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ghost-proofbaby · 1 month

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twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

"THE FIRST DATE"

EXTRA CONTENT - "BEYOND THE HOURS"

→ pairings: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader → warnings: strong language, upside down does not exist, minors dni → wc: 7k+ → a/n: the very long awaited first date. this was requested by several people. wahoo! also, fair warning for second-hand embarrassment. i think eddie munson is the only person who drag me dancing around a bowling alley and i wouldn't smite them on the spot.

enjoy the main story's masterlist here

EDDIE: What about a fancy dinner date?

YOU: boring.

YOU: and too traditional. when were you even born, Munson? the 60s???

EDDIE: Ha. Ha. I don’t see you making any worthwhile suggestions, sweetheart.

YOU: i don’t have to make any suggestions, old man. YOU’RE supposed to be wooing ME

God forbid anyone walked in on you at this moment.

You were like a high schooler, lying on your stomach with your feet kicking up into the air as you stared at the screen, happily bantering with Eddie over text. All the butterflies, all the blissful jitters, all that dopamine rush that comes with school girl crushes – every single cliche was present and was in full force as you discussed the details of your first date with him. You used to scoff (albeit with hidden longing) at all the romance movies that you truly believed had overplayed all the giddiness, but now you got it. It was disgusting, the way he had you wrapped around his finger so easily, the way he had turned you into a heart-eyed shell of the woman you once were in the matter of a week.

EDDIE: So you have a thing for older men is what you’re telling me.

YOU: i NEVER said that.

EDDIE: Didn’t have to, sweetheart. I can read between the lines.

Over the last week, since the two of you had won the bet and you had won over with insistence on him properly asking you out, Eddie had been tossing around date ideas as he tried to plan this very first occasion. The only time you had even seen him was when your entire group met up, the latest outing having been for brunch on Saturday under the guise celebrating the one week anniversary of you and Eddie surviving twenty four hours together without killing each other.

Didn’t stop him from calling and texting you. And it clearly hadn’t deterred him from losing his mind over doing right by you with this entire first date ordeal.

YOU: i don’t even have the energy to explain to you how many times you have proven to not do that in the past.

EDDIE: I’ve read between the lines in the past!

YOU: you most certainly have NOT

EDDIE: I was able to read when you wanted to kiss me that night. That’s reading between the lines.

And so the giddiness rears its head, full fledged as heat swarms your body and your cheeks ache from your smile.

YOU: i hate you

EDDIE: No, you don’t

YOU: i do. i really do.

EDDIE: You’re such a shit liar

You nearly jump out of your skin when there’s a knock on your dorm’s door, annoying and persistent as it taps out some random rhythm that must be a song of some sort. But whatever song it is, you can’t recognize it as you stand, walking over to answer.

“Did you forget your key aga-” you begin, assuming it was just your roommate. You’re shocked to see Robin and Steve standing there, “What are you guys doing here?”

“We had a study date, in case you had forgotten and not seen our hundreds of texts,” Steve huffs, quickly crossing his arms.

You hadn’t seen their texts. Most of your screen time had been a bit preoccupied with a certain metalhead.

“Oh, shit,” your face falls as you open the door wider, side-stepping and motioning for them to come in.

“Yeah,” Steve snarks as he comes right in, Robin hot on his trails and seeming in a far more pleasant mood as the boy mocks you, “Oh, shit.”

Robin stops beside you as Steve helps himself to a seat in your desk chair, “Don’t mind him. He’s just cranky because he has to get A’s on all his mid-terms to keep his 3.0.”

“I am not cranky-”

“You are!”

“Am not!”

“You so are,” Robin continues to egg him on, choosing your bed as her resting place.

Your phone bounces a bit from the way she throws herself down on the sorry excuse for a mattress, and you recall how you had yet to reply to Eddie. Fuck.

“When did we even make these plans?” you ask, genuinely confused as you shut the door. You already miss the peace and quiet of being alone, free to preen at your phone and giggle to your heart’s content at the world’s worst flirt over text.

“Saturday,” Steve groans, throwing his head back.

“It was after brunch,” Robin clarifies, lifting herself up from how she was lounging amongst your blankets, “I mean, you seemed a bit distracted when you agreed, but… We did text you about it.”

You had been distracted. Eddie had managed to quietly ask the waitress to include your tab with his so he could pay for it without your knowledge, and you’d spent the entire time torn between being upset with the boy and absolutely fawning. It was a bit pathetic, looking back at it – the fact that those were the only two options your mind had presented you with. You’d scorned him over the phone later that night, and he had only laughed. You swear you can still hear it now, having heard it several times since – a low chuckle that rattled into the caverns of your chest, that bounced amongst vines of affection and willed open blooms of adoration just a little bit wider.

Part of you was still waiting for the wilting. For the other shoe to drop, for all of what had been exposed and had been planted to vanish from your grasps. That first Monday morning, you’d even woken up worried it had all been a dream.

“I’ve been busy,” you lamely try to excuse your radio silence.

“Busier than normal?” Steve’s brows quirk up, leaning back in your chair that emits a squeak of protest, “Or have you just been busy with new friends?”

Your lips twist and your nose twitches in confusion, “New friends? What the Hell are you going on about, Harrington?”

Robin fully sits up now, watching with piqued interest.

“Eddie,” Steve gets straight to the point, his previous sour mood finally melting slightly, “You can’t honestly tell me that nothing changed after that night.”

It was something neither of you had really discussed. Steve had seen you two, knew that a lot had truly changed based off of the way you’d tossed him right into the middle of the mess there at the end, but you and Eddie had never said anything about being together. Not to your friends, and not even to each other.

“Just because I don’t want to tear his head off his shoulders anymore doesn’t mean we’re spending every waking moment together,” you force your best scowl, as if that wasn’t exactly what you had yearned for all week.

Eventually, it had to wear off. That’s what you told yourself – at some point the initial rose tones would fade less vibrant, and Eddie’s intense occupation of your mind would lessen with the hues.

“I can’t believe it, but I am siding with Stevie on this one,” Robin finally contributes, “I mean, you guys won’t even tell us what happened that night.”

“Nothing exciting,” you’re quick to lie, “Just… I don’t know. Boring stuff. Getting on each other’s nerves, sitting around on his couch,” that gets a bitter scoff from Steve that almost makes you freeze up. Damn Eddie for teasing him with the truth about the couch, “Nothing worth making a big deal over. Like I said, we just learned to… to… tolerate each other.”

Tolerate was an interesting way to put spending hours on the phone together each night, sometimes falling asleep while still on the line.

Steve still looks as though he’s recalling all of Eddie’s annoying taunts from that night while Robin only grins salaciously.

“Tolerate each other?” she mimics you, leaning forward and pressing her palms into the edge of the mattress beside her knees, “Babe, have you two even said a single mean thing to each other since that night? I think he even smiled at you on Saturday. You’re practically married with two and a half kids already.”

He had smiled at you – multiple times. And each one had struck the most delicate of daggers right into your chest, lighting you aflame under his attempted clandestine attention. Every time those big, brown eyes had met yours from across the table, the ache you’d started to hold for him had only doubled in size. By the end of that morning, when the day had technically started to bleed out into the afternoon, you were nothing more than a vessel of pining for the boy that you hadn’t even gotten the chance to brush against amongst your friends.

“Whatever,” you murmur as you reach out to snatch up your phone, “I never even understood the whole half kid thing. Like, how the fuck do you have two and a half kids?”

“I’m sure Eddie would be more than happy to show you,” Steve teases despite his still half-traumatized look.

You’re quick to reach out a hand to whack the back of his head, “Shut up. Are we gonna keep sitting here while you two try to pry something that doesn’t exist out of me, or are we going to go study?”

Steve’s grumpy mood returns as he rubs the back of his head, him and Robin standing in sync to exit the room.

But before the three of you exit the dorm, you check your phone one last time, having to bite down on that girlish grin when you see two new text message notifications.

EDDIE: It’s official. I’m a genius.

EDDIE: Say, are you free tomorrow night?

—

Tomorrow night couldn’t come fast enough. A shift at your job, one too many hours spent sitting through lectures, ensuring a night of studying with Steve and Robin — all petty distractions, roadblocks on your path to the most highly anticipated first date of your life. Eddie wouldn’t even entertain you with details, only telling you to dress fairly comfortably and to put on your best game face.

And you did. To some extent, you really did.

But you’d finished getting ready hours in advance, something you blamed on nerves, and having that much time to kill with such nerves was dangerous.

Simple makeup turned a bit more extravagant, you had tried on nearly every outfit in your possession, you’d even eyed your hair curler on more than one occasion.

Comfortable. What the Hell was that even supposed to mean?

Your only solution had been to text the man of the hour himself, something to busy your thumbs instead of twiddling them or involving them in taking your date night look several steps over just comfortable.

YOU: okay, so. can you define ‘dressing comfortably’?

EDDIE: According to Google, “dressing in a way that makes you feel at ease in your body” :)

YOU: fuck off. you know that’s not what i meant.

Still no clues. He wasn’t caving so easily to your pestering. You should have known better, considering he’d been professionally dodging any questions or inquiries you had regarding the date for the last twenty four hours.

EDDIE: Don’t overthink it, sweetheart.

That certainly didn’t help. Not even in the slightest.

You don’t even reply to his text, already back to pacing your dorm before you finally cave to an impulsive decision you’d been grappling with for hours now.

There was a newish, sporty skirt in the bottom of your drawers. It was comfortable, it had built-in shorts, and it looked damn good on you. The hem fell right around mid-thigh and always flared in an overly satisfying fashion when you’d spin while wearing it. The material of the pleats was nearly impossible to wrinkle. It wasn’t overly soft against your palms as you still nervously smoothed it down once you’d shimmied it on, but you still repeated the motion in hopes of soothing some of your nerves.

You’re sure it’s the wrong option until Eddie sees you in it.

He texts when he’s on his way and you find yourself bounding outside to wait for him far too early to be reasonable. He hadn’t even arrived until after your back had nearly become one with the brick exterior of the dorm building's front wall, leaning into the scratch of the clay on your shoulder blade a welcome distraction until you heard the roar of a motorcycle engine.

You nearly grow dizzy from the sudden rush of nerves.

This is really happening. You’re about to go on a date with Eddie, the first time of what you hope will be many to come.

“Took you long enough, Munson,” you snark loud enough for him to hear as he clicks the Yamaha’s kickstand into place right by the vibrant red curb. There’s a sign not even a full foot away from where he’s standing that clearly spells out NO PARKING.

Oh.

If you hadn’t already been riddled with nerves, your knees would have gone weak at the sight of him.

Since when is that dressing casual and comfortable?

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I keep you waiting?” he shoots right back as he lifts the helmet off his head, and something inside of you clenched tightly at the sight with no plans to unwind any time soon.

Dark wash jeans plaster his legs, heavy combat boots smacking against the pavement as he walks to meet you halfway. The black shirt he’s donning isn’t extravagant, but something in the way that t-shirt material stretches across his chest has you burning from the inside out. He’s even gone so far as to tuck the shirt into the jeans, his black leather belt on show as he hugs the helmet below his bicep. And his normal leather jacket — you don’t believe you’ve ever seen it look better, ever seen it fit his shoulders so snugly. He’s dressed to perfectly match the all black bike, the image of a bad boy straight out of every cheesy movie you’d ever seen.

The only thing that breaks the illusion is the boyish grin pulling the arrival of his dimples along with it as he watches you push off the wall. His eyes are sparkling as you approach him, a constellation of hope and new beginnings twinkling right before you.

He’s not sorry that you waited on him. Not in the slightest. Especially when those starry eyes travel over your appearance.

You have to force yourself to tsk, because otherwise you might end up just another pile of ash for the poor landscapers to sweep up, “Haven't you heard it’s rude to keep a lady waiting?”

You stop in your steps just far enough to catch the way his eyes take you in. Drinking slowly. Following the trace of the just fancy enough tank top that you’d chosen to balance the skirt. Lingering on the plush of your inner thighs, barely peeking out the bottom of your chosen outfit for the night.

You almost start to feel self conscious until he lets out a little sigh, nearly a whimper as his eyes trail back up to find yours.

“I’m sure I have,” he chokes out, composure momentarily vanished as you distract him so easily, “But aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

“I could say the same about you.”

You’re like a shark. If you stop swimming in the upstream flirtations, you’ll drown instantaneously in his big brown eyes.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” you swear you see a hint of a blush across the highs of his cheek bones and sides of his neck as he holds out the helmet for you, “At least with me, it will.”

“Even the top secret location of this date?” you ask as you take the helmet, considering putting up a fight. You still hated him not wearing one for your expense, and you weren’t exactly eager for any sort of helmet hair, “Do I have to wear-“

He knows the end of your sentence before you even finish, “Yes. No exceptions; you have to wear it every time you ride.”

“Every time?”

“It’s for safety.”

“Isn’t it sort of unsafe for you to go without one?”

“You’re wearing the helmet,” he sighs, nose twitching with indignation as he holds staunchly onto the position, “And to answer your other question, no. I guess flattery will get you almost everywhere, but it’s a surprise.”

You fiddle with the chin straps, looking down as you feel his gaze burning the top of your head from this angle, “Fine. But we really should just get me my own helmet. You need to wear one, too. And…” you look back up, pausing before you properly put on the piece of safety equipment, “It’s a little oversized. You know, considering it was meant to fit your big head first.”

He narrows his eyes, still lit up with a sort of playfulness you haven’t grown accustomed to being on the receiving end of.

You like him quite a bit more than you bargained for. A lot more than five hundred dollars, or twenty four hours, ever would have summarized.

“We can go helmet shopping another day.”

We. Not just him, not just you. But you and him. A unit. A couple.

“It’s a date,” you whisper just before you slide on the helmet. You completely miss the wildfire that the ghost of a blush has finally become. You completely miss the way that your talk of you two together, you two as a couple with a future, affects him just as his has an effect on you.

Helmet hair is worth it, you decide, once you’ve saddled onto the bike behind him and he revs up the engine once more. You’re not as shy as you had been on that fateful night the week before, quick to wrap your arms around his middle and let your chest press hard against his back. The leather crinkles against the contact, the heat of him radiating, and you think you could spend forever like that.

You’re almost upset that you can’t smell his cologne through the helmet. That once terrible scent of boy.

Every curve and every slow stop is another excuse to cling to him tighter, every red light a reason for him to turn his head and catch a glimpse of you with a small grin that never once falters. You swear at one of the lights, when he revs his engine in a particularly rowdy fashion right as the light turns green and takes off particularly fast, you can hear his laughter over the loud wind mingling with the roaring engine. You know you can feel it, vibrating in his chest right along with your own that gets lost in the chaos of the unusually busy Tuesday night street.

When he pulls into the parking lot behind the older building, you catch sight of the neon sign out front and find yourself laughing again.

“Bowling?” you question, yanking the helmet off less than gracefully as he stands off the bike you’d just swung yourself off of, “You’re taking me bowling?”

He takes the helmet from you, suddenly looking a bit shy as he averts his gaze, “Not just any bowling. It’s… It’s the coolest bowling alley you will ever go on a first date at.”

“You say that to every girl you bring here?”

You’re just teasing him, trying to poke fun rather than succumb to all the fluttering that bruises your inner chest and stomach. But then he has to ruin your fun, strike a match and set you aflame so adroitly.

“Only the prettiest ones.”

You should continue the banter, challenge him on just who else fell into that category, but you can’t. It’s in that glimmer of his eyes and the indent of his dimples, the way he looks at you as he slowly rises and somehow softens his gaze all while keeping a threat of a bite beneath the tone. His eyes tell you that you are, without a doubt, the prettiest girl he’s referring to. That in this moment, you begin and you end his world, and not even the commotion of traffic or nip in the air that creeps up as the summer sun sets can deter his attention being set solely on you.

But his tone suggests something far more dangerous. He says it like you’re a prey, an unattainable catch that he’ll be chasing for the entire night. A wicked growl to that voice you’ve been falling asleep to over the phone far more than you care to admit in just a short week.

He says it like he’s going to ruin you. As if he hasn’t already injected himself into your veins, as if he isn’t the gasoline drowning and raging the burn within you.

But he keeps up the gentleman persona in the short walk up to the door of the establishment. Holds out his hand for yours to fit perfectly into, guides you to the inner sidewalk as cars fly past and the only thing between you and them is him.

The hunt is on from the moment he opens that door for you.

“Ever the gentleman,” you muse, voice hardly above a whisper as you brush past him and finally catch that smell of boy.

You think you’d drown in his cologne now if he gave you the chance. Bury your face in his chest, wrap your arms around him and press any inch of your own bare skin to his.

“Always,” it would have been a weak response if he’d only said it and nodded his head, but he takes it a step further. Right as you pass him, entering the brisk AC, his hand ghosts over the expanse of your lower back. Fingertips nimbly brushing right above the band of that skirt, grazing your tank top just hard enough for you to feel it and shiver.

It doesn’t stop there. The back and forth, the chase, the hunt.

The way he makes sure your knuckles brush his as he hands you your shoes, even more brushes of his palm flat against your lower back repetitively, the way he insists on a heavier ball that makes his arms strain and muscles display. Over the chatter from the bowling alley’s fairly nice bar and the music trickling out of the overhead speakers, you’re sure that your heartbeat has joined the ranks of audible noises to echo the nice haunt. You’re positive he can hear every thump, can pinpoint the exact moments that poor aching muscle inside your chest begins to race.

You go for a smaller weighted ball. You don’t think you could handle anything heavier with your current case of weak knees.

“Only an eight pounder?” Eddie tuts at you as you approach your designated lane again, “Come on, sweetheart. You can do better than that.”

No, I can’t. Your fault, really.

“I have weak arms,” you try to defend yourself as you rotate the red ball in your hands.

His favorite color. It hadn’t been intentional, but the swirling shades of stark scarlet and deep maroons is a nice touch.

“Poor baby,” he teases, leaning into you as you deposit the ball right behind his own ball on the track where it already rests.

A twelve pounder. A smoky quartz design, black base swirling with misty white and gold accents. Far prettier than yours by a landslide.

And fitting for the pretty boy you’re faced with when you turn to watch him shedding his leather jacket onto the bench a few steps away.

“Not all of us are some big, strong macho man,” you scowl insincerely, moving to sit beside him and follow his lead in switching out shoes, “I’m betting now that by halfway through the game, you’ll be caving and begging to use my ball, Munson.”

You’re looking down as you casually say it, one shoe already half off and unaware of just how close he had gotten until his hand reaches over. Not even a second later, he has your chin pinched between his fingers, gentle as it guides you and forces you to look at him, “Careful. Bets seem to be awfully dangerous when it comes to the two of us.”

Damn him. Damn him, damn him, damn him.

The graze of those fingers against your jaw leaves a trail of ash, burning that lingers and thrums beneath your skin, heart officially skipping beats rather than merely speeding up. You’re coming to realize that when it comes to keeping up with Eddie Munson in his element, in all his charm and flirtatious banter, you’re a bit hopeless.

He has you trapped under his thumb — metaphorically and literally.

“Are you always this flirtatious with all your dates?” you spit out against your better judgment.

Why do I keep bringing up his previous flames? Do I really care? Do I really want to put myself through the torture of hearing about all of the girls, or guys, he’s wooed before me?

The same glittering eyes, the same hidden smirk from earlier. “Only the prettiest ones.”

“You keep saying that,” you mumble, chin pressing into his fingertips against their hold, “Just how many pretty dates have you had?”

The pride softens in an instant. His gaze is less sharp, grin less predatory as he raises his eyebrows.

“Does it really matter?”

You can’t help it. Your mind races ahead of you before you can stop it; you’re plagued in an instant with images of how many dates, how many other people he had indulged in over the year you two had wasted hating each other. You try to recall overhearing him describe any of those dates, try to remember if Nancy ever mentioned Eddie passing up one of the hangouts for a romantic endeavor.

You come up empty handed, but it doesn’t stop the overthinking.

“I guess not,” you feebly answer, unable to tear your eyes from him.

I guess not is really code for it matters so much more than I care to admit. An impossible riddle you can’t even expect him to pick up on.

His hand falls from your chin and finds home on your bare knee, warm palm swallowing it up. He gives it a squeeze, and you wonder for a moment if maybe he can read your secretive language. Maybe he’s seeing right through your overconfident front, maybe he has felt every racing of your pulse.

Maybe, he’s as nervous as you are.

He opens his mouth to say something, but you don’t think you can bear another moment of this new intimacy. It had been easier when the two of you were on a ticking clock, confined to his apartment and parameters of a bet that never really mattered. Vulnerability had less of an edge when you could yearn and pine to see it flourish in the real world — but now, here it was, twisting away within you both a week later and pricking away as the stakes at hand come to light.

“Are you ready for me to absolutely demolish your ass at this game?” you joke.

“Demolish me? That’s some big talk for someone using an eight pound ball, babe.”

“It’s not about how much you’re packing, pretty boy,” you scoff, “Just that you know how to use it.”

He smiles slowly, but the quick squeeze of his hand tells you the vulnerability is here to stay. He feels that cutting edge too, and he’s not shying away.

He leans right into it, just as he does your personal space, “Bring it on.”

—

“You’re cheating!”

“I’m not!”

“You are! Who the fuck gets three strikes in a row?”

Eddie strolls back towards you, self-satisfied smirk curling his lips and his hips swaying with arrogance as you continue to pout at his sudden show of sportsmanship, “I believe the answer is me, sweetheart. Wanna see me make it four?”

“I hope you just jinxed yourself,” you scowl as you hop up off the couch and Eddie swaggers right past you, hardly affected by the palm you smack into the center of his chest for good measure, “I hope you roll nothing but gutter balls the rest of the game, you prick.”

“Like you have been?”

“Burn in Hell.”

Eddie’s cackle echoes through the fairly busy alley. It wasn’t overwhelming, the lanes of either side of yours staying empty, the only other groups several ways down. So far, the date has been good. Even if Eddie was wiping the floor with your severe lack of skill.

Both of you had opted for Cokes rather than alcohol, Eddie had ordered some sort of platter with onion rings and mozzarella sticks that the two of you had easily been devouring between turns. Playful banter had been kept up easier than breathing, barking words without bite being snapped back and forth loud enough for the entire establishment to hear the two of you being exceptionally childish.

At some point, your nerves had melted. And you didn’t even need a lick of alcohol in your system for it to happen.

“Try to aim for the pins this time,” Eddie continues to taunt you from where he’s spread out on the brown faux leather bench you’d been taking turns warming the seat of.

Your fingers slide into the holes of your ball with ease, courtesy of the grease from all your snacking, “Try shutting the fuck up.”

More of his laughter sounds off, and you nearly trip on your walk up to the markings on the linoleum wood flooring. It’s a nice sound; a beautiful response to words that could easily read identical to how the two of you used to fight. But these aren’t fighting words, they’re words passed between two… two… friends?

Is that how you should continue to classify this? Were you and Eddie really still just friends?

The sound of your ball stuttering in hops across the beginnings of the lane replaces his laughter

No. Easy question – there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that the two of you were definitely not friends. Not enemies, not friends – something different and something unspoken. And for the remainder of this date, you could live with that.

Eddie sucks in an audible breath, letting the air whistle between his teeth as your ball veers at the last second and misses the pins entirely. Again.

“Th-”

“Don’t,” you interrupt him, spinning on your heel and holding up a warning finger. It’s harder to hold in your own grin when Eddie’s already smiling into his fist, leaning his elbows onto his thighs as his big eyes peer at you, clearly amused, “Don’t say a word.”

His knuckles dig further into his mouth.

“I meant to do that.”

His eyebrows shoot up, still not speaking.

“It takes real talent to avoid pins like that.”

He leans over a bit further, and you swear you hear him emit a snort from behind that damn fist.

You open your mouth to continue with the bit when the clattering of your ball returning to the ball rack comes from behind you. Eddie only shrugs cheekily as he finally drops his fist to grab for a mozzarella stick, his smile contained but those damn dimples still flashing you brilliantly.

Without taking your eyes off him, you hold up a warning finger for emphasis once more, trying to bite down any signs of your own amusement as you take a few steps back in the direction of the rack and repeat yourself, “I meant to do that.”

“Sure you did,” he muses before taking a bite of the mozzarella stick smothered in marinara sauce.

“I did.”

“I believe you.”

“I-”

It seems the Universe is in the business of interrupting you two. As if it seems all that hope and potential flourishing in the space between you two and decides that simply won’t do. As if it’s too much.

Maybe it is. But maybe, just maybe, you’re enjoying too much.

Suddenly, before you can even finish your sentence or grab for your ball, the lights of the alley have dimmed. A few spotlights over the alleys themselves light up, erratically waving patches of light over the shining floor as the music that had been playing overhead cuts out to be replaced with some poor employee’s voice.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen-” you and Eddie share a confused glance, “-The time is officially ten o’clock, meaning nineties night has officially begun! Have fun, and enjoy yourselves as we throw you back to the decade of Nirvana and Beanie Babies for the rest of the night with these straight jams.”

Your face scrunches up in a comical cringe before the buzzing static of the speaker can even cut out and the beginning lines of Say My Name by Destiny’s Child begins to play.

You aren’t entirely sure of how it happens. Maybe it’s all the playfulness in there, in all that electric teasing at the tip of Eddie’s tongue and all that hopelessness bubbling up in your chest as it dawns on you of the fact you were finally on a proper date with Eddie. Maybe it’s simply a good night for you to continue to make a fool of yourself, and Eddie sees it as a chance he’ll always be right there with you, prepared to make a scene as he follows your lead.

He stands up to approach you where you’re still rooted beside the rack, matching your own grin that blooms genuinely at the sound of the song.

It was one of your favorite’s. A small fact about yourself you don’t think you’ve ever told Eddie – that you can remember.

It’s small, at first. Just mouthing along to the first verse as he moves towards you, recognizing that excitement lighting up in you, shimmying his shoulders ever so slightly. He looks like an idiot – he’s absolutely your idiot.

“Did you know it was nineties night?” you mumble as he gets closer, shaking your head slightly.

“Stevie might have mentioned something about you enjoying nineties nostalgia,” he drawls, still taking sure steps towards you.

“Did you ask him for advice for our first date, Eddie?”

“No,” he scoffs quickly, finally close enough to grab you gently by your hips. He’s nowhere near manhandling you, but it’s still reminding you of the game, of the hunt, at play. You’re his prey and he’s officially making his move. Carelessly, nonchalantly. “He mentioned it ages ago. When they were trying to convince me you weren’t all bad.”

Your smile widens, “Was this around the time I threw a glass at your head, by chance?”

“Maybe.”

The dulcet instrumental of the song continues on overhead, beginning to pick up in beat, making you nod your head along as Eddie finally starts to tug you closer.

You’re in public, and you both should know better than to make absolute fools of yourselves, but it doesn’t seem to matter when all you can really see is him.

Your friends had also spent ages trying to convince you that Eddie wasn’t all bad, but you’d always known that much. You’d seen glimpses of the good in him from that very first night. When he’d made you feel welcome, when he’d given you a life-preserver to cling to when you’d felt most out of your element. You knew that Eddie Munson was one of those people who had a hardwired habit of trying to make people feel welcome.

Even in a room full of people, when you’d be non-stop embarrassing yourself endlessly.

All his jests had been further proof, but when he sees your rock on your heels as you enjoy the music, he takes it a step further. He grabs one of your hands with his free one, keeping a hold of your waist, encouraging all your giddiness over the song. Every single person in the establishment could be staring at the two of you – you didn’t care.

When he starts dramatically mouth along to the chorus of the song, swinging you around slightly, it takes very little provocation for you to join in with him.

You both could’ve taken a step further, and properly sang along in the most obnoxious voices possible, but you don’t. There’s still the slightest blanket of security there as Eddie keeps the antics mostly silent, reserving his dramatic reenactments of vocal runs for your eyes only. Even yanking your hand up close to his mouth, as though it was a microphone, as he swings you around again. You quickly become a giggling disarray, hardly able to keep up your own footing, eyes squinting with joy and what must be the messiest and ugliest smile possible showing off all your teeth. The type of smile and laughter you’d normally try to hide on instinct. The kind of smile you cover up.

But you can’t, because Eddie is keeping his sturdy grip on your hands with his own, and he’s drinking in every second of your joy. He’s vibrant as he watches the way he’s entertaining you. Shamelessly staring, making his antics falter.

“Baby, say my name,” he purposefully sings along dramatically, quietly but terribly off-key.

You can’t help but let out a snort, “Eddie, you’re an idiot.”

He ignores you, and continues to give you your own private concert, switching rapidly between singing the main song and the backup vocals, which only makes your stomach further ache with laughter.

This is what you’d been yearning for the last year. This silly side of him, an absolute fool who couldn’t care less about the stares of others.

The seductive side of him was enticing. The honest version of him nice. But this side of him? Carefree, rowdy, indiscreet? It may be your favorite yet.

Only the sound of a nearby teen couple mocking you two break the moment, just as you’ve begun to jokingly whisper-sing back into Eddie’s pretend microphone made of your joined fists. They make what must be vomiting noises, and you catch the tail end of one of them jokingly poking a finger towards their outstretched tongue as you finally sigh deeply.

You should probably feel embarrassed. Later on, when you find yourself in bed later tonight and attempt to find some rest, you’ll probably ruminate and burn yourself alive with all the embarrassment. But not right now; not with your boy still in front of you, smiling just as desperately wide as you were.

His dimples would probably consume him if you let him go on any longer.

“Eddie,” you choke out through residual laughter, tugging your hands free as the song starts to fade out. You make no move to remove yourself from him, though. Your arms find home around his shoulders, hands splayed just below the nape of his neck, “People are staring.”

“Good,” he snipes back, finally dropping the act but not the glee, “Probably entranced by how pretty you look right now.”

“Pretty? I probably look like a loser. They’re probably already engraving a trophy for world’s ugliest smile-”

“Oh, don’t do that,” his forehead falls against yours, rolling his eyes, “Shut up and take the compliment. I love your smile.”

There’s something unspoken there. He loves your smile, yes, but he’s also been denied of it for a very long year. It’s the first step of making it up to you, making up for lost time.

Making a fool out of himself, just to see that goddamn smile.

With your arms around his neck, his forehead pressed against yours and the tip of his nose bumping yours, the game of bowling is all but forgotten. Even the teens, still side-eyeing the two of you, can be pushed aside in your mind.

All your insecurities of the night that have crept in the shadows become insignificant. You don’t care how many dates Eddie has been on before you, you don’t care that you’ve clearly become a prey caught in his web. You don’t even care about the way you’re losing.

It’s the perfect first date. When one of his hands wander, playing with the hem of your skirt, knuckles and rings brushing against bare skin, it’s perfect.

“Hey,” you whisper, “I’ve got a question.”

“I have an answer.”

“You sound very sure there, big guy.”

“I am sure,” he pulls his face away just a bit, but his gentle touch against your thigh lings. The other hand stays warm against your lower back, keeping you pressed up against him, “What’s up, sweetheart?”

Not enemies, not friends – something different and something unspoken.

Hearing him say it out-loud will still be nice, though.

“Does this mean we’re official?” you breathe out, trying to cling to all your bravery and not let it slip away, “Like – God, I sound like a high schooler right now – does this mean we’re… you know…”

“Dating?” he’s grinning, unable to hide his giddiness.

“Yeah. Dating.”

The hand tracing circles on your exposed outer thigh rises up to your cheek, brushing along it as he tucks a bit of your hair back. You swear you see it shaking out of the corner of your eye.

“I sure would like to be,” it was shaking. You know it surely, because his voice is as well. Vulnerable and honest, just how you like him, “We don’t have to tell the others, we can take it slow, but-”

“But we’re dating.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement – an affirmation. You and Eddie Munson, the man you swore you hated just over a week ago, were dating.

He only nods, and you consider the way that his dimples might just swallow you whole instead of him.

Not enemies, not friends – lovers. It has quite the nice ring to it.

“Well, in that case,” you finally pull away, dropping your arms slowly and letting your fingers catch on the chain of the necklace he currently wears. A red guitar pick, something you’ll surely learn the story behind soon enough. “Better go and roll that fourth strike, boyfriend.”

His head rolls back, and a joking groan falls from his lips as his neck stretches and nearly distracts you momentarily, “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re making fun of me, you little shit.”

Another laugh falls from your lips as you step around him, quirking an eyebrow. Perfect first date, indeed.

“Get used to it, Munson.”

“I plan to, Sweetheart.”

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog @vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp @princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

join my taglist!

#ghost's stories #beyond the hours #twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x fem!reader #their love language is just being mean to each other i'll be honest #i've been nervous about posting extra content about them for a while but save the leaves #i might revamp the masterlist #also side note but i also think reader's outfit would totally get a scolding solely because that is not safe attire for riding on a bike #eddie should have shoved her into his jacket and scowled about it but he's just easily distracted by how pretty he finds her

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kniveschaudefender · 6 months

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heyyy!!!1!!! can u possibly do Gideon Graves like being clingy and attached to reader headcanons?? if so thanks :)))

Clingy! Gideon HCs !!

(gn!reader !!)

I LOVE GIDEON REQUESTS SM !!! Theyre literally so fun to write and I had planned on writing this anyway but the request made it even better !!!! :D So thank you anon !!

• I feel like after the whole thing with Ramona, he thought he’d never love some again

• Until he met you

• And when I tell you this man SWOONED over you I mean it

• He wants you at his side at ALL times

• Especially at work. For having such an ego and acting like he can do pretty much anything being him, he still gets oretty anxious sometimes

• So having you there making sure he’s okay mean so much to him

• GIFT GIVING. SO MUCH GIFT GIVING.

• I mean with all the money he has how could he not ??

• If you look at anything for more than five seconds, he’s already going to buy it. No objections.

• I feel like he wont admit it but he loves PDA

• like YES hold his hand, kiss him, hug him, they whole deal.

• Literally can not function without having u close

• Like he NEEDS you there to do anything.

• The company calms him down when he’s mad or stressed

• But overall, he loves having you there. He NEEDS you there.

• And he loves you alot, and he just wants you to love him the same

#gideon graves x reader #i love gideon #gideon graves #scott pilgrim x reader #scott pilgram takes off #scott pilgram vs the world #headcanon #headcanons #new writers on tumblr #vancesrambles #x reader stories

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iikatsukii · 1 year

Text

Too Late.

synopsis: they loved you when it was too late.

pairings: sully family x daughter/sister!reader, neteyam x twin!reader, neytiri x daughter! Reader, jake x daughter!reader

warnings: mentions of death, attempted suicide, suicidal thoughts(?), swearing, familial issues.

word count: 3.6k

a/n: would yall believe me if i said i wrote this while listening to pussy talk by city girls LMFAOOOOO p.s. Happy valentines day (THE RED TEXT IS "FESTIVE" im trynna get into the valentines day spirit :D). I wish i could've given yall part two of illicit love instead of this but i'm not done with it </3. ALMOST THO!!! (gif creds: @world-of-pandora)

(p.s. part two is out now!!)

it was never supposed to end like this. jake's mouth felt bitter. his whole body shook as he let out the most heart-stopping scream when his eyes landed on his eldest daughter. you, neteyam's twin, lay lifeless in his arms. your father cried because he never got to tell you he was proud of you, or that he loved you, or that you didn't need to compare to your brother to still be considered his baby girl.

it wasn't always like this, though.

you and neteyam were always happy and playing around together when you were younger. still, as you two grew older, neteyam took on olo'eyktan training and became his father's perfect warrior. where does that leave you? mo'at had chosen kiri to pursue tsahik training because of her apparent connection to eywa. so where does that leave you? lo'ak took on the role of the troublemaker, and tuk, of course, is just the baby of the family. so where does that leave you?

you're lo'ak's babysitter. making sure the boy doesn't get into trouble, but with your lack of training due to your father training your brother more than you, you weren't really the best babysitter. honestly, it was more lo'ak protecting than you protecting him. he kept you from losing balance while in high places, saved you when you fell into the rapids and flew you home when you forgot your way as if you had not lived in this forest your whole life.

you felt like a burden on your family.

nothing you ever did was right.

you went hunting? cool, but you didn't bring back enough for the whole family, so now neteyam and lo'ak have to go out and find more food for everyone else.

you bead a necklace for your friend? great, but you messed up the pattern she asked for, so she brought it to kiri so she could remake it.

tuk wanted to go play with you? of course! but now she has a sprained ankle from falling into the river while you were looking at flowers a few feet away.

and every time, somehow, some way, your family always managed to say something that felt like a blade stabbed through your heart.

"next time, y/n, just leave the hunting to neteyam and i. at least we know the right amount to bring back." it was lo'ak before he and your twin had to go hunting for more food for dinner a few weeks ago.

"you know, sister, your jewelry hasn't been the same recently. i've had sooo many of your friends coming back to me saying you messed up the pattern they asked for. just try and pay more attention when you're beading." kiri said as you walked into your home. she was re-beading the necklace you gave to your best friend yesterday.

the one she told you was perfect and that she loved it.

"how could you leave your sister unattended like that y/n she could've been killed?! why can't you be like neteyam? you’re twins, for crying out loud, y/n. do you not care for your sister's well-being?" your father scolded you outside your grandmother's hut. you could hear her cries inside the tent, along with your mother's gentle words of comfort, as she tried to calm her youngest daughter down.

you were being compared to your twin for the millionth time in your life, and as used to this as you should be, it still hurt just as bad as the first time your father had said it.

"she only sprained her ankle. it was an accident sempu–" you tried to defend yourself, but you were cut off.

"NO. it is, sir. do you understand me?" jake yelled at you. in your 18 years, your father had never raised his voice at you, let alone for you calling him 'sempu.' he used to love it when you called him because you were his ite and he was your sempu. but right now, to him, you were just someone who had hurt his child and nothing more than that. you hang your head, eyes falling to the floor in front of you as you didn't want your father to see you cry.

"sorry, sir." was all you said before walking away. you don't know where you walked, but you found yourself at the abandoned shack. you knew this area was forbidden, so when you realized where you were, you immediately crouched. you were just gonna walk back because your father would kill you if he found out you were over here, but then you heard voices. you looked through the bush to see a group of 3 or 4 avatars. you knew you couldn't escape now, so you pressed on the collar of your neck.

"sempu– sorry. sir, i need help, i wasn't paying attention to where i was walking, and i can hear avatars speaking english and–" your father cut you off.

"where are you?" he, your mother, and your two brothers were patrolling around your land's territories when they heard you through their earpieces.

you let out a heavy sigh, praying to eywa that he wouldn't chew your ass up for being here, before pressing the button again and saying,

"i'm at the abandoned shac–AHH! OWW, LET GO, YOU ASSHOLE!!" you couldn't finish as one of the avatars found your hiding spot, grabbing you by your queue.

thankfully your family had heard enough. your twin telling his father he knew a shortcut, they all flew as fast as they could to you. honestly, this was their last straw. everyone was fed up with you constantly making things hard for everyone.

your mother, though, was worried. you were caught by those skydemons all by yourself. who knew what they would do to you?

as you waited for your family, you were roughly held by your queue as they poked and prodded at you like they had never seen a native before.

"let me see your hands." the man with a buzzcut spoke.

"why don't you look at my feet instead?" you said. they all gave you a confused look until you kicked quaritch right in his face. you don't know how, but it caused the avatar behind you to loosen his grip, so you tried to make a break for it.

unluckily for you, the female avatar grabbed your arm, pulling you back into her form. she gripped you by your neck, unaware that she had pressed the button on your communicator. you hissed at her. the man you had kicked was only laughing as he wiped the blood dripping from his nose. "she must be one of his. she's defiant. grab her hands, let me see." he said

the avatar behind you grabbed your hands, holding them both out.

"hm… four fingers. maybe she's not one of his." were they gonna let you go? wishful thinking.

"fine. she may not be one of his but if one of their people go missing they're bound to come for her. keep her." his words made your heart sank. were they gonna take you? away from everything? your home? your family? if you could even call it that.

but then you thought about it. you really can't call it that. you don't remember the last happy memory you had with someone, anyone, in your family. it clicked to you that it had been about 10 minutes since you had radioed your father, and he wasn't here yet. were they even coming for you? you knew it was a stupid question. they weren't coming for you. why would they when this was the easiest way to get rid of the weak link of the family? it's not like your blood would be on their hands, and their life would be way better without you.

"they're not gonna come for me. i have no family. you killed my family in the last war, you dickhead." you lied to the man you had kicked earlier.

hearing you say this confused your family. what were you talking about?

"dammit you're an orphan? i didn't know the na'vi had any of those. then what do we do with her. she's useless. nobody will notice she's gone." the woman behind you asked her superior.

"hmm.. i have a better idea. kill her. use her as a warning to the sullys. this is what we're capable of now. it'll be a threat. give us jake sully and nobody else will die. but this one… this one is our lab rat. we're gonna make you bleed out nice and slow little one." he said as he grabbed his pistol off his waist, pressing it below your jaw. the nickname made you internally gag, but you held your ground.

these people had no real idea how tired you really were. you were exhausted. you were ready for life with eywa. you wanted your deity to hold you close, keep you warm, and protect you from the harsh real world. the world that your parents didn't adequately prepare you for. the world that you were ready to leave.

"kill me," you said as you grabbed quaritch's wrist and moved his gun from under your jaw to right above your heart. "and make it quick. nobody will come for me anyways," you said in a monotone voice.

the avatars all looked at you in awe. they had never once seen a na'vi so willing to give up their life. the natives they had all met were vicious, hissing and armed, always ready to kill. but you. you were the opposite.

you were fed up and ready to die. but not for your people. for your own inner peace.

"no," quaritch said, putting his gun down. that shocked everyone. like he shocked his soldiers and your family, who had been listening the whole time. they were trying to get to you as fast as possible.

hearing how you really felt was a wake-up call for your family. and when they heard bullets moving within the chamber of quaritch's pistol, they all flew their ikrans as fast as possible, weaving through trees and around mountains, trying to get to you.

you looked at the man like he had just betrayed you.

"DO IT, YOU COWARD! FUCKING DO IT! NOBODY WILL COME FOR ME!! THEY DON'T CARE!! THEY DON'T FUCKING CARE!!" you don't know what came over you, but you tried to wrestle quaritch's pistol out of his hands. your family was only 2 clicks away and could hear you struggling. everyone landed at the same time. the sullys, excluding tuk and kiri, who had stayed with mo'at, caught quaritch's attention, which distracted him enough for you to pull the gun from his grip.

you distanced yourself from everyone, and looking around, you realized you were surrounded by everyone. your family and these random avatar people. everyone could read you. you were a ticking time bomb and the only person in control of the trigger was you. one of the avatars took a step forward slowly, but you saw him move and point the gun at him. it didn't stop him from moving, but you heard screams of protest when you pointed the gun at your own head. that's when everyone froze. the avatars. your family. nature. time. eywa. you. everything was frozen.

"babygirl…" the nickname made you snap your neck to the man who was the root of your problems.

"NO! no, you do not get to call me that. if i can't call you ma sempu, don't bother referring to me as your daughter." you said. your energy was depleted, and you knew you would only be able to stand here for a couple more minutes before you opened your own doors and walked to your great-mother. jake tried to take a step closer to you, which only caused you to tense up and pull on the trigger a little bit. everyone immediately backed up, your mother hissing at you through her tears. "MA ITE, PUT THE GUN DOWN," she screamed at you.

"sa'nok…" you whimpered, not even being able to look her in the eyes.

"sa'nu… i can't" you sobbed. you could barely breathe and your tears were coming down in waterfalls at this point. you couldn't see anything clearly. your tears had blurred your vision.

you knew your mom loved you. she and tuk were the only ones in the family who had never uttered a harsh word in your direction. though she was busy taking care of tuk, so it wasn't like you got much attention from them either. but there's no way you would blame her or tuk for that. if anything, you're sorry that you have to leave them, but this world isn't for you. you turned on your heels, looking at the man whose gun you took.

"you are a coward. you should've pulled the goddamn trigger. you're fucking pathetic. are you happy now? now everyone here gets to experience what they've waited so long for." nobody had ever heard you speak to anyone like that. honestly, they couldn't tell if your words were directed at quaritch or yourself.

you inhaled, looking up at the eclipse, your bioluminescent freckles glowing brighter than they ever had in the nighttime as tears cascaded down your face.

"goodbye," you said as you squeezed the trigger, hearing a loud bang and tons of screaming. you felt no pain, though. you opened your eyes, not realizing you had closed them, and looked around. you noticed your pistol was stuck in the tree in front of you with an arrow clean through it. you turned to your twin with hate in your eyes. he lowered his bow as he read your expression.

"now you wanna save me?" your voice was weak but filled with venom.

"why didn't you save me when you noticed i stopped hanging out with you guys? hm? why didn't you teach me when i was younger? huh? why didn't you talk to me other than when you were chewing my ass out for something that was A FUCKING ACCIDENT, GODAMMIT. WHY?!" you felt like your tears were endless.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU LOVE ME?! ANSWER ME YOU FUCKERS!! WHY DON'T YOU LOVE ME?!" you screamed your frustrations at your father and brothers. none of them could look you in your eyes, save for your mother. "you only want to save me because you know how much i don't want to be saved anymore but it's too goddamn late," you said.

you turned to the female avatar who was holding you from before. you noticed her gun earlier and hoped you looked threatening enough for her to use it as you ran in her direction. she didn't know what to do. she didn't know you were a barely trained warrior or that you wouldn't have put a scratch on her. she didn't know you were harmless. all she knew was that you were a native, and the natives were hostile.

so she pulled her gun out and fired two shots into your chest.

the momentum of the bullet was enough to stop you from running. you felt the searing pain start to blossom in your chest area. falling to your knees, your eyes met the woman who had shot you. you looked at her shirt, reading her name. it was a funny name to you, but you didn't care. she had fulfilled your wish without even knowing it. so you used your last breath to speak.

"thank you, z-dog" you slumped over on your side, as everything started to go slow. your vision was starting to darken, and you let it consume you, not wanting to fight for your life anymore.

cue the screams and cries from your family and the fleeing steps of the rda soldiers. your chest stopped rising and falling, and your breathing had ceased. your family surrounded your body, trying to stop your bleeding and preserve the life that had already left your body. still, you had been shot twice, and both bullets had exit wounds. it was no use. nearby, na'vi had heard the screams of distress and had called over some hunters and scouts to investigate the scene since they knew the area was near the forbidden old shack.

the hunters and scouts arrived at the scene armed and ready to defend their people, but what they were met with was the last thing they expected to see. the eldest sully daughter was lying on the floor, motionless, with two bullet holes in her chest and her blood sinking into the forest floor. her family leaned over her body, screaming and crying for her to be okay and to return to them. they whispered how sorry they were. they whispered to her how if she came back, they would treat her right, teach her, hang out with her, and love her like they were supposed to. but it's too late.

nobody knew how to react. the eldest sully daughter had died, and nobody but her family knew what had happened.

“ma ite, oel ngati kameie. i see you. i'm sorry, i'm so so sorry. you don't have to be your brother. being you was just fine." your father cried as he cradled your head. brushing your hair away from your face, getting blood on your cheek since his hands were covered in it.

neteyam and lo'ak were each holding one of your hands. they cried as they watched their tears pool in your palm and then fall off the edge to drip into the soil below your body. they couldn't believe they treated you like anything less than their sister. they treated you like you were a stranger, a burden to deal with. and now that you were gone, they could not tell you how sorry they were for how they treated you.

neytiri was inconsolable. her firstborn daughter had just died in front of her eyes. willingly. she wanted this. her own daughter wanted to take her life. and she couldn't do anything to stop it. how could she not know? how did you go 18 years hurting in silence? how did she not know you needed to be saved?

"ma ite. my baby. ma y/n." neytiri's heart shattered when she saw those bullets go through your chest. she cried over your body for what felt like hours, but it was only a few minutes until the male healers came so they could carry you to the healing tents to prepare you for your burial ritual.

as jake pulled his mate from your body, she started to push against him trying to get him to let go of her so she could return to her daughter.

eventually, jake lets go, unable to keep his mate from her child. he joined her and just asked the healers to give your family a minute with you.

they just nodded in understanding, leaving your family to grieve.

two pairs of footsteps rushed towards the clearing, where the family mourned one of their own.

kiri and tuk had heard the news and came as fast as they could. tuk screamed, running up to you and curling herself into your chest as she sobbed into your neck. she didn't care if she was getting blood all over herself. you were her older sister, and she didn't even get to say goodbye. she felt nothing but sadness and loss. tuk felt terrible because the last time she had seen you was earlier when you brought her back from the stream because she had sprained your ankle. and now you were lying on the forest floor dead? how did this happen?

"HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?! SISTER, PLEASE!!" kiri begged you to wake up as she placed herself where her father was earlier. she rested your head in her lap, looking into your lifeless yellow eyes. you were her elder sister. as much as you didn't know, kiri looked up to you. she knew how hard you tried for the family, and though it wasn't your fault that you would mess up a necklace every once and a while, she couldn't help but feel guilty for the words she said to you in those moments. she knew she could've should've been nicer about it.

when it was finally time for the healers to take your body, once again, neytiri tried to fight against them. this time everyone in the family had to hold her back as the healer walked you away in a leaf big enough to cover your entire body from the eyes of those around you. once you were gone from her view, neytiri fell to the floor again, sobbing into the ground,

"GREAT MOTHER, WHY?!!" their mother's screams felt like a knife in their hearts. the sully family felt nothing but guilt and grief upon your death. nobody got closure because there is no closure for this kind of thing. they were the reason you wanted to die, and now that you got what you wanted, they had to live with that guilt.

you were high in being held in eywa's embrace as you cried. looking down on your family. you did not regret your decision, but you just had one question for your deity.

"did they really love me, great mother." eywa heaved a sigh before answering you.

"my ite, your mother and youngest sister loved you everyday, they were just very poor at showing it i'm afraid." you nodded your head, asking a follow-up question,

"what about the others?" you knew by her face that you wouldn't like the answer, but it was too late. the question was asked. and the answer is precisely the reason why you did what you did.

"they loved you just a little bit too late, my child."

#avatar x reader #avatar the way of water #avatar wotw #avatar 2 #avatar #sully family x reader #jake sully x daughter!reader #neytiri x daughter!reader #neteyam x twin!reader #sully family angst #jake sully angst #neteyam angst #this is an angsty story and im not sorry ab it :)#happy valentine's day #neytiri sully #best mom neytiri #i love her #neytiri be my mom pls

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all-purpose-dish-soap · 2 months

Note

WAIT I LOVE THAT PUSHUP FIC. can you do one with Gaz and the reader daring him to say their name in between push-ups, and Gaz catches on, but does it anyways.

10 / 1,186 words / takes place immediately after doing push-ups with Gaz

...

You watch Gaz from the corner of your eye, listening to him say your name in that low voice with each rep, grunting with concentration. Music to your ears.

His toned arms are tense with each push-up he executes. Gaz doesn’t work out to be buff or get attention. It’s all about function and utility on the battlefield for him, which means he’s not one for showing off. But you appreciate it, and you can tell he notices it by the smirk curving his lips.

He knows what you're doing. He knows exactly why you made that little request of him.

"You want me to keep going?" he asks.

"I have no problem with that.”

"Can't imagine you would."

"Hey. Less talking; more counting reps."

"Did I say I was in the market for a personal trainer?"

"I think you did, in fact," you tell him facetiously. You're still sprawled over his back, admiring how your weight barely seems to affect him each time he lowers and then pushes himself back up. "Lucky you have me here to keep you on track."

"Yeah, lucky me." He grunts a laugh and does another pushup. "Because that's my problem. Staying on track."

"I hear a lot of chatter and not enough saying my name between reps, mm?"

"Think I'd better stop doing that. You like it too much."

"And you said you wanted a challenge. Do you cut corners in the field, too? Does Captain Price know?"

He lowers himself again and holds at the bottom for a moment to increase the tension and stress on his muscles. "You're asking for it, you know that?"

You smirk, shifting yourself a little to fit more snugly against the curve of his back. "Are you threatening me, Gaz?"

"You wish." He chuckles, hardly sounding as winded as he should. "You'd be lucky for me to pay you that much attention."

He's not wrong. But still, the nerve.

Luckily, you notice you haven't heard him counting aloud, either. "What rep are you on now?"

He pauses at the bottom of his rep, then lifts up again, not quite as fast as before. "Sixty-three."

"Liar. You lost count, didn't you?"

"Of course not. You think you're really that distracting?"

You grin. "You said it, not me."

He pauses his rep at its apex this time. You glance at him, sensing the gears turning in his head. For a second, you wonder if you should be proud of yourself--if you've struck him speechless with your blistering wit.

Then he bends his elbow and drops one shoulder almost to the floor, dumping you unceremoniously off his back. You land ungracefully on your stomach with a gasp.

There's a strange look in his eye. Thirst for vengeance. You scramble to right yourself, but it's too late. Gaz drags you off the ground like it's nothing and pulls your back to his chest. He wraps his much thicker arm around your bicep and leans back, forcing your arm over your head in what you vaguely recognize as a submission hold.

You huff, trying to squirm free. His other arm comes around across your midsection to keep you in place. The fact that you're pinned in his lap doesn't escape you.

"Now who’s the distracted one?" His voice is right at your ear. "You want to tell me again how many reps I did?"

"Fifty-five. I counted."

His grip tightens. He leans back just a little more, causing your back to arch. "Try again."

You grab his arm with your free hand and try to dislodge it. Its no good. His arms are like steel. He doesn't budge an inch.

"Told you you were asking for it." His breath is warm on the shell of your ear. "Count again. Or I'll turn this half nelson into a full nelson."

Your cheeks warm. "Perv."

"You started it. Or don't you want me to say your name again?"

"I have a perfectly innocent explanation for that."

"Let's hear it, then. Go on."

"Um." You squirm a little more in his hold. His breath in your ear is making you feel crazy. "It's actually... because..."

"Because?" He's smiling now, his arm tightening against your skin. You can feel every thick muscle in his biceps and forearms. "Because what?"

You struggle to keep some kind of half-baked explanation centered in your mind. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you can't think about his chest pressing flush to your back. Or his thighs squishing your ass. Or his arm around your midsection, so close to your breasts you swear he'd brush the underside if he so much as flexed.

"Because what?" He asks again, and his voice is so husky it makes you forget all your rational thoughts. "Tell me."

"... Sixty-three," you mutter.

He laughs, the rumble of it shaking his chest against your back. "So which one of us lost count, boss?"

"I did."

"Yeah, you did." He shifts, easing the pressure on your arm. He doesn't release it completely, though. "If you wanted to hear my voice so bad, there are better ways to ask, yeah?" His other hand begins to wander down your side. Your skin burns under your workout tank. "But if you want to be a cheeky little brat about it..."

Before you can react, he bites down on your ear. Not cute and flirty, but hard enough that it hurts. Especially when you squawk and try to pull away.

"Ow!" You shove your elbow into his solar plexus.

He lets go of your arm, gasping and wheezing with laughter as he leans back. You're both surprised at how much force you packed into that elbow jab.

He smiles, though. His heart is racing from adrenaline, and when he looks at you, all pouty and out of breath, he realizes it's a good thing he's not still holding you or he might really do something stupid. He likes how quick you are, how feisty.

"That's mean," you snap.

"And calling me a pervert wasn't?"

"No! And even if it was, your thing was worse."

"Oh, yeah?" His usual soft grin turns roguish. "You wanna get even? Bite me back?"

"Gaz!"

"Then you still owe me." He stands up, stretching until his tired arm muscles pop. "So I'd better see you here tomorrow, same time. What do you say?"

You stand slowly, watching him grab his gym bag. "What if I say no?"

"I'd say you're shirking your duties as my trainer. And my counterweight. Besides, you wouldn't skip a chance to have me say your name again." He pulls the straps up over his shoulders and winks at you. "Right, boss?"

You open your mouth and close it right back up again.

Gaz has just enough self-control not to bite his lip at that rather cute expression. "Good."

He walks away, leaving you red-faced and speechless behind him.

He's right. You'll definitely be back tomorrow.

...

part 1 / [part 2] / part 3 / part 4 / part 5

more Gaz / masterlist tag

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dulcesiabits · 9 months

Text

You: Oh! Hi Ly—

Lyney: I want you.

You:

Lyney:

You:

Lyney: haha want to see a magic trick? Watch me pull a dove out of my hat

#liya chats #genshin impact #lyney #lyney x reader #listen. the charming twink who flirts to obfuscate his intentions and to avoid scrutiny is #well. it gets to me ok.#I love it when characters lie <3 #also insane how. spoilers for 4.0? Flirty Lyney is in his voicelines and in his story quest (that rainbow rose. was on. PURPOSE).

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colourstreakgryffin · 2 months

Note

Big bad Overlord Husk does things to me... Can you please do something for him with a reader who combs his hair and makes sure he is presentable by doing things like adjusting his bowtie? (Romantic, please!) Thanks!

Hehe~! Oooh~! I like this idea a lot and it kinda reminds me of that Overlord Husk + Casino-Bae Angel Dust AU thingie! Why not make us the Casino Bae or I’m gonna call the ‘Casinofly’? I also need to start asking for gender, because I always default to female for most of the guys *sigh*

Overlord! Husk- Dolling Up

How did you manage to land being able to spend so much time with the Gambling Overlord? Not even you know, you’ve just become his personal little casinofly. The pretty face that gets to pamper and doll him up every single day, who may or may not be his current girlfriend

Husk enjoys the feeling of your cute little hands running over his blackish-gray feathery hair, gently combing the smooth semi-hard bristles of a brush over his head. The attention you put into grooming him

Husk knows this routine instinctively. He’ll sit down on his bed and order you to enter his room, waiting for you to brush his hair, style him up, spray him with some cologne, clean him to utter perfection so he’ll glow for his casino. You’re the only one he wants to be his pamperer

Husk can’t help but purr and purr loudly with every kiss and brush you give him. Kissing his ear tips or kissing the smoothly brushed back of his hair. He loves it and he couldn’t imagine anybody else doing this for him. He ends up walking out of the room with you on his arm whilst purring under his breath

“So… is today a Overlord meeting, hey?” You ask smoothly and elegantly in a soft-tone, lips perking out slightly with the nice black lipstick that your not-so-secret boyfriend, Husk, the gambling Overlord of the Pride Ring put on for you. A powerful, influential figure amongst this huge city so you’re pretty surprised he would spare you time and especially allow you to be his little pamperer. The lady that gets to dress him up and make him look presentable for the day

Husk nods slowly and carefully as you brush and style back his hair with a precise scoopful of gentle slick rather expensive hairgel, making sure it stays still, attractive and appealing. Making his quite tall tuft-tipped ears pop out a bit more as you clean off your fresh hair briefly with the nearby makeup wipes laid on the bed besides your makeup bag, before beginning to tie up his business meeting bowtie. It’s a different one than the usual bowtie

“Well yes, love. It’ll be for a hour or two. Now, may I ask you something?” Husk purrs out in his strong, deep and almost hypnotic voice, his hands laid in his lap as his high collared shirt snuggles his hips and his arms well, big feathery red and detailed wings drooped over on the bed comfortably. Sat down on his own grand silky bed in his mighty suite, fitting his appeal and his style very well. You’re the only one allowed into his room, just the pretty casinofly he has his eyes on

“Yes, Sir?” You ask warmly and almost delicately responding to your own boss, the Overlord that has both your soul and your heart in his grasp effortlessly, as your own gentle sparkly eyes focus on readjusting the bowtie around his neck slightly to make sure it’s neat and presentable for this important event. You want Husk to shine out the rest of his fellow Overlords, which is why you’re being precise but you’re always so precise, you always want him to look incredible

Fixing up the collar cuffs of the white dresshirt, you make sure his hands are free and smooth, the fur brushed and clean. All of his fur is brushed and clean, just as you desire. As soon as you’re done, waiting for Husk to speak once again after the few seconds of silence that radiates throughout the magnificent fancy room, the Gambling Overlord finally speaks again. His voice has that certain charm that can always put you in a trance

So effortlessly, you cannot believe just how effortless and impressive this demon is

“I wish for you to accompany me to this meeting. Do not worry about being unable to enter with me, I’ll let you in” Husk saying this so confidently and fearless, he is very certain about what he wants and he doesn’t suspect that you will not say no, but, he is surprised by the way you respond; widened glowing eyes, hands halting at putting on his suit jacket over his shoulders, your lips parting. You look so kissable and he can’t wait to kiss your pretty little face as soon as he can. For now, he’ll stay put and listen out for your own response

Controlling your nerves and your beating heart. The idea of being around so many powerful sinners is intimidating and the idea of Husk wanting to bring you up to the Overlord meeting. It makes your cheeks burn up, you never thought he’d ever want to show people that he’s dating you, outside of the casino and outside of his domain. He must really like you! It almost feels unbelievable…

You quickly shake your head and begin to continue putting on his suit jacket, his three-piece suit for the business. Almost completely ready, Husk is waiting patiently and sitting silent like a curiously watching cat. As soon as your done, attaching a golden suit tassel chain, the Overlord towers over you as you step back and he smoothly picks up your hands, beginning to slide your bicep-length silky sparkly gloves. Finishing up the touches of that pretty classy yet semi-sexy ‘casino bae’-style of yours

Your eyes sparkled a bit more at Husk dressing you back, slowly and strongly turning you around. He offers his arm out and waits for your next action, sharp golden yellow eyes gleaming in your direction, almost sizing you up. He is waiting for you to accept his invitation, he wants you to join him for this meeting and he’d be disappointed if you said no

Your heart dropped a bit at hearing the usual yet soothing vibration, humming through the air, of cat purring. Of Husk purring

“Shall we head out now, sweetheart?”

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ddarker-dreams · 3 months

Text

mini love report — gojo satoru

relationship health diagnosis — 70%*

symptom one — permanent honeymoon phase

he's obsessed with you an (ab)normal amount and makes it everyone else's problem. satoru loves seeing how many compliments he can get in before you're swatting him away from embarrassment. he'll capture your wrist, smother your pulse in kisses, then continue his praise. it's not always suave either. he alternates between having decent game and coming off as cringe. you have no idea how he says half the things he does.

satoru gushes about you to everyone. poor ijichi, mortified higher-ups, the elderly lady sitting next to him on the train; no one is safe. his chest swells with pride every time he remembers that he managed to pull you. it doesn't matter if you're teenagers sharing your awkward first kiss or if you've been married for decades, he'll be singing your praises until the end of time.

symptom two — weirdly possessive

satoru isn't possessive in the traditional sense. when others encroach on you, what troubles him runs deeper than simple jealousy. his smile becomes strained and he physically inserts himself between you and the offending party. you're then whisked away, regardless of how rude the abrupt departure comes off. this isn't limited to instances where you're being flirted with outright.

it's actually amplified when the other person holds some unique position in your life that's exclusive to them. satoru prides himself on the fact no one knows you better than he does. so it's disconcerting when another person has access to information and memories entirely detached from him. he's overwhelmed with the urge to prove you belong to each other — no one can come close to the bond you share. this acrimony lingers even after the interaction ends.

gojo satoru is a greedy man. he might not be the type to insist you cover up if your outfit is revealing, but he does experience this antipathy toward people who fulfill a niche he can't.

symptom three — obnoxious

you deserve a reward for putting up with him honestly. he wasn't wrong when he described himself as having a terrible personality. while it's rarely malicious, he isn't the most considerate person when it comes to others. he'll speak what's on his mind without a second thought. zero filter. if you're around, he's a stunning 10% nicer so you'll chew him out less. the number could be higher but he finds that disciplinary side of you hot. this is a direct admission from him.

he likes your attention and will pursue it relentlessly. as he grows up, he slightly improves this habit. or, to be more specific, he hides it better. he feels he's way more interesting than whatever book or video game you're playing. shooing him off so you can get stuff done is a commonplace occurrence. on the upside, when trudging through chores, he helps with the passion of a thousand suns if it means having you all to himself sooner.

primary area of concern

satoru's seemingly infinite (heh) supply of pep often doubles as a shield to deflect uncomfortable emotions. he isn't one to linger on negative events, the pace in which he seemingly moves on is concerning. the innerworkings of his mind are shrouded in mystery for such an open individual. getting him to open up about his fears or past hurts is almost impossible. he won't dodge your inquiries outright, that'd prove too suspicious. he'll throw a few crumbs your way and hope that's enough to satiate your worry.

the word vulnerability isn't in his vocabulary. this isn't owed to a lack of trust on his part — if anything, the care he holds for you makes it tempting at times. however, taking that first step toward opening up is daunting. you'll have to be patient with him. if it doesn't pertain to your relationship, it's unlikely he'll have an extensive heart-to-heart about the specters haunting his mind. rather, those aforementioned crumbs become more substantial. a late-night conversation will unexpectedly veer toward a sensitive subject.

it'll be fleeting. you don't have to shower him with platitudes, simply grab his hand and squeeze. it's an unspoken message that he isn't as alone as he sometimes feels.

prognosis

gojo satoru can be too blunt, he struggles with emotional intimacy, and he's shameless in getting what he wants from you. he's a mess but he's your mess. you don't revere him like a god among men, you make him feel human. you're his best friend, his soulmate (he keeps the latter description to himself, it's one of the few sentiments that embarrasses him). he'd do absolutely anything for your sake. when you enter the room, it's like everyone else ceases to exist. he brightens up and chases after any laugh, smile, or flustered expression he can get.

he believes meeting you altered the balance of the world more than his own birth.

*the universe has tried (and failed) to wrench you apart (0-20) your friends are praying that you'll break up (21-40) 'well it could/has be worse' bargaining mindset (41-60) a lil messiness as a treat (61-80) pure and wholesome (81-10)

#i wrote this with golden girl in mind but it isn't exclusive to the story .#gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #gojo brainrot #mini love reports #valentines 2024 event

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kjdkive · 10 months

Text

couple questions with vogue — jjk.

summary: yn, world-famous model and jungkook world-famous artist are invited as a couple to answer some questions for vogue on a video. both known to be a chaotic couple are expected to show their competitive side.

pairing: idol! jungkook and model! yn (afab)

warnings: cursing, some dirty jokes? jungkook being the best boyfriend ever i want him so bad, third person narration

a/n: thinking about doing this for some other bts members but not really sure lol let's see how this one goes and go from there. also i used to be a wattpad writer and there we use — not " and i actually hate writing dialogues with " oh and also i mention a few things that are not true about jungkook but this is my universe and in this universe that happened yn happened

— hello, vogue! i’m yn and it’s so nice to be back here — yn says to the camera.

— hello, i’m yn’s boyfriend, jungkook — jungkook says, smiling to the camera — i am also in a band but not that that matters.

— i’m your fianceé, babe, remember? — yn lifts her left hand to show her engagement ring.

— she’s my soon-to-be wife, guys — jungkook giggles and stands up from his seat a little to give her a short kiss on her cheek.

— okay, my boyfriend’s humble as you can see but we’ll see if he’s a good boyfriend/fiancé because we’re gonna do the couple questions challenge! — an assistant hands her some cards with the questions on them — are you nervous, babe?

— not at all, i actually think i’m gonna crush you — jungkook responds.

— confident much? — yn asks.

— dude, come on, let’s go, i’m ready.

video cuts abruptly to the intro, showing a few pictures of the couple and jungkook’s seven playing in the back.

question no.1 for jungkook: how did you first meet?

— it was at a party in L.A. — jungkook replies — june 28th, 2017. she was wearing a black dress and her favorite manolo heels because she told me that the same night, also her purse from a special chanel collection because she told me it gave her luck.

— it definitely did, baby — yn couldn’t stop smiling — it made me met you, so bless the chanel bag. so, answer’s correct!

— ever since that night i fell in love and my band members were sick of me talking about her.

— just want to say that it took him two months to ask me on a date — yn laughs — like i literally said no to a few guys in those two months because i was waiting for him to ask me out and when he did i just told him “finally, bro.”

— you guys don’t understand, she was and still is too pretty for me — jungkook whined, making yn laugh — i thought she was gonna say no and also tell me that she doesn’t date ugly guys?

— weren’t you literally like on the top 5 of the hottest guys of the world? — yn asks him and he stops.

— i think i was? i don’t remember.

— of course you don’t, darling. next question.

jungkook: 1

yn: 0

question no.2 for yn: who initiated the first kiss?

— oh! oh! this one’s good — yn says — i did! and it was a mess.

— no, you didn’t — jungkook tells her.

— oh, yes, i did because you were shaking when you grabbed my face and you literally froze so i was like “well, let ME do this” and then i was the one to grab your face and kiss you — yn points at him.

— okay, fine, i did froze but you tasted like fish — jungkook starts — and although i love fish, tasting it from someone else’s mouth isn’t that delicious.

— you had just taken me out to eat sushi! what were you expecting? — yn asks him — besides, you tasted like banana because you had to eat your banana dessert of course.

— guys, if you ever go out on a date and you think you’re gonna kiss — jungkook looks at the camera — do not take them to eat fish or pasta because else they’ll get pesto on their teeth or their breath will smell like fish.

— oh, right — yn laughs — in one of our dates you got pesto on your teeth.

— stop, i don’t wanna remember how you had to get me a tooth pick cause i couldn’t get it out — jungkook rolls his eyes and yn keeps on laughing at him — if your girl gets you a tooth pick, marry her, that’s what i’m gonna do in a few months — he winks at the camera and laughs at yn blushing.

jungkook: 1

yn: 1

question no.3: which songs did jungkook write about yn?

— now this is a good one because you always get confused — jungkook laughs — which songs did i write about you?

— still with you, dimple, love maze, home, seven the explicit and clean version — yn winks at the camera.

— babe! — jungkook blushes and giggles.

— oh, so you can be no.1 on billboard, mind you the explicit version but your girlfriend can’t talk about it?

— don’t get off topic, finish the list — jungkook laughs again — and you’re my fiancée, not girlfriend.

— okay, fine — yn moves on her seat — your part in my universe, dna, paradise, best of me, my you and that’s it.

— WRONG! — jungkook yells at her and stands up from his seat to jump and laugh at her — you’re a loser!

— jungkook, what? i got them all correct! shut up!

— you forgot the one i have performed the most! — jungkook stands in front of the camera — vogue subscribers, my wife doesn’t love me.

— oh my god! — yn yells — i forgot euphoria and jesus christ, jungkook, sit down now, stop being dramatic.

— how dare you forget the amazing and unforgettable euphoria?

— i’m sorry, my love, please forgive me for i have made an awful mistake — yn holds his hand.

— i shall forgive you.

— thank you, my king.

— i love you — jungkook kisses her hand and doesn’t let go of it — but i’ll never forget this.

jungkook: 1

yn: 1

question no.4: what are the top 3 celeb crushes of yn?

— this one’s so easy — jungkook says — it’s matthew mcconaughey, chris evans and bradley cooper but as his character in the hangover.

— wrong — yn laughs.

— yn, you know i’m not wrong, those are your top 3.

— babe, you’re a celebrity too, you’re my no.1.

— don’t lie, yn, i’m not your celeb crush.

— yup, you’re right — yn gives up — he got the answer right, whatever, next question.

jungkook: 2

yn: 1

question no.5: when jungkook first started as an artist, what did he do to calm his nerves when he performed?

— I PRAYED — jungkook yells before yn can say her answer — I PRAYED AND I PRAYED.

— he didn’t — yn looks at the camera with a serious expression.

— YES, I DID — jungkook sits back on his seat — I DID. i did.

— can you shut up now? — yn asks him — he used to- — yn gets cut off.

— PRAY. HE USED TO PRAY. — jungkook yells again and all yn does is stand up from her seat and put her hand on jungkook’s mouth.

— he’s licking my hand right now but i couldn’t care less — yn still had a serious expression — he used to touch his bandmates’ butts and when they would question him he’d say “nothing better than your butts, you guys!”

— she’s wrong — jungkook says.

— jungkook, ew, you left my hand freaking wet — yn wipes her hand on jungkook’s shirt — and yes, i’m right, you can call up jimin and he’ll tell you i’m right.

jungkook: 2

yn: 2

question no.6: yn has a scar and has had a broken arm, how did both happen?

— on her chin — jungkook replies fastly. yn nods and lifts her head to show up her chin. — that’s like the only one from an ugly accident the other ones are just her being silly cause she has some scars, blame of our cats when she tries to shower them and another one from when she was trying to make some chicken nuggets on the air fryer last month and she burned herself.

— he’s correct.

— the broken arm… she told me she was playing outside when she was in kindergarten and she fell and broke her arm, she also told me the school didn’t call her parents right away and waited until her grandma picked her up from school but she took her to the hospital right away. sadly, they didn’t sue the school because they’re good people, the teachers weren’t.

— that story is also correct.

— ugh, so tiring being the best boyfriend/future husband out there — jungkook sighs.

jungkook: 3

yn: 2

question no.7: how many tattoos does jungkook have? which one was for yn?

— jesus christ — yn says — i kid you not, jungkook doesn’t even know how many he has himself.

— i don’t know the total number but i do have a close number, if she reaches it she’ll get the answer right.

— fine, uhm, the eye he had before was my eye but i told him to cover it because it was done really bad like the eyelashes and the color were a mess but there are other ones about me, the thunderbolts and the flower on your elbow, right?

— yes — he nods with a smile.

— and i think, you have a total of 21? 22? with the new seven tattoo behind your ear i think so, yeah.

— she’s not close in the number but she’s right about the tattoos about her — he smiles at her.

jungkook: 3

yn: 3

question no.8: what are yn’s favorite hobbies?

— reading, learning languages and trying out new restaurants everywhere she goes.

— that is correct.

— she’s currently reading beach read but her favorite book is the portrait of dorian gray because my girl is into classics but they have to be a little gay; she speaks 4 languages those being english, italian, korean of course and french. the latest new restaurant she went was momofuko ko here in new york and she loved it.

— i love you — yn couldn’t stop smiling as she got close to jungkook to give him a little kiss.

— i love you more — he said, after kissing her back.

jungkook: 4

yn: 3

question no. 9: what is jungkook’s pet peeve?

— damn, he has a lot — yn laughs — but i can name a few.

— i don’t have a lot!

— oh yeah? — yn asks and then turns at the camera — jungkook can’t eat if he notices people being loud while chewing but he is the loudest chew-er ever, he gets mad if whoever is driving doesn’t know how to park and oh! he despises when people walk slow but he had to be patient with me because i am a slow walker.

— she’s really slow but since i love her i can be patient with her.

— thank you, means a lot.

jungkook: 4

yn: 4

question no.10 (final question, decides the winner): if yn hadn’t been a model, what would’ve she been?

— oh, my girl’s born to shine — jungkook holds her hand — because she wanted to be a UN ambassador when she was young because she loved learning languages.

— oh my god, i did! — yn intertwines her fingers with jungkook’s — but i don’t even remember telling him about this.

— you said that on an interview but you also said that to me when we were on one of our first dates — he smiles at her.

— i did?

— you said you saw it on tv — jungkook nods — and that you wanted to travel the world like them. but now you travel around the world as a model, either way you were gonna be successful.

— reached full success now that i’m marrying you. — yn kisses him — i guess you won.

the interviewer behind the camera asked them if they wanted to say anything else before finishing the video.

— my soon-to-be husband has released a song called seven, not that it needs promotion because the song's killing it but if you haven't listened to it you should, the song saves lives.

— yeah, i released a song, i wrote it and it was just for her — jungkook smiles — my girl is also releasing her own clothing line so make sure to check that out too — jungkook points at the camera — and before we finish i want to say i won, yn lost — jungkook looks at the camera with a serious expression — vogue subscribers, i am here to tell you again that yn is a loser and i will write on my wedding vows to always call her a loser until death do us apart.

yn hits him on his arm and jungkook giggles.

— i hate you, jungkook.

— i love you too, my sweetie cutie pie, come here.

jungkook brings her in for another kiss.

— thank you, vogue! see you next time — jungkook says while squishing yn's cheek with his own cheek.

— save me — yn mouths.

and the video finishes.

#jungkook #bts #bts fluff #bts smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook seven #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagine #i love jungkook #i need to finish another story but i avoided it so i wrote this instead #i need to give jungkook a hug

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astralstarlight · 4 months

Text

pairing: wriothesley x reader

summary: you really want to spend time with wriothesley right now.

word count: 1.1k+

warnings/tags: 18+, nsfw content (under the cut), umm praise from wriothesley??, kind of shy/insecure reader, fingering, fem/female bodied! reader, he calls you sweetheart and baby, i was gonna let him use his cuffs and then i forgot so he's extra gentle instead

a/n: i need him.

Every time you visit Wriothesley in his office, he knows it's because you're needy. You don't make the trip all the way there for no reason.

"I just missed you." You'll say, leaning against the table with a pout. It's the way you're avoiding eye contact with him and staring your shoes that gives you away. Not to mention the fact that you're standing right in front of his seat and forcing him to look at you instead of the paperwork he has on his desk.

He resists the urge to laugh. With a slow and precise movement, he leans forward so that he's meeting your gaze again. "Yeah? You just wanted to spend time with me?"

"Mhm." You feign innocence. Archons, you're even blushing.

"Still too nervous to use your words, huh?"

He watches as your shoulders tense. Guilt is written all over your features. He watches as you take a deep breath in to try to calm yourself, meeting his eyes with a flash of confidence this time. There's a rigidness in your form still though, and your mouth opens to say something. But he doesn't let you.

His hands clasp around your thighs, pushing them open so he can move forward on his seat to put himself between your legs. Before you can continue your sentence, he kisses you.

He knows you're about to apologise for something inane, like bothering him when he's clearly so busy, but he wants to remind you that he'll always make time for you. This isn't annoying for him. And it never will be. Besides, it's not like he can focus on anything while you're here.

It's a gentle kiss, and he lets himself part from you just a little before he's speaking again.

"Shh. I'll take care of you, okay?"

It's so quiet that you can hear how loud your breathing is. It's long, languid breaths at first, even as your heartbeat thuds quickly in your chest.

He's barely even touched you, and you still feel your breath hitch as he traces his fingers over your clothed pussy. You don't say anything, just letting his hands explore you and letting him squeeze and caress without complaint. He'll never tell you, but he likes holding you like this; likes knowing you're comfortable enough to let him just touch wherever. His hands never wander above your waist, and his motions slow as he tries to figure out what you're after today.

In exchange, you tentatively run your fingers through his hair. Once. Twice. And it takes you a couple seconds to realise that he's still just tracing his fingers over your thighs because he's waiting for you to ask for what you want. A small sound of frustration leaves your lips. This doesn't need to be this hard. But the soft intimacy of his hands touching you seems to add a knot in your throat. So you do the next best thing. You nudge his hand to where you actually want him to touch.

"There." A sigh of contentment leaves his lips. "That wasn't so hard, right?" And he still has the audacity to look up to you with a cheeky grin that sends your heart racing.

His fingers are gentle — pushing inside you and feeling, before they become searching, and all you can feel is a pleasure running up your legs and curling in your stomach. A breathy huff leaves your lips and that has him properly chuckling. You can't really help it if your hips jerk upwards to meet his touch a little better.

But he stills you easily.

He stands up, curving his arm around your waist and pulling you further to the edge of the table so you can't escape the way his fingers curve inside you.

"Wrio—" You moan against his ear, not entirely sure what you're asking for or what you're wanting, but wanting something nonetheless. He's quicker at thinking of it than your pleasured-muddled mind. His lips connect with yours again and you're barely able to kiss him back properly. It's all open mouthed, and a little sloppy. A warmth pulses through you as he traces his lips across your jaw forgivingly, down the side of your neck, nibbling lightly all the way. An uncontrolled whine from your throat has him huffing a laugh against your skin.

"Like this?" He mumbles, brushing his lips against your collarbones while his fingers push on a spot that has you moaning again.

A panic runs through your veins when you hear knocking at the door, and you put your hands on his shoulders, ready to stop him and scurry away. Except he's already murmuring out a reassurance against your neck before you can try.

"Shh, sweetheart. It would be a shame to end this now." He whispers casually. "They can wait." And really, with that purr in his voice, he could get you to do anything.

You let out a strained whine, trying to be quiet as he praises you, marking you with soft kisses across what bare skin he can get his mouth on. It's so easy for him to make you cum like this. And you do, with a sigh and with your eyes closed, as the knocking echoes through his office once more.

He's patient with you, tucking your shirt back over your shoulder where he pulled it down and you hadn't even noticed. His hand moves from your waist to your hair, tussling it. All while he's whispering sweet words to you.

"You okay? That was so good, baby. You were so good for telling me what you wanted, okay?"

You're barely listening, still trying to come down from the pleasure and trusting him to let him tidy up your frazzled form. Once he's finished, he kisses your forehead, sending a spark through your body. It's his way of giving you a small confidence booster as he leaves your side and walks around his desk and calling for whoever was knocking to come in. By then, he's already moved you to the more comfortable position of his chair.

Wriothesley greets whoever is behind the door with a twinkle in his eye, barely looking at whoever is speaking because he keeps taking glances at you. You're still perched all pretty on his chair, the perfect picture of attentiveness as though he didn't just finger you a few moments before. It's the small, impatient wriggle that you do on his chair that gets his full attention again. There's a look in your eyes and he knows he's not finished with you. Not yet.

He'll have to continue what he's started once this conversation is done. He did promise to take care of you after all.

#wrio x reader #wriothesley x reader #genshin x reader #wrio smut #wriothesley smut #— alathea writes #genshin smut #genshin wriothesley #i need him oh my god #i'm so upset that i was still on break from genshin when his banner was out :(((#did his story quest and everything bc i loved him sm!!#he would be so gentle with you okay #i'm gonna cry #thinking about him and aftercare :((

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evanpetersmybf · 2 months

Text

All he asked for was you

Tate Langdon x female!reader

Summary: Tate loves you too much. He would do anything for you, to keep you by his side, to make you love him forever. He would cross any line to make you his, it doesn't matter how evil it is... But was it really worth it?

Genre: ANGST!! and some smut

Word count: 5,104

Warnings: Obsessive, stalkish and violent behavior, implicit toxic relationship; mentions of weapons, murder, mental health issues, family issues, school shooting; use of Y/N, swearing, cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected p in v. (i hope i'm not missing any...) NOT PROOFREAD !!

A/N: English isn't my first language!! Sorry if I have some mistakes and if Tate's a bit ooc (i tried to keep him in character as much as i could). I wasn't sure (and still not) if this is good but I spent days writing it, so I had to post it.

A small playlist with songs that inspired me for this: monster by meg and dia, pacify her by melanie martinez, all i want is you by rebzyyx, skyfall by adele, psycho by doko, paparazzi by lady gaga, dark red by steve lacy.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ཐི ♡ ཋྀ

Tate never believed in love, nor was he a romantic one.

In fact, he despised it. How could he even believe in that feeling when he never felt loved by his own mother? At least that’s what he pretended.

The blond always had the facade of a tough guy, although he couldn’t fool anyone. Constance knew well he was a sensitive boy. Probably the most crybaby ever to exist… And the most unstable one.

Now he was here. His chest going up and down, breathing shallow and fast. His eyes were darting around the room, looking for something or perhaps someone. Some silly tears were rolling down his cheeks while he anxiously fidgeted with a ring on his finger. The clock on the wall continued its tick-tack. The time kept running. His heart kept beating. It was getting late.

He refused to look at the wooden floor. He didn’t want to accept reality. If Tate did that, he would feel like the biggest monster on Earth.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t stay like this.

He had to do something real fast.

Today, 18:40

You were supposed to arrive at 19:00.

But he remained there, next to the corpse of his rival. A bloody ax beside the dead man’s bleeding head.

Whom he thought was his worst enemy, was someone really dear to you.

Well, Tate fervently believed this was something justified. He couldn’t stand that fucking asshole anymore! That scumbag needed to be put back in his place. And Tate only did that. Furthermore, he actually helped him. He took him away from this shitty world. It was a favor.

He had already killed his mother’s boyfriend, so why was he feeling guilty?

Maybe because his victim was special to you. Because his death would hurt you. And Langdon swore to God he would never let anybody or anything hurt you, including himself.

He loved you.

He wanted to be the one to hold your hand forever.

Tate snapped back to the present and frowned. He picked up the weapon, putting it in his backpack. He didn’t even mind cleaning it. Then, he proceeded to knelt right next to the lifeless dude and cleaned the blood surrounding his body; afterwards, he dragged him to the basement and…

19:00

A knock on the door.

You arrived.

“DAMN IT!”

He left his dead foe lying limp on the cold basement ground and quickly ran upstairs, straight to his room. He also left the backpack there.

Tate spent the last twenty minutes cleaning the mess he made in the living room after he atrociously smashed your friend’s head, forgetting that had poor time to get ready.

He desperately looked for clean clothes, scrambling the entire closet in search of fresh garments while he cussed at himself, at his mother, at that freaking boy, at the entire world but you.

Finally he found some jeans and a striped shirt. He looked at himself in the mirror after changing and cleaned the tiny drops of blood that stayed on his face and hands. He never realized he left the bloody clothing on the bed.

Another knock.

19:07

Tate opened the door, immediately throwing himself at you and giving you one of the warmest hugs. His demeanor with you was completely different; you were the only creature capable of changing his fucked up mind into something more beautiful, more peaceful. The issue was that it only happened when he was with you, otherwise he would be aggressive and rude as usual.

You got the best of him.

“Missed you so fuckin’ much, babe…” Voice muffled since his face was buried in the crook of your neck. Tate always did the same thing; clinging onto you like a small koala would.

“Heh, me too, hun!” You spoke with the same soothing voice he adored. Tate giggled and placed a tender kiss on your jawline, then another, and another, and another.

Soon enough, he was peppering kisses all over your neck, making you moan softly. Oh those sounds. He could hear you melting under his touch, his embrace, for the rest of eternity.

He loved making you squirm, making you laugh, making you feel loved.

He was way too sweet.

Only if you knew.

Four weeks before today…

Tate has always had the bad habit of stalking you. Yeah… He wasn’t proud of it. But can you blame him? He’s constantly afraid of you leaving him. He wanted to make sure you never did so… Otherwise he would die. Literally.

Don’t ask how he would die. You already know the answer.

You two were supposed to have a date, albeit you had to cancel your meeting.

And that, of course, made him overthink. It didn’t matter how many times you told him you were going to study; he felt betrayed, as if you were rejecting him. And Tate hated and feared rejection to the bone.

“Pretty please? Please, Y/N! I don’t wanna go home early, mom’s gonna be there and-and–”

“Tate, I can’t skip this. I have like, a test every day next week and I must study. I don’t wanna fail. Please, sweetie. I promise I’ll make it up to ya’, mhm?”

He rolled his eyes and whined, almost throwing a tantrum. He didn’t try to manipulate you on purpose. It came out naturally. “But I need you, Y/N! Why do you always do the same, huh? Am I not that important? Don’t you love me any longer?”

His childish crying continued for a couple of minutes, until it stopped and the blond agreed a deal with you.

You thought he was calm now, but no. How naive.

You went to the library to study as you said… Without noticing he followed you.

Quietly, he got into that maze of books after you and hid behind some shelves.

Tate noticed you sat on an empty table. Thank God. Oh?

Who. Is. He.

A man Tate didn’t know sat next to you. Really close. Too close for Tate’s liking. He tried to think he was a stranger, that he wasn’t going to talk to you… He was wrong.

He clenched his hands into a ball when he saw that idiot talking to you, and the worst part was that you followed suit. It seemed you two were friends or something.

How DARE YOU talk to another man? No, how dare you talk to another HUMAN BEING!?

Tate was insecure 24/7.

If you weren’t there, Tate was falling apart. It was simple.

No Y/N, no happy Tate. Was it too hard to understand?

Three weeks before today…

It was Friday. Tate was impatiently waiting for you outside the campus, hanging a small bouquet of flowers he picked up.

Once he spotted you coming out from the building, he waved his hand and embraced you tightly once you were in front of him. He gave you the adorable present.

“Tate!”

“How did you do? Did you pass your tests? Don’t tell me, I’m sure you did.” Said, grinning from ear to ear. He was away from you for an entire week. How did he survive? He didn’t know, but he was glad to have you with him again. “Tell me about your life in the last days, baby. Please? I feel like I haven’t seen you in years!”

There he was, the one and only drama queen Tate Langdon.

You talked about the tests, about how the teachers were being a pain in the ass (which clearly triggered in him the intense desire of hurting them because they stressed you), and… About a guy. The same guy from the library, with whom you spent the entire last week studying. He couldn’t stand it. He saw him as a threat to your relationship, especially since he was an old friend that you met many years ago.

As the days went by, you gave him more reasons to hate that jerk. Why? Well of course because you spent hours at the library doing homework or studying with him. Or even hanging out with him and other people.

In reality, you went out with him to a museum just once, and then skating with other colleagues. Nothing compared to the time you spent with Tate; in a week, you would hang out with him almost daily, and if you were way too busy, he would go to your place and spend the night there. He was so attached to you to the point he had to see you at least once a day. And that’s why he was so jealous of your friend. Tate couldn’t stand the idea of you sharing your life with someone else who wasn’t him or your family… And he also got jealous of them, but he was handling it.

Two weeks before today.

After Tate’s pleas, you decided to introduce your friend to him.

Probably a big mistake.

The date was really awkward; your friend tried being nice, and Tate acted surprisingly kind. Of course it was odd; usually, he despised all of your friends and treated them badly, yet this time was different. You were stunned, however, you tried to ignore it and instead got happy as he finally accepted a random person as your buddy.

Still and all, he hated that moron. It didn’t matter how much he tried liking your pal, he was jealous of him. He was getting on his nerves. He denied the fact that you had more love for other people that wasn’t him. Tate desired being your only one. Your number one. Your entire world. Because that’s what you were for him. And he was willing to do whatever to keep you with him.

Tate exchanged numbers with him and meticulously plotted a plan to ascertain he would never talk to you ever again. At first, it came out as a simple “I’m gonna scare the shit outta him”, nonetheless, it turned into a darker idea, very likely involving physical violence.

One week before today…

The last few days, Tate won Peter’s trust. Ah yes. That’s your friend's name. You were glad that he finally opened his warm heart and began to meet more people besides you.

You thought he needed a friend, an empathetic person who could support the blond when you weren’t available, that way he would feel less lonely and depressed.

They went to the cinema, to the arcade, even to a music store. Everything was going according to what he planned.

Eventually, he invited Peter to his place to play chess and other board games on a Sunday afternoon, before you arrived and had a date with Tate due to your anniversary.

Today, 16:00

Peter and Tate were eating pizza and having a great noon, talking about their lives and random stuff, like school and music. They both enjoyed Nirvana, and since Peter played the guitar, he agreed on teaching your boy how to.

If it weren’t for Tate’s twisted mind, they would’ve been best friends.

The guitarist wasn’t a bad guy. He was a great buddy that really appreciated you and the crybaby, but Langdon had something else in mind.

18:00

The men watched a movie. Tate didn’t even know its name; in fact, he didn’t even pay attention to it. Instead, he was focused on his next actions, plotting them carefully.

“Crap, mom’s gonna arrive soon…” Tate mumbled with annoyance, biting his nails and tapping his foot on the floor. He was lying. You were going to arrive, not Constance.

“Damn, bro. Well, I don’t have a problem. I wanna meet her.”

“Huh? No no no, you shouldn’t. That bitch is crazy.”

Peter scoffed, disagreeing with Tate’s rude manner to call his own momma.

“Hey, you shouldn’t talk like that. I bet she loves you!”

That pissed him off. “You don’t know anything, Peter. Your family is different. Your life’s different. You won’t understand!” He yelled, standing up from the couch and now pacing around the room, trying to keep it calm.

“Dude, calm down!

“NO! I fucking won’t!”

The screaming continued for a while. Tate revealed his unstable and crystal self. Even something so insignificant could drive him to the edge, like what happened today. That definitely surprised the other one, who used to think that Tate was a sweet boy. “I dunno why Y/N is dating you.”

“What did you say?” Tate abruptly stopped pacing.

“Y/N. Y/N doesn’t deserve you.”

“WHY WOULD YOU EVEN SAY THAT!?” He pounced on Peter, gripping his neck with one rough hand, applying enough pressure on the sides to stop the blood circulation in his carotids and make him lose consciousness.

Before passing out, Peter, getting pale, managed to croak out: “Because she deserves better…”

Soon enough, he fainted, giving Tate minutes to think about what else to do.

Your boyfriend wasn’t planning on murdering Peter today. No, he didn’t have time. He also was supposed to meet you.. But this was the perfect excuse! And not only that; he indirectly admitted he was in love with you! Or that’s what Tate interpreted with his delusional point of view.

Peter didn’t feel anything romantic for you, he was just worried Tate might be too unhinged to be your partner.

Thus, he went to his room and grabbed his backpack. Then, went to the garden shed and picked up the ax that belonged to his father, and a bottle of lye.

He had to get the job done quickly, nevertheless, he lost track of time.

18:30

Tate came back to the living room, just to notice that Peter wasn’t there anymore.

“FUCK IT!” Langdon got nervous. What if he escaped? What if he told you that Tate was crazy? He couldn’t allow this, not at all.

Thankfully, or maybe not, Tate found Peter crawling towards the front door, the poor dude still feeling dizzy after being choked.

Tate didn’t have any mercy.

“Where do you think you’re going, lil’ piece of shit!?”

18:38

Tate finally did it. He brutally murdered Peter, smashing his head several times with the ax.

He got rid of that little issue. He took him to somewhere clean.

Once he assured the other man wasn’t breathing, he dropped the weapon on the floor, making a loud metallic thud.

19:10

Tate was pinning you down on the couch, the same couch where your dead friend was sitting just an hour ago.

His hands were traveling all along your body, tracing sweet patterns on your skin.

Eventually, his fingers were clumsily pulling down your panties, not minding to take off your skirt. “Did you bring this for easy access, baby?” Tate chuckled and buried his face between your legs, holding your thighs in place; his lips plastered messy kisses over the warm flesh, biting it and leaving tiny marks after sucking.

Your reaction was alluring to him; he enjoyed listening to your pleas, to your whimpers. If it was for him, he would spend the entire day making you cum over and over again.

He finally got rid of your underwear, tossing it aside. Without further ado, the boy spread your folds with his large digits, and continued to lick your throbbing wet cunt.

“So fucking pretty… So wet for me, huh?”

His tongue lapped your small clit two or three times, then, traced a zigzag and circles on the sensitive nub. While he devoured you, he inserted his middle and ring finger, pumping them in and out of your cute hole, curling them and hitting the right spot to make you feel butterflies.

Tate could feel his arousal growing; his erection being restrained by the tight fabric of his jeans. He was desperate, yeah. But he always put you in the first place, and that included pleasuring you before him.

After a while, he replaced his fingers with his tongue, fucking your pussy with the agile muscle and now rubbing your clit with his thumb, applying pressure that sent electric waves through your body. He stopped using his tongue on you and instead looked at that stunning face of yours. He was delighted with your flushed cheeks, with every single gesture you did, with the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head. He wanted to take a picture of you to remember this moment forever.

His thumb increased the pace, while his free hand lifted up your blouse and tried to undo your bra. He couldn’t. You giggled when he groaned in frustration; he was too horny to think straight and that’s why you helped him to take off the garment.

Tate sighed and after that awkward and funny moment, he kept rubbing your bud, using your own juices and his saliva as a lubricant, intensifying the sensation. His left pinched and pulled your nipple, making you gasp and twitch beneath him, whilst his mouth abused your other one, greedily sucking on it.

“Tate, ‘m gonna cum! I-”

Tate cut you off by kissing you harshly; his tongue invading your warm mouth, exploring it and then nibbling your bottom lip until it bleeded. He licked the tiny drops of blood, savoring the metallic taste of it.

Unable to hold on any longer, you reached your orgasm, coming undone while Tate kept caressing your pussy, decreasing the velocity while you finally calmed down.

He left you panting; your heart beating so fast just like his.

You tried to sit up on the couch, breathing deep for more air, but the blond prevented you from going away.

“Where do you think you’re doing? We’re not done yet, you’re gonna cum again!”

Tate carried you bridal style and went upstairs straight to his bedroom. He threw you on the bed.

Without stopping looking at you, he unbuckled his belt and pulled down his jeans along the boxers; his dick already erect and throbbing, the veins thick and the tip leaking precum.

Using the clear liquid as lube, he stroked his shaft for a while, jerking off to the sight of you. He groaned and whimpered, closing his eyes as his hand pumped himself.

One of your hands went to your breasts, massaging them softly as your right went down between your legs, slowly teasing your womanhood and coating your index finger with your arousal, using it to rub your aching bundle of nerves.

Tate’s dark room was now filled with both of your moans; Tate calling your name several times and you begging him to fuck you.

He couldn’t stand this anymore. He NEEDED to be inside you, to feel your warmth enveloping him. “On all fours. Now.” You immediately obeyed, feeling as eager as him.

“Look at me, mhm?” He positioned behind you and rubbed the tip against your wet folds, teasing you for a bit. Afterwards, he slowly entered his cock inside your slit, moving it slowly at first. His thumb went to your clitoris, toying with it just like minutes before. He picked up the pace and fucked you fast and hard; his cockhead brushing your cervix. Grabbing a fistful of your hair, Tate pulled your head towards him, still with the deep thrusting. “Fuck, Y/N! You’re so pretty… So fucking precious, so fucking mine!” Moaned against your ear, voice raspy and agitated.

Panting, you stopped looking at him and instead looked to the bed. Why? Who knows, but you did it. And you saw Tate’s dirty clothes. Dirty with blood. A lot of blood.

You froze. Maybe it was red paint?

“U-uh, Tate?” You muttered, feeling already bewildered by the sight. You tried not to jump into conclusions, although you knew Tate and he has always been… Secretive.. And aggressive, of course.

After your boyfriend heard your shaky whisper, he stopped moving, even if he wanted to keep going. “Hm?”

“What’s this?” Tate sighed and pulled out from you, not understanding what you meant.

“What’s what?”

Without saying anything else to him, you grabbed the shirt and touched the weird stain. It was still fresh. You took your fingers to your mouth to taste it; and the metallic tang was too obvious. “Tate, what the fuck is this!?”

You threw it at him. Freaked out, you stood up and picked up your clothes, putting them on again, all meanwhile Tate connected the dots and realized he was probably going to get caught.

“Wait, Y/N! It’s not what it looks like, I swear, damn it!” He yelled and grabbed your arm, not wanting you to leave like this. He had to save his reputation, he couldn’t let you think bad of him even if you had all the right. Because, why the fuck the fabric was soaked in blood?

“Then what is it, Tate? WHY DOES IT HAVE SO MUCH BLOOD!?”

“CALM DOWN, PLEASE!”

You attempted to get away from his grip, struggling with him until, somehow, you managed to do so. However, you tripped with his dirty shoes and fell, realizing they were also stained with the red liquid. “Tate, what…? Why? What is this?”

“Nothing, I swear!” He didn’t have any excuses. Saying it was paint would’ve been lame. You were too smart and he knew lying wasn’t a good choice.

Feeling overwhelmed with the matter, you went downstairs, walking as fast as you could. Passing through the living room, a very familiar bag caught your eye. It was definitely Peter’s. You decided to grab it and realized it had his phone inside. Something was off.

Tate was standing behind you; fists clenched and heart beating like crazy. He tried to approach you, still thinking about what to do or what to say.

“Tate… What is this doing here? Peter’s here?”

“Huh? Yeah… He— He came earlier and had to go soon, he left this accidentally, yup…” You could see him fidgeting with that ring on his finger, again.

“Bullshit!”

Tate scowled and grabbed your chin, making you look at his dark orbs. “Tell me, Y/N, do you trust me or not, huh? Look me in the eyes and say you don’t!”

The struggle continued for what seemed eternity. You trying to run away from the house and he trying to make you stay. “Please, Y/N, just listen to me!”

“You did something to him, right? I know him, Tate! He would NEVER leave his phone like this! Is this a joke?”

“Why do you care so much about that asshole!? What has he done for you!? Tell me!”

“Oh my, you’re jealous! I knew it! All that crap about being his friend was a lie, right? Tate, you’re being delusional! I can have friends, I can hang out with whoever I want, whether you like it or not!”

Tate pressed your cheeks between his thumb and the rest of his fingers, squeezing the flesh with his veiny, big hand, pressing it tightly enough to leave the mark of his long digits on it.

“You can’t! You’re mine. Only mine. Since the day you were born you were meant to be mine. Not his, not anybody, just me.”

“Tate… We should end this…” You thought this was the best for both. Being in a relationship with him was draining; always being careful to not hurt him, make him jealous or mad. He was such a sensitive boy that always took everything too personally. He felt everything a little too much.

Since the beginning you knew he was unstable and that he had many issues, but you tried to see beyond his sick mind, you tried to understand him despite being so different.

Tate felt so safe with you. You were the only person who understood him, or at least made attempts to.

He felt rejected by the entire society, even by his own mother, until he met you and he had a minimum spark of hope that the world didn’t suck that much.

That’s why he clung to you. That’s why you were his everything. He would lose his mind if you leave him.

He felt like dying when he heard you wanted to finish the relationship.

He couldn’t breathe.

Some tears were now falling to the floor, his eyes puffy and an ugly frown on his face. His mouth twisted as he sobbed loudly, tugging the hem of your shirt while he begged you to stay. He was crying like a newborn, like a baby who had to be apart from his mother for a second.

“No no no no, you can’t do this to me!” He whimpered, his speech cracking as he tried to hold you close whilst you were stepping back. You were slipping through his fingers, you were leaving him.

“Tate, if something happened to Peter, I will never forgive you! Can’t you see you’re hurting me?”

Tate swore he would never hurt you, nor let anyone. But here he was, finally snapping out of it and seeing the cruel truth.

“You’ve been hurting me the whole time, Tate! I tried to understand you, I really did, I tried to help you, to save you from yourself! But it’s impossible. I’m losing myself here with you, I don’t even know who I am anymore! You don’t want help, do you? ‘Cause it doesn’t matter what I do, you’re never satisfied! You suffocate me!”

All those words were like daggers penetrating his skin, touching his nerves and making him die of pain. You were tearing him apart, just the way he was destroying you.

He finally let go of you, feeling a tornado of emotions. Tate felt depressed, mad, resentful, like he was going crazy. Though, he knew he had to leave if that’s what you wanted. He couldn’t bring himself to break another promise.

Thereby, he confessed his crimes to you. He explained he killed his mom’s partner a few days ago, and that now he had killed your friend. Why? He was jealous, he was scared you’d left him. You did it before you discovered the cruel reality, anyways. That’s why he told you. Because he couldn’t lose anything else.

The situation was utterly disgusting. Tate was sick. He murdered an innocent man and then proceeded to fuck you, as it was the maximum test of love, as if his life meant nothing.

You knew he wasn’t what people often considered “normal”. But this was definitely more than just being a “weirdo”. Tate needed psychiatric help… And being arrested, of course.

“You make me wanna puke, Tate! You’re the evil!”

Without hesitating, you left Tate behind, running as fast as you could from that living hell.

You just wanted to cry, curl up into a ball and wake up from this nightmare. You wished it was merely a bad dream.

Tomorrow morning, you’d go to the police, but for now you needed to sleep.

Monday morning, 11:05

You couldn’t sleep all night. You spent hours thinking about everything, about how this looked like a cruel joke to you. Eventually, you fell asleep at 4AM, and didn’t wake up at what seemed almost midday.

An intense sound of police sirens woke you from your slumber. Startled by the loud noise, you rubbed your eyes and went to the window, trying to get a glimpse of what was happening outside.

Police cars and SWAT vans were going in a specific direction… Towards Tate’s street. It couldn’t be, right?

Did his mother find the corpse? Or perhaps something else?

You looked at the clock, realizing it was late and you had to go to class.

08:00

After the most painful night of his life, Tate decided today everything would be over.

He had to cleanse the world… To take people to somewhere else, to some place full of peace away from the piss and the vomit that runs down the streets.

He was doing this not only because of your breakup, but also because of many other reasons. Your split up was the straw that broke the camel and drove him to the edge.

10:40

After shooting the school, Tate left the place, looking unfazed about what he just did. He was unhinged.

He peacefully got into his place, went to his room and stayed there for some minutes.

The blond sat on the edge of the bed, leaving the gun right next to him and stared at nothing. His gaze was empty, but also there were some tears threatening to spill.

His mind was a whirlwind. Some part of him was satisfied, but the other was confused, wondering what was he thinking, what had he done?

What would you think of him now? Were you even there? Did he kill you too and he didn’t even notice?

In the end, he recognized he indeed was the evil you said. Damn it. You were right, again, as ever.

Tate wanted to hear your voice, to comfort him, to hear you saying everything was okay. That he’d be okay. He desired to hear “I love you” from you once more.

11:15

You went downstairs to find your family apparently mourning you.

They thought you were at school when the shooting happened. They believed you were gone, but here you were.

Eventually, they explained to you what happened.

The first thing that popped into your mind was Tate’s wellbeing, still unaware that he was the culprit. You were afraid something terrible could’ve happened to him, you were regretting your last words to him, but you also had to get him prisoner.

Your heart dropped when they explained to you he was the shooter.

No, it couldn’t be possible.

It was possible. After all, he had already killed two men.

Even if you despise what he did, some part of you still longed for him, still was in love with his once kind heart.

A terrifying feeling of dread filled your body, making you feel numb, as if none of this was real…

11:25

After running to Tate’s house and seeing it surrounded by the cops and the SWAT team, everything stopped. Constance’s distressed cries and pleas were heard from outside, followed suit by the sound of bullets. It was over now.

Tate was certainly a troubled individual who dedicated his entire life to searching for something, to feel something, to feel loved.

All he asked for was love, to be loved, to love. All he wanted was you.

But at the same time, your love led him to an never-ending obsession that ultimately broke both of you.

He became your biggest regret.

All he feared, all his nightmares came true. Everything he was so afraid of was him and only himself.

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wherewritersgotodie-blog · 2 months

Text

Superstitious (Kai Anderson x reader)

“swear on your life you don’t want me.”

warnings: smut. penetration w/o protection. dom!kai. oral (reader receiving). light degradation & taunting. bdsm themes. kinky. idk what else prob smth

You were Winter’s best friend since middle school. Two girls who grew up to have the same values, the same beliefs, and a lot of love for each other. She took care of you, you took care of her.

Every Saturday, you went over to her house for dinner. Sometimes you’d go out to parties, some nights you’d stay in and watch a movie.

So, as always, you knock on Winter’s door at 6pm on Saturday evening with a bag of take-out hanging from your left arm. You waited at the door, almost going to knock again, just before the door swung open, her asshole brother Kai, not Winter, standing at the door. “Hm. My favorite little brat. What can I do for you?” He cocked his head to the side, leaning his arm against the door.

“Uh… I’m looking for Winter?” You say, sliding sideways passed him, underneath his arm.

“She didn’t text you?” he asked.

“No, why?”

“She’s gonna be out tonight. She went to campaign. I thought you were going with her!”

“Oh, fuck!” you say, “I totally forgot. I’m such a flake.”

“It’s fine. She’s good on her own.”

“And she called me this morning. Damn. Whatever, I’m going next weekend. It’s fine,” you say, mostly to yourself. Then you turn and reach out to open the door.

“Hey, wait!” he called out, “You’re taking the food?”

“What, you want it?” you asked, raising your eyebrows, holding out the bag.

“Are you kidding?” he said, taking the bag from your hand and placing it on the table.

“Alright, see ya,” you wave dismissively.

“Bye, slut,” he responded, sitting down at the table.

You get in your car and turn the keys. The car stalls. Shit. You turn the keys again. The engine sputters.

You walk back into the house, your keys swinging around your finger. Kai is lifting weights in the living room when you get back in. He stops to turn and look at you. Those muscles. “Hey, big guy, any idea how to fix an old Honda?”

“Yeah. Get a fuckin’ new car,” he laughs to himself.

“Kai, seriously,” you say with a whiny tone, pouting.

He caves, exhaling. “Fine. You owe me.”

He saunters out to the car, popping the hood. He looks at it for a few minutes. “Well, I could fix it, but my box is in my car. Winter has it,” he says, leaning on the front of the car, crossing his arms.

“Shit,” You say.

“You can wait here ‘til she gets back,” he smirks.

“Uhm, I think I’ll walk home,” You say, looking him up and down, “Thanks…”

“Walk home? Across town? Alright,” he says, slamming the hood shut then walking back toward the house.

You looking down the street, the wind hitting your face, freezing cold. “Ugh,” you say, then run up behind Kai. He holds the door open for you.

“Attagirl,” he says, smirking.

“Whatever.”

“Don’t be a bitch or I’ll make you walk home.”

“You wouldn’t,” you say, smirking, leaning against the doorway.

“I would,” he says, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I totally would.”

You walk to the sink. He watches you bend over the counter slightly and reach up on your tippy toes. “Why are your glasses all the way up on that shelf?” You say, frustrated.

He walks up behind you, grabbing a glass. He then raises his hand to hold up the glass out of your reach. You look at him in frustration. “Come get it,” he smirks.

“Kai, stop,” you say.

“Come get it or I’m not giving it to you.”

“Ugh!” you say, then try to reach up to grab the glass. He lowers it, then pulls it away. You reach up again. “Please?” you ask.

“There we go,” he says, handing you the glass. “Was that so hard?”

“You are a huge dick,” you say, filling up the glass.

“You wanna know about my huge dick?” he whispers in your ear from behind you.

You cringe, scrunching your nose, “Ugh! Gross.” You turn around, taking a sip from your glass.

“Right,” he smirks. He looks down at you, cornering you into the counter, slowly, so you almost don’t notice it. “So you don’t ever think about me?”

“What?” you say, turning red, putting the glass down.

“You don’t think about me fucking you? Ever? You’ve never thought about it once?” he says, leaning his arm on the cabinet.

“I- No! No, I haven’t,” you affirm.

“Really? Swear on your life?” he smirks.

“What?”

“Do you swear on your life you’ve never thought about me fucking you?”

“That’s not fair. You know I’m superstitious about that. I don’t know everything I’ve ever thought!” you retort.

“Fine. Swear on your life you don’t want me. Swear on your life in the past week you haven’t thought about me fucking you and liked it?”

“I,” you pause, panicking. “Fuck this! I’m not doing this with you.”

“I knew it!” he smirks, “I knew you had a crush on me,” he says victoriously, backing away from you completely.

“Oh, you are such an asshole!” you shout, embarrassed.

“And you like it, that’s the fucked up part,” he says.

“Stop,” you glare at him, blushing a deep red, “Seriously.”

He walks up to you again, pressing your back against the counter, putting one hand on the back of your neck, one on your waist. Your breath hitches. Your chest heaves. You blush, looking up at him, eyes flickering all across his face.

“Right,” he smirks, nodding like he had just proven what he knew all along. “Swear on your life you aren’t wet as fuck right now.”

He’s a fucking sadist.

“Kai, please,” you say breathlessly.

“Do it. Do it or I’ll find out myself,” he whispers in your ear.

You feel like you’re drowning, your breath is so heavy. He is relentless.

He waits a moment, smirking at your silence. He then puts his hand down your leggings, over your underwear. When he feels a large pool of wetness through the lacy fabric, he closes his eyes for a moment. “Fuck,” he whispers.

He pulls his hand back up, making sure to brush his fingers over your clit long enough that you ache when he puts his hand back around your waist, pulling you against him.

“How long have you had a crush on me?” he says, looking you in your eyes.

“I don’t know,” you breathe.

“Nah, you do. Tell me,” he said quickly, confidently, the words almost stringing together into one word.

“I don’t know, a couple years,” you mumble.

“A couple years?” he laughs. He slides his hand down over your leggings between your legs again, “Shit, you must like this then.” He rubs you, sliding his hand roughly, even possessively, farther down and up, his middle finger in line with your clit.

You moan, leaning your head against his chest. “Yeah… Yeah, you do,” he says in a mocking tone. You can hear his malevolent smirk. “You like it a lot.”

He uses his other hand to wrap around where your jaw meets your neck, forcing your face up to look at him. “So you do want my huge dick?”

You stare at him, biting your lip. Were you really about to fuck your best friend’s brother? Really? Seriously? No. You should say no. You’re gonna say no.

“Yes.” Shit.

He picks you up, wrapping your legs around his hips, holding you by the back of your head, stroking your hair, and around your waist. You lean your head over his shoulder. He carries you to his room.

He throws you onto his bed.

“You’re a fuckin’ slut,” he smirks, leaning down to kiss you, positioned between your legs.

“Not usually,” you deny mindlessly.

He grabs your breasts through your shirt, letting out a low growl. “So you’re just my slut, then?”

You look up at him. “I didn’t say that.”

He then pulls your one leg farther towards him so you’re forced on your side, then he smacks your ass hard through your leggings. You gasp, then blush.

He raises his hand again, smirks and brings it down harder than the first time. You whimper. He rears his hand up one more time, then stutters, searching for your anticipation. He sees your expression carved into your profile. Were you… smiling?

He was rock solid now.

“Shit, you like that?” he laughs. “Anybody ever do that to you before?” he pushes you again onto your back.

“Uh-uh,” you respond.

“Yeah… you are my little slut,” he affirms. Then, he kisses you deeply, holding you by the back of the neck, his other hand wandering down your body, squeezing periodically.

You lean up suddenly, so he offers no resistance. You put your hands up his shirt, pulling it up. He leans down to allow you to pull it over his head. You through it onto the floor.

Everything accelerates viciously after this one move.

He pulls off your shirt, throwing it to the floor. You begin to unbuckle his belt, and he attempts to pull off your pants. It’s chaotic; your hands are clashing, you’re getting in each others’ way.

It becomes, to Kai, at least, a race to see who can get the other bare faster.

Obviously, Kai wins. He pushes your hands to the side many times, pulling your leggings over your legs, unclasping your bra with his one hand (concerning, but you ignore it), throwing it to the floor. Then, he leans down to your hip bones and he pulls your underwear off with his teeth.

You haven’t even finished unbuckling his pants.

He throws your body so your head is against his pillows. He crawls up to you, leaning over you, necklace hanging in your face.

He’s a fucking animal.

Just like you imagined.

He kisses you harshly, nearly biting you. Then, he kneels, legs tucked under themselves, widely spread. He pulls your body up, wrapping you around his waist again. He is holding onto your entire body like his life depends on it, kissing down your neck, sucking on your collar bone. You are scratching at his back, head tilted to the bed, eyes closed.

He throws you back down again, then puts his head between your thighs.

“So easy to toss around,” he talks against you.

He begins working on you with his tongue. You wrap your fingertips in his hair, tugging at it, pressing his face farther into you.

He takes only a few moments of this before he comes back so his face is in line with yours. He grabs your wrists and presses them together above your head. He squeezes them hard for emphasis.

“Don’t move them,” he whispers. You know he’s serious.

He leans back down, continuing to you work you with his tongue. He wraps his arms around the highest place of your thigh, pulling you down into his face.

Your back arches and he chuckles against you. The vibration shakes to your core.

It hits you all at once and you unravel beneath his mouth. It’s so intense you convince yourself you’ve died for a moment.

He leans himself back up to hover over you, wiping his mouth with his hand.

You stare up at him in admiration. He does not miss this. You keep your hands above your head.

He pulls his belt off, laying it next to both of you. Then, he pulls his pants down, along with his boxers, all in one smooth movement.

Fuck. He wasn’t kidding.

What were you even supposed to do with it? Surely all of him wouldn’t even fit inside you.

He smirked as he saw your train of thought reflected on your face.

In one swift motion, he flipped you over so you were on top of him, hovering over his thighs.

He leaned up, grabbing your wrists, putting them together behind your back.

He held them together with his one hand, grabbing his belt with the other. Then, with a few moments and his two hands behind your back, looking into your eyes, he tied your wrists together. You struggled against the leather, but the crafty contraption was totally foolproof.

Then, he grabbed your hips, leaning back to rest his back on the two pillows stacked against his headboard.

“You okay?” he asked with a genuine smile, putting his hand on your arm.

“Very,” you nod.

“Good,” he said, and that was all he needed. He put his hand back on your hip, lifting your body up so you were hovering over his length. “Breathe,” he commanded.

You took a deep breath and he sunk himself into slowly, pulling you down onto him. You dropped your head back, letting a moan escape.

He groaned, also leaning his head back, “Holy shit,” he dragged out the words. “Holy shit. Fuck.”

His grip loosened on your hips as he was fully submerged in you. “Woah,” he whispered. You smiled at the commentary.

He kept his hand on you, pushing you back and forth. You worked on him, rolling your hips and pushing yourself up and down on top of him.

You moaned out as he thrusted himself up into you slightly. It had to be at least eight, you thought.

You both move against each other with an intense rhythm, your hands behind your back, his traveling all across your upper half.

He watches you intently, his mind worshipping the sight of all of you on top of him like this, eyes gliding down your hips, over your stomach, your face as you bit your lip and closed your eyes in ecstasy. He groans deeply, almost growling, digging his fingertips into your hips.

He pushes himself forward so he’s sitting, his one hand behind his back, propping himself up.

You rest your forehead on his shoulder and he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you back and forth against himself, the entire warmth whole bodies in full contact.

“Fuck, Kai!” you moan.

“Yeah, baby?” he smirks, his forehead coated in sweat.

You feel that you’re going to finish again, and he feels that he will, too. You pull away, looking into his eyes. He looks back into yours.

Then, you rest your forehead on his. The knot in your stomach is wound so tight you can barely breathe.

His chest is heaving, which is saying a lot, considering his fitness.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan against his mouth. He nods.

You both release at the same time, him grasping onto your body, you moaning into his ear, him groaning against your neck.

When he finishes inside of you, you both pull away. He laughs, and you do, too. He undoes the belt behind your back.

You pull away from him, laying beside him.

He lays on his back for a moment, then turns on his side, propping his head on his hand, tracing his fingertips down the center of your stomach.

“My slut,” he whispers. You turn to him, pushing his shoulder playfully.

Then, he kisses you, smiling into your mouth.

When he pulls away, he looks at you, then smirks. You watch him, smiling, slightly confused. He pushes himself up from the bed, then leans down to look underneath it.

“Oh, shoot,” he says.

You cock your head to the side, “What?”

“Toolbox was here all along,” he smirks, putting his hands on his hips.

if you liked this pls tell me i love validation. also i will take requests asf

#kai anderson x reader #kai anderson ahs #kai anderson #american horror story #ahs x reader #evan peters x reader #evan peters #evan peters ahs #ahs fanfiction #ahs #tate langdon #kit walker #peter maximoff #i love him #badly

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ghost-proofbaby · 3 months

Text

when you know, you know. (e.m.)

summary: air hockey has never been so romantic.

warnings: it's alluded to that reader is wearing red lipstick. not edited.

pairing: eddie munson x reader

wc: 1.8k+

a/n: a very late valentine's day gift for you all (and eddie). also, the fact i've never written proper mechanic eddie... what a shame.

“Yes!”

If any of the nearby children flinched, you didn’t notice. You were too wrapped up in your victory, going as far as to partake in a terribly embarrassing dance on your end of the air hockey table as Eddie shakes his head slowly.

“You definitely cheated,” he deadpans, a twitch of a smile nearly giving him away as he leans down to pick the puck out of the slot below on his end, “There’s no way you’re about to beat me in under five minutes, again.”

You smile, lips painted red under the lowlights of the arcade as you lean over the table and taunt him, “Or maybe it’s just a skill issue. I wouldn’t keep beating you if you were actually a professional in air hockey like you’d claimed, Munson.”

Three dates – tonight makes four – and you still hadn’t quite worked out how you’d managed to capture the attention of the boy before you. When he’d originally asked you out to coffee, you’d swallowed down all your excessive excitement just to answer him. The local mechanic that you’d been making heart eyes at every few months when you’d go in for an oil check, the one who hadn’t allowed the others at the shop to oversell you on a damn thing when you’d get your tires rotated. Who always smiled shyly as he’d bring you back your keys.

You’d figured the coffee date would last an hour if you were lucky. The two of you would spend more than five minutes in the same room together, he’d realize how overbearing you were, and that would be the end of it. Ridiculous crush effectively squashed.

But it hadn’t.

It had lasted hours, plural. Coffees finished and second lattes nursed until they’d gone cold, the outcome had been the exact opposite of your expectations. Your conversation had flowed effortlessly, common ground and common interests found with ease, and suddenly, Eddie was more than just some cute mechanic for your friends to tease you over.

The first date had only ended due to his shift at the shop that afternoon.

The subsequent sushi dinner date, and then the movie night the next week, had also lasted hours.

“For someone who works on cars, you should be a lot better with your hands,” you poke gentle fun at him as he makes the first hit against the puck this time, far more careful than you had been when serving.

“Or maybe I’m just determined to keep letting my pretty date win.”

“And why would you ever do that?”

Another hit from your mallet, the sharp tapping of your aggressive push ringing out over the sound of nearby machines. You don’t dare to glance in the direction of the ruckus, but you’re pretty sure someone has just won an exciting amount of tickets based on the squeals of glee.

“I dunno,” Eddie pauses to shrug after he hits the puck once more, his guard dropping. You’re ruthless as you take the opportunity to shoot the puck straight into ‘goal’ on his side of the table. A straight shot, far too easy for your liking, but you still celebrate the victory with another embarrassing dance, “Maybe it’s because I’m into that ridiculous dance they keep doing whenever they score.”

You immediately stop your little jumps, eyes widening, a rush of embarrassment heating you up from the inside out as Eddie’s eyes stay glued on you. The table powers down as he makes his way around it, feet bringing him right to you.

You’d always thought Eddie would find you weird, or odd, or unappealing after that coffee date, but the outcome had been better than you could have possibly conceived.

He was an absolute weirdo as well.

Fondness overtakes his features just like it had on that coffee date when you’d accidentally snorted at one of his jokes, and your heart flutters eagerly. You can’t believe there had been a time you’d only watch him from behind glass, trying to not get caught as you would blatantly stare at him as he’d work on your car. A time when you’d only see his curls up in loose buns rather than framing his face as they were now, a time when you couldn’t even shake his hand due to it being covered in oil.

That had all only been a month ago, but you already couldn’t imagine your life without Eddie Munson in it.

“Don’t go shy on me now,” he chuckles as he stops in front of you, smirk deepening the dimples you’d only noticed on your second date with him. He’d been too bashful the first date, ducking whenever his grin would grow too wide on you, biting his tongue on half the flirtatious remarks you wished he would have said. “You won, fair and square, so what’s your prize gonna be, valentine?”

He also waited until the second date to kiss you. That had nearly killed you.

“It’s not very fair if you let me win,” you whisper, unable to look away from his eyes. They’re a soft brown, a smooth honey, a nice sight for sore eyes. You kind of like the crinkles beside them, too. Kind of wonder what it would be like to wake up beside him, roll over, and kiss them – all before the sun ever rose.

He reaches out and gingerly grabs your hand, calloused fingertips brushing your knuckles before he entangles your fingers with his. “Psh, who said I let you win? Maybe I just really suck at air hockey.”

“You just-”

You never get to finish your argument. He’s quick to swoop down, capturing your lips in his. The rudest of interruptions, and it still manages to weaken your knees.

Each kiss only grows sweeter. And more confident, more sure. The first one had been timid, exchanged on your doorstep with boyish hesitation and meek desperation. But now, several kisses experienced since that night, all apprehension has melted. He lets his lips meld to yours, captures your bottom lip just tightly enough to give it a brief tug when he pulls away. Still soft, ever so sweet, and leaving you wanting for more.

Four dates. All it took was four dates for him to make you a goner.

“Now, that wasn’t fair,” you breathe out, betrayed by the smile that you wear. Your chest feels shaken up, impending explosion of mushiness and flowers and hearts and every single cliche the love songs on the radio could squeeze out.

“It was your prize.”

“I never said I wanted a kiss for my prize.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he puts a dramatic hand up to his chest, leaning back so dramatically that your hand instinctively reaches out to loop a finger in his jean pocket to keep him upright, “Would you like me to take it back, my fair maiden?”

Four dates, and he makes it impossible to not imagine a future of this. Of silly banter, of gentle mornings spent kissing away crows feet, of cutting one another off with the most infuriating of methods. You’re starting to believe you’re just a hopeless romantic, and he’d spotted that from a mile away – he knew every single button to press to have you putty in his hands, and he was taking full advantage of it.

You giggle, an honest to God giggle, as you say, “Hm, I’m not sure. I heard the return policies on those are a bit wonky.”

If your friends thought you were insufferable when he was some stranger you just had a crush on, they would be vomiting at the sight of this.

He leans into your space, close enough to smell his faint cologne and mint on his breath, “Are they? Well, lucky for you, I’m friends with the shop owner. Can definitely accept the return without a receipt. It won’t be a problem, ma’am. I swear it.”

He’s weird. He’s goofier than you could have imagined, snarkier than you could have dreamed, and more romantic than you had yet to uncover. He’s kind of perfect, but you wouldn’t dare say that to his face. Not yet, at least.

You’re glad you had said yes when he’d asked days prior for you to be his Valentine. And you’re glad he hadn’t gone the boring route, showing up with just chocolates and flowers and calling it a day, but had instead dragged you out to this arcade for a night of adventures as he claimed.

“And how would one go about returning a kiss, kind sir?”

He answers wordlessly, bringing up a finger to tap on his lips. He goes as far as pouting them dramatically.

He wants you to kiss him.

Lucky for him, you want to kiss him, too.

Your kiss is more chaste. Teasing as you lift up onto your tippy toes and only press your lips to his for a brief second before falling back. You leave him wanting more – it’s written all over his face, along with a blush that races right over the bridge of his nose.

He’s cute. He’s cute, and he’s weird, and you really fucking like him.

“Now that that’s over with,” you have to change the topic, move right along before your heart truly bursts from your chest, “I know what I want my prize to be.”

He takes a moment to recover, pupils almost resembling hearts as he stares down at you. Eventually he pulls himself from your trance, shaking his head as he asks, “And what would that be?”

You’re the one taking his hand this time. If he gave you the time, you’d like to learn each callous and scar by heart. Trace over them in the middle of night, when it’s just you and him in the darkness beneath your sheets. Memorize the way they feel as he explores every curvature of your body and figure out which of the roughest patches would brush against your most sensitive bits in a way that would make you arch your back right into him.

The two of you haven’t even discussed if that’s where the night might lead, but you’re sort of hoping the luck in the air doesn’t run out.

“There’s an awfully pretty ring in the case up at the ticket counter,” you muse, knowing damn well the ring was the ugliest thing either of you had ever seen in your lives, “Think you’ve got the tickets to spare?”

His hand gives you a squeeze. Something not too tight, something perfectly comfortable. It’s only the fourth date, it’s only the first month – it’s only the beginning.

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” he says, more earnestly than you’d expected, as he steals another kiss.

You let him. You have this aching feeling in your chest that you’ll probably let him steal an endless amount from you for the rest of your life.

When you know, you know. Or whatever the poets say.

join my taglist!

#my writing #ghost's stories #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #i want eddie to win me an ugly arcade ring thanks #also reader falling in love within a month of properly knowing eddie is so real #me too baby me fuckin too #on one tonight idk #let's gooo <3

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evanpeterswhoresblog · 2 months

Note

i'm soooo glad you're back!!! love your writting so much, was thinking about some ghostface¡ tate or shit yk...like everyone who flirts with reader end murdered

i’m sorry this took me so long to do 😔 but i sorta did my own twist on this request, hope you don’t mind… i love it… anyway… :)

~~~

Lovefool

Tate Langdon x f!reader

warnings: murder, smut, stalking, obsession, very toxic, manipulation, very minor talk of drug use… virgins, yeah idk what else it’s just stalker tate being crazy for you

summary: tate’s loved you since the first moment you met, and he would do anything to be with you… anything…

word count: 4.4

~~~

2011

You stare at the boy in front of you, a mix of emotions stirring inside you. He’s your age still, you aren’t too surprised at that. You’re more surprised at the fact that he’s in front of you. It’s been so long since the last time you saw him. You remember the pain, the pure fear that paralyzed your body the last time the two of you had an encounter. It still makes you uneasy.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, your voice weak.

He shrugs. “It’s Halloween.”

“There’s been plenty of Halloweens Tate and this is the first time I’ve seen you here. What do you want?” You reply in a harsher tone than.

Tate shrugs again and starts to play with the sleeves of his sweater. You can’t believe this is real. You want to close your eyes and pretend this is all a sick dream, though you haven’t slept in years. After a few seconds, you cross your arms over your chest and take a deep breath. This isn’t going to be easy.

“Tate the fact you even have the balls to try to find me is crazy, what happened? Did you suddenly feel some sense of guilt? Are you finally sorry for what you did to me? I don’t even care if you are sorry, I don’t care about anything except the one question I’ve wondered since the night it happened,” you say.

“What question?” He responds.

“Why?” Your eyes start to burn. “Why did you kill me?”

~~~

1993

Tate had never seen any girl as beautiful as you. Never. Not in a movie, not in a magazine, nothing. From the first time he saw you in kindergarten, he knew there was something special about you. Of course, he didn’t know it would grow into what it did until middle school when his hormones took over. His feelings for you quickly transitioned from a pure crush to a sick obsession. And the best and worst part of it all was that you had no idea.

You never really spoke to him. He was out of your league. You were popular, but not braindead popular like the people you surrounded yourself with. Tate had seen you in some of your classes. You were smart, you got the best grades in those classes. You had plans for yourself after high school, unlike your friends. That knowledge only made him admire you more.

The problems began when you started going out with one of the popular boys in your group, David. He was awful for you; Tate didn’t understand why you chose to have such a relationship with someone like that. He’d watch how David would wrap his arms around you in the hallways, leave small kisses on your cheeks, and whisper words in your ears that made your face turn bright red. It made him furious.

What did David have that he didn’t? Why was he so special? Tate knew he could give you more than David ever could. So, why were you with him?

Tate quickly became blinded by rage and jealousy.

At night he’d lie awake, the knowledge that you might’ve been out there opening your legs for another boy making him sick. That’s when the fantasies began. He imagined killing David. How would he do it? Where? In what way would leave the least amount of blood on his clothes? The image of his mutilated body consumed Tate’s thoughts. He liked it.

It was around that time that he had found the mask.

It was a strange mask he found in the basement. It had a long white face with black holes for the eyes and a long mouth. He wondered which resident of his house had left it there for him. He didn’t know, and frankly, he didn’t care. All he knew from the second his eyes fell upon that mask was that bad things were going to happen.

He started going out at night and driving by David’s house. The mask he wore gave him a sense of power he never knew he could feel. At first, it was innocent. He’d simply drive down the other boy's road and look through his window for a few minutes before leaving. But all it took was one second of seeing you inside to blow the whole thing up. He was livid, seeing red. He decided he needed to bring his fantasies to life and get rid of David for good.

Halloween was when the opportunity to kill David became undeniable. By that point, Tate had been stalking the two of you for a month so he knew the basics. Which room was Davids, how to get into his house, and where his parents were most likely going to be. He had it all planned out. So, on Halloween night he put on the mask along with black robes that covered his entire body and ventured to the other boy's house, ready to kill.

He brought a knife, and when the time was just right, he snuck in through one of David’s open windows and started his game. He crept through the empty house, not making a sound. Getting to David’s room only took him a few minutes and what he heard from outside the door made him not regret his choice at all.

“Yeah, I know, listen she’s so close to finally giving it up to me and that’s what I’ve been working for this whole time. Once it happens, I’ll dump her, easy,” David spoke into his phone. His voice was cocky. It made Tate clench his jaw in frustration.

“Because dude, do you know how many girls from school I’ve already got under my belt? Y/N is just gonna be a name on my list. Yeah, whatever, I gotta go anyway I need to shower for the party, maybe I’ll get lucky, and she’ll drink too much. Okay bye.”

Before David could even get up from his chair, Tate kicked the door down and stormed in, too overpowered by his rage to think about anything but slitting the other boy's throat. He pounced on him, stabbing the knife into any part of his body he could reach. David screamed, but Tate quickly silenced him by shoving the knife down his throat. He felt empowered, he felt thrilled at the sight of his dead peer. It was amazing.

Tate didn’t waste much time gawking over his achievement, however. Once he was sure David was dead, he quickly pulled the knife out of the boy and fled out the window and back to his car. As he drove through the small neighborhoods of your guys' town, he wondered how big the news would be. Would you cry? He hoped you wouldn’t. Not over that asshole. You would move on, and Tate would wait however long it took.

~~~

The news of David’s death spread faster than wildfire and consumed Westfield High’s drama for weeks. Out of all the kids in the school, you took his death hardest. Seeing you so depressed almost made Tate regret his actions. He couldn’t bear seeing you tear up in class or show up to school two periods late. You weren’t like that.

However, as the days turned into weeks, you started to appear healthier and happier, and soon enough you were back to your normal self. Tate was glad, you were always so much prettier when you paid attention in class. He decided it was time for the second part of his plan to finally act. Though he was incredibly nervous, he knew it was then or never. He couldn’t risk you getting a new boyfriend that he’d have to kill again.

So, one day, he followed you into the library when the two of you coincidently had a study hall during the same period. His heart was beating so loud he could hear it in his ears. There you were. sitting at one of the tables alone studying, and he was going to speak to you. He’d thought up conversation starters all morning along with taking a few extra hits off his bong to help with the anxiety.

He shook the nervous thoughts from his head and grabbed his notebook from his backpack before walking in your direction. Your head was down, your hand moved aggressively across the paper as you wrote your notes. Tate stood at the other side of the table for a few seconds simply admiring you. His hands were shaky, his breathing uneasy. God, you made him lose his composure by existing. It was excruciating.

After he was done staring, he spoke, his voice quiet. “Hey y/n, do you mind maybe helping me with some of that psych homework?”

Your head shot up, your eyes instantly meeting his. He swore he couldn’t breathe. You, y/n, were looking at him on purpose. At that moment he didn’t care about what you were going to say, he didn’t care if you completely rejected him. All he cared about was how good it felt to have your eyes on him. Such innocent, loving eyes.

“Oh, yeah of course Tate that’s actually what I’m working on right now. Just sit, we can do it together. Unless you’re like super behind,” you answered.

“Are- Are you sure?” He couldn’t help the uncertainty. Did you really say yes to him?

“Yeah... should I not be?” You replied with a smile.

“No- sorry.” He sat down across from you. He could smell your perfume; he’d never been this close to you. “I just wasn’t sure if you even knew who I was.”

You chuckled. “How could I not know who you are? We’ve literally been in the same school system together since kindergarten.”

“I don’t know. You’re you know popular and stuff,” he said as he opened his notebook.

“Not really, besides even if I was that wouldn’t automatically make me forget anyone. But anyway, you can use my notes in a second, I’m almost done with the page,” you responded. You looked back down at your work and started writing again.

Tate nodded despite you not paying attention and watched as you wrote. He felt like that whole conversation was another one of his daydreams about you. Was he really sitting across from you? Or was it another mid-class nap? He cracked his knuckles to make sure he wasn’t dreaming and thankfully, he wasn’t. It was all real life.

“Sorry if this comes out as creepy, but I feel like I haven’t seen you around in a while. I mean, when was the last time we even spoke?” You suddenly spoke, your eyes back on his.

“I guess you weren’t looking hard enough to see me,” he said with a shrug. All his confidence was a facade because on the inside he was losing his mind.

He noticed the way your cheeks slightly turned pink before you replied. “Yeah, I guess I wasn’t. But I should have been.”

He knew deep down you were going to be his for so long, but at that point, he knew he had already achieved his goal. You were his.

~~~

“What is this place?” You asked as you clutched your cardigan around your body.

Tate smiled and grabbed both of your hands in his. “I told you it’s a surprise. Patience is a virtue.”

“I have patience, but I also have a lower body temperature than usual and it’s bothering me so I would really appreciate it if you’d just take me to the surprise already,” you said, a small smile forming on your lips.

“It’s seventy degrees.”

“Yeah, but it’s also windy at the beach and it’s probably colder than seventy because of the ocean’s temperature.”

Tate sighed and leaned his head down to press a small kiss on your lips, a feeling he still hadn’t gotten over. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Terrible, naughty things I hope,” you replied, kissing him again. “But please lead me to your special surprise beach spot.”

Though he wanted to stand there and kiss you all night, Tate obeyed your request and began to lead you further down the beach. It had been a few months since the two of you started talking, and to say it progressed would be an understatement. Tate had truly underestimated how easy it would be to capture your attention. All you wanted was a sweet, caring, genuine boy and he could be all those things easily.

So, after a month of being friends, he asked you out and you said yes. The relationship grew deeper with each day, and it didn’t disappoint him one bit. He loved everything about you. The way you’d lie on your bed with him and talk for hours, the way you’d make your relationship with him public by holding his hand in the halls, and most importantly the way you never expected or wanted him to change to fit in with your friends. You liked him for who he was, and it melted his heart.

It was your three-month anniversary, and Tate wanted to make it special. Even though he knew before the two of you got together that you were a virgin, he didn’t know to what extent you were. He quickly became aware you had done most things already, just not full sex. At first, he was annoyed at the fact that you weren’t completely his because he had never done anything with a girl before you. But after the first night, you went down on him, he wasn’t that upset anymore.

On this night he planned to take the next step with you. He had it all set up. The blankets, the lights, all of it. As the sight of his setup came into view, he watched your face light up. You squeezed his hand and grinned up at him.

“Is this really for me?” You asked.

“Yeah, do you like it?” He replied.

You nodded and sped up to reach it, dragging him with you. Once you made it you dropped down to sit on the blanket, urging Tate to do the same. “This is so cool. You’re the first boy to ever do something like this for me. I love it.”

“I’m glad, I know how you like sentimental things,” he said as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders. “And I’ve been wanting to show you this spot for a while. I used to come here a lot as a kid and watch the waves with my dad... before he left. I wanted to make it special with you because you’re not like my dad. Right?”

“No, I’m not. I won’t ever do anything to hurt you like that. I lo- I like you Tate, a lot.”

Tate only stared into your eyes, his heart beating faster than it ever had in his life. You almost said you loved him. He knew then that night was going to be the night you finally gave yourself to him. Something in your eyes made him certain. Your eyes were dark. You stared up at him as if he were the only boy in the world. There was a feeling in the air, one of lust and fear.

“I’ll never want to hurt you either,” he mumbled after a few seconds. “I doubt I ever could.”

You gave him a small smile and placed one of your hands on his cheek. You caressed the skin with your thumb as you slowly started to lean your face toward his. He accepted your lips on him, kissing back instantly. It was the moment he’d been working up to for years. He was finally going to lose his virginity to you, and you to him. Nothing would ever compare.

~~~

The sound of Nirvana mixed with skin slapping filled Tate’s room. He couldn’t help the moan that left his lips when he looked down at you. Your back was arched so perfectly, your waist looked impossibly small, and your ass looked incredibly big. The side of your face was smushed against one of Tate’s pillows. You were so red, so loud you had to bite your hand to spare the whole house from hearing. Tate took in a deep breath and slapped your ass, his thrusts not faltering for even a second.

“Fuck baby, you look so pretty right now. You take me so well,” he whispered. He wrapped some of your hair around his hand and yanked you up, making you practically scream. “Yeah, you like that. You like being manhandled y/n?”

You let out another moan but didn’t reply. Tate slapped your ass again and threw you back down to the mattress. He leaned over you, your sweaty body feeling perfect against his. He was close to finishing. He’d already made you cum a few times that day, so he wasn’t too concerned about where you were. All he was concerned about was getting closer to you before he came.

“I love controlling you, you’re so helpless. Fuck I’m so close,” he mumbled in your ear. “You’re mine, all fucking mine forever. I’ll kill anyone who even tries to take you away from me.”

You made a noise and Tate couldn’t hold back any longer. He came inside you, his cock pulsing heavily. You groaned; his cock was hitting your cervix too hard it hurt. He waited a minute or so before finally pulling out and moving to the spot next to you on the bed. He’d never felt anything as amazing as having sex with you. He was breathless.

He was so caught up in his thoughts about what just happened that he didn’t notice your sad expression. When he eventually looked at you, he saw your frown. Immediately he turned to his side and faced you, reaching out one of his hands to brush a few of your hairs behind your ear.

“What’s wrong baby?” He asked.

“Nothing,” you replied.

“It doesn’t look like nothing you look sad; you can tell me whatever it is.”

You sighed and turned your head to meet his gaze. “Why do you like hurting me? Like during sex and stuff. You’re always so rough and I don’t know you’re really mean and sometimes the stuff you say is… scary.”

“How is it scary?” He laughed.

“You said you’d kill anyone who would try to take me away from you,” you said.

“Yeah, I would. I swear I’ve said this shit to you before. I would do anything for you, or to keep you,” he responded.

“Don’t joke about that Tate, you know I’m scared of killers because of what happened.”

“Oh, so this is about David? Why are you even thinking about him y/n he’s been dead for months. Do you miss him, or something is that it?” He questioned; his tone harsher than before.

You scoffed and sat up. “You’re seriously making this about me missing David?”

“Well, is that what this is about?”

“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered before you stood up and started to get dressed.

“Oh, my fucking God y/n I’m sorry for whatever I said wrong while we were fucking. Can we just move on already? I don’t see what the big deal is,” he snapped.

“No, we can’t just move on. You scare me sometimes Tate like genuinely. I know you mean it all in a sweet way but it’s weird. I love you but you don’t hear me saying I’d kill people if they talked to you or looked at you a certain way. That’s not normal.”

Tate sat up. “I wish you would say those things. I wish you loved me as much as I love you. I’d do anything you ask; I would shoot up the fucking school if you wanted me to.”

You looked at him, he could see the terror and fear in your eyes. “Are you serious?”

“Of course, I am. I don’t get why you’re acting so scared. I’d never hurt you I don’t even think I could if I wanted to, you mean more to me than any person alive or dead,” he answered.

“You’re sick,” you mumbled. You grabbed your bag and walked to the door. “I think we need some time apart; you aren’t sane.”

His heart practically stopped. “What?”

“We need to stop seeing each other for a little while, I can’t take this insane shit Tate. I’m sorry. You know I love you, but I need you to get some help before I can be with you.”

Before Tate could reply, you left. All he could do was stare at the door, a million thoughts roaming his head. Did you really just break up with him? Was that it? Did you just throw away everything the two of you had because you felt his love was too strong? It didn’t feel real.

As the night progressed, he tried to call you, dozens of times. But each call was either declined or rang out. His anxiety grew with each ring of the phone. Why weren’t you replying? Who were you seeing? Did he really mean so little to you that you could leave so easily? His mind spun with scenarios, each one worse than the last. By the end of the night, he had convinced himself you were cheating on him, and the following days only worsened his state of madness.

You ignored him completely in school. Every time he tried to talk to you, you either turned away or walked away completely. It hurt him terribly. He couldn’t understand what had changed so fast. He chased you around the halls for days, trying his hardest to get your attention. But it never worked. And so, his love for you began to fade into an awful rage.

He couldn’t let you just walk away from everything the two of you shared. You were his. Only his. He couldn’t let you leave him, not like his dad. He hadn’t spent his entire life chasing you just to end up losing you. No. So, he began to formulate a plan. He’d leave you alone for a few days then calmly ask you to meet him at the beach, in the special spot he once made for you.

He wasn’t surprised that his plan worked. You were predictable.

When the night came, he made sure he was prepared. He snorted a line, packed his bag full of your favorite things, and set off. As he walked down the beach, he made sure the knife he hid was secure in his pocket. It was smaller than the one he’d used on David, but it would do the job just as efficiently.

You arrived a few minutes after him, a sad expression on your pretty face. He fought the urge to run to you with open arms.

“Thank you for coming,” he said. Only a few feet separated your bodies, he wished he could close it. But he needed to be patient.

You took a deep breath, you looked nervous. “Yeah, look Tate I... I’ve thought about it and I... I really think we should stop seeing each other for some time.”

“Why Y/N? I love you, so fucking much. I’m sorry for what I said, I can change, I won’t say shit like that ever again. I’ll be gentle, I swear. Just give me the chance I can be whatever you need me to be,” he replied desperately. He opened his bag and pulled out your favorite candy. “I love you; I really do. Please give me another chance.”

He watched your eyes fill with tears. You wanted to give in, he could see it in your eyes. But you only shook your head and wiped a fallen tear from your cheek.

“No. I’m sorry. Tate, you aren’t gentle, that’s not who you are. And I don’t want you to pretend to be someone you aren’t.”

Tate swallowed hard. “You promised me you’d never leave me; you said you were nothing like my dad. Was it all a lie?”

“Of course not!” You exclaimed and took a step closer to him. “I love you; I really do. That’s why this is so hard.”

“If you love me, why can’t we work this out? Don’t lie to me Y/N.”

He couldn’t stop his eyes from watering, nor could he stop his lips from quivering. He dug the bouquet of your favorite flowers out from his bag and held them out to you.

“Please,” he mumbled. “I need you.”

You caved. You wrapped your arms around his waist and held him tight. He could feel your muffled cries on his chest, it pained him. You were a sensitive sweet girl; it was both your blessing and curse.

“Maybe in a few months, we can try again, I don’t know.” You looked up at him with bloodshot eyes. “We just can’t be together right now. And I mean we’re going to graduate soon, and I might go to a college far away, how would that even work? But I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s too late for that Y/N, you’ve already hurt me.” He dropped what he was holding and dug one of his hands into his pocket. He touched your face with his other hand, your tears covering his palm. “You’ve planned on leaving me this whole time. I wanted to give it another try you’ve made up your mind. I guess it just comes down to one thing.”

“What?” You asked.

“If I can’t have you, no one can,” he whispered before he pulled out the knife and plunged it into the side of your neck.

~~~

2011

“I killed you because I loved you,” he answers. “Because you were going to leave me and find someone else.”

All you can do is stare at him in silence. You think back to everything that happened. How could you have been so blind? It couldn’t have been your fault though. He would’ve killed you anyway. You think back to all the times Tate made you uneasy, all the times he would say things that creeped you out. Deep down you must’ve known that’s who he is. Maybe you knew all along.

Maybe you loved him because of his darkness.

You exhale a long breath. “We don’t have that long till midnight.”

“So?”

You shrug. “Wanna hook up?”

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