#No nightingales? Well guess what now you ARE nightingales | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sweetsweetjellybean · 13 days

Text

After the kiss you can't forget about, your past and present with Eddie collide under the glow of the city lights and the glittering stars at the City Beats launch party.

Masterlist Listen to Clumsy Here

What to expect: Second Chance Romance set in 2012 Chicago. Eddie and Steve are in their 30s. Fem!Reader is given a pet name from each of the guys. No other name mentioned. No use of Y/N. No physical description. Reader does have a bit of personality, as I find it nearly impossible to keep her blank for such a long fic. You may find yourself at times making choices that you wouldn't normally make, but I hope you can put that aside and enjoy the ride. Sensitive Content. 18+ Mentions of DV. Smut Guaranteed happy ending. This is my love letter to Eddie Munson.

WC: 11646 beta'd by @superblysubpar

“Stop being such a baby and just let me look.”

The light in Eddie’s bathroom buzzes with a slight flicker, casting a pallid tint over the worn linoleum and water-stained sink.

“I don’t recall anyone asking for your services here, Florence Nightingale,” Eddie grumbles, perched on the edge of the vanity with a blood-soaked washcloth pressed against his forehead. The knuckles on his right hand are swollen and split, and the scrape along his jaw is already turning colors.

You pour a little iodine on a cotton ball you grabbed from the first-aid kit— the one your dad made you keep in your car for emergencies, though this probably isn’t what he had in mind. “Who else is going to patch you up?” you question, shifting until you’re standing in the space between his spread legs.

With a sigh, he lowers the washcloth and tosses it into the sink. Blood wells up in the gash above his brow, the skin around it swollen and purple. As gently as possible, you dab around the cut with cotton.

“Oww.” He winces and leans away. “That shit stings.”

"Sorry." You push up on your tippy toes, drawing closer, one hand resting on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath. The scent of his apple shampoo tickles your nose as his hand moves to your hip, anchoring you. You purse your lips and blow gently over his wound to soothe the sting. His chest expands with a sharp intake of breath.

"Better?" you whisper, a flood of butterflies taking flight within you. His fingers press tighter into your skin, your shirt inching upward, eliminating the barrier between his touch and your warmth.

"Yeah." His throat bobs, his gaze roaming your face.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

His grip on you loosens as his eyes fall away.

You pick up one of the butterfly strips, pulling back the adhesive tabs. “You said you weren’t going to do anything. I asked you not to.”

The faucet drips into the cracked tub as you press the strip into place. “It was my choice to end things, Eddie. It didn’t feel…it wasn’t going to go anywhere.”

He grabs your fingers, holding them away. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have been running around with him in the first place.”

The anger in his tone has you stepping back until you can feel the towel bar pressing into your shoulders. He stands and faces away from you, shaking his head.

“So what? I’m a slut now?” Your voice is small in the cramped space, bouncing off half-filled bottles of shampoo and shaving cream. Maybe you shouldn’t have told him about losing your virginity to Parker Hayes in the backseat of his mom’s Chevy last weekend. But that’s something you tell your best friend, right? Eddie has certainly never shied away from sharing his sexual exploits with you. Maybe, deep down, you had been hoping for some kind of reaction, but not this.

“No.” His shoulders slump as he turns to face you, the hardness in his stance softening. “I don't think that way,” he explains, his voice growing gentler, “and I'd never think that about you. I want you to date. I want you to have everything. I just want to…” The rest of the sentence dies in his throat as a familiar shadow falls over his eyes, dimming their warmth. “I guess this is what happens when you're friends with a chick,” he chuckles.

“Might have been easier if Gareth had moved down the street instead of me.” You switch gears to match his tone, a familiar move after all this time.

“Yeah, you’re a pain in the ass,” he says, attempting a smile that doesn’t quite make it to his eyes. “Speaking of Gareth, I got a thing.” His gaze drops to his wrist, but he’s never worn a watch. “Lock up when you leave, alright?”

You're still standing in his bathroom when the front door clicks closed.

Your hands smooth down the skirt of your long-sleeved mini-dress. Its modest front sits elegantly at your collarbone, but the back—you twist your head to check the mirror behind you—the back dramatically plunges to just above the curve of your ass.

“Wow.” Steve stands stopped in his tracks at the entrance of your walk-in closet, his eyes drinking you in. “You look like a sunset.” He moves behind you, pressing a kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder as his hand slides over the rose gold sequins covering your dress.

“You’re not too shabby yourself, handsome.” You turn to get the full effect of his designer camel-striped suit with a bright mustard tie. “I always like you in yellow,” you tell him, running a finger down the cool silk.

His smile widens as he grips your hips, spinning you back towards the mirror, wrapping his arms around your middle. “We should do this more often,” he says, holding your gaze in the reflection.

“What?” you ask, crossing your arms over his. “Launch streaming radio services?”

“No, smart ass.” His lips find your temple. “Get dressed up like this and go out. With everyone coming, do you know what it reminds me of?”

“Dare I ask?” You flutter your lashes.

His grip on you tightens in a deliberate firmness that has you tensing. He steals another kiss, pausing for a moment before saying, “Prom.”

“Uck,” you moan, stepping out of his arms and moving to the island to pick up a pair of earrings. “Your parents went to prom? How sad.”

“Come on. Not them.” He shoves his hands in his pants pockets, his gaze tracking your movements. “Everyone else, though. Didn’t you have fun at prom?”

“I don’t remember,” you shrug, attaching the diamond to your lobe.

“Of course not. How stupid of me,” his tone drips sarcasm as he shakes his head, “How could I have forgotten about your Hawkins amnesia.”

The shrill melody of his ringtone sounds from the bedroom, pulling him away before words can escalate. Lately, high school memories seem to invade every conversation, leaving a residue of guilt that clings tighter with each mention. Alone, you face the mirror, taking a steadying breath. He’s under a lot of pressure. This is his night. You plaster a smile on your face, forcing a semblance of calm. You owe him.

With a final glance, you slip on a nude pair of heels and move to the bedroom to let him know you're ready. Steve’s phone is discarded on the bed beside him, where he sits with slumped shoulders and his hands raking through the hair he had just spent time styling.

“Baby?” You keep your voice soft as you sit down next to him, your hand moving to rub circles on his back. “What’s going on?”

He glances up, only now becoming aware of your presence. "It's my parents," he murmurs, his lashes fluttering with rapid blinks as he pinches the bridge of his nose. "They've decided not to come."

“What? But they’re at the hotel.” Your mind races over the possibilities, “Are they okay? Did something happen?”

“Yeah, my dad ran into a client. That’s what happened.” Steve's voice hardens, taking on a bitter edge as he echoes his father's words, “Business is business, Steve. You understand, don’t you, son?”

“I’m sorry, Steve,” you say in a near whisper, covering his hand with yours.

“It’s my fault. I didn’t really want them here, you know? But when I dropped by the hotel this afternoon with the tickets, my dad actually seemed proud of me for once. Fuck. I feel so dumb for getting excited.” He pulls his hand from yours to tug at the messy strands falling over his brow before his eyes find yours again. “Did I ever tell you about my baseball coach in middle school?”

“No,” you shake your head, shifting on the bed to move even closer beside him, offering what comfort you can.

“Coach Patterson.” His eyes fall to his lap. “He tried talking to him once when he dropped me off for a game. He told him that it would mean a lot if he’d stayed and watched me play. But Dad…” Steve's voice falters, “He just looks at me and says, ‘I've got better things to do than watch you lose.’”

“Steve-”

His eyes bore into yours, filling your chest with an ache. “The thing is, we did win, but he still never stayed. He didn’t believe in me. I guess he still doesn’t.”

His phone screen brightens with an incoming call, and he picks it up, silencing it with a push of a button. “I've poured everything I have into this, trying to be perfect, what they—what everyone—expects me to be.” The frustration builds in his voice,“But no matter how hard I try, it'll never be enough. Not for them. And maybe... not for you either.”

You cradle his larger hand between yours, wishing he could see himself through your eyes. “You’ve always been enough.”

“I want to give you everything–”

“Steve, stop. You can’t live for other people. Pursue this because it brings you fulfillment, not for anyone else. Think about everything your dad has given your mom. Do you think it’s made them happy?”

He pulls his hand from yours, a fleeting shadow crossing his features as his gaze drifts to some distant point in the room. “I’d never treat you the way he treats her.”

“That’s right.” Gently, you cup his face, your thumbs brushing lightly against his jaw, coaxing his gaze back to you. “You’re better than him. And if he can’t see that or celebrate your wins, that’s his shortcoming. Tonight is going to go off without a hitch, and Richard is going to thank his lucky stars for having the good sense to have assigned you City Beats.”

Leaning in, you press a soft, deliberate kiss to his lips. “You deserve your success.” His hand rises to cover yours, and your face softens into a smile. “Now, can we go? I need you to dance with me during the slow songs. I’ll even let you pretend we’re at prom.”

The corners of his mouth rise, his chuckle warming the space between you as he leans in, your foreheads touching gently. “What would I do without you, Ace?” The words are gentle as his lips seek out yours. A car horn blares from the street below, breaking the moment. “I think our driver is getting antsy.”

“Well then, handsome,” you say, a gentle determination in your voice as you smooth out an imaginary crease on his jacket. “Let’s go to a party.”

Dozens of spotlights pierce the night, illuminating the iconic Adler Planetarium. Limos and sleek cars roll up, dropping off the who’s who of the city—celebrities, influential politicians, and tech moguls—onto the red carpet-lined stairs. Banners emblazoned with the City Beats logo wave from the art deco building's great dome, set against the dark waters of the lake and the distant city lights.

“Wow,” you breathe as Steve takes your hand and helps you out of the car. The magnitude of the moment takes over. Now it’s your turn to be impressed. “Baby, you did all this!”

Steve’s signature smirk takes over his face, his cheeks tinting with a flush from your compliment. A camera flash pops in your face as you step out onto the red carpet. With a deep breath, you tighten your hold on his hand. The PR team's efforts have paid off. Photogs from all over the city and national publications line the step and repeat. The air is a blend of lake chill and expensive perfumes as you await your turn to be photographed. Steve’s reassuring hand, firm along your ribs, holds you steady as the flashes blind you. His gaze drops to yours, brimming with unmistakable pride, lending you his confidence. A quick squeeze of his hand coaxes a genuine smile as you face the cameras together.

“Not used to being on this side,” you murmur, keeping your teeth on display under the relentless flashes.

He chuckles, drawing you forward. “You're a natural,” he whispers, guiding you to the entrance with a hand at your back.

As you step into the grand foyer, your name being called pierces the hum of conversations. Rihanna waves from across the room, her manicured hand catching the light. She mouths ‘Call me’ before being swept away by her very tall date.

"Was that–" Steve asks, eyes widening.

"I interviewed her last year," you explain, returning her smile with your own as she navigates the crowd.

"Must have made an impression. That was the new point guard for the Chicago Bulls." His eyebrows raise as he watches them disappear into the throng of guests. Leaning in, his breath tickles your ear, “I don’t think we’re in Hawkins anymore, Dorothy.”

Light laughter bubbles from your throat. “Thanks, Toto,” you quip, threading your arm into the crook of his elbow, letting him lead you along.

Abstract designs mimicking sound waves, musical notes set into star patterns, and cosmic shapes elegantly adorn the solarium. The floor-to-ceiling windows extend the celestial theme, allowing for sweeping views of the night sky.

“From Skyline to Bassline: This is City Beats Streaming Radio.”

The DJ's smooth voice transitions the songs playing through the speakers as they live-stream from a platform beside a wall of digital screens alive with a social media feed and a map showing millions of listeners around the world tuning in.

Steve lets go of your hand as he’s swarmed with department heads buzzing with reports and updates. You stand alone, crossing one hand over another as muted conversation hums under the beat of the music. The waitstaff weaves through the crowd, offering trays of fluted glasses brimming with bubbling champagne, and you gratefully accept a glass. Guests interact with kiosks exploring the different channels offered by City Beats, including specific music genres, news, and talk shows, while others move onto the themed lounges or drift out to the terrace for the small bites and views of the city.

“Harrington.” Richard's booming voice sends Steve’s staff scattering into the crowd. “Everything is looking just splendid, son.” He greets Steve with a firm handshake before his voice drops,“Now, how are those numbers?”

You look away, rolling your eyes out of view as you drain the rest of your glass. He can’t give Steve five minutes of peace.

“According to sales, we are easily beating the first round of projections and are slated to hit our monthly target in the next hour.” Steve’s voice is filled with cool confidence, but his palm is damp when his fingers slip between yours.

“That’s good to hear,” Richard says, the tightness in his expression easing as the redness circling his face begins to fade. He leans closer to Steve, his tone firm, “I don't think I need to remind you that Second City has a lot riding on this, which means you've got a lot riding on this.”

Steve's lips press together in a firm line as he stands a little taller and smooths a hand over his tie. Your teeth clamp down on the inside of your lip, forcing your silence.

A waiter glides to your side, stopping to collect your empty glass. You place your flute on his tray a touch too forcefully. The clink with the other glasses is louder than intended, breaking the moment. Richard straightens, his attention drawn to you for the first time. He steps back, the wheels turning behind his eyes as he tries to place you.

His manufactured grin returns as he claps Steve on the shoulder. “Keep up the excellent work, my boy. This is impressive.” He waves a hand, gesturing around the party, “I don’t know what any of it is, but it’s impressive,” he laughs, expecting you to join him. When you only muster a weak smile, his laughter fades, replaced by a brief, awkward silence.

“I’m glad you brought the little lady with you tonight, Steve. She just gets prettier and prettier,” Richard continues, not missing a beat. “My wife’s around here somewhere, probably telling someone how to do their job,” he chuckles, then signals a waitress for more drinks. “Make sure you say hello. She loves gossiping with the other wives.” Handing you both a fresh glass, he adds, “Now, see to it our boy here doesn't work too hard, okay?” With a final pat on Steve’s shoulder and a wag of his finger in your direction, Richard moves off into the crowd.

Steve exhales quietly, the tension leaving his shoulders, as he gently squeezes your hand.

“I don’t know how you stand him,” you fume, “How many years have I worked here, and the bastard doesn't even recognize me.”

“Trust me, you’re better off not being on his radar,” Steve replies, downing his champagne in one go before passing the empty glass off to a passing waiter. “I’m sure he’s going to be on my ass when I meet with the investors.”

“But it’s such a nice ass,” you grin over the rim of your glass, letting the bubbles tickle your lips.

His eyes gleam as he leans in a little closer, but his response dissolves before it's spoken. Warmth heats the bare skin of your back as someone steps close behind you. Your stomach plummets like a rollercoaster, and goosebumps dot your arms—there's no need to look.

“Eddie,” Steve welcomes him with a handshake that shifts to an embrace. “You made it.”

Since the kiss, Eddie has honored your request, maintaining the distance you needed— a display of restraint that the high school version of him might not have managed. But after your talk with Hopper and the shadow of the looming deadline creeping closer, it was only a matter of time before you had to face him. And the clock has just run out.

“How could I pass this up?” Eddie’s gaze darts around the solarium before landing on you. “Doll.” He leans in, placing a light kiss on your cheek before turning back to Steve. “This is some party. Congratulations, man.”

"Thanks for passing the word down your contact list,” Steve says, his tone sincere. “My head of PR mentioned you've made her job a hell of a lot easier."

“Happy to help,” he shrugs, adjusting the gold cufflinks at his wrists. He’s ignored the last few buttons of his pressed black shirt and worn it open-collar, allowing a glimpse of the fine black-inked lines that grace the skin of his chest.

“Do you own a suit that isn’t black?” You ask, eyeing the slim-fit pinstripe, that's obviously been tailored to fit him like a glove. “Or is that a rental?”

“Ace,” Steve chides.

Eddie laughs, the sound rich and easy. “Gotta match with the sweet old tats, don’t I?” The edge that once sharpened your words now fails to cut. His smile blooms into dimples, and it’s contagious. Despite the crackling of nerves and self-made promises, he disarms you. A line creases Steve’s brow as the moment hangs, and your smirk echoes Eddie’s.

A peel of laughter rises above the blend of music and conversation as the party continues. A harried junior staffer pushes through the crowd, bumping shoulders and muttering apologies as she tries to keep a stray lock of hair from escaping her updo. “Steve, I’m so sorry to interrupt,” she keeps her voice low despite her breathlessness. “Ted's already on his fifth bourbon, and he's cornered Harris Blake from Bean City Brews. He's telling that joke about the nun and the circus tent, and I think we are about to lose half of our ad revenue for this quarter."

"Shit," Steve mutters, his fingers raking through his hair. "Okay, let's deal with this." Relief washes over the staffer's face as she quickly turns, leading the way.

Steve pauses, his eyes meeting yours, an apology written on his face. "I’m-”

"It's okay. Go," you reassure with a squeeze of his bicep. His lips lift at the corners before he turns away, disappearing into the crowd as your gaze lingers after him.

The weight of Eddie’s eyes settles on you before you’ve even turned to meet them. “So, is this the part where I chase you around all night until you finally agree to talk to me?” he asks, closing the distance with a step forward.

“Actually, I thought we’d skip that part.” Your eyes dip to your shoes, avoiding his stare. “I want to apologize for what happened. I let my emotions get the better of me. It was unprofessional.”

“Unprofessional?” Surprise lifts brows before his lips press together in a hard line. “Come with me.” His hand closes over yours, pulling you through the solarium without looking back before you can object.

“Eddie-” you start, but he’s already ushering you into the double doors of the sky theater.

He doesn’t stop as he leads you into the darkness, the room illuminated only by the soft rows of small floor lights as the soaring domed ceiling swirls with violet and periwinkle projections of the starry sky. Ignoring the few others milling around, he tugs you into the privacy of the shadows, finally releasing your hand. In the orchid-tinged light, his stare holds a depth that's hard to look away from. “This isn’t business, doll. You mean every–” he swallows, “you’re my closest friend.”

“You don’t even know me anymore, Eddie.” Your head shakes, silently begging him to understand.

His hands move to grip your shoulders. “There are some things that time can’t change.”

“It can’t happen again,” you state in a firm voice, taking a step back and widening the gap between you.

He shoves his hands into his pockets, waiting as a couple meanders past, pointing out Cassiopeia. “Then what do you propose?”

“I’ll finish the articles.”

“And then?”

“And then everything goes back to the way it was. I'm sure we'll cross paths from time to time.” The words emerge on a strained breath, tightness seizing your lungs. “It’s for the best.”

“That’s not good enough,” he counters, the shake of his head cutting through the dim light. “I want you in my life.”

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

“You can.” He inches closer, blowing out a sigh. “Look, it was my fault. Be my friend. Draw that line, and we won’t cross it. I know you’re still pissed at me, but we can work through it.” His voice falters, the earlier resolve in his eyes melting into a plea. “Aren’t you tired of carrying all this around inside of you?”

His question softens the tension in your chest, suggesting a sliver of peace you hadn't known you were seeking. Maybe the scars etched on your heart for so long have also shielded it from joy. You swallow the lump in your throat, offering an almost imperceptible nod.

“Can you try for me?” he pleads.

“I can’t make you any promises,” you nod again, more sure this time. “But I’ll try.”

His thumb gently traces the side of your face before his arms circle you, pulling you close against him—the scent of vanilla and clove clings to his jacket. Under your cheek, the fabric is cool and smooth, tinged with a hint of tobacco, taking you someplace you thought was lost.

“Don’t mark up my suit with that shit you wear all over your face,” he teases, his hold on you not lessening an inch. “It is a rental.”

There is a tentative hopefulness in your newly minted truce with Eddie. Almost as tangible as the pulse of the bass vibrating through the soles of your shoes. His smile, easy and unguarded, lights up his face as he guides you through the sea of finely dressed attendees with a hand resting on your lower back. Stopping to exchange hellos and handshakes with a group of industry professionals who are eager to discuss his Studio opening. He pushes the topic aside in favor of introducing you. With an effortless charm, he leaves no room for doubt about your credentials as a journalist at Stax and suggests the value an interview with you would bring to their clients.

“What?” His eyebrows lift, amusement playing across his features as he catches the pleased look on your face as you tuck a handful of new business cards into your clutch.

“Are you auditioning to be my new publicist?” you tease, your brain already teeming with the new articles his introduction just made a possibility.

The warmth of his laughter is becoming a welcome sound. “I’ll be anything you want, doll,” he offers, the words punctuated by a flirtatious flash of his dimples.

A snort accompanies the roll of your eyes, even as your stomach flutters.

“I’m proud of you, you know? he adds, a soft earnestness in his tone. “I like showing you off.” The tenderness in his expression doesn't waver as he follows you through the solarium. You find your fiancée chatting with a familiar face. A welcome distraction from all things Eddie.

“Dulcita,” Argyle wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Looking bitchin, as always. That dress is killer.”

Laughing, you nod toward his outfit, “Well, I’m just trying to keep up. You look amazing.”

With an exaggerated flourish, he poses with his thumbs stretching the lapels of his periwinkle floral suit before turning to greet Eddie with a handshake.

Steve's hand finds its way to your hip, drawing you near. "I thought I’d lost you. Where'd you disappear to?"

“Just exploring a bit,” you offer, meeting his look with a smile, but his eyes shift past you toward Eddie.

A pretty blonde waitress weaves through the crowd, her tray of fresh drinks catching Eddie's attention. He flags her down with a tilt of his head and a confident wink. “Thanks, sweetheart,” he says, plucking a few glasses from her tray to pass around.

“This event is popping off,” Argyle chimes in, taking a glass and nodding toward Steve. “Congrats, dude. I couldn’t have planned this better myself.”

Eddie extends a glass in your direction. “Doll?”

Steve’s shoulders tense as his stare fills the space between you and Eddie, the sides of his mouth dipping. “Have you eaten?” he asks, his hand tightening slightly on your waist.

For a heartbeat, you just look at him, letting the wave of irritation roll past. Your teeth sink into your lip as you decline Eddie’s offer with a shake of your head.

Eddie's face tightens, a flash of restrained agitation crossing his features as he retracts the glass and dismisses the waitress with a polite nod. Argyle, shifts uncomfortably, his lips pursed into an O as his gaze skitters across the room.

Turning fully towards Steve with a soft expression, you aim for lightness. “Argyle’s right, you know. It all looks perfect, Steve,” you say, channeling warmth into your words, “Everyone’s having a great time. All your hard work is really paying off.”

Half of his mouth lifts as his gaze wanders over the crowd. “Guess we’ll see on Monday when the final numbers come in. Richard is already pushing to take City Beats national.”

Your face falls, “But that’s...that’s a massive undertaking. You’d have to restructure everything, wouldn’t you?”

Steve nods, his expression turning heavy. “Yeah, it would mean a major overhaul, not just in marketing but across multiple departments. We'd likely need to set up satellite offices in other cities, which means a lot of travel for me. It’s ultimately up to the investors, though.”

“Not too shabby, Harrington,” Argyle says, clapping Steve on the shoulder. “You’re going to be running with the big dogs now.”

The conversation becomes muted as worry knots your stomach. Steve doesn’t seem to realize that his decisions impact more than just his own future. The coming months loom large with late nights and lost weekends. The toll won’t be just the dark circles under his hazel eyes but the shared moments slipping away like water through your fingers. His relentless drive for success and approval is edging him closer to repeating his father's mistakes—becoming distant, hollow, bitter. Pouring himself into work to the point of exhaustion, neglecting those he loves, just as he was once neglected. You can't just watch as he loses himself, not when you see the signs, feel the strain.

“Come on, Ace, smile for me. This is a good thing.” Steve says with a soft tone as his lips find your temple.

“I know that, and I’m so proud of you,” you manage, lifting your cheeks in the look of adorement he hopes to see. “You work so hard. I just worry.”

His hand shifts to cradle your jaw, tipping your chin to meet his gaze. “It will be fine, I promise. I’ll take some time before things really ramp up,” he reassures, the corners of his hopeful eyes crinkling. “Maybe for a honeymoon?”

“Sounds like someone is trying to think of excuses to get out of the actual work,” Nancy’s voice slices through the moment, her arrival almost as commanding as the deep plum of her silk dress that clings and flows in all the right places, complementing her sleek dark hair.

“A national campaign?” Jonathan steps beside Nancy, his narrow tie and vintage-cut suit making him look straight from the 1950s. “You might as well give back the ring now. Sounds like he’s already married to his work,” he leans toward you, cupping his mouth like a secret, earning him a chuckle from the rest of the group.

Ignoring him, Steve directs his attention to Nancy with a self-assured smirk. “Thanks for showing up, Nance. Wouldn’t want you to miss the moment Second City leaves Spectrum behind for the history books."

Her eyes narrow as her arms cross over her slender body, “That’s adorable, Steve, really. But the idea that your little radio project outshines a whole TV network? Please..”

Steve lets out a snort as his hands move to his hips. “Last I checked, Spectrum's sprawling empire was one channel.”

“We're thinking of expanding,” her voice is as smooth as silk as she examines her nails.

“With the tech we’re developing for on-demand music, who’s going to need cable?”

“If you can manage–”

“If I may suggest putting away the rulers,” Argyle’s voice rises above their bickering, “It’s Steve’s party, and I think we’ve had enough dick measuring for the evening.”

“Fine,” Nancy agrees as she holds Steve's stare, matching his smug expression, “I’ll concede. Congratulations on your accomplishments, Steve.”

“Appreciated,” Steve says, with a tip of his chin.

“But let's be clear,” Nancy adds, unable to help herself, “my dick is still bigger.”

Argyle groans as Jonathan's eyes roll skyward. Eddie takes a gulp of champagne, trying to stem his laughter.

“Where’s Robin?” you ask, cutting off whatever retort Steve was planning before it has a chance to leave his mouth, “Didn’t she ride with you guys?”

“She took off at the coat check with Jessie J—something about a twerking tutorial,” Jonathan explains, looking confused as he tucks his hands in his pockets.

Nancy's laugh tinkles with mischief. “Trust me, it's a sight. Robin insists she's better.”

“Well, I’m not missing that,” Eddie says, polishing off his drink, “I’ll catch you all later.” He turns and leaves your group, placing his empty glass on a waiter's tray as he walks past.

As he melts into the crowd, Nancy's gaze shifts to Richard making his way toward your circle. Her smile tightens ever so slightly, “Oh god. Is that Richard Kingsley?” she asks Steve. “I thought he’d have retired by now, off riding a golf cart in Florida.”

“No such luck.” Steve mutters under his breath, “Play nice, please.”

“I’m always nice,” she whispers before she plasters on her grin, “Richard.”

Richard approaches with a practiced smile, extending his hand to Nancy. “Nancy Wheeler, Spectrum’s shining star in the digital domain, or so I’ve been told. They’ve certainly sent us their best tonight. How’s the world of content directing? ”

“Actually, Richard,” Steve quickly corrects, his voice firm yet courteous as he positions himself alongside Nancy, “Vice President of Content Strategy. Nancy’s been leading the charge there for over a year now.”

Richard's smile doesn't falter as he turns to Nancy. "My apologies, Nancy. I’m sure it's a well-deserved promotion.” She offers him a polite smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes as he continues, “Your insights at the conference in New York were…enlightening. It's always good to have industry leaders like yourself in attendance.”

As if on cue, a junior staff photographer weaves through the crowd. Richard snaps his finger at him, seizing the opportunity, "Let's capture this moment, shall we? A picture for the company archives.”

“Better him than me,” Jonathan mutters as the staffer directs the group a few feet away, ensuring the City Beats Logo will frame the background of the photo. Richard positions himself at the center, patting at the shine of his red face with a handkerchief before draping an arm over each of their shoulders.

“That’s depressing,” Jonathan snorts, watching the setup. “Well, I'm off to find a drink that matches my cynicism,” he adds, taking the opportunity to slip away, leaving you alone with Argyle.

“So,” The sweetness of pineapple and weed hit your nose as Argyle leans over your shoulder, his breath warm against your ear, “It looks like you and Eddie sorted out your shit, huh?”

“We’re tolerating each other,” you tell him without turning your head.

“I don’t know, man,” he muses, his eyes narrowing, “Tolerance was not the look on your face when you walked in here with him.”

A huff escapes your throat as you whip around to face him. “I’m interviewing him, remember?” you ask, trying to keep defensiveness out of your voice. “I'm just trying to be…pleasant.”

“You can tell yourself whatever you need to,” he adds, concern written across his face. “But from where I’m standing, you look like you’re in way over your head.”

The words die in your throat as Eddie reappears, weaving through the crowd with the grace of someone used to navigating this kind of affair. In one hand, he balances a plate arranged with an assortment of canapes and sushi, each piece a miniature work of art. His deep brown eyes keenly focused on you. “Eat something, doll,” he suggests, handing the plate over to you.

That feeling wells up in your stomach as you purse your lips, trying not to let your mouth stretch too big in front of Argyle, although he probably has picked up on the heat rising to your face. “Thanks,” you say shyly, accepting the plate.

“I’ll snag one,” Argyle reaches toward your plate with two fingers.

Eddie brows lower. “You can get your own, they’re not charging.”

“Sheesh, I know, dude. They're from my restaurant,” Argyle informs him.

“Then you know exactly where to get more,” Eddie counters.

“Did you find Robin?” you ask, changing the subject. “Was she twerking?”

“Yeah, I caught the tail end of it. And I’ll never unsee it,” his genuine laughter fills the space. “I think it’s burned into my retinas.”

“Mrs. Harrington," comes the voice of a junior staffer materializing beside you with such abruptness that the plate nearly slips from your grasp. "They want you in the photo now.”

“Umm, sure,” you say, glancing to where Steve is standing with Nancy, laughing at something she said. Eddie takes the plate from you, his easy smile from earlier erased by the downturn of his lips.

Smoothing down your skirt, you follow the photographer, consciously relaxing the clench of your jaw over how you were addressed. Steve’s eyes sparkle with warmth as he makes space for you between himself and Nancy, Richard positioned at the end. The clear happiness on his face eases your irritation. His hand finds a place on your ribs, pulling you into his side before the photographer directs you where to look.

“Very nice,” Richard comments with a nod after the flash goes off.

“One for your company Christmas card,” Nancy quips, throwing a look in Steve's direction.

Richard, not missing a beat, turns to you both. “Yes, well, it’s always a pleasure, Ms. Wheeler. I hope you enjoy the party,” he says before shifting to Steve. “Ready to give the investors a tour, my boy? They’ve had their share of drinks. Should be just about softened up for you now.”

“I’ll be right with you, Richard.” Steve waves him off, his eyes softening as he looks down at you, “You going to be okay on your own for a while, Ace?”

“Absolutely,” you tell him, rising to your toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. “You’re going to kill it, handsome.”

The side of his mouth tips up as you use your thumb to wipe away the gloss you left behind. “How did I get so lucky?” he wonders aloud, his gaze locked on yours. Leaning in, he captures your lips with his in a kiss that lingers a beat too long for a public place.

“I'll find you later.” Regret clouds his eyes as he pulls back, slipping on the professional mask he wears far too often. He walks away with Richard in tow.

“I better go find Jonathan,” Nancy tells Argyle and Eddie as you rejoin your friends, “or he’ll end up in a corner talking politics all night, and I made him promise me that he’d dance with me for at least one song.”

“You can sign me up for one too, Wheeler,” Eddie says, popping a piece of sushi in his mouth. “No arm twisting required.”

“I’m going to hold you to that, Munson,” she promises, pointing a playful finger at him before turning to leave, her dress swirling behind her.

“You, Eddie Muson, volunteering to dance,” you tease, your expression mockingly shocked. “Now I’ve seen everything.”

“Play your cards right, doll, and I’ll show you up close and personal,” Eddie says, his eyebrows dancing as he offers you a canapé.

“That’s alright, Eddie. I’ve got my regular dance partner right here, right Argyle?” you say, looping your arm through his.

“Yeah... yup,” Argyle murmurs, his attention momentarily snagged by a tall brunette striding past. She sweeps a waterfall of silky hair over her shoulder, pretending not to notice him, but the extra sway added to her hips says otherwise.

“Solo dame una noche con ese culo y te haré mami, querida,” Argyle calls after her, untangling himself from your arm.

“Traitor,” you accuse, watching him go with a shake of your head as he follows after her without a backward glance.

“Ve por ella, amigo,” Eddie encourages with a booming laugh.

Turning back to you, he rocks on his heels, a smirk playing on his lips. “Looks like it’s just you and me, doll.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to look so happy about it,” you chide when his dimples make an appearance, sending the rusted chains around your heart rattling when it jumps under your ribs. Maybe Argyle wasn’t too far off the mark.

A brisk wind cuts across the dark surface of Lake Michigan. The City Beats logo burns bright in yellow neon, its light spilling over the outdoor stage and dancing across the water’s surface in a rotation of colors. Despite the press of bodies, warmth is scarce, with the night air nipping at any exposed skin. Before you can even think of shivering, Eddie drapes his suit jacket over your shoulders, the fabric holding the residual warmth of his body. He stands close beside you, seemingly unfazed by the cool temperature, as Maroon 5 concludes their set.

The crowd sways as one, heads bobbing in sync with the rhythm pulsing into the chilly evening. The spice of Eddie's cologne is a veil around you, drawing you closer into his orbit. Glancing his way, you expect his attention to be on the show, eyes tracking each note and chord. Instead, you find the intensity of his gaze fixed on you.

As the song ends with the band offering their thanks, the MC dashes on stage to announce the next performer. With a tip of his chin, Eddie motions for you to follow him. Together, you squeeze through the crowd, walking along the path at the lake's edge until the sea of people begins to thin, their noise fading into a distant murmur until it's just the two of you left, accompanied by the quiet hush of waves lapping against the bank.

He stops, gazing out over the water, city lights dancing in his eyes. “I almost forgot how your face changes when you listen to music. It’s like the lyrics break right through, lighting you up from the inside.”

“My one true love,” you respond with a wistful sigh, giving him a shrug.

“Oh yeah?” He turns toward you, inching a bit closer to reach into the breast pocket of the suit jacket enveloping your shoulders. He pulls out a tightly rolled joint, eyeing you with a raised brow. “What’s with all the ‘Mrs. Harrington’ business?” he asks, placing the joint between his lips and fishing a brass Zippo from his pants pocket. “Did you get married and forget to invite me?”

Your eyes flash skyward as he lights it with a practiced flick and takes a deep drag. “I don’t know...Steve encourages it. I think it’s his way of reminding me he’s waiting for me to set a date.”

He passes you the joint and blows out a lung full of white smoke that swirls into the night air. “You have left the poor sap waiting for a while.”

“I don’t want to talk about my relationship with you, Eddie,” you say, flicking the ash off the burning paper's end before pressing it to your lips and inhaling.

“Why not?” His gaze probes, seeking an opening, a slip, anything. “Friends talk about their relationships, don’t they?”

You can’t help but cough, the potency of the smoke catching you off guard. “You know exactly why not,” you retort, passing the joint back to him. A soft fog settles over your thoughts, smoothing out the evening’s sharpness. “And you? Volunteering to help with the guest list...” You eye him skeptically, “Trying to ease your conscience?”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he takes another hit, “It was only a couple of texts, doll,” he says, passing the joint back to you, his fingers brushing yours. “Trust me, I sleep just fine at night. What’s between you and me started long before Steve entered the picture.”

"Well, he’s here now," you assert with defiance, your gaze locked with Eddie's as the joint burns down in your fingers.

His fingers wrap around your wrist, guiding your left hand into the streetlamp's glow until the diamond on your finger flashes. "I guess he is. But doll," he steps closer, his eyes holding yours, "so am I."

“Yeah? Let’s wait and see if you stick around this time.” Your skepticism is clear as you bring the joint back to your lips, watching his face fall with your pointed words.

“So this is where the cool kids hang out,” Hopper’s gruff voice cuts into the night, anchoring you back to reality. Eddie takes a step away from you, his hands tugging on the ends of his curls. Hopper’s eyes narrow on the joint between your fingers. “Really think it’s wise to smoke grass at a work function?”

“I promise not to operate any heavy machinery,” you respond in a dry tone, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

The older man’s eyes shoot skyward before he holds out an expectant hand, “Give it here.”

You hand it over, and the burning paper crackles as he takes a practiced drag, “Are you going to introduce me?”

“Sorry. Yeah,” you rub your forehead, “James Hopper, this is my…um, friend, Eddie Munson.” Eddie leans forward, reaching out to shake hands as you quickly explain, “Hopper’s my editor.” The steadiness in your voice doesn’t quite bridge the awkward moment.

Eddie’s brows raise as Hopper’s hand closes over his in a crushing grip. “Hell of a grip,” Eddie comments with a question written across his face.

“A handshake is a good measure of man,” Hopper offers him no other explanation, handing him back the smoking joint before turning to you. “I expect a write-up of the launch on my desk by 10:30 tomorrow for the digital edition. And don’t skimp on the details about the radio service. Downtown is keen on pushing this, so I hope you paid attention.”

“No problem, Hop. I’m on it,” you assure him.

“Now, I’m going home to Joyce. If she gets a whiff of this on me, I’m sending her your way.”

“You’ll be in the clear,” you promise with a soft grin.

Hopper's stern demeanor gives way to something gentler. “Alright,” he says with a nod, “Enjoy your evening, kid.” His eyes dart to Eddie. “But not too much.”

“Jesus, that’s your editor?” Eddie asks once Hopper is out of sight. “The guy missed his calling, he would’ve made a great cop.”

Your laughter accompanies the dismissive shake of your head. “We better go back inside.”

The walk back is steeped in quiet, the night’s emotions a heavy weight that weaves threads of weariness and a dull ache through your limbs. Eddie appears less burdened, wearing an expression of contentment, his hand slipping beneath the fabric of his jacket still resting over your shoulders. The warmth of his palm seeps into the bare skin of your back while his thumb traces soothing circles along your spine. Carried in on a breeze, the earthy spice of late-blooming asters mingle with the vibrant colors of marigolds softened under the glowing canopy of string lights.

As you near the terrace, the murmur of voices grows, and the sparse groups of people along the pathway thicken to a full gathering. The shift from the lake’s tranquility to the party's bright lights and crescendo of conversations is jarring. The solarium overflows with party-goers, their inhibitions loosened by drinks as they flood the dance floor, the music swelling louder and more insistent than before. Despite the sea of people, it takes only moments for Steve’s gaze to lock onto yours across the room as you reenter with Eddie by your side.

Without hesitation, he leaves the conversation he'd been having and moves toward you. The corners of your mouth lift in a greeting that isn’t returned. His forehead creases with a question. The air seems thicker as you slide the jacket off, returning it to Eddie, the tightness in your chest reappearing. Steve's jaw clenches as he reaches you, his arm circling your waist. “I’ll take my fiance back now, Munson.”

Eddie’s smirk sharpens as he hooks his jacket over one shoulder, “Just keeping an eye on her for you, buddy. Couldn’t leave the lady alone with all these musicians wandering around.” He leans closer, his free hand circling his mouth, “They tend to get a little handsy.”

"Thanks, pal," Steve replies, the last word stretched tight as he stands taller. “I’ll take it from here.”

Eddie’s gaze drops to his feet momentarily before his head lifts. Amusement widens his grin, reflecting a confidence that borders on smug. His feet shuffle as he adjusts his posture to match Steve’s. A twist of nerves tightens your stomach as a spark that you know all too well brightens Eddie’s eyes like an echo of the cocky teenager he once was.

“How about that dance you promised me, handsome?” you blurt, cutting Eddie off just as his mouth opens to respond. Stepping between them, you intertwine your fingers with Steve's and tug him toward the dance floor. As if on cue, the music mellows to a slower tempo.

Steve’s stare remains on Eddie as his arms circle your waist. “You know, it’s funny, I never realized what a dick Eddie is.”

Your head turns to see Eddie watching you with hands shoved in his pocket. “You barely spoke to him all night. What led you to that conclusion?”

Robin bops over to meet him, her blue eyes gleaming as she tugs at his arm, trying to coax him into a dance despite his shaking head.

“I don’t know. The guy is just rubbing me the wrong way,” Steve doesn’t hide the irritation in his voice as he turns you so you’re facing away from them.

A burst of protectiveness that has been dormant since high school wells up like a hot spring. The words escape before your better judgment can catch them. “Really. Are you sure it’s not because he’s my friend?”

The mossy green rings of his eyes burn into yours for only a moment before he blows out a soft breath. “Let’s not fight.” His big hand slides down to rest low on your back as he pulls you closer. “I’ve been waiting to get you alone all night,” he says into your ear before his mouth covers yours hotly, leaving you whirling with his quick change. “Where have you been all night, Ace?”

One side of his mouth lifts in a half-smile, but his confident mask slips. Behind his eyes, he’s lost—the familiarity tugs at you. Rising on your toes, you press your lips to his. “I’m right here.”

His expression softens, radiating a comforting warmth as his lips brush your temple. The rhythm of the song wraps around you both like a truce. Burying your cheek into Steve’s shoulder, your gaze follows Eddie as he turns his back and heads for the door.

Steve leans closer to the bathroom mirror, his fingertips shiny with the pomade he's using to piece out the strands of his chestnut hair.

“Don’t forget your glasses,” you remind him, turning away from the open doorway and entering your bedroom.

“Or the tickets,” you toss out, noticing the white envelope on his night table.

“What would I do without you, Ace?” His voice floats from the bathroom, light and teasing.

Settling at the end of your bed, you pick up the novel you started recently, the book's weight familiar in your lap. Seeing Steve so relaxed and happy broadens your smile. He deserves this night out to blow off a little steam. City Beats' launch exceeded every expectation. A success that's finally turned the heads of the old guard at Second City toward the efforts of their youngest executive. Of course, memories are short, and victories are fleeting.

Steve's workload hasn't lessened, and the prospect of taking the platform national is still on the horizon, but you've set aside any misgivings, at least for now. It’s been a week since you surprised him with the Bulls tickets during his birthday dinner at Maple and Ash, Steve’s favorite, surrounded by your closest friends–with one empty chair at the table when Eddie hadn’t shown.

“Sure you don’t want to come? I still have an extra ticket,” He asks, emerging through the pocket doors separating your bedroom from the closet. Securing his Jaeger-Lecoultre watch to his wrist, the scent of Dior Homme follows him.

You glance down at your cozy leggings and cream wrap sweater. “I’ve got big plans tonight, handsome.” You hold up the book against your chest. “Didn’t anyone from your pick-up game want the ticket? Or those guys you play racquetball with?”

“I didn't get a chance to ask until the last minute,” he explains. “Robin called my office about fifty times to harass me about inviting Eddie to the game. It took me all week to get the guy on the phone, and then he turned me down flat.” He shakes his head, walking over to his nightstand to retrieve the tickets.

“I don't think Eddie is much of a sports guy,” you muse, glancing down at your fingers, folding and unfolding a dog-eared page. “He used to say he didn't have time for throwing balls into laundry baskets. He’d go on and on about the unfairness of high school politics.” A quiet laugh escapes your mouth along with the memory. “He could be so dramatic back then.”

When you lift your eyes, Steve's standing frozen in place, the deep line between his brows wiping away his easy demeanor. He's looking at you like he's just found an uninvited stranger in his bed. It’s just a flash before he recovers, his features returning to the affectionate expression he usually carries for you, but it was enough. The parts of yourself you keep hidden loom like an iceberg–he’s just spotted the tip. You draw your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“Yeah?” He pauses, the air between you thickening as a hint of challenge colors his voice. “That’s a little weird considering he got us seats at a Lakers game last time I was in LA.”

The silence stretches just a moment longer. “Guess he’s not the same guy you knew back in Hawkins. But then again, none of us are, right?” He lets the question hover, knowing an answer isn’t coming. “People change,” he shrugs, his gaze intense and probing. “Or maybe we just never really knew them at all.”

He steps closer and leans in, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth in a kiss that punctuates the conversation. His tone, sharp and heavy like a dull knife, cuts deep as he turns to leave. “Enjoy your book.”

“Wait.” You slip off the bed, bridging the gap between you. Your fingers tangle in the material of his shirt, drawing him closer until your lips meet his, adding pressure until his arms circle your waist and he kisses you back. His embrace grows warmer as your tongue slides into his mouth, grazing his before pulling back, making him chase you, and he does. You break away but keep him close, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath a warm whisper as his nose runs along your cheek. “Have fun, okay?” you murmur against his lips as his hands slide up and down your back. “Knock back a few. Yell at the Ref. Get Jonathan drunk enough to annoy Nancy.”

He chuckles, a smile lifting his cheeks. “You got it, Ace.” His eyes close as his lips find yours again. “I love you.”

"I love you too, Steve," you whisper, your fingers uncurling from his shirt as you let him go. He takes your hand as you follow him downstairs. He opens the front door to a car waiting at the curb, the driver hoping out to open the backdoor.

“I’ll see you in a few hours.” He smiles, picking up his keys from the small table.

The cold air rushes in from outside, and you pull your sweater tighter around your neck. Watching him step through the door, you call out, “Happy Birthday, handsome.”

As you close the door, Steve pauses on the landing with a thoughtful look crossing his face. “You know, now that I think about it, Eddie didn’t stop yapping that entire game. Maybe you’re right after all. The guy just doesn’t like sports.”

You give a noncommittal shrug, your fingers tightening around the edge of the door. "What did you talk about?"

“Can’t remember,” he shakes his head, resuming his descent down the steps. You watch for a moment longer before closing the door and latching the deadbolt.

With a sigh, you turn back to the now quiet house. The soft pad of your fluffy socks muffles your footsteps as you drift through the rooms, dimming the overhead lights to let the warmer glow of lamps bathe the space in a comforting light. You head to the kitchen, grabbing the remote from the counter. At the press of a button, the scratch of a guitar and a gravelly voice fill the silence, as comforting as an old friend.

You mouth the lyrics as you reach for a wine glass from the cupboard. With a practiced motion, you uncork a bottle of red, filling your glass halfway, only to keep going until it's right to the brim. The song shifts as you leave the kitchen, glass in hand, taking a sip, the rich flavors of dark fruit and spice mingling perfectly, soothingly. Sinking into the couch, you tip your head back against the cushion, letting the music and the stillness envelop you. Your eyes close, the lyrics weaving a soothing spell, chasing dark thoughts away.

The peace is predictably short-lived. A buzz jolts you. The phone tucked into your leggings vibrates with an incoming call. You try to ignore it, letting it ring to voicemail, but it buzzes again—this time a text. With a resigned huff, you pull it out and unlock the screen with a click.

Missed Call – Eddie

Eddie: Your neighbors don’t complain when you play music that loud?

You blink down at the screen and then lift your gaze to the room's dark corners.

Eddie: Don’t get freaked out. Just come to the door.

Pushing off the couch, you pad through the house to the front door and open it to the chilly November night. A brisk gust of wind blows down your street, swirling dried red and orange leaves around Eddie's black leather boots, where he stands at the base of your steps, bathed in the soft glow of the sconces flanking your door.

His hands are shoved into the pockets of dark-fitted jeans, a cozy half-zip sweater in deep charcoal hugging his broad chest. He looks up at you from under his long lashes, head slightly cocked to the side. “I tried the bell.” His head turns to the street as a passing car splashes water up from the wet pavement. “What kind of sound system is that? I thought Chris was in there with you for a second.”

Wrapping your arms around your chest, your fingers gently rub the fabric of your sweater as you ignore the surrealness of Eddie casually referring to Chris Cornell by his first name. “What are you doing here? Steve's not home.”

“I know. I thought the guy would never leave. How long does it take him to do his hair, anyway?”

“It’s not funny, Eddie. You can’t come in.” You glance down the street to see your neighbor, leash in hand, appear in the circle of light cast by the streetlamp.

“I don’t want to come in, doll. We’re going out. And we're late, so if you could light a fire under it.” Eddie’s lips press into a hard line as your neighbor passes him on the sidewalk, giving him the once-over, the poodle pausing to sniff his legs.

“Evening, Mr. Davis," you acknowledge with a wave as the man continues down the street, shaking his head. You turn back to Eddie, frustration evident in your tone. "I can't go anywhere. I'm not even dressed.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, assessing your attire. “Those look like clothes to me.”

Your head tilts to the side, your expression unwavering.

He glances at the sky and lets out a frustrated sigh before his gaze returns to you. “You look beautiful, doll. Now, please. Just grab your coat,” he implores, his hands pressing together in front of him. “ I promise to have you back before you turn into a pumpkin.”

Your eyes lower to where your toes are wiggling in your socks, “Eddie, I–”

“Well, I could always just hang out here,” he muses, scratching at the scruff on his chin. “Might get awkward when the game lets out.”

“You're not serious,” you challenge, skepticism evident in your tone.

“Oh, aren't I?” he asks, cocking a brow as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Friends hang out together, don’t they?”

“Fine,” you fume. “But I better be back in plenty of time.” You catch the way his smile broadens as you turn back into the house to slip on a pair of boots and grab an old woolen peacoat off the hook by the door. Stepping out onto the stone landing of your brownstone, you hesitate, shooting him another look of apprehension before turning to lock the door.

“Christ, woman, was that so difficult?” He throws his hands in the air as he crosses the street to a shiny black Audi Q7 parked at the curb. With a wave of his hand, he opens the passenger door, beckoning you to climb inside.

The bare branches of the trees sway with the wind, casting moving shadows against the shining asphalt painted with the last of the fallen leaves. You walk across the road to where he’s waiting and step into the SUV. You sink into the plush seat, the smell of leather, smoke, and his cologne assaulting your senses. It's the same scent that seemed to linger for days after your last visit to CursedSound, the one your guilt tried to erase.

Your hands worry themselves in your lap, twisting the diamond on your fourth finger while you wait for him to round the vehicle. The agreement about keeping the lines drawn is fresh in your mind as he climbs into the driver's seat.

Without warning, he leans over you, the warmth of his body invading your space, the pout of his full bottom lip hovering inches from yours. The sharp intake of your breath echoes loudly in the vehicle's quiet confines.

“Seatbelt,” he reminds you, his big brown eyes dancing with amusement as he drags the strap across your shoulder and clicks it into position at your hip.

Heat rises up your neck, burning your cheeks as he settles himself in his seat, strapping in before pressing the button that starts the ignition.

“Shit.” His face falls as he glares at the glowing numbers on his dash. He turns the wheel, lurching the Audi onto the roadway. Your neighborhood disappears in a blur as he turns and heads north. “And I thought LA traffic was bad,” he mutters, weaving in and out of stagnant lanes.

The congestion loosens as he turns onto Lakeshore Drive, heading uptown. The moon hangs low, presiding over the rippling waters of Lake Michigan that stretch out into the night. A vast, dark canvas that reflects the tapestry of light from the towering buildings across the roadway rises to pierce the skyline.

Music from Eddie’s phone plays at a low volume through the stereo. It serves to fill the quiet between you, but there’s something in the clash of the electric guitar and smooth bass that's an itch in your brain. Familiar like a half-remembered dream, but somehow still new.

Your eyes steal glances to your left. His profile fades in and out of shadow with the passing headlights. The sharp line of his jaw tightens with a clench when he’s forced to slow his speed. The baby softness he used to carry in high school has given way to solid angles and the perpetual growth of stubble. There’s no denying it– he’s only gotten more attractive.

His head turns suddenly, catching your stare. Your throat clears as you reach for the knob, turning up the volume and letting the song replace anything about to be said. His hand moves from the gear shift to his thigh, his elegant fingers flexing against his jeans. Your eyes stay fixed on the taillights ahead as the song moves into its final refrain.

"Wait." You reach out to punch the back button, restarting the song. "This is you."

His eyebrows lift in surprise, his mouth parting slightly. "How did you—"

"I’m right, aren’t I?" you interject, pointing at the dash, focusing on the distinct chord progression and the sound of fingers sliding over frets.

"Yeah, it's something I’ve been working on for a while,” he admits, looking at you with soft eyes. “Still trying to figure out a part that's missing."

"I didn’t realize you still played," you comment, adjusting the volume again.

“I don’t know why you're surprised,” he says, reaching back to place his hand on your headrest as he smoothly backs the SUV into a space, turning the wheel to align with the curb. “I don't give up on the things I care about.” He shifts into park and turns off the ignition. “Come on.” His hand lands on your knee in a gentle squeeze. “We’re here.”

Exiting the car, you step onto the empty side street. Ambient light filters down from the high windows of the brick buildings lining both sides of the street. A nondescript bus with blackened windows and a few other cars sit parked at the curb. This is exactly the kind of place you'd normally avoid after dark. Sighing, you round the car to where Eddie is waiting. His hand finds its way to the small of your back, guiding you across the street to a lone, unmarked steel door. With a closed fist, he raps out five quick knocks followed by two slower and turns to you with a grin.

“What are we doing here?” you ask, shoving your hands into your coat pockets and looking up and down the street.

“I’m apologizing.” His words are cut off by the scraping sound of locks, followed by the door swinging open. Bright light spills out, casting a silhouette of a very large, bald man holding a clipboard, nearly obscuring the doorway.

“Can I help you?” booms the man’s voice, reverberating off the surrounding brick.

“I’m on the list,” Eddie says, undeterred.

“Name?” the doorman asks, retrieving a pen from behind his ear.

“Munson,” Eddie responds, glancing at the clipboard. “Edward and guest.”

The man sizes up Eddie with a thorough once-over, his gaze flickers towards you briefly before allowing you both to enter.

Following Eddie, you step inside, the brightness of the overhead fluorescents bouncing off the cinder block walls, causing you to squint after the dimly lit street outside. Flight cases and amp stacks clutter the small vestibule of the venue's loading area. The muffled thrum of a bass line vibrates through the walls and high ceilings.

“You’re cutting it close,” the man grunts, his staff shirt stamped with the Riviera Theater’s logo pulling tight across his chest as he hands Eddie two lanyards with plastic tags.

The sweet sound of a cascade of delicate strings drifts through the air from down the hall opposite you, drawing your attention like a moth to a porch light.

“Is that violins?” Turning toward the sound, tiny sparks ignite in your chest as Eddie slips the lanyard over your head.

“You know the way?” The doorman snaps his clipboard, ignoring your question.

“We’ll find it,” Eddie assures him, his fingers closing around your elbow as he tugs you toward the hallway.

The smile stretching your lips is automatic. Tingles of energy zip through your veins as anticipation builds, like being a kid at Christmas. As the stark fluorescents give way to dimmer bulbs, a murkier haze settles around you, mirroring the anticipation building in your chest. Their soft glow catches the shine of the dark curls resting on Eddie's collar as you trail after him down the maze of narrowing corridors.

Passing by closed doors and bulletin boards tacked with production notes and schedules, you step lightly to avoid the cords snaking across your path. The worn wooden floorboards creak with each step like they are responding to the growing clarity of the strings that now reach your ears, no longer muffled but rich and full.

The baseline of Dreams smooths into its final notes, and applause thunders from the audience. Eddie pauses, his hand resting lightly on your back, guiding you to a halt. You step between him and the canopy of curtains gathered at the stage’s edge, the sounds of the crowd's approval dissipating into the cavernous space. The polished instruments rest in the orchestra’s hands, poised for their next cue. Your hand flies to your mouth as the sight of The Cranberries at center stage fully registers. Dolores O’Riordan’s head turns, catching Eddie’s gaze. With an exasperated look, she taps the watch strapped to her wrist. He mouths a “Sorry,” his head tilting slightly towards you. At that moment, her brown eyes connect with yours. A hint of a smile graces her face before she turns back to the audience, her voice resonating in the stillness, "I was saving this one."

The first sigh of the violin expands with your breath, an arrow soaring through the air, piercing the center of your chest. A thrum of a calloused thumb brushing over the strings of an acoustic guitar accompanies the “Ahhs” of her lilting voice. The harmony is echoed by a cello, then a viola, and another violin, each repetition weaving into the next like a ripple of raindrops on calm water until it all fades into a hush, leaving your stomach swooping in its wake.

The silence shatters with the bold strum of the guitar. The air leaves your lungs in unison with the crashing bassline, the full swell of the strings washing over you like an ocean wave.

If you, if you could return

Don't let it burn

Don't let it fade

In the auditorium's darkness, the audience vanishes until only you and he exist. Eddie stands close, his warmth seeping into you as he presses into you with his shoulder. Clove and tobacco mix with the tang of iron and polished wood. The back of his hand grazes the soft skin of your own, but it’s the stage that holds your attention, pulling you in deeper.

Is that the way we stand?

Were you lying all the time?

Was it just a game to you?

The accompanying musicians close their eyes, becoming extensions of their instruments. Dolores tilts her head, her voice clear and strong, pouring from her slight frame. The music rises through the aged floorboards, tremors of notes climbing your legs and bursting within your chest. Stirring emotions so immense it threatens to spill over as tears sting behind your eyes.

Oh, I thought the world of you

I thought nothing could go wrong

Your head turns and you find Eddie has been watching you the entire time. His throat bobs as he swallows, the bright lights reflecting the shine in his eyes, and now it's you who can't look away. The soft expression he wears is tender and novel. The black lines that have always connected you pull taut, tugging at your heart. Lines that you thought were severed by anger and loneliness.

But I was wrong, I was wrong

But somehow, they’ve remained. Tattered and a little frayed but enduring all the same. At his core, he is who he’s always been, and so are you.

Things wouldn't be so confused

And I wouldn't feel so used

But you always really knew

I just want to be with you

Two souls found each other in the darkness, singing the same song. He brought you here for a reason—he's telling you he's sorry without words, reaching for you through the melody in a way you can't ignore—in a way that matters.

And I'm in so deep

You know I'm such a fool for you

Everything falls away, but the music and your shared heartbeats. Memories flicker, like pages of a faded scrapbook caught in the wind—sunlit and shadowed. The heavy musk of aged velvet curtains shifts into the fresh scent of cut grass and summer nights, the cool touch of lakewater, and the honeyed warmth of sunshine lingering on his skin. Hummed lyrics, shared laughter, the comfort of being by his side. You liked the version of yourself reflected in his eyes.

Recollections you locked away come back in a deluge. Past moments, both sweet and sharp, weave together, softening the edges of old wounds. Each verse, each look from him, peels back layers of hurt you’d clung to. The bitter shell around your heart begins to crack, dislodging the shards within. Lighter now, your wounds can start to mend. The remaining scars are reminders, but a warmth begins to unfurl in their place, reluctant and bewildering. It’s not forgiveness yet, but the possibility is closer for him and for yourself.

You got me wrapped around your finger

Notes spiral upwards, threading through the shadow-laden lattice of ropes and rigging until they dissipate into the darkness above. Under the glare of the stage lights, the harmonies that once defined you rekindle, sparking to life. Your fingers find his with intention, intertwining with deliberate grace, palm to palm, sliding, locked together. Warmth spreads through the both of you. It's unexpected the way lyrics unravel you, making room for something new. Your gaze leaves his, returning to the performance, but you lean into Eddie, your head tipping to rest on his shoulder. The breath releases from his chest in a shuddering sigh. And he feels an awful lot like home.

Do you have to let it linger?

Do you have to, do you have to, do you have to let it linger?

Listen to the acoustic version of Linger here Rest in peace, Delores. Ni bheidh a leitheid ann aris.

Big, huge, giant, hugs and sloppy wet kisses for sticking with me. I know the wait was long. Your encouragement got me through it. Especially Leighanne and Taylor who had to put up with me whining.

All your song suggestions have made this fic so fun to write. Please keep 'em coming.

We are about halfway through, kittens. It's about to get bumpy.

For updates follow @tornupdates

#steve harrington #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #eddie munson smut #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfic #torn series

197 notes · View notes

avocado-writing · 9 months

Note

For nightingale, aziraphale, and Crowley, could you write something with them going on holiday or honeymoon to a museum or historical site, and remembering old times together? Maybe they discover one of them in the background of a historic photo or they’re mentioned in a piece of writing or turn up in a painting or a statue? I just need more of those 3 so whatever you feel like, dealers choice <3

aziraphale x reader x crowley (good omens)

third chapter of this. kissing you on the lips anon for requesting it.

rated M for light smut.

1.5k words.

if you like what I do, here’s my ko-fi!

Your marriage is a quiet little affair.

It has to be, really. Can’t have a big crowd wondering how three people are able to all wed each other. It’s hard enough miracling the registrar to not notice anything out of the ordinary, let alone worrying about having a bunch of guests second-guessing the technical legality of the thing.

Luckily, it all goes reasonably smoothly. The registry office isn’t busy on a Thursday afternoon, it doesn’t take long to get in and out. Yes, all three of you sign these documents, that’s absolutely fine. Congratulations and I hope you have a happy future together.

Rings on fingers, plain gold wedding bands binding the three of you to each other. Chaste, meaningful kisses and wide smiles.

Being married to them doesn’t feel any different, but then again you suppose it wouldn’t. You’ve been together for longer than any human has ever been alive. You were all practically married anyway, getting the paperwork done was just… the cherry on top.

“Well, now what do we do?” you ask, stepping out onto the busy London street. Aziraphale and Crowley take a moment to consider this question, as if they hadn’t really thought about it either.

“Lunch?” the angel says, just as the demon replies “bed?”

You laugh, and the three of you end up doing one and then the other.

Crowley kisses you both hard the moment that the bookshop door shuts, pausing only to flip the sign firmly to ‘very closed’. You trap Aziraphale between your bodies, knowing how much he loves to be showered with attention, and strip off as you retreat through the nonfiction section to the well-loved sofa in the break room.

It feels like there isn’t time to go upstairs. It’s time to consummate this marriage here, now.

“Come on, angel,” you hum as Crowley sheathes himself inside him, making Aziraphale’s eyes roll in pleasure, “like Geoff wrote, ‘In wyfhode I wol use myn instrument as frely as my Makere hath it sent’.”

Despite the overstimulation as you sink down on him, Aziraphale laughs. Crowley cocks an eyebrow.

“What on earth are you going on about?”

“Inside joke, I suppose,” you reply wickedly, before silencing any further questioning with a kiss across Aziraphale’s shoulder.

When you’re done breaking in the marriage bed - after you finish breaking in the marriage couch and then the marriage kitchen counter - the three of you lie together, limbs tangled, the two of them feeling you breathe.

“You know what we should do?” you eventually pipe up, lost between twisting your fingers in Aziraphale’s curls and running your hand up the length of Crowley’s thigh.

“Look, I’m happy to go again, just give me ten minutes,” Crowley murmurs. You almost get caught up in it as the angel plants a kiss on your bare shoulder, but snap yourself back to reality before they can delay your train of thought further.

“No! - I mean, yes, but also, we should go on a honeymoon.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale says, lighting up, “That’s a wonderful idea. I can’t remember the last time the three of us took a holiday together. One where we didn’t have to also do some work, anyway.”

“It was Stockholm, nineteen-seventy-five,” Crowley states without missing a beat. The two of you both look at him, and it clicks.

“Oh god, it was, wasn’t it?” you laugh. Of course. Was it that long ago?

“The Eurovision final! Goodness, how on earth did we forget?”

“Repressing painful memories?” the demon suggests. It was one of those trips he’d clearly not been very pleased about, but insisted his chaperoning was better than the alternative of letting you and Aziraphale run wild around Sweden.

“I can’t believe you had a perm for that whole decade,” you say to Crowley, who just groans and slings his arm over his face to hide.

“I thought it was very fetching,” Aziraphale reassures, squeezing his husband’s - husband’s! - hand.

“Well, why don’t we go somewhere a bit closer to home?” you suggest. “Somewhere like, I don’t know, Edinburgh?”

“I like Edinburgh. Well, apart from one statue, but we don’t have to go and see it I suppose,” Aziraphale agrees. The two of you look over to Crowley. He lifts his arm just enough for you to see the sparkle in his yellow eyes.

You set off a couple of days later in the Bentley, boot packed up tight with suitcases (none Crowley’s, one belonging to you, the rest Aziraphale’s; he insisted he needed to bring at least twenty books ‘just in case’). With Crowley’s driving the eight hour journey takes about five, and soon you’re at your little bnb planning how you’re going to spend the week.

And it’s lovely. You do all the touristy things, the guided tours, the hidden gems, and slowly making your way around what feels like every pub in the city. You and Aziraphale eat a quite astonishing number of lunchtime finger sandwiches, and Crowley takes you out dancing to a little hole-in-the-wall joint he had a hand in founding a couple of decades ago. Your heart is full and you realise over and over again just how lucky you are to be able to spend your life with the two people you love most in this universe.

On the last day, you finally do the big one: Edinburgh Castle. You’ve been in there but only once, and that was a couple of hundred years ago. It’s changed but not as much as you thought: it’s nice to see the conservation work people are doing in old places like these. Saving little pieces of the past.

You’re walking through one of the little side corridors - a place you’re probably not meant to actually be on the tour, but one of your husbands has a way of making locked doors open and the other is very good at getting people to forgive you if you’re found going through them.

Up ahead they’re bickering. About what you can’t say. You’ve learnt to tune it out unless it’s about something actually important. Despite that you almost miss it, walk right past the bloody thing - but then you catch the flash of paint out of the corner of your eye and do a double-take.

Your mouth drops open.

“Oh my god. You two, come here and take a look at this!”

Aziraphale and Crowley halt their quibbles and double back to stand at your side. They’re both as shocked as you are.

“Oh,” Aziraphale gasps.

“Huh,” Crowley mutters.

“It’s us,” you state.

It is. An oil painting, ancient. The only description is a tiny plaque which sits beneath it in tiny lettering: a portrait of a gentleman and two ladies, c 1665. No more information is given, which is clearly why it’s been delegated to a back room rather than hung in somewhere more important.

But there’s no mistaking it: Aziraphale in his white jerkin and doublet, Crowley in a black dress with his hair down, and you in the middle. Dressed in rich colours, heavy jewellery hanging off you. Your lovers hold either one of your hands in theirs, the three of you looking out serenely towards the viewer.

“We commissioned this for your birthday in sixteen-sixty-five. Do you remember, Nightingale?”

You nod. Yes, you remember the two of them trying to surreptitiously get you to pose while someone caught your likeness in a sketch to transfer later to canvas. Portrait sittings were an exhausting thing and there was no way they were going to trick you into believing anything else was going on.

“I thought it was destroyed,” you whisper, gobsmacked. The three of you had lived in a little London townhouse around the time, when your relationship was still young. And yes, a birthday present it was: right before the great fire of London had broken out. You’d had to evacuate the city as quickly as you could, no time to save anything as unwieldy as a painting.

But clearly it hadn’t burned. Someone had saved it - or nicked it, more likely, before the blaze got to it - and now it ended up here. In this corridor. Where the three of you had just happened to trespass to find it.

“Miraculous,” Aziraphale breathes, and you can only agree.

“Should we try to get it back?” Crowley asks. “I’m sure there’s someone I can blackmail in this castle.”

“No. No, let’s leave it. I quite like it here. A little piece of us somewhere, preserved in time, you know? It’s lovely. Besides,” you turn to your husbands, “I get to have the two of you every day now.”

The three of you take a moment to let the idea soak in; and then you kiss in the quiet of the castle corridor. Happy. Looking forward to the future you’re now allowed to live.

“Now,” you announce after a beat, “I think we’d better get some lunch and then I’m going to go and graffiti that statue of Gabriel. You’re welcome to join me.”

“Oh absolutely,” says Crowley just as Aziraphale tuts “certainly not!”

You talk him round though, and by that evening, he’s doodled a moustache on the smug archangel’s marble face with a sharpie.

#request #crowley x reader x aziraphale #crowley x reader #aziraphale x reader #fic: the light the dark and the spaces inbetween #ineffable husbands x reader #good omens x reader

487 notes · View notes

flamingpudding · 6 months

Text

Fictober23 Prompt: 18 - "We can't do this on our own."

Fandom: DPxDC

Rating: T

Warnings: Slight mentions of DannyXBruce ship

A/N: Inspired by the comments and Reblogs of Prompt 17. I advise to read that one first before reading this, also posting this early because I won't have the time to do that tomorrow. Credits for inspiring this continuation go to @charlietheepic7 and @noxcheshire

After the babysitting disaster Dick had sworn Tim and Damian into secrecy about. The bat-sibling had quickly warmed up to the phantom children and invited them several more times to visit them at the manor. Damian had even doubled his efforts in getting along with them, still believing they were his half siblings, despite Bruce having tried to explain to them in private that this wasn't the case.

Of course that didn't mean that Damian wasn't butting heads with them at all, in fact they were only sitting together like this now because Damian and Dan had gotten into a fight about whether or not Phantom was an adequate partner for Bruce. Dan appeared to have taken offense to that in some form and declared that Bruce was the one not suited to be with his Mom.

The fight ended with Dani, five years old little girl Dani, kicking down both Damian and her own brother, before proceeding to sit on Dan while loudly yelling that he was risking their entire plan of setting up their Mom with Uncle Bruce so Auntie Valerie would stop trying to be their Step Mom. Which brought them back to their current situation of the five of them sitting together in the main hang out room.

Dan grumbled inaudible, arms crossed and glaring at the bat children assembled before him. Dani giggled, nudging her big brother's leg. "Don't go nonverbal now!"

"Nonverbal?" Dick couldn't help but question, causing Dan to snarl at him while Dani still smiled very brightly at them.

"Big Brother sometimes only talks in growls and snarls. Auntie Jazz said it's got something to do with what he's been through. Mom says big brother isn't socialized enough yet." The boy only growled, glaring at them while he pulled the little girl into a hug and made her sit between his legs, making Dani giggle once more grinning bridely. The two Phantom children were seated on a loveseat together now in the general hang out room of Wayne Manor. Dick, Tim and Damian sat across from them on the couch.

The bat kids exchanged glances. Bruce can try as he might, there was no hiding the relation he had with the Phantom kids. There were too many things that added to the fact that the kids had to be Damians half siblings.

Damian looked rather disgruntled, arms also crossed as he turned to return Dan's glare with the same intensity. "Father, may have been trying to hide you from us but his attempts at gaining Nightingale favor are just as pathetic as the excuses he has been giving us in regards to our relation."

Tim arched an eyebrow. "I was not even aware that Bruce tried to flirt with Phantom at all."

Dick patted Tims shoulder in mock condolence. "I have seen the Phantom-Batman dynamic since my days as Robin… It was horrible and painful to watch. Jason can attest to that."

"Mom is as dense as a neutron star." Dan muttered looking away from them.

As if realizing something Dani blinked a couple of times before staring wide eyed at Dick and pointing with one hand at him. "You're the menace Robin! You're the one that asked Superman to throw you high into the air so you could do flips! Mom even said that you asked him once if he could phase you halfway through a wall or turn you invisible to scare your rogues!"

Both Tim and Damian stared at their older brother unimpressed.

"I guess that did happen. Well back to topic!" Dick tried to deflect which sort of worked. But more because Tim got curious about something.

"I don't get how you guys know about us but we didn't know about you two at all. Phantom never mentioned either of you before, not even when he came to visit as Danny. Before we were told about him being Phantom." Tim muttered, completely ignoring Dick as he turned his attention to the two kids. The two children in turn exchanged knowing looks.

"Mom and Auntie Jazz were worried that big brother would get PTSD seeing the Justice League. That's why Uncle Bruce and Superman are the only ones who really knew about us." Dani explained looking up at her older brother who suddenly sported a feral grin, showing off suddenly very sharp appearing teeth. "Though Superman learning about us was more a spur of the moment than intentional telling him."

"Mom was so mad at him." Dan mentioned his sharp teeth glinting as he exchanged a feral look with his sister. It sent a shiver down the batkids' back, making them remember that the kid mentioned he had apparently murdered all of them before. The image of little ten years old Dan standing in a sea of blue fire and laughing like a maniac crossed their minds for a brief moment before they pushed the memories of the babysitting disaster into the depths of their minds again. "He would have beat him up if Uncle Bruce didn't stop him. Instead Mom put Supes through the lecture of a lifetime using us as his how-it's-supposed-to-be example."

"Oh and we met big bro J when Frostbite helped with his treatment!" Dani added clapping her hands together all cutely while her brother on the other hand ended up growling. "He still owns me a spar."

"That… explains nothing." Tim retorted, eyes narrowed at the two kids who only shrugged refusing to explain any more than they had.

Damian meanwhile ended up glaring at nothing as he crossed his arms muttering something about punishing Todd for having been in cahoots with his father and keeping his younger siblings from him. Dick smiled, their youngest apparently really like the thought of having two younger siblings of his own now.

"Can we please get back to topic? About these two trying to set up Danny and Bruce?" Dick tried once more, he really wanted to know more about this whole 'we attempted to set our mom up with Bruce' deal the two kids had going on.

"What is there to question, Richard? My half siblings appear to want for my father and their mother to be together." Damian huffed with his attention being on his eldest brother he did not notice the confused look Dani gave the older boy before looking at her own brother only for Dan to sport a mix of a feral and mischievous grin the girl soon returned when a look of understanding crossed her face briefly.

"So are you guys going to help?" Dani looked at them with big baby blue and pleading eyes. Dan gave them a red eyed glare as if daring them to disagree with his sister. "As big brother said Mom is a neutron star! We can't do this on our own. But now that you guys know you can help!"

The three bat-kids exchanged a look, though it appeared as if Damian had already made a decision on that matter the moment he learned that Phantom was the mother of his half siblings. Dick grinned, pulling out his phone. "If we are going to do this then I am calling in the cavalry."

In other words Dick was going to call in all their siblings as back up. They had been discussing making Phantom, aka Danny Nightingale, a more permanent fixture in their lives before after he had helped Jason. Now they had even more reason to do so with two baby siblings added into their lot.

382 notes · View notes

no-luscinia-no-amore · 5 months

Text

ok time for mad gomens headcanons meta brain dump because I just watched episode 6 in its entirety for the second time since July (I was saving it for when I needed Big Feels I guess?)

And look, there's some fun parallel stuff going on: Crowley bopping around with angels while Aziraphale is dealing with demons, Crowley being the one to say the feelings words (mmph, kinda) when Aziraphale has been groping him all season, Aziraphale being the one who leaves after what it is a gross understatement to call a row. But these flippy floppies all keep leading me to not be as sad this watchthrough, partly because I've been soaking in metas on here for nearly 4 months! So here's what I got.

+ No nightingales! The nightingale singing doesn't just mean that they love each other. It represents when they are safe, after 1941 (headcanon!) and after the nopocalypse. Crowley is pointing out danger, that Heaven is listening. The nightingale sings for them when they've successfully dodged celestial and infernal meddling which puts their relationship at risk, with each other and with Earth, and the silence is pointed out because Crowley needs Aziraphale to really really understand that this is possibly irrecoverable danger, not that his heart is being broken.

+ By the time Aziraphale is saying dickish things like "you're the bad guys" and "second in command" the tone has shifted from Crowley being scared, irritated and shocked to something much weirder and harder to read

It's not just hurt, and he's not as hurt as he should be, and it's not because he's about to, mmmf, propose. He's processing. Aziraphale's begging him to understand something and is so obviously panicked. We all noticed his hands and his posture, you think Crowley who's been staring at him for 4523 years* just missed that this isn't Aziraphale being a featherbrain traumaball? Nothing lasts forever, and this precious peaceful fragile existence has, in fact, shattered. Oh Crowley, nothing lasts forever you were right.

By the time Aziraphale says "I need you" with such raw fear and hunger, he's not yet sure Crowley was 1. picking up what he's putting down and 2. he's begging for help, begging for some sign or certainty that Crowley isn't saying "hey, rude, fuck you, I'm gonna storm out because this is a really unusual hurtful fight but I'll swing by in a couple days with some eclairs". He gets that certainty moments later in the form of...

+ BIG DAMN KISS

which says "I need you too" and "I'm scared this danger is too much and I'll never get to do this" and "oh fuck Angel be safe please" and "GODDAMNIT GODDAMNIT how do these bastards always wiggle in on EVERYTHING" and "I WAS RIGHT about being nervous"

and I absolutely do not believe that the alveolar sound after "I..." was just Michael Sheen failing to form a fricative**. Aziraphale received the message of "this is dangerous, this is public, and I don't care, I love you enough to kiss you goodbye (?) in front of God (and Muriel!) you bloody stupid brave Angel" and almost responds. But now they're both in the mode of communication like spies again, after 4 years of starting to communicate like...humans. Lovers? Now it's "you're the bad guys" (so the Metayuck won't let me stay here with you) or "In Heaven!!" (because this bookshop is compromised and now nowhere in Earth is safe) so not only would it absolutely not help*** if Aziraphale broke down and was like "DO IT AGAIN I LOVE YOU" it would break whatever weird undercurrent is going on in their communication. So he says the Heaven approved thing that's always in his vocal queue when he's feeling a bit emotional, and Crowley's "Don't Bother" just scans at this point like exhaustion, yes, but not grief. It's "well fuck, let's get on with the rest of this goddamn circus then."

+ I agree that Crowley looks disassociated and absolutely broken and exhausted by the time he puts his glasses on before kissin' time. He hadn't figured it all out yet and thought it was this stupid fucking argument again only way worse and Aziraphale is in stupid danger and their separation will probably be hundreds of years long****. He rushed back because it all completely clicked.

+ and then he waits, knowing Aziraphale is going bonkers, watching the Metafuck come back in, seeing Aziraphale see him through the window, crossing the street, at the elevator. He's not waiting to see if he changes his mind, he's watching his husband march away to war but can't even wave his handkerchief*****

+ and the Bentley, who let Aziraphale turn her yellow and was generally receptive to his desires, lets him play the song through her anyway, Aziraphale saying "This time Crowley, I have the plan. It'll be ok, we can be safe again. I love you."

*since Job

**try to accidentally replace all those Fs with Ls. You are at an advantage since you weren't just kissed by David Tennant, but Michael is at other advantages which I'll cede to him.

***help them get out of the Situation. It would definitely help them make out.

****or, he was with all of us emotionally and it felt for a second like it could be eeeeternityyyyy

***** Aziraphale is the handkerchief waver in the relationship anyway

#good omens meta #gos2 #the kiss #crowley loves aziraphale #aziraphale loves crowley #the bentley ships #i'm actually a little annoyed bc got an eye thing going on so i was trying to cry but wrote this instead oops

269 notes · View notes

actual-changeling · 8 months

Text

hi. hey. it's been a hot second since my last meta post but ohhhh did i realize something while making my edits. ready? i wasn't. there's gonna be a number of screencaps so let's go

i think everyone *noticed* while watching but didn't really mentally elaborate on it because i at least was already too busy sobbing. now, during the entire confession scene, crowley is attempting to make eye contact while aziraphale does his best to avoid it.

wanna take a guess when that changes? the second he steps closer and says nothing lasts forever. suddenly crowley is the one looking away, he can no longer stand to look into his eyes because his heart just got broken into a million little pieces and he loves zira so fucking much.

aziraphale is staring straight ahead and crowley looks past him, looks out the window, up, everywhere but at him. he ends up looking down and at the glasses in his hands and guess what.

aziraphale? aziraphale FOLLOWS his eyes. FOLLOWS. look at how he moves his head to keep meeting crowley's gaze. the head tilt.

i quite literally could not decide which screencaps to use so have all of them.

what really gets me though, and this might just be me being a little bit insane and very gay, but i swear aziraphale glances at his lips. it is literally one frame but it is THERE. look!!

his eyes flick DOWN. just for a second but they move from crowley's eyes, where they have been for the last half a minute, to his mouth. and when crowley says good luck and walks past him? he STILL follows him. turns his entire head and body with him even while he is trying to catch up with what crowley is really saying.

alex, you may ask, why does this matter? because it is the other way around now, they switch roles, because crowley kept eye contact during his confession and this is aziraphale's confession.

this is HIM saying run away with me, let's go off together, let's be an us in heaven. he tries to soak up literally every single heartbeat of being able to look into crowley's eyes without any barrier between them. this is him trying. he literally moves with him just to keep looking at his pretty yellow eyes, the eyes he has come to get to know so so well over the last few years. the eyes that have been uncovered, his face bare, presumably every single time crowley was in the bookshop.

crowley hears "nothing lasts forever" and takes it as rejection.

aziraphale says "nothing lasts forever" and looks at the one thing, the one person, that IS forever to him - crowley. he cannot say the words and lets his eyes speak for him yet crowley has already closed himself off.

(side note: call me delusional which i am clinically psychotic and all but if crowley had not put on his glasses? had stayed just a bit longer? said the nightingale bit right then and there? fuck me, but i think aziraphale would have kissed him first)

aziraphale loves humanity, loves the world, but crowley is HIS world, he sees all of his creations, all his nebulas and stars, in his eyes and tries to find the joy in them that he once saw before the beginning of time.

#alex talks good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #good omens meta #aziracrow #crowly x aziraphale #i am losing my mind #i wish i knew how to make good gifs but i do not so screencaps it is #anyway im insane one more week til i finally have therapy again and by god is she gonna have a time with me

229 notes · View notes

slaymitchabernathy · 23 days

Text

Pretty

“I like that dress,” Coriolanus says, champagne glass in his hand. He’s spread out on some velvet sofa in probably the tenth boutique they’ve gone to today.

Looking for a dress for Soarynn to wear to the ball.

He’s not some heartless monster, and he did say he’d take her shopping. She looks entirely overwhelmed as she stands on the circular pedestal surrounded by both mirrors and employees trying to make this work.

Everything Soarynn likes, Coriolanus hates. She’s drawn to simple, boring, underwhelming gowns. He’s drawn to ornate, exciting, over-the-top gowns. And expensive gowns on top of all that. Coriolanus wants everyone to know that he can afford to buy his pretty girl the prettiest dress.

She looks so pretty right now.

One employee is grabbing all the excess fabric that’s gathered at Soarynn’s waist, “If we bring it in at the waist…adjust the straps…”

He can tell Soarynn’s over it, that she’s beginning to grow tired and he hasn’t ever seen a more irate side of Soarynn but he’s willing to bet today will be the day.

“Okay,” she says softly, causing everyone in the establishment to freeze, “I’ll take this one.”

It’s a fucking celebration.

Soarynn goes back to the dressing room to change while Coriolanus settles the bill, chatting with all the ladies about how he’s such a good boyfriend for taking his pretty girl shopping. “Well my girl deserves the best,” he says, feeling a much smaller body come to stand next to his, her small hand grabbing his large one. He lets everyone fawn over them before they’re instructed to come back in one week to see if any more alterations need to be made.

“I think you made an excellent choice,” he tells Soarynn as they walk outside. Soarynn shrugs, pulling her handbag onto her shoulder, “I just didn’t want to try on any more dresses,” she mumbles, “can we go to my house?”

Coriolanus hums, knowing not to push her to go to his house. She’s had a long day his pretty girl, trying on dresses, socializing with so many people. It’s a hard life she has.

꧁ ꧂

They’re greeted by a meow when they walk into the Nightingale’s townhouse.

Soarynn drops his hand instantly to scoop up her cat, smiling while she spins the two of them around, “Oh, Petunia I missed you.” Coriolanus watches his girlfriend fawn over her cat while he shrugs off his coat, his eyes scanning the foyer of the home. Her dad isn’t here right now, he’s at work which means it’s just them in this large townhouse.

Coriolanus would describe Glen Nightingale as a quiet man but one whose word is law. He hasn’t realized how smart the man would be, how unlike his daughter, he’d pick up on Coriolanus’s intentions. He’d drilled Coriolanus the first time he came over for dinner.

“So what are your intentions with my daughter?” He’d asked, sipping his whiskey while looking Coriolanus in the eye over the brim of his glass.

Coriolanus had swallowed his food before flashing him a smile, “I think it goes without saying that I’m very fond of your daughter sir, I simply wish to make her happy.” He’d only practiced saying that in the mirror a hundred times before coming over.

Glen didn’t buy it.

“So you can promise me that you have no other intentions with my daughter? That you two haven’t engaged in any type of intercourse in the short week you’ve been seeing each other?”

Soarynn had turned pink and let out an embarrassed whine, “Daddy don’t ask questions like that,” she’d mumbled, poking at her food. She’d barely eaten but Coriolanus could’ve guessed why.

She was nervous.

But Coriolanus wasn’t nervous. No, he was prepared. He took her hand from under the table and pressed a kiss onto it before looking back at Glen, a man who posed no threat to him or his intentions with Soarynn.

“We haven’t done a thing, sir.”

Now their dynamic had drastically changed since they’d both uttered those three words to each other the night he took her virginity.

“I love you.”

She might as well have locked a chain around her ankle and given him the key because she was never leaving now.

He’d said it to her just the other night in front of his parents. Both gave very different reactions. His mother was ecstatic of course, she’d always been a romantic at heart. She adored Soarynn and thought she was the perfect match for her darling son.

His father on the other hand simply rolled his eyes, all too removed from his son’s life to truly keep up with who he was in love with. “It’s awfully soon to be saying things like that,” he’d grunted.

Crassus Snow was a man who never held back when it came to his opinions and he made sure to let Soarynn know exactly what he thought about her and the relationship she had with his son. “I assume you’ll be willing to bear my son's children if you feel comfortable expressing your love for him,” he’d said, pinning her down in her seat.

Soarynn had turned into a deer in headlights, truly petrified by the cold demeanor of the head of the Snow family. Coriolanus had come to her rescue though, placing his hand on top of hers and giving it a reassuring squeeze, “Children are far in the future father,” he’d said calmly, “right now we just want to focus on the present.” If only he could tell his father the truth, how Soarynn bled on his cock and the only way to keep her in his pocket was to utter those three powerful words.

Coriolanus glanced at the outfit Soarynn was wearing today. It was a short dress with ruffles and she had a ribbon tying her hair back like usual. He loved to pull the ribbons out of her head, slip them into his pocket. Soarynn would frown sometimes when he did it, but she never commented on it.

She was so quiet his pretty girl.

“Why don’t we go upstairs?” He suggests, wanting to get off his feet for a while. Soarynn nods and leads them up the grand marble staircase.

The Nightingale’s townhouse was most impressive. Although they didn’t live on the Corso like Coriolanus, they were still very wealthy and their home was a sure sign of that. They had a backyard, two floors, and Mr. Nightingale had mentioned buying Soarynn a car in the near future.

As if Coriolanus would ever let her drive anywhere.

Soarynn’s room was the opposite of his. It was full of color and personality. Although it lacked photographs of her and her friends. Probably because she didn’t have any.

Her bed was a canopy and several stuffed animals sat on top of the covers. Coriolanus sat on the edge of the bed, taking one shoe off and then the other. He watches Soarynn continue to play with Petunia, giggling when the cat does something that amuses her.

Soarynn had told Coriolanus one night that Petunia was her best friend. How tragic he’d thought, to have a cat be your only friend.

But Coriolanus would change that. Introduce her to the right people, make the right connections. With his guidance, Soarynn could flourish.

Once his shoes were off he made himself more comfortable on her bed, moving a few stuffed animals to the side. It took Soarynn a moment to join him, she was always more timid about showing affection and so blatantly at that.

But eventually, she crawls onto the bed, into his strong hold. Coriolanus places a kiss on the top of her head, appreciating how domestic this all feels. Sometimes he forgets how this all began, his obsession to make her his, how he made her his, what he did to her.

He often wonders if she thinks of it too, how he took her virginity, what he did to her. If she does then Soarynn doesn’t mention it. Probably too nervous to bring it up. They simply moved past it.

They had sex, no need to make it into something bigger than what it already is.

"Thank you for buying my dress," she whispers, her legs tangling with his. Coriolanus smiles, at least she's grateful. Even if she hates it she'll still thank him. "You're welcome," he replies, his hand slipping under her dress. He hears Soarynn's breath hitch but she doesn't stop him.

She tried to in the beginning, insisting that once was more than enough. He'd chuckled at her way of thinking, thinking that he could get enough of her and her cunt after only one time. No. He needed her every day. And he'd take her every day if he could if they weren't so busy with school and their lives.

"I think I'd like you on top," he says, squeezing her ass.

Soarynn whimpers, her legs pressing together as he continues to feel her up from underneath her dress. It's a pretty dress. A pretty dress for a pretty girl. "I've never been on top Coriolanus," she whispers, her hand clutching his shirt. It's true. Coriolanus has taken her in many positions but he's always been on top, in charge. He still will be, but he wants to watch her take him inch by inch.

"You'll be my good girl," he tells her, sitting up, his hand slipping between her legs, "take it like you should hmm?"

Soarynn's need and want to be good, to be praised was something Coriolanus used to his advantage. If she pleased him, listened to him, she was rewarded with soft kisses and kind smiles. If she didn't, well, she hadn't gotten to that point yet although he knew she would eventually. Sooner or later Soarynn would grow a little defiant, push back, snap at him. And he'd be quick to correct such bratty behavior.

“Yes,” she whispers, her head slightly dropping in shame.

Coriolanus had expected her to be upset with him after taking her virginity, maybe even a little bashful but he hadn’t expected her to be so…ashamed.

She begged him not to tell anyone, especially her dad. And he didn’t. Well, he didn’t tell her dad at least. He hadn’t planned to but he did tell his friends about how tight of a cunt Soarynn Nightingale has.

He smiles and presses a kiss to her temple, “Good girl.”

He’s quick to get her undressed, he wants to see all of his pretty girl. She’s wearing some of the lingerie he bought her, something he smugly notes. If he buys her something, she’ll wear it. She wants to please him, make him happy. She’s so thoughtful his pretty girl.

His lips are moving against hers while his bulge grows bigger and bigger to the point where she can feel it and lets out a whimper. “You know what to do pretty girl,” he whispers, his hands grabbing her waist.

It’s been a rather tedious process, teaching Soarynn exactly how to please him. Coriolanus selflessly took it upon himself though, knowing how well it would pay off in the end. Since then Soarynn has been much better in the bedroom. Coriolanus wasn’t a monster, he wanted her to enjoy sex. But only with him. She would only know what it felt like to be stuck on his cock, no one else’s. The mere thought of another man seeing her like this pushed him past anger and into obsession.

Soarynn’s shaky hands unbuttoned his pants, grabbing his hard bulge through his boxers. Coriolanus groans, slightly bucking into her small hand, “Don’t tease me, love, do what I showed you.”

Soarynn pulls away from the kiss, breathless as always while she pulls down his boxers with her other hand, letting his hard cock spring out. She swallows and looks into his eyes, she’s nervous.

Coriolanus nods and Soarynn begins to stroke him up and down with her hand, getting him nice and ready to fuck that sweet little cunt of hers. Coriolanus moans, throwing his head back while she pleases him, and then he feels her warm mouth on him.

As much as she’d hate to admit it, Soarynn can give a good blowjob. She always manages to get him to his peak and she does it without complaint. Although she rarely ever complains.

He grabs her hair, bobbing her head up and down at the pace he wants, swearing at how well she takes him, “There you go,” he says, “taking me so good. Always gonna be my little slut huh?”

He can picture it now. Their future. Soarynn swollen with his child, on her knees while she pleases him, those beautiful eyes looking up at him like he’s the greatest thing in the world. They’ll have a good marriage, she’ll make him happy and he’ll buy her whatever she wants.

They’ll be happy.

꧁ ꧂

Her skin is so soft. Coriolanus can feel how well Soarynn takes care of her body while he traces his finger up and down her arm. He appreciates that about Soarynn. She’s soft, she’s clean, and she’s hairless. He had worried how she maintained everything for a moment before he had her in his clutches but Soarynn was just full of surprises.

“That’s pretty,” Soarynn mumbles, pointing at the television. It draws his attention back to the screen and away from her, “Hmm? Oh, that dress she’s wearing?” Soarynn hums and nuzzles back into his chest, letting out a content sigh.

They’re in her living room watching television. It’s so domestic. And ironic considering he just fucked her until she was crying less than an hour ago. But she wanted to watch Lucky Flickerman’s show and Coriolanus was happy to oblige.

She’s curled up against him while he’s laid out on the sofa, a blanket covering them, his arms wrapped around her, providing security.

The dress she’s so fascinated with is light pink. Whoever Lucky is interviewing can barely pull the dress off but Soarynn certainly could. Coriolanus made a mental note to buy it for her so then he could be the one pulling it off.

“Do you ever think about the future?” He asks, staring out the window into her backyard. Soarynn lifts her head up to look at him and she looks so pretty with her hair all messed up, a few bruises on her neck. “The future?” She repeats, her brows furrowing. Coriolanus nods, absentmindedly brushing her hair from her face, “You know, getting married, having kids. All that.”

He begins to wonder if he’s the only one thinking this far ahead because Soarynn frowns, “I think most people are just focused on graduating,” she tells him softly. She has a point. It’s their last year, the last few months. Best not to get ahead of himself.

“We would have cute kids,” he decides, ignoring how surprised she looks at his statement. “They’d look just like a Snow,” he continues, admiring her blonde hair and blue eyes, making her the perfect candidate to have children with to ensure they look just like him.

Soarynn bites her lip but doesn’t say anything. She just lays her head back down and they sit in silence, watching Lucky Flickerman’s television show.

꧁ ꧂

"Now your professor left me with some worksheets for you to complete. Please don't forget to write your names at the top," the substitute says somewhat exasperatedly. Their professor was sick today which meant their literature class was stuck doing busy work. Coriolanus didn't mind though. It meant he got to mess around with his friends and he got to bother Soarynn.

So it was a win-win.

Coriolanus was quick to finish his assignment, wanting to get it out of the way. Soarynn had finished slightly before him but then again she wasn't the one socializing. He tried to get her engaged in the conversation between him and Festus but she was so enamored by her book so he settled for holding her hand under the table.

"My mom won't get off my back about this stupid ball," Festus says with a groan, tossing his pencil onto his desk. Coriolanus smirks, happy he already has his tailored suit prepared for the upcoming ball, "Why? Is she scared you might drug some professor's daughter again trying to get into her pants?" Festus rolls his eyes and shakes his head, "That only happened once and it was a mistake," he defends. Coriolanus glances to his left to see Soarynn so deeply invested in her book, leaning against her hand as she reads, "Ask one of the girls," he says, still watching Soarynn, "Like Clemmie or Arachne."

He knows neither of the girls is the ideal date for Festus but you can't be too picky this close to graduation. Almost everyone is beginning to couple up, truly commit. Coriolanus and Soarynn seem to have set off a trend and everyone else has followed. Festus sighs, carding his hand through his curls, "Easy for you to say Coryo, not everyone is in love like you two are." He can feel Soarynn slightly tense next to him, listening to their conversation, "It's not my fault I'm an overachiever," Coriolanus retorts before changing the subject.

They talked about other things before the bell rang dismissing them for lunch, "We'll be right there," he says to Festus, pulling Soarynn in the opposite direction of the lunch room with him. Festus throws him a smirk and walks off to lunch. "Where are we going?" Soarynn whispers, aimlessly following him into a supply closet. Coriolanus shuts the door and locks it, turning on the shitty overhead light, which is quite literally just a lightbulb.

Coriolanus doesn't answer her question, instead, he pushes her against the door, capturing her lips in a heated kiss. Soarynn whimpers but returns the kiss, her satchel falling to the floor along with her book. Coriolanus didn’t know why he brought her into the supply closet but he wasn’t going to leave now, not when he could have some fun with his pretty girl.

“Just wanna have a little fun,” he whispers against her lips, his hand slipping under her skirt. Soarynn gasps and tries to push him away, “Coriolanus we can’t,” she says, her voice desperate and her eyes pleading.

Coriolanus has to hold himself back from rolling his eyes at his girlfriend’s apprehensions. He’s done much worse in public places if he’s being honest, if anything the supply closet is a step up from the other places he’s fucked girls.

At least this one had a door.

But he’s not having any of her attitude or protests and he’s swift to wrap a hand around her neck, applying a slight pressure, “Don’t you wanna be my good girl baby? Make me happy? Make me feel good?” Soarynn whimpers when his hand slips under the waistband of her lace panties, getting oh-so-close to her sweet little cunt. “Or do you want me to go find another girl who will listen to me? Someone who will love me better than you do?”

He knows he’s laying it on thick, being a little mean. But Soarynn can be so dumb sometimes and when it comes to sex she’s a fucking idiot. He knows she’ll do anything to please him because even if she won’t admit it he knows she likes dating him, being with him, letting him touch her. Why wouldn’t she?

“No,” she whispers frantically, “I…I can be good for you I promise. Please don’t go find some other girl.” He can hear her voice tremble, how scared she is at the prospect of him leaving her. He’s thankful for how easy she is to manipulate and the groundwork he laid down the night he took her virginity. Convincing Soarynn that no one would love or want her now that she was used was probably the best thing he’d ever done.

Because now she was his.

Coriolanus hums and swipes his fingers between her folds, groaning when he feels how wet she is despite her protests. “Okay pretty girl, then why don’t you let me make you feel good hmm? Since I love you so much.” It’s almost comical how quickly Soarynn spreads her legs for him. He knows she wouldn’t ever outright say it but she likes it when he goes down on her. And he likes the way she tastes, the way she sounds, the way only he can see this side of her.

It’s a win-win.

And it’s so cute watching her try to be quiet while he’s on his knees, his mouth on her cunt and his hands gripping her thighs, keeping her spread apart for him. “Oh please,” she whispers, her hand grabbing his curls. Coriolanus slightly winces when she pulls on his curls but he finds himself strangely liking it. Because it means she likes it.

He might as well fuck her since they’re here and he wastes no time getting back on his feet and flipping Soarynn around, pressing her chest against the door, effectively pinning her against him. “Look at you,” he whispers, his hand quickly undoing his pants. Soarynn lets out a small moan when she feels his growing problem press against her ass and he chuckles, “You want it? You want me to fuck you stupid Soarynn?”

Coriolanus finally gets his pants off and his boxers follow suit, his cock springing out and resting against her perfect little ass. He lifts her skirt up to ensure he can see everything. One thing he’s always been adamant about is having the perfect view of Soarynn taking his cock. It’s a sight he simply can’t pass up. “Yes please,” she whispers, her back slightly arching into him. Coriolanus smirks, he wonders if Glen Nightingale is aware of the absolute slut he’s turned his daughter into.

His beautiful, sweet, timid little daughter. Taking the cock of Coriolanus Snow in a supply closet.

He lets out a low moan when he sinks into her cunt, never tiring from how tight she is. Soarynn moans too and Coriolanus is quick to shove two fingers in her mouth to keep her quiet. As much as he loves the risk, he doesn’t love the idea of someone finding them. Someone finding them and getting an eyeful of what’s rightfully his. His obsession with Soarynn fuels his thrusts as he pounds into Soarynn, hitting her sweet spot every time.

Soarynn is taking him just like she should and he can feel her walls quivering around him. If only he could get deeper. It’s not ideal, their position. “Lift your leg up for me,” he pants, pulling her right leg up and pinning it against the door. Soarynn being the good girl he’s trained her to be holds it and he can finally fuck her deep and fast.

“There you go,” he says, listening to her small, gagged moans, “trained you so good huh? You’ll just take it anywhere won’t you Soarynn? I should tie you up and leave you in here, let everyone take a turn on you, and see what a slut you are.” He shoves his fingers deeper and she gags on them, tears spilling from her eyes as they roll back, finally giving her that look he loves on her. Coriolanus loves when she looks so fucking dumb, so stupid while stuck on his cock, with nothing to do but take it over and over again. She looks so pretty like this.

But he knows they don’t have much time so he picks up the pace and pulls his fingers from her mouth to bring them to her clit, rubbing it in tight circles. Soarynn lets out a squeal from the stimulation and her body begins to shake.

Coriolanus nearly finishes when thinking back to a few nights ago when he had her in the shower, pinned against the wall much like now but instead, he used the shower head on her. He’d never paid too much attention to his removable shower head until he and Soarynn were showering the night off. He didn’t hesitate to adjust the jet stream and point it right at her clit, making her take it over and over again until she was sobbing.

He bites into her shoulder when he feels her walls begin to flutter around him, her orgasm hitting her full force. “Oh!” She gasps, her body going limp in his hold. Coriolanus doesn’t let up until he finishes though, watching with a smug look on his face when he finally pulls out to see his cum dripping from her puffy cunt. Soarynn pants and rests her forehead against the door, catching her breath.

Coriolanus presses a kiss to her neck while he calms down as well, his mind still buzzing with adrenaline. Soarynn reaches down between her legs and whines, “I…I need to go to the bathroom and clean up,” she tells him softly as she turns around. Coriolanus tilts his head and places one hand next to her head so he can lean down, getting eye level with her, “You’re not cleaning up anything pretty girl.”

꧁ ꧂

“What color is your dress Soarynn?”

Arachne’s question pulls Soarynn from her haze and she lifts her head off of his shoulder, “Oh, um it’s red she says, her hands tugging on her skirt.

Coriolanus smirks and places his hand on her thigh, giving it a squeeze. Arachne nods and looks to her left where Clemensia is sitting, “We definitely need to go dress shopping this weekend then or all the good dresses will be gone.” Coriolanus tunes the girls out while he looks down at Soarynn who’s already gone silent again. Her eyes are shifting over the table, watching everyone in their conversations.

He knows why. It’s because she’s embarrassed.

They’d showed up to lunch late for obvious reasons and Festus and Felix greeted them with a plethora of questions and shared smirks. Coriolanus smoothly answered all of their questions while pulling out a chair for Soarynn who looked like she wanted to disappear for the rest of her life.

It was so cute how she sat down, careful to pull down her skirt. Wouldn’t want to flash anyone since she wasn’t wearing any panties.

Coriolanus nearly got hard again just thinking about how he’d stuffed her panties up her cunt to keep his cum inside of her. Knowing she’d been filled with him all day brought him a feeling of satisfaction and ownership. Soarynn was clearly uncomfortable but he paid it no mind. He gently kisses her temple before whispering in her ear, “You’re coming home with me after school.” He reaches into her satchel and places the book she was reading on the table, a silent way of permitting her to read it while he talks with his friends.

Soarynn’s breath hitches and her eyes flit from the book to his hand on her thigh. He knows she’s sore but he doesn’t quite care about that. And he knows how desperately she just wants to read and tune everyone out. “Okay,” she agrees, her voice so soft.

Coriolanus grins and leaves her to read her book while he talks to Festus.

Soarynn just reads her book, quiet as a mouse. So sweet and obedient, always wanting to please him. He’ll keep her around, get her pregnant, marry her. Coriolanus will do all the things to his pretty girl.

꧁ ꧂

It's an ungodly sight to see Soarynn's tight cunt filled with something that shouldn't be in there. He's got her lying on her back, legs spread while he finally pulls out her bunched-up panties from her tight little cunt. Coriolanus knows how eager she's been to get it out, but he didn't let her off that easy. No. His pretty girl also had to be his good girl which meant sitting through dinner with his parents and it was a slow dinner tonight.

His mother had all sorts of questions for Soarynn who she adored, finding the timid girl a perfect match for her charming son.

"Coriolanus says you found a dress for the ball, are you excited?" She'd asked Soarynn who'd been poking around her plate. Coriolanus had given her thigh a gentle squeeze, reminding her that she can not opt out of every conversation she's presented with. Soarynn nodded, giving his mother a small smile before answering.

"Yes I'm very excited, Coriolanus helped me pick out the dress." Mother had fawned over that piece of information for a good minute before turning to his father who was nursing a glass of wine, "You know, Crassus and I met at a ball thrown by the Academy." Coriolanus couldn't stop his eyes from widening when he heard that. His mother was never shy to bust out the photo albums from their glory days but he never knew how they met.

His father merely grunted, "Yes, we were about your age, ready to leap into the world of adulthood." His eyes settled on Coriolanus as if he saw him unfit to join that said world. Coriolanus chose to ignore it and slipped his hand further up Soarynn's thigh until it rested on her cunt. He felt her stiffen next to him but he paid her no mind as he acted so very interested in what his mother was saying.

His pretty girl had been so good for him at dinner, acting as if nothing was happening while he rubbed her clit under the table in front of his parents. The best part was that she didn't even attempt to stop him. Coriolanus was quite pleased with that, how she knew how to behave, and that his training was paying off.

꧁ ꧂

"Such a pretty little cunt," he says, blowing air onto her clit. Soarynn whimpers and tries to lift her hips but his arm keeps her pressed to the bed, "do you want something else inside of it Soarynn?"

He knew she was horny, even if she didn't like it she was still horny. He nearly worked her into an orgasm at dinner before he pulled his hand away, leaving her to feel unsatisfied. "Please," she gasps, "please." Coriolanus chuckles and glances back at his bedroom doors, his locked bedroom doors. After she slept over the first time he found it quite easy to convince both his and her parents to let them spend the night. As long as an adult was home with them, no harm could be done. How foolish of them to think that.

His eyes wander to his desk, to the drawer where he keeps those oh-so-special pills and he smirks before giving her thigh a squeeze, "Stay here," he says before standing up. He knows she's on edge, the closet sex, the panties, dinner, his cock, it's been a lot for her today.

Too bad he's just getting started with his pretty girl.

He chooses to go with two pills tonight, ensuring that Soarynn won't give him any problems while he has his fun with her. Soarynn's still lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling while she moves her hips ever so slightly. If she's this desperate to be fucked then she's in for a real treat tonight. "Close your eyes, pretty girl," he orders, climbing back onto the bed. Soarynn shoots him a hesitant look but he returns it with a stern look that leaves no room for arguing.

So his submissive, dumb, pretty girl closes her eyes.

Coriolanus leans down and presses a kiss to Soarynn's soft pink lips, his tongue pressing against them for only a moment before gaining entry to her mouth. Soarynn doesn't particularly like tongue but it's not really about her now is it? He kisses her for a moment before bringing his fingers to her lips, the two pills in his hold. It's easy to slip them into her mouth while they kiss although he pulls away immediately. If he accidentally swallowed one then things would be very, very bad. Soarynn lets out a whimper and furrows her brows but Coriolanus is quick to cover her mouth with one hand and pinch her nose shut with the other. Soarynn's eyes widen and she tries with all her might to push him off but his pretty girl is so small and weak compared to him.

"Swallow them now before I force them down your pretty throat," he grits out, squeezing her nose tighter. If she doesn't swallow them she'll just pass out but that's only half the fun in his opinion. Soarynn tries to scream but it gets muffled by his hand and he shoots her a murderous glare, "Don't be a fucking brat Soarynn, swallow them, now." He can see her beginning to panic, trying to decide what to do and tears form in her eyes before she finally swallows. Coriolanus grins and pulls both hands away, watching her roll to her side as she sucks in as much air as possible.

Then she starts to cry.

Coriolanus sighs, he really doesn't have time for this right now but he knows how fast the pills will work so he'll let her have this moment. "Why...why are you doing this to me?" She chokes out, barely able to look up at him. Coriolanus tilts his head as he stares down at the pretty girl below him, "Because I love you."

Soarynn lets out a bitter, hollow laugh that tells him that she doesn't believe those words for a second, "You don't hurt people you love," she spits back, her voice as loud as he's ever heard it before, "you don't take advantage of people you love and fucking drug them."

He can't help but laugh at the current state of her and also her sudden feistiness. Naked on his bed, drugged all while trying to fight with him. The poor thing clearly needs to be put back in her place and tonight will be the perfect time to do so. Coriolanus gives her a smile all too kind to be genuine before he reaches down and grabs her throat, pulling her up like a ragdoll until they're face to face.

"Listen to me once and only once darling because I don't like repeating myself," he says in a low, measured voice, "if you ever try to speak to me like that again I'll make sure all you know is what it's like to be drugged up and trust me when I tell you, there are much worse drugs than the ones I gave you. And if you ever want to see the type of man I can become as someone who doesn't love you then I can easily arrange for that."

Her eyes hold fear in them but he can still see a glimmer of defiance and Coriolanus has to kill that now. "I will let my friends run such a fucking train on you that once they're done you'll be begging to take my cock and only my cock, do you understand Soarynn?" He shakes her neck for emphasis and smirks when it lolls to the side, the drugs finally taking over, "You have no idea how many boys would love to split your sweet little cunt open and yet I keep them all away. All because I love you."

He releases her throat and watches her fall back onto the mattress. Limp and starry-eyed. Good, she looks prettiest when she's helpless.

Coriolanus spends a few minutes getting the things he'll need, a belt, a necktie, and a binder clip from his desk.

When he comes back he finds Soarynn completely out of it. He starts with the tie, wrapping it around her head, securing it in her mouth, and gagging her. He doesn't need any screams when she wakes back up. Not like last time when she lost it. Then he binds her hands with his belt, can't have her running off. Lastly, he grabs the binder clip, smirking when he notices Soarynn warily eyeing it, "This is what happens when you talk back to me pretty girl," he drawls, pressing it open and bringing it down to her clit. The gagged scream Soarynn lets out only makes him grow harder and harder in his pants as he watches her writhe on his sheets. He looks at her cunt, still stuffed with her panties, her clit now clamped with a binder clip all while she drips onto his sheets.

She's crying again, trying to take deep breaths but it's hard and the drugs are making her more and more lucid. "I think some spanks are in order," he decides, picking her up by her waist. She's like a ragdoll now, his personal little fuckdoll as he sits on the edge of the bed and lays her across his lap. Her limbs sag letting him know she's completely at his disposal before he lands a hard slap on her ass. Soarynn makes some noise but he pays it no mind and continues bringing his hand down on her ass. "You've been such a good girl for me Soarynn but I suppose all sluts throw a temper tantrum eventually."

Coriolanus spanks her until her ass is bright red, sure to bruise by the morning. Good, he wants her to remember what happens when she tries to talk back to him. He tosses her back onto the bed and spreads her legs wide, getting another view of her perfect cunt stuffed with her panties. "Now let's take these out, hmm?" It's an erotic sight as he slowly pulls her soaking wet panties out from her cunt, both her cum and his cum mixed into the fabric. He groans when he sees her gaping little cunt, still coated with his cum from this afternoon. He flicks the binder clip and Soarynn jolts, letting out a gagged wheeze. He loves her like this, helpless, vulnerable, all his.

So pretty.

"My little fuckdoll," he says, pulling down his pants and then his boxers, letting his cock spring out. "Are you ready to be good for me now? To take whatever I give you?" He grabs a fistful of Soarynn's hair, pulling it up and down, making her nod like a puppet, "That's my good girl," he says, half-mocking, half-praising her. He knows how it gets to Soarynn when he degrades her. She's still got tears in her eyes but now she looks entirely afraid of him.

Coriolanus moans when he sinks into her cunt, feeling her walls wrap around him. They've been molded to fit his cock by now. "There you go, I wish you could see yourself all spread out for me, so dumb with it," he taunts, beginning to fuck hard into her. Her pleasure isn't a priority for him tonight but he plans on fucking her until she gains her mobility back, until she can repeat every rule he's given her. Soarynn's body rocks back and forth as he fucks her, his hands holding her thighs down and apart, bearing all of it to him. "I own all of this Soarynn," he grunts, "this cunt, this clit, this ass, that mouth, all of it. And when we're married, I'll truly own all of you."

Soarynn's making some more pitiful noises but he pushes through and fucks her through his first orgasm, painting her walls with his cum. Soarynn already looks fucked out but it seems like a personal problem where he's concerned, "You're in for a long night pretty girl."

꧁ ꧂

"I can't," she gasps, her head dropping in exhaustion. Coriolanus has come to the conclusion that Soarynn looks best like this. Covered in bruises, tears, sweat, and cum. She's entirely fucked out and exhausted but Coriolanus needs to drive this message home even if it's at her own expense. Her body is still weak and pliant but she got her voice back around an hour ago and it's horse and scratchy.

He rubs at her clit causing more tears to surface since the clip is still on it, "Yes you can baby, give me one more and we're done."

Soarynn chokes down another sob, and he gives her throat another squeeze as he fucks her from behind, her upper half folded and pressed against his marble bathroom counter. Fucking Soarynn in front of a mirror is an image he wants to burn in his mind forever. This way he can see how pathetic she looks wrapped around his cock.

"You promise?" She croaks, looking into his eyes with desperation. Coriolanus nods and presses a kiss to her temple, "One more, I promise." He means it too, especially since he's getting tired too. He doesn't even know if Soarynn can give him another orgasm but she's his good girl and he knows she will. And he knows just how to get it.

He reaches down between her legs without warning and presses the clip open and that's all it takes to get her to cum. She doesn't even cum, she squirts all over him, her eyes rolling back, her tongue sticking out. His little fuckdoll.

"There you go," he praises, still fucking her as he reaches his own orgasm, "such a good girl. My pretty girl, can you say that for me? Tell me you're my pretty girl?"

Soarynn closes her eyes when she feels him filling her up, her legs are shaking, all of her is shaking but he won't let up until he gets what he wants. She should know that by now.

With tears in her eyes, Soarynn lifts her head up and looks into the mirror, looking into his eyes, the eyes of the man she'll belong to for the rest of her life, something she's come to terms with now.

"I'm your pretty girl."

| Part 3. | Final Part |

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

68 notes · View notes

thekats · 3 months

Text

1:38AM thoughts (on Aziraphale bc he has taken over my body help he's making me write things in his defense, well except this part, obviously, I am doing a joke, haha):

"We can be together!" and "I need you!" followed by "I don't think you understand what I'm offering you." is so fucking tragic to me? It's like he's saying 'I love you, I want to be with you' reeeaaally really clearly (though some people would rather just ignore it and are all 'oh, Aziraphale's only talking about jobs and promotions'). He is offering Corwley a way they can be with each other for realsies, no take-backsies without fear or interference, with earth and humanity protected (which Crowley was previously the main advocate for, remember) and Crowley hits him with "I think I understand a whole lot better than you do."

Wanna know what I'd have thought in Azi's place at that? I'll tell you anyway: whoa, fuck, I completely misinterpreted everything Crowley's been throwing my way for... a long time! He doesn't want to be together together, he just likes to be really good friends and wants to keep that up, he's so lonely on earth, being a good demon that he expresses his platonic love in a way reminiscent of pining love-interests- heck, maybe I'm so lonely down here that I misread common best-buddies-stuff as romantic interest! This is bad. He understands what I want to do here and he doesn't want that. He wants to be 'us' as we have been for millennia. I... don't know if I want that... I don't want to hide this shit, but if he doesn't reciprocate, then I'd make him uncomfortable and things wouldn't work out anyways. Guess I might as well save us both the pain of one-sided love and a friendship that can never be the same again and go. Now I'm angry. This isn't at all how it was supposed to be. I need distance now. From him, our relationship and my emotions bc this hurts. Ouchie. Rude.

And then Crowley mentions the nightingale and hits him with that angry, tragic as fuck kiss? The (potentially perceived) mockery! Crowley is mocking Azi's feelings for him. 'Is that what you want, angel? This? Silly birds proverbially singing about our love? Kissing? That's what you want for us?'Yes, it is, damn you a second time!

#i might be wrong #I'm probably not exactly correct #but listen i have an angsty teenager stuck in my trauma-filled brain and it needs an outlet #also with all the shit the crowley stans make up to bash Az #i think we deserve some ridiculous takes in Azi's defense ourselves 😌#it is now 2am. this was a sleepy-brain post #current-me thinks future-me will hope i dont piss anyone off #current-me is on the fence about wanting beef #good omens #ineffable husbands #good omens 2 #aziracrow #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #aziraphale defense squad takes

78 notes · View notes

somehow-a-human · 2 months

Text

The Ineffable Timeline of Season 2

Friday on Whickber street & The Final Fifteen.

DO NOT ASK NEIL ABOUT FAN THEORY

Monday - Tuesday - Wednesday - Thursday - Friday

We've done it besties! We've reached the day of reckoning! Sadly! Okay, We only see a small piece of Friday, but let's still take a look at the timeline that we're shown.

Crowley's sideburns are long for the entirety of Friday so we won't be denoting them in the individual scenes. The illustrated bible is also closed for the entirety of Friday/Episode 6.

Friday aka Episode 6 aka Everyday

8:00 (Estimated time) - Crowley Muriel and the Archangels arrive back to the bookshop from Heaven. It is the next morning on Whickber Street.

Heaven and Hell Confront the duo in the bookshop and Gabriels memories are returned. When they realize Maggie and Nina are present, Crowley takes them out of the bookshop. This is the first time we get a good sense of what time it might be.

8: 30 (Estimated time) - Nina says "I was supposed to be open half an hour ago." We've previously seen her arrive at 6:47 to prepare open the coffee shop. Let's guess maybe she opens at 7-8 ish am. So maybe it's, what, 8:30?

9:00 (Estimated time) - The Ineffable Bureaucracy is revealed, Michael makes their threats against Aziraphale, and meanwhile The Metatron orders a coffee from Nina. It's now maybe 9am. The metatron reveals himself and sends away the Archangels, then invites Aziraphale for a chinwag to discuss returning to Heaven.

9:15 (Estimated time) - Nina and Maggie emotionally compromise disaster puppy Anthony J Crowley by convincing him he should confess his feelings to Aziraphale.

9:25 (Bookshop clock) - We FINALLY get a clear time shot of the clock! Aziraphale relays The Metatrons offer (veiled threat), Crowley's confession, no nightingales, and yes the kiss.

Crowley leaves the bookshop.

Small time jump here. Did time jump or did the final 15 start at 9:25 and end at 9:40 and the bookshop clock is not a functional clock so the hands didn't move throughout the scene, and were just positioned to reflect the time passed after the scene was through? Because I think the second thing may be something people don't consider enough.

9:40 (Bookshop clock) - The Metatron comes back, and Aziraphale follows him to the elevator. Crowley is waiting at the Bentley, and watches as Aziraphale leaves. Then Crowley drives off. Gonna-fuck-shit-up smile Aziraphale, resolute Crowley.

-end episode, and season 2-

well. well. well.

Shall we talk conclusions?

I think in summation, I pretty much disagree with the idea that what is shown is "out of order" or not continuous. Look maybe I'm just so wrong but everything seems to me to follow a very clear path and story line. Are there some weird bits where the very prominently featured clock shifts hours at a time? yes. Do Crowley's sideburns inexplicably change length between scenes, when they were perfectly capable of being kept to a consistent length during season 1? yes. Are there large gaps of time where a lot could be happening that we simply are not shown? yep.

I think if I've read any theories I liked, the time-loop ones are most interesting to me. I think there is definitely an angle to consider given we know Crowley has the power to manipulate time and we see him use it this season on Mr. Dalrymple. We can then assume some other powerful angels/demons must have a similar ability? Coupled with the fact that season 2 insanely closely mirrors The Tales of Hoffmann, and I highly encourage you read this post by @noneorother to see all of their magnificent details. But to VERY briefly summarize, the big baddie Lindorf, who mirrors The Metatron, traps Stella, the character who mirrors our sweet Aziraphale, in a time-loop in one of the minisodes to separate her from Hoffmann, who mirrors Crowley, and eventually gets her to return to Heaven. I mean...

Do I have to even say it?

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #crowley x aziraphale #good omens meta #michael sheen #david tennant #good omens theories #good omens 2 #good omens clock #ineffable idiots #aziracrow #gomens #good omens fandom #aziraphale x crowley

59 notes · View notes

athanasius-symposium-of-writings · 4 months

Note

About that smut line

What do you think about "we're going to fuck right here? what if someone sees us?" and "you're such a fucking tease, you know that?" for Luca? Like he so busy with his invention so we decided to tease him "a bit".

Luca is a monsterfucker send tweet. This is my first time writing him f if not tht good ;w;

Rated Mature | Warnings: monster reader

Send a line

Now all the survivors have the same styled rooms, same furniture, and various clothes for all of them to wear-- Aside from the special clothing Lady Nightingale would have them wear for anyone can guess her amusement. However, the room you are contained in is massive, full of wires, computers, and other marvelous things Luca has never seen before.

You float around your tank, a giant ball with often purple mist within to keep you in a state of calm. You supposedly are a new survivor, a creature to level the playing field when it comes to dealing with those of the divine like Dream Witch or Feaster, or as you told Luca: you want to annoy them for a bit.

He can never single out your face while you are in the glass ball, you have no physical form constructed and seem unable to make up your mind on an appearance.

“Luca, imagine me.” You told him as he worked, and studied the tech used to keep you contained and translate your words. “What do you see when you hear my voice?” He shivers when he feels your presence touching his mind, it is strange for when he feels you within he feels stable. “You need to focus, dear one.”

The longer he spends time with you, the more he finds you show, or attempt to show attraction. After months of studying his fragile fragmented mind, there are others you have poked your way it but Priestess told you that is invasive.

“Let me out.” You are gentle, nervous, “I shall dawn the skin you see me as.” The ball is opened once the gas has been filtered out, and you hiss in discomfort then relax as you link your mind to Luca to keep yourself in this reality. You have tried to explain this to both Priestess and Luca but it is a bit too complex for mortal minds to comprehend. “Wait!” He places a set of clothes he had found in his room one day. They are not in his size but they match the way he imagined your human form. “Put these on.”

“Is not nudity ideal for your kind?” Shifting your body from the mass of darkness and light.

“Well, nudity is called for when it is for bathing or well…”

“Coupling. Though you have worn clothes during this.”

“(Name), I said don’t peek into those!”

“My apologies, Luca.” The mist of your form fills the clothes lifting them before your human body is made in an instant. You blink, turning your head to look around, “Fascinating.” Examining yourself in the reflection of the containment ball. “You humans have very creative minds.”

Not many are used to seeing you outside of a match, and no one is used to being a human. It unsettles most who are not open-minded. You use it often once permitted by the Lady of the Manor. You find humans naturally make connections when in extreme circumstances or cut themselves off in order to protect themselves. Most are friendly but some are not ideal for bonding with.

You also learned sex can advance a connection when both are in agreement.

“We're going to fuck right here!?” Your room is not ideal, it is open for any to enter, “What if someone sees us?” He is being polite to you yet you have seen this man indulge in vices of the flesh in many of places.

“Then they may watch,” Deadpan as you sit on his lap, “Or join in if they need release as well.”

“Fuck.” That is hot in a lot of ways, “You're such a tease, you know that?” There is no way you do not understand what you are doing.

“I am aware.”

#idv luca #luca balsa #luca balsa x reader #luca balsa x you #reader insert #idv #anon ask #identity v x reader #identity v #identity v prisoner #idv prisoner #idv x you #idv x reader

48 notes · View notes

minecraftrelatedrandomness · 8 months

Text

okay so apparently the post i made at 4am last night about the denholm family legacy and corresponding mental health implications blew up and now i'm receiving all sorts of screaming (/pos) in the tags. on a Related note, i've been brainrotting about p!scott's character intro sequence so much and now i Need to yell about all this somewhere or i'm gonna cry.

"Okay (×7), what do I need? Big day. BIG day. Okay. Okay, um, let's get the spyglass Dad got me and… Mum got me the new journal [to] write down all my discoveries."

the fact that the journal p!scott was using as a diary was meant for THIS. THIS was what it was meant to be used for. i would just like to point this out to y'all.

the EXPECTATIONS from the very start. good god it's so offhand of a comment but i am Stuck here. the Expectation of following in your family's footsteps. it's not just "do what We did" but also "do what you are Supposed to do".

"What else do I need? Ehm… outfit, check… oh, food! Um, Mum said… there we go, she'd made me five mutton wraps, okay, this will- I'm a little bit hungry… no, I shouldn't, I gotta save this; this has got to do me for a while until I can, like, find my own things. Ehm, what else do I need to take? It's Initiation Day, so everything starts here."

i don't have much of a comment on this. i really don't. only thing i can probably say is my headcanon of p!scott learning to cook from his mother.

"Um… the sword. Right. This is a family heirloom; it's served all the other Herons well, it'll serve me well, I'll definitely- I'm gonna discover so many things, I'm gonna make everyone proud, just like I was… born to do. Just like I was meant to do, 'cause I'm a Heron and that's- it's all I've ever been, and it's all I'm… was ever gonna be."

god the RESIGNATION. just. the resignation of having so much pressure put on you that it can crush rocks without using a machine. there's no way out of Being in the heron faction and doing what herons are Supposed to do. we see in the vods it's not that you Don't enjoy exploring and discovering things, but Man, would you prefer to do it on your own terms?

(what was going through your head when your brother turned up on the isles again, after you thought star dead and mourned star for a year? when star decided to join a Different faction from you and go against all you both have been taught?)

(you called the nightingales stars "new family" during the dipper quest. it's undeniable that you still love your brother and we all know that, but do you feel abandoned in that star has left you to join a new faction and have stars own life? do you feel that being in different factions means you Shouldn't have a place in stars life anymore, though you refuse to let your actions show it? do you envy star for having escaped the toxic environment where you both grew up in? that while you were born and saddled with all the expectations, star shouldn't have had to worry as much because your parents put all their eggs in a single basket, i.e. you?)

and the sword. the sword being a physical Reminder of all the baggage that comes with being raised by Internationally Famous parents who Expect you to do the same or risk their disappointment… something you either can't imagine or would rather not imagine?

"Ehm, hm… well, I'm- I guess this is everything. (sigh) Here we go. It's the life I always wanted, or at least, the life that I was given."

ohhhhh god the implication of being told this is the life you are Supposed to aspire to. and going along with it because you were raised to believe this is the life you Should have and internalizing it because you can barely even Imagine an alternative.

even when you ask yourself, "do you Really want to live like this?", do you hesitate to answer? it is just a yes/no question but does your answer Always have a "but" after it? because going against what you've been taught growing up is Not An Option For You, at least in your mind?

oh to think when someone asks, "how do you Live like this?", the response in your heart is "you don't." because in a toxic household, there is only survival and you Build Your Bed on surviving based on what you have been taught. because you can barely fathom a life where this Isn't the case.

"Alright, I'm gonna be late. Look out, world, Scott Denholm, #1 Heron, ready for action!"

this sounds like an assurance of confidence, yeah, but who Are you trying to convince? are you telling the world, or are you telling yourself? with all that you have already said, one might wonder which is truly the case.

(also, when cc!scott said that his character had "anxiety" from trying to live up to the expectations, was this supposed to mean "anxiety (emotion)" or "anxiety (disorder)"? because while the first one is very obvious, i would not be surprised if the second one happens to be the case as well.)

in summary: p!acho is a walking embodiment of trauma and drops it in Moments across many livestreams so you don't forget. p!scott is Also a walking embodiment of trauma but drops it in the first three minutes of the series and Never speaks of it again.

#pirates smp analysis #scurvyblr #smajor1995 #pirates smp #isleposting #my post #cw mental health #pirates smp theory #long post #pirates smp headcanon #denholm bros #aqua's mcytblr resources

65 notes · View notes

bullet-clubs-bitch · 8 months

Note

Anyway I can request a part 2 to The Secrets Out? Maybe Y/N ends up pregnant at some point and she has to relinquish her championship and during the duration of her pregnancy LuFisto continues to cause problems for the reader and her little family (consisting of Isla, Christian, and their Unborn child) and it starts causing her problems and Christian helps her in every way that he can?

The Secret's out Pt 2

An: This is already long and I didn't want to make it longer so there will be another part with the LuFisto drama and how Christian helps the reader

Summary: Y/n returns to the ring after her broken nose like she never missed a beat. But everything changes when Y/n unexpectedly becomes pregnant. How will this affect not only her relationship with Christian Cage but her career in AEW?

Word count: 3115

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of injury and vomit (I think that’s everything)

Six weeks had gone by faster than I expected and before I knew it I would make my return just in time for forbidden door. Within those six weeks I was gone many things happened, the drama with LuFisto had pretty much been settled and I was able to bond more with Isla. Christian was home when he could and when he was home the three of us would do ‘family things’. Whether that was going to the zoo, the park or just going out for ice cream. The end of June was soon approaching which meant Isla would soon be on Summer Break. Which also meant ‘Mr. Father of the year’ would bring his spawn to work if he wanted to.

Since I had been spending the majority of 5 weeks with just Isla I wanted to make the last week of our bonding time special before I had to go back to work. She had just finished school so I thought now would be a perfect time for us to go on a little trip just the two of us to celebrate a successful school year. Isla picked on Florida and since I have a home in Ft. Lauderdale I thought it would be a perfect fit.

Although the trip would only be 3 days since I had to arrive in Chicago on Tuesday to make my return we made the best of it. The first day we arrived we spent at the beach building sand castles, walking on the boardwalk, going shopping in the cute stores by the beach and getting ice cream. By the end of the day we were exhausted, Isla even fell asleep in the car ride home. As much as I wanted to let her sleep she needed to wash off all of the sand. As I carried her from the car to the house I couldn't help the warm feeling I had. I know she is not my biological child but within these past weeks I couldn't help but feel like she was. Earlier today when we were on the beach an old lady came up to me and said how I was a good mother for taking her daughter for a fun beach day. I didn’t even correct her, I just thanked the lady and wished her a good day. From a far glance I guess we could be related. We both had blond hair, Isla had blue eyes while mine were green but you could tell that she was Christian Cage’s daughter.

The second and third day of the trip also went well. We did lots of shopping, spent time at the pool, went to the park, and the fair just so happened to be in town so of course we had to go. Soon enough I was on a flight to Chicago to make my appearance on Dynamite the week before forbidden door.

****

Wednesday

Since I had gone straight from Florida to Chicago I had Isla with me. Christian was also at Dynamite so he was excited to show his daughter all around the arena. It felt a bit weird to be back mostly because of the terms I felt on. Leaving with a broken nose and drama only to be welcomed back with smiling faces that were glad to have me back.

“Good to see ya back friend” said a familiar voice who gave me a hug from behind. When I turned around I noticed that the familiar voice was Willow Nightingale. “Oh Hi Willow!” I told her with a sigh of relief. “You gave me a heart attack” “Sorry” she apologized “Are you still on edge about what happened?” Of course she had to ask that question. The truth was although the ‘gosip’ died down it still had me feeling on edge. The photo of Isla Christian and I walking on the boardwalk of the beach by our house haunting me. I still felt like I was being watched but unsure by who. “I guess you could say that” Willow looked at me with a sympathetic look. “Ya know what It’s fine, I’m fine” that was a lie “ This is the kind of stuff you sign up for” I told her, trying my best to sound un bothered by the situation even though I knew she knew I was lying.

“Okay, then. You know the plan for tonight?” Willow asked. “Yep, see you soon!”

I was a bit upset since this storyline would be a bit rushed but the plan for forbidden door was for me to put my ROH women's championship on the line against Willow who currently held the NJPW Strong Women's Championship. Regardless we would put on a great performance, in the meantime I had to get ready for the show.

***

The time had come, everything was finalized and 10 minutes from now I would make my return.

“You ready?” Christian asked me “Hopefully, I’m a bit nervous” I told him truthfully “I’m sure you will be fine!” I gave him a smile before mouthing him a thank you for his support during my six weeks off. Just then I felt a tug on my shirt. When I looked I saw Isla holding something behind her back. “Yes” I told her “I made you something” Isla then revealed what she was hiding behind her back, it was a beaded bracelet. “You made this for me! That's so sweet! I am definitely going to wear this tonight!!” As she handed me the bracelet I couldn't help but stop in my tracks as I realized what it said. “Do you like it?” Isla asked me “Yeah…I love it” The bracelet had purple, pink and white heart beads. In the center it had three letter beads that read ‘Mom”. Christian noticed the bracelet and asked Isla what it said. “It says Mom. You are my new Mom right Y/n?” Mom, that was the first time she had ever called me something even close to that before. Unsure what to say I looked at Christian who offered a big smile. “I guess so, you can call me whatever you want okay?” “Okay!” She then gave me a big hug!

***

All out 2023

I have been officially back for a few months now and since then I have had 4 successful title defenses. Forbidden Door, Blood and Guts, ROH Death Before Dishonor and All In. All of the matches had gone quite well for the most part. At Death Before Dishonor I took a hard fall on my shoulder and needed to be on some medication. It was nothing a little KT Tape and Phiso couldn't fix. Tonight is All Out in Chicago and I’m currently waiting to see if I am medically cleared. Physically I felt fine but I guess one of the backstage doctors didn’t like the sight of my still bruised shoulder from All In. My opponent at All In was Athena, she was aware of the former injury to my right shoulder so like any good wrestler she used it to her advantage, targeting the shoulder in an attempt to secure the victory. Unfortunately for her it didn’t work and I retained my title. I wasn’t booked for the show tonight, which was fine but I would be accompanying Kris to the ring for her match against Ruby Soho. The outcasts are known for trouble and no way I was going to let them cheat and win.

“I’m sure everything is going to be fine Y/n” Kris was kind enough to wait with me for the doctor even tho she had a big match tonight “I really hope so Kris, I don’t need another injury” A few minutes went by and the doctor came out “Ms. Y/l/n” Shit, moment of truth. Kris held my hand as we awaited whatever news lied ahead.

“Your Pregnant” I felt my stomach drop. “What? That has to be some kind of mistake, there is no way I’m pregnant” I yelled at the doctor. “Well Ms. we ran a bunch of tests and your shoulder is fine but according to your blood you are pregnant. It is mandatory we run pregnancy tests through blood with every patient” I looked at Kris who was in shock just like me. “Would you like to know your options?” The doctor asked me. “What am I going to do?” I let out almost in a whisper. How irresponsible is this, the champ getting knocked up during one of the most historical reigns. I didn’t even want to think about what Christians reaction was going to be. “Well Ms. I can tell that this is a shock. I can go through methods of termination if you are interested” The doctor offered handing me a pamphlet. “Y/n, I really think you should talk to Christian before you make any decisions. This is his baby too and he deserves a right to know even if you decide not to keep it” Kris told me. She was right, Christian needed to know and I will tell him at some point.

The PPV went well, Luchasaurus would retain the TNT championship against Darby Allin and Kris would defeat Ruby Soho to keep her TBS championship. I sat backstage with my friends watching the event trying to have a good time but I couldn't stop thinking about what that doctor told me. I didn’t want to tell Christian never mind my boss but I should have known he would find out about it sooner rather than later. “Y/n, Tony would like to see you in his office” Shit

I walked into the office terrified, how was I going to explain to my boss that his golden goose got knocked up. “Take a seat” I sat nervously

“So, I spoke with the doctor” I said nothing. Partially because I had no idea what to say and the other part being embarrassed. “Is it true that you are pregnant?” He asked

“Look Tony, I am really sorry. There must be some kind of mistake, I promise you I am a responsible adult. I feel fine, promise, but they told me that they ran a mandatory pregnancy test with my blood and it came back positive. I really don’t know what to do or say. Only Kris and now you know. I haven’t even told Christian yet.”

He said nothing, he just wrote something down on a piece of paper.

“Look, I know this is not an ideal situation for anyone. I’m not going to say anything ok. I’m sure you and I both know that the media is going to have a field day with this one. I think we should continue with the press conference as normal and if anyone asks about your ring status say you are waiting to get cleared. After that you should talk to Christian, see a doctor and we can go from there. We can always say you had to relinquish due to injury” The relationship between Tony and I had always been a bit different than others. I had been in AEW since day one and due to my extremely close relationship with the Elite I even became a producer for AEW along with doing my part to elevate the women's division in any way I can. Tony and I were actually friends so even though I knew him and he knew me he was still my boss and this conversation was uncomfortable on both ends.

***** *Kris: You have to tell him at some point *Y/n: I know but it’s not the time *Kris: Y/n, If you don’t tell him soon I will just tell him *Y/n: Okay I will geez, not too sure how he will react to being a Father again at 50

The past few days had looked the same, Kris and I texting back and forth. Her trying to encourage me to tell Christian and me being too scared. I had been close on more than one occasion but the words wouldn't come out. I’m pretty sure Christian is starting to catch on too.

After All Out the two of us went for dinner and when I didn’t have a drink with my meal Christian’s suspension started to grow. “So, what are we drinking tonight? I don’t feel like champagne, we could do a nice red or just grab a bunch of drinks? Vodka soda, that’s your favorite?” How was I about to explain that I would not be drinking, I mean I may or may not have a drinking problem. “Um, I think I’m not going to have a drink tonight” Christian looked at me with a shocked expression “Are you feeling alright? What happened to Y/n?” He said jokingly. I, however, was not laughing. “I’m fine, I just don’t feel like having a drink tonight.” I said a slight edge in my voice that I didn't mean to happen. “Alright then, I’m still getting a bottle of red if you change your mind”

I knew I had to tell Christian, tomorrow was Dynamite and Tony needed answers. I went to the store and grabbed a few pregnancy tests. I knew I was pregnant but I needed to see it in order to really believe it, it’s one thing for someone to say you are pregnant but another to see a positive test in the flesh. Christian went out to grab a few things so I knew now would be a good time to get it over with. It wasn’t like I had never taken a pregnancy test before, I knew how they worked but I found myself sitting on the bathroom floor reading the instructions carefully to make sure I had done everything correctly. I peed in a cup then let the test soak in the cup for about 30 seconds before leaving it to sit for another 5 minutes to show the result. Those 5 minutes were the longest 5 minutes of my life. I looked at the test and of course it had two lines meaning I was pregnant. Of course I was in denial, so I took three more. I had bought four different kinds, the generic ones with two lines and the fancy digital ones. So far it wasn’t looking so good. Three tests had came back positive. Now I waited for the digital, *3-6 weeks pregnant*.

This didn’t make sense? If I was at least 3 weeks pregnant that would mean that I wrestled All In pregnant? That match against Athena had been brutal, I got put through a dam table. How could a fetus survive that? I could feel my throat tighten as tears started to fall from my eyes. Just then I threw up.

Christian’s pov

I knew something was up the moment Y/n returned from her appointment with the doctor. Kris went with her since I wasn’t able to but I regret not going. Something must have happened because ever since the both of them had been acting weird. In an attempt to lighten whatever happened I offered dinner after the show with Y/n to cheer her up. She was hesitant with how late it would be but gave in. Everyone needs a good drink after a hard day at work so when Y/n declined a drink I was even more suspicious. “You know I have a drinking problem right? I think I should start being more careful on what I put in my body” Yeah something was definitely up. I wouldn't say Y/n had a drinking problem but in the years I’ve known her she has never once declined an offer to get a drink. The next few days had been no different. Isla had been with her Mom so it had just been Y/n and I. Everytime I tried to ask her what happened she would push me away, something that she doesn’t normally do.

I went out to pick up a few groceries and once I returned I found Y/n sitting on the floor of the master bathroom with tear stained cheeks. I sat next to her and asked “What’s wrong?” nothing “If something happened the other day at work you can tell me you know” I waited, I knew she wanted to say something but was having trouble getting the words out. “You’re going to be mad at me” her words were so quiet it was barely a whisper. “Why would I be mad at you honey?” What would I be mad at? “Don’t yell, I’m sorry. I don’t know how this happened” Y/n had tears in her eyes as she spoke. “I won’t yell, I promise but I need to know what happened so I can help you” I told her carefully

Just then she got up and handed me four items from the sink before returning to her spot on the floor. She was now fully crying and turned her back to me. It took me a minute to realize what I was holding in my hands. Four pregnancy tests, all different kinds but all were positive. “Are these real?” She turned to face me, mascara now ruined. “Are you mad at me?” I wasn’t mad but I was shocked, but I was also happy. “No sweetheart, I would never be mad at you. Especially over something like this” I gave her a hug to which she returned, burying her head in my chest as she continued to cry.

I knew what this would mean, Y/n being pregnant would change everything. Although this was a shock I was so happy. We had never talked about having kids, Y/n was still in her prime and I was nearly 50. “What are we going to do?” I wanted Y/n to know that I would support her for whatever she decided. I mean she is making history with her current title reign and at the end of the day this is her body we are talking about. “This is your decision Y/n. I want you to know that I am happy about this but I understand if you don’t want to go through with this.” She looked at me with a sad smile. “Would I be crazy if I said I want to keep it? I still don’t understand how it happened in the first place but the more I think about it, I want to go on this journey with you Christian” I placed a kiss to her temple before saying “Don’t worry, I am going to be here with you for every second of it. We will do this together”

#bullet clubs bitch #aew smut #all elite wrestling #aew #aew fanfiction #christian cage x reader #christian cage imagine #christian cage #christian wwe #christian cage smut #christian cage fanfic #christian cage aew

48 notes · View notes