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babydollmarauders · 7 months

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TIMELESS — JACK HUGHES

jack hughes x fem!reader

surprise song! part (and final part) of the Speak Now Fic List

summary: in which y/n writes she and Jack’s first dance song and it’s Jack’s first time hearing it

notes: Taylor doesn’t exist in this alternative universe, and you’ll understand why! (2.5k words)

“i want you to write our first dance song.”

when Jack had told me that just five months ago, i was at a loss for words.

i’m no pop star, by any means, and i’ve never desired to be one. i dabble in song writing as a way to release my anxiety and that’s it.

i’ve bounced lyrics off of Jack for as long as i can remember. we went from facetimes in high school, after practice, singing him verses i was unsure of, to sitting beside him in bed, my guitar in my hands as i tried to work out lyrics and having him put his two cents in.

he knew i never planned for anyone else to hear them. they were for he and i’s ears only. yet he still complimented my voice, my lyricism, the instrumentals i played out in the dead of night.

he told me i wrote like a poet. he called me the greatest storyteller who’s ever lived.

but the greatest compliment, and also the greatest challenge, he’s ever given me, was to write the song to which we’ll have our first dance as husband and wife. to write our love into the purest form of art.

it took me four months to write what our love felt like, into words. constant lyric changes, and multiple instances of scrapping a song altogether and starting anew. it took another month for me to get it all made in a rented studio. recorded and produced into the song it is now.

but as i took so long to perfect it to my liking, i took the greatest risk of my songwriting journey. i never once bounced lyrics off of Jack. i wrote only when he was on roadies, hiding my journal inside of an old blanket that sits on the high shelf in our closet when he was home.

i wanted this song to be a complete surprise once it was finished. i wanted him to only hear it once it was in its perfected form. and that would be today.

my leg bounces on the couch, my fingers playing with the fringed side of the decorative pillow that lies within my lap, as i wait for Jack to get home from practice.

my nerves are quickly rising, my anxiety getting the best of me. if he dislikes this song, then i only have one month to create an entirely new one.

i feel sick. like i could both pass out and lose my breakfast at any moment.

my head perks up as i hear the apartment door open, the un-hushed whispers of Jack and Luke reaching my ears, and when they step into the living room, the signature smile on Jack’s face brightens.

“hi, baby.” he grins, bounding forward to press a kiss to my forehead. “i didn’t think you would be awake already.”

“i got it.” i rush out, the monotonous small talk of the moment not appealing to me in the slightest.

“got what, doll?” Jack’s brows thread together in confusion, and i can hear Luke’s pots and pans clattering in the kitchen.

“the final demo of our first dance song.” my teeth sink into my bottom lip, watching realization settle over Jack’s face. “the producer sent it to me this morning.”

“that’s great, baby! why do you look like your gonna throw up?” he laughs, taking a seat beside me on the sofa.

“because i’m scared you’re gonna hate it.” i confess. “i spent so long on this one song, making it into something i’m proud of, but it all means nothing if you don’t think it’s good enough.”

“hey.” he coos softly, a gentle hand raising to cup my cheek. “i love everything you write. and i know that this song is gonna be no exception.”

his forehead rests against mine, my eyes fluttering shut as i take a deep breath.

“are you ready to hear it?” my words come out in a whisper and i can feel him nod against me.

“i’ve been ready since the day i asked you to write it.” i pull back to smile at my fiancé, heaving out a deep sigh.

“hey Luke?” he calls out, getting a distracted ‘yeah?’ in return. “you mind giving us a few minutes alone?”

“uhh-” Luke peeks through kitchen entryway. “‘in my room’ alone? or ‘leave the apartment’ alone?”

“in your room is fine.” i assure him gently and he nods.

i watch as he turns the stove off before walking to his room. as soon as his door shuts, Jack is turning to me with an excited smile.

“okay, let’s listen!” my hand shakes as i lean forward, clicking on my laptop that rests on the coffee table, pressing play on the file.

the first notes echo throughout the living room, the gentle guitar strums causing Jack’s eyes to crinkle as he smiles softly, bobbing his head, his eyes glued to the laptop screen.

“Down the block, there's an antique shop

And something in my head said, ‘Stop,’ so i walked in

On the counter was a cardboard box

And the sign said, ‘Photos: twenty-five cents each’

Black and white, saw a '30s bride

And two lovers laughin' on the porch of their first house

The kinda love that you only find once in a lifetime

The kind you don't put down”

he looks over at me, confusion written across his face, but his eyes still shining with joy.

“And that's when i called you and it's so hard to explain

But in those photos, i saw us instead

And, somehow, i know that you and i would've found each other

In another life, you still would've turned my head even if we'd met”

his eyes grow softer, my cheeks heating up.

sure, i’ve written love songs about Jack in the past, but this one was special. this one speaks a truer and deeper meaning than any of my past songs.

“On a crowded street in 1944

And you were headed off to fight in the war

You still would've been mine

We would have been timeless

I would've read your love letters every single night

And prayed to God you'd be comin' home all right”

his smile is gentler now, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as he snakes his hand over to hold mine, and i know he’s thinking about the same thing as me.

remembering the time early on in his NHL career, when i confessed to him that every time he went on a roadie, i had so much worry that he would get hurt and i wouldn’t be there for him. when i admitted that, regardless of me not being a highly religious individual, i prayed before every game that he would come out okay. that he would come home in the same condition as he left.

“And you would've been fine

We would have been timeless

'Cause i believe that we were supposed to find this

So, even in a different life, you still would've been mine

We would've been timeless”

salty tears roll down my cheeks at the sight of his, gathering on my chin and dripping down onto our conjoined hands, gripped tightly together in my lap.

“I had to smile when it caught my eye

There was one of a teenage couple in the driveway

Holdin' hands on the way to a dance

And the date on the back said 1958

Which brought me back to the first time I saw you

Time stood still like somethin' in this old shop”

he pulls me closer, until i’m practically sitting on his lap, pressing his lips to my cheek, and i wonder if he’s thinking back on when we first met too. but what he doesn’t know is that i saw him first. i’d never told him that bit.

how i silently pined after him for months until we really met. it’s written in my vows though.

junior year, when i first saw him in the school hallway and it felt like everything around me had frozen.

he had been standing at his locker, laughing about something that Trevor had said. i heard the laugh first, and my entire body felt warm. but then i turned and caught sight of him, and it felt like time had stopped. my heartbeat had sped up, everything around me drowning out until all i could focus on was him.

“I thought about it as i started lookin' 'round

At these precious things that time forgot

That's when i came upon a book covered in cobwebs

Story of a romance torn apart by fate

Hundreds of years ago, they fell in love, like we did

And i'd die for you in the same way, if i first saw your face”

our foreheads press against each other, my thumb wiping away his tears.

“In the 1500s off in a foreign land

And i was forced to marry another man

You still would've been mine

We would have been timeless

I would've read your love letters every single night

And run away and left it all behind

You still would've been mine

We would've been timeless

'Cause i believe that we were supposed to find this

So, even in a different life, you still would've been mine

We would've been timeless”

his lips slot against mine, perfectly placed in harmonious synchrony, our fallen tears mingling together upon the meeting.

“Time breaks down your mind and body

Don't you let it touch your soul

It was like an age-old classic

The first time that you saw me

The story started when you said, ‘Hello’

In a crowded room a few short years ago

And sometimes there's no proof, you just know

You're always gonna be mine

We're gonna be-

I'm gonna love you when our hair is turnin' gray

We'll have a cardboard box of photos of the life we've made

And you'll say, ‘Oh my, we really were timeless’”

my thoughts drift back to the first time we really met.

it was on new year’s eve in our junior year. Cole was having a joint new years and birthday party.

*** DECEMBER 31ST, 2019 ***

Cole’s house is crowded. insanely so.

i didn’t originally plan to come. but Cole’s become a good friend of mine through our shared history class, and he’s been blowing up my phone all day, begging me all day to attend.

so now here i stand.

alone in the crowded living room of Cole Caufield’s billet residence, a red solo cup in my hand as i people watch.

i’m unsure of what to do. Cole currently sits on the couch with a few of his hockey friends from the US National Development Program, and i feel awkward going over there. but i don’t actually know anyone else here.

i tend to keep to myself more often than not, which results in the rest of my friends being fellow introverts that would never be at a party like this.

“y/n!” my eyes grow wide, my head snapping to find where the call of my name had originated from, and i’m slightly surprised to find Cole grinning over at me, his hand waving in the air and motioning me over.

my eyes flicker beside him to see Jack sat next to Alex, both paying no attention to anything going on around them.

with none of Jack’s attention on me, i figure it’s safe to go over and wish Cole a happy early birthday.

i push my shoulders back, standing up straighter, attempting to push my way through a horde of fellow high schoolers.

but my walk is a lot less confident once i witness Jack’s gaze drifts towards me. i stumble a little, crinkling my nose as a guy i share pre-calculus with bumps me in the back.

“hi Cole.” i force a smile on my surely red face, fidgeting under the gaze of all the boys, but especially anxious now that Jack’s attention is on me.

“hey! you came!” Cole rises from his seat, pulling me into a hug, recklessly causing my drink to slosh in its cup.

“well you were texting me all day. you wouldn’t take no for an answer.” i chuckle as he plops back down to the couch with a sigh.

“i couldn’t throw my birthday party and not have my favorite girl show up!” he shouts, my face heating up. “oh! guys, this is y/n! she’s my friend from history!”

the guys all mumble out distracted ‘hey’s, no longer paying any attention to me, more interested in their new conversations or, in Trevor’s case, trying to charm a girl.

except for Jack. his baby blues are still locked on me, the corners of his mouth pulled up in a small smile.

“hello.” it’s only one word, but my heart races in my chest. i’ve been pining after this exact boy from afar for months, and now he knows who i am. “i’m Jack.”

“hi Jack.” i shake his hand, his touch sending shivers down my body.

*** PRESENT ***

Jack’s hand rubs my thigh, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“We're gonna be timeless, timeless

You still would've been mine

We would've been

Even if we'd met on a crowded street in 1944

You still would've been mine

We would've been

Down the block, there's an antique shop

And somethin' in my head said, ‘Stop,’ so i walked in”

*** ONE MONTH LATER ***

my arms wrap around my now-husband’s neck, my hands toying with the hair at the nape of his neck.

our family and friends watch on from their seats, Ellen’s eyes catching mine, tears already threatening to pour over.

the first guitar chords stream out from the speakers as Jacks hand wrap around my waist, and we begin swaying around the dance floor.

Jack’s eyes gaze into mine, smiling as he whispers the lyrics back to me, relieving some of my anxiety from our guests hearing my song.

i grin back at him, craning my neck to press a kiss against his lips as the song nears its end.

i purposefully avoid looking anywhere near the crowd, laying my head on his chest as the song ends, the final chords strumming.

his heartbeat echoes in my ears, quickening as he presses a kiss against the top of my head.

his words are mumbled into my hair, his lips pressed to my scalp- “our love is timeless.”

#speak now fic list #jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes fic #jack hughes blurb #nj devils #nhl fic #nhl imagine #faithlynn’s writings <3

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celtic-crossbow · 5 months

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Series Masterlist

*Click here to be added to taglists.

Chapter 9

Warnings: Panic attacks, masturbation

Days had passed and you found yourself feeling comfortable, approaching safe. Carol had kept every word of things she promised with the exception of one: you had not been trained to defend yourself. Once you had gathered the courage to ask her about it, the kind woman had explained she wasn’t sure how to go about it just yet with the amount of fear and uncertainty you still carried.

It was understandable. If a man approached you too quickly, you still cowered. You continued to feel intimidated by some of the other women. And then there were things with Daryl. He continued to avoid you like the plague. Now, he wouldn’t even approach Carol if you were near, often calling her over to him instead. She continued to assure you that he just needed time; that things would become less awkward. She had given no reason to not believe her.

It was hardly midday when you ventured outside unescorted. You had helped Maggie with the dishes inside. She had made a valiant attempt at conversation but she was one of the females you still had a hard time being near. Being outdoors stripped you of the anxiety the chore had left you with, feeling less confined.

You spotted Carol immediately, the smallest of smiles curving your lips. She was standing at the corner of the wall, looking out toward the gardening area and the fences beyond. You picked up your pace, eager to feel the safety only her presence provided.

“Carol!” Your voice was still small and unsure but it was much better than the whispered replies you gave upon your arrival. It had only been a couple of weeks. You were constantly reassured that it would get better.

“Oh, Y/N. Wait—”

The words failed to stop you in time and you skidded to a halt just in front of her…and Daryl, who was leaning against the other side of the wall.

“Um, hello, Daryl.” You dropped your head, eyes on the ground. The man hummed, bumped Carol with his elbow, and then walked away a few paces. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see him. I wouldn’t have—”

“Hey, it’s alright.” Carol rubbed your arm, angling her head in an attempt to catch your gaze. “It’s okay.”

You gave a tiny nod, lifting your head but your eyes stayed focused on the ground. “I was wondering if maybe— if you don’t mind —could we work with my walker training a little today?” Carol opened her mouth to answer before letting her gaze shift. She held up a finger and strolled over to where Daryl was standing.

You watched with muted curiosity, ready to drop your eyes should he look your way. Carol stood shoulder to shoulder with him, leaning into him to say something while keeping her gaze forward. Whatever she said had his head turning her direction so quickly that you flinched.

His posture had tensed, his eyes wide beneath the dark fringe of hair. Carol kept speaking even while he shook his head vehemently. When her head turned enough for you to see her face, she was smiling. Daryl appeared to be fighting some sort of inner battle while under her soft gaze. His arms fell to his sides, fists clenching repeatedly.

“Fine.” You heard him growl.

Carol squeezed his bicep and turned back to you with a broad grin. “Great news! Daryl is going to train you.”

Now it was your turn to go rigid. “Do you— are you— he hates me.”

Carol clicked her tongue at you from behind that smile of hers. “We’ve talked about this. He doesn’t hate you. Daryl’s complicated but he’s got a good heart.” She gripped your chin ever so gently, making sure you met her eyes. “I trust him with my life.”

You felt tears stinging behind your eyes; from fear, from guilt, from a place of longing. You knew you could trust Carol with your life and she trusted Daryl, you could learn to do that too. “Okay.”

She smiled again and moved her hand to your cheek. “Good. Now get on over there. He’s waiting for you.”

“Now?” You gasped.

“Yes, yes. Go, go.” She made a shooing motion and crossed her arms when you finally made a step toward where Daryl was still standing.

You didn’t quite stop at his side; just behind him instead. Swallowing hard, you gathered enough courage to extend your arm and tap his shoulder. He didn’t turn but acknowledged you with a grunt. “Carol, um, said you would help me. Help me learn to fight off the walkers.”

“Mhm.” Daryl shifted on his feet. “Y’ever use a gun ‘fore?”

You hadn’t. Growing up, your mother didn’t believe in guns and never allowed your father to have one. When the man broke into your house the day after your seventeenth birthday, maybe if there had been a gun, your parents would still be alive. “No, sir.”

“Daryl.” The archer was already massaging his forehead. “S’gonna be a long day. Le’s go.” He began walking in long strides. You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you, and nearly had to run to catch up.

Behind, Carol stood with her back against the wall, arms crossed, and grinning. Rick joined her a moment later, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“You think that’s a good idea?” He asked, watching the two of you.

“Probably not.” She met the former sheriff’s gaze with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Daryl won’t hurt her. He just needed a little push.”

“More like a drop kick.”

“What? I think they’ll be good for each other.”

Rick smiled and shook his head. “If you say so.”

“Ya have ta know wha’ the endgame is ‘fore ya learn much else.” Daryl explained, pacing back and forth behind you with his arms crossed. He had handed you a large knife, the weight of it heavy in your petite hand. “Ya can’ kill a walker the same way ya’d kill a person.”

“Aren’t they people?” You asked meekly, clutching the weapon and not meeting his eyes. You could see his steps halt.

“Not anymore, no.” His boots were walking toward you now and you kept your eyes on them. “S’a virus. We all got it. No matter how ya die, ya end up one’a them. Unless it's taken care of.”

“Taken…care of?” You finally looked up to find him watching you carefully. The sun softened your anxiety, shadowing most of his features from just behind him. You closed one eye and squinted the other.

Daryl reached out to tap a finger against your temple, hesitating there before snatching his hand back as if you’d burned him. “S’gotta be the brain.”

“The brain.” You echoed, looking back to the undead snarling and moaning against the chain link. You felt nauseous on top of the suffocating anxiety. “We’ve all got it?”

“Mhm.” The archer gave you a moment for that information to sink in. Being in such close proximity had his heart beating hard enough to break his ribs. The images he’d manifested that night in the shower forced their way to the forefront of his mind, and he thought he’d be sick. Clearing his throat, he took a step back, cursing Carol with every breath. “Ya ready?”

You began to tremble, flexing your fingers around the knife’s hilt. “No.” You had to be honest. Feigned bravado would get you nowhere.

“They can’ get atcha.” You nodded and took a step toward the fence with Daryl following. “Fer now, aim fer the eye. S’the softest spot.”

You nodded again. Singling out a smaller female, you lifted the blade, hesitating.

“Don’ think. Thinkin’ gets ya dead.”

With a deep breath, you drove the knife home, flinching at the squelch of the eyeball being pierced. When the blade was as deep as it would go, you released it. The walker dropped down and dangled from the weapon caught in the opening of the fence.

“Don’ leave it there.” Daryl corrected you sternly, rushing toward you to free the knife and allow the walker to crumble to the ground. The weapon was wiped clean on his thigh before he flipped it in his hand to catch it by the blade and hold it out to you. “Again.”

When you stabbed the next corpse, you pulled and stumbled back when the knife slipped free. Daryl caught you by your shoulders and let you regain your balance before quickly releasing you. He rushed backwards but kept a safe distance in case something went wrong.

“Use yer momentum. Stab n’ pull.” The archer freed his other knife from his hip and traipsed toward the fence, not hesitating to drive the large blade through an eye socket and pull back with a skillfulness you instantly envied. “Go.”

You mimicked his actions, stabbing and yanking the knife free. It was sloppy with a moment of hesitation you were sure he’d scold you for. Instead he gave a jerky nod.

“Better. Again.”

Stab. Pull.

“Again.”

Stab. Pull.

“Again.”

Stab. Pull.

“Again.”

By the time the sun was setting, casting a purple and orange hue over the sky, you had nearly cleared the fence on your own. Your arms ached. Your clothes were drenched in sweat. Finally, Daryl said the one thing you’d been yearning to hear for the past three hours.

“Tha’s enough. Yer done fer today.”

Dropping your arm heavily to your side, you turned with your eyes on the ground. Just as you started to offer his knife back, you realized that he was already gone. Looking up, you found him nearly at the prison doors. He was in that much of a hurry to get away from you. But surely he didn’t mean to leave you with his knife.

Maybe you should go give it back? Take that time to say thank you? Maybe you should ask Carol.

First, you desperately needed a shower. You were filthy. You felt like all eyes were on you as you walked. Your skin began to crawl. Your scars began to burn. You could hear the men whispering. Nails dug into the back of your ears as you covered them, filtering out the filthy suggestions made in hushed tones.

You couldn’t get to the door fast enough, throwing it open and pressing your back flat to the wall just inside. You panted through whimpers and sniffles, your cheeks wet.

You weren’t safe. Nowhere was safe. They would come for you. Rick, Glenn, all of them. Even Hershel would have his way. At least he could mend the damage he caused. Daryl. Daryl would watch. He’d let it happen. And then he’d have you.

“Hey, hey. You’re okay. Take a breath for me.”

You were breathing, weren’t you? Breathing but no air could get through. Your lungs burned.

“Come on, Y/N. Slow down, take a breath. That’s right.”

Carol. Carol was there. Carol was your safety. Carol promised. “Carol?” Your voice cracked on the second syllable.

“Yeah, I gotcha, sweetheart.” A warm arm enveloped your shoulders, pulling you into her side as she walked you toward the cells. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I…” Your lip quivered, fresh tears gathering on your waterline. “It’s like… I was back… back with Big Jazz. All the men were…” You stopped walking, wide shining eyes searching Carol’s for reassurance. “They were gonna hurt me. All of them.”

“No one’s gonna hurt you. I promised, remember?” After a moment— and replaying her promise over and over in your mind’s eye —you nodded. “Besides, Daryl wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.”

“Daryl was gone.” You replied quietly, moving the blanket aside to enter your cell. You pulled your t-shirt over your head, leaving you in a camisole— leaving your scars visible to Carol. You knew she could see them but your trust in her ran deeper than you could explain. She still hadn’t told you her story. In a way, she didn’t need to. You could sense the pain she had buried. You could sense it with Daryl, too.

“What do you mean he was gone?”

You gathered your night clothes and draped a towel across your shoulders, hiding the scars from the rest of the prison. “He had already gone inside.”

“Damnit, Daryl.” The silver-haired woman wore her frustration in her expression. The archer was in for it, you surmised. “I told him to stay with you.”

You wiped at your face and sniffled. “I told you, he hates me.”

Carol sighed. “Go take a shower. I’ll talk to Daryl.”

You gave her a tight smile and left the cell. In your time there, one of your most celebrated accomplishments was showering alone. It wasn’t far from your cell to the showers, within shouting distance if you needed the woman.

You clutched your pajamas tightly, feeling exhaustion pulling at you from the earlier episode. You always felt drained when it happened, along with a sense of hopelessness. Big Jazz still had his fingers deeply rooted in your mind, dragging you down just when you felt you were making progress.

You opened the shower door slowly. The way it creaked and moaned reminded you of the door to your cage at the club. Once it was open just enough for you to fit, you wiggled through and eased it shut.

You always chose one of the back stalls. If someone came in, the door would alert you and you would have time to react. You were pulling the towel off your shoulders and the hair tie from your hair when you realized that there was water running. And by then, it was too late.

You were frozen to that spot, eyes wide and unblinking.

You were staring at a very naked Daryl. His skin was glistening from the water running down his back to the curve of his ass. His head was bowed and one arm outstretched with a palm pressed against the wall. His hair looked longer with the weight of the water.

The first thing you noticed was the scars littered across his back. Deep, angry reminders of an unpleasant past. Some looked like your own. You flinched as if a belt snapped right by your ear.

The second thing you noticed was the movement of his other hand. It was obvious what was happening, but just in case you were questioning, he gave a low groan as his forehead came to rest against his hand on the wall. The muscles in his back, his arm, rippled as he continued stroking himself.

You started to back away. You shouldn’t have seen this.

“Fuck.” Daryl groaned, pumping himself faster. “Y/N.”

Your clothes and the towel tumbled from your arms, hitting the floor with a soft thud. Panic bubbled up within you, seizing your lungs in a vice grip. You couldn’t breathe. But the sound went unheard, the hunter's senses muted by pleasure. You crouched, your eyes not leaving his form as you grabbed your clothing. Without another thought that could cause you to hesitate, you ran.

And never noticed that you’d forgotten the towel on the floor.

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spideystevie · 11 months

Text

single thread of gold (tied me to you)

word count: 1.2k

a/n: tell jesus...that the bitch is back. HIII have had insane amounts of writer's block lately but have been getting into the groove again and thus, this was born. truly just overly "poetic" fluff with, like, no plot. i've missed steve and i've missed YOU guys!!!! i hope you like <3

Fate wasn’t an idea you bought into. Invisible strings, serendipitous meetings, everything happened with cause and effect.

Then, you met Steve and fate seemed to be something that had a lot more pull in your life than you ever realized. How else could you explain a mini version of your Steve pouting in the background of a childhood photo of you at the park? Or the distinct color of the green jacket you wore all the time in the corner of a picture of Steve on vacation his junior year?

You’re sure there had to be signs you were oblivious to. Twists of fate tugging on the respective end of the string that tied the two of you together, pulling this way and that until you fell together. It seems like the stars aligned the day you met, everything slowly starting to fall into place the more you wove your lives together.

It’s a pretty thought now, the idea of fate and serendipity.

A tethering thread, thin as fishing wire and painted gold, is wrapped snug around your hearts. It’s naked to the eye but you can feel it give your heart a gentle squeeze whenever Steve smiles, each time he brushes his thumb over the curve of your cheek, down to your jaw.

It digs into the flesh even now, sets your skin alive as he stands behind you, arms wrapping around your shoulders and holding you close against him. It’s instinctive the way your hands come up to hold onto his forearms. Your head lolls to one side, nearly resting against the pillow of muscle in his bicep near your ear.

You wonder if this is too much for the grocery store on a Sunday. After all, you’re just trying to pick out a new cereal to try for breakfast. Steve wants anything chocolate and your nose crinkles, unsure if you agree. He tries his best to smooth the wrinkle along the bridge of your nose away with a kiss.

It works, though his kiss presses more so to the skin beneath your eye than your actual nose. You don’t mind. You never mind when it comes to Steve’s kisses on your skin.

He talks you into cocoa puffs, keeps one arm wrapped around you as he reaches to grab the box and put it in your shopping cart. He spoon feeds you a couple mouthfuls when you get home and all the groceries have been put away. When he kisses you it’s almost artificially sweet like the chocolate from his cereal.

You push his hair back from his forehead, dipping to press a kiss between his brow. His eyes close on contact and a wispy smile creeps onto his face. When you straighten, his hair falls back into place and you ruffle it with your hand. He swats it away with a playful scrunch of his nose that makes you laugh.

“I was thinking tonight we could go out for dinner, see a movie maybe,” you say, leaning against the counter. Steve swivels on the barstool, his knee nudging your thigh. The spoon clinks against the bowl, stirring up the last few lonely pieces of cereal floating in the milk.

He reaches for your waist, pulling you to his lap with an ease that’s grown over the years. You sit on his thigh, back against the edge of the counter and both legs dangling in the space between his. Like some kind of magnetic force, your hand comes back to his hair, pushing the loose strands of fringe away from his forehead again.

A gooey admiration pools like honey in his eyes as he looks up at you. He smiles, a little dopey, when your nails scratch against his scalp.

“Hmm, do I get to pick the movie?”

“I think that can be arranged,” you murmur, a smile etched on your face. You seem to do that a lot you realize, a near permanent upturn of your lips whenever Steve’s around. You can’t help it, a reflex after this many years together.

Steve feels the tug of that thread around his heart right now, with your hand fallen against the back of his neck and the sweetest lovesick smile on your face. He can’t get enough of you, not that he’d ever want to. Steve loves the insatiable feeling that comes with loving you.

“Then it’s a date,” he responds, the insides of his body feeling heavy and warm from the amount of adoration coursing through him. He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to it. Like he can’t take it anymore, he pinches at your side and relishes in the giggling squeal that escapes you as you fold at the side and lean away.

“Steve,” you try to go for chastising, your hand smushing against his face and pushing him away when he tries to pinch again, but it comes out half-hearted and through a laugh. It mixes with his, a hearty melodic sound that you never tire of hearing.

You move to stand, your feet just barely touching the ground before you’re pulled back tight against him. He noses against your neck, lips ghosting against the skin there. You twist your neck to face him as his face comes up from its spot against your neck.

Steve’s eyes scan your face, redrawing each feature from memory each time he blinks. His nose nudges against yours, squishes against your cheek when he presses his lips to yours. A feeling like coming home, a mutual squeeze around your hearts that comes each time you kiss.

When you pull back, he steals one, two, three more kisses from you until you’re left a giggling mess, smile wide and blinding and eyes shining like the stars. He’s never seen a prettier sight. Another kiss is stolen, this one silencing your giggles with the intensity of it. You blink hard, a little dazed when he pulls away.

Steve’s nose brushes against your hairline, his lips ghosting over your temple. That same cheek-aching smile returns to your face, a bit softer this time, fuzzy around the edges. Your whole body feels that way, a whole gaussian blur of a lover as you look at your boyfriend.

His eyes soften and his head tilts in question, “What?”

“Jus’ love looking’ at you,” you say, voice a gentle hug. I love you is what it means, til the end of time and then some. Steve understands, of course he does. Your serendipitous, fated love. His eyes crinkle at the corners from how big his smile grows, your favorite sight. One of your hands reaches to hold his face, thumb brushing against the wrinkled skin.

“Funny,” he muses, voice dripping with fondness for you, “was just thinking the same thing ‘bout you.”

Your heart soars and you can feel yourself sinking further into the deep end of the pool of his adoration for you. Positively lovesick, you bring his face down to yours again to kiss him silly.

That tethering string wraps almost painfully, suffocatingly tight around your hearts. If you could die from so much love, well, it wouldn’t be such a bad way to go.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #📝: a writes!

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betterfettered · 5 months

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Hello hello we'll be back to our regularly scheduled obey me programming soon but I'm so down bad for blade from honkai star rail right now so I wrote a real quick little thingy about him.

Your yandere kidnaps you

(Gn!reader x AMAB!yandere, please let me know if reader is gendered)(noncon)(violence against reader)(kidnapping)(forced affection)(masc rage)(plus size reader 💖🫡)(18+ readers only please, mdni)(Please let me know if I am missing a TW)

Part 2

[This is fetish content and rape and abuse are disgusting and inexcusable in real life.]

You thought your master’s bondman was not just cute, but also harmlessly so. “Blade”, he called himself, which you thought was so melodramatic that you could not help but smile whenever you happened to see him. On greeting him, you bent your knee and lowered your face as a maid ought to, but surreptitiously peeked at him from beneath your fringe and pressed your lips together to hide a laugh at the stilted way it made him hold himself, the apathy in his expression stirred up into a vague discomfort. For all the chagrin his name heralded, you could not help but see an awkward man who liked heaps of sugar and a touch of salt in his tea, one who would nudge your arm with his knuckles before demanding in monotone that you reaffix his barrette and shivering when your hands brushed his scalp. A hissy cat, a moody kid with overgrown bangs – you were fond of him, and nowhere near as scared as you should have been.

In fact, that lack of fear made it hard to understand what was happening when he first locked you away. His expression not budging out of its typical hollowness, he simply wrapped his hand around your arm and began to lead you; you followed, as a servant did, through halls and down many stairs. You didn’t question it when he led you to a part of the compound you had never been to until a door shut behind you, hard, and you turned in time to watch him slide a bar into place to lock it. When he faced you again, it was to glare down his nose at you with his typical emptiness, this time with more intensity than you were used to.

There was a brief pause, then he raised his hand to your cheek, letting his fingertips ghost just above your skin until you raised your own hand to push his away.

“I o-ought to be going,” you said, taking a step back. “I’ve plenty of work to do.”

That was not the right answer. This time he seized your wrist, hard enough to make you hiss a little, and dragged you further through the hall you had been sealed in. It was hard to focus with your heart pounding so hard, but you tried to scan your surroundings to see where you were and only recognized that you were somewhere dark, poorly lit by dim bulbs and no windows, with his feet leaving prints in the dust telling you that no one had been down here for quite some time in a way that makes your stomach drop, because you have a bad feeling about anything he could need privacy for–

Your fears were validated as he pulled you into a tiny room, some defunct servant’s quarters you’d imagine, containing nothing but a small bed covered in threadbare sheets and a rickety nightstand. Panic overwhelmed you, and you immediately began to struggle against him like mad, your chest seizing up so hard that it took you a while to realize that that loud noise you could hear was you screaming, apologizing, promising to do anything else that he wanted if he just let you leave.

He had been uncomfortable trying to approach you gently, unsure how to do it with his hands reforged specifically for killing and only killing. Subjugation, however, was his only nature, and once you began to act like prey, he allowed his instincts to take over. The nails of your flailing hand caught his face but seemed to have no effect on him whatsoever; he wrenched you forward by your arm hard enough that you stumbled and then kicked your feet out from beneath you while still holding your arm so that he could press you onto your back as you fell. It was relatively easy to pin you after he did that, and he did so by planting his knee downwards into the soft flab of your stomach, driving it in a little deeper when you tried to squirm away and loosing a knife from his belt to remove your clothing with.

He fucked you like a punishment, pushing into you with no foreplay and holding you down by both of your wrists as he thrusted into you hard enough to make your fat thighs clap against his skin. He watched you rather emotionlessly, unmoved by the tears pouring from your eyes and down your temples into your hairline or the whimpers that occasionally escaped your lips despite how hard you were pressing them together. Wracked with pain and with humiliation at your body suddenly being so exposed and shock at how things had turned bad so quickly, how you were suddenly being pinned under him like this used like some disposable toy, you looked just beyond the side of his head and traced cracks in the ceiling while you waited for him to finish. The room had been quiet but for the hoarse creaking of the bed, so you were surprised when you suddenly heard a grunt from him: he freed one of your wrists to bring the back of his hand to his blushing face, covering his mouth as he finished, his eyes growing distant as he stared down at you and his cock pulsating inside of you, making you feel sick.

You expected him to fix his clothes and leave you there, back to his same nonplussed demeanor, but instead he continued watching you the moment that he came back to his senses. As though that would make him vanish, you squeezed your eyes shut and only felt what happened next. He grabbed hold of the bottom of your face with his horribly cold hands, the bandage wrapped around it feeling clammy with his sweat, and then his lips pressed onto yours and his fringe tickled your forehead. You recoiled in shock and disgust, retreating backwards into the mattress and turning your face away from him, wiping your mouth before you could stop yourself. You flinched, expecting to feel the bruising of his hands roughly handling you again, but instead he lied down on you a little gently, resting his head in the crook of your neck.

“Wrap your arms around me,” he commanded.

It took you a second, but eventually you complied.

“Now say that you love me.”

“I--… I can’t,” you whispered back.

“You will. Say it.”

It took a long time for you to finally comply, and to his credit he waited in your embrace without moving as he awaited you saying it; eventually, your disgust was outweighed by your worry that he would never pull out of you and leave if you did not obey, so eventually you did finally whisper it into his hair, tears welling up in your voice as you pried the words from your throat.

After what felt like an eternity, he eventually left, but you were not allowed to because he locked the door from the outside when he went. In fact, you were kept in that tiny room so long that you lost track of time. You tried to measure your days by the showers you took in the adjoined bathroom, or the times you’d get hungry and eat some of the food you’d been left the day before, but you could not stop the time from blending together into slop no matter what you did.

It was easiest to measure time in when he suddenly reappeared to see you.

The first few days, upon just the sound of him unlocking the door keeping you shut in here, you would shake uncontrollably and fix your eyes to the ground. Once he entered, you tried to put as much distance between him and you that you could, though that was only a few steps or so. That ruined feeling, the unfamiliar slickness and soreness between your legs would rush back over you in memory and you’d feel overwhelmed to the point of dizziness, your trembling jaw barely able to form “please don’t” as he stared you down impassively. The second or third time you did this, he lost patience with it and dragged you kicking and screaming back over to the bed, but this time he only lied down beside you and rested his head on your chest, then demanding the same two things: to put your arms around him and say that you love him. You obeyed, sobbing, but sooner rather than later you got used to your new routine and became proficient, or comfortable even, in the new ritual of greeting him.

“Welcome back,” you’d tell him when he entered, going over to him and wrapping your arms around his neck and swaying him back and forth. Then you’d say you missed him or you were thinking of him or you were happy to see him. You started to wonder if that was actually true: he was your only human interaction, and after (what felt like) a few weeks you felt almost excited to see him, especially when he bought you things you requested, like wine and puzzles and lube and books. You felt like you could kiss him when he brought you a video game from his companion, though he seemed not to be sure what it was.

Well, more like you could kiss him and want to, because you often kissed him, actually. After greeting him you often led him, still emotionless as he always was, over to the bed where the two of you would lie down in the same position, his head on your chest and your arms around him. When you could stomach it, you’d roll over onto him and press your lips to his and moan into his mouth and grind on him, doing your very best to arouse him. Your hope was that if you preempted his lust with seduction of your own, maybe the sex would be easier, maybe you would have fewer nightmares that woke you up screaming. Strangely, your success with this strategy was variable: often times, he allowed your ministrations and then let you ride him until he came, his hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise while his other hand covered part of his face. Other times, he seemed to grow overwhelmed with your affections, flipped you back over and rested his head on you again, burying his reddened face into your chest so you could only see the top of his head. You’d be confused, not sure what to do, and he’d quietly command you to do the same thing he always did: wrap your arms around him and tell him you love him.

Still, no matter what you did, you could not escape that often he wanted to hurt you. You could predict it based on how much blood he was covered in when he visited you or how he seemed to bristle away from your touch, but most reliably he was in this violent mood when he woke up from nightmares of his own, seemingly gripped with unwavering rage that drove him to want to destroy, whether that be furniture or himself or you. If you were unlucky and he went for you first, you’d be awoken by him striking you, hitting your face or dragging you by your hair or roughly tearing your clothes from your body. You learned better than fighting back quickly, as that only made him angrier, and so you just tried to shield your face and go somewhere else in your mind until it was over. Sometimes he’d fuck you dry, hard enough that you bled a little after, other times he’d hit you all over your body until it hurt to move, other times still he’d twist your arms painfully behind your back, lean into your ear, and tell you exactly how he was going to kill you in gruesome detail that made you want to vomit. He only seemed satisfied when your tears had run out and you stopped moving, overwhelmed by pain and despair, and then the room would fall into silence but for the sound of his panting, slowing breath.

After these rages were the only times he’d hold you and tell you that he loved you in a way you knew was meant to be comforting but only sounded flat and disturbed.

Eventually, he let you go (later you learned that it had been around two and a half months after you’d been captured). It was unceremonious – he simply left one day and did not shut the door behind him. It took you nearly an hour to summon the courage to leave, as you could not help but fear that this was some sort of trap, that he’d be waiting just beyond the threshold to punish you if you left. In the end, though, it was not, and after some walking you found yourself back in a central corridor of the compound with business as usual happening around you. It was hard to comprehend how other people were talking, laughing, cleaning, working without bone deep, paranoid fear strangling them. You’d dreamed of your freedom for a long time, of the relief you’d feel to be out of his clutches, but there was no relief to be had.

You could not sleep with any semblance of normalcy after getting out, so you often lied awake at night and wondered why he had gotten rid of you. Had he grown tired of you, bored? Had he moved on to someone else? Had he seen that there was something within you that he had irreparably broken that made you not worth using any more? Part of you worried about this so endlessly because if he was angry that you failed him, you needed to figure that out so you could prepare for him to return in one of his rages.

But another part of you, one that you could not bear to acknowledge, had grown used to making him and his comfort the center of your universe, and now felt lost without him. You wished that he had just kept you until you died.

#yandere #tw noncon #tw non con #yandere x reader #yandere smut #cw noncon #tw: noncon #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr smut #hsr x reader #hsr blade #betty fetty

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eroticdarling · 6 months

Text

☆×☆×☆×☆×☆×☆×☆×☆

The Tattoo Shop!

Eren × Reader

☆×☆×☆×☆×☆×☆×☆×☆

Headcanon~♡

× Cw × — ♡ BodyPiercer!Eren ♡ Fem!Reader ♡ Nipple Play ♡ Pet Name (Baby) ♡ Needle Kink ♡ A Bit Of Praise ♡ Suggestive ♡

☆ MINORS DNI ☆

(☆)

Today was your 18th birthday, and you were ready to cross something off of your bucket list: getting your first nipple piercings. This was something you wanted for a while and now since you were 18 you could finally get them.

You drove yourself to the tattoo shop you had already booked your appointment at, a little nervous, but excited about getting your new piercings.

When you arrived at the shop you got out of the car and went inside. You were immediately taken aback by how professional and neat the shop was.

You spoke with a friendly woman at the front desk who got you set up with the artist who you'd be working with.

"Alright, you can have a seat over there while you wait." She said pointing at the available seats.

"Okay, thank you." You said as you went to sit down and wait.

As you waited for about an hour you heard the woman from the front desk call your name and walk over to you.

"Miss Y/n, follow me." She said.

You got up from your seat and followed the black-haired woman to the back of the shop and into a room where a man with an average-looking height and muscular build with two sleeves and his neck full of tattoos.

He also had a fairly long, yet rounded face, and teal-green eyes. His eyebrows are sparse and look furrowed, making him seem annoyed. Also, he had his shoulder-length hair in a man-bun style which showed two of his small fringes on each side.

"Eren, your client." She said.

"Thanks, Mikasa." He said as she turned around and walked out, closing the red curtains behind her that were a substitute for a door.

"What piercing did you want?" He said as he looked at you for an answer.

"Nipple piercings." You said earning a look from the guy.

"Alright, well you can look through these sets," Eren said as he showed you a selection of nipple rings to pick from.

You took your time picking the perfect set, carefully looking for the right combination of size and aesthetics.

You found a set of silver heart-shaped rings with small horns and heart-shaped tails.

"I want these" You pointed out.

"Alright just get on the chair and I'll explain the whole process." He said.

You listened to his instructions and sat on the chair, taking a couple of deep breaths, and let out a sigh.

Eren noticed how anxious you were and started taking out his tools and showed you what he needed for the procedure.

He also informed you about the process of piercing your nipples and the safety precautions you should take which made you feel a bit at ease with him and decided to proceed.

He then got out a gel ice pack and told you how the cold numbs the area and confuses the brain about where the pain's coming from to use it to make the process less painful.

"Can you do it?" You asked which made him nonplussed by your question.

He looked at you disoriented to see if you were serious about it and to his surprise you were but he was still unsure.

"Take your top off for me then." He said as he watched you take off the crop top you were wearing, leaving you with your light blue bra on.

As he took it as a green light and walked towards you with the ice pack in his hand he could also see your hardened nipples peek through your padded bra.

He took off your bra and put it on the counter, revealing your perky tits and you could feel the cold air immediately hit them.

Eren then gently placed the ice pack on your nipple which made you make a small but noticeable gasp at how cold it was.

You both waited for about 5 out of 30 minutes before Eren started using his other hand to touch your other boob.

You let out soft moans at how good he began to massage your breasts with a light touch, enjoying the feel of your soft, smooth skin.

You seem very relaxed with each touch and he continued to pleasure you.

When it was finally time to take the ice pack off he warned you ahead of time he was gonna start.

He took off the ice pack, cleaned your nipple with an antiseptic solution, and then marked where the piercing would go.

"Stay still and relax for me, baby." He said as he put on sterile gloves and proceeded to pierce the nipple.

You let out a soft moan as he clamped onto your nipple and let the needle pierce through your nipple. He then immediately inserted the jewelry after.

He did it perfectly and it looked nice and straight. The small bit of pain was relieved when Eren kissed all over your chest.

"You did so good for me." He praised.

He put the ice pack on the other breast and repeated the same process as before but only touched your thighs.

After it was done, he admired the jewelry that beautifully graced your breasts and gave you instructions on how to care for the piercings in the weeks following.

He advised you to keep them clean and use an antibiotic ointment. Also telling you how to remove the jewelry and put it back in safely and securely.

You thanked him for guiding you through the entire process and kissed him receiving a kiss back that slowly turned into a make-out session.

You both broke the kiss when y'all heard a guy outside the curtains, "Eren, we're leaving when you're done with your client." He said.

"Alright Armin, I'm almost done." He said earning a mhm from the guy outside and hearing him leave.

He then looked back at you putting your top back on but stopped you when you put one of your arms in your sleeve.

"Let me take a few pictures first," He said taking out his phone as you fully put your top back on and lifted it.

He snapped a few pictures at different angles and put his phone back in his pocket.

"Done?" You asked putting your top back down.

"Yeah." He said helping you off the chair.

"Thank you." You said with a smile earning a slight smile back and letting you get your bra from off the counter and putting it in your purse.

"You're welcome, also let me walk you back to the front." He said as he opened the curtains and led you to the front exit.

"Bye Eren." You said as he waved you off with Mikasa and Armin looking at him with their eyebrows raised.

These are the piercings to give y'all a lil visual and because I thought they were so cuteeee 😩✨️🫶🏾

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guessm0del · 5 months

Text

Little Red Riding Hood

Chapter Three: A New Friend

Summary: Living a life of caution for as long as she can remember, Y/N has never stayed too long in one place, always moving from town to town in hopes to hide her identity. With the Hunters Moon coming, she knows she must be extra careful, as the local culture resides heavily in the hunting of her kind. One night, when a cloaked figure unveils her secret and narrowly escapes, Y/N finds herself in a desperate situation: kill or be killed. With no face to go by, she must now search through the townsfolk before the stranger can spread the truth about her. But the task proves more than difficult when she realises her only lead is a long, crimson cloak.

Genre: horror, fantasy, little red riding hood retelling

Warnings:cursing, stalking, death, heavy smut (in later chapters)

Pairing: redridinghood!Jungwon x femwolf!reader

chapter one here

chapter two here

chapter four here

Doubt clouds my mind as I shake my head and take a step away from the door.

You’re being paranoid.

I force my hand to still and bring it to the large stretch of timber before me, knocking three times with firm affirmation.

No answer.

I press my ear to the door again, checking for any signs of noise or movement.

I hear none. Blood running cold, my hands anxiously tug at the handle, cursing in frustration as I realise it’s been locked from the inside. I feel the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Another scream. My mind paints a picture of a frightened old lady cowering against her kitchen sink as she shrinks from her attacker.

I start banging now, waiting for any small sign that’s she’s alright and that my mind is playing tricks on me, but it’s no use, Mary has the thickest door in all of Avion. She has my paranoia to thank for that. I hear some shuffling from inside, but still, no one opens the door. My hands twist anxiously through my hair, pulling at my fringe with such force I’m sure I feel some hair ripping out.

Backing away from the door, I give myself a moment before kicking it with all my strength and sending it toppling over to the floor.

Small muffles of noise come from the kitchen and I slow in my steps, reaching a hand underneath my dress and grabbing at the small dagger tucked in my leg strap. I hear Mary groan in pain, and while the sound pulls at my heart, I can’t help but feel thankful at the discovery that she’s still alive.

I cast a glance to the glass cabinet facing her kitchen, cursing at the blurred stains that obstruct my view.

If Helena were here, she’d tell me to walk away. To leave this cottage and Mary with it. “This is the way,” she’d remind me, “don’t let petty sentiment deter your duty to the pack.”

She has a point, though I hate to admit. My affection for Mary brings me little benefits. If I continue the way I’m going, it will only make it harder for whats to come. In the end, they must all die.

Mary is no exception.

Footsteps echo across the floor and I listen intently, ears catching the sound of the back door swinging open and shut. Her attacker has left. Whether this move is meant to be brief or not, I’m unsure, but I have to make haste of what little time I have regardless. Swinging around the corner without hesitation, I grip my knife tightly and prepare to confront a messy scene.

Mary sits hunched over the kitchen floor, breathing in small hushed breaths. Blood trickles down her left arm and rejoins in a pool of patterns on the floor. Fragments of glass litter the floor and I observe the cracked vase sitting on the kitchen counter.

Mary doesn’t notice my presence, too busy hunching over her leg to hear my footsteps approach.

“Mary….” I speak softly, afraid of startling her. The glass begins to crunch beneath my boots, the sound sending uneasy quivers up my spine. “Mary.” Growing impatient as I crouch down before her, I gently lift her head to look at me, and I can’t help but smile when her sweet face comes into view.

Mary turned eighty five last Spring. Her hearing comes in little flecks of focus now, which explains why she wouldn’t have heard me banging at the door.

“Y/N,” she smiles up at me, giving my cheek a small pinch before cocking her head sideways. “I didn’t know you were coming today?”

I have to stop myself from laughing. Mary asked me yesterday to bring some flowers on my visit. As I said, eighty five.

I give her hair a pat and go to help her up. “I decided to visit because I missed you too much.” I lie through my teeth, “though I wasn’t aware you’d get yourself into so much trouble before I came.” Before I can help her stand, she gently swats my hands away, pointing at the small chunk of glass hanging out of from underneath her foot. The shard seems wedged deep enough to have cut nerves. Jesus, that’s gotta hurt.

If I had of come sooner, her attacker would of been faced with me, not a weak, elderly lady whom, quite literally, wouldn’t hurt a fly. Before I can move any further, the sound of the back door swinging open echoes through the house.

My hands reach for my dagger and I instinctively move in front of Mary. Shit.

Hurried footsteps rush through the living room and I have to stop myself from gripping the dagger too tight. He’s coming back. While my human form is strong , I am still constricted to the same strength as any other mortal girl from Avion.

Before I can lunge forward, Mary reaches a small hand up to tug at my dress. Glancing down, I watch in confusion as she shakes her head with an amused smile. Before I can protest, a young man rounds the corner, brushing past me as he juggles an assortment of first aid items and crouches down before Mary.

“Damn little lady, you seriously need to clear out that shack. Couldn’t see a damn thing.” He huffs, hands frantically sorting between jars. He picks one up and starts applying the herbal paste to her wound.

Mary reaches out a hand, brushing it against the strangers face before roughly grabbing at his cheek. Watching on in utter confusion, I glance between the two, trying to figure out their relationship.

Is he a young friend like me?

Is he family?

From what I was aware, Mary didn’t have any family in Avion.

He lets out a pained groan and tosses her a frown. “I wonder who you got that impatience from.” She laughs, brushing his hair back into place and motioning to her arm.

His frown melts into a cheeky smile. “Oh I think we both know who I got it from.”

She returns his smile. “Hurry up with those bandages, boy. I’ll bleed out at this rate with all this yapping.”

To an onlooker, the exchange would make the two out to be a pair of angry old siblings.

If it weren’t for the obviously enormous age gap, I know I’d certainly think so too.

The two murmur quietly amongst themselves, both impervious to my presence as I stand awkwardly a few feet away.

The young man stands, carefully brushing the glass to the side with a broom. Mary pouts, gazing at her once gorgeous vase now littered in little pieces across the floor. He catches her sad gaze mid sweep, giving her hair a soft pat. “Don’t worry, I’ll go into town tomorrow and get you a new one.”

She shakes her head, eyes glossing over. “It’s ok, it’s not something that can be replaced anyway. It was one of a kind.” Though I can only see his back, I catch the way the boys shoulders tense from her words.

The awkwardness becomes so overwhelming to the point where I don’t know whether to join in or leave.

The stranger helps Mary to her feet, brushing the glass from her apron with gentle motions. “You and your glassware. I tell you if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you cared more about your vases than you do me.”

Mary props herself against a chair, cradling her foot as he rushes to fetch her some water. “And don’t you forget it!” She shouts as the back door swings open and shut once more. “Oh my….” She gasps, finally realising I’ve been standing there all along. Laughing awkwardly, I smile to try and ease the tension between us.

“You didn’t tell me you had a visitor.” I smile through gritted teeth, trying not to let my frustration seep through. If I had of known, maybe I wouldn’t of rushed in here like hell on wheels. Before she can answer, the young man enters once more, this time stopping mid step as he notices Mary’s warm gaze pointed in the opposite direction.

Pointed at me.

The next few seconds slow in their course, a cold bite of nerves eat at my neck as the stranger slowly turns to face me, his features finally coming into view. Within seconds his eyes have found mine, and I have to remind myself how to breathe.

Face an attractive blur, the young beau bares soft ebony eyes with raven strands of hair that fall across smooth fair skin. It’s only when Mary clears her throat at my long silence that I come to a most uncomfortable discovery.

He’s the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen.

Mary, amused, smiles from her kitchen corner, no doubt expectant of my surprised reaction. “Gets it from his father.” She laughs, gesturing towards her guest.

I throw her a confused glance, “Gets what?” I feign ignorance, but I can tell she doesn’t buy it.

“His looks, you silly girl.”

But the two of us aren’t listening anymore, standing in silence as Mary’s voice echoes through the space between us. I wait for him to respond to her taunts, but he doesn’t seem to find them amusing, in fact, he doesn’t pay them any mind at all.

He remains frozen from across the counter, eyes wide with something I can’t quite place. It’s then that he backs away, putting as much distance between us as he can. A shard of glass sticks upright from the floor behind him, and I open my mouth to warn him, but it’s too late.

The shard cuts through his boot, wedging itself into skin. The sound is so disturbing that we can hear as it squelches through flesh.

Mary stops laughing.

We both look up at him, waiting for him to double over in pain, but the boy pays his foot no heed, his pretty eyes trained on me as though I’m the only thing in the world that could hurt him.

Does he…..?

The cold nerves come back. My left hand, still clutching its dagger, instinctively tightens its grasp around the hilt.

He…….recognises me.

But that’s just the thing, though.

I don’t recognise him.

There’s no way….

“Jungwon!” Mary’s voice manages to break his daze and, after what feels like a lifetime, he finally shifts his gaze away.

So he has a name.

Jungwon.

“Look at your foot! Oh my goodness!” Mary bustles over to the mix of herbal pastes, grabbing the biggest jar and forcing him onto a stool.

She kneels to take off his boot, only for him to stand abruptly and move away. “Jungwon…”

I let my lips melt into an all too familiar smile, turning to the elderly lady who’s now kneels at his side. “Mary, you silly goose…” Feigning a laugh, I shake my head at her, “I thought you were getting beaten to death. You should’ve told me if you had another guest, I could’ve come another time.” She tries to make her way over but I’m quick to intercept and force her onto a chair. “Don’t even try, you need rest.”

She opens her mouth to protest but gives up just as easily.

“You’re right my dear, I’m sorry. It must’ve slipped my mind that you were visiting today. And just to be clear, if we ever were in such a situation, I’d be the one doing the beating, not the other way around. This idiot couldn’t hurt a fly.”

I smile at her humour. “Sure thing.”

“Ah, how silly of me! It would seem I’ve forgotten to properly introduce you.” She gestures to her guest and then back to me, as if to beckon us closer. “This is my grandson, Jungwon.”

My eyes fly to him. Grandson.

“Jungwon, say hello. This is Y/N, a friend of mine from town.” But her words don’t seem to comfort him. If anything, they appear to make him more anxious.

He gives me an awkward bow, eventually meeting my gaze with a great deal of hesitation.

My eyes dart down to the kitchen corner on his left, to the knife that sits idle by its board. His hand itches a few inches from it.

He doesn’t trust me.

Smart boy.

I laugh, giving him my warmest smile as I step forward, addressing Mary. “I wasn’t aware you had family in Avion.” I offer him a hand as I wait for her response.

He doesn’t take it.

“Jungwon is visiting from Borth, where him and his mother live. He visits every Winter, which is why you haven’t met him before.”

Ah. Of course.

I wasn’t here last Winter.

Mary bustles around the kitchen with her small limp, sweeping glass from corner to corner. She takes notice of her grandson avoiding my hand. “Jungwon! Don’t be rude!” She turns to me with a smirk. “Don’t mind him my dear, he’s just a shy idiot. Gets that from his father too.”

After a great deal of hesitation, Jungwon reaches his hand across, flinching when our fingers touch. His hands are warm and soft, a stark contrast to mine. Our hands meet with haste and just as quickly, he pulls his away, retreating completely until he’s backed against the kitchen counter.

I give a small bow to Mary. “Well then, I best be heading off. It was a pleasure meeting you Jungwon.” He doesn’t respond, instead bowing as he stares at the floor. Mary smacks the back of his head. “Walk her back to town boy.” He whips his head to her, his gaze pleading. I smile.

“A kind gesture. But I’ll be quite alright by myself.”

“Nonsense!” She shrieks, pushing Jungwon out the door and throwing him a coat. “The woods aren’t safe for a young beauty like you! Don’t worry, Jungwon wants to take you anyway.” I glance to the boy by her side.

His expression tells me otherwise, but he remains silent.

She gives him a sly nudge, bringing his ear down for her whispers. “Maybe you’ll make a new friend.” The boy remains silent, only nodding anxiously as a response.

“Really,” I laugh, pressing my hands to hers, “I’ll be fine. Besides I’m sure you’ll get him working on the door soon enough.” We look down to the door laying across her floor, it’s hinges torn awkwardly from the wall. “Sorry about that by the way. I got a bit impatient.”

“Oh I’ll get him working alright. When he gets back.” She murmurs, pushing Jungwon through the doorway and bidding us farewell. Jungwon leads the way, staring at the ground with fake fascination as if to distract himself. I don’t even have to turn back to know Mary’s probably waving warmly from her porch. She never goes back inside until she’s sure I’m sent off safely. Smiling, I turn around to bid her one last goodbye, but by the time my eyes catch sight of her little cottage trailing behind in the distance, she’s long gone.

————-

JESEUS!!!!! I’m so sorry to all my readers who were waiting for this one lmao it took me months just to publish one damn chapter! GOOD NEWS THO I’ve already written about 70% of chapter 5 so I’d say that’ll published at the end of this week sometime. I’ll let y’all know🙏 ps to that one anon who keeps sending rude ass demands and questions about why I’m “taking forever” if you keep sending them I’m gonna scrap this entire story just to annoy u 😘

If you want to join taglist, let me know😚

Taglist:

@ramenoil @moonmoongi @chlorinecake @denleave1088 @cha0thicpisces @w3bqrl @yu-yin-04 @rizzhee

#jungwon smut #jungwon x reader #heeseung smut #heeseung x reader #enhypen x female reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen smut #zb1 smut

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002yb · 4 months

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im such a sucker for dick pining cuz he just does lovelorn so well and theres no one more worthy of longing and adoration than jason so:

for dick there is nothing better in the world than when jason is in a playful mood. popping a wheelie on his motorcycle just for the fun of it, singing along with his music blasting, training as usual with his movements loose and fluid and just a touch of uncharacteristic showiness. any form it takes dick goes crazy for it. unsure if jay knowing he was there would burst the carefree bubble but wanting so bad to be a part of the moment.

Lovelorn!Dick? Sign me up.

Because there's something so profoundly vulnerable to how Dick would love Jason: quiet and unassuming and so subtle no one would ever know for certain. Dick knows the place he keeps in Jason's life and it's at the outermost fringes. Carefully kept away because Dick is an irritant (too bright, too good, too perfect) that aggravates all Jason's insecurities.

For all the love Dick has to give, people sooner have a complex about him before they feel any of his affections. Jason so happens to have the most debilitating of complexes, too, so Dick stays where Jason wants him - even if that's far, far away.

Truth be told, Dick has never loved anyone like he loves Jason. Not to say that Jason is any sort of exception, or that Dick loves him more than anyone else he's loved, it's just - different. Dick loves Jason so differently from how he's used to loving anyone else.

Usually Dick is shameless and unabashed; loving loud and proud. Burning so hot and fast that his relationships suffer for it. There's a reason Dick is the butt of every disaster-in-love joke, why he's accused of having issues with commitment, etc.

But again, it's different with Jason. Because Dick loves him so quietly. Because Dick shows his affections in the most subtle of ways (keeping away, not pushing, not taking; just watching from his distant perch). Content to pine because his love for Jason is so devastatingly pure-hearted.

Of course Dick wants to be the one to make Jason happy. He wants to be part of Jason's life. He wants to talk and banter and joke around. He wants more than a perfunctory professionalism when circumstance dictates. What Dick wouldn't give just to be close, to be kept close.

It's fine though. Because Dick's affections aren't fragile. He can find contentment at a distance seeing Jason happy. Even from the fringes, Dick can love Jason just like that.

But also?? Also - Dick constantly, persistently pushing boundaries to try and get just a bit closer. Because even if he's content, it's not like Dick to settle. So he walks that tightrope closer, closer. Sometimes lingering in a professional capacity, sometimes making himself known with antagonizing Jason a bit (in the sense that Jason needs someone to fight and Dick can bear it, but also in a playfully teasing way, too). Until one day Jason is caught off guard because Dick, someone who Jason has always kept to the fringes of his life, becomes someone he expects to see just beside him. A partner, a confidant, a friend.

And Jason is floored because when the fuck?

And Dick is just there in Jason's space, all smug quietly content. Because yeah, he could find contentment at a distance. It's so much better being at Jason's side though. //U///

#dickjay #jaydick #bittersweet unrequited love turned slowburn romance??#of course lol

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kuroosdarling · 1 year

Text

MERRY CHRISTMAS MY LOVE — ༉‧₊˚.

ft. kuroo tetsuro !

꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : pregnancy, mentions of being pregnant, — wc : 1k

꒰ NOTES ꒱ : had to do a lil something for my husband for christmas hehe i love this lil fic !! he’s so dumb n cute :/ lol merry christmas to those who celebrate ! <3

“wait, open this.” you hand kuroo one last gift — one that was completely covered in cats wearing santa hats wrapping paper. he raises an eyebrow as he takes it, betrayal and distrust written all over his face.

“what happened to our three gift rule?” his hazel eyes narrow towards you, his thumb already catching on the tape as he discreetly tries to open it. “seems like this would be number four for me.”

“just shut up and open it already.” you roll your eyes. anticipation started bubbling up inside of you. would he be mad? is this what he wanted? is it the right time?

“yes ma’am.” kuroo starts to open the present, his long fingers tearing through the neatly wrapped gift before he gets to the box. he rips off the lid, peering down at the contents and grows very still. your heart nearly stops — not sure how to take his eerie, unnatural silence.

carefully, he reaches down and pulls out the tiniest onesie he’s ever seen, paired with the smallest mittens, socks and littlest hat. he looks up at you, clutching onto the soft fabric with shiny eyes and an unsure smile — one that lingers just beneath the surface because he's scared to let it out and be wrong.

“y-you’re.. y-…” kuroo took a breath, a thousand thoughts running through his head all condensing into 2 words that he couldn’t seem to get out of his mouth.

“wow, kuroo tetsuro speechless?” you tease, running your fingers through his hair as he continues being tongue tied. “now i’ve seen everything.”

“y-you’re pregnant?” he manages to spit out, a fire lit in his eyes as his smile slowly starts to spread across his face.

“yes.” he doesn’t wait another second before he scoops you into his arms as his body shakes with laughter, the sound filling the room before yours mixes into it.

overwhelmed with happiness, he pulls you in for a kiss. it starts with one peck, turning into another, turning into many. between each kiss, he’s babbling about how happy he is, how lucky he feels. each kiss you can feel his smile grow even wider.

“is this real?” he looks at you with little hearts in his eyes, absolutely over the moon that the family he always wanted was coming together. the one he'd dream about since you two first got together. all the late nights he’d spend just wishing for you guys to finally get to this point one day. but he never wanted to push, he was willing to wait as long as he needed to. but the wait was over.

“absolutely.” you caress his cheek. he leans into the touch before another question fires off in his mind and immediately out of his mouth.

“how far along are you?” he pulls back to look into your eyes, his full attention on you.

“about 5 weeks.” you continue playing with his hair again, brushing the fringe from his eyes so you can savor the excitement that dances in them.

“5 weeks!” he laughs again. he nods as he does the math in his head, his movements slowing down as he puts it all together. “damn, so i knocked you up on my birthday?”

“you don’t have to say it like that.” you roll your eyes again, pulling your hands from him so you can cross your arms over your chest.

“no i didn’t-“ he pauses and lets out a breathy laugh. “i’m so happy. this is the best christmas gift— best birthday gift maybe — hell, just the best gift i’ve ever gotten. the fact you’re making my dreams come true, that we get to build this life, this family together, i’ve never been so happy in my life.”

he slowly uncrosses your arms so he can take your hand, placing it over his chest. his heartbeat is beating so quickly that if you hadn’t just given him life altering news, you’d be worried. but you’re absolutely positive yours beats in time with his. and soon, you’ll have another little heartbeat join yours.

“so, it’s okay i got you four gifts this year then?” you smile at him.

“i think i can let it slide.” he smirks, putting your hand down as he gently pushes you down on the couch so you’re laying back. he crawls over you, his head lining up with your stomach.

“what are you doing?” you ask, squirming under him.

“saying hello to our little baby.” he kisses your stomach, murmuring the sweetest coos as he welcomes the idea of your newest family member. “cant wait to meet you, peanut.”

“peanut?” you barely breath out, trying not to disrupt his moment.

“yeah, because they’re as big as a peanut right now.” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. he crawls upward, careful not to place any of his weight on you and leans down to give you a soft kiss before nuzzling his nose against yours. “you don’t like it?”

“no, it’s cute. our little peanut.” your hands weave their way through his hair again, tousling it up even more.

“our little peanut.” he repeats, filled with so much love and happiness he can hardly hold it all in.

normally, kuroo never placed much stock into christmas. it had always been a confusing and messy time for him. until he met you, it was just another day in december. and now you’ve completely turned it into a day of wonder, a day of happiness. one he always dreamed of but was too scared to ever wish for it.

the small part of him who always wanted a perfect christmas was growing, and he was so excited that he was going to be able to give his future child everything they ever wanted. and for you to be right by his side made it all better.

“merry christmas my love.” he sighs, leaning down to give you another soft kiss.

“merry christmas tetsu.”

#⁺. ʚ now streaming:#kuroo tetsuro #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x you #kuroo x you #kuroo fluff #kuroo tetsuro fluff #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #kuroo

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arvensimp · 1 year

Text

Content

Look I made you some content! Simp made you your favorite, open wide. Here comes the content. It's a beautiful day for a silly little ficlet to warm back up to writing again lol

gn!reader, no gendered pronouns used. Pure fluff. Slightly suggestive themes, nothing explicit.

Arven isn't a furnace, per say, but he's definitely warm. You learn that quickly during your first night together. He's warm and soft in all the best ways. His kisses are gentle, tentative, hesitant. It's only when you press his cheeks between loving palms, your thumbs rubbing smooth circles along his stubbled skin as you tell him explicitly: "Hey, you're good. I like you, and this is fun." That he starts to gain a bit more confidence.

He's still not quite...boisterous. That's not really him. But he's present, not as nervous or flighty.

You don't "make love" that night, but you're certainly loving to one another as you learn your bodies. Timid caresses gain traction, and whispered sighs get louder. Kisses become a bit more heated.

No, it wasn't love making, but love was there.

That's why the next morning, you feel for his warmth, that soft rigidity and stability of him under your hand.

You're met with soft, cool pillows and blankets instead.

Your eyes blearily open.

Arven isn't there.

You roll over.

He isn't in your bathroom if the ajar door is anything to go by.

Had you pushed him too far?

Your mind panics, going over the details of the night again. You'd both checked in with one another constantly. Had...had he not felt comfortable? Was he not comfortable enough with you to say no?

You flop over again, rather ungracefully to try and grab your phone, but it was away from the charger overnight and died. Fainted? What...what do rotom phones do exactly? Was there a rotom buzzing around your apartment right now, escaped from the confines of a smart phone?

Whatever, there's more pressing matters.

You plug the device in with near shaking hands.

It slowly starts to charge, and you heave a sigh as you stand. You can't turn it back on with such a low battery anyway. Might as well grab a bite from the kitchen. Maybe bread and jam or something. Maybe you could make Arven something...like a peace offering? Something to show you didn't mean to upset him?

The man can be so unsure of himself at times.

You pad softly into the kitchen and are met with the sight of your Pokemon out of their balls and bouncing around the dining area. You jolt in surprise as they rush you.

"Well good morning!" You greet the one who made it to you first.

"Good morning!" Comes a voice from around the kitchen corner.

You nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of it, barely holding back an embarrassingly high pitched noise of surprise.

Arven rounds the corner, his fluffy hair pulled back into a low ponytail, though there's still his usual bit of fringe falling over his face. In his hands is a silver mixing bowl and one of your whisks.

"You're good with omelettes for breakfast, right?" He asks you, easy as anything.

You only realize you're staring when he pauses, a bit of color dusting his single visible cheek.

"Is...is this okay?" He asks, and you can almost see the confidence of earlier drain from him like sand through a sieve.

"Uh..." You falter. "Y-Yes!" You try to snap back quickly before he fully retreats into a shuckle shell. "Sorry, I just... Haha, I... I woke up alone..." You shift your weight a bit, then move closer over to him, approaching the breakfast bar that divides you.

"I thought maybe I scared you off or something? I was already plotting ways to, I dunno...try to win you back or something."

Arven laughs, and the confidence seems to return. Good. It suits him.

"Win me back? Huh... Maybe you should make breakfast then." He sets the bowl down on the countertop, leaning over it a bit with a smirk on his face.

It's then that you notice the frilly apron covering his otherwise bare chest.

He must've found the thing in the back of your pantry, some gag gift that you'd been given ages ago.

Once again, you can't help but stare, making Arven laugh all the more.

"What? You don't like it? I dunno, I kinda feel like Saguaro in this, ya know?"

He flexes comically, but you absolutely can't deny the muscle he's built up over the years. He might not be as jacked as your teacher was, but...

Well, there's a reason you keep staring.

He picks up on this easily enough, laughs, and takes the bowl and whisk back off the counter.

"Don't worry. I'll finish breakfast this time, but you owe me an omelette next time, kay?"

#arven fanfic #arven x reader #trainer arven #rival arven #arven pokemon #arven #pkmn arven

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aconflagrationofmyown · 9 months

Text

Summary: an episode taking place after “Three Way Script”

Warnings: talks of still born children, suggestions of threesomes, consensual infidelity and polyamory

Notes: gosh I’ve been off here so long and yet I’m still clogged with love notes! How’d i get so lucky? This fandom truly is the sweetest, most gushing and loving imaginable and each of you are dear to me and I miss you all. Europe has seemed to swallow me as I’m over for another month I had not anticipated. That’s ok. It’s that’s great in fact but I’m whooped and tired and missing the chance to make believe with y’all. Here’s a little resurgence in that, thanks for your patience and please, please, please keep spamming me all you want in my inbox and dms as I adore it and it helps me feel included even as I’m a little preoccupied with work right now. Xoxo🌹

Cautions: this was written and not edited a bit, wahooo

Anne’s The Name

Ann-Margret was rather used to being ambushed outside her dressing room by the occasional stray autograph seeker, an entitled producer or five anticipating more, or co-stars looking for a drink after shooting to wind down the chemistry of the day.

As of yet, she’d never been met by a wife.

But there she was, Elaine. Never having met her before didn’t afford Ann even a split second of ignorance. She knew who she was. Mrs. Presley was unmistakable, even when playing at being inconspicuous. Leaning against the stage wall in a somehow more provocatively natural stance than even her husband could manage, those long legs freshly tanned against a pink shift skirt and the elegant length of her -she was slimmer than the papers showed her, what with this baby making hiatus- topped off by chocolate curls getting whipped around her like the studio’s wind tunnel was a paid employee. More deadly still was when the opened door attracted her attention and that pretty pearl adorned neck turned to face Ann, that stunner of a face entirely full of curiosity and maybe…mischief?

Ann was too startled to be certain.

Startled by her sudden appearance, startled by the prettiness of her, startled by the lack of venom anywhere to be found on that compelling face, the lips of which were quirking up in a undeniable smirk of teasing enjoyment. She was enjoying Ann’s dumbfounded, half cocked, partway out the door, frozen in place shock. Somehow this was neither the self sacrificing Saint not irate Madonna that Ann anticipated maybe one day being confronted by.

Instead she was being warmly appraised by heavily fringed eyes that glimmered gold in the late day’s sun. Like her merits for lover or playmate were being gauged. Ann wondered if the rumors were true, if Elvis had really taken a lump of clay and fashioned himself a wife in his own image, more identical and fitting than any rib shaped lady could aspire. That sense of danger and intrigue and knowing that had filled her on meeting Elvis came flooding over Ann again, unable to do more than curiously inspect Elaine as she turns towards her.

“Thumper?” Elaine’s voice is as soft and hopeful as it was coming across the telephone receiver weeks ago, “You are Ann, I believe?” she presses when Ann’s manner can’t play catch up with her overwhelming emotions and she remains frozen, halfway out her open door.

“Ela- Mrs. Presley!” she corrects, wincing at the fumble, utterly unsure now that she’s not being met with open hostility.

“I didn’t mean to startle you!” Elaine straightens up from the wall and click clacks over in her heels to stand opposite Ann, just an arms reach removed from each other and Ann thinks of what a pretty scene they’d make if this were scripted, one red and one brown, a flavor for each taste, matching in height and complimentary in build, facing off in a tunnel. “It’s just I managed to give Esposita the slip and E’s gonna be busy with the studio dubbing and I’m no use at all. I thought I’d wrestle up a friend while I was free.” Elaine’s beaming smile dims the longer Ann stalls for time and etiquette, “Or-or if you’re not free, I understand, I at least wanted to say hello. I’m going to be in the city for a little while and didn’t want to be bumping along into you some day without having sought you out.”

Ann wondered if Elvis asked her to come, if Ann and her inventive ways to have sex without having sex wasn’t quite cutting it and he had caved and called the wife. Or if Elaine had heard Ann’s voice over the telephone and gathered from the whole sleepwalking debacle that it was high time to reel him and his affairs in. Or maybe the colonel had seen the papers, Heda Hopper’s column in particular stating that Elvis was taking a shine to his red headed mirror, and sent the wife down for damage control. The only thing is, Ann was sure that the Colonel was thick as thieves with Hedda, much to Elaine’s distress no doubt, and he loved every bit of publicity that Elvis’ wayward eyes could drum up.

Family men didn’t sell, after all. Ann had certainly played her part in his playboy reconstruction with convincing aplomb.

“Sweetie, are you alright?” Elaine’s voice cuts through the fog of Ann’s concerns and suddenly she’s able to find her voice as she starts to tip over,

“No, I-I’m a little dizzy.” Ann admits, just as Elaine’s arms and a wall barely manage to keep her from face planting on the cement.

-I’m a little dizzy and I love your husband and you’re here to distract him and I’m awful aren't I?! but I couldn’t help it, if you love him as much as you say you’ll understand I couldn’t help it, I can’t help loving him-

“Woah, woah, have you eaten?” Elaine asks solicitously as she keeps Ann standing upright against the wall by an iron grip around her waist and under her arm. Anne winces at what she knows is the tacky feel of her sticky underarm pit cradled by Elaine Presley’s perfectly manicured hand. Why did she have to wear a yellow shift dress today of all days? She can feel Elaine’s fingers rubbing at the tassel on the waist, soothing her the same way Elvis does. By touch, gentle in a way that belies the ease with which she holds her upright. The woman is terribly strong for looking so delicate and there’s suddenly a great deal of logic to Elvis’ starry eyed submissiveness regarding his doll faced wife -Elaine is imposing when she gets her hands on you.

Embarrassment floods Ann next, blushing hot and dewy at being caught so weak in front of a woman the world would say she’s wronged. Heat replaces the cold and clammy dizziness of before and she struggles upright against the wall, getting her feet to work for her, stamping the heels a little to get a strong footing. Elaine doesn't budge in her grip on her, still looking concerned and gentle -god, she’s as comfortable with closeness as he is.

“Matter of fact I have neglected eating.” Ann chuckles weakly, puffing at the hair that’s fallen over her forehead and into her eyes, Elaine swipes it away when the directed huff proves ineffective against hairspray laden locks. “It’s been so hot and -and we had a dance scene, kept having to repeat it and -and so many takes. I got a little nauseous from the heat. I forgot to have lunch.”

“You’re probably dehydrated, poor thing.” Elaine tsks, “Makes folks sick and then they don’t want what they actually need. Happens to the kids on the beach all the time, it’s like bargaining with Castro trying to get Jesse out of the ocean to hydrate.” Ann finds herself chuckling at the mental image of this familial anecdote before she realizes she is chuckling at stories about Elvis’ kids. Should she say her condolences for Joe now? Should she even admit she knows as much as she does? “We should get some meat in you. Water, too.” Elaine decides her course for her, “Do you wanna go back in there to rest for a minute?” she points at the dressing room Ann just exited, “Or we can make a dash for my car and find ourselves a bite?”

What either of these options unspokenly state is that Ann will be spending her evening with Elaine, one way or another. If she’s gonna get throttled for being an adulteress she'd rather it be in a drive-in-diner and not some stuffy back-lot dressing room.

“I think I can manage the dash.” she answers agreeably because that’s what Elaine seems to illicit in her -agreeableness.

And as she finds herself tugged by the hand across the mostly empty parking lot, Ann wonders where that ornery streak she’s made her fame on has gone to. Maybe it’s the dehydration that has tuckered her out. Maybe it’s how Elaine acts like she’s her mother in a way that not even her own mother could make so charming.

Elaine is going to get her burgers and water and make her head less fuzzy. It’s been such a while since anyone met her needs so eagerly that Ann finds herself giggling as they race across the wavering hot asphalt, their heels echoing like clopping tattletales and Ann thinks it’s such a lark right as she tips over the convertible caddy’s door into the plush leather passenger seat.

The convertible is pink, because Elvis bought it for his wife and didn’t bother to ask her what her favored color would be, it was just understood that Mrs. Presley would like a pink Cadillac.

Ann is positive that’s how it went, she doesn’t even need to ask Elaine for the story as Elaine cranks the engine up while flipping the visor forward to tip out a pair of cat-eye shades in what strikes Ann as a strangely masculine getsure of proficiency. It makes Ann want to fan herself at the subtext of this woman having hung around Elvis Presley long enough to have picked up his impossibly cool mannerisms by osmosis.

That right there is intimacy. That right there is bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh. That’s a wife.

Ann doesn't know what to do with the rush of appreciation she feels towards what ought to be a nemesis as this cool gal who shields her knowing brown eyes behind tortoise rimmed glasses and flicks on the radios right as a crowd of studio workers begins to swamp the strange duo in their flashy ride.

The song choice by the DJ is downright unfortunate. Surrounded as they are by photographing fans and coworkers, there is nothing for them to do after Elaine’s manicured finger flicks the switch and the mournful rockabilly of Runaround Sue blasts as a ironically perfect soundtrack for the missus taking the side chick out for burgers.

Elaine’s gutsy laugh of recognition at the intro wailing “woaaaah woaaaah woaaaah” tells Ann she appreciates the irony just as much but the woman just waves at the crowd and revs the motor in a fake threat of running over a few studio heartthrobs who are draped over her caddy front trying to get a closer shot.

“If I change it now they’ll read into it more.” Elaine remarks to Ann out the side of her unwavering smile and Ann thinks that’s a talent she wants to learn, damned useful looking like you’re grinning while making conversation.

-‘ask any man that she ever knew, he’ll say keep away from a runaround sue, oh yeah, woaaaaaah”-

Elaine’s french tipped fingers thump out a corresponding rhythm on the pink lacquered steering wheel while surveying the mess of attraction they’ve brought down on themselves in the sweltering parking lot before playfully reaching for the wipers and flicking on the spray with bemused cruelty.

It’s strangely attractive, this distanced bemusement of hers and it fills Ann with notions of thanking Elaine for being a little nasty, something she never felt before for another soul. Suddenly those idiots who degrade themselves and get off in it make a little more sense as she watches the young bucks scramble off of Elaine’s shiny hood with soaked shirts and tented trousers.

“Sorry fellas, y’all were lookin’ overheated.” Elaine quips before the rest of the verbal sparring gets lost in the revv of the engine and they’re peeling out of the studio lot in a move that even Elvis would have found satisfyingly risky.

As it is, Ann lays her burning head back on the white leather seat and enjoys the feeling of the wind whipping her hair off her forehead as Elaine speeds them down Las Vegas roads that don’t tolerate a 75 mile an hour pace most times.

-“well I shoulda known it from the very start, that girl would leave me with a broken heart-“

The strip is truly lovely in the daylight and there’s a charm to it when viewed in the blur of a fast car and the veil of chocolate curls whipping around red painted lips.

“Was- that- did- did Robert Redford just wave you through his red light?” Ann splutters in disbelief at a lightning fast interaction at a four way stop that has Elaine’s head swiveling dangerously and a shark-like grin taking over her face.

“I think he did.” she replies with a guilty giggle and Ann wonders when the last time this woman got to be naughty without it being smothered right out of her the next second by a unfathomably possessive husband.

“A real good looking fella in the bright of day.” she ventures.

“He’s very blonde.” Elaine rejoins and Ann can’t help but laugh at that, at her partiality for dark haired men.

“Yes of course, you like yours so black they’re nearly blue.”

Elaine manages to swivel into their parking space in the drive-in diner with easy grace, the same sorta slide and swivel Ann imagines she’d use to scoot her body into a restaurant booth. “You’re forgetting who applies his hair dye.” she says with faux gravity that has Ann faltering for a moment until she sees her smirking, “And Jack’s not darkening up despite everyone’s predictions. I’m only saying that Redford is -“ Elaine doesn’t finish, she just shrugs and pulls the gear to park.

Noticing a star’s ride at first glance, an eager young waitress in her short skirt and rollerblades flys over and Elaine handles her and the order of five cheeseburgers and as many shakes with the same cooing authority she handled Ann with against the wall.

It sends Ann back to fidgeting, even more so when the girl takes off to plug in the order and Elaine turns the full weight of those perfectly lined eyes back at her and flicks up her sun glasses into her hair to study her closer. It lasts long enough that a blush burns Ann’s face and Elaine herself wonders if Elvis enjoys this girl’s charming unawareness of her own appeal.

Seemingly satisfied with her inspection for now, Elaine turns back in her seat and tilts the rear view mirror downwards to inspect the damage the wind did to her curls and upon catching sight of her face mutters,

“That man…” in a resigned drawl while dabbing away at a smudge of red lipstick out of her lip lines that could’ve only come about by a rather impassioned smooch. Ann figures Redford is not the man in question this time.

It makes Ann feel funny, the thought of having woken up in Elvis’ bed this morning and between then and seeing him again he’s already necked his wife. Necked her thoroughly by the looks of that finger fluffed hair. Anne recalls reading an article in the Whisper about Elaine’s perpetual state of tousled hair and bitten lips, a constant innuendo to what happens to the woman the minute the curtain drops on her picture perfect, wholesome and southern, utterly above reproach little family life. Elaine gets mauled by Elvis Presley, that’s what happens. Elvis who can play the gentleman all he wants during the mating dance but in the act itself promises nothing less than a full, thorough, beastly claiming of his woman.

“Wanna go in?” His wife is asking and it shouldn’t jar Ann as much as it does but she’s so lost in her head that it spooks her all the same and she ends up nodding mindlessly, trying to think about optics and failing to see how this could be anything but tragic for herself. “Alright but use the door handle this time, it’s got one.” Elaine snarks with a pretty little snarl of those red lips and Ann bashfully opens the caddy door properly this time instead of spilling over the side like a tomboy.

She’s still learning how to be what Hollywood wants her to be. Shedding her wholesome girl next door image for a sex kitten verve that hasn’t been entirely unnatural. But it takes a bit of balance as even sex kittens need some glamor, some poise and grace, even as they’re promisingly feral. It’s like tousled curls that hint at obscene amounts of public fuckery without being remotely indecent in itself. She watches Elaine swing open the diner door and wait with charming annoyance at Ann’s preoccupied dawdling. Being billed the “female Elvis” brought about the challenge of having to figure out what Elvis’ appeal even consisted of.

Getting to know the man…intimately…hadn’t made that any clearer. There was a mystique about him that she feared her own shy and frank nature could never manage to do more than a cheap imitation of. Now she was beginning to fear half of his appeal was the promise of his capability that was shown in Elaine Presley’s every move and smirk.

Asking his exquisitely poised and deliciously no-nonsense wife about it didn’t seem a smart move. Recovering from tripping over the curb like an awkward preteen, Ann ducks her head appreciatively for Elaine still holding the damn door open and slips inside the checkered diner.

It was teeth chattering cold in the leather booths after the heat of the ride and both Ann and Elaine found themselves shrinking from settling back into their seats, leaned forward instead with elbows on the table in a cozy pose but no topic of conversation to break the ice as they hovered in such close proximity.

“I thought this would be easier.” Elaine finally let out with a little huff and Ann couldn’t be sure if she was annoyed at her or the situation. “I thought we'd have a lot to talk about.” she explained with a hint of sadness that bewilders Ann. In response to her nonplussed face Elaine went on, “Why, you know…about…lord, our interests! Which as I hear of it consist of many of mine, motorcycles and dancing, my husband of course, and thumb sucking -to name a few.”

Ann inhaled her shake at the mention of that particular sex act, utterly unmoored at the notion he’d told his wife the actual detail. The fact the wife would tell it back.

Elaine was smiling at her coughing fit.

“He’s got such pretty fingers.” she commiserates without pausing in the assault as Ann wheezes

in a vanilla tinged breath, “It’s ingenious really, he said it worked a little too well.”

It had, that’s true, though Ann had never expected Elvis to leave her flat and call his wife up and tell her about how his young costar had cajoled him into rubbing himself to completion as she sucked his thumb in a pantomime of both fallatio and abstinence. Ann had never felt so filthy as she had when she’d watched a married man spew over his knuckles as he hooked his other thumb into her cheek at the same time, leaving her with a knowing smile, happy to keep her revved up and hungry for him for days after until he finally caved and-

“Makes me wanna try it.” Elaine’s voice cuts through the fog and Ann is faced yet again with the fact that this woman seems to wanna chat about her husband's technical infidelity like two girls at a sleepover. She’s still waiting for the seething possessiveness and or vicious cutting down to size.

“Thank you for the flowers, that was -that was much too kind.” Ann gets it out, burdened in a way she hadn’t been before the bizarre need to be liked by Elaine Presley had taken root.

“Thanks for being good to him.” Elaine replies without missing a beat but in so low and earnest a tone it seems to warm the entire diner and the leather feels cozy.

“I’m so sorry about Joe.” Ann blurts with hoarse earnestness because the grief of it is choking her as she watches this woman dazzle and smile her way through a cataclysmic tragedy, the size of which has Elvis Presley himself trying to sleep walk to his death to end the pain of it.

An emotion, something very cold initially and then frighteningly intense, almost a little ugly in its horrifying struggle flits across, then threatens to crumple, Elaine’s poised features and Ann suddenly wishes her tongue had been cut out, she oughta be locked up and never let out in polite society again. She watches helplessly as Elaine’s mouth firms into a hard line even as her eyes grow wide and wild and begin glittering madly with what Ann realizes, almost too late, are unshed tears -and then those perfectly manicured hands fly up to hide a deluge of grief that melts that serene facade.

“I-I’m so sorry, I just -I just had to say it.” Ann hears herself whimpering out condolences and excuses and her hands fumble over the linoleum table top in a helpless gesture as Elaine’s hands are too busy shielding her famous face from the entire diner’s occupants as her shoulders shake in a terrible rhythm that is peculiar to stifled sobbing. “I’m just so horribly sorry for you, for both of you, all of you. And everybody goes on like it didn’t happen but I- I can’t imagine how awful that is, the ignoring of it. I-I didn’t think before I said anything I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Elaine.”

Ann watches as the sobs seem to slow, and then they still, and eventually, this young woman leans forward again and rests her elbows on the table, face still hidden by her hands, one of which boasts that stupendously gaudy wedding band. Realizing there’s one thing she can mend, Ann reaches into her purse and digs out a hanky before pressing it against Elaine’s knuckles in a silent plea for her to use it.

It’s like witchcraft the way her face is entirely composed once those hands drop and the damp and smudged hanky is balled into her dainty fist. She’s looking straight past Ann at her surroundings, clocking her audience and even twisting a little in her seat to make certain no one’s overly enthralled by her lapse in perfection, it’s exhausting watching this haunted look of hunted excellence by, Ann can’t even imagine what it’s like living it. Suddenly Ann’s hands are being gripped and the woman’s fingers are burning hot and clammy and her eyes are boring into her own, seemingly satisfied that they are still anonymous enough for a little show of emotion and Elaine is murmuring in a husky whisper,

“Thank you, Thumper -you see, nobody talks about her. I-I -there’s no one I can talk to…about her.”

The fact that her own husband can’t even manage it but had to find a stranger to spill to instead strikes Ann with a fathomless guilt for taking that from Elaine, but it’s not as if she had elicited it! He came to Ann himself and what he spoke of she couldn't control. Still, actually getting to see the cracks in his wife’s soul from the loneliness of her grief is a different thing entirely and she is moved to make amends.

“You can always talk to me -if it helps.” she whispers and Elaine gives her a wincing smile.

“I don’t think anything will help.” Elaine replies with a moodiness that is both entirely understandable, if a little off putting in just how severe it is. And, forever the barometer of moods, as if sensing Ann’s unease with her glumness, Elaine perks up in a nauseatingly convincing display of cheer. “It’s just -I think that after Mrs. Kennedy lost her baby and all that sadness, the people just don’t have it in them to find much -interest, in the sad parts. They need happiness and, and courage from us.”

Elaine’s biting her lip in a vain attempt to make it stop wobbling and Ann wishes she could smack the American public for insisting these women, one the wife of the President and the other of the King, hold up a perfect little Camelot for them to read about every Sunday. It’s real lives, real lives grieving and straining and trying their best, real infants dying and golden couples struggling to regain intimacy beyond the midnight sobbing cuddle sessions that have taken the place of making love.

No money in the world is worth such a forced display of perfection in the face of such aloneness.

“You should worry about what you need right now.” Ann tells her what she told her husband the other night.

“Ah.” Elaine clicks her tongue doubtfully, “That’s all real well but I dunno what I need. But you -are you what Elvis needs? Hmm?”

Suddenly Ann wants to bolt again, throat tight and heart skipping a beat, “I-I don’t know.”

“How old are ya?” she asks like that is a natural progression in the conversation, as if Elaine is going to be the judge of wether it is beneficial for her husband to 69 his co-star in order to forget about his dead child.

“I’m twenty two.” It feels like a confession under that earnest eyed review.

“Lord.” Elaine bites off the head of a fry and Ann wishes she was a lil soaked potato crisp herself, that bemused meanness simmering to Elaine’s smooth surface again and turning Ann into a hot mess under her nylons. “And do you wanna get married, Miss Margret? You want kids and all that? Or is it the stage life for you?”

“No, I-I’d like kids, and I’d like to marry.” she insists, “Just not now -and not Elvis, of course not Elvis!”

“Well that’s good.” Elaine drawls sardonically, “Cause he’s taken and happy to be so.”

“Yes! Yes he loves you so much.” it’s a sort of masochism for Ann to admit that yet somehow she finds she doesn’t mind it.

“I know.” is all Elaine replies with, utterly unimpressed.

“So,” Ann finds this ordeal unbearable enough she might as well ask what’s been burdening her, “why did you wanna meet with me? Is- is he through with me?” The full scale of her own unease finally surfaces and she realizes she’s got cause to suspect Elaine of more than just being jealous. “Did he send you to do it? To break it off me with me?” she can’t help the way her voice raises in outrage, it may be misplaced but her love is not false and she doesn’t deserve this, he oughta man up and do his own dirty work.

Elaine doesn’t reply for a few beats that have Ann wringing her hands around her sweaty milk shake in suspense, curious as to why the woman doesn't take the easy route and admit it, crow over her -once again the straying husband has returned to her.

“This film has only got a couple of weeks left.” Elaine says instead in so measured a tone it slices Ann to the heart quicker than any boast, “But no, no he hasn’t sent me to do anything. I’m no one’s errand boy.”

“Of course not.” Ann mumbles in apology.

“But he has-“ Elaine’s mouth twists in distress over wording and every delay hurts Ann just a little more from suspense, “-Elvis has recommenced his interest in me.” that’s a positively hilarious way to say he banged his wife and not the side piece this afternoon and Ann hates her for her delicacy, and all the pain and complications it hides, “And the thing of it is, I’ve already noticed a waning of his preoccupation with you and -I’m just an observer. It’s what I do, I watch him and then I act on what he’s gonna do or what he’s gonna want. And, Ann, can I call ya Ann? Ann, I -I think he’s gonna try to move on from ya, when the movie wraps, like he’s moved on from the others.”

Ann bites at her straw and prays her jimmying leg beneath the table isn’t painfully obvious.

“I don’t want that.” Elaine states suddenly and Ann lets go of the poor, abused straw.

“What?”

“You’re not just some other gal, Thumper.” she rolls her eyes -fondly, unless Ann is greatly mistaken. “But I think he’d treat ya like one for me. I do think it’s what he intends to do. It’s -he said as much this afternoon…during.”

Ann’s cheeks flame hot from mortification and anger, but from something else too. An electric shock zapping through her at the unintended imagining of Elvis talking about her while buried inside of Elaine. To be thought of, spoken of, made a part of that dynamic…Ann is going to hell for the way it makes her clench and breath in like a panting racehorse.

“Well that’s all -settled for you, isn’t it.” she can’t help but try her hand at being a little mean herself. It comes out petulant and she winces at the pettiness of it.

“Yes.” Elaine doesn't bother with false remorse over her surety in her husband’s return, “Which means all that’s left is to help sort you.”

“Sort me?“ Ann isn’t above mud wrestling a fellow gal on the diner floor.

“Thumper, darling,” Elaine sighs gently while her eyes stray behind Ann’s head at some gathering fans behind them, “this industry crafts an image for its stars like suits for models. What they’ve got for ya right now sure is flattering, but make no mistake, they’ll be happy to discard you and your new suit whenever it no longer makes folks gossip. I’d like us to last a lot longer than all that.” her eyes focus back on Ann’s and a sad smile lights up her face, “I think we’ve got it in us to.”

“Who’s us?”

Elaine seems to take time to consider that before answering, “The trio of us.”

Ann remains wary, it’s altogether too easy to want her to mean what she can’t possibly have intended. “Us?”

“Yeah, us.” Elaine grins, “Or at least, I think that Thumper and Naughty and Tink could manage something. Even if the adults can’t.”

It’s wicked that smile of hers and awfully persuasive, like she’s figured something out. And maybe she has, that throat closing fear that Ann was a replacement suddenly allayed by the jimmying legged beauty who acts so brave while having the ill luck of having a soulmate in a married man.

Ann’s no replacement for Elaine.

She’s Elvis’ mirror and his double and a fondness blooms in Elaine’s heart for her at that realization, along with a healthy dose of exasperation that always seems to linger when in Elvis’ presence.

“So, will you let me sort you?” she presses the young woman and doesn’t miss the way she swallows hard in the same way Elvis does when Elaine starts bossing.

Interesting.

“Arrange a little something for us that’ll outlast those hooligans at MGM? You gotta think about what you want, Ann, they’ll get ya on the treadmill and never turn the damn thing down when you burn out unless ya make them. I’d have thought you’d have learnt that these past few weeks.”

Ann knows she’s referring to Elvis and his insomnia, his hollow eyed spouting of the newest script and his mechanical jiving while his soul atrophies from grief suppressed. Ann knows there’s a damned dead end at the end of loving him too thoroughly. Too exclusively. But God! -he made her feel important. That’s all a little silly now that she’s looking at his wife with those love kiss abrasions adorning her throat and a diamond weighing down her finger.

Ann wants Elvis. Ann also wants whatever it is Elaine’s got and if she ever wants to really get that, she's gonna have to let Elaine’s husband go and find herself one of her own. “Alright.” she whispers, smudging the linoleum table top with her wrist, “I mean -I would like to remain friends. Very much.”

“We can do better than just that. But it’s a start.” Elaine clicks her tongue in a strangely cocksure way that has Ann melting as she watches as if in slow motion as Elaine’s hand comes up to her face, a manicured finger swiping at the corner of Ann’s lip before bringing the vanilla frosted finger to her own mouth and sucking nonchalantly.

Already sorting her out and Ann complies with rapt attention and a shudder. “I had the good sense to leave Jack behind for this little visit.” she admits cheerily, as if making breezy conversation and Ann realizes the crowd behind her shoulder have moved in closer, “Which means we could have a dinner party, us three, and there’d be no chaperone to set a curfew.”

Mrs. Presley wiggles her eyebrows in a way that suggests they won’t be watching movies late into the night and Ann’s heart threatens to gallop away from her at the thought of it.

Someone from the crowd asks for an autograph.

Preoccupied, Ann accidentally writes “thumper” on the bottom of a fresh Polaroid depicting her and Elaine peeling out of the studio lot.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

I hope y’all enjoyed, after such a long pause I’d be astounded if any of y’all were still invested in this but I swear that while I may not be as prolific in the next few months, my gargantuan plot for this universe and others are still alive in my brain. Love y’all 😘 if you wanna be added to the taglist please comment below

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whatbigotspost · 9 months

Text

On being real mean and then less mean

Long post incoming........I've been chipping away at writing this for like a month now and (unlike my usual self) I've stalled out a few times unsure of what all I want to say. But I think I've got it squared up the way I would like to. Unfortunately, I need a long context laying preamble. Sorry this will feel like an online recipe experience 😅

As the 5 of you who usually read my blocks of text will know well, I grew up in a very toxic, abusive, high-control environment. If you wanted to intentionally produce kids who would have anxiety, shame, self-loathing, aggression, be overly-competitive, angry, and equipped with little-to-no social skills, you should be parented like I was. In my nuclear family, we couldn't have had worse life lessons or role modeling when it comes to building healthy relationships, strong friendships, and harmonious existence with others. Violence was often normalized. Manipulation was encouraged. Specific conditions and rules were put on receiving love and/or affection. We weren't seen as independent humans who had their own lives and thoughts and ambitions--we were seen as extensions of my father, brought into the world to be his unquestioning cheerleaders and adoring team, to do our best to become his clones, to live out his unrealized dreams, and to combat his grievances w/ the world.

In short, it sucked.

Above all, I was taught in a very deep and real way to hate myself, not that this was explicitly acknowledged mind you, but it was the implication of everything. This self loathing was an extension of my father's own insecurities and full inability to grow the fuck up and build a life for himself that was emotionally mature, resilience, and self-caring. This mentality, if truly internalized, creates ugliness from the inside that radiates outward. I can see that so clearly now, but back then, I didn't understand it at all.

I was implicitly taught a thought process like, "the best way to 'own' someone is to shit talk them into crying" or "you can make yourself look stronger and distract from your own shortcomings by staying 1 step ahead of everyone through making THEM feel like shit about their shortcomings."

But you weren't just mean to someone to stay ahead of them, you were also mean as a way to ingratiate others to you. "Telling it like it is" even if what you said was unnecessarily cruel, was a virtue. Like, "what? I'm just saying what we're all thinking!" kind of stuff. I was taught that "teasing" is a way you show someone you love them, where "teasing" means saying all kinds of awful things that are quite hurtful. I was taught that being funny was one of the most important qualities and it didn't matter if those laughs came at the expense of others' feelings and if, over time, your comments began to destroy those around you.

It's "just teasing." It's "just joking." It was a lot of "oh come, on grow a thicker skin" over "maybe saying cruel shit for fun is bad?" It was "God, I can dish it and I can take it, why can't you?" over "maybe I want friends who support one another instead of digging at our insecurities."

Some recent nostalgia I've been wallowing in this summer reminded me of my grossest self who lived by these rules.

Those worst moments, where I was a bully and an asshole, all occurred for me at school, when I was probably around 11/12 and older. School was a very interesting place for me. When I try to paint an efficient picture of what my childhood home was like for others, I often say, my family existed in a weird liminal someplace between mainstream, mid western white suburban society and a survivalist/separatist/cult/fringe culture (like Tara Westover describes in Educated or as seen in Captain Fantastic if you're familiar w/ either of those.) We were a cult of 4 and there were many things We Did Not Do, all my dad's rules. (My grandparent's house was a safe harbor unlike my home, but that's a tangent for another time.) That said, accessing education was something my father DID trust the local government to do (as long as he could emphasize over and over how we can't trust everything they say, we could trust their lessons of math, music, English, etc.) He strategically chose a place to live where I could get the best "free" education possible in Central Indiana. My social life existed fully in a traditional school setting, where it took me all of 2 seconds to clock that other kids' lives weren't like mine, and that was compelling to me. I became a lifelong student of interpersonal relationship dynamics far before I realized I had become a lifelong student of relationships. I remember when I was in elementary school journaling about and thinking about and talking about all the friend groups and dynamics, etc. Writing stories about friend groups. Creating Barbie universes and dramas with 2 neighborhood friends. Trying to spend more and more time w/ peers instead of family.

Beyond that, I loved school because I would receive praise and love at home for A's and praise and love from my teachers for being "so good" (aka offering 100% deference to adult authority as I been told to do, even if I could question them inside.) This all means when I was very young, I did SO WELL at figuring out school...how to make friends...how to get an A+...how to get teachers to love me...how to be The Good Kid...how to reduce my value to my grades and what I produced, which is a mentality I've still only begun to unweave from within me, some 30 years later.

Anyway, point is, despite the hand I was dealt, I somehow never had trouble making friends and with a lot of my closest friends, I wasn't all that mean to in the way I describe above, at least initially. But when I did apply that behavior, god damn was it ugly. I get that now, but back then, I felt cool as fuck.

The more it (temporarily worked for me) the more I used meanness. By the time I was like 17, I literally was known as mean and wore it as a badge of honor. Lacking emotional intelligence and an overtly loving home environment, I thought it was normal? cool? idk...to "not be able to handle mushy emotional stuff." I would (LITERALLY) run if friends were telling me they loved me. It became more and more common for me to apply, "witty mean girl" quips to even my closest friends. Stuff was said about me like, "oh, if she makes fun of you, it means she really loves you." I was always saying shit to gain laughs from others that really hurt some people and I would act like that was a THEM thing like "god, they're so sensitive, poor widdle baby."

NOT GOOD. Nothing to be proud of. Signs of someone who deep down hates themselves and hopes you don't notice because of a big, bad exterior. In this era, I was someone who attracted and accepted other toxic people and was abusive toward and accepted abuse from friends who had these same issues. How I met and fell in love w/ my partner who is not at all like this during that period of time back when sometimes confounds me. His boundaries and feelings are why I started really looking inward. His patience and willingness to understand what was going on for me was immense (as I was similarly patient for things related to his baggage.) FOR YEARS we had a dynamic where I'd "make fun of" "tease" "just joke" about him too harshly in front of others and he would ask me over and over to stop. I'd get better for a while, then I'd backslide and make him feel like shit in a group setting again--but hey! everyone laughed at my ~*~*just oh so hilarious comment*~*~ and so that makes it fine right?? Obviously, not, and the older I got the more I started to FINALLY see "mean" as mean and not "telling it like it is" or being a core part of my humor.

How I REALLY know that this toxic coping mechanism I used to my benefit was a thinly veiled defense mechanism style behavior to cloud my deep deep deep self loathing is because when I'd be talking w/ my partner about his very reasonable and normal request that I not say unnecessarily cruel things about him for fun in front of others, I would be afraid of things like, "But that's part of who I am? It's my humor."

I really thought so lowly of myself that I believed that if I wasn't witty-mean, people wouldn't love me. That I wouldn't still be funny. That I wouldn't be ME unless I was being MEAN. It was so backwards and upside down because my meanness did make me harder to be around, and people were right there loving me anyway, not because of it, but despite it.

It's so sad to realize this! Looking back and describing this girl now feels in both parts foreign to me and also like looking in a mirror. I've been in 20 years of some form or another of "recovery" from this kind of childhood now, and I'm about 15 years into true healing and re-parenting myself. Almost 14 years ago, I made the biggest shift toward killing this old mentality...I moved away from my home town and the people I spent my days around to that point. I had an opportunity for a hard reset in my social life and behaviors, leaving behind old reputations that didn't serve me. And I’m still me. I’m spicy and I’m real and I’m blunt and I’m funny but I’m not cruel or mean anymore. The old me sometimes still rears her ugly head, especially when I'm tired, stress, or dysregulated. But it's less "how I am" now than ever in my life.

As I've been thinking about this whole topic for quite a few weeks now, and I tried to articulate what I did that really changed me and allowed me to shed that mean girl shell of armor I was wearing that I had so thoroughly needed to outgrow. If these things resonate with you, I do have some pieces of advice.

Speak from your personal values 100% of the time. That means defining your personal values first, not just accepting what you think is valuable you've been told by others. Once I grew the maturity to understand I needed my own life values, it was very simple to grasp that I was not in line with them. My top 5 personal life values are: love, equity, humor, loyalty, and open communication. Mean jokes don't check many of those boxes.

Become your own best friend first. My behaviors were driven by self-hatred I did not choose. When I choose how I want to feel about myself, I choose self-compassion, and I actively cultivate this mentality and practice all. the. time so that I don't backslide.

Stop "telling it like it is." This is not helpful. No one needs something obvious and cruel pointed out. This is basic "THINK" acronym stuff. It's a classic because it works. Is what you're about to say.... "true, helpful, inspiring, necessary, kind." Telling it like it is is only TRUE, it's rarely -HINK.

Never "just joke" about something someone could possibly be vulnerable about. If someone has a physical wound, you don't jab your finger into it for fun. When someone has an emotional tenderness, you similarly don't jab a mean comment into it. When in doubt, just don't joke about it.

Have actual hard conversations and "call outs" in the right times/spaces. Sometimes behavior that one friend may call "mean" is actually a very necessary hard conversation to the other person. So it's helpful to just remember that those kind of real-deal communications are rarely done effectively or productively with an audience or by using humor. Real shit deserves a real shit tone.

Push yourself to say the nicest stuff and just be fucking sincere and genuine. Tell your friends you love them. Tell your friends when you are obsessed with what they are achieving/doing/saying. Tell your friends WHAT you love about them. Make an effort for your most important relationships to have far, far more "positive bids" than negative.

Use "teasing" or "self deprecating" humor selectively and strategically. Sometimes, my partner and I DO tease each other by having open communication and actually knowing one another's boundaries, I now understand what's fine and what's not. So I can proceed w/o hurting him. But I don't know most people to that level, so I'm not going to try to tease someone else in front of others w/o that knowledge anymore. Self deprecating humor has also been a go-to for me in the past and one of the people I could be meanest to was myself. I realized I should use it sparingly with people who I don't know well, too, because I don't necessarily need to give them a cheat sheet to what my baggage is. And lastly, in general, I think that we should ALL be very very careful to spare strangers our sarcasm, deadpan comments, or whatever. Many folks are neurodiverse or otherwise don't get your sarcasm and your implications can be lost in translation. You never know what topics, with strangers, might be a hornet's nest you stumble into.

PFEW! Ok, I think that's plenty for now! If you've got similar tips or thoughts, LMK! Of course, I still fuck up my practice of not being mean all the time, but the best thing about having done this work and shared it with those around me is that my friends are much more like to say something like, "OW! Was that your dad talking for a sec?" and help me than to just go on assuming I'm an asshole. 😆

#healthy relationships #abuse #interpersonal relationships #toxic relationships #child abuse #self compassion #healing #reparenting #resources #advice

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