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eddies-house · 5 months

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Smoke Signals

Chapter Eleven - Hoedown

W/C: 8K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

"Got love-struck, went straight to my head."

"Slut!" - T.S.

A/N: it's been a while...

Masterlist

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The air smells of cinnamon and caramel corn, arguably the smell of Fall though if anyone were to ask you, you’d say Fall smelled of spice and smoke from the chimneys of your neighbors. The caramel corn was a tad overpowering, a huge batch being stirred back in the kitchen, courtesy of Donnie’s secret recipe. Her loving husband, Nathan was doing the heavy lifting, clearing the room so that the center allowed for a dance floor despite Eddie’s protests. Tables covered with checkered tablecloths along with chairs were set around the edges of the room and the boys had lugged in the hay bales that were stacked out back and set them where you and Donnie had instructed around the bar, the theme of the night coming together before your eyes.

Nancy was gently tossing the apples into one of the barrels in preparation for apple bobbing while Robin was organizing the table that had been designated for the pie eating contest, ensuring that they had all the pies queued up, ready to be devoured for the prize of free drinks the rest of the night. It wasn’t very logical, filling someone up with pie only for them to be rewarded with endless drinks and most definitely puke everything up, but you weren’t going to strike down the idea after Nathan insisted it would draw people in, that “they’d pay to see that kind of shit”.

Finishing off a quick makeshift arrangement of sunflowers and filler leaves in a mason jar, you set it among one of the tables proudly. It was simple but it did the job. Satisfied with your work, you continue placing the remaining flowers on each table. Nancy had assisted in putting them together, doing her part as you both sat at the bar earlier in the afternoon, chatting and giggling, squealing even, whenever you made a joke about Steve falling asleep again the second they got him in the door the previous morning at Eddie’s house.

It took a village, some would say, to get the man settled in his drunken haze. Steve had been babbling about how he could walk, meanwhile he would nearly crumble into himself the second anyone let go, his head going falling back and limbs going limp. Nancy insisted that you didn’t need to assist any further, that you should go get some sleep, but you didn’t want the night to end yet, you didn’t want to go home.

“Sunflowers.” Eddie mutters, his eyes glued to the arrangements. He stops what he’s doing, apparently searching for something behind the bar. There’s a twinkle in his eyes and the softest smile on his lips, lights creating a glow around him that leaves you in awe.

“Yeah, do they look okay?”

Suddenly, it was so easy to be insecure, even in the presence of a man who proved time and time again that you didn’t need to be. The people pleaser lurking within you had been awakened once again and it was targeting your downfall, plotting your demise. If there’s even a hint of displeasure in Eddie’s face, it would surely feed on it, ripping you apart bit by bit, declaring that nothing you ever did would be good enough for anyone ever again.

He’s lost in thought again, eyes glazed over with some kind of appreciation as he taps his ringed knuckles against the bar. He almost resembles a kid in a candy store yet you nearly take it as pity, that vengeful little monster within you ready to pounce on its prey and feast on you for the remainder of the night.

“Yeah.” He exhales. “Yeah, they’re perfect.” It’s said in a whisper, as if he had only wanted you to hear him although no one else was close enough to hear.

“Are you sure?” You ask, hands placed atop the bar as you lean closer to him, worry etched into your features. “Cause I can–”

“They’re perfect.” He affirms, louder this time. His gaze finds yours, huge chocolate buttons so filled with such adoration you become overwhelmed, palms turning clammy. The monster inside of you has been smothered for the time being.

“Yeah, yeah, the flowers are gorgeous, where do you want this?” Steve interrupts, carrying in another hay bale, gesturing to it with a nod of his head.

Before you can scan the room and provide him an answer, Nancy is pushing behind him, guiding him away as she instructs him where to set it before sending you a knowing glance.

Knowing what exactly, you weren’t sure.

–

Sparkly plastic jewels adorn the hatband of the once standard black cowboy hat. You’d catered it exactly to Eddie’s style, opting to only glue tiny silver jewels and graciously leaving out the little tassels you had so desperately wanted to add on. Then you decided, too flashy. This way, he could remain in all black and still have a little wow factor. He was the owner after all, he needed to make a statement.

What really made it scream “Eddie” though, was the bandana adorned in skulls and crossbones wrapped around the hatband just under the jewels. It was certain to gain his approval, being ‘metal enough’ and all, as he would say. You’d worked on it for hours before tonight, meticulously placing each jewel and criticizing your own work countless times. It hadn’t been easy sneaking one his bandanas away from him either although you were able to snag it from his back pocket one night and he still hasn’t seemed to notice. That, or he just hasn’t said anything.

“As promised, I have your final accessory.” You state proudly, standing in front of the desk of the tiny office, Eddie raising a curious brow at you from his seat.

You hold the hat behind your back, almost too giddy to continue hiding it from him but refraining from showing it to him a second too soon. He had changed his clothes since you’d last seen him about an hour ago after finishing up the final touches for Hoedown Night. By that point everyone was running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Now it was the calm before the storm, before patrons were let into the bar, before anyone could determine whether or not tonight would be successful or not, whether or not enough people would even show up.

From what you could see, Eddie wore his signature black jeans but rather than a regular black shirt or a faded band shirt, he wore a black button up that was slightly wrinkled and creased where it had obviously been folded previously. He had it tucked into his jeans just right and though the creases should ruin the look, it only elevates it.

“Yeah?”

His hesitation almost worries you although the slight purse of his lips and a raise of his brow indicate that he was more curious than anything. A darling expression that could’ve gotten him anything he wanted should he ask.

“Mhm.” Biting your lip in instant insecurity, you debate trashing the hat completely.

He’s going to hate it.

It’s ugly.

He’s going to laugh.

“Wait…” He interrupts your bombarding thoughts.

Oh god.

“Don’t tell me you got me a hat–”

“I didn’t!” You chirp, a lie clearly detected as you shut your eyes tight, the corners crinkling.

“You did.”

Opening your eyes only means being faced with the utter humiliation you’d brought upon yourself. Why would you decorate a hat just for him? You didn’t offer such courtesy to anyone else, he was going to think you were even weirder than you’d already lead on. What started out as a nice gesture has suddenly turned into some kind of stalkerish behavior, your mind blurring the reality of the actual situation.

Except when you chance a peek, a nosy squint, all you can determine is that he was wearing a shit-eating grin. Not the kind that was warning you that in seconds he would be poking fun at your little surprise. But if not that kind then you were clueless as to what to expect. No one sports a shit-eating grin without some kind of humor behind it, some kind of motive.

“That’s why you stole my bandana isn’t it?”

The tension in your neck releases, muscles relaxing though you hadn’t even realized they were straining until now. You should be tense and stressed at the soft accusation but it just further pushes you gently into familiar territory. The teasing tenderness between two complicated individuals who only seem to understand each other.

“I-” You choke out a laugh.

“You did steal it!” Eddie points an accusatory finger your way, that big stupid grin still adorning his face.

“You weren’t supposed to know!” You defend. “It’s a surprise!”

“You’re not a very good thief y’know.”

It’s not unlike you to shy away from someone’s gaze but the way he saunters out from behind his desk and towers over you causes your eyes to catch the ugly gray carpet. Large brown irises were only going to force your honesty to display itself across your face like a giant billboard advertisement; honesty that even you yourself hadn’t even taken the time to address.

“I don’t tend to steal.” You mutter bashfully.

A disapproving click of his tongue is all you can make out without viewing his face.

“No.” He says sarcastically, maybe with a dramatic eye roll although you’re not brave enough to glance up yet. “A shy little thing like you?”

You can’t help the tug at the corner of your lips, his perception of you somehow becoming so endearing despite your years of self loathing solely based on your timid nature and mumbled sentences. At the moment, being shy didn't seem to be such an…inconvenience. It didn’t seem so unattractive and repelling and moreso drew him in, it wasn’t a luxury you were often offered. “Shy little thing” would usually constitute as insulting but when it rolls off his tongue, all you can feel is accepted as you are. It didn’t secretly say “you need to get out of your shell more”, it stated “I like you as is.”

“I’m sorry!” You whine, arms dropping to your sides and in the process, you’d long forgotten about the very hat you set out to hide and planned a grand reveal for.

“Don’t apologize.” He gingerly grabs the hat, studying it from what you can see out of the corner of your eye.

Then it hits you.

“Hey!” You snap your attention to his face, catching a smug smile from him as he twirls the hat in calloused hands.

On instinct, you attempt to snatch it out of his reach, failing miserably as he extends it upward in the air, almost like a school bully would. Your hands continue swatting at the air as if it will grant you any success in retrieving it but to no avail. Once dull embers erupt into passionate flames within his eyes, something you haven’t quite witnessed yet, a playful and energetic aura haloing him effortlessly, like it had always belonged there.

“Whoa there, squirt.” He jokes, waving your greedy hands away.

“Just–just tell me you don’t like it so I can go fix it or–or something.” You demand with a childish stomp of your foot.

His features fall, gaze shifting between you and the hat in thought. You’re in crisis mode though you can’t stop thinking about how good he looks with his button down, the top few buttons undone and showing off a portion of his pale chest, faded tattoos peeking out.

“What?” He shakes his head in confusion. “Don’t like it?”

“Eddie, just hand me the–”

“I think it’s perfect.” He decides, plopping the hat on top of his frizzy curls.

There’s that word again.

Perfect.

–

The Bourbon had never been so alive-at least not in the past few months you’d become acquainted with it; in fact the closest it had been to being this animated was on Wednesday bingo nights. Dusty corners that had never been touched prior were now spotless and though no one else in their right mind would care to inspect such corners, you took pride in playing a part in sprucing up the aging building. The twang of a banjo and the squeal of a fiddle backed up by a cowbell filled the room, played by none other than Knife’s Edge famous trio, The Scott Brothers, also known as Donnie and Nathan’s lovely sons who had been musically inclined from a very young age, the band forming back in elementary school as Donnie explained. They specialized in family gatherings and local events, a rowdy bunch that kept the pulse of any party going.

Now you were witnessing it in real time, local superstars riling up the crowd that had accumulated in their best country attire, flannels and cowboy boots galore. The pie eating contest was just about to begin, a group of burly men accepting the first challenge, hopefully encouraging others to participate in the next round. Robin perched herself atop one of the haybales with her handy timer, a straw hat tossed over her dirty blond hair and a pale blue denim long-sleeve tucked into her high-waisted blue jeans.

Jett had been in better spirits than you’d recently seen him in, a win in your book. With a dramatic show of the boysenberry pies balanced in his hands, he made a point to “accidentally” stumble and nearly let the desserts fall face first onto the hay covered floor but managed to save them and earn himself a cheer from the crowd before setting them in front of the contestants. You were just content that he wasn’t pouting anymore.

“You gonna give it a try?”

His voice pipes up next to you, hands resting atop his flashy belt buckle as he nods to the commotion. He reminded you of an oversized toddler, his boots a size or two too large for his feet that had been trudging around all evening and his hat lopsided on flattened hair.

“What?” You cross your arms in a self-soothing manner, the act of becoming the center of attention inducing nausea in the pit of your stomach, blood pressure most likely spiking at the mere idea. “N-no, I’m okay.”

“C’mon, why not?” Jett shrugs. “Live a little, Bambi.” He chuckles.

It should have been harmless, though the name fell from his mouth and all you could detect was something vengeful within his intention. It was unknown what exactly happened between him and Eddie besides Jett coming off as jealous and the metalhead not taking well to the younger man’s attitude. Other than that, there was no determining what stirred up the disagreement in the first place and it only created more confusion in your swirling mind, why Jett felt some kind of possession over you.

“That’s not my name.”

You avoid his eyes, only gauging his reaction out of the very tiny window of sight in your peripheral. The goal was to set a very clear boundary however the task was proving difficult, confrontation never being your strong suit. A human doormat was usually the role you slouched into at the first indication of discomfort in any conflict.

His shoulders stiffen, head tilting in your direction as he ponders your response. You could just about choke on your breath, the air getting lodged in your throat as you held onto it in anticipation. You only wish you could scramble over to where Dustin had been cracking peanuts and shoveling them into his mouth like he was an addict. You didn’t even like peanuts.

“Not your name?” Jett questions with a scoff. “You sure about that?”

There’s no intimidation, only slight annoyance written across his face which was far better considering that you were expecting an outburst. Jett was still a stranger in a sense, he didn’t put any effort into really getting to know you and yet he had this sense of entitlement about him. He was only a few years younger and it only got you thinking, were you so blissfully ignorant just years ago?

“Mhm.” You begin fidgeting with your fingernail.

“Alright.” He shows you his hands in surrender, the sentiment only being drowned out by the way his face contorts into a cocky expression. “What are you being so short with me for?” He asks, a humorless grin on his face.

“Excuse me?” Your voice is smaller than you’d hoped for it to be. Realistically you had no bite to your bark and really, the most you had was a pathetic yelp if anything. “I-I don’t…Jett you’re the one–”

“Did Munson go off and start rumors about me?” He laughs though you’re certain he finds nothing funny.

Robin shifts her attention to the current conversation from her perch on the haybale a few feet over, confusion taking over her freckled face. You can barely make out “what the fuck” on her stained red lips, cherry pie most definitely that she had snuck more than a taste test of. Your eyes widen, communicating almost telepathically, a silent alarm.

“Why–I’m not understanding.”

“You can tell me.”

He’s no longer that sweet kid you’d met a few months ago, his words were like darts targeting you and you almost felt the need to squeeze your eyes shut so you could brace for the impact. He was calm but not civil, venom spilling from every syllable. And you’d never once been involved in the quarrel he created in his brain, it wasn’t fair.

“Tell you what!?” You manage to snap, desperately attempting to stand your ground and not scamper away like a wounded puppy.

“Bambi...” Jett singsongs condescendingly.

“Stop!” With clenched fists at your sides, you huff out a frustrated breath, no longer tiptoeing timidly around him. “Stop…stop calling me that.” Your warning tone has his facade faltering slightly, worry pressing into the lines forming between his eyebrows.

Robin makes her move the second your chest begins to heave and she can’t quite tell if it’s from panic or anger although she wasn’t going to wait around to find out as she throws a friendly arm around you to steer you anywhere else Jett was not, insisting that she needed your opinion on something.

Everything felt hot, your cheeks were scorched and your veins were burning with embarrassment and undeniable betrayal at the hands of someone who was practically a stranger berating you over nothing in public. Reality settled back in the moment Robin sat you down at one of the vacant bar stools, her shaky hands resting atop your shoulders. It was obvious the two of you had been riddled with anxiety.

“I-um, I didn’t know what to do and you were just–you were giving me that look. Y’know, that look.” She begins to ramble, big blue eyes darting around the room as if searching for her own reasons. “The kinda look that’s, like, screaming ‘help’. Like, get me the fuck out of here but also I tend to read things wrong so now I’m thinking I just booted you out of a conversation…” She glances across the room over at Jett and then back at you. “Oh god, did I–did I interrupt something–”

“No!” You blurt out, grabbing onto her wrists as a means to soothe her jumbled thoughts. “No, no, you did good, Robin. Promise.” A reassuring nod lets her know you’re sincere, her demeanor immediately relaxing. “I don’t know what that was, honestly. All I know is that I kinda feel like a piece of meat?”

Robin nods in agreement, some kind of panic settling back in her wide eyes which only further worries you. She had known Jett long before you afterall, maybe she knew something she wasn’t letting on.

“What–uh, what was he saying? I, um, I only caught some of it.” She questions with a nervous swallow.

“It…it’s stupid.” You whisper, gaze falling to the floor.

“Try me.” Her confidence momentarily overtakes her anxiety.

It was ridiculous. You felt ridiculous. The act of explaining why you didn’t take well to another guy calling you a certain nickname was the epitome of stupidity. And yet you spilled it all to Robin, voicing your distaste for the word falling from Jett’s lips while avoiding your mind screaming at you that only Eddie was allowed to use that name. Something told you Robin could read minds solely based off of the smirk she began to display amidst your ranting. You ignored it despite your face heating up and your palms becoming clammy at the mere thought of the doe-eyed man.

“Steve!” Nancy barrels out from the kitchen doors in her stylish checkered sweater tucked into the bluest of blue jeans. You wouldn’t know she was attempting a cowboy getup if it weren’t for her straw hat covering her perfectly permed curls. “Steve!” She grits, hot on the man’s trail.

Steve continues to nearly strut toward the crowd of people awaiting the bell to initiate the pie eating contest. Confidence drips from him, a cocky smirk painted on his face and a toothpick tucked in between his teeth as he rests his hands on his hips. Tassels hang from his tan jacket, a blue button down underneath and some insanely tight jeans fitting him in all the right places.

“Steve!” Nancy hisses again, gesturing down to her jeans, urging Steve to glance down as she widened her eyes at him.

“Alright, chill out, Nance.” He pays no mind to her, eyes scanning the room in wonder.

“Steve, your fly is down and your shirt is stuck in the zipper.”

His brown eyes nearly fall out of his head, hands rushing to cover the area as he rushes back toward the kitchen. You can’t help but snicker along with Robin, Nancy shaking her head at Steve’s negligence to his crotch.

“Whoa!” You hear a surprised Eddie, only eliciting more giggles from you and Robin.

“Steve, if you were happy to see me you could’ve just said so! No need to pull your dick out!”

Thankfully, no one else idled near the kitchen doors, unable to hear the sudden vulgar outburst. Covering your mouth and attempting to get a hold of your laughter, you rest your head on Robin’s shoulder in defeat, your body shaking with giggles while she almost squeals. Nancy attempts to shush you both although she can’t contain her own laughter, her hand pressed into your arm as she lowers her head.

“S-stop.” She gasps for air. “It’s, it’s not funny! Stop, he’s gonna be so embarrassed.” She finally gets out, the corners of her mouth almost appearing to be permanently upturned.

“What’s so funny?”

Steve stands behind Nancy with furrowed brows and cherry red cheeks, hands resting on his hips in his standard pose. Offense lingers in his voice, the kind that bantering friends exhibit only spurring the three of you on.

“Oh–oh c’mon!” He throws his arms up, shaking his head in disappointment. “You too?” He looks at you with a hint of a smile. “You already corrupted her into joining your little ‘mess with Steve’ club.” A harsh finger jabs against Robin’s shoulder, sending her stumbling back.

“I tried to tell you!” Nancy shoves his arm with a large grin. “You didn’t listen!”

“Not cool, Harrington.” Eddie emerges from the kitchen, the perfect image of a bandit in an old western with his all black getup. “You ever take a girl out before trying to get to third base?” He jokes, throwing an arm around Steve.

This was the first time this evening you’d seen him in his full outfit, hat and everything. You weren’t usually into cowboys but he made it look good. The hat was worn pridefully on top of his wild curls and he’d accessorized with his signature handcuff belt. The one thing you couldn’t convince him to do was wear actual cowboy boots, the man instead insisting that he would only be wearing combat boots but you weren’t complaining, especially not now as you witnessed the final product.

“Shut up.” Steve mumbles.

Eddie steals Steve’s hat with his free hand, ruffling his hair, no doubt messing it up in retaliation. Steve swats at Eddie’s hand, shoving him off and grabbing his hat back with a fond smile pulling at his lips, his stubborn act disintegrating.

“Buy me a drink first.” Eddie winks, only pulling more laughter from you.

“Very funny.” Steve says blandly, eyes squinting. “But I’ve actually got my eyes on that blonde over there. And I’m gonna ask her to dance.” He says matter of factly.

Eddie bows dramatically and gestures toward the dance floor, the center of the room covered in a healthy layer of hay. As if he couldn’t put on more of a show, he removes his hat and places it over his chest.

“Your maiden awaits.”

With a playful shove to Eddie’s chest, Steve makes his way across the room. You can vaguely make out Dustin’s voice amongst the loud cowbell and shouting, excitement bubbling out of him as he cheers on the contestant he bet on. A familiar tune begins to consume the room, each individual glancing to their peers in recognition.

Robin and Nancy begin to drift off into the center of the room, bouncing to the beat. The smile on your face physically hurts but you aren't complaining, you couldn’t remember the last time you smiled so big and uncontrollably. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d connected so well with a group of people, if ever.

You were perfectly content, for once. A social setting that would normally have you chewing your lips to shreds and nervously rubbing up and down your arms was actually proving to be…fun. Observing from your stool, you didn’t even feel left out as you usually would under any other circumstances. You can’t quite recall a reason for your anxiety laying so low though you suppose it has something to do with the acceptance everyone had granted you. Nancy and Robin being so kind and taking you in right away, Steve and Dustin already treating you like a sibling amongst their little group. You didn’t know what you did to deserve such treatment but it’s apparent you had done something right if for only once in your life.

Tearing your eyes away from the scene playing out before you, several pairs dancing about the room without a care in the world, your gaze catches an awkward Eddie leaning against the bar just inches away. One of his curls twists around his finger, a nervous habit you’d picked up on. The room erupts into a collective, tipsy, rendition of Take Me Home, Country Roads. Loud clapping and hoots and hollers echo off the walls, and everyone sings.

You knew Eddie has always been considered an outcast throughout his entire life based on what he’d shared with you but you never would have imagined him looking as bashful as he did now, a true wallflower just like yourself. Though, while you were content in just observing, he seemed more uncomfortable, more lonely.

Glancing back to the dance floor, Donnie sways to the music with her husband, lovingly holding onto each other in a drunken haze. Every so often he jokingly spins her and dips her, something you’re finding yourself envious of but quickly swallow back the feeling. Anyone in their right mind would want to be treated like the sun.

Dustin makes his way over to Nancy and Robin, Robin making a scene by initiating that one dumb lasso dance move and pulling him in, earning them several cheers which only created bigger smiles among their faces. You’re sure you could just saunter over and fit right in. But it didn’t feel right, leaving Eddie to be a wallflower on his own. Especially since he didn’t seem too sure of himself, his teeth now chewing on his nail while his deep brown eyes surveyed the room.

“Wanna dance?”

It’s uncertain when exactly Steve made his way back over to you, it seemed like he had just appeared out of thin air but you could probably blame it on the fact that you were too enamored with the energy of the room. His hand extends itself toward you, his shoulders shrugging as if to say ‘got anything better to do?’.

“What happened to your blonde maiden?” You ask, hoping Eddie would hear and maybe you’d earn at least a chuckle.

You didn’t, Eddie hadn’t even been listening, too busy in his head it would seem. Steve shoves his free hand into his pocket, shaking his head in disappointment as he retires his hat from his sweaty head, abandoning it on top of the bar.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” He frowns. “Just need my friends.” A sincere smile tugs at his lips, his eyebrows knit together in that way that he almost looks worried though you know it’s his empathy coming through.

You nod, offering him a close mouthed smile as you hop off the stool and grab his hand, dragging him toward the crowd. Taking both his hands in yours, you start to sway to the song, playfully singing to each other in an overdone country accent. Steve assists you in spinning, getting more and more into the song with each passing second, his hair bouncing with every movement.

“I dunno how to dance.” You giggle, accidentally stepping on his foot.

“That’s okay!” He grins. “I’m not sure I do either.”

Amongst all the celebrating and the several toasts people are raising to each other, your eyes meet large round coffee colored irises, a certain sadness to them that was also diluted with a fond gaze. Over Steve’s shoulder, you watch Eddie, and he watches you. The biggest smile causes your cheeks to ache, your teeth on full display just for him. His shoulders shake with a laugh, a whiskey and coke now firmly grasped in his hand as he shyly looks down into the glass like it could give him some kind of advice.

As Steve leads you both in a circle of missteps and stumbling, he catches sight of what had made your face light up like a damn Christmas tree. It goes on for another minute or so, stolen glances between two pining individuals. He can see it, he knows it all too well. He’s worn that same look before. It’s too distinct to go unnoticed by him.

He used to look at Nancy like that.

“Hey, I think I want a drink.”

Steve wastes no time in dragging you behind him toward the bar. It takes you by surprise and in all honesty, you weren’t quite done dancing and at least would’ve liked to get to the end of the song before returning to your little stool of solitude. Steve calls for Jett’s attention behind the bar, ordering himself a vodka cranberry much to your surprise.

“I’m actually feeling a little queasy.” He grips his stomach, twisting his face in discomfort. “Think you could take over for me, Ed?”

Eddie nearly chokes on his drink, setting the glass down as he clears his throat repeatedly. He points to himself with a questioning look, knowing damn well that Steve knew he couldn’t dance. It was even more humiliating that he’d never danced with a girl before and Steve more than likely also knew that. Steve responds with a nod, his brow cocked, a look of urgency crossing his features.

“Steve, are you sure–” You attempt to chime in.

“Yes, go! I’ll be fine.” He shoos you toward the dancefloor, giving Eddie’s shoulder a rough push.

Eddie resembles a deer in headlights, ginormous eyes glued to you. His feet were stuck to the ground and as you tugged on his arm, he didn’t budge.

“C’mon!” You encourage him with a smile.

His mouth opens but words don’t form, a protest on the very tip of his tongue unwilling to make its way into your ears. He couldn’t say no to you but he also couldn’t dance.

“I don’t know how.” He manages to rush out.

Gently, you take his hand in yours, his calloused skin cold against your warmth. You haven’t had a sip of alcohol and yet your confidence was through the roof, only for him. You intertwine your fingers with his, his chunky rings giving you a challenge but you succeed.

“I don’t either.” You assure him with a squeeze to his hand, tugging him even further onto the crowded dance floor, much to his dismay.

The song continues, people bouncing around and getting bubblier by the minute which only seemed to overwhelm Eddie as his hand began to sweat. As a means to distract him, you pull his hat off of his head, his frizzy curls now exposed while you boldly fit the hat onto your head instead. His eyes shine but he remains stiff, not entirely convinced that he could freely move about the crowd.

“Let's learn together.” You speak softly, a stark contrast to the screeching fiddle being played loudly.

Without a second thought, your arms wrap around his shoulders, his whiskey coated breath fanning over your face. It’s evident that he’s unsure what to do with his hands, his arms limply hanging at his sides. Despite his anxious body language, his eyes give him away. He’s nervous but he’s giddy. Stars gleam and glimmer within his sweet and syrupy eyes, no longer sad pools of pity.

“Right here.” You guide him, using one hand to bring his touch to your waist. “Like that.” You whisper, unsure if even he heard you. “And like this.” You guide his other hand before resting yours around his neck once again.

“Like this?” He takes a shaky breath, a thumb swiping over your hip.

Humming in approval, you take the initiative to start swaying to the song, a temporary fear flashing in his eyes until he feels your fingers toying with the curls at the back of his head. He cutely stumbles every other step, suddenly becoming the equivalent of a baby deer though you don’t mind and actually prefer it, the image forever being burned into your brain, another moment for the wall you’d created in the depths of your mind.

You don’t know how, you don’t know when, but your hand lands on his chest-his bare chest where the buttons have been purposely undone as a small act of rebellion. His skin is warm and soft there, your fingertips gracefully tracing over a tattoo, skimming over the guitar pick necklace he always wore. As the chorus kicks back in, you peek up at him, finding heavy eyes staring right back at you in awe.

You start shouting along: country roads, take me home, to the place I belong. He remains silent, watching you like you hung the moon. You’re smiling, you’re happy, and god dammit he never knew he could be perfectly happy just watching someone else be happy but here he was. If he could personally give you the moon he would, he’s sure of it. He’d find a way.

An old memory resurfaces, one that usually only made him tear up out of sorrow but now, the perspective was shifting. In a simpler time, he is six years old, dancing on his mom’s feet to old Chicago Blues. He is young and innocent, full of life. He is naive and blissfully ignorant to the horrors of the world. And then in harder times…in current times, he is a Munson, a vessel for satan. A nearly bankrupt idiot who can’t keep up. A fuck up. But now…in this moment, he rekindles the same feeling he once felt with Momma, a sense of innocence that he hadn’t felt in years, innocence that had been snatched from him over and over. A warmth spreads throughout him, one that he thought was laid to rest when Momma passed. He was certain he had bid it goodbye forever.

Until now.

You make him lovesick. Utterly and purely lovesick. No doctor could ever cure him. Not that he’d even seek a cure. It scares him but he’d willingly die of a fever if it meant you’d keep looking up at him like he was someone. Like he was a man and not a menace. His legacy could end there with you, the girl that intruded on his life and made his stubborn ass soft. The shy girl who cries when she gets yelled at broke through Eddie Munson’s titanium walls and stole his heart.

You can feel him start to melt into you, his hands sliding around to the small of your back, his chest pressed into yours as he begins singing along, finally letting loose. Glancing over his shoulder at the feeling of a pair of eyes on you, you smile when Steve stares fondly, offering you a thumbs up.

The song ends though you yearn to continue holding onto him, afraid that letting go would mean losing the moment forever, your memory serving as the only souvenir. Before painfully parting, you glance up at him again, your nose accidentally brushing against his. The contact sends electricity racing through your body. It doesn’t help that he’s smiling so softly, so endearingly, his eyelids heavy and lazy. Even if it was a side effect of the whiskey, you still reveled in it.

“Sorry.” He whispers though you almost miss it as you study the crinkles at the corner of his eyes.

“Don’t worry about it.” You mumble, your voice now small.

The next song picks up, something slow and steady that had you both swaying without a second thought. You wanted to burrow into his chest, press your cheek into the skin and listen to his heartbeat. If only it were that simple.

“Thank you.” He speaks up again. “Y’know for…all this.”

A puzzled expression takes over your features, pulling back slightly to ponder his words.

“I-I just helped, Eddie. You should be thanking everyone else. They really pulled through for this place.” You remind him.

“I know, I know.” He suddenly seems insecure, his fingers grabbing at the material of your shirt ever so slightly. “I just mean–you didn’t have to get involved in any of this bullshit, my bullshit.”

“I mean…I kinda forced myself in didn’t I?”

He recalls the first evening you came into The Bourbon, the night you bargained with him, practically forcing him to hire you.

“I’m turning you away because you don’t belong in a place like this. Things can get rough and you’re…too dainty.”

God was he wrong. You were resilient. Tough. A badass.

“I’m glad you did.” His honesty surprises even him. He wasn’t big on getting mushy, never being offered the space to do so since his mom had passed. But he doesn’t regret speaking his truth.

“Yeah?”

Your lips are so perfectly pouty it devastates him, eyes so full of adoration that he wants to fall to his knees and officially devote himself to you even if you wouldn’t have him.

“Yeah–”

“Eddie!” Dustin screeches, hurling toward Eddie and eventually crashing into his side, eliciting a grunt from the two of you. “Sorry, sorry!” He breathes heavily. “Eddie, you’ve gotta see this.”

For a split second your heart drops, afraid that maybe something bad happened but you quickly backtrack those thoughts when you analyze Dustin’s grin. It was good news. It was definitely good news.

–

“Holy shit.” Eddie mumbles in disbelief.

“Holy shit indeed.” Dustin agrees.

You stare in awe at the piles of cash Dustin had counted in the back office, opting to act as The Bourbon’s temporary treasurer in the mission to save the place. According to the boy, there was enough to cover costs for the next three months if Eddie played his cards right. After that they hadn’t yet come up with a solution but it was something at the very least. It was hope.

“You keep hosting events like this every month and you should be able to keep things going.” Dustin advises, his mind quietly working out the logistics.

“Not only that.” Steve chimes in, leaning against the doorway to the office, the three of you glancing back at him. “What if I told you…that I know someone interested in investing?”

Your eyes catch Dustin’s then Eddie’s, an anxious fog overtaking the room.

“Who?” Eddie gulps, clearly nervous.

Steve only smirks, the anticipation building with every passing second. A flash of realization falls over Dustin’s face, his head shaking with a huge grin.

“No.” Dustin whispers.

“Yes.” Steve nods.

“Holy shit.”

“Do you mind letting me, the owner of said establishment that is being invested in, in on this big secret?” Eddie grumbles, his eyes narrowed at Steve.

“What do you think about being business partners?” Steve proposes, his eyes shining.

“W-what?” Eddie asks, almost choking on air.

“You know I’ve been working under my old man for however long now. Well I finally have my own startup and I didn’t wanna tell you, didn’t wanna say anything until I actually had the money.” Steve rambles. “And y’know, I always thought about investing. ‘S a great place. Would be a shame to let it fall apart.”

“What–what the fuck.” Is all Eddie can muster up in the moment.

“Also, I vote that we make Miss Bambi here the manager.” Steve snaps his fingers before pointing your direction. “Gotta trust the business in good hands and she’s definitely got a knack for running things efficiently. And putting you in your place.” He presses a finger into Eddie’s shoulder.

“I-I…” You were speechless.

“If you’ll have us, of course. Take some time to think about it.”

Glancing at Eddie, you can see the information still being processed, the gears turning in his brain. The state of shock leaves him blinking rapidly, unable to catch up to this moment in time. One second he was fighting for this business, expecting the worst case scenario and the next he was being offered an investment by his best friend.

“I knew there was a reason we kept you around.” Dustin makes his way toward the door, patting Steve on the back.

Steve playfully puts Dustin in a headlock, continuing on as if it were business as usual as the boy protests.

“So, how about it Munson?”

“Steve, I swear to god!” Dustin complains, making no progress in escaping the man’s hold.

“I dunno, depends.” Eddie clicks his tongue, seeming to finally fall back into his body as he stands. “I don’t like being told what to do.” Eddie begins. “And y’know I can’t have King Steve bossing me around, that won’t do…”

“C’mon man, you know I know nothing about running a bar.” Steve scoffs. “I’m just the sugar daddy here.”

“Steve!” Dustin gags.

You can’t help but giggle, beaming at Eddie as he grins.

“Alright then, we have a deal.” Eddie extends his hand toward Steve, making it official with a handshake before hugging him, a brotherly exchange that warmed your heart. In the midst of the hug, Dustin was released from Steve’s hold but somehow had gotten stuck in the middle of the embrace.

“I’m feeling the love and all but my neck is cramping.” The boy whines.

–

“To The Bourbon!” Eddie announces, standing proudly on top of the bar, tequila shot in hand as his closest friends raise their own shots in the air. “Grandpa Roy, may he rest in peace, would fuckin’ hate this whole Hoedown but in his defense he was a better business man than me and I’m the one who ran it into the ground.” Everyone laughs, smiling fondly. “I also wanted to thank all of you. If none of you cared this much we’d be fucked.” He grins. “In conclusion, you’re all stuck with Roy’s dickhead grandson for a long time to come, sorry.” Eddie shrugs, throwing his shot back.

The night had been more than a success. Customers had long gone home and there was still much to do in regards to cleanup but Eddie insisted that everyone call it a night, not without a celebratory shot though. Cheers and whistles fill the room as everyone takes their mandatory shot. Eddie hops off of the bar, earning himself several pats on the back as he insisted they give Steve the same praise. He was glowing.

Nancy and Robin rushed over, each of them linking an arm with him as they congratulated him. You’d never seen him so openly happy, so ecstatic. His grin was permanent for the remainder of the night, his cheeks must have burned from never relaxing his face.

And when all was said and done, when it was time to go home, it was your turn to congratulate him. You didn’t get much of a chance when the news first broke and now he was locking up the front as you waited patiently next to the bar. Steve insisted on taking Robin and Nancy home in Eddie’s truck since they had a few too many drinks. Dustin offered his assistance reluctantly after Steve sent him several expectant looks.

The bar was empty, completely trashed from the night’s activities though Eddie told you not to touch a thing, it was already nearing 3:00 AM. You just couldn’t help yourself, gathering glasses onto a tray and delivering them to the sink. A round of dishes wouldn’t kill you while you waited. At least this way you were occupied rather than just sitting around, waiting for him to lock up.

“What are you up to, trouble?” Eddie makes his way behind the bar to replace the cap on a bottle before returning it to its shelf.

“Trouble?” You smile, suds building up along your arms. Too much soap. “If you deem washing glasses as troublesome you’re really gonna hate that I take an extra minute on my breaks.”

You can hear him scoff from behind you, glass clinking as he tidies up, going against his own wishes.

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Thought you said no cleaning.” You utter under your breath.

His presence sneaks up on you, his quick hand suddenly snatching up a wet glass, drying it with a fresh rag, repeating the process with each one you’d just cleaned. Your nerves are on edge in the best way possible. The big lights had been shut off, only dim lighting encompassing you, creating a mellow atmosphere.

“Well some of us…” Eddie pinches the back of your arm. “...don’t listen, now do we?”

Something about the condescending nature of his words ignited a fire in between your legs. You knew very well that it wasn’t his intention although it didn’t stop you from releasing a shaky exhale. Goosebumps traveled up your spine, you were pathetic.

You hum in response, unable to trust your voice, the room becoming hot all too quickly. His gaze was trained on you, a hint of concern creasing his forehead. He was too handsome, his button down doing way too many favors for him.

“You okay?” He asks, his voice smaller than before.

“Yeah, yeah.” You manage to squeak out. “Just tired.”

Reaching over you, he shuts off the steaming water, tossing his rag onto the counter as he pulls you away by your arm. You want to whimper at the simple touch, every ounce of your body on fire, embarrassingly so.

“Let’s get out of here.” He sighs, clearly just as tired.

Guiding you out the back, he makes it a point to grab his hat that you had put so much thought into. Stepping outside, he locks the door while you admire the moonlight glazing over the parking lot. Everything is so…quiet. Snow flurries fall delicately from the sky, gracing your skin with tiny little ice crystals, intricate designs compacted into a singular art form now just melting with your body heat. It’s cold but you won’t complain. Not when Eddie is automatically draping his jacket over your shivering frame.

“Doors are locked, cash is locked up–”

“Eddie?” You call for his attention, big brown eyes immediately seeking yours like you’d just sent out a smoke signal.

When you don’t say anything, worry begins to settle into his features, the opposite of what you had intended.

“Yeah?” He asks hesitantly. “Did I forget to–”

The second your lips hover over his stubbly cheek he’s lost any and all thoughts. It happens in slow motion yet it’s over before he knows it. Your lips are so soft and delicate against his skin and he was finding himself wanting more, his selfish needs yearning to claw their way out of him.

“Congratulations.” You whisper, your breath tickling him before disappearing all too soon.

It lingers like a ghost, haunting him in the most breathtaking sense. You make your way to your car and he feels it, the apparition of your lips against his cold cheek. And he just knows. You hold the power to screw him up forever. You have his heart in your hands and god, he hopes you’re gentle with it.

~end~

Masterlist

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tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645 @emxxblog @eddiesxangel @angietherose @lottie-90 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @pullingattheroots @avalon-wolf @vintagehellfire @cryingglightningg @foreveranexpatsposts @winchester-angel @mmunson86 @witchwolflea @kurdtbean @micheledawn1975 @tlclick73 @erinekc @hazydespair @whenshelanded @corrodedcoffincumslut @ms1oftheboys @lma1986 @uglypastels @aysheashea @dashingdeb16

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson au #eddie munson imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things au #eddi munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader

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reuinx · 3 years

Text

Red Lights (Yelena Belova x Reader)

Summary: You've been having a tough time lately. It's Yelena's goal to brighten up your day. The day takes the form of an afternoon spent in Yelena's car teasing, laughing, and singing. It looked like the day couldn't possibly get any better until tragedy struck.

Prompt by Anon ask: “Kissing your lover’s forehead as they’re dying in your arms but reader is dying please and thank you “

Word Count: 2,047

Paring: Yelena Belova x Reader

Warnings: Brief mention of blood (Gore kept extremely minimal), tragic accident resulting in death.

Translations: Malishka (Baby), Dorogoy (Love)

Masterlist

Have you ever had those days when nothing goes right? You miss the bus, you say the wrong thing, you lose your temper, and you spend the rest of the day wondering what you could have done differently? It was one of those days. Using this logic, you are faced with a dilemma - you don't want to stay at home, but you don't want to stay alone either. You tentatively texted Yelena to see if she was free; she was. Summer heat caressed your exposed arms, leaving you with sun-kissed skin.

Despite the heat of the summer, you kicked pebbles across the ground like a child. The sound of her approaching car preceded your sight. The noise of her exhaust was followed by the blaring of Babooshka by the brilliant Kate Bush on her radio. Typical Yelena. She was driving her obnoxious yellow Ford Mustang; it was convertible. She made sure she knew that. It was her pride and joy, and she loved nothing more than it; well, she did love something more than that car, you.

Parking along the footpath, she had the roof down, and her blonde hair was flowing. While one hand was on the steering wheel, the other was hanging outside her window. In a pure white shirt, she exposed the muscles tense in her arm. Her sunglasses slowly slipped down the bridge of her nose as she peered over at you. She was undressing you with her eyes. She was chewing gum; she moved her lips slowly to match her motion.

“Still moody are we, Malishka?” Yelena called out from her car. The smile on her face was always devilish. Even though today didn't go as planned, you felt like it would be heaven on earth with Yelena.

“No”, You replied flatly as Yelena pushed her sunglasses back up to hide her eyes; she turned to face straight ahead of her as you made your way towards the car.

“I’m going to keep doing it until you admit you’re moody.”

“Keep doing wha-“ Before you could finish, She shoved her hand down on the horn as the already noisy auto began honking. Those who passed by started looking at the car with wonder. Redness flushed your face as you raced to the car.

“Yelena! Stop!”

“Mhm?”

“I’m not-“ You swiftly shook your head as the horn continued its outcry. She was stubborn, but so were you. She always won; there was no fighting with Yelena.

“I’m moody!” The moment you admitted it, she took her hand off the horn, resting her head back against the headrest as she stared up at you with a toothy grin.

“God, I hate you. You know that right?”

“Nah, you love me actually.” She was right about that. Yelena leaned across to open the door for you as you made your way to the passenger side. After entering, you shut the door behind you and automatically turned down the radio.

“Trying to go deaf are you?”

“Mhm?”

“I said are you trying to go deaf?”

“What?”

“I said- Oh forget it! Stop teasing me. I’m just looking after you!”

“What are you, my mother?”

“Feels like it sometimes, El.”

“Ha,” Yelena grumbled. Your laughter today was finally made possible because of Yelena's reaction. You were comforted by her. Talking to your person always made your worries go away. Yelena tutted and pulled your seatbelt into the latch plate as she leaned over your body, grasping your belt to make sure it was secure. Yelena put the car into gear as it began to move, the engine rumbling to life as she drove at the appropriate speed. She would never dream of speeding with you in the car.

“Do you want to talk about today?”

“No no, it was just one of those days.”

“Good, I don’t have to kill anyone...”

“No killing anyone.”

“Unless…”

“No”, You shushed her as you glanced at her with the corner of your eye; Yelena was smiling. She looked genuinely happy, which was a relief to you. She radiated happiness onto you; it was impossible to escape.

“It’s a beach day today.” The comment came from Yelena.

“Are you going to throw me in?”

“Actually… I’m still debating it.”

“What’s the pros and cons?”

“Con is that you’re pissed.”

“What’s the pro?”

“It will make you laugh.” You hadn't encountered anyone with the same kind of personality as her. Selflessness characterized her. Her heart was pure gold. Although she was tough, when her walls were broken, she became the softest person you'd ever met. It was easy to love her. She reached over for your hand; she took it in her hand before placing your hand on the clutch. To change gears, she held her hand yours, moving your hand in the desired direction. She was reluctant to let go but eventually cleared her throat to ask. Freeing your hand.

“Will you change the CD, Dorogoy?”

With ease, you opened the glovebox and located the CD binder. The 2000s saw a lot of popularity with these. Not now. Yelena's argument "It can fit so many CD's in it!" She wasn't wrong. It did. There was tons of CD's from all different genres in it. She bought CDs of the songs you played on your phone, not just the ones she liked. Even though she hid it from you, you started to notice when her binder began to fill up. You flicked through the CD’s until one caught your attention. As you saw a blank CD with writing on it, you paused. "For You" is spelled in Yelena's impeccable handwriting. While her eyes rested on the road, you turned to look at her, returning your focus to the CD. Yelena was smiling softly at you while you were busy changing CDs.

“You made this for me?”

“I did. I wanted to make you a playlist and well, there’s no Bluetooth so I did the best I can.”

“You’re too sweet. But… You do know downloading music and burning it on a CD is pretty illegal.”

“If your worrying over me downloading music, you should see what else I do” Yelena released a chuckle as the music played from the radio. You leaned over as you adjusted the volume up as the song The Chain by Fleetwood Mac came through.

“I know you like them wood people”, Yelena murmured under her breath. Suddenly, you felt the excitement in your stomach rise. What else was on this CD? We get so caught up in the big things when we fall in love with someone. The little things are always the most important. You weren't just going to sing; you were going to perform as well. As you sang at the top of your lungs, you began to sway in your chair.

“And if you don't love me now -“ Your hand clenched as if it was holding an invisible microphone as you held it to Yelena’s lips. She smiled, licking her lips as she finished the lyric.

“You will never love me again.” She sang without hesitation, and while her voice is usually harsh, it was smooth and soft this time. When you heard her singing, you burst into laughter and clapped your hands in glee. The music picked up, and your hands moved with the lyrics. You didn't miss a word. Yelena was beginning to tap with the beat of the song on the steering wheel, laughing at how passionate you had gotten.

“I could listen to you forever.”

“Unlucky for you, you have forever with me”, You chirped out as Yelena frowned, turning her head quickly to glance at you.

“Why would that make me unlucky?”

“I’m a pain in the ass.”

“True but you’re my pain in the ass” She sounded more and more sincere with every word she said. Your singing continued unabated. As soon as the next red light came on, Yelena slowed her car down to a stop. It was now possible to see the beach. You were too busy performing for nobody to notice that Yelena was watching you. When she saw you happy, her eyes glowed with childhood excitement. All she wanted was for you to be satisfied. Because you were focused on the big things like the beach, you missed the little things like how Yelena looked at you. Anyone would kill for the kind of look she gave you. Yelena’s expression suddenly changed when you looked at her, her face filled with horror. She wasn’t making a face at you but something behind you.

“What’s wrong?” Suddenly, everything went black. You lost all sense of time and purpose of self. Feeling an overwhelming sense of emptiness, you thought it overtake you. You felt alone. Yelena? Where was Yelena? Was Yelena okay? Had you fallen asleep? There was a noticeable pressure in your chest, almost as if it was being squeezed. You felt your lips tingle, and your lungs fill with air.

"Hey!" A distorted voice echoed inside your head, and you couldn't understand what was being said or even who it was?

"Wake up! Please wake up!" It was beginning to become more legible until a voice broke through the silence.

"Malishika!" Yelena, it was Yelena.

The world was blurry as your eyes snapped open. As you blinked rapidly, flashing lights obscured your view of the figure above you.

"Stay with me, stay with me please." You now knew what the pressure on your chest was; Yelena had been pressing hard and fast on the center of your chest. It was her rescue breaths that tingled your lips. The haze in your vision was clearing as you could see Yelena. It was evident from her face that she had been crying. Spikes of blood could be seen on her face as sweat ran down her forehead. It wasn't her blood. It was yours.

In your disorientation, you did not know where you were. You were lying on the road when you suddenly remembered being in the car. Your eyes focused on Yelena's car as you tilted your head to look past her. Now you know what Yelena saw behind you. As you were sitting on the passenger side, a car ploughed straight into you through the red light. Yelena must have rescued you from the wreck. With growing dizziness and fatigue, your eyes began to flicker shut. The feeling of Yelena grasping your cheeks caused your eyes to dart open.

"Don't you dare close your eyes on me. I've lost everyone, I can't lose you too. I just can't. Please. Please don't go anywhere.. Just stay. Please just stay. I need you, god I need you. Please." She was begging you, pleading with you. The moment you tried to move, your body refused to react; you were powerless. With one hand on your stomach, she firmly grasped it. It was now clear that her previously pristine white t-shirt was heavily stained red. You felt queasy thinking that was yours.

"Hey, I'm okay. I'm okay baby. It's okay." You managed to whisper out as your voice was weak.

"It's not okay, it's really not okay. I don't know what to do! I can't stop the bleeding" Yelena's voice was firm, her jaw extending with the words she spoke as she tried to contain herself. She sobbed, her eyes flicking upward.

"It's okay, El. You can stop. Just stop."

"Don't fucking say that, don't ever fucking say that. You aren't going anywhere, you aren't. This is not a goodbye! Don't give me that bullshit. The paramedics will be here soon, they will! " She snapped.

"Baby, it's okay. It's going to be okay. Yelena? Do you hear me? "I love you. I love you so much. You know that, right?"

"I love you. God, I love you. Don't forget that, you hear me?" Yelena dipped her head down as she slowly pressed her lips against your forehead. She placed her free hand into your locks of hair as she slowly began to run her fingers through the strands of your hair.

"Baby?" She called out one last time. Your eyes locked onto her green eyes, admiring them one last time. The world around you faded to grey; the last thing you heard was Yelena's scream.

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sunlightheidi · 3 years

Text

Jihyun Kim "V" x Reader/MC

AU Fantasy, written for the Mystic Dance Event, hosted by the lovely @little-butterfly-writes. Roles provided, "Princess x Court Painter".

"I'll meet you in the forest, let's let this wild thing grow."

- Forest, Fancy Hagood

Jihyun was chosen from a neighboring kingdom to paint the royal family.

It was an honor, to be selected as the court artist; for his art to hang on the palace walls alongside portraits of previous kings and queens.

There are countless tales told throughout the kingdoms; stories of the ruthless king who commanded the armies, of the regal queen who could turn men into stone with a simple look.

And of the stoic crowned princess, who possessed the ethereal beauty of the fae, and the same coldness too.

He’s painted that captivating beauty on canvas more than once; has traced the dip of your collarbone, the fullness of your lips, the almond shape of your eyes with his paintbrush so many times he can do it from memory alone.

You are always seated on that golden throne when he does, decorated in sapphires and dressed in layers of silk and lace – always watching him with a sort of fascination as he paints, a sparkling wonder in your gaze.

You sit on that throne now, your head held high, waves of black hair falling down your back, and a crown of rowan berries on your brow. Your dress is golden, accentuating the sun-touched colors of your skin and the darkness of your eyes as they roam over the ballroom to the people dancing and celebrating the return of autumn.

There is a sort of hypnotic magic about you and he sees it perfectly then, how you truly could have been fairy in a past life; sparkling wings on your back, adorned in colors of orange and red and yellow as you sat on a throne of marigolds and ruled over the autumn court.

Perhaps you may have even allowed yourself to dance amongst your folk, lost in the addicting taste of pomegranates as you moved freely to the wild music.

But that is not who you are now. Not who are you expected to be.

You do not partake in the autumn celebration with your people, you are not allowed to laugh and dance in the way he knows you desire to. In the way you have so freely danced and laughed by his side in hidden corridors.

Your only purpose is to serve your kingdom, and outside of your clandestine meetings with him, you play your role flawlessly. No one would dare suggest otherwise.

If only they knew the restlessness that lingers in your heart. The same kind and wild heart you have given to him– a secret belonging to you both alone.

The music ends and you clap gently in your lap, almost unconsciously, as most of your mannerisms are – but your eyes are dazed, he knows your thoughts are elsewhere.

He has been hounded by daydreams of you as well, wishes he could stand in front of that throne and take your hand as an equal; to lead you to the ballroom floor and hold you in his arms as you sway together, just as you have done many times before in the dark.

The orchestra begins to play a new piece, something slow and soft that echoes through the ballroom; the chandeliers shimmer from the high ceiling as partners retake their place and begin a new dance.

Carefully, as to not draw attention to yourself, you stand, hands gripping the skirts of your dress as you curtsey to the king and queen, who briefly nod in your direction in permission to take your leave. He follows you with his eyes as you walk down the steps of the podium and to the large entryway, but something catches his attention – a golden satin ribbon, left behind on the seat of your throne.

You have played this game before, he knows what the token means; and when he looks up, in a single moment that freezes time, you look over your shoulder and meet his gaze. He nods in understanding, and there’s a sparkle in your eye as you close the doors behind you.

He wants to run after you, to spin you around in his arms and declare his fidelity to you in front of the world. But you are a princess…and he is only the court painter – the consequences should anyone discover you two together, of the things you have done under secrecy, would end in tragedy.

So he waits, and when the kingsmen turn to assist their majesties to the ballroom floor, Jihyun slips through the entryway and weaves down dark corridors and forgotten doors.

He is lost in a haze to get to you, has waited eagerly for weeks to spend time with you, and not the person you pretend to be for everyone else. He wants your silly laughter and teasing smiles, your fondness for flowers and furry forest creatures.

In an unlit corner of an unused passageway, there is a door that blends into the stone of the walls, it is not easily seen in the dark, but Jihyun knows exactly where it is and how to twist the lock to the room that has become his haven.

He steps through the low archway and closes the door behind him, feels a sort of relief when he turns to find you watching him.

It is indescribable, how painfully beautiful you are illuminated by the candlelight – woven in golden and waiting for him.

He bows, deeply. “Princess.”

And then, the respectable haze you have found yourselves in for weeks vanishes.

In an instant, you wrench yourself forward into him, tackling him into something fierce. He grasps you, cradling you safely in his arms as you wiggle in your happiness.

“Jihyun,” you whisper against his chest, nose buried in the hilt of his tailcoat. “I was afraid you would not come.”

He pushes you back, enough to look into your eyes and trace the outline of your cheekbone with his thumb. “Of course I came. I cannot deny you a single thing, nor do I wish to.”

“I did not think I would have the time to slip by their attention tonight, I am eternally grateful their minds are elsewhere.”

“Do you need to get back?” he asks, wrapping his arms around your waist; already dreading having to part.

“Not yet, not so soon.” You reach for him, stand on the tip of your toes and brush your lips against his in the softest of kisses. “I have missed you terribly.”

“As have I, darling,” he whispers against your mouth. “I have to stop myself constantly from reaching for you in the hallways.”

An impish smile graces your lips, sly and conniving. He imagines this must be how the fae tempt humans into their world.

“You are certainly free to touch me now, in whatever way you desire.”

He catches up quickly, as he tightens the hold on your waist and brings his lips to yours – warm breath and honey taste – soft and slow, memorizing every part of this moment.

He rubs small circles on your back just above your waist, feeling the silky material of your dress as you put your arms around his neck, bringing him in as close as you possibly can. And when you pull back to catch your breath, you smile at him slyly, all hooded eyes and flushed cheeks, bottom lip between your teeth.

“Pray tell, you wicked thing. What enchantment have you placed on me?”

A soft laugh, no more than an exhale, ghosts across the side of his neck, raising goosebumps across his skin. You stand so close he can smell the sweetness of the roses pressed onto your skin, the floral scent instantly hauling him back to an afternoon in the court gardens, where you hid behind large rose bushes and he pressed you against the grass and kissed you until sundown.

“It was the pomegranate seeds I fed to you in the garden” you whisper, playfully. “It was faerie food, meant to entrap you to my side for the rest of your days.”

“You could have simply asked me,” he replies. “My answer would have been yes.”

Your eyes go soft, but sparkle suddenly in the way they do when you decide to be cheeky. “But that would be a waste of a perfectly ripe pomegranate, do you not agree?”

He bites at the pout of your lip in reprimand, feeling satisfied with the redness there when he pulls back. “Do you truly have a response for everything?”

“I thought you liked my mouth,” you say, just a fraction shy and very much teasing as your hands wonder down his chest.

“I do, it’s perfectly sweet.” His hand firmly cradles your chin and he leans in until your breath is upon his lips. “Do not divert, my dove. Will you share with me what has been on your mind tonight? You have been on a cloud all evening.”

Your eyes open in surprise, but smile softly at him as he holds your face between his hands. His thumb traces your berry lips and your eyes flutter shut in resignation.

“I have tried, for a very long time, to find dignity in my role.” He notes the softness of your voice, mixed in with the bitter resentment he’s only caught glimpses of before. When your eyes flutter open, there is sadness. “I have found nothing, and I am tired of it all. I do not know who I am beyond what I’m told to be, and I do not care for it any longer. I wish to please only you.”

Your eyes are suddenly and incredibly soft as they hold onto his, your fingertips tracing his hipbones, moving up his abdomen. He brushes a gentle stroke of his lip against yours, flashing loving eyes as if to say what neither of you has found the courage to admit yet.

“You have shone light upon my dreams, Jihyun. But there is no room for you in my life, and you deserve to be with someone that will not be a threat to your own.”

He is hardly ever angry; he finds he does not care much for such emotions. But in this moment, he feels an inexplicable sadness and fear that you will disappear before he has the chance to tell you how truly his life belongs to you.

“Should you wish to end things with me, I will retreat immediately without a word and pretend nothing has happened. But do not make decisions for me. I wish to be with you, in whatever manner possible. If these meetings are all that I will ever have, then I will have this over nothing.”

Light laughter erupts from your throat and you quickly slip one hand from his chest to muffle the unexpected sound. Tears spring from your eyes at last, a blend of humor and grief.

“I wish I could kiss you and make you king.”

He gently takes hold of your soft hands, engulfing them in his calloused ones. He notices the pleasant shiver that runs up your spine at the intimate gesture.

“I do not want to be king, I just want to be with you,” he admits.

You are quiet for a long time, contemplative. He brushes tendrils of your hair off your shoulder, feels your collarbones beneath his fingertips.

“We are in love, aren’t we?” You whisper, and there’s a sort of hesitancy there, as if you have only just realized what this could mean for both of you – the inevitable heartbreak that is destined.

From the very moment your worlds collided – he knew he would fall in love with you. And as he has come to know you – eyes alive like wildflowers and smiles that carry sunshine – he dreams of nothing more than to meet his fate by your side.

“I love you, with everything that I possess.”

“Then run away with me,” you plead, putting yourself nose to nose with him, his blue wisps of hair against your forehead. “Let’s go to another land. Somewhere far away where we can be close to an ocean and have a garden of roses.”

“Your father will send kingsmen after us,” he warns quietly, stoic beneath your hands, hesitant to reciprocate. “He will not be merciful.”

You shake your head fiercely, speak one last offer of clarity. “My father cares not for what may happen to me, he never has. He has two more children he can crown.”

“If you are sure about this, I believe King Han may grant us sanctuary should we reach his borders. I have known him since we were children, and Jumin can be ruthless, but he is fair. Though I must warn you, once we reach his castle, your title will be stripped.”

“I do not want to be a princess, I just want you,” you whisper and lean into him, press a breeze of a kiss to the corner of his mouth, another against his jawline. “Promise you will meet me at midnight, out in the forest.”

The sweetness of you has long burned away his fear, and in its place a mellow kind of anticipation has taken hold. He takes your hand in his and brings it up to his lips.

“As you wish,” he mumbles against your palm and you giggle joyfully before you throw your arms around his neck.

And for everything he believes in, your face is as precious as all the jewels and gemstones of any kingdom; it is the smile you grace him with upon his yes, shining with the power of a thousand suns, that confirm he has found the world’s greatest fortune.

#I was so hesitant to post this #but fuck it #here it is #enjoy #jihyun kim #jihyun kim x reader #mystic messenger #v mysme #v route #v mysme fanfic #v mysme x reader #v mystic messenger #Jihyun Kim fanfic #Jihyun Kim mysme #Jihyun Kim mystic messenger #period/fantasy au #the mystic dance #mint palace ball

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blossom-hwa · 3 years

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Skipping Stones - KEVIN

This was the second full scenario I ever finished for The Boyz and I think it was pretty nice to start with some soft Kevin :D THANK YOU KAI FOR LETTING ME YELL TO YOU ABOUT THIS ONE I HOPE IT LIVES UP TO YOUR EXPECTATIONS.

Anyway! Happy (slightly early but only by a couple hours??) birthday to one of the best boys in the world, the one and only wonderful beautiful lovely Kevin Moon! I hope you all enjoy this <3 please reblog if you did!

Pairing: Kevin x gender neutral!reader

Genre: fluff, teacher!au

Triggers: cursing, alcohol

Word Count: 7.8k

Falling in love with you, Kevin thinks, is a bit like skipping stones.

Alternatively:

Five times Kevin felt himself falling deeper in love with you, and the one time he knew he was gone.

TBZ Masterlist | Touching Stars | Breathe, and Live

prelude.

Kevin knows he exists to be clowned. His sister says it’s something about his face – there’s something undeniably meme-y about his reactions, apparently, that makes him very clownable. His students tell him it’s in his demeanor – he comes off as pretty chill, according to them, which makes him easy to tease because they know he’ll react in some hilarious way, but it won’t affect him too deeply.

(Changmin just says he’s stupid, which makes him clownable to the highest degree, but Kevin refuses to take information from the teacher who still scares him every other week with whichever horror movie mask has recently caught his fancy.)

So Kevin knows he’s just a clownable human being, and he’s resigned himself to that fate for the rest of his life. But around you? His calm, collected, hilarious, wonderful partner? He expected a little less clownery and a little more loving.

“Oh, come on,” you laugh, trying to get Kevin to turn around. Honestly, he’s already feeling the effects of withdrawal from not seeing your smile for more than a few minutes, but he refuses to budge, lips curved downwards in a semi-permanent pout. He knows he won’t be able to keep this up for long (he’ll miss looking at your face too much, and really, he can’t be mad at you about anything), but he can make a scene. “Kevin!”

“You’re so mean,” he whines, still resisting your efforts to make him look at you. “I just poured out a very embarrassing part of my childhood to you and instead of comforting me, you laugh?” His pout deepens. “I don’t know why we’re dating.”

Your hands leave the back of his shoulders. For a second, Kevin thinks you’ve given up and he’s about to start whining about that too, but then you appear in front of him, fingers clasped placatingly. “All right, all right, Kevin.” Still grinning, you grab his hands. “I won’t tease anymore. But seriously, how could you expect me not to laugh my ass off when you told me you learned to skip stones for the –” you make jazz hands, presumably to emphasize your point – “aesthetic?”

Kevin sticks his lip out childishly. “I didn’t think it was that funny,” he mumbles.

“It’s not, not really.” You squeeze his hands. “But it’s a move that’s got Kevin Moon stamped all over it.” As if to accentuate your point, you snort. “Of course you’d learn to skip stones for the aesthetic.”

“Y/N,” he whines.

“Fine, fine, I’ll stop.” Your teasing grin melts into an eager smile. “Hey, teach me?”

“Right now?”

“Why not?”

It feels like Kevin’s physically crumbling to pieces with the way your hopeful voice and sparkling eyes just attack him from all angles. Grudgingly, the deep pout on his lips stretches into a smile, the starstruck smile that all of his friends like to tease him for. “Fine, let’s go.”

He spends the rest of the afternoon stepping around small children and younger couples, trying to find suitable rocks for skipping and teaching you the right angles, the right stance, the right way to hold the stone in your hand before sending it into the water. You learn fast, something he envies – where it took him at least a couple of weeks to perfect the art, you (mostly) pick it up in a matter of hours – but he can’t feel too jealous or too bad when you look up at him after your stone skips once on the water. “Kevin, I did it!” You shake him slightly. “Did you see that?”

The softest smile spreads across Kevin’s face as he kisses your forehead softly “Yeah, I did.”

When he pulls away, you give him the brightest grin before scrambling away to find more stones to skip. Kevin just watches, taking in the way your figure looks against the setting sun, bright gold and pale pink light streaming over your body, almost making you glow.

This is why he fell in love with you, he thinks. Your character, your tenacity, the way you throw yourself into every task you’ve been assigned so that you can complete it as best as you can. It doesn’t matter if you’re trying to treat a new cancer case at the hospital or trying to skip a stupid rock across the water. You always give it your all.

Idly, Kevin picks up a stone of his own. With a practiced flick of his wrist, it goes sailing onto the lake, skipping three, four, five times before sinking beneath the surface.

Falling in love with you is a bit like skipping stones, he thinks, watching the stone disappear from sight. Someone had to force him into that first blind date with you, much like making the first toss of the stone into the water, but every skip after that was quick, effortless, the way he felt himself falling for you, step by stumbling step, until his heart finally gave in and sank below the waves of your warmth.

It’s hard to imagine a time when he wasn’t in love with you, even though such a time did at one point exist. But the way you make him feel with the smallest things you do – the way you scrunch your eyebrows in confusion, the way you rest your chin on your hand in thought – it feels like he’s known you for an eternity and loved you even longer, loved you before time existed.

Your stone skips twice across the water and you shout with joy, racing up to Kevin to celebrate. He catches you when you leap at him, arms wrapping around your waist automatically, smiling into your shining face. Yes, he thinks, he’s in love.

He’s so in love with you.

. . . . .

Kevin, by all definitions of the word, is panicking.

He’s been dreading this blind date for almost a month now, circling the day on his calendar and marking it D-Day, begging Jacob and Changmin to come along and hide in case he needs to be bailed out, relentlessly praying that he’ll be able to leave the stupid date in one piece.

(Look, as much as he appreciates Mrs. Park’s kindness and her brownies, she can be… a little overbearing. To say the least.)

Just a few hours ago, he was putting on his yellow sweater and bemoaning the existence of his pushy coworker. Just a few hours ago, he was lamenting his fate to his two friends (friends is a term he will use loosely for today – all they did was laugh at him). Just a few hours ago, he was cursing the existence of Mrs. Park and her brownies for getting him locked into this date with her sister’s kid. Wait, was it her sister? Or her brother?

(“Yes, her sister,” Changmin says, rolling his eyes. “Pay more attention, won’t you, Kev?”

Kevin groans. “Why couldn’t either of you be chosen by Mrs. Park, huh? Why me?”

“Because I have a partner and Jacob is good at disappearing.” Changmin grins that evil, evil grin he always has on just before he’s about to execute a prank on someone (usually Kevin).

“More like the two of you are good at leaving me to fend for myself against Mrs. Park, even though you know I can’t say no to shit,” Kevin grumbles.

“Give up her brownies,” Jacob suggests.

Kevin gasps. “No way in hell.”)

But now, he’s actually sitting across from you in a café not too far from his apartment, holding a cup of coffee between his (visibly shaking) hands. And he can’t even think of why he was dreading this date so much because you’re just… really, really perfect.

Why are you so sweet? he’s screaming inside. Why are you so funny? Why are you literally the perfect mix of snark and kindness and just – everything?

“So my aunt told me you work with her,” you say, seemingly oblivious to Kevin’s jitters. The smile on your face is really sending electricity racing through his heart. “I know the children must be fun, but I know she can be a bit… overbearing.” There’s a hint of apology in your eyes, like you know your aunt must have pressured him into this and you’re sorry that he had to come on a date with you.

Kevin’s stomach flip-flops. Okay, so Mrs. Park maybe did severely pressure and sweetly blackmail Kevin into a blind date. But Kevin also doesn’t want you to feel bad for it because it’s not your fault at all, so as usual, when he finds himself in a tight spot, his mouth decides it’s time to run.

“No, your aunt is really nice,” he starts. “I really mean it – she’s always very kind to the kids and to the rest of us teachers. I’m still kind of new compared to the rest of them – I’ve only been at the school for a few years now – but she helped me feel welcome that first year when I was still figuring things out. And she also likes Beyonce! You know, the greatest female artist there is? She let me play my entire playlist of Beyonce songs for her last year and she liked every single one of them!”

Kevin’s babbling now. Rambling. Whatever he wants to call it. His brain is screaming for him to stop talking but his mouth won’t stop running because this is what he does when he’s nervous. He talks. Endlessly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the table where Changmin and Jacob are situated in case they need to rescue him from mental or physical harm. The top of Changmin’s head is barely visible behind a huge menu so Kevin can barely see his friend, but somewhere in his babbling haze, he notices a phone camera poking out from behind the menu.

If he wasn’t blushing before, he definitely is now.

Finally, his mouth listens to his brain and he trails off on his last thought on why Beyonce is the best artist in the entire world. There’s a second of silence.

“Sorry,” Kevin finally squeaks. “I… tend to ramble when I get nervous. Or when I talk about Beyonce.”

Your smile flashes even wider. Kevin is torn between wanting to melt into the ground out of embarrassment and staying upright to keep seeing that grin on your face.

“Don’t be sorry,” you laugh, fiddling with your cup of coffee. “I thought it was cute.”

Kevin’s face burns so much that he misses what you say next. “Sorry?”

You grin. “I’m always interested in hearing about a new artist to add to my playlist.”

Kevin lets out a theatrical gasp. “You don’t have Beyonce in your music library?”

A sheepish look spreads across your face. “… No?”

“Oh my God.” Kevin pulls out his phone. “Okay, I’m about to educate you on the artist of our time.”

The afternoon, then, passes in a flash. Changmin and Jacob eventually just up and exit the café (presumably with enough blackmail to last the rest of Kevin’s life – he knows he was acting like a complete fool, but luckily, you didn’t seem to care), leaving him alone with you. Under any other circumstances, he probably would’ve started crying, but you’re so sweet and so interesting that Kevin thinks he could stay and talk to you in this café forever.

He learns you’re an oncologist at a nearby children’s hospital, that even though the work is hard and tiring and sometimes overwhelmingly depressing, the strength of the children and the families you work with inspire you to keep going every day. He learns that you don’t have too much of a sweet tooth (though you won’t say no to ice cream or cheesecake, both of which he notes in his head), he learns that you love coffee, and he learns that you like to take walks in the park whenever you have a little bit of free time.

He also learns that you’re snarky, intelligent, driven, hardworking. He learns that you’re something far beyond the beauty of your face – that underneath your skin, there’s a heart that’s warmer than the sun.

Kevin understands that this is only the first date and that he maybe shouldn’t be making judgments so quickly. But he’s been told that he’s a relatively good judge of character, and the genuine look in your eyes when you talks speaks volumes about the person deep inside.

Even though you live further away, Kevin takes the bus with you to your home, citing that it’s only polite to walk one’s date to the door (in reality, he just wants to spend a little more time with you). As the bus rattles along the road, Kevin lets you listen to the songs on his phone, delighting in the way your head bobs to the beat of his favorite tracks.

Kevin’s a bit sad when you reach your apartment, sad that your time together is over for the day. He lingers outside the building for a moment, trying to work up the courage to ask about a second date.

Suddenly, you lean forward. Kevin jerks back – he briefly wonders if you’re trying to kiss him – but you just pat a spot on his sweater, frowning slightly at your fingers. “Is that… paint?”

Oh my God.

Kevin tugs the material of his sweater forward so he can see the spot you’re pointing at. Sure enough, there’s a small patch of red paint on the yellow fuzz. He groans. “I didn’t even notice.”

“Well, that’s what people like us get for working with children.” You roll your eyes comically, and Kevin bursts into laughter that’s definitely too loud for the small joke you made. Then silence falls again.

You break it. “Listen, Kevin.”

He perks up. “Hmm?”

“I’ll admit, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to this date because my aunt has been trying to set me up with people my age for several years now.” For the first time today, you look shy. “She was probably really pushy with you too, so I’m sorry about that. But I really enjoyed this afternoon.” You meet Kevin’s eyes. “If you’d like, I’d love to go on a second date.”

Kevin’s heart explodes. It really does. Sheer excitement courses through his veins, and he has to stop himself from smiling widely enough to mimic a god damn clown. “I’d love that,” he says trying to hide how eager he really is. “Um, I’ll say that I wasn’t exactly looking forward to this either, mostly because my experience with blind dates has had… limited success. But I’m really glad I met you. You’re a wonderful person.”

Your smile grows wider at Kevin’s admission. “Thank you, Kevin. You’re wonderful too.”

“Do you kiss on the first date?” he blurts out because his brain has no filter. Then he backtracks. “Um, it’s totally okay if you don’t, I was just asking, please don’t think I’m a creep –”

You briefly press your lips to his. Kevin shuts up.

When you break away, Kevin honestly thinks you’re glowing. “Does that answer your question?” you ask, bravely trying to hide something – is that embarrassment? Whatever it is, he thinks it’s adorable.

Kevin blushes. “Yes.”

People probably think he’s insane with the way he’s smiling on the bus ride back to his apartment. He can’t help it, though – the tingling touch of your lips, gentle against his, plays over and over in his mind, along with memories of your lovely voice and your lovely smile and your lovely, lovely disposition. Some people are giving him weird looks, and Jacob and Changmin are sure to tease him to no end when he comes in to work tomorrow.

But who cares? Kevin’s got a second date in the works with one of the most wonderful people he’s ever met.

In his mind, he’s on top of the world.

. . . . .

ii.

Usually, when Kevin gets lucky and scores a second date or a third, he suggests taking his date somewhere with children to gauge how they feel about small toddlers tearing up the place. Children are a huge part of Kevin’s life – he teaches elementary school and knows he wants kids when he gets a bit older – so one of the silent standards he’s set for potential significant others is that they have to like and be good with children.

You work at a children’s hospital, Kevin knows, so you must at least be good with kids, even if you might not like them (hey, it’s possible – Kevin has known many people who are good at things they hate). That fulfills half of the standard. He just needs to gauge the other half.

There aren’t many events at the school coming up, though – no plays, no art exhibitions, nothing he can really invite you to. He’s racking his brains for a third date somehow involving children when you unexpectedly call him about an event at the hospital.

“I know it’s last minute,” you apologize profusely, “but the guy who was supposed to come today for the kids’ music hour called in sick. I don’t want to cancel the event because they always look forward to it and I know you play the piano – would it be possible for you to fill in?”

It is possible, it turns out. He may not be able to pack his Yamaha upright into the back of your car, but he does have an electronic keyboard that fits into your trunk. The whole way there, you’re apologizing, but between reassurances that it’s totally fine, Kevin can’t help but anticipate how you’ll act around the children once the two of you arrive.

Setting up takes more time than he’d like (the extension cord that comes with his keyboard is too short, so you disappear on a twenty-minute manhunt for a longer one while Kevin just stands there awkwardly), which makes him feel slightly like a burden on the rest of your coworkers. They’re so polite, though, so genuine and kind, that Kevin eventually starts to feel more at ease.

(He’s still endlessly grateful when you return, extension cord clasped victoriously in one hand.)

Then the kids start trickling in, and Kevin’s heart immediately both breaks and melts. Some are in wheelchairs, others have lost their hair, but they’re all smiling with so much excitement, chattering to their parents and the staff around them as they settle on beanbags and pillows on the floor. Several look at him curiously and he smiles at them, prompting several questions about who he is, why there’s a keyboard and not a guitar, and why the normal guy isn’t here.

“The usual guy got sick and couldn’t come,” Kevin says to one sweet girl with chubby cheeks and shining eyes. “I’m just here to replace him for a day.”

“Do you play the piano?” she asks, shyly pointing at the keyboard, which more than a few curious souls are standing around.

Kevin smiles. “Yes, I do.” He would say more, maybe offer to show her the instrument a little, but then you’re walking over, and her eyes brighten. “Dr. L/N!” she cheers.

With a loud laugh, you swoop her up carefully, cradling the girl against your shoulder. “How are you, Daeun?” you ask, lips spread in a smile that Kevin knows can’t be faked.

The girl – Daeun – grins. “I’ve been good!” she announces proudly. “Are we going to start soon?”

You laugh again, settling her back down on the floor. Kevin thinks his heart melts with the way your eyes sparkle. “Yes, we are,” you say. “I see you’ve already met Kevin?”

“Your name is Kevin?” Daeun looks at him curiously. “Your name is strange.”

Kevin has to force himself not to coo. “I was born in Canada,” he says. “My Korean name is Hyungseo.”

Daeun’s nose scrunches. “I like Kevin more,” she decides with finality.

Kevin feels brave enough to pat her on the head. “Then you can call me Kevin.”

“All right, Daeun. Go find your mom, okay? Kevin and I are going to finish setting up, and then we’ll get started.” With a soft kiss on the forehead (Kevin makes a sound he really hopes you don’t hear – the scene is just too adorable), you send the small girl off, turning back to Kevin. “Shall we get started?” you ask, grinning widely.

It may only be the third date, but he’s falling in love, Kevin thinks, falling in love with your shining face and sparkling eyes, with the way you shower love upon the children you’ve placed under your care. Right now, you’re everything he’s ever wanted in a future partner – beautiful in character, kind, gentle, fiercely loving.

His heart pounds a little faster.

Belatedly, Kevin realizes you’re waiting for a response and nods quickly. “Yeah,” he breathes, eyes glancing over the sea of children waiting (somewhat) patiently. A smile to rival yours spreads across his face. “Let’s get started.”

. . . . .

iii.

Kevin loves the last Friday of every month, he really does. It’s been tradition for several years now to go out with Changmin and Jacob on what he calls nights for “the boyz” to eat cheap food and get drunk. And no matter how much the others complain about the stupid name (Kevin will admit it sounds stupid now, but that doesn’t mean he’ll change it), he knows they enjoy the nights all the same.

Sometimes, though, Kevin just wishes he had more of a filter on his mouth. If not that, then maybe his brain could stop remembering every single dumb thing he said or did on drunk nights out. It would make his life a lot easier if he could just forget being stupid.

But no, God decided to be mean when making Kevin Moon. So Kevin, as a result, is an emotional drunk. He cries a lot when he hears about sad or adorable things, he says a lot of stupid stuff to (badly) express his overwhelming feelings, and worst of all, he remembers all of it when he wakes up hungover the next morning.

(None of this stops him from getting drunk anyway. Kevin Moon doesn’t learn lessons when it comes to alcohol. When he falls on his face (sometimes literally), he just gets up again, even if it’s with a bloody nose.)

Luckily, the night doesn’t end in chaos. Even though Jacob, who’s half of Kevin’s impulse control, leaves after an hour (he’s meeting with his family the next day, so Kevin is obligated call him a noob – it’s like a law of physics or something), Changmin doesn’t seem to be in the mood to do weird things without Jacob there to stop him, so the night passes relatively smoothly without Kevin throwing, like, a tantrum or anything.

He gets close, though. Because damn, if Changmin isn’t so fucking adorable when talking about his partner. Buried in his purple hoodie, black hair peeking softly over the top, it’s impossible for Kevin not to tear up when Changmin begins gushing over his beautiful, amazing, wonderful significant other whom he just compared to stardust.

Stardust.

Kevin wants to scream, that’s so romantic.

When you come to pick him and Changmin up, Kevin can’t resist relaying all of this to you as soon as he gets in the car. Vaguely, he thinks he should be worried about Changmin hearing it and hitting him, but the boy is mostly asleep in the back, eyes only fluttering slightly when you go over a bump or something. After Changmin gets dropped off at his apartment, Kevin turns the gushing on full force.

“Y/N, the love of my life, he called her stardust,” he’s still babbling even as you strongarm him up to his own apartment. “He’s so adorable. Changmin is so adorable. Oh my God.”

He thinks you snort. Probably. It would be a normal response. “Didn’t you call him the spawn of Satan just a few days ago?”

Definitely a snort, Kevin thinks, but he’s too invested in Changmin’s loveliness to whine about you making fun of him. “Y/N,” he pouts instead, “listen to meeeeee.”

“I’m listening, I’m listening.” You grunt, catching him just as he misses the next step and almost falls forward. “Hey, be careful.”

“’M trying.” Kevin manfully does his best to stop the world from tilting on its side. “But Changminnie.”

“Yes, yes, Changminnie.” Even drunk, Kevin can make out the playful exasperation in your voice. “Keep going.”

“Thank you, love of my life.” Kevin tries to give you a kiss but his lips hit air instead of your cheek. “Heck.”

You burst into loud laughter. “Kevin Moon, you never told me you were this adorable when drunk.”

“Changminnie,” he says more insistently.

“Okay, yes, I’m listening.” You kiss his cheek instead, and Kevin almost topples over right then and there. “Hey, you can’t fall over whenever I kiss you. Tell me about Changmin.”

Kevin starts flailing his arms around as best he can. “He’s so cute!” he half-yells. “He told me his partner was like stardust because she’s so perfect and warm, but she’s also like stardust because… because…”

His lip juts out.

“Oh, no, don’t cry, Kev.” You stop moving, then Kevin registers you bundling him into a hug, patting his head. “I know you’re a sad emotional drunk, but don’t cry.”

“Not crying,” Kevin protests, visibly crying.

“Mhm.” You pat his head one last time before letting go. “Hey, give me a second, I’m going to unlock your door.”

There’s some fumbling and a quiet snick, then Kevin obediently follows you through the door of his apartment. Once inside, you press a thumb to the side of his face, brushing a tear away. “Tell me what Changmin said to make you sad.”

“Changminnie said he’s afraid she’ll… she’ll… slip away between his fingers. Like stardust.” Kevin feels like he’s going to start sobbing any moment now. “He’s afraid she’s going to leave him eventually because she’s too perfect and he’s not good enough.”

“Oh my God.” You sit down on the couch. Kevin follows suit, albeit a lot more ungracefully as he collapses onto a cushion in a tangle of limbs. “Oh my God, that’s so sad and cute at the same time.”

“I said he should call her his star,” Kevin mumbles, turning slightly so he can burrow into your side. “Because stardust. Texted them about it. Both of them.”

Your laugh sounds like music even to the drunken haze of his brain. “Wonder what they’ll think when they see a drunken keysmash on their phones first thing tomorrow morning.”

The two of you sit in silence for a bit. Kevin feels his eyes beginning to get droopy, and he almost falls asleep before a thought strikes him with lightning force.

“I need to give you a nickname!” he almost yells, sitting bolt upright. The movement makes the room spin, but he doesn’t care. This is urgent. “Changmin’s going to call her his star, but I haven’t given you a nickname yet!”

“Kev, Kev.” You hold him by the shoulders, and he relaxes a little. “You can come up with a nickname for me in the morning. Right now, I think you need to sleep.”

“No,” he whines, shifting in your grip. “This is important. You need a nickname.” He sinks into deep, drunken thoughts, the kinds of thoughts he has when he ignores everything around him in favor of getting philosophical after having drunk too much alcohol.

Then it hits him.

“Oh my God,” he gasps. “Oh my God.” It’s his turn to grab you by the shoulders, now. “Oh my God. You’re the sun. Because I’m the moon. Get it? Kevin Moon?”

Through his drunken haze, Kevin thinks he sees you smile, maybe. It looks like a smile.

Your eyes are sparkling. You look happy.

Probably a smile.

“I’m a genius,” he whispers. A genius for coming up with the nickname and for making you happy.

“Sure, Kevin.” You grunt a little as he shifts his weight. “Come on, get up. We’ll see if you’re still a genius tomorrow if you wake up and remember all of this.”

Kevin doesn’t register much for the rest of the night, just remembers falling into his bed and forcing you to lie down next to him. The next morning, he wakes up with a throbbing headache and the vague, ever-present worry that he said something stupid last night.

You’re not in the bed with him anymore. Kevin blinks once, twice, before trying to sit up so to figure out where you went. Then he remembers you don’t live here. You probably went home.

Which is why he nearly goes into cardiac arrest when you appear in his doorway, holding a mug of coffee and a glass of water.

For a moment, the two of you just stare at each other. Kevin’s not sure what thoughts are running through your head, but he knows he’s trying to piece together what happened last night, and whether or not he should be hiding under the covers out of embarrassment.

Then it hits him.

Sun.

Moon.

Genius.

Oh, God.

Kevin wants to die.

“Morning, sunshine,” he says, using your new nickname in the desperate hope that it’ll distract you from remembering the rest of what he said last night.

A catlike smirk curls your lips as you walk over, pressing the glass of water into his hands. A feeling of dread fills Kevin’s heart as he takes it.

“Morning, genius,” you say with enough evil delight to power Changmin for a year.

Kevin groans. “I was drunk.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Your teasing smile melts into something gentler as you place your mug on the bedside table, turning to bring the glass of water in his hands to his lips. “Coffee’s mine, don’t touch it or I’ll break a bone. Drink the water. I made some breakfast, so come into the kitchen whenever you feel up to it. After you’ve brushed your teeth.”

Warmth courses through Kevin’s body, and it has nothing to do with the alcohol from last night and everything to do with how you’re here in body and mind, sweetly helping him recover from a stupid hangover even when it’s definitely not your problem to take care of and you probably have better things to do. His heart thumps, loud enough that he thinks you could probably hear it.

In this moment, Kevin doesn’t think he’s ever been more grateful for anything than you coming into his life.

“Got it.” He awkwardly tries to salute, but he does it with the hand holding the glass and the water nearly spills onto the bed. As his cheeks flush, you break into snorting giggles.

Even though it’s at his expense, Kevin thinks he would do anything, anything in the world, to keep that wonderful smile on your face and that musical laughter in the air.

. . . . .

iv.

Only when you move in together does Kevin realize just how taxing your job is. He had an idea from when you sometimes had to cancel or move around dates, but when you did meet up, you were usually energetic and cheerful. Of course, there were the token dates where you just came over to Kevin’s apartment or he came over to yours and you just flopped around for a few hours. Outside, though, you always showed a bright face.

But that was because dates were mostly on your days off or when your hours were short, and as a result, you felt good enough, energized enough to show Kevin your brilliant smile. When you first moved in together, Kevin felt a bit surprised – well, maybe not surprised, but saddened – that you didn’t have the energy to smile as brightly as he saw before.

It’s fine by Kevin, though. You smile often enough, and if your teeth don’t show as much as they used to, there’s something beautiful, something calming and sweet in the slower curve of your lips, the gentle, lethargic way you lean up for a kiss. After all, Kevin has enough energy to compensate for when you might lack some of yours.

(It helps that he can cook, he thinks. Even when the kids at school sometimes wear him out, the brief sparkle in your eye that spreads across your lips when you walk through the door to see him stirring something on the stove is more than enough to make up for it.)

You’re cute, too, when you’re tired. Though Kevin loves it when you’re energetic and ready for whatever the day has decided to throw in your path, there’s something so peaceful, so pleasant about feeling you lying lethargically against his side on the couch, scrolling through your phone or reading a book or just resting, doing nothing but breathing softly. Kevin cherishes those small moments, the soft atmosphere where he kisses your hair and you smile, reach up, and press a kiss of your own to his cheek.

Tonight is one of those nights, a night of soft, comforting silence, words few and far between. It’s been a bit warm lately, so Kevin’s elected to wear one of the tank tops he keeps for the warmer months instead of his usual sweater.

You sit next to him on the couch, back pressed to his side as you send off emails on your phone. Kevin’s working too, inputting grades on his laptop. He hums a little under his breath to take his mind off of the monotony of his task.

At some point, you finish, putting down your phone with a sigh and slumping into his ribs. Kevin starts at the sudden movement. “Sunshine,” he whines, even though he could really care less.

“Moon boy,” you parrot in the same tone of voice.

Kevin’s attention turns back to his laptop, so he barely registers you shifting on the couch to a new position. He does notice it, though, when your fingers start trailing along his skin, exposed by the lack of sleeves on his tank top, because your touch tickles.

You completely ignore his resulting twitch of surprise, only keep tracing the skin of his rib cage. Kevin looks down, confused as to what’s caught your attention.

Oh. His tattoos.

“Sunshine?” he asks softly, watching your fingers shift along his skin.

“Mm,” you hum, eyes still fixated on the ink decorating his side.

“Sleepy?”

Slowly, you shake your head, fingers paused on the image of Mickey Mouse. “Not yet.”

He goes back to inputting grades, all the while still aware of your fingers tracing the lines, the curls, the swirls of black ink along his side. When he finishes, he looks over before closing his laptop to see your eyes still focused on his skin.

Something in his heart explodes, spreading a tingly, comforting warmth throughout his body. It’s a feeling he’s come to associate with your presence, a feeling of absolute security, absolute trust, absolute warmth that comes with falling in love with you.

You look up, noticing his lack of movement. “Finished, moonbeams?”

“First moon boy, now moonbeams?” Kevin teases you lightly, picking up the hand you were using to trace his skin and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. Just like every other time he’s ever done it, a wide smile spreads across your face and a shyness sparkles in your eyes, as though you still can’t believe the bliss of the moment.

(At least, that’s what Kevin feels every time you do something to remind him that he’s yours.)

Your voice breaks into his thoughts. “Can’t call you moonshine, that’s an alcohol.” You shrug as best as you can in your stretched-out position. “Moonbeams, moon boy… whatever feels right.”

Kevin puts his laptop on the coffee table. As he leans back into the couch, you curl up into him, one hand still lingering against the Mickey Mouse tattoo on his side. “Tell me about these?” you ask, pressing your fingers a bit more firmly against the ink.

His tattoos are personal, serving as reminders of the past and inspiration to keep moving. Rarely does he share their meanings with anyone (not that people usually ask, because the tattoos are mostly covered by his clothes), and only with those who mean the world to him.

Kevin thinks you qualify as one of them.

Touching your shoulders, he turns you around slightly, just enough to press a short, sweet kiss to the top of your head. “Of course, sunshine.” He smiles, gazing into your eyes, feeling the warmth of your love travel through his limbs. “Which one first?”

. . . . .

Kevin Moon, for the majority of his life, has hovered in between being classified as a morning person or a night owl. Yes, he gets up at six in the morning for a cup of coffee, but he also stays up past midnight doing… stuff. Grading, writing reports, watching cat videos, wasting time.

(When Changmin judges his lifestyle, Kevin just reminds him that he fell in love with his roommate’s hookup and is on a dance team with the parent of one of his students.)

Honestly, if Kevin didn’t remind himself every so often that he’s currently a full adult, his lifestyle would make him think he was still in college. He certainly still acts like it when he isn’t working. Procrastinating? Check. Crying over reports he needs to submit at three a.m.? Check. Flopping around on the floor when life is going badly? Check.

And most importantly: nonexistent sleep schedule? Check.

You put a stop to that real quick when you move in, both directly and indirectly. Directly, you make an appointment for him at a sleep clinic after figuring out his shitty sleep patterns, and Kevin finds out he probably has mild insomnia. The aftermath is horrible – you put him on a strict sleep schedule and all but ban caffeine from his diet (goodbye, morning coffee) – but it helps, after a couple of weeks. He sleeps better. Perks of having a partner who works in medicine.

Indirectly, though, you probably make a bigger difference.

See, the way Kevin thinks about it, he just never had a lot of reasons to stay in bed very long. Even though he appreciates sleep, really appreciates it on long days, it’s just that he can’t really force it if it doesn’t want to come. He’d also rather be doing something productive (or not productive, depends on the asker’s perspective) than lying awake for hours, anyway.

But now that he’s waking up to a face he loves?

Well, even if you sometimes disappear before he wakes (hospital hours are whack as hell, but sadly, you can’t ignore your job), Kevin will just say your warmth is a powerful incentive to stay huddled under the covers, even if he can’t fall back asleep.

He still wakes up every morning to grey light beginning to peek through the window. No matter how hard he tries to sleep in just a little longer, his body can’t seem to stay unconscious past six in the morning, so both of you have just resigned yourselves to the fact that Kevin will always be an early riser.

Before you walked into his life, he would’ve rolled out of bed almost immediately, stumbled to the bathroom (and maybe knocked his knee against the doorframe, who knows), then started brewing coffee in the kitchen to start the day.

Now?

A drowsy smile begins to make its way across Kevin’s face, soft as the morning light, when his brain catches up to the present and he registers your warmth under the covers. Sleepily, he blinks, taking in the sight of your peaceful face buried halfway in the sheets.

You shouldn’t look this beautiful, Kevin thinks, not with your hair strewn all over the pillow, blankets rumpled around your shoulders, arms outstretched so that one sort of curls over his body while the other is held up to your chest. It’s the morning – no one should look pretty and put-together. That isn’t natural.

(Unless you happy to be Kim Younghoon, but that’s another story.)

Yet you somehow look like a sleeping deity in Kevin’s mind, even with your hair a mess and drool drying on the pillowcase. As the drowsiness clears from his eyes, as the light from the window grows brighter, Kevin can barely even think of moving, of disturbing your peace.

He dislikes your alarm. It’s loud, annoying, and hits him with a jolt when he’s just trying to take these stolen morning moments to admire your beauty. When he complains about it the first time, you tell him to serve as the alarm, to wake you up himself.

Kevin counters that he’s an artist, that he needs peace and quiet to give beauty of such a degree the respect it deserves. You just roll your eyes, telling him that if he isn’t going to wake you up, the alarm’s going to have to take that job. The smile on your face, though, and the brief kiss you press to his lips right after, speaks volumes for the emotions Kevin’s words make you feel.

(He loves flustering you like this, even if you pretend his words don’t make you feel some sort of way.)

So eventually, you wake, eyes fluttering as the alarm brings you back to the conscious plane. Kevin’s heart feels like it’s bursting when your eyes fully open, blearily blinking at the world.

“Morning, sunshine,” he whispers, running one hand through your hair.

You lean slightly into the touch, the corners of your lips twitching up. And every day, as he stares into your sleepy eyes, lips curling as you whisper a quiet “Morning, moon boy” in reply, Kevin knows he’s falling, falling in love with every part of you.

. . . . .

+i.

Kevin’s waiting in front of the school when you pull up at the curb. Smiling apologetically, he gives you a quick kiss on the cheek as you step out of the car. “Sorry, sunshine.” He gestures at the two small boys standing beside him, absorbed in their own world. “Their uncle’s running late and Changmin and Jacob have things to do, so I need to wait for Sangyeon to pick them up before we can go.”

“No worries.” You return the kiss, smiling as bright as the sun. Kevin feels a flash of pride for coming up with a nickname that fits you so well. “We have the whole afternoon, don’t we?”

“That, we do.” He grins, squeezing your hand.

“Mr. Moon, who’s that?” a small voice asks closer to the ground. The two of you turn to see Sunwoo and Eric trotting over, curious looks on their faces.

Kevin looks over at you, but you’re already bending down to get to eye level with the two boys. “Oh, hello!” Your grin, if possible, grows wider. “I’m Y/N, Kevin’s significant other. What are your names?”

“I’m Eric,” Eric pipes up. “This is my brother, Sunwoo.”

Sunwoo just stares with round eyes. Well, he’s always been the shyer of the two.

“Those are lovely names,” you reply smoothly, giving Sunwoo an encouraging smile. Kevin feels his heart melt completely at how well you interact with the kids. “I’m just going to be waiting with Kevin until your uncle picks you up, is that okay?”

The two kids nod and immediately go back to babbling in their own little world. Kevin notices the fond smile on your face, and his heart melts even more.

“They’re so cute,” you whisper to him.

“I know, right?” Kevin clutches his heart dramatically. “Can you imagine teaching them every day?”

Just as you’re shaking your head in comic disbelief, another car pulls up behind yours. A harried-looking young man quickly exits and Eric and Sunwoo cheer, distracted by the arrival of their uncle.

“Sorry about this,” Sangyeon says, absentmindedly patting Eric’s head as the boy hugs his leg. Sunwoo seems to be attempting to climb onto his uncle’s back. “Traffic wasn’t the kindest when I was getting out of work.” Then he notices you. “Oh, hello. Are you Kevin’s partner?”

“That I am.” You stick out a hand. “I’m Y/N, and I’ve been told you’re Sangyeon?”

Sangyeon nods, smiling. “Nice to meet you. And to see that Kevin’s found someone to deal with his antics.”

Kevin blushes as you laugh. “Hey,” he complains. “No jokes at my expense, please.”

“Sure, moonbeams.” You roll your eyes, then turn back to Sangyeon. “It’s nice to meet you. Your nephews are adorable.”

The smile that Sangyeon gives the two boys clambering around him says it all. “They are, aren’t they?” He checks his watch. “I’m sorry, I have to go now. My sister’s expecting us back soon, and I’m already a bit late.”

Kevin breathes a sigh of relief. No more teasing at his expense from Sangyeon, at least, though there’s no guarantee from you. “Nice seeing you, Sangyeon. And have a good day, kids.”

A small chorus of “You too, Mr. Moon!” sounds, and Kevin expects that to be the end. Sangyeon will herd the boys into the car, Kevin will follow you into yours, and then you’ll go your separate ways. What he doesn’t expect is for Sunwoo to look out at you from behind his uncle’s leg, round eyes cautiously curious, and ask you a question.

“Y/N?”

Immediately, you turn around, teasing smirk melting into a gentle smile for the small boy. “Yes, Sunwoo?”

Sunwoo’s eyes dart between you and Kevin. Then, softly, shyly – “Do you love Mr. Moon?”

Time seems to stop as Kevin’s breath hitches in his throat at the sudden question, but you only look back at him, eyes soft and sparkling in the sunlight.

Your answer glitters in your gaze.

Though you’re supposed to be talking to Sunwoo, your eyes stay fixed on Kevin, strong and unyielding, yet gentle and affectionate, as you answer. Your voice is soft when you reply. “Yes, Sunwoo. I do love him.” The smile on your face grows wider as you turn back to the child. “I love him very much.”

Indescribable warmth floods Kevin’s chest and tears prick his eyes. And as Sangyeon hurries his nephews away, as you turn around to unlock your car, one truth burns with absolute, crystal-clear certainty in his mind.

He isn’t falling in love with you, not anymore. No, he’s far past that stage.

Kevin Moon is completely, wholly, irrevocably in love with you.

“Kevin?” You look at him from the other side of the car. “You coming?”

A wide grin spreads across his face as he meets your sparkling eyes. Love blooms in his chest.

“Coming, sunshine.”

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for kevin’s whipped ass ksjdkgsdhjk)

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alwaysbethewest · 3 years

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Narcos fic: Lean In

for day 31 of my hyggetober ficlet challenge (lol finally!!!). today’s prompt is “sunset.”

Javi/f!reader, rated explicit, 1150 words. Contains kissing, fingering, unprotected penetrative sex, one instance of “good girl,” and absolutely zero angst. This began as a stream of consciousness run-on sentence fantasy that I sent to @mourningbirds1 and @fleetwoodmac-tshirt via DM shortly after writing my very first fic for this challenge, The Sweater. They liked it 😏 so I figured I’d clean it up and turn it into an actual fic. In my mind this is a follow-up to The Sweater but can also be read as a standalone. ETA: I also recorded this as a podfic.

As demanding as your job is, your boss doesn’t insist on you putting in twelve-hour days when they’re not really warranted. It’s either her merciful nature, or because she’s spotted you yawning too many times over the course of the early afternoon to trust the quality of your work anymore, that has her dismissing you hours before quitting time.

“I’ll drive you,” Javier says. He’s been up as long as you have and looks nearly as tired, but you take him up on it anyway, happy to sit in the passenger seat instead of having to stay alert the whole way home driving yourself.

Javi has some vacation time coming up and you ask him about his plans while he drives, letting his voice wash over you. He’s getting out of the city, he tells you, out to a little coastal town he likes to visit when he gets the chance. He’s describing a meal he once had there, the best seafood he’s ever tasted, when you pull up to the apartment building, and you find yourself trailing after him into his own apartment, as though it’s a natural progression to the conversation for you to sink onto his couch while he detours into the kitchen.

“You want a beer?” he offers. “Or a snack?”

“Just water,” you tell him. “And I could eat if you are.”

“Alright.” He opens the door to the fridge and you hear him rummaging for something to eat. “How about you? Are you taking some time off any time soon?”

“Hmm,” you say, thinking about it. You close your eyes, pondering where you might want to go, and when you open them again it’s because he’s nudging at your arm, looking down at you, tired and amused. He’s standing at a funny angle and slowly you realize it’s because you’ve slumped over on the couch, cheek pressed against the cushions.

“Hey,” he murmurs, “come on.”

And he coaxes you upright and guides you into the bedroom and deposits you onto his bed, knocking his foot lightly against yours to prompt you to slip your shoes off.

Belatedly, you realize you probably shouldn’t have followed him home. He’s tired, and you’re tired, and your apartment is just across the hall. You should get up, you think, and leave him in peace to get some rest since you’re not much company right now anyway.

But he disappears again and you give in and press your face into his pillow and enjoy the soft comfort of his bed.

Eventually, seconds later or maybe minutes, he comes back into the room and you feel the bed dip as he lies down on the other side, and you finally drift off to sleep.

You wake up a little disoriented because the light has changed, going dim with the setting sun, and it takes you a moment to remember where you are. Javier’s arm is slung over you and as you turn in his arms the motion wakes him and he meets your eyes, giving you a slow, sleepy smile.

Often, you think, you are only as good as your instincts. Trusting your gut has gotten you far in life up to now.

Instinctively, you lean into him.

He lets you touch your mouth to his and he gives you the softest kiss. He nuzzles his nose against your cheek, moving slowly as he wakes up a little more, and he laughs as you press into him and turn him on his back. All pleased amusement at your eagerness.

He slides his hand under the back of your shirt and touches at your skin and you’re finally glad for the thin layer you wore today.

It’s hard to measure time in this haze of soft, warm touch. You kiss him for minutes and it feels like you’re indulging in him for an hour, lingering and lazy and relaxed.

Gradually you feel him hardening against your hip and you hear his breath start to hitch and you roll over and tug him over you, inviting him to take over and grabbing onto his hips to pull him into you. He grinds against you and he is all gentle murmuring, nipping lightly at your jaw and your neck and your ear, asking, “What do you want, honey?”

You reach down to unbutton your jeans and guide his hand to drift under your waistband, and he hums contentedly and takes your mouth again while he strokes his fingers over you. He tugs at your jeans to get them off you so he has full access to what he wants, and he goes a little slow and teasing with his fingers, building you up until you’re pleading with him for more and he gives it to you, harder, and you start to clench around him.

His eyes are burning hot, watching your face when you come on his hand.

He kisses sweetly along your jawline again as you catch your breath, gentling his touch and nuzzling into you, breathing you in. Once you’ve come back to yourself you fumble and nudge and tug at his pants, use your hands and then your knees to shove them down so you can get at him, and you pull his body into yours, let him nestle against you like an invitation.

He rocks gently over you and then, so smoothly, sinks into you, leaving you breathless again. He smiles, soft and pleased, and his eyes are bright and wide awake now. And he fucks you all lazy nice, not rushing until he’s closing in on his own orgasm and it has him losing some of that slow control, speeding up and thrusting deep and letting out these quiet panting moans that could send you over the edge just from the sound of them alone.

He balances over you and reaches a hand down to touch you, getting you off again, murmuring an encouragement against your skin, his voice still low and turning desperate, saying, “Let me feel you, honey, just like that—” His hand pressing hard on your clit and his cock thick inside you and his deep, steady voice in your ear overwhelm your senses and you feel it through your whole body when you come for him this time, pulsing heavy in your veins.

“Good girl,” he tells you, voice gone rough. He shifts his hand to your thigh to grip you tighter as he fucks into you and finally lets himself go, his face tensing and his fingers digging into you hard, just for a second, as the tension breaks and pleasure overtakes him and he buries himself deep inside you and stays there. Finally he softens his touch and soothes his hand along your skin and rocks gently, in tiny, shuddering movements, letting the moment fade away again into soft, warm breath and waning sunlight and the comfort of his bed and nowhere else to be.

#fanfiction #my fic #narcos fanfiction #javier peña #javier peña x reader #pedro pascal #hyggetober

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pressedinthepages · 3 years

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Indulgence

YOU GUYS. I just hit 400 followers here on the tumble machine. I cannot thank you guys enough for your love and support and allowing me to explore this side of my creativity with you <3 To celebrate, I asked some of my friends in @continentcakeshop to give me pairings to go with a short list of prompts. So over the next little while, I will be posting 6 fics to fill those prompts!

For Prompt #3, we have “On your knees." for @tumbleweedtech <33

also, thank you to @major-trouble for the title. i am shit at titles.

Relationship: Meve/Gascon

Rating: Explicit

Content Warnings: smut, fluff, body worship, feeding each other, oral, softest sex ever, they aint fuckin', they makin' love

Summary: A sunset picnic, the only time they can escape. The only time Gascon can have Meve to himself, and the only time that Meve can let her guard down and let someone else take control.

“Ah, Gascon, I cannot express how desperately I have been looking forward to this.”

He chuckled, holding out his hand to help Meve climb the last stone steps to the summit overlooking the Lyrian castle. “I know it, your highness. ‘S been far too long since last we could sneak off.”

Their usual spot, a secluded cliff that lingered just far enough off of the beaten path to ensure privacy, was bathed in the warm colors of the sun setting in the distance. Gascon’s lips were turned up in a cheeky grin as he dropped the pack from his shoulder and pulled out the knit blanket from the top. He flapped it out and laid it gently on the ground, setting the pack atop it and taking Meve by the hand with a smirk. “May I implore ya to get comfortable, my liege?”

Meve chuckled and stepped with Gascon onto their blanket. “Shut it with the court nonsense, but yes. I will get comfortable, thank you.”

She’d not bothered with armor or any of the courtly frills when they had set out to embark on their trek, only a pair of comfortable trousers and a light linen tunic worn over her supportive underthings. Meve unceremoniously untucked the shirt from the trousers and lifted it over and off, chucking it aside before perfunctorily unlacing the simple ties at the front of her corset. It fell away as well, and Gascon was left gap-jawed at the sight of his love in her bare glory in the setting sun.

The waning sunlight shone in golden paintstrokes over the bare mounds of her chest, her skin almost shimmering as she stretched her arms high over her head. The soft flesh of her stomach and breasts was marked with the echoes of the tight indentations left behind from her corset, pink stripes over her summer tanned skin.

Gascon smiled softly and ran his hand lightly down her arm as it fell back to her side, his other hand reaching up and slipping off his hat and chaperon, freeing his hair and neck to the warmth of the sun. “I swear, ya get more stunning every time I see ya, Meve.”

Despite her best efforts otherwise her cheeks still flushed pink. “I fear your eyes may be going then, Duke. Just getting older every day.”

Gascon shrugged, “That is how time works, I’m afraid. Though ‘s not doing you a lick o’ harm.”

Meve smiled and rested her hand gently on Gascon’s chest. “Shall we, then?”

“Right then.” Gascon smirked and turned around to face the setting sun, “On your knees.”

When he turned back around, Meve had followed his instruction, kneeling on the blanket and looking up to him with those stunning eyes the color of fresh spring leaves. He reached down and softly stroked his first two fingers over her cheek and down the line of her jaw and watched her eyelashes flutter. “Thank you, Meve.”

Meve hummed in response, already allowing her mind to drift out and be held in ddGascon’s capable hands. It wasn’t often that she could permit herself to slip so far from the role of Queen, but when she could? She indulged.

“Tell me, Meve,” Gascon sank to his knees at her side, reaching into the pack that he had brought and rummaging around for his wares, “what have you eaten today?”

She racked her brain, and knew that she would give a disappointing answer. Too often she set her own needs aside, forgot about them to worry more about the hundreds of other responsibilities that fell upon her shoulders. “Well, I started this morning with some bread and wine, and...I had a piece of honey cake this afternoon.”

“And that was all?”

She hung her head and sighed. “Yes, Gascon. That was all.”

He pressed his lips to her temple and they sat like that for a long moment, breathing each other in. “My darling, I know ya have an insurmountable pile of shite to deal with every day, and I swear to ya,’m gonna make it my mission to get ya to take care of yourself if it’s the last thing I do.”

“And I’ll do my best not to make it too difficult on either of us,” Meve grinned, “but I’m afraid I can make no promises.”

Gascon laughed and pulled away just far enough to pull his pack to his side and begin removing the contents out onto the blanket. “I’d expect nothing less, Meve. For now though, let’s get somethin’ in your stomach, eh?”

“Whatever you say, dearest,” Meve rested her head on Gascon’s shoulder as he reached for a handful of berries. She felt the pads of his fingers rest against her lips as he fed the juicy fruits to her, lingering and stroking over her cheek before grabbing more. Gascon fed her silently, letting her eat and drink slowly and indulgently as the sun finally sank beneath the horizon. Once her belly was finally full of fruits and cured meats and mulled wine, Meve leaned up and pressed her lips to the crook of Gascon’s jaw.

“Now if ya don’t mind,” Gascon smirked as he bared his throat to Meve’s explorations, “I’d like to continue taking care of ya.”

Meve hummed and nodded, leaning back on her elbows and uncrossing her legs. Her breasts hung apart on either side of her chest, with a perfect gap between them to fit Gascon’s head every chance that he got. He clambered over her and straddled her legs, tracing his fingers down the last few pink indentations left behind from her corset. He toyed carefully with the edge of her trousers and unbuckled her belt, letting them fall loose enough to slip his hands beneath the fabric and onto the soft flesh of her hips.

“Go on, lift up,” Gascon murmured, sliding his hands down and pushing the trousers with them as Meve lifted her hips. He shimmied down her legs and bared her skin to the cool night air, freeing her feet from her boots as he went and set the whole lot aside. He looked down at her, laid open before him with the hint of a comfortable haze settling over her eyes. Good, he thought, let me have the control. Let yourself relax, if just for a bit.

“I fear, Meve,” Gascon said as he dipped his head, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses up the line of one of her legs and then back down the other, “that this skin does not see nearly enough love.”

She reached down and ran her hands through his soft, thin hair, wispy waves of brown filtering through her fingers. Her mind was quiet for once, blurry edges seeping into the stars above. She hummed and lolled her head back and Gascon’s lips trailed up over the soft swell of her stomach and between her breasts.

“I’ll see to it that you’re nourished in every way tonight, my Queen,” Gascon whispered as he softly dragged his nose down the line of her shoulder, leaving a wave of goosebumps in his wake. Meve ran her hands up his arms, itching to feel his skin on her own but only meeting the soft linen shirt that he had worn on the trek. Her hands moved slowly, as if through jelly, down over his waist to pull the shirt out of his trousers and lift it off of him.

Gascon chuckled and sat back on his knees, sliding the shirt off of his chest and throwing it to join Meve’s pile of clothes. His chest was soft and bare, dusted with fine wiry hairs that trailed down below the waist of his trousers. Meve reached for him, her hand splayed wide to run her fingers over any and every measure of skin that she could feel spark beneath her.

“Oi, patience you-” Gascon smirked and shifted around gracelessly, sitting up on one foot and slipping his trousers down his leg, then switching around for the other before falling back onto his bum and kicking them the rest of the way off with his boots. “Takes work to be this good at gettin’ undressed.”

Meve laughed airily and sat up, her hands beckoning him in to hold her tight and take her beneath the moon. “Please, my Duke, you know I’m not one to beg-”

“Don’t I know it, love,” he said as he crawled back atop her, his hand finding the nape of her neck and guiding her to fully lay back. His cock was hard and flushed where it sat nestled in her hip, and it took every ounce of willpower within him to keep his hips from rocking into her. “Though I’d be remiss to have you spread out under me and not have a taste of you…”

Gascon wriggled back down Meve’s body and knelt between her legs, wrapping his arms under and around her thighs and hoisting them onto his shoulders. His breath fanned over her core as he grinned, nipping the soft inside of her legs before diving in, licking a broad stripe through her folds.

She gasped and threaded her fingers into his hair, tugging and scratching lightly over his scalp as he slowly brought her pleasure. His tongue moved in slow, languid paths, back and forth and up and down and around. Gascon closed his eyes as he savored being surrounded by her in every sense, wrapping his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves at her peak and sucking lightly.

Meve hummed contentedly, “Ah, my Duke, you know I love when you do that-”

“And I love doing it,” Gascon spoke into her before resuming his task, building her up carefully while arousal flushed and leaked onto his chin. He spent more and more time at that peak, licking and sucking at it while one of his hands snaked down under his chest. He slid one dextrous finger through her folds and lightly pushed inside of her, relishing the gasp that tore itself from behind her throat.

Gascon’s lips ached as he moaned around her, sliding his finger in and out and back in again, feeling her walls flutter and beckon him further inside. He slipped another finger in and built up some speed, not enough to have her squirming and writhing (yet,) but just enough to feel her fall boneless and comfortable beneath him.

“P-please, I...I need you to love me-”

Meve’s voice was thick and husky with her arousal, her head thrown back and her hand resting in Gascon’s hair. He untangled himself from her legs and climbed over her body, dipping down to press his lips to hers. She tasted of mulled wine starlight and he was drunk on her.

“Always, Meve. Always.” Gascon glanced down and lined himself up at her entrance, running his cock through her folds before slowly pushing in. She took every ounce of him, every fiber of his being belonged in those deep green eyes that held lust-blown pupils in their depths. Their hips met and he rested his hands on either side of her head, mouth agape with the wash of sensations that tore their way beneath his skin.

He slowly rocked his hips back and forth, only barely slipping from inside of her with every thrust. Meve was tight and wet and fucking perfect around him, and her hands found purchase on his hips and her fingers stroked lightly up his sides. He rested his forehead on hers, brushing their noses together with every soft thrust of his hips, and drove himself into her at a gentle pace, not wanting to leave her grasp for longer than absolutely necessary.

Meve’s hazy eyes fell half-lidded with pleasure as her hands roved over Gascon’s sweat-slick skin, travelling down far enough to give his ass a cheeky squeeze. “Promise,” she smiled and swallowed thickly, “I’ll not break.”

Gascon chuckled and couldn’t help the stuttered thrust that snapped his hips forward into her, “That I know, Meve. You’re unbreakable.”

She flushed, a dusty pink freckling down her neck and over her breasts. Meve hooked her ankles at the small of Gascon’s back and started meeting him thrust for thrust, driving them both closer to their finish. “Not with you at my side.”

Gascon moaned and wrapped his arms beneath her shoulders, holding her as close as he could to him as he found a steady rhythm, driving himself into her and feeling her climb ever closer to her climax. Meve was never really one to be overly conversative in bed, but her breathy gasps and whines from behind gritted teeth never failed to drive Gascon higher and higher.

Goosebumps erupted over his skin as Meve dragged her fingers up and around the back of his neck, pulling him to close the distance between their lips. She tightened impossibly around him and he thrust through, doing everything in his power to keep his pace steady as her climax overtook her.

Meve’s hips arched off the ground and he felt her every muscle clench and release as she cried out wordlessly into the evening air. Gascon tasted her orgasm in the back of his throat and it only took a few more deep thrusts to send him careening over his own peak. His orgasm was soft, a sweet embrace that coaxed his mind into a blank euphoria.

His body sagged down and he ran his nose blindly along the crook of her neck, catching the golden waves of her hair with every deep breath that he took. Meve’s chest shook with quiet laughter, the kind born from true bliss. Gascon breathily joined her, pushing himself back up to press their lips together in a soft embrace as he slowly softened within her.

She groaned into his mouth as he slipped from her velvety grasp, sliding her legs back down to rest on the ground and rolling her shoulders. “That, Gascon, was truly lovely.”

He smirked and pecked her nose, “‘Course it was, couldn’t be anything else when it’s you and I.”

Meve rolled her eyes with a smile and pushed at his shoulder. “Let me up, we should head back. Reynard’s likely nearing the end of his rope of patience with Knickers.”

Gascon shifted back and allowed Meve to adjust to sitting. He reached back for his pack, finding the spare rag and waterskin that he had stowed away. “Here, let me get you cleaned up.”

He wet the rag and gently ran it between her legs, collecting the evidence of their arousals while Meve sipped at the rest of the water. “You’re too good to me, Gascon.”

Shaking his head, Gascon shoved the soiled rag back into his pack and started sorting through their clothes, handing Meve’s over as he found them. “Impossible, my Queen. You deserve every ounce of love that I could ever give to you.”

Meve chuckled and threw her tunic over her head, foregoing the corset altogether. “Do you think we could just stick this in the pack? I’m really not wanting to tie myself back into that.”

Gascon gave a roughish smirk as he tugged his trousers on, throwing the corset into the pack and holding his hand out to her to lift her to stand. “‘Course. You know I like you better without it anyways.”

#400 follower celebration #meve/gascon #meve #gascon #smut #softest smut ever #so softe

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foulserpent · 4 years

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only human

long character analysis + fan fiction hybrid involving critically acclaimed worst best game of all time The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion! martin is in a mental and emotional hell! ned and martin resolving unresolved sexual tension after like, 100000 false starts! being mentally ill with the bro’s! "fluffy" ending!

cw: brief depiction of violence, ptsd, implications of past relationship based trauma, borderline explicit but not really sexy sexual content (nothing p*rnographic but 18+ pls)

On some nights, Martin was in hell.

The world was on a slow death march towards ruin outside the walls, this much he knew. Not even the strongest fortification could shield him from it. Every night from his gilded cage, he heard the screams, breathed the foul smoke and burning flesh and disemboweled gut, see the daedra drag the near-dead into the shadows to be torn apart, still crying out as they were devoured. His hands wet with blood, shaking in vain as his healing failed him and the survivors were pulled apart by their own wounds. The long walk out of the doomed Kvatch, past swarming flies and hundreds of blank eyes looking into the unforgiving sun. The revelation that all this was for him.

On the worst of these nights, staring into the ceiling of Cloud Ruler Temple as the sun began to creep over the horizon, he would wish he had just died.

This time last year, he was on track to live out the rest of his days in obscurity. Probably in Kvatch, probably remaining a priest, where the only weight on his shoulders was giving people their assurances that the Divines would look out for them and hoping he would finally taste truth in these words. It would be better than this. Those who held the reigns of the Empire were even more deluded than he'd thought, if they believed that his noble blood would divinely grant understanding of what to do, some inborn ability to keep collected and strong and sane trapped here as his friends faced death at his behest.

He would be called "lord", shone and polished as a commodity, loved and utterly devoted to, and never, never known. His feelings did not matter. This message had been thoroughly beaten into him. None of it mattered to whatever hand kept him guarded as preciously as the helpless king on the chessboard, behind a line of pawns to the sacrifice. Xikeel bringing him little gifts from gods-know-where (some teeth, a ring, a few spoons), slithering down from the rafters to visit him in the late night hours. One of the blades- bewildered - walking in on them dancing, without rhythm or music.

Long conversations with Ned, who would never treat him like an emperor, who barely even seemed to want to be there but had become doggedly devoted to Xikeel and himself. Bringing him wine, face softened into a smile in anticipation of an evening sitting outside in comfortable, quiet company. Tired and spiteful, but so warm.

He did not know when his feelings had turned to want. There was never an astonished realization, no moment that had changed everything. The first time he consciously acknowledged it was not as a revelation, but as an observation. Ned had cut his hand, a simple, foolish mistake that left Martin wearily healing him, in spite of the bosmer’s protests. Martin had held onto his hand longer than the spell needed, feeling the pulse in his fingers and wanting to entwine him in his own. Wanting to pull him in closer. Noticing that he wanted this, and noticing that it did not surprise him.

It was one of many things to think about, significantly less distressing than every other aspect of his current existence to say the least. He wondered if it was the day he had returned from his nigh-suicidal mission to cheat a god, haggard and shirt bloodied and yet with the softest eyes Martin had seen in the man, cracking a weak smile (a flash of teeth) that said "I've done it, and I hope you can forgive me". He wondered if it was Ned's unwavering devotion to leaving his shirt half-unbuttoned, the burn tearing through his chest on display like a trophy. The necklace would fall across the older man's breast while he laughed and joked about stupid things with Martin as if they were old friends. He was not above simple things.

Perhaps this was a test of the temperance he had spent years cultivating, hollowing out a part of himself to nurture the seed. After all, he had not been with anyone for a long time.

---

He had loathed the existence of the arena in Kvatch, drawing in men and women from all around in what amounted to mass suicide. There was little honor in it, just desperate people consuming themselves for just to grasp a thread of glory, dying in the mud as the crowd roared. But Martin was only human. He had found himself looking on the men as they passed through town, all muscle and scars and fiercely alive. He had found himself drawn to one who had come into the temple for a blessing of protection. The man never said why, though Martin knew where he was bound. It was never hard to tell.

The man was tall and rather handsome, with a muscular frame and dark hair and looking to be only a few years younger than himself, (this had to be around when he was forty-one or forty-two. Had it been that long?). They'd spoke first as strangers do, running through the motions of a blessing under a thick smoke of incense and flowers burnt in offering to the Dragon. Martin averted his gaze from the sword at the man's hip as he prepared the oil. Its hilt glittered in iron filigree and unmistakable rust of dried blood struck gold by the afternoon's dying light. His eyes wandered to the man's face instead, moving to begin the anointment. The dark haired man swiped his tongue over his lips and glanced away, and Martin's heartbeat spiked.

For gods sakes.

The man talked compulsively, glancing around as if something stalked him in the shadows between the stained-glass-light. Martin had silently hoped he would grow bored with the old priest and be on his way, if only so that he'd have time to himself to contemplate what the hell was wrong with him. So, naturally, the man kept talking long after the ritual was complete and the candles extinguished. About where he had come from, (all the way from High Rock, it turned out), the unusual rains lately, family. Partners. Lovers. The conversation turned here, and had fallen with such a speed that he barely realized what was happening. The man had found Martin beautiful, and Martin, exhausted with penitence and enthralled by the stranger and aching to just be human again, had found himself quietly slipping out with him.

Martin's home was truly tiny when occupied by two, an unfamiliar claustrophobia that was quickly dragged into the mire and drowned in a little too much wine. It was cheap and burned his throat with its sweetness, but he didn't care. They'd stumbled and fallen into his bed.

"For good luck," the man had said, as they kissed rough and far too clumsy.

"For good luck," Martin had kissed into the man's neck.

The man was a bit fumbling, all muscles and scars and fierceness. No matter how close their bodies pressed, no matter the grip Martin had - his fingers marking new trails over a scarred back - there was that distance. Two magnets repelling, even as they forced themselves together. These men going to their deaths couldn't be touched. And neither could he, no matter how he tried. There weren't even the barest roots of love here. Just body on body, flesh on flesh. It wasn't bad, though. Martin was only human.

He didn't know what to say in the morning, as the man collected his belongings to go off to the fight. "Good luck," Martin said again, feeling stupid. The man had said "thank you" with his eyes distant. He bent down and out the door, and walked out into the humid morning air, leaving Martin with a strange emptiness in his gut. He never saw him again.

It shouldn't have impacted him so badly. He'd had a one-night stand that was, frankly, pretty good. He'd given another man some comfort, something above and beyond his duty as the Priest-Healer-Penitent. It wasn't really against any vows. His lungs still breathed the smoke of offerings to the Dragon, a shrine to Dibella was dutifully kept at the foot of his bed and given a clumsy offering before the main event. He had not fallen back into the snares of that damned daedra. It wasn't a betrayal of those he'd lost. So why was he guilty?

---

And yet here he was now, on the precipice yet again. Really, he was long into the fall.

Him and one-of-two Heroes of Kvatch had slept together for a week now. Nothing more than the sharing of a bed and body heat, their day to day lives much the same as the world crumbled around him. They had kissed a few days ago, slightly dizzy with wine and the memory returning only in a haze. They'd kissed again the night before, sober and beyond any deniability as the bosmer was making his way out on errand. Ned had blushed and flicked his ears back, leaving him with a soft smile and a quiet "See you," as he slipped into the night.

Now, Martin found himself kneeling as if in prayer at the foot of his bed, his companion sitting up before him. Ned was half naked, body all muscle and scars and an exhaustion that ran far deeper than that. Martin had been healing a wound on his stomach- sliced open by a nasty (and thankfully, poorly aimed) dagger. The Mythic Dawn long since knew what he looked like, though they had hardly been this bold before now. They stalked the base of the mountains like jackals at the edge of a kill, waiting for an opening to lunge in and tear off some scrap of flesh. Ned hadn't wanted to talk about this one. His hands shook as he'd taken off his bloodstained clothes, and he scoured them with a washcloth long after they were clean.

"I'm fine." He had said. "I'm just tired."

Martin was tired too. That first night together, he had this romantic notion that being held by his friend would keep away the nightmares. They had come as they did most nights, crawling out of the depths of his subconscious with the worst of him they could offer. He'd woken up, breathing hard as terror dripped down his body. There was one difference. There was a warmth pressed to his back, and it breathed a half-snore as it moved in closer, nuzzled into his trembling neck. Ned hadn't woken. He had just wrapped Martin up into strong arms, and settled back into a deep sleep. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but even as the last traces of the nightmare pulled out its spurs, Martin felt safe. All he wanted was to return the favor.

Now, Martin leaned to kissed the gash across Ned's chest, the one that the man would wake up in terror clutching at, eyes somewhere far away and breathing hard. He trailed kisses down the line of skin warped by fire and blade, and Ned laughed. "I can barely feel it."

"Really?" The sword and its burns had probably damaged a nerve. Or done something worse, something that cut deeper. It was a daedric weapon after all. Martin would later ask where exactly he had sensation, to see if anything could be done about it. Later, perhaps. Now, he was tired of being the Priest-Healer-Penitent.

He leaned back in, close but just out of reach. His lips hovered down over the soft hair down his middle, making a glancing contact below the wounds. Even there, the skin seemed to have been broken and healed many times over a long life. How could someone live like that? He kissed him, just below the lower scar.

"How about here?"

"S'better"

Ned was definitely feeling something. The man's breath caught just slightly at the touch. He overcorrected, shifting in his seat a little and clearing his throat. Uncrossing his legs. Martin moved further down, just a little past his navel, laying another kiss on the recently healed wound. He wanted nothing more than to taste - touch the man before him, and to wake up with no guilt, no loneliness- he kissed him again.

"Or here?"

"Little better," the man's tone was flirtatious. "I mean, it'd be lot more sensation if you went just a bit low...er."

Ned had trailed off in the last word and froze at his own indiscretion. He was tensed like one with a hand raised against him, expecting a blow. As if he could have misinterpreted where this moment could go, alone and naked with his friend kneeling before him. As if Martin would be mad.

"Sorry, I didn't mean-uh." Ned flailed, pulling his knees shut.

"No, no, I'm sorry. I'd like to, if you would."

Ned's breath hitched. He looked utterly bewildered.

"OH- yeah, sure? Uh- Yes. Yeah." He sputtered.

They looked into each other’s eyes for a moment that lasted an eternity. Neither man dared to even take a breath. Ned cracked the tiniest fraction of a smile.

They both laughed, pulling apart. The tension had snapped, and the ache in his gut relented, put itself to the side. Martin hoisted himself back up onto the bed, sitting to his friend's side with a chaste several inches between them.

"It's... Been a while." Martin sighed. "Look at me, acting all nervous."

"Me too man, me too." Ned laughed, covering the blush on his face and utterly failing to hide the red of his ears. "’Promise I'm not usually like this, I have no friggin' idea what my problem is."

"Well, this'll just have to do." Martin made a show of shrugging and frowning in mock-resignation.

Ned let out a 'ha!' and leaned back, all muscles now relaxed as he smiled up at his companion. His words and smile were casual, but he was looking at Martin with such soft eyes, as if this tired old man was the damn moons and stars.

"Can I kiss you?" Martin asked.

Ned nodded.

He leaned over him, and went in for another kiss. And another. This time, it was as if a dam had burst. All lips and tongue and teeth and breath and hands moving on skin with a practiced clumsiness that spoke to years of experience, and spoke to one treading a ground that was brand new and wonderful for it.

As they pulled apart, Ned smiled and squeezed Martin's hands, and he squeezed back. They guided each other downward.

Now, Martin's lips were at a precipice below deniability. His hands held ready at the man's waist, a few fingers interwoven with his, beyond caring if their palms sweat or if their arms shook. He looked up to meet Ned's gaze, who cracked a smile and looked away, threading his other hand into Martin's hair in spite of his sheepishness.

"Can I keep going?" Martin asked.

"Yeah," Ned answered, still smiling. Eyes closed. "Please."

Ned's thumb brushed his cheek, a gentle encouragement. A 'thank you'.

And he kissed him.

#you can tell i literally just think of my interpretation of martin as an oc at this point. literally COULD NOT even dream of writing this #if i didnt #also i gave this one a title which is absolutely insane of me #martin septim #nasty ned #my writing

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nighttimepixels · 4 years

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I'm feeling pretty shaken from a panic attack and I was just wondering what lamia Blue would be like living in the forest, what's his duty in the group, and how would he deal with calming someone down were they to stumble upon him on accident on the edge of the forest while he was out?

First off, I hope you're doing better, and taking care of yourself. I know how hard panic attacks can be, and I'm sending all the good gentle recovery vibes your way. ♡♡♡

Second, to answer your question!

So, the skelebros-as-lamias don't quite get along as well as the Lilytale crew; in fact both the guys and the girls, in their sibling pairs, effectively met each other after a push from humans to try to 'curb the population'. They temporarily banded together against the insistent invasive hunting parties, pushing back enough to stop the attempts, but in the end once the immediate threat was gone, had a few too many... differences in outlook to long term stay together. The girls had bonded strongly in the adversity, and ended up leaving together; the guys meanwhile remained in the original territory, no longer living in the same cave, but branching out into neighboring caves... with one big one tucked way back that they get together in and brumate in during the winter months >v>

Backstory aside!

The guys still absolutely work as a sort of loose team/community. While they hunt on their own, they still have some stronger friendships among some of them, and for larger/broader tasks, agreed on divvying up the duties.

Blue - US Sans, aka, for my version of the guys, now known as Caelum - is the primary healer/herbalist of the group (alongside his brother), and his other main duty is patrolling their favorite sunning & above grounds hotsprings! He's the only one the others agreed upon trusting to not get as territorial and maintain equal access to the coveted resource; and he takes his duty seriously. Though several of the others see him as one of the softest amongst them, he's got a strong sense of duty... and is just plain strong, period.

When he's not patrolling/guarding their hotsprings/sunning with his brother or, on rarer occasions, with Sable (SF Sans) or Lune (HT Pap), he's setting up traps to hunt or protect wider boundaries of the forest.

This is when he's most likely to come across a human - or when they're most likely to come across him, if they venture just a little too far in. Admittedly, the lamias have all had pretty bad encounters with humans in the past - many of their kind killed off - but he's been one of the ones that held more strongly to 'cruelty is the exception not the rule'... and so, when he comes across a human one day - curled up between the roots of one of the larger trees that tend to mark the point at which you're getting deep...

Well.

He... he can't just do nothing.

With the rustling of the leaves against his body blending in with the breeze that danced among the tree boughs, he slides from tree top to tree top, until he’s curled above the human, blending in well. He listens, soul aching more and more in empathy with each passing second. He knows the risk making himself known might have to himself and his brother and friends, but...

From his pouch, he plucks out an acorn.

You don't register it, at first; the little soft plunk as the seed falls from above, hitting bough, bough, root, root, mossy rock, clover at your feet. Half a minute later... The second one registers, but you're still stuck in the mental mire - breath short, curled up tight on yourself, vision tunneled. Too deep, you know you're too deep, but your heart won't stop beating, you swear you saw something a little bit ago and had to hide - but you were already hiding from what had your breath drawing short, you couldn't go back yet-

You blink when the next one hits you right on the nose.

It takes a minute, the panic hazing your senses, but you focus on the little acorn now nestled in your lap. Slowly, you pick it up-

-is that...

... are there... carvings on the tiny thing...?

The next one that falls lands right in your palm, almost bouncing off before you can react and keep it there - this one, with a simple little smiley face on it.

A beat.

Two beats.

And then you tilt your head back, eyes going up, and up.

There, in the sun dappled leaves, was that... a shocked glimmer of cerulean glow-?

Before you realize what your eyes are catching on, he's slithering back, down- body coiling around the hefty branches, sturdy and growing for millenia, of course you’d sought shelter against this sort of tree-

-until he's hanging in front of you, tongue flickering out mindlessly as he tastes the air so very close to you, slitted eyelights wide and brilliantly blue with a dusting of magic on his cheeks.

Before you can even think to strangle a scream of surprise, your back already pressed to the trunk of the great tree, a flurry of color blinds you - a flower.

It’s a rare one - at least to humans, who know better to venture into the depths of these forests in search of rarer flora, where monsters roam. It's lovely and delicate, yet sturdy in it’s own way, like it could weather cold weather or heavy rain... and, it just so happens, is your favorite color.

Not that he could have known that.

... Right...?

The flower shakes a little then, waving as if insistently - and your gaze raises, meeting the bright cerulean eyelights of this strange lamia, watching you, intent, curious... nervous...?

No, surely not that-

but... he also clearly wants you to have the flower. You’ve never met a lamia before, no one you know has - no one did, and lived to tell the tale-

-yet, body language was body language, and the gentle, dare you say hopeful look on the face of the creature that every story told you you should be running from right now - surely... there was no other way to interpret this offered flower.

It would be... rude, or perhaps stupid, to refuse a lamia's gift, right?

Well, that's what you tell yourself is your reasoning, anyways, as the hand not holding several (cutely carved) acorns tentatively reaches out, and curls around the stem of the flower.

The next moment, when the skeletal face of the lamia brightens like the dawning of the sun, glimmers of bright blue magic the color of the clearest of afternoon skies, you forget to even notice how your breathing has evened out, and a tension in you has begun to relax.

"TOO LOVELY A DAY TO BE LOST," he announces to your shock, his rich, deep, striking voice not anything you could have expected. There's a strange accent curling it, and a hint of a lamia's hiss to his 's'. He smiles wider then, and he winks. "ESPECIALLY WHEN YOU'RE THE LOVELIEST THING ABOUT IT!"

Your flustering only sends his beaming wider, and before you know it, he's giving you directions and even sliding down to the ground, massive and so very pretty as well as handsome. He seems to hear something in the distance, head turning, and with chagrin he shifts in clear intent to part ways... but not before delicately placing a second, smaller flower into your hair - and a small, smooth shiny stone into your palm. It's slightly warm, and glows softly.

"WARMTH AND LIGHT WARDS OFF THE BAD," he assures you, the tips of his phalanges ghosting over your palm. You wonder if that's electricity in his touch, or just your imagination. "IT'S NOT THE SUN, BUT IT'S GOOD LUCK NONETHELESS!"

He lingers a moment longer, and then... and then, with a small sigh as if he heard something in the distance yet again, he's disappearing once more - up into the boughs of the tree.

You linger, breathing even, but heart... heart still going a little fast.

It's only a minute later, when one last acorn drops onto your shoulder, that you move from staring up into the dappled, great branches of the tree.

You stoop to pluck it up, realizing that the afternoon is getting worryingly long to be dallying within the shadows of the forest...

...and if your heart skips a beat as you walk away, finally following his earlier directions, a safer and more direct route out of the trees than had lead you in...

Well, who else was going to see that little acorn you tucked away with the rest into your pocket- the one carved with a tiny sun, and a little heart on the other side?

#night answers #skelebro squad #imagine the skelebros #lamia skelebros #us sans #woops this ended up getting long #but i hope you like it and it brightens your day!!#take care of yourself okay?#you deserve & need it!#and *hugs* if you want them - otherwise hopefully this offering of a lamia us sans in these trying times #will be enough ;v;#vampirezelda

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notchainedtotrauma · 10 days

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they had always been here. every indigenous community massacred, every single prophet assassinated, every child sacrificed to colonialism, every slave rebel shackled in their grave, every unassigned body piled as refuse somewhere, had never disappeared. whatever part they burned into air, whatever part they buried underground, whatever part they threw in the sea, came whole again in every breathing growing thing, and when the warning time came they were all of them (all of them) screaming.

from M. Archive: After the End of the World by Alexis Pauline Gumbs

#Alexis Pauline Gumbs #M. Jacqui Alexander #Black feminist theory #the afterlife of slavery #we seize horror as we bow #hegemonic violence #the possibilities of refusal #and against the haze of the afternoon the softest light

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exorciseyourspirit · 4 years

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Someone Knows||Morgan and Rebecca

Walks and talks and colleagues and curses.

Morgan’s wondering was interrupted by the appearance of another woman, strangely, strikingly composted in much the same way, the darkest hair, the softest face, the most guarded of demeanors. She looked as though she had been there for a while. Morgan smiled appreciatively and waved before picking up the student notebooks for the weekend. “Good job, y’all. Go treat yourselves to some coffee. Or a nap. Maybe another dead bird!” To which they all laughed, made their thanks, and scattered to the wind. Morgan dumped the little notebooks into her catch-all bag and approached the woman, her hand outstretched to shake. “Hey. You must be Rebecca, right? It was nice of you to stop by ahead of our lunch.”

The word Rebecca had picked was ‘halcyon’. Of course she’d picked out a word, in case Morgan asked. She hadn’t meant to run into the class, but she was pretty sure no other English teacher had taken their class outside today to enjoy the sunlight and appreciate the grass. She’d stopped a ways away, leaning against a tree as she listened, eyes on Morgan. Short, curled hair, almost perm like, but definitely natural. Tired eyes hidden behind a big smile and a shiny demeanor. Something pulling at the edges of her, prickling in the back of Rebecca’s mind like a familiar scent of your favorite candle. She met Morgan’s gaze as she glanced up and wondered if it wasn’t entirely her gaze that she held.

Pushing away from the tree once Morgan started to gather up her supplies, Rebecca met her half way and shook her hand. “You guess right. Don’t think too much of it, I just saw you out here and figured it’d be nice to drop in.” She smiled, soothing and calm. A smile she gave nervous students on the first day. “That was certainly some activity. The students seemed to enjoy it.”

Morgan felt strangely assured by Rebecca’s smile, by the readiness with which she gave it, just because, no hoops to jump through, no points to earn or prove. “Thank you. I hope they did, at least, we’ll find out once I read everything. I’m looking forward to seeing you lecture, though! I have a feeling you have a welcoming affect with them. But, anyways! Why don’t we uh, head to the restaurant? It’s actually nice enough to take a walk out.” She shouldered her things and cast what she hoped was a discreet glance toward Ruth, who shooed her on encouragingly. Go, make friends. Which somehow made Morgan feel less assured, not more. She smiled brighter. “What do ya say?”

Overcompensation was an easy thing to spot in people, and Rebecca had been spotting it since she was five. In the faces of the older men who came to the soires and wore their fancy suites and smoked their fancy cigars. And in the smiles of their wives, grimaces hidden behind glasses of wine and lipstick. Morgan’s was different, but the signs were all the same. Smile too big, eyes too attentive, voice a little too eager. Rebecca would let her have this one, though. She nodded. “I’m sure at least most of them did,” she reassured her. “Don’t get your hopes up too much. I’d hate to disappoint.” She held herself a little higher, a little taller, making sure to keep herself centered. The weariness of staying up nightly was beginning to weigh on her, but she’d made no progress, and giving into him now would only make that failure worse. “I think a walk sounds great.” She motioned towards the sidewalk. “Lead the way! I’m still trying to remember my way around. Lucky I found my way here at all, really.” A cheeky grin, crooked and soft on her face.

Morgan held herself as they walked, swallowing the impulse to fill the silence with babbling. She knew too much about Rebecca to go on about University small talk, and not enough to ask, so, how about that dead wife and your exorcisms? They each had a foot in the worlds, and she couldn’t tell which one they were in at the moment. “Does it feel weird?” She finally asked. “Being back? Has-- has anything changed since you were here last?”

A shrug. “It’s a little weird, but oddly...comforting.” No. It was weird. And kind of horrible. And painful. There was a plaque in Hambry with Theo’s name on it, but no body. There was something here for him and she had no clue what. Rebecca glanced over at Morgan, sliding her hands into her coat pockets as they walked. “Only a few things, here and there. I wasn’t in town too long, only a few months.” It’s where my almost wife died. “So it’s not like I knew the place too well. There’s a few new shops, but towns like this don’t usually change too much over the years. It’s that ‘small town’ mindset. And no Wal-mart yet, so there’s that.” She gave a small chuckle. “How do you like it here? Sounds like you’ve already been experiencing its fun quirks.”

“You know, I don’t miss the gentrification part of being in a big city. That might be a reason to give this place more of a chance,” Morgan said. “And I have, yes. Set out to keep to myself and live quietly, and now my phone is blowing up with messages on the main and I have a cursed treasure chest problem. Things have a funny way of turning out around me, I think.” She laughed, trying to sound light and self deprecating, but she wasn’t sure how it was coming off. Rebecca knew a lot about the world, and had prised open some of her core beliefs in a few conversations. “I think this place might hate us,” she said thoughtfully. “But I can’t bring myself to feel that way about the people I met. Most of them, anyway. I mean, there’s still hunters and their bullshit in the shadows, but there’s so much kindness, so many people who just want to give, or be in peace. I could stay as long as they’re here maybe, if I can accomplish what I came here to, first.”

“Mmm, people rarely miss that,” Rebecca said with a shake of her head. How many cities had she visited and seen the clear divide between glasses? Between races? Between sexes? It made her heart ache. She only wished she could help with something like that, but publishing all the papers in the world, doing all the humanitarian work one can muster-- it wouldn’t change anything on the large human societal scale. So helping in other ways was what she did. Helping in ways not many others could. “I don’t truly believe this town feels one way or another about the people in it. Though it might seem that way. There’s an...energy here, I think, that draws strange things in. Strange people, strange objects, strange magics. So whatever you might have...turning out around you, it’s likely amplified here.” She gave a little shrug again. That was just how the town made her feel. Theo had mentioned how strange the place was, as well. The supernatural existed all over the world, and yet it was here, that they all seemed to stop and gather. “Hunters are complicated, I think. But if we’re being honest, some people lump exorcists in with hunters. Of course, I’m an Anthropologist and my opinion is that every individual, even in large groups, contributes to the view of them, but that also leaves room for the idea that each individual should then be given merit on their own, away from the stereotype of their social group.” A pause. “Anyway...I think it’d be a nice town to settle in. Certainly no lack of stuff to do if you did.”

Morgan couldn’t help but scoff, however good naturedly, at the absurdity of the idea. Her? Settle? Anywhere? “That would be something, yeah. Just come down to the town quiz night and karaoke, chat with people and the grocery store, and drive up to a not-rental at the end of the month.” It sounded like a dream, the weird kind where doors opened the wrong way and everything collapsed into a haze when you woke up. Impossible and bittersweet. “And that’s not fair, exorcists are different,” because ghosts were different. They didn’t even have bodies, or voices sometimes, as far as she could tell. And the place where they belonged was some whole other plane of being, right? “You don’t kill people, much less kill them just for existing.” But maybe this wasn’t something to get into on their first outing. Morgan eyed the woman uncertainty as they walked, reading for her reactions. “Would you? Settle here after everything?”

“Sounds nice,” was all Rebecca said, quietly, her gaze wandering down to her feet for a moment. Her and Theo had been so close to that. Why had they chased the Dybbuk, why had she insisted on doing that? Why had Rebecca thought it her responsibility? It was the Scribes who’d messed up the ritual. The Scribes who had left her in the dark until the last possible moment. She blinked the thought away, the face in the back of her mind on the edge of her vision. No. Not now. She looked back over at Morgan. “I don’t, but some people are very attached to the spirits that follow them. And sometimes...things do go wrong. Things out of anyone’s control. But...I digress. Perhaps it’s a conversation for another day.” She waved the thoughts away with a shake of her head, a grin. “Settle here?” It was a good question. She had her empty home back in England that they’d bought together, sitting on the edge of the countryside. The home they’d bought together and were going to live in together. It seemed impossible to return to, now. “I’m not sure. But that’s perhaps only because of promises made to other places. Is this not where you’d want to settle?”

Morgan shrugged, doing her best to seem light about the matter. Rebecca might believe her if she said, you know, I’m just a little too cursed right now, but maybe if it doesn’t kill me first, we’ll see! But that didn’t mean this was time or place for that kind of disclosure. “I just don’t know if settling is something I’m going to get to do,” she said. “But if I could, maybe?” There were worse places. At least here she was wanted. At least here, there were people that could, and did, know her a little. “It would be something to think about, if what I have here right now...stays here. Nice people, nice things. I’d stay here to keep them if I could.”

Rebecca was acutely aware of the fact that they were both trying their best to keep light-hearted conversation about two very heavy subjects. Whatever weighed Morgan down from having what she wanted, and the monster inside of Rebecca preventing her from ever resting. She turned the thoughts away, though. “Having people is nice. That’s what they say truly makes a home, the people, not the place. Although,” she replied, “I have to argue against that sometimes. Not on principle of individual basis, but on an anthropological one. Sometimes ancestral sites and homes are what make it...home.” She grinned. “Sorry, that part of my brain never really turns itself off. Just tell me if it gets annoying, I’ve had the tendency of running off with my thoughts since I was child.” She turned to look at Morgan, and for a moment, things went blank. A dizzy feeling, making her pause in her stride, before blinking and coming back to herself. “I-- sorry. Momentary...lapse.”

Morgan stopped, suddenly on high alert and steadied Rebecca with her arm. She looked around for Ruth, just barely biting back the urge to call. What do I do? Is this like what happened to you? What do I do? But then the moment was over. Morgan looked from her mother to Rebecca and back again. There was something, a surge of energy that gave Morgan a sickly chill. “Are you okay? Is something happening?” They were almost at the restaurant. She could go for help if she needed to. But maybe what Rebecca needed was less urgent care and more--something else? “No, don’t be sorry. Just--a lapse in what?” The energy around Rebecca faded back, and Morgan wondered if she had somehow imagined what she’d felt earlier out of panic.

“Must just...be my age catching up to me,” Rebecca said wryly through thin lips. She shook her head again, giving Morgan’s arm a squeeze. “I’m fine. Honest. It was nothing.” But it wasn’t nothing. She knew these signs. The lack of sleep was getting to her, and he was grabbing hold again. Damn, she’d wanted more time. Needed more time. She’d have to get herself far away from town again before he came back, or he’d wreck all her progress. Stalling him was her only option right now. But, for the moment, she wanted to enjoy a nice lunch with a colleague. One who seemed to understand Rebecca’s pain of loss. “Shall we?” she said, motioning to the restaurant.

Don’t lie, Morgan wanted to say. That doesn’t fix anything, that doesn’t help, not with something that sends out pulses of magic, that might make you sick, make you end. Morgan held onto Rebecca as they approached the restaurant. “I don’t believe you,” she said quietly. “But I know we don’t owe each other anything, you don’t even know me, so--” She smiled, knowing whatever space had been opening up around their understanding was probably sliding a little closer to closed. She pulled herself up, brightened, and held the door open for her. “Two, please?” She called to the hostess. “I hear the noodles are amazing. Did you ever come here before?”

Rebecca could see the knowing in Morgan’s eyes and she had to look away. She didn’t have much to say to that. “It’s...just something I need to deal with on my own.” Because people who get involved get killed. Important people. Rebecca steadied herself and headed in. A sudden weariness taking over her, even as they were led to their table. She sat down stiffly. “No, I don’t--” a pause, “--believe that it was here when I last came. It’s been quite a few years.” Was her hand shaking? She placed it in her lap to hide it.

Morgan wanted to see what Rebecca meant, if there was something in her expression that matched the tiredness she carried inside her. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe they should quit while they were ahead and be awkwardly nice acquaintances in the hall during passing period. Of course, the idea sounded terrible, because Morgan could only make so many friends in the Grad Student office. Some of them were distressingly young compared to her, others were quietly terrified that they saw their future when they looked at her. And now that she had a supernatural community elsewhere, it was so exhausting putting on the front. Rebecca could have been someone to talk to who was both, who might understand-- Morgan sighed behind her menu, missing Rebecca’s trembling gesture. It was too good. Obviously. She had all the good she was allowed right now, probably, so it was only curse logic that she didn’t get to have a real work friend. She set the menu down, determined to make the best of this one-off thing. “So much for small town stay power, I guess. But who knows, maybe this little place has enough going for it. It’s got a good sized crowd at this time of day, and during the week too.” Rebecca looked a little stiff. Morgan tried to meet her gaze. It’s okay, she wanted to tell her. No pressure. We don’t have to do this again.

Rebecca’s body felt heavy. Just sleep. She sat up quickly, hadn’t even noticed she was sagging. The menu was blurry in front of her as she reached out to try and pick it up. The words danced on the page, like little cherubs, making it almost impossible to read. She blinked, tried to focus. “What?” she asked, having missed what Morgan had said. She looked over at her, saw her gaze through hazy, blotted vision. “Oh, sorry, um-- yes. I suppose.” Glanced around, the crowded building suddenly making her nervous. She could get through one lunch, couldn’t she? “It does seem rather crowded. Hopefully it’ll stay.” She turned her gaze back to the menu, still unable to read anything. There was a waitress at the table now, asking what she wanted to drink. Rebecca couldn’t hear her too well, couldn’t concentrate enough to listen. She was acutely aware of her now talking to Rebecca. “--to drink?” Rebecca’s head snapped up. “Just...water.” The girl nodded and headed off. Rebecca went to turn her head back to look at Morgan, but the blackness ate her vision away again, and all she saw were his burning red eyes. I’m coming.

Rebecca shot up from the table. The salt shaker flew off in the opposite direction. “I’m sorry,” she said, suddenly paled and tired, “I have to-- I need to go. I’m sorry. I’ll-- I just need to go.” Backing away already, turning her back to Morgan and gunning it for the door.

Morgan couldn’t keep the words back this time. “What do I do? What’s happening--?” Her eyes flitted back and forth from Rebecca to Ruth and back again. Ruth was in the chair next to her, and put out a protective arm for Morgan to stay in her seat. Nothing good. Don’t make a scene. There was that surge, something heavy, like what she’d felt from the chest when it first washed up. “Rebecca,” Morgan urged, gripping the table to keep herself still. But the woman was gone, running as if she were being chased and Morgan felt herself pinned, helpless, to the table.

She shouldn’t have agreed to come, Ruth scoffed.

“Is she cursed too, Mom?” Morgan whispered, still watching the empty space in the door where she’d been. “Are you saying that because you can tell?”

Cursed, or something like it.

#chatzy #chatzy: morgan #morgan #dr jekyll #mister hyde #someone knows

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emberleesblog · 5 years

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Spring Rains

Cause the fandom needed some more fluff. Posted to AO3 as well.

Thunder filled the air as the once clear skies turned a rich haze of deep purples and blues, crackling ominously. The city’s atmosphere had become so intensely alive and vibrant, sucking the breath out of the world as the spring storm rolled in. Though in the dying afternoon, Paris still glowed, soaking up the last of the golden light. It shimmered amongst the tree tops and across hastily opened umbrella as the first droplets of rain began to fall. The smell of rain hitting the warm pavement was enough for the citizens to stop. Take a deep breath. And sigh, in contentment.

For once, Paris was safe.

She barely registered the rain hitting the windows, being so submerged in her craft. Curled up against the counter top, he watched as her fingers gently sifted through the flour, gradually mixing in the sugar and salt, sending small puffs of dust into the air as she did. The room was hazy and warm, flecked with flour dust that danced across her fringe, and lingered on his nose. The softest strums of a guitar drifted from her cell phone nearby, serenading them along with the storm. She hummed as the thunder grumbled above, slowly adding iced water to her mixture.

Man, he loved these golden hours.

Sitting in the warm family house in the company of his favourite citizen, he was more than content to watch her bring her creations to life. Whether it be a design, a drawing or simply baking a delicious treat, he savoured it all. Watching as she finished her dough and brought it to the fridge, he settled his chin more firmly on his crossed arms, returning her kind smile sleepily. He wasn’t sure when this had become a thing; him basking in her company as she pottered around her house. It was usually by rare occasion, but it was always treated the same. Always with a welcoming look and an unspoken invitation. They’d listen to the newest guitar instrumental her friend had gifted her as her hands created wonders, her voice as gentle as her presence. He would recline against her workstation of the day, relaxed, taking everything in.

They barely talked. It wasn’t that they weren’t sure as to what to say to one another, more that she already knew exactly what he needed and he could only yawn a thanks. Actions spoke louder than words, she would say, but with the way she would hand him a pillow or a spare blanket without a second glance, he was starting to wonder if she could read minds as one of her many talents. When they did talk, it’d be simple conversation. She would ask for his thoughts on her designs, help on tricky equations or simply if he wanted more to eat. In turn he would help her with her task while giving a casual play by play of the robbery he helped foil the other day.

They never talked about the akuma attacks. The one time he tried, she got so quiet and a little teary eyed as she murmured that for once, just once, she thought they deserved a space that was akuma free. A space where he didn’t need to live up the expectations of being one of Paris’ saviours. A space where they could pretend that everything was normal and relax. It hit closer to home than she realised but he was undyingly grateful to her after that.

Green eyes watching as she spread the sugar across the table, he slowly savoured his nearly empty cup of tea, despite its nearing luke warm temperature. Her whole body rolled with the repetitive motion of folding the dough and stretching it again, sprinkling more sugar between each fold. He had never asked what she was making, preferring to wait for the finished result and sample as surprises were the best. Tail flicking lazily behind him, he mulled over what he could do this week to return her kindness. When this routine had begun, he had tried to ask what she’d like in return only to be quickly shut down. She had said that after all he had done for the city, this was just a small gesture of thanks. Stubborn as himself, she refused any gift he had brought her, so he had turned to looking for ways to improve her day to day life instead. Sometimes he’d water her plants if she’d had a long day, or straighten up her room. At school he’d help her with class representative jobs or volunteer for tasks she needed help with. She had turned a brilliant shade of red the first time he had volunteered, so thankful someone had come forward to offer, as no one really did. When she has asked why, he simply shrugged and smiled, repeating her own words she had told him. Sometimes, it’s nice just to pay it forward.

She was prepping something new now. Pears were involved. Unconsciously his mouth began to drool.

Plagg often teased him on his affections. Said that he should stop fawning over Ladybug and marry the bakers’ girl who made cheese danishes. He’d often blush and stammer out that she was just a friend. A friend who was offering him the last slices of pear now and a new cup of tea as her dish baked. Smiling in thanks, he munched on the crisp slices happily, listening to the wind pick up outside. Seemed like he’d be staying longer than normal tonight if this weather continued. She must have been on the same wavelength as she offered for him to stay the night, watching the rain lash the windows. As tempting as that was, he couldn’t. He’d already leeched too much of her kindness for the day. Watching as she peered out over the street, he remembered with a frown that Ladybug was supposed to patrol tonight. Hopefully she wouldn’t. Not that it was cold, but how wet the rooftops would be, he didn’t want to risk her slipping without him there to help. Quickly texting her a message through his baton for when she was transformed, he thought back to when they had talked about his visits to the bakery. She’d been surprised at first but had turned down the suggestion that she join him on the next one. With a smile so dazzling she had encouraged him to take the refuge offered, as he needed it more than her. It had led to a bit of an argument, as she was just as important as him, but she had been so achingly stubborn on the fact. When he had whined about it during his next visit, he was told that maybe she did stop by on occasion, just not when he was there. Maybe Ladybug didn’t want to tell him as it was his place of comfort. He’d felt guilty for weeks.

Thankfully they had worked through that confusion, though it still weighed heavy on him from time to time.

A delightful smell weaved under his nose as a tray of pear galettes was placed before him. Knowing to wait a little for them to cool, he bounced eagerly in his seat as she chuckled, bringing out the other dough from earlier. Two treats today! Ohhh, he was so spoiled.

She cut the pastry into thick slices, dusting more sugar on to each size, before putting them in the oven. The kettle whistled on the stove top as she did, making them both jump. Laughing she reached for his cup, refilling it with a fresh batch of her mum’s homemade tea blend. Eventually she settled down beside him, pear galette warm on a plate for him to enjoy, as the palmiers baked slowly in the oven. She smiled at him bashfully as he complimented her on her cooking, dying on the inside as the warm fruit rushed into his stomach. He returned the smile, relaxed and sleepy, and just brimming with happiness. When he told her as such, her smile widened a little over the rim of her cup, the storm casting shadowed droplets across her face.

“That’s good to hear. I’m glad you’re happy kitty.”

#miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #chat noir #comfort #fluff #lots of fluff #these fools are too cute

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noorakardemmomesaetre · 6 years

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Southside High

Chapter Seven

Or read it on Ao3

Chapter One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six

Pairing: Betty Cooper x Jughead Jones

Summary: Only fools fall for you, only fools Only fools do what I do, only fools fall -Troye Sivan

The Day the Northside Arrived

“Yo, Jughead!”

Sweet Pea’s booming voice combined with the fact that FP had finished off the last of the coffee before Jughead had rolled out of bed twenty minutes late this morning has Jughead in an especially irritated mood. He can feel the way his jaw is clenching, the vein in his neck prominent, as he walks past the unusually long line waiting at security.

The school cop had quickly been made to understand that there would be no need for Jughead to participate in their faux metal detector pat-downs.

Words had not been necessary for the explanation.

“Morning Jug,” Sweet Pea observes, leaning against a locker, his cocky grin begging to meet Jughead’s fist, “you look like shit.”

Toni offers Jughead a sympathetic smile as she swings open her locker next to his and Jughead cocks his neck to one side, attempting to release some pent up tension.

“Northside starts today,” Toni says nonchalantly and Jughead sighs, opening his locker and rubbing his temples. That explains the long security line. He had been dreading this day since the school announced the temporary merge several months ago.

“I can’t wait to see how many Northside girls are interested in what Sweet Pea has to offer,” Sweet Pea grins, rubbing his hands together and speaking about himself in the third person, which elicits a harsh eye-roll from Jughead.

“Even Southside girls aren’t interested in what you have to offer, Sweets,” Toni teases, pulling out her Statistics book and tossing a playful smile at Sweet Pea’s scowl.

Jughead is attempting to yank out his Spanish textbook from the clearly over-stuffed and unorganized depths of his locker when he hears it. The softest groan of annoyance coming from the security line.

“That’s because you’re always stealing their attention away!” Sweet Pea glares past Jughead at Toni, running his fingers through his jet-black hair.

He hears it again, over his friends’ bickering, a soft snap of irritation and Jughead glances over at the metal detectors, his heart sinking when he sees her. Tight blonde ponytail, tight pastel pink sweater, tight dark-wash jeans. Even with the hard frown on her face, she’s fucking beautiful.

“Aw, Sweet Pea,” Toni shakes her head at him, a teasing glint in her eye as she slams her locker shut, dragging Jughead’s attention back to their conversation, “if it’s that easy to steal their attention away, you never had it to begin with.”

The words of frustration coming from security push Jughead to the edge and Sweet Pea and Toni jump at the sound of his locker door slamming as he saunters over to Eugene, the dipshit security guard currently making this girl’s life unnecessarily difficult.

He watches as she walks back to the line, the swish of her ponytail and swing of her hips hypnotizing him until she turns around and he suddenly remembers why he’s there.

“Enough.”

The word is laced with more venom than he had originally intended, but the darkness of his tone combined with the authority in his stance is more than effective. Eugene quickly steps back, allowing the girl to rush through to the container holding her shoes. The aroma of soft sugar cookies and sweet strawberries wafts around Jughead like a light, airy mist and he stands there, watching her, this girl who has peaked his interest in more ways than he would like to admit.

Before she can turn and acknowledge him, he shifts and heads back to his friends, a small part of him hoping the large embroidered Serpent on his back will be a clear warning to her.

“You alright, Jones?” the suggestive curiosity in Toni’s tone only serves to piss Jughead off, knowing how out-of-character he’s acting, and he scoffs.

“I’m fine.”

But he wasn’t fine. Far from it, in fact.

“Are you listening to me, Jughead? Never fall in love. Never even let a woman get close to you,” those drunken words had fallen out of his father’s mouth too many times for Jughead to count since he was 13 years old, “they’ll ruin you. They’ll ruin every single fucking thing we’ve built.”

His mother had taken his sister and run four years ago, moved to another state without looking back, leaving nothing but a broken alcoholic and a son too young to understand in her wake. He’d spent the next two years picking up the pieces after his father, pushing him to continue leading the Serpents through his whiskey-induced haze.

On his 16th birthday, Jughead had been initiated into the Serpents himself. What was expected of him and what had come easy to him. Joining the Serpents was a given. The initiation beat down ritual had been long awaited. He had embraced the Serpent Prince title like an old friend.

The Serpents were family to him, one which appeared to be his greatest priority alongside his father and the little sister he wrote to once a week. Jughead loved to write, his true passion lay with a laptop and an imagination above everything else. The Red and Black had become the perfect place to focus his energy, when the Serpents didn’t need him.

And while the women of Southside High were interested in him, he could barely see them through the weight of the dim world that rested on his young shoulders.

Which is why, when a petite blonde from the Northside had shaken him to his very core that morning only to end up in his Red and Black meeting later that afternoon, Jughead was seething.

He had survived almost the entirety of high school on the path that was beaten down for him without a distraction in sight. And yet, here she was, bulldozing her way into his life like a burst of sunshine smelling like a goddamn Sunday morning. He had quickly noticed the way she was the only person in the entire meeting taking notes. His gut told him she’d be a fantastic journalist. A great addition to the student newspaper he had built from the ground up.

And so he’d immediately shut it down in the only way he could without calling out her name specifically: No Northsiders.

And she had retaliated.

She was fire and ice, rocky and smooth, sweet with a hint of sour, too much for Jughead Jones, and yet he couldn’t get enough. He was addicted to her wit, her mind, her humor, the challenge she posed him and the way her smile melted pieces of him that had long since frozen over.

He’d fought hard to avoid her and when she’d lost her lack of a decent meal combined with a liter of jungle juice all over his boots, he’d lost his inner battle to keep her at arm’s length. At least for one night. Swooping her up in his arms with ease, bringing her to her friends, attempting to ignore the way her arms were wrapped tightly around his neck like he was some kind of cigarette-smoking tattooed super hero.

He saw it. The way Toni had looked at him, confirming his deepest fear, as if to say, you lost, Jones. You tried to fight it and you lost.

“You’re an idiot,” Toni snaps as she slides a pair of pliers on the ground next to where he’s lying under his father’s truck.

“Yeah, I know.” Jughead had just finished telling Toni about how he had finally mustered up the courage to call Betty late on Friday night, feeling like he’d really put himself out there, only to have her tell him she was busy and immediately hang up.

“I don’t think you do, actually,” she continues, the heels of her boots clicking against the pavement of the garage, “you love her.”

“I don’t.” He attempts to loosen a bolt that’s stuck in a particularly hard-to-reach spot and huffs when it’s much tighter than he had anticipated, wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his forearm.

“You do, Jones. I still can’t believe you didn’t try to reach out to her,” Toni says in disbelief, tossing a wrench down to him, the metal sliding until it stops an inch from his face, “women like Betty Cooper won’t wait around forever, you know. And some midnight booty call from a cheap burner phone isn’t going to make up for you completely ghosting.”

“I liked you better when you and Cheryl were fighting,” he huffs, sliding the pliers out from under the truck, “and it wasn’t a booty call.”

“You don’t deserve her.”

Her voice is quiet now, laced with disappointment and Jughead rolls himself out from underneath the truck, covered in grease and dirt as he stares up at her.

“You think I don’t know that?” he says, his voice growing louder as he heaves himself up to a standing position, “you think I haven’t thought about that every single fucking day since I met her?”

He steps forward but Toni stands her ground, her arms crossed, her eyes narrowed as she takes him in, running his fingers through his dark wild curls, his beanie slung across the bench seat of the truck.

“You don’t deserve her because you’re not allowing yourself the chance to,” Toni says, shaking her head at him, frustration straining through her voice, “you didn’t tell her your phone’s been broken? You didn’t go see her after Friday night? At school? You just thought you could show up at the Black and Gold on Wednesday and what? She’d be waiting there with that perfect smile, happy to climb back on your lap?”

“I don’t fucking need this,” he says, the wrench he’s holding sliding against the garage door with a loud bang as he walks past her.

“No, you do fucking need this,” she says, reaching out to yank his arm until he looks back at her, “how long are you just going to push away everyone who cares about you?”

He’s staring at her, his mouth set in a hard line.

“You’re not FP. Your mom didn’t leave because of you,” she says, her voice softening as she drops his arm, “so quit punishing yourself as if she did.”

He looks down, swallowing loudly and shaking his head as he stares at the pavement, only lifting his eyes when the clicking of Toni’s heeled boots starts again.

“Well, I’m going to go pick up Cheryl. We’re heading down to Sweetwater River for a swim and you know I can’t wait to see that beautiful bod in a bikini,” Toni sighs wistfully before picking up her purse and turning her gaze back to Jughead, “we’ll be there for a while if you and Betty would like to join us. You know, after you finish groveling.”

It takes 45 minutes for Jughead to take a hot shower, put on clean clothes, and ride to Betty Cooper’s house. 2 minutes for him to gather up the courage to get off his bike and face her. 30 seconds for him to walk up her driveway to her front door. And 1 minute for Alice Cooper to dismiss him with an air of superiority and a clipped, “Sorry, Betty’s not here.”

He debates heading home and being productive, nothing like writing a few chapters of his book or reading a new novel to distract himself from the woes of his current love life situation. But he already knows where his heart lies and he can’t give up yet. He heads over to Cheryl’s, hoping to catch her before her and Toni leave for the river, but is quickly met with a resounding, “they’ve already gone.”

Sighing to himself, he rides to the one place he knows will pick him up when he’s feeling especially disgruntled: Pop’s.

After parking his bike and pulling off his helmet, he yanks his beanie on and heads inside, his eyes scanning every booth in search of a blonde ponytail.

“Jughead! Shall I throw a burger on?” Pop Tate grins a toothy grin at Jughead who’s busy swallowing his disappointment after realizing she’s not there.

“Yes, please. Extra cheese, Pop.”

He finds a seat at a booth in the back, figuring a burger will at least mend his empty stomach pains, and sets his helmet on the space next to him. Running his hand over his face, he sighs, wondering how he had gotten himself into this mess. It’s not like she’s going to want to be with him. A beautiful, intelligent, funny Northside girl and her sarcastic, dark, gang member boyfriend? It’s a cliché he’s read too many times (something he would never admit out loud), but not one he has ever seen occur in real life.

“Thanks Pop!” her voice rings out melodically in front of him as she walks out of the bathroom and grabs a strawberry milkshake off of the counter.

“Betty!” her name leaves his lips before he even has time to think about what he wants to say next, her eyes raising to meet his in surprise.

“Jughead?”

He quickly stands, leaving his helmet at his seat as he walks over to where she’s leaning against the counter, smiling a smile he can’t stop from adorning his face at the sight of her.

“I was just looking for you.”

“Oh?” her eyes are wide as she stares at him, her pouty pink lips parted in surprise as her ponytail stills behind her.

“Um, yeah,” Jughead says, laughing lightly, his nerves starting to get the better of him as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket to keep himself from reaching out and pulling her into a warm hug, “I wanted to talk to you, see how you’ve been.”

“You wanted to…see how I’ve been?” she repeats, her eyebrows furrowing as she sets her milkshake down on the counter.

“Order up, Jughead!” Pop calls out, hitting the bell and setting his plated burger next to her milkshake.

Jughead smiles tightly in acknowledgement at Pop before turning his gaze back to Betty, biting his lip anxiously and pulling off his beanie, wringing it between his fingers.

Her gaze is set on him, making no move to continue the conversation, but not leaving either and before he can come up with an excuse to flee, he decides it’s now or never, “yeah, Betty, look, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I’m an idiot, I-“

“Betty?”

The voice of Richie Sandoval interrupts Jughead’s broken apology speech and his eyes flash to the guy who’s now walking over to them from a booth at the other side of the restaurant. The concern laced through Richie’s voice and etched across his expression makes Jughead grit his teeth, his beanie held tightly between his fingers.

“Is everything alright?”

“Oh, yes…Jughead was just-“

“Leaving,” Jughead finishes for her, putting two and two together and yanking his beanie back onto his head, heat crawling up his neck and onto his cheeks as he heads back over to the booth that holds his helmet.

“Jughead! Wait-“

She’s calling after him but he’s already thrown a $10.00 bill on the table to pay for his uneaten burger, pushing open the back door to Pop’s on his way to his bike.

Wow. The response to this fic has truly been mind-blowing and I can't tell you how much I appreciate every single kudos, comment, and like on both here and Ao3. You all are so incredible and supportive and I can't express my appreciation enough.

I hope you enjoyed a taste of Jughead's POV! I'd love to hear your thoughts, so leave them if you'd like! ❤

#bughead fanfiction #bughead #southside high #betty cooper x jughead jones #southside serpent jughead

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