#you cannot compare any other relationship with the way they love each other | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ghost-proofbaby · 4 months

Text

the seasons pass (but you never do) - e.m.

summary: he knew your reputation. he knew you had you way with half of hawkins. it was never going to end well - but that didn't stop him.

warnings: reader is NOT a good person (need to emphasize this), billy hargrove is involved and sort of ooc, smut, oral (fem receiving), a lot of hurt, not a 'happy' ending, reader has severe issues with self-esteem (not in the usual obvious way), very self-sabotaging reader. mentions of reader having adult relationships with multiple male characters. NOT A 'HAPPY' ENDING. minors dni - 18+

pairings: eddie munson x fem!fuckgirl!reader (with mentions of steve x reader, johnathan x reader, and billy x reader.)

wc: 8.4k+

a/n: i cannot emphasize enough - the reader in this fic is very toxic. she is not a good person. this does not end well. also, be wary, as billy is used as the easiest companion who can align with her being a bad person, so she is friends with him. this probably won't be everyone's cup of tea, but it's been a year in the works! thank you to anyone who reads. <3 also, HUGE thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for making that banner for me. i am undeserving of your talents baby.

oh, also, here's a fun playlist to go along with it.

SUMMER, 1988

It was always going to end this way. It’s how it’s supposed to go - you met him, you wanted him, you got him, you left him. There was never any illusions on your part as to what this was. He knew your reputation. He knew the ending. You knew the ending.

It was always going to end this way.

There was no amount of flowers he could have got you, no amount of midnight rendezvous to change this course. It never mattered how his laughter wound your chest tight or how his fingers fit a little too perfectly between yours. You didn’t do long-term relationships, and he always asked for too much from you. You could give him a summer, no more and no less. He knew that, you knew that, all your previous flings knew that. There was only one ending ever in sight for the two of you.

So why does it hurt so much when you catch sight of him around town with her?

Chrissy Cunningham is beautiful. She’s all shades of sunrise pinks, flavors of sweetness that spur stomach aches - the epitome of enchantment and a type of softness you couldn’t compare to. And when you see her arm in arm with him, you can see that beauty of hers painted across him. Her pinks paint roses on his cheeks, her laughter etches dimples into his cheeks you’d only ever seen in the late hours of the night. She makes him happy. She makes him look lovesick. She doesn’t hide him in the darkness, she flaunts him in the light, and he looks devastatingly beautiful without the shadows.

You should be happy for him. It shouldn’t phase you; you didn’t bat an eyelash when Steve Harrington had taken to dating every other girl in the town after your spring with him. You never winced when Johnathan Byers started dating Nancy Wheeler after a flirtatious fall with you. Billy Hargrove had been on the same page as you, ready to brave a chilling winter with you and accept when the ice melted along with the infatuation, returning your winks when you spotted each other with your newest one night stands in shared bars.

But Eddie’s summer stuck to your skin. No amount of showers run cold, no amount of new partners who you won’t allow to spend the night, wash you clean of him. The change in the leaves only amplified the ache left in your chest when August turns to September. The flowers weren’t the only things wilting when September flashes into October.

You miss him terribly, and it’s all your fault.

You let him stick around far longer than you should have. You let his wandering lips slot between yours and you let him sleep at your side from the very first night. When it was all said and done, you were the one that broke every single imaginary rule you had set for yourself, and the blame was yours to carry. Eddie Munson was never going to be a three month memory to wipe away with the steam of your mirror. He’d done it, he’d left his mark. He’d managed to make the streets of Hawkins feel cold and empty in his absence, to make everything dull in comparison to your life before him.

You empty the last of your glass of wine, all bitter and tinged on your tongue, and chuckle internally as you watch Eddie’s hand’s find Chrissy’s hips from across the bar. Go figure.

SPRING, 1987

The Hideout was busy as ever, booming with business on a Saturday night as you reentered the scene. Your ‘date’ for the night was still outside the bar, surely not even entertaining the thought of coming back inside.

He hadn’t taken to you breaking the news that it was over kindly.

“You never let them down easy, do you?” Billy chuckles as he leans against one of the standing tables near the bar. He had seen the look in your eyes when you dragged the nameless boy out the front door; he’d seen it plenty of times before. Starry eyed boy, ever-fleeting girl. They were fools, and they should have noticed your wandering eyes and lack of commitment from the get-go.

“Never,” you smirk back as you approach him. The live band had just finished, the music over the speakers nothing compared to the deafening screams of the guitars that had played, “It’s not my fault the boys in this town never learn their lesson.”

Billy only shrugs and throws back the last of his whiskey, “What did it this time? Did he drop the big L? Maybe he brought you flowers like Harrington did that one time?”

“Oh, God,” you place a hand over your heart dramatically, “Please don’t remind me. Breaking his heart nearly broke my nonexistent one.”

“Yeah, right,” Billy cackles, “Still can’t believe you ever gave the sap a chance. Or what about Byers, hm?”

“Couldn’t break a heart I never had. He always had eyes for Wheeler, that’s what made it fun,” you shrug and grab at a fruity drink that had been abandoned at the table, “To answer your question, he got clingy. All jealous because I was making eyes at the lead singer,” you tip your chin towards the stage that’s now empty and take a sip of the cocktail, “Say, what happened to your date? She looked pretty.”

“You were making eyes at Munson? Doll, I knew you were getting desperate after me, but him?” Billy cuts himself off with a low whistle.

“Shut up,” you take another long sip of the drink. It’s sweeter than your preference, but free alcohol is free alcohol, “Tell me what happened to the blonde you were chatting up.”

“I’m more into redheads.”

“Aw, but it looked like you two were really hitting it off.”

“I had to have three shots before I could stomach her laughing at my jokes.”

You reach over to pinch his cheeks, receiving sharp slaps against your wrists.

“Hot,” you coo before leaning back and ending his attack against your hands, “You know, if we both strike out tonight, we could always go home together.”

“You struck out, the night is still young for me,” Billy grins wickedly and looks around the busy bar for emphasis.

There’s a small commotion at one of the doors to the side of the stage, and you glance over to catch sight of the band that had been playing exiting.

The lead singer, Munson as Billy had referred to him, was just as stunning when taken down from his stage pedestal. His hair had been pulled back into a low bun, his torso once exposed on stage now covered in a faded Judas Priest tour shirt, but his Cheshire smile on his face was just as brilliant without the stage lights. Dimples hidden by the dark bar lighting, plush lips and scruff framing his face.

Billy catches you staring at him.

“Maybe you didn’t strike out,” he hums, “You gonna go for it, hot stuff?”

You smile in return. Something dangerous, something evil yet inviting, “I might. I do need a new play thing for the summer, after all.”

“Careful. I’m sure there’s a line of groupies willing to fight you for the Eddie Munson.”

Billy had been mocking you with a shrill voice, but he had been wrong.

There was no line of girls for you to compete with as you approached Eddie. And if there was, they wouldn’t have stood a chance. From the moment you had smiled at him, uttering your name into Eddie’s ears over the bass of the music, placing a careful hand on his shoulder and telling him how much you just adored his music, he had been hooked. You had him in your grasp from the start.

And maybe Billy knew that as he flashed you a sly grin over a redhead’s shoulder as you dragged Eddie behind you later that night, heading for the restrooms that patrons notably didn’t use.

It was your lipstick smeared over Eddie’s neck that night, it was your name falling from his lips as you pressed him against a stall wall, it was your hair that he tangled his hands in as you sat pretty on your knees before him, it was your nails digging into his jean-clad thighs as he fucked your mouth. No, other girls never would have stood a chance.

By the end of that night, you hadn’t even cum, but you thought nothing of it, still smug that you’d found yourself a new supposed victim. You’d never considered which one of you truly held the match, which one of you might bleed gasoline rather than crimson blood.

All that you considered was the fact that you’d wanted Eddie, and you’d got him, just as it always went.

That was only the first night.

SUMMER, 1987

You fall for him in the summer. You convince yourself you’re in control still, but it’s fruitless - you’d lost control the moment you’d tasted him on that dizzy spring night rather than waiting for the arrival of summer’s heat.

“Come over.”

Two simple words, yet the moment you’d spoken them over the line, Eddie had wasted no time to speed his way across town for your apartment. He was officially at your beck and call. You said the word, and he was at your dispense.

It was the fastest he’d ever arrived at your doorstep, rapping his knuckles against familiar rosewood and listening to the familiar weight of your footsteps approaching the door.

“Hey, you,” you sigh softly once you catch sight of him in your porchlight. The creatures of summer buzz as background noise as you drink him in. Same wild curls, same deviant smirk. There looks to be new rips in his black jeans, and his shirt is wrinkled, but none of that shatters the dreamy image of him to you.

You still want him just as badly as you had the first night.

“Sorry I took so long,” he teases, leaning into the doorframe you rest your hip against, “Traffic, you know.”

“Oh, of course. It’s just terrible this time of year,” you play along. You both know he’d made the fifteen minute drive in under ten minutes. But there’s something in the warm air, something electric and fluttering and addictive and palpable. You’re sure if you were to rest your hand flirtatiously against his chest as you normally did with your rotation of partners, that he’d burn you.

Something new. You tell yourself it’s just the excitement of a fresh Summer plaything, and you ignore the voice that whispers with the reminder that this started in the Spring.

“You gonna let me in?” he nods in the direction of your apartment behind you, bathed in a soft yellow from the dusk and the lamp on the table beside your couch.

You bring a hand to your chin and tap a finger mockingly, “Hm, I don’t know. Should I?”

“You should,” he leans even closer.

“I might need convincing.”

His breath washes over your cheek, so gentle you could have mistaken it for the summer breeze. You can smell the spice of his cologne, the stubborn smoke from his last cigarette. It makes your head spin.

“Convincing, you say?” he murmurs as his lips graze your earlobe, “I’ve been known to be convincing.”

This was something you enjoyed about him. He wasn’t like other boys - he didn’t fall to your feet and praise the ground you stood on, not directly. He didn’t follow you like a lost puppy. He took the time to dance with you, to entertain you with banter and to enrapture you with the chase. Maybe that’s why Spring and Summer felt the same when it came to him.

“I call bullshit,” you laugh breathlessly as his lips connect with your neck, making a trail of pecks until he reaches the bare skin of your shoulder. “You still haven’t convinced me to listen to Metallica.”

“We’ll get there, baby,” he whispers against your skin as his fingers sneak beneath the strap of your tank top, “Just be patient.”

The pet name strikes a kink in your armor, and in an instant, your hands are on his shoulders and dragging him into the living room, barely remembering to slam the door shut behind him.

You never let them call you nicknames normally. Billy had been the only exception.

But when he calls you baby, something blooms in your chest. And it’s vines and thorns alike twist and prick your gut, deflating your better judgment as the two of you are a mess of clumsy limbs that can’t seem to navigate your hallway fast enough. You can’t seem to get him to your bed fast enough.

“Off,” he demands against your lips when you finally have him sitting on your comforter, thighs straddling his as his hands tug at the tank top’s hem.

“What happened to patience?” you tease, but you’re already complying, shucking off the fabric and exposing yourself to him. You’d foregone a bra - it was too hot in Hawkins this time of year.

He doesn’t offer you an answer, hardly taking the time to suck in a deep breath before his mouth wraps around one of your peaked nipples and his large hand spans across your back to press you as close to him as he can get you. You’re already moaning too loudly, sure to receive noise complaints from the neighbors tomorrow. But you’re not thinking about the neighbors or tomorrow, you can only focus on his tongue and lips, working soft magic over your body as he twists the two of you so that he’s hovering over you.

“Fuck,” you blissfully breathe out, fingertips raking through the roots of his curls. His mouth has moved on to your other breast, leaving blooming petals of bruises in its wake.

Another thing you’d never allow to happen with any of the other boys.

No marks. A simple rule. A forgotten rule when it came to Eddie.

“You like that?” he chuckles as he places a final chaste kiss to your chest, lifting his head and staring up at you with his bambi eyes. He had the kind of eyes you could get lost in, wander and wade through for hours if given the chance. Shadows of brown and honey intertwining, beckoning to you with a promise of the adoration you seeked out.

You do like that. As a matter of fact, you love it.

“I like it better when your mouth is busy, rockstar,” you say as if you wouldn’t listen to him talk for hours, as if you hadn’t listened to him speak about nonsense as the time passed the two of you by.

He takes his cue, and he does as you ask. He traces roadmaps down your stomach, across your thighs and hips, not uttering a single word until he’s pulled away your cotton shorts and lace underwear.

When he’s face to face with your heat, he finally speaks again.

“Beautiful.”

It’s just a word. If any of your previous flings had spoken it, you’d smack them away and declare the moment over. In fact, you’d done just that with your autumn boy from last year. You weren’t here to be called beautiful, to be held carefully or to be praised as you let them take you however they pleased. You were here to get one thing and one thing only - your own pleasure.

Your back still arches when he says the word, your vines still crack your ribs just as they had reacted to the utterance of baby.

The thorns prickle beneath your skin when he makes you cum with his tongue once, twice, thrice too many times. When he pulls your body to his, when you allow him to forego the protection of a condom and you let him sigh contentedly into your mouth when he slides in, it all pierces you the same.

And when your voice has grown hoarse from chanting his name and your lips have gone chapped from kissing him desperately, you break your final damning rule.

“Stay with me?”

The plea comes out soft and heavy as your head rests against his chest. Even with your window open, the night breeze drifting in, the heat is stifling. It’s too warm to stay pressed so closely together, but it doesn’t stop you from clinging your body to his.

He doesn’t hesitate in his reply, “Of course.”

The two of you sink further into your sheets and each other. It wasn’t the first time Eddie Munson spent the night in your bed, and it surely wouldn’t be the last.

AUTUMN, 1987

“You like him more than you liked the others.”

It’s not a question - it’s a fact secured in concrete that falls from Billy’s lips as the two of you lean against the brick exterior of the Hideout. A cigarette is half-gone and held limply between his lips, yours freshly lit and clung to tightly between white knuckles.

“I don’t like him,” you scoff, “He’s a good fuck.”

You weren’t here on your normal business, scoping for another warm body to join you in your bed for the night. Eddie’s band, Corroded Coffin, was performing one of their weekly shows.

“Right. A good enough fuck to live to see the fall,” Billy presses, raising his eyebrows at you as he takes another drag and let’s the whisps of white smoke carry off into the cool night.

You’d just been striking out. That’s what you had told yourself. It was bound to happen eventually; you’d hit a dry streak, and you’d have to eventually find a repeat offender. Eddie was just that for you. Someone easy to fall back on. It didn’t hurt that you also enjoyed his company, especially when he’d swing you around in your kitchen while the two of you made dinner in your apartment or when he’d let you cuddle into his neck during the scary movie marathons you’d began to take part in with Halloween now looming around the corner.

“I haven’t seen you getting lucky,” you snap, a sudden defensiveness taking over. A lie, of course. You hadn’t frequented the bar enough lately to even know the last time your former fling had gotten laid.

Billy throws up his hands as he discards the butt of his cigarette, “Hey now, don’t get so feisty, doll. It’s okay to admit you’re going soft.”

Soft. Soft like Eddie’s hands when he pulled your hips against his night after night. Soft like Eddie’s eyes when he watched you in the shower during the mornings after, quick to swipe away any shampoo that drips down your forehead and dangerously close to your own eyes as you wash your hair. Soft like your voice every time you asked him to stay, over and over, never learning your lesson.

“I’m not going soft,” is all you say as you put out the cigarette, not even half-finished, and move to go back inside.

You’re not having this conversation. There’s nothing more to dissect. You weren’t going soft and you couldn’t like Eddie, it wasn’t in your nature.

It’s a mantra you repeat to yourself as you take in the sight of him still setting up the stage. You catch his eye and he grins at you, and you remind yourself you’re not soft. No, whatever this feeling is, it’s not soft. It is angry and loud, it is demanding and sharp. It is copper on your tongue and it is raging storm clouds in your mind. It is the opposite of everything he has been to you; it is every contrast possible to the way he treats you.

He treats you like a human being. You’re not a prize, you’re not an idol – you’re just a person, and sometimes, he treats you as if that’s the greatest thing you could possibly be.

When the show is over and rounds have been bought for the band, he comes home with you. He staggers on his feet and you know he’s had too much whiskey for his own good. Normally, any guy this drunk would be told to piss off.

He’s not any guy. He’s Eddie.

And so you take his drunken state in strides. You let his body lean into you as you guide him up the steps to your front door, you only smile when he gets handsy, you offer weak laughter at his terrible jokes.

“You only want me for my body,” he teases you between kisses when you hook your fingers into his jean’s belt loops to keep him close and upright, “Don’t you?”

This is the part where you tell him yes. You’re supposed to tell him he’s nothing more than a cure for the looming loneliness.

You shake your head.

“I’m not, but I can’t ride your personality, can I?” your fingers retract from the loops, and trace their way up his chest, memorizing the muscles beneath the t-shirt. It’s too faded to see the band logo once advertised.

“You could try,” he sways, and your wandering fingers curl into fists into the cotton material, “P-Probably be pretty hard, though. Just like me.”

He takes one of your hands and places it over the bulge in his jeans.

If he were any other guy, you’d play into it, because if he were any other guy, you’d be expecting to get something out of this night for your own selfish needs.

“Not so fast, rockstar,” you bring your hand back up to his chest as he hiccups, brows furrowed at your subtle rejection, “Let’s get you inside, yeah?”

It’s an uphill battle of gangly limbs and stumbling steps. He falls against your hallway walls more times than you can count as you guide him to your bedroom and allow him to splay out on the mattress. The laces of his combat boots are impossibly knotted, but you win the war in the end and tug them off of him. He wiggles his toes within his socks, and watches you with half-lidded eyes.

“This is the part where you try to ride my personality, right?” he tempts you, the wiggling in his toes flowing up to his eyebrows, eyes alight with mischief.

Your hand is gentle as you grab his ankle, exposed from jeans that had ridden up into scrunched material around the bottom of his calf. “Right. Let me get you some water first.”

You leave him to rush to the kitchen, gathering the glass of water you’d promised along with a bottle of painkillers from your medicine cabinet. For a moment, you take in the silence and lean your palms onto the cold kitchen counter.

Five months. Two months too long, technically, if you were comparing it all to your track record. He’d seen the eggshell white walls of your apartment more than your own mother, more than your closest friends. At this point, even on your most lonesome nights, you found yourself leaving an Eddie-sized space on the sheets beside you. One of your pillows now permanently smelt like him. There was a mug in your cabinet reserved for him and his ridiculously sweet coffee preference. You’d bought his favorite brand of cigarettes just last week, far stronger than your preferred menthols, and you’d found one of his socks discarded in your dirty laundry.

No, this wasn’t soft. It couldn’t be.

When you finally return to your room, he’s already asleep. You still leave the water and the pills on the bedside table for the next morning, when he’d need them. You try not to think too hard about the way that even in his drunken slumber, he’s left a perfectly you-sized space beside him, arm thrown out perfectly so that you can curl into him once you’ve brushed your teeth and dressed down into pajamas.

The last thing you remember before you fall asleep against him is the way your soft hand grazes over his stomach in soothing circles, and the way your brain softly whispers in the hope of his hangover not being too cruel to him come morning light.

WINTER, 1987

“Eddie! Stop it!” you squeal when he nearly takes you down with him as his back connects with the polished ice beneath the two of you.

Ice skating wasn’t the best idea for two people who were notoriously uncoordinated. But he’d asked you to come with him, and you’d put up little resistance.

“Ow, fuck,” he groans, still laying flat on his back with his eyes squeeze shut, legs spread wide as you wobble on your skates, “That fucking hurts.”

“I bet it does,” you nearly giggle, childish with your rosey cheeks and pink-tipped nose. Your smile is infectious once he opens his eyes and catches sight of you fighting back your laughter.

It was the first time the two of you had ever gone out before dark with each other. Although, you were sure by the time you two had finished your goofing off inside the indoor ice rink, it’d be night.

“Oh yeah,” he drawls, struggling to lift himself onto his elbows, “Laugh it up, chuckles. Don’t think I’ve forgotten your first fifty falls.”

“Fifty?” you squeak, forcing faux offense, “I only fell twice, thank you very much.”

It takes a bit for him to finally find his footing once more, plenty of hesitant and awkward movements to simply stand up right before you. Once you’re nearly face to face again, he’s pouting. “Kiss it better?”

Your feet shuffle beneath you, struggling to keep your balance. Your hands fly out and grab onto one of his forearms for balance, “Where’s it hurt?”

“Right here,” his free hand lifts to point to his lips, accentuating his pout further.

“Funny,” you muse, “I don’t recall you falling on your face - this time.”

He huffs as you begin to lose your balance again, one of your hands slipping down his wrist until your fingers are intertwined to the best of your abilities given the angle. His hand is freezing from the ice. Even despite his teasing, he’s quick to work with you, keeping the two of you standing straight with ever-shuffling feet.

“Residual pains or whatever they call them,” he waves off, tapping his lips again to make a point. You roll your eyes, but you’re still quick to lean forward and peck him.

“That’s all?” he whines, already moving in for another kiss.

Any onlooker would assume it’s a date. But it couldn’t be - you didn’t do dates. It was two friends, two acquaintances really, hanging out for the sake of fun. Just as you fell back on Eddie when your nights grew forlorn, he had seeked you out for comfort on his isolating days. It was just another perk of your arrangement.

An arrangement that had dragged on for eight long months.

“You’re greedy,” you mumble against his lips as he tries to deepen the kiss and you deny him.

“Of course I’m greedy,” he replies, nipping at your bottom lip playfully, “Can you blame a guy when it comes to you?”

You couldn’t, you really couldn’t. You’d had your fair share of possessive types in the past, the kind that felt the need to always claim you as your own. And you would have found it hot, too, if it didn’t feel like they reduced you down to nothing more than some trophy to parade around town.

Eddie didn’t do that. He was still greedy, he had still gotten daring with marking you as his own as of late, but he never reduced you. He never forced you to shrivel in size, never tried to compact you into the box he needed you in. He took you as you were.

You were enough for him. For the first time in a very long time, you were enough.

If you thought about it too long, you would have become dizzy out there on the ice with Eddie. So you don’t think about it. You indulge yourself in banter and echoing laughter, in the scolding looks from nearby parents when one of you makes a crude joke loud enough for their children to hear. You claim your indulging him with the incessant kisses, but you know deep down they’re also for you. To feel his lips on yours. To feel his hands on your hips. To feel his fingers between yours.

To feel like enough.

You’re both still giddy when you approach the counter after several hours have passed, dropping your rented skates on the counter as you glance to the arcade filled with patrons. Glowing lights and trilling noises emit from the area, tangling with giggling that you can’t quite place as coming from there or the ice. It’s loud enough that Eddie has to lean in closer to the teenager working the cash register.

He insisted on paying. You’d tried to fight him on it, but he insisted it was his treat.

It’s during this momentary separation, in which your worlds’ briefly stop revolving around each other, that you spot him. He must have been here for as long as you and Eddie had been, and you must have just been too wrapped up in enough to have noticed him sooner.

Just as you see him, he sees you. Just as you prepare to turn on heel, to return to hiding into Eddie’s enough, he’s calling your name.

It’s loud. It mingles with the sounds already coming from the atmosphere. Eddie doesn’t hear him, but you do.

“Steve,” you try to greet him with a friendly tone through your clenched teeth, taking a few steps further away from Eddie, away from enough and blissful delusion, “I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“Yeah,” he looks as if he’s seen a ghost as he approaches you, “Yeah, not since, uh- well, you know.”

Not since the night you’d officially cut all ties with him, somewhere between Jonathan and Billy. You’d broken his heart. You’d nearly broken your own.

Your lips are pressed into a tight lip smile as you try to redirect the conversation, “How’ve you been?”

“Good! I’ve- uh, yeah, good. You?”

I’ve been on a downward spiral of breaking every single rule that I have spent my entire life curating for my dating life, and I know you’re aware of this by the way you just looked at Eddie over my shoulder, and the way your brow is furrowing, and I get it. I get it. I fucked up.

“I’ve been alright,” you force your jaw to relax, you force a kind and shy smile. It’s almost akin to the ones you’d originally flash him to get him in your grasp, “How’s Nancy?”

Nancy Wheeler. After you left Steve the first time, letting whatever situationship that had begun just fizzle out, he’d ran into her arms. From the get go with Jonathan, you’d always known you were a placeholder for her. Even Billy had made a damn pass at her once you guys gave up at spring’s dawn; he’d claimed it might as well be a tradition now, only laughing as Nancy shot him down as expected.

Nancy Wheeler was everything you weren’t. She could promise these men security, stability, commitment, a future. She didn’t hide them. They weren’t dirty secrets forced to only wander into her arms late at night, they weren’t kicked out at the end of each night once she’d had their way with them.

Nancy probably never had her way with men, you realized, more likely letting them have their way with her.

“We broke up,” Again. He forgets to add the again.

They’d gotten together after that first time, been together while you had fun with Jonathan, broken up the moment you were finished with Jonathan and he could go to where he belonged – with Nancy.

Of course, when Jonathan chose a different university to go to, somewhere far away from Nancy, those two had broken up. Steve had swooped in again. It was a never ending headache of small town gossip you had grown tired of hearing about.

“I’m sorry,” you aren’t really, “That’s… forget I’m asked,” you’d feel worse if you hadn’t seen the girl waiting to the side for Steve. His date, no doubt.

“No worries, it’s been a while since it happened anyways,” he shrugs it off, but you can still see the hurt in his eyes.

He’d once called you drunkenly, going off on how he was going on all these dates trying to find you or Nancy again, how none of them were you or Nancy. Which, at the time, just irritated you because Steve, why do you still have my number? But now? Now, you almost get it. You almost understand the pain of searching for a familiar face in the eyes of strangers because any time you had gone to your usual haunts these last seven months, you found yourself searching crowds for wild, messy curls and warm brown eyes. For shades of honey and the scent of tobacco drowned out by cheap cologne.

You hadn’t been striking out anymore, the realization hits clear as day. It’s not even that you were being as picky as you normally were – none of the guys were Eddie. None of them had freckles below their right eyes that made your breath catch, none of them had the same calluses along their fingers from years of guitar practice. None of them had the same boyish grin that shone through the dark of your room at two in the morning, leaving you with no choice but to let him stay. They weren’t Eddie.

“You like him more than you liked the others,” Billy’s voice reverberates from the back of your mind.

The truth seeps into your bones like ash and flames, a fever burning you from the inside out.

Steve only fans the flames when he nods over your shoulder at Eddie, “So, are you and Munson a thing now?”

Flames. Hot coals in the back of your throat, lively embers trailing down your spine. You’re watching the entirety of who you had worked so hard to become over the years bursting into flames.

“What?” you whisper, not realizing Eddie had finished paying behind you, “No. No, we- no. We aren’t anything. We’re just… we’re just friends.”

Even the word friends whispers away into smoke, choking you up.

“Friends? Looks like you two were on a date, like he’s your boyfriend or something.”

“Well, we’re not. He’s not.”

Steve hardly buys it, but when Eddie joins your side once more, you don’t even offer him a glimmer of a farewell. You grab the wrist of your friend, your not boyfriend, and you high tail out of there. Still choked up, still running, still reeling.

It’s still light when you leave the building and your hand drops from Eddie’s. You’ll both pretend the cold is from the weather, and not the distance you put between him and yourself.

And if he heard your conversation with Steve, he doesn’t bring it up. Not that night, at least.

SPRING, 1988

“I can’t do this anymore.”

You got him in the spring – it makes sense that you lose him in the spring.

“What do you mean?” you play dumb, painfully coy as you continue to rinse the dishes. Plural. Dishes that the two of you had just dirtied through a painfully tense dinner together. In your apartment, at the counter of your tiny kitchen, knees not even so much as brushing.

“This,” something has broken inside of him. Snapped, shattered, splintered. “It’s been a year, and I keep telling myself that you’ll come around, but-”

“Come around?” you cut him off with a laugh, one that stabs not only through his chest but your own. A double-edged dagger that has been sharpening itself for a year now, “Come around to what, Eddie?”

He hadn’t expected the way you lash out, the cold storm that you had been consumed by since the winter night where Steve had looked at you like something had changed in you. As if you had finally gotten better, as if you had had something sour in you all along and Eddie had managed to magically drain you of it.

He couldn’t. He never was going to be able to.

“Me?” he’s not sure of himself, voice wavering and eyes sparkling as they widen with tears of frustration, “Us? Fuck, I don’t know, but I can’t keep-”

“You thought I would come around to the idea of us?” your voice is cool and collected, nothing like his, as you finally turn around, “What, like we’re dating?”

You were. A year of this back and forth, and you were too stubborn to just accept it. It was your downfall. It was the bleeding wound for not only yourself, but for Eddie – for this, as he had called it.

You like him more than you liked the others.

So, are you and Munson a thing now?

A good enough fuck to live to see the fall.

You were never going to be enough for him. In your lifetime, you’d always known what you were good for, and it wasn’t for boys like Eddie Munson.

“What else do you call this?” he motions vaguely to the dishes, to the fridge that holds his takeout, to the hallway he had tumbled down more times than you could count, “We’re more than just good friends, sweetheart.”

“We both knew what we were getting into.”

“Did we?”

Come over.

I might need convincing.

Stay with me?

You should have been smarter. You should have been more careful.

It’s a brutal fight, and it’s the everything you had been waiting for. The illusion of softness finally breaks. Whispered words of care have become sharp insults, all the small moments where you had made mistake after mistake with him are now weapons. If the dated walls of your kitchen could speak, the tiles would murmur of all the blood being spelt as brutal defenses are sent back and forth from both sides.

“I need more.”

“I can’t give you more.”

“You could, you just don’t want to.”

“What’s the difference, Eddie?”

You were never going to be enough. You should have seen that, clear as daylight from the beginning. You were something rotten from the moment he met you, and he had just been too stupid to recognize all the decay.

Of course I’m greedy. Can you blame a guy when it comes to you?

Why couldn’t he just accept what you were willing to give? Why did he have to push, to persist, to insist upon you laying more of yourself out for him? You had already dissected yourself beyond repair, made the cuts that would never heal and bared your innards in a way that you never should have to begin with.

Stay with me?

You wish you were still just lazing in between your sheets with him. A you-shaped space at his side, a pillow on his side of your bed. You wish he had never picked a fight he had every right to rage. You wish, you wish, you wish.

Stay with me?

And then you lose, you lose, you lose.

“You were just some idiot who thought you could change me,” you seethe at some point, aiming damning arrows for every exposed bone he’d ever given you a glimpse of, “What made you think that? Hm? Was it when I paraded you around the town, calling you my boyfriend? Or was it every time I told you just how much I loved you? Was it when I fell to my knees and kissed the ground you walked on, Eddie? Go ahead. Tell me.”

You were just rubbing salt in the wound at that point. Saying everything he had wished for over the last year, that you never gave him.

You never called him your boyfriend. You never told him you loved him. You never did, and you never would.

When it’s all said and done, it’s everything you had expected. A screaming match that the neighbors will complain about the same as they’d complained about every late-night rendezvous between the two of you. An effective cutting of ties that you’d been anticipating for a long twelve months. If it were the movies, maybe the fight would have been more effective. Something that would delve into the lead up of love confessions, an ending where you wind up in his arms and he’s whispering every which way that he still cares for you, even with your teeth bared and your sharpest knives poised.

It’s not a movie. It’s everything you expected.

But you hadn’t been prepared for the ache. When your own vicious words left a taste of ash on the tongue, when his eyes flashing with something harsher and less caring for you left a hollow ache that rang in your ears longer than his voice did. You didn’t think that you’d feel the cutting of ties. Every nerve ending in your body feels that jagged edge that saws through all that you two had tried to build over the last year, but it’s far too little and far too late. The foundation was cracked – you were damaged.

You lose him. The world doesn’t end; the night carries on even as he grabs his leather jacket and leaves behind the sock in your dirty laundry. And when he exits out your front door, hiding away any tears that might have slipped free, just as you were, you feel that unexpected whisper inside of you.

Stay with me?

You sleep alone that night. For once, the smell of tobacco and his shampoo makes you throw the pillow that was once his across the room.

SUMMER, 1988

She deserves him.

Chrissy Cunningham deserved Eddie Munson far more than you ever had. She was enough.

Summer can stain, but it can’t erase. Even in the months of aftermath, even for every tear shed in private and wave of yearning that would drown you in the dead of night, you never changed. It had hardly taken weeks after Eddie had walked out of your life for you to return to your old ways, going back to the bars and seeking out the latest warm blood to lose yourself in that night.

It didn’t matter that you compared each and every single smile to Eddie’s. It didn’t matter that you’d have to grip your sheets until your knuckles turned bloody to avoid touching the strangers hovering over you, hoping to feel familiar skin and a comfort long lost instead of whatever poor soul you’d dragged home with you.

He deserves a love full of life. A love that breathes him in and doesn’t drain him. One that could let him feel the sun on his skin rather than hiding him away in the night.

A love that doesn’t tick away each passing season, because it’s a love that doesn’t have a ticking time bomb attached to it.

“Never thought I’d see the day Cunningham got her claws in Munson,” Billy mumbles around a cigarette at your side.

He didn’t tease about Eddie those first few months. One look at you, and he had known.

“She didn’t get her claws in him,” you say, monotonous as you reach for your drink once more, “I’m happy for him. They look happy.”

They do. They really, really do. A love that burns like summer, and has never been touched by a dying autumn or cruel winter. The type of happiness Eddie would have never been able to find from you, try as he had.

Billy taps some of his ash into the tray at the center of your shared table. Surely, he had better things to do, but he stays. It was probably entertaining, watching you pine and regret for once in your life, “Looks can be deceiving.”

“Their’s don’t. I bet you that there’s a ring on her finger before next summer.”

You don’t want to imagine the pain that would ignite in you. That’s the type of emotion that would far surpass any regret you currently feel. But you seem to enjoy torturing yourself, eyes still zeroing in on her left hand, as if you already see the glint of whatever diamond Eddie would seek out for his worthy lover.

“And I bet if that happens, you skip town within twenty four hours of finding out.”

He’s right. Nothing was truly tying you to this sleepy town, and the reminder of your worst mistake, your most terrible slip up of all time, would easily send you running with your tail between your legs.

“Probably,” you sigh, no longer putting up a front. You hadn’t even tried batting your lashes at a single man since Eddie and Chrissy had arrived at the bar. You were striking out tonight, on your own volition, “Maybe I’d move to California. I hear the men there are easy enough.”

“They are,” Billy laughs, throwing his head back. It’s enough to garner attention across the bar, numerous girls being enticed as if he might be a siren beckoning to them, “Take it from one. The girls on the west coast are prettier, though, so you can’t blame ‘em.”

The girls on the west coast probably resemble Chrissy. Golden skin, golden auras, golden light. Honeyed words and the sweetest of blushes across coy cheeks. They probably embody every sunset and sunrise simultaneously, and you can only stand there green with envy.

“You are awfully easy,” is all you can offer in reply. The banter has started to fall flat since Eddie. You’re no fun – hardly taking any bait that Billy will hand over so generously.

Maybe, if you had tried a little harder, you could have been one of those girls. Clear blue skies, not a sight of the storm clouds that you still let consume you.

Maybe Eddie would have stayed if you had tried a little harder.

There’s no real hope for it now. You’re left to being nothing more than a conglomeration of pathetic pity parties and the taste of cheap beer these days, hardly worth the chase once the boys get close enough to see the rot. You’ve stopped trying so hard to cover it up; you’d ripped yourself open for Eddie, and had never found a way to properly suture yourself back together so that anyone new might not get a glimpse of all the bad. They could spot it from a mile away these days.

It doesn’t help that you no longer try to cover it all up with overly sweet perfumes or sickly sweet pickup lines.

Billy’s laughter didn’t just draw the attention of the girls around the bars. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see a pair of whiskey eyes find the two of you, locking on you far too easily to have not known.

You notice, because of course you notice him. But when Billy notices, it catches you a bit more off guard.

“Like I said,” he drawls, and you nearly panic when he grabs his drink off to leave you behind, “Looks can be deceiving, hot stuff.”

Your eyes find Eddie’s quickly, not listening to a word that Billy is saying. Chrissy is saying something, something surely important, but her boy isn’t listening. Her boy, her conduit for all her sunshine, is staring right at you and has no plans on looking away any time soon.

He’s seen the rot up close and personal. He’s the one who’d handed the treacherous scalpel over to your shaking hands, encouraging you to open up in all the ways you never wished to.

You shouldn’t do it. You’ll regret it. You really shouldn’t do this.

“They never learn their lesson, do they?”

You don’t know who Billy is talking about.

Eddie, who almost seems to be under your spell, taking a slow slip of his neat whiskey, staring you down as if he’s brimming with bad ideas that he hopes you can hear from across the room.

Or you, who should know better. You hurt him, you broke his heart, you don’t deserve him. And yet, you’re selfish as ever, mind reeling with possibilities of how you wish the night would end.

You can hear the bad ideas. Clear as day. Especially when Eddie only breaks eye contact long enough to lean in to Chrissy and whisper something that effectively dismisses her, leaving Eddie all alone and in your gaze.

“They don’t,” you say, throwing back the last of your drink.

You know where he’s heading. And you know where you’re heading. A moth to his flame, going only where he will allow you. You’re a ghost of the menace you once were. The other men, the other bodies that kept you warm these nights; none of them were him. You didn’t want them. You weren’t soft with them. They never stayed, because you never asked them to. There was only one man in this bar, in this entire damn bar, that would ever fill the hole left behind in you after Eddie’s summer. Eddie’s spring, Eddie’s autumn, Eddie’s winter.

And he was walking outside the bar, almost tauntingly as he sauntered through the doors, beckoning you with each and every step.

Perhaps this time, Eddie’s the one who needs a summer plaything.

“This isn’t going to end well,” Billy taunts you as he takes a few steps back, knowing damn well as to what was about to happen. Bad ideas, downright terrible ideas.

Eddie is playing the same game as you were once a master in. It dawns on you; Chrissy Cunningham wasn’t his newest love. She wasn’t his sweetest sunrise or gentle spring. She was a passing wind, just like all the boys you’d enticed before him. She’s already moved along, pretty hand resting on the shoulder of a new beau and not even paying any mind to Eddie’s absence. She may deserve him, but she doesn’t have him.

Nor do you. The roles have been switched, and you should know better. He’s leading you to an inevitable death, whether it be a little one or something of catastrophic value. He is leading you right into your own demise. Just as you used to do with every new victim you’d set your mark on before him, before your summer, before it all.

All your old tricks, turned to weapons against you.

And you’ll let him. A moth to his flame. A dog at his window sill.

“It never does.”

Stay with me?

Maybe, this time, you’ll be the one staying. If only for the night, and if only for Eddie.

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

join my taglist!

#my writing #ghost's stories #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #i could certainly be persuaded to write a part 2 :)

299 notes · View notes

roo-bastmoon · 1 month

Text

Off My Chest

Rant about Hybe under the cut. I give you my word I will try to post a majority of positive content, because the world (and my mental health) doesn't need more negativity, but sometimes you just gotta vent.

Folks, if you've known me for a hot second, you've realized I am a Jimin-biased Jikooker... but I am OT7, and I sincerely love and support BTS.

I believe Jimin is a grown man who can advocate for himself and I believe Jungkook absolutely supports and adores him, whatever their relationship status is.

I always try to accentuate the positive and avoid online drama and negativity as much as possible, but I need to get this off my chest.

I will never be gas-lit into believing that the way Jimin was treated in solo era was fair, or equitable, or even made any kind of business-sense. I've genuinely tried to entertain other people's points of view and listen to people who claim to have industry expertise, but...

I will never forget his mail being tampered with four times, his leaked insurance information, denial of more music videos, overlapped solo release, only 9 days of promotion, split title tracks, no radio or play-listing, no bio for his Spotify for months, no restock of his single CD for months, hundreds of thousands of frozen and deleted sales, millions of culled streams, shady articles in WeVerse and Billboard, insulting dialogue in In the Seom, failure to submit to RIAA certification for months, only a paywall documentary on WeVerse, zero official acknowledgement of his Hot 100 #1, 1 billion streams on Spotify, or wins for The Fact, MAMA, and two Webbys, plus broken in-ears, anemic little balloons and a sad background tarp as decorations for his fan events… and the company telling him how doing more would just be impossible.

I compare all that to the push that other members and other groups got, and I know it just isn't true. It wasn't impossible.

Hell, Jeon Jungkook put in more effort to promote Jimin’s work and showed more respect for Jimin as an artist during his at-home lives than that whole company did, which honestly makes no sense from a profit standpoint.

I will never forget it, and I will not entertain arguments that say I’m a solo or an anti or jealous about it. I have eyes.

I am not out to shade any other members nor put forth any conspiracy theories. I simply want all our boys to get everything they justly deserve.

And yes, other members have suffered mishaps and neglect, but nothing of this scale, this consistently. It baffles me, I cannot understand it, and I'm done trying. Something strange was going on behind the scenes and we may never be privy to the details.

In trying to put this awful feeling behind me, I will say I am elated that Jikook are serving together and can support each other. I am glad there will be a Jikook travel show. I'm continually impressed with all of Jimin's success (in the military and professionally) despite all odds. I will always love and support all of BTS with my full heart.

And I sincerely hope the company has been taking notes and course-corrects for PJM2, even if it rubs some higher ups the wrong way if they had a different vision. Considering Jimin’s unique talents and his amazing star power—even his ability to bring Paris and New York to a screaming standstill just for the opportunity to see him exit a car—I would hope the company will “do their best to promote all labels and artists without discrimination” going forward.

But what happened truly sucked, and I needed to get that off my chest. I am not interested in further discussion or debate. I am now going to do my best to shift my focus and energy on to the things I want to manifest, instead of the things that enrage me.

So let me end on a positive and hopeful note: I put all my trust in Jimin, who signed a new contract with Hybe and who unfailingly adores all his members. There can be no love without trust. I will always do my best to trust BTS.

But I'm watching carefully. For Jimin and all our boys.

Love, Roo

#jimin #jikook #park jimin

158 notes · View notes

psychelis-new · 3 months

Text

pick a pile: "What type of karma/karmic cycle are you healing now"

[TW FILLED READING]

take a breath and choose the photo or number that calls you the most to read about what karmic cycle you are called to end in this moment and the triggers that may be related to it. it could be something from this life or a past life as well. piles seem to be interconnected somehow so if you're called by more than one pile, it's okay (but remember to focus on the word "now" when asking your question). reminder that I'm not a therapist of sort, so take everything with a grain of salt or just as an input to maybe navigate further within or contact a professional figure (if necessary according to you ofc). it's also a general reading so messages may not/all be for you.

don’t take the reading too seriously. only take what resonates with you and leave the rest. if you're not called by any pile, let this reading slid as it may not hold messages for you. if you're called by more than one pile, there may be messages in each of those piles. remember that is a general reading and some things may not resonate with you. energies can change and readings are based on present ones (as you read); you're always in charge of your life. readings do not substitute real life experience nor professionals/doctors advices.

(photos found on unsplash)

- ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ -

1 2 3 4 - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ -

pile 1 (relationships/communication)

You are probably healing something related to your connections/relationships. It could be something you couldn't see properly in your past (or at least you couldn't see from a different perspective) but now you are starting to realize or will soon. Maybe it's an habit you picked up in your early life, like wearing a mask in fear of being judged or left alone, or people pleasing, or always being there for others but feeling like a burden when it was you the one supposed to receive as much (and therefore acting as an independent person who doesn't need anything and for whom everything is fine). Maybe you also *fear* misinterpret others' behaviours in your regards, or you may overthinking if they are somehow betraying you or something. Like treating you in a certain way but actually thinking differently of you? Maybe you fear being lied to, somehow. And not being really appreciated unless you overgive and try to not bother them with your "problems" (which are problems ofc, but you may try to keep them for yourself and deal with them alone or deem them as less important than others' problems and put them in a second position -as you put yourself on a second choice level compared to others). You may be thinking: if you give so much and don't ask for anything in return, how could they leave you? It could be a reasonable thought, but at the end of the day it's not... Relationships are far more complex than this, and also very different (so maybe not everything in this pile may resonate with you).

Ofc it's understandable where you come from: you probably had been dealing with lies/betrayals/abandonment of different kind in your life and now it's hard to both be yourself and also trust others. But the message you send when you're being too self-reliant/independent (a silent cry for help despite what you're showing) cannot often be heard by them. All they can read between the lines is: "I'm okay, I don't need you". And ofc, this doesn't make people interested in you, especially if it's an habit of yours to keep them out of your needs (and out of your life: people cannot read our minds, and they're not here for that. But those who care would like to experience the joy of helping us, if we let them in and told them about us and what we need. They'd love to help us as much as we love to help them. They'd love to feel as happy and warm inside as we feel after we help them. But maybe first we need to stop and think about who we really are and what we really need from others, and from ourselves too. And let ourselves be vulnerable, knowing we can survive anything and that often others' reaction to us are not related inherently to us: we're not responsible of what they do with our trust/words).

You're learning how to properly communicate your needs, your fears and your boundaries. How to let others see you for who you are without any fear of judgement. How to be able to properly receive all that you wish for in a relationship. In order to do this, you need to take a brave step and look at what is going on from another perspective, different from the one that is suggesting you you're simply not good enough to have good and fulfilling relationships; or that you're unlovable or that people leaves cause you're just supposed to be alone forever. Or that everyone hates you. That is not so. Don't trust your wounded ego in this, do not follow its pattern into the hole. Be stronger than those fears, and see yourself as the lovely, kind and sweet human being you are. The very deserving of love and acceptance human being you are. And start by loving and accepting who you really are. You're not too much to bear with (as I read not long ago: when you fear being too much asking for something, it's generally because you didn't get enough of that). Analyze your relationships from a more objective point of view: we tend to see the "guilt" in the others (we blame them for abandoning us/letting us down, feeling resentful for how they treat us but also powerless when confronting them) or in ourselves (we're not enough for them/we cannot be seen and this may makes us angry too), but in relationships the truth is often halfway. And lack of proper communication, respect and understanding is what ruins everything (together with possibly not-compatible issues/traumas: if someone cannot give you what you ask for it's okay, other people will be able to fulfill your needs. Do not stuck/fixate yourself to receive from one single person everything you need, stay open. And let yourself be seen first: do not always wait for others to be interested in you to start with; at times it's hard for people to climb our walls and they may renounce, so at least lower them a little here and there, as you feel comfortable to. For as much as it can be okay to generally not be the one always taking the initiative, it's good to occasionally do that and show interest in the other as well). Anyway, don't be too harsh on yourself: you always acted and act for your best, to save yourself from pain, and you couldn't see that you probably were helping this pain staying alive, unconsciously searching for confirmations of its existance and of your inhability to have good relationships (maybe you were searching for them in the wrong places?). Forgive yourself and others (especially those who gaslighted, diminished, silenced or *unconsciously* taught you that you're not worthy first), and let things change for your best. Let your people find you.

For a few: If by any chance, you're not hiding yourself but actually trying to stand out or show yourself at any given time, it's probably the other face of the same coin. You try to get the attention you couldn't get to receive and what you learned is that to get it, you need to stand out or call for others/interrupt them, make them notice you, show you're as worthy if not more by being more vocal, and feel better about yourself after succeeding. Many people may not appreciate this or believe you do it as a form of egoism, but it's generally not so. Try to balance and listen to others too, do not just let your fear of ending up being unseen take you over and eclipse others (Ik you can't always see that cause you're trying to fulfill your own need and therefore unconsciously closing off from others' ones, but it can happen). You'll be seen as much as you need anyway. Be patient. :)

song: through the dark | vanbur

[if you're called by pile 3 as well, feel free to take a look + if you have been seeing lot of 3s, it could be a confirmation for this pile n.1 being yours]

- ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ -

pile 2 (control/abandonment issues)

Out of all the piles, I think yours is the one needing more work, and also more patience, time and reflection/introspection. Be kind with yourself and go slow.

You're probably closing (or need to close) a chapter in regards to your need to be in control of what is going on in your future/life. You're deeply scared of the unknown, of not being able to control what is happening and probably you also fear not being able to take your own decisions but having to conform or accept whatever is going on for you. And ofc this is scary because the moment something you don't want to will happen, you won't have any other choice but to lower your head and obey/go with it. It's like you're caged. The future and this *fake* lack of control are making you pretty anxious and in need of knowing every detail of your life before taking any action, to be sure it's all okay. Maybe you also fear not being able to really close with this chapter and being trapped in it forever? As said, not knowing how things may turn out, would be too "risky" for you. I feel like it's also too scary to receive some kind of "no", whatever it may be about. It would crash you (or you think it would, somehow... but why?).

You probably need to separate yourself from what is going on around you. Nobody has real control on what life offers to us and when/how, nor on others' feelings about us (which only depend on how those people see us from their personal pov and based on their own experience of life, on their background: they can only have opinions of us based also on what we allow them to see of us). But we have whole control on ourselves, on our emotions and on how we respond to life and other people' choices/thoughts about us (what we make them mean about us). And we have control on what we want to do, how, when, why and if we want to say "no" to something. We have free will (I understand in some cultures and maybe also families it's a bit more complicated than this, but maybe you can get to at least politely talk and show your pov instead of giving up since the first minute? Or find a compromise on something else. Idk... Maybe it won't go as bad as you think, especially if you also silenced yourself out of fear in the past. Maybe the no's we've got in the past were about a specific thing for a reason, and not about everything as we think). I guess many times you just accepted your fate/destiny in the form of a decision taken by someone else (an authority figure of any type, from a boss to a parent... even tarot/astrology readings -excessive/anxious consume-?), without ever contraddicting them, feeling you're the one that doesn't know anything, feeling not enough to/inferior. Accepting what they were telling you about who you are and who you are supposed to be and obeying, living up to that (in pain and resentful, but still...). Or maybe this is also a way to save yourself from failing? If it's someone else guiding your life or telling you what to do/who you are, you won't have to take the blame of being "wrong" or feel guilty for having taken a "bad" decision and being a bad person, maybe. While it's good to get guidance and opinions in proper/healthy ways, we cannot let others take decisions for us all the times. They cannot live our whole life for us: we are beings that are too complex to be reduced to what others just perceive of us or want us to be. I think you may be dealing with perfectionism and fear of failure too: maybe you learned you need to keep specific high standards (in what you say, think, do...) to feel worthy/loved/appreciated, and not living up to them may mean, somehow, that you lost your self worth or it changed (lowered).

But that's not true: your self worth is always the same since the day you came on this Earth and it's the same as the one of everyone else on this planet, even if you cannot see it because of how you were/are treated or treated yoursef. Or feel you were treated: as kids we don't understand the reasons behind adults' behaviours, and if they too are not so emotionally stable or able to verbally explain things, it may be difficult to understand what is going on since we are learning all that from them (= esp. the "authority figures" around us: caregivers/parents/teachers/relatives...). We may make their reaction to us not being "perfect" (= not acting as they would want us to) mean we're not enough, we're bad, not deserving enough, and that we need to perform better to receive something good/praise/love and to obey to them, because we cannot take decisions that are correct. We're a failure and cannot do anything right. And we may risk losing them or them may let us down/abandon us if we don't perform well.

I think you need to move into known water, to know everything is good and will be good, so that you know you won't fail? Or that you won't be considered as "bad", whatever that bad means to you (probably that you're not worthy of something, of others, of... Idk). Not knowing/not having the control means you won't be sure of how things will be and if you will be able to make it, to survive (yes you will), to be considered well and... not abandoned. But if you keep the control of what is going on and get confirmations that you're taking the right decision before taking it definitely, and that all will be fine, you can actually perform well and do things right and be sure of your success and nobody will see you as a loser and leave... right? Well yes, but no. Cause that's not something that you or anyone's actually able to do: we cannot control what's outside of us and know every little detail of it with absolute certainty... And those "authorities" may be wrong as well when taking decisions for you. You may be scared of being you cause you feel like you lack something (you are "unable to do things well", eg.) and people may end up leaving, while if you try to control everything (eg. plan what to say/do based on how others will respond/what they like and not on who you are and what you think for real) instead you'll know that all it's fine and safe and you're okay and they won't leave, and you'll be accepted and a good person. But again, we cannot control it all: many things are not depending on us in this life and probably.. it's about trying to deal with your guilt (an old wound too, again in regards of how you see yourself and think you are seen: "imperfect/flawed", bad) and letting yourself just be you. We're all imperfect and flawed, occasionally bad; we need to forgive ourselves and just be kind with ourselves cause we're trying our best anyway, especially when we're actually trying: it means we're allowing ourselves to take risks and live our life no matter how it will be, but we'll get to live it fully at least. And to decide for our own self. To see what can happen good, to trust that the unknown doesn't have to be bad, nor us, even if we're not "perfect" (remind yourself that perfection is not an absolute dogma, everyone of us has their own definition of perfection, and society has its own as well that btw keeps on changing whether it's physical or about life goals. Someone not liking you doesn't mean nobody likes you). Take control of your fears, talk with them, acknowledge them and love them. Be there for them and yourself: you can do this.

song: just one day | deproducers

- ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ -

pile 3 (self neglect/emotional avoidance)

You're generally healing a cycle of self neglect. You either dismissed or deemed your experience as less important or worthy, you probably use/d to compare with others a lot and see them as better than you too. Or more deserving. I think you may have disconnected from yourself in order to follow and help others, or out of a huge traumatic experience (nothing strange here: it's a common self defense mechanism). You probably felt responsible for others cause that's what you learned is your duty here (also to survive/save yourself in some way: eg. you had to grow in an "unsafe" environment, so you tried to keep it as emotionally safe as you could by taking charge of making the mood/solving problems that weren't yours to solve, or something like that; you could have learned to read others' emotions by being hypervigilant of their moves/words so to predict their moods and save yourself), but it's not so.

You're trying or are called to come back to yourself. To get back in touch with your core. To do this, it's important to take time for yourself, and do some self reflection (journaling could be a way too: you don't have to write things chronologically or that are reasonable, just let your thoughts/emotions flow). Reconnect with your body too through healing movements (yoga, walking, exercising... as you wish) or simply taking good care of it by giving it rest and the correct supplements it needs. Realize your worth and that you're deserving of receiving and give to yourself, especially time (you have lot!). It's important that you reconnect with yourself also cause that way you can reconnect with your intuition as well and trust yourself again. You may have stopped trusting signs or downloads or even your own feelings or gut instincts, deeming them (and yourself) as wrong, incorrect, likely to fail. But that's just probably a fear of yours: an insecurity that originates from having judged your mistakes too harshly (maybe after having being criticized the same way a lot, or having been caused to feel guilty for unimportant stuff, even unwillingly -cause of other people's issues: especially if you were surrounded by people self criticizing a lot or self talking negatively, you may have picked up this same habit too. But what if instead of "stupid/ignorant" you're just distracted or tired/stressed and therefore you made a mistake, that is very likely solvable too?). On a side note, self trust doesn't mean you feel sure and okay when taking an action. You may still have doubts or not like what you may need to do. We're still humans, and we can trust ourselves and still be scared of being wrong. But our intuition will always tell us if what we're doing is the right thing to do, no matter how it will turn out (intuition may not always be right especially if we're not grounded and also if->).

Your inner critic/wounded ego may be a bit too strict when it comes to you, pretending perfection in you in particular but also around you. Being ready to always point out every little flaw or incongruence that you may see. It may really shut your intuition as well. All this acts as a self defense mechanism: getting what you wish and having your intuition actually pointing you towards that result could be scary, so you tend to find flaws or imperfections in it to keep yourself away from that and safe in a known situation (even if it's not what you want). But we can only end up ruin intuition when trying to look at it through reason/thoughts. You may need a lot of constant reassurance, cause you may tend to overthink a lot and get any little negative sign as the confirmation things aren't going well (at times you may also be so focused on needing a specific answer that you may shut other possible ones out of you: try to stay grounded and open before asking for confirmations or such, especially from your Guides). You may also tend to project your fears and perceived imperfections on others: as Carl Gustav Jung said, we tend to project and judge others first to defend ourselves from their judgement, but it's actually ourselves that we're judging. Not them.

It's okay to put yourself first: as long as you are not trying to impose yourself on/take advantage of others, you're just putting yourself on their same level. And showing yourself you're deserving of as much. And you do. You don't have to always help others reach their goals by giving up on yours, or letting them having what you want: you're too kind for this world, but this world won't give you a prize for doing this. It will just give you nothing (and this also if you're doing it out of fear of actually getting what you want, not just cause you think others are better than you or you better play it safe to feel included/not be let down). So, fight for what you want. Acknowledge your wishes, emotions, desires... yourself. Show how much you care about yourself and stop comparing with others: there will always be someone better than you but not in everything. They may be better at something, but not at everything (put things into perspective). And even if they were better at everything, according to you, are you sure that your definition of better is the same as the rest of the world's one? Or is it personal of your life/you being harsh on you? And what if you can reach their level too instead of feeling inferior them? Or what if you're already there but just cannot see it?... What if you're just different and nobody is worse or better, actually? What if your different is what's is best for someone else, and for you too? It may feel scary, but try to be more balanced when it comes to see your worth and what you can do, who you are. When it comes to trust yourself. There's so much you can have, and already have, don't close your eyes to it our of fear. At times we need to do the scary thing: take ourselves by the hand and move in unknown waters. And it doesn't have to be as unsafe as it seems. Master your ability and knowledge, learn from your emotions instead of shutting them down out of fear of knowing them and their reasons (you may fear finding some hurtful truth in the process: if so, and if it feels too much, ask for help or guidance to someone you trust or a professional figure): they don't want to hurt you, they want to teach you and help you work on what you need in order to get what you deserve and want. Listen to yourself, come back to you.

For a few: Again, don't let your wounds/fears disconnect you from your intuition or make you misunderstand a need of yours with an intuitive hint. At times we may misinterpret signs/symbols because we really need a specific answer/confirmation emotionally/to feel better (especially in hard times). And having any little confirmation (or what we think it's so) can cause us to focus on something generally comforting/entertaining as a way to distract ourselves from the real problem/issue. Focusing on that problem could be too scary/overwhelming so we try to attach ourselves/fixate on other things/ideas/emotions to avoid dealing with the "real" ones. But we may not realize it. And for as comforting as it may look on the surface, it could really be something not good for us, as it may also lead to delusion (related to that specific thing/idea: be mindful, great things will come for you anyway and that's out of question. It's not an absolute no, but a call to see yourself and heal first). Therefore yes, try to focus and know your emotions first after having neglected yourself (and having been neglected) so much. Take good care of you.

song: under the bridge | all saints

[if you're called by pile 1 as well, feel free to take a look]

- ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ -

pile 4 (discomfort/changing)

You're probably dealing or learning to deal with discomfort in your life. I think maybe you don't feel like you belong with the environment you are in (it may also be about who you are, not just where), and you may feel isolated. Or probably it's a bunch of different reasons, like a huge tower moment you're going through where it seems everything is against you and you cannot find a way out. It's a sad/lonely period, negative period in general and it may be more or less long. Pretty umcomfortable time in general. You're healing and losing sight of what else is going on. You're called to take a look within, into your heart, and like try to bring it back to life (esepcially if you feel "numb" somehow or lost) to realize it can beat again and you have power against all the darkness and negativity around and inside of you. You can still fight for yourself and win. Darkness is also there, the moment we learn how to watch it, to make the light shine brighter. To help us find happiness and peace too. To enjoy the process of change, and that change can actually be good despite the discomfort. And that healing is a part of our life, not all of it.

As humans, we tend to focus on what goes bad and notice all the other things that go as bad, even the smallest ones, losing sight of the little good that is around (as it kind of lose importance in our negative perspective: who cares if the sun is shining again and flowers are blossoming when there's this *negative thing* in my life?). Probably it's a matter of balancing better your thoughts, without letting them spiral and take you places you're not supposed to go (and won't even get to go: when we spiral, we may just end up creating fake thoughts in our mind out of fears and general negativity. This will keep the cycle alive and not let us get out of it but just kind of even attract more bad stuff into our life -or notice it more easily-. When we're more positive/happier, we shine, attract better things and are able to see also the good side and good events that do always happen in our life, despite everything else). When for example we don't get rid of the stress we may pick up in our daily life (even a slightly stressing situation may create an imbalance in our emotional and mental state if we don't get rid of the excess of energy it creates), when we're used to respond with fear/stress/anxiety to specific triggers even if we know we're safe, when we need for things to not change in order to feel safe, when we're tired, sleepy, cannot give our body the correct supplements it needs and feel depleted... we create the perfect inner environment for ourselves to start being overwhelmed and even spiralling or having panic attacks/burnouts at the smallest next stressing event. And the urgency we get to get out of that negativity asap, may just add more stress and pull us further down.

Do not let all these illusions to govern you, whether you create them in your mind, increasing your emotional instability when you start overtinking (even random unreal stuff that you have no proof may happen: our minds tend to fill up the void/the unknown/future with negative/fearful/fake thoughts so to block us in the same old cycle. They do this to keep us safe but we can show them that maybe they don't have to fear the unknown for they don't know how it will be for real) or you allow them to take space in your mind cause you "forget" to take care of you to give them attention. You are the one in control of your emotions and of your choices/priorities: most of the times anxiety originates from overthinking our insecurities and our "inability" (we feel the one always "wrong", lacking, failing... maybe also cause we don't trust our memory. But once you are grounded and trust yourself, your insecurity won't have much power anymore). You can take breaks and give yourself a time out before things get out of control. You can talk with your heart, with yourself, and your inner child too (probably the one who bears most of the stress and fear for various reasons -this may not be your only pile ig), and you can find space and time to disconnect from the stress you are experiencing. You can distract yourself by focusing on more comfortable things, using any of the various methods you can find online (focusing on naming things around you, on your breathing, on feeling your body and where you are/your senses...). You don't have to confront your fears immediately, and again you don't have to follow them. Or you can stop following them. It's not easy, especially at first, to recognize what is happening, so give yourself time and be patient. It's okay to shut those voices inside, and focus on something else, especially on you and what may be your needs at that time: prepare yourself for a bath or treat yourself something, anything that can relax you and nurture you; it's important to give yourself back, especially when you need breaks after working hard so that you realize you did well and can unwind from the stress of it. Especially, take naps if you can or need: I feel pretty drained suddenly. Try to not sleep deprive yourself (ofc overthinking/stressing can be very draining so it may be that that's also not allowing you to sleep/rest properly). If you're scared of sleeping because you may either lose time or have nightmares, remember you have time (plan it well: even a 5-10 minutes nap can work magic) and work on what these fears mean for you and how they originated: what are the nightmares about, what they want to show you about you? Ask for help if you need, also if you cannot deal with the negativity and all that is happening by yourself. For as long as it's good to distract yourself from triggers when you feel too overwhelmed, it's also good to try and check them more closely once you feel more calm/grounded, to see why they're there and what they want to show you about you, what you may still need to heal. What you may need to do to free yourself from this negative cage and see things from a more positive (or at least neutral) perspective. Yes, if you cannot change your mental pattern, work on finding similar sentences to those your mind is suggesting you that may have a more neutral meaning.

When things change, they change emotionally and energetically first (you can feel it in you, despite it not being so clear but just feeling unsettling), and that's what you may need to work on the most. Changing may feel scary and may bring you lot of negativity or mental/emotional traps or make you fall into a negative pattern about how it may be. It may re-open old wounds, even ones you didn't know existed in you. It may give you fallbacks about triggers/issues you thought you healed already (healing is not linear and these are perfectly fine: plus the closer we get to ending a cycle, the stronger they get). But with patience and time, self compassion and forgiveness, you can work through all of them and see them from another pov. You can use them at your advantage too. You can start seeing the good again. Take time to grieve what you're leaving behind, to give yourself proper closure, and move on. Stay balanced and present, enjoy also whatever else life is offering you at the moment, and do not discard anything out of fear of not being healed yet (being healed also means we do not react unheathily/anxiously to triggers anymore, not necessarily that we do not get triggered anymore; and we don't know what experiences we may need to make in order to "complete" our healing process or check it: trust your balanced self).

song: forward motion | daya

#pac #pick a pile #pick a card #pick a card tarot #pick a picture #pick a card reading #pick a photo #divination #tw triggers #tw trauma #tarot readings #tarots #healing #intuitive readings #psychic readings #clairs readings #tarotblr #tarotcommunity #self help

359 notes · View notes

maristarfish · 3 months

Text

Happy birthday, dear

Neuvillette x f!reader - Established relationship - Neuvillette takes care of reader after a long day of work - It's readers birthday - Fluff - Mentions of wearing heels - NO use of y/n

●・○・●・○・●●・○・●・○・●●・○・●

FOR THE LOVELY NIKA ⸜(*ˊᗜˋ*)⸝ It's her birthday today (her timezone) Everybody wish her a happy birthday

@mxyarylla

Of course everyone can enjoy this, the birthday setting is for today's purpose :)

●・○・●・○・●●・○・●・○・●●・○・●

The day before your birthday, of all the days your boss could pick, you're stuck with work all day. Around 11pm, you finally make it back home. You expect Neuvillette to be at work, like usual. The house is quiet, it's a comforting quiet compared to the noisey day at your job.

After locking the door, you hang your bag on a nearby hook and walk to your shared bedroom. You're surprised as you open the door and see the light on, your husband sitting on the edge of the bed reading a book. He hears you come in, looking up to meet your eyes.

"You're back. How was work?" He closes his book and sets it aside.

You walk over to the bed and plop yourself down next to him. "Exhausting."

He chuckles, standing up before kneeling on the floor in front of you. He takes the tiny strap of one of your shoes and unbuckles it. Neuvillette never understood heels like this. Why make it so hard to come off? He does the same to the other one, letting the heels drop to the floor. He kisses your knee before looking back up at you.

"At least you are here now... Any longer, I would've had to come get you early."

"Really? I'd love to see that. Maybe I'll ask him to stay just a little longer next time, see what happens."

"Oh really?" he laughs and the room goes silent for a brief moment. Your eyes never leaving each other.

"For now, how about a bath?" Others would maybe think he's insulting you, but you understood.

"Now?" you grimace. "I guess it is necessary."

You pat his head before standing up, making your way to the bathroom. As you suspected, the bathtub is already full. The water is still hot and steaming, as if he timed it just right. There are foaming bubbles in the tub, you assume they are to relax you. After looking on a nearby counter, there's already a fresh towel for you to dry off with. On top of that, there's a silk pajama set placed neatly next to it. A color he likes to see you in often, blue.

You're in awe of his efforts when the very man who did all of this comes into the bathroom with you.

"Neuvi, you did all this?"

"It was not much. I simply wanted to make sure my lady was relaxed today."

You hug him tightly, his warmth soothing you even more. He rubbed your back, before kissing the top of your head.

You let go, smiling widely at him. "I'll go in now, then. Hopefully I don't fall asleep."

Neuvillette stiffens, suddenly worried that you may actually fall asleep in there.

I will stay in here with you, if you'd like?"

You nod. "I'll take you up on that offer!" Before undressing, and dipping yourself in the water. The temperature is comforting. It doesn't make you cold even for a second. You hum, satisfied with the bath.

Neuvillette puts his hair into a high ponytail, knowing it would get in his way later. He learned how to manage his hair a little more after your endless teachings of how to simply get it in a ponytail. But it was worth the effort, because he looked absolutely beautiful in that hairstyle.

He walked over to the bathtub and sat down next to it, leaning his weight on the tub.

"What would you have done if I came home late?" you grab a peice of his long hair and start playing with it, twirling it in your hands.

"What do you mean, exactly?" He asked in return.

"The temperature is still warm, it's very comforting. Like you just did this minutes ago. Yet, you were calmly sat with a book in your hand when I arrived."

He smiled slightly. "I cannot reveal my secrets."

"Really? How sneaky of you." You grinned.

An hour passed and you were ready to get out from your bath.It had been spent chatting with Neuvillette as you soak in the warmth of his love and the temperature of the water.

Steam hit your face just right you nearly actually fell asleep while he ran out of things to say. You hop out and dry off your body with the towel he prepared for you.

Neuvillette offered to dry your hair which you glady took him up on.

Putting on the blue silk pajamas he picked out and heading to bed, happily. Neuvillette wraps you into an embrace underneath the sheets of your shared bedroom. You can feel yourself start to drift off immediately. A mix of a long day, with the relaxing night.

Or maybe because it was past midnight. "Happy birthday, dear." Neuvillette plants a chaste kiss on your forehead. You hear him, before letting out a simple thank you.

●・○・●・○・●●・○・●・○・●●・○・●

Word count: 812

Yayy I finished! Ty Nika for being such an amazing person ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ

I hope you enjoy this as a little treat for all your hard work recently loll

Extra note: If you like resident evil - specifically aeon (Ada x Leon), please consider checking out my side blog @marisaeon where I'll upload stories on them. Posted works over there:

Aeon Valentines

Only for her ears

What if ada handwrote the note to Leon in re6?

I slowly am growing out of genshin, I hope you understand!

#neuvillette #genshin impact #neuvillette genshin #genshin #neuvillette x you #neuvillette x reader #birthday fic

160 notes · View notes

wri0thesley · 1 year

Text

home - hawks x reader (6.7k)

you miss him when he's not here.

cw: not sfw. reader is afab but no gendered language is used. chubby reader, insecurities mentioned. established relationship. possessive hawks. blood, injury (mild). cunnilingus, scratching, biting, multiple orgasms.

this was a commissioned work.

There are drawbacks to being a Pro Hero’s partner.

Oh, there are some positives, too - the nice things that you get sent, sometimes, in the hopes that you’ll post them on social media and the business in question will get some extra footfall from being papped on the significant other of the more popular Pro Heroes (putting aside the occasional frustration of paparazzi always tailing you, the free clothes and free tech and free gear and free meals are very nice). The fact that Keigo has a sizable fortune that he mainly uses to make sure that you and he have the best life he can provide. The swell of pride that rises in your chest when you think about him, and all of the lives he has saved, all of the people who are grateful for him.

The sunshine in Keigo’s face, too, when a small child tells him how much they look up to him - how they want to be just like him. The money that is funneled back by Keigo into charitable institutions for children. The fact that you’re doing a small part of good in the world despite your reasonably useless quirk (making flowers bloom at a touch is only useful when the flowers are not yet in season, after all - it’s a quirk that you can use maybe three months out of the year, and you’ve noticed flowers don’t seem to last any longer just because you’ve grazed them with your fingertips) by making Keigo happy, the way he deserves to be.

But there are plenty of negatives.

Those same paparazzi who sell photographs of you and Keigo to gossip magazines and comment on your appearance, your hair if it’s messy, your figure that you’re already not all that confident in. The online gossip-mongers who spend their time bemoaning how much of a better fit they’d be for a man like Keigo, if he’d just stop ‘pitying’ you enough to date you.

The nights you spend stroking Keigo’s hair as he buries his head in your neck and all of the ugliest parts of his job fall out of his mouth; the fear of being a pawn for the HPSC for the rest of his life, the things he’s asked to do that remain secret except in whispered gasps into your ear, his hands clinging to you so tightly you think about talons puncturing your skin. The long, long nights when he’s out doing hero work and you fear that he may never come back to you. The way time stretches interminably on when he says he’ll be gone for a little while and you don’t know if it will be days or weeks or months.

You wouldn’t trade anything for him. Keigo makes you feel seen and beautiful and loved and cherished in a way no other person could ever compare to. You get butterflies when he smiles at you. You cannot imagine a life in which you did not find each other, somehow.

But tonight, your bed in Keigo’s penthouse (big glass windows, so he can feel like he’s flying - a huge bed, with room for his wings) is empty and cold. You wear a too-big ‘Hawks’s Baby Bird’ nightshirt that falls down to your knees, a gag gift from one of your friends who is a member of your boyfriend’s fan club. The little cartoon depiction of him is not enough to make you feel as though he is there with you.

Tonight feels like one of those nights that might last forever.

You roll over in the bed uncomfortably, legs tangling in cool sheets that you wish were warmed by your partner. The space seems to stretch on for an eternity without Keigo’s wings there for you to good-naturedly grouse about as he laughs and pulls you in even closer.

You think not hearing anything might be the worst.

You know what he does is important, you know that he doesn’t always tell you where he’s going because he’s worried about you - you know that being shrouded in secrecy is better for both of you. But not knowing where he is or who he’s with or what he’s doing makes all kinds of worrying scenarios play out in your head as you wonder if you’ll ever see him again, or if the last time you kissed him on the cheek and told him to be careful (and he looked at you with all of the love in the world lighting his gold eyes, his gaze saying far more than his easy laugh and his promise he would come back) would be the last time.

Ugh. You flop onto your back and stare up at the ceiling.

Maybe you should try making yourself a hot drink; distract yourself from the thoughts swirling around your mind and the loneliness that’s eating at your edges. That sounds nice. You swing your legs over the side of the comically oversized mattress, the soft hem of your nightshirt riding high on your thighs - and then you hear a familiar sound, and your heart feels like it swells to double its size in your chest.

You quickly walk from the bedroom into the lounge, following the sound of beating wings and displaced air and something clinking against glass. There, on the balcony outside, stands Keigo - still in his hero costume, red wings in the process of being tucked behind him, keys tinkling in his hand.

Through the window, he catches sight of you - and his smile is so wide it could split his face in two, eyes crinkling at the edges. He fumbles even quicker with the keys, eager to get inside and back to you - and you walk across the room, your feet warm on the cold tiled floor, to meet him.

Up close, you can see that the night has not been kind to him.

Despite the smile that lights up his eyes and transforms his face, there are grazes all over his face; a rip in his hero costume at the sleeve, where he’s bleeding a little. His wings seem fine, but high on the left wing the feathers are bent out of shape and uneven as if he narrowly avoided trapping it somewhere. Your stomach drops somewhere in the region of your feet - and then, Keigo is through the window and it’s clinking closed behind him and you are embraced by all of him, all red feathers and fur jacket and arms wrapping so tightly around you that you can barely breathe.

“Keigo,” your voice comes out in a choked squeak. “Keigo, you’re hurt--!”

“I’m so glad to see you,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck, his normally light tone heavy with emotion. “I missed you so so much. I . . . I thought I might not see you ever again--”

His gloved hands cling to your generous hips, squishing into the soft flesh there, dragging you against him. He noses against your neck, breathing in your scent, as if he’s trying to reassure himself that you’re real and true and there.

“Let me look at your injuries--” You try to say, but Keigo instead pulls you into a searing kiss that makes your knees feel weak. Despite his relatively small stature - compared to most other Pros, anyway - he trains long and hard, and he pulls you into him as if you weigh nothing at all, the softness of your curves and pudge not presenting the smallest of problems. His mouth is hot and beseeching against yours; this is a kiss that says ‘I am alive, and I thought I wouldn’t be’. Fear is still rolling hot through your stomach, but it’s hard not to melt into him when he knows every spot of your mouth and every nerve of your lips as well as he knows his own. His teeth nip needily at your lower lip and you open your mouth for him - let his tongue mark you out as his, sliding across that spot behind your front teeth that makes you full-body shiver in his arms.

It doesn’t seem to matter to him that the two of you are in full view of the windows (not that any paparazzi would be fool enough to try and photograph from here, after the last time) - all that matters is that the two of you are entwined, that Keigo is there and you are there. His hands slide down your hips to knead at the soft globes of your ass, a motion that’s meant to be teasing but instead simply feels desperate.

You break apart from him with a gasp, your heart beating frantically against your ribcage.

“Keigo,” you say, hoping you sound more sure of yourself than you feel. “I need to clean your w-wounds.”

He looks at you all half-lidded and wanting, his mouth swollen from the kiss - actually, you don’t think his gaze has strayed from you once since he first laid eyes on you.

“I needed to kiss you,” he says to you, and he cracks a small smile that doesn’t quite mask the wildness in his eyes. “I needed to remember exactly what you were like. Remind myself you were mine, birdie.”

“The kiss could have waited,” you say, exhaling in a way that’s part laugh and part exhaustion. “You’re hurt.”

One gloved hand raises to your face; his thumb strokes over your cheek. The smile on his face is so sad and so wanting that it makes you ache.

“I could never wait to kiss you,” he says. “Not a second longer than I have to.”

You tug gently on his sleeve; there’s dirt all over the tan fabric. You wonder what happened to him on this mission, but you don’t ask - Keigo never wants you to have to worry about things. He keeps you as safe as he can - makes sure you can work from home, insists that if he can’t go shopping with you groceries are delivered . . . on another person, it might be suffocating. But on Keigo . . .

He hasn’t told you much about his life pre-Wing Hero: Hawks. Still, he has told you more than almost anybody else in the whole world knows, and you understand why he clings to the vestiges of a home he’s managed to build around himself. It’s hard not to be flattered that he considers you home - and you, in return, feel exactly the same way about him.

“Come on,” you say to him, a little more forcefully this time, and you give him a gentle smile so he doesn’t feel like he’s worrying you too much. “Let me clean these scratches and get your uniform off, and I promise you can kiss me as much as you like for as long as you like.”

He lets out a soft laugh but lets himself be tugged across the room anyway.

“My uniform off?” He asks, lightly teasing, the edge of desperation slowly ebbing away now that he is with you and knows you are safe. “Why, birdie, you’ve only gotta ask! Little forward, but I’m not gonna complain--”

You roll your eyes at him, but laugh all the same, as the two of you enter the kitchen and you bully him lovingly into taking a seat on one of the stools by the long breakfast bar. You reach up onto your toes to reach the first-aid kit kept in one of the high kitchen cupboards, feeling the hem of your shirt rise up to reveal the thin red satin underwear you wore to bed--

“Are those Hawks brand, too?” Keigo asks. You can’t see him, but you can just imagine the shit-eating grin that’s painted itself over his face. “Look, I know you want me to stay still whilst you tend lovingly to me, but you’re making this really difficult--”

“Shh,” you tell him, turning around with the little metal tin tucked beneath your arm. “You’re just trying to get out of the antiseptic swabbing, aren’t you?”

It takes you by surprise how quickly he’s shed his garments. You suppose that speed is his greatest asset, but still - you’d heard only a little rustling, and yet Keigo is suddenly sat behind you totally shirtless with his uniform discarded on the stool beside him. You can see almost all of him; the lean muscles of his pectorals, dotted with old scars - the corded forearms, the surprisingly strong hands . . .

You’re grateful to see that the wounds and scratches are only surface-level. They’ll need cleaning and bandaging up a little, but that’s all - he’s not at risk of any infections, doesn’t need to go see any healers or hospital workers. You’re glad - you don’t want him to be out of your sight for any longer than he has to be now that you finally have him back for a while.

You cough as you rifle through the medical kit for anti-bacterial wipes, feeling your face heat up at his proximity and his nakedness. Keigo laughs softly, angling his body closer to you.

“You’re cute when you’re nervous,” he says to you, his voice low and soft. “C’mon. See something you like?”

“Could you stop flirting for one second?” You ask him, as you wipe over one of the nasty grazes on his arm - you don’t think you could look into those golden eyes right now without falling into them like molten pools. “I need to get this cleaned up.”

“You’d be flirting if the prettiest thing in the whole world was touching your naked body,” Keigo says to you, reasonably; and he laughs again when you fumble with the bandage you’re trying to affix to the spot in question. “C’mon. You’re even wearing my merch! How’m I supposed to just sit here and let you look after me when I’m thinking about pinning you to the breakfast bar and having my wicked way with you, huh?”

“Have your wicked way with me when I’m done,” you tell him, and now you have no choice but to turn your hand to the grazes on his cheek - and looking at Keigo’s pretty face takes your breath away in the same way it always does. His eyes are liquid gold, burning you as you gently wipe the blood from his sharp cheekbones. At the touch of your fingers on his face, he takes a sharp intake of breath - and one strong hand lands on the outside of your thigh, thumb pressing softly into the skin there. Your own breath stutters in your chest.

There’s a bloom of heat low in your core, to be looked at like that. Possession and adoration and hunger all mixed up in his gaze, your own body screaming at you that Keigo wants you and you want him and everything else should be thrown to the wayside in pursuit of the pleasure the two of you are clearly longing for.

He breathes out after a moment that feels like it lasts a week, and his voice has dropped a semitone into something rich and low and starving hungry.

“You’re nearly done now, right?” He asks, swallowing, the bob in his throat visible. “I’m not sure how much longer I can stop myself.”

You do not break eye contact as you drop the gauze, as you close the lid of the first-aid kit.

“I’d think a Pro Hero would have more control,” you say to him breathily. “Stop yourself from doing what, exactly?”

He smiles up at you with a wickedness that makes you weak at the knees, and you feel all of your concern about his grazes and bruises and the feathers that have been bent and ruffled in his wings melt away in favour of the persistent pounding in your core.

He moves lightning-fast; utterly deserving of all of his accolades, and before you know it you’re pressed against the breakfast bar, your ass pressed flush against the rim of the surface, and Keigo has dropped down onto his knees.

“Stop myself from eating you all up, birdie,” he says, with a grin bright and hungry, as he presses his nose softly against the plumpness of your thighs. “You’re looking delicious, and I’m starving after being away for so long. Won’t you let a guy have a taste?”

You gasp as he moves his face; as his nose nudges at your mound through the Hawks branded underwear. He breathes in deeply, savouring the scent of you on the air.

“I can tell you want it too,” he teases you. “I can smell you from here. That’s how I know how delicious you’re going to be.”

“Keigo,” you breathe out lightly, but there is no complaint in your tone. Your boyfriend takes this the way it is; your consent for him to do whatever he wants to you, and his smile is knife-sharp in the darkness as his fingers hook into the elastic of the underwear and slowly begin to edge them down your legs.

“Spread for me, angel,” Keigo murmurs, dropping a kiss just above your knee, peppering the skin he can currently get to with more feather soft touches of his lips. “Show me how much you want it. Let me see you; I’ve missed you. Feels like a century when I don’t see you for a day.”

You fall over yourself to please him. You’ve missed him just as much; too deeply for you to care if you seem desperate, when you spread your legs further and let him see the wet mess between your legs. Keigo’s eyes go half-lidded and wanting as he trails the pad of one of his fingers up your thigh to dip between the lips of your sex and into your slick.

“Look at you, pretty birdie,” he says, low and awestruck. “This is all for me? Aren’t I the lucky one? Aren’t you just the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen?”

Your face heats up at the compliments; Keigo is never shy about giving them, of course, but when the position is so intimate and he looks so fascinated it’s hard not to feel woozy with the want that drips off every syllable. Keigo moves his face closer; kisses at the plump spill of your very inner thighs, where they’re damp with your own arousal. Teeth bite into the flesh gently, nipping at you until you gasp.

“Y-you were being serious about eating me up, then?” You ask, a huff of laughter on your lips, as Keigo shifts his attentions to the other thigh, sucking love bites into the soft flesh.

“Just making sure you know you’re mine,” he says, breathless. “Marking you up so you know who you belong to. After I’ve eaten you up, I’ll get on to eatin’ you out--”

He kisses over your sex this time; his breath fanning hot against your most sensitive parts. Your knees almost buckle, and you have to cling to the rim of the breakfast bar to stop yourself from just falling onto him completely. You feel a couple of well-placed breaths away from collapsing onto the floor.

“Is that a . . . a promise?” You ask him, and Keigo chuckles and the vibrations seem to travel from between your legs and right up your spine.

“For you?” He murmurs, and his tongue darts out - laps up your cunt from perineum to clit, and you swear you see stars. “Of course it is.”

Once Keigo has had a taste of you, there’s nothing you can do. You know it from past experience sprawled out on the bed beneath him as he works you over until you’re putty in his hands - when he wants someone, when he wants something, when something is his and it’s his responsibility . . . he will not rest until he’s wrung several orgasms out of you and you can barely move. The kitchen is a brand new development for this kind of thing, but Keigo is more than a little possessive and when you’ve murmured in the heat of the moment about christening every surface in his apartment it’s always gotten him going--

So it’s all you can do, really, to let him eat you out like he’s a man starved and he’s having his final meal before his untimely end.

To let your fingers curl around the rim and to give yourself into Keigo’s mouth as it hotly works you over; his tongue dragging through your folds as if he’s trying to drink you in. Your own mouth falls open as your breath escapes you in little surprised gasps; it seems that for every slow lap of his tongue, he manages to do some kind of swirling trick of athletics that makes you feel like you’re melting into a pleasured mess.

In between the licks and the sucks, he turns his attention back to the soft fullness of your thighs; drops little growling interludes of;

‘Mine’. ‘So beautiful’. ‘So good’. ‘You’re mine’. ‘Mine, mine, mine’.

Kisses and bites and licks and mumbles, the soft abrasive scratch of his scruff making you dizzy and light-headed as you feel all of the pleasure that he brings you work itself into tight knots in your stomach. Sometimes he bites just a little too hard, as if he wants to ensure that the mark takes - and though on another partner, you might push him away, with Keigo it’s hard to not just let your lashes flutter and a soft moan escape at the thought of just how much he wants you to be his.

There’s something to be said about having the mark of ownership of a man like Keigo upon your skin.

He rubs his cheeks against your thighs, uncaring of how your slick is fair dripping from your sex; covering himself in your scent the same way he tries to cover you in his own. You’ve heard him complain when you switch shower gels or perfumes or shampoos; you know he can’t get enough of the natural scent of you. He never cares about cuddling up to you when you feel sweaty or gross - in fact, a couple of times, you’ve thought that it really gets him going--

It’s getting much harder to think the longer Keigo uses his mouth on you.

It’s hard to think of anything other than the sensation of his tongue, the prickling pleasant heat that’s running through your veins, the groans of pleasure that he keeps putting forth with every new lap and suck and kiss of your clit. Your fingers twitch, your thighs shaking wildly, as you hover on the precipice of your orgasm.

“That’s right, beautiful,” he murmurs softly. “Come on. Come for me.”

There’s no question of doing anything but.

Your entire body goes taut all over, like a string waiting to be plucked - and then snaps, as your orgasm washes over you in fierce waves, making your body tingle like fireworks are being set off beneath your skin. You don’t try to muffle your noises - Keigo had coached that out of you with kisses and begging and telling you how much he loves hearing you - so soft whimpers and moans come issuing forth from your mouth, bouncing against the kitchen walls. Keigo makes his own noise in response; a coaxing kind of reassurance that you can let yourself go with him, you’re safe. His mouth is still pressed against your sex, though, his tongue still drinking in the slick you’re pumping out with every clench and pulse of your release.

He stays there even as the orgasm slowly subsides and feeling returns to your extremities. You’re sensitive, your thighs shaking - and Keigo chuckles, pulling back and looking up at you with his eyes all blown with adoration.

“I’ve missed the way you taste,” he tells you, tone teasing. “I’ve missed the way you sound, too. I’ve missed . . . all of that.”

“I’ve missed you more,” you say to him breathlessly. “A-are you going to let me repay the favour?”

Keigo laughs again, and the sound makes happiness bloom in your chest.

“No,” he says, sounding very sure of himself. “I’m not done with you yet, birdie. I need to make sure that every perfect inch of you remembers me; I need to make sure that you’re always with me, that you’re imprinted onto every part of me, that you know just how much I love you and I need you and that I can remember every part of you with my eyes closed--”

Your cheeks are hot at this profession of adoration. It’s not that Keigo is shy about these things - he said ‘I love you’ before you did - but . . . he’s not always prone to these big, grand gestures. He holds your hands and pulls you close and keeps you next to him, plays with your hair and remembers your favourites and checks in on you to make sure everything is alright as often as he can. Love story confessions are not his style--

And that’s how you know that he means every single syllable.

“Th-that’s not fair,” you say weakly, as Keigo takes your hand and tugs you through the apartment instead, a mirror of you taking him into the kitchen to clean his wounds. “I want to do all that for you too--!”

“Ah, but you didn’t get to saying it before me, did you?” He shoots you a broad grin, pulling you into the bedroom. The sheets on your huge bed are still rumpled; he raises one eyebrow. “Not sleep well without me, birdie?”

“You know I never do,” you whisper, and his face goes impossibly soft. He pulls you closer to him, pressing his nose against your own so that the two of you are staring directly into one another’s eyes.

“I love you,” he says, plain and simple. His hands go to touch your hips, to slide up to your waist and to your chest, his touch reverent like a sculptor and his masterpiece. “I love everything about you. If it were up to me, I’d spend every waking minute with you - I’d never let you leave our bed. We’d have everything we need. I . . .” He swallows. “I want to be with you forever.”

“I want to be with you forever, too,” you breathe out - you bring your hand up to stroke over his shoulders, to delicately curve over the musculature in his back to where his wings stand proudly out. He lets out a soft noise of pleasure at the soft touch of your fingers on the downy feathers at the base, his cheeks going pink.

“Then let me take care of you,” Keigo murmurs, softly. “Let me come inside of you so many times you don’t remember what it feels like to have anything inside of you but me.” He takes a shuddering breath - and despite your earlier orgasm, your breath catches and your pulse beats between your thighs as if it’s agreeing that he can do whatever he wants with you. “Please.”

“Keigo--”

“Say I can, birdie.”

His touch gets desperate. His thumbs dig into the soft meat of your waist, the plump pudge there. You make the mistake of flickering your eyes away from his gaze, to between you and below your eye line, to see the way that his cock is tenting the front of his pants in need. You think about Keigo’s cock - about how it feels inside of you, about how perfectly it fills you up, about the sensation of having him come inside and keep going, keep pumping himself into you--

“Keigo,” you breathe, eyes flicking back up to him. “Of course you can.”

As much as you want to get on your knees for him and bring him the same pleasure he’s already brought you today, you can tell that this means a lot to Keigo - and so you’re not surprised when he groans out loud and pulls you back into a fierce kiss. Your lips are nibbled on, your tongue danced with, your entire body dragged into a kiss that Keigo puts every muscle into - until he pulls back, breathless.

“Can we get this off you now?” He asks, tugging at your nightshirt. “Kind of weird to be looking at myself right now, even if I do look very cute as a cartoon--”

You laugh as you pull the dark red cotton over your head. You have a brief moment of doubt - that same flash that comes across you every time you fully disrobe in front of Keigo, a voice in your head saying that you’re not good enough or pretty enough for him - but it’s a doubt that Keigo quickly dispels as he pushes you back onto the bed and begins to pepper every inch of your newly exposed skin with bites and kisses.

“I love these,” he murmurs, palming at your chest with rough calloused hands, plucking your nipples between thumb and forefinger until they stand to stiff attention. “They’re so pretty.” A pinch, and you whine, back arching. “And so sensitive--!”

His tongue follows the path of his fingers, swirling around the nipple and sucking on it with a soft pop until you’re whining even louder, spreading your thighs apart for him in a silent plea to get on with it.

“You’re being needy,” he tells you, with a bite to the swell of your breast that you can tell will leave a bruise. “And I love it. Ask me nicely, pretty birdie--”

“Please fuck me, Keigo,” you say, breathless with need and want and the dizzying desire to have him inside of you. “Please, I want you inside of me--”

He kisses you fiercely again; fabric is displaced lower down his body as he works his trousers off without for a moment breaking the contact of your two lips. His cock slaps against the roundness of your tummy, leaving wet precome in a smear over your navel - hard and long, stiff and aching to find anchor in your port.

“You have no idea what hearing you say that does to me,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. “Spread wider, angel, alright?”

You obey him, spreading your thighs so wide that it’s almost painful.

The two of you have had to experiment with positions many times - Keigo’s wings provide an interesting challenge for ensuring that both of you are comfortable. Even now, in this simplest of positions, his wings make a canopy over you and give a soft red-warm glow to everything beneath them. Keigo smiles at you so softly that it feels like melting, and then his cock is nudging the lips of your sex apart and slowly slowly slowly sinking inside of you.

It’s gratifying, to finally be full. His tongue felt good, but there’s a kind of intimacy in this that it can’t replicate - a feeling that the two of you are melding together, hearts beating as one. Keigo’s eyes flutter closed, a soft sigh escaping his pretty mouth.

“You have no idea how you feel,” he chokes out. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you--”

“You feel like home,” you say to Keigo, and he whines and sheathes himself fully inside of you.

His arms wrap around you, pulling you up so you’re not just laid directly on the bed. His nails - fingers a little sharp, like talons - rake down your back, scratching into you, as he gets used to feel of you hot and tight and wet around him. The two of you are both panting, your own arms wrapping around his neck so you’re as close to him as you can possibly be.

He crashes his lips against yours at the same time as he begins to move his hips in hungry little circles. He isn’t yet fucking in and out of you in wild abandon, but this is still overwhelming after being without him for a few nights and forgetting all of the places inside of you that are stoked like a brand new fire by his cock, stretching you out. You move your hips against him in tiny increments, his abdomen rubbing against your swollen clit in a way that sends pleasant little frissons of electricity up and down your spine.

The electric mixes with the scratches of Keigo’s hands, an overwhelming symphony of sensation that is at once too much and not enough. You lose track of time - you lose track of anything but the feel of Keigo inside of you, the pleasure of being stretched and fucked and taken and knowing you are loved.

His lips against yours, his words against your ear with whispers of how much he loves you and how beautiful you are and how good you are for him. Your own words, coming out slurred and breathless as you both chase your orgasms, wanting to crest that hill together.

“Keigo,” you’re whimpering. “Keigo, Keigo, Keigo.” Chants of his name spilling out of your lips like prayer beads, prayers that he drinks up with his kisses and his own soft entreaties of your name.

“I’m going to--”

“I want you to--”

“Fill me up, please--”

“Fuck--”

You both lose track of who is actually the one speaking; the words come out in a spill that’s mirrored by the twitch of your thighs and the coil of heat in your stomach. Your orgasm hits you like a train, and your fingers curl into Keigo’s short hair at the same time as he digs his teeth into the soft place where your neck meets your shoulders and his cock pulses inside of you, spilling his seed into your sex, marking you out as his. Your own release gushes over his cock, your cunt clenching around him as you pant and whimper. You’re light-headed and dizzy as you chase your aftershocks, gyrating your hips on his softening cock to eke out every last drop of pleasure you can. Keigo’s hands stay on you, sliding to the small of your back, encouraging you as he sucks and kisses on the bitemarks and lets his own pants fill the air.

The comfortable silence that follows your releases lasts only a moment.

He’s come inside of you once, and your body feels full and satiated with your own orgasm, but that’s not enough for Keigo. Even as he pulls out, his cock is already hardening again, a soft groan falling from his mouth as it slaps against the soft flesh of your inner thighs.

“Tell me I can fuck you again,” he murmurs. “I want you to be full of me, birdie. I want you to be dripping with my come for weeks. I need t’fill you up so bad--”

You manage to screw up all of your left-over energy - not that there was much of it - to roll over, gathering yourself up on your hands and knees, spreading your legs further apart and balancing yourself on your elbows. It’s a position the two of you have used often, made all the more comfortable by Keigo’s expensive bed. It means that you don’t have to do much more work than stay there and thrust your hips back into him - and, crucially, it means that Keigo gets so deep inside of you that you swear you feel him in your stomach.

“Yes,” Keigo breathes, already gathering himself up onto his knees. He drops kisses onto the places on your shoulder blades and spine he scratched earlier, soft feather-light whispers of how much he adores you. “Fuck, angel--”

He fits inside of you like a glove; your earlier exertions making him slide inside of you so easily you barely feel the stretch. Your fingers clench into the sheets as you moan out a prayer that sounds like his name, as Keigo continues to drop wet messy kisses all over you. He’s rambling now, about how beautiful you look like this and how good you feel.

“I should fuck you on every surface in the house,” he whispers, as he begins to work his hips back and forth, sliding easily into a rhythm. “I should christen every single one of them, so it feels like home--”

“Okay,” you breathe in return, moving your hips as much as you can. You’re going to come again, you realise, embarrassingly quickly. He just feels so deep inside of you - like there is no end to where he starts or you begin, like there’s nothing in the universe but the two of you and the places you’re joined. One of his hands slaps over yours, holding it as best he can in the position you’re in.

“I need to fill you up,” he’s panting. “I need you . . . need you to be mine, need you to know how much I love you, need you need you need you--”

“I need you,” you reply, in a whimper that feels like a sob as he adjusts his hips just so and oh, the spots he hits inside of you with every thrust . . . You feel born anew again; like this is the first time Keigo has fucked you and you’re as sensitive as a virgin. You squeeze your eyes closed. “I need you more-- please fill me up, I want to be yours, please please please--”

“Say my name,” Keigo begs into your ear, the words broken up with pants. “Say you love me.”

“K-Keigo--!” Your voice pitches as your orgasm clenches all up inside of you. You feel yourself tighten around him. The feeling of him inside of you, the wet glide of his cock, the sting of the bites and scratches from your earlier extremely enthusiastic love-making, all converging together until you can do nothing but let the white hot feeling take you over completely. “I l-love you--”

A moaning whimpering groan of your name, and the two of you are coming together. Keigo’s cock is twitching inside of you, spilling more thick ropes of his come as deep into you as he can to join his earlier load. You moan as you feel it trickle down your thighs, as he fucks it in deeper chasing the aftershocks of his orgasm and your body collapses into a jelly-like mass of nothing but feeling. Keigo lets you collapse and follows you down, breathless laughs turning into moans as you lie there for a few moments sweating and panting in the afterglow of your lovemaking.

It takes a little while for the two of you to disentangle yourself fully; for Keigo’s cock to pop out of you (followed by a little rush of your mixed fluids), for him to drag your sweat-soaked body against him without caring for how you must be messing up the sheets.

“I love you too,” he says, a belated reply to your call as you’d come. Your face goes hot at the reminder.

You curl up against his chest shyly, cheek pressed to his beating heart. Your fingers come up to trace patterns over his skin, and he makes a noise low in his throat almost like a chirp, pleasure at your touch melding with the pleasure of what has transpired between you both. He’s always a little more bird-like in this state; relaxed and sated and happy.

A phone rings somewhere in the distance, and he groans. Eyes fluttering shut.

“It’s in my pocket,” he mumbles in annoyance. “It’ll be the Commission.”

You make a soft noise of displeasure at the Hero Commission already wanting to monopolise his time when it feels like he’s been home for an hour or two at most.

“I’d hoped we’d have a bit longer this time,” you say, and you hope that you don’t sound petulant. You don’t want to resent Keigo’s job! You know he’s one of the top heroes for a reason! But curled up in bed, it’s hard to reconcile Wing Hero: Hawks and Keigo, your boyfriend, your lover, your home. You want longer with him. You want to keep him for yourself.

His mouth twists. Resolutely, he wraps his arms back around you.

“We will,” he says, as he continues to ignore the ringing. “We’ll have more time. They can wait a day. I still have more things I want to do to you.”

“Unfair,” you say, hiding your smile in his chest. “It’s my turn to do things to you.”

He laughs and presses a kiss on the top of your head. The scratches and bruises and bites from your earlier exertions sting pleasantly; a reminder of home, a reminder of Keigo, a reminder of belonging.

“Okay,” he says, with a faux sigh. “It’ll be a challenge, but I’ll take one for the team. I guess you can do things to me next time.”

Both of you laugh and snuggle in closer to one another.

The bed feels so much more right with Keigo in it beside you.

#commissioned work #writing #not sfw text #mha x reader #bnha x reader #hawks x reader #hawks smut #bnha posting #chubby reader posting #bnha smut #mha smut

820 notes · View notes

ddarker-dreams · 1 year

Text

Be Still My Bleeding Heart.

Yan Zhongli x God Reader.

[The First Contract index]

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, power imbalance o'clock. Word count: 2k.

“I’ve heard you’ve been frequenting the Stone Gate.”

Zhongli’s way of speaking is best compared to a geode. Seemingly insignificant upon initial viewing, but once cracked open, you’ll find yourself enthralled by the contents within. There’s so much to dissect and digest. You’ve become fluent in his language throughout the centuries. It wasn’t always a necessary skill. He matured with each passing millennia, his mannerisms aging like a fine wine, though they became no easier to swallow.

Gone were the days of him using brute force to tackle his way through every challenge waiting before him. He’s patient with enough cunning to match.

You almost miss how simple it once was to get a read on your husband. It requires a great deal more effort now, a resource you’d prefer to expend anywhere else than on him.

“I have,” you don’t see the point in lying. “Do you take issue with the fact?”

“That remains to be seen.”

You’d sigh, but even that feels like you’d be giving him too much. You keep your lips pursed to rectify this. He could be so obstinate about the most trivial details. That element of himself has remained consistent since time immemorial. All you wanted was to take a pleasant stroll through Yuehai Pavilion before returning to your usual activities, yet it seems that’s asking for too much.

Zhongli was waiting when you ascended the steps, his hands folded behind his back, warm amber eyes rivaling the sunset in its intensity. They softened for a mere instant, whatever non-issue you were inevitably about to get reprimanded over temporarily slipping his mind. Sickeningly sweet affection poured forth like vaults of honey, suffocating you in thick layers. You weighed the merits of turning around and venturing elsewhere, then remembered this fabled ‘elsewhere’ doesn’t exist.

He might be testing mortal life, but that doesn’t make Liyue any less of his domain than it was when the Yakshas were greater in number and the adepti gathered for banquets at the Guili Assembly. He could follow you anywhere, you can’t control that. You can, however, control how bad of a mood he’ll be in when he finds you.

Presently, Zhongli places an unwelcome hand on your shoulder, the gesture that was meant to comfort you worse than the spears chaining Osial down to an abyssal depth.

“I hope this isn’t a consequence of us living amongst the people of the Harbor.”

In the same way you are attuned to him, Zhongli is an uncontested expert in all things concerning you. His fervor is born from ardor whereas yours stems from a place of self-preservation. There is no side of you he hasn’t seen, no angle he hasn’t committed to memory with the zeal of a religious fanatic. His seemingly infinite reservoir of knowledge frightens you. There are times when you wonder if he knows you better than you know yourself.

This is further evidence of the possibility.

“… What do you mean by that?”

Zhongli raises an eyebrow. “My heart, please, don’t play dense. We both know you’re anything but. Something’s been troubling you ever since we’ve taken up residence here. I knew it wouldn’t be an easy adjustment, but if this is proving too detrimental for your wellbeing, I’ll have to take appropriate measures.”

You place your hands on the railing in front of you, leaning forward ever so slightly. The wind catches in your hair, carrying the familiar scent of the ocean and dinner being cooked by households awaiting the return of their loved ones. The day draws to a close. You hear laughter, the sound of children playing; two boys struggling to keep up with a little girl who goads them on. This lively scene cannot be found atop Mt. Hulao or any other secluded area you’d be held prisoner in if he thinks it best.

“You take on everyone’s burdens,” Zhongli disregards the view in favor of examining your side profile. You know which one he finds more picturesque. “I adore and fear that trait of yours. I knew there’d be no avoiding it, as it’s embedded in your nature, but I didn’t anticipate you getting this attached.”

“You’re exaggerating the severity of things.”

“Am I?” There’s a slight challenge in his voice you can’t bring yourself to match. “I heard you requested Xiao’s assistance in finding a little girl’s lost doll. An expedition that took multiple days of our Conqueror of Demons’ time.”

“Children are Liyue’s future — I’m doing my part to ensure their happiness.”

“Last week, I found you lecturing a gentleman who voiced dislike of Xinyan’s music. It took you an hour for you to notice my presence. Another hour to let him leave.”

“It was a civil discussion, not a lecture. I left room for him to interject if he had anything worthwhile to say. It isn’t my fault he became tongue-tied when his brutish behavior was confronted.”

“You recently asked me to reshape a mountain range so that Qiqi would have easier passage on her herb-collecting journeys.”

“Are you not the one who once promised me you’d ‘shift the sun’s placement in the sky’ if I ever found it unsatisfactory?”

Zhongli coughs into his gloved hand to hide his embarrassment. “I… was young then. My prose reflects that.”

“2,500 hardly qualifies as young, old man.”

“It does for beings like us. Now,” he seems eager to move on from the subject, “The examples I listed are the mildest. You’re spreading yourself thin, concerning yourself with matters beyond your control. I’ve seen what it did to you in the past. As your husband, I must ensure that doesn’t happen again.”

There’s something else at play here, yet you’ll leave that detail to be uncovered later.

“If I’m understanding this correctly, you’re criticizing me for caring about the people who you spent centuries shedding blood — yours and others — over.”

You don’t bother hiding the bitterness on your tongue. He’s worse than a thorn in your side, he’s a knife, jabbed in so deep that pulling it out is no longer an option. You have to live with the blade’s intrusion and adjust accordingly to the pain. It’s obvious to you that he’s been stewing on this for a while, the trips to the Stone Gate must’ve been the final nail in the coffin. You’ll both argue circles around each other until the heart of the issue is addressed.

The specifics of the contract you signed many, many years ago stipulate you may not leave Liyue’s borders unless a particular list of requirements is met. It isn’t like Zhongli is actively looking to punish you — he said so many times himself — which is why he becomes extra stifling when he thinks you’re pushing your limits. Or his limits, to be precise. The God of Contracts takes these matters very seriously.

Eventually finding you can’t take the silence any longer, you come right out and say it. “It’s true that I can get a bit too… involved when it comes to helping mortals. I see the solution right in front of me and wish those involved could see it too. That’s why I was seeking out a fellow god who is better at handling these situations with the appropriate nuance.”

His face gives away nothing when he speaks. The same cannot be said for the low timbre his voice takes on.

“And what god other than myself might my dearest spouse be seeking the audience of?”

“Barbatos,” you reply without hesitation. Something cold runs through the air between you. “He’s lived amongst mortals for so long. I might have some issues with his carefree temperament, but he knows how to guide others in that human form of his. Perhaps ‘guide’ isn’t the right word. He offers just enough for them to reach the solutions themselves. I want to learn from him.”

In a split second, his diamond-shaped pupils thin into slits, reminiscent of his draconic form. It’s gone in the time it takes you to blink. He sighs, his gaze finally breaking off from you. You feel his hand settle on the small of your back in what can only be described as a possessive gesture. Zhongli rarely touched you in public for the sake of social decency. This revelation must’ve been enough for him to discard the propriety he associates himself with in the current era.

You can tell he’s thinking and you let him. While he chews on the truth, your eyelashes flutter shut, blocking out the sensory stimuli you normally adore. Memories come and go like the ocean’s waves brushing up against the shoreline of your beloved Yaoguang Shoal. Had things gone differently, you’re confident you would’ve learned the lessons you’re currently seeking out on your own. The centuries you were forced to spend separated from mortals, incapable of answering their many desperate prayers, built an intimidating wall.

You’d either need to scale it or tear it down in its entirety — you’re not going to let your husband add to its height.

“He’s a whimsical spirit, so our paths never managed to cross,” you look up at the stony countenance of Zhongli, who weighs your every word on an internal scale. Judgment could be in your future dependingly. “I’ll stop making my trips there. You have my word.”

“You can continue to do so as long as I am present,” his earrings catch the dimming sunray’s when he turns his head in your direction. “I’m not the unreasonable man you try to make me out to be, [First]. Let this be proof of that.”

No, he’s probably worse. Hiding his domineering tendencies beneath a thin veneer of amicability. You keep the thought to yourself. You’ve already pushed him far today by admitting what you did. Limits were meant to be teased, not breached. No one knows this like you do.

“I accept the terms of this contract.”

Seemingly content with this, he nods, his hand detaching from you while he does so. The vortex of tension surrounding you dissipates in an instant. You could relax your posture, but you don’t, a frown working its way onto your face. Encountering Venti by chance really would’ve been ideal, even if it was a long shot. Understanding the hearts of others was one thing, granting them the same vision is another.

“You’re doing it again, aren’t you?” Zhongli muses. It’s a tactic he loves utilizing. Giving vague statements or suggestions so you have no choice but to ask for him to elaborate. An intelligent tactic from a conniving god.

You take the bait, uncaring of how his hook will sink into your flesh.

“Hm?”

“Taking on everyone’s burdens,” he clarifies. “Whatever should I do with you?”

You make a face. He really could do anything he wanted to you — the gap in your divine power is that sizable. It’s by his mercy and self-proclaimed “love” alone that he puts up with your near-constant ambivalence. Not wanting to linger on this uncomfortable topic, you turn on your heels, preparing to descend the steps and return to Liyue Harbor’s heart. If you’re fortunate, maybe he’ll get distracted and start a conversation on architecture or preferably anything else.

This turned out to be a stroll you wish you didn’t take.

“Treat me to dinner, preferably. I made a balm for some burns Xiangling recently sustained. I’ll give it to her while we’re in the area.”

It doesn’t take much effort for him to catch up to you with those absurdly long legs of his.

“Ah. Well, it’s a date then.”

Zhongli observes with silent amusement how you scrunch your nose up yet don’t voice your dissent. You flutter around from person to person, inquiring after so and so’s health, or if a sibling safely made it to Inazuma, dutifully recording the knowledge for later use. Your husband knows how you dislike your association with The God of Love title the mortals mistakenly assigned to you many moons ago — still, he can’t help but find it fitting.

How could he not notice that you overflow with love for anyone who isn’t him?

#has it really been over a year since i've written for the first contract ??? Wtf???#zhongli x reader #yandere zhongli x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #first contract #my stuff

968 notes · View notes