smug at the same time. “Thanks, babe.”

The rest of the kids file out shortly after. Max comes first — the redheaded raincloud she always is — and Lucas follows later with Mike at his side. The former boy sports a bright green letterman jacket, while the latter wears an obviously unwashed Hellfire Club tee.

The seven of you crowd around Steve’s Beamer, anxious to leave the parking lot and the rest of Hawkins behind — even if it’s only for a few days.

“Alright,” the oldest boy announces as he claps his hands together. “Everybody ready to go?”

“I have to drop by my place to get my bag,” you tell him.

He squints his honey eyes at you. “You were just bitching about me not packing, and you don’t even have your bag?”

“I have to drop my car off anyway, dork.”

“Hey,” Eddie interjects with furrowed brows. The arm around your shoulder tightens. “Turn down the dirty talk, okay? There are kids present.”

With pale arms crossed over her chest — always on the defensive, just in case — Max tucks a rogue piece of auburn hair behind her ear and turns to you. “My mom packed some of my stuff this morning,” she tells you and doesn’t explain anything further.

It’s not like she has to, anyway.

Her sneakers sit by your door every night, and her jacket gets hung up with yours. Her spare clothes now sit in a folded-up pile by the couch, and you wash her laundry along with yours and Eddie’s. Your tiny apartment, which certainly wasn’t built for three bodies and a cat, has become more of a home to her than the one on Cherry Lane ever was.

No one else needs to know that, though.

“I’ll swing by and get it on the way,” you promise.

She nods with a tightlipped, barely there smile. You take it as a silent thank you.

When no one else comments about a missing bag or any other hiccup that might give Steve an aneurysm, Dustin grins. “Alright, gang,” he beams, clapping and rubbing his hands together. “Divide and conquer.”

“Wait, wait, wait—” Steve protests when everyone starts to split up.

Dustin, Max, and Lucas are already headed toward Eddie’s van. The former’s hand stills on the handle at his words. Robin, who’s already rounded the maroon Beamer for the passenger side, hears him but ducks into the seat anyway.

“Wheeler. Where’s your sister.”

“Uh, the newspaper… I think,” he answers with the practiced ambiguity of a teenage boy. He shrugs. “There’s some stuff she has to care of. She said she’d drive up when she got done.”

Steve huffs, feigning exasperation to cover his bleeding heart. “Why am I the only one ever ready for these things?”

“You’re not,” you tease with a laugh. “You forgot to pack, like, the most important shit a person is supposed to pack.”

“Yeah, well, no one asked you, Peach,” Steve squints in the place of any actual response.

“Wow. Great comeback, Harrington.”

“Bite me—”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie grumbles at the bickering. It’s harmless banter more than anything — a couple of venomous-sounding words coming from sincere smiles. The boy tightens his grip on you and leads you toward his van. “Stop flirting.”

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

It feels strange, being back on Cherry Lane.

You haven’t been here since the last code black a while ago. You never had a reason to be. You weren’t exactly looking for one, either. But now, here you are, standing on the doorstep of the guy who broke your heart and ringing his goddamn doorbell.

A sickeningly familiar feeling knots the pit of your stomach. It’s like you’re walking back into the war he put you through, even though you’re still cleaning the bloodshed off your hands — just like you did every time you took him back, over and over and over again.

You’re grateful that it’s Max’s mom opening the door and not her brother. More so that she’s already got the duffle bag in hand, so you don’t have to come inside.

The white of the canvas tote has gone brown with time. The pink strap of it is faded and missing a couple of sequins. The girl’s name is written on the front in hand-drawn block letters, doodled all over with the finesse of someone much younger than she is now.

“Hi,” you smile, just to be polite. It shakes at the edges.

Susan smiles back, tightlipped and pink-mouthed. “Hey,” she mutters kindly back as she steps onto the porch with you. The screen door clangs shut behind her. She tucks an amber strand of hair behind her ear with her free hand when a spring breeze rolls through.

She looks a lot like Max. Freckled face, strong jaw, pouted mouth. She’s pretty in the way her daughter is pretty, too — effortlessly so, without even trying to be.

Even in baggy jeans and frizzy hair, something about Susan is still so beautiful. It’s not even the simple kind of beauty, either. It’s the kind that forces you to stand in wonder of it, unworthy but unable to look away. It’s the kind of beauty that seems almost sad — like a bright flame snuffed down to only embers.

You don’t need to question whose boot crushed her spirit.

“I think everything’s in here,” the mother explains as she hands the bag over. “I packed her a few extra clothes just in case— oh, and tell her that her Stuffy’s in there, too.”

“Stuffy?” you echo with furrowed brows and a curious smile.

“It’s a stuffed rabbit her dad got her when she was born. She’ll probably hate me for putting it in there, but I know she still sleeps with it sometimes, so…”

You realize, then, that so much of what you learn about Max hardly comes from the girl herself. She’s too closed off most of the time. If you really want to know her, you have to care enough to look. But even then, it takes a sort of X-ray vision.

You know when she’s fighting with Billy again, not because she ever tells you, but because she’s got a Kate Bush tape in her walkman. If it’s a particularly bad fight — the red and orange kind — you know it because Running Up That Hill is playing at full volume.

You can tell when she’s lying when she can’t look you in the eye. You can tell she’s happy when stars twinkle in the ocean blue of them.

When she can’t stand physical affection, it’s because she’s had a particularly shitty day — but when she’s touching you, it means she’s excited about something or another.

You know her dad bought her the skateboard she rides like a baby blue Cadillac because she patches it up with duct tape instead of buying a new one. Their identical initials — M.M + M.M — are carved into the bottom, too, though faded with time.

And you always assumed she slept with a stuffed animal because she sleeps with her arms crossed like she’s used to holding something in them. You’ll often find her on your couch in the smallest hours of the morning, using Bowie as a replacement for a piece of her childhood.

God, you love learning new things about Max Mayfield.

Especially the things she’d rather die than tell you.

“Okay,” you nod with a terribly fought-back grin. “I’ll let her know.”

“And you’ll be back on Monday, right?”

“Yeah. Probably sometime early. I’ll call you.”

Susan nods despite still looking a little apprehensive about the whole. She crosses her arms over her chest. Her manicured nails fidget against the oversized flannel she wears.

“Can you ask her to come over when she gets back?” the mother wonders with a grimace like it’s much to ask. Her brows pinch and her anxiety-bitten mouth forms a tight line. “I know she probably won’t want to — and I don’t blame her, but…” she huffs and runs a hand through her hair, pushing back her bushy auburn bangs. “If you could maybe give her a little push, that’d be great.”

“I’ll, uh… I’ll try,” you promise with a wavering grin.

Both of you know that Max is too stubborn for any sort of push — the big or the small variety. You also know she’s too terrified of Cherry Lane to come back to it just yet.

“And just, you know, look out for her while she’s gone, okay?”

“Of course.”

Susan scoffs, shaking her head at herself like she’s just stuck her foot in her mouth. “That was— That was stupid of me. You’ve been watching over her this whole time. I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.”

You smile, more sincerely this time. A look of sympathy melts your features. You find the woman’s supposed blunder more beguiling than offensive.

“It’s fine. I get it.”

“I know you probably think I’m a terrible mom—”

“Not at all,” you argue, meeting her sheepish grin with a look stern in its kindness. “I think you’re a person in a situation that’s hard to get out of. I know... I know what that’s like.”

The both of you share smiles of understanding that only two people who’ve weathered similar circumstances can muster. The snuffed-out embers, deep black rainclouds, and the like.

“Remind her to call me when she gets there,” Susan pleas, tilting her head to her shoulder. “I know she’ll forget otherwise.”

“I’ll tell her,” you promise.

Because you do know that. Max often needs to be reminded of most things — not because she refuses to do them, but because her mind has a way of distracting her. Her consciousness seems to float every which way, making it much more difficult to focus. Sometimes you think she lives in her head more than in her own house.

You wonder if that’s how her mom is surviving Cherry Lane and the Hargroves.

God knows that’s how you did it.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

Eddie’s van is already parked in your apartment complex, right by the stairs that lead to your door.

It’s more strange for it not to be there these days. You expect it, in fact — in the same way you expect your house to feel like your house. It’s comforting because it’s familiar. When Eddie’s not there, it’s like something is out of place. Missing. And even though you can’t quite tell what, you can feel it.

When Eddie’s not there, it’s not home.

He and the small group of kids he chauffeured fill your tiny apartment with their bustling bodies and animated conversation. It’s hardly more than muddled cross-talk, though. They all make comments over one another, each louder than the one that came before it, in attempts to be heard.

It’s all muffled until you open the door.

It practically slaps you in the face right after.

Max is cradling Bowie on the sofa. Just behind her, you can see Lucas and Dustin in the kitchen. They laugh over themselves at a joke you hadn’t heard. Eddie must’ve been the one to tell it because he’s got this proud grin on his face as he turns on his heel to meet you at the door.

“Make yourselves at home, I guess,” you singsong to him — like your full apartment doesn’t make your heart feel a thousand times fuller.

When you spend enough time shutting yourself out from the rest of the world, you forget what it’s like to be in it. Eddie’s reminding you all over again. Max, too. And all of their strange little friends you’re starting to learn more about.

“Sorry,” he apologizes not-so-sincerely. His umber curls bunch at his shoulder as he tilts his head and scrunches his nose. “Had to take a whiz.”

“I was just teasing,” you giggle.

You smack a kiss to his cheek and head to your bedroom for your bag, dropping Max’s at her feet along the way. “Dustin wants to know if he can have some snacks,” the redhead tells you as you walk by her.

“Shut up, Max!” the curly-haired boy calls from the kitchen.

“Of course,” you answer. “Take everything. I don’t care.”

Eddie laughs as he follows you down the hallway. “Do not say that, sweetheart. Because he will take everything.”

Two bags wait for you on the edge of your mattress — a rucksack complete with clothes and bathing suits and spare shoes at the bottom, and a tote full of toiletries. Neither is completely full, but you’ve checked them a million times to know they weren’t lacking anything, either.

If there was anything you were, it was an efficient packer.

Well, maybe slut first. Then human being second. And then maybe Eddie Spaghetti enthusiast third. But efficient packer was a close fourth.

You strap one bag over your shoulder and curl the other in the crook of your elbow. “Well, I don’t want him to be hungry. This drive is gonna be hell enough as it is. That’s exactly why I made us sandwiches, so make fun of me all you want—” Your absentminded rambles are halted when you spin on your heel and find Eddie’s mouth on yours.

His fingers grip the sides of your shoulders as he ducks down to kiss you. His rosy mouth engulfs your own and you freeze, shocked by the sudden affection. You melt into him a moment later with a sigh against his cupid’s bow. Eddie’s smile curls against your lips accordingly.

It’s certainly not a peck, but it’s not obscene enough to be described as anything more. It’s innocent and passionate, as most of his kisses tend to be. He uses them to say words he can’t voice out loud. — sort of like his ringed fingers do when they strum his guitar. Eddie kisses you like music.

Your eyes flutter slowly open when he pulls away from you. “What was that for?”

“Because I know I’m not gonna be able to kiss you for a while,” the boy grieves with a sad, crooked grin. His wide palms rub the sides of your arm up and down. “And I’m a little afraid I might die.”

“Well, we better make the last one count then, huh?” you tease, grinning as you curl your free arm around his waist.

The boy beams.

He kisses you breathless a second later.

After one last look through your apartment and several goodbye kisses to your begrudging cat, you lock up and head downstairs again. Steve pulls in, then, with one more passenger than he had before.

El Hopper sits in his backseat. You’re almost sure she’s never been outside of Hawkins before, but you know for certain she’s never been without her dad.

Jim was less than willing to let her go. Cabin in the woods, no parental supervision, all alone with her boyfriend? It’s quite literally a recipe for disaster. But he trusted you to look after her just like you trusted him to check in on Bowie (though, according to him, the comparison wasn’t at all the same).

You told him not to worry. That he should be more concerned about booking a flight to California and stopping Joyce from moving across the country. You told him he needs to convince her to stay before she’s in too deep to listen.

“…How the hell am I supposed to do that?” he’d groused across the table at Enzo’s.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “You did it for me before. You could do it again.”

His iceberg resolve nearly melts. “Alright, don’t get cute. I already said El could go. You don’t have to keep trying to win me over.”

Steve gathers the now nine of you in the parking lot. You form a measly half-circle around him, neither of you particularly caring about his assured rant but allowing him to get it out of his system anyway.

“Okay, every pay attention, alright? This is serious. I’m responsible for you little shits — if something happens to you, that’s on me. So, listen up—”

Eddie lingers just behind you, warm and reassuring. The leather-clad arms he’s crossed over his chest brush against your back when he leans closer to you. His breath fans against your jaw as he whispers in your ear. “All he needs is a fanny pack and some sandals. Then he’d be in real dad mode.”

“Eddie,” Steve scolds, unsmiling. “I’m talking to you.”

You swallow down your laughter.

“Dustin, Lucas, and Max — you’re riding with Eddie and Peach. Mike and El, you’re with me and Robin. And no canoodling in the backseat, understand? That’s an order.”

The raven-haired boy chuckles as the girl tucks her smile behind his arm. She embraces the lanky limb most ardently. “Canoodling?” Mike echoes in a scoff.

Steve, unimpressed and totally serious, only glares. “I swear to god, I’ll tell Hopper, alright? If you wanna make out, wait until we get there.” He points a stern finger in the boy’s direction, then turns his attention to the rest of the group.

“We’re taking 870 to avoid city traffic which means it’s gonna take us a little longer to get there. There’s a rest stop at one of the exits, so we can fuel up and use the bathroom and get something to eat. So don’t ask when we’re stopping, ‘cause we’re not, Henderson.”

Dustin raises his middle finger in response.

“See?” you lilt quietly to Eddie. “This is why I brought sandwiches…”

The boy huffs. “Yeah. I probably should’ve listened to you when you said he’d be all… like this.”

“You know I’m never wrong,” you tease.

A sly smile tugs at your lips. It takes everything in him not to kiss it.

“—And Eddie, drive the speed limit, okay? It’s not the Indy 300.”

“Indy 500, dingus,” Robin corrects. She leans coolly against his car, sneaker propped up against the backseat door as she picks at her chipping maroon-colored nails.

Steve rolls his eyes, but doesn’t divert his tirade.

“If you get pulled over, it’ll just make the drive take longer, and we’ll miss the check-in time, alright? Peach paid half, so if she isn’t there on time, we don’t get the keys, and we’re living like bums in the woods for three days.”

“Yes, sir,” Eddie singsongs, obviously insincere, as his arms wrap around your shoulders. He embraces you loosely at the neck and presses his cheek into your temple. “Get Peach there in one piece,” he reiterates. “I think I can do that.”

Steve huffs. His unsmiling honey eyes flit to you. He points to Eddie and talks to you like he isn’t standing behind you. “Keep him on a leash, alright? No way I’m going the whole weekend like this.”

“Ooh. A leash?” the wild-haired boy lilts with a mischievous grin. His lips brush your ear as he murmurs something only you can hear. “I like that sound of that.”

“I’m sure you do, perv,” you joke in response. Your elbow digs into his ribcage, jabbing him softly to part from him. He rubs at his side as you head towards his van. You call to the rest of the group on the way: “We should head out now before Steve loses his mind.”

Eddie’s shoes scuff the pavement as he follows behind you. “I, for one, would love to see that.”

“Good thing we have all weekend, then, huh?” Max deadpans with a playful glint in the blue of her eye.

“I heard that!”

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

The first half-hour of the drive goes by like nothing.

You’re a bit embarrassed to know you spent its entirety gazing so longingly at the boy in the driver’s seat.

It was only supposed to be a glance — a small peek at his profile and his ringed fingers thrumming against the worn pleather of his steering wheel before turning away again and grinning to yourself like a schoolgirl at how cute he was. Now you’re nearly halfway-halfway into the drive, and you spent it all ogling.

You’re not sure what was so beguiling about Eddie nodding his head to The Cure or what was so attractive about his pale hands drumming to the beat and the way his metal rings glimmered beneath the setting sun. You only knew that you couldn’t look away from any of it.

“This is stranger than I thought…” he sings to himself, not exactly trying to sound great but not sounding bad either. You can only hear him if you watch his pink mouth croon each word. You do a terrible job of pretending not to be staring at him. “Six different ways inside my heart…”

Dustin pokes his head between the front seats so suddenly it makes you jolt.

His round face conceals your view of Eddie as he sets his elbows beside the headrests.“Can I have one of those sandwiches you were talking about earlier?” he asks.

“We’ve only been driving for forty minutes!” Eddie laughs.

“I’m hungry,” the boy argues with his brows pinched together. “Sue me.”

“Of course, you can,” you lilt quietly as you reach for the clear Tupperware at your feet.

You don’t miss the taunting look Dustin gives the boy next to him in return or the hand Eddie pushes against the younger boy’s cheek to force him backward.

You sit the container of napkin-wrapped sandwiches on your lap. You only packed two of each kind. All are labeled in scribbled sharpie. “Okay, I made PB&J, turkey and cheese, and cucumber and lemon—”

“Cucumber and lemon?” Eddie echoes, features flooded with horror. His wide-eyed gaze flits between you and the near-empty interstate ahead of him. “What the hell kinda monstrosity is that?”

“It’s cucumber, cream cheese, and lemon juice, and it’s actually very good, Eddie Munson.”

Dustin requests the peanut butter and jelly, Lucas takes the turkey, and Max wants the cucumber and lemon — the said monstrosity you made because you knew she liked them. You hand them their sandwiches, and they settle again in the back of the van — amid the plethora of blankets and pillows Eddie had tucked away.

You turn to the pretty boy in the driver’s seat. “Which one do you want, Eds?”

“Whatever you’re having,” he shrugs. “‘M not picky.”

He grimaces when you hand him your half of the cucumber and lemon — because, of course, you remembered to cut them into triangles.

You watch the boy take a rather begrudging bite of the sandwich. His cheek juts out as he chews through it, and you don’t know why it makes you smile, only that you’re beaming directly at him. His face is emotionless in that his features are filled with so much of it you can’t tell what he’s trying to express.

There’s a slight furrow to his brows, a scrunch to his nose, and a glint to his eye. He manages to look disgusted, inquisitive, and pleased all at once.

Your smile widens when he takes another bite.

You fight the urge to tell him, ‘I told you so,’ and instead lean over the center console to smack a kiss to his cheek.

Lucas and Dustin gag through their mouthfuls simultaneously.

They share a look after — a boyish glance of excitement, as though to say, ‘I can’t believe how in sync we are.’ It quickly turns into a game of who can make the most realistic retching noise, quieted by a single look from Max. It’s not a glare on her freckled face but a scrunched scowl of disgust as she slips the headphones of her walkman back on.

The two boys’ laughter fades all at once.

The van goes quiet again.

You shut your eyes and focus on the faint sound of Eddie’s humming. His hand is wide and warm when it settles on your knee. His thumb drums softly to the beat on the outside of your thigh.

We’re on the road to nowhere, come on inside—

The cerulean sky turns into varying shades of lilac and orange-gold. The highway to Lake Lemon is long and merciless. Two hours feel like two days when you’ve got nothing to do but sit.

Eddie, with his hands and mind sufficiently occupied, seems to be less of a victim of the unrelenting pavement. He’s slumped against the ragged pleather seat, still humming to the low radio.

Lucas and Dustin spent several minutes arguing about who was taking which blanket and whose legs got to go where. Now, however, they snooze with their backs against the van and their shoulders pressing into each other’s — heads back, mouths open, eyes fluttered shut.

Max is a lot of the same. She sits across from the boys, tucked into the corner of the wall and the driver’s seat. There’s a pillow behind her back and a blanket thrown over her lap. Her eyes are shut, but you can tell she isn’t sleeping. Her head sways in time with the song spilling from her headphones.

And you, with your feet kicked up on the dash and your gaze pointed in the direction of the setting sun, are bored out of your mind.

Eddie squeezes your thigh. “I think we’re about fifteen miles away from the stop.”

“Fucking finally,” you huff. You rest your head against the seat to look over at the boy beside you. “My ass is killing me.”

“Well, I would be happy togive you a massage at the rest stop, babe.”

Your eyes widen as you shift to glance at the back of the van. You’re relieved to see none of the kids paying attention. You swat at Eddie while he winces at himself. It’s been quiet for so long; he forgot they were still back there.

“Sorry,” he whispers, to you and to the sleeping kids who hadn’t heard a word.

“I have a feeling I’m gonna have my hands full with you on this trip, Munson.”

“I could very easily turn that into a sex joke—”

“Eddie.”

“—But I won’t,” the boy concludes. His head tilts to look at you. “See? You didn’t let me finish.”

“I don’t think they would’ve heard, anyway. They’re totally knocked out.”

“That after-school nap is no joke, sweetheart. I mean, seriously, I don’t know what I’m gonna do when I graduate.”

“You can still nap, Eds,” you counter, giggling.

“Yeah, but it’s not the same.”

You concede with the shake of your head. “Sure.”

“Do you think I’ll miss high school when I’m gone? You know, as the graduated one?”

Your brows furrow. “You’re asking me if I think the freak of Hawkins High is gonna miss getting bullied five days out of the week?”

“But I won’t have Hellfire. And I’ll probably lose clients, too — ‘cause, you know, I won’t be able to deal at school like I usually do,” Eddie explains, growing suddenly somber about the whole thing. “I’ve been in school since I was five, you know? I’ve been going to Hawkins High for six years. And change is… gross.”

The whimsical existentialism of high school seniors makes you sigh in reminiscence.

“You’ll be okay, Eddie Spaghetti,” you assure him, squeezing his hand on your thigh. “It isn’t so bad. I promise.”

“Do you miss high school at all?”

“Hell no,” you answer without thinking.

A laugh sputters from his mouth at the swiftness of your reply. “Not even a little bit?”

“A negative amount, actually.”

“I thought you liked school!” he argues.

“No one likes school.”

“You were good at it!”

“I was okay. And that’s only because I had this weird complex about getting good grades.”

High school for you, at its core, was all about approval. You weren’t sporty, so you had to be smart. You had to be noticed in some way so you weren’t suffocated by being invisible. Maybe if you had gotten therapy for all that before you turned fourteen, you wouldn’t be the way you are now.

“Do you think we would’ve dated? You know, if we knew each other back then?” Eddie asks you out of the blue. The faintest hint of a smile tugs at his pink lips. “Like… Would you have liked me?”

You grin softly to yourself as you think sincerely about his inquiry.

You don’t think you would’ve felt too differently than you do now — head over heels with no hope in sight. But your heart was different back then, tender and unbroken. God, Eddie Munson would’ve been the best thing for you back then.

“Teenage me would’ve loved you. And you would’ve hated me.”

That makes him scoff. “No way.”

“You shouldn’t sound so sure, babe. I was a mess back then.”

“I would’ve liked you for the same reason I like you now.”

You shoot him an arched brow to egg him on, but he doesn’t move to explain any further. It leaves you wondering — why he would’ve liked you back then, why he likes you now. You don’t have an answer for either.

You figure it doesn’t matter, anyway. Eddie Munson likes you, and you’re grateful beyond comprehension that you can say it with so much certainty. Never with anyone else have you been more sure of where you stand.

“I think you would’ve been good for me,” you confess, focusing on the pine trees that whip by instead of the boy beside you. Your fingers absentmindedly begin to fidget with his own, entwining and weaving with his without you ever noticing. “‘Cause you do this thing where you, like, understand me better than anyone ever has before.”

Eddie chuckles, then shrugs to humor you. “Yeah, we’re just soulmates. No big deal.”

“And I think I would’ve saved myself a world of heartbreak if I’d found you first instead of—”

You cut yourself off.

Eddie turns to you, expecting to see you saddened by the sudden change of conversation. He’s surprised to find you smiling.

“Whoa,” you marvel with wide eyes. “I don’t know how we got there. Sorry, that got… way too deep.”

Eddie twists his wrists so he can hold your hand back. His metal rings press into the sides of your fingers as they intertwine with yours. He smiles briefly at you. The road takes too much of his attention to gaze at you the way he’d like to.

“It’s okay. Let’s not think about any of that now, yeah? Let’s just have fun.”

You nod.

“I’d love to, but suffering through these conversations is making it real hard,” Max monotones from the backseat, eyes still shut.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” you joke.

“I’d love to, but being surrounded by lovebirds is, like, the least cozy thing ever.”

Lucas and Dustin snore a loud, synchronized snore in response. Lovebirds, indeed.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

There’s only one working sink at the gas station. It sputters cold water before hesitantly dripping the warmer kind. Robin jams the soap machine like an absolute maniac — and when she gets more strawberry-scented liquid than she bargained for, she smears some onto your palm. The two of you stand side-by-side, fingers occasionally bumping into the other’s as you wash your hands.

“How’s driving with Steve?” you ask her with a knowing grin.

“The worst,” she answers with a groan, just as dramatically as you imagined she might. “He’s acting like a total dad, obviously. But he’s letting me man that radio, so that’s a plus.”

“Ah, so it’s less Bruce Springsteen and more The Runaways this time?”

Robin’s ocean eyes go wide at the reminder. The last trip where Steve was in charge of the radio, it took two weeks to get “Born in the U.S.A.” out of her head. She shivers at the memory.

“Yes. Thank god,” she huffs and turns off the faucet. You pump the lever at the paper towel dispenser and hand a napkin over to her. “How’s driving with Eddie?”

The teasingly lilted name doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Why’d you say his name like that?” you giggle.

She squints. “You know exactly why.”

You do.

“It’s fine, I guess,” you shrug instead of telling her you’ve spent the entire drive staring at him. You still haven’t yet decided which is prettier — the pink and purple sunset or the way Eddie looks beneath it. “He’s not driving like a total maniac with the kids in the car, so… It’s not too bad.”

You open the door with your shoulder.

“You haven’t heard from Billy, have you?” Robin asks as she walks out ahead of you.

Your eyes widen at the sound of the boy’s name. The realization that you’re not the only one who shudders at the mention of him is equally daunting. You look over your shoulder and towards Max’s stall, where she’d walked in a few minutes after the both of you. You shut the door behind you and wonder if she heard.

“No. I haven’t,” you answer, then plead. “And can we please not talk about him? Especially not in front of Max?”

“Well, tell that to Stevie because he won’t stop asking me?”

Your brows pinch. “Why?”

Robin makes a vague ‘I don’t know’ sound as she shrugs. She roams the snack aisle and eyes the vibrantly colored chip bags. “He probably doesn’t want to bother you about it. And also, he probably thinks you wouldn’t tell him if you did hear from him.”

“I wouldn’t,” you scoff.

“See,” Robin drawls with her head tilted to her shoulder. “That’s the problem!”

“Well, considering the last time I told Steve about Billy, he almost died, I think I’m doing him a favor.”

“…Touché.”

“I haven’t heard from him, okay? And I’m not going to because we’re gonna be three hours away from Hawkins all weekend.”

“Unless he’s stalking you,” Robin argues mindlessly. When her own words dawn on her, she gasps and looks at you with her features gaping in horror. “Oh, my god. What if he goes all Jason Voorhees and starts slaughtering us one by one—”

“Robin!” you shout, unsure of whether or not you should laugh.

“I’m just saying! That guy is crazy, okay? We should not put that maniac shit past him,” the girl agonizes. She walks a few short steps over to you and holds onto your arms with a grip most desperate. Her eyes are wide and pleading as she stares at you. You feel a bit like she’s looking into your soul. “Just please promise me you and Eddie won’t have sex while we’re on vacation.”

Instead of telling her that most certainly won’t be a problem, you’re left surprised at her out-of-the-blue words. “What?”

“The couple having sex is always the first to die in the movies!”

“Robin. I love you,” you remind her with your hands over her jacket-clad arms. “But you’re insane.”

She sighs with exasperation when you turn away from her. You hear her mutter under her breath behind you: “Looks like I’m gonna be the girl that gets killed ‘cause no one listened to her about the crazy serial killer dude…”

You get Eddie food at the connected McDonald’s, even though he told you he wasn’t hungry.

“Those sandwiches are too good to waste, Peach,” he’d said right before pressing a kiss to your cheek. You think he just didn’t want you spending money on him when he was too busy getting gas to catch you. You do it anyway. ‘Cause you love him and everything.

“We talked about this!” Eddie grouses when you meet him at the pump. He taps the nozzle against the van a few times, getting every last drop he can before sticking it back into the stand. “I was really lookin’ forward to that PB&J, sweetheart.”

You smile before popping a fry into your mouth. “Want me to drive?”

“No. I’m good. Probably gonna sleep like a baby when we get there, though,” he tells you, half-joking as he stretches out his tired back. The bottom of his thrifted Stars Wars tee rises to reveal a sliver of his stomach. He catches you looking and grins. “And when I do, I expect to be held like one in compensation.”

You know he’s joking, but you nod anyway. The sack of burgers gets squished between your bodies when he takes you in his arms, palms wide along your waist.

“Happily,” you grin, already leaning in for a kiss. The tip of his nose smushes against the side of yours when your lips meet. It’s longer than a peck. Softer than one too. He tastes sweet, like lemons.

You hear the kids coming back before you see them. Their chattering melds with the scuffs of their shoes. You and Eddie part from one another, thinking you might’ve gotten away with your fleeting touches before any of them could see. A chorus of groans tells you otherwise.

“See?” Eddie protests with his brows raised, hidden behind his curly bangs. “This is what I was talking about!”

You shake your head with a sympathetic smile. “We’ll be there soon, Eddie Spaghetti,” you promise. The “I’m gonna kiss you silly when we get there” goes unsaid.

He hears it, though.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

Soon, as it turns out, was actually another hour. It’s full of huffy teenagers, and ‘are we there yet?’s, and Eddie trying not to lose his sanity between it all. You do your best to keep his mind off of the never-ending highway, but hand-holding and mindless conversations only go so far. By hour three-and-a-half of the relentless drive, the trek was beginning to show on you too.

Lake Lemon was worth it, though.

The view of sparkling water beneath a velvet purple sky made you forget about your aching back and the extra twenty minutes Eddie spent trying to find the place (and getting lost in the process). The cabin was a quaint two-story thing, wedged between lake and forest. It was old, which meant it was cheap, but it wasn’t any less beautiful. And, for a couple of kids who rarely get the chance to get out of Hawkins, it might as well be Heaven on Earth.

“This place is massive!” Dustin marvels.

It’s not that big, really. It’s certainly not bigger than the Harrington home — which you know he frequents from time to time. You think it may be just because of the wide-open kitchen connecting to the living room and the spiral staircase leading to the second floor.

“Alright,” Steve huffs from behind the group of you as he drops Max’s duffle with a low thud. No one volunteered him to get the bags, but he didn’t object to doing it either. “I think that’s all of ‘em. If you little shits make a mess when you unpack, you better clean up after yourselves. I’m not your maid.”

“Sorry, Stevie. I can’t hear you over this view,” Robin lilts from the other side of the house. She stands at the sliding glass door in the kitchen. Just outside of it is the lake. The water looks black in the night, shining beneath a set of twinkling stars.

“Can me and El take the bedroom upstairs?” Mike asks you, far nicer than he’d ever ask Steve. El hangs on his arm. You’ve got a feeling she’ll stay there all weekend.

He told you recently that he was trying to grow his hair out to look more like Eddie. Now you can’t look at him without smiling. He’s not nearly as intimidating as his structured features make him seem.

“Well, I don’t want Hopper to kill me, so there’s no way I’m giving you guys the master bedroom,” you laugh, tilting your head down to your shoulder. You meet the teenager’s identical pout with a shrug. “But if you wanna share one of the bunks, knock yourselves out. What I don’t know, I can’t tell Hop, so…”

“But shouldn’t the couples get the bigger bedrooms?” Mike argues.

Steve materializes behind your shoulder. “You kids are taking the bunks, alright? That’s final.”

Mike scowls. “You guys are no fun, you know that?”

“You’ll survive,” the older boy deadpans with the roll of his eyes. “Peach and Robin can take one room, Nance can take the other when she gets here. I’ll take the couch and…” Steve trails off and looks over at Eddie. He winces. “I think there might be a spare tent outside for you, Munson.”

Eddie scoffs out a laugh. “Dick…”

“Everyone say ‘thank you, Steve’s dad,” Robin singsongs as she walks back to the living room for her rucksack. Despite her obviously joking tone, everyone else choruses ‘thanks, Steve’s dad!’ in return as they scramble for their bags.

Steve huffs behind you. Sure, his dad put the downpayment on the place, but he didn’t need to be reminded of that. Besides, he paid for everything else.

You turn on your heel to face him, arms crossed over your chest as you smile up at him. “Thank you, Steve,” you lilt in the same too sweet tone as everyone else.

“You don’t have to think me,” the boy scoffs. “You paid for half.”

“Not nearly half.”

“Well, you made up for it by booking the cabin. You did all the work I was too lazy to do, so—”

“So call it even and stop flirting,” Eddie monotones as he slings your bags and his bag over his arm and shoulder.

You roll your eyes with a smile, canting your head to look over at the darker-haired boy. “Wanna go unpack?” you ask.

“If it’ll stop you and Harrington from making out, yeah.”

“Those jokes stopped being funny the first time you told them, Munson,” Steve grouses.

You walk to Eddie and take the hand dangling at his side. You trail behind him as he leads you up the wooden, unusually coiled staircase.

“Is this what rich people do when they build houses?” he comments. “’Cause this feels really dumb and unnecessary.”

“I assume you know a lot about those things,” you joke drily.

“Rude.”

At the top of the stairs, and for the first time alone, you smack a kiss to his mouth.

There are four doors to choose from on the second story — one is the bathroom, the other a storage closet.

Of the two bedrooms, you and Eddie pick the door at the very end of the carpeted hall on the right. It’s got a better view of the lake and is on the furthest side of the house — in that, it’s not just above the kids’ room. In that, maybe it’ll be quiet enough for the two of you to pretend that you’re just here by yourselves for a moment or two.

The walls are made of slatted wood, and the slanted ceiling is painted a deep green. There’s a stone fireplace and a dresser with a small television on one side of the room, and a balcony overlooking the lake to the other. It’s not huge but isn’t small either — the perfect size for a girl who loves being close to her boy and a boy who loves to let her.

Neither of you bothers unpacking. You make a silent agreement to live out of your bags for the next couple of days to save the pain of having to pack all over again when it’s time to go. Rather than spend the next half hour hunching your aching packs to organize clothes into drawers, you spend it flopping into bed beside one another.

Like muscle memory, you take the right side and Eddie takes the left. “It’s the side closest to the door, anyway,” he tells you. “And men always take that side. For some reason.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s to defend their wives in case someone breaks in,” you say, giggling.

“Well, that’s dumb. What if they come in from the window?”

“…I don’t know how you haven’t graduated yet, Eds. You’re a genius.”

Now, Eddie lies on his stomach with his face smushed into the pillow. Fatigue radiates from him like steam. You smooth a mindless hand up and down his back. Between dealing, going to school, and driving three hours across the state, you know he’s drained.

“What time is it?” he mumbles into the cushion.

You look over at the clock on the nightstand and then back at him. “Almost ten.”

“I’m so exhausted I think I could peel my skin off…”

You exhale sharply through your nose. “I don’t think that’s exhaustion, Eddie Spaghetti.”

His head perks up. His button eyes go wide and hopeful as he looks at you, almost shy. “Wanna hold me?” he murmurs, still half into the pillow in case you reject him and he has to hide again.

“I’m offended you’re even asking me that,” you scoff. “That answer’s always gonna be yes, Eddie Munson.”

You roll onto your back. Eddie squirms against the mattress until he’s close enough to lay his head on your chest. His curls tickle your neck and jaw. Your arms wrap around each other, holding one another like you haven’t spent several hours squished into a van together.

The moments you should be tired of each other, your love just seems to get bigger.

You don’t know if you’ve ever experienced that before, or if it’s the first time it’s ever happened in the history of the whole world. The butterflies in your stomach make both feel equally true.

“Did you have a good day?” Eddie mumbles into the t-shirt you’d just changed into. He’s obviously tired, but he doesn’t want to quit talking to you.

“The best,” you sigh, content and finally still. One hand curls into his hair. You scratch softly at his scalp. “And it’s gonna be even better tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Eddie nods. He doesn’t know if that’s totally true, but he’s found that’s a lot like what your relationship is like — perfect and getting better all the time. So he figures you must be right.

Silence settles within the four walls of the small bedroom. It feels soft like cotton candy, a blanket that’s been tossed over the both of you. You think you could stay like this all night — holding each other and never saying a word.

Eddie, however, has never met a quiet he doesn’t want to break.

“…Wanna fool around?” he jokes out of the blue.

“With kids downstairs and Robin right next door?” you laugh. “I think I’m good.”

“I’d be quiet,” he promises, leaning his chin on the swell of your breast to look at you.

“You don’t know how to be quiet, Munson. Besides, we shouldn’t fool around while we’re here anyway…”

The boy’s brows furrow at the teasing lilt in your tone. A smile curls at his lips. “…Why?”

“‘Cause Robin said those are the first people to die in scary movies.”

“She’s not wrong,” Eddie offers with a laugh. “I mean, she’s crazy, but she’s right.”

You sigh, smiling. “That’s Robin Buckley for you… She’s a total dork.”

“Guess that’s why you guys get along so well, then, huh?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know,” Eddie singsongs, too cute for his own good. “I just think everyone made a mistake calling you the slut of Hawkins, you know? Like calling me the freak is spot on, but you? You’re totally the dork.”

You snort. “Right…”

“Peach, The Cute,” Eddie lilts like he’s testing it on for size.

“Yeah? Is that what my name would be in your game?”

“Peach, The Adorable,” he continues. “Peach, The Precious, even.”

“Munson, The Annoying,” you croon in the same tone he’d used, though obviously joking and obviously not doing the best job as him. “Eddie, The Guy That’s About To Sleep Outside Tonight.”

Eddie beams. “See? You just proved my point. You’re too adorable for your own good, sweetheart.”

“Yeah?” you hum as he moves off your chest and onto the pillow you’re lying on.

He props his head on his arm and nods. “So cute it makes my chest hurt a little bit.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize with a soft grin that says otherwise.

“’S okay,” he assures with a softer smile and a twinkle in the chocolate of his eye. His hand rises and toys with the fraying hem of your shirt. “Do you remember what we were talking about in the van earlier? About, like… knowing each other in high school?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I’m really glad we weren’t friends back then.”

Your heart wants to break, but you don’t let it. You don’t know what this boy is going to tell you next, but you’ve got a feeling it’s going to kill you and bring you back to life again. “Why?”

“‘Cause I don’t think you would’ve let me get to know you. Like, know you, know you.”

Not the way everyone else knows you, he wants to say.

“That’s not true,” you reject just because you feel like you should. Both of you know he’s right.

To put it simply, you would’ve loved to fuck Eddie Munson back in high school. Back then, he was just the weirdo who sold the cheapest weed — not the sweetheart you’ve gotten to know him as now. And the two of you would’ve had sex, and it would’ve been fine, but it wouldn’t have meant anything to either of you.

Sex is just sex until you decide to give it meaning.

And for you — and for a really, really long time — it didn’t mean shit. It was just a dumb way to pass the time when you ran out of words to say. A cheap way to get the validation you’d really been looking for the whole time. Intimacy stopped meaning something because no one touched you the way Eddie touched you.

He makes you feel held. Wanted. Loved.

You didn’t know either of those things existed when you were seventeen.

But you’ve found them now, in your old dealer who used to give you free weed for helping him study. You’re glad you meant him when you did — after heartache chewed you up and spat you out, left you soaking wet and shivering.

Eddie came to you like a warm blanket and a home-cooked meal. You wouldn’t have been able to appreciate him before now.

“Well, thanks for letting me know you anyway, sweetheart,” Eddie says with a lopsided smile.

Something about it is so strangely tender. More intimate than a thousand I love you’s.

You smile. “Thanks for letting me know you, too, Eddie Spaghetti.”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things smut #stranger things imagine #virgin!eddie munson x reader #virgin!eddie munson #st oneshots #eddie spaghetti oneshot

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morbific-or-felicific · 1 year

Text

-WATASHIATO Featuring Kazuha

Meaning: Curiosity about the impact you’ve had on the lives of the people you know

Word Count: 5.1k~

Description: You unfortunately catch the eye of a certain boy you used to avoid in high school

Content Warning: dubcon, shitty awful men, sex while heavily intoxicated, cream pie, manipulation

Authors Note: I wrote this to help process an experience that I had so please don’t come at me for glamourizing assault or anything like that

Edited By: @pretty-princess-peach

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You had always avoided Kazuha in high school. He always smelled of weed, and you didn’t want to risk your parents thinking that you were smoking or that you were hanging around those kinds of kids. Although, part of you had always wanted to talk to him. He seemed easygoing and funny, he almost always had a smile on his face, and he was absolutely gorgeous. However, you didn’t want to risk being associated with him or his friends. They were doing drugs, after all, so they couldn’t be good kids. So you stuck with your safe friends, even if you were curious about Kazuha and his friends.

~ ♡ ~

You had graduated high school several months ago now, and you were living in residence at your university, away from your protective parents. So far, your first year of school had been fairly uneventful. While your dorm mates went to parties and slept around, you were doing your homework and staying in.

It was a little past the middle of the second semester now, and you had been growing more and more curious about your friends' lifestyles. What was it like to get drunk? What did it feel like to be high? What was sex like?

But your curious musings would have to wait, since you were almost late for class.

You finished grabbing your stuff and ran out the door, sprinting across campus to the building that your class was held in. You happened to make it just in time and took a seat next to the only friend you had managed to make while at university, Xinyan. She was a bit wild sometimes, but she never pressured you to be anything like her. She also happened to be friends with a certain white haired boy that you went to high school with, one who was currently sitting only a table away from you. However, you were still too scared to talk to him.

You had spotted Kazuha around campus a few times and had run into him once, literally. You had been turning a corner in a hurry, and you had slammed right into him. He had helped you up and apologized, even though he clearly wasn’t at fault. When you did get up and you were able to take in who you had bumped into, you were embarrassed to discover it was Kazuha. He looked like he always had, just older now and still just as pretty. He smelled the same too. You had gotten nervous and left in a hurry, but the interaction had stuck in your head ever since it had happened. I guess you were still interested in him...

You tried to focus on the class, but you were having trouble. There were still questions circulating around your head, and you were talking to Xinyan about them.

“I don’t know, I just feel like there’s so much I haven’t experienced, and I think I might be curious to try some things.”

“So would you want me to take you to a party or something? Wanna try drinking or smoking?”

“I… I don’t think I really want to do any of that.”

“Are you sure? You just afraid?”

“Maybe, I just don’t know if I would be comfy doing that stuff. It’s really bad for you, you know.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Eating oreos is bad for you, but does that stop anyone?”

“I think alcohol and oreos are a little bit different.”

“Pfft, nah. You’re crazy.”

The two of you laughed at that and turned your attention back to the lecture.

Kazuha's however was focused on what he’d just heard. You’d never drunk or done any drugs. You were completely pure. That makes sense though, considering how you had avoided him and anyone remotely like him like the plague in high school. He was sure you were a virgin too. He had never heard about you dating anyone, and given how protective your parents seemed, he was sure you hadn’t been allowed to, or something like that. It was really fascinating to him that you hadn’t rebelled at all. You had been away from your parents for almost a whole school year, and you were still doing everything they had told you to. He wondered if he could be the one to corrupt you, to taint your innocence. After all, he had been fascinated by you since high school.

The class ended, and everyone got up to leave. However, before you and Xinyan could go anywhere, you were stopped by Kazuha.

“Hey, you two.”

“Hey Kazuha, did you need something?”

“I just wanted to invite the two of you to a little party Tomo and I are having tonight.”

“Yeah, sure. That sounds fun. I don’t think this one is gonna come though.”

“Aw, why not?”

He was pouting slightly, making you feel kind of guilty for wanting to decline the invitation.

“I just don’t really do parties. I’m sorry.”

He laughed lightly.

“It’ll barely be a party, just a few people and some drinks.”

“I don’t know… I don't think it’s a good idea.”

“But-”

“She said she doesn’t want to go, okay?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound pushy. Of course that’s fine.”

The gentle way he smiled and the way his eyes slightly crinkled made you believe him without a doubt. Of course he would never want to push you to do anything. Maybe it would be a good idea to have your first party be small and with someone safe like him…

“Actually, I think I’ll go.”

Xinyan raised her eyebrows at you.

“You know you don’t have to, right?”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just that… he’s right. If it’s barely going to be a party, then why shouldn’t I go?”

Xinyan looked concerned, but she relaxed her face.

“If you’re sure…”

“Wonderful! It’ll be Friday at my place for 9:00.”

“Pm?!”

They both turned to you smiling. God, Kazuha loved how fucking innocent you were.

“What time did you think it would start?”

“Uh, I don’t know… maybe 4 or 5?”

They both stifled their laughs.

“Then I guess I’ll see you both there.”

Kazuha walked out of the room, leaving the two of you alone.

“You know, you don’t have to come.”

“I know, but I want to go to a party eventually, and this seems like a good time to try.”

“Yeah, but-”

“You’ll take me with you on Friday right?”

“Yeah, okay.”

If you were going, then she would definitely be there for you from the time you headed over until the time you got home, even if it was supposed to be a little party.

~ ♡ ~

“So you’re up for it?”

“Yeah, sure. Why not?”

When Kazuha had gotten home, the first thing that he had done was ask his roommate if he was down to throw a little party so he could fuck a girl he had been interested in since high school. Luckily for Kazuha, Tomo was all for it.

“We haven’t done anything here for a while. That sounds fun.”

“Thanks. I owe you.”

“What’s she like anyway?”

Kazuha smiled thinking about you and how pure you were and how he was going to completely corrupt you.

“She’s very… good.”

“Good?”

“Yeah, she’s never drunk or smoked weed or even gone to a party.”

“Does that mean that she’s a virgin too?”

“I think so. It would make sense.”

“Fuck, that’s kinda hot. How’d you manage to get her to agree to come to the party?”

“I think she just trusts me. She only has one friend, and she’s friends with me, well, mostly friends.”

“Who?”

“Xinyan.”

Tomo threw his head back laughing.

“You know that girl does not trust you with the shit you’ve pulled with her friends.”

“I’ve been slowly winning her over.”

“Yeah, sure. You think she’s still gonna trust you when you ditch her good little friend?”

“I think I might actually stay with this one, at least for a little while.”

“Oooh, Kazuha’s in love~.”

“Well, I have to get her out of it enough to let me fuck her first, so I’ll let you know how that goes.”

“Godspeed man.”

Kazuha chucked and pulled out his phone, inviting some people to the party he was now planning for you.

~ ♡ ~

It was finally Friday, and you were running around your dorm getting ready for the impending party. It was 8:55pm, and Xinyan was going to be there in 5 minutes to pick you up. Apparently she normally arrived at parties later than they were set for to make sure people were there, but she gave in and agreed to head over at 9:00pm since you felt bad.

When you had mentioned to your roommates that you had been invited to a party, surprisingly enough, they all got really excited and helped you figure out what to wear. Apparently you were supposed to wear a pretty little dress and little heels as well. They had tried to take you shopping and they had found a little black dress they said was perfect, but they couldn’t quite convince you to wear it. It was too short and too low cut, and you just couldn’t feel comfortable in it. Eventually, they had agreed to figure something out with what you already had, and you had ended up in a white dress with little pink flowers that fell just above your knees as well as little flats. You had originally wanted to wear a little cardigan over it, but they had talked you out of it. It was going to be a warm spring evening, after all.

You were trying to smooth out a pesky strand of hair when you heard Xinyan knock on your door. You ran to open it for her, and she followed you around while you finished getting ready.

“So, are you excited?”

“I think I’m more nervous, but yeah, at least a little excited.”

“You know, you can still back out. You don’t have to go.”

“No, I already said I would go. I’m going.”

“Okay, fine. Are you planning on drinking or anything?”

“No, definitely not. I don’t want to do that.”

“I’ll assume that means you don’t plan on doing anything else either then?”

“I don’t. I just want to see what parties are like, okay?”

“Okay, let’s go then.”

The two of you headed out and hopped in the cab Xinyan had called.

The two of you arrived at Kazuha and Tomo’s apartment at about 9:20, since you had left a little late. You knocked on the door, and it opened to reveal Kazuha, who smelled even more like weed than when you last saw him, although you suppose it could just be the apartment.

“You two look lovely. Come on in.”

The compliment made you blush slightly. You never got compliments from guys, so who could blame you? Kazuha led the two of you into the living room where most of the people were gathered. There was music playing at a low volume flowing throughout the party. You could see smoke flowing from people’s mouths while others were sipping drinks.

“Almost everyone’s here now, so you don’t have to worry about the crowd getting much bigger.”

The two of you were about to sit down when Xinyan’s phone rang.

“Hello? I’m at a party, why? Oh shit. I’ll be right there.”

“Is everything okay?”

“No, one of my friends just had her boyfriend break up with her. I’m so sorry, I have to go. Do you want me to take you home? We can just go to a party another night.”

Kazuha leaned into you and put a hand around your shoulders.

“Don’t worry about her. I can babysit her for you.”

“Are you sure? It really is no trouble for me to take her home.”

“She wants to stay though, right?”

He looked at you with expectant eyes, and you found yourself agreeing with him.

“Yeah, I do. I can just stay with Kazuha. Don’t worry.”

Xinyan looked hesitant to leave you with him, but just then, her phone dinged again, another message from her friend.

“Okay, but if you need me, call me, okay? I’ll come get you as soon as I can.”

“She’ll be alright, don't worry. Don’t you trust me?”

The two of them stared at each other for a moment or two before Xinyan answered him.

“Just keep her out of trouble, and don’t let her drink or smoke or anything.”

“Mhm.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but her phone began to ring again. She took it and began to step away. As Xinyan left, Kazuha removed his arm from your shoulders and sat down in one of the two open spots on the couch. He patted the cushion next to him, and naturally, you sat down.

“You look beautiful tonight, love.”

“Oh, uh, thank you.” You looked at the ground. “You look nice too.”

He smiled at you. Kazuha honestly couldn’t believe his luck. He had been trying to figure out how he was going to get you away from Xinyan, but it looks like the universe was on his side tonight.

“So uh, what am I supposed to do?”

His smile widened. Oh, there were so many things you could do for him.

“Well, you’re supposed to talk, drink, smoke, and just feel good.”

“Oh, well I’m not going to smoke or drink at all.”

“Why not?”

“Well, it’s bad for you, and I just don’t understand why people would put that stuff in their bodies.”

Kazuha laughed lightly at what you had said.

“Your parents must be happy to know you’re doing everything they say, even when they aren’t around. It’s sweet. It’s like you’re a little kid.”

What? You aren’t a little kid. You're an adult now, right? Were you really still just doing what your parents wanted? Was it so bad if you were? He certainly made it feel bad…

A joint and a lighter appeared in Kazuha’s hand while you were tied up in your own thoughts, and just like that, he was smoking. You really didn’t like the smell, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t feel like you had something to prove. You aren’t a little kid who just does what her parents tell her, but did you really want to put that stuff in your body…?

Kazuha took a hit before turning his head to face you and blowing the smoke in your face. Your face scrunched up at the smell, and he laughed at your reaction.

“Sorry, I’m sure your parents don’t want you smelling like smoke either.”

That was it. You didn’t care if it was bad. You were going to try it and prove that you were as grown up as everyone else here.

“Do you think I could maybe try it…?”

Kazuha pouted at you.

“But I thought you didn’t want to smoke?”

“Uh well, I mean, if I just do it once, it’s not that bad, right?”

His pout morphed into a smile.

“Why don’t you try drinking a little first, mkay?”

“But isn’t it bad to drink and smoke?”

“No, not at all.”

“Are you sure…?”

“Come on. I wouldn’t lie to you, would I?”

“No, I’m sorry. But I don’t know if I should drink…”

“Don’t worry about it, baby. Come on, let’s go get you a drink.”

You blushed at the name and followed behind him as he stood up and led you to the kitchen. He reached into the fridge and pulled out some fruity cooler that looked like it was supposed to be strawberry flavoured. Kazuha handed you the drink and led you back to the couch.

The two of you talked while you sipped your drink and kazuha smoked. By the time you were done with your first one, you felt kind of fuzzy and a little bit out of it, but Kazuha was quick to put another drink in your hand.

You two kept talking and catching up until you had once again finished your drink. You liked how the drinks tasted. There was a slightly odd taste to them, but you didn’t mind it. You felt relaxed and kinda funny. Kazuha was making you feel quite comfortable, so when he told you to come straddle his lap, you almost did it without question.

“But… I’m wearing a dress I can’t.”

“I thought you wanted to smoke, love? Or are you just going to keep listening to your parents?”

He pouted as he waited for an answer.

“I guess I do, but do I have to sit in your lap?”

“Of course you do. Why would I lie to you?”

You considered his words and decided that he was right. You trusted him, so you stood up and sat back down, straddling his lap. You could feel your dress get pushed up your thighs as you got comfortable, and you tried your best to ignore it. Kazuha rested a hand on your hip and brought the joint to your mouth. You closed your lips around it and inhaled the smoke. Kazuha pulled it away after a moment so you could exhale, and as you did you started coughing. You really were not used to having smoke in your lungs. Kazuha had noticed the little bit of your lip gloss that had gotten on the joint, and he couldn’t help but imagine how your lipgloss would look smudged on his cock.

You stayed there until the two of you had finished the joint, although you had practically finished it on your own. When you were done, he gave you another drink, and naturally, you began to drink it. You felt so out of it. Your thoughts were moving so slowly that you could barely form a sentence, so when he told you he needed to take you to his room for something, your thoughts weren’t moving fast enough to understand that something was wrong. He pulled you through the apartment by your hand, and you followed him like a lost puppy, still sipping the drink he had handed you. Eventually, the two of you crossed the threshold into his room, and he closed the door behind you. Kazuha took the can from your hand and placed it on some surface in the room.

“Get on the bed.”

You didn’t think much of the order and just did what you were told, wanting to make him happy and frankly being tired of standing. The bed was firm, almost surprisingly so, and you sat on the edge, not sure what would happen next. Kazuha pushed your chest down so you were laying on your back. You stared up at the ceiling as you heard the sound of clothes coming off. You felt your legs get lifted and your body was spun so you were laying properly on the bed. Kazuha climbed on top of you and stared down at you. You looked so perfect to him. Your hair was spread out on the bed, and you stared up at him with complete trust. He leaned in and started kissing you, and surprisingly, you really didn’t mind it. His lips were warm and inviting, and in your state, you didn’t stop to think that you might not be doing this sober. He continued to kiss you as he started to slide a hand up your side, slowly traveling to cup your breast. As he touched you, he realized that you weren’t wearing a bra under your dress, how (titular…hehe) convenient.

He pulled away from you so he could watch your face as he thumbed at your nipples over your dress. Although you were sluggish and couldn’t really form words, you let out a little whine, and shifted around a bit. Kazuha leaned down and licked the fabric over your nipples, eliciting a little gasp from you. He continued playing with your tits until he got bored and tried to start sliding your dress off of you. You felt his hands start to slide up your thighs, moving your dress along with them. Of course, you noticed this, and you moved your hands to try and stop him. You whined something incomprehensible and batted at his hands, trying to wiggle the skirt of your dress back down. You didn’t like how cold the air was… . Of course, Kazuha’s hands didn’t stop. He was much stronger than you, and really, it wasn’t hard to ignore your weak attempts at fighting him.

“Shhhh shhhh, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

His reassurance was enough to make you give up on your fight as he slid your dress up and off of your body. Your body felt heavy, and it was a lot easier to listen to him than it was to try and stop him, even if it was cold… . With your dress now off, Kazuha drank you in. You were so pretty, your little hands trying to cover your boobs, and your cute little pink cotton panties that had a little pink bow on the band. Kazuha let a hand wander between your thighs. He pressed down where he thought your clit would be and started making little circles, causing you to start squirming. You used all of your remaining strength to lift your arms, trying to pull at his wrist and make the weird feeling go away. You mumbled something as you tried to pull at his hand to no avail.

“No, no, baby. You’re alright.”

You tried to protest, but it only came out as a mumble, which was easily ignored. Kazuha grabbed your wrists in one hand and pushed them into the bed, holding them above your head. He started pulling at the waistband of your panties until they slid past your ankles. You tried to roll over to feel less exposed, but once again you were stopped, this time by a hand on your stomach.

“No, princess. You’re not going anywhere, okay?”

You mumbled something again, but it was ignored, again. Kazuha pushed your knees up to your shoulders and leaned his head down between your legs. He might as well show you everything if he was going to be your first. He flattened his tongue against your pussy and licked a stripe up it, causing a whine to make its way out of your mouth. Fuck, you tasted so good. He closed his lips around your clit and sucked, reveling in the satisfaction that he was the first person to make you feel this way. After a little while, your whines were no longer enough to keep him entertained, and he pushed his fingers into your mouth, pushing them back and forth until he was satisfied. His fingers now wet, he pushed them inside of you, and when he heard you whine out, “Too big…hurts,” he couldn’t help the groan that pushed its way out of his throat. If you thought that his fingers were big, he couldn’t wait to see how you would react to his cock splitting you open.

Kazuha pushed a third finger into you and was met with more whining from you.

“Shhh, shhhh, my love. I already told you, it’s okay.”

He did his best to stretch you out so that you would be ready for him. He didn’t want to hurt you too badly, after all. After a little longer, he figured he had prepped you enough, and he removed his fingers from inside of you, wiping them off on his cock. He spit in his hand and used it to lube up his cock just a little more. Kazuha readjusted himself and lined himself up with your hole. He started pushing inside, and you couldn’t help but yelp a little bit as you felt his head pop into your hole and stretch you far more than his fingers had. He groaned again as he felt your warm insides starting to encompass his dick. To prevent anyone coming in to check on any questionable sounds, Kazuha covered your mouth with a hand before he pushed the rest of his cock inside of you in a single stroke. This time, you let out a little scream at the sudden pain of him going all the way in so fast. However, thankfully for him, your scream was significantly muffled by his hand covering your mouth. The groan that he emitted when he pushed all of the way inside of you was ringing in your ears. It made you blush, and you could feel yourself tighten around his cock a bit.

Kazuha began thrusting in and out of you, hard and fast. He let go of your wrists, but your arms stayed put. You were already tired, and the way he was fucking you was only ridding you of more energy, if that was even possible. However, you did still have the energy to moan and whine. Kazuha was making you feel so good. You had never felt this way before. You had always been too afraid to even touch yourself, so everything you were feeling was completely new.

You were starting to feel a little funny, and everything began growing more and more intense. Kazuha had started to play with your clit, and with that, you were about to cum. However, all that you could process was the growing overload of good feelings where your body and Kazuha’s met. It felt like a knot that was about to snap, and suddenly, it did. You could feel your muscles tense up, and you were seeing stars. You let out a moan that was probably a little too loud, but neither you nor Kazuha really cared, since Kazuha was being pushed over the edge by the way you were pulsing and squeezing around him.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so fucking good. I’m gonna fill you up, gonna show you how it feels to be dripping with my cum.”

And with that declaration, he was cumming, filling you up, just like he said he would. You were about ready to fall asleep and assumed everything was over now. However, when you felt Kazuha start to move again, you realized things were quite far from over.

“Come on, baby. Gotta make sure your first time is so good. Gotta fuck you all night, okay?”

And with that, you felt yourself completely relax, having no more energy left in your body. This was going to be a long night.

~ ♡ ~

You woke up with heavy eyelids, a splitting headache, and a sore body. You weren’t entirely sure where you were at first, but eventually, things started coming back to you. Oh god, had you really gotten that drunk last night? And had you really lost your virginity to Kazuha…?

As your thoughts ran, Kazuha walked into the room with two plates of pancakes wearing just a pair of grey sweatpants with his hair tied back in a bun. When you heard him walk in, you suddenly became very aware of how naked you were and tried to hide further under the blankets.

“Oh, come on. You have nothing to hide. I saw everything last night.”

He smiled so sweetly, and you couldn’t help but feel stupid for trying to hide from him. He walked over to you and sat down on the bed, handing you one of the plates of pancakes.

“Did you make me pancakes…?”

“Well, I made us pancakes, and I definitely didn’t make them from scratch, so no need to be impressed.”

“Thank you…”

He pouted at your lack of enthusiasm.

“What’s wrong, princess?”

You looked at the blanket, blushing and trying to formulate your sentence.

“I… I just don’t know how to feel about what happened last night…”

He pouted again.

“But you seemed to like it so much.”

“I mean, I guess I did. I just… I don’t know… I just wish I had done that with my boyfriend or something…”

“Oh, so you do have a boyfriend, hmm?”

“No, no, I don’t! I just would have rather done that with someone I was in a relationship with…”

“Well, if you’re single, why don’t you just date me?”

“Date you?!”

“Is it really such a terrible idea?”

He looked positively dejected.

“No, It’s just… I didn’t think you would ever want to date me…”

“Awww, baby, of course I wanna date you.”

“Really…?”

“I made you pancakes, didn’t I?”

He smiled at you goofily.

“I just didn’t think you’d want to date someone like me. I’m not a lot of fun, you know…”

That made him roll his eyes.

“Well, last night, you proved just how fun you really are.”

Kazuha really wasn’t lying. He was absolutely crazy about you at this point. Hell, he even made you pancakes. He enjoyed the way you stared at him with a mix of curiosity and apprehension, clearly not used to how different from you he was. And he couldn’t deny that he was absolutely hooked on your pussy…but that’s not important. But anyway, for once, he wasn’t just trying to get in your pants…even if he was still technically trying to get in your pants.

Before you could respond to him, your phone started to ring. It was Xinyan. She was calling to make sure that you had gotten home safe from the party, but when you told her that you were still at Kazuha’s, she immediately hung up on you. However, after only a few seconds Kazuha’s phone began to ring, Xinyan, again. The second he answered it, you could hear shouting coming from the other end. You couldn’t make out a lot, but you were able to make out a few things like, “FUCKING MANWHORE!” and, “IF YOU HURT ANOTHER ONE OF MY FUCKING FRIENDS!” After a few minutes of Xinyan getting her anger out on him, he eventually just gave up and hung up. She tried to get him to answer a few more times before trying to call you again. But before you could answer, Kazuha took your phone and put it out of your reach.

“Enough of her right now. You need to eat your pancakes before they get cold.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Mmm, if you wanna say that again, I wouldn’t be opposed.”

You blushed and started cutting your pancakes.

“Sorry, babe. Didn’t mean to fluster you.”

Kazuha leaned over and gave you a little peck on the lips before cutting into his own pancakes with a smile. He was looking forward to actually having a girlfriend of his own, even if he was going to annoy Tomo with all of his rather unfortunately descriptive poetry about you.

Tag List: @lilia-sspouse @but-a-peach @stannazuna @izzalovesdilfs @lordbugs @randomlycockroach @licensedsimp @leena-shi @cesimaaa @welpthisisfine @dainself-when-playable @fic-rebloga @bubblyxdolly @wanderin-stories @iwysbellez @k4ze3e @kenmabfasf @vvyeislazzy @nerdiel-has-no-braincells @hopeless-smvt

#mae’s daily paper☕️*•̊ⴰ✧#mae.melts🧊*•̊ⴰ✧#kazuha.❣︎•*✧ ̊ⴰ #so i know this is a little darker than what i usually post #but i wrote it for me but ended up really liking how i wrote it so i decided to post it anyway #anyway i hope that you guys like it but if it’s not for you that is completely fine i understand and have a nice day!#kazuha x you #kazuha x reader #kazuha x y/n #kazuha x female reader #kazuha smut #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #afab reader #female reader #tw dubcon #tw manipulation

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pedrospatch · 1 year

Text

pains l a safe haven drabble

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: When Ellie has awful menstrual cramps, you come to the rescue.

warnings/tags: 18+ only, MINORS DNI. talk of menstrual cycles, cramps, our lil baby Ellie is in pain, Joel is kinda useless but we still love him, little fluffy moments here and there. domestic fluff.

word count: 2k

a/n: so this is just a little thing based on this request right here. i love the idea of writing little extra blurbs and drabbles for this universe now that i am further into the series. i hope you like this anon, and thank you for being patient with my slow snail ass! *this takes place somewhere between the events of chapters five and chapter six

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—fucking motherfucker!”

Ellie loudly gasps out the string of profanities, clutching at her stomach as she doubles over in what you can only imagine has to be a world of pain. She steadies herself by planting one of her tiny hands firmly on Stella’s rotund side, her facial features twisted in complete and utter agony. She sucks in a sharp deep breath, her eyes squeezing tightly shut as she leaned up against the pregnant mare for support.

Letting out a small sigh, you set your clipboard down and walk around Stella and over to Ellie’s side. “Alright, that’s it,” you say, placing a gentle hand on her lower back. “You’re going home right now, missy. Do you understand me?”

“I’m fucking fine,” the teenager insists through her gritted teeth. “They’re just fucking cramps. It’s not a big deal.”

“Ellie, look at you. You can hardly even stand up straight,” you tell her, the slightest hint of amusement lacing your tone. You give her back a soft, soothing rub, prompting her to exhale the breath she’d been holding. “I’m sorry, but I just can't let you work like this today. They’re clearly hurting you very badly.”

“I’ve never had cramps like this before,” Ellie admits to you. She feels the sensations in her pelvis subside and draws herself back up to her full height. Her gaze finds yours and she worriedly asks, “Do you think something’s wrong with me?”

You hum. “No, not necessarily. Symptoms of your cycle can differ from month to month. I wouldn’t be too alarmed, not unless you get awful cramps like these each time you get your cycle.” You peer at her in concern. You’d much rather step on a rusty nail barefoot than have to take Ellie to see Luke at the clinic, but if there was something going on, you would have no choice but to take her. “Be honest. Do they hurt you this bad every month?”

“No,” she replies, shaking her head. “Sometimes I don’t even get them at all.”

You let out a small sigh of relief. “Then I think you’re just having a little bad luck this month,” you state, patting her shoulder. “The best thing for you to do is go home, get off your feet and get some rest until they go away.”

Ellie frowns. “How can I even rest when it feels like someone’s fucking twisting my insides in their hands like they’re wringing out a wet mop?”

You can’t help but to chuckle a bit at her oddly specific, yet incredibly accurate analogy. As a woman, you understand just how bad the pain could be and you empathize with her. At least when you’d been her age, you had been in the QZ where you could use your ration cards for a pack of expired Midol. “Listen, I’ll tell you what—I have a few remedies up my sleeve that might help. Go on home and I’ll swing by in an hour once I get everything that I need. Do we have a deal?”

Ellie opens her mouth to protest, but another wave of pain causes her to yelp and double over again. “Alright, alright,” she chokes out. “We’ve got a deal. Just please fucking do something to help make this shit go away!”

Just like you had promised, an hour later, you find yourself knocking on Ellie and Joel’s front door. You’d made a couple of pit stops along the way, gathering the supplies that you needed into an old, floral printed canvas bag.

“Peach?” Joel’s eyebrows shoot up in complete surprise when he opens the door and sees you standing there on his front porch in broad daylight. He takes a quick look around and lowers his voice when he speaks again. “Uh, not that I ain’t happy to see you darlin’, but what are you doin’ here?” The corners of his mouth pull down into a frown and a worried look flashes in his eyes as he looks over you, making sure you’re okay. “Somethin’ happen? Is everythin’ alright?”

You smile up at him softly.

By now, you’d just about gotten used to him and his overprotective nature. “I’m fine, Joel,” you assure him. “I’m actually here to see Ellie.”

He grimaces. “She ain’t feelin’ too good—”

“I know.” You hold up the tote bag in your hand. “That’s exactly why I’m here to see her.”

Joel seems to be a bit puzzled, but he steps aside and allows you into the house. As soon as he shuts the door behind you, he catches your wrist and gently pulls you towards him, swiftly stealing a quick little kiss from you. “Hi baby,” he greets in a quiet murmur against your lips. “S’kinda nice gettin’ a little sugar from you durin’ the daytime,” he jokes lightly before he steals another.

You giggle and playfully swat at his chest. “Cut it out, Joel. I’m here because I’m on a very important mission,” you inform him, taking a step backwards. “I sent Ellie home from the stables a little while ago and I told her I’d come by with a couple of things that might help make her feel better. Where is she?”

“She’s in here. Follow me,” Joel beckons to you with his hand as he leads you down the long hallway and into the living room. He gestured with a jut of chin to Ellie, who is sprawled out on the couch on her stomach, her small face buried into one of the cushions. “I took the afternoon off from patrol today. Didn’t want her to be home alone while she’s in so much pain but I’m useless. I don’t know what to do or what I can give her to make it stop hurtin’.”

“You’re not useless Joel—”

“No, he’s right. He’s pretty fucking useless,” Ellie mumbles miserably, her voice muffled by the couch cushion.

You glance at Joel who tosses her an offended glare. “She doesn’t mean that, you know. She’s just in a lot of pain right now.” You touch his arm and offer him a small, sympathetic smile. “Do you mind if I borrow your kitchen for a few minutes to prepare what I brought?”

“‘Course not. C’mon, the kitchen's right across the way.” Taking advantage of the fact that Ellie’s face is still smushed into the couch, Joel takes your hand in his and starts leading you across the hallway into his kitchen. “What do you need, darlin’?”

“Do you have a tea kettle I can use?”

He shakes his head and drops your hand. “No, I don’t think we have one of those.”

“A normal pot will do, then,” you state, setting your bag down on the counter.

Joel nods and walks up beside you, opening one of the cabinets underneath the kitchen sink. He pulls out a dark blue pot and hands it to you. He watches as you fill it up with tap water from the kitchen faucet before carrying it over to the gas powered stove. After switching the stove on and getting a flame going, you set the pot down on top of it so the water could begin to warm up. You then reach into your bag and pull out a small plastic ziploc bag filled with loose tea leaves, dumping a few of them into the water before sealing the bag back up and setting it off to the side.

“What’s that?” he questions, curiously.

“Raspberry leaf tea. It’s good for a lot of things, but it does wonders for menstrual cramps,” you explain briefly. You dig into your bag once more and pull out the handmade heating pad that you’d sewn together yourself a while back. Noticing that Joel’s standing right next to the old microwave on the opposite end of the counter, you toss it over in his direction, quickly warning him, “Joel, think fast.”

He swiftly catches it in one of his hands. “The hell is this fuckin’ thing?”

You toss him a playful eye roll. “That’s a heating pad.”

Joel squeezes it between his fingers, making a face. “What’s in it?”

“Rice, flaxseed, and some lavender as well. It’ll help soothe her. Pop it into the microwave for a couple of minutes.”

He nods, doing as you’d instructed. “If you say so, peach.”

While the heating pad is warming up, you notice the water beginning to boil in the pot and start looking through his cabinets until you find a mug. You set it down and switch off the stove, asking him, “Do you have a hand strainer by any chance?”

“Yeah, think there’s one in that drawer right beside you.”

As you go about finishing preparing the tea, you feel Joel’s dark brown eyes glued to your back. Glancing over your shoulder, you meet his curious gaze and raise a questioning eyebrow at him. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothin’,” he replies, innocently. “Just can’t believe you’re doin’ all this for her.”

You laugh a little. “Of course—why wouldn’t I do this for Ellie?”

Joel says nothing. He can only smile at you.

“Okay,” you say as you finish pouring the tea through the strainer. You set the pot side and pick up the ceramic mug. “Grab the heating pad. Let’s go make little miss grumpy pants feel better.”

He chuckles and does as he is told, grabbing the heating pad out of the microwave before following you out of the kitchen and back into the living room.

“Okay, Ellie. I need you to sit up,” you announced, walking over to the couch.

She groans dramatically, but obeys. “I swear, if you making this fucking stop, I will never in my life complain about mucking out stalls ever again.”

“Here.” You hold out the mug to her. “You’re going to drink this.”

Ellie makes a disgusted face. “Ugh. I fucking hate tea.”

You pin her with a stern look. “What do you hate more—tea or pain?”

“Fine. Give it here,” she grumbles, carefully taking the tea in her hands. She blows on it for a minute to cool it down, then takes a couple of reluctant sips. She lets out a little disgusted noise, but says nothing about it.

As she leans back against the couch, you take the heating pad from Joel’s hands and place it over her pelvis.

Ellie groans out in relief. “Fuck, that feels incredible.”

You glance over at Joel, raising an eyebrow. “Eh? What did I tell you?”

“You’re amazin’,” he grins.

“You’re amazing,” Ellie mimics, teasing him with a smirk.

Joel’s smile fades. “Well, that tells me she’s feelin’ better already,” he grumbles, shaking his head.

You watch as she forces herself to drink the rest of her tea. Once she’s finished, you take the empty mug from her in one of your hands.

“Oh. I have one more thing that might help.” You reach into the breast pocket of your white blouse and produce a tiny, square shaped object wrapped in foil. “I know it always makes Dina feel better when she’s having a rough time with her monthly bill.”

Ellie unwraps it, her eyes going wide. “No way! Is this chocolate?” She eagerly bites into the corner of the piece, moaning. “Fuck, that’s so good.”

You pat her thigh. “Lay down and keep that heating pad on you. You’ll start to feel better in no time.”

“I already do,” she says, shooting you a grateful look. “Thanks.”

“Anytime, kid.” You smile and stand up, walking into the kitchen with the empty mug in hand.

Joel follows suit.

Setting the dish down into the sink, you gasp when you feel his arms wrap around you from behind. “Joel, Ellie is—”

“She ain’t gonna see,” he murmurs, pressing his lips against your neck.

You turn around in his arms.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely, his eyes meeting yours. “For takin’ such good care of her. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

Grinning, you tilt your head up for a kiss.

You don’t know what you’d do without them either.

#joel miller x y/n #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller pedro pascal #joel miller fluff #joel miller x reader #joel miller x original character #joel miller series #joel miller story #pedro pascal characters #joel miller drabble #joel miller one shot #joel miller blurb #fic: ash #fic: a safe haven

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seoafin · 9 months

Text

dog days are over | chapter eight

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader x geto suguru warnings/tags (for this chapter): gojo word count: ~9.6k

fic masterlist read on ao3

“No need to look so nervous! Loosen up!”

You try your best to smile, despite the nerves bundled in your stomach. “Thank you for inviting me out, Ikeda-san.”

She beams at you, opening the menu in front of her. You stare at her glossy, perfectly shaped nails and the smooth skin of her hands. You remember the softness of them. Still, there is no ring on her finger.

“Please, call me Meiko. And of course! Don’t tell Gojo and Geto, but I’ve always wanted to talk to you.”

Surprised, you say, “Me?”

“The mysterious fourth classmate of Jujutsu High’s 2008 graduating class. I was always so curious about you.” She smiles, and you are drawn to the cherry red of her lipstick. “Especially since those two are notoriously tightlipped about you.”

You’re sure it’s because there’s nothing to talk about when it comes to you.

“I’m not that interesting,” you say politely, because in your opinion, you really aren’t. “I’m sure you weren’t missing much.”

“Is that really what you think?” She leans forward, placing her chin on top of her threaded fingers. “I think you’re plenty interesting.”

Your face warms. Nobody’s ever called you interesting before. You meet her gaze. “Is there something you need, Ike—Meiko-san?”

She laughs. “Please, you’re so formal! No need for the honorific, you’ll make me self conscious. We’re nearly the same age! If I’m being honest, I just wanted to get to know you.”

“Because we have…” you consider her carefully, “a lot in common?”

Once again, she bursts into laughter. It’s not mocking, but amused. “I thought maybe you’d feel a little more comfortable if we had…common ground.”

The common ground being…

Your face flushes with heat. “Is it��” you stare at the plate laid flat in front of you, stomach churning in distress, “obvious?”

You think back to every single semi public interaction with Suguru and Satoru. Maybe someone had caught a glimpse of Suguru’s knuckles brushing against yours, walking a little too close to you to be considered casual acquaintances. Maybe someone had seen Satoru draw you close to him. It hadn’t been discreet. Satoru’s never been discreet. Not enough. And now you’re paying the consequences.

Your palms go sweaty.

“Oh, it seems I’ve worried you,” Meiko looks concerned. “It was just a guess,” she murmurs gently, reaching out for your hand. Your heart starts with a jerk when her hand closes around you. “An inkling if you will. Woman’s intuition?”

They are soft. They smell like peach flavored hand lotion. Relief sweeps through you like a cool balm. “Oh,” you say breathlessly. “Thank god.” It slips out before you can help it.

“It’s rare to see Geto and Gojo so ruffled,” she chuckles. “Geto especially. I can never tell what he’s thinking with that smile of his…I just wanted to tease them a little, you know? Make them sweat.” She studies you, face sobering. “They hold you in the highest regard.”

The she winks, and calls over a server.

She must be a regular here because she easily strikes up a conversation with your server about the new seasonal specials. You then watch in slight awe as she proceeds to order one of every single thing on the menu.

At your expression, she grins. “Instead of deliberating, isn’t it easier to just order the entire menu? That way we can try a little of everything. Besides, my palate gets a little bored with one plate.”

You blink. It strikes you as something Satoru would do. Order every single sweet on a menu to have his pick. The world of jujutsu elites and their bottomless bank accounts is truly something beyond your understanding.

“When Ieiri-san said you were coming to my reception as her plus one, I was surprised,” Meiko says. “I asked Gojo for your availability, and he said you were busy. Honestly,” she huffs, “selfish men are the worst!”

Satoru said you were busy? You wonder if he thought you’d somehow embarrass him and Suguru. Somehow, you can’t fault him. People just don’t seem to like you, and it’s probably your fault. “You wanted me to come?”

“Of course I did.” She makes a face. “Instead I had to deal with that Kumiko. The nerve of her to seat herself at my table! In your seat!”

She scans you, as if to gauge the measure of your outrage. You simply only look at her, unblinking as your mind runs wild with all the possible ways to navigate the rest of this conversation without stepping on any landmines. You're not good at this.

“I wasn’t aware you two were acquainted.”

Meiko’s smile turns tight. “We were briefly homeschooled together. Flower arranging class.” She spits out.

Her face clouds darkly.

You quickly change the subject. “I wonder when the food—”

Meiko’s eyes narrow. “ Wait. Are you acquainted with her?”

“J-Just briefly…”

“That snake,” her fingers fist tightly. “Of course she’d worm her way into your life!” She slams a fist onto the table. You wince. “It’s Geto isn’t it?” She scoffs. “I heard she got stood up by Gojo, but to think she was that shameless—”

“She likes him,” you say, a little more firmly than you intended. A look of surprise paints her face at your sudden boldness. You settle down, embarrassed. “I think…her feelings are genuine,” and it’s wrong to undermine them. The fondness in her eyes is real. You of all people understand her feelings. You love Suguru too.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize weakly.

Meiko exhales deeply. “No, I am. I always get carried away when it comes to her. We’ve always had bad blood between us. I suppose we’ve just never seen the world the same way. It’s always been her dream to be married to an influential man,” her voice turns bitter. “To be a perfect wife. To bear sons with cursed techniques. You could say we were bred for it. Disgusting pigs like that Zenin Naoya are a dime a dozen in jujutsu society. But unlike me, Kumiko was actually born with a powerful cursed technique.” There’s a bitter note to her voice. “What a waste.”

You don’t know what to say to her. You’ve never been good at knowing what to say at the right time. Not like Suguru.

But Meiko continues, “I suppose that’s why it’s a surprise to everyone she’s still not married. A lot of people think it’s because her clan elders are holding out for Gojo.” She snorts. “I guess everyone is expecting him to get married soon too, and have children. Lots of children.” She pauses, “Though I suppose they don’t mind the unmarried part as much as the not-impregnating-women part.” She raises an eyebrow. “They do make quite the pair, don’t they?”

You get the strongest feeling of deja-vu.

Your face warms, looking at anything but Meiko. “I…”

“They work even better together too,” she remarks with a sigh. “Unfortunately, good looks can’t save them from their lousy personalities.” She shoots you a sympathetic look.

L-Lousy personalities…

Clearing her throat, she says, “The Gojo clan elders and higher ups from Fukuouka are convening in Tokyo to try and convince Gojo to get married. To secure the Gojo line.”

You stare at her.

Meiko’s expression gives away to surprise. “You didn’t know?”

“Nobody mentioned it,” you answer truthfully. It clears up a lot of the happenings at the school. Perhaps they had come to Tokyo because Satoru refused to come to them. You knew Satoru’s less than enthusiastic feelings towards the burdens pushed on him by clan politics, such as marriage. A part of you can’t help but wonder if that had spurred Satoru and Suguru’s actions towards you. That and pity you suppose. In your first year, Satoru often used to remark that you seemed like you’d be the type to die alone. He wasn’t wrong.

“The Zenin and Kamo’s want him to take a bride from their own families, but the Gojo clan’s own preference is someone like Sasaki. Someone from a distinguished lineage and a clan that’s not as powerful as one of the big three. They don’t want a strong clan interfering in interfamily politics. It’s all terribly political.” She makes a face. “They want him to consider mistresses from other families too. He’s not the only one. Geto’s been fielding all kind of offers too. His cursed technique is too valuable, and the Zenin’s have always been greedy.”

Of course the Gojo clan would want someone as delicate and refined as Sasaki. She’s beautiful, talented, and holds a revered cursed technique. It would be easy to fall in love with her, if the way Suguru talks highly of her means anything.

You try to process the rest of the information, but all you can think of is marriage, marriage, marriage. Your head is spinning. Had your parents’ marriage been rife with such difficulties? This can’t be normal. You are confronted by the realization that the day Satoru and Suguru get married might be closer than you think. It throws your thoughts into disarray. All this time you’ve been unaware of the specifics and complexities of jujutsu society as it pertains to someone of Satoru and Suguru’s positions. They’ve never confided in you, and you think it’s for good reason. You’ve been so caught up in your own head that it never occurred to you that they might be troubled too. What a friend you’ve been lately.

Spirits dampening, you lower your gaze. “Is…that right…”

Luckily, you’re saved from a more coherent answer because the food comes. A line of waiters approach your table. Twelve plates, large and small, are set down in quick succession. You stare at the colorful array of dishes. Another waiter makes an appearance with a bottle of expensive looking wine, pouring the two of you a glass.

Meiko loads food onto your plate. “Eat up! You seem like you could use a good meal.”

“Thank you…” Eating saves you the trouble of having to speak when you don’t have the words. It’s easy. The food is delicious.”

“This is the restaurant that catered my food during the reception,” Meiko says, taking a bite of her ricotta peach salad. “I hope you enjoyed the food, then and now.”

“It’s delicious,” you admit with a smile. “Thank you for bringing me.”

A wide smile hangs on her face. “Of course! It was a terrible night, but it might have been a little better if you had been there.”

A warm flush creeps into your face. “I would’ve liked to have met you too,” you say shyly, hesitantly. You like Meiko, you think. It’s easy to like her, with her bold personality. There's a frankness to her that reminds you of Shoko. A familiarity. You wonder what she sees in you. You wonder if your night would’ve been different had you met her instead of Hideo.

You’re thoughtful. “You didn’t seem very happy at your wedding.” The words come out before you can stop it.

Meiko goes quiet. You quickly move to retract your statement, realizing it was insensitive of you to say something. “I’m so—”

Meiko lifts her wine to her lips and slams it down, emptied. “I didn’t want to get married. Not then, not ever. I thought my father had given up on it, after I scared the fifth suitor away.” She takes the bottle and nearly fills her glass to the brim. “Only to find out my father had given away my hand without my knowledge when I came back from visiting my mother in Hokkaido.” She takes a long drink. “To a politician of all people! It was horrible. I threw a fit, hoping to convince my father. You can imagine how well that went.”

You can’t imagine being unknowingly married, bound to spending the rest of your life with a stranger. It feels like the puzzle pieces are slowly coming together. Meiko’s sour expression throughout the entire reception. Shoko’s comment about the unwilling bride. You can’t do anything but commiserate with her in silence.

“My father said he’d be willing to break off talks if…” she trails off, looking vaguely uncomfortable for the first time since the evening started. “At the time, I hadn’t realized those two were into women.”

You nearly choke with laughter.

It’s an understandable mistake. The nature of Satoru and Suguru’s relationship have always raised eyebrows. They’ve never hidden it. It’s a truth, never presumed, never spoken, lest it be true. Or spreads. Satoru and Suguru have always enjoyed making people uncomfortable to an almost sadistic extent. You’ve seen people squirm in their seats beneath Suguru’s pleasant smile, Satoru’s creeping menacing grin.

Meiko looks amused now, eyeing you with an understanding you don’t quite get. “My mistake.”

You sober. “The reception…”

“He spent the entire time with Gojo and Geto, trying to worm his way into their good graces. He has ambitions, you see.” A mirthless smile. “He wants to be prime minister of Japan one day, and everyone knows it’s Gojo’s vote that matters the most when it comes to selecting the political face of Japan, and my father already has very strong ties to the current Kamo head.”

Oh you knew that. Upon watching a political debate with Shoko in the common lounge your first year of jujutsu tech, Satoru had taken up all the space on the couch with wide legs, eaten all your popcorn, and watching the current prime minister’s effective response to the burgeoning inflation, had commented that it was an aggressive policy for the mild and meek man who had cowered in the face of him and the Zenin and Kamo heads.

Shoko and Suguru had simply looked at him until Satoru shrugged and said that between the current prime minister and his former opponent, personally, he had flipped a coin before casting his vote. Suguru gawked at him, and had spent the rest of the week questioning the legitimacy of the political institutions in Japan.

To this day, you’re unsure of whether or not Satoru was joking.

Sometimes, the thought that the fate of your nation rests in Satoru’s hands makes you a little uneasy.

You try not to think about it often.

She snorts. “It wasn’t as bad as our first night.”

You straighten immediately.

“He didn’t touch me,” she clears up quickly. “Or force me, if that’s what you think. He slept on the couch actually.” Her face goes thoughtful. “It’s more than you can say of a lot of men in jujutsu society,” she completes darkly.

Relief shoots through you. “If you ever need help…” This time, it’s your turn to squeeze her hands reassuringly. “I’ll do whatever I can.”

Meiko looks touched. “You’d help me?”

“I’m not all that impressive,” you respond truthfully, a little embarrassed at your bold proclamation with nothing but intent to back it up. You aren’t in a position of any strength to be promising easy help. But you’d do anything you could. “But I’m sure I could ask Satoru and Suguru to help if necessary too.” And if whatever you could meant pleading to Satoru and Suguru on the behalf of someone else, you wouldn’t even have to think about it.

“Satoru and Suguru are good people,” despite the opinions of others. Despite…what Meiko may think. They are, you know it. You’re sure they’d intervene if needed, not because you asked.

She sniffs. You look at her in alarm. Then you realize the bottle of wine is empty.

“I’m sure…” she swallows, eyebrows furrowing as she tries to piece together her sentence. “I’m sure they’d do anything, if you asked them.”

You’re sure she’s just flattering you, so you smile, and motion for the waitress before Meiko can order another bottle. You hope she doesn’t cry. A pretty, crying woman would have you flying into a panic. You prepare yourself to call Shoko for advice just in case, although for crying women matters Suguru would probably be your first choice.

The bill is placed. You figure you should pay since she took the liberty of inviting you out in the first place, but there’s a black card in her hand before you can even blink. The waitress smoothly takes it, just as Meiko’s fist slams down onto the table.

“They don’t deserve you!” She exclaims, drawing stares from other tables. “You’re too good for them!”

The server hurriedly rushes away, presumably to quickly check you two out.

Your server returns with Meiko’s card and helps you collect her. Luckily, she’s not drunk enough to be immobile, but she tilts precariously as you two walk her outside. The weight of her body leaning on yours is almost pleasant. She must be a lightweight. Like Satoru. You don’t mind it. It reminds you of the time you had had to drag Satoru to his room after he mistook Shoko’s flask of alcohol for apple juice. Outside, a sleek black car awaits.

“Meiko,” you say, “would you like to stay at my apartment tonight?”

Her voice is small as she hides her face in the crook of your neck. Your heart nervously starts in your chest. “...Do you mind?”

You manage a smile. “Not at all.”

The driver (the same driver from before you recognize), a kind looking middle aged man, takes Meiko as you thank the waitress. When the two of you are seated, Meiko slurs to him that she’ll be following you home tonight. You tell him your address.

When you arrive, the driver does a double take at your apartment building. Meiko sobers up enough to be able to walk up the three flights of stairs to your apartment by herself so she shoos the driver away as you promise to take care of her.

“Go,” you call as you open the door. “I’m home.”

Go is seated in front of the door, above the platform of the genkan, as if he’s been waiting for you, tail excitedly flicking from side to side on the floor as he regards you.

“Wow,” Meiko says. “That’s a beautiful cat.”

Pride blooms in your chest at her words. Go’s grown big enough to nearly encompass the length of your arms. You wonder if he’ll ever stop growing, but you don’t mind. More of him to hug and pet. You love him regardless.

After taking off her heels, Meiko clambers to her knees and immediately starts petting Go. You can hear Go’s pleased purr as Meiko showers him with bellyrubs.

When she finally pulls away, you lead her through the living room and then into your room, Go following beside your ankles.

“You can take my bed.” Meiko opens her mouth to argue. “I insist.” You’re no stranger to sleeping on the couch anyway. And having Go next to you made things substantially better. You leave to the kitchen to get her a glass of water.

Clutching a tall glass of water, you return to your room to see the top dresser of your drawer opened, and a white envelope in Meiko’s hand.

“O-oh,” you say quickly, placing the glass of water down on your desk. “That’s…”

“Did you write all of these?” Meiko places the envelope back down at the top of the stack in your drawer. You had momentarily moved the letters there until you could finish Satoru’s latest one to ensure all the postage was up to date. His birthday was coming soon after all. But you couldn’t risk the letters being seen by any of the recipients. Your letters weren’t meant for them—not as long as you were alive.

With Satoru's tendency to snoop through your things, their usual home was in a shoebox inside a bigger storage container underneath your bed, covered with spare blankets. You hadn’t been expecting visitors.

Meiko gestures to three stacks of letters, each stack addressed to a different person.

“Three every year,” you reply, with a small smile, closing the drawer. She must have seen Satoru’s name written on the envelope. You’re relieved when she doesn’t say anything else, only gazing at the picture frames on top of your dresser.

“Your apartment,” her voice is quiet, “is very empty.”

“I’m not good at decorating. I’ve never had a lot of things.”

“The unsentimental type, huh.”

Meiko raises her hand, as if to examine the picture of Shoko on your desk, but then drops it. You open the covers for her. It’s easy to see how tired she is, the darkness of the night casting shadows on her face that make her expression muted. You should let her get rest.

Slowly, she gets into your bed.

“I wanted to enroll into jujustu high,” her voice is barely a whisper, covers pulled to her chin. “My father said my cursed technique wouldn’t amount to much as a jujutsu sorcerer. That I’d be killed on my first mission. I wanted—” her voice warbles, and you worry she might cry. “I could’ve been an auxiliary manager.”

Hesitantly, you reach out and pat her hair. You like it when Shoko pats your hair.

She blinks slowly, before her eyes close. A few seconds later, Meiko is peacefully sleeping in your bed. You exhale, relieved that sleep had come to her easily.

Freedom. It’s easy to take it for granted. Despite everything in your life, at least you had that. You could quit being a jujutsu sorcerer, move to the mountains unaccounted for, and live the rest of your life surrounded by rocks. There would be no great impact on jujutsu society. You’d be a fading memory at best.

You’re still thinking about it when, settled on the couch, with Go in your lap as you brush his fur, someone knocks on your door.

At this hour?

You set Go and the brush down, walking over to the genkan. You open the door.

A tall, slightly disheveled man greets you. From what you can make out in the sparse light coming from the small lamp of your living room, he’s nicely dressed, in an expensive looking suit, but his tie is loose around his neck in a way that reminds you of drunk businessmen splayed out in the streets awaiting the trains to open.

“Is Ikeda-san inside?” He asks sharply. You try to make out his face, but the darkness encroaches on his face, creating shadows. Your eyesight is going bad. Too many late nights in the archives.

“She’s sleeping—”

You immediately move to block him from coming in when he takes a step forward. Go hisses from in between your ankles.

“I’m her husband,” he says, in a tone that leaves little room for argument. “I’m here to retrieve my wife.” After a slight pause, as if remembering to be courteous, he dips his head. “Thank you for taking care of her.”

“Of course.” You meet his gaze. “Though I don’t think it’s wise to move her now. Like I said before, she’s sleeping.” You don’t share that she had been drinking.

You think you imagine the flicker of displeasure on his face, but then his face is smoothly dispassionate. “It’s only proper that she should rest at home.”

You don’t move.

“If I’m being honest, I don’t feel comfortable letting her go home with you.” Not in her current condition.

“Forgive me,” he says. “But my relationship with Ikeda-san doesn’t pertain to you. It’s a separate matter altogether. I simply want her to rest at home.” In other words: it’s none of your business.

A politician through and through, you think. Despite the fact that this straitlaced man seems to be the very opposite of smiles and fake goodwill.

It’s not. Your business. But you don’t think you can let her go home, not in good conscience. You wonder if this means making enemies with the future prime minister of Japan. Well, there wasn’t much he could do even if he wanted to retaliate.

“I’m sorry,” you say firmly. “I’ll take care of Ikeda-san until the morning. I may not look like it but I’m also a jujutsu sorcerer. A Grade One. I’m more than capable of watching over her.”

You leave out the part where your own missions have been on the backburner as of late. You’re sure Yaga-sensei is being considerate after what happened in Nagoya. You mentally thank Satoru and Suguru for all their hard work.

Surprise on his face. “You’re a jujutsu sorcerer?”

Y-yes… “I am.”

His fingers curl, unhappy. You can tell he’s hesitant. You understand it, but you already decided you wouldn’t let Meiko go home. It’s not something you’ll budge on. You’ll stand your ground.

“Then I leave her in your care,” he says curtly, straightening. He bows his head and you bow back. Then he’s gone, leaving you wondering if you imagined the entire interaction. You stare at your empty doorway until Go meows.

You close the door and sigh, sitting down on the elevated floor connected to the genkan as you scratch Go’s ear.

“Do you think the future prime minister of Japan hates me?”

He bumps his head into your thigh. You sigh again, picking him up as you stand. Like he said, it’s beyond you to assume their relationship, a nobody like you. Go immediately rolls onto his back in your arms, paws kicking up, nuzzling into you.

At least Go would never hate you.

You tread back to the couch, and put on a documentary about African meerkats. Go doesn’t take his eyes off the screen, entranced by the slim animals and their dietary habits. You eventually doze off.

—

You wake up to the sound of eggs sizzling and the smell of breakfast. You blink, cold winter sunlight streaming in through the window. You sit up.

“Good morning,” Meiko says. “I’m making breakfast.”

You look at her.

She snorts. “What, did you think a rich girl like me couldn’t cook? I lived by myself in college, you know. No servants at all.” Meiko must mistake your blank eyed stare for something more because she hastily says, “O-on the weekdays anyway.”

You didn’t know you had food in your fridge.

“I went to the grocery store around the block,” she says, answering your unspoken question. “What do you live on? All you had was cat food in the fridge!” She opens a cabinet and points. “And this huge jar of sugar!”

“Satoru’s,” you answer. Meiko looks even more confused.

You yawn. Go is already awake on your lap, awaiting his breakfast no doubt. “There were some eggs…” Leftovers from the groceries Shoko had bought you a week prior.

“I can’t believe you…” She shakes her head, muttering something along the lines of ‘hopeless,’ before shooing you into the bathroom to wash.

After a quick stop to the bathroom, you feed Go and take a seat. Meiko puts a plate of eggs, bacon and sausage, and buttered toast in front of you.

“You didn’t have to.” You stare at the food. When was the last time you had breakfast in your apartment out of ingredients that had been bought?

“It’s the least I could do,” she sounds exasperated. “I can’t believe you let me take your bed!”

You feed Go a leftover piece of raw bacon which he gratefully accepts, nudging into your hand. “As long as you were comfortable.”

She huffs, and you thank her for the meal. The two of you eat in brief silence.

“Have you ever wondered what you’d be if you weren't a jujutsu sorcerer?” Meiko asks suddenly, spearing a sausage with her fork. “Like if you had never known curses existed.”

You wonder where this is coming from.

“Not really,” you admit slowly, staring at your plate of food. “It’s not like it would have ever made a difference. It was also highly probable I’d be killed during a mission anyway.” No need to think about the possibilities, no point in contemplating the path of your life unless you were debating the merits of suicide.

“Oh. That’s morbid.” Then she says, “Do you still think that?”

You think about your last missions, and the last time you had a close call with death. It could be tomorrow, it could be next year. You suppose that’s always been the inevitable reality for you. Who would you be if not a jujutsu sorcerer? You had little to no experience of life outside the world of jujustu sorcery. No other friends. No family. “I do. I don’t even know if I’ll survive to the next year,” you say plainly.

“What if you do survive?” She presses. “What if you don’t die? Next year, the year after the next…What would retirement look like for you?”

You consider it. It’s a difficult question. It must show on your face because Meiko laughs as if she’s torn whether to be amused or sympathetic. “Is it really that hard?”

“I would move somewhere peaceful,” you say slowly. “The countryside. Maybe somewhere along the coast, near the beach.” You’d like that. Somewhere aligned with nature. Somewhere where you could watch the sunrise and the sunset. Somewhere, where the stars are visible.

“By yourself?”

“By myself.” You would live in solitude, once again, content knowing Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko were living happily. Nobody would ever hurt you again. Go headbutts your ankle. Your lips curl, leaning down to pet him. “With Go,” you correct. No, you wouldn’t be entirely alone.

“And then?”

“Die.”

Meiko makes a face.

It wouldn’t be bad, you think. It’s all you can ask for out of life, if any higher existence is merciful enough to grant it. A peaceful death.

Meiko gawks at you. When she finally regains her words, she says, “Either you live as a jujutsu sorcerer or you die?”

You nod.

She opens her mouth. Then closes it. She sighs. “You’re so morbid.”

–

There are flowers on your desk. They’re lovely, a bouquet of a colorful array of flowers, some of which you recognize as japanese iris’, peonies, and wisteria.

You examine them, fingering their delicate petals, running your hands through them to try to find a card. You think it had accidentally been delivered to the library by mistake. You don’t know who would send you flowers.

There’s no identifying information on them, so you gingerly pick up the bouquet and walk out the library, all the way to Shoko’s office on the third floor of jujutsu high’s main building.

She raises an eye at the bundle in your arms when you knock and open the door.

“I’m glad I caught you before you went on break,” you say. “I found these flowers in the library, and I thought they’d brighten up your office.” You wrap your hands around the stems of the carefully trimmed flowers, and feel the thrum of your cursed energy imbue the flowers.

You place the bouquet down on the closest cabinet to you. As long as nobody intentionally destroyed them, they’d stay beautiful forever. “I’ll find you a vase.”

She swivels in her chair to face you, scrutinizing the flowers. “Are you sure? Those look like serious money.”

You play with a petal. “I think they were delivered to the library by mistake, but I can’t find a card.”

A knowing smile plays on her lips. “Men give women flowers when they want to apologize. Any groveling men in mind?”

You look at her. “No.”

She huffs a breath of laughter. “I’ll take them,” she says airily. She stands. “Are you going to join me on my break?”

You give her an apologetic look. “Paperwork.”

She narrows her eyes. “Fine, fine, but you owe me some of your time this weekend. It’s been a while since we went shopping.”

Shopping with Shoko always meant a good time. You’re looking forward to the weekend already. You wave her off, and back to the library you go. Just as you step into the gardens leading to the library, you hear a voice call your name.

“How’s your cat?” Hideo asks in greeting, jogging up to your side. “Have you named him?”

“Hello.” You smile. “His name is Go, and he’s very big.”

“Go…” Hideo’s eyebrows momentarily draw together, understanding dawning on his face. “I’m guessing it’s not because five is your lucky number, huh.”

You laugh. “He looks just like Satoru.” You adore him.

The two of you continue to the library.

“Has Go met his namesake yet?”

“Not...” Your smile slips, thinking of your last encounter with Satoru and Suguru. “Yet.”

“Well, all in good time, I suppose,” Hideo says easily, after a beat of contemplative silence.

You think about the flowers in Shoko’s office, and what type of vase they would look best in. Maybe Meiko would know. “There were flowers in the library.”

Hideo grins, amused. “A secret admirer?”

You blink. “I don’t think so.” A secret admirer? You? “I’m sure it was a mistake. I gave them to Shoko to brighten up her office.”

A wince crosses his face. It melts into a chuckle. You look at him curiously.

“You’re just a normal girl, huh?”

He grins, eyes bright, fond with a familiarity you still aren’t used to, but for some reason the comment makes your chest ache.

Normal.

You must be making a face because he straightens, mostly sobering. “Ah…how do I put this,” he scratches the underside of his chin. “When we were younger you always seemed…older. Somehow. It’s easy to lose sight of what’s normal in this world. I guess talking about love and secret admirers just reminded me…”

You tilt your head.

He clears his throat. “I prefer the person you are right now though,” he says easily. “You smile now” —like a normal girl— “and get sent flowers from a secret admirer” —like a normal girl—

You stare at him. Then lower your gaze to your feet. “Is that…bad?” You wonder if he’s making fun of you. You don’t think those flowers were intended for you.

Nobody has ever called you normal. If anything, you were abnormal. If you were a normal girl, maybe you’d be married like that woman you saw months ago. If you were a normal girl, maybe everything would be better.

If you were a normal girl would you be happier? Would things make more sense? You can’t imagine it. First Meiko asks you about a hypothetical future, and now Hideo seems to be under the mistaken impression that you are a normal girl.

It…

You don’t hate it. The thought peeves you more than you thought it would.

Hideo blinks rapidly. “No, of course not!” He frantically waves his hands. “Ignore me! I have a bad habit of running my mouth occasionally!” His gaze turns worried. “I’m sorry—”

“It’s fine,” you respond, meaning it. You smile. “I don’t mind.”

Normal, normal, normal.

Hideo walks you inside the library. Out of the corner of your eye you can see his neck crane to look at the domed skylight in the center of the library, the interest clear on his face. The building is in a unique shape: a heptagon, walls lined with bookshelves that fit the shape of the building. “I didn’t know this building was a library. Cozy.”

“I think they converted it,” you say. You’ve always liked this library, away from the bustle of the campus. Not many people knew about it. You discovered this building your second year of high school, and found a thin layer of dust on all the books and scrolls. It was clear it hadn’t been occupied in a while. It wasn’t until you had stayed inside for a day or two, unaccounted for, reading whatever you could salvage, that Shoko had found you, Satoru and Suguru not too far behind. Yaga thought you had never come back from a previous mission.

Shoko helped you clear the library. Satoru and Suguru carried a desk and chair into the center, right beneath the skylight, and suddenly, it was a study. Yours.

“I like it here,” you say quietly. “It’s peaceful.”

As soon as you finish your sentence, you hear the large wooden double doors open and slam shut as Satoru strides in. You flinch at the noise.

“...?”

Satoru folds his arms as he rests his weight against one of the bookshelves. He doesn’t need to take off his glasses for you to know he’s keenly unhappy in a way that fills up the entire room.

“...”

Satoru’s jaw ticks.

You move your gaze to the floor, sensing Hideo looking from you to Satoru curiously. Greater men have scurried away from the palpable tension Satoru has injected into the room, but Hideo seems oblivious to it.

“Guess I should leave the two of you to it,” Hideo finally says. “Sorry for the intrusion!”

You startle, looking up, mouth opening to deny his statement, but Satoru’s flat expression snaps your mouth back shut.

“T-Then I’ll see you…” you say quietly, wanting him to stay, to buffer conversation between you and Satoru anyway. But that would be unfair to Hideo. Satoru and Suguru have vocalized their dislike of him, for what you aren’t sure. You think Hideo is similar to Haibara in temperament, with his winning personality and easy going conversational air, and the two of them seem to get along with Haibara just fine.

He stops. Then turns back. “Next week, right?”

You blink. Next…week…? “Yes…?”

Hideo smiles, as a crease forms between Satoru’s eyebrows. Hideo slightly bows in Satoru’s direction before taking his leave. You hold your breath as the doors close once more, leaving you alone with…

Satoru is in front of you before you can blink, pushing you back into your desk. Your knees slightly buckle.

“You didn’t want him to leave,” Satoru says, accusatory, pulling his glasses off his face. “You wanted that third rate sorcerer to stay!”

You frown. “That’s rude.”

He ignores you. “Where’s your phone?”

You look at him curiously. Where had you left it again? Satoru opens his mouth, then closes it so quickly you hear the click of his teeth.

“Is…” you sigh. “Is something wrong?” You would rather he just get it over with. Telling you your outburst that day was unwarranted, and that you had been a terrible person and friend and human being in general. He wouldn’t be wrong.

“No,” he says through gritted teeth. “Nothing is wrong.”

Something, you think, is clearly wrong.

Silence.

All you can think of are Meiko’s words. The Gojo elders who traveled from Fukuouka just to convince Satoru to get married, preferably, to Sasaski. They want him to wed a woman of standing and lineage. They want him to have children. Then take a few mistresses, and impregnate them for backup heirs.

Freedom, you once again think, is immeasurable. You’re sad for Satoru. You want him to be happy. It’s all you’ve ever wanted for him and Suguru and Shoko. It makes you relieved and happy to know Suguru would always be by his side. Any sorrows or joys, would be shared together.

Satoru exhales roughly. In seconds he goes from bearing down at you, gaze alight, to sinking down to his knees in front of you.

You stare at him, confused.

There’s a loud slap of noise that has your eyes going wide.

When Satoru looks back up at you, his cheeks are stinging red, and handprinted. You reach out immediately, fingertips brushing over the heat of his sculpted face, wondering why he had slapped himself.

“Sato—”

“You know, Suguru and I were idiots.”

Oh. “No,” It wasn’t their fault. It was yours. “I shouldn’t have—”

You’re fully backed into the desk, taking a small seat (there’s nowhere else to move) as Satoru rises, hand closing around your nape. He brings you close and kisses you greedily, a moment’s indulgence, until he draws away, letting you breathe as you wonder what just happened.

“There’s nothing I love more than seeing you think,” he murmurs against your lips, piercing blue gaze never leaving yours for a second, “but right now I need you to stop thinking and listen.”

He sinks back down, expression almost smug when you close your mouth. He takes your hands, thumbs rubbing and pressing down on your knuckles soothingly, if not in an almost agitated manner. You’ve seen him do the same thing to Suguru. You don’t think he’s aware of it.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about it,” he admits, expression unusually forlorn. “I forgot…” he hesitates, dropping that line of thinking altogether. “Suguru and I get carried away when it comes to you.” There’s not a hint of amusement on his face as he squeezes your hands. “We don’t like seeing you cry.”

He says it with such a truthful earnestness that your throat goes tight. He’s still him, you think. That very same long limbed mischievous boy who laughed loudly and smiled broadly and clung a little too hard to your side, as if unaware of his own strength. His arm perpetually slung over Suguru’s shoulder like he was always meant to be there. No matter how far you think Satoru and Suguru are, those are the memories you’ll carry in your heart. Those sun slicked, sepia tinged memories, echoing of laughter.

Maybe the only person who had changed was you.

You look down at your entwined fingers.

You, you, you. It’s all you.

You’re a bit embarrassed. You don’t think you cried. Not in front of them at least. You had gone home and locked your door first. I’m sorry too, you want to say, but somehow with Satoru gazing up at you, the words are lodged in your throat. He looks devastatingly sincere. You don’t doubt his words.

“You should forgive us,” Satoru says lightly, almost innocently. Too innocently. That should’ve been more than enough for alarm bells to sound, but you had been preoccupied by Satoru’s show of sincerity.

You blink when his fingers easily wrap around the length of your right ankle. And when he firmly presses your foot to his shoulder, you stare.

You try to drop your foot, move it away, but Satoru’s grip is iron clad. A smile is slowly sneaking onto the corners of Satoru’s lips, making him look more incriminating than anything. You don’t like that look. Not at all.

“Satoru—”

“Would it make you feel better to push me around a little?” He asks breathily, eyes glinting mischievously. “You can kick me if you want, I don’t mind.” His voice lowers. “ Anywhere , really.”

You sweat. Trying to pull your ankle out of his grip isn’t working.

“I’m sorry too,” you blurt out, unable to comprehend how you ended up with your foot on Satoru’s shoulder while he gives you his consent to kick him. “I forgive you, I forgive you—”

“No needa be shy!” He moves your foot to his chest, pressing it down. “Just give me one good kick—”

You give him a flinty, dead eyed stare. “That’s not funny.”

He returns it with a raised eyebrow. “I’m not laughing.”

“Satoru,” you say weakly.

Finally, he releases your foot, and you are allowed to jerk your leg down. You’re instantly relieved, planting both feet firmly on the ground as you dust away the dirt on his shoulder and chest. He sighs, disappointed in a way that perturbs you.

“You’re so difficult sometimes,” you murmur, considerably warming up to his presence.

“That’s right,” he hums, idly trailing a finger down your clothed leg. “You and Suguru have your hands full, I’m sure.” He peers up at you daringly, looking every bit the petulant boy the Gojo clan had spoiled rotten in their adoration of the first six eyes user in centuries. “I’m worth it though, aren’t I?”

“...”

“Sometimes, I wonder that,” you say, (and mean) seriously.

“I didn’t hear that,” he says pleasantly.

“...If you say so…”

You think you imagined the twitch of his eyebrow.

You can’t help but smile. This is how things should be, you think. Now, if you could talk to Suguru, you’re sure you could draw this entire incident to a close. You wouldn’t have to skirt around the two of them with feelings of impending doom clouding your mind.

“Well,” Satoru says casually. “Now that we’ve gotten all that out of the way, apologies and all,” he promptly gets to his feet, so quickly you blink, gaze following him up. His face transforms into a full blown pout. “You’re a true sadist!”

You gawk at him. So soon after reconciliation!?

Satoru scowls. “Throwing Suguru and I away so quickly?”

“???????”

“Who said you were allowed to see and talk to other men!” He frowns even more vigorously at the confusion on your face. “Don’t act so surprised! Suguru’s been sulking every single day! He’s been downright distressed. The girls think he’s depressed! Again!”

You wince, recognizing the tell tale signs of another common Satoru overblown overreaction. Very high school reminiscent you think.

“S-Satoru…”

Satoru sighs dramatically, glaring at you. “Any day now, he might do something drastic.”

You stare at him.

“That’s why you should never get mad at us ever again,” he finishes succinctly, looking at you expectantly.

You stare at him.

When it’s clear you have no response, Satoru brushes off the silence so easily you think this is how others can get tripped up at the pace in which he leads. If you weren’t so used to it, you’d be one of them.

Satoru scans the small room. “Where are our flowers?”

“Oh, they were yours?”

Satoru levels you with a flinty gaze that would send others running to the hills. It elicits no strong response from you. His tone is chilly, displeased. “There’s another man sending you flowers?”

You give him an unimpressed look so withering that he clears his throat, almost meekly.

“Suguru’s idea. I picked them.”

“Well, they’re lovely,” a small smile on your lips. “They’re in Shoko’s office.”

“Of course they are,” he sighs, resigned. He regards you silently for a minute. “Did you like them?”

“I did.” You’re unsure where this line of questioning is headed. You slightly tilt your head to the side in a question.

“They were for you,” Satoru says. “I picked them for you.” He takes a step forward until your legs touch. “I wanted you to have them, so why’d ya have to give them away?”

You blink at the hint of roughness that bleeds through Satoru’s fixed (Suguru’s work) pronunciation. In hindsight, if the flowers were for you…it was awfully rude of you to have given them away wasn’t it?

“I…understand. I’m…sorry for giving your flowers away.”

Now he looks peeved. “They weren’t mi…” he groans, looking at you with an exasperated warmth. Then his eyes narrow. “You’re sorry, huh?”

You don’t…like that look in his eyes.

You don’t have time to respond, because Satoru’s finger comes to rest on the button fastened right below your neck. Uh oh. A sensation familiar to deja-vu suddenly envelopes you.

You’ve been getting a lot of those lately.

Your face warms as Satoru’s tongue runs over his bottom lip, playfully. The button comes undone easily. His voice is playful, but his gaze burns. “You can get on your knees—” your shirt is half undone, your black bra peeking out “—or I can get on mine.”

You don’t think he’s intending to give you a choice, because he’s so quickly down on his knees and spreading your legs apart, you’re blinking from the whiplash.

“Wait—!” You put your hands on his shoulders, thanking whatever deity was looking down on you today that you had put on pants instead of whatever easy skirt and sweater outfit you usually chose when sleep riddled in the morning.

Satoru smiles pleasantly. Too suspiciously well mannered when his fingers are on the zipper of your pants. “Yes?”

“H-how about a kiss instead…?”

You figure it would be easier to untangle yourself from him then…

Satoru’s fingers curl into your thighs, pinning you to the table. You’re surprised to see him seriously consider it. And relieved. His gaze is weighted with all the seriousness of negotiating a crucial deal. “How long?”

Your eyebrows furrow. You’re not sure how long a kiss should be. You hesitantly bring your hands to cup his face and lower your head to gently meet his lips. He’s as still as a statue, except for the sound of his breathing; deep slow breaths that overtake the rise and fall of his chest. His lips are immeasurably soft. A fact that you can only appreciate as time slows.

You take a moment to look at him. In the silence, you can admire the fine lines of his sculpted face and the inviting curve of his lips all within the grasp of your hands. He looks softer like this, happy. It makes you happy.

Satoru’s eyelashes flicker open, long white lashes framing the blues of the sky trapped in his gaze. You offer him a smile, a small quirk of your lips as you turn a hand over and lightly brush his cheek. You blink, taken aback when Satoru lightly takes your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckle.

His eyes flash, engulfed by a dark hunger.

You’re flat on your back against the desk, and there’s no time to think before Satoru presses forward, claiming your lips in an open mouthed kiss that steals your breath away. He’s trapped you into the desk, the weight of his body pushing you down. His fingers wind through your hair, cradling the back of your head.

You can feel his need between your legs, throbbing against you, all harsh panting and heat.

“Satoru,” you mumble the best you can with his lips still eager to meet yours. “We should—”

Your words are smothered when Satoru’s tongue licks into your mouth purposefully. You can tell he’s unhappy to be separated by layers of fabric. Your panties stick to your core, damp, as Satoru begins to lightly rock into you, straining against the material covering your heat.

“Satoru—”

He moans into your mouth, “Just like that.”

You snap your mouth shut, but Satoru doesn’t seem to notice as his lips trail across your neck with a single minded purpose. You feel his lips on your shoulder, as they glide across your chest.

Satoru’s lips are on yours again before you can even blink in an open mouthed kiss, tongue thoroughly exploring your mouth. His hands are tight, pressing into your waist, body flush against yours.

You mentally apologize. Then, you bite him.

Your teeth close over Satoru’s bottom lip. Hard. You almost wince yourself.

To your horror, Satoru does not release you like you thought he would.

You feel his body shudder to a near tremble, and the sharp exhale-like moan that leaves his lips. His eyes look delighted in their frenzied state. He presses closer to you, erection prominent and twitching, holding you even tighter. Your heart races in your chest as Satoru buries himself into your neck, hips grinding into yours.

You force your hands out against his chest. “Satoru,” you say tightly. “Someone could come in.”

That gives him pause. He rises, just slightly, enough to look down on you. You must look like a mess. His tongue swipes over the blood on his lips, and then he smiles.

“Oh?”

This is bad.

“I should talk to Suguru first,” you say quickly, avoiding his gaze. “You know…”

There's a brief pause.

“Hm.” He begrudgingly acquiesces, allowing you enough space to rise up. He briefly cups your face, before a hand falls to your neck. A dull ache flares when Satoru’s thumb presses down. You swallow, trying to calm your beating heart, all despite the fact that his hardness is within plain view.

You try not to stare at it as you busy yourself with buttoning your shirt. You can feel him grinning at you.

“And Suguru says I’m the one with no restraint.” Crossing his arms, he bears down at you expectantly. HIs foot taps up and down.

Your nerves are still frayed, electric, but you feel…almost better. Lighter. Despite the unexpected turn your meeting had taken, you’re happy.

“I love you Satoru,” you say, finishing up your top button. You really do. If he and Suguru and Shoko could be guaranteed happiness for the rest of their lives, you truly would have no problem dying in the next hour.

After straightening out your shirt, you finally look up. Satoru blinks at you, but there’s a flush to his neck, lips warbling.

You haven’t seen Satoru this flustered in ages. You should enjoy it now while it lasts.

“Where’d that come from?” He manages with a croak. He regains himself, straightening, but there's a pleased glint to his eye. Like a preening cat.

“I just wanted to,” you say happily. “Because I love you.”

You stand, rising on your toes to pat his head. Go likes it when you pet him. Meiko had liked it too.

Satoru stares at you, but he doesn’t push your hand away. He closes his eyes with an exhale.

“Are we…good?” you drop your hand, much to the disappointment that overtakes Satoru’s face.

“Always,” he confirms, and a part of you thinks he means it.

You smile. Everything’s going to be alright. As long as Satoru can smile at you like that, then things can’t possibly be as bad as you may have envisioned. You hear Meiko’s words once more: The Gojo clan elders and higher ups from Fukuouka are convening in Tokyo to try and convince Gojo to get married. They want him to have children.

It's odd. That such an important thing hadn't reached your ears. According to Meiko, those elders never left Fukuouka. A matter of the upmost importance. Nobody told you about it. Not even Shoko. It's none of your business. That's what you've been telling yourself, despite the disappointment swirling in your gut. You wish they could have confided in you.

“Do you want children?”

The look of interest on his face quickly fades as his gaze turns discerning. “What brought this on?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly, intuitively deciding that telling Satoru of your excursion with Meiko would be disastrous right now. “Just curious I guess…”

“About how babies are made?” His eyebrows waggle.

“No. I know about that.” Speaking of which. You’d need condoms.

Though you aren’t quite sure how well Satoru would react to you asking him what their to-go brand of condoms are. Maybe you’d ask Suguru instead.

“You weren’t at your place last Sunday,” Satoru says casually.

You blink, caught up in your worries about selecting the wrong condoms. Sunday…that had been…dinner with Meiko.

“Oh, I was out.”

“Out,” Satoru repeats. “Where?”

“With a…” you mentally apologize for being presumptuous, “friend…”

Satoru frowns. “You don’t have friends.”

Other than me, Suguru, and Shoko.

The unspoken words are pointed. You smile nervously.

You aren’t as popular as Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko. That’s a given. Shoko gets invited to for drinks with the auxiliary managers every other day. Visiting jujutsu sorcerers have been known to ask her out for coffee. You’re sure it’s tripled for Satoru and Suguru.

“There are some…” you clear your throat. “I have friends other than you and Shoko and Suguru.”

Ijichi. Utahime….Hideo. Maybe Meiko.

But to be a friend…they’d have to consider you a friend right? It has to go both ways. You’ve never received verbal confirmation or anything. You shouldn’t have automatically assumed…but Meiko had invited you out hadn’t she? She wanted to see you. To talk to you. There were no ulterior motives. She wanted to get to know you. Isn’t that how friendships start? You don’t even remember how Satoru and you became friends. One day he hated you, and then he didn’t. It’s not that much of a surprise. He’s always been a little capricious at heart like that. Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko had seamlessly blended into your life, like they had always been there.

Satoru disregards your words. “You don’t need them.”

He doesn’t believe you. Your face warms in embarrassment. Of course he’d think that. You stay silent awkwardly.

Satoru hums. “So Megumi, huh.” He looks amused. “You should’ve just come over to the apartment.”

“R-right…” Sometimes, you truly believed it was easier to let Satoru think what he wanted. It was harmless anyway. So you’d let him.

He gently pulls you up to your feet. “I’ll drive you home.”

“But Suguru…”

“In Yokohama." He picks at something at your shoulder, but his knuckles brush your neck. "He won’t be back until tomorrow. So eager to see him?”

“Yes,” you admit. “I want to see him and I want…to talk to him.” If these past months have taught you anything, it’s that one of the things you miss most of all is talking to Suguru. Suguru is more than an excellent conversationalist, he’s attentive in a way others aren’t. Satoru and Suguru both. They make you feel seen. Satoru, when he looks at you. Suguru, when he listens.

You cherish it. You’ll miss it.

At your response, Satoru groans, falling to his knees once more. You blink at him, wondering what caused the sudden dramatics.

His fingers grip your pants, like a child hiding behind his mother’s dress.

He looks up at you. You suddenly get the image of a withered man in the desert, dying of thirst, and you already know what he’s going to ask. You step back. His hand falls loosely back to his side.

“No,” you say sternly, in the same manner you tell Go he can’t knock over your vases.

Then you walk outside.

#jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #m.jjk

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quixotical-lymbo · 2 months

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Pairing: Wukong & afab!monkey!Reader Rating: SFW Summary: Trying to sneak out of having a bath is impossible when your grandpa can sniff out your funk. Warnings/Tags: Fluff, wholesome stuff, gremlin behavior, grooming/preening. Word Count: 800+ words

On the flower fruit mountain, there were a plethora of monkeys across the mountain/island. A particular monkey, who looked no bigger than the usual monkey that hung around the mountain, crawled on the forest floor with their tail swishing in the air. Their eyes shifted left to right, their hands feeling carefully around the moist dirt and used their tiny feet to propel themselves forward.

The mud, pebbles, and leaves began caking their furry body as they continued army crawling to reach the break in the treeline. Just a few more seconds and you would be in the clear and ready to sneak off to the beach, all a part of your plan to spend the rest of your day making the largest sand castle there ever was. Too bad you couldn't rope MK into helping you, but he was the last thing on your mind at the moment.

Right, you needed to focus on escaping your-

"And where do you think you're going, young lady?"

Aw shucks.

You attempted to flee but a tail snaked around your ankle and yanked you up into the air. You hung upside down, scratching and clawing at the air as you slowly rotated in the older monkey's clutch.

"Pa, lemme-lemme down!" You shrieked.

"Not until you explain why you were sneaking' around and avoiding your much needed bath," Wukong, who happens to be your very annoying grandpa, pulled a face as he leaned forward to sniff you and gagged.

"I took one yesterday!"

"Your yesterday could be another person's week," Wukong raised an unimpressed brow as you began to chew on his tail to break free. "Let's go, kiddo, you're taking a bath one way or another."

"Ughhh, noooo!" You wailed as your grandpa summoned his cloud. Just as he was about to lower you on to it, you batted the dirt you managed to grab earlier and aimed for his eyes.

"Wha-? HEY!" Wukong spat and sputtered the dirt that managed to enter his mouth. His hands failed to snatch your rolling form from escaping. "Get back here!"

"Oh, you're gonna be in so much trouble when I find you!" Was the last thing you heard as you scampered off.

Despite your smaller body, your inherited strength and energy made it easier to put a lot of distance between yourself and your grandpa. You laughed triumphantly as you leapt from a tree and reached for a vine to swing to another branch.

You flung yourself in the air before landing on a high branch, sticks and other pieces of the forest tangled in your wild mane as you glanced over your shoulder to carefully examine any sign that the older simian was on your tail. You snorted smugly as you raised your tail high before reaching for the branch above your head only to grab something leather-y. You looked up and found your grinning grandfather knelt on the very branch you were going to grab.

"Boo."

"AHHHHHHHHH!"

It's safe to say that you ended up back in the cave with your grandpa dunking your stinky self into the nearest bed of water while he gathered the rest of the stuff he'll need to tame your messy appearance. As his fingers worked through the knots and twists in your hair, you hissed and attempted to move your head away from his hands only to be guided back by his tail.

"Sit still," Wukong sternly demanded as he moved your hands away from reaching up to your head. You only pouted in response, but overtime the gentle combing and scratches made your head droop to the side as you nearly dozed off a couple of times. Yet, you would always fight it off and remain glowering at the reflection of your grandpa in the soapy water.

"Don't look so gloomy, peaches," Your grandpa snickered as you blew a bubble away from your face. Wukong plucked a stick from your hair and flicked it away, "Look, we're almost done and I'll give you something sweet after, 'kay?"

You grumbled something before lifting your arms so your grandfather could take you out. You dropped your head on his shoulder as you were wrapped in a towel and placed in Wukong's lap. Wukong noticed your stillness as he rubbed the towel against your mane, squeezing gently and massaging the rest of the water off your body.

Hearing the soft snores coming from you brought a smile to his face. The monkey king gently cradled you against his chest, wishing you the best of dreams you could ever have.

🍜 - I do not give permission for anyone to translate, copy, republish, or plagiarize any of my written works. I provide no permission for any of my literary works to be used in artificial intelligence. sparkle banner(s) by @adornedwithlight !!

#wukong & reader #fluff #lmk & reader #wholesome #gremlin behavior #lmk sun wukong #sun wukong #lmk

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peachesofteal · 1 year

Note

Hello peach hope you're doing well!!

I want to say that I love your writing, i grow too attached to it especially dead disco, you have no idea how it represents my deepest weaknesses and things in me that i never seen written in details that hit the right way, the way that darling is loved and wanted and even cherished by them yet she's so drown in her "what ifs" and worst case scenarios... i don't know if you do requests but my birthday is coming by, and well my birthday aren't the happiest days so every year i act like a workaholic in grieve, so i thought what of darling is like this and both her lovers notice how gloomy and on edge she gets when her birthday approach, how she may fake her birthday dates and never really talk about it when it's one week away...i think it'll hurt good, thanks again! 🩷🤎

⛈️

Hi love! Sorry this is a bit late, if your birthday has already passed, I hope it was okay for you. I usually feel like there’s a raincloud following me around on my own birthday, so I can relate to not enjoying it so much. I hope you like this! 🖤

18+ MDNI brief mention of spanking and praise kink, angst, comfort, emotional issues, Simon is in charge, darling is her own tag-warning / no au / dead disco canon - early relationship

It started with a lie.

A lie you had told months ago, on the patio, glass of wine in your hand. You had been enjoying the summer sun, curled up in your underwear on Johnny's lap, Simon's fingers working circles into the balls of your feet.

"My birthday just passed, actually." Johnny startled underneath you.

"What? How come ye never told us?"

"I don't know..." you swallowed, hard. "We had just started hanging out, I didn't want to make a big deal." The lie is incredible. So many half truths, twisted into something so false.

The reality was, your birthday wasn't for another few months. And you usually didn't make it a big deal, had stopped celebrating it years ago. Once everything started to feel hollow. Once you started to feel like maybe, your birthday really wasn't something to be happy about. Maybe, if you just pretended it didn't exist, it would sting less. Hurt less, when others did too.

"I wish we had known, darling." Simon interrupts your thoughts, and you shrug.

"Next year."

"Is everything alright?” Simon’s hand squeezes yours, drawing your attention from where you’re staring at a book, but not really reading. He can tell. He always can tell. “You’ve been quiet today.”

Your jaw tenses and relaxes with one breath. “Yeah, I’m just tired.” In reality, you were fine. Everything was fine. Johnny was in the kitchen, you were half sprawled across Simon with your paperback. You had a full belly and two doting, loving, warm partners, home, together, in the flat. What more could you want?

It’s hard to explain, the feeling of your impending birthday. The doom spiral that it begins in your heart, the sucker punch that it will deliver the morning of.

The guys don’t even know it’s your birthday, they think it’s not for however long ahead the made up date was.

You can’t decide if it’s worse, or better that you lied. Probably worse.

Will they remember? You never gave them a definite date. Will they push you on it?

You sneak a glance at Simon and realize he’s watching you, studying your micro expressions and picking them apart.

Definitely worse.

You feel awful when you think about how disappointed they’ll be if they find out, how Johnny’s face with twist with sadness, confusion.

You mentally cross your fingers, and hope it never comes up.

Your hopes are drastically dashed the next day, when you come home to a silent flat, Simon sitting at the kitchen table with his hands folded.

“Hi?”

“How was your day?” He asks and you shrug.

“Fine.” You peer into the fridge, feigning interest to avoid whatever the fuck is happening at the kitchen table right now. “Where’s Johnny?”

“Out.” Out?

“Out where?”

“On an errand. Come here.” It’s a command, something you recognize now, and your mind goes on red alert, chest rattling with a shaky breath.

Your feet deliver you to him on auto pilot.

“You got something delivered today.” There’s a shiny piece of postcard barely peeking out from his palms, glinting in the kitchen light. “It’s from your dentist.”

“Oh.” You laugh, nervously, scratching your neck because you don’t know what else to do with your hands.

“They wanted to wish you a happy birthday. Since it’s on the fifteenth.”

Fuck.

Your brain splits in two. One half of you wants to double down and assure him it must be a mistake. The other half wants to say you’re sorry, burst into tears and crawl into his lap.

“Darling?”

“Yeah… I uh… it’s uh.” He raises an eyebrow and you trail off, eyes finding the floor, hot shame crawling up your spine to your cheeks.

“Why did you lie?” You open your mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. No words, no lies, no rebuttals… just- a void. Nothing.

The walls feel like they’re ten feet closer to you, squeezing in on all sides, bearing down.

“Hey, hey.” His fingers wrap around your wrist, tugging you closer into his body while you suck in a hurried breath.

You can’t do this. You can’t tell him. You don’t want them to know.

“I can’t.” You whisper to your feet, and he strokes a thumb across your pulse point.

“You can’t?” He pushes, like you knew he would. It doesn’t take much for you to fold, and when he squeezes you wrist encouragingly, you break.

“I… don’t like my birthday. So, I lied. I said it was a while ago so you guys didn’t know.”

“Why do you not like it?” You shrug.

“I don’t know. It just always seems so, empty. It makes me sad. When you’re a kid, birthdays are special you know? And then as you get older they just get… worse. It’s supposed to be a day to celebrate but I only ever feel alone. I feel like, I don’t know. Like it’s just sad. And not special.” Your lower lip trembles, but you swallow down the lump in your throat, unable to let yourself fall apart, unable to fall beneath the weight. “I can’t explain it but there’s always a pit in my stomach, the morning of, and I can never shake it. It’s not like my previous relationships even really went out of their way to do something, so I… I don’t know.” You cut yourself off from your ramble by biting the inside of your cheek, trying to ward off a tidal wave of emotion.

“I see.” He pauses, and then wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you impossibly close. “And you were worried you’d feel the same, with us?” You shrug again. “Did you think we’d disappoint you?”

“No!” You blurt. “No, I just- I didn’t want the expectation. I didn’t want-“

“To be let down.” You shake your head with a denial, but Simon only nods, face grave and serious. “You always feel alone on your birthday. Why should it be any different now?”

“Because-“

“Because you don’t trust this yet.”

“That’s not true.”

“You trust us, darling. I know that. Johnny knows that. But trauma is muscle memory. It takes more than a few months with a new relationship to heal the build up of the pain and experiences you’ve been carrying.”

You can feel yourself twisting on the hook of his words. It’s so hard… to believe. To know. To trust but… this. Him and Johnny- you know it’s real. You’re terrified it’s real. It gives you the sweetest dreams and the scariest nightmares.

“I’m sorry I lied.”

“That’s alright, love. I’m not angry.” He watching you closely, cradling your jaw when your lip picks back up with it’s quivering. “But I think you need to feel better. I think you’ve been bottling this up for weeks now, haven’t you?” You suck in a deep breath, ragged and raw. You’re buzzing now, feeling too big for your skin, your clothes, your nerve endings rattling inside your body. “Should we sort it out?”

You nod.

“Words, darling.”

“Yes, Simon.”

When Johnny waltzes through the front door an hour later with a cake and a dozen balloons, he’s half curious, half elated to see you over Simon’s knee with your pants around your ankles, wide palm smoothing the raw skin of your ass as he hums sweetly to you.

“Shhh, good girl. I know, I know. It’s alright. You did so good for me.” Simon calls over your sniffling. “Johnny, c’mere. I think our girl is ready for her first gift.”

#peaches asks #dead disco #ghost x soap x reader #john mactavish #simon riley

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vodika-vibes · 1 month

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Love Is Kind

Summary: When your father moved your family to Mandalore in an attempt to court the various clans on behalf of the Republic, you were obligated to go with him, even though you were in your twenties. You really should have known that you were brought along in the hopes that one of the warriors of Mandalore would pick you as their bride. Too bad for your father that you’ve always known your own mind.

Pairing: Jaster Mereel x F!Reader

Word Count: 1182

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff, also Montross is a creep

Tagging: @bad4amficideas @justiceandwar98 @Mira-Loves-Star-Wars @tiredbi-peach

@dukeoftheblackstar @trixie2023 @kimiheartblade @padawancat97

@falconfeather23435 @etod @bb8-99 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: I'm in a Jaster mood and I'm making it all of your problems. Sorry, not sorry. Also, I'm not sure why but tumblr isn't letting me tag some of you. I'm sorry.

Click HERE to join my taglist!

“Good morning, Princess,”

You stifle your eye-roll with the ease of long practice when the familiar, and grating, voice of Montross reaches your ears. The shudder is a lot harder to hide, as his hand slides across your shoulders, but you manage it.

“Good morning, Montross,” You greet as you turn on your stool to regard the much larger man. “I wasn’t aware that you had returned to Mandalore.”

His smile makes your skin crawl, “Did you miss me?”

You smile and neatly side-step his question, “How was your mission?”

He drops onto the stool next to you, his arm still thrown over your shoulder, and he leans into your personal space. “It was amazing. I came face to face with a Jedi.” He boasts, “Killed him too.”

“Hm. Is that right?”

“Oh yeah. Wasn’t even a challenge.” He pushes his hand through his hair, in a movement that was probably supposed to be attractive, but really wasn’t.

You flash a close-mouthed smile, “If it wasn’t hard, Montross, then how can you know it was a Jedi?”

“He had a lightsaber.”

“Those aren’t Jedi specific,” You point out, “Anyone can use a lightsaber. Jedi just use them well.”

“Aw, come on, Princess. You don’t think I could do it?”

“I think if you came face-to-face with a Jedi, we’d be having a funeral right now.” You reply before you duck under his arm.

“Sometimes, Princess, you are so very Republic.”

“What can I say? I like Jedi.”

“You’re a Mandalorian now, sweetheart. You should start thinking like one.” Montross says as he leans a little closer, close enough that you can feel the heat from his skin against yours.

“I think you’ll find that I’m not.”

“You will be when you marry me.”

At that, you turn to look at him. “Not even if you were the last man in the galaxy.” You really should be polite, but you’re done with him and you’re done being polite to him. So you flick your fingers in his direction, “Shoo fly, you’re bothering me.”

You’re aware, vaguely, of offense crossing his face, and you grimace as he stands up so sharply that his stool goes flying.

And then he leans over you, trapping you between the counter and his armor, “Your smart mouth is going to get you in trouble.” Montross warns.

You’re about to reply when another voice, a little deeper but much more welcome to your ears, interrupts, “Come on, verd. She said she’s not interested. This is just embarrassing.”

Montross straightens, “Jaster,” His lip curls, “If she’s not into me, she definitely won’t be into you.”

You turn on your stool again and catch Jaster’s eye, a real smile crossing your face as he winks at you. “I’m not so sure about that, Montross,” Jaster replies with a smug smirk.

You watch an ugly shade of red slide across Montross’ face, and then he stalks out of the restaurant. “He might actually try to hurt you one day, Jaster.” You warn.

“He can try.” Jaster picks up Montross’ abandoned stool, sets it back into place, and then slides it a little closer to you before he sits on it, twisting his body so that his armored knees are brushing against yours. “He didn’t hurt you?”

You rest your chin on the palm of your hand, your smile growing, “If he did, will you go defend my honor?”

“If you phrase it right,” Jaster replies with an answering grin, “I might do it even if he didn’t.” His thumb brushes against your knuckles, “Are you sure you’re uninjured?” He asks, his voice soft and for your ears alone.

“I am.”

“I’m glad.” He closes his hand over yours, and keeps his gaze locked with yours, “Montross thinks you’re going to pick him. He feels entitled to your affection.”

“How sad for him,” You reply, your voice just as soft, “I have my eyes on someone else.”

“Oh? Do I know him?” Jaster teases.

You flip your hand and thread your fingers with his, “You might.”

His gaze drops to your joined hands, and then snaps back to your face, “Do you want to go for a walk?” Jaster asks, his gaze serious.

“Nothing would make me happier.”

He flashes a small smile and sets some credits on the counter to pay for your caf and cake, and then he gets to his feet and lightly tugs you to join him.

You, happily, press yourself against his side as you leave the restaurant together. Warmth runs down your spine as he lazily rubs circles on your hand with his thumb.

Whenever you’re with Jaster, you feel safe and warm. As though nothing in the galaxy can touch you so long as you’re with him.

It’s one of the many reasons that you love him.

And you do love him.

And, you’re pretty sure, he feels the same way.

Jaster leads you through the busy streets, only stopping when you reach a quiet area on the edge of the town. It’s just the two of you, surrounded by trees and flowers, and you can’t help but think that he could have brought you to an old warehouse, filled with broken droids, and it would still have been the most romantic thing ever.

He smiles at you and releases your hand, only so he’s able to lightly cup your face with his hands. Jaster tilts your head so you’re looking right at him, and his smile widens. “You know,” He murmurs, “In those old holofilms, where the male protagonist claims that his love interest is his whole world, they always sounded dramatic to me.”

You press your hands over his, “They’re supposed to be, I think.” You reply with a fond smile.

“Maybe so,” He slowly leans in and presses his forehead against yours, “But I really am holding my whole world in the palms of my hands.” Jaster sounds awed, as though he can’t believe what he’s feeling.

Your face burns with slightly flustered embarrassment and your heart swoops with excited joy, “Jaster—”

“I love you,” He whispers, and then a broad grin crosses his face, “I love you.”

You can’t help the delighted laugh that falls from your lips as you release his hands and fling your arms around his neck, pulling him down into a, slightly awkward, kiss.

Though it’s only awkward because he wasn’t expecting it.

Jaster’s arms wrap around you, holding you securely as he hovers his lips just over yours, “Does that mean you—?”

“I love you.” You breathe against his lips, “I love you, I love you, I love—” You’re not able to finish the phrase, as his lips seal over yours stealing your words and your breath.

You don’t mind. Both belong to him anyway.

Your parents aren’t going to be thrilled. Your stepmother had plans to marry you off to the son of an Alderaanian aristocrat. Your father would prefer that you pick a member from a larger clan than Clan Mereel.

But you’ve made your choice…and they’re just going to have to live with it.

#star wars #star wars legends #jaster mereel x reader #jaster x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic

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blueparadis · 1 year

Text

❝ SAVE YOUR BREATH ❞ + SHINJI HIRAKO ❪ playing ⌗7, ⌗8 & ⌗9 ❫─── via radio line ❛ anatomy of emotions ❜〳 from this is what ____ feels like !

[ content and themes ]::f!reader x fwb!shinji hirako, angst, ex! boyfriend aizen souske, fluff; 1k word count. // [ tag index ]

There has always been an awful connection between the monsoons and the morbids in Seireitei. It is the cold. It is the cold that stays after the downpour. It is the cold that makes one feel alone, helpless till sadness strikes your heart. Shinji is aware of this.

However, he can not understand why he feels lonely and helpless on such a bright sunny day. Perhaps in the world of fragile mortals, things work in a different manner. Being a Shinigami for centuries and floating amid the mundanity is an unending road of misery and darkness for him. Shinji does not remember, his memories of this world, but the trail of mishaps from Seireitei to Hueco Mundo he followed led back to the girl he dotes on.

You are sitting opposite to him in a peach-colored floral dress with different-sized roses embroidered on it. It is a delightful colour but you do not look happy. The cafe is crowded and your boyfriend, Hirako attracts every pair of eye that passes by him. His waist-length blonde fall of hair is tied by a strawberry rubber band you left at his place last time. He is wearing a simple full sleeves top with grey jeans.

Shinji speaks stretching one of his arms to keep the cup on the plate, “Do you remember when we first met? ” sustaining his inclined sitting posture. He does not sound sad, or angry. It is hard to pinpoint how exactly he is feeling. Maybe because he is too focused on yours, he worries that you might disintegrate into someone else.

You smile barely as your gaze remains intact, on your thighs. Sucking in a small breath you look up to your boyfriend nodding. “Yes.I do.” You take a sip of tea. “To be honest, of all the people I have met in this life probably yours is the oddest and hence, the most memorable.” Your voice trembles a little at the end.

Shinji asses the way you speak. He is calm, almost too calm. He thinks back on the question he just asked you. He can not say the same about you but that does not mean he has forgotten it, does not mean he holds no regard for all those memories he created with you. If he were to be honest he would say that he has too many options to choose from. He is unable to pick the best. Does he even need to? Can't he keep all of them safe in one place?

Every memory that he has shared with you, spent with you — all those lazy morning brunches that ended with sleeping during the warm afternoon being wrapped with each other under the futon, all those sleepless nights that he spent with you watching the stars, then watching you, kissing your moles and counting them like the stars. He would get bored if he counted the stars in the sky but never when it comes to counting the moles on your body. You kept him on his toes, invested with your cute little reactions to his habits and actions. Sometimes he would watch you cook and listen to how your day went and some other times he would wrap your legs around his waist with his cock shoved inside you, eliciting moans from you, drawing constellations on your skin with his lips and teeth so that when he leaves you think of him and only him.

Shinji has not spoken for almost two minutes. He is falling, drowning in a pool of memories he was never supposed to. He is as silent as a pond. You are like a pebble to him. You have created ripples in his soul that went beyond his imagination. And now those ripples are turning into waves; a pond now slowly distorts into a river. You were just a mission to him, but here he is sitting at a cafe with you, so desperate to find a reason for himself not to go away or to leave you alone. He does not even know if he is getting attached or dependent on you or if is it the other way around. Those tears in your eyes are what confused him.

And that is the very reason why it is so hard to forget, to heal the hurt in you. Shinji has no complaints. He could take away your memories and act like nothing ever happened between you two but would he really be okay with you having to forget him? Probably he saw it coming or a tiny part of him always knew that his relationship with you will not thrive forever. Ever since you saw Souske last week at work you knew you had to end this arrangement with Shinji. This odd arrangement of 'playing boyfriend' to plug the cleft that Souske left behind.

Aizen being back in town changed everything. Shinji realized that he can not keep playing boyfriend for you. He forgot he was here to protect the vessel holding one of the seven keys to open Pandora's box. You might be lying to him by saying the reason for your break up is just you need space and a short break but Shinji knows he deserves it. At least he thinks he does because he had been lying to you all the time about so many things, about the fact that he knows Souske or about the part where he is interested in you just because Souske choose you to be one of his vessels. Shinji exhales deeply. His slouched posture finally breaks as he leans forward, tucking some stray strands behind his ear he admits, “There’s nothing you could have done. I understand. It's okay.”

It is anything but not okay. How could it be? How could he be so serene and inert? You look around the cafe, seeing different types of people — teenagers, elders, couples- and realize how everyone is living entirely different lives from one another, having their own waves. Sonder, they call it, is the realization that everyone has a story.

You press your teeth lines against each other, your vision blurs for a second and your breathing hitches. “It wasn’t supposed to end like this.” You mumble. “why does it feel like this is goodbye?”

Shinji tucks a few hair strands behind your earlobes. His lips parted. “because it is one.”

“Here is your order ma'am.” The waiter remarks keeping a pastry in front of you shooting you a quick smile. You look at the waiter for a few seconds and then shift it in front of you. There is no one sitting opposite to you now. You check your phone. There are still five minutes left for the blind date to arrive, the best way to not be tense about it is to eat and what could be better than trying different flavors of pastries?

@underratedcharactercorner @angelshub

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treedaddymcpuffpuff · 3 months

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WIP WHENEVER

@imajinxnation @sweetwolfcupcake @johnwickb1tsch & @scarlettspectra tagged me in this, so here you go :3. Warning: dubcon, nsfw, all I write is porn and I’m not that sorry about it😘🙂‍↕️

I think I will tag @softcoresweetheart @discoscoob and @lilithlinen

Donnie Barksdale x Chubby F!Reader — under the cut !!

“Stop it, Donnie.” You shift and end up pressing the pudgy, soft end of your hip over his groin, too close to the bulge in his jeans for comfort.

“S’wrong,” he asks, smiling fiendishly, trying to crawl under your protective hands to get back to sore, swollen nipples. “Not like you’re naked, punkin.”

“They hurt,” you whine, “they’re itchy.”

“Aw, honey,” he sighs, “am I making your nipples all sore, huh?”

“Uh huh.” You blink back some tears of frustration.

“And how’s that pretty pussy doin? She’s all sore too, isn’t she?”

She gives an achy throb in response. You bury your head in your arm, face red as a beet, toes curled up and feet kicking against the soothing fabric of his denim.

Donnie’s stronger than you, and he gets back to your nipples despite whiny, shy protests, fingers flicking and teasing and groping.

“Got those hips goin,” he tells you, burying his face into the crook of your neck and pulling you closer. “Like a dog in heat, huh?”

“Donnie,” your voice muffles and cracks.

“Wanna get off on my thigh, peaches?”

“Nuh uh.”

“Want me to suck on your pussy? Bet she’s so fat and juicy and ripe, huh?”

“Noooooooo.”

“Then how bout my big cock?” He tries.

“I can’t. I’m scared.”

“You’re so fuckin shy, makes me wantcha even more. C’mon, baby, lemme stretch that little hole.”

#Donnie Barksdale x reader #donnie barksdale x you #keanuverse fic #keanuverse

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dontspillthefrijoles43 · 1 month

Text

What he thinks vs what she knows (Drabble)

Word count: 2k-ish

Warnings: self image, insecurities, internalize racism, self esteem issues, sappy lovers, teenagers being teenagers

(A/N: Had this saved up in my drafts, figured I post it since I’m still editing and getting ready for more Chispo and bruja content. Y’all are surviving a drought so I figured you’d like to get scraps 😭 you can see this as chipso y bruja canon? Uncanny? Maybe another au who knows? 🤔 I know I’m literally the author of this fanfic Anyways Thinking abt making a tag list for when I post so lemme know if you want to be tagged. Til the come get ya scraps! This one an agnsty one)

Leo thinks he’s ugly.

He thinks it has to do with his frame. It’s too scrawny and weak. Not enough muscle, like the rest of his siblings who buff up endlessly. Or the Ares kids who have chiseled abs. He doesn’t even have the height to gain such strength. Or the right body fat percentage.

Maybe he’s ugly because he doesn’t have wavy hair like a Greek should. He has tight curls that seem to go everywhere, never in one place. Messy and kinky in all directions. No one ever seems to notice when it’s comb and neat.

His skin can be the reason why he’s ugly. It’s not perfectly pure white. And it’s not just the right olive tan. He’s dark that awful awful color— Moreno feo! His aunt would hiss at him. As if she wasn’t the same color.

Or could it be his scars? They’re littered onto his body jagged and spread over his arms and hands. Not to mention the disfigured tissue from the left of his face and downwards, all red-brown burns spread over him.

If none of those things prove that he’s ugly, then maybe his face will.

He doesn’t have a strong chiseled jaw, even with puberty it’s still soft with some baby fat. Except for his way too pointed chin. The smile he paints on, definitely crooked and awkward; not perfectly straight shining teeth.

Lips are usually chapped because he kind of sucks at self-care. Proof by all his acne scars over his cheeks. Besides his weird moles. And who can forget the weak peach fuzz placed on his upper lip. Upwards his small, wide, and awkwardly squished nose.

Above that is not sky blue or green or any other unique color— but his dirt-ugly brown eyes, baggy from his lack of sleep some days, and way too thick eyebrows.

The worst part of it all, is his pointy ears. They stuck out enough to notice. The first thing people would see. They were stupidly pointy. And ultimately be what Leo was most known for:

Fuckin hobbit

Elf

Troll

Imp

Mexican Spock he didn’t even like Star-trek!

The list just goes on.

All these things make Leo thinks he’s ugly. Bullies and ex-infatuations have been sure to let him know it.

So to himself — Leo’s ugly.

—

Breisa loves Leo. She loves how he makes her feel. And how he cares. Or how he shows his love. She loves the warmth he brings. The dizziness she feels when she’s with him. He never fails to make laugh. Or her feel any less important, more than just his girlfriend. His compliment. Not his missing piece.

But one thing that irks her, is how he can’t see himself in the same light as she sees him. He doesn’t love himself the way he loves her. It hurts to see that.

Breisa wanted him to be able to have the self confidence in himself. He’s so smart, sweet, funny, strong, handsome, and caring but in his charming way. Despite how awkward or weird he could be which she had to admit was also cute he was charming in his own little way.

Hopefully her plan was the best way to show him.

“Come on!” Breisa smiles and dragged Leo from behind, “Ya llegamos!”

“Alright alright—stump!” Leo tripped and face planted into the dirt. “Ow.” His voice went small.

“Oh my bad.” She winced, helping him up. Dusting off his clothes from the dirt. “Didn’t mean to get so excited.”

He spit grass out his mouth, “No worries, cariño.”

He wipes off the dirt with a bandanna from his back pocket.

“It’s not like that I can get any less dirt-ugly” Leo laughed.

Breisa frowned at that. “Let's just keep going.”

Then she pushed through an overgrown bush, leaving him confused.

‘She always laughs at my jokes…’ Leo thought to himself; anxiously fiddling with his silver ring he made out of metal scraps and pennant washers.

“Leo, apurate!” Breisa called.

He shaked his head and breathed in, ‘Worryin’, over nothing. No seas pendejo.’

Trudging forward he pushes through the leaves, trying not to get smacked by branches and vines.

As he stumbles out— almost face plants again when Breisa caught his arm.

“Careful.” She smiled down at him.

“Ya sabe.” Leo rolled his eyes playfully. “Why are we here?”

All she does is point with her lips— forwards.

As Leo glanced over, his eyes caught where the rocks met a grassy field. Overlooking the underside of a hill.

A fuzzy rose-patterned blanket laid out, a picnic basket holding it in place. Next to the basket was a sketchbook, pencils, and a little radio. And the view of Camp-Half-blood spread out below them. From the Strawberry fields to lava rock climbing wall.

“Woah.” He breathed. “Did you—?”

“Yup.” Breisa grinned.

“Picnic date—?”

“Uh-huh.” She answered.

“For me—?”

“Yes.” Breisa huffed jokingly. “Siéntate, lindo. No te preocupes por nada.” She plopped down and patted the spot next to her.

“Bossy.” Leo sticks his tongue but laid back into the blanket.

She mimicked his face. “Whatever. Since I’m so bossy, I guess all these tortas and Capri-suns should be for myself.”

He popped an eye open. “Tortas with ham, chips, and cheddar cheese? Topped off with tapatío?”

“My speciality.” She started digging from the picnic basket. “But guess you don’t want some. Cause I’m so bossy.”

“Espérate.” He sat up, “Sólo porque eres así— I don’t have to die of hunger.”

“Nah, pero soy mandona.” She munched on the sandwich.

“Hey!” Leo jumped.“I want some!”

“No way!” Breisa pushed his face away. “I don’t want to annoy you. I’m mean and bossy so my food must be bad.”

“Awe come on, it's still editable!” He laughed.

“Now you really ain’t getting nothing!”

—

Leo sighed satisfied, laying back on the blanket.

“Guess my food was editable?” Breisa raised an eyebrow.

“It was alright, I guess.” He shrugged.

Breisa shook her head with disbelief. “Tell that to the four tortas, bowl of fresas, and endless capri-suns.”

“No te oyes. Sugar crash. So sleepy.” Leo closed his eyes.

Breisa rolled her eyes. Flicked his forehead. Then pulled her sketchbook onto her lap. Without even thinking she began to sketch a picture of him.

Pages and pages of Leo began to fill her sketchbook, it’s become a habit of her to have at least one drawing of him in each. Always having three hearts or a little flame next to each sketch.

Before, she would have never admitted having these drawings of him. Only because it would inflate his gaintanic ego. Leo being Leo, he would have something annoying to say.

Now even she knows that it was his way of saying— ‘I like you a lot. I just say stupid stuff because it’s easier to get your attention.’

It doesn’t make him less annoying, even as her significant other.

“What are you drawing?” Leo suddenly appeared beside her.

After her surprise wore down. She traced her pencil idly and muttered, “You.”

Leo stared at her for a good long minute before bursting into laughter.

“Why are you laughin’?” She flushed, feeling a little embarrassed.

He calmed down and smiled. “It’s nothing— just..” He snorted again, looking at himself, “Why do I look like that?”

“Like what?” Breisa asked.

“Like all majestic and shit.” He waved his hands. “I ain’t that good looking. Or you know a profound art subject.” Leo rubbed his neck awkwardly with half of a smile on his face. “I’m just me, heh you know?”

Breisa put her sketchbook down, inhaled deeply, anf faced him. “Eres tan pendejo.”

“Say what now?” He raised an eyebrow.

“You. Are. Stupid.” She said slowly. “You aren’t just whatever Leo. I draw how I see it. You’re cute, handsome, and freakin pretty. That’s why you’re my favorite muse.”

Leo’s face burned…And so did his hair.

Breisa reached up, pinched a curl between her fingers. It fsss as the flame went out.

Leo cleared his throat, and swatted at the rest of his hair. “No way I’m that good looking. I’m sure there are other better people to be your muse. You must be blinded by love.”

“I’m not blinded by nothin’.” Breisa fussed. “You just can’t and refuse to see what I see.”

He looked at her like she was crazy. “See what? Fuck up half-melted ugly troll goblin thing—who shares no light to a girl like you?!”

She grabbed the sides of his face and made contact with his coffee brown eyes. Gods she melted when the sun made them glow. He automatically shut up any protest he had.

Breisa brushed her thumb over his jaw, right at the scar.“I see a scrawny mofo with big beautiful brown eyes. A sideways smile that makes my heart flip. All wrapped up in that pretty face of his. Soft curls I can play with all day. Cute ears that get all red when I compliment him.

Hard working hands, that I can trace very dent and curve with my fingers. Strong arms that hold me in warm embrace. Just the right height so I don’t have to snap my neck up to look at.

Goofball pyromaniac but somehow suave n romantic. That knows everything about me, cares for me, and loves me.

And even though he thinks he’s the scum of the earth. A monster burned with his scars in and out. Or is undeserving of love because of some bullshit and stupid unworthy people from the past. They’re wrong. Cause to me, querido, you are the best person to ever walk into my life. And melt my heart.”

Then Breisa planted her lips on him with tenderness, her hand on his chest, and moving another hand from his jaw to his curls.

Leo squeaked and brain short-circuited. Half of it was racing with thoughts while the other half went numb. ‘Do something idiot!’ His brain finally scolded. Arms wrapped around her waist and he sighed against her lips.

When she pulled away, his lips still tingled pleasantly. Just like every other kiss they shared.

Then she looked at him with so much love and admiration. He nearly cried.

But he shook himself out of lovesickness and gave her a deadpan look.

“Ok, you really gotta stop kissing me without warning.” Leo huffed, swatting his hair which was probably on fire. Again.

Breisa snickered at him.

“En serio.” He empathized half-heartedly. “You realize how many times I’ve almost passed out? Or bursted into flames? I could’ve started a Forest fire.”

“Eh,” She shrugged, "It's worth it to see you get all flustered.” Then she squished his face, while cupping his jaw again. “I love this face. ¡Qué lindo! ¡Qué guapo! ¡Te adoro! ¡Te quiero, mi amorcito! Such a pretty boy, Mwah!”

She kissed all over his face dramatically. Extra affectionate on his scars.

“Stop.” Leo rolled his eyes. Yet, his big dumb grin that showed off his cute gap gave him away.

“Nah.” Breisa smiled just as stupid, “I am not done admiring. And I’m not done with my sketch.”

“Hmn. Guess I gotta keep being your muse.” Leo hummed leaning onto her palm.

“Guess you do.” She pecked him on the lips. “I’m going to make sure I get all of your beauty.”

“You know my face better than me.” Leo agreed and kissed her again…and again…and again.

—

After that he walked back to his cabin holding Breisa by the hand. Lipstick marks all over his face and the folded sketch in his pocket. Thinking maybe he wasn’t so ugly.

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